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eddiernunson · 8 months ago

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I Can Do It With A Broken Heart | Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader | 18+

Summary: You and Eddie have both had crap luck on dates lately, nothing that can't be fixed with a strawberry milkshake. However, he gets asked out on a date and it goes well...until it turns your life on its head and he forgets how to pick up the phone. You don't even care that he's dating someone else you just want your best friend back.

Warnings: idiots in love, best friends to lovers, ANGST, brief EddiexChrissy, ooc Chrissy, attempted SA, bestfriend!Steve, and needy, desperate smut that makes it all worth it.

Thanks to @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you for editing bestie

I’m astounded at the response to the preview I posted last week. Thank you so much for the love, I hope you enjoy all 40k (20k wtf did my brain go)

As you pull up to the little house at the end of the street, you look over to the sweet boy with blonde hair and green eyes nervously, curtaining a strand of hair behind one ear. He shoots you a smirk, white pearly teeth peeking from behind pretty pink lips. The date has gone phenomenally well, the conversation over dinner was easy and your date even easier on the eyes. You smooth your hands over the dress you’re wearing, picking at imaginary lint as you’re entirely unsure of what to say next.

Daniel, your date, leans onto the center console, the scent of his minty breath roping you in. “So, dinner was like, forty dollars.”

Your brows pinch together, the topic of conversation coming from left field.

“And the flowers were about twenty.” He says, his voice hinting at a subtext lost on you.

You think back to the flowers, a cascade of spring colours that drenched you in their floral scent. They sit on your dresser in a vase, waiting eagerly for you to come home.

“Okay…?” You ask, unsure of what he’s getting at.

Daniel sighs, suddenly the frustration you didn’t see before is clear on his face. “Well, I think I deserve some compensation for the princess treatment, don’t you think?”

He’s raising his brow suggestively, and the atmosphere in the car turns thick as you realize what he’s referring to. You feel so stupid. Suddenly the smirk on his face isn’t sweet, it’s sleazy. The cologne he’s wearing isn’t earthy, it’s gross. He’s not a good guy, and you feel foolish for thinking otherwise.

You think fast, lowering your eyelashes in a feigned blush. “Actually, I think it deserves just a little more than that. Be right back, I’m going to grab a condom.” You wink as you get out, the cherry on top.

Daniel lights right up, apparently not expecting his ridiculous method to work. The sound of him undoing his belt makes you nearly gag as you run in the front door.

Your dad, the sweetheart of a single father he is, welcomes you with a kind smile until he sees your crestfallen face. “You okay?”

“No,” you choke back, tears threatening to fall down your cheeks. “He’s demanding I repay him for dinner.”

“Repay?” You tilt your head, inferring what it means. “Oh. Fucking twerp. You need me to–”

“Can I have 60 bucks?” You interrupt him, avoiding his angry eyes.

He melts. “Sure.”

You walk back out the door, head held high right to the little corvette that sits at the end with the cheeky asshole sitting contently, waiting for his treat. The window is still open from earlier in the night, which works right in your favor.

“Here,” you toss the bills at him, allowing a small smile to grace your face at his confusion. “Since you’re so worried about being paid.”

As soon as he understands what you’re telling him, his face curves into a scowl, embarrassed, but too proud to say so. “Like I wanted to do it with Eddie Munson’s slut anyway!”

Halfway back up to the house, you turn back to the car as the engine growls into the night. How does that make sense? you wonder. Why am I being called a slut when I refused to put out?

The front door to your house slams shut again, and your dad receives the message that you would not like to talk about it. “Ed called just now, by the way,” he mentions as you reach the top of the stairs. Your pause in gait tells him you heard him, but you don’t respond because you can hear the smirk he wears, as much as you repeatedly tell him that Eddie is just a friend.

The flowers you thought so fondly of now have a looming presence in your room, like a dark shadow menacingly waiting in the corner. You ignore them as you lift the pastel phone to your ear, dialing the number you know by heart.

He picks up on the first ring. “Hi, sweetheart.” Relief washes over you, instant and comforting.

“Hey, Eds. How was your date?” You and he had the same plans tonight, you just hope it turned out better for him.

“It sucked,” he sighs, sounding like he’s rummaging through his messy chest of drawers. “She didn’t want a date, I guess.”

“Well what did she want?” You ask, going through your own drawers for something comfier to wear.

“Uh, to be shown a good time,” he answers dryly, the sound of rummaging coming to a sudden stop. “Heard the rumors of Munson’s magic fingers and apparently only wanted that.”

Yikes, you think. Eddie’s had many hook ups in the back of his van, but as of late he’s finding himself defeated when they don’t want him, just what he can do for them. Your heart hurt for him last week when he admitted they rarely, if ever, reciprocated.

You didn’t think it’d be an appropriate moment to tell him you would happily reciprocate for him.

“That’s extremely shitty. Guess it’s not all that different from my date though, who expected payback from spending a lousy sixty bucks.”

“Payback?”

“Asked me to suck his dick and pointed to it,” you say, a million times more bluntly than you could to your dad.

“I knew that Daniel guy was an asshole,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “I think our shitty dates deserve each other.”

You laugh, holding the PJs you plan on wearing as you sit cross legged on your bed. “To be honest, I don’t think Daniel would’ve been all that great in bed anyway.”

“I could’ve told you that. He looks like he would call thirty seconds a long time,” Eddie laughs. “Sit tight, princess, I think we’ve earned pancake night at Benny’s.”

“C’mon, I was just about to get comfy!” You whine.

“Nah, wear the pretty dress. It deserves to see a strawberry milkshake, don’t you agree?”

Honestly, a milkshake night with your best friend is exactly what you need. “Sure. See you in twenty?”

“Eh, ten.”

You throw out the flowers, tossing the vase full of water into the kitchen sink, shrugging when your dad gives you an apologetic look. You certainly are already over it, just another asshole in Hawkins, who would’ve thought? When the loud music from Eddie’s stereo pulls up, your dad nods in understanding, telling you to have fun as you leave through the front door.

The date night dress you wear is a summer dress that sits just above your knees, held together by spaghetti straps decorated with pretty blue florals. It's a dress you go to for formal events, and even saw a dance or two back in high school. Of course, you had to dust it off for the cute boy in your Psych class who ended up being a complete dickwad.

The fabric of Eddie’s beat up van is familiar. So familiar that you could argue his passenger seat has a permanent indent from your ass. Eddie has, in fact, pointed it out from one night stoned in the back with him, giggling as you vehemently denied it. At your sudden quiet shut down stature, he patted your ass gently, claiming that he didn’t want any other person’s ass planted on his seat except yours.

That conversation, as hazy as it was, stayed in your mind for days after the fact.

Eddie’s dressed in his own version of a date night outfit, tight jeans exposing his knees with jagged rips under a leather jacket and plain black t-shirt. He’s gorgeous, tauntingly so. It’s not much different from an ordinary outfit, but the faint smell of fresh laundry detergent and his best cologne is the best evidence he’s all dressed up.

The loud music speaks for him, loudly, pulling off before your seatbelt is even clicked into place.

The path from your house to Benny’s is well trekked by you and Eddie on late nights when you should’ve been doing homework but ended up goofing off instead. Martha, a waitress that’s been working there well over twenty years, smiles with smeared red lipstick and too much blue eyeshadow.

You walk in stride with each other, straight to the corner booth as the husk of 20 years of chain smoking barks over the gentle music, “Hey, you two! Eddie, are you finally taking this girl of yours on a date?”

Shut up, you silently beg her, avoiding either of their eyes as you stare at your lap, seemingly fixated on a loose thread at the hem of your dress.

“Oh, I’m not that lucky,” Eddie winks, throwing his arm behind you on the back of the booth. “We’re just recovering after shitty dates.”

“One day, you two,” she muses, tapping her pen rhythmically on her little notepad. It’s never been the same notepad twice, always decorated with a little cartoon sticker on the front. You’re tempted to run to the dollar store and grab her a larger one, but a part of you thinks she thrives on her many little notepads. “Alright, a large strawberry milkshake with two straws, pancakes with extra strawberry sauce and fresh strawberries on top, and waffles loaded with whipped cream and sprinkles. Correct?”

You nod in unison, both aware that she insists you will collectively rot the teeth out from your gums if you insist on overdosing with sugar every damn time you waltz in late at night. She’s given up offering other menu items, having ordered extra strawberries just to make up for your love of the fruit.

Less than five minutes later, following the blissful sound of a blender, the milkshake is wordlessly dropped off at the table, closer to you as even Martha knows you will be drinking 75% of it. The sweet, pinky taste flows easily down your throat, humming softly as you dip into the whipped cream with a finger. “Best milkshake in town,” You assert.

“I wouldn’t know,” Eddie answers, smirking, “you never let us get a milkshake from anywhere else!”

You giggle, licking some of the whipped cream that found a home in the corner of your mouth. “I could never! It would be like cheating! This milkshake would just know,” you drop your voice to a whisper, “it would smell the other milkshakes on me!”

“We couldn’t have that,” Eddie grins, grabbing the large glass to take a sip. “Sorry your date was such a jerk.”

You shrug, already having gotten over it. You’ll just need to sit on the other side of the lecture hall from now on. “He seemed so nice.”

“No offense, sweetheart, but I could’ve told you that Daniel Moore was a shitty person,” Eddie finishes another sip of the milkshake, making a large dip in the glass as the pink slush is pulled up the straw. “He likes to instigate.”

You rest your chin on your elbow, sad the milkshake is already nearly gone. “I had just hoped he would’ve matured by now…”

“In seven months?” Eddie asks you incredulously, raising his brows past his curly bangs. His expression quickly turns curious, tilting his head at you.

“What?”

“So, you’re willing to bet that Daniel Moore has improved just based on personal speculation alone but you’re not willing to believe me when I say Steve Harrington is no longer a douche?”

You roll your eyes. God, you should’ve seen this one coming. “That’s different! I only heard about Daniel. Steve Harrington actually sat back and laughed when Tommy asked–”

“You out as a joke, yeah, I know, I’ve heard it before,” Eddie mumbles, grinning at your shocked expression. “Well, that was like what, three years ago?”

“I still can’t believe you’re friends with Steve Harrington now, of all people! Listen, I know he’s also Dustin’s friend, but I find it hard to believe that you guys even have something in common,” You shrug.

“I still can’t believe you refuse to give him another chance!” Eddie playfully retorts, licking some of the whipped cream that still sits on the rim of the glass. “He’s in your Sociology class, isn’t he?”

Yeah, and he seems to insist on forcing his friendship on you, too, no matter how much you resist it. If you found friendship in Eddie, it seems reasonable to find friendship with Steve, too. Yet, there’s a little part that remembers the cruel laughter, his carelessness with others’ lives, and it ripples down your spine in a violent shudder.

You haven’t gotten rid of the notion of being his friend completely, but it’s just not the right time for you, yet.

You shrug. The topic has too much nuance for a nice dinner with your best friend. Just in time, Martha wordlessly drops off the two plates, the smile that spreads across your face is effortless. Zachary, the night chef must’ve heard about the shitty night and added extra for you, because the mountain of strawberries on the table is huge, even for your standards.

Eddie smirks, reading your mind. “You gonna finish all those?”

“Absolutely!”

Eddie sits on one side of the open courtyard, flicking off ashes from his cigarette as he waits for you to get out of class. He mentally reflects on his crazy afternoon, taking another long, much needed drag. The car with the million symptoms was one thing, but the proposition he got right before, he couldn’t wrap his head around it.

It’s been 13 days since Daniel, four awkward classes of avoiding his glare, and you’ve decided to give up on boys completely. The one you want doesn’t want you, and the dates you’re going on don’t seem to do well no matter who you say yes to. The two offers you’ve gotten in the last week were therefore denied, realizing that even if they are cute, you don’t want to lead anyone on when your heart belongs to someone else.

Before the aforementioned date, you were practically begging for someone to ask you out, but for some inexplicable reason, now you’re getting offers left and right. Somehow people just know when you’re playing hard to get.

At least Eddie’s dates seem to be going terribly for him, as well. That’s one thing you can thankfully count on.

The puff of smoke that leaves his lips as you approach him should not be as gorgeous as it is. It’s practically unfair. “Hey, Eds.”

He flicks the filter, killing it on the cement table he sits at as he blows out one more puff. “Hey, sweetheart.”

Just from that particular look in his eye, you can tell something is on his mind. “You okay, there, Munson?”

He smirks, effortlessly standing up. “I suppose. I’m not sure how to react. Or how you’ll react.”

Your brows meet your hairline, watching his mind move at a million miles per hour. “Ok, Eddie, this better be about a new class of creatures in DnD, or something, because you’re scaring me.”

He smiles, nodding his head over to the halls that lead toward the front door of the campus. “Someone asked me out on a date, earlier, today.”

Your brows furrow, biting back the jealousy that eats at your chest. Every little part of you holds back the monster that threatens to claw its way out, to snarl and hiss at every girl that even so much as looks at him wrong. It’s hard to bite it back, to choke on it purposely, but if you must, you will.

It tastes like venom as you swallow it back down. “Oh, who?”

A faint pink spreads across Eddie’s cheeks, much to your dismay. Not once, in your fuck, what, seven, eight years, of friendship have you ever managed to see Eddie blush. (Just once but it was when you nearly walked in on him jerking himself off a few short years ago.) “Who?”

“Um Chrissy. Chrissy Cunningham?”

Your jaw drops, but your gut falls through the floor. You swear you hear it smash through the tiled floors and fall into the depths of hell.

“She asked you out?”

“Hey! Don’t act so surprised! A cheerleader could like me!”

That was the last thing on your mind. Of course a cheerleader could like Eddie, they’d be stupid not to. No. Every other girl that Eddie has either slept with, or gone on a date with brought no worry to your head, competition, per se. But a girl like Chrissy, one with pretty blonde curls, adorable smile and a sweet disposition, it’s like your worst nightmare come true.

Thanks to living in such a small town, you can recall 99% of the names that Eddie had told you, whether they be hookups or a date. Most of them didn’t intimidate you, only because, selfishly, you could nitpick at things you think wouldn’t work out with Eddie. Whether they were too vapid, too shallow, had none of the same interests as him, only shallowly liked him for his looks, or was a bully…you had something to give great comfort to you to prevent that little jealousy monster from clawing its way out.

This time, your brain wracked itself for some sort of answer. Some sort of flaw in the Queen of Hawkins High that could settle this uneasiness that has taken over your mind. Nothing. Nothing.

“I’m not surprised a cheerleader could like you, I’m surprised that Chrissy Cunningham asked you out,” you answer candidly, walking in step with him to where you supposed was his van. “I’m guessing you said yes?”

“I’d be crazy not to!” Eddie answered sheepishly, tugging at the sleeves of his leather jacket. “I’m taking her out on Friday night.”

“Ah, you’ll tell Steve to take Creeper off hold for us, then?” You try to keep your tone nonchalant, but bitter jealousy coats your tongue.

Eddie stops mid stride, faltering, his brows pinched as he gives you those big brown eyes. “Shit. It totally slipped my mind.”

This is also new. Even as his dates would happen, any previously made plans with him were always a priority. You just hope this doesn’t become a new habit of his.

“We’ll do it on Saturday, yeah?”

You nod, giving him the comfort you suddenly find yourself craving. From the pep in his step, the rosiness of his cheeks, the warm glint in his eyes, you can tell that he’s truly excited. As a best friend, you try to be happy for him, however hard it is to make the smile on your face even remotely convincing.

Eddie curls his arm around your shoulder, tugging you along with him for what will probably be another afternoon in his room, clouded by a haze of weed.

You smoke more than usual, if anything to allow his excitement and plans for his big date in two days to buzz into the background, the bong hit rippling through your lungs as a punishment for yourself.

A weight on your bed suddenly dips down and you sit up quickly to face Eddie sitting on the corner of your mattress with a small smile on his face. Your headphones, still playing the obnoxiously loud music that drowned out his knocks, fall off your head as you sit up. You press the STOP button, clicking loudly in the silence as you stare at your best friend.

The anxiety of his date has eaten you all night long, the only thing strong enough to distract it being music loud enough to hurt your eardrums. You always feel some sort of anxiety, but tonight was even worse, eating at your brain in fear of how painful it might be to be third wheeling with him after being his #1 for so long.

For once, you can’t tell how it went. A slimy, selfish part of you is hoping he shares bad news. His smile breaks. Into a bigger, much brighter beam. Damn.

“How did it go?” You ask, already knowing the answer.

Eddie slams himself onto the bed next to you, hiding his eyes with his hands with his dimples deep, his pearly whites exposed. “Fuck, it was the best date I’ve ever had.”

Your heart shatters. “That good?”

“God, she’s– much better than I thought she could’ve been,” Eddie answers, peeking out from behind his hands. “It’s fucking crazy.”

Of course Chrissy Cunningham, a known sweetheart, is everything he’s ever dreamed of. Of course she lived up to his expectations. Just your luck. “I’m just jealous of your remarkable turn in luck, I guess.”

Eddie chuckles, turning onto his stomach to face you as he kicks his feet. “You’ll have your turn, baby.”

The pet name stings in the worst way. Instead, you raise your brow at him. “Look at you lookin’ like a schoolgirl with a crush. Pretty boy doesn’t even need makeup with all that blush.”

He rolls his eyes, pinching you on the shin. “You’re such a shithead.”

“Yeah, well you still choose to hang out with me anyway, so, that’s on you.” It takes everything in you to ask the following question, “So, tell me about your date, will ya?”

He does. He rattles on and on about how pretty she is, how easy the conversation was, how much she surprised him, how the night ended with a kiss that had Eddie giggling. He lays next to you, leather jacket put aside on the corner chair and boots next to your bunny slippers at the end of your bed. Your small twin mattress has you close in proximity, your side in direct contact with him as he rests his head on his hands.

“She’s such a cool girl, you know?”

You’re half asleep by now, allowing the exhaustion to overwhelm the slight ache in your chest. It zaps through your heart, overwhelms your senses and makes you dizzy. Your eyes flutter shut, but Eddie keeps talking softly next to you.

“Why were you blasting your 8-track, anyway?”

The question harshly yanks you out of the haze, failing to think of something that doesn’t seem completely false. You wish you were a better liar. “Just stressed out about your date.”

He gives you a strange look, eyebrows tilted. “Hmm?”

“We both haven’t had a very good track record, lately, and if things won’t turn around for me, then at least they should do one of us a favor.” Not, not the truth, but definitely an over exaggerated version of it.

“You’re so good to me, you know?” Eddie asks, intertwining his hand with yours. “Wasting your anxiety on me.”

The rings are harsh against your skin, squeezing your fingers tightly. The physical hurt is almost comforting in direct contrast to your emotional hurt.

His scent is comforting, as it lures you like the pied piper into the land of sleep. It’s about another twenty minutes until he realizes there are soft snores coming from you. He doesn’t care to drive all the way home, despite it only being a five minute drive away.

He falls asleep to your comforting breaths, allowing your hand to remain engulfed in his.

The loud ringing of your phone jerks you awake, quickly crawling to the side of your bed as you grab it from the dock housed on the floor.

“Hello?” Sleep sits deep in your voice, spelling out clearly to your caller that you just woke up.

It just occurs to you that you could’ve just allowed your dad to answer it.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Eddie’s voice is chipper, alarmingly so since you’re not even awake yet.

“You sound way too awake for someone that didn’t believe in waking up before 1pm,” you quip, rubbing your eyes sleepily.

“Ha,” he deadpans, yet it's clear he’s smiling. “Chris wants to meet you. I mean, I know you’ve already met her, but you know, as my girlfriend?”

Ugh. It’s been a harrowing three weeks. “Yeah, sure. What did you want to do with her?”

“I thought we could introduce her to pancake night,” Eddie sheepishly answers, like he knows you would be hesitant to invite someone into your holy ritual.

Yeah. You don’t want to invite her. But…you asked for patience last month and it seemed that the universe has answered with a lovesick Eddie Munson.

“I don’t see why not,” you lie, finding it rolls off the tongue much easier than it used to.

“You’re the best! I’ll see after you study in the library, yeah?” He knows your schedule. On Thursdays after the morning Sociology class, you opt to crawl up into a small corner and hermit yourself with snacks and a pile of books to get the work that needs to be done finished.

In high school, you could get away with doing minimum work and passing, but with your dad paying and barely able to afford it even with his second job, it sent the need to do your work to the best of your ability for once. You owed him at least that much from all the calls of missed classes for four years straight.

“Sure.”

As you stretch while hanging up the phone, you glance over to the alarm clock to see the time and it lurches you forward in bed to scramble for clothes, textbooks, and scattered papers as your lecture starts in less than twenty minutes. You’re usually already sitting in the seat by then.

On your way out the door, your dad is surprised you’re still home, offering to drive you. You don’t want to burden him even more than you already have, so you insist you can ride your bike and still get there on time. Well, at least you hope you can.

The bike rack is nearly full when you get to the college, six or seven locks messily put around the poles, most bikes already fallen over. You jam your bike in between two of them, hurriedly wrangling the annoying coil of sturdy cable between what you’re sure is entangled in someone else’s lock, too. Whatever, they should’ve been more organized.

The clock on the wall tells you class started three minutes ago and your heart falls to your stomach, knowing the professor is a stickler for punctuality. His words falter as soon as you enter the hall, the heavy door echoing its creak against the walls. He graciously allows you to sit and get situated before he continues. He makes examples of every late student, and you figured you would never be in his laser eyed focus. Well, before your alarm decided not to go off.

The last chair available is the corner chair in the front row, the one spot in class you love to avoid. It’s too close for comfort, a place he often chooses for students to answer his questions even if they don’t raise their hand.

That, and it’s right beside Steve Harrington.

His fingers raise from the desk as a greeting, sharing a sweet smile as you start to collect your textbook and notes. You awkwardly smile back at him, your attention snapped back to the professor as he pointedly talks right at your desk in his lecture. Fuck, this’ll be annoying.

By the time the three hour lecture ends, your hand hurts from the amount of notes you wrote down, one side covered in graphite from smudging the paper. Your stomach grumbles, asking loudly for lunch after neglecting to eat breakfast as usual.

Unbeknownst to you, Steve follows a step behind. “That lecture was brutal,” You hear from behind you. You toss your head over your shoulder to glance back at him before turning back around.

“I guess.” You say awkwardly. Here we go again.

“Out of curiosity, how are Eddie and his new girlfriend doing? Chrissy Cunningham, huh? I cannot say I saw that coming.”

Neither did you. “They’re doing great, from what I hear. Haven’t really met her, yet,” you answer, heading straight to the small cafe that has a home in the heart of the campus. “Listen, Steve, I really don’t want to talk about this right now.”

“Why not? You don’t think he’s happy with her, or something?”

You stop midstep, turning to face him. “It’s not that. I just don’t have the capacity for it, ok?”

“You like him,” Steve accuses, his brows meeting his hairline.

Your jaw drops, stuttering through an empty sentence. “I do not like him!”

“Really?” Steve laughs, crossing his arms as he watches you build a brick wall around yourself. “So you not wanting to talk about his new girlfriend has nothing to do with the way your face fell when I asked about it?”

How the hell did Steve Harrington pick up on it so fast, of all people?

“Even if I did, why the hell would I want to talk about it with someone I don’t even know?” You sigh, looking wistfully over to the cafe. “Besides, I’m not even caffeinated yet.”

Steve rolls his eyes, nodding towards the said cafe. “Here, if I treat you to some coffee will you talk to me about it?”

“If you add a wrap to the deal, then I’ll think about it,” You say dryly, pulling a laugh from him.

The barista, a student who you’ve gotten to know is somehow managing to do pre-law and work part time smiles nicely.

“I’ll get a vanilla latte with nonfat milk and an extra pump of vanilla, please.”

Steve raises his brow at you before making his own order, “I’ll get a medium black coffee with room for creamer, please, and whatever this lady wants from the menu.”

You scan until you reach the egg omelet wrap with mushroom, bell peppers, and tomatoes. “The loaded omelet wrap.”

After Steve pays he meets you on the handout counter. “Why nonfat milk and the extra pump of vanilla?”

“If I get nonfat then I can replace the sugar with the extra vanilla.”

“Pretty sure that’s not how that works.”

You pick up the cup as it lands on the counter, wincing at the temperature on your tongue. “It works.”

Steve grabs his, shaking his head as he makes his way over to pour some creamer in.

The wrap is soon presented as well, steaming in its cardboard sleeve as the scent alone pools on your tongue with saliva. The only thing that got you through that lecture was just the thought of lunch.

Steve meets you at a two-top by the window, setting his own bag down as he sits right across from you.

The omelet, much too hot to eat, sits waiting for you on the chestnut brown table as you sip on the latte. The latte is much too hot as well, but you’ve never had enough patience to wait for that caffeine kick. If you weren’t so afraid of your professor’s wrath you would’ve shown up another ten minutes late with a coffee cup in hand.

Steve allows you and himself a few minutes of quiet before he speaks. “So, why don’t you tell him?”

You cough mid sip, mentally apologizing to your lungs for allowing non-oxygen to make its way in. “I’m sorry?”

“Stop pretending. Eddie was dead on when he said you were a bad liar,” Steve says, grinning with stupid smirk on his face.

“Why have you and Eddie talked about me?” You ask, narrowing your glance towards him.

“Are you kidding? You’re all he talks about,” Steve shrugs, so nonchalant that you have no choice but to believe him. “Kind of annoying, actually.”

“Why?”

“I have to hear about how great of a friend this girl is but also how she can’t stand me.”

You huff in laughter at how distraught he genuinely seems by it, his face contorted into someone who definitely isn’t used to rejection. You cock an eyebrow at him. “Can you exactly blame me?”

“Yes! I can! Everybody loves me!” Steve rolls his eyes playfully, and damn it if you can’t help but find it mildly amusing.

“Hate to break it to you, there, sweetheart, but the people who were picked on by you don’t exactly crave to be around your oh-so-wonderful presence.”

He squints, crossing his arms as he leans forward. “Picked on? I mean that’s a little harsh, considering–”

“Fine, yes, you didn’t exactly jeer, or outright bully even, but you watched and laughed along and sometimes that feels even worse,” you admit, feeling suddenly small under his gaze. “Tommy and Carol said shit, that’s just what they did… But sitting back and watching sometimes is just as bad. You were nice, sometimes, I guess. But the fact that you had that capacity for kindness and chose against it just spoke volumes.”

“I met them in seventh grade. They weren’t as bad back then, mostly just somewhat belligerent. They got worse over time, but we all had terrible home lives, it was like we were the only ones that got what that was like…and somewhere along the way, I forgot that just because we had an excuse didn’t mean they had the right.”

“I guess that makes sense,” you answer, glancing at the omelet, debating taking your first steaming bite. “I mean, I’m not condoning it, but sometimes loyalty can be blinding.”

“I’m not that douche, anymore. I got that knocked out of me when I was seventeen. Literally. Now I spend most of my free time with a high school junior,” he laughs, taking another large sip of his coffee.

“Aah, Dustin,” you hum, thinking of the many instances where he had tried to convince you of what Steve had just told you. What made you so insistent on denying believing in either of your friends seems to dissipate, however, just in the friendliness that Steve radiates alone. Damn his charisma. “Would you believe me if I said he vouched for you many times?”

“The kid loves me, what can I say?” He shrugs, not hiding his laughter. “Now. Back to you. Why not tell him?”

No use in hiding it. If Steve can bare his soul in the middle of the day at a damn cafe just to get you to trust him, you suppose you owed him the same. “‘Cause he doesn’t feel the same,” you answer, starting to peel open the snack from the hunger pang. “Why make it weird when there’s nothing that could come from it?” You shrug, looking down sheepishly as the weight of your words sink into your heart like a stone.

“Doesn’t like you. Are you sure about that?” Steve asks, licking his lips.

You hesitate. “Is this a trick question?”

“Nope. I just wonder if you truly believe it, or if you’re too scared to let yourself have something you’ve wanted for so long.”

“Where do you get off on acting like you’re some sort of expert on this?” You ask, folding your arms across your chest. The question rings out from the mere fact that he is dead on the nose. He couldn’t be any more right. The very idea that Eddie had even an inkling of what you had for him scares you to death. You would rather keep him as a friend and lie in wait than lose him from a great love and not have him at all.

“I’m more observant than most people give me credit for,” he admits, twirling his almost empty coffee cup. “I’ve heard countless hours of Eddie talking about you, yet I haven’t heard him speak once about Chrissy. That says a lot, don’t you think?”

“Well, me neither, and I’m his best friend. Don’t get down on your luck.”

“You are both idiots. Just tell him. Seriously. I’m sick of you both acting like a pair of love sick fools.”

“You seem to be very convinced of something that is not real,” you tell him, garbled from the bite of omelet you’re in the middle of swallowing. “If you keep this energy up when you’re studying, you would probably do pretty well for yourself.”

“Fine. Remain in denial. I don’t care. You can destroy yourself from the inside. Who cares? Just, let me in. I need someone to help me with these assignments. They are mind numbingly dull.” He throws his hands up like he’s admitting defeat.

“You need a study buddy?” You laugh, hiding the food that sits in between bites. “I suppose that could be arranged.”

“Sweet. Now are you gonna treat me to a coffee every now and then, or?”

“I have a single father, not an unlimited credit card from Daddy’s big business, Steve Harrington.” You say matter-of-factly, jabbing your finger towards him accusingly.

“Oh, so I have to provide the newly released movies and buy the coffee, I see how it is.”

“Privilege breeds responsibility, Stevie. I don’t make the rules.” You give him a half smirk. As you look at him, you’re finally seeing the person you thought could see all those years ago behind the mask of his terrible friends. Steve’s ambush would be the best thing to come out of the next few weeks.

Because it turned into hell.

As your hair runs wild behind you, there’s a grand attempt to allow yourself to let the wind distract you from the sinking feeling in your gut. It grows bigger and bigger, until it becomes unbearable as you reach the gravel lining the trailer park. You allow your bike to fall heavily on the trailer, taking a moment to collect your courage before knocking on Eddie’s front door.

It feels weird knocking. You can’t even recall the last time you did. But, you refuse to overstep any boundaries that might not be communicated yet. Being on Chrissy’s good side will make your life a lot easier.

Eddie answers the door, out of breath and sweating with wild eyes and even crazier hair. “Hey!”

“Hey,” you greet, stepping in right behind him. You blink, taking in the pristine surroundings. It’s like stepping into an alternate dimension, one where Eddie and Wayne regularly cleaned their trailer and preferred the smell of lavender over stale beer and greasy pizza boxes. The kitchen is spotless, the living room has a lit candle sitting on the coffee table, and the shelves containing the million mugs were dusted. “Who are you and what the hell did you do with my best friend?” You laugh.

He chuckles sheepishly, crossing his arms in front of his chest as protection. “Uh, is it too much?”

“Better warn her now so she doesn’t get used to cleanliness,” you answer, watching as the surfaces around you sparkle and shine.

“Ha, ha. I have to get dressed. I have some snacks on the kitchen counter. You mind starting the popcorn?” Eddie doesn’t bother waiting for you to answer, already walking to his room.

You get a glimpse of his bedroom as he shuts the door behind him, smirking at the clothes still scattered on his floor. At least one part of this little haven of yours remains normal.

The popcorn shakes in your hold as you continually stir it on the stove to prevent it from sticking to the bottom of the thin aluminum bottom and burning. Just as the first batch of kernels reach their limit, a knock from the front door hits, each one feeling like a crack in any normalcy you’ve ever had.

Things will never feel the same ever again. Not after tonight. On your way to open the door you try to tell yourself that it can be a good thing.

Right?

The door opens to the once head cheerleader of Hawkins High, wearing a pink dress that fits her tiny frame nicely with blonde curls and bangs that beautifully frame her face. Her hands are folded behind her back, standing meekly in white sneakers and long lashes and blue eyeshadow. It’s hard not to be envious of how pretty she is.

It’s clear she’s not expecting you to open the door. “Hey! Sorry, Eddie’s just in his room. He should be out any minute.”

“Oh. Ok,” she enters as you back up, wringing her hands together, probably out of anxiety. “What movie did he rent?”

“You know, I was so busy making fun of him for cleaning up for once I didn’t bother to ask,” you admit, hoping to make the atmosphere just a little bit lighter.

She looks around the place, seemingly taking it in. “Hmm,” she hums, walking over to the couch. “It’s cute when they try so hard.”

“Sure,” you answer, walking back to the kitchen, hoping the popcorn isn’t irredeemably burnt. “Do you want butter on the popcorn?”

“Yes please!”

You’re in the middle of mentally begging Eddie to come out already while the butter melts in the microwave, the hum of the microwave loud in the silence.

“Okay! I’m ready!” Eddie announces, opening the bedroom door with a flourish. “Sorry for the wait!”

As he gets to the couch behind Chrissy, he wraps her in a big hug and plants kisses all over her neck. “How you doin’, sweetheart?”

You hold back the nausea as you pour the hot butter all over the popcorn in the large plastic bowl. You find it ironic that this is the same bowl you’ve held back Eddie’s hair over as he hurled into it. You just hope Wayne thoroughly cleaned it.

“Popcorn is ready, can y’all help me bring the chips and candy?” You ask, shaking the bowl to coat the butter over each kernel.

“We can do that,” Eddie answers, grabbing Chrissy’s hand as they walk to the kitchen.

“How can I help?” Chrissy asks, arms open as she looks around a kitchen she has no familiarity with.

“Um there’s some soda in the fridge, grab me and Ed a Coke, and you can grab yourself whatever you want,” you answer, pointing to the twenty year old fridge in the corner.

“Hand me some,” you command, holding a single hand for one of the many bags of snacks Eddie juggles.

The popcorn and a couple dozen little bags land on the coffee table in front of a blank tv screen. Chrissy sits with a soft grunt in between the two of you, cradling the cans of coke and sprite in her tiny arms.

She distributes the cans, handing them over to you and him. Eddie squats in front of the TV, pressing play on the tape which he apparently already prepared to watch. His plaid boxers peek out of his jeans, sitting above the studded belt as he adjusts volume and picture.

You share a smile with the blonde, opening your can and wincing at the loud hiss. You keep thinking about the days you and Chrissy will look back on how awkward this was. How the first days of this trio were so weird, and off putting, and how she thought you were a bitch when she met you.

Where she’s a friend.

You have to try.

“What are we watching?”

Eddie turns around slowly, that over exaggerated smile on his face that tells you he’s up to nothing but trouble. “Oh just a little somethin’”

“Oh god,” you wince, knowing that look on his face. You lean into her, whispering, “Hope you like horror.”

Chrissy turns to you with wide eyes and a queasy smile. “Not really.”

“Oh, this one is a classic,” Eddie promises, animatedly using his hands as he crouch-walks back next to her. “If any movie can turn someone into a horror fan, it’s this one.”

As soon as the music starts playing you recognize it. It’s a tune you’ve heard many times in his living room, subjected to it too many times if you had anything to say about it. Of course, you’ll watch it with him every time, regardless.

“Halloween? Seriously? The serial killer stalking the babysitter? You couldn’t think of anything else?” You roll your eyes. He could probably do a whole reenactment of the movie word for word if he tried.

“It’s a classic for a reason, sweetheart,” Eddie tells you, grabbing the bowl straight away. Of course, he will rip through the popcorn, he always does.

You feel Chrissy tense up, not that you can blame her. You suppose a talk about proper pet names will be necessary.

Each bag of snacks is eventually opened because you can’t stick to one bag long enough to finish it even if you tried. You get bored of the same taste too often. You have your favorite few, fuzzy peaches, M&Ms, Reese's Pieces, Swedish fish, and last and most controversially, at least where Eddie’s concerned, salt and vinegar chips.

He always has his own snacks at his disposal from nights of having the munchies, always on a dollar store run for said snacks. At each movie night he restocks, both yours and his alike, and suddenly you realize you will need to remember Chrissy’s too, if you’re going to be cordial.

With each bloody death that splatters the walls on screen, Chrissy grows closer and closer to Eddie. There’s a part of you that has considered using scary movies to cuddle up to him, but you’re just not genuinely scared of them enough to consider it. The ruse would’ve faded eventually. You try not to let the jealousy eat you up from the inside, no matter how much it burns your skin.

His arm wraps around her, petting her shoulder gently as she whimpers at the slash of his knife. “It’s corn syrup. Totally fake. You can tell by the color, it’s way too bright.”

Towards the end, the loud, chirpy, nauseating sound of kissing fills your ears. Your eyes can’t help it, they move towards the noise and immediately regret it. Oh god, they’re kissing. If you can even call that kissing. He’s practically engulfed her mouth.

Surely, with the company they have, they’ll stop, right? Their heads will remember and sheepishly get the fuck off each other? Right?

Two scenes and what feels like forever, later, you realize how wrong you are. “I’m glad you two are crazy for each other, really I am, but can we please wait until I’m gone?” You give an awkward laugh to try to stifle the discomfort coursing through your veins.

Eddie makes a surprised sound, almost like he completely forgot you were there. “Shit–sorry.”

Chrissy doesn’t make any apologies, in fact, you miss the way she rolls her eyes against his chest. She wanted to keep going, hoping you would take her hint to get lost.

Before long, the end of the movie finally arrives, the end credits rolling with that famous piano tune. Chrissy has practically stitched herself to Eddie’s side, her arms wrapped around his waist. The popcorn bowl is nearly full. All that work on it for nothing.

You sigh, about to claim that it’s your cue to leave when–

“I’m thinking we should show Chrissy one of our pancake nights, don’t ya think?”

No. You don’t want that. From the way Chrissy completely tenses up, neither does she. But for his sake, you both reluctantly agree.

Hawkins looks a lot different from Eddie’s backseat.

As the ring of the bell against the glass door announces your arrival, Martha’s head snapping up from the magazine she’s buried her nose in. “Hey you two, I was wondering when I would see you again!”

You and Eddie walk directly to the corner booth, as per usual, Chrissy trailing a half step behind him with her left hand intertwined with his right. Before Martha walks up to the booth, she starts the blender, the sound oddly comforting for how uneasy you feel.

“Well, looks like we got ourselves a little straggler! What’s your name darlin’?” She asks, the notebook she now holds a dark purple instead of the red she had last time.

Chrissy stares blankly at her, curling back into him. You don’t remember her being this shy in High School.

“This is Chrissy,” Eddie introduces her, giving her a fond look. “She’s my girlfriend.”

Martha’s penciled brows raise straight to her ruby red hair, the chewing gum loud in her silence. Her surprise only lasts two seconds, shifting into hospitality for the new member. “Welcome to these two’s many, many nights spent here at Benny’s. In fact, could you make them come a little less often. We’re starting to get annoyed at them.” She jokes, throwing a wink at you.

You laugh with Eddie, taking note of the fact that Chrissy is still silent.

“Alright, well I already know what these two want, did you need a second to look over the menu?”

She nods.

“Alright, well, I’ll be right back with your milkshake.”

“Can you make it one medium, one large with two straws?” You ask Martha, sure it would get more awkward if she brought one for you and Eddie to share.

“Oh, sure,” she answers, her voice unusually soft.

Less than five minutes later she returns with two milkshakes and a menu.

“Oh,” Chrissy comments, looking curiously at the pink ice cream drink in front of her. “I don’t really like strawberry. Can I get vanilla instead?”

Your forehead meets the table, punishing yourself. “Shit. I’m so sorry! I didn’t even think to ask.” Eddie apologizes.

“It’s fine.” Chrissy smiles sweetly at him.

“Oh, you gotta eat breakfast, it’s tradition,” Eddie mutters, switching her page to the all day breakfast menu.

“Hmm,” she responds, pointing to one of the menu options. “I think I’ll get the poached egg with the avocado toast.”

“Alright. Should be out quickly,” Martha answers, grabbing the milkshake from them.

“How often do you guys come here?” Chrissy asks, turning her face to Eddie.

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Probably more often than we should. Like when shit goes sideways, or we need a hit of sugar, or when we just feel like bugging Miss Martha, over there.”

“When did you start coming?”

“My junior year,” you answer, smiling at the memory, “his second attempt at senior year, we both didn’t want to go to the stupid school dance, so we decided to get dressed up and come here, instead.”

“Why didn’t you want to go?”

Eddie shrugs, petting her shoulder with his thumb. “We thought it was dumb. Then, we ened up coming back when both of us failed this one really important bio test. Then, by the third time she remembered our orders and had the blender going by the time we sat down.”

Eddie asks how your day was, so you inform him you managed to have a civilized conversation with Steve Harrington. You have an audience for the conversation, one member animatedly interested, the other politely listening.

Polite is definitely the way to describe it, no spark in her eye. At least, not the one she wears when she listens to her boyfriend speak. In fact, you can practically see them glaze over.

Just as you nearly avoid explaining the main topic of the awkward conversation, Martha comes back over with two plates, one for you, one for Chrissy. It’s only half a moment until she’s back with the new milkshake and third plate.

The mountain of strawberries is bigger than average this time, this larger size becoming something you might get used to if the staff continues to spoil you like this. You take another flick of whipped cream from the top of the milkshake, suddenly realizing you’ve barely taken a sip the entire time. Damn, it’s usually half gone by the time you get your food.

“Do you guys order the same thing everytime?” Chrissy asks, looking at both of your plates.

“Yup!” You exclaim, spreading the strawberry sauce around your plate.

Her blonde brows furrow. “Maybe it’s not good to eat this much sugar every time you guys come here,” she comments, cutting at her squishy green toast. It doesn’t look appetizing to you in the least.

“It’s not like we come here every night,” Eddie laughs, spreading his sprinkled whip around the fluffy waffle. “It’s fine to indulge every now and then, you know?”

“Maybe you guys should try something a little healthier?” Chrissy asks, her voice having what you think is a little bit of a bite in it.

“People don’t exactly come here to eat healthy, Chrissy,” you laugh, thinking of the menu item called Heart Attack Jack, which is a burger doused in American Cheese with layers of bacon and a bucket of grease. It’s not going to be a soccer mom’s number one choice for health.

“You don’t have to bite my head off, it was just a suggestion,” Chrissy mutters, curling into herself.

“I-I didn’t,” you reply, very surprised at her knee jerk reaction. “I’m just saying, if we wanted to go somewhere to eat healthy, we probably wouldn’t pick a greasy diner in a small town in the middle of nowhere. Honestly, I’m not sure anywhere in Hawkins really has the healthiest choice.”

“Chris, what she’s trying to say is that eating a crap load of sugar is just tradition at this point,” Eddie says, intertwining her hand with his. “It’s a part of our ritual. You don’t have to eat like us if you don’t want to, we just thought you’d want to be included.”

“It’s just a lot of sugar, is all.” She’s barely taken a chunk out of her food, resembling a bunny in the very small, very tiny bites she continues to take. “Maybe I won’t join you guys next time. I don’t really understand the point.” She says sheepishly.

In the depths of your soul, you feel at that moment you would probably never get along with her, have given up hope on her completely. It wouldn’t be for a handful of weeks until you acknowledge that you had sound reasoning.

The bill is paid, money hitting the table on your and Eddie’s parts, the vanilla milkshake just barely touched. If you knew she wasn’t gonna drink it you would’ve doubled down on the strawberry, Eddie hates vanilla.

As you walk out to the van, trailing behind them as he wraps his arm around her shoulders, you find yourself at an impasse. “Eddie, can you give me a ride home?” Chrissy asks. She moves on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “Maybe I can ride you before you drop me off?”

The pancakes you wolfed down churn back up your throat, threatening to make their second appearance for the night.

Eddie’s cheeks flush, his eyes wide as he tugs her in. Guess that answers that question. “Um, do you need a ride?” He asks you, almost avoiding your eyes.

Chrissy’s death stare is plain as day, silently warning you not to take it. Fine, you didn’t want to sit in the van with these two, anyway.

“No, it’s fine. I can grab my bike from the back.”

Chrissy beams, her curls bouncing as she jogs to the passenger seat. You hope your ass imprint is uncomfortable for her.

Eddie returns with the bike, putting it gently down in front of you. “Hey, Ed?”

“Hmm?”

“Might want to teach your girlfriend how to whisper,” you tell him, grabbing the handles from him. “It’s not considered a whisper when everyone in a ten foot radius can hear!” It comes out harsher than you intend it, but with how horribly tonight has gone, you can’t bring yourself to want to apologize.

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie swears, the pink in his cheeks now from embarrassment. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t mention it,” you insist, dismissing it. You had a feeling she said it loud enough for you to hear on purpose, anyway. “Just use protection, ok? We don’t need any more Munsons in this world running around, creating chaos.”

If you got Chrissy pregnant I would actually be sick, is what you mean.

“Shut up,” Eddie laughs, wrapping you in a hug over the bike. “See you next time, slugger.”

That was when you changed from sweetheart to slugger.

There’s no whiplash like discovering your best friend is a completely different person when he’s in a relationship. On one hand, phone calls with him are as ordinary as always, teasing and jeering and flush with the familiarity of a best friend.

On the other hand, when you meet with him and his girlfriend, he seems to dampen his wild personality and slice it into ribbons for her sake. It kills you.

Reruns play on the small tv, old cartoons Wayne recorded for a rambunctious little kid in his mix. You’ve watched them enough to know some of them by heart, especially your favorite gags.

Eddie sits in the corner of the couch, curled up with Chrissy on his lap as they talk quietly. They’re low enough you can barely make out what they’re saying, but from the giggles alone, you have no interest in the nausea it would give you.

She was already in his lap when you got there, a sarcastic comment choked back having something to do with maybe getting off, opting to sit on the other end.

“Oh, Ed, the movie is next Friday,” you remind him, taking another sip of the ice cold coke in front of you.

“Remind me what that was?” Eddie asks you, peering his chin over Chrissy’s head.

You narrow your eyes, scoffing in incredulousness. “Uh, hello? I did not wait in line for hours for the Princess Bride just for you to forget!”

“OH, fuck I didn’t realize that was coming up so quickly!” Eddie exclaims, a wild look in his eyes. “Well, shit I’ll make sure to free my oh-so-busy schedule!”

“Sweet.”

“Oh, I totally wanted to see that movie!” Chrissy chirps, sitting up in Eddie’s lap. “Are there any more tickets for the night you guys are going for?”

“It’s been sold out for weeks,” you shrug, chomping on a potato chip. “I stood in line for like six hours that morning.”

“Oh,” she mutters, curling into him.

You wish you could say it doesn’t give you great pleasure to know she won’t be able to crash your movie night.

“You think, uh,” she starts, turning around to face you. “You think I could have your ticket and Eddie could take me?”

You scoff, bewildered that this even crossed her mind. “I beg your pardon?”

“I mean, I really wanted to see it and it doesn’t really make sense for you two to go out for a date, now that he’s dating me…”

“I think you forgot the part where I stood in line for six hours to get these tickets,” you reply, trying to catch Eddie’s eyes. He’s avoiding you.

“And I’m sure we’ll all go next time!” She offers as an almost smug smile plays at her lips.

She can’t be serious. After watching her face, you realize she is fully expecting you to give up your ticket so she can go with him. Guess that Iron Maiden concert coming up this summer is off the table, too, you think, rubbing your eyes tiredly.

You look at him, waiting for him to say something to indicate how ridiculous his girlfriend is being, to stand up for you.

Oh. He’s not going to.

“I really don’t see the big deal.” Chrissy scoffs.

Of course you don’t. “I’m sorry, but I’m not giving you my damn ticket!” you snap. “If you really don’t want Eddie to come with me that badly then I can get Steve to take me.”

Which is ridiculous, Eddie was the one who wanted to see this movie in the first place. It looked like it was about adventure, something Eddie loves in movies. You decided then sure, since his birthday is right after the movie comes out, you’ll stand in line for the tickets then treat him to a fun movie night.

If Chrissy is uncomfortable with that, then that’s her prerogative, but she can choose something else to do with her boyfriend since she wants to so badly. You won’t let her walk all over you.

Chrissy doesn’t answer, but she’s clearly upset by yours. “It’s alright, babe,” Eddie hums, tugging her up against his chest so she curls into him. “I can wait until it comes out. We’ll just rent it, yeah?”

You’re not sure which makes you more nauseous, the fact that he just made a plan with her that won’t come to fruition for six months, or that he had nothing to say in the conversation.

You’ve never felt so unwelcome on his couch. “I’m gonna head home. I’ll see you later.”

Whatever comes out of Eddie’s mouth then falls on deaf ears as you fight the tears that irrationally threaten to spill over your water line. They’re stupid, your emotions are stupid, the movie is stupid.

Steve sits on the other side of the light brown table in the library, hunched over some notes as you explain the concept to him once more.

“Ugh, this is ridiculous, I’m going to forget this as soon as we learn it,” Steve whines, rubbing his eyes.

“Well you’re only taking Sociology because you haven’t claimed a major yet and sociology is required in most degrees.”

“That’s true,” he smirks, stretching his arms. “This still is all starting to look like gibberish. I get it, we live in a society in which the rules are not in our favor, why does that have to be studied to this intent?”

You shrug. “It’s fascinating.”

“To who?”

You roll your eyes, wondering how he grew on you like a weed. “Alright, we’ll take a break, then.”

“Any plans upcoming for next Wednesday?”

“Uh, no, at least not that I’m aware of,” you answer, putting your highlighter down. “We were supposed to see the movie for it, but, well you know how that turned out.”

“I’m sure there’s something he’s planning,” Steve assures, tapping his pencil rhythmically. “It’s not like him to not make a spectacle of his birthday.”

That, you agree with.

“Dustin said he hasn’t heard anything about it, either. He almost planned a surprise party for him. You think he’s just taking it easy this year?”

You doubt it, he’s turning 21, after all. Not like hasn’t been going to bars since he was fifteen, but now at least he’d be able to go into a major city with his real ID without getting flagged. Last year he prattled on about plans for this one, how he was gonna have a big rager at Steve’s and drop a whole paycheck on kegs.

You’re sure if he was going to do anything in those next two days, then he would’ve told you by now.

That Wednesday morning, you rise early to the sound of your alarm.

The kitchen counter is already filled with the ingredients you need, preparing for a labor of love. You hook your Walkman to your jeans, listening to the music blaring in your ears as you add one ingredient at a time, watching the batter slowly come to shape.

It’s familiar, your mom’s famous homemade recipe for cake batter. After missing her many cakes and the familiarity of her food, you finally searched for the cards containing her neat print, clearly and concisely telling the reader what her recipes needed.

It became your favorite thing to do when you missed her.

As you pour the batter into each divet in the tray, you recall the first time you thought to make a birthday cupcake for Eddie.

Neither of you cared much for first period, so it was easy to catch him before he woke up. That day you presented a vanilla cupcake with a swirl of black and blue frosting. You learned that morning he hates vanilla.

Every other instance of making him a cupcake has been a litany of flavors, but never vanilla.

As they bake, you whip up the frosting with a hand mixer, hoping the low hum doesn’t wake your father. He works so hard already. Red food coloring turns it from white, the process all too satisfying.

A plastic sandwich bag with the corner cut off is always just enough for you to pipe frosting on, the skilled hand you’ve trained after trial and error working fast.

Your dad always knows on February 19th he will wake up to 11 cupcakes on a big plate.

The pastry sits in a comically large container as you borrow your dads truck, the sun just barely peeking over the horizon as you climb the stairs to the Munson’s front door.

You balance the cupcake in your hand as you head straight down the hall towards Eddie’s room. The sounds filling the trailer take a moment to register, for some reason not realizing how quiet it should be on an early weekday morning. The only sounds should be that of an early bird or newspaper hitting the front door.

Dread finds home in your stomach, as if on a very instinctual level you realize what you’re hearing. Though for some crazy, masochistic reason, those instincts wanted to be sure.

His door, wide open, reveals him hunched over Chrissy with the blanket barely covering his broad shoulders as he’s rocking. He’s rocking…and oh, you can hear her, too.

She’s moaning, whining, clawing her nails up his back like a leech, or worse, a tick, digging itself in and refusing to give up the tight hold they have on their victim.

Your mind goes empty, numb, until you hear her faintly wish him a happy birthday. You blink yourself out of the trance, blindly stumbling back into the fresh air of the living room. The cupcake lands on the kitchen counter on your way out the door, not caring as it slams behind you, definitely alerting Eddie and Chrissy of the third unknown presence in the trailer.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to even care about it, the queasiness deep rooted in your stomach threatening to make itself known on the outside plants.

You have a class in less than an hour, something you need to continue into the second year of your Communications degree, but not something that requires brain power.

The simple question of how you managed to ride your bike all the way to the campus, take notes in your class and blindly walk over to the library will always escape you. You somehow watch yourself go through the motions until you meet Steve at the cafe.

The moment he sees you, he knows something is wrong just by the deadened stare that’s taken over your face.

When you break down into tears, he brings you to his house, letting you finally admit to him what you’ve been afraid to admit to yourself.

You’re in love with your best friend. And while you’re doing your best to be happy for him, your poor heart can’t handle it.

The cupcake isn’t mentioned until you call him two days later, still heartbroken, but missing his voice. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, despite the great ache that makes each and every day fuzzy.

Usually, more than half the cupcakes get eaten by him, which is why a dozen are made each year. There’s still more than half left, the very sight of the cupcakes depleting your appetite as his continued absence carves a bigger and bigger hole in you.

He answers on the fifth ring, sounding as if he’s in the middle of rummaging through items in some way, slightly out of breath. “Hey, Chris, sorry I can’t find–”

You swallow the pain. Maybe the lump of pain swallowed in your stomach will finally evict itself like the contents of stomachs should. Yet, the more you throw it up, the more it seems to gather. How does that work? “It’s me.” You say dryly, tiredly.

“Shit,” he breathes, the background noise coming to a sudden halt. “Hey, you.”

“Hey. How was the cupcake?”

“The mysterious appearing pastry was delicious as always, slugger.” Slugger. “What-what time did you drop it off?”

You know that he knows that you heard something. He doesn’t know how much you heard, but he knows the slam of his front door was you.

“I didn’t hear much. Just enough to know you had already received your birthday present for the year,” the attempt at humor doesn’t hit you very well. You’re not sure how it’s received, but Eddie laughs regardless.

“Sorry about that, she slept over the night before unplanned. I should’ve remembered your yearly morning cupcake.”

“Should’ve remembered you have a girlfriend,” you answer, wishing you had that better judgment. “Did you do anything for your birthday?”

“Chris took me out for dinner with her parents.” Honestly, that sounds like it was for her more than it was for him.

“Sounds fun,” you deadpan, earning earnest chuckles from him.

“They’re an acquired taste,” Eddie offers, allowing your slight criticism of his birthday party.

“You sure you still don’t want to go to Indianapolis and bar hop?” You can’t help but ask. It’s like you can hear his reluctance to accept the celebration he got.

“Nah. Besides, we can’t risk your fake ID, after all.” He pauses, an understated sigh passing through his breath. “How has school been?”

Small talk is not often something that passes through a conversation between you two. You’re aware of it, he’s aware of it, and it turns the conversation into something almost jilted.

“I miss you,” you admit, lying back on your bed.

“I miss you,” he parrots, soft and sweet.

“Can we do something? Just you and me?”

He chuckles, low and under his breath. “Sure. Pancake night. Just you, me, and Martha’s perfume.”

…that never happened.

The less you see Eddie, the more you end up hanging out with Steve. He seems to want to introduce you to his own best friend, but your admission of not wanting to be a third wheel again gets him to drop it. You can’t help but notice the only times you speak to Eddie are when you call him. He hasn’t called you since asking for Chrissy to join pancake night.

That alone wouldn’t entirely convince you to not call him anymore. The jilted conversations always ending with promises of time with one another never coming to fruition. It’s the equivalent of being skinned alive, one strip at a time.

Steve has watched the circles under your eyes darken, the enthusiasm in class deplete, and the lust for life dissolve before his very eyes. To say he’s pissed at his friend is to understate it, he’s ready to tell you to give up on him and forget he exists.

Yet, Steve knows how unlike Eddie it all is. Dustin has complained he hasn’t been called back for a long time, Gareth reached out to you asking if you’d heard from Eddie lately as they haven’t rehearsed for a while. He garners more concern than anger at times.

Steve’s living room has become a new choice of hang out space, but the unnatural cleanliness of the house, the lack of cologne that both Eddie and Wayne use, the familiarity of eight years of friendship, it gives this unrelenting feeling of emptiness. It’s worth trying to fill it with edibles and weed.

It doesn’t seem to work, but you’ve become more open, more free willing with him as a direct result. He doesn’t favor horror movies like you and Eddie, but you find common ground in action and slapstick comedy, instead. Anything but romcoms, you implore. Anything even close to resembling romance is rejected.

Steve spills the latest he heard from Hawkins’ elite country club group, a bunch of ladies with nothing better to do with their afternoons than spread rumors about the population as a whole and judge them for it. Steve knows for a fact which members of the country club have side women, bringing them in hours after walking in with their own wives.

It’s so nice to be concerned with the lives of others and to not care about yours falling apart at the seams. Well, really it's being ripped apart by Chrissy Cunningham’s greedy little claws.

Ironically enough, you get paired up with Steve for a major assignment in Soc class, one required to analyze social constructs that have been deep dived in class. Another little gift of irony is you were given Social Stratification, which is the hierarchical arrangement of individuals or groups within a society based on various factors such as wealth, power, and prestige.

Being from two very different classes, you and Steve find yourself uniquely qualified to discuss the topic.

It provides opportunities to hang out together, distracted by the collective want to not work at all, but driven by an looming due date. Your mind wanders to Eddie non stop, wondering how he is, if he’s ok, if work is still giving him a hard time, did he finally get the belt he was needing, if Wayne was taking it easier.

Your fingers itch for the phone to call and ask, always haunted by the memory of each phone call, the polite conversation and empty promises. You crave to remember what it was like before.

Steve seems to act as your voice of reason, disencouraging you every time you mention wanting to call him. He sympathizes, of course, but he recalls the last time you called him and the aftermath following it.

When the assignment is finally in the last stages, making final edits to clear up any loss in conciseness, the final second guesses if the point has been made clear, you sit on the floor of Steve’s room cross legged, going cross eyed as you reread it, again.

“I can’t wait for this thing to be handed in,” you groan, throwing your pen at him.

“I think we earned a celebration,” he sighs, throwing the pen back to you. “On Friday, after we finally hand over this paper to this asshole, I am throwing a big ass party in your honor.”

“A party will not make me feel better,” you reprimand, glancing at him under your brows.

“No, but a good excuse to drink the pain away, might,” he grins, leaning forward on his stomach and kicking his legs animatedly. He looks so innocent, as if he doesn’t have his own agenda. You’ve come to know him well enough that he really doesn’t. “C’mon. Let loose with me just for one night!”

You reluctantly agree to it after he pulls out his dumb puppy eyes.

News of Steve’s party spreads fast across campus, and you find yourself curiously excited for it when you usually dread dancing with complete strangers. The strangers at this point make it better, not needing to concern yourself with anything other than how the alcohol burns.

Your dad drives you to the party, the rain heavy on the pavement making it hard to bike in such weather. He’s noticed the way you’ve shut down a little bit as of lately, more than happy to bring you to a party if it means putting some life back into the eyes of his one and only daughter.

When you enter the door with slightly damp hair just from the walk from the truck, the party is already in full swing, music overtly loud, bodies bumping and dancing, empty cups already scattered on dusty surfaces.

As soon as you see Steve, he waves you over, talking to Robin, who he’s introduced you to. She became your friend the same way he became your did; ambush. Turns out, Robin is really cool. She hands you a beer, winking as you tilt your eyebrow out of skepticism.

“Beer, really?” You ask over the music, turning the bottle around in your hand.

“You’re drinking to forget, right?” She asks, an air of wisdom in her scratchy voice. “Then what does it matter what it tastes like?”

Well, you guess she’s right. You grab another from the fridge while you’re at it before they lead you to a couch. It’s surrounded by a crowd of people you mostly have never met before, more than happy to laugh with them at the particularly stupid topics of conversation.

You’re already pretty buzzed less than an hour spent at the party, having asked Steve to get you a third bottle. “Might wanna slow down, sweets.”

“I’m drinking to forget, remember?” You ask him, winking cheekily.

Time starts to meld together as the bottle gets emptier and emptier. Robin grabs you by the hand to dance with her and Steve in a circle, top 40 pop acting as a soundtrack while you forget any goddamn trouble that might have plagued you.

You’re chatting about some mindless gossip when something tells you to turn your head towards the door. The door opens to Eddie and Chrissy, holding hands as they look around the party that got even rowdier since your arrival.

Eddie’s eyes meet yours, frozen in place as the emptiness his absence has left consumes you.

“Oh shit,” Robin mutters right next to you, but you don’t answer it as you stumble your way into the kitchen.

The internal debate on whether you need to drink water or more alcohol is roaring, so you drown it with more alcohol. Maybe you can shut it up. It’s too fucking loud. The ajar door opens and closes, a presence in the kitchen you don’t bother acknowledging. You don’t smell Eddie’s cologne, the momentary disappointment flooding your senses that he saw you and didn’t even bother talking to you.

Another sip. Another gulp. Make it go away.

“I was wondering when I would run into you,” it’s not Eddie, or Steve. Confusion takes over you as you wonder which male voice in your life you’re forgetting, turning to face the culprit.

Daniel.

“Here I am, I guess,” you mutter, taking another swig. “What exactly do you want?”

“Retribution.”

“Huh?”

He laughs, cruel and blunt. “I’m here for what I’m owed, sweetheart. I don’t get told no. Girls don’t say no to me. So, I think I’m owed some payback for the humiliation you put me through.”

What the fuck?

The laughter that leaves your throat is loud and abrupt, clearly not what he’s expecting. “Oh my fucking god, you’re just delusional. Girls don’t owe you shit for buying them dinner! You ask us out for a date, that’s on you, bud!”

“I don’t fucking think so,” he growls, slinking in closer. You can smell his breath, he’s clearly been drinking. “I will get what I want, I always do.”

Panic floods your brain, suddenly realizing he’s being dead serious. “Wait–” you protest as he leans in, the wall and your back colliding harshly. “Wait, no–”

“All you had to do was blow me, baby,” he chides, as if he’s reprimanding a small child. His hand harshly wraps around your waist, preventing you from weaving from between him and the wall. “Now look what you made me do.”

You try to push him off, panic continuing to push up your throat as he proves himself much stronger than you. Oh god, am I about to get raped in Steve’s kitchen?

His hand feels slimy as it pushes past your shirt, sending a jolt of shivers down your body. You’re shaking from fear, one cheek against the wall as you continue to resist him. “Stop– Daniel, please stop–” Your voice is frantic, eyes wide in terror as you try to push his hands away.

The harsh laughter directed at your pleas are cut off, an incredibly familiar voice slicing the air with malice. “She said stop.”

The heat you were surrounded by is thrown off, leaving the cold air behind Daniel to overwhelm you as he’s thrown onto the floor.

Blows of fists on flesh fill the room, watching in horror as Eddie has him pinned, delivering blow after blow to his face. You only see a portion of Eddie, his dark jeans and leather jacket as he hunches over his victim and blindingly delivers one punch after the other. Daniel has stopped fighting back, just a limp set of limbs as it jumps from each hit.

When Eddie has shown no signs of letting up you’re forced to jump into action, stumbling as you run into his line of eyesight. “Eddie, stop! You’re going to kill him!” You plead.

The sounds of brutal fists on soft flesh die immediately, Eddie huffing as he rises to his feet. “You okay?”

You blink as his hands frame your cheeks, petting them softly with his hands. A tear falls, splashing his hand. His concern is comforting, but the direct juxtaposition of his concern from the silence he’s fed you the last few weeks washes over you, confusing every emotion that has been hurting.

Despite the sweet shine in his eyes as they watch you, you back from his hold in a jerk reaction. “Didn’t know you still cared about me.”

He wears the hurt from this statement on his sleeve. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You wander back over to the fridge, grabbing a beer from the second six pack you’re working through. You pop it open from the mounted bottle opener, taking a handful of sips. “You’re kidding me, right? You haven’t called me in weeks. Weeks.”

He stands there, blankly watching.

“I might be more forgiving if it weren’t for Dustin and Gareth and hell, Steve also saying the same thing. None of them have heard from you. You went from calling at least once a week to radio silence! I wanted to get along with Chrissy. I really did. I started all the conversations, offering snacks, asking questions about her, letting her set her boundaries, but she had something to say about everything we did together!”

Eddie stutters, blinking as he watches you talk. He doesn’t try to talk, doesn’t try to defend himself. You don’t give him the chance.

“She clearly doesn’t respect you, otherwise you would still be my best friend and I would remember the last time we had a normal fucking conversation. I get wanting boundaries, but at this point, I don’t think she even wants you to have friends! Is that what you want? A girl who makes you make yourself smaller for her sake and isolate completely? Really? Because that’s what you have. No horror movies? No more junk food? No heavy metal music? She’s making you shrink yourself so she deems you desirable! Fucking– I can’t watch it anymore.”

“Wait, what do you mean–” he’s interrupted by the door closing, a yelp filling the room as Chrissy runs to him.

“What happened to your fists?” You glance down to them, seeing bruises lining his knuckles.

“Nothing, it’s fine. I’m fine,” he assures her, putting his hands on her shoulders.

“Alright. Well. I meant exactly what I said. I can’t do this one sided friendship thing with you anymore,” you take another swig, wondering how the bottle was already so light. “I can’t. Call me when you find my best friend, because I haven’t seen him in three months.”

You leave the room, ignoring the calls from his mouth that suffocate you. As you stumble into the living room, you catch Steve’s eye right away, chin trembling. The hot tears that trail down your face have already drenched your cheeks by the time you realize it’s even happening, choking on the emotion that drowns you.

Steve guides you into the guest bathroom, closing the door as he watches you attempt to stop the sobs long enough to tell him what happened.

“I think–” you hiccup, sniffling loudly, “I think I just lost my best friend–” tears rattle through you once again, just saying it out loud feels like lightning in its startling ability to shatter you once more.

By the time the sobs diminish again, you’re sat on the floor by the tub, head sitting in his lap as he pets your hair. You sit up suddenly, mid hiccup as you give Steve an odd look.

He almost asks if you’re okay when you spill over his lap, whimpering between gasps as you know what you’re doing, the toilet only a foot away, but it continues to explode from your stomach.

“I’m so sorry,” you explain, tears falling again, as he sits in shock.

He grins sadly, undoing his belt. “It’s fine, sweetheart.”

He finds someone, Robin, to grab him a second pair of pants, ditching the ruined pair in the bathtub.

The dry heaving seems to stop the tears, now staring blankly with a wet face and lashes that stick together. Steve brings you upstairs, wrapping his arm around your waist as he brings you to his bedroom.

As your head hits his pillow your eyes fall closed, mumbling something about fucking up, about three months ago.

Steve locks his door from any stragglers, walking down each step to find a particular metal head to give him a piece of his mind.

From how your sobs shook your body, he might give him the whole thing.

The light cascading through the blinds hurts, like a dagger through your brain as you take in your surroundings. You don’t know how you got into Steve’s room under his blanket.

As soon as you sit up, the pain stabs you, pushing you back down. Ow. You don’t even attempt to get up again until the urge to pee hits you, when it’s too much to ignore. You rub your eye, tip toeing to try to get back under the dark blue comforter decorating Steve’s bed.

On the corner of the bed Steve sits, one foot resting on the other knee as he holds a jade green drink. “How badly does your head hurt?”

You wince at the volume of his voice, placing your hands over your eyes. “Not great.”

He winces sympathetically, offering the smoothie. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Blurry images flash through your mind, the kitchen, Daniel, half of the second case gone. You attempt to remember past that point but it comes up blank. “I remember running into Daniel.”

As you sip on the surprisingly delicious hangover smoothie, Steve watches you, wearing a clear expression of concern.

“Anything after that?”

You can tell he’s egging you on, digging for something with an unprecedented seriousness in his tone. But there’s no memory after that. You gingerly shake your head, which sends more needles of pain through your skull.

“Why?” You ask weakly. Steve pauses, ruffling a hand through his hair as he releases a long sigh.

“You really don’t, huh?” Steve asks, one last attempt. “Maybe it’s good you drank as much as you did, then.”

“Steve, you’re scaring me.” Images of worst case scenarios course through your mind. What did you do?

Steve pats the spot on the bed next to you, double checking you don’t feel the urge to throw up. You don’t.

“Daniel tried to force himself on you.” He’s gentle, compassionate in his admission as he watches your reaction.

Huh. “How far did he–” you stutter, breath hitching as you bite back the sobs that suddenly threaten to rake through your body.

“He was interrupted before he even got that far,” he comforts you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as he caresses it. “Eddie sort of bashed his face in.”

Now that you think about it, the memory of Eddie hunched over Daniel as he delivered blow after blow to his nose, his cheekbone, his eyebrow. You didn’t see the final result of Eddie’s defense, but the bruised knuckles you vaguely recall spell out how brutal the retaliation was.

Eddie.

“What–” you pause, stuttering through your breaths, “what happened after that?”

“You yelled at Eddie. Berated him. I think you even told him you didn’t want to be his friend anymore. At least, that’s what I gathered from what you told me,” he admits.

Your blood grows cold. From the weeks of silence, the jilted conversations, the slow resentment that bloomed through your stomach for him. The ache already hurt just from the absence of your best friend, but it was good for you. Fuck, this hurt.

“Is that all?”

He laughs, pulling your head into his neck. “Just that you can’t hold back your liquor.”

That’s why your breath tastes like vomit.

From the extra strength tylenol he gives you, the rest of the morning is spent helping Steve tidy up the trash around his house. Only after spending twenty minutes in the kitchen on his hands and knees scrubbing up the red stains does he allow you to help him. You only catch a glimpse of the paper towel soaked in dried blood and bleach when throwing out red solo cups, a small hint of the mess Eddie made of Daniel.

The thought of his name is a self betrayal, and you work faster once it crosses your mind.

Once the place is clean, you allow Steve to drive you home at his insistence, repeatedly asking when he pulls up to your house that you’re sure you’re okay.

Your dad is at work, not there to ask any questions you wanted to avoid from the previous night, namely why your eyes are swollen from tears. The blinds in your room fall with a trill resembling a xylophone, blocking the sun from your intense migraine.

For the first time in weeks, you’re stirred awake from sleep from the ringing of the phone on the floor that has been pushed under the bed. You let it ring.

Just as sleep pulls you back in, you’re abruptly startled as the phone alerts you again. You roll over, ignoring it as you wrap your head in your hands, curling into the pillow. No one has to get a hold of you that badly.

This person does, it seems, as they call you again. You groan, crawling over the edge as you grab the phone from your receiver. “Hello?”

You refuse the want to chew them out, to take your emotions and friendship breakup out on the person who has interrupted your sleep.

“It’s me.”

You lurch forward in your bed, still tethered to the receiver by the tightly coiled wire as it forces the receiver to scuff against the hardwood floor. Eddie.

Eddie’s sat on his couch, limply resting his head on the couch arm as the shrill voice of the main character complains over a problem that could be solved if she had just told someone. His hand rests on his eyes, shielding himself from the light to prevent the headache he can feel coming on. He’s given up on suggesting other movies by now, but she somehow seems to only play the movies that get on every last nerve.

He would probably be more willing to watch the romcoms in question if they weren’t the bottom of the pack. Last time Eddie even suggested a romcom he actually doesn’t completely hate he had to hear about it for an agonizing twenty minutes. Fine. She could watch her movie, he can practice on his guitar, right?

You would think.

So he dissociates and focuses on the gentle petting of his calf as he rests his leg on her lap. His mind floats to his best friend, how much he misses the smell of your shampoo, or when you make fun of the cheesier horror movies he loves to watch. If Chrissy wouldn’t make a near temper tantrum every time your name is mentioned in conversation, he would’ve called you weeks ago. He missed your voice.

Chrissy continues to insist that you like him, that you’re trying to steal him from her. It turned into many fights where Eddie felt like he was losing his mind, insisting he just wanted to see his best friend. There is a stubborn, immovable force still holding hope that something will just click one day and realize just how wrong she is. There’s a little nagging part of him, eating at his brain, warning that it probably won’t ever come true.

The possibility is almost too much for him to mentally handle, because when it blows up in his face and you decide not to forgive his radio silence, he doesn’t think he will be able to handle the absence in his life. So he procrastinates the detonation.

“I’m surprised you’re not going to Steve’s party,” Chrissy chirps, interrupting Eddie’s disarray.

Eddie blinks, trying to recall any mention of a party that might’ve slipped his mind. That might’ve been the reason for his ignorance if he could remember the last time he even spoke to Steve. He’s sure Chrissy knows that.

“I didn’t even know he was having one.”

She grabs at the extra material of his jeans, pulling his attention. “Did you want to go?”

He mentally rattles through the mechanics of going to Steve’s stupidly large house, knowing damn well his distance has managed to drive you straight into the arms of someone new, even if it’s only platonic. You’ll be there, the chance much more likely than not.

He wants to see your face, even if it’s in passing. He wonders if Chrissy sees you there if she’ll decide to leave early or just avoid you altogether. But it’s just the chance that drives him to agree.

By the time he gets there, vehicles have already littered the streets surrounding his house, some even audaciously blocking his neighbor’s driveways. Chrissy’s hand is in his as he walks in, anxiously looking around the party for you.

He peers into the living room, to the couch containing members of some of Steve’s closer acquaintances and it wasn’t long until he saw you, sitting right next to Robin holding the bottleneck of a beer bottle.

Your eyes are already on his, wide and still as you stare at him. You’re even prettier than he remembered, any polaroid he’s ever had of you does absolutely no justice to your radiant smile or vibrant eyes.

Fine, you’re staring at him like you would rather be anywhere else for the moment, panic flooding your features, but it’s a breath of fresh air for him compared to his last few suffocating weeks. As you stumble to your feet, Eddie tricks himself into believing that you’ve gotten up to talk to him until you pass the front entrance straight into the kitchen.

He supposes he deserves that, fading as Chrissy tugs him to the dance floor. His hands find her hips, allowing himself to get lost in the relentlessly catchy pop tune. He can’t help but allow his eyes to float back over to the couch every now and then, something in him carnally needing making sure that you’re safe.

Alarm bells go off, goosebumps trailing over his skin as something in him screams that you’re in danger. You could very much just be avoiding him, which he wouldn’t blame you for, not for one moment, but he wouldn’t forgive himself if he found out his worry had any footing.

“Babe, I’m gonna grab a drink,” he mutters, blankly kissing her sweet scented blonde hair before his long legs take him to the kitchen.

His stomach drops as your voice fills the kitchen, asking the asshole with wandering hands to stop as he forces himself on you.

The next thing he knows, Daniel is under him, his back slammed on the floor with a face scrunched up in pain as Eddie’s fists are flying. His fists, his jeans, the floor, the whining little shit’s face, it all gets painted with blood.

Eddie doesn’t realize when the pair of arms stop trying to push him off, or when the green eyes no longer stare at him in horror, shut from the trauma of one blunt hit after the other. He just continually bashes his face in for even daring to attempt to force himself on the woman he loves.

Fuck this guy. Fuck him.

Eddie’s blind with rage, but he’s also blind with his own regret.

Your voice cuts through the anger, a warning that seeps in his brain like a sponge. If he keeps hitting him like this he will end up taking his life.

He stands up, facing your trembling form as you seem to be in shock. You melt in his hold, tears spilling over his hands as he caresses you, doing his very best to take care of you. He knows the answer when he asks, but he has to hear it from you.

Finally, the words seem to sober you from wanting his comfort to the hurt that you’ve felt from his silence. You lurch yourself from him, staggering blindly to the fridge as you grab another beer. The scent was harsh on your breath, the sight of you glugging back as much as you can sends jolts through his system.

Then you tell him everything. And he deserves it. He wants so badly to tell you how badly he wanted to call you, but the excuses sound lame even in his own mind.

When you tell him you’re done is when he finally snaps out of his own trance. He knows what you mean, but surely, you don’t really mean it? Before he can ask, Chrissy comes into the picture, doting over his bruised knuckles, ignoring you completely as she asks what happened. He’s fine. He’s not, but he’ll say anything to get back to what you were just saying.

Choked back sobs escape as you tell him with absolute finality that you are done, tripping over your own feet when you leave through the kitchen door.

No, this has gone too far. Eddie hasn’t had a single drop of alcohol but feels as if he’s wasted from stumbling after you, blocked by his girlfriend.

That conversation goes as well as can be expected.

In the hours following, he doesn’t seem to find you anywhere. But without Chrissy trailing after him, he finds himself free to converse with friends he’d missed, meeting their snide remarks of coming back to the land of the living with grace. Eddie stays for hours, half heartedly partaking in any conversation he finds himself witness to just in case you make another appearance.

Steve walks down the stairs after what feels like forever, wearing a grim look on his face. Eddie approaches him. “Hey have you seen–”

“She’s upstairs,” Steve answers, sighing. “Passed out. She’ll wake up tomorrow morning.”

“Is she okay?”

“Didn’t choke on her own vomit, at least,” Steve quips, his voice harsh. “Physically, she’s okay.”

Steve moves to walk around Eddie, seemingly done with the conversation.

“Physically?”

Steve sighs, angry, frustrated. “She just sobbed on the bathroom floor for an hour and a half, Ed. I literally watched her heart break! Safe to say, I don’t think she’s doing so well emotionally.”

“Fuck,” Eddie mutters, feeling hopeless, like he should’ve been there to take care of you instead of being the cause of your suffering. “Steve, I–”

“Listen, Eddie. I just heard a bunch of shit from her that I’m not even sure she knows that she said. Other than her I guess telling you to fuck off, what else happened?”

Eddie gulps, not exactly wrapping his own mind around it, yet. “I found Daniel Moore trying to force himself on her.”

“Jesus,” Steve mutters, passing Eddie straight into the kitchen.

“Steve–” Eddie tries to stop him, or warn him at least, wondering how no one else has seen him, yet. There is almost no reason for most to make their way into the kitchen as the drinks station is in the living room, but usually a straggler or two, especially couples would make their own way in. He’s definitely not up and partying from the blood that seeped through the shirt he was wearing…

Should Eddie have called the ambulance?

“What the fuck–” Steve barks, taking in the crumpled form before him. “Jesus, Eddie, what happened?”

“You listen to your best friend beg someone to stop assaulting them and not beat the shit out of him?” Eddie retaliates, watching as Steve double checks to make sure he’s still breathing.

“Well, now I gotta get him out of here before someone has you fucking arrested,” Steve mutters, wracking his brain through old morally questionable friends of his that would help with no questions asked. Fuck. He has a few favors to call in. “Where’s Chrissy gone?”

“How the fuck should I know?” Eddie spits.

“Considering she has control over who you’re allowed to spend time with, probably somewhere nearby with binoculars,” Steve mutters, a fragment of seriousness in the joke.

“Well, not anymore,” Eddie shrugs, feeling surprisingly pragmatic about it.

“Oh.” Took you long enough, Steve thinks. “I’m gonna get him out of here, but I suggest you do the same.”

“Can I stay? I wanna be here when she wakes up.” His eyes pleading to Steve.

Steve’s brows raise. “Respectfully Eddie, I don’t think she really wants to see you.”

“I haven’t been able to tell her anything for weeks, I’m staying!” he insists, crossing his arms like a petulant child.

Steve shakes his head, leaning on the counter. God, he wished he hadn’t invited a few dozen people to come to his house for the night. “God, you’re an idiot.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re an idiot. You’re both idiots, but, man I think you’re the bigger one.” Steve walks around the kitchen island, getting unreasonably close to him. “I don’t know if you’re blind, or just selectively ignorant. She loves you, dude! She was willing to support you getting a girlfriend, but then you just shut her out. It’s gonna take more than an apology to be back in her good graces. When she wakes up with a killer hangover, I think the last person she’ll want to see is you. God, if one of you just made the jump years ago this never would’ve happened!”

Eddie’s heart drops at Steve’s angry words, refusing to believe any of his feelings for his best friend are reciprocated. “Sure, because three months of friendship tell you everything you need to know about a person.”

Steve chuckles, walking over the snoring asshole as he steps out to the living room. “I would have to be blind not to see it. She talked about you one time about this stupid fucking movie she watched with you and I could tell. Rather than telling your girlfriend that you have a best friend and she has to get over it, you shut her out. For weeks. And left someone else to pick up the pieces.”

“Steve, I know. I know I was being an ass–”

“Then why didn’t you stop? Why didn’t you give her a call? You had to know she wasn’t going to forgive you so easily–”

“Of course I fucking knew that, Steve! Why do you think I put off letting it explode in my face?”

“Because you’re an idiot! She loved you. She loves you! If you can’t see that then I really don’t know what to tell you. Listen, if you call her tomorrow, I’m not all that sure what would happen. It’s gonna be a while before she’s ready to forgive, bud. For now. Maybe you should go.”

“Oh,” you sigh, hugging your knees into your chest, feeling small. A war rages in your mind. You were hurt enough by him to break your friendship off with him, but you don’t even remember it. The other side of you just wants to be close to him again, willing to sink into the apologies that he owes you and happily accept them.

But you shouldn’t. And you know you shouldn’t.

“Do you wanna come over for a movie?”

You want to come over and watch a movie so badly, it wraps around you and constricts your airflow. “Will she be there?”

“No. Just me and you. I promise,” Eddie swears, voice low enough that it resembles a whisper. “She won’t be, uh, crashing our movie nights anymore.”

You diminish the pulse of hope that threatens to bloom. “What do you mean?”

Eddie sighs. “I was hoping to tell you in person, but we broke up last night…come over, I’ll tell you more. I just need my best friend…and a horror movie…and junk food, god, I miss junk food.”

You miss him so much it hurts. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

The bike ride sends pulses through your head, worsening the ache of the hangover. If the pain isn’t gone by tomorrow, you might just ask someone to shoot an arrow through your head to put you out of your misery.

It’s been more than long enough since the last time you were on his front door step, nervous as you hesitate to knock. Eddie’s footsteps are rapid and loud as soon as your knuckles hit the door, the opening to him, wide eyes, graphic t-shirt and pair of sweatpants. He appears unlike himself, almost tired. You wonder if you noticed it last night.

Before either one of you says a word, he tugs you in, wrapping his arms around you in an embrace in his scent. Overwhelming emotion takes over, his shirt absorbing the tears that fall. He feels like home, every part of him. His scent, the muscles flexing under your grasp, his steady breaths.

“I missed you,” he mutters, his voice low, choked, even.

Then why didn’t you call me? “Me too–” you whimper, squeezing onto him even tighter. You sniffle, curling your head into his neck.

The hug lasts forever, or at least long enough for your arms to become numb.

Your butt lands on the couch, the spot that was once permanently marked by you now weirdly lumpy from the lack of use. Did Chrissy know she was allowed to sit in her own seat on the odd occasion? On the coffee table, Eddie has already prepared the popcorn and your favorite snacks, only your favorite snacks. Three movies are laid out, all awaiting their turn in the VCR.

“What’s this?” You ask, rubbing your nose from the snot.

“Uh, three movies. Pick one.”

You read the titles, Back to the Future, Friday the 13th, and Labyrinth. “What happened to wanting to watch horror movies?”

“I have a lot of sucking up to do before I get to be picky with our movie night,” Eddie answers, his voice gentle and careful. “Pick one.”

If he says so, then you’ll have to pick your favorite, rather than his favorite. “Alright, then, Labyrinth it is. David Bowie in leather pants, here I come!”

As the movie plays, a teenage girl desperate to find her brother, you sink into the comfort of the ratty old couch. Through Eddie, you found out that the rattiest couches are actually the most comfy. The more tears and rips, the better. Eddie stands up, running to the kitchen to grab fresh cans of soda from the fridge.

He sits back down, handing you a Diet Coke while popping open his own. Two things you notice when he sits. One, he’s remarkably close, his ass nearly planted in between the cushions. Two–

“Since when did you start drinking diet coke?” You ask him, wincing at the aftertaste.

“Since Chrissy was such a stickler for sugar,” he answers casually, grabbing a bite of the popcorn.

His simple tone, emotionless and understated, squeezes your heart. “What happened with her, anyway?”

Chrissy blocked him, staring at him with wide eyes as she held his shoulders. “What–what is going on?”

“I need a minute,” he stuttered, attempting to walk around her.

“Did you do that?” Chrissy asked, pointing to the lifeless piece of shit on the floor.

“Chris, it’s really not a good time, right now. I will tell you later, I promise. I’ll be right back.” Eddie promised.

She blocked him again, hands pushing on his broad shoulders. “You’re not seriously thinking of going after her, are you?”

“Chrissy, she’s my best friend! That creep just tried– I have to go check up on her, make sure she’s okay!”

“You mean the girl who is pathetically in love with you?” Chrissy asked, belligerent and full of sass. “Sure, go and give her more false hope! She was practically all over you at the diner, mooning over you, desperate to take you out on a date, I mean, don’t give her fucking hope!”

Eddie sighed, rubbing his face angrily. “I don’t know how many times I need to fucking tell you, Chris. She is just my friend. She was being nice, trying to include you. I’m so fucking tired of this conversation!”

“So am I!” Chrissy crossed her arms, popping her hip out. It was times like these Eddie was absolutely sure of why Chrissy and Jason dated for so long. “You know what? Fine. Me or her.”

“What?” Eddie was unsure if she was being serious.

“Pick! Me or her? Because when you pick me maybe then she’ll get the fucking hint!”

It was the easiest decision he’s ever made in his life. “Her.”

Eddie finishes explaining it, mostly nixxing the parts where she berated you or talked shit. You just needed to know the part where she practically had a temper tantrum.

“Wow,” you mutter, remembering how you called Chrissy sweet when they first started dating. “And…you, you picked me?”

“Of course I did.” Eddie pops a kernel into his mouth, leaning back into the couch. His body heat is warm, his scent intoxicating. “You’re my best friend.”

“You haven’t called in weeks, Eddie.” It comes out quietly, the hurt overflowing in your body and pouring out your mouth. “I thought you had a new best girl.”

Eddie sighs, grabbing your hand. “If I could take back the last three months, I would. I-I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“I missed you so fucking badly,” you admit, focusing on how your hand feels intertwined with his.

“I missed you. I know– I fucked up, but believe me when I say, I missed you so fucking much.”

On one hand, it’s hard to believe him. It seemed like it was so easy for him to cut you off. On the other, the glint in his eyes, his thumb caressing the back of your hand, gentle and unequivocally vulnerable.

Eddie leans forward, connecting his forehead to yours. “I will make it up to you, I promise.”

“You have a lot of making up to do, mister,” you inform him, pulling away from him to lightly nudge his hair.

“And a million strawberry mountains covered in strawberry sauce,” he answers, kissing your forehead softly.

“You really had me worried,” you admit, taking a good look at his face. “I believe you when you say that you missed me, but Eds, you hurt me. I want to trust you, but–”

His movement is swift as he grabs your face with his hands, pulling you in close. “I know, baby, I know.” The pet name takes your breath away, music to your unsuspecting ears. The name wraps itself around your like a warm hug, melting all those months of worry and panic away. “I’m so fucking sorry, if I could just–”

Maybe it wasn’t the right timing, months of silence, unanswered questions, hurt, but all that just conveniently disappears the moment his lips touch yours. You startle, jerking backwards as you look at him curiously, looking for something that’ll tell you he’s not kissing you out of pity, or obligation.

You’re met with the exact way that he always looks at you, but this time, it’s radiant. How did you miss it this whole time? You smile, wrapping your hand behind his neck as you tug him in, entangling his lips with yours and chasing that emotion that ran through you the first time.

Eddie meets your kiss with enthusiasm, grinning madly as he pulls you in closer, your body flush against his as he pulls you down with him.

It’s maddeningly enchanting, the way you can taste his minty breath and his hums against your lips, buzzing and tickling. His tongue sweeps along your bottom lip, pulling a gasp as you happily meet his with yours. Your skin feels electric as his hand sneaks under your shirt, as if he’s just getting the feel of you.

You sigh, curling your arm around his neck to pull him impossibly closer. His kisses trail along your jawline, down your neck, pressing sweet kisses down your jugular. “You taste like strawberries,” he mutters, audibly smiling. “I should’ve known, all those damn strawberries you eat.”

“Before we go any further,” you gasp, clutching at his t-shirt, “and believe me, I want to, you owe me a proper date.”

“Taking you out for a date, baby?” He places more rapid kisses on your neck, letting himself absorb your laughter. “God, I’m lucky.”

You’ve learned one thing for absolute certainty, Eddie Munson knows how to grovel. Between the many kisses you’ve shared that night you tell Eddie with surety that just because he knows how to kiss doesn’t mean he’s suddenly forgiven. Eddie relishes in that, grinning just because you’re kissing him.

The previous night he was losing his mind at his ex-girlfriend’s terrible movie choices, and you, his best friend, the person who has always known him best, you’re finally here kissing him. You could ask him to write a 1000-page apology letter entirely in rhymes or haikus and he would do it heartbeat, but all he’s required to do is prove it?

He’s more than willing.

When the date is proposed, he swears he would love to take you anywhere. He provides a list, with all of the restaurants you know he can’t afford. When you ask him and inquire about such, he shrugs casually. There’s a silent question there, wondering if Chrissy had even considered his wallet size before their date nights.

Instead, you answer with, “Our first date should be the diner, no?”

You’ve never been so nervous before, looking through your small arsenal of date night dresses. He’s seen all of them, whether from a school dance or the aftermath of a date gone sour. One dress catches your attention, at the very back of your closet covered in plastic, just waiting for the right time.

White, with blue flowers hand embroidered on the bodice, a sweetheart neckline and bubble gum pink ribbons tied together as the straps. Periwinkle blue that bleeds into mint green leaves along the hemline, fanned out into a hoopskirt. You’ve stared at this dress when it sat in your mom’s closet, asking when it might be your turn to finally wear it.

The dress fits you like a glove, looking remarkably close to the photo on the easel downstairs, a first date 25 years ago that ended up being one of your favorite bedtime stories.

As you finally make your way down the stairs, hair half up in curls in a ribbon matching the ones on the dress, your dad looks at you with pride and glossy eyes. Whispered words of the resemblance as he hugs you, eyes too tired for a man in his forties from loss and stress, a whiff of gratitude hits you.

It’s a warm spring evening, no need for a coat as the van pulls up with the usual melodies of heavy metal and drumming. You make your way down the sidewalk to his passenger side, butterflies erupting as you open the door.

The volume is turned down to a background noise, the heavy metal feeling oddly out of place at such a low volume. “Hi, sunshine.”

You grab his hand, petting at his calloused skin. “Hi.”

You feel his eyes on you, taking in the dress that is on its first night out in decades. “I don’t know how you show up looking this good and expect me to act normal.”

You grin, pressing a kiss to his shoulder and sniffing at the leather. He can’t say shit like that and expect you to go on like normal. “C’mon. I haven’t had a strawberry milkshake in ages.”

You open the window just a crack, appreciating the scent of fresh grass in the spring. New beginnings, fresh starts, rebirth. It seems oddly poetic.

He pulls up to the diner, bright neon lights against an evening sunset. It looks as if it’s painted, yellow into orange into blue. A lonely diner isolated sitting against a watercolor sky, but one of your favorite places in the world.

The bell ringing feels like an old song you haven’t heard in years, bringing some bittersweet nostalgia.

Martha perks up, the diner even deader than normal with only a lone man sitting on a bar chair holding a milkshake like a beer. The comparison sends a gag reflex through your body, never wanting to even smell another beer in your lifetime. As you sit next to Eddie, in such close proximity that the other side of the booth is useless, Martha appears with a cheeky smile on her face.

“If you two aren’t on a date, I’ll eat my notebook,” she sighs, hands on her hips as if she’s chastising two kids.

You and Eddie glance to one another, debating on fucking with her. It’s all the approval she needs.

“Finally! If you came in my diner again with those puppy dog eyes of yours I would’ve about had it with you two. Now, are you getting your regulars again?”

Eddie’s arm curls around your shoulders, his thumb petting the bare skin of your shoulder. “I’m disappointed you haven’t already brought the milkshake, Martha.”

“Smartasses. The both of you!” She walks off, a brand new pep in her step.

His thumb turns under your chin, pulling your face towards his. “C’mere. I need to make up for the times I just wanted to kiss those pretty lips in this booth of ours.”

“Why didn’t you?” You ask him, breathless as you stare at his eyes.

“I didn’t think the prettiest girl I know would want to kiss a goofball like me,” he chuckles, self deprecating and vulnerable.

You shake your head sadly, sighing happily. “You are so wrong.”

His chuckles are interrupted by your kiss, clutching onto the cotton t-shirt clinging onto his chest. It’s like you to forget how to breathe, taking the moment to take a deep breath before kissing him deeper, harder.

Your tongues meet, wrapping together with his and leaning forward to be as close to him as possible. His hand lands on your thigh, petting it roughly as he teases you. You hated yourself, hated how you told him you wanted to wait, because it’s becoming too much. The need for him sits deep in your stomach and begs you for any resolve from his teasing hands.

His kisses keep you only so satiated, whimpering by the time your make out sessions are done and ready to beg him to touch you already.

The glass of pinky sweetness hits the table, interrupting his electric lips on yours. “If you two do it, at least have the decency to take it to the bathroom like every other patron.”

You yelp, avoiding Martha’s eyes as Eddie tugs you in against his chest, kissing your temple. “Yes ma’am,” Eddie obeys, saluting with two fingers. Two, very distracting fingers.

You take a sip, humming. After weeks, you will proudly proclaim that this is still the best milkshake in town.

Eddie kisses your cheek, pulling you even closer. “If you lick that whipped cream off your finger, so help me god.”

It’s a habit of yours, one you’ve done at least once a visit just to get a taste of it before it sinks into the milkshake. The numerous times you’ve done it sinks in, unknowingly teasing him. “Something wrong with tasting whipped cream, Eds?”

“When you do it with that tongue of yours, yes,” he mutters, nipping on your jawline.

“Why don’t you have a taste,” you hum, taking a scoop with your pinky, licking it up.

Eddie pulls you in, humming as his tongue reaches out for yours to grab a taste of the cream melting fast in your mouth. He pulls back all too soon, eyes fluttering shut as he tuts his tongue. “Mmm. Yum. Thanks, baby.”

The milkshake is nearly gone by the time Martha rolls around again, pancakes and waffles in hand, interrupting soft conversation and sweet nothings.

He finally tries a taste of your pancakes, eating from the fork you offer him. His face winces, screwing up as he chews on it. “That strawberry sauce is sweet, ain’t it?”

“A little sour, I guess, but it’s my favorite. The fresh strawberries are a nice little addition.” You tell him, cutting up the pancakes.

“I’ll stick to my sprinkles,” Eddie mutters, dipping a piece of the big fluffy waffle in the whip. “They are the best.”

“I have a question,” you mutter, relishing in the taste of the sweet strawberry sauce. “How-how long have you liked me? Was it more recent, or have you liked me for years?”

Eddie smirks, placing a stand of hair over your shoulder. “Years.” He chokes back the correction of the word like, cause it’s so much more. “The first time I saw you, you were giving one of the football dicks hell for picking on one of the scrawny little freshmen. And I mean, berating him. You’re shy, baby, but not when it comes to others.” He pauses, chewing thoughtfully. “I knew from that moment.”

Oh. It was a handful of months before you found yourself sitting by the hellfire table, shaking your head at their antics. Plus, Gareth was just plain wrong in his opinion, you shook your head disapprovingly as you dug your nose in the book. Eddie caught on to it, demanding you join their group and inform him of how wrong he was. You did. You didn’t realize how charming Eddie was, how welcoming and genuinely kind.

It took your breath away, especially how gorgeous he was. The crush was kindled from then on, only being nurtured as you continued to debate him and his friends on their nerd culture.

Eddie followed up with the same question, asking how long ago for you, too. You tell him that very story, of how he enamored you just from being around him.

“You know, by then I was already head over heels for you,” he admits casually, sipping the last of the milkshake. “Something about sticking it to the man just does that to a guy.”

“Those dimples of yours are a weapon.” You admit in kind, and he laughs. You drop your jaw incredulously. “They’re a weapon! You think your hands are the only things those girls call magic?”

Eddie leans in, hot breath on your ear sending ripples down your neck. “And have you thought about these magic hands of mine, sweetheart?”

You gulp, licking your lips as your heart races in your chest. “Maybe...” You say softly.

He hums, tentatively kissing your skin. He really shouldn’t be doing this in a public space, you think, attempting not to wiggle at the uncomfortable feeling of arousal pooling in your panties. “I can’t wait to show you just how magic they are.”

You hold back a whimper, choking on it as your eyes flutter shut at his tentative kisses.

“Let’s get out of here, shall we?” You nod, watching as he places the right amount of bills with a decent tip for Martha.

On your way out the door, Martha shouts her goodbyes, happily yelling out her congratulations as the glass door slams behind you. Eddie’s lips find a home on the back of your hand, holding it as he kisses loudly, tickling the skin.

The trailer sits alone in the park, all lights off as he pulls up. With the turn of a key, his arm wraps around your waist as you walk in sync. It’s familiar as you help him turn on the lights, domestic, even. His jacket is off, tossed on the couch as he tugs you by the hand towards his room.

You’ve thought about it so many times, whisking away into his room with him to devour him completely. Usually it occurs when you’re mad stoned, happy and horny, but too blizted to make a move.

Your hands curtain the back of his neck, thumbs petting the nape of his neck and tangling themselves in his curls, rubbing in small circles. His lips connect to yours, stumbling over dirty laundry as he guides you to his bed. “Hmm, strawberries.”

He yelps as lands on his back, laughing as you collide with an oof. The playful moment is quickly replaced with intensity, staring down into his brown eyes, darkened by desire. Across the years of being his friend, he’s darkened his eyes in many moments, right before he decides to pin you down and tickle you senseless or when you talk down on yourself.

There were moments when his intense gaze took you aback, mostly when you innocently used too much enthusiasm in eating ice cream or put your hair up in a ponytail.

Or when you wore a sundress that sat a bit too high on your thigh.

All these moments suddenly make sense, filling you with a gust of emotion as you grab at him, tugging him harshly for a kiss much more powerful than you knew you had in you. He gasps into it, deep and desperate against your lips as you pull him closer. One of his hands travels downward, hiking under your skirt and grabbing at your thigh, your knee pulled up against his stomach.

Eddie turns you over on your back, hands grabbing at the skin harshly, his rings pressing at your skin hard enough to create an indent. Your leg wrapped around his waist tugs him down, his chest landing on yours.

“Question, my love,” Eddie mutters, words intertwined with his kisses. “Why the hell haven’t I seen this dress until now, it’s…oh my god.”

You grin against his lips, pushing your hands past his cotton shirt. “Waiting for a special occasion.”

“You telling me I could’ve seen this ages ago, baby?” He gasps, wrapping your tongue against his, delicate but enough to make you mewl into his mouth.

“Probably.”

He nips your lip, a punishment for your cheekiness. “It’ll look better on the floor.”

Your hips grind up, meeting the bulge in his pants just right. “You can’t say stuff like that–” you gasp, arms wrapping around his neck to hold on to him pathetically.

“You have no idea the things I’ve wanted to say to you.” His hand travels further up, passing the waistline of your panties and spreading on the skin of your tummy. “All the things I’ve held back…”

The admission is thrilling and terrifying, giving you almost everything you’ve ever wanted.

Now if you could get that bike you wanted for Christmas when you were twelve…

“Can you tell me now?” you ask, smiling up at his pretty, bewildered face.

“Hmm, patience,” he tuts, using his hand to explore. “Right now I just really want to touch your pussy, please, baby, please.”

It’s your turn for bewilderment. He’s acting like touching you is this great honor, instead of a means to an end like anyone else you’ve slept with. “Uh, yeah, I want that. I really, really want that.”

Eddie sighs, using his traveling hand and dipping it under the waistband of your panties. As his best friend, you’ve gotten so comfortable around him, arguably too much. Late nights in his room with a t-shirt and panties as his room fills with smoke. Eddie is only human, appreciating them too much as as you sat cross legged with the strip just a tad too thin for what it was supposed to cover.

This particular pair is decorated in lace up the front, a sheer lace for the bum, a light blue to match the flowers. His fingers latch to your pussy, delicately moving them up and down the folds.

“Oh my god,” he sighs, playing with the slick and spreading it. “You’re so wet, all this…all this for me?”

He adds more pressure, rubbing small circles and watching you throw your head back and melt in the heat that spreads across your thighs and takes form in a tremble, in a shake. “F-feels good.”

“Yeah?” he asks, placing his thumb on your clit and rotating it in tiny circles. “You like the way I play with your pussy, baby?”

You frantically nod, grinding up against him. “Need..need more. Please? More?”

“What does more mean?” He leans in, decorating your neck with sucks and bites and licks. “You want me to lick it, baby? You need my fingers, you already beggin’ for my cock? C’mon my girl, use your words.”

You might just beg for his cock, but you don’t want it to be over so quickly. “Want–want your fingers, Eds.”

He giggles, planting a nice wet kiss on your lips. “That’s my girl.” He doesn’t wait a second, curling one finger past your entrance and pumping it slowly, building a slow momentum that pulls at your stomach. He sighs, husky and deep, “Fuck, it’s so tight.”

He removes his finger without warning, not commenting on the moan in disappointment that escapes your mouth. He sits up, grabbing at the waistline as he tugs them down your legs, slowly, carefully, savoring in the moment. He lifts up the skirt, exposing the landing strip that sits waiting for his eyes.

“Did you decorate your pussy just for me? It looks so pretty… Thank you, baby girl,” Eddie is borderline emotional in his gratitude, showering you with praises.

Your legs attempt to close back together in embarrassment from his intense stare. He notices it, pushing your legs back down. “Do me a favor, won’t you? Keep these legs open while I eat your pussy.”

You drench your thighs, turned on even from the mere idea of being with him. “Mmkay.”

“You–” he gasps, delicately licking at the mound. “You taste so good. Wanted to bury my face in this little cunt for so long.”

His hands lift your thighs up and over his shoulder. His mouth tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing, listening to the cues you give him through your quivers and whines. The dress is completely covering his face, hiding the man that is eating you out, slowly and carefully, as if wanting to taste every drop of arousal you feed him.

Before long, your legs start shaking in his hold from the pleasure that has your hands tangled in your hair, eyes squeezed tight as he pulls whine after whine from you. One finger slides right back in, facing no resistance, sucking on your clit simultaneously. That arches your back and curls your toes, gasping from his build up, his words, god just from the years of mental torture.

You cum against his lips without warning, for him or yourself, twitching around his fingers and crying out his name.

He coaxes you through it, kissing your pretty pussy lips gently until your legs stop convulsing. Sweat beads on your forehead, spreading on your back and neck and making the thick fabric of the dress too hot. You untie each ribbon, desperately grabbing at the neckline to pull it up and off.

He kisses up your torso, laughing as you get stuck with the dress half off. One heel digs in his back in retaliation, whining as you gesture to him to help you. “I’m sorry, you’re just so cute.” Eddie giggles.

You whine, kicking your legs for him to hurry up. Your hair is stuck in your dress. It lifts over your head, a light bra covering your tits acting as a tease for him. The dress lands on the floor, nice and splayed out as it’s done its purpose.

You roll your eyes, tugging him in for a desperate kiss by the neck, wandering hands moving south to tug at his t-shirt. “Wanna see you, too,” you confess, helping him rid of his shirt. “Show me those tattoos.”

“You like the tatties?” You nod enthusiastically although you know he’s just teasing you. “Oh, I bet ya do. Probably ogled them while I wasn’t lookin’ huh?”

With a chest like his, you don’t imagine he could blame you. You let your eyes speak for you, raking over his covered chest and openly staring. “Wanna suck your cock.” You look up at him with big doe eyes, silently begging.

Eddie’s eyes widen at your admission, groaning as you start to undo his jeans. “Fuck, I don’t know if I’ll last that long…I need to be buried in you, wanna feel that pussy around my cock.”

You gulp, wrapping your legs around his torso so his jeans meet your pussy, probably drenching a wet spot on the front. “Me too…but I remember you said you didn’t really get reciprocated very much.” You inhale, gathering courage. “I remember thinking how I’d love to spend hours with your cock down my throat.”

Eddie keels over you, curling his face in your neck as he whimpers. “You were holding that back from me?” He punches the mattress right next to your head, a mild temper tantrum. “What other depraved thoughts have you been hiding from me?”

“You want me to tell you, or show you?” You’re not sure where this surge of confidence is coming from, but you’re running with it, especially if it means you can hear him make that sound again.

“Sh-show me- want you to show–” he nods, whimpering into your neck and shuddering.

“Mmkay,” you muse, smirking at just how easily the shoe falls on the other foot. “Get on your back.”

He complies promptly, wrapping his arm around the small of your back and turning the two of you over. You straddle him, grabbing at his chest carefully as you plant kisses all the way down his lean torso. You bring teeth into the mix, sucking and biting and marking your territory.

You’ve been itching to do so since he showed up one morning with bruises decorating his neck, claiming his hookup got a little too eager.

I'll show you eager, you begrudgingly think, wishing that all the boys were teasing him from bruises you gave him, instead. God, there was one planted on his collarbone that was excessively large, annoyingly so.

You mark your way down his chest, his stomach, lapping greedily at his treasure trail as he whimpers at your enthusiasm. This is power, you think to yourself, wondering what other noises you could conjure from him. As your mouth moves, so do your hands, undoing his belt slowly, taking your time as you unzip his fly.

The evidence of his arousal is strikingly clear, his boxers bulging out of the open fly and begging for your attention. While your subtle glances downward gave you an inkling of his size, his hardened cock presenting itself to you, even disguised in its plaid wrapping, had you letting out a gasp in unbridled lust.

You wrap your hand around it, gleaming as he hisses, a hushed swear passing through his lips. You watch his face, observing him as you place your lips on the covered shaft, just letting him feel the heat of your breath on it. “Oh, fuck–” Eddie chokes, letting out harsh shudders.

The sight of his face is borderline angelic, all of his walls down as he focuses on you. You can’t help but smile at that, at how you desperately wished for nights like these, only paying attention to one another. You poke your tongue out, drenching the cotton fabric with your spit, working your way down the length.

At his little whines, you finally curl his fingers under his waistband, drooling at the taut cock that pops out, giving you a friendly hello, swaying from the spring. You smile ear to ear, delicately wrapping your hand around the base.

You kiss the tip, lapping at the pearl of precum that gives the clear indication of his arousal, as if his hard on wasn’t enough. “Mmm,” you hum at the salty taste, leaning in to suck every last drop from his flushed tip.

You let the saliva that has pooled on the surface of your tongue drool onto his cock, spreading it down the shaft, absorbing the moan he rewards you with. “Shit, that feels–oh my god.”

You smile with pride, finally taking him into your mouth, enthusiastically bobbing up and down on his length. Your eyes remain on his, watching him as his face melts, committing it to memory.

“Oh, Jesus,” he swears, hips rutting up, clawing further into your mouth. You take him in further, gagging on it as you wrap your tongue around it experimentally, choking loudly and purposely. “Ch-choke on it, yeah, ch-ohmy god, just like that–”

Your hand moves in rhythm with your mouth, slobbery sounds of spit on flesh, his and yours, deliciously wet. He tenses up beneath you, whines growing more desperate, moans huskier, deeper. It’s a marvelous melody, one no composer could make even if they tried their hardest.

“St-st-stop,” he stutters, curling over himself, writhing under you. “Stop–I-I’m gonna cum.”

Reluctantly you listen, lifting your head off him with a pop and cheekily smiling at his heaving chest. You crawl upward, yelping as he wraps his arm around the small of your back and tugs you in for a kiss, more powerful, wrapped in an unnamed emotion you couldn’t possibly let yourself be delusional enough to define as. The one hand crawled up your back undoes the clasp of your bra, tugging it off your arms and flinging it across the room.

“Gimme those tits,” Eddie sighs, kneading them in his hands and toying with the flesh and nips. “Oh, they’re so pretty, baby. I love them, I‘ve wanted to play with them for so long.”

Eddie’s legs move under you, kicking off his jeans while holding you close to his chest. You sit up, tugging him up with you as you hover just over him.

His skin directly on yours, close and toe curling as you straddle his lap, arms wrapped around his neck as you stare into his eyes. There’s a glow in them, eyebrows relaxed as he holds your hips, staring up at you with such enamour. “Want your cock,” it’s only a whisper, but loud in the intimacy between you two. “I want you.”

His brows furrow, only a moment. The thought passes through him quick as a flash, but you see it.

“What was that?”

He smiles, relieved and tender. “I’ve wanted you for so long.” He leans in, pressing kisses on your clavicle, your neck, your shoulder, the swell of your breast. “Not-not just like this. I mean, fuck, I wanted it, so, so bad. But…I’ve wanted you, wanted your late nights and early mornings, to help you when you need to study, wash the dishes…sorry, I’m rambling.”

You pet his cheek, shaking your head. “No. Keep going.”

“I mean, we’ve always sort of had that, you know? It was just torture, not kissing you stupid whenever I wanted…because I wanted to. I wanted to, so much, baby. I love you. So much. You’re my best friend, my person, and I just love you so fucking much.”

A breath of a laugh passes through your lips, attempting to absorb what he had just told you. “Really?”

You smile, holding him tightly as you kiss him, sighing happily as he confirms, nodding frantically. The head brushes against your entrance, pulling a whine from you. “Eds, I-I love you, too.” The kisses get more fierce, Eddie clinging onto you harder and nearly attacking your lips. “But…if you don’t fuck me soon I might actually lose my mind,” You giggle.

He laughs, combing his fingers through your hair, away from your face, from the sweat. He slaps his cock against your clit, teasing you with his head. “Of course, baby, you wanna ride me, hmm? Hop up and down on my big fat cock?”

You nod, biting your bottom lip, hissing when he pushes his head in, watching as your jaw drops. “Oh, look at you, I knew you could take it like a good girl.”

You choke back a whine, swallowing hard as his words have such a strong effect on you. ‘Fuck, f-feels so good.” You stop, mewling as the burn of his girth becomes too much.

“Don’t rush yourself, baby, it’s okay.” He puts his hands on your hips, digging into the soft flesh. “So nice and tight, fuck.” His eyes practically roll to the back of his head.

You sink further, taking him deeper as the burn bleeds into bliss and back to burning again. “Jesus, s’good.”

“Mm, almost there, baby.”

“Move, please. Eds. Need-need you to move.”

Eddie chuckles, large hands holding your back. He lifts his hips, slowly filling you to the hilt and bringing it back out, one hand landing by his side to use it for leverage. You chirp out his name, mewling as he slowly rocks his hips. “Love the way you say my name,” he gasps.

You start rocking, slowly lifting your hips as you assist him. “You gonna make me scream it?”

“If that’s a challenge, then I will happily accept,” Eddie growls, gripping onto your hips harder and pulling you down so the union of where your bodies meet hurts in the best way. “Wonder when those legs will give up, hm?”

“I’ve thought about riding you on the couch too many times to give up easily,” you admit, giggling at his wicked grin.

“Oh, have you now? Been wearing those little panties just so I’d snap and ravish you, hmm?” He asks, hair wild as he watches you bounce on him.

“Maybe,” you admit, though that was mostly just out of comfort and trust of your best friend. “You have stronger will power than I thought you would.”

“Hmm, you think too much of me, baby,” Eddie mutters, framing your face with his hand and pulling you in for a kiss.

Admittedly, your legs are growing tired, but you soldier on, connecting your forehead with his desperately and watching his eyes glaze over. Your head already feels hazy, heat building in your stomach as you rapidly climb towards your climax. “You getting close? About to cum on my cock?”

You nod, startling in your movement as he starts to move you quicker with just the tightening of his grip on your hips. “Eds,” You whimper as he rubs his thumb on your clit, rapid movements as he hurdles you towards your orgasm, your cunt tightening around him as your eyes roll back.

“Lemme feel you squeeze my cock, baby, wanna feel you cum all over it.” Almost as he demands it into existence, you finish with a start, twisting your toes together and hunching over his shoulder while he rolls his hips, gasping and whining and mewling. “Oh, that’s my girl. Here, bet those legs’re gettin’ tired, hmm?”

You nod, giddily giggling as he maneuvers you on your back. “God, I love you. I really really do. I don’t–I don’t know what the fuck I’ve been thinking–”

You slap your hand on his mouth, giggling at his wide eyes. “Sorry, but…shut up. Rail me. Destroy me. We have time for all that later, now quit getting all emotional on me.” You take your hand off his mouth and pat his cheek. “Be a good boy and make me scream your name, won’t you?”

He chuckles deeply, his jaw dropping as he nips on the palm of your hand. “‘Be a good boy,’ hmm? Yes, ma’am.”

Okay, this turns you on too much not to eventually dissect it, but Eddie’s hips start moving, harsh and raw and brutal, just as you asked for. With each collision of his hips comes a whimper from the force, each one louder than the last.

His head curls down into your neck, sinking his teeth into your skin as he sucks and bites and laps his tongue over the pain. “Look at your neck, all marked up. All mine,” He rasps.

“All yours,” you whisper, choking on the emotion that fills your throat.

“My good girl who loves to get fucked hard, hmm?” He chuckles, curling his arms tightly around you. “Oh, listen to those pretty little noises you’re making, so pathetic for me, oh fuck.”

“Ed-keep-oh-oh–” you gasp, whining higher and higher.

“Yeah, just like that. Pathetic little princess.”

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in close, skin to skin, all sticky and sweaty as the smell of sex fills the air.

“You’re moaning like a desperate little slut but you’re not screaming my name, yet. Can’t wait for it. Hmm? Why you makin’ me wait?”

“Maybe you’re not hitting hard enough,” you gasp, a smile spreading across your face.

Eddie’s eyes widen, lifting his body off yours quickly. “Oh yeah? Hands n’ knees. Turn around.” He sends a jolt of fear through you, eyes widening as move into a crawl position. “That’s a girl.”

His hands tighten on your hips, lining himself up and pushing in all within the span of 3 seconds. He’s relentless with it, lurching forward as he grabs a fistful of your hair. “C’mon, I can’t hear you.” He taunts you, pulling deliciously at your scalp.

He starts moving faster and harder, clumsily planting his lips on your back, messily trying to take any claim he can on you. One hand slaps your ass, Eddie hums, appreciating the print of his hand on your skin. Moans pass through your lips, the loud ones that Eddie was asking of you. HIs name is added into the mix, cross eyed and desperate as he somehow increases his force.

“There we are. Where do ya want me to cum, baby, I’m so fuckin’ close.”

“Cum–cum in me, Eds. Fill me up.”

“Fuck-you, y’sure?”

“Fill. Me up.” You say again, getting your point across.

“Oh fuck–” he stutters, jaggedly rutting into you as he bends over you, filling you up with sticky white ropes. “You feel that, baby? Fuck. You feel all full?”

Eddie releases the hold on your hair as you fall forward, breathing heavily as you collect yourself. He pulls himself out, collapsing right next to you. His arms easily wrap around your back, pulling you in against his chest. You curl into him, sighing happily as you listen to his racing heart.

You lay like that for a while, listening to his breathing even out as he pets your hair gently. He plants a kiss on your forehead, humming. “Why did that take us so long to do?” You ask, still trying to regain control over your breathing.

“Hmm?” He pulls away, processing your question. “Oh, I don’t know. We’re idiots.”

You tug him back in, feeling sleepy as you smile against his chest. “Yeah. Big, big idiots. I love you, idiot.”

He hums, pulling you in tighter. “Love you too, ya idiot.”

It’s strange. You thought it would change everything if he were to finally be yours. It doesn’t change anything, banter traded as always, only with a caressing hand that tugs you in for a kiss when he teases you. Hormones go wild, finding resolve in one another as movies are no longer watched, just a nice background noise.

Thank you so much for reading, remember replies and reblogs are the best way to support fic writers on tumblr

Taglist For I Can Do It With A Broken Heart:

@mopeymopeymouse @fracturedarkness @mmunson86 @capricornrisingsstuff @georgeweasleyslostearhq @gagasbee @birdysaturne @empathyroad @unsureofthe-future @remuslupingf @evacraft1 @eddiebanishedmunson @mewchiili @trixyvixx @take-everything-you-can @streamafterlaughter @tlclick73 @fhsbsvy @micheledawn1975 @munsonmecrazy @harrysgothicbitch @honeyedstar @sadangeltingz @ali-r3n @hereforshmut @cooljadejacksonthings @emma-munson @bl1ssfulbaby @costellation-hunter @mysticpeachobject @thisisktrying @idcandimscared @mel119g @them-cute-boys @bl0ssomanddie @baileebear @luahmeeks @shaybahs @ribbitribbitquack @stephanie-nicks76 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @kennedy-brooke @ezzynf @pretendthisnameisclever @padf00ts-l0ver @boinkybarness @maedesculpaeusoubi @skyfullofsong123 @cruwushes @cloudroomblog @yourdailymemedelivery @daisy-munson @wolfstarsimpxx @haruari

bold means it wouldnt let me tag you so I DM'd you in private to you know.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader smut

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heesimp · 1 month ago

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I lwk keep imagining Heeseung doing a livestream and you’re just sitting there bored and decide to give him head when he’s talking to his fans like>>>> help😭🙏🙏

HOT. au where idol!heeseung’s sextape gets leaked so he becomes a pornstar instead. bye

also I thought about this tiktok/live the entire time I wrote this ha

“What time is it for me? Oh, I think it’s midnight…Yeah, couldn’t sleep.”

Heeseung sits behind his desk and leans against his gaming chair, giving his fans a small peek of his bedroom. They can see his door and artwork that keeps on his shelves and walls but they can’t see the bed where you lay sleeping peacefully with your back turned.

“Missed you guys,” he says with his voice kept low. His eyes flicker over the screen of his monitor to see you naked underneath his sheets. “Why am I talking quietly? It’s night time, isn’t it? I don’t want to wake the members up.”

They seem to buy it for now. Heeseung’s soft melodies that put you to sleep still air throughout the room, songs that describe sex and sensuality floating around as it permeates within the chat room of his livestream. He sees the comments—ones he can read—and smirks when the people watching him call him out for the nasty lyrics.

It takes him back to just thirty minutes prior when he was making a mess of you on his bed, shoving his cock and fingers so deep in your hole that he was sure you’d feel him as melodic lyrics talk about having sex all day and night. He hasn’t seen you in a while due to busy schedules but now that he has his own room and the walls are relatively thick, he’s got no problem plowing into you without abandon.

“Wet the bed? Yeah, that’s a good song.” Heeseung rubs his chin and flicks his eyes over to you before looking back at the chat. “What am I looking at? What do you mean? What could I possibly be looking at?”

The uptick in his voice sends his chat room in a frenzy. He feels like he might as well be high off his last orgasm and knows his fans can sense his change of attitude. Seeing you half naked in his bed doesn’t help calm his mind anyway.

Heeseung chats with these strangers for a while before you stir. The music drowns out the sound of his bedsheets ruffling and he turns up the music just a smudge in case you make any more noise. To his pleasure, you turn to face him and immediately catch that he’s on a livestream with the glow on his face.

“I’m not tired,” Heeseung says after a beat of silence, looking at his monitor before looking at you. The sight of your naked chest makes him bite his lips, tits spilling out of the blanket as you do your best to sit upright and cover yourself. “Not tired at all. Are you guys tired?”

His cock jumps when you shake your head. “I could keep going.” Heeseung’s attention returns to the screen as he runs his free hand through his hair. “You guys are too funny. What do you mean, why am I acting like this?”

Your tired eyes seem to understand exactly what he means and your own mind drifts over to what transpired before you fell asleep. With a careful step, you make room for yourself underneath the desk and let Heeseung situate himself in his chair as you spread his legs by pushing his knees apart.

This isn’t the first time the two of you have fooled around on a livestream but it is the first time he’s done it with his camera on. Heeseung loves looking at his comments as you get him off and loves all of the tweets and posts after the fact, speculating that he might’ve been distracted during the livestream. These scenarios fuel him to keep going and he thinks he might have a little taste for exhibitionism.

He looks down at you. Your cheek rests against his knee and his thumb comes to brush just underneath your eye with a gentle touch. He bites his lip when he looks past your eyes and sees you completely naked underneath him, tits bouncing as you get comfortable with your bare pussy towards the floor.

“Mm,” he moans subtly. “Can’t wait for the weekend. We don’t have any plans, for once. What are you guys up to?”

Heeseung pretend to grab his water in order to lift his hips from the desk and let you pull his boxers down. His cock is still soft before you. Your lips come to press gentle, quiet kisses over his warm dick while he gulps the water down and flexes his thighs to keep himself calm underneath your mouth.

“Coming to Korea? Wow.” Your tongue moves over the head of his cock and repeatedly licks over his slit in a back and forth motion, which makes him choke and cough. “You’ll love it here. I know I do.”

You pay no mind to him with his subtle flirtation as you work up his cock until it’s hard. Heeseung is always like this, so sensitive that one touch makes him harder than a rock in no time. Being on the road and away from you is tough and his hand can only do so much. Your warm mouth dropping spit to coat him for a blowjob is what keeps him hard.

“What’s up with my music?” Heeseung laughs, biting his lip as you engulf his tip in your mouth. Your wet tongue is warm to the touch and his balls feel heavy with you around him. “Nothing. I just like these songs.”

That’s not a total lie. He loves them because he fucked you to this music before turning on his camera. You give his balls a squeeze when you catch him in the lie and Heeseung winces, trying to hold in his moan.

“You guys are hearing things,” he tells the chat when they start speculating that someone might be in the room with him. “Why do I keep looking down? I don’t know. I didn’t realize I was doing that.”

Another lie, but you let him go this time. You push your head down to force the entirety of his cock in your mouth and feel as his hips jerk at the sudden movement. Heeseung can only smile painfully and hold in his grunts while the camera is on him. Looking down at you isn’t an option since his fans have caught on to his line of sight but the thought of getting caught turns him on. He’d probably invite them to watch you suck him off if that wouldn’t cost him his job.

You look so cute on your knees like this for him. Heeseung avoids looking down at you but sees your mouth move from his peripheral vision and holds your hair out of your face as you push yourself up and down on him. You’re insanely wet to the point where you might as well be dripping right onto the hard wood of his floors. Hearing him talk to his fans about everything but what’s happening is turning you on far more than you’d like to admit. Seeing him flirt with fans on stage fuels your jealousy and winds up in mind blowing sex when he comes back home to you. You’re the only girl he’d ever want around his dick anyway.

You know Heeseung is close by the tightened grip he has on your hair and the way he flexes his nostrils because he can’t make a sound.

“When am I coming back to America?” Heeseung asks after reading a message. “I’m coming—”

He does, right into your mouth until his salty cum coats the surface of your tongue. You swallow him with his cock still lodged in you and suck him with an iron grip while he tries to answer the question but it’s so hard for him to focus when you’re sucking him like that.

“—in a while, I think.” Heeseung winces when you start to kitten lick his slit to catch the stray beads of cum that seeps from him. “Yeah. I’d love to come.”

#enhypen smut #heeseung smut #lee heeseung smut #enha smut #heeseung x reader #lee heeseung x reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #enha hard thoughts #enha hard hours #heeseung #hard thought

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thepradapariah · 10 months ago

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Mars ☄️ and Your Sexxx Language 🐱💋✨

QUICK MESSAGE TO THE BADDIES

HELLO!!!! To all of my sweet, sweet Kosmic Baddies, Oh!! How I’ve missed you!

I cannot believe it’s been over a FRIGGIN year, but GOODNESS….believe me, when I say this past year has been a roller coaster for me, I truly mean it. I can only imagine what’s been going on in your lives as well. Just TOO MUCH!!!1111!!!!!111!!!!!1 But welcome to 2024! A universal 8 year and the year of the Dragon!!! WE IN THIS THANNNNGGG!!!! Hard work, discipline and accountability is the theme, and we can’t lose!!!!!

Believe it or not, I actually STARTED writing this to have to you for Halloween, but ummmm….this is looking like a Valentine’s Day post instead! HA!!!! Blame it on my Saturn in Pisces– my relationship to time is….non existent. But, I think this timing is better anyways. The theme is very fitting so we are going to turn apples into oranges.

***Even funnier update, now it’s past Valentine’s Day….GOODNESS!!! This has been the longest it’s taken me to write anything. Like…INSANE. Almost 6 months I’ve been steadily working on this!

Thank you to those who have continued to support me! Thank you to those who have continued to share and interact with my post through my…let’s say, hiatus! I am planning to put more energy and effort into this blog post. I LOVE writing for y’all, it is really one of my favorite things in the world.

I am going to take a moment to apologize in advance and say, the typos are probably going to be real with this one. Because I’ve been working on it for so long, I’m just ready to get it out, so it won’t be my cleanest work. I will probably be updating and editing, so bare with me!

🕯 INTRODUCTION 🕯

Sooooo….where to start? I wanted to do something fun and interesting this go round because I missed y’all so much, but I also wanted to do something light so I could get back into the rhythm of writing again….aaaaaaaaaand I thought you would enjoy something a little smexiiiii as we move into cuddle buddy season. So, in this post, we are going to talk about Mars and Your Sexxx language.

One day, as I was driving around town, it dawned on me that we always talk about Love Languages (check out my Mercury post if you haven’t already) and we never talk about sex languages. And y’all know me, and if you don’t know, you’ll soon find out, I am a Bharani moon (atmakaraka at that); and the blending between Mars and Venus is my soul’s most valuable asset to share with the world…(Did I mention my moon is the 11th House?) Sex is one of the most taboo topics (in Western puritan culture, at least), yet such a powerful resource in our human tool box and it’s ridiculously important in our relationships. The 7th House is followed by the 8th House for a reason. Intimacy, of course not always sexual, is what leads to self-discovery, the 9th House. So we cannot overlook the important step that is sexual relations. Even the word “orgasm” means “little death” and death baby, is as close as you get to God. (See how those houses flow together so well?) Hence why things such as Tantra are a sexual AND religious experience all in one. Don’t be fooled by western/christian ideals into thinking that sex is unholy or ungodly. If you think Jesus was a virgin, think again. I mean, what’s the point of turning water into wine if you’re just going to roll over and go to sleep? Y’know what I mean?

Don’t worry! If you’re a less experienced reader, and haven’t engaged in aaaaallll thhhaattt… this post is still for you! In fact, this is one of the reasons I love astrology so much, because hopefully this post will give you some context about yourself and what your SOUL craves, not just your body, so when you do start “doing the do” you can be spiritually comfortable with your wants and desires instead of ashamed or even afraid of them.

Not to put all my business on the street…but, hey, I love y’all, so I won’t keep too many secrets from you (mercury in the 8th, HA)…but, I had to do quite a bit of bumping and grinding to discover what my soul needs in an intimate relationship and I wish there was more of “guide” for me on that journey! So HERE…I’m giving it to you!

WHAT IS A SEX LANGUAGE? 😈

To be completely honest, a “sex language” isn’t something as defined as a love language, so please, bear with me as we discover this together. Please feel free to share any experiences or insight with me. Although I may not always respond, I TRULY appreciate you taking the time to share with me. I try to read everything that I can!

I’m defining sex language as how one creates and shares intimacy in their close relationships. This is particularly expressed through physical interactions and outward expressions. Mars is a planet that governs our passions, drives and desires, meaning our sex language is guided by what we deeply want and crave from our partners on a spiritual level. Venus represents more of the external notions that we have for love and relationships, while Mars represents our internal needs from love and relationships. Mars is inherently a more personal and “self-centered” planet, so interestingly enough, your sex language is all about you! I go as far to say, when you find a partner, don’t forget to check your Mars compatibility as well. If you have extremely incompatible Mars signs, you will have to do a lot more work in the relationship to overcome the constant friction. Moreover, if you have more compatible Mars signs, then WOOOO BABY, the sexual tension could be off the charts!

✨ ABOUT MARS ✨

Mars placements won’t make or break a relationship, per say, but it is a very important layer to help maintain a relationship. How many of you have heard of sexless marriages and people being unsatisfied in their relationships in a sexual way? Does that mean the couples always break-up because of the lack of sex or chemistry? No…..But does it help a HECK OF A LOT when you are wildly attracted to your partner? YES! (Of course this isn’t always a good thing…but for the sake of this post, we are only talking about rainbows and sunshine.) Just keep this in mind as you start to use this knowledge in your journey. Mars is a really important planet that is easy to overlook because it’s not in the Big Three! (Yet, it iiissss the natural ruler of the 1st House).

WHY IT ALL MATTERS 🌚

I truly believe there is a shift in the collective and many couples are going to be coming into union over the course of the next year or so. Why? Because Ketu is FINALLY transitioning out of Libra and entering Virgo. If you’ve noticed, we’ve seen quite a bit of celebrity break-ups and covid relationships coming to a screeching halt. Hence why I say, if you’ve been single, or haven’t been in a serious connection in the last few years or even ever, now is the time that your next partner might be going through some significant ending with an ex. Union is on the horizon for a lot of souls who have been doing theeee spiritual work. That’s why I couldn’t think of a better topic to get started to set the mooooooooood. Bow-chicka-wow-wow.

So without further ado, let’s get into the nitty gritty. I’m going to do something different and start with Mars in Pisces/12th House and work backwards to Mars in Aries/1st House! I thought “Hey! Why not switch it up a bit? Pisces shouldn’t be forced to scroll ALL the time!”

***Note: If you’re feeling extra spicy, you can read for whatever sign is in your 1st House and 8th House as well because those are traditionally Mars ruled Houses. And you can read for your 12H, because the 12H is also the house of bedroom pleasures! Always keep in mind that we are complex creatures and astrology is like a puzzle, so it’s okay for some things to resonate and other things to not. Learn as many perspectives as possible so you can define yourself!

With Love & Lust,

Enjoy!

A-D 💋

Mars in Pisces/Mars in the 12th House

“Cut me like a rose, turn me like a beast” Only- Ry X

If your natal Mars is in Pisces or the 12H, you may actually have a hard time knowing what your desires are. Why? Because Mars can feel as if it’s drowning in the deep spiritual waters of Pisces. Your wants can be quite dreamy. You crave a sexual experience that transcends space and time, forcing you to leave your body and touch God himself in ecstasy. (I’m a western Mars in Pisces, so…I get it). When it comes to your sex language, you want your partner to just get “you”. You don’t want to have to explain or talk or direct, you’d rather just receive and give a special type of unconditional love that knows no bounds. Because of this “boundless love”, you may actually, literally, lack boundaries. This doesn’t have to be a bad thing, so we are going to focus on the positive. You are truly accepting of those who are accepting of you. Because Pisces is a mutable sign, you are willing to fit into whatever box your partner wants to put you in…and you receive great pleasure from making a deep seeded fantasy of your partner come true. You could be just as playful and imaginative when it comes to role-playing as a Gemini.

Because Mars is in Pisces or the 12H, you’ll find that a lot of partners will project their wishes and dreams onto you. Hence why you want a love that is really deep, because people can get washed away in the shallow end of your energy without ever fully realizing how deep your waters flow. This can be frustrating. And because Mars isn’t the most comfortable here, you can have some unhealthy ways of expressing your sexual frustration. Particularly if your Mars is in the 12H, you can be attracted to self-gratification through self-pleasure and also self-harm. You may even conflate the two, harm & pleasure, and have a dark side to your sexual fantasies. Your passions and desires can end up being repressed because people may not understand them, or be able to meet your high expectations. Amd babes, I love you, but just know, your expectations out of partnership are OTHERWORLDLY. But no worries!! You are SUPER DUPER freaky and almost a guaranteed partner that will go down in history books, particularly after you get comfortable in your own sensuality.

One of the things to watch out for with this Mars, is you can be passive-aggressive in the bedroom. You can take a more passive role, expecting and energetically demanding that your partner take the lead. You may not realize you even give off this energy, but the internal need that you have to dissolve into your partner, like sugar into water, can be very intense. And the gag is, sugar doesn’t really fully dissolve, so what you’re seeking can be impossible to satisfy on the earthly plane. Because of this, it is IMPERATIVE for you to have spiritual outlets within your sexual connections. It may be that you and your partner practice Tantra, or you simply pray together. With this Mars, you can absolutely use sex as a tool for manifestation. Watch your thoughts during sex, because you truly can create MAGIK!

Mars in Aquarius or Mars in the 11th House

“I believe in aliens, I don’t believe in love” Familiarity by Teezo Touchdown

If your natal Mars is in Aquarius or the 11th House, you are something special. Why? Because out of all the signs, you are the most unique lover. I KNOW!!! How friggin’ cliche, Aquarius=Unique, blah blah blah…boring. YES! It’s said all the time, but it’s the truth. In Vedic Astrology, it is important to note that Aquarius is ruled by Saturn and Rahu. This is hugely impactful as to why you are unlike anyone else. Even as you read this, you won’t be exactly like the next person reading this, because the Saturn Rahu combination can be influenced by so many different factors. Aquarians are the hardest sign to write for in general, simply because you are going to be very individualist when it comes to how you express yourself. Now, all that being said, you still crave, very deeply, a sense of belonging. So please, don’t ever take for granted how special you are. If someone is lucky enough to break through your hard exterior, they really are in for an extraterrestrial experience!

Because Mars is in an air sign here, you may or may not be the most sensual and/or sexual person on the planet. You could be. But you could not be. And that is the gift…or curse…of this Mars placement. I have Mars in Aquarius myself, and I remember reading an article that said “this placement can be infuriating to your partner because you are so nonchalant.” And I can definitely say I’ve lost relationships because the other party assumed I was disinterested because I wasn’t the most expressive when it came to my emotions. It’s important to remember that Mars in Aquarius/11H is actually a neutral placement. It isn’t a death sentence or the worst thing on the planet, but it’s not necessarily the best. So don’t be too hard on yourself if your partners don’t understand you very easily. You will just have to do more work to learn how to communicate and accommodate in your relationships. This may be something that follows you throughout life…and forget your partner….it could be infuriating to you! BUT NO WORRIES! Mars in Aquarius or Mars in the 11th house is usually more concerned with developing and nurturing friendships, which seems to contradict the more lustful side of Mars. Longing for friendship and connection versus longing for sensual pleasure and connection can be seen as two different things.

What Mars in Aquarius/11H wants more than anything is L. O. Y. A. L. T. Y. Because this Mars placement can grant so much freedom, it is imperative for the person with this placement to feel safe and secure in the sexual relationship they are building. This is NOT to be confused with possession. Expecting loyalty from a partner isn’t the same as feeling as if you own your partner. You believe that your partner should have freedom to express and live their life the way they want to, and you expect the same in return. However, you do expect your partner to consider you when they make their decisions in life. It is very much “give a dog a bone, leave a dog alone, let a dog roam and he’ll find his way home” (S/o DMX, may he rest in peace). Meaning, in your sexual language, you want your space and privacy, but you want to feel a belonging no matter how far away you are from your partners.

NOW, for the fun stuff. You are one of the most explorative lovers on the planet. You may have a “the more the merrier” type attitude and be interested in group smexii time or oragies. You may have a dream to experience Amsterdam and the Red Light District. The beauty in having your Mars in an air sign/house is that you can remain detached from the sexual experience and partner– therefore, you may not experience jealousy because you aren’t super possessive. Again, you’re all about freedom baby!!! You may also have some pretty “far-out” kinks. You may be interested in different genders, or same gender, or mix gender or no gender or latex or pantyhoes or dress up or furries or hentai or tentacle porn….and if you’re not into it, chances are you will at least click a questionable link or two. You don’t carry the same shame as others do when it comes to what turns you on sexually. You don’t like anything boring or too routine, so your search history could be a bit…odd….BUT HEY!!! As long as it’s not hurting anyone or anything and pleasure is being derived from all parties involved, then let adults do what adults do is kind of your attitude.

Friendship is the key to your heart…and to your…uh…biological box….lol. When it comes to long-term relationships, I can bet my bottom dollar that you’re far more interested in the friendship aspects than the inherent relationship drama. When your friends ask “why are you still dealing with them”, you will follow up with “well, we are friends before anything else.” And you mean that deeply. The really funny thing is…on the other hand, you are also very likely to get down with complete strangers and never think about it again. You can hook-up and detach with the best of them, or your loyalty to a confidant can keep you in a relationship for a very long time…it. Just. depends.

The one thing that is true about your sex language, is that you speak ALL different kinds. When you look back at your life and your experiences, if you are more of an adventurous Aquarian, lets say you have a lot of air and fire in your chart, you will most likely have all kinds of stories from all different people and places. You will be one of the most interesting partners and friends to talk to about all the mixed bags of experiences that you’ve had..which is awesome. If your Mars in Aquarius/11H is paired with a more “earthy” sign or even water, you will most likely have a rom-com type love thing happening…that tugging “will they/won’t they” energy at the beginning of relationships, only to fall head over heals with the “guy/gal next door”. You may also find your sexual partners online, in a group setting or be hooked up by natural friends. “How’d you meet?” “Oh, I heard from a friend of a friend that that d*ck is a ten out of ten!”

Mars in Capricorn or Mars in the 10th House

“My vicious love, My lethal heart, I wanna screw you up into me” - Bad Bad Bad by Ramsey

If your natal Mars is in Capricorn or in the 10th House, then your sexual language is money, money…and….uh….more money. I kid, I kid…but not really. It would be easy and predictable for me to say you just lust after money, but it goes much deeper than that. Believe it or not, Mars is actually exalt in Capricorn, so, you couldn’t have a better Mars placement. Your natural ruler Saturn and Mars truly are the best of friends. And if you’re familiar with Tarot, then you know The Devil represents Capricorn energy and The Devil is all about seduction and temptation. Unlike some of the more dreamy Mars placements like Pisces/12H or Cancer 4H that use their sexual language as an escape from reality, or the detached air placements like Gemini/3H or Aquarius/11H, who are too aloof to harness Mars’ energy, YOU my Capricorn/10H individuals are acutely aware of how powerful the nature of sex can be…and most importantly, how it can be used to your advantage.

To the average person on the street, you may not seem like the super sexual type. You prefer a sophisticated lover to a “cute” one, so people can assume that your standards are too high. And perhaps, your standards are high, because you understand the value of your presence and your time. In fact, you HATE wasting time, so why would you waste time on lovers who don’t bring anything to the table? Sadly, for most of the public, they won’t ever have the experience to be with a Capricorn/10H Mars because quite frankly, they can’t afford it.

Funnily enough, I’m sure as you’ve been reading this, you’re like “dang…am I that shallow?” And the answer is yes and no. You’re shallow because we live in a shallow world– and you know in order to survive it, you have to use what you got to get what you want. The other side of this is, you’re not shallow at all because you are willing to work and discipline yourself and sacrifice for those that you truly care about. There is such a depth to you in the long run, that it makes sense that you make it really difficult for people to get to you. Because you know and I know, once you’ve committed to someone, you’ve committed for as long as you possibly can. Your sexual language is all about stamina and endurance. This is true in and and out of the bedroom. As an earth sign/house, you are a sensual being. You enjoy each and every bit of romance that you can get. A nice meal, some good perfume, dressed to the nines is all considered foreplay to you. You entice your partners with a certain dignified class and only the brave will approach. In your younger years, you could find this extremely frustrating at times because men will really have to get their sh*t together before they can even THINK to approach you on that level. But the more that you use your Mars to get you where you want to be in life, partners will follow behind you and constantly buzz around as if you are the Queen Bee and they are mere workers for your attention.

Funnily enough, you are quite the heart-breaker with this Mars placement. Because you are so focused on your goals outside of love, and yet, you can crave sensual pleasures, you will be very direct with a partner, but they may not be aware of how serious you take yourself. How can this manifest? Let’s say you meet a partner and everything is groovy, but you are working on a big project for work, you’re working on a degree of some kind, or you’ve said you won’t rest until you make partner at the big company…unlike other Mars placements, you won’t let romance sway you or take you off track. You are probably the best example of “right person, wrong time”. You don’t have as much of an issue as other signs walking away from a situation that is distracting you from your more worldly desires. This can leave people utterly confused, because you seem like a perfect partner, but honestly, you’re just not focused on aaaalll the drama that can come with fully committed relationships. People may actually take this energy and say that you’re a player…or worse…a floozy (one of my favorite words lol, definitely needs to make a comeback). You actually aren’t. You will be one of the most committed partners they could find, but if it’s not the right time…it just ain’t happening. So your partners will have to maintain some level of patience or they will miss out. On the other hand, because Mars is a planet of extremes, you may go through periods in life where you are celebate. It may take you awhile to stop channeling that Martian ambitious energy into your career and put it towards your sexuality. That being said, you will enjoy the more sensual side of sex. You could have great stamina and endurance. Because sex may not come around as often as you’d like, you will learn to savor every drop of your partners and please them in a calculated, thoughtful and masterful way! How smeeexxxiiiiiii!!!!!

Mars in Sagittarius or Mars in the 9th House

“I’ve been everywhere, man, looking for someone. Someone who can please me, love me all night long” Where Have You Been by Rihanna

If your natal Mars is in Sagittarius or the 9th House, your sexual language is that of many languages. You fall in love with the exotic, unknown and unexplored. You like your partners like James Bond likes his cars– foreign. You appreciate partners who expand your understanding of reality. Your partners have to expand your mind…and body…into positions that you never thought were possible. If you don’t attract partners who are of a different race, culture or class from you, then you will be attracted to partners who are otherworldly and spiritual or are just as serious about their religious beliefs as you are. Like Mars in Pisces/12H, your planet is ruled by the planet Jupiter, aka Guru. You NEED to learn from your partner. You NEED to explore with your partner. And you NEED to be able to teach your partners something as well. “I wanna know…can you show me…I wanna know about the strangers like me”...It’s giving…Tarzan and Jane. I have Mars in the 9th House, and it has manifested in a very fun way! So with my bias, I believe that this can be one of the more fun placements if you just go with the flow. Unlike other Mars placements, you don’t necessarily feel the need to control your partners. You’d much rather experience them, learn the lesson and move on to the next new shiny thing. Much like your brother, Gemini, you are equally as invested in getting the knowledge and seeking more knowledge. You of all signs are unlikely to overstay your welcome in a relationship. You can come off quite restless and unsatisfied…UNLESS you are just fascinated and enamored with an individual.

You can find yourself attracted to people who have accents, or speak a different language than you. But you will be even more turned on by someone who shares the same religious beliefs as you. You may actually be willing to convert religions for your partner OR, and this is more likely, you have a partner who is a different religion than you are, and instead of being ashamed by it, or making it an obstacle, you embrace it– ultimately respecting their religion, while maintaining the traditions of your own.

You will naturally desire to travel with your partner. Making some of your favorite memories in life when you made-love in some far off land. If the sentence, “I made love to a Frenchman I met while eating a baguette at the local cafe under the Eiffel tower and I’ll never see him again, but he’s the love of my life” turns you on…congratulations, you’re in the right spot.

This Mars placement is fueled by your deepest desire to see the world and its deepest truth, and then just imagine how much you can learn about the world through the lens of an intimate partner. Your sexual language, like I said earlier, involves language in and of itself. You want to hear the stories of distants lands, fascinated by the foreign nature of your divine counterpart. You will want to be intimate with partners who can speak for hours and hours about their adventures and endeavors. You need to be intrigued at the very least.

I also find that with this placement, there may be an age difference in your relationships. You either will be attracted to someone who is much older and wiser, OR, interesting enough, you could find yourself with someone younger. Why is this? You will appreciate a person who still has zest for life. You will be equally attracted to partners who are bright eyed and bushy tailed! Plus, I know I’ve talked a lot about your partner entertaining and teaching you, but the truth of the matter is, you will want to be as much of a sage to your partner as well. You will enjoy teaching them the ways of life and the pursuit of happiness. They will look to you with eyes of wonder as you paint beautifully vivid pictures of your life experiences that have shaped your view of the world.

Another element to this Mars placement, is you are one to challenge authority. This may manifest in your sex language by liking to explore BDSM culture in some way. Because this Mars is all about freedom, you may be turned on by the thought of your partner controlling you…just so you can say no. You can come off as a “well, make me”...kind of lover when it comes to foreplay. You love a challenge and you like partners who challenge you in some way when it comes to living out your sexual fantasies. Another way this may come out is you AND your partner may have a knack for getting into trouble or enjoying sex with some kind of risk involved. You get off being able to sneak away for a quickie. You’ll have sex in the backseat of a car. Joining the mile club is definitely on your bucket list…all the things! Because you are such a rebel, you tell stories that have “normies” clutching their pearls and leave their mouths open. You want to have memorable sex that is worth writing a book about!!!

I can not drive home enough how spiritual your sexual relationships have the potential to be. You are not a shallow lover. You are a lover full of wonder and full of lust…wanderlust…if you will. Sagittarius/9H is a very serious zodiac/house. You're destined to seek truth– so your sexual partners HAVE to enlighten you in some way. You don’t want to get stuck in the mundane, boring stuff of a relationship, (and please, don’t get too carried away, because we do live on planet earth!) you want to experience shrooms, talk about God and make love in the forest! Smexxiiii!!!!

Mars in Scorpio or Mars in the 8th House

“Every breath you take, every move you make, every smile you fake, every single day, I’ll be watching you” Every Breath You Take by Sting

Okay, okay, it would be all too easy to say your love language is stalking, and more stalking and even more stalking, but…that’s only a small fraction of what this Mars placement has to offer. If your natal Mars is placed in Scorpio or in your 8th House, your sexual language is that of raw passion and intensity. That being said, it is also about restraint and self-restriction, and sometimes self destruction. I tend to find Scorpionic energy and 8H energy to be radically internal. You, actually, may not be the most expressive lover. You are more comfortable waiting, studying and planning to pursue a lover, rather than going in full force. Because Mars is your natural ruler, Mars is more than comfortable here, but unlike your brother sign, Aries, you are more of the “planning” part of war, rather than action. This is the strategy of self-defense more than anything. You don’t want to walk into an intimate situation to be intimate yourself, you want to extract vulnerability from your partner like a detective solving a murder crime. Your sex language is more of a riddle than a question. And you would like a partner who intrigues you and leaves a lot of mystery. In my many many years of dating, and many many encounters with Scorpionic energy (I attract them like flies…it’s crazy) I always find that Scorpios are nowhere near as mysterious or hard to figure out as they perceive. Behind all that black and dark stares and gazed is usually a pretty pretty boring, but shy person. There is such a caution with this sign when it comes to acting on those very deep and sometimes all consuming desires, so you are very careful to not put yourself in harm's way. Another hot take that I have on this placement that may seem a bit contradictory to the Scorpionic stereotype is YES YES YES, you are smexxxxiiii and all of the things, but that doesn’t necessarily make you the most sexual person. You take intimacy and sexy very seriously, more seriously than most, because for you intimacy and vulnerability can be used against you and be seen as a weakness, so you are hard pressed to just be going around willy-nilly swinging from partner to partner. You also view sex/intimacy as more of a “power” thing than a “love” thing. And what do I mean by that? You know that deep intimacy and truly being intertwined with another individual gives you an unreal amount of access to that person on a personal and spiritual level. It is always important to remember where Scorpio/8H lines up in the grand scheme of things. It follows the Libra/7H of partnership. The 8H is actually the house that dictates how a relationship will play out. This. Is. Imperative. To understand this placement. You are far more focused on how the partnership plays out, rather than the partnership itself. Again, unlike your predecessor, Libra, who is ruled by Venus and may be more interested in the looks of a relationship and romantic partner. Your sexual language is more interested in the psychology of your partner. You don’t care nearly as much about the outside as you do the inside. What draws you to your partner is a need to access the ultimate truths through your partners. Hence why, you are followed by Sagittarius/9H of Truth and Liberation. Your sex language involves restraint, power and hidden truths.

As I said before, it may be really difficult for you at times to truly connect with your partners because your energy can demand sooooo much from them. You will require partners to go through such depths in their relationship with you, that they may not be able to handle it. And on the other side of that, you may stay away from relationships because you may mistakenly feel like it brings out some of your “worst” qualities. With this Mars, you may go through a very intense relationship when you’re young, one where you give your all, I mean…you would kill or be killed for those you love, and because that relationship fails, you may never want to experience those types of lows again and stay away. You are one of the most loyal of the Mars placements, so you are very careful to study who exactly you are giving your loyalty to. I recommend with this placement, you may find yourself oddly attracted to Aquarian/11H energy. It sounds weird, water and air, but in this case, Aquarian energy is endlessly fascinating because they are so unorthodox, you will never truly figure them out, so you’re constantly intrigued by them. Aquarians also value loyalty the same way you do. They will allow you the freedom that you need to sit in your own emotions, but value the friendship in such a way, you won’t feel abandoned by them. Even if the people you are attracted to don’t have Aquarius in their chart, I think that quality is something you should consider when looking into intimate partners. It is probably the partner who gives you the most space and it is the hardest to figure out, that will give you the most in life. If you have a partner that is easy to conquer, not only will you be bored, but you can easily slip into those darker energies of control and manipulation to get you way…even when it’s unnecessary.

AAALLLL that said, you are still a hell of a lover! I mean…wow. You intricately know how to please and conquer. You use sex as a language itself when you’re ready and willing. And man, do you have a way with words. You can easily hypnotize a lover to fall under your command, so be careful with this gift. You are more than comfortable in this arena once you move past your fears in the subconscious. You can channel this energy, much like the exalt Mars in Capricorn to succeed with some of your greatest ambitions. You will put your sexual energy into your work and projects in a way like no other! Just don’t take everything so seriously! It’s okay to have a good time. Be intimate and open up some! You’ll enjoy getting your head out of the sand!

Mars in Libra or Mars in the 7th House

“What a rush & what a high, cause when your love don’t fight, smoke gets in your eyes” Smoke In Your Eyes by Skepta, Ossie, Harry Stone

If you came to this section thinking that I was going to talk about how sweet and balanced you are when it comes to your sexual language…THINK. AGAIN. BABE. You are nothing of the sort. Seems contradictory, huh? Because Libra/7H is all about balance, right? Well…not when it comes to this Mars placement.

If you have your natal Mars in Libra or the 7th House, you are quite the spicy lover. To be completely honest, Mars is VERY uncomfortable here. Why? Because Libra is naturally ruled by the planet Venus, which is essentially the opposite frequency of Mars. I like to think of Mars and Venus as the brother and sister planets of the Milky way. Traditionally ruled by Ares and Aphrodite in Greek mythology respectively, they are technically half-siblings. So when you think of this Mars placement, this of how a girlie-girl would feel surrounded by all boys at a football camp. Sure, she may attract a lot of attention and she may have plenty of options…but she will CERTAINLY have to set clear boundaries to command the respect she deserves, as well as deal with the fact that no one around her may have the same interest. See how this can be uncomfortable? It’s not the worst thing to happen, but it can cause you to feel like you have to play the field a little bit differently because of Mars being in the House of Libra.

Okay, so now that we covered why this placement might be different than what you were imagining, let’s get into what this post is actually about!

If you have this natal placement, your sex language is all about breaking up to make-up. Because you’re on this constant quest of seeking balance, YOU will subconsciously or consciously seek chaos in order to regain balance. Your indecisive and somewhat aloof nature in relationships can be a source of frustration when it comes to your sexual expression with your lovers. If you have Mars in your 7H, you genuinely LOVE conflicts and attract conflicts to your relationships. You can be quite passive aggressive, honestly, and stir the pot to get attention. AAALLLL this being said, you still enjoy the finer things and love the idea of love, even though you may not have the most direct way of going about it. Your partners may even find you hard to read, and this can frustrate you, because your wishy-washy-ness is so innate to you, you may have a tendency to think that everyone is as back and forth with decision making as you are.

Ironically, more so than any of the previous placements I have discussed before, I will focus more on what sexual language you like from your partner rather than yourself. Of course, you like good food, good wine, good clothes, good banter, good company…you have Libra, like DUH, but I want to offer a different perspective on this placement.

So when it comes to your partners, you truly like a partner who takes charge, regardless of sex. You crave a level of masculinity and directness in your love language because as I stated earlier, it can be difficult for you to make decisions for yourself. You overemphasize how people will perceive you, and this can cause you to stunt your decision making, so you’ll find yourself craving a partner who can be unabashedly unapologetic in their approach to life. You seek partners who are brave and courageous and you will find yourself testing anyone you fall in love with to see if they have that spark of passion in them. You may find yourself seeking different things from different people, so you may have multiple lovers– and just like how it may take you forever to pick out your outfit in the morning, it may take you forever to figure out what you value in a partner. It is important to note that Libra/7H energy is indeed a masculine energy. I’m sure most would assume it’s feminine because of the “sophisticated” and charismatically social nature usually associated with Libras, but when it comes to sexual relationships, Taurus/2H energy is the feminine side of Venus. Libra energy in this way is more detached than people would think. As stated earlier, because you enjoy dates, chatting, getting to know people, you may be a really good casual dater! This could send mixed messages to potential lovers because you may have never really had any intention of dating them long-term– or, you really just haven’t decided yet. Now are we starting to see how this Mars placement can attract certain conflict? You will desire and crave a partner that can make decisions for you. This may lead to some kinkiness in the bedroom because you’re open to compromise and you can be bossed around in this regard.

Overall your sexual language is complex because of the inherent contradiction of this natal placement. You can make this work in your favor as long as you keep open communication with your partner, even if it’s to tell them that you need some more time before you’re comfortable making any lasting decisions. When you date, you will have to allow your partners to understand your up & down nature. Most people will probably take your pragmatic nature personally, so if you can find a way to channel this into being sexually playful with your lovers, it can be a great way to keep romance fun and interesting. As stated in the beginning, you are most likely to end up in an on-again-off-again kind of relationship because you like for the scales to be tipped, so you can rebalance them. You are far more detached in commitments than most people would assume, so it is essential for you to date like-minded people who understand that your coldness is not a reflection on your feelings. You choose to remain objective in your judgements and seek fairness in your relationships—even if you are the one who was unfair to begin with! Kiss it kiss it better baby!!!!

Mars in Virgo or Mars in the 6th House

“I got commitment issues, but I’m tryna fix that for you…I don’t believe in love, but that doesn’t mean I don’t take you serious” Commitment Issues by Central Cee

With Mars in Virgo or the 6th House, you may be surprised to find how non-committal you are when it comes to relationships. Why? Because you find relationships to be impractical. So when it comes to your sexual language, you are quite all over the place. Lovers can find you hard to catch, almost like trying to keep a fairy in a jar. You prefer to flutter around and keep things light in the sexual department. To you, sex can scream responsibility. After all, sex can be a pretty risky and dirty affair. All the fluid exchange and, ultimately, the required vulnerability, can make you quite uneasy. With this Mars placement, you can go between the two extremes of putting too much emphasis on sex or not enough emphasis at all. This is due to the natural ruler of Virgo/6H being Mercury, which, I find to be, an asexual planet. You are more interested in the intellectual connection than the physical connection.

BUT PLEASE, don’t get me wrong! You know you’re way around the bedroom. Your sexual language is constantly evolving. You do well with long-term partners that you can trust, study and get to know. You prefer a lover that is loyal, so you don’t have to worry about where they’ve been, or better yet, who they’ve been with. You find joy in repetition with one partner. OR, you are really open to “protected” one-night stands. You are either all in or all out. You don’t like to waste time on sexual relationships that you don’t see a return for a long-term investment. That being said, if you are unable to invest in the long-term, you can find yourself in a position of sexual frustration. You may really desire a person, but because of your deep need for perfection first, you may stall connections & find a lot of pleasure in masturbation for the time being. You, like your opposite sign, Pisces, can really get into your fantasies. You may find that erotica and romance novels can be great resources to pass the time while you likely toil between celibacy and being a whore (this is particularly funny to me because Virgos are known for being the Virgins of the zodiac– hence the contradiction in Mars in Virgo. The planet of sex and desire ruled by a “Virgin” is, uh….a difficult juxtaposition to say the least.) – again, it’s all about mental stimulation with you.

When you do meet a partner that you can FINALLY settle down and feel comfortable with, you will be a very giving lover. Because Virgo energy is usually associated with servitude, you better believe that you will make it your duty to service the object of your affection. You care very deeply about the satisfaction of your partner— far more than you care about your own. As stated earlier, you don’t mind finishing up solo as long as your partner is satisfied. You will find every nook and cranny, every deep desire, every love spot that your partner has, because you will analyze their body with astute detail. You will break your partner’s sexual language down and adapt it to be your own, because after all, you are a mutable sign. As well as being an earth sign, you do have a very deep sensual nature to you. Although you can come across as quite guarded with new partners, once you blossom, you really enjoy heavy petting and physical touch. You can spend so much time in your head and alone with your thoughts in other aspects of your life, you may find it very powerful to have a partner that literally grounds you and brings you back to planet Earth by holding you in their arms. Again, after you’ve bent over backwards (pun intended) to please your partner, you, more than any other sign, except maybe Leo, really needs to be acknowledged and celebrated for your hard work. You don’t take kindly to being undervalued or under appreciated when it comes to your romantic relationships in this context.

Believe it or not, this placement can actually be quite kinky! Why? Because of the influence of Mercury again. As stated before, you want to learn your partner’s as well as you possibly can to make sure you are seen as perfect in their eyes– sooooo, that means you’ll have some exploring to do. Mercury is such a curious planet, that it may not be kinky for the sensual pleasures of it all, but it will be interested in testing out sex & kinks for “research purposes”. This can give you a sort of detached feeling when it comes to sex, which may or may not work in your favor– you’re able to disassociate in a way that makes sex almost an out of body experience…it may take you some time to actually feel pleasure from sex. You are so focused on the other and pleasing your partner, you can forget that sex is supposed to be a two way street! I just want to reiterate, that this placement is so mutable, that you may find yourself pretty ambivalent towards sex at different times in your life. You’re kind of like “eh”. But there is hope, when you find a partner that lights your fire– you will find yourself wanting sex like a child wants candy! There is plenty of potential here for a beautifully active and engaging sex life– it just may take more time to develop than others.

Learn your own kinks! Have fun! Explore the more sensual side of life for yourself!

Anyone who is able to win you over (which is NOT an easy feat by any means) will be able to revel in the fact that you are such a wonderful lover! But don’t forget, sex is not a test that you can get an A + in, it’s supposed to be the culmination and celebration of it all!

Mars in Leo or Mars in the 5th House

“She may be the queen of hearts, but I’m the queen of your body parts” - Cockiness, Rihanna

If you have Mars in Leo or Mars in the 5th House, you are Britney Spears, all eyes on me in the center of the ring just like a circus, bay-bee. You LOVE to put on a show. Your sexual language can make love-making a spectacle! You’re over the top, you’re loud, you roar. You LOVE LOVE LOVE the attention. So much so, you may not even need sex to fulfill that internal desire for you. Huh? What do I mean? I mean, you may be satisfied using your creative gifts for sexual gratification. Chances are with this placement, you are highly creative and charismatic. You find sensual pleasure in being able to share your creative gifts with other people. Haven’t you heard of entertainers saying they had so much fun on stage, it was orgasmic? That’s where you come in.

Ironically, I don’t naturally find this placement to be the most sexual. Don’t get me wrong, you are DOWN DIGGITY for a good time, but you really use sex as an ego booster. You may even be quite lazy in the bedroom. You could easily live by the code “my present is my presence” and be a dazzling pillow princess. This isn’t a bad thing, and it definitely doesn’t have to be the case all the time! When you’re turned on, you’re turned on, but when you’re just casually engaging in sex, or are in a long-term commitment, you may feel like sex is something that is owed to you. Not in a weird entitled way, but more like a Queen sitting on a chaise lounge being fed grapes– like, “duh, you should have sex with me, I’m beautiful”, type energy. This, if you haven’t been able to guess already, can lead to a selfish attitude in the love-making department. You must remember that sometimes, your partner wants to be catered to as well. That being said, you won’t shy away from Valentine’s Day. You are the type to go all out! You’ll put on the lingerie. You’ll lay out the rose petals on the bed. You’ll pay extra for that honeymoon suite. OR, you will expect your partner to do all of this without you asking. You treat holidays and sex as if it’s a royal affair.

Due to your standards being so high, I cannot express to you enough that you may really put all your sexual energy into your creative pursuits until you find a lover of high-value and high sex drive. You love and somewhat need to feel desired in order to break down your walls. You don’t play hard to get– you ARE hard to get, so this may leave you with extended periods of non-sexual activities. You are more than willing to give up sexual pleasure for your own personal pursuits– in fact, you are more likely to do that if you have specific career goals.

You may be a tad bit surprised at my interpretation of Mars in Leo, perhaps you were assuming it would be a bit spicier, but I challenge you to look at your ruler, the Sun (yes, the actual burning ball of fire in the sky) . Not literally…well, you can, but make sure you wear sun-glasses. But in all seriousness, the Sun shines alone. The Sun is too hot to let anything near it, and it carries such a gravitational pull, that things simply orbit around it, but can never get too close. With Mars in Leo/5th House, you may find yourself in this position when it comes to your sexual nature. You attract a lot of people towards you, but they are unable to get too close, for fear they will burn up in your presence. Or, you shine so bright, you are forced to do it alone. Being the Sun and the center of the Universe is a hard job, but ultimately an isolating job. Your being, your creative gifts, your star power and the way you shine can cast such a shadow on those who dare come near you. It really can be one of the most challenging placements because you probably won’t understand why people can’t/don’t come near you. Again, you’re just soooo great, people can have an overwhelming and unrealistic ideal of what it will take to make you happy. It’s a double-edged sword. On one hand, it’s flattering, but on the other hand, you can suffer from being put so high up on a pedal stool that you never asked for!

One tip for you, is to keep your hair beautiful and lushes! People will be attracted to your wild side and want to bring that out of you. You can either really love having your hair pulled or be turned off by it because you spend so much time making it look perfect. Either way, your hair may be an essential part of foreplay for you and something that suitors may find undeniably sexy.

As long as you are mindful to share the spotlight from time to time and not always prioritizing your needs & your desires, you can be a remarkably loyal partner. Fierce is the word that comes to mind and you can be very fierce in the bedroom. (When you want to be.) You can outshine any of the competition. Most people truly can’t hold a candle to you when it comes to how committed you are in an intimate relationship. You are proud and you protect those that are around you and that you deem worthy. You have a royal air that surrounds you and it loudly and proudly screams `bow down bitches' when it's time to get down and dirty!

Mars in Cancer or Mars in the 4th House

“Let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain, you like your girls insane” Born to Die- Lana Del Rey

If you have Mars in Cancer or Mars in the 4th house, ironically, your sex language involves a knack of overwhelming emotional destruction. Dramatic, yes, yes, I know, but very true. Mars is VERY uncomfortable in the deep waters of Cancer/4H. Mars in the 4th House, in particular, is a naturally difficult placement because it sits in the House of happiness, as well as aspects the 7th House of partnership and the 11th House of friendship– making that native, uh, a little difficult to deal with. Why? Because your emotions can be so erratic and illogical, it can be difficult for people to understand what you want. Heck, you probably don’t understand what you want most of the time. I promise I’ll get to the good stuff, but keep in mind that this Mars placement is in detriment! (It’s exalted in Capricorn, the opposite sign.) So when it comes to your sexual language, you value such a deeply emotional commitment from your partner, you could constantly try to test them by pushing their emotional boundaries.

There is a mixture of pleasure and pain. You love an emotional outburst– this can be good and sexy, or bad and scary. Emotionally bonding make-up sex, is your cup of tea…ESPECIALLY if you are the one who caused the “break-up” in the first place. You truly enjoy engaging with your partner in a loving way, when you can, but because Mars is so unstable here, it can be hard for you to maintain emotional consistency within long-term relationships. You can find that your passions wax and wane for your partner. Sometimes, you just want to run into their arms and kiss them in the pouring rain, other times, you want them to LEAVE YOU DAFUQ ALONE. This can be quite jarring to your intimate partners, but also to yourself. I recommend embracing this quality and being as honest as possible! Instead of literally creating a sh*t storm in order to be left alone, just communicate to your partner that you need a little space from time to time. But also be willing to give your partner that same courtesy and grace if they ask for the same.

You can feel a need to wrap yourself up in your partner's desires. It may come from a genuine place, but because Mars is an aggressive planet, you may be quite aggressive in how you demonstrate your love to your partner because your deepest desire is to be able to emotionally control them. This can manifest in an extremely emotionally manipulative way through passive aggressiveness and just causing overall uneasiness within your dynamics and partnerships. One of the lovely sides about this particular placement, is when you mature, you can have an extremely high emotional I.Q. Because you are naturally very sensitive to your surroundings, you can literally sense the emotional and physical needs of your partner without them having to say a word. You can be so emotionally intune with your lovers, it can feel like telepathy if they need anything from you. You just know, y’know?

In the bedroom, you can go from one extreme to another. Sometimes you want to be dominant, and sometimes you want to be dominated. It is important for your lovers to be able to ride your waves and learn what is needed from them at any given moment. Again, Mars is all about conquest. So when Mars is in the 4H in particular, you want to be able to be the leader in your home, but you also want someone who can take the reins when necessary. Again, this can be a difficult balance to strike within your sexual relationships because people may not understand the method behind the madness, typically because there really isn’t a method…it’s just kind of madness AND THAT’S OKAY!

Because Mars is so uncomfortable here, it is imperative for you to be able to channel your energy in creative ways or you can fall victim to your own emotional tirades. You want a clear line of communication with anyone you are interested with and they absolutely need to have some emotional intelligence or else they will drown in your water. You don’t want to suffocate your lovers with so much emotional intensity, that you both are unable to remain somewhat grounded in the chaos. You of all people understand just how powerful emotions and sex can be together, so be careful to use it wisely!!! When done right, you can have anyone wrapped around your finger.

Mars in Gemini or Mars in the 3rd House

“Talk is cheap my darling, when you’re feeling right at home. I wanna make you move with confidence. I want to be with you alone” Talk is Cheap by Chet Faker

If you have Mars in Gemini or Mars in the 3rd House, then you are all about an intellectual connection when it comes to your sexual language. You want to catch viiibbbeezzz. You want to be razzle-dazzled with the lingo. You want someone hip, cool, in the know…because, well, you’re hip, cool & in the know, y’know? It’s only fitting that your partner be the same. You, of all placements, may truly crave “your other half”. And I know, I know, we live in a world now, where people are saying “you are a whole person and you’re looking for another whole person yadayadayada…”, but you’re a TWIN. You want to be able to connect with someone as if you share the same brain, the same thoughts, the same…everything. This isn’t to say that you’re not sexual…you just enjoy mental jousting for foreplay. Think of how beautiful the dance between two evenly matched fencing partners is– the ebb and flow of tension – playing both parts of the aggressor and the defender– gliding almost effortlessly with a weapon in hand. It’s like the tango…but with swords. That’s how you envision your love. Beautiful art, yet dangerous. You may not be the most sensual lover at first, but in time you will certainly warm up. Why? Because at the very least, you are a curious partner! You. Want. To. Explore. You may be the type of lover to want to try almost anything once. You want to be surprised. You don’t want your bedroom to be boring. You resent repetitiveness and you welcome new experiences. You may even fall into the “switch my wig, make ‘em feel like he cheating” category. You like to switch up your look, your style…sexual positions (lol). This can even translate into role play! (Especially teacher/student).

I cannot express to you enough how much learning from your partner turns you on. You love asking questions & consider getting to know someone a conquest. The more difficult the puzzle, the more you yearn to solve it and this type of stimulation oozes over into your sexual pleasure. You’re curious to know what your lover’s love. You can have an objective perception of sex, because you aren’t the most naturally emotional person, so you can look at the love making process as getting to know every nook and cranny of a partner’s body– learning what makes them tick & “ick”. You become more emotionally open with a partner, the more confident that you are that you know them. You like learning, but you don’t like unpleasant surprises. This may be counter intuitive, but I find that after you go through your “lemme try any & everything era”, you will genuinely enjoy one partner. It will make you feel secure and like you have that missing piece in life. You don’t come across as the most committal type, but when you do commit, you commit fr fr, you just need a certain level of freedom in life to continue to expand your horizons far past the mundane in life.

Another element you may add to your sexual reservoir is……drugs. “DON’T DO DRUGS, KIDS & STAY IN SCHOOL”...alright, there is my disclaimer. Now back to what I was saying, you may be curious to try mind-expanding drugs & smex. Because you can be so cerebral, drugs like ecstacy can help you actually feel your body. The tingle will start from your subconscious mind, and venture into your conscious body, possibly making love-making a more pleasurable experience. If this doesn’t interest you, don’t worry, no pressure! Just making a note that this placement is more likely to think outside of the box when it comes to making their sex lives thrilling and exciting! Not saying that vanilla sex is boring…just saying in general. You do you!

Overall, this is a curious placement. It’s a fun placement, but it can be an extremely flighty placement in the beginning. Don’t let your fear of getting stuck, stop you from finding a true partner that you can really see the world with. You can find that “other half”, that “twin soul” that really knows how to light a fire in you and warm your cold cold cold gemini heart. In your moments of passion, you will prefer to keep things fun and light. Only when someone truly captures your mind, can they capture your body and soul! SEXYYYYYY!!!!

Mars in Taurus or Mars in the 2nd House

“People stop to ask me, how do you please your man? Take it from the black sheep baby, any way I can. Sometimes it’s with fire and sometimes, with ice…Just don’t get it twisted, his body’s gunna pay the price.”

- Rock My Boy’s Body by Joseph Stephens

If you have Mars in Taurus or Mars in the 2nd House your sexual language is about sensuality, sexuality, & seduction. You believe in making love an all encompassing experience and you will stop at nothing to make sure your partners have an all exclusive pass to your BO-DAY. IF it is earned. Because Taurus is naturally slow moving energy, you may be slow to open up. As I’ve studied astrology for years now…I’ve come to realize that Taurus energy is just as private and cautious and it’s opposite sign, Scorpio. If you have this placement, you feel the need to study your lovers and you wait and wait and wait and wait and wait before you make your move. But if you are able to wrap them in your warm embrace…you won’t want to let go and they won’t want you to either.

Like Leo, when it comes to your sexual language, you believe in putting on a show. But your show is subtle, quaint and slow burning. You will have the candles burning, the scented lotion and fresh out the shower smell, you will have the most luxurious sheets on the most comfortable mattress. You don’t believe in cutting corners when it comes to your comfort and whoever is lucky enough to wind up in your bed, simply gets to enjoy how you live your life. I could bet you have an impeccable taste in music and truly know how to set the tone when it comes to seduction. As stated before, you are able to create a world of pure pleasure for those you love and make them spell-bound to you, because chances are, they haven’t been able to match with a sexual partner who cares so much about the details of ALL 6 senses. (I’m including intuition because, y’know, I’m a tarot and an astrology girlie.) For example, I dated this guy with heavy taurus placements a few years ago. I very much remember and very much miss this awesome TV room that he made for himself. Instead of having a regular degular couch, he had a couch that was also a bed. It wasn’t a couch that converted into a bed….it was just a couch that had a bed in it…and massive 70 inch television mounted on the wall. When I TELL you, I wanted to marry that man because….UGH!!! I was so comfortable! I could melt into the floor when I was with him. And I have YET to be with anyone who has a room set up quite like that. The feeling has stayed with me long after we have been together. THAT is what I mean by the power of Mars in Taurus. It lingers when you’re done!

On the other side, you of all signs, can be extremely jealous and possessive over your sexual partners. You DO NOT LIKE TO SHARE. AT. ALL. The 2nd House is all about owning and possessions and you may take this mindset with you into your romantic relationships. To the right person and in a healthy way, this can be enduring and make your partner feel safe and secure in your presence. In turn, you also want to know that your partner is crazy about you and cares deeply about your well-being. Again, in a healthy dynamic, a little jealousy and possessivness isn’t bad. It can show that someone does have an interest in you and takes pride in the fact that they are able to claim you as their own. This is just something to be mindful of in this placement, because if underdeveloped, it can lead to issues of selfishness & strong resistance to allow your partner’s freedom. Of course this can bleed over into the bedroom as well. You don’t want to get so focused on your own comfort that you end up putting your partner into a routine that they no longer enjoy. Your favorite position may not be their favorite positive. It can feel like eating lobster every single day. Like, yeah, Lobster is great day 1, maybe even day 2, but by day 5��.yuck. Depending on other placements in your chart, you may attract partners who are very much like you, in the sense they prefer routine, OR you may attract partners who are so wild and out of the box, it forces you out of your comfort zone. All I can do is say embrace whatever floats your boat.

There is no doubt that you are one of the most sexual, sensual and passionate lovers of the zodiac. Your innate knowledge of pleasure makes you an expert in the bedroom and you can be hard to beat. Although it may take you a while to warm up, either physically or emotionally, you eventually show your partners that it is absolutely worth the wait! Because you tend to be safe and secure in yourself (the 2nd house rules self esteem) you share that safety and extend your protection to those you love the most. Your sexual language is unforgettable. You know how to love someone head to toe! WOOOOO!!!

Mars in Aries or Mars in the 1st House

“Dollhouse, dressed up, perfect messed up, Torture me to sleep, paint the air I breathe. Fishbowl, chokehold, dirty water, I’m cold. Dirty as can be, have your way with me.” Dollhouse (with Lily Rose Depp) by The Weeknd

If you have Mars in Aries or Mars in the 1st House, your sexual language is intense & powerful. You have a way of pulling people into your orbit just by being your unapologetic self! The force is with you! Best believe! And people feel it. You get what you want and you want what you get and you have a way of luring in your prospective sexual partner by projecting your lust onto them– so much so they feel it when they walk by you. Much like your sister, the Mars ruled Scorpio, there is a carnal desire that surrounds you. It’s magnetic. It’s magnificent. And it’s very fleeting.

When it comes to your bedroom pleasures, you can be a pioneer of the “Wham! Bam! Thank you ma’am or…sir” (not as cute of a rhyme) mindset. You may have a habit of treating your lovers like conquest– wanting to overpower them and wrap them up in your passionate fantasies. You deeply enjoy power play in your sex life. Yes, you could easily be the dominant one in your relationships, BUT you could also seek refuge in being submissive to your partner. How? I know it seems contradictory. But chances are, with this placement (unless it’s in a water sign in your first house) you are more than likely the boss and the leader in your everyday life…so when it comes to sex, you may want to just “relax” and let your partner do all the hard work for once. If that’s the case, you may be a bit of a brat in the bedroom because you still like to challenge your partner for shizz & giggles, but you are certainly fun and definitely unforgettable.

Your sex language is raw and real. You don’t like to hold back your passion and you appreciate a partner who can match your enthusiasm in the bedroom. You love the runner chaser dynamic, and again, you can easily play both parts. You are strong and competitive and don’t like to lose the interest of your lovers, even though you can get bored pretty easily. You may prefer quickies over long drawn up love sessions, but that doesn’t mean you don’t like to indulge your sinuses from time to time– you’re just not one of the most lovey dovey of the zodiac and prefer loud, wild, hot, steamy sex opposed to soft caresses and whispers of sweet nothings. You may also be a person who uses sexy time to advance a certain agenda. You could use sex as a tool of manipulation to get what you want. That may seem extreme, but think about a stripper using her sensuality as a means to make money so she can pay her way through law school. THAT’S what I mean. Because you may not be so shy about your sex appeal, if used correctly, it can be your weapon of choice when it comes to getting what you want from someone.

Passion matters to you more than most. You would prefer a risky lover than a predictable one. You also may be a fan of the ole’ break up to make-up trope. Make-up sex is always better. And you don’t mind starting a fight in the streets, simply to uh…you know…end it….in the sheets…..if you catch my drift. You aren’t one for subtleties. You are probably one of the most straightforward and upfront people in the world and you may play shy, but once you allow a person to get to know you, you don’t hold anything back. Because you are a cardinal energy, you always have a childlike flair to you! You keep things interesting and youthful. You’re not afraid to cross boundaries and push the limits of yourself & your partner in the midst of a sexual act. You really may think that sex is something that can be “won”. You want to be the best. You want to be the one that lovers can’t get enough of. You don’t appreciate being compared to others and honestly hear partners talking about their past as if it was some sort of challenge. You definitely have a jealous and possessive streak, but like I always say, when this is a healed energy it can be enduring to the right partner. As long as it’s not obsessive and unhealthy, you can provide comfort to your lovers that you are there for them and only them. You expect loyalty in return, of course, but you don’t mind protecting and defending what you see as your own. Your love is real. Your love is honest. Your love is young and wild and free!

#astrology #astro notes #astrology observations #vedic astrology #astro community #sidereal astrology #jyotish

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nereidprinc3ss · 4 months ago

Text

hourglass

in which spencer disappears from fem!reader's life entirely for three months, right as it seems they were finally about to make things official. when he comes back they reunite, all the while knowing things can't be the same as they were.

18+ (smut, angst) warnings/tags: oh god so many. NOT canon compliant in the slightest, i make shit up, softdom!spence, nipple stuff prob, fingering, oral f receiving, piv sex, unprotected sex, pet names, tara mentioned, depression, mentions of trauma cause its the prison arc duh, passing mentions of alcohol, mentions of spencer losing weight, reader mistakenly thinks spencer tried to kill himself BUT ONLY FOR A SECOND, where is diana reid, nobody knows or cares, probably filming glee, optimistic ending a/n: haven't posted smut in forever but this wip required it and the angst was so angsty i just had to finish it. it was started in jan or feb and subsequently added to and changed months apart and then edited so the writing quality varies from section to section which i apologize for. originally based on good guy by julia jacklin... also the odyssey by homer? can't really explain that one you'll just have to see for yourself anyway byeeee ilysm!!! PLS tell me if you liked it! or if you hated it! but preferably if you liked it! MWAH! wc <12k

It’s been about three months since you last saw Spencer Reid.

About three months since you had an early Valentine’s Day celebration (even though you weren’t a couple) complete with champagne (even though he doesn’t usually drink) and slow dancing (even though you swore you’d be terrible and he spent the first ten minutes laughing at you as you stepped on his toes.)

About three months since you finally settled your head on his shoulder and let the warbling vinyl carry you somewhere distant as the two of you danced slow circles on the parquet floor for what felt like hours.

You’d have liked him to stay later that night. You’d have liked him to stay all night if you were being honest with yourself, but at 11:45 he gently pulled away and told you he had to go.

“Curfew?” you joked, the corner of your mouth lifting a little and you hoped you were hiding your disappointment well.

“Actually, I’m going down to Texas for a few days to speak with one of the leading doctors in experimental Alzheimer's and dementia treatment. I’m going to see if he can get my mom into a clinical trial. I leave early tomorrow morning.”

“Oh my god, that’s amazing, Spencer! What are you doing still here? You should be at home getting ready to go!”

A rosy blush stains his cheeks and he looks down at the ground, laughing that little self-deprecating laugh of his. It makes your heart dance to see him so happy, makes you want to wrap your arms around him and never let him go so that he knows how much you absolutely adore him—but you settle for an affectionate squeeze where your hands have come to rest on his biceps.

“I wanted to see you tonight because I won’t be here for Valentine’s Day... but I still really wanted to spend it with you,” he admits meekly.

If before your heart was dancing, it is now melting.

The dreaded ‘what are we’ talk has been lurking in the dark corners of every conversation you have with each other lately—at least, in your mind it has. What you have with Spencer is not easily defined, and near impossible to explain to your friends—you act like a couple, you go out on dates, he introduces you to his team like you’re his girlfriend without ever putting it into so many words—but this validation that your pseudo-relationship might be evolving is better than any flowers he could have gotten you (although the peonies he brought will look very nice on your bedside table.)

“Four whole days... what will I do without you?” you whisper, brushing a hand along his face, and your chest aches with the heavy truth of it—despite the fact that he often is gone for stretches about that length. They don’t ever start to feel shorter.

“Well, you can start by reading that copy of The Odyssey I annotated for you.”

“Depressing,” you admit. “And a little ominous, considering you’re about to embark on a hero’s journey.”

“I think you’ll like this one,” he smiles.

You chew on your bottom lip, looking up at him as you think.

“Give me something to look forward to,” you say, earnestly.

“I—well, honestly, I just really want to kiss you and I’ve wanted to for a long time now and, you know, if that’s something you’re maybe also interested in then we could, uh, figure out a time to—”

“You want to kiss me?”

“Wh—you couldn’t tell?” Spencer says, like he can’t believe it.

As if on reflex, you lunge up and capture his lips with your own. It obviously catches him by surprise, but when you lower from your tiptoes he follows you, pulling you in closer and holding your face in his hands.

It’s too natural, too right, to be exhilarating. There’s no rush of adrenaline—it's more like stepping into a hot bath or warming your freezing hands at a fire. Like pieces clicking into place. It’s a relief.

You breathe into it, letting more and more of yourself melt against him. He keeps coming back to you deeper and deeper like a rising tide, and you want more than anything to keep getting closer to him—but then he stops. He stays close enough for you to breathe his air, but dodges your kiss gently before supplanting it with a gentle one to the corner of your mouth.

“I really have to go,” he breathes, before moving away from your mouth to kiss your forehead and speak softly against your skin. “If I don’t leave now I’ll be here all night.”

Which is exactly what you want, and the implication does little to make you want him less. But you care about him too much to be so selfish.

At some point, his hands found their way into your hair, and you gently grab his wrists.

“Incentive for you to come home.”

Nearly three months since that night.

At first when he stopped answering texts, you’d assumed he just had too much going on down in Texas. Which you could understand—you knew how stressful this situation with his mother was.

Even when four days came and went without even an alert from him that he was back in town, you thought, okay, maybe he’s been called away on a case. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s disappeared because of his work. But even then, he’d at least text you enough information so that you would know he was alive. Now, radio silence.

So you tried not to be clingy. You tried to act like an adult, to focus on school and your life outside of Spencer, but when Tara Lewis cancelled your weekly meeting due to an “unforeseen work-related emergency”you called her immediately. Tara was something of a mentor, and it was she who had connected you and Spencer to begin with. You had met the other members of his team by that point, yes, but none who you knew as well as Tara.

When she had informed you that Spencer had been arrested in Mexico and was now facing prison time for murder, you laughed.

Laughed until you realized her end of the line was silent.

Realized it was not at all a joke.

In a catatonic state of tranquility, you asked her for more details. Beyond assuring you of his innocence, she couldn’t (or more likely, wouldn’t) provide them. Asked where he was now. Asked all the right things that made sense to ask.

Then you hung up and had a panic attack because Tara said something about 25 years and you saw Spencer evaporate from your future like an apparition.

Slowly, you felt him evaporating from your past, too. Those memories from the night he left, became visions of you swaying with a ghost. Holding nothing but light between your hands as you kissed the peony air of your apartment.

He doesn’t want to see you, she had said into the phone one night, her tinny voice cutting in and out. You’re not on his list of approved visitors.

“You asked him about me?” you had whispered, curled up on top of your made bed in the dark.

I tried. I’m sorry. I’ll call you when I know more.

All your days melded together like a muddied smear of paint. Suddenly you felt you had nothing to look forward to. No anchor, no goal. Yes, a PhD... and then what?

The only thing that punctuated one 24 hour period from the next was the time you spent crying because Spencer was in prison and he didn’t want to see you and by the looks of things you may never see him again. When you weren’t crying, you were thinking about how your life was a big cosmic joke. An unfortunate statistical anomaly that didn’t mean anything to anyone else, and that you couldn’t do anything about.

That copy of The Odyssey, which wasn’t even bound and instead was a thick stack of printer paper organized by a single black clip, became something of a manifesto for you—a tome that your poured over, reading and re-reading each note in the margins, each word beautiful and imbued with meaning because you knew Spencer had selected every single one specifically for you. You traced the letters reverently, because in a way this was the last thing he had said to you—about Lattimore’s faith to the original text, Merrill’s strict use of dactylic hexameter, the stylings of Wilson and Lombardo, and how he thought you would enjoy Hammond’s prose just as much as he did.

Day by day it was becoming more prophetic than fictional, and you allowed yourself to sink into madness. You would rather be a deluded zealot than be nothing at all.

He didn’t want to see you.

He might as well have been dead, for all that you were grieving him. And you started to hate him, because he wasn’t dead, but wouldn’t do you the kindness of proving it. Like a festering wound, scratched open day after day so as not to ever heal, you had to live knowing he was less than an hour away. So no, you weren’t exactly over it. You lived day by day, waiting for the occasional call from Tara to keep you updated on Spencer, but either she didn’t want to share much about how he was doing, or he had specifically barred her from doing so, because she was always sparse on the personal side of things. That thought actually lifted your spirits, because it meant he was at least acknowledging your existence in some tiny way.

But your routine was becoming more regular, and so you staid on top of your classes and your non-Reid related meetings with Tara once a week, and you learned to dip your toes into existential dread and the oily black pool of depression every night without ever fully submerging yourself. You learned hope, because it was pretty much all you had, and the BAU had confidence that they would get Spencer out one way or another so you did too.

So you didn’t really think about it when you missed a couple of calls from Tara some evening in May. You were preparing for finals and had way too much on your plate academically to think about anything else which was a welcome relief so you fully embraced it. I’ll call her back tomorrow, you think, as you clean up from dinner before going back to the living room where your textbooks and papers are completely covering every available surface. Maybe I have no idea what I’m going to do with my life after school, but I’ll be damned if I don’t even make it that far.

Hours later, well into the night, you’d all but forgotten about the calls. A knock at the door takes you a bit by surprise, and you frown as you stand again, tugging your Georgetown sweatshirt down over your shorts as you shuffle to the entrance of your apartment. You’re not expecting anyone, so you crack the door, peering around the edge of it.

And you couldn’t even consider trying to hide that shaky inhalation of dead air when you see Spencer standing on the other side.

Surely you’re hallucinating.

Surely this man in front of you who looks like he just got back from a day of work didn’t spend three months in prison pretending you didn’t exist.

He looks the same. Hair a bit longer, maybe—and gaunter even more than is normal for him.

But it's him.

You can’t think about the apprehensive look on his face—you can’t think about the impossibility of him being here. You can’t think at all. Without your explicit permission, your body surges forward into his, and he’s real, and alive, and warm, and he is an anachronism in the hallway as he accepts everything you pour into the embrace, doesn’t flinch when you move your arms from around his waist to loop around his neck and back to his waist again with crushing force because you just can’t get him close enough.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer mutters into your hair, I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorry, he keeps saying, rubbing your back as you try to find a solid grip on the sleek material of his suit—try to gather all the pieces of him, already afraid he might fall apart and float away again.

“You—dis—disappeared,” you hiccup after an eternity, pulling away enough to look up at his pretty face. Tears blur your vision and darken the front of his jacket, bending the florescent lights so they form a kind of halo above his head.

Through the surreal haze you can see his throat bob.

“I know.”

He knows?

You scoff.

“You have no fucking idea, Spencer. What the fuck is wrong with you? I—I'm—”

The hot anger is such a relief for a second, boiling the oceans of your despair into a wrathful, scorching fog, but as soon as you try to tell him how you feel, the barbed wire cuts into your throat again. You shove him away, skin burning where his hands had been.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, hands hanging uselessly at his side. There’s that kicked puppy look about him—and it’s familiar, but now there’s more damage. You don’t know anything about his time in prison, you haven’t heard a damn thing, but beneath the glassy desperation in his eyes there is an unfathomable void that seems to be preventing him from being fully present—and you realize for the first time that he is different.

It chills you.

Before, you and Spencer shared everything. There wasn’t one part of his internal machinations that you didn’t understand, nothing you kept from each other. But as you study him now from a few feet away, you realize there might as well be a yawning chasm between the two of you.

He is so different.

Those eyes look deeper. No gears turning just behind the slashes of gold and brown anymore—only an endless dark corridor that goes places you will never go.

Gone is the perpetual boyish up-turn at the corner of his lips that always made him look slightly vacant in a way that you found incredibly amusing. Something you had been so fond of, even if you teased him.

He seems to have aged ten years—if not physically, then in demeanor. And now you feel like a little kid throwing a tantrum.

You cross your arms, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.

You’re embarrassed. And pissed. And relieved. Everything is worse and better. You want to fall back into his arms, but you have been jarred by the revelation that this might not be the same Spencer. It might not be the same relationship. You have no idea where you stand.

He says your name gently, with so much familiarity you’re briefly jerked into the past. It makes you wish you could look up to find him as he was three months ago. Wish this was just a bad dream. But that’s not fair to him.

“Sorry,” you mutter, studying the grey carpet fibers instead of looking at him.

“Don’t apologize,” Spencer says immediately, “you’re right. I don’t—” he clears his throat— “I’m being incredibly selfish. I shouldn’t have just shown up, I’ll just—I'll leave. I’m sorry.”

A silent moment passes.

You don’t look up as he turns and swiftly begins to move down the hall toward the stairway, leaving as quickly and silently as he had come, like a few bars of a song sighed in and away on a fleeting breeze.

Your bare feet are concretely planted, imagining him jogging down the steps and speed-walking away from your building—

And suddenly you’re sprinting after him, feeling like you might puke because Spencer was just here and you let him go again—and even though you’re still so mad and confused and hurt, the realization that he is leaving again makes the entire building spin and lurch.

“Wait!” You yell, almost wiping out as you run down the stairs and whip around corners in your slippery fucking socks. “Please, wait!”

The lobby is already empty as you spill out into it, and cold dread tightens around your neck like a fist as you shoulder your way through the double doors and right into Spencer.

“Please don’t leave again, you just—I'm sorry, I really need you to not go—” you blabber, lachrymose once more, gripping onto his forearms for dear life.

“I’m not going,” he breathes shakily. “I tried to leave because I think you were right and maybe I should and maybe it would be better for you but I can’t.”

“You can’t,” you agree, more sob than spoken word. He cups your jaw, then your cheeks, wiping tears and brushing away hair like he can’t figure out how to hold enough of you between his hands. The wild kaleidoscope of his eyes, bright and alive and real as he scans you desperately captures your attention enough to slow the tears to a trickle. He notices this and stares back, entranced.

A silent agreement is made, or maybe an inevitable fate is accepted—either way, something was set in motion three months ago and it matters to see it through. Spencer kisses you and you’re ready for it. You don’t need slow or tender. You need to feel how he feels. You need to know what he knows.

You sling your arms around his neck and he pulls you closer until you almost tip backward, chasing the bruising kiss even as you regain your footing. You want to drink him in and you do your best, breathing deeply as he kisses you deeper, backing you inside and toward the elevator.

“Is this okay?” he manages, only after blindly reaching for and mashing the up button on the wall panel.

Ideally it wouldn’t happen like this, but the world you live in obviously isn’t ideal and your personal situations as they coincide are far from ideal, so this is how it has to happen. But it’s hard to explain, and you’d rather not admit that this is so far from what you wanted for both of you and follow up with the fact that despite that you need him like you need water. So you don’t say a word as the metal doors slide open promptly. Instead you pull him in and let him press you to the chrome wall as he hits your floor button, and that very hand comes back to grab your ass like you didn’t think Spencer Reid capable of. It almost aches as his fingers dig into the flesh, but it’s a good ache because it means he’s real and he’s there.

You gasp as he hitches your leg up, arching into him. The shorts that you’re wearing leave very little to the imagination to begin with, but they become downright indecent like this.

Quickly the elevator stops and the doors hiss open. You don’t hesitate to pull Spencer by the hand down the hall. When you notice you left your door wide open, you don’t even care. Neither does he, apparently—once you’re inside he slams it shut, flipping the deadbolt while his eyes are glued to you like you’re already naked. Now Spencer is shameless in the way he drags his eyes over every curve, every place your clothes and hair are disheveled from his touch and eye-fucks you so obviously it makes your face warm. Three months ago Spencer would have at least been bashful about it when he met your eyes again, but this Spencer is far from apologetic as he pins you with his burning gaze once more. His hand stays stuck to the door like he’s holding himself back.

“Is this what you want?”

There’s an undercurrent of sorrow below the gravely arousal, like this isn’t what he wanted for the two of you either. But you’re both at the mercy of fate. This is all you have, and it might be all you can do for each other anymore. So you don’t need to say that, because he understands.

“Yeah. Yes, this is what I want.”

For just a second more he watches you from his place by the door, and there’s an unexpected softness to it. He looks at you the way he would have looked at you before. Like as long as he stays there he can entertain the idea of being that person again.

Need wins out quickly, though, and he surges forward. Immediately you’re caught in the riptide of him, helpless as he kisses you all the way to your bedroom.

He’s never been in here before. You find yourself glad it’s relatively clean—one of the pastimes you’d picked up in his absence was keeping everything tidy. It was something you could control.

A lamp glows at your bedside. You lean against the footboard of your bed, hands timidly behind your back and suddenly shy to have in him in your intimate space. Both of you set aside the heaving desperation long enough to catch your breaths, and for him to scan the room like he too is being forced to reconcile with the innate and unexpected intimacy of the moment. He cuts a harsh, dark gash in your sweetly decorated bedroom, radiating something wild and powerful and unsure of himself like a chained bull as he takes in the soft, pale bedding, the paintings and photos taped to the walls, the woven rug and the sheer drapery. His breathing slows as he studies it all—eyes eventually catching on something behind you. Looking is unnecessary. You’re sure he’s spotted the dried peonies in their ceramic vase. Or maybe the now worn stack of papers that is his Odyssey, marked up and soft around the edges from constant flipping-through.

Then Spencer looks at you, and that softness seeps in again. Along with something like... fear? Grief?

In some other universe your first time with Spencer is sweet and giggly and kind and he smiles at the decor in your room and looks around with wonder because it’s another way he gets to know you. It’s a different way to learn you from the inside.

You sense that he’s caught in between universes right now as well, painfully aware of what he would have given you that he can’t anymore.

He breathes your name like an apology, and foolishly you let a second go by in which you think he might offer you one. But he doesn’t. Not with his words, anyway. His eyes tell a different story.

“It’s fine,” you say unprompted on a whispered exhale, then a little louder as you push off the footboard, crossing the space until your hands are on his chest. You focus on his tie, not making eye contact as you rush to undo it. “It’s fine.”

He lets you do this for a few seconds before finally covering your trembling hands with his own. You still can’t meet his eyes.

“We don’t have to do—”

“No! No, please. I want to. I need—I need us to be okay.”

“Hey,” he murmurs, catching your chin and forcing you to look at him. “We are okay. Me and you are fine.”

It’s a pretty thought, but it’s not true. In fact, it’s a hideous and abject affront to the truth. Sure, maybe you’re fine in comparison to last week. Maybe anything feels fine compared to an eight by six cell. But it would be impossible for you and Spencer, for your relationship, whatever that relationship may be, to be fine. It’s especially impossible for him to make that claim, after all he did or rather didn’t do while he was gone. What you need is for him to stay anyway. What you need is to find a way to be with him, to exist with him, even when you are so clearly not fine.

“I just need you to stay,” you whisper, and he’s already nodding, wide-eyed like he’d do anything for you. You ignore all the bitter venom rising in your throat. You pretend this isn’t all happening after he cut you out of his life with a dirty switchblade. Instead you focus on his hands on yours, the familiar smell of him, which invites you to let go of each and every thought and worry. He must’ve showered before coming here, you realize. How long has he been out? What happened?

“Okay. Okay, I can stay. What else can I do? How do I make it better?”

You sniffle and look back down.

“You can untie that for me.”

He hesitates, then nods some more, fingers working under yours to undo the tie around his neck.

“Okay.”

A moment goes by and after that final whispered word, the tension begins to build again. Spencer senses it in the way your fingertips linger on his chest and you step even closer, dragging them down to his belt. The metallic sound of it unbuckling, despite being your own doing, still manages to flip your stomach. How many times have you pictured this? When was the first time you realized you wanted it? You’re sure you haven’t stopped wanting it even once since then.

Spencer tosses the tie away and is shrugging off his jacket now, then before you see it coming he’s kissing you again, ducking down to do it. He feels taller this close up, and especially in your bedroom, where he just seems rather out of place. But you want him here. God, you want him here.

You break the kiss, forced to look down as you fumble with his belt.

“Sorry,” you gasp, embarrassed by your lack of dexterity. The light is barely sufficient to see what you’re doing, especially when he’s wearing black on black and your eyes are still bleary.

“You’re okay,” he assures you, and it’s so Spencer a fresh round of nerves electrifies the tips of your fingers. That thing is happening—the thing you’d hoped to avoid if you hadn’t lost momentum partway through, where you’re allowing your actual feelings for him to get in the way rather than getting swept up in the pathos of the moment and letting everything be easy and mindless. “Here, can I help you?”

But he doesn’t actually wait for an answer before he’s finishing off the belt for you, tugging it loose from his hips till it’s a leather coil in his hands. Your fingers brush the material and he lets you take it as if it were your prize. It’s heavier than you thought it’d be, and you just feel the weight of it in your hands for a moment, your dropped head brushing his chest.

You have a terrible feeling that if you do this now, it doesn’t mean everything will be alright. Because it can’t just go back to normal. Spencer has told you nothing of what must be an enormous trauma, and you haven’t spoken about it at all, but you sincerely doubt that after this he’s going to be ready to just jump into that committed relationship the two of you had been toying with for months before his absence. You’re almost... scared of him, now. Scared of where he’s been and what he’s endured—things you’re sure you couldn’t have taken. What that does to a person, you can’t imagine. He seems so solid and real in front of you now—but you know that’s not always enough. Maybe you’re just scared that somehow whatever he’s been through will have made him care for you less. That you were too far removed from the whole ordeal, and now you’ll never understand. If you could understand, maybe you could fix it for him. Maybe he’d stick around.

Still—even if you do end up pushing him further away in the long run—won't it have been worth it to have had him so completely, even just once?

You toss the belt to the ground, compressing all of these very complicated thoughts and feelings into a few seconds so short he can’t ask you any questions about them. Instead you find his top button, and just as you manage to undo it with relative ease he’s gently grabbing your wrists. You look up at him, immediately surrendering.

“If we’re going to do this I need you to relax a little bit.”

Gears grind in your chest. You feel need and anxiety comingling in every square inch of your body. It’s a sick buzz—a high on an empty stomach.

“I can’t,” you admit.

“Yeah, you can,” Spencer gently disagrees, slowly lowering your hands. When he’s sure you’re not going to try ripping his clothes off again, he releases, and his eyes lower to the zipper of your hoodie. His fingers follow, warm against the soft triangle of revealed skin at your chest as he grips the small piece of metal between barely shaking fingers. “You can.”

You match his eyeline, breathing shallowly and watching as he slowly drags the zipper down. You wonder if that sound has haunted his fantasies the way the sound of his belt has haunted yours. If he’s seen this hoodie on you and wondered what’s underneath, staring at you and daydreaming during movie night with you none the wiser.

Both of you have your eyes glued to the span of skin as the zipper parts. Spencer stalls with the zipper at your sternum, just below the band of your bra.

Right. No shirt.

You look up and find his eyes already on you, tinged with a curious kind of humor.

“I wasn’t expecting guests.”

The words come out shy. Spencer’s chuckle has its own nervous airy quality as he resumes tugging on your zipper, leaning down until your noses bump.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Then he kisses you again, a little sweeter now. Sweet enough to give you butterflies and for them to flutter right out of your stomach and spill from your lips in a little whimper against his.

It comes as a surprise when he pushes the fabric from your shoulders without looking or asking. Not that you’d have said no—you're just underprepared for how assertive he is in this foreign context.

Left just in your flimsy shorts and your thin bra, you feel quite exposed—but Spencer’s hands are as demanding and hungry as his mouth. They skim up your sensitive sides and sweep lower, suggesting less proper placement over your ass and pulling at your bottoms until you gently put a stop to their wandering.

“Wait. We’re... we’re uneven.”

It’s a struggle to get any words out at all when he keeps chasing your lips, nipping at you like he physically can’t stand not kissing you, but they catch his attention and he laughs airily, pulling back to let his gaze pour over your less clothed form. It lingers and catches and lights you up everywhere it touches, drops of heat soaking into your skin and making you feel all fuzzy and needy.

“We are,” he acknowledges, tone low and colored with the faintest smile. “You’re a lot prettier without your clothes on than I am.”

“I don’t believe you.”

The challenge comes immediately and thoughtlessly. Spencer’s golden eyes flash up to yours. He’s breathing a little harder than usual.

“You want me to show you what I mean?”

If that means getting him naked, then yes, absolutely.

You nod, but rather than immediately stripping, he takes your hand and holds his own open next to it. A thick pink scar bisects some pretty significant palmistry lines, but you don’t mention that. Instead you swallow—your thoughts, your words, your nausea.

“That’s new.”

You wonder how you hadn’t noticed it earlier.

He nods.

“A lot is new.”

It sounds almost like he’s challenging you—there's a kind of tremulous force in his voice, despite the perpetual softness there, like he’s inviting you to say it’s ugly. And you realize he’s referring to more than just the glowing scar cutting an asteroid trail against the flesh of him palm. The scars he obtained in prison must form a constellation over his body.

“I don’t care. I wanna see you.”

Spencer swallows, cupping your face with the scarred hand once more. You can’t feel it against your cheek but you know it hasn’t gone away.

“I’m sure you think you do,” he permits, and that’s where the conversation ends for the moment—with his hand on your face and his lips back on yours. “For now why don’t you let me worry about you?”

Obediently, you breathe, “okay.”

This is, for whatever reason, amusing to him. The brief levity dies as quick as it comes like a snuffed-out brush fire as soon as he lets his hands fall back down to your hips.

“I want... I want to give you slow. But...”

But slow is for people who didn’t lose three months of their life. Slow is for people who don’t know what it’s like to be starving. Slow is not for the desperate.

You understand the feeling.

“I don’t need slow.”

You’ll let him use you up like quick-burning fuel if that’s what he needs. You’ll go as fast and as bright and as hot as he tells you.

“But you want slow,” he murmurs, a secret acknowledged into your own waiting mouth. You’d keep it there forever. You could be the object he hides his soul in. “I know you do. You deserve to get what you want.”

“I can go fast. I want whatever you can give me.”

Spencer’s shuddering exhale is like a drug, dizzying as you inhale it and your eyes flutter at the high, pressed head-to-head with him. For so long you’ve needed him so badly. It’s overwhelming to have him now, all over you. If only your walls could breathe him in the way you are, if this room could remember what it feels like to hold him the way you will, if any inanimate object could bear witness to how you’ll give yourself, any part of yourself, over to him, so willingly.

“I’m going to try.” Spencer’s voice is hoarse as he walks backward to the bed, taking you by the hips as he goes. “I want to do it right. I want to do this the way I... the way I imagined it, before...”

Now he’s sitting, and you’re standing between his legs as he finds the clasp of your bra and undoes it, his fingers a comforting pressure where they ghost down the slope of your back. Your heart is pounding at the confession, at the way his tongue darts over his bottom lip and his fingertips journey back up to your straps, looking up at you with haloed irises as if he’d find anything other than the most dangerous kind of smoldering devotion in your eyes—the kind cult-leaders seek and spend years nurturing, and he’d earned with a mere brush over your bare skin.

The fabric slides down your arms, and as it falls to the floor, you watch something like despair flash-flood his eyes. It is a deep, distinctly human grief. The ineffable kind where something is almost too beautiful; so perfect it offends the mortal senses because it should be permanent, but nothing is, and the clash of divine beauty with unstoppable time which oxidizes copper and covers marble with vine is almost as grotesque as metal rending delicate flesh. It is the grief that drove the first poet to write and the first parents to press their baby’s painted hands to the walls of a cave. It is the desire to do the impossible—to capture ephemeral perfection and make it eternal, and the knowledge that it is hopeless. You recognize it because you’ve felt it for him.

“I thought about you all the time,” he whispers, doesn’t bother calling you beautiful but you don’t mind because he’s telling you with his hands and his eyes and the waver of his voice. “When I was gone, I thought about you—”

You’re just as quiet, just as soft.

“Don’t, Spencer.”

He doesn’t get to tell you about when he was gone. Not now. Not after he acted like you didn’t exist.

“Okay.” He swallows the things he’d wanted to tell you like you choked on the things you needed to tell him for three months. “I’m sorry.”

But his hands—his hands are perfect over your waist and his lips are perfect where they kiss your ribs like they’re his homeland. You could forgive a thousand wrongs for each kiss he puts to your skin. Light from the full moon stretches over the room like a blessing from the cosmos, and you have every intention of making the most of that gift, how the silver gilds the planes of his face and highlights curls like they were carved, and invites you to search for something in each shadow.

Some of his kisses land over the sensitive skin of your breasts though you doubt he has much intention or that there is any sort of end-goal with the trail he blazes—in fact, you have to root your hand in his hair and pull gently back when he doesn’t seem to realize that he’s making you wait again. His eyes are glassy and cheeks slightly pinkened—you weren’t expecting this wave of fondness to knock you on your ass but here you are, falling all over again.

“You don’t have to go that slow.”

A slow smile splits the heart of his mouth at your bashful tone and he’s emboldened to bring his hands higher for a moment, thumbs brushing particularly delicate though not downright indecent spots. Nonetheless, your breath catches.

“Impatient girl,” he scolds, and though it’s lighthearted it still inspires heat to dance across your face. Oh, I think I’ve been plenty patient, you itch to say, but you bite it back because it’s only sad and true and unkind.

Still, he gives you the beginning of what you want, really only the tip of the enormous iceberg that is your desire for him, by slipping his thumbs into the waistband of your shorts and tugging them down. His hands slide up the fronts of your thighs, tracing the trim of your underwear, and you’d swear he’s not even breathing. The moment one of his hand loops behind your knee and pulls forward until it’s pressed to the mattress and you’re half-kneeling, half standing, desire begins to truly cloud your mind. Manhandling never seemed like Spencer’s style, but when paired with how softly he reveals your hip, pulling gently down on the fabric of your underwear just to admire you up close, you don’t mind it.

More kisses are littered over your stomach, and he takes you by surprise a second time with a quick maneuver landing you on your back and him on top of you.

“I wasn’t doing you justice with my imagination,” he murmurs against your mouth. “I couldn’t have known.”

“Couldn’t have known what?” you pant as he shamelessly digs his fingers into the plush of your ass. You almost hope it bruises.

“How pretty you would be,” he coos like he means it, and you dissolve, slipping through his fingers like sand in an hourglass. “You were holding out on me.”

It’s a tease, not at all serious, but you manage to hit him with a, “Was not, asshole,” and he chuckles, placating your little hurt with another sticky kiss, and you get another disorienting glimpse of some other timeline where you’re both a little less damaged. Where it’s a little easier.

But in this timeline, his touch becomes starving and ragged and urgent, and you accept the drag of his thumb up your thigh and between your legs, gasping when he runs his knuckles up the center of you. This touch is metal on screeching metal. It does not pretend to be anything more than what it is—brute, powerful, executed to elicit sensation. You get the sense that Spencer’s never touched anyone this honestly, and while you do envy the girls who got to have him gentler, you’ll take this as the compliment that it is. A kind of vulnerability that is nearing primal.

His lips, though—always his lips—are kind when they brush and land on your skin guided by some invisible map. A dip down your neck and chest and then a plunge, his tongue dragging over your hips, chasing the fabric of your underwear as he almost pulls it off and then reroutes, making room for himself between your legs and pushing lace aside to mark the hinge of your inner and upper-most thigh. Your chest heaves and you don’t dare move for fear he’ll stop leaving signs of himself on your body and you won’t be able to reassure yourself that it was real and he was here and it was not another dream.

Because something in you knows, if only consciously recognizing it for the first time now, that he will disappear again. That this may be your only chance.

The desire to make the ephemeral eternal. An impossibility.

He’s clearly losing himself to something, eyes shutting blissfully. You wonder when the last time he let his guard down even a little was. You’re okay with being the thing he gets lost in, even if you’re not exactly okay with him—something you are becoming more acutely aware of as each touch makes a part of you want to cry. Maybe you still have some things in common. A strange pain that doesn’t quite feel like it belongs to you, for one thing.

You slam back into your body as his nose nudges against you through fabric, and his lips catch on cotton as he drags himself up, eventually settling a kiss against the little bow at the waist of your underwear. There he stays, eyes closed, mouth pressed to you.

“Is this okay?”

You swallow, buzzing. Is this really what he wants? After everything?

“You don’t have to...”

“But is it okay with you?”

Nothing more than an airy whisper, you reply, “Yes, if that’s what you want.”

Being emotional at this point seems wrong, but it’s difficult to ignore the fact that you have thought about this before and it’s finally happening but it’s not exactly as you’d imagined it. There is an indelible sadness to it, to the way he’s so hungry for you because he’s been deprived, to the desperation with which he touches you because he’s had everything taken from him.

For a moment, before he tugs your underwear down, he pauses, and you wonder if he’s freezing one moment in time, this moment, and grieving all the other ways it could’ve been, and accepting that this is the way it is going to be. You are.

These higher realms of thought abandon you as he finally pulls the last barrier down your legs and encourages you to spread them further. You don’t have time or energy to be embarrassed, not even by his staring, or the way his eyes dart up to yours and back down again, wide and shining, as if to say, have you seen yourself? Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?

All you feel is the lack of him on you, the pull to have him closer so strong it’s almost sickening because he could be gone at any second. Maybe he understands that because he doesn’t waste anymore time before he’s kissing the most sensitive part of you. The drag of his tongue has you loosing a shuddering cry.

His mouth wanders, making connections you wouldn’t have realized the value of until you feel them on your skin. Your hips buck as he traces you and you’re unable to stop yourself from tangling your hands in his hair. Speech fails you—hell, you can hardly breathe as you watch his with a furrowed brow and parted lips, only expelling air from your lungs in the form of little cries and gasps and failing to hold your hips down to the bed.

The tip of his tongue teases around your entrance and he catches your leg as your foot rises off the bed, slinging it over his shoulder and consuming you more fervently until you have no choice but to moan though you’ve never been one for theatrics. Nobody has done this for you like he’s doing it for you. Locks of hair fall in front of his face and you hold them back for him, shuddering as he shifts his weight and presses the tip of his finger to your cunt.

“Ah—please,” you manage, your first words since he started. Spencer groans against you and the sound is so wonderfully unexpected, so much better than in your dreams. You cant your hips up in further invitation, chirping as he takes it, pushing two fingers into you at once. Your eyes screw shut and you bite back a whine at the slight stretch, unconsciously writhing your hips either to get further away or take him deeper, you’re not sure.

Spencer pulls back, kissing your hips and thighs and pumping his fingers very slowly as you adjust.

“’M sorry,” you pant, “it’s been awhile, I...”

“Don’t apologize,” Spencer says like it’s simple, his own breath coming quicker. “How’re you feeling? Need me to stop?”

“No! No, it feels really good, I feel good.”

He holds your burning gaze, matching it with his own, and his hair is tousled and his cheeks are flushed as he continues to move his hand.

“Yeah?”

“...Yeah.”

This little show of obedience, of call and response, has him smiling before he occupies his mouth with something else once more. It’s a different smile than you’re used to from him, but you decide you don’t at all mind it.

Like that, with his tongue and fingers working tirelessly, your orgasm comes on quickly. The feeling is rare but not entirely foreign, and in that brief moment of utter disconnect between your brain and reality, of sheer white-hot pleasure, you don’t feel you’re missing out on anything at all. How could you be, when you are here and Spencer is here and for a moment all your neurons are lighting up and flashing neon? How could there be anything more to life than the searing feeling of him slowly withdrawing his fingers from you, than your hips between his hands like he’s cradling the world, and his lips, indiscriminate with where they kiss because every part of you is worthy of attention?

You’re reeling, and your legs are gelatinous as he so affectionately sucks the darkest mark yet onto your inner thigh like a parting gift, like he’s signing his trembling work. If you could clamp your legs shut around the almost painful aftershocks you would, but he’s climbing back up your body, so all you can do is wriggle against him and release delayed, stunted little moans. He stops to kiss your neck before he makes it to your mouth and drinks down all your sounds until you’re gentle and pliant for him like you haven’t been yet.

His voice is soft and sympathetic when he speaks. “Better?”

Wordlessly you nod, both comforted and unsettled by how well he knows you. What, exactly, has been made better, you’re not sure. Not trust. You don’t trust him anymore. Something cheaper, but temporarily effective. A sense of permanence, maybe, however fleeting it may be. You’ve completed something with him now, and he’s still here, still sweet.

He looks into your eyes, then, for a moment—and there is just enough light in the room for you to tell yourself that the shadows dancing there as he looks at you are love.

They morph as you watch into haunting, wild hunger. Pained even now.

He sits up abruptly and so do you, scooting back against your headboard and pulling your knees to your chest to protect your pounding heart as Spencer takes you in with darting eyes and quick breaths. His fingers find the collar of his shirt and he begins to unbutton.

“I need you to remember it’s all going to heal.”

He swallows, and you hardly have the wherewithal to study the way he unbuttons his shirt, a way he exists in the world that you had previously not been privy to. The words are too distracting.

“What?”

Sometimes he reminds you of a deer, with those big brown eyes that can’t help betraying anxiety. Moreso in those old pictures he’d shown you from his early days at the BAU—but it shines through occasionally even now. It’s reassuring to know that something inside of his has remained soft.

“Just...” his fingers don’t stop at their task, and you come to the disturbing realization that his knuckles are bruised. “Please don’t freak out, alright?”

Your mouth goes dry, eyes glued to the lengthening span of revealed skin.

And before he even has his shirt fully undone, something isn’t right.

He’s like a Pollack of bruises—starbursts and watercolor blots of discoloration blooming over his side and stomach.

You’re glad the light is off for two reasons: one, being that you don’t think you could handle the bruising in all its glory, and two, you hope the look of horror painted on your face is at least partially obscured from Spencer.

But you can’t. You simply don’t have the gas in the tank to freak out, as he’d said—at least not externally. Those bruises shouldn’t be there, but 96 days is a long time to be gone.

You drag your eyes back to his—nervous, deeply insecure and mistrustful. A deer. Just like those pictures of a 24 year old Spencer in an FBI jacket that was too big for him.

It’s enough to have you scooting on your knees across the mattress to him. Those big eyes stay glued to you as you draw near, falling as you carefully push open his shirt, cautious not to bump any tender spots as it falls to the bed. A flash of white gauze wrapped around his forearm that makes your stomach flip. How? You want to ask. Why?

He doesn’t seem to know what you’re going to do, and neither do you, until you’re grabbing his hands, bruised knuckles and all, and just... holding them for a minute.

“I lost weight,” he says quietly, as if that’s the most shocking thing about his current appearance, though it is noticeable.

“You’re still pretty.”

He smiles at this—a true Spencer Reid smile. Flattened lips, eyes tinged silver with sadness, voice quiet and anxious and wavering.

“I didn’t have a lot to spare.”

A moment goes by.

“I’m not going to ask you about them,” you promise, though you care so much and you want to know but you already understand that he won’t want to tell you.

Another moment. It doesn't surprise you to watch the shiny vulnerability in his eyes to freeze over completely. But he squeezes your hands once in thanks, and you know it’s still the same Spencer.

“Lie down.”

Oh. Right.

This.

You do as he says, taking a deep breath to try and exhale the concern twisting your stomach like a poison. Somehow your room feels so unfamiliar, so new with him in it. Even the whorls on your ceiling look different as you study them, trying to time the pattern of your breathing with the pattern of the paint and plaster and not let the sound of Spencer further undressing quicken your heartrate too much.

Soon he’s coaxing your legs apart again, reverently, and kneeling between them, studying every part of you—lingering not on the parts you’d expect. He traces the scar on your knee with his thumb, follows a line down your thigh to the freckle on your hip. The scrutiny is unnerving and warms you everywhere. Perhaps he senses the microscopic clench of your thighs as you imagine pushing them together, if he weren’t in the way.

“You alright?” He asks, still stroking your hip. Tender again. It’s so hard to keep up.

“I...”

Suddenly your heart beat is a deafening echo in your own ears. The tide of your breathing is too powerful, too in and out and whooshing, leaving you always too empty or too full but never comfortable.

Maybe he’s changed, and he’s harder to know now, but he is the same Spencer. He is the Spencer you’d fallen in love with. The hard part is knowing that now you may never get a chance to tell him that. You don’t know if he’d be able to hear it.

There are things you can’t have with him anymore. Not now, at least. Maybe not ever. But you can have this. It will be different, but you’d rather him be different and here than the same and only in your memory.

You swallow.

“I’m good.”

Tangling your hand in his hair once more, you pull him down into a kiss. It’s hesitant, at first—maybe he can taste your thoughts, where they’d been balancing just on the tip of your tongue. But the uncertainty fades and he kisses you deeper, harder, in a way that is hard to keep up with. You like the messy overwhelm of his lips, teeth, tongue. That’s the only way he knows how to want you.

When you go to wrap your leg around his waist he catches it, running his hands over the soft plush of your thigh. The hard line of him presses against you like memory foam and you gasp and he breathes it in deeply as your brain short-circuits, as you realize this is really going to happen, that you’re going to have him like you’ve never had him before and in ways you’ve only imagined and immediately felt ashamed for.

“Spencer,” you whisper. He ducks to leave open-mouthed kisses along your neck and your eyes flutter shut, craning your neck but not losing sight of your objective as you reach down blindly. When you find what you’re looking for he freezes, groans against your neck at the same time as you breathe the tiniest whimper. Just in your hand he feels impossible, hot and imposing and hard. Your heart palpitates.

Without thinking, you angle your hips up and encourage him closer, until the tip of him is smearing through your folds, and you both go utterly silent like the breath had been stolen right from your lungs. The moment crystallizes, time around you hardening like preserved amber to keep you frozen there forever.

And then he rolls his hips, catching the underside of his cock on the crux of you, and then he does it again, and you choke out a moan and so does he, and it’s beyond perfect—it's nirvana, more than you could ever have conceived of, with his weight pressing you into the mattress, arms caging you in, his heavy breaths hot against your neck and vice versa as you twine together like serpents on a rod, your foot floating in the air as you widen your legs to make more room for him.

And you’re not even fucking yet.

“Oh my god,” you whine, just for him, barely audible under the heavy cloak of night, the thickened air in your bedroom and the sound of panting and fabric shifting. It’s like your heart is trying to reach through your chest to his own where they’re pressed together—that is how hard it’s beating.

Spencer only breathes a long, low curse and shifts so he can grasp himself. Your fingers drift down the shaft of him as he slots himself at your entrance, notching half an inch in and you hold your breath, and you brace yourself—and then he’s kissing you again, but gentler this time. Reassuring. You soften, you can’t not, releasing all your air in a soft gust through your nose, and then he’s pushing in.

Your lips part at the stretch as it fuzzes your mind, but he stays right there, nose pressed to your nose, lips ghosting over your own. He’s not going anywhere, you think, and you’re glad for it, when it burns ever so slightly, and the tiniest whine escapes your open mouth.

“Shh,” he soothes immediately, low and soft, only fractionally louder than you had been. “You’re okay.”

Spencer. Your Spencer.

For a moment, you’re living in that alternate universe. The kinder one. The flash of pain you feel then has nothing to do with the way he’s opening you up.

This is the closest you have ever been, and in some strange way, the furthest apart.

Together, fingers brushing, you guide him until he settles at not quite your deepest point. You can feel that he’s not giving you everything yet, but you’re okay with that, as you adjust to the full feeling. Spencer again senses your desire to close your legs against the deep intrusion, and gives you the best he can by encouraging you to wrap your legs around him.

“Good girl,” he whispers tenderly, nudging at your jaw with his nose and dragging kisses along the ridge of it. Your stomach flips at the moniker and your brain turns to warm sludge as your eyes flutter shut. It makes you feel all light-headed and you flutter around him. Spencer chuckles into the junction of your neck and shoulder and the vibrations send a chill down your arching spine. “I thought you might like that one.”

“Mhm.”

“Mhm. How are you? You okay?”

“’M ready.”

“You’re ready?” His tone is dripping sarcasm and faux-disbelief as he pulls back the slightest bit only to push right back in deeper, this time. Your toes curl, one thigh sliding higher up his waist as you cling to him.

“Fuck,” you manage, a pitiful, high pitched curse tossed to the wind. He echoes the sentiment.

“Oh, my god,” he groans, continuing with that slow pace, “you feel so good, angel.”

You grapple at his back, searching for purchase as your brow knits. “Faster.”

This inspires another breathy chuckle, but he obliges, and you cry out softly. It’s almost unreal, your head buried against his neck, drunk on his scent and the drag of him like a shock felt in the far reaches of your body, again and again.

There’s nothing you can say that will accurately demonstrate what you’re feeling, so you elect not to speak, to remain silent and try to get a grip on this cacophony of sensation and emotion. But it’s too much to be alone with. You feel you have to get it out, to seek understanding. You can’t do it alone.

“Spencer.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t know...” the sentence trails off into a gentle keen. He moves to kiss you, speaking against your lips.

“You don’t know?”

Shyly you shake your head. Spencer sighs wistfully.

“Do you know how much I missed you?”

It’s like he can sense your need for comfort. For something grounding.

And while this topic was off-limits earlier—you're softer now. The stone walls that form your boundaries have been chipped away and lowered.

Spencer continues unprompted.

“I thought about you every day. Every night while I was falling asleep. You were always on my mind, angel girl.”

You whine. Whether it’s pleasure or distress is anyone’s guess—including your own.

“You were gone so long,” you whisper, eyes shut.

At this, Spencer slows again, and the tension that was building settles back to a simmer.

“I know. I wish I could—I wish I could change that. But I’m here, okay? I’m right here with you.”

Then he makes sure you feel every last inch, and it takes your breath away. If your thoughts were any more coherent, they’d be something along the lines of: but for how long? How long until you leave again?

“You’re here.”

You say it like a mantra, once out loud, and then again and again in your head, timed with every clash of your hips. With each repetition he becomes more real. Every little ache, every tingling, head-emptying brush against that most sensitive spot inside proves to you that he could not be any closer. This can’t be faked. It can’t be another dream to wake up in tears from.

“You’re here,” you gasp as it hits you, as it truly sinks in.

“I’m here,” he breathes.

There’s so much you want to say—three months of words you need him to hear, of things you need to talk to him about, things you need to yell at him for and things you can only say crying in his arms and things you can only say laughing or whispering or drunk or half-asleep—and in this moment you can’t manage any of it. Every word condenses into one drop of salt water, drifting away from your eye and down your cheek. Spencer doesn’t tell you to stop crying. He only kisses the tear away, and murmurs I’m here I’m here I’m here over and over again against your skin until he’s not even speaking it out loud anymore. But you feel it. With every brush of his lips, every breath, every movement, you feel it.

Soon he’s adjusting his angle, gradually picking up the pace but retaining that unforgiving depth, and your nails bite into the skin of his back as your jaw drops. Spencer hisses, pressing impossibly closer.

“I’m sorry!” you squeak.

“Do it again.”

“Wh—what?”

“Please,” he begs, low and hot against your jaw, just beneath your ear. “Do it again, honey.”

Honey.

You’d do anything for him if it meant he calls you that again.

When he shifts his weight to one arm and reaches down between your bodies to play with your aching clit in exactly the right way, you don’t really have a choice. You arch and moan wantonly enough to feel embarrassed as your nails scratch down his back. At the same time he’s making noises of his own, and you almost feel guilty for marking him up like this only you think he likes it. The most perfect and troubling tension is building in your core, so taut you almost fear the inevitable rebound when it snaps. But you’re driven to be exactly what Spencer needs right now, and to let him try and be what you need. Even if it scares you. Even if you’re not sure how.

Spencer groans, head tucked to the bend of your shoulder. “I’m not gonna last.”

Any response you might’ve been about to muster is annihilated by a sudden, deep bolt of pleasure.

“’M gonna cum,” you mewl like it’s a secret.

“Are you?” he asks, coming up breathless. If your eyes were open, you’re sure you’d see him above you.

“Mhm.”

“Look at me. Look at me.”

It is unmistakably a command—one you fight to follow.

You cry out as you meet the intensity of his gaze, those shadowy corridors suddenly ablaze and alive. They are not unending, like you’d thought. They are a door thrown open to let the light in, or maybe to let the fire out. They’re open in this moment for you.

No more words are spoken after that—you cum hard, gasping as you fall and spin. Spencer follows very shortly after, like he was holding it together just for you, and your eyes are still locked though everything is a bit bleary.

“Fuck,” you whine as he continues to fuck you for as long as he can, despite your writhing hips, but you’re entranced by him, unable to look away now that you’re hooked. Until he slows to a halt, glances down at your mouth, and you just have time to pray that he’ll kiss you before he does. You whimper against his lips—a plea for understanding. A plea for him to stay, even though this is over. He kisses back so soft and sweet it’s like he can read your mind. Echoes of I’m here I’m here I’m here still buzz across your skin. His eyelashes tickle your cheek. Your heart stops beating quite so quickly, melting and warm like the rest of your body.

Soon the kissing ceases and you’re just breathing together, trapped and faced with the knowledge that it must end just the same as you had waited for it to start.

Eventually the air between you becomes mostly carbon dioxide and you let your head fall to the side, dizzy and giggling breathlessly as you nearly avoid asphyxiation. Spencer laughs too, letting his head fall to your shoulder once more, and you finally let your eyes flutter closed. To do something as simple as laugh with him again is its own small euphoria. It’s unexpected, and a soft landing once all that tension breaks underneath your combined weight.

It can’t last forever, you know that well. But the slow fade of it makes the next parts a little easier.

Spencer presses a kiss to your neck. “Is your bathroom through that door?”

You hum a confirmation and are only slightly disheartened when he pulls out and rolls off of you. You’re further disturbed when you see there’s gauze around his thigh, matching what’s around his arm, and you wonder how you missed that. Spencer scoops up his clothing and disappears into the adjoining restroom, assuring you he’ll be right back and leaving you alone with your thoughts and the whorls on the ceiling which have seemingly shifted into entirely new constellations.

He leaves the door cracked which is oddly reassuring—the sliver of warm light and the sound of the sink running. Only a few moments pass before he’s returning clad in boxers once more to sit on the edge of the bed, pushing away the sheet you’d just pulled over your chest and pulling one of your legs over his lap. Your face warms as he brings a washcloth between your thighs. As soon as he glances up at you and catches your eye you’re looking back to the ceiling.

“I should’ve asked first,” he says quietly as he cleans up the mess he’d made of you.

You speak just as softly, like you’re both afraid of disturbing some peace, of waking some sleeping giant. “It’s okay. I would’ve told you if I didn’t want it.”

His reticence, his unreadable face, make you nervous.

When he’s done, he rises to toss the dirtied cloth in the laundry bin, and with his back to you (as scratched up as it might be) you feel braver.

“Are you gonna, like... hate me now?”

It was a mistake. That’s clear by the way he turns around, brow knit deeply and grimacing slightly like even the suggestion offends him.

“Am I going to hate you?”

Again you pull the sheet up, and again you look away, studying the pattern of moonlight stretching out over the floor and scooting to make room for him when he steps in it.

“Not hate, I just...” the bed dips beside you and you are indescribably glad he’s not immediately running out the door. “I’m not dumb. I know what this was.”

He pulls you into him and you settle against his chest. It feels good. “I never thought you were dumb.”

This is your first real conversation since he’s gotten back, you realize. And how quickly you’re falling into familiar patterns, familiar syntactical beats. You know when to speak. You know when to bite your tongue and keep him talking.

The silence goes on longer than you’re used to. Maybe he got good at not speaking while he was away.

Eventually your eyes wander, falling to the white strip over his thigh where it is parallel to yours on the bed, only over the sheets.

“What happened?”

You said you wouldn’t ask, but that was then, and you’re upset again. You almost want to hurt him. To piss him off. You don’t know.

But it doesn’t work.

“Do you really want to know?” There’s a note of something heavy in his voice, and you look up at him. It’s a privilege to have him this close—his beauty is a constant surprise that you’d become unaccustomed to over the months. You say nothing, and he takes that as the yes that it is. “I... I did it to myself.”

He may as well have reached down your throat and grabbed for fucking heart for all its clenching. Tears well almost immediately, though they’ve been waiting in the wings all night.

“What? Did you—were you trying to—”

His eyes widen.

“No! No, honey, no.” You wilt as he gathers you closer, a deeply confused frown still contorting your features, too heartbroken even to cling to him, or to appreciate the ease with which honey slips past his lips again. “No. I was—it's complicated. I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to hurt myself, but I had to—I had to do it before someone else did something worse.”

The bruises covering his abdomen.

You sniffle and pull back enough to look up at him tearfully. “Why would they want to hurt you?”

Mist fills his eyes even as he’s looking down at you, a layer of separation, as if he’s two places at once. Even as he goes to brush your hair behind your ear, to stroke your cheek.

“I’m... not... the same, as I was.” It’s not an answer to your question—but it’s the beginning of the answer to a question you’d been too afraid to put into words.

“Don’t say that,” you beg, because you know where this is going. He keeps smoothing your hair like it’ll make this easier.

“But it’s true,” Spencer says gently, the slightest waver betraying his own emotion.

“You’re just going to leave again.”

And you’re losing to the tears.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But you will,” you insist, like a child crying to a parent come to comfort them after a bad dream.

“Not right now. Right now I’m here.”

I’ll stay until you fall asleep again.

For now, maybe that has to be enough.

You cry on his shoulder. He kisses your head and doesn’t tell you to stop.

Eventually, you sniff and wipe your eyes.

“We were so close. Before you… we were almost there.”

You’re sure of it. You’re sure that if he hadn’t gone when he did you would’ve been a real couple. You would’ve told him you loved him.

“We’ll get there again,” he promises, rubbing your arm. “I just… I need a little bit of time. I think you do too. But we’re going to get there again.”

Maybe it will never be like it was.

But as so often is the case—Spencer is right. Difference doesn’t mean it won’t ever be good again.

You have to believe that, just as you had to believe you’d see him again.

You look to The Odyssey on your bedside table.

The sun has been obliterated from the sky, and an unlucky darkness invades the world.

But the sun has a habit of rising, time and time again, after the longest nights, after the darkest storms.

You feel the beginnings of its rise, see the golden tips of it lighting the room as he holds you. Even now.

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x you #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid angst

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chunghasweetie · 7 months ago

Text

𝐖𝐎𝐍’𝐓 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 | J.JK

— part 1

— pairing | fem!oc x dealer!jjk

— summary | after a petty argument jungkook spots you showing out at a party with the hosts arm around your waist

— warning | bad writing (i’m doing my best)

unprotected sex, toxic fwb, lots cursing, jealousy, angst, ratchet behavior, dirty talk, angry sex, belittling, drinking, smoking🍃, womanizer behavior, breeding kink, both 🚩🚩 , daddy kink, degrading, slapping (face), false accusations, double standards

— word count | 6.2k words

— song suggestion | love you like me — william singe

He was blocked once again.

He didn’t even know for what this time.

Well, he had a good idea.

Running his mouth again. They always argued and he was always blocked and unblocked.

This time he think he actually irritated you.

“Goddamnit Y/n.” He cursed. He pissed you off once again but now his number and his Instagram was both blocked by you.

For some reason this time irked him more than the others.

“You’re still stressing over that girl?” Jimin plopped on the couch next to him.

“I can’t believe you still fuckin on her.” Taehyung walked in, taking a seat on the couch too.

“That’s my girl ya’ll know that.” Jungkook bit his lip, staring at his blank phone screen.

“You need to get like how you used to. 3 or more at a time. Always.” Jimin spoke, “You used to be like that. You used to make fun of guys like you. Now you’re giving out free shit to some girl.”

“I mean he does get pussy from it but like, only her bro?” Taehyung looked at Jungkook. “You used to have all these girls on you. Stephanie, Nari, Seunghee, Belle, Maya… What happened to you man?”

Jungkook thought about what they said. “Shits just different now.”

“Oh my gosh she’s ruined you.” Jimin groaned. “Nah man. We’re going to a Jackson party.”

“He’s having a party?” Jungkook looked up from his phone. “Why haven’t I heard anything about it?”

“Because you’re too busy stressin’ about some bitch.” Jimin shook his head.

Before Jungkook could correct him, Jimin corrected himself. “Some girl. Before you start.”

“Anyway, it’s tonight.” Taehyung spoke.

“So bring whatever cash you got and we’re definitely gonna send you home with a girl or two.” Jimin swung his arm around his shoulder.

“Oh shit I think she’s posting about you Jeon!” Taehyung was on her phone, immediately making Jungkook’s head snap over.

“Really?!”

“No man.” He laughed. “We really gotta get you more girls. You need more pussy than just her.”

“Yeah, no more Y/n.” Jimin shook his head.

“Whatever.”

༊—

“I’m so jealous.” Seungyeon swooned over the text messages on your phone.

“I don’t see why. This looks annoying as hell.” Elkie rolled her eyes.

Jungkook🍃

Wyd

Lemme come over

I got shit for you and your friends

Omg fucking answer

You’re mad annoying

I ain’t even mean what I said fr just reply 😭

“I think it’s cute. And hilarious.” Seungyeon chuckled. “What made you block him this time?”

“He was bragging about how many girls he sells to. How they’re all pretty and thick as hell. So I just said ‘cool’ and blocked him.” You shrugged.

You and your friends had been getting ready for hours for a Jackson Wang party they had personally been invited to.

“You better not hope he doesn’t pull up tonight.” Elkie spoke.

“Yeah Y/n. Taehyung’s going and I’m sure they’ll try to convince him.” Seungyeon told her.

“He’s probably too busy getting high in his room.” Elkie replied. “Or selling in the east side.”

“Wouldn’t doubt it.” You shook your head. “I kinda do wish he would be there though.”

“Is his dick really that good?” Elkie asked you as she was baking her makeup.

“Unfortunately it is. Like, real good.” You started to get flashbacks.

“Here she goes.” Seungyeon rolled her eyes.

“He fucks me sooo good yall don’t get it.” You began. “Even though he’s annoying and shit I’ve never had dick like his. Once we started recording our shit I can’t stop rewatching.”

“You aren’t worried he’ll show people?” Elkie asked.

“They’re all on my phone. He only has a few. Even if he does show his homeboys it’s whatever. He’s damn near louder than me anyway.” You told her.

Your phone went off, making you look over at it to see the notification.

kplug🍃 has added you on Snapchat

“Oh my gosh.” You said out loud, immediately making the girls look over.

“He fucking added you on Snapchat!” Elkie laughed out loud, “He’s crazy”

“And on his plug account?” Seungyeon’s eyes widened. “He’s obsessed.•

“What can I say? This pussy makes him insane.” You jokingly boasted.

“Did you add him back?” Seungyeon asked.

“Nah not yet. I’ll wait until I’m almost done getting ready.” You tossed your phone on your bed.

“Yeah that’ll be better.” Elkie nodded.

“Ugh I need to hurry anyway. I’m tryna look good tonight.” You groaned, looking at your barely half done makeup.

No matter what it was, you loved to look good. You were a confident woman who took pride in her appearance.

Tonight mattered. You hadn’t took good pictures in quite some time and Jackson’s party was the best place to take them at.

You had just changed up your hair last night. You had a brown base with blonde highlights. And for tonight you decided to add gold and bronze tinsel to elevate your look.

Your friends always had the same energy, wanting to look as good as they could even if it was a simple occasion.

Seungyeon and Elkie definitely showed out with you tonight.

You all had skimpier outfits on tonight. You were a low cut brown latex top with a matching black mini skirt.

Your heels were black and the strings wrapped up around your mid calf. You sprayed your expensive perfume all over, making sure you smelt as good as you looked.

Your makeup was finally done for the night and it couldn’t have looked better. You looked incredible.

The girls had taken some pre party pics in your room, posting on all social media.

“Oh Y/n! Add him back.” Seungyeon told you.

You nodded, adding Jungkook back on Snapchat.

“He’s gonna see all our videos at the party. He’s gonna regret saying all that shit to you.” Elkie laughed. “Gonna see so many dudes all up on you and start punching walls and shit.”

“He probably already is and we haven’t even left the house yet.” Seungyeon laughed with her. “The pictures we posted right now are enough to make him tear his hair out.”

“Damn right.” You giggled. “Yall got everything? I’m about to order the Uber.”

Both girls nodded, making sure they had everything they needed.

kplug🍃 just sent you a snap

You looked at the notification, “Hm.” You hummed to yourself, not opening his snap quite yet.

Once the uber pulled up all of the girls climbed in, taking more pictures in the backseat on the drive there.

You lived in a nice area, but nothing compared to Jackson’s place.

The location was one of his many homes,

“Jackson lives so far from us.” Elkie looked at the map on her phone.

“Yeah but his area is so nice. It’s worth it.” Seungyeon added. “I wonder how many people are gonna be there.”

“Girl you know it’s gonna be so packed we gonna have to get dropped off damn near a mile away.” You laughed.

“You better hope Jungkook doesn’t show up.” Elkie looked over at you, who was just opening his snap.

The snap was him a car, sitting in a car full of tackily dressed women right corner of him. One of the girls was taking the picture for him.

“I should’ve just shut up.” Elkie covered her mouth. “They’re definitely going.”

“He’s petty as hell!” Seungyeon looked over at your screen. “What does he expect you to say to that?”

“Probably nothing.” Y/n turned off the phone. “He wants to be like that he can go right ahead.”

“You’re so cool about it.” Seungyeon looked at her in amazement. “I would’ve went batshit crazy.”

“I’m not trippin because I’m not holding back at this party.” She laughed.

༊—

“Why would you guys do me like this?”

“You’re so dramatic.” Jimin rolled his eyes. “We found you a car full of girls to take to the party and you’re complaining.”

“Didn’t ask for it. Y’all make me look like a charity case. I could’ve gotten plenty at Jackson’s.”

“Whatever.” Taehyung rolled his eyes. “You know how much play she’s gonna get there? And you’re gonna have to watch it alllll.”

“Yeah man. You’re gonna have to watch all sorts of dudes kissing up on her and shit. You’re gonna look like a bitch.” Jimin added.

“Exactly. So let us help you bro.” Taehyung smiled. “Come on it’ll be worth it. Plus, you look great man. She’ll be unblocking you in no time.”

Jungkook and the boys got in the car full of women, instantly leeching onto them.

“Hello ladies” Jimin greeted, buckling up.

“Hiii Jiminnn” They replied in union, almost fighting to talk to him.

One of them turned to Jungkook, immediately biting her lip. “Hey Kookie.”

“Hey Oliver.” He exhaled.

“It’s Olivia” She laughed. “You’re like— so funny!” Her annoying voice rang in his ears.

“Oh— my bad.”

The girls had tried talking Jungkook the entire ride there, trying to get him to open up and talk to them.

“Ouuu look at his phone.” One of the girls motioned.

“Omg look!” One was quick to snatch his phone, “He added Y/n on Snapchat, let’s send her something!”

“You guys should!” Taehyung added.

“No one needs to do that!” Jungkook tried to take it back but they already snapped pictures and sent them to Y/n on his phone.

Olivia passed the phone to Taehyung who kept repeating ‘give it to me’

“Taehyung what the hell!”

“It’s for your own good!” Taehyung held onto his phone for the rest of the ride there.

༊—

“Yep. I’m definitely gonna get sloppy drunk.” Seungyeon announced as they walked inside Jackson’s party.

“There’s no way you won’t. This shits fucking cool.” Elkie looked around the home.

 People everywhere and the music was booming in all corners. Girls dancing damn near naked on tables and guys dancing around with empty shot glasses.

“Oh my gosh they’re here!” One of the guys accidentally said a bit too loud, making some heads turn towards the girls.

“Seungyeon come dance with us!”

“Y/n come on we already have shots for you!”

“Elkie come get on the table with us!”

Multiple people were trying to holler at them in attempt to get their attention.

“Yeah it’ll be hard to stay sober tonight.” Elkie laughed.

“Uh huh. And when Taehyung gets here I’m dipping.” Seungyeon giggled.

“You’re still fucking with him?!” Both girls snapped their heads.

“Y’all don’t get it! He is soooo fine whenever he talks to me I just wanna do whatever the hell he wants.” Seungyeon swooned.

“She can’t be serious.” Elkie looked at you. “So let me get this straight. You’re fucking on Taehyung and you’re fucking on Jungkook. Should I just dance with Jimin tonight? Since we’re the three musketeers all of a sudden.”

“Okay Jungkook was an accident!” You defended. “You wanted weed didn’t you!”

“Cut the crap! It was one time” Elkie shook her head. “I can’t believe you two.”

“Whatever.” Seungyeon rolled her eyes. “You should go with me when I go talk to Taehyung. Omg! We can all hang out tonight!”

“Uh, did you forget we’re not on the best terms?” You interrupted her fantasy.

“You never are. Get over it.” Seungyeon rolled her eyes. “Elkie pleaseeee.”

“I can’t believe you.” Elkie kept shaking her head. “You guys are sick.”

“Who’s sick?” A voice interrupted them. “I don’t need any illness spreading around at my party.”

“Omg Jackson!” Seungyeon gasped.

“Hey ladies. Hey Y/n.” He gave you a side hug. “I knew you guys would come showing out.”

“Always. You know us.” Elkie giggled.

Jackson knew the girls very well. They’ve been around since his early party days, helping him promote and build up his status for the parties.

You always went above and beyond for him, offering to even financially support the parties during the time.

Now Jackson was so rich his party budget skyrocketed. All because of those girls he was able to be where he was now. He was more than grateful.

“I know. I shouldn’t have expected any less.” He chuckled, “I’ll tell the security upstairs about yall so don’t sweat anything okay?”

“You got new security?” You questioned him.

“Fuck yeah I did. Last party the security was too drunk to even do their fucking job. I was pissed.” Jackson shook his head.

“Everything’s all good now though,” He continued. “Gotta nice new set up and it’ll do y’all real good. I promise you won’t be disappointed. You ladies have fun, okay?”

“Thank you Jackson.” The three girls bid their goodbyes. They didn’t expect to speak to him for long, especially since he was running a huge party.

“Let’s hang out down here for a bit and then make our way up yeah?” You suggested, earning a nod from the girls.

“Unless it’s too hard for Seungyeon to keep herself away from Taehyungie” Elkie teased her.

“Oh my gosh I hate you.” Seungyeon groaned.

“Speaking of Taehyungie,” You eyes behind her. “Here comes the man of the hour now.”

“With a shit ton of girls at that.”

Seungyeon snapped her head his way. “Oh my gosh.”

“Don’t look!” Elkie turned her attention. “Act unbothered. You can’t let him know you care. Like Y/n when Jungkook calls!”

“Yeah— Okay whatever.” You rolled your eyes. “But she’s right. He’s with hella girls. He’s not thinking about you right now. You can’t act like you’re waiting for him.”

“Look at you miss love expert.” Elkie teased you. “Let’s get you drinking Seungyeon.”

“Yes! Let’s drink! Finally.” You clapped your hands.

The girls walked off to the bar, plenty of people wanting to take shots with them.

The girls played a few drinking games and partied on tables just like the girls before you.

It would be a lie to say Jungkook’s eyes weren’t locked on you.

It was just him, Taehyung, and Jungkook in their own little section, a few guys coming up to talk to them here and there.

“Oh my gosh I hate you guys.” Jimin groaned. “Taehyung you can’t do this to me too.”

“She’s so bad Jimin. I’m almost as bad as Jeon.” Taehyung stared down Seungyeon.

“I thought you wanted to drown yourself in pussy! You were hyping me and Jungkook up earlier!”

“I’m a big fat liar okay!” Taehyung folded.

Seungyeon and you were both dancing on tables, lost in your own little world with drinks in your hands.

Jungkook hadn’t said anything in a minute. Simply staring.

Damn did you show out.

He watched as many guys threw themselves at you, begging you to come down so they could have a piece.

What could he expect? You were a beautiful woman blessed with a body others would pay millions for. You could actually dance and you had looks that could kill.

You were a heavily desirable woman. Especially at a party like this where everyone knew of you.

He knew you weren’t gonna go home with any of these guys. None of them stood a chance.

He didn’t understand how he had one if he was honest.

The way you two started— having intercourse was wild and random. Just a random string of flirty led to you giving it up for him.

Goddamnit he missed you. It was a petty argument like usual. Him getting blocked just to get unblocked in the morning.

This time bothered him more than the others. Especially seeing you like this.

“Shoutout to these lovely ladies right here!” Jackson suddenly announced, all three girls surrounding him.

“My day ones right here” He said proudly.

Jackson wrapped his arm around your waist, pecking your cheek.

Interesting.

Jungkook hadn’t realized you two had become so close.

Was he the reason Jungkook wasn’t unblocked yet?

“Especially Ms. Y/n here. Shit would not be possible without her.” He spoke, making everyone cheer. “Everyone treat them well tonight alright?”

Elkie and Seungyeon cheered before Jackson walked off, finishing his announcement.

Why would it not be possible without you?

None of it made sense to Jungkook.

He downed a shot, hissing at the aftermath. It made Jimin look over.

“Someone’s mad.”

“Shut up.” Jungkook huffed. “I have no reason to be.”

The girls were laughing together and drinking a bit more.

Seungyeon kept stealing glances at Taehyung.

“Oh my gosh. She’s going insane.” Elkie pointed out Seungyeon’s constant tabs on Taehyung.

“Alright we’re going upstairs.” You motioned both girls to follow you to the next story.

“Jimin we have to follow them.” Taehyung watched as they left to go upstairs.

The man rolled his eyes.

Jungkook looked over, seeing Jackson look over that way too.

“Yeah.” Jungkook opened up his mouth. “Let’s go.”

The boys shortly followed them, heading upstairs.

This level was just as intense as the first floor. The only difference was that these people smoked a bit more than they drank.

“So many bad bitches in here.” Jimin looked around. “Nice move Tae.”

“Man who cares? Where the hell is she?” Taehyung looked over.

“Goddamnit.” Jimin cursed, forced to walk over to your friend group with Taehyung.

Jungkook wasn’t too thrilled either. Especially because he didn’t know how you were going to be like.

“Hey Seungyeon.” Taehyung approached her, making her instantly turn her head.

Poor girl had been waiting for that man to talk to her all night.

“Oh. Hey.” She kept it short, just like you and Elkie told her to.

“Let me get you and your girl friends some more drinks yeah?” He offered, making it harder to fight and say no.

“Please.” She caved in, making everyone follow them to the bar.

“Fucking great.” Jimin mumbled.

 It was awkward as hell. Two odd couples and two random friends all forced to hang out together.

All because of Seungyeon and Taehyung.

Taehyung got all of them drinks like he said, everyone drinking together to ease up a bit.

Taehyung and Seungyeon were lost in their own conversation.

They were so corny it was making everyone extremely nauseous.

“Are you proud of her?” Jimin shook his head, speaking to Elkie. “Your friend single-handedly ruined my friend group.”

“My friend? Your boy here started it all.” She argued.

“Like hell he did. She took advantage of him.” He told her.

She laughed. “Who’s the one who’s supposed to just drop the shit off and go?”

“You can’t blame a man for just tryna get some.” Jimin shrugged. “Not his fault.”

“You’re delusional.” Elkie rolled her eyes.

“I like how you speak to me. You wanna go make out?”

“Sure.” Elkie shrugged, walking off with Jimin.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

You were alone with Jungkook.

“So,” You began to speak. “Which girl in the car was your favorite?”

“Is that seriously how you’re gonna start this?” Jungkook stared you down.

“Hell yeah.” You chuckled. “You’re a fucking prick. You’re childish and you’re just down right stupid. Sending me some photo of some bitches. Made you feel so good being with other girls huh?”

Started off strong already.

“You know what, it did. They didn’t have a fucking loud mouth like you do. Didn’t have to hear a bunch of bullshit every two seconds.”

“See this is exactly why you’re blocked.” You scoffed. “You’re a dick.”

“You block me all the time mama.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Doesn’t mean shit.”

“Probably doesn’t mean anything because you’re too busy with all those other bitches.”

“Me? I’m not the one fucking the party host.” He argued back.

Your eyes widened at the accusation. “Oh wow.”

You weren’t going to deny it.

It wasn’t true. You never slept with Jackson.

But Jungkook thinking that you did was enough to satisfy you.

“We’ll come back to that.” Jungkook poked the inside of his mouth with his tongue.

He was obviously very irritated.

“You’re always so angry.” You groaned.

“Because you just manage to strike that one nerve.” He shook his head.

“You’re so aggressive all the time baby.” You eased him. “Let’s drink some more. Please?”

He shook his head. “Trying to sober up. Someone needs to take you home.”

“I can Uber back.”

“By yourself?” He scoffed. “Fuck no. Your friends are long gone and most likely gonna end up going home with Jimin and Tae. Who can’t drive.”

He wasn’t wrong.

Elkie and Seungyeon were going to town on them. The couples were drunken messes.

You agreed, continuing to drink. You two talked for a bit, somewhat civilly.

The both of you couldn’t help but check each other out.

For you, that alcohol came in through your mouth and went straight to your pussy.

Jungkook’s going straight to his dick. Probably why you two always had sex whenever you hung out.

“Let’s go to Jimin’s car.” Jungkook mumbled lowly to you, making you nod.

Jungkook lets out a low whistle as you walk next to him. He couldn't help but stare at your body.

You were so fucking beautiful, he thought to himself.

The car was a bit far from the entrance. The lot was big so the parking was a bit inconvenient.

However, it was hidden well enough.

He opened the backseat car door for you, waiting for you to get in.

You could sense he was still irritated with you. It was written all over his face and you could sense it in his body language.

His anger and irritation had the opposite effect on you, making your pussy wetter than it already was.

Jungkook started the car, letting out a heavy sigh as he pulled out of the parking lot.

He glanced over at you, his eyes scanning over your body. "You know, you make me so fucking angry sometimes..." He growled, his hand reaching over to grab your thigh.

“It’s not my fault. You started it this time.” You shook your head.

"I didn't start shit," Jungkook retorted, his eyes narrowing at you. "You did. You always fucking do."

He couldn't help but get more and more irritated with you.

The idea of you and Jackson weighed heavy on him.

You were fucking Jungkook for weed. Were you fucking Jackson for drinks and party invites?

“You did last night. That’s exactly why I blocked your ass. Always running your mouth.”

Jungkook's fingers tightened around the steering wheel. He couldn't believe you just said that. "You didn't have to block me. You’re so fucking dramatic."

He snapped at you, his anger getting the best of him. "I fucking hate you sometimes."

“Fine. Just drop me off right here then.” You replied, just as irritated with him now. “I’ll fucking walk home.”

“You're not fucking walking anywhere. I'll take you home." He gritted his teeth.

“Whatever. Just drive me home and you can just get rid of me after. Since that’s what you want so bad.” You folded your arms.

He couldn't believe how much of a stubborn girl you were, but he still couldn't help feeling attracted to you. Even when you were like this. "Why are you so fucking difficult?"

He glared at you for a moment before turning his attention back to the road.

“I’m not even doing anything.” You grabbed your purse once he pulled up to your place.

It was natural for Jungkook to let himself in. He did so again, despite their arguing.

“I thought you would approach me at the party to apologize. But no, you’re just arguing with me because you’re jealous of some guy!” You huffed.

Jungkook scoffed at your words. "Jealous? Fuck no. I just don't like seeing you with other guys, that's it."

“Yeah whatever.” You rolled your eyes, “You’re annoying. Your stupid pride won’t let you just admit it.”

You lifted up the couch cushion, a small bag of pre rolls packed away.

“You know what? Fine. I was jealous when I saw you with Jackson. Are you happy now? I fucking admitted it.

“Gonna fucking smoke with me or what?” She looked at him, ignoring him. “Got your two favorite things right here. Weed and arguing.”

He ignored her, grabbing his own preroll and lighting it up with her lighter.

“That’s all you’re gonna say?” He scoffed.

“Do you want a fucking cookie? Congrats, you actually told me the truth for once.” She took a few hits. “So you were jealous”

“Yeah, I fucking was. I don't like seeing you with other guys Y/n. It makes me want to rip their fucking heads off." He chuckled and shook his head. "Especially him.”

“Isn’t Jackson your homeboy?”

“Exactly. Why the fuck would I want to be fucking on the same girl as my bro? That makes me look like a fucking loser.” He glared at you.

“We were just catching up. We’ve known each other for mad long.” You defended.

Jungkook couldn't help but stare at you as you took a hit from the roll. He felt a surge of jealousy, but he tried to push it down.

"Just fucking catchin' up huh? With his bitch ass?" He chuckled and shook his head. "I know what kinda guy he is.”

“I know you’re not talking. Tell me, Jungkook. How many girls do you sell to that don’t pay cash? Too busy selling with their bodies.” She looked at him.

“Yeah? You’re gonna fucking start this shit again?” He chuckled, anger written all over his face. “I’ve told you the same shit over and over Y/n. I’m not fucking anyone else but you.”

“Car full of sleezy bitches all climbing on you? Yeah okay. Find that fucking hard to believe.

Jungkook understands your skepticism. Especially with the type of guys he hung around.

“Tell me this Jungkook.” You began, “How come it’s an issue when I’m with Jackson but when you’re with all these other girls I’m just supposed to believe you.”

Jungkook leaned in, his expression more serious now. He muttered. “I don’t want to do you like that.”

"I just get fucking pissed when I see other guys trying to fuck what's mine." He cocked his eyebrow.

“You’re annoying.”

Jungkook's gaze never left yours face as you rolled your eyes. He could tell you were irritated with him, but he didn't back down.

"I'm annoying cause I don't like seeing other guys around my girl?" He raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t like all these fucking guys tryna hop on you.” His eyes darkened as he stared down at you.

“I get it.” She sighed.

“Mm I don’t think you do.” He shook his head.

Jungkook turned you around, pushing you against the couch. "Fuck you piss me off. You’re just so fucking sexy" He growled, pinning your hands above your head.

"You're gonna let me fuck you like this?” He looked at you. “Because I’m fucking angry. And I’m not sure I’ll be able to give you that slow and lovey shit right now.”

You simply nodded. You swallowed hard, knowing exactly what was going to happen.

Weed made you horny.

Alcohol made you horny.

And you were definitely cross faded.

“Fucking open your mouth.” He moved his hand, now slapping you across your cheek.

It wasn’t enough to really hurt, but enough to leave a sting.

He seen your facial expression change. “No way. You actually like that shit?”

You two always had rough and angry sex. With the amount of times you two pissed each other off, it was like second nature.

This time was different. Jungkook was livid.

“I do.” You swallowed. “N-No condom tonight please.”

This was the first time ever. You never thought those words would ever leave your lips.

You needed it bad tonight. Real bad.

“Oh wow.” He laughed sarcastically. “You’re that sick? You get onto me every fucking day for asking to hit it raw. Now you want to?”

He almost couldn’t believe it. “Letting me toss you around like a fucking ragdoll. He fucking teach you about that shit?”

“N-No Jungkook.”

He slapped you once again. “Don’t fucking lie to me.”

“I promise. He didn’t.” You pleaded.

Jungkook let out a deep breath, knowing you submitted to him.

He moved his hand to your neck, squeezing enough for you to feel.

“Fucking embarrassing me.” He slid his pants down. “Got all my fucking friends talking about you. That what you wanted?”

“N-No.” You swallowed.

He slipped your skirt up, sliding your panties to the side.

He forcefully pushed himself inside, giving you not a single warning. “You let him fuck you raw did you?”

Staying still for a moment, knowing he would soon start fucking you with all the frustration he had in him.

“N-No I didn’t Jungkook.” You honestly replied.

“Not my fucking name.” He warned.

“You clearly wanted his attention Y/n. You think I ain’t notice that shit today?” His grip on your neck got slightly tighter.

“Changed your hair. Spending money to look good for him. Didn’t look in my fucking direction once. Get some new dick and you forget what you already have? Forgot about daddy’s dick?” He scoffed.

Jungkook's thrusts became more powerful, as he let out all the anger and jealousy he felt towards Jackson.

“T-That’s not what I—“

Jungkook's grip tightened on your hips, as he started thrusting. "Shut the fuck up Y/n." He grumbled, as he started pounding harder.

He smacked your ass, leaving a red mark. "Didn’t think you’d be this fuckin’ tight. Figured he stretched this pussy out.”

“H-He didn’t”

“You really have the fucking guys to speak to me right now?” He slapped her.

“Mmph— sorry daddy”

Jungkook grinned, hearing the slight tremble in your voice.

You couldn’t help but be turned on by how angry he was. How degrading he spoke to you.

Him expressing how jealous he was of Jackson definitely did a number on you.

"This.. is all yours, Y/n. It always has been." He slapped your face. "Don't.. you dare fuckin' look at him again. Don’t you fuckin’

dare question if I’m with other bitches or not.”

“Won’t— promise Daddy” She apologized.

Jungkook's expression changed to an angered confusion, as you apologized. "Sorry? You think.. You fuckin' deserve my mercy?"

He hissed as he stopped thrusting, grabbed you and forced you on all four. "I'll show you fuckin' sorry."

“You're mine to fuck. Mine to spoil. Mine to hug. Mine to love.” He grabbed your hair and pulled it back, as he started thrusting hard again. "And you just fucking gave that away?”

“No I— Daddy no I didn’t.” You whimpered.

Jungkook's thrusts became more violent as his anger continued to fuckin boil. "You.. You fuckin' slut," He growled and smacked your ass hard once again.

“D-Didn’t fuck him.” You confessed, swallowing. “N-Never fucked him.”

Jungkook stopped thrusting, his expression was furious, he looked at you with pure shock.

"You didn't fuck him?" He repeated between gritted teeth, not entirely sure if he should believe you or not. “Are you serious?”

“N-Never fucked him.” She hit her lip.

“So you lied?” His voice was low.

“I just never denied anything you said.” She confessed, a bit ashamed now that she was confessing out loud.

"Wow Y/n." He murmured lowly, making a pause in his thrusts, as he looked at you with confusion and shock. "And you made me do all this.”

“I-“ She felt her stomach drop.

Jungkook scoffed and shook his head in disbelief. He was still holding you by the throat, a little tighter now as his cock started to thrust intensely again. "Yeah, you did.”

Jungkook grunted, his thrusts became louder and more intense, holding you tighter. "You're a fucking slut.."

He whispered in a low voice, his hand starting to squeeze around your throat. He pulled himself out a bit to slap your face.

“Pulled all that just for some dick? Seriously Y/n?” He grunted into your ear.

“So sorry Daddy” She apologized softly, the sensual nickname slipping from her lips.

Upon hearing you call him "Daddy" his thrusts became more intense. Hearing it made him weak everytime.

A low growl sounded out from his throat again as your body was pushed back onto the bed with each thrust deeper into you.

He snickered, his hand reaching down to slap your ass cheek, hard. "You're a fucking whore.." He moans, his thrusts are so hard that he's smacking against your body. He leaned in to bite your neck.

“Finally got the dick you wanted? I can’t fucking believe you pulled that shit.” He grunted, utterly shocked. “Can’t fucking believe you did that.”

His thrusts became even more forceful, each hard smack against your ass echoing around you.

He moans as he bites into your shoulder, teeth grinding into your skin angrily. "Why'd you fucking lie to me?" He growls into your ear.

“Wanted you— Wanted your attention.” She whimpered. “Wanted to see how you felt.”

“Yeah? That’s how you fuckin’ wanted me to confess?” He roars out angrily, his grip tightening almost painfully.

“I-It worked…” She boldly whispered.

His glare is fire as he grabs your throat, pulling you back to look into your eyes.

"You like it when I get tell you how I feel? You fuckin’ like it?” He growls out, squeezing your throat tighter for a moment before letting go.

“I liked it Daddy” She bit her lip.

His jaw almost cracks from the intensity of his teeth grinding as he hears your response.

He begins to fuck you harder, losing his anger and going into a frenzy. "You’re so fucking lucky I love to abuse this pussy.”

“Shit feels so fuckin’ good Daddy— Fuck” She cursed repeatedly.

A low groan rips from his throat, feeling your walls squeezing around him at your curse. He liked when you talked dirty. “So fucking pretty like this.”

“Lying about other dudes is different for you baby..” He huffed. “You love this dick huh baby? Tell me.”

“Yes Daddy— I fuckin’ do.” You nodded quickly.

He leans back down, biting at your bottom lip and nodding.

"That's right, you love this dick, mama. Fucking take it then." He spoke lowly, encouraging you to get more vocal and naughty while he pounds into you.

“Feels so much fucking better raw.” She rolled her eyes back. “Should’ve fucking let you months ago.”

He lets out a growl, feeling how tight your walls are on him with no condom. He nods, agreeing and liking the feeling of you raw.

"That's right mama. You ain’t believe me when I said you were the only one. Should’ve been let me hit it raw.” He chuckled. “Gonna fuck you so good now though."

He's on the brink of losing it, he knows he's about to cum soon.

He looks down at you who’s absolutely fucked dumb on his cock.

He curses, slowing down just a tad. "You fucking loving that we're doing it raw now?”

“Feels so much fucking better now. W-Want you to cum inside too.” You begged, making his eyes widened.

“Are you serious?”

“W-Want it so bad I— Please.”

He groans, loving the idea at your request. “Pretty girl gonna let me cum inside, I couldn’t ask for more.”

He speeds up a little bit, slamming into you roughly and grunting. "That's right, fucking want my cum? Wanna turn mama into more than just a nickname huh?”

He dirty talked her so good.

“Mm yes Daddy yes.” She swallowed.

His eyes grow wide at the idea but he smirks while he continues to thrust into you hard, making a dirty scene in his head.

"That's right, I wanna fill your womb up with my kids, make them from your tight fucking pussy, don't fight it mama. So close” He mumbled in her ear.

“Shit I’m close too.”

He knows he's close too, groaning almost in pain from not cumming yet. He continues to fuck you relentlessly as you near the edge.

"Shit! Cum on my cock mama, you need to cum, you want to cum so bad don't you?"

“Cumming fuck” She immediately let go of the feeling building up in her stomach.

He's right on the edge with you, his cock swells up before he pulls out and shoots his hot load to the side of your stomach, he's not ready for kids, at least not yet.

He slumps backwards and curses. "Fucking shit.”

The two were panting on the couch, struggling to catch their breaths.

She panted. “I’m sorry for lying Jungkook. It was wrong of me to lie to you.”

He smirks and shakes his head but still looks at you with an amused expression.

"No need to apologize momma, we're fucking both dirty. Besides we both liked it didn't we?" He winks and wraps an arm around you.

“You’re really not mad?”

“I mean it irritated me a lot when I thought you fucked him.” He sighed. “I’m just relieved now.”

“When I told you I haven’t been with anyone else I meant it.” You told him. “That’s not

something I would lie about. Especially after I pressed you for so long.”

“I know. When I seen him touch you like that I just— I thought I lost you.” He looked at you. “I just kinda thought you were using me.”

“It’s not about weed for me anymore Jungkook.” You swallowed. “It hasn’t been for a while.”

“It was never about the weed for me.” He confessed. “I just wanted to see you since the beginning.”

“You thought that was a secret?” You couldn’t help but snort.

“Okay I’m never being vulnerable with you again.” He shook his head.

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