#i actually like these but lets pretend i dont

[jaeyunnz]

"Work Break Seduction."

ni-ki + f¡reader — ♡ 18+

WARNINGS — dom!ni-ki, sub¡reader, dirty talk, making out, cussing, rough sex, riki eats out reader, unprotected sex (stay safe dont do it.) pet names.

both characters are of age. (20+) not proofread, sorry if theres any errors. this is quite long but worth the read i promise!

Reader recently went into a new college and grew a school crush on Riki. Though he plays hard to get, your able to break his nonchalant demeanour.

Note : Riki was mostly requested, so enjoy. (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

Your parents recently moved to a different town, which meant transferring to a new college. It wasn’t as bad as you expected, though you didn’t really know anyone there—but that was fine. At least your childhood friend, Jess, was with you.

A few weeks passed, and you found yourself constantly drawn to a boy—Riki. Girls flocked to him, yet he always brushed them off or rejected their advances. No one seemed to know much about him. He was distant, only ever seen around small groups. But that only made him more intriguing. The mystery surrounding him pulled you in, making you want to learn more about him.

The problem? He avoided everyone—including you. The only times you ever spoke were during school projects, and even then, the conversations were brief or short talk.

This morning, once again, you found yourself paired with Riki. It didn’t bother you as much, but you could tell he wasn’t thrilled about the idea. “Alright, your partners have been chosen. Get to work, project’s due in two days,” the teacher announced. You scanned the room for Riki, and then your eyes landed on him. He was leaning back in his chair, his posture casual and almost lazy. You knew you had to make the first move and approach him, or he’d likely ignore you the entire time.

You hated that you always had to be the one to approach him—it made you feel almost desperate. Yet, here you were, getting up and walking toward him. He watched as you pulled out your chair and sat down beside him. “Hi,” you said, glancing at him for a brief moment. He responded with a small nod, his usual way of acknowledging you.

You settle into the seat, trying to ignore the awkwardness that always seemed to hang between you two. The silence stretched for a moment, neither of you making any effort to start the project. You glance at him, but he’s already looking at his phone, clearly disinterested. Then, you let out a soft sigh, wishing he’d at least pretend to care. Finally deciding to break the silence. “So, uh… how do you want to split this up?” you ask, trying to sound casual.

He shrugs without looking up. “You can do whatever,” he mutters. You bite back a small frustration. Damn, you knew he wasn’t one for much conversation, but it always felt like pulling teeth to get him to participate. Yet, there was something about his indifference that kept you intrigued, even if it was maddening. “I guess I’ll start with the research,” you say, hoping for a bit more input. He doesn’t respond, but you take that as your cue to begin.

The next hour passes in relative silence, except for the occasional rustling of papers and the tapping of his phone. You focus on your work, trying not to pay attention to how he barely acknowledges your presence. Though you’re starting to get irritated by how you’re doing all the work while he’s just sitting there—eyes glued to his phone, doing nothing at all, you can’t bring yourself to get truly mad. Not when he looks this… handsome.

Should you try to start another conversation, hoping he might actually respond? You really wanted to get to know him better, maybe even get him to show a little interest in you, too. Fuck it, might as well, you really like him. "Prom is coming soon, you going out with anyone?" Thats the first thing that came to mind, it was a bit personal, but your curious. Maybe you can shoot your shot?

He finally lifts his head up from his phone, placing it on the desk and locks eyecontact with you. "Nah. Not interested in that typa stuff." For the first time, he actually seemed engaged, and it left you a little thrown off balance. "Why not?" You say, he gives you a shrug. "Why are you asking anyway?" He raises an eyebrow, your slightly taken by surprise when he asks, trying to make yourself sound less interested. "I'm just trying to conversate with you, I mean your quiet as fuck."

He lets out a deep, small chuckle that sounds rich, causing you to snap your eyes at him. Shit, he's really talking to you? "Yeah, well you could've asked me anything," he taps the desk with his fingertips, "But that was apparently the first thing that came to mind?" He rests his arm over the head of the chair, scanning your body for a moment which causes a small faint redness appear on your cheeks. "A bit bold of you, I'll give you credit for that."

You slightly roll your eyes, "How was that bold? I simply asked if you had a prom date or not." He finally sits up straight in his seat, running his hand through his short black hair which catches your attention. "Really?" He chuckles a bit, looking around the classroom.

You raise your eyebrow in slight confusion before he meets your gaze again, "C'mon now. You don't think i've noticed you staring at me?" Your eyes widen, he leans in closer and suddenly your heart starts to pound unbelievably fast. "Every single time we have a class together, I see you." his cold fingertips trails up your thigh, "Your into me? Aren't you? I mean thats why you asked me such a question." Your body freezes, shivers running down your spine.

How the fuck did he know?

"Thats not..." unable to finish your sentence with his hand making contact with your thigh. "Not true?" He says, his hands creeping down to pull your chair closer to him, the both of your knees brushing against eachother. His eyes dart down to your lips, a teasing smirk appearing on his face. Before you can say anything, the bell rings, interrupting the intense moment.

"We can uhm... finish this project later?" He leans back against his chair, acting totally careless about what just happened between you two. "Meet me at lunch." Is all he says before leaving the room. You know your face is beet red, but you dont even wanna see how you look right now. So then you start putting away the paper work into your bag, packing your stuff as he leaves the room, not looking back at you once. For a moment you just stand in the now empty class with a blank mind, trying to process everything that happened.

At lunch, you find yourself sitting at a table in the far corner of the cafeteria, just as he asked. Your heart races a little, unsure of what to expect. You glance around, half-expecting him to bail, but then you spot him walking toward you, looking as casual as ever.

"Hey," Riki says, sliding into the seat across from you. His eyes briefly meet yours before he looks down at the table. "Hi," you reply, trying to sound casual even though your nerves are on edge. There’s a moment of silence between you two, the kind that always seemed to stretch on forever. You want to fill it with something, but words feel like they’re just out of reach.

Finally, he speaks again. "So, what’s your deal?" You blink, caught off guard. “What do you mean?” He shrugs, eyes flicking up to meet yours for a split second before looking away again. "Like, why are you always tryna talk to me. You barely know me." His bluntness takes you by surprise, but somehow it doesn’t feel as cold as you thought it would. It’s almost… honest.

You take a deep breath. "I don’t know. You’re just different, you know? It’s hard to ignore." He raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "I'll take that as a compliment I guess."

"I mean yeah, like you’re this whole mystery. I just want to figure you out." For a second, he looks like he’s about to say something, but instead, he leans back in his seat, his gaze lingering on you a little longer. You feel like he’s reading you, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s trying to figure you out too. Then, without warning, he leans forward, closing the space between you. His hand brushes against yours, sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

"Well," he says, voice low, "maybe you’ll find out soon." Before you can process what’s happening, his lips are on yours. It’s sudden, soft at first, but the intensity quickly builds, and everything else fades away. The warmth of his mouth against yours leaves you breathless, and for a moment, everything feels completely different, like this is where you’re supposed to be.

When he pulls away, you’re left dazed, trying to catch your breath. He looks at you, his expression unreadable, but there’s a hint of something—something you can’t quite place. "You okay?" he asks, his voice a little rough. You nod, still in shock, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Yeah. I think I’m more than okay." You bite your lower lip slightly, blushing profusely.

You both sit there for a moment, the air thick with tension and a thousand unspoken words. Your heart is still racing, but now, it's not from nerves. It's from the overwhelming feeling that something has shifted between you two. He doesn't move away, instead, his eyes search yours, almost like he's waiting for something.

Your mind is swirling, but your body seems to take over, leaning in closer, lips barely brushing against his. You can feel the heat radiating off him, his presence pulling you in with a force you can't resist. Without thinking, you kiss him again— this time deeper, more urgent. His hand finds its way to your cheek, his thumb gently grazing the skin as he pulls you in, his other hand sliding to your waist. Your heart hammers in your chest as he kisses you back with a hunger you didn't expect.

It's nothing like the first kiss-this one is raw, a mix of desire and need. You feel his fingers trace the line of your jaw, his touch almost desperate, and it sends a rush of heat through you. Your hands instinctively find his shirt, tugging him closer, as if you can't get enough of him.

His lips move with yours, more demanding now, and you match his intensity, breathless and wanting more. You can't explain it, but everything about him feels right-how he holds you, how his lips mold against yours, like this was always meant to happen. His hand slides down your back, pulling you even closer, and you can feel the heat building between you two. The kiss deepens, and everything else disappears-there's only him, only this moment.

When Riki pulls away, both of you are panting, eyes locked, faces inches apart. "You sure about this?" he asks, his voice husky. You nod, trusting your voice.

You're sure. You want this. You want him.

Without saying another word, he tilts his head toward a washroom near by the cafeteria. Afterall you both can't do anything with people around, so that was the only option. You get up, your heart beating even faster as he follows behind you. He pushes you into one of the stalls, locking it behind you.

He slowly turns around, pushing your back against the wall and his lips are on yours again, and this time, it feels like the beginning of something that neither of you can pull away from. The kiss continues, deepening with each passing second. His hands move, exploring, pulling you closer as if he can't get enough of you either. The way he holds you makes everything else fade into the background-the noise of the cafeteria, the people walking by the washroom, it all feels distant and irrelevant.

You feel his breath against your lips, a slight tremor in his touch as his fingers trace the curve of your back. Your own hands slide into his hair, fingers threading through the strands as you pull him in even closer, wanting more of him. You can taste the faint trace of mint on his breath, and it only makes you crave him more.

Riki slowly pulls away from the kiss, the both of you breathless. Finally his hand slides down your thigh, inching under your skirt. "Can I?" He grunts out as you nod at him almost instantly. "Starting to think you've wanted this for a while now," he chuckles, slipping his hands underneath your skirt and groping your ass, a small moan escaping your lips. "S-shut up will you?" He smirks, his lips trail down, leaving wet kisses down your neck. 

You press your lips tightly together, glaring at him playfully. You can't help but feel a surge of need. It's like you're both fighting the same battle, giving in to something that's been building up for weeks. Suddenly you find your hand guiding his further up your skirt.

Riki doesn't hesitate, immediately shoving your hand aside and tearing your panties apart with his hands. He gets down on his knees and buries his face between your legs, licking and sucking at your dripping folds without warning like a starved man. Your eyes roll back to the back of your head, looking down at him in slight surprise. "Fuck, you're so wet." He growls against your pussy, his fingers digging into your thighs.

He groans as he feels your fingers gripping his hair tighter, your delicious moans spurring him on. He alternates between long, teasing licks and quick flicks against your clit, savoring your sweet taste. His hands squeeze your ass, pulling you harder against his face. "F...fuck ah mmph.." Your back arches against the wall, clawing at it slightly as you try to keep quiet, not wanting anyone to hear.

He hooks his arms around your legs and throws them over his shoulders, opening you up even wider. He laps his tongue greedily around your clit, determined to make you come on his face before he allows himself to enter you. "Mmh." He groans against your pussy, your body shaking slightly from the vibration. "A-ah Riki..." The stall gets filled up with slurping sounds along with your quiet desperate moans.

He slightly pulls back, looking up at you with half closed eyes. Your breathing heavily, sweat dripping down your forehead. "Riki or daddy?" He licks his lower lip slightly, smirking a bit as he sees your widened eyes. "I..I am not calling you that weirdo." He tilts his head back, "Hey hey, it was just a suggestion."

"I'll think... about it." You whisper embarrassed, turning a light shade of red when he lets out a quiet chuckle. "Thats my good girl." Your legs slightly tremble at the name, butterflies forming in your stomach before he spreads your legs wider, feasting on your pussy like it's his last meal. He growls against your cunt when you reach down to grip his hair. Your about to reach your climax and he knows it.

"I-I'm gonna-" you whine out, the sound echoes around the empty washroom. Riki snaps his mouth against your clit, sucking hard. "Come on my face, baby." His tongue laps up your juices, going fast and hard against your sensitive nub. "Give it to me." His words are more than enough for you to reach your high, finding yourself cumming all over his face, your thighs shaking violently while you try your hardest not to scream from the pleasure.

He feels your body convulse with your climax. He spreads your legs wider, pushing them back almost painfully, allowing him deeper access. His tongue goes wild, licking and sucking every last bit of your juice. He growls softly against your pussy before pulling back, licking your release off his lips. You suck in a moan, looking down at him.

Riki's cock is aching against his jeans, begging to be free. "P-please." He hears your soft beg. He unbuckles his belt slowly, eyes darkening. "Do you want my dick?" His voice is deep, seeing you slowly nod your head. He pushes his pants and boxers down in one swift motion, freeing his throbbing cock. He strokes himself slowly, letting you admire his impressive size. A droplet of precum pearls at the tip as he grunts. You stare intently, gulping at his length, "You're..."

He steps forward, turning you around and lifting your ass up, rubbing the head against your sensitive entrance. "Yeah? Think you can take it?" His voice is thick with desire as he pushes the tip just slightly inside you, a loud gasp escaping your mouth. "So far for being quiet." Riki says teasingly as you glare up at him playfully, swallowing hard. "I-I'm trying my hardest," He chuckles while pushing in slightly more, filling you with just the tip. "Am I too big?" He grunts, your hands going up to grip his shoulders tightly.

"I-I can take it.." you whimper out. "You sure?" He feeds you another inch, making you wince slightly. He watches your face closely. "Tsk, you're only halfway there." He pulls back slightly then pushes in another inch, hitting a new spot inside you which causes your mouth to open wide. "You really can take my whole dick? Don't wanna hurt you." His voice drops lower.

You just nod, desperation taking over you. "Good girl." He praises darkly, then grips your hips tightly and slams his hips forward, impaling you completely on his massive length. For a second, your vision gets blurry, the pleasure overwhelming. "Fuck!" He roars as he bottoms out inside you, gripping on your hips tightly. You let out a loud straining moan before hearing someone walk into the washroom.

The both of you freeze, and Riki doesn't move inside you just yet. Your slightly panicking but he doesn't seem to care because he begins to grind his hips slowly, letting you feel every inch of him. Your mouth opens wide, but he quickly covers it with his hand, leaning down and whispers against your ear, "That pussy just swallowed every inch of my cock like such a good girl." His hands grip your thighs roughly, pulling you open wider. You swallow hard, whimpering against his palm. "Shh, don't wanna get caught do you?"

Finally that person seems to leave — and Riki's hand leaves your mouth. His thick shaft drags in and out of your tight, soaked pussy at a brutal pace. Each thrust makes you wince and whimper, your walls stretching to accommodate his size. He pounds into you relentlessly, the sound of his skin slapping against your ass filling the room. "F-fuck ah.. Riki-" You roll your eyes back, your mind becoming blank.

He can feel your gentle scratches against his back as he pounds into you, his hands tightening on your thighs. "Fuck, baby. This what you wanted? My dick destroying your insides?" You nod, opening your mouth to speak but words come out as moans instead. He pulls your hips further up to get deeper inside you. He leans forward, his mouth finding yours in a harsh, bruising kiss as he continues to rut into you.

He groans loudly into the kiss as he feels your pussy clench tightly around his throbbing shaft before breaking the kiss, panting heavily. "Shit, you're squeezing me so fucking tight." He adjusts his angle, deliberately targeting your G-spot with every powerful thrust.

Your trying to grip on the walls, but your fingers slip. "G-gonna cum..." His eyes darken with lust at your words, his thrusts becoming even more forceful. "Cum for me, baby. Milk my dick with that tight cunt." He reaches down and circles his thumb over your clit, applying pressure in time with his thrusts.

And with that, He feels your release bathe his length, making him groan loudly. Your pussy pulses around him tightly, almost painfully. He pumps into you erratically, losing his rhythm. He lowers his head and watches as your fluids coat his shaft, making it glide easily in and out of your body.

He pants heavily, finally unleashing his pent up load deep inside of your wet cunt. Your back arches against him as he does so, the both of you letting out loud moans from the feeling. Then he pulls out slowly, his cock glistening with your juices. "Fuck." He holds your waist and you tremble, putting your whole body weight on him since your struggling to stand.

The bathroom stall feels too small now, the air thick with the weight of what just happened. You’re both still breathing heavily, and there’s a quiet, almost uncomfortable stillness between you.

He leans back against the wall, rubbing a hand over his face as if trying to process everything. You do the same, your mind racing a little. It’s strange how quickly things shifted, how in the span of just a few minutes, everything between you changed. You glance over at him. He’s still looking at you, his eyes soft, his expression unreadable. For a moment, neither of you speaks. You’re both just sitting there in the aftermath, unsure of what to say next.

"So… that happened," you murmur, trying to break the silence. He lets out a small laugh, but it’s low, more to himself than anything. “Yeah. Guess it did.” His voice sounds different now, less guarded, but there’s still that underlying tension. You’re not sure if you’re relieved or nervous. A mix of both. "I didn’t expect it to happen like this, especially here." He looks around the cramped stall, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "Neither did I. But… it’s not the worst place, I guess."

You roll your eyes, half-smiling. “So… what now?” you ask, the question hanging in the air between you. He pauses, clearly thinking it over. Finally, he looks at you, his gaze steady. "I don’t know. But I don’t want it to be a one-time thing." You can’t help but smile, a warmth spreading through you. "Neither do I."

💘: thank you so much for all your support on my storiesss!! i didnt expect anyone to like them, so thank youu!!!🥹💕💕 ill get to the rest of the requests soon, im currently busy w school so itll take some time, thanks for your patience🫶

[goshikisbaee]

Spending Valentine’s Day With Haikyuu Characters (part 1)

content: Fluff

[ Oikawa, Iwaizumi, Kuroo, Bokuto, Akaashi ]

———-

TŌRU OIKAWA

Valentine’s Day with Oikawa is nothing short of extra. From the moment you wake up, there’s a bouquet of your favorite flowers waiting for you with a note in his neat handwriting: “For the most beautiful person in my life.” He insists on making the day perfect— though his definition of “perfect” may include a little too much of his dramatic flair.

He shows up to pick you up in his favorite casual but classy outfit, grinning like he’s just won a championship match. “You didn’t think I’d forget, did you, my love?” he teases, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

He takes you to a cute café where he spends half the time holding your hand across the table and the other half bragging about how he managed to snag the “best date” in the world. The barista can’t help but roll their eyes at his antics, but you can’t stop laughing.

In true Oikawa fashion, the evening involves stargazing—because of course he has to incorporate something romantic and dreamy. Lying beside you, he points out random constellations, only half accurate because he’s too busy sneaking glances at you.

“I dont need the stars when I’ve got you,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from your face. Cheesy? Absolutely. But with him, it’s always endearing.

The night ends with him pulling you close, a soft, genuine smile replacing his usual cocky grin. “Thank you for being my Valentine,” he whispers, his voice quieter than usual. “I promise, you’ll always be my number one.”

HAJIME IWAIZUMI

Valentine’s day with Iwaizumi is simple but meaningful. He’s not one for grand romantic gestures, but he makes sure you feel loved in the ways that matter. When you wake up, there’s a nearly wrapped box on your nightstand—inside is a practical yet thoughtful gift, like a hoodie that smells like him or your favorite snacks. “Didn’t wanna get you something useless,” the note reads.

When he picks you up, he’s dressed casually, but you cant tell he put in a little extra effort—his hair is styled just right, and he’s actually wearing that nice cologne you love. He greets you with a gruff, “you look nice,” before quickly looking away, ears slightly red.

Dinner is at his favorite spot—nothing fancy, just good food and a comfortable atmosphere. He doesnt gush over you like someone like Oikawa would, but his small actions say everything: making sure you get the last bite, keeping his hand on your knee absentmindedly, sending a death glare at anything who looks at you for too long.

After dinner, he surprises you with a late night drive, ending at a quiet scenic spot. Sitting beside you, he lets out a deep sigh, looking up at the sky. “I know I dont say it a lot, but… I’m really lucky to have you.” His fingers find yours, squeezing them gently.

Before you part ways, he pulls you into a warm, lingering hug, resting his chin on your head. “Happy Valentine’s Day idiot,” he mutters, voice softer than usual. You smile, knowing that even without the over the top romance, every moment with him is real.

TETSURŌ KUROO

Valentine’s Day with Kuroo is fun—because, of course, he turns everything into an opportunity to tease you. You wake up to a text that reads; “Happy Valentine’s Day to my favorite nerd. Yes, you’re my favorite. No you can’t tell anyone.” A few minutes later, another message: “wear something cute. Not that you need help looking good, but, you know… for my sake.”

When he picks you up, he greets you with his signature smirk and a ridiculous gift—maybe a cat plushie because “it reminded me of myself. Handsome, charming, and definitely your favorite.” But before you can roll your eyes, he hands you something real—your favorite snack or a small thoughtful present that proves he actually pays attention.

Dinner is at a casual yet surprisingly nice restaurant, where he spends half the time making flirty comments and the other half pretending to listen while secretly just admiring you. “You know, I’d let you ramble about anything if it means I get to keep looking at you.”

After dinner, he takes you somewhere unexpected—maybe a late night arcade or a rooftop with a city view. Sitting next to you, he finally drops the teasing for a second, nudging your shoulder before saying, “you know, I joke around a lot, but I mean it when I say you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Before the night ends, he pulls you into by the waist, looking down at you with that lazy grin. “Happy Valentine’s Day, babe. Hope you’re ready for many more.” And with that, he finally gives you the kiss he’s been holding off all night.

KŌTARŌ BOKUTO

Valentine’s Day with Bokuto is non stop excitement from the moment it begins. You wake up to a spam of texts:

“HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!!!”

“WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP”

“DO YOU KNOW WHAT DAY IT IS???”

“IT’S THE DAY I GET TO SPOIL YOU, DUH.”

When he finally picks you up, he’s practically bouncing with energy, holding a massive bouquet—probably way bigger than necessary. “I didn’t know which flowers to get, so I got all of them!” He grins, handing them over like he just won an award.

Your date is a mix of everything fun—he takes you to an arcade, a cute café, and maybe even a spontaneous adventure like ice skating (which he’s surprisingly good at). Every few minutes, he reminds you, “BEST. DAY. EVER.” And insists on taking a million selfies.

At dinner, he’s a mix of loud excitement and soft admiration, stuffing his face one second and staring at you like you hung the moon the next. “I’m so lucky,” he sighs dramatically between bites, before pointing his fork at you. “Hey. You know that, right? That I love you?”

The night ends with him wrapping you in the biggest hug ever, lifting you off the ground effortlessly. “Best Valentine’s Day ever,” he declares, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. Then, with a cheeky grin, he adds, “same time next year? Actually, scratch that. Every day should be like this.”

KEIJI AKAASHI

Valentine’s Day with Akaashi is quietly romantic, filled with soft gestures that show just how much he cares. You wake up to a neatly written note left at your bedside—“happy Valentine’s Day. I hope today is as wonderful as you are.” A little later, he texts: “Are you free? I have something planned.”

When he picks you up, he hands you a small but meaningful gift—maybe a book you mentioned wanting, or a handwritten letter sealed in an envelope. “I wasn’t sure what to get you,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, “so I just got something that reminded me of you.”

Your date is simple but perfect—maybe a quiet bookstore café, a scenic walk, or a cozy home-cooked dinner. He pays attention to everything you say, responding with soft hums and amused smiles. “I love listening to you talk,” he admits, twirling a piece of his food with his fork.

At the end of the night, he lingers at your doorstep, eyes gentle but hesitant. “I, um…” He exhales, gathering his thoughts before finally meeting your gaze. “I just want you to know that I’m really, really happy with you.”

Before you can respond, he leans in and presses a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he murmurs, lips curling into the faintest smile. “I hope I get to spend all of them with you.”

———

[sparklyskies0]

crawling back to you, c.s

( in which ) Despite the love chris has for you, he’s perfectly fine with not taking action and making you his to end both of your suffering.

disclaimers: mutual pining, smut (unprotected p in v), kissing, miscommunication, slow burn, NOT EDITED! :)) 2,256 words

You swear you can feel him before you even see him. It's like your body recognizes his presence before your brain does─before your eyes lock onto his across the room.

Chris is leaning against the wall, head tipped back, the silver chain around his neck catching the dim glow of the LED lights. His hoodie is slipping off his shoulder slightly. He looks good─too good.

And you hate it, it's killing you.

You hate the way your stomach clenches when he exhales a slow drag from the joint between his fingers. Hate the way he only half-smiles when his eyes land on you, like he's been waiting, like he already knew you'd show up.

You shouldn't be here.

But you are.

And he's looking at you like that.

The party is loud, voices blending with bass-heavy music, but it all feels muted, like the world has shrunk to the space between you and him. You take a sip from your drink, something cold and sharp that does nothing to steady your nerves, and when you look up again, he's already moving.

Chris doesn't touch you when he stops beside you, but he's close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off of him.

"You came," he murmurs, voice low, just for you.

You dont know what to say to that, so you shrug.

"so did you."

Chris huffs out something that might've been a laugh if it didn't sound so bitter.

"I always do."

It's the truth, and its sit heavy in your chest. Chris is always there─always lingering just outside of reach, close enough to make you feel like you could have him if you really wanted, but far enough that you know better than to try.

You don't ask why he never says anything. You don't ask why he lets you have him in every way except the one that matters. You already know the answer.

Because he's too scared of what happens if he actually asks the question neither of you are brave enough to say out loud.

Do i wanna know?

"wanna get out of here?" he asks instead.

And you do. You always do

His apartment is quiet when you get there, the only sound is the low hum of the city outside. You shouldn't be here either. But here you are, following him inside, watching as he shrugs off his hoodie, runs a hand through his hair like he's trying to shake off whatever this is.

Like he doesn't know it never goes away.

But you want this, you want him and you've made that abundantly clear. He has too, in his own way. But yet again, you don't ask questions of why you can get close but never close enough.

You swallow hard, your throat dry despite the drinks, despite the haze of everything unspoken between you.

Chris watches you, jaw tight, fingers twitching at his side. Like he wants to touch you. Like he wants to do something about it.

But he wont.

You step closer, heart hammering, and press your palms to his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through his shirt. His breath catches, but he doesn't move, doesn't push you away.

"You gonna keep pretending this isnt real?' you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

Chris swallows hard, his hands ghosting over your hips, like hes debating whether to grab you, whether to pull you in or let you go.

"You already know the answer," he murmurs.

His lips are so close, a breath away, and when he finally, finally presses his mouth to yours, it's not sweet, not gentle─its desperate. Like he's been holding back for too long. Like he's giving in just this once, even though you both know it won't fix anything.

His hand slips under your shirt, fingertips burning against your skin, you arch into him, gasping when he nips at your bottom lip. Its messy, its reckless, its everything you both pretend you don't want.

But you do.

You always do.

And it's never enough.

Chris kisses you like he's trying to memorize the way you taste. Like if he kisses you hard enough, long enough, he'll finally stop wanting you the way he does.

(It won't work. it never does.)

His hands slip beneath your shirt, fingers skating over your ribs, warm and familiar. He knows your body like a map, but only in stolen moments like this─only when the weight of not having you becomes unbearable.

You press closer, chest to chest, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, but chris is the one who slows it down. One hand curls around your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth like hes savoring you, like he knows this will end the same way it always does.

A sigh. A goodbye.

A space between you that neither of you have the guts to close.

"Chris," you breathe, and its not a question, not an accusation─its a plea. One he hears loud and clear.

His forehead drops to yours, chest rising and falling against yours in sync, and you think for a second─just one─that maybe this time, he'll say something. Maybe this time, he won't just let you leave.

But then he exhales, slow and shaky. His fingers brush over your sides before pulling away completely, and just like that, its over.

You blink at him, still caught in haze of it all, lips still tingling from his, body still buzzing with heat and he just looks at you.

Like hes sorry. Like he hates himself for this.

But also like he's okay with it.

You let out a sharp breath, shaking your head as you step back, arms crossing over your chest in a weak attempt to shield yourself from the cold rush of reality.

" this is getting old, chris."

He flinches like the words sting, but he doesnt argue. He never does.

Instead, he just nods, dragging a hand down his face before looking at you with something that might be regret.

Might be love.

"I know."

And the worst part?

So do you.

You should leave. You should walk out of his apartment and out of his cycle, let the door shut behind you and pretend like you don't know exactly how this will go.

But you don't.

Instead, you stand there, arms crossed, waiting for him to say something, anything─but Chris just stares at you, jaw tight, hands flexing at his sides like he wants to reach for you and doesn't trust himself not to.

His eyes never leave you. He looks at you like you're the only thing keeping him standing, like if he doesn't do something right now, he's going to lose his mind.

And maybe that's why you do it.

Why you grab the front of his hoodie, fisting the fabric and yanking him toward you. Why you crash your mouth against his like you need to feel him now, before he disappears again.

Chris stumbles back slightly but recovers fast, his hands landing on your waist, gripping like he's scared you'll pull away. Like he's still trying to figure out if he's allowed to have you.

You part your lips, exhaling against his mouth, and that's all it takes─Chris breaks.

A low groan rumbles from his chest as he tilts his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes your knees weak. His fingers tighten on your hips, pulling you flush against him, and─fuck─he's hard, pressed up against your stomach like he's been waiting for this longer than he'd ever admit.

You don't even realize you're backing up until your shoulders hit the wall, and Chris is on you, caging you in, his hands everywhere─your waist, your back, your face. He kisses you like he's starving, like he's been dying of thirst and you're the only thing that can save him.

His teeth scrape against your bottom lip, and you whimper, tilting your head back. That sound─it does something to him.

Chris's breath is ragged as he dips his head, mouth latching onto your neck, sucking just hard enough to make your stomach flip. His hands slip beneath your shirt, fingertips dragging up your sides, warm and rough, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"Fuck," he mutters against your skin. "You don't─" he exhales sharply, shaking his head. "You don't get it."

You tilt your head, gasping when his tongue swipes over the mark he just made. "Get what?"

Chris pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark, pupils blown.

"How bad i want you."

Something in your chest tightens─because you do get it. You've always gotten it.

And you're tired of pretending like you don't want him just as bad.

Your hands slip under his hoodie, dragging up his stomach, nails scratching lightly against his skin, and Chris shudders, his breath hitching.

"Then show me," you whisper.

Something snaps.

Chris surges forward, kissing you so hard your head knocks against the wall, but you don't care. His hands are on you, desperate and unrelenting, as he tugs your shirt up, over your head, tossing it somewhere behind him. His hoodie follows, hitting the floor with a soft thud.

Your fingers trail down his stomach, grazing the waistband of his jeans, and Chris exhales a sharp fuck, his head dropping to your shoulder.

"Don't tease," he rasps. "Not tonight."

You nod, slipping your hand past the waistband, palming him through his boxers. He groans, hips jerking into your touch, and the sound alone sends heat pooling between your legs.

Chris suddenly grips your thighs, lifting you effortlessly, and you yelp, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carries you toward the nearest surface─his bedroom.

The second your back hits the mattress, he's on you again, kissing down your body, his hands rough and greedy as they tug at your jeans, dragging them down. You help, kicking them off and then its just him and you, bare skin against bare skin, all warmth and need and desperation.

Chris pauses for a second, hovering over you, his chest heaving. His eyes search yours, something unspoken lingering between you.

You nod, reaching up to cup his jaw, "im yours, Chris."

And thats all he needs.

He kisses you slow this time─deep, consuming, like he wants to take his time memorizing the way you feel beneath him. His hands roam, learning every inch of you, before he finally gives you what you both need.

And when he pushes into you, stretching you open, filling you completely─

you let out a strong moan. A gasp.

Your back arching off of the bed. Chris grips your hips, he bottoms out inside of you , groaning softly.

"Fuckk.."

He thrusts into you like hes trying to carve himself into your bones. Like if he presses hard enough, you'll never be able to forget the way he feels.

His forehead drops against yours, breaths tangled, his lips brushing yours with every sharp thrust. Your nails dig into his back, dragging down the smooth skin, desperate to ground yourself because its too much─but at the same time, not enough. "oh my godd─chris.."

"Fuck," chris mutters, voice ragged. "You feel─" He groans, finger gripping your waist so tight you know you'll feel it tomorrow. "You feel so fucking good."

Your body arches again into him, heat coiling low in your stomach. "chris─"

"i got you, baby." the words slip out, quiet and unintentional, and chris freezes for half a second─like he wasnt supposed to say that.

But you dont let him pull away.

Your hands cup his jaw, forcing him to look at you, and the moment your eyes lock, something shifts.

Its not just about the desperation anymore. Not just about the frustration, the push and pull, the months─years─of unspoken tension.

its about this.

Chris and you.

Together, for the first time without hesitation, without pretending like this isn't exactly where you both belong.

His pace slows, hips rolling against yours with an intensity that has your breath catching in your throat. Its deep, slow, devastating─and suddenly, you feel the weight of it, the way he's holding you like you might disappear, the way he presses his lips to your temples like he's scared to say what he's thinking.

You pull him closer, wrapping your legs around him tighter.

"Chris.." you breathe, titing your chin up to kiss him. He groans into your mouth, his grip on your waist tightening as he picks up the pace again, thrusts growing rougher, more desperate.

He's losing himself inside of you. The slick feel of your tight pussy clenching around him and pulling him in.

"i know," he whispers against your lips, voice wrecked. "I know, baby."

Your stomach tightens, pleasure twisting dangerously low,, and you can feel it building, seconds away from─

Chris's fingers find your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles, and─

Everything shatters.

Your head tips back, his name falling from your lips in a broken, needy whimper, and chris follows right after, his stuttering, his grip on you bruising as he cums with a low, drawn─out groan.

You both stay still, neither of you moving. Chris stays pressed against you, his forehead buried in your shoulder, breath still ragged. Your fingers find his hair, nails scraping against his scalp, and you feel him shudder.

And when he finally lifts his head, looking at you like you hung the fucking stars.

Your'e not sure if you want to say anything,

Not sure if you wanna know what happens next.

ᥫ᭡ Authors Note

this is so long lmfao

chris saying what he said abt being

in love def inspired this so 👅🤘🏾

xoxo paris

[cowardlykrow]

"Suck it, weeb-ass BEEETCH!"

Richie loses to Ruth. (She probably cheated)

[flowercrowngods]

who did this to you. part 3

🤍🌷 read part 1 here | read part 2 here pre-s4, steve whump, protective (but scared) eddie. now with robin!

The number rings in his head, echoing off the inside of his skull and sinking lower and lower until his heart strings join the symphony that leaves him shaking as the memory of Harrington’s slurred voice is drowned out by the dial tone that feels harrowingly like a flatline right now. 

Said I’ll go blind. Or deaf. Or just… die.

Eddie doesn’t really feel like his body belongs to him anymore, or like there’s anything left inside him other than panic and fear and that stupid, stupid shaking that he can’t suppress even as he bites his knuckles. Hard. 

The pain helps a little not to startle too much when the dial tone stops and a female voice begins speaking to him. Still he almost drops the phone, cursing under his breath as he pulls his hair to collect himself and get his voice to work. 

“H— Hi, hello, Mrs Buckley? This is, uh. I. I’m. A friend of Robin’s, could you, uh—“ 

“Oh, of course, dear,” the woman says, and Eddie feels his eyes beginning to prick with how nice she sounds even through the phone. 

Does she know Steve, too? Would she worry if she knew? Would she curse Eddie for not taking him to the hospital right away? Would she blame him if anything happened? 

“I’m sorry? What did you say your name was?” she asks, repeating herself by the sound of it. 

He blanks, for a whole five seconds, before he spots a note stuck to the fridge saying Don’t forget to eat, Eddie :-)

“Eddie,” he croaks. “Uh, Eddie Munson.”

“Alright, Eddie Munson, I’ll see if I can grab Robin for you. You have a good day, dear, yes?” 

No. “Thanks.” 

The hand clenched in his hair pulls tighter and tighter until the tears fall and he can pretend it’s from pain and not from— whatever the fuck is happening. 

He waits, phone pressed to his ear with a kind of desperation he’s never really felt, and never wants to feel again. He doesn’t even know what to tell Robin; what to say. It’s not like they ever hang out or have anything to say to each other, so why would she— 

“Munson?” Robin’s voice appears on the other end, a little too loud for Eddie’s certain state, and he does drop the phone this time, scrambling to catch it and only making the situation worse as it dangles by his knees. 

He drops to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest and reaching for the phone again. 

“Hi.” 

“What do you want? How’d you even get this number? I swear, if you—“ 

“It’s Blue. I mean, Steve. Harrington.” 

That shuts her right up, and Eddie clenches his eyes shut for a moment, hoping to keep the tremor out of his voice if only he takes a moment to breathe. 

The moment stretches. And Robin’s voice is wary and quiet when she speaks again. 

“What about Steve.” 

Eddie rubs his face, leaving more dirt and grime to fill the tear tracks, and clenches his fist before his mouth. 

“Eddie,” Robin demands, dangerous now. Nothing left of the rambling, bubbling mess he knows her to be on the school hallways. “What. About. Steve.” 

“He… He’s hurt.” 

There’s a bit of a commotion on the other end, before Robin declares, “I’m coming over. You tell me everything.” 

“You— I mean, he’s in the hospital with my uncle, so—“ 

“I am. Coming. Over,” she says, enunciating every word as though she were making a threat. Maybe she is. But the certainty in her voice helps a little, anchors him the same way that Wayne’s calmness did. “And you tell me everything.” 

Eddie finds himself nodding along, knowing intuitively that there is nothing that could stop her now. Knowing that he doesn’t want to stop her. 

“‘Kay.” It’s a pathetic little sound, all choked up and tiny. She doesn’t comment on it. 

One second he hears her determined exhale, the next she’s hung up on him and Eddie is greeted by the flatline again. He lets out a shuddering breath and leans his head back against the wall. 

Breathing is hard again, but it’s all he has to do now, all that’s left to do, so he focuses. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Hold. His lungs are burning and there’s something wrong about the way he pulls in air and keeps it there, desperately latching onto it until the very last second, his exhales more of a gasping cough than calm and controlled. 

It takes a while. Longer than it should. But with Harrington’s blood still on his hands, with his heartbeat in his ears so loud he can’t even hear the words Wayne used to say about breathing in through the mouth or the nose or… or something, he— 

He’s fine. He’s home. Wayne’s got Blue, and Buckley is on her way, and… He’s fine. 

People don’t just die. 

They don’t. 

He’s fine. 

Eventually, Eddie manages to breathe steadily, the air no longer shuddering and his hands no longer shaking. It’s stupid, really, being so worked up over someone he doesn’t even really know. Sure, everyone knows Steve fucking Harrington, and everyone sees Steve fucking Harrington — whether they want it or not. He has a way of drawing eyes toward him even if all he does is walk the halls with his dorky smile and that stupidly charming swagger he’s got going on. Always matching his shoes to his outfit.

Eddie can relate.

Always reaching out to touch the person he’s talking to; clapping their back or shoulder, lightly shoving them in jest, ruffling their hair or chasing them through the halls, moving and holding himself like teenage angst can’t reach him. Like he belongs wherever he goes. Like he’s so, so comfortable in his own skin. Like the clothes he wears aren’t armour but just a part of him; a means of self-expression. 

Again, Eddie can relate. He can relate to all of this. 

It’s almost like the two of them aren’t so different after all. Just going about it differently. 

And now he’s… Bleeding. Slurring his speech. Wheezing his breath. And Eddie feels protective. Eddie feels responsible. Like he should be there, like he should get to know more about him. About Steve. About Blue. 

But he can’t. And he won’t. So he gets up with a groan that expresses his frustration and the need to make a sound, to fight the oppressive silence that only encourages his thoughts to run in obsessive little circles, and he hangs up the phone that’s been dangling beside him all this time. 

He needs a smoke. 

He needs a smoke and a blunt and a drink and for this day to be over and for time to revert and to leave him out of whatever business he stumbled into by opening the door to the boathouse and, apparently, Steve Harrington’s life. 

But unfortunately, the universe doesn’t seem to care about what he needs, because just as he steps outside and goes to light his cig, he catches sight of a harried looking Robin Buckley, standing on the pedals of her bike as she kicks them, her hair blowing in the wind to reveal a frown between her brows. A wave of unease overcomes Eddie, an unease he can’t really place. Maybe it’s the set of her jaw, or the tension in her shoulders, or maybe it’s the worry and anger she exudes. 

It never occurred to him before that Robin Buckley might not be a person you’d want to set off. And not because of her uncontrollable rambles. 

“Munson!” she calls over, carelessly dropping her bike in the driveway and stalking toward him. 

Almost as if summoning a shield, Eddie does light the cigarette. Pretends like the smoke can protect him. 

She doesn’t stop at the foot of the steps, though, climbs them in two leaps and gets all up in his space with that unwavering look of determination — so unwavering, in fact, that it almost looks like wrath. Cold. Eddie wants to shrink away from it, not at all daring to wonder what could make her look like that upon hearing that Steve’s hurt. 

I don’t wanna die, Munson. I never… I didn’t. With the monsters or the torture.

But those are the words of a semi-conscious teenage boy beat to a pulp, they can’t— There’s no way. Eddie misheard him, or Steve was talking about some kind of inside joke, using the wrong terminology with the wrong guy. It happens. It happens when you’re out of it, really! The shit he’s said when he was shot up, canned up, all strung out and high as a kite… He’d be talking of monsters, too, and mean some benign shit. 

But the way Harrington looked, none of that was benign. The bruising all over his face, the blood still dripping from the wound by his temple or his nose, the way he held himself, breath rattling in his lungs, or— 

“Hey!” Buckley demands his attention, giving him a light shove; just enough to catch his attention, really, and just what he needed to snap out of it. Still the smoke hits his lungs wrong and he coughs up a lung, further cementing his role of the pathetic little guy today. 

“Hey,” he says lamely, his voice still croaking as he crushes the half-smoked cigarette under his boot. “Sorry.” He doesn’t know for what. But it feels appropriate. 

She shakes her head, rolling her eyes at him as she crosses her arms in front of her chest. 

“Tell me,” she says at last, and even though there is a tremor in her voice, she sounds nothing short of demanding. “I want the whole story, and I want it now.” 

And so he does. He tells her everything, bidding her inside because he needs the relative safety of the trailer even though the air in here is stuffy and still faintly smells blue. He pours them both some coffee and some tea, because asking what she wants doesn’t feel right in the middle of telling her how he found her supposed best friend beat to shit in the boathouse he went to to forget about the world for a while. 

She stills as she listens to him, staring ahead into the middle distance somewhere beneath the floor and the walls, her hands wrapped around the steaming mug of coffee. Eddie stumbles over his words a lot, unsettled by her stillness, her lack of reaction. She doesn’t even react to his fuck-ups. People usually do.

He wants to ask. Where are you right now? What have you seen? What’s on your mind? What the fuck is happening?

But he doesn’t ask, instead he tells her more about Steve. About how he seemed to forget where he was. About the pain he was in. About the smiles nonetheless. The way he reassured Eddie. 

That one finally gets a choked little huff from her, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. 

“Yeah, that sounds like him alright. He’s such a dingus.” 

There is so much affection in her voice as she says it that Eddie can’t help but smile into his mug. 

“Dingus?” he asks, hoping for some lightness, hoping to keep it. 

But the light fades, and her eyes get distant again. Eddie wants to kick himself. 

“Just a stupid little nickname. An insult, really.”

“Oh.” He doesn’t know what to do with that. If he should ask more or if he should say that he has a feeling Steve might appreciate stupid little nicknames. Especially if they’re unique. Especially if they’re for him. But what right does he have to say that now? What knowledge does he have about Steve Harrington that Robin doesn’t? 

So he bites his tongue and drinks his coffee, cursing the silence that falls over them as Robin mirrors him, albeit slow and stilted, like she doesn’t know what to do either. Or where to put her limbs. 

“Wayne’s got him now. I took him here, after the boathouse, because I didn’t know what to do. He said he didn’t want the hospital, said there’s…” He trails off. 

Robin looks at him, her eyes wary but alert. “Said there’s what?” 

It’s stupid. Don’t say it. 

“Eddie?” 

With a sigh, he puts his mug on the counter and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “He said there’s monsters. In the hospital, I mean. He said that.”

Instead of scoffing or at least frowning, Robin clenches her jaw and nods imperceptibly, her eyes going distant again. Eddie blinks, the urge to just fucking ask overcoming him again, but with every passing second he realises that he doesn’t actually want to ask. He doesn’t want to know, let alone find out. 

He just… He just wants to go to bed. Forget any of this ever happened. But he can’t do that, so he continues. 

“Brought him here and Wayne took one look at him and convinced him he needed a doctor. And, Jesus H Christ, he was right. I’ve never… I mean, those things don’t happen,��� he urges, balling his hands into fists even in the confined space of his pockets. “Right? I mean… Shit, man.” He bumps his shoe into the kitchen counter; gently, so as not to startle Buckley out of her fugue like state. 

“You’d be surprised,” she rasps, staring into the middle distance again and slowly sinking to the floor. There is a tremor in her shoulders now, barely noticeable, but Eddie knows where to look. Without really thinking about it, he grabs two of his hoodies he’d haphazardly thrown over the kitchen chairs this morning while deciding on his outfit and realising that it was altogether too warm for long sleeves today. But now, right here in this kitchen, the air tinged with blue, they’re both freezing. 

Because fear and worry will take all the warmth right from inside of you and leave you freezing even on the hottest day of the year. 

She barely looks at him when he holds out his all-black Iron Maiden hoodie to her, freshly washed and all that, but she takes it nonetheless, immediately pulling it on. It’s way too large on her, her hands not showing through the sleeves, her balled fists safe and warm inside the fabric. It would make him smile if only it didn’t highlight her stillness, her faraway stare, and the years he has on her. She’s, what, two years younger than him? Three? 

It seems surreal. Everything, everything does. 

Robin Buckley in his home, sitting on his kitchen floor, swallowed by a hoodie that is a size too large even for him, but it was the last one they had in the store and he doesn’t mind oversized clothes, can just cut them shorter when the need arises or layer them or declare them comfort sweaters for when he wants to just have his hands not slip through the sleeves on some days. And now Robin is wearing his comfort hoodie because her best friend was bleeding in his car earlier and then on his couch and now in his uncle’s car, and they never even talk, but he knows that Robin’s favourite colour is blue, but not morning hour blue because that makes her sad; only deep, dark blues. 

Her favourite colour. Her favourite person. 

It’s so fucking surreal. 

He drops down beside her, leaving enough space between them so neither of them feels caged, and mirrors her position: knees to his chest, chin on his forearms. Staring ahead. 

And silence reigns. 

“Your uncle,” she says at last, finally breaking the silence that’s been grating on Eddie’s nerves and looking at him, really looking as she rests her cheek on her forearms crossed over her knees. “Tell me about him.” 

There is a gentleness to her voice now despite how hoarse it is. Maybe she’s just tired, too. And scared. At least the shivering has stopped. 

Still Eddie frowns, confused as to why she should be breaking the silence to ask about Wayne when everything today has been about Harrington. About Steve. About deep and dark blues. 

“Uncle Wayne?” he asks. “Why?”

“Because,” she begins, and sighs deeply, works to get the air back in her lungs. Eddie wants to reach out, but instead he just clenches his fingers a little deeper into the fabric of his hoodie. “My best friend is hurt very badly and the only person with him is your uncle, and I need to know that he’s in good hands. Or I swear to whatever god you may or may not believe in, and granted, it’s probably the latter, but still I swear I’ll give into my arsonist tendencies and burn down this city, starting with your trailer if you don’t tell me that your uncle is a good man who will do anything in his power to make sure that boy gets the help and care he needs. And deserves.” 

Her jaw is set and her bottom lip trembles, but it doesn’t take away from the absolute sincerity in her threat. 

“So, please,” she continues, her voice breaking just a little bit. “Tell me. Tell me about your uncle.” 

Tell me about your favourite person. 

Eddie swallows, and mirrors her position once more, so she can see his eyes and know he’s sincere. Because he’s learned something about eyes today, about how much in the world can change if only you have a pair of eyes to look into. 

And he nods, looking for somewhere to start. “He’s the best man I know. He’s the best man you’ll ever meet.”

She clings to his eyes. Searches them for the truth, beseeching them not to lie. He lets her. 

“Took me in when I was ten, because my dad’s a fuck-up and my mom’s a goner. Took me in again when I was twelve after I ran away. Makes me breakfast and I pretends the dinner I make him is more than edible.” He smiles a little, because how could he not? “He’s my uncle, but still he’s the best parent anyone could wish for. Writes those little notes that he sticks to the fridge, y’know, the one with the smiley face? Tells me to eat, because I forget sometimes. I tell him to drink water, because he forgets. First few years, he’d read to me. And the man’s a shit reader, has some kind of disability I think, and at some point I learned that he wasn’t reading at all. He was telling me stories all the time, conning me into thinking that the books were magic, and that every time I’d try to read the book for myself, the story would change.” 

There’s a lump in his throat now, and his eyes sting again. But Robin doesn’t seem to fare any better than him if her wavering smile is any indication. 

“There’s no one,” Eddie continues, “who will make you believe in magic quite like uncle Wayne. Or in good things. And d’you wanna know what he told Blue when he said he was scared of going to the hospital?” 

Sniffling, Robin shakes her head. 

“He said, Okay. Then we do it scared. And all of that after he just… with that patience he has, told him everything that was gonna happen. And that he’d be there with him through it all. That he knew the doc and wouldn’t let anyone else near him, and that there’s no need to be scared at all.” 

He sighs, breathes, stills. Swallows, before looking back at Robin. 

“So, if there’s one person who’ll make sure that boy gets the help and care he needs and deserves…” 

“It’s uncle Wayne,” Robin finishes his sentence, her voice still hoarse, but Eddie likes to think it’s for a different reason now. 

“It’s uncle Wayne,” Eddie says, nodding along as he does. 

There is something like understanding in Robin’s eyes now, and Eddie hopes it’s enough. Enough to calm the spiking of her nerves, enough to settle the coil of freezing nausea that must reside in the pit of her stomach, enough to let the next breath she takes feel a little more like it’s supposed to be there. 

He wants to say something more, wants to reach out and reassure her that everything will be okay, but he can’t know that. He doesn’t feel like it’s entirely true, let alone appropriate right now. 

There’s something in Robin’s eyes, in the way she holds herself, like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like she accepts his words at face value but doesn’t really believe them. Like she’ll only rest when she’s got her best friend back in her arms and hears the story — the whole story — from him. 

And Eddie doesn’t fault her, because the thing is, he doesn’t know what happened. Steve said that Hagan came at him, but that’s really all he got out of him before he started talking about death and shit, and Eddie really didn’t want to ask any more questions then. 

So they sit there for a while, the silence oppressive and unwelcome, clumsy and awkward; Robin’s mouth opening and closing a lot, like she wants to ask questions but doesn’t dare to ask them — and Eddie doesn’t know if he’s glad about it or not. Doesn’t know if he wants to hear the kind of questions asked with that kind of stare. 

It is only after a long while, when Robin’s shoulders start shaking again and she buries deeper into the hoodie and her own spiralling thoughts, that Eddie breaks the silence again, replaying in his head the last moment between him and Steve. 

“He’s not gonna break,” he tells her, aiming for gentle and reassuring. 

What he doesn’t expect is the minute flinch, the jolt shooting through her body and the pained expression it leaves her with. What he doesn’t expect is what she says next. 

“You know,” she begins, her voice as far away as her eyes, and it’s like she doesn’t even know she’s speaking. “Sometimes I wish he would.” 

What?

Eddie blinks, swallowing hard.

“Just for, just for a break. Just so he can rest. Let the rest take over for a while.” 

That… He doesn’t— What the hell does that even mean? 

“Like maybe then the world would… snap back.” She snaps her fingers, just once. This time it’s Eddie who flinches. “And everything bad would disappear. But it won’t. And he won’t.” She swallows. Then quietly, almost inaudible, “He won’t break.” 

And the way she says it… It was reassuring before. And now it feels like a burden. A curse. 

Who the fuck are you, Steve Harrington? And you, Robin Buckley. 

Eddie shudders, knowing he doesn’t want the answer to that anymore. He doesn’t want the questions either. So he buries his face in his hands, closes his eyes, and breathes. The adrenaline has worn off by now, the repeated panicking that added fuse to the fire has ceased now, leaving him worn out and strung out, tired and exhausted. He pulls up the hood, burrowing into the warmth. 

And then he stills. His usually twitching, fumbling, fiddling body falling entirely still beside Buckley. 

It’s like time stops for a while there, even though Eddie knows that it’s dragging ever on and on. He’s inclined to let it, though. He’s too tired, too exhausted to really care about what time may or may not be doing. 

“Why’d you call me?” 

It takes a while for Eddie to realise that Robin’s spoken again, asked him a question out loud, the cadence of it different to the endless circles of questions Eddie’s got stuck in his head since the early afternoon tinged in blue against crimson. 

He lifts his head, tucking his hands underneath his chin, and looks over at Buckley. Her hair is dishevelled now, her mascara smudged and crusty. Her lipstick is almost all gone, with the way he sees her biting and chewing on her lips. 

“I… It seemed like the right thing to do, y’know? He kept repeating your number. In the car, it was like… Sounds dramatic, but it was like his lifeline, almost. Repeated it so often it kinda got stuck.” He shrugs. “Seemed important, too.”

Robin frowns; a careful little thing. “How’d you know it was me?”

“Well, he just talked about you. Y’know. Tell me about your favourite person, I told him, because that’s the thing you gotta do to keep people, like, talking to you. Not shit about what day it is, or what. Just, y’know. Let them talk about things they like. Things they’ll wanna tell you about. ’N’ he talked about you.” 

She’s quiet for a while, letting his words sink in. And Eddie wonders if she knew. That she’s his favourite person. If he ever told her. If maybe he took that from him now. It’s a stupid thing to worry about, really; the boy was bloodied and bruised on his couch just an hour ago, there are worse things at hand for Eddie to worry about. But now he wonders if he just spilled some sort of secret. Some sort of love confession. 

“Did you, I mean… Are you guys, like, dating? Did I just steal his moment?” 

Robin huffs, but it’s more like a smile that needs a little more space in the room, a little more air to really bloom. It’s fond. She shakes her head, her eyes far away again, but closer somehow. 

“Nah,” she says, and the smile is in her voice, too. Eddie kind of likes her voice like that. “We’re platonic. Which is something I’d never thought I’d say. Not about Steve Harrington, y’know?” 

And the way she drags out his name… Eddie can relate. Like it means something, but like what it means is nowhere close to reality. Nowhere close to what it really means. Nowhere close to Blue. 

Robin sighs, the sound more gentle than it should be, and leans her head against the cabinet behind her. “We worked together over summer break. Scoops Ahoy.” Her voice does a funny thing, and her eyes glaze over as she pauses. Eddie waits, his lips tipped up into a little smile, too; to match hers. 

“What, the ice cream parlour?” 

Robin hums, her smile widening at what Eddie guesses must be memories of chaos and ridiculousness. “I wanted to hate him,” she continues. “But try as I might, he wouldn’t let me. Or, he did. He did let me. Just, it turns out, there’s no use hating Steve Harrington, not when he’s so… So endlessly genuine. There’s nothing to hate, y’know? And then he…” 

She stops, her mouth clicking shut as her eyes tear up a little. The Starcourt fire. Eddie remembers the news, remembers the self-satisfied smirk when he’d heard about it, remembers sticking it to the Man and to capitalism and to the idea of malls over supporting your friendly neighbourhood businesses. 

Guilt and shame overcome him as he realises that they must have been in there when it happened. 

“He saved your life?” 

Robin’s eyes snap toward him, wide and caught, and Eddie raises his hands in placation. 

“In the fire? Were you there?” 

“Y—yeah.” She swallows hard, avoiding his eyes. “The fire. He saved me. Yeah.” 

Eddie nods, deciding to drop that topic right there; to lay it on the ground as gently as he can and cover it with bright red colours so he never steps on it ever again. 

“He must be your favourite person, too, then, hm?” he steers the conversation back away into safer waters. 

“He is,” she says, sure and genuine and true. “It’s just. I don’t think I’ve ever been anyone’s favourite. He has a lot of people who care about him, you know? A lot of people he cares about. Even more numbers memorised in that stupidly smart head of his.” She huffs again, burrowing deeper into Eddie’s hoodie, pulling the sleeves over her hands some more. “It’s stupid, to be so hung up on this. Is it stupid?” 

“I don’t think it is,” Eddie says, scooting a little closer to Robin. “Like, I don’t even know that boy, right? But even I know that he’s got some ways to shift your focus or something. Give you a silver lining, or something to take the pain away even when he’s the one who… I don’t know, that’s probably stupid, too.” 

“Nah,” Robin says, scooting closer to him, too, until their sides are pressed together and she can lay her head on his shoulder. “It’s not stupid. You’re right; that’s Steve for you. ’S just who he is.” 

It is, isn’t it? 

You’re so blue, Stevie. 

She’ll say something corny when, when you ask her, jus’ to fuck with you. Sunset gold or rose, jus’ to mess with… But is blue.

Blue. ‘S nice. 

Yeah. Yeah, he is. 

Eddie lets his thoughts roam the endless possibilities and realities that is Steve Harrington, the depths he hides — or won’t hide, maybe, if you know how to ask. Where to look. 

Maybe he’ll find out, one of these days. Not about the terrible things that leave him scared of the hospital, not about the horrible things that have him speaking of death and dying like he’s accepted them as a possibility a long time ago. 

He swallows hard and shakes off these thoughts, because things like that just. They don’t happen. They don’t happen to blue-smiled boys who trust you to be kind even when they’re beaten straight to hell. And they sure as hell don’t happen when uncle Wayne’s around. 

Nothing bad has ever happened when uncle Wayne was around. 

And he wants to tell Robin, wants to make that promise. But part of him can’t bear the thought of being wrong. So he keeps his mouth shut and just sits with her, their heads as heavy as their hearts as they wait. 

The sun is long gone when the phone above him rings again, spooking and startling them out of their timeless existence. 

“Yeah?” he answers, his heart hammering in his chest. “Wayne?” 

“Hey, Ed,” Wayne’s voice comes through the phone like a melody. Calm and steady. Robin is scooting closer, and Eddie shifts the phone to accommodate her so they can both listen. Somehow, they ended up holding hands — and holding on hard. “We’re coming home now.” 

🤍🌷 tagging:

@theshippirate22 @mentallyundone @ledleaf @imfinereallyy @itsall-taken @simply-shin @romanticdestruction @temptingfatetakingnames @stevesbipanic @steddie-island @estrellami-1 @jackiemonroe5512 @emofratboy @writing-kiki @steviesummer @devondespresso @swimmingbirdrunningrock @dodger-chan @tellatoast @inkjette @weirdandabsurd42 @annabanannabeth @deany-baby @mc-i-r @mugloversonly @viridianphtalo @nightmareglitter @jamieweasley13 @copingmechanizm @marklee-blackmore @sirsnacksalot @justrandomfandomstm @hairdryerducks @silenzioperso @newtstabber @fantrash @zaddipax @cometsandstardust @rowanshadow26 @limpingpenguin @finntheehumaneater @extra-transitional (sorry if i missed anyone! lmk if you don't wanna be tagged for part 4 🫶)

[mispelled]

I like alpha trudy I think she's cool

[umblrspectrum]

updated some ref sheets and also actually made jcj one

[saym0-0]

i love mechs x tma aus and i love jmart but i dont love jonny x martin,,, the dynamic is just so slightly off,, like,,,,,, i cant articulate it its just wrong 2 me,,,,,,,, okay actually the tags r vital to this one read those

[al-luviec]

still haven't moved on from zane in this episode (aka I hit tag limit again and am unhappy about it)

[baconcolacan]

So uhhhh, Tord being a dad amirite gamers???

[nuppu-nuppu]

Ignore if you don’t want to read about me being stupid once again

[ratatatastic]

congrats to mr "the worst is ekky (to sit next to). i like sitting next to gustav (because hes quiet)" not giving up on his principles despite the fact mr worst to sit next to is velcroed to mr quiet so really it cancels out

[undergiants]

Other lesbians who don't date bisexual or pansexual women because they "center men in their lives" piss me the fuck off.

Tell me you have subscribed to 70s political lesbianism without telling me.

[recent-rose]

yknow defaulting to "well akutagawa abused kyouka so hes just as bad!!!1" whenever somebody brings up the fact that dazai is a canonically unapologetic abuser is really not the move especially considering akutagawa actually cares about kyouka's happiness. akutagawa took what he learned from dazai, extrapolated on his own desperate wish to please/impress dazai, and assumed that was what kyouka would want from him. to be acknowledged for her strength alone. obviously this is not what she wanted (nor is it what any well-adjusted person would want), but he was literally trying to give her the happiness he did not get from dazai. he abused kyouka because he had literally no other authority figure from which to derive guidance. and in the end he STILL managed to break the cycle of abuse that dazai benefits from to this day. he told kyouka he was happy FOR her. and he was sincere. he showed her, and felt for her, true empathy. they finally understood one another, even if just for that moment. that is where he succeeds dazai, and it is HIS OWN success. dazai had fuck all to do with it besides making it harder for akutagawa to reach that conclusion in the first place. he's also actively making it harder for akutagawa to recover from the abuse he sufferered at dazai's hands by, yknow, lingering in his life like a bad cold. he never just leaves akutagawa be. he's always waiting in the wings to continue using him. compare that to akutagawa leaving kyouka's life entirely after reconciling with her decision to leave and coming to understand the depths of the abuse he visited upon her when she was his mentee. like. god.

[crimeronan]

the more loved i am and the more i love people on purpose, the more comfortable i get with who i am. i think this is a natural product of getting older as well, you kinda settle into your skin and figure out what you want and how to go after it. the funny part about doing this for me is that like.... i don't feel things like other people do. i just don't. i have a pathological need for attention and i don't form attachments the same way that others do and i break connections very easily and i don't feel guilty about stuff. i do recognize when i'm WRONG and i change my behavior and/or my viewpoints when they're harmful and i actively work to combat my most maladaptive bullshit, so sometimes it's like.

i dunno. the whole stereotype of the self-aggrandizing sociopath who thinks they're above everything is boring, but sometimes it feels like there's something to it. like i'll see sensationalized explanations of 'narcissism' and 'sociopathy' that are like "these people can just choose not to care about stuff," and i'm like....

....yeah??

So The Fuck Can You.

in fact, you do. CONSTANTLY. by telling yourself that the real life living breathing human being asking for change on the street is a scammer, or a predator, or unpleasant, or too sick, or too strung-out, or otherwise too Other and inhuman to help. you only reserve your so-called "intrinsic empathy" for people that you relate to, and you turn it off when it gets uncomfortable.

i know exactly where i'm spending my emotional energy and who i'm spending it on. when i don't spend my emotional energy on someone, it's not because they're an unperson to me. it's because i simply don't wanna put my emotional energy there.

you guys could learn a thing or two about doing this. like. i know why i am how i am. what the fuck is YOUR excuse????

[puppppppppy]

who up seeing their disorder in a fictional character but feel like its not their place to put a name on it