#Cheshire!steve | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gothcsz · 1 month ago

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Summary: Another chaotic shoot... but at least it's in Malibu?

Tags: more plot keeps sneaking into the porn, angst, frankie has entered the villa, jealous!javi, reader stands on business, it's a porn set other people are also fucking, masturbation on camera (m), dirty talk, lots of cursing (f bombs my beloved), an attempt at a blowjob, javier can't get it up, a dash of misogyny, author projects her ooc thoughts about problematic age gaps in the porn industry, no use of y/n, reader has a degree in film production, other shit i’m probably forgetting.

A/N: me nervous that part 3 isn't going to live up to the hype? more likely than you think! 🙂‍↕️ this fic is taking on a brain of its own and i'm just along for the ride, baby! for my just the tip stans— i'm sorry but i'm going to have to edge you until part 4 *crowd boos and i'm dragged off stage* i was going to wait to post this, but i really wanted to get it out because i'm so damn proud of it lowkey, lol, so i hope you all like it 🖤 let a bitch know what ya think! also, shoutout to my pookie @persephone-girl for reading over this 💋 love u mamas

Your phone’s shrill ring pierces through the haze of sleep, and you groan in frustration, burying your face deeper into the pillow.

The comforter is pulled tight over your head, shielding you from the annoyingly bright sunlight filtering through your window. Your hand shoots out, fumbling blindly across the bedside table until your fingers finally close around the receiver.

“What?” you grumble, voice thick with sleep and muffled beneath your sheets.

“There she is! My beautiful, talented camerawoman. Have I ever told you how much I appreciate what you do?” Robbie’s overly cheerful voice blares through the phone, so you pull it back from your ear slightly, wincing.

“Why are you calling me this early in the morning?” you snap, already regretting picking up.

“Early? It’s almost noon—”

“What do you want, Robbie?” You cut him off, not in the mood for small talk, especially since last night’s bar shift ran past four in the morning. You were hoping to sleep through most of the day, recovering in your bed with no interruptions. Clearly, that plan has gone out the window.

“Look, I’ve got a big shoot happening in Malibu today and I’m short-staffed. I could really use your magic touch behind the camera.”

“No.”

“C’mon,” he drags the word out, “I’ll make sure you’re well compensated for working on your day off.”

You rub your eyes, the remnants of sleep still clinging to you. “How much?”

He tosses out a number, and despite your best effort to remain indifferent, your eyes widen. Damn. That’s more than decent money.

“Malibu’s all the way across town,” you point out, “I won’t make it there in time if I take the bus. And a taxi? That’ll cost me a fortune.”

“Don’t worry about that. Your ride’s outside waiting for you.”

You blink, confused, and get out of bed, dragging the corded phone with you as you move toward the bay window. You pull the curtain back just enough to peer down at the busy street below.

Sure enough, Steve is there, leaning casually against his Jeep with sunglasses on, a cigarette between his lips. The second he spots you looking down, he grins like the cheshire cat and waves.

“Seriously?” you mutter to Robbie, flipping Steve off with a half-hearted smile. “And what if I’d said no?”

“We both know you wouldn’t have.”

After a few more quick exchanges, you hang up, glancing once more at your ride through the window before turning to rush and get yourself ready for the day ahead.

Truth be told, you’re still not fully awake, your body moving on autopilot as you shuffle through your morning (midday) routine.

It’s been ages since you’ve been to the beach— especially one as nice as Malibu’s. The thought of it softens the blow of losing your rest day. You tell yourself you’ll make the best of it, turning this unexpected workday into something that benefits you, too.

After shooting wraps, you’ll indulge in a quiet evening by the shore, sinking your toes into the warm sand with a good book in hand. No rush to head back. This time, you’ll gladly take a taxi if it means getting some peace seaside.

With that plan in mind, you dress for the day accordingly. Your halter-style bathing suit doubles as a cute top, the color complimenting your skin, while your favorite denim shorts sit comfortably over your bikini bottoms.

You pack a few essentials into your beach bag and make sure to grab your camera bag as well. Once you’ve double-checked that everything’s packed, you make your way downstairs, feeling a bit more awake now.

Steve catches sight of you approaching and flashes a dramatic grin, straightening up like he’s about to chauffeur royalty.

“Your chariot awaits,” he announces with an exaggerated flourish, swinging the passenger door open.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the bemused laugh that escapes your lips. “God, you’re ridiculous,” you mutter, shaking your head as you climb into the seat, tossing your beach bag onto the floor.

He shuts the door behind you with a smirk. “Ridiculous? I prefer charmingly dedicated to my craft.” He hops into the driver’s side, flicking the cigarette away before starting the car.

You snort at his self-satisfaction, leaning back against the seat and putting on the seatbelt.

“Malibu, huh? How the fuck did he manage to swing that?”

He chuckles, one hand lazily draped over the wheel, the other tapping out a rhythm on his knee. “He didn’t tell me much either— just asked me to stop by and pick you up on my way.”

That makes sense. Robbie’s always been a bit scatterbrained, occasionally running around like he’s managing a multi-million-dollar empire when, in reality, he’s holding it together with duct tape and half-assed enthusiasm.

The drive is surprisingly fun, Steve’s constant jokes keeping your spirits high. He always manages to make you laugh, which is why you tolerate his quirks.

“I’m pretty sure Javi’s going to be there,” he says, almost too nonchalantly, meaning he’s in the mood to be messy.

You keep your gaze focused on the coastline, watching as palm trees blur past. The wind from the open windows has you squinting momentarily, but it can’t cool the sudden heat spreading through your body.

“It’s not going to be weird seeing him, right?” He presses and you finally turn to face him, moving your sunglasses to the top of your head.

“Why would it be weird?” you ask, the challenge clear in your voice.

He shoots you a look, brows raised and lips quirked in that irritating way of his. “Oh, I dunno. Maybe ‘cause of the whole flirtin’ with you during the middle of a scene thing? Or, y’know, the elevator incident… which, by the way, what the fuck even happened there?” He glances at you, curiosity practically oozing out of him.

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest defensively, but you can’t stop the way your thighs rub together at the memory.

Javier’s mouth... God. “None of your damn business.”

“Don’t tell me you fucked him.”

You laugh, loudly, the sound bordering on forced. “Absolutely not.”

He shoots you that okay, sure look, and you groan internally.

Steve’s like a dog with a bone when he gets curious, and you know he’s not going to let this go until you give him something. You sigh, deciding to indulge him— partially.

“He was being an asshole,” you start, and he immediately interjects with, “Nothing new there,” causing both of you to share a laugh at Javier’s expense.

You shake your head, returning your sunglasses to the bridge of your nose. “No, seriously. He was pushing my buttons, being his usual peacock self. I don’t even know how it escalated, but one moment we’re arguing, and the next... he’s got his tongue in my pussy.”

Steve chokes on his own spit at your bluntness. He’s heard and seen much worse on set, yet your confession has him all tripped up.

“So, you did fuck him?”

You roll your eyes again, shifting in your seat as the horny flashbacks hit you all at once— Javier’s lips wrapped around your clit, the perfect rhythm of his tongue, his fingers.

You shove those thoughts away, focusing on the road ahead, annoyed at both Javier and Steve now. “Getting head isn’t fucking. It’s, like, third base. And anyway, I made it clear— that’s all he was getting from me. I’m not about to waste my time rolling around in bed with him.”

He gives you a look— a knowing look— and you scoff, shaking your head. “What now?”

“Nothing. You’re just the first person I’ve heard say that about him.”

“Someone’s gotta humble his ass,” you mutter, though the words feel heavier than they should. You try to act like you’ve put Javier out of your mind, like that moment was nothing but a blip in your life, but deep down, you know it’s not that simple.

You’ve never met anyone like him, and the fact that he can elicit such reactions from you pisses you off so bad.

As the coastline stretches out in front of you, Malibu drawing closer with every mile, you can’t help but wonder if seeing Javier today will be as easy as you’re pretending it will be.

The mansion is far more extravagant than anything you could have imagined. Its grand facade, with towering columns and ivy crawling up the sides, feels like something out of a movie set, and for a second, you almost forget why you’re here.

But then, as soon as you step past the threshold, you hear it— echoing from deep within the house are the unmistakable sounds of exaggerated moans, grunts, and the rhythmic thump of bodies meeting.

You adjust the strap of your camera bag on your shoulder, your beach bag abandoned in Steve’s car. As you step further into the foyer, Robbie appears, that infamous smirk plastered on his face.

“Long way from home, aren’t you, Dorothy?” he jokes, taking in your wide-eyed amusement as you scan the expensive decor— the towering glass chandelier overhead, the marble floors gleaming beneath your feet, the floor-to-ceiling windows.

You can’t help but be a little impressed.

But of course, he’s there to give you shit about it. You turn your wide-eyed gaze into a glare, bringing your attention to him. “So funny. You should quit your current sleazy day job and take up another sleazy one— stand up,” you reply, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

He just grins, unbothered by your sharp tone. “You’re always a joy to work with. No wonder Javi asked for you specifically.”

Your entire demeanor shifts viscerally and you curse yourself for it mentally, caught completely off guard. “Wait, what? Javier asked for me?”

He shrugs, indifferent to your confusion. “Yeah. He’s set for a solo shoot upstairs in one of the bathrooms before he’s on with...” He snaps his fingers, trying to remember. “...Mariella. Real pretty girl, it’s her first on-camera gig today.”

The world blurs a little as your mind zeroes in on that one bit of information: Javier asked for you. And not just for any shoot— a solo one. You blink, shaking your head to clear the fog. “I’m sorry, can we go back to the part where I was summoned here by someone who isn’t my boss?”

“Oh yeah, he made a real fuss about it. Sent away the other guy we had lined up for the shoot. Told me he wouldn’t do it unless you were behind the camera. Even offered to pay out of his own pocket just to get you here. It’s the only reason we’re paying you as much as I promised over the phone.”

Your stomach twists and you can feel your face settling into a deep frown, the kind that pulls some of your mood down with it. So that’s why he dangled such a big paycheck in front of you this morning.

After the elevator incident (as Steve has so eloquently named it), after the intense heat of his mouth on you, the way he had you— he said he’d leave you alone. He was supposed to respect the boundaries you set, but here he is, yanking you back into his orbit.

You can already picture him upstairs, lounging in one of those stupidly lavish bathrooms, probably smirking that damn smirk of his, waiting for you.

You try to squash down the way your pulse quickens at the thought, the lingering memory of his fingers digging into your hips, his tongue working between your thighs, is beckoning you into temptation again.

“Fucking great,” you mutter, more to yourself than your boss. You have half a mind to storm up those stairs, find the pornstar, and give him a piece of your mind before marching right back out to spend your day on the beach— free of drama and distractions and him.

But the reality is, you’re being paid nearly three times what you’d normally make on a gig like this. It’s enough to drown out the temptation to walk away, however satisfying that would be.

You’re an adult. You’ve dealt with worse. You can handle this.

Robbie gives you a sidelong glance, clearly sensing your hesitation. “You’re not backing out, are you?”

With a sigh, you force a smile and shake your head. “As good as it’d feel to leave, no, I’m not. I’ll be up in a sec.”

Relief flashes across his face, and he gives you a few pointers before rushing off into this maze of a house.

You linger for a second longer, taking a deep breath to shake off the nerves. Come on. Get it together. After a final mental pep talk, you head toward the grand staircase that winds up to the second floor.

The sight that greets you at the top of the stairs stops you in your tracks: Lexxie is splayed out on her back atop some console table, currently getting the life fucked out of her. The visual is chaotic but nothing new. You’ve seen it a hundred times before.

A guy with a scruffy beard and a beat-up baseball cap stands behind the camera, looking more bored than impressed, barely watching as the two stars go at it.

You lean against the nearby railing, your voice cutting through their heavy breaths and grunts. “Guess your marriage to Javier didn’t last very long,” you tease from off camera, referencing the honeymoon shoot.

The star’s eyes snap open at the sound of your voice, and she flashes you a playful, almost sweet smile in between heavy breaths. “Kinda regretting stepping out on him—oh, fuck.” Her snappy comeback dissolves into a breathy moan as the guy currently rearranging her on the table pushes her legs up to her chest, hitting just the right spot.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to ruin your shot,” you say, throwing a glance at the cameraman, knowing how annoying it can be when someone messes with your focus.

He waves it off with a lazy shrug. “It’s not ruined. Honestly, I would’ve quit filming ten minutes ago. It’s starting to drag. I’m impressed they’re still going.”

You let out a small laugh, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, they’ve got stamina like you wouldn’t believe. Makes me feel lazy in bed sometimes, but then I remember how unrealistic this shit actually is.”

He chuckles, scratching at his jaw. “Should make it an Olympic sport. Bet we’d bring home gold.”

“Pretty sure that already exists and it happens in the Olympic Village.” You smirk, finally peeling your eyes away from the couple to look at him properly.

He’s cute in that disheveled, stray-dog kind of way. His curls poke out from under a worn baseball cap, his beard patchy, and his clothes rumpled, like he just rolled out of bed and threw on the first thing he could find. He fits in perfectly with the kind of guys you’d expect on a porn crew.

Earning a genuine laugh from him, he extends a hand. “I’m Frankie.”

You shake it, offering your name in return. “I’m also part of the crew. About to go shoot a scene in the master bathroom.” You explain, noticing how his grip lingers just a little, his smile playful and easy. You feel a bit of warmth rush to your cheeks, and he’s about to say something when—

“Oh fuck, I’m about to cum!” Lexxie’s voice is piercing, loud and breathless, pulling your attention back to the scene.

You shake your head, stifling a laugh. “Well, that’s my cue,” you mutter, stepping out before you get too caught up flirting with him.

“Nice meeting you,” he says before dismounting the camera, moving in closer to capture the so-called money shot.

Cute. Too cute. It’s almost enough to make you forget about the man you’re about to see.

You push open the door to the room Javier’s in, and the sight of him has you doing a double take.

He’s standing in the middle of the room with nothing but a white towel hanging dangerously low on his hips, his defined Adonis belt drawing your eyes in a way you hate to admit.

His toned, brown torso glistens with the thinnest layer of sweat, the sunlight pouring into the room making him look like he’s glowing.

You need to toughen up, and in order to do so, you have to bitch at him. It’s the only way to keep that lustful cavewoman instinct away.

“You’re a piece of work,” is what you settle on, making sure to let your tone really punctuate how annoyed you are by the stunt he pulled today.

The second his eyes lock onto yours, amusement flickers behind them, as if he’s been waiting for this confrontation.

He quirks a brow, lips curving into a lazy smile. “¿De que hablas nena—?”

“What happened to ‘if you don’t want me anymore, I’ll leave you alone’? Was that something you said just to lower my guard? To get me to give you what you want?” You cut him off, keeping your distance even as you notice him inching closer.

Your eyes are daggers as they bore into him, and for a brief second, you hope he feels at least some of the fire burning in your chest. But if he’s affected, he doesn’t show it. He is frustratingly calm, like he’s above it all.

“You gave me no indication that you didn’t want me anymore.” His voice is casual, almost patronizing.

You groan as you throw your hands up in exasperation. “I literally said, ‘Hope you got your fix because it’s never happening again.’ What the fuck else do I have to say or do to get you off my back?”

Silence settles between you two as you stand there staring each other down. He’s unreadable, watching you with an intensity that makes your skin tingle.

“Well?” you demand, impatient.

“In my defense— it didn’t sound very convincing.” You stare at him incredulously before turning on your heel. Hell no. He can keep his money and his bullshit. You’re not doing this.

But just as your fingers graze the doorknob, his voice sharpens with a hint of panic, calling your name.

“Wait, look,” he starts, running a hand through his hair, “I’m not trying to start anything. I just thought—” he pauses, searching for the right words. “I’d feel more comfortable if you were behind the camera during this shoot. Not the other guy Robbie brought in.”

Frankie? He seems so harmless, and besides, Javier’s never had an issue with whoever’s in the room when he’s filming, so why is it a problem now?

However, his tone does sound sincere. You turn to face him again, narrowing your eyes and refusing to let your guard down. “This better not be another one of your tricks, Javier. If you’re doing this to try and get into my pants—”

He almost grins, but catches himself just in time, clearly biting back a remark. You can see it in the way his mouth twitches, and you know exactly what he’s thinking. Already have, his brown eyes seem to say. But he holds his tongue, offering a faint nod instead.

“I promise. No tricks. Just a professional shoot. That’s it.”

You give him one last warning glance before sighing. “Fine. But I’m telling you, Javier—”

“I know, I know,” he interrupts, holding up his hands. “I get it and please stop calling me Javier.”

You arch a brow. “That’s your name, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but everyone calls me Javi.”

Ugh, whatever. “Okay, fine, Javi. Just show me where I’m supposed to set up.”

He bites back another grin and motions you with a flick of his head, and with the weird tension simmering, you follow him toward the ensuite bathroom. The door creaks open, revealing an elaborate setup, and you pause in the doorway, eyes widening.

It’s surprisingly... beautiful.

In front of a massive window that overlooks the sprawling blue ocean outside, there’s a porcelain clawfoot bathtub filled with what looks like a milk bath. Various colored flower petals float delicately on the surface, scattered in an almost artful arrangement.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Well, damn. This actually looks nice.” This bathroom is bigger than your entire apartment.

Javier notices your reaction and leans against the doorframe to the connecting walk in closet, arms crossed over his bare chest, a smirk playing on his lips. “Catering to the female gaze,” he says with a cocky shrug, “At least, that’s what my agent told me. Seems like I’m very popular among the ladies.”

The way he says it makes you want to smack him upside the head. He’s pushing your buttons again in the most subtle way, and you hate how good he is at it.

“Cute,” you reply dryly, walking past him to set your camera bag down on the large counter.

As you begin to unpack and set up, you can feel his eyes on you, watching your every move, lingering on the exposed skin of your back then dripping down to your legs.

It kind of feels good to have him ogling you like this. The whole look but don’t touch thing is really doing it for you, more than you’d care to admit. There’s a certain power in keeping him wanting, yet also forcing the distance.

“It’s not just about the ladies, you know. I actually want this to be good. I trust you to make it look that way.”

You glance over at him. His playful arrogance has slightly faded, shaded in by the genuine want to make this feel more than just some raunchy scene.

“I’m not a director, I just film it,” you remind him, adjusting the camera lens as you try to play it off. “So just do whatever you think is right. Robbie gave me some pointers, but it wasn’t much.”

“Still,” he presses, “there’s some finesse to what you do.”

At least he’s aware of that. “Let’s just get this over with,” you say, deflecting the compliment.

You finish setting up the camera, adjusting the tripod to get the perfect angle. It’s important to capture the full picturesque scene to begin with— the soft light spilling in through the window, the sparkling blue ocean in the background.

You clear your throat, “Okay, I’m all set for whenever you’re ready.”

Javier moves casually as he unwraps the white towel from around his waist. His cock, already half-hard, demands your attention, but you force yourself to look away. You rub your lips together then lick at them unconsciously, trying to focus on anything other than his naked body.

“Got plans after this?” he asks as though he’s asking you about the weather.

You blink at the normalcy of the question “Just going to hang out by the beach,” you reply plainly, trying to keep your focus on the camera and not on his crotch.

It almost feels strange talking to him like this, without the usual teasing or sexual tension-laden bickering.

“Sounds fun,” he says as he steps into the tub, the water sloshing around him. “Real nice out here. The weather is perfect for it today.”

You watch as he settles in, the milky water rising around his body, and for a moment, you’re completely mesmerized.

The scene in front of you looks like something out of a romantic painting, and it hits you how undeniably beautiful he looks. His skin, a warm golden brown, contrasts perfectly with the creamy white of the bath, and the colorful flower petals floating on the surface make the whole thing look like a dream.

He leans back, the water just kissing his chest, and you catch yourself imagining what a soft, hazy vignette filter would do to the shot, how it would add an enchanting glow to an already intimate scene.

You shake your head slightly, snapping yourself out of the reverie. You’re supposed to be filming him jerking off, not admiring the aesthetics like this is some fine art shoot. But fuck, it’s hard to separate the two when the visuals are this damn good.

Javier, of course, senses your brief distraction. He watches you, eyes thoughtful as he stretches out, letting the water ripple around him. He doesn’t say anything, but there’s a slight smirk playing on his lips, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

You take a deep breath, trying to focus on the task at hand, despite the heat pooling between your thighs. “Is there a clear direction for this scene, or are you just improvising?”

“I’m just winging it,” his voice is a rich, velvet drawl, a little rough from all the smoking he does. “No dirty talk. They want my natural noises to be the main focus… amongst other things.” He cocks his head to the side, one arm coming up to rub at the back of his neck.

Heat blooms low in your belly, shooting straight to your cunt at the sight. The way his bicep flexes, the muscles shifting smoothly beneath that taut, sun-kissed skin, showcasing just how defined he is while still looking so maddeningly soft.

Calm down, girl, you silently reprimand your pussy. She’s fucking purring right now.

You clear your throat and give him a nod, signaling him to begin. Stepping behind the camera, you focus through the lens, grateful for the distance.

Javier moves slowly. His head tips back against the edge of the tub, eyes falling closed, the soft curve of his lashes fanning out like shadows against his skin. One hand trails down, lingering at the hollow of his collarbones. The movements are unhurried, almost reverent, as though he’s savoring the feel of his own skin.

The intimate build-up draws you in, despite your best efforts to remain detached.

You unmount the camera from its tripod after a few moments, stepping closer to him, framing the shot tight around his chest, the slow glide of his hand along his torso. You can’t help but notice the pounding of your heart, each beat mirroring the steady, throbbing pulse at your clit.

The sight of him— relaxed, fully in his element, bathed in the soft glow of light— stirs that fucking feeling deep within you.

It’s not just desire, though that’s certainly there. It’s the maddening awareness of how sensual, how magnetic this man is. And even though you try to tell yourself you’d feel the same about any other attractive man in his place, you know that’d be a damn lie.

Javier’s hand moves lower, ghosting over the ridges of his soft stomach. His other hand trails slowly through the water, sending gentle ripples through the milky bath. You swallow hard and focus the lens on his face— the slight parting of his pouty pink lips beneath his trimmed mustache that you just now realize has a small patch right above his cupid’s bow.

Even his imperfections are attractive.

The flushed skin of his cock makes an appearance, his thick, swollen head breaking the surface of the water with each subtle movement, teasing you and the camera. The way it peeks through, the slick tip glistening in the milky bath, almost feels like a taunt— winking at you.

Doing as you’re supposed to, you adjust the lens to zoom in on the way his cock flirts with the surface.

If you were anyone else, one of his usual co-stars maybe, you’d lean down and give it a few kitten licks. You’d tease the sensitive crown with your tongue, circling the tip before letting it slide past your lips— just enough to drive him wild.

Your tongue twitches at the thought.

A soft groan escapes his lips as he gets closer to where he’s aching to touch. It’s as if he can read your mind, as if he knows you’re imagining the feel of his cock in your mouth, the taste of his salty skin, the way he’d twitch against your tongue as you tease him until he begs for more.

Maybe he’s picturing your lips wrapped around him, too.

You bite down on your lower lip, forcing yourself to stay quiet, to stay focused, even though your body is betraying you. The mess in your panties, the way your nipples stiffen beneath your bathing suit top— everything about this moment is dangerous.

Then finally, his fist wraps around his cock, a soft slosh of water accompanying the motion. The eroticism of the scene— paired with the proximity, the memory of those hands on you— ignites that annoying need deep inside.

He strokes himself slowly, eyes still closed as though lost in the pleasure of it all. You focus the camera on his hand, on the way it moves with purpose, his thumb brushing over the head of his cock, slick with precum.

His groans start to fill the air, and your own body reacts, hips shifting slightly as you try to ignore pressure at your cunt.

“Still with me?” His voice cuts through the silence, raspy and knowing, eyes fluttering open to look at you.

Oh. Have they always been this golden?

“Yeah,” you’re proud of yourself for keeping your voice steady.

Javier’s body is pure, unfiltered sin in motion. As you move around the bathtub to capture every angle, you can’t help but admire him. His muscles shift with every slow pump of his hand, the sinewy lines of his arms and torso rippling just beneath the milky water.

His stomach contracts with each exhale, drawing your gaze lower to the faint trail of hair leading down to his cock, which you catch glimpses of when his hips buck up inadvertently.

His breathing grows heavier, his pouty bottom lip caught between his teeth, brows furrowing in concentration as his pleasure builds. It’s mesmerizing, the way his face contorts, his expressions almost too intimate, too personal for the lens. But you can’t tear your eyes— or the camera— away.

His fist moves with such confidence, touching himself with an unhurried rhythm that only a man used to his own pleasure can manage. Every time his thumb glides over the tip of his cock, a heavier grunt rumbles in his throat and it’s so hot.

You’re too focused on capturing every inch of him that it almost catches you off guard when he begins to speak.

“Wish it was your pretty hand around me right now, baby.” His voice is husky, laced with want, and the words hit you like a punch to the gut.

You blink rapidly, heart stalling in your chest as the camera wavers slightly in your hands. “Javier,” you sigh, his name slipping from your lips before you can stop yourself.

“Fuck, I know, but shit—” His words are more ragged now, spoken between heavy breaths. “You’re all I can think about still. You stay in my mind, muñeca. Can’t get you out.”

Even though every rational part of you knows you should stop him, should leave or at least say something to shut him up, you don’t.

You don’t run, you don’t protest. You just... let it happen.

“Talk to me, please.”

“I-I—” The words get stuck in your throat, “I can’t. I’ll ruin the shoot.” Why is that your priority right now?

“You won’t.”

The way he says it chips at the walls you've built around yourself.

“What do I even say?”

“Anything,” there he goes again, using that tone that makes him sound like he’s begging.

So, you say what you’ve been thinking of since he got into this damn tub. “Your cock is so pretty, Javi.” You purr, throwing all caution to the wind, lying to yourself that this means nothing.

The effect is immediate. He groans, a deep sound from his chest, and his hand moves faster over his shaft, the slickness of the water amplifying the movement. “Fuck,” he says, his breathing now erratic, “say it again.”

Your gaze flicks down and it’s mesmerizing watching the way his body responds to his own touch, but it’s the fact that he’s unraveling in front of you that leaves your mouth dry.

“Such a pretty cock, Javi,” you repeat, voice steadier this time, growing bolder with each passing second. Every flex and contraction of his body feeds the arousal pulsing in you. “I bet it would feel perfect sliding down my throat, hitting the back of it until I’m choking on you.”

All those hours spent listening to cheesy porn dialogue are finally paying off.

His head falls back, exposing the strong column of his neck, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. A guttural groan escapes him as the image of what you just said sets in. His other hand moves down to cup his heavy, swollen balls, the water around him rocking more violently now as he starts to lose himself in the fantasy.

“Shit… I’m close,” he growls, voice breaking with need, the words barely coherent. “Keep talking to me, fuck…”

You lean in slightly, the camera momentarily forgotten. “You want to come for me?” Your whisper is dripping with lust, the idea of him falling apart because of you making your pussy ache. “You want to make a mess? Pretend I’m kneeling right here, my mouth open and waiting for you to fill it, warm and wet just for you?”

You’ve seen him come so many times, watched him fill too many cunts with his spend and paint different parts of their pretty bodies— but none of it compares to the sight before you.

The way his body jerks in response tells you everything you need to know. His grip tightens on the edge of the tub, knuckles going white as he pumps faster, rougher, pushing himself toward the brink. His hips start lifting out of the water with every thrust into his own hand, chasing that final release.

“Fuck, yes…,” he groans, voice strangled, barely holding it together. His eyes squeeze shut, every muscle in his body tensing, going rigid as he falls over the edge.

His bilingual expletives cut off into a long, drawn-out moan as his cock twitches, thick ropes of cum spilling out in messy spurts, splattering against his fist, swirling into the milky bathwater. The petals float lazily across the surface, some clinging to his skin, as the evidence of his release drifts around him.

You stand there, heart pounding, frozen as your brain tries to catch up with your pussy.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, fumbling with the camera as you stop the recording. You quickly move to pack everything up and try your damndest not to look at him.

“Wait, don’t—” Javier’s voice is still hoarse, but there’s a touch of urgency to it now, breaking through the post-orgasm haze. You hear the water sloshing violently behind you as he moves, and you know he’s getting out of the tub. “Just… hang on.”

“No. I-I gotta go,” you stammer, your hands frantically packing up the camera, the lens cap slipping through your fingers. You try to grab it, but your nerves are shot and it fumbles. Thankfully, it doesn’t take damage. You’d hate to hear Robbie bitch at you for breaking the brand-new camera.

Just get out of here is the only thought running through your mind. Every time you’re around him lately, you end up a confused, horny, exasperated mess, and you can’t handle it anymore.

“Hey—wait!” Javier slips as he tries to step out of the tub, nearly falling as he reaches for you, his wet feet squeaking against the floor. You turn just in time to see him catch himself, water dripping from his body, his skin still flushed from what just happened.

“What the hell?” You shoot him a look, “You’re gonna break your neck trying to stop me from leaving—”

“I wasn’t—fuck, just let me talk for a second.” He runs a hand through his soaked hair, water dripping down his neck, over the curve of his shoulders, and you hate how even now, you’re distracted by how good he looks. He reaches for the towel and loosely wraps it around his waist. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“Neither did I,” you snap, stuffing your gear into your bag, not caring how haphazardly it’s packed. “This— this isn’t what I signed up for. I’m here to work, remember? Not… whatever the fuck that was.”

He steps closer, reaching for your arm, but you yank it away before he can touch you. The last thing you need is his hands on you right now, reminding you of everything you shouldn’t want.

“You think I don’t know that?” His voice softens, but there’s a frustration beneath it, like he’s grappling with the same confusion you are. “I wasn’t trying to mess with you, okay? I just… I don’t know what the hell is happening between us either.”

You stop, finally meeting his gaze. There’s something in his eyes that pulls at the part of you that’s freakishly tethered to him, but you can’t let that get to you now. Not when everything feels so damn complicated.

“Javier, this—” You struggle for words, shaking your head. “This can’t keep happening. I can’t—” You pause, your breath catching. I can’t have you. “I don’t want you,” you correct yourself.

His jaw clenches, muscles ticking under the strain. “Stop bullshitting me,” he growls, eyes narrowing.

“I’m not,” you shoot back, but it comes out too quickly, too rehearsed.

“You’re lying through your fuckin’ teeth, and it’s pathetic. What is so wrong with giving me a chance?” He keeps circling back to this— chances.

One thing about him, he knows how to trigger a fucking migraine.

“Everything!” The word bursts out of you like a confession. “Everything about this is wrong. It’s why I’ve been trying to stay away since day one, but you’re so— ugh!” You throw your hands up, exasperated, the bathroom suddenly feeling too small and claustrophobic. He’s got you spinning in circles, tying you up in knots, and you can’t think straight around him.

Without a second thought, you turn to leave, your feet moving as if you’re fucking levitating. So what if you’ve made a habit of running away from him? You don’t owe him shit.

“Nena—” Desperation laces his voice and that stupid nickname makes your skin curl. “I don’t want you to leave like this.”

“Well, too bad,” you snap over your shoulder. “I’m leaving so you can’t sweet-talk me into anything.” The slam of the door echoes behind you, a final punctuation to your statement.

As you step out into the hallway, the distant sounds of people fucking filter through the air, kind of grounding you back to the real world.

You can’t keep working with him, not if every interaction is going to end like this. You make a mental note to talk to Robbie after today’s shoot. No more Peña.

The day drags on, the tension from earlier still lingering, but now, sitting outside on the shaded patio, you feel a small reprieve.

A half-eaten sandwich rests before you on the table, your eyes lazily tracing the lines of the zero-edge pool that blends into the horizon. The soft rustle of palm trees swaying in the gentle breeze lulls you into a sense of temporary peace. You glance around, taking in the pristine luxury surrounding you. Rich people really have it made, you think, marveling at the extravagance of someone else’s life.

The spat with Javier lingers but you’ve done your best to ignore it by keeping busy. The other shoots happening in the house have kept you distracted, but you know what’s coming: the last scene of the day— with him— and the new girl, Mariella. A small sigh escapes your lips as you sink deeper into the patio chair, absolutely dreading it.

Your tranquility is shattered when you feel a presence nearby. Already anticipating another confrontation with Javier, you steel yourself and don’t even bother looking up before snapping, “Oh my god, can you just leave me alone—”

The words get jammed in your throat as your eyes land on Frankie, not Javier. He stands there, looking taken aback, a paper bag in one hand and an awkward smile tugging at his lips. You instantly feel like a bitch.

“Shit— sorry,” you stammer, cheeks burning with embarrassment. “I thought you were someone else.”

Frankie lets out a small chuckle, brown eyes softening as he rubs the back of his neck. “No worries, I can leave if you want—”

“No, no,” you say quickly, waving him off. “Please, stay. I didn’t mean to be snappy.”

He hesitates for a moment before motioning to the empty chair across from you. “Mind if I sit?”

You shake your head, and he lowers himself into the seat, setting his lunch down. The small talk starts easily, flowing naturally as you both munch on your food. He tells you about his daughter, a proud smile on his face as he recounts how she’s the light of his life. Then he goes on about how his friends call him Catfish because of some dumb inside joke, and also the fact that he’s a retired pilot. It somehow doesn’t surprise you— the career fits him.

“How do you go from flying helicopters to shooting porn?” you ask, the question half serious, half teasing as you lean back in your chair, eyes hidden behind your sunglasses.

Frankie raises an eyebrow and smirks, clearly amused. “Shit happens,” he says with a shrug. “How do you go from having a film production degree to spending your days staring at tits and ass?”

A wry smile tugs at your lips. You tilt your head, pausing for effect. “... Shit happens,” you echo, the irony not lost on either of you.

He snorts, taking a slow sip of his water, the sound of his laughter rolling into the lazy afternoon air. You can’t help but steal a glance from behind your shades, your gaze wandering over his rugged features.

There’s something about the way the sun hits him just right, casting a golden glow over his tanned skin. You swallow, feeling a subtle pull in your chest, an unexpected attraction. He’s not flashy, not like the other guys you’re used to working with— there’s an unspoken confidence in his ease, a solidness that makes you want to keep looking.

“So… who’d you think I was? Just then?” He asks, adjusting his cap.

You try not to let your small smile falter. “Oh, just an annoying coworker.”

“Ah, the kind who shows up at the worst times, huh?”

“Exactly,” you reply with a laugh, “You know the type.”

Frankie leans in just slightly, lowering his voice. “Well, I’m glad I’m not that guy.” There’s a flicker of flirtation in his tone, his eyes lingering a beat too long. “But if you ever need someone to… keep him under control, you just let me know. Got the remedy for that right here.”

He exaggeratedly flexes his biceps, and the snug t-shirt he’s wearing pulls taut around his arms, highlighting their impressive size.

You can’t help but admire the view— he’s really fun to look at, all charming smiles and playful confidence.

“I might just take you up on that, actually,” you reply, matching his energy with a teasing smile of your own. “I could definitely use someone who knows how to handle things.”

He raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corners of his pink lips. “I’m more than equipped for that, trust me.”

For a second, it feels like the two of you are in your own little world— until, of course, it comes crashing down.

A voice cuts through the moment like a knife. “We’re ready for the last scene.”

You turn to see Javier standing there, arms crossed, jaw tight, his gaze flicking between you and Frankie. His entire posture screams annoyance.

“And who are you?” Frankie retorts, squinting one eye against the harsh sunlight, playful defiance dancing in his tone.

Javier doesn’t seem to like that response at all. “I’m ready to get this shit done with,” he snaps, and you narrow your eyes, practically shooting daggers at him.

Frankie clears his throat, sizing up Javier’s bristling energy. “Right.”

You catch the word presumido slip from his lips— the Spanish insult that has you exhaling a light laugh through your nose, because he’s so spot on and he doesn’t even know it.

Both of you stand, Frankie gathering the remnants of your lunch. “If you’d like some company down by the beach later, I’ll still be around,” he adds smoothly, sliding the proposition in there as casually as if he were just suggesting grabbing coffee. You almost don’t mind him crashing your solo date.

“I’ll let you know,” you reply, pushing your chair in. “It would be great to not have to take the taxi back, but I was willing to do it for a nice afternoon by the water.” You can feel Javier’s possessive stare burning into you from across the way.

Frankie, absolutely unbothered, leans in closer, a charming grin on his face. “Here’s my number if you need that ride.” A pen appears out of nowhere, and he scribbles down his digits on a clean corner of his napkin, tearing it off with an effortless confidence before handing it to you.

“Definitely,” you say with a flirty smile, tucking the napkin into your pocket, feeling a thrill against the scowling presence of the spectator watching from the sliding glass door

Frankie branches off to use the restroom and you push past Javier, no intention of speaking to him until—

“If you spent less time flirting with the crew and more time focusing on your job, we’d be finished by now.”

You can practically taste his jealousy.

You stop in your tracks, turning to face him, your patience running thin. “Really, Javi? You’re jealous of Frankie? That’s what this is about? Did our last conversation not put shit in perspective for you?”

He steps closer, eyes hard, voice low. “Jealous? Of him?” He scoffs, but the tension in his jaw betrays him. “I just don’t appreciate having to wait because you’re too busy cozying up to someone else. Especially someone who looks like they just got picked up off the side of the road.”

“And you wonder why I don’t like you.” Is all you can say, brushing past him yet again, his presence looming heavy as you head toward the living room where the last scene is set to be shot.

The moment Robbie goes on with his usual pre-shoot rundown, your attention shifts to the newbie Mariella immediately, drowning out his usual spiel.

The girl— and she is a girl, no matter what the paperwork says— looks painfully young. Her cropped tee hugging her braless chest, barely keeping her breasts from spilling out, and those flimsy pajama shorts riding high on her thighs. It’s the kind of outfit that makes you uneasy— one you’ve seen too many times in this industry, designed to play into the fantasies of men who want their women to look barely legal.

You bite the inside of your cheek, the sour taste of frustration building in the back of your throat. This is the part of the job that gnaws at you— the undercurrent of exploitation that no one acknowledges.

You’re not naive, you know exactly what sells in porn. You know what these people want to watch, what they get off on. The younger, the better.

Still, it doesn’t make it any easier to stomach when you’re standing on set, watching it play out in real time.

Just as Mariella positions herself, preparing for the camera to roll, you can’t stop yourself. The words come out before you can think to censor them. “How old are you?”

Suddenly, everyone’s attention shifts to you. Robbie. Steve. Frankie. Even Javier, who’s lounging in the corner, waiting for his moment to shine. They all freeze, the casual banter dying off as your question lingers in the air. Mariella blinks, looking around as if unsure who you’re even talking to.

“I—I turned twenty last week.”

Your expression hardens, and the disapproval is written all over your face. “She’s not even old enough to drink, and you’re having her fuck Javier?” Your eyes cut to Robbie, who’s staring at you like you’ve just sprouted another head.

The silence stretches for a beat too long before he scoffs, shaking his head like you’re being ridiculous. “I don’t pay you to hear your opinions on shit,” he snaps, clearly irritated. “Just sit there and record the damn thing.”

Your eyes roll hard enough that it almost hurts. “You’re all a bunch of perverts.”

Poor Frankie catches a stray with that one. It’s like everything is grating on you in ways it usually doesn’t. Normally, you can shove it down and keep your head low because, at the end of the day, you’re just here for the paycheck.

“Perverts pay your bills, sweetheart,” Robbie throws back, all nonchalant. What’s worse is that he’s right.

Moments like this make you wonder how long you can keep doing this without losing a part of yourself in the process.

You look around at the other three men, none of them stepping up to say anything in your defense. Useless.

You shouldn’t be surprised, but it stings. Even Javier, usually quick with a sarcastic quip or biting comment, says nothing. He just sits there, stuffing out a cigarette that’s magically appeared between his lips.

It feels like a betrayal, even though you know better than to expect any different.

And Mariella? She’s clearly distracted, caught up in the magnetic pull Javier has over people. The way she’s looking at him with that starstruck, wide-eyed awe only makes it worse. You can see it in her expression, the way her gaze flickers over him like she’s already imagining how it’s going to feel when he fucks her. Thinking with her pussy instead of having common sense.

You recognize it because you were just in her exact position, drawn into that same orbit. You find empathy for her, but not the other motherfuckers.

The room descends into awkward silence, as if everyone’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. But you’re not in the mood for a full-blown argument, so you shut down, slumping into the chair behind your camera with your arms crossed tightly over your chest.

You know it’s only a matter of time before all these feelings you’ve been aggressively pushing down come back up and make you snap, but for now, you continue to force it all away.

You’re assigned to shoot the stoic, wide shots while Frankie’s in charge of the close-ups, and honestly? You’re relieved. The last thing you need is to be up close, watching this trash unfold.

The scene starts with the typical, raunchy premise: Dad pays babysitter with his cock! It explains Mariella’s barely-there outfit and the cluttered coffee table with school notebooks, setting the scene.

Then there’s Javier who looks the part too; dressed in dark blue slacks, a typical white collared shirt with a few buttons popped open to give that I’m stressed, come take care of me vibe.

He’s the picture of temptation, and it’s obvious Mariella’s already in the clouds.

The filming begins and they share that cheesy, erotic dialogue and lustful touches. You feel yourself sink further into the chair, silently counting down the minutes until you’re decompressing by the beach.

She sinks to her knees before him, her doe eyes looking up at him with that practiced innocence they all seem to perfect so quickly. She reaches for the buttons on his slacks, her delicate fingers fumbling just a little before she pulls down the zipper and tugs at the waistband. She nuzzles her face against his thigh, brushing her lips against his skin, and finally pulls out his cock. Even soft, it’s still an impressive size— but it’s definitely not how this was supposed to go.

“Well, are you going to suck it or just stare at it?” Javier snaps, his tone cutting through the air with an edge that feels too sharp, too real. It doesn’t sound like the crudeness that’s meant to spice up the scene.

His hand shoots out and tangles in her hair, yanking her closer. He’s rougher than usual, harsher, as he forces her mouth onto him.

She wraps her lips around his head, suckling softly at first, then taking him deeper into her mouth. She’s trying to do her job, playing the part of the eager babysitter, but something’s off.

Javier’s head tilts back, eyes squeezed shut, but it’s not the usual look of pleasure that crosses his face. It’s more like he’s concentrating, forcing himself to feel something that isn’t there.

You can’t help it— your eyes flick around the room, looking at the rest of the crew. No one seems to be noticing what you’re seeing, their eyes all honed in on the action in front of them.

But you’re catching the small details like you always do.

After a few more moments, it’s clear that it’s not happening. Javier lets out a frustrated curse, pulling out of her mouth with an audible, wet pop. “Fuck—just, give me a second,” he grumbles, stepping back. Mariella wipes the saliva from her lips with the back of her hand, looking up at him with a mix of confusion and hesitation.

You take that as your cue. Reaching over, you stop the recording, your finger hesitating on the button for only a moment before pressing it. Frankie does the same, Steve lowers his mic and pulls his headset off.

Javier runs a hand through his hair, his eyes darting to the floor, like he’s trying to avoid looking at anyone directly. “I just need a minute,” he says again, but it’s more to himself than to anyone else.

Your gaze lingers on him for a second longer than you intend, and your mind flashes back to earlier, to the way he was with you. The memory is sharp and clear, the contrast striking. He’d come undone for you without hesitation, without needing any coaxing or forcing. Just words. But now, with Mariella kneeling in front of him, offering herself up like a gift, he’s struggling.

“How long will this minute take? We gotta be outta here soon so get it up before I get one of these two to take your place.”

Javier scoffs, dismissive, “Tape wouldn’t fucking sell.”

“Well one featuring a soft dick won’t either,” comes the retort, and the two of them start their back-and-forth bickering.

You rub at your temples, trying to ease the pressure building behind your eyes. This has to be some weird-ass dream; it sure as hell feels like it. Maybe you’re still in bed, blissfully sleeping until three in the afternoon.

Javier storms off and Steve puts his equipment down. “I’ll go talk to him.”

Robbie just waves him away. “Take five,” he mutters to the rest of you, going in the opposite direction. This is such a mess, and poor Mariella remains on her knees, picking at her cuticles.

“Please get up and sit on the couch. You look pathetic,” you say to her, not cruelly but bluntly. It’s not her fault, but the sight of her there is making you itch. She complies like a chastised child.

Frankie drops down beside you, letting out a breath that mirrors your own. “These things usually go like this?” He takes his hat off, ruffling his hair before putting it back on.

“No,” shit has just been weird amongst this group for weeks now. “Burnout is inevitable, I guess.” You’re not about to sit there and shit-talk Javier, despite everything. You might have a mountain of complicated feelings when it comes to him, but you won’t kick him while he’s down.

Before Frankie can respond, Robbie comes barreling back into the room, his face flushed with anger. His eyes lock onto you, and you can see the accusation in them before he even opens his mouth.

“This is your fault,” he spits out, voice sharp, acidic. “All that shit you were talking earlier— now he’s fucking broken.”

You narrow your eyes, standing your ground. “Excuse me?” you snap, incredulous. “I was making a valid point. How the hell is it my fault that he grew a conscience?”

“Y’know,” he starts, his words dripping with the kind of vile, misogynistic shit that makes your blood boil. “You’d do me more good in front of the camera. Have somethin’ shoved up in there to keep you fucking quiet.”

The reaction is immediate. You shoot up from your seat so fast the chair scrapes against the floor, the sound sharp and angry, mirroring how you feel. “What the fuck did you just say?”

Frankie stands too, his face hardening as he takes a step in front of you, finally coming to your defense. “Watch it,” he warns, and it feels like the whole situation could explode into something much worse.

Robbie, of course, just sneers “What? You gonna defend her? She’s been a pain in my ass for weeks—”

“I’m done.” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can think them through, but they feel right.

You’re tired— so damn tired— of this whole mess. Of dealing with assholes like Robbie and Javier who think they can get away with saying whatever they want. “I quit.”

Your boss’s mouth opens as if he’s about to say something else, but you cut him off with a cutting glare. “I’m not going to sit here and listen to you treat me like shit because your precious Javier can’t get his dick hard. Go fuck yourself, Robbie.”

You don’t wait for a response. You turn on your heel and head for the door, your heart pounding in your chest, adrenaline coursing through your veins. You’ll double up on shifts at the bar or go back to waiting tables like you did throughout college. Whatever keeps you away from this bullshit.

As you stride down the hallway toward the entrance, you pass Javier and Steve. Javier’s face is stormy, brows knitted together as if he’s still reeling from whatever heated discussion they just had.

The moment he spots you, his expression shifts. There’s a flicker of surprise, maybe even concern.

“Where are you going?” Steve asks.

You yank the heavy, probably expensive for no reason, front door open, the sound echoing through the hallway. “I just quit,” you snap, voice sharp as glass. “See you never.”

🏷️ : @almostempty . @auteurdelabre . @libre-sol . @cherrysugarx . @goodvibesonly421 .

finally started a tag list for my works here, so if you're interested— pls check it out. muchas gracias mis putitas (gn) (endearingly) 🖤

#pedro pascal #javier pena smut #javier peña smut #javier pena fic #javier peña fic #javier peña x reader #javier pena x reader #javier pena fanfic #javier pena narcos #javier pena fanfiction #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña narcos #javier pena x you #javier peña x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfic

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hopeluna · 11 months ago

Text

CW: strong language?

"The voices in my head are saying you're a slut."

You see his shoulders tense up from where you're sitting on the couch and then relax again as he turns around, putting his chopping to a halt to raise an eyebrow at you.

"A what?"

"You look like a slut, that's all", he would get offended at your blatant slut-shaming if it weren't for the subtle way you were trying to hide your face feeling hot.

A smirk spreads across his face slowly when he notices you rubbing your thighs a little, still not looking at him.

"Oh, so I can't go shirtless in my own house now?", he had to control the cheshire-like grin that threatens to spread across his face at your silence, "why? Does it turn you o-"

"No."

"You weren't saying that earlier in bed."

"Shut up."

He rounds the kitchen to walk where you sit with a amused sigh, "you're so cute sometimes", he plants a long, wet and annoying exaggerated kiss on the side of your neck, laughing when you yelp as he bites the skin there softly.

"Are you still hungry?"

You turn to look at him questioningly.

"I'll take that as a no."

You don't have any idea what time it is anymore as you lay in bed contentedly, wrapped up in the sheets with him.

"You like being slut-shamed, don't lie"

You laugh lightly as you hear him mumble a sleepy 'shut up' from where his face is buried in the crook of your neck.

- Gojo Satoru (jjk) ; Geto Suguru (jjk) ; Toji Fushiguro (jjk) ; Hawks (bnha) ; Ejirou Kirishima (bnha) ; Solomon (obey me) ; Asmodeus (obey me) ; Miguel O'hara (atsv) ; Steve Harrington (stranger things)

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werepuppy-steve · 3 months ago

Text

🪱 wiggle wednesday 🪱

i lied i guess i do have one for this week kjhashfkjbg

so we all love eddie seeing steve in the crowd at a CC concert and falling ass over tits in love right then and there, right? and we also love eddie stopping a show if he sees someone bothering steve.

how about we flip that on its head.

eddie's on stage and he sees two guys (steve and dustin) arguing in the crowd and it looks like (to him) it's gonna get ugly fast.

meanwhile, steve and dustin are in the crowd, completely distracted from the concert they paid a lot of money for:

"you can't fuck him, steve! i forbade it!"

"you forbade it?! you and whose army, henderson?! i will fuck that man, so help me god!"

"it goes against the code, steve! i'm not letting you fuck eddie munson and that's final!"

eddie motions for the guys to stop playing and yells into his mic at them (they don't even know they're being yelled at, steve is this close to putting dustin in a headlock and giving him a noogie until he gives)

the crowd is silent but dustin is screeching so loud nobody can make out what they're even arguing about and eventually security pushes through to them and they're so confused when they're suddenly being pulled apart.

eddie gives them a wave from the stage. "hi. yeah. if you want to fight, you're more than welcome to duke it out outside of the venue. otherwise, you can play nice until the show's over, 'kay?"

steve and dustin just stare up at him, completely in shock that he's even speaking directly to them.

then dustin open's his big, filter-less mouth and points at steve, "he wants to fuck you!"

the crowd's silence is broken and some cheer in solidarity. eddie is shocked for all of 3 seconds before he lets a cheshire cat grin bloom on his face and locks eyes with a sputtering steve.

"well i'm flattered, sweetheart," he purrs into the mic and batting his eyelashes. his bandmates groan loudly and gareth even throws a drumstick at him. "but i hope you don't mind if it's the other way around."

he gets steve and dustin backstage after the show and that's all i got algalsdkglaskdgj

#cj talks #steddie #wiggle wednesday

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calumfmu · 6 months ago

Note

i could send you a million requests!

having an affair with your divorce lawyer steve 😏

HIII HUNNNN. Thank you for your patience love <3 Here it is in all its glory, smut, smut, smut oooo Divorce Lawyer!Steve x Reader (2.3k+ words of pure smut) cw: 18+, mdni, smut, riding, unprotected sex, p in v, cream pie, dirty talk, ugh, all Steve goodness, set in NY, famous!reader,

Three drinks down, adrenaline pumping through your veins, you only had one thing on your mind. Freedom. It was seven months into this divorce--if you could even call it that. A messy separation, public legal dispute that was plaguing the city's newspapers, headlines screaming about the famous ex-ball player's divorce with New York's once most eligible bachelorette.

Hitting the town three days in a row seemed like a good idea in retrospect, but it was really starting to get to you and your reputation. But as you chased that sixth tequila shot with lime, it was the last thing on your mind.

"Hey, isn't that..." your friend's voice trailed off as she pointed her beer towards someone across the bar. You followed the point of the bottle, gaze focusing on a tall man--Steve.

A Cheshire grin spread across your face, eyes widening as you recognized him, his mole dotted face, thin wire glasses framing his face as he laughed with a group of other suits, those you knew as his colleagues.

"Oh my God," you whined, immediately downing the shot that was supposed to be for her. She protested, hands throwing up around her as she watched you finish it with a grimace. "What is he doing here?"

She shrugged, swigging out of the glass as she eyed him down. Her bobbed hair swung in the air as she tilted her head down to fully drink him in.

"You know if I was straight I'd be all over that," she replied, turning around to face the bar. Your eyes remained on the older guy, tongue darting out to lick at the corner of your mouth.

"Robin!" You squealed, swatting at her arm. She giggled in response, arm waving to capture the attention of the bartender.

"I'm just saying," her tone was suggestive, eyebrows wiggling with her words. "You should just get after it, I mean... see what Harrington & Partner really has to offer."

You considered her point, your own head tilting down to observe him as his head tilted back with laughter. From across the bar, you could see the stretch of his neck, the expanse of skin being exposed to show more moles, disappearing behind the fitted collar of his dress shirt. The dark bar lighting did wonders for him, highlighting the amber high lights of his hair, showing off the small gray wisps that poked out at his hairline, a testament to how men age like fine wine.

"I've already seen what it has to offer," you said under your breath, grabbing her beer out of her hand. She whined again as you finished it off, slamming it on the counter behind you. "And I want more."

Her jaw dropped, eyes widening as she took in your words.

"What do you mean you've already seen it?"

Laughing, you took a step away from her, bag fitted over your shoulder as you adjusted the dress you wore. "Long story. Late night. Tedious divorce papers. Did I say that out loud?"

She reached a hand out to you, but you dodged it, backing away from her as you made your way over to his group. Her eye roll was enough for you to know you were making a bad decision, but you couldn't care. Your mind was set on one thing only.

"Steve!" You cheered, waving at him as he looked at you confused. Immediately, his gaze dipped across your figure, dress hugging your curves in all the right places.

He covered it up with a cough, eyes widening as he suddenly realized he was in the presence of those he worked with. The sound of your name rolled off of his lips, a surprised cackle of speech.

"What are you doing here?" It was less of a question and more accusatory.

Your mouth dropped open in a wide smile as you held your arms out. "Celebrating my separation, freedom."

Realization crossed his features as your words slurred, the intoxication becoming clear as you lingered a little too close for comfort. The men he surrounded himself with eyed you as well, eyes flickering over you as you teetered on the heels in your feet.

"Ah," he muttered, tongue smacking against his teeth as he took a step back. His hand came up to adjust the tie that was fitted around his neck. "I see. Just a few months away from that."

The suits laughed, deep chuckles of laughter that screamed money. Old money, New York money, jurisprudence, whatever you wanted to call it. Rolling your eyes, you felt all the confidence of the tequila shots you took, pressing a hand to his arm. His eyes dropped to it, slowly dragging away to peer down at you over his wire frames.

"Excuse me," he said to the group, placing a hand to your lower back to drag you away from them. He lead you through the crowd, pressing you into a dark corner of the swanky bar. On the way, you had seen Robin, her thumbs up thrown in your direction.

"What are you doing?" He whispered again, backing you into a wall. He towered over you, immediately, you were weak in the knees, this interaction normally being behind the closed doors of his 30th story office.

Your hand found his arm again, trailing up the expanse of it as you craned your head back, a soft bump against the wall.

"Having fun," you sighed, biting your lip as he took a step closer to you. His scent overwhelmed you, warmth beginning to pool into the pit of your stomach as you rested a foot up against the wall.

"This is a bad look," he suddenly grew professional, straightening up as your hand left his arm and began to trail down his abdomen.

You rolled your eyes, dragging out a groan that bordered childish.

"You're a bad look," you retorted, reaching up to grab the lapels of his suit. Tugging him closer to you, you pressed your lips to the side of his neck. "You're wearing too many clothes."

He pulled away from you again, clearing his throat as he urged you from the wall. Fast in his movements, his hand was at the small of your back, pulling you towards a back exit, one you were unaware that was even there.

A black Lincoln sat in an alleyway, the door opening as he threw you in the backseat. You rolled your eyes as you sat up, pulling down your skirt as he slid in behind you. He muttered something to a driver, the car already moving as the world began to spin around you.

"You can't have people seeing you like this," he muttered, shaking his head as he pressed the back of his hand to your forehead. Leaning into his touch, your eyes fluttered shut.

"Relax, nobody saw."

"Hmm," he was annoyed, the tone of his voice short. "You don't know that for sure. There's too much at stake right now, especially with the way his side is going."

You groaned, leaning fully into him as you began to trail a hand over his body. Touching any skin you could get was the only thing you were focused on, hastily unbuttoning his shirt as the car began to make turns throughout the city. He didn't oppose, only settled into the back seat of the vehicle even further.

"I don't want to talk about him."

You climbed into his lap, squeezing in the small space as you pressed your lips to his. His hands found your ass, squeezing as he ground you down into him. The stubble on his face scratched at yours, your jaw rubbed raw as the two of you made out, tongues fighting against each other.

"I think you're," he muttered in between kisses, his hands beginning to lift your skirt as your hands found his belt buckle. "The worst client I've ever had."

"Mmmm," you groaned, pulling his belt buckle loose. It clanked in the air, followed by the sound of the driver sliding the separation window closed. "Talk dirty to me, Harrington."

He laughed into the kiss, lips slotting into yours perfectly as you freed him from his pants. His cock was angry red, swollen through its length as you briefly looked down to grip at him. The girth of it alone had you watering at the mouth, wishing you had the freedom to sink to your knees.

You pulled away from him, pressing him back down into the cushion of the seat as he chased your mouth, leaning up as he wanted more. He groaned at your touch, his head leaning back against the headrests.

"Need you to fuck me," you whispered, adjusting so the cave of your pussy sat right over him. A pant escaped him as he felt your wetness, encasing him as you grinded down on him.

"You're gonna get me fired, hun," he moaned, teeth digging into his lip as you lifted off of him, angling him so his head pressed at your entrance. The small stretch of his tip had you mewling, the intoxication of the alcohol leaving your body as you got drunk off of a new feeling.

"We've barely left Manhattan," the grunt of words only worsened as you pressed lower, his length stretching you wide. His hands found your hips, guiding you lower.

Your knees sat on the sides of his hips, locking him in as you stopped half way, hovering above him. With your head tilted back, staring up at the ceiling of the car, your eyes watered, the heat of the moment making you so caught up that you cursed at your previous idea of skipping the foreplay.

"You talk too much," you whispered, pressing all the way down. Stretched down to the hilt, the both of you sat in silent groans, his hand finding the back of your neck to press his forehead into yours.

From this angle, you could see the chocolate brown of his eyes, sunken with desire, his lids hooded in pleasure.

"fuck." The hand that never left your hip raised you, a soft squelch filling the back seat as your wetness dripped around him.

As you began to bounce on his cock, his moans began to grow louder, fingers digging marks into your hip. The press of his cock deep inside made you feel weak, that spongy spot not being granted mercy as he drove into you.

"Steve," you groaned, swirling your hips as he mouthed at your neck, deep colored marks being left in his wake. The heat of his touch added to the fire pooling in your belly, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure.

Look at my dirty girl.

His words could've gotten you right then and there, if it were not for the alcohol in your system prolonging your orgasm. You loved it when he called you names like that, claiming you as his even when you both knew you weren't.

Such a bad girl.

That one had you squeezing your eyes even tighter, your hands resting on the tops of his shoulders as you rode him, bouncing in a frenzy that he had yet to see. The scratch of his suit pants against your ass was oddly soothing, distracting you from the white hot feeling building faster and faster.

"Need you to fuck me harder," you whimpered, reaching a hand up to tug at his hair. The sounds he made to the yank on his scalp had you pulling closer to your orgasm, legs shaking as he began to match you half way, hips lifting off of the seat.

A ring of white began to form at the base of his cock, wetness from your pussy building into a thick cream, your release teetering on the edge. He was close to his own release, his breath coming short as he fucked you, hips moving into an uneven pattern.

"Gonna cum all in you i-if you keep talking like that," he tried being strong in his words, but his voice failed him, cracking in the middle.

A small smile ghosted your lips, knowing exactly what it would take to get him to paint you white, release deep inside of you.

"Cum inside me," you whined, sinking lower as you pressed your lips to the shell of his ear. Your voice was low, scratchy from the frequent moans, borderline shouts he drew out of you.

"Make me yours, Steve."

He groaned, hands locking behind your hips as he began to drive into you, slapping sounds filling the air. Your hand snaked down to circle at your clit, tight circles around the nub that had your eyes rolling back.

"Show everyone who's pussy this really is."

With a low groan, he came inside you, fucking you through it as you found your release quickly after. It was the loudest one you had experienced, legs shaking as explosions tingled up your spine. His hips never slowed, riding out both of your highs.

You pushed off of him, collapsing into the empty leather next to him, legs sprawled wide open. Your chest heaved with exhaustion, yet adrenaline still coursed through you, tequila urging another round already.

"How soon do you think is too soon for me to marry my divorce lawyer?"

He laughed at your words, tucking himself away as he peered out the window. The city lights were far in the background, familiar streets nearing his home coming up in the distance.

"Let's not get too ahead of ourselves, dear," he shook his head, leaning down onto you to press a kiss to your forehead anyways. You beamed at the press of his lips, tilting your head closer to him.

The look in his eyes that he gave you was sweet, something that you had once yearned for from your now-ex. You knew it was wrong, to be this smitten over your divorce lawyer, but God, was he beautiful.

Masterlist. Inbox and requests are open! <3

also--not proofread, but should be in the next week or so :)

#my writing #older!steve #Steve Harrington x reader #Steve harrington x you #smut #Steve Harrington smut #I've been watching too much sex and the city #so #if this is in my writing for the next 6 months #don't mind me #requests #lawyer!steve

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starrystevie · 1 year ago

Text

rating: mature; 18+ only | cross posted on ao3 here

"truth or dare?"

steve's looking at eddie expectantly while he waits for his answer, his eyes wide and cheeks pushed up from the grin pulling at his lips. he's shirtless from past dares and eddie's trying hard to not look at the hair covering his chest, to not look at the way his scars have faded into a pretty dusty pink, to not look at the flexed muscles in his arm from where it's slung over the back of the couch and he's definitely not looking at the way the movement pulls his pec up.

they aren't high enough for this, not drunk enough for it either, but he feels intoxicated. maybe that's just what being around steve harrington at 2am does to him. it makes him stupid.

"...truth?"

steve's grin grows wide enough to challenge even the cheshire cat and eddie knows that truth was the wrong choice. see? stupid.

the hand on the back of the couch tightens and eddie can feel the way it pulls the cushion under his back, the fabric creasing against his shoulder blade. steve's leaning in a tiny bit closer, same wild grin on his face, and eddie feels himself stop breathing. he tries to remain calm, tries to keep an even expression on his face, but when steve harrington is in his presence, it's harder than it seems.

"okay... truth," steve's close enough that eddie can see the specks of green in his eyes and he tries to focus on that instead of how he can almost feel breaths that aren't his own on his lips.

"what's your biggest turn on?"

whatever breath eddie attempts to suck in gets stuck in his throat and turns into a cough forcing steve to pull away cackling. he isn't in eddie's face anymore but he can still feel him, can still sense the barely there exhale on his face, can still only see steve green behind his eyelids.

"what the fuck, dude?!" is all he can get out. his palms are sweaty so he rubs them furiously over his jeans, scowling at his fingers when they get stuck in the small rips.

steve is laughing at the other end of the couch but his arm is still settled over the back of it, creating the most delicious tension on his chest. he looks broad like this, broader than eddie's really ever seen him. and with his hand across the couch and his legs opened just slightly and his bare chest on display and his bright white teeth glinting in the dim moonlight he looks-

he's hot.

he looks like the old steve, all cock-sure and suave, like he knows he can get absolutely whatever he wants. it does eddie's head in. is he what steve wants? is he why steve looks like he could jump on anything and everything that came his way? is he why steve thought he could ask him about his turn ons as easy as if he was asking about the weather?

"i don't have-"

"oh bullshit," steve says with a flick of his free hand. "everyone has one, man. what gets you all hot and bothered?"

eddie tilts his head up with a scoff. "why do you want to know?"

"consider it your average every day bonding." he says it like it's obvious, like all guys do when they sit around and play sleepover games like they're kids again is talk about what they like in bed.

but eddie's drunk on steve in 2am moonlight and can't help himself for giving him everything.

"i like dirty talk."

he'd always give steve everything.

steve's grin shifts into something borderline feral that has eddie vibrating under his skin. he moves his hips and settles back into the arm of the couch, leveling eddie with his gaze. his eyes are heavy when they look at him and eddie feels glued to the spot.

"oh yeah?" steve's inflection sounds exactly like what eddie craves for and he's afraid that he's shown all his cards already if steve was able to pick up on it that fast. "like what?"

he rolls his eyes if only so that he can take them away from watching steve's muscles contorting as he shifts on the couch. it's not hard to get eddie in the mood, that's the embarrassing thing. his limited experience before he learned about alternate dimensions and things living under hawkins didn't exactly help his case. he didn't exactly have guys throwing themselves at him as a social pariah covered in still healing scars, either.

so steve looking at him with those eyes and that grin and without a shirt for god's sake? not helpful.

"i don't know, i just-" his mind supplies images that gets his cock stirring. a certain king of hawkins under him or on top of him or right behind him whispering things in his ear that he had never really thought about before.

"-i just like hearing the effect i have on them, i guess."

and then without warning steve is moving. he's up on his hands and knees and is leaning into eddie's personal space again, his face close enough to eddie's that he can see that damn green in his eyes again.

there's still a bit of space between then but not nearly enough that eddie isn't effected by it. steve's pinkie is brushing his thigh and his cock that was already interested just thinking about the sounds steve could make is stirring even more awake under his gaze.

"you like hearing you're doing good?" steve questions. eddie sighs. "you like all the moans and stuff?"

all eddie can do is nod, afraid that if he speaks that he'll do something embarrassing like say he wants to pull whatever sound out of steve that he'd let him. suddenly, steve's pulling away minutely to get his mouth close to eddie's ear, breath coming out in puffs against his skin.

"oh fuck," steve huffs out, voice pitched high and dainty. feminine. "oh, oh eddie, it's so good."

eddie grips his hands onto his knees like they're the only thing keeping here on planet earth as steve moans in his ear. his cock is starting to grow, whatever blood that was left in his head heading south fast and it's leaving him dizzy. from up close, he's sure steve can see what he's doing if he was to look down. he's wearing sweatpants that don't exactly hide anything, after all.

the sounds steve are making are all light and pretty like he's going off of his own experience and eddie has the fleeting thought that it's what girls sound like under him. that some girl has been pressing up close to steve's chest and had her pretty pink lips up close to his ear as he fucked her into the mattress. but oh, if eddie had the courage he'd tell him. tell him that he doesn't want to hear some girl, some stranger.

he wants to hear steve.

"you gonna take care of that?" steve's voice is back to somewhat normal, a bit raspy and deep, and it floods through eddie's veins like molten lava. he doesn't remember closing his eyes but he peels them open and turns his head to look at steve. he follows his gaze and sees that they're both looking at how turned on eddie is. he doesn't have enough blood left in his cheeks to blush but he would if he could.

"steve, that's wei-"

a hand wrapping over his knee stops him mid sentence. "not weird. do it. i want you to."

eddie gulps even though his throat feels drier than it's ever been. steve's fingers tighten and he jerks his chin up to urge him on and fuck, he knew he'd always give steve whatever he wanted.

"can you just," eddie sucks a breath in through his teeth as he drops his hand to his waistband, fingers teasing under the fabric. "sound like you, please?"

the silence feels palpable. he can feel every place that his clothes are touching him, every place that steve is touching him, every place his breath has fallen on him that evening. he has half a mind to take it back and tell him he was joking, to pretend like he's some girl again and eddie could get off on that, too. he could at least try, especially if it was steve.

but then- "eddie, fuck."

steve's mouth is close to his ear again, lips ghosting over the shell of his ear as he groans into it. his voice is pitched deep but it's definitely undeniably steve. he shifts onto his knees so he can drape his arm behind eddie once more. not touching, but there and as eddie's hand slips under the fabric to grip at his cock, they both let out a sigh.

"yeah, there you go. gonna touch yourself for me, hmm?"

"shit," eddie groans out as his hand trails over his weeping cock. he brings his thumb up to gather a bit of the precome that's dribbled out of the top and rubs it between his fingers before gliding them down his length. steve's panting these little sounds into his ear that mirror eddie's own moans. when he sighs, steve sighs, when he whines, steve whines.

it's like he's touching himself to get steve off, too, and isn't that something to think about? them laying side by side with each other's dicks in their hands, stroking just how the other likes to get them off. he'd watch steve's face, speed up when his eyes open and slow down when he's close. he'd buck his hips into steve's steady grip, swallow the moans he pulls out of him so they echo through his body. it'd be heaven on a mattress or hardwood floor or ratty couch in a ratty trailer.

"got me all hard in my jeans, eddie." steve breathes out and eddie can't see is he's lying or not but it sounds true and eddie briefly wonders if steve should go into porn with those acting skills. "the way you look with your hand in your pants, jesus, it's a sin. all flushed and hot and, god-"

if steve keeps it up, eddie is going to be done way faster than he wants to be. his hand speeds up when steve lets out a particularly loud moan in his ear and then there's a brush of denim against his arm and wow, steve was in fact not lying. his hips keep jumping up to get pressure against eddie's forearm and the long line of steve's cock is teasing him.

"steve," he whines out, "are you..."

"of course i am," he laughs against eddie's ear before sneaking a tiny kiss to his temple. "you're so fucking hot, dude. been wanting to do this for too long. too long, oh my god."

his hand that was on eddie thigh moves up to unbutton his pants and slides under his own waistband and eddie takes a moment to slow his strokes as he looks up at steve. he looks like a greek god in grungy trailer lighting, chest shimmering with sweat and puffing with heavy breaths. he's grinning down at eddie and he feels like he could float away.

"think i'm hot, stevie?" he says on a shuddering breath as he hits a spot on his cock that he immediately goes to find again. steve smirks before his eyes roll back as he gets a hand on his own dick.

"so hot, so fucking-"

he's cut off by a moan and eddie sends up a silent thank you to the universe that they have the trailer to themselves for the next few days because eddie needs to pull more of those out of him. he needs steve on his back and on his cock and in his mouth and on his fingers and every which way he'll let him have him if it means he gets to hear more of that.

"gonna get my mouth on you soon enough, gotta know what you taste like. gonna get you down my fucking throat..."

steve's brought his mouth back down to eddie's ear and is grunting like he's running the race of a lifetime while he tells eddie what he wants to do him. says truths of his own outside of the now forgotten game, secrets laced with some of the most romantic things eddie's ever been told. tells him how pretty he is, how good he is, how he's imagining eddie's fingers on his cock and on his skin and how he's close, close, close.

knowing he's effecting steve this much, knowing he has this hold on him that he thought was one sided, knowing that he's racing through steve's veins like he's racing through eddie's, it's too much.

"i'm... fuck- i'm gonna," eddie's hand speeds up and the hand on the back of the couch comes up to tangle in his hair. there's a pressure pulling him back until he's looking at the ceiling for a second until all he can see is steve and the flecks of green he's come to love.

"it's okay, i've got you, come on. let me just-"

their first kiss is shared on a ratty couch in a ratty trailer with their hands in their pants and come covering their fingers. eddie's mouth is open enough that he's moaning into steve's and the hand on the back of his head is twitching while he comes. they pull apart enough that eddie can hear what they sound like as they work through their orgasms together, can hear what steve sounds like as he works himself down.

he's going to get that on a record someday, he tells himself. it'll go platinum.

and just as quick as it started, it's over. only this time steve's snuggling up next to him and using his clean hand to stroke over the exposed skin on eddie's stomach instead of returning to the opposite end of the couch. their chests are heaving as they try and regain their composure and it feels like bliss until steve laughs.

it's like an ice bucket being poured over him and he wishes he didn't love hearing steve so much because he's afraid that the laugh will haunt his memories for ages to come. steve must feel him freeze up because the hand on his stomach circles around his waist and pulls him even closer so he can nuzzle his face into eddie's chest. it starts to settle the nerves that had wound themselves around his insides.

"i don't know if you could tell," he starts, voice muffled against eddie's flannel. "but i've been wanting to do that, this, for ages."

eddie snorts. "you've wanted to make me jizz in my pants for ages? really? low standards even for you."

steve snorts out a laugh in return. "no, you idiot. i've wanted to be able to do this for ages."

he tilts his head up and places a featherlight kiss to eddie's lips. it's soft, it's sweet, it's the opposite of everything that happened not two minutes prior. eddie feels a smile tugging at his mouth and pulls back to see steve smiling, too.

"does this mean..."

there's no words, no definition that eddie can put to the events of the night that don't sound silly or juvenile. but then he sees steve settle back down, pressing a kiss to right over his heart before laying his head down where it was.

"... that we're doing that again? absolutely. just maybe in a bed next time."

and maybe they don't need a label. maybe all they need is laying on a couch with come cooling in their pants and echoes of what just happened bouncing off the trailer walls. maybe all they need is a promise of later sealed with a kiss and their heartbeats in synch.

and maybe, just maybe, they'll play truth or dare again.

#defintely did not beta read or whatever so ignore any and all typos pls #steddie #steddie fic #my writing #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie drabble #steddie ficlet #steddie headcanon #steddie smut

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wynnyfryd · 5 months ago

Text

Trailer park Steve AU pt 66

part 1 | part 65 | ao3

cw: i don’t do drugs, dad, it’s only marijuana

“Uh,” Steve splutters, choking on his own spit. “Is that wise?”

It’s a question Eddie gives zero fucks about, apparently, because he’s already lighting a joint — cherry bright, shadows sharp, chin held aloft as he hollows his cheeks. “Extremely,” he croaks, blowing smoke out in a thick ring.

Steve’s mouth flattens to a frown. “Literally how?” he begs to know. “I thought we were supposed to be, like, fortifying our defenses. Building our mind shields or whatever the fuck.”

“Au contraire, mon frère.” Eddie takes a hit and holds it. “We are fighting a psychic wizard. Therefore…” Another toke, another trail of perfect smoke rings, ducklings lined up big to small. “It stands to reason that we should trash his battlefield.”

It stands to reason we should what?

“…Ohhhhhh,” Steve nods when he gets it. He reaches up to take the joint, tipping his chin in thanks when Eddie slots it into the V of his fingers, and squints as he sips in a quick puff; adds a French inhale at the end of a second huge hit. Eddie’s not the only one who knows how to do cool tricks. “So this is like the time we let a bunch of cows loose on Thompson’s field the night before the homecoming game.”

“Yeah, exactly— well- well, no, actually, not like that, what in the Indiana bumpkin fuck—? Never mind.” Eddie tosses his hair and rocks on his heels, and Steve can’t help but snort as he watches him shake himself clear like a little Eddie Etch-A-Sketch. “Important things only,” Eddie mumbles to himself. “Essentials,” he’s saying, “Essentials. What are essentials?”

And meanwhile Steve is saying: “Eddie-A-Sketch.”

Eddie hollers a startled cackle as he whips his head around, his face all squiggly with confusion, brows pinched, nostrils flared. “Steve, what the hell?”

Steve giggles uncontrollably. “Etch-A-Skeddie? No—”

“Holy shit.” He scrubs his hands down his face and laughs weakly at the ceiling. “How much weed did you just smoke?”

From anyone else it would sound like scolding, but Eddie just pulls out a few more joints, sticks three in his mouth at once, and mumbles good-naturedly, “Lemme catch up, I guess. Christ.”

While Eddie smokes enough weed to briefly hotbox a room with a hole in the floor, Steve watches the water ripple, spellbound by shimmering shapes in the dark for what feels like decades until he remembers all at once that it fucking sucks in here. It’s cold, and he’s starving, and his back is kinda stiff. “Hey…”

He looks over his shoulder, rolling into the stretch. Eddie’s doing some weird noodly shit in a corner, bent at the waist with his arms pretzeled overhead, swinging side to side, the ends of his hair sweeping the dusty, splintered planks. “Hey! Eddie.”

“Hmm?”

“Weren’t we supposed to be finding supplies?”

“Oh, shit.” Eddie swings himself upright; starts pacing back and forth. “Shit, yeah. What did we need?”

“Besides food and water?”

“Booze!” He steps onto a pile of boxes just to hop back down again. “Booze, music, more drugs…”

More drugs. Great idea.

Steve plucks the stubby remnant of a joint up off the floor; Eddie spins around on tiptoe to peer out the boathouse window, and when he looks back at Steve he’s got a Cheshire cat grin. “Say, Steve-o. Stevie boy. Svennie—”

“I’ll kill you,” Steve coughs around a mouthful of smoke.

“Since I’m pretty sure we’re one hundred percent going to jail for, uh. All of this…” He waves his arms around at their whole situation, then gestures invitingly to the house at the top of the hill. “Whaddaya say we add breaking and entering to the list?”

—

part 67

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#trailer park steve au #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #my writing #my fic

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steveharringtonat3am · 9 months ago

Note

Do you think you could write something about doing your makeup routine in front of Steve? I feel like he’d be so fascinated about the process

“What’s that?” Steve sits on your bed behind you, watching through the mirror of your vanity. You hold up the tube in question and he nods.

“This is just tinted moisturizer. I use it under my foundation to colour correct.” You explain, showing him the bottle of foundation you use. Pumping some onto the back of your hand prompts another question.

“Why do you put it on your hand?” He’s sat up now, starting to get interested in the process. He’s seen you with and without makeup plenty of times, but never in between.

“It’s just easier. I can control how much I get on the brush and see how much I need.” You begin blending the foundation into your skin and it’s clear that Steve is only now making the connection as to how your skin changes tone every so often.

“Is it supposed to be a little…off?” He asks in an attempt to be polite about it. He relaxes when he sees you laugh at him in your reflection.

“Yes babe. It’s kinda hard to find a perfect match so I go a little lighter and then correct it with bronzer.” You hold up the compact in question and he nods as if he has any idea what it is. You pull out your concealer, dabbing some on your undereyes and on a few spots. He’s gotten distracted fixing his hair, but grabbing a new brush draws his attention back to you.

“What’s that for?”

“Well, since someone wants to stay up late and makeout, I have to use this and cover my dark circles.” He can only smile sheepishly at your remarks.

“I can’t help it. You look so pretty before bed.” You hum in response, making a note to do your skincare from here tonight.

“Anyways, this is the bronzer.” You place some underneath your cheek bone, blending in the warmer powder to bring in some colour to your face.

“That looks nice.” He nods in approval as he sees your face return to it’s normal shade. He continues to watch as you pull out a small compact of blush. You ignore his cheshire grin when you force a small smile to bring out the apples of your cheeks.

“Stop it.”

“I can’t help it, you look adorable.”

“It’s a stupid face. You’re not allowed to look anymore.” You chastise, putting away the pink powder. Internally, you can’t help but feel flattered. If a man likes your stupid makeup faces, he really loves you.

“Come on! You look so pretty.” You roll your eyes as you pick up your mascara.

“Be quiet for this one.” You instruct, ignoring the way he mock-zips his mouth. You bring the thoroughly coated wand to your lashes, gently coating them. You repeat the process and once you pull away, Steve lets out a breath you hadn’t realized he was holding.

“That looked horrifying!” He complains, climbing off the bed to get super close to your face until he’s convinced you hadn’t poked an eye out.

“I’m fine babe. See?” You flutter your eyes at him but his frown persists.

“Is that all?” He fixes a strand of your hair as you place your things in your makeup bag.

“Just lipgloss and I’m done.” You swipe the wand over your lips a few times, smiling at him when you’re done. The poor gloss lasts for a second before Steve swoops in to press his lips against yours messily. When he’s done, there’s sticky pink gloss on both of your lips and chins.

“There!” He smiles proudly. “Now we match.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington scenario #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington headcanon #steve harrington headcanons #steve harrington hc #steve harrington hcs #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington dialogue #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x reader fanfiction

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loveshotzz · 1 year ago

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bouncer!steve x fem!reader steve’s night.

🎵 I finally found someone that can make me laugh, hahaha you so crazy, I think I wanna have your baby.🎵

summary: You’ve got a crush on the new bouncer at The Foxy Lounge. Turns out he’s not very good at his job.

word count: 13.6k

warnings: 18 + 90’s AU// Steve is in his early 30’s, Your date gets drunk and says some night nice things, some mild violence (bar fights), possessive steve, fingering, smut (p in v) cream pie, ass eating (f! receiving), oral (f! receiving), dirty talk.

authors note: It’s finally here! Part two of Whatta man! Steve’s night. You don’t have to read Eddie’s Night to read this one, I just think it’s more fun if you do 😉 There’s LOTS of bartender!eddie in this fic if you miss him though. (he’s your bff) This part has been a long time coming (since march lol) and I’m so happy to finally share this with you. Thank you to all of my friends who have had to listen to me talk about this for months and all of you guys who have sent me asks about our favorite boys at the foxy lounge! I wouldn’t of been able to do this with out your endless support, and excitement for this little world. Thank you, ily forever 💗

The perks of moving into the apartment that presides above The Foxy Lounge were vast for a single girl like yourself, but the perks of becoming friends with the bartender that worked there seemed to make them endless.

Memorized orders and free drinks when he was feeling nice (which he almost always was), he wore the crown of wingman of the century with pride, Eddie always made sure you had a good time. It was days like today that were your favorite though, heading home from a shitty morning shift at work, you weren’t surprised when you tugged on the front door an hour before open and it wasn’t locked. The annoyed look on his face told you he wasn’t either. An irritated groan leaves his chest at the carelessness of the owner and your landlord before popping the caps off two beers with ease. The loud clink of metal to glass echoes in the empty bar, as he flips his bottle opener between his fingers like muscle memory stuffing it in his back pocket.

“He’s gonna get us robbed one day, and I’m just gonna take my favorite bottle for damages and let them have the rest at this point.” His smile shows the lack of truth behind his words when you sit in the stool in front of him.

“Lucky for the both of you, it’s always just me.” Winking when you take a swig, the bitter liquid and the company eases the bad day out of your bones almost instantly.

The beginnings of a relaxed sigh start to push past your lips when the jarring sound of his rings slapping against the wood of the bar to the tune of a drum roll has you tense right back up. You’re unable to stop the slam of your beer before deadpanning, “you know I hate when you do that-“

“My best buddy Steve starts tomorrow night, I finally got Rick to say yes.” Eddie’s excitement has him vibrating when he cuts you off to tell you the news of the latest Foxy Lounge employee. “You’re gonna have such a crush on him. I’m calling it now.” The smirk on his face and the arch of his brow dare you to challenge him as he leans forward into your space.

Rolling your eyes with a snort, you start picking at the white sticker wrapped around the bottle.

“As if you know my type, Munson.” You can’t control the twitch of your lips the second the words leave your mouth when you finally dare to meet his amused gaze.

Eddie knew your type better than anyone else. Watching the men and sometimes women you’d bring upstairs weekend after weekend. He had you pegged and the Cheshire smile on his face told you he knew it too.

“I can hear it now.” He changes the pitch of his voice so it sounds like a bad version of yours before he continues with an exaggerated batting of his lashes, “Oh Eddie, Steve is just so dreamy. Do you think he thinks I’m cute? Will you talk to him? Come on Eddie!”

“I do NOT talk like that, asshole!” Launching a handful of bar nuts at him, he raises his hands in mock surrender shaking out the few that got stuck in his hair with a booming laugh.

“I don’t think that's a nice way to treat the guy who not only didn’t kick you out but also gave you a free beer before we opened, sweetheart.” His dimpled grin and perfect smile almost has your stomach in butterflies.

“I basically live here, besides your boss is the one who left the door unlocked. Maybe it’s a good thing you’re upping your security around here,” you tease, gulping down the rest of the beer before sliding the empty bottle over.

“We’ll see about this Steve guy you won’t shut up about, who knows Eddie, maybe it’s you who’s got a crush.”

Sweeping up the mess you made behind his bar he smirks before wiggling his brows.

“Everyone’s got a crush on Steve, baby.”

The pink fluorescent lights of the Foxy Lounge sign that hangs outside your window paints your studio in a blush tinted glow. It bleeds through the sheer floor length curtains, softening its harshness in a way that you liked. The darkness outside always makes it shine brightest around this time, a constant fight with your overhead lamp before bed. Your eyes catch the glaring red numbers on your clear digital clock reading 8:45pm.

Shit. You’re late.

No Doubt’s I’m Just A Girl plays loud enough through your boom box speakers to drown out the murmurs of the bar downstairs that spill through the slight crack in your bedroom window. You finish the last touch ups to the bubble gum colored gloss that coats your lips, smacking them together loudly. You give yourself a sweet smile in the mirror before fluttering your lashes for good measure. The finishing touch.

Finally feeling ready enough to leave, you adjust the black velvet choker around your neck with lavender painted nails. They highlight the lime green tube top that wraps around your chest as you pull at your black maxi skirt that sits above your hips hugging your curves just right.

You give yourself one last once over while you slip on your clunky Steve Madden slides, telling yourself the whole time you didn’t get all done up for the new bouncer. Instead you tell yourself it’s because you want to get lucky with the guy that invited you to get last minute drinks conveniently at the bar you above.

Turning around to give your studio apartment the safety check, you shuffle over your baby blue carpet with loud clacks from your sandals to hurriedly straighten your pink comforter and snuff out your incense. Grabbing your bag, you rush out with a flip of the light switch, only getting two steps away before having to pop back in to grab your keys hanging by the door.

The platforms on your slides are heavy as you make your way down the staircase, the narrow hallway bouncing your steps off the walls despite the cushion of the ugly brown carpet. One hand on the banister and the other dragging along the wall for balance, you pick up your pace barreling towards the door. Pushing it open with more force than normal, you hit something on the other side, hard.

An oof and the sound of plastic skidding across the sidewalk is followed by the crash of a stool that must’ve belonged to whoever was sitting on it. Stepping onto the pavement with a clack from your sandals, you stop in your tracks when you see his broad shoulders first. Bent over, you watch him collect what looks like an orange Tamagotchi, stuffing it quickly in his back pocket before brushing the dust off his dark denim clad thighs. The way he fills his jeans has your mouth dry up and his muscles flex under the black cotton shirt that wraps tight around his torso, the seams barely containing what’s underneath. Turning around he runs a big hand through his honey colored locks that stop just below his ears, pushing the fly aways from his face while the shine of the street lamp highlights his cheekbones and sharp jaw.

God you hated when Eddie was right.

Hazel eyes rake over your form while yours follow the freckles that run along his neck that lead to small moles placed like a cluster of stars along his jaw. His chiseled nose runs down a narrow line with lips tinged pink like his cheeks. The expression on his face going from irritated to flirty in a matter of seconds flat, the whites of his teeth showing when he gives you an easy smile.

“I’m - oh my god, I’m so sorry. I’m running late and no one is ever sitting there and I - Are you okay?” Talking a mile a minute, you hate that he has your nerves getting the best of you.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Raising his hands up to stop you, the press of your thighs is instant when you see the silver band wrapped around the thickness of his middle finger. “No apologies necessary, it was an accident, honey.”

The endearment leaves his mouth while his lips turn his smile crooked, and it makes you dizzy. Bending down to grab the stool off the ground, a matching chain slips out from under his shirt and the glow above gives you a glimpse at the patch of thick chest hair hidden from sight.

“Besides, it’s not the first time a pretty girl has knocked me on my ass.” Folding his arms across his pecs, he leans against the brick of the bar crossing his legs at the ankles. The black boots that cover his feet look big and menacing despite his disposition.

Biting your bottom lip into a smile, you look up at him through shy lashes and you swear you hear him sigh at the sight.

“Well as long as you’re okay-“

“Steve,” he offers his name with a flash of his teeth again, a spark lighting in his eyes when he sees the way you react to it.

“Well you’ll probably see my face around here a lot,” you say, doing your best to ignore the way your cheeks burn.

“I sure hope so.” Pulling a toothpick out of his back pocket, he slides it between his lips. Jaw clenching when he bites down on the wood while his eyes roam your curves again before offering you another grin.

It makes you do one thing a man has never made you genuinely do. You giggle. Tucking your hair behind your ear, you hardly recognize yourself anymore.

“I was gonna say, 'cause I live upstairs.” Your voice is sweet despite the roll of your eyes, his jaw clenches against the wood. He liked that.

He only breaks his stare to follow the path of your finger, his eyes lingering on your open window for a second before bringing all his attention back on you. The tension grows even thicker when he kicks off the wall, realization hitting him. The soles of his boots are loud against the pavement when he closes the distance between you with two long strides. Getting close enough to smell the cinnamon on his breath, and the expensive cologne that lingers on his bronzed skin, you forget all about your date waiting for you inside.

“Eddie’s told me all about you.” Using the tip of his tongue, he pushes the toothpick to the other side of his mouth, his smirk telling you all you need to know.

“That’s funny, Eddie’s told me about you too,” you lick your lips, tasting the fruit of your gloss as you look up at him from under hooded shimmering lids, “Steve.”

He inches just a little closer to teeter on the edge of what’s appropriate before responding, “Oh yeah? Did you like what you heard baby?”

His smile is as sinful as it is blinding. A darkened gaze locked on yours as he pulls the tooth pick out his mouth letting the sharp end snag his bottom lip before stuffing it in his back pocket again.

The electricity in the air sparks and fizzes, standing close enough to see the freckles that line his nose and the specks of glitter smattered in a similar pattern on your cheeks.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Raising an eyebrow, your response has him sucking his teeth before rolling his tongue against the inside of his cheek accepting your answer with a nod of his head.

Pulling out a small red flashlight with a soft click of the button at the end, white light floods the dark. The beam roams over the expanse of your body with a purposeful path before stopping at his outstretched hand.

“I.D.?” Amusement evident in his voice, he wiggles his fingers at you keeping up with his charade. The motion daring to make a mess of your underwear.

You try to cover up your laugh with a fake scoff, making it come out loud enough for him to snort. Your lips twitch as you try to fight the losing battle with the smile threatening to break across your face.

“What? I need to be careful here sweetheart. It’s my first night, I gotta make sure you’re really who you say you are, and not just some pretty girl trying to flirt her way inside.” He keeps the perfect poker face while he tuts at you to hurry up for the invisible line behind you.

“Would it have worked?” you ask handing him your driver’s license, wincing internally at the picture he is about to see.

Brushing his fingers against yours when he takes it for closer examination, he huffs out a laugh before looking down at you with a smug grin.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” He winks like an expert before making a big show of bringing your ID close to his face like it might be a fake.

Tsking to himself as he reads it over, he peeks over at you with a sly smirk. “A whole year older than me. Good for you, I like older women.”

Closing the space that developed when you had to dig in your purse, you snatch the plastic out of his hand, relishing in the way his breath hitches because of it. “I’m shocked you can read Steve, Eddie’s taste can be a bit…shoddy.”

“I think I’m pretty good at it actually, I’m good at reading a lot of things.” Ignoring your jab he’s quick to regain his confidence. “Things like, I don’t know, body language.” The spice of the cinnamon returns when he pulls out his toothpick again. He flashes you his pearly whites when he bites down, keeping his eyes locked on yours, a silent dare to prove him wrong.

Like magnets finding each other, the toes of his boots brush against your sandals. When did he get this close again?

Mariah Carey’s Fantasy cuts off any witty response that sits on the tip of your tongue as the bar door creaks open, rudely snapping you both back to reality. A boy who looks barely above the legal age is the culprit for popping your bubble, stopping dead in his tracks when the flirting bouncer’s attention redirects itself to where it should be. You already miss it.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up, punk.” Grabbing the kid by the collar of his shirt, he mutters a ‘shit’ under his breath.

You take a step back, your eyes meeting Eddie's from inside, the commotion catching his and a few other patrons' stares, including your date.

Oh yeah, you had a date.

“I’m gonna need to see some I.D.” Steve’s voice drops deeper after he clears his throat, if his tamagotchi didn’t beep right after, signaling it’s need to be fed it would’ve been more intimidating. Your own digital pet buried at the bottom of your bag probably doing the same, already reborn fresh this morning from forgetting it at home while at work the night before.

“Umm, you see, I left my wallet at home,” the kid starts to stammer, the metal of his braces showing when he gives the bouncer a nervous grin.

Almost forgetting he had an audience, Steve’s eyes meet yours, softening before that million dollar smile takes over his handsome face.

“You’re free to go in. You know where to come when you wanna talk about all those things you liked hearing about me.”

Your stomach flutters despite the roll of your eyes at his words and you're reminded crossing the threshold that you’re here to meet another man, already scolding yourself for not taking Eddie’s warning seriously.

“I bet you’d like that wouldn’t you, Steve?” You linger in the door frame, looking at him from over your shoulder, and it makes the corners of his eyes crinkle.

“You already know the answer to that, gorgeous.” His toothpick switches sides again before finally going back to doing his job, tugging the kid closer.

“I.D. or no entry dick head.”

Despite there being no line outside, the bar was pretty full. The low buzz of conversation before the drinks really start to hit filling the crowded space. Mariah finishes her last high note when your eyes connect with Eddie’s before meeting Devin’s. He’s dressed like Danny Tanner and it makes you cringe. Pushing up his wire frame glasses, he waves so eagerly the Salmon’s that cover his dress shirt look like they're swimming in the background rapids with the movements of his arm. He’s completely oblivious to Eddie mocking him behind his back, mouthing ‘DORK’ with a shit eating grin before finally attending to the girl with smeared makeup that had been desperately trying to get his attention from the other end of the bar.

You take a deep breath, readjusting the strap of your bag before you push your chin up making your way over. Determined to have a good time, you put on your best face, returning his wave with forced enthusiasm while Steve’s smile etches itself into your memory permanently.

Paula Abdul’s Vibeology starts pumping through the speakers around you, the sticky floor vibrating with the bass under your sandals as you sway your hips to the beat. He stands up when you approach his spot at the bar and you notice his button up is tucked into mustard colored corduroy slacks, and it makes you miss the tight fitting denim of the man outside even more. Shaking your head to try and get rid of all the thoughts swirling in your head about the guy you weren’t on a date with, you desperately try to match Devin’s excited energy when he opens his arms for a hug.

“I was starting to get worried you were standing me up.” He laughs nervously as you tuck yourself into his chest. Your eyes peek over his shoulder meeting Eddie’s again as he slides your favorite drink over (tequila and pineapple), and god you wish you hadn’t.

Wiggling his eyebrows, you flip him the bird behind Devin’s back watching the bartender pretend to catch it and put it in his pocket making your eyes hit the back of your skull.

“No, sorry, I just lost track of the time.” Not a total lie you leave out the fact that you forgot about him completely just a few minutes ago. Pulling away, you avoid his eyes, too scared they’ll give you away.

“All is forgiven, pretty lady.” He bows slightly, and you have to ignore the way Eddie snorts as he walks past with hands full of Miller Lite.

“You’re so sweet,” cringing at how fake your voice comes out but Devin doesn’t seem to notice as you both take your seats, knees barely touching between the space of the stools.

“Thanks for agreeing to drinks tonight, I’ve been wanting to ask you out for a while now. Just didn’t know, w-with office etiquette a-and all,” stuttering, his nerves get the best of him. He tries to hide it behind a sip of his beer.

“No, I’m, I’m glad you did,”you lie, your eyes flicking to the door one more time before grabbing your drink. An awkward silence settles between the two of you as you press your lips to the rim to slurp at the top to prevent any spill over.

God, you already want this to be over.

The conversation does get easier after your first drink, the flirting a little less forced as your hand finds its way to squeeze his thigh when you laugh at something he says that’s only half funny. Choking on the foam from his beer from your sudden touch, he wipes his mouth bashful from his outburst. Eddie murmurs a “go easy on him tiger” when he gets you a refill, earning him your bratty tongue.

“So you transferred here last year from Portland, right Devin? What’s it like over there?” Resting your chin on your knuckles, you look up at him from under your lashes enjoying the way it makes his breath catch.

“It was- It was a lot different from here…”

Finally on your A game, you try not to pay attention when the front door opens behind your date. It’s to no avail when you catch his figure in your peripheral and you can’t fight it anymore. All the progress you’ve made going out the window when Steve makes his first reappearance since your arrival.

Toothpick replaced with what looked like Big Red chewing gum, his hazel eyes scan the crowd before landing on you. The smirk that you’d been trying to forget tugs at the corners of his lips, and any luck that Devin might have had with you tonight disappears like that.

The bouncer looks pointedly at the man beside you, sizing him up, smile stretching wider when he assesses his threat. Leaning against the wall, he crosses his arms across his chest so the sleeves of his shirt look like they are being pushed to their limits as the muscles in his biceps flex. Hips pushed out in a way that’s daring you to look below his waist, he throws you a wink with a snap of his gum.

“...So yeah, that’s the long and short , it,” Devin finishes with a proud smile and you just nod, not catching a single word he said.

Steve’s stare is relentless, and your body responds to it without you having to even meet his gaze. His tongue swipes across his bottom lip, jaw clenching with every hard chew of his gum. Pushing himself off the wall, he starts a slow walk towards you. Big heavy steps bring him closer, every thud of his boots making your thighs clench, as you try desperately to stay concentrated.

Your date’s in the middle of another story that sounds like white noise, your lack of attention making him a babbling mess. He doesn’t notice the way Steve stops next to him first, giving him a once over from up close to make sure he wasn’t missing something from afar before coming up to you with the kind of smile that’s dripping with trouble.

“....So the logistics of it are kinda crazy when you think-“

“Just checking on my pretty new friend over here,” Steve cuts Devin off, not interested in anything but you. His large hand finds the small of your back, his palm almost big enough to cover the exposed skin between your skirt and top. It sends a shiver up your spine that the pad of his thumb soothes when it rubs circles over your sprouting goosebumps. “Having a good night, baby?”

The pet name falls so smoothly off his tongue that it takes Devin a minute to realize that it even left Steve’s mouth, a scowl souring his face when he sees the way your eyes glaze over looking up at the bouncer.

“Yeah, I’m having a real nice time Steve.” Sucking your bottom lip between your teeth, he notices the subtle way you lean into his touch. Your body needy for more.

“You better be.” He winks, letting the blunt ends of his nails scratch along your back before adding salt to Devin’s wound, “And you know where to find me if that changes.”

There’s a knowing smirk that plays on the edges of his mouth, biting his lip he finally tears his eyes away from you to give a head nod to the date you’d forgotten about for the second time tonight. Steve tosses him a wink too, a gesture that makes Devin’s jaw clench. Steve opens his mouth to say something that was sure to piss him off more, but he’s cut off by the sound of Eddie’s rings slamming hard on the bar behind you.

“Dude! What the fuck are you doing inside? Do you know how many people have walked in without getting checked? It's PEAK hours!” The bartender's eyes are frantic, fingers running through his curls as he yells at his friend. “Quit flirting and go do your job. Also, is that a fucking kid man?”

Eddie points to the boy that the bouncer stopped earlier who was snooping around abandoned tables in search for leftovers he was definitely not of legal age for, Steve’s cheeks tint the color of your lipgloss when he looks at you with sheepish eyes. The confidence he was dripping with disappears into embarrassment while doing his best to ignore the smug look on your date’s face.

“Calm down man, it was three minutes! I’ll get rid of the fuckin’ kid. Again.” He rubs the back of his neck as he walks away, stalking towards the boy who looks like he’s seen a ghost. “Hey asshole! You must’ve grown eight years in twenty minutes for me to be seeing you here!”

The boy raises his hands up in surrender slowly backing away, giving Steve an opportunity to turn around to toss you one last smile and wiggle his fingers at Devin before focusing on the high schooler who is already halfway out the door. The kid's walk turns into a run when Steve cracks his knuckles for show, following him out with long strides, disappearing back outside and out of sight.

You’re left with awkward silence between you and your date as Eddie stomps away muttering under his breath. Devin clears his throat, twirling his beer, the glass against the wood making a sound that starts to grate on your nerves. He’s daring you to look at him. The huff he exhales afterwards begs you to look. Your mind races with ideas of how to get out of this and when you dare to finally take a peek, he’s looking forward, emptying the last of his bottle.

“I’m gonna go smoke a cigarette!” You blurt out, grabbing your bag and leaving no time for a response. Your sandals clack as you power walk to the door. To Steve.

The summer night is sticky on your face when you step out of the bar, the sound of a girl’s sniffled “You’re right Steve” directing your stare to the bouncer you were looking for. Sitting on the very stool you knocked him off of, his big boots sit on the lowest footrest with his knees spread wide. Inviting. His eyes connect with yours, widening a bit when you smirk at him while getting yourself comfortable on the brick wall on the opposite side of the door. Digging your cigarettes out of your purse, you notice the girl next to him has mascara running down her cheeks that she only makes worse when she wipes them with the back of her hand.

“You know Maryanne, it sounds like this isn’t the first time he’s done this to you. I think it’s time to kick him to the curb. You deserve better.” He speaks to her like they’ve been friends their whole lives and you have no idea how he’s learned so much about her in the few minutes he’s been outside. Crossing his arms as he leans back enough for the legs of the stool to pull up, he catches himself with his shoulders against the wall behind him.

“He sounds like a chump if you ask me,”you chime in, lighting your cigarette. Steve’s smile shines under the pink luminescent sign above him when he hears your voice. The wooden legs of his stool smacking loud against the cement when he pushes off the wall.

She’s startled by your sudden appearance, not noticing when you came out - too lost in her own world. She gives you a weak smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes before she nods, tugging at her high pony and somehow making it higher. The sequined scrunchy in her hair catches the street light as she tries hyping herself up to return to whoever was making her cry inside.

“He is a chump, but most men are.” She sighs, her shoulders relaxing a little more as she calms down.

“You’ve got this honey, tell him to fuck off and go home with Lisa if that’s what he wants so bad,” Steve champions, patting her on the back, a new layer to Maryanne’s story being revealed. His eyes flick back to you as you take a drag, the mossy green going dark when he watches your cheeks hollow.

“Thanks for listening Steve, I’m gonna go back in now.” She wipes her nose one more time, before giving you a polite head nod.

“Have Eddie make you something sweet, and tell him it’s on me.” The bouncer winks, giving her the boost of confidence she needs before opening the door you just came out of. Monifah’s Touch It adds to the tension between Steve and you when it leaks out of the bar as she disappears inside. The bass thumps against the brick, leaving the song just muffled enough to be background noise when it closes behind her.

The air is heavier, thicker with something you both know is there. Playing hard to get, you don’t meet his gaze, despite feeling it over every curve and dip of your body. Inhaling another hit of nicotine, you lift your head up to exhale the smoke into the dark sky, extending your neck for him to see before you finally give in and chance a glance in his direction.

He looks far too handsome, smiling wide when you meet his eyes, all his perfectly white teeth baring themselves at you in a way that makes your legs shake.

“Missed me already baby?” His feet hit the sidewalk, his man spread somehow bigger this way as he scoots closer to the edge of the stool.

“You’re not very good at your job, are you?” You grin, successfully dodging the answer he already knows as your head hits the side of the building. Tilting your chin in his direction with your lip tucked between your teeth, you catch his narrowed glare.

“Nice try sweetheart, I used to watch Road House, religiously. I learned from the best. I’m just distracted,” the buttery smoothness of his voice returns, the last of his sentence coming out in a purr.

“Distracted?” You quirk a brow, not giving into him just yet.

“Yes, very much so and I regret to inform you that it’s all your fault too.” He sticks his bottom lip out at you in a pout, earning the giggle he’d been trying to get again since he first heard it, even if it's accompanied by your pretty eyes rolling in the back of your head.

“I’m on a date, Steve.” Even though you know it’s a weak comeback at this point, you still give it and he doesn’t miss a beat.

“Where? I don’t see him.”

Your cheeks heat up at his observation so you take another drag of your half smoked cigarette to try and hide the way he’s affecting you.

“I’m supposed to be quittin’, but you’re makin’ it look too good, pretty girl. Let me have a puff?” His question is an invitation, making the first move to call your bluff, to get you closer.

“Is that why you seem to have a cinnamon addiction?” you tease, not surprised when you kick off the wall accepting it with a smirk and an exaggerated sway of your hips.

He licks his lips while his eyes roam the length of your body unashamed, one large hand raking through his hair when you stop close enough to smell the topic of discussion on his breath.

“Could be addicted to worse,” he murmurs, not sure where to look having you between his legs like this.

“It’s a Newport, S‘that okay, Steve?” you ask him from underneath flirting lashes. His breath hitching before a sly smirk spreads across his pink lips.

“More than okay baby.” He leans closer, fingers wrapping around the plush curve of your hip to anchor you in place.

Tipping up on your toes, your hand comes down on his thigh making the muscle flex against your palm, your touch sending shocks through the rough denim while the other holds the gloss stained end up to his mouth.

Steve holds your stare when his lips wrap around where yours just were. His nails dig half crescent moons into your exposed skin as his cheeks hollow out. You can feel your heartbeat between your legs, your brows meeting in the middle when he tugs you even closer before tilting his head up. The thick expanse of his neck on full display as he blows out his drag, adam's apple bobbing in the light making the moles dance across his skin.

“The strawberry really sets it off.” He grins as his hand dares to slide down the top curve of your ass, making it his new home when you make no moves to get away from him.

“Thanks, it’s my favorite gloss.” You shrug, pretending to unphased by his teasing, but the mess in your panties would give you away if he could see.

“Maybe I could get a better taste,” his words are bold, but his free hand is bolder. Soft fingertips play with the top hem of your skirt, daring to dip under the fabric every once and awhile and he swears he hears you whimper.

“You want more?” Your voice comes out small, dripping in honey just for him. You know what he really wants, but he’s not gonna get it yet.

“God, if you’ll let me honey.” There’s a light squeeze on the dough of your ass, and it makes you flutter around nothing.

You lean in slowly, your hand moving further up his thigh watching the way his chest starts to rise and fall from it. Stretching the cotton of his shirt with every breath. The fingers that had been exploring the top of your skirt start a path up to the bottom of your top. A low hum coming from under his breath when the sweetness of your body lotion hits his nose.

His eyes shut when your faces get close enough that he feels like he can taste the strawberry that he wants so bad. He doesn’t notice when you pull back at the last second to replace your kiss with another puff until your cigarette shoves past his puckered lips.

When he opens them, he’s met with your giggles, a sound he wants on a loop. He pretends to glare, still taking the hit you were offering him, exhaling it through his nose like an angry bull. He opens his mouth to chastise you but the beeping of his digital pet interrupts his intimidating moment again.

“Gotta get that?” Your lips twitch while you try to contain your laugh, flicking the cigarette onto the street.

“Listen, my best friend got it for me. I thought it was incredibly stupid, and I definitely told her it was too.” The hand on your waist leaves to dig his Tamagotchi out of his front pocket. “But now I’m attached to the little guy.”

The key chain sized toy lights up in his hand, as he starts to feed it with a press of a button.

“Mine died yesterday,” you admit and the laugh you’d been fighting off echoes loudly when he looks up at you horrified.

“What? Do you have it with you now?”he questions as the small happy tune plays signaling that his pet is fully satisfied.

“She’s somewhere in my bag, don’t worry she was reborn this morning,” your words don’t reassure him considering they seem to need food every thirty minutes and you haven’t pulled it out once since he’s met you.

“Sounds like you want her to die again to me.” Steve’s very real concern about your Tamagotchi has you smirking.

“They die so easily, you’re telling me yours hasn’t died?”

Your jaw drops when he shakes his head ‘no’, a smugness taking over his handsome features.

“Steve, that’s like really hard to do.” You don’t know whether you should be impressed or roast him but when his hand grips at your ass one more time you decide it’s the first.

“Better give her to me for the night baby, I’ll keep her nice and healthy for my favorite girl.” Stuffing his back into his pocket, he holds his palm open for you in a vow to keep your digital pet alive and an excuse to see you later.

Rolling your eyes playfully, you obey his wishes. Digging to the bottom of your bag till you find your purple one. The screen already going off, and the muffled beeping that signaled the need for it to be fed finally becomes loud enough to hear.

“See! I told you. On the cusp of death already.”

You drop it in his hand, right as an older trucker comes barreling out of the bar reminding you where you’re at and that Devin is still waiting inside. Again.

“Fuck, I should go back in.” You sigh as your fingers play with the seam on the leg of his jeans.

“Go back in and tell that guy to get lost,” the bouncer almost whines, his grip on your hip tightening before he lets you go.

“Steve,” you huff but the smile on your face gives him hope.

“Just saying sweetheart, could be fun.” He shrugs, putting on an air of nonchalance while your Tamagotchi dangles from his thumb.

You both know who you really want to go home with tonight.

The bubble you and Steve are in pops as soon as you get back inside The sound of the distant cars on the freeway and Steve’s voice is replaced with Return of the Mack and the crowd that was at a simmer when you first got here is now at a full boil.

You have to get rid of Devin.

He’s right where you left him, hunched over and twirling his beer bottle on top of the bar. You notice the three empty shot glasses before you see Eddie dropping off another one while giving you the kind of eyes that say ‘Come take care of your date’ as he walks away. Taking a deep breath, you make your way towards him going over all the ways you can let him down easy while your nerves drown out the little bit of guilt you had for ditching him.

“Heeeey,” your voice is high pitched, awkwardness dripping from its tone when you finally return to your stool next to him.

Crickets.

You freeze - he’s ignoring you. How can you get rid of him if he’s ignoring you? Your eyes shift around the bar nervously, offering an awkward tight lipped smile when anyone meets your stare. You search for Eddie again, hoping to silently ask for help but his back is to you, clearly putting the moves on a girl at the other end.

“Devin.”

You hope that saying his name will elicit the desired response but that dwindles quickly when he chugs the rest of his beer, continuing his charade and keeping his gaze forward before slamming the empty bottle down.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” he grumbles, irritation laced in every word before he pushes off the stool still not meeting your eyes.

You wait till he’s out of earshot before you let out a groan, your long disappearance clearly pissed him off. Propping yourself up by your elbows on the sticky bar, you close your eyes, rubbing your temples while you try to think of the right way to go about this. Eddie’s knowing chuckle is the last thing you want to hear but that’s just how the night is going now.

“You pretty little scoundrel!” He slaps the spot in front of you forcing your eyes open, his smile only widening when you glare at him.

“He’s so pissed and now thanks to you,” gesturing towards the empty shot glasses Eddie gets rid of with quick hands, you avoid the real reason, “He’s gonna be trashed!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa sweetheart. I’m not the one who can’t keep their hands off Stevie boy. And on a date too? Tsk tsk tsk.” He crosses his arms with a shake of his head, “Now you broke poor Derek’s -“

“Devin.”

“Whatever - fish guy’s heart. Aren’t you in a little predicament hmm?” Eddie hums the last part, but you can see the excited glint in his eyes. He loves watching your escapades.

“Listen,” you can’t help the giggle that bubbles past your strawberry lips under his knowing gaze, “When you told me he was hot Eddie, you didn’t tell me he was that hot.”

Smirking, you enjoy watching the way his face contorts knowing that was a damn lie.

“Are you kidding?” He throws his hands in the air, giving you the reaction you were baiting him for, “It was the first thing I told you.”

You laugh loudly at his exasperation with your antics, almost forgetting about Devin entirely for the third time tonight.

“Have fun figuring out this little love triangle you’ve created, I need to get to the rest of the paying customers so I can get back to that hottie at the end of the bar.” He points to the girl he was talking to earlier who’s sipping a drink she looks surprised to even like.

“I bet you aren’t charging her for anything are you?” You narrow your eyes playfully, cackling when he rolls his waving you off as he walks away.

Sliding off the stool, you tug up your tube top, ready to give it to Devin straight, more than eager to get back outside again.

“I knew the guys in the office said you were easy, but I didn’t think you’d be spreading your legs for anything that walked on our date.” Devin’s voice comes as a surprise, but the tight grip on your arm pulling you to him is an even bigger one.

Searing rage fills every part of your body at the fact that he put his hands on you, palms flat on his chest, you use all your strength to shove him away. Shock paints his features, not expecting you to fight back so aggressively. All the drinks he’s had make him stumble back, losing his footing almost falling into the couple next to him.

“Well I’m sure as shit not spreading them for you!” you spit, looking him up and down with disgust before putting a finger in his face, “And your shirt? It’s fucking ugly.”

You give him one last once over before shaking your head and walking away. Heading back towards the entrance, you notice Steve inside again. A hard glare is set on his face, nostrils flaring as he zeros in on Devin behind you who’s still trying to regain his balance.

God, it’s the hottest he’s looked all night.

Steve’s hazel eyes meet yours and they instantly soften when you can’t help but smile as he opens the door for you.

“Thanks Stevie,” using Eddie’s nickname, you run your hands across his chest when you walk by, just to add salt to Devin’s wound.

The flush that paints his cheeks tells you how much he likes it.

“When I told you to ditch your date, I didn’t mean to fist fight him, honey,” he teases, following you outside, letting the chipped red door shut behind you and muffling the sounds of the bar again.

“He got mad about my little disappearance before I could let him down easy.” Turning around, you bite your bottom lip to try to hide your growing smile.

“Poor guy.” Steve grins before taking the two steps to close the gap, to crowd your space. Cinnamon fanning across your face, “Never stood a chance.”

It’s harder for you to breathe when he looks at you like he wants to kiss you, but before you can respond, the door flies open.A drunk Devin stumbling out with a glare breaking you two apart.

“Of course, of FUCKING course. Not even two seconds later? You really are a slut, huh?” Devin seethes, stumbling out onto the sidewalk.

“I’m really going to need you to watch your mouth champ. No need to call girls names. You’re a big boy.” Steve’s tone is condescending as he squares up, making sure you’re behind him.

“You think you’re so fucking cool,” Devin scoffs before hiccuping, “Careful with this one, she’s probably sucked your buddy’s dick inside too.”

“Yeah, that’s enough, asshole. Go home, before I have to beat some respect into that ugly skull of yours.” Steve cracks his knuckles again, but it doesn’t have the same effect as before, Devin only raising his eyebrows at the bouncer.

“Respect? That’s funny. The whore behind you hasn’t heard of it.”

Steve loses his cool and like a flash he’s on him. Pulling his fist back Steve moves just a little too slow and Devin clocks him right in the jaw. The sound of bone against bone echoes loudly into the night. Stumbling back, Steve cradles where an ugly bruise will start forming in the morning, rubbing it out. He cracks his neck before barreling towards Devin, taking him down to the ground like a football player.

In a flurry of fists and cuss words, Devin somehow gets Steve pinned. The alcohol and anger flowing through his system turns him into The Hulk. Your screams for them to stop fall on deaf ears while they continue to roll around on the ground. Panic sets in when you realize neither man is going to stop. Doing the only thing you know how to do in these situations, you get Eddie.

Frantic, you open the door, ignoring the fact that Third Eye Blind is playing at the exact worst time, you scream Eddie’s name loud enough to silence the bar.

“Eddie! It’s bad. Steve needs you!”

He looks up from a clearly flirtatious conversation with the girl from before, both of their eyes landing on you as you get your friends attention. He grumbles, grabbing her hands saying something to her that makes her nod bashfully before jumping over the bar top. Jogging out the front, he towers easily over the two men, neither one of you bothering to check the red heads I.D. that walks in after you.

“The first fucking night man!” Eddie yells at Steve, grabbing Devin by the back of his shirt pulling him off the bouncer with ease, but not before Steve gets one more cheap shot in.

He wrestles against Eddie’s grip for a second before finally giving up with a hiccup, hocking a loogie in Steve’s direction.

“You done?” The bartender's face is unamused, as he waits for Devin to nod. “I never wanna see you or your shitty ass style at my bar again. Beat it bozo before I give you a matching black eye to go with the one Steve gave you.”

Two against one is too much for Devin to take on, so he raises his hands up in surrender when Eddie lets him go. Rolling his tongue against his cheek he shoots you one last glare before turning on his heel. Flipping everyone off as he starts down the sidewalk. Steve returns the gesture, spitting at his retreating form.

“You good?” Eddie asks, extending his hand for his friend to take.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Just hate that guy.” Steve mumbles, looking everywhere but at you while he straightens his shirt and dusts off his jeans with bloody knuckles.

“Your hand dude, I can’t have you bleeding all over people I.D’s. and I know Rick doesn’t have a first aid kit. At least I’ve never seen one.” Eddie rubs the back of his neck, stress coming in the form of knitted brows.

“I’ve got one,” you mumble, finally finding your voice and the bartender claps, wiping his hands clean of the situation.

“There, go play nurse with lover boy and get out of my hair tonight. I’m like this close,” he pinches two fingers together to show “to scoring and you both have been fucking it up every chance you can get. I swear to god.”

Eddie waves you off as he makes his way back in, and you can feel the shift in energy between you and the bouncer you’ve been wanting all night.

Steve’s quiet the whole walk up the stairs to your apartment, fuming with anger and embarrassment, the confidence from before gone while the bruise on his jaw deepens and he cradles his bleeding knuckles.

“This is me,” you break the silence cringing, your voice amplified in the walls of the narrow hallway while you dig out your key.

“Thanks for this, angel,” his words come out in just above a whisper but at least it’s something.

The endearment has a smile creeping across your face and you finally dare to turn around to get a look at him after you hear the click of your lock. You press your back against your open door, it’s your turn to extend an invitation.

“Anytime Stevie.”

His face softens the minute he lays his eyes on you again, jealous of the way you bite your bottom lip sweetly, he wishes it was him.

You let Steve into your world one heavy boot at a time, locking the door behind you. Watching the way his dimmed eyes brighten, curiosity winning over any leftover irritation. The ghost of a smirk twitches at the corners of his lips while he walks the small space of your studio taking everything in. The neon sign outside your window is the only light that illuminates it, shadows dancing off trinkets on shelves and pictures on walls, he was getting a glimpse of you.

He stops in the middle of your room, right at the edge of your bed. The dark denim and leather that cover him are a stark contrast against your baby blue rug, but you think he looks like he belongs here. You watch the way he takes in your hastily made bed, licking his lips when he sees a pair of panties that didn’t quite make it in the laundry basket in the corner. The radio you’d forgotten to turn off plays a commercial, filling the space between you, and you aren’t prepared for when he puts his full attention back on you again after not having it for the past twenty minutes. Your body responds immediately to the playful glint in his eye.

“Cute place, for a cute girl.” He grins, running his good hand through his hair before he walks over to the window to take a look at your view.

“I bet you say that to all of em’,” you tease because it’s easier to do with his back to you. Making your way to the bathroom, nerves burst like butterflies in your stomach.

“You’re the only one baby.”

His response is quick as he turns around, the flirting you’d grown accustomed to coming back like a raging storm. He watches your hips while you walk the short distance with a heavy stare that covers every part of you. Leaning against the door frame with your curves on full display, something shifts behind his eyes. Flipping the lightswitch, white beams break apart the pink, highlighting even more of you for him to drink in.

“Come on handsome, let’s get you patched up.”

His cheeks flush at the new nickname and it's his turn to bite his lip in a shy smile for you.

It doesn’t take more than a few steps for his long legs, the wood creaking under his weight. Pressing your back to the frame, he stops in front of you with one foot over the threshold and the other still in your room. He takes up so much space. His biceps flex when he reaches for your hip, tugging you even closer, you can smell the menthol still lingering on his breath. On instinct your palm hits his chest, muscles dancing under heated skin as you tilt your chin up to meet his eyes. Squeezing at your softness before he speaks, he lets his middle finger dip under the top of your skirt.

“I really meant it when I said thank you back there. Just need you to know that.” His finger dares to dip lower, rubbing circles that make your back arch, hips pushing forward on a search for his. The curve of your stomach touches the cool metal of his belt buckle and the heat of his body sets fire between your thighs.

“I know you did,” your voice is sweet for him, the tone you know he likes while your hand moves down the dip between his pecs, “Thank you for sticking up for me.”

You can feel the coarse hair that starts at the top of his belly button where your hand stops, and you swear you feel him twitch in his pants. A second one of his fingers finds its way under your skirt and another subtle tug gets you even closer. So close that all you’d have to do is stand on your tiptoes for your lips to touch.

“Anything for you, pretty girl,” he breathes, spice and tobacco taking over. His adam’s apple bobs when he catches the way you start staring at his lips, the gloss on your own shimmering in the new light.

“Anything?” Quirking your brow with a smirk, your innuendo makes him moan and his hold on you tighten.

“Absolutely.” Ducking his head lower so his nose brushes against the bridge of yours, he dares you to make the first move.

“In that case…” Pressing your toes down to push yourself up, the playful glint in your eye goes unnoticed by him.

Your lips are a ghost, his top one barely brushing against your bottom, it's enough for him to taste the strawberry he wanted more of outside but not enough to satisfy. His eyes flutter closed waiting to feel their full plushness but your words bring him back to reality.

“Sit on the toilet for me.”

The specks of emerald shine again when his eyes snap open to see you flat on your feet with a grin. Groaning loudly with fake irritation, he lets go of you in exasperated defeat, letting his head fall back and hit the wood of the frame.

“What? We came up here for my first aid kit, didn't we?” You giggle after you say it, you don’t mean it.

“Sure, sure, yeah, yeah.” Nodding, he runs a hand through his hair while he looks around your bathroom.

It smells like your coconut body wash and it drives him crazy. He takes an unexpected step forward, his hand finding its way back to your hip to push you against the wall. One heavy boot between your wedged sandals, getting just close enough to kiss you. Is he going to?

It's your eyes that flutter closed this time, your fingers wrapping themselves around his belt loops again. He’s tentative with his injured hand when he uses it to cradle your jaw. His palm is soft as it covers half your neck, his thumb pushing up against your chin to tilt your face up to his. He runs the tip of his nose along your cheek and you feel your knees start to get weak, a whimper begging to fall from your parted lips.

“If that’s the only thing we’re here to do then we should get to it then, huh?”

Just as quick as he invades your space, he leaves it. The porcelain of your toilet seat cover clunks loudly when he drops himself on it. Spread out like on the stool outside, he takes over the room, leaving you to catch your breath with a smug grin.

It’s a staring contest with narrowed eyes after that, but the twitch of your lips tells him you aren’t actually mad. He snorts when you clear your throat to regain your composure, purposely ignoring the obvious when you bend over to open the cabinet under the sink, pulling out the bright red zip up bag.

“We need to wash your knuckles first, then I’ll put some ointment on them and wrap it up for you. We’ll keep it that way for the night and we can check on it in the morning.” The words leave your mouth before you can stop them and he catches the slip up instantly.

“Oh? You need to keep me overnight for observations?”

You bite your lip to try and hide your smile, grabbing a washcloth running it under hot water instead of looking at him.

“You know what I meant, I’ll come check on it tomorrow when you get to work.” You don’t even believe your lie, and the toothy smile you catch from the corner of your eye tells you he doesn’t either.

“But nurse, I don’t know. I think I should stay, I got hit in the face too. Concussions you know? I really shouldn’t be alone tonight.” He lays it on thick, eating up the way he sees you loving it spreading across your face when you ring out the soapy rag.

You don’t try to hide it when you finally face him, or when you settle between his legs for the second time tonight. The new position has him eye level with your chest, easier access to his lips. You hold your palm out for him, your hand disappearing completely when he drapes his wounded one over it.

“Concussion, huh? Are you feeling light headed Steve?” You play along giving your best impression of a medical professional.

He hisses when you press the damp cloth to his knuckles, sucking in air between his teeth when you start to clean. The soothing circles the pad of your thumb rubs on the side of his hand is almost enough to distract him from it.

“Yeah, but that started before I got hit.”

You finally dare to meet his gaze, a flattered smile spreading wide across your face that you try to play down with a roll of your eyes.

“Hmmm,” you hum to yourself, deciding not to give in just yet as you switch from the rag to the ointment, getting the bandaging and medical tape out.

“I mean, you’re the professional honey. You tell me.” You feel his good hand tug at the bottom of your skirt while you smear the neosporin on his knuckles with a q-tip, his long fingers flexing at the cooling effect.

“It started before you got hit?” You question with a fake pensive expression, gently taking his palm in your hand to start the wrapping process.

“Yeah, you see, this girl hit me with a door earlier. Knocked me clean off my stool.” He makes the motion of him falling with a swipe of his hand, “ and I haven’t been the same since if I’m being completely honest.”

It takes everything inside you to not give him the satisfaction of a laugh, the way you met coming back to the forefront of your mind.

“Some would argue putting your stool in front of the door like that is kinda stupid, but that's just my professional opinion.” Your shrug earns a loud laugh from him and you relish in it, promising yourself you’ll get him to do it again.

“All done.” You let go of his hand and he already misses you holding it, but the proud look on your face is a good distraction while you admire your handy work.

He holds it up, and you still can’t get over just how big they are. Curling his fingers in before extending them, he only winces slightly from the pain. The pressure of the bandage already helping. He jumps slightly when the backs of your fingers smooth over the fresh bruise forming on his jaw, the stubble tickling your skin. His eyes watch yours as they rake over the damage, the softness of your touch almost enough to make his eyelids heavy when you stroke the sore spot again.

“What do you think, huh?” His question comes out quiet, the playful edge gone while both his hands find the back of your legs. Rough fingertips run up your calves, catching the bottom of your skirt as they go, “Are you gonna keep me baby?”

A shiver runs up your spine when he hits the back of your thighs and you feel yourself getting pulled closer. He drags his nose up the bare skin of your sternum while his hands grab doughy handfuls just below the curve of your ass. The sound of your moan when his fingers get high enough to just barely graze the soaked material between your weakening legs sends him into overdrive. Growling, he nips at the tops of one of your breasts.

“Come on, tell me, what’s it gonna be?” Despite trying to sound confident, there’s a desperation in the way he asks. He knows you want it but he needs you to say it.

It’s when his fingers slip under the lace trim of your panties that you finally give in with a gentle grab of his chin. His eyes are black when they meet yours, the ends of his nails digging into soft skin.

“Yeah, I’m gonna keep you.” You give into an urge you’ve had since you laid eyes on him, tangling your fingers in his hair as you spread yourself open for his hands to wander.

He doesn’t hold back anymore and you’re reminded of just how tall he actually is when he stands up. His actions are quick and with purpose, the strength you knew was behind those muscles showing itself when he lifts you onto the edge of the sink with your skirt rucked up to your hips. He man handles you in a way no one ever has and you feel it light a fire in your gut. Impatient for his next move, you grab the collar of his shirt while his hands spread wide over the tops of your thighs, your lips finally getting to do what they’ve wanted all night.

It’s soft at first, both of you moving slow as you figure out what the other likes, careful not to hurt his jaw. One of his hands finds its way back to your cheek, the pad of his thumb rubbing the length of the bone while his tongue begs you to open up. He traces the top of your lip, shuddering at the taste of the strawberry and it makes him wonder if your skin tastes like the coconut he smells.

You give him the access he wants, your tongues meeting in the middle, making the fire that had been begging to consume you pour out from your fingertips that bury themselves into the roots at the nape of his neck. You need more. The hard length that has been fighting against the denim of his jeans presses hard into where you want his attention, your legs wrap around him - silently begging him to do it again.

One arm snakes around your lower back, holding you flush against his chest, the grind of his hips giving you the friction that makes you keen. A moan and a breathless “fuck” is what breaks your lips apart when his zipper catches your swollen clit with just the right amount of pressure. He uses his new found freedom to kiss down the length of your jaw, humming against your heated skin when you tilt your head to give him better access to all the sensitive places he can’t wait to discover. He sucks the soft spot behind your ear when you meet the next roll of his hips, your slides falling loudly off your feet to the tile floor.

“Steve,” his name comes out in a high pitch whine when he starts sucking a bruise in a place you know you’ll have to try and cover up for the next few days. He was marking you, and you could care less. You hold him there, encouraging more as his teeth graze your pulse point, a “baby” slipping past his lips when he finally pulls away.

He meets your eyes with flushed cheeks and messy hair and the kind of hunger that makes you melt.

“Let me take you to bed, let me take care of you,” he’s panting, his hold on you tightening so you can feel just how bad he needs this. A smirk spreads across his swollen lips when your hips shift in search for more, giving him the answer he needs along with the nod of your head.

Just as easy as he lifted you on the sink, he carries you to the bed, big hands cradling thick thighs before he lays you on your back. Your giggle fills the space in between heavy pants before TLC’s Creep starts playing over the speakers of the radio. His hands find their way to the bottom of his shirt, pulling it over his head and you watch an expanse of new freckles and moles get revealed to you. You want to kiss them all. They dot the spots next to the dark hair over his belly button while the thick thatch of chest hair you’d only gotten a glimpse of glistens with beads of sweat in the glow of the Foxy Lounge light.

His jeans hang low enough for you to get a glimpse of the veins protruding from the V shape that leads to the part of him that’s sure to make you forget your own name. His grin is cocky when he recognizes the expression on your face. Grabbing your ankle, he pulls you closer to the edge of the bed. The bottom of your foot resting on the soft hair of his chest while long fingers hold you in place. He keeps his eyes trained on yours while he starts to trail wet kisses down the inside of your leg. The stubble covering his jaw scratching along his path in the best way. He stops when he gets to the soft skin of your knee, nipping playfully, he smirks at the squeal it earns him before he drops your leg in favor of curling his fingers under the top of your skirt.

You lift your hips for him without him having to ask, and the flash of his teeth is almost enough to blind you. He’s slick with his movements, taking your panties too. You hear his breath catch in his throat when he sees the effects all his teasing has on you. His fingers grip at your thighs before pulling your sticky skin apart with a lick of his lips.

“Look at you baby, all this for me?” The last part of his question comes out in a groan when he swipes the pad of his thumb against your bundle of nerves, kicking up in his jeans when your legs shake in response. “So sensitive too. Let me make her feel good, yeah?”

He swipes his thumb against your clit again making your eyes shut tight and your hips buck.

“I need to hear you say it.” He keeps rubbing circles, applying just enough pressure for you to forget how to speak, “Come on, be a good girl for me.”

His other hand pulls down your tube top, breasts spilling out in the blush light for his eyes to devour. He groans at the sight, his other hand coming up to cup the soft flesh feeling the way your nipples pebble against the warmth of his palm.

“Steeeeve, please.”

You’re whining for him and it makes his brows pinch together, feeling drunk off you.

“God angel, you’re fuckin’ beautiful you know that?” He emphasizes his question with his hands, giving your sides a squeeze while his eyes roam every dip and curve of your body. “Turn around for me? I wanna see all of you.”

The look on his face makes you decide that you’ll never deny him anything he asks, giving him a nod, you run your hands up his arms, nails dragging across the light hair before you push yourself up to get on all fours.

You feel completely exposed to him like this, all the secret places of your body on full display. He’s quiet for a minute and it’s almost enough for your nerves to get the best of you until you feel his palm find the apple of your ass. Fingers digging into doughy flesh, a groan loud enough to drown out the music erupts deep from his chest.

“Baby, baby, babyyy,” he emphasizes the last endearment with another handful before pulling your cheeks apart to get a better look at your dripping cunt, “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever fuckin’ seen.”

Your hips wiggle at his words, your walls fluttering around nothing while the cool air from the overhead fan hits your heat, sending goosebumps dancing across your supple flesh. A dark chuckle leaves him when he sees how much power his words have over you. His knees hit the side of the mattress, one hand hooking around your hip while the other runs down the dip of your spine giving you a light push when he hits your shoulder blades until you're bent over for him.

“She likes when I talk to her, huh?” his voice is low, mesmerized when you start dripping on the bed for him and he’s barely touched you, “She likes when I call her pretty doesn’t she?”

The moan that leaves your mouth is pathetic and he wishes he could record it.

“Playing hard to get all night, but look at you.” His good hand comes down hard enough on your ass for the fat to jiggle and you to fist handfuls of your comforter because of it, “Making such a filthy mess and I haven’t even put my mouth on you yet.”

His grip is rough when he tugs your hips, the outline of his dick pressing into you, the denim scratching against your clit in a way that has your eyes rolling in the back of your head.

“Tell me how much you want my mouth baby, tell me how much you want me to make you cum.” He grinds against you again, only this time making sure to apply the kind of pressure that makes your back arch.

“Fuck - Steve, please I want it. I’ve wanted it all night. I’ve wanted it all night,” you're babbling as he circles his hips, fingers kneading your soft skin.

Satisfied with your answer he mumbles a “so good for me” as he pulls away he gives you another light slap to your ass - signaling for you to scoot up, your mattress dipping behind you when he gets on his knees.

Big hands spread you apart, your forehead hits the comforter when you feel the heat of his breath against your slick folds. Your walls flutter, begging for his attention when his tongue runs a long stripe up your slit. He hums at the taste before he does it again, this time making sure to circle your clit before lapping up everything you were drenching him with like he was thirsty for it.

“Oh my god,” you huff into your blankets, toes curling when he starts an assault against your bundle of nerves, the pointed tip of his nose pressing deeper into your entrance as he gets lost in the sounds he’s pulling from you.

His fingers stretch across the tiger stripes on your butt cheeks, pulling you even further apart to give him better access. The coil inside you already threatening to snap when he sucks hard on your clit. He lets it go with a loud pop, smirking to himself at the way he has your body shaking from overstimulation already.

“Taste so fuckin’ good. Strawberries, just like your lips.” He groans, inhaling your scent like a man starved, his good hand coming down on your cheek again only this time a little harder pulling out another broken moan from you.

“Can I taste all of you pretty girl?”

There’s zero hesitation when you say ‘yes’, in fact it’s a little desperate. He could have whatever he wanted from you now. Not even sure what he means, your brain’s too fuzzy with lust to comprehend anything until you feel the tip of his tongue circle a place you’d never let anyone else go before.

“Holy shit - Steve.” The new sensation sends another wave arousal to your dripping core, a needy whine following it when he does it again.

“This okay?” He kisses the curve underneath the apple of your cheek, the softness of his voice comforting you while he checks in.

“God, it’s, it’s -“ He gives you another kitten lick and it makes your eyes roll in the back of your head, “It’s more than okay - Jesus Christ.”

Too lost in the feeling of him testing the tightness of you with his tongue, you aren’t expecting his thick finger to start circling the entrance he’d been neglecting, the one you need him to fill the most. Your silk walls welcome the intrusion with ease, the stretch only stinging a little when he pushes to the last knuckle while his tongue starts getting a little more bold. Your back arches when he groans against you, curling his finger to hit the spot only you’d ever been able to find with ease. He adds a second digit when you start bucking against his face, the new addition almost makes you run away. He tsks at you from buried between your butt cheeks, one large hand locking you in place when he starts feeling you get close.

“Give it to me,” he demands, coming up for air. Fingertips relentless against the spot that has you squelching loudly.

His mouth returns to the sensitive part of you, tongue circling your tightness in a way that has you finally snapping. Your walls constrict, wrapping around his fingers while your vision goes white. Your body freezes, the orgasm overwhelming your muscles with a violent shake, his name falling from your lips like it’s the only word you know. You feel him grin against you, the movements of his fingers only slowing down but never stopping, milking every last drop you give him.

“So good, so pretty when you cum baby,” he mumbles praises, his lips kissing anywhere they can reach while your body comes down from its first high.

You feel his weight leave the mattress, hear the metal of his belt buckle clinking followed by the low thump of his jeans hitting the floor. You find enough strength to look over your shoulder and it’s enough to make you whimper. Steve’s big. Dark hair at the base, it’s thick and curved, the pretty pink tip leaking just for you. The long vein that runs up the side pulses when he gives it a couple of tugs before his knees hit the mattress again.

His hands spread over your hips pulling you closer before he starts trailing kisses up your back, the silver of his chain making you shiver as it runs up your spine till his lips stop right at your ear.

“You ready for me?”

Your eyes meet his and they’re pitch black, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth, you know yours looks the same when you give him a nod but you know that’s not going to be enough for him.

“Come on, you know what I need,” his tone is mocking as he grabs his cock at the base, swiping his head through your folds, smirking at the way you try to suck him in, your body greedy for him.

“Please, please, please, please.”

All your self respect goes out the window when he pushes the tip in and you can’t stop repeating yourself. The stretch is already bigger than his two fingers and he wasn’t even half way in yet and for a brief moment you wonder if he’ll even fit.

“Fuck - baby.”

He moans as he pushes further, sheathing himself half way and he feels the way it makes your legs shake. His hand sneaks around your waist to find your clit, slippery fingers rubbing circles to get you to open up more as he rolls his hips one more time bottoming out. He groans so loud you’re sure anyone who might be smoking outside of the bar can hear him.

“Holy shiiiit, I’ve never had pussy like this.” He stills, adjusting to how tight you feel, and it’s his turn to babble as you constrict around him making him twitch - dangerously close to cumming already.

“You feel so good Stevie,” you whine as you push back against him, taking his length even deeper, feeling every curve and ridge of him against your walls.

He pulls out half way before slamming back in and it makes him curse under his breath before he does it again, only harder.

“God, fuck- this is all mine now, yeah?” he mutters, an angry edge to his words when he thinks about Devin getting to do this.

“Mmhmm,” your answer is automatic, no thoughts behind your eyes while his cock fills you in the way you fantasize about when you touch yourself.

“That’s right baby, it’s mine. You’re mine.”

His thrusts get aggressive as he gets closer to his release, your slick making it easy for him to slide almost completely out before pushing back in. The rough hair covering his pelvis rubbing your clit at the same time his tip reaches the same spot his fingers pulled your first orgasm from.

“Shit, Steve, right there.” Your jaw goes slack, eyes closing tight when he hits it again, your words spurring him on while he tries to re-grip his hold on your sweat-kissed skin.

“Yeah? you want more?” He makes sure to put all his attention where you want, slowing his hips just enough to hit it even harder. “I’ll give you more.”

Steve tilts his head to the side watching how you wrap around him, and the way he barely has to push back in, your greedy walls doing almost all the work when he finds the perfect pace that has you twisting the sheets.

He huffs out a cocky laugh and it makes you tighten in response, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.”Yeah, I know baby. I know. You gonna cum again for me?”

“Uh-huh,” you manage to get out with a nod but it’s not enough for him, he needs you loud enough for Devin to hear from across town.

The sound of skin slapping against skin drowns out the music, keeping his stamina up despite the twitch of his cock, he bends over, somehow getting deeper, the cool metal of his chain dragging across your back while one hand snakes under your waist. His fingers are unrelenting when they find their way to your puffy clit again, applying just enough pressure to get your legs to shake for him.

“I’m gonna ask again, are you gonna cum for me?” He keeps his voice even, but he knows he’s not gonna last much longer, especially not when your cheek hits the mattress and you meet his eyes looking like that.

“Yeah, god, yeah Steveee! Please, please, please.” You don’t even know what you’re begging for but it makes Steve’s resolve break.

The moan he lets out is loud enough to echo off your wall, warmth flooding your insides as he cums hard enough to collapse against your back. It’s enough to send you over the edge for the second time. Your walls fluttering enough to make his nails dig crescent moons into your hips with a low “fuck” escaping him as you milk him for more with the sweetest chant of his name he’s ever heard.

“That’s it baby.” He coos lips placing sloppy kisses along the your shoulder blades when you collapse against the mattress, your bodies tangled in a way you don’t have the energy to leave quite yet.

The radio cuts out leaving just the sound of the two of you trying to catch your breath, you can faintly hear ‘Pony’ playing from the bar below but the sound of a car driving past quickly snuffs it out. You feel his nose nudge against your ear, a slow lazy smile creeping across your face when his lips brush your temple.

“I don’t think you have a concussion, but you better stay the night just in case.”

His laugh vibrates against your back, a toothy grin pressed to your skin.

“It’s always better to be safe than sorry,” he agrees. The response you somehow managed to conjure up gets lost on your tongue when both your long forgotten Tamagotchi’s go off in his abandoned pants in a matching tune you’d never heard before.

“Our babies need daddy, honey,” he groans, slowly lifting himself up on his elbows.

You roll your eyes with a snort as he trails kisses down your back only wincing slightly when he pulls himself out. Folding your arms under your head, you still can’t bring yourself to move, but the view of him naked and still semi hard while he holds the two digital pets in his hand with a confused expression isn’t one you really can turn away from.

“What?” Your curiosity is piqued when his eyes grow big.

“No fuckin’ way,” he mumbles more to himself than you, “I didn’t even know they could do this.”

“What??” The irritation is clear in your voice, the feeling of being left out turning you into a brat.

“Umm, I think they had babies… yep. Marty definitely got her pregnant.” The smile on his face gives away just how excited he actually is and you hate to admit that it’s contagious.

“Well we’re gonna have to figure out a child support plan I’m afraid. Daisy’s a free woman Steve.” The serious delivery makes him do a double take before he narrows his eyes.

“Child support? No, we're raising these kids together. So I’m gonna need you to care a little bit about keeping her alive. It's not just you here honey.” He tosses you the toy before jumping back on the bed pulling your body into his chest with ease, “I’m afraid you’re never getting rid of me.”

---

#steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x y/n #eddie munson #my writing #whatta man

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dreamwatch · 4 months ago

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Know When To Hold 'em

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest

I'm sorry. :(

The first time it happened totally out of the blue.

It was their first big show in Indy, their home show, and of course Wayne wanted to be there, as much out of curiosity as anything. He didn’t hear a thing; Steve gave him a set of ear plugs and it was like he’d been handed a pot of gold. “I could have done with these years ago.” But he saw everything and he talked about that show to anyone that would listen, and a few that wouldn’t.

Eddie was over the goddamn moon about it so he told the audience, “My Uncle Wayne’s here tonight, everyone say 'hi Uncle Wayne!'” and five thousand people just— did it. Because Eddie asked them to. Even through the ear plugs Wayne heard it. Steve’s not sure he’s ever seen the old man blush before.

So it became a thing completely by accident. If Wayne was there they played The Gambler as the last song of the encore; like the flag at Buckingham Palace telling everyone the Queen was home: Uncle Wayne was in the house. The fans latched onto it straight away, and it was one of only a couple of songs that Eddie would sing. Wayne didn’t see the band play often but it didn’t matter where they were, the moment that song started up the crowd went wild; the roar of “Hi Uncle Wayne!” rolling through the audience before everyone sang along. And Wayne there at the edge of the stage shaking his head, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

Eddie was in Germany when Wayne died.

‘The best that you can hope for is to die in your sleep’, sang The Gambler, and that’s exactly what he did. Wayne would have got a kick out of that.

Breaking the news to Eddie was the most painful thing Steve’s ever had to do.

Tonight is their first night back after a two month hiatus. It feels too soon, but there are contracts, missed shows, obligations, and there’s only so much their manager can do to keep the label, promoters and lawyers away.

Eddie’s dead eyed and lethargic; he’s started drinking again, Steve discreetly hid his pain medication when he noticed the bottle emptying faster than it should have. He sleeps with a belly full of Ambien and spends his day wrapped in Zoloft. Neither help.

But the show must go on, right?

Despite everything, the grief, the fog of depression, when he walks out onto the stage he’s a supernova, the brightest of lights in the deepest of darks. He’s fucking dazzling.

The crowd at the Market Square Arena are on fire, they explode when the band run on stage but Steve doesn’t miss the extra noise when Eddie gets out there. Eddie loosens up as the gig goes on, and by the end, when they take a bow together, he looks like a different man to the shell thats been haunting their home.

There will be a crash later. Steve is already prepared for it.

The band come off drenched with sweat. Steve can see the pinched expression on Eddie’s face, the exertion after all this time lying around like a ghost has taken its toll on a body that has seen better days. But he still smiles at Steve as he hands off the guitar to his tech, his Sweetheart, only brought out for the encores now.

“Was it okay?” Eddie asks him, towelling the sweat from his face.

“You were amazing,” is all Steve can manage right there, but he’s buzzing inside and there’s more he wants to say. But that’s for later, when it’s just them.

The band are handing off instruments, roadies scurrying around, breakdown already underway. There’s a lot happening, and you know, Steve’s hearing isn’t that great these days but there’s nothing wrong with his eyesight. He sees the little commotion over Eddie’s shoulder, the way people halt, ears pricking up like labradors. Jeff turns to Steve with wide eyes and Matt has stopped in his tracks. And then he sees the exact moment Eddie picks up on it, the furrowed brow, the soft tilt of the head.

The crowd are singing Wayne’s song.

Everyone stops. Roadies stand there like marionettes with their strings cut.

And Eddie…

He looks devastated, his hand flying up to his mouth like he’s trying to bury a sob, stopping the grief from breaking containment.

Steve can see the band over Eddie’s shoulder, heads nodding before they’re grabbing guitars back from their techs. He knows what they’re going to do, but there’s no way Eddie is up to it, they have to know that. Jeff slings an arm over Eddie’s shoulder, pulls him in, knocking his forehead against Eddie’s. And then Matty does it, Matty who doesn’t have a sentimental bone in his body, but Gareth is long gone, already running back onto the stage, crowd cheering at the sight of him, before Matty and Jeff follow him out. And they pick up where the crowd are and they play. Eddie usually sings it, but Jeff takes it tonight.

Steve grabs Eddie’s hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “C’mon,” he says, pulling Eddie toward the side of the stage.

Steve loved Wayne, so fucking much. And maybe with all the help and care Eddie needed afterward, still needs, maybe Steve didn’t get a chance to grieve properly. He feels the ache in his chest, before he notices the calloused fingers wiping his tears away.

“He loved you, Steve.” He can’t reply, just nods, and Eddie holds him like he should be holding Eddie. And then he’s gone, out on to the stage, back with his band. No guitar, just sharing a mic with Jeff and joining as much as the tears will allow. And then the music cuts, Matty and Gareth joining them at the mic, and it’s just voices, nineteen thousand and four. Corroded Coffin, arms slung across shoulders, singing Wayne’s song.

Singing to Wayne.

Yeah... I went there.

So, I had this idea months ago and parked it because I didn't know what to do with it. And then this prompt came along and BOOM!

#corrodedcoffinfest #corroded coffin #corroded coffin fic #cw parental death #cw depression #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #wayne munson #jeff stranger things #gareth stranger things #matt (unnamed freak stranger things)#Spotify #cw alcoholism

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trashmouth-richie · 2 years ago

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Eddie x fem! Reader [masterlist]

Prev | vol viii

Summary: November 1st, Steve’s birthday celebration, a new friend is brought into the mix, Eddie’s past is revealed.

Trigger Warning: no minors pls, language, drinking, reader wears Eddie’s jacket, fluff, angst.

W/C: 11.5k

@jo-harrington + @ghost-proofbaby for beta reading this a tiny bit for me

The sun is waning through your curtains, blinding your eyes with a light so bright it’s like you’re staring into a flashlight. The ominous whirring of your fan oscillates, sending a chilling breeze across your room

Silently thanking yourself for taking ibuprofen before falling asleep last night, the pounding in your head is minimal, but the scratchy dryness of your throat is a steady reminder of the impromptu karaoke singing and the toe to toe chain smoking contest you bullied Eddie into. Your former drunker self turned cockier with every drink.

“I bet you… this house! This fucking house! That I can smoke more cigarettes than you can at once,” you slurred in a buzzed stupor as you swayed your body with the faint music of REO Speedwagon, your finger pressed into his chest where the fabric v’d open.

Red eyed and already higher than Willie fucking Nelson, Eddie grins wider than the Cheshire Cat, dipping low to your ear to whisper, “game on, sweetheart, but we’re smokin reds not your menthol shit.”

News flash. You couldn’t out smoke Eddie. And your burning croaky throat was proof of that.

Feet on the floor, your cold toes inching towards purchase against the carpet for your slippers. Opening your eyes, you assess the room. The Eddie costume you proudly wore all night, was strewn across your floor, complete with the wig. A rumbly laugh reverberates through your lungs along with a horrendous hacking cough. The memory of Jeff wearing it and imitating Eddie jogs across your mind. The way Eddie pouted and glared through his lashes made you smile sweetly at the memory.

A quick glance at your body in the mirror shows that you’re still wearing the soft black DIO shirt from lastnight, but thankfully you changed into pajama pants.

Another rough barking cough against your already achy throat surrenders it’s vices and begs for water. Opening the door you are met with a freezing chill. Eyes blinking in the bright sun from the windows in the living room, you take note of the heaps of bodies snoring and drooling amongst the floor.

Mike and El are cuddled up like two little kittens against the back corner in the living room, her blonde wig used as a pillow, Mike’s Mad Hatter jacket and his arm draped over her. Finding yourself gawking at the sweetness of seeing them curled into each other, you wonder if you would ever have a great love like they did. Your stomach leaps when the one crossing your mind is Eddie.

It was wrong. You shouldn’t be feeling this way about your brother’s friend, your roommate for fucks sake! He was everything you hated about the male population. Loud, annoying, an absolute pervert. Messy beyond belief, couldn’t boil a goddamn egg. But, he was also gentle, kind, and caring. Your yearning heart ached for his touch like the day he held you close to his chest during your darkest hour.

Not to mention he was cute. Okay, that’s a lie. Eddie was hot, in that rugged ‘I-don’t-give-a-fuck’ kind of way. Different from most guys in Hawkins, who were obsessed with their appearance, their family name. Eddie didn’t care, he was just himself. Always had been, always would be. And something about that cocky demeanor, burying the kindest heart you’ve ever come across, made your heart stutter in your chest.

Would he hold you like Mike was holding El if you were his? Would he cover you in kisses and do cliche things with you like matching couples costumes on Halloween? Something deep inside told you he would.

“Cute aren’t they?”

You jump out of your skin at the low, velvet voice, not realizing he was awake, your hungover mind foregoing the aroma and slow drip of black coffee being made. Too wrapped up in thinking about him to notice that he had approached you on your left, his messy curls swing against your cheek as he had bent down to your ear.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he says with a chuckle.

You turn and look at him, he’s so close to you your noses almost touch. The tickling shock of nervousness from last night returns and travels up your spine, curling into your hair, igniting every hair follicle, a burning welcomed pleasure against your scalp. A quirked smile on his lips as you take a step back.

Blinking slow, you take him in. His smile could melt the polar ice caps, that goddamn panty dropper grin, you curse yourself silently for feeling the heat on your neck. He’s wearing black sweats, cut above the knee and rolled at the hem from many washes. A horrendously sawed off cut t-shirt adorns his broad shoulders. The same raw hems rolling inward, exposing a silver hoop in his nipple. The sun catching the steel ring and casting a blinding glare against it. He tips the coffee mug he’s holding back to his lips, emptying the contents in one gulp. The smell of potent orange juice fills your nose as you stare at his lips. His tongue poked out to lap up the last spilled drops.

“No, you’re fine—I didn’t realize you were up,” you explain, rubbing sleep from your eyes. Peering around him at the small wooden clock on the wall, it’s only 8:30, “didn’t know you were aware that there was an 8:30 AM on Sundays.”

“Are you always this witty in the morning?”

“It’s a gift,” you say with a smirk, “consider it a blessing, you’re late by the way.”

“Late for what?” The lazy way he smiles at you should be a crime.

A coy smile on your lips, “Sunday Service.”

Eddie snorts a laugh and grabs his side, wincing slightly, “agh, don’t make me laugh,” he groans, “I think I fucked up my back or something from falling down those steps last night.”

“…twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six…”

Gareth turned his head from the spout engulfing deep breaths from the chilled night air. Argyle and Jonathan let his feet back down to the deck. Standing next to Nancy and Ash, you whoop and holler along with everyone else, cheering on the new Keg Stand Champion. Gareth, stands on wobbly legs, taking a deep breath, he shouts, “And that's how it’s d—“

Before he can finish his victory speech, he projectile vomits all over Big D. Covering him shoulders to waist in foamy chunks of party food and the cheap keg beer. Laughter erupts from Eddie, he throws his wild hair back in amusement. Clutching his stomach and choking on the smoke from the joint he had just inhaled. Karma, proving again that she’s a cunt, Eddie leans back just far enough to fall backwards down the five steps to the ground.

“Jesus down, Jesus down!” Eddie exclaimed, roaring with laughter.

Concerned, you delicately reach for his wrist and move his hand away from his ribs. A small splatter of deep purpling color against his alabaster skin suggests that they are more than likely bruised from the fall. The dainty touch of your fingers on his body sends goosebumps against his flesh, and it wasn’t because your hands were cold. He swallows hard, adoration in his brown eyes as he takes in your smell, how messy your hair was, the hum on your lips as you observe him, pressing the pads of your fingers into his skin.

Who would have thought that simple minuscule touches from you could cause a frenzy in his blood. He thought the hair washing would bring him to his knees, but this? He didn’t realize he stopped breathing until you spoke.

The hitch in his throat is dismissed by you, “sorry, my fingers are probably freezing,”

He murmurs, something along the lines of “it’s fine,” but you barely hear it.

His skin is surprisingly smooth. Women spend hundreds of thousands of dollars in their lifetime to have perfect skin, and here Eddie Munson was, baby soft skin on a metal head’s body. You take the time to admire the exposed tattoo on his ribs next to the bruises. Tracing your finger over the triangled black ink outlined in red, angry against his skin. You’ve seen the symbol before but never understood what it was. An eight laying sideways, in the overlapping section is a cross with two lines instead of one.

Seconds fade to minutes of your fingers tracing his skin. Neither you or Eddie have said a word. Unhurried migrations on your fingers skate across the alabaster, feeling for any broken bones, but only feeling the velour cream of his skin beneath your hands.

Clearing your throat, you look into his blown out eyes, “I —um,” the air is thick between you both, making it hard to breath, or it could be the fact that the caramel pools of his eyes are pouring into yours, “ looks like it’s just bruised,” you say, slowly moving your fingers away from his skin. Your nails scratching his skin casually. And a quick intake of breath hisses between his teeth.

Eddie’s voice comes out shakier than he would have liked, he licks his lips, “o-oh good.”

He casts his eyes downwards, his fingers tug gently at the sleeve of the DIO shirt you’re still wearing from last night. His eyes find yours again, the browned oasis beckoning you, “are you still mad at me for winning the costume contest?” he asks in almost a whisper, lips barely moving, his focus full on the way your soft skin under your shirt feels against his calloused fingers.

The jump in your lower belly ignited the flame within you, sending burning hot coals to your core at his ghosting fingers on your arm. You blink rapidly and scoff. Rolling your eyes to extinguish the flames, you force yourself away from him, brushing past him, your shoulder grazing his chest sends more fire through your veins, a last attempt on keeping the heat blazing. “I was never mad,” you explain. Opening the cabinet with shaky hands and grabbing a white mug with tiny yellow flowers on the rim, you take a deep breath to steady your voice, turning it into a makeshift yawn, “who do you think decides who wins the contest anyway?”

Pouring the hot black coffee into the mug the aroma fills the room. Creamer sloshes against the liquid mixing merrily into a toffee colored dream.

Eddie leans against the counter, taking a piece of candy from the plastic jack-o-lantern dish and twisting the ends between his fingers, the orange hardened sugar melting slow on his tongue.

“You voted for me?” he asks earnestly, his head bowed in bashfulness, “you’re going to make me blush, sweetheart,” he coos, swirling the candy around his mouth, clacking against his teeth as he tries to hide a smile.

Sipping the piping hot coffee gingerly between your lips, you shrug, “not every day I get to see you acting so holy, thought we should capitalize on the opportunity, plus, it really was one hell of a costume.”

The bubblegum blush on Eddie’s cheeks make him look like a teenager, twisting his hair as if he just received his first kiss.

“I don’t know, I kinda liked yours,” he said matter of factly.

“That’s cause you’re full of yourself,” you say with a teasing tone, sticking out your tongue, and coughing roughly again.

Eddie’s eyebrows pull inward, a mocked scoff on his lips, “I refuse to take insults from someone who sounds like my Uncle Wayne— told you you couldn’t hang with the big dogs— but no, Tooty doesn’t listen.”

You dismiss him with a suggestive middle finger and a smirk as you sip the coffee again, “I can do anything I want, you’re not my babysitter.”

Neither of you knew that Robin and Steve were both awake, listening intently to your light banter, your giggling voices as you teased each other. The way yours pitched in a high squeal when Eddie’s hands tickled your sides and you tried to fight him off with the paper towel row.

The two friends sit side by side on the couch, smiling widely at one another, wondering when you would let eachother in.

It was noon before Gareth woke up, a combination of dried puke and drool on his face. The other four party go-ers had already left and did the sad walk of shame out to their vehicles. Both Robin and Steve give you weird looks and wide glances all morning, you even noticed Steve wiggling his eyebrows.

Yawning and reeking of alcohol. The loud snores from Gareth’s slack mouth could awaken the residents lying 6 feet under in East Hawkins. He’s laying with his head in a popcorn bowl, a poorly drawn sharpie penis crudely coloring his cheek, thanks to Eddie. The cold puke slowly oozing from the bowl onto himself has your stomach lurching.

Eddie finally woke him by shaking his shoulders violently, yelling into his face, “dude! You’re gonna rattle the fucking house off the foundation with that deafening snore, Christ almighty!”

Gareth stirred alive, swinging his arms frantically. “Fuck, man, scare the hell out of me why don’t ya!”

“Oh relax, trust me— it was either this or the Tooty method,” Eddie says with a grin motioning to you standing behind his shoulder holding a cup of cold water, a devilish smirk on your face, “seriously though, get up you smell like two-week-old rotten asshole.”

After Gareth and Eddie argue over why he has a dick drawn on his face, and Eddie swearing it wasn’t him, Gareth bumps his fist into Eddie’s and waves goodbye as he stands at the front door, and addresses you, “helluva party Tooty, hopefully I didn’t make too much of a mess and you’ll invite me again next year,” his easy smile is something you’ve never seen directed at you. Of all Eddie’s bandmates, Gareth was the hardest to read.

“Duh, you’re the reigning keg stand champion, you gotta make a return,” you smile back.

Gareth laughs, his floppy thick hair matted from the habit he wore all night, “think my keg stand days are over.” He looks from you to Eddie, watching the way Eddie smiles at you adoringly, and he starts to finally get it. Understand why his friend acts the way he does around you. You’re easy to talk to, friendly, kind, once you let your guard down. He looks to Eddie again as you turn and walk back to the kitchen, giving him a knowing glance shifting his eyes to you, and nodding his head once in approval, “see ya around dickhead,” he jokes to his oldest friend, his role model, his brother.

“Why the fuck do I have to wear this?” Eddie groans, pulling at the stiff collar on his shirt, buttoned too tight around his neck, not used to material that wasn’t leather or soft cotton, the metalhead was crabby and uncomfortable in the borrowed maroon button down shirt and black skinny tie from Harrington, “I look like a bible salesmen!”

Steve’s birthday was tonight and he requested to have dinner at his favorite restaurant in Indianapolis. He had gotten a big promotion at work the week after Halloween and was in need of a little celebration before the task of being executive director started.

Slotting silver iridescent dangly earrings you had borrowed from Nancy into your ears and adjusting the matching choker against your throat, you take the last curler out from your hair and fluff it with your fingers to give it shape. You holler from closed confinements of your room, “it’s for Steve’s birthday, not your birthday— quit being a big baby!”

Stepping your tights into the borrowed black velvet pointed heels, and smoothed down the black velour mini dress with the spaghetti straps you had bought last week from an ad in the paper about selling prom dresses for cheap. The material was snug against your curves fitting like a glove. Your makeup was darker than you would have normally done on any other given day but since this was such a fancy event for one of your closest friends— you smoked out a brown eyeshadow across your lids and added a heavy coat of mascara to your lashes with a thin line of eyeliner. Your favorite lipstick swiped delicately across your lips.

Looking at yourself in the mirror, you are pleased at your reflection. A patch of doubt trickles up your chest making you question if you should change. Is it too much? Is it over the top? But all that comes to a halt when loud banging is heard on your door. Stopping your spiraling shame cold in its tracks.

“Tooty?” Eddie raps on the door, “Steve just pulled up. You ready or are we leaving your ass at h—”

For the first time in Eddie’s life he is speechless. Not counting the time that his jaw was wired shut for 6 months when he took his skateboard off the roof of Gareth’s house in middle school.

Tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, dry and itchy like eighty grade sandpaper. His eyebrows are lifted, tucked beneath his bangs. It’s as if everything was going in slow motion, he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, he was stunned by the drop dead gorgeous woman in front of him.

Your beauty wasn’t something that just happened in a movie with you pouncing down the stairs to some cheesy song with your friends clapping at the top and high-fiving over their “miracle makeover”. Eddie just simply wasn’t accustomed to seeing you dressed up like this.

It’s taking everything in him to not spring forward like a rabid dog and close the gap between you. Slot his lips against yours. A desperate, needy kiss so full of urgency that your head would spin. He’d keep you in the spinning wonderland until both of you were seconds from passing out. Dizzy from the floating clouds and blissful euphoria soaring around in his arms. He wants to grab your waist, wants to fist his fingers around the nape of your neck, wants to see the way your mouth would open with a gasp as he kissed your collar bone, so sweetly, so delicately— his name a whisper on your breath. He’d kiss your lips until they were chapped, sore, and tender to match his. Then he’d kiss them better, his lips the antidote, curing your craved pain.

He’d give anything— his van, his guitar, the band whatever it took— just to get a taste. In this dream land he’s everything you wanted, everything you needed. You loved him, adored him. Accepted his flaws, his past, his scars. He’d hold you tight while you slept, your head tucked into the crook of his neck, stealing sleepy kisses on your hair, enamored by the perfume of your hair, intoxicated, drugged by the lust of your skin. He’d learn how to cook, make you delicious meals, clean the house, do the laundry, be the perfect man. All for you.

He wanted to feel your body forming and molding around him. Yearned to know the valleys of your body, each curve, each beauty mark, each scar visible or not. If it weren’t for his heart hammering into his ears he would have thought he had gone deaf for sure.

You’re talking but he can’t hear you.

He’s still in the dream land, dancing on Saturn’s rings, cooling his feet in Jupiter’s springs, holding your hand and taking you higher with him. Your smile taking flight in his chest and ascending you along the majestic sights of the Milky Way. Completely gone from this world. A world where you were his, and he was yours.

The more he fantasizes it— the more the impossibility of this dream increases. His bravado falls, crashing through the sparkly dream with fluffy clouds, falling further down. Away from you. Away from the dream he wanted, craved to be reality.

He fell through the clouds, clinging to your fingers, would you reach out for him? Help him? Save him?

Would you ever want to be his? He was Eyeball’s friend, Prince of the Trailer Park, probably annoyed you more than Eyeball himself did. You were beautiful and put together, and him? He was lint in the dryer, causing house fires when forgotten about. Voted most likely to end up in prison for the graduating class of ‘85 and ‘86. A failure, a crack in the sidewalk you’d avoid to break your mother’s back as a kid.

Avoid the trailer park trash. Avoid Eddie Munson.

So he pushed the thoughts away, the ooey galaxy of cotton candy trees and rainbow lollipops— fading back to black as he fell faster harder, back to reality. The dead, decaying ashen life of shitville Hawkins, Indiana. Where reality came in the form of working long days to barely survive. A name branded to his soul, weathered and tarnished like forgotten silverware in a rich dementia riddled woman’s home.

Nothing. Munson trash. The town freak. Social outcast. Scum in the drain. Bastard child.

“Earth to Eddie!”

A snap of your fingers and the impatient wrinkles between your brow bring his soul back to his body.

“S-sorry,” he stuttered, wiping his clammy palms on the thighs of the cleanest pair of black jeans he owned, “We—uh,” blush creeps to his cheeks, adamant to push it down, to the cobwebbed box in his brain that never opened, he grabs your hand and starts to yank you towards the door, a gruff annoyance in his voice, “let’s go.”

You’re crestfallen.

Oblivious to his inner intergalactic battles of hoping that he was good enough for you but deep down knowing he never would be.

Not anywhere near the suaveness of Casanova he pretends to possess on most days, motor-mouth Munson was all out of gas. Spending his last tank, last drop of fuel taking you to the moon and spinning you amongst the stars.

Steve is wearing a black suit, standing against a new SUV, shiny ink black like the velvet of your dress, and the pretty girl’s hair standing next to him, she’s wearing a purple velour sweetheart neckline dress, with rhinestone straps, her shoulders are bare until the dress continues to cover her arms, into a full sleeve. Robin is hanging out of the back passenger side window, a tie hung loosely around her neck and a white button down tailored shirt adorning her body. Waving a bottle of Boonesfarm around.

“Come on! Let’s party like it’s 1984! Before Steve had this new bitchin’ car and still half of his virgini—“

“Robin!” Steve scolds, threading his fingers through his hair, the girl on his arm shooting Robin a pleasurable laugh, her hand on Steve’s chest.

Eddie is still dragging you along, hurrying you along. In a rush but not saying a word. “Eddie, Jesus Christ, stop, I have to get my purse,” you yank your wrist from his grip and take a step backward. Silent and fuming, your arms crossed over your chest. Looking up at him with water brimmed eyes, corners of your mouth turned downward in a confused frown.

It’s the same expression he had seen during the first few days he had moved in, when he hurt you.

Shaking his head with a huff he descends the concrete steps and stands next to Robin, clutching the Boonesfarm bottle and taking a long hefty swig, wallowing in his own self pity and self doubt of never being good enough for you.

Of course this is how it would be with you. Why would you ever want him when there are people like Steve Harrington in the world. Offering you anything and everything you could ever need. And what could he offer you? Nothing. A tainted name and a ring pop replacing a diamond.

He wasn’t good enough for Chrissy, wasn’t good enough for Trish. How would you be any different? Swallowing his pride with each swig of the sugary Boonesfarm, he tries his hardest to push the idea of you wanting to be with him, wanting anything other than someone to take up space and pay rent on time, out of his mind.

“Tooty,” Steve says, waving you over once you shut the door to the house and locked it, “Eddie, this is Leighanne, my girlfriend.”

A smile breaks on your face, pure unadulterated joy for your friend. The way his face lit up saying girlfriend, the way they’re clutched together, a perfect match, him looking adoringly into her face, staring in wonder and awe as she beams a radiating light back up to him— it’s sugar sweet.

A low ache in your chest fires again, whatever had burned for Eddie was now boiling on high heat but the pot was empty.

You thought that maybe he… hadn’t he? The bitter truth stinging your tongue, not admitting it to yourself. Not allowing yourself to think any further on the subject, you extend your smile to Leighanne. Pleasantries in your voice as you push down your own worrying heart and open it up to hear all about how Leighanne and Steve met.

“Damn, new fancy job and a car to match— never seen one of these in real life before Harrington.”

Steve dives into the story of him trading in his car for the G Wagon, a year old and less than 10,000 miles. Eddie asked questions and walked around the vehicle with Steve as he kicked the tires and inspected the paint job.

The ride to Indianapolis was full of Leighanne’s bright laugh, teasing Steve and joking with Robin. Her fingers never unlaced from his. She was funny, charismatic in a way that complimented Steve. You’re stuffed in the middle in the backseat. Robin on your left and Eddie on your right, preoccupied with staring out the window.

He’s brooding, steeping like a tea bag in the heat of the sun. Only he’s cold, off putting and sulking. Not engaging once in conversation other than. Answering yes or no to Steve’s questions, giving little up.

And you were doing the same, trying hard to focus on what Robin and Leighanne were giggling about but finding Eddie’s bad mood taking you over. His pitch black aura sucking you in and consuming you. Dampening the celebratory night for your friend that hasn’t even begun because he’s irritated by God knows what. It’s the longest ride to Indianapolis you’ve experienced yet.

The restaurant is burnt brick with an old prohibition era feel to it. Low jazz music is playing by a live band in the back corner. Reservations for Harrington bring the five of you to a secluded area low lit with hues of blacks and coppers and mahogany wood filling the space, setting the ambience for a private affair. The round table is set with a cream colored silk cloth that alone probably cost more than the value of your house.

Steve pulls out a chair for Leighanne. A pinky rouge on her cheeks as she sits down delicately. Robin climbs next to her, body angled towards her, her feet on the seat of her chair.

Taking the seat next to Robin, Eddie takes the seat next to you, angling it ever so slightly away from you, his right elbow on the table, head facing away from you.

What the fuck?

Two waiters arrive holding a large round platter filled with various selections of wines, whiskey, and beers in stout glasses. Each one filled to the brim of the finest liquor ranging in black browned ale to lighter amber on one side, the others full of their house made brew, an inch head of foam in each glass, and wine ranging from white to a deep burgundy red.

Before the waiter can even walk away Eddie has two glasses of the dark colored whiskey in front of him, shooting them down like he’s at a high school party and has a curfew. “Shit man, these are for sipping, ya gotta ease into it a little,” Steve says with a chuckle. Eddie grabs another glass from the circle of the platter, sipping it slow between his lips, letting the fervor of the liquor burn his mouth, welcoming the burn.

Eddie hasn’t said a word to you all night. In fact— he’s ignoring you. Usually the first to start joking around, he’s completely sullen, sinking into his bad mood letting the veil of self loathing cover himself like a blanket, choking his insides. He’d converse with everyone but you. “Can you pass the pepper,” you’d asked after laughing obnoxiously with Leighanne about how Steve couldn’t throw a punch to save his life.

Silence.

“Eddie?” You ask again, “can you please pass me the pepper?”

Another ignored moment of silence from the brooding metalhead.

“Eddie! Hello!?”

Nothing.

A swift kick from Steve to the shins finally roused him alive, blinking his eyes slowly away from his glass, thumb moving over the condensation. “Dude—Tooty needs the pepper.”

Eddie looks at the pepper shaker with hooded, bored eyes, far from the conversation around the table. Trapped in the black box of dread in his mind. He scoots it closer to you but not enough by far. Scooting your chair back with a screech, you stand and lean across him, fully in his space. Encroaching on his doomed self with your perfume wafting into his nose. Your hairspray stinging his eyes when your hair brushes over your shoulder in front of him. It’s intoxicating. The way your necklace catches the light, as you lean over him hits his chest like a lightning bolt. b

A quick turn of your face and he catches your glare, heated and angry, but his eyes are soft, solemn, sad.

“Thanks, Eddie— really appreciate you helping me out there. Next time I’ll just lay across the table when I need something, or I could simply go fuck myself if that’s easier for you? Don’t want to interrupt whatever the fuck you’ve got going on.” you spit, venom on your lips dripping from your teeth as you aggressively shake the pepper on the salad.

Eddie stands abruptly, “going for a smoke,” he says to nobody in particular, Steve stands and follows him out, with the helping nudge of Leighanne’s elbow in his ribs.

The two guys strut outside, breathing in the night air, a flick of lighters and the burning, crinkling sound of the end of two cigarettes fills the almost barren sidewalk. A minute or so passes before Steve speaks first, “nice night out, considering it’s the middle of November.”

Eddie only nods, inhaling the smoke and trying to relax.

“You alright?”

Again, Eddie only answers with body movements, shrugging his shoulders, blowing smoke through his nose.

Steve inhaled his cigarette slow, “Tooty looks nice tonight.”

Eddie bites his bottom lip and rubs his eyes with this thumb. Smoke curling around him in a makeshift halo. “Yeah,” he finally speaks, nodding his head, a huffed chuckle on his lips, “she does, doesn’t she?”

“What’s going on, man?” Steve questions, “last I knew you were head over heels for her— now you’re ignoring her and acting like a jackass in there.” He says pointing to the door, “you’re gonna fuck this up before you’ve even let it start!”

Eddie shoves himself off the wall, the cobwebs on the box in his mind where he stored his pain, were wiped away, fingerprints on the lid, “oh give it up, Harrington.” Rubbing his hands down his face with a groan, “I’m— fuck, I’m so fucking stupid. Falling for someone like her.”

“What do you mean someone like her?” Steve asks frustrated, “fuck man you really are dumb aren’t you?”

“What?” Eddie asks, his chest puffed out in confusion, “this isn’t like some magic eight ball shaking it to see if your crush likes you Steve! That’s not how shit works!”

“You’re a dumbass! Even I can see that she’s hurt by the way you’re acting!” Steve shouts, stomping out his cigarette.

“Dude I’m not talking about this right now, back off,” Eddie pleads, flicking his cigarette into the street and attempting to walk around Steve.

“Why are you being an asshole and trying to shove her away?” Steve goads.

“I’m not.” Lid is off the box, contents exposed.

“Don’t be a douche fucking tell me!”

“Because she’s too fucking good for me!” Eddie finally screams into the night, throwing his hands up in the air.

The box is dumped out. Contents spilled out in his mind, hurt behind his eyes, for anyone to see.

He hangs his head, shoulders slumped forward, he slides down the wall and sits on the cool concrete, breathing heavily, “She’s— fuck, she’s never gonna want to be with someone like me, man.”

All of his self doubt from earlier tonight, all the pain he’s ever felt from being a neglected child, an outcast in school amongst his peers, being cheated on, lied to— it all came crashing down around him. All the alcohol he consumed wasn’t helping matters either.

He was a failure, in more ways than he could count. Twenty-six and just freshly moved out of his uncle’s place. Twenty-six and still playing in a band at the bar on the weekends. Twenty-six and still alone. Horribly, utterly, bitterly alone. Drowning himself in groupie pussy every night before he moved in with you. He hated himself.

“Has she said that? Did you ever think that maybe she doesn’t care what anyone else thinks? You think it was easy for her to stay in Hawkins after her parents up and left? After Kevin was thrown in prison? After that piece of shit Chad Cunningham hurt her? If there’s anything we know about Tooty it’s that she’s a fighter, she could have left at any time, packed her shit and never looked in the rear view mirror. But you and I know that she’s too damn stubborn to let Hawkins get the best of her.”

Eddie lifts his head, looking at Steve sitting beside him.

“She needs you, man, you’re good for her.”

Mansion dreams on a trailer park budget. He could never afford the things you deserved. He loathed the thought of anyone else being able to give you the things he couldn’t, the pit of his stomach rolling.

“I don’t know, Steve,” Eddie says, timidly throwing his curly head against the brick behind him, “I saw her today all dressed up looking so absolutely gorgeous, and it hit me, I could never give her the life she deserves.”

“Come on, man,” Steve chides, knocking his shoulder to Eddie’s, “you really think I would have told you about her needing a roommate and insisting that you go and look at the house, if I didn’t think you’d be good for each other?”

Eddie shrugs his shoulders again, the self doubt creeping back, putting the box back together.

“After Nancy moved out, I knew she was scared— she’d never say anything about it, but we worried about it. She needed someone around who she could trust. Robin and I couldn’t get out of our lease, but then you told me you were looking for a place, and honestly there isn’t anyone better for her than you.”

Eddie thinks on this for a few seconds. Steve was right, he did fuck this up. “Christ, she’s probably madder than hell at me right now,” he says with a groan.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, standing and holding out a hand for Eddie, “you’ve got some making up to do.”

“Am I drunk, or is he acting weird as hell tonight, like more weird than usual?” Robin slurs, almost falling out of her seat as she whisper-yells across the table at you the minute Steve follows Eddie out the door.

“Oh, honey,” Leighanne whispers, holding Robin by her arm and guiding her back into the chair, “you’re very drunk, but also I’ve never met him, but he seems sad.”

Stewing in a pot of shame and regret, you try to tune Robin and Leighanne out. A shiver of hatred stirs in your chest, pulling at your heart strings and gnawing on the fleshy stretch cords until they’re rotting, black and withered.

How silly of you to be so nervous about wearing this dress, when Eddie only took one look at you and immediately turned sour. How stupid of you to think that he had somehow turned into a decent human being, a friend, a confidant, a shoulder to cry on when you were desperate and needing consoling. How fucking dumb of you to be so mad in this moment that he was ignoring you, acting like a complete jerk and ruining this nice evening by being a pouty child.

Fuck him, and fuck this.

Reaching for the now warm wine you toss it back, chugging until your throat ached. It’s easier to swallow than the embarrassing way you thought that Eddie was growing to like you. Your mistake.

Won’t happen again.

By the time the guys come back, you were slightly buzzed, feeling giggling with the bubbling of the flutes of champagne that had been brought out after the dinner was cleared from the table.

Steve slaps Eddie on the back and shakes his shoulders a bit, sitting down quickly beside Leighanne and whispering into her ear, she turns scarlet red as he nudges his nose down to kiss her neck. You turn your face away, ashamed again, for wanting a love like that so bad, yet sold short.

“You okay?” Robin asks Eddie. You can feel eyes on you, burning into the side of your face, but you won’t give him the time of day. To hell with him.

He answers her back, making up some lame excuse about not feeling good as to why he was acting like an asshole all night.

“Hmm,” you hum, raising your eyebrows and huffing. Tossing your napkin from your lap onto the table, grabbing another flute of champagne and downing it instantly, crossing your legs and leaning further away from him. “Isn’t that funny?”

“Tooty?” His voice is soft, dipped in butter and spread across a warm croissant. Almost timid the way he’s barely speaking above a whisper, you pretend not to hear him.

A nudge in your side goes unanswered as you turn your face towards an almost passed out Robin. Another poke to the ribs, a ticklish spot for anyone. A tap on your hand, fervent and annoying, your name repeated in high and low tones, as you actively avoid him. He finally stops, and when he does you take a shaky breath, right as your chair is flung backwards on the back legs, and you’re suddenly upside down, peering into Eddie’s face. That cocky Munson grin plastered onto it, the one you haven’t seen all night, sends shock waves to your core, and a burn to your chest.

Goddamn him.

“Put me down,” you emphasize with bitterness behind each word.

Eddie smiles widely, “not until you talk to me, sweetheart,”

“Oh look at that everyone, the pouting child act is over, guess we are blessed after all,” you spit back, crossing your arms and trying to wriggle the chair free.

His smile is pulled back slightly, voice dipped low as he leans forward slightly, “can we talk? Privately?”

You glare back at him, venomous cold eyes peering into his, hoping he understood how annoyed and hurt you were with the bullshit he’d been pulling for hours, “Congratulations on finding your voice Ariel, but if you don’t put my chair down I’ll—“

“What? You’ll do what?” Eddie bickers back with a grin, leaning closer you can smell his musky cologne, and the burnt scent of his cigarette on his breath. He enjoys watching you squirm and get pissed off at him. Something about the way you scold him sends him over the moon.

But, he could never anticipate what you would do next.

His hands on the back of your chair, you turn your head in a swift motion and find his thumb and bite down on it until he squeals and yelps in pain.

“…bite you,”

Instinct taking over Eddie pulls his hands from the back of your chair. And you start tumbling backwards. Falling falling, reaching backwards, you grab onto the first thing you can get your frantic hands on.

It all happens too fast, one minute you’re falling backwards, the next your fingers are gripped tight on the buckle of Eddie’s belt. Your breath hitched in your chest, as you grappled to stay upwards. In a swift motion Eddie grabs under your arms and the chair falls to the ground.

Eddie pulls you up, your body skimming his as he turns you around to face him. “Damn, I’m right here. No need to get so handsy,” he murmurs in a low husky laugh.

You take a deep breath to calm yourself, sudden shock of fear fading from your body as you look into his face. Even though he’s laughing, his pupils are blown and dark, eyebrows twisted inward, and raised, pulled into concern.

“Fuck Munson,” you say, straightening your dress, trying not to melt from the heat of Eddie’s hands on your waist, “trying to kill me?” The room was spinning, you hadn’t hit your head, but maybe the rush of falling backwards mixed with the alcohol you had drank was a combination for a migraine. Definitely not the way he was lazily drinking you in, his lips stretching into a wide, pretty smile.

“Kill you?” He scoffs, hands still heavy on your waist, rubbing slow circles with his thumbs, sending your nerves into a fizzing frenzy of want. “I’m not the one biting others, kitten.”

Of all the nicknames Eddie has called you— princess, sweetheart, baby— kitten was a new one. And you’re ashamed at the pulse in your core and the heat in your cheeks as his eyes twinkle like brown Christmas lights back at you, the flick of his tongue against his lips almost sends you into cardiac arrest.

“Hey—“ Steve interrupts, stepping into your peripheral vision, “—don’t mean to break this up—but we have a problem.”

“Alright guys, good news or bad news?”

Steve steps through the lobby door to the sidewalk, where you, Leighanne, Robin and Eddie were all waiting for him. The chill of the night air is biting through your tights and stinging your cheeks. Even in the cozy musky warmth of Eddie’s leather jacket that he insisted on you wearing, after listening to your chattering teeth for ten minutes, “here,” he announced, stopping abruptly and shucking the jacket off his arms, and wrapping it around your shoulders, “I swear you’re gonna chip your teeth with the way you’re chattering them, it’s annoying,” he said in a faux grumble, his voice mean but his face lighting up when you hurriedly slot your arms through his jacket. Inhaling his smoke musk and cool leather combination as it dizzied your mind.

Ever since the restaurant kicked you all out on account of being too drunk, you’d been walking to a hotel. The restaurant manager had refused to let Steve get his car from the valet because they thought he was too intoxicated to drive. And also denied him from using the phone to hail a cab. There was no other choice.

So that's what led you all here. Walking fifteen blocks— in heels, dresses and fancy shirts, to the nearest hotel. Well technically thirty blocks because the waiter gave Steve the wrong directions. Everyone was freezing, tired and crabby. The drunken happy stage left about twenty blocks back.

“Bad news, Harrington hit me,” Eddie gripes.

Steve brushes his fingers through his hair, “Okay, uhh—bad news… there’s only one room available, with two beds.”

“But, there’s one… two…three..four.. six of us!” Robin counts, hiccuping loudly and letting a giggle escape her slack mouth. Maybe the restaurant wasn’t wrong in kicking you all out after all.

“No— there’s five of us, but there is a chair!” Steve chimes, “that’s the good news!”

You knew what that meant, obviously you would be sharing a bed with Robin or Eddie, and given the fact that Robin was probably a good ten minutes away before she started throwing up like she was notorious for— you were about to share a bed with Eddie.

The room was small but decent. Maroon, itchy bedspreads with pilling fabric sat atop the beds, white linen sheets and overly stuffed pillows with matching cases shoved into the perfectly made beds. A tiny tv sat atop a chestnut dresser complete with channel listings and a remote velcroed to it. Leighanne crosses the room and immediately finds the furnace, cranking it up as high as it will go and shutting the drapes, she sits on the bed furthest from it, and begins taking her earrings out of her ears. Sighing with relief as the heavy dangly bejeweled gems clink onto the bedside table. Steve sits beside her, leaning forward and grabbing her ankle, delicately sliding the strappy heels from her sore feet, rubbing them between his hands and murmuring apologies to her, kissing her shoulder.

Eddie is kicking the toe of his boot into the carpet, hands pushed into his pockets and looking downward. The awkward question of who-will-sleep-where is weighing heavy on your mind, just when you’re about to ask him what he thinks, Robin pushes between you both and makes a mad dash to the bathroom. Like clockwork.

“I’m never letting her drink again!” Steve says with a huff, “every time, she does this every single time!”

You snort out an exhausted giggle, this night went to hell in a handbasket the minute you left Hawkins. The only thing left to do was laugh about it.

Leaning your body against the wall, you carefully step out of your heels, the dingy carpet a glorious welcome to your aching feet. Stretching your toes out and wiggling them against the carpet brings a sigh to your lips.

Body tired from the constant shivering and cramped calves, you couldn’t wait to get the dress off and feel the warmth of the blanket around you, cocooning yourself like a caterpillar in a chrysalis.

Fuck.

You didn’t have any clothes with you, just the dress you were wearing, tights and a black thong. If it was Eddie you’d be sharing a bed with, what the hell were you supposed to wear? The thought hadn’t even trickled into your mind until this very second as you noticed Eddie unlace his boots.

Panic riddles your body, fuck would you lay naked next to him? Should you keep the dress on?

“Hey,” Eddie whispers into your ear, reigning you back in with his velvet voice, “there’s a vending machine by the elevator, wanna come with me?”

His lips contort into a smirk, and his hair wisps against your cheek, tickling your skin as you turn into him. Still wearing his jacket the neckline covers your mouth and nose as you nod your head yes.

The low pile fibers of the emerald and turquoise hallway carpet feels plush and luxurious against your nylon toes. A welcomed dream to your throbbing feet. You focus on the intricate leaves pattern as you walk the hallway with Eddie, his socked feet thudding along softly in tandem with yours.

The silence is deafening, and you can practically hear your heart beat out of your chest when his knuckles ever so gently, ever so delicately, graze yours as he swings his hand when he walks.

“Think it’s this way,” Eddie says pointing a thick ringed finger down a hallway at a T intersection. “I’m so hungry I’m going to eat the carpet if I don’t find something to eat.”

“Should have ate while we were at the restaurant,” you poke at him, “but you were too busy being an asshole.”

Eddie chokes out a throaty laugh, “I saved your life, Tooty— how am I still an asshole?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call me-falling-because-you-tipped-my-chair-backwards saving my life, but whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart,” you barely choke out the last part before you burst into a too-tired giggle, hiding your mouth with the collar of his jacket.

His own nickname on your lips burns his insides, mocking or not he wanted to hear it again and again.

“You fight dirty, I had no idea you were into biting.” Eddie teases, his eyes bright and playful matching his smirk, the vending machine comes into view and his eyes light up even more, “oh fuck yeah, come to daddy!”

The black vending machine is lit with a flickering light over head. Eddie thumbs through his wallet and grabs out ten one dollar bills.

“Alright, sweetheart,” Eddie crooned, “pick your vice.”

Deciding on a package of orange squared crackers with cheese, Eddie buys a bag of chocolate cookies, chips, and two bags of candy.

Carrying five cans of pop from the pop machine and Eddie’s plethora of snacks, both of your arms are full.

“So back to you assaulting me—I’m going to take your dental record down to Hopper— I’m turning you in.”

Laughing harder than anyone should have at midnight, your laugh echoes off he walls and bounces around the hallway. Making Eddie’s heart soar with glee. “Turning me in huh?”

Eddie knocks his shoulder into yours, throwing you off balance slightly, “yeah, I’m turning you in, you could have rabies! And I could start foaming at the mouth in my sleep, you’re dangerous and when I get home I’m taking you to the vet!”

The flirty banter is undeniable between you, his giggles match yours as you pad slowly down the hallway. Cheeks burning, coy smiles filling the empty hallway.

Stopping in the hallway with one hip thrown out and a perfectly placed look of innocence on your face you ask in the sweetest voice you could muster, “I’m dangerous? Me?” Making sure you bat your lashes and pout your bottom lip.

Here it was, his opportunity to show you what you really meant to him. No longer laughing, his face turns very serious. Shuffling the snacks around in his arms so he has a hand free, he reaches up to your face, tracing the outline of your jaw and brushing the pad of his thumb delicately against your cheek.

“Baby,” he whispers, that velvet smooth voice on his tongue, eyes dipped in gold and yearning into your own, “I wouldn’t turn this cute face in even if you murdered that son-of-a-bitch, Mr. Derry.”

Heart rate increases, you’re sure there's a pulse where Eddie’s hand is placed on your cheek. The calloused pads of his thumbs stroking your cheek has you weak in the knees. Tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth.

“Cute?” You exclaim, feigning shock, heat trickling up your neck and planting itself into your cheeks, the warmth spreading below Eddie’s hand.

His eyes are trained on yours, flicking from your lips and back up again, and you know whatever he says next 100%, without a doubt shouldn’t be taken lightly.

“Tooty,” Eddie breathes, his voice melting around you, forming to every cell in your body and holding you tight. “You’re beautiful, and not just tonight…every single day.”

No one.

Not your parents.

Definitely, not Chad.

Nobody.

Has ever uttered those words to you. The final wall around your heart falls, crumbling at the base with Eddie holding a sledge hammer to it, begging to be let in.

This menace, prick, pervert, absolutely disgusting man. Has made you fall for him and without words has made it clear that he’s falling for you too.

Butterflies tickle your stomach the rest of the walk back to the room.

Steve and Leighanne are already asleep by the time you make it back, she’s wrapped tight against his bare chest, a hand threaded at the nape of his neck and through the tufts of his chest hair. His lips lay lazily against her forehead.

Robin took the comforter from the other bed and made a makeshift bed in the tub, Eddie places a can of 7-UP next to her, rustling her hair and making sure she’ll be okay for the night.

Flipping through the channels and leaning your back against the headboard, you find an episode of the Golden Girls, opening your snack crackers and nibbling into them,a can of Pepsi nestled between your knees. Eddie runs and jumps onto the bed beside you and starts ripping open his snacks, starting with the chips, and cracking open a can of Mountain Dew. Chugging the lime colored liquid until it drops down his chin.

He lets out a louder than life belch and wipes his lips with the back of his hand. Looking over at you to see if you’re impressed.

You raise up ten fingers and clap, applauding his behavior.

“I’d like to thank my fans, and the Pepsi company, for encouraging the best of burps, with the help of carbonation.” He bows and waves like he’s at the academy awards and you giggle along with him.

You both stay like that for a while, on top of the blankets, watching the Golden Girls and eating snacks, content with filling your stomachs with crappy food and over carbonated beverages.

The looming idea of sleeping in the same bed with Eddie is no longer something you can avoid, when a loud yawn escapes your body and has you snuggling deeper into his leather jacket.

“I—I can sleep in the chair, or on the floor.” He says quickly.

The idea of him sleeping on the floor or with a strained neck in the office chair is unacceptable to you. “No, you can sleep in the bed with me, we can—“ thinking fast for an easy solution, “we can just use different blankets.”

“Oh good,” Eddie whispers, taking off his already loosened tie, and unbuttoning his shirt, “because I would bet a million dollars that you’re a blanket thief.”

Laughing and unzipping his leather jacket, you smirk, hanging it on the back of the chair, “how do you have the vocabulary of a ten year old and a foul sailor all at the same time?”

Eddie unzips his pants and untangles his legs from the dark denim, sitting on the bed with a groan in just his boxer briefs, “I’m like a poor Peter Pan, who grew up on the wrong side of tracks, I’ll never grow up.”

Foregoing any previous thoughts of keeping the dress on, you decide to take it off, exhausted from the night, the cold seeping into your bones and chilling them made you almost delirious with needing sleep, “Can you—will you close your eyes?” You ask in a hushed voice, “at least until I lay down?”

Eddie yanks hard on the sheet and wraps it around his head in a giant makeshift blindfold. “Will this work?”

This angle gives you free range to see his body. It’s not as if you haven’t seen him like this before, but this time it felt different. Every inch of his creamed colored skin, every inky smoked out line of tattoos, the veins protruding from his muscled arms, the ruddy roughness of his knuckles, ghosting with the silver rings on his fingers and in his nipples. The fading sun colored bruises on his ribs. You could write sonnets on the way his breath expands his chest and falls back flush with the rest of his body.

It’s hard to peel your eyes away, but you manage, grabbing your dress by the bottom hem lifting it off of your body. Sliding the tights down your legs until you are completely naked besides the silk black thong. Covering yourself with the off white cotton threaded blanket on the bed, you wrap it around you and sit delicately on the other side of the bed, facing the window, and the furnace.

“I’m done,” you announce, laying your head onto the goose feather pillow and facing Eddie, curling your legs to your chest. Taking slow breaths through your nose to even out your nerves and settle yourself down, the excitement of laying next to Eddie in a bed with both of you only wearing underwear has your body throbbing.

“Finally!” He exaggerates, “were you wearing a dress from the 1800s with all those fancy layers?”

“I was having some trouble with the zipper,” you lie.

“Funny—“ Eddie preens, “I didn’t see a zipper on your dress.”

The idea of him watching you, eyes stuck on your silhouette all night, through dinner, walking to the hotel, makes you feel less bad about staring at him before you crawled into bed. You clench your thighs together.

“How would you know there wasn’t a zipper? Unless of course— you were gawking.”

Two can play this game, and what Eddie didn’t realize is that you’d gotten pretty good at bantering with him.

“Why would you say your dress had a zipper when it didn’t? Maybe you were the one gawking, I mean I get it sweetheart, I’m funny and sexy. Double whammy.”

“Good night, Eddie.” You say with a final laugh. “And I swear to God, if this bed starts jerking in any way—I’ll shave your head and bleach your eyebrows.”

He lets out a laugh loud enough that it makes Steve roll over, scolding you both, about the time and needing to get some sleep. Always in mom mode.

“Sorry dad,” Eddie whispers, giggling like a little kid as he tucks himself in, and turns off the tv and the light between the two beds.

You close your eyes and breathe deeply, allowing sleep to take over your body. Sleep finds you quickly, a deep dreamless sleep, you aren’t sure if you’re awake or not when you feel a pair of lips on the crown of your hair line, a hand moving your hair away from your face, and a voice whispering to you, “good night, pretty girl.”

The next morning, Steve drops you and Eddie off at your house. The ride home seemed to drag on forever, everyone was hungover and trying to stay awake. Robin having her head out of the window for most of the drive. Still gagging from the night before.

Getting into Hawkins, Eddie turns towards you, a menacing smirk on his lips and a devil gleam in his eyes, “rock, paper scissors for dibs on first shower?”

“You’re on Munson,”

“I just don’t understand how paper beats rock!” Eddie complains as he takes a piss talking to you as you take a shower. The humidtiy from the bathroom moistens his curls, frizzing them into oblivion, “in what fucking universe does a paper lying over a goddamn rock win?”

Placing the razor against the white pillowy peaks of the shaving cream you slide it up your leg, careful to not cut your knee. “Don’t be a sore loser because you chose rock three times in a row.

“It’s the most common way to win!” He whines, slamming the toilet seat down and plopping himself on top of it. “Are you almost done? I feel like I’ve been freezing for 24 hours, I never warmed up lastnight.”

Rinsing the last bit of conditioner from your hair you turn the water off, throwing a hand out from the shower curtain to reach for your robe, wrapping it around you tightly, and opening the shower, you notice that Eddie looks paler than usual.

“Are you getting sick?” You place the back of your hand on his forehead, it’s clammy and abnormally warm. The twinkle he almost always has in his eyes is gone, he looks rundown. “In the nicest way possible, you look like hell.”

“I feel like shit,” Eddie complains.

“Here,” you offer, starting the water for him, “take a hot shower and I’ll go make us some food.”

When Eddie gets out of the shower the kitchen smells of sweet thick batter, sprinkled with a hint of cinnamon. The waffle iron you had bought with Nancy before Halloween worked like a dream, it was in better condition than you had thought.

Two plates are sitting on the counter, as Eddie walks into the kitchen, wearing a hoodie and sweats, he comes behind you, moving your hips gently to the side as he peers over your shoulder to see what you’re making.

“Waffles?!” He squeals into your ear, “I didn’t know we even had a waffle press thing,” he says, messing up your still damp hair with a tousle, “wait is that the thing that’s kept in the bathroom under the sink?”

Racking your brain you try to envision what he’s thinking of, “no Eddie that would be Nancy’s hot rollers, for her hair..”

“Well that’s not edible,” he says walking to the fridge and pulling out his jug of milk.

Hollering over your shoulder and opening the waffle iron to carefully remove the perfect round breakfast delicacy from the iron with a fork, you announce, “that’s why they’re in the bathroom, under the sink. I bought the waffle iron when Nancy and I went shopping a few weeks ago, how are you feeling?”

Taking a big gulp of milk Eddie mutters, “better, much better, I’m just really tired.”

Plating the waffles and getting the syrup from the cabinet you set the plates down at the table, bringing over two glasses and two sets of silverware, “can you grab the orange juice, and the butter?”

Bringing the requested items to the table, Eddie sets them down, next to the napkin holder. Grabbing a knife hastily and spreading the pale yellow butter around the crispy pockets of the waffle, melting into delicious puddles of savory goodness, awaiting the courtship to be reunited with the sticky sweet syrup to combine into heavenly wedded bliss.

Cutting his waffle and diving in, the kitchen is surrounded by sound of Eddie’s satisfied moans, “fuck,” he cries with a mouthful of food, shoveling more in, “this is so fucking good, you’re a saint— no no! Wait, an angel.”

The waffles were good, the perfect amount of crispy and soft. Eddie finished both of his waffles in record time.

“So where did you get this thing?” he asked curiously, pointing to the waffle iron on the counter.

“With Nancy—oh! I completely forgot!” you say excitedly, “I got a record too, it’s by the rest of them near your record player, I didn’t want to use it and break it.”

Eddie pads over to the record player and thumbs through the stack on the shelf.

He had already been staring at the record for over a minute before you spoke again, saying his name asking if he wanted another waffle.

“Damn,” he interrupts you sniffing loudly, “I haven’t heard this since…”

He carefully pulls the sleeve from the record and slots it in place, putting the needle in place. The soft twang of Bobbie Gentry’s guitar plays as she plucks the strings, a few beats in and her sultry, smoky voice begins singing, retelling the story of the day she found out the fate of Billie Joe.

Eddie sits cross legged on the floor next to the record player, staring in awe. His socked feet tucked under his thighs. Elbows digging into his legs.

His mind drifts to a small house on the outskirts of Hawkins, the paint peeling and chipping away, a dog named Ruby running alongside him as he pedals his bike up the dirt lane.

She was standing in the kitchen, her soft brown curls waving behind her as she ashed a cigarette and cut his ham sandwich into squares, taking the crust off. She hummed along to the waning wonky tunes of the radio as Bobbie Gentry sang about Billie Joe. Her smile fading in his memory.

He never allowed himself to think of her. Despite what Uncle Wayne and the therapist at the stuffy office with the seafoam green painted walls, the cheerful posters with kids and their perfect families staring at him as he glared at the floor, toe of his converse trying to dig a hole through the tile. It only brought him sadness. It was something he couldn’t talk about, not to anyone. The panic attacks in the night when he dreamt of the day she was taken from him, right in front of his big doe eyes, would send Wayne into a frenzy. Helping Eddie breath, making the small child ground himself with his surroundings. So he moved on, throwing himself into music, and his friends. Anything to keep his mind from thinking of that day. But here in your living room, twenty years later, it was all he could think of.

Her perfume, hints of jasmine and lilac a tinge of cigarette smoke underneath. The way her glasses were perched on her head as she read through the paper. Her light brown eyes, like caramel apples you’d see at the fair. Her long fingers always thumping along to whatever song she heard. The gift of a piano player. The way she would dance with him in the living room, barefoot and giggly as she swung him around and around. Those were the good memories, the ones before she was ripped away from him.

The song finishes and Eddie leans up onto his knees, placing the needle to replay it again, this time the warm tears are flowing freely, running down his cheeks. He no longer cared if you saw him cry like a baby.

You’re standing at the edge of the kitchen watching him. You figured his mom was dead by the way he never mentioned her. Chrissy once asked him about his parents after he mentioned his Uncle Wayne, and he blew it off, like he blew off lots of things, “shit, think she joined the circus, married the world’s strongest man.” You wonder if the fib was easier for him to tell himself. Rather have her still around, happy and breathing than what she actually was. You’ve only seen him like this one other time and that was after you saw Chad at the grocery store.

Steve had told you how concerned he was when he came in to talk with you. How scared he was, how bad he felt that he wasn’t around to protect you when you needed it. And just like he did for you, you’d do for him.

Walking gently towards him you stand behind him, not sure if lightly touching his shoulder would cross a boundary but wanting to reassure him, you do it anyway. The pads of your fingers daintily skim his shoulders, running soft figure eight patterns. His face is hidden by his curtain of hair but you can hear him sniffling softly. A soft squeeze of his shoulder and he wraps an arm around your bare calf, holding onto dear life as you pull him into you. His death grip on your leg almost has you falling over. You find yourself threading your fingers through his wet hair. Rubbing along his scalp, his shoulders jump and shake with a deep sigh as the song finishes again. Eddie peels himself from you and turns the record player off. Standing and looking at the ground. Toeing the carpet with his sock.

“I have…,” he says, clearing his throat, trying like hell to gain composure, “I haven’t heard that song in years… it was her favorite.”

Reaching for his hand your fingers find their way into the spaces between his. Squeezing and rubbing his pointer figure with the pad of your thumb. “Eddie,” you whisper to him, your small soft voice reaching out to him beckoning him.

His eyes turn to you, tear filled and red, his body shaking with a light sob. Instincts kick in and you don’t realize what’s happening before it does, you drag him down the hallway, into your room. The same room where he comforted you in the warmth of his arms, you sit down on your bed, your back to the headboard and bring him down with you, his head in your lap. his arms wrapped tight around your bare thighs. Brushing his hair away from his face with your fingers, his body is racked with sobs, the tops of your thighs wet with his tears. You rub his back, comforting him and whispering to him that you’re sorry, that it’s okay, that you’re here for him.

The dishes would have to wait.

When you wake, you’re snuggled down into the confinements of your bed. Blankets covering both you and Eddie, his arms wrapped tightly around your middle like a child with a balloon at the fair, afraid to let go. His body is curved with yours, his light snores tickling your hair. Not waking him, you gently fall back asleep, the thought that he was right, skids across your mind.

Eddie was the first guy to sleep in your bed— and your heart leaped when you selfishly hoped he never wanted to leave it.

A/N: SEE YOU IN VOL: VIII HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED

[this message is for read more —, you big nasty, smelling bitch. Why you took me off the mf schedule with your trifflin’ dirty ass. Big bitch Oompa Loompa body ass bitch, I’m comin up there and I’m gonna beat the fuck …… (it’s a reference from TikTok) BUT TRY ME READMORE TRY ME]

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #stranger things #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fan fiction

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mochie85 · 1 year ago

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Truth Or Dare

These Wicked Games Collection Masterlist | Complete Masterlist

Summary: The first contact you and Loki had made in weeks, since the falling out that fateful morning. A game of Truth or Dare makes you both confront your feelings. Suggested Song: "Do I Wanna Know" by The Arctic Monkeys Word Count: 2.9K Pairing: Loki x Female Reader Warnings: Smut adjacent/Mature, a game of truth or dare, a kiss between Reader and Steve Rogers. 😏

Pent-up days bled into lonely nights. You retreated into your room, save for mission briefings and assignments that Fury would send you too.

Your interactions with Loki had been civil. Not a word was spoken between you two that didn’t involve other people or the task at hand. And when you found yourself in each other’s company, alone, you would just leave the room.

What you didn’t see were the glances and the stares in your direction. Not Loki’s, but the team’s.

“They must’ve fucked,” Bucky whispered.

“Absolutely, they did,” Natasha confirmed.

“How do you know?” Steve asked. “You can’t know that.” The three of them were watching through the glass wall of the conference room. You were showing the new recruit, Wanda, around the common areas and Loki was watching you through side glances and narrowed eyes.

“Do you remember how he acted during poker night?” Bucky asked.

“Ya, he was a real piece of work. I thought we were gonna have to call HR or something the way he was coming on to her,” Steve spurned.

“Ya, and now…that stopped. He got over his infatuation.” Bucky observed.

“Or he wasn’t enough to satisfy her.” Natasha counteroffered. Both men looked at her quizzically. “I mean come on. Not once had she looked in his direction. She’s over him. But he hasn’t been able to keep his eyes off her!” Natasha said proudly of you. Neither Steve nor Bucky could argue with her assessment.

You had just walked into your room when a loud knock came on your door. “Come in” you yelled across your apartment.

“Hey,” Nat said, walking in and sitting on your duvet. She eyed you up and down looking at your blouse and pencil skirt. “Did you just have a meeting?”

“Ya, with Fury.” You said, mid unbutton.

“Don’t get undressed yet. The rest of the team is on a mission again tonight. So, we thought we’d have a little movie night to welcome Wanda.”

“Oh, that’s nice. I think she would love that. I’m down,” you said excitedly.

“Great! Same crew as poker night.” Nat said getting up to leave.

“On second thought…”

“What?! What is it?” Nat asked running through a list of possible scenarios and conclusions in her head. “Oh my God, is it because of Laufeyson?”

“WHAT?! No! Why would you say that? Pfft…of course not!” You laughed. “Laufeyson? Why would I care? I don’t- I don’t care,” you prattled.

“You guys slept together, didn’t you?” She smirked, wanting confirmation of her earlier theory. You stayed quiet. Just staring at her, not knowing how to answer her question. It wasn’t like you were ashamed of it. It was just that it ended on a very sour note. “Your face says it all. Tell me everything!”

You sat there, telling her about the amazing night you had weeks ago. How you brazenly went to his room that night of the poker game and had your own game. But then you also told her about the following morning and how neither of you have really talked about it since.

“You like him, don’t you?” she asked with a Cheshire grin. “You really like him!” You groaned and flopped yourself on the bed, hiding underneath your pillows. “I honestly don’t see the problem. The man was packed! And if you’ve managed to ride it and leave it. More power to you.”

“Natasha!”

“What?! I remember the poker game. I remember him stripping!” she laughed as you rolled your eyes.

“How could I forget? He made a show about it in front of me when he could’ve easily just magicked his clothes off!”

“Look. Just come. Prove to him that you don’t care what he said to you. That it was a game for you too and nothing more. Right?”

“Right…” you agreed hesitantly.

You followed Nat down the hallway, praying to any powers-that-be that Loki wouldn’t show up. Wanda bound up to the two of you and she blocked your view of the common area. She was very excited about the movie, thanking Steve for letting her choose it. When she moved to sit, was when your eyes landed on the recliner across from you. Decked out in a fitted white shirt and loose black denim, sat Loki, with his arms crossed and legs open as if in invitation.

You sat on the couch to the other side of him, facing the other direction, pretending to be interested in the projector Bucky was trying to work out. Bucky smacked it a few times till the light flickered momentarily and then went black again.

“Why is this not working?!” Bucky raised his arm to hit it again before you and Vision stopped him.

“You know, I think we should play a little game to take our mind off things while those two try to fix the monitor,” suggested Natasha. “A little game of Truth or Dare, perhaps?” The game got your attention and you looked directly at the redhead, affixing your death stare to her pouty lips.

What are you up to? You mouthed to her. She ignored you completely and turned around. “Ooh, can I go first? I love this game!” Wanda asked bouncing excitedly. “I’ll start with Steve!”

“Awe why do you have to start with me?” He asked petulantly.

“Cuz you’re our fearless leader. So lead!” Natasha pushed. Steve only rolled his eyes.

“Truth or dare?” Wanda asked.

Steve lowered his head down in defeat, smiling, trying to be a good sport. “Dare,” he said to the resounding oohs and aahs from the group.

“I dare you to demonstrate the best kiss you’ve ever had.” Wanda smiled innocently at the heckles and jabs thrown in Steve’s direction. Although, you got the feeling that she was hiding more than she was letting on.

“What? Like in the air?” Steve proceeds to pucker his lips and kiss an imaginary person in front of him.

“No! OK, that’s… kind of gross!” Everyone laughed.

“How ‘bout on her!” Nat interrupted, pointing to you as she sat back and smiled, watching the whole thing play out.

Heat ran down your back as you looked at Steve. He gave you a boyish, heartwarming smile that almost took your breath away. You watched as he got up and made his way over to you. Did everything just go in slow motion? He lifted your chin to face him. “May I?” he asked so sweetly, and you nodded in response. With bright blue eyes shut, he leaned in and kissed you.

It was soft at first. He gently sucked on your upper lip and splayed his hands open, cupping your cheek. You had missed this. The closeness. The intimacy.

You missed him!

You started thinking about Loki and the few erotically charged moments you spent with him. You moaned at Steve’s touch, imagining it was Loki you were kissing. Steve took that as a sign to tilt his head and his tongue dove in further. It slid across yours, sending a tingling sensation down to your core.

Natasha watched Loki. As Loki watched you. The scowl on his face getting deeper and deeper as you clung to Steve tighter and tighter. Steve pulled away slowly, as he breathed out. You didn’t realize you were holding tight to his lapels, on your tippy toes, keeping him close to you.

“Ok. My turn!” Steve smiled and turned around abruptly as if he hadn’t given you one memorable kiss. You stood there stunned into place, slowly turning to face away from Loki. Steve looked at Natasha to exact his revenge. “Natasha. Truth or dare?”

“Truth.” She answered confidently.

“Have you ever fantasized about anyone in this room, intimately?”

“Yes.” She answered and Bucky’s ears picked up, looking at the deadly assassin through his side eyes.

“Who?!” Steve asked aloud.

“Fixed!” Bucky yelled as the monitor came to life.

“One more before the movie starts.” Nat turned to you and asked you with wild eyes and a mischievous grin. “Truth or dare?”

You took a deep breath and sighed, “Dare.” Nat’s grin got even wider as she walked up to you and whispered her dare in your ear.

“Oh come on! We all want to hear it!” Wanda said. Your eyes turned wide and the expression on your face dropped when Natasha pulled away.

“Go on. You have to do it! You chose dare.” She goaded you. You narrowed your eyes at her as you started making your way over to Loki on his lone recliner. His arms were still folded, and his legs were still open.

The confusion on his face was telling. It got even more concerned when you turned around and sat directly on his lap. Loki held his arms in the air, unsure of what to do or where to put them. “Excuse me?!” he finally said.

The room looked at both of you, chuckling and awe-faced. Nat looked like she had won a match that you were unwittingly a player in.

“Just go with it, okay?” you whispered to Loki.

“Go with what? Why are you sitting on my lap?” Loki bellowed.

“Shh! The movie is starting,” Natasha scolded the both of you, turning around with a self-satisfying grin. The audacity! The fucking nerve of this woman! You were going to pay her back somehow. You didn’t know where or how, but one day! Best friend be damned! Maybe you’ll reveal who she’s been having fantasies about. Maybe you’ll hide all her guns. Yeah! And her stun bracers too!

Loki placed his hands on the armrest. He was euphoric at the turn of events. But highly confused as to what the dare was to make you sit on his lap. How long will he have? Are you going to sit here for the entire movie? Can he touch you? Norns how he longed to touch you! It’s been weeks since that awful morning. And every time he tried to talk to you, you would leave the room. Or there were more pressing matters at hand.

His pride and confidence left him the morning you left his bed. He thought he made it very clear how in love with you he was. But you either didn’t believe him or you were just playing a game with him.

He didn’t know how to approach you anymore. But one thing is for certain, if you keep moving the way you were, he would have to excuse himself immediately.

“Stop moving!” he ordered.

“I can’t help it. You’re not exactly comfortable to sit on.” You whisper-growled back at him.

“That’s not what it looked like a couple weeks back. I seem to recall you enjoyed sitting on my lap.” Without warning, Loki grabbed your waist and pulled you closer to his frame. Seating you right in between his open legs. Right on the cushion of the seat. “Better?” he asked.

“Yes,” you said begrudgingly. “Thank you.”

“Always a pleasure, darling.”

The first half hour of the movie was hard to follow. Every breath Loki would take, any small movement he would make, you felt it right behind you. You sat perfectly stiff. Your back, like a ruler, not wanting to give in to his warmth and comfort.

As the movie progressed, you tried to make the best of your awkward situation. The team had settled and forgotten about the two of you in the back of the room. You yourself got lost in the dramatic plot of the movie. All too soon, your arms grew tired. You relaxed them onto the armrest, forgetting that they were already occupied by Loki’s. You tried to relax them to your sides but were met with his thighs on either side of you.

Loki didn’t seem fazed by any of it. His breathing was even. His heartbeat was steady as a drum, albeit thumping loudly and hard behind you. The only tell he gave away was the movement of his head next to yours. His quick inhale of breath as he surreptitiously smelled the perfume of your hair.

How long has it been? Days? Weeks? A lifetime, since you’ve felt his touch. And here you are now, sitting on his lap, hoping that the growing hardness you felt behind you is what you think it is and not just his belt buckle.

“Truth or dare, darling?” Loki whispered in your ear, breaking his resolve.

“Loki, I’m tired of these games. I don’t-”

“Truth? Or dare?” he insisted. You gave out a big sigh and rolled your eyes, knowing he could see your expression. You looked around at your team, engrossed in the movie.

“They can’t hear us as long as you whisper,” Loki said answering your unspoken question.

“Truth.” You answered him.

“Really?” he asked surprised.

“Well, a dare got me into this mess,” you reasoned.

“What was Natasha’s dare?” Of all the things he could’ve asked you. You didn’t think he would be too curious, but it was also the one answer that would leave you too vulnerable.

“She dared me to-”

“Sit on my lap?”

“No!” A beat was taken before you had the courage to say what you needed to.

“What did she say, verbatim?”

“Her exact words were…to sit with the person I had feelings for…for the entire movie,” you whispered.

Heat crawled up your spine. You can feel your embarrassment radiate through your clothes and add to the heat that Loki was giving off. You felt so flushed and nervous that you started rambling. “And you had taken up the entire space with your long legs. Clearly, there was nowhere else for me to sit but your lap. I mean honestly. It was almost as if you didn’t want anyone sitting next to you. What’s the point in coming to these group exercises if you don’t intend to be amiable? I-”

“Shh,” Loki said putting his finger to your lips. “Keep your voice down, darling. Or else my enchantment will fail.” You looked around at your teammates who were still engrossed in the movie.

He pulled you closer to the chair, flushed against his firm chest. His large hand cradled your stomach while his other fingers continued to explore your lips. They tickled you as he ran them gingerly, tracing your cupid’s bow down to the soft pout of your bottom lip. He kept his stare at your mouth, lost in thought.

“Dare me, darling.” He whispered.

“That’s not how the game works, Loki,” you smiled.

“Dare me to kiss you. Please.” His plea took you by surprise. Desire wrapped around the two of you. Squeezing the air from both your lungs, leaving you wanting.

Breathlessly you said, “I dare you to kiss me Lo-” You hadn’t finished your sentence before his lips hungrily descended on yours. His hand cupped your cheek and kept your head to his. Your hands intertwined with his and he held on to you tighter.

Loki’s kiss was deep and demanding. There was a sense of urgency to it as if he was running out of time and he had yet to get his fill of you. He pulled away briefly to breathe but his appetite only grew. He needed to kiss you. He needed to touch you. Everywhere.

With his eyes closed, his lips found your neck and artfully marked your skin. His hands flew to the buttons of your shirt, opening them one by one as you laid your head back onto his shoulders. You gave in to him. Into his touch. His hands reached inside and cupped your breast, making you moan.

A well-timed explosion happened in the movie that you and Loki had already disregarded. It pulled your attention away from his yearning, giving you logic long enough to remember where you were.

“Loki…” you whimpered. He ignored your cries and was lost in his own spiral. “Loki I…I need you. But not here. Not in front of everyone.”

“Why not in front of everyone? That way Rogers knows what a proper kiss looks like,” he growled. His jealousy made you titter. “Let me wipe that moment out of your memories. Let me replace it with my lips.” He grabbed your chin and kissed you again with no regard for keeping it quiet. His entire body shook with emotion. Longing, jealousy, dominance.

“I was thinking of you,” you admitted panting onto his lips. “I was imagining I was kissing you.”

Loki stared into your eyes as he let that information swirl in his thoughts. His growing smile sent shivers throughout your body. You felt carnal pleasure in knowing you had pleased him somehow.

His voice changed. His eyes had grown darker. He inhaled through his teeth as he praised you, “That’s my girl,” he snarled. His hands continued to roam underneath your blouse. His fingers pinched your aching nipples through the lace of your bra, sending you jolts of pleasure down to your already heated sex. “Are you going to continue being a good girl for me?”

You nodded devotedly. “Good,” Loki growled, fighting to keep his desire at bay. “I want you to go to my room and wait for me on my bed. Can you do that for me, pet?”

You moaned when he nipped your jaw gently waiting for you to answer. You slowly got up, feeling the rush of your excitement pool down into your panties. You walked slowly, trying not to get the attention of the others, as you snuck behind the chair where Loki was sitting.

“Oh and pet…” he whispered grabbing your hand gently. “…Don’t think of running away to make me chase you like last time. Unless,” spreader bar “You’d like to be cuffed and barred again.” He smiled, daring you.

⬅️20 Questions | House of Card➡️

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