#Jesus Christ how can one band be SO GOOD!!!

[boy-armageddon]

YES my username on yt is a blood bros reference :33 i need to go to crimes world again i know in my heart and soul that i love her but i seldom show her attention .. i need to care her more ..

HOOFRAY!!!! also pretty please do!!!!!!! for me!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[neverendingford]

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[venomvalley]

LIGHTS, CAMERA—

onlyfans!leon kennedy x pornstar!reader // 5.6k words

summary: Leon needs a way to pay off his tuition for the police academy and you, his long-time friend slash rising pornstar, help him start his OnlyFans career. But things get a little awkward when your fans start begging you to collab.

tags: 18+ only! oral sex (m!recieving), safe sex, enthusiastic consent, p in v, praise kink, light corruption kink, reader films a non-leon threesome for plot reasons. continuing my submissive leon propaganda. there are also feelings here.

notes: jesus christ i finally finished this behemoth. based this around my own experience with sex work so it should not encompass the industry as a whole. this is just fiction.

-> read on ao3

The bedroom is bathed in dapples of red and blue when you open the door. Leon stands on a new shag rug just before the couch, arms spread wide when he turns and notices your presence.

“So, how's it look?”

You close the door behind you as you survey the room, eyes darting over decorations old and new.

His bed sits in one corner, sheets recently used, a set of sleep clothes tossed carelessly at the foot. Half-shoved beneath an askew pillow is the stuffed koala you bought him for his birthday last year. Band posters taped to the wall overhead.

Good thing he wasn't asking your opinion on that.

The remodeled filming area in another corner looks the most inviting. His soft, fluffy couch and pillows that quickly became a staple in his videos; two lamps on either side, lights perfectly aimed at the center cushion where he always sits (mood lighting is important, you had told him. an easy way to increase production quality); a small end table to store lube, condoms, toys for the day's shoot—anything you might need for filming amateur porn.

Your smile gleams with pride as you set your bag down near the door. “You've gotten really good at decorating. The fans are gonna love it.”

“You think so?”

You scoff at him in dramatic jest, shirking your coat somewhere near his bed. “Are you questioning my judgement?”

“Never. Couldn't have done it without you, honestly.”

Something sweet and sticky settles at the center of your lungs, and his cheery tone wrings out your breath. You couldn't imagine being anywhere else.

This all began as a way to pay off tuition from his current stint at some expensive police academy. If you're being honest with yourself, you much prefer him doing this. Maybe a bit selfish of you, given the circumstances, but he's good. And here's the thing: Leon paid off his debt months ago. He obviously loves the attention, the praise, the sharp spikes of dopamine each time he gets behind the camera (you get it—why else would you still continue fucking for some strangers on the internet?). He held the perfect recipe for stardom: an early twenties guy in prime shape, inexperienced to the point of blushing around any naked body beside his own, with the prettiest noises of pleasure you've ever heard. Everything fit into place.

Your presence in his life predates the porn. Just two almost-friends from high school who reconnected at a grocery store back home. A star in your own right, with a career spawning from NSFW subreddits you used to post on for fun. And when he came to you with news of his financial issues, desperate and embarrassed and all grown up, you didn't tell him about your job. You knew the risks, the side effects, the potential consequences. The internet—people—can be cruel.

Then he found your twitter (a happenstance, he swears) and the videos you posted. The website you linked in the description of all of them.

I think it's cool, he had said over text one night. At least it looks fun.

And so the floodgates opened.

You ensured the quality of his videos. Took some inspiration from a few guys you worked with in the past—lighting, angles, making noise is a must—and applied your own knowledge to craft Leon into the perfect sellable package. It's all business at the end of the day.

Until it isn't. Porn is one of very few industries that require the mix of business and pleasure for success. And although you play your directorial part well, you'd be a dirty fucking liar if you said that watching Leon jerk off every Tuesday and Friday isn't the highlight of your week.

He's a good boy so he leaves his face out of the shot, whines please and thank you to some invisible voyeur when he cums. Makes you food after a long session because you refuse to take any form of payment, but that first time he looked at you like a kicked dog when he insisted he pay you in a nice meal at least, and how could you resist?

So here you stand, the light casting soft shadows over his body as he plops down on the couch, boxers tight around his hips and thighs, bulge front and center when he spreads his legs wide.

Don't look don't look don't look. You might be a whore, but you can express self-control around your friend.

“What are we doing today?” you ask, turning around to sift through your bag on the floor.

“I got a few gifts in the mail, so…”

"Damn, already?”

He offers up a smug shrug, arms resting on the back of the couch. “What can I say? My fans love me.”

You set up the tripod and the camera (the same one you use for your own videos), as he sifts through the end table with a set of muffled thumps. He then places a bottle of lube and an unfamiliar cock ring on the coffee table, leaves to the bathroom for a moment before returning with the most sophisticated fleshlight you've ever seen. The material is see through, textured to perfection inside the sleeve. It's a work of masturbatory art.

“Holy shit.”

“Cool, right? It even has suction settings.” He slides a finger into the toy, and you watch through a filter of opaque glass as the silicone stretches beneath his exploration. “It's really soft.”

You swallow thick, eyes glued to the movement of his long fingers. “Oh, I gotta see this.”

His boyish excitement rubs off on you. Can't help it when he settles on the couch with a grin, fingers drumming along his thigh as you make last-minute adjustments to the lighting and camera's framing. The final result is beautiful, movie-like. Smooth gradient and hard shadows, showcasing his figure from neck to knee (an upward angle, of course—the most popular, a perfect showcase of the thickness of his thighs, a POV of sorts that places the watcher on their knees before him).

He slips into a role that mirrors much of his real life: curious and inexperienced, an endearing amount of confused. Changes his voice enough that, should anybody familiar stumble upon his videos, they wouldn't immediately recognize him. Makes a show of palming himself through his underwear, hips grinding a slow rhythm against his hand. He asks hushed questions, teasing and bashful as his cock swells beneath the fabric.

It's the ‘you really wanna see it?’ that does you in. Because yes, no matter how many times he's bared himself before the camera, you always wanna see it through the **technical filter **of the viewfinder. Can't bare to sneak a peek with the naked eye. Too afraid that he'll catch you staring.

And when he finally tugs down his underwear, waistband tucked snug beneath the weight of his balls, you curse the natural mechanism of blinking.

The show begins.

He takes time spreading the lube over his length, favors slow, teasing pumps as he tells you (no, not you specifically—the viewer) how good it feels. How he wishes his hand were yours. And it’s so easy to pretend that the camera isn’t there. That this isn’t a performance for hundreds of people. That he’s talking to you, the unseen face behind the lens, the catalyst of this whole affair.

He gets nasty as time goes on. Whines about how needy he is, how good it would feel for somebody to come and sit on it. The squelch of his fist is almost overstimulating. His palm rubs over his belly, follows the path of his happy trail to cup at his balls. It’s the perfect shot, really. The flex of his forearm, the show of veins along the back of his hand, the clench of his abdominals.

For the first time since you began filming his videos, temptation proves too strong to bear. For the very first time, you chance a look over the viewfinder. A simple rise of your head, a hairsbreadth of movement, but he notices. Locks lidded eyes with you and pins you there, the usual blue of his irises now deep as midnight, bottom lip pillowed between his teeth.

Your heart drops, settles somewhere snug between your hips where your pulse thumps heavy. If he said the word, you would crawl over on hands and knees and kneel between his legs and continue where he left off. There’s a pretty curve to his cock that you’d love to follow with your tongue. You wonder how the slick mess of his precum might taste.

Okay. So you’re a whore.

From what you’ve heard from friends in the business, porn isn’t supposed to be sexy for the cameraman. They’re too focused on camera angles and making sure the lighting stays good to worry about the actual sex. But it’s not like that with Leon. He and his pleasure sit front and center at all times. The scene is stagnant, with very few instances of framing or lighting changes. It’s just you and the man in the viewfinder.

You almost black out when he fits the fleshlight over his cock. The first pump leaves his thigh muscles tensing as his head falls against the back of the couch (heat settles in your belly when you realize that you’re the only one allowed to see his face and, by extension, his face when he's jerking off). His hips grind, chasing the suctioning pleasure as his fist builds a steady rhythm. He’s noisy: whining and moaning, cussing under his breath.

It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, and it ends much too soon. After a few minutes of milking vibration, he replaces the fleshlight with his hand, fucking his fist, body tensing as his orgasm looms.

He cums hard and heavy over his belly in pearlescent streaks that wet the line of dusky blond hair you find there. A horrible part of you wishes to lick it up. To clean his cock with your mouth instead of the wash cloth that you promptly run and fetch.

You trap yourself in the bathroom to calm the stampede of your pulse between your thighs. The weight of your need bends you over the sink, and you stick your hands beneath the warm water, gripped tight around the fabric, as you watch your sanity empty down the drain.

You come back with a smile, tossing the rag on his belly. “Good?”

He cracks open an eye, cheeks rosy post-orgasm, body melted into the couch. “You have no idea.”

As he starts to clean up, the red blip of your camera catches your attention. In your haste to escape, you forgot to end the recording. A definite first for you at this point in your career, and you should be way more humiliated than you feel about letting the camera run for five minutes, but you're currently soaking through your shorts and are far too worried about the wet spot you might leave on his furniture.

On cue, Leon turns to you, tying the strings of his jogging pants, and says, “What do you want for dinner?”

.

.

.

The message you receive from a long-time twitter follower on a boring Wednesday night licks heat up the back of your neck:

would love to see u collab with that new guy everybody's raving about. i'll tip extra…. dont make me beg ;)

ps ur so sexy. love that last DP video… blue is ur color

Then a link to Leon's twitter.

You're used to requests and the generous money that accompanies them. From the vanilla to the weird to the dehumanizing, you've admittedly filled each category. Film yourself smoking an entire cigarette? Two hundred bucks, easy. Sticking your feet in a store-bought lemon meringue pie? Five hundred, just like that.

You don't like to think about the last category too often. Luckily, you're well-off enough financially that you don't have to accept those requests anymore.

But this one frays your nerves solely for the fact that you consider it. You exit out of the browser and close your laptop and sit in the dark silence of your bedroom for a long few minutes.

It's not like you haven't thought about it. He's beautiful and sweet and genuine. The sex would undoubtedly be fun.

You imagine yourself teaching him a few things. The blush across his cheeks the first time you swallow down his cock, the high-pitched sigh he would make at the first feel of you around him, buried to the hilt, all clenching muscles and white-hot heat.

But you can't. Could never ask that of him. How much are you willing to ruin for a few hundred bucks?

You spend the better part of the next hour with your hand between your legs. Fantasizing. Nothing wrong with that. Just need a little release to make yourself feel better.

When you finally cum, it’s to the thought of bouncing in Leon’s lap. His hair fisted between your fingers. The thrum of his pulse beneath your lips.

The cleanup is embarrassing. Fantasy is one thing, but the proof of your betrayal spreads sticky between your thighs, on your fingers and lips. It’s the first time you’ve ever done something like this—come to the thought of a fellow sex worker.

But damn, you’ve never been this wet in your life. Never came this hard either.

Suffice to say, you’re considering your twitter follower’s request.

.

.

.

Moments like these are why you love your job.

Your friend’s face smothered by your thighs, a pretty cock deep down your throat. His name is Nate, tall and burly and hairy where it counts, and he knows how to fuck. He does it well.

The scene had been set in the bedroom of a mutual friend’s apartment. Fluffy pillows and soft sheets and ambient lighting. Bee sits in a chair just out of view of the camera, prepping herself with two fingers in her pussy and another circling her clit. She’s a sight to behold: thick at the hips and thighs and waist, soft to the touch, curly hair tied away from her face in an intricate updo.

You have two gorgeous people in the room with you, and yet all you can fantasize about is Leon. How he would fill your mouth, the softness of his tongue on your clit. If he’d be gentle or rough.

(You want him to use you like his fleshlight.)

You pull away from Nate’s cock with a gasp as he sucks hard on your clit, fitting a thick thumb inside your pussy to give you something to clench down on.

This is what you’re used to. This is fun.

And yet—

Bee climbs up on the bed, crawling over to your splayed bodies with a low-lidded grin. She joins you between his legs, kisses you hard on the mouth before licking a wet stripe up the length of his cock.

Threesomes are your favorite scene to shoot, no matter the mix of genders. A good change in routine, a pleasurable overstimulation. The diversity of bodies, of taste and smell and texture.

And yet—

The condom makes its arrival shortly after your first orgasm, and Bee helps you into place, taking her seat on Nate’s slicked-up face. With weakened legs, you seat yourself on his lap in one long stroke, balancing yourself with a hand on each of his thighs. He fills you full, more thick than lengthy, fitting perfectly against your g-spot with each grind of your hips.

And yet—

all you can think about is Leon.

The space he commands inside your head infuriates you. When the fucking is over and you’re all washed up and lounging on the couch, your friends take note of your distraction.

“Nobody else is gonna notice, but we do,” Bee says, nursing a glass of blood-red wine, cuddled up to your side like always.

She passes it to you with a knowing look, and you take a hefty swig before handing it back. “It’s just this guy. I’ve been helping with his content.” You shake your head, massaging a hand over your cheek. “It’s stupid, and it’s pissing me off.”

A bit of an understatement. You can’t tell them that he occupies every aspect of your waking mind. That every moment of free thought goes to fantasizing about fucking him.

Beside you, Nate dips his head, brows raised in surprise. “Oh shit. You in love, kitty cat?”

“Jesus Christ, no. He’s just—“ you sigh, “different. Cute, like a puppy or something.”

Bee nods. “Yeah, I get it. You’re in loooove.”

Your frustration reaches its peak, and you would pull your hair out from the root if not for the way she grabs your hands in a dramatic show.

“I’m not in love. I wanna fuck him.”

Your friends share an understanding ahhhh, and Nate wraps a comforting arm around your shoulders. Pulls you in close to say, “Listen, he’s forbidden fruit. We’ve all been there.”

The lilt of his tone portrays jest, and the heat in your cheeks makes you want to shrivel up and crawl into the crack between the cushions.

Bee laughs, and your shoulders curl toward your knees in resignation. “I can’t believe I have sex with you two.”

“Shut up. We’re the best you’ve ever had.”

You blink a moment, considering the statement.

Yeah. Can’t argue with that.

She pats your bare leg, pity woven in the lilt of her brow. “Just talk to him.”

“Absolutely not. We’re actually friends, and I don’t wanna mess it up.”

.

.

.

Leon texts you a few days later, well past midnight. A screenshot of a very similar DM to the one you received, quickly followed up by a set of question marks.

leon [2:45 am]

have u been getting these too

You snap out of your half-asleep state and roll over onto an elbow.

me [2:45 am]

yeah. when you get popular enough people request for you to collab with other creators.

leon [2:46 am]

wait they requested u to collab with me????

You adjust your grip on your phone, palms turning clammy at the question. The unknown of how this conversation may go strikes the fear of rejection in you. He’ll either voice his disgust or his excitement, and you—

Who are you kidding? You know exactly which response would be worse.

me [2:48 am]

they’re pretty much begging me actually

leon [2:49 am]

hmmm

The next evening, you show up at Leon’s apartment with your trusty duffel bag in tow. He sits on his couch, dressed down in a baggy shirt and sweatpants. A huge shift to what you’re used to. No sex toys or lube or neon lights to be found. Just Leon and whatever odd reality show he watches on the television.

“Hey,” you say, abandoning your bag and shoes and coat by the door.

You collapse on the couch beside him, a ball of anxiety wound tight in your chest. Not sure why. Things just feel different, off with him today. Like the living room holds its breath in anticipation.

He gives a simple greeting in return then focuses back on the tv, and you dissect the line of his shoulders, his expression, the relaxation of his muscles to give any sort of hint as to what the problem is. If there's even any problem at all.

Leon is one of your closest friends, and you don't want to lose him to some intrusive DMs on twitter. Or to the volatile nature of the porn sphere (you know firsthand how it chews people up and spits them back out).

“I kinda just want to… talk this time.” His voice comes out of nowhere, a loud break from the drone of the tv.

You turn to face him, throwing a leg over his knee. “We can do that.”

Subconsciously, he reaches for your thigh, palm warm through your jeans as he soothes a thumb along its seam.

He clears his throat. Says, “So. Saw your new video.”

Ah. The threesome. Wonderful reception from the viewers (you checked the comments). A lot of orgasms to be had. The first time Bee had ever squirted. Sex with them is always a treat. Comfortable and messy.

“What’d you think?”

“It looked… uh, fun.”

“It was a lot of fun.”

“I…” His brow furrows, head turning to stare at the wall behind you. “I wanna do something like that.”

Your heartbeat picks up in your chest, a thumping that vibrates your throat. “I have some people I can set you up with—”

“No, not like that.” He heaves a sigh, turning to look at you. Frustration clouds his expression, mouth twisting into a pout. “I'm not… experienced like you are.”

You remember him speaking about his ex—his first kiss, his first love, his first everything. A passionate relationship that he thought would last forever, now just a blip in the timeframe of his life.

The sex, however, left a lot to be desired. Expected given their inexperience, but you think it time for Leon to graduate, and given the current state of your conversation, so does he.

“You’ll be happy to know that a lot of people get off to that.”

“I know, but I want somebody I can trust.”

There's a heaviness to his words, a hidden meaning that he nudges you toward.

You think you might faint.

“Like who?”

You need to hear him say it. Couldn't bear the humiliation of being wrong.

He glances away, gaze bouncing over the coffee table. “You can say no, but I'd like it to be you.”

Inside your mouth, your teeth grit to force down a wide, beaming smile. It festers in your chest like a bonfire, the smoke almost suffocating.

“I'd be honored, Leon.”

He looks you in the eye for the first time since you walked through the door, and you swear you see the sun rise. His grip on your thigh tightens. “Seriously?”

You nod. “We gotta do this right, though. I work for a company that has actors fill out forms before every scene.”

“Forms?”

“Consent forms, the kinks you're into, that kinda thing.”

“Oh.”

“It's a formality, but it keeps everybody safe.”

“Okay, yeah. Let's do it.”

It happens on a Saturday. He comes over to your place this time—wants to see where you film your own videos, where you eat dinner in the evenings, where you lay your head down at night. You think a huge part of it is that nobody but you has ever been inside your office. All the videos you film in this room are solos.

Except for this one.

He prefers a submissive role. Light choking. Praise. Pet names.

You've psychoanalyzed him more times than should be healthy to see what makes him tick and now, sat on your lush, comfy bed, you hold the passkey to his psyche. The knowledge is exhilarating, many of your theories proven correct by the heavy ‘X’ of his pencil markings.

Bondage: yes.

Anal (giving/recieving): maybes for both.

You look up at him with a sharp grin, lips spreading wider at the sight of his fidgeting.

“Can I ask why anal is a maybe?”

He shrugs. “I’ve never done it before. Eventually I’d like to, but…”

“But not now?” He shakes his head. “That’s fine. Just checking.”

Specificity is important to you. Asking as many questions as possible to understand where the comfort and discomfort lay, so you know exactly where he defines his boundaries.

Once you’ve checked and double-checked his answers, the scene begins. Soft lighting to blur the edges, to aid in the dream-like nature you try to portray. Setting up the camera is second nature to you, a simple shot without an extra hand wielding it. You choose to go for a more amateur, intimate angle for his first video to make up for the lack of immersion.

Two creators meet up for a shoot, and if they seem like they know each other personally, you can thank chemistry and hormones.

A good cover for any future skeptics.

The video begins with Leon sat on the end of the bed, your form kneeling between his legs. You had promised him that you would hide his face, and the framing reflects that—you in full view, Leon from the neck down.

Your hands massage at the muscles of his thighs, the length of his cock a heavy weight against his belly. He’s bigger up close, the sight of his slicked-up head making your mouth water. Thick enough to provide a stretch. Perfect.

This is it. What you’ve been dreaming about for weeks.

You catch his eye then lean forward to press a chaste kiss to his frenulum, and beneath your hands, his muscles tense then release. The blue of his eyes darkens beneath the furrow of his brow.

So pretty. Always pretty, yes, but even prettier with his dick in your mouth. He tastes masculine, like salt-musk and body wash. Weighs down your tongue like you imagined in your fantasies. You drool over his length and swallow him down in one smooth motion, your throat sheathing around the flared head of his cock.

His head falls back, hips twitching against your mouth, a whine building in his chest. You begin to bob your head, slow enough for him to reach for you—fingers brushing your shoulder, a palm soothing down your back, touch feather-light. Reverent.

And then he pushes you away. Says, “I don’t wanna finish like this.”

When you smile up at him, his thumb plucks the swollen curve of your bottom lip, lidded eyes meeting your softened gaze. Like a sledgehammer to the chest, affection slams into you. The suddenness is enough to take your breath away.

He helps you to your feet, steadies your hips as you straddle him, and then he kisses you. Sweet as sugar. Slow pecks of his lips against yours, the quiet noise of your mouths, the weight of his warm hand massaging over the small of your back.

For the first time in a while, you forget about the camera. You forget about posing and angles and looking your best. The world narrows in on Leon—the tenderness in which he holds you, the softness of his skin, the pretty cock pressed against your belly.

You pull away and lay a hand to his chest. “Lay down, honey.”

He obeys your instruction in silence. Spreads out on the bed as you roll the condom on and soak his length in lube. Your hands shake as you carry out the motions (second nature), excitement heating your blood.

How many times have you dreamt about this?

You part your labia with the plush head, slicking up your clit, back and forth and back and forth until he shudders. Grips hard at your waist. Pleads with you under his breath.

“You want it, baby?” you whisper, voice a messy shudder as your pleasure begins to climb, syrupy and slow. Thawing molasses.

He nods his head, swallows thick when you line yourself up.

It's always the first thrust—thick, stretching heat—that gets you. The way you both gasp at the fresh sensation, and you find it difficult to keep up your porn star persona when his eyes glisten like your pussy hangs the stars in the sky.

You settle in his lap for a long moment, whispering praise as your body stretches to accommodate him.

You're so pretty.

How do you feel so good?

It's like we were made for each other.

He grinds up into you, already bottomed out but chasing more of that plush heat, brows arching when you follow his rhythm with your own hips.

As if remembering the actual reason behind the sex, you arch your back for the camera, slowing the rise and fall of your hips to better present the way your hole stretches around Leon's cock. You even give a fucked-out smile to the lens, head turned to gaze over your shoulder, bottom lip tugged between your teeth.

You hook your feet over his spread thighs for leverage, hands steady atop his broad chest, and begin to bounce in earnest. The harsh slap of skin, the wet squelch of your coupling leaves you clenching hard around him. He whines beneath you, effectively pinned in place, his grip on your hips shifting to your ass.

You circle trembling fingers over your clit, gasping at the pleasure that coils heat in your belly. He fills you to perfection, brushes every nerve inside your pussy as you ride him, and you can't stop looking at him. His face, in particular, more expressive than you've ever seen it. Wide eyes wet with tears, brows drawn, pretty lips open in a silent moan.

He grabs you at the waist, hard enough to bruise in an effort to still you. To pull your chest to his. Traps you there with an arm wrapped around your back.

“Are you—”

He huffs. “I need a second.”

You grin against the side of his neck, nipping at the cute mole just beneath his jawline. “It's okay if you cum.”

“No. Not—not yet.”

During the downtime your mind drifts back to the camera, long enough to question how the shot looks, how long this will take to edit, if people will even like it. It's different than anything you've done thus far. Fitting, you suppose, considering Leon is different than everybody else you've slept with. Something you can't take the time to unpack right now, but you like being with him. The sex feels like your heart might collapse under its own weight.

He kisses you and you melt into him, fingers mapping out the bulk of his arms, the heave of his chest, the stubble along his jawline. You tilt your hips to relieve the pressure building in your belly, grinding your clit against his pubic bone when he parts your lips with his tongue.

The motion sparks an all-consuming blaze, your bodies a forest fire. He rolls you over, face buried in your neck, then seats himself between your spread thighs. Smooths his cock over your pussy, the fat head catching on your clit.

“Fuck, baby,” you sigh, and stretch your arms over your head in offering, thoughts turning to static at the abrupt shift in dynamic. “That's so so good.”

He bottoms out in one stroke, arms flexing at the velvety clench of your cunt. Exhales a steadying breath before finding his rhythm: a steady, rough slap of his hips that jolts you against the sheets. His name rests a searing, heavy weight on your tongue, but you can't risk crying out to him. One issue during editing and you've suddenly doxxed him.

But oh, the temptation rears its head, a silky suggestion at the back of your brain.

You grab him by the nape of his neck and tug him down, until you can whisper into his ear. Breathe his name like a prayer, over and over again, quiet enough for only him to hear.

His thrusts intensify, and your fingers slide between your bodies to rub over your clit. You clench hard around him, a burst of heat singeing the base of your spine, and he groans into your neck with a stutter of his hips.

You cling to him as the pleasure rises, teeth sinking into the meat of his shoulder.

And then you’re cumming. It comes on fast, slams into you with a force that steals your breath, and Leon crushes you against his chest as he weathers the rhythmic fluttering of your cunt. Grinds his hips into yours as you milk him.

When the last of the aftershocks finish, you barely manage a breath before he kisses you again. Devoid of heat, a slowness both languid and loving.

He pulls away long enough to whisper, “Thank you,” against your lips.

You smile.

.

.

.

Your video with Leon is a resounding success, garnering you new followers and subscribers after posting the teaser on twitter. People compliment your chemistry, how comfortable you seemed around one another. Some speculate that you’re dating. Others beg for you to work with him again.

Leon comes over the night after you post the video to read the comments, and you spend the next few hours combing through the best ones.

hybridscreamer07: i could see ur pussy clenching when u came... so hot kitty xoxo

sabrina_daniels73: MORE OF THIS PLS!!! i love seeing couples make porn together :)))

titsandass.fan replying to sabrina*_daniels73**: are u new??? theyre not a couple dumb fuvk*

aquaticcrage: mmmmm idk which person i'd rather be

And then you have a talk, curled up in your comfy bed, some youtube video droning in the background. He had brought over some wine coolers to celebrate, and you're both halfway through the second one before he sets it on the nightstand and turns to you.

“I was wondering something.” His timidness makes a return, cheeks blooming into a deep blush.

“I’m listening.”

“So… was that a one-time thing?”

You curl up against him, resting your cheek on his shoulder. “Did you want it to be?”

Anxiety pierces your chest, strips your soul raw. You liked the sex. A lot. Fantasized so much about it that you feared he could never compare, but being with him was better than any thought conjured by your brain. But most importantly, you like him. Like spending time with him, and seeing him naked, and his smile, and his cooking. Such mundane things, yet you can’t imagine living without them.

He swallows thick. Says, “No.”

You can breathe again.

“Good. I don’t either.”

He blinks down at you, lips parting in surprise. And then, as if the words finally register, his face softens. “How soon is too soon?”

“We can start right now.” You move to straddle his hips, slipping your fingers beneath his shirt.

“You don’t have your camera.”

You press a kiss to the purpled bruise on his shoulder, blotted in the shape of your teeth. “We don’t need one.”

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Ten

“Eddie?”

Eddie wakes up slowly, rubbing his face into the warm material under him, Eddie’s hand coming up without much thought to wipe away the wet drool pooled under his mouth. “What?”

Steve chuckles, and the firm chest under Eddie shakes with it, “it’s morning.”

“What?” Eddie says again, thoughts still slow and sleepy, dragging himself up.

It is light outside, a little daylight making it’s way though the blinds. Eddie can’t remember the last time he slept through the night like that, “I’m going to go let Falkor out in the yard, shower, and then make breakfast, okay?”

“Okay,” Eddie just agrees, latching onto the knowledge that he’s got at least twenty minutes to rub one out and get vaguely presentable before he’s got to go eat, the feel of his hard on and the accompanying arousal almost immediately pressing, “make sure you pick up all the shit,” Steve snorts a laugh as he slides out of bed and pads away.

“What are we doing today then Jedi Master?”

“Well, my young padawan-”

Eddie snorts, not at all surprised that Steve’s willing to play along and yet still disgusted and charmed by it in equal measure.

Steve gives him some side eye from where he’s rinsing dishes at the sink.

“I thought we could start by walking Falkor, then some yoga and maybe a little housekeeping on my part. Then you can have a bath and stuff if you like. I wanted to make pesto shakshuka for lunch, and then,” Steve shrugs, “whatever.” He starts drying dishes, putting them away.

Eddie nods, “got a couple of tunes I could work on.”

Steve smiles, like, genuine, but not overdone or anything, “that’s great Eddie. I’ll appease the green owl.”

“Then a movie, maybe? After we’ve walked the dog again, I mean.”

“Sounds like we have a plan for the day.”

“Such a boy scout.”

“I was never a boy scout, but what can I say, failing to plan is planning to fail.”

“Jesus Christ fucking kill me.”

Scenting Steve helps. Pinning Steve appeases Eddie’s Alpha. Eddie hasn’t jerked off this much in years.

Mostly because there’s, up until recently, been someone around to do it for him, but that’s neither here nor there.

He doesn’t have the horrible, half formed, gritty sensation he had through his whole last rut, and even Eddie recognizes how much better this feels than the last one. Much more clear headed, and, as much as he hates to admit it, much more reasonable. He feels so much better, but he’s not willing to admit that it’s anything to do with walking or yoga or eating vegetables.

Steve would just be unbearably fucking smug about it.

Eddie’s started viewing Steve as a big, annoying, fortune cookie. Crack him open and out pops things like, ‘tidy space, tidy mind,’ and ‘you’d be surprised by how much of a positive an effect something as simple good sleep hygiene can have,’ and ‘have a glass of water, dehydration can affect mood and cognitive function.’

Steve is agreeable about reading his notes to Eddie every evening before he sends them to Chris, and honestly, Eddie sounds like a fucking A plus student once he’s been polished through the filter of Steve’s professional linguistic skills.

Eddie knows he isn’t, not even remotely, but, still. Steve’s on side, which is really nice to know, despite how fucking Steve is…Steve about everything.

Which is why it’s kind of upsetting when, at the end of day four of Steve’s imposed routine, Eddie’s rut starts to cool off. It’s still a little long run for a rut, if Eddie’s rut starts on a Tuesday morning, it’s usually done and dusted by Thursday afternoon but. Still. Not that much longer than normal, and Eddie figures that means it’s balancing out.

Steve knows it too, if the way he keeps side eyeing Eddie is anything to go by.

“What?”

“I haven't actually emailed Chris yet today, I could call her, get out of your hair now. You’re pretty much done, right?”

Eddie faces the prospect of going to bed alone for the first time since Steve got here, and he doesn’t like it. Once the band aid was off, Eddie had no issues scenting Steve. Which has led to, and this is extraordinarily irritating, possibly some of the best sleep Eddie has ever gotten. It probably helps that, despite not usually being at all Eddie’s type, Steve is almost offensively good looking.

And the pectoral pillows are, just, well. Eddie’s more comfortable with company when he sleeps, he guesses. Having the warm lump that is Steve within easy reach has been...nice. Especially compared to the hospital. And his lonely little room at the center. Chrissy made sure that rock star status did not allow Eddie a single spec of preferential treatment when he was drying out.

Not so much as letting him have a tab at the commissary. Eddie couldn’t talk his way out of a single room search, no matter what he offered to sign or whose selfie he offered to pose in. Not that he had anything to hide, but the invasiveness of having his room tossed always made him feel itchy as fuck.

“Maybe, I mean, it’s still a little, like, you know?” Eddie hasn’t had trouble telling people what he wants since he had a number one track, but he knows making demands of Steve will almost, definitely, result in the opposite occurring. He’s got to rely on Steve being the perfect blend of contrary asshole and bleeding fucking heart, “I mean, actually, you know what yeah, you go. Fuck off. Be nice to have the place to myself again. Since it’s actually my house, and everything,” Eddie lets his voice shake a tiny bit, right at the end there, even as he lifts his chin and crosses his arms stubbornly across his chest.

Steve can be a tricky fucker, conning Eddie into scenting and yoga and hidden fucking vegetables, but Eddie’s no slouch.

Steve stares at him for what feels like a long time over the top of his laptop, “I’ll email her that this is the last night then. I’ll go tomorrow sometime, it’s late anyway, I probably shouldn’t leave tonight. If that’s okay.”

Eddie lets his head flop back on the couch cushion so that Steve can’t see his face, “fucking, just, whatever then,” he aims for disgruntled, and he thinks he nails it.

Eddie sighs, blinking at the shadowed blinds that cover his bedroom windows. He resists the urge to nuzzle into Steve’s tee shirt covered pec, then almost the moment he stops himself, his brain does it anyway, operating on autopilot.

Eddie sighs again.

“Can’t sleep?” Steve whispers in the dark, his hand coming up to gently rest on the small of Eddie’s back.

“What’s the suggestion doc? Meditation? Glass of water? Counting sheep? Organize everything in the fridge by expiration-”

Steve snorts a laugh, “it makes it easier to see what to prioritize. Less food waste.”

“Uh hu,” Eddie yawns, “starving kids in Africa would kill for that half a jar of pickle.”

“Probably.”

They lie quiet again, Steve’s hand wandering, dragging the material of Eddie’s vest. Eddie thinks vaguely about what kissing Steve might be like. Soft and pathetic Eddie guesses. Gentle, romantic. Steve probably only kisses people he really cares about, and it probably shows. Minty fresh and soppy and definitely everything Eddie hates.

He shuts that down.

“Tell me about being a boy scout, that shit will put me straight to sleep.”

“Pretty sure I already told you I was never a scout.”

“And I’m pretty sure you’re lying.”

“I don’t lie.”

“Uh hu, that’s exactly something a boy scout would say.”

“My integrity is very important to me.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, “of course it is. What do you do when you can’t sleep?”

Steve hums, thoughtful, “well, you didn’t sound too keen on mediation, so that’s out. So, read, sometimes, I guess.”

“Cop out,” Eddie says, even as he rolls away. He hasn’t read anything for a long time, can’t, truthfully, remember the last time he picked up a book. Eddie was a voracious reader when he was young, and it’s one of the habits that got replaced with...far worse habits. He suddenly misses it. Misses it viscerally. Something that he hasn’t had any interest in at all for...a long time, and at the mere mention of it, it feels like it’s coming back and making demands.

He pads down the hall in the dark; all the scrappy paperback books got banished from Eddie’s bedroom when he did the great redecoration. Probably shouldn’t have done all that when he was fucking high though.

He doesn’t know what he wants to read really, nothing heavy, not this late at night, but then The Gunslinger is staring him right in the face from the dead center of the shelf and Eddie thinks, fuck it, why not?

If Steve is annoyed when he leans over to flick the light on, he doesn’t show it at all. Doesn’t seem even slightly put out by having his sleep delayed, “what you got?”

“The Gunslinger. King.”

“Oh yeah, Dustin likes those, keeps telling me I should read them.”

“You should, they’re the best.”

“You start then.”

“Huh?” Eddie gets settled again on his back, leaning into the crook of Steve’s arm, “start what?”

“You read a bit, then I’ll read a bit, if you want?”

“I…” Eddie wants to protest, because this is dumb, and he doesn’t understand why Steve is showing any interest in it, not really. But he finds himself unable to articulate why it’s dumb, and he knows Steve is always ready to tell him he’s wrong if he points out that Steve doesn’t care, not really. He gives in instead. “The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed...”

Falkor’s in the car, big pink tongue hanging out of his mouth, his head sticking out of the passenger side window of Steve’s car. Eddie vaguely wonders if Falkor is actually going to ride shotgun.

Steve’s got a dinky car; Eddie could buy him a new one.

Steve would fucking hate that, he’d probably donate it to charity or something.

“Okay, pretty sure I’ve got everything.”

“Right, yeah,” Eddie steps back in through his open front door, watching as Steve puts down his bags to pull his jacket out of the little boot room thing that Eddie was informed all rich people houses have.

“Yeah, so I’ve updated Chrissy, pretty sure she’ll be here later. Look after yourself, Eddie.”

“What, because you won’t be here to do it?” It’s meant to be snarky. It is snarky. It’s snarky for all the wrong reasons.

Steve grins though, huffing an almost laugh, “something like that.”

He shuffles through the door, negotiating his very sensible duffle bags, “you sure you got all the dogs stuff?”

“Pretty sure,” Steve shrugs, “but if I don’t that’s Dustin’s problem.”

They stand for a second then, staring at each other, “enjoy the ren fair,” Eddie says, just to drag it out a second longer before he’s alone again.

“Oh yeah! I’m sure I will.”

“You can, uhm, tell me all about it, maybe?” Eddie sticks his hands in his hoodie pockets to avoid fiddling. Steve might not be back. They both know they might never see each other again, that’s pretty much the reality here. Eddie’s rut was okay. He’s been out and dry for...well, few months now. He has a therapist.

He’s kind of doing okay.

“Sure,” Steve answers kindly. Or just...politely, which Eddie doesn’t really like. He much prefers the idea that Steve likes him, even though Eddie’s an asshole.

Maybe Steve likes people who are absolute dick heads to him.

The words are out before Eddie can really give them permission to go, “maybe we could get coffee?”

“Sure thing, Eddie,” Steve says, leaving with a smile and a nod. The smile was Steve’s bullshit professional one, and the words sounded kind of sad. Steve leaving suddenly feels kind of abrupt. Oddly...unfinished.

Eddie senses that he’s just fucked up, but he can’t...he can’t pin down why, because he’s not sure how.

He watches Steve’s little car trundle down the drive.

Chrissy crashes through the kitchen, slapping her bag down on the counter top, “Edward Munson what did you do?”

“What?” Eddie puts his guitar down, half climbing out of the lawn chair, ready to flee off the end of the deck if necessary, “what did I do?”

“Steve just emailed.”

“Right?” Eddie ignores the little twist of feeling in his chest.

“He said that he’s really thankful for the opportunity and really liked his time here, but, regretfully, he isn’t available to support you any longer.” Chris has her arms crossed over her chest, one foot tapping, and Eddie suspects he’s two minutes from having his blood sprayed across the lawn, “so why would that be?”

“I-I mean I don’t know?” Genuinely bewildered and doing his best to ignore just how sharp the hurt is.

“You don’t know?” Eddie’s heard the expression ‘thunderous’ before, and he’s pretty sure it applies now. Right to Chrissy’s face.

“Eddie, how can you not know? You must have done something. I told you not to push his boundaries okay, I told you this is not a sex thing, I told you he is a professional-!”

“Oh,” Eddie deflates. He puts his guitar fully to one side, flopping back in the chair.

“You know what you did?”

Eddie shrugs, “maybe. I mean. I didn’t think it was bad I just-” the warm squirming in Eddie’s chest is desperately unpleasant. The crawling embarrassment. The hurt. Eddie blinks a little too fast, trying to get rid of the sudden wetness accumulating on his lashes, “I didn’t mean it to be bad.”

“Oh honey,” Chrissy seems to turn on a fucking dime, she sits, taking the seat next to Eddie, “what happened?”

“I, uhm,” Eddie can’t even look at her, he’s so mortified, “I asked him out. For coffee. Steve probably saw that as like...encroaching on his professional boundaries or whatever. Not within the framework of his contractual employment. Fraternizing with the paying customers-”

“Eddie,” Chrissy quietly interrupts Eddie’s rambling, touching his arm gently, “why? I thought you didn’t like Steve?”

Eddie shrugs, angrily dashing away the one tear that’s broken free. He’s crying because he’s embarrassed and angry at himself, and now he’s crying he’s even more embarrassed and angry at himself because this is just so stupid-

“Oh. Oh honey that’s okay. I mean...Steve probably gets it all the time, I mean he does spend people’s ruts and heats and stuff with them. That’s probably...confusing for a lot of people.”

“I’m not confused,” Eddie protests quietly, looking across the lawn so he doesn’t have to see Chrissy’s pity face.

“Okay, sure,” Chrissy agrees way too fast. She doesn’t believe him at all. But then, she doesn’t know Steve, not like Eddie does, so she wouldn’t get it.

Eddie gets up, running away from whatever bull shit mess he’s created.

He’s never going to see Steve again.

Twelve

[malsmind]

vampire!matt 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 antisocial!reader 𝐚𝐭 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲

✰ - content warnings: ✦ underage drinking ✦ smoking weed ✦ pet names ✦ mentions of social anxiety ✦

wc - 1.3k

friday night.

you already hated it.

your best friend had been buzzing about the party all goddamn week, practically begging you to come until you finally caved, just to shut her up. and now you’re here, standing in the backyard of some rich kid’s overpriced, overdecorated house, half a red solo cup in, already regretting every choice you’ve ever made leading up to this moment.

there’s too many people. too many fake smiles, too many drunken laughs echoing off the fence line.

you stick close to the sliding glass doors, watching her laugh and cling to chris—the worst part of this whole fucking setup. you know how it goes. once she and chris link up, you’re on your own. and right on cue, they’re already disappearing into the crowd together, her hand in his, giggling like they’re the only two people who exist.

“fuckin’ awesome,” you mutter to yourself, taking a bigger sip from your cup.

the social anxiety is already curling up your spine like a second skin. you shift from foot to foot, feeling that too-familiar panic crawling up your throat. you could leave—but that would mean dealing with the “why’d you bail” texts tomorrow. and besides, a tiny, fucked up part of you was hoping… maybe tonight would be different. maybe you wouldn’t feel so alone in a room full of people for once.

but you do.

solution?

alcohol. more of it.

you ditch your cup, steal a half-full bottle of cheap vodka from the kitchen counter, and start drinking straight from it as you wander upstairs, avoiding the sweaty crowds and the too-loud music vibrating the walls. you find the master bathroom unlocked—huge, marble everything, one of those stupid spa bathtubs that’s basically a small pool. you grin to yourself, stumbling a little as you kick off your boots and crawl into the empty tub, bottle still in hand. somewhere along the line, someone left a half-burnt joint on the edge of the tub.

fuck it.

you grab it, spark it, and inhale deep.

you don’t even like smoking weed that much—paranoia, bad memories—but when you’re this wasted, it smooths over the sharp edges. makes the loneliness just another dull ache in the back of your mind. you don’t know how long you sit there, cross-legged in the dry tub, hotboxed in the fog of your own bad decisions, but you hear the door creak open and lazy footsteps shuffle closer.

“jesus christ, angel,” a familiar voice says, and you squint up at the figure looming over you.

matt.

of course it’s him. you grin, wide and lazy, blowing a thin stream of smoke toward him.

“hey, dickhead,” you slur, voice syrupy sweet.

he looks unimpressed. his arms are crossed, jaw tight, standing there in his black, baggy jeans and some old band t-shirt you can’t quite focus on. he looks… annoyingly good. even under the gross fluorescent bathroom lights. and he’s staring at you, deadpan, like you’re the biggest headache of his life. you giggle. actually giggle.

“you good?” he asks flatly, stepping closer.

you nod dramatically, taking another hit and holding it in too long, making yourself cough. he winces like just watching you hurts.

“yeah, you’re real good,” he mutters. he plucks the blunt out of your fingers with two of his, taking it away and stubbing it out in a soap dish like you’re some dumbass toddler he’s babysitting.

“hey,” you whine, reaching for it.

he lifts it out of reach easily. “you don't even smoke that shit, dumbass.”

“m’fine, matt,” you mumble, slumping back against the side of the tub. “you’re so— so mean to me.”

he huffs out a sharp breath through his nose, crouching down so he’s eye level with you now. you can see the tattoos on his arms again. the little axe. the falling leafs.

god, you’re drunk.

“you’re no fun, matt...we could have so much fun...”

you reach out clumsily, fingertips grazing the edge of his sleeve. he grabs your hand before you can trail your fingers up his arm, gently but firmly setting it back down on your lap

“not when you’re drunk outta your goddamn mind, angel.”

you huff, laring at him trough half-lidded eyes. you don’t even know why you’re upset. you just are.

“why not?” you whisper, voice breaking a little.

he lets go of your wrist immediately like it burned him, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

“because,” he mutters, jaw clenching. “you’re wasted, angel. you don’t mean any of this.”

you’re too wasted to catch the way his voice softens at the end of that. too wasted to notice the way he watches you, jaw clenching every time you sway closer, every time you bat those glassy, desperate eyes at him.

you blink up at him, everything blurry, all the fear and loneliness you keep caged up spilling over.

“maybe i do,” you say, almost too soft to hear.

matt looks like you punched him. like he doesn’t know whether to hug you or shove you away. his mouth opens. closes. no smartass comment this time. you feel it building—the crash. the way too much alcohol and too much loneliness wrap around you like a weighted blanket, pressing the sadness into your bones. being rejected, even gently—it hits you harder when you’re this drunk, makes you feel stupid and small and wrong.

you go quiet, staring at nothing, shoulders sagging.

he notices immediately.

“hey,” he mutters, reaching over to set the vodka bottle far, far away. “none of that shit, c'mon..”

you can’t even look at him. you’re too embarrassed. your throat locks up, words stuck somewhere you can’t reach, and you hate it. you hate feeling like this—like you want something you can’t have, someone who wouldn’t want you anyway.

matt exhales through his nose, standing up and offering you his hand. “let’s go. i’m driving you home.”

you nod, too tired to argue.

the drive back to your house is silent except for the low hum of whatever sad-ass playlist matt has on. you stare out the window, head pounding already, your hands fidgeting in your lap. every now and then you catch him glancing at you, you notice the way his fingers tap restlessly against the steering wheel like he’s fighting every instinct he has. but he doesn’t say anything.

so you do.

“you don’t drink,” you slur quietly.

he glances at you. shrugs. “nah.”

“thought you would.”

“lotta things you don’t know about me, angel.”

you stare at him for a second, looking him up and down. he's right. you now barely anything about the kid. if the alcohol wasn't fogging up every thought in your head you'd usually overthink, you probably would've been freaked out by it. but right now, you couldn't care less.

he parks in front of your house and helps you inside, guiding you to your bedroom like it’s something he’s done a hundred times before. you sit on the edge of your bed, swaying slightly, staring up at him.

“stay,” you mumble, voice small. “please.”

for a second—just a second—matt’s whole face shifts. like you punched him right in the gut. he presses his lips together, jaw tight, forcing himself to shake his head.

“can’t,” he says, voice low and rough. “you’re drunk, sweetheart. ask me again when you’re sober.”

you blink hard, fighting the stupid burn in your eyes. you hate yourself. hate that you asked. hate that you probably don't even mean it and probably just created something really awkward between you two. the fact that he'd remember every second of this, and you most likely wouldn't made you feel sick, embarrassed.

“call me tomorrow,” matt adds, kneeling down to help untie your shoes. “i’ll come over. bring advil and all that shit. fix your hangover.”

you don’t answer. you just nod once, slow and tired. he stands up, hesitates like he wants to say something else, then shoves his hands in his pockets and leaves without another word. the door clicks shut behind him.

and there you are. alone with your thoughts after the boy who you couldn't stand was the nicest person ever to you, unlike anyone ever has.

dividers by @issysh3ll

₊⊹ @tits4matt @mattspillowprincess @h3arts4nat @starryfantasydreams @sturns-mermaid @sturniolochrismatt @sturrrrnslvt @bluessturniolo @spaghettislut1 @kittybitch @abbystromboli @urlocallera @loser41ifee @courta13 @phonysuperstarr @sturnsrecord @bbgirlmatt @secretlifeofspace @mattssslutbby @backwardshatnick @oopsiedaisydeer @tezzzzzzzz @sturniolosluttt @aflairforthedramattic @matts-247 @pink1man

[anonsturniolo]

behind the scenes — matt sturniolo

paring — matt sturniolo x f!reader

genre — smut, coworkers to lovers/enemies to lovers

word count — ???

You let out a slight huff, staring at your reflection intensely. It was opening night for the haunted theme park and your makeup wasn’t turning out exactly how you wanted it. Today you were dressed up as a darker clown, your long hair in high pig tails, messy clown makeup that actually took you hours to do.

And now your extra long eyelashes won’t stay on. You rip them off your eyelids, wincing slightly at the sudden pull. Setting them down on the black vanity in front of you, you’re ready to give up.

“Need some help, baby?” A seductive voice whispers into your ear, making you jump in surprise. Your eyes meet Matt’s smug ones in the mirror, and you spin in your chair to face him.

“Jesus, Matt.” You glare at him, your hand shooting out to slap his arm. He just laughs to himself as he takes a seat in the open chair next to you.

Matt had just started working with you nearly 2 weeks ago, right when the season started. The fair you worked for was typically set up for the whole month of October, giving you a break from your “normal” job.

You on one hand loved it, but anytime Matt came around? You questioned why you even liked it here. There was something about him that just got under your skin, maybe it was his cocky attitude. Or the fact he was so undeniably attractive.

Especially in his joker costume.

His makeup was always perfectly messy, his hair brushed back exposing his forehead and letting his blue eyes shine bright in contrast. He never spray painted his hair green, claiming that would just “ruin his look”, but what it really meant was he wanted to look good for the countless of girls he’d pursue.

“I can help you, forreal.” Matt muttered from beside you, and you glanced down at the eyelashes.

You turn to face him with a cocked brow, “And how do you know how to put them on?” You cryptically asked, making him roll his eyes.

“I’ve seen enough girls put them on, don’t see why I can’t figure it out.” He shrugs, before leaning forward with the eyelash in hand. You finally lower your eyes, giving him better access to apply the band as close to your lash line as he could get.

You sit there awkwardly as he fiddles with the eyelash, and although you hate him; your body flushes with heat as you can feel his warm breath fanning across your face. When Matt gently grips your cheeks, turning your head to get a better view, you nearly bite back a moan.

You couldn’t help it, you loved to be manhandled.

“There.” Matt mutters, extending to his full height and admiring his handy work. You turn to face the mirror, surprised when you take a closer look at your eyelashes. They were perfectly applied.

You fight back a frown, refusing to meet Matt’s eyes in the mirror, “Thanks, Matt.” You sigh, shuffling off of your chair now fully ready to venture around the park and get some scares in.

Matt lets out a groan as you pass him, making you turn back to give him a questioning glance, “You look so sexy tonight in that dress, can’t get over it.” He boldly tells you, to which you flip him off and add an extra sway to your hips, knowing he was watching you leave.

“Fucking Christ..”

Confidence surged through you, giggling as you popped out and startled guest after guest. A couple hours had passed, and you were now sat on a bench as you plucked at some cotton candy. You were busy watching a family from a distance as they got scared by someone jumping out of a bush to notice Matt approaching you.

“Hey.” Matt greets you, sitting down beside you and ignoring the glare you sent his way. You nearly forgot about him, and how he was making you feel earlier, but it all came crashing down on you as he placed a warm hand on your upper thigh.

You look from his eyes to his hand a few times, before you turn away from him. You know there’s a cocky smirk on his stupid face, so you know better than to look back to him.

“Just gonna ignore me now?” Matt asks, and you relish in the way he huffs when you don’t give him any attention. Just as you’re about to place another piece of the cotton candy in your mouth, it’s ripped from you grasp completely.

“What the hell!?” You cry out, your eyes finally meeting Matt’s as he throws away the sugary treat in the trash can next to him. “Matt, what the fuck is your issue?”

Matt grabbed your arm firmly, his tight grasp shocking you. He glanced back at you, his eyes flaring with anger. Wordlessly, he dragged you back to the dressing room the two of you were in hours prior.

“What is my issue? What’s your fucking issue?” Matt snarled, his voice deep with anger, “Givin’ me all this sass, ignoring me.” He kissed his teeth briefly, waiting for a response.

You crossed your arms defensively, “I don’t have an issue.” You insist, and you hate the way Matt is staring at you. As if he knew every thought you’ve ever had, like he felt how you were already dripping because of him.

A cocky smirk crosses his lips, he takes a taunting step towards you, “Y’know, I’ve always had a thing for clowns…” he trails off, raising a hand to lightly tug on one of your pigtails. Your breath hitched at his sultry voice, and how his eyes slowly traveled down your body.

“Matt.” You whisper, grabbing the hand that was ghostly tracing your waist, halting his movements, “I don’t wanna be just another girl on your list.” You explain once his eyes meets yours.

“You won’t be,” he insists, twisting his hand in your grasp to hold your hand, “I’ve wanted you for so long…” he trailed off, his eyes zoning in on your lips.

“Those other girls? Never slept with them.” Your surprised eyes meet his, the question on the tip of your tongue, “I only talked to them when you were around, thought I could make you jealous.” Instantly your lips were smashed against his, your hands threaded through his hair and tugging him closer.

Matt let out a soft grunt at the sensation, easily picking you up and placing you on the vanity behind you. The kiss deepened, the two of you hungry for each other. You could feel his erection pressing against your thigh, causing you to tug on his shirt.

“Want it off,” you mumbled against his lips, nearly whining at the loss of him as he leaned back and whipped it off. His face paint was smeared with black, due to your makeup.

His lips smashed against yours once again, his hands grabbing at the supple flesh of your thighs. Your hands have a mind of their own, trailing up and down his chest, exploring his exposed skin for the first time.

Matt finally broke the kiss, leaving trails of kisses down your neck as his hands began to bunch up the fabric of your dress. Hastily you shove his hands away, ignoring his confused stare as you slide the garment over your head. You’re left in a black lacy set, and your tights.

“Goddamn..” he muttered, his hands instantly cupping your breasts as he kisses you again. The lust between the two of you poured into the kiss, seemingly to not get enough. Matt’s skillful hands snuck around and up your back, unhooking your bra, and gently taking the straps off your shoulders.

A soft gasp left you once your nipples were exposed to the cold air, your hips slightly bucking in search of relief. You begin to fumble with Matt’s belt to speed things along, and he’s quick to undo his pants and shove them down without breaking away from your lips.

Now left in his boxers, his hands find their way to your chest, tweaking and pulling at your nipples. You moan into his mouth as the pleasure begins to wash over you, your core clenching around nothing.

“Wanna taste you,” Matt mumbles against your lips, making you pull back.

You start to pull down his boxers, “Next time, please, I need you.” You seductively whine, and Matt nearly cums at your tone and pleading expression.

He smirks down at you, his fingers finally making their way to where you need him the most, ghosting over your clit above your panties.

“Y’need me, huh?” He taunts, and you nod your head rapidly in response. With his rock hard cock exposed, you take great pleasure in wrapping your hand around his base, slowly stroking it. When your fingers make contact with his slit, his hips jerk and a moan flies past his lips.

You lean in close to him, “Sounds like you need me too.” Matt doesn’t reply, just threads his hand under the hem of your underwear and pulls, breaking the thin fabric. You were too turned on to care, and you watch as he pulls you forward slightly so he’d have better access.

He removes your hand from his cock, his eyes falling down to your wet cunt, and he begins to slowly rock his hips letting his head bump into your clit. Your head falls back against the mirror, whimpers leaving your lips.

“Please, Matt.” You pathetically whine, lifting your head to meet his eyes. He slowly begins to push inside of you both of your jaws dropping as he bottoms out. The look he gives you is possessive, and his hips start snapping into yours at an animalistic pace.

“Matt!” You cry out once he hits that special spot, so deep inside of you. Your hands dig into his shoulders, causing him to let out deep grunts when he feels your nails pierce his skin.

“Mhm, that’s right baby,” he groans, removing one hand from your hips to rub harsh circles on your clit, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. The band deep within you was forming, begging to snap.

“Feels s’good…” Matt trailed off, making you look up at him through watery eyes. His eyes were focused on where your bodies connected, relishing in the way your cunt greedily swallowed his cock.

“G-Gonna cum.” You warned, making Matt look up at you. His eyes searched yours as the end neared, his lips smashing down onto yours in a feverish manner. He wasn’t ready for this to end, but he also knew this wouldn’t be the only time it happened.

“Be a good girl and cum f’me,” he grunted softly, feeling the way your gummy walls clenched onto him, “Cum on my cock baby.” He urged, feeling his impending orgasm near the edge.

“Matt!” You pathetically cry, the band within you finally snapping once Matt placed a firm hand on your lower stomach. Pure bliss washed over you as Matt fucked you through your orgasm, sending shocks of hot pleasure through your shaking body.

“Where do you want it?” Matt groaned, his grip on your hips tightened.

“Inside.” You said whine out, your hands pawing at his shoulders as the pleasure coursed over your body for the last time.

Matt’s thrusts grew erratic and sloppy, a telltale sign he was close. You clenched down rather hard onto him as your orgasm faded, immediately you could feel his release painting your walls white as he continued to fuck into you to ride out his orgasm.

You look up to his face, finally coming back to earth, to see his eyes clenched shut and his jaw slacked as the pleasure consumed him. His hips slowed to a stop, all that could be heard was heavy breathing as you both caught your breath.

“That was…” You trailed off, wincing as Matt slowly pulled out of you. He was quick to grab a towel, gently cleaning you off.

“I’m taking you to dinner tomorrow night.” He spoke without looking up at you, sliding your underwear back on.

You cocked a brow at him, “Are you now?”

Matt stares at you blankly, “Did I not just fuck the attitude outta you? Need more?”

[recklesssturniolo]

Hotel - M.S

Based on a req for reader n Matt having to share a hotel room/bed together, enemies x lovers, dom!Matt, some degrading

NSFW below, leave if you’re a minor (or that bitch from Wattpad you can gtfo)

Finding a hotel this late at night with available rooms was almost impossible, but we got lucky - until Nick announced Matt and I would be sharing a room.

“You’re fucking kidding right? There’s no way I’m sharing a room with him” I yell, glaring at Matt.

“Listen I know it isn’t ideal but it’s just how we’re gonna have to do it. It’s one night you’ll both be fine” Nick sighs.

“About to be the worst night of my life” Matt grumbles.

“Jesus Christ I can’t listen to you two any longer, let’s just all go to our rooms and we’ll leave early tomorrow morning” Chris says.

Everyone nods while Matt and I continue giving each other the death stare. Making it to our room, opening the door and both of us putting down our stuff, pure silence taking over.

“I’m going to change” I announce.

“Good for you” Matt mumbles.

I change in the bathroom into a simple t shirt and shorts. Walking out I feel Matt’s eyes travel up and down my body but choose not to comment on it but notice he had changed as well, leaving him without a shirt on.

Sighing as I got into the bed, I was already annoyed at how much space Matt was taking up.

“Move over for fuck sakes, and stay on your side” I say.

“Trust me I will, I don’t want to be any closer to you than I need to” He shoots back.

Matt glances over at me again before shuffling over, turning the lamp off and getting himself comfortable. I turn so my back is facing him, before attempting to fall asleep myself.

Unaware of how much time had passed, I wake up to Matt’s hand on my hip, his body right against mine. Why the fuck are we even in this position?

“You wouldn’t stop moving your fucking hips and I was freezing so moved over” He grumbles, clearly aware of the fact I had woke up.

“Alright, no need for the fucking attitude” I reply.

“Maybe if you weren’t basically grinding against my dick and giving me a hard on I wouldn’t have to give attitude” He snaps back.

My breath hitches in my throat hearing him say that. Suddenly becoming extremely aware of his dick pressed against my ass.

“Sounds like a you issue” I mumble, glad it was dark so he was unable to see the blush that formed on my face.

“Keep it up and you’ll be a whimpering mess beneath me” He replies.

All it took was that one sentence for me to feel an ache forming between my legs.

“What no snarky come back? Too affected by what I said?” He asks.

“Fuck off and let me go back to sleep” I grumble, refusing to admit that he was having an affect on me.

Turning back over and closing my eyes, I feel Matt’s hand fiddling with the waist band of my shorts. My breathing becoming heavier as I try to ignore the growing sensation of need forming.

“If you’re trying to pretend you aren’t turned on, you’re doing a shit job” He whispers in my ear. His lips trailing down my neck.

Tilting my head back slightly, giving him easier access to my neck, I let out a gasp as he nips slightly at the skin on my neck.

“Matt” I groan, the wetness growing in my panties.

“Hm?” He replies, his hand now cupping my clothed pussy with his fingers tracing small circles, “Spit it out, you’re already soaked”

“Please” I whine.

“Please what?” He asks.

“Fuck sakes Matt. Touch me please” I grumble.

“There you go, wasn’t so hard to use your words was it sweetheart?” He replies.

His hand moves under my panties, his fingers now rubbing circles on my clit, as I let out of moan. My legs spread wider as I feel his fingers move towards my entrance, tracing circles around it.

“I - Matt” I whimper.

“Yeah? Tell me what you want” He says.

“Stop teasing” I whine, my core aching for his fingers to be inside of me.

“Mm but you sound so good begging for me, like a desperate whore” He replies.

“Please I need it” I again whine, his teasing driving me insane.

“Always knew you were a little whore” He responds before pushing two fingers inside of me, curling them slightly.

“Oh my god” I moan.

He says something that I couldn’t hear, too focused on how good he was making me feel and the growing knot in my stomach.

“Are you listening to me?” He asks, snapping me back to reality as he grabs my face turning it to look at him, taking his fingers out of me.

“I - what? What are you doing? Why did you stop” I stutter, the lack of his fingers inside of me frustrating me.

“God you need to learn how to fucking listen” He growls, his hand moving to my neck and squeezing, “I said you’re gonna ride me so I can see how good of a slut you can be”

“Fuck - yes okay” I reply.

I watch as he shuffles to removes his pjs and boxers, my jaw dropping at the size of him as it sprung out and smacked his stomach.

“Get your shirt off” He demands, watching as I removed it before taking both breast in his hand and toying with my nipples, moans escaping my mouth as he did.

“Let me” I beg.

“Let you what?” He responds.

“Ride you, please I need you” I whine.

My eyes follow his hand, watching him spit on it before starting to jerk himself off.

“You think you deserve to? I could just keep getting myself off instead” He says.

Almost mesmerized as I watch his hand move up and down, my pussy throbbing for him, I manage to choke out, “Matt fuck come on”

He smirks before replying, “So needy, get on”

Moving so he was lined up with my entrance, I begin lowering myself, wincing as my pussy stretched due to his size.

“You can take it, don’t pretend you can’t” He says.

My hands on his lower stomach for support, a growl leaves his mouth, and a moan from mine as he’s fully inside of me. Moving myself up and down, my pace fastening as I continued I watched as his eyes repeatedly trailed up and down my body.

“Fuck me you really are a whore” He groans, “So fucking tight”

“Feels - feels so good” I whimper.

My pleasure only increases as Matt begins to thrust his hips up, matching my pace and meeting with mine each time I went back down.

“Matt fuck I’m going to come” I whine, his dick hitting my g-spot and sending shivers down my spine.

“Not yet you’re not” He says.

“What?” I reply.

“You’re gonna wait till I do” He groans, thrusting his hips harder now.

“I can’t hold it” I whimper.

“You can and you will” He says.

A whimper falls from my mouth as my head falls back, using everything in me to follow his instructions. The continuous sensation of his dick slamming into me making it nearly impossible to control myself.

“Oh fuck, fuck I’m coming don’t even think about stopping” Matt growls, his eyes squeezing shut as I feel him release into me, the sight only making it harder to not come.

“Please” I beg, unsure if I could even hold myself back any longer.

“Such a whore, needing to come so badly” He groans, “Come for me”

Moans flow from my mouth as my climax takes over, my legs quickly growing weak as pleasure consumes my body. My body going limp as my high came to an end. Lifting myself up off of him and basically collapsing onto the bed.

“That was -“ I begin.

“So good” He finishes my sentence for me, “I’ve never doubted for a second that I could have you begging for me”

“Jesus Christ you couldn’t just not be cocky for 5 minutes?” I mumble.

“Nope, it’s in my nature” He shrugs.

“Fuck you’re so annoying” I say.

“You didn’t seem to think I was annoying when you were moaning out my name and begging to come” He smirked.

“Yeah well you are now” I reply.

“Whatever you say, just wait, I’ll have you begging again soon”

TAGLIST: @sturnphilia @thatonekid536 @loveesiren @daddyslilchickenfingers @christinarowie332 @ilovemattsturn @its-jennarose @lovingsturniolo @iwantmattsobad @secret-sturniolo @soursturniolo @knowingnothingnoel @mwah0mwah @urmyslxt

[steddieas-shegoes]

i wanna make your heartbeat run like roller coasters

for @subeddieweek day one with the prompts manhandling and accidental subspace

rated e | 3,520 words | please check ao3 for tags

⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕

Eddie gets pushed against a lot of lockers.

It’s rarely accidental.

It’s always painful.

He doesn’t exactly have a lot of meat on his bones. Every hit leaves a bruise.

So when Steve fucking Harrington does his own dirty work for once, even though he graduated the way Eddie was supposed to, it’s just a bit embarrassing that it doesn’t hurt. It feels…kinda like he should be on his knees.

Which is really not something he wanted to think about when Steve’s got a hand on his shoulder, gripping hard enough to bruise, and something like fear in his eyes. Why is he scared?

“Did you sell weed to Robin?” he asked, teeth clenched.

Jesus fucking Christ. Steve’s got himself a band nerd girlfriend. How the hell did that happen?

“No, I sold to her friend. She waited by the treeline talking to herself the entire time.”

Eddie could hear his own voice shaking, but he wouldn’t back down. Black eyes were kinda metal weren’t they?

“Which friend?”

“Dude, I don’t even know. Someone else in band.”

The hand on his shoulder tightened and he barely bit back a whimper.

Steve’s eyes were very pretty this close. They were pretty from far away, too. Honestly, having Steve this close was probably rewiring something already broken in his brain. Having Steve’s hand on him like this was making his brain do somersaults trying to stay focused.

And then his hand was gone.

Eddie breathed in, breathed out.

“Sorry. I-” Steve shook his hands out and backed away. “Sorry.”

Eddie ignored whatever the fuck was happening in his stomach. It shouldn’t be happening so it isn’t, simple as that.

“Maybe you should ask your girlfriend if you’re so worried about her buying drugs.” Eddie should learn to shut his mouth at some point. “I only sell to the people who come to me first.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I remember.” Steve wiped his hand down his face. “Sorry again.”

Eddie looked him up and down, taking in the fact that he was genuinely apologizing. No one ever apologized for knocking him around, not even when it was on accident.

“You good?” He eventually asked.

“Yeah. Just, she’s been through a lot. I didn’t really want her to get pressured into buying something,” Steve sighed. “Has she come out of the band room yet? I’m supposed to bring her to work.”

“Uh, yeah man, everyone left an hour ago.”

Eddie watched Steve’s face fall as he checked his watch and must’ve realized the time.

“Shit. Okay. I must’ve lost track of time.”

Steve looked pitiful. Eddie’s seen dogs in alleys who looked less beaten down and neglected than Steve currently did.

“I can help you find her?” Eddie offered for some unknown reason.

Well, he knew the reason, but he was choosing to ignore it.

“She’s probably already at work. It’s my day off so I ended up getting distracted with something and didn’t realize it was so late,” Steve admitted, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. “Thanks, though.”

Wayne liked to tell Eddie he was too nice to undeserving people. Lord knows he gave his dad too many chances and got let down every time. He even tried to be friends with Tommy Hagan in middle school because he could sense something was going on with Tommy’s dad much like his own.

But Eddie liked to remind Wayne that Eddie is often considered undeserving and he took him in and gave him multiple chances regardless.

“You wanna smoke?” Eddie asked, despite knowing he barely has anything left after the long week of midterms for students. His busiest times of year were right before school breaks, midterms, finals, and graduation weekend. He usually stocked up, but with Rick being in prison again, he had to try to stretch what he had out.

“Uh…smoke what?”

“Weed.” Then it hit Eddie that maybe Steve was into harder stuff. But he hadn’t ever even bought from him in high school. Tommy had, Carol had, almost everyone at his parties had, but Steve never did. “I have regular old cigs too if you prefer.”

“Yeah, man, cool,” Steve sighed with relief.

“I got a spot behind the cafeteria if you wanna…”

“Sure, yep, let’s go,” Steve nodded, gesturing towards the double doors that led outside to the cafeteria and auditorium buildings.

As they walked, Eddie’s mind raced with thoughts of being alone with Steve, Steve’s arm brushing against his, Steve pushing him against the wall of the cafeteria, of Eddie dropping to his knees and unbuttoning Steve’s pants and-

“I’m really sorry about what happened back there.”

Steve’s voice shook him from his thoughts, but his dick didn’t quite get the memo. When did he even start getting hard?

“No worries, dude.” His face scrunched in disgust at calling Steve dude. What was next, the bro pat on the back? A fist bump? “Kinda jealous of how protective you are of your girlfriend.”

Okay, actually, what the fuck? Eddie needed to shut his fucking face, right the fuck now.

“She’s not my girlfriend, but uh, I don’t think you’re really her type either,” Steve gave him a look, one Eddie knew well and one he couldn’t quite believe he was seeing on Steve’s face right now.

“Right, right.” Eddie wouldn’t make him say it, especially if it was actually the look he thought it was, but maybe he could offer a little something in return. “Yeah, she’s not really my type either.”

Steve stopped just before they reached the hidden area behind the dumpster and picnic table for staff to smoke.

“Really?” Steve’s eyes were wide. “So you’re more into…someone like…me?”

Eddie was actually leaking into his goddamn boxers. Why was he getting turned on just talking to Steve?

“That would be one way of saying it,” Eddie said. Still easy enough to back out of it, at least. Could just say he likes women who wear polos and use more hairspray than Melvald’s has ever carried at any given time.

“Huh,” Steve continued walking to the picnic table, sitting on top of it and kicking some dirt off the bench by his legs for Eddie to sit. “So those rumors were true?”

“That depends on if I’m gonna make it back home to my very loving uncle if I say yes.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Obviously, I’m not gonna judge you about it when my best friend is-” He cut himself off and Eddie had to give him major credit. The Steve he used to know never would’ve cared if he outed someone, or at least never would have realized that was wrong. He coughed and then looked down at the bench. “You gonna sit?”

Eddie sat down on the bench, extremely close to Steve’s legs. Almost touching. Was that heat coming from his body or was Eddie just extremely warm?

“Did you actually wanna smoke or did you just wanna get out of the hall?” Steve asked after another minute of awkward silence.

“We can smoke.” Eddie reached into his pocket, hating how tight his jeans were in the front, and grabbed his lighter. His pack of cigarettes were usually stored in his van because he rarely smoked them, but luckily he’d brought them with him all week to sneak smokes between classes. He pulled one out and handed it to Steve.

He started to light his own when Steve leaned down, his face right next to Eddie’s, breath hot on his neck.

“You aren’t gonna light it for me?”

Eddie whimpered.

He would deny it a million times over if anyone asked. He almost had himself believing he imagined it.

But Steve laughed and backed away, pulling out his own lighter and giving Eddie a second to catch his breath.

What the fuck was that? Did Steve know he was making Eddie’s brain flatline?

He watched Steve take a long drag out of the corner of his eye, his mind shuffling between ‘what if he fucked me right here?’ and ‘get the hell away before your dick pops a hole in your jeans.’

Steve’s lips were so pink, and looked so soft, and just wet enough from licking his lips before taking the next drag, and Eddie was really going through it right now.

He’d gone through his Steve Harrington phase just like everyone else, thought it was over when he graduated. Had avoided the mall all summer when he heard he was working at Scoops so he didn’t have to see him in those tiny blue shorts. Had even gone so far as to avoid being around when the kids were being picked up from Hellfire because Dustin mentioned Steve was his ride.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Except for Eddie’s imagination was impressive, and his late night thoughts turned into very vivid scenes of Steve working him to the edge and making him beg, or pushing him against a locker and making him take his cock with barely any prep, or-

“Dude, anyone ever tell you you’re kinda space-y?” Steve’s voice once again lifted him from his thoughts, though he felt a bit hazy.

“Think I’m comin’ down with something,” Eddie squeaked out. All he was coming down with was a sickness deep in his chest: Harrington Heart-itis.

“Did you hit your head?” Steve sounded concerned now, setting his cigarette in the ashtray left on the table and moving so he had one leg on either side of Eddie. His fingers landed in Eddie’s hair, pulling his head closer and inspecting it for injury. “I didn’t think anything but your shoulders hit, but maybe-”

“No,” Eddie gulped. He should pull away. “Didn’t hit my head.”

Steve’s fingers tightened, not quite painfully, but enough of a bite to it that Eddie whimpered. Again.

Steve’s grip loosened, but his fingers stayed buried in his curls, and Eddie felt pressure guiding him to rest against Steve’s thigh.

“You eat today?” Steve asked, though his voice sounded kinda far away, like he was above the surface of the water and Eddie was sitting at the bottom of a pool looking up at the sun. “Eddie?”

“Hm?” Eddie blinked up at Steve. “I ate.”

“When?” Steve’s hand was cupping his cheek. “Lunch?”

“Mmm, no,” Eddie shook his head, blinked. “Breakfast? Cereal.”

Steve cursed under his breath.

He was so pretty. Had he been told how pretty he was? Surely when Nancy was with him, she told him.

Even if Robin liked women, she had to at least notice how pretty he was, right?

Steve’s sharp intake of breath somewhat centered Eddie.

“I’m gonna drive you home, okay?” Steve whispered, leaning down so his face was only inches away.

Eddie could kiss him. It would be the easiest thing in the world to lift his head the final two inches to make their lips meet.

“Eddie, eyes open,” Steve’s fingers tightened again, gaining Eddie’s full attention. “Should I call someone? Are you dynamic or something?”

Eddie’s brows furrowed. What did that even mean?

“Like the sugar thing?” Steve continued.

“Diabetic?” Eddie still felt a little hazy, but he was starting to come back to it with Steve’s hand migrating from his hair to his shoulder. “No, my sugar’s fine.”

“I’ve got some soda in my car. I can drive you home and then bring you to school in the morning. You probably shouldn’t drive like…this.”

It all came crashing down when Eddie realized how vulnerable he’d just been, how he’d actually lost track of time, not sure exactly how long he’d been sitting between Steve’s legs with his hands in his hair before he started coming back to earth. He stood up, maybe a bit too quickly, rocking a bit before finding his balance.

“Woah, take it easy.” Steve held his hands out, grasped his biceps to hold him steady. “You were pretty far out of it. Don’t rush it.”

How fucking embarrassing.

Eddie had only gone down that far one time with someone and they got freaked out when he was giggling and couldn’t walk on his own because his legs felt like jelly. But that had been on purpose. This was- Steve didn’t– Jesus Christ.

“I’m fine now.” Eddie was not fine. He knew what would happen if he left right now. Aftercare was a major part of this whether Steve was prepared for it or not. “Just, um, walk me to my van.”

Steve looked like a kicked puppy, but Eddie didn’t have the time to explain all of this to him.

Steve Harrington didn’t know how much of a freak Eddie was even if he did know he was gay. There’s no way Steve participated in any type of BDSM with the many girls he slept with in high school.

There was absolutely no fuckin’ way Nancy Wheeler let herself get tied to a bed and get fucked by Steve.

He shook his head at the thought.

“I’d feel a lot better if you let me drive you. I promise we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Steve sighed. “I just don’t know if you should drive when you went down so hard.”

“You have no idea what even happened,” Eddie argued, pacing back and forth. “I can drive. I just need to walk it off.”

“You don’t walk off subspace.”

Eddie froze. Steve was standing right in front of him now, concern in his big, stupid, adorable eyes.

“How do you even know about subspace?” Eddie whispered.

“I slept with half the high school and two guys in Indy. I know what subspace is, Eds.”

Eddie must still be in space. Or maybe another galaxy.

“Sorry, did you just say you slept with two guys in Indy?” Has Steve seriously fucked more guys than Eddie has? Eddie, the resident gay man of Hawkins, has only been with one man in his entire life and Steve has apparently slept with two?

“Well, I wasn’t gonna sleep with two men in Hawkins!” Steve threw his hands up before putting them on his hips. “I hit up a gay bar and didn’t realize it doubled as a BDSM club until I was already in it and then a nice guy showed me the ropes. Literally. There were ropes involved.”

Eddie snorted. Steve was pretty and funny. Great. Just what he needed.

“I have a quick recovery, so I’ll be fine to drive home,” Eddie tried, though even he could hear his voice still shaking.

“No one is that quick,” Steve wrapped an arm around his shoulders, tugging him into a hug. “Has that ever happened before?”

“Not like that.”

“We should probably talk about it.”

The last thing Eddie wanted to do was talk about how someone playing with his hair and moving his head around while showing the bare minimum of care was enough to send him into subspace, but he had a feeling Steve wasn’t gonna give up easily.

“Fine. What should we talk about? How no one ever touches me gently so the moment someone did, I slipped? How I’ve been avoiding seeing you anywhere in public because I knew it would make my crush come back full force? Oh, I know!” Eddie laughed hysterically as he pulled away. “Let’s talk about how I still think about you in your stupid basketball shorts when I’m fucking myself on four fingers, which is never enough because I can never reach the spot I need to. Or how I once cut out your yearbook photo to keep for jerking off material because my mags weren’t enough. Could even talk about how earlier I wanted you to put your leg between mine so I could rub off on you. Or maybe the weather if you’d prefer that.”

Eddie was panting, could feel the heat on his face rising as he realized everything he’d just said, admitted, to Steve.

He’d never said any of that out loud. Shit, he’d barely said most of it in his own head.

Steve’s arms were pulling him in and Eddie let himself have it, let himself feel small for just a moment. If Steve wasn’t completely disgusted by what he said, then he would at least accept this offering of kindness for now.

They stayed like that for a while, long enough that Eddie started to wonder if he could just live here, right in Steve’s arms.

“It’s looking a little cloudy,” Steve said quietly, hands still rubbing Eddie’s back slowly.

“What?” Eddie still felt a little out of it, but that was entirely out of left field.

“You said we could talk about the weather.”

Eddie snorted. “Oh my God, you’re so-” Eddie looked up at Steve, who was smiling down at him. He felt off-kilter, being the object of that particular Steve look. “Stupid.”

It was fond, probably too fond for someone who needed to protect himself from whatever the hell was happening. He needed to shut this down.

“It’s been mentioned,” Steve’s eyes flickered down to Eddie’s lips, then back up to his eyes. “You good to head out?”

Eddie started to nod, but stopped.

This was his only chance. He wasn’t dumb enough to think he’d ever be alone with Steve again. If he was gonna kick start a spiral over feelings, he might as well go all out.

He stood at his full height, almost eye level with Steve, and leaned in.

The kiss was not even close to perfect. In fact, as far as kisses go, it was probably in the bottom three for Steve. Eddie chose not to think about how he screwed it all up.

But once the initial shock wore off, and Eddie put his teeth away, Steve’s hand cupped Eddie’s cheek and he licked past his lips.

Leave it to Steve to turn this around, make it something worth the risk.

Their lips moved in sync, both of them deepening the kiss without making it too wet, too filthy for a public space.

It was, dare he say, romantic.

Most kisses Eddie had managed to have were dirty and rough, hidden away in dark bars and alleyways, not exactly prime teen romance.

Of course Steve was good at this, of course he made Eddie melt against him, and of course Eddie was going to start writing hearts around Steve’s name in his notebook as if they were high school sweethearts.

When they pulled apart, it took him a minute to open his eyes. How stereotypical.

Steve was already looking at him, softer than he probably deserved.

“You’re pretty good at that,” Eddie breathed out.

“It’s been mentioned.” Steve’s lips turned up in a smirk before he pulled away completely. “Let’s go.”

They walked back through the school, stopping at Eddie’s locker to grab one of his textbooks as if he actually would use it. By now, he didn’t really need the textbooks to get his work done. And he was actually committed to getting it done this time around.

They were quiet as they continued out to the parking lot, only a few cars belonging to teachers left, maybe a few students stuck here for football or basketball practice. Steve’s car was towards the back, but Eddie’s was almost all the way in the grass field by the main road. It was less risky leaving it further away, less likely that anyone would slash the tires or key the side.

“You’re sure you can drive?” Steve asked as they stood outside his car.

“Yeah. Only five minutes to the trailer. It’ll be fine.” Eddie shrugged like it was nothing, but he was actually a little worried the kiss set him too off balance to focus on the road. Fuck the subspace, Steve’s lips were like discovering a new galaxy.

“Can I call you later? To check on you?” Steve seemed hesitant to ask.

“Uh, yeah? Do you…have my number?”

Steve shook his head, opening the door to his car and reaching into the glovebox to find a pen and an old receipt. As Eddie wrote down the number to the trailer, he thought about how much worse this would be tomorrow, how shitty it would be to have had this absolutely out of this world experience with the one person he never thought he could and then be left with scraps for the rest of his life.

“You uh, you don’t have to call, man. Don’t feel pressured. My uncle will be home so it’s not like I’ll be alone.”

Steve took the paper and pen back, folding the paper and putting it in his pocket and throwing the pen back into the car.

“I’m gonna call.” Steve moved a piece of Eddie’s hair from in front of his face. “You got a phone in your room?”

“No, but the one we have reaches to the bathroom?” Why the hell did he need one in his room?

“Good. Need you to be alone.”

“Steve, what the hell does that mean?”

“How else am I supposed to tell you what I wanna do to you?”

Well, fuck.

Day two: ao3 | tumblr

[1-800-be-my-baby]

Could you write something where reader is best friends with Sarah and has had a crush on rafe for a long time. There’s some situation like going on vacation with the Cameron family and John b joins so the reader has to share a bed with rafe. He wakes up at night bc reader is having a wet dream, cuddled up next to/on him, grinding against his thigh. He gets really turned on and starts touching her & she wakes up. Maybe he teases her a bit like asking if she had a good dream, pointing out how wet she got his thigh and then they have sex. Reader is a bit embarrassed and shy about it. - 🧚🏻‍♂️

i love the way your brain works. also sorry i got a bit carried away. pt 2!

MDNI 18+

going on a yearly vacation with the cameron’s is not something new to you. you’d always share a room with sarah, staying up late the room filled with your giggles and hushed whispers. this time would be different though. sarah’s new boyfriend, john b would be tagging along. the new addition causing sleeping arrangements to be changed.

“what do you mean i have to share a room with rafe?” you stare at sarah, eyes nearly popping out of your head.

“it’ll be fine. rafe can just sleep on the floor!”

“no fucking way! i’m not sleeping in the same room as him!”

“pleaseeee? for me?” she clasps her hands together, giving you that look that makes you crumble everytime.

“jesus christ. fine. just this once. you owe me though.” you huff out. she lets out a loud squeal

“ohmygosh thank you so much! i definitely owe you big time!” you roll your eyes.

“yeah whatever. you’re lucky i love you.”

"i am not sleeping on the fucking floor" rafe snaps at you. irritated with the situation and ready to go to bed.

"fine i'll go find somewhere else to sleep then." you huff out crossing your arms. you begin to head towards the door when rafe calls out.

"jesus kid. this bed is big enough for the both of us to sleep and keep a good distance away from each other. what do you think m' gonna do?"

"i dunno. maybe suffocate me in my sleep or something." he lets out a laugh, he can't help but find your dramatics funny.

"just get in the fucking bed"

"fine. but keep your hands to yourself. i swear to god" you poke at him

"got it." he raises his hands in defense.

its 3 am when rafe wakes up to you practically laying on top of him, grinding on his thigh. he rubs his eyes, making sure he's awake and that this is really happening. you let out a quiet whimper as your brows furrow together. he stares down at you, a smirk forming on his face.

he allows his fingers to find your core, softly grazing over your cunt. he can feel the fabric that does little to cover you slowly becoming soaked. this pushes him over the edge as he moves ur panties to the side, slowly dragging his fingers through your folds catching on your clit. you let out a moan as your eyes begin to flutter open.

"rafe? what are you doing?"

"what am i doing? you were the one who woke me up, humping my leg like a bitch in heat. you're a cock hungry whore even when you're asleep.” you let out another moan, his fingers still rubbing at your clit.

"if you don't want this then tell me to stop." your hips begin to buck up involuntary. heat rises to your cheeks, thanking god that its dark and he can't see just how embarrassed you are. but with the pressure he's applying to your needy clit all rational thoughts leave your brain. your senses completely filled with rafe.

"rafe. please just fuck me. need it so bad." you let out a desperate whine, his teasing increasing your arousal, though still not enough.

"yeah that's what i thought." he shoves two thick fingers inside of you without any warning. causing you to take a sharp breath in. his fingers massage that spongy part that makes your head fuzzy and your eyes roll back. the band in your tummy tightening with each stroke of his fingers.

"you gonna cum?" you nod your head vigorously as you feel yourself getting closer to the edge.

"yeah? what happened to you wanting me to keep my hands to myself? over here makin' a mess all over my fingers."

"please rafe im so close. can i please cum? i need it" tears gather at your waterline. the burning in your stomach almost too much to handle.

"fuck. go ahead. cum for me baby. make a fucking mess." his words cause the band to snap, your orgasm washing over you soaking his hand and the sheets.

"good girl. that's it. let me have it." he helps you ride out your high before pulling his fingers out of your cunt. he brings his fingers to your mouth.

"gotta clean up the mess you made. yeah?"

[torakowalski]

Apols for the delay but Swimmer Steve is back and pretty much exactly where we last left him.

(part one | part six)

"Fuck," says Steve. "Fuck." He hasn't said much of anything else since he came out of the changing rooms, still damp and kind of stunned-looking.

"Fuck," Eddie agrees.

Steve looks at him, a smile starting to spread across his face, going on and on like it might be endless.

God, he's handsome.

God, Eddie is stupid in love with him.

"Olympics, baby!" Eddie crows. They've already hugged; Steve got a hug from everyone, as soon as he emerged. Eddie wants to hug him again, but that would probably be too much.

"Fuck," says Steve and sits down on the floor between their two beds.

Eddie shrugs to himself and sits down with him.

They've only come back to the hotel so Steve can get showered and changed before the celebration dinner that the kids have planned. Or, actually, Steve has come back to the hotel for that; thinking about it, Eddie's not sure why he came with, except that it just felt natural.

Either way, looks like they're going to take longer than expected.

"All good?" Eddie asks, just in case.

"Jesus Christ," says Steve, which is a change from fuck and laughs. He lifts his hands up to cover his face and when he lowers them again, his eyes are wet. "The Olympics, Eddie."

Eddie nods, can't do anything but smile stupidly back at him. He doesn't think he's ever seen Steve this open and relaxed and delighted. "The Olympics, Steve."

Steve rubs at his eyes with his fingertips, mostly just making his eyelashes damper and darker from his happy tears. "You know when you've wanted something your whole damn life, but you never really thought you'd get it? It feels fucking wild to get it."

Eddie thinks about his guitar, his band, how badly he wants to stand on a stage looking out at thousands of people who all want to hear what he has to sing. Then he reminds himself that this is Steve's moment.

"I bet," he says. "Congrats. You've worked damn hard and you absolutely deserve it."

Steve leans over and bumps their shoulders together. "You're coming with me, right?"

Eddie blinks. "Where?"

"... the Olympics," says Steve, like it should be obvious.

Eddie blinks some more. "Steve. Sweetheart. Steve. The Olympics are in Korea."

"Mm," Steve agrees, "but the war's over, it's totally safe there now."

Eddie loves and hates that Steve thinks that might be the only thing putting Eddie off.

Eddie stretches his legs out so they disappear under Steve's bed and hopes there's nothing really gross under there that'll stick to his jeans. "Look, the literal only reason I've been able to afford rocking up and down the country with you is government hush money and the fact you keep buying all my meals. There's no way I can stretch to plane tickets, and I'd need my own hotel room, right? 'cause you'll be living in the athletes village?"

He could have kept going, obviously he could have kept going, but he stops there because Steve is waving a hand at him.

"What? Don't say you'll pay. There's no way you have that much extra cash, either."

"Nah," Steve says, "but my dad does. And I will be fully, fully back on the credit card, after he finds out about this."

Eddie makes a face. "But we hate your dad?"

"We really do," Steve agrees, smile not even dimming. "But we love spending his money on shit he'll hate." He drops a hand to Eddie's knee, giving it a squeeze and a shake. "You'll come, right?"

"... You should take Robin," Eddie tries, one last attempt to be a good person. "Or the kids. God, the kids would shit."

Steve leaves his hand on Eddie's knee, like that's just a place where it goes now. "I'd take them all, if I could... Plus like, all their parents to keep an eye on them, but they'll all be back in school by the time the Olympics start. None of them can take like, three weeks out."

"I bet Erica could wrangle it," Eddie points out.

Steve makes a guilty face. "Love Erica, but I don't think we have the kind of relationship where we hop over to Asia, just the two of us. You know?"

Eddie wants to ask, And we do? But they do. He knows they do.

"I don't know," he says. It's a big fucking deal. He's never left the country before and he'd love to, but he really does hate Steve's dad and all he chooses to be. The idea of being beholden to him for that big a favour sits wrong in his gut, even if Mr Harrington never actually knows about it.

"Eddie," Steve says, like he's prepared to wheedle for what he wants. Then he stops, takes a breath, shakes his head. "I know it's a big ask and obviously you don't have to, if you really don't want to. I kind of just, I can't, I can't imagine doing this without you."

Eddie claps a hand to his chest. "Right in the flattery gland, Harrington."

Steve slides his hand up Eddie's leg and squeezes his thigh. Is this going to be a thing? Is Eddie going to have to get Robin to have a word with him about this soon?

"You're the whole reason I've got this far," Steve tells him, all close and sincere. "If you don't want to come, that'll suck, but it's okay. I just wanna make sure that you know I appreciate everything you've done."

Eddie knows every mole on Steve's face, but Steve's close enough now to reveal a few previously unknown freckles.

Eddie chuckles weakly. "Personal space?" he suggests.

"Overrated," Steve says and then.

And then.

And then he presses his lips carefully against Eddie's.

"What?" Eddie croaks. He can feel his breath dance off Steve's mouth.

"Thank you," Steve says and kisses him again, a little firmer, a little damper this time.

"I..." Eddie is a goddamn fucking hero because he makes himself lean back. "Don't. You can't. Don't kiss me to say thank you. That's not... Don't. Please."

He's expecting Steve to sit back, blush and apologise and explain he had to best of intentions. Instead, Steve lifts the hand not on Eddie's thigh and touches his cheek. "Can I kiss you 'cause I can't imagine not kissing you?"

The centre of Eddie's chest throbs. Even he doesn't know what that means. "You don't want to kiss me," he manages.

"Kinda really do," Steve says. "So? Can I?"

(continued here)

[steveseddie]

shootin’ hoops

steddie | rated: t | cw: none | 4,6k | tags: eddie munson lives, but his clumsy ass gets hurt, worried steve, minor injuries, sharing clothes, first kiss

for my stficbingo prompt: “‘m just tired.”

click here to read on ao3

***

Eddie has always known basketball is evil. 

Over the years, he’s been smacked in the back of the head by plenty of basketballs, or smacked elsewhere by the dumb jocks that play the game. Only a few weeks ago, he was being chased by Jason Carver and his band of basketball-playing goons. 

So, basketball. Evil.

Eddie knew this, and somehow, he still agreed to “shoot hoops” with Steve Harrington.

Him! Eddie Munson! Agreeing to play the stupid game where you toss balls into laundry baskets! All because of his stupid crush on a boy.

If any of his friends could see him now, they would kick him out of the band and dethrone him as their Hellfire leader. 

Well, no. First, they would laugh at Eddie- currently starfished on the Harringtons’ basketball court having knocking himself out after the ball he threw missed the hoop completely, slammed against the board and bounced back straight into Eddie’s face.

Then and only then, after laughing themselves into a coughing fit at Eddie’s expense, would they kick him out and dethrone him. Can’t have your fearless leader succumbing to forced conformity or whatever. 

Luckily for Eddie, there’s no one here to witness how the mighty have fallen. 

Well. No one but Steve, the guy he’s pretty sure he’s in love with which is fucking great.

When he agreed to play, after Steve pleaded, pouted and hit Eddie with those deadly puppy eyes, he told himself it wouldn’t be so bad. He’d get to ogle Steve in his tiny little shorts, trick Steve into putting his hands on him to show him the right way to throw a ball and maybe even score a goal and shit and get a proud grin from Steve, maybe even a high five or a hug. 

But all Eddie has managed so far is to sweat through his clothes (Steve’s clothes actually- a pair of basketball shorts and an old Hawkins High swim meet shirt because the long sleeve and the ripped jeans Eddie showed up in weren’t basketball appropriate) and embarrass himself by getting hit square in the face by an evil basketball, probably giving himself a concussion in the process. 

Because- fucking ouch! His head is pounding right now.

Through the ringing in his ears, he hears Steve’s sneakers squeak against the court as he jogs towards him. “Eddie, Jesus Christ!” He gasps, dropping to his knees next to him. “Fuck, man, are you okay?” 

Eddie groans when he hears the concern in Steve’s voice. Fuck, this is so embarrassing. Eddie knows he’s flushing bright red and it’s not because of the midday sun beating down on them. 

“Eddie, come on. Talk to me, man,” Steve urges, slightly shaking Eddie’s shoulder.

“Just leave me here to die,” Eddie mumbles, keeping his eyes tightly shut, partly because moving his face hurts, but also because he doesn’t want to look at Steve right now. 

Steve huffs, shaking Eddie’s shoulder a little more insistently. “Nope, no way. I didn’t drag your ass back from the Upside Down to let you die here. Sit up, come on.” 

He tugs on Eddie’s arm, leaving him no choice but to sit up. Eddie hugs his knees against his chest, still not opening his eyes. He feels one of Steve’s hands settle on his back, holding him up in that position. 

“Good, that’s good,” Steve encourages, rubbing his hand up and down Eddie’s back. Because of that touch, Eddie can feel the flush spreading all the way up to his ears. He squeezes his eyes even tighter, even if it makes his face hurt, but Steve isn’t having it. “Now open your eyes for me.”

Eddie shakes his head, which is a terrible idea because it sends flashes of pain through his head, all the way down to his neck. 

“Come on, Eds, let me look at you,” Steve purrs in a sweet voice that settles deep in Eddie’s lower stomach. Then Steve’s other hand cups his cheek, gently turning his face towards him. “Please,” he says, stroking his thumb over Eddie’s cheek.

And if there’s one thing that today proved is that Eddie can’t say no to a pleading Steve. It’s what got him in this mess in the first place. 

So his eyes flutter open. He has to blink a few times to get rid of the blurriness at the edges of his vision but even then it’s hard to miss Steve’s big, worried eyes when they’re right in front of him. 

“There he is,” Steve exhales softly, the corner of his mouth lifting in a relieved half-smile. “Hi.” 

“H-hey,” Eddie stammers out. His cheeks burn even brighter when he realizes how close their faces are. Steve’s hand rubbing Eddie’s back soothingly while the other one is still cupping his jaw certainly don’t help. 

“Are you okay?” 

Eddie scoffs. “Oh, I’m great! Just wishing the Upside Down would open up and swallow me whole so I can like, die of embarrassment there,” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. Steve makes an exasperated noise, either because he didn’t get a real answer to his question or because it’s too soon for Eddie to be joking about dying in the Upside Down. Eddie sighs, waving a hand through the air dismissively. “I’m fine, man, just hurt.” 

“Where does it hurt?” 

“My dignity.”

This time the joke does land and it makes Steve snicker. “Since when do you have any?” 

“Ouch. Kicking a man while he’s down, Harrington? Shame on you,” Eddie says with a laugh, which is quickly followed by a wince. “Shit, okay, maybe my dignity isn’t the only thing hurting. My whole head is fucking pounding, I think I hit it against the ground after the ball knocked me down.” 

Steve’s face pulls into a frown and the hand that was on Eddie’s back moves to the back of his head. “You’re not bleeding, thank God, but you could still have a concussion.”

“Of fucking course,” Eddie mutters, resting his head on his knees.

“We can get you something cold or I can drive you to the ER if you’d rather get checked out.”

Eddie starts to shake his head and gets dizzy so he aborts the movement, raising his hand to wave Steve off instead. “No, no ER. Some frozen peas will do the trick, good sir.”

Steve’s lips press into a thin line. “Okay, but if you start talking nonsense, I’m taking you there. I don’t care if you don’t want me to or not.”

Eddie gives him a lazy smirk. “How will you know I’m talking nonsense because of the concussion and not because I’m, you know, me.” 

“I know your kind of nonsense, Munson,” he says with a snort. The words sound almost fond to Eddie’s ears. “Now, let’s get you inside. I’m gonna help you up. Slowly, okay? You might feel dizzy or even like you’re going to throw up so- careful.”

Eddie squints at Steve. “You sure know a shitload about concussions, Harrington.” 

Steve makes a face. “That’s because I’ve had like, three. And surprisingly enough only one of them was Upside Down related.”

“Damn, dude.”

“Yeah, but at least you know I’ll take good care of you.” Steve shrugs. “Okay, come on.”

He stands up in one swift movement and offers both of his hands to Eddie, who grabs them and lets himself be pulled to his feet. As soon as he stands, his vision goes black and he sways forward. He would’ve face-planted if Steve didn’t catch him by his elbows.

“Woah, I got you,” he tells him, breath ghosting over Eddie’s face.

“Just need a minute,” Eddie mumbles, squeezing his eyes, waiting for the world to stop spinning. 

“Take your time,” Steve says, rubbing his thumbs over Eddie’s forearms, which only makes him feel more dizzy. 

When he opens his eyes, Steve’s face is right there again and he gets lost in his hazel eyes for a few more seconds before he feels ready to move. “Okay, I’m good.”

Steve nods, letting go of his arms but staying close to Eddie as he starts walking towards the house, just in case. They walk past the evil basketball and Eddie glares at it. He thinks about kicking it, just to give it a taste of its own medicine, but knowing his luck, the ball would probably bounce against the wall and hit Eddie again, so he just ignores it. 

In the kitchen, Steve heads for the freezer while Eddie flops down on a chair and folds his arms over the table, letting his head rest over them.

He jumps when he suddenly feels something cold press against the back of his head. “Motherfucker!” When he looks up, Steve is giving him a sheepish smile and holding a bag of frozen peas in his hand. “Dick,” Eddie says, snatching the peas from his hand and pressing them against the back of his head. He still flinches, but at least he’s prepared this time. 

“Is that better?” 

Eddie makes a noncommittal sound. The cold helps with the throbbing, but his head still feels like it was put through the wringer.

“Do you think you’ll be okay if I take a quick shower?” Steve asks. Eddie glances at him, who’s eyeing him back warily and biting his lip, probably worried about leaving him unsupervised. 

“I think I’ll live, man,” Eddie says with a snort.  

“Okay. I’ll be right back.” He stands up to leave but hesitates. “Call if you need anything.” 

Eddie can’t help it, he smirks up at him. “You’re gonna come to my rescue dripping wet and wearing nothing but a towel? I might call you just to see that.” 

Steve’s cheeks flare the brightest Eddie’s ever seen. “Never mind, you can die,” he says with no heat at all before turning around and leaving Eddie alone in the kitchen. 

This time when Eddie laughs it doesn’t make his head hurt nearly as much, which means that the frozen peas might be helping. He presses the bag against his face next, trying to dull the throbbing there as well. He sits there at the kitchen table, moving the frozen peas back and forth from his face to the back of his head until he starts getting tired and his eyelids start feeling a little heavy. 

He drops his head on his arms again and instantly starts to doze off. Eddie knows he shouldn’t, not if he has a concussion, but he’s tired, and taking a nap right now sounds so good-

But just as he’s about to, Steve’s voice drags him away from the brink of sleep. “Eddie, hey, Eds.” 

Eddie burrows further into his arms, trying to ignore Steve who shakes his shoulder a little frantically. “Eddie?” 

“I’m fine,” Eddie mutters, twisting his head to the side, towards Steve, but keeping his eyes closed. “‘m just tired. Want to take a nap.”

“Uh, yeah, no. No sleeping while concussed,” Steve says in that bitchy tone of his. “Eds, come on.” When Eddie doesn’t respond, Steve nearly growls. “Eddie Munson, I will drag your ass to the ER if you don’t open your eyes right now.” 

“Fuck, you’re bossy,” Eddie huffs, but he opens his eyes, giving Steve a look that’s supposed to say happy?

Steve’s lips press into a thin line. “Well, sorry for not wanting you to die on me again.”

It’s probably not Steve’s intention, but Eddie immediately feels bad. He might not remember a lot of what happened after the hell bats attacked him, but he knows that at some point his heart stopped beating from all the blood he lost and Steve had to perform CPR on him to bring him back. And unlike Eddie, he probably remembers everything about it. It’s not fair that Eddie is making him relive that kind of worry right now. 

So he forces his head up, blinking his eyes a few times so they adjust and apologizes. “Sorry.”

Steve’s face softens almost immediately and he waves Eddie off with a shake of his head. Droplets of water hit Eddie’s face and he notices that Steve’s hair is wet, water steadily dripping to the floor from the few strands that hang over his eyes. Eddie has seen Steve after a shower before but he always dries and styles his hair before coming out of the bathroom which means he skipped his hair routine today, probably so he wouldn’t have to leave Eddie alone longer than necessary. 

“How’s the head?” Steve asks, brushing his hair back with a hand. 

“Hurts but the peas are helping. Or they were. I don’t know where they are now.” Eddie frowns when he realizes he can no longer feel them against the back of his head, they must have fallen to the floor when he started to doze off. Oh well. “How was the shower?” 

Steve snorts. “Quick,” he says. “Do you wanna take one?” 

Eddie wrinkles his nose. “I want to but there’s a big chance that I will fall in the shower and crack my head open if I do.” 

He almost wants to risk it just to get rid of some of the sweat, but then he thinks about falling in the shower and Steve barging in to help him while he’s naked on the floor and quickly changes his mind. There’s only so much embarrassment he can take in a day. 

Steve nods in understanding. “Maybe later then.” He jerks his head toward the door that leads to the living room. “Do you want to move to the couch? Just because you can’t take a nap doesn’t mean you can’t be comfortable.” 

“Sure, man.” 

When Steve stands up, Eddie’s eyes end up at the same level as his shirt. Which, thanks to the familiar Black Sabbath logo, Eddie realizes is actually his.

“Is that my shirt?” Eddie asks even if he knows the answer. Steve would never own a Black Sabbath shirt, not to mention Eddie remembers turning his room upside down looking for his the other day only to give up when he couldn’t find it- because it was at Steve’s house apparently. 

Steve looks down at himself and his eyes widen like he’s only realizing now that he’s wearing it. 

“Oh, um, yeah, you left it here the other day. I washed it and left it in my closet to like, give it back to you, but I guess I accidentally grabbed it just now,” Steve explains, running his hand through his hair a few times. 

“Yeah, okay,” Eddie says, big eyes staring up at Steve in his goddamned shirt. 

“Do you- do you want it back?” 

Eddie shakes his head. “Nah, man. It looks better on you.” And it’s true- Steve looks good in Eddie’s clothes. “Besides, it’s only fair,” he adds, gesturing down at himself, still wearing Steve’s swim meet shirt and old basketball shorts. 

Steve chuckles, ducking his head and saying a little shyly, “Well, those look good on you too.” 

Eddie twirls some hair around his finger and tugs it in front of his face to hide his blush. He’s ridiculously bad at accepting compliments, especially when they come from Steve.“

“Okay,” Steve says, remembering why he stood up in the first place. “Come on, to the couch.” 

Standing up doesn’t make Eddie as dizzy this time and he manages to stay on his feet without Steve’s help. Slowly, he drags his feet to the living room and then flops down on the couch, tilting sideways until his head comes in contact with the cushions. 

“No sleeping,” Steve grumbles when he sees Eddie’s eyes start to slip shut. 

“I’m not!” Eddie says, his eyes flying open and finding Steve raising an eyebrow at him. “Okay, maybe I am, but you gotta help me stay awake, man. Put on a movie or something.” 

With a frown, Steve says, “I don’t think you should be staring at screens or any bright lights right now.” Then he perks up. “Wait, I have an idea!” 

And then, without explaining any further, he leaves. 

In his absence, Eddie sighs and burrows his head deeper into the cushions, but before he can even think of taking a nap, Steve comes back. 

“I think I might be having like a concussion-induced hallucination because there’s no way that you, Steve Harrington, actually own a copy of The Fellowship of the Ring,” Eddie says when he sees the worn paperback that Steve is holding in his hand. 

Steve glances down at it. “It’s actually Dustin’s, man. Kid gave it to me forever ago, but I never read it. It’s not really my thing, but it’s yours.”

“It most definitely is, Stevie boy,” Eddie says, “but I don’t think reading will help my head any more than staring into a screen.”

“You won’t be reading, Eds. I’ll read to you,” Steve says with a shrug. “Now, lift your head.” 

Eddie pushes himself from his lying down position so Steve can sit next to him, but before he can sit upright, Steve tsks and pushes his head back down so it’s resting on his lap, the right side of his face coming in contact with the fabric of Steve’s sweatpants. 

Eddie is too stunned to protest or move, but he does subtly pinch himself, a little suspicious that he might’ve slipped into some kind of concussion dream.

With one of his hands, Steve holds the book open and the other finds its way to Eddie’s hair. He’d tied it up in a bun when they started playing, but it’s mostly undone by now. Steve carefully tugs on his hair tie, freeing the rest, so he can run his fingers through the curls.

It sends shivers down Eddie’s spine, makes him feel like he’s going to melt through the couch and into a puddle on the floor. He can’t stop the whiny noise that slips through his lips. 

Steve’s hand freezes. “Did I hurt you?

Embarrassed, Eddie just shakes his head no.

“So this is okay?” Steve asks, scratching his scalp. Eddie just nods, afraid that if he opens his mouth some other embarrassing noise will slip out.

Eddie can hear the smile in his voice when he says, “Good.”

After that, Steve clears his throat and starts reading. 

Eddie quickly realizes that Steve didn’t think his plan through- he heavily underestimated how soothing his voice is, how comfortable his thigh is and how good his hand feels in Eddie’s hair. 

Within minutes, Eddie feels himself starting to doze off again, but before he can, Steve jostles his thigh, the movement waking Eddie up.

“Hey, talk to me so I know you didn’t die.”

Eddie groans, pinching Steve’s leg. “I hate you.”

Steve chuckles softly. “That’ll do.” 

After that Eddie starts to focus on the words that Steve is reading and it makes it a little easier to stay awake, mostly because he can’t help but correct Steve when he starts butchering the names of the characters and locations in ways that Eddie can’t begin to comprehend. It’s not until a snigger slips past Steve’s lips when Eddie tells him that it’s “Bilbo, Steve! Not Bobbin!” that Eddie realizes he must be doing it on purpose so that Eddie will talk to him. 

After a while, Eddie stops feeling sleepy and his head stops hurting as much so, instead of just correcting Steve’s pronunciation, he offers commentary about the book here and there and quotes the book as Steve reads it, which earns him a fond nerd and a playful tug on his hair.

After a few chapters, Steve complains about his voice getting tired, but Eddie isn’t having it, he wants to listen to Steve read some more. 

“You owe me, man,” Eddie says.

Steve snorts. “Me? I’m nursing you back to health, why do I owe you?” 

“Because you made me play with you!”

Eddie can hear Steve’s eye roll. “I didn’t, you could’ve easily said no, Eddie.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to snort because the idea of him saying no to Steve is completely ridiculous. Before he realizes what he’s doing, he blurts out, “Nothing easy about saying no to the guy you have a crush on.” 

Silence falls over them. Steve drops the book on the couch. His other hand freezes in Eddie’s hair. 

“What?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Eddie realizes what he just said and his whole body goes rigid. Oh shit, oh fuck.

“Nothing,” he says meekly. 

“No, you said-”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Yes, you did, Eddie,” Steve says, annoyed. Annoyed at him. Eddie bites down on a whimper- this is his worst nightmare, the thing that stopped him in his tracks every time he so much as considered telling Steve how he felt. Suddenly, he can’t keep his head on Steve’s thigh, he can’t bear to have his fingers in his hair. Eddie sits up abruptly, his vision swims, he feels sick. 

“I, I have a concussion, I don’t know what I’m saying,” Eddie mutters, sitting on the far end of the couch, away from Steve.

“Eddie-”

“Steve, please just- Ignore it, please,” Eddie pleads, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his hands coming up to cover his face. 

“I can’t ignore it-”

Of course he can’t. Your friend having a crush on you isn’t something you can just ignore. God, Eddie really fucked up. 

“Fuck.” He squeezes his palms against his eyes until they hurt. 

The couch dips as Steve moves- is he leaving? Eddie’s heart falls as he wonders, but a moment later, Steve is sitting right next to him, their thighs touching and their arms brushing.

“Eddie, I don’t want to ignore it,” Steve says, and his voice is unbearably soft. He doesn’t sound annoyed anymore, maybe he wasn’t annoyed at all, maybe there’s some truth to what people say about Eddie being dramatic.

“Why?” Eddie asks warily, but God help him, also slightly hopeful. 

Steve scoots even closer, bumping their shoulders together. “The guy I’ve liked for weeks just said he has a crush on me, why would I want to ignore that?”

The words have Eddie whipping his head back to stare at Steve so fast that he goes dizzy. His face pulls into a grimace. “Shit.” 

“You okay?”

Eddie waves him off. “Did you just say you like me? Because if you didn’t, maybe I do need to go to the ER because I’m hearing things,” he says, his wide eyes blinking at Steve.

He gives Eddie a sweet smile. “I did say that. I do like you.”

His eyes go even wider. “Holy shit.”

“Do you like me?” Steve asks, a little shy. “Or was that just the concussion talking?”

A nearly hysterical laugh tumbles over Eddie’s lips. “No, nope, definitely me. Maybe the concussion made me say it, and for a moment there I thought I fucked up, but I meant it, Steve, I like you so much that I ignored everything I stand for to fucking shoot hoops with you. I don’t even care that I got a concussion because of it!”

Instead of smiling like Eddie expects him to, Steve seems troubled. Eddie wonders if maybe he said too much. “What?”

“I know I probably shouldn’t kiss you while you have a concussion,” Steve says, biting his bottom lip and having the nerve to glance at Eddie’s mouth. “But I really want to.”

Eddie’s stomach flip flops and he needs a few seconds to remember how to form words because Steve wants to kiss him! “Ever heard of the expression kiss it better?” He asks, the corners of his mouth pulling up in a smirk.

Steve chuckles. “I don’t think it applies here,” he says, but Eddie can’t help but notice how he’s started leaning in.

“We can still try,” Eddie says, leaning in too, knowing that Steve is about to break. He thinks back on the puppy dog eyes and the pouty lips he gave Eddie when he asked him to play basketball with him and decides to give it a try, batting his eyelashes at Steve and sticking his bottom lip out. “I really want you to kiss me, Steve.”

Steve’s eyes go wide and his breath leaves him in a whoosh, Eddie can feel it against his face. “Fuck, you were right.”

“About?”

“Nothing easy about saying no to the guy you have a crush on,” Steve says, echoing Eddie’s words. 

Eddie starts to laugh, but the sound dies in his throat when Steve cups his cheeks and closes the distance between them, pressing their mouths together. Eddie whines instead, low in his throat, his arms wrapping around Steve’s shoulders and sinking them both back onto the couch. They’re touching in so many places, but Eddie wants more, so he opens his mouth and hopes that Steve takes the invitation. 

And he does- licking the roof of Eddie’s mouth, and angling his head to kiss him deeper. And it’s so good, it’s like nothing Eddie has ever felt, and for a moment, he actually worries that he knocked himself out on the court earlier and this is just some elaborate coma dream. 

But Steve feels so real- his lips against his, his shoulders under Eddie’s hands, the sinful noises that he keeps making. 

Eddie swings his leg over Steve’s lap, straddling him and breaking the kiss for the first time so that he can grin down at him. 

“I think we found another way to make sure I don’t fall asleep,” he says, eyes roaming over Steve- his red bitten lips stretched into a dopey grin, his hooded eyes that keep darting to Eddie’s mouth, the rise and fall of his chest, the exposed collarbone thanks to how worn the collar of Eddie’s shirt is, the mole-covered skin there that’s just begging to be kissed, bitten, marked up. 

“I changed my mind,” Eddie says, picturing what a love bite on Steve’s chest would look like and wanting to get on with it.

Steve’s hands freeze where they came to rest on Eddie’s thighs, his pinkie brushing against the bare skin after his shorts rode up. 

“Are you okay? Does it hurt? Are you dizzy?” He asks, earnest eyes darting over Eddie’s face, looking for any sign that he’s in pain. 

“Not about this,” Eddie says with a little shake of his head that makes his bangs fall over his eyes. He tugs the collar of Steve’s shirt down- his shirt. “I changed my mind about wanting my shirt back.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up, his lips tugging up in a smirk. “Well,” he says, voice dropping low, his fingers teasing the hem of the shorts that Eddie is wearing. “As long as you give me my clothes back too.”

Eddie’s heart stutters, warmth pooling low in his stomach. “It’s only fair.” Then he remembers something else. “You know, I could use that shower that I passed on earlier.” 

Steve raises his eyebrow. 

“But I still feel a little dizzy,” Eddie says, putting the back of his hand against his forehead like a fainting maid, waggling his eyebrows at the same time. “Think you can give me a hand?” 

Steve grins. “Yeah, I can do that.”

They both try to stand up at the same time, and Steve almost sends Eddie toppling to the floor but luckily manages to catch him before Eddie ends up with another concussion. 

After that, they make their way upstairs, to Steve’s bathroom, kissing and touching and leaving a trail of clothes behind them. 

Right before Steve closes the bathroom door, Eddie’s eyes catch the basketball shorts Steve just took off of him, discarded on the hallway floor and he thinks- 

Maybe basketball isn’t so evil after all. 

[extremefrogrefrigerator]

all of the characters in interview with the vampire (2022) are so complex and are all subjected to such wild experiences but jesus CHRIST imagine being louis de pointe du lac's sister. the story starts out and your brother louis has a sketchy fucking job but you let it slide because Hey At Least He's Supporting The Family. and then one day he's like hey i have a new friend and you're like who is he and he's like French Individual. which of course is disappointing but hey! let's invite this french man over to dinner whats the worst that could happen. and turns out that the worst that could happen is mr oui oui cuntatron 9000 with his his little ponytail acting as if he has 47 large sticks shoved up his anal cavity bashing your Other brother about religion in a passionate monologue about how much he hates god and also he's not eating anything? Whatever it's your wedding day soon!! so your wedding day happens and it's banger, tap dancing and shit, but womp womp the next day your other brother Tragically dies but hey at least you've still got louis! JUST KIDDING during the vigil this blonde french fagatron tiddles and toddles up to your brother and he's like "we fucked last night why did you ghost me" to him and of course you don't have the capability to process this at the moment in your grief so you're like Whatever! but then on the night of said vigil louis proceeds to fuck off for several months where did he go? good lord how worrying. but then luckily he fucks back into the picture several months later when you host a little party! but he's got that blonde french fuckhead with him, who insults the banjo band you have in your front yard and is wearing a stupid little had but whatever! louis come inside please it's been forever. and also louis is wearing these little fucking sunglasses now so youre like Take those off what the fuck are those. and his eyes are all fucked up and Not Normal but you're like Whatever! and then he's like You Are Going To Have Twins and you're like What and he's like You Are Going To Have Twins It Will Happen ! and you're like I heard you the first time What and then he fucks off again with the blonde guy . but then turns out that you DO fucking give birth to fucking twins. you see louis and his gay ass sunglasses a few more times over the years but for the most part he's absent and also kicks your door down that one time with like. Way too much strength for a human being and also you've been hearing rumors on the town that your brother and The Worst Blonde Individual Known To Man are fagging it up homosexual style in their shared one-bedroom townhouse and and also why do you only ever see him at night? and you're not quite sure what Is Fucking Wrong with him so you think it over and you're like Hey I Think We Have To Disown This Guy .i know just how to do it let's put his gravestone in a graveyard and "bury" him and have an epic Surprise Grave Reveal when he comes over! because like what else can you do?? and then you never ever see him again . also it's like 1910

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Something that's ours

Written for round one of the @steddiebingo

Prompt: Basketball

Rated: T

Tags: Modern AU; No UD AU; Steve is Dustin’s dad; Established relationship; Moving in together; Domestic fluff; Found family; Sexual innuendo

Notes: Happy birthday, @thefreakandthehair! It's the Someone who cares boys! It's basketball! It's for you! Hope you have the greatest of days! 🥰

“So,” Robin’s voice crackles over the speakers. The car is a little older and a lot less less fancy than the one Steve used to drive, and he's still getting used to the tinny sound. “That's it, then? You sold the penthouse?”

“Yup,” Steve agrees. “Signed and sealed.”

“How do you feel about that?”

He hums in thought.

“Dunno. I thought it would feel different. I've lived in that place since I got out of college. Dustin made his first steps in the living room. But now that it's gone … It's weird, but all I feel is relief.”

“I don't think that's weird at all,” she says. “That place never really felt like yours.”

“You're right.” Now that the glass and chrome of the skyscrapers outside has made way to the smaller houses and green lawns of his new neighborhood, he feels like he can breathe more freely. “My dad got that place for the son he wanted, not for me. It feels good to finally get rid of it.”

“I'm happy for you, dingus.” Even with the tinny speakers, he can hear the fondness in her words. “Any plans for the shitload of money you got for the place? You gonna treat Eddie to a romantic luxury cruise? Propose on the beach at sunset?”

“Very funny,” he quips, turning into their new street. He's been thinking about proposing an awful lot lately, but she doesn't need to know that yet. “Most of it is going into our savings. God knows we'll need it until I fall back on my- Jesus fucking Christ!”

The tires screech as he slams on the brakes and the car grinds to a stop at the edge of the driveway.

“What?” Robin shrieks. “What is it? Are you okay?”

It takes Steve a moment to tear his eyes away from the sight behind his windscreen.

“I'm fine,” he mumbles when he finally does. “I’ll call you back.”

Then, without waiting for a reply, he disconnects the call and climbs out of the car.

“Eddie? What the fuck are you doing?”

Eddie, perched atop the large folding ladder that's inches away from his bumper, glares down at him, like an angry, curly-haired gargoyle.

“The question is what are you doing? Trying to kill me? Because that's how you kill a guy, Stevie!”

Steve has half a mind to reply that this is how a guy gets himself killed, wobbling around on ladders in the middle of driveways, but he's way to confused. He didn't even know they owned a ladder.

Then again, he also didn't know they owned a basketball hoop, yet here they are.

“Why are you mounting a basketball hoop to our wall?” he asks dumbly. “You don't even like basketball.”

“You wound me,” Eddie pouts as he clambers off the ladder. His hair is tied away from his face with a bandana, his cut-off band shirt is sticky with sweat and there's a screwdriver sticking from his back pocket. Steve wants to bite him. “I said you'd never catch me playing, but I don't mind watching. And besides, we're a good, honest suburban family now. You gotta throw hoops in the driveway.”

Steve is about to open his mouth to ask if he's met Dustin, because the kid wouldn't touch a basketball if his life depended on it. But that is when Eddie picks up the ball he had lying by the garage door and presses it into his hands, and it clicks.

“Wait, what? Is this for me?”

Eddie shrugs. “You said you always wanted one growing up, didn't you?”

Steve nods, a bit dumbfounded. It's true. He always wanted one, but his father said it would damage the facade and ruin the appearance of the house.

“The beauty of having your own place,” says Eddie, leaning over the ball for a long, lingering kiss, “is that nobody gets to tell you what you can and can't do, right?”

“Right,” Steve says. He knows he's grinning like an idiot, but he can't stop it. Not like he wants to. He wants to take this house and make it a home, wants to fill it with all the things that are unabashedly theirs. His sports equipment and Dustin’s science stuff and Eddie's books. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome, sweetheart.” Eddie wipes his flushed face with the hem of his shirt, grinning at the way Steve's gaze catches on the naked stretch of his chest and stomach. “Now, Dustin won't be home from school for another hour or two. How about you try this out, work up a bit of a sweat … and then we hit the shower together? There's some other balls I wouldn't mind playing with.”

More Steddie Bingo

[flashphotograph]

Double Stuffed

@steddiemicrofic | June prompt: Stuff | Word count: 483 | Rating: T | CW: None

Eddie was thoroughly entertained. He was lying across Steve’s bed on his stomach, leaning up on his elbows, with the palms of his hands supporting his chin as he shamelessly watched Steve try on jeans.  The fabric glided effortlessly up Steve’s long legs, but once the material got to his ass, it always caught, and that’s when the struggle began. Steve had to tug and jump just to get them up where they needed to go.  “Jesus Christ, Harrington, you really gotta stuff yourself in those things, don’t you?”  Steve was adjusting his nuts when Eddie piped up, making him snort softly at the comment. These were his tightest jeans. He slowly zipped and buttoned them, feeling Eddie’s gaze on him viscerally.  “I think the last time I wore these, you stuffed me. So, you must like them, right?” Steve chuckled as he put his hands on his hips and raised his eyebrows playfully a couple of times, which summoned Eddie over to him.  Eddie wrapped Steve up in his arms and instantly palmed his ass, making him blush and laugh. “Love 'em, Stevie. They fit you like a glove. My only complaint is how hard they are to get off.”  Steve locked his arms around Eddie’s shoulders. “I like making you work for it. I’m not easy.” “Never said you were. I’m not afraid of hard work. Although, I think you put these on on purpose.” Steve ducked his head and shrugged. “I just wanted to look good for you.” Eddie laughed, tilting his chin back up gently. “You always look good. You put me to shame.” Steve smiled and leaned in to kiss Eddie for the compliment. “You’re not so bad. Can’t lie and say I didn’t wanna get lucky tonight.” Eddie was waiting on him to get ready. They were going to go out, see some bands and get some drinks.  “We can skip going out, and I can get you out of these and into bed instead.”    “Not so fast, you just agreed that I’m not easy!” Steve laughed and took Eddie’s hands off his ass. “You’re taking me out first. It’s only right.”  Steve smiled and reached up to sweetly pat Eddie on the cheek, then went over to put on the thin gold chain Eddie had gotten him. He finished the look with a polo and Nike’s. “Don’t pout, Eddie bear.” Steve caught Eddie’s lower lip jutting out. That got him to bite it instead. “I won’t make you wait long. We’ll just get a drink or two. You know that makes my pants come off faster.”  Eddie smirked and reached out to link their fingers. “Alright, let’s get out of here, man. Gonna at least wine you before I dine.”  Steve squawked as Eddie honked one of his ass cheeks and dipped out of the room, cackling.  Later, Steve pulled Eddie’s wallet chain, pantsing him publicly. 

[thenightshadowqueen]

Death for a Dollar watchthrough thoughts

Holy shit, this was unhinged. I loved it so much. (That’s too many italics, but I don’t care.) I’m kind of speechless; the number of times I actually covered my mouth in shock (usually because of Sam, but Tom was insane in this one, too) was staggering. I adore this play.

Anyway, I’m going to get into my actual thoughts instead of just rambling.

Just to start, ‘Death for a Dollar’ is a great title, so kudos to whoever came up with that

Oh my god, Hank and Gareth 2.0!!!!

“You don’t know what he did for this place.” “That—Tell me!” This is off to a strong start

“Where was your showmanship?” I love it when they work mini games of Change into the plays

Mr. Twilliger is an incredible name

“This is me being the bartender, getting the stories out of the customers, so they reveal things, and then they want to drink more because they’re reliving their trauma.” I mean, it’s a valid tactic to get more money; yay, capitalism! (sarcasm)

AJ forcing Tom to be musical… Caesar and Juliet, anyone?

I love that Luke knows off the top of his head how many keys a piano has (I’m honestly not surprised)

Is Sam’s hair a little longer than normal? Because it looks really good

“I got three keys, three teeth, three toes. I’ve been through a lot.” I love Tony the piano player (who was also referred to as Bill once)

“My mind can take an awful lot; there’s not a lot in there” I love him, actually

“You ain’t trying to seduce him!” “But I get bigger tips when I do!” Sam

Can I just thank whoever edited this for giving us that little shot of Tom laughing? Because I love it when we get to see him actually laugh.

I love Mrs. Prostitute (and I love Tom for including positive representation of sex work)

“This is what feminism looks like” West End Big Boys flashbacks

“My mum is crazy” SAM

Also I think my favourite thing about the microphones is that we can hear them laughing so much more clearly (brought to you by Luke, on this occasion)

I adore Sam’s weird little harmonica thing he does in western-genre pieces

Ooh, younger versions of characters being played by different actors; I don’t think we’ve seen that before

I love Sam being confused and Tom’s response being to start clapping

I love Sam being annoyed and retaliating at AJ with a bald joke

“I told my daddy that I was real fast with a pistol, and that maybe I could go and work in law enforcement, but he wouldn’t have it.” “No! No son is going to go work for the government!” AJ trying to paint his father as the villain and Sam trying his very best to make the audience like him… This is gorgeous

“Telling a man if he’s allowed to own people or not” okay, never mind, I take that back

I don’t know why Sam picked the Watson-clown voice, but I’m glad he did (also I love that the voice made Luke break)

“Many Fingers Pussy” Jesus Christ, Tom

“They thought I had the devil in me” god damn it, now I feel bad for Bill

Sam is so good at playing wide-eyed innocent characters

“God, I wish they had that law in America in the modern day” I wish I had enough faith in people’s judgement to wish that

“I didn’t know you could do magic” I love it when Sam causes trouble

I can never see a reference to a one-man band like that and not think of Mary Poppins

“I can’t wait to hear those four white boys do those accents” oh dear

Luke speaking Spanish!!!

You know what, that vaguely Mexican accent could have been a hell of a lot worse, so well done, Sam

“So you can work on a farm, or you can jerk people off” oh my god, Sam

“He offered me a job” and then AJ realising what it sounded like and walking it way back

Tom entering the scene and waiting for a moment to join in and then Sam just throwing him in without warning is amazing

“I work here jerking people off” Tom

“She said she helps people el secrete-o” SAM

“Hand stuff Jesus is okay with” Sam

I don’t know why the fact that Tom knows little bits of Spanish brings me so much joy, but it does

Holy shit, Luke speaking Spanish with an American accent might be my new favourite thing

I love Maria, the bank robber/prostitute

You know what, I get Bill; the little, slightly mosquitoy “yeah”s are alluring

Half-kiss!!!

“A beautiful flower turns to a crooked leaf” I fucking adore AJ’s weird little sayings

“It’s a well-known expression” and then the advert with the merch saying ‘more well-known expressions’

“Something went worse than wrong. It went really wrong.” Gorgeous.

Sam’s slip oh my god

I know I already said Sam’s hair looks good, but Sam’s hair looks really good

I already said it but I will never be over Luke’s Spanish-in-an-American-accent. Never.

“I’ll keep my hands moist for you” it seems like Tom like using the word moist (the moisturiser fairy comes to mind)

I love audience participation

I’m sorry, as someone who struggles with mental math, that quick multiplication from Luke was impressive

“Got a lot of spunk in you, have you?” I love Tom using his English degree to make dirty jokes (obviously this doesn’t require an English degree; I just mean that it’s a wordplay joke)

I love Sam making sure to bring the story full-circle, with Tony losing his teeth and toes

Jesus, Tom

“Have we invented the electric chair yet?” I looked it up, and it looks like it was invented in the 1880’s, so not quite, but it wasn’t nearly so far off as I thought it might be

“I’ma travelling electric chair salesman” … honestly, I’m not even surprised at this point

Tom is right; this is really dark

I don’t think Sam knows how electric chairs work (affectionate)

Okay who the fuck let Sam wink like that

“Well, I guess that’s the end of the Shoot from the Hip show” I love when they get meta

“What could go wrong with giving a southern American teenager a pair of guns? I’ve got school tomorrow!” Holy fucking shit; may I present Sam Russell, the king of risky jokes

“…when we faked my death…” I love Tom so much

“I think this is the first time we’ve used the principle of the unreliable narrator” I actually love this so much; this is such a cool concept, especially for an improv show

Tom is unhinged in this one and I love it

I love this so much

I already made as post saying this, but it bears repeating: this is BUS levels of insane

[katuschka]

Touch Starved Pups – One

Jake Kiszka x f!Reader x Josh Kiszka 4.011 words

Welcome to Part One of the story about what happens to two well-behaved, bored and horny romantics when a new feisty, worldly and hot social media manager enters the building...

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, intended for adult readers. Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental. Also, if you're under 18, go find some other entertainment elsewhere.

Warnings (are spoilers): expressive language, promiscuous behaviour, unprotected sex (or still rather just allusions to it , just setting the scene...), oral sex, handjob, kissing, twinfight, fistfight, angst, mockery, consensual teasing game that's borderline exploitative, slightly toxic behaviour...so, to sum it up, this is pure rock&roll filth, folks.

Also, if you like the story and want to get notifications for future updates, you can join the Taglist or see the Masterlist

Hooked? Read Part Two.

I know who I am when I'm alone

I'm something else when I see you

You don't understand, you should never know

How easy you are to need

Don't let me in with no intention to keep me

Jesus Christ, don't be kind to me

Honey, don't feed me, I will come back

Walking down the photo pit after all the other photographers cleared off is my favorite part of the day. Or night, to be more precise. That’s when I shine: strutting along, ready to capture all those best moments that make all you bitches go feral during AND after the show. This is my queendom. I make content for you lot. And I’m damn good at it.

How do I know that? The numbers just skyrocketed after I joined the team. Ka ching! All those poor things that came before me had no idea how to do their job. Tried to do some lifeless artsy shit that might be good for booklets and collectors’ crap that only collects dust, but not followers. They listened to what the band and their management wanted, but that’s not how it’s done. Nuh uh. I listen to you, my dudes. Your screeches, howls and cries. Some say that you’re crazy, but I know better. I’m here to observe what drives you crazy, and then I shall stir it up even more. When it comes to online content, the only thing that matters is what YOU want.

Make no mistake, I create art too. The crucial difference is that it’s not shit. Socials need candid eye candy and I’m here to provide it. 

I gotta admit, they make my job quite easy. All four of them do, but the twins are human masterpieces. Born pretty, they gradually learned that they could monetize it just as much as their respective talents. I didn’t need to come up with a strategy; it’s always been there for the taking. The fact that my predecessors have been mostly ignoring this is a mind-boggling mystery to me. Those guys know for sure that they ruin your panties. I just needed to know how.

So I rolled up my sleeves and went down to the barricade to do my research. Marketing’s no rocket science. Veni, vidi, vici. I just looked at them through your eyes and your own photos, and let me tell you – you bitches aren’t crazy, you are right! Yeah, I saw it too. And I get it. Some people in the team wanna keep pretending that it’s all about the music – which is surprisingly good, by the way – but that’s not what makes you sleep in the dirt and sit on a curb for days, and then again…and again. Those sons of bitches basically fuck on stage, looking very tasty while doing so. Especially Frodo and Patchybeard. Whether it’s a guitar, a mic stand or just plain air – they just shag it! Y’all look like you can feel it, and they’re very well aware. It strokes their egos, so they just keep adding fuel to the fire. The first time I saw that, I just stood there with my mouth wide open and just laughed, and laughed, and laughed. It was a fucking orgy! And then, when it was time to walk into their bright conference room and pretend to do some serious business for a change, I put on my super serious and super professional face, and I told them what needed to be done. 

Let’s just take your usual fangirl stuff and make it official. Sorry, not sorry. You crave it, so what. I keep the Facebook page artsy and businesslike for those gramps and music snobs that would go batshit crazy if they saw any more pictures with sweaty “jummies”, sparkling dicks and marshmallow balls; but anywhere else, it’s a party. 

Some of you keep wondering why they behave like such frenzied horndogs all the time. My lovelies, the explanation is pretty simple. It’s because they are! You wanna know if they are like that in real life? Yes, the answer is yes! It’s good for the show, sure thing, and they’re both true born professionals creating a breathtaking spectacle. “It’s all for you, bla bla bla!” But the truth is that they’re naturals, not really much different offstage. Lusty, filthy, bad. 

Just kidding. They’re sweethearts. Lust-driven, whiny pups that want to be played with. When the show is over, they both follow me backstage like the good boys that they are, wagging their tails at me enthusiastically. 

Ooops, what did I just say? Lemme put my fingers to my mouth and giggle like a coy lady that I’m not. Some of you already suspect it anyway, and it was collectively decided that you should hate me with passion. I guess now I’m famous, too. D’oh!

So, yeah… When I said that it was there for the taking, I forgot to mention that I also wanted to take it. Life on tour is lonely and stressful. I’m not immune to that either. Sex helps. That’s why the rockstars of yore kept fucking everything that dared to come close while they were all high as a kite. Because why not…well, apart from the fact that unlike good sex, drugs actually ruin lives. No, I’m not a fan. 

Times have changed and today’s musicians – and I’m not talking about all those wannabes with backing tracks – really need to work hard to earn their bread.They’re self-aware and sober (Take that with a pinch of salt…they’re sober while actually working.). Often homesick. Sure, some of them are still jerks or junkies. Or both. Not a fan of these either. I worked with some and it was a nightmare. 

But, when I joined the Greta Van Fleet team, I found a bunch of down-to-earth and touch starved homeboys, well aware of their power but hesitant to act upon it. That’s the difference between having a huge dick and being one. They’re – and now let me let out a sob or two for the dramatic effect – gentlemen! 

You know what a sweetheart with a huge dick is? That’s your dream come true. Believe me. That’s just something you want. I certainly did.

Not from the start, though. No. They treat the crew like friends and family, and as much as that was certainly a pleasant change, I wavered initially. They were all so kind and gentlemanly that I just decided to keep my friendly distance, thinking they really were such mama’s boys that they appeared to be…The impression didn’t last long. Soon I heard them making jokes and lewd comments when they thought no one was listening. Some of those comments were about my bouncy ass, too. 

Men, am I right? 

Alas, sweethearts’ dicks are still just dicks, and neglect will gradually take its toll. I could see right through their nervous ticks. 

Jake was the first one that fell into my snares. I didn’t really pursue it; I’m not a monster. Like I said, we were lonely and stressed, and so it just happened one fine day. He craved human contact, and I was there. Life is complicated, but certain things are still pretty simple. Thank god, or whatever supernatural entity you believe in. 

It was a lovely evening in his 2-storey hotel apartment. He often got those, because the others had this habit of gathering together in his room to discuss business – since it was his band – and to get shitfaced in the process. 

We were both sitting cross legged on his bed, both already pleasantly booze-soaked and shrouded in semi-darkness, the only source of light being the dimmed lamps in the main room. I had been giving him a lecture on the importance of a good online presence that evening. Or at least I was trying to do that… When the others got a bit too rowdy, we retreated to his bedroom to have some privacy.

When it comes to online shit, Jake’s the most difficult one. He doesn’t like it. Plain and simple. He had created this cute mask of a smooth and aloof poet slash ancient adventurer, behind which he hides, but you bitches don’t like that. You like watching him talking to his SG in front of thousands like she’s his obedient whore. See, there’s a certain discrepancy in that. I kinda understood where it was coming from, him being in his element onstage and all that shit, but I also needed him to understand my point.

And it was tough. He’s complicated. He likes to pretend to be a tough, mysterious guy, but deep down he’s just a shy and wide-eyed fawn that bounces when you say “boo”. Not always, mind. I learned that  the hard way once when I was leaving his room with scarlet imprints of his fingers on my thighs. However, drunk Jake is a meek and needy cutiepie. I could definitely use it to my advantage. So I poured us more drinks. 

“I dunno, s’not really me,” he countered after I tried to explain one more time. 

I showed him another one of the most recent videos. “Are you telling me this is not you?”

I grew really fond of his quiet “hahaha” every time he felt discomfited and flattered at the same time. Just like now. Stroking his chin with his finger, he shifted nervously and continued: “Well, yeah…uuum…you like this?” 

That was the moment when I knew I had him firmly in my grasp. Yeah, Jakey, I reeeeally like it. Let me just show you how much.

I seized my chance. We laughed and joked and flirted and all that shit. Talking about his desirable body parts that y’all take snapshots of soon turned to physical manifestations and before we knew it, his fly was open, his fat cock hard and out and firmly in my hand. I brushed my thumb gently over his pink and already leaking head before I wrapped my fingers around his shaft once again and started pumping him slowly. He just sat there and watched me with his lips parted, both mesmerized and taken aback by how quickly things escalated. I returned his stare, looking him firmly in the eye while I quickened my pace, and his breathy exhales turned to full-fledged, loud moans. I tried to shush him by forcing my other thumb in his mouth… and that only made it worse. There were still other people in the adjacent room and the door was open, but he just wouldn’t shut up! I had to grab his chin and stick my tongue in his mouth to keep him quiet. 

That sobered him up a bit. He didn’t want me to stop, he just wanted to regain control. Our tongues wrestled for a few seconds before he grabbed my cheeks and returned the kiss in such a manner that made my pussy spasm. I liked that, and we continued like that until he came all over my fingers a few minutes later. Thankfully, someone put some music on in the other room and it muffled his moans a bit, because my mouth could no longer contain them. He howled in it. It was hot.

You know, I’ve had the misfortune to cross paths with assholes who’d just throw me out after that, both satisfied and ashamed that my skills made them finish so quickly and unceremoniously, without fanfare and praises. Not Jake. He had to reciprocate AND prove himself at the same time. He’s vain, but in a good, gentlemanly way. 

After everyone else left, he just fucked my brains out. It surprised me how much he wanted to kiss, and not just my lips (either kind). His tongue was running marathons all over my body, and if I remember it correctly, I think I came five times that night. Not my record, but still a very impressive first-time. 

After that, he just kept crawling back to me, stopping me in empty hallways just to whisper obscene poems about my hungry pussy in my ear. Talking about how he’d feed me. 

He’s a sly one: the kind of a man that would run his fingertips gently down your spine in a room full of other people, while talking casually about fucking you raw, only for you to hear. I mean, that’s exactly what he did once or twice. I’m sure our “conversations” always looked completely innocent from a distance, with only Josh sometimes watching us with his lips pursed. Sometimes his eyes even narrowed a bit. That feisty chipmunk knew from the very start, and I thought I could spot jealousy in that piercing stare of his. I enjoyed that, just as much as Jake enjoyed making me wet in public, and calling it “retribution”. Honestly, I didn’t mind. Punish me as much as you want, baby, and keep using all those fancy words while doing so. Yeah. 

I’m a born provocateur, so I often just asked for more. Every time I saw him start licking his lips absentmindedly, I struck. In the end, it was always him who had to calm down, to keep it cool…to hide his hard dick. 

We both loved it. It was our little fight for dominance. We teased each other and then there would be a reward. 

It was a bit different with Josh. He’s a lover, not a fighter. He doesn’t need to fight for dominance and so he often rejects that role voluntarily.

At first I thought he wouldn’t be interested at all, even though his grabby hands landed on my bare skin more often than some would deem comfortable. But he’s like that with everyone! Including Bob, the chalice filler. It often doesn’t mean a thing. 

I knew it meant something when he almost grabbed my ass once. I tried to experiment with the same strategy I once used on Jake: using his own weapons against him, making him cross the friendly line.

It happened during a soundcheck while I was showing him a preview of my next scheduled post. His weapon was right there, on full display, and I further accentuated it by a subtle, punny caption. It made him giggle and I winked at him. 

“So, you okay with this? I mean, it’s all over the internet anyway…”

“Dear sparrow, if I weren’t okay with this, you wouldn’t be able to take such a lovely picture of it.” His hand first landed on the small of my back familiarly, just like it always did, and as we talked about other pictures in the carousel, I felt his fingers move even lower until the tip of his pinkie slid under the hem of my pants. I cleared my throat ostentatiously and he drew his hand away quickly as if I had burned him. 

“You know, I should report you for harassment for this,” I said matter-of-factly, still looking at the screen, trying to look both cool and unphased, but the twitch in the corner of my mouth gave me away. A true master of reading such subtleties, he slapped his fingers with his other hand and grinned at me. “Naughty me. Can’t blame me. You just smell so nice, sparrow. What is that?” 

“Hypnotic Poison.”

“Right…” He licked his teeth in a vain attempt not to grin even more. To be hundred percent sure, he still asked me if I wasn’t mad. Sure I wasn’t. I had been waiting for this. 

We parted after that, minding our respective businesses, but all those fleeting glances he cast my way during the rest of the afternoon didn’t escape my attention. Later, just before the show, he cornered me in the bathroom, startling me. I almost poked my eye out with a mascara when I noticed him standing right behind me. “Jesus Fucking Christ on a stick, Josh!”

“Yeah, I’m all that.” It was obvious he wasn’t there to take a leak as he kept watching me watch him in the reflection and his eyes grew darker. I slowly turned around and ran my finger down the hem of his low neckline, even more slowly. Tentatively, almost. Never breaking eye contact and with his lips slightly parted, he let me go lower until I reached the zipper head and tugged at it playfully. 

“Black velvet really suits you, you know?” I teased.

“Yeah, I know.” 

Cheeky brat. You wanna play, baby? Let me show you how it’s done. I slipped the tips of my fingers under the hem of his cleavage until I found his left nipple and started running circles over it with my middle finger. His breath hitched and his eyes widened before he seemingly regained his composure and flashed me a sly smile. 

“So…ummm…you and Jake are…exclusive?”

“Wow, you’re pretty straightforward,” I laughed. “No, we’re not. Just having some fun. Why?” 

Why, indeed. He made it pretty clear why, and I let my tongue give him the answer he desired. After the show that very night, he knocked on my door with a shy smile plastered on his face after I opened it. I welcomed him in.

Josh never fought me. He always presented himself on a silver platter and let me do whatever I pleased. Then he repaid me when the payment was due. My initial impression of him being a pillow princess wasn’t completely off, but my god! The man can fuck! Never try to piss him off. Or you know what? DO try to piss him off, because it turns him to a jackhammer. 

I once called him a sissy and the wrath that poured down on me afterwards made me see stars. 

So that’s how it went. They both knew what was happening behind closed doors with the other one, and both were ok with that, as long as it didn’t interfere with their own plans. And that was just a matter of time. 

To tell you the truth, I did wonder what it would be like to have them both, so when the opportunity presented itself, I would be a fool not to encourage it. 

Every once in a while, there are shows where shit just happens and everything that can go wrong, does do wrong. It was one of those nights. Even back at the venue, right after the show, I saw how both their faces were twisted with tension, and maybe the best way to avoid even more trouble would have been to avoid them altogether. They weren’t the only people who had a rough night. I was exhausted, too. If I were a bit more responsible, I would have settled for a nice hot bath and a filthy book, but sadly, I’m a people pleaser. Also, nothing can calm me down better than the smell of male skin.

It was long past midnight when I heard a knock on my door. 

“It’s me, Bebe. Please, let me in.” 

That’s right. He gave me that nickname shortly after we started fucking, even though I teased him that he would never beat those allegation that way. 

If you guessed that I indeed did open the door, you’re right. He didn’t even wait for the invitation to enter this time. The stress was doing us no good. I could smell even more troubleon the horizon, but I ignored it.

“Jake, you can’t just storm inside like this. What if I had company?” It was no use to argue with him. No longer sober to begin with, he was already making himself at home and pouring himself another drink. 

“Please, Bebe, stop teasing. I need you! I promise you won’t regret it.”

“Well, tough luck! Josh asked first.”

“Oh no, no no no! It’s my turn, baby! You can’t do this to me. Tonight was hell. Call him and tell him that you’re mine.” I shot him a sharp look, so he added quickly: “... for the night. ” Well, that only made it worse. 

Funny how quickly they got accustomed to the fact that I was just within reach. I would have been offended if I weren’t aware of how insolently I played with them too. Still, I should have said no, but I’m just human. 

However, the whole situation was already a bit more complicated than that. “I can’t. He’s already here.” 

Jake cast me a confused look before he smiled sympathetically at my feeble attempt to get rid of him. “Where? Hiding in the closet?”

“No, he’s in the shower.”

He just stood there for a short while, contemplating something, before he grabbed my cheeks with both hands and whispered sultrily: “Please, love, just a blowjob then. Your mouth can do wonders, baby. I beg you.” Noticing that I wavered, he bent closer to whisper in my ear: “You can ride my face anytime you want. You know that.”

Again, I should have said no, but the said mouth already started watering when I noticed the rapidly growing bulge. Mentally, he was already hitting my tonsils. I was on my knees in seconds. I knew Josh usually took his time, so maybe it was manageable. And if not…well, surely there was a way to benefit from the hypothetical pickle, should it happen.

And it happened. I was deepthroating him with both his hands holding my head and his head tilted back, when we heard the door open.

“Jesus fuck, Jake!” 

The moment of surprise made me gag. Jake withdrew quickly and started tugging himself back in his pants, which wasn’t easy, given his current state. Josh, however, just stood there completely and unabashedly naked. “Get out!” he bellowed, completely forgetting that it was in fact MY room they were both in. 

“No,” Jake spat back.

They started barking at each other like berserk chihuahuas. I swear, I was seconds from throwing them BOTH out, dicks out and all. They could keep shouting at each other in the hall or even in the main lobby for all I cared, but the wicked creature in me wanted to see how this would escalate. And it escalated majestically. 

I hadn’t bothered to unpack my suitcase earlier that day. It just lay open on the floor with my purple vibrator placed haphazardly on top of my lingerie. Jake spotted it, bent down to retrieve it and before I could argue, he thrust it against Josh’s bare chest while his other hand patted his cheek: “Here, this should do. Now bugger off!” 

I think I stopped breathing for a second. They teased each other quite often, but this seemed downright mean, even to their standards. I think Jake realized it too, but it was too late. We both watched the flames that appeared behind Josh’s dilated pupils and before either of us could react, Josh started after him and pushed him against the wall. And so the party started. In a matter of mere seconds, Jake fist almost collided with Josh’s jaw. Thankfully, Frodo is quite nimble, so he ducked the blow and striked back, his knuckles colliding with Jake’s forearm. Watching them wrestle like that, fuming, limbs intertwined, I was almost sorry I had no popcorn at hand. It was a comical sight: Josh still completely naked, Jake barely tucked back in his jeans. 

Have you ever seen puppies fighting over a toy? That’s them. They were both so needy and neither one ready to give up. It was time to seize the opportunity, so I… started laughíng. Loudly and mockingly. They both let go of each other and turned their heads to the source of that offensive sound: me. 

I was sitting on the edge of my bed, leaning back on my arms and with my legs crossed, contemplating my next move. Realizing I had no panties under my punto tube dress, I decided to Basic Instinct them. Sure, nothing new, but men are simple creatures. A naked pussy is like the Moon they howl at. It’s always new. Moreover, the fact that they never saw me like this before together was surely a great bonding experience of its own. I watched their faces for more clues and grinned viciously when I saw exactly what I hoped for. See, they’re different in many ways including this. Jake licks his lips, while Josh clenches his jaw. I tutted at them, watching how they both raised their eyebrows in a silent question. 

“Guys! You both know very well that I got more than one hole.”

Hooked? Read Part Two.

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