#actor!steve harrington x reader

[astermath]

the premiere.

pairing: actor!steve harrington x actress!reader

summary: you're a recent addition to hollywood's up and coming promising actors. you'd recently scored the lead role in an emotional period drama, and you're more than surprised to see that top shelf douchebag and america's starboy, steve harrington, has shown up to your premiere. you’re soon confronted with his flirtatious attitude, and you feel the incessant need to put him in his place. it’s a first for both of you.

♡ landing page. ♡

word count: 4.9K

tags: some cursing, mentions of sex, steve is a cocky asshole and will continue to be one, regular font below!

notes: man I do love me some actor!steve because let's be honest, joe keery easily transfers his star power over to all his characters. it's not exactly hard to believe that steve would be a respected actor. let me know what you think and / or if you’d like to be added to the tag list! ♡

They always say life moves fast in Hollywood. Back in your audition days, you wouldn’t believe it. You could practically feel the hours eating away at you as you waited for calls to be returned and scripts to be sent.

Even when you started filming your first big movie, working with such a well respected director and incredible cast, you felt like you were dragging along most of the time. Sure, it was an amazing experience, but the set hours are long, and the time spent overthinking is even longer.

Thinking about if this would be it, if this is what would put you on the map as a talented actress.

You only realised how fast time really moves in Hollywood when you’re discussing the premiere with your manager. Your first big reveal. You’re in the spotlight, everyone will be there to see you. And not just reviewers and fellow cast members, no, people you’ve looked up to before, people you’ve only ever seen on the big screen.

“Are you listening?” Your manager’s voice pulls you right out of your hazy cloud of thoughts. She’s sat across from you, glasses pushed down onto the bridge of her nose, cappuccino in one hand, the other on her laptop.

“Yeah, I’m— I’m here. I’m, uh…” You lean back, clasping your hands together. “You’ve got my attention, sorry Miranda.”

She sighs, readjusting her glasses and bringing her attention back to her screen.

Miranda has been your saviour since day one. She’s got plenty of experience, once having been an actress herself, and now works on managing mostly young women like yourself. She’s a bit tough, stern, but she’s amazing at what she does. Besides, she usually knows what’s best for you before you even know it. She’s got that motherly intuition about her, despite being unmarried without kids.

Your eyes drift over the interior of her apartment. It’s modern, sleek, like her. There’s not much personality shining through it, unless you look hard enough. Then you’d notice she likes orchids, since she has multiple of them potted and well taken care of. Or the numerous photos of the same town in Italy.

She keeps herself busy with scrolling through the list of attendees to the premiere. A bunch of yes’es, a few maybe’s, and the occasional “sorry, however, congratulations on the movie”.

She stills her movements when she gets to the bottom of the list, scrolling up again to see if she’s looking at the right column and then scrolling back down to see if she saw the name right.

“Hm,” she purses her lips, “that’s… Peculiar.”

“What is?” you perk up. Peculiar. That could mean a lot of things. Peculiar as in “your movie is scrapped, actually” or peculiar as in “you’re already nominated for an Oscar”?

“This name. I’ve never seen it on the attendee list before. At least not for my clients.”

“Miranda, you’re killing me with this suspense, please.” You lean forward, your elbows resting onto your knees.

"Steve Harrington." She pauses, and you don't know if she's doing it to be dramatic, or because she's waiting for some kind of elaborate gasp or shocked response.

Instead, you raise an eyebrow, head quirking slightly to the side. "Who?"

You can tell in your manager's eyes that she didn't expect that. Not in her facial expression, of course, she doesn't want wrinkles.

"Christ, sweetie, you're kidding right?" She lets out a dry chuckle, setting down her now empty coffee cup on the end table next to her. sofa. "We've really got to touch up on your media knowledge if you don't know who that is."

"No clue, sorry. What, is he some big deal or something?" You snatch a cookie off the coffee table and start nibbling on it mindlessly.

"Only one of the most popular up and coming actors in the industry." She starts click clacking away on her laptop, pulling up a picture of him and turning the screen around so you can see.

You raise your eyebrows. Damn, not bad. He looks to be around your age, a little older, and you can tell from just that one picture that he knows he's all that. The confidence is practically oozing out of that million dollar smile of his, expensive sunglasses tucked away in his somehow perfectly styled hair.

"So what, he's going to be there. Not like there aren't any other big celebs showing up, I'm sure I can handle myself."

"It's not that I don't think you can behave, starlight, although we'll have to go over some of the red carpet etiquette again later." She takes off her glasses and runs a hand through her short but chic hair.

"Then what is it?"

"He doesn't really... Show up to premieres, usually. Well, none that aren't for his own movies, at least."

Oh, so he is that kind of guy.

You wrap up with Miranda not long after, heading to one last fitting of your premiere gown before returning to your apartment. That's when you start to do your own research on this Harrington fella.

You sit onto your bed, leaned back against a few pillows propped up against your headboard. You open Google and start by what seems the simplest; typing in Steve Harrington.

Steve Harrington age?

Steve Harrington height?

Steve Harrington movies?

The third one seems obvious, but you click it anyways. He doesn’t have a bad track record. A few nominations, one Golden Globe, he’s not slacking for sure.

Most of his stuff paints him as the type of guy you’d expect; undercover agent, the bad boy, the mob boss’ son… Makes you wonder even more why he’s showing up to the premiere of your movie. It has virtually nothing to do with the types of movies he stars in. You’re wondering why he even got an invitation to begin with, Miranda doesn’t seem like the type of woman to be sending those out to every C lister in America.

You type in his name again, curious to know more about his reputation.

Steve Harrington parents?

Steve Harrington dating history?

Though it is cliché, it does intrigue you. You’re not exactly surprised when a handful of names pop up, even one you recognise. Nancy Wheeler. You know that girl, she used to do interviews when you were still starting out. Apparently she went more into the crime journalist route, wrote a book… Pretty interesting stuff.

Almost as interesting as the breakup you’re reading so much about.

“Harrington broken in half? Did Nancy Wheeler finally have enough of his ego, or was she just looking for the next thing to report?”

“Geez, talk about a harsh headline…” You mutter to yourself. Besides her, there’s no mentions of other women he’s been confirmed to date. There’s been pictures, rumours, but you’re guessing he… Gets around.

Steve Harrington controversies?

You feel bad for clicking on it, but then again, you’re already in too deep now.

Something about nepotism, but that’s soon debunked when you realise his parents don’t do anything in the movie industry. Then there’s the Nancy thing, and something about him being difficult to work with. You could have guessed as much just by looking at the guy. You just know he flashes that smile like it’s a method of payment, and he probably gets away with it too.

You reach out and shut your laptop before you go too far down this rabbit hole. Your schedule is packed, and the premiere is only three days away. You've got better things to do than go all Sherlock on this random actor that's showing up.

Though it is unusual.

And he is handsome.

-

Yeah. It is true. Life does move fast in Hollywood.

Now you know for sure. Because not long ago, you were looking up Steve Harrington's name, like some deprived fangirl, and now you're on your way to the event he's supposed to be at.

The car seems packed, almost claustrophobically so. Miranda sits right of you, on the phone with someone who you can only assume to be too important to interrupt. On the left is your makeup artist, giving you some final touchups before your big entrance.

You don't know if this is the best or worst part about your rising fame. On one hand, it's all you've ever dreamed of. Of being recognised, making a name for yourself, getting to show the world what you can do. You're appreciated, celebrated, but on the other hand, you feel a bit like a product. The way you're sitting in this car, getting all dolled up, rehearsing what you'll say in the interviews... Miranda tells you you'll get used to it, but you're honestly not too sure.

Soon enough, you’re ushered out of the car by your manager. The same way you’ll never get used to the feeling of fame, is the same way you’ll never get used to having your name called out as you’re bombarded with camera flashes. This is only the entrance to the premiere, and you’re already overwhelmed. But you know that this is the worst part, so instead, you put on a smile and greet everyone.

Although you're having a little trouble walking in your gown, and not to mention those godforsaken heels, you soon make it to the actual red carpet for some photos. Your attention is called by several photographers, some asking who you're wearing, some just wanting you to look into the camera.

You look beautiful.

Your dress is a powdery blue, a close match to the dress you wear for most of the movie. It flows beautifully with your body, the silk catching the light in all the right ways. Your accessories and hair are adorned by white gold and pearls, classy, chic, but not boring. You feel like you're dressing up. Not a "let's go out somewhere fancy" dressing up, more like a "putting on your mom's heels" dressing up.

Part of all of this feels like you're playing pretend. Like you're not really supposed to be there. Like everyone's doing you a favour by being here, celebrating you and your movie. Though nothing could be further from the truth, the impostor syndrome somehow still gets to you, every time. You try not to let it show on your face, striking a casual pose, and smiling softly.

You look beautiful.

Steve thinks so too.

Only now he's reminded of why he came to this event. It's made the extra hoops he had to jump through all worth it. The extra questions by his management, the raised eyebrows when he arrived, the interviewers he, for once, has been trying to dodge.

He thought you looked pretty on the big screen, but no camera does you justice as much as the naked eye does.

He recognises something in you. Something nervous. Not necessarily innocent, just... New. It excites him a little, his mind already wandering to you allowing him to show you all the corners of the showbiz. Because he's a seasoned professional, of course. At least he likes to think so. He might only have a few years up on you, but he knows he's made for this. To act, to be famous. He knows you'd look amazing doing it next to him too.

"Mr Harrington!"

Some photographer calling his name catches him off guard, and so he brings his attention to the lens, flashing a cocky smile.

It catches your attention, too. The name more than the callout. You knew he'd be there, but for some reason you figured you'd have a bit more... Mental preparation. But what do you care, right? He probably wants you to gawk at him, be the little innocent newbie, borderline groupie, who can't believe it's really him.

You know better than to feed into his ego.

Which is why you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes when he smiles at you instead. You know he won't come up to you, he knows better than to embarrass you in front of all these people. You just don't know if he can resist himself later.

Then again, maybe you've got it all wrong. Maybe he just happens to really like 18th century period pieces about a girl finding a connection with her long lost mother. But somehow you'd find that hard to believe.

-

You go inside the theatre, and you finally get to enjoy the best part. This is when you try to disconnect from your job for a second, from the image you've built for yourself. When you're in front of the big screen, seated with all these people, you're 12 years old again.

You go watch a movie with your mom, it's your favourite time of the month. You share a large popcorn, and you can barely contain your excitement when the lights dim. Somehow, every emotion feels bigger like this. You've watched countless women pour their hearts out in movies, give their everything for their art, their passion. You've always been determined to be like them. To make other people resonate with a character so much it brings them to tears.

When you watch your own movies, you're not watching yourself. You're a little girl again, admiring the performance like you always used to. It makes this career more worth it than anything else, than all the glamour and money anyone could offer.

You bite your lip in anticipation when the theatre goes dark, toying with the bracelet on your wrist. You've seen it before, but not like this. Not like how it's meant to be watched.

Everything fits right. The music immerses you perfectly, the environments are meticulously chosen and everyone plays their part like they were born to do so.

And you're starstruck. By yourself, no less. You've always stayed humble, that's something you'd never give up. But you're also proud. So proud. This is something you've worked so hard for, everyone on the crew has, so you feel no remorse when you admit it's perfect.

The movie is emotional, and nearing the end, the melancholy of it all reaches its climax. Your character runs through a field of poppies, all blooming as she passes each one, chasing what she thinks is a vision of her mother when she was younger. The girl being chased giggles, as the main character keeps calling out her mother's name in tears. She's brought to her knees at the end of the field, the edge of a cliff, reaching desperately to hold onto the memory of her long lost mother.

You let out a tear. Hell, most people do, even Miranda can't hold it. It's one hell of a scene, the orchestral soundtrack alone could make someone cry. It makes your heart swell.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can tell someone else is really letting the waterworks go.

Wait-- That's not just someone.

That's Steve Harrington. Crying. Because of your acting.

You can tell he's trying to hide it a little, hiding his lower face behind a clenched wrist, the tears leaving little stripes of wetness on his skin. Running past his stubbly jaw, dropping onto the fabric of his tuxedo.

You can't imagine this is normal for him. Apparently it was already a rare apparition to see him at your premiere, and now he's publicly crying too. Well, you don't know if anyone else is observing it, but you know what you're seeing. That's pure, raw emotion right there.

You bring your attention back to the screen, hoping he hasn't noticed your staring.

The movie comes to a close, and the audience arises in a standing ovation. You get up, giggling a little coyly at all this sudden attention. The director comes up to you, taking your hand and bringing you along with the rest of the crew to the front so you can take a bow. Your face beams with happiness, and it's contagious.

It makes Steve return the smile, even though it's not even necessarily directed at him. You're just so pretty, all excitement and modesty, so untouched by fame's worst sides. It pulls him straight to you in a way he hasn't experienced before, there's just something so... Sincere about you. Something so gorgeous.

He makes eye contact with you as you come back up from your bow. The smile he gives you is nearly a copy and paste from the ones you saw online, where you can tell exactly what he's trying to say just from his expression. It's like his face just reads "atta girl".

It's really hot. And you hate how it makes you feel.

You exit faster than you probably should. You mutter to Miranda that you just need some fresh air, but really, you need to get away from this Harrington man before you fall head over heels for his stupid tactics. He hasn't said a word to you yet, and you already feel yourself slipping into the enthralling arms of his charm.

You change your mind, earlier was not the worst part. This is. Because now you have to pretend like you're not mentally having a crisis while still answering questions and mingling.

You deal well with most of the compliments and praise. You get a bit of butterflies every time a household name or someone you look up to acknowledges you, and you practically feel like ascending when they say they like your work.

You're in the middle of speaking to one of your co-actors and your manager, when she's suddenly giving you the eyes. With Miranda, this can mean two things;

There is a fire happening, or--

There is someone important behind you.

She's done this before when Robert De Niro was getting interviewed just a meter away from you. But you have a feeling you know who it is this time. Though you're not sure how excited you are by it.

You look over your shoulder, and surely, there he is.

All suave and charm, smooth tuxedo, freckled tan skin and perfect hair. He encapsulates the entirety of Hollywood so well, and you're not quite sure how to respond.

"I'm a little starstruck, I gotta say." he says, and you're not sure why you're even surprised that his voice is that nice.

"Really?" You give Miranda your "help me" eyes for a moment, but she's already off to get more champagne. With no lifeline to hang onto, you figure you might as well entertain him for a moment. "Guess I could say the same about you."

"Hey, I'm not the reason we're all here, am I?" He chuckles, and you're unsure if it's a rhetorical question or not. From what you can tell, maybe he does think everyone's here for him. You try your hardest to fend off those preconceptions of him, but although you are new to all of this, you’re not stupid. You know how men can be once they start getting attention.

“I just wanted to congratulate you on the movie.” He says, voice dripping with honey, placing his large warm hand over your arm. It would surprise you, if it didn’t feel so nice. “Truly a great performance, and I mean that. I’m not even usually one for period pieces.”

He doesn’t realise that makes him look even more suspicious for showing up here at all. Why would you go to a premiere for a movie of a genre you don’t like?

“Thank you, I appreciate that, Mr…” You pretend not to know his name, for multiple reasons. To make yourself seem a little more nonchalant, or maybe you just want to give his ego that little chop it so obviously needs.

“Harrington. Though I assumed you knew, my bad.”

You refrain from rolling your eyes. Of course he would.

“I’m surprised to see you here.” You implore, and Steve’s eyebrows raise a little. He was hoping you wouldn’t ask that, but he supposes it was bound to happen eventually.

“Ah, well, the director is a friend of mine. I figured I’d show up for support, you know, keep the connection up.” He’s lying through his teeth, and you both know it. But part of Hollywood is pretending like you’re all not just lying to each other the whole time. You’ve gotten more used to it over time.

Neither of you mention what you saw inside. Partly because you’re unsure if you were imagining it, and partly because you wouldn’t even know where to insert it. Yet the sight of him getting emotional lingers in the back of your head.

“I thought you uh, didn’t know who I was?” Steve remarks, and you catch your own slip up now too. Why would you care if he showed up, if you didn’t even know his name?

“Oh, I do, your uh… Your name just slipped my mind.” Your nonchalant façade starts to falter, and you’re hoping it doesn’t make you look as much of a fool as you think you do.

Instead of pressing on, he chuckles. It’s a warm chuckle, low, smooth, it sends a shiver down your spine. He seems amused by you, for a reason you can’t quite make out.

He presses a hand to the small of your back, leaning in closely to your ear, and you think you might start seeing stars. He smells so incredibly good, you nearly melt into his touch, whether you mean to or not.

“Well, make sure to make it stick this time, hm, honey?”

You’re pretty sure your entire body has heated up just from hearing that. You hate how well his charm works on you, that silky voice and smug demeanour.

He pulls back, and just as you expected, he’s smiling like the cat that got the cream. “See you around, princess. Enjoy your premiere.”

You’ve had a lot of mind blowing shit happen to you already. The fact that you’re standing at your own movie premiere, surrounded by people you admire is insane to you on its own.

Now you’re getting flirted with by one of Hollywood’s golden boys, and you just have to play it cool. Pretend that you don’t feel like giggling like a teenage girl and getting all flustered. It makes you sick to your stomach. It makes you mad. That he can walk off, just like that, all cocky and confident. You don't want him to think of you like the innocent debutante that he can just play around with for a bit, before he moves on to the next young thing. You've seen that movie before.

Before you have a chance to let it get to your head, one of your costars, the younger girl that plays your little sister, comes up to you. "Geez, you okay? You look a little... Pressed."

"'M fine. Just-- a little frustrated. Sorry I haven't said hi yet, this is all... A lot, you know?"

"You'll get used to it." She sips her glass of champagne, and you want to say something about it, before you remember she's only two years younger than you. She's been an actress since she was 6 years old, she knows the industry so much better than you, and yet you feel protective over her.

"I don't think I ever will, to be honest. God, my shoes are killing me." You groan, hoping no one's close enough to hear you complain. The last thing you want is to come across as ungrateful for all this.

"Have some more champagne, that usually does the trick." She looks off to the side for a moment, and you can tell she's a little tense too. "Me and the rest of the girls on crew are going to get drinks and food later, wanna join?"

Her invitation brings a smile to your face. Though you're constantly surrounded by people, Hollywood brings a profound sense of loneliness into your life. You have trouble fitting in, connecting. Everyone is all smiles and compliments, yet no one talks, no one calls. Anything is rarely personal. And making friends is hell.

"I'd love to, seriously. Tell you what, it's my treat. To celebrate our premiere, hm?"

She smiles back, leaving her empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter. "Cool. I'm off to the bathroom, cab's gonna be out front around 8."

She leaves you shortly after, and suddenly it's there again. That profound sense of loneliness. It's got you left thinking about what Steve said to you. How he talked to you. That tone.

It makes you feel small. Yet you hold on to every word.

How infuriating.

The rest of the premiere is a dazed flurry of conversations and pictures taken in your memory. You've got too much on your mind now to enjoy most of it, and you damn that smug asshole for being the reason for that.

You walk outside, the sky being a lot darker than you expected. You sigh, the air you breathe out coming out in little clouds. April shouldn't be this cold, not in California, at least.

You look around, no cab to be seen yet. Your eyes catch sight of a familiar man smoking. He flicks open an expensive lighter, his hands shielding the flame from the wind.

The fire frames his face in a special kind of light. It shows both the pretty freckles scattered on his skin, and the bags present under his eyes. The strange dichotomy of his personality, represented so simply on his face.

It just pisses you off even more how handsome he is.

Before you realise it, your legs are taking you closer to him, heels clicking onto the pavement as you strut over. He only seems to notice your presence when your shadow casts over him, taking away the yellowish glow of the streetlight.

"Missed me already?" He smiles, lips still wrapped around the cigarette before he takes it between his fingers.

"You can't talk to someone like that. At least not to me." You don't know where this sudden surge of confidence sprouted from, your words even surprising yourself.

"I'm sorry?" He stands up straighter, and though his stature is definitely taller than yours, you try not to let it phase you.

"I know what you're trying to do. I'm not dumb. Maybe you think I am, but I'm not." You cross your arms, partly to shield yourself from the cold, partly to feign courage.

"And what do you think I'm doing then, hm?" The smile on his face makes you want to desperately smack it right off. He really is exactly like people say.

"Don't act stupid with me. You think you've got me all figured out, huh? You randomly show up to my premiere, and the first time we talk, you try to butter me up. Did you expect me to drop to my knees for you or something? Thank you for gracing me with your almighty presence, which for the record, I did not ask for?"

He's speechless for a second. This is a first. Usually, when a woman is cussing him out, it's after they've dated, not before.

He chuckles, dropping his half smoked cigarette onto the ground and stamping it out with his shoe.

"Sounds like you think you've got me all figured out, doll."

"Don't call me that."

"It's not a bad thing."

"I decide that. Not you."

He sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning his head back for a moment. "Geez... So much for first impressions huh?"

"I'm not the one trying to get into the other's pants now, am I?"

"Coulda fooled me."

"God, you're fucking insufferable." You laugh dryly, rolling your eyes. "You think I'm some stupid showbiz newbie, that I'm supposed to be grateful you're even talking to me. Maybe have sex with you and see what opportunities I get out of it."

He just looks at you now. You don't know if that's better than a response, because he's neither confirming nor denying it. Or maybe he realises nothing he says will save him in this. He'd be right about that.

"Do me a favour, if you’re just going to treat me like a ditz, don’t talk to me again. I’m already forced to deal with enough guys like you on the daily, so go bother someone else.”

As if called by some higher being, the cab, along with the girls you were supposed to meet, arrive outside. You gave Steve no time to respond, instead offering him a cold shoulder and some time to let all of that sink in. Though you doubt your words are going to make him change that attitude any time soon.

He leans against the wall outside, watching the dark car you got in drive by and away into the nightly city. He’s not sure what to do with what’s just been given to him.

No woman has ever figured him out this early on. Or maybe they have, and they just never told him this outright. It’s not like he tries to hide the type of person that he is, it’s just that it usually never blows up in his face this much. You’ve taken his flirting, turned it around and served it right back at him to make him think it all over. You‘ve practically rendered him speechless, and it’s only your first time meeting.

It’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚tag list

@inkluvs @palmtreesx3

[rosewaterandivy]

girl crush

Summary: there’s more than two beds, but of course you sleep in his.

W.C.: 2.5k

Warnings: y’all know me - it’ll be the usual! Smut, idolatry, devotion, unprotected sex (wrap it up!), pussy drunk Steve— I don’t make the rules 😤‼️

a/n: aka your first time with Steve, who may or may not be your boyfriend?

🎶 I’ve got a girl crush, I don’t get no sleep, I don’t get no peace, thinkin’ bout her 🎶

“Wish I could babe,” his voice sounds distant over the phone, wind whipping every other word through the mic, “But we just started production out here, we won’t wrap for a while yet.” You’d caught him during a break in filming, miraculously.

Several dates in LA after an introduction from Eddie, and here you are trying (and failing) to plan another. He’s back in California after a press tour and you were fresh off of recording your latest album.

“Well,” you drawl out, “I could come to you?” The question is rushed, breathless, you screw your eyes close in fear of fucking it all up.

A pause.

“You sure?”

“S’easier than dealing with your schedule, Harrington,” you say lightly, “Palm Springs is doable enough.”

He’s working on some indie picture out in the desert, you were murky on the details. You hear shuffling from his end and ‘psst’s trying to get someone’s attention.

“Rob… Rob! Can you– yeah, the address?”

A moment later your phone dings with a notification.

“So,” you say, throwing clothes haphazardly into a bag, “What’ve you got planned for us?”

Three or so hours later finds you in the desert and absolutely ecstatic about it. Dressed down in cut-offs and an old merch tank–or, as dressed down as you could get–you breathe in deep, thankful to be out of LA. Little to no paps and tabloids to be worried about–or worse, Deuxmoi acolytes–so you could finally relax.

Steve met you out front with the fattest joint you’d seen in years, he nearly dropped it when you all but tackled him to the ground. You were so happy to be with him again.

“Little soon to be proposing, no?”

“Think I’d do better than some hydro from Arglye,” he grouses, but you take it from him anyway with a deep inhale, “Says ‘hi’ by the way.”

“Tell him I accept and we’re registered at Tiffany’s,” you say finally, exhaling slowly.

He rolls his eyes, “Okay, Material Girl,” he helps to hoist you back up, “Tour time.”

After the grand tour, which was impressive–“Holy shit, do you have Robin on retainer? ‘Cause if not...”--Steve entertained you in the kitchen, making what he called the ‘secret sauce.’

“Oh, that?” you scoff, pouring some wine, “Had that on date number two, if you’ll recall.” You take a sip and continue with a waggle of your brows, “My compliments to the chef, as ever.”

Steve blushes at that, recalling how pretty you had looked with your glossed lips around his cock, all warm and soft under the dim light from the setting sun. A groan rumbles from his chest as he braces himself against the countertop, knuckles turning white.

“You’re a menace,” he said, voice low and gravelly, before he turned his attention back to the pots and pans on the stove.

You shrug and drink some wine, savoring the crisp tart taste against your tongue. Steve flits from one spot to the next while he cooks, stirring the sauce one moment and blanching veggies the next; all the while, remaining loose enough to pour a second glass of wine for you and another for himself.

Infuriatingly attractive that.

The sun had gone down in the desert while Steve finished with the pasta. You’d assigned yourself the task of setting the table and doing the dishes after dinner. Plates and cutlery arranged, you helped yourself to some salad while Steve served the pasta.

You mouth had already been watering at the mere scent of whatever was bubbling away on the stove, and all it took was one bite to have you audibly moaning at the dinner table. His eyes met yours, mischievous and curious, as he sipped his wine.

“Fuck me, that’s good,” you say with closed eyes, savoring the taste.

Steve laughs quietly across the table.

Dinner goes on, you try to reign in your vocal appreciation of the meal. He fills you in on some details of the shoot, set gossip, and the like. You offer up the scant information you have about the upcoming tour and album release. Clearing the table is easy enough between the two of you, knocking hips every so often as you washed and he dried the dishes.

You ended up in his bedroom, collecting the duffle you’d packed from the guest room down the hall. It was a kind thought, that you would opt for a separate room and your own space; he was hesitant like that, never wanting to assume.

Electing to change in the ensuite bathroom, you step out of the denim cutoffs and fold them neatly on the counter. Shoes had been kicked off at the front door earlier in the evening, leaving you now in an ancient Corroded Coffin shirt that had seen better days. He’s sat on the bed, looking all soft and sweet–tousled hair and wire rimmed glasses framing his face nicely, skin flushed from the wine.

He bit his lip when he saw you come out, hair a mess and legs, legs, legs, but a vision nevertheless. He can’t help himself as you step between his splayed knees at the edge of the bed, his hands coming to rest against he curve of your hips.

“Hey honey,” he murmurs as your arms wrap around his neck.

“Hey Steve,” you greet in return, lips pulled tight in an embarrassed smile.

Gently, he tugs you closer to him, the fabric of the shirt rucking up against your skin. His finger skirts against the back of your thigh, the skin shivering involuntarily. “Missed you,” he says, voice raspy and low.

His soft gaze lingers on you, warm hazel eyes looking up through long lashes. “Missed you too,” you say quietly.

“Yeah?” he asks, fingers grasping at the flare of your hips before he leans back on the bed, “C’mere then.”

As you clamber onto the bed, he lays back against the cool cotton of the duvet pulling you down with him. Substantively seated in his lap, you rest your head against his chest and let out a sigh.

“Comfy?” he says, a hand trailing lazily up and down your back. You nod, fingering the fabric of the shirt between your fingers. Softened by time and wear, paint and lettering disintegrating each time you wore it. It smells comforting like you–cardamom and sandalwood with a hint of something boozy–smells like home.

“I’ll keep you close then.”

His other arms falls against your hips while he continues to trace shapes against your back. You feel his lips leave at the crown of your head before his head falls back against the mattress. It’s quiet and he can tell from the rhythm of your breathing that you’re a few minutes from falling asleep.

The nation’s favorite spitfire in his bed, face nuzzled into his chest, bit by bit chiseling your way into his heart.

Steve lets his teeth worry his bottom lip, willing his nerves not to get the best of him. “Y’know, I really like you.”

“Mmm,” your drowsy moan comforting, the lazy smile tugging at your lips setting off the butterflies in his stomach. “I really like you too.”

Fuck, he hadn’t been this nervous in a while. And yeah, you’d been seeing each other for a minute but not long enough to have the ‘what are we’ conversation.

His hand tangles in your hair, loose and windswept from the drive, fingers scratching lightly at your scalp. A muffled moan pours from your lips and vibrates his chest.

“Sorry, sorry” you slur sleepily, “M’not normally such a lightweight.”

Steve, for his part, doesn’t think anything of it. You’d had, what, one glass of wine at dinner— maybe two? But you could be tired from the drive.

Maybe he’s misreading this thing entirely. A brief flicker of panic licks up his spine; maybe it’s too soon, maybe you just want to sleep—

“Can hear you thinkin’ up there,” you mumble and pull him from his downward spiral. A brief movement as you settle your chin to his chest and glance up. Your eyes are half-lidded and sultry, lips pulled in an enticing fashion.

He grunts when you shift your weight until you’re practically sitting on his chest to keep him breathless. He’s smiling up toward the ceiling, one side of his lips curled upward, jaw slack, easy and yielding because Steve offers himself to everything like this: headfirst and wide-open.

It’s be infuriating if he wasn’t crashing headlong toward you. It’d be irritating if he wasn’t so damn earnest about it.

After a while of feeling out each other's atmosphere, eyes catching every so often before flitting away to focus on something else, Steve arches up to request a kiss, all warmth and need.

You lean down to touch your lips to his gently, brushing your nose with his along the way— a wholly delicate gesture he never would’ve expected from you, but has grown to adore.

“We can go slow,” you breathe against his lips. “Don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Steve’s stomach swoops. He reaches up to cradle the back of your neck, drawing your forehead to his. “That so?”

You're smiling— so big and beautiful it hurts. And his heart is so loud he thinks you must hear it.

The kiss was clumsy, you chalked it up to too much drink, but the touch of your lips to his burned down his throat, like whiskey and joy— warm and smooth and cataclysmic as his hand cupped your face. You kiss him and Steve hears himself sighing into your mouth. His cheeks flush in excitement because you’re not letting go, so he presses his lips to yours a little slower, a little firmer, learning all the ways you like to feel him there.

“Steve,” you breathe, and it lights him up. “Steve,” you say again, and his eyes slip shut. Even now, he’s crushed with longing.

You press the heat of your core into his groin, grinding your hips into his.  

When your tongue touches him again, he thinks he might go blind. His eyes flutter open as much as they can, to savor the moment of your face so close to his. Your eyes, shut. Your skin, flushed. Your hair, a silky, folded curtain against his chest.

You are straddling Steve’s thigh now, sitting on your knees and moving against his thick limb in slow orbits. The underwear sitting against your hips is still there but does nothing to keep the slickness between your legs at bay. His thigh is moist from it, and it catches a shine in the fading light.

“Need you, baby,” you plead. “Any way you want.”

You glow like a full moon in the night, divining his animal desires with phosphorescent eyes.

Too eager now with permission. Too eager now with the fiercest kind of lust—of love—he lets it go. All for you, and you all for him. He nips at your collar, drowning deeper and deeper. Fingers meandering to hook into the gauzy and damp fabric hiding you from him and pulls. Wants you bare and shuddering beneath him. Hip bones against hip bones, the noises you make—ragged and hoarse—sending tremors down his back.

Steve grips your waist and moves you from his leg. A whimper escapes before it turns into a gasp as he turns you around, back meeting the cool of the sheets. “You call it, sweetheart.” Comes his husky voice in your ear. You know he means it completely.

A moan slips forth when he dives into the back of your shirt and tears it off, does the same with his. He wants to hear that noise again. The two of you are entwined like real lovers, pulling apart only to breathe and whisper to each other.

He falls onto his forearms, touching foreheads together, noses together, lips hovering until you meet him in a sloppy half-kiss, tongue slipping over his, spit and sweat shimmering across your mouth.

Steve doesn’t bother taking his boxer-briefs off completely, crumpling them down just below his cock is enough for him to slide in like he was created for you. He tells you as much, as you whimper and cry out beneath him.

“Look at me,” He prompts, tilting your face so you see where he’s connected to you. He’s searing hot as he thrusts upwards. “You were made for this.” He’s delirious with it, the heavy thrum that flows through the union of your bodies, “You were made for me.”

Like a prayer, he repeats your name.

Inside of that deafening miasma, Steve is still awake and a part of him knows that this is what he’d been longing for. His cock is throbbing inside of you and every time he pulls out and thrusts back in, your cunt wipes any shred of doubt from his mind.

Your head tips backwards and he catches the base of your skull in one giant hand. “So good,” you praise, “You’re so good, Steve.”

God, he’s so hard. Cramming himself inside your body, torso to torso, as close as he can get because he needs it—he needs it so bad.

He’s blind with it, drunk off it, beginning to rut like he’s in heat, surprised at the confessions he burns into your neck g’na marry you, fuck— that have you gasping and clenching in equal measure. Catalogues and litanies of honey, baby, fuckfuckfuck, god—growling devotions sinking into your throat, your shoulder, your chest. Sucking inscriptions in the common tongue of love as they slip past his lips.

You take all of him again and again, matching his pace, eyes squeezed shut, opening briefly but dazed. Panting and pleading his name, sudden waves of orgasm making you shake and shiver. Then he starts again— easier, kinder, letting the beast work its way back through his skin. Tongue sweeping lines. Canines pulling flesh.

You sigh and smile. A sacred dream of flesh and blood wrapped around him. “Wanna see you, baby,” you say, “Let me see you, sweetheart.”

So he does, blinking through the darkness and finds you like a beacon, as you always are, as you always will be. His hair falls to one side, lighter from the summer sun, suspended and rocking along.

“’S that good? Like this?”

“Yeah. Yes,” he babbles, “Wanna give you everything.”

“Come with me, Steve—come on, baby.”

And it’s all so fast. Your words. His words. Your hands. His hands. Hips moving in heavy thrusts and hair falling over his face and endless moans of god, fuck, 'm gonna come at the last minute before his eyes roll back behind his lids.

Steve buries his face into your neck, groaning. “Mine,” he whispers finally coming back to himself. Raspy and slow and again when you gasp. Your nails dig into his back reflexively, thighs squeezing him tight.

He’s smiling like an idiot because he doesn’t know what else to do about it. His heart is fluttering and filling up. He looked at you for too long, thought about you too hard even though you’re right here and his, and maybe that’s what launched itself into his dizzy head.

A hard kiss that makes you whimper. Mine. Another to the line of your open jaw. Mine. Your throat. Your collar. Your chest. Mine. Mine. Mine.

You smile into his temple, rubbing your cheek on him, too. 

“Keeping me all to yourself?”

He nods eagerly, heart full, then overflowing. “Keeping you forever.”

[cherrycolored-punk]

WADWSH - Masterlist

pairings: 2000s!actor!Steve Harrington x fem!Reader, 2000s!bestfriend!Eddie Munson x fem!reader.

Based loosely on the movie Win a Date with Tad Hamilton.

tropes: love triangle, strangers to friends to lovers? friends to lovers? it’s a mystery! but those who voted last time may know 😏

author’s note: this a completely revamped version of the story I loved writing so so much on my previous page (@strangemagicc). Even after posting the first chapter, I felt like there was more I could’ve done…so I did 🩵

warnings: eventual smut, slow burn, angst, mentions of parental death, and parental abandonment. Will add warnings to each chapter!

chapters below the cut!

Chapter One - The Contest

request to be added to tag list here 🩵

[ihatepeanutss]

actor!steve and his beautiful wife announcing the arrival of their first baby on a christmas card for each friend of the industry they both had, he and you dressed in matching pajamas, along with three christmas socks holding them in the fireplace, two of normal side and one small, a really cute small letting know that first harrington

“the harrington family wishes you a beautiful merry christmas" 💕💖💗💓💘🦋♡

[therosebunpost]

Little update involving these two ideas, im finally working on the Disabled! Disfigured! Reader x Steve fic

[chaptersleftunwritten]

Darkest Desire

Based off of this nonnie request! It’s a bit scarier than intended and I do apologise for that teehee. There’s also no smut…

Blurb: With a group of friends you visit the local Halloween Scare walk, an event that is hosted annually out in the creepy plaines of Hawkins and whilst it’s masks on for the locals, it’s very much masks off for the scare actors…

Pairing: Scare Actor!Eddie x Reader

Warnings: 18+, the holiday of Halloween is mentioned, talk of blood/gore, faux blades/knives, cursing, reader is referred to as girl, use of pet names, degrading, praising, stalking (cat&mouse), sly/cocky and slightly mean!Eddie. Characters are all 20+

-

divider by @reveriesources

Crunchy dry blood orange leaves litter the earth and frost tainted wind nips at your nose and cheeks. The squeals of excited children racing by your costume clad frame fills your ears with immense joy and you giggle airily as they launch themselves into one another. Racing toward the brightly lit luminescent funfair games in hopes of winning a stuffed animal or a goldfish in a bag.

Their parents lug behind them, their attire consisting of some makeshift costume they had thrown together at the last minute in hopes of pleasing their tiny humans and earning themselves a quiet car ride without any tantrums or fuss.

Your group, on the other hand, weren’t here for the childish and conning games. You were all here for the Scare Walk.

You hadn’t agreed on a coherent group costume so it was a pick and mix of totally different genres and ideas and from an outside perspective it was abundantly clear that there was no communication on the matter whatsoever.

Steve was dressed as the main character from Nightmare On Elm Street, Freddy Kruger. Nancy clearly had helped with the makeup aspect of the costume assemble but everything else screamed Harrington. He cropped the stripped knitted jumper to better suit his athletic frame and his hair was still very much classic Steve.

Robin had taken a whole new approach, dressing up as the colourful Rubik’s Cube puzzle toy. Deriving inspiration from the colourful squares she wore a long black jumpsuit covered in humongous reflective and vibrant square sequins. She more resembled a neon glitter ball, but you gave her the benefit of the doubt.

Nancy’s body was hugged by a khaki green boiler suit that had the long legs cut off and on her back she wore a black backpack with some DIY altercations made to it. She has begged Mike to help her create her costume, and that’s how she ended up dressed as a Ghostbuster, putting a strong feminine spin on the male dominated film. You hadn’t expected anything less from Nance, she was always looking for ways to empower women and her costume made you smile. Proud.

Jonathan had chosen a much whackier costume to better fit with his personality. The pungent smell of weed radiating from his body only complimented the fluorescent green costume he was wearing and the radioactive orange bandana blindfolded over his eyes. He had opted for the beloved character from the children’s series Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles’, Michelangelo. Which shouldn’t have surprised you— but it did.

And finally, you had chosen something distinctively different from your friends. You had made the bold choice to go as a flapper girl from the 1920’s, inspired by Fitzgeralds novel The Great Gatsby. It was a bold move because you paired the costume with kitten heels and although they were small you knew by the end of the night your feet would be crying out for rest. It is a Scare Walk after all. Your body was adorned by glitter and lace and the fringe of your dress tickled at the exposed skin of your legs.

It was a bit chilly tonight, but you were having too much of a ball to really hone in and pay attention to the sharp gusts of wind. Steve and Robin were arguing over whose costume was more original and whilst Robin’s was, Steve always somehow managed to argue himself into being ‘right’.

“Talk to me when you have hand sewn a bazillion sequins onto something and not just took a pair of shears to a ratty old sweater.” Robin remarks with a smirk, crossing her arms over her chest and marching ahead of Steve.

“Hey! I’ll have you know that it was surprisingly difficult to cut this thing into a straight line— and it isn’t ratty or old, I literally bought it like two days ago.” Steve fires back with a squinted gaze as he follows closely behind Robin’s reflective beacon of light that seems to lead us through the dimness. Nancy grumbles inwardly to herself.

“Can you two stop bickering like babies? We’re here to have fun! So let’s go and do that!” She hooks her arm with yours, charging forward, “I heard that some people from campus are working here this year. I don’t know what they’re doing but isn’t that exciting? We might bump into them!” You admired how Nancy could make a good situation out of everything, however you didn’t quite share her enthusiasm for meeting people you already knew. Nancy was all about making and strengthening connections whereas you wanted to just have fun— judgement free.

And now that you knew that your peers were watching your every move you couldn’t help but feel your confidence shrink slightly and your words clam up. Dying in your throat before they could ever be heard aloud.

-

The walk started off relatively slow and rather boring. You kept mistaking your dress tickling your calf’s as insects running up the skin of your legs and Robin would giggle at the way your head was constantly shooting downward.

“You seem awfully jittery— is someone scared already?” She taunts, wiggling her eyebrows at you and grinning widely as she did.

You scoff in response, “Please. I’m nearly dozing off back here.”

An eerie dark silence falls over the group and the golden haze from the spooky funfair starts to fade into the background behind you as you venture further and deeper into the doom and gloom of night fall.

The smell of sweet popcorn no longer lingers in the hairs of your nostrils and a sinister chill runs down the back of your spine; like fingers tickling your bare skin.

“Are we sure we are sticking to the trail? It’s getting pretty dark out here— OH MY FUCKING GOD!!” Two little girls dressed in bloody dresses and horrifying makeup charge toward you from a nearby hidden brush. Their eyes glow a disturbing shade of white and they hold faux knives that still look devilishly real. You stumble backwards, nearly collapsing from shock however before you could fall to the ground you feel a hard body hit your back which makes you scream out in terror.

The figure laughs at you, jeering and sharp as you whip around to meet him and your hand is quick to find your chest. Your fingers claw at the fabric of your dress and you fist the fabric with a shaky grip. You’re panting, struggling for breath and the skull painted face looms over you for a moment too long; cocking his head to the side as he examines your costume.

That’s when you realise something. Something that you immediately recognised as a dark secret. A dark desire that should be kept hidden.

As his onyx orbs gleam and glare down at you, you feel a wave of heat feather your cold skin. Your core pulses between your thighs and your mouth hangs open in dreadful clarity; you were fucking turned on by this.

His chiselled face is painted to resemble a bare skull. White with inky dark circles that deepen his eye sockets and his cheekbones are defined with thick blended shadowy lines. His lips are painted black to match his contours and he has hand drawn on a stretched toothy smile and an empty nose cavity.

He doesn’t speak a single word.

He just stares at you. Almost as if he is furious with you.

And before long he drags himself away from you, like the simple task is deemed painful and impossible for him.

His torso is dressed in a fitted white button down shirt which is rolled up to his elbows and it exposes his tattooed forearms. On his legs he wears a simple but professional pair of black trousers paired with black suspenders that sling over his shoulders. On his feet he has combat boots supporting his ankles and some sort of padded device strapped around the joint of his knees.

You gawk at him as he skates across the concrete on his knees at an alarmingly fast rate toward another group of poor people; leaving sparks of light in his dust as they squirm and scream. Some of them even go as far to sprint off into the darkness away from him; which leaves the masked man cackling darkly and running after them.

“Holy shit! I had no idea he would be working here this year!” Steve slaps the palm of his hand onto your shoulder as he chuckles heavily and you pull away from him confused and slightly annoyed.

“Who is ‘he’ and how do you know him?” Steve’s laughter dies out slowly and his hands come to rest on his hips. A stance that he did often. The rest of the gang come to join you with curious expressions on their faces.

“Seriously? You don’t recognise him?” There’s a pause as you shake your head ‘no’ and Steve rolls his amber eyes dramatically, “That’s Eddie Munson, dipshit. He’s always smoking weed out in the courtyard on campus? Playing with the fire from the benson burner during chemistry— is this ringing any bells?” You shrug, crossing your arms defensively over your chest.

Is Eddie Munson someone you should know about?

“He has long, curly hair— not better than mine but hey, it’s definitely up there.” Steve’s hand smooths over his slicked back hair that is thick with gel and you laugh, now being able to form an image of Eddie in your mind.

“Ohh, the metal head? He sometimes walks around with his guitar slung over his back?” You reply as you begin to walk off after realising that you have all come to a stand still— and partially because you want to see Eddie again.

“Yeah! He is wicked with a guitar! I’ve seen him play.” Robin chirps from your left and Nancy hums on your right.

“He is pretty good.” Jonathan speaks through a mouthful of candy and you try to disguise your disgust as you unfortunately get a glimpse of the food on his tongue.

“Right…” is all you quietly reply as your eyes scan the bluish darkness. You can hear an owl hooting off in the distance and if it weren’t for the jump scares waiting for you, you would find this promenade quite peaceful.

Crickets whisper conversations from the tall blades of grass and you can see lanterns dotted up ahead of you. They cast ghoulish shadows all around the dirt path and your head twitches from side to side— trying to catch any of the silhouettes moving.

But they don’t.

You have strayed further ahead of the group, their voices hitting your ears in the form of muffled sounds but you don’t bother to wait on them. They are too busy laughing and booing at some of the scare actors whereas your heart is still palpitating at a ridiculous rate from the last scare.

Some of the actors were so gruesomely scary that you felt transported into your favourite slasher films whereas the others were just looming and ominous— more human. Humans are the scariest creatures after all. You fear your own kind in opposition to the unknown.

That’s why when the familiar skull skates over to you on his knees, you freeze this time. No fight or flight; just freeze. Your mouth gaping wide as his nose nearly brushes yours.

“Eddie.” His name is a breathless squeeze from your lungs as it leaves your mouth. You have to say his name aloud in order to ground your thundering heart. Were you excited or frightened? Maybe it was a mixture of both.

Whatever it was, the man stood in front of you wasn’t best pleased. His eyes narrow into irritated slits and his fingers toy with a piece of your hair— twirling it before yanking on it playfully.

Steve, Nancy, Robin and Jonathan all sprint past you in urgency. They screaming until their throats run raw as a deranged man with a faux chainsaw chases after them. Hot on their heels.

You and Eddie go unnoticed by them… and now…

Now you feel afraid.

“Y’know you aren’t supposed to address the actors personally, right?” He sneers through a tight jaw.

“He speaks.” You quip back sassily and Eddie huffs a distorted laugh.

“I’ve seen you around campus— even prettier up close. It’s a shame your attitude ruins that.” He circles you like a shark in water and you follow him. Twirling around makes you dizzy but Eddie’s chuckle makes your dizzier.

“Like a little lost lamb.” He coos, “Where are your cronies? Seems they’ve ditched.” His glove clad knuckle grazes your cheek and you flinch away from his soft touch. Taking a few steps back you widen the close distance between the two of you.

This causes Eddie to grin hugely; showing all of his teeth as he did.

“What? Don’t tell me you’re scared now?” He prowls toward you however you are quick to match every one of his steps. He takes a stride forward? You take a step back.

“You could run away if you wanted… but that’ll only entice me more. Didn’t they tell you? I love the chase.” His voice is a low animalistic growl and you couldn’t understand if this was Eddie or his character talking to you. Was this all an act or was he genuinely this menacing?

“I thought you actors weren’t supposed to get this close to the public…” You hunch your shoulders upward toward your ears as you cower away from his stalky frame and he stares through you; the gears in his head turning.

You shift on the balls of your feet uncomfortably and your skin blazes beneath his intense gaze.

“You’re blushing.” He says matter of factly and suddenly you feel the need to straighten your posture and try to get as far from him as possible.

“I am not.” The lie is pathetic as it meets the frosted air and Eddie smiles eerily.

“It’s the makeup, isn’t it? You like the makeup.” His head strains back on his neck as he lets out a loud laugh, “Fuck— that’s pathetic. You must be into some really weird shit.”

“I- that’s absurd!! I have no idea what you’re talking about!” You squeal and slink your arms around your torso. Partially because you were cold but also to be protective and assertive of yourself, “You don’t even know me—“ Eddie interjects, his finger tapping impatiently against his painted lips.

“Shhhh.” You feel the soft grain of his leather gloves as they tickle your skin and Eddie’s hands fully embrace your bare shoulders, “It’s okay— I like your costume too, I suppose.” He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly, “I mean, it’s a bit outdated and boring but hey, you look good.” He flashes you a teasing wink that is nearly enough to make your lungs implode with lack of oxygen.

“Goodbye, Munson.” You swivel on your kitten heels and briskly find the frozen dirt path again. Your head involuntarily looks over your shoulder, trying to catch sight of Eddie one last time as you leave him behind but to your total disadvantage the metal head was no longer standing where you had left him.

He too, had taken off.

And unbeknownst to you, you had just pressed play on one of Eddie Munson’s all time favourite games; Cat and mouse.

-

It was getting later and later with every passing second and you couldn’t find your friends anywhere. You had last seen them run off whilst laughing and screaming in total horror but you hadn’t seen them since.

Had they actually ditched you and went home?

Once the thought infiltrated your psyche you contemplated on cutting the scare walk short and heading back to the funfair to search for them. However, going back meant that you had to go alone and there was something devilish about that.

To your left, through a thick canvas of sweetgum trees you can hear the owl again. Hooting softly— a sound that should calm your nerves but instead it tugs on them viciously. It’s more like an emergency siren warning you. A sign for you to run and to never look back.

A man made whistle slices through the chirping of the birds and it cuts at your skin like the edge of a blade. You look left and right, frantically dancing in circles as you try to determine where it’s coming from; but you are met with nothingness.

“Eddie, if that’s you then cut it out! This isn’t funny!” Your fingernails pinch at your skin as you begin to walk panicked in the opposite direction. Never paying attention to what’s in front of you, your gaze always trailing off to the side and behind you.

That’s when you see him— the skull peering at you from a dark line of trees in the distance. Your feet come to a staggering stop as you eye him. Was your mind playing tricks on you? Was Eddie really staring back at you or were you deluding yourself?

You swallow thickly, your mouth dry as you watch him emerge from the greenery. Before your brain can compute what your body is doing you are running; charging into the fullness of the forest.

Tree branches whip and rip at your skin, causing it to redden and sting. You wince but you continue soldiering on, your shoulders barge through sticks and nettles and thorns.

Your mind had convinced you that this was real. That you were being chased by a psycho.

“Hey— hey, stop!! It’s okay! Wait—“ Eddie is close behind you, crunching twigs beneath his boots but you are quicker than he is; more frightened and resilient to get as far from him as possible. For your own safety.

“Sweetheart! Stop!” You can hear him getting frustrated as he trudges through the cluttered landscape but you can see lights shining in front of you, just up ahead, and it causes you to force your legs to quicken. Desperate to reach there.

But just before you explode onto the funfair grounds your legs give way beneath you and you crash to the ground. The palms of your hands scrape against the jagged forest floor and your dress rips against a spiked log. You thought this shit only happened in the movies— but tonight you were proven wrong.

You look behind you and your eyes well up with tears of both pure adrenaline and fear at Eddie propelling himself toward you.

You bring up your hands around your head to protect yourself as you shrink back onto the floor, over the fact that your hair is full of pine needles and your knees are scraped and bleeding.

Eddie crouches by your side, a deep frown on his face and worry in his eyes.

“Hey, sweet girl, you’re okay…” Eddie bites off his leather gloves and throws them to the soft earth. He is gentle to pry your cold hands away from your muddied face and he hisses quietly at the temperature of your skin compared to his. He examines the palms of your hands tenderly, “Ouch… this must hurt. What were you thinking?”

Your foolishness almost causes Eddie to laugh, but after witnessing the genuine anxiety plaguing your features he decides not to.

“It was too real.” You blubber, letting out a dampened sob and Eddie’s heart pangs with guilt and sorrow, “I couldn’t find anyone and… and I saw you and I just couldn’t think of anything else…”

“I’m sorry, love. C’mere, let me help you up.” Eddie is crouched down, his knees bent as he braces himself in front of your shaking frame. He outstretches his hands toward you and you take them hesitantly.

Thanks to Eddie’s strength he pulls your weak body up to meet his with ease and he hold you against his chest. Breathing softly as he tries to calm your laboured and nervous breaths.

“I really am sorry… it’s just me, ‘Kay? I’m not gonna hurt you. I promise.” He peppers comforting pecks into your hair and your nails claw at the back of his shirt, “It must’ve been pretty scary; being out there all alone with me.”

You nod, your mind finally calming at the sound of his lulling and gentle voice.

“I do like the makeup.” Your confession is meek and muffled against his chest, “I think there must be something wrong with me.” You laugh, managing to pull away his chest and look at him much more confidently now.

“Not at all,” Eddie grins, “I think it’s quite the opposite, actually. Very normal— it might even be considered vanilla to some people out there.” Although you have removed yourself from the skull painted man’s chest, the closeness between the both of you remains the same.

The truth was; Eddie had always admired you. Your intelligence and your cunning. You were beautiful, which was the cherry on top of your infectiously bright personality. He had noticed you at the beginning of the academic year and he was too chicken to talk to you. You both were connected through Steve but Steve never really paid attention to Eddie’s longing and begging looks toward you.

But Steve didn’t have to say anything. Not anymore. Because you could see it for yourself. You could see beneath the intricate paint on his face that Eddie felt something for you. You weren’t sure what it was; lust, a crush or plain friendship but you could see it. Feel it.

“You must think I’m a total freak.”

“You have no idea who you’re talking to, sweetheart. I am the biggest freak to have ever lived.” Eddie lets out a giddy chuckle and his hands continue to rest lightly around your body. You welcome his lingering touch and his nearness. It felt familiar. Nice.

“We both look like weirdos standing out here in the dark.” Your eyes scan around the auburn horizon of tall trees and a soft smile rests on your smudged lipstick covered lips, “People are going to think we’ve been up to no good.”

Eddie smiles, his hand coming to stroke your cheek gently and tuck some of your rouge hair behind your ear, “With how windswept your hair is, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

You both stand there, the air is clouded with electrifying tension and you can’t think of anything else other than how badly you want him to kiss you.

“I wanna take you out… on a date.” His hands cup your face, “When I’m not this caricature. I’ll just be me and you will be you. You won’t have to run from me…” His cold nose brushes the tip of yours, “I won’t have to chase you.” You can smell mint and nicotine on his breath and you have never been more intoxicated by anything in your entire life.

“What’d ya say, sweet girl? Let me take you somewhere nice so I can kiss you properly at the end of the night?” There is a slight desperation to his voice and you bite your lip to suppress a wide smile.

“I’d like you to chase me, Eddie. Chase me with daisies and a boombox and your guitar. You won’t have to run after me for long…” You are dangerously close to him now, your breath quickening as you press a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. It takes every ounce of self control not to eat his entire mouth with yours, “Take me anywhere. As long as it’s with you.”

“I will.” He promises.

“And kiss me at the end of the night?” You are desperate yourself now, your eyes sparkling with moonlight as you look up into his shadowy hues.

“I will.” He strokes your hair so delicately; like you are the most precious thing he has ever handled, “I promise.”

-

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[dearest-nell]

reality.

s. harrington x reader, 3.2k

summary: steve has fallen in love with his best friend without even realising, and now there's nothing left for him to do but continue to fall. friends to lovers, steve is pathetically in love, gender neutral!reader, mentions of drinking.

a/n: literally can't think about anything else but this little romantic idiot loverman, so here we are. unproofread, sorry!

Steve was not sure when it was that this all became real to him. Time seemed to blur together in flashes of colour and memory. There were so many days with you, so many moments that had changed his life or altered his very being. How many moments could he name that might have been the one to shift delicate sands between you? Your friendship spanned years – wonderful years filled with the warmth of summer sun soaking into your skin on the beach of Lovers Lake, sweaters shared so often between the both of you that even the woollen fabric could not decide who it smelled most like. 

He remembered movie nights in the dimness of Hawkins theatre, half empty rows of midnight screenings where your horrified cries over every slasher could be muffled by his shoulder, his arm around your waist, tucking you safely away from every fright around. You were the only person who slept in his bed just to talk, to stay up all night whispering dreams and hopes and secrets. You were full of his secrets, after all, sworn to protect and sworn to keep. He wanted to keep you more than anything else in the world. 

Steve couldn’t pinpoint the moment his deep, unwavering affection for you had become something new, something so tenderly romantic that even he himself had been shocked by. He had been in love before, sure, but not like this. Steve Harrington had never considered himself capable of loving another person quite so much. It was greedy, and selfish, and selfless, and all consuming, and so peacefully quiet that he was sure nothing else might ever settle him quite so nicely. 

The attraction had always been there, after all. You were ethereal, otherworldly, angelic in a way that Steve was sure no one had ever been before. It didn’t matter what anyone else had said, you were the most beautiful creature to ever grace his life. Even as friends, he knew it. He’d watched you swim in the chlorine mess of his pool clad in nothing but your underwear, leaving Steve swallowing thickly around the unshiftable lump in his throat that seemed to appear just for you. He’d run his hands across your sides in the deep blue of the night, memorising the curve of your hip with trembling hands that ached to hold you tighter. He’d been lost in your eyes so often that sometimes the colour of them was printed on the inside of his eyelids, haunting his dreams with visions of your smile - your hand in his. 

He couldn’t name the moment it changed, but he could name the moment he knew. It was an ordinary night by anyone's standards; the kids, now graduating, had rented a VHS of some film he likely should  have known the name of. He thought the actors had looked familiar, maybe recognised the hit song on the soundtrack, but the rest seemed a blur to him. He’d been half exhausted from a day at work as it was, and you had promised to take him home early if his social battery began to dwindle. It was incentive enough for him to try, though about 35 minutes into the film, Steve had felt that wave of exhaustion slip over him. He wanted his own bed, wanted the silence and dark of his shitty apartment to swallow him whole. He’d moved to whisper to you, hand squeezing your knee beside him only to discover your quiet, even breaths as his only response. Your head rested so fittingly on his shoulder, one curve perfectly slotted into the other, a soft place for you to land. It wasn’t often that you fell asleep during movies, but Steve knew you were just as exhausted as he was from an even longer work week. 

Steve did not look back towards the dingy, yellow hazed television screen even once after he’d spotted you. He was fixated on the gentle peace that had settled across your features, brow line soft, unmarred by worries of the day. He wondered what you were dreaming about, what thoughts and wishes filled your imaginings tonight, and whether he would get to hear about them once you’d woken. It was one thought that had shaken him, though. One that made him stop to think, that lost him to his surroundings entirely, consumed by questions. 

Are you dreaming about me, too? 

The overwhelming sense of hope was what had alarmed him, hope that perhaps you wanted him, wanted him with you even in your dreams – wanted him just as badly as he seemed to want you. How had he not noticed before? How had he not understood that every moment without you just felt like another moment spent trying to get back to you. 

Oh god, it was love. There was nothing else to call it. It was love of a friend and so much more. It was love of a person that Steve hoped never to face life again without. It was a desperation to keep you close that left a tightness in his chest, unmoving and unshakable. There was restraint enough in him that kept him from waking you just to pull you tighter, suddenly so aware of this need that had shadowed so closely at his heels all this time. 

He stayed the entire film just so you could sleep right there on his shoulder, undisturbed and so entirely loved. 

How he managed to keep it to himself after that was beyond all understanding. Steve didn’t keep secrets, or at least not his own, not from you. How exciting it was to be falling in love like this, and yet all he could think about was how horrific it was that you were none the wiser. Hadn’t you felt it too? That shift between you? It was all he could think about, and it left him twitchy, nervous and bumbling, ungraceful compared to his usual charismatic charm. Though you smiled at him like you always did, watching him as if he were still your most favourite person in all the world, and Steve had never felt more alive. 

It was why here, now, all he could do was watch you. Weeks later, still pining, still so incredibly in love with you, he was helpless but to stand by your side, drink in his hand idly sipped just to give him some kind of distractive reprieve, the taste of whisky heavy on his tongue as you watched the band before you. The lights were luminous, flashes of blue and yellow and white swallowing you in their glow, your body swaying contentedly to the rhythm of music he had half forgotten to listen to. He’d been excited to see this band weeks ago, and now all he could do was stare at you. 

You’d dressed up; hair styled, body wrapped in fabrics that Steve wanted to run his fingers through. There was glitter on your cheeks that glinted in the neon lights, and if Steve had not seen the cheap packaging himself, then he might have considered it the mark of an angel gracing your skin. 

Steve had never wanted to kiss someone so badly in his life. 

How he had gotten away with such blatant staring was a mystery, and he chalked it up to the masses of people pressing in closer and closer together as the night went on. No one was watching him, so no one was watching him watch you. 

As if triggered by some divine intervention, you turned to smile at him, yelling something about how great the band was, the sound muffled by the buzz of electronics and minute long guitar solos. He nodded back dumbly, his own smile a perfect mirror of your own, a free hand running through his now sweat slick locks. 

“So good.” Was all he could yell back, trying to peel his gaze away from your own, his own personal boulder up the hill; an unwinnable battle. 

His staring paid off, at least, when he caught the way the masses seemed to close in around you. Your view was more and more obstructed with every new beat, bodies taller and far less considerate than the two of yours huddling in tighter. He watched as the perception crossed your mind and on pure instinct, Steve was pulling you into him, slotting your body into place right before his own. He was wrapped around you like a protective barrier, arm hooked loosely around your waist, hand gripping possessively at your hip, his drink knocked clean out of his hand as the man by his side threw his arms up to the music. He tried not to glare, not for the loss of his drink, but for the way it so easily could have come tumbling down on you. The drink seemed like the least of your worries though. Steve offered you an apologetic grimace only to be met with another of your smiles, the warmth of your regard smoothing out the roughest edges of his trepidations. 

Your hand slipped into his, eliciting the softest of sighs from Steve to feel your comforting touch, and he felt his body relax as you pulled his other arm snuggly around you too, your entire body now encased in the safety of his hold. Somehow he knew that you had done this for him, that snuggling yourself in deeper like this was to ease his worries, not your own. He was here protecting you, and somehow here you were, still soothing him without so much as a thought. He wished he understood how you knew him so well, how you seemed to know intrinsically what he needed. It felt foolish to hope that maybe it was for the very same reason that he knew you so well. Maybe this is just how friends are. 

This did not feel like friendship, though, not with you pressed so tightly against him, bodies swaying as one to the steady rhythm of the melody around you. Your arms were crossed around yourself, hands gripping onto his forearms as if you could hold him right back. You were holding him, he realised. Holding him as best as you could from the position you were in. You had relaxed entirely into him, head resting back against his shoulder, movements languid and comfortable in his arms, fingers tracing secret scribbles into the goose-prickled flesh of his skin, so reactive to even the smallest of your touches. He wasn’t sure what to do with himself, couldn’t decide where to look or what to say or how to breathe, even. Breathe, Steve, breathe. 

“Are you comfy?” You called out, head angling up to catch a glimpse of his expression. Your palm flattened out comfortingly against his arm, and Steve tried not to melt under the tenderness of it. 

He nodded, dipping down to speak a little more closely, using the volume of the room as his excuse to allow his lips so close to the plush curve of your cheek. “‘m comfy. Is this okay?” 

He squeezed his arms around you once, twice, to emphasise his concern. You inched your face higher, views of one another now more clear as the space between you dissipated, your noses bumping clumsily against one another as the crowd continued to shift around you.

“Yeah, thanks.” If he didn’t know you half as well as he did, Steve might have missed the way your eyes seemed to widen at him, mouth parting imperceptibly as if you were about to continue, words dissolving right at the buzzer. 

His brow lifted curiously, nose nudging yours with purpose to ease the words from you. The look you gave in turn was enough to steal the very breath from his lungs, his chest constricting with the nerves that such intensity always seemed to summon in him. You looked pained, somehow, and Steve didn’t miss the way your arms seemed to tighten around his own, leaving his hands to squeeze at your sides reassuringly, one slipping its way to cup at your jaw. The wide of his palm engulfed your cheek, his rough, calloused, fingers stroking soothing circles into the curve of your skin, holding your gaze to him. 

“What’s wrong?” He mouthed, not wishing to raise his voice when you were pressed so closely to him. He was preparing to pull you away at a moment's notice, to flee the crowd and tuck you somewhere safe in some dark corner of the room to catch your breath. He knew something was wrong, could feel the weight of some unspoken thought pressing down on you. He’d steal it if he could, take it on as his own so you could smile again. It had only been a minute and he was already aching to see it once more. 

It all seemed to move in slow motion for him – time slowed to a standstill as the room seemed to fade away. There wasn’t anyone here but you, but him, standing here in this crowded empty space, looking at no one but each other. He watched you tug your lip between your teeth, one moment of contemplation that had him second guessing everything before you moved, lifting up onto the tips of your toes to reach him, his arms tightening again to keep you steady. 

Your eyes flickered, shifting nervously between his eyes and his lips, and Steve felt his own part as the surprise of your boldness hit him. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to kiss him and this was your way of showing it. He could see the way you tried to inch closer, watching through hooded eyes as you evaluated his reaction, drifting somewhere between closer and further with every breath. 

No one could blame him for his eagerness, not really. Not when you were looking at him like it would kill you not to kiss him, not when he felt so entirely needed, so entirely worthy of this moment. He brushed his hand at your cheek, nudging forward slowly, his eyes imploring as he watched, waited to know that this was really what you wanted. 

You just smiled up at him, and Steve might have died right there to know that he was the reason why. 

Steve’s focused remained heavily on his movements, head lost somewhere in the necessity that he needed to kiss you right. He felt like his very happiness relied on it – like he would die right here, right now, if you did not know just how much he wanted you. Needed you. 

He moved unhurriedly, lips tracing so softly against your own that he thought he might be dreaming. There was no conceivable way that a person could be so delicate in his hold, so plush and divine and perfect. It was a moment out of time, kissing you like this amongst the ever constricting crowds, the violent noise of a band crescendoing around you all the while. 

And you were kissing him too. 

He could taste it in your touch, the eagerness, the way you tried to reach further, twisting in his arms to fit closer to him. He wished he could swallow his grin, helplessly amused by that gentle desperation in you – how could he not smile over the neediness in your touch? You tried to speed up the kiss, to grip him tighter, one hand curled into the fabric of his shirt, the other tugging him down by his hair. 

His groan was involuntary, and his purchase at your face was all he had to usher you, slow fingers coaxing you back into a relaxed state, pulling himself back to look at you with desperate eyes. 

He had no words, nothing that he could say that could convey the meaning of this moment, nor the depths of his feelings for it. He could see that glaze in your eyes, feel the way you swayed on the tips of your toes as your balance betrayed you. He didn’t mind – it was his excuse to tug you all the closer, setting the pace once more as his lips slotted against your own. 

He felt your sigh rather than heard it, could feel the way your muscles relaxed under the press of his hand at your back. It was a sick sort of pleasure that flooded him, pride taking over to know that he had this effect – this power over you. If only you knew how much more you had over him, how he’d do almost anything you could ask of him just to keep you here. 

A knock from a burly looking man was what it took to break the kiss, and Steve might have been thankful had he not almost dropped the two of you in a brief lapse of balance, his head turning venomously to glare at the man who Steve certainly could not take in a fight. He might really have gotten his ass kicked there and then over his petulance, a child raging over his favourite treat being ripped from his hands. Was it so much for him to want this moment to be perfect? He wanted 5 minutes to enjoy it, to kiss you senseless, to solidify that this would not be the only time  to do so. 

Thank god for you, really, to remind him that he was still in the moment. Your hands at his face tugged him away from his anger, focusing his attention back on you, your own amused smile soothing away that spike of rage that had stolen his attention so briefly. You dipped up, pecking his lips so suddenly that all he could do was stare. He felt like an idiot, and maybe it was because he was one. He was a fool in love, and perhaps now you were starting to see it. 

“Lets go.” You urged, thumbs circling at his cheeks, the adrenaline in his body dissipating into something peaceful at the tenderness of your touch. 

He nodded dumbly, not a moment wasted considering anything else in the room but you. Who could have possibly cared that the show was only half finished, that neither of you had heard your favourite songs yet, that you had been dying to try the specialty cocktail of the night that was plastered across posters behind the bar, when Steve could be the one to take you home? Fuck literally anything else here because your hand was easing its way into his own, and his cheeks were sure to ache at the strain of his smile on his face as he shouldered his way through the crowd, parting bodies to ease the two of you through the masses, and nothing could have been more important to him in that moment, or any other moment to come, than you. 

Forget it all, because Steve was going to kiss you again as soon as the night air broke around the two of you, and by the way you clung so tightly to the back of him, he’d never been so assured that you were just as pleased by the notion as he was. 

Steve could not remember the moment his feelings for you had become real to him, but he’d never forget the moment yours had.

[calumfmu]

sugar coated melting.

Being assistant to the famous Steve Harrington wasn't an easy task, he was demanding as ever and made sure he was nice to everyone but you. But a job was a job, and it was the cost of working in Hollywood.

Famous!Steve Harrington x Assistant!reader (modern!au, with 40's Steve) 7.5k+ words

cw: older Steve Harrington, smut, loss of virginity, inexperienced!reader, AFAB reader, angst (what's new), mentions of death, swearing, 18+, mdni

Working with one of the most famous actors in the world was draining, exhausting, taxing, everything you could negatively describe. He was such a high maintenance person, he made your job seem like a constant boot camp run for the Navy Seals. Your best friend had cackled at that supply of information.

Steve wasn’t a bad person, no. He was handsome (obviously, he had been voted most handsome of the previous 2 years in a row), kind (to most people—who weren’t you), and compassionate (he let you eat his leftovers that one time you had gotten stuck on set for 16 straight hours). You were getting paid to say nice things about him if anyone had asked.

Life working as his head assistant was just a drag. It was everything you had dreamed of doing when you were a kid, working in Hollywood with big A-listers, attending red carpets, seeing the way movies worked. The job wasn’t the problem, it… was him.

A script was shoved into your hands as you thought of giving it to the man. The look on his face was burned into the back of your mind, irritation crossing his features as you imagined giving him the bad news. He always took things out on you, attitude forward as he said some slick remark.

Last minute script change, typical of productions like these. Something that anyone could expect while working on these things. Anyone with a normal level of patience would handle it well, take it with stride.

Your fingers rapped against the trailer door, aluminum warm to the touch from the sun beating down on it. Movement sounded behind the door, mumbling a few words out at you.

The door swung open, Steve rubbing at his eyes with his hair sticking in every direction. Fuck, he was asleep. It made it so much worse delivering the news.

“Heyyy, boss,” you beamed, voice raising a few octaves. You held out the script to him, cringing slightly. “Nothing too crazy, just a sliight chan-”

“No,” the door slammed in your face, your eyes closing as the bright reflection shone on you. Your smile immediately dropped, the reflection of your face on the white aluminum door looking back at you.

Red seethed through you, frustration prickling at the back of your neck. You knocked again, this day becoming even longer with each passing second.

“Mr. Harrington.” You were met with silence, ear pressing to the door to hear any movement. You waited a beat, knocking more urgently.

“Don’t want it, tell them no,” he grumbled behind the door, his voice sounded across the trailer, muffled through the closed door.

You took a deep breath, trying to find the patience to not go off on him. You were his assistant, not his agent, not the director of the film, not anything else. What did he realistically think you were going to do about a script change?

“‘M just delivering it, Mr. Harrington.” Your voice was level. “I don’t even think it’s your lines that changed.”

A faint note of music came through the door, Steve deciding to tune you out. Looking towards the sky, you squinted, finding prayer between the clouds.

“Mr. Harrington!”

Another PA walked by you, speaking into the earpiece she had with a clipboard in hand. You raised a hand to greet her, faux smile crossing your lips as you pretended everything was okay. She waved back, making her way in between the trailers and out of your eyesight.

As soon as she disappeared, your fist came up to bang at the door, louder than before.

It opened in the middle of your fit, you nearly stumbled into the trailer. You cut your eyes at your boss, biting your tongue at the swear words that threatened to come out.

The man was well past 30 years old, but still acted like a spoiled brat.

“Fine,” he said through his teeth, grabbing the stack of papers from your hand. He barely glanced at it before tossing it on the small couch behind him. Your eyes followed it, noticing the mess of bottles on the floor around it.

He followed your gaze with his own eyes, stepping into your eyesight as he closed the door slightly.

“Anything else, Yn?” A pinch of attitude at your name. Typical.

You smiled at the man, frustration disappearing as you were just grateful this episode of his didn’t last as long as it did last week.

“No, sir, that would be it for me,” you gave him a slightly bow, clasping your hands in front of you before swiveling on your heel. Descending the mini set of stairs, you rolled your eyes, back to him as you descended. “Fucking twat.”

“I heard that!” His voice was far behind you, your feet moving fast across the blacktops. You smiled back at him, waving as confusion crossed your features.

“Sorry sir, I said it was fucking hot!” You lied straight through your teeth. “Outside, you know? Pardon my language.”

You rolled your eyes once more, turning back on your mission to get back inside the building. You and him both knew what you said, but you didn’t have it in you to care. Nothing you did would get you fired, trust, have you tried.

It was like you were in your own personal Purgatory. You assumed Steve liked you, he wouldn’t fire you even on your worst days. You had fucked up many times, forgetting things, slipping up on his to do list, calling the wrong people for the wrong events. More recently, he had heard the rude nicknames you had for him, and he just didn’t seem to care.

You had heard him one time, whisper under his breath about “best help in Hollywood”. It was sarcastic of course, his eye roll you’ve been well acquainted with to follow.

The last few weeks have been more of a hell for you, Steve becoming more temperamental and moody, you becoming the worst employee on planet Earth. You begged to be fired at this point, your shot at unemployment looking more and more appetizing.

A sudden ring cut through the air, your back pocket buzzing. Pulling it out, you nearly ripped your hair out, Steve’s contact popping up on the screen. I could ignore it, you thought. This could finally be my chance at escaping him.

Your thoughts were cut short, the phone ringing again as Steve's name popped up. He didn't even let the first one finish before trying you again.

"Oh, Mr. Harrington," you breathed, hand pressed into your brow as you answered. "Hi, sorry, sir. Did you need me?"

"Need you to come back," you heard him say, voice muffled as he seemed to be doing other things on the other side of the line. Your feet responded before your brain did, autopilot in motion. "Script's not fucking working, and I just-"

Something fell in the background, and your footsteps faltered. You ignored it, rolling your eyes yet again at his antics.

"Are you okay, sir?" You asked, seeing his trailer in the distance. One of the trailer windows had its blinds half up, he paced back and forth.

You approached it, listening to him as he rambled on the phone, speaking about how much he hated this director and his damn agent for giving him these roles. Fighting back laughter, you cosigned with him, not choosing to mention that this stupid role was worth $13 million.

You raised your fist to knock at the door, it swinging open before you could even make a noise. The three dial tones of the phone call ending rung in your ears, Steve grumbling at you to enter.

"A-are you sure, sir?" Hesitation filled you, you weren't used to stepping into his trailer. You think you'd been in it once during the last seven months of production, grabbing his left behind cell phone before they traveled to location.

Steve didn't look at you the whole time, just muttering words under his breath as he held the brand new scripts in his hand. He was pacing, feet burning holes in the carpet of the trailer.

You slowly stepped in, apprehensively closing the door behind you. Hands clasped in front of you, you stood in close proximity to the door, eyes shifting over the large trailer.

He had clothes thrown over one end of the vehicle, previous scripts sitting on the makeshift table, and a half full glass of a dark colored liquid next to it. You eyed it, brow furrowing as you swore this man had been sober for the past few years--or at least, that's what the news outlets said about him. Not like you kept up.

"Sir," you interjected his thoughts, causing him to stop in place. He still didn't look at you. "Why am I here?"

Curt answers were the easiest way for you to pretend to be nice to him. You knew you couldn't be outright rude, this was your boss after all. Saying stuff under your breath and if he accidentally heard was another thing.

He ignored you.

"How is this supposed to be the Oscar nomination when they have me acting like this?" He exhaled a small shout at the end of his words, your eyes squinting at the volume. "Does this make sense to you? It's like they want me to make a fool of myself, no?"

You shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the floor. "I'm not sure how you want me to answer that, sir."

He waited a moment, sighing loudly as he collapsed on the couch, arm thrown over his eyes. You looked at him then, seeing the way his chest heaved as he shook his eyes. The sun was setting now, golden hour lighting inching through the windows over his figure. His bed head was still wild, even more messy than it was previously.

"W-what would you like me to do, sir?" You asked, arms crossing over your chest as you felt the awkwardness creep into the air. This was the longest you had been in a room with him, at least, with no one around.

Glancing at the watch on your wrist, you took note of your 'shift' being almost over. It was a quarter to seven, your freedom lingering in the distance.

"Sir?"

"Enough!" He cut out, breaking his silence. You jumped at the words, ducking your head as his outburst came. This was the Steve you knew, the short tempered boss who was always so moody whenever things didn't go his way.

You opted for silence, not daring to speak as you awaited his next choice of words.

His arm left his face, palm running down his features as he stared into the ceiling of the trailer.

"Sorry, I just," his voice was significantly lower. He sat up on the edge of the couch, his palms resting on his thighs. "I just need you to take me home."

Your eyes closed briefly, irritation quickly crossing you as you realized this was going to be a longer day than you imagined. If Steve had needed you longer than you were scheduled, then so be it.

"Why?" The word wasn't supposed to come out, replacing the 'okay' that sat on the edge of your mouth.

His gaze cut to you quickly, searching your face as you stood there. Eyes burning slightly, you felt tears prickling. The pint of Ben & Jerry's ice cream, and Friends rerun marathon looking further away from you could bring you to tears.

"Because I employ you, do I not?" The harshness in his words did nothing but fuel the 'Hollywood Tell All' feature you planned for the day you quit.

"You do, sir, yes," You muttered, hands dropping to your side in defeat. "I just thought you'd drive yourself like normal. You know, day ends, and I'll see you here the next day, eight sharp like normal."

"I can't--no," he answered, standing up as he gathered his things. "I don't have to explain myself to you. You just need to take me home. You can drive my car."

The words to protest him were lost in your throat. You complied with his actions, eyes to the floor as he finished gathering his things. Following him out of the trailer, you sighed, feeling like you were walking into a lion's den.

The walk to the private lot was silent, Steve grumbling to himself as he texted someone on his phone. You noticed his phone ringing several times, his thumb finding the red button to end it each time. Curse words came out of his mouth every few seconds, a few from your own mouth being added to the mix as you thought of ways to leave.

As the two of you came across an old school beemer sitting deep in the parking lot, he threw the keys at you, settling into the passenger seat. Reluctantly, you slide in the driver's seat, feeling the leather interior beneath your fingers.

"Nice car, boss," You whispered, checking out how the car didn't even look a day out of 1985. Steve side eyed you, nodding at the compliment before returning to his phone.

"Get us there in one piece, yeah?"

You sucked your teeth as his comment, shaking your head before starting the car. It was like it was impossible for him to be a decent person. Here you were, doing something for this man which may or may not be in your contract, and he couldn't even say thank you to a compliment about his car.

The ride was silent save for an old tape that played in the car. Some band from the 80's you noted, a little too old for your taste. Steve's fingers tapped away at his phone, not focused on the LA traffic you sat in for most of the drive. He gave you directions to his swanky high rise, ignored you as you struggled to keep up with him.

You pulled into an underground garage, valet men coming immediately, opening the door for you as they took the keys. Everything happened in such fast motion, you barely noticed he was half way to the elevator. Jogging to catch up with him, you turned your own attention to your phone, thumb hovering over the Uber app.

Steve took a call, fingers rapidly pressing the elevator button as he spoke (yelled) at the person on the other end.

"No, Robin, I'm not doing that, okay?" He said, voice gruff as he glanced at you. You heard the static voice of the person on the other line, seeming to be yelling at him too.

The elevator dinged, the two of your bodies stepping in as the doors opened. The transportation app on your phone lagged, loading bar stagnant on your screen.

"No, I get it, it's been years. Fine, I-" Steve groaned in frustration, eyes repeatedly shifting over to you as you tried to tune out the phone call. You stared at the numbers the elevator passed, the first floor blinking by before you could say anything. Your phone remain in your hand, screen dimming as it began to time out.

"Robin. I know."

The voice on the other line picked up, the woman's voice growing even louder. Steve pulled the phone away from his ear slightly, grimacing at the volume. The elevator stopped at a floor labeled 'P', doors opening to a mini lobby that ended in double doors. He went over to unlock them, key fob in his hands as a beep sounded through the empty room.

As he stepped through them, phone balanced on his shoulder with his ear pressed to it, he looked at you. You stood right outside the elevator, doors closing behind you as you didn't know what to do.

He held open his front door, hand waving at you in frustration. "Well, are you coming in?"

You pressed your lips together, another wave of irritation pulling at your teeth. Eyes half rolling, you nodded, entering the doors as he closed and locked it behind you.

Steve moved fast, throwing his jacket over a couch that lay in the middle of the giant room, toeing off his shoes by its side. You stood in place, not sure what to do as your boss made his way around his home.

You took note of the place, not picturing that he would live in a place like this. It was modern, with a touch of old school fashion. Retro furniture, expensive nonetheless. Floor to ceiling windows, overlooking the city. However, not a touch of life, no personal pictures, no sign of family, or anything personal that may shine light on what type of person he truly was.

You stepped in further to the place, watching as Steve made his way to a cabinet in his kitchen. Observing him over the breakfast bar, you saw into the open kitchen, watched him as he grabbed a rocks glass and a bottle of something pushed far back into a cabinet.

He continued on the phone, placing it on speaker as he began to open the bottle. He struggled at first, face turning up as his hands twisted on the cap.

Slowly making your way around the room, you glanced around, expecting him to yell at you for even being here, despite inviting you in.

"Steve," you heard the voice on the other line say. His eyes drifted towards the phone, pouring a hefty shot. "All I'm saying is, I miss you. And care for you. I love you. I want you to be okay today, alright?"

Steve grunted in response, not noticing your proximity to him. You cleared your throat slightly, wanting to gain his attention.

The woman on the phone waited for more of a response. Once it was clear she wasn't going to get one, she sighed. "If you change your mind, you know where to find us."

"Yeah sure," his tone was rude, eyes boring into the glass of dark liquid that sat in front of him. His fingers danced at the rim.

"Eddie would've wanted you to come."

Steve's body language immediately stiffened, finger moving to hang up the phone before throwing back the shot of liquor. His face grimaced at the taste, slamming the glass back on the table.

You didn't know what to say, looking anywhere but at your boss.

"Fuck, I forgot you were even here," he suddenly said, hand running through his hair. His hand was on his hip, eyes glossy as he looked at you. You chewed at your bottom lip, nodding as he stared at you. He pointed to the alcohol, shrugging. "Drink?"

Declining, your head shook. "I don't drink, sir."

"Ahh," he said, grabbing the glass and bottle as he headed towards the couch. "Good girl."

He threw himself down on the furniture, exhaling loudly as he stretched out. His eyes were closed as you stood across the room.

"Hey, I-I think I'm gonna go," you said, beginning to walk towards the exit. "I'll see you tomorrow."

As you crossed the room, Steve's voice called out to you. Your movements stopped, turning on your heel to look at him.

"Stay?" He asked you, eyes huge as they looked in your direction. You took note of his features, blinking at him as he awaited your response. Your boss was approaching his 40's, however, in this moment, he looked just like a little kid. Pictures of him in his teen years you had seen on the Internet were pushed to the forefront of your mind.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Mr. Harrington," you muttered, wanting to leave the scene.

His eyes fell to the floor briefly before he spoke out, "Steve."

"Huh?" You were confused, this sudden change in his attitude.

"You can call me Steve," he said, shifting his body as he relaxed into the couch. "We've known each other for a few years now, figured we should might as well be on a first name basis."

Fighting back the eye roll, you were reminded in the ways your boss had made your life into chaos.

"I bet you a million dollars, you don't even know my name, sir."

His gaze softened, laughing out loud as your hard exterior slowly came back.

"Yn." He muttered, smile dancing at his mouth.

You didn't know what to say, stuck between dashing out of his apartment or staying and seeing what type of Steve Harrington you were going to get today.

"I figure I should apologize for the way I've acted today," he said, turning forward as his gaze left your way. You didn't know why, but your feet followed it, walking closer so you could sit next to him. Lowering your self on the couch, you felt self conscious, like he was going to snap any second.

You snorted, "Today?"

He was staring at the bottle of alcohol in front of him, smile still on his face. Laughing at your comment, he shrugged.

"I have been a dick, haven't I?" He whispered, shaking his head as the smile slowly dropped from his face. His voice dropped to a whisper, eyes unfocused as he stared in front of himself. "Such a fucking dick."

You didn't know why, but you felt the need to comfort the man. He was clearly going through something at the moment, if the look alone on his face was any tell.

"Hey, not too bad of one," you wanted to reach out to grab him.

"Don't lie," he laughed, head turning your way. His eyes met yours, deep brown staring into the color of yours. You noticed moles dotting his face, slight lines of aging covering his features. He was still youthful, his eyes telling the tale of a once young boy who was within. "I've been terrible. And you don't deserve that."

A pang hit your heart, feeling the weight of his words. You didn't really deserve his treatment. No matter if he paid you or not.

He continued his words, eyes staring past you. "And yet here I am, sitting here with my assistant. Drinking for the first time in years." A laugh bubbled out of him, hands running down his face as he leaned further back into the couch. "You know I'm supposed to be in Indiana right now?"

You shook your head, not wanting to interrupt him. Making yourself comfortable, you took off your shoes, slipping your feet underneath yourself.

"Well, I'm supposed to be in Indiana, it's the 20th anniversary of, uhm," his voice cracked, eyes welling up with a tear that was blinked back. "It's the anniversary of one of my friend's dying, and I'm not there."

Breath catching in your throat, you didn't know what to say.

"I'm sorry, sir," you muttered, hand reaching out to rest at his thigh. The touch was inappropriate, but so was this interaction you could say.

He looked down at your hand, watching your thumb as it brushed over his jeans.

"It's okay," he responded, eyes finding yours again. "It's been so long."

You nodded, eyes scanning his face as he forced the corners of his mouth to be turned into a smile. You saw right through it, recognizing the pain of a lost loved one straight through. "I don't think that matters."

His face dropped, sincerity crossing his features as he dipped to glance at your hand once more. Silence over took the two of you, the faint sounds of the streets of LA below you, Steve's staggered breathing as he willed himself not to cry. You were patient, finding comfort in the air as he found his words.

"We were all so young, and it feels so long ago, almost like it doesn't exist anymore," he finally said, voice even. "But I know it does. I just have to face it, I've been running from it ever since it happened."

He gestured to his surroundings, and the puzzle clicked into place. This fame and jerk persona that Steve carried himself in, hid the real him. He ran from all of his problems, like anyone else would, especially when dealing with something as traumatic like he had.

You didn't know the details, didn't care to ask, since it seemed to affect him so much. All you knew was that person who had passed so long ago did matter to him, in ways that you couldn't imagine.

Letting him continue his mumblings about the person he used to know, you found out that his name had been Eddie, the one you heard on the phone before. Robin, long time best friend of his, was trying to get him to come out to reconnect with everyone, he hadn't seen much of them since the 'accident', as he had called it. He kept in touch with everyone over the phone, but seeing them in person was a whole different story. It opened up old wounds that he was afraid of what it might bring out.

The story was slightly confusing, him mentioning something about how they all had nearly lost their lives, details that would leave you wondering what this man had gone through. None of this information was available about him in the public, his childhood always being a vague story that never connected.

"So you have kids then?" You questioned, confused on how you never picked up on this detail. There had to have been at least five of them, names you had never heard before now.

Steve laughed suddenly, shaking his head as his hand rested on your own thigh. The two of you were much closer now, as his story unfolded. Your thighs were touching, each other's hands on resting upon each other, mere inches away from your faces.

"No, I don't have any. I guess, I should stop calling them kids now, you know?" His laugh was low in his throat. "They have kids of their own at this point, so they're far from it."

"Oh..." You were dumbfounded, all of this information being at a loss to you. You weren't here to understand, just here to listen.

"You know what, I'm sorry," he suddenly said, removing his hand from your leg. You wanted to whine at the absence, cold replacing his warm touch. "Maybe you should go, actually. This is pretty, uhm..."

"Unprofessional?" You supplied, inching closer as your boss sat there, wide eyed looking at you. In the dark light of his apartment, you could see the way his brown eyes glimmered at you. "I guess we're even then, me calling you a twat earlier."

Steve cackled, pinching the bridge of his nose as he thought of the events earlier.

"I knew you said that!"

You blushed, fighting back your own smile.

"It's not my fault, you were acting like one." Your lips pursed together, observing the older man in front of you.

Silence crept over you, the first break in conversation since his phone call ended earlier. Steve stared at you, eyes darting over your features as his teeth scraped over his bottom lip. You felt shy under his gaze, not knowing what to think of the moment as your boss was closer in proximity than he had ever been in your life.

"Can I make it up to you?"

His voice was low, and you were nodding before you even knew what he meant. Grabbing your cheek in his hand, the man leaned forward, capturing your lips into his. The gasp in your throat was lost in his mouth, a shuttering moan coming out instead.

His lips were soft, slightly chapped as they moved against yours. Fluttering your eyes closed, you leaned into the kiss, moving your hand so it rest at the curve of his hip, belt loop curling in your fingers.

He tasted of whiskey, the remnants of the few shots he had earlier lingering on his tongue. Steve pulled away slightly, muttering, "This okay?" against your lips as you nodded, pulling him in by his hair with your other hand.

Your breath grew more shallow as the kiss continued, leaning back as Steve began to tower over you. He shifted in his seat, covering your body with his own as he began to push you back into the couch. His figure was large over yours, scent of vanilla and cedar nearly suffocating you.

With your back flush against the couch, Steve removed himself from your lips, pressing a slight kiss against your jaw. You arched into the touch, palms running over the tight muscle of his back.

"S-steve," you moaned, squeezing your eyes shut as his lips kissed over your neck. Each press of his mouth sent fireworks down your spine.

He returned his lips to yours, moving with a passion that was lacking previously, confidence replacing the apprehension he once felt.

Your legs spread, inviting him to nestle in between, the thick material of his jeans rubbing against your own. A bulge was present, the thought of what lay underneath sending goosebumps over your skin.

Steve was lost in the kiss, his mouth nipping at yours as he reached down to unbutton your pants, slipping a hand to run over the front of your panties.

"W-wait," you muttered, grabbing his wrist as you pulled away from the kiss. He was confused, mouth red and swollen. His fingers pressed at your covered clit, a small shot of pleasure running through you.

"What's wrong, Yn?" The hand connected to his elbow that propped him up, ran through your hair, tucking a strand behind your ear. Concern crossed his features, searching your face as doubt crossed it.

"I just, uhh," you felt shy, avoiding his eye contact as the words stumbled out. "I've never really done this before?"

His eyes bulged out, sitting up suddenly as he leaned over you. Closing your eyes in embarrassment, you pressed the palm of your hand to your forehead. Way to ruin the moment.

"Oh," he breathed, eyes wide as he scanned you. "We don't-- fuck, sorry. I'm so, uh, wow."

He stood up suddenly, leaving you laying on your back as embarrassment colored your cheeks. You didn't know what to say as the older man panicked.

"Maybe, uh, maybe this was a bad idea," he shook his head, hand reaching down to palm at the front of his pants. Your eyes followed his hand, noticing the prominent bulge.

You spoke out, shaking your head as you didn't make any effort to move. The turn of events tonight made you realize how much you did want the man who stood before you.

"No, we can, it's okay," you said, reaching out to grab his hand that hung by his side. He looked down at your grasp before bringing his eyes to meet yours. "It's alright."

He hesitated, sputtering over something to say.

"Steve, it's okay," you pulled him down, his knees straddling the sides of your hips as he reluctantly settled into the couch. His eyes ran over your body, lingering at the spot where your pants were unbuttoned, cotton panties exposed.

"A-are you sure?" He questioned, moving to lean back down over you. You nodded, leaning up on your elbows to press a chaste kiss to his lips. His tongue darted out, wetting your bottom lip.

A breathy moan escaped your mouth, palm caressing the front of his shirt.

"I want to, it's fine."

You knew it was now or never, this moment with your boss being an opportunity that you couldn't have passed up. You always had a crush on him growing up, the face of Hollywood you would see in your teen magazines, posters covering the room of your friends. Working for him would've never had you imagining that it would lead to this moment.

Steve took control of the situation, kissing down your neck as his hand returned between your legs, pants thrown across the room somewhere. It had happened so fast, you barely noticed the cool air that pulled goosebumps from your skin.

"Tell me if you want to stop, okay?" He muttered, freshly shaved stubble prickling against your chin. You could barely get out a moan as your underwear was pulled down your legs, catching at the crook of your ankles.

You felt his fingers brush over your folds, pressing lightly at the slick entrance. His thumb rubbed in small circles over your small bundle of nerves, an eye-rolling feeling that spread your legs apart. His fingers pushed inside, his own moan coming out over yours.

The feeling of the intrusion had you panting, spreading your legs wider while his thick fingers worked you.

"M-more," you begged, throwing your head back as his fingers found a rhythm. He stretched you out over two fingers at this point, thumb collecting slick as it rubbed over your clit.

Steve's fingers curled inside of you, brushing against your sweet spot deep inside. The look on his face was one of admiration, mouth slack as he looked down at you falling apart under his touch.

"That's okay?" His voice was husky, deep with arousal as your hips began to move in time with his fingers. Your orgasm was approaching, hips moving on their own accord as you chased that high.

"God, yes, Steve."

Pushing your shirt up past your bra, Steve gaped at the sight before him, your fingers dipping inside your bra to toy at your own breasts.

"You look so perfect, angel," he muttered, leaning down to capture your lips into his as you fell apart. That white blinding of your orgasm crept in, starting at the base of your spine and blossoming through your entire body. Against his mouth, you shouted out, squeezing your eyes shut as he fingered you through the high.

It took a minute for you to catch your breath, legs spasming from the shocks of the orgasm. You hissed at the over stimulation, Steve pressing into your clit one last time before removing himself from you.

You felt shy suddenly, the haze from the orgasm clearing as you realized you had just done unimaginable things with your boss. Seeming to read your mind, Steve pressed small kisses around the perimeter of your face.

"It's alright," he said, hovering over you. Against your thigh, you could feel his bulge rub against you. "How are you feeling, good?"

You nodded, words at a loss in your throat. You reached up to place a hand on his neck, the other at his waist as you played with the hem of his shirt. His eyes fluttered close briefly before glancing down at where you were slightly tugging his shirt up.

He made eye contact with you, chewing on his bottom lip. "I need words, angel. Gotta make sure everything is 100% okay, okay?"

"I'm alright, Steve," you gasped, looking down where your own hand rubbed at the exposed part of his abdomen. You needed more, wanted to feel him all over you. You began to pull his shirt over his body, watching as he glanced down at you with hooded eyes. "Just need more of you."

He slowly nodded, sitting back on his knees as he unbuttoned his own pants and slid them down his legs. You giggled at him as he struggled to get them off, the smoothness he had previously disappearing as he nearly toppled off the couch.

You pulled your own shirt and bra off of you, dropping them on the floor next to the couch. "Nice own, old man," you laughed, returning to your spot against the couch.

He frowned at you, lip jutting out in an over exaggerated pout. "Heeyy, I still got it."

You were left breathless, the laughter disappearing at the tip of your tongue as his figure returned to cover your body. The tip of his cock nudged at your entrance, the wetness pooling at the head leaving you gasping.

Steve reached down to rub his cock against the length of your cunt, spreading the slick all over as you arched into him.

"Fuuckk, Steve." You hooked your ankle over his hip, warmness pooling in your belly at the thought of him being inside you. His eyes raked over you, lingering on your nipples as they shook with each moan you gave.

"You sure about this, Yn?" He asked, leaning down to dart his tongue over the skin of your breast. It sent shivers down your spine, another wave of heat rushing to your core. "I don't want to do anything you'll regret."

"'M not gonna regret this," you gasped, feeling the way the head of his cock slightly pushed at you. It burned, fuck, he was big.

The slight intrusion had you gripping at his back, leaving crescent moon marks in the skin. Your breath came out ragged, a whine scratching at the back of your throat.

Steve grunted at you, pushing in slowly as he buried his head into your shoulder. He stopped every few inches, hips stuttering slightly as he fought back to urge to fuck back into you full force.

Being an all new feeling, you couldn't help but mewl at every burn of the stretch, a fullness you had never experienced before.

He pressed to the hilt, hips flush against yours as Steve gasped for air in tune with you. He pulled his head back to make eye contact with you, forehead resting against yours. You felt the slight grinding of his hips against yours, the fullness becoming too much as you were stretched over him.

"You gotta bare with me, baby." The nickname had you moaning, fingers reaching down to dig at the plumpness of his ass. You could barely keep your eyes open, senses overwhelmed with Steve. "'S been a while for me."

Nodding, you gasped as he reared his hips back before they stuttered into you again. The movement sent a wave of slick between your thighs again, pleasure blinding you.

He found his rhythm, hips fucking into you slowly, languidly as you fell apart beneath him. You rocked with every movement of his hips, hands running over the tan skin of his body above you.

Finding his lips, you moaned against his mouth, savoring the feeling that was building up in your abdomen as the two of you moved in sync.

Steve gave you words of affirmation, hips drilling into you over and over as his cock brushed over your deep bundle of nerves. Bliss approached you once more, wetness dripping all over him as you were brought to that high again.

"Gonna cum, Steve," you whispered against his mouth, back arching into him. He reached down between you, fingers toying at your clit as they began to rub in small circles.

"Cum for me baby," he breathed, voice low as your eyes rolled back. His voice brought you over the edge, high shout escaping your lips as that pleasure took over you again.

As he fucked your through your orgasm, his own approached, hips losing their rhythm as you felt his release deep inside you. A low groan of his came out, a breathy fuck being the last thing you remember before you closed your eyes.

Your body felt light, head foggy as you came down from your orgasm. It was pure bliss what you felt, heart pounding in your chest as sleep took over you.

You shot out of bed, frantically searching for your phone as you realized the sun was creeping through the curtains. Crisp, white sheets were pooled around you, swallowing you up whole.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you muttered, trying to search for your device in the darkness of the room. The dark curtains were drawn, only allowing a sliver of light in, but enough for you to realize how late in the morning it was.

As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, anxiety crept over you, realizing you weren't in your room. A tossing figure lay next to you, his body half covered as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. In that moment, everything from last night came crashing back, embarrassment flooding your cheeks.

"Hey, Yn, what's wrong?" Steve's voice was groggy, as he blinked in the darkness of the room. He glanced towards the curtains and then to you, noticing the way you covered your frame with the corner of the sheet.

"What time is it?" You half shouted, looking on the bedside table for your phone. Steve was no help, slowly stretching out his limbs as he yawned.

"Too fucking early for you to be that loud," he muttered, sitting up on his elbows. The sheet pooled around his waist, exposing his bare abdomen and a deep V that cut below his waist.

You quickly looked away, blush deepening on your face. "We have to go, Ste-Mr. Harrington. We're gonna be in so much trouble."

You heard him chuckle at you, sighing as he relaxed once again in the bed. His arms circled your waist, pulling you down into him as you continued to panic. He lay behind you, your head resting on his chest as he buried his face into your shoulder.

"Shhh," he whispered, tightening his grip on your waist. "Called in today, came down with something apparently."

You shook your head, resting your hands on his where they rested on your stomach. "Can you even do that?"

"What are they gonna do? Fire me?" He laughed, pressing a light kiss to your shoulder. The anxiety that built up in your spine disappeared at his touch, the familiarity of his body replacing it. You turned in his arms, now chest to chest with the man.

His eyes were closed, sleepiness still evident over his features.

"Are you going to fire me?" You whispered at him, watching as his brow furrowed before he squinted open his eyes at you.

"What? No, what are you talking about?" He seemed genuinely confused at your question, hand rubbing at your waist. Relief took stake in your chest.

"I slept with my boss last night," you laughed at yourself, voice dropping even lower as you saw a smirk cross his face. He was smug, shaking his head with laughter as you playfully slapped at his chest.

"Pretty sure I'm the one with a lawsuit pending if anything," he said, laughter dying as you placed a small peck to his lips.

As you pulled away, he leaned into it further, tongue darting out to lick at yours. A wave of arousal pooled in the pit of your stomach.

He towered over you, mouth nipping at you as you sighed into the kiss. The two of you moved in sync, you moving onto your back as Steve leaned over your figure. A breathy moan escaped your lips, only to be cut off by his phone ringing.

"For fuck's sake," he grumbled, separating himself from you as he reached for it on his side of the bed. He answered it quickly, realizing it was his publicist as he placed it on speaker. "What d'you need, man?"

His lips returned to yours briefly, before kissing down your neck. The sheets were slowly pulled off of you as he made his way down, nipping at your chest, then your nipple, and soft kisses pressed to your stomach.

Your mouth fell open in a silent moan, trying to stay as quiet as possible as his publicist droned on about some appearance he had to make in the next week. Steve was staring up at you, making small confirmation 'mhm's' in response to the phone call. A coy smile was on the corners of your mouth as you looked down at him wide eyed.

'Stop' you mouthed through gritted teeth. He nipped at your hip bone in protest, shaking his head at you.

You couldn't tell if it was Steve's mouth pressing to your heat or the next word's of his publicist that made your stomach drop.

"While we're at it, Steve, how about we talk how Page Six has pictures of you with a mysterious somebody in your apartment building?" They grumbled, voice staticy as it came through the phone. You felt Steve smirk against you, tongue lapping between your legs. "Aren't we a little too old to bring people back to your own place like that?"

A moan escaped you as you gripped at his hair. Steve looked up at you, wide eyed as he reached up to slap a hand across your mouth. 'Shhh', he mouthed, his own laugh threatening to spill out as his publicist's voice faltered at the noise.

"St-steve?" It said, apprehension in the tone. "Are you doing what I think you're doing? Really, man?"

Steve laughed as his hand remained over your mouth, muffling the sounds of your own laughter. They would recognize it if they heard it. He grabbed the phone from where it lay abandon, speaking into it as his thumb hovered the 'end call'.

"Something came up, gotta take care of it," he grimaced at you as you licked his hand. "Bye!"

He hung up right as the voice protested, tossing his phone aside as he leaned over you once again. His long hair hung in his face, eyes raking over your naked body.

"Now... where were we?"

an: I had to sneak in a line from All of Us Strangers because that movie was so moving. If you know, you know. I promise one of these days, I won't make Steve an asshole right off the bat, he'll be lovable.

masterlist. inbox and requests are open!

[rebelfell]

✦ Stranger Things Masterlist ✦

My works feature a female reader with limited physical descriptors. Just by virtue of being written by me, they will likely be shy/inexperienced ‘cos I write what I know, y’know? There are individual warnings on each. If you do come across something you think needs a warning, please let me know (gently, I am but a fragile soufflé ready to sink)

🌶️ is marked with a*

Everything is 18+ MDNI for your sake and mine

The Third Date┃Part One┃Part Two~

eddie munson x anorgasmic!reader - 14k

Surrender┃Part One ┃Part Two*┃Part Three*

eddie munson x bi!reader x lesbian!chrissy cunningham - 18k

Bells Will Be Ringing┃Part One*┃Part Two*

crush!steve harrington x fem!reader x fwb!eddie munson - 8k

Hold Your Peace in Pieces┃TBD

engaged!rockstar!eddie munson x reader -

this summer is the apocalypse, pt II, pt III*, pt IV*, eddie’s interlude, part V, epilogue~, epilogue II~

Thinking thoughts on eddie and an older!Harrington!reader (aka: stevie’s aunt has got it goin’ on)

for your viewing pleasure~

a series of drips and drabbles featuring pornstar!eddie

under the influence

an edible loosens your lips in front of your frenemy, eddie

game night* (surrender universe)

chrissy and eddie get extra competitive, you benefit

made for lovin’ you*

softdom!eddie makes a bad tinder date a whole lot better

special delivery*

someone unexpected shows up to deliver your pizza

in the middle of the night*

boyfriend!steve helps to soothe what ails us🩸

buzzcut season, rockstar!eddie free write

dmm, i’m just embracing my shaved-head era

haven’t had any complaints yet*

the trials and tribulations of giving van head over forty

cold dry stone*

revenge f!cking with gator 🐊

that Vanity Fair party was a lot*

actor!steve x assistant!reader x rockstar!eddie

are you even listening to me?, cont’d~, preq

bestfriend!eddie gets distracted by your…assets.

I didn’t know you were into that…

you’ve been watching too many ghostface tiktoks 🔪

working on my fitness, pt II

a gym meet cute w/ modern!eddie (neighbors AU)

modern!wealthy!Steve? How’d you get in here?

steve spoils his girl in the midst of a hangover

wait, are you a…have you never?*

bigdick!steve x virgin!reader

felt in need of some affection…

sweet!soft!eddie vignette

possessive.┃eddie shows you who you belong to

multiples.┃eddie wants you to arrive properly

urgent.┃eddie can do better than he can

hesitant.┃eddie and you try something new

so wrong, it’s right┃so right, it’s wrong 🎃

eddie munson x his best friend’s (ex?) girl

you’ve never seen gremlins? 🎃

it’s scary movie night at eddie’s house

you’re a what? (WCIL-verse) 🎃

modern!eddie bumps into you at a halloween party

how much of that can is left? 🦃

you + eddie + whipped topping

today is a no bones day 🦃

you and eddie in recovery mode

#index landing pages for long form/multi-part blurbs & fics

#free write bursts of writing based on images/other posts

#my moods fic/character moodboards, (aka I spent too much time spent daydreaming on pinterest again)

#thrift shop eddie short blurbs about all the odd and random gifts I would terrorize shower Eddie with if given the chance

© 2024 rebelfell All Rights Reserved. Any written work on this blog is my own and I do not consent for it to be copied, altered or re-posted in any form or to be fed into AI software.

[crljhnn]

Maybe It's Enough

Pairing: Robin Buckley x fem!Reader

Summary: Robin thinks you don't like her back, so she encourages Steve to take you out on a date. You think Robin doesn't like you back, so you agree to let Steve take you out on a date.

No use of y/n; lesbian reader

Word count: 4.8k

Warnings: slight hints of / implied homophobia

[also posted on AO3]

The first time you actively realized that you were different was when you were 12.

You were lying on your bedroom floor, surrounded by your friends, looking through a magazine targeted towards young teenage girls.

You vividly remember your friends going on and on, gushing about the male actors and musicians featured in the newest edition, who were striking suggestive poses while smirking directly at the camera. You, on the other hand, only felt weak in the knees if the article displayed their girlfriends or female co-stars as well.

You grew up pretty sheltered, so it wasn't until a few nights later that you found out that women who were attracted to other women existed.

You were sneaking down the stairs to get yourself a bottle of water when you overheard your mother gossiping on the phone about a church friend's daughter, who was spending an awful amount of time with that new girl, Susan. Apparently, there have been rumors that she has been bringing shame upon her family and disgracing the church for quite a while.

Hearing the disgust in your mother's voice awoke a discomfort within you about your own emotions. You found yourself going back and forth between entertaining your suspicions and reassuring yourself that you simply hadn't met the right guy yet (that's at least what your older sister told you when you confided in her).

This maybe, maybe not spiel ended when you met Robin in your shared math class during your freshman year. She was somewhat angsty and awkward, and you were instantly in love. You didn't manage to muster up the courage to speak to her during that school year, though.

In your sophomore year, you were almost sure that Robin was gay. You caught her looking dreamingly at a little too many female classmates, a little too often. Also, from what you heard, she never had a boyfriend or openly expressed interest in any of the boys.

At the end of junior year, you were almost certain that Robin was into you. The staring was now reserved solely for you, and she constantly sat close, but never directly next to you. She also always started that cute nervous ramble when you tried to talk to her, and then always found a way to prematurely end the conversation.

"Sorry, I think I left my water bottle in the cafeteria. Bye!"

When you found out that Robin started working at Scoobs, you were tempted to go and visit her; this way, she was forced to talk to you. You nearly chickened out in the parking lot and had to hype yourself up for nearly half an hour just to be met with Steve "the Hair" Harrington when you got up to the counter.

You took that as a sign not to show up at Scoops again. Plus, now that you thought about it, what were you even supposed to talk about? The ice cream flavor?

That's why you were thankful when she started at the local video store. Movies were definitely something you could talk about for hours.

It wasn't as easy as you thought, though. Every time you came by, she was either busy organizing a section on the complete opposite end of the store or she was in the back. When you tried talking to her, she would always redirect you to Steve.

"I'm kind of busy right now, but I'm sure Steve can help you with whatever movie you are looking for. He is right over there."

Always rushed and always without looking at you.

Maybe you were wrong. Maybe Robin actually despised you, and you completely misinterpreted her behavior. She probably thought you were some kind of stalker, keen on disrupting her at work.

---

"I swear she likes you, dingus! She is here all the time." Robin has been trying to convince Steve that you were head over heels in love with him for the last 10 minutes.

He was exasperated, standing in his typical mom stance with one hand on his hip. "She does not! Family Video is like the only video store anywhere close; that's why she comes here a lot."

"Well, she came to Scoops as well, when we were still working there!"

Steve probably doesn't even remember you showing up at their old job, but Robin does. She remembers how pretty you looked, how your outfit complimented your figure, and how your hair perfectly framed your face. She remembers it being a lot more nerve-racking than seeing you in school. This was a new environment, a whole new situation. She couldn't look at you from a desk behind you, hiding behind a book, if you decided to glance in her direction.

Before she was able to properly think about it, she had already headed to the back, the door slamming shut behind her.

"Wow, now I can't deny it anymore! It's not like half of Hawkins has been there at least once, and by your logic, she could be into you as well."

Robin wishes, with every cell in her body, that even the slightest glimmer of truth could lie in this statement. But it's not true. It couldn't be. And she has to remind herself of that. That way, it won't hurt as much when you end up with Steve or some other boy.

"Then why does she only ever talk to you, huh?"

"Because you run to the back as soon as she gets anywhere close to you!"

"And I'm doing both of you a favor. She comes here to talk to you and then gets too nervous to actually pull through with it. That's why she comes up to me."

"I think you are overthinking it."

And Robin definitely is, but at this point, she had already talked herself way too far into it.

"Trust me. I'm a girl. I should know stuff like that better than you."

"Yeah, 'cause you know so well what it's like to crush on a guy?"

"No, but I know what it's like to be a girl with a crush. Just ask her out."

Please don't.

"You sure?"

No

"Yes."

So that's exactly what Steve did.

---

The next time you visit the store, he makes sure to put on his especially charming smile, being right by your side as soon as you enter. He goes the full nine yards. Compliments your eyes, your outfit, carries the movies you picked out to the counter. After he finishes the process of checking them out, he is ready to make his final move. With whatever he has left of the famous Harrington charm, he asks you if you'd like to go out with him this weekend.

"Oh, I don't know. I'm really busy, you know, with school and everything. Sorry."

Rejection.

Steve only takes a second to recover. Even though Robin was sure of your attraction to him, he was still kind of expecting this. Regardless, Steve feels the urge to explain himself.

"No, it's totally fine. Really! I honestly wouldn't even have assumed that you were into me, but Robin was really insistent, so I thought I'd try my luck. No hard feelings."

"Robin told you to ask me out?"

"Yeah, why?"

That was the final nail in the coffin. Of course, she didn't like you. Why else would she try to set you up with her best friend? All the "signs" you saw were probably spun up by your imagination, caused by wishful thinking. Your own feelings must have clouded your judgment. You're embarrassed and sad. Maybe it is stupid and naive to expect to find a girl in a small town like Hawkins who is not only your type and assumably gay but also likes you back.

Maybe you should go on a date with Steve.

He really seemed like a changed man. He was unarguably attractive, even you could admit that. He was kind and, most importantly, interested in you. Maybe that's enough.

Maybe you were also a tiny bit driven by selfishness. Maybe you wanted to make yourself feel a bit better about receiving the confirmation that the girl you had been pining for for years simply wasn't into you.

For a moment, you felt bad for Steve. It would be unfair to lead him on like that, but let's be honest. From what you heard, that guy goes on three dates a week. How likely is it that he would go into this date with the expectation of finding his one true love?

"Oh, no, that's not what I meant. I would actually really like to go out with you. I really am busy, you know, with all the exams coming up."

Lies, there was nothing to study for the next two weeks. The only plan you currently had for this weekend was to cry over Robin.

"But I am free the weekend after, if that works for you?" You played that off nicely, right?

It seemed like you did because Steve's face lit up.

„Great, if you give me your number, I could just call you to talk about the specifics.“

„Yeah sure.“

While you focus on writing down your number on the piece of paper Steve slips you, he turns around to give Robin a thumbs up. Even though she tried to look just as happy as he did, anyone paying even a little attention could have seen that she was not okay. Her face scrunched up in a painful smile. Fortunately for her, Steve was way too distracted by the euphoric feeling of scoring a date to recognize his best friend's torment.

---

"You know, I was skeptical at first because I never felt that romantic vibe with her. She never seemed interested in me in that way. But now I'm so happy I asked her out. Like, she's so effortlessly beautiful and funny, and she is also really smart, you know?"

Yeah, Robin knows. She knew all this about you better than anyone else. Steve didn't even know yet how beautiful, funny, and smart you really are. But Robin had no doubt he was going to find out soon.

And she was going to die.

Okay, maybe that's a bit dramatic, but it will definitely feel like it.

"I could even imagine her being, like, the one, you know. I think what I've been doing wrong is going on dates with women I don't even know or with women who only know me from my "King Steve" days. They all have these weird expectations about how I'm supposed to act. But I got to know her over the last few months. And I know I'm actually able to hold a conversation with her, one that's not about high school."

Robin feels like she is going to throw up. Steve acted like he always did when he was interested in a girl: idealizing her and already imagining their house with a white-picked fence and their six little nuggets. She knew she would get over it eventually, even if you actually ended up together, but your first real crush will always hold a special place, especially your first lesbian crush. And Steve just couldn't shut up.

"Do you have an idea where I could take her? We were talking on the phone last night, and she told me to just come up with something. I really don't want to mess this up right at the beginning by picking the wrong thing."

Robin never wished to be an attractive teenage boy as much as she did at that moment. She wanted late-night phone calls with you, and she wanted the trouble of not knowing where to take you on a date.

She had also thought about going on a date with you for years, so yes, she definitely had an idea.

For a second, she considered not telling Steve to be selfish and not letting him live out the fantasy that had been keeping her company for the last two years. This urge, however, was overpowered by her need to make you happy. That's what she wanted most—for you to be happy and have a good time. So she told Steve all about your favorite music genre and to watch out for any small bands giving concerts somewhat close.

---

Meanwhile, you were still grieving this whole Robin disaster. How the hell did your regular visits to the video store, intending to talk to Robin, score you a date with her best friend?

Yet, you found yourself genuinely looking forward to your plans with Steve. His idea of driving a few towns over where a small band you never heard of, though the flyer suggested that the music would fit your taste to a T, was giving one of their first concerts, which was actually the most fun date you could imagine.

Even if you didn't like him romantically, you would still have a good time. And you thought it was admirable that he would plan something that fits your taste so well. Now that you think about it, you don't remember ever discussing your music taste or your fable for small underground bands with him. You don't know how he knew; perhaps you mentioned it casually, or maybe it was just a lucky guess.

---

Steve turns up at 5 p.m. sharp. He is standing in front of your door, with a bouquet of flowers, in an outfit you know he will stand out in at the rather shady bar the band is playing at.

The one-hour-long drive ends up being surprisingly entertaining, and for the first time in your life, you kind of wish to be straight. You often wished to not be gay, to "be normal," or to fit in, but never before did you specifically wish to be into men. But right now, you do. Because Steve is kind and charming and attentive and funny while also being insanely attractive, and you just wish you could fall for him. Because you know that would be the easiest thing to do if you were into men.

But you are not.

And now you are driving back home, and you are sitting next to Steve in his car while he rants about how positively surprised he was by the band and how they are definitely one of his favorites now, and you just feel bad. He clearly had a good time, and he hinted at his interest in you and a second date multiple times over the evening. You just know that you have to come clean.

After your sister's reaction, you never considered coming out to anyone in Hawkins again, well, except Robin, but definitely not to "King Steve." You honestly don't even know why, but somehow you really want to tell him. Perhaps you're driven by guilt; after all, you had a great time, and the thought of rejecting him with a shitty excuse feels wrong. Moreover, continuing to lead him on would be worse.

Steve turned out to be a decent guy, right? You dearly hope that you are not making a horrible, irreversible mistake by coming out to him.

"I really had a good time tonight."

"Yeah? Me too. I was thinking we could repeat this, whe-"

His enthusiasm about going out with you again made you feel sick.

"Steve"

His face falls when he detects your tone, realizing you are about to reject him.

"Oh."

"Look, I really had a great time, and you are a great guy, but I'm actually not into boys. I'm sorry."

That's it. You put your cards on the table, full vulnerability. There is no way to misunderstand what you just said.

Or so you thought.

"I understand. You want a man, someone who will be able to take care of you. Not some boy who didn't even get into college. I know my future isn't looking the best right now. I'm probably gonna be stuck working in a video store for minimum wage till I retire. But-"

"No, Steve, what? What I was trying to say was that I'm a lesbian. I like girls. I'm sorry for leading you on."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh."

"But why did you agree to go on a date with me then?"

Did you really want to tell him the whole truth? If you told him about your crush, you have no doubt that it would reach the girl of your affection herself, and you really didn't need that. However, being so open about something you hardly ever told anyone, and him not reacting outright badly, kind of made you want to tell him about your feelings for his coworker as well. You already told him your biggest secret; what's one more?

"When you said that Robin told you to ask me out... man, this is so embarrassing to say out loud. I just kind of like her, like really like her, and her encouraging you to date me kind of made it clear that she does not feel the same. And I just thought, I don't know, the rejection kind of stung, and feeling wanted, especially by someone like you, felt kind of nice. I didn't think it would go as well as it did, considering your dating history. Sorry, was that mean? You know what I'm trying to say. But you are great, and now I feel shitty, not just for being indirectly rejected but also for using you as a distraction and ego push. I'm sorry."

You're too scared to look at Steve. Completely focused on looking anywhere but him while your brain keeps listing reasons why you are a horrible person.

At the same time, Steve's thoughts are running a thousand miles per hour. He's disappointed, sure. He likes you and, until a second ago, really hoped to build a relationship with you. Now, however, more present was the goal of setting you up with Robin. This was perfect. All her rants about never finding another gay person in Hawkins he had to listen to, and now he not only found someone who was gay, he found someone who already liked his best friend. Or you found him.

Now the question emerged: What's the best way to go about this? His first instinct was to tell you to just ask Robin out, but by doing that, he was basically outing her, so maybe not the best idea. Additionally, he didn't even know if Robin liked you back. That's it. Before he does anything, he should try to find out if your feelings are reciprocated. Or if Robin is at least interested in getting to know you romantically.

With this plan in mind, he first assures you that he has absolutely no problem with gay people, even if he is a bit clumsy at finding the right words to express it, and then drops you off at home. He is about to have a long night, planning to figure out the best way to unsuspiciously find out if Robin likes you back and how to hype you up in case she isn't sure yet.

---

The next day, he shows up at Family Video, ready to put his plan into action. Robin, however, is dreading to come in today. She doesn't know how she will last a whole day with Steve telling her how perfect the two of you are for each other and how well your date went. She just knows you two had a great time. If she hadn't been certain already, she would have reached the conclusion at the very latest when Steve basically came skipping into work, smiling with giddy excitement.

For the first three hours, Robin is surprisingly successful at dodging Steve's attempts at conversation. However, her luck runs out when he decides that both of them will have an early lunch break since it is a pretty slow day and there is really nothing to do. She can hardly say no to that, at least not without awaking suspicions. So after Steve does a quick food run and picks up some baked goods from a nearby bakery, the two sit down next to each other, each with a fresh pastry in front of them. That's when Steve sees his chance at being your hypeman.

"... and you know, I feel that's something not a lot of people do, like it's rare you find someone like that. And she is also just a great listener, like she does not only listen; she actually hears what you say. You know what I mean?"

This is hell. No, Robin bets hell is a whole lot nicer than this. It has to be. Nothing could be as awful as your best friend going on a ten-minute monologue about how perfect your crush is and what a great time they had on their date.

"So what do you think? You've known her for a while; do you think she's cool?"

"Yeah, she is. I'm glad your date went so well, and I think it's great you found someone. I'm really happy for you. So when are you going out again?"

Wait.

That is not what Steve was trying to achieve. Stop! Abort mission!

"Oh, we are not going out again."

Robin nearly chokes on her croissant. Eyes wide, coughing, she nearly spits out what she didn't manage to force down her throat.

"What do you mean you won't go out again? You literally just went on a ten-minute rant about how great she is!"

"Yeah, she is. But she's not interested in me. She already likes someone else."

Robin doesn't understand how her best friend can be so nonchalant about this. He seems absolutely unfazed, talking to her as if the reality that the most perfect girl does not like him back is the most basic fact, that he has absolutely no negative feelings about. Did he recently become extremely good at acting? There is no way he was able to hide his feelings so well.

"Steve, I am so sorr-"

"No, it's fine. Really, I'm okay. I actually wouldn't be affected at all if she started seeing this person. Like, I'd be really happy for both of them. No negative feelings on my part at all."

Okay, now he was acting weird. And why would you say yes to the date in the first place, if you already had your eyes on someone else? So she asks him about it.

"She believes her crush doesn't like her back, so she thought there was no harm in going on a date with me. But she is definitely not interested in me in the slightest!"

"Well, that's bullshit. Who wouldn't like her? I mean, she is everything! She is smart, pretty, compassionate, and talented. She is the full package. There is no way anyone would say no to her. I thin-"

Steve stops comprehending what she says after that, too occupied with his own thoughts. How could he have been so oblivious? The hiding in the back? The constant redirection to him? Her inability to speak to you? She wasn't giving you the opportunity to talk to him; she was too nervous to talk to you herself. Robin had a big fat crush on you, and it was so obvious now that he was paying attention.

Steve's ecstatic. Now all that was left to do was set you two up.

---

This was easier said than done. For a few days, he tried and tried to come up with a way to get you two together without telling either one about the other's feelings. However, this was nearly impossible with how much you two insisted on avoiding each other, each dealing with their own heartbreak, still believing their feelings weren't reciprocated.

At some point, the frustration became too overwhelming, and he reached the conclusion that he was going to have to out at least one of you to the other. His first thought is to just put you two in a room, drop the bomb, and then leave you to it. Steve decides against this, fearing you would both be too awkward to move forward from this.

He contemplates who could handle the situation better and decides that telling you is probably the right choice. Happy with the prospect of finally freeing himself of this burden, he gives you a quick call, informing you of his need for a conversation, and then makes his way over.

---

"Why did you have to tell me? Why couldn't you tell Robin? Now I have to make the move, and I'm probably gonna embarrass myself soo bad!"

After getting over the shock that Robin reciprocated your feelings (at least to Steve's suspicions), you relatively quickly became frantic, mad that he put you in a position where you had to be the one to act. Why couldn't he tell her? After all, is she his best friend? And he knows that you like her, for sure. Even though he swears to be sure about Robin's feelings as well, he never actually heard her admit it out loud.

"Don't get your panties in a twist. I have the perfect, foolproof plan."

"Ew, don't say that word."

"What? Plan?"

"Shut up. So what's your great plan?"

The relationship between you and Harrington has gotten a lot more casual and familiar since your "date." You never expected it, but you are really glad to call him a close friend now.

"Okay, listen up. You're going to come to Family Video tomorrow, bring some takeout, or better prepare some food yourself, and tell Robin you and I made plans to have lunch together."

"Wait, I thought you had the day off tomorrow?"

"I have. So you are going to be all disappointed, having prepared all that food for nothing. So you will offer to share with her instead. It's the only logical thing. You wouldn't want to waste the food."

"That's the worst plan I've ever heard. That's so lame, Steven!"

"Don't call me Steven. And it's brilliant! You will get a nice romantic date without making it look like you're doing too much."

You're still not convinced, but you don't have a better idea, so you agree.

---

"Hi, Robin!"

"Oh, hi, hello, what's up?" What the fuck? Get yourself together. "What are you doing here?" Robin has been paranoid since Steve voiced his suspicion about her feelings for you. If completely oblivious Steve could see it, could you too?

"Is Steve here? We have plans for lunch." You demonstratively hold up the two lunch boxes you brought.

You spent hours yesterday racking your brain about what to prepare. What would Robin enjoy the most? What can you cook without messing it up, especially if you're this nervous? All while you also considered what you could eat without embarrassing yourself. You don't want to sit there and have half the contents of your burger fall all over your hands. Or get food stuck between your teeth without noticing. And what could you transport over without ruining it in the process? Would the food stay warm for long enough? Or should you pick a meal that is served at room temperature? In the end, you called Steve and cooked the first thing he suggested, following his advice not to overthink it.

"Steve is not scheduled for today."

"Oh."

"That's so typical, this dingus. I'll call him; give me a minute."

"It's fine. Would you maybe like to share? My lunch break will be over till he gets here. I mean, I already cooked and brought the food. If you don't have any other plans, we could share it. Unless you don't want to. That would be fine as well. I don't-"

"I want to."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Alright, nice. Let me just set up."

"Oh, of course, I'll show you the break room. Follow me."

The awkwardness dies quickly. Talking to Robin with the knowledge that she likes you back makes you a lot more relaxed around her. There aren't any weird periods of silence, and you feel a warmth and connection you never felt before.

With that, you finally work up the courage to ask her out. After years of pining, you are really about to do it.

"I wanted to ask you something, and it is totally okay if you say no. I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable. If you don't want to, we can just forget that I ever asked, so-"

"Just spit it out. Rambling is my thing, and you are not allowed to steal that." Robin tries to lighten the mood and take away from your clear nervousness.

"Would you like to go out with me sometime? Like, on a date."

"But Steve said- WAIT! I am the one you like?"

"Yeah."

"Damn."

"So?"

"I would really like to go out with you."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

[astermath]

the duet: landing page.

summary: you’re america's latest breakthrough actress, stunning the nation in a beautiful period piece that propels you onto everyone's radar. including the one of hollywood's top notch starboy, steve harrington. first he shows up at your premiere, suddenly you're casted together in your biggest movie yet, and before you know it, you feel like you're cracking through that douchebag shell of his. but there's a reason for his reputation, which you soon come to realize. duets have never been easy, but in a sense, that's what make them so beautiful.

♡ part one: the premiere.

♡ part two: the collaboration.

♡ part three: the clash.

♡ part four: curtain call.

contains: strangers to enemies to lovers, actor!steve and actress!reader, rockstar!eddie cameo, journalist!nancy cameo, plenty of tension, plenty of arguing, and plenty of pining.

what? me, aster, writing a series? crazy, i know, but i got so excited by this idea that i couldn't help myself. i'm currently having a real good time writing this, really taking my time writing out the environment, background, all that good stuff. hope you guys are as excited as i am ♡

p.s.: part one is currently in the making!

[rosewaterandivy]

got lovesick all over my bed

Summary: it might be worth it for once.

Warnings: facetime shenanigans, rockstar!gf had one too many glasses of merlot, my usual brand of filth™️

a/n: be a slut, do whatever you want!

🎶 everyone wants him, that was my crime, the wrong place at the right time 🎶

It was stupid.

Borne of desperation and one too many glasses of red wine, and it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Steve was off filming for the next few weeks and you were back in an empty house in Laurel Canyon. You tried, unsuccessfully, to not be a bitter Betty about it all; oh, woe is me! My incredibly talented boyfriend has to go back to work.

Were you even his girlfriend? 

Jesus Christ.

It’s been what, less than two weeks and you’re already spiralling. 

Shuffling from the couch you pocket your phone and try to ignore the desire to double-text.

Hey

Could you be any more pathetic? Hadn’t even “defined the relationship,” whatever that meant, and already slipping. You know he’s busy, on-set, and suffering through night shoots in the desert somewhere.

Leaning against the island of your kitchen, you uncork some wine and pour it into a glass. Watching as the crimson liquid sloshes against the curved glass, you idly wonder if you should seal the deal and live your best Olivia Pope fantasy by having popcorn for dinner.

Before you could think better of it, you felt the subtle vibration of your phone in your pocket,

S.H.: Hey yourself

wow, so clever

wow, so bratty

You bit your lip and took a sip of wine in an attempt to quell the low swoop of your stomach.

The texts were intermittent for the next hour or so before he was called back to set. It was a nice distraction from the utter lack of plans you had for the evening. Your producer had sent over the final mix of your new album that you needed to proof and sign off on, so that was the plan while Steve was off filming for the next few hours.

He’d asked if he could call you later, once filming wrapped for the evening and you’d agreed not realizing that it would be nearing  2 a.m. and you’d be half a bottle in. 

Settled back in your bedroom freshly showered and laptop atop the duvet cover, you’re only briefly startled when the FaceTime ring trills out.

“Shit!” 

You quickly pause the song you were listening through and hope you look halfway decent before answering Steve’s call. Mussing your hair, you minimize the image of yourself and enlarge the one of him.

“Hey sweetheart.”

Steve smiles slow and sweet, huffing a laugh at your poor attempts at primping.

“Stop messing with your hair, you look great.”

“Uh huh,” you brush off with a smirk, “Watch me make red wine drunk the next trendy TikTok look.”

He looks to be back at the Palm Springs house, settled against the headboard of the bed that you swore was going to fall off the wall from the sheer amount of times he’d fucked you into the mattress the last time you visited. 

Your skin warms at the thought.

“Can’t wait.” He smiles and takes a screenshot as you flip him off, he’s always doing shit like that— his iPhone or one of his many film cameras or, your least favorite, FaceTime. Says he has to have up-to-date photos of you for the Missing Person posters he'll make once the coyotes finally get you out in the Canyon.

What a dork.

“How was your day?”

“Oh fine,” you say with a sigh. “Did a whole bunch of nothing, showered, I was proofing the final tracks for the album and then you called.”

“Oh,” he pulls a face, grimacing because he thinks he’s disrupted you at work, “I can fuck off if you—”

“Harrington, if you finish that sentence I swear to god—”

“Fine, fine,” he relents with a chuckle and runs a hand through his hair, knocking the glasses off of his head. “So that’s where these went.”

You roll your eyes, this man, honestly.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, just tired is all.” He heaves a sigh. “These night shoots are the fucking worst.”

You hum, “I can imagine. The cold desert at night?” You blow a raspberry, “And you’re worried about coyotes carrying me off?”

“I have a vested interest in your safety, y’know.”

“Oh, I’m well aware.” You tease, taking another sip of wine. “I got thick thighs and a fat ass, and the only person I want to eat me is you.”

“Aww, I’m touched.” Steve laughs, hand to his heart. “Look at you, gettin’ all sappy and borderline cannibalistic over FaceTime.”

“I know,” you demure and bat your lashes. “I’m so emotionally mature.” Setting the glass on the nightstand, you lean forward inadvertently giving him a generous view of your tits.

“Anyway,” you sit back against the pillows of your bed. “What’re you wearing, honey?”

It’s like his brain glitches for a moment or two, and he needs to reboot. 

“Uh,” he glances down with a furrowed brow. “Boxer briefs.”

“Thrilling.”

Could it be that Steve’s never done something like this before? It hadn’t been exactly discussed between you, but he was looking so delectable and you missed him so much.

Fuck it.

“What about you?”

A slow smile splits your face, a waggle of your brows. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Instead of a verbal reply, you pan the camera down to display your latest lingerie acquisition— pale pink and adorned with tasteful floral embroidery, because Steve is a sucker like that. You can hear him swallow and his shallow breaths from the speakers.

“D’ya like it?”

“Fuck.”

There was a rustling sound as he settled more comfortably on the bed. The room lights were dimmed casting shadows across his bronzed skin, an errant lock of hair falling in his face. His voice was so low when it came through the speakers that it sent heat straight to the pit on your stomach, “Wish you were here.”

“Me too baby,” you purr and set the macbook further down on your bed. “Tell you what,” you say taking a final sip of wine, “Why don’t you go ahead and record this for those lonely desert nights, hmm?”

His eyes nearly fall out of his skull. “Y’sure?”

“Course I am handsome.”

He was leaned over in front of the camera, undoubtedly attempting to prop it up on something and hit record.

“Gonna be good for me?” you rasp when he comes back into view, “Let me take my time with you?”

Steve nods, eyes finding yours as his breaths even out. You watched him hook his thumbs into the band of the boxer briefs and drag them down his toned thighs on screen. His hard length sprung to his stomach once the waistband passed his tip, hard and thick where it lay. You licked your lips.

He took himself slow, his fist tight at his tip as he slid down his length at an excruciating pace. That was how he usually slid into you, savoring that first push as you surround his cock in your warmth.     

Your core fluttered in time with the stroke of his palm, slow and deep passes up and down his length that would no doubt feel like ecstasy inside you.

“Feel good baby?” 

You own hand skates down your torso, lingering here and there before ever so gently brushing against your clit. 

“Thinkin’ about my pretty mouth wrapped around your cock?”

He let out a moan, eyes rolling back at a particularly good stroke. 

Fingers stuttering over your clothed clit, your free hand snakes behind you to unclasp the bra and let it fall down your arms. 

You watched as he fell back fully on the bed, his hand picking up pace as the other reached down to cup his balls. A choked moan came from the screen followed by even more hushed words. 

“Miss you daddy,” you whine. “Want your big cock fucking my mouth n’ gettin’ me all messy.”

Barely able to swallow around your dry mouth, you watched him lift his head and watched his hand stroke his length. Steve’s face was obscene; eyebrows furrowed deeply and mouth hanging open in pleasure.

You were overstimulated if anything, never imagining you would have such a visual of him getting off while you were beyond wet, almost uncomfortably so. Your clit pulsed as you caught on screen Steve moan a choked fuck as he writhed on his borrowed bed. 

Fingers pressing headily against your clit, you rubbed tight circles around the slick bud at the sight on the screen. Couldn’t remember the last time you’d been this wet for long-distance sex, no matter the hour. Dipping your fingers beneath the lace of your underwear, the slick of your slit wetting your fingertips. 

A small whimper left your lips as the contact, wishing that they were Steve’s fingers slipping through your folds instead. 

“Fuck, I’m so wet for you.”

He cursed deeply as he slowed his pace, mostly likely trying to hold out from coming too soon. Everything made it hard for you to articulate what you wanted at that moment.

On screen Steve brought you back, his head tilted back as he pumped his length beautifully. You could see his stomach tensing. You could see the tops of his thighs jumping before they disappeared from the camera’s view where they hung off the edge of the bed. You could see his jaw clench every time his tight fist circled his tip. The sound of him spit slick and stroking himself was so lewd paired with his pants and moans. 

While you were enamored with the screen, the fingers of your free hand brushed your nipples. You couldn’t stop your gasp if you wanted to. Every touch had your cunt clenching and begging for attention.

You could tell he was close, and kept teasing your skin but refrained from dipping a finger into your slit. Your breathing was labored, soft whines elicited from the back of your throat as on screen Steve moaned your name. 

“So pretty daddy, wanna see you come so bad.”

He was breathless at hearing your words, the low rasp of your voice filtering through the speakers. Fuck, does he miss you. 

You sigh again, whimper like a little punctuation, sheets rustling. “Thinkin’ bout your tongue and how wet you make me,” and your voice is so low, so needy, “I wish you were here. Touching me all over.” And the picture in his mind of you, so pretty and open, wild at the mere memory of him—

“Keep going. Think about me riding you, baby. Slow at first, how you like, taking you a little bit at a time. You’re always so hard.”

There it is, egging his own fist on to match the pace of a subtle and steady sluiced-up rhythm, your fingers working over, inside, back out, twisting and turning.

He’s lost in the way his heart pounds all the harder at the sounds you make because it means you’ve let yourself go. How you’d scramble for his fingers next, lacing them through yours, squeezing him there and everywhere.

And oh, how exquisite you look with that sheen of sweat across your chest. Hovering over him like a goddess and fucking him like a wet dream.

“Baby,” red lip pulled pale between his teeth, hands working in tandem—imitation and imagination constructing a well-oiled machine in your absence. “Baby, fuck. Miss you on me—miss you fucking me. God–”

“Yeah? Gonna come?” You’re panting, too, noises high and obscene, the background echo of your hand growing more frantic and unrestrained. “Me too, pretty boy. I want to do everything with you—have all of you. Your hands, your mouth, your cock.”

It’s all too fast. Your words, his words, your hands, his hands. Feels like he’s barely started when his eyes roll back against his lids. He’s spilling out, over his fist, up his clenched abdomen, body pulled tight, panting heavy and hard as he tugs at himself a few more times, breathing and listening, heart rattling against his ribcage when you whimper one last time.

Watching him come was enough to bring you hurtling over the edge, fingers pumping messily in and out of your sopping cunt, imagining yourself there and clenching around him instead. Your eyes flutter close, your release drenching your hand.

Steve aches then. His eyes flutter open. Heat smothered cold and lonesome like the embers of a dying fire. His neck hurts. His heart hurts.

“Babe,” you say and he hears it in you, too—the same ache, the same want. Like at the end of every call you’ve made to him since you’d left Palm Springs.

“When you get back,” you sigh, the telltale mantle of sleep falling over you, “I’m gonna let you know just how much I miss you.”

He’s hot all over, chasing the ghost of your doting kisses, the phantom touch of your skillful hands. “Jesus, sweetheart.”

A cheeky wink followed by a sleepy wave, and then you’re gone.

He closes out of FaceTime and types out a text to Robin.

Need an appointment with Lorraine Schwartz ASAP pls.

And if he peruses the jeweler’s instagram studying engagement rings for the next hour, well, no one needs to know.

[cherrycolored-punk]

WADWSH - Chapter One: The Contest

Masterlist

pairings: 2000s!actor!Steve Harrington x fem!Reader, 2000s!bestfriend!Eddie Munson x fem!reader.

summary: Bad boy Steve Harrington is in trouble and desperate to clean up his image by any means necessary.

author’s note: we’re having fun, amping it up and d r a w i n g it out. we need angst, and pining and indecision (we is me) 🖤 I hope you all enjoy this chapter and this story. Remember, it’s completely re-written so things are different 👀

comments/reblogs and any feedback is always appreciated !

w/c: 6.8k

warnings: mentions of parental death, absent/neglectful parent

“Are you fucking seeing this?” Steve gruffed, pacing the length of his living room as he clenched the phone pressed to his ear.

“Yes, I’m seeing it just like I saw the tabloids of you cruising around West Hollywood holding a bottle of Ciroc,” Tad’s voice was full of frustration, causing Steve’s jaw to clench. His gaze shot back to his plasma TV.

Images of his wild night out were plastered on the screen as Ryan Seacrest narrated a version of his night out.

Hollywood’s most famous bad boy is back at it again! 

“Steve Harrington was spotted making the rounds and leaving Bar Deluxe with two of Victoria’s sweetest angels.”

“Guiliana, what are the chances he will ever settle down?” He asked as he turned to his cohost. 

Rancic cringed and stared into the camera.

“It’s not likely,” she laughed, and Ryan joined her. 

Their laughs grinding every last one of Steve’s nerves. 

He’d had enough and snatched the remote from the coffee table, angrily pressing the power button until the screen went black. 

“What are you going to do about it?” His voice raised an octave, pointing at the TV with the remote as though his manager were there.

“Harrington, I’m already in contact with the best PR firm in the city. Trust that I am taking care of this.”

“You know this will ruin my chances with Hewitz for his latest film.”

“Just don’t plan on any more late nights. The firm is working on a plan, and as soon as I hear what it is, I’ll call you. Don’t go making my job any more difficult.” The older man grumbled on the other end of the line, voice deeper from years of smoking. 

“Take care of it, Jenkins.” Steve flipped his phone shut, tossing it and the remote onto the couch before plopping himself onto the cushion.

He pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose as his mind whirled with thoughts.

Henry Hewitz was the most prominent Hollywood Director to date. Anyone who starred in his movies was guaranteed success, a shoo-in during award season, and Steve wanted the role of the leading man in Hewitz’s current project more than anything. 

Hewitz, however, did not want him.

Steve had a reputation and not one that many directors wanted attached to their films. Offers were already coming in less frequently. The stench of his troubles kept most investors away; try as he might, he couldn’t clean up his image. 

And he did try, stints in rehab or starting new hobbies. None of them stuck, not the way that partying did. 

He was antsy for the remainder of the afternoon, bouncing between activities. Tanning by his pool, lifting weights inside his gym, and even trying to copy a recipe off the Food Network. He quickly realized that “Foolproof Ribs” weren’t foolproof enough for him, and nothing would keep his mind occupied while he waited for Jenkins to call him. 

Harrington leaned against his marble-top kitchen island, reluctantly nibbling on a piece of his creation. 

Why didn’t I just ask Dorota to come and prep something?

He winced at the taste and plucked the nearly burnt rib back onto the plate with a heavy sigh. 

His phone rang beside him, loud and shrill, and he hurriedly grabbed it when he spotted his manager’s name flashing on the screen. 

“Tell me you’ve got something already, Tad,” Steve turned toward his fridge, thirsty for a beer. Voice a little desperate. 

The older man coughed loudly, and Steve pulled the phone away, his face twisting in disgust, before putting it back to his ear.

“I’ve got something, but you’re not going to like it,” Jenkins coughed again and cleared his throat.

“Lay it on me,” Steve rolled his eyes as he used the bottle opener to pull the cap off the glass neck, guzzling down half its contents while he listened to his manager prattle on. 

But it was something the older man said that caused him to choke on the amber liquid and press a finger to his mouth to keep it from spewing all over the kitchen floor.

He gulped loudly.

“You want me to do what?”

“When I agreed to come to the movies with you two, I didn’t mean that I was game to watch your Romeo, Steve Harrington, poorly act his way through another rom-com,” Eddie whined as the three of you walked towards the auditorium.

“Majority rules,” Beth stuck her tongue out at him, her arm linked with yours as the two of you walked a few paces ahead of him.

You giggled along with her.

“Don’t be such a poo,” you called over your shoulder, and he rolled his eyes. 

“Excuse me for not finding the appeal of some Hollywood bozoo.” 

“He’s not a bozoo, Eddie, he’s-” Beth began.

“Dreamy,” you chimed in.

He stopped in his tracks and tilted his chin to the ceiling. 

“God, I know that I ask for a lot, but if you’re ever going to answer my prayers, I ask that you strike me down now.” Eddie’s hands were clasped together in a plea. 

You grabbed a handful of popcorn and threw it back at him with a teasing grin.

“So dramatic.”

“It’s not nice to litter, Sunshine.” He followed after you, picking popcorn from his brown curls and popping it into his mouth. 

The auditorium was nearly full as you entered it, the eager eyes of the crowd already pinned to the screen. The theater itself had not been updated since the eighties; the same dusty drapes lined the walls and smelled slightly of mildew. 

The three of you climbed the stairs and took your seats. Eddie on one side, Beth on the other and you situated right in the middle. Just as it had always been since the three of you were old enough to ride your bikes to the cinema. 

The room fell silent as the lights dimmed and the opening trailers began to play. You and Beth squealed when you saw the trailer for Steve’s latest project, each holding onto the other as you caught glimpses of his profile through the flashing images.

“Oh, brother,” Eddie grumbled and slinked further into his seat, aggressively chewing off a piece of his Twizzler. 

He sat through the movie with his arms crossed, bored and occasionally glancing at you. Watching the range of expressions that crossed your face. He could always read you so easily.

If your eyes glittered when you smiled, you were happy. Truly happy. 

If you smiled with an arched brow, you were feeling mischievous. He saw that look often.

If you found something funny, you snorted, and he knew you found something hysterical when there was complete silence. The only evidence that you were amused was how you held your stomach, eyes crinkled shut. 

If your eyebrows scrunched together, you were worried or seconds from crying, just like now. 

Eddie watched as you held back tears at the pivotal moment, Steve’s reunion with his love interest after years away at war.

The strings of the orchestra music playing in the background of the scene pulled at your heart, the emotion palpable.

“And how is this different from his other movies,” Eddie leaned over and whispered into your ear. 

“Shut up,” you nudged him with your shoulder and shoveled more popcorn into your mouth. 

You sighed in satisfaction when the two on-screen lovers finally kissed. 

The credits began to play, and Beth leaned over your frame.

“How good was that?” 

Eddie’s face twisted in disbelief.

“I’ve shit turds that were better than that.”

“Ew,” both you and Beth said in unison. 

“I just wonder if he’s really like that, y’know, all sweet and romantic.” Her gaze tilted to the ceiling as she imagined Steve gazing at her like he did his costar. 

“He has to be. There’s no way he could play a character so well if he weren’t,” you chimed in.

“He’s an actor,” Eddie reminded you.

“An hour ago, you said he couldn’t act,” Beth scoffed.

 It was the umpteenth time he’d had the same argument with the two of you. 

“It’s a sign - I’ve lost my mind.” Eddie held his hands in front of him, his gaze fixated on the ground as he put on the charade of someone who wasn’t all there.

“You’re such a butthead.” Beth leaned over and pushed at his head of curls before she stood up to leave. The auditorium was nearly empty, the screen had gone black and the theater workers waited patiently for you to leave so they could finish their closing tasks.

It was late, and you were scheduled for the opening shift at Family Video the following day alongside Eddie.

The three of you walked towards Eddie’s Volkswagen Rabbit, Beth’s beat-up Corolla parked beside it. 

“See you tomorrow,” Beth called over her vehicle as you opened the passenger door to Eddie’s car. You waved over your shoulder before plopping into the seat. The car smelled like him - weed, tobacco, and spiced vanilla. A scent you’d become accustomed to in all the years you’d known him.

“Don’t be late!” Eddie yelled back at the strawberry-blonde, index finger pointed at her.

“You’re only my manager between the hours of twelve and eight within the confines of Family Video!” She flipped him off and climbed into her car, getting the last word. 

Eddie tapped his knuckles against the hood of his car as he watched her leave, watching the tail lights of her car get further away before jumping into the driver’s seat. 

“Do you have to pick at her?” you questioned as he got comfortable in his seat.

“I only dish up what she’s dishing out,” Eddie shrugged as he started the car. 

And it was true. While you and Eddie were best friends, Beth and Eddie would be considered something closer to frenemies. 

You’d known him since you were kids. He was the first kid in the trailer park to say hi to you after you moved in with your grandma days after your parents died.

Sure, Uncle Wayne was the one who insisted he said hi, but what came after the small introduction was all Eddie. 

The two of you grew up thick as thieves, soldiering through the complexities and horrors of middle and high school together. There was no one on the planet you were closer to, especially after your gran passed away two years ago. But you’d never admit it, especially not to Beth. 

You’d met her towards the end of eighth grade when she transferred to your school in the second semester. You warmed up to her immediately; Eddie was still working on it.

In many ways, they were alike - not that either of them would agree. Both were headstrong, sarcastic, witty, and total pains in your ass. 

“You get lost in your head over there or something?” He glanced at you before quickly returning his gaze to the road. 

On drives like this, you couldn’t help but think of your parents, couldn’t help but miss them something fierce. You hated when it was time to return home, to the empty, quiet trailer that gran had left you in her will. 

It hadn’t felt like home since she passed, but even before it still always felt temporary. Despite your gran's best efforts, you never felt settled or like you belonged. Constantly yearning for a place that felt like yours, chasing the feeling you had when your parents were alive.

“Just thinking of them,” you answered honestly, staring out the window and eyes darting to the stars that dotted the night sky.

Eddie didn’t need a further explanation; he knew how you felt all too well. He became an orphan two years before you. Even though his dad was alive, he was as good as dead. His absence felt at every birthday, Christmas, and band gig he didn’t attend.

Without asking, he took the road toward Lover’s Lake instead of the one that led to your home. He wasn’t up to any funny business; he just knew you weren’t ready to go home, and you didn’t question him as the paved road turned into a dirt one lined heavily with trees on either side. 

He pulled near the lake and cut the engine, rubbing his palms along his jean-clad thighs. 

“You good, Sunshine?” He watched the side of your face, worry creasing in his brow.

Your eyes rolled in amusement at the nickname he’d given you when you were just kids. 

“Just peachy,” you responded, fingers swirling in your hair absently, and still staring out the window.

“Never been a good liar, sweetheart,” he nudged your shoulder.

“Do you ever feel stuck?” You stated abruptly and Eddie’s eyebrows shot up into his bangs, hand falling back into his lap.

“Be more specific?” He was studying your face, what he could see of it, attempting to decipher what you were trying to say.

“Here in Hawkins. O-or like you don’t really have a place to call home?” you stammered and turned to him. Your eyebrows were knitted together and he knew you were worried, sad even. 

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Not exactly my dream to still be living with my Uncle, who was forced to take me in while I manage a movie rental shop in the worst city along the bible belt.” 

Your lip jutted to the side.

“Wayne loves you,” you insisted and Eddie nodded at your words.

“Yeah, he does but I still flipped his life upside down,” he chuckled without humor and began to pull at the frayed edge of his jeans.

You wanted to assure him but knew he wouldn’t believe you so instead you changed the subject.

“What would you do? If you could do anything, no limits?” 

His lips lifted into a sideways grin, the kind of smile you saw when he was amused and you knew that it was the distraction he needed. That you both needed.  

“Get my music out there. Cut a record and get the fuck out of Indiana. I just want to buy my uncle a house and let the old man retire.”

You nodded, teeth digging into your bottom lip. Your dreams felt so much simpler in comparison, almost lame.

“And you?”

You took a deep breath and sighed heavily, blowing a raspberry as you did. 

“I just want my own house. Maybe with some land. You know, like my family used to own?” 

You used to have a home. A big ranch-style house that your parents were still paying on at the time of their accident and when there was no one who could pay, the bank took it away.

He nodded and smiled wider at the image in his head. Eddie could picture you sitting in a rocking chair on a wraparound porch, the golden retriever you’d always wanted resting at your feet. 

His silence made you self-conscious, and you laughed, but Eddie knew it wasn’t one you meant.

“I know it sounds lame, but-”

“It’s not lame,” he assured, “I know it’s going to happen one day. Going to have that dream house on forty acres with two-and-a-half kids-”

“Six,” you interrupted with a wide grin.

“Holy shit, ok, six kids and a loaded husband. Who the fuck can afford six kids?”

“We said no limits,” you reminded him, and he nodded in agreement. A broad dimpled grin spread across his lips.

“If anyone’s dreams are gonna come true, it’ll be yours.”

“How are you so sure?”

Because I’ll make it happen even if I have to work three jobs until my hair turns gray.

But he didn’t say that part out loud.

“Just trust me, it’ll happen before you know it.” 

“It’ll happen for you too.”

Eddie began to scoff, but you shot him that look, the one that dared him to question you. He held up his hands, calling a ceasefire before any shots were fired.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence as you stared at the lake. It was always easy like this with Eddie; easy conversation without awkward pauses. Comfortable enough to sit with just the sound of crickets chirping around you. 

Family Video was dead; the afternoon rush before a weekend had settled into a quiet lull. 

You sat at the computer, scanning in returned videos as Eddie worked in his office. His molten honey gaze darting to the clock every so often. Beth was nearly thirty minutes late. 

The Goonies played on TV - Eddie’s choice instead of the endless cycle of previews for Steve Harrington’s newly released movies. He drew the line at his job.

Beth barged through the front door, huffing and obviously distressed. Her hair disheveled and sticking to the sweat that lined her forehead. 

“Are you okay?” You questioned as you took in her appearance.

“Oh, just great,” she responded sarcastically.

“That’s twenty-eight minutes, Walden!” Eddie shouted from his office, addressing her by her last name.

She groaned. 

“I had a long night!”

“You left before us?” 

Eddie’s voice grew louder as he left his desk and leaned against the doorway. 

“Doesn’t mean I went to sleep,” she said in a low tone, gaze avoiding that of her two friends as she clocked in and set her bag underneath the counter.

“What kept you up, or should I say who kept you awake?” You questioned, voice breathy in faux flirtation. 

“You know that cutie from the bar?”

“You didn’t!” You gasped, mouth rounded and eyes wide in excitement. Beth had been eying the curvy brunette behind the bar for ages, never working up the courage to ever introduce herself. 

“I did. Twice!” She held up two fingers as you both squealed. 

“Gross,” Eddie gagged, and Beth shot him a dirty look.

“Don’t be jealous.”

“How did you blast off twice and have a bad night?” You interrupted, using the code name the two of you had come up with in high school. Not that it was any use, Eddie had caught on years ago when you and Beth tried to talk in code about her trysts. 

“Because my car wouldn’t start this morning, and she expected a ride home. So by the time I got it working and dropped her off, I was already running late.”

“Oh.”

She turned her head and looked at Eddie with pleading eyes.

“Could you, pretty please, take a look at it, Eds?” 

“It’ll cost you,” he pushed off the frame of his office door and moved to lean against the counter across from her. You turned your attention back to the computer as they bartered with each other, scanning in the last rental return. 

You hummed to yourself as you opened your email and skimmed through the new messages you’d received. Eyes practically bulging out of your head when you saw the subject line of one in particular.

Win a Date with Steve Harrington!

“Oh my god!” You shouted, catching the attention of your friends. Both of them looking at the back of your head with concern.

“What is it?” Beth leaned over your shoulder and read the email, fingers gripping your skin as she neared the end.

“Holy shit!” She shouted with you, and both of you began bouncing in place.

“What is it? Rick check-out Fast Times again?” Eddie chuckled, amused with his own joke.

“I could win a date,” you paused, “with Steve Harrington!”

You and Beth squealed again.

“Yeah, right. Let me see.” 

He nudged you out of the way as he read through the e-mail.

“Seems like a scam.” He backed away from the computer and shook his head disbelieving.

“It’s not!” 

You clicked the link and read through the site to confirm that it was indeed official.

“See, he wants to donate the money he raises to Feeding America.” 

You and Beth awed in unison; Eddie couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“There’s no way that King Steve doesn’t have some sort of ulterior motive,” he grumbled. Referring to Steve as the nickname he’d had for the brief moment in time he’d walked the same halls of middle school as you. 

“That was almost thirteen years ago, Eddie!” The two of them began bickering again.

You turned your attention back to the screen and read through the contest rules.

“I doubt he’s some gem now.”

“Not everyone donates to charity with an ulterior motive.”

Beth turned away from him and read through them with you.

“Grand prize includes a first-class flight to Los Angeles, lux accommodations at the Waldorf Hotel, styled outfits for the date, and a private dinner with Steve!” You gripped Beth’s hand excitedly as you read the entry rules.

“Says we have to pay one hundred dollars for a ticket to enter,” your shoulders sagged. 

“Shucks,” Eddie snapped his fingers in fake disappointment. He knew that you didn’t have a hundred bucks to spare.

Slowly, you and Beth turned to him. 

You looked at him with pleading eyes. 

Beth looked at him with murderous intent.

“I think you want to donate twenty-five to the cause, don’t ya Eds?” She asked as she stood straight and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Would you, Eddie? Please?” your lip practically jutted out into a pout as you waited for his response. 

And how could he ever say no to you?

He groaned and reached for the wallet nestled in the back pocket of his jeans before handing you a few bills he didn’t bother to count.

“Guess I can’t say no to feeding the hungry,” he muttered, refusing to acknowledge that there was even a slight possibility you’d win.

You jumped up and wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him close before acknowledging the money he was willing to give you. Your lips pressed to his cheek, and you pushed off his chest before grabbing the money.

“You’re the best, Eds!” You gleamed, but Eddie was still in shock—cheek vibrating from where your lips had just pressed, and how affected he was by the moment wasn’t lost on Beth.

She shot him a knowing smile as he shook his head from the stupor but didn’t say more about it as she reached for her purse. 

“Eddie gave you thirty, and here’s twenty more. Now you just need fifty.”

You bounced with excitement, pulling them both close in another embrace.

“Have I said that you guys are my best friends?” 

“I know I am, but Beth?” 

The strawberry blonde shot her hand towards his ribs, and he winced as though he’d been mortally wounded. 

You were too blissed out to notice - images of your imaginary date with Steve Harrington already popping into your head. 

Three Weeks Later…

The Hideout was crowded, bodies pressed together and huddled around the makeshift stage. You and Beth weren’t amongst the large crowd, though, opting instead for your usual seats near the bar—the spot where you’d have the perfect view of Corroded Coffin as they played their usual Thursday night gig. 

“I can’t believe the turn-out,” you exclaimed, eyes darting around the hole-in-the-wall that never saw this many people. 

“I know,” Beth remarked incredulously. 

Both of you were shocked for very different reasons.

Eddie had begun to play shows at the local bar back in eleventh grade. His usual crowd had consisted of the same five drunks, but over the years, the popularity of the band, his popularity, had grown exponentially. Far surpassing the occupancy limits of the small space. 

People had started to come from all over the state, even out of state, to see them perform. Their followers on MySpace had nearly tripled what they used to be, and their monthly listeners had doubled, but Eddie had yet to accept that his band was known, that they could play at a bigger venue, or even book a small tour. Even when you’d shown him the evidence, he’d rolled his eyes. Too afraid to believe that his dreams might be within grasp. 

The bar lights dimmed, and the stage lights came on, illuminating the wooden platform in shades of red. The crowd began to cheer, surging forward to get as close as possible to the stage.

Gareth, Jeff, and Xander took the stage with their instruments, each giving a small wave as they did. Jeff began to strum on his guitar before Gareth joined with his drums, freestyling before Eddie came on stage. 

They loved to tease the crowd. 

Eddie came out a few moments later, waving his hands to greet the crowd. Amping up the energy even more. The buzz of it felt in the air. 

“Holy shit,” He breathed into the microphone as he took in how many people were there.

“How are we doing?”

The crowd’s yells grew even more in response to his question.

“I hope you’ll indulge me tonight. I want to do something a little different than our usual sound. Something I’ve been working on with the guys,” he turned and pointed to his bandmates with a bright smile. 

The audience cheered, and Eddie nodded as they did.

“Anyone a fan of Audioslave?

They roared a resounding yes.

“Me too,” he nodded again, “This is a cover of Like a Stone. I hope you enjoy it.”

The stage lights changed, washing the band in blue. A more somber mood settled over them as they began to play the song's opening. Eddie bobbed his head as his friends played, eyes closed as he felt the music and your gaze focused on him. You loved seeing him in his element, a different kind of focus that fell over him that you only ever saw when he played dungeon master during campaigns. Passionate. Happy. And it looked so good on him.

“On a cobweb afternoon, in a room full of emptiness,”

Eddie’s voice was rich, enveloping you in its warmth as he sang. Your eyes traced over his features. Noticing him in a way you hadn’t in a long time. The slope of his nose, the apples of his cheeks, the sharp edge of his jaw and it was like your childhood crush was rearing its ugly head. Surging forward and nearly knocking you to your feet. 

His eyes found you in the crowd, and it felt like he was singing to you.

“I’ll wait for you there like a stone,

I’ll wait for you there alone.”

You swallowed harshly, blinking rapidly as you gripped the glass cup you held before chugging down its contents. 

He isn’t singing to you. Get a grip.

You were best friends, but there was a time when you wanted more. 

Throughout your senior year, you yearned for Eddie to notice you the way that all girls wanted to be noticed when they fell in love with their best friend, but he never saw you that way. His attentions were on Paige, some girl who claimed she’d help him get his music to a reputable producer, and then on Chrissy, the head cheerleader he’d had a crush on since all of you were in middle school. 

It was never you, and you had accepted that long ago, but seeing him on stage roused something inside you. Something that unfurled its wings and took flight in your gut, creating a flurry of excitement. Making you nervous, anxious, and overwhelmed. 

The song continued, Eddie’s deep voice turning you into a puddle. He was right; it wasn’t the band’s usual sound. It was melancholy, a longing felt in each lyric, and you wondered who it was for, who Eddie thought of as he sang.

You glanced back up and noticed that Eddie’s attention was still on you somehow despite the size of the crowd. 

His vocals kicked up, and he hit every note like a plea.

“I’ll wait for you there like a stone,

I’ll wait for you there alone.”

Your breath hitched, lungs squeezing tightly as though you were in the middle of the crowd being pushed on all sides. Claustrophobic. Overwhelming.

“I know I usually shit on Eddie, but oh my god,” Beth cut through your trance and you gave her a tight grin.

“They sound so fucking good,” her breath was warm in your ear. The smell of gin enveloping you. 

“He does,” you breathed. 

Your muscles were tensed the rest of their show, and you felt like you were drowning in your thoughts. In the feelings that’d crept up from their burial site deep within your ribs. You didn’t take a breath until Eddie was no longer on stage. Until the stage lights dimmed and the bar lights came back on.

“Listen to me,” Beth grabbed your arm and your attention.

“Do not tell Eddie what I said. He can’t know that I think he’s good.”

“Why not?” You laughed, brows pushed together in confusion.

“Because he’ll never let me live it down!” She insisted with a roll of her eyes. You knew that she wasn’t wrong. If there was anything that Eddie enjoyed, it was teasing her. 

“Your secret is safe with me,” you promised, holding up your pinky finger to seal it. Her finger encircled yours, and you kissed the side of your hand—an official pact. 

“What’s the secret?” Eddie interrupted, sliding into the bar stool next to you. You jolted at his sudden appearance, frazzled by the sight of him. 

“What do you mean,” you questioned, avoiding eye contact but entranced by the smell of his cologne: spice and vanilla with a slight hint of tobacco. 

And why is your mouth watering? 

Your eyes widened at the realization.

“I walked in on the sacred pact. I know you guys are hiding something,” he pointed between the two of you. 

“Great set tonight,” you changed the subject - sort of. 

“Yeah, yeah, it was fun,” Eddie glanced around the bar. At the strangers who were still eying him and debating whether or not to approach. 

“Surprised by the new song,” you began to broach the subject. 

“Just a little something I’ve been working on,” he shrugged.

“I heard, but who has my best friend all glum?” You poked his side with a grin that didn’t meet your eyes, and he could tell something was bothering you.

“Just a girl,” he chuckled.

“Must be some girl,” your smile fell, and you played with the condensation on your glass.

“She is,” Eddie assured, eyebrows lost in his bangs—a mournful look painting his gaze.

Did you really not know?

“Eddie, use your newfound local fame for some good and get us some free drinks,” Beth interrupted, begging as she finished her gin and tonic. 

“No way,” he scoffed.

“Come on!” She whined.

“What if I played you for them?” You challenged with a lilt of your brows.

“Ok, but if I win, you’re buying the drinks.” Eddie set the terms and pushed off the bar stool.

“Deal,” you held your hand out to shake on it. His warm palm slid against yours, his large hand enveloping your smaller one. You could feel the calluses on them, evidence of his years of practice and manual labor. He shook your hand gently, holding onto you for a moment. Swallowing hard at the simple contact. 

“Go win us some drinks!” Beth interrupted again, shaking your shoulders and egging you on. Your hand slipped from his, heat growing in your cheeks.

“301?” you challenged as you pushed off your barstool. 

“Game on,” Eddie said in agreement and followed.

The two of you walked towards the dartboard, pushing each other playfully as you did.

“I’ll take a pina colada, Munson. Make you order something the bartender might hate you for,” you teased. Eyes tracing up his jean-clad legs, admiring how they hugged his thighs as he pulled the darts from the board.

“Oh, you’re toast,” he muttered over his shoulder. 

He walked over and handed them to you, a mischievous glint in his eye. Had he caught you staring?

“Ladies first,” he beckoned you to stand in front of him, allowing you to start the game.

You lined up, feet dancing along the tapped line that desperately needed to be replaced. Your tongue stuck out to the side as you concentrated, arm moving back and forth as you got ready to aim. To start the game, you needed to double in.

“Scared to lose?” Munson questioned, his breath fanning against your ear. You tried to hide the shiver that traveled up your spine in response and threw the dart - hitting the double ring next to the number eighteen.

“Not a chance,” you flashed him a cocky smile.

“Lucky hit,” he rolled his eyes and stepped back to allow you to throw your other two darts.

They landed where you aimed them, bringing your score down from 301 to 231.

“Your turn, Munson.” You walked to the board and grabbed your darts, standing behind him as he lined up with his own.

You giggled as you noticed that the two of you shared the same look of concentration. Eddie’s brows were pushed together, tongue jutted out as he looked to aim. You stood on your tiptoes, leaning close to his ear.

“Miss, miss, miss,” you whispered. 

Eddie stilled, and you felt his muscles tighten underneath the palm of your hand that rested on his shoulder. He took a deep breath, the scent of your perfume filling his lungs: vanilla musk and jasmine. 

He turned to you, chestnut eyes boring into your gaze, as he released his dart. If this were a movie, he would’ve made the shot. But it wasn’t, and he didn’t. Instead, the dart fell to the ground, and you couldn’t help but laugh. Eddie was entranced all the same. 

“Already losing, and you haven’t even joined the game,” you swallowed harshly. Teasing him to cover how his gaze was affecting you once more. 

The game continued like this, each of you trying to distract the other, but in the end, you had won, much to Eddie’s chagrin. Beth cheered from her seat, nearly falling off the barstool in her excitement. 

“Looks like you owe me that pina colada,” you raised your eyebrows smugly as you looked at him. 

“Fuck me,” Eddie grumbled to himself.

Getting your drinks wasn’t an issue; the issue was having to talk to the bartender. Violet Jennings had a massive crush on him since the second grade, one that never faded or wavered, and every time he was in the bar, her eyes remained glued to him. It might even be cute if she weren’t so intense. 

As he approached, Violet dropped everything she was doing and walked to where he stood. The only thing separating them was the wood of the bar top.

“What can I get you, Eddie,” she said his name. Breathy and affected. 

“Uh,” he cleared his throat, his cheeks turning pink because he could feel you and Beth watching him—your giggles carrying through the air.

“Can I get a pina colada, a gin and tonic, and just a pint of whatever is on tap?”

“Whatever you desire,” she nodded her head and jutted her chest out, but Eddie didn’t dare glance down. No matter how great her cleavage may be. 

She began to prepare his order, and he looked toward your table, you and Beth throwing him a thumbs up. He rolled his eyes and shook his head, tapping his fingers against the bar as he waited.

“Here you are, on the house of course.” She winked at him. It wasn’t his newfound fame that got the drinks but her neverending crush. 

“Thanks,” he tilted his chin towards her as he grabbed the glasses. Doing his best not to drop the drinks. 

“Here you go, assholes,” he murmured as he pushed the drinks onto the table. You excitedly grabbed for yours, humming as the sugary drink slid against your tongue and the rum burned your throat. 

“We won these fair and square,” Beth argued and took a sip of her drink, shooting him a glare.

“No, Sunshine here won them fair and square. You just made her do your bidding.” 

“Whatever,” she rolled her eyes and looked over at the bar. Spotting the girl she’d spent the night with three weeks ago. Her eyebrow raised, a warm feeling settling into her stomach as she recalled that night.

“This a snooze,” she looked at you both before jumping from her seat and walking towards the girl. You chuckled as you watched her leave, sauntering to the brunette whose name you still did not know.

You looked back at Eddie, a smile still wide on your lips.

“Did you ever hear back about the contest,” he asked suddenly, feigning disinterest. 

“No,” you sighed, “but it was a long shot anyway. Plus, in what world would I go on a date with Steve Harrington.”

“You say his name like he’s some god,” he scoffed.

“Shut up, I do not,” you grumbled, cheeks growing warm.

“Y’know there’s better guys out there than some lame actor, right?”

“Eddie, you act like even if I had a date with Steve, that he’d be interested in me. I wouldn’t measure up to the models and actresses he’s dated.”

“He’d be an idiot if he wasn’t interested.” 

Your heart stuttered in your chest, and you struggled to respond. Settling on deflecting instead of overthinking what he said.

He’s your best friend; of course, he’s going to say that.  

“Yeah, well, I don’t have to worry about hypotheticals and whether or not he would or wouldn’t be interested because I didn’t win. Now enough about me,” you nudged him, “You need to do something with the attention Corroded Coffin has now,” you urged.

“I want to,” he closed his eyes for a moment and sighed, “but I just don’t wanna make the wrong move, and what if no one is interested?”

“There is plenty of interest. Did you not see the size of the crowd?” You waved your arms around the room. 

“Yeah, from fans, but that doesn’t mean a record executive will be interested,” he gulped his beer down.

“You are stubborn as always,” you tilted your head up and looked back at him.

“Submit the demos. The worst that someone can say is no, and you’ll still have the growing fanbase if they do.” 

You looked at him with pleading eyes, and he shook his head. 

“Stop,” he pushed your face away, “you make that face, and I fold.”

You beamed and grabbed onto his arm, taking note of how his bicep felt beneath your fingers.

“Please, please listen to me, Eddie. I know your big break is around the corner, and when you make it, the only thing I ask is that you remember little ol’ me when you’re jetting around the world or marrying Heidi Klum.”

“Who?”

It was your turn to push his head away.

“Just promise?” you held a pinky finger up. It was his turn to make a pact. 

“I promise,” his pinky circled yours and you kissed the other side of your hand, gaze never leaving his. Wishing that it was his lips that you were kissing instead.

The next morning you woke up, head a little heavy from the alcohol you drank and dragging ass to the restroom to start getting ready for work.

You started the shower, turning the nob until it was nearly scalding, just how you liked it. Steam already filling the small bathroom when you stepped behind the shower curtain. You hummed as you worked the shampoo into your scalp, thinking of all you had to do at work. Creating a grocery list in your head for when you got off and went to the grocery store. 

It was a Friday night, movie night with your two best friends, and it was your turn to host. You debated whether to torture Eddie with another rom-com starring your favorite actor or if you should give in and watch one of his favorites. You always chose based on what was easiest to make themed foods for and never found it easy to make anything around any of the horror movies Eddie loved. 

The sound of someone pulling near your trailer interrupted your thoughts and caused you to stop humming as you listened closely. You could hear car doors slam shut and the sound of footsteps approaching. 

You rinsed your hair, shut off the water, and stepped out into the cold air.

What the hell?

A sharp rap at the door startled you and you hugged your towel close, quickly darting to your room to change so you could answer the door.

You took hesitant steps, pressing your body against the wood and peering through the peephole. A woman stood on the other side, preening as she waited for you to answer. 

Slowly you opened the door, poking only your head out.

“Can I help you?”

She said your name excitedly, and your eyebrows pushed together, unsure how she knew you or your full name.

“Yes?” 

“I’m Vanessa with WRTV!”

“Okay?” 

Everything came out like a question because why was she here?

“I’m here to interview you about winning a date with Steven Harrington,” she beamed, cameraman rushing up behind her. Lens focused on you.

“I won?” Your eyes bulged, and you threw the door open.

“Congratulations!” 

You squealed and jumped in place excitedly, wet hair sending droplets of water in the air. 

People began to poke their heads outside their doors at the ruckus and the scene of news trucks outside your trailer. All the neighbors stared including Eddie. 

“Eddie, I won!” You turned to him and invited him over, but with the camera pointed at you, he only arched a curious brow. 

Usually, you’d shrink away from the attention, but as you prattled through Vanessa’s interview questions, all you could think about was your luck. 

How you’d just won a date with Steve Harrington.

-

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tag list: @ali-r3n, @12thatsanumber, @lonely-phantoms, @Chickocrit

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[psychotic-nonsense]

Not sure if this is anything, and feel free to critique or add on or clarify and all that, but...

A few weeks post-Starcourt Steve, absolutely wrecked by the Russians and Billy. He's healing, little by little, but he knows he needs to put his pain aside to help out The Party. Especially Robin, who has not been coping with the trauma well. She's taken to spending the night at Steve's most of the time, and they help each other manage. She's not the best with physical comfort, nor is Steve with verbal comfort, but they're managing.

Yet despite the constant offers of help, Steve always refuses to "ask for too much" and often downplays his pain, forcing a smile to keep anyone from worrying. He's bottling up everything - probably handling it worse than Robin, even though he insists he's used to it and knows how to fix himself. Every day he gets a little worse, and every night he brushes off help.

It's during one of these late nights that disaster finds them again. It's Steve and Robin in his living room, and they're just about falling asleep on the couch when the ground begins rumbling, hard. An earthquake, shaking Hawkins and getting the entire Party in a frenzy. The radios are blaring with the kids' voices and Steve's trying to get Robin to stop screaming into the walkie, when suddenly there's a hole opening up in Steve's living room, and the earthquake stops. Steve and Robin go quiet, and the kids are urging for a response as they all rush to meet up at Steve's.

But he and Robin can't speak, too busy staring at the hole. One that looks way too similar to the Gates... but it glows blue instead of the usual red. Steve, ever the protector, is carefully stepping around the hole to grab a fire poker for defense. The second he does, the Party bursts in, just in time to watch the hole suddenly crack open further, sucking Steve in and closing itself behind him-

As Steve Harrington lands in the bedroom of Post-ST3-release 2019 Eddie Munson.

Eddie's living rough, bunking in his childhood friend Ronnie's basement. An orphan, can't hold a job, in his second senior year of high school purely because he knows he has nothing else to do after it. His only source of comfort so far has been DnD - either the DM hosting he does at the local library for the other poor lost suckers, or the one Netflix show with its elements that has captured his heart.

Eddie's a pretty big Stranger Things fan - it has its faults but is otherwise a really fun and interesting show - but ever since ST2, he's especially been a Steve Harrington fan. He feels like he goes mad just thinking about the implications of what that man has gone through, what all those kids have been through, and how Steve has put aside himself to focus on the kids. How much Steve has changed, and how under appreciated he is.

Since binging all of ST3 the day it released, Eddie's had a field day on breaking down this newest reformation of Steve. He adores Robin - clocked her as a lesbian from episode 1 - and loves that Dustin and Erica have been bringing out his bitchy side, while still keeping him in check. The Russian torture and strange parallels with Billy have made him cry on more than one occasion, and Steve's half-high speech in the bathroom legitimately felt like Steve finally acknowledging his change, even if for but a moment.

Ronnie's teased Eddie way too much about his "obvious crush on Joe Keery" but this feels way too personal for him to just be crushing on an actor. This is Eddie falling for the Fallen King of Hawkins himself, and it's much more embarrassing. Steve Harrington becomes his muse in every form of art; drawing, writing, character inspiration and improvisation. The Duffer brothers aren't the greatest at the rest of the show, but they've damn well got this guy down.

Hell, Eddie was halfway to crossing the last personal barrier to outright obsession (x Reader fanfiction) when the earthquake hit. In hindsight it wasn't the worst thing in the world, but Eddie had never experienced one before. He immediately dove right under his bed, covering his ears and curling up in a ball like a coward ("Nancy Wheeler would be ashamed," his weird ass brain supplies). He hears rumbling, things falling over, wood splintering and the world seemingly cracking apart all around him-

When a body suddenly lands hard on his bed with a loud scream of fear, cutting off as the whatever it is rolls straight off to the floor, and the world gives one final strain before going completely silent.

Terrified, Eddie's eyes are shut tight, cowering as the body on the floor just a foot away from him groans and gasps for air. It takes a sudden hiss of pain for Eddie to finally, carefully, crack one eye open.

Only to come eye to eye, through the gaps of his bedsheets, with the very muse he'd just been thinking of. Steve Harrington.

There's an immediate scramble of panic; Eddie bashing his skull into his bed frame trying to get out and away from the obvious hallucination, while Steve wobbles on his feet to defend himself against this strange humanoid Upside Down monster.

"What are you?! Where am I?!"

"What am- Are- You- No, you're not real- JESUS H. CHRIST MAN, GET THAT AWAY FROM ME!"

"I don't know what you're talking about, but you're gonna see how real this is if you don't tell me what's going on!"

"You think I know?! You fell into my room!!"

"Yeah, from your Gate!!"

"WHAT FUCKING GATE- WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT!?"

"I DON'T FUCKING KNOW!!"

That gets them both to shut up, just staring at each other. Eddie pressed up against the wall in fear with his hands up and out wide, Steve with the fire poker pointed straight at his neck and his hand held up cautiously. Eddie sees it, smells blood in the air, and ignoring everything, reaches out for it. Steve jabs at the air with the poker, but it's halfhearted, his energy clearly draining, too exhausted with the whole situation to try much further. Finally his arm drops, but Eddie doesn't move, watching Steve's face crumple in a way that aches everything inside his heart.

"Where am I...?" Steve pleas, tone just as desperate as the one from the Russian bunker, even when lacking its power.

Eddie fumbles for the words, but eventually just sighs. "Somewhere you wouldn't believe, my friend."

High and complacent on adrenaline and shock, Steve and Eddie just move in silence. Eddie grabs a wet cloth to clean the blood, Steve cutting off a bit of his sweatpants to use as gauze. It's just a gash from falling with the fire poker, nothing drastic, but the two stare at the cut in Steve's palm, easier to see than the one who's hand is on theirs.

Introductions are exchanged when they can finally stop shaking, and Eddie somehow drops the bomb on where and when Steve is, and what his entire existence is to this reality. Steve has a very brief existential panic attack about it, but is strangely comforted by Eddie's confidence about it all - "Even without El's powers, those kids are smart as hell. They'll figure out a way to make their own Gate and get you back home."

Then Steve just spends the next week or two in a reality almost 40 years in the future, where he and his entire existence is a sci-fi TV show. Some funny exchanges I've been thinking of:

Steve: Wait, so we're characters in a show, right? That means we have actors.

Eddie: Oh, uh, yeah, you do...

Steve: ...Think I could see them?

Eddie: Uh- Sure, I guess? Not sure what you're expecting, it's a live action thing, they look just like you.

Steve: Never getting used to your future phone... Huh, Joe Keery? Looks like a cool guy- woah, is that what my hair looks like short??

Eddie: Yup, again, literally just you.

Steve: Funny how we both have the most basic names too. Steve and Joe? Like, look at Dustin's actor, what kind of name is Gaten?

Eddie: Rude, the guy plays your little brother.

Steve: Quit bringing your fake show theories into my actual life.

Eddie: It's true though.

Steve: ...Yeah.

----------------

(Steve goes crazy after a few days of being locked in, and begs Eddie to take him out to "see the future." While they're walking around town, a group of girls suddenly freak out and rush them)

"It's Joe Keery! Guys, look it's Steve Harrington, from Stranger Things!!"

(Eddie's halfway to panicking, but Steve immediately handles the situation)

Steve: Sorry to disappoint, ladies, not him. Don't worry though, I've been getting that a lot since the show came out.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry! Hope we didn't make you uncomfortable, mister..."

Steve: Mark, and not at all! I get asked this a lot too, but do you girls want a picture? For bragging rights, getting to meet "The Steve Harrington?"

(They agree, Eddie takes it for them, the girls go on their way)

Eddie whispering: That's gonna be everywhere in 5 seconds, I hope you know.

Steve whispering: Eh, it's a crowd my actor didn't have to deal with. Besides, felt pretty good.

Eddie: Familiar experience?

Steve: For a better reason.

-------------

Steve, showing Eddie's laptop screen open to the FunkoPop website and the Scoops Duo, halfway to tears: They make figurines of me and Robin?

Eddie: Yeah, of all you guys. I've got a little Dustin on my desk.

Steve, beginning to cry from how adorable he finds it: YOU DO?

---------------

(Ronnie comes back from work early while Steve and Eddie are talking in the living room. Eddie freezes as Steve makes eye contact, and Ronnie just stares)

Ronnie: Um, hi?

Steve: Oh, hey! You must be Eddie's roommate, nice to finally meet you! I'm Mark.

(That allows a breath to finally enter and escape Eddie's throat in a bit of a laugh. Steve's really leaning into this Mark persona)

Ronnie: Ronnie, and likewise... Sorry if I'm acting weird, you're just a really good cosplayer. Thought you were actually Steve for a second.

Steve hesitantly: Nah, just a doppleganger.

Ronnie, shrugging and walking away: Well okay then, I'm way too tired to talk much more. Eds, just keep your nerd shit out of the sink-

Eddie: And stay quiet, yeah yeah, go rest, breadwinner.

(Ronnie goes upstairs, out of earshot)

Steve whispering: What's a cosplayer?

Eddie, suddenly also very tired: Tell you later.

I'm thinking that Eddie had sketchbooks, notebooks, and Word Docs absolutely stuffed full of ST character evaluation, which he immediately hid upon Steve's arrival. Maybe Steve gets bored when Eddie's out for whatever reason, and snoops around. That's when he finds it all crammed at the back of Eddie's closet. The kids, Nancy, Jonathan, Robin, Joyce, Hopper, hell Billy and Murray are in the pile. Drawings of them in their adventures, active and mundane alike. Pages upon pages of character description, Eddie's handwriting gushing about the parts of the show and characters he loves, hates, wishes was fixed, all of it.

But the part that gets Steve is one specific sketchbook and notebook, both dubbed the Steven Soliloquy. It's the same type of information as before, but only about him, and it's filled to the brim. Eddie talking about his development, his change of heart, the complete shift that Nancy and the Upside Down and the kids allowed him to have. The affects of his trauma, and how much he stuffed it down in favor of everyone else. Talked about his relationships, ones he cherishes, loathes, never thought of or never got the chance to make. Talked about "AUs," alternative realities where he got everything he ever wanted. Eddie's words, his sketches, devolve into adoration-fueled envy, wishing he could be near such an amazing man, that he was strong enough to be such an amazing man. How much his heart aches for Steve.

And if this were a normal situation, Steve would be uncomfortable, creeped out. But knowing the context of it all, Steve can't help but be enamored. That his family's journey, his entire story of survival - even when fictional to Eddie - is so valued makes it all feel a little more worth it. That there was someone out there during all of their terror, rooting for their victory, crying with their pain, screaming with their fears, understanding them because he lived through it all right beside them.

Eddie finds Steve in his room later that day, surrounded by those books. Staring at what Eddie considers his WIP magnum opus; a half-finished colored pencil recreation of the Last Supper with the entire Party, including all of the people they lost, happy and healthy. Eddie's two seconds from apologizing for how creepy it all must be - seeing how many of those books are open - but then he sees the tears in Steve's eyes. Gratitude and adoration and care, all bundled up and very suddenly staring right at him with the widest smile he's seen.

They talk about it. Eddie finally admits his minor obsession with the show, and how much they've helped him come to terms with being a self-dubbed loser. He honestly gushes way too much about what he owes to them about his life, but Steve listens to it all with complete adoration. At the end of it, Steve asks Eddie about the possibility that they've been adamantly ignoring for Steve's entire stay: actually watching Stranger Things.

And that's how they spend their last week. Starting from season 1, they sit in the living room and binge the entire thing. Steve learns an entirely new perspective about his family's adventures, not only from the show's canon, but from Eddie's theories and rants in between monumental moments. Eddie holds his hand during the scenes that focus on his worst nightmares; the Demogorgan in the Byler home, the breakup, his fight with Billy, the Russians. Steve provides his perspective on how he felt during it all, finally admitting to the pain he's gone through instead of just focusing on the others hoping it'll all go away.

Not sure where exactly it goes from here. Maybe some codependency grows between them. Maybe Steve falls a little in love. Maybe they just stay friends, the only ones who understand each other aside from their Platonic Soulmates.

Maybe, when another earthquake finally hits, opening up a Gate in Ronnie's backyard, Steve and Eddie finally must go their separate ways. Eddie promising to keep watching over them from across the realm, Steve promising to make a happy ending for their story.

Or maybe, Steve can't help but see what little Eddie has, how special Eddie actually is, and offer to bring him along. Into the very show he loves so much. Maybe Eddie convinces Ronnie that he'll be okay, swearing to be entertaining should he join the show in an important way, and making her swear that if he doesn't survive to bring him back in as much fanfiction as she can write. Maybe Eddie enters Hawkins, Indiana, and becomes a bit self aware about being in a TV show. It takes a while for everyone to warm up to the future man - and for Eddie to get used to Midwestern US in the 80s - but he becomes a close member of the Party quite easily. Maybe his involvement in season 4, his death, is avoided, and maybe it's not.

But his adoration for Steve Harrington never goes away. Not in canon, or in fiction.

[bvtbxtch]

You Don't Scare Me | Eddie Munson

Day Fourteen of Kinktober

Summary: Eddie is used to scaring most of the people who walk through the Haunted House in the old Starcourt Mall. He's determined to make you squirm after you walk through and show no signs of being scared by him.

Pairings: Scare Actor!Eddie x Grumpy!Fem!Reader

wc: ~2.8k

Warnings: This is porn with some fluff so as always 18+!!! MDNI!! Sexual themes, fooling around with a stranger, fingering, oral (f receiving), public sex acts, choking and domination (if you squint)

Thank you all for sticking with me, it is literally almost the end of November, so I am thankful that y'all are still around to read! And to my lovely friend @darknesseddiem for inspiring me!

You hated Halloween more than anything. You couldn’t understand your peers' desperation to get black out drunk in someone’s basement, dressed up in the smallest garments of clothing they could find (and excuse it as some sort of costume). But, you were new to town, so when the girl you met through the Hawkin’s high journalism club, Nancy, you remembered her name to be, invited you to the haunted house that went up on the edge of town, you hesitantly agreed to join her and her group of friends. This might be your way to meet some new people. If opportunity knocks, you suppose you better answer. 

-

A nervous shiver trickled down your spine as you and Nancy leaned against the Wheeler station wagon, engaging in small talk about your move from Nevada, and about the new friends you were about to meet. You were told of a girl your age with short strawberry blonde hair, and a personality almost as eclectic as her fashion sense. And of a boy that people called the hair, a charmer in all ways women, but that he had been warned not to pursue you. You flashed Nancy a devilish smile.

“What if I want him to pursue me, Nance?”

“He’s a serial dater, Y/N. And I can say from experience, a much better friend than a conquest.” If Nancy’s response wasn’t enough to deter you, her history with Steve Harrington was. You presumed fucking around with your only friend’s ex isn’t a great way to stay friends. 

You formed your group with warm smiles and welcomes; you absorbed the three of your new friends’ banter. You felt out of the loop, but not unwelcome. The addition to Robin and Steve made you feel hopeful for the future of your friendships.

The four of you made your way through the painted asphalt of the abandoned Starcourt mall that hosted the Halloween festivities. The once shiny new sliding doors were pried open and painted black to welcome the bravest teens into the makeshift haunted house in the west wing of the mall. Robin and Nancy had already jumped at the few scare actors positioned around the entrance, Steve flinching every so often. You stood stone cold, unphased by the kids that were paid far too little money and wore far too much fake blood for their own good.

You bravely volunteered to go through the foggy entrance first; Steve followed behind you with Robin and Nancy hiding into each other’s shoulders. The fog opened up to a desolate looking carnival with old rusted rides festooned around the large room. You sauntered around the space, taking awestruck gazes at the crumpled metal and grim lights looming over you. You found the narrow corridor that led you to the next room. 

Suddenly, a tall figure popped out in front of you, eliciting shrill shrieks from your party behind you. You felt your heart jump into your chest, but not out of fear.

The figure that stood in front of you donned a ripped striped shirt and tight black jeans. You had a perfect view of his long arms and the tattoos that danced across them. You looked up to the figure’s face and were met with beautiful brown eyes glinting with an unreadable shine. His pale skin had been made even paler with white face paint, and his eyes were bracketed around black smudged triangles. You could tell how plump the boy’s lips were even when camouflaged under a black painted frown. His visage was framed with dark curls. He looked more majestic than frightening. But as much as your heart thumped, you weren’t scared, so you pretended not to be impressed with the person blocking your path. He put his muscular arm up on the wall, further blocking you in. As your friends panicked behind you, you simply flashed your bright eyes up at him and you slipped under his outstretched arm. You continued on without giving so much as a slight glance back, encouraging Steve to do the same to pass the stranger. The man dropped his hand from the wall and pressed himself back into the hallway, his eyes never leaving your figure. 

You were going to be the death of him, he could tell already.

“Holy fuck, Y/N! That was kind of badass!” Robin exclaimed, her and Nancy trotting back to rejoin you and Steve. “That fucking freaked me out.”

“What is so scary about a guy in clown makeup?” You shrugged. Little did you know the very person that you were talking about, the guy that had made your heart jump to your throat, was following closely behind you, separated only by the prop walls he had helped build days earlier. 

-

“Eddie, you can’t abandon your spot!” His skeevy boss yelled to him when he caught him trawling through the small walkways. “You gotta be the first scare, man! There’s nothing else in that corridor!” Eddie didn’t look back at the pudgy man with the combover shaking his fist. 

“Fuck off, Brad. I gotta do something” Eddie murmured. He needed to find you. He was willing to give up this shitty side gig and go back to solely dealing again. 

Eddie was overwhelmed with confusion. He was enchanted by you, but your lack of reaction in a haunted house of all things… But the way you looked at him. There was something different in your eyes. You were bored. But you looked at him with an invitation to cause trouble. You terrified the hell out of Eddie Munson, but he couldn’t get enough. 

-

You wandered aimlessly through the shabby makeshift walls. Eddie watched as you stood stoic scare after scare that normally made anyone jump. His eyes trained on your figure. Eddie needed to see more of you. The boy tapped a small boy dressed up like a gremlin waiting to pop out of the corridor you were walking through. 

“What are you doing, Eddie?” the boy hissed. 

“Just move, man. I need your spot” Eddie used his hidden strength to move the boy. His eyes stayed peeled, waiting to see your curly hair to come into his vision. 

-

You strolled through the crowded corridor, giggling quietly at Steve and Robin’s third argument of the night.

“I’m telling you, Buckley. You couldn’t be a scare actor because you would literally scare yourself.”

“Umm, says the guy who literally jumped into my arms when that demon animatronic went off back there. And like, aren’t you scared of clowns? You were made for beauty pageants, Steve.”

“Let me tell you someth-”

Steve’s words were stolen from his mouth as Eddie dashed out of his hiding spot. His sleek form lunged towards you, pushing you back towards the back wall. His hands caged your head, leaving you nowhere to look but his hypnotizing eyes. They looked aflame with passion and frustration. For the first time of the night, your breath hitched. Your chest heaved softly, waiting, wondering, hoping for what the boy was going to do (to you) next.

A small smile flashed across the curly haired boy’s painted face. He slammed his hands against the wall beside you, eliciting a short gasp from your plump lips. You didn’t ignore the glance that Eddie took at your lips before he pushed himself away from you, and onto the wall across from you. He bowed and gestured your friends foreward, leaving you to the back. You could barely peel your eyes away from the figure in front of you, but you pulled yourself from the wall and his punishing stare. You shook him out of your thoughts as you strode towards your friends, now far down the hallway. You felt a hand on your wrist and you were pulled away and into the darkness. 

Suddenly, you were met face to face with the mystery that had been following you, crammed into a small corridor. His body loomed over yours, too close, but somehow not close enough. His breath fanned over you and you couldn’t help but feel faint. He was even more beautiful now that you had all the time in the world to examine him. He licked his lips and you couldn’t help but mirror him with a gulp.

“Why aren’t you scared of me, doll?” his low voice rasped. You couldn’t speak, your throat closing. You tried your best to open your mouth, but Eddie’s thumb running across your lower lip shut it. You mustered up all of your energy.

“I’m not one to scare easily,” you sighed. You felt small underneath him, like he could devour you whole.

“You seem scared now, sweetheart. Do I scare you?” Eddie stepped closer to you, his hand finding his way to your hip. His eyes were dark, but there was a tenderness there. He silently told you that you could leave at any point and he would still thank you. “Or, do you feel exactly what I’m feeling?” Eddie didn’t need to wait for a response, your eyes were glowing with want-need. 

Eddie pressed his painted lips to yours, pressing his chest against yours. His hand ran up your side, and to your neck. His skin burned against yours and you wished you could wear his hand like a locket for the rest of time. You kissed him back feverishly, hoping that with every move of your lips, Eddie fell more enchanted with you, like you had with him. Lucky for you, Eddie had jumped off the deep end and was ready to drown in everything that is you.

Eddie pulled away and let out a small giggle. A sound that made your heart stop. 

“You have paint all over your face now.”

“I don’t give a fuck” you breathed as you pulled Eddie’s face to yours. The kisses grew from explorative to heated. Your hands snaked up to wrap around the nape of the beautiful boy’s neck. His tongue traced your bottom lip in a desperate plea to explore your mouth further. You opened your mouth in permission and his tongue met yours with a moan. Eddie slotted his jean clad thigh between your legs and pushed into you further. You felt the heat radiating off of your core between both of your jean clad bodies. You huffed into Eddie’s mouth, begging for more. 

“You want more, darling? You don’t even know me.” Eddie teased. “Plus… I’m at work! What would my boss think?” you wouldn’t let the boy’s words get to you. You couldn’t think about your situation too much. 

“Well, seeing as you’re the one that pulled me in here, it sounds like this whole ‘stranger’ and ‘at your job’ are your problems not mine… plus, I could go, if you want me to?” You attempted to push Eddie off you, but his grip on your neck and hip became desperate. You smirked at his reaction.

Eddie let go of you in favor of fiddling with your jeans. He let out a low chuckle that rumbled through your whole body. 

“So, you’re a brat, hey? I should have fucking known. Too bad for you, I’m too curious to see what you sound like when you fall apart under me.” You moaned at his words and you pulled him back into a searing kiss. His hands found their way through your jeans and panties. You let out another breathy moan into Eddie’s mouth. Eddie’s hands and mouth paused and he detached his lips from yours.

“But, you gotta be quiet doll. Can’t have anyone find us, and someone’s gonna be back here in like 5 minutes to kick my ass so…”

His slender fingers slipped through your folds, you can’t help but shudder. Eddie bit his lip to suppress his baritone moans. “So wet already… and just for me?” he praised, making your pussy flutter.  He pushed one finger into your waiting entrance, leaving you no time to adjust. Your knees buckled in sheer pleasure. You bit your lip hard, trying to suppress any moans threatening to spill out. Your hands moved up from Eddie’s neck to his luscious locks and you pulled on them to bring his mouth back to yours. He braced against you with a small ‘tsk’.

“I wanna watch you, doll. I wanna see how good you look when I finger fuck you.” His hand flew to your mouth to prevent the groan that was paired with your eyes rolling back. 

Eddie was talented. His pace was unrelenting and he knew the right angle to bully your quivering cunt at. He spread you open further by adding another finger. You shook, feeling so satisfied, so full. You could barely keep your cool that you had been desperately clinging to. The waves of heat flooding your system.

“P-please-”

“Eddie”

“Eddie.please.” You cried.

“Hmmm, I love it when you say my name.” The boy cooed. His words hurled you closer and closer to your climax. Your legs began to shake around Eddie’s hand. A frustrated gasp wracked your body as Eddie removed his fingers from your desperate pussy. 

“Eddie-” You were hushed by the tall boy’s frame dipping down so his head was at your waist. You looked into his beautiful brown eyes quizzically, and he returned your look with a mischievous smile. He pulled your jeans and soaked panties to your knees and pulled his face into you. 

“I need to taste you, please?” You were on the edge, overstimulated and desperate to cum. You shook your head violently and without a second to lose, Eddie’s mouth was on your sensitive core. You yelped at the sensation of his perfect lips sucking against your clit. A large hand snaked from your wait to your mouth. The lack of air sent lightning bolts through your body. Eddie hummed into you and you collapsed over him. 

“Taste so good-”

“Y/N” You answered for him. He hummed into you again, sending shock waves through your legs. Your breath hitched and Eddie could feel you tense around where his fingers once were. He stared up at you as he gave one last suck onto your sensitive bud. 

You saw white, your head felt like it was full of cotton. The waves of pleasure were too much for you to comprehend. Your pussy clenched around nothing and you cried into Eddie’s hand. You could feel the vibrations of him moaning as he licked up your essence. He expertly worked you through your climax, to the point where you were deliciously overstimulated. He waited for you to pull him off of you, licking you clean in the process.

You couldn’t help but giggle when his presence loomed over you again, a large spot around his mouth and chin bare of face paint. He wiped his mouth and you could finally see the plump pink lips grinning back at you. 

“Nice to meet you, Y/N”  You couldn’t help the blush that grew across your cheeks. 

“Nice to meet you, Eddie.” 

Eddie picked up the bottom hem of his shirt and wiped your mouth clean of the black smudges of paint. He grabbed your hand and kissed the back of it. 

“Can I maybe get your number, so I can eat- I mean take you out on a proper date?”

You smiled up at the gorgeous boy. He had rooted through his back pocket and held a sharpie in his hand triumphantly. You took it from him, and wrote your phone number on your arm in your neat writing. You blew on his arm, sending goosebumps straight through his heart. 

“You better call me after that, Eddie. I don’t know what I’d do with myself if you didn’t” 

“Well, lucky for you, I have no intention of leaving you alone.”

With a smile, Eddie grabbed your hand and led you through the back corridors and gave you a sweet peck. He pushed you through a small entrance so you were back by Robin’s side. 

-

With a scream,  you reunited with Robin.

“Holy fuck! Where the hell did you go?!”

“I got lost. I took some wrong turns and ended up in the back corridors somehow.” You were thankful that the room was dark so you were able to hide your red hot cheeks. Maybe Halloween wasn’t so bad… and you might just have a change of heart about Hawkins after all.

-

Eddie sauntered back through the narrow maze of staff hallways, a shit eating grin plastered on his smudged face. It faltered slightly as he entered the male dressing rooms. Brad stood to greet the teen. His sweaty brow furrowed and his fatty chin wobbled in anger.

“Munson you’re-”

“Fired.. Yeah, I got it.” the metalhead chuckled. 

Eddie grabbed his bag with a smile and a bow to the chubby man, who was now furiously flattening his greasy comb over. He wiped his face with an old bandana tucked into his back pocket. He slammed out the shabby doors that lead to the abandoned mall, blowing carefully on his newest tattoo that you had given him. If it were up to him, he would drive himself to his friend’s tattoo parlor and get it inked permanently on his arm, like you had been tattooed on his heart.

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[lunarnightt]

Welcome to my request form so you can see who you can request for!

CELEBRITIES ⟶

Hayden Christensen! ALL THINGS ― Fluff :: Smut :: Angst

Harry Styles! ALL THINGS ― Fluff :: Smut :: Angst

Chandler Riggs! ALL THINGS ― Fluff :: Smut :: Angst

Pedro Pascal! ALL THINGS ― Fluff :: Smut :: Angst

Chappell Roan! ALL THINGS ― Fluff :: Smut :: Angst

Matthew Gray Gubler! ALL THINGS ― Fluff :: Smut :: Angst

Joseph Quinn! ALL THINGS ― Fluff :: Smut :: Angst

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CHARACTERS ⟶

The Hayden Universe!

Anakin Skywalker :: Sam Monroe :: Scott Barringer :: James Kelly :: Aj from Takers :: Kurt Matheson :: Clay Beresford :: Stephan Glass :: Leo Campoli ALL THINGS ― Fluff :: Smut :: Angst

Carl Grimes! ONLY ― Fluff :: Angst

Enid Rhee! ONLY ― Fluff :: Angst

Spencer Reid! ALL THINGS ― Fluff :: Smut :: Angst

Joel Miller! ALL THINGS ― Fluff :: Smut :: Angst

Glenn Rhee! ALL THINGS ― Fluff :: Smut :: Angst

Daryl Dixon! ALL THINGS ― Fluff :: Smut :: Angst

Damon Salvatore! ALL THINGS ― Fluff :: Smut :: Angst

Jefferson Hatter! ALL THINGS ― Fluff :: Smut :: Angst

Bucky Barnes! ALL THINGS ― Fluff :: Smut :: Angst

Eddie Munson! ALL THINGS ― Fluff :: Smut :: Angst

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WHAT I WILL WRITE!

Age Gaps! ― The age I will go youngest for is 24

Kinks and stuff! ― knife play, choking, spanking, sir kink, degradation, bondage, just anything smutt-related, breeding.

Other Characters and actors! ― If they aren't on here and you want me to write for them then I will! I am open to writing for Steve Rogers, Billy Hargrove, Steve Harrington, Klaus Mikaelson, Kylo Ren, Elijah Mikaelson, Kai Parker, Rick Grimes, Sebastian Stan, Chris Evans and Robin Buckley!

Social Media au! ― I will do a Social Media au! Just submit a face claim to use for the reader(obviously to use based on the post) and I will use it!

Music Based Stories! ― You can submit a song and I will base it around said song! It may be horrible or it may slay.

Moodboards and Playlists! ― I make Moadboards and Spotify playlist based on a character and actor or the au. Give me an idea and I will do it!

WHAT I WILL NOT WRITE!

Dub-Con and Non-con! ― I don't believe in writing something that doesn't contain consent! As a victim myself, it is dehumanizing and disgusting. I am not shaming what you are into but that is just my personal preference!

Kidnapping! ― Unless it's roleplay, I will NOT write something were the reader kidnaps or the reader gets kidnap. this could fall underneath Dub-Con or Non-Con or worse a murder plot.

Racism and homophobia! ― I don't know anyone is into this kind of stuff because one. that's unheard of and two. as a mixed person and a person who supports LGBTQ+ I will not write something the dehumanizes a person of color or sexuality!

Carl Grimes and Enid Rhee Smut! ― I originally was open to writing for Carl and Enid Smut because you can age characters up but since certain people came into my anon calling me a predator, I will NOT write smut for them, Including early x factor days of harry.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

If you read the rules then feel free to go into my Anon and request something! I hope you all do request something! I love you all, kisses! ― Moony