#steve harrington x readder

[carolmunson]

what're you doing new years?

(bigmoney!steve x f!thick!reader)

recommended reading: peanut butter vibe once bitten, twice shy recommended listening: what're you doing new years eve? by ella fitzgerald brought to you in part by carol's christmas song blitz, and readers like you.

cw: minors dni. 18+. drinking, smoking (cigarettes), casual dominance, references to cocaine, bathroom smut, p in v, fingering (f!receiving), literal IDIOTS in love, fake dating trope, discussions of class relations, gambling, mild daddy kink

a/n: we made it, folks! dividers by @newlips

December 31st, 1996 - NYC The apartment smelled like fresh paint and saw dust. Sprawling and sunsoaked, a lot of open space. You assumed all the apartments in Tribeca looked like this, gorgeous inside and out. Expensive and old money, beautiful brick outsides with stunning interiors. Windows with ornate arches that went from floor to ceiling with deep sills for books or antiques that cost more than your mom's life insurance.

"It's really nice," you say, stepping into the open concept livingroom - Barcelona chairs and a sleek black couch sit on a plush carpet. It looked like a show room. The heels of your leather boots click and echo on the redone hardwood. Boxes and boxes of his life in Indiana are stacked in the room against the wall, trailing all the way to a full chef's kitchen. New appliances gleam with the film still on them, untouched.

"It's really nice," you say, stepping into the open concept livingroom - Barcelona chairs and a sleek black couch sit on a plush carpet. It looked like a show room. The heels of your leather boots click and echo on the redone hardwood. Boxes and boxes of his life in Indiana are stacked in the room against the wall, trailing all the way to a full chef's kitchen. New appliances gleam with the film still on them, untouched.

"You wanna see my room? It's almost fully done," he smiles. Steve offers his hand to you but you're hesitant. He falters when he catches the gears turning in your head and puts his hand in his pocket, leading you with a cock of his head to the left. "Down that hallway s'a guest room, laundry, full bath," he rattles off pointing down one hallway while he leads you down another, tapping on closed doors, "A couple other rooms I haven't figured out yet. Broker said they'd make great nurseries. I had to laugh." He's trying to joke with you, but you know it hurts him to say that. He's always offhandedly mentioned how much he wants to be a dad.

"And here's my room, master bath, full dressing room -- you know, sort of just like home," he smiles, clicking open the door and guiding you inside. It's set up very much like his old room in Indiana, big kingsize bed with triple fluffed pillows and hotel style linens. Crisp white this time, slight navy accents, light wood. It was bright and airy, the gauzy curtains fluttered gently against the central heating vent.

"Very you," you smile, "It's like you never left."

"Some things never change," he shrugs, opening the double doors to the dressing room, "Come see."

The room is a little smaller than his bedroom, which means it's still bigger than your apartment. The way his clothes are hung in the cubbies and his shoes are oragnized on the shelves can only be described as sterile.

"It's not done, obviously, but, we're getting somewhere," he smiles.

"Oh good, right now it's a little serial killer-y," you laugh, noticing that the other side of the room is completely empty, "Lot of vacancy here. Planning on getting a whole new wardrobe? Bored of the Saint Laurent you already have?"

He rolls his neck slowly to stretch it out, looking over at you and the vacant side of the dressing room with heavy lids through his specs. He lets out of a soft chuckle, "Nah, wanted to keep it empty so you can fit all your clothes in there, too."

You swallow. A tight smile freezes your face when he says it and you remember the conversation you had outside of his office building in Indiana the week before. His hurt features when you left him abandoned back in the lobby while he called another cab home. You came home in tears, your mom and sister consoling you and your tipsy dramatics. 'Never thought you'd be the heartbreaker, honey.'

You know she didn't mean it like that, but it still stung. Who were you to give up someone like Steve Harrington? Steve Harrington who, after he went home and cried in his shower and called his best friend about it, still wanted you to put your clothes in his closet. Still wanted to watch you wake up in the morning and rush to get ready for work. Still wanted you to come up behind him while he made you both coffee on Sunday mornings. Still wanted you take you out to dinner every Friday night so you could both sleep in on Saturday mornings.

"You got plans for tonight?" he asks when you don't reply to his half truth of a joke. You jolt out of your trance when he asks, looking over to see him cleaning his glasses with the cloth he always keeps in his back pocket. A gentle flush of pink has made itself to his cheeks and nose, your shoulders sulk a bit. You want to give into his little fantasy, but that's all it is. It's his little fantasy that doesn't need to be a reality, he'll have it with someone else -- anyone else.

You clear your throat, "Uh, yeah, actually. Um, the head of marketing, she always invites the department to her uncle's fancy New Year's Eve party so I finally made the cut. Some ridiculous theme this year -- casino or something? Just so they can all throw their money around." Steve starts to laugh, tutting while he puts his glasses back on, hands on his hips. "What's so funny?" you ask, arms crossing against your chest.

"The party's in midtown, right? At the Plaza?" he asks, matching your posture.

"Technically it's more midtown east, but yes," you reply with more attitude than you were expecting. You don't like hearing him talk like he knows his way around New York when he's been here all of ten seconds. "Yeah, your department head's uncle is Carl. CEO of Slate Insurance, s'my boss. Why do you think I came out here a little early?" he smirks. Fuck.

"Don't look so disappointed," he says, walking towards you slowly, dropping his hands to meet your hips, "You wanna just go together?"

You step out of his hold and catch his shoulders drop in his sweater, a pang of guilt drives through your chest at his disappointment, "I can get there myself, it's no problem."

"I mean, it's not the kind of party you roll up to in a cab," he says matter of factly, like it's obvious, "You have to like, make an entrance."

"I wasn't going to take a cab," you glower. A rejected Steve was sometimes not a very kind Steve, all showboating and no substance -- he just wanted to be a jerk. "What were you planning to take?" he asks, brows raised over his frames in faux curiosity, "The subway?" "Better than showing up in that tacky green Porsche," you retort, cheeks burning at his meanhearted teasing. He grins and shakes his head. "I left the Porsche with my dad. I'll probably take the new Benz," he shrugs, cocking his head while he looks at you, "Well -- my driver'll take the new Benz, but you know what I mean." Your face sours, he was reaching the border of ugly cockiness. "Looks like you’re not into a Mercedes," he frowns, a faux apologetic look washing over his face, "You wanna ride in the Bentley instead?"

"You sound like such an asshole," you confess, walking out of the dressing room and back into his bedroom. "What? I can’t congratulate myself for getting a new job?" he bites back, following you, “I’m just tryna catch up to what my life is gonna look like here, Nat.”

“Not all of us have that life, Steve.”

He softens while looking at your back, he reaches out to rest a hand on your shoulder to turn you around, “M’not trying to be an asshole, I’m sorry.”

“S’okay,” you shrug, “I just—you know you can still be 'Hawkins Steve', Harrington. You don't have to be like these Wall Street guys.”

“I know,” he nods, both hands meeting your shoulders, “You wanna come with me tonight? Be my date? Carl’s sort of a traditional guy, it’ll be nice to make him think I’m some family man with a girl at home waiting for me.”

"Steve," you started, "We talked about this. This is your Christmas Party all over again." His eyes cast downward for a moment as the evening replays in his head at record speed. The day you left him, the day he realized he planned your whole future in his head but you didn't want that.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn--" you start before he comes back to himself in time to interrupt.

"You can be my fake date," he nearly whines, lips pouting.

"I dunno," you shrug, his hands slide from your shoulders to the dip of your waist.

"You don't want me spoiling you all night? C'mon. I gotta show off to these assholes," he asks, voice warm and soothing. His cologne ghosts your nose and your knees get weak, "And you're a great way to start showing off."

Your heart thrums when he speaks, it's so frustrating to be around someone so handsome, "Don't be stupid, Harrington."

"It's not stupid, Manhattan. It'll be fun, we're just playing pretend," he takes a step closer to you and you can see his stubble, the plushness of his lips.

You consider it, he fights off a smile because he knows you're about to say yes. Steve Harrington always gets what he wants. Steve Harrington always gets the girl.

"Just playing pretend, huh?" you challenge.

"Just playing pretend," he smiles, wrapping you in a gentle hug -- friendly, chaste, sweet, "I'll pick you up at seven."

The hug is soft -- but you can feel his heart beating hard against his chest.

Bbbrrrriiiinggg!

You run to your front door, pressing and holding the button on the intercom to buzz him in. You click the lock before escaping back into the bathroom to finish your face, makeup bag torn open in your sink. As you finish your lipstick you hear a soft knock echo down the hall.

"It's open!" you call, and the loud squeak of your front door screeches through your apartment.

"Y'know this could really use some WD-40," Steve says while he shuts the door behind him, "Do you have some? I can --"

You peek around the door frame, patting your lipstick into your lips with your finger. His eyes glint behind his glasses.

"Hey," he smiles, brushing some of the snow off of his coat.

"Hey," you smile back.

"You look pretty."

"So do you," you tease before escaping back into the mirror. He meets you at the frame of the bathroom door, leaning against it with his arms crossed.

"Should I start telling you I'm picking you up earlier so you'll be ready on time?" he asks, dipping his glasses down his nose to peer at you over the rims, "Or are you wearing pajamas?"

You roll your eyes mid-mascara application, throwing everything back in the bag when you finish, "I just have to put my dress on and then we can go, I promise."

You hurry to your bedroom, only mere steps away, pulling your dress out of it's bag hanging on your closet door, "Give me five minutes!"

You shut your door in his face, slipping the navy satin over your head. It wasn't anything too special -- vintage cut fit and flare. The curves of your body made it look more expensive than it was. Your tailor did wonders on it after you snagged it from a sad looking rack of sale dresses at Saks. You pulled on a pair of nude, gloss finish stockings -- silicone on the bands snapping around your thighs with a loud smack, before slipping on a pair of heels.

While grabbing a small purse to keep your effects in, you open the door to reveal Steve resting against the wall of the hallway. He looks inside, giving it a once over with one turn of his head.

"This is uh...cozy," he says, his smile is unethusiastic.

"Fuck off, Harrington," you groan, spritzing your ever declining bottle of Angel by Mugler across your chest and wrists.

"Let me look at you, hm?" he asks, stepping all the way into the room. You turn toward him, skirt of your dress swaying with the turn of your hips. His eyes unfocus for a moment, you hold back a chuckle -- men are so easy.

“So let me wrap my head around this real quick,” he puffs his chest a bit while he walks toward you. You giggle while walking backward, tripping on your heels, “You were gonna go to this party alone —”

“Wearing this?” he asks, catching you by the waist to steady you. He lets a finger drag from the halter strap of your dress, following the curves of your body downward, “That’s just not fair, Manhattan.”

“You’re Manhattan now, too, Steve,” you correct. His light touch sends a shiver through you and he lets out a satisfied hum. He smells like spice and evergreen, your mouth runs dry when his eyes linger on you for a little too long.

"C'mon, can't let Vinny wait too long for me down there. You're makin' me look bad," he says gently, taking you by the hand to your front door. He pulls your camel coat off the hook and holds it open for you, gliding it onto your arms with the finesse of a man who knows exactly how to treat a woman. Betrayal is the only emotion running through your chest as your body warms up against his touch.

Naturally, the Bently is the nicest car you've ever fucking seen.

He was right, you couldn't have shown up in a cab. There were paps everywhere and you couldn't understand why. It's not like there was any famous people here, just people with a shit ton of money. Were they famous by proxy? Would this show up on Page Six? If your networth had seven zeros, did you get welcomed into a hall of fame or something? Did everyone want to read about your life?

You squinted into the flashes of people taking pictures, Steve's hand immediately lacing with yours as you walked towards the entrance of the hotel.

"Careful, careful," he says, while you inch up the short icy stairway. Your heels clicking on the stone as you reach the doors, "Go slow."

"I'm okay, Steve," you assure, he looks back at you with doting eyes when you get inside.

"Just don't want you to hurt yourself, baby," he softly scolds before locking eyes with an usher for the party.

Oh, we're starting this now, you think to yourself. He walks with his hand still laced with yours while the usher leads you both to the Grand Ballroom, framed signs letting patrons know that the casino is in the Terrace Room down stairs. You immediately feel too broke to be here.

"Let me get your coat."

He undoes the button at your waist, smoothing your coat over your shoulders before removing his own. He checks them both and your eyes widen at the amount of cash you see in his wallet as he goes to pay. Gulping hard while he fingers through the bills -- hundred after hundred gleaming back at you.

He turns when he's done, running a hand through is hair, and gives you a very Harrington smile, "You ready?"

Your words catch in your throat while you look at him. His suit is perfectly tailored, the shirt patterned, but silk and neatly pressed. His leather banded watch sits perched on his wrist -- you can tell it's new. His pants hugged his thighs, streamlined in a straight line down to his ankles -- shoes freshly shined. Being handsome like this had to be a crime in some counties, there was no way he was just allowed to look like this and be rich.

"You ready, baby?" he asks again, offering his hand, "Come on."

Something about being called baby by him feels so natural. Like you forgot your own name and that's the only one that could get your attention. Baby, angel, princess, honey. You'd look up immediately and search for him at the sound of his voice. You'd know he meant you.

But he's not your boyfriend. This is just pretend. This is not what you want.

When the doors open, you can't breathe. The ballroom is completely transformed in gold and silver. The lights and chandeliers catch the decorations in a show of shimmer. Like the whole room was waiting to start glittering until you got there.

"Holy shit," you whisper.

"Yeah we're definitely not in Indiana anymore," he mutters to you. You feel his hold tighten on your hand in a show of something you hardly see from Steve. He's nervous.

You look up at him, eyes riding up from his jaw, cheek bone, to his eyes behind his glasses. His gaze roves over the party and he licks his lips, brow quirking before he makes a decision.

"You okay?" you ask, he looks down at you with a soft look in his eyes.

"I'm perfect," he says with a nod. The room is sprawling with tables and he's able to finesse a way to get you both to sit together even though the seating chart had you woefully distanced. It doesn't surprise you how easily he's able to assimilate to making things work for him here. You see his performance again and again: with the waiters, with how he orders drinks, how he checks his watch, how he smiles at people walking by.

You're both at the bar when you see it in full force, his arm protectively around your waist, thumb grazing the smooth fabric to keep him grounded.

"Steven?"

You both look over, an old man with a thick, white walrus mustache in a stunning black suit comes close to approach you. His wedding band is a shining platinum to match the watch on his wrist -- sapphires sit in the face of the metal backing. You wonder briefly how much it costs.

"Oh, Carl!" Steve beams, letting go of your waist for a moment to shake the man's hand, "How are you? Beautiful event -- really stunning."

"Thanks, thank you, but you ought to tell that to my wife. She's the one who plans these things, I just foot the bill," he laughs. His light eyes linger on you and you flush.

"And who's this? She looks like she just walk right out of Old Hollywood."

You introduce yourself, hand reaching out to shake his but he takes it to his lips to press a kiss to your hand. If he wasn't Steve's boss you wouldn't have smiled at the gesture -- but ah well.

"This is my girl, Carl. The one I was telling you about," Steve says with a blush.

"Just your girl?" he asks, eyes noting to your empty ring finger, "Hope she's your fiancé soon, Harrington."

"Sooner than she thinks. I promise, sir," they both laugh. Steve's hand returns to your waist and it feels like a leash. They talk for a moment, Steve passing you a drink while he does. It's business and you don't care, the drink is liquor forward and your face sours at the first sip.

"Sorry baby, that's whiskey. That's mine," he switches your drinks seamlessly while still in conversation. "We're just so happy to have you, Harrington -- my son Chuck, he's y'know, he's got no fuckin' clue what he's doin'. I blame myself, me and Muffy let him do whatever he wanted," Carl complains, "So I think havin' someone who just gets the business will be really helpful. I know you'll start guiding him in the right direction."

"I mean Carl, I was the same when I was twenty-six, he'll get there," it was like Steve had known him his whole life. He keeps his hands on you while the talk continues, two more men joining in. C-Suites. Big money. Important people. You're just a piece of art hanging on his arm.

You need to get the fuck out of here.

As if the heavens heard your plea, a call of your name takes you out of your bored trance.

"Over here!"

You sigh with relief at the sight of your coworker, also head to toe in shimmering Saks ready to wear in a sea of authentic Dior and Chanel.

"S'cuse me," you say gently, tugging out of Steve's grasp. He looks down at you a little sternly, you frown.

"Excuse me, I'm so sorry. A friend of mine is looking for me, it was great to meet you all," you smile at the group of men, stepping away delicately on your heels until they aren't paying attention. As they continue talking your run on the balls of your feet into your friend's arms.

"Rob, oh my god, what the fuck are we doing here?" you laugh. Robin Buckley looks like a million bucks, but you know she only makes $49k a year because you do, too.

"We do not belong here," she laughs with you, "Do you wanna go lose some money with me downstairs?"

"Yes, yes, one hundred percent," you not, "Get me away from these stiffs."

"So that's Steve?" Robin asks, passing you a glass of champagne while you finish the last sip of the margarita Steve got you a little earlier.

"That's Steve," you murmur, immediately letting the bubbles slide past your lips.

"He's really something," she grins, "You're complaining about being smothered by that?"

"Stop Rob, you don't even like guys," you tease, nudging her knee with the tip of your heeled toe.

"I don't have to like guys to know when a guy is hot," Rob says through a sip of her drink, "And he's fucking hot. Like, Tom Cruise hot. Top Gun hot."

"Oh, stop."

"Jerry Maguire hot -- and like, super fucking rich, obviously. That's a Prada suit. Are you kidding? Talk about 'show me the money,' he's showing you, babe."

"Yeah, but like," you frown a little, "You know how all the guys in finance always talk about how much they hate their wives? And all their wives are Tribeca moms who keep going on retreats to 'work on themselves' after they get cheated on?"

"Of course, that's like, the Tribeca mom rite of passage," she agrees, crossing her thin legs, her sequin dress shimmered in the low, warm, light.

"So, Steve just moved to Tribeca -- it's like...like I'm staring my future right in the face," you exclaim, another sip meeting your lips, "And it's not like I look like any of those women either. I'll be going on my first retreat in three months tops."

"Okay, well one, you have no idea what you're talking about," Robin shakes her head, "You're a smokeshow."

"And two, isn't Steve from Kansas or something?"

"Indiana."

"Same thing," she waves you off, "Steve's from Arkansas. He doesn't have the same mindset as the guys who came here when they were teenagers to jerk off at frat parties at NYU."

"They'll get to him," you shake your head, looking at her with a knowing glance, "They always do."

You both make your way over to the slot machines, weaving through crowds at roulette and craps tables, snaking by chairs sat at poker games. The piles of chips make you sweat. There was a lot of money down here.

"This is all I can handle, cards are so boring," Robin sits down on the plush leather of the seat across from the machine while you take the one next to her. You both play a few rounds in silence before she looks over at you again.

"Do you know what I think?" she asks, champagne glass empty in her hand.

"What do you think, Buckley?" you ask, finishing the last sip of yours.

"I think Andy fucked you up a little and you can't believe someone like Steve wants to be with you, so you're pushing him away," she says with a shrug, "You're trying to hurt him before he can hurt you."

"You sound ridiculous."

"I sound ridiculous or I sound right on the money?" she asks, pulling the lever on the machine. It runs and stops, she doesn't win.

"Sounds like you're not on the money at all," you shrug.

"Shut up," she laughs, "I'm just saying, I think you're really convinced he's settling when I think it's pretty clear he likes you a lot."

"You don't even know him!" you exclaim, running the machine over again.

"Looks like I might get to know him," she smirks. You turn toward the entrance and there he is, frowning while peering through the room. He's squinting behind his glasses trying to find you in the low light, hands in his pockets. For a moment you think about letting him not find you, maybe he'd pick someone else up at the party. Hell, women were gawking at him from the moment he walked in -- he had plenty to pick from.

But the desperation on his face made your heart ache -- this really was your world. Maybe he really did need you to help show him around.

Against your own judgement, you wave, hoping he'd catch you in the sea of people. You don't have to wait long to see his smile when he catches you, waving back and disappearing in the crowd.

"Hey, there you are," he breathes with a small jog towards you, "Thought I lost you."

"No, no, just out here draining my Christmas bonus," you laugh, tugging on the lever again. Robin looks over and smirks at you when he rests his hand on the back of your neck under your hair, thumb grazing the skin under the hinge of your jaw.

"This is Robin, she's my friend from work," pointing your thumb at her. Always the business man, he leans over you to shake her hand.

"Steve -- nice to meet you," he grins.

"Oh, I know who you are," she teases. You shoot her a look, but it falters. The way his hand leaves your neck to stroke over your head, gently enough to not ruin your hair, makes you melt. It had to be the booze. The haze of cigarette smoke making you woozy.

The lights of the machine infront of you flash wildly, the music sounding, screen glowing - WINNER! JACKPOT! WINNER!

"Oh, fuck yes!" you cheer while the chips fall into into the opening at the bottom.

"Come on!" Robin huffs, "I've put in at least twenty more dollars than you have."

"Didn't pick the lucky machine, Rob," you joke, collecting the chips in a stack in your hand. "How much did you win?" he asks, trying to count them while you clumsily try to keep them together.

"I think just a hundred bucks, so -- eighty dollar profit!"

"Ugh don't say profit, we're at a party," Robin groans, pulling the lever down on her machine hastily.

"Let me take those," Steve says, collecting the chips and putting them in his suit pocket, "I have to go get some anyway."

He pulls out his wallet, thumbing through bills and plucks an $100 out. He folds it, handing it to you, "Now you don't have to cash them."

"Steve..." you scold softly. He takes your hand and presses the bill into it, closing your fingers over the paper. He smiles, thumbing through his wallet again while you put the money in your purse. He plucks out another bill and holds it out in front of Robin. Her mouth hangs open at the gesture.

"Steve!" you raise your voice but he thinks the reproachful look on your face is just too cute.

"Sorry Rob, I think he's drunk," you apologize, embarrassed beyond measure.

"What? I think she deserves a consolation prize," he smiles. Robin plucks the bill from his fingers, putting it in her wristlet.

"I think he should be drunk around me way more often if this is how he acts," she rasps. Steve throws her a wink, arm snaking around you once you get up from the slot machine stool.

"S'it okay if I steal her from you?" he asks. You swallow thickly, both hating and loving how he pulls you around this party like you're his property.

"Steal her, take her home, take her kidneys, I don't care," she laughs, "Do whatever you want, consider me paid off."

"I'll see you later, Rob!" you smile, reaching out and squeezing her hand. As Steve turns around with you, you look back at her. She gives you an exasperated look -- 'What the fuck is wrong with you? He's great.'

He is great. That's what makes it so hard.

He leads you over to the chip exchange, fingers grazing your back while he lets go of your waist. His hand sneaks into suit jacket where he pulls out a wad of cash secured by a shining gold money clip.

"Can I get four grand in hundreds?" he asks.

"Steve that's -- stop," you huff, "Who're you trying to impress?"

"Impress?" he scoffs, "The buy in for blackjack is five hundred dollars, baby. This is just fuck around money."

"Here," he says, plucking a glass of champagne off of a waiter's tray as he offers them. Steve passes it to you, "Have a drink, stop pouting. It's a holiday."

You sip it bitterly while you wait and he sighs at you, pressing a kiss to your forehead before reaching back into his jacket pocket. He pulls out a cigarette and a silver lighter, embers glowing while he inhales, lighter escaping back to its hiding place.

"Hey," he says, blowing the smoke out away from you, "Wanna smile for me?"

You smile, it's fake and exaggerated, he laughs into his next drag, "I'll take it."

The attendant passes Steve a rack of chips, neatly rowed but as he's about to take them his name is called. Yet another group of stiffs asking for his attention.

"Will you hold this for me, honey? Thank you," he asks softly, passing you the rack. You nod while you take it, desperately hoping this conversation goes quicker than the last one. He introduces you like you brought you on a leash and they all shake your hand like you're a show pony that got gussied up to leave the stable. You're not a person, just an accessory -- and you know they're surprised at his choice, but he doesn't need the extra social currency.

You keep sipping your champagne and shutting up, but your ears perk up when you hear him mention you, "You know she just put together this wild campaign for their lipstick line with the creative team, she might as well have produced it. And now their quarterly has that lipstick up fourteen percent and growing. And here we are with just -- what? Claims? How do we even market that? She swears what she does is boring."

You blush at his praise. So he does listen when you complain about work.

The conversation changes and you're bored again, eyes surveying the crowd of long elegant women and handsome stuffy men. Cheers roaring from tables, the sounds from the slot machines, it seemed less overwhelming with a few drinks in you. You guessed upstairs was for the boring people.

"Have you ever even seen four grand before?" you hear sneering your way. You look up and there he is -- the heartbreaker whose heart you barely broke by breaking up with him. The boy who hardly cared.

“Andy?” you ask, brows pulling inward in disgusted shock, “What’re you doing here?”

Andy had gotten a new attitude after he got a new job, suddenly too good for you and your old group of friends. Suddenly telling everyone he broke up with you. Telling everyone he shouldn't settle for less. The glasses of champagne you’ve had finally meet your brain, making you woozy and nervous. The glittering decorations on the ceilings marry the lights and cross over your vision. Andy sparkles in front of you, his friends faded out behind him. A scene in slow motion.

You feel Steve’s hand on your waist, giving you little squeezes so you don’t feel like he’s ignoring you while he talks to his new colleagues about stocks and sales. Boring metrics that you’d care about if it mattered.

“I was invited. Perks of Chuck being my boss,” he gives you a smarmy smile, knowing you’re only here by proxy. Not because you’re important, not in the same way that—

“Whose this asshole?” Andy scoffed, giving Steve a once over. You hear Steve’s pleasant, ‘Sorry fellas, if you’d excuse me…’ to his group as he turns toward Andy and his friends. He flashes a charming Harrington smile.

“Andy! Nice to see you again, man,” he raises his champagne flute toward him cheerily. Andy looks at Steve with a furrowed brow, confused but sly.

“Sorry, guy. Not sure we’ve met,” he laughs — covered in new money sleaziness, his friends laugh with him, “Nat must’ve told you all about me, I guess.”

You feel Steve’s posture change — confident and cocky. His head tilts the way it does when you know he’s about to say something mean. Your body heats up when he places his empty glass on the platter of a near by server, putting the free hand in his pocket.

“We met in Indiana,” he corrects, confidence unfaltering, “You don’t remember?”

“Indiana?” Andy scoffs again. Your face twists into something Steve doesn’t like, a mix of annoyed and embarrassed.

“Well, since you’re at a loss let me reintroduce myself,” he smirks. He puts his hand out shake your ex’s, Andy loosely shakes it back.

“Name’s Steve,” he introduces himself with a warm genuine quality that people learn from years of sales work, clapping his other hand over Andy’s, “Steve Harrington. I’m Natalie’s boyfriend.”

He says it so casually that you immediately flush, it sounds too natural.

“Oh,” Andy says, surprised. He gives you a once over, offering you a pathetic glace, “You're dating her? You're her boyfriend?”

“Her boyfriend,” he lilts, taking his hand away. He slinks an arm back around your waist, tucking his shoulder behind yours, “And sorry, couldn't help but over hearing -- You said Chuck’s your boss? Chuck at Slate Insurance?”

“Yeah, and?” Andy asked, annoyed. Steve let out a gentle chuckle, the kind that sounds rich. The kind that sounds like a trust fund with seven figures.

“Oh, that’s—hoo!— that’s funny,” he teases, but it comes out cool and uncaring. He bites his lip to keep from laughing more, giving Andy a judgmental once over.

“What’s so funny about it?” he asks, arms crossing in a huff causing his cheap suit to crease.

“Oh, it’s uh, it’s funny because I’m Chuck’s boss,” he gestures toward him before tucking his hand back in his pocket, “So I guess I’ll see ya Monday, champ.”

Andy chokes on his sip of champagne, you bite back a mean giggle that bubbles in the seat of your chest.

“Now, hate to be rude but, my woman and I are gonna head over to the roulette table,” Steve starts, beginning to move you over to the next room with him, “Unless — you know, unless you’d care to join us. You feelin’ lucky?”

Andy’s face has gone red, eyebrows sloped down, a prominent wrinkle forming on his forehead. His friends look into their drinks, coughing and shifting awkwardly while they watch the exchange.

“No?” Steve asks, a slight taunt to his voice. Andy shakes his head no, “Ah well, suit yourself, I guess. Say bye, angel.”

Steve nudges you with his shoulder and you burn under the instruction, lifting your gaze to Andy who looks like he could maul Steve at any second, “Bye, Andy,” you mutter, your voice trailing higher than normal.

“See you around, man. Next time I catch ya, I'll give you the number to my tailor,” Steve's eyes linger on the hem of Andy's trousers -- sloppy and too long for him. He let's out a soft 'hm' before meeting Andy's gaze and shooting him a wink with a steely grin. Steve leads you out of the chip exchange by the small of your back, passing you another glass of champagne.

“Drink that before you say whatever smart thing you wanna say,” he says, hand dropping from your back to clasp with yours while he leads you through the throngs of people to the roulette table.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything,” you lie.

“Pfft, okay,” he shakes his head in front of you, but you don’t need to see him to know that he’s rolling his eyes. You arrive at the edge of the table, oak wood bumping into your hip.

“I’m not much of a gambler,” you confess, taking your places around the table closer to the wheel. He kisses your cheek before taking your chin between his fingers gently.

“You thought I’d have you dropping your own cash here? That’s cute,” he teases with his voice low enough so the other players couldn't hear, “Daddy’s gonna gamble, baby. You’re just gonna watch.”

“Steve,” you blush, “Don’t say that.”

“I don't know,” he shrugs coolly while placing his chips, turning back to you when he's done, "I think you like when I say that."

He wins big at roulette, of course he does. He's Steve Harrington.

Now he has you nestled on his lap while he plays black jack, your hips and thighs spilling over the leg you're perched on. Everyone's drunk so no one cares that you're not supposed to do that, as long as your hands are in view of the dealer. It's not a real casino anyway.

His breath hits that spot between your neck and shoulder that makes you squirmy, hips rolling achingly slow on his thigh when he does it. You have half a mind to think he's doing it on purpose.

"Watch yourself, angel," he mumurs, placing a hand firmly on your hip to steady you, "Don't want you to fall."

You watch him play, him and his colleagues, some men he doesn't know -- they're betting real big. Big enough that you had the pleasure of holding two more racks of chips for him while the other two were stacked on the table in front of you.

The three other men have either had too many or are sitting between 12 and 16 in their cards. He has fourteen in front of him, a jack, a three of hearts, and an ace. You watch him tap the table to hit and then double down, you gulp. A fourteen thousand dollar bet, and it's just chump change to most of the guys down here.

The dealer hits, a seven of clubs slapping down on the table. "Blackjack."

He smirks and the table claps while the dealer expertly slides over $35,000 in chips which you load dutifully onto the empty racks on the table next to you.

"Really got lady luck on your side tonight, huh Harrington?" the older man next to him asks. You feel Steve's hand clap your thigh.

"Actually, she's on my lap," he smiles and you flush at his teasing, listening to them talk while the dealer shuffles for the next round. His hand slides over your thigh and he talks to the guys at the table like he's not driving you insane when he toys when the hem of your dress.

"Can I get anyone a drink?" a waitress asks the table. You turn to Steve while the men start to order, some glasses of wine, some full bottles of liquor.

"Get whatever you want, honey," he says, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. The waitress looks to you expectantly and you smile. It's probably the first non-horny smile she's gotten all night.

"Can I get a bottle of Dom for the table, please?" you ask, "The earliest vintage you have."

You were pushing your luck -- but you were at a blackjack table. He squeezes your thigh and you squeal under his touch while the dealer starts the game.

"Didn't know my girl was so greedy," he teases in your ear. Your lip quirks.

"M'not really your girl, Stevie," you whisper back.

"No?" he murmurs back to you, hand skimming your dress up the side of your thigh, "Spending my money like you are."

You blush hard, he loves how easy it is to fluster you once you've had a few. Still lucid, less tightly wound. He liked when you loosened up for him, when you relaxed into his touch with all these people around.

The Dom comes and the waitress starts pouring glasses, Steve gets the bill and shoots you a look when you go to peer over the leather.

"Don't be rude, baby," he tuts, tilting it away from you. There were way too many numbers in the total for a bottle of champagne.

"Sorry, Steve," you mumble while he passes the waitress his credit card with the bill. The champagne is dry and heavenly and your smile when you take the first sip makes all the money he paid worth it.

"You like it?" he asks, attention going back to the game.

"Mhmm," you nod into your next sip.

"Good," he smiles, "Have another bottle at home we can break into later."

Home. Oh. He wants you to go home with him. Was that the plan? Were you following through with the fake date thing the whole time? All night?

"Hm," is all you reply. He keeps winning big -- but you're really the only thing he's betting on.

It's starting to get a little late and the party is picking up. All the screens in the casino have Dick Clark on, the big party on the other side of town is ramped up to eleven.

Steve holds your hand at the chip exchange, the manager and two security guards stand by while they stack bundles of cash for Steve. You know the short set of bands is more money than you've ever seen in your life, it almost makes you nervous.

"This isn't gonna fit in my money clip, angel, can I borrow your purse?" he asks sweetly. Your purse isn't huge, but it can fit the money in it.

"Uh, um, yeah," you say, you mouth running dry while he puts at least forty grand in your bag.

"Thank you, baby," he smiles, the booze affecting his grin. You let him lead, taking you out of the casino and back upstairs to the ball room. There are people everywhere, but more importantly, there is food.

You both don't even think about it, manuevering to the buffet in silence, giggling while you load up plates with obscure hors d'oeuvres and different types of bread and dessert. You sit at the table, barely talking while you eat, but stealing glances at each other.

"I think this is octopus, try it for me and tell me," he says, holding out a small sauteed tentacle on a cracker with avocado.

"I'm not trying it for you!" you laugh, "Try it for yourself. Don't be such a wimp."

"C'mon, just try it for me, tell me if it's good," he smiles, leaning his chin on his other hand to watch you. He pushes the cracker further towards your mouth and you give in, lettling him pop the bite sized morsel into your tongue. His fingertips brush your lips and he swallows, adams apple bobbing slowly against his collar.

"Definitely octopus," you nod.

"You're so brave," he says dreamily, fingertip booping against your nose.

"Okay weirdos, enough with your fake date, let's go dance," Robin's voice booms from a couple tables over while she walks towards you. She grabs both of your hands to lead you to the crowded dance floor. The live band plays fast jazz and the three of you make up what you can to it. Robin really taking the prize for most creative dance moves.

"Is she okay?" Steve asks, giving you a little spin. You look at her and back at him, nodding.

"Yeah, she'll sleep good tonight," you let him lead, arm wrapped around your waist. The music slows and he hums to himself, pulling you closer.

"This is nice," his voice is warm and low, "This is what I wanted all night."

"To dance with me?" you ask softly. He nods, a bashful smile curling up his lips, glasses slipping a little down the slope of his nose. You push them up gently, putting your arms back around his neck.

"I really like dancing with you," he whispers, noses close to brushing each other.

"Thanks."

His bashful smile turns to a tight one, "Look, I'm sorry about the fiance and boyfriend stuff with Carl and Andy. That was outta line, I shouldn't have said all that shit."

"It's okay," you assure, but he's not done talking.

"I'm sorry if I've been laying it on too thick all night," he says apologetically, "Got too committed to the part, I guess."

"S'fine Steve," you say, looking up at him, "It's just pretend."

Hurt flashes in his eyes, brows softening when you say it.

"Yeah...it's just pretend," he mutters. He loosens his hold on your waist and you can tell he's embarrassed. You can feel his hands become clammy over the fabric of your dress, skidding against the satin while they move.

A woman gets to the center of the stage, a beautiful 40s gown clinging tight to her curves while she grips the microphone. The opening words of Ella Fitzgerald's, 'What're you Doing New Years Eve' , starts with the band.

"Aw, you don't hear this song a lot," you smile, "My dad loved this song."

"Yeah?" he asks. He takes a deep breath, looking at the other couples getting close, nuzzling, kissing. Diamond rings dazzling in the light, wedding bands glinting in his eyes.

"C'mere," he says, reinvigorated to keep up the charade. His arm snakes all the way around you, chest to chest, his other hand holding yours. He rests his forehead against yours, moving slow with you to the music, the instrumental lulling you both into the fantasy you both created.

Steve had such a way of making it feel like it was just the both of you.

'Maybe it's much too early in the game, Ah, but I thought I'd ask you just the same, What are you doing New Year's, New Year's eve?'

"It's a pretty song," he says.

"Yeah," you agree, lost in how he looks at you.

'Maybe I'm crazy to suppose, I'd ever be the one you chose, Out of the thousand invitations you received.'

You rest your head on his chest while the horns solo, the hand on your waist trailing up to brush your hair and cup your face.

"Hey, look at me," his voice is quiet, "Wanna see your pretty face, Manhattan."

"I look tired," you complain, looking back up at him with a scrunch of your nose. His thumb slides over your cheek bone.

"You look perfect," he confesses.

'Ah, but in case I stand one little chance, Here comes the jackpot question in advance, What are you doing New Year's, New Year's Eve?'

"Hey Nat," he starts.

"Mhm?"

"What if it --" he lets out a breath through his nose, "What if it wasn't pretend?"

"What?"

10!

"What if we didn't have to pretend?" he asks, "What if we just...what if we just were each other's real dates? Cause like --"

"Steve, come on."

9!

"You can't pretend like this doesn't feel right," he pleads, "Like this doesn't feel real."

"Steven, I told you this morning--"

8!

"Baby, I haven't stopped thinking about you since you left me at the office," he confesses, "Thinking about how to change your mind. I want you so bad, Nat. You have no fucking idea."

"I'm just the only person to tell you no," you assure, "That's the only reason you want me."

7!

"No, I promise that's not it," he urges, both of his hands cupping your cheeks while he talks. The cheering getting louder around you at the clock ticks closer to midnight.

6!

"You're not gonna want this after a month of you being here. Look at everyone around you Steve -- I don't fit in here," you say, "Don't you want a trophy wife? Someone who everyone gawks over?"

"Have you seen yourself?" he asks, eyes wild, "Had to walk behind you all night so all these guys would stop staring at you."

5!

"Steve you're just...settling," you finally say it and it feels like a weight has floated off your chest, "This was the opposite of what you came to New York for."

"Settling? Are you stupid?"

4!

"You wanted to do something new and exciting," you counter.

"You are new and exciting," he can't believe the words coming out of your mouth, "You are why I wanted to be here. I wanted to do something new with you."

3!

"I've been sitting in Hawkins for the last five years thinking about how much fun you're having out here. Thinkin' about how much fun we could have together -- haven't stopped fucking thinking about you since the night I met you in Porter's."

"You're just saying that," you argue, lump growing in your throat, "You're just drunk."

2!

"I'm not just saying that, please just listen to me" he pleads, "Fuck Nat, I --"

1!

"I love you."

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Silver and gold metallic confetti pours from the ceiling, your breath hitches while it glitters on it's way down.

"I love you so much, it hurts," he confesses, eyes shining behind his frames, "I just -- I think I loved you the whole time."

Your mouth falls open against his hold on your cheeks.

"You don't have to say it back, I--"

You stop his sentence with your lips against his. The kiss he wanted to give you all night. It feels like an old movie kiss with with way his arms wrap tight around your back and waist and your hands meet his face.

He breaks away from you for a moment, locking his eyes with yours.

"I really mean it," he murmurs, "I love you."

"I --," his eyes linger on yours, your cheeks heat up, "Steve."

"Yeah?"

"I love you, too."

He knew it. God, he fucking knew it.

The lock clicks and he checks it once, twice, three times before caging you in against the wall. There weren't any families here so it's not like anyone was looking to use the bathroom with a changing table. Everyone was using the lounge bathroom for coke anyway.

"Fuck, you're so pretty," he gasped into your mouth, "You're so fucking pretty."

"Thanks," you breath against his kiss. His lips trail from your mouth down your jaw, lips sliding down your neck to your chest. His tongue is warm and wet on your skin and you sigh up to the ceiling at the feel of it.

He manhandles you at the sound, arms overtaking you to shove the complimentary products on the sink's counter and throw you onto it. You look at him with swollen lips from his kiss, eyes begging. He grabs your hand to press it firmly up against his erection, staring down at you down the slope of his nose, “That’s how you got me all night, lookin' at me like that. Wearin' this dress -- what's wrong with you, hm?”

"S'wrong with me?" you slur, dragging your hand back over his cock without his guidance, "S'wrong with you? This suit fitting you so nice, that stupid fancy watch?"

"Stupid? My Patek?" he laughs, "It was nine grand, don't call it stupid."

"You're disgusting," you spit, but it doesn't have the bite you can normally dish. The way he lingers over you makes you lose your edge.

"Mmm, love when you're a little mean," he groans while he buries his face in your neck, reaching for the hair at the nape of it, tugging just enough to make your thighs twitch, "Get to watch you get so nice for me."

You feel his lips drag over your sensitive skin, pulling it in between his teeth to bite down. He takes in your scent, grunting into your jaw while the perfume he likes rules his senses. He's rough, hungry. He's a little drunk, but so are you.

You thighs part to make room for him, ass nearly hanging off the counter while his hips press into you. You run a hand through his silky hear while he assaults your neck, eyes reeling when he hits that spot right past the base.

"You all wet?" he asks in your ear, gravelly voice booming in your chest. His hand skates up your fleshy inner thigh, heat greeting him like an old friend.

"I'm so wet, Steve," you whine back, pushing your hips against his fingertips while he strokes over your satin covered clit.

"Yeah, you're so wet for me?" he mocks, "I got you all worked up out there?"

"Y-yeah," you whimper while his fingers toy with your panty line, inching inward. He's smug when he feels what's waiting for him behind the fabric.

"Showing you off all night? Throwin' all my cash around?" he growls, a finger sliding in between your legs, "Givin' it all to you to hold on to? That got you all hot and bothered?"

"Y-yes, yeah," you nod, biting your lip to keep quiet.

"Oh-ho baby, they can't hear you out there -- party's gettin' a little rowdy," he teases, "Go ahead an' moan for me."

A second finger follows his first and you start whimpering with every thrust, every flick of his wrist. You grip the counter, skirt of your dress falling back as your thighs lift up and out involuntarily.

"Steve," you moan it like a prayer, it echos back at you, "Shit, fuck, just like that."

"Good girl, baby," he grins, more so when your hips rock in time with his fingers, "Oh, you showin' off now?"

"Sh-shut up, Steve," you chuckle between gasps, face crumpling again while he grazes your g-spot with his fingers. Your walls grip him, gushing over his knuckles. A lazy smile falls onto your face while your hips pick it's rhythm with his fingers.

"Love when you smile like that for me," he says softly, pressing a kiss against your lips -- the facade of your rich, sexy, big money fuck toy falling away, back to his Hawkins beginnings, "You look so beautiful."

"You think I'm beautiful?" you tease against his lips, but you know the answer.

"Don't think it, I know it," he whispers between pecks.

He takes out his wallet with his free hand, flipping it open, using his nimble fingers to pull out the condom he'd kept in there tonight just in case. His other fingers ease out of you slowly, tossing you a stern look when you whine.

"Be patient, pl-- Jesus, baby," he melts when you take his fingers, still shining with your slick, directly into your mouth. You make a big show of letting them leave your mouth with a wet pop, his mouth hanging open, eyes unfocused.

"Just wanted to clean up my mess," you say with an innocent shrug.

"You're gonna kill me," he breathes out, sliding the condom on and tossing the wrapper to his feet. Your legs part immediately, skirt of your dress falling way with your thighs, the roll of your tummy poking out to the cool air as you hold your legs up close to your chest.

"You're okay? You want this?" he asks, "I know you had a few."

"I want this," you nod, "I want it."

"Good, cause it's yours," he grins, gliding the tip down from your clit to your entrance, "S'all yours."

"All mine," you whine, sighing high and breathy while the tip breaches inside. Your hips roll instinctively to feel more of him and he obliges, pushing in a third of the way to feel you make room for him. The moan you let out makes him bite his lip. You feel so good around him.

"Who fills you up like me, huh?" he pants while he pulls out and pushes back in, gripping the fat of your thighs hard enough to bruise. "No one, Steve," you moan back, while he rocks against you, "P-please more, please." His lips fall open when you ask, "More, huh? You want all of it?"

You nod feverishly, gripping his shoulders, nails nearly ripping the fabric of his dress shirt as you pull him by the hips. He laughs, locking his hips in place where only half of him was snugly inside you. He adjusts his glasses, peering at your through them, "Say please again, angel." "Please, Stevie," you beg, hips shimmying. He tutts at you, pushing a little farther in and a whine peals through you.

"Like that?" he asks, "You want a little more?"

"Please, please, please," you huff, the stretch of him slowly moving in driving your eyes to the back of your head. The bulbous tip creeping past your g-spot unbearably slow -- juices seeped out of you over him.

"Please, please, please. All that whining, think this is all you can handle angel," he mocks gently, hand cupping your cheek. His thumb grazes over your lip while he starts his thrusts again -- half way to all the way out.

"No, no, all of it, please," you grovel, "Please. It's mine."

You bite your lip, eyes watering while the pleasure builds below your belly -- you're aching for the fullness of him.

Your eyes round in neediness, overtaken by the wetness between your legs, the way he touches you, "Please, daddy." "Fuck, baby," he groans while he pushes in to the hilt, lips finding yours while he readjusts. His arm reaches around your back to angle you differently, caging you in against the mirror on the wall. His other hand snakes up to the back of your neck, pulling you in for a deep kiss, all deep breaths and tongue. Steve's hips roll against yours, shallow thrusts to keep himself as buried inside of you as possible, "See what happens when you — mmm — ask me nicely?" You roll your eyes but he thrusts again and your head lolls back against the mirror, “Sh-shut up, you’re so— you’re so — ah! oh fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“I’m so what? We’re you gonna say ‘I’m so annoying’?" he grins into another kiss. You can feel his tip pushing against your cervix with every short thrust. Your body stretched around him with ease, making you gasp with every thrust of his hips, “M’so deep you can’t even talk right.”

He presses his forehead against yours, eyes shut tight while sweat builds on his forehead, "Oh shit, shit you feel so good."

"Harder, please," you whisper. He nods against you, picking up the pace of his thrusts and he has to cover your mouth to drown own the sounds coming out of you.

"Shh, shh, not too loud baby," he giggles, "Don't wanna lose my job."

You take a deep breath through your nose, trying to maintain your composure while you pulse tighter and tighter around him.

"Steve you...oh my god, yes, yes, like that," you slur out while he holds you steady on the counter, watching you come undone around him. "Say you're mine," he says, grunting between thrusts, "Say you're all mine."

"M'all yours Steve, all yours," you nod, eyes pooling with tears as each thrust sends you closer to seeing white, "Oh fuck, fuck -- I'm gonna cum, ohmygod m'gonna cum."

"Cum for me angel," he says through gritted teeth, getting close himself, "Cum for me."

Your legs vibrate when he pulls your hair to bare your neck to him, final thrusts sending blinding pleasure through your body. You shake and spasm beneath him, whining and mewling at the come down.

"That's it, baby," he coos while you gasp back to reality, "That's my girl." He buries his face in your neck when his hips stutter, groaning, gripping your legs so hard you know you'll bruise.

"Mmm, god," he grunts, "Oh fuck, I'm gonna -- oh, baby --"

You both rest against eachother, breathing heavy, hands roaming. He pulls out slowly while he softens, discarding the used condom in the trash. You go to move but he stops you, pulling up his briefs and pants and cleaning you up gently.

"You okay?" he asks, "That felt good?"

You nod, "Was it good for you?"

"Bathroom sex with my girlfriend? Oh, amazing," he smiles, helping you down off the counter.

"Girlfriend, huh?"

"Do you wanna be called something else? I'll call you anything you want," he bushes, "S'long as you're my girl, Manhattan."

"You're girl," you muse, "Steve Harrington's girl."

"Sounds really good, doesn't it?" he tosses you a cool look, "Lot's a girls would beg for that title."

"You're annoying," you huff, opening the door to the bathroom and peeking outside to check for people. The coast was clear and he leads you out to the hallway by the hand, heading over to the coat check.

"We're going home?" you ask.

"We're going to yours," he says.

"Why?"

"So we can start packing up your shit to bring to mine tomorrow morning."

[nootqueen404]

Angel's First Time - Devil's Last Meal

Summery: Steve Harrington is known for wearing many hats - successful businessman, notorious flirt, and reclusive introvert. The latter is a new one for him since surviving the Great Hawkins Earthquake of 86’. Between work, covering up his tracks, and struggling with his own demons; Steve doesn’t have time to do much of anything unless it has to do with satisfying his thirst.

Two years after the Portal ripped through the town (and Steve loosing his mortality) he decides to open up his home once again on Halloween night…and to bleed some gullible souls dry. But one guest peeks his interests, and he can’t wait to sink his teeth into her in more ways than one.

A/N: This was based on an RP I did with @steveharringtonanonblog back in late September-early October. I would have loved to have finished it before Halloween, but , ya know, life happens.

Pairing: Vampire!Steve Harington x Fem!Reader, brief mention of Robin x Vikki and Nancy x Jonathan

Warning (DNI if you’re under 18): All of the characters are over 18! Drinking, swearing, blood, injuries, hardcore flirting, sexual themes, minor blood play, angst (‘cuz Steve was raised by emotionally detached parents and doesn’t know how to express love,) oral (M and F receiving), breeding kink if you squint, Steve breaking free from his nepotism baby status, lots of biting, lots of foreplay, throat training, choking, use of pet names, unprotected sex (for the love of god please use protection folks).

~ Halloween Night, 1988 ~

Robin insisted that Y/N (who she affectionately called Angel) be her Plus One to Steve Harrington's Halloween Masquerade Party. Any other time Angel would be all in to go to a party, especially if it involved the incredibly handsome and charming Steve Harrington. But after the last few years romance wasn’t exactly at the forefront of her mind. She moved out of her parents' house in the summer of 1985 – before shit really hit the fan – and lost her apartment when the "Portal to Hell '' opened up a year later. Since then Angel has been staying at Robin Buckley’s house for free – in exchange for driving her to and from work (and trying to teach her how to drive.) She could have asked Vikki, but Robin is still trying to ease her way into a first date.

During those rides Y/N got to finally meet Steve Harrington. Robin and Steve became an unexpected duo after their time at Scoops Ahoy, then moving onto Family Video. Angel was always too nervous to really talk to him more than just saying “hi” and some light teasing. Apparently he was hit pretty hard when the Portal and earthquake too. His parents were gone; either they moved out or they died no one knows. They just kind of vanished. Since then he really pulled himself out of that hole; he inherited everything from his folks. When we say everything, we mean everything!                No more struggling to get by because his dad wanted to "teach him a lesson." He took some of that money he got and invested in stocks, that made his money double. Then he bought rights to Scoops Ahoy, money back then tripled after opening a dozen franchisees all across the midwest. Needless to say Steve Harrington went past just peeking in high school. But with all of that he's spent less and less time with Robin and the rest of his friends. Yeah, he had his own businesses to run and figuring out stuff with his dead parents; but people swore it was like he just locked himself away in that new mansion he bought and just drowned himself in his work...he doesn't even go on dates anymore. King Flirt Steve Harrington not dating? That’s insane.

Anyways, Robin was on Y/N’s ass to dress up for this party. The invites were very specific about the dress code – "It's Halloween; go nuts! Bring on the opulence, but make it edgy – you must incorporate leather, spikes, and/or harnesses." She told Robin the literal BDSM shit was fucking weird. The brunette just shrugged it off and said "It's Halloween at Harrington's. What else were you expecting?"                   Luckily Angel had some stuff lying around to make a pretty damn good angel costume, maybe a little on the nose come to think of it. Nancy Wheeler helped Y/N make wings out of this gorgeous iridescent leather stuff she found in her brother's D&D shit. Y/N kept it simple otherwise; white mini dress that hugged her curves, strappy silver heels, and her hair was teased. She also had a garter belt that matched her wings that kept her stockings up, white elbow length gloves, and all of the sparkle and glitter Nancy, Robin, and Angel could get their hands on. Robin went as a pirate, nothing too crazy. She was given an exception to the dress code since Steve and her were so close, and Robin has some sensory issues.

“Christ, Steve went all in with that inheritance, huh?” Angel said aloud as she parked the car.

Robin was fixing her eyeliner in the rearview mirror “Yeah, he's a real Daddy Warbucks now. She stopped and made a face “That felt wrong...”

“You said it, not me!” Y/N shot back with a laugh. “Jesus Christ, this dress is short!” She was struggling to adjust the wings while not flashing anyone.

The pirate got out of the car and helped her friend adjust the straps of her harness. “Yeah yeah shut up! You picked it out, remember?” she grabs the angel’s hand and dragged her up the walkway, “Come on! Dingus Warbucks is waiting!”

Angel rolled her eyes and followed along. Steve's security/wait staff showed the two girls the way into the main dining hall.

“Geez if I didn't know any better I'd say Steve was having one of those parties,” Angel’s eyes darted around all of the guests. “It's like the set of Hellraiser in here.”

The pirate let out a scoff “Nah, not even Steve would be that bold.” Suddenly they both heard cheers and clapping and looked to the grand staircase – it's Steve Harrington. “Oh god...spoke too soon.”

Ever since the earthquake, Steve had put on a fake front for everyone, though still laying back and focusing on his business. The deal with his parents was a messy one, he almost got caught, but if there's something he knows how to be, it’s persuasive. So now – the music booming loudly through the mansion; guest after guest entering the house, he never felt more content, and hungry. The party was just a fakery to get the one thing Steve really needed...blood. It's been a while since he had this much food in one room, but that just doubled- no, tripled the fun.         Making his way downstairs, the crowd cheered like he was the biggest fucking superstar, but they would do that for anyone who invited them into their home and offered them free drinks. Saluting them, the music turned down slightly so he could speak.

“Hello everyone; glad to see you here- Christ, there are so many of you!” He says in awe, hands settling on his waist. For him, they were nothing but chunks of flesh, filled with the essence of a long lasting life. “Tonight, will be a night of sin! So grab a drink and have fun!” He urges the crowd; already scanning the room for a potential prey, preferably girls since they're the easy one to wow. Just a bit of the Harrington charm and they're on their knees, begging for me to suck them dry.

"’Night of sin’?" Y/N looked at Robin “Okay he is shamelessly doubling down now.”

“That's what you noticed? Not that clown suit he's wearing?” Robin gestures to Steve's outfit. It could only be described as Dracula meets Jared the Goblin King; spooky, extravagant, and sexy. Intricate gold and jewels dusted his body from his dress shoes up to his eyes, which were lined with black and red eyeshadow.

“Oh yeah I definitely noticed” she replied, your eyes drifting to the slacks Steve was wearing. They hugged his body perfectly to the point she could almost make out his so-called “legendary length.”

Y/N were zoning out again when… “Hello?! Earth to Dingus!?!” Robin snapped her finger in front of her face.

“What? Oh! Hi Robin…” Angel said, grinning sheepishly.

All Robin could do was shake her head “And you call me shameless...” before she dragged the angel to the food and drinks. “Come on, I'm starving!”

Steve flashed a smile and received some more applause, letting the music play again as he walked down into the crowd and started greeting some people. Everyone was on point with the dress code, and he was pleased with it. It made him stand out less into the crowd. His costume...well, is it even a costume if you came dressed as yourself – a vampire? With every time one can imagine, and uncomfortably tight slacks, walking down the stairs, he was starting to regret his decision but that didn't stop him from going to the kitchen to grab himself a drink.

Angel couldn’t help but continue to look around the mansion at everyone. “Hey Rob?”

Robin turns around after grabbing her fifth mini quiche “Yeah?”

Angel fidgeted with her gloves as she spoke “I can’t help but feel like I’m underdressed for this…am I?”

“Pfft No way” Robin exclaimed, “You look amazing; absolutely gorgeous!”

Angel lets out a forced laugh as she grabs a few snacks on a napkin “Really? I’d say I look cute, pretty even. But not gorgeous.”

Pushing past people, Steve spotted Robin with a surprise guest he’d never thought he’d see at such a scandalous party. Steve rested back against the counter just behind the two girls, hearing their conversation. He crosses his arms, a smirk passing his lips “Well, I'd say you look gorgeous” he quips, stealing a grape from the bowl and popping it into his mouth.

The pirate turned around, her mouth dusted with crumbs “Hey!” She stuffs the rest of whatever she was eating in her mouth and gives her Plus One her plate. “What’s up dude?” She gives Steve a hug before pulling away quickly because she got crumbs all over his jacket, to which Angel let out a laugh. Steve chuckled and gave Robin an assuring pat on the back.

“Oh hey you remember Y/N, right?” she asks as she grabbed her friend’s arm and pushed her forward. “She used to drive me to work when you were babysitting the kids?”

Steve turned his attention to the petite angel once Robin nudged her friend closer, his mahogany eyes looking her over. “Mhm, yeah, how could I forget such a pretty face?” He takes the angel’s hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it instead of shaking it. “So, why did you come here?”

Pretty? Gorgeous?

She could feel her face heating up. “I’m-I’m-“ Angel caught her breath before speaking again. “Robin is still too chicken shit to ask Vikki out.”

Robin immediately throws a grape at her friend. “I am not!” she scoffs.

Steve catches the grape and eats it, laughing at their playful banter. He placed a hand to Robin’s shoulders “Alright, calm down. But I think we both know that's true.” Robin rolls her blue eyes, letting out a huff. “How about you go and try to win her over, hm?” he urges, pointing to the said girl.

Y/N and Steve watched Robin’s eyes follow his finger. Vikki Lee is talking to Jonathan Byers and Nancy Wheeler, wearing a stunning green princess dress. Robin turns beet red and mutters some colorful words under her breath. God she is so whipped for that girl!

“Come on Robin! The time is now!” Y/N grabbed two drinks from one of the butlers and gave them to Robin “For the fair maiden.” She gives Robin a wink before shoving her in Vikki’s direction.

“Okay holy fuck!” Robin laments loudly, almost tripping and falling “Jesus Christ…” Go easy on her Harrington! She’s delicate!”

Y/N just makes a face at Robin and flips her off as she disperses into the ocean of bodies.

“Worried I’m gonna bring her back broken?” Steve calls back, amused as he turns back towards Y/N, a smile playing on his lips. “I'm guessing this is not your usual weekend activity?” he asks, looking around the mansion.

“I haven’t exactly had the time to have fun,” she said with a shrug. “Since I started sleeping on Rob’s couch I’d been focusing more on work…” Y/N continued on as she grabbed a chocolate-covered strawberry “…rather than play.” She takes a bite and lets out a hum, juiced running across her plush lips. “But Robin said it would be good for me to let loose once in a while.”

The man lets out a chuckle “Good thing you're in the right place for playing.” His eyes followed her lips, licking his own instinctively before flicking back up to her face. “You know, I'm not offering this to many people, but I could show you around the mansion. It's a pretty big place and the party is only downstairs.”

The young woman rolled her eyes at Steve “Oh I’m sure you’ve never offered a tour to a girl” She said sarcastically as she finished the strawberry and handed the plate to him. “Same ol’ Harrington,” Y/N says with a knowing smile as she place a hand on Steve’s shoulder and walks off to the dance floor.

“Correction; I've never offered a tour to a girl as pretty as you.” Steve quickly places the plate on the counter, following the girl. “So, is that a ‘no?”

The angel turned around and shot Steve a playful wink, as if to say “Catch me if you can '' before disappearing into the crowd. Steve healed back a groan in his throat, eyes darkening slightly before he stalks her through the crowd. “I guess a little chase wouldn’t be too awful” he mutters to himself.

Y/N heard the other rumors: men and women going to the Harrington Mansion and never coming out. But let’s face it, nine times out of ten it was women. It was stupid really, obviously made up by the locals to add fire to the Post-Portal machine. She didn’t believe in it for one second. But if Steve wanted her so badly, then she was going to make him work for it. Rich or barely scraping by: he was still Steve - former King of Hawkins High, born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and a notorious flirt.

Angel found an opening on the floor and was finally able to let loose; hips swaying to the music as it thumped through the speakers. She spotted Robin and Vikki not far from her. Vikki was pressed up against the pirate and had her freckled arms snaked around Robin’s neck. Poor Robin looked like she was struggling to respect Vikki’s space, but Vikki clearly didn’t care. Y/N wished she had the chance to at least get one drink in her system before Steve started hounding her. Suddenly Y/N feels someone’s chest pressed flush to her back, one arm around her waist as the other offers her a drink, their lips lowering to her ear.

“…Caught you”

It was Steve again.

A small chill went down Y/N’s spine from Steve’s touch – both from the close proximity and how cold he was. The house was hot and stuffy, but his hands felt so cold. “Oh no it’s Lord Harrington!” She said playfully “Please don’t hurt me sir. I’m just an innocent angel.” She turned around to face Steve, batting her lashes at him and took a sip of her drink – a rum and Cherry Coke. He placed the other hand around her waist, pulling her close and joining the dance. Her eyes widened and she looked down at her drink. “Holy shit! Who made this? It’s wicked strong!”

“I thought angels weren’t supposed to swear?” Steve asked, his eyes inspecting her face and lips “Do you need me to get you a new one?”

“It’s my first day,” Y/N replied, “and I like them strong.”

“Strong, huh?” he says with a slight smirk, his arm slightly tightening around her waist, pulling Y/N flush to his body while they dance along. Leaning in, he presses his lips to her ear under the pretext of having to talk over the loud music. “I'll keep that in mind, my Angel. Now that I caught you, what should I do with you, huh?”

Her eyes fluttered closed, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. Damn he’s really good at this. She could feel her face getting warm from the rum. “Dance with me?” She asks as one of her hands rests on Steve’s broad chest and the other holds her drink.

He smirks and with a nod he pulls her close, leaning down close to her face – giving her the impression of going in for a kiss. Her breath caught in her throat as he moved in closer.

“I-“

His face went into the crook of her neck; groaning something unintelligible. The blood pulsed under her skin steadily, the faint scent of rum and something sweet lingering behind. Was it the fruit she just had, or maybe whatever perfume she had on? “Fuck-“ he murmurs quietly to himself, his fingers pressing into her skin.

Her grip on Steve’s chest tightened a little. She tried to calm her nerves with her drink, but all it’s doing is making the room spin and her body temperature rise. This had to be a dream. The Steve Harrington was dancing with her, someone who otherwise was a total stranger to him, and seemingly getting turned on by her?! I guess the perfume Y/N got for her birthday really does draw men in like a magnet.

They keep dancing. For Steve nothing around exists anymore, as the scent of the girl fills his lungs. She moved back and her shoe stepped in something wet, causing her to drop her glass and slip. The glass shattered on the floor.

“Shit!!”

Steve managed to secure her to his body, but one of her hands connected with the broken class on the floor, cutting her. “Oh my god I’m so sorry Steve!” She looks up at Steve with a panicked expression. She didn’t notice it, but Steve’s eyes darken, darting to the crimson red blood sliding down her palm

“No, no, it's fine,” he says, licking his lips. All that he wants is to bring her palm up and clean it up himself, but he keeps his ground. “We should...” he points to the stairs “We need to get you cleaned up.”

With a curt nod, she was helped up to her feet. “Good idea,” she said with a light chuckle. She definitely wasn’t drunk, but between the fall and her heels her movements were like a newborn deer. “I’d love a tour of your bathroom sir,” she laughs quietly. 

People make a path for them, making it easier to walk up the stairs, a surprised smile on his face at her words. “Gettin' bold, huh?” Steve helped her up the stairs as if she weighed nothing, one hand still around her waist and the other holding her bloody hand.

She laughs “You offered the tour first, ya know?”

He helps the young woman up the stairs carefully before walking her down the hall and into his bedroom. “The bathroom's right there” he says while pointing to the only other door in his bedroom.

Her eyes widened “Holy shit Steve!” She looked around the room while she walked towards the bathroom. “This is an awful lot of space for just one guy,” her eyes scanning her surroundings. She made it to the bathroom, which is about half the size of the bedroom. “This bathroom is almost as big as my old apartment.” She rummaged through the bathroom trying to find anything resembling a bandage; “Hey Steve, can you help me find the First Aid Kit, or whatever magic potion you mysterious rich guys use?” She asked.

Practically getting drunk on the smell of her, Steve nods at her requests for help. Pulling out a first aid kit from under the sink he chuckles. “Well, you're welcome to keep me around whenever you want.” She lets out a hiss every time he applies pressure to the wound. “Please be careful. Remember what Robin said; I’m ‘fragile.’”

Steve didn’t seem to be listening. “Oh, by the way...” Steve says, unwrapping some tissues and dabbing them over her cut, sucking a breath in as he concentrates. “I have a pretty big kitchen too, so I wanted to ask what we are going to eat tomorrow morning.” With a sly smirk on his face he asks, throwing the crimson paper into the toilet.

“Breakfast…with you?” She asked, perplexed “Steve, I only had one drink…” Her brows furrowed “and Robin needs a ride home…” Something is up, but Y/N can’t quite place it.

Steve cleared his throat as she dismissed his pretty obvious pick-up line; he finally wrapped her hand in some bandage. “Yeah alright, I guess the pick-up lines don't work on everyone the same.” He takes her uninjured hand and walks her to the bedroom again. “So you said you wanted a tour, here you have it, look around as much as you'd like.”

“No no no, you wanted to give me a tour,” The angel grins as she walks around the room absentmindedly.  “So you admit it now? You really are flirting with me, Harrington?” She asked with a laugh. “I guess some of the rumors are true…” she trailed off as she was admiring all of the classic artwork and the four-post California king bed. She could feel Steve’s eyes on her, making her feel a little self-conscious.

“Rumors? What rumors?” Steve asks with a chuckle, crossing his arms as he slowly makes his way behind her: just about letting himself be carried by her scent.

She quickly turned around to see Steve right next to her. “Jesus fuck! Don’t sneak up on me like that! Why are you looking at me like that?” She asked “Is there something on my face?” The angel looked up at Steve, her eyes looking into his.

“Oh yeah, here” he says, bringing his thumb up to brush over her lower lip “’Guess it was just a bit of the chocolate” with a small shrug he takes a step forward, coming even closer. “But what rumors are you talking about, my dear?”

“W-Well…” she paused and swallowed, her mouth went dry “There are a bunch.” She fidgets with the fresh bandages on her hand nervously. “That you got disfigured after the earthquake, which” she shakes her head “obviously didn’t happen.”

Steve flashes her a flirtatious smile from her indirect compliment as he crowed her. She felt Steve’s dark eyes looking her up and down. “That you did something to make your folks disappear…” His face kept getting closer, her voice started to shake. It was as if Steve was floating as he corners her against the wall by his bed. “That y-you lure girls here…” her voice was now barely above a whisper “and they never come back…” She feels her back hit the wall, startling her to see where she is.

He pretends to not know what she's talking about, though his parents are both buried underneath the mansion, along with tens of girls that lay there blood dry. “And you believe them, angel?” Steve asks, tipping her head up to look him in the eye, his fingers under her chin. Steve’s eyes used to be so warm and friendly; like amber on a sunny day. There were still some remnants of that, but what she saw now made her stomach flip: Steve’s eyes were dark, feral, and hungry.

Her heart was pounding, her fingers twitching, her brain flip-flopping between being afraid and being aroused. Wait, “aroused?” The guy looks like he’s about to kill you and use your skin to upholster his chairs…and you’re turned on?! She shook her head “N-No…honestly I don’t know what I believe in anymore.”

“Good, good...” He nods slowly, relieved that she doesn't accuse him of anything just yet. “You shouldn't believe those lies, ever.”

She lifted one, shaky hand and pushed the mask that Steve was wearing off. It clattered to the hardwood floor. He wasn’t horribly disfigured, far from it, but he was ghostly pale and cold as ice. Tears threatened to spill over, “Steve…” her voice cracking “…What are you?”

Steve licks his lips in anticipation as he expects her to push him away and run as fast as possible. And the truth is that he'd let her. He wouldn't run after her like he would to the rest, and feast on them until their skin turned an ungodly color. He happened to take a liking to her, from the brief conversation they held from time to time to now, being the embodiment of innocence as she trembles in front of him, dressed as a cute angel, it was almost like she dressed up to catch his eye specially. “Hmm, give it a guess,” he challenges, smirking.

She couldn’t answer him. It was getting harder and harder to form words, all she could do was try desirably to breathe and not cry. She wanted to run, try and scream for help, but he was so strong and so fast. Her eyes flicked down to Steve’s mouth; what she initially thought were just costume fangs, they weren’t fake. God damnit why is this turning her on?!?

Run away!

Run.

Run!

Steve was practically breathing her in now.

She licked her dry lips, still tasting whatever was left on them “Steve…”

Steve watches as she debates her options, seeing her wanting to leave. Though her heart and the way she's clenching her thighs tells him otherwise and just then he knows he's got her, no matter what she may want to do, he knows that at the end of the day he'll have her wanting with nothing more than this. “Yeah?” he asks, keeping his voice as light as possible, though sheer need is flowing through his veins.

Her hands stopped shaking and she took a deep breath, composing herself for just a second. She looked Steve deep in his eyes. He watches her curiously as she basically crumbles under her gaze, looking up into his eyes before uttering a few words.

“Kiss me.”

“Are you sure? You know I'll want a lot more than just that” Steve answers.

“I know…” She grabbed Steve by the lapels of his jacket and pulled him so they are face to face “I-…fuck…” the butterflies in her stomach were making it impossible to speak, let alone breathe. “I’ve wanted you for so long Steve” she said, her breath ragged. Steve’s jaw clenches at her sudden confession.  “I can’t…I don’t care if…Oh, fuck it!” She breaks the distance and kisses Steve.

He's quick to take control of the situation, pinning her to the wall with his body before one hand comes up to grab the back of her neck, keeping her close as their breaths intermingle and their lips move together. A content sigh leaves her throat as she gives in to Steve’s touch. She felt his tongue brush across her lower lip and she happily let him in. Thank God Steve had her pinned to the wall, because otherwise her legs would have given out from under her. He let her lips for a brief second, a single drop of saliva acting like the String of Fate between them.  “Steve…” She felt his hands rip off her mask and chuck it across the room.

He's quick to have his mouth on hers again, his fingers digging into her hip almost painfully. “Such a pretty little angel, “he mutters, brushing his nose along the line of her jaw, taking in that sweet scent of hers again. He clenches his jaw so as not to sink his teeth into her on the spot. “Dressed up all for me, huh?”

Her hands slipped from the man’s lapel to his back, clawing desperately to him. “Y-Yes” she said, desperation and need dripping from her voice “It’s all for you.” A moan slipped out of her as Steve’s fingers dug into the fat of her hips as she tried to wrap a leg around his waist. The young man obliges and helps the angel wrap her legs around his waist, pressing his lips to the column of her throat. “Steve, please…” she begged as one of her hands grabbed a fistful of the man’s wild hair “…take me, make me yours.” She tilted her neck up so she could whisper directly into Steve’s ear “Devour me…”

He growls something under his breath, probably a curse while she begs for him to take her. His cock hardened embarrassingly fast as the words 'devour me' fell from her lips. “Fuck...you have no idea what you're asking for...”

She lets out a frustrated groan “For the love of God! What do you want me to do, Steve?! Fucking Beg?!?”

“You already sound like you are,” he chuckles before inhaling her scent one last time. Steve presses his teeth into her skin, piercing it effortlessly, the sweetness flowing into his mouth as he groans as his hips push up into her.

A loud cry burst forth from her chest, tears finally flowing. “Th-Thank you….” she said while choking back sobs. Her nails dug deeper into Steve’s back as he fed on her. All of the fear melted away and pleasure took its place. “Oh my god…fuck!” She seemed to have no control over her body as she shivered each time Steve would stop to lap at the open wound “This feels…amazing! Fuck…”

The sweet taste encompassing his senses, he's practically feral as he laps and sucks at her skin, bruising starts to form on her neck. “Fuck...” He picks her up effortlessly – eliciting a yelp from the young woman – walking her back to the bed before throwing her on it; reclaiming his spot between her thighs as his lips go to the slow flow of blood again. “You taste amazing.”

Her own legs gave out and Steve slotted between them, his knee nudging her core. “Ah! Fu-“ she couldn’t help but grind down on his knee. She stretched her neck to give Steve better access. She was being eaten alive but she was the one getting blood drunk. “Do I?” She sighed.

Humming slightly at her neediness, he slots his knee between her thighs again, offering her the tiniest bit of pleasure he's going to deliver to her that night. “Oh you do...sweetest fuckin' thing ever.” His head swims with the taste of her, rocking down against her thigh, slowly suckling on the trail of blood dripping onto her skin.

Her head spun and her mind went blank - she wanted more. So she slipped one hand down to rub Steve through his pants, feeling him twitch beneath her. “I can feel that,” she said with a coy smile, her face breaking when Steve nudged her core just right. “Fuck, Steve…let me taste it.”

“Taste what, baby?” he asks, voice husky and breathy as he pulls away from her neck, a small drop of blood lingering behind and dripping to his chin. He rocks against her hand, biting his lip.

She pulled herself up and licked the blood dripping down Steve’s chin and neck; “everything,” she purred.

His tongue pokes at his cheek in thought before humming as he rolls over on the bed, lying beside her and against the headboard. A hand came up to palm himself over his cock just as she did, “You can start with this.”

With a chuckle, she sat up and pulled her shoes and gloves off before crawling over to straddle Steve’s lap. “Should I keep the wings and halo on too?” She asked rolling her shoulders to make the wings on her back move. Her hands went to work unbuttoning his jacket, tongue licking up residual blood from her soft lips.

“Don't you dare take those off,” he warns, reaching up to flick the halo gently, watching it swap on her head. Steve’s head tips back while she licks over his throat. “Why aren't you terrified?” he asks, a bit bewildered by her will to accept what was happening.

“That’s the thing,” she pulled away to look at him, still working away on Steve’s jacket “I am terrified; borderline scared shitless. But here’s the thing,” the angel gave him a warm smile “It’s kinda like a present; you can put as much wrapping paper and ribbons on it as you like, but it doesn’t change what’s underneath it all.” She sits back on her heels “You’re still Steve. You’re still the same charming, sweet, caring guy that I feel for years ago.” One hand went to her eyes to wipe away a few stray tears.

“Plus…” she laughed “You cried in the middle of Alien over because of how scared you were for the cat.” She leaned in to kiss his neck “not exactly cold blooded killer material.”

“You're crazy,” he mumbles, a bit amused at her confession before, bringing a hand up to palm at her breast. “Don't worry, we can play around, but I won't kill you. I happen to like you a bit more than the rest,” he confesses, tipping his head to the headboard, lips parting slightly as she begins sucking at the skin there, rolling his eyes at her words. “Who knows, maybe I've changed. Maybe I'm the monster everyone thinks I am.”

“If you keep calling yourself a monster I’m going to give you blue balls and leave,” she said while learning a particularly dark hickey on Steve’s neck. She pulled away and finally finished unbuttoning his jacket “the only monster here is your outfit” she said with a huff “I don’t want to ruin it, but it’s trying my patients!” Her hands slipped down to undo his belt and pants, slipping her hand inside to wrap around his length. 

Rolling his eyes he tugs on her hips harshly before pushing her off and climbing over her. The girl falls back with a resounding “Oof!” as Steve pins her down. “Quite the mouth you have on you, huh?” He works his pants open before pulling his cock out with a slight groan, slowly stroking himself. “You said you wanted a taste of everything?”

She’s taken aback; “Christ he’s massive!” She thinks to herself. “I told you, I’m new to the angel business,” she chides “but yes, I did say that.”

With a smirk, Steve moves his hand down, tugging at her bottom lip and letting it plop back into place. He shuffles over her, straddling her torso, cupping the underside of her jaw. “Open up, then.” He slowly rubs the flushed tip over her lips, biting his own with a hum.

The angel beneath him opened her mouth, sticking her tongue out to flick the angry, red tip. One hand gripped Steve’s thighs while the other reached to guide his cock into her mouth, letting out a soft moan.

He gasps as she takes him into her hot mouth, clenching his jaw to keep himself from thrusting himself as deep as possible into her throat, a hand coming down to pull off the halo. “Not so angel-like to have a cock down your throat, you know?”

She lets Steve’s cock slip out “Are you sure it’s not my mouth that earned me my wings?” she asks with a mischievous smile before taking his cock back into her mouth – bobbing her head and swirling her slick tongue around him with a hum.

He grips her hair, pushing himself back inside he is pressed up against the back of her throat. He gazes down at you with a knowing smile “We’ll see...” He groans slightly before picking up a pace, enjoying every bump and ridge her mouth has to offer.

She moaned around his cock from Steve tugging her hair, causing his cock to slip. Her eyes watered as she started up at him. But she grabbed his thighs and pulled him back in again. It was hard because Steve was both long and thick, but she wanted to make the man above her feel just as good as he did to her.

Steve moans as he steadies himself against the headboard before beginning to fuck into her mouth. She was pulling all sorts of sounds from him, a hand raking through his hair as it flops in his face. Spit dribbled out of the corners of her mouth as the man above her came undone. The smell of Steve’s cologne and natural musk assaulted her senses, as her fingers worked to massage his balls. She hollowed her cheeks around him she squirmed underneath him, rubbing her thighs against each other.

“Such a sweet angel, takin' my cock down your throat,' ' he chuckles, almost amused by the contradiction between her actions and her costume. “Dressed all innocent f'me just so I can ruin you, make you the dirty girl I know you can be,” he stops, pushing her head down and keeping it in place while pushing in slowly. His jaw slackened by each inch that goes inside of her mouth; sliding into her throat and wiping a stray tear before staying there, admiring the way her lips stretch around him.

All the young woman could do was let out a soft whimper of acknowledgment from his teasing. Her eyes pleaded for Steve to touch her, but they soon went wide. She slapped his thigh; she needed air.

Through his pleasure, Steve registers her silent request and he pulls off. His cock glistening with her spit as a web of it snapping between the flushed tip and her lips, he looked down at her and moved off of her. “What do you say? Think I can ruin you now?”

Breath ragged, she pulled herself to a sitting position. “Christ Steve…have you always been like this?” She asks while motioning to his cock “Or is that a new thing for vampires?” Her hand slips down to her clothed core to finally be able to touch herself, her head rolling to the side and a soft smile on her face.

“Like what?” he asks curiously, following the movement of the hand before urging her to show him how she touches herself. He’s looking up at her, waiting for her answer, his fist giving his straining cock a few tugs.

“You know,” she said with a huff and cheeks flushed “being that big.” Her hand dipped under her panties to take a swipe at her pussy, letting out a strangled moan “Fuck…” Steve’s free hand grabbed her wrist to see how wet she was.

His hand swipes through her folds, grumbling something about how wet she was under his breath before huffing out a laugh. “Yeah, actually. Got some girls backing out because they were too scared, but you're not, right? You're a brave angel and you'll take it all.”

She shrugged “Brave, crazy; same difference.” Her jaw falls open when she feels Steve’s fingers brush her just right, his cold skin nudging her clit. “Oh my god…” Her bandaged hand pulled his hand closer, whimpering for his attention.

He smirks proudly at her reaction, her skin prickling with goose bumps because of his cold touch while she tugs his hand closer. “If you're acting like this when I barely touch you, I can't imagine how you will when I put this big fucking cock inside of you,” he teases, pinching her clit.

A small cry escaped her lips, but they soon turned into a smirk. “I’m surprised you haven’t tasted the rest of me yet. I’ve been told I’m very sweet.” Mentally she was thinking that she was going too hard; that she was playing with fire by egging on a vampire as intense and cocky as Steve Harrington. But she was – for all intensive purposes – a brat. Even before he became a vampire, she loved to tease Steve.

“Maybe I'm saving it for round two,” he proposes, leaning closer to her ear with a hum, fingers pulling out of her underwear. “One thing about vampires, they have insane stamina...so I might take you up on that offer.” Crawling down her body, his teeth barely nip at her stomach, licking the little droplet of blood before moving lower. Coming face to face with her clothed cunt and her dress now discarded on the floor. All that was left was some flimsy material covering her pussy. Tugging with his teeth at the waistband of her panties, he lets it snap back into place before pulling it off, brushing the tip of his nose over her inner thigh, pressing his lips to it before moving up to where she was dripping for him.

She stammered as she’s pushed back down on the bed. “Round two?” “Stamina?” Dear lord, she really was playing with fire! This was a whole different type of danger. Her mind was going a million miles a second and empty at the same time until she felt the snap of her panties. “Ah-fuck!”

“And then three, then four, then five...” he teases, seeing the amazed, yet terrified look on her face. Throwing her one more look, he hums before pushing his face into her cunt, beginning to lick at her, thighs over her shoulders.

The loudest gasp fell from her lips - “Holy shit! Steve I-…” Her train of thought was cut short as she felt him pin her legs above her. “Oh my god baby…fuuuuuuck!” Her uninjured hand shoots down to grip onto Steve’s hair.

Steve kept her folded in half, his hands at the backs of her knees. He pushes himself with her clit, rapidly working against it with moans and grunts as she tugs and pulls at his hair just as she wills. As if she couldn’t be any more stimulated, she felt Steve’s fingers prod at her folds. He brings his hand to her entrance, swiftly pushing two fingers into prod and searching for her sweet spot. Her moans are muffled from burying her head in the pillows. “Holy shit! How are you…fuck…how are you so good at this?! God-!”

As she moans, sound muffled so his nails dig into her leg “Look at me,” he urges, leaning down to her clit again while keeping his eyes on her.

The angel pulled her head back and forced herself to look at Steve. Her pupils were blown and the knot in her stomach grew tighter. “Oh god,I-I fuck I’m getting so close already,” she said, her whimpering getting louder. She pulled her uninjured hand back up and bit down on it to keep herself quite; fearful that someone else might bear them.

He moans against her, eager to receive the show which is her, cumming all over his face and fingers. Steve’s long fingers were now getting bolder and faster, as did his tongue working her closer to the edge.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck! Fuck Steve! Just like that! Just like that!” Her voice was getting higher and her breathing became shorter. “Oh god Stevie shit- please!” She was practically begging at this point when the knot in her snapped and her orgasm slammed into her, crying out his name.

Steve groans lowly as he coaxes her through it, he leans his head to the side, licking over her inner thigh. “Think I can have a taste here too?” Steve asks, his eyes gleaming.

Once she has calmed down she lets out an exhausted laugh. “I’m pretty sure you’ve more than earned that, honey,” she says while brushing a strand of hair away from Steve’s face.

Nodding against her, Steve’s dark eyes stay locked onto her thigh before he leans forward and sinks his teeth into her inner part of her thigh; immediately indulging in her blood. He rolled his hips down against the mattress with a strained moan, eyes rolling back.

She winced a little from the pain. “Mmmmmm, that’s it baby,” she cooed as she stroked Steve’s head. The sight of the man grinding his hips into the mattress making her chuckle, “Does my blood turn you on, Stevie? Does it taste better than my cum?”

Steve answered with a silent nod against her thigh; he stops his hips with one last rock, not wanting to rile himself up more than he already was. He licked the remains of the blood which slowly dripped out. “M'so fucking hard, god it hurts, can I fuck you now?”

She leaned down and captured Steve’s lips with her own, the taste of her own blood and juice making her moan. “Awe poor baby,” she leaned in to kiss behind Steve’s ear “Do it…please fuck me, Steve.”

Steve was not wasting any time before he's hovering over her, pulling at his pants and pressing his flushed tip to her entrance. Her walls were still fluttering shallowly as the remains of her orgasm faded away. Slipping a hand around her neck, he squeezes, leaning in for another kiss while slamming in suddenly, shuddering at the warmth of her.   She rolled her hips to tease his angry cock against her folds, but was forced back against the bed when Steve slammed into her, burying himself to the hilt.

“Mmmmmm fuuuuck!” her hands grabbed the man by his forenames, her head spinning from lack of oxygen and pure want.

His head close to hers, Steve’s lips parted and panting against her temple, pushing even closer into her. His cock nudged her walls as the grip on her throat slackens slightly, letting her breathe for a moment. “Even better than I imagined, shit...”

“You’ve dreamed about me? About this?” She asked through gasps of air. “H-How long?” Steve felt massive compared to her past lovers, then again he was. It was no shock that a man who is almost six feet tall would be well-endowed. But Steve was a whole different breed of big.

“So fucking long, you have no idea,” he breathes out against her ear, giving the first tentative move of his hips, groaning into her ear. “All the time I’ve jerked off thinking about you. God you have no idea!”

Her cheeks turned into the prettiest shade of pink over Steve’s words; as his hip started to move. “Oh my god…m-me too. F’so long…” moans kept cutting her off midway. “I’ve-fuck! Steve you feel amazing!”

Pulling away from her, he sits up on his knees, slowly grinding his cock into her teasingly. “Does my sweet girl want to be fucked, hmm?” he asks teasingly, wanting her to beg for him.

“What? Nooo!” the angel whined, her hands reaching out for Steve “you’re so mean!” His eyes sparkled with mischief in the light. She looked up at him with her doe-eyes wide “Please…”

“Shh, it's okay. How can I say no to a pretty angel like you?” he coos, sliding back in and picking up a pace. He cursed under his breath at the sensation before he grips the headboard with one hand, the other latched onto her hip.

“Fuuck~” her back arched as her walls hugged Steve’s cock “Oh fuck Steve!” Her arms wrapped themselves around his back, digging her nails into his freckles skin. Her eyes met his, her lips parted; “Steve…” All that mattered was this very moment: her and Steve Harrington. His cold hands exploring her body, his skin slick with sweat and blood, Steve’s dark eyes boring into her soul.

She was afraid, but not for the original reason as before. Those dangerous three-letter words were caught in her throat. They’ve been stuck there for years. Steve did say he wanted to let her live; that he’s wanted her for years, but she was afraid.

Did he only want her for just a quick fuck? For food?

What’s going to happen when all is said and done; “Yeah that was a great time. Goodnight and maybe I’ll call you later?” Then immediately ghost her? What if she says them…right now? Will it make him stop? Will he shut her out?

 “God baby...” Steve’s nails push into the plush skin of her hips in tandem with hers, his back arching into her, pressing closer and seeking out the warmth he's been lacking. His cock continuously nudging at her walls, he bites his lip tightly, looking down at her through hooded eyes. “You're so...so gorgeous....”

Steve’s words snapped the angel back to reality. For the first time tonight she saw the eyes she fell for before. Soft, warm, a little playful – flacks of hazel and amber brought out by the lamplight.

“I love you.”

His hips stuttered at her weak words, barely hearing them. “W-what?” His rhythm slows down slightly, letting himself breathe again. “What did you say?”

Her body was burning up; both from pleasure and fear. “I said ‘I love you,’ Steve,” she said, her eyes wet with tears, fearful of what’s to come. If her life is going to end tonight, she might as well go without guilt haunting her heart. It felt like a ticking time bomb; either way it’s going to blow.

His eyes almost bulge out of his head, swallowing tightly as he falls into silence. She looks back up at Steve, her eyes searching his handsome features for some semblance of an answer. Every second ticking by was draining her mind and body. “Please, say something!” she shouted as her voice shook.

“Why?” It's all that comes out of his mouth, still deep inside her, looking at her a bit baffled. “You love me? Don't think we're that close just yet, you might be confused or something.” Shaking his head, he says “It's the sex talking....”

The vice grip on her heart tightened more and more. “B-Because I do, okay?! I just do! It’s not the sex!” She sputtered. “I’ve always had feelings for you Steve; since, I don’t know, 6th grade? Back when you didn’t even acknowledge Robin and I’s existence.” Hot tears spilled from her eyes. “You know what? Forget it! God, I’m so stupid!” She tried to pull herself away from Steve’s grip, but she was too tired and weak to get anywhere. “I should have just kept my mouth shut; should have just stayed home. God, I’m a fucking dumbass!”

She struggled more, but Steve still had a grip on her. She let out a shaky laugh “To think Steve Harrington, in any form, would ever feel the same way. No matter how much he flirted with me, how much he teased me. All those times he’d touch me or was nice to be were nothing! I’m just another bag of meat and blood.”

Reluctantly, Steve pulls out of her with a hiss, his heavy length slapping to his stomach and glistening with her slick as he pants. “I mean...I do like you, really like you, but I don't think I love you just yet...” he confesses with a shrug, only seeing her in a romantic way for a few months at least. “You're not…c'mon! Do you think you'd even be alive right now if I didn't like you; if I really thought of you as just food?”

She was just grabbing her dress and the remnants of her panties when Steve’s questions, his words cutting through the tension like a hot knife through butter.

“Just yet.”

You’re still alive.

You haven’t bled out just yet. You haven’t been bled dry.

You’re still alive.

He likes you.

She felt a calloused, cold hand tentatively brush her shoulder, finger gently tracing up her neck to cup her cheek. Steve turned her face to look into her eyes; soft, almost vulnerable. Could a vampire even be capable of feeling vulnerable? Nevertheless, Steve Harrington was telling the truth. Her bandaged hand reached up to hold the hand on her face. She felt the bed dip as Steve shifted closer to her. She leaned up and rested her forehead against his.

“I'm sorry for not being able to say it back,” he murmurs, leaning against her forehead, pressing his lips to hers with a hum. “But I like you, I really like you Y/N” he said seriously, his cock still straining, but not paying any attention to it.

  She kisses him back, a soft smile growing on her lips. There’s still hope. She pulled away with a sigh, “I forgive you.” Her free hand traveled back down to Steve’s waist, tracing small circles on his skin just shy of his still-angry erection “Just know you like me too is enough.” The hand dipped down to trace up his cock, feeling him shutter.

“Fuck...we-we don't have to if you don't want to,” he manages to get out, not wanting her to feel forced into finishing what they started.

“Oh my, the big bad vampire is backing down?” the angel teases as she suckles on Steve’s neck “Don’t start getting soft on me now baby.” She pulled him back so he was on top of her again. “I absolutely want to continue, Stevie.”

Snorting slightly, his smile fades before leaning down to silence her, kissing her deeply. “Yeah, no chance I'm getting soft any time soon.” He smirks at his pun, fisting his cock before pushing the tip against her entrance again.

She rolls her hips to grind down on Steve’s cock; a small whine passing her lips. “Mmm fuck please Steve.”

“Please what? Want my cock again? Greedy angel...” Steve breathes out, pushing in again until he's buried to the hilt inside of her, relishing in the warmth.

“Mmmmmm fuuuck yes” she moans as Steve bottoms out inside of her. Her hands grip onto his back. “Shit babe…”

His body arches into hers as her nails dig into his skin, his hips picking up that harsh pace again, slamming into her over and over again, wanting her to cry out for him. Her breasts bounced with every thrust, her hair fanned out on his pillow. It was ironic to say, but the girl below him truly looked like an angel. Her voice calling out Steve’s name like a siren’s song; and it all was drawing him in closer to his own release. “You’re so fucking gorgeous Angel,” he groaned “This pussy...”  Steve dipped his head down to feed from her again.

“Oh my god, Steve,” she moaned as she clung to him with all of her strength “I’m so close.” Her body trembled beneath him “Oh god, please Steve! Please let me cum! Please! Please! Please let me cum! Fill me!”

Steve pulled back to look into her eyes, her blood dripping from his swollen lips. He slipped one hand down between them to viciously rub her clit as his thrusts became sloppier. “You want me to fill you, Angel?” Steve teases and his voice laced with lustful venom. “Do it! Cum all over my fucking cock and I’ll drown this pussy! Drench it!”

Almost as if on cue, Y/N’s orgasm ripped through her body. Her velvet walls clamped down on Steve as he lost all sense of control. His hips slammed into her at an unrelenting pace before he too became undone; painting Y/N’s insides with his seed. 

Steve didn’t expect his own orgasm to be as intense as it was. Like he said before, vampires have incredible stamina. But here he was, clinging to the girl below him as if she was about to be blown away by a gust of wind. His breath was ragged and Steve felt like someone just ripped a blindfold off of his eyes. Steve’s bedroom was too bright, his body felt sticky, and his cologne was too strong. The parties going on downstairs was too loud.

Oh shit, the party!

Steve Harrington finally came back to his senses and shook off the last of his post-orgasm brain fog. He looked down at the angel that just rocked his world, his dark eyes looking her over for signs of life. “Shit shit shit! Hey!” Steve shook her lightly as he called out her name. Sheer panic pumped through his veins; “please don’t be dead!”

The young woman was very much alive, albeit a little delirious from having her brains fucked out of her. “Mmm yeah?” she asks with a dreamy sigh.

“Oh thank god you’re alive,” Steve says to himself if anything.

She let out a chuckle as the woman propped herself up on her elbows “Of course I’m alive, you dork.” Her tired eyes still sparkled with wonder and affection like before as she looked at Steve. “Honey?” 

“Yeah?”

“You’re crushing me,” she said.

“Oh fuck!” Steve pulled himself back on his haunches and gently pulled himself out of her with a hiss. “Sorry about that,” said Steve sheepishly “I – uh – I’ll be right back. Okay?” Steve hops off the bed and scrambles to put his clothes back on.

“Okie dokie,” she replied with a relaxed giggle as she watched Steve struggle to button his jacket.

Even without the slight hiccup (if you wanted to call that sudden confession that) Steve Harrington was completely spent. Everything was too bright, too loud, and he needed to make it stop. He scrambled out the door, hair disheveled and his shoes long gone, and crashed right to one of his servants. “Carter!”

“Ah Master Harrington!” the young man exclaimed as he tried to back onto his feet. Steve offered a hand and pulled Cater back up “What is the matter? Is everything to your liking?”

“Yes! I mean no! I mean,” the older man shook his head before trying to speak again “Fuck! Everything is good. I think it’s time we wrap everything up.”

Carter looked at his boss dumbfounded. “You want to end the party now?” He takes out his pocket watch to check the time “But sir it’s not even 2AM. I would have figured you would have wanted to stick to the scheduled 5AM cut off.”

“Well there has been a change of plans,” Steve replied while pacing back and forth, biting his thumbs in deep thought “Have the others make sure our guests aren’t too intoxicated to drive home. Anyone who is can stay the night in one of the spare bedrooms. Oh! And make sure Robin has the nicest guest bedroom for her stay.” That pacing soon turned into Steve running down the hall, barking out orders to whatever staff he came across. Vampires are known for their speed too, and usually Steve would be doing everything in his power to not show off his newfound skills. But right now he didn’t give a damn. His body felt like he stuck a fork in an electrical outlet.

Steve Harrington – in all of his chaotic and disheveled glory – ran straight to the top of the stairs that overlooked the dance floor, his eyes wild and frantic. “Everyone out!”

The people below looked up, murmuring to one another about their host’s sudden change in demeanor. “He can’t be serious, can he?” asked one man. “Seriously dude?! The party is just getting started!” shouted another.

A borderline demonic snarl came out of Steve as he screamed from the balcony: “Get out!”

Whether in fear for their safety or just fed up with the host’s hostile change of heart, everyone in the mansion slowly made their way out to their cars. A few were able to stay behind and - per Steve’s request - stayed in one of the dozen guest rooms. Robin and Vikki were blessed with sharing the largest and nicest of those rooms, which was one part for Robin’s safety and ten parts Steve being her top tier wingman. As soon as the coast was clearer, Steve turned to the small army of servants and dropped to his hands and knees.

“M-Master Harrington!” exclaimed Carter “Are you..”

“I’m sorry!” Steve blurted out, his forehead laying flat on the marble floor.

“Excuse me, sir?” asked one of the maids.

“I’m so sorry for yelling at all of you! I’m sorry for being an asshole all of the time!” he continued on, never lifting his head “I’m sorry for everything I’ve put all of you through!” Steve soon got back on his feet with a huff. “I’ll help you all with the clean up in just a moment, I just…”

Carter, who has known the Harrington Family for decades and Steve along since birth, puts two and two together in his mind. He walks over and places a firm but gentle hand on the young man’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Master Harrington. I got this.” The man turns on his heels and claps his hands “Alright everyone! You heard the Young Master. Let’s get our overnight guests situated.” He looks over to one of the maids “Miss Abigail, could you make sure that Lady Buckly and Lady Lee have fresh towels and a change of clothes for the night?” Abigail gives her boss a quick nod and scurries off to the laundry room. Carter continues on giving orders to the rest of the staff while Steve runs to the kitchen.

Steve flings open cabinet doors, searching all over for something. “Fuck! Where did I put the good First Aid kit?” he said to himself, “She’s gonna need something for her headache later…and the bite marks.” He starts to pull at his own hair in frustration. “Come on Steve, think!” A gentle tap on his shoulder lets him know that Carter had finished instructing the others.

“Are you looking for this?” Carter asks while holding up a red plastic box with the words “First Aid” on the front in one hand. In the other was a glass of water and a small packet of ibuprofen.

Steve took all of the items from him, placing the unopened packet between his lips. He gave Carter a curt nod of appreciation and a muffled “Thanks” before shooting back upstairs to his bedroom. He freezes as soon as he reaches his bedroom door. “Why am I so freaked out? I mean, yeah. I like her. Like, I like her a lot. But why is my heart racing? I thought I didn’t have a heartbeat anymore,” Steve rambled on to himself before shaking his head and opening the door as quietly as he could.

What he saw took his breath away; Y/N was curled up in his bed fast asleep, a peaceful smile on her face and wearing nothing but his button down shirt. She didn’t look to be in any sort of pain or distress from having been bitten all over; just exhausted from her ordeal. Steve cautiously walked over to and placed the glass, the first aid kit, and the medicine on the bedside table.

“Y/N?” he whispered, his long fingers brushing a strand of her hair out of her face. A small groan let Steve know that the girl was, in fact, still alive and somewhat capable of listening, which made him let out a sigh of relief. “Sweetheart you have to get up and get cleaned up first before going to sleep.”

“Pancakes,” she replied softly.

“What?”

“You asked me earlier what I wanted for breakfast,” she replied “Could we have blueberry pancakes tomorrow?” she asked. Her eyes opened ever so slightly to gaze up at Steve and the smile from before letting out a sweet giggle.

The young man let out a laugh and kissed the angel’s forehead, “Of course, my Angel. Whatever you want is yours.” Without you noticing Steve had gone into his bathroom and returned with a warm washcloth to clean her up. No way in hell was he going to subject this saint to a shower or even a full bath. Once he was done Steve simply tossed the rag on the ground and joined her in bed. His strong arms pulled the young woman close to him, wrapping himself around her like a blanket.

Little did she know, Steve Harrington was finally satisfied. He also was a dirty rotten liar about what he said about his feelings for Y/N. He didn’t like the woman.

Steve Harrington was completely beside himself; totally enamored and  hopelessly devoted to Y/N. Even if her blood wasn’t the most delicious thing he’s ever had; a true aphrodisiac, Steve had been drawn to her charm and sweetness for so long. In one night Y/N Y/L/N had completely upended all of his plans for the rest of his life. He was already making a mental list of what needed to be done for His Angel to move in with him. Steve was ready to make this girl as many blueberry pancakes her little heart desired.

This young woman had tamed the devil himself. This angel was, in every sense of the word, his last meal.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Could you please write an Eddie Munson x reader. The reader is Eddie’s girlfriend. For this story could you please do angst and fluff. Thank you!

The reader gets injured (bit) the same way Eleven does in season 3 and same wound except this takes place in season 4 episode 7 where Eddie, Nancy, Steve and Robin are fighting the bats. At the end of the fight one of the tentacles grabs and bites the readers leg and Eddie is the first one to grab onto the reader as she is lifted into the air by her leg the same way Eleven was. Eddie, Steve, Nancy, and Robin are all fighting to get the reader down and finally do but the reader is severely wounded and losing a lot of blood. Eddie carries the reader as they all rush to get to safety as they try to hide in the upside down and just like Eleven they have to cut her leg open to get what’s inside her leg out. Once they do the reader passes out from blood loss and Eddie carries her as they all rush to Eddie’s trailer to get out of the upside down. Once they get the gate open Eddie helps get the reader through the gate as she is still passed out. They are able to get her through the gate and are able to tend to her leg. When the reader wakes up Eddie is sitting right next to her holding her hand and tearfully tells the reader he thought he lost her. Eddie and the reader comfort each other over the events that just happened and fall asleep cuddling with each other.

Hi, thanks for your patience on this and allowing me to take this request in a sightly divergent route! I really appreciate you. 

Requests have resumed. You can submit yours here!

Currently writing for Eddie Munson. I write for a variety of reader inserts (male, female, gender neutral, readers of color too).

The more details you had to your request, the better it is for me. EX: “What about some fluff for Eddie after he’s had a long day?”

Feel free to look through my masterlist here!

Eddie Munson x Female Reader.

CW: Injuries, blood, passing out, etc

___________________________________

You’ve never felt what it truly means to have the fear buzzing under your skin. You always thought it might just be something that you can only really register in retrospect. No one can really feel the thundering of their heart and how hot their skin in and not freeze. You always thought that when fear kicked in like this it would make all your limbs seize. 

And they feel like they should be. But there’s the voice in the back of your head begging you not to freeze. There’s the voice in the back of your head telling you you’ve got to fucking make it out alive. It doesn’t matter if you shit yourself. It doesn’t matter if your skin boils alive with how hot you are. It doesn’t matter if you are dripping wet from the lake. It doesn’t matter if your limbs feel like lead. You have got to fucking survive. 

The screech of the bats echoes in your ears, but all you can think is that you’ve got to stay the fuck alive. You notice just behind Eddie a bat trying to swoop in but you call out his name and tell him to duck. Thankfully he doesn’t think twice and just crouches in just enough time for the bat to just miss and you follow up with a harsh swing to its body. 

It screeches and you shout back, “Bastard!”

You have to stay alive. It’s all you can think to yourself even as Steve slams the body of a bat to the ground over and over again. “We’re not safe out in the open,” you state, watching the scene in front of you. 

The bats have too much of a clear line of all five of you. They can circle and have nothing in the way to make it harder. A few more crowd around and when it seems like it’s just a few more that are approaching the odds aren’t pretty but they might be doable. 

That is until more of the swarm pops up in the distance. 

“The woods. Come on,” Nancy calls out and the group doesn’t think twice about taking off. 

“Great. More running,” Robin huffs. 

You’re careful as you can be to avoid vines on the ground. Stay alive. Stay alive. Stay alive. Don’t anger the beast. Stay alive. Stay alive. Don’t anger the beast anymore. Your group finds some refuge under a fallen rock. The screech of the bats echoes, filling your ears to the point that you’re shocked you can hear Eddie calling your name quietly. “Baby, you okay?”

It’s the brush of his hand over your ankle that truly captures your attention. “I-I don’t know,” you whisper. It’s not that you think you’re physically injured but you’re not sure you’re actually living through this. You’re not sure any of this real. 

Eddie looks over you quickly. The blue of your top doesn’t seem stained, but it is dark. He hates that he can’t really see, so Eddie reaches out, back of his hand gliding over your torso. “You-did you get bit?”

You shake your head. “No,no, just freaked out, Eddie.”

He relaxes, shoulders dropping as he nods too. “Yeah, yeah me too.”

You know he’s freaked for different reasons. He’s got his life on the line. Then he’s worried about you--being in this place, with the danger. “It’s all very freaky,” you muse. 

The conversation doesn’t make it far before Steve sways and in the midst of Nancy getting him patched up, the lot of you are trying to decide how to get through that portal again. If bats are swarming it, just walking back through won’t be possible. 

Robin suggests the police station. The idea barely sprouts legs before Steve’s shooting it down. 

“I have guns,” Nancy offers, like she’s pissed she forgot just a little. 

“You, Nancy Wheeler, have guns--plural--in your bedroom?” Eddie clarifies. 

“Full of surprises isn’t she?” Robin chuckles. 

“It’s our best shot,” you offer, slipping an arm around Eddie’s waist. The lack of his denim vest over his leather jacket makes his outfit feel foreign to your eyes. Your sentence just lands before the quake hits. You tighten your grip to Eddie and Robin, as uncoordinated as a freshly born giraffe, falls into the two of you. 

 As you all recover, you set out to Nancy’s place. You don’t care what you’ve got do it just as long as you get the hell out of his place. The trek to her place is flled with your inner mantra, Don’t anger the beast anymore. Stay alive. Don’t anger the best. Stay alive. 

And it seems like you would’ve followed through on it. You get to Nancy’s--her guns a bust due to Upside Down being in the past--but then you manage to get Dustin to lead you all to another portal at Eddie’s place. The place Chrissy died. 

It feels all so close. The sight of Eddie’s trailer though it’s covered in vines brings a wave of relief to your body. It feels like the first deep inhale you can take since jumping into the lake. 

You’re not even paying attention to Eddie, too focused on just getting into the trailer. But he’s in front of you so when he pulls up short, the sight of his own home making his heart thunder in his chest because he knows. Inside, though it was technically in Normal Hawkins--inside is where Chrissy needed Eddie the most. 

You collide into something solid enough to knock you a couple steps back. “Oof,” you huff out, trying to gather your footing fast. Your foot slides, and it’s not solid ground. 

You know what you’ve done before you can even get a sound out. The vine pulses beneath your foot, slithering now a life you’d feared seeing. It’s slimy and you look down to your ankle to see the vine sliding up your leg. “No, no, no,” you chant. 

Before you can reach down to attempt to untie the shoe, leave it behind, you lose your balance. “Eddie!” you screech. “Anyone! Help!”

The whole group spins at the blood curdling scream. There you hang, being pulled upside down, reaching out for Eddie, fingers splayed and stretching as far as you can. It feels like you can’t reach out far enough. Stay alive. 

“Oh, shit,” Robin whispers. 

Eddie’s reaching back for you, grabbing onto your wrist to keep you from going completely into the air. His feet are sliding as the vine pulls back on his weight. Not you. You can’t get caught in this, Eddie thinks. And he can’t run either. He can’t run away from you. 

Eddie tugs, half his mind worried that he’ll end up hurting you but the other half of his mind focused on keeping you safe. 

It’s tight--the hold on you ankle. But it’s mostly fear and some anger. You were so fucking close. So fucking close to freedom. Now, you hang, caught in a vice grip and the world titled in nearly a 45 degree angle. 

Nancy rushes over, taking hold of Eddie’s waist to help give him more counter weight. It’s not well thought out. It could very well topple him over, but she gets herself planted firmly and she holds. 

“Eddie, do you have anything around here? Axe? Something?” Steve is shouting, but already poised to run inside of the trailer. 

“You’re okay,” Eddie shouts up at you. “I’m not letting go.”

“Please don’t!” you return. 

“Eddie!” Steve screeches. “What have you got?”

Eddie tries to think, but the sound of your cry rings and bounces around his skull. It pierces his chest. “Uh,” he starts, eyes closing for a moment. “Porch--under the porch. There should be an axe.” It’s the one that Wayne hide away when Wayne was 12 and they kept it there because there was no other place to stash it in the trailer. 

Steve hops down and finds under the sloped wooden slabs an axe. Robin’s anchored herself to Nancy, all three of them trying their best to keep Eddie from being pulled up. 

“It hurts, Eds.”

“Just hold on, baby!” he begs. “It’s going to be okay!” It has to be. It has to be okay. 

The first hit to the vine is wet, some black goo flies out. Steve doesn’t relent, pulling the blade out and going in for a second swing. Eddie keeps his hold. Not you, not you, he prays. 

It’s uncomfortable now, the way you’re in the air, but not fully upside. You are trying so hard to keep your grip on Eddie. Every hit Steve lands seems to only make it worse. But you don’t want to crack. Maybe it’ll get worse before it gets better. 

“C’mon!” Steve screeches. “Let her go!”

Another squeeze and then behind it something is crawling. You can feel it slithering up the vein from the inside. It scampers up and up and your heart races at the feeling. “No, no, no,” you beg, tears blurring your vision. 

The sharp pain comes not a second before the vein releases. Your screech rips over your throat--the pain and the drop both startling you. The string of people holding onto Eddie fall when the resistance suddenly cuts out. But Eddie’s pulling and pulling and you fall into him and onto hip and leg. 

You sob into his chest, trying to tell him that something bit you. Something hurts. But all you can get out are the sobs. There’s still white in your vision from the pain. The sensation of it crawling makes you want to rip your own skin open. “It hurts,” you hiccup out. 

Eddie’s rocking your body, lips pressed into your chair. “I’ve got you.”

“I really hate to break up the re-union, but we’ve got about three seconds before the whole ecosystem comes for our throats,” Steve announces. 

Nancy and Robin have recovered but you’re still buried in Eddie’s chest. He tries to coax you up but it hurts too much. You can feel it in your skin. 

The thing about staying alive is that there are times to do and times to die. Staying alive means you have to do. 

You manage to push up, grit your teeth and hobble into the trailer. Staying alive means doing. 

The feeling of your blood seeping out etches itself into the prickles of your leg hair. You want to sob. You want nothing more than tear your own insides out. But you’ve got to stay the fuck alive. 

It’s blurry. Once you’re inside, you catch faintly the sounds of the kids’ voices--Dustin and Erica and maybe some others--but you’re not sure. All you can think to yourself is stay alive. 

Stay alive. 

Stay alive. 

“We’ve got to get it out!” Eddie’s panicked, pacing the living room and watching your barely conscious body, slumped in one of the chairs at the dining table. The creature in your leg still slithering underneath the skin. The sight nearly rocks Eddie’s gut and he can feel the bile rising. Not that he can’t handle blood. He can--he’s had his fair share of bloody noses, split lips, skinned knees. But it’s you. It’s you panting and trying to stay conscious. It’s you with something from the Upside Down under your skin. 

Eddie managed to get the injury tied off--a shitty tourniquet if he’s honest made of his belt--to hopefully slow the bleeding. But there’s no way you can make it without them getting whatever it is in your leg out. 

“We can--once we’re through,” Nancy returns. “Get her up and ready! We will die here if we don’t move.”

No--Eddie won’t let you die here, that’s for certain. 

You’re up before you realize you’ve been sat. Eddie’s in your ear. You can’t make out his voice coherently enough to piece together what he’s saying. You think you hear hospital. 

Stay alive. 

When you wake, you realize there’s a harsh streak of light cracking through the blinds. You don’t recognize the ceiling. It feels silly to say it’s the ceiling you don’t recognize. But you don’t. You turn your head and realize you don’t recognize the coffee table or the couch. 

You’re on a couch. 

As you go to sit up, a soreness radiates up your leg and the groan of pain slips from your lips without realizing.

“You’re awake.” The voice next to you is breathless. But you know it anywere in the world. 

“Eds?” you turn back and see him kneeling next to you. 

The tremble in his hands is evidence as he pushes back some of the hairs from your face. “Ye-yeah, it’s me. How-how do you feel?”

“Like I got hit by a bus,” you laugh. Your eyes slip close and the vine comes back. You’re in the air. The slithering and crawling. Then the bit. You whimper at the thought, willing it out of your mind but it lingers. “Please--is it? Is is still inside me?” you whisper around the tears forming . 

“No, no,” Eddie reassures. “It wasn’t pretty, but you’re okay. It’s gone, baby. It’s gone. Red’s good for something.”

The tear slip down your cheeks. “Max?”

“She knew someone. They were close by and trustworthy. It’s gone, I promise.” Eddie rests his forehead against yours and you pull him in by his shoulders closer to your body. “You’re alive, okay? And safe.” 

Eddie’s voice cracks too as he speaks and he wants to say more, but the emotions have swallowed up all the words. There’s nothing else to say when his heart feels like it nearly fall out his ass. He’s relieve just to have you still. 

You can only nod as the tears choke you, chest tightening as you try not to cry. You stayed alive. There’s no doubt more shit to worry about--how exactly the lot of you would proceed and how to be prepared for Venca/One. But for now, you stayed alive. 

[carolmunson]

last christmas (s.h. x reader)

(a gift to you written by @reborn-rollergirl)

a/n: i, carolmunson, did NOT write this. this is a holiday fic written by @reborn-rollergirl that i'm posting on her behalf. please enjoy! cw: hurt/no comfort, discussions of alcohol and smoking

christmas, 1989, hawkins, indiana: the wheeler-byers residence.

Steve's boots clomped along the wooden porch of the tiny, redbrick house. The chimney blew gusts of grey smoke into the pale blue sky, and the prospect of a blazing, crackling fire to warm his frozen bones had Steve feeling giddy. Snow billowed in large, swirling gusts along the empty street, the fluffy white lawns decorated with twinkling reindeer and waving, inflatable snowmen. It was a picturesque Christmas, just like Steve knew it would be. He just hoped it would be better than last year.

It had to be better than last year.

Steve tapped the toes of his boots against the bottom of the doorframe to shake off the snow before raising his knuckles to knock. Jazzy Christmas music, muffled by the door, came blaring at Steve when the door swung open. Nancy Wheeler stood in the doorway, dressed in a festively knitted sweater, hair perfectly curled. She grinned toothily at Steve upon greeting.

"Steve! I'm so glad you could make it."

Arms full of haphazardly-wrapped gifts, stiff with layers of sweaters and the puffy blue jacket he bought for the winter, Steve grinned back.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world."

Nancy ushered him inside, where Steve immediately sighed at the gust of warmth and the scent of gingerbread that washed over him. Nancy made quick work of relieving Steve of the mountain of presents in his arms, and he quickly unlaced his boots.

"Harrington! Glad you could make it, man," came her fiancé, Jonathan Byers' voice from down the hall.

Freed of the gifts, his shoes, and half his layers, Steve straightened up and smiled again. His cheeks were sore from the whip of wind and too much smiling, but he knew it was just the beginning. Pretending he didn't feel this terrible aching inside his chest while his friends, all festively dressed, laughed and mingled and pretended like it wasn't the anniversary of Steve Harrington's worst nightmare.

"Of course, I wouldn't think of missing it. Where's—"

"—aw, man, all these gifts make mine look like shit. I thought we were supposed to be doin' secret Santa," Eddie grumbled as he stomped toward the door.

The only semblance of Christmas-themed attire on Eddie this year was the twig of holly Robin tucked behind his ear. He patted Steve on the back in greeting, and Steve followed his eye toward the pile of presents Nancy was carrying into the living room to place by the tree.

"Well, I ended up finding something for everyone," Steve murmured sheepishly.

Eddie tugged him close with an arm around his shoulders, ruffling his hair like a kid on the playground.

"Always so thoughtful, Hair-rington," Eddie teased, and before Steve could roll his eyes and shove him away, Eddie was pulling him into the kitchen.

The counters were littered with plates and bowls of food, and metal tins with puppies and snowflakes and jolly-old Santa housing assortments of Christmas cookies that Steve knew Nancy had spent too long baking just for one day. Steve could hear giggling and music from the living room on the other side of the wall, and he was eager for a seat on the couch to ease his aching legs.

"Listen, man, I wanted to tell you before anyone else," Eddie hurriedly murmured, huddled close to keep quiet.

Steve blinked, swiping a wreath-shaped cookie from the counter.

"Tell me what?" Cookie crumbs spewed from his mouth around his words.

Eddie inhaled deeply, cheeks tinged with a soft, pink flush. He fiddled with his gaudy silver rings, eyes flickering quickly toward the hall, and then—

Steve heard it. The most beautiful laugh in the world. Melodious, sweet, like the tinkling of bells. Smooth like honey, so sure of herself. It was her.

Steve's smile slipped, and he placed his half-eaten cookie back on the counter at a snail's pace. He felt like he could be sick. Eddie quickly placed his hand on his shoulder again, eyes widening.

"Is that..."

"Yeah. Yeah, she...she's home for the holidays, she just told Nancy yesterday she was coming. Fuck, I'm sorry, Harrington, we just...we didn't know what to do. I mean, we couldn't tell her not to come, she's our friend, too, you know? And obviously we couldn't tell you not to—"

"—Munson," Steve barked, reaching out to pat him on the chest roughly. "It's fine."

Eddie released a heavy breath, looking Steve over worriedly with big brown eyes. Steve rolled his shoulders back, swallowing thickly, and reached up to adjust his snow-blown hair. It's fine Harrington, he assured himself, it's just the woman that shattered your heart.

"Alright, come on," Steve urged, waving Eddie to follow him as he headed toward the living room.

The Christmas tree twinkled with multi-color lights, flocked with gleaming ornaments of various shapes, colors, and sizes, finished with silver tinsel and a sparkly, light-up star. Along the tree skirt, presents in various states of wrapping were arranged neatly. The fireplace, as Steve suspected, crackled and smoked. The coffee table, full of mugs of eggnog and cans of Pepsi, flanked by Robin, Nancy, Jonathan, and her.

Steve slowed, taking a moment to swallow again, before sinking into the end cushion of the sofa next to the tv. Conversation seemed to come to a stop. The record player, spinning a Nat King Cole record, filled the void. Steve wrung his hands together on his knees, leaning forward to look around—to look anywhere but at her. With her beautiful eyes, sparkling in the Christmas lights, and her perfect lips, shiny with gloss. Her hair was different, shorter, a little darker in color, but still so pretty.

"Uh, Steve, want some eggnog? We have alcoholic and nonalcoholic," Jonathan announced.

Steve glanced at him, flashing a tight-lipped smile.

"Uh, yeah, sure. Alcoholic, please."

And then she did it. She broke the quiet stasis, the polite silent-treatment that Steve had decided he would give her to keep holiday spirits up and avoid confrontation. She scoffed.

Steve's eyes cut over in her direction, suddenly hard and cold. Jonathan quickly scampered toward the kitchen, eager to get away from the brewing conflict.

"Oh, hey. Surprised you're even here," Steve snipped.

Their eyes locked, and all Steve wanted to do was cry. His glare softened out of habit, and he wished it didn't. The slope of her nose reminded him of lazy mornings tangled in bedsheets. The swell of her cheeks brought him back to the brush of lips against soft skin, the moments she'd spend perched on the bathroom sink to peer into the mirror and do her makeup. The shape of her lips made his own tingle with longing.

"Of course I'm here, Steven. It's Christmas," she countered, though her voice lacked the abrasiveness that Steve's had.

Robin, who had yet to even greet Steve, glanced between the two warily. She was stringing popcorn for the tree, and her ministrations grew slow.

Steve scoffed this time, a loud, sharp sound. Eddie sank down beside Robin and mirrored her glancing, equally as stiff and uncomfortable as everyone else.

"Well, I didn't know the holiday meant that much to you. What, with your track record and all."

She sighed, and her eyes drooped toward her lap. Steve felt his heart squeeze, like a fist closing around it. He wished he could swallow his words and stow them away. He wished he could be the bigger person, treat her like a distant friend, with polite and friendly kindness. But he just couldn't help the way his heart thumped at the sight of her, the way his eyes stung with the onset of tears when he heard her voice. He hadn't heard it in a year.

last year, christmas, 1988, indianapolis, indiana: steve harrington's apartment.

"I don't know, man. Are you sure you guys are ready for this?"

Eddie and Steve gazed down at the black velvet box in Steve's hand—more importantly, the giant, gleaming diamond sitting in the middle of it. Steve's lips spread wide into an uncontainable grin.

"Oh absolutely, Munson. Absolutely," Steve declared.

Eddie glanced at him, a silent disagreement; but he didn't have the heart to protest with the sort of smile lingering on Steve's face. So, he clapped him on the back and gave him a shake.

"I'm happy for you, Harrington, really. When are you gonna pop the question?"

Steve snapped the box closed, whirling around to face his friend. He tucked the box into the pocket of his jeans and rubbed his clammy palms along his thighs.

"Tonight. You know, everyone's around the tree, giving out gifts—it'll be romantic."

Eddie nodded, though his smile was tight this time.

"Yeah, super lovey-dovey. She'd be crazy to say no."

Steve's smile slipped, cheeks reddening.

"Y-you think she'll say no?"

Eddie's eyes bulged, and he hopped up from his place on the end of Steve's bed.

"What? No, no! No, of course not. I'm saying, it's a no-brainer—that she'll say yes!"

Steve exhaled sharply, nodding in agreement.

"Right. Right, okay, good."

But Eddie was right.

When their friends were over, all dressed in their holiday best, stuffed full of her glorious cooking and Nancy's amazing baking, retired to the tiny Harrington living room to watch Christmas specials on channel 4 and sip lukewarm eggnog, Steve got down on one knee. She was standing right before the Christmas tree, half her face illuminated ruby red, both hands tucked into Steve's palm. But when he sank down, gazing up at her blissfully, her smile slipped.

"Steve?"

He took the ring box from his pocket and popped it open, holding it out to her.

"Baby, I love you so much. You're the light of my life, and I can't imagine life without you. So, I wanted to ask, in front of all our friends, in the name of Christmas," Steve giggled, giddy and cheerily grinning, "will you marry me?"

"Oh, Steve..."

All waited with bated breath, and the longer they waited, the less hope Steve had. He was no longer smiling when she reached out and closed the box, her smile solemn and pitiful.

"Stevie, I'm...I'm sorry, I can't."

And now, she was looking at him with that same solemn pity, sweet and sad.

"Steve," she breathed, and her face crumbled into a pleading crinkle. "Come on."

Steve huffed, reaching up to run his hand through the front of his hair.

"I'm, uh, gonna get some air."

He rushed the front door and snatched his coat on the hook, ignoring the softened looks on his friends' faces, and stepped into the cold. He eased against the wooden pillar beside the steps, fumbling into his coat pocket for his cigarettes. He lit one urgently, inhaling a mouthful of smoke while his eyes sank closed.

When the door squeaked open behind him, Steve sighed, assuming it was Eddie.

"Munson, I don't need you to check on me."

Soft footsteps shuffled across the slippery wood, and then a gentle hand pressed into his arm.

"It's me."

Steve's eyes popped open, and he whirled around to find her standing here—his beautiful girl. God, what was she doing here? Hadn't she hurt him enough?

"What are you doing?" Steve scowled around his cigarette.

She tucked her hands into the pockets of her coat, shuddering out a sigh that blew a puff of grey air.

"I wanted to check on you."

"No, I mean what are you doing here?"

Steve turned back around, but she just followed to rest against the railing, chasing his gaze.

"They're my friends, too, Steve."

He shook his head, blowing smoke in the other direction. His back was to her, but he could still feel her heavy gaze. His every nerve lit on fire when she was around. Even after all this time, even after she left him, she still had the same affect on him.

"Well, I'm not your friend, so..."

She was glad he couldn't see the way she burned at his emotionless words.

"Can't we be? Can't we be friends, Steve?" she whispered.

If he wasn't so on edge, Steve might have lost her words to the howling wind. But he was so focused on every intake of breath she took, every twitch of her fingers, slip of her foot. Jesus Christ, he missed her.

Steve turned, glancing at her in his periphery.

"No. No, we can't be friends."

She reached out, but curled her fingers away before they could reach him.

"Why?"

Steve faced her full on now, smoking cigarette in hand.

"Why? Why? I could ask you the same."

Her brows furrowed, chest deflating.

"What?"

"Why'd you say no? Why'd you leave me?"

She recoiled, like the inquisition burned her.

"Steve—"

"—I deserve an answer. Consider it your Christmas gift to me."

She huffed a small, incredulous laugh, leaning back against the railing.

"Okay, uh...I said no because...I couldn't give you want, Steve."

Steve tapped his ashes toward the lawn, rubbing at his eye with his free hand.

"What?"

She tucked her open coat closer to her body, pulling her arms into her sides. But she didn't look at Steve. She couldn't. Her eyes began to sting with warm wetness, pooling in the corners, threatening to spill over. Her lip wobbled, but if prompted, she'd blame it on the cold.

"You want the whole package, Steve. A house, kids, the perfect wife to come home to—and I'll never be that. I would have...I would just disappoint you."

Steve's head shook again, and he tossed the butt of his cigarette toward the lawn.

"That's bullshit—"

"—it's not bullshit!—"

Steve glared down at her, jaw tight.

"Three years! Three years, me and you, what did you think was gonna happen?"

Her eyes glistened, and she shuddered out another breath.

"I-I don't know, I just...I wasn't ready, Steve."

Steve spread his arms, an empty, open gesture of questioning.

"So what? So you just leave? You pack up all your shit in the middle of the night and leave?"

"I—"

"—we could've worked through it. I could've waited. But you gave up on us." Steve pointed an angry finger.

She swiped away fallen tears, sniffling snottily.

"I'm sorry, Steve."

He sighed, hands slipping into his pockets.

"Yeah. Merry Christmas."

And he stepped off the porch, scarf and second sweater abandoned inside with his friends. They huddled in the front window, watching Steve trudge toward his car, get inside, and drive off.

[carolmunson]

peanut butter vibe. (steve harrington x thick!reader)

fulfilling my own request for mean!hot!thick!reader and hot!rich!wealthy!corporate!steve harrington who is not so secretly in love with you. takes place in 1996 - reader and steve are 29 turning 30

word count: 10.2K

warnings: 18+ minors dni, f!reader, smut smut smut smut, there is smut everywere in this. from flashback smut to actual smut, they've BEEN fucking. mild daddy kink, face sitting, face riding, unprotected p in v sex, fingering (f receiving), oral (f and m receiving), references to shower sex. body type mention, very little body insecurity mention, reference to an ex boyfriend saying reader was 'too big' for something but it's not like -- something that they take into consideration. dirty talk, pet names (honey, baby, 'good girl' etc.), mild choking, steve is so bitchy but also so soft in this i hate him.

"Hi Stevie, it's me. I'm uh, I'm back a little early, Carly's having her baby soon -- I know it was a little weird last time with Andy being with me. We um, we broke up so he's not here this time. It wasn't like a big blow out or anything but -- why am I talking about this on your answering machine? Sorry. I'll be at Porter's tonight around 6 if you wanted to meet me there? It'd be cool to see you, I guess. -sigh- It's hard to bully you when you aren't responding. Anyway, bye -- I know you'll be there at 5:57 because you can't wait to see me."

Steve let out a sigh while the answering machine closed out with a beep, the robotic voice announcing 'End of Messages'. He took his glasses off and ran a hand over his face, tossing a look at the clock on the wall across from him. It was almost quitting time, and Porter's was only a twenty minute drive away from the office. Part of him selfishly didn't want to show up, or maybe show up a little late to make you sweat since you'd forced him to meet your boyfriend last time. Well, ex boyfriend now.

You and Steve weren't friends in high school. He was busy being King Steve, basketball playing jock covered in ladies and popular people. You were busy in drama club and creative writing in the library, protecting your friends from people like Steve. Sure you knew each other, you graduated in the same year, had a couple of classes together -- but neither of you were very interested in offering each other the time of day. Two incredibly different ships passing in the night.

You weren't Steve's type in high school, either. Steve was always caught with what you'd describe as 'pretty little things'. Girls with waists he could wrap his hands around, thin and toned thighs, girls with a little jiggle where it mattered the most and none where it didn't. The girl's wearing bikini's to his house parties when the pool was open. Maybe if you had looked like that, you would've known Steve in high school -- but then again, he wasn't really the kind of guy you were trying to hail down in Hawkins.

When you weren't getting finger blasted backstage by Eddie 'The Freak' Munson when he got to the theater too early for Hellfire Club, you were making eyes at college freshman at the coffee shop you worked at. Something about slightly older men, y'know? A little mature, a little more sure of themselves. Pouring over books and scribbling in their notebooks behind their frames, staying until close to finish a paper or study for an exam. You had one or two wrapped around your finger your senior year before you left to go to school in Chicago. After Chicago it was New York -- working in marketing for a cosmetics line.

You'd come back to Hawkins every year for the holidays, but one year when your grandfather passed away you ended up at Porter's after the funeral. You were 24 and heartbroken, nursing a glass of red wine, looking out of place in your Manhattan clothes in the cozy small town bar.

You were alone at the stools until Steve Harrington came through the door, suit jacket slung over his shoulder and tie loosened over his button down. He nodded at the bar tender who instinctively poured him a whiskey before he even made it to the barstool two over from you.

"Rough day, Harrington?" he asked, sliding the drink down to him.

"You wouldn't believe, Paul," he shook his head, carding his fingers through his hair. He rested his chin on one hand, propped up on his elbow, catching your movement in the corner of his eye. He turned his head and looked over at you, a endearing smile lighting up his tired face -- that Harrington charm.

"What about you? Rough day?" he asked. At first you didn't realize he was talking to you, looking down into your wine and listening to the drone of whatever sports game was on the TV. You were brought back to earth when a soft 'hey' came from his direction.

"Me? Oh, yeah. My grandpa's funeral," you said with a scrunched face, shrugging, "Sort of a huge downer."

"Oh, wow," Steve said, turning his full body towards you on the stool, "Sorry for your loss -- that's -- yeah that beats my day. Sorry about that."

You murmur a thank you and go back to your wine, hearing him shift in his seat.

"You look really familiar," he says gently, scanning your face.

"We went to high school together," you say with a smile after a sip of your Malbec, "Class of '85."

"Hawkins High? You sure?," his voice gets a little syrupy, "I think I'd remember you."

"I was in drama -- wasn't really your type," you say with a smart head tilt. It didn't bother you that you hadn't been. The same way it didn't bother you that you might've been his type now.

You spent three hours together talking at the bar, exchanging stories about high school and your years out of it. He told you how he just started on the sales team for some big insurance company and felt so out of his depth but at least he got to wear a suit. You told him about your dingy apartment in the Lower East Side and how you missed driving all the time.

You spent another hour fucking in his BMW, riding him in the back seat tucked in a dark corner of the Porter's empty parking lot. Your skirt pushed up over your hips.

"Fuck," Steve grunted through gritted teeth, splayed out in the center of the back seat, his legs as far out as that could go, "Y'feel so fucking good. So fucking good on top of me."

You whimpered in response, the curve of his cock hitting your spongey, sensitive g-spot with every bounce. Your grip on his shoulders tightened as his hands moved smoothly over your thighs, finger tips digging into your fleshy hips when he got your reflection in the rear view mirror. Rear view, indeed. He let his eyes rest on the reverberation of your ass coming down on his hips and big legs with each shove down on his cock. The wet smack! of is crotch hitting against your soaked pussy making him want to fuck you even harder. He kneaded your body in his hands, grabbing handfuls of you as he got to your backside, humming while he felt it shake just out of his grasp.

You yelped when his warm palm cracked down on it, an angry sting running through your lower body. You couldn't help but tighten around him, slick dripping over him between your legs.

"Hm, you like that? You like when I smack that fucking ass?" he asked, holding your hips down so he could buck into you with a faster speed. Groaning while he pumped with vigor, you hear another hard crack on your ass resounding in the backseat before you feel the burn of it. Your whines made his cock twitch, slowing down to feel your hips grinding desperately against him for more friction. You slapped your palms gently against his clothed chest, pouting as you shimmied for more of his assault against your aching cunt.

“You love this cock, huh? Look at you, so fuckin' needy for it,” he gloated while your eyes narrowed in on him. Oh no, you weren't about to give Steve Harrington the satisfaction of telling him how fucking amazing his dick felt plowing into you. You weren't about to admit that all the things girls would say about him in high school were true. You reached for his jaw, holding it tight in your hand to look down at him while his hips slowed to a stop. He looked up at you, his eyes a little glassy, his grip loosening on your hips.

“Shut - your mouth,” you hissed down at him. He flushes, a smirk slips onto his lips as he leans back, putting his hands behind his head, his elbows splayed out next to him.

"Yes ma'am," he says with a soft raise to his eyebrows.

"If you'd like," he starts, taking his glasses off and tucking them into his breast pocket. He looks unbothered by your act of dominance while he runs a hand through his hair and leans forward to close the gap between you. His hands digging firmly into your ass to keep you balanced on his thighs.

His lips ghost yours while he speaks low and huskily, "I can take you back to mine and show you all the other ways I know how to use it."

He ate your pussy with the lights on and gave you his number before driving you back to your place.

'I like talking to you,' he shrugged, 'Call me whenever.'

And so began a so far, five year friendship -- you'd have long phone calls every few weeks or months when your busy schedules allowed. Staying updated on each other: how work was going, what bad dates you both had been on, what hijinks you'd been getting into with friends. Promotions, birthdays, hardships. It was nice to have a friend from home, someone who sort of knew the people you knew before you left. Nice to gossip a little, nice to laugh with each other.

Every time you came back to Hawkins, you'd meet up at Porter's for a drink. Have a real talk like you did the first night you got to know each other and then somehow, for some reason, you'd end up back at his place.

"What'd I say? Right on time, Harrington," you call out when he comes through the door. Steve groans, looking at his watch -- 5:57 on the dot. He'd had a long day, he was tired, and for a moment the sound of your voice made him grit his teeth.

You watch him check his watch and his smile tightens. He looks good -- suit much more refined from when you first really met him five years ago. Tailored, in a color that compliments his skin, his tie perfectly kept to his chest with what you assume was a pricey tie clip, shoes shined. He'd fit in great on Wall Street if he'd just get a fucking hair cut.

The way he walks towards you holds a different confidence than it had in the last year and a half when you were with Andy. Though it was clear he didn't particularly like Andy, he was perfectly pleasant -- able to slip right into a cadence of faux friendship you only wished Andy could've done. You once him over a second time as he sits in the stool next to you, his cologne was new, but expected. It felt like every man you knew was wearing Aqua di Gio.

"I know you're always so desperate to impress me but I gotta say, you look a little overdressed for Porter's. Were you nervous or something?" you ask sweetly, sipping on your red wine. You slide a whiskey double infront of him and he looks down at it, a frustrated smile breaks against his face. He bites the tip of his tongue between his teeth, shaking his head -- his hair moves with him.

"Looks like you didn't bother getting dressed up for me at all," he bites back, "C'mon, Manhattan -- a Hawkins High sweatshirt?"

Manhattan -- his favorite nick name when you got too big for your britches. A little too snobby for his liking, which was funny coming from a man with more designer clothing than you could dream to afford.

You looked down at yourself, you'd stolen the sweatshirt from your little sister -- your original one too battered and stained to see the light of day again. Sure, maybe your light wash bootcut jeans weren't screaming high fashion but your black square toed boots were cute! You swore you looked good before you left, but suddenly you weren't sure. You'd fallen off dressing 'nice' when you were home, it just wasn't worth it.

"Okay, mean," you spit, not giving off offense -- but not hiding it either.

"I like the boots, though," he shrugs, lifting the tumbler to his lips. The golden brown of the whiskey matched his eyes, they seemed to soften as the liquid met his mouth.

"Top shelf?" Steve's teeth are bright and straight in his smile while he sets the glass down.

"Do I ever disappoint?" you ask, crossing your legs. He burns pink at the question.

"Never," he's earnest in his response, finally making full eye contact with you, "You staying through the holidays?"

"Just for a few days, then heading back to wrap up Q4, I'll be back on the 23rd like always," you say. He nods and stands up, scooting his bar stool closer to yours -- just enough that your knees brushed. He leans forward, acting like it's too loud to hear you but the bar is only half full. You lean forward too, resting your chin on your hand, elbow drilling into your crossed thighs.

"And how's Carly?" he asks, you can see the delicate five o'clock shadow peeking through on his chin and neck. His lips full and wet with whiskey, he slides his tongue over them slowly to collect the flavor.

"So over being pregnant," you roll your eyes over your older sister's dramatics, "But you know -- she's excited. I'm excited, too! I get to live out my dreams of being the mysterious, hot, rich aunt."

"So, what -- Andy didn't want to be the rich uncle?" he asks, you note that he drops 'mysterious' and 'hot'. The mention of Andy stings a little and your eyes droop down to your wine.

"Sorry," he says, his comforting hand falling on your knee, "I'm sorry."

He squeezes your knee when you don't look up at his apology, a beat passes while you contemplate saying something mean -- but it's a little nice to see him feel apologetic.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" he asks, his thumb soothingly running back and forth over your thigh as his hand moves further up. Steve frowns at your disappointed face, he hated crossing the line by accident.

You shake your head no, tilting your head back up, "Let's wait on that. I wanna hear about that big promotion you got -- we haven't really gotten to talk about it."

Steve got promoted to Director of Sales six months ago and it was kicking his ass way less than his previous management position. What was most exhausting was how incompetent everyone was.

"Well, you were kind of too busy --" he started, but quickly shook his head out of the bit, "It's fine, it's a lot of work -- god, no one ever knows what they're doing. A lot of directing going into this director of sales thing."

"Aww, my little scumbag -- running the insurance show," you coo, "You should do car sales next, so sleazy, you'll fit right in."

"You're somethin' else, tonight," he laughs, taking his hand off your leg, "And are you any better? Working for a company that tells women they're ugly so they'll buy all your shit? How's it going at L'Oreal anyway?"

You sigh and roll yours eyes, "More like L'Ore-hell. I just transferred into the marketing team from customer insights and it's somehow -- boring? I already know the answers to all of the problems they come up with. It's like they don't know who their customer base is."

Steve's eyes sparkle while you continue to rant about ROIs and think tanks, he loves when you talk about how much you hate your job. You get so passionate, you talk so fast he can barely keep up.

"I wish I could check your blood pressue right now," he jokes, it's the kind of joke adults make. Sometimes it feels like you're both playing the parts of adults at these bar hang outs -- two kids in their parent's clothes on barstools, just giggling.

"When I went to the doctor they had to check it twice because I was talking about work when they checked it the first time -- that's how stressed out it makes me," you huff.

"Sorry, I just made that all about me, can you please let me more about your director job -- are you at least happy about the promotion?" you ask.

You miss his hand on your leg but it's probably just the wine talking. Paul comes over to replenish the glass without asking, you and Steve were both two drinks and go kind of people (sometimes you'd sneak a third if he wasn't paying attention).

"I mean, sure -- I'm a step away from getting into a chair position. I'm making more money than I know what to do with. My dad is thrilled for the first time ever," he explains, always so expressive but you catch him nervously swipe through his hair, "But -- fuck...y'know?"

"I don't know," you laugh into your glass, "What do you mean, 'fuck'?"

"I'm gonna be thirty next year and like, what do I have to show for it other than --"

"Other than being a wealthy hometown high school basketball super star, swimming in pussy, who got a cushy office job two years after graduating because your daddy was tired of seeing you work at Family Video, and now is the director of sales at a big wig insurance company after only what -- seven years in the company? And wears designer suits and is still swimming in pussy?" you say in one breath. He sighs at you and leans his head into his hand, elbow resting on the bar.

"Sure -- I guess," he smiles, but it's a sad smile.

"What more do you want, Steve?" you ask with a shrug, "You've got a pretty sweet deal here."

"I don't know," he shrugs, "I mean look at you -- every time you come back you have a new story to tell me, something exciting that happened to you. I have -- pfft -- 'They hired a new secretary! Here's the gossip about other people in Hawkins I learned from my mom! I'm still sort of a loser!"

"I mean sure, yeah, you're a loser," you agree, "But not, y'know, not like -- in the bad way."

He tosses you a look but you smile back at it, making him smile back at you. This time it's genuine, you figure the whiskey is helping. Steve sits back up to full height and leans back in his bar stool, knees splaying out. If he took his suit jacket off you'd swear he'd look like one of those 1950's husbands whose a little annoyed that dinner isn't ready yet -- your thighs press tight together.

"I think you sound bored," you suggest, "Like you need something different."

He drums his fingers on the bar, staring at them while he speaks, "I have some options I've been thinking about, but I don't know. Don't wanna make a fool of myself if it doesn't work out."

"Don't wait too long," you say with a shrug, "Another ten years will fly by like that." You snap your fingers for emphasis.

"What happened with Andy?" he presses, sipping his whiskey to down the rest and putting the empty glass on the table.

You 'ugh' under your breath and take a big sip of wine before you feel him tug at the end of the stem, "Sloooow down. Don't wanna to have to carry you out of here."

"You couldn't carry me, Harrington," you say flatly.

"We both know that I can carry you, but okay," he says with a quirked brow, unimpressed with your attitude. The memory of him hoisting you up against the shower tile in his bathroom with your fleshy thighs wrapped tight around him flashes through your mind. Hot breath and hot water running all over you while he grunted into your ear with each desperate thrust. Steve notices your cheeks heat up -- he knows what you're thinking about, because he is too. A satisfied smile settles onto his lips.

"Alright, settle down," you say, pushing your glass a little away from you towards Steve while his next whiskey arrives. You aren't sure if you're talking to him or to yourself.

"I just..." you breathe out of your nose, "It wasn't working out. I was tired of taking care of him."

"Oh, you broke up with him?" Steve confirms.

"Yeah," you sit back a bit, furrowing your brow, "Did you think he broke up with me?"

"I don't know, you seemed really sad about it!" Steve says, his hands outstretched, "I thought he left you."

"He didn't," you say, "I left, but it's still a bummer. Thought maybe he could've been it, y'know? But, thinking back it would've been -- I don't know -- it wasn't going to happen."

"He didn't want to get married?" he asked, a little surprised.

"I don't think that was in his five year plan, he barely took me out to dinner," you complained, "I was paying for everything 'cause I had a better job."

Steve crossed his arms while you talked, frowning while you continued to ramble about Andy and the break up.

"I just felt like I was putting a lot of effort into him, and I wasn't getting anything in return," you shrug, "And like, that's okay. I'm so used to doing that but...I don't know, I think I just would like for someone to take care of me for a change."

You pause, considering what you said and shake your head, "That sounds so selfish, oh my god."

"I don't think it sounds selfish at all," Steve shakes his head, "I think you're sort of asking for the bare minimum -- I mean fuck, he didn't take you out to dinner? I've taken you out to dinner and you've never even been my..."

You're both quiet for a beat while he trails off, neither of you looking at each other. You reach for your wine and he moves the glass away just as your fingers graze the stem. You lift your butt of the stool and pluck it out of his hand, taking another - smaller - sip. He looks at you like a disappointed father.

"Maybe I wanted to try it? Ugh, you're right Manhattan, you're so selfish," Steve teased.

"You don't like Malbec, Stevie," you swirl the booze in your glass, "That's why I order it."

Steve knows that's why you order Malbec, that's why he kept ordering whiskey -- you don't like it, but he'll know you're getting a little drunk if you ask for a sip of his drink. That's when he knows it's time to take you home, he'd sleep with you another night. He doesn't want you to get too drunk tonight, something about your flushed cheeks. The way you look in those boot cut jeans -- especially when you excused yourself to the bathroom and he could watch you walk away. Whew.

Steve waits for the door to close behind you to hail down Paul to get the check.

"She's gonna get pissy that you're covering it," Paul said while passing him the bill for your drinks, "She told me not to let you pay when she got here."

"Paul -- What's she gonna do? Kill me?" he gestures his hand out while using the other to reach for his wallet. He pulls out a few bills, including a generous tip, and passes them to Paul indiscreetly.

"Steve -- come on!" He winces at your voice, "I told you last time I had it next!"

"My hand slipped -- suddenly the money just appeared in Paul's register, there was nothing I could do," Steve held his hands up.

"Paul!" you call down the bar, but the yell turns into a laugh, "You promised you wouldn't let him pay!"

"He threatened me within an inch of my life. Had to let the man do what he wants," Paul said, putting the cash in the register. You settle back into your stool and cross your legs again, smoothing your damp hands on your jeans.

"I'm gonna kill you, Harrington," you mutter to your knees.

"I feel like 'thank you' would've been a much nicer thing to say," he's always so cool when he talks. You envy how easy it is for him to be charming, to turn it on quickly. Sometimes he makes you feel nervous and seventeen again, even though you've done this so many times before. He looks at you over the whiskey glass while he sips it, eyes glittering behind his glasses. Neither of you have to say anything to know what happens after his finishes his drink.

When you left, he reached for your hand when the door to Porter's closed behind you. You didn't need the support, the parking lot wasn't icy or snow covered, you weren't drunk -- but you let his fingers lace with yours. He guides you deliberately to his car -- of course it's new -- a dark green Porsche 911. What a tool.

"You like my new toy?" he asked. It was easily the most expensive car you'd seen in Indiana.

"Steven," you're a little exasperated -- sometimes he was such a poor little rich boy, "Why?"

He shrugs, "Felt like it."

You let go of his hand to walk to the passengers side door, waiting for him to unlock it while you shiver. He notices you didn't have a coat on, shaming himself silently for not offering his trench for the short walk.

You both get in when he unlocks to doors and you eye the interior, the plush leather of the seats. You squint a little when you cast your eyes over to him, "I feel like you're compensating for something."

"Oh yeah?" he asks casually, starting the car and cranking the heat, "What am I compensating for? Wanna remind me?"

You cross your arms and don't answer because he doesn't have anything to compensate for. Steve Harrington was born blessed, if you were more religious you'd swear he was God's favorite.

"That's what I thought," he says with a grin while pulling out of the parking lot. His hand meets your head rest while he stretches his neck back to check for cars. The same hand falls to your thigh when you make it on the road, sliding his palm over the swell of it -- his fingers resting inside. He let his eyes glance at how your hips filled up the small passengers seat at a red light, your jeans tight over your thighs.

Steve gave you a soft squeeze when the light turned green, you put your hand over his hand at the gesture -- relacing your fingers. You don't notice the gentle smile blooming onto his face, too busy looking at Christmas lights on the houses outside.

--

You don't waste time when you both get into his house, slipping off your shoes at the entry way -- bolstering passed the darkened livingroom to the stairs in his mini-mansion. He follows quickly behind you, getting ahead of you to get into his room to turn on the bedside lamps.

"Are those new?" you whisper -- it's not like anyone is home, it's Steve's house, but the darkness makes you feel like you have to be quiet. He comes back over to you, quick on his socked feet and pulls you in for a feverish kiss.

"Yeah," he says between kisses, all harsh breaths and wet clicks, "I had a new -- mmm -- uh fuck -- new decorator come in."

His hands are wound in your hair while he keeps control of your head, his kisses go from fast and hungry to slow and controlled.

"I'll show you later," he mumbles against your lips. You nod in agreement, you did genuinely want to see. What fancy hotel was it based off of this time?

"This is okay, right?" he asks, pulling away, "I'm sorry I didn't ask I just -- old habits, I guess."

"It's okay, Stevie," you assure, his hands slipping out of your hair and onto your full cheeks. He squishes them together a little and smiles into a little chuckle. Sometimes you're so cute to him he can't stand it, he wants to eat you whole -- wants to keep you in his bed forever.

"Good," he mumbles again before settling back in for a deep kiss that leaves you moaning softly into his mouth, "Missed feeling you like this."

"You're so needy," you tease, his hands dropping from your face to your hips, feeling his own press against yours.

"Oh, you feel that?" he smirks, dick hard in his slacks -- straining despterately to get your attention.

"Needier than I thought," you scoff, "You gonna make it, Steve? You don't even have your jacket off yet."

"Watch your mouth," it's not mean when he says it, he likes when you tease him because you have nothing to back it up. You've never left unsatisfied -- even when you were on top calling him your 'sweet boy', you'd get in the shower after with your legs shaking. Shivering against him when he'd get on his knees and lick at your sensitive clit just to watch you leave hand print on the glass.

"You just sound so pretty, miss. I can't help myself," he'd say from below you, water droplets resting on his eyelashes while you gushed over his mouth.

Steve breaks away to take off his jacket and looks at it for a split second -- hesitating.

"You wanna hang it up, huh?" you know how he gets.

"Will you be mad? I just don't want it to crease," he pleads.

"You're gonna get the suit dry cleaned anyway," you say back, laughing.

"I know, I know, but I have to -- I just have to hang it up, I'm so sorry," he presses a chaste peck to your lips before disappearing into his walk in closet. You take your time getting undressed because you know he'll be at least seven to nine minutes while he puts everything back in the 'to be dry cleaned' part of the closet.

You keep your bra and panties on, white satin, a little lace. He's always a sucker for something angelic that's a little grown up -- but you guess you are grown ups now. It's weird to consider.

He emerges from the closet in his boxer breifs with a frown, "Why'd you take your clothes off without me?"

"You took your clothes off without me," you counter point, "Did you want me to just sit here and wait for you?"

"Kinda," he says with a half shrug, "Would've been nice."

You get a little giddy while he approaches you, his smile building when yours does. His hands skate over the flesh on top of your flared ribs, over to your back. His fingers gliding over the back strap of your bra before snapping it off of you, dropping it to the floor. He traces the indents on your skin from the clothing, red and raw. Big hands grope at your breasts before following the slope of your waist back down to your ass, filling his hands greedily.

"Missed her the most," another chaste kiss to your lips, "But I think you knew that." Steve had always thought he was a tits guy until he met you, maybe you were the exception. Maybe he liked all your parts.

"I knew that," you say, wrapping your arms around his neck, "Can you stop stalling, Harrington? This wine's gonna wear off soon."

With your hold on his neck, laying you back on the mattress was an easy feat. He spread you out wide, pushing your hands above your head while he settled his hips against yours. He couldn't help himself from starting to rut against you -- you were so warm, your pussy practically begging him to fuck you.

"Ooh," you moaned out against your better wishes, his covered cock giving you just enough friction in your panties to set you ablaze. You could feel yourself dripping into them, begging, waiting for him.

"You really want me tonight, huh?" he asked hungrily, knowing the answer.

"Y-yes, Stevie," you whined, letting go of his hands to let your nails graze down his back, feeling the length of him trapped in his boxers press against you.

"Oh-ho-ho, whose needy now, hm?" he teases in your ear, grinding mercilessly against you, his chest pressed up against yours while he keeps you pinned the the mattress.

"So quick with that tongue earlier, what happened?" he smirks, getting right in your face, brushing his nose against yours. You roll your hips against his, your thighs sliding against his hips as another mewl escapes you at the friction.

"Oh, I see. You wanna be good for daddy now, don't you?"

"Steven," your eyes pop open, your mouth gapes with a smile, "You can't just say stuff like that."

He laughs into a kiss on your neck, "C'mon, I think you liked it."

"I don't really think you're the 'daddy', type," you say, your voice taunting.

"No?" he asks his voice is calm, but his eyes are challenging you.

"No, you're too nice," you smirk while he comes up to kiss your mouth, "You've never won a fight in your life. And you're what, almost 30? Who're you bossin' around?"

He watches you raise a brow when you say it, your lower lip tucking slowly between your teeth in a grin -- god he loves when you do that.

"Lot of secretaries to go through in the office, mmm," he hums when your lips graze his neck, your tongue striping up to his jaw, "Learned a couple things."

"You think I can't boss you around?" he asks, pressing up off of you and leaning onto one of his forearms.

"I know you can't boss me around," you say, your brows quirking while you push at his chest to get on top of him like you always do. Already soaking at the thought of him whining for you to fuck him, to cum all over him, grabbing at your thighs, hips, and ass desperately. His heaving breaths after finishing, resting his head on your stomach while you stroked his hair, feeling his lips press against your soft, pudgy, belly to let you know he's ready for the next round.

He caught your wrist as you pushed and pressed it back down into the mattress.

"Oh c'mon Stevie, I love hearing you beg for me," you tease before he presses his mouth against yours, noses squishing together. Over the years, Steve craved closeness from you -- pulling you flush against his chest when you were on top, wrapping his arms around your back. Clutching you, fingertips sinking into your cloud-soft flesh while you moaned into his ear.

"Think you can beg for me for a change," he mutters, pulling away as you reach to kiss him again. A little whine pulls from your throat and he purrs at the sound. Right where he wants you.

He gets on his knees between your legs and looks down at you, eyes roaming the expanse of your body -- your broad shoulders, soft skin, delicate curves and indents. His personal Aphrodite -- flesh turned fine art. All the Rennaissance paintings in the world couldn't do you justice. He stuttered the first time he saw you naked, overwhelmed by you and how not shy you were for him to see you. Steve let's a finger trail along the lining of your silk panties at your thigh, you shiver at his soft touch.

"Take these off," he says, but it comes out as a demand.

"So mean," you tease, tugging at the elastic and lifting your hips up to push them over your butt and thighs. He shrugs off your jest, grabbing your underwear when they get too far down for you to reach and throwing them on the floor. He's rough when he flips you over to your stomach, the flesh of your ass bouncing with the movement and he salivates immediately.

"I'll show you mean," he says, it's more playful than menacing. He brings a hand down hard on your soft body, ass reverberating with the action and you gasp -- tensing all around.

"Ow -- Steve!" you cry out, trying to catch your breath.

“Oh, shit,” he smooths over the pink handprint blooming on your skin, “I’m sorry.”

"It's okay, it's fine, just -- I don't know, warn a girl," you laugh. His hand drags over the curve of your ass to your thigh.

"Did you like that?" he asked, his voice dropped to his lower register and you inadvertently press your thighs together. Your face drops into your arms on the mattress, blushing.

"Is that a yes?" he asks, fingers snaking to your inner thigh and your hips roll slowly at the feeling. He hums when he sees you nod into your forearms.

"On your knees, baby," he suggests, tapping your thigh. You adjust onto your knees, forearms still on the mattress in a perfect deep arch. He sits back at first, taking a moment to marvel at your ass in the air -- committing it to memory. He keeps his hand on your inner thigh, massaging gently while you settle into position.

"Open up a little more for me," he's gentle, pushing at your flesh so you open up wider. You adjust and he grins, sliding his boxers off -- you whimper when he does.

"You okay?" his voice laces with acute concern, it wasn't a sexy whine or cry like you usually do. He stands up so he can soothe you from the side of the bed, his hand smoothing over your back.

"I thought you were gonna -- I didn't know we were immediately gonna fuck," you say, leaning your face to the side to look at him.

"Oh no - I wasn't just gonna - when have I ever just gone in and fucked you?" he laughs, "I just wanna jerk off while you sit on my face, is that okay?"

"So much for me begging for you," you smirk, "Sitting on your face, just like old times."

He huffs a breath through his nose looking down at you, his face unimpressed. He leans forward, face inches away from yours, "Who was just whining over the idea that I might not eat her pussy tonight?"

You burn at his words and he notices, "Was it you?"

You nod with an embarrassed smile, "If you're a good girl, I'll let you be the boss next time. I'll teach you a few things, yeah?"

"Steeeeve," you whine while your skin is in flames, "You can't say that."

He gets on the bed behind you, one hand on the bend of your hip, the other with his fingers sliding against your open folds -- finding slicknes without surprise.

"Can't say what?" he asks with a smile, "Can't call you my good girl?"

Your hips push back on his fingers when he says it and you scold yourself at your body's betrayal. You hear him tutt behind you and you clench around nothing at the sound, "Sure feels like I can."

He slides under you like a well versed mechanic, arms and hands immediately wrapping around your thighs, stifiling their nervous jiggle. He guides you down to his mouth, your posture changing while you sit further up and back so you can see his eyes and he can see all of you. Your hips wiggle as you feel his breath on your opening.

"Are you excited?" he asks, you nod and he can't hold out anymore at the sight of your smile. You feel his tongue drag, poking between your folds once you relaxed -- his fingers reaching to keep you spread open to start.

Your smile transforms to a pornographic gasp, head immediately thrown back as his tongue stripes you again. Your hips rock against his mouth, Steve smirks to himself into the next lick, flicking over your clit and a peal of mewls escape your lips.

He feels at home here, your full, thick thighs keeping his ears warm in the December weather. This big cold house suddenly feeling full with your voice moaning his name. He didn't need the whiskey if you were offering to quench his thirst like this.

You feel his tongue lap at your opening, the thick, wet, muscle pushing in past your walls trying to desperate to out maneuver him. His face was coated in your juices, dripping freely own onto his chin and cheeks while he fucked you with his tongue. He watched as your hand reached down to tease your clit, he caught it in his, pushing it up to your breasts.

"Play with your tits f'me baby, let me watch," he says, scooting up a bit.

"But Steve I --" you huff, desperate for some extra stimulation.

"I'm getting there, if you'd just be patient for like, twenty seconds," his voice sounds like he's back at the bar, admonishing you like you're rushing him to get out of the bathroom.

"You're ruining the mood," you cross your arms over your chest, pouting.

"Aww, I'm ruining the mood?" he mocks, a fake frown matching yours. He slides a finger slowly past your tight walls and you falter a little but hold to your convictions. He holds eye contact with you through his glasses, pushing a second finger in to meet the first.

Your mouth gapes, eyes pricking with tears as your walls close down hard on him, "Am I still ruining the mood, baby?"

A silent cry rattles your chest, falling quietly out of your open mouth. Your eyes close tight while he snickers, pumping his fingers in a steady rhythm, "It's all better now, isn't it?"

His voice makes you dizzy, he used to talk to you like this when you first started fucking. Cocky and confident -- certain he was making you feel good, and fuck he was. What did he ask you to do before? Your brain was racking for the command, but too overwhelmed with pleasure when he hooked his fingers to find your g-spot.

"Stevie -- oh fuck, fuck, please more," you whine out, you sound pathetic but you can't even find your self to care. It feels like a roller coaster reaching it's peak with every curve of his fingers teasing your spongey center. 'Play with your tits f'me baby, let me watch.' There it is, that you could do. You palm your breasts, pulling and pinching at your hard nipples looking down at him over your belly pooch. He winks when his tongue finally makes contact with your clit and you shudder instantly. You gush over his fingers, taken by surprised by your own orgasm -- already feeling the second one building.

"That's my good girl," he purrs beneath you, "Stay just like that, okay? I'm not done."

You gulp, feeling his soft kitten licks back on your clit start to ramp up to fast flutters -- Steve didn't want to start you back up slowly. Your breath had barely steadied before it picked back up again, flexing your core to keep yourself hovering above him. Your hand reached down to his hair, tugging while your thighs tensed.

"Ride my face, baby, come on," he encourged, "You've never been nervous to do it before."

"I --," you hesitated, "I didn't with Andy -- it's been a while."

"What?" he asked, surprised, pushing up so his full head peeked out from between your legs, "Are you fucking with me?"

"He...ugh, Steve," you leaned your head back and then turned it back down, mumbling, "He said I was too heavy."

Steve's eyes furrow, mouth open, unsure at first how to respond -- aghast, "This guy sounds like a fucking loser. You're not too heavy -- god -- who says 'no' to that? What's wrong this this guy?"

Steve shakes his head and pushes back down, "Sit on my face, baby. Fuckin' suffocate me."

You don't have a choice, he pulls you down onto him, your knees sliding further apart and you can't help but start grinding your hips against his tongue. The whole act sounds as lewd as it looks, wet and sticky as he captures your slit in his mouth to suck on it. Spreading your ass in his hands to spread you further apart, moaning low into your pussy so you can feel the vibration through your core.

"Ohmygod, ohmygod, ooh daddy just like that," the words just pour out of you while you start reaching your second peak, hips writhing onto him with your back arched. Steve grips your ass cheek hard before smacking down on it with a loud 'thwap!', satisfaction burning in his stomach -- daddy, daddy, daddy. The same hand reaches for his neglected cock, covered in pre, leaving a patch of cold liquid on his hard, muscled stomach.

Steve feels your hips hump his mouth in quick succession, his nose bumping your clit rapidly. Your moans get shorter and higher with each flick of his tongue against you until they're just huffed breaths.

"Mmm, come on," he nods up at you, "You can do it, angel."

You nod back, face contorted while tears stain your cheeks, the next roll of your hips his mouth makes contact with your clit again. You see stars, you cum so hard you swear you're pissing. You can hear Steve's grunts under you, collecting your slick to add friction to the fist he's fucking behind you.

"Get on your back," he demands, "Need t'fuck you, holy shit."

You get on your back, looking up at him now on his knees, both of your eyes lust blown in the low light. You weren't a stranger to his cock, but every time you saw it you couldn't help but feel spit build in your mouth. It was angry tonight, tip red and leaking, veins pulsing while he stroked himself looking down at you.

"I don't know, Stevie -- it might be -- it's too much," you say, thighs pressing together to protect your sensitive cunt.

"Two is nothing, honey," he shakes his head opening your legs up, crawling over you to line his tip up with your entrance, "You've given me four in less time."

You whine like a child, but you don't stop him when he slides the tip against your entrance, building up the slickness to slide over his cock. When his tip pops in you hiss, back arching to feel another inch push into you.

"Oh, that shut you up, huh?" that voice was back again, Steve was starting to feel so confident, you might as well start calling him Manhattan. He pushes deep into you, all the way to the hilt -- your legs springing up against your chest automatically -- heels hitting his back.

"You feel so good, Stevie," you moan into his mouth while he leans in to kiss you.

"Pussy's fucking made for me," he rasps while his thrusts pick up, forceful and deliberate. Steve loves fucking you because he knows how well you can take it. You were built sturdy, plush, soft -- he loved how it felt to slam into you. He'd heard it on the radio, some cheesy line 'more cushion for the pushin', but fuck if it wasn't true.

Steve knew he wouldn't last long inside you, your pussy tight and wet -- hugging him in place, resisting his exit. He filled you completely, your eyes rolling back the second you felt the hair at the base of his cock tickle your skin over and over again.

"Steve, oh god Steve," you moan through gritted teeth, tears back to rolling down your cheeks as your nails dig into his back, "Just like that daddy, fuck me like that."

His mouth falls open at your words, the girls on his desk never talk like that. He can't fuck them how he wants to, never throws them around. They don't look at him the way you look at him, soft and pretty. They don't wanna wash his hair for him in the shower after, and kiss the freckles on his back. He doesn't wanna make them dinner after, or give them a ride home. He doesn't blush the way he does when it's you that calls him daddy. When you call out his name. When you look up at him with those eyes. When you hold his hand in the car. When you tease him for coming to Porter's early. When you call every time you come home just to see him when you could see anyone else.

Steve's hand finds your jaw but you guide it to your throat while you bounce against his thrusts, he chuckles wickedly, "When'd you turn into such a whore?"

His fingers press down expertly on your neck while you attempt to moan out an answer that he doesn't wanna hear. He just wants to keep watching your fucked out face and body while he drills into you deeper. His voice lilts into a mocking coo, your cunt drools.

"Just for me, isn't it?" he asks down at you through his glasses, and you nod quickly in his hold, "They're not fuckin' you like this in the city, huh?"

"Had to come all the way back to Indiana to get this dick, didn't you? All the way back home so daddy could fuck you just how you like it," he huffs, feeling himself get close.

"Yes, yes -- had t-to come back for you - oh fuck, fuck," you whine out, raspy and nasal from lack of blood flow.

"Who fucks you like I do, hm? Who else is makin' you come like I can?" he eases up on your throat, moving back to your jaw -- leaning in to give you a sloppy tongue kiss into your gasping mouth. You tighten again over him, gushing whatever creamy spend you had left in you, gripping his shoulder tightly while your eyes pinched closed.

When you're nose to nose again you look up at him, "Nobody, Stevie. Just you, it's just you."

He growls at the confirmation, his hips stuttering -- 'Nobody fucks her like I do,' ringing in his head while he feels his vision start to go white.

"Baby, baby," he starts, his voice softening, "God, fuck -- can I come in your mouth?"

You nod and he groans, panting while your wet walls keep his cock warm and tight inside you. Steve slows his thrusts which just makes the feeling more intoxicating, your sticky thighs meshing with his soaked hilt. You whimper and cry with every push into your overstimulated cunt, your legs almost giving out from being pressed against your chest.

"Jesus Christ. Gonna come in your mouth," he whispers into your neck, "Feels -- oh shit -- fuck, it feels so good in your pussy, though."

Steve knows he can't hold back, quickly pulling out of you while you shoot up onto your elbows. He pulls your head forward with one fell swoop of his big hand, your mouth and thrat sucking in his cock in a vice grip. You can feel the warm liquid start shooting into your mouth immediately, but it doesn't stop you from obediently sucking on it. He's peak caveman brain while he watches you, your eyes shining up at him while he holds his weight up on your head -- grunts and snarls coming out of his mouth while he finishes thrusting into your face.

You take your mouth off as he softens and swallow, gingerly sitting up slowly. Your thighs ache, you're exhausted. He sits down onto his calves, both of you panting on the center of the bed.

"Let me -- let me get you some water," he huffs out, sliding off the mattress into the attatched master bathroom. He's only gone for ten seconds, passing a clear glass into your shaking hand. You sip slowly to start before gulping it down.

"You okay?" he asks, leaning over to kiss your forehead, "You're quiet."

You nod, taking a deep breath and letting it out, "That was...insane."

He laughs, it makes you laugh, and he lays down onto the mattress to stare up at you. You look down at him, offering Steve a weak smile before looking back at your empty water cup. You slide off the bed like he did before, putting the glass back on the bathroom counter, peeing, washing your hands, and walking back out.

You let out a tired sigh, reaching for your clothes strewn about by his dresser -- sliding on your panties.

"What're you doin', Manhattan?" he asks, sitting up, "Got somewhere to be?"

"I'm getting dressed, Steve," you explain, putting your bra back on. Steve's chest hollowed, normally you'd have some pillow talk after -- talk it out. He still had to show you the new house decor.

"Hey, stop," his voice is soft as he waves his hand at you, "You don't have to do that."

"I gotta get home, Steve," you assure, "It's getting late."

"You..." he trails off before taking a deep breath, replenishing his confidence, "You could stay. I can drive you back in the morning."

"Steve..." you start, shimmying a little to get your jeans over your hips and thighs, "I never stay. That's not us, that's not what we do."

"It could be..." he suggests, his voice cracking a little, "Please?"

You stand there, in your bra and unbuttoned jeans, your tummy poking out where the zipper is undone. Your bra suddenly feels tight and uncomfortable, your underwear constricting you under the jeans that feel a size too small.

He looks you over, watching you contemplate it and gets up out of bed to meet you by his dresser. His hands reach to each side of your face, warm and big. His fingertips graze the hair at the edge of your scalp, pinkies and ring fingers on the back of your neck. He tilts your head up slightly to look at him and your heart hammers, more than it did the first time he started kissing you in his car. Steve's heart matches your cadence, remembering how nervous he was the first time he talked to you -- desperately wanting you to be impressed by him.

"I --" you start blushing, he's never looked at you quite like this, "I don't have anything to wear to bed."

"I don't want you to wear anything to bed," he says, leaning forward to capture your lips in his while you both step awkwardly as a unit back over to the bed, "It'd just get in the way in the morning."

"Please stay," he pleads again, pressing a gentle peck on your lips, "Please -peck-, please -peck-, please -peck-. "

"Okay, okay," you laugh, "Are you sure?"

"I'm begging you," he smiles, leaning his forehead against yours. The tops of his frames hitting your brow bone. He lets go of your face to make work of the top of your jeans, shoving them back down until they pool at your ankles. He unhooks your bra, a little too expertly, and snaps the band of your satin panties before rolling those down too. He moves down with them so he can skate his hands over your thighs and leave a warm kiss on the flesh over your hip bone -- apologizing to the bruise he left there earlier.

"Can't believe you kept your glasses on," you tease, "Dweeb."

He comes back up, sliding his glasses off smoothly, like he did in the back seat of his BMW five years ago, "I like being able to really see you."

"Am I blurry without them?" you asked, trying to take them out of his hand. He snatches them out of your grasp, hiding them behind his back.

"Not really," he says, walking over to the bedside table and placing them next to the lamp, "You told me they made me look handsome back in - think it was -- '94 maybe? -- So I just wanted to keep them on for insurance."

You look down at the floor, "I always think you look handsome, Harrington."

You feel his hand at the back base of your neck and turn to see him behind you, "Come back to bed." 

He gets under the sheets and both duvets and turns down the covers next to him, slapping the pillow you're going to sleep on to beckon you forward. You want to roll your eyes but you can't force down the giddiness building in your chest -- sleep over!

You maneuver over to your side of the bed, slipping under the covers while he turns them back over you to tuck you in. Fuck are the sheets nice, they had to be some luxury brand you can only order through a catalog.

Steve clicks off his bedside lamp, leaning over you to click off yours and you catch the remnants of his cologne on his skin. It's not long before you feel his hand skate over you under the covers, sliding over your belly, up over every curve and bump on your body before resting a warm hand on the side of your breast. He hums sleepily and pulls you close to him, pressing his chest against your shoulder. His hot breath fans against your neck where he's settled his head.

"Isn't this nice?" he asks. You nod, turning onto your side to face him while his hand splays across your back to pull you closer. You slide a hand under the pillow, and savor the coolness on your hot skin. Steve looks at you with soft eyes, studying you.

"Can I tell you something?" he asks, "Or, well, can I ask you something?"

"Yeah, of course," you say, looking at him, trying to read his expression.

"Remember -- ah fuck, okay I'm doing this," he says, trying to psyche himself up, "Remember when I said I had some options? To make changes?"

"Yeah, I remember. You can't wait when those opportunities come, Harrington," you lecture, "I've fucked myself so many times with that."

"There's a position in the New York office," he blurts out, "In the head quarters that they're eyeing me for."

Your heart races, "Okay."

"And I'd be...I don't know, sort of demoted but I'd get a huge -- like, huge fucking pay raise," he explains, "And I -- I wanna take it."

A beat passes while he tries to figure out what to say.

"And maybe, I don't know -- maybe we could try this out? Like for real? Instead of just fucking around every Christmas."

You consider it, heat blooming in your cheeks -- the good kind. Your heart starts to swell -- not Steve Harrington asking you out when you're twenty-nine. Sixteen year old you would be screaming.

"What do you think?" he asks, he swipes his hand through his hair and even in the dark you know his cheeks are pink.

"I don't think it's a bad idea," you say, "I think it's the excitement you're looking for -- New York I mean, not me."

"I think you're really exciting," he leans in to kiss you with a grin.

"And I think," he presses his lips against yours again, "I'd do a pretty good job at taking care of you, if you let me."

You laugh through your nose, blushing hard while he kisses your cheek, "That sounds nice, doesn't it?"

"It does sound nice, Steve," you agree, but you don't want him to feel too good about it. You had a reputation to uphold, still. He leans back to look at you, thumb caressing your cheek as your lids fall half down your eyes, "I think I'd really like that."

"You wanna shower? You too tired?" his voice his so gentle you start to melt, but exhaustion weighs heavy on you.

"Too tired," you say, nuzzling forward into his neck -- your head now partially on his pillow.

"We can talk about it more in the morning, yeah?" he asks, a hand reaching up to smooth over your hair.

"Yeah," you said, your breath steadying, "I'll see you in the morning."

He knows you don't like eggs for breakfast but it's all he has in the fridge. It's fine. He'll just order in.

[carolmunson]

something borrowed, something new (dom!steddie x f!reader drabble) (18+)

in which we learn about the first time steve put a belt in his hands. pre good cop, bad cop, supes early in the dynamic steve is giving heavy daddy dom here.

THIS IS A REPOST, for science. warnings: 18+ minors dni, d/s dynamics (daddy dom energy from steve), spanking (with hands and belt), daddy kink, hard dom energy from eddie, use of rules and regulations, some crying kink (can’t think of the word), mild aftercare.

personally, professionally, i hate this but @rollergirlworld said she liked it so i’m posting it for the steddie girlies. --

“Not in front of Eddie,” you toy with your fingers while you say it. Eddie leans against the frame of the archway leading to the kitchen, crossing his arms so his hands hold his biceps.

“After you were so mean to him? I think he deserves to see you get punished, don’t you?” Steve asks, patting his lap again, “Come on, gotta learn your lesson.”

“Steve…” you whine out, tears starting to pool in your eyes. Your nose burned while the cry built in your throat, “Please, no.”

“Are you embarrassed, baby?” Eddie’s smug smirk deepened the dimples on his cheeks while he spoke, “Don’t want me to see you get a spanking?”

You nod, your face flushed with humiliation. Steve had always admonished you in private when you ‘misbehaved’. His list of regulations stacking up every weekend, making it harder for you to get away with anything unscathed. Steve would help get you dressed before a party, telling you his rules for the night in the mirror — he’d watch your eyes glaze over and your cheeks redden, the soft rock of your hips on the vanity stool.

He cupped your chin from behind you, tilting your head up to look at him, “Do you like when daddy tells you what to do?”

“Mhm,” you responded dumbly, your tongue swelling in your mouth. That burning ache between your legs only getting worse when he pulled you into the bathroom at the party to tell you what a bad girl you were when you got a drink without asking his permission first. Or when you rolled your eyes at him in front of his friends. Little things to get you going, little promises he knew you couldn’t keep. It was just a fun game that you could both turn off at any time.

You huffed at how ridiculous he was being, laying it on thick while trying to pull out of the grasp on your wrist. Steve’s hand found your jaw, turning you to face him, peering down at you, “Do I need to embarrass you in front of everyone here?”

Steve’s eyes would get lust blown at the sound of your whimpering, your quiet, small, ‘Sorry, Stevie. I won’t do it again.’ He’d always take you home after that, barely making it through the front door before your jeans were around your ankles and his mouth was pressed to your neck.

He had only put you over his knee twice before, the first time was only to see if it was something you were both into. It didn’t take long to realize how very much into it you both were. The second was when you had come into Family Video and caught an awful attitude with him in front of Robin while she was ringing out a customer. He was so miffed, that for a split second he thought about hauling you over to the back room.

“Let’s talk about this when I get home later, okay?” he asked sweetly, no one would be wiser, “We can get to the bottom of this bad mood.”

You know what he means and you frown, grabbing the tapes from him roughly before he can bag them for you. You made a big show of shoving the door open to leave, the bell shrilling while it shook only to be over powered by the sound of your car door slamming and your wheels peeling out of the parking lot.

Steve came home quietly. Eddie was at the record store and you had just finished making dinner. He stalked into the kitchen, and while you had calmed down since your Family Video visit, Steve had been fuming about it since.

“Robin was really surprised at your little tantrum earlier,” Steve said, his voice measured, “She didn’t expect you to be such a brat.”

“It wasn’t a tantrum, Steve, don’t be so dramatic,” you snapped back while you placed your serving plates on trivets already set out on the table. He caught your forearm once the ceramic was out of your hands.

“You need to learn to keep your attitude at home when you come to visit me at work,” he glowered, “Think I need to teach you a lesson.”

“Steve, I – um –” your heart hammered in your chest and the feeling of his hand on your arm, the soft tug of him leading you to the couch. You were sputtering and sobbing by the fifth strike against your ass, Steve’s taunts making your cheeks burn more than the skin of your thighs. “Is this what you needed?” he asked, “Needed some of daddy’s attention?”

“Y-yes,” you choked out, your legs kicking and hips shimmying to get away from his assaulting hands. He smoothed his palm over the swell of your backside comfortingly, shushing you. “Almost done, baby,” his voice was soft and apologetic, “Just a few more, okay?”

“C-can we be d-done, now? Please daddy?” you hiccuped and sniffled, looking up and back at him with red rimmed eyes.

“Oh, angel,” he frowned dramatically, sulking his shoulders. He reached out to cup your cheek, “Okay, we can be done.”

“I’m sorry,” you sighed out while he pulled your underwear back up, smoothing it over. He knocked your jeans to the floor before pulling you up right onto his lap.

“I know, it’s okay. I’m not mad at you,” he soothed, pressing a kiss to your temple, rubbing big circles onto your back. He rocked you against him for a moment while you cried into his shoulder before nudging himself in to kiss away the tears on your cheeks. Steve didn’t leave any marks.

It would be the last time that was true.

“I’m not asking again,” Steve’s voice was stern, “Do you want me to put you over my knee, myself?” Eddie snickered, making you freeze up and cross your arms over your chest. Your feet felt planted into the carpet of the living room, you made a noise of contempt but it sounded petulant coming out of you.

Steve sighed, “You showing off? Think this is helping your case?”

You shake your head ‘no’, you know you’re pouting, you know this looks ridiculous.

“One…” Steve starts, the authority in his voice building, you shiver at the sound.

“Steve,” you hiss out, “I’m not a six year old.”

“Two…” he continues, “If I get to three, you’ll regret it.”

“Steve!” you stomp your foot in frustration and Eddie’s eyes flash in your direction. You start feeling small – weak – as both of their gazes harden on you.

“Thr–”

“Okay, okay,” you rasp out in a whisper, taking a step towards Steve. His hand reaches out to tug your flannel pajama pants and thin underwear down to your feet. “Step out,” he instructs. You shake your feet out of them kicking them under the coffee table before he guides you over his lap. You whimper immediately at his hand running over the soft, plushness of your ass. His other arm keeps you tight in place over his other leg, the rest of you partially draped over the couch.

“Give her twenty,” Eddie instructs, “Make it hurt.”

Your head shoots up to look at him, eyes like saucers etched with fear.

“The most I’ve ever given her is five, Munson,” Steve explains softly, his hand still massaging you gently.

“Well, that’s probably why she doesn’t listen to you,” Eddie says matter of factly, readjusting his position on the archway frame. You hear the clink of the chains on his jeans as he does it, “Gotta punish that habit out of her.” Steve’s jaw ticked, chest tightening in what he could only describe as acute rage. He reared his hand back, bringing it hard back down onto your backside – a cry hissed out of you as sharp as the crack of his palm against your body.

“Oh, ow,” you breathe out, tears threatening to flow.

“Count it out loud to daddy, princess,” Eddie says, lifting off the wall and coming around to watch from the edge of the coffee table so he can see your face better. “One,” you whine out. Steve’s hand cracks down again and you grit your teeth to keep from crying, his hand runs over the hot skin while you mutter 'two’ loud enough for them to hear it. Three and four start to build a hot, stinging pain. Five and six have tears blurring your vision, you’re one blink away from them plopping onto the couch cushions.

“Six,” you whisper out.

“You stopped at five last time?” Eddie asked. Steve nodded, raining down a particularly hard spank at the line where your ass met your thigh. He hummed at the wail you let out, watching as your nails clutched into the fabric of the furniture under you.

“S-seven,” you sniffled, still not fully crying. You didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of knowing what they were doing was working. Especially with how much fun they’re having before you’ve even shed a tear.

“Looks like she can take these just fine,” Eddie cocks his head, “Want me to show you how she can really learn?”

Steve looked up at him, “What do you mean?”

Steve was still new to this, but he knew Eddie had been around the way a few times. He’d had all kinds of sex – met a lot of fringe types at The Hideout, some interesting people at the record store. When they first started living together, he’d hear the noises the girls would make in his room. The snaps of what he thought were a whip, the pathetic and whiny 'Yes, master!’ of whatever fishnet clad bimbo Eddie would bring home.

Ed reached for his belt, taking the loose end and sliding it out of the loops, savoring the sound of the metal tinkling as he undid it. He wrapped the leather around his fist expertly, folding the length of the belt until it was long enough to get a nice snap.

“You hold it like this, okay?” Eddie said, showing it to Steve from all sides, “There are other ways too, but from this position, this’ll be enough slack.”

Steve takes the belt from him, matching the way Eddie wrapped it around his hand. He smiled at the feeling of it, strong and unforgiving despite how worn out the leather was. He readjusts his grip on you with his other hand, skating his fingers over your back. You look back at him, your face and body relaxing after a break in the beating.

“Is it okay if I use this to finish?” he asks, you look at the belt in his hand. The veins in his forearms have popped slightly, his hands look strong in the leather, as mouth watering as the watch on his wrist. You nod while you make eye contact with him but he gives you a little nudge with the heel of his hand.

“Is it okay?” he asks again. “Yes, daddy,” you reply, “It’s okay.”

“C'mon Stevie,” Eddie smirks, “Make her pay.”

Steve rears back, bringing the leather down hard on your thighs and the snap of it makes him grin. He feels you jolt on his legs, a high pitched whine pooling out of you like a tea kettle ready to burst.

“Ooh, poor baby,” Steve cooed, “Should’ve behaved, huh?”

He struck down two more times, small welts raising in your skin — color blooming. You couldn’t hold back your tears anymore, the biting sting of the belt becoming too much to bear. You hid your face in your arms to muffles your yelps and whimpers.

“Don’t hear you counting, sweet thing,” Eddie mocked, his giggle stained dark and cold.

“T-ten,” you whine into the cushions. Steve grunts, his erection pressing against your hip while you squirm over him. The belt meets your ass again in quick, biting, succession, you can feel Steve and Eddie’s stares over you.

“Please no more, daddy,” you mumble into your arms.

“What was that?” Steve asked, “Can’t hear you with that pretty face covered.”

You lifted your face off the cushions, puffy and streaked with mascara, “P-please no more, I learned my lesson.”

Steve’s gaze softens at your pained face, teary eyes and swollen lips, “You sure?”

“Yes, daddy. I learned my lesson,” you nodded slowly, turning your face to Eddie, “I learned my lesson, I’m s-sorry.”

Eddie puts his hands on his hips, pondering you, “Normally I don’t let my girls off so easy.”

He walks around the coffee table and squats at the couch so he’s eye level with you. You feel his ring hand come up to push your hair out of your face, smearing the tears on your cheeks away while he does.

“But I think I can make an exception for a sweet thing like you,” he says, his smile is sweeter this time, “I think you’ve just had a long day, you didn’t mean it.”

Eddie moves his attention to Steve who was reluctantly putting the belt down next to him, “You know the best part, Stevie?”

Steve gives him a look with raised eyebrows while Eddie reaches over, taking Steve’s hand and guiding it between your legs, “Girls like her love this.”

You shiver when Steve’s fingers brush your inner thigh, legs opening for him just a bit – the action was involuntary, your body begging to let him in. His reaches further, already feeling a stickiness between your upper thighs – he chuckles. His fingertips dip further up, catching the wetness pooling at your entrance, your folds letting out a soft wet click when he parts your legs further.

“Oh, look at you, princess,” Steve’s voice loses his anger, falling into teasing, “You like getting put in your place?”

You nod, still sniffling while your breath catches. You feel Steve’s first two fingers push into you, the sound of his fingers squelching inside of you making you feel dirty.

“You like it?” Eddie asks, watching you start to pant as Steve quickens his movements to a steady pace.

“Yes, sir,” you gasp out, “I love – I love it.”

Eddie laughs, “Oh Stevie, she loves it!” “Yeah, I can tell,” Steve mutters, feeling your walls tighten around him. Your plush thighs start to close down around his wrist.

“I’m gonna – I’m –” you can barely form a sentence with the pleasure building up in your stomach. “Hold it,” Steve barks, pulling his hand out quickly from your legs – bringing all five fingers, some still soaked in your spend, to come down on your still burning ass.

“Let’s bring this upstairs,” he says, tapping your thighs softly to get you to stand up, “You can get on your knees and show us how sorry you are.” You gingerly get to your feet, Steve following suit so he can steady you. He wraps an arm around your neck to pull you in for a kiss, deep and slow, pulling away to rest his forehead on yours, “You okay? You wanna stop?”

You smile at him, stifiling a giggle at his desperate attempt to be discreet in his sweetness in front of Eddie, “I’m okay, I promise. We can keep going.”

“You’re such a good girl, you know that?” he asks, his amber eyes warm while they meet yours. “Oh, stop,” you blush, pressing a kiss to his lips as a thank you.

“Alright, kids. We can kiss and make up later,” Eddie’s bored voice rings in the living room while he heads to the staircase, “Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Relax, Munson,” Steve bites over his shoulder, letting his arm drop from around your neck to your waist. He lets you get in front of him as you climb the stairs, inspecting the welts and handprints he left behind. The back of his neck got hot at the thought of you being bruised up the next day, something left behind to remind you who was in charge.

Eddie was already sat at the edge of Steve’s bed when you got into the bedroom, waiting.

“You heard Steve, baby,” he said gently, beckoning you over, “Come show me how sorry you are.”

With a little encouragement from Steve in the form of a tap on your butt, you took the handful of steps it was to get in front of Eddie. He eyed you the entire time you got to your knees between his legs, the carpet scratching at your skin.

The mattress dipped when Steve sat next to him, undoing his jeans while Eddie stroked your hair.

Oh. It was gonna be a long night.

[carolmunson]

the steddieverse setlist

all works are 18+

in order of time frame:

something borrowed, something new on the verge perfect penmanship (eddie focus) satin spats (steve focus) (angst) good cop x bad cop trilogy: part I, part II: daddy lessons, part III: stella smoke signals (eddie focus/angst) before there was a before (18+) the vacation/staycation diaries collection (18+) lore and blurbs (from previous blog)

[carolmunson]

perfect penmanship (steddie x reader)

Fill for this prompt: ‘What if reader accidentally found eddies book and saw all of the things he wants to do to her and planned for her when steve was gone for that weekend. She would be on edge every time he was near her and she would get a funny feeling in her tummy anytime he so much looked at her. Eddie probably takes notice and does little things to get her reaction.’ This is an Eddie focused fic with some Steve cause I’m in my Harrington era and takes place the summer before Good Cop x Bad Cop (why am I creating lore???). I took some liberties on this. And also gave our reader a little bit of back story on how she met Steve. Sorry for the wait here, things are kind of all over the place while I get ready to leave for a job. This incredibly long one shot is also a little all over the place, but WHO CARES. I’m tired! Anyway, hope you love it. You can tell I started this fic while I was watching 'The Bear’. warnings: f!reader, MEAN!EDDIE, jealous!eddie, angst, sweet angel steve harrington who is always nice, mentions of a lot of different kinks including kn*feplay and p*ss (but not written out), smacking with a ruler, D/s dyanmics, use of 'daddy’ in sexual context, use of 'master’ in sexual context, p in v sex, degredation, humiliation, smoking, all that jazz oh yeah and if you’re under 18 don’t read my content.

Summer, Hawkins, 1990 

Eddie kept himself busy in the kitchen, if there was something he was good at outside of music, it was cooking. Now that Steve was on vacation he could put in a little more effort now that he was just cooking for two.

It was 90 degrees, hot and steamy in the kitchen with pans and pots going on the stove and the oven cranked. Eddie shook a sauté pan, sizzling aromatics, his back muscles outlined by a heather grey t-shirt drenched in sweat. He had his hair tied up on itself in a bun at the nape of his neck. His bangs still fluffing in his eyes, other stray hairs sticking to his face. His cheeks blushed red from the heat outside and the flames on burners. 

You walked into the kitchen, looking much less frazzled since you’d spent all day in the air-conditioning upstairs. You wore an old Camp Hawkins t-shirt from when you were a kid. The kind of camp shirt that would be too big for your whole life, that got softer with every wash. You pulled open the fridge and grabbed a can of Coke, letting the chill flow over you, shutting your eyes.

“Hey, hey, close that. I have dough in there,” he called over his shoulder, “Can you grab me the red wine on the counter, sweet thing? It should be open already.”

You look over at him lazily and offer a bored reply, “Yes, chef.” 

You put your can on the table, shutting the fridge door lightly (even though you wanted to slam it). The bottle clinked as you pulled it by the neck off the counter, he reached back for it without turning around – pouring the contents into the pan that flared with a quick flame. 

“Careful,” you chided, he looked over his shoulder and winked. 

“Will you go put this in the recycling?” he asked, now quickly stirring with one hand, the bottle outstretched to you in the other. You plucked it from him by the base. 

“Yes, chef,” you said with a smile, washing the bottle out in the sink that was already starting to over flow with mixing bowls and other kitchen ware. This morning it was cakes, tonight it was duck, tomorrow you were sure he’d want to smoke a whole pig. You gently dropped the bottle into the glass recycling (Eddie was very serious about separating cans and bottles) with a little ‘clang!’, going back into the kitchen to grab your abandoned Coke can on the table. 

“Can you also go grab one of the big box fans out of me and Steve’s room and bring it down here? I’m sweating buckets, baby,” he said, turning half way at his waist. You blushed as his shirt lifted – the tattoos on his hips peeking out from the tops of his jeans, the bottom ridge of his defined oblique being brushed by the gray fabric – it drove you wild. 

“Yes, chef,” you said, walking out of the kitchen. 

“Hey,” he said, you turned your head, your brows raising to silently ask ‘hm?’

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he gushed, his boyish grin breaking across his face. 

“Thank you, chef,” you grinned back, hurrying up the stairs to grab the fan. You sighed as you got in the room, the fan resting on a splay of books and comics on top of the low makeshift book case Eddie made from an upright shelving unit. The other one was clamped down in the window to let fresh air in. From the looks of it, Eddie had left both of them on last night, letting it them all day – Steve was gonna throw a fit when they got the electric bill this month. 

As you go to turn the nob on the fan, it falls on the floor, splaying the books everywhere – papers fanning themselves out across the room.  “Shit, shit!” you say to yourself, turning it off and putting it up right, unplugging it from the wall behind the bookcase. You turned around, hurrying to pick up and re-organize the books on the ground. Even if Eddie wouldn’t totally care, you didn’t want to get anything reported back to Steve that wasn’t absolutely glowing. In your efforts, you came across a composition notebook – clearly getting plenty of use, tucked neatly part way under the couch. 

The cover was crudely scrawled on in penmanship that could only be Eddie’s:  'Crime :)  &  Punishment >:(’

You huffed a laugh, and opened the cover, but instead of finding Eddie’s diary, you found the beginnings of a list of things Eddie wanted – from and to do to you:

Tie her up and keep her in the bedroom for free use whenever we want for a few nights, maybe after she’s too handsy on a date or something. (Steve loves this.)

Tie her up the next time I make us dinner and put her on the center of the table and eat her. eat her out. (Update: this went great and she came six times like a fucking whore, fell asleep before she could even try the eclairs I made which was kind of annoying)

She asked for the 'Dungeon Master’ when she came to drop off my dice at Hellfire and I would kill a kid just for her to call me Master in the house on her knees

Slave Leia costume????? (Steve said he won’t be Jabba, I think he’d be great)

Get leather cuffs, the steel ones hurt her even though she won’t say they do.

Bathroom denial? Am I into piss???? Or do I just like to watch her cry and get embarrassed? Might be into piss or watching her piss herself. Steve said no :(

Start ashing my cigs in her mouth when she talks back to me or cusses. Put my cigs out on her thighs. note ^^ Steve said be careful not to trigger her asthma :( but otherwise okay

fake kidnap her when she’s getting out of work and put her in the trunk and fuck her in the woods like a worthless whore. measured steve’s trunk and she wont fit and she’ll know its my van if we use my van :( ^^ update: Steve said no. :(

Make her hold a quarter or a nickel (ridge side) to the wall with the tip of her nose and use the leather strap every time she drops it. (Steve wants to do this ASAP!!!!!)

More rice kneeling, MORE RICE KNEELING

fuck her in those little skirt suits she wear to work fuck her in her skirt suits BEFORE work and mess up her hair and makeup and make her go to work like a used fucking slut after she gets out of line

need more soap for when she runs that stupid pretty mouth

kind of wanna piss in her mouth??? maybe in the shower or something

wanna dress her up as arwen

anal training (update: steve said he doesn’t think she’s ready but what the fuck does he know)

ren faire date, she’d be such a cute bar wench (not inviting steve)

saw her play with my switchblade the other day, why did it make me hard?

do you think she’s start letting me bring knife play into punishments? steve said that’s an accident waiting to happen

“Babe, I need that fan!” you heard him call from the kitchen. Your heart raced, some of these were scary. “Coming!” you called back, quickly tossing the notebook into your desk drawer in the man-cave they commandeered. You grabbed the fan and hurried down stairs, a little out of breath.

“Sorry, chef,” you smiled, “I knocked over some books and I wanted to put them back nicely.”

“That’s thoughtful,” he said, not turning around yet.

“Did I hear something come out of your mouth upstairs that I shouldn’t have?” he asked, stepping away from the oven and leaning against the counter. He tapped a cigarette out of his American Spirit box and held it in his lips, looking at you.

Your heart raced, he was gonna ash in your mouth. Holy fuck he was gonna do this cause Steve wasn’t home. He was gonna– “Baby, answer me,” he said, a huff of impatience slid on his words while he took a drag of his cigarette, “Too hot to wait for you to figure it out.”

“Yeah, but I was just startled,” you said, rounding your eyes into his favorite look, “It won’t happen again.” His heart melted when he looked at you like that, all flushed and nervous. He went to the sink, reaching under the cabinet first and your breath hitched as he pulled out some liquid hand soap.

“As long as it doesn’t happen again,” he hummed, rinsing and then washing his hands in the sink. You tried to make your heart rate slow down. “Everything’s just simmering down here sweet thing, so I’m gonna take a shower,” he said, peeling his t-shirt off to reveal his tattooed chest. His jeans hung low on his hips, the band of his boxers slipping with the slick of his sweat – your mouth filled with spit. You wished he’d bend you over the counter and fuck you right there. “You wanna come with me?” he asked.

’kind of wanna piss in her mouth??? maybe in the shower or something’

“Um! No thank you,” you said, “Plus, Steve said he’d call and I wanted to make sure that–” Ring, ring. Ring, ring. “I’ll take it in your room,” you said, bounding up the stairs past him and closing the door behind you. You eagerly picked up the phone.

“Hi, Harrington residence,” you said with a perfect, clean voice. “Well if it isn’t the prettiest girl I know,” Steve said on the other end of the line. You swooned at the sound of his voice.

“Hi Stevie,” he could hear your smile through the phone, “How’s it going over there?”

“Well my dad got a sunburn so we’ll get to listen to him complain about it for the next three days,” he grumbled, “How are things at home, where’s Ed?”

“He’s in the shower, he’s making us dinner tonight,” you answered.

“Well, that’s sweet.”

“Yeah…I guess. I miss you, though,” you mumbled, fumbling open your desk drawer and taking out Eddie’s notebook.

“I miss you too, babe,” he said, his voice soft and needy, “Spent my whole time here so far thinkin’ about our date night. The boat’s not the same without you. -ugh- Yeah, yeah, I’ll tell her. My dad says hi, by the way, if you can’t hear him from over my shoulder.“

Your heart swelled at the memory of his little ‘last day’ stunt before he left for vacation. He made a big show of taking you out shopping the night before, making sure you had a new dress for where he was taking you the before he left. He loved when you got all dolled up for him, but you weren’t his plaything those couple of days. You were you, like you used to be — like old times.

He brought you into town for a nice dinner, like a nice one. The kind of restaurant Eddie wouldn’t be allowed into at a glance. You shared a bottle of wine, you got dessert, he kissed you on the street while you waited for a cab to take you home. And home?

Home was heavenly. The first time in ages he didn’t just bend you over and take you. The first time in a while he said your name while he pushed into you. He held you close and desperately on his lap while you rocked on top of him – it was slow and sensual. He never wanted you to forget it. "Hi, Mr. Harrington,” you called through the phone, “I don’t know if he asked, but could you let your dad know I got all the filing done yesterday. So I just have to go through his messages tomorrow and make some calls.”

“Don’t talk business with me, honey, I’m on vacation,” he whined. It was the only time Steve got grumbly in a boyish way, when you talked about work. It’s how he met you, at a holiday party at his dad’s firm, Mr. Harrington’s fresh new secretary. He didn’t know whether to love you for looking so professional and precious at your desk, or hate you for his dad trusting you more than he ever trusted Steve.

A few months into dating Steve wanted to impress you by bring you to the lake house. He got it together for that weekend and took you out on his daddy’s boat every day because you liked being out on the water. He’d melt every time you’d call him 'Sailor Stevie’ and giggle. But things were different now, and that was okay. You’d make it back to the lake house eventually.

“I’m sorry,” you giggled, “Do you have anything fun planned for later? Are they doing fireworks or anything?” “I don’t know, I have to man the grill – wish Ed would fit in with my parents so he could cook instead. We have some family friends coming over so, you know, same old as every summer. Rich people talking about how rich they are,” he said.

“Steve you’re one of the rich people at the party talking about how rich they are,” you teased.

“Baby, I work at Family Video,” he grumbled. “You’re a manager at Family Video,” you corrected, “And you know your dad is proud of you for that. He said that after another year of this you could apply to the fi–” “I’m not working for my fucking dad,” he said shortly.

“Okay, okay,” you soothed, “I’m sorry.” “S'fine, I’m sorry for snapping,” he said, his voice getting a little husky. You couldn’t hear anymore shuffling behind him in the background, everyone must’ve gone outside, “You bein’ a good girl for me at home?”

Your body tingled, your chest feeling heavy, slickness immediately forming between your legs at the question. He could hear you get breathless, a little chuckle comes out of him, “Honey, I asked you a question, are you being good for me?”

The dominance creeping into his voice made you shiver. The shower was still going in the bathroom, it couldn’t hurt if you just…

“Yes, I’m being such a good girl,” you confessed, your hand sneaking past the waist band of your cotton shorts and slipping between your legs. Offering yourself slow and lazy circles over your panties – you didn’t want him to find out you were doing anything you’re not supposed to. “That’s what I like to hear,” he said, “I’ll be home sooner than you think, pretty girl. I’ll take you out again, just us.”

“Just us?” you smiled, a blush forming on your cheeks. You pulled your underwear to the side, the cool air from the fan in the window shocking your body against the slickness. You let a finger glide over your opening up to your clit, stifling a huff of pleasure so Steve wouldn’t catch on. “Yeah, I wanted to take you to the new place dow–” Dial tone. You frowned, your hand snaking out of your panties, “Steve? You there?” “Steve?” you said again, turning around towards the door only to see Eddie standing over your desk. His fingers pressing down hard on the receiver. “You havin’ fun in here?” he asked. Your body went to ice. Even with a towel around his waist, dripping form the shower, he looked menacing.

“No,” you quickly responded, straightening up in the chair. “You know I don’t take kindly to being lied to, sweet thing,” he said, taking the phone from you and hanging it up, “If you were feeling a little pent up, you could’ve just asked. But now that you had to go break the rules…” Guilt swirled in your chest, knowing how this looked to him. Not only were you breaking a pretty hard rule, but it was for Steve. Ed had been seething the whole time Stevie had you out on his arm, while he took you to dinner, while he made love to you in the bed you shared. “C'mon, get up,” he said.

“But I was on the phone,” you said, “Steve was telling me something and he’s gonna think I hung up on him.” “I don’t give a fuck that Steve is gonna think you hung up on him,” he hissed, “Get. Up.”

You did what you were told, following him to the bedroom, asked to kneel at his feet while he got changed. He shook out his hair, showering you in little water droplets that smelled like the shampoo you bought him. “Stay,” he commanded, going back into the other room. You hear something rustle and then, “Are you fucking kidding me?” He stomped back in with the notebook in his hand, “Does this belong to you?” “No, sir,” you said in a soft low voice. “So what is it doing on your desk?” he asked, “I know I didn’t put it there. Did you read it?” Tears welled in your eyes, you nodded, “Y-yes. Just one page, I promise.” Eddie sighed, tapping the corner of the book on the top of the dresser, “You’re really outdoing yourself, here.” “I’m s-s-sorry,” you choked out.

“Don’t cry,” he glowered. A phrase he usually said when he was wrapping you up in his arms after a spanking from Steve, but this was harsh and bitter – biting. “Since this whole thing is about self control, try it out,” he said, “Don’t fucking cry.” You sniffed, your eyes wide at the demand. You took a deep shuddering breath to try to self regulate. “That’s better,” he chided. He pulled you up for your kneeling position and brought you downstairs back into the hot kitchen. “Not in herrrreee,” you whined, “It’s too hot.” He roughly sat you down at the kitchen table, “I still have to finish making dinner for you, in case for you forgot what I’ve been doing all day.” Your heart sunk, you were ruining his whole big gesture – which was honestly Eddie’s favorite thing to do. Always one for theatrics. He slapped the notebook down in front of you and swiped through a few pages, leaning over you like your dad did when he was helping you with homework. “Let’s see…” he mumbled to himself, “Since I’m busy, it needs to keep you busy.” “There we go,” he said, pointing to a bullet on the list, “Read it out loud to me.” “You don’t have to keep admitting you don’t know how to read, Ed,” you smirked.

He wrapped your hair around his hand and yanked it back, “Don’t get cute with me. Do you want me to call Steve and have him come back here?”

You shook your head no and he let go of your hair, pointing back down to the bullet point on the list. “Have her write 40 lines with her right hand, supervised, use a ruler on her hands the moment her composition isn’t perfect. Make her start over every time. Put all the bad composition on the fridge to remind her how worthless she is,” you read out loud, your voice getting smaller and smaller with each word. “But I’m left handed,” you said to him. “Are you stupid? We know that,” he asked, his face annoyed and quizzical, “That’s why you have to use your right hand. It’s like Catholic school.”

You whined and huffed, the heat starting to get to you. The fan on the counter just blowing more hot air around. He pulled a wide wooden ruler out of the junk drawer and a pen, slamming them down on the table in front of you. He turned closer to the end of the notebook to a clean page and smoothed it out. “Since I have more shit to do, you only have to do ten, go,” he said, back in his position over you. They always had you write 'I will learn self control,’ when it came to touching yourself without asking, so you didn’t need the clarification. The pen felt wrong and uncomfortable in your right hand, you fumbled when you saw Eddie pick up the ruler. “Maybe it’s the heat, or because you’re ruining dinner, or because I don’t really like sharing my toys very often,” he said through gritted teeth, “But I can’t wait for you to fuck up.”

A tear spilled out of your eye at the fear of knowing it was gonna hurt when he got use out of that ruler. You put the pen to the paper, trying to smoothly write 'I’, but it came out more diagonal than anything. CRACK! The sound of the ruler on your knuckles made you jumped before the stinging pain bloomed. “OUCH!” you yelped, “That hurts, Ed.” “It’s. Supposed. To hurt,” he said, another crack of the ruler after every pause in his sentence, “Or else you don’t learn anything.” You looked up at him again, your eyes round and swimming with tears, “What if I was just really sorry? I’m so sorry Ed, you don’t have to be mad at me.”

“I am mad at you,” he said, “And I told you not to fuckin’ cry.” Your knuckles were already welting, “And what do you say after we punish you?” he asked. “Th-thank you,” you whispered. He ripped the paper out so a fresh one was in front of you.

“Start over,” he hissed. His jaw was tight while he watched you, eyes dark and brooding. He wasn’t just mad, you could tell he was hurt about something. You did start over, again, and again, and again. He barely spoke, just whacked that ruler down with vigor every time your hand merely slid wrong. Your knuckles were starting to break at the skin, little droplets of blood started peeking through the creases. “I said, perfect penmanship,” he growled after the seventh attempt, “What about that do you not understand?” “It’s h-hard after you hit my h-hands,” you responded, still doing your best to keep your tears in. “We’re gonna be here all night, aren’t we? Can’t even do this simple thing,” he grumbled, sighing and turning the heat down on the oven. He grabbed the oven mitts on the counter and took out the duck, letting it rest on a trivet over by the sink. You felt your nose burn at how stupid he made you feel. “You know I put in all this effort for you and you just like, you don’t even care,” he muttered, not really expecting you to hear him. “Hm?” you started, “Whad'you mean? Of course I care.”

The dominance in his stance was faltering, he leaned against the counter and looked at you, “I’ve been trying to keep you happy this whole week, and you’re still so hung up on Steve. It’s like I’m not even here unless you need to be put in your place.” “Ed–” you started. “And I get it, you were his girl first and you’re Daddy’s precious princess but, you’re my girl, too y'know?” he said, “I wanna take you out, I wanna get you a new dress…” “You can still do those things, we can do those things,” you said, finishing up your fourth line on the new page.

“Just forget it, stay focused,” he said while he came back to lean over you and watch, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his bandana. “You’re making me nervous,” you said, “It’s easier when you don’t watch me…” “Do you talk this much when you do lines for Daddy?” he asked, “Shut up, and write.” You flinched at his harshness, scared and sad about him, “Yes, Master.” “Hm?” you caught the blush burn his cheeks, a bashful grin peeking out from his hardened look, “What was that?” “Yes, Master,” you repeated, focusing your eyes on your lines but smirking at your own cleverness. “Baby, you can’t go around saying that to me when I’m supposed to be mad at you,” he mumbled, standing upright and pushing his hair out of his face. The heat of the kitchen had mostly dried it and he tied it back up in a bun at the base of his neck. His bangs were still puffy and wild against his face. You surveyed him, seeing the bulge growing in his jeans. “Can’t we do something else, sir?” you grinned, “I know how to make you not mad at me. I promise I learned my lesson.” You got on your knees in front of him, reaching for his belt. “I just wanna make you happy,” you really laid it on thick, undoing his belt with a clink and unzipping his jeans. He didn’t stop you from taking his cock out, still a little overwhelmed from his new nickname. “Fuck, kitten, you’re supposed to be in trouble,” he said, leaning back on his hands on the bar cart behind him. You let your hand glide with his skin, soft and silky, still smelling like his body wash and clean laundry. He peered down at you, catching your beaten knuckles as you stroked him, and pouted. He stopped your hand, taking it in his gently and pulled you up for your knees. “Did I do something wrong?” you asked, he was never one to pass up on a blowjob.

“No, no,” he said, he leaned in to kiss you, wet and aggressive. “Juss really needa fuck you right now,” he mumbled, kissing and biting at your neck. He pulled your shorts and underwear off with one fell swoop, hoisting you onto the kitchen table. You let out a squeal that turned into a deep moan while he pushed into you. His ringed hand hoisted up your leg to give him more access while he gripped your hip hard with the other, driving into you at a steady pace. Your breaths hitched at every thrust, he was hitting every spot just right. Your mouth hung open at his rhythm, sweat building on both of you. “It’s gotta be quick baby,” he said, panting, “I have to strain the au jus.” You whined into his quickened pace, feeling yourself get close. “M’ gonna…oh fuck, Ed,” you groaned, digging your nails into his shoulder, “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” “Cum for me princess, come on,” he muttered in your ear, tilting you back a little, letting his thumb slip over your clit. That soft sensation did it for you, sending you yowling in the center of the kitchen with the curtains open. Eddie pulled out, sending hot wet seed all over your Camp Hawkins shirt – luckily missing the table as a whole. You both caught your breath, and you slid off the table. “That was, wow,” you said, “Wow.” “Yeah,” he breathed, “Yeah.” Eddie shook his head, getting himself back together. “Are you okay?” he asked, while you put your short back on. “Yeah, I’m okay,” you said. He came over and laid a gentle kiss on your forehead, lifting your hand and kissed right above your aching knuckles. “We’ll put some ice on it, okay?” he said, “You did so good for me.” You blushed, “I’m gonna change first.” “Can you do two more things for me?” he asked. “Yes.” “Can you clean this table, and then clean yourself up nice and pretty for dinner? It should be all ready when you’re done.” “Yes, chef,” you smiled, walking into the pantry to get your supplies. The phone started to ring and you paused, looking at the phone on the wall and then at Eddie. “You gonna get that? It’s probably Steve,” he said, turning his back to you and reaching for the sauce pans. “No,” you said, at the pantry door, “I’ll just call him tomorrow.” While you didn’t see it, Eddie flushed, his heart racing. His girl, at least for the week, just his girl.

[carolmunson]

something new, something borrowed.

(dom!steddie x f!reader drabble) (18+)

in which we learn about the first time steve put a belt in his hands. pre good cop, bad cop, supes early in the dynamic steve is giving heavy daddy dom here. warnings: 18+ minors dni, d/s dynamics (daddy dom energy from steve), spanking (with hands and belt), daddy kink, hard dom energy from eddie, use of rules and regulations, some crying kink (can't think of the word), mild aftercare.

personally, professionally, i hate this but @rollergirlworld said she liked it so i'm posting it for the steddie girlies.

“Not in front of Eddie,” you toy with your fingers while you say it. Eddie leans against the frame of the archway leading to the kitchen, crossing his arms so his hands hold his biceps.

“After you were so mean to him? I think he deserves to see you get punished, don't you?” Steve asks, patting his lap again, “Come on, gotta learn your lesson.”

“Steve…” you whine out, tears starting to pool in your eyes. Your nose burned while the cry built in your throat, “Please, no.”

“Are you embarrassed, baby?” Eddie’s smug smirk deepened the dimples on his cheeks while he spoke, “Don’t want me to see you get a spanking?”

You nod, your face flushed with humiliation. Steve had always admonished you in private when you ‘misbehaved’. His list of regulations stacking up every weekend, making it harder for you to get away with anything unscathed. Steve would help get you dressed before a party, telling you his rules for the night in the mirror — he’d watch your eyes glaze over and your cheeks redden, the soft rock of your hips on the vanity stool.

He cupped your chin from behind you, tilting your head up to look at him, “Do you like when daddy tells you what to do?”

“Mhm,” you responded dumbly, your tongue swelling in your mouth. That burning ache between your legs only getting worse when he pulled you into the bathroom at the party to tell you what a bad girl you were when you got a drink without asking his permission first. Or when you rolled your eyes at him in front of his friends. Little things to get you going, little promises he knew you couldn't keep. It was just a fun game that you could both turn off at any time.

You huffed at how ridiculous he was being, laying it on thick while trying to pull out of the grasp on your wrist. Steve’s hand found your jaw, turning you to face him, peering down at you, “Do I need to embarrass you in front of everyone here?”

Steve's eyes would get lust blown at the sound of your whimpering, your quiet, small, ‘Sorry, Stevie. I won’t do it again.’ He'd always take you home after that, barely making it through the front door before your jeans were around your ankles and his mouth was pressed to your neck.

He had only put you over his knee twice before, the first time was only to see if it was something you were both into. It didn't take long to realize how very much into it you both were. The second was when you had come into Family Video and caught an awful attitude with him in front of Robin while she was ringing out a customer. He was so miffed, that for a split second he thought about hauling you over to the back room.

"Let's talk about this when I get home later, okay?" he asked sweetly, no one would be wiser, "We can get to the bottom of this bad mood."

You know what he means and you frown, grabbing the tapes from him roughly before he can bag them for you. You made a big show of shoving the door open to leave, the bell shrilling while it shook only to be over powered by the sound of your car door slamming and your wheels peeling out of the parking lot.

Steve came home quietly. Eddie was at the record store and you had just finished making dinner. He stalked into the kitchen, and while you had calmed down since your Family Video visit, Steve had been fuming about it since.

"Robin was really surprised at your little tantrum earlier," Steve said, his voice measured, "She didn't expect you to be such a brat."

"It wasn't a tantrum, Steve, don't be so dramatic," you snapped back while you placed your serving plates on trivets already set out on the table. He caught your forearm once the ceramic was out of your hands.

"You need to learn to keep your attitude at home when you come to visit me at work," he glowered, "Think I need to teach you a lesson."

"Steve, I -- um --" your heart hammered in your chest and the feeling of his hand on your arm, the soft tug of him leading you to the couch. You were sputtering and sobbing by the fifth strike against your ass, Steve's taunts making your cheeks burn more than the skin of your thighs. "Is this what you needed?" he asked, "Needed some of daddy's attention?"

"Y-yes," you choked out, your legs kicking and hips shimmying to get away from his assaulting hands. He smoothed his palm over the swell of your backside comfortingly, shushing you. "Almost done, baby," his voice was soft and apologetic, "Just a few more, okay?"

"C-can we be d-done, now? Please daddy?" you hiccuped and sniffled, looking up and back at him with red rimmed eyes.

"Oh, angel," he frowned dramatically, sulking his shoulders. He reached out to cup your cheek, "Okay, we can be done."

"I'm sorry," you sighed out while he pulled your underwear back up, smoothing it over. He knocked your jeans to the floor before pulling you up right onto his lap.

"I know, it's okay. I'm not mad at you," he soothed, pressing a kiss to your temple, rubbing big circles onto your back. He rocked you against him for a moment while you cried into his shoulder before nudging himself in to kiss away the tears on your cheeks. Steve didn't leave any marks.

It would be the last time that was true.

"I'm not asking again," Steve's voice was stern, "Do you want me to put you over my knee, myself?" Eddie snickered, making you freeze up and cross your arms over your chest. Your feet felt planted into the carpet of the living room, you made a noise of contempt but it sounded petulant coming out of you.

Steve sighed, "You showing off? Think this is helping your case?"

You shake your head 'no', you know you're pouting, you know this looks ridiculous.

"One..." Steve starts, the authority in his voice building, you shiver at the sound.

"Steve," you hiss out, "I'm not a six year old."

"Two..." he continues, "If I get to three, you'll regret it."

"Steve!" you stomp your foot in frustration and Eddie's eyes flash in your direction. You start feeling small -- weak -- as both of their gazes harden on you.

"Thr--"

"Okay, okay," you rasp out in a whisper, taking a step towards Steve. His hand reaches out to tug your flannel pajama pants and thin underwear down to your feet. "Step out," he instructs. You shake your feet out of them kicking them under the coffee table before he guides you over his lap. You whimper immediately at his hand running over the soft, plushness of your ass. His other arm keeps you tight in place over his other leg, the rest of you partially draped over the couch.

"Give her twenty," Eddie instructs, "Make it hurt."

Your head shoots up to look at him, eyes like saucers etched with fear.

"The most I've ever given her is five, Munson," Steve explains softly, his hand still massaging you gently.

"Well, that's probably why she doesn't listen to you," Eddie says matter of factly, readjusting his position on the archway frame. You hear the clink of the chains on his jeans as he does it, "Gotta punish that habit out of her." Steve's jaw ticked, chest tightening in what he could only describe as acute rage. He reared his hand back, bringing it hard back down onto your backside -- a cry hissed out of you as sharp as the crack of his palm against your body.

"Oh, ow," you breathe out, tears threatening to flow.

"Count it out loud to daddy, princess," Eddie says, lifting off the wall and coming around to watch from the edge of the coffee table so he can see your face better. "One," you whine out. Steve's hand cracks down again and you grit your teeth to keep from crying, his hand runs over the hot skin while you mutter 'two' loud enough for them to hear it. Three and four start to build a hot, stinging pain. Five and six have tears blurring your vision, you're one blink away from them plopping onto the couch cushions.

"Six," you whisper out.

"You stopped at five last time?" Eddie asked. Steve nodded, raining down a particularly hard spank at the line where your ass met your thigh. He hummed at the wail you let out, watching as your nails clutched into the fabric of the furniture under you.

"S-seven," you sniffled, still not fully crying. You didn't want to give them the satisfaction of knowing what they were doing was working. Especially with how much fun they're having before you've even shed a tear.

"Looks like she can take these just fine," Eddie cocks his head, "Want me to show you how she can really learn?"

Steve looked up at him, "What do you mean?"

Steve was still new to this, but he knew Eddie had been around the way a few times. He'd had all kinds of sex -- met a lot of fringe types at The Hideout, some interesting people at the record store. When they first started living together, he'd hear the noises the girls would make in his room. The snaps of what he thought were a whip, the pathetic and whiny 'Yes, master!' of whatever fishnet clad bimbo Eddie would bring home.

Ed reached for his belt, taking the loose end and sliding it out of the loops, savoring the sound of the metal tinkling as he undid it. He wrapped the leather around his fist expertly, folding the length of the belt until it was long enough to get a nice snap.

"You hold it like this, okay?" Eddie said, showing it to Steve from all sides, "There are other ways too, but from this position, this'll be enough slack."

Steve takes the belt from him, matching the way Eddie wrapped it around his hand. He smiled at the feeling of it, strong and unforgiving despite how worn out the leather was. He readjusts his grip on you with his other hand, skating his fingers over your back. You look back at him, your face and body relaxing after a break in the beating.

"Is it okay if I use this to finish?" he asks, you look at the belt in his hand. The veins in his forearms have popped slightly, his hands look strong in the leather, as mouth watering as the watch on his wrist. You nod while you make eye contact with him but he gives you a little nudge with the heel of his hand.

"Is it okay?" he asks again. "Yes, daddy," you reply, "It's okay."

"C'mon Stevie," Eddie smirks, "Make her pay."

Steve rears back, bringing the leather down hard on your thighs and the snap of it makes him grin. He feels you jolt on his legs, a high pitched whine pooling out of you like a tea kettle ready to burst.

“Ooh, poor baby,” Steve cooed, “Should’ve behaved, huh?”

He struck down two more times, small welts raising in your skin — color blooming. You couldn’t hold back your tears anymore, the biting sting of the belt becoming too much to bear. You hid your face in your arms to muffles your yelps and whimpers.

“Don’t hear you counting, sweet thing,” Eddie mocked, his giggle stained dark and cold.

“T-ten,” you whine into the cushions. Steve grunts, his erection pressing against your hip while you squirm over him. The belt meets your ass again in quick, biting, succession, you can feel Steve and Eddie’s stares over you.

“Please no more, daddy,” you mumble into your arms.

“What was that?” Steve asked, “Can’t hear you with that pretty face covered.”

You lifted your face off the cushions, puffy and streaked with mascara, “P-please no more, I learned my lesson.”

Steve’s gaze softens at your pained face, teary eyes and swollen lips, “You sure?”

“Yes, daddy. I learned my lesson,” you nodded slowly, turning your face to Eddie, “I learned my lesson, I’m s-sorry.”

Eddie puts his hands on his hips, pondering you, “Normally I don’t let my girls off so easy.”

He walks around the coffee table and squats at the couch so he's eye level with you. You feel his ring hand come up to push your hair out of your face, smearing the tears on your cheeks away while he does.

"But I think I can make an exception for a sweet thing like you," he says, his smile is sweeter this time, "I think you've just had a long day, you didn't mean it."

Eddie moves his attention to Steve who was reluctantly putting the belt down next to him, "You know the best part, Stevie?"

Steve gives him a look with raised eyebrows while Eddie reaches over, taking Steve's hand and guiding it between your legs, "Girls like her love this."

You shiver when Steve's fingers brush your inner thigh, legs opening for him just a bit -- the action was involuntary, your body begging to let him in. His reaches further, already feeling a stickiness between your upper thighs -- he chuckles. His fingertips dip further up, catching the wetness pooling at your entrance, your folds letting out a soft wet click when he parts your legs further.

"Oh, look at you, princess," Steve's voice loses his anger, falling into teasing, "You like getting put in your place?"

You nod, still sniffling while your breath catches. You feel Steve's first two fingers push into you, the sound of his fingers squelching inside of you making you feel dirty.

"You like it?" Eddie asks, watching you start to pant as Steve quickens his movements to a steady pace.

"Yes, sir," you gasp out, "I love -- I love it."

Eddie laughs, "Oh Stevie, she loves it!" "Yeah, I can tell," Steve mutters, feeling your walls tighten around him. Your plush thighs start to close down around his wrist.

"I'm gonna -- I'm --" you can barely form a sentence with the pleasure building up in your stomach. "Hold it," Steve barks, pulling his hand out quickly from your legs -- bringing all five fingers, some still soaked in your spend, to come down on your still burning ass.

"Let's bring this upstairs," he says, tapping your thighs softly to get you to stand up, "You can get on your knees and show us how sorry you are." You gingerly get to your feet, Steve following suit so he can steady you. He wraps an arm around your neck to pull you in for a kiss, deep and slow, pulling away to rest his forehead on yours, "You okay? You wanna stop?"

You smile at him, stifiling a giggle at his desperate attempt to be discreet in his sweetness in front of Eddie, "I'm okay, I promise. We can keep going."

"You're such a good girl, you know that?" he asks, his amber eyes warm while they meet yours. "Oh, stop," you blush, pressing a kiss to his lips as a thank you.

"Alright, kids. We can kiss and make up later," Eddie's bored voice rings in the living room while he heads to the staircase, "Let's get this show on the road."

"Relax, Munson," Steve bites over his shoulder, letting his arm drop from around your neck to your waist. He lets you get in front of him as you climb the stairs, inspecting the welts and handprints he left behind. The back of his neck got hot at the thought of you being bruised up the next day, something left behind to remind you who was in charge.

Eddie was already sat at the edge of Steve's bed when you got into the bedroom, waiting.

"You heard Steve, baby," he said gently, beckoning you over, "Come show me how sorry you are."

With a little encouragement from Steve in the form of a tap on your butt, you took the handful of steps it was to get in front of Eddie. He eyed you the entire time you got to your knees between his legs, the carpet scratching at your skin.

The mattress dipped when Steve sat next to him, undoing his jeans while Eddie stroked your hair.

Oh. It was gonna be a long night.

[sllooney]

Legit, each chapter gets better and better!!! Love cocky, smug, glasses wearing Steve!! Thanks for the great fic!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

what're you doing new years?

(bigmoney!steve x f!thick!reader)

recommended reading: peanut butter vibe once bitten, twice shy recommended listening: what're you doing new years eve? by ella fitzgerald brought to you in part by carol's christmas song blitz, and readers like you.

cw: minors dni. 18+. drinking, smoking (cigarettes), casual dominance, references to cocaine, bathroom smut, p in v, fingering (f!receiving), literal IDIOTS in love, fake dating trope, discussions of class relations, gambling, mild daddy kink

a/n: we made it, folks! dividers by @newlips

December 31st, 1996 - NYC The apartment smelled like fresh paint and saw dust. Sprawling and sunsoaked, a lot of open space. You assumed all the apartments in Tribeca looked like this, gorgeous inside and out. Expensive and old money, beautiful brick outsides with stunning interiors. Windows with ornate arches that went from floor to ceiling with deep sills for books or antiques that cost more than your mom's life insurance.

"It's really nice," you say, stepping into the open concept livingroom - Barcelona chairs and a sleek black couch sit on a plush carpet. It looked like a show room. The heels of your leather boots click and echo on the redone hardwood. Boxes and boxes of his life in Indiana are stacked in the room against the wall, trailing all the way to a full chef's kitchen. New appliances gleam with the film still on them, untouched.

"It's really nice," you say, stepping into the open concept livingroom - Barcelona chairs and a sleek black couch sit on a plush carpet. It looked like a show room. The heels of your leather boots click and echo on the redone hardwood. Boxes and boxes of his life in Indiana are stacked in the room against the wall, trailing all the way to a full chef's kitchen. New appliances gleam with the film still on them, untouched.

"You wanna see my room? It's almost fully done," he smiles. Steve offers his hand to you but you're hesitant. He falters when he catches the gears turning in your head and puts his hand in his pocket, leading you with a cock of his head to the left. "Down that hallway s'a guest room, laundry, full bath," he rattles off pointing down one hallway while he leads you down another, tapping on closed doors, "A couple other rooms I haven't figured out yet. Broker said they'd make great nurseries. I had to laugh." He's trying to joke with you, but you know it hurts him to say that. He's always offhandedly mentioned how much he wants to be a dad.

"And here's my room, master bath, full dressing room -- you know, sort of just like home," he smiles, clicking open the door and guiding you inside. It's set up very much like his old room in Indiana, big kingsize bed with triple fluffed pillows and hotel style linens. Crisp white this time, slight navy accents, light wood. It was bright and airy, the gauzy curtains fluttered gently against the central heating vent.

"Very you," you smile, "It's like you never left."

"Some things never change," he shrugs, opening the double doors to the dressing room, "Come see."

The room is a little smaller than his bedroom, which means it's still bigger than your apartment. The way his clothes are hung in the cubbies and his shoes are oragnized on the shelves can only be described as sterile.

"It's not done, obviously, but, we're getting somewhere," he smiles.

"Oh good, right now it's a little serial killer-y," you laugh, noticing that the other side of the room is completely empty, "Lot of vacancy here. Planning on getting a whole new wardrobe? Bored of the Saint Laurent you already have?"

He rolls his neck slowly to stretch it out, looking over at you and the vacant side of the dressing room with heavy lids through his specs. He lets out of a soft chuckle, "Nah, wanted to keep it empty so you can fit all your clothes in there, too."

You swallow. A tight smile freezes your face when he says it and you remember the conversation you had outside of his office building in Indiana the week before. His hurt features when you left him abandoned back in the lobby while he called another cab home. You came home in tears, your mom and sister consoling you and your tipsy dramatics. 'Never thought you'd be the heartbreaker, honey.'

You know she didn't mean it like that, but it still stung. Who were you to give up someone like Steve Harrington? Steve Harrington who, after he went home and cried in his shower and called his best friend about it, still wanted you to put your clothes in his closet. Still wanted to watch you wake up in the morning and rush to get ready for work. Still wanted you to come up behind him while he made you both coffee on Sunday mornings. Still wanted you take you out to dinner every Friday night so you could both sleep in on Saturday mornings.

"You got plans for tonight?" he asks when you don't reply to his half truth of a joke. You jolt out of your trance when he asks, looking over to see him cleaning his glasses with the cloth he always keeps in his back pocket. A gentle flush of pink has made itself to his cheeks and nose, your shoulders sulk a bit. You want to give into his little fantasy, but that's all it is. It's his little fantasy that doesn't need to be a reality, he'll have it with someone else -- anyone else.

You clear your throat, "Uh, yeah, actually. Um, the head of marketing, she always invites the department to her uncle's fancy New Year's Eve party so I finally made the cut. Some ridiculous theme this year -- casino or something? Just so they can all throw their money around." Steve starts to laugh, tutting while he puts his glasses back on, hands on his hips. "What's so funny?" you ask, arms crossing against your chest.

"The party's in midtown, right? At the Plaza?" he asks, matching your posture.

"Technically it's more midtown east, but yes," you reply with more attitude than you were expecting. You don't like hearing him talk like he knows his way around New York when he's been here all of ten seconds. "Yeah, your department head's uncle is Carl. CEO of Slate Insurance, s'my boss. Why do you think I came out here a little early?" he smirks. Fuck.

"Don't look so disappointed," he says, walking towards you slowly, dropping his hands to meet your hips, "You wanna just go together?"

You step out of his hold and catch his shoulders drop in his sweater, a pang of guilt drives through your chest at his disappointment, "I can get there myself, it's no problem."

"I mean, it's not the kind of party you roll up to in a cab," he says matter of factly, like it's obvious, "You have to like, make an entrance."

"I wasn't going to take a cab," you glower. A rejected Steve was sometimes not a very kind Steve, all showboating and no substance -- he just wanted to be a jerk. "What were you planning to take?" he asks, brows raised over his frames in faux curiosity, "The subway?" "Better than showing up in that tacky green Porsche," you retort, cheeks burning at his meanhearted teasing. He grins and shakes his head. "I left the Porsche with my dad. I'll probably take the new Benz," he shrugs, cocking his head while he looks at you, "Well -- my driver'll take the new Benz, but you know what I mean." Your face sours, he was reaching the border of ugly cockiness. "Looks like you’re not into a Mercedes," he frowns, a faux apologetic look washing over his face, "You wanna ride in the Bentley instead?"

"You sound like such an asshole," you confess, walking out of the dressing room and back into his bedroom. "What? I can’t congratulate myself for getting a new job?" he bites back, following you, “I’m just tryna catch up to what my life is gonna look like here, Nat.”

“Not all of us have that life, Steve.”

He softens while looking at your back, he reaches out to rest a hand on your shoulder to turn you around, “M’not trying to be an asshole, I’m sorry.”

“S’okay,” you shrug, “I just—you know you can still be 'Hawkins Steve', Harrington. You don't have to be like these Wall Street guys.”

“I know,” he nods, both hands meeting your shoulders, “You wanna come with me tonight? Be my date? Carl’s sort of a traditional guy, it’ll be nice to make him think I’m some family man with a girl at home waiting for me.”

"Steve," you started, "We talked about this. This is your Christmas Party all over again." His eyes cast downward for a moment as the evening replays in his head at record speed. The day you left him, the day he realized he planned your whole future in his head but you didn't want that.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn--" you start before he comes back to himself in time to interrupt.

"You can be my fake date," he nearly whines, lips pouting.

"I dunno," you shrug, his hands slide from your shoulders to the dip of your waist.

"You don't want me spoiling you all night? C'mon. I gotta show off to these assholes," he asks, voice warm and soothing. His cologne ghosts your nose and your knees get weak, "And you're a great way to start showing off."

Your heart thrums when he speaks, it's so frustrating to be around someone so handsome, "Don't be stupid, Harrington."

"It's not stupid, Manhattan. It'll be fun, we're just playing pretend," he takes a step closer to you and you can see his stubble, the plushness of his lips.

You consider it, he fights off a smile because he knows you're about to say yes. Steve Harrington always gets what he wants. Steve Harrington always gets the girl.

"Just playing pretend, huh?" you challenge.

"Just playing pretend," he smiles, wrapping you in a gentle hug -- friendly, chaste, sweet, "I'll pick you up at seven."

The hug is soft -- but you can feel his heart beating hard against his chest.

Bbbrrrriiiinggg!

You run to your front door, pressing and holding the button on the intercom to buzz him in. You click the lock before escaping back into the bathroom to finish your face, makeup bag torn open in your sink. As you finish your lipstick you hear a soft knock echo down the hall.

"It's open!" you call, and the loud squeak of your front door screeches through your apartment.

"Y'know this could really use some WD-40," Steve says while he shuts the door behind him, "Do you have some? I can --"

You peek around the door frame, patting your lipstick into your lips with your finger. His eyes glint behind his glasses.

"Hey," he smiles, brushing some of the snow off of his coat.

"Hey," you smile back.

"You look pretty."

"So do you," you tease before escaping back into the mirror. He meets you at the frame of the bathroom door, leaning against it with his arms crossed.

"Should I start telling you I'm picking you up earlier so you'll be ready on time?" he asks, dipping his glasses down his nose to peer at you over the rims, "Or are you wearing pajamas?"

You roll your eyes mid-mascara application, throwing everything back in the bag when you finish, "I just have to put my dress on and then we can go, I promise."

You hurry to your bedroom, only mere steps away, pulling your dress out of it's bag hanging on your closet door, "Give me five minutes!"

You shut your door in his face, slipping the navy satin over your head. It wasn't anything too special -- vintage cut fit and flare. The curves of your body made it look more expensive than it was. Your tailor did wonders on it after you snagged it from a sad looking rack of sale dresses at Saks. You pulled on a pair of nude, gloss finish stockings -- silicone on the bands snapping around your thighs with a loud smack, before slipping on a pair of heels.

While grabbing a small purse to keep your effects in, you open the door to reveal Steve resting against the wall of the hallway. He looks inside, giving it a once over with one turn of his head.

"This is uh...cozy," he says, his smile is unethusiastic.

"Fuck off, Harrington," you groan, spritzing your ever declining bottle of Angel by Mugler across your chest and wrists.

"Let me look at you, hm?" he asks, stepping all the way into the room. You turn toward him, skirt of your dress swaying with the turn of your hips. His eyes unfocus for a moment, you hold back a chuckle -- men are so easy.

“So let me wrap my head around this real quick,” he puffs his chest a bit while he walks toward you. You giggle while walking backward, tripping on your heels, “You were gonna go to this party alone —”

“Wearing this?” he asks, catching you by the waist to steady you. He lets a finger drag from the halter strap of your dress, following the curves of your body downward, “That’s just not fair, Manhattan.”

“You’re Manhattan now, too, Steve,” you correct. His light touch sends a shiver through you and he lets out a satisfied hum. He smells like spice and evergreen, your mouth runs dry when his eyes linger on you for a little too long.

"C'mon, can't let Vinny wait too long for me down there. You're makin' me look bad," he says gently, taking you by the hand to your front door. He pulls your camel coat off the hook and holds it open for you, gliding it onto your arms with the finesse of a man who knows exactly how to treat a woman. Betrayal is the only emotion running through your chest as your body warms up against his touch.

Naturally, the Bently is the nicest car you've ever fucking seen.

He was right, you couldn't have shown up in a cab. There were paps everywhere and you couldn't understand why. It's not like there was any famous people here, just people with a shit ton of money. Were they famous by proxy? Would this show up on Page Six? If your networth had seven zeros, did you get welcomed into a hall of fame or something? Did everyone want to read about your life?

You squinted into the flashes of people taking pictures, Steve's hand immediately lacing with yours as you walked towards the entrance of the hotel.

"Careful, careful," he says, while you inch up the short icy stairway. Your heels clicking on the stone as you reach the doors, "Go slow."

"I'm okay, Steve," you assure, he looks back at you with doting eyes when you get inside.

"Just don't want you to hurt yourself, baby," he softly scolds before locking eyes with an usher for the party.

Oh, we're starting this now, you think to yourself. He walks with his hand still laced with yours while the usher leads you both to the Grand Ballroom, framed signs letting patrons know that the casino is in the Terrace Room down stairs. You immediately feel too broke to be here.

"Let me get your coat."

He undoes the button at your waist, smoothing your coat over your shoulders before removing his own. He checks them both and your eyes widen at the amount of cash you see in his wallet as he goes to pay. Gulping hard while he fingers through the bills -- hundred after hundred gleaming back at you.

He turns when he's done, running a hand through is hair, and gives you a very Harrington smile, "You ready?"

Your words catch in your throat while you look at him. His suit is perfectly tailored, the shirt patterned, but silk and neatly pressed. His leather banded watch sits perched on his wrist -- you can tell it's new. His pants hugged his thighs, streamlined in a straight line down to his ankles -- shoes freshly shined. Being handsome like this had to be a crime in some counties, there was no way he was just allowed to look like this and be rich.

"You ready, baby?" he asks again, offering his hand, "Come on."

Something about being called baby by him feels so natural. Like you forgot your own name and that's the only one that could get your attention. Baby, angel, princess, honey. You'd look up immediately and search for him at the sound of his voice. You'd know he meant you.

But he's not your boyfriend. This is just pretend. This is not what you want.

When the doors open, you can't breathe. The ballroom is completely transformed in gold and silver. The lights and chandeliers catch the decorations in a show of shimmer. Like the whole room was waiting to start glittering until you got there.

"Holy shit," you whisper.

"Yeah we're definitely not in Indiana anymore," he mutters to you. You feel his hold tighten on your hand in a show of something you hardly see from Steve. He's nervous.

You look up at him, eyes riding up from his jaw, cheek bone, to his eyes behind his glasses. His gaze roves over the party and he licks his lips, brow quirking before he makes a decision.

"You okay?" you ask, he looks down at you with a soft look in his eyes.

"I'm perfect," he says with a nod. The room is sprawling with tables and he's able to finesse a way to get you both to sit together even though the seating chart had you woefully distanced. It doesn't surprise you how easily he's able to assimilate to making things work for him here. You see his performance again and again: with the waiters, with how he orders drinks, how he checks his watch, how he smiles at people walking by.

You're both at the bar when you see it in full force, his arm protectively around your waist, thumb grazing the smooth fabric to keep him grounded.

"Steven?"

You both look over, an old man with a thick, white walrus mustache in a stunning black suit comes close to approach you. His wedding band is a shining platinum to match the watch on his wrist -- sapphires sit in the face of the metal backing. You wonder briefly how much it costs.

"Oh, Carl!" Steve beams, letting go of your waist for a moment to shake the man's hand, "How are you? Beautiful event -- really stunning."

"Thanks, thank you, but you ought to tell that to my wife. She's the one who plans these things, I just foot the bill," he laughs. His light eyes linger on you and you flush.

"And who's this? She looks like she just walk right out of Old Hollywood."

You introduce yourself, hand reaching out to shake his but he takes it to his lips to press a kiss to your hand. If he wasn't Steve's boss you wouldn't have smiled at the gesture -- but ah well.

"This is my girl, Carl. The one I was telling you about," Steve says with a blush.

"Just your girl?" he asks, eyes noting to your empty ring finger, "Hope she's your fiancé soon, Harrington."

"Sooner than she thinks. I promise, sir," they both laugh. Steve's hand returns to your waist and it feels like a leash. They talk for a moment, Steve passing you a drink while he does. It's business and you don't care, the drink is liquor forward and your face sours at the first sip.

"Sorry baby, that's whiskey. That's mine," he switches your drinks seamlessly while still in conversation. "We're just so happy to have you, Harrington -- my son Chuck, he's y'know, he's got no fuckin' clue what he's doin'. I blame myself, me and Muffy let him do whatever he wanted," Carl complains, "So I think havin' someone who just gets the business will be really helpful. I know you'll start guiding him in the right direction."

"I mean Carl, I was the same when I was twenty-six, he'll get there," it was like Steve had known him his whole life. He keeps his hands on you while the talk continues, two more men joining in. C-Suites. Big money. Important people. You're just a piece of art hanging on his arm.

You need to get the fuck out of here.

As if the heavens heard your plea, a call of your name takes you out of your bored trance.

"Over here!"

You sigh with relief at the sight of your coworker, also head to toe in shimmering Saks ready to wear in a sea of authentic Dior and Chanel.

"S'cuse me," you say gently, tugging out of Steve's grasp. He looks down at you a little sternly, you frown.

"Excuse me, I'm so sorry. A friend of mine is looking for me, it was great to meet you all," you smile at the group of men, stepping away delicately on your heels until they aren't paying attention. As they continue talking your run on the balls of your feet into your friend's arms.

"Rob, oh my god, what the fuck are we doing here?" you laugh. Robin Buckley looks like a million bucks, but you know she only makes $49k a year because you do, too.

"We do not belong here," she laughs with you, "Do you wanna go lose some money with me downstairs?"

"Yes, yes, one hundred percent," you not, "Get me away from these stiffs."

"So that's Steve?" Robin asks, passing you a glass of champagne while you finish the last sip of the margarita Steve got you a little earlier.

"That's Steve," you murmur, immediately letting the bubbles slide past your lips.

"He's really something," she grins, "You're complaining about being smothered by that?"

"Stop Rob, you don't even like guys," you tease, nudging her knee with the tip of your heeled toe.

"I don't have to like guys to know when a guy is hot," Rob says through a sip of her drink, "And he's fucking hot. Like, Tom Cruise hot. Top Gun hot."

"Oh, stop."

"Jerry Maguire hot -- and like, super fucking rich, obviously. That's a Prada suit. Are you kidding? Talk about 'show me the money,' he's showing you, babe."

"Yeah, but like," you frown a little, "You know how all the guys in finance always talk about how much they hate their wives? And all their wives are Tribeca moms who keep going on retreats to 'work on themselves' after they get cheated on?"

"Of course, that's like, the Tribeca mom rite of passage," she agrees, crossing her thin legs, her sequin dress shimmered in the low, warm, light.

"So, Steve just moved to Tribeca -- it's like...like I'm staring my future right in the face," you exclaim, another sip meeting your lips, "And it's not like I look like any of those women either. I'll be going on my first retreat in three months tops."

"Okay, well one, you have no idea what you're talking about," Robin shakes her head, "You're a smokeshow."

"And two, isn't Steve from Kansas or something?"

"Indiana."

"Same thing," she waves you off, "Steve's from Arkansas. He doesn't have the same mindset as the guys who came here when they were teenagers to jerk off at frat parties at NYU."

"They'll get to him," you shake your head, looking at her with a knowing glance, "They always do."

You both make your way over to the slot machines, weaving through crowds at roulette and craps tables, snaking by chairs sat at poker games. The piles of chips make you sweat. There was a lot of money down here.

"This is all I can handle, cards are so boring," Robin sits down on the plush leather of the seat across from the machine while you take the one next to her. You both play a few rounds in silence before she looks over at you again.

"Do you know what I think?" she asks, champagne glass empty in her hand.

"What do you think, Buckley?" you ask, finishing the last sip of yours.

"I think Andy fucked you up a little and you can't believe someone like Steve wants to be with you, so you're pushing him away," she says with a shrug, "You're trying to hurt him before he can hurt you."

"You sound ridiculous."

"I sound ridiculous or I sound right on the money?" she asks, pulling the lever on the machine. It runs and stops, she doesn't win.

"Sounds like you're not on the money at all," you shrug.

"Shut up," she laughs, "I'm just saying, I think you're really convinced he's settling when I think it's pretty clear he likes you a lot."

"You don't even know him!" you exclaim, running the machine over again.

"Looks like I might get to know him," she smirks. You turn toward the entrance and there he is, frowning while peering through the room. He's squinting behind his glasses trying to find you in the low light, hands in his pockets. For a moment you think about letting him not find you, maybe he'd pick someone else up at the party. Hell, women were gawking at him from the moment he walked in -- he had plenty to pick from.

But the desperation on his face made your heart ache -- this really was your world. Maybe he really did need you to help show him around.

Against your own judgement, you wave, hoping he'd catch you in the sea of people. You don't have to wait long to see his smile when he catches you, waving back and disappearing in the crowd.

"Hey, there you are," he breathes with a small jog towards you, "Thought I lost you."

"No, no, just out here draining my Christmas bonus," you laugh, tugging on the lever again. Robin looks over and smirks at you when he rests his hand on the back of your neck under your hair, thumb grazing the skin under the hinge of your jaw.

"This is Robin, she's my friend from work," pointing your thumb at her. Always the business man, he leans over you to shake her hand.

"Steve -- nice to meet you," he grins.

"Oh, I know who you are," she teases. You shoot her a look, but it falters. The way his hand leaves your neck to stroke over your head, gently enough to not ruin your hair, makes you melt. It had to be the booze. The haze of cigarette smoke making you woozy.

The lights of the machine infront of you flash wildly, the music sounding, screen glowing - WINNER! JACKPOT! WINNER!

"Oh, fuck yes!" you cheer while the chips fall into into the opening at the bottom.

"Come on!" Robin huffs, "I've put in at least twenty more dollars than you have."

"Didn't pick the lucky machine, Rob," you joke, collecting the chips in a stack in your hand. "How much did you win?" he asks, trying to count them while you clumsily try to keep them together.

"I think just a hundred bucks, so -- eighty dollar profit!"

"Ugh don't say profit, we're at a party," Robin groans, pulling the lever down on her machine hastily.

"Let me take those," Steve says, collecting the chips and putting them in his suit pocket, "I have to go get some anyway."

He pulls out his wallet, thumbing through bills and plucks an $100 out. He folds it, handing it to you, "Now you don't have to cash them."

"Steve..." you scold softly. He takes your hand and presses the bill into it, closing your fingers over the paper. He smiles, thumbing through his wallet again while you put the money in your purse. He plucks out another bill and holds it out in front of Robin. Her mouth hangs open at the gesture.

"Steve!" you raise your voice but he thinks the reproachful look on your face is just too cute.

"Sorry Rob, I think he's drunk," you apologize, embarrassed beyond measure.

"What? I think she deserves a consolation prize," he smiles. Robin plucks the bill from his fingers, putting it in her wristlet.

"I think he should be drunk around me way more often if this is how he acts," she rasps. Steve throws her a wink, arm snaking around you once you get up from the slot machine stool.

"S'it okay if I steal her from you?" he asks. You swallow thickly, both hating and loving how he pulls you around this party like you're his property.

"Steal her, take her home, take her kidneys, I don't care," she laughs, "Do whatever you want, consider me paid off."

"I'll see you later, Rob!" you smile, reaching out and squeezing her hand. As Steve turns around with you, you look back at her. She gives you an exasperated look -- 'What the fuck is wrong with you? He's great.'

He is great. That's what makes it so hard.

He leads you over to the chip exchange, fingers grazing your back while he lets go of your waist. His hand sneaks into suit jacket where he pulls out a wad of cash secured by a shining gold money clip.

"Can I get four grand in hundreds?" he asks.

"Steve that's -- stop," you huff, "Who're you trying to impress?"

"Impress?" he scoffs, "The buy in for blackjack is five hundred dollars, baby. This is just fuck around money."

"Here," he says, plucking a glass of champagne off of a waiter's tray as he offers them. Steve passes it to you, "Have a drink, stop pouting. It's a holiday."

You sip it bitterly while you wait and he sighs at you, pressing a kiss to your forehead before reaching back into his jacket pocket. He pulls out a cigarette and a silver lighter, embers glowing while he inhales, lighter escaping back to its hiding place.

"Hey," he says, blowing the smoke out away from you, "Wanna smile for me?"

You smile, it's fake and exaggerated, he laughs into his next drag, "I'll take it."

The attendant passes Steve a rack of chips, neatly rowed but as he's about to take them his name is called. Yet another group of stiffs asking for his attention.

"Will you hold this for me, honey? Thank you," he asks softly, passing you the rack. You nod while you take it, desperately hoping this conversation goes quicker than the last one. He introduces you like you brought you on a leash and they all shake your hand like you're a show pony that got gussied up to leave the stable. You're not a person, just an accessory -- and you know they're surprised at his choice, but he doesn't need the extra social currency.

You keep sipping your champagne and shutting up, but your ears perk up when you hear him mention you, "You know she just put together this wild campaign for their lipstick line with the creative team, she might as well have produced it. And now their quarterly has that lipstick up fourteen percent and growing. And here we are with just -- what? Claims? How do we even market that? She swears what she does is boring."

You blush at his praise. So he does listen when you complain about work.

The conversation changes and you're bored again, eyes surveying the crowd of long elegant women and handsome stuffy men. Cheers roaring from tables, the sounds from the slot machines, it seemed less overwhelming with a few drinks in you. You guessed upstairs was for the boring people.

"Have you ever even seen four grand before?" you hear sneering your way. You look up and there he is -- the heartbreaker whose heart you barely broke by breaking up with him. The boy who hardly cared.

“Andy?” you ask, brows pulling inward in disgusted shock, “What’re you doing here?”

Andy had gotten a new attitude after he got a new job, suddenly too good for you and your old group of friends. Suddenly telling everyone he broke up with you. Telling everyone he shouldn't settle for less. The glasses of champagne you’ve had finally meet your brain, making you woozy and nervous. The glittering decorations on the ceilings marry the lights and cross over your vision. Andy sparkles in front of you, his friends faded out behind him. A scene in slow motion.

You feel Steve’s hand on your waist, giving you little squeezes so you don’t feel like he’s ignoring you while he talks to his new colleagues about stocks and sales. Boring metrics that you’d care about if it mattered.

“I was invited. Perks of Chuck being my boss,” he gives you a smarmy smile, knowing you’re only here by proxy. Not because you’re important, not in the same way that—

“Whose this asshole?” Andy scoffed, giving Steve a once over. You hear Steve’s pleasant, ‘Sorry fellas, if you’d excuse me…’ to his group as he turns toward Andy and his friends. He flashes a charming Harrington smile.

“Andy! Nice to see you again, man,” he raises his champagne flute toward him cheerily. Andy looks at Steve with a furrowed brow, confused but sly.

“Sorry, guy. Not sure we’ve met,” he laughs — covered in new money sleaziness, his friends laugh with him, “Nat must’ve told you all about me, I guess.”

You feel Steve’s posture change — confident and cocky. His head tilts the way it does when you know he’s about to say something mean. Your body heats up when he places his empty glass on the platter of a near by server, putting the free hand in his pocket.

“We met in Indiana,” he corrects, confidence unfaltering, “You don’t remember?”

“Indiana?” Andy scoffs again. Your face twists into something Steve doesn’t like, a mix of annoyed and embarrassed.

“Well, since you’re at a loss let me reintroduce myself,” he smirks. He puts his hand out shake your ex’s, Andy loosely shakes it back.

“Name’s Steve,” he introduces himself with a warm genuine quality that people learn from years of sales work, clapping his other hand over Andy’s, “Steve Harrington. I’m Natalie’s boyfriend.”

He says it so casually that you immediately flush, it sounds too natural.

“Oh,” Andy says, surprised. He gives you a once over, offering you a pathetic glace, “You're dating her? You're her boyfriend?”

“Her boyfriend,” he lilts, taking his hand away. He slinks an arm back around your waist, tucking his shoulder behind yours, “And sorry, couldn't help but over hearing -- You said Chuck’s your boss? Chuck at Slate Insurance?”

“Yeah, and?” Andy asked, annoyed. Steve let out a gentle chuckle, the kind that sounds rich. The kind that sounds like a trust fund with seven figures.

“Oh, that’s—hoo!— that’s funny,” he teases, but it comes out cool and uncaring. He bites his lip to keep from laughing more, giving Andy a judgmental once over.

“What’s so funny about it?” he asks, arms crossing in a huff causing his cheap suit to crease.

“Oh, it’s uh, it’s funny because I’m Chuck’s boss,” he gestures toward him before tucking his hand back in his pocket, “So I guess I’ll see ya Monday, champ.”

Andy chokes on his sip of champagne, you bite back a mean giggle that bubbles in the seat of your chest.

“Now, hate to be rude but, my woman and I are gonna head over to the roulette table,” Steve starts, beginning to move you over to the next room with him, “Unless — you know, unless you’d care to join us. You feelin’ lucky?”

Andy’s face has gone red, eyebrows sloped down, a prominent wrinkle forming on his forehead. His friends look into their drinks, coughing and shifting awkwardly while they watch the exchange.

“No?” Steve asks, a slight taunt to his voice. Andy shakes his head no, “Ah well, suit yourself, I guess. Say bye, angel.”

Steve nudges you with his shoulder and you burn under the instruction, lifting your gaze to Andy who looks like he could maul Steve at any second, “Bye, Andy,” you mutter, your voice trailing higher than normal.

“See you around, man. Next time I catch ya, I'll give you the number to my tailor,” Steve's eyes linger on the hem of Andy's trousers -- sloppy and too long for him. He let's out a soft 'hm' before meeting Andy's gaze and shooting him a wink with a steely grin. Steve leads you out of the chip exchange by the small of your back, passing you another glass of champagne.

“Drink that before you say whatever smart thing you wanna say,” he says, hand dropping from your back to clasp with yours while he leads you through the throngs of people to the roulette table.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything,” you lie.

“Pfft, okay,” he shakes his head in front of you, but you don’t need to see him to know that he’s rolling his eyes. You arrive at the edge of the table, oak wood bumping into your hip.

“I’m not much of a gambler,” you confess, taking your places around the table closer to the wheel. He kisses your cheek before taking your chin between his fingers gently.

“You thought I’d have you dropping your own cash here? That’s cute,” he teases with his voice low enough so the other players couldn't hear, “Daddy’s gonna gamble, baby. You’re just gonna watch.”

“Steve,” you blush, “Don’t say that.”

“I don't know,” he shrugs coolly while placing his chips, turning back to you when he's done, "I think you like when I say that."

He wins big at roulette, of course he does. He's Steve Harrington.

Now he has you nestled on his lap while he plays black jack, your hips and thighs spilling over the leg you're perched on. Everyone's drunk so no one cares that you're not supposed to do that, as long as your hands are in view of the dealer. It's not a real casino anyway.

His breath hits that spot between your neck and shoulder that makes you squirmy, hips rolling achingly slow on his thigh when he does it. You have half a mind to think he's doing it on purpose.

"Watch yourself, angel," he mumurs, placing a hand firmly on your hip to steady you, "Don't want you to fall."

You watch him play, him and his colleagues, some men he doesn't know -- they're betting real big. Big enough that you had the pleasure of holding two more racks of chips for him while the other two were stacked on the table in front of you.

The three other men have either had too many or are sitting between 12 and 16 in their cards. He has fourteen in front of him, a jack, a three of hearts, and an ace. You watch him tap the table to hit and then double down, you gulp. A fourteen thousand dollar bet, and it's just chump change to most of the guys down here.

The dealer hits, a seven of clubs slapping down on the table. "Blackjack."

He smirks and the table claps while the dealer expertly slides over $35,000 in chips which you load dutifully onto the empty racks on the table next to you.

"Really got lady luck on your side tonight, huh Harrington?" the older man next to him asks. You feel Steve's hand clap your thigh.

"Actually, she's on my lap," he smiles and you flush at his teasing, listening to them talk while the dealer shuffles for the next round. His hand slides over your thigh and he talks to the guys at the table like he's not driving you insane when he toys when the hem of your dress.

"Can I get anyone a drink?" a waitress asks the table. You turn to Steve while the men start to order, some glasses of wine, some full bottles of liquor.

"Get whatever you want, honey," he says, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. The waitress looks to you expectantly and you smile. It's probably the first non-horny smile she's gotten all night.

"Can I get a bottle of Dom for the table, please?" you ask, "The earliest vintage you have."

You were pushing your luck -- but you were at a blackjack table. He squeezes your thigh and you squeal under his touch while the dealer starts the game.

"Didn't know my girl was so greedy," he teases in your ear. Your lip quirks.

"M'not really your girl, Stevie," you whisper back.

"No?" he murmurs back to you, hand skimming your dress up the side of your thigh, "Spending my money like you are."

You blush hard, he loves how easy it is to fluster you once you've had a few. Still lucid, less tightly wound. He liked when you loosened up for him, when you relaxed into his touch with all these people around.

The Dom comes and the waitress starts pouring glasses, Steve gets the bill and shoots you a look when you go to peer over the leather.

"Don't be rude, baby," he tuts, tilting it away from you. There were way too many numbers in the total for a bottle of champagne.

"Sorry, Steve," you mumble while he passes the waitress his credit card with the bill. The champagne is dry and heavenly and your smile when you take the first sip makes all the money he paid worth it.

"You like it?" he asks, attention going back to the game.

"Mhmm," you nod into your next sip.

"Good," he smiles, "Have another bottle at home we can break into later."

Home. Oh. He wants you to go home with him. Was that the plan? Were you following through with the fake date thing the whole time? All night?

"Hm," is all you reply. He keeps winning big -- but you're really the only thing he's betting on.

It's starting to get a little late and the party is picking up. All the screens in the casino have Dick Clark on, the big party on the other side of town is ramped up to eleven.

Steve holds your hand at the chip exchange, the manager and two security guards stand by while they stack bundles of cash for Steve. You know the short set of bands is more money than you've ever seen in your life, it almost makes you nervous.

"This isn't gonna fit in my money clip, angel, can I borrow your purse?" he asks sweetly. Your purse isn't huge, but it can fit the money in it.

"Uh, um, yeah," you say, you mouth running dry while he puts at least forty grand in your bag.

"Thank you, baby," he smiles, the booze affecting his grin. You let him lead, taking you out of the casino and back upstairs to the ball room. There are people everywhere, but more importantly, there is food.

You both don't even think about it, manuevering to the buffet in silence, giggling while you load up plates with obscure hors d'oeuvres and different types of bread and dessert. You sit at the table, barely talking while you eat, but stealing glances at each other.

"I think this is octopus, try it for me and tell me," he says, holding out a small sauteed tentacle on a cracker with avocado.

"I'm not trying it for you!" you laugh, "Try it for yourself. Don't be such a wimp."

"C'mon, just try it for me, tell me if it's good," he smiles, leaning his chin on his other hand to watch you. He pushes the cracker further towards your mouth and you give in, lettling him pop the bite sized morsel into your tongue. His fingertips brush your lips and he swallows, adams apple bobbing slowly against his collar.

"Definitely octopus," you nod.

"You're so brave," he says dreamily, fingertip booping against your nose.

"Okay weirdos, enough with your fake date, let's go dance," Robin's voice booms from a couple tables over while she walks towards you. She grabs both of your hands to lead you to the crowded dance floor. The live band plays fast jazz and the three of you make up what you can to it. Robin really taking the prize for most creative dance moves.

"Is she okay?" Steve asks, giving you a little spin. You look at her and back at him, nodding.

"Yeah, she'll sleep good tonight," you let him lead, arm wrapped around your waist. The music slows and he hums to himself, pulling you closer.

"This is nice," his voice is warm and low, "This is what I wanted all night."

"To dance with me?" you ask softly. He nods, a bashful smile curling up his lips, glasses slipping a little down the slope of his nose. You push them up gently, putting your arms back around his neck.

"I really like dancing with you," he whispers, noses close to brushing each other.

"Thanks."

His bashful smile turns to a tight one, "Look, I'm sorry about the fiance and boyfriend stuff with Carl and Andy. That was outta line, I shouldn't have said all that shit."

"It's okay," you assure, but he's not done talking.

"I'm sorry if I've been laying it on too thick all night," he says apologetically, "Got too committed to the part, I guess."

"S'fine Steve," you say, looking up at him, "It's just pretend."

Hurt flashes in his eyes, brows softening when you say it.

"Yeah...it's just pretend," he mutters. He loosens his hold on your waist and you can tell he's embarrassed. You can feel his hands become clammy over the fabric of your dress, skidding against the satin while they move.

A woman gets to the center of the stage, a beautiful 40s gown clinging tight to her curves while she grips the microphone. The opening words of Ella Fitzgerald's, 'What're you Doing New Years Eve' , starts with the band.

"Aw, you don't hear this song a lot," you smile, "My dad loved this song."

"Yeah?" he asks. He takes a deep breath, looking at the other couples getting close, nuzzling, kissing. Diamond rings dazzling in the light, wedding bands glinting in his eyes.

"C'mere," he says, reinvigorated to keep up the charade. His arm snakes all the way around you, chest to chest, his other hand holding yours. He rests his forehead against yours, moving slow with you to the music, the instrumental lulling you both into the fantasy you both created.

Steve had such a way of making it feel like it was just the both of you.

'Maybe it's much too early in the game, Ah, but I thought I'd ask you just the same, What are you doing New Year's, New Year's eve?'

"It's a pretty song," he says.

"Yeah," you agree, lost in how he looks at you.

'Maybe I'm crazy to suppose, I'd ever be the one you chose, Out of the thousand invitations you received.'

You rest your head on his chest while the horns solo, the hand on your waist trailing up to brush your hair and cup your face.

"Hey, look at me," his voice is quiet, "Wanna see your pretty face, Manhattan."

"I look tired," you complain, looking back up at him with a scrunch of your nose. His thumb slides over your cheek bone.

"You look perfect," he confesses.

'Ah, but in case I stand one little chance, Here comes the jackpot question in advance, What are you doing New Year's, New Year's Eve?'

"Hey Nat," he starts.

"Mhm?"

"What if it --" he lets out a breath through his nose, "What if it wasn't pretend?"

"What?"

10!

"What if we didn't have to pretend?" he asks, "What if we just...what if we just were each other's real dates? Cause like --"

"Steve, come on."

9!

"You can't pretend like this doesn't feel right," he pleads, "Like this doesn't feel real."

"Steven, I told you this morning--"

8!

"Baby, I haven't stopped thinking about you since you left me at the office," he confesses, "Thinking about how to change your mind. I want you so bad, Nat. You have no fucking idea."

"I'm just the only person to tell you no," you assure, "That's the only reason you want me."

7!

"No, I promise that's not it," he urges, both of his hands cupping your cheeks while he talks. The cheering getting louder around you at the clock ticks closer to midnight.

6!

"You're not gonna want this after a month of you being here. Look at everyone around you Steve -- I don't fit in here," you say, "Don't you want a trophy wife? Someone who everyone gawks over?"

"Have you seen yourself?" he asks, eyes wild, "Had to walk behind you all night so all these guys would stop staring at you."

5!

"Steve you're just...settling," you finally say it and it feels like a weight has floated off your chest, "This was the opposite of what you came to New York for."

"Settling? Are you stupid?"

4!

"You wanted to do something new and exciting," you counter.

"You are new and exciting," he can't believe the words coming out of your mouth, "You are why I wanted to be here. I wanted to do something new with you."

3!

"I've been sitting in Hawkins for the last five years thinking about how much fun you're having out here. Thinkin' about how much fun we could have together -- haven't stopped fucking thinking about you since the night I met you in Porter's."

"You're just saying that," you argue, lump growing in your throat, "You're just drunk."

2!

"I'm not just saying that, please just listen to me" he pleads, "Fuck Nat, I --"

1!

"I love you."

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Silver and gold metallic confetti pours from the ceiling, your breath hitches while it glitters on it's way down.

"I love you so much, it hurts," he confesses, eyes shining behind his frames, "I just -- I think I loved you the whole time."

Your mouth falls open against his hold on your cheeks.

"You don't have to say it back, I--"

You stop his sentence with your lips against his. The kiss he wanted to give you all night. It feels like an old movie kiss with with way his arms wrap tight around your back and waist and your hands meet his face.

He breaks away from you for a moment, locking his eyes with yours.

"I really mean it," he murmurs, "I love you."

"I --," his eyes linger on yours, your cheeks heat up, "Steve."

"Yeah?"

"I love you, too."

He knew it. God, he fucking knew it.

The lock clicks and he checks it once, twice, three times before caging you in against the wall. There weren't any families here so it's not like anyone was looking to use the bathroom with a changing table. Everyone was using the lounge bathroom for coke anyway.

"Fuck, you're so pretty," he gasped into your mouth, "You're so fucking pretty."

"Thanks," you breath against his kiss. His lips trail from your mouth down your jaw, lips sliding down your neck to your chest. His tongue is warm and wet on your skin and you sigh up to the ceiling at the feel of it.

He manhandles you at the sound, arms overtaking you to shove the complimentary products on the sink's counter and throw you onto it. You look at him with swollen lips from his kiss, eyes begging. He grabs your hand to press it firmly up against his erection, staring down at you down the slope of his nose, “That’s how you got me all night, lookin' at me like that. Wearin' this dress -- what's wrong with you, hm?”

"S'wrong with me?" you slur, dragging your hand back over his cock without his guidance, "S'wrong with you? This suit fitting you so nice, that stupid fancy watch?"

"Stupid? My Patek?" he laughs, "It was nine grand, don't call it stupid."

"You're disgusting," you spit, but it doesn't have the bite you can normally dish. The way he lingers over you makes you lose your edge.

"Mmm, love when you're a little mean," he groans while he buries his face in your neck, reaching for the hair at the nape of it, tugging just enough to make your thighs twitch, "Get to watch you get so nice for me."

You feel his lips drag over your sensitive skin, pulling it in between his teeth to bite down. He takes in your scent, grunting into your jaw while the perfume he likes rules his senses. He's rough, hungry. He's a little drunk, but so are you.

You thighs part to make room for him, ass nearly hanging off the counter while his hips press into you. You run a hand through his silky hear while he assaults your neck, eyes reeling when he hits that spot right past the base.

"You all wet?" he asks in your ear, gravelly voice booming in your chest. His hand skates up your fleshy inner thigh, heat greeting him like an old friend.

"I'm so wet, Steve," you whine back, pushing your hips against his fingertips while he strokes over your satin covered clit.

"Yeah, you're so wet for me?" he mocks, "I got you all worked up out there?"

"Y-yeah," you whimper while his fingers toy with your panty line, inching inward. He's smug when he feels what's waiting for him behind the fabric.

"Showing you off all night? Throwin' all my cash around?" he growls, a finger sliding in between your legs, "Givin' it all to you to hold on to? That got you all hot and bothered?"

"Y-yes, yeah," you nod, biting your lip to keep quiet.

"Oh-ho baby, they can't hear you out there -- party's gettin' a little rowdy," he teases, "Go ahead an' moan for me."

A second finger follows his first and you start whimpering with every thrust, every flick of his wrist. You grip the counter, skirt of your dress falling back as your thighs lift up and out involuntarily.

"Steve," you moan it like a prayer, it echos back at you, "Shit, fuck, just like that."

"Good girl, baby," he grins, more so when your hips rock in time with his fingers, "Oh, you showin' off now?"

"Sh-shut up, Steve," you chuckle between gasps, face crumpling again while he grazes your g-spot with his fingers. Your walls grip him, gushing over his knuckles. A lazy smile falls onto your face while your hips pick it's rhythm with his fingers.

"Love when you smile like that for me," he says softly, pressing a kiss against your lips -- the facade of your rich, sexy, big money fuck toy falling away, back to his Hawkins beginnings, "You look so beautiful."

"You think I'm beautiful?" you tease against his lips, but you know the answer.

"Don't think it, I know it," he whispers between pecks.

He takes out his wallet with his free hand, flipping it open, using his nimble fingers to pull out the condom he'd kept in there tonight just in case. His other fingers ease out of you slowly, tossing you a stern look when you whine.

"Be patient, pl-- Jesus, baby," he melts when you take his fingers, still shining with your slick, directly into your mouth. You make a big show of letting them leave your mouth with a wet pop, his mouth hanging open, eyes unfocused.

"Just wanted to clean up my mess," you say with an innocent shrug.

"You're gonna kill me," he breathes out, sliding the condom on and tossing the wrapper to his feet. Your legs part immediately, skirt of your dress falling way with your thighs, the roll of your tummy poking out to the cool air as you hold your legs up close to your chest.

"You're okay? You want this?" he asks, "I know you had a few."

"I want this," you nod, "I want it."

"Good, cause it's yours," he grins, gliding the tip down from your clit to your entrance, "S'all yours."

"All mine," you whine, sighing high and breathy while the tip breaches inside. Your hips roll instinctively to feel more of him and he obliges, pushing in a third of the way to feel you make room for him. The moan you let out makes him bite his lip. You feel so good around him.

"Who fills you up like me, huh?" he pants while he pulls out and pushes back in, gripping the fat of your thighs hard enough to bruise. "No one, Steve," you moan back, while he rocks against you, "P-please more, please." His lips fall open when you ask, "More, huh? You want all of it?"

You nod feverishly, gripping his shoulders, nails nearly ripping the fabric of his dress shirt as you pull him by the hips. He laughs, locking his hips in place where only half of him was snugly inside you. He adjusts his glasses, peering at your through them, "Say please again, angel." "Please, Stevie," you beg, hips shimmying. He tutts at you, pushing a little farther in and a whine peals through you.

"Like that?" he asks, "You want a little more?"

"Please, please, please," you huff, the stretch of him slowly moving in driving your eyes to the back of your head. The bulbous tip creeping past your g-spot unbearably slow -- juices seeped out of you over him.

"Please, please, please. All that whining, think this is all you can handle angel," he mocks gently, hand cupping your cheek. His thumb grazes over your lip while he starts his thrusts again -- half way to all the way out.

"No, no, all of it, please," you grovel, "Please. It's mine."

You bite your lip, eyes watering while the pleasure builds below your belly -- you're aching for the fullness of him.

Your eyes round in neediness, overtaken by the wetness between your legs, the way he touches you, "Please, daddy." "Fuck, baby," he groans while he pushes in to the hilt, lips finding yours while he readjusts. His arm reaches around your back to angle you differently, caging you in against the mirror on the wall. His other hand snakes up to the back of your neck, pulling you in for a deep kiss, all deep breaths and tongue. Steve's hips roll against yours, shallow thrusts to keep himself as buried inside of you as possible, "See what happens when you — mmm — ask me nicely?" You roll your eyes but he thrusts again and your head lolls back against the mirror, “Sh-shut up, you’re so— you’re so — ah! oh fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“I’m so what? We’re you gonna say ‘I’m so annoying’?" he grins into another kiss. You can feel his tip pushing against your cervix with every short thrust. Your body stretched around him with ease, making you gasp with every thrust of his hips, “M’so deep you can’t even talk right.”

He presses his forehead against yours, eyes shut tight while sweat builds on his forehead, "Oh shit, shit you feel so good."

"Harder, please," you whisper. He nods against you, picking up the pace of his thrusts and he has to cover your mouth to drown own the sounds coming out of you.

"Shh, shh, not too loud baby," he giggles, "Don't wanna lose my job."

You take a deep breath through your nose, trying to maintain your composure while you pulse tighter and tighter around him.

"Steve you...oh my god, yes, yes, like that," you slur out while he holds you steady on the counter, watching you come undone around him. "Say you're mine," he says, grunting between thrusts, "Say you're all mine."

"M'all yours Steve, all yours," you nod, eyes pooling with tears as each thrust sends you closer to seeing white, "Oh fuck, fuck -- I'm gonna cum, ohmygod m'gonna cum."

"Cum for me angel," he says through gritted teeth, getting close himself, "Cum for me."

Your legs vibrate when he pulls your hair to bare your neck to him, final thrusts sending blinding pleasure through your body. You shake and spasm beneath him, whining and mewling at the come down.

"That's it, baby," he coos while you gasp back to reality, "That's my girl." He buries his face in your neck when his hips stutter, groaning, gripping your legs so hard you know you'll bruise.

"Mmm, god," he grunts, "Oh fuck, I'm gonna -- oh, baby --"

You both rest against eachother, breathing heavy, hands roaming. He pulls out slowly while he softens, discarding the used condom in the trash. You go to move but he stops you, pulling up his briefs and pants and cleaning you up gently.

"You okay?" he asks, "That felt good?"

You nod, "Was it good for you?"

"Bathroom sex with my girlfriend? Oh, amazing," he smiles, helping you down off the counter.

"Girlfriend, huh?"

"Do you wanna be called something else? I'll call you anything you want," he bushes, "S'long as you're my girl, Manhattan."

"You're girl," you muse, "Steve Harrington's girl."

"Sounds really good, doesn't it?" he tosses you a cool look, "Lot's a girls would beg for that title."

"You're annoying," you huff, opening the door to the bathroom and peeking outside to check for people. The coast was clear and he leads you out to the hallway by the hand, heading over to the coat check.

"We're going home?" you ask.

"We're going to yours," he says.

"Why?"

"So we can start packing up your shit to bring to mine tomorrow morning."

[nootqueen404]

Angel's First Time - Devil's Last Meal

Summery: …shit I just realized I have no clue what to put for a summary. All I can really say is that this was based on an RP I did with @steveharringtonanonblog back in late September-early October.

Pairing: Vampire!Steve Harington x Fem!Reader, brief mention of Robin x Vikki and Nancy x Jonathan

Warning (DNI if you’re under 18): All of the characters are over 18! Drinking, swearing, blood, injuries, hardcore flirting, sexual themes, minor blood play, angst (‘cuz Steve was raised by emotionally detached parents and doesn’t know how to express love,) oral (M and F receiving), breeding kink if you squint, Steve breaking free from his nepotism baby status, lots of biting, lots of foreplay, throat training, choking, use of pet names, unprotected sex (for the love of god please use protection folks).

Halloween Night, 1988

Robin insisted that Y/N (who she affectionately called Angel) be her Plus One to Steve Harrington's Halloween Masquerade Party. Any other time Angel would be all in to go to a party, especially if it involved the incredibly handsome and charming Steve Harrington. But after the last few years romance wasn’t exactly at the forefront of her mind. She moved out of her parents' house in the summer of 1985 – before shit really hit the fan – and lost her apartment when the "Portal to Hell '' opened up a year later. Since then Angel has been staying at Robin Buckley’s house for free – in exchange for driving her to and from work (and trying to teach her how to drive.) She could have asked Vikki, but Robin is still trying to ease her way into a first date.

During those rides Y/N got to finally meet Steve Harrington. Robin and Steve became an unexpected duo after their time at Scoops Ahoy, then moving onto Family Video. Angel was always too nervous to really talk to him more than just saying “hi” and some light teasing. Apparently he was hit pretty hard when the Portal and earthquake too. His parents were gone; either they moved out or they died no one knows. They just kind of vanished. Since then he really pulled himself out of that hole; he inherited everything from his folks. When we say everything, we mean everything!                No more struggling to get by because his dad wanted to "teach him a lesson." He took some of that money he got and invested in stocks, that made his money double. Then he bought rights to Scoops Ahoy, money back then tripled after opening a dozen franchisees all across the midwest. Needless to say Steve Harrington went past just peeking in high school. But with all of that he's spent less and less time with Robin and the rest of his friends. Yeah, he had his own businesses to run and figuring out stuff with his dead parents; but people swore it was like he just locked himself away in that new mansion he bought and just drowned himself in his work...he doesn't even go on dates anymore. King Flirt Steve Harrington not dating? That’s insane.

Anyways, Robin was on Y/N’s ass to dress up for this party. The invites were very specific about the dress code – "It's Halloween; go nuts! Bring on the opulence, but make it edgy – you must incorporate leather, spikes, and/or harnesses." She told Robin the literal BDSM shit was fucking weird. The brunette just shrugged it off and said "It's Halloween at Harrington's. What else were you expecting?"                   Luckily Angel had some stuff lying around to make a pretty damn good angel costume, maybe a little on the nose come to think of it. Nancy Wheeler helped Y/N make wings out of this gorgeous iridescent leather stuff she found in her brother's D&D shit. Y/N kept it simple otherwise; white mini dress that hugged her curves, strappy silver heels, and her hair was teased. She also had a garter belt that matched her wings that kept her stockings up, white elbow length gloves, and all of the sparkle and glitter Nancy, Robin, and Angel could get their hands on. Robin went as a pirate, nothing too crazy. She was given an exception to the dress code since Steve and her were so close, and Robin has some sensory issues.

“Christ, Steve went all in with that inheritance, huh?” Angel said aloud as she parked the car.

Robin was fixing her eyeliner in the rearview mirror “Yeah, he's a real Daddy Warbucks now. She stopped and made a face “That felt wrong...”

“You said it, not me!” Y/N shot back with a laugh. “Jesus Christ, this dress is short!” She was struggling to adjust the wings while not flashing anyone.

The pirate got out of the car and helped her friend adjust the straps of her harness. “Yeah yeah shut up! You picked it out, remember?” she grabs the angel’s hand and dragged her up the walkway, “Come on! Dingus Warbucks is waiting!”

Angel rolled her eyes and followed along. Steve's security/wait staff showed the two girls the way into the main dining hall.

“Geez if I didn't know any better I'd say Steve was having one of those parties,” Angel’s eyes darted around all of the guests. “It's like the set of Hellraiser in here.”

The pirate let out a scoff “Nah, not even Steve would be that bold.” Suddenly they both heard cheers and clapping and looked to the grand staircase – it's Steve Harrington. “Oh god...spoke too soon.”

Ever since the earthquake, Steve had put on a fake front for everyone, though still laying back and focusing on his business. The deal with his parents was a messy one, he almost got caught, but if there's something he knows how to be, it’s persuasive. So now – the music booming loudly through the mansion; guest after guest entering the house, he never felt more content, and hungry. The party was just a fakery to get the one thing Steve really needed...blood. It's been a while since he had this much food in one room, but that just doubled- no, tripled the fun.         Making his way downstairs, the crowd cheered like he was the biggest fucking superstar, but they would do that for anyone who invited them into their home and offered them free drinks. Saluting them, the music turned down slightly so he could speak.

“Hello everyone; glad to see you here- Christ, there are so many of you!” He says in awe, hands settling on his waist. For him, they were nothing but chunks of flesh, filled with the essence of a long lasting life. “Tonight, will be a night of sin! So grab a drink and have fun!” He urges the crowd; already scanning the room for a potential prey, preferably girls since they're the easy one to wow. Just a bit of the Harrington charm and they're on their knees, begging for me to suck them dry.

"’Night of sin’?" Y/N looked at Robin “Okay he is shamelessly doubling down now.”

“That's what you noticed? Not that clown suit he's wearing?” Robin gestures to Steve's outfit. It could only be described as Dracula meets Jared the Goblin King; spooky, extravagant, and sexy. Intricate gold and jewels dusted his body from his dress shoes up to his eyes, which were lined with black and red eyeshadow.

“Oh yeah I definitely noticed” she replied, your eyes drifting to the slacks Steve was wearing. They hugged his body perfectly to the point she could almost make out his so-called “legendary length.”

Y/N were zoning out again when… “Hello?! Earth to Dingus!?!” Robin snapped her finger in front of her face.

“What? Oh! Hi Robin…” Angel said, grinning sheepishly.

All Robin could do was shake her head “And you call me shameless...” before she dragged the angel to the food and drinks. “Come on, I'm starving!”

Steve flashed a smile and received some more applause, letting the music play again as he walked down into the crowd and started greeting some people. Everyone was on point with the dress code, and he was pleased with it. It made him stand out less into the crowd. His costume...well, is it even a costume if you came dressed as yourself – a vampire? With every time one can imagine, and uncomfortably tight slacks, walking down the stairs, he was starting to regret his decision but that didn't stop him from going to the kitchen to grab himself a drink.

Angel couldn’t help but continue to look around the mansion at everyone. “Hey Rob?”

Robin turns around after grabbing her fifth mini quiche “Yeah?”

Angel fidgeted with her gloves as she spoke “I can’t help but feel like I’m underdressed for this…am I?”

“Pfft No way” Robin exclaimed, “You look amazing; absolutely gorgeous!”

Angel lets out a forced laugh as she grabs a few snacks on a napkin “Really? I’d say I look cute, pretty even. But not gorgeous.”

Pushing past people, Steve spotted Robin with a surprise guest he’d never thought he’d see at such a scandalous party. Steve rested back against the counter just behind the two girls, hearing their conversation. He crosses his arms, a smirk passing his lips “Well, I'd say you look gorgeous” he quips, stealing a grape from the bowl and popping it into his mouth.

The pirate turned around, her mouth dusted with crumbs “Hey!” She stuffs the rest of whatever she was eating in her mouth and gives her Plus One her plate. “What’s up dude?” She gives Steve a hug before pulling away quickly because she got crumbs all over his jacket, to which Angel let out a laugh. Steve chuckled and gave Robin an assuring pat on the back.

“Oh hey you remember Y/N, right?” she asks as she grabbed her friend’s arm and pushed her forward. “She used to drive me to work when you were babysitting the kids?”

Steve turned his attention to the petite angel once Robin nudged her friend closer, his mahogany eyes looking her over. “Mhm, yeah, how could I forget such a pretty face?” He takes the angel’s hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it instead of shaking it. “So, why did you come here?”

Pretty? Gorgeous?

She could feel her face heating up. “I’m-I’m-“ Angel caught her breath before speaking again. “Robin is still too chicken shit to ask Vikki out.”

Robin immediately throws a grape at her friend. “I am not!” she scoffs.

Steve catches the grape and eats it, laughing at their playful banter. He placed a hand to Robin’s shoulders “Alright, calm down. But I think we both know that's true.” Robin rolls her blue eyes, letting out a huff. “How about you go and try to win her over, hm?” he urges, pointing to the said girl.

Y/N and Steve watched Robin’s eyes follow his finger. Vikki Lee is talking to Jonathan Byers and Nancy Wheeler, wearing a stunning green princess dress. Robin turns beet red and mutters some colorful words under her breath. God she is so whipped for that girl!

“Come on Robin! The time is now!” Y/N grabbed two drinks from one of the butlers and gave them to Robin “For the fair maiden.” She gives Robin a wink before shoving her in Vikki’s direction.

“Okay holy fuck!” Robin laments loudly, almost tripping and falling “Jesus Christ…” Go easy on her Harrington! She’s delicate!”

Y/N just makes a face at Robin and flips her off as she disperses into the ocean of bodies.

“Worried I’m gonna bring her back broken?” Steve calls back, amused as he turns back towards Y/N, a smile playing on his lips. “I'm guessing this is not your usual weekend activity?” he asks, looking around the mansion.

“I haven’t exactly had the time to have fun,” she said with a shrug. “Since I started sleeping on Rob’s couch I’d been focusing more on work…” Y/N continued on as she grabbed a chocolate-covered strawberry “…rather than play.” She takes a bite and lets out a hum, juiced running across her plush lips. “But Robin said it would be good for me to let loose once in a while.”

The man lets out a chuckle “Good thing you're in the right place for playing.” His eyes followed her lips, licking his own instinctively before flicking back up to her face. “You know, I'm not offering this to many people, but I could show you around the mansion. It's a pretty big place and the party is only downstairs.”

The young woman rolled her eyes at Steve “Oh I’m sure you’ve never offered a tour to a girl” She said sarcastically as she finished the strawberry and handed the plate to him. “Same ol’ Harrington,” Y/N says with a knowing smile as she place a hand on Steve’s shoulder and walks off to the dance floor.

“Correction; I've never offered a tour to a girl as pretty as you.” Steve quickly places the plate on the counter, following the girl. “So, is that a ‘no?”

The angel turned around and shot Steve a playful wink, as if to say “Catch me if you can '' before disappearing into the crowd. Steve healed back a groan in his throat, eyes darkening slightly before he stalks her through the crowd. “I guess a little chase wouldn’t be too awful” he mutters to himself.

Y/N heard the other rumors: men and women going to the Harrington Mansion and never coming out. But let’s face it, nine times out of ten it was women. It was stupid really, obviously made up by the locals to add fire to the Post-Portal machine. She didn’t believe in it for one second. But if Steve wanted her so badly, then she was going to make him work for it. Rich or barely scraping by: he was still Steve - former King of Hawkins High, born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and a notorious flirt.

Angel found an opening on the floor and was finally able to let loose; hips swaying to the music as it thumped through the speakers. She spotted Robin and Vikki not far from her. Vikki was pressed up against the pirate and had her freckled arms snaked around Robin’s neck. Poor Robin looked like she was struggling to respect Vikki’s space, but Vikki clearly didn’t care. Y/N wished she had the chance to at least get one drink in her system before Steve started hounding her. Suddenly Y/N feels someone’s chest pressed flush to her back, one arm around her waist as the other offers her a drink, their lips lowering to her ear.

“…Caught you”

It was Steve again.

A small chill went down Y/N’s spine from Steve’s touch – both from the close proximity and how cold he was. The house was hot and stuffy, but his hands felt so cold. “Oh no it’s Lord Harrington!” She said playfully “Please don’t hurt me sir. I’m just an innocent angel.” She turned around to face Steve, batting her lashes at him and took a sip of her drink – a rum and Cherry Coke. He placed the other hand around her waist, pulling her close and joining the dance. Her eyes widened and she looked down at her drink. “Holy shit! Who made this? It’s wicked strong!”

“I thought angels weren’t supposed to swear?” Steve asked, his eyes inspecting her face and lips “Do you need me to get you a new one?”

“It’s my first day,” Y/N replied, “and I like them strong.”

“Strong, huh?” he says with a slight smirk, his arm slightly tightening around her waist, pulling Y/N flush to his body while they dance along. Leaning in, he presses his lips to her ear under the pretext of having to talk over the loud music. “I'll keep that in mind, my Angel. Now that I caught you, what should I do with you, huh?”

Her eyes fluttered closed, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. Damn he’s really good at this. She could feel her face getting warm from the rum. “Dance with me?” She asks as one of her hands rests on Steve’s broad chest and the other holds her drink.

He smirks and with a nod he pulls her close, leaning down close to her face – giving her the impression of going in for a kiss. Her breath caught in her throat as he moved in closer.

“I-“

His face went into the crook of her neck; groaning something unintelligible. The blood pulsed under her skin steadily, the faint scent of rum and something sweet lingering behind. Was it the fruit she just had, or maybe whatever perfume she had on? “Fuck-“ he murmurs quietly to himself, his fingers pressing into her skin.

Her grip on Steve’s chest tightened a little. She tried to calm her nerves with her drink, but all it’s doing is making the room spin and her body temperature rise. This had to be a dream. The Steve Harrington was dancing with her, someone who otherwise was a total stranger to him, and seemingly getting turned on by her?! I guess the perfume Y/N got for her birthday really does draw men in like a magnet.

They keep dancing. For Steve nothing around exists anymore, as the scent of the girl fills his lungs. She moved back and her shoe stepped in something wet, causing her to drop her glass and slip. The glass shattered on the floor.

“Shit!!”

Steve managed to secure her to his body, but one of her hands connected with the broken class on the floor, cutting her. “Oh my god I’m so sorry Steve!” She looks up at Steve with a panicked expression. She didn’t notice it, but Steve’s eyes darken, darting to the crimson red blood sliding down her palm

“No, no, it's fine,” he says, licking his lips. All that he wants is to bring her palm up and clean it up himself, but he keeps his ground. “We should...” he points to the stairs “We need to get you cleaned up.”

With a curt nod, she was helped up to her feet. “Good idea,” she said with a light chuckle. She definitely wasn’t drunk, but between the fall and her heels her movements were like a newborn deer. “I’d love a tour of your bathroom sir,” she laughs quietly. 

People make a path for them, making it easier to walk up the stairs, a surprised smile on his face at her words. “Gettin' bold, huh?” Steve helped her up the stairs as if she weighed nothing, one hand still around her waist and the other holding her bloody hand.

She laughs “You offered the tour first, ya know?”

He helps the young woman up the stairs carefully before walking her down the hall and into his bedroom. “The bathroom's right there” he says while pointing to the only other door in his bedroom.

Her eyes widened “Holy shit Steve!” She looked around the room while she walked towards the bathroom. “This is an awful lot of space for just one guy,” her eyes scanning her surroundings. She made it to the bathroom, which is about half the size of the bedroom. “This bathroom is almost as big as my old apartment.” She rummaged through the bathroom trying to find anything resembling a bandage; “Hey Steve, can you help me find the First Aid Kit, or whatever magic potion you mysterious rich guys use?” She asked.

Practically getting drunk on the smell of her, Steve nods at her requests for help. Pulling out a first aid kit from under the sink he chuckles. “Well, you're welcome to keep me around whenever you want.” She lets out a hiss every time he applies pressure to the wound. “Please be careful. Remember what Robin said; I’m ‘fragile.’”

Steve didn’t seem to be listening. “Oh, by the way...” Steve says, unwrapping some tissues and dabbing them over her cut, sucking a breath in as he concentrates. “I have a pretty big kitchen too, so I wanted to ask what we are going to eat tomorrow morning.” With a sly smirk on his face he asks, throwing the crimson paper into the toilet.

“Breakfast…with you?” She asked, perplexed “Steve, I only had one drink…” Her brows furrowed “and Robin needs a ride home…” Something is up, but Y/N can’t quite place it.

Steve cleared his throat as she dismissed his pretty obvious pick-up line; he finally wrapped her hand in some bandage. “Yeah alright, I guess the pick-up lines don't work on everyone the same.” He takes her uninjured hand and walks her to the bedroom again. “So you said you wanted a tour, here you have it, look around as much as you'd like.”

“No no no, you wanted to give me a tour,” The angel grins as she walks around the room absentmindedly.  “So you admit it now? You really are flirting with me, Harrington?” She asked with a laugh. “I guess some of the rumors are true…” she trailed off as she was admiring all of the classic artwork and the four-post California king bed. She could feel Steve’s eyes on her, making her feel a little self-conscious.

“Rumors? What rumors?” Steve asks with a chuckle, crossing his arms as he slowly makes his way behind her: just about letting himself be carried by her scent.

She quickly turned around to see Steve right next to her. “Jesus fuck! Don’t sneak up on me like that! Why are you looking at me like that?” She asked “Is there something on my face?” The angel looked up at Steve, her eyes looking into his.

“Oh yeah, here” he says, bringing his thumb up to brush over her lower lip “’Guess it was just a bit of the chocolate” with a small shrug he takes a step forward, coming even closer. “But what rumors are you talking about, my dear?”

“W-Well…” she paused and swallowed, her mouth went dry “There are a bunch.” She fidgets with the fresh bandages on her hand nervously. “That you got disfigured after the earthquake, which” she shakes her head “obviously didn’t happen.”

Steve flashes her a flirtatious smile from her indirect compliment as he crowed her. She felt Steve’s dark eyes looking her up and down. “That you did something to make your folks disappear…” His face kept getting closer, her voice started to shake. It was as if Steve was floating as he corners her against the wall by his bed. “That y-you lure girls here…” her voice was now barely above a whisper “and they never come back…” She feels her back hit the wall, startling her to see where she is.

He pretends to not know what she's talking about, though his parents are both buried underneath the mansion, along with tens of girls that lay there blood dry. “And you believe them, angel?” Steve asks, tipping her head up to look him in the eye, his fingers under her chin. Steve’s eyes used to be so warm and friendly; like amber on a sunny day. There were still some remnants of that, but what she saw now made her stomach flip: Steve’s eyes were dark, feral, and hungry.

Her heart was pounding, her fingers twitching, her brain flip-flopping between being afraid and being aroused. Wait, “aroused?” The guy looks like he’s about to kill you and use your skin to upholster his chairs…and you’re turned on?! She shook her head “N-No…honestly I don’t know what I believe in anymore.”

“Good, good...” He nods slowly, relieved that she doesn't accuse him of anything just yet. “You shouldn't believe those lies, ever.”

She lifted one, shaky hand and pushed the mask that Steve was wearing off. It clattered to the hardwood floor. He wasn’t horribly disfigured, far from it, but he was ghostly pale and cold as ice. Tears threatened to spill over, “Steve…” her voice cracking “…What are you?”

Steve licks his lips in anticipation as he expects her to push him away and run as fast as possible. And the truth is that he'd let her. He wouldn't run after her like he would to the rest, and feast on them until their skin turned an ungodly color. He happened to take a liking to her, from the brief conversation they held from time to time to now, being the embodiment of innocence as she trembles in front of him, dressed as a cute angel, it was almost like she dressed up to catch his eye specially. “Hmm, give it a guess,” he challenges, smirking.

She couldn’t answer him. It was getting harder and harder to form words, all she could do was try desirably to breathe and not cry. She wanted to run, try and scream for help, but he was so strong and so fast. Her eyes flicked down to Steve’s mouth; what she initially thought were just costume fangs, they weren’t fake. God damnit why is this turning her on?!?

Run away!

Run.

Run!

Steve was practically breathing her in now.

She licked her dry lips, still tasting whatever was left on them “Steve…”

Steve watches as she debates her options, seeing her wanting to leave. Though her heart and the way she's clenching her thighs tells him otherwise and just then he knows he's got her, no matter what she may want to do, he knows that at the end of the day he'll have her wanting with nothing more than this. “Yeah?” he asks, keeping his voice as light as possible, though sheer need is flowing through his veins.

Her hands stopped shaking and she took a deep breath, composing herself for just a second. She looked Steve deep in his eyes. He watches her curiously as she basically crumbles under her gaze, looking up into his eyes before uttering a few words.

“Kiss me.”

“Are you sure? You know I'll want a lot more than just that” Steve answers.

“I know…” She grabbed Steve by the lapels of his jacket and pulled him so they are face to face “I-…fuck…” the butterflies in her stomach were making it impossible to speak, let alone breathe. “I’ve wanted you for so long Steve” she said, her breath ragged. Steve’s jaw clenches at her sudden confession.  “I can’t…I don’t care if…Oh, fuck it!” She breaks the distance and kisses Steve.

He's quick to take control of the situation, pinning her to the wall with his body before one hand comes up to grab the back of her neck, keeping her close as their breaths intermingle and their lips move together. A content sigh leaves her throat as she gives in to Steve’s touch. She felt his tongue brush across her lower lip and she happily let him in. Thank God Steve had her pinned to the wall, because otherwise her legs would have given out from under her. He let her lips for a brief second, a single drop of saliva acting like the String of Fate between them.  “Steve…” She felt his hands rip off her mask and chuck it across the room.

He's quick to have his mouth on hers again, his fingers digging into her hip almost painfully. “Such a pretty little angel, “he mutters, brushing his nose along the line of her jaw, taking in that sweet scent of hers again. He clenches his jaw so as not to sink his teeth into her on the spot. “Dressed up all for me, huh?”

Her hands slipped from the man’s lapel to his back, clawing desperately to him. “Y-Yes” she said, desperation and need dripping from her voice “It’s all for you.” A moan slipped out of her as Steve’s fingers dug into the fat of her hips as she tried to wrap a leg around his waist. The young man obliges and helps the angel wrap her legs around his waist, pressing his lips to the column of her throat. “Steve, please…” she begged as one of her hands grabbed a fistful of the man’s wild hair “…take me, make me yours.” She tilted her neck up so she could whisper directly into Steve’s ear “Devour me…”

He growls something under his breath, probably a curse while she begs for him to take her. His cock hardened embarrassingly fast as the words 'devour me' fell from her lips. “Fuck...you have no idea what you're asking for...”

She lets out a frustrated groan “For the love of God! What do you want me to do, Steve?! Fucking Beg?!?”

“You already sound like you are,” he chuckles before inhaling her scent one last time. Steve presses his teeth into her skin, piercing it effortlessly, the sweetness flowing into his mouth as he groans as his hips push up into her.

A loud cry burst forth from her chest, tears finally flowing. “Th-Thank you….” she said while choking back sobs. Her nails dug deeper into Steve’s back as he fed on her. All of the fear melted away and pleasure took its place. “Oh my god…fuck!” She seemed to have no control over her body as she shivered each time Steve would stop to lap at the open wound “This feels…amazing! Fuck…”

The sweet taste encompassing his senses, he's practically feral as he laps and sucks at her skin, bruising starts to form on her neck. “Fuck...” He picks her up effortlessly – eliciting a yelp from the young woman – walking her back to the bed before throwing her on it; reclaiming his spot between her thighs as his lips go to the slow flow of blood again. “You taste amazing.”

Her own legs gave out and Steve slotted between them, his knee nudging her core. “Ah! Fu-“ she couldn’t help but grind down on his knee. She stretched her neck to give Steve better access. She was being eaten alive but she was the one getting blood drunk. “Do I?” She sighed.

Humming slightly at her neediness, he slots his knee between her thighs again, offering her the tiniest bit of pleasure he's going to deliver to her that night. “Oh you do...sweetest fuckin' thing ever.” His head swims with the taste of her, rocking down against her thigh, slowly suckling on the trail of blood dripping onto her skin.

Her head spun and her mind went blank - she wanted more. So she slipped one hand down to rub Steve through his pants, feeling him twitch beneath her. “I can feel that,” she said with a coy smile, her face breaking when Steve nudged her core just right. “Fuck, Steve…let me taste it.”

“Taste what, baby?” he asks, voice husky and breathy as he pulls away from her neck, a small drop of blood lingering behind and dripping to his chin. He rocks against her hand, biting his lip.

She pulled herself up and licked the blood dripping down Steve’s chin and neck; “everything,” she purred.

His tongue pokes at his cheek in thought before humming as he rolls over on the bed, lying beside her and against the headboard. A hand came up to palm himself over his cock just as she did, “You can start with this.”

With a chuckle, she sat up and pulled her shoes and gloves off before crawling over to straddle Steve’s lap. “Should I keep the wings and halo on too?” She asked rolling her shoulders to make the wings on her back move. Her hands went to work unbuttoning his jacket, tongue licking up residual blood from her soft lips.

“Don't you dare take those off,” he warns, reaching up to flick the halo gently, watching it swap on her head. Steve’s head tips back while she licks over his throat. “Why aren't you terrified?” he asks, a bit bewildered by her will to accept what was happening.

“That’s the thing,” she pulled away to look at him, still working away on Steve’s jacket “I am terrified; borderline scared shitless. But here’s the thing,” the angel gave him a warm smile “It’s kinda like a present; you can put as much wrapping paper and ribbons on it as you like, but it doesn’t change what’s underneath it all.” She sits back on her heels “You’re still Steve. You’re still the same charming, sweet, caring guy that I feel for years ago.” One hand went to her eyes to wipe away a few stray tears.

“Plus…” she laughed “You cried in the middle of Alien over because of how scared you were for the cat.” She leaned in to kiss his neck “not exactly cold blooded killer material.”

“You're crazy,” he mumbles, a bit amused at her confession before, bringing a hand up to palm at her breast. “Don't worry, we can play around, but I won't kill you. I happen to like you a bit more than the rest,” he confesses, tipping his head to the headboard, lips parting slightly as she begins sucking at the skin there, rolling his eyes at her words. “Who knows, maybe I've changed. Maybe I'm the monster everyone thinks I am.”

“If you keep calling yourself a monster I’m going to give you blue balls and leave,” she said while learning a particularly dark hickey on Steve’s neck. She pulled away and finally finished unbuttoning his jacket “the only monster here is your outfit” she said with a huff “I don’t want to ruin it, but it’s trying my patients!” Her hands slipped down to undo his belt and pants, slipping her hand inside to wrap around his length. 

Rolling his eyes he tugs on her hips harshly before pushing her off and climbing over her. The girl falls back with a resounding “Oof!” as Steve pins her down. “Quite the mouth you have on you, huh?” He works his pants open before pulling his cock out with a slight groan, slowly stroking himself. “You said you wanted a taste of everything?”

She’s taken aback; “Christ he’s massive!” She thinks to herself. “I told you, I’m new to the angel business,” she chides “but yes, I did say that.”

With a smirk, Steve moves his hand down, tugging at her bottom lip and letting it plop back into place. He shuffles over her, straddling her torso, cupping the underside of her jaw. “Open up, then.” He slowly rubs the flushed tip over her lips, biting his own with a hum.

The angel beneath him opened her mouth, sticking her tongue out to flick the angry, red tip. One hand gripped Steve’s thighs while the other reached to guide his cock into her mouth, letting out a soft moan.

He gasps as she takes him into her hot mouth, clenching his jaw to keep himself from thrusting himself as deep as possible into her throat, a hand coming down to pull off the halo. “Not so angel-like to have a cock down your throat, you know?”

She lets Steve’s cock slip out “Are you sure it’s not my mouth that earned me my wings?” she asks with a mischievous smile before taking his cock back into her mouth – bobbing her head and swirling her slick tongue around him with a hum.

He grips her hair, pushing himself back inside he is pressed up against the back of her throat. He gazes down at you with a knowing smile “We’ll see...” He groans slightly before picking up a pace, enjoying every bump and ridge her mouth has to offer.

She moaned around his cock from Steve tugging her hair, causing his cock to slip. Her eyes watered as she started up at him. But she grabbed his thighs and pulled him back in again. It was hard because Steve was both long and thick, but she wanted to make the man above her feel just as good as he did to her.

Steve moans as he steadies himself against the headboard before beginning to fuck into her mouth. She was pulling all sorts of sounds from him, a hand raking through his hair as it flops in his face. Spit dribbled out of the corners of her mouth as the man above her came undone. The smell of Steve’s cologne and natural musk assaulted her senses, as her fingers worked to massage his balls. She hollowed her cheeks around him she squirmed underneath him, rubbing her thighs against each other.

“Such a sweet angel, takin' my cock down your throat,' ' he chuckles, almost amused by the contradiction between her actions and her costume. “Dressed all innocent f'me just so I can ruin you, make you the dirty girl I know you can be,” he stops, pushing her head down and keeping it in place while pushing in slowly. His jaw slackened by each inch that goes inside of her mouth; sliding into her throat and wiping a stray tear before staying there, admiring the way her lips stretch around him.

All the young woman could do was let out a soft whimper of acknowledgment from his teasing. Her eyes pleaded for Steve to touch her, but they soon went wide. She slapped his thigh; she needed air.

Through his pleasure, Steve registers her silent request and he pulls off. His cock glistening with her spit as a web of it snapping between the flushed tip and her lips, he looked down at her and moved off of her. “What do you say? Think I can ruin you now?”

Breath ragged, she pulled herself to a sitting position. “Christ Steve…have you always been like this?” She asks while motioning to his cock “Or is that a new thing for vampires?” Her hand slips down to her clothed core to finally be able to touch herself, her head rolling to the side and a soft smile on her face.

“Like what?” he asks curiously, following the movement of the hand before urging her to show him how she touches herself. He’s looking up at her, waiting for her answer, his fist giving his straining cock a few tugs.

“You know,” she said with a huff and cheeks flushed “being that big.” Her hand dipped under her panties to take a swipe at her pussy, letting out a strangled moan “Fuck…” Steve’s free hand grabbed her wrist to see how wet she was.

His hand swipes through her folds, grumbling something about how wet she was under his breath before huffing out a laugh. “Yeah, actually. Got some girls backing out because they were too scared, but you're not, right? You're a brave angel and you'll take it all.”

She shrugged “Brave, crazy; same difference.” Her jaw falls open when she feels Steve’s fingers brush her just right, his cold skin nudging her clit. “Oh my god…” Her bandaged hand pulled his hand closer, whimpering for his attention.

He smirks proudly at her reaction, her skin prickling with goose bumps because of his cold touch while she tugs his hand closer. “If you're acting like this when I barely touch you, I can't imagine how you will when I put this big fucking cock inside of you,” he teases, pinching her clit.

A small cry escaped her lips, but they soon turned into a smirk. “I’m surprised you haven’t tasted the rest of me yet. I’ve been told I’m very sweet.” Mentally she was thinking that she was going too hard; that she was playing with fire by egging on a vampire as intense and cocky as Steve Harrington. But she was – for all intensive purposes – a brat. Even before he became a vampire, she loved to tease Steve.

“Maybe I'm saving it for round two,” he proposes, leaning closer to her ear with a hum, fingers pulling out of her underwear. “One thing about vampires, they have insane stamina...so I might take you up on that offer.” Crawling down her body, his teeth barely nip at her stomach, licking the little droplet of blood before moving lower. Coming face to face with her clothed cunt and her dress now discarded on the floor. All that was left was some flimsy material covering her pussy. Tugging with his teeth at the waistband of her panties, he lets it snap back into place before pulling it off, brushing the tip of his nose over her inner thigh, pressing his lips to it before moving up to where she was dripping for him.

She stammered as she’s pushed back down on the bed. “Round two?” “Stamina?” Dear lord, she really was playing with fire! This was a whole different type of danger. Her mind was going a million miles a second and empty at the same time until she felt the snap of her panties. “Ah-fuck!”

“And then three, then four, then five...” he teases, seeing the amazed, yet terrified look on her face. Throwing her one more look, he hums before pushing his face into her cunt, beginning to lick at her, thighs over her shoulders.

The loudest gasp fell from her lips - “Holy shit! Steve I-…” Her train of thought was cut short as she felt him pin her legs above her. “Oh my god baby…fuuuuuuck!” Her uninjured hand shoots down to grip onto Steve’s hair.

Steve kept her folded in half, his hands at the backs of her knees. He pushes himself with her clit, rapidly working against it with moans and grunts as she tugs and pulls at his hair just as she wills. As if she couldn’t be any more stimulated, she felt Steve’s fingers prod at her folds. He brings his hand to her entrance, swiftly pushing two fingers into prod and searching for her sweet spot. Her moans are muffled from burying her head in the pillows. “Holy shit! How are you…fuck…how are you so good at this?! God-!”

As she moans, sound muffled so his nails dig into her leg “Look at me,” he urges, leaning down to her clit again while keeping his eyes on her.

The angel pulled her head back and forced herself to look at Steve. Her pupils were blown and the knot in her stomach grew tighter. “Oh god,I-I fuck I’m getting so close already,” she said, her whimpering getting louder. She pulled her uninjured hand back up and bit down on it to keep herself quite; fearful that someone else might bear them.

He moans against her, eager to receive the show which is her, cumming all over his face and fingers. Steve’s long fingers were now getting bolder and faster, as did his tongue working her closer to the edge.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck! Fuck Steve! Just like that! Just like that!” Her voice was getting higher and her breathing became shorter. “Oh god Stevie shit- please!” She was practically begging at this point when the knot in her snapped and her orgasm slammed into her, crying out his name.

Steve groans lowly as he coaxes her through it, he leans his head to the side, licking over her inner thigh. “Think I can have a taste here too?” Steve asks, his eyes gleaming.

Once she has calmed down she lets out an exhausted laugh. “I’m pretty sure you’ve more than earned that, honey,” she says while brushing a strand of hair away from Steve’s face.

Nodding against her, Steve’s dark eyes stay locked onto her thigh before he leans forward and sinks his teeth into her inner part of her thigh; immediately indulging in her blood. He rolled his hips down against the mattress with a strained moan, eyes rolling back.

She winced a little from the pain. “Mmmmmm, that’s it baby,” she cooed as she stroked Steve’s head. The sight of the man grinding his hips into the mattress making her chuckle, “Does my blood turn you on, Stevie? Does it taste better than my cum?”

Steve answered with a silent nod against her thigh; he stops his hips with one last rock, not wanting to rile himself up more than he already was. He licked the remains of the blood which slowly dripped out. “M'so fucking hard, god it hurts, can I fuck you now?”

She leaned down and captured Steve’s lips with her own, the taste of her own blood and juice making her moan. “Awe poor baby,” she leaned in to kiss behind Steve’s ear “Do it…please fuck me, Steve.”

Steve was not wasting any time before he's hovering over her, pulling at his pants and pressing his flushed tip to her entrance. Her walls were still fluttering shallowly as the remains of her orgasm faded away. Slipping a hand around her neck, he squeezes, leaning in for another kiss while slamming in suddenly, shuddering at the warmth of her.   She rolled her hips to tease his angry cock against her folds, but was forced back against the bed when Steve slammed into her, burying himself to the hilt.

“Mmmmmm fuuuuck!” her hands grabbed the man by his forenames, her head spinning from lack of oxygen and pure want.

His head close to hers, Steve’s lips parted and panting against her temple, pushing even closer into her. His cock nudged her walls as the grip on her throat slackens slightly, letting her breathe for a moment. “Even better than I imagined, shit...”

“You’ve dreamed about me? About this?” She asked through gasps of air. “H-How long?” Steve felt massive compared to her past lovers, then again he was. It was no shock that a man who is almost six feet tall would be well-endowed. But Steve was a whole different breed of big.

“So fucking long, you have no idea,” he breathes out against her ear, giving the first tentative move of his hips, groaning into her ear. “All the time I’ve jerked off thinking about you. God you have no idea!”

Her cheeks turned into the prettiest shade of pink over Steve’s words; as his hip started to move. “Oh my god…m-me too. F’so long…” moans kept cutting her off midway. “I’ve-fuck! Steve you feel amazing!”

Pulling away from her, he sits up on his knees, slowly grinding his cock into her teasingly. “Does my sweet girl want to be fucked, hmm?” he asks teasingly, wanting her to beg for him.

“What? Nooo!” the angel whined, her hands reaching out for Steve “you’re so mean!” His eyes sparkled with mischief in the light. She looked up at him with her doe-eyes wide “Please…”

“Shh, it's okay. How can I say no to a pretty angel like you?” he coos, sliding back in and picking up a pace. He cursed under his breath at the sensation before he grips the headboard with one hand, the other latched onto her hip.

“Fuuck~” her back arched as her walls hugged Steve’s cock “Oh fuck Steve!” Her arms wrapped themselves around his back, digging her nails into his freckles skin. Her eyes met his, her lips parted; “Steve…” All that mattered was this very moment: her and Steve Harrington. His cold hands exploring her body, his skin slick with sweat and blood, Steve’s dark eyes boring into her soul.

She was afraid, but not for the original reason as before. Those dangerous three-letter words were caught in her throat. They’ve been stuck there for years. Steve did say he wanted to let her live; that he’s wanted her for years, but she was afraid.

Did he only want her for just a quick fuck? For food?

What’s going to happen when all is said and done; “Yeah that was a great time. Goodnight and maybe I’ll call you later?” Then immediately ghost her? What if she says them…right now? Will it make him stop? Will he shut her out?

 “God baby...” Steve’s nails push into the plush skin of her hips in tandem with hers, his back arching into her, pressing closer and seeking out the warmth he's been lacking. His cock continuously nudging at her walls, he bites his lip tightly, looking down at her through hooded eyes. “You're so...so gorgeous....”

Steve’s words snapped the angel back to reality. For the first time tonight she saw the eyes she fell for before. Soft, warm, a little playful – flacks of hazel and amber brought out by the lamplight.

“I love you.”

His hips stuttered at her weak words, barely hearing them. “W-what?” His rhythm slows down slightly, letting himself breathe again. “What did you say?”

Her body was burning up; both from pleasure and fear. “I said ‘I love you,’ Steve,” she said, her eyes wet with tears, fearful of what’s to come. If her life is going to end tonight, she might as well go without guilt haunting her heart. It felt like a ticking time bomb; either way it’s going to blow.

His eyes almost bulge out of his head, swallowing tightly as he falls into silence. She looks back up at Steve, her eyes searching his handsome features for some semblance of an answer. Every second ticking by was draining her mind and body. “Please, say something!” she shouted as her voice shook.

“Why?” It's all that comes out of his mouth, still deep inside her, looking at her a bit baffled. “You love me? Don't think we're that close just yet, you might be confused or something.” Shaking his head, he says “It's the sex talking....”

The vice grip on her heart tightened more and more. “B-Because I do, okay?! I just do! It’s not the sex!” She sputtered. “I’ve always had feelings for you Steve; since, I don’t know, 6th grade? Back when you didn’t even acknowledge Robin and I’s existence.” Hot tears spilled from her eyes. “You know what? Forget it! God, I’m so stupid!” She tried to pull herself away from Steve’s grip, but she was too tired and weak to get anywhere. “I should have just kept my mouth shut; should have just stayed home. God, I’m a fucking dumbass!”

She struggled more, but Steve still had a grip on her. She let out a shaky laugh “To think Steve Harrington, in any form, would ever feel the same way. No matter how much he flirted with me, how much he teased me. All those times he’d touch me or was nice to be were nothing! I’m just another bag of meat and blood.”

Reluctantly, Steve pulls out of her with a hiss, his heavy length slapping to his stomach and glistening with her slick as he pants. “I mean...I do like you, really like you, but I don't think I love you just yet...” he confesses with a shrug, only seeing her in a romantic way for a few months at least. “You're not…c'mon! Do you think you'd even be alive right now if I didn't like you; if I really thought of you as just food?”

She was just grabbing her dress and the remnants of her panties when Steve’s questions, his words cutting through the tension like a hot knife through butter.

“Just yet.”

You’re still alive.

You haven’t bled out just yet. You haven’t been bled dry.

You’re still alive.

He likes you.

She felt a calloused, cold hand tentatively brush her shoulder, finger gently tracing up her neck to cup her cheek. Steve turned her face to look into her eyes; soft, almost vulnerable. Could a vampire even be capable of feeling vulnerable? Nevertheless, Steve Harrington was telling the truth. Her bandaged hand reached up to hold the hand on her face. She felt the bed dip as Steve shifted closer to her. She leaned up and rested her forehead against his.

“I'm sorry for not being able to say it back,” he murmurs, leaning against her forehead, pressing his lips to hers with a hum. “But I like you, I really like you Y/N” he said seriously, his cock still straining, but not paying any attention to it.

  She kisses him back, a soft smile growing on her lips. There’s still hope. She pulled away with a sigh, “I forgive you.” Her free hand traveled back down to Steve’s waist, tracing small circles on his skin just shy of his still-angry erection “Just know you like me too is enough.” The hand dipped down to trace up his cock, feeling him shutter.

“Fuck...we-we don't have to if you don't want to,” he manages to get out, not wanting her to feel forced into finishing what they started.

“Oh my, the big bad vampire is backing down?” the angel teases as she suckles on Steve’s neck “Don’t start getting soft on me now baby.” She pulled him back so he was on top of her again. “I absolutely want to continue, Stevie.”

Snorting slightly, his smile fades before leaning down to silence her, kissing her deeply. “Yeah, no chance I'm getting soft any time soon.” He smirks at his pun, fisting his cock before pushing the tip against her entrance again.

She rolls her hips to grind down on Steve’s cock; a small whine passing her lips. “Mmm fuck please Steve.”

“Please what? Want my cock again? Greedy angel...” Steve breathes out, pushing in again until he's buried to the hilt inside of her, relishing in the warmth.

“Mmmmmm fuuuck yes” she moans as Steve bottoms out inside of her. Her hands grip onto his back. “Shit babe…”

His body arches into hers as her nails dig into his skin, his hips picking up that harsh pace again, slamming into her over and over again, wanting her to cry out for him. Her breasts bounced with every thrust, her hair fanned out on his pillow. It was ironic to say, but the girl below him truly looked like an angel. Her voice calling out Steve’s name like a siren’s song; and it all was drawing him in closer to his own release. “You’re so fucking gorgeous Angel,” he groaned “This pussy...”  Steve dipped his head down to feed from her again.

“Oh my god, Steve,” she moaned as she clung to him with all of her strength “I’m so close.” Her body trembled beneath him “Oh god, please Steve! Please let me cum! Please! Please! Please let me cum! Fill me!”

Steve pulled back to look into her eyes, her blood dripping from his swollen lips. He slipped one hand down between them to viciously rub her clit as his thrusts became sloppier. “You want me to fill you, Angel?” Steve teases and his voice laced with lustful venom. “Do it! Cum all over my fucking cock and I’ll drown this pussy! Drench it!”

Almost as if on cue, Y/N’s orgasm ripped through her body. Her velvet walls clamped down on Steve as he lost all sense of control. His hips slammed into her at an unrelenting pace before he too became undone; painting Y/N’s insides with his seed. 

Steve didn’t expect his own orgasm to be as intense as it was. Like he said before, vampires have incredible stamina. But here he was, clinging to the girl below him as if she was about to be blown away by a gust of wind. His breath was ragged and Steve felt like someone just ripped a blindfold off of his eyes. Steve’s bedroom was too bright, his body felt sticky, and his cologne was too strong. The parties going on downstairs was too loud.

Oh shit, the party!

Steve Harrington finally came back to his senses and shook off the last of his post-orgasm brain fog. He looked down at the angel that just rocked his world, his dark eyes looking her over for signs of life. “Shit shit shit! Hey!” Steve shook her lightly as he called out her name. Sheer panic pumped through his veins; “please don’t be dead!”

The young woman was very much alive, albeit a little delirious from having her brains fucked out of her. “Mmm yeah?” she asks with a dreamy sigh.

“Oh thank god you’re alive,” Steve says to himself if anything.

She let out a chuckle as the woman propped herself up on her elbows “Of course I’m alive, you dork.” Her tired eyes still sparkled with wonder and affection like before as she looked at Steve. “Honey?” 

“Yeah?”

“You’re crushing me,” she said.

“Oh fuck!” Steve pulled himself back on his haunches and gently pulled himself out of her with a hiss. “Sorry about that,” said Steve sheepishly “I – uh – I’ll be right back. Okay?” Steve hops off the bed and scrambles to put his clothes back on.

“Okie dokie,” she replied with a relaxed giggle as she watched Steve struggle to button his jacket.

Even without the slight hiccup (if you wanted to call that sudden confession that) Steve Harrington was completely spent. Everything was too bright, too loud, and he needed to make it stop. He scrambled out the door, hair disheveled and his shoes long gone, and crashed right to one of his servants. “Carter!”

“Ah Master Harrington!” the young man exclaimed as he tried to back onto his feet. Steve offered a hand and pulled Cater back up “What is the matter? Is everything to your liking?”

“Yes! I mean no! I mean,” the older man shook his head before trying to speak again “Fuck! Everything is good. I think it’s time we wrap everything up.”

Carter looked at his boss dumbfounded. “You want to end the party now?” He takes out his pocket watch to check the time “But sir it’s not even 2AM. I would have figured you would have wanted to stick to the scheduled 5AM cut off.”

“Well there has been a change of plans,” Steve replied while pacing back and forth, biting his thumbs in deep thought “Have the others make sure our guests aren’t too intoxicated to drive home. Anyone who is can stay the night in one of the spare bedrooms. Oh! And make sure Robin has the nicest guest bedroom for her stay.” That pacing soon turned into Steve running down the hall, barking out orders to whatever staff he came across. Vampires are known for their speed too, and usually Steve would be doing everything in his power to not show off his newfound skills. But right now he didn’t give a damn. His body felt like he stuck a fork in an electrical outlet.

Steve Harrington – in all of his chaotic and disheveled glory – ran straight to the top of the stairs that overlooked the dance floor, his eyes wild and frantic. “Everyone out!”

The people below looked up, murmuring to one another about their host’s sudden change in demeanor. “He can’t be serious, can he?” asked one man. “Seriously dude?! The party is just getting started!” shouted another.

A borderline demonic snarl came out of Steve as he screamed from the balcony: “Get out!”

Whether in fear for their safety or just fed up with the host’s hostile change of heart, everyone in the mansion slowly made their way out to their cars. A few were able to stay behind and - per Steve’s request - stayed in one of the dozen guest rooms. Robin and Vikki were blessed with sharing the largest and nicest of those rooms, which was one part for Robin’s safety and ten parts Steve being her top tier wingman. As soon as the coast was clearer, Steve turned to the small army of servants and dropped to his hands and knees.

“M-Master Harrington!” exclaimed Carter “Are you..”

“I’m sorry!” Steve blurted out, his forehead laying flat on the marble floor.

“Excuse me, sir?” asked one of the maids.

“I’m so sorry for yelling at all of you! I’m sorry for being an asshole all of the time!” he continued on, never lifting his head “I’m sorry for everything I’ve put all of you through!” Steve soon got back on his feet with a huff. “I’ll help you all with the clean up in just a moment, I just…”

Carter, who has known the Harrington Family for decades and Steve along since birth, puts two and two together in his mind. He walks over and places a firm but gentle hand on the young man’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Master Harrington. I got this.” The man turns on his heels and claps his hands “Alright everyone! You heard the Young Master. Let’s get our overnight guests situated.” He looks over to one of the maids “Miss Abigail, could you make sure that Lady Buckly and Lady Lee have fresh towels and a change of clothes for the night?” Abigail gives her boss a quick nod and scurries off to the laundry room. Carter continues on giving orders to the rest of the staff while Steve runs to the kitchen.

Steve flings open cabinet doors, searching all over for something. “Fuck! Where did I put the good First Aid kit?” he said to himself, “She’s gonna need something for her headache later…and the bite marks.” He starts to pull at his own hair in frustration. “Come on Steve, think!” A gentle tap on his shoulder lets him know that Carter had finished instructing the others.

“Are you looking for this?” Carter asks while holding up a red plastic box with the words “First Aid” on the front in one hand. In the other was a glass of water and a small packet of ibuprofen.

Steve took all of the items from him, placing the unopened packet between his lips. He gave Carter a curt nod of appreciation and a muffled “Thanks” before shooting back upstairs to his bedroom. He freezes as soon as he reaches his bedroom door. “Why am I so freaked out? I mean, yeah. I like her. Like, I like her a lot. But why is my heart racing? I thought I didn’t have a heartbeat anymore,” Steve rambled on to himself before shaking his head and opening the door as quietly as he could.

What he saw took his breath away; Y/N was curled up in his bed fast asleep, a peaceful smile on her face and wearing nothing but his button down shirt. She didn’t look to be in any sort of pain or distress from having been bitten all over; just exhausted from her ordeal. Steve cautiously walked over to and placed the glass, the first aid kit, and the medicine on the bedside table.

“Y/N?” he whispered, his long fingers brushing a strand of her hair out of her face. A small groan let Steve know that the girl was, in fact, still alive and somewhat capable of listening, which made him let out a sigh of relief. “Sweetheart you have to get up and get cleaned up first before going to sleep.”

“Pancakes,” she replied softly.

“What?”

“You asked me earlier what I wanted for breakfast,” she replied “Could we have blueberry pancakes tomorrow?” she asked. Her eyes opened ever so slightly to gaze up at Steve and the smile from before letting out a sweet giggle.

The young man let out a laugh and kissed the angel’s forehead, “Of course, my Angel. Whatever you want is yours.” Without you noticing Steve had gone into his bathroom and returned with a warm washcloth to clean her up. No way in hell was he going to subject this saint to a shower or even a full bath. Once he was done Steve simply tossed the rag on the ground and joined her in bed. His strong arms pulled the young woman close to him, wrapping himself around her like a blanket.

Little did she know, Steve Harrington was finally satisfied. He also was a dirty rotten liar about what he said about his feelings for Y/N. He didn’t like the woman.

Steve Harrington was completely beside himself; totally enamored and  hopelessly devoted to Y/N. Even if her blood wasn’t the most delicious thing he’s ever had; a true aphrodisiac, Steve had been drawn to her charm and sweetness for so long. In one night Y/N Y/L/N had completely upended all of his plans for the rest of his life. He was already making a mental list of what needed to be done for His Angel to move in with him. Steve was ready to make this girl as many blueberry pancakes her little heart desired.

This young woman had tamed the devil himself. This angel was, in every sense of the word, his last meal.