u r genuinely so talented!! i would love to see a steve x reader fic from u too 😁😁
. ݁₊ ⊹ . loyal customer ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.
steve harrington x fem!reader
a/n: idk how i feel about this but i want to give you guys something since i love you guys so much. i am mostly referencing steve from my family video hcs here sooooooo. maybe as a precursor. but i made a 100 on my org chem exam so this is my gift to the world..... here i come :3... also card readers didn't exist in the eighties im sorry please dont throw tomatoes at me pls its kinda part of the joke. also travis martinez hcs coming after this and also more mike stuff hehhahhah. ok but seriously please tell me whether you guys like this or not im quite queasy about this okay love you guys bai. STEVE IS SUCH A DORK IN THIS!!!! KLUTZ!!!!!!!
wc: 2,2k
ding, ding, ding! your palm slams down on the call bell. you scowl, staring at the break room door with your new hot date, tommy, caressing your back gently.
"ugh, the workers here are so useless," you groan lightly, turning your face to tommy. you try to fight the smile pushing on your lips, but his freckles were so beautiful and his eyes so kind you couldn't help but cheese. you bring a hand to caress the side of his face. "tommy," you coo before the door into the back swings open. you turn your attention back over, placing the box face up on the counter with an unimpressed expression.
"slow day?" you snicker, eyebrows furrowed as steve the hair harrington fixed his vest for service. his lip twitches as he semi-mumbles an answer, a little distracted by your company.
"just this one?" he asks, scooping up the box for risky business in his hand as he distractedly watches tommy's face. tommy answers for you, nodding all macho-ish. even though his face was sickeningly cute, tommy's actions icked you all the way out. perhaps that was why kissing him was the best, he never had the opportunity to speak! "it's a good one, you seen any more of tom cruise's stuff?" steve asks, mostly aimed at you while you curl a strand of hair around your manicured index finger.
"what about that new one that just came out? color of money?" tommy responds instead, raising his eyebrows with a low whistle. "nice one." steve looks a little unamused at his ex-teammate, nodding slowly as he types the movie's code into the computer.
"yeah..." he rings back mindlessly, slipping the box under the counter and trading it out for the actual tape. "who's account do i put it under?" steve asks, his fingers already hovering over the keys. you raise your hand with a polite smile.
"mine is alright." you tell him your full name as if he didn't know it already, typing it out into the computer.
"sweet date, tommy. making your girl pay." he comments sarcastically, scoffing under his breath.
"what's that, harrington? just do your job, video boy," he semi-threatens, appearance tightening. you take a step forward towards the counter so his hand would fall off your back. he looks at you a little puzzled as steve slides you the tape.
"thanks," you nod, giving him a toothy grin before turning around. tommy takes a beat, expression sour before he turns around to sling his arm around you. steve watches your backs recede out of the store, laughing muffled as tommy opens his car door for you.
"dick," robin remarks as she sneaks up from behind, watching steve's bitter eyes. he scoffs, raising his eyebrows.
"tell me the fuck about it." he replies with his arms crossed.
𑁍ࠬܓ
much to nobody's surprise, you and tommy are not compatible. although he was cute, he spoke exclusively in chicago cubs statistics and you, unfortunately, were interested in the rest of the known universe. your faces of disdain and small, unconvincing excuses to avoid seeing him did little to put him at ease and his insistence on the chicago cubs made your eye twitch.
"what about that harrington?" he chuckles, setting the tan paper bag on his kitchen counter. another plus, american dudes loved to move out young! "what a moron," he adds as if it's a harmless little observation he picked up on the way. you hum, slipping the cassette out of its sleeve.
"what about him?" you ask, focused mostly on the back of the tape. suddenly the font on the back of the cassette demands your full intellectual attention.
"you didn't see the way he was talking to us?" he asks with a tone of disbelief, mouth curling up to the side.
"like what?" you shake your head, looking at him with confusion.
"he was totally trying to hit on you." tommy shakes his head, as if you're the most clueless thing in the world. you let out an impatient huff.
"was he hitting on me, or were you too busy digging in your own ass that you forgot that other men are allowed to speak to me?" you argue in a calm voice, eyes narrowed on him. it's a moment before you bite your lip with a pang of regret hitting you. the room goes quiet apart from the rumbling washing machine. "sorry." ach, awkward!
"you're, um," he nods, eyebrows raising. "you're good," he shakes his head. "let's watch the movie and get to bed," he supposes with a polite nod, fingering at the inner corner of his eye.
the next afternoon, you returned a movie you didn't finish.
𑁍ࠬܓ
you push the door into the family video, psychedelic furs playing softly over the speakers. sundays are busy days. you queue in line, biting your lip as you stare at the posters of the new films. the line moves up but you don't realise until the kid behind you kicks the back of your leg. you scoff, spitting some jumbled insult at him in your head as you move up to the counter.
"oh, hi, robin!" your expression changes instantly, mouth curving up into a tall smile. she says your name back with relish, taking the tape you set down on the counter.
"risky business? ...heard it was for date night." she grins, her cheek scrunching up on one side from her cheeky insinuation.
"so you have," you hum, tucking a stray curl behind your pierced ears. you feel a little awkward, holding the truth over her head.
"how was that?" she asks, typing into the computer before she kneels under the counter for a moment.
"well, we didn't finish it and i dumped him on the drive home," you confess bluntly. she looks at you with a pleased chortle.
"attagirl," she banters playfully, sliding the tape into its sleeve and putting it under the counter. she types something into the card reader. "so no more cubs stats?" you can't help but laugh at her. she's so quick, it's upsetting.
"retired jersey," she earns a shake of the head, handing her your plastic card, orange shining in the overhead commercial lights. she chuckles at the comment. as she swipes the card, a loud clatter rings from the horror section. you peek around robin's big computer.
steve despairs as he knocks over the new christine restoration stand. he puts the display back up, peeking over his shoulder at robin for help. she just widens her eyes at him to scold him telepathically.
"what he gets for gawking," she snickers, handing your card back.
"huh?" you chuckle mindlessly, shoving your card next to your id.
"oh, nothing, just that he went crazy over that interaction yesterday. was probably eyeing you up." she suggests, her words quick and jumbled as if she was gonna die if she said it any slower. you just laugh.
"what's that supposed to mean?" you put your wallet back into your back pocket while the receipt comes out slowly, squawking as it slides out.
"whatever you think it means, my beloved." she hums sweetly, handing you your ticket with a smug expression. you look at her with a puzzled face but she just moves onto the little shit behind you, shoving you out of the way as you gawk at steve this time. you let out a small oof at the push, taking it as a sign to get yourself out of there.
𑁍ࠬܓ
little strands of hair stick to the back of your neck with moisture, your face still fresh from the shower. it had been days since you saw steve at family video and for some reason, you still had it stowed away deep in the titular crevice of your brain.
his panicked expression. his awkward chuckle, warm smiles to the woman that helped him pick up the empty boxes of the tapes. you sit up, legs still tucked under the covers and reach over to your night stand.
you hold the phone up to your ear, pressing the transmitter into your cheek as you click steve's number in haphazardly from memory. after a moment, the speaker makes a noise of the phone being taken off the base.
"yello?" a voice echoes into the speaker.
"hi, is this family video?" you decide playfully. you can hear his breath hitch over the phone, mouth morphing into a grin.
"maybe, who's asking?" he says thoughtfully.
"well, i was wondering if—" you're quickly interrupted.
"you didn't answer my question," he hangs it over your head, winning a laugh out of you.
"well, i wish to stay anonymous." you argue.
"i hate to break it to you," he adds your name at the end just to play. "you can't quite rent a tape anonymously," he tells you regrettably. he doesn’t mention tommy, whatsoever. you suspect he heard you at the store.
"i didn't know they hired stalkers at family video?" you quirked a brow, shifting over your comforter.
"only when loyal customers stop coming in," steve defends himself nobly.
"the store survives without me, i trust?" you ask, twisting the phone cord around your thumb.
"barely," he huffs, raising his eyebrows on his end.
"oh, i'm sure. how's my favourite clerk?" your expression is painted with a wide grin.
"i'm doing quite well, thanks for asking," he says with some warmth in his voice.
"no, no, no, i meant robin, of course," you shook your head, rolling your eyes with faux annoyance.
"oh, i see how it is," his voice cracks boyishly.
"well, don't leave me in suspense," you insist, crossing your arm across the other.
"relieved at your absence." steve informs you dryly.
"liar." you accuse simply, staring up at your ceiling fan lazily run around.
"...it was quieter." he admits after a moment's silence.
"quiet is good," you nod affirmatively as if he could see it.
"not always." he counters, tilting his head on his end. you let the silence build for a moment before you giggle a little to yourself.
"you're getting philosophical on company time." you point out, nose scrunched up in banter.
"whatever," he laughs back. he waits before he opens his mouth again. "you coming in this week or are you still scarred from me knocking over christine?" you look around the room, hesitating before you answer him.
"depends." your response is fixed and controlled.
"on what?" he asks with a small giddy quality to his voice.
"when're you working?" you ask.
"all week." he tells you with excitement audibly tightening. you hum, tracing the cord tighter around your thumb.
"...i'll consider it," you tell him finally. "try not to knock over any displays this time?"
"no promises," he says with an incredulous huff.
"good night, harrington," you snicker with too much joy. you hang the phone up before he can fully say good night.
𑁍ࠬܓ
you push the door of the family video open, hair bouncing on your shoulders as you looked around the crowded establishment. if you were an employee, you'd love an environment. the air buzzes with excitement and freedom. free to choose your tape!
in a fit of boldness, you grab a film you'd never heard of. ever. you were picky, you knew this. you could only blame it on the stupid buzz you get when you're in here.
the queue is lengthy and slow. dads tap their foot on the patterned carpet, glancing at their watches every couple seconds. children, tugging on their mommy's dress sleeve, begging to get home quicker.
the whole time, you watched steve harrington smile and type into the computer at robin's side, retrieving actual tapes for the customers.
you cheered a little in your head as you immediately notice steve's face brighten.
"steve, wife robin," you greet both of them warmly, setting the tape on the counter.
"your majesty," she says affectionately, steve rolling his eyes at her before returning his delicate gaze to you.
"it's nice seeing you normal again," you coo towards steve as he works on your tape. he's trying to act very natural, like he didn't notice you the moment you parked your car by the doors.
"what? normal again? where'd i go?" he implores you to tell him.
"last time i saw you here at this counter, you were green with envy." you giggle, digging in your purse.
"i did no such thing," he shakes his head, sliding your new tape over to you.
"according to many sources, that is exactly what you did sir." you giggle resting your arms on the tall counter.
"many sources?" he scoffed. "was there a press conference that i missed?"
robin leans her head back at his excruciatingly bad wit, groaning.
"totally practiced that in the mirror," she laughs weakly, squeezing her eyes shut. you hand steve your card, your fingers slipping against his delightfully.
"just watch your hands," you suggest quietly as he fumbles with the card reader.
"i know what i'm doing," he mumbles, rolling his eyes. it takes him a second to actually align the card into the actual reader. you watch him, softly biting your bottom lip.
robin watches the interaction with her mouth ajar before really wincing and covering her eyes at the card interaction.
"fucking weirdos," she laughs, walking away from the cash register. finally, he successfully passes the card.
"see? you're a natural, even your first time." you joke, taking the tape and your card from him before nodding at him. blood fills his cheeks instantaneously. "perhaps you'll consider attending the next press conference."
you laugh a little, walking backwards to see his expression as you leave the store.
"for the love of god, go compose yourself," robin urges, shoving him away from the counter at the sight of his tightened pants.
mayhaps any more thoughts on sweet Steve trying to hold himself back with inexperienced!reader?
reader with a vagina; size kink; sweetheart stevie!!
why certainly!!!
your legs shake around his hips, your nails digging into his shoulder blades. he fucks you slow and gentle, not very deep. tender and sweet.
“steve,” you whisper with a shudder.
he nuzzles his nose at your jaw, hands holding yours to the bed. “what do you need, angel?”
you can’t look at him without feeling embarrassed, so you keep your eyes shut and turn your head to the side.
“more.”
steve scoffs into your neck, squeezing your fingers. “uh-uh, honey. y’know i can’t.”
“you won’t,” you correct with a dreamy sigh. you aren’t being given exactly what you want, but he still makes you feel so good. like you’re his whole world and he’s pouring every drop of love he has into you.
“i can’t,” he repeats. he tries feebly to shut you up with a well-placed thrust, brushing against your sweet spot.
it only half works. you’re content like that for a while, his thrusts shallow, his words sweet. but then you start trying to meet his thrusts in an attempt to take him in deeper.
you both gasp when it works. steve tries to pull out, but your shaking legs wrap around his hips and you keep him there. there are tears in your eyes, and steve opens his mouth to staunchly protest, but you cut him off.
“please make me take it.”
“honey.” he sounds pained. “shit — baby, i can’t — i — you have to let me pull out, it’s hurting you.”
“i want you.” you sound like you’re on the verge of a tantrum. “please, steve, i swear i’ll take it. i’ll be so good for you.”
he squeezes his eyes shut, pulsing inside of you. “y-you are good for me. i don’t need — ‘m fine just like this —“
you cup his red cheeks in your palms and kiss him. he’s shaking as he kisses you back. you’re not letting him go anywhere other than in.
“if you wince, i’m pullin’ out,” he pants against your lips.
you grin and nod happily.
steve eases into you a little deeper. he watches the way your face twists, but you don’t try to run from him. you keep yourself planted in place while he ruts another half an inch into your tight heat.
“i feel you everywhere,” you whimper.
a noise he’s never made slips past steve’s lips. he buries his head into your shoulder and squeezes your hand, hard. tries to ground himself before he’s pounding you into the mattress.
his hips move shallowly and experimentally. when he feels resistance, he pulls away. but you’re being petulant again, and you push his hips into you further with the heels of your feet.
“shit!” you both gasp.
“are you okay?” he asks, lifting his head with a frown.
you’re blissed out.
you squeeze his hands in reassurance, your body trembling.
“am i doin’ good?” you slur.
“holy shit,” he gasps, rutting himself in shakily. “so good, honey, just — fuck, stay right there.”
summary: steve gets an hour of (un)limited access to you after your previous arrangement.
word count: ~5.3k
contains: bitchy!steve and bitchy!reader … and they were coworkers :0; steve is a softie despite it all; reader with a vagina and breasts; no gendered language used for reader; lingerie; kissing 😳; oral (reader receiving); fingering; piv; pet names (honey, angel, sweetheart); multiple orgasms + overstimulation!
author’s note: you can read part one here!
You’re bent over painting your toenails. Your goddamn toenails. So your coworker can have his way with you for 60 minutes just because he knows how to use his fingers, or whatever.
It’s hard to maneuver the phone between your shoulder and ear with your polish brush in one hand and your foot in the other. Steve’s blabbing about something and you’re trying so hard not to let his tone affect you, even though you’re already dressed up in the nicest lingerie you own.
“You know you don’t have to,” he says, which stills you temporarily.
“Deal’s a deal,” you sigh, grimacing as a bit of black polish gets on your cuticle.
“Yeah, you sound really devastated.”
“Shut up.”
“Just saying,” he continues, doing that fake innocence schtick. “An hour’s a pretty long time, y’know. And it’s the Harrington Torture Chamber, after all.”
Your face heats and you can’t quite concentrate on painting anymore. “Oooh, and what’s that entail, again?”
“See? You’re already trying to get off and our date’s in three hours.”
You scoff. “First of all, I don’t get off on torture. And second, it’s not a date.”
“What would you call it?”
“A contractual arrangement.”
Steve sucks a breath in through his teeth. “Ouch. So that’s what you think of me as, huh?”
“You’re my coworker, too.”
“Yeah, yeah. We’ll see how long that lasts.”
You have to return the nail polish brush to its container, getting a bit overheated. “What now? Gonna see how long it takes for me to fall for you?”
“Uh, no. You already have.”
You scoff again, pulling yourself out of your little Harrington stupor. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
“I know you’re upset I didn’t fuck you at work,” he drawls on, “but I didn’t want to get interrupted. You know? Gotta take my time with you. I’m thinking we go for an hour and two minutes since that’s what I had left over.”
“The deal was for one hour.”
“Yeah, but what’s two more minutes? …Huh. I guess that is a long time for you.”
Steve is just as much arousing as he is annoying. “Eighteen minutes is not nearly as impressive as you think.”
“Oh, really?” he says. “Let’s try some math out, huh? What’s sixty minutes divided by eighteen?”
“I don’t know, a little over three?”
He speaks to you like you’re a dog. “Good girl! That’s right. Three point three three three three three… why don’t we round it up to an even three point five?”
“You’re big on rounding up, huh?”
“And didn’t you cum twice? Am I remembering that correctly?”
Your heart hammers under your bralette. “Yeah?”
“Okay, then let’s say that three-point-five times two is seven. So that means, with my track record, I can make you cum seven times tonight.” His voice gets a little lower. “And believe me, it’s my intention.”
You’re a little gobsmacked. “You’re out of your goddamn mind, Steve. Since when did you get so good at math, anyway?”
“It’s not really math, it’s like… sex numbers.”
“Very hot, Steve, keep talking like that,” you deadpan.
“Weren’t you just cumming twice on my hand on a dirty couch in the break room of the Hawkins Family Video for the chance of a few hundred dollars? Or… was that someone else?”
You swallow. “I’ll see you at nine, Steve.”
“Nine. Three hours. One hundred and eighty minutes. Ten thousand and eight hundred seconds.” He gasps. “Oh, ten thousand, seven hundred ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety-seven….”
“Goodbye, Steve.”
“… ninety-four, ninety-thr—“
You hang up on him. Three hours seems a bit too long to wait, though he will never know you think that.
You knock. Three, quick rasps, your heart beating quick under your ribcage. You’re about to adjust your skirt again but the door swings open with such ferocity it makes you gasp.
“Hi,” Steve says, beaming brightly. You can smell the sandalwood and pepper on his skin and he looks so good that you feel your cheeks heating.
“Eager much?” you force out, feeling awkward while he just stares at you, unwavering, perhaps as if he’s trying to use x-ray vision to see under your clothes.
“Uh, yeah,” he says, reaching for you, pulling you inside quickly. You nearly stumble in your heels, ones you’ve only worn once before. You’re realizing now how bad of an idea it was, but it doesn’t quite matter as Steve kneels to take them off for you.
Steve on his knees is a much more comfortable dynamic for you.
“Wow,” you laugh, lifting your foot slightly so Steve can slip your shoe off, “what a gentleman.”
“I’m not wasting any time here,” he says, a big, warm hand on the back of your calf as he helps you lift your other foot. “Should’ve just came naked so we could get to it.”
“Those weren’t in the instruc—!”
Your breath catches in your throat as Steve’s hands travel higher, up the backs of your legs, fingers tickling your thighs. They rest at the edge of your lacey underwear, and your brain suddenly isn’t working anymore.
“—tions.”
“Lace? All for me?” he grins smugly.
You nod slowly. You can’t really beat the “I got dressed up to get boned by Steve Harrington” allegations.
“And here I thought you didn’t like me.” He stands, crowds you against the front door. “Could smell your pussy, by the way. Must have been a long ride here, huh?”
“Rob - Robin?” you ask, mouth dry.
Steve’s doe eyes look gently into yours. “She’s giving us some privacy.”
You can hardly breathe. “What a good friend.”
Steve licks his lips, leans in a little closer. “Uh-huh. The best.”
“You have fifty-five minutes left,” you breathe.
His thick brows twitch together. “No no no. We haven’t even started yet.”
You scoff and he rolls his eyes at you, breaking away, giving you some much needed room. It’s sort of incredible how hot he makes you. It’s akin to how adoringly irritating you find him.
“C’mere,” he says, beckoning you to follow him, and you make your way to his bedroom. It’s much cleaner than you anticipated - pristine, in fact, and it smells like his laundry. All clean and floral with the undertone of spiced cologne. He even set up candles, really enhanced the atmosphere.
“Plaid,” you point out, gesturing to his bed.
“What? Not good enough for you to get plowed on?”
“Plowed?”
“Bad choice of words.” He turns to you, hands on his hips. “Let me tell you precisely what I’m planning on, okay? And you tell me if something doesn’t sound good.”
“Okay?”
Steve licks his lips, then sits on the edge of his bed. He beckons you to him again, patting his thigh, and you gingerly step forward, sliding into his lap just as you were a few days ago. His hands find the swell of your ass and he keeps them firmly planted there. “First fifteen minutes I’ll spend taking off your clothes and letting you get comfortable.” He pulls you forward, your cunt catching on his jeans, making your breath hitch. “Then I think I’ll spend the next twenty getting to know this greedy pussy a bit better.”
“It’s not greedy.”
“Whatever you say. I know I’ve gotta spend some time stretching you out - so damn tight on my fingers. Then the next twenty-five - twenty-seven, if you’ll have me - I’ll see if my cock really can fit in you.”
You swallow harshly, entirely too hot and entirely too seen.
Steve quirks a brow. “How’s that sound?”
“Sounds good,” you say softly, your fingers instinctually playing with the hair curled at the back of Steve’s head. “And - exactly how many times are you going to cum?”
Now he’s blushing. “I’m not - not really worried about that.”
Your brows furrow. “Wh—? You don’t want to cum?”
You’re flipped suddenly onto your back, landing with a loud oof!. Steve rolls on top of you, caging you in with his forearms. “Can I kiss you?” he asks.
“Do you think that would make this any weirder?”
“Yes or no, sweetheart. Didn’t ask for lip.”
“Well, you sort of d—“
He doesn’t kiss you. His lips find your jawline and the feeling - the closeness - shuts you up. You gasp softly and reach for his shirt, tangling your fingers in the soft cotton of his polo. You’re overwhelmed with the scent of him and the fresh sheets below you at first, and then overwhelmed with the ticklish pleasure of his lips finding your neck.
“So, you dressed up for me?” he mumbles against your neck.
“Uh-huh.”
“Do you like me or somethin’?” Steve cuts you off when his lips plant against your skin, sucking sweetly. You sigh in response. “Yeah, figured.” He moves a hand to the hem of your shirt, fingertips ghosting against your hot skin. “Can I see what’s underneath?”
You nod and he pulls away, pupils blown wide. He looks a little pathetic, in a cute way. Cheeks flushed, hair messy, chest heaving.
“Getting this excited over a pair of tits?”
“Shut up,” he mumbles. “C’mon, help me out.”
You sit up with him, watching his face closely for every single reaction he has. You watch him swallow before he pushes your shirt up above the swell of your breasts, revealing a blue-grey, lacey bralette. Nothing entirely special, but Steve’s eyes widen, and he swallows again before looking back up at you.
“So?” you whisper, nervous.
“Take—“ he clears his throat. “Take your shirt off.”
You do so quickly, and you’re pushed gently back down onto your back while Steve melts down to the floor to work on your skirt. Though he doesn’t do much - just lifts it up again, staring straight at the wet spot on your matching underwear. You feel vulnerable, staring up at his ceiling, too nervous to look down at his hungry eyes.
“What time is it?” you ask suddenly, snapping Steve out of his pussy-drunk trance.
He groans. “Are you serious?”
You prop yourself up on your elbows. “It’s been five minutes, right?”
“You’re pushing it,” he says, then taps on the face of his watch. “I’m keeping track.”
“Oh, bullshit.”
“Fine.” He makes quick work of taking it off, then reaches for your wrist. “Here. Since I’ll be so busy, you keep track. Remember what the timeline is?”
“Fifteen, twenty, twenty-five.”
Steve doesn’t push the two extra minutes thing because he already knows you’re not going to adhere to this whole “one hour only” schtick. “Exactly. Better keep good track of time, or we’ll have to end before the good stuff happens.”
“You mean when you plow me?”
He ignores you. “Think you can do that?”
You nod.
“Gonna need you to get up for me again.”
You groan, but stand, aided by Steve, who takes your hands and tugs you up. He switches places with you, sitting again, then does a motion with his finger. Turn around.
His hand finds your zipper at the back of your skirt and he slowly tugs it down before letting the fabric fall in a heap on his floor. Both of you are silent, your heart beating hard as you wait for his next move. Those hands find your hips again, and he pulls you down onto his lap, facing away from him.
“You look divine,” he mumbles, hooking his chin over your shoulder, his hands splaying out across your stomach. He kisses the junction of your shoulder and neck, giving you goosebumps. “Really, all this for me?”
You laugh breathlessly. “You’re my only hookup tonight.”
“Lucky me,” he mumbles into your ear. Your pussy throbs, his hands moving higher. “Who else has seen you in this, huh?” And he snaps the strap of your bralette for emphasis.
“Just - just you.”
“You buy this for me?”
“No.”
“Hmm.” His hands crawl upwards, fingers dipping beneath the lacy band and then higher until he’s cupping your tits. “You comfortable?”
You nod, biting your cheek to stop you from whimpering.
“Feel what you’re doin’ to me?” he asks into your ear, rutting his hips up.
You moan and Steve chuckles, kissing your skin again. “Harrington Torture Chamber isn’t all that bad, huh?”
His fingers pinch your nipples and you sigh, leaning back into him. His lips press against your neck again, leaving a trail of hot, open mouthed kisses on the sensitive skin. You whine when his fingers tug and pull, completely at his mercy, hands useless beside you.
“Like having your tits played with?” he asks. “You’re gonna ruin my jeans, honey.”
“Oh, don’t.”
Steve twists your nipples a little harder - not any less pleasurable, but enough to make you gasp. “We’re a bit past the bullshit, aren’t we? You’re bitched out on my lap again and you want to act like you’re not soaked?”
His legs part, spreading yours open with him, and he moves one strong hand down to your cunt. You moan brokenly at one swipe across your clothed clit, and Steve tsks. “Must have trained your pussy to get wet around me, huh?”
You squirm, but Steve traps you on his lap, one arm crossed across your chest and the other cupping your pussy. His fingers still play with your nipple, hardening it under the fabric. His other hand rubs you through your underwear, and he keeps your legs open even when you try to shut them.
“That too much?” he asks, concerned.
And you sort of hate that he’s asking, because you have to shake your head and verbally admit that you like what he’s doing to you. “No.”
“Thought so,” he mumbles, sounding relieved. “You must have a thing for getting pinned and played with. Or do you just have a thing for me?”
“Shut up,” you whine, fingers clutching at the forearm around your torso. Your head falls back against Steve’s shoulder and he kisses along your jawline, fingers moving slow and methodical.
“Make me,” he presses, fingers gently pinching your clit now. You gasp and whine, squirming again, but this time attempting to get more. “Look at me.”
You look off to the side to see him, brows furrowed, eyes hooded, mouth agape. Steve nudges your nose with the tip of his and he gets so close, like he might kiss you - but instead, he talks against your mouth, breathing your air. “Look at you. So pretty, baby, so good for me, yeah?”
You nod, whimpering.
“Pussy’s so nice, honey.” He’s panting a little into your mouth now, readjusting his grip on you. “So wet and silky, gonna feel so good around my cock. You want that?”
You nod again, lost in his eyes, hardly paying attention because your clit is tightening, pleasure gripping your lower stomach like a vice.
Steve smiles, nudges your nose with his again. You’re so entranced, trying to lean forward so he’ll kiss you, but he asks, “What time is it, honey?”
“Huh?” you moan.
“The time, pretty.”
“Oh, shit!” you gasp, twisting your arm towards you. Your stomach drops, though you aren’t sure why. “It’s - it’s - um, it’s been twenty —“
Steve moves his arms away from you, leaving your pussy neglected. You whimper, reaching for him again, but he pats your thigh. “C’mon, up.”
“But —!”
Steve seems rather unfazed despite the throbbing hard-on he’s subjecting you to. “Told you to pay attention to the time. Now we’re over, and that means five minutes less of my cock inside of you. Up,” he repeats, taking you by the hips and helping you stand.
You’re a little lost - mind hazy over your thwarted orgasm. But you let him lay you on his bed, on his fluffy, expensive pillows, while you drip onto his sheets.
Steve kisses the tip of your nose. “And you thought I’d cheat, huh?”
“That - you didn’t even make me cum,” you attempt, narrowing your eyes. “Thought you were aiming for seven?”
“I’m re-strategizing.” He crawls downward, resting on his stomach in front of your puffy pussy. Licks his lips, gets sidetracked for a moment before looking back up at you. “I’m just not sure you deserve to cum that many times, you know?”
“Think it would be painful.”
“Not the way I do it.”
You laugh at the absurdity of his statement, opening your mouth to ask what the hell he’s talking about, but you choke a bit when he slips your underwear off. He’s never been this close to your pussy before, and both of you swallow hard. You’re embarrassed, so on-display, but Steve kisses your thigh so gently that you’re able to relax while he slides his arms under you.
You sneak a peek down to look at him. He watches your cunt with fascination, lust, his eyes dark. It’s thrilling.
“Keep ‘em spread,” he says softly, looking to the side to kiss your inner thigh. It tickles. “Know you had a hard time with it earlier. It’ll be worth it. Just trust me.”
“O-okay.”
“Keep an eye on that watch for me.” He licks his lips, talking more to your pussy than to you. “Though I wouldn’t mind staying here for a while longer. It’s so pretty, baby.”
The tip of Steve’s nose presses against your clit. He flicks his eyes up to look at you, already biting your lip. And he inhales, deep, eyes rolling back for half a second before he dips his tongue in and up your folds.
“Oh,” you gasp, legs already twitching together. You try to stay good this time, to let him have you how he wants. It’s very clear that he wants this - unrestricted access to your pussy, his tongue fucking the tight hole, his nose rubbing against your clit. “Oh, Steve.”
He kisses towards, open mouthed, sloppy, then wraps his lips around your clit. Your hands fly to his hair and he grunts, fingers digging into your thighs. He sucks, unrelenting, until you whine. And then his tongue flicks at your clit for a few moments before it goes back to fucking you.
“Feels so good,” you cry, tugging sharply on his locks, vibrating when he groans. “Oh my god, Steve, Jesus - Christ -!”
He’s slow with it, too. Like it’s a meal to savor. Eyes all half lidded and blissed out, nose wet with you, cheeks pink. Every time you think he cannot possibly look sexier, he does. And even though he’s right here, right now, you’re thinking of all the lost opportunities - times when it was slow at work and he could have gotten on his knees to worship you like this. Laying in the back of his car on break while he made you cum - probably twice, again - and walking back inside with shaking legs and a sweaty forehead.
“Look at me,” he says, voice thick, because you’re staring unfocused up at the ceiling.
“Can’t,” you breathe.
He stops, lifts his head up and rests his chin on your thigh. His thumb rubs soothingly against your skin. “Well let’s stop, then —“
“No!” you cry, the manicured hands tangled in his hair pulling him forward, which is apparently precisely what turns him on. He’s back to fucking you with his tongue in an instant, moaning all the while, rutting his cock against the bed. Now you can’t stop staring, while he’s lost in the scent and taste of you.
“Don’t stop,” he groans, referring to the tugging, so you don’t. And you watch him, his eyes opening to look at you, both of your faces turning hot. “Oh, Christ,” he groans, bringing his hand towards your cunt.
His middle finger, long and dexterous, slides in with no restriction. He finds that spongy spot inside of you again while his lips suck and kiss your clit. You feel like screaming, feeling high and so, so blissed out. You rock yourself against his finger, and it takes you a moment to work yourself up to it, but you finally moan, “More.”
He grins. "Greedy."
A second finger. It’s a squeeze, but Steve sticks the landing. Presses up against your sweet spot with his tongue unrelenting on your clit, and he’s certainly coaxing an orgasm out of you. It’s much more intense than the two you’d had with him before. His tongue and fingers work in sync so well that you fear you might cum messy and wet all over him.
Not that you entirely care.
Steve pulls back, just a bit. His lips still move against your clit. “Gonna cum? Feel you clenching down, 's like last time. You’re so tight, feel incredible - gonna feel so good when you cum, honey, let me have it.”
“God,” you choke out, “you’re so obsessed with me.”
He laughs, licks a broad stripe from his fingers up to your swollen clit. “Yeah, guilty.”
Your stomach fliips hard, the band inside stretching to a near breaking point. “Oh my — f-fuck-!”
He stays steady. Keeps stroking your g-spot and sucking your clit. Except now he’s whining, brows furrowed, like he’s a petulant child that wants a treat. One more glance down at him and you’re cumming, back arching. Steve tries to pin you with his arms but it’s simply no use. He chases you, lips attached to you, fingers curling, your hands pulling his hair. He gasps, makes a noise of disbelief, and swallows every last drop of sweetness you give him.
Your vision is hazy. Black tinged. You’ve never cum so hard in your life, and that includes your precious escapade. Your chest rises as falls as you catch your breath, disoriented, legs shaking.
“Jesus Christ,” Steve mumbles, sliding up your shaking form. “That was so sexy, shit — are you okay?”
You nod. You might be in love with him now. His fingers are still buried inside of you, flexing gently. You rock your hips and mewl. “Need you to fuck me,” you rasp.
“How much time do we have?” Steve looks down at the watch on your wrist and tuts. “Aw, man. We only have ten minutes. Guess we should get you cleaned up then, huh?”
His fingers start slipping out of you, but you’re quick to snap your shaking thighs together. “No,” you whimper. You need his cock so bad it’s driving you insane - like something is clawing at your chest and trying to get out.
“What’s that?” He’s a cocky son of a bitch. “You want more time in the Harrington T—“
“Please shut up,” you beg, wrapping your legs around his waist now.
“Are you saying it’s not torture?” His thumb rubs against your clit, flicking it slowly. “Are you saying you like this?”
And here he goes again. Making you fall apart twice in the span of two minutes. Flicking at your clit, hovering his lips above yours, sinking his fingers back into you. Slips a third one in for good measure, knows how hard it’ll be to take him.
“Tell me,” he presses, nose touching yours. You’re going cross-eyed trying to keep up with him. “Tell me how good I make you feel.”
Your resolve diminishes quickly. “Make me feel so good.”
“Was that so hard?” He smiles. “You gonna cum about it?”
You pant and squirm and writhe under Steve. He crooks his fingers up towards your sweet spot again and you cry out just as his mouth engulfs yours. He works smoothly, diligently, and you figure for half a second that his hand must hurt.
Then he’s pulling away, mumbling to himself and quickly shucking his jeans down. You look down, curious. He wears such tight pants that you think you have a pretty good idea of how big he is.
You were off by a few inches.
You can’t help but to widen your eyes. He’s so fucking pretty. A thick path of dark hair leads down to his trimmed pubes, a stark contrast to his highlighted, golden skin. And his cock’s gorgeous. Long, thick, curved towards the tip, head pink and it’s weeping. He pumps himself a few times, already so wet.
“Did you cum?” you breathe.
He doesn’t answer you. Just leans over past you to grab a condom out of his bedside drawer. Rips the foil with his teeth and slides the latex on in one fluid motion. You know he’s done this before, but his agility still surprises you.
Not willing to waste a moment longer, Steve finds his way back on top of you again, sliding himself in between your spread thighs. You hook your legs around his waist. His thumb’s at your clit again and you shiver, mouth falling open.
“Are you ready?”
“As I can be,” you whisper. “You’re a lot to take.”
“I’ll take it easy,” he whispers back. “Relax for me, okay?”
With his fingers playing with your clit, it’s pretty easy. Your eyes fall shut and you focus more on the bundle of nerves, the ever-tightening feeling in your stomach, Steve’s breath fanning against your face. He presses the tip against your hole, rubs himself up and down.
Then he presses into you.
Your eyes widen. Your mouth falls again. You exhale shakily. He’s gotta be a single inch inside and he’s stretching you to your limit.
“I know,” he coos, applying steady pressure to your clit. “I’ll take my time, ‘s okay.”
“So big,” you whisper, delayed, your mind a bit blank.
“I know,” he repeats, but he’s smiling now. “Why d’you think I had to spend so much time on you?”
One inch deeper. You mewl, hands moving to his shoulders. “Cause - b-because you’re - you -“
“You, you, you,” he teases. “Love seein’ you like this, really suits you.”
You don’t have the capacity to argue with him. “Kiss me.”
“Where?” Another inch. Steve leans forward, nose against nose, lips against lips. “Here?”
You nod, awe-struck by his hazel eyes. You plead with your own.
“I’ll never say no to a pretty angel like you,” he whispers. "Don't get too excited, okay? This is a contractual agreement, after all."
Finally - finally - he’s kissing you. Moving his mouth so perfectly, intentionally. Lips soft and a little wet. He tastes like mint and - well - your pussy.
But Steve, he encompasses all of you — his weight on top of you, his lips moving slowly, his hips moving slower. The scent of him in your nose, his warmth transferring to your skin. He pulls his hips back, then slides in. A little deeper. You gasp against him and his tongue slips into your mouth. Now you moan, and he moans, fucking into you shallowly.
“C’mon,” he whispers, “let me in, want you so bad, please.”
Your nails dig into his shoulders. “I’m trying,” you whimper.
“It’s okay. Doing so good for me, yeah?” He kisses down your neck. The tickle helps distract you from the stretch, and he gets another inch in. Steve gasps, resting his head in the crook of your neck. “You feel so goddamn good.”
He sucks at your skin, running his tongue along it. Thumb still circling your clit. Fucking you shallow, slow.
“You okay?” he grits out.
You nod, rocking your hips. You’re getting used to it, the sharp pain - it’s melting away, all of Steve’s ministrations to help you working. “More, Steve. Want more.”
He kisses up to your ear. “You sure?”
Goosebumps prick up on your skin. “‘m sure.” And just to see what he would do, you say, “Please, baby.”
“Oh, God,” he groans. Pulls back. Thrusts in deeper. “Can’t say shit like - like that.”
It takes you a sec to find your voice. “Like what?”
Back. Forward. Punches the air out of your lungs. “Like baby,” he grunts.
Back. Forward. “Honey.”
Back. Forward. Slips inside you nearly to the hilt. “Handsome.”
Your eyes roll back. Steve’s pace picks up, panting above you. You wish he was undressed so you could see him. You know the chest hair he sports. Want to feel it on your skin, run your fingers through it while he has you like this.
“Why not?” you choke out.
He moves away from your neck to look at you. You melt. His hazel eyes are soft, looking into yours. But he doesn’t answer.
You think you understand.
You wrap your legs a little tighter, bringing him in, rocking on him. Steve sputters. It’s clear he likes taking his time, but you’re close to cumming. So, so close, and you want Steve right there with you. Spurring him on, you ask, “You - are you gonna make me cum or what?”
Steve laughs, rolls his eyes. “There’s that fuckin’ mouth.”
Now he’s drilling you. The bed groans. His thumb moves quicker, presses harder. You squeal, digging into his shirt, trying to stay grounded. It’s impossible, though. When he’s looking at you like this. Eyes dark, focused, his mouth parted, tongue licking over his soft lips. You moan uncontrollably, twisting, tugging harder at his stupid shirt.
“Hold on,” he gasps, sitting up quickly and slipping out of you. Throws his top off to the side, smirking when you gawk. He takes your calves and throws them over his shoulders, leans back down and folds you in half. “Want you like this, this okay?”
You already know it’ll ruin you. “Yeah, come on.”
Steve slips back inside of you and sets his pace quickly. He must be all the way in. Your cunt squelches around him, his balls slapping wetly against your ass. Your hands move towards the mattress, gripping his sheets and twisting, tugging, losing control of your body.
You can’t shut the fuck up. “Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god—!”
“Shit,” Steve grits, pressing his forehead against yours. Bending you further. You’re still babbling. “Yeah? You - ngh - f-feel me?”
His thumb hasn’t found its way back to your clit, but you really think you might not need it there. Instead, his hand cups a breast, tugging your bralette down, flicking at your nipple. Now he’s babbling. “Wanna suck - suck on these, fuck, look so good.” He whimpers, cock twitching.
He pummels against your sweet spot. Over and over, until you’re seeing white and Steve looks so angelic above you. Doesn’t look like your annoying coworker anymore. He’s ethereal, in his element, sweat beading at his impeccable hairline. Dark strands fall over his brows, creased in concentration.
“Yeah, baby,” he whines. “Let me feel it, squeeze my cock, doin’ — so good —“
Your back arches, much like earlier, as your orgasm hits you. Unaided. Just Steve’s cock, Steve’s face, Steve’s words bringing you over the edge. He’s praising you, but you can’t hear him. Everything’s fuzzy and warm and your orgasm goes on forever, clenching and unclenching, pretty moans and gasps falling from your mouth.
Steve leans forward, buries his head in the crook of your neck while his pace turns sloppy. His teeth scrape against the delicate skin, but he seems to know better than to bite. His canines scratch, sliding over sweat-slicked skin, and with a low groan he cums, both of your legs shaking. It takes him ages to finish, too — each time he thinks he’s about done, his cock produces more. “Fuck, fuck, oh — shit, honey, God—!”
You hold him - best as you can in the awkward position - running your hands through his hair. “Good boy,” you whisper. It’s all you can really think, brain all fucked out. Steve whimpers again.
Panting, you both rest for a moment. Your legs are still shaking and you’re not sure how Steve’s keeping himself up. You want to tell him he can lay on you, that you’ve got him - but then his goddamn thumb is on your neglected clit. Moving back and forth, slow and hard, and you cum again in fifteen seconds. Clenching on his cock, making Steve moan and laugh breathlessly, kissing your neck.
He finally moves enough so that your legs can fall to the bed. You hope he doesn’t mind you staying here for long. There’s no way you can drive home.
“That was three,” he pants, a big smile on his face. Dopey, blissful. He’s still wearing the condom and you can see the cum inside, makes your stomach flip and face heat.
You do not need to be thinking of this man cumming inside of you.
"You promised seven."
"Always gotta complain. Weren't these three worth it?"
You look over at him, in his glowy glory. "You only had one. Maybe you'll get three next time."
His cock kicks. “Oh?”
“Yeah. Just gotta think of another bet.”
Steve scoffs. "As if you need a bet to do this again."
Thinking tonight about King!Steve using you to mess with his nemesis…
You used to date the captain of the Tigers’ rival basketball team and you know firsthand just how much they hated one another. Anytime they were forced to share space, the air in the gym crackled with tension. The game became extraneous, both of them locked in a battle to see who could out-score the other. Both their coaches gave them shit, but got quiet once they pulled ahead.
Steve loved picking you out of the crowd, making flirty eyes at you from behind stray wisps of hair that fell across his face, shooting you winks after he sank perfect shots and jogged downcourt.
It made you squirm in your seat on the bleachers and you tried not to show on your face how much it turned you on. Tried being the operative word.
Away games were the worst.
All your friends wondered why you bothered driving all the way out to Hawkins just to watch a dumb game. And part of you wondered the same thing. It wasn’t like your presence was required, or even appreciated. Yet there you were, all season.
You would wait in the hallway outside the locker rooms to offer your boyfriend a kiss before he got on the bus. But Steve always managed to find you first. Still damp from the shower, his hair pushed back and dripping onto the cotton of his cutoff tee, his body wash an assault of cedar.
He smiled as soon as he saw you, leaning against the cinderblock walls, crowding into your space far more than necessary, laying it on so thick.
He always flirted the hardest when Hawkins lost. The look on your boyfriend’s face when he came out and saw you talking was all the victory Steve needed. He didn’t even hang around trying to start a fight, he simply fired off a salute and spun around to saunter down the hall.
Glancing back over his shoulder just briefly to let his hazel eyes linger over you one last time.
There were times, of course, where he pushed the envelope a little further than was necessary. Like that time you rode to a game with your friend, only for that friend to head home early.
Which would have been fine, except that your boyfriend was nowhere to be found after he took off to celebrate with some of the guys from the team and didn’t think to inform you. Lovely.
Steve was there, though.
Sitting on the front of a maroon Beemer like the cockiest hood ornament ever manufactured.
How he managed to be allowed to drive himself to your school instead of riding on the team bus, you never got to ask. You were too busy being hauled onto his lap in the backseat after he pulled over on the side of some deserted backroad.
And he never said so, but you knew he was thinking about your boyfriend and how sweet it was to have this little secret to hold over his head. You knew he was using you just as much as you were using him and you elected not to care.
It felt too good to bother.
Sometimes he showed up at parties in your town, all reddened cheeks and vodka-soaked breath. He honed in on you like a missile, asking where your handler was, or if you’d finally cut him loose.
And if it happened to be one of those times you and he were fighting about something stupid he said or did, maybe you’d let Steve follow you into the bathroom or out onto the patio. Maybe you’d fail to stop his wandering hands from settling on your waist or hips or ass. Maybe you’d let those long fingers disappear between your thighs until they were shaking and sticky with your release.
But that was high-school, and this is different.
You’re older, still stuck in this armpit of a town in the same bar serving the same drunks night after night. Telling yourself it’s just a matter of time and money before you get out of here. You’re not still dating the same stupid guy at least, but everyone you know seems to think it’s only a question of how long it will take him to win you back.
Tonight, the bar is actually sort of busy because there’s a metal band on the platform that barely qualifies as a stage. You’d watched them fumble their way through their sound check earlier, but they’re actually sounding pretty decent now.
The guitarist with the cheeky smile and the long, dark hair is a relentless flirt. He’s winked at you so many times already, you’re wondering if it’s possible to pull a muscle in your eyelid.
Not that you’re complaining.
Really, you don’t have the time to worry about it when you’re this slammed. You’re barely scraping by, taking new orders as you’re filling old ones, trading cash and drinks in a dizzying dance.
You’re so flustered, you almost miss the guy who slides into a stool at the far end of the bar, making you trek all the way down there to take his order.
And as you do, the smell of cedar fills your nose taking you back to that high-school hallway. To a too-cocky point guard flashing his teeth at you in a smile. To stray pieces of chestnut falling over his eyes that roved over your heaving chest. To brows that arched suggestively when he told you the winning basket he scored was all for you.
He greets you cooly, his lips and tongue forming your name like he says it every day; not at all like it’s been almost a decade since he’s seen you.
He sips the drink you poured for him and slides a hundred dollar bill across the bar, saying it’s for you. Tells you to come back once things slow down so you can catch up.
He’ll be right here.
I have no idea where this goes next, so pls don’t ask me…or better yet, tell me where YOU think it goes 👀
summary: have you ever been so alone you spend the day confusing a man in a coma?
pairing: assumed e.m x reader, eventual s.h x reader
warnings: my blog is 18+ MDNI; mutual pining, yearning, miscommunication, poorly-wired idiot signals, vague nineties vibes, asshole-ish rockstar eddie, best friend & store manager steve, drug abuse, comas and hospitals, found family, hop and wayne knocking sense into people, eventual smut, schmaltzy rom-com goodness, mention of thanksgiving, christmas, and new year's holidays
w.c.: 8.2k
a/n: when I say that writing this kicked my ass, I'm tellin' you I had a rough time. @bettyfrommars this flannel-wearing Steve is for you especially! Please enjoy & I hope y'all like it 🥹
series m.list | playlist | currently spinning:
Steve hadn’t planned for his life to amount to this, he’d simply blinked and found himself in a new decade, still rewinding tapes at Family Video. Granted, he’s district manager now and has several stores in the area he’s responsible for.
Meanwhile, Eddie got the hell outta dodge and Corroded Coffin actually made something of themselves. Two albums under their belt and a forth-coming world tour after the holidays, and, more recently, a cover on the Rolling Stone. Ed had called him up once it was all finalized, “Can you fuckin’ believe it man?!”
And, Steve loves Eddie, so he could actually believe it. He tries and fails to keep his jealousy at bay, Ed is one of his best friends for christ sakes. Steve is happy for him, he really is, despite the revolving doors at rehab centers dotting the west coast, late night calls from strangers because Munson passed out in someone’s bathroom again.
He is, after all, Eddie’s emergency contact. Gareth approached him after the second stint at rehab and suggested it, thought it would be the best all things considered. Steve readily agreed and signed the forms, kept his pager on him, and dutifully smoothed things over when Eddie’s benders got a bit too much.
So, he’s rewinding tapes when his pager goes off. He glances at the number and drags the phone across the counter. Nestling the handset between his shoulder and cheek, he punches in the numbers and shoves the tape in a plastic case to be shelved later.
“Hello, this is Hawkins Memorial Hospital. How may I direct your call?” a kind, if perfunctory voice recites. He can hear the hustle and bustle of the hospital waiting room, muted conversations and the ringing of phones.
“Hi, this is Steve Harrington. I received a page from this number regarding Eddie Munson.” Steve eyes the clock, he’s on closing shift by himself already having sent he employees home to celebrate with their families.
“Yes, one moment please.” The receptionist places him on hold, allowing Steve to rewind a couple more tapes and sort them for shelving. “Mr. Harrington?” the line roars back to life, no longer the receptionist, but the doctor in charge of Eddie’s care instead. “Mr. Munson came into the hospital unresponsive but breathing, he was revived by a…” He rattles off a name that Steve has never heard before. “His, fiancée, as I understand it.”
Steve feels the floor sway under his feet.
Eddie.
With a fiancée?
“She’s here now and in a bit of shock, as you can expect. Since you’re his emergency contact, we wanted to alert you of his current state as well as get any contact information for family and friends that need to be made aware.”
“Oh, uh, sure.”
The doctor continues to relay that they’ve elected to place Eddie under a medically induced coma for the time being, to allow his body to flush the drugs from his system before assessing for any further damage.
Steve is transferred to a medical assistant who takes down Wayne and Hopper’s information. He figures between the two men the job will get done, but let’s be real, it’ll be Joyce that activates the phone tree and calls the kids, and he plans to swing by the hospital later that evening once he’s closed up.
Grabbing the stack of tapes and begins to shelve them with a shake of his head. It would be just like Eddie to get engaged and not be fucked to tell anyone. Returning to the counter, he fiddles with the cuffs of his flannel shirt— Robin got it for him the last time she swung through town, insisted that Steve’s wardrobe needed some serious upgrading and all but thrust it upon him.
“It brings out your eyes,” She said, leaning against the wall outside the dressing room. Her worn boots kicked against one another, half of her reflected in the mirror while Steve assessed.
“It’s brown.”
“And gold!” She turns him around to press down the collar and pop the first two buttons of the shirt open. “It’s color theory man, just trust me on this, okay?”
Which is how Steve found himself the new owner of several flannel shirts of varying hues. And boots. When he complained it was all too lumberjack-like, Robin shushed him and continued to flirt with the cute check-out girl.
But that had been months ago. It was coming on Thanksgiving now and his two best friends had been too busy traveling or showing art pieces to even call. He doesn’t mind, not really— well, he tries not to. Steve gets it, people are busy, things to do and people to see.
The remainder of his shift goes by slowly. Kids home from school, families coming in by the dozen. Steve manages to complete a few menial tasks in between customers, throws on Planes, Trains and Automobiles just to have something on in the background.
He’s helping a regular when his pager beeps again, this time flashing Robin’s number. The door dings as they leave and Steve’s already wedged the phone to balance against his shoulder once more as he leans and elbow on the counter.
“Eddie has a fiancée?!” is the thing she screeches down the line. “When the fuck did that happen? Harrington, you’re supposed to keep me aware of these things!”
He signs and scrubs a hand down his face, “I’m his emergency contact, not his guardian.”
“Have you met her? What’s she like?”
“I don’t—”
“I got the first flight out of the city. Which means I had to go to LaGuardia blech,” She makes a gagging sound down the line. “Jonathan’s picking me up now from Indy. Oh my god, is she pretty?” Robin pings between her travel plans and hypothesizing about Eddie’s girl, “I bet she’s a total knock-out, knowing him. How did they meet? D’ya think she’d pose for me?”
“Slow down there, killer.” Steve laughs, “Might want to meet the girl first before propositioning her.”
She huffs a laugh, “You’re right, of course. She’d probably think I’m insane or something. What would I do without you Stevie?”
“Probably scare off more chicks than you already do.”
“Oh, go fuck yourself Harrington.” Robin’s laugh is loud and warm, soothing something in his gut. “I’ll see you tonight, dingus.”
“Sure, stay safe. Call me later, bye.” He places the phone back in its cradle and has half a mind to check the room behind the curtain, just in case some teenagers slipped past without him noticing, but then the phone rings.
“Thank you for calling Family Video, this is Steve. How may I help you?”
“Uh, hi.” A voice says down the line, small and tight. You introduce yourself, quickly followed by, “I’m at the hospital, with, uh Eddie?”
“Oh! Hi, how’s he doing?”
“Good, still in the coma.”
Steve can hear some voices filtering through the mic, loud and familiar.
“So, Hop and Wayne made it? That’s good.”
“Yeah, yeah, Joyce too. The kids are here too, I guess? It’s all a bit overwhelming.”
He huffs a laugh, “Yeah, I can only imagine.” He occupies himself with the slinky on the counter, much preferring to hear your voice than deal with the families that just walked in, ten minutes to close. “You holding up okay?”
An intake of breath, “Mmhm.”
It’s a feeling he knows well.
You’re overwhelmed by all these people you’d never met, on top of the fact that your fiancee is in a coma. Steve feels like shit, having you handle all of that by yourself. If he hadn’t stupidly sent the mid-shift employees home early, he would have been there to help you navigate it all.
“Joyce wants to know if you’re coming by after work. If we should wait for you,” You say after a beat or two of silence, “Or if you’ll just meet us at the house for Thanksgiving tomorrow?”
Steve rolls his neck in an effort to relieve the built-up tension there, bones popping, he rubs a hand at the nape of his neck. “Could you put her on real quick?”
He listens as the phone changes hands and Joyce’s comforting voice intones, “Steve?”
“She’s freaking out.”
“What?”
He sighs, “The fiancée, she sounds like she’s in a bad way.” He checks out the straggling customers, “Don’t wait on my account. I’ll see Ed after I’m done here.”
“Okay, Steve.”
“Does she have a place to stay? I know Rob is crashing with you and Hop—”
Joyce laughs, “We’ll have a full house I suppose. I can put Jonathan on the couch or something, don’t worry about it Steve.”
“Right. Okay.” He gives the final customer a smile and wave as they wish him a happy holiday. “I’ll see you later.”
Hanging up the phone, Steve walks to the door to turn the lock and flip the sign to ‘closed.’ He lingers against the door, resting his forearms against the bar, watching as the snow falls against the dark sky. Wonders how it is that just from the sound of your voice, he felt himself falling not unlike snowflakes outside.
Earlier that day
Turns out, landing the Corroded Coffin interview was not the boon to your career you thought it would be.
Maybe you’d set yourself up for failure. And it didn’t help that you had one big, fat embarrassing crush on a member of the band. Generally, being a fan of the artist coupled with the tendency to romanticize things in your mind only led to disaster.
Or, in your case, attempting to revive the frontman of the aforementioned band on the bathroom floor.
Eddie Munson was unresponsive at your feet, a panoply of pills and baggies scattered across the floor. Having no time to think, you launch into action— checked for breathing and finding none began CPR followed by chest compressions, all while yelling for help.
Gareth is the one to find you, compressing Eddie’s chest with your two hands in between administering two breaths after every 30 counts.
“Call an ambulance!”
You can’t even bring yourself to feel sorry about your tone, harried and frantic, as he stumbles out to call 911. Thankfully, the paramedics are quick. One paramedic asks, “You’re his fiancée?”
Dumbly, you nod, too in shock to register what’s been said. Someone guides you down the steps and into the front of the ambulance strapping you in with a seatbelt. He can’t just die, you reason, not when Corroded is just taking off— a world tour in the new year and a cover story with Rolling Stone.
Your editor would have your head if something were to go wrong. Munson was notoriously picky with interviews and reporters, it was a miracle they’d approved you for the job. Rumor has it that he’d have much preferred Nancy Wheeler, but the board wasn’t keen to bring in a free-lance reporter for the job.
Somehow, this would be your fault.
Arriving at the hospital isn’t any better. Gareth and the other band members stayed behind to call management and see what was to be done about Eddie, and made you promise to call them once you’d arrived at Hawkins Memorial.
Nevermind that you’re alone in a town you’d never stepped foot in before today. And all at Eddie Munson’s behest.
They rushed him off past the swinging double-doors, out of your reach. Stepping to the front desk, you ask the receptionist where the nearest pay-phone is, and she offers you one of the hospital phones instead.
Dialing the number hastily scribbled onto your hand, your fingers brush along the plastic keys listening for the trill of the ring down the line.
“Hi, Gareth? We made it to the hospital, they took him back with a team of doctors and nurses.”
“You didn’t go back with him?”
“It’s family only, I think?” You scratch the back of your neck nervously. “It’s not a big deal, I can stay in the lobby until you get here.”
“Yeah, that’s gonna be a while…”
He goes on to explain that their team has to meet and discuss next steps. The band can’t leave until they’ve done so and their manager asked them to stay put.
“That’s shitty.”
He hums his agreement.
“And I’m just supposed to stay here by myself? I don’t—”
“That’d be great, that is, if you don’t mind,” Gareth interrupts. “They’ll call his emergency contact soon enough. But we’d really appreciate having someone we know there until then.”
“Oh, okay.”
He thanks you for being so cool with all of this and says his goodbyes. With a short smile, you hand the phone back to the receptionist. Heaving a sigh, you drop your head into your hands and lament, “I was gonna marry him.”
Unbeknownst to you, Eddie’s attending nurse overhears you and recalls how the paramedic who brought him in said something about a fiancee. Turning toward you, she places a delicate hand on your back. You jump with a start and look up.
“You’re the fiancée, right?”
“Wh–”
“It’s okay honey, he’s doing fine. I’ll take you back there now.”
Allowing yourself to be guided by the kind nurse as she prattles on about something or other, you wonder how to get yourself out of this. No one was going to buy that Eddie Munson has a secret fiancee. If he was awake, he’d probably laugh you out of the room himself.
But, as it was, they’d placed him in a medically induced coma to let the drugs work their way out of his system. A small miracle, that. The doctor briefs you on his status, all of which flies directly out of your brain, too focused on how small he looks in the bed. Tubes dripping fluids and machines whirring or beeping every so often. Tattoos a stark contrast to the pallor of his skin, a sharp relief against a marble canvas.
A medical assistant approaches you and asks about an emergency contact or the contact information of family and friends.
“I don’t–”
The dazed look in your eye must give something away because the assistant attempts to pat your back comfortingly before saying they’ll check his personal effects.
The nurse, impossibly kind, rests a hand on your shoulder, “Let him hear your voice, honey.”
Her shoes squeak along the tile floor as she leaves. There’s a brief reprieve where you’re left alone with Eddie in the hospital room. The nurse and medical assistant flit in and out occasionally, making notes in his chart here and there. But you’re transfixed by the man in front of you— beautiful and impossibly out of reach. He was even before the interview, you rationalize, but now he’s even more so. It’s bittersweet, almost, makes you want to reach out and hold the hand at his side, silver rings glinting in the fluorescent lights.
“Hi,” You greet. “I bet you’re wondering what I’m doing here, huh?” You take the seat closest to him. “Well, I didn’t really get a chance to introduce myself, so here it goes.” Taking a sip from the coffee the nurse left to fortify you, you recite your full name. “And I think you should know your family thinks we’re engaged. Never been engaged before, so this is all very sudden for me.” You huff a laugh and roll your eyes, “Um, what I really came here to tell you was, I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“I don’t know what to do,” You continue, a quasi-one sided conversation and therapy session all in one neat package. “I’m just a reporter for the Rolling Stone. And if you were awake, or hell, even if Gareth were here, I wouldn’t be in this mess. Oh, god not that I’m blaming you.” Your hand finds his arm briefly before you jerk back as if stung, “Shit, sorry.”
“This is not how I pictured my life going, to be honest with you. I thought when I did get engaged, I’d at least have the luxury of knowing my fiancé, or y’know them being conscious at least.” You sigh and take another sip of shitty coffee, “Don’t get me wrong, I love my life— I’ve got a great job and apartment, I get to travel and write for a living. It’s definitely not a bad gig.”
“It’s just, I never met anyone I could truly be myself with, y’know? Laugh with, and I mean ugly laugh with a snort and witch cackle. D’ya ever believe in love at first sight? No, probably not, you’re too rock and roll for that. Or have you even seen someone, and you knew that if only that person really knew you, they would…”
Thinking back to your Corroded Coffin research and tabloid perusals, you sigh. “Of course, they would dump the perfect model that they were with and realize that you were the one they wanted to grow old with.” You shake your head, realizing how ridiculous you sound, talking to a man in a coma who probably can’t even hear you. Your voice falls to a hush, “You ever fall in love with someone you’ve never even talked to? Have you ever been so alone you spend the day confusing a man in a coma?”
“No? Me neither.”
There’s the sound of shuffling of feet echoing from the hallway, followed by a relived: “Oh, there he is.”
A voice startles you from the doorway, deep and masculine, albeit out of breath. A tall, broad man steps into the room quickly followed by a shorter woman and a lankier man. The first addresses you, “You must be the fiancée, I’m Jim Hopper.” He holds out his hand in greeting.
You shake his hand, palm engulfed in his larger one.
“This is my wife, Joyce, and that there is Eddie’s uncle Wayne.”
“He’s so pale,” She laments, crossing the room to his bedside. “Oh, my god.”
You nod to each of them, dropping your hand from Hopper’s. He studies you and you feel like squirming under his gaze, he’s still in uniform but sets his hat on a nearby chair. Great, just what you needed, a police chief to sniff you out.
Grabbing your things, you ready yourself to leave. “There’s been a misunderstanding. I should—”
“Nonsense,” Joyce says from opposite of you, she brushes a few strands of hair away from Eddie’s face. “The kids’ll be here soon and they’ll want to meet you.”
Wayne claps a hand to your shoulder, warmly giving it a squeeze.
“The doctor said you found him and gave him CPR until the paramedics arrived?”
“Oh, um, yeah.”
“They say the only reason he was breathing when they brought him in was because of you.” His voice is hoarse, he coughs into his fist and clears his throat. “Thank you, for that.”
“It’s what anyone would’ve done.”
He squeezes your shoulder once more, “Not necessarily,” and moves off to sit in one of the chairs.
“The doctor should be back soon,” You say, sitting beside Wayne. “He said the vital signs and brainwaves were looking good.”
Joyce nods and shoots you a smile, making idle chit-chat while the rest of you wait for the kids to arrive. There was some concern over Wayne and his heart condition, doesn’t take to shocking news too well, as you understand it. But who are these kids, Eddie’s kids? You didn’t recall coming across any mention of a previous wife or children in your research, but there are stranger things for rockstars to get up to than having a secret family you suppose.
It’s only when Wayne nudges you with his foot that you realize Joyce has been calling your name, “Where are you staying?”
“Oh, a hotel for the night.” You say softly, “I have to get back to New York soon.”
“Well, I won’t hear of it.” Joyce says looking to Hopper, “She’ll stay with us, won’t she Jim?”
He looks back at his wife and seeing her steely resolve, he knows better than to argue with her. “Sure, you’ll spend the holiday with us.”
Damn.
“Oh, we should see if we need to wait for Steve,” Joyce notes, just as a gaggle of people walk in. “Hi kids!” She stands quickly to greet them, their names coming too fast for you to keep up. A man and woman about your age bring up the rear, Joyce hugging them in turn.
Quietly, you step out to collect yourself. After taking a few breaths, you spot the medical assistant from earlier and flag him down for the emergency contact information. He scribbles a name and several phone numbers on a scrap of paper, “I would try this one first,” He points to the middle number, “It’s the work line, I think.”
“Great, thank you!”
Entering the room again, Wayne introduces you as Eddie’s fiancee and rescuer, to whoops and hollers. The younger woman lets out a wolf-whistle and drops you a wink, causing the heat to skitter underneath your skin. Making toward the phone, you dial the number and read the name on the paper.
Steve Harrington.
“Thank you for calling Family Video, this is Steve. How may I help you?”
The rich baritone of his voice, strong and deep, brings a quiver to your knees. Stumbling your way through an introduction, you make disastrous small-talk and wave Joyce over. She takes the phone with a smile, pushing you lightly toward the assembled group where the young woman, Robin, takes you under her wing.
“Fiancée, huh?” She asks with a quirked brow, to your noncommittal shrug. “Hmm.” Her eyes sweep toward Eddie, “I think you can do better,” She jokes with a wink.
Wayne drives you from the hospital to the house, graciously stopping by a grocery store along the way because you didn’t want to show up empty-handed. You make quick work of the deserted aisles, grabbing the necessary ingredients for pumpkin and pecan pie. He helps you to load the bags in the back of the truck and softly croons along to Woody Guthrie as he drives along the icy streets.
A comfortable silence sits between you. Wayne Munson is a man of few words, which is fine by you. The less opportunity for talking yourself into a hole, the better. He comes to a stop in front of a two-storey house festooned with Christmas lights. He carries your bags from the truck into the house, promising Joyce that he’ll be back tomorrow for Thanksgiving. Joyce rolls her eyes fondly and turns back toward the kitchen, leaving the pair of you in the entryway.
You rock back on your heels uncomfortably. Before you can make your escape, Wayne’s hand falls to your shoulder again kneading gently. You glance up to find his watery eyes and quiet smile; he pulls you in for a brief hug. “Thank you sweetheart,” He sighs, followed by a sniff, “I don’t know where he’d be without you, or where we’d be for that matter.” Giving you a final squeeze, he releases you and calls out a goodbye to Hopper and Joyce, shutting the front door behind him.
“Hey kid,” Hopper says, leaning against the bannister. “Join me outside for a minute?” He shrugs into his coat and nods toward the front porch. “Lemme grab my smokes, I’ll meet you out there.”
Well, shit.
It takes everything in you to not give in and pace along the icy boards of the porch as you wait. He’s figured you out, you know he has, and now he’s going to kick you out and you’ll have to call a cab and get back to the hotel before booking it to the airport first thing tomorrow.
“I know you and Munson aren’t involved, kid.” Hopper shuts the front door with a soft click, “Heard you back at the hospital talking to him.”
Your blood goes cold and you know there’s no way you can spin yourself out of this one. “I know, I know and I’m so sorry. It just all happened so fast and Wayne has that heart thing—” Your voice is choked and tight as you try to explain.
“Hey, slow down, take a breath. This isn’t the end of the world.”
“I’ll tell them, I just—”
He shakes his head and lets out a sigh, “Let me level with you,” He brushes off the snow and ice from the top step and invites you to sit down beside him. “God knows what that boy did to earn your attention, cause I certainly can’t make heads or tails of it.” He lights up a cigarette and offers one to you, “No? Can’t say I blame you, it’s a bad habit.” He takes a long drag in thought, leaving you to stew in your guilt. “What I’m trying to say is this: whatever you did, it brought him back. Eddie’s here and breathing because of you, so, in a way, we have him back because of you.”
You stay silent, knowing that whatever Hopper just shared with you is important. The guilt doesn’t leave you, not entirely, but this gruff lawman confiding in you does lodge something loose from the knot in your chest. And when he throws his arm over your shoulders to draw you to his side, you can’t help the watery smile that makes its way across your face.
He smells like your dad, the same blend of tobacco, leather, and spice. It’s been far too long since you’ve indulged in the memory of him, so you allow yourself the weakness, just this once.
And you let Hopper lead you back inside his loud and warmly lit home where Joyce greets you with a plate for dinner and promises to help you bake the pies for tomorrow.
Steve is dead on his feet when he arrives at Hop and Joyce’s house. He’d swung by the hospital to check on Eddie and talked with the doctor and nurses. It was all pretty standard— let him dry out and then assess for further damage. His vitals were good and there didn’t appear to be a need for concern at this point. The doctor, of course, recommended a stay in rehab after being discharged from the hospital, which was already suggested by Corroded’s management team.
“You fucking idiot.”
That’s the first thing Steve says to Eddie, quickly followed by:
“When you wake up, I’m gonna kill you myself.”
He doesn’t linger, knowing he’ll be back tomorrow, and the next day until Eddie wakes up. But it’s gone midnight by the time he turns the key at Hop’s place, kicking his boots at the door to rid them of the snow and ice, before toeing them off at the door. They thunk across the hardwood as he carelessly kicks them off, shrugging out of his coat and hanging it on the hooks by the door.
“Sshh, dingus, you’re gonna wake her up!” Robin hisses as her socked feet light down the stairs.
Steve smiles, relieved to see her, before asking, “Wake up who?”
Robin rolls her eyes and gestures to your sleeping form on the sofa. Steve studies you from a few steps up, one hand resting on the wooden bannister while the other pauses mid-air as he unravels his scarf. “Eddie’s fiancée, of course.”
“So, that’s her?”
You’ve turned your back to them, and you’ve curled in ever so slightly on the sofa. One of Joyce’s many blankets covers you, but your socked feet stick out from underneath one corner— dancing penguins.
At least, that’s what Steve thinks are on your socks. But, he may need to get his eyes checked again.
“What, you haven’t met her?” Robin takes in Steve’s shocked expression, before it softens into something akin to how he goes all moon-eyed at the babes who frequented Scoops Ahoy or Family Video when they were teens as his eyes fall to you once more. “She’s great, you’ll love her. Now c’mon, let’s get you some food.”
“Cereal?”
She snorts at that, “Not my cereal. You took the toy surprise last time!”
Safely ensconced in the kitchen, Robin and Steve catch up in between bites of sugary cereal. She regales him with how valiantly Jonathan tried to get you to take his room upstairs for your stay and how stubbornly you’d refused, insisting you’d be fine on the couch.
“I was right,” Robin says, some milk dribbling from her mouth as she chews. “Total knock-out and smart. Dunno how Munson managed it.”
“Oh y’know, the Munson charm probably.”
She hums in thought, setting her empty bowl in the sink. “Why d’you think he didn’t tell us?”
“Maybe he wanted it to be a surprise?”
“Fuck, what if he knocked her up?!”
Steve’s eyes blow wide at that thought. “Uh,” He says, astutely, “I don’t think that’s the case.”
“Yeah,” Robin hops down from her perch on the counter. “But how do we know?”
“You could ask her.”
She punches him in the arm, “You don’t just ask women if they’re pregnant Steve, geeze.”
He shrugs and slurps the sugary milk from the bowl before setting it alongside Robin’s. He licks his lips and crosses his arms in thought. Steve hadn’t considered the rather obvious conclusion that his rockstar best friend had inadvertently knocked someone up. Considering the groupies and types that flocked to Eddie, it was a long time coming.
If that’s what the case may be.
As it stands, it’s nearly two in the morning and Steve is exhausted. Thankfully, Family Video is closed for the holiday tomorrow, but he knows that in a few hours everyone is going to tramping around the house and generally being a nuisance. And he really doesn’t wanna drive clear across town to his place.
Steve pauses on the stairs, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest. Robin clears the landing and calls to him from the guest room, “C’mon dingus, I haven’t got all night.”
With a shake of his head, he climbs the stairs mindful not to linger too long on the creaky boards. He settles in sharing a bed with Robin, her icicle feet darting under his calves as he fusses with the blankets. His head hits the pillow, and he’s out like a light.
All you can think as you blearily blink yourself awake, is how everything is so loud. Even when they try to be quiet, scampering across the hall past the living room where you clung to the last vestiges of sleep - it was loud. Strained whispers about breakfast and hospital visits, the opening and closing of doors, Hopper hissing at the kids to “Keep your mouths shut,” and to “Stop chasing each other across the house!”
A man, whom you can only assume is Steve, stumbles down the stairs, sweats swung low on his hips sporting a threadbare t-shirt and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. You’ve never seen a human being with bedhead like that - strands sticking up every which way and the sheer volume it had, my god. Hand falling from his eye, his glasses slot back into place, a pair of simple round frames decked in silver. He stops short at the landing, one hand grasping the wood of the bannister, watching as you set the phone back in its cradle.
“Leaving so soon?”
And that voice - all husky and low from sleep, with a slight rasp to it. It’s amazing you’re not reduced to a puddle on the floor at this point. He stretches slowly, like an animal would, a hushed groan falling from his lips. You swallow the lump in your throat and drag your eyes from the sliver of skin exposed at his hip.
“No, just talking to Wayne.” You offer meekly, voice rusty from disuse, “He’s on his way over for an early morning hospital run.”
“Mmm,” Steve nods, “That’s not a bad idea.” He turns the corner from the stairs and stands beside you in the entryway. “I don’t think we’ve officially met,” He says, offering his hand to shake. “I’m Steve.”
“Nice to meet you.” You shake hands and introduce yourself. His hand is large and warm, the contact of your skin against his sending a shiver down your spine.
“That’s a pretty name,” He smiles at you, beginning to wake up a bit more. “So, you’re the fiancée.”
“Yup.”
“Huh.” He looks you up and down, clucks his tongue and departs, making his way toward the kitchen.
Once there, all hell breaks loose. Joyce and Hop are manning the stove and counter, flipping pancakes and shovelling eggs onto plates and all but throwing them at the kids. Wedged into the breakfast nook are Dustin, Lucas, and Mike while El, Max, Robin, and Jonathan commandeer the table in the kitchen.
“Mornin’ family.” Steve greets, bee-lining for the coffeemaker. Blessedly, there’s a fresh pot brewing in the percolator while he scavenges for a mug.
Mumbled versions of “Morning Steve,” sound out from the peanut gallery between bites of food and sips of coffee or orange juice. Joyce sets a plate in front of him on the counter and ruffles his hair, “Morning kiddo.”
Hop sighs from the stove, turning the dial of the burner to ‘Off’ before intoning, “The kitchen is officially closed, you gremlins.”
Steve chuckles as he removes the coffeepot and gives a generous pour into the ‘World’s Best Dad’ mug El made many moons ago. He’s not sure of your preferred cream-to-sugar ratio, so he decides to go without and trots out of the kitchen.
He sees the front door close at the end of the hall and quickens his step not wanting to miss you. Spying a pair of slides from god knows who, he slips them on and pulls the door open. Wayne’s old pickup is idling in the driveway as you step into the cab, feet unsteady and the newly formed ice of the drive. Wayne nods to Steve in greeting as he walks toward the house, while Steve waves in return.
“Careful,” He says as a hand comes to rest at your back.
Tossing a ‘thanks’ over your shoulder, you settle into the seat with a click of the seatbelt. “Did you need something?” You ask, breath forming puffs of vapor in the morning light.
“Well, uh,” Steve begins, ducking his head and gesturing to the mug in his hand. “The coffee’s not too great over there at the hospital.” He hands you the mug through the open door.
“Oh, thank you.”
He leans against the car, face level with yours. One fist at the roof of the cab while his opposite arm braces against the open door. A lock of hair falls into his face, and he’s so attractive that it’s stupid. “So, uh, y-you’re comin’ back, right? You’ll come back?”
You glance to him, unsure of why he’s so concerned with your whereabouts. “Yeah, we’re just checking in. We’ll be back soon.”
Steve nods at your confirmation, pushing off of the truck to stand at his full height. His hands slide to his hips, fingers just beneath the band of the sweatpants as he slowly arches his back, hips bobbing toward you. And you don’t know whether to maintain eye contact with him or focus on the looming proximity of his crotch.
“Oh boy,” He exhales, looking off into the distance. “What a day.”
Your eyes dart away when he looks to you once more, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. “Well, thank you.” You hold the mug up and take a tentative sip, “Good goddamn,” You whisper in disbelief.
“It’s good, right?” You nod and take another sip as he smiles, “I had a dream about you last night.” He tugs at the band of his sweats while your eyes cut to his.
“What?”
“Yeah,” He leans against the truck again, face closer to yours and arms resting against the roof of the cab. “I ended up havin’ a dream about you.”
“W-what was I doing?” You stammer out, as the sound of crushed snow and ice underfoot signals Wayne’s return.
“Well–” Steve starts to say before he’s cut off by Wayne’s, “Y’ready, sweetheart?”
You nod and clear your throat uncomfortably.
“You comin’?” Wayne asks Steve before he closes the passenger door.
“Later.” He turns to leave as Wayne settles into the driver’s seat but before you can pull out of the driveway, “Oh, y’know, you gotta make sure to bring back the mug because it’s Hop’s favorite.”
You stare back at him blankly.
“Or he’ll kill ya.”
“Okay,” You breathe watching as he makes his way back to the house, Adidas slides flopping through the snow.
Returning from the hospital an hour or so later, with plans to bring a few plates over for Eddie’s attending doctor and nurses, you nearly breeze past Steve sitting on the staircase with a mug of coffee and paper in hand.
“Hey,” You greet, toeing off your boots and shrugging out of your coat. “Wayne’s coming back for later, just had to grab some things from his place.”
He’s changed out of his sweats and done something to tame his hair. You can hear Joyce frantically corralling the kids in the kitchen, something about Mass and how she refuses to be late again. Steve shakes his head and drinks his coffee, ready and waiting to cart Robin, Dustin, and Max over to Our Lady of Perpetual Mercy for the Thanksgiving Mass.
But it would seem that no one warned you about Mass last night, which would explain the deer in headlights look you’re sporting now. Steve stands from his perch on the stairs, turning to yell at Robin, “Our Lady may have perpetual mercy, but I don’t and you’re really pushing it today Rob!”
When he turns back, you’re no longer in the entryway. The kitchen door swings as if someone just passed through, and he can hear your voice over the chatter from the kids. Joyce is rattling off instructions and times for food to be cooked and you’re diligently taking notes on the whiteboard attached to the fridge. Your handwriting is neat, and a bit slanted, giving it an effortless look. Capping the marker, you let it swing from the string on the fridge.
“Think that about does it,” You assure Joyce, gesturing to the lone velcro roller in her hair. “I’ll have everything ready by the time you get back.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with?” She asks, unraveling the roller and setting it on the windowsill above the sink. “I’m sure Robin has something you could borrow.”
Steve catches your eye roll and snorts into his mug. Your eyes cut to him, silently admonishing his outburst. He shakes his head and sets the mug on the counter, seeing Hop’s mug he loaned you earlier already on the drying rack.
“I don’t want to be a bother,” You kindly brush her off, “Besides, you’ll want to get going soon and I would just hold you up.”
“And the hotel is dropping off your luggage later?”
You nod, tying on an apron and moving to wash your hands. “Yeah, I spoke with the concierge this morning.”
“I wish you’d just sleep in Jonathan’s old room,” Joyce tuts, “He can go on the couch, he’s used to it.”
“Mom, I already offered—”
You laugh and raise your hand, “It’s fine Joyce, I’m already an imposition as it is. The last thing I’d want to do is put him out.”
Steve watches as you blend in with the family, how easily you soothe Joyce and her worries, banter with the kids, and crack jokes with Hop. It’s easy to see why Eddie could fall for someone like you. He just wishes he could find someone like that— easy going and kind, someone who fits in like a missing puzzle piece.
But maybe it’s too perfect.
Now there’s some food for thought.
A loud honk from Hop’s Bronco jars him from his musings. Steve claps his hands together, rallying the troops, “Okay, who’s with me?” Dustin, Lucas, and Max jump up from the table and gather their coats, scurrying out to the beemer. Robin takes the stairs two at a time, struggling to shrug into her coat. “Look alive, sunshine!”
Goodbyes ring out as you follow them to the porch, watching as they clamber into their cars. You wave as they pull out of the drive, Joyce rolling down the window for a final reminder about the dinner rolls. With good humor, you nod and give her a thumbs up as the Bronco drives onto the street.
The church parking lot is packed by the time they arrive. Steve drops off Robin and the kids before peeling out to find a parking spot, while Hop leaves the Bronco in the drop-off lane in front. Mass has already begun when Steve enters the chapel, quickly he slips in alongside Hop and Joyce at the family pew.
“We pray that the Lord’s healing presence will be felt by those who are sick and by their families. Especially Robert Newby, Barbara Holland, and Edward Munson. We pray to the Lord,” The priest intones from the lectern.
“Lord hear our prayer.”
Steve stands in between Hopper and Robin, waiting for the priest to move it along.
“O, God, you call us to live as one family. Save us from…”
Finally, they sit. Half-paying attention to the priest, Steve turns to Hop and asks, “So, who’s this fiancée?”
“She’s Eddie’s girl, she’s family now.”
“You’d think if Eddie were getting married, he would have announced it in the Times.”
Hop turns to him, “We read the Indianapolis Star.”
And the congregants say, “Amen.”
“If she’s family, why isn’t she at Mass with us?”
Hop snorts, “That’s rich, comin’ from you, kid.”
“I like Mass better in Latin,” Wayne pipes up from his seat next to Joyce, “It’s nicer when you don’t know what they’re sayin’.”
“D’ya think about what I said the other night?”
“Nope.”
“Steve, come on.” Hop stands with the rest of the congregation, “You’ve got the instinct for it, and gettin’ through the Academy is a breeze.”
“I told you,” Steve says following suit, “I don’t wanna be a cop for chrissakes.”
“Stop swearing,” Joyce hisses, “We’re in Mass.”
“But there is something I’d like to talk to you about.”
“Well, you can talk about it later,” Joyce reminds them.
“Talk about it now,” Robin says leaning toward Steve conspiratorially, “He can’t kill you in church.”
“Will you please pipe down?” An exasperated parishioner asks from the pew behind them.
Hop scoffs and slowly turns around, “Hey, be nice, pal. We’re in church.”
“You’re disrupting the Mass!” He hisses back.
“Yeah? And who made you the Pope?”
“Jim!” Joyce hisses, nudging with an elbow.
“Now how did Argyle get to be a lector?” Wayne asks, “He took over Ed’s gig with Reefer Rick after he moved to LA with the band.”
Steve and Hopper snort, Robin tries and fails to repress her laughter. Down past Wayne, Dustin and Mike are a few seconds from a slap fight while Max and El whisper in between fits of giggles. Joyce sighs deeply.
And the congregation says, “Amen.”
Cooking Thanksgiving lunch goes off without a hitch. Everything was ready, as you promised, by the time they’d returned from Mass and you’d caught the tail end of Joyce’s scolding: “We will try to behave as a civilized family might—”
The kitchen door swung open to reveal Hopper and Joyce both stopping short at the sight of you washing dishes.
“H-how did you—” Joyce’s mouth opens and closes, struck dumb at the sight of gleaming dishes in the drying rack and the dishwasher already running.
“Oh, hi,” You toss over your shoulder, “The dining room table is set, I was just cleaning up in here.”
Steve and Robin file in soon after, bickering about something or other. They’re talking fast and cutting each other off, but it doesn’t deter their conversation.
“Why do you keep singling me out?” Steve balks, throwing his coat on the back of a nearby chair.
“Well, if you hadn’t been pestering Hop throughout Mass we might’ve—”
“And I can’t even defend myself?”
“Forget it,” Hop cuts in with a warning tone, “And I know you gave her my mug, Harrington.”
“Oh, did you need it?” Your hand flies to the cabinet above the coffeemaker, a fresh pot already brewed. “It’s all washed and ready to go.”
Dustin enters shortly after, “Let’s just vote Steve off the island,” and thumps him on the chest in passing.
“Yeah,” Hop agrees.
Steve sighs and runs a hand through his hair, “Well, I’m ashamed of all of you.”
“Oh, there’s some news,” Max mutters sarcastically, leaning against the fridge.
Steve’s eyes fall to Lucas, “Even you Sinclair.”
Lucas throws up his hands in exasperation, “I didn’t even do anything!”
“Okay, enough.” Joyce says cutting through the nonsense. “It’s Thanksgiving, we’re going to eat lunch without any of this bickering. And then, with any luck, you lot will pass out watching the game and I can finally get some goddamn peace.”
Everyone has the decency to look mildly embarrassed, that is until:
“No swearing.”
Steve punches Robin in the arm, “Can it.”
The room descends into guffaws and fits of laughter shortly thereafter. Joyce eventually herds everyone into the dining room, Robin pours the drinks while Hop carves the turkey. Everyone helps themselves to the various sides— dinner rolls, green bean casserole, mashed potatoes, gravy, cranberry sauce, stuffing, and roasted veggies. Wayne arrives with cornbread fresh from the oven and some vanilla ice cream to go with the pies for dessert.
The candles are lit casting a warm glow around the room, illuminating smiling faces. And it’s nice. Nice to belong, if only temporarily, to a big family that loves hard. Growing up, it had been only you and your dad. And after his death, that left only you. You had missed it, all of it— the inside jokes, sibling taunts, half-assed scolding followed by a cheeky wink, and that effortless touch.
It was second nature, how freely they expressed their affection for one another. Steve roping Dustin into a half-nelson for a noogie, Jonathan and Will kicking eachother under the table, El and Max communicating in half-formed sentences and wild gesticulations, Joyce, Hop, and Wayne sharing long-suffering sighs.
“Hey,” Robin says, nudging you with her elbow after refilling your wine glass. “I’m thankful for you.” Her voice is soft, like she’s sharing a secret. Cheeks tinged with a flush from the wine, she smiles at you and raises her glass. “I’d like to propose a toast,” She announced to the group, “To our newest addition and guardian angel, cheers!”
The sentiment is echoed across the table, calls of your name and ‘here, here.’ And it’s so kind that your heart could burst. You sip your wine and swallow around the lump in your throat. Going back to your meal, you can’t help but feel like you’re being watched, observed. Glancing up, you catch Steve looking at you from across the table.
The flicker of golden light against his face does little to ease the knot in your chest. His hair is slightly disheveled, a lock falling across his face wrought loose from his fingers combing through it. His eyes appear more green than hazel in the light, studying you from behind wire frames. Your pulse kicks up under his scrutiny, and he looks at you as if you’ll unravel right then and there.
Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe it was the years of tropical vacations instead of celebrating holidays with friends and family that made you forget that, actually, families are complicated and any recollection of pleasant holiday celebrations spent with your dad were a figment of your own nostalgia-tinted imagination and the promise of skiing the next day.
For a moment, shame creeps upon you like a thief in the night. You tear yourself from Steve's gaze, not noticing the concerned furrow of his brows as you hastily stand and offer to clear some plates from the table. Sweeping out of the room and nudging the kitchen door open with your hip. He absentmindedly swirls the remaining wine in his glass and blows out a puff of air.
Ever the detective, it takes Hopper all of two seconds to ascertain that Steve did something to hasten your departure from the table. Seeing as the punk is pointedly not looking his way, Hopper lobs a dinner role at Steve, grazing his cheek only to land on his plate sending the cutlery clattering. He jerks upright, setting the glass on the table, “What the–”
“That’s enough,” Hop warns with cool detachment and a knowing look in his eye. He nods toward the kitchen, “Now, go make nice.”
Everything is still mostly out of your control in the kitchen, precisely because you don’t know where anything should go and having a knot in your chest as hard as a rock does little to help matters. But Steve silently rescues you by beginning to unload the dishwasher and Robin starts a thirty minute tale of increasing ridiculousness and by the time the attention turns back to you, you are slightly less hysteric and better able to answer El’s kind questions.
You swallow a twist of guilt and a bigger twist of gratitude. You feel some anxiety brimming in your stomach and nod, giving El a strained smile.
Something knocks against your shoulder. The warm scent of cedar and musk invading your senses— Steve.
“Your shoulders are up near your ears,” he observes.
You sigh at that, trying to roll out the tension, but not quite managing to. Par for the course, with your indeterminate stay in Hawkins looming in the air and stretching far across the foreseeable future.
contains: copious twin peaks references (you do not have to be familiar with the show to read!); audrey!reader; mean!reader; dumb puppy steve; tension; flirting; teasing; mentions of smut
note: i just think audrey and steve would be fun together… this is self-indulgent but i hope you enjoy! if you haven’t watched twin peaks, you MUST. you also should watch this tiny little clip to get the vibe of this fic <3
“Nice decorations.”
Steve turns, stomach twisting in a confusing, delicious way when he sets his eyes on you. Propped up on a bar stool in his kitchen, legs crossed under your wool tartan skirt, a foot kicking in your black and white oxfords. His eyes fall to your lips, painted cherry red. Your white teeth bite into them. You gesture towards the living room, juvenile decor strewn about.
“Audrey Horne,” he says, clocking your costume immediately.
You grin. “And you must be my Dale Cooper.”
He only dressed up like this because he had a suit and a similar tie and enough coffee mugs to sell it. “How’d you guess?” he quips.
You giggle, head turning to the side. You have her mannerisms down pat. “Isn’t that funny? What do you think it means, Stevie?”
“That Twin Peaks is a popular show.”
You tsk. “That’s no fun, is it? Maybe we’re all synced up.”
Your finger taps your temple. It registers now that you’re smoking a cigarette. He blinks at it. He opens his mouth to tell you to put it out, but you ash it onto the tile of his kitchen floor before he can speak.
“Put it out,” he says. Then adds, “Please.”
Your grin, playful and mean, makes him blush. “What are you worried about, Stevie? Your parents aren’t here.”
“Doesn’t mean I want you to make a mess.”
You hum. “You probably shouldn’t have big parties if you don’t want a mess, huh?”
You bring the cigarette back to your lips. You’re hypnotic, dragging Steve closer. He doesn’t know how to talk to you and he never has. You’re the only person he’s ever met that talks to him like that. Like he’s a nobody, like he’s pressed down underneath your shoe.
It’s so hard to admit to himself that he really likes it.
“I don’t remember inviting you,” he says. Tries real hard to keep up the cool guy act.
“No, but you invited my best friend.” You nod towards her, and Steve turns to look. He doesn’t remember inviting her, either, but at least she’s not ashing a cigarette onto his floor.
“What’s the problem, Special Agent?” You take a puff from your cig. Your head tilts to the side. “Do you want a taste?”
His heart skips, body growing hot, but then you’re handing over the nicotine.
And he really wishes you’d let him push up your skirt and eat your cunt out while you talk to him like that. So mean, teasing, hands pulling his hair so tight it hurts. Wants to shut you up when he pushes himself inside of you. Wants you to run your mouth when you find your voice again, talking down, degrading him so much he has to kiss you to make you stop. The revelation startles him, and your smile grows as if you can read his mind.
“I don’t remember Dale Cooper smoking,” he manages.
You roll your eyes. “Alright, Stevie,” you say, pulling back. You stare at him as you put it out on the countertop behind you. “There. No smoking.”
Your delicate hands suddenly reach out, nails manicured. You take his tie between your hands, studying the stripes of it. Then you tug on it, bringing his face down to yours. You smell like cherries and vanilla and a soft groan slips from his throat.
“How about a taste of something else?”
Steve blinks slow, stupid. Completely entranced. “Okay,” he whispers, cock hardening.
But you pull away and reach for the bowl of alcohol-soaked marichino cherries behind you, sitting pretty beside the jungle juice. You bring it to his lips, looking at him mischievously, teeth biting into your lip once again. “Open up.”
He doesn’t even think about it. His soft lips part and you hold the cherry by the stem, letting the bittersweet flesh of it catch between his teeth. He doesn’t pull away, so you do for him, snapping the stem off as you pull back.
He chews, delirious.
“Good boy,” you coo. “My Special Agent.”
And then you bring the stem up to your lips and it disappears between your teeth.
Steve’s cock aches. He watches your tongue roll in your mouth, a look of concentration bringing your arched brows together, before you pull it from your red lips in a perfect little knot.
He’s so dumbfounded. Wants you to kiss him so bad. He’d let you do anything you want to him.
You take one of his big hands, hanging heavy at his side. You place the stem in his palm and wrap his fingers around it, looking up at him so innocently. He thinks for a moment that you might actually like him, the way your eyes are all soft, your tongue swiping along your bottom lip.
“Something to remember me by,” you say.
You stare at each other for another long moment, and Steve’s eyes start to flutter shut, heart racing, stomach fluttering. But you never move, never press your crimson mouth to his.
“Your tie’s messed up,” you say instead, sitting upright. Your hands find the knot of it, and you push it upwards, making it sit snug around his bobbing throat. It restricts his air flow, making him feel even dizzier.
You smooth it, then drag your nails down his chest and tummy before dropping them so they gently brush against the zipper of his black slacks.
“You’re being a bad host,” you scold, getting down from the stool, squeezing yourself around him. “You better go mind your minions before they make a bigger mess than I did.”
Steve watches you disappear into the crowd, the world suddenly coming back again. The music’s too loud and he searches for Robin with lovestruck eyes. He finds her, watching him with her jaw dropped. She makes a face - what the hell was that? - and he decides his boner needs a little more attention than her prying.
contains: gender unspecified reader; reader with a vagina; shy!reader; pining; handjobs; fingering
your costume is inoffensive. you were only going to robin’s, anyway, with the promise of horror movies and candy and takeout and a sleepover. but you feel steve’s eyes on you, the way your white silken shirt shows off your neck.
“an angel?” eddie had laughed when you walked in. you’d already felt hot, catching steve’s eyes across the kitchen.
now your legs are crossed neatly and politely under your white pleated skirt. the fabric of robin’s couch digs into your thighs and you shift uncomfortably. you also shift at steve’s attention, sitting across from you on the floor. he’s dressed as some guy from a movie you’ve never seen, but he looks incredible. a black blazer hugs his biceps, sunglasses sitting pretty on the bridge of his nose while everyone scoffs at him to take them off. they’re all the way down at the tip of his nose, though, watching you rather than the tv screen.
you catch steve’s hand trailing down to rest on his lap. you look away before anyone notices. a minute later, you can’t help yourself, and you take another glance at him.
the heel of his palm presses into his crotch. the screen darkens, shading his face, and you feel your heart beating in your throat as his eyes don’t leave yours. you have to force your gaze away again, feeling hot, squeezing your thighs together.
he excuses himself not long after, heading towards the bathroom. you’re not sure if you’re supposed to follow, but you don’t. your ass stays glued to the couch and you try so hard to listen to eddie’s quips and nancy’s shushes and not about steve jerking himself off.
the party - if you can even call it that - ends at one, despite eddie’s protests. you’re exhausted, pulling your clothes off in robin’s bedroom while she changes into her pajamas behind you.
“hey, did you notice anything about steve?”
your brows furrow and your stomach drops. “what?”
“didn’t he seem weird to you?”
you lick your lips and grab your pajamas, trying to stay nonchalant as you slip the cotton over your head. “i didn’t really notice.”
“he was quiet,” she says to herself. “whatever. i’ll talk to him tomorrow.”
you turn to face her, pajama bottoms in your clammy palms. “isn’t he sleeping with you tonight?” he usually does.
robin snorts, almost tripping while struggling to put her shorts on. “we’re all sleeping in the living room. that’s why it’s a sleepover.”
you’re never getting away from his prying eyes. you gnaw on your lip and turn away again. “oh.”
“do you want my bed?” she asks. “i know there’s not a lot of space out there.”
“no,” you say, absentminded. “there’s two couches and a recliner, right? we just have to get to them before the boys do.”
and you do, somehow, fall asleep, head resting on a pillow on the same scratchy couch you sat on earlier. you sleep until four, waking up with sleepy eyes and a full bladder. it’s a minefield walking through the living room, trying to be quiet and not step on someone, including steve. he rests sweetly, an angel in his own right, soft brown hair falling over his freckled forehead.
you stay in the bathroom a while. sleepovers were never your strong suit. and you can’t stop thinking about steve, about his hand wrapped around his cock in this bathroom, while you sat helpless just a few feet away from him. sweat beads at your hairline and you wipe it away. with a sigh, you turn off the light and open the door, nearly shouting at steve’s presence on the other side.
“sorry,” he rushes, lifting his hands. “i didn’t know —“
“it’s okay,” you whisper. your heartbeat doesn’t slow. “are you okay?”
“yeah,” he whispers. his voice his deep with sleep. “just - checking on you.”
“oh,” you say dumbly.
neither of you move. your eyes adjust to the dark, the dim nightlight in the bathroom aiding your vision. he’s so beautiful when he’s rested, so soft.
his hands find your arms and he gently pushes you back into the bathroom, making sure to quietly shut the door and lock it before pressing his lips to yours. you squeak, both in relief and surprise - surprise that he touches you like this, his friends in the other room, while you’re all unkempt. still, you seize it, wrapping your fingers through his hair while he tugs you closer.
“miss you,” he breathes. he always says that, like he can’t do anything about it.
“missed you, too.”
he grins against your mouth. “you just saying that?”
you shake your head. his lips kiss down your neck and you shiver, hands grasping at his old hawkins high tee. “what were - what were you d-doing earlier?”
steve’s tongue laves against your skin. “when?”
it takes you a moment to remember what you were saying. “in the living room, when - your - you were, you know.”
his teeth gently bite you. “can’t help myself anymore.”
you moan, breathless. your hands clutch his shirt harder. “don’t.”
he pulls away, eyes soft, apologetic. “i’m sorry.”
you shake your head. “don’t - when you say stuff like that i get all….”
he smiles softly. “i drive you crazy.”
you laugh. “yeah.”
“you drive me crazy, too.”
his fingers tickle when they make their way up your thigh. “you looked so pretty tonight. did you do that for me?”
“maybe,” you whisper, his hands trailing higher.
he chuckles, his hand finding your ass and groping it. you gasp, pushing into him, feeling how hard he is in his gym shorts.
“for the record, i didn’t touch myself,” he whispers against your lips. “just had to wait it out for a little, that’s all.”
“okay.”
steve pulls away a little and bites his cheek. “should i have?”
you shake your head, hands shaking. “i want to help.”
he sighs dreamily. “wanna help you, too.”
steve helps you sit on the counter, helps you get off your pants and underwear before his thumb finds your clit. you gasp loudly and he tsks.
“you gotta be quiet for me, okay? it’d be rude to wake everyone up.”
it’s an impossible task, but you’ll try for him. your hand moves down to palm at his cock while he works on you, and you see his eyes roll back.
“jesus.”
“be quiet,” you repeat.
“don’t get smart with me, baby.”
he’s joking but it makes you tense up and he feels it. he doesn’t get to bask it in for long, your hand gently gripping his erection. he groans softly. “here, let me—“
and his cock is free, heavy and soft and leaking in your palm. you’re not sure what you’re doing, but you know it hurts if he’s dry. you bring your hand to your mouth and spit, watching him for any disgust. his breath gets heavier instead, so you slowly move your hand down to his cock, gently jerking him off.
“oh my god,” steve huffs, his forehead pressed against yours. “oh my god.”
kindly, his fingers work harder on your clit, applying pressure and evening his pace. he matches yours, nice and slow, easy.
“you’re so wet.”
“have been,” you whisper. “all night.”
“sh-shoulda told me. could’ve helped. christ, angel, forgot how tight you are.”
his finger dips towards your cunt and you gasp as he pushes the tip of it in. distracted, your hand moves faster, and steve bites down on your shoulder to stop himself from shouting.
“jesus christ, sp-spit again, honey, need it.”
so you do, twice, making sure it’s enough before continuing. steve shudders and you groan as he presses his finger in slowly, one hand flat on the counter beside you.
you watch him with wide eyed amazement. he’s so gorgeous with his eyes shut tight, the veins in his neck gently flexing, throat bobbing as he swallows. you’re lost in it, in the fullness of his finger sinking in deep, his thumb swiping lazily across your clit.
“oh my god,” you whisper.
steve slips his finger out and bring it to his lips, sucking your wetness off of it.
“oh my god,” you repeat, and in your haze you’ve brought him in closer, hand moving fast on his swollen dick, his hips fucking into your fist — and then the head of it kisses your clit.
you both gasp. you’ve never felt that before, and steve hasn’t, either. never didn’t use a condom. you pull back and freeze, eyes wide and locked on each other.
“i’m sorry,” he finally says, voice hoarse.
“i did it,” you rush out. “i’m sorry, i - i got distracted.”
but it felt good. so good, so dirty, and steve doesn’t move away, just stares at you. so you swipe his cock against your clit again and this time, you don’t stop.
steve groans again, both hands on the counter, knuckles white. he presses his forehead against yours. “shit, oh — we — have t-to be careful-!”
“are you going to cum?”
“holy shit,” he gasps, rutting his hips. “say that again.”
“a-are you going to cum?”
he breathes through his teeth, big hands coming to rest on your spread thighs. he grips them tight, bruising. “oh, god, yes — i have - have to-“
he suddenly reaches past you, grabbing a washcloth and pulling away from you. he moves to jerk himself off, but you swat his hand away and continue, looking up at him with shiny eyes until he cums into the cloth, biting his knuckle, legs shaking.
steve has to grab your wrist to make you stop, overstimulated and spent. sweat drips from his forehead as his chest heaves. you look at him expectantly, scared you’ve crossed a boundary. if those even exist anymore.
“your turn,” he finally pants, kneeling. “been waiting to taste you again.”
your head falls back in ecstasy, hands tangling in his hair once again as his tongue flicks eagerly against your clit. it doesn’t take long before you unravel, fueled by the depravity of it all. you gasp and moan into your palm, but steve’s louder, even muffled by your cunt. he continues until you’re shaking and whimpering before standing again on his own wobbly legs.
“oh my god,” you whisper, smoothing his shirt down.
“i missed you,” he says again.
you repeat it, pushing his hair away from his face.
“um,” he finally says. “you can - clean up first.”
“okay,” you say, entranced by him. you don’t want to let him go.
he grins. “okay.”
face hot, you let him leave, and slip past him again on your way back to the couch. you’ve never slept harder.
18+ mdni. smut. mean!exhusband!eddie;) breeding kink if you squint a lil
a/n: i was not expecting to post again so soon but this genuinely couldn’t wait lol. i have another parts to this little piece so lmk if you’d like to see it. someone posted a really really good exhusband!eddie fic like a month ago and ive lost it, but they inspired this entire thing!
^it was this post by @madelynraemunson !!!
˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗
eddie wasn’t expecting to find you standing on the other side of the door, nor had he expected you to barge right past him and into his kitchen.
you seemed to show up with zero rhyme or reason, typically wanting something from him.
that was fine, appreciated even.
he just wasn’t a fan of you waltzing into his home with the sole purpose of talking about your pig of a husband.
“david wanted me to ask you if he could take the kids up to washington to see his parents,” you stand awkwardly at the kitchen island, his apartment a shell of the house you once owned together.
eddie pauses, launching the dish towel onto the counter and laughs, deep and gravely as he swings back around, “no.”
“why not?” you huff, blinking expectantly at your petulant ex. he’d always been a sucker for your eyes, divorce couldn’t changed that.
“because i said so,” leaning against the marbled counter, “he asked you to ask me and i said no, that’s it. done.”
“you’re being stubborn,” crossing your arms over your chest, scolding in the way you talk to him.
“i don’t care.”
“eddie,” stepping forward.
“sweetheart,” his tone disapproving as he also steps up, closing the gap between you, “no,” enunciating the word in hopes that you’d actually understand now.
“don’t be an asshole,” you frown, a couple years ago you’d pout and get your own way but now eddie found great satisfaction in telling you no.
“i’m not being an asshole, you asked me a question and i answered, dave can go to washington, but you and my kids can’t,” his lip twitching into a dastardly smirk. any minute now you’d crack, really let loose on his ass.
“oh, so now i can’t go? who the fuck are you to tell me what to do?” poking your sharp finger into his chest, a fury behind your eye that almost instantly made him hard.
“the father of our kids? or have you forgotten about that?”
“unfortunately not,” rolling your eyes, nonetheless you make no effort to leave, your bag already on the counter, signifying that what he assumed would happen next was definitely going to happen next.
“you don’t mean that,” sidling closer, trapping your body between the counter and his chest, “because if you did, you wouldn’t let me keep fucking the shit outta you.”
eddie’s rock solid now, this was foreplay for him, getting high off of the way you argued with him, degrading him right to his face.
“shut up,” rolling your eyes to the back of your head, fingers curling into the hem of his shirt, “you’re so pathetic,” glancing down at his boner now pressing against your cunt.
“mmhmm,” he wouldn’t fight it, in fact, he’s proud of it, “only for you though,” finding your hips, palming at the doughy flesh.
your lips twitch and he knows he’s won this fight, planting your lips to his, a firm hand on his chest just to remind him who was really in charge.
sighing into your mouth as you move against him, his hands running beneath the seam of your skirt, feeling his way up the backs of your thighs to settle on your ass.
“eds,” you hum, pulling away from his lips, “i’ve gotta go pick the boys up,” making zero effort to stop the inevitable, your chest flush against his.
“well better make it quick this time then,” he growls, walking your body into the countertop, manhandling your body to face you against the hard counter, pressing up against the swell of your ass. his belt clinks as his jeans fall down around his thighs, boxers following behind.
“this is.. i have to go,” you gasp, rolling your head back to allow his lips room to find your neck, nuzzling right into his favourite spot just tucked underneath your jaw.
“then why don’t you leave?” his gruff voice vibrates against your chin as his hands slide underneath your shirt, spilling your tits from your bra to get a full handed grope of them.
your hand rests atop of his, the other gripping to the countertop for dear life.
you’re not going to leave, that much is obvious. eddie’s also fairly certain that you’ve got at least an hour before you have to go. he’s not stupid, you play the game just as much as he does, pretending to leave just to pounce on him straight after.
“that’s what i thought,” sarcastic as ever, threatening to score violet splotches behind on your neck, though his lips detach before he’s able to.
eddie lets his thoughts slip back to the reason you’re even here, letting himself get frustrated by your blind audacity all over again.
“you must be fucking stupid coming in here, asking me shit like that,” his large, calloused hand pawing at your tits, the other yanking your panties down to hang around your thighs.
“no i’m not,” arguing back though you’re completely docile, allowing him to bend your torso over the marbled countertop, his hands groping your plush skin. “he’s my..” sigh, “husband now and you need to- fu-uck respect that,” fingers curling around his arm, pinching at the skin when he slides inside with no warning.
“what was that?” eddie mocks, slamming into your cunt with little remorse, full of years of pent up frustration and a tiny dose of regret.
once upon a time, this was his everyday. having you absolutely anywhere he wanted, and now it was solely reserved for times you really needed him to agree to something. or perhaps david had done something stupid, as he often did. sending you running back to eddie like a feeble little deer.
“shut up,” sighing in time with his rough strokes, the sound of his hips slapping against your ass echoes through his barren kitchen, filthy sounds of sex wailed through his apartment far more often than they should.
before you’d met david, he’d see you once a week while dropping the kids off, maybe he’d get to taste you a couple times a month, if he was lucky. it was only after you remarried that you’d come around unannounced, asking about something that most definitely could’ve been a call.
eddie doesn’t care, you’re the only woman for him anyway, a couple divorce papers couldn’t change that.
“you fuckin’ love it,” he growls, grabbing a fistful of your hair and fiercely tugging your head back, “y’gotta drive all the way over here just to cum, ain’t that sad?” speaking low right into your ear, his arms keeping a strong hold of your torso as your knees grow weak.
“you don’t.. you’re- fuck you,” knuckles glowing white with your grip on the counter, other hand desperately nuzzling between your thighs, circling your neglected clit.
“have to speak up honey, i can’t hear you,” the tip of his cock nudges against your soft spot, eliciting a strangled mewl from your pretty wetted lips.
“i can make myself cum,” you speak proudly through gritted teeth, voice bouncing around with every slam of his hips, “i don’t need you,” rubbing your clit harsher, as if to prove a point.
“oh yeah? show me baby.. let me see you cum,” slowing his strokes but keeping his cock firmly enveloped inside, jaw clenching with every squeeze and quiver of your cunt.
eddie palms your tit, getting as much satisfaction from this as you were. your whimpers alone could make him cum, hell, just a look and he was rock solid in his jeans.
“oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck,” gasping into the air, leant back against his shoulder, head turning to hide in the nook of his neck as you teeter over, waves of pleasure shocking your body.
“shit,” he grunts underneath his breath, feeling you writhe around in his arms, “that was good sweetheart, my turn,” resuming his assault on your cunt, breath stuttering as his hips begin to rock again.
his hand replaces yours, slipping between your thighs to find your clit, thrusts becoming sloppy and weak as the blood rushes to his head, sending his stomach into a series of somersaults.
even in your separation, your pleasure came first. an important pocket of information wayne had awkwardly handed him when his voice started cracking and girls no longer had cooties.
you’re putty in his arms, fully relying on the countertop to keep you upright, thighs quivering with the intensity of your orgasm and the anticipation of the quickly approaching next one.
“oh.. my.. god,” whining with every thrust, your voice thick with lustrous air, too fucked out to stand or even think straight.
“i’m gonna, sh-shit cum sweetheart,” pounding recklessly into your trembling pussy, dripping in a mixture of your juices.
you clench around him, tipping over the edge once more, barely able to hold yourself upright with shaking knees and a harsh grip of his arm.
eddie isn’t, nor had he ever been one for pulling out, he liked running that risk, the thrill of maybe knocking you up again.
three kids don’t happen without at least one accident, that’s for sure.
he doesn’t now, pumping the thick ropes of his release into your cunt, groaning belligerently as he does so. praying to god this was the time it stuck, pregnant with his child once again.
you fall flat against the counter, heaving for breath with the last of his pathetic strokes, growling into the stuff air.
he slaps a harsh palm to your ass for good measure, trailing his hand down your trembling thighs, “so you run along home now and tell him exactly what i told you,” fingering the lace of your panties as he hikes them back over your thighs.
⚠️ fem!reader, reader has a pussy, recorded sex, oral (m!receiving), cheating (pls don’t do that guys; this is fantasy not reality), begging, possessive!eddie, really really rough sex, unprotected p in v, creampie, breeding kink, revenge sex, dirty talk, pet names— good girl, pretty girl, sweetheart, angel, baby, babe, sweet thing—, language, slight choking, bestfriend!eddie, kinda actually absolutely dom!eddie, d/s undertones, brief throat fucking, going in without prep(?), missionary/mating press, lots of mentions of messy, sloppy, filthy fluids (drool, cum, pussy juice, etc) (author probably uses too much dialogue im sorry)
✏️ it wasn’t supposed to get as filthy as it did but who am i to question fate? 🤷♀️ also not edited yet bc it’s 1am and i need sleep im so sorry for any mistakes 🙏 [edit: finally edited lol]
━━━━━━━━ ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ ━━━━━━━━...
“hey, now, pretty girl. look up at me. he’s gotta see you.”
eddie’s command was a low rumble, honey thick with arousal and almost completely fucked out. you flicked your eyes up to meet his, ignoring the glare of the flash from his phone.
eddie groaned low when you did and brought his thick thumb to the side of your mouth, where your lips were currently stretched around his cock — he pushed his thumb in ever so slightly next to it, and you shivered when hot drool slipped around it and down your chin.
“fuuuuuck.” eddie droned out, cock kicking up against your palate. “look so fuckin’ good. look at you swallow that cock.”
you nearly whined around him, pussy aching with the need to be fucked — eddie was so thick and long, you knew he could reach all the places jason couldn’t. and you really, really fucking wanted it.
“ah — shit, he doesn’t even realize what he’s missing.” eddie murmured, hips bucking up, and and you weren’t sure if he meant for you to hear it or if it had merely slipped out unintentionally.
either way, you didn’t quite care. not when his cockhead was forcing itself past your tonsils to poke at your throat, giving it such a pleasant stretch.
“mhmm, shit, take it down your throat. good girl.” eddie grunted, thumb slipping from your mouth so he could cradle your jaw, fingertips pressing against your neck to hold your head still as he shoved his cock further inside.
your stomach lurched as you gagged, the intrusion deep and intense, and the noise only stirred eddie into further action — he pulled his dick out until only the tip remained between your lips, then thrusted.
tears spilled from your eyes as he repeated the motion and over again, fucking himself down your throat and releasing guttural groans as he did so.
“perfect fuckin’ throat, baby. takes me so damn well, shit!”
your eyes nearly rolled back into your head as you went limp, allowing eddie to use your throat as he pleased. he wasn’t showing much mercy, his grip on your neck bruising and pumps even more so, but you fucking loved it. loved the way you couldn’t breathe, loved the forced stretch of your throat, loved the absolute control eddie was enacting over you.
he was so, so much better than jason.
jason, who would have never even thought of treating you so roughly. who never fucked you into stupidity. who never lasted more than a goddamn minute.
god, you should have fucked eddie so much sooner. even before jason cheated on you.
“oh, baby. look at how much you love this. he never did this, did he? never fucked your slutty little throat?” eddie cooed, almost mockingly, as if he could simply read your mind.
fuck, you couldn’t take it anymore — you needed some relief, and you needed it now. you weren’t surprised to find a goddamn swimming pool between your thighs when you shoved your hand there, fingers sliding through the slick and finding your hole almost immediately.
you pumped your fingers in time with eddie’s savage thrusts inside your throat, the stimulation to your mouth and pussy sending you straight to white hot nirvana.
“oh, so cute. look at you fucking yourself.” eddie whispered, eyes wide with faux adoration. “does she need my cock, baby? need it nice and deep?”
despite having a cock down your throat, you somehow managed to whine and nod, your fingers simply not enough. it felt like eddie was mocking you in some way, and for some reason, it completely lit a fire in you. it was hot, and made your head kind of fuzzy.
all at once, eddie paused — his cock stilled inside your throat, and your own fingers halted their movement from the weight of your confusion. you stared up at him as he stared down at you, thoughts crashing through his blown pupils.
“beg for it.” he finally muttered after a moment of silence. his hand fell from your neck, allowing you the freedom of movement. eddie leaned back slightly and those plump, pretty lips pulled into a downright devilish smirk.
“you want my cock so bad, look right into the camera and beg for it.”
your eyes widened fractionally as it dawned on you — eddie wanted you to do it for the camera. because that was the whole plan, wasn’t it? to record eddie fucking you into oblivion and send it to jason? to show him that you could do it too, and do it better?
it shouldn’t have made your pussy throb, but it did. something about being recorded, about knowing that jason would see it, see you being a complete slut for someone else, begging for someone else’s cock, was just so, so arousing.
without a second’s hesitation you released eddie’s cock with a soft pop, eyes lidded and voice absolutely wrecked from having your throat fucked so roughly.
“please put your cock in me. please eddie, fuck me — i need it. please —”
eddie surged forward and cut you off by pressing his lips to yours. his hand flew to the back of your head and he gripped your hair in a fist. pain erupted across your scalp, and you released a sound that you couldn’t identify as either a gasp or a moan — maybe something in between the two.
eddie wasted no time in shoving his tongue into your mouth when your lips parted, dominating every single inch of it. it faintly reminded you of having his cock against your tongue, and without actually thinking, you wrapped your lips around the wet muscle and sucked.
it pulled a deep, almost feral growl from eddie, a sound that seemed to reverberate around the room and went straight to your core.
your head felt fuzzy, as if you couldn’t think. your body was moving as if on instinct alone, and you let out the smallest of whimpers as you suckled on his tongue. as he let you do it.
eddie’s arm wrapped around your middle and the breath was knocked from your lungs when he slammed your body into his.
eddie’s cock was hard between your bodies, slick from your spit, and the sensation of the hot flesh sliding against your tummy sent your mind into a frenzy. fuck, you wanted it in you, wanted him to fuck you up ‘til you couldn’t think —
you popped your lips off of his tongue and drew in a deep breath. eddie groaned when you did so, but it quickly morphed into a moan when you slid your hand between the two of you and gripped his cock.
“fuck me,” you whined, rationality completely gone. the only thing you could think of was eddie, of his scent, his taste, his skin, his warmth, his cock. “fuck me so hard, eddie. please, w-want it so bad…”
eddie let out a string of curses and before you could fully collect yourself you were turned on your axis and shoved into the mattress.
eddie quickly followed your body, sliding himself between your thighs and pulling them open. he lined himself up with your slick cunt and slid the head of his dick up and down slit, pulling a symphony of pleased whimpers and encouragements from your lips.
“fuck, baby, i can’t hold back now.” eddie warned, eyes endless pools of black as he gazed into yours. “it might hurt, angel.”
“i want it to.” you whispered without missing a beat, shocked by how true the statement was. you wanted him to fuck you up, pound you into oblivion until you couldn’t think, speak, or see straight.
no… you needed that.
the sound that eddie released was completely inhuman, as was the scream that tore from your throat when eddie shoved your knees into your chest and buried himself to the hilt in one thrust.
your pussy clenched around him and the breath was knocked from your lungs. god, he was so fucking big, you felt like you were splitting apart. he was in your fucking stomach.
“fuuuuck, tight — hah, so tight. fuck.” eddie panted, squeezing his eyes shut and stilling. his entire body was tense, and you could feel the throb of his cock against your walls.
“mmm, sweetheart, if yer grippin’ me so tight i might bust quick.” eddie admitted, and for some reason, that made you moan.
you were going to make him bust? god, that sounded fucking amazing. eddie chuckled almost darkly.
“pretty girl likes that, huh? does she want my cum?”
“yes, yes, please—” was that even you speaking any more? your voice was slurred, desperate, words rising from a purely primal origin.
“fuck yeah, she does.” eddie growled, fingers digging into your thighs as he began to piston his hips. each thrust was rough, savage, bullying his cock so deep into you it was making you see stars. “pretty girl wants me to breed her.”
words were a thing of the past — all that spilled from your swollen lips were moans, screams, whimpers and pleas, each sound egging eddie on to fuck you harder, faster, deeper.
your stomach was already twisting with the beginnings of a mind-blowing orgasm, one that was nearly being ripped from you by eddie, and you had a sneaking suspicion eddie knew it.
thick fingers wrapped around your throat and squeezed, cutting off your air briefly and launching your heart into an even more erratic rhythm.
“why don’t you beg for it, baby? beg your best friend to breed you, yeah?”
mindless babble. that’s all that bubbled in your throat; but it seemed to be good enough for eddie, who’s thrusts began to turn slightly sloppy and less pointed. his moans were picking up in volume as well, and you knew that could only mean one thing.
he was close.
and you wanted it. god, you fucking wanted it so bad. it was the only clear thought you could latch onto through the mist in your head.
i want eddie to cum. i want eddie to cum. i need him to cum—
you weren’t sure what this feeling was, this sort of overwhelming yet pleasant dissociation that seemed to heighten every sense, that intensified the pleasure wreaking havoc on your body.
but you fucking loved it.
“beg properly.” eddie demanded. “i want to fuckin’ hear you say it. i want you to say, ‘please give me your cum. i want my best friend’s cum.’”
eddie’s grip on your throat loosened just enough for you to squeeze the words out — well, when you could, at least. it was difficult to get them out past your moans.
“p-please give me your — ah, fuck, mmm — your cum. i-i want my be-best friend’s — ah! — cum.”
eddie’s hips faltered then sped up, effectively pounding your cervix straight into your stomach with each thrust. it fucking hurt, but it was so, so good. it thickened the fog in your brain, extended that wonderful dissociation that you were becoming addicted to.
“yeah, that’s a good fuckin’ girl. good girl, angel. gonna give it all t’you.”
just when you thought your moans couldn’t rise in volume or variety, they did — your body moved without conscious thought as you locked your ankles over eddie’s nape.
“gimme, gimme, gimme—!” you chanted dumbly, grinding your hips into his and throwing your weight into them. eddie groaned and his fingers once more clamped around your throat, halting your babble and stealing your air supply.
“fuck, it’s comin’ — gonna cum! take it — hng — take it all.” eddie growled, slamming his hips into yours and punching the breath from your lungs. tears sprung to your eyes, your fingers grasped at the sheets below you, and your thighs tensed as white heat shot through your body.
your vision spotted and your clit throbbed as you gushed around his cock, your orgasm crashing over you in waves, and it didn’t take long for eddie follow you into nirvana.
ropes of his cum shot straight into your cervix, painting the used channel with thick, creamy fluid. it felt so fucking good.
“god, yer fuckin’ milkin’ me… ha, shit. greedy, pretty girl.” eddie murmured, hips rocking into yours as he slowly rode out his orgasm. you bit back a whimper as your body quickly caved into overstimulation, but there wasn’t much you could do to stop eddie.
your head was still fuzzy and your body felt like a boneless cloud. eddie’s fingers had already released your throat, but you still struggled slightly to catch your breath.
“did… did we get all of it?” you asked, the first clear thought to break through the fog somehow centered around the camera and the video, the whole thing that brought this about.
eddie laughed heartily and nearly collapsed atop you, softening cock still buried within your sloppy walls.
“dunno. but… if it didn’t, we could always make another one.”
i feel like this is shit but thirst is thirst. thank you for reading bbys!! <333
warnings: nothing much, steve's got shaved hair as per the request for today, some kissing, some ednancy/dad eddie, you're eddie's best friend
A/N: thanks so much for your patience as I work on getting all of these posted that were missed. I hope you enjoy them, it's been great to get back into writing after a couple of really hectic weeks
a blurb for the "Trick or Treat, Freak?" event
Your lips purse around the neon green straw as your hips sway in time to Hanson booming out of the shitty speakers. The soles of your boots like velcro against the sticky cement while thuds of dart meeting board echo as you pass. Rum and cherry sweet on your tongue and warming you from the inside out as you look up and down the crowded bar.
A blue polished finger startles you as it crosses your vision and pokes your forehead.
“Dude, relax,” Robin laughs, leaning against the old wood top. Despite already having a drink in her hand, she hasn’t strayed far from the bar tonight. The bartender in a jersey serving up cocktails and beers with a red lipped smile and a musical laugh to blame you were sure. “He’ll be here. He’s probably just stuck in traffic. Or they stopped at their hotel before coming.”
“Right,” you blow a breath out of your nose and look over at the stairs that led to the bouncer, “Yeah, you’re right.”
Robin’s blue eyes sparkle under glittered lids, a dimple forming on her freckled cheek. “Hold on, can you say that one more time, a little louder? Where’s Steve, I need him to hear this.”
Your eyes roll just as brown fizzy soda sloshes over the side of your cup before it met your lips, narrowly avoiding a landing place down the front of your shirt as hands squeeze at your ribs, startling you with an accompanied:
“Boo!”
“Eddie!” The shriek loud and drawing the attention of most of the bar as you turn to face the menace behind your jump scare. You swat at your best friend’s chest. “Asshole.”
Eddie’s cheeks dimple, shorter curls bouncing across his forehead as he knocks a ringed knuckle under your chin. “I missed you too.”
Your arms wrap around his waist, his around your back in a tight squeeze, the kind of hug only old friends can share.
“I did miss you,” you murmur, drawing back to take in all the ways he’d changed and all the ways he hadn’t. He still had a faded band tee, the laundry detergent clinging to it new but mixed nicely with the familiar spice of his cologne. Ripped holes in the knees of well worn black jeans, but his hair shorter, broader shoulders. A smile that still lit up any room though you could see the sleep and stress heavy under his eyes. “You look like crap.”
Eddie rolls his eyes as he squeezes Robin and kisses her temple, murmuring something about scoring the digits of the cutie behind the bar yet, before he turns to you with a theatrical pout of his lips.
“You know, that’s a real shitty thing to say to your best friend who you haven’t seen in months that you know is dealing with a three year old who doesn’t understand the concept of quiet time when the baby is napping.”
Your snort is only slightly muffled into the rim of your cup, “Oh my god, you’re such an old man.”
Eddie grabs a beer from Robin’s hand offering it up without looking away from the bartender chatting with her. He smiles at them, then you again as you drop the act and tug on his wrist and whine, “Where’s the pictures I was promised? Does Amelia know how to say her favorite Aunt’s name yet?”
He laughs, “Not yet. Although yesterday she said ‘tuc’ when a big school bus drove by, so like, no big deal, but my baby’s a genius.” He takes a sip, shrugging his shoulders like it was a joke, but you know it’s not. He nods his head towards the entrance, “Nance has the pictures.”
“She didn’t come in with you?” Your frown disappears and melts into a smile when you see her talking animatedly with her hands while descending the stairs.
“Speak of the devil,” Eddie looks around and leans down to whisper in your ear, timing perfect with the wrinkled nose of Nancy as she looks around the shitty dive bar, “She’s gonna hate this place.”
Your smile widens as Nancy mumbles something to the man entering with her, honeyed eyes roaming over the crowd as he laughs at whatever she said. Steve’s still dressed in his work clothes, a blue sweater and a gray peacoat, dark wash jeans that fit him just right and have you distracted already.
Eddie whistles, nudging your shoulder. “Christ babe, these shoes are new and here you are drooling all over them. I get enough of that at home.”
Your hand pinches his side, his yelp drawing the attention of his wife and Steve. He smiles at you, hand waving a little before it adjusts the black cap still sitting on his head.
Eddie sighs deeply next to your ear and grumbles, “Can you two just fucking, like, do the damn thing already? My god, just go up and-“
“Nancy!” Your yell overly loud and too enthusiastic as you dig a heel into Eddie’s toes and he snorts a half laugh, half grunt of pain.
Your arms envelope her and the two of you rock back and forth and squeal like girls after a Summer break of not seeing each other every day of school. Over Nancy’s shoulder, Steve places a large hand on the back of Robin’s shoulder and whispers something in her ear. She pokes at his beanie that he quickly tugs down further with a scowl. A paranoid glance around before his gaze meets yours and a timid smile forms on his lips before he turns back to Robin.
Nancy’s quick to whip out the photos from her little clutch when you ask and Robin squeals, the pair of you look over her shoulder and coo at their perfect kids. Brown curls and bright blue eyes and dimples worthy of her dad smile up at you in a photo of their toddler holding up a drawing she made.
“Oh shit,” Eddie pats at his jeans, “Beth told me…” he frowns as he searches his pockets, “Sweetheart, where’d-“
Nancy’s already pulling something out of her purse, a neatly folded triangle with your name written in Nancy’s neat penmanship, with a crudely drawn heart around it.
“For me?” You swoon as you grab it and hold the little piece up to your chest when Robin frowns.
“Wow, they’re so not getting good Christmas presents from Aunt Rob-“
Nancy holds up another triangle, cutting her off.
“They can have whatever they want. Do hey have college funds set up yet?”
Nancy and Eddie laugh, a puzzle piece fitting with another as his arms wrap around her waist and her hand reaches up and caresses his chin that hooks over his shoulder.
He kisses her neck, “Want your usual?”
“Yes please,” she kisses his temple before he untangles his arms, squeezing her hips gently before he heads over to the bar.
The interaction makes something in your chest ache, something deep inside of you yearning for a connection that just works like they do. Knowing you don’t need it, but it’d be nice to have someone grab your usual, to hold and ground you when life gets a little crazy.
Nancy’s whisper is all knowing, her blue eyes cutting into yours just as much. “It’ll happen.”
“What?” Something stuck in your throat that you clear away, thumbs brushing over your drawing as you avoid her stare.
“I’m just saying it’ll happen, I know it sucks waiting for your person, but they’re probably closer than you think.”
The searching glance up isn’t intentional, but you’re startled to find Steve staring at you already. Your body flushes when he smiles at you from the bar next to Eddie.
“Oh,” Robin laughs, tucking her drawing into her lavender blazer pocket, “They’re close alright.”
Nancy looks at her then you, finding you glaring at Robin. Your mouth opens to tell her to shut hers, when a drink appears in front of you.
You’re expecting to see silver rings around the cup, but all you find is a gold class band and you swallow, looking up to see Steve offering it to you.
“Extra cherries, right?”
The words come out of plush pink lips surrounded by a dusting of dark scruff and it may as well have been a question asking you to take off your underwear from the way your body heats up.
“Ye-yeah,” you stumble over the word as your fingers meet his, “Thanks.”
“Oh,” Nancy hums, “That is close.”
“Told ya,” Robin snickers into her cup.
“What?” Steve blinks at them, gold and green disappearing with fluttering lashes each time he does.
Nancy points at the bar, “Oh, Eddie, what’s? Yup.”
She disappears quickly with her obvious fake call from Eddie.
Robin doesn’t even attempt to be subtle, she just smiles at Steve, winks at you, and turns away.
Steve watches her go with a frown, then looks at you. “Do I wanna know-“
“No,” you shake your head, tight smile. It warps into a real one when you look down at the piece of paper though. You hold up your drawing, “Did you see what Beth made me?”
He smiles at the drawing that is so clearly you and her on a face time phone call, “Wow, a real Beth Munson artwork. I’m jealous. I must have it. What’s your price?”
Your laugh is effortless around Steve, and you hold it close to your chest, playing along. “Sorry sir, this item is not for sale. Nothing you offer could ever convince me to part with it.”
The freckles next to Steve’s eyes disappear when his smile makes the laugh lines there crease. His two on his cheek lift as he grabs at your elbow, gently nudging you over to the wall to avoid a group of rowdy boys entering the bar. He has to lean in when they all whoop and whistle, hitting backs and shouting about teams winning. His lips brush your ear with each word.
“Everything is for sale. Come on, name it. Anything you want, it’s yours.”
The words invite a shiver to trickle down your spine, something loosening in your shoulders, like someone cracked an egg on the top of your head and it’s leaking into every nerve you have. Your brain feels fuzzy from the way he smiles. Your tongue too heavy in your mouth, but somehow you swallow down butterflies that seek to escape through your throat and say:
“How about a date?”
Steve’s hand does a poor job of hiding his smile, his chin dips down in defeat, but he clears his throat. His eyes melt like brown sugar and butter right in front of you as they hold your stare. “Sure, but I was already going to take you on one, so I feel like I’m practically stealing this original, one of a kind artwork. Anything else you want?”
His head tilts with the question, and the tip of his shoes tap yours, a hand squeezes at your waist, grounding you as the room spins from how dizzy his lips being so close to yours is making you feel.
“I’m,” you suck in a breath as you lean in, the Backstreet Boys crooning overhead in an ironic soundtrack to the moment as you shake your head, “I can’t think of anything. What’d you have in mind?”
Steve’s hand moves from your hip to your lower back, gently nudging you closer. His adam’s apple bobs before he asks, “A kiss?”
Your answer is a nod that bumps your already too close lips together. Steve catches your bottom one with his, gently parting your mouth as his hand slides up your spine.
It’s a dizzying kiss, one that makes your stomach flip and your feet press up onto your toes to chase him more. One that melts and flows into more than one kiss, your hand with your drink and drawing resting against his hip while your other clings to his neck. Steve’s nose bumps against yours as he deepens it. Tongue tracing your lips before it meets yours and he’s gasping for a deeper breath against your mouth, but unwilling to part from it.
Your hand slides up the nape of his neck, pushing at the beanie as your smile breaks the kiss when loud cheers echo through the bar. Steve shakes his head no at the sound, smiling too, but still refusing to part from your kiss until your hand pushes under his hat and you gasp.
“No, no, don’t-“ Steve’s already laughing at your look of pure joy, admiring the way your face is brighter and lips shinier from his kissing, so he doesn’t even try to stop you when you rip the hat off.
“Holy shit!” Robin’s voice is louder than anything in the bar when you reveal that Steve’s hair is shaved. “What happened? I mean why?”
Robin, Eddie and Nancy rejoin your group, wide smiles at you that you roll your eyes at. Steve gently takes the cap back from you and puts it back on with a frown.
“I work in an elementary school, what do you think happened?”
“Oh no,” Nancy laughs, covering her smile with fingers polished ballet slipper pink as Eddie shakes his head.
“It looks good,” you murmur, fingers reaching forward with a mind of their own and brushing along the base of the cap behind his ear.
“Yeah?” He asks, leaning in again, smile and eyes only for you as you nod.
His nose bumps yours but he stops just shy of your lips when Robin groans loudly.
“Thank god you’re moving back, I don’t think I could stomach this alone.”
Your head whips over to the trio, Nancy and Eddie smiling at your shocked expression.
Eddie waves his hands next to his sides like he’s a magician saying ‘ta-da’.
“Surprise!”
Your drink spills to the ground as you leap towards them both, shouting about how excited you are as you all hug and cry and you pester them with accusations and too many questions on the level of an interrogation.
Steve’s hand rests on your lower back the whole time, thumb soothing brushes up and down your spine. Eventually he whispers something about grabbing you another drink before he kisses your cheek and disappears with a promise of being right back.
warnings: this is a follow up to the one shot "Sincerely, Yours", it's not necessary to read that first, but I think you'll enjoy this one a heck of a lot more if you do | this contains direct dialogue from the movie Risky Business, which I don't own | alcohol mentions | wearing Steve's clothing, but size isn't mentioned | smut (oral, reader performing) - 18+ as always
a blurb for the "Trick or Treat, Freak?" event - don't forget to vote for tomorrow at the bottom of the fic!
A/N: Thank you to everyone sending requests in and for interacting with the first blurb! I'm just doing this for fun, setting a goal and aiming to reach it, but it's so much more fun when people get excited with me! I had such a fantastic time writing this, and there's some little nods to what trick and freak would have been in here, so I hope you enjoy!
As each cube dropped in the glass, the sharp and ringing clink only made you more aware of how fast your heart was racing.
Whiskey sloshed onto the counter as your hand shook from the pour and you swore under your breath and searched for a rag in the low light.
It’s not like you had anything to be nervous about, not like you were attempting to treat your best friend turned boyfriend to something you hadn’t yet given him.
Because you were taking it slow…
Kind of.
Steve told you over and over again that he didn’t need it reciprocated, that he liked making sure you felt good. He liked kissing you till both of your lips were red and your throats desperate for water and lipstick was smeared across his freckles and moles you couldn’t keep track of counting and your underwear was somehow in his front pocket yet again and the mixtape had been over for who knows how long…
And all of that was fun, more than fun, but you’d be lying if you didn’t admit you wanted more. Wanted to make him feel half as good as he’d made you feel, if that was even possible. Steve had thoroughly proved that the build up was just as good, if not better than the main event, but you couldn’t help it if every time your best friend walked in the room all you could think about was jumping his bones.
You’d almost done it, a few weeks ago in the back row of a theater in The Hawk. Your sweet, timid, and seemingly innocent kiss during the opening credits had turned to a hot and more than a little filthy make out session quickly. Steve had practically covered your entire chest in hickeys and you’d somehow ended up straddling his thigh and the thought of slipping to the ground and unzipping his obviously too tight Levi’s was intriguing, until Steve gasped a little too loud when you palmed him over his boxers, under said jeans, and then he flinched, forehead knocking yours, knee sending sticky coke all over the two of you as a flashlight lit you both up and a hissed voice told you to get out.
And then, shortly after that, you’d come even closer, in his bathroom. He’d done something incredibly stupid, but endearingly sweet, standing up for you in front of some assholes. Though his intentions were admirable, Steve had ended up with a bruise along his jaw, a split lip, and a couple of sore spots across his ribs and stomach. You’d patched him up carefully and quietly, scolding him and not really meaning it as he sat on the counter, shirtless, and pliant under your tender touches. Then you’d kissed his jaw and he said it made it feel so much better, could you do it again? And he’d squeezed your waist and smiled that stupid smile that had your legs turning to jelly. So you kissed the corner of his mouth, and let your trail of kissing brush every scratch and bruise you could find, even ones from when you were kids. But when you reached the dark denim resting against his hips, he lifted your head and kissed you, whispered against your lips a simple thank you, honey.
So now, now you weren’t messing around.
Your thumb swiped over the cool metal top of the can of coke and popped the tab, right on schedule as his front door started to creak open.
Steve’s whistle came to a halt as he entered his house, lights off, which wasn’t abnormal, but all the flickering tea light candles definitely were.
“Honey, are you-“
His eyes widened as music started, and you slide out into the foyer, not as fast, but absolutely more graceful and sexier than Tom Cruise, a fact to which you’d probably argue nobody could be hotter than Tom Cruise except maybe Steve himself. The mere thought of you saying this made his body warmer than it already was.
Your heartbeat was louder than the music as you leaned against the door frame and adjusted the corner of Steve’s ray bans you had covering your eyes, begging the butterflies in your stomach to get a fucking grip.
“Hey handsome.”
Steve swallowed, unsure of where to look. Unsure of what to do. What to say. He was fairly certain his tongue had taken over his entire mouth and he’d never be able to speak again except for something dumb like only the word “hot”.
Maybe a “So” in there too.
You had on his socks, bunched up around your ankles.
You had a drinking glass in your hand, a red lipstick stain on the rim.
You had on one of his dress shirts, slightly unbuttoned and revealing something that was red and lacy and really fucking hot.
You were Risky Businessing him.
Which, he guesses, is kind of fair, after all of the The Breakfast Clubbing he’d done to you.
Your eyebrows raised above his glasses, he assumed because you were waiting for his response so he cleared his throat, suddenly desperate for that drink your fingers were curled around.
“He-hey.”
Christ, his voice cracked.
You didn’t seem to mind, your lips quirked up on one end, adopting his signature cocky smirk.
Steve took a step forward, then another, and when he was almost to you, you matched each of his steps with one backwards. Steve’s eyes narrowed, his lips twitched in a fight for a smile.
“Angel,” he whispered, tilting his head, “What are you doing?”
Your foot reached the bottom stair, and you stepped up as you slid his glasses on to the top of your head and matched his volume, which you didn’t really mind, since you weren’t sure your nerves would let you speak louder anyways.
“You know Steve,” you grabbed at his hand and pulled him up the stairs right behind you, not missing the way his fingers curled into yours eagerly, “ ‘There’s one thing I’ve learned, in all my years…’ ”
Steve’s smile won now, following you up the stairs slowly, hanging on every word he already knew was coming.
“ ‘Sometimes’,” you cleared your throat, making it up to the top of the staircase, only stopping when you were just in front of the closed door to his room. “ ‘You gotta say what the fuck, make your move.’ ”
The door to his room swung open to reveal even more candles and Steve’s brain took a second to catch up with what he was seeing and hearing as you lead him into his room, as you glanced over your shoulder with a timid smile.
He looked up at you, as you led him to sit on the edge of his bed, hand gently pushing at his shoulder before you gave him the drink in your hand.
Steve could see now that you were nervous, the way your finger was scratching at the skin around your thumbnail, the way your thighs rubbed together and your toes wiggled in his socks as your shoulders hunched.
He quickly set the glass down on the ground and grabbed for your hands, voice soothing, “Hey, what’s going on, we don’t have-“
“Steve,” you interrupted, squeezing his fingers, “Let me say this, please?”
His head nodded, eyebrows scrunched together under a few pieces of hair that refused to stay put as his thumb swiped over the back of your knuckles gently.
Steve’s mind raced through thousands of terrible things you were about to tell him, not a fan of the tone you just had and how nervous you were and how you were clearly trying to distract him from whatever-
“I want to give you a blow job.”
His ears aren’t working anymore, everything sounding a little fuzzy and suddenly his mouth is so much more dry and his hands are sweating in yours that squeezed his fingers again as you blinked at him.
Blinked pretty pretty eyes above sexy pouting red lips in his fucking clothes and-
He reached for the drink he set down and started taking too large of gulps, the burning amber liquid doing nothing to soothe his throat.
“I know maybe you haven’t wanted me to because maybe you think I’ll be so terrible at it, but I have-“
“What?” he gasped, mouth falling open as you crossed your arms over your chest and took a step away from him. His stomach twisted from the thought that he’s made you feel like this.
Steve’s hands reached for you, curling around your hips before pulling you towards him slowly, speaking softly as he did, “Honey, I nearly just came in my jeans hearing you say you want to do that. That’s not the problem at all.”
Your hands found a new home on his shoulders, as you let Steve pull you between his spread legs. You tried not to focus on how good his hands running down and back up your thighs felt, or how his gaze kept drifting to where his hands catch the hem of his shirt as you asked, “But there is a problem?”
He shook his head, “No, no, problem is a bad word. I just didn’t want you to feel like you had to do that. ‘Cause maybe those other guys assumed, or made you or-“
Your hand cupped his jaw. “I promise, I want to give you one, I’m not doing it for you, I’m doing it for me.”
Steve’s brain buzzed, fizzled, then sparked, never to work properly again, he’s sure of it.
The butterflies in your stomach flap their wings wildly, shouting at you to do it already as Steve’s mouth hung open at your words and he let slip this sound that you’ve never heard from him before, intent on never forgetting it as long as you live.
Your thumb swiped over his lip, before both hands were pulling off his shirt and then you were saying, “Lay back for me, baby.”
Steve nodded as you guided him back on the bed, crawling over his body until his head was resting on a pillow and his hands were gripping your waist as you hovered over him.
The candles flickered around you, sending soft, warm gold and orange across his features, highlighting his cupid’s bow and the freckles next to his eyes. Your hands pressed to the mattress on either side of his head as your lips barely brushed his while your hips lowered, rolled against the already hard length beneath his jeans.
Steve’s fingers toyed with red lace as he gasped into your mouth when it retreated so quickly, head lifting from the pillow to chase your kiss. But your lips evaded him, skimming across his cheek to his jaw, leaving their mark on his neck as you spoke.
“Guess I shouldn’t give you one until you’re dizzy though, yeah? It’s only fair…”
His eyelashes fluttered closed as your teeth scraped on his neck while your lower half rolled against him, making his hips thrust up in search of more friction.
“Fu-fuck. I’m dizzy. I’m so dizzy,” he gasped, fingers searching under his button down for more of your skin to grab at.
You hummed into his chest, pressed another kiss there and then lifted your head to ask, “Sufficiently, so?”
He whined, loud, and scratchy and he didn’t even care if he sounded pathetic.
Steve looked like you’d never seen him. You’d witnessed a pretty dazed look before, after kissing each other in a way that left little time for things like air, or when he’d looked up at you after that first night in the back seat of his car. But this was different, so different.
His eyelids were hooded, the green and gold you’d normally get to stare into blown out by dark pupils and more of a match to the now drained whiskey in the low light. His cheeks were flushed pink, just like his lips that he’d just licked. Brown hair all wild, already ruffled and messed up from the few moments against his pillows. His chest was heaving, like his lungs didn’t know how to take in air and expel it normally anymore, muscles underneath tan skin taut and flexing every time you adjusted your hips.
Your heartbeat was in your ears as your fingers started to slip over the silver buckle on his belt and your voice strained to sound confident.
“Your ‘I’m about to get a blow job’ face is real cute, Harrington.”
The sound of his zipper dragging open was loud, and painfully slow.
Steve’s hands gripped the bedding next to him, his neck extended, his swallow prominent and on display as you pushed at his jeans and he gasped out a quiet, “Not sexy?”
You laughed, breath warm against his stomach, just above the band of his boxers. Your nose traced along the elastic while your hand palmed him through the fabric.
“Oh my god,” Steve groaned, strained and through clenched teeth.
Figuring you’d teased him long enough, you pulled at his boxers, helping him carefully kick off the garments stuck around his ankles. Your hands rested on his thighs as you took a deep breath and risked a glance back up at him.
Steve was propped up on his elbows, swallowing as he watched you lower yourself, hands flexing against the sheets as your tongue traced over a vein, following it up his length. He took deep breaths, trying to focus on anything other than the fact that he was about to come in two seconds.
Your hand wrapped around him, while your mouth brushed over his tip, fighting a smile when his hips flexed under you.
“Relax, Steve,” you whispered against the head of him, looking up under your lashes to find him biting his lip raw as you continued, “Let me make you feel good, please?”
He nodded, frantic and suddenly stopping as his mouth fell open when yours sunk lower on him. Your tongue rested flat against him, spit traveling down his length the further you went.
Steve barely fit in your mouth, jaw straining and your hand helping as your head bobbed up and down. Confidence growing by the second with each restrained thrust of his hips, desperate to meet your mouth, each glance up at him flushed and gripping the sheets, each babbled word and phrase from his lips meeting your ears and only making you go faster.
“Holy…oh my…honey, you’re-“
He couldn’t even form a coherent thought, lost in the sight of him disappearing into your mouth, the red lipstick staining his skin, the way your lips popped off of the tip, spit keeping you connected. His stomach was burning, chest on fire when you blinked at him and smiled shyly after a few minutes.
“Good?”
Steve nodded, his hand left the mattress without thinking and curled around your jaw, pulling you up, desperate to kiss you and make your lipstick even more a mess, but you pulled away.
“Steve, I’m not done,” you kissed his palm, “Gotta taste you, baby.”
He sucked in a breath and shook his head no, eyes squeezed shut as he gasped out, “Oh my god, you can’t say stuff like-“
“You say stuff like that all the time!” Your protest a laugh, making his dick twitch against his stomach, which makes your mouth water.
“But-“ his feeble attempt at another protest lost the minute your mouth was back on him, too warm and too perfect. You were perfect. Perfect like chocolate and popcorn together, perfect like a red swimsuit in his pool, perfect like his best fucking friend in the whole world sharing his milkshake and stealing his fries and laughing at something dumb he said. He doesn’t know what he did to deserve this, to deserve you. Steve’s hands twitch at his sides, desperate to reach out and touch you, to hold the back of your head and never let you go, but knowing he can’t do that.
At least, not yet.
You’re lost in the way he feels against your tongue, the way he hits the back of your throat, how your underwear is just as wet as you’ve made him, desperate to come with him, your fingers slide between your legs when Steve whimpers, “You’re so…so good, oh my god-“
His gasp has you looking up to find Steve’s mouth hung open and his stare on where your fingers press circles into your clit, cheeks warm and stomach more so under his gaze.
Steve swallows, and nods to your fingers, “Faster, go faster baby.”
Your eyes practically roll back, doing as he says, mouth slipping over him deeper and at a quicker pace your fingers try to match.
Steve’s hand cups your jaw, thumb pressed to the corner of your mouth where you meet him, smearing whatever lipstick’s left as his stomach clenches and his hips thrust up.
“Honey, ohmygod, I’m gonna…where-“
You only double down on your efforts, taking him even deeper and Steve spills over your tongue as he says your name in a way you’ll never forget.
Like it has only the best letters. Like it only belongs coming out of his mouth.
Like it was his.
You gush over your own fingers as you swallow around him and he winces when he slips from between your lips.
Both of you are breathing hard, needing a minute, but Steve’s never been patient. He grabs at you, pulling you up his body until he’s rolling you, his name a laugh and protest all in one as he kisses down your body and starts unbuttoning his shirt.
He only stops to kiss you, finally, holding your lips for a little longer than he needs to between his own and whispers against them, “That’s enough out of you, I think.”
Your laugh curls around him like your fingers in the hair behind his ear.
“Yeah? Have some fancy trick to get me-“
His mouth was on before you could even finish the sentence, words cut off in a gasp of his name.
Like it had only the best letters, like it was yours.
I'm actually so deeply excited for all three of these options, I can't wait to see the results! (And also, I mean, how could I not do we'll call it love steve for sunset? Is anyone shocked?)
A quiet night at home turns into something else entirely when Eddie Munson shows up to deliver your pizza.
Isn’t this how all mediocre pornos great love stories start?
18+ MDNI┃8.1k
cw: light alcohol/weed use, discussions of poor sex-periences, bed sharing, down bad eddie, fingering/oral (fem receiving)
I edged myself a little with this, it’s like a 7:1 ratio of fluff to smut with nothing but tensionnn in between. Just how I like it.
You didn’t mind being alone. Not really.
Truth be told, you kind of preferred a nice quiet night to yourself every now and again. It gave you a chance to read without interruption; to watch a long stretch of episodes of your favorite show you had seen a hundred times before; to indulge in a lengthened version of your skincare routine.
But lately you’d been having a lot of quiet nights.
Winter had settled fully in Hawkins, the frigid weather and barrage of storms lately making it difficult to go out at night or do much of anything other than sit inside and count the walls. And with Robin gone for the whole weekend, the relentless silence of your apartment only made it worse.
You made an honest effort to remedy the situation—sending a handful of texts to anyone you thought might be available, only to come up empty. Nancy and Jonathan were out celebrating some anniversary. Steve had a date with whatever girl he had conned into thinking he was charming enough to go out with this week. And Chrissy was fully buried underneath her coursework, but she “could definitely do something next week!”
So that was that. You knew Argyle was working his usual shift, so you hadn’t bothered to text him. Instead, dialing the number for Surfer Boy as you resolved to drown your sorrows in a pizza loaded with all the toppings Robin always gagged at whenever you suggested them.
It was impossible for you not to beam when the man himself answered, the roughness in his voice indicating he was currently surrounded by a fresh cloud of his beloved Purple Palm Tree Delight.
He was now managing the franchise’s first and only midwest location they decided to open after the California chain started recording a deluge of calls from Indiana and assumed it must be some sort of untapped market. Come to find out, the people in Hawkins were just calling the number on the side of Argyle’s bright yellow van they’d seen riding around town.
“That’s all?” he chortled at your order. “One small pizza? Are you and Buckley planning some kinda Battle Royale fight to the death or something?”
“She’s gone for the weekend,” you explained.
“Oh, really? All by your lonesome then, are you?”
His typically gravelly tone was tinged with a hint of mischief, but you didn’t pay it much mind. This was Argyle, after all. You knew him well enough by now not to try and decode anything that went on inside that wonderfully weird head of his.
“Well, with you at work there’s no one to keep me company, is there?” you teased, putting on a flirty affectation you just knew would make him blush.
“Baby doll, I’ll close up shop right now!”
His deep and throaty laugh made you giggle along with him as he relayed your order to the kitchen staff and then came back on the line to assure you that it would be there “lemony split.”
With dinner ordered, you started to assemble some essentials for your wild night on the sofa— oversized blanket, extra snacks, a small arsenal of face masks and serums. You even splurged a bit and lit one of your nicer candles, the fresh scent of bergamot filling up your living room as you headed into the kitchen to clean up.
About half-way through you doing your dishes came the soft tread of footsteps on the stairwell outside, followed by a bouncy and rhythmic knock being rapped on your front door.
“One sec,” you called out, shaking the remnants of soapy water from your hands and drying them on the thighs of your sweatpants.
Your hand closed around the door knob and you yanked it open only to be bombarded by a head of dark, wild curls and a pair of deep brown eyes that instantly made your mind go blank.
“What are you doing here?”
The words just burst out of you, sounding far harsher than you intended, and Eddie Munson’s lips twitched with the beginnings of a smirk as he looked you up and down.
“Nice to see you, too,” he chortled. “That how you greet everyone who brings you your dinner?”
Your gaze fell to the pizza box he held in his hands that you had missed entirely, too distracted by his eyes and his nose and his lips and those cute little dimples in his cheeks. Not to mention his stupid big hands with his stupid long fingers that were wrapped around your dinner…
“Sorry,” you said, squishing your eyes shut and shaking your head as though it would wipe away your lustful thoughts like an etch-a-sketch. “I just wasn’t expecting you. Or, um…I meant, I didn’t know you worked at Surfer Boy.”
“It’s a new gig,” Eddie said, his smile filled with as much wily charm as ever as he handed over the box. “Argyle convinced me to come on board. Decent hours and the money’s good.”
“Oh…sweet.”
You nodded back at him and prayed you didn’t sound half as awkward as you felt. With one hand, you balanced the pizza box on your hip while the other reached for the cash you’d set out earlier on the little table by your door. But a frown covered your face as you glanced between the bills and the box you were holding that looked quite a bit bigger than it should have been.
“Something wrong?” Eddie asked. “Aw, shit—we didn’t fuck up the toppings, did we?”
“No, no, nothing like that,” you assured. “It’s just, I only ordered a small and this one’s a large.”
“Oh, yeah. Arg had them change it after he rang it in. He just wanted you to have some extra.”
You chuckled, “Really? I don’t know why, it’s just me tonight.”
“No Buckley?”
Eddie’s brows raised slightly, disappearing behind his twisty bangs as he looked past you inside your apartment. You swayed slightly, in an attempt to block his view of the little couch nest you’d built for yourself. His gaze returned to yours, eyes flickering with something like intrigue.
“You’re flying solo, then?” he asked.
“Pretty much. I mean, I called around a bit and everyone was busy. So…yeah.”
He tilted his head at you. “You didn’t call me.”
“Oh…”
Eddie’s lips quirked in a smile that actually made your breath catch. He didn’t sound offended, not like he was accusing you of anything. But his soft voice and the feigned (it was feigned, wasn’t it?) look of disappointment on his face made your chest radiate with warmth.
The truth was, you would have loved to call Eddie. You had actually hovered over his contact info in your phone more times than you cared to admit, only to keep chickening out at the last second.
“W-well, you’re working tonight,” you reasoned. “So, we couldn’t have hung out anyway.”
“Actually… Argyle cut me early,” Eddie said. “Turned out to be a slower night than he thought, so he said I could call it quits after this delivery.”
Oh. Oh.
“Well, do you…” You swallowed hard, trying to bring some relief to your throat that had run dry. “I mean, did you wanna have dinner? Apparently, I’ve got plenty of food.”
Another weak chuckle trickled out of you as you held up the pizza box, telling yourself it must be the heat of the pie within making your palms sweat the way they were. Eddie’s dark eyes actually danced under the harsh fluorescent lights of your building’s breeze-through.
“That’d be great,” he said, flashing you a smile that made your knees wobble. “Wayne’s gone this weekend too. Trailer’s kind of lonely without him.”
“Okay! Uh, come on in.”
The sudden shrillness of your voice made you cringe inwardly as you stepped sideways for him to pass, but he didn’t seem to notice. Or at least he acted like he didn’t. He simply smiled as he came inside, pausing to toe off his boots and shuck off his leather jacket at the door.
He’d clearly dressed for the heat of Surfer Boy’s kitchen and not the bitter wind howling outside, clad only in a red and black flannel over a gray tank that seemed to cling to his lean frame as if by static electricity alone. His ratty black jeans taunted you with flashes of pale skin peeking through the holes in the knees and the smell of oregano filled your nose as he fluffed up his hair.
He looked a lot better than you did—particularly when you were in your lounge clothes, which weren’t exactly fetching.
Baggy and oversized, worn threadbare in more than a few places from multiple wears. Splattered with a myriad of tiny mystery stains no amount of washing could get out.
Nothing to be done about it now, you supposed.
Eddie had been to your place plenty of times for parties and movie nights, but that had always been with other people around.
Never just you. Never the two of you alone.
That realization and the nerves it induced made the back of your neck unbearably hot as you set the pizza on the coffee table and headed for the kitchen to retrieve plates and napkins—all of the dignified and civilized things you’d have to use now that you had an audience.
And alcohol. Definitely, definitely needed alcohol if you were gonna even attempt to be normal.
“You want a beer?” you asked from the fridge.
Eddie nodded as he followed into the kitchen and leaned against the cabinetry. His totally calm and casual demeanor only made you more anxious, your chest getting tight and your hands shaking as you pried the caps off two beers. You clinked your bottle against his and took a long draught, heart racing as you stared at the ceiling.
Chill the fuck out, you scolded yourself. He’s just a guy. It’s just pizza. It’s no big deal, it’s no—
“You okay?” Eddie asked, making your runaway train of thought come to a screeching halt.
“Yeah, totally,” you lied through your teeth. “Um… I guess I was fully in hermit mode already. I really didn’t expect to see anyone tonight.”
Let alone you, you finished internally.
“Sorry about that,” Eddie said. “I didn’t mean to, like, crash your whole evening.”
“No, no—it’s not like that at all,” you stammered, the words tumbling out of you in a rush. “I’m glad you’re here, really. It’s nice to have company.”
“Yeah? Okay, good.” He smiled into another sip of his beer. “I’m glad I’m here too.”
Your lips spread into a smile that mirrored his and a sort of quiet warmth passed between you. You found yourself staring into his eyes, holding his gaze until it flickered down your body.
He studied you in that soul-plundering way of his that made you feel all light and tingly all over.
“Here, you should have this back,” he said all of a sudden, “I feel kind of weird keeping it.”
You looked down just as he tugged the money you’d paid him with out of his pocket. He held it out to you, only to find your hand already pushing it back, fingers briefly closing over his fist.
“Eddie, no. No way,” you scoffed. “Don’t be silly.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but you fixed him with a warning glare—a pretty withering one if you did say so yourself. One that made him nod reluctantly and sigh softly in defeat.
“Alright, at least let me contribute something,” he said, returning the cash to his pocket and instead producing a fat, pristinely rolled joint. Argyle’s handiwork, you were all but certain.
You grinned and clinked your bottle with his.
“Done.”
Beers and plates and joint in hand, you and Eddie headed over to the sofa only for you to stop short when you remembered your former plans for the evening. He watched curiously as you cleared the table, your stomach even more unruly now with half a beer sloshing around inside of it.
”What’s all this?” he asked, indicating the various packets and bottles. You laughed nervously.
“It’s just skin stuff. I was gonna do a face mask while I watched a movie…because that’s just the rock and roll kinda lifestyle I lead.”
Your jittery attempt at a joke only made Eddie’s own smile widen as he plucked one of the packets from your grasp and held it up to read the label.
“Can I do one?” he asked.
You choked back another laugh, brow arching at him in disbelief. “Do you want to?”
“Kind of, yeah,” he chortled. “They look kinda like potions or something. Seems like fun.”
You rolled your shoulder in a shrug. “Then knock yourself out,” you said.
And he did.
Eddie plopped himself down at one end of the sofa and ripped into the package he’d selected. It was branded as a “unicorn” mask, which really just meant it was made out of shiny, holographic paper that shone with rainbows when the light hit it. He admired the swirling colors briefly and then set about laying the mask over his face, his head suddenly turning to catch you staring.
“Am I beautiful yet?” he asked, playfully fluttering his long lashes at you.
You already were.
The thought popped into your head so quickly you almost said it out loud and you had to bite back the comment, your pulse starting to race all over again. You pressed your lips together as you nodded and focused all your attention on placing a pair of gel patches under your own eyes.
Eddie watched you tap them into place, smiling. “You do this a lot?” he asked.
“Every couple weeks or so. More often in the winter because the cold really fucks with my skin. Obviously.” You gestured at your face and sighed.
“I never noticed,” he said with a gentle shake of his head. “Always looks nice to me.”
The compliment made your face burn in spite of the cooling aloe patches and you shook your head, the tingling in your cheeks only increasing the longer his eyes lingered on you. With shaky hands, you reached for the remote and started flipping through the channels while Eddie dug into the pizza. The both of you hummed excitedly in unison as you landed on an old horror flick just as the opening credits had started to roll, the decision of what to watch made easy.
As you set the remote down and reached for your own slices, realizing Eddie had plated up two and placed them down in front of you, you couldn’t stop your eyes from dating sideways to look at him once more. But the moment you did, a loud laugh burst out and you had to slap a hand over your mouth to try and stifle it—failing miserably.
He had his tongue stretched out as far as it would go, the pink muscle wiggling wildly as he tried to guide the end of his pizza into his mouth through the too-small opening of his mask.
“Hang on, hang on,” you said, taking some mercy on him. “Let me help you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he scoffed, “I’m doing great over here.”
It only made you laugh harder watching Eddie as he kept trying to eat, now clumsily flicking out his tongue like a drunken chameleon and grimacing when he tasted some of the product on his mask.
He stilled, though, as you scooted onto the center cushion and began to further tear the slits around his mouth, your fingers trembling as they brushed the corners of his plush lips.
Too late, you realized how close your face had gotten to his. Your eyes nearly crossed you were staring at him so hard, trapped in his hypnotic gaze as his enormous eyes locked on yours. The deep brown, almost black, of them only looked more otherworldly like this, surrounded by swirls of silver and rainbows like he was some kind of alien or android. Blinking dumbly, as if coming out of a trance, you pulled your hands away.
“Um…better?” you asked, eyes darting away from his face and almost instantly returning.
Eddie tested how far he could unhinge his jaw, stretching his mouth open as far as he could, unencumbered by the chin portion of his mask. He brought his slice up to take a massive bite.
“Perfect,” he said, grinning widely through a mouthful of cheese and sauce.
You actually did manage to relax at least slightly the longer the night wore on, helped immensely by the joint Eddie lit and offered to you to take the first hit. It passed leisurely between you, each of your inhales making it easier to deal with the idea that your lips were basically touching his.
Another movie started up after the one you first put on finished, but you made no move towards the remote. Your body felt warm and relaxed from the high, limbs melding into the sofa cushions like you were becoming part of them.
And Eddie too seemed perfectly happy to spend his night exactly where he was. His unicorn mask sat discarded on top of his pizza crusts and he’d shifted down in his seat, knees spreading wide and filling your mind with…thoughts.
You kept expecting him to make some excuse to leave, freaked out that he’d caught you looking at him just a few too many times for comfort.
But he never did.
“I think this is the last of it,” Eddie said, staring at the tiny smoldering nub pinched between his thumb and forefinger.
“Take it, it’s yours,” you smiled, letting your head squish against the back of the couch.
Eddie shook his head. “C’mon, now,” he grinned back at you. “Sharing is caring.”
He crooked his fingers, motioning for you to move in closer as he brought the joint up to his lips and steadily inhaled the last hit. He shifted onto the center cushion and you mirrored his movement, his knee bumping your calf lightly as you tucked your feet beneath you, toes wiggling nervously.
With his free hand, he gently cupped the side of your face and tilted your head to the side as his own lips parted and you leaned together.
A stream of smoke poured out of him and you breathed it in, holding it in your chest for a few moments before you exhaled it back at him. He smiled as your breath fanned over his face, his dimples showing as his cheeks pushed up fully. The sight made your own smile spread, pulling your bottom lip back with your teeth as his thumb softly caressed your jaw.
His lips parted again, a whisper of your name falling off them, sounding like a foreign language.
You inhaled deeply again, trying to steady your racing heart, your whole body suddenly tingling in a way that was distinctly different from the way it did from the high. It didn’t do any good, though, not when Eddie’s head lifted slightly and you swore his eyes started to close—
A loud BEEP made you jump away, the moment shattered by your phone getting a text.
You instantly felt the loss of Eddie’s hand where it had been holding you, cold now in spite of all the blood currently coursing beneath your skin. You turned and fumbled about for your phone as it beeped again, almost more insistently.
Eddie retreated to his end of the sofa and you gave your head another forcible shake, trying to rid yourself of the shivers running rampant over your body. Whatever you imagined was just about to happen was surely not going to—the weed had to have your mind playing tricks on you.
“Ugh.”
The sound popped out unconsciously, irritation flaring just at the sight of the name attached to the message and making you recoil before you even opened it to see what it said.
“Jeez,” Eddie smirked at your distasteful noise, giving you a sly look. “Who’s that?”
“Nobody,” you sighed, rolling your eyes. “Just some guy I went out with a few times.”
Eddie sputtered slightly on the sip of beer he’d just taken, a dusting of pink spreading across his cheeks and his eyes rounding slightly as he wiped his palm on the thigh of his jeans.
“Oh. Do I, um…do I need to, like, make myself scarce or something?”
A bitter laugh burst out at the implication and you started to shake your head a little too hard. “Ahh, no,” you told him flatly, “Not at all.”
Eddie’s shoulders relaxed, his smile returning, seeming almost a little pleased to hear that.
“How come?” he asked with a teasing smile, nodding at the rest of your skincare on the table. “You don’t wanna get him over here? Get him all nice and moisturized?”
“I’m good,” you assured, clicking off your phone and silencing it before laying it face down on the table. “Not exactly in the mood to beg someone to go down on me tonight, so—”
“Beg?” Eddie scoffed, taking another swig of his beer. “Who has to be begged to do that?”
Your gaze darted sideways, eyeing him curiously.
“Uhh…all of them? In my experience, most guys aren’t all that into it. You know?”
“No, not really,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “I fuckin’ love it.”
Your own drink stopped half-way to your lips and you chanced another glance at him. Your voice went quiet. Meeker than you would have liked. Lacking all the frankness with which he spoke.
“You…you do?”
“Well, yeah,” he said. “I mean, making a girl come on your tongue is like…”
He trailed off into silence, looking up at the ceiling as he searched for the right word, but you’d jumped back in before he could find it.
“You make them come? Just…just from that?”
“Ahh…” Eddie faltered now, staring at his lap and picking at the label on his beer with his thumb nail. “Not always. It depends on the girl. But, I dunno…maybe, like, ninety percent of the time?”
“Jesus Christ,” you gasped, eyes rounding with embarrassment when you realized you said it out loud. Beside you, Eddie shifted in his seat on the couch, turning himself towards you.
“Do you not come when they go down on you?”
You blinked back at him, almost too stunned to speak. “Well…no. They aren’t usually down there that long. I mostly just need it because the spit helps when I’m not wet.”
Holy shit. That weed must have been way stronger than you realized for these words to be spilling out of you like they were. Cheeks officially a raging inferno, you focused every speck of your attention on the movie flickering on the TV.
Eddie’s eyes never left your face, though. His expression only softened as he stared at you, his words coming out in a hushed whisper.
“Oh, sweetheart…”
Your face only burned hotter from the way he said it. It’s not exactly pity in his tone, or filling his eyes, it’s more like…disappointment.
Disappointment in who, you weren’t entirely sure. And you sure as shit weren’t going to let this go on long enough to find out.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know how we got on this,” you said. “This is way too much information for you.”
“No, no, that’s not what I—”
Eddie’s hand started to reach out for you, but you were already on your feet.
Scrambling to gather up your soiled plates and desperate to look anywhere besides at him, you hurried into the kitchen to start cleaning up. The weed in your system was starting to turn on you, making your mind run rampant with competing thoughts, the most persistent of them being an echo of Eddie’s voice, hearing the same four words over and over and over again.
I fuckin’ love it.
Just the memory of him saying them made your stomach swoop and your core flutter, your hands shaking as you reached to turn on the tap.
“Can I just ask you one more thing?”
Eddie’s voice behind you made your shoulders tense, but you forced them to remain still—trying to look relaxed. The plates in your hands clinked against the sink basin as you set them down and turned slowly, resting your butt on the edge of the counter as you nodded at him.
He moved forward tentatively, setting down the beer bottles he’d brought from the living room.
“Do you like going down on guys?”
Your mouth fell open at the question and you had to quickly snap it shut. “Um…yeah,” you said after clearing your throat. “I like it fine.”
Truth be told…you really did like it. And with the right partner, you kind of loved it.
There was a kind of satisfaction you got watching even the most confident and charismatic guys be reduced to a simpering pile of putty as soon as your mouth came anywhere near their cock.
It was an intoxicating sort of power you felt when you drew the most desperate and eager sounds out of them—like when a guy slid into your mouth for the first time and just groaned in relief, like he had never felt anything as good as you in his life.
“Okay, then,” Eddie grinned, his eyes flickering as he watched your face. “So the person you’re with should like it too, right? He shouldn’t do it just because he has to. He should do it because he wants to make you feel good. The same way you want him to feel good.”
He took slow, careful steps forward as he spoke, the distance between you getting smaller with each. You felt your chest start to heave, trying to keep the furious pounding of your heart under control as Eddie’s body drew nearer.
He came to a stop in front of you, brown eyes trained on the space between your nose and chin. He licked his lips, running the flat of his tongue over the bottom one like he was imagining it was your own. Saliva flooded your mouth and you swallowed it down, lips trembling as they parted.
You thought you might be sick with anticipation, waiting for the touch of his mouth on yours. Because he was gonna kiss you, right?
God, did you want him to kiss you…
Your grasp curled under the lip of the counter, nails digging into the wood beneath the laminate. Eddie’s eyes broke from yours, flitting down to see your hands clenched, like you were trying to rip off a chunk of it. His brow furrowed slightly and he took a step back, the absolute deflation you felt as he stepped away making your whole body slump as the tension flooded out of it.
It was so overwhelming, you had to look away, eyes landing on the clock over the stove.
“Oh, shit!” you gasped, making Eddie’s head jump back up. “Is it really that late?”
Midnight had come and gone according to the glowing green numbers without you so much as noticing. Eddie swallowed hard, his mouth falling open like he wanted to say something else, but no words came out. Instead, he busied himself with getting the emptied bottles he’d set down and tossing them in the recycling bin.
“I, um…I should get out of your hair,” he sighed, ringed hand rubbing the back of his neck.
You weren’t totally sure what possessed you to say what you did next. Something about the sight of his frowning face, the corners of his lips turned down in confusion or even disappointment, it was hard to say which. All you could think was that you didn’t want him to leave.
“You don’t have to,” you said suddenly.
Eddie’s stopped short and his spine straightened, his head turning slowly towards you like he wasn’t convinced he really just heard those words come out of your mouth. You shot him a small smile.
“You can stay over…if you want.”
He stared back at you, doe eyes blinking at you in surprise. “Really?” he asked.
“Yeah, of course,” you said, trying not to sound like your vocal chords were in a vice. “The roads are shit and it’s late. I mean…it’s only if you want. You certainly don’t have to—”
“No, no, no, that-that would be great, actually,” he said, the words tumbling out in a rush. He took a steadying breath and smiled as his eyes met yours again. “I’d really like that.”
With the sort of energy that would make a hummingbird jealous, you bustled around the apartment gathering a spare pillow and an extra blanket for Eddie while he brushed his teeth in the bathroom. You carried them over to the couch, hugging the linens tight to your chest.
You thought about how they might smell like him in the morning. How he might wake up with his hair all big and messy from sleep, his eyes half-lidded with crust in the corners, his boxers slung low on his narrow hips, the small trail of hair that swirled just below his navel on display—
“Thanks,” Eddie said, making you jump when you realized he was behind you.
Your heartbeat thundered in your eardrums as you turned around and held the linens out to him. His fingers met yours among the folds and you nearly jumped out of your skin at the contact.
“N-no problem,” you said, averting your gaze again as you headed down the short hallway.
You hovered at your bedroom door, glancing back over your shoulder at Eddie as he flicked off all of the lights except the one on the end table, peeling away his flannel to reveal his sinewy arms littered with tattoos. The sight made your cheeks pulse in time with your heartbeat. Among other things.
“Good night,” you said.
Eddie’s head snapped up and he stared at you for a brief moment, his eyes running up and down your body, his bottom lip between his teeth like he was deep in thought about something.
“Good night,” he said finally. “Sleep tight.”
In bed, sleep evaded you.
You lay there, splayed wide in the center of your mattress, arms and legs stretched out across the rumpled sheets you’d gotten yourself twisted up in too many times to count as you’d turned over and over and over and over, searching for a comfortable position. Finding none.
Any attempt at settling down for the night was impossible when you couldn’t shake this…this… incessant, obstinate, unrelenting need calling out for satisfaction. It was like your body could sense that Eddie was in the next room and was refusing sleep in favor of filling your mind with thoughts of what could happen, of what he might be doing, if you just went out there and went for it.
What if you did? Just strode down the hall and climbed on top of him in the dark? Whipped off your sleep shirt to bare yourself and let his hands and lips roam freely all over you? You could just about feel the cold bite of his rings on your skin, you were thinking about it so much.
The conversation you’d had earlier kept running through your head, his words still echoing in your mind and making you throb everywhere.
I fuckin’ love it, he’d said. Blatantly. Plainly. Like it should be obvious. But you’d never heard anyone express that kind of affinity for eating a girl out.
The majority of the guys you’d been with, those who had been willing to do it at all, only seemed to be doing so under duress or out of obligation. Or worse, they spent the exact bare minimum amount of time down there in order to get you going, only to stop short, and wasted no time redirecting the focus to their pleasure.
Then, of course, they had all the time in the world.
It was hard to say why, but there was something about Eddie wanting to do it—even being eager to do so, that only made him hotter.
You huffed loudly and pushed the heels of your hands against your eyes, forfeiting the staring contest you were locked in with your ceiling.
This was so stupid. You were getting yourself all worked up, and over what? Eddie was most likely balls deep in a REM cycle by now, and if you went out there and made some kind of ill-conceived “move” on him there was absolutely, positively, no chance in hell he would ever—
Knock knock knock
The gentle raps on your door made you bolt upright in bed. They were so quiet, you thought maybe you might have dreamed them, painfully awake as you were. But then they sounded again, this time accompanied by Eddie’s hushed voice tentatively calling out your name.
“Yeah?”
Your eyes zeroed in on your door knob, waiting with bated breath for it to turn, but Eddie spoke again before he dared to even touch it.
“Hey, um…can I come in?” he asked.
You tugged your sheets upwards, covering your exposed thighs as you inhaled a deep bracing breath. “S-sure,” you said, still despising the nervous way your voice wavered.
The door finally cracked open and Eddie poked his head in. A little sliver of light from the hallway illuminated your room and you could see his curls were now tied up in a bun, sitting low on his neck with a few short tendrils framing his face. It made it so that you could actually see his ears and you realized for the first time they were kind of cute.
How the fuck could ears be so cute?
“Sorry to bug you,” he whispered. “But do you have an extra blanket or something? It’s, um…it's kind of cold out there.”
“Oh, shit,” you sighed in realization. “It’s probably the windows. One of them doesn’t close right. Uh, yeah, just let me—”
You started to climb out of the bed, only to freeze as your foot hovered over the rug. The big shirt you had worn to sleep in was long, but not that long. The hem of it barely skimmed the bottom of your ass and if you stood up, you would basically be flashing Eddie your underwear.
Maybe it was okay? It would only be for a second. And it was mostly dark, maybe he wouldn’t even notice? Or maybe you didn’t need to get out of bed at all…
“You know, um…” You licked your lips, daring yourself to look back up at Eddie. “You could just sleep in here. If you want.”
Eddie’s eyes flickered at that, dark brown irises black in the low light, filling with something you couldn’t quite place. Was it apprehension? Surprise? Excitement?
“You sure?” he asked, his voice still hushed.
You swallowed hard as you drew your leg back underneath the warmth of the blanket, nodding at him to confirm, your teeth gnawing at the fleshy insides of your cheek as you did.
He entered the room fully, revealing how he’d stripped down to nothing but his tank top and a pair of blue checkered boxers. As he pushed the door closed behind him and crossed over to the opposite side of your bed, your heart threatened to beat straight out of your chest.
Your eyes briefly darted downwards only for you to avert them just as quickly—telling yourself it must be the dark playing tricks on you, making you think you saw his boxers were half-tented.
The mattress dipped as he settled into the bed with you and you felt a rush of heat that came off his body like a furnace as you both scooted down to lay flat. Your body was rigid as you resumed your staring contest with the ceiling, thundering heartbeat only picking up more speed when Eddie rolled over onto his side to look at you.
“Can you not sleep?” he asked, his voice coming out in a gentle rasp.
Your hair rustled against your pillow as you shook your head. “No. You?”
“Nope. I’ve, um…I’ve been thinking about what we talked about,” he said slowly. “Earlier.”
You inhaled sharply, certain he had to be able to see the effect he had on you even in near pitch darkness. But was it really your imagination that you seemed to have a similar effect on him?
“Yeah?” you whispered.
Eddie nodded, his eyes dropping to your mouth, the tip of his tongue swiping across his bottom lip to wet it as he spoke.
“I was wondering if I could…if you’d like me to—”
“Yes.”
The word all but flew out of you, filled with heat and need. And no sooner had you uttered it was he rolling on top of you, his body pressing against yours, his rapidly firming length prodding your heat through your panties. His lips descended on to yours, making every part of you heave in response to his touch. He actually moaned into your kiss, both your lips and his vibrating with the sound. Every part of him moved with yours in perfect harmony, every curve and bulge of his body finding a home against your own.
It’s like you’re warm bread and he’s the butter, spreading smoothly across you and melting into your every crease and crevice.
“Fuck, I’ve wanted this so long,” he panted out in between feverish kisses dotted along your neck, his teeth nipping at your racing pulse.
“Really?”
“God, yes,” he groaned, his hands gliding over the length of your body. “I dreamed about touching you…how you’d sound…what you’d taste like…”
“Jesus Christ.”
You had never felt like this before, your very being thrumming with energy and ready to go off like a firecracker as soon as someone lit your match. You could have chalked it up to the weed, or to the beer, or to the fact that you hadn’t been touched like this in so long—and even when you had been touched, it was nothing like this.
But ultimately you knew…the real reason was him.
“Feel good?” Eddie asked, his pink lips curled up in a catlike smile as he rolled his hips forward, pressing them against you in a filthy grind that had your back arching off the bed.
“Shit,” you gasped, breathless, “S-so good, Eddie—fuck.”
The way he was moving against you had your mind emptying rapidly. It was all you could do not to wrap your legs around his waist and squeeze him close to increase that sinful sweet pressure he was putting on your core. But Eddie was quick to give you more, pushing up on his hands so his hips married with yours and he could look down at the mess he was making of you.
“Eddie, I want you to fuck me,” you whined, voice all high and desperate. “I need it, please.”
His original offer had officially flown out of your head. All you could think about right now was him being fully seated inside of you, his cock stroking your walls, his thrusts reaching deep. He’d gotten you so wet just from kissing, him going down on you now was practically redundant.
“You want my cock already, huh?” he teased you lowly, leaning in close again, the tip of his nose touching yours. “Too bad.”
His gentle mocking tone and the way he purred so softly made every atom in your body tremble. You stared up at him with your hips squirming trying to chase the friction you so desperately needed as he started to shuffle further down the bed, making you whimper at the loss.
“What’s wrong?” he chuckled at your pitiful little sound. “You think I’m being mean?”
You nodded back at him and his giant eyes glinted in the dark, his handsome face full of mirth and mischief as his chest rumbled with a laugh. The sound of it rippled down your spine, making it go instantly rigid and then slackening like the crack of a whip. Oh, you were in trouble…
“Well, I am mean. And selfish too,” he gritted out, his fingers kneading at your waist, bunching the material of your t-shirt in his fists to pull it taught across your chest. “Because I’m gonna kiss this pussy all I want…all night long, if I feel like it.”
With his words dripping thick and sweet from his lips, he shifted even further down on the bed with a practiced swivel of his hips. He kissed his way down your body, pushing up the hem of your shirt to reveal the bare expanse of your stomach and hips, groaning again as he caught a glimpse of the underside of your breasts.
“I’ve…been waiting…way too long…to taste you…”
His voice slipped back into that lower register as he placed a line of delicate kisses to your navel in between his words. His head dropped lower, lower, lower until he met the apex of your spread thighs. A soft moan escaped your lips as he laved his tongue over your clothed slit, licking through the thin barrier until his spit had soaked through the cotton to mix with your arousal.
“Take them off,” you gasped, raising your hips to help him.
If he had decided to tear them, to rip them right from your body, you wouldn’t have minded in the slightest. But he curled his fingers around the elastic and dragged them down your legs, settling back on his calves to tug them off, the blunt edges of his fingernails raking lightly over your skin all the way to your ankles. It made gooseflesh bloom across every inch of you, all the way to your scalp as you pushed your head back into the pillow, so overwhelmed by the feeling.
He works infuriatingly slow. Teasing you, toying with you like it’s a big game. He kissed softly along your seam, nuzzling his face against your inner thighs, skimming his lips over your folds that are doused with your slick, not even bringing his tongue into play yet. It makes your clit just ache for him, the little bundle of nerves yearning for the attention he just won't give it.
Not yet.
Finally, finally, he placed one long kiss on your sensitive bead, popping off far too soon for your liking to murmur softly to you in the dark.
“Can’t believe you had to beg that loser to do this…I’d beg you just to let me do it…”
“Then do it, Eddie,” you groaned, bunching the sheets in your fists. “Please, please, just do it—”
You’re almost crying now you want him so badly, the anticipation making your chest tighten and your lungs constrict. All the amusement drains from Eddie’s face as he looks at you, doe eyes shining like they held every star in the galaxy as he studied your pained expression.
“Relax for me, baby,” Eddie soothed in a steady whisper, his palm rubbing across your stomach. “I’m gonna take care of you, okay? I promise.”
Keeping your gaze locked on his, you nodded back at him and then closed your eyes to take the deepest breath you could manage. He watched you silently, studying the way your chest rose as you inhaled, and the way you held the breath in for a five count before you released.
And just as your breath crested, just as you felt the relief of the oxygen flowing throug your body, he fixed his lips around your clit and sucked.
The noise that he dragged out of you didn’t even sound human. It was shock, it was calm, it was joy, it was confusion, it was elation, it was rage.
It was as though every emotion you’d ever felt in your whole life was thrown into a blender and that sound was the end result.
Your hips jumped, bucking into his face, but Eddie never faltered. He kept his hold on you, arms wrapped tight around your thighs to keep them spread open so he could continue to devour you. He didn’t just go down on you, his mouth and tongue and chin and nose moved together in any and every possible direction until you yourself had forgotten which way was up.
It made you doubt your very existence. No way was this real. No way could anything feel this fucking good. And yet at the same time, it was too real. The tickle of his hair on your inner thigh, his hot breath fanning over your most private skin, the noises he made muffled by your pussy lips. Every visceral detail swirled together, rushing you headlong towards oblivion.
“That’s it, that’s it,” Eddie said hoarsely. “Come on my tongue for me, beautiful. I gotta have it.”
He pulled his lips from you, his fingers plunging easily inside your gushing center, crooking up to rub that spot you only ever dreamed of someone reaching. As you clenched around his digits and he could feel how close you were, his tongue returned to your folds in long and languid swipes that ended in fluttering flicks and swirls.
He does everything so carefully, so thoroughly, that the brink he brings you to feels more earned than anything you’ve ever felt. Stars burst behind your rolled back eyes, tears squeezing out at the corners and spilling down your cheeks.
Your mouth fell open as you moaned in earnest abandon, chanting out his name in praise in between heaving breaths to gulp down air.
The aftershock seems to last longer than the orgasm itself, your legs twitching under Eddie’s firm grasp long after the explosive feeling had receded. He slid up to lay next to you, cradling you gently in his arms, out of breath himself as he watched you return to earth, his nose and mouth and chin all glistening with your spend.
“You okay?” he asked, hopeful and earnest, his cocky bravado long since dissolved.
“So good,” you gasped. “It was incredible, Eddie. Holy shit…”
His chest shook with a low laugh at your dazed expression. Your eyelids drooped, exhaustion trying to overtake you, but you forced it back. Suddenly filled with the urge to make him feel as good as you did, you let your hand drift toward his boxers, making his whole body shudder as your hand grazed across a damp spot there.
Wait…was that? No, not a chance. No way did he come just from eating you out.
“Easy, killer,” Eddie chuckled, reaching down for your wandering hand and lacing his fingers with yours to gently tug it back up and kiss it. “What do you want in there, huh?”
“Eddie, please,” you pouted up at him as your eyes fought to stay open. “I want more, I want to make you come too.”
“We will,” he assured you, his fingertips gently trailing across your forehead, down your temple, along your jaw. “Just close your eyes for a minute. Then we’ll do anything you want.”
The sigh you let out was a little huffy, but you couldn’t deny how appealing it sounded to rest your eyes—just for a minute. They start to flutter shut and the last thing you felt was Eddie’s warm breath on your ear as he leaned close to whisper,
“Good night, sweetheart.”
Sunlight came streaming through your blinds far too soon for your liking. Its warm rays splashed across your face as it rose in the sky and you withdrew reluctantly from your sleep.
A deep, blissful, fucked-out sleep like you hadn’t had in years.
Everything came into focus slowly as you woke. The hum of the fan overhead pushing cool air down, the distant chirp of birds from the tree outside your window…the subtle weight of Eddie’s arm slung across your torso.
He was still asleep next to you, snoring softly with his face smashed into the lilacs printed on your pillowcase. You couldn’t be sure if he had fallen asleep holding you or if he reached for you at some point during the night and never let go.
Either option was equally enthralling.
His hair had come loose from his bun, curls now big and frizzy around his face like a lion’s mane. And even in sleep, there was a look of quiet satisfaction on his face. Contentedness, like he was in the middle of a really good dream. You even let yourself believe you saw the slight curve of a smile on his plush lips, one you were sure matched your own.
You reached out a hand and gently touched the fringe obscuring his large forehead, brushing them back to reveal the thickness of his eyebrows and the dusting of freckles along his nose and cheeks. Fuck him, if he wasn’t even prettier.
Moving carefully so as not to disturb his slumber, you rolled over onto your side and reached for your phone on the nightstand, looking for the time and instead finding a text from Argyle.
hope u enjoyed ur special delivery ;)
Thank you for reading. love you, mean it! 🍕
This has been gathering dust in my drafts for a minute now.
Been feeling the lack of inspiration/motivation to write lately real hard, so it was nice to go back to something that I really enjoyed writing and had a lot of fun with.
summary: a movie night, a confession, an offer, your Calvin's bunched up on the floor of your best friend's BMW...and other places | 18+ Only, NSFW | main menu
the song: Don't You (Forget About Me) by Simple Minds - all of steve's music
6.6k words
warnings: "inexperienced" reader - in the form of never really making out/receiving none/not great foreplay - masturbating for comfort/ease before sex, SMUT (public - in the back of Steve's car - "caught" by Hopper when you're done, oral, fingering, steve cums in his levi's cause I'm a sucker for doing this to him, what can I say?)
A/N: Once upon a time, I asked for requests, and I failed to fulfill many of them (you may have heard this story before), but this one sat in the drafts for many many months, and then I really chickened out posting it for a long time. Everyone say thanks to @palmtreesx3 - I owe her and the request for the prompt "we're not really just best friends, are we?"(which isn't even used in this, but you get the picture) and The Breakfast Club for this fic 💛
He didn’t hear it at first, over the last remaining popping kernels.
“What?” He called around a mouthful of the snack he was already dipping into before it was finished.
In the other room, your attention was strictly on Judd Nelson, but you tried again, with no real power or meaning behind the words.
“Want me to pause it?”
“No,” he shook his head and rolled his eyes to no one but himself in the kitchen, “Don’t think you need to pause the movie I’ve seen three times…this week.”
“I’d love one, thanks!”
Steve snorted at your response that made no sense, it becoming apparent you weren’t listening to him at all.
He should have known this was his fate after the way you acted when it was showing at The Hawk. You saw it with him, then Robin, then Nancy, and Steve put his foot down when you tried to drag him down there for a fourth time.
Now here he was, dumping the popcorn into a large bowl and watching it again. He didn’t even know what number of views he was on with you, which had him worried about your sanity, ‘cause you had to be watching it without him too.
Steve snagged two cans of Coke out of the fridge, assuming that’s what you’d love one of, and kicked the door closed with his heel.
He cradled the popcorn bowl against his side and held each of the cans with one hand and spread fingers, socked feet slipping on the hardwoods when he rounded the corner and saw you again.
Despite becoming incredibly bored by the movie, he did love watching you watch it, because somehow, it’s as if you’re watching it for the first time every time.
Your white tube socks were stark against the dark wood of the coffee table, bunching around your ankles that led him to the exposed skin of your calves. Which led to the way your blue skirt fanned over your thighs all nice, then the Queen shirt he got you for your birthday tucked into it, your thumb between your teeth with your eyebrows bunched together.
His best friend was really fucking pretty.
He almost said it out loud, which had him flopping onto the couch a little quickly, a little too heavy with his fall. Careless in his aim of the cushion and causing popcorn to spill from the bowl into your lap as his shoulder jostled yours.
Before he could even say sorry, you were grabbing the popcorn from your lap like it was the bowl, blissfully unaware it wasn’t, all the while making heart eyes at dreamy Bender.
“Thanks,” your appreciation came out heavy around the buttery and salty handful of the snack, the Coke you’d love sitting on the coffee table, already forgotten.
Steve hummed, his amused lips twitched in a losing fight against a smile at your captivated stare fixated on the screen. He suppressed an eye roll at the scene about to happen, as he swiped condensation off the cool metal of the can with his thumb.
He popped the drink open with a loud hiss, slurping his first sip - a habit you’d normally swat at his chest for - but you were too busy focusing on the words about to leave Judd’s mouth.
“Have you ever kissed a boy on the mouth?”
They sort of just tumbled out of Steve too, while his eyes glanced over the popcorn bowl, searching for a perfectly buttery piece. Which is why he didn’t see that he, your best friend, quoting the scene that has dialogue that got you all hot and bothered more than others, had your entire body freezing.
Steve tossed the acquired piece into the air, catching it in his mouth before he turned to face your profile. He found you with widened eyes, chest rising and falling a little too quickly, and he grinned.
“Have you ever been felt up…over the bra…under the blouse…your shoes off, hoping to god your parents don’t walk in?”
He’s simply delighted when he quotes the scene again and your body shifts, toes curling as you arched your neck away from. You kept your eyes on the screen, not giving him the satisfaction of eye contact because of what he was slowly, finally, realizing.
You were totally turned on and he couldn’t wait to tease you about it forever.
Steve leaned in closer, whispering along with the movie, “Over the panties…no bra…blouse unbuttoned…Calvin’s in a ball on the front seat past eleven on a school night?”
He’s gearing up, about to tease you, make some dumb boy comment about being hot for the school freak, when your quiet, barely a breath response had him pausing.
“No.”
Did you just say that out loud?!
Your head turned to find Steve blinking at you, creases in his forehead deepening beneath the stray locks of hair that fell forward.
Looks like you did.
“Ste-”
“What? What do you mean no?”
Your eyes closed when you both spoke at the same time, avoiding his curious stare. Hands roamed to your cheeks to hide your face as your head fell towards your knees.
As you shook your head no, your response gets muffled into your skirt. “I meant no.”
Steve’s hand nudged at your shoulder, prodding for clarity and for you to sit up. He failed to sound casual when his question came out incredulously.
“No, you’ve never kissed a guy?”
Your hands still covered your face as you fell back against the couch with a groan, “No, I..I have. I just…”
Steve pulled at your hands, his heart racing like it was overtime. All these years, he thought you’d been with all these other guys, his quiet jealousy seething under the surface of his tinged green from envy skin.
A breath, well, more of a huff really, slipped past your lips as your gaze dropped to the hands holding yours in your lap. “I’ve never really made out with anyone? Just like…a quick kiss or two. I don’t even know, can you even count it as kissing? Over before it starts kind of thing…”
The ramble trailed off, the room silent save for the movie still playing and the giant, loud, big, fat, zero response from Steve. You counted the threads in the carpet, the pieces of popcorn in the bowl as your skin grew hotter and hotter from the reveal he’s left just hanging there until he finally sputtered out a sorry excuse for one.
“Are you shitting me? We’re like…old.”
It doesn’t come out how he meant it to at all, he’s just shocked. He’s wincing almost immediately as the words reach his ears and brain, he knows how it sounded. He wishes he could take it back when your head whips up, hurt eyes meeting his as you ripped your hands away from him.
“Yeah, Steve,” you scoffed, jaw pulsing as your voice dripped with sarcasm that tried to cover the embarrassment, “I’m shitting you. Thought it’d be real funny to trick you into thinking your best friend is a loser who’s barely been kissed even though she’s so old.”
Pieces of popcorn fell from your lap as you stood, not letting yourself wonder where they came from as you stomped around the coffee table and towards his entryway.
“No, honey, wait-” he stumbled after you, spilling Coke down the front of his shirt as he did, “Shit.”
He patted at his chest like it’d do anything, shirt damp and sticking to his skin as he rounded the corner and found you lacing up your converse and shaking your head.
“It’s fine, Steve. I’m fine. I just don’t feel like talking about it. I’m gonna go home. Don’t worry about it. Girl stuff.”
“No, please, I didn’t mean-”
His words stopped just as abruptly as your body, when the front door swung open to reveal an out of nowhere downpour.
Your head fell as you started to ask, and he was already one step ahead of you.
“Can you please-”
“I’ll grab my keys.”
He was tripping up his stairs by the time he finished saying it. When he returned, it was in a clean shirt, jumping from the second to last step as he swirled the keys around his pointer finger.
The light blue fabric of his new shirt pulled at his shoulders that hunched when your glare remained unwavering despite the apologetic puppy dog eyes he had going for him.
You understood Steve didn’t mean for the comment to start the hole he was digging, and you knew you weren’t being fair for being so upset. It’s not like it was his fault, it was just your own insecurities manifesting in an anger towards him.
The nagging feeling of being some sort of freak who’d never made out while even the little twerps who clung to Steve were, while your best friend was Steve Harrington, former king of Hawkins High only grew stronger. The thought of Steve thinking you were some sort of weirdo for being old and never making out had something in your gut churning, had a familiar sting behind your eyes forming that you tried your best to ignore.
When Steve opened his mouth, about to try to make it all better again, you simply turned on your heel and stalked out into the rain. He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes at the way you stomped through it, pretending to not be drowned.
He quickly rushed behind you and got to the door first and swung it open, to which you rolled your eyes at, but slid in and got comfortable while he closed it for you nonetheless.
Unsure why he went and changed as he raced around the hood and shot into the driver’s seat, totally soaked through to his skin now. He cranked the heat before swiping fingers over his eyes, a large hand ran through his hair and pushed it back only for it to fall into his eyes again. Steve reached over with wet and shaking fingers at the same time you held yours up, both of you pausing and glancing at the other’s hands.
Steve was about to cup your fingers between his and blow warm breath onto them, just like he always did, but you ripped your hands down to your lap, and curled your body against the door, like you needed to be as far from him as you could be.
Your damp forehead touched the cool glass of the window as he sighed, “Please don’t-”
“Just take me home, please?”
The tone in which the words were said has something in his chest breaking. Like you were really fucking sad, embarassed, it was a real plea to just take you home and leave you alone.
So he wasn’t gonna do that, ‘cause he never was a great listener, so why start now?
He pretends though, he backs out of the driveway and heads in the direction of your apartment. He lets the radio fill the space and he turns the heat down when the air inside the car is heavier and warm despite your cold shoulder. The orange glow of the street lights slanted inside the car in a soothing rhythm as his wheels spun over the pavement until he was coming to the last four way stop before your apartment.
It unfolds just as he had planned, when he’s still stopped at the deserted intersection, as your breath fogged up the glass when you asked, “Harrington, you planning on leaving the intersection anytime soon?”
His bottom lip wobbled as his teeth continued to press into it, thick fingers rubbing at a scruff dotted jaw as he thought out loud in an attempt to sway you.
“Well, you see, I could go straight and take you home-” he started.
“Right. Let’s do that.” You waved your hand towards the direction of the apartment that held the ice cream you were desperate to eat and wallow with while watching Pretty In Pink.
“Or,” Steve interrupted right back, tapping on the steering wheel with his finger as he did, “I could go to the right. Pull into the diner. Buy you a milkshake and say sorry?”
The thing was, he was gonna go to the right regardless of your answer. He knew once you pulled into the parking lot there was no way you’d not at least go in and get fries and a shake, if not a whole burger. You’d done this dance before, him putting his foot in his mouth was not a new occurrence.
Your lips twitched, but your arms stayed crossed as he hummed and whispered, “Tough choice…tough choice…”
Shoulders fell in defeat, but your mouth stayed downturned in a forced frown as you grumbled, “And fries.”
Steve smiled, turned on his blinker and nodded. He cleared his throat.
“And fries. Definitely.”
“And none of that you order yourself a vanilla shake and I order strawberry and you drink half of mine because it’s better and eat all the fries shit.”
“Of course,” Steve scoffed, “I would never do that.”
Steve slipped his straw into your shake, pulling the glass across the sticky tabletop as you did the same with his. He tried not to smirk around the straw when you did, dipping a fry in his vanilla he ordered for a reason despite the strawberry being better.
“Do you think Claire is a prude for never doing anything?”
He shook his head no almost immediately, swiping at stray ice cream from the corner of his mouth with his tongue.
You fiddled with the straw wrapped between your fingers and narrowed your eyes at him.
“Would your answer be the same if, say, Eddie was sitting here asking you? Not me, your best friend, who you have sudden pity for?”
He blinked at you and sighed, “I don’t have pity for you.”
“Your mouth and your eyes are telling two different stories Harrington,” you waved a fry at him as you spoke, gesturing to his face with it.
Your gaze stayed on the fry you were ripping in half, focused on watching it sink into the sweet vanilla as he dared to say, “I just don’t get it.”
“What, that I haven’t done that and I’m so old,” you tried to tease, to move past it.
But the way you were licking salt off your finger had him wondering if he swiped his own through the salt on the tray and pushed the pad against your lips if they would part like they were now, if he could taste it on your lips if he just leaned forward and-
“No, ‘cause you’re so fucking pretty.”
He definitely said it out loud that time.
You blinked at him, cheeks suddenly too warm for the cold and damp Spring that had been surrounding you all day.
“Ste-”
“And so smart,” he licked his lips, leaning forward, unable to stop now that it was out, “And funny. And…and sweet, you’ve got the biggest heart of anyone I know, I just don’t understand how guys aren’t falling over themselves, unable to do anything but make out with you, or more or-”
“I never said I didn’t do more,” you whispered, ignoring all of his compliments that made your chest feel all tight and sticky and choosing to argue with him instead because that was easier.
“But you said…if you haven’t made out with anyone…”
Your body slipped lower against the squeaky seat, embarrassed as you shrugged and Steve felt too hot in the tiny little booth, thinking about all those guys’ hands on you again, and then what you said, what it meant, really clicked.
“Hold on…how…how’d…you didn’t, build up to it?” He asked softly, eyes bouncing over your face with worry.
“Steve,” you grabbed for the other shake, and sat up straighter, “We don’t need to talk about this. It’s not import-”
“It’s so important,” he grabbed your hand and squeezed your fingers lightly, “Half the fun is all the build up to it. And,” he swallowed, forehead creasing with deeper worry, “And then it, it doesn’t hurt. ‘Cause tell me if I’m wrong, but if they weren’t making out with you, were they doing anything to make sure you felt good?”
You squirmed in your seat, fingers pushing up against his mindlessly, aimlessly, as you shrugged again. “It’s only hurt a few times. I learned that if I…um, If I got myself ready beforehand, that I was, uh, more comfortable.”
Steve’s fingers let go of yours with the excuse of grabbing a fry, because he was trying not to be a gross guy, but all he could think about was you in your bedroom, with your fingers between your thighs now. Did you play music? What song? Did you have underwear on? What color? With a shirt that your nipples were visibly hard through as you touched yourself and maybe it was his shirt or maybe you said his name or-
“Right,” Steve nodded, “Um, right. And that’s great, lots of people do that for a date, so like if you need or want to beforehand that’s not…that’s great. It just shouldn’t be the only thing, you know? They should be putting in the work, they should be wanting to. And dates! They should watch a movie with you, and dinner and drive around and then kiss so much you feel dizzy and then if you want, more.”
He finished his rambling speech and you smiled softly, unsure of what to say, because you knew he wasn’t wrong, it’s just that they had.
“They did,” you sighed, “Well, not Paul.”
Steve scowled at the table, “Yeah, well, I’m sure you weren’t missing much. Who wants to yell out Paul?”
“Oh,” you laughed, “And Steve is so much better?”
He looked up at you, your smile sweet and kind and your eyes a little sad, but trying not to be and he wanted to say yes. He wanted to tell you that if it was those lips and that voice saying it, it was better, because how could it not be? Like his name only had the best letters, like it belonged to the best guy in the world, one that belonged to you and no one else.
But you were swiping at ice cream on your lips and sighing, saying something that made his chest ache instead.
“They were nice dates. And it’s not like the sex was bad. But,” you looked out the window, eyes tracking the droplets of rain twinged neon from the light hanging above you both, “The kissing till I’m dizzy sounds nice. Is it…is it fun?”
“Yeah,” Steve whispered, admiring the way the red and blue lit up your profile before you turned to face him.
And then he was saying something before he really thought it through, because god you weren’t just fucking pretty, you were the most beautiful person he’d ever met and no way in hell was he letting anyone treat you the way you’d been ever again. So this was his chance, and he was taking the leap.
“I could…” he blew out a breath and smiled. He sat up straighter, and he searched for some sort of lingering king steve confidence he could latch onto without all the douche as he asked, “I could show you?”
To both of your surprise, you’d said yes, and he paid and you were in the car, driving, and parked somewhere in what felt like seconds. Now your best friend sat across from you, both of you facing the center console, but not daring to do more.
The rain beat against the roof of the maroon car, each drop a punctuated tick of a nonexistent clock - a meter for how much time was passing without movement, without words. Just both of your breathing filled the space. First exhaling, then desperately inhaling for more air as your chests rose and fell ragged. And then, like in some unspoken agreement only best friends can have, you both started to lean forward cause you just knew.
Your heart’s thrum threatened to drown out the rain, building and building, screaming to break out of your chest, pounding in your ears while your cheeks grew warm and your stomach dipped as Steve’s tongue slipped out quickly and wetted his lips.
But then he leaned and his eyes started to close and you giggled, fingers slipping over your lips as his eyelids shot open.
“Sorry,” you gasped and shook your head and your hands out as you tried to be serious, “Your ‘I’m about to kiss you’ face is real cute, Harrington.”
Tried being the definitive word.
“Cute?” He groaned, smiling, “Not sexy?”
You leaned in, faster this time, a smile matching his as you shrugged, “It’s nice. Never thought I’d be on the opposite side of it, is all.”
It’s easy to tilt your head and welcome the hand that reached up to cradle your jaw as he softly promised, “Your ‘I’m about to be kissed face’ is really cute too.”
The pad of his thumb brushed over the apple of your cheek in the tenderest touch you’d ever felt, before his fingers curled under your jaw and tilted you gently, slowly, up so his lips were right over yours.
It felt like he was handling you like the most precious and fragile thing, like a prized possession that he’d only ever hold with care and never let another soul touch.
His breath fanned over yours, warm and sweet smelling, vanilla and cherry just out of reach for you to taste as you dared to quip back again. “Alright, I’m gonna have to cross reference these lines with other girls you’ve promised to make dizzy, Harrington, cause if that’s the first time you’ve used that, I’m afraid it’s far too smooth…”
Steve’s heart felt like it was trying to claw out of his chest as you laughed, smiling at him when he responded, “And, I think that’s enough out of you.”
Which you couldn’t help but reply back to with, “Yeah? Have some fancy trick to get me to stop talking?”
He laughed, low, muffled and deep in his chest. “A few.”
A sharp inhale slipped past your lips when his nose bumps yours, not realizing how close he’d gotten while you joked back and forth nervously. There wasn’t a protocol on how to let your best show you a proper make out, on how to just dive in and start, you just knew you wanted to.
Steve’s swallow bobbed his adams apple as the leather beneath you creaked from shifting weight, needing to get closer. And as you did, his eyes found yours, mossy and dark in the low light, the browns and golds washed away in the rain. Their gaze flitted down to your lips, back up to fluttering eyelashes, and then his own eyelids were closing.
All it took was another breath in, an exhale out, and his lips were on yours. A simple, slow press, holding your top lip between the both of his. Strawberry and vanilla teasing you, and soon he was moving, now bottom lip between his and you got it. Your mouths parted together, lips slotting in a rhythm that came naturally, that clicked.
Something in your stomach fizzled and crackled like the sparklers you lit every year in his driveway on the fourth as the sigh from his nose hit your cheek. Body warm and sticky in a way that was usually reserved for Summer when his fingers skated over your jaw, up and around your ear, until they were cradling the back of your neck and pulling you closer. His mouth moved with yours in a way that could only be described as frantically graceful - needing more, hurried, hungry, but with the promise and precision of someone who knew what he was doing. It had your stomach dipping, like a freefall, like the greatest and scariest thing you’d ever felt.
If he’d have opened his eyes, he’d have found you with your hands suspended between your bodies though. Fingers not quite brave enough to reach up and get lost in his hair, but not content to just sit in your lap and do nothing either.
And if you'd opened your eyes, you’d have found his other hand gripping the center console like he was hanging on for dear life. ‘Cause holy shit was he trying to go slow, but kissing you was like chasing the last few minutes of sunlight in July - sweet and fleeting and magic - something you needed to make last, to soak up every last drop of until you couldn’t any more, not by choice, but because the sun has to set and he has to breathe.
In a shared gasp for air, you parted, but his lips were back on yours immediately, making your stomach swoop even more, like an entire family of butterflies had decided - hey, we live here now and we’re gonna make a ruckus so get used to it.
You didn’t mind.
Steve’s fingers found yours and without breaking his rhythm, he tugged, guiding them to his shoulders that were practically on your side of the console now, which wasn’t doing something great to his already somersaulting stomach.
He slowed down as your fingers brushed over and back on the collar of his shirt and his hands cradled both of your cheeks, pulling you off of his lips regretfully. You were both breathing like you’d run a marathon, his forehead pressed to yours as he gasped out, “Dizzy yet?”
“No,” you lied.
He grinned, tip of his nose tracing the bridge of yours as he admitted, “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to kiss you like that.”
You couldn’t even respond, couldn’t tell him you wanted that too, couldn’t tell him that it was something you only dared let a daydream or two convince you it could happen before you were shutting it down, cause he was still talking.
“And now that I have,” he swallowed, his thumbs glided down opposite sides of your neck as he shook his head, “I’m never stopping.”
Then he was kissing you again, and if you thought he was frantic before…
You had this feeling that even if those other guys had made out with you, kissing them wasn’t and never would be the same as kissing Steve Harrington.
Soon one of your feet was on the seat, the other bracing yourself in the footwell. He had a hand on your hip and the other on the back of your neck and yours were finally starting to dare to journey past their spot on his shoulders and then your skirt was caught on the gearshift and he was stopping you again.
“Honey, what are you doing?”
“So was that ‘never stopping’ just a nice sentiment or are you planning to back it up with action?” You huffed, distracted by pink lips that twisted into a crooked smile as he looked at your pretzeled body.
Your shoulders fell as you nodded your head towards his side of the car and admitted, “I just want to be closer.”
“Oh, right.” Steve swallowed, and you wondered if it’d be weird if you kissed every freckle and mole you could find on his throat. Something told you he wouldn’t mind when he asked, a little more eager than you’d heard tonight, “Backseat?”
And you clambered out of the car, the slowing rain soothing to heated and flushed skin under the mussed clothes, and then you were both meeting in the backseat, but the nerves returned. The way you both glanced at the space between you and were immediately and acutely aware of the lack of anything between you except doubt and fear. Was this a mistake? What about your friendship?
Steve looked at the space, at you, and then held up his finger in the symbol for one sec as he said, “Hold on,” and half climbed back into the front seat. His torso draped over the console as he loudly opened the glovebox and rummaged around inside, before he was fiddling with the radio, and falling back into the seat.
His cheeks pink, but his smile wide as he looked at you again. “Hey! I’m so glad we could do this tonight. You look beautiful. Ready to watch your favorite movie?”
“Wh-what?” You laughed, totally and utterly confused.
He tugged on your fingers, and pulled you to the middle, until you were slouched next to each other, shoulders touching as he shushed and said, “The Breakfast Club is starting.”
And the music playing over the radio,Simple Minds, a cassette he must have put in, had your chest swelling with something that was sure to burst and explode and kill you, because the boy was actually pretending you were on a couch, on a date, in a living room, watching a movie - it was perfectly Steve and you, and the best first date you’d ever been on.
His left hand picked up yours, resting it on your thigh and played with your fingers. The pads of his traced up and down and over your hand as he stared at the windshield, his temple resting against yours. The music played, and his fingertips swooped between the curves of each finger aimlessly, the sides of his fingers running down yours and back up making it really hard to concentrate on the non-existent flick.
When you finally relaxed into his side, when you flipped your hand over so he could draw little loop de loops on your palm, he quietly asked, “Who’s your favorite?”
“Brian,” said without hesitation.
Steve groaned, in pain, “Ugh, you would like him the best.”
You laughed, turning to look up at him a bit from where your head had fallen to his shoulder, “Don’t knock him Steve,” you spoke softly, fondly, “You’re a lot more of a dork like him than you think.”
Steve made a pft noise, fingers now interlaced with yours as he turned his head, the tip of his nose touching yours as he looked down at you with the sort of look the guys give the girls in the movies, one that should be illegal from the way it had that family of butterflies shouting about their presence again and fluttering around.
“Hey Steve?”
“Hmm?” He hummed, eyelashes fluttering as he sighed when your thumb brushed over his knuckles.
“This is a really great…first date?” You asked, hopeful that it wasn’t just an offer, that you weren’t some game, that the guy next to you was just as crazy about you as you were him.
“Yeah?” He smiled, proud, and then bragged, “Wait till the second one.”
It was your turn to hum, to look into his eyes and get a little lost as his mouth parted and you both scooted closer, waiting, as he squeezed your fingers wrapped around his.
“You’re making the ‘I’m about to kiss you face’ again, Steve,” you whispered, lips brushing his as you did.
“Right,” he whispered back, bottom lip catching yours as he suggested, “Which means you should probably stop talking again.”
This kiss wasn’t as easy and smooth, made difficult by grins of fools who were totally in love but wouldn’t admit it just yet, but how could you both not be after years together?
But you smoothed it out quickly, and soon he was swiping his tongue over your bottom lip as his hand gripped at your waist a little tightly. He traced over your top lip as your entire body turned towards his, like a plant in search of sunlight, his body on yours fundamental to your survival.
He gasped as you straddled him, your mouth swallowing the sound as his hands roamed up your sides, taking the hem of your shirt with it so his fingers could scrape at the skin just under your ribs before they dared to drift along the band of your bra.
You let out a sound that he’d never forget as long as he lived when you finally lowered yourself, skirt fanning over your laps so the sinful way he pressed up against your pristine soaked Calvin’s was slightly hidden. The unclip of your bra and the removal and toss over the seat was fluid, and you couldn’t think about it because the way his hand on your chest felt, the thumb over a pebbled nipple was something you’d only let yourself think about in moments of need before a date that wasn’t him.
Steve was wrong, the build up was more than half the fun.
The way his hands buzzed against your spine like the air after fireworks, the way his tongue brushed yours, the way he couldn’t help but guide your hips to rock against him. Denim hitting cotton in the exact right spot so the nerves underneath it got the friction they were aching for, while your mind ran away from you, thoughts about how this was just getting started. How there was more.
His lips left yours and his smile pressed to your jaw when the action got a soft whimper to fall from you. He tutted into your neck, lips grazing over an erratic pulse as he whispered, “Can I touch you?”
“Is that,” your breath hitched around the words as his tongue licked a thick stripe over your neck that extended, “Is that a part of making me dizzy or the more, when I’m sufficiently so?”
“You’re not yet?” His teeth scraped at where his tongue had just been. “I like when you say words like sufficiently, ‘s’hot.”
You laughed as his lips kissed the same spot, and then he was sucking, skin beneath his tongue warm and sending a message to your brain that you liked that a lot.
“Yeah,” you hiccuped, eyelids fluttering in their view of the car’s roof as you arched and his hands gripped your hips, “Yeah, touch me.”
He didn’t have to be told twice, arm around your waist holding you steady while the other traveled under the hem of your skirt. His mouth moved to below your ear and as his fingers glided up your thigh. He sucked and kissed, and sent that message to your brain again, having you say his name and god’s in the same desperate sentence.
Steve wasn’t gonna last much longer.
Especially when his fingers met the wet cotton and you moaned, so much filthier than he’d have thought possible. Especially when he circled over your clit through the fabric and you rolled your hips with the movement, far dirtier than he thought you were capable of.
“Fuck baby, you’re soaked.” He mouthed at the collar of your rucked up shirt, looking down at the way your hips rolled over his but he couldn’t quite see what was underneath.
You hid in the crook of his neck, hot, and you didn’t know if it was because the windows were fogged and Steve was so fucking good at this or because you were embarassed by how turned on you were from his next words.
“Please, I gotta,” he slipped a finger under the fabric and you shuddered as it ran down your slick and back up, “I gotta taste you. I need to put my mouth on you. Let me make you feel good, yeah?”
You were on your back, Calvin’s in a ball on the front seat, with Steve crouched between your thighs not even a minute later.
Thick fingers toyed with the hem of your skirt from his spot, blown out pupils taking over his stare up at you. One of your converse pushed to the other side of the car against the door as your fingers curled around the base of the sweating window above you.
Steve kissed your knee, and made his way higher between your legs slowly, until he was flipping your skirt up and swallowing as he stared at the space like it was a fucking artwork.
You giggled, nervously under the intense awestruck stare, squeezing your eyes shut as he strained to get out, “Fuck, honey, you’re trying to kill me.”
He was mesmerized, the way you clenched around nothing, his thumbs spreading you so he could see just how wet you were for him.
He was really not gonna last much longer. Straining in his jeans painfully like a teenager.
And that was before you whimpered, before you said:
“Steve, please.”
“Only,” he swallowed, leaning down so his breath hit your cunt in a way that had your hips wiggling, and him closing his eyes, “Only cause you asked so nicely.”
His thumbs held you open, massaging the sides as his tongue licked once, slow and broad, following the path of his nose up to your clit. He did it again, and again, and again. Until his fingers were slipping inside of you, pumping in and out of walls that held him tightly and his mouth sucked at your clit. Then you tugged, forcefully at the curls at the back of his head and practically screamed his name. Like it was full of only the best letters. Like it was yours.
Your stomach burned, the butterflies angry and in your chest now too, on fire, but happy about it. Steve’s fingers inside of you and mouth on your clit better than any orgasm you’d ever had, and you couldn’t help it when you came without warning, toes curling inside of your converse that kicked at the door and his thigh, while your fingers slipped on the window and your chest ached for a breath as it yelled his name in a way that the whole world would have to know how you felt when they heard it.
He didn’t pull away until you were gasping and your thighs were shaking and your fingers loosened in his hair. His cheek pressed to your thigh as he stared up at you and gasped out a proud, smug, “I’d like to see Bender of Brian do that.”
You laughed, tired, but happy, and he crawled up your body, kissing any part of it he could find while he ignored the uncomfortable wet patch in the front of his Levi’s.
Except you noticed and raised your eyebrows at it, a little smug yourself as you said, “Bet Claire couldn’t do that.”
Steve rolled his eyes, but then you were both flinching as a loud smack of something hit the back window. He glanced up and cursed under his breath, rolling down the window slightly as he called out from on top of you, “Hey, Hop.”
There was a loud, deep, sigh from outside as you both sat up with apologetic faces and Steve rolled down the window further.
Hopper’s cigarette smoke wafted in as he looked at the pair of you with a touch of surprise when he saw it was you next to Steve in the fogged up beemer. He shook his head, frown under the mustache forced. “It’s past eleven. On a weeknight. Have some decency and do this at home in front of a movie like normal people next time, yeah?”
You both nodded, your teeth pulling at your lip in a terrible attempt at not smiling.
He walked away, and you and Steve slapped hands over each other’s laughs and snorts, but you still managed to catch the quiet, “Bout damn time.”
And when Steve dropped you off at home, with a kiss to seal it all and a promise of a real date tomorrow that he’d pick you up for, you shoved the bunched up Calvin’s in his front pocket with your own promise, whispering in his ear the words “Sincerely, yours” before you left him with his mouth open on the front steps, watching you walk away.
anyway. high!steve who simply goes batshit crazy for you. grinds in real deep, gasping every time the sensitive head of his cock settles in. draped over your back, groaning and panting into your ear.
“feels so goddamn good,” he whines, nudging your shoulder with his nose. “oh, god, i can’t stop.”
your legs are shaking. ass high in the air, back arched all pretty for him. he ate you out through two orgasms already and he promised he’d only give you one more. you’re starting to think he’s full of shit now, biting your shoulder hard as his thrusts get faster.
“don’t,” you say weakly. you’re exhausted but steve feels so good. all warm on top of you and inside of you. you’re completely blissed out, relaxed, chest blooming, eyes crossed.
“shit — you mean it?” he pants. “you’d let me?”
you nod, your cheek pressed against the bed. a little bit of drool slips past the corner of your lips.
“would you —?” he grunts, adjusts himself, then sinks back in deep and slow again. “w-would you let me cum inside?”
your stomach flips. he has a condom on, but you’re on the pill. and you’d take the chance with him anyway. “mhm.”
he lets out a shuddering exhale. “are — are you sure?”
you nod your head again and reach for the hand beside your head.
steve kisses your shoulder, rests his forehead on it. “i’ve got so much to give you,” he gasps. “just a second, baby, ‘m gonna feel so good in you.”
contains: gender unspecified reader; reader with a vagina; dry humping; makeouts
your clit keeps catching on the rough denim of steve’s jeans. feels so fucking good. your hands rest on his shoulders, fingernails biting into his forest green sweater. his lips wrap around a nipple, gently biting, swirling his tongue, doing everything he can to convince you that you’re too empty. that you need to sit on his cock and let it stretch you out. that you have to let him take care of you.
the button and zipper to his pants are open. steve’s cock still strains under them. he adjusts his grip on your hips, ruts his cock as nonchalantly as he can against your knee, pressed between his legs. like a bitch in heat, he wants to hump it. wants to fuck you so bad it makes him feel stupid.
to you, it’s funny. steve goes from a strong-willed gentleman to a dumb puppy in five minutes when you have him like this. he’s lost, doesn’t know how to take control, nor does he really want to. he likes when you call the shots, until his cock starts hurting and his need to be buried in your hot cunt increases tenfold.
he lets go of your nipple with a little pop!. he looks up at you with wide eyes, mouth agape. he can’t help it. “honey,” he says, real sweet with it, voice hoarse. “want - i want to give you more.”
you grind hard on his thigh. he looks down. the wet spot you’re leaving makes his balls ache.
“just want this,” you breathe. not true. you just like seeing him all pathetic. “you feel so good.”
sometimes you wonder if he’ll ever snap. you don’t think he really has it in him. he at least doesn’t have it in him today, doesn’t manhandle you onto the couch and tsk at you for being a tease.
he swallows hard, looks back up at you, dazed.
“my fingers,” he whimpers. “don’t you want that? all full, gettin’ stretched out? doesn’t that sound good?”
you know his game. you adjust, pushing your knee into his cock again, and he has no restraint this time. just grinds against it, fingers on your hips going slack, groaning deep. his hands move to cup your thigh between his, rutting himself against you.
“oh, christ,” he groans, so deep it makes your chest hum.
“yeah, steve.” you lean down, kissing him. he leads. messy, tongue sliding against yours, teeth clashing, weakly bringing a hand to the back of your neck to keep you close. you find a break, pulling back just enough to murmur against his lips, “if i can get off on your thigh, you can get off on mine.”
Can I interest anyone in a wee bit of frenemy(?)eddie and some soft confessions while under the influence?
18+, MDNI 2.2k
cw: drug use (edible)
“Oh, wow. She’s really out.”
Nancy wasn’t wrong, but Eddie didn’t need to be told. He had noted your rapid descent into sleep when it started halfway through the movie. Your eyelids fluttering like they had weights attached to them and your body curling into itself as you sank into the cushions of the Wheeler’s sofa.
You were crumpled in a ball at the end of it now, hugging the arm like you thought you were going to roll off the edge of a cliff if you let go. Your half-drunk beer still sat on the end table, abandoned once the edible you split with Argyle took effect.
Eddie had foolishly tried to warn you off it, saying you should start with half of your half and go from there. But of course that only set the two of you off like a pair of dueling firecrackers.
He didn’t know how he kept ending up in these spats with you. He never intended to insult you, it just seemed he had a real knack for it. You always accused him of babying you and he’d accuse you of being too stubborn for your own good.
Had anyone besides Eddie suggested you take it easy, you probably would have listened and might still be conscious right now.
Nancy jostled you gently, trying to rouse you while Eddie peered over her shoulder. He didn’t care for the lifeless way your limbs hung, for the way your head lolled forward on your shoulders like you couldn’t hold it up yourself.
It made his fingers drum nervously on the outside edge of his thigh and the wallet chain that hung there clinked with each and every irregular tap.
Of course he knew there was logically no way you could OD on a pot brownie—but that didn’t mean he delighted in seeing you so incapacitated.
Eyes shut tight, you started babbling softly in response to Nancy’s voice as she tried to draw you back to the world of the waking. With a soft oof, she got you to put one arm around her neck and attempted to lift you off the couch. But even with the deceptive strength of her slight frame, she wasn’t getting you anywhere by herself.
So, she glanced around the room at the rest of their friends in their various states of intoxication.
Steve and Robin were long gone, Robin being the winner of their coin toss for who got to drink that night while the other stayed sober. She’d skipped on the edible and mainlined strawberry daiquiris instead, leading to her calling out forlornly as Steve helped drag her out the door,
“What if I puke pink? Please, please, please, don’t let me puke pink—”
Argyle and Jonathan were passed out, entwined on the pallet of blankets and pillows on the floor, Jonathan likely not realizing the warm chest he was burying his face in wasn’t his girlfriend’s.
Finally, her determined gaze fell to Eddie, and she tilted her head at him in that Nancy way of her’s that gave out marching orders without her so much as speaking a word. With another glance at your sleeping form, Eddie released a resigned sigh and nodded his head.
As they helped you climb the stairs, one arm slung over each of their shoulders, you started to rouse again and slowly registered what was happening through the fog of your high.
“Aww, shit…m’fucked up, huh?” you chuckled, letting out a heavy sigh. Head lifted the couple of inches you could manage, “M’so sorry, Nance, I shouldn’t have…he was right…again…”
The bitter edge in your voice as the last word left your lips made Eddie’s brow jump with interest. You lifted your head the full two inches you could manage and peered at Nancy through half-lidded eyes. Your head then swiveled to the other side and Eddie braced himself for more vitriol.
But none came.
Your face didn’t even change and Eddie realized your current state made he and Nancy’s mops of messy brown curls somewhat indistinguishable. You just continued on like you were still talking to your best friend, not the guy you couldn’t stand.
“Wheeler, you’re a fucking beast, you know that? You’re so strong…”
The loopy giggle you let out brought a smile to Eddie’s lips in spite of himself. He felt your hand start to curl around his shoulder and it made him tense, worrying you’d recognize the rough denim of his vest. But your fingers simply held it, rubbed the frayed hem of his cut-off sleeve between the pads, your sleepy smile re-forming.
“God, Nance, you smell so good…”
Your head suddenly drooped, landing partially on Eddie’s shoulder and making his breath catch.
You took a deep inhale of his scent, your chest expanding with it and making Eddie’s eyes bulge and then avert quickly when he caught himself ogling the deep scoop of your neckline. He had already committed most of the night to avoiding just that, his eyes just…slipped for a second.
Over your head, he caught Nancy’s gaze and the cloudy blue color might as well have been a bright red laser for how clearly she saw through him.
Thankfully, they got to the guest room before she could make any damning remarks. She pushed open the door and flicked on the bedside lamp, illuminating a bed piled obscenely high with pillows and a down comforter seemingly thicker than some mattresses Eddie had slept on.
“Can you hold her?” Nancy asked, looking from the bed back to him.
His throat bobbed with a harsh swallow and he nodded, only half-sure of his answer. Nancy lifted your other arm from her shoulder and turned you into his body. Your other arm wrapped around his neck, your head resting on his shoulder.
His hands wrapped hesitantly around your back, holding you against him almost like you were slow dancing. He had to resist the urge to sway.
Heart thundering so loud he feared it might wake you, Eddie watched while Nancy pushed all of the decorative pillows to the floor and turned down the comforter, motioning Eddie forward.
He walked you backwards a few steps and sat you down on the edge of the bed while Nancy knelt to take off your shoes. Thankfully, the dress code on movie night was always supremely casual and the track pants and tank top you’d worn would be fine to sleep in.
You babbled a bit more as they got you ready for bed, seemingly oblivious to Eddie’s presence—even mentioning him briefly as they helped you lay flat and Nancy lifted your legs onto the bed.
“He’s just so annoying, you know?” you muttered bitterly. “Like, whatever, you’re hot and you play guitar and you’ve banged like half the town. That doesn’t mean you know everything.”
Eddie tried not to let the words sting. It wasn’t anything you hadn’t said before to his face, but there was something about you still saying it, even when he “wasn’t there” to hear it.
“I’m gonna get water,” Nancy whispered, already out the door. “Just keep an eye on her, please?”
Eddie frowned and grumbled in response, but he didn’t move from his spot beside you. He did start to turn away, but stopped when you shifted in the bed. You reached out a limp hand and caught just the tips of Eddie’s fingers, tugging lightly on them like you wanted to tell him something.
He sank slowly to his knees, trying to hear you as your lips moved almost mutely.
“Should’ve listened,” you muttered. “Shouldn’t’ve been such a dick…”
You seemed perfectly content continuing your conversation even without “Nancy” responding, and Eddie wondered if he should just go? He was positive you’d be mortified if you ever found out he had overheard any of this. But even as he was screaming at his feet to move, for his knees to rise, they remained planted on the Wheeler’s plush carpeting at your next words.
“Nance…why doesn’t he like me?”
It took what felt like a year for Eddie to unfreeze. He looked towards the door for a sign of Nancy’s shadow in the hallway, the sound of her footsteps on the stairs. But there was none.
Your head lolled on the pillow, eyes still shut but the lids twitching subtly like you were trying to open them. If you did, you’d be staring straight into Eddie’s own rapt gaze. You still held your pitifully weak grasp on his fingers, and he easily could have pulled away. But he didn’t.
Eddie just watched, torn between his standards of decency and being desperate to find out what you were talking about. He didn’t even know you were into anyone—let alone that you liked them enough to groan about them to Nancy. What kind of idiot wouldn’t like you back?
Some sadistic part of him wanted to find out.
“I mean, I know I’m not—m’not like…Chrissy—but I’m alright, aren’t I? An’ I wore thisstupid booby shirt hoping he’d notice and he just…”
Your voice took on a wounded waver and you stopped, inhaling deeply as if to steady yourself. The beginnings of tears started to shimmer along your lash line and you shut your eyes tighter, but it only squeezed one of them out and made it trickle down your temple in a wet trail.
Okay…Eddie was really confused now.
He didn’t even know you knew his ex-girlfriend’s name until it came tumbling past your lips. And he sure as shit had so noticed your booby shirt—he’d barely been able to keep his eyes off you, had to actively force himself not to stare.
Had you actually…did you really wear it for him?
All of a sudden, you rolled onto your side and your eyes cracked open the widest he had seen them all night. You looked almost lucid and you were staring directly into Eddie’s face.
He flinched slightly, worried you might scream when you saw him. But you just sighed, scanning his features all glassy and moon-eyed as you stared at him plainly. Unabashedly.
Like he’s an oil painting that couldn’t look back.
“He’s just so…pretty.”
The words are whispered, like a secret. And it takes everything in him to remain totally still and not to let his eyes bug completely out of his skull. Wait, did you…Did you not think he was there?
“I like’im so much…what’m I gonna do?”
There it was again. That plaintive whine, that broken lilt of your voice that tugged mercilessly at something deep inside of him. Heartstrings he didn’t know were there until you plucked them.
You looked at him with those shiny eyes. Literal tears were filling them now, threatening to spill down your cheeks. You were crying. Over him? What kind of world was he living in?
And nearly too late, Eddie realized your eyes were fluttering closed again. Not from exhaustion, but to lean in and kiss him.
It all seemed to happen in slow motion. You stretched your neck forward, hand coming up to cup his jaw—god, your palms were so soft, not rough and hard like his—and Eddie felt himself melt briefly into your touch, just for a moment before he realized what you were doing.
Eyes closing, chest heaving, lips parting as you leaned into what you thought was a dream.
No, no, no, he thought frantically. Not like this—
Eddie wrapped his hand around your wrist and gently pulled away from you. It made you push a little harder, trying to fight your way out of his grasp, but you were weak and looked more like a kitten trying to box. He didn’t know what to do, he didn’t want you to get upset, he just—
“Hey,” he soothed, gently brushing the backs of his fingertips along your jaw. “Just go to sleep, okay? We can talk about this in the morning.”
You blinked, seemingly in realization, like you were surprised to hear him speak. And it made him wonder how many of your other dreams he’d starred in where he didn’t say a word.
But his voice seemed to soothe you somewhat, your fists unclenching and dropping to lay on the softness of the sheets. You nodded your head as your face sunk back into the pillow, your cheek rubbing the dainty floral bouquets on the case.
Eddie let out the breath he didn’t remember he was holding, his shoulders slumping with it as his mind raced. Carefully, with nimble fingers curled around the edge of the comforter, he tugged it up further over your shoulders, almost to your chin. You snuggled a little deeper into your sleep and Eddie tucked the blanket in a little tighter, his heart pounding with every second.
And before he could talk himself out of it, he dropped a feather-light kiss to your forehead.
Once in a while we have to do the pining, I guess 🙄
Very veeeeeeeeeery loosely inspired by that scene in New Girl where Jess is on painkillers. Ty for reading - love you, mean it!
After dark thoughts about pornstar!eddie…who gets fired from porn…
Because he’s great at sex, but bad at porn.
So. So. So bad.
He’s incredible at eating pussy, but incredible because he does it with his whole face completely buried in his co-star. Like fully submerged in her folds, as though she’s his breathing apparatus.
And it’s great for her, but terrible for camera.
They have to keep stopping him, telling him he needs to pull back, they need to see her pussy and they can’t with him in the way.
But much like a dog that’s been told to leave a treat where it is, he keeps edging closer, moving back in little by little until he’s right back where he wants to be and they’re calling “CUT” again.
And the girl is getting frustrated cos, like, she’s about to actually come and she looks at the director like, “do me this solid, please.”
So he finally lets Eddie get her off and just films super tight on her face and her trembling legs so that it’s obvious just how real it really is.
And so they can move on already.
Then they’re filming the fucking, and again Eddie is fucking like he would fuck in real life and the way he fucks in real life is Not. Good. Porn.
He’s not like slamming into her without any care, he’s not just using her to get off, he’s like trying to make it good for her. And it is very, very good for her. Like so good she’s this close to giving him her number once they wrap for the day.
(Her boyfriend of six years be damned)
And once they do wrap, he’s not quite “fired” but he is pretty sure he’s not gonna get hired again.
Except then the movie comes out and it BLOWS UP. People are obsessed—women are buying it in droves (who knew women even WATCHED porn?) and the VHS is backordered to shit, so the distribution company is like,
He does get that contract, but he (rightfully) feels like he’s got some juice behind him and refuses to work with that director ever again.
But he keeps butting heads with all these ass hats who keep trying to make him do it their way.
My buddy, my guy, my man you’re fucking her like she’s a person and that’s just not gonna sell. I know it worked for you before, but no way does lightning strike the same dick twice.
So Eddie walks. And he’s this close to calling it quits entirely when you approach him.
Because you are former talent, trying to branch out and direct, but no one will take you seriously. And you go to the production heads and tell them that if all they give you is a shoestring budget and one Eddie Munson…you can spin some gold.
And you do.
You go to Eddie with your vision of porn for women. Story-based, realistic dialogue, and real orgasms. All the tropes done in a way that doesn’t feel so tired and gross and vapid and soulless.
Something different.
And oh. He is so on board.
Back in Hawkins, the rumor mill is milling.
Because how in the world did Eddie “The Freak” Munson become an overnight sex symbol? A deal with the devil is the only explanation. Right?
Steve Harrington is LIVID.
He would have bet his college tuition on Eddie being a virgin, but now every babe who comes in the video store is renting that damn tape. And don’t so much as blush when Steve scans it.
Robin teases him mercilessly. Tells him maybe if he watches it, he’ll pick up some decent moves. And like…Steve has watched plenty of porn. He can’t imagine Eddie is doing anything that earth-shattering. There’s only so much to it, you know?People are just caught up in the novelty of it being someone they kind of sort of know.
Then he watches it.
And oh…Steve has been doing sex all wrong.
A) He wasn’t going down on them. He just wasn’t. He wasn’t like…against it, or anything. But like, he sort of didn’t know that was a thing? He lost his virginity in high-school for fucks sake—what did he know besides porn and magazines?
B) The girls he was with never sounded like that. And he didn’t realize just how fake all those other orgasms sounded until he heard the real deal.
Now he can’t un-hear it.
And from that day forward for like a few months, they are short one copy of Eddie’s tape because Steve snuck it in his bag and took it home.
The second you and he get together (in a, ahem, professional sense) something shifts. It feels like some long-laid plan plotted from somewhere in the vast universe has finally come to fruition.
Your first tape is a smash. The camera you get is barely a step up from a hand-held camcorder, but it doesn’t matter in the slightest. Even with a bare bones crew (you wind up doing a lot of the sound, the lighting, the editing yourself) and everyone doubting you from the jump, it’s a major hit.
The concept isn’t anything crazy—Eddie shows up to deliver a pizza and instead the girl accepts his delivery. But you add a twist: the pizza is for her boyfriend’s poker game. He cancelled their date night for it and now she’s been sitting out here alone while they play in the other room.
Not on Eddie’s watch.
He goes to town on her, bringing her to the brink three or four times while her boyfriend’s pizzas go cold on the counter top. The camera pulls in close on both of them—really giving the sense of Eddie as a person. He’s not just some disembodied guy with a nice dick (though his is very, very nice).
His personality shines through when he hitches up her legs to fuck into her deeper, chasing her pleasure like her high is his own. And when he grins down at her as she’s trying to stifle her sounds so her “boyfriend” won’t hear.
He talks her through it, locking those big brown eyes of his on her, clutching the back of her neck while she tries to block her moans until at last she just can’t hold the sound back any longer.
You have Lenny, the other camera guy, stand off to the side and call out “Babe, you okay in there?” as soon as she finishes, nothing but a trembling, shuddering mess on a black leather sofa.
Cut. Print. That’s a wrap, folks.
Eddie is a dream to work with. He’s collaborative and creative; he communicates effectively and often. You guys are like two halves of the same brain, often anticipating what the other wants before they even know it themselves.
Even short on crew, equipment, time, money—you can’t seem to fail when you’re together.
The only thing you’re never short on is actresses. Since Eddie’s first tape came out, word of mouth (pun intended) about him has spread. Rapidly.
And since you know a lot of them, you know who to hire. You know which ones are the flakes, which ones are divas, which ones will vibe best with the kind of set experience you’re trying to create.
Eddie trusts your judgement completely. He just waits for you to tell him who he’s fucking and then he does it. And he does it so well.
The fucker has chemistry with everyone—down to the guy who brings the sandwiches when you break for lunch. He’s charming and funny and considerate almost to a fault.
He’s fully dialed in from the moment he steps on set to the moment you wrap for the day. And even after that, he’s checking in with you, making sure you got exactly what you wanted, asking if you want anything else, if you need him to stay.
He has every right to be a total asshole. Literally this whole venture hinges on him and his magic cock, so his head should be as big as a hot air balloon, but he doesn’t lose that unflagging decency that is so rare in this industry.
He’s got this notion of a good girl—a cheerleader—who’s having a hard time, going out looking for weed from the mean and scary tattooed dealer.
One guess who’s playing him.
Except he’s not so mean and scary. He’s actually kind of a goof, mock-stabbing himself and falling off the picnic bench you and he had dragged out to this clearing at the ass crack of dawn.
All part of the vision, he assured you.
They look great on camera. His dark, wild hair and clothes and everything a direct contrast to her sweet face and pastel hues and soft waves. Chemistry is off the charts, as per usual.
She starts out really nervous and fidgety, but he makes her comfortable and flirts, offers the bud at a discount. And then her brow cocks daringly and she asks if he has anything…stronger.
Cut to her being eaten out like a banquet spread over this picnic table in the middle of the forest.
It’s oddly lush and romantic, with the rich color of the leaves and the dappled sunlight that comes in through the branches. A foil to the lewdness of their acts and the sounds they’re making.
And when they’re dressed down to nothing, bare skin on bare skin on weathered wood, they look almost like nymphs or elves caught up in the throes of passion, secluded in the trees.
Especially with leaves still clinging to Eddie’s hair from when he “fell” off the table.
And not for the first time, you feel a little twinge of something that squirms in your stomach as you watch them. Except you’re not watching them…because you can only look at him.
After he wraps, he hangs back. Tells you it was mildly inspired by the sort of daydreams he used to have in high-school over this one girl. And you almost wanna ask about her, but you’re cut off by an AD who runs up in a panicked state over some angry phone call from the production heads.
They’ve received the contract you had drawn up. Rights to a boutique company under their banner with total access to their distribution channels—granting you full creative control, intellectual property rights to everything you create.
And exclusive use of Eddie.
(Effectively nullifying the horseshit deal they gave him originally for a much, much better one)
And you know they’re gonna fight you on a lot of stuff, but it will all be worth it when they fold. You and Eddie have big plans. You know you’re onto something special, and you’re in it together.
He shows up to the production offices on a day he’s supposed to be off, but knows you have the editing bay reserved. Brings you coffee and a sandwich like a literal angel on earth.
An angel dressed up as a devil, because he’s got on this tank top with these arm holes that have been stretched waaaaaay beyond their natural elasticity, drooping down around his ribs and flashing glimpses of his tattoos there.
And you aren’t entirely sure why a tank top has got you so hot and bothered when there’s not one intimate inch of his body you haven’t already seen up close and personal with your camera.
In fact, it is the very same body you are currently watching fuck the shit out of that girl on the picnic table from a few days ago.
You share a brief chuckle over it—the fact that his bare ass is currently flickering on three screens as you scroll through footage. And it’s not so much that it’s awkward…more like you’re mutually tickled by the absurd fact that it’s not?
There's not an ounce of self-consciousness left between you two anymore. In a way, it's like there never was any to begin with.
He asks if you need any help, if he can sit in. He's interested in the process; thinks it could help him on set too. There's such a rich vein of enthusiasm and curiosity in him; a thirst to be better, to learn.
You think it’s a great idea…at first.
Until you're watching him on the screen with him sitting right next to you. His earthy, woodsy scent layered with the smell of his soap in your nose; his recorded moans and groans of pleasure filling up your ears through your headphones starting to get slimy with sweat from your temples.
It’s terribly distracting. And you must be some kind of masochist, because you’re curious about how he got so good at this and what it is he does to make these women come the way they do.
“So, what…what exactly are you doing here?”
You clear your throat, trying to cover the shake in your voice as you ask. Eddie scoots in closer, his eyes darting between yours and the screen as he describes the way he’s using his tongue, swirling it around the edges of her entrance, plunging it deep inside her while his nose presses in on her clit. Pretending he doesn’t notice your chest is heaving with his every word.
“How do you even breathe?” you chuckle.
“I find my moments,” he smirks back. Winks.
And, uh-oh. When did his hand touch your knee? When did he start to run his thumb over it? When did his fingers start to curl under your thigh to squeeze it? When did you get so wet?
He's close now. It wouldn't take anything for you to lean the rest of the way in and let his lips meet with yours. You can't, though. You don't. Because it would be so stupid. It would be wrong and bad and it could jeopardize both your careers.
You're starting the porn for women movement, here! You can't fuck your first star!
And you don't. You keep it professional. You tell him you're gonna call it a day and head home so he'll do the same. But when he calls you later that night with some ideas for a new script, and asks if he can run a few lines by you (just to see how it all sounds out loud, you know?), and you and he end up having insane, mind-blowing phone sex...
The next time you see him, it’s business as usual.
You knew it would be. The both of you are nothing if not consummate professionals, fully committed to this project. Neither one of you would dare let a silly little crush derail you from your goals.
And it is just a crush. It has to be.
Just the natural result of you working so closely; of seeing him be so completely in his element; appreciating his work ethic and his creativity.
And the fact that you’re constantly watching him have the hottest sex you’ve ever seen in your life.
But that’s neither here nor there.
Your next shoot is your biggest yet. It’s at this big, fancy house that you’re dressing to look like a spa with two massage tables set up by a pool that looks like something straight out of a resort.
Eddie is playing a masseur who offers the lonely, neglected housewife some consolation when her husband ditches their couples massage for work.
After the success of the pizza delivery tape, you think it’s best that you lean hard into the sort of “Eddie fucks it better” type storylines.
Because why not play to your strengths?
Except now the call time for your female lead has come and gone and she’s nowhere to be found. And you know Trina, she’s never late. But you called her and got no answer. Twice.
The set is dressed, the light is perfect, everyone’s in place…but you’ve got no one for Eddie to fuck.
Even if you could get a replacement, it would take at least an hour for anyone to get here and it’d put the whole shoot way behind. And you’ve only got a day in this stupid McMansion model home.
It’s gonna be a massive loss of time and money if you don’t think of something—like, right now.
Eddie can see you’re stressed. He comes over and you huddle up together by your storyboards. And neither of you has to say it, but both of you are thinking the exact same thing. As per usual.
You could do it.
You’re here, for one. It just makes good business sense. And you’ve done this plenty of times.
It’s been a while, and you’re not exactly “camera-ready” after not needing to be for several weeks, but you and Eddie have been talking about using more normal-looking bodies: bodies that jiggled and have hair where it grows naturally and are authentically real, regular bodies.
The camera guys know the sort of shots you want and you’ve got more crew now—more people who know your vision and who can help bring it forth.
Plus, you’ll be with Eddie. You know he’ll take care of you. He’ll be sure that you get exactly what you need, no matter what. You’d bet your life on it.
You know you can trust him.
And, well…you and he did just rehearse your lines the other night.
Eddie looks all kinds of cute in his white polo and white pants. He’s got his long hair twisted up off his neck for this, loose tendrils framing his face.
And you somehow forget until he puts his hands on you the first time that the whole concept for this shoot was born out of the fact that he actually went to massage school.
Before you even get to the sex stuff, you are putty in his hands. He moves them up and down your calves, slides his thumbs over the muscles in dizzying patterns en route to your thighs.
You’re not even faking the deep moans of relief you let out as he moves up higher and higher, arousal pooling promptly between your legs.
He starts going through his lines and he’s striking that perfect balance between casual, trying-to-be professional, while slowly getting more and more desperate and possessive. As if he’s fighting the urge to take you right then. Right now.
Telling you how awful it is your husband chose his work over you like this; how you should always be his number one priority; how Eddie would never let you out of his sight if you were his…
He reaches your ass and his hands grip one round globe in each, spreading you apart so he (and the camera) can see your glistening folds, reflecting in the sunlight like the water in the pool.
You wait for his next line—where he offers you a very special massage with a special technique that “he doesn’t do for just anyone…”
But Eddie goes off script.
He licks a fat, wide stripe directly through your folds and your head pops up out of the little hole at the end of the table, the pure shock and delight on your face captured instantly by the camera.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” he pleads, tongue still swirling between the words that are muffled by your ass cheeks, like he can’t stand to take it away, even to speak. “I had to taste you…”
“It’s okay,” you moan, throat nearly cracking in a dry sob, “It’s okay, just please don’t stop—”
And he doesn’t. He keeps going until you come, until you’re reaching back behind you to grip his hair as you push your ass back to meet every thrust of his perfect tongue.
From there, you get back to regularly scheduled fucking. He follows the script, peppering in the sort of ad-libs he knows get a good reaction—
That’s it sweetheart, you’re doing so well for me
Your husband doesn’t know what he’s missing
This is all mine now, you understand?
And, yeah, all that stuff gets you off, no problem. But it’s the other stuff he does—the quiet, subtle things you aren’t expecting—that really push you over the edge again and again. And again.
It’s the things he whispers (actually whispers, not stage whispers) low in your ear so you’re the only one who can hear. You feel way too good/I gotta slow down or I’m gonna come/I know you faked that last one, gimme a real one now—
It’s…it’s almost too much. You knew he’d be good, you just didn’t expect how good.
And you definitely didn’t expect to feel the way you do when he checks in between takes: asking if you want more or less of anything, making sure he’s not being too rough, telling you how great you’re doing, apologizing for that first snafu.
It makes you all…fluttery.
But it’s not until after you’ve wrapped for the day, after you’ve gotten in the shower at home to wash off the massage oil still spread all over your skin, that you realize Eddie never kissed you.
