summary: steve can’t keep his eyes off his neighbor every time she goes for a night swim
warnings: smut, perv!steve, male masturbation, dubcon (?), peeping tom vibes, cursing
word count: 1.5k
from jen: i love this one so i hope you guys do too!! angst and maybe one more smut fic coming tomorrow. as always, with love <3
Look away. Look away. Look away. Look away.
Steve’s angel on his shoulder is screaming at him, begging for the man to listen but he doesn’t. He can’t.
Because less than a hundred feet away from him, you’re there. Carefree and beautiful, swimming and floating around in your pool.
Never mind that it’s almost one in the morning. Every night for the past two weeks, you’ve stepped onto your patio and swam laps around the pool while Steve watches from his window.
He can’t tell if it’s a blessing or a curse that his bedroom window has the perfect view of your backyard, and the pool you’ve occupied lately.
Steve doesn’t know you well. You moved into the house next to his only a few months ago – renting it from the Belmont’s he’s grown up living next to.
You seemed nice, kind even. On the first week, you had knocked on his door with a plate of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. You introduced yourself with a dizzying smile, and a syrupy sweet voice – he physically had to stop himself from drooling.
And once you were fully settled in, your routine began. You worked at the diner in midtown, and he only knew that because saw you wearing the uniform dress and apron while he was checking the mail – not because he was watching you (he absolutely was).
You seemed to take the mid shifts for the most part. You left for work around 2PM and came home at 9PM, four days out of the week. He wasn’t sure what you did once you were home but once midnight hit, you were in the pool – every night like clockwork.
And tonight’s no exception.
Steve is standing in front of his window, far enough to not be seen unless you’re really looking, but still close enough to see you clearly. There’s not much light outside – most of it comes from the reflection of the moon and a warmer light you’ve installed in your own backyard.
You’ve been swimming for almost thirty minutes now and not once has his eyes wandered from the sight of you. Despite the darkness, he can see you perfectly. You’re floating on your back now and your body is on full display to him.
You’re wearing a red bikini and the color is so stark, it almost glows against the water. Your arms are moving slowly under the water to keep you afloat, your knees and ankles moving carefully to help tread the water.
He can’t tell if your eyes are open or not, and it’s hard to focus on anything except your tits.
Steve inwardly cringes at himself, and tears his eyes away from you – choosing to stare at a patch of carpet on his bedroom floor instead. He’s being disgusting and disrespectful. You’re in the comfort of your own home, doing something that brings you peace and he’s invading that. Even if you don’t know it.
He should close his blinds– no, he’s going to.
Just as Steve looks back up to close the curtains, his eyes land back on where you were floating but something’s different.
You’re still floating, easily treading water but this time, without your fucking top on.
Steve’s mouth goes completely dry and his already half hard cock, hardens even more – straining against the waistband of his sweatpants.
He sees the bikini top you had on barely two minutes ago now hanging off the small stonewall ledge of the pool. For a second, he wonders if you took it off for him. But that would be ridiculous. Surely if you had even an inkling of him watching you, you would storm right up to him and smack him across his face – probably yell obscenities at him, maybe even call the police.
Right?
Steve swallows harshly and despite telling himself to shut the blinds a few moments ago, he grabs the chair from his desk and slides it to in front of the window. He settles into it without much more thought and watches as you move through the water.
He knows he shouldn’t but all common sense has left his mind and has been overtaken by hunger. Steve’s hands find the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers, swiftly tugging them down past his thighs.
The cool air hits his skin and just barely offers him some sense of relief. He can feel the bead of precum wet on his tip. Keeping his eyes on you, he raises his hand and carefully spits into his palm. He wraps his palm around his cock, slowly twisting his wrist as he jerks himself off.
“Fuck,” He breathes aloud. The relief is immediate, and even though he wishes it was your hand instead of his, he welcomes it.
His wet hand keeps working around himself, and he watches you descend under water. You stay under for a few seconds, long enough to make him miss you. Finally, you come back up, your hands raising to push your drenched hair away from your face.
Steve doesn’t even try to silence the moan that spills from his throat. His eyes follow the way the water cascades from down your face, down your throat, all the way till it falls over your tits. Your mouth is just barely hung open, very clearly so you can inhale fresh air, and water slides over your rosy pink lips.
Steve’s hand moves faster as he keeps his gaze glued to you. His room fills with the sound of his slick hand fisting his cock, his hand stroking himself up and down, up and down.
He whines into the air as you lean backwards again, your chest and torso displayed to him again and he’s so, so fucking grateful.
“Oh fuck, mhmm,” Steve groans, his hand moving faster. The lewd schlick sound of his wet palm stroking his cock surrounds him, it’s so loud he’s almost worried you’d be able to hear it.
His breathing getting heavier as he tracks the way you move. His eyes threaten to squeeze shut but he can’t bring himself to look away from you, even for a second.
You keep moving, slowly swimming from the shallow end to the deep end. Your body moves to effortlessly, so beautifully and his mind begins to wander.
He imagines how you’d look riding him. He imagines how your tits would bounce in clear view of his face, perfect for him to grab and squeeze as you fuck yourself on his cock.
His hand tightens around his shaft, a thin layer of sweat building at his temple. He keeps thinking of how you’d look as he fucked you.
He could fuck you in that same pool – push you against the stone wall, holding your hips in place as he fucks into you. He imagines every pretty sound that would slip past your lips, how you’d whine and beg for more.
“S-Shit. Yeah, just like that, baby,” Steve hisses as he moans mindlessly, his hand pumps his dick faster, rougher. He’s so close already.
He focuses back on you. You’re floating in the shallow end again, and Steve’s gaze is fixated on the way your hand rises out of the water, the tips of your fingers gently gliding across the west skin of your stomach, up the valley of your breasts, carefully circling the skin around your nipple.
His hand is frantic now, stroking himself relentlessly as he stares at you. He’s a moaning, blubbering mess as he watches the way you touch yourself. It’s a show perfectly made for him.
Steve felt that rush of adrenaline coursing in his veins, traveling through his chest and all the way down to his cock. He was right there, and as he watches you emerge from the pool – water soaking your tanned body, droplets sliding down your skin, he’s thrown over the edge.
His stomach tightens, head thrown back as he whines your name into the air. He barely has time to throw his shirt upwards, exposing his stomach as warm ropes of cum spurt from his cock, coating his skin.
His chest heaves, and he keeps his hand moving over his skin, drawing out his orgasm. It takes him a few seconds for the ringing to leave his ears and come back to reality. His hand uncurls itself from around his dick, and he lets it drop against his sticky stomach.
Steve tracks you as you step out of the water and reach for a towel. He’s sad as you cover yourself up, but as his mind catches up with his body, he realizes he should feel guilty. His face burns with shame and he moves to clean himself up.
He grabs a few napkins from his nightstand, wiping his cum off his skin, and tells himself this was a one time thing and it will never happen again.
All the while, you continue to dry your own skin off, with a devious smirk covering your face because you got exactly what you wanted. The same fucking show he did.
Hiya! I'm really stuck on teacake at the moment so I'll yap a little, sorry in advance.
So, we all know he talks CONSTANTLY and we love that. But let's say you're friends, and you figure out slowly that if you want him to stop talking for a second, you just have to touch him. A hand on his shoulder, or his arm, and he's immediately focussing on you. It grounds him.
That little trick amuses you at first, but then your relationship develops and it gets more heated and now you desperately need him to talk you through it. But every time he has his hands on you, he stops talking, channeling all his fractured attention on you and on trying to not be annoying (something he's been told too many times). You plead him to speak to you one night while you're under him, to let go so you can hear his sweet voice you love so much. And when he realizes it won't freak you out and he finally does talk, a never ending stream, a bit breathless and rough... ohhhh boy. 👀
Just a thought, but what do you think?
This is perfect for me rn because the absolute degeneracy involving the conversations about Teacake I'm having in DMs with @djob00bies is CRAZY rn.
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SO touch and Teacake
I never EVER want that man to shut up ever, however I can see touching him as a means to ground him if he's anxiously rambling. Because having that rapport with him, you know after social interactions or other he'll beat himself up about it if he doesn't stop. So instead of him associating your touch as a means to be quiet, it's something safer, if that makes sense?
I can see that maybe he initially interprets this as a sign to be quiet though, he's not necessarily slow to the punchline with things, I just think he's been told too many times to be quiet or shut up that he assumes the same applies for this.
How that manifests when things get deeper between you two can be similar — he trusts you but he's also absolutely terrified of saying the wrong thing or worse. He wouldn't be able to handle hearing you imply that he 'talks too much' or he 'shouldn't talk', so he avoids that possibility by not talking at all. (It makes sense in his head)
And hearing you gently reach him 'baby where'd you go, wanna hear you' or 'c'mon sweetheart, talk to me' while he's literally balls deep in you makes him kind of snap into his senses. It's like this dam bursts and he's all breathless, 'love you babygirl', 'feels s'good— Mh fuck', 'gonna make ya feel s'good baby, I promise.'
After the fact he feels very embarrassed that he thought shutting up was in any way, helpful or a good idea. You talk him through that and reassure him and touch him like usual. And after all that, he just feels this unknown feeling of relief from carrying the burden of thinking he is a burden be lifted. With you, he doesn't feel like it's a bad thing to talk so much or anything to be ashamed about. He just feels glad, relieved and happy that he's found someone who's let him be him.
I love this sweet man with all my heart, he's 300 apples tall, has a big dick and a big personality 😤😤
After writing all this I'm thinkin' maybe I'll write a lil blurb??? 👀
summary: the pressure is on for gator to solve this case as roy keeps a close eye on him. meanwhile, you try to juggle your three biggest clients. and ignore that the lines are blurring with your favorite.
wc: 2.9k
warnings/tags: 18+mdni, r*y tillman, smut, mentions of public sex (oral m receiving) and phone sex, switch! gator, piv sex, oral (f receiving), edging, face riding, use of good boy 😝, brief mentions of safety in the sex work industry
a/n: oh, nothing, just thinking about the intimacy of redressing someone after undressing them. i may need to bathe in holy water but get soooo hype for the upcoming chapter its about to be a friggin doozy.
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Gator knew that getting involved with you was going to drive him crazy. But he had no idea it would be this crazy. Because you…how does he even describe you? The first time he met you, maybe he would have just said a “hot piece of ass,” and he wouldn’t disagree with that assessment now. But you’re something else too. It’s just that…it’s been a long time since Gator’s even been with a girl, and you’re helping him with this case (although helping is a stretch), and you’re teaching him things. New things. Interesting things. And he likes it. He likes it a lot. So much that he can’t stop thinking about your next appointment in the middle of work.
“Gator.” The voice calls, distant, as he thinks about how good that hotel room is going to be. “Gator.” It calls again, this time a little closer. “Gator.The last one finally snaps him out of it. Actually, it’s the smack that comes to the backside of his head. He blinks, straightening in his seat as he watches Roy settle across the desk. “You’re off in dreamland.”
“No.” He clears his throat. “Just thinkin’ about the case.”
Roy blinks at him for a long moment, reading him to filth with just his eyes. “So how is it going then?”
“Good, yeah. Think I’m getting close.” He imagines your face then, snickering at his wording. “Give me a day. I’ll have solid lead.”
Roy just exhales, shifting in his seat. “Any one getting close to us?” To the corruption, the murders, the fact that the ranch is actually the biggest drug trafficking route in the county. Conveniently enough, Marcus is Roy’s biggest opponent in the drug game, so when the FBI approached about collaborating on this case, it became the biggest blessing and the worst curse. The deputies of Stark County only know one rule and it’s the rule of Roy Tillman, so having to be…behaved is difficult.
“Those assholes have nothing on us.” Gator smiles, puffing chest out proudly. Roy doesn’t look at him, doesn’t nod, just turns back to some papers on his desk. Gator slinks out of the office, head hung low.
And as soon as that door is shut, his shoulders relax a little. He’s noticed those kinds of things lately. How stiff he is in certain situations. How it doesn’t feel like that with you. He doesn’t think about it too long. Stiff is good, right? Stiff is strong. Either way, the noise of the bullpen pulls him right back into that tense state, FBI agents laughing loudly from the desk that used to belong to Deputy Moore. None of the deputies have their own desks anymore. No, they have to be “accomodating” to their guests and share two computers between the rest of them, with half the resources taking double the time. Right now, both computers are being used, and there’s no way in hell he’s going to wait. Gator glances to the secretary desk. She’s not there. Probably off icing her old bones that she’s always complaining are randomly bruised. Score.
He speeds there before any other deputies noticed, immediately pulling up the database and typing the same name he has everyday for the past week. Peter Wagner. And just like each time before, nothing shows up. He’s asked around to see if anyone had heard of him, hell, any new guy coming into town but not a single person had. Who is this guy? Some ghost that just floated into town? No history, no friends, no trace.
Suddenly, a heavy force slams onto Gator’s shoulders and he jumps with a small yelp. He turns to spot one of the FBI agents, Henry, with a insufferable smirk plastered on his face as he eyes Gator up and down. “Easy there chihuahua.” He snorts, and another passing agent chuckles. With these guys here, Gator’s starting to get what it was like for the equipment manager of his high school football team — having dirty rags tossed on him, while the rest of the team laughed and scoffed at his existence. He’s almost sorry. Henry’s eyes drift to the computer, scanning over the words. He scoffs. “Didn’t I see you looking this guy up like yesterday?” Gator freezes. These agents really did have their eyes on them at all times. “Where’d you even hear about this?”
The hooker I sleep with for information. “Just a CI.” Gator closes out of the window, suddenly feeling very defensive of his lead.
Henry shakes his head. “Leave that shit and come join us on a real lead.” Gator looks up to the door, where two agents wait at the door, eyes locked on Gator and Henry. And then he feels the stare, boring into his skull from his other side. Roy leans out of his office, face flat, but Gator knows what that look is saying.
“Do what they ask. They know better.”
And of course, he listens.
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If ever you decided to apply for a normal job (you never would) and you had to write a resume, you wouldn’t have much of a recent job history to add, but your list of special skills would be extensive. You’re brilliant at time management, resilient as ever, good with people, even better with your hands, and your oral communication is off the charts. But your best skill, and the one you take the most pride in, is your attention to detail — you study each and every thing a client does, says and likes, and use it to make sure that you have them wrapped around your little pinky.
Marcus is into the public shit, likes you sucking him off under tables while he’s having meetings and trying to hold it together. He enjoys the power of it, one hand on your head, one shaking hands, doing it right under their noses. That’s how you know that when he pulls you into the other room, you have to whisper into his neck about how hot that was, how you love doing whatever you ask, and minutes later, you’re walking home with next month’s rent stuffed in your purse.
When he’s not taking you out, Peter loves over the phone stuff. You think that hiding his face makes him bolder or maybe he’s learned that you are not the type someone should be out with in public. You prefer it, because that means you can settle on your couch — phone pressed to your ear, When Harry Met Sally playing quietly in the background as you dig into your dessert. You don’t even have to fake your moans of pleasure. Chocolate mousse is just that good. He’ll whisper asking if you’re close, voice shaking with restraint. You time it perfectly, raising the volume of the television as he breathes all heavy, and Meg Ryan’s loud, exaggerated moans and yeses taking over instead of your own. He comes undone seconds later, and you smile, turning the volume back down. You’ve done this maybe three times now, and he still hasn’t noticed. Luckily, you’re watching your favorite movie.
“Was it good for you?” He pants.
“So good.” You breathe, admiring the amazing color quality on the television you bought with this appointment’s payment.
And then there’s Gator.
You know, you’re not meant to have any, but he’s your favorite. He always books that same cushy hotel room, desperate to get you off just as much as himself. And strangely, with him, you never know what going to get. He’s learning, slowly, that he doesn’t have to be the performance he puts out into the world. Not here, at least. There are some days where he lets you take the lead — a panting mess no matter if he’s underneath you, above you or right between your legs. Other days, something else takes over. Today, he’s got you pinned against the mattress, hips snapping into you from behind, each thrust punching the air out of your lungs as you sink deeper and deeper into the mattress. But then, even then, he’s surrendering something to you. As you attempt to snake your hand down from where he’s holding it, his fingers twitch. Gator has this thing that he does. Every time he wants something he can’t come out and ask for it with words, no. It comes out as the slight parting of his lips, the tiniest flinch of fingers, a breath that escapes a little too heavy. And you’ve noticed every single twitch, meeting it with whatever you could. “What…do you need?” You manage through heavy breaths.
He buries his face into your shoulder, pressing deep open mouthed kisses there, like that will make it easier to say. “Not yet.” He whines, all the while still desperately chasing his own high. “Wanna…taste it.”
You smile, but you’re keyed up and you don’t know how much longer you can resist. “Anything…I can do t-” You’re cut off by your own lewd moan. He pauses completely at your question, burying his face in your hair for a moment.
“Tell me…” He whispers, weak and small. “Tell me I’m good.” You wish, more than anything, that you could see his face right now. He’s finally lowered that shield completely. But since you can’t you do what he asks. You only have to say it once before he’s coming completely undone. And when he does, he tilts your head up, pressing a slow, grateful kiss there.
Before you can reciprocate, he’s pulling out, and flipping you over, settling right between your legs. He glances to the clock then back up at you, a determined smirk across his lips. “I’ll pay you for the extra time.” You don’t get to ask what extra time, when he’s licking once up your already sensitive core. Your back arches instantly.
You hate that you taught Gator how to tease. It’s his new favorite thing now — taking you right to the edge, so close that you can see the drop and then pulling away. And it drives you nuts. His tongue alternates between pumping in and out of you and licking with precision, your grip tight on his hair, as you grind against his face. As you do, he puts his big palms on your hips, forcing you down. “Shit, Gator.” You whine as that heat builds in your stomach. “Fuck, keep…” And then he pulls his head away, that sly smile on his face.
“Feel good, mama?”
“Gator if you don’t make me come soon, I swear to-“ He buries his head between your thighs against, this time curling his fingers inside you and sucking. And it’s absolutely tantalizing, everything oversensitive. You can see him grinding against the mattress, just as turned on. And then he does it again. The thing is, it keys you up in all the right ways, and he only does it because he knows in the end it will end up amazingly for both of you. But you’ve had enough. You grip shoulders, forcing him up to you and he lets you, somehow already hard again and probably ready to fuck you. But you have other plans. “Lean back.” You push him off you, guiding him so he is lying on his back staring up at you. And then without hesitation, shuffle up so you are angled right over him, a hand braced on the headboard. “This way, you have to give me what I want. Yes?”
“Yes.” He pants hungrily in response, hands finding their way to your hips and tugging your down to his face.
You moan at the way his tongue licks through you, as he continues to lap at you like a starved dog. Your knees are buckling, from where they are just about stopping by you from smothering him. It’s too much and you need more. Slowly your hips start to move against his face and he groans, guiding your hips along. “You’re so good.” You gasp out as your rock your hips against him. That only stirs him on more, and he moves faster. You can feel him under you too, moving against air, searching for his own friction. Your thighs quickly shake, as you grip onto the headboard with one hand, but turn to grab him your other hand. “Taught you well, didn’t I?” His muffled whine is all the response you need, so you keep going, moving your hand up and down slowly. “Making me feel so good, Gator. You’re such a good boy.” And just with that, he completely lets go. You follow right after, the sound you let our pornographic, and for once, real. You reach back for the headboard, needing the stability to get off without your legs giving way underneath you. In the moment, you’ve settled back into the bed, he’s already licked his face clean, groans of satisfaction echoing across the entire room.
You chuckle as you turn to him, the raging fire that has been in his eyes the whole time, finally having settled. He hasn’t been this eager, ever, and you can already tell it has something to do with his day. It’s only confirmed when he slips out of the bed, and you hear the tap in the bathroom running. He returns, boxers back on and pulls you to the edge of the bed so you sit up. And then he kneels. As he cleans you up, he doesn’t look you in the eyes, but he speaks. Something you never thought you’d hear. “Thank you.” He whispers, tossing the washcloth back into the bathroom without a look back. He doesn’t get up from the ground, though.
“For what?” You tilt your head.
He doesn’t respond, instead getting back up as he finds his clothes. “Tell me you’ve got some other shit that can help me with case?”
“Next Friday.” You get up, pulling on your own clothes. “They’re planning something, I’ll find out what next Friday. Poker game. Deal?”
“I just can’t fuck this up.” He mutters, watching you pull your dress over your head. “Can I ask you something?” You nod, focusing on trying to get the zip go your dress up. This one is always stubborn. “Why turn on him?”
“Marcus…” You sigh, shocked that you’re even admitting it. “Doesn’t exactly treat us like we’re human. Some of the other girls have had it a lot worse than me so, I’m not exactly mad if he gets put behind bars.”
He nods, digesting the information slowly before extending a hand out to you. You take it cautiously, and he positions you in front of him, reaching out for the zip. You pull your hair out of the way as he fiddles with it for a moment. From the mirror in front of you, you can see the way he kisses his teeth in concentration. You almost laugh at how domestic the entire situation looks. Finally, the zipper budges and he breathes a sigh of relief, moving it slowly up your back. There must be some sort of built up static, because you feel electricity shoot through you as he does. He even takes your hair from your hand, settling it on your shoulders.“I like the new lipstick.” He whispers. There’s a long moment where you don’t say anything, just look at him — relaxed shoulders and something close to a genuine smile on his face. He looks gorgeous with his walls all the way down. So what?
You snap out of the moment, turning back to him and pushing the feeling back. “I don’t.” You jut your hip out, holding out your hand expectantly. “Overtime.” Is all the explanation you give, and he laughs a little as he reaches for his wallet. You try your best to push down that strange thickness in your throat as your fingers brush. You try your best not to think about the fact that he’s getting attached. More so, that you are too. That the other day, while in bed with Peter, the name that came out of your mouth was not his. Something that’s never happened before. Gator blinks at you with those sad eyes, his hand still lingering. You pull the cash away, spin on your heel and speed for the door without a glance back. You’re only halfway out the room when you pull your phone into your hand and type.
“Why do you do that?” You pause, and against your better judgement turn back to the voice. Gator looks rejected, but you wait patiently for him to elaborate, foot holding the door open. “Every time, you’re like…movin’ onto the next guy right in front of my face.” He waves at your phone. “I dunno, it doesn’t feel too great.” He scratches the back of his head.
You both know what this is, but yeah, you’ve always tried to keep a layer of vagueness with them. You like when your clients feel special, mostly because then they make you feel special. But this is a non-negotiable. “I’m not texting my clients Gator.”
His eyebrows furrow. “Then, what-“
“I’m letting my friends know I’m not dead.” You don’t smile, you don’t wink, there’s no charm. It’s just a plain truth of your job that you leave dangling in the air behind you as you storm out of the room.
You have no idea how Gator’s mind spirals at the words.
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taglist (comment on series masterlist to be added): @thesecretoftheswan, @aecd27 , @bells-bookshelf, @st4rg1rl88, @wolfiee10, @haydensheartt, @kristywidget97, @louisbelongstome28, @beth-mirrorball, @s3xytosomeone, @scaramou, @purplequeen64-stuff, @bluezzzzzz, @lacyiris, @deeplightblue, @steviaorsugar, @literal-tv-menace, @mysticbellie, @artismytherapy05, @bluegardenn , @pinkiepieshepardspie
pairing: Walter "Keys" McKey x Female!Co-worker!Reader
summary: When Keys learns you're into dirty talk, he can't help but indulge his curiosity late one night at work. Thanks to an accidental headphone swap, you get to help him with his research.
tags: MDNI [smut] [co-workers to lovers] [listening to a spicy audio together] [dirty talk] [nervous] [SWITCHY] [blowjob] [flustered to confident msub] [praise] [use your words] [semi-public sex] [fingering] [thigh riding] 9k words.
God, Keys really needs to stop eavesdropping.
It’s already a bad habit of his—listening in on other people’s conversations at coffee shops, or when he’s sitting on the bus.
He just can't help it, okay? It's not his fault he's a curious guy by nature. And it's not like anybody ever sprints over to his corner office to tell him the new gossip, so he’s literally the last to know anything.
Like now, for example, standing at the shared coffee bar at work. He really should walk away and give you and your co-worker, Briana, some privacy for your conversation.
But he can’t.
Because he’s pretty sure he just heard the word sex.
His vision vignettes as he pours another sugar into his styrofoam cup of coffee. He only likes two, but now he’s lost count, tearing open packet after packet just to give himself an excuse to stay here.
Morning light pours in through the open windows on the east side of the office building, bathing you in gold. You’re so bright and beautiful, Keys can hardly even look at you.
Briana’s voice filters through his thoughts, tuning him back into the conversation. “I like him and everything, but the sex is just—I don’t know—”
“Bland?” you offer.
Briana pauses, giving you a weighted look before correcting. “Silent.”
You make a sympathetic sound, oblivious to your eavesdropper, whose cheeks are turning a charming shade of pink.
“There’s nothing worse than a silent man in bed,” you say, stirring your coffee. “I mean, we want to hear what we’re doing to them, you know? Like, moaning a little won’t kill them. And add in a little dirty talk? God, that shit never fails to get me off.”
Another sugar packet rips in his fingers and he pours without really thinking.
Good lord, this coffee is going to be undrinkable.
But the cup of joe is the literal least of his worries, since he’s shoving his hips up against the edge of the table just to keep from getting a hard at hearing you talk like that. You’re his co-worker. You sit across from him every day.
He can’t be getting hard at work. And especially, not right next to you.
“Exactly!” Briana groans, enthusiastically. “So, I don’t know what to do about it.”
Keys’ head turns towards the open office floor, but his feet feel like they’ve grown roots, planting him right there in the dingy carpet, forcing him to listen.
You hum, a familiar sound that means you’re thinking. “Well, if he’s into it, maybe listen to some spicy audios together? There are some really talented creators out there that can give you both some inspiration.”
He glances up just in time to watch Briana’s dark eyes cut over to you mischievously as she takes a sip.
“Good idea,” she says, “I’m going to…”
Somehow, Keys finally uproots himself and slips away with his cup of sugary bean water.
He barely registers the rows of cubicles and windows swirling around him in colors of gray, blue, white, and black, too busy replaying your words over and over in his head.
…nothing worse than a silent man in bed.
…add in a little dirty talk?
…never fails to get me off.
His office chair squeaks under his weight and his glasses land on his desk with a clatter. Planting his elbows on his armrests, he breathes a deep sigh and scrubs his hands over his face.
Focus, Keys.
He replaces his glasses, and shifts forward in his chair, forcing his eyes back to his waiting code. The predictability of numbers—those never changing zeros and ones—usually settles him. But, not today.
He tries hard to force all thoughts of you from his head but—oh, it’s useless.
There you are, spread out on his navy sheets, writhing underneath him. His mouth trails soft kisses down your throat, over your shoulder, and lower…
You let out a needy whine, hands twisting up in his hair, legs parting for him on instinct. And in his imagination, he opens his mouth to say something hot—anything—but no words come. He wouldn’t know what to say.
He has a few trademark moves in bed. I mean, who doesn’t? And the girls he’s been with always leave happy.
But…is he silent? He doesn’t really know, actually. Never recorded himself…or anything…maybe he should—
“You good?”
Your voice slams through his thoughts. The world whips back into focus, and Keys jumps in his chair. Suddenly, the overhead light’s too bright, and the AC feels like an icy blast, and you’re there, standing over your desk, staring at him with concern.
“What?” He squeaks, then clears his throat. “Y-yeah. Yeah, of course, why wouldn’t I be?”
You shrug, and take your seat across from him. “I don’t know, you just look…tired, I guess.”
He just grunts and returns his gaze to his computer screen. “Just…work stuff.”
You hum in agreement and turn back to your screen as well.
As much as he bitches about being shoved up in the corner of the office floor, the only space with a huge window immediately to his left, the spot really does have its perks.
It’s annoying because it’s so bright he has to squint to see his screen most of the time. But the way the sun shines through the blinds, painting you in thin lines of shadow, lighting up your eyes and lashes?
He wouldn’t trade this spot for anything.
Shit. Now he’s staring.
Irritated, he forces his gaze away and pushes his glasses up higher on his nose.
His hand finds his mouse and he navigates to his work, but for one fleeting second, his curser hovers over the new tab button.
Now, Keys is a complete and total nerd, so, of course he’s no stranger to the internet. Especially the deep, dark parts of it. He’s fallen victim to those late night deep dives on reddit pages more times than he can count. And somewhere, in the back of his mind, he remembers coming across those ‘spicy audios’ you gushed about earlier.
What did you call them? Talented creators? Which ones were you talking about? What things did they say? What did you like about it?
All it would take is a few clicks on his keyboard, and he’d get all those answers to his questions. But he quickly shakes his head to clear it and clicks back on his code with a guilty look over his shoulder.
The white wall stares at him, disapproving.
What the fuck has gotten into him? He cannot be looking this shit up at work!
He really has it bad.
When he’s back home, in the comfort of his own gaming desk, only then will he let himself investigate this newfound scrap of information on you.
Later, he promises himself. Later.
Well, it’s later.
And Keys hasn’t got a single fucking line of code done yet.
Which is why he’s stuck at work late, miserably trying to catch up on his project after everyone else has left for the day.
Everyone, that is, except for you.
Apparently, you also got behind, and you can’t afford to. Not with the new launch coming up.
Vinny came by to collect the trash a while back, and he didn’t see you in the back corner, so he turned off the lights, plunging you both into darkness. Neither of you have gotten up to turn them back on, choosing instead to work by the dim lights of your computer monitors. And even though the two of you keep saying you’re going to leave “any minute,” those minutes turn to hours, and you’re both still here.
Alone.
The printer hums in the corner, and that blinking blue light on the side is driving Keys crazy. It keeps catching in the edge of his glasses, and the clicking of your mouse fills his ears.
It’s constant. Unlike his. Which means you’re actually getting work done. Unlike him.
Finally, your voice breaks the silence.
“The street’s kinda loud tonight, isn’t it?”
Keys makes a noncommittal sound in this throat and doesn’t look up.
Honestly, he hasn’t noticed the traffic humming far below the window, and he’s trying so hard not to look at you, not to think about you, that he doesn’t notice when you reach across over and grab his headphones by accident.
It’s easy to get them confused. They look exactly the same, tangled up together at the edge of where your desks meet. Black. Standard issue. Company logo on the side.
When Keys glances up and sees you with the headphones on, he sighs quietly in relief.
It’s ridiculous, but up until this moment, he was hyper-aware of everything he was doing. Was he breathing too loudly? Could you hear his heartbeat? Was he readjusting himself too much when every thought of you in his bed gave him a hard-on?
He tries to focus, he really does, but the numbers blur together on his screen.
Music.
That’s what he needs.
He grabs the other pair of headphones, and when he settles them over his head, all he can hear is his own heartbeat slamming in his ears, reminding him of what a fucking loser he is.
He should just ask you out. Like a normal person. But no.
The foam cuffs press into the ear piece of his glasses, reminding him why he usually prefers the wired earbuds. But he’s lost them somewhere, and he can’t afford to go looking at the moment.
The click of his mouse is silenced as he maneuvers it to pull up his music library. But, his cursor gets distracted on the way, hovering over that cursed new tab icon in the corner.
He risks another peek at you.
Your brows furrow and you readjust your headphones, eyes still on your screen.
Resisting the urge to scrub a hand over his face in frustration, he turns his gaze back to his computer. If he’s honest with himself, he won’t be able to get any substantial work done until he satisfies his curiosity.
It’s risky, doing this at work. But there’s no way you can hear anything, and Keys is getting desperate.
After a few hasty searches, he’s navigating the depths of…erotic audios.
His eyes widen as he scrolls past the sprawling inventory of tropes and storylines. There are so many different kinds of fantasies, how would he know what you’re into? He leans in closer, scrolling carefully down the list until he hesitates on one in particular.
Talk Nerdy To Me.
The small blurb underneath catches his eye.
Your tutor tries a new tactic to get you to study for your big test. Just how sexual can his acronyms get before you decide to study anatomy a different way?
His cursor hovers over the LISTEN NOW button.
This is harmless enough, right? There’s even a little story. Like an audio book. Just way shorter. And way more explicit. And…yeah, this is so wrong, on so many levels.
Beneath his conscience, however, sits a burning curiosity. Keys is analytic at heart. If there’s a question, he wants to find the answer. And, if listening to this will help him figure out what to say in bed…
Fuck it.
The silenced click of his mouse through his headphones is as loud as a gunshot.
He waits, breath caught in his chest, heel tapping restlessly on the carpet as the little blue progress bar starts to move.
But he doesn’t hear anything.
He frowns and readjusts his headphones.
Nothing.
On impulse, he skips to the middle. Just in case there was a silent lull there at the beginning.
Still nothing.
He leans towards the screen nervously, and as he shifts, he glimpses you from behind your computer screen—and freezes.
You’re staring at him, cheeks flush in the dim lighting, chest fluttering with every breath.
And then, a small smirk begins at the corner of your mouth. It’s rueful and sinful, and…
His stomach drops.
Oh no. It’s in your headphones, isn’t it?
Oh, no, no, no, no—
His heart leaps in his chest as his hand flies to his mouse, scrambling to turn it off.
Oh, God, where’s the stop button?
There. That’s pause. Oh—he accidentally clicked it twice. Now it’s playing again.
HOW DO YOU CLOSE THIS FUCKING THING?
You chuckle breathlessly, watching your genius coworker—who can code literally anything, by the way— flail around like a fish out of water when all he has to do is simply press the little red X on the top right of his screen.
The mouse starts to slip around in his sweaty palm and Keys gives up, slamming the power button on his computer, and enveloping the both of you in silence.
You stare at each other over your desks for a long second.
Then, Keys rips his headphones off and rakes a hand through his hair.
See? This is what he gets for being fucking curious. It gets him in trouble. He just needs to stick with what he knows—
He opens his mouth to apologize, to explain, to—beg for his dignity back? But you just slip the headphones down to hang around your throat and level his gaze with a soft smile.
“Was that Bennett Brooks?”
“W-what?” Keys croaks, shoving his glasses further onto his burning face.
“I recognize the voice actor. Haven't heard his stuff in forever, though. He’s good—voice is a little raspy for my taste,” you shrug prettily. “But good.”
He swallows. “Oh.”
The silent office presses in around you, so quiet he can almost hear your lashes click together when you blink at him. Suddenly, you whip his headphones off your neck and thrust them onto his desk.
They land with a clatter.
“Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean to take yours. By all means, don’t stop on my account.”
Keys lets out a choked sound, caught somewhere between a laugh and a cough. This is definitely making it into the top three most embarrassing moments of his life.
“I’m n-not...” he stammers, “Not into that. Like…that.”
You shoot him a knowing look. “No?”
“No! Listen, I just—” he scrambles for an explanation as you just fucking sit there watching him. Smiling at him. “It was just research. Okay? Not a big deal—”
The words barely escape his lips before he realizes his mistake.
“Research?“ Your eyes light up and you lean forward in your seat. His eyes drop to the white V-neck button down you’re wearing—that third button you leave unfastened haunts him every single day. “Research is my specialty, Keys.”
Yes, he knows that. You’re a data analyst for the company. One of the best in the region, actually, wasting your time at the desk next to his. He should apologize again, or confess he overheard your conversation at the coffee bar.
But the embarrassment burns hot, so instead, he clears his throat and hooks a finger in his shirt collar that’s currently suffocating him.
“It’s stupid, really,” Keys says at long last, and he hates how it comes out crackly. He clears his throat again, like that will help dislodge the panic in his chest.
It doesn’t.
You shrug, tilting your head in that cute way you do. “Didn’t sound stupid to me.”
You’re being so nice about it. Why are you always so nice? “You know, I could help.” Your eyes linger on him and the air seems to grow ten degrees hotter. Then softer, you add, “…if you want.”
And just like that, all thoughts of project and deadlines glitch and vanish from his mind like a crashed browser.
He’s nodding before he’s even really given it much thought.
You smile and sit up in your chair. God, you’re radiant. “Okay. Let’s start with what exactly you want to research. Is it audios, specifically? Or—”
“No, no, it’s just…I think I…” Keys’ bottom lip catches between his teeth before he heaves out a heavy breath. “I want to get better. I guess.”
“Better at what? Sex?”
This time, Keys doesn’t hesitate. “Dirty talk.”
“Oh.” Your eyes flick to his lips for a split second before meeting his again. “Well, you’ve come to the right place.”
Keys adjusts in his chair, his dick is already twitching in his pants. “Yeah? So, you like this sort of thing? Guys’ voices dirty talking you and stuff. That…” He swallows hard. “Gets you off?”
You shrug again casually, like you’re talking about the weather. “It’s one way, yeah.”
Keys nods again. Too fast. Way too fucking fast.
“So, do you have anyone in mind?” You ask.
His pulse leaps. “What?”
“Well, you’ve got to be researching this for a reason, right? I mean, curiosity is a valid enough, don’t get me wrong. But is there someone…?” you trail off, unsure of how to finish.
A silent moment stretches out between you as Keys decides how to answer. The digital clock on the wall, the rise and fade of the passing lights, all seem to look between you—waiting for something.
Finally, Keys sighs. “Well, there is this girl.”
“Aha!” You lean your elbows on your desk, eyes brightening with interest. “Tell me.”
“It’s new. Like—” he chuckles, averting his gaze. “Really new. So.”
“It’s okay, Keys. We’re friends! We can talk about this kind of stuff.”
“I know!” he says defensively, although he’s not really sure why. “She’s just…into this sort of thing. Dirty talk. I think.”
“You think.”
“Yeah.”
You nod slowly, encouraging, if not a little teasing. “Okay…so, give me the rundown here. When’s your next date?”
“Uh. First one, actually. And…it’s…Thursday,” Keys stammers.
“Thursday? Okay.” You look out the window. A passing car’s headlights shine across your face for a second before the computer light consumes you again. “Lucky girl. Where are you taking her? I mean—before the inevitable trip back to your place.” You swallow hard and busy yourself with re-organizing your pen cup as he scrambles for an answer.
Chinese.
You love that.
He knows because the one time he picked you up for work when your car was in the shop, he caught a glimpse of your apartment through your front door. Your coffee table was littered with little takeout boxes, and he filed that away like a crow picking up a shiny screw and calling it a treasure.
Yeah, he has it bad.
“Uh. I was thinking that Chinese joint on the corner of Cross and Elm."
Your jaw drops. “I love that place!”
“Yeah,” he chuckles, raking a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I know.”
When you look up at him again, there’s a hint of a smile on your lips.
“Okay, so, we have three days to prepare you. What questions do you have?”
Leave it to you to make this sound like a standardized research paper. Well, now’s a good a chance as ever. He might never get this chance again.
Keys straightens in his chair, heel tapping the carpet so fast his leg is bouncing.
“What do you—do girls,” he quickly corrects himself, “—want guys to say?”
You frown. “What do you mean?”
Heat rushes to his face. “I mean, like, do they tell you how to…touch yourself? I don’t—I can’t even—”
“You’re overthinking it. There’s no magical combination of words to use." You gesture to his computer. "Here, let’s listen to the audio, it’ll help me explain—”
“Oh, no! We don’t have to do that!” Keys squeaks.
You shoot him a look. “You said this is for research, right?”
“Yeah! Obviously. Totally.”
“Then you can’t half-ass it. If you really want to learn how to dirty talk for this girl, you gotta commit.”
He hesitates.
“C’mon, Keys.” Your teeth close over the end of your pen and you gesture to his computer with your eyes, smirking as you settle into your chair. “Press play.”
Fuck.
Your coworker, Keys, has been acting weird as fuck all day, and now you finally know why.
He totally overheard your conversation with Briana at the coffee bar, earlier.
Maybe it had something to do with the way you raised your voice on purpose, hoping to get through that head of hair and those brown eyes that seem to see everything except all the signals you’ve been dropping his way since you first started here.
From behind your desk, you watch him eye the power switch on his computer like it’s some gigantic red button that says ‘don’t touch’ or else it will somehow World War III.
Come to think of it, you might start World War III if it means getting your oblivious-as-he-is-cute-coworker to finally make a real move.
Still, though, there’s a part of you that feels for the guy. He’s so nice, and good, and sweet, and fuck if you don’t want him to corrupt him a little.
Only in the ways he wants to be corrupted, of course. Which, apparently, involves digging into ancient audio porn on reddit after work hours.
Oh, you are so into it.
“Why are you so embarrassed, Keys?” you say gently. “Look, this is normal, okay? Being curious. And you want to make this girl feel good, right?”
The girl has to be you.
After all those coffees he’s brought you from that fancy place that he insists only adds three minutes to his commute, but in reality, probably adds, like, twenty? And the way his hand accidentally finds ways to brush yours, and then he acts as if he’s not jumping out of his skin at the contact?
If this girl is not you, then this crush you have on your nerdy, hot co-worker is about to be devastating.
Keys blows out a breath. “Okay, fine.”
His computer powers up with a familiar hum, and blue light cascades over his features again.
God, he looks nervous. Why is that such a turn-on?
He looks so alone over there behind his desk as one lock of his brown hair falls over his eyes, brushing the rim of his glasses, when suddenly, you get an idea.
“Wait, actually, no—” you mutter, standing up from your chair.
Keys jumps like you’ve shot him. “Yeah,” he says, scrambling to turn distract himself with something else on his computer. “Yeah! No, we don’t—this is—”
“—I’m coming over there.”
“What?” Keys’ gaze snaps to yours. Then, he gestures to the space beside him in his workspace. “Here?”
But you’re already rolling your chair over the carpet and behind his desk. It’s a tight fit, with these ergonomic chairs. Their wide armrests knock together as you slide in beside him.
Keys’ cubicle is different.
Technically, it’s the exact same as yours. The dimensions are the same, as well as your surroundings, but it smells like his cologne, and there’s that stack of board games he keeps hidden under his desk.
“Okay,” you sigh, settling back in your chair. “If we’re going to do this, we do it right. Which means, starting from the top. Clearly, you know nothing of the subject—”
“I—” he starts, but you shoot him a look that has his jaw snapping shut.
“Now, dirty talk is a broad subject, so, what kinds of things are you into?”
Keys shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess, it depends on what she’s into. I mean…” He threads his fingers behind his head and leans back in his computer chair in an obvious attempt at casualness. “What are you into?”
Smooth. Real smooth.
You decide to go along with it.
“I like a little of everything. Praise, instruction, degradation, fantasizing…but not every girl is the same—”
“Okay, let’s just do that, then,” he cuts you off, nodding once like it’s been decided.
You have to bite your lip to keep from smiling. “Okay, I’ll press play.”
You shift lean forward and your palm closes over his mouse. It’s slightly damp, like Keys’ fingers were clammy when he last touched it.
“Wait!” His hand shoots out and grabs your wrist. “Like…out loud?”
You gesture to the darkness beyond. “Keys, no one is here.”
“No, I know, but…” his eyes sweep the empty floor, shoulder hunched to his ears. “Okay fine, just do it.”
You nod and turn back to the monitor. “We’ll just pick up where you left off, okay?”
“Oh. I didn’t—”
Bennet Brook’s voice cuts him off, filtering through Keys’ computer speakers with that deep, raspy voice of his.
“—was pretty good. Okay, now let’s do the carpal bones. I have a mnemonic for this, actually, you want to hear it? Okay. Some Lovers Try Positions That They Can’t Handle. Yeah, it’s a little…suggestive? It just—it helps people remember okay? Yes! The sluttier the better. Look, it goes from thumb to pinky proximally, then pinky to thumb distally. Here, I’ll show you…”
You risk a glance over at Keys. He sits perfectly still, breath bated as Bennett leads the listener through the scene.
“Now you’re getting distracted,” Bennet laughs breathlessly. “What positions do I—I’m trying to help you study. Oh my god, you’re so annoying. Look. If I answer, will you study? Yeah? Okay, fine. My favorite is—”
You reach forward and press pause. The silence in the office rushes in to fill the empty space, and your stomach swoops as you turn to Keys.
“What’s your favorite sex position?” you ask abruptly.
He looks at you, eyes wide. You don’t miss the way his knuckles whiten around his arm rest, clearly doing that thing where he resists the urge to push his glasses up again out of habit.
“What does this have to do with—”
You sigh. “Just trust me, and answer the question.”
“Uh…missionary?”
“God, okay.” You roll your eyes and reach over to hit resume again. “That’s such a lie, but whatever.”
Keys stops you with that hand on your wrist again. “Wha—lie?”
“Yes. Lie.”
He finally turns to face you, incredulous. “Oh, and you’re suddenly an expert on what I like in bed?”
Heat shoots down your spine at his words, but you just scoff. “You play as a fucking stripper cop in Free City. Now, tell me the real answer.”
After a moment Keys groans, then looks away. “I don’t know the word for it. Like, the name, or whatever.”
“Oh! That’s not a problem.”
You reach for his keyboard, and before he knows what’s happening, you’re opening a new tab, and then, right in front of him, is a list of sex positions.
With pictures.
“Jesus!” He hisses, looking over his shoulder as if the wall behind you is somehow going to open up and reveal your boss or something. “I’m going to have to scrub my search history clean after this.”
“Relax,” you say, settling back in your chair. “Now, point.”
Keys lets out a heavy, resigned sigh and sits forward, squinting at the screen. Ten seconds later, he shakes his head.
“It’s not there.”
When he looks over at you, he immediately rolls his eyes, because the look on your face is the clearest I-told-you-so look he’s ever received.
“God, with how freaky you are, Keys, it’s a wonder you’re silent in bed—”
“Hey!” He interjects, glaring over at you. “I never said—woah, okay, why are you standing up? What are you doing?”
You plant hands on your hips, looking down at him. “Look, just maneuver me into whatever position it is, and I’ll find the name of it for you.”
“This is ridiculous.”
You huff. “This is a part of the research. If you don’t want my help, that’s fine, we—”
Without looking, he reaches out and grabs your waist. The warmth of his skin bleeds through your thin work shirt and a surprised squeak escapes you as he tugs you down.
You land in his lap with an undignified plop, facing him. Your stomach plummets as his knee presses against your core, but he makes a disgruntled sound, and grabs your thigh, pulling one leg up and over until you’re straddling him.
Your pulse hammers in your ears as you steady yourself with your hands on his shoulders and peer down at him.
The dim blue glow of the computer reflects in his glasses and as his gaze meets yours, his expression makes your chest ache. There’s something so sweet there. Soft. Like flower petals against your skin. Fragile, too.
“This is it?” you whisper.
A small smirk crosses his lips.
“Okay, so, this is just straddling…” you say, but your voice trails off as his hands spread over your waist. They’re so big. How have you never noticed how big his hands were before?
You swallow hard. “Or, I think, it’s technically called seated cowgirl.”
“Really?” he asks, squinting up at you with a hint of cockiness you could get drunk on.
In your next breath, Keys’s fingers dig into your hips, and he spins you around on his lap. His chest is warm against your back, and his computer desk digs into your belly. You wiggle your hips back slightly to get away from the sharp edge, but still when his hard length presses into your clothed core.
“What’s this one called?” He asks. His voice is deeper now, threaded with heat, and it makes your hands clench against the cool metal of his desk.
“Reverse seated cowgirl,” you say, fighting to keep your tone even. “So, this is your favorite? Tell me why.”
His breath stalls in his chest, you can feel the way he hesitates against your spine.
The printer hums in the far corner of the office, and a car horn blares distantly from the street below.
After a long moment, he exhales, and his breath ghosts over your ear, making your lashes flutter.
“I like the view,” he admits softly. “Painted in blue-light, all needy—” Then, he lets out a quiet, “Fuck.”
Heat pools deep in your belly. He sounds…wrecked. Already. And you’re just sitting in his lap fully clothed.
God, you could make this man beg.
You tilt forward and look over your shoulder. His eyes lift to yours, then drag down to your mouth, your hips, and his bottom lip disappears between his teeth.
“What else?” you whisper.
He doesn’t hesitate this time. “I like the control of it, you know? Like—” he huffs out a quiet laugh, like he can’t believe he’s saying these things. “Like maybe I’m just playing a video game, and making you keep my cock warm. And you just… just have to sit there and take it.”
His words—so filthy and shy—stir hot embers of arousal between your hips.
“Shit, Keys,” you say with a breathless laugh. “That was so good!”
His eyes meet yours again. “Really?”
“Yeah. Okay, I’m pushing play again. I’ll skip forward a little, too, just so we get to the good stuff.”
He clears his throat. “You’re going to stay right here?” He taps your leg and his fingers linger on your skin.
You pretend to jolt in his hold. “Oh! Sorry, I can move if you—”
“No, no,” he shakes his head. “It’s fine.”
‘It’s fine’, he says, as if he’s not raging hard underneath you, holding onto your leg like he might die if you slid off him right now.
He’s too easy.
You press play.
Immediately, sounds of kissing and rustling fill the room. Keys inhales sharply, his erection growing against your ass, and you barely resist the urge to grind down on him.
“That’s it,” Bennet croons. “You take it so good for me, baby. Fuck, you’re incredible.”
The wet sound of hips meeting has Keys’ mouth dropping open. His eyes dart off the screen, like watching the loading bar is somehow equivalent to seeing these imaginary people fuck.
“That’s praise,” you whisper over your shoulder. “Obviously.”
Keys looks at you, then. Really looks at you. You can feel the way he takes in the slight shift of your hips as you try to find some friction to release the building ache.
He’s reading you. Analyzing the data. Recalculating.
Classic Keys.
The sight pulls at something in your chest. Truthfully, that’s the reason you like him so damn much, the reason you’re pulled to him like a ship to a lighthouse.
Because with Keys, you would be fully, and utterly known.
“…always so needy?” Bennet groans. “Just wanna be bent over a desk and fucked, huh, baby? This what you need? So dirty, I swear to God.”
“Degradation,” you murmur, turning back to the computer.
Bennett keeps going. “Oh yeah, just like that? C’mon, baby. Tell me what you want. Use your words.”
“Instruction,” Keys says, beating you to the punch.
You’re grateful your back is to him so he can’t see your self-indulgent smile.
“…thought about this a lot,” Bennet groans, the sound effects growing faster and louder. “Like in the library on campus? When we’re trying to study but you’re sitting across from me, and I can’t focus…”
Your breath catches at the exact same second Keys goes still beneath you.
“…I see it, you know. The way your hand brushes mine when you hand me a pencil. You think I don’t notice? Fuck—of course I’ve thought about you. Are you kidding? Every time I jerk my cock I think about you. How you’d sound when I’m fucking up into you like this. Oh, you like that, huh? Get you so cock drunk— oh, baby, that’s it—”
You swallow hard, mouth suddenly gone dry.
That’s fantasizing.
But for some reason, you can’t even bring yourself to repeat it. To solidify it. To make it any realer than it already is.
Can Keys tell how much you relate to Bennett's words? That every time you’re in bed at night, thoughts of him keep you up late, you’re rubbing your aching cunt, whining his name into the empty ceiling?
You’re soaking through your underwear now, but mostly from listening to Keys’ uneven breathing behind you. His fingers flex over and over against your work skirt, like he can’t quite get up the courage to slip them under the hem that’s riding up your bare thighs.
In an effort to relieve his aching erection, Keys shifts in his chair. It’s a small enough movement, but it’s just enough to send his elbow into a cup on his desk. It falls with a dull thud, the water inside instantly soaking into the carpet.
You smack the space bar on his keyboard, cutting Bennet off mid-moan, and leap to your feet.
Keys cringes and moves to stand, but you disappear behind your desk before he can blink, and reappear a second later with a roll of paper towels.
“Here,” you say gently as you kneel in front of him. “Let me.”
Keys reaches down at the same time you raise up on your knees, and when you lift your chin, you find your faces only an inch apart.
He doesn’t jerk back like you expect. Instead, he just finds the paper towel on the ground and gently pries your fingers off it, resuming the blotting himself.
Your hands find purchase on his knees for balance, and they spread wider under your touch, almost subconsciously.
Almost.
You swallow. “Keys?”
His shoulder muscles flex under his T-shirt as he works. “Yeah?”
“Do you want to keep listening to the audio…or…do you want to practice?”
“Practice?” He doesn’t look up, but his voice cracks.
“Only if you want.”
Keys sits back into his chair, tossing the wet paper towel into the nearby waste basket. Then his eyes settle on you for what feels like the first time all night.
Through his work khakis’, his erection presses an angry imprint. God, it looks so hard it probably hurts, confined like that. The air between you shimmers with that unsaid tension, the kind that releases butterflies in your stomach and in the chambers of your heart.
But while exciting, it’s equally terrifying, putting yourself on display like this. You feel strangely vulnerable, even though you were just teasing him a few seconds earlier.
“What are you thinking about right now?” you ask, voice soft.
Keys looks away, jaw clenching.
Suddenly, you wonder if you’ve misread this. Have you made him uncomfortable? What if there actually is a girl, and it’s not you, and you’ve just—
“Your mouth,” Keys says, cutting off your thoughts.
Hope renewed, your gaze snaps to his.
“Where?”
He rakes a hand through his hair, and his glasses slant adorably on his nose with the motion. His chest rises and falls once, twice, and then he whispers, “My cock.”
God, just hearing him say that makes your panties slick.
“Good,” you breathe. “Now, put it together.”
He huffs, a surprised laugh slipping from him before the heat returns to his gaze. “I’m thinking about your mouth on my cock.”
The damp carpet fibers dig into your knees as you watch his Adam’s apple bob on a swallow.
“Do you want me to do that?” you ask carefully.
There’s a certain irreversible tension sitting between you right now. It feels a little like waiting behind an ancient door, not sure if it will creak open and invite you in or vanish into a cloud of dust.
After a long moment, Keys nods.
A triumphant thrill zips through you, but you keep yourself together and hold his gaze. “You have to say it—”
“Fuck, I want it.” The words rush out of him in a gasp, like they’ve been sitting behind his teeth, waiting their turn the whole night. “I want my cock in your mouth. Please.”
He’s barely got the words out before your fingers fly to his zipper.
“Forgot about begging,” you mutter more to yourself, but he hears you anyway.
How could you have forgotten that very important category of dirty talk? It’s one of your favorites, and it flew from his lips unprompted.
He’s perfect.
“W-what about the—cameras,” he protests weakly, even as his hips lift from the chair to help you slide his pants down his thighs.
“The cameras don’t reach back here,” you assure him.
Hooking a finger in the band his underwear, you pull them down and reveal his cock. It sits hard and heavy against the happy trail on his lower stomach.
He sputters. “W-what? Wait—really? How do you know that?”
It’s only natural, digging into dark spots in the security systems at a new job. Especially when you have a coworker as hot as Walter McKeys.
Instead of answering, though, you shuffle forward and take him in your hands. His head tips back on a ragged groan and you relish the hot, velvety feel of him. It’s long and hard, and somehow, you always knew Keys would have a big dick.
It’s always the nerds.
Your pussy throbs, fluttering around nothing as you imagine him easing his length inside your slick core, whispering in your ear, telling you how well you’re doing, how much he’s wanted this.
Keys sits ramrod straight, breathing sharply through his nose as you let your hands explore him. You stroke him from base to tip, fondle his balls, then reach down and palm his thighs. His stomach flexes beneath his shirt, and on impulse, you reach up and lift it until the fabric bunches just below his ribs.
Soft tummy with muscles flexing underneath. A dark happy trail leading down. A glimpse of thicker hair littered across his chest.
God, he’s delicious.
What you wouldn’t give to have this man naked in your bed right now. Saliva builds in your mouth at the thought.
Can you die by horniness? Better research that later.
You stroke him firmly a few times, and when you lean down, he groans softly.
Glancing up, you search for any sign to stop, but his eyes aren’t on yours anymore. They’re glued to your chest.
You tilt your chin down to see what he’s looking at.
The three unfastened buttons of your work shirt give him a clear view of your cleavage, and the glow of the computer monitor illuminates the dips and valleys prettily.
A relieved gasp escapes his chest as your hands start undoing the rest of the buttons. He nods as if you read his mind when your shirt falls open, revealing your black bra.
Thank God it’s your cute one. Not lingerie by any means, but your nipples harden under his gaze, poking against the fabric.
You keep your shirt hanging loosely over your shoulders, just in case someone were to walk in. Although very unlikely, the thought of getting caught with Keys still shoots a wicked jolt of pleasure through you.
Wordlessly, you run your hands up his legs again until your fingers find his cock and resume your attention.
Keys says something—more like whines it—but it’s too quiet for you to hear. The carpet presses into your knees as you lean in. His thick thighs bracket your shoulders, and when your breath ghosts across the head of his cock, they go hard as rocks. He makes a muffled sound in the back of his throat, then clears it roughly.
You lean back to catch his eye.
“Whatever your voice, or breath, wants to do…just let it happen,” you say. “Don’t worry about being loud, there’s no one here.”
He nods, drunk on the sight of you, desperate for your mouth.
When those big hands reach down and gather your hair, you tilt your head back with a whimper.
You scoot even closer, close enough to tap his dick against your lips with a soft smack. When you blink up at him, Keys curses under his breath, then stops himself.
“Stop swallowing it down,” you chide. “Let me hear.”
Before he can say—or do—anything, you lick a broad, wet stripe up his length. His hips jerk in your hold, a ragged moan tumbling from his lips, unabashed. Your eyes shine with pride when you look up at him. And fuck, he’ll do anything to see that look again.
You stroke him lazily. Like you have all the the time in the world here in the office after hours. Like you’ve been thinking about it for a long, long, time.
Drool pools in your mouth as you coat him with your tongue. Then, your lips wrap around him and you slowly work your way down, inch by inch, listening to his whimpers, feeling the way his body vibrates underneath you.
He’s still holding himself back, so you draw back up and suck gently on his tip before popping off him.
“Sorry,” he gasps. “Fu-forgot I was supposed to talk.”
You nod. “That’s okay. How do you like it?”
He starts to respond, but you envelop him in your warm, wet mouth again, and all words die on his lips.
“Feels so good, I can’t—can’t—mmmph,” he groans as you relax your jaw and take him deeper, then whimpers pitifully when you come off him again. “My brain’s fried. Like, actually short circuited. I can’t think—”
You press your tits together and tilt your head. “It feels good, right?”
He chuckles, a ragged soft sound. “Fuck—yeah.”
“Just talk to me, then,” you murmur, fluttering your tongue along the ridge of his cock as it twitches in your hold.
Something seems to click in his mind at those words, and his eyes harden as he stares down at you.
“You want to know why I’m always so tired?” he says, chest heaving. “I stay up all night, trying to get the work done I should be doing when I’m sitting at my desk. But I can’t. Because I’m—fucking hard—all the damn time. Because of you!”
You decide to reward him for that little speech—a great example of fantasizing and degradation—and relax your jaw again, sliding him deep into your throat. Deeper than before. Keys throws his head back on a groan. The stretch brings tears to your eyes, but you blink them back so you can look at him properly.
His hair looks so pretty illuminated in soft streaks of blue from the computer, and gold from the street far below. Like a painting.
Arousal floods your core, coating your underwear, and you can feel your clit pulsing in time with your heartbeat.
You slide up and off of him to breathe and he inhales with you, like that took his breath away as much as it did yours.
“Can’t stop thinking about what you’d feel like under me,” Keys pants. He watches you with heated eyes as you suck on his tip, stroking the rest of him steadily with both hands. “Or—or on top of me. What you’d t-taste like.”
Without thinking, you shove two fingers past your waistband, and straight through your soaked folds. The contact has you moaning around his cock, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure down his spine.
Then, you slowly withdraw them. They glisten in the glow of the monitor as you raise them up to his face, and Keys wastes no time leaning forward and capturing them in his mouth. His tongue strokes up to your knuckles eagerly, and as the first taste of you floods his mouth, it seems to unlock something in him. Some rusty, spider-web filled, creaking lock shoves open.
“Aghhh yeah,” he moans when you withdraw your fingers and suck him deep again. “That’s how I like it. However you do it, that’s how I like it, baby. Holy fuck.”
Your eyes actually roll back at that, and your hand flies down to circle your clit without thinking.
His eyes track the movement and he chuckles darkly. “Oh, you like that? You like hearing how well you’re doing?”
You whimper. Fuck, yeah, you do.
He bucks underneath you, like your mouth is just the best thing he’s ever felt in his life. “Just—fucking—on your knees for me? Shit."
Your eyes slide shut, lost in the salty taste of him as his precum mixes with your spit. His hand leaves your head and reaches down to tap your chin.
“Eyes on me, baby,” he rasps. Your eyes flutter open in surprise. “Good girl.”
You swallow around him in response and his jaw drops. He grips your hair again on instinct and you moan in encouragement as he starts to push you gently up and down his shaft.
“Is t-this okay?” he asks, breath ragged.
You nod, lashes fluttering as he hits that soft spot at the back of your throat.
Truth is, you love this.
Taking your rigid, calculating co-worker and turning him into something needy and honest. He’s wild, but with an edge of control. And somehow, you just know Keys could take you to the brink and keep you there like no other.
You hollow your cheeks as he grinds in and out of your wet mouth, pulsing against your tongue and spitting out the filthiest words you’ve ever heard him say in your months of working across from him.
You rub your throbbing clit faster, and he blinks down, watching you touch yourself to the feel of him in your mouth for all of three seconds before he’s yanking up on your hair.
Your scalp tingles as you disobey his silent order, determined to have him spilling in your mouth. His base is slick against your puffy lips, and he damn near chokes on his tongue when your nose hits his stomach.
He breaks off with a ragged moan as you grip his thighs and swallow around him—and then he’s spilling down your throat.
His abs tense and release over and over in your view, and the view is so intoxicating, you’re only a few seconds away from your own release when he finally slips from your drooling mouth.
You don’t know what you expected him to do when he finished. Maybe probably crawl back into that shy, nice-guy, missionary shell of his. Instead, when his chin falls to his chest, his soft brown eyes have gone molten. He reaches down and pulls his pants back up, tucking himself back into his briefs, but he doesn’t bother with the zipper.
“C’mere,” he demands, grabbing you by the wrist and yanking you up. Your legs wobble, but he catches you easily and pulls you down into his lap. “Ride my thigh.”
Your mouth drops open. “Ride your—”
“You heard me.”
In one smooth motion, he plunges a hand under your skirt and yanks your panties down your legs. His knuckles brush your wet folds and you gasp against him, grinding down instinctively against his knee.
“Look at you,” he whispers. “Taking instructions. Soaking through my pants like that? Fuck yeah.”
Your breasts heave as you try to catch your breath, but now, you start to wonder if maybe you’ll just be in an oxygen debt forever at this point. Because with the way he’s looking up at you right now, there’s no way you can breathe.
Your hips roll smooth and fast, and when he shifts his leg up slightly, meeting your movements, sparks shoot up your spine. Your head drops back, eyes slipping shut, but Keys is quick to pull your gaze back to his with a hand around the nape of your neck.
He clicks his tongue. “No, I want to watch you. Wanna see you fall apart for me.”
“God, Keys,” you pant, “you’re a quick learner, I’ll give you that—”
He cuts you off by pinching your nipple through your bra, and when he grabs a handful of your bare ass under your skirt, your lungs officially forget how to expand.
“Please,” you beg. “Keys—”
His hands fly to your hips, helping you rock back and forth on him. “What is it? What do you need? Need me to touch you?”
You whimper. “Yes.”
“Tell me where.”
You grab his hand and guide it under your skirt, but he pulls back at the last second.
“That’s not telling me.”
“Oh, fuck you,” you laugh, breathless and irritated.
He smiles, then. And it’s positively radiant, white teeth winking in the dim light.
“C’mon, use your words, or else I’ll have to stop,” he warns.
But you’re not listening, because at that moment, he dips his head and captures your aching breast in his mouth, pulling a deep moan from your throat and putting an arch in your back.
Your thighs burn, hips slowing to devastatingly desperate swivel in order to keep his mouth on you. The threads of his pants are warm and completely soaked through underneath you, and he’s licking and sucking your breasts like he’s trying to find a way to imprint his smell, his taste, onto your body.
The duel stimulation feeds that sprawling drive for more. Tremors start to run through your hands, making them claw restlessly at his shoulders and dive into his hair as your orgasm grows closer.
Suddenly, Keys pulls back. He ignores your whine of protest and blinks up at you from behind his glasses. Your tongue darts over your bottom lip as your eyes drop to his mouth.
His perfect…perfect fucking mouth. Soft lips, parted just slightly as he breathes heavily beneath you. The timber of his voice reverberates against your stomach as he talks. God, it’d be so easy just to lean in and press your mouth against his, feel that gentle glide of his tongue against yours…
Wait, is he saying something? You can’t fucking think—
“…not going to tell me, I have to stop.”
It’s only when his hands leave your body that the world slows to a stop.
Cold air rushes in where his hands just were. Now you’re just needy and wet, grinding down on his pants leg in the middle of a dark office.
“W-what?” you ask dumbly.
He shrugs. “I told you what would happen if you didn’t use your words.”
Your brain feels foggy, like your thoughts are traveling through a cloud, all the blooding your body pooled in your clit instead.
“But I...” you whimper, “But, what—”
He rolls his eyes.
“But I—but Keys—I just—” he mocks you, voice going higher on his register, and your mouth drops open in shock.
He smirks at the look on your face and tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “What? you thought I wasn’t serious? You made me do all this—and don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it. I watched you getting off on the power trip of it all, and now it’s my turn. So, go ahead. Tell me what you want me to do to you."
Where the fuck did your nerdy, shy coworker go? And who have you turned him into? Your breasts heave in his face as you blink down at him, but he doesn’t so much as glance at them.
“I’m right here,” he urges. “Go ahead. Ask for it. Anything you want, I’ll give it to you.”
After a moment, you finally find your voice.
“I-I want you to touch me.”
His hands instantly resume their place on your hips and your breath shutters in relief.
Then he leans in, lips ghosting over your jaw. “That wasn’t so hard, huh? Where do you want to come? On my fingers?”
“Yes!” The word leaves your mouth broken and desperate.
He hums. “Put it together.”
You exhale sharply, panting towards the ceiling in frustration. “Walter, I want you to finger fuck me until I come.”
He smiles against your throat. “Good girl.”
His hand finds your clit immediately and he rubs tight, hot circles that have your back arching.
“Oh, God, don’t stop!” you beg.
Your shirt slips from your shoulder and then his mouth is there, kissing the soft skin like he’s trying to memorize the shape of it.
The muscles deep in your core flex with your impending pleasure and you writhe against him desperately. Through it all, his hands stay steady, never wavering. Constant, and grounding.
You raise up on shaky legs as his two middle fingers circle your entrance and your pelvis tilts, eagerly seeking that internal friction.
He presses in, just a little, and your body welcomes him greedily. The sound of his fingers disappearing inside you making him groan out a slurred curse.
“Shit, baby—both at once? So wet for me, oh my God.”
When his fingertips brush that spongey spot that makes you see stars, your chest vibrates with your moan. The pressure on your clit is too much, and not enough, and everything all at once—it’s overwhelming. It's perfect.
Your hips snap into his palm, driving his fingers deeper and he lets out a choked sound as you whine, needy and breathless.
“There you go. That’s it,” he murmurs into your neck. His glasses knock into your throat as you tip your head back to give him better access. “Take what you need.”
That white-hot band of pleasure finally snaps as you clench around his fingers, and your orgasm rushes through you in a torrential wave of bliss. Keys helps bring you down with soft kisses to your chest, thumbs tracing circles into your thighs as you collapse on top of him.
“Holy shit,” you gasp, running a hand through your hair, gazing down at him through heavy lids. “That was…”
“Good?” he asks eagerly.
You smile. “Perfect.”
And you mean it. You really do.
His fingers brush over your bare shoulder and your breath catches again as your eyes connect with his. The stoplight on the street below turns green, reflecting in his glasses, and because you can’t help it, you smirk down at him.
“So, about this girl...” he murmurs.
Your stomach flips. “Yeah?”
“This date—”
“Yeah?” you say again, eagerly, cutting him off.
As you stare at each other, chests heaving, faces flush, a laugh builds behind your ribs.
He clears his throat. “I was kinda hoping…you’re free Thursday? I was thinking about that place on Elm and Cross—”
“Fuckin’ knew it,” you murmur, and the rest of his words die against your mouth as you lean down and kiss him.
a/n: Oh, hi. So, the way I feel about this fictional man, is actually pretty close to the actual definition of feral. Also, I just want to say, there are many more kinds of dirty talk out there, but these categories just fit the plot lol
Also everyone blame Jules (@tellcherhesgone) for putting this idea in my head, because she posted one thing about Keys definitely knowing what GoneWildAudio is, and that shit stuck with me lol
About: You invite the boys over to talk things through, in the hopes that it makes your situation a little less messy.
WC: 3.9K
Warnings: 18+ MDNI; language and holy smut (more detailed warning at the end to avoid spoilers) 😳
A/N: this one's just kinda short n filthy. 🚬 bone apple tea
Post-nut clarity hits you like a motherfucker, because in what world was it even remotely okay to let Steve rail you in a Santa costume while Gator jerked off into your mouth?
And why did you love it so much? Why did you want to do it again?
You couldn't stop replaying it in your mind, the sounds they both made as they worked around you, each one getting off on the sight of the other man fucking you. But, deep down, you know it's not sustainable. You can't have your cake and eat it, right? Well, you can't have a Steve and a Gator, either.
Can you? No. Not sustainable.
Messy. Messier. Messiest.
You can feel yourself pulling back from both Steve and Gator in the following days, not returning texts, claiming you're "swamped" or "tired", hurrying out of work so they can't linger at their vehicles for you. Still, you know you can't avoid them entirely. The hospital brought you all together, and it's keeping you all together, for better or for worse.
Tonight has been a nice reprieve, neither man working, so you've had plenty of time to think with few distractions. You threw yourself into menial tasks with more fervor than usual, assisted your staff with things they were perfectly capable of doing alone, chatted with Odie about being a new dad and looking at pictures of his wrinkly little newborn son.
"Haven't seen your boyfriends around tonight."
"Boyfriends?? I dun--"
He furrows his brow and his lips disappear behind his thick, black mustache, imploring you to cut the bullshit. You just sigh and lean your desk chair as far back as it'll go.
"Yeah. Boyfriends. Sure."
"What's the problem? They fightin'?"
"No, opposite actually. They're shootin' the shit after work, chattin' it up, actin' friendly. They started a group chat for all of us. But, I dunno, Odie...ya can't have...two?"
He shrugs at you, his face as stoic as ever.
"Why not? If you like em both, they both like you, and they're even buddying up to each other now? Why ya questionin' it?"
"Well it's just, not -- that's not something ya do, y'know? People would --"
He snorts and cuts his hand through the air to stop you.
"People. Since when did you give a shit about what people think? Relationships aren't as cut and dry as they used to be, y'know? Just get outta your head and go with the flow."
He sips from his steaming paper cup of jet black coffee, and that's really all the convincing you needed.
Because Odie was right; you don't give a shit what people think. This was your one life, and if two really hot men both wanted to fuck you, and everyone was on board about it?
Well then fuck it.
You pull out your phone and open the group chat between you, Gator, and Steve.
It's named: The Cream Team 🍨
You roll your eyes and type out your message.
You: We all off tonight?
👍 Gator liked your message.
Steve: I am!
You take a breath deep enough to burn your lungs, puff out your cheeks, and exhale in a huff.
Come by my place at 8? Both of ya.
We need to chat.
❤️ Gator & Steve loved your message.
And Gator? Change the group name, it's gross.
WASNT ME
I SAID *WORK STUFF*
What's wrong with the name?
•••
So, what does one usually do to prepare for a possible-maybe three-way with their two work beaus? Should you set out punch? A bowl of pretzels? You've lit a candle three separate times before ultimately deciding it was too much and blowing it out for the final time.
You stocked the fridge with beers and there was a bottle of tequila ready for when the tough conversations started or if anyone just needed the liquid courage. You anticipate it to be empty by the end of the night.
What does this mean? How do you all proceed? What if one of you wants to date, or move on? Is it a break-up? Are you exclusive? Are you all just free-fucking around? All ground rules you should have set up with Gator months ago, but instead you've just added another person to the mix. It was time to get on top of it before you were fucking the entirety of the Walter Mondale Care Center with reckless abandon.
Three sharp knocks on the door. That's Gator, you know it by the sound alone. You open it and he's leaning on the frame with a case of beers under his arm -- your favorite kind.
"Boss lady."
"Tillman."
"Brought ya beer."
"I got plenty in the fridge."
He brushes past you to enter the apartment and loads the beers into your refrigerator with the others. The cooler looks like it belongs in a frathouse.
"Well, now ya got more."
"Trying to get me drunk, Gator?"
He shuts the fridge door and folds his arms, shaking his head innocently.
"Nah, don't think I'll need to. But if ya wanna be, it's there."
You lean back against the kitchen counter with a sigh, chewing the skin around your thumbnail. Gator mirrors your stance on the opposite side of the kitchen, watching you.
"Nervous or somethin'?"
"Could say so."
"Hey." He says gruffly. Your eyes flick up to meet his.
"Nothin' happens, ever, without your say-so. Got it? Ya want us to drink a beer and chat for an hour before ya kick us to the curb, fine. Wanna do something else? Fine. I don't call ya boss for no reason. So act like it."
You scoff and look up to the ceiling to see if maybe the answer has been written there all along. It isn't.
"S'just...It's weird, right? To wanna be with two people?"
He severely arches an eyebrow and points at his own chest.
"You're asking me that? A guy? A dog, no less? No I don't think it's fuckin' weird, I think you're a grown-up, we're all grown, and we can do what we want."
"...that's kinda what Odie said."
"Christ, ya talked to Odie about this?"
"No. He more kinda talked to me about it. Odie notices everything, and you and Harrington aren't necessarily subtle."
Gator nods, conceding to your point. Another knock at the door pulls your attention, this one a series of soft, quick raps. Steve.
You open the door and he's got a small cardboard drink carrier with three beverages inside. He smiles at you, that warm, sweet, crooked smile, and you step aside for him to enter.
"Hey there, Steve."
"Hey. Brought you caffeine. Gator here?"
"Mm-hm, kitchen."
"Tillman, got your shake!"
Gator stomps into the foyer and grabs his whipped, creamy confection from the carrier.
"Thanks, man."
"No problem. And I got a matcha with honey for you, princess."
He winks at you, handing you the paper cup. You stare at him in awe, wide-eyed, needing so many explanations for so many things, but you've got all night to get into them.
"Thanks...hon. C'mon let's go settle in. We gotta lot to talk about."
•••
"So. Who's gonna start?"
You all look between each other in your cozy living room, you sitting cross-legged in your overstuffed papasan chair, Gator on your fluffy pink butterfly chair, and Steve on the couch with his feet up.
"Start...what?" Gator asks.
"Start?" Chimes Steve, eyebrows raised. You pinch the bridge of your nose.
"No, not start start. Start talking."
"Well, you called us here, boss." Gator sucks the last of his shake noisily through his straw.
"Fair enough. Well, clearly I'm a little confused about all of it. What's gonna happen, what the rules are."
"Why are you always worryin' about the rules?" Gator rolls his eyes at you, leaning forward to slam his empty cup on the coffee table. "There doesn't always have to be rules! We've been fucking off an on for almost a year, ya never cared about rules!"
"Yah, but that was you and me! I knew the only person that would get hurt if that blew up was me, I'm sure you've got so many names on your roster I'm just a blip in your radar. It was my risk, and I was willing' to take it. But now there's a third person involved, and Steve's not privy to all of our bullshit, so I don't want him to end up gettin' burned because of our relationship hang-ups!"
You can feel your face growing hot, the corners of your eyes beginning to sting. Gator and you stare at each other for an uncomfortably long time, breathing hard.
He finally huffs and grumbles, "So many names on my roster. That what ya think?"
"That's what I know. I know you're not a 'girlfriend guy', Gator. I know I'm just a fun time for ya, even if I -- y'know --"
You swallow the rest of your words, or they climb back down your throat by force. Gator leans forward, elbows on his knees.
"Say it."
Your eyes trace the sharp lines and smooth curves that make up his face, the moles and freckles dotting his cheeks and neck. It's funny, Steve is similarly studded with moles, like constellations; it was like two galaxies colliding in your living room.
Your voice comes out small, a squeak, a whisper.
"I care about ya...course I care about ya. You're a total douchebag, a moron, you're mean and you're bossy, and I hate you so much sometimes, which is ridiculous because then I just -- don't."
Your chin wobbles and you quickly cover your face with the fleece blanket in your lap. The comfort of the warm darkness does nothing to soothe the racing of your heart. Moments later you feel it being tugged down.
"Don't," you mutter through the fabric.
"Hey." Gator whispers, just loud enough for you to hear.
You barely peek your red-rimmed, glassy eyes over the edge of the blanket at him. He's crouched on his knees in front of you, face softer than you've ever seen.
"Haven't had another name on my roster in like, 9 months. I just kinda wait around for ya to give me the time of day. It's pathetic. I'm whipped. You're a bitch and a prude with no sense of humor, but I really fuckin' care about ya, too."
The blanket falls away from your face, your hands feel numb. You shift your feet to settle them on the floor between Gator's legs. You smile at each other softly, then you plant your foot on his chest and shove him backwards onto his ass.
"Hey, what the f--"
"Why didn't ya say something sooner, prick?!"
"Because I'm an idiot! Why didn't you, asshole?!"
"Because I'm a fucking idiot, Tillman!!"
You both devolve quickly from a shouting match to a laughing fit, Gator rolling onto his back and you hunched over at the waist. You glance at Steve on the couch and he's watching you both with the most content look on his face, just sipping his hot cocoa. You steady your breath and swipe at your eyes, leaning on one of your hands in his direction and already feeling so much of your tension lifting from your body.
"And you, Harrington. Prince Charming. Whaddya want with two fucked up idiots like us?"
"Oh, I've had my eyes on you from our first shift. You're...perfect. Stunning, funny, smart, hardworking, kind. All the good things. It's just like...bam, I knew, y'know? And if Gator comes with the package, then I'll just find something to like about him, too."
"Hey dick, I'm a total catch." Gator calls out from the floor. Steve gives you an uncertain grimace and you giggle.
"Well, I'm glad. I dunno if it was obvious, but I kinda started falling for you too..."
"I thought, so. The stuff in the haunted closet clued me in big time."
"Steve."
Gator shoots up, interest peaked.
"Oh, yah! No more secrets now, so what were ya doin' in there that day?"
You say, "Noth--", at the same exact time that Steve says, "Mouth stuff."
Gator chuckles knowingly and pulls his vape out of his front pocket. He inhales and blows the smoke around your living room.
"Oh, sure. Boss lady's great at mouth stuff."
"Fuck, what have I gotten myself into..." You sigh, rubbing your temples.
It gradually grows quiet, stiflingly quiet, until Steve breaks it.
"We should play truth or dare."
•••
The first few rounds are standard, mostly normal questions with a few light dares, each of you nursing a cold bottle of beer. During the third round, Gator asks for a truth.
So, you ask him, "Gator...you and I have known each other a long time. What would you warn Steve about me?"
You bring your knees up to your chest and rest your chin on top of them, smiling playfully at him and expecting one of his usual smart-ass replies. Something about wearing too much floral perfume, or how you're the shittiest public speaker he's ever heard, or your obsession with cheap, nasty reality television. He doesn't focus on any of those. He takes a deep, deep swill of his beer, and turns his attention to Steve with a coy smirk on his face.
"She's addictive. Nothin'll taste as sweet or make ya as happy as when you're with her. She spoils ya rotten, that's how good she is. Judgin' by the look on your face I imagine you know exactly what I mean."
Steve raises his bottle to Gator and takes a drink, then both of them turn their attention to you. A silent tear has spilled from the corner of your eye and left a trail down your cheek. You brush it away and try to clear the thickness in your throat.
"Wow. Wow, Gator, I dunno what to say. Thank you."
He lazily shrugs and stretches his legs out straight on the floor.
"Just a truth. Your turn, boss. Truth or dare?"
"I've done enough truth tonight. Let's go with a dare."
You look at Steve excitedly, but a devilish smirk darkens his features.
"I dare you to dance for us."
"Dance? Like, just get up and dance around?"
He shakes his head and gestures behind you all, to the pole in the living area.
"A striptease."
Gator leans his back against the seat of the couch and puts his elbows up on the cushions, getting comfortable.
"Now that's a dare, Hasbington."
Steve kicks one of Gator's elbows off the couch, but doesn't take his eyes off you as you cross over to your pole.
"I'm not really dressed for this."
"The point is, you're dressed. And I think I speak for Gator when I say we don't want you to be."
Gator just nods, taking another swig of his beer.
Your fingers curl around the cool metal bar, and out of muscle memory you swing around it, the momentary head rush making your heart flutter. As your confidence grows, you begin spinning, grinding, and rolling your hips to the rhythm of a song that's only inside of you. Your clothes come off as naturally as the movements, until you're down to nothing but your underwear and sports bra. If you'd known you would have been on display like this you may have opted for something a little more sheer, or at the very least, matching.
One glance from under your lashes at your audience of two tells you they couldn't care less about what color your underpants were. They were both leaning forward, Gator chewing his thumbnail and Steve's lips slightly parted in wonder. That feeds the hungry flame inside of you, making you bolder.
You turn, your backside facing them, and lift your bra over your head, tossing it towards them. You cup your tits in your hands before you turn around, deciding to make them earn it.
"Hey boys. I dare ya to kiss."
Their eyes widen, nearly snapping their necks with the velocity of their head turns.
"What're you talking about?"
"I'm not kissin' him."
You pout, further covering your tits.
"Why not? If this goes the way I think ya both want it to, your dicks are probably gonna touch. What's wrong with a little kiss on the lips?"
"Why d'ya want us to?" Gator sneers.
"Hmm, because I think it's sexy? Hot boys kissing is...sexy. Same reason you watch lesbian porn, Gator."
"Hey, dude. If you really don't want to, we don't have to. But I'm game, so --" Steve shrugs and takes a long swallow of his beer, swiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Gator swallows too, but it's just from the lump that's gotten stuck in his throat.
"Gator...?" You murmur. He looks to you, your features softened and understanding. "Ya don't have to, it's okay. I don't wanna freak ya out."
"Nah, I'm just -- like, I'm not gay."
"Nobody's sayin' ya gotta go changing labels or what not. Nothin's gotta change. Everything between us is just that -- it's just us. So if you two wanna just be with me and not each other, that's alright. But, I think, maybe, there might be somethin' you're a little curious about...could tell back at the party that I might not be the only one you were turned on by watchin'." You bite your lower lip and glance at Steve. "So I'm just sayin'...if there was somethin' you were wantin' to try, we're the perfect crowd to do it with."
You can see him worrying the inside of his cheek with his teeth, so you pad across the floor and settle onto his lap. You move your hands away from your chest and tug at his earlobe affectionately.
"Kiss me, first?"
He presses his lips to yours with the confidence of someone who knows you as well as anyone ever has. You pull away, look to Steve, and crook a finger at him to come closer. He scoots across the couch, swinging one of his long legs over Gator's head and essentially straddling his broad shoulders.
Steve leans over Gator's head and you rise up on your knees to kiss him, your breasts brushing against Gator's face. He takes one in his palm and suckles the other, rolling your pebbled nipple between his teeth. You whimper into Steve's mouth and arch your back so Gator can have even better access to your tits.
When you break your kiss with Steve and settle back down onto Gator's lap, you feel the imprint of his cock struggling against the zipper of his jeans. You lightly grind against it and take his face in your hands to make him look you in the eye.
"Hey. Nothing ya don't want, 'kay? Ya don't like somethin', we don't do it no more. No one's feelings get hurt. Capisce?"
Gator's eyes flutter closed and he nods in your hands. You kiss the tip of his nose and reach down to unfasten his jeans. You swap positions, him opening his legs wider so you can kneel between them. His dick juts out and lays heavy against his stomach.
You lean in and lick along his length, planting warm kisses from the base to the tip and swirling your tongue over the slit. Gator's head lolls backwards into Steve's lap; their eyes meet briefly, rife with that familiar, lusty haze, and much to everyone's surprise Gator is the one to bring a hand around the back of Steve's neck and pull him down to his mouth.
Gator's cock twitches against your lips, and when you peek up at them and see them exploring each other, your own hands can no longer remain idle. You dip your fingers into your panties, bobbing your head shallowly up and down Gator's length to keep watching them as you circle your clit with your middle finger. You moan around him and he lets out a husky whimper, placing a hand on the back of your head. You know him well enough by now that this is him asking permission.
You offer a muffled affirmation of, "mm-hm" and relax your throat just in time for him to begin mercilessly rutting his cock into your mouth. Steve breaks away to watch, allowing Gator to fist his other hand in your hair.
Steve clambers off the couch while pulling his shirt off, leaving him in just his tight-fitting jeans. He moves behind you, tugging your panties over the swell of your ass and plunging his face between your legs. You cry out at the sudden sensation, but it's broken-up and garbled by Gator's relentless throat-fucking. Steve licks your clit and glides upward to deeply tongue your pussy; when his eyes roll back in his head at the taste of you, they meet Gator's fiery, focused ones.
Steve sucks at your cunt, gathers your arousal on his tongue, and rises up on his knees behind you. He grabs Gator by the jaw and pulls his face closer, using his thumb to open his mouth. He spits the taste of you straight onto Gator's waiting tongue.
Gator thrusts hard once and holds your head still, and you can feel the pulsing heat of his cum sliding down your throat. You tap his thigh and he releases your hair so you can pop off and take a breath. When you lean in to kiss his mouth, he can taste all three of you at the same time.
"You want to cum?" Steve murmurs in your ear. You nod, not breaking your kiss with Gator, and feel him settle himself behind you.
Steve presses down gently on your lower back and once you're angled just right you can feel him slowly pushing his cock inside of you.
"Oh, fuck." You mewl, hands pressed firmly on Gator's chest as he watches you get fucked. He sticks two fingers in his mouth to wet them, expertly finds your clit, and plays with it softly and swiftly just the way he knows you need.
"You're such a pretty little cum slut, aren't ya? Need two cocks just to keep up with ya."
"Gator...fuck, Steve!"
Bellowing out both of their names in the same breath moves some broken piece inside of you back into place. You feel a tear trickle from the outer corner of one eye, and Gator wipes it away.
"Think she's close, Harrington. Fuck her harder."
Steve pulls out to the tip and snaps his hips against you, over and over again, gaping you and bullying your cervix. You keen and howl progressively louder until no sound escapes your open lips at all, and your orgasm sends you into orbit.
"Jesus fucking Christ, she's squeezing me so tight. Fuck fuck fuck --"
"Fill 'er up. She'll be drippin' with cum from top to bottom."
You grab the collar of Gator's shirt and bring him close to violently clash your lips against his. He wraps his hands around your throat and presses his tongue against yours in long, languid strokes.
"So fuckin' pretty." He whimpers as you messily make out.
"Oh, god." Steve groans, pumping his release into you so deep you can feel every spurt. He pulls out, lets some of his cum dribble out of you, then pushes it back inside with his sensitive cock, slowly dragging it through you a couple more times to ride out his own wave.
The three of you collapse into a heap of heaving, sticky bodies in various stages of undress. The giggling fit starts with Gator, infects you next, and Steve joins in shortly after.
"Okay, this is gonna be fun." Steve murmurs from the floor.
The bottle of tequila remains untouched in the kitchen.
Special thanks and smooches to @keer-y @tinfoileddd @gatorgirlie for your help. 💋 Stay sexy. xoxoxoxo
SMUT CW: kissing, striptease, groping, slightly degrading dirty talk, cum play, spit play, bisexual three-way (mmf), bi-curious Gator, bisexual Steve, masturbation, oral (m/f giving/receiving), p in v -- did I fucking miss anything? 😬 Oopsie if so.
Fresh out of prison, Travis finds himself in need of a place to live. You find yourself in need of a new roommate. After responding to your ad, he finds that living with you is actually one of the better decisions he ever made and you learn that you just needed the right person to truly get you.
(part 2 coming soon)
Travis Meacham x fem!reader, roommates to lovers, reader with anxiety, two yearning idiots, Travis is a golden retriever and you are a ray of sunshine.
warnings: nsfw mdni, swearing, mentions of anxiety and self-doubt, trashy ex-friends, making out, dry-humping
***
The dappled sunlight shone through the cab window, hitting Travis’ face as he made his way downtown. The radio up front was playing a heavy bass song, which seemed to pair well with how much his mind was racing at the moment. As he wrung his hands nervously in his lap, his gaze drifted out the window as everything blurred into one.
It had been just two weeks ago that he had been released from prison and still nothing felt quite real to him. His parole officer has instilled in him the need to find a job as one of his probation conditions, so the last few days had been spent dealing with rejection after rejection, until finally he’d managed to get hired by the local storage company. Now his next priority was finding a place to live, there was only so long he could take living in the boxy student rental he’d been temporarily put up in.
It had felt like fate when he’d seen your ad in the shop window. Female, twenties, seeking new roommate. Clean and tidy applicants preferred. Rent negotiated on meeting. The photo provided showed a gorgeous and spacious two-bed apartment with a balcony view over the park. Despite his current situation, Travis couldn’t shake the feeling that this ad had been put there for him to find. Maybe it was stupid of him to believe in fate after everything he’d been through but he tried to remain optimistic that you would like him. Hence the nerve-stricken cab ride he was currently on.
“This is you.” The cab driver told him, jolting him back to reality as the car slowed to a stop. “Nice neighbourhood here.” He glanced at Travis in the rear-view mirror, not being subtle with the look he gave him. Travis suddenly felt very self-conscious, running a hand through his hair nervously.
“Thanks, man.” He threw down the little money he had on him, which included an acceptable tip in an attempt to show that he meant well. “Have a great day.”
He climbed out the cab and checked the directions he’d scribbled down on a piece of paper. Having only spoken to you briefly on the phone to arrange a meeting, you’d given him very specific directions which had warmed his heart a little, clearly you were a conscientious person and it only made him want even more for this to go well. After some searching, he located the building and made his way up, butterflies fluttering around his stomach.
Travis knocked on the door five times and immediately cringed at himself. Was three times too many, was it too insistent? Were you going to think badly of him already? Damn it, he should have stuck with three, that was always a safe bet. His inner monologue was spiralling when you opened the door, beaming out at him with a smile that for some reason made his insides turn to jelly. He straightened up, trying to look presentable.
“Hey.” You held out a hand for him to shake, which he accepted graciously. “You must be Teacake?” You questioned, and he didn’t miss the way your eyes sparkled when he said it.
“Uh, yeah. Hi.” He nodded. “That’s me. I hope I’m not late, I had to take a cab over here and there was a shit-ton of traffic, and then I had to find the place. That actually didn’t take too long, not with the directions you gave me, they were awesome, I found it right away. This is a great building by the way.” He stopped himself when he saw you nodding along, obviously waiting for a break in conversation. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” You waved him off. “I’m glad you appreciated the directions, I’ve been told before that sometimes I worry too much. But you’re here now, so why don’t you come in and we can hash out the details.”
Travis followed you inside, taking in the place. It was so much nicer in person and it was obvious you cared about making the place homely. You led him into the living room and signalled for him to sit on the couch, taking the armchair across from him. He sat on the edge of the couch, hands clasped together as you rifled through the application he’d submitted.
“So, you work at Atchinson?” You queried. “You must meet some interesting people there. You know, my uncle has a storage unit over there, maybe you know him?”
Travis ran another hand through his hair. “Yeah, I actually only just started working there. But I’ll get my first pay-check soon, so I’ll be able to cover whatever my half of the rent is. You know, if you offer me the room, that is.”
“What were you doing beforehand?” You asked, not to be nosy but just out of pure curiosity. Travis felt like a bug under a microscope.. He knew at some point he’d have to tell you and he knew once he did, he could most likely kiss the apartment goodbye. He cleared his throat nervously.
“You know, I was sort of between jobs.” He stared down at the floor.
You studied him for a moment, the way he hadn’t quite made it through the door, like he was getting ready to leave at any minute. He was visibly stressed and you could tell there was more to him than he was letting on. “So, uh, Teacake? Is that your real name?”
“Uh, it’s a nickname. Long story.” He told you.
“Right, it’s just I’ll need your name to add to the tenancy if you’re accepted.”
“Oh, yeah.” He grinned. “Sorry, I didn’t think of that. Uh, it’s Travis. Everyone calls me Teacake, though.”
“Alright, Travis.” You nodded, and the way you used his real name made him feel a sense of contentment, the first sense of belonging he’d felt since going to prison. You looked over his application one more time before putting it down and sitting forward, meeting his gaze. “Listen, you seem like a great applicant but I can’t help but feel there’s something you’re not telling me here.”
He sighed, knowing that he’d been caught out. There was no way to side-step this one. “OK, yeah. The truth is, I was just released from prison.”
“Oh.” You blinked in surprise.
“I’m on probation at the moment, I was put up in temporary housing at first but the truth is I wanted someplace new to start over. I saw your ad and it seemed kind of perfect.” He was rambling again. “I know I probably should have said something sooner, but the truth is I’m just tryin’ to make a new start. I swear, no bad intentions. I just want to put the whole thing behind me.”
“Hmm.” You took in everything he was saying. “OK, that’s a lot to process.”
“I’m sorry for wastin’ your time.” Travis said. “I can let myself out.” He made to get up but you held a hand out, stopping him.
“Travis, hang on a second.” You told him. “Look, the truth is I’m kind of eager to rent out that room as soon as possible, not a lot of great memories attached to it.” There was something underlying there but Travis could unpack all of that later. “To be honest, I’ve had a lot of crazy applicants reach out to me and you’re easily the best one.”
He blinked a few times, trying to catch up. “What are you saying?”
“I’m assuming you’re not some kind of dangerous felon.” You joked. “The room’s yours if you want it.”
“Oh, seriously?” He was practically buzzing as he stood up, face beaming. “That’s…wow, that’s amazing, thank you.”
“I will need you to fill out some paperwork first, but why don’t I show you the room, just in case you change your mind.”
“That’s not gonna happen.” He assured you as you got up. “Is it weird if I hug you, this is just the best news I’ve had all week.”
“A hug might break the ice, who knows.” You said, just as he surged forward and swept you up, spinning you around the room. You laughed as he put you down gently, scratching the back of his head.
“Sorry, got a little over-excited.”
“Don’t be sorry, ice well and truly broken.” You told him. “Alright, roomie. Let’s show you this room.
***
The next morning Travis crept into the apartment after having finished a night shift at work, only to find you already awake and bustling about in the kitchen. The smell of coffee and pancakes drifted through, making his stomach growl. There was only so much surviving he could do on a bag of chips during his shift. As he came into the kitchen, you smiled at him and handed him a mug.
“Here you go. I made you some coffee, thought you could probably use one.”
“Thank you.” Travis took it from you, reeling a little at the simple gesture. No one ever really did acts of service for him, but to you it seemed like second nature.
“You’ll have to tell me how you like it made best for future.” You informed him. “I know how important morning coffee is. How was your shift at work?”
“It was long and boring.” Travis responded, taking a sip of coffee and sitting at the kitchen table. “Not too much excitement happening at a self-storage unit, you’d be surprised to hear.”
“You gotta start finding things to do to liven it up.” You told him as you rifled through the cupboards, trying to find the maple syrup for the pancakes. “You know, podcasts, make a playlist. Something like that.”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Never really been much for making things. By the way, I found a box under the bed last night labelled Emily. Should I do something about that?”
“Oh, yeah. That was my old roommate. You can just leave that there.” You didn’t elaborate any further and Travis figured it was best not to push it. Instead he watched as you continued your struggle to reach the top shelf. He stood up and made his way over to you, stopping when he was just behind you. You didn’t hear him at first until you took a step back and collided into him. He instinctively reached out and steadied you with both of his hands.
“Shit, sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya. Can I help you, looks like you’re struggling a little.”
“Yeah, I just…” You stood up on your tiptoes, trying to reach the back of the cabinet. “I can’t reach the syrup.”
Travis could swear that his heart grew three sizes watching you, but he decided to put you out of your misery as he reached up with ease and grabbed the syrup, handing it down to you. Your feet sunk back to the floor, sighing as you took if from him.
“I totally could have gotten it if you’d given me another second.”
“Oh, sure you could.” He teased you a little.
“Are you doubting me?” You asked him.
“I wouldn’t ever dream of it.” Travis held his hands up in surrender. You gave him a fake glare before relenting. “Does this mean I’ve lost out on pancakes?”
You grinned. “I would never do that to you. Unless you’re still too tired from work, don’t feel like you have to eat with me if you don’t want to.”
“Are you kidding? After all that time eating the prison food, I need my fill of pancakes.” He spun around the kitchen. “Where are the plates, let me help by laying the table.”
For a moment, you felt light as air as you took him in, watching as he set the table for breakfast. Recent events had led to doubts bouncing in your brain, that your acts of service were overbearing and you were too much. However, Travis seemed genuinely touched that you’d made him coffee and was excited to eat breakfast with you. You had to remind yourself that it was only day one and the honeymoon period would likely wear off soon. Still, as he sat at the table, rambling about one of the customers he’d met last night, you couldn’t help but feel optimistic.
That you’d struck gold in the roommate department.
***
You were absolutely right. It had been a few weeks now since Travis had moved in and so far everything was going fantastically. Despite the fact that you worked opposing shifts most of the time, you were still able to sit down at least once a day and catch up on each other’s lives, whether it was in the mornings before you darted off to work, or when you were making dinner and boxing some up for Travis to eat on his shifts. The two of you just seemed to fit like two jigsaw pieces. And it wasn’t just the daily catchups. It was the little things as well.
Travis would write silly notes on the mirror after he got out the shower for you to read when you went in after him, knowing it would make you smile and set you up for the day. You would leave your favourite books on the coffee table for him to find after he told you reading was one of his favourite hobbies. The pair of you learnt the others favourite snacks and alternated between doing snack runs. Travis began to seep into every crack and crevice of your life, something that you found you actually quite liked it. You weren't just existing in the same apartment, you were living together.
It didn’t take long for you to realise that you were falling for him.
Which was bad on so many levels. Travis was the best roommate, you couldn’t mess that up by involving mixed up feelings. The two of you had become such good friends and it was best it stayed that way.
Although he did make it exceptionally hard at times.
“Hey, you want a movie night tonight?” He asked as he strolled into the living room, eating a bowl of cereal. Apparently that was his go-to meal no matter how much you tried to get him to eat a real dinner. It was one of the rare evenings that you both had off and had to do something to make the most of it.
“Yeah, sure.” You nodded. “That sounds like fun.”
“Great,” he responded cheerfully. "What are you thinkin'? Action movie?"
"I could go for horror." You said. "Unless you're going to spend the whole time hiding behind a cushion again?"
"I don't do that." His face wrinkled in the most endearing way. "Last time I was just keeping the cushion close in case you needed it."
"Mmm, sure." You nodded, completely unconvinced.
"I totally wasn't scared." He insisted. “Want me to make the popcorn?”
“Oh, fuck.” You cursed loudly.
“I mean, I don’t have to if it’s that bad.” He joked, to which you rolled your eyes with a grin.
“No it’s not that, idiot. I forgot to run to the store yesterday, we don’t have any.”
Travis held a hand to his chest. “What? No popcorn? Who even are you anymore?”
“Shut up.” You chucked a cushion at him, which only made him laugh more. “I guess I can run out quickly now and grab some.”
“Hey, why don’t I come with you?” He offered. “Late night grocery runs are always more fun with company.”
“Is that scientifically proven?” You asked.
“Uh, yeah. Can’t believe you didn’t know that.” He shook his head at you. “I’m actually pretty sure there is some genuine science-y shit that could back that up if you really looked into it. Nothing beats company, trust me. Especially yours.” He finished with a devilish grin.
“Alright, Teacake. You got me.” You stood up. “Let me just grab my jacket and we can get out of here.”
Twenty minutes later the two of you were wandering around the grocery store, searching for movie night supplies. Travis had insisted upon pushing the cart, which had worked for you as it meant you were able to fill it up.
“Alright.” You said as you reached the popcorn aisle. “Sweet or salted?”
“Sweet, obviously.” Travis responded, leaning against the cart.
“Obviously?”
“Come on.” He argued. “You’re telling me that you’d rather have salted over sweet, there’s no way.”
“I can’t believe this is even up for debate.” You shot back. “Salted is the classic choice for movie night, why are we even discussing this?”
“Wow.” Travis shook his head at you. “Can’t believe you could be so wrong about something so crucial. You know how awesome I think you are, but this might just be a dealbreaker for me.”
“Oh.” Now it was your turn to hold a hand to your chest, pretending to be offended. “Are you saying our roommate bond is at risk over popcorn.”
“I’m sensin’ some sarcasm coming from you right now and I need to tell you, it is not a good colour on you.” Travis told you. You rolled your eyes.
“Alright, compromise.” You grabbed both packets. “We’ll get them both, that way we’re both happy.”
“I like your thinkin’.” He pointed at you. “You really are the best.”
“Shut up.” You told him.
“I’m serious.” He said.
“Teacake?” A voice interrupted your conversation and you both spun around, seeing a young guy walking towards you, smile on his face that was directed at Travis. He seemed to reciprocate as he straightened up and held a hand out, shaking with this other guy.
“Hey, Pete.” He said brightly. “Man, how long’s it been?”
“Couple of months, right?” Pete mused. “When did you get out?”
“Bout’ a month ago.” Travis answered. “Been strange.”
“Right? No one prepares you for that, huh? What it’s like after you get released. Did you get a good set-up?”
Travis nodded. “Yeah, man. Got some work at the self-storage company, managed to get back on my feet.” It was then he glanced over at you and immediately beamed. “Sorry, this is my roommate.”
“Hey, nice to meet you.” Pete shook your hand. “How’d you guys meet, then?”
“Oh, total coincidence actually.” You replied. “I needed a roommate, Travis needed a place to live. It was sort of like fate.”
“Yeah, it kinda was.” Travis smiled at you.
Pete glanced between the two of you with a grin. “Wow, man. Looks like you really landed on your feet here. I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks, man. Hey, it was great seeing you.”
“You too. If you’re ever free we should definitely catch up sometime.” Pete told him.
“Yeah, maybe.” Travis nodded.
“Well, I’ll see you around.” Pete waved to you both before wandering away, leaving you to continue your shopping.
“He seems nice.” You said to Travis.
“Oh yeah, Pete was great. He was one of my only friends when I was in the slammer. Got out just a few months before I did.”
“You gonna go out with him? Might be nice to catch up with him?”
“Ah, no.” He waved the idea off. “I don’t think I should.”
“How come?” You asked, hoping you weren’t being too pushy by asking.
“I just…I don’t want to fall back into that mess again. Pete’s great but he knows a lot of shady guys and it’s a slippery slope, you know.” He shrugged. “Don’t want to mess up what I got now. I got my job, I got a roof over my head. I got you.” He added, tilting his head towards you and giving you that smile that made your stomach flip. “I got all I need.”
You nodded on understanding. “I hope you don’t mind me asking about it.” You said.
“Are you kidding? Feels like you know me better now, it’s kinda nice.” He said. “Now, back to the popcorn?”
“Back to the popcorn.”
***
A few days later you were in the apartment alone, waiting for Travis to get back from work when there was a knock on the door. Checking your phone, you frowned as you realised it couldn’t be him, it was still too early. Making your way to the front door, you opened it to find the last person you wanted to see. Or rather, people.
“Emily. Josh. What a nice surprise.” You plastered on a fake smile.
Your former roommate rolled her eyes as her boyfriend leaned against the door-frame, looking bored by you already. “We really don’t have time for small talk. I just came by to grab the rest of my stuff. Do you have it?”
“You know where it is. Be my guest.” You stepped aside. “I’m not getting it for you.”
“Wow? You’re not bending over backwards and invading my privacy? You’re really mixing things up, huh?”
“I thought you didn’t have time for small talk?”
Emily sighed and waltzed into the apartment, making her way into her old room to grab the box of belongings she’d left behind. You turned back to Josh, who was looking you up and down with judgement. “So, are you finally going to find the nerve to say it to my face?”
“Say what?”
“You know what? The crazy lies you were spreading about me, trying to turn Emily against me.” He leaned in slightly. “It was never going to work, you know?”
You refused to be intimidated by him. “I didn’t tell any lies. You know exactly what you did and so do I. Maybe Emily doesn’t see it, but I do.”
He smirked at you. “Don’t waste your time. She already chose me, let’s not embarrass ourselves further, yeah?”
“Go to hell, Josh.”
“Don’t talk to my boyfriend like that.” Emily warned you as stepped back out with the box. “I see you already replaced me?”
“Oh, yeah.” You nodded. “In fact I did. And let me tell you, he’s a hell of a lot more pleasant than you are.”
“Oh, ‘he’?” Emily raised an eyebrow. “So, what’s his name?”
It was at that exact moment that Travis decided to make an appearance, stepping into the door frame and taking Josh and Emily in. As he glanced at you and saw the disdainful look you were giving them both, his hackles immediately went up. Whoever these strangers were, he was pretty sure he had grounds to hate them.
“Is this him?” Emily asked. “Hey, pretty boy. What’s your name?”
“Uh, hey? I’m Travis.” He didn’t offer a hand to shake, feeling the sudden urge not to be friendly which wasn’t like him at all. “Who are you?”
“I’m Emily.” She told him and when she was met with a blank stare, she scoffed. “Oh, so she hasn’t told you about me. Nice.”
Travis’ face suddenly registered recognition. “Oh, Emily? You’re the one who had my room before me, right?”
“Yeah, that’s right.” Her voice was dripping with malice. “Was honestly such a shame when I had to move out.” She flashed a sarcastic grin your way, making you squirm a little. What was it about her that made you feel so bad? You hated it.
Travis folded his arms and came to stand beside you, a silent signal of loyalty. “I’m not sure what you mean, moving in here was the best decision I ever made.”
Emily giggled. “Give it some time.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so.” He shot back.
Emily glared at him, just as Josh’s gaze flickered down to the tattoo on Travis’ arm and devious grin crept across his face. “Nice ink, man. Where’d you get it?”
You suddenly felt defensive. It was bad enough that they’d barged in here on your morning off, but now they were interrogating Travis and that didn’t sit right with you. “Alright, I think it’s time for you both to leave.” You began to usher them both out the door. “Always a pleasure, though.”
“Right, of course. Throwing us out so you can make coffee for your new roommate, right?” Emily turned around and leaned in, voice low so only you could hear her. “You know, it’s only a matter of time before he decides you’re too much.”
“It was great seeing you, Emily.” With that you shut the door on her face, blocking out her harsh words. Though they were already swirling around in your head. Too much. Too much. Too much.
“Well they seemed like a god-damn delight.” Travis weighed in sarcastically from behind you. “What the hell did I just walk into?”
“It’s nothing.” You brushed him off. “I didn’t even know they were coming round, otherwise I would have just left the box outside the door. I don’t love talking to her.” You turned your back to him, making sure he couldn’t see the pained expression on your face. There was the familiar sinking feeling in your stomach and you couldn’t seem to shake it.
“Are you OK?” Travis asked, immediately noticing that you were a little off. “Did she say somethin’ to you?”
“Honestly, don’t worry about it.” You told him, not wanting to burden him with your innermost worries. He surely didn’t care that much anyway. “You must be tired from work, you probably want to go to take a nap, right?”
Travis shook his head. “Actually, what I really wanna do is go shower and grab some coffee. You want to join me?”
You sighed. “Travis, come on. You don’t need to try and cheer me up right now.”
The look of sadness on your face told him otherwise. It wasn’t often thus far that he’d seen you upset but on the rare occasion that he did, Travis wanted to do everything he could to take that feeling away. He’d learnt pretty quickly that going for coffee and a walk was the perfect remedy and despite your protests, he knew how much you needed this. Plus, it meant he got to hang out with you and that was always a bonus to him.
“Too late. I’m already dreamin’ about espresso. We have to go.”
Slowly but surely, a smile crept across your face. “Fine. But only if we can get cookies too.”
“Oh, like you even have to ask.” He said. “Give me ten minutes to wash the storage place off me.”
You grinned after him as he dashed towards the bathroom, wondering what you did to deserve him. Even though he was being so sweet, it still wasn’t quite enough to shake off what Emily had said to you. Sometimes you felt like you were too much, and your biggest fear was that Travis would start to think so as well. The doubt had planted itself in your brain and it was hard to get rid of it.
He wouldn’t think so, right?
***
The thing about Travis was that he was the human equivalent of a golden retriever. The next couple of days, you’d been wrestling with your own self-doubt and he instantly picked up on it, only wanting to try and cheer you up. No matter how much you insisted you were fine, he still went out of his way for you. He brought flowers home, offered to cook you dinner and even surprised you by cleaning the apartment. After a few days, you felt that doubt start to lift like magic. Travis had done that for you and you loved him for it.
It was doing nothing for the feelings you were catching.
That evening, you were searching your freshly cleaned apartment for your house keys, having been called into work for a late shift. Most of the time your keys were thrown on the side in the kitchen but he’d obviously tidied them away somewhere without thinking. You made your way to his bedroom, knocking gently.
“Hey, Travis?” You called through the door.
“Hey, come in.” You heard him shout from the other side. Immediately opening the door, you casually wandered in. “Do you know where-?” You stopped suddenly as you took him in. He was standing in front of the mirror with just a towel around him, having just come out of the shower. His blonde hair was hanging loosely around his face, still a little damp and you could totally appreciate his form. You’d always known he was in good shape but damn, now you could really see it.
You didn’t realise you were staring until he tilted his head, a smirk on his face. “You alright?”
“What?” Your brain was completely crashing out and you needed to recover quickly. “Oh, yeah. Sorry.” What had you come in for again?
“You sure, you’re blushin’ a little.” His voice was cocky. “See somethin’ you like?”
There was absolutely no way you could let him know this was having such an effect on you. Even if your mind was currently drifting elsewhere, wondering what he was hiding under the towel, what might happen if he came a little closer. Your heart was starting to beat faster. Shaking your head quickly, you cleared your throat. “Have you seen my keys?”
“Oh, yeah, They’re in the bowl by the door.”
“Right, thank you.” You tore your gaze away from him. He frowned suddenly.
“You goin’ out?”
“Oh, yeah.” You nodded. “I got called into a late shift at work. I’ll be home later, I’ll try not to wake you up when I come back in.
Travis’ heart sank a little, one of the rare nights he didn’t have to work and you weren’t going to be in? “That kinda sucks, we can’t hang out tonight.”
You smiled. “You can still have a good night off. Don’t miss me too much.”
“I always miss you when you’re gone.” He muttered softly and you tried to ignore the way your stomach flipped when he said it. Did he have any idea the effect he had on you? Was it ever possible to think he might feel the same. It felt scary to cling onto any hope.
“Anyway, I have to shoot off. Have a good night.” You him as you walked out of his bedroom. “Don’t wait up for me.”
As you went off to work, you knew you wouldn’t be able to get the image of Travis out of your head, particularly the one where he was half-dressed with a sad puppy-dog look on his face because you were leaving him.
“Screw you, Travis.” You said to yourself as you walked out the door. Why did he have to be so perfect?
***
The shift at work seemed to drag on for an eternity until eventually you were climbing the stairs back up to the apartment and sneaking back in through the door. The place was quiet and you assumed Travis had turned in for the night, so you tiptoed into the living room to take off your shoes.
And almost jumped out of your skin when you saw him lying on the floor, head resting against the couch with his headphones in, eyes shut as he gently nodded his head along to whatever he was listening to. As soon as the initial shock had worn off, you couldn’t help but grin at how adorable he looked right now, slightly sleepy and a little disheveled. You slowly made your way over to him and crouched down, gently placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Hey, Travis.” You spoke softly.
His eyes drifted open and when he saw you next to him, his entire face lit up. “Hey, you’re home.”
“Yeah, I told you not to wait up for me, what are you doing in here?” You weren’t mad, if anything you were really happy to see him.
“Well I had to make sure you got home safe.” He told you, sitting up. “Besides, I was listening to this new playlist I made for work. Remember you told me to do that? I actually read that it was a good way to boost motivation when you’re working so I figured it was worth a shot.” He shrugged.
“Alright, I like it. What are you listening to?” You reached out and took one of the headphones out his ear, placing it in your own. “NSync?” You smirked.
“What, they’re classic?” Travis defended himself.
“I had no idea you were so cheesy.” You picked his phone up, scrolling through the rest of the playlist. You stopped on one particular song. “Hanson?”
“Yeah, I love this song.”
“Of course you do.” You chuckled, pressing play. “I actually don’t hate it either, weirdly enough.”
You settled down next to him, resting your head on the couch cushions and staring up at the ceiling as the music washed over you. You felt Travis relax next to you, shifting slightly so his arm was pressed up against yours, fingers brushing gently, Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as you realised how close the two of you were all of a sudden. After a while, the initial shock wore off and you unclenched, tiredness suddenly hitting you after your long shift. Your eyes started to droop a little and without even really thinking, you moved in and let your head rest on Travis’ shoulder, a contended sigh escaping you.
You felt Travis laugh softly. “Someone’s sleepy.” His own voice had dropped now from fatigue, a little husky. You groaned in indignation.
“I am not.” You lightly hit his arm which only made him laugh more. He reached out and stroked a hand through your hair and your breath hitched in your throat. Eyes fluttering open, you looked up and saw him gazing down at you with pure adoration. You smiled back at him, eyes subconsciously dropping down to his lips.
And then it happened.
Travis’ hand came to rest on your jaw and before you knew it, he was leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. Your brain completely scrambled as his thumb stroked your jaw softly and you felt his tongue swipe across your bottom lip. Without hesitation, you granted him access and he groaned into your mouth, sitting up and pulling you gently into his lap. The kiss quickly turned into something more as you instantly rocked your hips into him, a moan escaping the both of you as he gripped your hips, encouraging you to move against him again.
“Fuck.” You heard him mutter against your lips, and you felt like you were on fire as his hardness pressed against you.
“Travis.” You breathed softly, reaching down to pull up the shirt he was wearing.
He pulled away from you suddenly, eyes searching yours and suddenly that familiar sinking feeling snuck up on you again. The moment was quickly shattered as you worst fears overtook you again. Maybe he didn’t really want you after all
“Shit, I’m sorry.” You stuttered. “If you don’t want to-“
“No, it’s not that.” Travis assured you, but you didn’t wait to hear more. You were going to give him an easy out.
“It’s alright. You don’t have to explain. We live together, maybe this was a mistake.”
His face fell at your words. “Is that how you feel?”
Of course it wasn’t. But it was easier to pull back now rather than get your heart completely broken. “Let’s just forget it, yeah?” You jumped up and hurried towards your bedroom, leaving Travis sitting there completely alone. He felt your absence immediately.
Looking at his phone, he quickly opened up the other playlist he’d been working on, the one full of songs that reminded him of you. He’d been planning to show it to you tonight, hoping it might make you smile.
But maybe you didn’t need him as much as he hoped you did.
About: It's your turn to help host the staff Christmas party this year, and thankfully for you your new coworker, Steve, is a holiday connoisseur. Things start to get a little more intimate between you two, and Gator takes notice. Just not in the way you'd think.
WC: 5.7K
Warnings: 18+ MDNI; graphic sex/smut (TILLINGTON HAS ARRIVED), language, Christmas
Yes, it's Christmastime in my June fic, I don't give a shucky darn.
❄️ December - 1 Week Later ❄️
You're sitting at the front nurse's station going over your assignments for the next morning. Steve is seated in the same pod as you catching up on his charting. It's the kind of comfortable, calm quiet that is exceedingly rare in a hospital, and one that no one would ever dare jinx by even mentioning it.
As you take the opportunity to go through the emails you've missed on your days off, Gator stalks through the ambulance bay doors.
"Christ, ya could play a little music or something. It's so qu --"
"SHUT UP." You and Steve bark in unison, eyes wild in shock that he was about to break the one rule of healthcare -- you don't. Say. Quiet.
"Fuck me, sorry, ladies."
"Whaddya want, Gator? I'm busy."
He leans over the desk and sees you hurriedly clicking out of your Amazon shopping cart and onto your work emails. He shoots you a sneaky grin and shrugs.
"Just checking in. Slow night for us, too. Wanted to make sure a certain Cryptkeeper wasn't givin' ya anymore trouble?"
A brief flash of anger flares at even mentioning Dr. Crisp, but you shake your head.
"Nah, he hasn't said much. Think he's mad, someone filled his gas tank with sugar a few days ago."
You quirk a brow at him and he snorts, trying to hold back a laugh.
"No kiddin'."
"Oh, yah, you didn't know nothin' about that, huh?"
"Me? Nah. But maybe it'll help him be a little sweeter when he's workin' with ya."
Gator winks and you chuckle, shaking your head and returning to your computer screen.
"I thought it was pretty funny." Steve mutters under his breath.
You and Gator both turn to look at him, surprised that he was engaging in a conversation between the two of you. Steve's eyes flick between you both a few times before he shrugs and continues charting.
"He had it coming."
"See, boss? Paddington gets it."
"It's Harrington."
"Aww, shit." You murmur, one particularly festive email subject catching your eye.
🎄🎁 UNIT EVENT COUNCIL TASK LIST☃️🎅
You open it, and it's just as bad as you suspect. It's your turn to help host and decorate for the upcoming staff Christmas party.
"What's up?" Steve asks, concern in his sweet, puppy-dog eyes. Gator says nothing, but there's a similar look in his eyes, too.
"Aah, I completely forgot. I'm on the goddamn holly jolly committee this year."
"You??" Gator scoffs. You shoot him a glare and bury your face in your hands.
"What's wrong with that?" Steve asks innocently, eyebrows drawn together in a puzzled expression.
"Boss lady doesn't do holidays. Especially not the holly jolly kind."
"What??"
"No, I dont. And now I gotta go to the stupid craft place in my free time and get a buncha decorations and shit. And that means I have to go to the damn party. Fuck my life..."
"Oh, well I'm - I'm like obsessed with Christmas. I've got half an attic-full of decorations."
Your ears perk up at that, and a slow, devious grin splits your face.
"Oh...do ya now?"
"Ooh. Bad call, Burlington."
"It's Harrington. And why's that a bad call?"
"So, yah, Steve -- can I come over and raid your attic?"
🎄
Steve agrees to come and pick you up on your next shared day off so you can go through the decorations in his attic. You offered to take the bus over instead, but he insisted that it was no problem and you love riding in the BMW, so it wasn't hard to convince you.
You couldn't deny that you had a few butterflies flapping around in your stomach. This was, on the surface, a strictly work-related issue. You needed decorations for the Christmas party, Steve was willing to share from his collection. You two have been on a few post-shift coffees, and when you work together the conversation flows easily, laughs are frequent, and a little harmless flirting is common.
It just really hasn't escalated much further than that, despite the fact that you wanted it to (and you suspected and hoped he did too). Now you were going to his home, and would be there for a few hours at least if his collection is as massive as he says.
So, you decide, it's worth wearing the fancy underwear. You put a little light makeup on and twist your hair into a comfortable-but-cute messy bun and throw on a baggy sweater with tights.
As you're deciding on what shoes to wear, there's a knock at the door. You'd left it unlocked because you knew Steve would be here any minute.
"C'mon in!" You call from your bedroom.
You hear the door open and shut, then Steve's voice.
"You just leave the door unlocked?"
"Only for my friends! I'll be out in just a sec, just grabbing shoes!"
"You should really keep it locked! Y'know, since --"
You lean your head out the bedroom door, eyebrow cocked and mouth in a hard line. Your face is encouraging him to choose his next words wisely.
"Well, just since you're alone. No cause you're a girl or anything."
"Woman, Steve. And thanks for the concern, but I can handle myself."
You go back to shuffling through your closet and Steve huffs a laugh through his nose, starting to meander around your living room.
He smiles at the pictures on the wall; you with your girlfriends, your college graduation, and a much younger you hugging a big, fluffy German Shepherd. He flips through your box of vinyls, nodding at some selections and wrinkling his nose at others. He decides that he'll have to bring his collection over some time to swap some tunes.
When he takes a step back, his shoulder bangs into something hard and metal. He winces and glances up and down at the random silver bar extending from the floor to the ceiling. Why would you have one bare support beam in this random open --
Oh my god.
It's a dance pole. You have a dance pole.
So, as natural as the tide, Steve now pictures you dancing on it, grinding your hips and shaking your ass, spreading your legs. Most enticingly he pictures that it's a show just for him; that you could dance for anyone, and you choose him because you want him to see you. All of you.
You step into the living room with your bag and shoes, ready to go.
"Alrighty, let's hit it --"
Steve spins around, face completely awash in pink and his stance sporting an odd bend at the hip. His eyebrows shoot high up on his forehead and his smile is too forced, false. Nervous.
"Woah...ya alright, Harrington?"
He nods too enthusiastically, and then you realize he's taking tiny steps away from your pole. A sneaky grin spreads across your face, and he just shakes his head, though you're not sure what for.
"Oh, sure. You can really work up a sweat with this thing. Play your cards right, and I'll show ya sometime."
You wink and walk through the door, trying to stifle the laughter that begs to be set free at Steve's absolutely wrecked expression. While your back is to him, he adjusts his half-hard cock in his jeans before following you out.
☃️
"Steven."
"Yeah?"
"Why -- why do you have so many Christmas decorations?"
You stand at the entrance to Steve's living room where he's laid out all of the decorations from the attic in advance, and it looks like a Hallmark movie bomb went off. There are clusters of tinsel and garland in at least four different colors, boxes of inflatables, six giant wreaths, two Styrofoam snowmen, containers of baubles, ornaments, and miscellaneous decor, window stickers, and miles of string lights. It's more Christmas decorations than you've ever had in your entire life combined, right here in this room.
Steve looks over his holiday treasures proudly, hands on his hips.
"Christmas is fun. Colorful, joyful. Get to give things to people you love, spoil them a little. I dunno -- it's just nice."
You step carefully over glass trinkets and vintage plastic blow molds of Frosty and Rudolph. Something red, white, and fuzzy catches your eye on the couch. You pull it out and hold it up in front of you and catch Steve clearing his throat, shifting his weight nervously.
"Is this a Santa costume?"
"Mm-hm."
"Do you...dress as Santa?"
"Well, not like routinely, no. I used to for the kids at the hospital back home sometimes, and I just kept it. You never know..."
You bring it down from its accusatory angle and hold it closer to your chest, realizing just how big of a heart the man in front of you has.
"You're such a good guy, Steve. I swear."
"Why don't you 'do' Christmas? Is it a religious thing?"
"Nah. We just weren't a big holiday household. I was mostly raised by my dad, and...yeah, we usually just let days slip on by without making too much of a fuss. Was easier that way. Then I guess I grew up and never really made any new traditions." You shrug and fold the Santa costume neatly, placing it back into the box you found it in.
"Oh."
You shake your head and wag your finger at him admonishingly.
"Nooo, no pity party, Steve. I'm a big girl, I'm perfectly fine even without a single festive bone in my body. Now, I think this garland would be great, can we use that? Maybe these little trees, too? For the tabletops."
He nods and grabs an empty box, adding the items you were choosing to use for the party. He throws in a couple of hanging decorations, snowflakes and reindeer, and a few of the smaller wreaths.
"I have plates and stuff, too. Serving sets."
You giggle. "Of course you do. That would be awesome. What is this stuff?" You hold up a green, twiggy plant with small, white nodules, tied together with a satin red ribbon.
Steve smiles wide and gently takes it from your fingers, holding it over both of your heads.
"Mistletoe."
The tiniest, "oh" sneaks past your lips, and your eyes dance over each other's faces, looking for signals. Steve takes a step closer and you reach out to take his other hand, inviting him nearer.
He lets go to brush a tendril of hair behind your ear, then lets his fingers softly linger on the nape of your neck.
"Can I?"
You nod, and he leans in, brushing his lips over yours as soft as a whisper at first. Then he's kissing your top lip; you feel the hint of a flick of his tongue like he's testing how far you want this to go. It's intense in its sweetness, so gentle and slow that every minute twitch and opening of your mouths is tantalizingly felt.
You bring your own hands up his strong, lean chest, up the column of his throat and to his face, finally tangling in his thick head of beautiful dark hair. A small groan tickles against your mouth, and you can feel yourself clench in response, pressing your thighs together for relief.
You open your eyes for a moment to marvel in the softness of his face as he kisses you, and you notice that he's still holding the damn mistletoe above you. You chuckle against his lips and grab his wrist, bringing it down to your waist. The mistletoe tumbles to the floor, and Steve grips your hips with both hands.
"I've wanted -- to do this -- for a week." He blurts out between deep, sensuous kisses.
"You've only known me a week."
"Yeah, exactly."
You giggle and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling your bodies tightly together and burying your face in his shoulder. He gently kisses the spot behind your ear that makes you shudder, and you pull back just enough to see his pretty, glittering eyes.
"I really like you, Steve."
"I really like you, too."
🎁
❄️ 2 Weeks Later ❄️
Twas the shift before the Christmas party, and things between you and Steve have escalated exponentially. You no longer bother hiding your flirty banter, and even steal kisses and touches whenever you're around each other on the unit.
Tonight you both happened to be working together again (that also seemed to happen a lot more lately), and the wee hours before shift change were dragging on. You lean back in your swivel chair, sipping on a coffee and willing your eyes to stay open, when a long pair of familiar arms wind around you. Steve's scent fills your nostrils, warm and inviting, and you turn your head slightly to give him a chaste kiss on the lips.
"Hiya. How's it going?"
"Fine. Just did the glucometers, wiped down the COWs."
"Aw, thanks hon. Ya don't gotta do all that stuff, I usually just knock it out around 5 or 6."
He shrugs and kisses your temple.
"I like helping."
You pinch his cheek, and in an overly saccharine voice say, "Aren't you just the bestest, sweetest boy?"
He swallows and rubs the back of his neck.
"Ooh, maybe not that kind of talk right out here."
"Oh?" You lean closer to the shell of his ear. "Does that do it for ya? Me telling ya how fucking good you are for me?"
He stands straight and glances down both ends of the desolate hallway.
"Hang on." He scurries down the corridor for a moment, and when he comes back it's with Madgie in tow, of all people.
"Thanks, Madgie. Appreciate you. Ready boss? I swear one of these days I'll remember the way to radiology. Just...isn't today. Madgie said she can watch the front."
Steve raises his eyebrows at you subtly and you play right along, nodding and shuffling papers around your desk.
"Yah, we're gonna have to get ya a map, Harrington. Be right back, thanks Madgie."
Madgie grumbles in response, going back to reading her romance novel, and the second you and Steve round the corner on the way to radiology he pulls you into a closet.
It was one that you all deemed the "haunted closet", because the light was busted and it was at the end of a remote, dark hallway. It was filled with old signs and busted chairs, mostly junk the hospital administrators were too cheap to throw away. He presses you up against the door, lifting your legs around his hips with ease.
"You're such a fucking tease, you know when you say stuff like that it makes me hard."
"I do know, that's why I said it."
"But I'm so good to you, aren't I? Why're you being so mean?"
"M'sorry. Maybe you should punish me."
It's pitch black in this closet, but if you could look at Steve's eyes right now you would see the lovely, velvety, greenish-brown of his eyes would be completely engulfed in black with the desire coursing through his veins.
"Yeah? You want that?"
He delivers a light smack to the side of your ass cheek, making you squirm.
"I think I do. It's the only way I'll learn, Steve."
A low grumble looses from his chest and he drops your legs back to the floor, spinning you to face the door. He plants your hands on the wood and runs his hand down your back until he reaches the curve of your ass.
He spanks you again, slightly harder than the first.
"Gonna be nice?"
"Mmm...nope."
"Brat."
He spanks your other cheek, this time with a pretty significant sting to it. He grips the globe of your ass, moving his hand to feel it jiggle beneath his palm.
"How about now?"
"I'm -- I'm feeling a little friendlier, maybe. Maybe one more, just to be safe."
He rears back and gives you one final slap on the opposite side, then runs his finger down the crack of your ass over your scrub pants. He cups your mound in his big, nimble hands, feeling how much heat is coming off of you even through the fabric.
"Nice list? Or naughty list?"
You giggle through your panting breaths and wiggle your ass enticingly.
"I'm feeling really nice, now."
"Well, good. You know what nice girls get?"
"Hm?"
He steps away from your side and tugs your pants and underwear halfway down your hips. Grabbing your tender ass cheeks and spreading you open, he dips his tongue straight into your slit, tasting your juices and moaning into your pussy.
"Oh, shit, Steve! Is that your mouth?"
"Mm-hm." He murmurs, tongue too busy fucking into your tight hole to form a real response.
You whimper and moan against the door, trying not to make too much of a ruckus as Steve feasts on you. He begins to lightly rub two fingers over your clit in varying shapes and lines until he feels you jolt and tense around his tongue. He keeps that exact movement up until he feels you grow wetter, spilling yourself into his waiting mouth with his name on your breath.
He straightens after he's lapped up all of your cum, wiping his lips and chin on the inside of his scrub top and sliding your pants back around your waist, ending it with a final loving tap against your ass.
You feel for his chest and turn his back to the door, working the tie on his scrub pants to free his straining cock. His hands try to stop yours.
"Hey, you don't have to. It's fine."
"Pssh. What are ya talking about?"
"I didn't do that just to get something back. I just wanted to taste you."
His words send a trembling aftershock through your groin, but you send it back and keep undressing him.
"Well, what if I want the same? Ya gonna let me have a taste of you, Steve?"
He stops trying to stop you at once.
"I mean, if that's what you want."
"Mm. Such a martyr, you are."
You fall to your knees in front of him and shimmy his pants past his hips. You can't see in here, but it's making everything so much more touch-sensitive and it's kind of magical. You grip his base and gently stroke upward, and his head bangs against the door.
"Shh!"
"Shit, s-sorry."
"Must stay quiet, Harrington. Don't want anyone to catch ya with your cock in my mouth, do ya?"
"Well, I mean --"
You quiet him with a few flicks of your tongue against the underside of his head, the taste of salty precum already dribbling down from the slit.
You suck the tip between your lips, giving a couple of teasing bobs, before you relax your throat and go as deeply as you can take him. It's still not his entire length, you can feel that, so you stroke the base of him with your hand in time with your sucks. Normally you might like to tease him a little more, but it's getting closer to shift change and you can't stay in this closet forever.
You hollow your cheeks and let out little moans against, the vibrations making his balls tighten up.
"Gonna cum. Where can I--?"
You start taking him in faster, deeper; his hand goes to the back of your head and you can feel him lightly rutting his hips, so you let him fuck your mouth until he groans and you feel the hot, heady taste of his cum spilling down your throat.
You try and straighten each other up by the lights of your phone screens, giggling like teenagers all the while.
"Excited for the party tonight?"
"Bah, humbug."
"Aah, it's gonna be great. I decided I'm gonna wear the Santa costume."
"You're...not serious?"
"Uh, deadly serious, actually."
"Why on God's green earth would you wear that thing?"
"Because it's Christmas? And if I dress as Santa I can ask you to sit on my lap, and no one will think twice about it."
He smiles, gives you a peck on the lips, and opens the closet door. You both step out into the hallway, and a very familiar smell wafts into your nose. An artificial sweetness, pungent and --
"Well, well, well." Gator croons, one foot braced against the hallways wall as he puffs on his vape.
Your eyes go wide with horror, though you're not sure why. It's not like you're cheating or being unfaithful. Still, it was yet another blending of your two worlds, making this thing even messier than it already was.
You straighten your scrub top and puff out your chest, breezing by Gator like you had somewhere to be (which was literally anywhere else).
"Ya can't vape in the hospital, Gator. I've told ya that a hundred times."
"There's lotsa things ya can't do in a hospital, boss. I think you and Kensington just did a few of em in the haunted closet."
You turn on your heel abruptly and both Gator and Steve stop dead in their tracks, Steve mildly annoyed and Gator thoroughly amused.
"Gator, can it. What Steve and I do is none of your business."
He holds his hands up defensively, and you realize that he's not even in uniform, just his layperson clothes; a tight-fitting, well-worn AC/DC t-shirt half-tucked into dark wash jeans with his camo jacket and backwards baseball cap.
"Are you even working right now?"
"Nah."
"Get the fuck outta here, Gator." You rub your temple exasperatedly and return to the front desk to relieve Madgie.
"Alright, I'm going, I'm going. Was just gonna tell ya I'll be at the party tonight."
He snorts through his nose, mimicking the word, "titillating" under his breath as he swaggers back to the entrance of the hospital.
"See ya tonight, boss lady. You too, Remington."
Steve doesn't bother correcting him.
🎅
You settle on a snug-fitting crushed red velvet top with a plunging neckline and deep emerald green plaid pants. It's about all you have in the way of "gay apparel".
A knock at the door pulls you from the kitchen as you gather last minute potluck items; cookies, egg nog, peppermint bark, and chips and salsa. You twist the deadbolt and swing the door open, then try to contain your scream.
Steve is dripping in crimson and white fur, a thick leather belt in the middle cinched at his narrow waist and of course, the hat.
"No beard, hm?"
"Nah, I'm going for like the fun, youthful Santa look, y'know?"
"Mm. Well, I support your life choices, Steve. C'mon, help me grab all this food."
You both take plastic totes with your food items and disposable plates and napkins and load them into Steve's BMW. Once everything is in and Steve shuts the trunk, he brings something from behind his back and dangles it overhead. You recognize it now as mistletoe. He grins at you and you lean up on your tip-toes to give him a long, slow, sweet kiss.
"You are looking so damn good, Mrs. Clause. Christmas classy."
You chuckle, reaching into your back pocket.
"Well, I did get one thing to help get into the holiday spirit..." You shove the red, glittery Santa hat you found at the grocery store over your hair and grin up at him cheesily.
You could almost swear you see a literal twinkle in his eye.
❄️
An hour or so into the party you've finished your White Elephant gift exchange and listened to enough Christmas music that you crave the solitude of sitting in a silent, padded room for a few hours. If you have to hear about this man's grandma getting run over by a reindeer one more time, you might commit arson.
Now you're just mingling and sipping at Madgie's "Jingle Juice", which is just fruit punch with rum and vodka and orange slices. Steve nudges you with his hip as you both lean against one of the back walls. His eyes are glassy and his face soft from the slight buzz, and you imagine yours is the same.
"Hey, Santa Baby."
"Hey, ho ho ho."
You feign a look of offense and he giggles, cheeks pink as he laces his fingers with yours.
"I'm -- I'm so sorry. Gator said it was funny."
You stare daggers at Gator from across the conference room and he's already watching, shoulders shaking with anticipatory laughter. You give him the finger, and he shoots it right back.
"So, you two are friends now? Cause that sounds like a special kind of hell, I can't lie."
"What? I'm a friendly guy."
"Mm-hm. Friendly's what ya call it?"
You wink at him and he leans in to whisper directly in your ear.
"I can show you exactly how friendly I can be, if you like."
You purse your lips to contain your excitement, but nod eagerly anyway. He pulls you by your connected hands towards the doctor's office hallway.
"Where are you taking me, Santa Steve?"
"Heard Crisp got a big, sturdy, solid oak desk last week. I'd love to see something that fancy, y'know?"
He stops on a dime and pins you suddenly against the wall of the hallway, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze.
"Oh, and I'd really love to fuck you on it."
You gasp a shuddered breath and mash his face onto yours, kissing him sloppily and tangling his hair into knots. Both of your teeth occasionally graze with smallest click as you lick and fuck your tongues into each other's mouths. You start walking backwards towards Crisp's office, tugging Steve by the fur collar.
You pull out the master hospital key you keep on you all the time and swing the door to Crisp's ugly, bare office. Leadership does have its benefits, after all.
Steve was right -- there's a sleek new desk, rich, unscathed, and a deep brown color with whorling patterns and a shiny clear coat over the whole thing. It's basically a Cadillac.
You slip your feet out of your boots and kick them across the room, then tug your slacks down and toss them off in the same direction. Steve grips his length through the cheap material of his Santa suit and slowly strokes himself, eyes burning holes into your skin.
"Know what I got ya this year, Steve?"
"What's that?"
You teasingly pinch the hem of your sweater and lift it overhead, leaving you in nothing but your stupid Santa hat and your brand new matching lacy red bra and panties. He drinks you in, tracing your curves and leering at the fabric that leaves very little to the imagination.
His hands are at your waist in moments, picking you up and setting your bare ass down on the oak. You squeal at the feel of the frigid surface of the desk under your flushed skin. Steve stands between your parted legs, arms caging you in and hands planted firmly on the desk. He licks and nips at the softest parts of your neck, feeling your pulse hammering beneath his lips.
He closes the distance even further, rubbing his rigid cock over your barely clothed pussy. The friction is electric, scratching an itch burning within both of you, but just by a fraction.
"God, you're so big."
"You gonna take it anyway?"
"Mm-hm, yah. Give it to me, please."
One of his hands slips between your legs and tugs the pitiful scrap of fabric you call panties to the side. He runs a finger delicately between your lips, spreading your slickness all over it, then curls it inside of you and begins to slowly pump in and out. He adds a second shortly after and scissors them, sending a delightful buzzing through your skull.
"Condom?"
"Birth control."
"Fuck, so...can I--"
"Cum inside me?"
Steve nods enthusiastically, hopefully. You stroke his cheek, smiling warmly.
"Merry Christmas, Steve Harrington."
Both of you giggle, mouths touching, as Steve frees himself from the confines of his Santa pants. Seeing it in the light this time, you get an idea of the absolute monster you're working with.
It's long, tilting upward toward his belly button with a slight lean to the right. A delicious blue vein squiggles along the underside, giving you the urge to feel it on your tongue again. You reach between your legs and pump him a few times, then he angles his hips and begins to push inside of you.
With a few tender thrusts you take him all, dizzied from the sheer fullness. He starts a slow roll of his hips as you meet him with yours, feeling every inch of him as he drags his cock through your pussy.
You're so blissed out that you don't hear the office door open, but Steve does. He looks up over your shoulder and watches as Gator slinks in, eyeing the two of you with what seems to be only mild interest. His eyes latch onto Steve's, and he settles into a chair in the corner, legs spread wide.
Steve gives you a pointed thrust, making you cry out and clutch at his shoulders, and he gives Gator a cocky smirk. Gator returns the gesture and palms his hardening dick over his pants.
You whine when Steve pulls out of you, but feel a thrill go through your spine when he gruffly flips you over, steadying yourself on the table with your palms and jutting your ass out for him to take. He glides back in and gives you no time to adjust to this new angle, fucking you at a feverish pace and gathering your hair into a bunch that he can fist. He doesn't pull hard enough to hurt, just enough to arch your back a little and make you look straight ahead.
Straight at Gator.
You feel like you would have screamed or yelped if you weren't in your fucked-out haze, or maybe it was just because it was...Gator. You knew Gator, you maybe even liked having him around despite his arrogance and bad jokes. So watching him stroking his cock through his jeans while Steve pounded into you from behind just felt...acceptable?
"G-Gator, wha- are y-?"
Gator just holds a finger up to his lips to shush you, then pops the button on his jeans and shimmies them down just enough for his own thick, hard cock to jump free. Steve and Gator were both incredibly well-endowed, and for a moment you wonder what it might be like to have two beasts like that going at you at once.
Your cunt squeezes around Steve at the thought and he sucks in a breath between his teeth, smacking one of your ass cheeks lightly.
"You like when he watches, hm? So dirty."
Gator spits into his palm and slicks it up his length, rubbing his thumb just under the head like you usually do. Your cheeks go flushed and you only manage a keening sound before you're starting to feel boneless. Your elbows bend, chest pressing against the desk.
Suddenly a rough, calloused, and very familiar hand is tucking under your jaw and pulling you back upright. Gator has crawled across the other side of the oak desk, kneeling on it in front of you and continuing to jerk himself off.
You instinctively open your mouth, inviting him to fuck your throat if he so desired. Instead, he leans forward and braces himself on one arm and kisses you. His tongue laves against yours and he sucks your lower lip onto his mouth before gently nipping at it with this straight, sharp teeth.
Your eyes flutter at the duality of how hard Steve is fucking you versus how soft Gator is kissing you. Steve grips the back of one of your thighs and hikes your knee up onto the desk, splitting you open wide so he can dig into you even deeper. You moan into Gator's mouth and he swallows it all, fucking into his fist harder.
"In- my- mouth?" You manage to stutter out between backshots.
Gator straightens up on his knees, his cock perfectly angled at your face. You open your mouth wide again, sticking out your tongue, and he taps his cock against it, brushing the glistening tip over your lips and letting you lap at the precum beading at the tip.
Steve watches everything, enraptured by the sight of you with Gator's cock teasing your mouth. He brings a hand forward to stroke your clit as he fucks you mercilessly; he is about to bust, but wants you to milk it from him with your own orgasm.
"Gonna cum on his dick, boss? Show him how tight your sweet little pussy can squeeze him?"
The obscene slapping sounds of Steve ramming you from behind are growing wetter. The coil winding tighter and tighter in your belly snaps, and you feel the rush of chemicals flood your brain, blinding you.
"God, yes. That's it, fuck." Steve's rhythm finally falters as he fills you with his cum, his eyes trailing up to meet Gator's.
Gator, who, surprisingly enough, was also watching him. He glances down at you, fucked out on the desk but still upright on your arms, and begins to fist his cock even more desperately. You open your mouth again, a silent invitation, and he spills hot ropes of cum across your tongue.
Before you can swallow, he sticks two fingers in your mouth and gently holds your jaw open. Your saliva and his cum pool together, dribbling past your lips and splattering onto the beautiful, stately desk. Gator gives you that trademark shit-eating smirk.
Summary: Financially desperate and years into mutual pining, shy influencer Kurt Kunkle and his roommate decide to start an OnlyFans channel together. What begins as an awkward “just for the money” arrangement slowly unravels months of built-up sexual tension, leading to increasingly explicit roommate porn that neither of them can resist.
Word count: 2.7K
Warnings: NSFW, smut, oral sex (m/receiving), shy/anxious Kurt, mutual pining, slow burn to smut, roommate AU
A/N: first time writing Kurt… kinda nervous
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Seven months of living with Kurt Kunkle had taught you two things: he was endearingly shy, and he was a walking disaster when it came to money.
It started innocently enough. You’d answered his Craigslist ad for a roommate after your old place flooded. Kurt was this lanky, greasy-haired guy in oversized hoodies who barely made eye contact during the interview. He’d rambled about his “content creator journey”, rideshare streams where he talked to the dashboard camera about society, awkward unboxing videos of cheap tech gadgets, and late-night rants about how the world ignored “real authenticity.” You thought he was harmless, cute, even.
The mutual pining crept in slowly, then all at once.
It was the little things at first. Kurt would leave coffee made for you on mornings he knew you had early shifts, scribbling shy little notes on post-its: Hope your day isn’t too bad :). You’d catch him staring when you came home from work, still in your barista apron, his eyes lingering on the way your shirt clung from the heat. He’d look away instantly, ears red, mumbling something about editing.
You weren’t innocent either. Late at night you’d lie in bed replaying the sound of his soft voice through the thin walls as he practiced his streams. The way he’d knock gently on your door around midnight, offering half his leftover takeout “because it’s going to go bad anyway.” Your fingers would brush when you took the container, and the spark felt electric. You started wearing shorter sleep shorts just to see if he’d notice. He always did, swallowing hard and finding sudden reasons to retreat to his room.
There were almost-moments. One night after a particularly bad day, you found him on the couch spiraling about his failing channel. You sat close, closer than necessary and rested your head on his shoulder for comfort. Kurt froze, breath catching, but eventually his arm came around you awkwardly. Neither of you moved for nearly an hour. You could feel his heart hammering.
Another time, you walked in on him fresh out of the shower, towel slung low on his hips. He yelped, clutching the towel, but not before you saw the trail of dark hair leading down and the flush spreading across his chest. “S-sorry!” he stammered, but his eyes had dropped to your chest for a split second. You pretended not to notice how hard he was breathing.
The tension simmered constantly, stolen glances in the kitchen, lingering hugs that lasted a beat too long when one of you had a rough day, the way he’d compliment your laugh during movie nights but immediately backtrack like he’d said too much.
Meanwhile, the bills piled up.
Kurt’s rideshare gigs were inconsistent at best. Half the time he came home defeated, muttering about rude passengers or low tips. His streaming channel? Maybe 200 dedicated followers who mostly showed up to troll him. “Kurt Kunkle’s World” wasn’t catching on, no matter how many hours he spent editing in the dark living room, blue light glowing on his anxious face.
Your barista job covered groceries and your half of rent, but barely. Then came the triple whammy: your hours got cut, Kurt’s car needed a $600 repair, and the landlord hiked rent by $200. One night you found him at the kitchen table at 2 a.m., hoodie sleeves over his hands, staring at a final notice from the power company. His laptop showed a rejected sponsorship email.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered when you sat across from him. His voice cracked. “I keep thinking if I just push harder… get the right angle, the right content… but nothing works. People don’t want real anymore.”
You reached across and touched his wrist. He jolted like you’d shocked him, but didn’t pull away. Tension crackled in the quiet apartment, the kind that had been building for months. Unspoken want. Shared desperation. The way his breath hitched when your thumb brushed his skin.
“Kurt,” you said gently, “we’re fucked if we don’t do something drastic.”
He looked up, eyes wide and vulnerable behind his messy curls. “Like what?”
You hesitated. The idea had been floating in your head for weeks, born from scrolling late-night TikTok and overhearing customers talk about side hustles. But saying it out loud to him felt dangerous.
“What if we made an OnlyFans?”
The silence was deafening. Kurt’s face went scarlet. He stared at you, mouth opening and closing, ears burning red. For a moment you thought he’d bolt to his room and never speak to you again.
“W-with… me?” His voice was barely audible. “You mean… like… adult content? Us?”
“Yeah.” You kept your tone casual even as your heart raced. “Roommate stuff is huge. The ‘we’re just friends but the tension is obvious’ angle. You’re naturally cute and awkward on camera — people eat that up. I’m comfortable with my body. We split everything 50/50. No pressure, no strings… unless we want them.”
He swallowed hard, eyes dropping to the table. But you saw the way his thighs shifted, the subtle press of his hand against his lap. The tension thickened. Months of stolen glances, late-night conversations where you both danced around the obvious chemistry, nights where you’d lie in bed wondering if he was touching himself thinking about you in the next room. (He was. You’d heard the muffled sounds once or twice.)
“I… I’ve never…” Kurt mumbled. “Not on camera. Not with anyone I—” He cut himself off, flushing deeper. “You’d really let me touch you? For this?”
The vulnerability in his voice made your stomach flip. Not just financial need anymore. This was crossing a line you both had been eyeing for months.
-
The decision didn’t happen that night. Tension simmered for three more days.
Kurt avoided you at first, hiding in his room, editing old footage with headphones on. But the power notice glared from the fridge. You ate cold cereal for dinner. He came home from a bad driving shift soaked from rain, looking defeated. That night you both sat on the sagging couch watching a movie neither of you cared about, the space between you charged like static.
Halfway through, his knee brushed yours. Neither moved away. When you turned to say something, his eyes were already on you, dark, hungry, terrified. “I can’t stop thinking about it,” he admitted in a rush. “The idea. You and me. It’s… it’s too much. But we need the money and I… I want to. With you.”
You leaned in slowly, giving him time to pull back. He didn’t. The first kiss was hesitant, soft lips, shaky breath, his hand hovering at your waist like he was afraid to claim it. When you deepened it, sliding into his lap, Kurt whimpered. Actually whimpered. His hands finally settled on your hips, gripping like you were a lifeline.
That kiss stretched into heavy making out, clothes half-pulled aside, grinding and panting until you were both too worked up to pretend it was just “for the channel.” But you stopped before it went further. “Save it for the camera,” you whispered against his mouth. “Make it real.”
Kurt nodded, dazed and painfully hard beneath you. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s… let’s do it.”
-
Before filming, you spent an evening setting up the channel together on your shared laptop. Kurt sat unusually close, his thigh pressed against yours as you created the account.
“We need a good username,” he said, voice still shy but excited. “Something that screams roommate vibes but isn’t too obvious.”
After tossing ideas back and forth, giggling over increasingly ridiculous ones you settled on KurtsWorldWithHer. It kept his original brand vibe while making it clear you were now part of his world.
For the bio, Kurt typed carefully, cheeks pink:
“Two broke roommates turning tension into content. Shy boy meets bold girl in KurtsWorld. Real chemistry, real firsts, real messy feelings. Exclusive videos weekly. 50/50 split but 100% real. DMs open for requests. #RoommateGoals”
You added a winking emoji and made him blush harder.
The profile picture was a carefully cropped shot you took together: Kurt in his black hoodie looking flustered, you in a tank top leaning against his shoulder, both smiling at the camera with just enough skin showing to be suggestive without being explicit. Kurt kept adjusting the crop “so it looks natural but hot.”
By the end, Kurt was vibrating with nervous energy, leg bouncing. “This is actually happening. People are gonna see us. Together.”
You squeezed his hand. “Only the parts we want them to see. And we’re in this together.”
-
The first video took two days to film because Kurt kept overthinking.
He set up the ring light and tripod in the living room like it was a blockbuster production, adjusting angles obsessively. “Lighting has to be flattering,” he muttered, ears pink. “And the framing — people like authenticity but not ugly authenticity.” You wore a thin tank top and panties. He stayed in his black t-shirt and gray sweatpants. The second you stepped into frame, his hands trembled on the remote.
“Kurt,” you said softly, stepping close enough to feel the heat radiating off him. “We can stop anytime. This is just us.”
He looked at you like you’d hung the moon. “I’ve wanted this for months. Since you moved in. Every time you laughed at my dumb videos or made coffee for both of us… I felt pathetic for how much I liked it. And now we’re here because we’re broke and I still can’t believe you chose me for this.”
The camera started rolling. Red light blinking.
You cupped his face, thumbs brushing his burning cheeks. “Hey… kiss me, Kurt. Like you mean it this time.”
He leaned in, lips trembling against yours at first, soft, tentative, almost too gentle. His breath hitched when you parted your lips and invited his tongue. The kiss deepened slowly. Kurt’s hands slid up your sides, shaky but gaining confidence as you moaned into his mouth. He tasted like the mint gum he’d nervously chewed earlier.
“God… you feel so good,” he whispered against your lips, voice cracking. “So warm. I— I’ve dreamed about this.”
You straddled his lap on the couch, grinding down against the obvious bulge in his sweatpants. Kurt gasped sharply, hips bucking up involuntarily. “Fuck— sorry, I didn’t mean to— you’re just… really turning me on right now.”
You tugged his shirt off, revealing his lean, pale chest. Kurt’s hands finally grew bolder, sliding under your tank top to cup your bare breasts. His thumbs circled your hardening nipples, pinching lightly when you arched into him.
“Is this okay?” he asked breathlessly, eyes wide. “They’re so soft… perfect. Can I taste them?”
You nodded, pulling your top off. Kurt latched onto one nipple immediately, sucking greedily while his other hand kneaded the other breast. Wet, obscene sounds filled the room as his tongue flicked rapidly. You moaned loudly for the camera, threading fingers through his greasy hair.
“Yes, Kurt— just like that. You’re so good with your mouth already.”
He whimpered at the praise, switching sides, sucking harder. His free hand slipped down, rubbing you through your soaked panties. “You’re wet,” he murmured in disbelief, voice muffled against your skin. “For me. Holy shit.”
You slid off his lap and knelt between his spread thighs. Kurt’s eyes were huge as you pulled his sweatpants and boxers down, freeing his throbbing cock, thick, veined, already leaking precum at the flushed tip.
“Fuck, look at you,” you purred, stroking him slowly from base to head. “So hard for your roommate.”
Kurt’s head fell back, a broken moan escaping. “Please— I don’t know how long I’ll last. You’re too hot on your knees like that.”
You took him into your mouth, tongue swirling around the head before sinking deeper, relaxing your throat. Kurt’s hand flew to your hair, not pushing, just gripping desperately.
“Oh my god— your mouth is so warm and wet— fuck— I can feel your tongue…” He panted heavily, hips twitching. “Slower, baby, please— I’m gonna cum if you keep doing that thing with your throat.”
You didn’t slow down. You bobbed faster, hollowing your cheeks, one hand cupping his balls while the other pumped what you couldn’t fit. Kurt’s thighs shook.
“I’m close— I’m so close— can I cum in your mouth? Please let me cum in your mouth—”
You hummed approval around him. Kurt came with a loud, pathetic cry, hips jerking as thick ropes of cum flooded your throat. You swallowed every drop, pulling off with a wet pop and licking your lips for the camera.
He stared down at you, dazed and flushed. “That was… incredible. You’re incredible.”
-
The video titled “Shy Roommate Finally Snaps. First Time Crossing the Line” exploded. $1,400 in 48 hours. Enough to pay the electric bill and buy real groceries.
-
The videos kept coming, each one peeling back another layer of tension. Kurt and you explored all kinds of content: teasing “accidental” walk-in showers where Kurt would get flustered and hard on camera; long, intimate nights of him eating you out on the kitchen counter while wearing his old streaming headset; risky quickies in the car after his rideshare shifts; even soft dom/sub dynamics where you praised him as a “good shy boy” while riding him slow and deep. You guys even tried light bondage with his hoodie sleeves tied around your wrists, sensory play with ice cubes from the freezer, and plenty of creampie-focused videos that fans begged for.
Six months later the channel KurtsWorldWithHer had nearly 200k subscribers. Kurt still got anxious in public when fans recognized you two. Like the time a barista whispered “I love your videos” while handing over coffee, making his face burn crimson as he mumbled a shy “thank you” and hid behind his hoodie. Or when a group of fans at the grocery store asked for a selfie, and Kurt’s hand trembled holding the phone while you laughed and played it cool. He’d get quiet and clingy afterward, needing reassurance that you were still his safe space, but it also turned him on in private, the thrill of being seen with you.
At home he was addicted to you, to the work, to finally being seen. After one particularly intense shoot, he curled into your chest, soft and clingy again. “I love you,” he whispered. “Not just for the channel. For everything.”
You kissed his head. “Love you too, Kurt. My favorite cam boy.”
You tell Steve that you don't think you're capable of orgasming with a guy. He's determined to prove you wrong.
pairing: steve harrington x reader
words: 4.2k
contains: (18+ smut!! minors dni) mutual masturbation, porn with very little plot, hint of friends to lovers, pet names, steve is packing, female reader, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns for reader.
author's note: request by @djobriens | this is inspired by that scene from off campus!! recently watched it and i am forever changed. this was yet another request that started as a blurb and ended up being way too long.
Telling one of your closest friends that a guy had never made you come had seemed like an okay idea at first. Unless that guy was Steve Harrington who took the news like it was a personal insult.
"What?" He asked, a look of horror on his face as he stared at you as though he was waiting for some sort of punchline. "Never? You're kidding right? This is some sort of sick joke—"
Your face feels hot as you look away from Steve, suddenly regretting telling him about your disappointing date from Saturday night. Suddenly regretting being too honest with him, about the lack of orgasms that you had received from men over the years. You would usually talk about this sort of stuff with Robin but she was on vacation with her family and you needed someone to vent to. And so, you had showed up to Steve’s under the guise of a movie night and general catch up.
But maybe venting to Steve had been a bad idea.
"Forget I said anything," you say quickly, leaning over to grab the large bowl of popcorn that had been sitting on Steve's lap and stuffing a large handful into your mouth just to avoid answering any further questions.
But of course—Steve wasn't going to let you off that easily.
"I'm serious!" Steve says, snatching the popcorn back and placing it on the coffee table before shifting on the sofa to look at you properly. "This is—this is abhorrent. Do you exclusively date selfish assholes or something?"
If you hadn't had a mouthful of popcorn, you would have probably argued with him. But instead you settle for sending him a glare as you chew what was left of the salty popcorn in your mouth.
"Do you finish when you touch yourself?"
You nearly choke on a popcorn kernel.
"Jesus Christ, Harrington!" you gasp out, your face now so hot you were surprised that steam wasn’t rising from your skin. “You can’t just ask me that—”
“—what?” Steve asks, seemingly confused why you were so taken aback by his question. “I’m trying to help—”
“—by asking me about masturbation?”
“I’m just trying to understand the situation!”
You huff because you knew deep down Steve had good intentions. You knew he wasn’t asking to be a creep—he was asking because he genuinely cared about you and wanted to help you with the situation. But talking about something so intimate with Steve made you feel a lot of things that you weren’t quite sure what to do with.
“Yes,” you say finally, determinedly not looking at Steve as you answer. “Yes, I um, I finish when I—you know—”
“—touch yourself?” Steve finishes for you and the words send heat coursing through your entire body. You shift on the couch beside him, eyes on his TV that was currently playing some sitcom you were no longer paying attention to. “C’mon, don’t be coy about it! Masturbation is normal! I do it at least three times a—”
“—Steve!” You scold him, your face somehow even hotter as you turn to glare at him. “I don’t need to know about how many times a week you jerk off—”
“—actually, I was going to say that I do it three times a day.”
You look at him and suddenly, any intelligent thought you had disappears. Because now all you could think about was Steve and what he’d look like fucking his fist with his cock. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about Steve in that way before. He may be a good friend of yours but he was also stupidly attractive and wore jeans that hugged his lower half a little too well. Sometimes, if you had a chance to look at him for long enough, you could see the imprint of his thick cock over the denim. And his ass—
“You know I’m kidding right?” Steve asks you, seeming to take your lack of response as disgust—when in reality it was anything but. “I don’t—that’s just excessive. Few times a week is enough for me—”
“—okay, okay! I get it!” You interrupt, wanting him to stop talking because his words were going straight to your core and you didn’t want your traitorous eyes to shift down to his lap. “I don’t need to know your…schedule.”
Steve smiles a little before nudging you with his elbow. “It’s pretty rigorous, I’ll tell you that—”
“—Steven—”
“—sorry,” Steve grins at you before he finally looks away from you. You pray that he drops the entire conversation, that he doesn’t ask anymore questions so that you could finally take moment to relax—
“So, it’s not you—it’s just the guys that you’re seeing?”
“Steve, can’t we just—”
“—no, we can’t,” Steve says, sitting up and looking at you with a careful expression. “Listen—I know you feel awkward talking about this with me but—I just—I care about you and I care about the way guys treat you. And if they’re not making you come, not taking the time to work out what you want, then they’re not treating you right. I—I just want to make sure that you know it’s not you that’s the problem here. It’s them.”
You swallow because, god, why did he have to be so caring? Why did he know the exact right thing to say? And why did you have the sudden urge to press your thighs together?
“I dunno,” you say finally, your throat a little dry for reasons that had everything to do with the man sitting right beside you. “What if—what if guys just can’t make me come? Like I’m too complicated down there or—”
“—stop right there,” Steve interrupts, not unkindly but in a firm sort of way that shuts you up almost instantly. “What did I just say? It’s not you. You said you can make yourself come so I promise you—you’re not the problem. They are. They’re being selfish. They need to—they need to take the time to learn what your body needs. Ask you what you like, how you respond to what they’re doing to you.”
It was good advice, genuinely. But all you could think about as you listened to Steve was what he’d be like in bed. If he would take the time to learn what your body needed, if he would ask you what you liked, if he’d watch—lips parted and eyes wide—as your body writhed beneath him, as your plushy walls squeezed around his—
“I don’t know Steve,” you say quietly, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth as you try not to think too hard about the image you had of Steve’s head between your thighs, of his lips wet with your slick dripping down to his chin. “I don’t know if it’s just that. I mean—it’s not like what they’re doing is really bad because I get close, I—it’s like right before I get there—I just seize up or something.”
Steve listens carefully, his attention solely on you as you try your best to explain the issue and when you’re done, he takes a few seconds to mull over what you had just told him.
“These guys,” Steve begins, hazel eyes flickering between yours as he studies your expression. “Do you trust them?”
“What?” You ask, a little confused at the question. “I don’t know what you—”
“—do you trust them?” Steve repeats the question, not elaboration or clarification—just a small quirk of his brow as he waits for you to respond. “Do you trust them enough to let yourself go completely?”
The question takes you by surprise and you want to say yes—but the word dies on your tongue and the lack of a response was enough of an answer for Steve. He looks at you for a moment too long, hazel eyes studying you as though he was trying to look inside your brain.
“Do you trust me?”
You don’t even think as you nod—because of course you trusted Steve. You trusted him with your life. After everything that had happened in Hawkins, it was hard not to.
“Of course I—”
“—then make yourself come in front of me.”
The silence that greeted Steve’s words was deafening. You stare at him, eyes wide as you let his words truly sink in. You let yourself come to terms with the fact that you weren’t having some strange sex dream. That your good friend and guy you occasionally had inappropriate thoughts had just asked you to make yourself come in front of him.
“Why?” You ask him finally because though you were shocked—there was a large part of you that didn’t want to say no to his offer.
“I just—I think it might help,” Steve shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant but you notice the way the tips of his ears redden. “I mean sex is pretty fucking vulnerable so you might just need an experience with someone you trust who cares about you. So you know it’s okay to—to let go in front of someone.”
The way he says it—with so much care in his voice that it almost makes you forget about the whole making yourself come in front of him thing. He makes it sound so sweet that you find yourself lost for words again.
“You think it’s weird,” Steve says, shifting away an inch or so away from you on the couch—in your state of shock you had barely noticed that he had begun to inch closer to you. “I know, I know, I shouldn’t have—”
“—n-no, no, no,” you stutter out before you could stop yourself with a subtle shake of your head. “I mean—yeah, it’s weird but—as you said I-I trust you.”
Steve blinks and then—seems to realise that you weren’t completely disgusted by his proposal and sits up a little straighter on the couch.
“Really? You—you’d want to try and—”
“—yes,” you say before he could finish his sentence because you were feeling incredibly turned on by the thought of Steve watching you touch yourself and you didn’t want to let rational thought creep in now. “It could help and if it doesn’t then—”
“—then we just forget it ever happened,” he finishes with a quick nod. “Yeah, totally. Like it never happened.”
You look at each other then, apparently both waiting for the other to back out. But when neither of you do, Steve visibly swallows as he stands up from his couch, holding out his hand out for you to take..
“You wanna—go somewhere more comfortable?”
Steve’s bedroom was surprisingly tidy considering the fact he hadn’t been expecting company. Still, there’s some clothes strewn across his bed that Steve makes quick work of tidying up.
“Sorry,” he mutters as he dumps the clothes onto his desk before gesturing towards his bed for you to sit down.
You glance down at his bed before you look back at him. Because now you felt nervous—now you were thinking about lying on his sheets and fingering yourself in front of him. And perhaps you were just starting to realise how insane that would be and—
“Hey.”
You feel one of Steve’s large hands on your arm and it pulls you back to reality. You hadn’t even realised that you had been staring blankly down at his plaid sheets, already too in your own head about what was about to happen. Steve’s gentle touch, his fingertips brushing over your skin help to ground you—remind you that this wasn’t a stranger you had met at a bar or someone you had been set up with by a mutual friend. This was Steve. Your good, totally platonic friend, Steve.
“You’re okay,” he says gently, thumb rubbing gentle circles in your skin and unknowingly turning your insides into goo. “I’m gonna put on some music, okay? Help you relax a bit. Just take a seat.”
You listen because you did not know what else to do, sitting on the very edge of his bed and watching as he walks over to his vinyl player perched on top of a chest of drawers. You continue to watch him from the back as he sorts through the small stack of vinyls he had, apparently trying to find the perfect record.
A few moments later, the sound of Baby Now That I’ve Found You by the Foundations starts to play and you feel your shoulders visibly relax before Steve turns around to look at you.
“Really?” You ask him with a faint smile. “Is this you trying to set the mood?”
“That obvious, huh?” Steve asks you as he steps towards the bed—towards you.
You watch him, your lips parting as he stands a foot or so away from you now. The room feels five times smaller as Steve’s eyes are on you.
“What if it doesn’t work?” You ask Steve suddenly. “What if there’s something wrong if me or—”
Steve cuts you off by saying your name and the way he says it steals the air from your lungs.
“There is nothing wrong with you,” Steve says firmly, as though he believed every syllable. “Absoluetly nothing.”
You nod, choosing to believe him as you look at his face, the smooth voices of the Foundations putting you a little more at ease. “Okay so—we’re doing this. Okay. Are you just going to watch me or—”
You stop when you see Steve shaking his head. Your body suddenly feels hot, as though all the blood in your body had been replaced by fire. It was almost as though it seemed to know what Steve was going to say before he said it.
“No,” Steve says in a low voice that goes straight to your aching centre. “You’re going to show me. And I’ll show you.”
Everything became very still after that. The both of you just looked at each other—your chest heaving and his eyes flickering over your face as though trying to find any hint of uncertainty. You wanted to be the one to make the first move and you almost do, your fingers curling into the sheets beneath you as you build up the courage to do so. But before you could find the hem of your t-shirt, Steve begins to lift up his top.
The first flash of his soft stomach, of his happy trail and you seemed to forget how to breathe. God, he was gorgeous. Moles and freckles were dotted over his skin, there was a generous smattering of hair over his chest that made your thighs press together and you wanted nothing more than to run your fingers through it. In truth, you could have looked at him for hours.
But instead, you take a deep breath before you very slowly get to your feet.
Steve is watching you carefully as you begin to lift up your own shirt. His eyes on you should have made you feel self conscious, should have made you think twice of the very unsexy bra you were wearing, should have made you think of all the parts of yourself you didn’t like. But there was something about the way he was looking at you as you let your shirt fall to the floor that made you feel the very opposite of self conscious.
And so, before you could second guess yourself—you made the next move before him.
Your fingers fiddle momentarily with the button of your jeans before you unzip them, the sound making Steve’s eyes widen slightly. And when you begin to tug your jeans down over your hips and then your thighs, leaving you in just your mismatched underwear, you watch in fascination as a faint blush creeps up Steve’s neck.
You step out of your jeans, not looking away from Steve for even a second so you didn’t miss a single facial expression. So that you didn’t miss the way the flush had crept up his cheeks and right up to the very tips of his ears, how his breathing had started to become shallow.
“You look—”
“—don’t,” you say, surprised to find that your voice was barely a whisper.
“Why not?” He asks gently, head tilting to the side as he begins to unbuckle his belt.
You lick your lips, eyes still on his face but desperately wanting to shift lower to watch as he unzips his jeans.
“Becuase I might think that you’re just saying it to make me feel better,” you say. “Considering what we’re about to do.”
“I would never lie about how beautiful I think you are,” Steve says simply, his eyes still on you as he finally pulls his jeans down.
You barely have a moment to comprehend Steve calling you beautiful before you catch sight of him in only his boxers. He was—shit, he was perfect. You let your eyes dip down to feast on his delicious thighs, his boxers that had a large, noticeable tent in them that made your core throb.
Your throat felt dry, you didn't quite know what to do. All you knew is that Steve Harrington was hard just by looking at you. The thought sends a hot surge through your body, as though every damn nerve was suddenly burning beneath your skin. And perhaps it was that thought—the idea that you had made Steve hard without really doing anything—that you reached carefully behind you to unclip your bra.
Steve visibly swallows as your breasts spill out, finally seeing your hardened peaks as you let your bra fall to the floor alongside your t-shirt and jeans.
There was a beat and then—
He begins to tug down his boxers.
You had imagined what Steve Harrignton’s cock would look like more times than you cared to admit. But every mental image you had conjured up was nothing—nothing—compared to what was standing to attention right in front of you. His cock was long, thick and heavy, so heavy in fact it had made an audible sound when it had slapped against his soft tummy. His cock was beautiful—he was beautiful. Slightly curved in a way that you knew was made for hitting that spot inside of you just right. The ruddy tip of his cock was already leaking precum, which you shamelessly watch drool along a vein bulging along his length. Your mouth felt incredibly dry as you ogled the sheer size of him, imagining what it would be like for his thick cock to split you open—
You come to your senses just enough to discard your panties. They stick to your cunt briefly due to how fucking drenched you already were and Steve notices—his bottom lip between his teeth as he marvels at how your lips cling to the fabric before giving way, his cock twitching when he sees the damp patch your wetness had caused.
And there you both were, both finally completely bare in front of one another for the first time. Both looking shamelessly at the other’s body, both clearly desperate to touch the other but not dare to do so.
And then, without a word to each other, you sink back down onto his bed while Steve reaches blindly behind him to pull out his desk chair.
It was only now beginning to feel real, as you look at Steve’s face at the same time he looks at you.
“Still with me?” He asks you breathlessly.
You take your time to answer, spreading your legs a little wider and watching with immense satisfaction as his eyes flicker down to your soaked pussy. Another surge of something hot like molten lava surges through you as you notice the way his hand twitches towards his cock.
“Yeah,” you breathe out. “Still with you.”
You could have looked at each other for hours, days even. But your pussy was clenching around nothing and more precum dribbled out of Steve’s cock and you both knew you couldn’t wait any longer.
Steve moved first, one of his large hands wrapping around his thick cock before giving himself one, two gentle strokes. The sound of his own precum wetting his cock was obscene and it was that noise that made you trail your fingers delicately over the skin of your inner thigh before making contact with the soaked, sensitive flesh between your legs.
The relief was instant. You felt your entire body relax, your eyelids flutter for a brief moment before you made sure to look back at Steve. He was already watching you and for a moment you just smile at each other—almost shyly despite the situation—before you both focus back on pleasuring yourselves.
Your fingers glide easily through your folds, your slick allowing you to plunge two fingers inside of yourself. A breathy moan left your lips before you could stop it. You were almost embarrassed by it but then you notice the way Steve’s jaw clenches at the sound, the way he squeezes his cock a little bit tighter.
His words—his filthy fucking words—go right through you. Your cunt clenches around your fingers and you briefly wonder if you had died and gone to heaven, if Steve Harrington was really dirty talking to you right now.
“C’mon pretty girl,” Steve grits out as he pumps his dick that little bit faster, eyes not leaving yours. “Don’t hold back. Please, baby. Don’t you dare hold back on me.”
You could barely believe it, the words that were falling from his lips, the pet names he had just called you. But you didn’t question it—too busy fucking yourself with your slick fingers as you let out another soft, almost pornographic moan.
“That’s it,” Steve murmurs, the schlick, schlick, schlick of him fucking his fist filling the room as he watching your soaked fingers move in and out of your needy hole like it was the best damn thing he had ever seen. “Soak your fingers f’me. That’s so fucking hot.”
You let out a whimper at that, his words having such an impact on you that your hips buck upwards to meet your fingers, your eyes fluttering again as pleasure floods into every pore over your skin.
“Steve,” you mewl out as your fingers pump in and out of your hole, your breasts bouncing with each and every thrust. “Fuck, Steve. Feels so fucking good.”
Steve hadn’t been expecting you to dirty talk but god, had it been the most welcome surprise.
“Yeah? Gonna make yourself come for me, sweet girl?” Steve asks you, now pumping his dick frantically as he watches you roll your hips against his bed—your slick soaking his sheets. “Gonna get my bed all wet? Make me smell you on my sheets for days?”
You whimper and nod desperately as you curl your fingers, hitting that spongey spot inside of you that had you mewling out yet again.
“Gonna touch your clit for me?” Steve asks you, breathing heavily as he tries to hold back as the sight of you pleasuring yourself on his bed was suddenly becoming too much for him. “C’mon, please. Wanna see you lose it, baby.”
It was like Steve knew exactly what you needed, almost as though he knew your body better than you did without even touching it.
Your other hand—the one that had been curled into the sheets beneath you—journeys to between your legs. And that first brush of your fingertip over your swollen, arching clit had you seeing stars. You’re pretty sure you moan out Steve’s name but it also could have been nonsense. All you could focus on was Steve’s own pleasure dancing across his face and the dual sensation of your fingers plunging in and out of your soaked cunt and the other that was circling around your clit.
Pleasure was consuming you—it was white hot and you could feel it pulsing in every nerve in your body. You could feel the blood in your veins burning as the coil in your gut was pulled tighter and tighter while you played with your swollen clit.
“That’s it,” Steve gasps out, his eyes only on you as you neared the edge. “C’mon, baby. Be a good girl and come for me. You can do it, I know you can.”
You wish that you could have held on, that you could have prolonged your pleasure by a few more seconds. But your orgasm had snuck up on you—crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your thighs shook, your toes curled and Steve’s name fell from your lips as you came all over your fingers, your juices soaking Steve’s bed.
And it was that—watching you finally trusting him enough to let yourself go completely that made Steve follow along right behind you. You watch in awe as his toes curl, as his stomach clenches and how his head tilts back against the back of the chair in ecstasy, his release spilling all over that soft tummy of his. Steve lets out a loud groan, followed by your name and you swear, you could have come for a second time from that sound alone.
You withdraw your fingers as you catch your breath, your chest heaving and body still buzzing after the intensity of your orgasm.
Finally, after taking a moment or two to prepare yourself, you finally look at Steve’s face. He was already looking at you and smiling.
“See,” he breathes out. “Nothing’s wrong with you. It’s all about trust.”
“Steve Harrington being right for once?” You say, smiling. “It must be a miracle.”
You both laugh and though you both clean up, get dressed and promise each other nothing will change between you—deep down you both knew that after tonight? Things would never be the same again..
steve harrington x fem!reader
(18+; MDNI; 7.1k words)
It’s always been easy being around Steve, ever since the day that he and Robin showed up at the Squawk and announced that they were there to work at the station. You hadn’t argued — honestly, it was kind of nice to have someone else helping you out — and Steve is the kind of person who can make hours melt by in seconds. Whether he was cracking a joke to try and make you laugh, sliding a sandwich across across your desk when you forget your lunch, or seeking you out by the coffee machine for a chat between sets, time always passed a little too quickly when you were with him.
(You search the basement of Hawkins Lab and find a little more than you were expecting.)
cw: sex pollen, dub con (ish, there's still pretty enthusiastic consent), p-in-v sex, creampie, pussy eating, fingering, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, spit, big dick!steve, steve being a munch
masterlist || divider by @/enchanthings || ao3 link
The sight of the old Hawkins Lab looms in front of you, all concrete and barred windows, and your stomach sinks at the sight of it. To your left, Dustin lets out an annoyed huff despite the fact that abandoning your post at the church was his idea, and to your right, Steve shuffles forward as your ragtag group presses forward, Nancy and Jonathan a few paces ahead of you.
Your job, as it has been for a few months, continues to be the physical blockade between the warring friends. To be Switzerland, the Demilitarization Zone of conflict, the human embodiment of a white flag. Your role is to never spill your own personal opinions on the arguments that you’re caught between, because if you did, the scale would absolutely tip in Steve’s favor — you’ve heard quite enough of Dustin’s barbed insults in the past year, thank you very much — but as the it was, you haven’t been around the rest of the monster hunting crew long enough for your thoughts to be valued by the wider circle.
(You do like to give Steve a reassuring shoulder squeeze from time to time though, especially whenever Dustin starts insulting him outright. You’re not sure it helps, but the soft smile you get in return is enough to settle some of the lingering guilt over not being able to do more.)
But still, you fall in step next to Steve just as Dustin surges forward, catching Nancy’s attention as he asks a question you can’t quite hear. You take the moment to cast a sidelong glance towards Steve, quietly asking, “Everything alright? You hit your head pretty hard back there when the car crashed.”
He sighs, passing the flashlight back and forth between his hands. “Yeah, I’m fine. More worried about…”
His face tilts up, and you follow his gaze forward.
Dustin.
“I think if there were any lasting damage, he would’ve complained by now,” you offer.
“Fair enough,” he says. A beat passes before he asks, “And you? I know you were in the backseat with Nance and Jonathan, but…”
You blink in surprise. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Just got a face full of your headrest. No biggie.”
A hushed laugh escapes him, and for the first time since the crawl that got you all in this mess in the first place, the tension in his shoulders loosens incrementally, and he turns to look at you fully. “Well, if it starts to hurt, let me know, okay? I can try and scrounge around for—”
“Steve!”
Dustin’s voice cuts across your conversation, and you both turn to where he’s waiting impatiently by the entrance to the lab, hands planted on his hips as though he’s a beleaguered mother and not a sixteen year old boy.
Steve lets out another sigh, and with a nod towards the kid, settles a hand on your back as he guides you forward. Dustin disappears inside, clearly not wanting to wait for the two of you to catch up. You get to the door first, but Steve’s quick to dart forward, yanking the door open and gesturing you through with a flourish.
You smile despite yourself.
Nancy and Jonathan are already in deep conversation by the time you catch up, and you bite back a laugh when Steve gestures to the space around you, saying, “Wow, this looks promising.”
Dustin shoots back a comment you don’t quite hear as you take in your surroundings, eyeing the vines wrapping around every surface that you can see. Hesitantly, you reach over, fingers outstretched towards a thick tendril on the wall, but before you can make contact, Steve’s at your side, intercepting your hand.
You blink up at him owlishly.
“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” he offers in way of explanation.
“Is it dangerous?” you ask.
He shrugs and gestures towards the faded scar around his neck. “Remind me to tell you about ’86 later.”
You nod and follow him back to the rest of the group, confused to find them in an intense discussion about a movie plot of all things (Is this really the right time? you wonder) and Steve calls across the lobby, “Why are you explaining the plot of a movie that we all know, Henderson?”
“Because, Steven, Return of the Jedi is an oddly relevant movie!” Dustin snaps.
“Yeah, and we’ve all seen it,” Steve retorts.
You frown. “I’ve never seen a Star Wars film.”
Steve winces. “Oh. Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” you say.
“Anyway,” Dustin interjects. “As I was saying…”
You listen attentively as Dustin explains his theory — even if you’re only half following it, because you’re not quite sure what a shield generator even is — and brush your hand against Steve’s wrist after Dustin once again shoots the guy a snarky comment, sticking close by as you follow the group into a staircase.
Which, in turn, causes another debate when Steve points out, “Henderson and I need some space. New groups?”
“Are you serious right now?” Jonathan demands. “Who exactly are you planning on going with, Steve?”
Steve opens his mouth, incensed and ready to retort, but you quickly draw everyone’s attention towards you when you say, “Steve and I’ll go down, and Dustin can go up with you and Nancy, alright?”
Nancy shrugs, Jonathan nods, but Dustin only shoots you a scornful look.“Really? Send the two idiots downstairs? You don’t even know what you’re looking for, much less Steve.”
“Henderson!” comes Steve’s sharp admonishment. “Seriously, man?”
You breathe in and out of your nose slowly, tamping down your annoyance. “Steve and I know enough to not touch anything suspicious and radio if we see something. That’s the point, right? Radio if we see something odd?”
Nancy, thankfully, nods, and draws Dustin’s attention away. “Come on, Dust. There’ll probably be more interesting stuff upstairs anyway.” With one more sweeping look towards Steve, she adds, “Make sure to call the second you see something.”
“We will,” he promises, lifting up his walkie as if to make his point, and without another word, he steps off the landing and onto the staircase leading down.
You offer the rest of the group a silent wave and quickly follow after.
The two of walk in silence for a few minutes, and it’s not until everyone else’s footsteps have fully receded into the distance that Steve speaks up.
“Hey, about what I said back there, in the lobby,” he begins, clearly uncomfortable. You pause on the steps, taking in the shape of his shoulders tensing up beneath his suede coat. “About, uh, the movie. I’m sorry. If I’d known you hadn’t seen it, I wouldn’t have—”
“Steve,” you cut him off gently, closing the gap between you to grab his arm. “I’m not offended by it.”
But he refuses to meet your eye. “It’s not that, it’s just — that was totally rude and I shouldn’t have—”
“How could you have known that I haven’t seen a movie literally everyone else has seen?” you ask. “Trust me, I know I’m the outlier. I didn’t think anything of it.”
And finally, finally, he turns to look at you. “Are you sure?”
“Positive,” you say. “Maybe being stuck down here will give me the motivation to catch up on pop culture.”
His lips quirk up, and for a moment, he looks like the twenty-one year old man he is and not the more worn version of himself you’ve become acquainted with through months of working alongside him at the station. “Maybe.”
“Anyway, I feel like I should’ve brought a flashlight with me,” you say, ducking around him. “Feels kinda stupid that I didn’t in retrospect.”
He shines the light on the next set of stairs. “Well, in your defense, it’s not like you could’ve known we would’ve gotten stuck down here when you got into my backseat. Hard to prepare for that kind of thing.”
Your laugh rings around the otherwise empty halls, and the two of you settle into an easy conversation as you go round and round, losing count of how many steps you’ve descended.
It’s always been easy being around Steve, ever since the day that he and Robin showed up at the Squawk and announced that they were there to work at the station. You hadn’t argued — honestly, it was kind of nice to have someone else helping you out — and Steve is the kind of person who can make hours melt by in seconds. Whether he was cracking a joke to try and make you laugh, sliding a sandwich across across your desk when you forget your lunch, or seeking you out by the coffee machine for a chat between sets, time always passed a little too quickly when you were with him.
It’s, like, the one normal part of my day, he’d admitted to you once, his fingers brushing against your own as he passed over a mug. I love Rob, but her head’s in the clouds most of the time.
By the time you touch down on the bottom floor, your sweater is sticking uncomfortably to your chest and Steve, panting, says, “Jesus, that was way too many stairs.”
“What the hell even is this place?” you ask, because despite getting inadvertently roped into the group’s tenuously illegal activities, no one ever really bothered to fill you in on the finer details.
You turn in time to find Steve grimacing, face shining from sweat, and he says, “To be honest, no one’s ever really told memuch, but they were doing a bunch of experiments on kids here. It’s where El was raised, actually.”
“Oh.”
You think back to the quiet girl you’d only met a handful of times — always under the watchful eye of the former police chief, always hand in hand with Mike Wheeler — and take in your environment just a bit more closely.
It’s dreary, honestly. No windows, no way of getting natural light in at any point, and the electronic locks affixed to every door leaves no room for doubt as to how little freedom El and the other kids were given when moving about.
You take a few steps forward, pushing open a set of double doors to your left and immediately freeze at the sight in front of you.
Steve crashes into your back, his hands immediately finding your waist to steady you, muttering, “What the hell is this place?”
Because surrounding the two of you is the starkest playroom you’ve ever seen: All white, with a rather unnerving rainbow painted across the wall. Toys are organized and put away neatly, and you can imagine that the real life version of this place smelled of harsh antiseptics.
In short, no place a kid should be raised in.
“This is creepy,” you whisper. “Like…”
“I get what you mean,” Steve says. “It’s like the set of a horror movie in here.”
You nod in agreement, reaching back until your hand makes contact with the hem of his coat. For all of your bravado and confidence walking into this situation, it’s definitely reassuring to have someone else with you as you explore this place.
Carefully, he leads the two of you around the room, shining his flashlight in every which direction as you search for…
Something.
(A shield generator? Whatever the hell that is?)
Steve’s starting to glance towards the entrance, clearly ready to search other rooms in the basement, when your eyes catch on the open window along the back wall. More specifically, an odd bump in the wall, one that has you moving to climb through the window before you can think twice about it, ignoring Steve’s protests.
“There’s something back here,” you call out, feeling your way along the wall as he grunts behind you, the sound of his feet slipping along the floor as he catches up echoing through the room. “It’s like—”
A hidden latch pops, and the wall beneath your hands opening up enough to reveal an office tucked neatly behind it. You frown at the grime left on your hand and quickly wipe it against your jeans.
“That’s creepy as hell,” Steve comments, turning the light inside and gently stepping around you to go inside first.
“I bet that hole in the wall was, like, one-way glass or something,” you say, creeping inside. “So whoever could observe the kids.”
“Like I said,” he replies. “Creepy.”
He sets the flashlight down on the desk, dropping the walkie down next to it, and letting the glow illuminate the room as you separate. Steve goes to inspect the wall as you leaf through the sprawl of papers and notebooks on the desk, carefully setting aside anything that looks vaguely important to carry back upstairs.
“This map looks exactly like Henderson’s,” Steve announces. “That’s weird, right? And this — this diagram thing. It’s, like…”
But before he can finish his thought, you lean down to open a drawer, seeing if you can find anything else of import, when it happens.
Something explodes in your face — some sort of dust, maybe? — and you stagger away, wheezing and coughing and choking as it settles across your skin, infiltrates your lungs, and within seconds Steve makes his way through the cloud, his hands hovering over your body as he asks, “Holy shit, are you okay?”
You hunch over, bracing your hands against your knees as you force out, “Fuck — just — breathed all that in—”
He thumps your back, which does little to help the aching in your chest, but the heat emanating from his hand feels nice even through the thick sweater draped across your torso.
“Just get it out,” he murmurs gently. “There you go, get it all out.”
“Fuck,” you say again, tears welling in the corners of your eyes. “Fuck, that was awful. What was that stuff anyway?”
“Not sure,” he says, helping you stand back up. His fingers linger on your arms just a little longer than they ever have, and he looks almost… pained when he finally pulls away, turning back to inspect the open drawer. “I’ve seen a lot of floating dust and shit down here, but never anything like that. Whatever, it’s gone now and there’s nothing inside here.”
“Great,” you say, leaning against the wall, rubbing your chest as an odd warmth settles in your lungs. “I probably just got lung cancer or something.”
“It didn’t look like asbestos,” he says. “Though it did kind of just… disappear. So who knows.”
You draw in a shaky lungful of air. “How do you know what asbestos looks like?”
“My dad’s work — he owns some construction company,” Steve explains. “So when all those studies about asbestos came out in the seventies, I saw a bunch of pamphlets at home about what it looks like and what to avoid. Dad had to distribute them to the guys building houses.”
You blink in surprise. Steve’s never talked much about his parents, not in the year you’ve known him. You don’t think there’s really any tragic backstory hiding around the corner or anything; You’ve heard him on the phone with his mother, soft and affectionate in a way that an only child can be with the person who raised him, but he’s always seemed like the kind of person who grew out of the need for his parents’ involvement in his life far younger than other people. Independent in a way you’re not quite sure you’ve ever managed.
And clearly not, because your lungs are still burning from whatever it was you inhaled (and you’re not quite sure that you believe it wasn’t asbestos, even with Steve’s expert opinion) and the burning is quickly morphing into something else. Something more, something you can’t quite put your finger on as you watch Steve hop up on the desk, legs swinging.
“So—” you begin, grasping at anything to fill the silence, to distract you from the heaviness tugging at your bones. “Your dad owns a company?”
“Oh, yeah.” There’s an odd note to Steve’s tone, one you can’t quite parse out. “My grandpa owned this, like, pet grooming business after the war. Successful as hell, and Dad went to Kelley down in Bloomington, got an MBA, started a construction business. I think originally he owned some realty thing, but there was more money in building or whatever.”
“That’s nice,” you say. “And your mom?”
“She stayed at home. Did a bunch of volunteer work around Hawkins, and, uh…”
He trails off, and you jump onto the next question. “Where are they now?”
“North Carolina,” he says. “They own a beach house there. Told them to evacuate Hawkins before lockdown, and they’ve been there ever since.”
Sweat beads at your temples, slipping down your face, and you can feel moisture gathering on the back of your neck as well. “Oh, wow, uh… and—”
“No offense, but,” he interrupts, strained. “Not sure I want to talk about my parents right now.”
You nod and continue to rub the space just above your breasts, feeling rather lightheaded over the lack of oxygen from your coughing fit. You press your eyelids shut, willing the dizziness to pass, but it only molds, intensifying.
It crawls down your spine, a heaviness you’ve never felt before, a heat creeping slowly through your body, from the top of your head to the tip of your toes. Honestly, you must’ve spent longer coughing than you’d thought, because you’ve never felt like this before, never felt anything like this grip all your senses to firmly, swirling around your tummy as the warmth turns up, up, up—
An uncomfortable noise echoes through the room, and it takes a moment for you to parse out that it came from Steve.
You force your eyes open, noting in an almost detached manner just how sweaty he looks. Which is odd, because it was really, really cold when the two of you descended into the basement, but now that you think about it, you’re also feeling rather flushed, aren’t you?
His gaze meets yours, and the heat inside of you feels like it explodes, and you realize, startled, that it’s not warmth, per se, but—
“Steve.” Your voice is hoarser than you intended. “Do you feel weird?”
“Weird how?”
You swallow once, heavily, suddenly woozy from just how overpowering the feeling burning through your veins is. A feeling that you’re now able to identify with an uncomfortable clarity. “Did that dust make you unrelentingly horny too?”
There’s a sound that escapes his chest — something between a whimper and a groan, the noise of a man who prides himself on self-restraint beginning to fracture — and you blink blearily at him to find him still sitting on the desk, fingers digging into his thighs, looking just as wrecked as you feel. You glance down, unbidden, to see a rather obvious bulge in his jeans.
“Don’t ask me that,” he croaks pathetically.
“Steve,” you say. “I think we might’ve — I think we might have to—”
“No.” It comes out firm despite everything, despite the fact that the cotton bra against your breasts feels so restricting that you think you might suffocate. “I don’t care that what that shit did, I’m not — I won’t—”
“But you feel it too, right?” you ask, suddenly desperate to know. “It’s not just me, right?”
“I — yes, but—”
“Then shouldn’t we do something—?”
“No!” Sweat glistens across his forehead, and you watch with fascination as a droplet slides down his cheek, dripping onto his sweater. “I’m not going to — to take advantage of you, not like this, not when—”
“Steve.” It comes out pathetic, a whimper you can’t help as the feeling swells inside you, becoming too much for you to not do something. “Please.”
“Absolutely not,” he says, though it comes out less certain than you’re sure he intends it to.
“Fine then,” you say, fumbling with the button of your jeans. “You won’t mind if I take care of myself, will you?”
He chokes. “What?”
You don’t bother responding though, and there’s no time for embarrassment as you shove your jeans down just far enough that you can slip a hand into your panties, finding yourself already drenched. Your heart is pounding erratically against your ribcage at the first swipe against your clit, and your knees buckle from how overwhelmingly good it feels, and you know for a fact that if you were in a more solid state of mind — if every conscious thought in your brain wasn’t slowly being eroded by the heady pressure of arousal — you’d be more concerned by how quickly the pleasure is building up in your core with only the lightest touch.
But you’re not in that state of mind. You’re here, burning up from the inside out, the fire of desperation and debauchery consuming you until it’s almost painful, as you circle your fingers faster, faster, faster until—
And as abruptly as your orgasm built, it stops dead in its tracks.
“No, no, no, no, no.” Your breath catches as your fingers slip against your clit to no avail. The pleasure refuses to grow, refuses to tip over into what you want most, refuses to let you into the sweet embrace of your orgasm. It dances teasingly just far enough out of reach to keep you on the precipice, to drive you mad with want. To drive you mad with need.
You tilt your head up, finding Steve’s gaze searing into your body, his hands still gripping his thighs tightly, and another heaving cry billows from your lips as you utter, “Please.”
He goes very, very still.
“Please, Steve,” you beg, uncaring of how you sound — not when he looks just as wrecked as you feel, not when he still hasn’t moved a single muscle. “Please, please, please help me, please — it hurts so much, I can’t — I can’t—”
Slowly, he slips from the desk and makes his way to you with controlled, even steps, and you watch as he sinks to his knees before you, his voice completely torn with need as he murmurs, “Let’s get your shoes off, yeah?”
“Steve,” you plead again. “I need you to touch me.”
“I’m not—” He cuts himself off, hands shaking as they find their way to the laces of your tennis shoes. “I’m not going to take advantage of you.”
The sentiment rings hollow in your ears.
“You’re not taking advantage of me,” you insist, tears spilling from your eyes. “I want this, I want you—”
“Whatever we breathed in, that’s making you feel this way,” he insists, and you don’t understand. You don’t understand how he’s still so in control when you’re ready to burst at the seams, ready to fall apart into a million pieces at the feeling of his breath on your thighs. “But I can — I’ll help.”
He slips one of your shoes off, then the next, stacking them neatly somewhere you don’t bother to look, and with a firm grasp, he slides the denim down your legs, helping you step out. Your panties are tugged down next, and you watch somewhat deliriously as he tucks them into his back pocket. Your brain struggles to catch up as he draws your leg up and over his shoulder, tilting his head up to meet your gaze, his fingers tracing through the thatch of hair on your mound.
His eyes burn into yours when he says, "I need to hear it."
You whimper. “Please, Steve. I need you.”
Seconds later, you're roughly pulled down on to his face.
And as it turns out, truly all you needed was him. His nose brushing against your clit is all it takes before you clench around nothing, waves of pleasure crashing into you as you come harder than you ever have in your life. Your chest heaves as you grip onto Steve, shaking and trembling and crying until your knees buckle.
He’s quick to catch you before you fall to the ground, grabbing your hips as he slowly lowers you down onto his lap. “Did that help?” he asks, his fingers skimming under the hem of your sweater.
“Yes — no,” you whimper, your head so full of everything that you can’t think straight. “It hurts so bad, Steve, I need — need more — not enough, it’s not enough—”
“Okay, okay,” he soothes, even if he sounds a little broken as he says it. “Let me put my jacket down for you, yeah?”
You shake your head because you need it now, but Steve ignores it — ignores you — and groans loudly when you grind down into his erection, desperate and chasing any form of relief you can get as he slides his jacket off. You don’t care though, burying your face into his shoulder and breathing in the intoxicating scent of some woodsy cologne and human musk underneath, the smell of a man who has worked hard to be where he’s at right in this moment, and you roll your clit against the zipper on his jeans even harder, not paying attention when Steve lowers you to the ground, your back hitting his coat that he laid out without your notice.
It feels like it takes ages for him to settle between your legs, spreading your pussy open carefully, as if it were made of something precious, and you twitch up pathetically as his breath ghosting against where you ache the most.
“Steve,” you whine, your own hands sliding up under your sweater and beneath your bra, rolling your nipples between your fingers.
“Don’t worry, honey,” he murmurs. You meet his eyes and your arousal grows at just how big his pupils are, wide with desire as a flush spreads across his cheeks. “I’ll take care of you.”
That’s all the warning you get before he dives in once more, lapping up your wetness like a starving man. You squirm, and his grip against your thighs is bruising as he holds you in place. It’s an exhilarating dichotomy: Commanding yet so at odds with how soft he speaks to you, gentle in every word.
And when he presses his fingers into your skin just a bit deeper, you know for a fact that his composure is cracking the tiniest bit more.
Just like with your first orgasm, it doesn’t take long for the second one to build, cresting until it washes over you with an urgency. But instead of relief, the only thing you feel is a hungry need for more — more of his tongue against your clit, more of his fingers plunging into your pussy, curling up until they hit the spongy spot that makes you feel stars, more of him — and you cry out, not bothering to wipe the tears spilling down your face as you twist your nipples, trying to extend your orgasm a little longer.
And yet, somehow, the need that has taken over every one of your sense, the fire of arousal caused by whatever it was you stumbled into, it only grows hotter, burns brighter, and within seconds after your orgasm abates you’re reaching down, winding your fingers into his hair and begging, “More.”
Steve glances up at you, his nose still firmly pressed into the seam of your pussy, and the only response you get is one long, languid lick from your entrance up to your clit.
A shiver runs down your spine at just how ravished he looks with his hair askew and eyes blown wide. Fucked out of his mind, even, despite the fact he's been so entirely focused on your own pleasure that you're pretty sure he's ignoring just how much the pollen's affected him.
(How does he manage to do that?)
You moan raggedly, louder than any sound you’re sure you’ve ever made before, and within seconds his head lifts from your core. A pathetic sound escapes you at the loss of touch, but he doesn’t leave you wanting long. One big hand comes up to grip the hem of your sweater, tugging it up and shoving the fabric into your mouth, hoarsely saying, “They’re going to hear you upstairs if you don’t quiet down.”
Privately, you think that you don’t actually care who hears you, but clearly Steve is still managing a level of sense that completely abandoned, because he only tucks the sweater more firmly against your tongue. Your teeth scrape against his fingers and he groans, wanton but quiet.
“Bite down,” he tells you as his hand retreats, commanding but in a way that doesn’t feel like a demand. Your pussy clenches at the tone, and you're pretty sure you'd do anything as long as he keeps looking at you like that.
So you do as told, and his throat bobs as your mouth closes around the woven yarn, his gaze lingering on your lips. He's trembling with barely restrained desire, and just as you get the bright idea to try and convince him to do something about it, your bra gets roughly yanked down, your breasts spilling into the cold air. Your nipples peak, and Steve’s mouth is on them before you can even blink, sucking one into his mouth while his hand dips back down to your pussy, gathering wetness on his fingers before dipping inside where you ache the most.
The effect is instantaneous. Fireworks explode under your skin, growing bigger and brighter when he slips a third finger inside. He moves at a slow and methodical rhythm, and entirely at odds with how he ravishes your chest, and you can’t help the pathetic mewl that escapes your throat, tears slipping down the side of your face.
He releases your nipple with a wet pop, and immediately delves into the valley of your breasts, sucking spots into your skin that should be painful, but the only thing you can think is that you want the marks to be tattooed into your skin forever, a permanent mark of the pleasure he’s giving you.
Spit trails from his mouth as he makes his way to your other breast, giving it the same ministrations. Sucking, teasing, biting until you yelp through the cloth in your mouth, and you can feel rather than hear the vibration of his laughter, even as he grinds the heel of his palm into your clit.
The third orgasm doesn’t sneak up on you as much as it consumes you, forcing more tears from your eyes as you shake and shake and shake, clenching down on Steve’s fingers as he works you through it, low, soothing noises murmured into your skin as he makes his way down.
If you were in a more coherent state, you’d recognize his actions for what they were: The further fraying of carefully kept control, because he doesn’t skip a beat as his mouth makes contact with your pussy once more, not bothering to stop and check in, to make sure you still want this.
At this point, you’re both completely aware of what you want, even if he’s still refusing to fully give into the lewdness of the situation.
You, on the other hand, let the fever consume you entirely as he sucks your clit into his mouth, cheeks hollowing, fingers pumping in and out at a steady pace, driving you completely and utterly insane.
You wonder, in a vague, abstract way, if he’s this good even without the added effects of whatever it was that infected the two of you, and you know instinctively that you’d give anything to find out. Especially when his teeth graze across your clit in a way that should be painful but just has your hips jerking against the arm wrapped around your leg.
“So good for me, honey,” he murmurs into your pussy, twisting his hand to find that sweet spot inside you once more. “Come on, come for me, honey — come for—”
Your fourth orgasm leaves you thrashing against his hold.
Stars burst behind your eyelids as waves of pleasure crash over you, ebbing and flowing but never quite stopping, and somehow — somehow — the heat only builds, consuming the very essence of your being until you’re sobbing in earnest. You scrabble to pull Steve up, up, up until he’s hovering over you. His chin glistens with your arousal, and your chest cracks open as you weep, “Don’t you want me?”
His face cracks at your words, and all at once, you’re able to see everything that he’s been holding back: Fear, confusion, and without a doubt, complete and unadulterated desire.
“It doesn’t matter what I want, honey, I don’t—”
He cuts himself off by burying his face into your neck, the scratchy feeling of his wool sweater against your pebbled nipples doing nothing to tame the arousal burning inside you. And you realize, suddenly, that you asking for it isn’t enough, because it’s Steve — sweet, understanding Steve — who never fails to make you laugh, who always makes sure you’re safely inside after a crawl before going in himself, who has shown up time and time again in such small ways for the duration of your friendship that you know, without a doubt, that asking for it will never convince him of what you want, of your feelings.
“Steve,” you whisper, capturing his face beneath your palms and forcing him to look you in the eye. “I’m glad this was you.”
His brows furrow and his eyes tighten — once, small, pain seeping through his expression — and he throatily says, “What?”
“I’m glad it’s you here and not anyone else,” you say. “If I had to be in this situation with anyone, I’d want it to be you.”
He licks his lips, and his expression blooms into something more hopeful. “Do you really mean that?”
“Steve,” you say softly, full of affection. “I would’ve done this without the crazy dust. Just, you know, maybe not in a random office.”
He searches your face for a moment before finally breathing out, “Okay.”
You freeze, not sure you're hearing him correctly. “Okay?”
He nods, and you watch the feeling swell in him, his composure finally disintegrating in the sureness of your fingers skimming down your side, sliding under your knee to press you open just a bit more. “If you’re — are you sure that you want this? You’re completely—?”
“I want this,” you say again, firm in your conviction. “I want this with you, and I’ll want this with you even once we’re out of here, Steve.”
You watch as your confession hits him: First quietly, then all at once. He looks at you with so much affection that for the first time since you opened that drawer, your chest aches with something other than arousal. Through the haze of pleasure, he looks down at you tenderly, brushing your hair plastered to your face away and, with more regret than you expected, “This wasn’t supposed to happen this way.”
But he doesn’t give you any time to question what he means before he’s surging forward, self-restraint in tatters around the two of you as his mouth crashes into yours. You taste yourself on his tongue, and as his forearms bracket your head, you reach down, scrambling to unbutton his jeans and shove them as far down as you can reach. They barely make it to the top of his thighs before you’re taking him in hand, gasping with pleasure at how big and heavy and warm he feels in your fingers and give a few, lazy pumps. He shudders against your hold but doesn’t fight when you line him up against your entrance and look up at him through hooded eyes, asking one more time, “Please, Steve? I need you.”
This is all he needs to finally snap.
You can feel the last remnants of sense leave his body as his hips thrust forward, his cock pressing entirely inside you in one swift, fluid motion, punching the air from your lungs. He doesn’t give you any time to recover before he’s dragging himself out slowly before pushing back in, and he sets a brutal pace that has any last coherent thought driven from your head as he tends to the fire that’s been coursing throughout your veins.
And that fire — it changes. Whereas every orgasm he’d drawn out of you with his mouth and fingers had only left you aching, left you wanting for more, with his cock bullying its way in and out of your cunt, you can only feel the fuzzy pleasure of contentment, like there’s been a piece of you missing your entire life that’s finally found its way home.
You think he feels the same when he gazes at you with such adoration, such fondness as he presses your leg even higher, hitting a new, deeper spot within you that has you gasping for more, more, more.
If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Steve throughout this whole thing, is that he is nothing if not a giving lover.
He snakes a hand back down to your core, fingers slipping over your sensitive core as he breathes, “One more for me, honey?”
(Could you ever deny a request made so lovingly?)
Despite how he pounds into your pussy with reckless abandon, he’s effervescently gentle in how he circles your clit, like he’s aware of just how sore you’re absolutely going to be when all of this is said and done.
His teeth scrape down your neck as he continues his ministrations, fingers flexing over your most sensitive spot, and it’s as he sucks a hickey into your skin that he coaxes one final orgasm from your worn body.
Your cries come out quieter this time, more exhausted as you clench down on his cock, and within seconds his hips stutter as he spills warmth inside you, and finally, finally, the fever inside you dissipates.
Steve practically collapses on top of you, only just cognizant enough to keep the worst of his weight off of your body as the remnants of whatever infected you both tapers off until the flame is extinguished entirely, leaving you sweaty and spent yet somehow feeling better than you’ve ever felt in your entire life.
The two of you stay like that for a few minutes, chests heaving as you catch your breath. You stroke a hand down his back, watching his face carefully as his eyes flutter open, exhausted but happy as he meets your gaze.
“Hey,” he murmurs. “You okay? That was…”
Intense.
It doesn’t need to be said though. You nod, dragging your hand up to his face to push his bangs from his eyes. “I’m fine. How about you? You held out super long.”
He huffs out a laugh and presses his cheek a little firmer unto your palm. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Promise. Better than I’ve felt in a long while.”
You open your mouth to say something — to confess something — though what, you aren’t quite sure, then the walkie across the room crackles to life, and Dustin Henderson’s panicked voice comes through. “Steve? Steve, are you there? We found something and it’s—”
Steve pushes off of your prone body in seconds, and you’re left achingly empty as he stumbles over to the walkie, snatching it off the table it’s rested on next to the flashlight, calling into it, “Henderson, what’s going on?”
Sticky come slips from your core, wetting your thighs.
“Don’t touch anything!” Dustin demands through the walkie. “It isn’t a shield generator, and Nancy wanted to shoot it—”
“Hey!”
“Have you found anything?” Dustin asks, ignoring Nancy’s protest.
Steve sighs, runs a hand through his hair, and spares you a sidelong glance as you sit up, righting your bra and sweater. “Yeah, I think we found Brenner’s office. Don’t come down here, though. We’ll meet you in the lobby.”
Dustin calls his confirmation, and Steve’s quick to drop the walkie back on top of the table. He makes his way back to you in two, long strides, and kneels down.
“Let me do it,” he says, batting you away and replacing them with your own as he tucks your breasts back into the cups of your bra, gently pulling your sweater down.
You don’t quite manage to choke down a laugh when he helps you stand up and frowns at the cum dripping down your thighs, looking around to find something to clean it up and coming up short.
“It’s okay,” you say, and Steve nods as he’s forced to accept the situation.
He doesn’t bother giving you your panties back as he draws your jeans back up your legs, holding you steady as you step into each of your shoes that he insists on tying.
He’s quiet, and it takes you a few minutes too long to realize that he’s embarrassed, like you caught him doing something that he wasn’t meant to do. It doesn’t sit well with you.
But he pushes forward with methodical ease, gathering his coat and all of the notebooks that you picked out before the two of you got into this mess, and leads you from the office with the stride of a man used to performing confidence.
Except—
You know it’s an act. You’ve seen him soft, you’ve seen him pushed to the edge, and you now know the way it feels to be the center of his universe, even if only for a singular moment, and you know that you want more.
You jog forward to catch up to him just as he hits the staircase, grasping his arm and force him to look at you.
“Steve,” you gently say. “When all of this is done — when we’re back in Hawkins and — whatever — would you go on a date with me?”
He freezes, but hope still blooms on his face. “I — what?”
“Would you go on a date with me?” you ask again, firmer this time. “Maybe you can show me Star Wars and I can finally see what I’ve been missing this whole time.”
“Really?” You can tell that the question slips out without him meaning to by how quickly his face flushes, but he barrels forward. “You’d really want to go on a date with me?”
“Of course I would,” you say with a smile. “I wasn’t lying when I said that I wanted this when we were out of here. And I didn’t just mean sex, I — I want everything, if you’ll have me.”
“Oh, honey.” It comes out breathless, and in the next second he’s leaning down, pressing the softest kiss against your swollen lips. “Of course I’ll have you. I just didn’t want to assume…”
“You can assume,” you reassure. “With me, you can assume.”
And the smile he gives you will leave you burning brightly for many, many more days to come.
About: You've been an Emergency Room nurse at the Walter Mondale Care Center in North Dakota for about a year now. You move up to the role of Charge Nurse in no time, and tonight you're training a new RN transferring from Indiana- a super sweet, charming guy named Steve Harrington.
Meanwhile, you're also navigating a tenuous coworkers-with-benefits situationship with the ex-Sheriff's-Deputy turned EMS Chief, Gator Tillman.
When these worlds collide, it's gonna be a hell of a shift.
You sip some coffee from a paper cup (it's not quite as sweet as you like but there were only 3 packets of sugar in the break room drawer) and look over the clipboard with your crew's assignments for the night.
The emergency department at the Walter Mondale Care Center was only 20 beds and not terribly busy most nights. You had the occasional bar fights needing stitched up on the weekends, car accidents from icy roads, people needing a dose of Narcan, typical ED fare, so you usually only had 5 or so nurses under your charge on any given shift.
Tonight, however, you noticed a name penciled next to yours, which was new.
Steve H. -- training shift 1
Guess you've got a newbie tagging along tonight. You breathe a little sigh into your coffee cup, not necessarily abhorred by the idea of having a trainee; it just meant you'd really need to perk up since you'd probably be talking more than you're used to, and you didn't want to scare them away before they even got started.
Bodies start shuffling in, bags being tossed into lockers and the Keurig spurting to life as your crew gathers for pre-shift huddle. You give everyone a small "hello" as they sit down and start going over their assignments for the night. It was a solid group tonight, reliable nurses that you could trust to get their shit done, so it would make training the new guy easier for you.
Your eyes flick over the new updates that hospital management wanted you to share, and just as the clock ticked over to 18:45, huddle start time, the break room door swung open violently and a man came stumbling in.
He had long, dark hair, tousled in a way that looked effortless but stayed perfectly in place as he bounded in, so it was obviously a meticulously crafted masterpiece. He's got big, beautiful, hazel eyes, full of panic thinking he was late, lips parted as he tried to catch his breath.
"I'm so sorry, I'm sorry. I couldn't find the fuc-- the darn break room." He stood straighter, adjusting his badge on the right corner of his scrub top where you saw the flash of his name - Steve.
"Well, hey newbie. No worries, we usually give ya about 5 minutes grace, traffic and whatnot. Usually you'll come in and grab your assignment, but you're with me tonight so why don't ya just take a seat and we'll get started?"
His eyes glitter and a wide smile splits his face, ever so slightly tilted higher to one side than the other. He was...okay, he was really, really cute.
He clutched the strap of his messenger bag and awkwardly scooched past some of the other staff to sit at the very back and observe. You couldn't help but notice how his blue Figs hugged his very tight ass.
18:48 PM
You shook the thoughts of Steve's ass out of your brain (at least for the moment) and went into leader-mode, giving your spiel, discussing the plan for the night, going over assignments, and stopping a potential meltdown one of the older nurses was about to have because her assignment was near the doors, and she didn't like sitting near the doors since they were loud and let in the chilly night air.
"Madgie, just sit at the central station, you can pull up your vitals on the main computer."
"Well, someone's gonna have to show me how."
"That's fine, we gotta train the new guy on it anyhow. You can watch. Speaking of which, everyone say hi to Steve. He's coming to us all the way from Indiana, so let's give him a nice welcome, 'kay? No biting."
You shoot him a quick wink and he smirks, giving the room a small, demure wave.
"Morning. Well, evening, I guess? I didn't really do nights before. That'll take some getting used to.
"No one really cares, kid." One of the gruff male nurses, Odie, grumbles from the corner. His massive arms are crossed, highlighting the tattoos scrawled all over almost every inch of visible skin. His thick, black mustache wriggles as he abuses the wad of gum between his teeth, chomping far harder than necessary. He's been trying to quit smoking this week, and the Nicorette just isn't cutting it, but you were proud of him regardless.
Odie was a damn good nurse, rough around the edges, but had a way with kids that was astonishing. One would think he would scare them off, but it was just the opposite. He'd walk in, blow up a glove like a balloon and throw a little happy face on there, and they were putty in his hands.
Steve, who didn't know yet that Odie was actually a huge teddy bear, looked horrified.
"He doesn't mean that, Steve. Odie just needs to chug that coffee and maybe go ahead and start a second one, hm?"
He grumbles something else that may contain a "Sorry" and Steve's shoulders relax a fraction.
"Okay gang. Shift change in 5. Get out there, wash those hands, get to your stations. And Claudia, please get your BLS done tonight. I don't want you to get locked out of the system, hon."
Claudia, a pretty, young, blonde nurse who started about 7 months ago, nods sheepishly.
"Got it, boss. Sorry, slips my mind every time."
"I'll try to circle back around 5 to remind ya, okay?"
"Thanks. Have a good shift, Steve." She wiggles her fingers at Steve in the corner and he nods eagerly, excited just to be acknowledged. It was honestly refreshing, you missed sometimes how much you used to bubble over about your job. Unfortunately it can wear you down fast, but maybe Steve some of Steve's positivity will rub off on you.
"Alrighty, Harrington. Got any questions to start? Ya get a tour of the place yet?"
He jerks to his feet, that golden retriever energy still very much alive.
"Yeah, tour's done, it's a nice place. I was in pediatrics for a little bit back home before I decided to haul ass to a new state and try something else. It was a lot bigger, but I like this. Easier to navigate for sure.
"What so you -- ya just packed up and moved to a completely different state? Just...because?"
You were jealous. You've been stuck in Stark County your entire life, dreaming of one day getting the hell out but never really seeing it as a possibility. Steve shrugs.
"My friends all split up and went their different ways after colleges and careers happened. I didn't really feel like being the only one stuck in Hawkins, so, yeah. Just took a leap."
The smile he gives you is warm, but there's a sadness behind his eyes. No one really prepares you for the very real possibility that when you grow up your friends just leave -- go out and live their own lives, make new friendships, and there really wasn't a lot you could do about it. Maybe you'd see each other around the holidays, maybe you'd send each other a funny text or an Instagram Reel that reminds you of them, but eventually even that becomes too much effort and they just turn into bittersweet, cherished memories. Childhood was short; adulthood was cruel.
And wow, you're sure a ray of fucking sunshine, aren't you? You shake off your melancholic musings and plant a firm hand on his shoulder, giving him a broad, welcoming smile.
"Well...I'm glad you leapt into our little pond, Steve. Now c'mon, get your stuff in a locker and let's go get started."
⚕️
"So you've got three training shifts before we boot ya out onto the floor, but anytime ya need anything ya can always reach out to whoever is in charge or -- well, anyone really. We're a pretty friendly bunch." You think for a moment, and add, "Maybe not Madgie. Don't -- don't ask Madgie for anything. But everyone else is perfectly pleasant."
Steve chuckles and nods, already having faced Madgie's miserly wrath when she caught him nibbling on one of the packets of graham crackers she kept in "her" drawer at the central nurse's station.
//
"The ones in the nutrition room are always expired, these are my personal crackers from home!"
"Madgie, I'm -- I can't tell you how sorry I am. I swear on my life I'll replace your graham crackers." Steve had told her, putting a hand over his heart and giving her the most sincere, apologetic look. You had had to turn your body away and bite your lip just to keep from bursting into a fit of giggles right there.
As soon as you both turned the corner of the corridor, leaving her grumbling about "all the crumbs he'd left, too," neither of you could hold it in. You both quietly wheezed, trying not to make a huge commotion. You smacked his shoulder and leaned into him breathlessly, mouth open in a silent cackle. He had caught you by the dip in your waist, holding you upright as you both tried to compose yourselves, tears in your eyes from laughing so hard.
//
That was probably close to 45 minutes ago, and the skin on your side was still burning from the feel of his hand gripping you there.
"So, got any questions so far, hon?" The pet name slips out without you realizing it, but you catch yourself. "Sorry, Steve. Please don't sue me for, like, harassment or whatever."
"For hon? My mom calls me hon. You'll have to do a lot worse than hon to get me riled up."
Well. That sounded like a challenge you could really have a lot of fun with...but, you just smile with a slight roll of your eyes, muttering, "Can never be too careful these days."
It's about halfway through your shift, and you can already see that Steve is an incredible nurse. He's just supposed to be sticking with you at the central station tonight, but he's started assisting when a new admit drops in, grabbing vital signs or just a cup of coffee for a family member in the waiting area. He's always courteous, kind, charming, and accommodating, even when people come in burdened by pain or anxiety. He's gentle in a way that's even soothing for you, and you're not even on the receiving end of it.
"I don't even know why they've got you training with me tonight, Harrington. You're a natural. A pro."
He beams at you, scrubbing down a countertop with sanitizing wipes while you QC test the glucometers for the unit.
"I dunno, I'm learning a ton. It's been fun hanging out with you, too. You're a good teacher."
"Oh, yah? What invaluable wisdom have I bestowed upon you tonight, Nurse Harrington?"
He pauses and thinks for a moment.
"You showed me where the bathrooms are. That's pretty important, I think."
You laugh so suddenly that you snort a little, hand darting up to cover your face.
"Goddamnit, I hate that stupid --"
"No! It's amazing, I love making you laugh. That's been the best part of the night."
He glances up at you and you feel heat rushing to multiple parts of your body, most noticeable visibly on your cheeks.
"Mine...mine, too. So thanks for that."
The small pause seems to stretch between you forever until he tosses the spent wipe in the trash along with his purple nitrile gloves. You catch yourself ogling every twitch and curl of his fingers as he tidies up.
"Hey, would you maybe wanna, like, stop for a coffee or something after our shift?"
The offer catches you completely off-guard. It hasn't even been a whole shift, and he's already asking you out for coffee? Or, maybe it was just professional courtesy. Maybe he just wanted to decompress after his first night shift in your ED. Best not to get your hopes too high.
"Oh, um...yeah, sure. There's a great little place a couple blocks from here. Bean There, Done That, I think."
His brow twitches and furrows.
"Bean There...Done That?"
"Yessir. We don't skimp out on the puns in this town."
"Oh, Christ. Is it too late to transfer down to Texas?"
"Oh, yah. You're stuck here with us now, Harrington."
You grin slyly and he laughs, raking his fingers through his gorgeous head of hair.
"I guess there's worse places to be."
His eyes are twinkly, making the harsh florescent bulbs above you seem appealing somehow. You're just about to come back with some more demi-flirty banter when the lights and sirens pull into the ambulance bay.
Both of your heads snap up in that direction, not expecting any kind of incoming trauma or emergency.
"Madgie, you know what this is?"
"How should I know?" She grumbles, smacking on one of her treasured grahams.
You jog outside to meet the paramedics, Steve not far behind. The doors to the back of the ambulance swing open as they unload a stretcher with a young man in his early twenties holding his fist wrapped in a blood-soaked t-shirt.
"Well, what do we got going on here?"
"Hey, Doc. Blew my fingers off with a firecracker."
You pinch the bridge of your nose with your thumb and pointer.
"Alrighty then. Well, I'm not the doctor, but go on in, they'll getcha sorted. Steve, ya wanna go with our friend and get the admit started?"
"Love to. C'mon, dude. So, fireworks, huh?"
He walks alongside the kid, chatting him up completely nonchalantly like two of his charred digits weren't sitting in a plastic baggie full of ice on his lap.
Yeah, he's gonna do just fine here, you thought.
You were pulled from your musings by a strong pair of hands snaking around your middle. You whip around, pushing at the chest of the ambulance driver and Chief of the EMS crew, Gator Tillman. His lip curled up into a wicked little grin, a half-healed bruise under his right eye from some recent scuffle.
"Helloooooo, nurse." He crooned, still trying to hold you against him by the small of your back as you weakly tried to push him away.
"Oh, yah, Gator, that never gets old."
"How's it goin' tonight? Who's the pretty boy ya came out with?"
"Hmm. Jealous? That's my new friend, Steve."
"Jealous? Please. Real men don't go into nursing, no offense."
Your jaw drops, and you shove away a little more earnestly, his hands falling away from your body. You cross your arms over your chest in a huff.
"Lots of offense, Tillman. Like, all of the fucking offense. Layers and layers of it. You tell that to Odie, he might actually strangle ya to death. Besides, what's wrong with a female-dominated career field? I think we kick ass."
He sneers and rolls his eyes, hands shoving into the pockets of his EMS vest jacket.
"Please, don't get all PC on me." He clears his throat and his voice gets a little smaller. "But, uh, don't tell Odie I said that, actually."
You snicker at that, and he gives you a softer smile in return.
"Sorry...didn't mean it bad."
"Well, it came out bad, Gator. Men and women alike can be amazing nurses. You've seen it, so don't even lie. You're just jealous of his hair, I think. Guys got an epic head of hair."
"Jealous? I'm not jealous a'that puss--"
You shoot him a look before he can make yet another sensationally sexist comment in your presence and his jaw clamps tight around the words. He sniffs and squares his broad shoulders, cracking his neck on both sides.
"Not jealous. He should be jealous. Cause I get to come here and do stuff like this..."
He closes the two steps between you both again, fingers slipping brazenly past the waistband of your scrub pants and gripping the flesh of your ass. Your breath catches in your throat as you cling to his shoulders, trying to keep your balance with him looming over you.
"Gator! Someone could see." You hiss.
"Mm-hm. I can tell how much ya like that, too." His fingers slide down the cleft of your ass and press against your core from behind, feeling the wetness soaking through the cotton of your underwear.
A shaky breath escapes your lips. You search around the ambulance bay wildly to check for any prying eyes, and, finding none, you grip the back of his neck and crash your lips onto his. He groans and hitches your leg up around his hip, then shoves his other hand into your pants and begins kneading and spreading your ass cheeks with his palms.
"Fuck I love this tight little ass." He mutters into your mouth as you grind your hips back into his grasp. He gives one of your flanks a little slap drawing a high-pitched squeak of delight from you. "So fuckin' dirty. Just lettin' me play with your ass while you're at work? Hm? You'd let me fuck ya right here, wouldn't ya?"
"Gator..." You growl, but he can tell his words are having an effect on you. He chortles, shaking his head and rutting his solid cock against your front, dragging it teasingly a few times over your throbbing clit.
"Nah, I know. I can't either, got shit to do. But, you'd still let me. If I wanted."
He straightens up, letting your leg fall from his hip as he withdraws from you completely. You roll your eyes and straighten your scrubs, fixing your ponytail in the ambulance side mirror. He adjusts his massive cock into the waistband of his work pants and slides his shades over his eyes.
Just as you try to decide what your next words would even be to this fucked up situationship you can't seem to shake no matter how hard you try (and believe me, you've tried), Steve comes walking briskly around the side of the ambulance to find you.
"Hey! Got the kid all settled in Room 6, Doc McKinley said getting the fingers on should be easy enough. Oh, hey man, what's up? I'm Steve."
Steve holds his hand out to Gator, and to your surprise he grips it without hesitation (although likely with far too much force) and gives it a hearty shake. He smirks in your direction, but you don't really know what that's about.
"Tillman. Gator."
Steve cocks his head in confusion.
"Which one of those...is your first name?"
You giggle and Gator glares at you briefly before returning the heat of his gaze back to Steve.
"Don't gotta worry about it. You can just call me Chief, cause that's what I am. Cool?"
Steve raises his eyebrows, flustered, and stammers,"Oh, yeah, sure, co--" before Gator cuts him off.
"Great. Alright, hon, watch it. I gotta get going."
Gator shuffles by you, purposely brushing his chest far too close to yours, and loads back into the driver's seat. With a wink and a click of his teeth, he turns the engine over and roars out of the bay. His presence is so domineering that you and Steve can't help but just stand there for a moment, basking in it. You turn to him and shake your head in disbelief.
"He used to be our county Deputy, if you can believe that. His dad is still the Sheriff. Roy Tillman?"
"Shit, yeah. I saw the billboard. A hard man..."
"...for hard times. Yeah, that's the one. Gator's...well, he's a lot. And his family is a hell of a lot. But, as much as it may not seem like it, he's a real great medic. Cool under pressure, quick-thinking, reliable. He doesn't quite have the compassionate care part down, but the backbone? He's nothing but." You give Steve a small, tight-lipped smile, not quite understanding why you felt the need to defend that man in front of this one, but you did all the same.
Steve nods but frowns, glancing down at his hand.
"...His, uh...his hand was wet."
You wrinkle your nose, cheeks growing warm with embarrassment at the realization of why Gator had that shit-eating grin on his face when he grabbed Steve's hand -- it was still slick with you. You jerk your head back towards the hospital.
"You better go wash that, hon."
A/N: okokokok this is a quickie but I wanted to get everyone introduced. This is gonna be so fucking fun, I can't wait.
summary: when you and the cute guy at the storage unit go out to discuss getting your new bookstore set up, things escalate to a little bit more than just handiwork and literature
wc: 5.3k
tw: explicit smut, p in v protected, oral (f recieving, talsk of sobriety, travis does not shut tf up
a/n: hey babes! as a heads up, cold storage also happens to be one of my favorite books. so a lot of the characterization, and the fact that its canon teacake has never been with a woman sober, are taken from the book. but this can absolutely be read without book knowledge, just keep that in mind.
masterlist
Teacake has memorized your schedule by now.
You came into Atchison Storage twice a week, Wednesdays and Sundays, with a stack of books for your unit. Through a couple conversations, mostly led by him, he learned you were opening a used-bookstore-slash-coffee-shop in town. You needed a place to store some of the inventory you were collecting, and he was more than grateful for that.
Wednesday nights were slow. He was sitting at the security desk, trying to focus on his book as his eyes drafted to the door every so often.
The sensor above the door chimed. He looked up and saw you walking in with a box of books, looking exhausted but content.
“Hey there, stranger,” he said, a little too bright for the sleepy hour. “You know the routine. Unit 247, down on your right. You need a hand with those?”
You give him a soft smile, happy for the familiar face. Truthfully, you liked seeing him here. He was always willing to. chat about anything and everything. And it didn't hurt that he was attractive, despite his shitty prison tattoos.
"Theres another couple boxes in the trunk if you don't mind grabbing a dolly for me. I can grab them once I get these inside."
He's already on his feet. "Nonsense, lady. You look like you could use a break. I'll grab 'em all for ya. One trip."
He grabs the dolly from the corner of the office and heads for the door, taking your keys from you.
You watch as he loads up the three boxes and heads back inside with them.
He buzzes you both in with his badge and he walks with you to your unit, chatting away. You both reach your unit and he lifts the heavy rolling door, revealing a space packed to the brim with boxes of books.
"You weren't kidding about stocking up, lady, jeez. You ever think of a name for your shop yet?"
He sets the boxes down with a soft thud and turns to you, wiping sweat from his brow.
You couldn't help but stare. He had a certain... scrappy charm. A well-worn white t-shirt stretched tight across his chest under his orange work button up, black work pants clinging to muscular thighs.
"Yeah, it's called The Book Nook. I'm hoping to open by fall."
"The Book Nook," he repeats. "Cute. I like it. Very... you." He gives a little grin that makes your stomach flip. "So what's in these new boxes? Any good stuff? Find any old treasures today?"
He leans against the doorframe, making no move to leave as you begin to finagle the new boxes in.
"Went to the flea market a town iver, met up with a seller who had a ton of old sci-fi stuff. Got a decent deal on them."
"Last week it was horror, you're gonna have quite the selection, aren't ya?"
You laugh. "Yeah, my goal is to have something for everyone." You pause, looking at him. "So, what do you like to read, Teacake?"
He's quiet for a second, like he wasn't expecting that question. "Uh... I've been reading some self improvement type books lately? Really trying to stop my 'people pleasing mentality' or somethin'? Court appointed psychiatrist said I have that. I'm, uh, impressionable? Can't remember the words she used. But you probably don't wanna hear about all that."
You caught on to his rambling habit early on in meeting him, but it made you smile nonetheless. You loved hearing him talk.
"Hey, nothing wrong with that. I think it's great you're working on yourself."
He just shrugs, a bit embarrassed now. "Yeah, well. Someone's gotta do it, right? No one's gonna do it for me. Couldn't really. Self work an' all."
He rocks a little on his heels. "Well, I should probably get back to the desk before my boss realizes I'm slacking off. Or, you know, that I even exist."
He gives you a little half smile and turns to leave, but stops.
"Hey, you know, if you ever need an extra set of hands for the shop? I'm... I'm pretty good with a hammer. And I lift heavy things. That's my whole job, basically. Besides, buzzin' people in."
You give him a soft smile that he mistakes as sympathetic.
"I mean..." he clears his throat. "I know you probably wouldn't want to hire an ex-con for your pretty little shop, but I figured I'd offer an'all--"
You cut him off immediately as he misunderstood you. "You're not some violent criminal, Teacake. I've known you long enough to know that. I would love the help. The landlord is dragging their feet on some repairs at the storefront and I could use a strong pair of arms."
You watch a real, genuine smile spread across his face. "Yeah? You'd... you'd really let me help? After... well, after me telling you all that?"
"You've told me what got you in prison plenty of times." You gift a gentle laugh, as he did tend to overshare. "Just don't, sit passenger for anyone who plans to rob my books. We're good."
"Wouldn't dream of it," he says, a little breathless. "So... when do you want me? I mean, when do you need me? At the shop. Not need me, need me. Unless you did, which would be—"
"Are you doing the overnight tonight?" You cut him off again after looking at your watch.
8 PM.
"Uh, no actually. Not tonight. On till 10, then home. Why?" He replies, a little sheepish.
"If you're up for it, we could meet for a drink, discuss my plan of attack? I'm buying. To thank you for the help, both now and later."
His face lights up like you'd just offered him the world. "Yeah? You'd— You'd wanna go for a drink? With me?" He seems genuinely surprised, and it makes your heart ache a little.
"Is that weird?" It was your turn to feel nervous, wondering if you crossed some weird boundary. You were, technically, still a customer.
"No! Not at all! I just... I'm not used to people wanting to, you know. Hang out with me. I'd love to." He's nodding enthusiastically now. "Love to. Yeah. Where at? There's that new place down on Church? Heard they've got some good craft beer stuff. Not that I drink beer much anymore. But I could try it. If you liked it. Or we could go somewhere else. I don't care where we go, as long as—"
You put a gentle hand on his arm, and he stops mid-ramble. The contact sends a jolt through both of you. "Church Street is perfect. 10:30 work for you?"
He fidgets in the booth, picking at the peeling vinyl. The bar is dim, lit mostly by neon beer signs and the glow of a jukebox in the corner. He ordered a water. He wanted to be clear-headed for this. For you.
You show up right at 10:30, sliding into the booth across from him.
"Interesting drink of choice." You smile at him softly.
He shrugs, a little self-conscious. "Yeah, well. Figured I should probably, you know. Keep a clear head. For... shop talk." He gives you a lopsided grin.
It was only a half truth. Part of him hoped that maybe this wasn't just a work call. He was gullible sometimes, but he wasn't stupid. He caught you looking at him a little longer every so often, even if he didn't see why you would.
And a guy can hope for a kiss at the end of the night. Even on the cheek. And he wanted to be sober for that.
"So, shop talk," he says, leaning forward on his elbows. "What's the plan, boss?"
The conversation flows easier than he expected. You lay out your vision for The Book Nook: mismatched armchairs, shelves that go all the way to the ceiling, a little nook in the back with an old record player.
You both talk about anything and everything, his side tangents leading to very interesting, albeit random, conversations about things he saw in jail, or a story about his childhood. You hung onto every word.
He doesn't even notice the bartender clearing his throat at the end of the bar.
"Last call, folks."
The words jolt Teacake back to reality.
"We didn't even get actual drinks." You whisper, a little smile on your face. "Think he really wants us out."
Once outside, you take out your phone to get an Uber.
"What, you didn't drive here?" Teacake raises an eyebrow.
"I didn't want to rush it if we had a couple drinks. Figured I'd be responsible."
"I can drive you home. Car's right over there." He points to a beat-up car in the lot. "Safer than she looks, promise.
"Alright."
He pulls up to your place, the engine of his car rumbling in the quiet street. The silence that's fallen between you is different now.
"Well," he starts, his voice a little too loud in the small space. "That was... That was good. The plan. It's a good plan. Very... architectural. And stuff. I can definitely do the things. The hammering. And the lifting. I'm good at that."
"Do you want to come inside?"
You blurt it out like you've been waiting to the whole ride. Teacake freezes, his hand still on the gear shift.
"You... You mean... Right now? Inside your... house?" He glances from your face to the darkened window of your building and back again, like he's trying to solve a puzzle.
"Yes. In my house." You glance over at the small house you rent, dark except for one lamp in the window. "For some coffee. Or water. Or nothing at all. Just to come inside."
His brain feels like it's buffering. He's so used to things being one way, and this feels like a glitch in the matrix. You, with your bookstore dreams and your kind eyes, asking him inside.
"I uh... don't drink coffee. Makes me all... jumpy. But water's good. Water is... hydrating." He shuts the car off. "Yeah. Okay. I'll come in. For water."
He follows you up the path to your front door, a respectful distance behind you, like he's afraid to touch you by accident. Inside, your house is cozy, filled with books in precarious stacks and the scent of old paper and something warm, like vanilla.
You take him into the kitchen and he leans against the counter, watching you grab two glasses from the cupboard. His eyes follow your every move, taking in the small details of your life: the used novelty mug by the sink, the reminder note on the fridge, the way your hair falls over your shoulder.
When you turn, you catch him looking at you.
You put the two glasses down with a sigh.
"I didn't ask you in here for... water." You whisper, your gaze never leaving his. The unspoken truth of the night hangs heavy in the air.
"Oh." He breathes, a shaky, vulnerable sound.
"It's okay if you aren't—" you begin, but he cuts you off.
"No," he says, taking a step closer. "No, I... I am. I am. I was just... I didn't think... You'd want to... I mean, you know about... and you still...?"
You laugh and he smiles sheepishly.
"Those were like... half sentences. See? That's what I'm talking about. I'm a mess." He's still coming closer, like he's being pulled by an invisible string. "I'm just... I'm not very smooth."
"I like that you're not smooth." You say, your voice barely above a whisper.
"Well, shit, lady. That's good to know."
He's right in front of you now, so close you can feel the warmth radiating off him. You reach up and cup his jaw in your hand, your thumb stroking the stubble there.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs, leaning into your touch. "I've never... I don't know what to do here. Not with someone like you. You're so... put together. And I'm just..."
He let's out a deep sigh before continuing.
"I've never done this... sober. I don't know how to be with someone like this when I'm not all... fuzzed up."
"Like sex?"
He laughs at that.
"I've never even kissed a girl sober." He admits. "Sober me is awkward. It's the me that got my ass kicked in the schoolyard and the me that didn't know how to say the right thing to a girl and the me that—" You cut him off by pulling him down by his collar and pressing your lips to his.
He's still for a moment, like a startled animal, then he responds with a soft, almost desperate groan. It's not a kiss of practiced finesse; it's all clumsy eagerness and raw honesty. One of his hands finds your hip, gripping it like a lifeline, while the other cups the back of your head, tangling in your hair.
"You're damn soft," he mumbles against your lips, pulling back just enough to speak. "And you smell good. Like... books and vanilla. And I'm probably gonna say a whole bunch of dumb stuff. 'Cause my brain is... it's not working right now."
"Good." You murmur, pulling him back in. "I like when you talk."
You're kissing him again and he's already getting more confident, his tongue tracing your bottom lip, asking for entrance. You grant it, and the kiss deepens, becomes wetter, hungrier.
"Okay," he says, breaking away, his breathing ragged. "Okay. So... this is happening. This is... yeah." He looks down at your body, then back up to your eyes. "Jesus christ. I can't believe this is happening."
He lifts you onto the counter effortlessly, your thighs bracketing his hips. The position puts you eye-to-eye, and the intensity of his gaze is almost too much.
"God, your eyes," he whispers, mesmerized. "It's like... looking at something I'm not supposed to. Something holy. Which is a weird thing to say to someone you're about to, you know... but it's true."
You run an hand along his jaw and smile.
"What's your real name?" You ask softly. It was a sudden question, but it felt right.
He blinks, surprised by the question.
"My real name?" He repeats, as if you've spoken in another language. "It's... uh... it's Travis. Everyone just calls me Teacake. On account of... well, it's a stupid story."
"Travis..." You say, lips hovering over his. "I like it."
"Shit," he breathes, and then he's kissing you again, harder this time, like your acceptance of his real name was the final key to unlock him. His hands roam from your hips up your back, pulling you flush against him.
You quickly shimmy off his orange button up work shirt off his shoulders, leaving him in just the white tee. You can feel the heat of him through your clothes, the solid muscle of his chest.
"I've thought about this," he confesses, his hands slipping under your shirt to splay across your back. "So many times. Since I met you. I'd see you come in all tired with your books and I'd just... think about what it would be like to... to touch you. I felt like such a creep. But I couldn't help it. You're just... you're nice. You're the nicest person I've met in... ever."
He's kissing down your neck, his lips and tongue exploring the sensitive skin there, making you gasp.
"And you're smart," he continues, his words muffled against your skin. "Way smarter than me, not like thats hard... But you've got plans, you know? You're doing something. You're not just... existing. You're building a life. And I think that's the sexiest thing I've ever seen."
He pulls back, his hands still on you, his eyes dark with desire and something else, something deeper.
"I'm gonna say all the wrong things," he warns you.
You take his hand and travel it under your skirt, between your legs to feel how damp your panties are.
"I told you I like when you talk." You whisper in his ear.
"Okay," he breathes, a shudder running through him as he feels the heat of you through the thin fabric. "Okay. Right. So... okay."
He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. "You're so wet already. God. That's for me? That's... wow. I did that."
You go to lift your shirt off exposing a black lace bra, nipples already hard against the lace. He just stares, transfixed.
"Those are... Jesus, lady." He sounds genuinely awestruck, like he's looking at a masterpiece in a museum. "They're perfect. They're like... like something out of a magazine. A really... really classy magazine. Not one of the ones they had in the joint."
He reaches out, his fingers trembling slightly as they trace the edge of the lace. "Can I...? I just wanna... feel."
You nod, and his thumb brushes over your hardened nipple through the fabric, making you arch into him.
"You liked that," he murmurs, a smidgeon of confidence creeping into his voice. "Okay. Good. That's... that's good to know."
He hooks a finger in the cup of your bra, pulling it down to bare you to his gaze. "Oh," he says again, a reverent whisper. "Oh, wow."
And then he's leaning down, taking the sensitive peak into his mouth, his tongue swirling around it in a way that makes your toes curl. He's not practiced, but he's enthusiastic, and the raw, honest pleasure he's taking in this is intoxicating.
"Your mouth is the sexiest thing about you..." you gsap at the feeling, hands running through his messy bleached waves. He moans around your nipple, the vibration sending a jolt straight to your core.
"Fuck," he pulls back, looking up at you. "I love it when you talk dirty to me. I really, really do. I just... I've gotta tell you, I'm so hard right now it's almost painful. And I'm gonna... I'm gonna probably bust in my pants if we keep going like this. And that's embarrassing. I'm too old for that. But you're just... you're doing things to me."
He's panting, his chest heaving. "But I want to make you feel good. I want to... I want to make you cum. Can I? Please? Let me make you cum."
He doesn't wait for an answer, sliding off the counter onto his knees before you. His hands are on your thighs, pushing your skirt up to your hips.
"You're killing me with these panties," he says, hooking a finger in the black lace. "They're... they're evil. But in the best way."
He pulls them down slowly, his eyes fixed on the place he's uncovering.
"God," he breathes, looking up at you from the floor. "You're perfect. All of you. Just... perfect."
He leans forward, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, then another, higher up.
"Tell me what to do," he says, his voice husky. "Tell me how you like it. I'm a fast learner, I swear. I just... I wanna do this right. For you."
"If it's anything like how you kiss I'm sure you'll do it right." You tell him breathlessly.
"Yeah? Okay. Yeah, I can do that."
He takes a deep breath and dives in, his tongue exploring your folds with a curious, hungry intensity. He's not trying to mimic anything he's seen in porn; he's just exploring, listening to the sounds you make, the way your body shifts under his touch.
His nose bumps against your clit, and you gasp, your hands tangling in his hair, holding him to you.
"Tastes even better than you smell," he mumbles against you, the words muffled but clear. "Like... heaven. Or something."
He's getting bolder now, his movements more confident. He's found your clit and is focusing on it, his tongue working in circles, then flicking, then sucking gently. You're writhing on the counter, the cool tile a stark contrast to the heat building inside you.
"Travis," you moan, your hips bucking against his face.
He groans when you use his real name like that, the sound vibrating through you. He doubles his efforts, one of his hands coming up to slide a finger inside you, then another.
"I'm gonna cum," you pant, your head thrown back.
"Yeah," he encourages, his voice rough with desire. "Come on. Cum for me. Let me taste it. S'gonna taste so good."
His fingers curl inside you, hitting that spot that makes you see stars. You cry out as your orgasm crashes over you, waves of pleasure washing through you.
He doesn't stop, working you through it, lapping up your release like a man dying of thirst.
When you finally come back to earth, he's looking up at you, his face slick with you, a look of pure, unadulterated awe on his face.
"Good news is I didn't cum in my pants yet." He says with a half grin. "But if you keep looking at me like that I might still."
He climbs to his feet, a smug, boyish grin on his face.
"So..." he says, a little out of breath as he's wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Did you still wanna... do the rest? The, uh, the main event?" He gestures vaguely at his crotch.
You can't help but laugh.
"Yes, Travis. I still want to. Very much so."
"Good," he says, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Like I said though, I might not last. I've thought about... you know... being inside you. A lot. More than is probably healthy. I've got it all worked out--"
You cut him off by hopping off the counter and hooking a finger through his belt loop.
"Bedroom. Now."
He doesn't need to be told twice. He follows you down the hall, his eyes glued to the sway of your hips.
Your room is just as cozy as the rest of your house, with a big, unmade bed piled high with pillows and a duvet.
You strip your clothes off fully and he stands there, a little wide eyes and slack jawed, before rushing to take off his t-shirt and unbuckling his belt.
"Jesus H. Christ," he whispers when you're naked before him.
He walks towards you, grabbing your face in both his hands, kissing you deeply. You can taste yourself on his tongue. He's pushing you gently towards the bed, and you fall back on it, him following you down, hovering over you.
Your hands waste no time getting his work pants off, pushing them and his boxers down with a little difficulty. He kicks them the rest of the way off.
"Shit," he breathes. "I'm naked. In your bed. This is actually happening."
You can't help but trails your eyes from his dark chest hair tapering down to one of the prettiest cocks you've ever seen.
"Holy shit." You say in the softest whisper.
He immediately seems nervous, never having had a woman look at him this way, in such a sober setting.
"What? What is it?" He asks, a knot in his stomach, assuming the worst.
"Nothing... I just... Travis, you're beautiful."
The word beautiful seems to short-circuit him. His jaw goes a little slack. No one's ever called him beautiful before.
"Can dicks be beautiful?" He manages to huff out with a laugh. "Is that a thing? 'Cause if they can, you must be looking at someone else's. I think this is pretty standard issue."
He pushes himself up on his elbows, a frown creasing his brow.
"I'm serious," he insists, misreading your awe for something else. "If you don't want to do this, it's okay. You don't have to... lie to make me feel better. I'm a big boy. I can take it."
"Yeah... definitely big boy." You mumble, licking your lips.
The corners of his lips twitch, fighting a smile before he catches it.
"Lady, you just talking about it like that is gonna..." He trails off as you reach down and wrap your hands around him, feeling the velvety weight of him. He lets out a strangled moan, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. "Okay. Okay. That's... yeah. Good. Very good."
You begin to stroke him and he thrusts gently into your fist.
"I have... a condom in my wallet. In my pants. I... fuck... didn't assume or anythin'... I just like to be prepared. You know, for... for... yeah." He's stammering, lost in the pleasure of your touch. "And I was hoping. God, I was hoping so much."
You let go of him reluctantly and he scrambles off the bed, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to get to his discarded pants. He fumbles for his wallet, pulling out the small foil packet with a triumphant, slightly shaky "Aha!"
He's back on the bed in a second, tearing it open with his teeth. He starts to roll it on, his movements a little clumsy.
"I can do it," you offer, sitting up and taking it from him. Your touch is sure and confident, and he watches, mesmerized, as you smooth the latex down his length.
"Fuck," he breathes, his eyes closed. "Okay. Okay, I'm ready. I think. No, I know I'm ready. But I'm still probably gonna... you know... be quick. It's not you, it's me. I swear. It's the... you. And the... sober thing. And the--"
"Please just shut up and fuck me, Travis."
Your words hit him like a physical jolt. He opens his eyes, and the raw, unadulterated hunger in them takes your breath away.
"Yeah," he says, his voice a low growl. "Yeah. I can do that."
He settles between your legs, the head of him nudging at your entrance. He pauses, looking down at you, a question in his eyes.
"I've never... I've never done this without... like, a bunch of noise, you know?" he confesses, his voice soft.
"I'm sure you're about to hear plenty of it." You say with a smirk.
He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that you feel more than you hear. "Yeah. Probably."
He pushes into you, slowly, giving you time to adjust to his size. You both gasp at the sensation, the perfect, aching stretch of it.
"Jesus," he chokes out, his head dropping to your shoulder again. "You feel... so good. So fucking good. And I'm not even all the way in yet."
He's taking his time, savoring it, committing every sensation to memory.
"Okay," he says, after what feels like an eternity. "Okay. I think... I think I can move now."
He starts to move, his thrusts slow and deep at first, then a little faster as he finds a rhythm. It's not the practiced, athletic sex you've had before; it's something else, something more earnest, more vulnerable.
And God, it feels amazing. His hands are everywhere, his lips are on yours, and he's whispering a constant stream of praises and observations against your skin as you cry out with each roll of him inside you.
"You're so tight," he's murmuring, his hips pistoning into you. "And so wet. And you're making these little noises. God, those noises. They're gonna... yeah... they're gonna do it."
"Travis... you're so fucking good at this." You whine, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper.
The praise seems to unlock something in him. He growls, grabbing your hips and pulling you onto him with each thrust, hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision blur.
"I'm think," he pants, his movements becoming more erratic. "Think I'm just really... motivated."
He's close, you can feel it in the tension coiling in his body, in the way his breath hitches. "I'm trying to hold on. I really am. I want to... I want to feel you come again. But... around my... fuck... around my cock. But you... you're just..."
You feel the tension in you snap, your second orgasm washing over you, even more intense than the first. You cry out his name, your body clenching around him as you pulse with pleasure.
"Shit, yeah," he growls, his rhythm faltering as he follows you over the edge, burying himself deep inside you as he cums with a loud whimper of your name. "Oh, fuck... fuck...fuck. "
He collapses on top of you and you're both panting, your bodies slick with sweat and satisfaction.
After a long moment, he pushes himself up on his elbows, looking down at you with a dazed, happy expression.
"Wow," he says, that slow boyish grin spreading across his face again. "Just... wow."
He's still inside you, and you can feel him start to soften. He carefully pulls out, disposing of the condom in the small trash can by your bed before flopping down beside you.
"I didn't know it could be like that," he says, turning onto his side to face you, propping his head up on his hand. "I mean. It's never been... like that."
"What was it like before?" you ask, tracing the lines of one of his tattoos, a poorly-done snake that looks blown out on the edges.
"Uh..." he thinks about how to phrase it, his eyebrows creasing together. "It's always been... transactional, I guess? Even when it wasn't... you know... a transaction. It was always about getting off. A means to an end. There was never any... this. The talking. And the... looking." He gestures to your face.
"I like looking at you," you say simply.
"Yeah, well," he flushes, looking away for a second. "Nobody's ever said that to me before. And meant it. People look at me, but it's not... it's not like that. It's usually a 'what's this guy up to' kind of look. Not a 'I wanna take him home and have my way with him' look."
You giggle a little and he does too, just happy he can make you smile.
"It's weird, though, right?" he says, suddenly serious. "That we... that I'm your storage guy. And now I'm... naked in your bed." He shakes his head in disbelief. "I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. For you to realize I'm just... a guy with a record and has some questionable ink and can't stop talking."
"Mmm, you're also a guy who's sweet and considerate and always willing to help. You listen to my ramblings about books and have a great plan for The Book Nook. You also made me see stars twice in one night." You say, moving closer to him.
You lean in and kiss him, a soft, lingering kiss that has nothing to do with lust and everything to do with affection.
"So you wanna... continue doing this? Like on the regular?" He asks, a knot of anxiety forming in his stomach.
He doesn't know what he'll do if you say no.
"Yes. And not just doing... this." You gesture to the bed. "All of it. If that's something you want."
The relief that washes over him is so profound it's almost painful.
"Are you kidding me? Lady, I... I'd be an idiot to say no to that. I'd be the biggest idiot in the history of idiots." He's practically vibrating with excitement. He kisses you again, still smiling through it. When he pulls back, he's just... looking at you. He's looking at your face and your hair and your body. He's memorizing you.
"You know," he says, his voice a soft murmur. "I've been thinking about what you'd look like in my bed too. Not just... in general, but... in my actual bed. The one at my place. It's got this ugly green comforter my cousin gave me. But the mattress is pretty new. And it's... quiet. You can hear the trains at night, if it's not raining. And I was just... thinking about what it would be like to have you there. To wake up with you."
You're quiet for a moment, just looking at him, at the vulnerable hope in his eyes.
"Well, I guess that's the plan for after our next date." You say, a little smirk playing on your lips.
His face lights up, and it's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.
⋆˚꩜｡ summary: The longer Eddie stays in your orbit, the more your lives start stitching themselves together without either of you really noticing – shared drawers, shared cigarettes, shared silences that somehow say everything neither of you are good at saying out loud.
⋆˚꩜｡ tags: no y/n, she/her reader, witchy!reader, apprentice!eddie, friends to lovers aftermath, themes of grief, tarot readings, band life, found family vibes, steve being the perpetual babysitter that he is, my questionable taste in music, we're pretending that the songs mentioned are cc's originals bc i said so (even though its not mentioned)
⋆˚꩜｡ tw: this is an 18+ only blog (minors go away), consensual somno oral sex (m!receiving), alcohol consumption, smoking cigarettes, smoking weed, drinking+smoking around a minor (dustin), grief and discussions of deceased parent, 2 mentions of puking (no details), mild emotional distress/anxiety
⋆˚꩜｡ wordcount: 15k+
⋆˚꩜｡ Rituals For the Restless - spotify playlist
PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3
It was one of those rare Friday nights where, surprisingly, nobody already had plans.
So when Eddie started calling around asking if everyone was up for drinks at the Hide Out for a long overdue get-together, the answers had come easy enough – a few hell yeahs, some why nots, and at least one you buying the first round?
The sticky wooden floors that probably hadn’t been cleaned properly in years mixed with the lingering smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke while aggressive rain battered the windows outside the little dive bar.
The two tables shoved together in the corner were already decorated with rings of condensation, half-empty glasses crowding the surface while new drinks continued arriving in steady waves, and three overflowing ashtrays sat between the five of you.
It was a little after eleven, and you’d been comfortably tipsy for a while now – not fully drunk yet, but steadily getting there the longer Doris kept bringing beers over.
Eddie lounged beside you with his arm draped casually over the back of your chair while he disappeared into a deep conversation with Jeff across from him. Meanwhile, you, Robin, and Gareth had drifted into your own chaotic little world entirely.
The jangly electric guitar chords and tight snare beats of Girl Can’t Help It drifted softly through the Hide Out in the rare moment Doris decided to keep the radio tuned to something vaguely mainstream.
The music settled comfortably into the guitar lull that had taken over your side of the table after the earlier wave of drunken laughter had finally left all your stomach aching.
Robin had clumsily shoved her chair back a few minutes earlier to disappear towards the bathroom while Gareth let out a deeply satisfied sigh before leaning forward onto the table, elbows planted against the sticky wood as he took another sip of beer.
“Tell me something,” he started casually between swallows while squinting jokingly towards you, “has he told you yet?”
Eddie snapped his head towards the two of you so fast he practically abandoned whatever conversation he’d been having with Jeff mid-sentence, and shot Gareth a sharp look that could only really be translated as shut the fuck up.
“Told me what?” you asked while furrowing your brows softly in confusion before lifting your beer for another sip.
“About the show we’re playing in Ashwood,” Eddie answered quickly the second he noticed the dangerous glint of mischief flickering across Gareth’s face.
“Ashwood?” Your attention immediately turned towards him instead, eyes lighting up almost instantly. “The one with the esoteric shop?”
Eddie couldn’t help smiling a little at that. “Yeah.”
“Eddie!” you laughed, immediately beaming at him across the table. “Why am I only hearing about this now?”
“Hearing what?” Robin mumbled after a small hiccup while dropping heavily back into her chair again.
“Oh, y’know,” Gareth started with a grin already spreading across his face.
“About our show in Ashwood,” Eddie cut in immediately for the second time.
Jeff snickered quietly behind the tall beer glass in his hand while flicking ash from his cigarette into the already overflowing ashtray closest to him, exchanging a knowing look with Gareth across the table.
“Oh, that’s sick,” Robin mumbled while wrapping her fingers around her glass before immediately frowning down at it after realising she’d already finished the whole thing. “But yeah, why are we only hearing about this now?”
“Eddie wanted to wait until the flyers were ready,” Jeff supplied casually before taking another drag from his cigarette.
Your brows immediately shot upward while you slowly lowered your beer back onto the table.
“Flyers?” you repeated while turning fully towards Eddie again. “This is, like… an actual big deal, then.”
Eddie pursed his lips for a second like he was debating how much he wanted to admit.
“Yeah,” he finally muttered. “I guess.”
“Oh, don’t start acting all humble now.”
Eddie only snorted softly at your remark before taking another long sip of beer instead of answering properly.
Then he lifted a hand towards Doris for another round.
In the background, Journey had long since been replaced by ZZ Top while the conversation around the table settled into a brief comfortable lull beneath cigarette smoke and the steady drumming rain outside.
A few moments later, Doris’ familiar complaints drifted closer towards your table alongside the rattling sound of a full serving tray balanced against her palm.
Gareth snorted at her complaints while helping her stack some emptier glasses back onto the now-cleared tray.
“You really should’ve told her, man,” he added with a deeply suspicious grin aimed directly at Eddie.
Jeff snickered from across the table, trying – and failing – to hide the grin tugging at his lips behind the fresh glass of beer in his hand.
“Yeah, man,” he mumbled before taking another sip.
Robin’s head immediately snapped between the three boys before she shot you a deeply suspicious look, her brows furrowing tighter the longer Jeff and Gareth continued quietly snickering while Eddie sat beside you with his lips pressed together in growing irritation, as she leaned closer towards you, whispering a soft, confused what?
You only shrugged back just as helplessly.
After another second, Robin gave up entirely with an exaggerated little scoff before reaching for one of the newer beers instead like she’d decided she no longer cared enough to investigate whatever weird male telepathy was happening across the table.
“You’re all acting incredibly weird right now,” Robin informed the table while narrowing her eyes suspiciously before taking another sip of her beer. “More than usually.”
“We’re not acting weird,” Eddie muttered immediately, shaking his head a little too much.
“That was a weirdly defensive response,” Jeff snorted.
Gareth leaned back in his chair with a proud grin stretching wider across his face while Eddie closed his eyes for a second, visibly preparing for the worst.
“Oh my god,” Robin gasped suddenly after almost choking on her beer when something finally clicked in her head. “Did Eddie finally confess to that thing?”
“Robin,” Eddie warned instantly, nervously flexing his fingers in and out of a fist behind your back.
“What did he confess?”
Gareth looked – to Eddie’s distaste – a little too delighted as his fingers started thrumming against the table. “Should we tell her?”
“Fuck’s sake,” Eddie sighed as his hand immediately reached for his already half-empty glass of beer.
While Velcro Fly reached its end in the background, your eyes drifted around the table, noticing the glimmering eyes and knowing grins being exchanged between everyone except you.
A sour feeling settled heavily in your stomach when you realised you were being left out of something. And before your expression could twist into anything too pathetic, you quietly muttered something about going to the bathroom while pushing your chair back from the table.
You vaguely heard Eddie say your name somewhere behind you while you disappeared down the hallway.
A ringed hand curled around the bathroom door before you could fully shut it behind yourself, and Eddie slowly pushed it open again before slipping inside.
“You couldn’t wait one minute?” you mumbled tiredly, though the joke fell flat before it could properly land. “I’m just gonna pee and come back.”
“I’m sorry,” Eddie whispered instead while absently twisting one of his fingers around his finger.
A deeper furrow pulled between your eyebrows. “For what?”
Eddie sighed heavily before dragging a hand through his hair as he leaned back against the closed bathroom door.
“For…” he exhaled sharply through his nose. “Whatever the hell that was.”
Your hand curled around the handle of one of the bathroom stalls just as another deep sigh slipped from his chest.
“I just…” he muttered quietly, his eyes flicking up towards you before dropping back to the tiled floor again.
Eddie swallowed hard, crossed his arms, and then uncrossed them again.
“I just…” he trailed off once more like he was physically pulling himself back from saying whatever had been sitting in his chest for weeks, before finally continuing softly, almost too quietly, “I like you.”
You blinked at him a few times before slowly letting go of the bathroom stall handle.
“And?”
Eddie’s brows furrowed instantly. “What do you mean, and?”
A softer laugh slipped from your lips while you shook your head lightly at the deeply confused look on his face.
“I already know that.”
“What?”
“I mean,” you started softly before briefly glancing away, “you let me spoon you whenever you sleep over, and you know I hate red apples.”
That immediately pulled another bewildered blink from him.
“I know that you hate sweet things unless it’s my lemon cake,” you continued while moving your hands absentmindedly like it helped organize your thoughts. “And I know you’re allergic to that cheap fabric softener.”
Eddie’s gaze slowly lifted from the floor back towards you; yours never really left his.
“I like you too, stupid,” you murmured while stepping closer towards him. “I’m honestly surprised you didn’t already know that.”
For a second, Eddie only stared at you like his brain had completely short-circuited before a breathless laugh finally escaped him.
“You for real?”
That pulled a quieter laugh from you too.
His eyes lingered on your face for another long second before something softer settled there – relief, disbelief, maybe both tangled together beneath the dim bathroom lighting.
“I mean,” you scoffed lightly while stepping closer towards him, your fingers slowly finding his cheek, “we’ve basically been in a relationship this whole time. Minus the obvious part, of course.”
You tilted your head slightly while a softer chuckle slipped from your lips, your thumb brushing gently across his cheekbone.
“Unless you’ve secretly been living with other girls whenever you’re not with me.”
Eddie’s hands immediately lifted to cover yours, his thumb brushing absentmindedly across the back of your hand while he leaned further into your touch.
“Wouldn’t dare,” he whispered softly before briefly shutting his eyes like he physically couldn’t look at you while saying what came next. “You’re it for me.”
Your expression softened instantly.
“Good,” you whispered back with a smile tugging at your lips. “‘Cause you’re it for me, too.”
Eddie slowly opened his eyes again, something quieter and more vulnerable flickering beneath them while he looked at you.
Then, carefully – almost hesitantly – his hands found your hips like he still wasn’t fully convinced this was actually happening. His ringed fingers tightened on you for a brief second before relaxing again while he slowly pulled you closer against his chest.
Your thumb continued brushing gently against his cheek for another moment before your other hand rose to his face too, softly guiding his head down towards yours.
Eddie’s lips felt impossibly soft against yours, and the second you kissed him properly, his grip on your hips tightened all over again as a quiet, content breath escaped through his nose while he tilted his head slightly to deepen the kiss.
You parted his lips and lightly brushed your tongue against his bottom lip just before multiple loud knocks suddenly slammed against the bathroom door hard enough to force the two of you apart.
“You guys fuckin’ in there?”
“Classy, Gareth,” Robin muttered from the other side of the door while Jeff completely lost it laughing drunkenly beside her.
Eddie groaned quietly before dropping his forehead against yours.
“No, seriously,” Gareth groaned. “I think I need to throw up.”
The closer fall drifted towards its end and slowly gave way to early winter, the shorter the days seemed to become.
The weather outside had been acting up again too – dark moody clouds swallowing the night sky whole while the wind violently rattled the electrical cables and shook the balding tree branches outside your trailer hard enough to make them scrape against the roof every now and then.
Unfortunately, it had ruined the plans you and Eddie had made for the evening.
So, instead of making the drive to the library to look for books about pagan gods and Luciferianism, the two of you had ended up stranded inside your trailer together instead.
Eddie lounged lazily across the couch while rummaging through your extensive collection of incense boxes, carefully reading the labels one by one while trying to remember the exact properties you’d explained to him over the last few months before eventually picking one that simply felt right for the mood outside.
Meanwhile, you sat curled sideways on one of the barstools by the kitchen counter while carefully flipping through one of your grandmother’s old grimoires.
Your eyes scanned lazily across the pages searching for something specific while simultaneously getting distracted by the soft curls of her handwriting scattered between the notes and illustrations, until your gaze eventually landed on one of her intricate gouache paintings decorating the yellowed page.
Your fingertips hesitantly brushed across the paper, touched suddenly by a strange kind of longing you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in a very long time.
Letting your eyes linger lazily across the page for another moment longer, you eventually pushed yourself away from the kitchen counter before wandering around it towards the cupboards.
Eddie’s attention briefly drifted away from the overwhelming pile of incense boxes scattered across his lap at the soft clinking sound of glass jars landing carefully inside your old brass bowl before his eyes slowly dropped back down again.
Balancing the bowl against your hip with one arm, your other hand tugged open one of the drawers while you searched around for your scissors before eventually placing everything neatly onto the counter.
Your socked feet padded softly across the linoleum afterward while you wandered towards the dresser behind the couch, pulling a pen and a few loose scraps of paper from one of the drawers before returning towards your barstool again.
“Watcha doin’ over there?” he asked distractedly while turning one of the red incense boxes in his hands, carefully reading the intricate gold lettering printed across it.
“Oh, y’know,” you murmured vaguely while beginning to scribble something down onto the torn piece of paper in front of you.
Eddie narrowed his eyes slightly, already knowing that tone alone sounded suspicious.
He finally looked up properly from the incense boxes sprawled across his lap, his brows furrowing deeper while he watched you carefully fold the small piece of paper in your hands.
“Why do I suddenly get the feeling you’re plotting something?”
A quieter laugh slipped from your nose. “I’m literally sitting at the kitchen counter, babe.”
“Yeah,” Eddie nodded immediately. “Exactly. That’s where all the dangerous things happen.”
You rolled your eyes lightly while reaching for one of the jars instead of replying.
He shifted slightly on the couch before finally setting the incense boxes aside altogether, curiosity clearly winning over whatever he’d been doing before.
When the soft rhythmic clinking of crystal chips against glass filled the quiet trailer, he pushed himself up from the couch and wandered over towards you.
Warmth spread across your back the second he stepped close enough behind you, his chest brushing lightly against your shoulders while his chin settled comfortably on top of your head. His eyes wandered slowly between the scattered herb jars, the folded paper already resting inside the brass bowl, and the little pile of clear quartz chips sitting beside it.
His brows slowly furrowed tighter while he pieced everything together, and then his expression suddenly changed.
“Hold on,” he mumbled suspiciously. “Why are you making a love spell?”
The accusation came out sounding equal parts scandalized, intrigued, and faintly concerned.
“What?” Your head snapped upwards immediately, forcing him to lean back slightly. “I’m not.”
“Yes, you are,” Eddie argued immediately while pointing towards the jars spread across the counter. “Rosemary attracts love and ensures fidelity.”
He blinked quickly, clearly trying to remember the rest before you could interrupt him.
“Lavender’s for affection and harmony in relationship,” he continued quickly. “Cinnamon’s for desire and intensity, and rose petals are literally for passion.”
You blinked at him silently while he continued pointing towards your setup like he was presenting evidence in court.
“And the folded paper,” he added, nodding towards the bowl. “Plus the clear quartz chips to amplify it all.”
The mortification that had immediately climbed up your spine slowly started melting into something softer instead – quiet amazement.
“I mean…” you trailed off gently while glancing back down at the ingredients spread across the counter. “Those are just some of the things they’re useful for.”
You tilted your head back until your gaze found his.
“But they all have multiple meaning too,” you murmured while reaching for the lavender jar again. “This one’s for inviting peace and protection into our lives.”
You pulled the cork free before carefully sprinkling some of the vibrant lilac buds into the bowl.
“Rosemary for clarity,” you continued softly while reaching for the next jar. “Cinnamon for abundance.”
Your fingers brushed lightly through the dried rose petals.
“And these are for emotional healing.”
He blinked heavily down at the bowl after you finished explaining before eventually reaching into the front pocket of his jeans to fish out his lighter.
“That…” he trailed off while tilting his head thoughtfully to the side, “actually makes a lot more sense now that I think about it.”
You picked the folded paper back out of the bowl before carefully lighting the corner of it on fire and dropping it back inside.
Eddie’s hands settled gently onto your shoulders almost immediately afterward, slowly massaging them while you curled your fingers around the warm brass bowl and closed your eyes to focus on your intentions.
The soft pale smoke rising from the herbs slowly shifted colour as it spiralled upwards in delicate curls, fading from light grey into something closer to haint blue before disappearing near the ceiling.
When you finally opened your eyes again, the smoke had completely faded.
Eddie leaned back into you almost immediately, this time resting his chin comfortably between your shoulder and neck – his new favourite place to touch you.
“You’re so sweet,” he murmured softly while brushing the tip of his nose against your skin. “Putting protection spells on us.”
A quieter laugh slipped from your lips while you leaned further into his warmth.
“Who says it’s for us?” you teased lightly.
“The blue smoke told me,” Eddie whispered back before pressing a soft kiss just beneath your earlobe.
The two of you had been lying in bed for a while now, quietly soaking in the rare streaks of sunlight peeking through the soft clouds outside your bedroom window.
You lazily curled your fingers around a strand of Eddie’s hair while lying comfortably across his chest, the syncopated groove of Rare Earth’s Magic Key filling the otherwise soft silence surrounding the both of you.
Eddie’s thumb brushed absentmindedly across the knee you’d hooked over his waist while he quietly let your chosen record – the one you insisted would broaden his music taste – slowly settle into him.
His attention lingered carefully on the lyrics carrying that faint spiritual undertone he didn’t necessarily associate with late-sixties psychedelic rock.
After another drag from the joint between his fingers, he tilted his head towards your nightstand before lazily flicking the ash into the ceramic ashtray sitting there and passing it over to you.
“I was thinking,” Eddie started softly while hooking his fingers beneath your knee and pulling it slightly higher against his waist, “you wanna go to Ashwood today?”
Your brows pulled into a faint furrow while you exhaled the smoke from your lungs, watching it drift lazily towards the wind chime hanging near the window.
“The show’s only tomorrow,” you murmured while passing the joint back to him. “Why you wanna go today?”
Eddie’s ringed fingers curled around it carefully before he tapped the ash into the ashtray again.
“I thought we could make a little getaway out of it,” he admitted quietly before taking another drag. “Go to Moon & Myrrh again, explore the town some more.”
You though about if for a moment while the confident brisk groove of Magic Key slowly faded out and gave way to the rougher blues-rock chords of Tobacco Road.
“Yeah,” you murmured eventually as a softer smile tugged at your lips. “That’d be nice.”
Your fingers curled carefully around the joint before you slowly pushed yourself upright before shifting to sit on his lap instead. You took another drag before passing it back to him and leaning down to press a soft kiss against his forehead while climbing over him entirely.
He pushed himself upright too, adjusting the pillows behind his back while quietly watching you drift around the bedroom already for your trusted travel bag.
Eddie’s gaze followed your familiar movements around the bedroom, quietly taking in the way you immediately opened the drawer you’d recently cleared space out in for some of his clothes before even reaching for your own.
You grabbed his favourite pair of pants without hesitation before tossing them carefully into the travel bag resting it next to his feet. Then, you pulled out two shirts, holding them up for him to inspect.
His eyes flicked lazily between both options before he silently pointed towards the overly washed Black Sabbath shirt while exhaling smoke from his lungs and pulling it right back in through his nose.
“Which one you wanna wear tomorrow?” you asked while folding the other shirt back into the drawer, your fingers already drifting through the remaining neatly folded stacks. “And please don’t say the Hellfire shirt.”
Eddie snorted quietly while shaking his head.
“Nah,” he murmured after another drag. “I wanna wear that Corroded Coffin shirt you designed.”
Your eyes immediately snapped back towards him while warmth crept into the tips of your ears. “You sure?”
Eddie smiled softly around the joint between his fingers. “Never been more sure.”
Your eyes lingered on him for another few seconds, almost like you were still searching for confirmation before you finally nodded and turned back towards the dresser again, reaching for the soft cotton shirt he’d mentioned.
Eddie kept his gaze fixed on your chaotic movements around the bedroom while you opened and shut drawers in search of something that, as you’d put it, looked good enough for their first official show.
After another moment, he finally placed the joint down in the ceramic ashtray before pushing himself off the bed entirely and wrapping his arms loosely around your waist from behind.
“I honestly couldn’t care less what you wear,” he murmured softly against your neck before pressing a gentle kiss against your skin. “Long as you’re there.”
A quieter smile tugged faintly at your lips while your fingers continued drifting through the clothes in your drawer.
“Yeah, well,” you mumbled teasingly. “I still need something that screams I’m with the lead singer.”
Eddie immediately laughed beneath his breath.
“Something that lets every girl there know they don’t stand a chance,” you continued while shooting him a joking grin over your shoulder.
His arms tightened slightly around you while another laugh rumbled warmly against your neck.
You turned back towards the dresser again afterwards before finally putting out the velvet skirt he liked alongside a few different shirt options.
“I can always write taken across my forehead with your favourite lipstick,” Eddie joked back.
You snorted softly. “You literally have bangs, Edward.”
“Aw, c’mon,” he groaned dramatically. “Not the government name.”
That pulled another laugh from you before you finally stepped out of his hold entirely and wandered towards the bathroom to start filling the toiletries bag instead.
He had already dropped dramatically back onto the bed by the time you stepped back into the bedroom.
“You pack like we’re fleeing the country,” he murmured lazily once he heard the familiar clinking of bottles and jars joining the toiletries bag.
“You’ll thank me when you need headache tea the day after tomorrow.”
Eddie blinked slowly at the ceiling, knowing damn well you were probably right.
“You know what?” he mumbled after a second, his eyes drifting back towards the quiet wind chime. “I actually don’t have anything smart to sat to that.”
“You’re welcome,” you chuckled while stuffing the toiletries bag into the larger travel bag before turning around to grab your small pouch of jewellery from the dresser.
And hour later, the two of you were finally pulling away from the trailer park beneath the soft grey skies while the crescent moon slowly began climbing into the evening sky overhead.
The heater rattled weakly beneath the dashboard while Eddie lazily drummed his fingers against the steering wheel in time with the music humming softly from the stereo.
At some point, you’d kicked off your shoes off completely before throwing your legs across the seat beside him, a half-smoked cigarette hanging loosely between your lips while the familiar roads slowly gave way to denser woods and narrower winding streets.
Eventually, the faded welcome sign of Ashwood Hollow emerged once again from beneath the overgrown trees.
Eddie drove further into town afterward until the familiar downtown storefronts finally came into view beneath the dim amber streetlights.
It was a little after four by the time he parked a few blocks away from your favourite shop, a lazy yawn escaping him the second he finally turned off the ignition.
Eddie’s gaze drifted out the window while you slipped your shoes back on beside him, quietly noticing how the darkening skies above Ashwood somehow felt harsher than the ones back in Hawkins – there were no lingering streaks of sunlight left here, only sharp wind whistling through the narrow streets and rattling against the storefront windows hard enough to make the old signs creak softly overhead.
Eventually, his attention drifted back towards you again.
Without saying much, he reached over and gently pulled the lapels of your coat higher around your neck before leaning in to press a soft kiss against your temple – only after that did he finally push open the van door and stepped out into the cold evening air.
“C’mere with that warm hand of yours,” Eddie mumbled the second he rounded the front of the van and reached you, already tugging your hand into his colder one before you could protest.
Despite the biting wind constantly shoving his bangs away from his forehead, the walk towards Moon & Myrrh ended up feeling strangely peaceful. The streets of Ashwood had mostly emptied by now, leaving only the sharp whistle of the wind weaving between the storefronts and the occasional glow of amber streetlights reflecting against wet pavement.
But the second the familiar heavy purple door finally came into view, your steps slowed.
The sign hanging behind the window had already been flipped to closed, the curtains behind it drawn.
Before you could even let out a disappointed groan, or turn around entirely, the door suddenly swung open.
“I’ve been waiting all day for you two,” the owner muttered while pulling the door open wider, a faint scowl tugging at her brows. “Started thinking you weren’t coming anymore.”
Eddie immediately shot her a puzzled look while you simply grabbed his sleeve and tugged him inside behind you, desperate to escape the cold weather outside.
The warmth and familiar smell of incense wrapped around you almost instantly.
“I’m a nosy old woman,” she added dryly after catching his expression. “Spirits keep me entertained when I ask nicely.”
Most of the overhead lights had been turned off by now, leaving the shop bathed almost entirely by candlelight. Warm flickering shadows stretched lazily across the crowded shelves and glass displays while the familiar scent of incense and old paper wrapped itself around the room like a heavy blanket.
You slowly let go of Eddie’s hand before stepping further into the shop.
The tiny bells hanging above the door gave one final chime behind you while he lingered near the entrance a little longer, quietly talking with the older woman about the rune set he’d bought the last time you’d visited.
Moon & Myrrh felt different this late in the evening with the overhead lamps switched off – quieter, and older somehow, like the walls themselves were listening to your breaths and the faint murmur of conversation drifting behind you.
The warm candlelight flickered softly across the shelves while shadows stretched lazily along the floorboards beneath your feet as you walked absentmindedly towards the spines of stacked books somewhere in the corner.
Behind you, Eddie finally stepped fully inside too, the heavy purple door creaking softly shut while the sharp whistle of the wind outside faded into something distant and muffled instead.
Eddie barely had the chance to follow after you – curiosity already tugging at him over whatever had caught your attention – before the older woman suddenly spoke again from beside him.
“Sit down for a minute.”
He glanced towards her in visible confusion but still followed after her anyway towards the small circular table tucked into the far corner of the shop – the one permanently cluttered with candles, stacks of tarot cards, and an enormous crystal ball that honestly looked like a movie prop.
The older woman lowered herself into the chair across from his before quietly lighting the scattered candles one by one.
Warm flickering light immediately stretched across the tabletop and danced softly against the silver jewellery layered around her wrists and rings.
Then her hand reached for the tarot deck resting nearby. The cards shuffled slowly between her fingers in complete silence while the slight furrow between Eddie’s brows deepened further.
The shop suddenly felt strangely quiet – only the soft sound of your fingers turning pages somewhere deeper between the shelves and the distant beginning of a storm outside filled the room around the three of you.
Eddie sat quietly across from her, his arms crossed loosely over his chest while he tried not to look as nervous as he suddenly felt.
You’d drifted somewhat closer too, lingering somewhere beside a display island filled with intricate daggers and little bowls and trays filled with animal bones and herbs that were unknown even to you, pretending not to openly eavesdrop.
“Cut the deck,” the woman murmured eventually.
His ringed fingers carefully split the deck in half before pushing the cards back towards her again after he stared at it for a few seconds too long.
She hummed softly to herself before gathering them once more, slowly laying the cards down one by one across the table in a way he hadn’t seen you do before. Eddie’s gaze drifted across the placement with nervous curiosity, swallowing the dry lump that had settled in his throat.
“The crow’s eye,” she explained while resting her fingertips lightly against the face-down card. “Something obvious about your situation, but only visible to the trained eye.”
His brows furrowed slightly. “That sound… ominous.”
“It usually is,” she chuckled humourlessly.
You immediately noticed the way his shoulders tensed beneath his jacket before the woman finally flipped the first card over.
Warm candlelight flickered across the illustrated figure holding one hand towards the sky and the other towards the earth – The Magician.
“Well, that’s rather loud,” she murmured, smiling faintly.
“What does it mean?” Eddie leaned slightly forwards despite himself.
“Skill, power, resourcefulness,” she explained calmly. “Learning how to use the tools already available to you.”
Her gaze lifted towards him.
“You’ve already started assembling the pieces without even realising it,” she added softly, gesturing vaguely towards him. “You’ve been practicing intention, protection work… most people spend years refusing to trust themselves enough to even begin with it all.”
A faint warmth into the tips of Eddie’s ears as she simply reached for the second card.
“This one’s the wings,” she murmured while placing two fingers against it, “where there’s room for movement and change.”
Then she flipped it over – Two of Wands.
His eyebrows slowly pulled together again while he stared at the figure illustrated across the card.
“Crossroad,” she explained softly. “Expansion, and choice.”
The hard wind outside had slowly given way to the beginning of a storm, briefly filling the silent shop before she continued.
“You’re standing at the beginning of something much larger than the life you originally imagined for yourself,” she watched how Eddie leaned back in his chair and lifted one of his hands over his mouth. “It’s not a warning in your case. It’s encouragement, actually.”
Her ringed fingers tapped lightly against the card as she continued, “You’re finally allowing yourself to explore paths you would’ve mocked or maybe even feared before.”
Eddie looked over his shoulder, his eyes briefly flickering towards you before returning to the woman in front of him, who was already reaching for the third card.
“A hidden treasure,” she murmured as she flipped it smoothly between her fingers – Page of Cups.
The candle flames surrounding the table flickered faintly before she continued. “Emotional intuition, creativity, and sensitivity. Unexpected spiritual openness.”
“You mean feelings,” Eddie mumbled as he stared at her blankly.
“You feel things before you understand them,” she continued calmly, completely ignoring his comment. “You notice energy instinctively, and you trust emotion before logic, even though you pretend otherwise.”
He immediately opened his mouth to argue before stopping halfway through, his brows furrowing when he realised he didn’t actually have a defence for that.
“The underworld,” she murmured quietly. “A message delivered from beyond.”
The storm outside cracked louder overheard while the older woman slowly turned the final card over, revealing the Empress beneath the flickering candlelight before her expression softened almost immediately, her eyes flickered quietly between the card and Eddie.
“This is maternal protection,” she explained softly. “Nurturing. Guidance. Loving pride.”
Your attention drifted away from the jewelled dagger in your hands the second the words left her mouth, noticing how Eddie sat unusually still in his seat.
“You’ve spent a very, very long time believing you were abandoned,” she continued quietly. “But you weren’t, not entirely.”
The candle flames flickered even harder for a brief second while thunder rolled through the streets outside as her gaze lifted towards him again.
“She’s still here.”
Eddie’s breath hitched softly for a second as his eyes immediately flickered towards the woman sitting across from him.
The ringed fingers that had been nervously thrumming against his thigh only a moment ago suddenly fell still too once her words finally settled somewhere deep inside him.
And for a while, nobody spoke.
The otherwise silent shop continued filling instead with the sound of the storm outside and the distressed flickering of the candle flames scattered across the table between them.
Your grip tightened slightly around the jewelled dagger in your hands while you quietly took in the tense line of Eddie’s shoulders from across the room.
For a brief moment, you debated putting it back and walking over him. But ultimately, you decided against it.
This was something he needed to sit with on his own first – in his own time, and in whatever way felt safest to him. But you stayed close enough, just in case.
“I…” Eddie started quietly before the word died in his throat altogether.
His brows furrowed deeper while his gaze slowly drifted back towards the Empress resting beneath the candlelight.
Eddie swallowed hard against the dry lump that had suddenly formed in his throat before nervously dragging his tongue across his bottom lip.
“What do you mean…” he tried again after a few long seconds. “Here?”
The candle flames suddenly stopped flickering for the briefest moment, then they flared upward all at once – large and impossible to miss – before slowly settling back down again like nothing had happened at all.
You quietly placed the jewelled dagger back where you’d found it before finally making your way closer to the table – not too close, just closer than before.
Eddie glanced over his shoulder towards you almost immediately, his eyes slightly glassy now while a deeper furrow slowly settled between his brows.
That alone was enough to make you step the rest of the way forward.
Your hand found his shoulder gently, almost hesitantly so, giving it a soft squeeze that silently told him you had him.
The older woman watched the interaction quietly from across the table before her gaze lowered back towards Eddie again.
“I think you already know what I mean,” she said softly, understanding flickering behind her eyes.
He slowly nodded, almost automatically, like he wasn’t even fully aware he was doing it, while forcing another tight lump down his throat.
Outside, the storm had calmed slightly. The thunder had stopped a few minutes earlier, although the wind still whistled softly through the streets every now and then.
“Hey,” you whispered gently while giving his shoulder another soft squeeze. “You wanna see the book I just found?”
Eddie slowly lifted his gaze towards you, blinking heavily before nodding again – this time with a little more certainty behind it.
You offered him a small smile before wrapping your other arm loosely around him and leaning over the shoulder you still held to show him the thick leather-bound book resting in your hand.
“Found a first edition of that Luciferianism book you wanted,” you whispered softly before pressing a gentle kiss against the top of his head.
His ringed hands curled gently around the book as he took it from you, his thumb absently brushing across the embossed upside-down pentagram decorating the cover.
You pressed another soft kiss against the top of his head while quietly watching the slow way his fingers drifted across the leather before finally opening the book.
“Do you wanna stay here and read for a little?” you asked softly after a moment. “Or do you wanna explore the rest of the store?”
Eddie didn’t answer immediately, his attention stayed fixed on the open page resting in his hands for a few long seconds before he finally gave a quieter nod.
“C’mon,” you murmured gently while brushing your fingers through the curls near the back of his head. “I think I saw a ring to add to your collection, too.”
You quietly took in the way Eddie closed the book and lowered it to his side before finally pushing himself up from his seat.
The second he stood beside you, his fingers instinctively curled around yours and let you guide him towards the glass display island where you’d spotted the velvet ring tray earlier.
Behind you, the owner followed at an unhurried pace, the soft clinking of an overcrowded keychain accompanying her footsteps before she crouched down beside the display case and unlocked it.
She carefully pulled the velvet tray free before placing it gently in front of the two of you. Then, without interrupting the quiet settling around you, she simply wandered back towards the circular table to clean up the cards.
“Here,” you murmured softly while picking up the ring you’d noticed earlier and holding it out towards him.
The aged silver ring had a broad rectangular face set with polished black obsidian, a small engraved silver star resting at the centre of the dark stone like trapped light beneath the candle glow.
Four decorative claws rose around it protectively, the weight of the ring feeling older somehow once it settled into Eddie’s palm.
You offered Gloria a soft smile – now finally knowing her name – before wrapping your fingers around the paper bag filled with the things you’d bought and making your way back towards the entrance.
By the time you stepped outside again, Eddie was already leaning against the brick wall beside the shop with a cigarette resting between his fingers.
The wind pushed softly through his curls while amber streetlight spilled across the wet pavement beneath his boots.
His head lifted almost immediately at the soft chiming of the bells above the door.
He exhaled another slow stream of smoke before silently holding his hand out towards you – the black obsidian glimmering faintly beneath the streetlight before you took his hand.
The walk back to the van two blocks away passed in near silence, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable one.
Eddie’s thumb brushed absentmindedly against the back of your hand while he lifted the cigarette between his fingers every now and then with the other.
The wind had settled somewhat since earlier too, leaving only the occasional whistle weaving through the empty streets beneath the glow of amber streetlights.
By the time you finally reached the van, the cigarette had nearly burned down to the filter. Eddie dropped it onto the wet pavement before crushing it beneath the heel of his shoe and reaching for the passenger door to pull it open for you.
Once you’d climbed inside, he closed the door gently behind you before walking around the back of the van instead of immediately getting in himself, like he needed those few extra seconds alone first.
You quietly watched his silhouette disappear past the rear windows before instinctively pulling out everything you needed to roll him a well-deserved – and badly needed – joint for the drive towards the little motel sitting at the edge of town.
The unimpressed teenager behind the counter barely seemed to care when he glanced over your shoulder and spotted Eddie leaning beside the van outside smoking a joint.
Maybe the extra twenty you’d slid across the counter had encouraged him to mind his business.
Either way, he simply handed over the room key without another word.
Eddie’s free hand curled around the handle of your travel bag while he followed you up the narrow outdoor staircase and down the long hallway past a broken ice machine humming loudly beneath the flickering lights.
The motel room smelled heavily of dust the second you stepped inside, old cigarette smoke still clinging stubbornly to the faded sixties wallpaper and worn carpet beneath your shoes.
Still, for the price, it could’ve been worse.
Eddie passed the joint to you before disappearing into the bathroom almost immediately afterward, barely bothering to shut the door properly behind him as a heavier sigh slipped from between his lips once he finally disappeared from view.
You didn’t think twice before kicking your shoes off near the motel door, placing the joint carefully in the glass ashtray resting on the nightstand, and immediately changing into something more comfortable.
The extra shirt you’d packed still smelled like Eddie beneath the detergent.
Heavy footsteps crossed the room behind you only moments later before a pair of arms wrapped tightly around your frame from behind.
His ringed fingers curled softly into the worn fabric of the old shirt hanging from your body while his nose buried itself against the back of your neck, a slow, exhausted exhale leaving him against your skin.
Your hands instinctively found his forearms, your thumb brushing gently against them while you leaned back into the warmth of his chest without hesitation.
“You wanna lay in bed and smoke with me?” you whispered softly while swaying the both of you in slow gentle movements.
Eddie hummed in quiet agreement after a few seconds before loosening his hold on you long enough to tug off the tight skinny jeans he’d been wearing all day.
You rubbed tiredly at one of your eyes while climbing onto the bed, stretching your other arm towards the nightstand to grab the half-smoked joint before leaning back against the headboard.
A moment later, Eddie stepped closer to the mattress in nothing but his boxers and quietly settled himself between your legs, his fingers curling around your free hand the second you lowered it from your face.
Your fingers flicked Eddie’s lighter open before you brought the joint resting between your lips to flame, taking a long, slow drag once the paper finally crackled back to life. The smoke settled warmly in your lungs for a moment before you passed it down to the curly-haired boy sitting between your legs.
Eddie’s ringed fingers curled loosely around the filter as he brought it towards his mouth, his eyes already drifting shut the second your fingers disappeared in his hair. A quieter breath left him while you slowly scratched your nails against his scalp in that gentle, lazy way he liked.
The tension in his body softened almost immediately beneath your touch.
Outside, the wind whistled faintly against the motel windows while the neon lights beyond the glass mixed with the warm amber glow of the bedside lamp, painting the room in hazy colours.
For a while, neither of you spoke. Only the wind, the soft scratching of your nails through his curls, and the occasional slow exhale of smoke filled the room around you.
Eddie simply leaned heavier into you while smoke curled lazily through the quiet between slow breaths and softer touches.
“The older I get,” Eddie whispered quietly after a long stretch of silence, “the less I remember her face.”
His eyes stayed unfocused somewhere ahead of him, fixed on nothing in particular while the joint burned slowly between his fingers.
Your brows pulled together softly, but your fingers never stopped moving through his curls.
“We don’t really have a lot of pictures of her,” he continued lowly after another moment, absentmindedly tapping the joint against the glass ashtray resting beside him on the bed. “Didn’t really have the money to get a bunch developed back then.”
He passed the joint back to you before leaning even heavier into your touch, eventually turning onto his side so he could loosely curl one of his hands around your calf.
“Freud would probably celebrate if he heard this,” Eddie murmured softly after a moment, a quieter chuckle slipping from his nose, “but that loud, ugly snorting laugh of yours?”
Your fingers slowed slightly in his curls.
“She sounded like that too.”
Your chest tightened painfully at the quiet confession.
“She sounds like sunshine,” you whispered after a while.
Eddie didn’t answer immediately.
His fingers only tightened slightly around your calf before he buried his face further into your shirt.
Outside, neon lights continued bleeding soft colours across the motel walls while the wind whistled faintly against the windows.
“Yeah, she was.”
The first thing you noticed was the half-broken sign above the heavy double doors, a few missing letters leaving awkward gaps in the venue’s name before you stepped inside the venue with Eddie hot on your heels.
The second thing you noticed, once you were finally inside, were the towering dark walls painted in deep oxblood reds, the black rubber flooring somehow cleaner than the sticky floors back at the Hide Out, and the two people working behind the bar who looked like they’d stepped straight out of one of those underground metal magazines Eddie always flipped through.
The hall-wall serving as the bar counter had practically disappeared beneath layers of old band stickers while massive signed posters hung between the endless rows of liquor bottles that made Doris’ cheap collection back home look embarrassing in comparison.
Eddie let out a low whistle beside you before turning towards you with eyes nearly as wide as your own.
“Holy shit,” he whispered while looking back towards the empty venue again. “Please pinched me.”
He immediately yelped and jumped dramatically the second your fingers harshly pinched the tattooed skin of his arm.
“Fuck, what was that for?” Eddie pouted dramatically while rubbing at the reddening spot on his milky skin.
You glanced back towards him innocently. “What? You told me to pinch you.”
That only earned another offended look from him while you wandered a few steps further into the venue, slowly taking in the details of a place that would never survive longer than a month if it had somehow opened in Hawkins.
Your gaze drifted across the stage lights, the sticker-covered bar, the vinyl booths tucked against the walls, and the handful of people already lingering near the back of the room.
“This is, like…” you murmured while your brows furrowed faintly in disbelief. “The Midwestern version of the Starwood.”
Annoyed mumbling suddenly cut through the low hum of the venue after one of the heavy double doors creaked open again and a scowling blonde shoved her way inside with her shoulder.
Robin’s arms were wrapped around a gigantic carboard box that looked dangerously close to slipping from her grip at any second.
“Am I getting some help here?” she complained while the door slammed shut behind her again. “You guys are so buying me the first round for making me carry this heavy ass box by myself.”
Eddie immediately snorted beside you while you hurried towards her before the entire thing collapsed onto the floor.
“How many shirts did you order?” he asked while staring at the box like it personally offended him.
“Don’t look at me,” Robin muttered immediately, still scowling at the both of you while readjusting the box in her arms. “This was entirely her doing.”
A quieter snort slipped from you while your gaze drifted away for a second before reluctantly returning back towards them.
“I, uh…” you mumbled while scratching awkwardly at the back of your neck. “I might’ve ordered three different versions of the design.”
Eddie’s brows lifted higher almost instantly.
“Just in case,” you added after an awkward seconds.
He looked at you with an unreadable expression for a few lingering seconds, his eyes glimmering softly beneath the dim overhead lights, while Robin let out another increasingly irritated groan.
“Hello?” she dragged out dramatically while shifting the heavy box higher against her chest. “My arms are literally dying over here.”
That finally snapped Eddie back into motion.
You and Robin dragged the folding table towards the section of wall one of the venue staff had pointed our earlier while Eddie disappeared back outside to help unload the rest of the equipment from Gareth’s car.
A few moments later, he reappeared through the heavy double doors carrying an amp in his arms while an equally awestruck Jeff followed close behind him with the rest of the cables slung over his shoulder.
Gareth, however… You were pretty sure he had completely abandoned them somewhere around the side of the building to go throw up his nerves before the show.
Robin snorted under her breath while pulling open the cardboard box and handing you stacks of neatly folded shirts that still carried the sharp chemical smell of freshly screen-printed merch.
She leaned closer over the table, lowering her voice dramatically while her eyes flicked towards Eddie struggling with the amp near the stage.
“You know,” she started while aggressively pulling out another stack of shirts out of the box, “if this whole music thing fails, I think we’d absolutely crush it in the world of designing merch.”
A snort slipped from your nose as you lined up another pile by size and colour. “Yeah?"
“Oh, absolutely,” Robin nodded seriously. “Look at us. We already have the emotionally unstable musicians, questionable finances, and a deeply concerning amount of cigarette smoke surrounding us.”
You laughed quietly beneath your breath while reaching over to fix the crooked stack she’d somehow already ruined.
Robin glanced briefly towards the stage again where Eddie was still fighting with the amp while Jeff attempted to help in the least helpful way possible before her attention suddenly shifted towards the entrance instead.
“Oh my god.”
You looked up from the stack of shirts in your hands. “What?”
“There are actual people coming tonight.”
Your eyes instinctively flicked over your shoulder towards the heavy double doors where more figures had started filtering through – leather jackets, heavy boots, patched denim vests, and hairstyles questionable even by 1986 standards.
Robin slowly looked back towards you with widening eyes.
“We might actually have to do customer service,” she muttered nervously. “You’re still buying the first round, right?”
The more the venue filled with people, the thicker the humid air became with cigarette smoke and overlapping conversations until the music pouring from the overhead speakers slowly faded into background noise altogether.
You eventually left Robin guarding the merch table with not one but two drinks – just in case – and made your way towards the small backstage room tucked near the end of the venue with your makeup bag in one hand and one of the shirts slung over your warm.
Not bothering to knock, you simply pushed the door open with your shoulder before stepping inside.
Jeff was lazily strumming at his beloved Ibanez from the couch while Gareth leaned dangerously far back in his chair as he spun one of his drumsticks between his fingers with practiced ease.
Eddie, meanwhile, was apparently on his sixth cigarette in less than thirty minutes while he paced the cramped room back and forth, periodically dragging a hand through his curls with the other.
Judging by the exhausted looks on Jeff and Gareth’s faces, the two of them had already spent the last several minutes unsuccessfully trying to calm down their front man before finally giving up entirely.
You immediately threw the folded shirt towards Gareth the second the door clicked shut behind you.
“Gareth, you are so not wearing that Hellfire shit tonight,” you informed him while pointing accusingly in his direction. “Especially with that tiny vomit stain near the collar.”
“Aw, dude,” Jeff groaned in immediate disgust while finally sitting upright on the couch. “I knew this room smelled way too weird compared to the rest of the place.”
Gareth looked down at the shirt in betrayal. “It’s barely noticeable.”
Putting your makeup bag down onto the coffee table between them, you instinctively reached for Eddie’s hand where it was currently tangled in his gurls again.
“And you,” you murmured while giving him a stern look despite the amused glimmer hiding in your eyes, “stop pulling at your hair.”
Your fingers gently untangled his hand from the mess of dark curls before squeezing it softly.
“You know damn well that’s my job, not yours.”
That finally pulled a lower laugh from him, some of the heavy nausea twisting in his stomach easing slightly the second he snorted at your choice of words.
The lighter, breathier chuckles leaving Eddie slowly faded again until a more worried furrow settled back between his brows.
“But what if–” he started quietly, seemingly forgetting Jeff and Gareth were still sitting only a few feet behind him.
“Absolutely not.”
You shook your head immediately before grabbing his face between your hands and squishing his cheeks together before he could finish whatever catastrophic thought had been about to leave his mouth.
Eddie looked absolutely ridiculous like this; his lips had been pushed together into something vaguely fish-like while the tops of hic cheeks squished dangerously close towards his eyes.
For a brief moment, he felt overwhelmingly grateful the two of you were tucked away in one of the backstage rooms and not standing out in the venue itself – because the way he looked right now?
Yeah, not very metal.
“Listen to me,” you murmured firmly while holding his face still and looking directly into his eyes like you were trying to force the words permanently into his brain. “I’m gonna get you a glass of whiskey.”
All he could really do while you continued squishing his face was blink slowly at you.
“Then,” you continued carefully, “when I come back, I’m gonna do your makeup.”
His brows relaxed slightly as he listened carefully.
“And after you makeup’s done,” you added while a smaller grin slowly tugged at your lips, “we’re gonna make out in a bathroom stall until you finally feel like the rockstar you already are.”
By the time Gareth had finally changed out of his disgusting shirt, Jeff had tied a bandanna around his forehead, and Eddie had nearly finished his seventh cigarette, you finally made your way back down to the backstage room carrying a tray loaded with whiskey glasses – perks of being with the band.
One glass for each of you.
Two for Eddie, just in case one somehow didn’t do the job.
The new obsidian ring glimmered faintly beneath the dim backstage lights the second Eddie reached for one of the glasses, immediately throwing back half of it without even flinching at the disastrous burn trailing down his throat.
You pushed your boyfriend down onto one of the foldout chairs before settling comfortably onto his lap, guiding his free hand towards your hip while your other disappeared into the makeup bag now resting on your lap.
Almost immediately, his fingers started absently toying with the crooked cut-off hem of the Corroded Coffin shirt you’d thrown on earlier before eventually slipping beneath the fabric to rest against the warm skin of your waist instead.
“Watcha want, my love?” you murmured distractedly while pulling pencils and powders from the makeup bag spread across your lap.
Eddie absentmindedly rubbed his thumb against the skin beneath your shirt while he thought about it for a second too long.
“I dunno,” he started quietly before immediately stopping once he caught the look you gave him – the one that wordlessly told him to quit overthinking every little things.
His shoulders loosened slightly.
“Black eyeliner, please.”
He was trying his absolute best not to move too much while you carefully applied the black eyeliner along his waterline – having both learned your lesson after the disastrous attempt before one of the usual gigs at the Hide Out – but the unfamiliar sensation still had him blinking uncontrollably every few seconds anyway.
And the fact the backstage door suddenly flew open definitely didn’t help.
“Holy shit,” a loud familiar lisp echoed through the otherwise quiet room. “It’s fucking packed out there.”
“Henderson?” Gareth immediately leaned forwards in his chair to get a better look. “What the hell? How’d you even get here?”
“Told his mom we were having a sleepover,” Steve’s voice answered from behind the teen in that forced disinterested tone that never fooled anybody anymore. “You don’t even wanna know how much I had to pay the bouncer to get this little shit inside.”
He pressed his hands together dramatically before pointing towards you and Eddie.
“You guys are absolutely paying me back, by the way.”
Dustin barely even acknowledged him before immediately marching further into the room and throwing himself directly between you and Eddie hard enough to force you slightly on his lap, wrapping his arms tightly around Eddie’s shoulders like they hadn’t seen each other in years.
“You didn’t actually think I was gonna miss this, did you?” Dustin asked after finally letting go of Eddie again.
The boy beneath you immediately laughed at that – a real, full-bodied laugh this time, completely free of the nervous shakiness that had followed him around all evening.
“Can’t believe I’m about to say this,” Eddie started while squinting through his smile towards Dustin and the deeply exhausted babysitter behind him, “but I’m actually kinda happy to see both of you.”
Your expression softened slightly at the sight of how much more relaxed he suddenly looked.
“Especially you, big boy.”
Steve was cut off before he could even mutter a response when a series of loud hysterical knocks suddenly rattled the backstage door.
Robin shoved it open just enough to stick her head through, her wide eyes blinking rapidly beneath dramatically raised brows before she finally seemed capable of getting actual words out.
“Hey, so,” she started while her voice cracked slightly. “It’s fucking packed out there, and you guys are up in ten.”
Her mouth stayed slightly open while she blinked another few times like she still hadn’t fully processed it herself.
“Also,” she added weakly, “we’re kinda running out of shirts.”
That immediately snapped your head over your shoulder fast enough that you barely missed stabbing Eddie directly in the eye with the black eyeliner pencil still clutched in your hand.
“What?”
“Yeah, it’s insane,” Robin nodded quickly, her eyes still ridiculously wide. “People are literally buying one of each design.”
She pushed the door open wider so she could squeeze herself fully into the cramped room, her fingers twitching nervously while she shifted her weight from foot to foot.
“There’s also this girl behind the bar – I think it’s a girl,” she added quickly while gesturing vague panicked circled with her finger, “and she’s really hot and I’m pretty sure she just flirted with me.”
Steve listened to Robin’s increasingly frantic rambling with both hands planted firmly on his hips while he slowly leaned his head forwards in growing confusion.
“What does that even mean?” he muttered at first before his voice grew louder with every word. “What do you mean you think it’s a girl?”
Gareth let out a weak snicker from his chair before abruptly pushing himself upright again and hopping anxiously a few times in place like he was physically trying to shake the returning nerves back out of his body.
Meanwhile Jeff – who you strongly suspected had gotten at least a little stoned earlier judging by how suspiciously relaxed he’d been acting all night – simply chuckled quietly to himself before returning his attention back towards his bass, absently fiddling with the tuners.
You turned back towards Eddie to finish up his makeup while Robin continued desperately trying to explain to Steve that whoever had flirted with her had way too many facial piercings for her to confidently identify anything, and a haircut that leaned aggressively towards androgynous than anything else.
Eddie snapped his fingers towards Dustin before roughly pointing towards his second glass of whiskey sitting on the table nearby, clearly unwilling to rick moving his face too much while you worked.
“Can I have a sip?” Dustin immediately asked while reaching for the glass.
“No,” every single one of you answered at the exact same time.
Robin and Steve immediately resumed their increasingly confusion conversation while you carefully dragged the eyeliner pencil beneath Eddie’s waterline one final time before finally pulling away from him.
“Aw, c’mon,” Dustin groaned dramatically.
The second you started standing up from Eddie’s lap, his free hand immediately curled around your waist and tugged you back down long enough to press a slow kiss against your lips, a quieter thank you brushed against your mouth afterward before he leaned back just enough to finally take a sip from his drink.
The silver Casio wrapped around Robin’s wrist suddenly let out a soft, electronic beep loud enough to quiet the cramped backstage room almost instantly.
For a brief moment, nobody spoke.
You leaned back towards Eddie, a grin already tugging at your lips while you pushed yourself up from his lap and started packing everything back into your makeup again.
“Well,” you sing-songed lightly while zipping it shut, “I think it’s time, boys.”
Jeff immediately stood up from the couch while Gareth inhaled one sharp nervous breath before bouncing on the balls of his feet again.
Before Eddie could fully follow after the others through the backstage door, you gently tugged him back by his arm long enough to press one final kiss against his cheek.
“For good luck,” you whispered with a cheekier smile spreading across your lips while admiring the deep red lipstick stain you’d left behind on his skin.
You gently shoved Eddie towards the door before cheekily smacking your hand against his ass as you followed him down the long hallway leading back towards the front of the venue.
A dense cloud of cigarette smoke drifted through the corridor while muffled music and crowd noise grew louder with every step closer towards the stage.
Faint red and orange stage lights sliced through the darkness in hazy beams, painting faces in bruised theatrical colours while turning sweat into tiny glittering flames beneath the heat.
When Robin had said the place was packed, you definitely hadn’t imagined this.
The crowd had become a heaving shoulder-to-shoulder mass of leather jackets, raised glasses, elbows, cigarettes, and lighters all moving hazily in time with the final song of the mediocre opening band stumbling through the end of their setlist.
The stage itself dissolved into smeared movements as dark silhouetted figures gave something vaguely resembling a bow before disappearing off the platform to scattered cheers and whistles.
Robin stopped near the end of the hallway almost immediately after realising actually moving through the crowd now required a level of sidestepping and practiced body squeezing she simply did not possess.
So instead, she stayed behind waiting for you while Eddie and the others continued weaving towards the stage.
You quickly grabbed Robin by the wrist before dragging her into the sea of sweaty metalheads yourself, skilfully manoeuvring through the shifting bodies with an ease that immediately told her you’d clearly done this before.
By the time the two of you finally managed to squeeze your way towards the wall beside the stage, Steve’s painfully uncomfortable expression had already come into view as he did his absolute best to keep a protective distance between Dustin and the increasingly excited crowd of leather-clad strangers surrounding them.
The four of you had managed to find the perfect spot – close enough to clearly see the stage once the boys stepped out beneath the lights, but still far enough away to avoid getting swallowed by a potential mosh pit if one suddenly broke out.
Jeff softly bobbed his head to a rhythm only he could hear while plugging his bass into the amp, as Gareth absentmindedly spun his drumsticks between practiced fingers sitting diagonally behind him.
Eddie still hadn’t stepped onto the stage yet, but his beloved guitar had already found its place waiting for him beneath the dim red lights.
The second his frizzy curls finally appeared beneath the dim stage lights as he hesitantly climbed up the few steps onto the platform, you immediately caught the nervousness still lingering across his face.
His fingers twitched faintly at his side while his gaze flicked anxiously across the crowd searching for you somewhere amongst the sea of bodies.
Your hand instinctively slipped into the front pocked of your skirt, fingers curling around a tiny ziplock bag that admittedly looked incredibly suspicious once you pulled it out – enough to immediately earn a deeply concerned look from Steve when his eyes darted sharply between you and Dustin.
Ignoring the increasingly stressed babysitter entirely, you quietly spilled the contents into your palms before murmuring something low beneath your breath and gently blowing it towards the stage.
And just like that, something in Eddie finally settled.
He rolled his shoulders back, cracked his neck once to their side, and then finally wrapped his ringed hand confidently around the neck of his guitar before throwing the strap over his head.
After Jeff passed him the cable, Eddie plugged the guitar into the amp before experimentally pulling at a single chord with practiced fingers and letting the sound bounce through the deep red venue walls and out into the crowd.
The loud overlapping conversations filling the club softened almost instantly before giving way to whistles, cheers, and excited hollering directed towards the three-man band now standing beneath the stage lights.
The lipstick stain you’d marked him with briefly disappeared beneath the spill of deep red stage lights when Eddie turned towards his bandmates with a grin stretching across his face before giving them one final confident nod.
And then, before you could even fully process it, jagged palm-muted riffs suddenly tore through the venue.
Razor-edged distortion immediately followed beneath Eddie’s practiced hands while the thick percussive bassline rolled effortlessly beneath Jeff’s fingers and Gareth’s double-kick pedals and sharp snare hits punched through the air with relentless force.
The sound pouring from the amps swallowed the venue whole in seconds, filling the crowded room with the familiar predatory urgency and high-adrenaline aggression Hammerhead carried so naturally.
Deciding that whatever damage he might do to his neck tonight was entirely Future Eddie’s problem, he threw his head back and forth beneath the stage lights with his eyes squeezed shut behind already damp curls while his fingers followed the quick and raw chromatic runs across the strings effortlessly.
By the time the earlier hollering had fully dissolved into spilled drinks, shoving bodies, raised fists, and overlapping shouting from somewhere inside the crowd, Eddie finally forced his eyes back open again.
And for the first time since stepping onto the stage, he actually let himself fully take in the packed venue in front of him.
Even from where you stood only a few feet away, you caught the exact second his dark eyes widened slightly before he swallowed hard and let out that familiar scoff – the specific one he always did whenever he way trying very hard to act unimpressed despite secretly feeling proud of himself.
Beside you, Steve crossed his arms tightly across his chest while that very specific expression settled across his face – the exact one disappointed parents gave their rebellious teenagers the first time they heard the aggressively screechy music blasting from their bedrooms – while Dustin had apparently already lost his cap somewhere in the crowd after nearly giving himself a concussion headbanging the second Eddie stepped up to the mic.
Robin attempted to scream the lyrics along with Eddie, but somewhere between the noise and excitement, the words leaving her mouth mostly tangled into nonsense instead while her fingers stayed busy repeatedly snapping pictures with the disposable camera she’d bought specifically for tonight.
And you? Well, Eddie had taken your breath away, like he always did when he performed.
The way he moved around the stage like he belonged there, the veins rising along his throat while he aggressively shouted into the mic, the effortless slide of his fingers across the strings, the way he somehow commanded an entire room without even realising it himself.
Somewhere around the middle of the set – shortly after Eddie had aggressively screamed for the crowd to get louder with a crooked grin pulling at his lips – his attention suddenly caught on the familiar skeleton design stretched across the chest of a bald guy somewhere near the front of the crowd.
The screen-printed figure climbing from the coffin was unmistakable.
His fingers tightened slightly around the microphone as his words momentarily faltered before he quickly caught himself again, though not before a different kind of warmth spread through his chest entirely unrelated to the sweat dripping beneath the stage lights.
“Fuck, Ashwood,” he laughed breathlessly while his brightened eyes briefly found yours somewhere near the side of the stage before flicking back towards the crowd again. “Y’all looking fucking bitchin’ wearing my girl’s design.”
That immediately earned him another round of loud whistles, cheers, and chaotic hollering from the crowd while Eddie licked slowly across his chapped lips and casually leaned an elbow against the microphone stand, still gripping it with his older hand.
“Can’t fucking hear you,” he sing-songed into the mic with the smirk stretched wider across his face beneath the stage lights. “Make some fucking noise for my girl, Ashwood!”
The reaction from the crowd somehow grew even louder and, with it, the heat across your cheeks spread down your neck while your eyes stayed helplessly glued to Eddie standing beneath the deep red lights.
Still wearing that dangerously confident smirk, Eddie turned towards Gareth while absently sliding the microphone back into its stand.
You could practically smell the sweat clinging to Gareth’s loose curls when he suddenly lifted both drumsticks into the air and slammed them together loudly to count them in.
A sharp screech of feedback immediately tore through the venue when Eddie accidentally tugged against the plugged-in cable while his fingers found the strings again, his dark eyes still glued to the steadily growing mosh pit near the front of the crowd.
Somewhere between the overdriven ringing notes and the sharp nasal timbre of Eddie’s controlled vibratos, Steve suddenly turned around in absolute horror after finally realising he’d been too distracted watching the boys onstage to notice Dustin disappearing entirely.
Meanwhile, while you and Robin screamed the lyrics badly into each other’s faces with the disposable camera now clutched in your hands, Jeff’s closed eyes finally opened again before immediately landing on the familiar mess of tight curls bouncing wildly somewhere inside the pit.
A warm laugh escaped him beneath all the noise as he stepped closer to Eddie during the brief second the singer leaned away from the microphone before jerking his head towards the crowd where Dustin had somehow ended up hoisted onto somebody’s shoulders in the middle of the chaos.
The exact second Eddie’s bright eyes landed on the familiar curls bouncing above the crowd, Steve – still standing on his toes with absolute horror written all over his face – muttered something deeply distressed beneath his breath before dragging a frustrated hand through his hair and disappearing directly into the sweat-drenched sea of leather jackets and flailing limbs.
The scoff leaving Eddie’s mouth was quickly followed by the faint sound of laughter accidentally echoing into the microphone before he shook his head once and forced himself fully back into his frontman persona to finish the song properly.
As his ringed fingers sustained the chiming final chords and his voice stretched through one last emotional phrase before easing into a softer harmonized close, the venue slowly filled with restraining ringing melodies while you screamed something incoherent directly into Robin’s ear.
A second later, her sweaty hands suddenly curled around your thighs before she hoisted you upward so you could get a better angle for the final few pictures with the disposable camera.
You shouted the last few lines of How Many Tears along with the crowd while one fist stayed raised triumphantly in the air and an almost childishly wide grin stretched across your face.
When the final reflective melody slowly faded towards its end, Eddie’s fingers slammed against the strings a few final times, letting the dramatic ringing chord vamp fill the venue while the chaotic hollering from the crowd slowly blurred into nothing beneath the violent pounding inside his ears.
His chest rose and fell rapidly while his uneven heartbeat thundered beneath the lingering screech of feedback and excruciating ringing still buzzing through his head.
Sweat clung damply to his curls when he finally dragged them back away from his face and let his gaze slowly drift out across the crowd standing beneath the stage lights.
Eddie barely even realized he’d gone completely still until Jeff suddenly threw an arm around his shoulders and screamed an overly excited thank you directly into the microphone before roughly smacking him across the back and disappearing down the stairs again.
An exhausted breath finally slipped from Eddie’s lips when he spotted Robin leaning towards the edge of the stage so you could carefully climb down from her shoulders and onto the platform.
Before he could even react properly, you stepped closer and gently lifted the guitar strap back over his head while carefully taking the instrument into your own hands.
“C’mere,” you whispered softly while intertwining your fingers with his free hand. “Robin’s getting us drinks.”
You flashed him another toothy grin while his eyes lingered on the unmistakable pride still shining across your face before you softly tugged him towards the stairs leading back down from the stage and into the quieter backstage hallway again.
Before pushing the backstage door open with your shoulder, you carefully turned back towards Eddie – mindful of the guitar still balanced in your hand – and pressed one long kiss against his drenched temple.
The cramped room smelled heavily of weed, spilled beer, and sweat mixed in with cigarette smoke by the time you finally stepped back inside with Eddie trailing closely behind you.
You reluctantly let go of his ringed hand long enough to carefully place his beloved instrument back onto the spare stand tucked in the corner before dropping yourself down onto one of the foldout chairs and quietly coaxing Eddie over towards you.
Without much resistance, he immediately sank down onto your lap instead while wrapping one exhausted arm loosely around your shoulders.
“The big, bad rockstar is actually a giant baby, huh?” Steve joked from behind his beer glass the second he saw Eddie practically melting into you.
“Shut up, Steven,” you muttered firmly while your hand brushed gently up and down Eddie’s damp back. “And pass that joint before you become physically incapable of driving Dustin home.”
The soft blend of exhausted laughter, proud compliments, and overlapping voices filling the cramped backstage room was momentarily drowned out by the loud creak of the door opening again when Robin shoved it closed behind her using her back while balancing an almost concerning amount of drinks across the tray in her hands.
“Can I try a drag?” Dustin immediately asked the second Steve passed the joint to Eddie.
“No,” every single one of you answered in perfect unison once again.
The joint kept making lazy rounds around the cramped room while tired laughter and overlapping conversations slowly softened beneath exhaustion.
Somewhere outside the backstage walls, the crowd still hadn’t fully settled either – occasional whistles and chants bleeding faintly through the venue every now and then, which caused Eddie to bury his face further against your neck each time it happened.
Somewhere between Robin loudly recounting Steve disappearing into the mosh pit after Dustin and Gareth insisting he deserved medical attention after almost getting hit with a flying beer bottle, Eddie’s responses slowly dissolved into quieter hums against your skin.
“You wanna go back to the hotel, baby?” you whispered quietly as your fingers drifted softly through his damp curls while a small smile tugged at your lips.
“Only if you carry me,” he mumbled sleepily against your skin.
After almost an hour, you finally unlocked the door to the motel room and pushed it open so Eddie could stumble inside first while you carefully carried the heavy guitar case in behind him.
The second he stepped into the room, he kicked off his shoes and immediately collapsed face-first onto the mattress without even bothering to take off the rest of his clothes, which instantly pulled a softer chuckle from you.
Before joining him, you changed back into the oversized shirt you’d slept in the night before and grabbed a glass of water from the bathroom sink for him.
“C’mere, baby,” you whispered softly while setting the glass down onto the nightstand before climbing onto the bed beside him.
You gently poked at his arm until he finally rolled over enough for you to carefully tug his still-damp shirt up and over his head.
The vibrant neon lights glowing outside the motel had been softened by the curtains you’d drawn shut earlier that evening, and the only sound filling the room now besides Eddie’s exhausted breathing was the faint endless humming of the broken ice machine somewhere down the hallway.
His ringed fingers dragged through his curls while you worked open the buckle of his belt, carefully tugging him out of the uncomfortable skinny jeans so he could finally get some proper sleep.
Your hands paused halfway through pulling the rough denim down his thighs when your gaze caught the noticeable outline beneath his boxers.
“Baby, you’re exhausted,” you whispered softly, your fingers resuming their absentminded movements as you eased the jeans lower.
“But I want you,” he mumbled groggily, rubbing at one of his tires eyes.
After a brief struggle to free his calves from the stubborn denim, you climbed back onto the bed beside him and propped yourself up on one elbow, your chin resting in your hand.
“Are you sure?” you asked quietly, a faint crease of concern tugging at your brows.
He only nodded, eyes slipping shut for a moment before he forced them open again, heavy with exhaustion as they lingered lazily over your face.
Another small nod followed, and you pressed a gentle kiss to his temple before carefully climbing back down the bed until your knees sank into the carpet beside him.
Eddie’s breath caught softly in his throat as you gently tugged his boxers down, the soft cotton brushing against his cock as you did so.
A soft, tired gasp escaped from his lips when he felt the warm, wet feeling of your spit landing on the angry red tip of his cock right before your hand gently curled around his sensitive flesh.
His eyes slipped shut again the moment your lips wrapped around his leaking cock, and despite the exhaustion weighing heavily on his body, he still had to fight the instinctive urge to thrust his hips forwards to bury himself deeper into the warmth of your mouth.
Your free hand slid gently over the blankets underneath him and intertwined his fingers with yours as soft, sleepy whimpers continued spilling from his mouth the deeper you took him in your mouth.
His free hand curled softly into your hair as another low whimper slipped from his lips at the teasing flick of your tongue against his slit. With gentle care, you bobbed your head and took his cock a little deeper, your gaze fixed on the way his eyes had fallen shut and the slow rise and fall of his chest – calm enough to tell you he was seconds away from sleep.
The grip in your hair loosened slightly when he finally drifted off, though you kept moving in a slow, unhurried rhythm while his sleepy cock twitched against your tongue.
Soft, low snoring soon filled the room around you as you gave one last flick of your tongue against his tip, your fingers moving gently up and down until his softening cock finally slipped free from your mouth.
Carefully, after swallowing everything he’d given you, you pulled the soft cotton of his boxers back over his hips before climbing back into bed beside him.
Then, just before sleep finally claimed you too, you pressed a soft kiss to his temple and snuggled quietly against his chest.
Your eyes stayed fixed on the wooden record crate while your fingers carefully flipped through the sleeves one by one, keeping an attentive eye out for anything remotely interesting.
Somewhere in the back of the music shop, Eddie’s voice echoed through the storage room while he aggressively cursed at whatever new shipment had arrived earlier that morning, the rattling sound of boxes being dragged around followed right after.
He’d asked you to keep an eye on the front of the store and come get him if any customers wandered in, and in return, he’d handed over the sacred privilege of choosing the record of the day.
Naturally, you’d accepted immediately.
Warm amber lights filtered through the dusty glass display counter, catching against the details of harmonicas, rare singles, enamel pins, and patches while casting long shadows across the shelves lined with plastic-wrapped cassettes and music books.
You’d already been there a handful of times by now, but the walls plastered with framed concert posters and overcrowded cork board still managed to amaze you every single time you stepped inside.
The entire store carried a kind of clutter that bordered on tactile – with a cozy listening station tucked into the corner beside a couple of worn beanbags, and the faint lingering smell of coffee and freshly unpacked merch.
“You find anything interesting yet?” Eddie mumbled while pushing through the beaded curtain with his shoulder, a heavy box of records balanced carefully in his arms.
He dropped the box onto the counter before immediately pulling the cardboard flaps open.
“Yeah,” you murmured distractedly after a second once your eyes landed on a particularly colourful sleeve. “I think so.”
Three faces stared back at you from the cover art, looking either like a clown had violently exploded across the design or like the artist had been aggressively experimenting with LSD while designing it.
Soft footsteps echoed quietly through the otherwise empty shops before Eddie’s arms wrapped themselves loosely around your waist and his chin settled into its usual place between your shoulder and neck.
“Cream, huh?” he mumbled while brushing his nose lightly against your skin, breathing in the soft herbal scent clinging to you from whatever oils and mixtures you’d been experimenting with lately. “Pretty sure Wayne saw them live back in the day.”
“Yeah?” you mumbled back, your gaze still lingering across the cover. “They must be good if Wayne spent money to see them.”
Eddie just hummed in agreement as he continued brushing the tip of his nose against your skin.
You turned the sleeve around to take a look at the tracklist, and immediately let out an ugly snort when your gaze fell on the very first song, pulling Eddie’s attention away from your neck to see what was so funny.
“Strange Brew, huh?” he chuckled when he followed your pointing finger under the track. “You’re never beating the witch allegations if everything slightly witchy keeps finding you like this.”
A softer laugh slipped from your lips as you finally tore your eyes away from the sleeve long enough to glance back at him over your shoulder.
“You found me too, remember?” You lifted an eyebrow at him, immediately pulling another laugh from Eddie.
His grip around your waist loosened while he laughed before he leaned down to press a quick kiss against your cheek and finally stepped away from you again, returning towards the cardboard box still waiting to be unpacked on the counter.
“I have absolutely no response to that,” he mumbled while reaching into the box, his fingers carefully curling around the brand new record sleeves before lifting them out one by one.
You rolled your eyes lightly to yourself before turning the Cream album back around in your hands again.
Then you wandered around the counter to join him behind the register, drifting closer towards the beaten-up turntable sitting beside the stacks of freshly unpacked vinyl.
“So, I was thinking,” you mumbled while carefully sliding the record from its sleeve, already waiting for Eddie’s usual little I’m listening hum before continuing, “should we get a cat?”
That made him blink a few times.
His fingers paused halfway through pulling another record out of the box before one of his rings snagged briefly against the cardboard flap.
“You mean,” he started slowly while untangling himself from it, “should you get a cat.”
Your brows immediately pulled into a faint scowl while you carried the record over towards the beaten-up turntable near the register.
“I know what I meant,” you mumbled while carefully lowering the needle. “And I meant us.”
Eddie looked up at you properly then.
You kept fiddling with the stereo knobs while continuing like you hadn’t just casually rearranged his entire emotional state.
“You basically live with me already,” you added distractedly while fighting the stubborn speaker static. “It’s your home, too.”
It took another few tries before the quiet record store finally filled with a lazy blues-rock groove and the fuzzy lead guitar of the opening track – something psychedelic and slow that sounded strangely like a light-night potion brewed from equal parts charm and danger.
“I don’t think I’m ready to become a father,” Eddie finally settled on after a few long seconds instead of voicing the far uglier self-deprecating thoughts that had immediately started clawing their way through his head.
Because, yeah – he basically did live with you already.
Most of his clothes had somehow found a permanent home in the middle drawer of your dresser, and Wayne had recently ended his long-term relationship with the pullout couch in favour of starting a new one with Eddie’s old bed.
And Eddie did feel at home in your trailer.
He liked the small routines the two of you had quietly built together – the late-night grocery runs, shared cigarettes on the porch, records humming softly through the kitchen while one of you cooked.
But besides helping around the house whenever he could and occasionally paying for groceries, Eddie still sometimes felt like he wasn’t really contributing enough to deserve any of it.
“I know what you’re thinking,” you murmured softly while lowering the dust cover back over the turntable. “Stop it.”
Eddie blinked up at you. “Stop what?”
A deeper sigh left you as you turned towards him properly, already reaching for one of his hands.
“I didn’t think I actually had to ask it out loud,” you mumbled while gently tugging him closer until he fully turned to face you again. “But do you wanna move in? Like… really move in?”
Eddie stared at you for a few seconds.
“Are you asking me this because you really want a cat?”
That immediately pulled a softer laugh from you while you closed the remaining distance between your bodies.
“Maybe,” you admitted quietly before smiling up at him. “I don’t wanna be a single mom, though.”
Eddie snorted quietly under his breath.
“And,” you added softly. “I really would like you to permanently move in with me.”
You leaned up just enough to press a gentle kiss against his cheek before pulling back again.
“Plus,” you added with another teasing smile, “I’m pretty sure Wayne’s more than happy to pass the burden onto somebody else.”
Eddie fell quiet for a few long seconds, trying his best to shove aside the familiar self-deprecating thoughts with the warmth of your words instead.
Eventually, another quieter breath escaped him.
“Only if we get a black cat,” he murmured after a moment, his thumb brushing slowly against your knuckles, “and call him Ozzy.”
You immediately snorted – the loud and ugly kind of laugh that somehow only ever came out around Eddie.
“What if it’s a girl?” you asked while a stupid grin already pulled at your lips. “You gonna call her Sharon?”
“Oh, you’re giving me way too many ideas right now,” Eddie murmured while his hands found your hips again, gently pulling you back against his chest.
“Yeah?” you whispered back while leaning your forehead softly against his.
“Oh, yeah,” he grinned. “Ozzy and Sharon Munson. That’s sick.”
You immediately burst into laughter at the look on his face – the one that always made him look like he’d just received divine revelation straight from the Universe itself.
“You gonna give them your last name?” you teased.
Eddie’s smile softened almost instantly.
“Not just them,” he murmured quietly against your neck.
⋆˚꩜｡ a/n: my babbyyy 🥹🥹 this was by far my favourite piece ive ever written, hope you enjoy this last instalment of rftr!
Summary: Getting stuck with Steve in the van on crawl nights fucking sucks. Getting stranded in a snowstorm, forced to cuddle up next to the one person you cannot stand, all to share warmth and hopefully survive the night? You’re almost certain you’d rather freeze to death. Almost.
WC: 18k+
Includes: bitchy idiots to lovers. one bed & forced proximity tropes. hurt/comfort. angst w/ some fluff to balance it out. language. steve’s trauma. reader’s trust issues. smut- heavy petting, humping, oral (f receiving), PiV sex, dirty talk. reader has no descriptions beyond breasts & vagina, and she/her pronouns. fic takes place in the winter, pre s5. prob some inaccuracies re: treating hypothermia; everything I researched was conflicting with other info, so for the sake of the fic, pretend any errors work lmao. lmk if I forgot any tags. // MDNI 18+ as always with my fics, please respect that.
A/N: Said I wasn’t gonna even try to write a van fic, the fandom has enough, and then this idea slapped itself permanently into my brain after vol. 1, and unfortunately took me months to finish. So... sorry if you’re sick of the van fics, but here’s one more 😅 title is a lyric from hard - hayley williams, and the fic is loosely (very loosely lol) inspired by the song itself. dividers by @/cursed-carmine.
♪ always ready for the piano to fall / always ready to be left out in the cold / armor’s heavy, never suited me at all / but it’s the devil I know ♬
This has to be the worst night for a crawl yet.
Much to your dismay, you're stuck with Steve in the van tonight.
Dustin's sick with the flu, Will is still restricted from ever leaving Joyce's sight at this point, and you were more knowledgeable on telemetry tracking than Jonathan.
Leaving you- alone- with your least favorite person, for the rest of the night.
Yeah, lucky you.
This isn't the first time you've been paired up with him, nor would it be the last, you're certain. However, tonight's forecast called for snow and plummeting temps; accurate as ever as the evening grew near, with grey-white clouds blanketing the skies, flurries fluffing up by the minute.
You tried warning the others about the weather, understanding that crawls were usually non-negotiable, keeping flexible to the military's burn schedules, unbeknownst to them.
It still had to happen; any chance to find and defeat Vecna is a chance to end this nightmare, once and for all.
And that's never your call to make.
Creaking the passenger side door open, the first greeting that hits you is a miffed grumble, "Jesus, took you long enough."
"Yeah, hi to you too, Steve," you deadpan, careful to climb in backwards, kicking as much snow off your boots as you can before shutting the door.
He gives you a once-over, poorly stifling an ill-fitted chuckle.
Rolling your eyes, you glare over at him. "What?"
"You look like that kid from A Christmas Story with all those layers."
"Ha-ha, very funny." You struggle to cross your arms, puffed up and padded down with your winter coat.
"There's heat in the van, y'know." Glancing over his shoulder, he throws a thumb to the back of the van. "That box of stuff is back there, too, but… kinda just a waste of space, don't you think?"
"Oh, for the love of—" you crawl between the front seats, shoving Steve's shoulder in the process. Reaching the medium-sized cardboard box, you drag a well-loved and worn blanket out. "We've been over this, Steve."
"We get it, your circulation sucks, or whatever. I don't see how that's anyone else's problem."
"If I have to put up with you leaving all those goddamn Boppers wrappers around, you can deal with the emergency box." Holding a hand up, you add, "Which, is for everyone, by the way."
"Yeah, well, a sleeping bag's a little much. And extra socks? A sweatshirt? C'mon—"
"Last week Dustin was glad I packed that sweatshirt when it dropped to 40 degrees at night," you settle in the back, unlocking the wheel on the ceiling. "Because you refused to shut your window."
Exasperated, he throws his arms up. "The cold keeps me awake! Sue me!" Steve turns around, lip curled upward in disgust. "Also it's gross you just… leave socks for other people to use."
"They're new and I wash them if they get used! I wash everything in here, you fucking mor—"
"Hey, guys, you good to go?" Robin's voice through the tinny speaker of the walkie disrupts the insults you had on standby for Steve.
Glaring at Steve while he reflects his own sharp stare, you respond, "As good as we're gonna get."
There's no room for Steve to bite back; you're already tugging the headphones over your ears, focused as you fidget with the knobs. Your main concern isn't him, it's tracking Hopper to keep this as successful and safe of a crawl as possible.
Steve's gaze lingers, but it softens, deflates into one of dejection. You feel his eyes on you, but ignore it, thinking he's still trying to hold out on the sign of animosity; it's not that.
Despondency plagues him whenever you're around, and he resorts to cynicism, trapped in its ugly cycle. You hate him, why should he play nice in return?
It's easier to allow bitterness to keep distance between the two of you. Easier to forget how you and Steve were just in reach of something more.
Until you just… left.
Friendship break-ups are sometimes harder than romantic ones.
No one ever talks about that weird gap, suspended between acquaintances and beyond, falling into potential friendship, drifting back off into something bitter, a bond you only shared, tip-toeing along a jagged edge.
You'd drift in, drift out.
Grew close, just enough for hope to thrive, only to push him away.
In, out.
All while longing for something more, desperate to ride out a wave that drifts back and builds momentum, only to crash ashore into nothing.
So you cough up water, take a few deep breaths, and dive back in again.
Turns out, that shit gets exhausting over time. Especially when you discover a grim truth, hidden from the start.
When you're not treading water to stay afloat, it's swimming through a naval minefield in murky waters; drift into one, and you're blasted into overthinking what went wrong, what stopped the bond from blooming. And all it takes is one 'what if?' to shift course and bump into one these mines, ruining your day completely.
What if you hadn't moved away after Starcourt's explosive demise, deciding on a fresh start by leaving this nightmare of a town behind?
What if you and Steve were able to become more, if not stay friends, and he had just been honest about the Upside Down from the beginning?
What if you allowed that friendship to swell into something more? Standing him up on a date that could've changed everything; a wave ready to ride out naturally, only to retreat. Withdraw like the ocean before returning full force as a tsunami; why follow the tide out just to trap yourself in the path of imminent destruction?
If you stayed… would it have been worth it?
The two of you were star-crossed; Steve was still hung up on Nancy when you discovered your feelings for him. When he moved on, you found someone else. It almost turned into a sad, little game; when one was ready, the other had been redirected elsewhere.
It was even pitiful, the way you two barely had a friendship to build on, because one wasn't ready, and the other got tired of waiting.
Wash. Rinse. Repeat.
Your time outside of Hawkins brought you steps away from turning fully into stone; get hurt enough times, you refuse welcoming anyone and everyone in so easily. One too many soured relationships had you settled on the idea that maybe you just weren't meant to share love like that.
That hurt transforms your body as a shield for your heart, ribs hardening into steel cages as an added last line of defense; you were one heartbreak away from adding electric barbed wire for good measure.
No one would get in again. Not if you could help it. Not like that.
Coming home wasn't an easy choice, but it was the only one that felt right. Your friends were still here, who you loved as family— bonded through unholy tragedies rather than blood, still family all the same; you had to check on them. You couldn't leave them hanging again.
Because your first thought upon hearing of the destruction, was what if any of them died?
Then you return to find out the worst what if came true: someone among the group died; Eddie's gone. And Max? Well… she's closer to a tragic ending than most of you.
You suffocated yourself in distractions, helping your parents to pack up and move out, promising you wouldn't be too far behind, that you needed to check on your friends immediately.
Unfortunately, coming home right before the town went into quarantine was not part of the plan.
Time away had you forget how downright stubborn Steve could be if he set his mind to something, and all he wanted was to break your walls down, at least to find common ground.
That was still far too much give, and not enough take for you. They're not uncharted waters, you just know you're not meant to navigate them, and know damn well Steve would just stand by and watch you sink.
Those what ifs of your past resurfaced, pulling you under, taunting you to open your mouth when there was nowhere to breathe.
The last place you needed to drown in emotions you couldn't afford was in a town under quarantine. Locked in, fenced off from the rest of the world, with someone you barely had a chance to build a friendship with. Someone you always yearned for more with, yet royally fucked up any chances with.
That more, those chances, they're thousands of meters below a rough, choppy surface, down to the pitch-black depths of the abyssal zone; it's just not in reach, and you've protected your heart this long, you didn't need all that effort to go to waste within a impulsive dive, head first into what would certainly make your heart implode.
You can only tread water for so long, though.
"Hop's going as slow as possible tonight, so we don't have to speed, alright?"
Steve only shoves an aggressive thumbs up over his head, tongue prodding into the side of his cheek.
"I mean, it'll pick up if he hitches a ride on a military truck for a while, but—"
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Don't go fast unless necessary." He grumbles under his breath, "I'm not stupid."
And that stings, because you genuinely weren't insinuating that. In fact, you're certain you've never insinuated that before.
"Steve, I wasn't trying to—"
"Don't." His shoulders tense up, grumbling out, "Unless it's about this crawl, I don't wanna talk. You focus on your job, I'll focus on mine."
His flat tone and curt demeanor makes your stomach churn. Nights like these where you're forced together have you longing for the past. Before you knew of the Upside Down, before he was trapped in a bunker below Starcourt, before you left like a goddamn coward.
Ever since you returned to Hawkins, it's like he resents you for protecting yourself. Your peace. Your sanity.
What the hell was the point of continuing to stick around, pour your heart into a friendship that only opened if you brought the crowbar?
Despite the mutual loathing, you and Steve make a pretty solid team when kept strictly to business.
Keeping up with a telemetry tracker while stuck in a snow storm is tricky, to say the least. Neither of you have a problem blaming the other for what's outside of your control, though.
"Jesus, Steve, slow down." It's hard to sit upright as he keeps his speed— a speed that normally wouldn't be a problem, if it weren't for the slick roads. You hiss under your breath,"Fucking lead-foot."
He hears you, snapping back, "You wanna drive? Huh?" His eyes stay fixated on the road. The windshield becomes more obstructed as the snow gains momentum, falling heavily onto every surface within reach. "By all means, be my guest."
"God, you're such a bitch."
"Me?! Have you ever heard yourself talk for even, like, five seconds?" Steve's tempted to turn around to shout at you, but he keeps whatever cool he has left— which isn't much— and continues driving safely. "You're so fucking rude, and- god- you're so annoying, so fucking annoying."
"That's bold, coming from a pain in the ass like you…" you grumble, trailing off as the signal on the tracker drops; Hopper stopped moving. "Steve. Steve!"
"What?! Christ, can't you shut up—"
"Stop!"
"How come I have to stop, but you can keep bitching and moaning—"
"I meant the van, asshole!"
Steve slams on the brakes, hoping to skid to a stop, but the van keeps moving.
Gliding. Coasting. The van's skating on the slick road, completely out of control.
You throw the headphones aside, scrambling to the front to peer around Steve's seat. "Dude, what the fuck?!"
"Shit, shit, shit!"
Steve's death grip wraps around the wheel, knuckles turning white; he's ready to turn it toward the shoulder to get off the road, but you grab his arm and hold him in place. Eyes darting to the floor, you see his foot is still weighed down on the brake pedal.
"Wait— watch it! Harrington, keep the wheel straight!" Voice trembling from the frenzy. Steve's about to slam his foot down onto the brake when you panic, "Fuck, get your foot off the brake!"
Despite sliding, you don't spin. Snowfall rushes around the van, limiting visibility to just a few feet ahead. Even as the van slows, it fishtails. Steve frantically switches into low gear, breaths heavy and jagged as he releases control.
His right arm shoots out, bridging between the seats to brace himself and create a barrier to hold you back. Alarmed, he shouts, "Stay down!"
You don't move in time before impact, but you're projected into his arm with force, restraining you from hurtling over the seats and into the dashboard. The van's wheels rumble as it veers off the road, the ditch finally slowing you down to a halt.
Adrenaline rushing, you pant as you're frozen against his arm, processing that absolute disaster.
"Shit…" Steve gasps, trying to catch his breath. "… You okay?" Scanning over your figure, unable to find immediate concern beyond the fear on your expression, his shoulders begin to relax.
"Uh-huh," you rasp out, glancing up at him. "You?"
He nods firmly and swallows. "M'okay."
Static harshly shoves into the van, with Robin's voice following close behind.
She drones out, "Angry Lovebirds, do you copy? Hellooooo? Where the hell did you two go?"
You cringe at the code name, wishing you could shrink on the spot and disappear.
"Why the hell does she still call us that?" Steve gripes, running his hands over his face. "We've never— I don't even—"
Her voice drops to a mutter and cuts Steve off, asking as if the others aren't on the same channel, "Please tell me you two didn't kill each other."
"Oh my god," Steve rolls his eyes with a groan, head falling back against the seat.
In reluctant favor of answering Robin, you leave the warmth of Steve's side to grab the walkie. You curse yourself inwardly at the misplaced feelings.
Thumb jabbing in the talk button, you exhale a winded response, "We're good, we, uh…" Your eyes meet Steve's before darting away. "We hit black ice, though."
"Shit! Can you make it back safely?" She adds, "We were trying to get a hold of you guys, 'cus we had to call off the crawl. It didn't work out."
So the two of you slid on black ice… for nothing.
Fantastic.
"Um, hang— h- hold on." Turning to Steve, you noticed smoke rising on the other side from the van's hood. "Oh, fuck."
Steve jerks his head up, jumping into action. He kills the engine, immediately cutting off the warmth from the janky heater. Throwing his jacket on, he flings the driver's side door open and jumps out. Snowfall drifts sideways from the wind, and he winces as it pelts into his face.
"Guys?" Nancy's voice takes over now, concerned with the delay. "What's the status on the van?"
"Uh- well, it's actually—" You forget to release the talk button, shouting after Steve. "Wait! I'm coming with!"
Releasing it, a booming voice immediately floods through the speaker. "What the hell is going on out there?"
Hopper.
Oh, boy.
Meanwhile, Steve stands firm, shouting over the brutal, howling wind, "No, you're staying put!" He bites back on his own shivers, already creeping down his spine as he slams the door shut.
Well, can't say you didn't try.
Flicking your thumb against the talk button, your explanation comes to life with nervous laughter. "Hop! Hi. Soooooo… we're stuck in a ditch."
You can just imagine the drawn out sigh he lets out before responding, pinching the bridge of his nose, and all.
"Okay, where are you exactly?"
The glass of the back door window is freezing as you try to peek out. You huff your breath onto the glass, rubbing your sleeve against it to clear it up. It barely helps, with snow and frost beginning to coat it completely outside.
You squint through the narrow opening between patches of snow, gaze landing on the landmark in the near distance.
Groaning, you punch the talk button with your thumb. "The fuckin' cemetery."
"Language."
"Hey, I'm an adult! Last thing on my mind right now is censoring myself," you grumble into the walkie.
"How the hell did you two end up out there? That's not where I was in the Upside Down."
So, not only did the van throw you and Steve around like rag dolls on a failed crawl, but the tracker was off.
Way off.
"I- I don't know."
A frustrated shout cuts through the whistling squall outside. The van rocks as Steve kicks the bumper, cursing wildly at the shoddy engine.
"I thought you said you could handle tracking?"
Your blood begins to boil. Now's not the time for some trivial debate, not when you're possibly stranded in what's shaping up to be one of the worst snow storms Hawkins has seen yet.
There's no chance to respond when another voice, congested and hoarse, cuts in. "She can, she's actually good at this."
Dustin Henderson is a goddamn good egg, even while battling a cold.
You wish Hopper could see the smug grin on your face right now.
"I personally think Hop lost the tracker—" silence cuts in for a second, returning with Hopper scolding him; they have to be fighting over the damn walkie. "Watch it, kid. I didn't lose shit."
You slam your thumb down onto the talk button within another pause, mocking back, "Hey, Hopper? Language."
Another pause draws itself out, and eventually Robin returns with an exasperated huff. "You and Steve did nothing wrong. Hopper definitely lost the tracker."
"I didn't lose the fucking—"
The talk button is released on her end, abruptly interrupting Hopper's rant.
"Anyway… we're not that far from the station, right?"
"Five miles an hour in that van might take way longer, but you're not making it here on foot in this weather. It's not safe."
Woven into the wind is a muffled "son of a bitch!". The hood slams shut, jostling the van before Steve yanks the van door open, gracelessly stumbling inside.
Snow sticks to his hair, his clothes, slowly melting to leave him like a freezing, wet dog.
"This is fu- fuck, it's cold—!". Steve huffs out a mirthless chuckle, appearing nowhere near amused. "S'fucking ridiculous." His teeth chatter as he gripes, eyes falling on you, then to the walkie. "Give m- me that."
Steve's hand brushes against yours as he snatches the walkie from you, frigid and stiff. It takes a few tries to hit the talk button and hold it in successfully.
"Can anyone come get us? The van's f- fucked." With his jaw this tight, he's about to crush his teeth to dust. For a second, his eyes flicker to you, and you swear there's a flash of something genuine within the hazel. "Leaving the engine run is a d- disaster waiting to happen, so we can't use the h- heat."
There's silence on the other end; lack of an instant answer usually never fares well for any of you.
Scouring through the emergency box, you pick out a small, rolled towel, handing it over to Steve. For once, he doesn't look at you like you're nuts for keeping the damn box stocked.
He accepts it with a trembling hand, murmuring a both grateful yet defeated "Thanks".
"It's too dangerous for anyone to drive out, and way too dangerous for you two to try walking back. The nearest tunnel is at least a mile out from you, give or take on where you two ended up exactly in the cemetery."
Steve exhales roughly through his red, wind-bitten nose, handing the walkie back to you. "You t- take it. M'too pissed off to be nice ri- right now."
Nodding solemnly, you grab it back, responding to everyone. "Okay. We'll just… tough it out. I got some stuff to stay warm, so we should be okay for a few hours at least." Sighing, you glance up at Steve, laying out the now damp towel on the dashboard. "But the second it's safe enough, someone needs to come get us."
Hopper presses the talk button early, releasing a weary sigh first. "We'll try when we can."
That's not good enough, not for you, and not for Steve; the two of you cannot be stranded here overnight.
Together.
Alone.
"No, you'll do it when you can. I warned y'all the weather would be shit. You get us out of this mess the moment this storm slows down. Got it?"
A lengthy pause begins to irritate you the longer the seconds pass.
"Yeah, kid. I got it."
In defeat, you chuck the walkie aside, swallowing down the urge to scream.
It's no use to be angry now; best to bury those emotions and redirect that energy into something useful. Like helping Steve.
Even if he doesn't really deserve your help to begin with.
"Okay, Harrington, here's what's gonna happen." He turns slowly, heavy-lidded with fatigue settling into his expression. "I think the clothes in here are your size—"
"How the hell do y- you know what size clothes I wear?"
Would it kill him to be nice? Or quiet? For just five fucking seconds?
"To keep this shit on hand if we need it, and you're welcome, by the way." You toss a t-shirt with the radio's logo on it, wool socks, and sweatpants his way. "There's a reason I asked everyone what their sizes were months ago."
Steve catches it all, just barely, but he's left dumbfounded. Through chattering teeth, he snaps, "Wh- why the hell do I want these?"
"Are you kidding me? Dude, you can't stay in those clothes. You're gonna get hypothermia."
"Whatever," he starts peeling off his clothes, and you take that as a cue to turn around. A faint comment slips under his breath, "It'd be better than being stuck here."
It's still audible enough to you, clear enough to sting. You feel like a damn fool for thinking Steve was finally presenting something other than hatred, for once.
"You're not the only one who doesn't wanna be stuck here." Rubbing your eyes, you sigh.
There's no way you can last the night in here without killing one another; it's too long to put up with his bullshit.
Unless…
There might be one shred of hope left. And okay, sure, it's more a thin, fraying thread that could lead to nothing, but you won't know until you try.
You bundle yourself back up, zipping up your jacket, winding the scarf around your neck tightly, tugging your hat over your head. Steve notices when you're slipping your hands into a pair of mittens.
"Hey, whoa—" Now comfortably changed, he clambers to the back, a little too close for comfort. "No. What are you doing? You're not going out there."
But you ignore his concern, if it's even real to begin with. "That gas station's still down the road, right?"
"Maybe? I don't— that's not—" Frazzled, he stumbles over his thoughts. "You're not walking down there in the snow." His fingers fight against stiffness, winding around your wrist shielded under your coat. "You need to be safe."
"Why? So you don't get the blame if something bad happens?" Irritated, you yank your hand back. "Just… wait here. I'll be quick."
"Quick? Yeah, right. It's not that close by foot." Steve, still stiff from the cold, clumsily shoves in front of you to block the back doors. "Your circulation sucks, remember?"
His attempted smartass comment fails miserably as concern seeps through the cracks of his tone.
"And you said it wasn't your problem," you retort, shoving him aside. "Look, it's right down the road. Maybe we'll be lucky and they'll have coffee, or something hot. We both could use something like that right now—"
"You brought your thermos! I haven't seen you use it once." He runs a hand through his damp hair, sighing. "And even if they did have coffee, it'd be ice cold by the time you got back."
"Oh, you watching my every move now, Harrington?" Your voice drops low, dry, sick of this conversation. "That's precious."
He doesn't react, only argues, "What if it's closed?"
Your eyes dart away from him, faltering. "T- there's a pay phone outside," you really thought it'd be easier to shake him. "I can call someone to get us out—"
"No. Now you're just being ridiculous." One hand perches on his hip, while the other waves wildly as he speaks. "Who the hell's coming out after curfew? Especially in this?"
You shrug, shrinking into yourself with a weak lie. "… I might know a guy?"
"Cut the shit, what's out there that's worth freezing to death for, huh?"
"I'm trying to leave you the fuck alone, Steve!" Seething, the explosion silences Steve, guilt and shame softening his expression. "I'm not thrilled to be stranded here with you either, but I was willing to play nice! I was willing to get along, but you don't want that, and that—" You bite back tears, ones born of anger, maybe even a hint of rage. "That's fine. Just trying to make it easier for us both, give some space."
"Wh… what?" He's dumbfounded. "When I said I didn't want to be stuck here, that wasn't about you—"
"Oh, please. Like I buy that for a fucking second."
"I wish you would!" He exclaims, voice fracturing with panic. "You really think I want you to freeze to death 'cause we can't get along? That's the last thing I'd want."
"Yeah, well…" your hand lingers over the handle, glaring back at him, returning the jagged comment to sender. "It'd be better than being stuck here."
It's tempting to tack on "with you" at the end, but you bite your tongue. You're not even sure if you'd mean that.
Eyes set forward, you miss his sullen, wounded stare, etched into his features when you exit the van. You're plunging head first into regret once your boots hit the snow. Instead of swallowing your pride and climbing right back in, you feign indifference as you slam the doors shut without looking back.
The doors never reopen, and he never calls for you; it's clear how much of a relief the space is for both of you.
If you tell yourself enough times that it's better than being stuck in that doomed ice box on wheels with Steve all night, maybe you'll begin believing it.
Before the Upside Down, before losing his friends, losing Nancy, losing the cheap crown on his head in his fall from grace— Steve could fall asleep with ease. His head could hit the pillow and he'd be out.
The typical high school blues were enough to send any teenager into stress-induced sleep loss, but the Upside Down's daunting reminder that the fight was only dormant, forced full blown insomnia to become his closest friend.
Exhaustion would lead him to eventually sleep, but he'd fight it off as long as he could; you can only handle the bloodcurdling screams and cries of your friends dying in your dreams so many times before giving up on sleep completely.
Every creak in his house on nights home alone— loneliness all too common in that house— had him holding his breath, waiting for sudden movements to echo out again. Every light bulb, flickering on its way out for good, froze him in fear of who, or what, lay in wait on the other side. And if a detail, no matter how small, is enough to keep him from sleep, that's an open invitation for his mind to spiral.
Tonight, trying to rest in the van, he notices a gap; it's thin and barely noticeable, between the flimsy plywood floorboards underneath the shag carpet. Steve feels it every time he tosses and turns; it always digs into his left hip, slightly uneven from the other board it should be snug against.
He flips to the right, but no, that feels wrong; he's not a right side sleeper. That changed after '84, and he's not exactly sure why, but he sleeps better on the left side.
And on his back? He doesn't even dare, not after a sleep paralysis episode after those fucking bats attacked him. That one and only episode he felt pinned to the bed, like a bat was choking him all over again. His scars ached for hours after, the one around his throat singed through his skin like some god-awful, hellish rope-burn.
So, yeah, Steve can't sleep, clearly not from the cold; turns out, that sleeping bag of yours was a good idea. He won't outright admit that though. Or, how your emergency box actually was, and continues to be, useful.
He tries to rest, flip-flops between sides to get comfortable, but the minutes you're gone only accumulate in his mind to a concerning degree, like the heavy snowfall outside. Every second that ticks past is a second too long without you.
By car, the gas station is a few minutes away. By foot, in weather like this, bundled up in excessive layers? Shit, even he'd struggle to move quickly. He'd definitely get sick, too.
Time passes, snow builds, and Steve continues to overthink. Eventually, he wonders, Am I really that fucking awful to be stranded in the snow with?
What the answer would be to you, he already knows. You think he doesn't give a fuck, and it's not like he's done much to prove otherwise.
To you, Steve's fears to let you go out into the cold were only linked to the clear concept of: if you got hurt, he'd be to blame.
To Steve, though, it goes beyond blame; he's scared, now rueful, that he didn't fight harder to make you stay, because the thought of losing you more than he already had terrifies him.
The possibilities of what could go wrong were endless: you, losing your way, disoriented from the blizzard. What if you froze to death out there? Or got caught being out past curfew? Though, Steve's pretty sure the military doesn't give a fuck about two idiots stranded in the snow.
The wind howls and whistles, whipping around the van as the snow falls diagonally. Every now and then, he opens each door to slam it again, shaking off the snow outside; there's too much buildup to keep an eye out for you.
He checks his watch; you left about an hour ago. The footprints that trailed behind you are now covered over with fresh snow.
Steve's tempted to radio everyone at the station— assuming they stayed in for the night with the storm— but that means admitting he didn't stop you. He didn't protect you.
You're your own person, though. You don't need to be babied, or protected.
Sure doesn't stop Steve's protective side from caring about you.
It's not like anyone could come out to rescue either of you in the first place. But if you're gone and he says nothing, he'd never forgive himself if you got sick. Or worse.
Jesus, what if you're already freezing to death?
In the midst of internal panic, a thud! with fierce force slams against the van outside. Steve jolts upright, startled enough that it clears his damn sinuses while his heart races.
There's another thump, with a few more to follow, inching towards the passenger side door. It flings open, snow sprinkling in as you flop forward, face against the seat.
"Jesus Christ," is all Steve can manage to say, because he's grateful to see you, alive, but also, you're such a fucking idiot.
You crawl into the van, collapsing onto the floor. "'Idn't wanna get th'carpet wet," you mumble through your teeth, jaw rigid, struggling to close the door as the handle slips through your weak grip.
"C'mon, sit up for me." Steve guides you into the seat while you struggle, clumsy like you're intoxicated, yet your limbs are stiff. Under your freezing wet clothes, he can feel you shiver, practically vibrating uncontrollably.
When you're settled up right, he shoots an arm between the seat and wall, barely managing to grab the door handle and slam it shut.
"Ow… S'loud," you groan.
"Shit, sorry." He drags the box over, rummaging through it haphazardly. A pair of sweats and a sweater lay at the bottom, warm and ready to wear. He lays them aside, leaning over the seat to unzip your coat.
"D- damn, a'least flirt with me first," you slur, lips a muted shade from their normal lively color.
It's a joke, but not an invite for playful banter; Steve bites his tongue, quickly helping you out of your coat. He unwinds your scarf and tugs your hat off, dropping all of them to the driver side's floor.
Your clothes are soaked underneath, too. Though you're still pretty covered, he can see how strained your muscles are from stiffening.
Steve peels your puffy vest, hoodie, and sweater off next— Jesus, he forgot how layered you were. And it still didn't help.
"You're an idiot, you know that?" The fondness in his tone sneaks through the disapproval. When the air hits your skin, damp and frigid, gasp, face twisting from discomfort; it feels like sharp needles prickling along your arms.
"M'fine," yet you look far from it— hair tangled and soaked, frozen in spots, skin dull of its usual shine and shade, lids weighed down like you're drunk and sleepy, even a little puffy.
Funny how concerned you were of him getting hypothermia earlier, when you're already there.
And by funny, it's fucking scary, because there's no way to get you to a hospital tonight.
Really, he doesn't think it's that severe, but at any stage, hypothermia's nothing to fuck with; you're still suffering no matter what, and he hates to see you in pain.
Hates that he just admitted that to himself, too.
"Bullshit," he contends as he pulls another small towel from the box— seriously? You thought of everything with this box.
He'll thank you later. Maybe even apologize for being such a dick about it if it saves your asses.
Steve lays the towel over your head, gently tousling your hair against the fabric to help it dry. You shiver violently, "Hey, the sooner you get changed, the sooner you'll feel better."
"Said m'fine," you grit your teeth, attempting to shove him away, but your arms are still weak and stiff. "Jus' put the heat on."
"We can't run the engine, remember?" Steve throws the towel onto the driver's seat; that's a problem for future him. "C'mon, you can't stay in your clothes."
The moment the words leave his lips, he cringes, waiting for you to snidely remark, insinuate he's a pervert, but you're quiet.
Yeah, you're worse than he thought.
"I'm gonna help, okay?" There's no protest from you. He reaches down to the hem of your shirt, tugging up, but pausing before it passes your belly button. "This alright?"
"M'yeah, s'kay."
If you weren't tumbling into a life threatening condition, he'd poke fun at how wasted you sound.
Steve's perceptive, keeping an eye on your reaction, ensuring he's not hurting you. Prioritizing your safety doesn't make the reveal of you, half naked, any easier to deal with.
Shirt thrown to the side, Steve scrunches his eyes shut, scolds himself internally to behave, don't be a creep. He leans from behind the seat, over you to unbutton your jeans— Jesus Christ, why the fuck did you wear jeans? They're practically painted onto your form after all the ice and snow sunk into the denim.
He sucks in a breath, "Uh… can you get them off yourself?"
"S'okay, jus' leave 'em like this."
"It's really not," he sighs, climbing between the front seats and sliding down to the floor before you. The space is limited, incredibly limited, and he's contorting in a way he's never folded before, just to fit here. And for you, of all people.
He finds the chair's lever, shoving it back as far as it can go, though not much of a difference exists.
"Okay, c'mon, boots first."
Steve undresses you with care, tries not to notice the position you're both in, how close his face is to your core. How he's imagined on lonely, late nights, him kneeling for you, while he strokes himself, cock twitching as always while wondering what you taste like.
Every last ounce of self control is gathered up to keep his composure. You're in your underwear. Nothing else.
And your underwear? Yeah. That's wet, too; bra sticking flush to your chest, nipples peaked enough to reveal their shape through the fabric. He dares to take a lower peek when your eyes flutter shut as you sigh— out of concern, not pleasure, he reminds himself— and the fabric against your core is damp, hugging to the shape of your puffy lips.
He scrunches his eyes shut, runs a hand down over his mouth as he thinks … fuck me.
You shiver and twitch and whimper as the near-numbness finally settles into fucking freezing. It shatters whatever trance Steve was falling into.
"Honey," he frowns at himself immediately, because where the fuck did that come from? "You need to warm up."
There's no way to suggest sharing heat without sounding like a total pervert. Every choice of words could definitely be taken as suggestive, at best.
At worst? Steve's coming off as Hawkins' biggest douche-bag.
"Don't wanna," you whine, petulant and pained.
"It's this or freeze to death," he forces himself to deadpan, afraid of coming off as too concerned.
"You'd— bet that'd make y'happy."
He's not sure if he should file that comment under the usual banter the two of you have, or something worse.
"It wouldn't." Steve crawls up, hands gripping the sides of your seat as he tries respecting your space— the little bit left, at least. And still, he stumbles, catching himself right before he headbutts you. "Shit. Ah— shit, I- I'm sorry."
If he makes eye contact with you right now, it is game over. The whine you just released, though likely in pain, doesn't help his already wound-up, touch-starved thoughts.
"Okay. Okay," he sighs, more to himself, finding his balance again. "C'mon, we're gonna use that sleeping bag of yours to stay warm."
You're slow, painfully, agonizingly, moving at a snail's pace, while Steve moves you out of the seat. He's patient, cautious, already trying to press his body against yours to share warmth from the moment you begin trembling.
"Slow, take it easy," he guides you to the carpet while he murmurs softly. It's a miracle you make it to the back safely, considering how frozen stiff your joints are. "Doing okay?"
That's a dumb fucking question.
"Other th- than my t- t- tits freezing off, m'f- fine."
When you flash a curl of a smirk, just the tiniest one, Steve still feels relief. It's a speck of relief, but he'll gladly accept.
About to sit from your kneeling position, he grabs your hips to stop you. Steve clears his throat, awkwardly releasing you.
"Sorry, just, uh… your, uh… the—" he nods vaguely to your chest, eyes lingering for a second too long, wondering how soft you'd feel. By the time he peels his eyes away to drift lower, he gulps. "Those need to come off."
"Wh- why?" You pout, body violently trembling the longer you go without warmth.
"Just work with me, okay? Dry clothes aren't gonna warm you up enough on their own." He huffs, kneeling near you. "M'not trying anything funny, I promise."
Leaning close, Steve's face is near yours while his hands reach around your torso. His fingers skate up your cold skin, bringing about his own shivers, finding your bra clasp and unhooking it.
Poorly strangling a gasp, it still manages to slip past your lips, and he's almost certain it's because you're in pain. Nothing else.
But it sure sounds like it stems from another source.
Hovering his touch, he halts, eyes wide as they dart to meet yours. "Did I hurt you?"
"N- no, just co- c- cold." Teeth chattering, you grab onto his shoulders weakly as he removes your underwear. He bites back the urge to yelp from how bone chilling your touch is.
You hold your balance against him while shifting onto one knee, then the other, to step out of the soaked garment. "'Vry'thing hurts."
He hears you, knows you're hurting, but your panties, soaked and bunched up in his grip, make his cock twitch. The fabric is nowhere near his face, but your scent is dizzying; he wonders if they're only soaked from the snow, or yourself, too.
What stands between him and dirty thoughts is your fragile state; you need help, not him as… some horny creep.
Steve pushes past the tempting thoughts, for your sake.
"I know," he murmurs, heart aching, wishing he could take that pain away instantly. "It's gonna be okay, promise."
He guides you into the sleeping bag, eyes off and away from your figure out of respect. When you're settled, he rips his clothes off, save for his boxer briefs. One glance down his body and he's reminded how scarred he still is. He falters, swallowing thickly; what if you notice them? What if you're disgusted by him?
That's not like you, though; you've never been shallow like that.
Your teeth clatter together so loudly, it breaks him from those looming insecurities. With a deep breath, he finally slides in next to you.
Steve zips the sleeping bag up, arms hooking around your torso to pull you flush against him. He weaves his legs between yours, careful not to press his thigh against your core. He has to throw his thoughts as far away from you as possible; the last thing either of you need is a poorly timed hard-on.
He thinks of the time he broke his arm in sixth grade, falling off the seesaw at recess. Tries focusing on the concept of race cars and the specific tires they use. Forces himself to wonder how broccoli grows, or if it really matters to separate the dark garments from the lights when doing laundry.
That tangled trail of curiosity leads him to wonder what life outside of Hawkins must be like these days, and if they're forgotten to the rest of the world.
The last one's bleak, so he redirects to thinking about aquariums, and if fish sleep— they sleep, right?
God, he really wished he paid more attention in school. Did they even talk about any of this stuff? What the hell does he care if race cars use specific tires?
Whatever.
It's a challenge to keep his thoughts on a steady path away from you, because every time you breathe, your bare chest pushes against his, and that's— no. Just no.
The plush of your breasts squish up against him, nipples poking through his chest hair and into him like an accusing finger, shaming him for fighting off a natural response to a naked figure entwined with his own.
Doesn't make it any easier that your breaths are shallow, because logically, he knows it's because you're freezing. But every so often, you make these faint gasps as you shiver that sound closer to pleasure than pain.
That's not the case, and he feels guilty for letting his mind wander that far.
Okay, focus. Think about… concrete. Sure. That. Must be fascinating to pour that shit for sidewalks and—
"How come your underw- wear is on but not mine?"
Well, that's not fucking helping when you just out right ask it like that.
Steve's face burns up, rushing out, "Didn't wanna make you uncomfortable."
Your heart is pounding so viciously, he can feel the thumping against his own body.
Which, yeah— you have hypothermia. Of course your heart is working overtime. Just from that. Only that.
He reaches outside the bag to throw a worn, knitted blanket over your bodies, hoping for extra warmth while he's zipping the bag back up.
"Please tell me this shit is helping," he murmurs, fighting the urge to gently rub your back; this isn't supposed to be some kind of cute, intimate moment. And rubbing to create heat isn't helpful for hypothermia.
He doesn't remember why, just that it's unsafe for a situation like this.
"S'helpin'," you shudder against his skin, face tucked into the curve of his neck. Your lips brush against one of his sensitive spots, and he gulps, praying you don't notice. "I sh- shouldn't have lef-f- ft."
Steve doesn't scold you, but he doesn't disagree. "I really wish you didn't." He shivers, nowhere near as violently as you have, but exchanging body heat with someone in this state isn't all rainbows and sunshine. "I wish I didn't let you go. I should've gone with you, or had you stay here while I went out."
The words ache with more desperation than he intends.
"I'm a b- bi- big girl, s'my choice," your body involuntarily twitches, rutting into his bulge.
"A- ah—" Steve manages to swallow down the breathy moan before it can fill the van.
"Sor- sorry. Did I h- hurt you?"
He's quick to shush you, gently, rushing out, "I'm fine." One hand wanders to your head, delicately threading your damp hair through his fingers. "How are you feeling?"
"Fu- fucking cold."
"No shit," Steve dryly retorts. "You have hypothermia, dumbass."
You hum out what he thinks was a shaky hum. "Surprised y'even kn-know anything about i- it."
"At least something good came from me being a Boy Scout for one year," he snorts. "That, and I know how to start a fire... which, not very helpful while snowed into a van. Don't know much more than that."
You don't respond. Whenever he's shared something personal of his past, even just a passing comment, you groan and fuss about "learning Harrington lore against your will". The lack of that snarky response is just another sign of how unwell you're feeling.
Shifting cautiously, your arms bend slowly, snaking between the two of you. Steve's breath hitches, wondering what the fuck you're doing.
Your hands travel north, both to his relief and disappointment, cupping over your chest. "M'sorry, m- my tits hurt." And sure enough, the attention is brought to your stiff nipples, harder than minutes ago, brushing up against him through the gaps between your fingers.
Steve doesn't have the chance to panic, not when he fails to stifle a chuckle before it slips out. That comment was the last thing he expected to leave your lips.
"Be n- n- nice!"
"Sorry, sorry!" He relaxes against you again, tries not to dwell on how much of your figure he can feel against his. "Are you getting any warmer?"
"Why? You h- hate this?" Your tone is dry, but he can feel the curve of your smirk against his neck. "Want me to go back outside?"
The lighthearted energy drains quickly; Steve feels his heart drop just at the mere thought of you enduring the blizzard.
Like a fucking fool.
"Don't joke about that," he mutters, daring to speak aloud, "I thought you were dead."
The shrill, whistling wind draws out the lapse in conversation.
"… Didn't th- think you c- cared."
"I do, it's just—" Steve huffs, pausing. "We can talk about it when you're feeling better. Deal?" You nod slowly, sighing. "Do you think you could sit up? Just for a few seconds?"
You were feeling warmer, still cold, still aching, but nowhere near the severity you felt before your return. "Um… I g- guess?"
"Just hang tight okay? Where's your thermos?"
"S'up by th'cup h- holder," you nod to the front. As soon as Steve moves, you begin to harshly shiver again.
He's quick to snatch it, unscrewing the top to pour out whatever you had inside into it. The warm aroma hits him head on. "Hot cocoa? Damn, if I knew that, I woulda' stole some."
"You could h- have some f'ya' want."
"Maybe later, but you need to drink something warm." Steve slides a hand under your back, arm curling around to lift you upright. He tries to ignore the sleeping bag falling off your chest, leaving you exposed. "C'mon, just a few sips."
"N- no, m'cold, wanna get back in."
"I know, honey, I'm sorry." There it is again, a slip up without warning. Like it's natural, familiar.
You manage to sit up, resting against a crate on the shelf behind you. Reaching a shaky hand out, Steve gently pushes it aside. "I got you, try to keep still for me."
He eases the mug top to your lips, cautiously tilting it while you sip on the hot cocoa. It's slow, but Steve's relieved you're not at the severe stage, where you wouldn't be able to drink anything at all. "That's it, a little more… s'good for me."
Oh god. He's one step away from praising you with a 'good girl, and now is not the time or place for that.
"Promise it'll help," he assures, feeling horrible for dragging you out of the warm cocoon of the sleeping bag. Yet he's desperate to try everything, anything, as long as it brings your temperature back up.
You finish off the mug with a gasp. Steve takes it away, watching as that muted tone in your lips begin to fade. It's subtle, but it's a change for the better, nonetheless. A step in the right direction.
"Can't say th- that shit to me," you pant, forcing an airy, uneasy laugh. "I'm gonna start thinkin' y- you're— you like me, or something."
Oh, if only you knew.
"C'mere," Steve murmurs as he gently brings you close. Guiding you back into the sleeping bag, he slides in cautiously next to you, zipping it shut around the two of you. "Don't make this weird, okay?"
"Make wh- what weird?"
Arms winding around your waist, he reels you in, body flush against your own. It's like every goosebump on your skin brushing up along his he can feel. Every shiver runs out of you and into him, like an electrical current.
The gasp that leaves your lips is unexpected and sharp. "Fu— fuck, Steve, m'so c- c- cold."
"I know, sweetheart." He tangles his legs between yours, large hand reaching up to cradle the back of your head. You bury your face into his shoulder, shivering violently. "Just stay close to me."
"M'tryin'," you whimper as your hips shift closer. If Steve didn't know any better, he'd think you were trying to rock your hips against him, as if you're aching for relief, release.
The airy, shattered, "oh, god", sure doesn't help his imagination either. His cock twitches again.
"You're okay," he reassures, not just for you, but for his filthy mind to chill the fuck out. When you roll your hips again, he seizes them, grip tightening to end the attempt. "Don't— hey." You huff as he firmly holds you in place. "Hey, listen to me. No sudden movements."
"S- sorry, jus'thought friction would help," your teeth chatter as you force you words through them. "… Oh my god. Wait. Oh my god, no, wait."
You sound mortified.
"What?" Steve defaults to panic once more. "What's wrong?"
"I- I swear to go- god I didn't mean it like that." You untangle yourself from him, limbs haphazardly knocking into his own with the limited space in the bag. "I just— friction causes he- heat, and I didn't— I wasn't tr- tr- trying to—"
He nervously chuckles, not at you, just— well, shit. How should anyone react in a situation like this?
"S'okay, you're okay." The reassurance seems to help; you relax against him once more, still trembling from the cold in your bones, though. "Can't warm you up too quickly, it could make you feel worse."
"Well that's fu- fucking stupid."
He chuckles, taunting, "You're starting to sound more like yourself again." It's much more endearing than he wanted to sound.
There's no response, just your steady breaths in spite of your jitters. You hum, winding your embrace around his torso, burying your face into his neck again.
Steve's about to lose it; you've got to stop resting your lips on his skin.
Talk about something else. Anything.
"Hey… thanks for helping earlier," he mumbles. You lean back to meet his stare with a perplexed one of your own.
"Hm? Wi- with what?"
"The black ice," he clarifies. "I panicked and blanked out, forgot how to handle it. I could've fucked up real bad… could've wrapped us around a tree, or something."
"We still ended up in a ditch—"
"Alive. It sucks, being stranded in the storm sucks, but we're alive, thanks to you."
You shake your head, cuddling closer to him, still shivering, still unable to shake the cold. It's not warm in the van anymore, but it'd be more tolerable if you weren't recovering.
"You know how to dr- drive this damn t- thing," you quip, shuddering and clinging closer to Steve. "S'like a fuckin' boat."
Steve laughs heartily, tightening his embrace around you. "Guess we make a pretty good team."
"When we're n- not trying to ki- kill each other."
Emboldened, Steve's lips brush against the top of your head; it's not quite a kiss, but it's enough to be noticed. Enough to mean something. They linger as he takes a deep breath, voice rumbling low against your scalp.
"… We don't have to fight all the time," he suggests, fingers skating along the length of your spine. You arch your back, pushing the hardened peaks of your nipples against his chest. He swallows down a moan. "We don't have to hate each other."
"S'jus'easier," you slur, though, he's not sure it's from the cold.
"Yeah? Why's that?" Face still buried into his shoulder, you shake your head. "No, c'mon," he hopes the low, gentle rasp in his voice is enticing. "You can tell me."
It's quiet for a moment, swirling gusts of wind providing filler noise among your shallow breaths.
"'Cus liking you means letting you in," you're shuddering as the van sways, wind strong enough to sneak into the drafty vehicle. "Letting you in m- me- means this is real, and that's just a set up to be let down— be a let down to you, eventually."
He has to be hallucinating from the cold. Or maybe you're still delirious. There's no way you just said that.
"… What?"
Because since when do you care about letting him down?
"You've been hurt enough, I didn't want to add to that hurt." Steve feels you shift with a whimper, has to swallow back the cocky remark he'd make if you felt better. "Your heart's always g- gonna be elsewhere, anyway."
Steve would do anything— hike through this blizzard, move mountains, face a swarm of demo-bats— if it meant he could use a time machine, return to the moment things shattered before they could flourish. He'd do anything to fix it all.
"Even when it was elsewhere, it—" Your trembling brings him to a pause, a reminder how real this all is. After hoping for so long that you'd return, dwelling too much on the anger of you just… leaving, fleeing so quietly, so abruptly— you're here, in his arms. "You were always in it, but I didn't want hurt you, either."
And look where that got the two of you.
Steve's stunned into silence by your confession, tumbling out in unstoppable waves.
You trail off with a huff, tensing up; Steve's unsure if the cold's at fault, or if teasing went too far. "It's hard to… to trust. It scares the hell out of me."
"Scares me too, but look at you. You're trusting now."
"It was that or freeze to death, Harrington."
"Still chose to trust me after everything between us." His voice softens, moving on autopilot— courtesy of his heart— as he cradles the side of your face. His cheeks grow warm as he whispers your name, just loud enough to be heard over the howling winds outside. "Thank you. For trusting me."
The pads of your fingers press into his skin as you tighten your hold around him. "Thanks for not letting me die."
We're not out of the woods, yet, he thinks. But you should be able to keep warm now.
"I used to hate that you couldn't relate to what Robin and I went through last summer," Steve's got no reason to hide this anymore. "Truth is, I was relieved you called out sick that day."
An aching warmth bleeds through his chest with the confession, one that he hopes is enough to warm you up, even a little.
Or, maybe that's just because Steve's bare chest is pressed up against yours, still generating heat like a human furnace for you.
"I still have nightmares, and I—" He chokes up, arms tightening around you. You return the squeeze with reassurance, leaving patience and silence for him. "Sometimes, in them, they're hurting you, too… and I- I can't do anything but watch."
It feels like is heart is caving in all over again; he had done so well ignoring the hurt, but now…
Now he realizes he only bottled it up, shelved it away for darker times.
And dark times have arrived; here you both are, trapped in a goddamn, broken down, radio station van in the middle of a blizzard.
"Then you just… you left. You stood me up. You were gone not even a month later. We were finally getting close—"
"And I f- fucked it up." A sigh rumbles out of Steve; he doesn't agree or disagree, just… acknowledges it. "This is gonna sound so dumb, but I felt… guilty, for calling out that day. I should've been th—"
"No. I mean it. It's a relief you never went through that shit. And then in the spring…" Except, you came back. Right after the destruction, but you came back. Colder, yet braver than you left. "I get it. I don't blame you for leaving. You were scared." He swallows thickly. "… But so was I."
Scared is an understatement.
He's feared for his life before, the year prior, and before that. He was scared for Nancy, hell, even Jonathan, the night they tried to trap the Demogorgon in the Byers' home.
He was terrified in the junkyard, plastering on a brave face for the kids. No way in hell would he let them down; he was gonna succeed or die trying— to Steve, no other choices existed.
He was convinced he'd die down in that cursed bunker with Robin, and if it weren't Erica and Dustin— two children— that anticipated fate would've played out to truth.
And the Mind Flayer— Jesus Christ— that fuckin'… thing. A grotesque terror on monstrous legs; too many damn legs, arms, everything, if you ask Steve. He can't think too hard about what exactly it was made up of, who specifically turned essentially into human jam and—
Yeah. No. He really can't stomach it. Just like the nightmares of losing you leave him shaken for the rest of the waking day.
Most nights, Steve has to double, sometimes triple check the locks on the doors before he goes to sleep. He latches all the windows. Sometimes unlatches just to re-latch, jiggling the window's frame, just to be certain it's closed. Every room, every hallway, holds a night-light's subtle glow for peace of mind.
Peace of mind from what, exactly? A Demogorgon? Demodogs? The Mind Flayer? The Russian guards, and flayed former classmates? All this time later, he hasn't been able to pinpoint which exactly he wants peace from the most. They're all equally fucked up, all royally fucked him up.
Steve knows his efforts are not enough to stave off these fears forever. They never are.
And Vecna? He's still processing that. After all, it hasn't even been one year since it all happened.
Less than one year since Eddie died, slowly killing Dustin with each day that passes without him; the more Steve tries to be there for the kid, the more he's pushed away. It's taking a toll on Steve, trying to be mindful of Dustin's grieving, trying to remind this kid he's not alone.
Less than one year since Max technically, in clinical terms, died, for over a minute; even a second considered dead is way too fucking long, and for a kid her age? Too damn soon. If it weren't for El reviving her, the party would be in shambles— yet they're on the verge of crumbling while Max is in a coma, anyway.
If anything happened to any of these kids, it'd devastate the rest of them. It'd devastate anyone in this little, yet forever growing, found family Steve's tripped and fallen into years ago.
And you.
You— he can't even stomach the idea of your safety being threatened. It only circles back to the nightmares he still has of you. He fears one of these days losing you will come true, and… and—
It hits him like a nuclear missile, dead on.
He didn't want you to leave earlier, to go out into the storm, because he was afraid one of his greatest fears, losing you, again, would come true. This chance to fix everything, at least make peace with what never came to be, has been right in front of you both for months since you got home.
Instead, it's been spent stuck in a cycle of hate, giving and taking sharp glares and words only dripping in venom.
So much wasted time—
"Steve?"
Reality settles in around him again, eyes focusing on you, remorse taking hold of every thought crossing his mind.
Unexpectedly, even to him, Steve blurts out, "I'm sorry." When your brows furrow, the remorse floods out. "I- I'm sorry for not being honest from the start—"
"You were trying to protect me, I get that now." He feels the tension dissolve out of you. "I'm sorry too." Your voice trembles, not from the cold this time. "Can we… start over?"
A smug smirk curls along his face. "Um… we can, but it'd be pretty awkward to start over like this."
"Oh my god, Steve."
"What? I'm just saying!" He chuckles with a shrug. "When we met, I had strawberry ice cream stains on my shirt, and I got, like, maybe three hours of sleep the night before. This seems incredibly different, considering we're both naked."
"You're not the one fully naked." You stifle laughter, rolling your eyes.
"Oh, what, I'm sorry— did you want me to be blunt instead? Because I am really fucking sorry if I get hard." Flustered, he rambles as you blink up at him, wide-eyed. "Seriously, you keep rubbing against me like that and it's- I'm— fuck."
Your hips are rolling into him again as the corners of your lips gradually quirk upward. "Okay," you say simply, not matching your devious smile.
"… Okay?" Steve scoffs.
"I mean… it's not like you're the only one struggling here," you admit, brash and certain. "Can't tell you how wet I've been since you started holding me."
"Oh, trust me. I know." Steve bounces back, stifling a smug chuckle. "Felt it the whole time."
Mortification contorts its way into your face. You hide again, head falling forward to rest on his shoulder.
"Hey, nuh-uh, no hiding. I thought it was hot." His fingers trail down your spine, sweeping to your side. He rests his hand over the curve of your hip, drawing slow circles into your skin with his thumb. "… Still do."
A shrill, piercing whistle whirls past the van, leading in a wave of howling wind, rocking the van. The instant jostle nudges you against him completely, It taunts you and Steve as you dance around you feelings.
The van's frame sways and creaks as the blizzard continues. You shift, trying to get comfortable, until your thigh presses against Steve's bulge and he hisses under his breath.
"Fuck, shit, fuck—"
Yeah. He's hard.
He tangles himself into you, thick thigh flexing against your slick heat. All carnal desires aside, he's sure fucking relieved to feel some part of you completely warm.
Thinking of being warm, and staying that way, leads him to speaking unfiltered. "Might not be the worse way to keep each other from freezing to death."
"Uh-huh…" you sound breathy, the last of your animosity towards Steve long disintegrated by now. "S'good idea." A shiver down your spine sends your hips bucking forward; Steve's curious if it from the cold or not. "S- sorry, m'sorry, I keep—"
Steve shushes you delicately. "Don't be sorry, take what you need."
Your thighs tighten around his, clit throbbing against him. Arousal builds onto his bare skin the more you drag your cunt against him.
"Just go slow, okay?" His reminder is tender, faces close enough to touch, breaths picking up speed. "Slow, slow, sweetheart. I'm not going anywhere."
"Yeah but—" your fingers hook under his waistband teasingly, breaths growing shallower. "Want you n- now—"
Steve grabs your hands, pulling them up within eyesight. He needs you clear-headed. "Hey, I mean it. We gotta be smart about this."
He doesn't expect you to frown, ego visibly wounded in your expression; what did you hear out of what he said?
"We don't have to do anything if you're not into it."
"No, no, I'm—" Steve puffs his cheeks out, exhaling quickly. His arms rope you back in, pressing up against him with a gasp. "You were freezing to death less than an hour ago—"
"Not to death."
"Only 'cause you came back before it was too late." And that he kept you stable, but he's not seeking recognition for that. His hands rise to cradle your cheeks, forcing you to look him in the eye. "Last thing we need is your heart over-exerting itself."
"But you're the one who suggested—" you collect your thoughts with a deep breath. "You're sending mixed signals, Steve. Do you want this or not?"
"I do, but I want you safe and warm. So, let me take care of you, alright?"
"Okay…" Steve looks down as you trail off, noticing your mood shift. Concern draws your brows together, tugs your lips downward and hushes your voice to a whisper. A cold finger traces the scar around his neck, and he gulps. "When did this happen?"
He was dreading this, grateful you'd been so delirious while recovering that you didn't notice the freshly healed skin, taut and pink— now a little purple from the cold, he's sure; this kind of weather always promises to emphasize souvenirs of the past.
"Last year," he trembles; the more he focuses on trying to breathe steadily, the more he shakes. "… Bats."
"The same that…" He hears you hesitate, holding that one, brutal truth on the tip of your tongue, only to soften it for both of your sake. "Same ones that… that attacked Eddie?"
"Yeah, I guess." Steve shakes his head, "I don't know how I survived and he didn't." His voice drops, laden with guilt. "Kinda fucked up if you ask me."
"Do they hurt?" You ask so tenderly, sincerity woven within your words. It pricks hot tears in Steve's eyes, ones he blinks away quickly.
No one ever really asks Steve if he's okay. Not like this. Not when it comes to the Upside Down.
"Yeah," he croaks out. "Sometimes, yeah." Unprompted, he adds, "Not as much as the headaches, though."
"How often do you get them?" You ask, but Steve only shrugs. It's not enough to quell your concern. "Steve…"
He doesn't need you to know just how bad it gets sometimes. The warning signs leading up to a flare— like how his neck aches and stiffens, how his vision doubles, and the ringing in his ears only grows louder.
Steve doesn't want to worry you, or anyone, of the throbbing, consistent pain; how similar it feels to being cracked in the skull with a fist, something he's experienced more than once— one time too many. The agonizing throbbing that morphs into pounding, and sometimes he can feel it behind his left eye, like it's still swollen shut.
Sounds become unbearably sharp and jagged to his brain. Too much light enrages him. They're more than just headaches, he knows that. Yet he bottles it all up, because emotionally, he can't afford to not be okay. He has to show up for everyone else.
Acknowledging him, you hum softly; he's grateful you've never been one to push him too far on a subject he'd rather avoid. "Should I, um—" you clear your throat awkwardly, "avoid them? The scars, I mean."
Not like this one's much easier to talk about.
Steve's shoulder's tighten while his breath hitches, sharp and obvious and shit, he wishes he caught that in time. That wish strengthens when you grimace.
"I'm sorry. That's— I'm not trying to be rude, just wasn't sure since sometimes they hurt—"
"S'okay," he relaxes after a deep breath. "Don't worry about 'em."
You hum, tracing the one along his neck with your finger. The warmth left in the wake of your touch is another reminder he's safe with you.
It's when your fingertips trail up to his face, palm caressing his cheek before resting there, that his heart skips a beat. And when you gingerly sweep your thumb against his cheekbone, his breath hitches.
"Whenever your headaches start… you'll tell me, right?"
When that simple question, loaded with empathy and laced with tenderness, leaves your lips, something within Steve breaks.
"It's… it's okay, I can handle it on my own."
For the first time, those words aren't convincing enough to lie to himself.
"Steve," you whisper, head shaking as the color of your irises bore into the hazel of his. "You don't have to handle anything on your own."
It's so direct, so honest— how can he even respond to that?
There's so much to say— how he'd always put the kids before himself, no questions asked. How he wants to do his part and keep everyone safe, during crawls and beyond. How his trauma, chronic and relentless, stays bottled up and shelved away, only to have manifested into a physical curse on every nerve ending in his entire being— and he still keeps it hidden away.
The past you narrowly escaped while he was beaten to hell and back, that's not yours to carry, it's his.
"I won't let you handle it alone," you whisper, challenging his unspoken thoughts. "Not anymore."
Feelings for you that he forcefully sunk long ago, rush to the surface and consume Steve. It's overwhelming, and words aren't enough; he surges forward, his lips finding yours while you squeak with surprise.
Steve breaks away, presses his lips to your jaw, kisses down your neck while his hands caress the shape of your figure. His touch is gentle, yet sturdy. Firm, yet sweet.
You bite back a moan, teeth pinning your bottom lip down, but you still shiver. He knows he's making you feel good. If you won't say it, he certainly feels it in the way you grab him, anywhere you can find purchase; his hips, his arms, his back, leaving behind little divots from your finger tips, dug into his skin.
He moves lower, one hand pausing on your breast, kneading it tenderly, kissing down your chest to pause at the other side. His lips gently lingering against the sensitive, pebbled peak is all it takes to begin unraveling you.
The gasp that slips out is one beyond what Steve's dreams could even imagine. His cock kicks as he flicks his tongue on your nipple.
"Shit, Steve…"
He sucks softly, a distinct pop! filling the confined space when he pulls back. He looks up with a thread of spit tethering him to your skin, and you look wrecked already.
He can't even wrap his mind around how devastatingly fucked out you'll look when he's through with you.
"Coulda' kept each other warm all this time," Steve breathes, kissing across the valley between your breasts to the other side. His tongue flits out, lazily teasing your nipple while tweaking and pinching the other. "You just had to be stubborn, huh?"
"Only 'cause you- you— a- ah, fuck…" your hips roll up into his, cunt grazing against his clothed cock, sticky and warm and slick and god… if you weren't so fragile right now, Steve would love to ruin you immediately.
If, you know, you were into that.
His cock twitches as his mind drifts, curious as to what the hell you're even into, and if he'll be lucky enough to have more chances to find out.
The two of you just have to survive this night first.
"'Cause I what?" He should be a little softer, a little kinder, but the edge is returning, and only because of your wanton, needy squirming. "Finish the sentence."
You gasp as Steve nudges his knee between your legs, parting them to flex his thigh against your cunt. You're soaked enough to glide yourself effortlessly against him.
Except, Steve grabs your hips, hovering above you while pinning them in place.
"Finish. The. Sentence."
You clamp your legs tight around the one against your core, but he plants his hands on your thighs, pushing them apart to admire your glistening cunt.
"I wouldn't h- have left if you weren't so m- mean!"
"Yet you're a mess right now." He withdraws, only to use his thumbs to part your folds. "Look at you, dripping and pretending like you're not into this."
Steve licks his lips, one thumb casually gliding up from your hole through your folds, resting lightly over your clit. You jolt from even the slight pressure.
"Bet you were this wet before you left."
Your brows knit together. "I wasn't."
"No?" He taunts you, pad of his thumb circling your clit, so close to where you want him, yet so deliberately distant. "Hm… you sure?" Your hips twitch while you gasp, inflating his ego as he simpers. "Seemed like earlier you were pretty fuckin' soaked."
"From t- the snow!" The more flustered you become, the more Steve's confidence grows, bordering onto being cocky. "Jesus, I was outside in a blizzard, in case you forgot."
Steve laughs. He laughs; it's cruel and runs straight to your throbbing clit, adjacent to his teasing touch.
"I don't think so, sweetheart." With a smug grin, he adds, "Doubt the snow would make you smell this damn good either."
"Steve!" You gasp, taken aback. The line's almost tacky, straight out of a bad porno, but Jesus Christ, he can't help himself around you.
"In fact—" he reaches out of the bag, retrieving the garment in question. Reservations long buried under the snow, he brings the pair to his face, eyes rolling back as he huffs in your scent. A guttural groan tears through him, while you're left speechless. "Been wanting to do that all fuckin' night."
Jaw hanging ajar, you whisper, "Holy shit, Harrington."
The smug expression falters, "Too much?"
"No," you breathe out, "fuck, no."
Relief revives his smirk. "Good. I'm far from done with you."
Trailing wet, painfully paced kisses down your body, Steve begins unzipping the sleeping bag; he'd rather not suffocate in that while going down on you. If anything keeps him from breathing tonight, he prays it's only your slick cunt smothering his face.
He's gentle, mindful, caressing your sides slowly to keep you warm. It softens the mean streak he just held out for your sake.
Parting your legs, he glances up to you. "Doing okay?" His lips drag along the plush of your left thigh, gentle, pointed kisses trailing closer to your core. His strong grip digs into your thighs before switching to the right one. "Need to hear you, honey."
"Mhm, yeah, I'm—" Steve parts your slit, moaning softly as he takes you in. "M'good. Promise."
"Good," he husks, leaving a chaste, open mouth kiss over your core. "Don't wanna neglect this pretty pussy."
You huff with an affectionate eye roll. "Swear to god, Steve, if anyone else said shit like this to me, I'd leave instantly."
"So what you're saying is…" Steve's lips linger on your folds, tongue teasingly flitting out, barely meeting your clit. Your legs twitch while you whimper. "I'm the exception?"
"D- don't let it get to your head, Har—" Sharply, you gasp as he spreads your core apart with his thumbs, only to spit on your puffy clit. "Fuck."
He leans in, mouth working languidly as his lips meet your glistening slit. It's already written in stone that the taste of anyone else won't ever compare; you've effortlessly wrecked him.
And he's already ruined you with each drag of his tongue, leading to your clit to suckle tenderly. He looks up, hoping to see you slowly unravel, and he does; your eyes roll back in time while you clench around nothing, rolling your hips to chase his tongue.
The soft sounds from his mouth cause you to throb, feeling every hum and groan, hearing him lave at your arousal. Hooded stare weighed down with lust, he continues watching you fall apart on his tongue.
Steve's moans tremble through you, with gravelly murmurs in between; every oh shit, and fuck, and little praise in between is enough to roll waves of heat through you. He must be able to feel it.
"See? You just needed to get warmed up." Your hips jolt against his mouth as he laps at your clit, while a thick finger circles your hole. He grins smugly. "Be good for me, and I'll keep you warm."
Your clit throbs against his tongue, and Steve moans. It's almost as pornographic as the sound he let out minutes before. His arms hook around your thighs, tugging you flush against his mouth.
"Is this all it takes to shut you up?"
Though drained and still trembling, your fingers tangle through his hair, pulling to trap his mouth against your pussy. He notices the light pressure in your grasp, mindful of his mention of headaches earlier.
"I dunno, I- I should be asking you the same damn thing."
The switch is subtle, tiny, but it's enough to send Steve's eyes rolling back into his head, whimpering as he bucks into the floor of the van.
"Oh…" you grin deviously. "You're into that, huh?"
The ounce of power, that microscopic switch, falls apart instantly as Steve leans back. Warmth withdraws along with him, your hands fall away, and all pleasure ceases. He slides two fingers up the edge of your folds, spreading them apart to spit directly onto your clit; you twitch and gasp.
"Hey!" Exasperated, you yelp, "Why'd you stop?!"
Steve doesn't answer, only runs his hands along the back of your thighs, gently nudging your legs to fold closer to yourself. He reaches your hips, pushing up to throw a nearby blanket underneath your back.
"What— what are you—" His mouth is back on you, tongue delving into your slit, running around your clit before puckering his lips. "Ohmyfuckinggod— Steve—"
You gasp when he mouths sloppily at your cunt, making out with it, taking his time to explore this part of you he's already dreamed so much of.
This part, this sweet, tight, hot part of you that he's fucked his fist to the thought of almost every night since you've moved home.
Not even his wildest dreams could've conceived what you really taste like. Your scent. How soft you are. And pretty, so goddamn pretty.
And as your hardened personality thaws out, the real you— the one Steve's always pined over— finally melts through.
He's missed you. So, so much.
The obscene sounds, all of the slurping and suckling to make you fall apart, fill the van. Walls clenching around his fingers as they barely enter you, your body sucks him in greedily.
"Jesus Christ," Steve breathes, getting sloppier as you get louder. He angles his fingers differently, and with the way he's got you positioned, you're blindsided by an orgasm shattering through you.
"Oh my god, oh my god—" he brushes up against your sweet spot, triggering your legs to shake around his head. "Fuck!"
Your high's barely over as he kisses your inner thighs, eyeing up your puffy, dripping folds.
"Got one more in you?" His lips and chin glisten with your essence in the low light. You nod breathlessly, hand over your chest as it rises and falls rapidly. His demeanor softens. "Hey, look at me."
Dazed, your eyes flutter open. They lock with his, full of concern.
"Should we stop?" You shake your head, but the silent conformation isn't enough. "Need you to say it if you want it," there's a flash of dull pain as he nips at your inner thigh, kissing away the sting immediately. His hand pulls away, leaving you empty and needy.
"I- I want it."
"Want… what?"
Exasperated, you whine while throwing your head back, "Oh my god, Steve."
"C'mon, you can tell me." He begins taunting you, "Usually you have no problem running that mouth of yours."
"You're so fucking insufferable sometimes, I sw- swear to god." The tremble in your voice is more from aftershocks than the cold.
Even when you were nice, you had an edge, and he missed that, too.
Steve crawls over you, nose nudging against your own. His fingers feather and tease along your slit, retreating as you buck your hips to chase his touch.
"There she is," chuckling, he slips a finger back into you, leaning down to murmur against your lips, "There's my girl."
As you gasp, he takes the chance to kiss you, really kiss you this time. Your back arches while he pumps into your slick heat. Lips parted against your own, slotted together, tasting yourself on his tongue while he licks into your mouth— it's all so goddamn dizzying for the both of you.
You break apart when you palm him over his boxers, rendering Steve speechless for a moment.
"Who knew that'd shut you up so easily too," you snicker, giving a gentle squeeze to his bulge, eliciting a sweet gasp from him. "Fuck, Steve. You're…"
Cheeks heating up to a rosy pink, he freezes, eyes darting down between your bodies, then back to you. "What? What's wrong?"
"Nothing! Nothing's wrong. I- I just…" Keeping an airy touch, you trace a finger along his cock. He whines pathetically, head falling forward onto your shoulder. To muffle his sounds, he mouths at your skin. "You're so… big."
He sighs; yeah, he should've expected that.
"It's not a bad thing! No part of you is bad!" You're tumbling into a nervous ramble. "That stuff doesn't matter anyway, y'know, size and whatever. I just- I don't know—" you clear your throat with an awkward laugh, rushing out, "Idon'tknowifyou'llfit."
Steve blinks as the words sink in.
Oh.
"Hey, shh, s'okay," he chuckles softly, confidence flowing back. "We can try, if you want. But there's no pressure."
"I wanna, I really want to, it's— I'm— you—"
He cuts you off with a kiss. There's a soft hum reeled out of you, shaping his lips into a smirk against your own. It's short and sweet, resting his forehead on yours as you break apart.
"One step at a time, okay?"
He's back between your legs as before, allowing you both to relax as he tries to take this slow, almost at a lazy pace, but that lasts all of five seconds.
Because one more taste of you, and Steve's a fucking goner.
Steve juts his face into your cunt, tapering his tongue to fuck into you as you're grinding onto his face. He grants your wordless wish, sinking a finger into you again. In search of that sweet, sacred spot, he curls it, grazing somewhere inside that makes hips rock with desperation while you cry out.
"Harder," he grunts into your core, the rumble of his order going straight to your clit without direct touch. He yanks you closer to his face— as if it's even possible at this point— and his gaze travels away from you, rolling to the back of his head, groaning as you're the only taste on his tongue. In way too deep to speak, he just hums with satisfaction, laced with an air of praise.
Licking into you, the strong bridge of his nose nudges against your clit as it throbs. You buck forward accidentally, but he happily accepts, burying his face between your thighs. He slides another finger into you and smirks as your legs begin to quiver.
"Steve…" You cover your mouth, but he yanks your hand away, while leaning back to spit onto your cunt again.
In between flits and laves of his tongue, he husks, "Wanna hear you again." The vibrations of his gravelly voice are what send you to the edge, but his tender encouragement is what seals the deal. "It's just us, honey. C'mon," he coaxes. "Lemme hear those pretty sounds you make."
Steve works overtime, meticulous in the speed he pumps his fingers, while your essence drips down his hand. The curls and flattening of his tongue between your folds, lapping up every drop you have to offer. Eventually rubbing his nose against your clit while he both tongue and finger fucks you simultaneously.
Bliss rolls through your body, luring out whimpers of his name and babbles of praise.
"Steve—" you gasp, back arching up as your tangled fingers anchor him to you. "Fu- oh my god, fuck—!"
You tremble, you gush, you unravel at the seams, and he'd keep doing this, and only this, all night if you'd let him. Watching you fade into such a fucked out state has his cock throbbing, sandwiched between himself and the van's floor.
Steve feels sticky; that much he expected. But… his boxers are damp, tacky against his skin, along with his tummy, where the tip of his cock lay snug under the waistband.
Oh, no.
"So, uh…" he kisses your core, smirking as it clenches around nothing. Kissing your thigh, he peers up through his lashes at you. "… How hard is it to wash cum out of a sleeping bag?"
Dazed, you're still smiling, dopey and giddy and sighing, "Mmm, dunno. Can't be that difficult—" your eyes pop open before you study Steve, still between your legs. "… Why?"
"No reason, really, just— I'm just curious—"
"Steve."
"M'yeah?" His eyes shift away for a second, guilty.
"Were you— oh my god."
"What?!"
A taunting, victorious smirk comes to life. "Did you hump the fucking floor?"
"Well, when you put it like that…" Steve cringes, blushing intensely. "Kinda?" Your playful stare narrows down at him. "It's not like I was trying to! It just— I— you—" he groans, burying his face into the plush of your inner thigh.
The embarrassment's worth it to hear your laugh, genuine and breathy woven into your comedown. "Better on the damn bag than the actual rug."
He could fall asleep here, so cozy and warm between your legs. You card your fingers through his soft hair, gingerly scraping along his scalp, earning his content hum.
Steve lifts his head to be met with your longing stare, soft, weary smile. It's impossible to hide his own smile. "What?"
"Come back up," you shoot out grabby hands. "M'cold."
"Oh," he snorts, crawling back into your arms. "Is that all I'm good for?"
"Nah, your tongue is pretty great, too."
Rolling his eyes, a smile peeks out as he zips the bag back up, cuddling close to you. Your leg swings over his hip and he reels you in. Fatigue settles in, and it's not long before you're drifting off.
You're not cold anymore, with most symptoms finally fading or completely dissipated; he figures it's safe to sleep. Hell, he could use the rest, too.
It's not until the first, faint snore, that he realizes his goddamn, sticky boxers are still on, and he doesn't have the heart to move you.
A little discomfort is worth it if you're safe and sound in his arms, but… Jesus Christ, this is going to be one long fucking nap.
Steve's unsure when the two of you shifted in your sleep, but with the limited space in the bag, you've ended up spooning him.
It's… kinda nice. He's never been the little spoon before, not with anyone he's ever cuddled with.
By some higher power or sheer, dumb luck, you're warm— fucking finally. You're clinging onto him from behind and nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck.
Steve's breath hitches when your lips graze his neck. He chokes back a whine as you brush your soft figure against his back.
He gently murmurs your name into the dark while your arms tighten around his torso. You hum in return, soft and content.
Splaying out your fingers, they creep down his body, teasing around the waistband, dipping just below the elastic of his briefs.
"Mm—" Steve bites back some kind of pathetic sound. "Baby, what're'y'doin'?"
The pet name blooms heat under your cheeks. He hears you hum, feels you shrug. Your fingers sink a little lower, brushing up against the head of his cock.
"S'okay?"
"It- yeah, but—" Steve gasps when your thumb sweeps over the slit on his tip, still tacky from when he came in his boxers earlier. Now, on top of that, arousal weeps his slit on command by your touch.
"But?"
Your hand begins to retreat, until Steve grabs it, shoving it toward the base of his cock. His hips buck into your palm, groan rumbling deep from his throat.
Whether it's because Steve's been touch starved, or just really, really into you (both. it's totally both), your fingertips tracing down his shaft cause him to twitch.
He can feel himself pulsate into your palm as your grip winds around him. You only pump once, twice, three times, and he's quick to begin unraveling.
"I'm not gonna last if you keep doing that," Steve whines, bucking into your fist. "I can't— ah… f- fuck—" he grumbles, forcing out, "I— dammit, I can't afford to come in my pants again. I only have one pair!"
"Then take 'em off," you giggle. "Need you in me."
Any other circumstance, Steve would allow the teasing to drag on, but he can't take any more tension. He flips over to lean above you, switching positions; you're the little spoon now, and you're flustered from the sudden change.
As you roll to your left side, you lean on your elbow to prop yourself up. Steve hastily plucks a condom from his wallet, still in the crumpled, damp jeans he discarded earlier and within reach.
You keep your legs bent as Steve settles behind you, backside on full display to him. Glancing over your shoulder, you've got a perfect view of him, already reveling in the way he's struggling to keep himself together while rolling the condom down his length.
Hand at the thick base of his cock, he drags the ruddy tip between your folds, teasing your clit before catching at your entrance. He repeats the taunting motion, smirk building with each whimper and whine you set free. One last drag through your slick slit, Steve rests the head at your entrance, pushing in only a little bit.
"Still okay?" He asks, eyes flitting to yours. One might think he sounds groggy from a nap, but he's just pussy drunk already.
"Yeah, mhm," your breathy reply makes his cock kick in his hand and against you. "Ju- just go slow, okay?"'
Steve leans down, planting his lips on your forehead. "Promise I will."
And he does; inch by inch, he slides into you, stretching you out to a limit you've never reached before. In awe, he watches himself disappear inside of you, breath hitching the further he goes.
"Fuck— fuck, you're—" his eyes roll back, twitching against your tight, warm walls. Hips tilting, you push your ass back to help him ease in. All it does is make Steve a total wreck. Pathetically, he strains out through bated breath, "…Might need a minute."
"Yeah?" The teasing edge he secretly loves so much is returning; a sign you're feeling more like yourself. "You look like you could use ten."
"Keep it up," he huffs, "you're gonna need a few days 'til you can walk again."
Steve's hips reel back, dragging out torturously slow as you banter on. He leisurely slides back in, stretching you out. Again, he pulls out, even slower this time.
"We talkin' business days? 'Cause tomorrow's the weekend, and I'd love to not be in recovery—" He slams into you, bottoming out in one thrust. "— Christ, Steve! What the—"
Fully retreating, his shaft caresses your silky, slick walls. Fingers wrapping around the base of his cock, he teasingly glides the tip of his cock through your folds, dipping into your entrance.
With each push back, he pulls out; your desire is only met with taunting, dangling bliss just in reach.
"You done talking logistics yet?"
Though your jaw falls open to quip back, only a gasp tumbles out. With another snap of his hips against yours, he fills you again.
That stretch isn't dizzying on one end only; Steve has to gulp down steady breaths to relax. He's wanted this, wanted you, for years now.
No way is he fucking this up now with a pitifully swift finish.
"N'you were worried you couldn't take me," he patronizes, yet your walls clenching around him mercilessly wipe the smug grin off his face. "Jesus fuckin' christ."
"Maybe you can't take me," you dare to challenge him. The teasing ignites something deep within, and, well, you're the one who started a fire you most likely can't extinguish.
Steve lifts the leg closest to him to rest it against his torso. You roll a little more onto your back as he straddles your leg against the floor; similar to missionary, but the angle hits so sinfully as he sinks back in.
Then, without mercy, void of warning, he relentlessly pounds into you.
Already at a loss for words, all you have to offer are sharp gasps. The plush of your body bounces with each of his thrusts, enticing his grip of one hand to dig into your hip.
What he doesn't expect is your hand to glide down your form, conforming to your curves until your fingertips brush over his knuckles.
Steve's breath hitches, hips stuttering with a faltering pace. Hesitantly, he laces his fingers between yours, and to his surprise, your grip doesn't falter.
It tightens.
Just like the choke-hold his feelings for you have on his heart.
"Don't get sappy on me now," Steve teases, fighting off his own emotions. His eyes flicker down to your hands intertwined, cock twitching inside you when you tighten your hold on him.
The gesture is small, but his heart flutters; what's meaningful to Steve is something you're probably not even thinking twice about. He rolls his hips against you, slow and deep, hoping to distract from his feelings.
"Wouldn't dr— oh!" You gasp, eyes rolling back as he hits the spot that makes you weak. He hears you murmur his name, strung together with expletives under your breath. "W- wouldn't dream of it."
Fog blankets the windows as each thrust rocks the van on its frame. Sweat beads at your brow, and there's relief found in the sight. You feel so warm, only reminding him mere hours ago you were freezing to death.
But you're here, underneath him, closer than he ever imagined to be outside of his dreams. You're here, warm, coherent, safe.
Safe because of him. Alive, because you chose to trust him.
That plucks at his heartstrings, too.
"Steve?"
Your voice is breathy, but concern is laced throughout, tugging him back into the present. He locks eyes with you, but you're blurry. He registers your hand extending to rest on his cheek, instinctively leaning into your tender touch.
"Hey, slow down," you swipe your thumb across his cheek, and it glides against his skin with ease. Too much ease. "Baby, stop for a second. You're crying."
Baby.
Anytime he's been called that, it never felt right. But hearing it from your lips is a whole different story.
Wait, did you say he was crying?
"Sorry, I…" he trails off, glancing away and kissing your palm, panting heavily against it. "M'okay."
"Steve—"
"No, I swear. I'm just—" he shudders out a breath, one with relief. "I'm glad you're okay."
"So much for not getting sappy," you tease, but when Steve only halfheartedly smiles, you fall back into the energy he has. "Hey, I'm not going anywhere. I'm okay."
"I know." He nods, hair flopping in his face. "I know, I know that. I know."
Maybe if he repeats it enough, he'll believe it.
"St—"
He cuts you off abruptly with a kiss, insatiably slotting his lips against yours. His tongue runs along your bottom lip, silently pleading for more. When you oblige, parting your kiss-swollen, wind-bitten lips, he groans, thrusting without warning into you again.
You break the kiss reluctantly, grabbing his face. "Steve. You should—"
"I'm fine, I mean it," he whispers against your lips, sloppily rocking into you. "I'm okay. Promise."
And, really, he is, he just didn't think those emotions would sucker punch him right now.
You gasp again as he hits your sweet spot, eyes falling out of focus into a dazed stare. "M'gonna cum," you rasp out, staving off a strangled moan. "Steve, I'm— I—"
He unsheathes himself from you, and it pains him to do so, whimpering as the chill of the air around erases your warmth. He glances down to your cunt, watching it clench around nothing.
"Why'd you do that?" You're breathless as you manage to ask, and the heartbroken look on your face almost tempts Steve to give in. Instead, he runs a finger through your folds, dripping and enticing as his touch drags over your throbbing clit. "Oh my god, this is the second time tonight you've done that!"
"M'not letting you finish that easy," he teases.
You whine, tossing your head back against the worn pillow, now damp with sweat. He restrains himself from splitting you open again, ignoring how needy his cock is, throbbing, red, and leaking at the tip.
"Up," he orders, throwing the sleeping bag off your tangled forms. Eager for more, you sit up, a little too quickly for his liking. Immediately his tone softens with concern, "Okay, wait. Careful, slow— Don't need you passing out."
Steve's hand finds your cheek, lips planting on yours, kissing you so sweetly. He smiles against your lips before he rolls a blanket up while nodding to the carpet. "You okay on your knees?"
"Okay?" You climb onto all fours, teasing, "I'm pretty fuckin' great on my knees."
Steve shakes his head, though his smile doesn't fade, "Jesus Christ, and I had the bad lines?" He places the blanket under your tummy, hiking your hips up with the extra support. "That help?"
It's a small gesture, one he probably doesn't think twice about, but it sure sticks with you anyway. "Uh-huh." You wiggle your ass, impatiently eager to be filled again.
His large hands slide over the curve of your backside, squeezing and kneading the doughy flesh. Your core glistens with arousal, practically begging for indulgence.
And Steve? He's in a trance, mouth on you for the third time tonight; he can't get enough of you. No one has ever tasted like you. No one's ever felt as soft as you, been as soaked as you. No one sounds like you, or shows the tiny yet impactful levels of intimacy you do with him.
No one's like you. No one could even compare.
"Fuck…" he lowly sighs out, nose nudging between your folds. "Didn't think you'd get this wet again."
"I—" You cut yourself off with a strangled gasp as Steve's tongue flits out, curling at your entrance, but not quite dipping in. "Hhhohmygod."
Thick fingers drag through your folds as he pulls back, teasing in circles around your throbbing clit, never touching it directly. You push your ass back, but he grips your hip firmly, holding you still.
"Steve," you whine.
"I know, I know," he murmurs, leaning in to suck crudely on your clit, one final time. Lining up with your entrance, one hand roams to your hips, the other, guiding himself into you. "Gonna take real good care of you, honey."
You're already clenching with a gasp. "Can't be saying— a- ah!" Steve nudges the tip into you, barely past the head's flare when you whine out. Sinking in, the delicious stretch lures you both under its spell. "S- sayin' sweet shit to me like th- that."
"I mean it," he groans, eyes rolling back as your tight heat envelopes him again. "Every damn time, too."
"What, this isn't a h- heat of the moment kinda th- thing?"
"Not even close, sweetheart." He digs his grip into the plush of your ass, slowly entering you again. Hypnotized, he watches himself disappear inside of you with each thrust. "Jesus Christ… suckin' me right in."
You nudge back into him. Steve chokes on his breath as your ass slams into him. "I- I need more."
"Yeah?" Thumbs on your lower back circle softly on your skin. He watches the goosebumps rise with satisfaction. "How do we ask for more?"
"Jesus fuckin'—" irked, you grumble. You slump against the pillows beneath you, whining, "Please."
"Please… what?"
"Steve, I s- swear to god—"
"Go ahead," he juts his chin out, smirk strong as he feels a power trip within reach. He wishes you could see how smug he is from there. In a slow retreat, he drags himself out of you, leaving you empty, cold, miserable. "Keep up the attitude, we'll see what happens."
"You're such a—" Steve slams back into you, knocking a cry from your lungs. His cock kicks against your tightening walls. "Oh, fuck…" You clap a hand over your mouth, but Steve yanks it away.
He pins that arm behind your back, thrusting hard and deep.
"Such a what?"
"Nothing. Sh- shut up an' fuck me already." When he doesn't move, you breathe out reluctantly, "… please?"
Steve snaps his hips against your ass, bottoming out within you. The sudden stretch shoves a cry out from the back of your throat.
"Aw, see?” He drags himself out, tauntingly slow. “Not so hard to ask for what you need, huh?" He thrusts again, sinking in to the hilt, "Thaaaaaat's my girl." He moans, rumbling deeply as he fills and stretches you all over again.
The condescending comment should be that, only that, but instead your breath hitches. It's one that unexpectedly makes Steve's heart jump, his stomach flip; he wonders if you feel the same.
"I… Yours?"
Though you can't see him in this position, Steve's eyes flicker away, tongue darting out the corner of his mouth as he tries focusing on fucking you instead.
"Mhm, if…" He groans when your free hand reaches between your thighs, underneath you both to grip his balls and massage them. "Oh, shit, honey… s- so good…"
Fatigue still rests heavy in your limbs, and even with the pillow supporting underneath, you begin to sag down to the floor. It's not much help that you're not holding your own balance anymore.
"Hang on, I got ya'." It's such a basic phrase handled with care, passion coupling with his actions; a strong arm winds around your waist as his thrusts slow. He hoists you back into his lap, kneeling back on his heels while you're sat back onto him.
He moves again, and you cry out from the new angle, feeling him even deeper than moments before. It's almost toointense; your trembling legs are a sign of that.
"Hey, hey, shhh," Steve kisses your neck softly, leading up to your jaw. "Need a minute?" You shake your head, breaths rapid and shallow. "Wanna stop?"
"God, no," you nearly sob, tightly clenching around his cock, almost to keep him inside you.
"Okay, okay." He kisses your cheek, lips lingering against you as he demands gently, "Tell me what you need."
"Y- you."
Steve chuckles, nuzzling his nose against your jawbone, unable to keep his lips off of you. If this is the only time he has you, he wants to kiss every inch he can reach.
"I'm right here."
Your lips part, but your breath is taken away with each thrust; you can only manage a nod while you whine and gasp.
The smell of sex hanging heavy above you both, the plap plap plap of skin slapping on skin, filling the van alongside your filthy moans; the two of you could put a porn studio to goddamn shame.
And then, there's the mouth on Steve among all of this.
"This pussy all mine?" His head falls back with a throaty groan, hips twitching off-key as embers smolder low in his belly, a fire that's always been easy to build off of.
It's only fair to match his energy.
"Dunno…" You turn your head as he leans over your shoulder, holding you flush against him while relentlessly, sloppily fucking into you. "This cock all mine, Harrington?" You burst into giggles among the breathy sighs. "Got me saying the dumbest shit, that's h- how much I like you."
He doesn't just twitch inside of you, he kicks, with little room to move within your tight walls. The whimper that pairs is one too delicious to ever imagine once, just once.
No, he'll never get enough of you. Not now. Not ever.
"S'all yours, honey," his nose prods into your cheekbone when he kisses the round, soft side of your grin. Huffing and puffing, thrusting into you relentlessly, he adds, "M'all yours."
Steve drives his cock deep within your cunt, dizzy as the stretch barely lets up. The fingers gripped around your chin ease up, two teasing at your bottom lip, tracing it softly. You're so fucked out already, it doesn't register what he's trying to accomplish. Not until he pushes them past your lips. That's when you take him in.
Even just two fingers are thick enough to softly gag you, while your tongue licks and laves at his digits. Warm and wet, you leave him a wreck as he quietly imagines fucking your mouth instead.
God, he hopes this isn't a one time fling; he wants you like this all the time.
"Fuck, you're unreal."
You try and fail to whimper his name around his fingers, drooling onto yourself and his hand.
Steve's fingers slip away, hands sliding down your neck. He loosely holds, gives a gentle squeeze, pushing you right up to the edge. You lean into his palm, tightening around him as you give into trust. His thumb caresses the side of your neck
"St- Steve, m'gonna— I—" his other hand finds your clit, coaxing you to fall into bliss with a steady, tender touch.
"C'mon, come for me," he husks in your ear while his own thrusts stutter, cock pulsing as he follows you into a shared high. He slurs out, "Thas'it. Fu- fuck—"
He spills into you, and you gush around him, yet it's so much more than that. There's a closeness you've craved, finally satiated as you're intertwined and losing yourselves in well-overdue bliss.
Trying to anchor yourselves to one another, there's desperate grasping in tandem with sounds rooted in indulgence. You've got your arm curled behind to tangle your fingers through his hair. Steve's greedily planting his fingerprints everywhere he can reach, digging pressure into every muscle and curve. You pull, he squeezes; the two of you claim one another through frantically passionate touches.
Beyond the lust, this is what you've always longed for with Steve; even if it didn't pan out the way either of you wanted, maybe it was needed to all fall into place.
Wrapped around one another, sweat still drying, smell of sex finally fading, the two of you revel in the afterglow together. Any walls— built with years of spite, grudges, and loss— between you have been demolished.
That doesn't ease Steve's nerves, though.
"Would you…" Steve trails off as self doubt's choke hold tightens on his heart. You lift your head, chin resting on his chest as your eyes find his.
All animosity in your gaze vanishes; he never thought he'd see the day.
"Would you wanna, uh, go out?" Like he didn't just rail you into oblivion, shyness creeps in. He braces himself for rejection, and maybe this question should've waited until after you're dug out from the snow. "Like, on a date, I mean."
Eager, you tease, "Promise I won't stand you up this time."
"Not like you can leave town this time anyway."
Though you scoff, it's playful. There's a smile he never imagined he'd see again, paired perfectly with your sincere laughter that reassures him.
The light in your eyes that radiates a soothing warmth, like spring sunshine on his skin, is back.
"Not sure I'd leave if I even had the chance," you admit. "Not without you."
And the sincerity in those words, it comforts him. Grounds him. For once, just once, the two of you could have something stable, constant, that isn't a threat to your lives.
There's a comfortable silence between you; the blizzard's howling gusts don't sound so lonely and hollow anymore.
"Might be smart to get dressed before the morning." Steve grimaces, reaching between his legs to slide the condom off. "… and clean up first."
"You would ruin the moment with something like that," you groan as he ties it off, sliding an arm out of the sleeping bag to throw it into a small trash bin nearby. "Besides, we're warm and cozy, and—" he smirks, reaching for the zipper next while you whine. "Ugh, no, c'mon— don't open it!"
Steve shrugs, amused. "Then you can explain to whoever ends up rescuing us why we're naked in the middle of a—"
"Okay, okay!" You grumble, stretching over Steve to zip the bag open. Begrudgingly, you shimmy out, rushing to grab the emergency box for clothes.
Despite your protests, Steve helps you get dressed as you grumble over the soreness, no longer numb from the cold. With teamwork and grace, you're back in warm, dry clothes, and Steve follows suit. He helps you back into the sleeping bag, snuggling up next to you once zipped up.
It's effortless, though mindful, how you tangle yourselves around one another. Your leg is thrown over his thigh while you rest on your side. He faces you, slotting his leg between yours and reeling you into his embrace. You tuck your head under his chin, inviting him to kiss the top of your head— and he does.
"We're taking the weekend off," you murmur. It's not a question, it's a firm statement. "No crawls. Not unless they're absolutely certain we're ending this."
"No crawls," Steve agrees, chuckling softly into you hair. "Stay over this weekend? I know it's not the most ideal first date location, but we don't really have the greatest options right now, and—"
"Okay."
"Oh." He pauses, relieved there was no hesitancy from you. "Okay. Yeah. We'll do that."
This might take some getting used to, the whole not being at each other's throats all the time thing. He can't complain, in fact, it's a welcomed change.
"The others can wait, we got catching up to do," you nuzzle your face into his neck, voice vibrating against his throat. "And we'll be dry this time."
He hums with a chuckle low in his throat. "Not sure you could say that for yourself, but sure, okay."
"Steve."
The two of you are too wrapped up in one another to notice the snow finally slowing to something serene, teasing back and forth like you used to. This banter without venom, it's natural now, and he hopes it stays. He hopes you stay. By the way you're so at ease in his embrace, Steve knows you will.
⋆˚꩜｡ summary: Rain-soaked foraging trips, protective rituals lit by candlelight, and quiet afternoons tangled together inside the Munson trailer slowly blur the line between friendship and something far softer.
⋆˚꩜｡ tags: no y/n, she/her reader, extremely slow burn, strangers to friends to lovers, witchy!reader, apprentice!eddie, domestic fluff, mutual pining?, yearning, found family vibes, wayne being the person we all deserve to have in our lives, tarot & divination, protective magic, grief & healing themes, perpetual autumn vibes, my questionable taste in music
⋆˚꩜｡ tw: this is an 18+ only blog (minors go away), smoking cigarettes, smoking weed, smoking weed while driving (do not do this irl), occult practices, references to hoodoo (only adding this to tw bc i tried my best to be respectful about it, but please tell me if i wasnt!!!), mentions of alcohol/alcoholism (blink and you'll miss it), bones/skulls, anxiety & insecurity,
⋆˚꩜｡ wordcount: 10.6k+
⋆˚꩜｡ a/n: dropping pt. 2 early to celebrate my birthday today with you guys! mwah 💋
⋆˚꩜｡ Rituals For the Restless - spotify playlist
PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3
Eddie had stepped into the trailer without knocking, already halfway through rambling about reading somewhere in one of the books he’d borrowed that mushroom foraging in the rain was apparently an entirely different thing with its own properties and rituals attached to it.
His own foraging bag hung from one shoulder while the other hand carried a thermos full of coffee.
You’d only caught maybe half of what he’d said, still buried beneath two thick handmade quilts while sleep clung heavily behind your eyes.
“Hm?” you mumbled from somewhere beneath the quilts, eyes still too sensitive to properly open against the pale cloudy light filtering through the bedroom window.
The soft sound of socked feet against linoleum echoed quietly through the otherwise sleepy trailer while Eddie wandered down the hallway towards your bedroom.
“Y’know, you really gotta start locking your door,” he murmured while stopping beneath the open doorway, one shoulder leaning lazily against the frame as he took in the sleepy sight in front of him.
You only hummed in response, and mumbled something incomprehensible beneath the quilts while rolling over in bed so you faced him instead of the green painted wall.
“What?”
“I said,” you huffed out slightly louder this time, “it’s not fair to lock you out.”
You opened your eyes – slower than you’d intended – and blinked a few times until the room finally settled back into focus.
Eddie shifted his weight slightly, the tips of his ears turning red while a small grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“What time is it?” you mumbled sleepily, sounding more awake than a few seconds ago though still making no real effort to push yourself upright.
“Little before seven,” he replied softly while pushing himself away from the doorframe and stepping closer before crouching beside the bed.
His ringed fingers brushed gently against your forehead as he pushed away a loose strand of hair that had fallen across your eyes, his gaze lingering briefly on the faint scowl beginning to settle between your eyebrows.
“Ugh,” you murmured while continuing to squint at him. “You’re never up this early.”
“Wanted to go foraging in the rain with you,” he repeated quietly, his fingers still absentmindedly brushing against your temple long after the strand of hair had already been moved away. “You want me to make coffee?”
“Yes, please,” you mumbled back softly, your heavy eyes slowly drifting shut again beneath the soothing movement of his thumb.
Eddie’s grin widened faintly.
“Alright, sleepyhead,” he said quietly. “But I expect to see you upright by the time the coffee’s done.”
By the time Eddie had wandered back towards the kitchen and the soft sound of dripping coffee filled the trailer, you’d somehow managed to pull yourself away from the warm softness of your bed and find clothes that were both warm for the weather and practical enough to survive whatever rain-soaking foraging adventure he’d drag you into that morning.
His back was turned towards you when you finally stepped into the hallway, one hand curled around the coffee pot while the other rested against the thrifted mug he’d gotten you a few days earlier during what he’d proudly referred to as a boys day with Wayne.
Eddie glanced over his shoulder when he heard you approach before silently sliding the green ceramic mug across the granite countertop towards you.
Then he poured himself another cup despite the full thermos sitting on your coffee table and the four cups he’d already consumed before coming over.
“Thanks,” you mumbled softly while curling your hands around the steaming mug.
“I hope we’ll find some Velvet Foot,” he murmured behind his cup. “Read it help cholesterol, and Wayne could really use some of that.”
A softer smile tugged faintly at your mouth as you lifted the mug closer towards your lips.
“You’ve been reading a lot more than I thought.”
Eddie shrugged one shoulder casually, though the faint pink creeping across the tips of his ears betrayed him immediately.
“Hey, I’m perfectly capable of finishing a book,” he mumbled. “Plus, I like proving you wrong every now and then.”
A quiet snort escaped you as you pulled one of the barstools out and sat down beside the counter.
“You planning on becoming Hawkins’ local mushroom healer now?”
“Maybe,” Eddie murmured while wiggling his brows before taking another sip of coffee. “What of it?”
That pulled another sleepy laugh from you, the sound blending softly with the rain tapping against the trailer roof while pale morning light continued filtering weakly through the windows.
Eddie lowered the mug again before tilting his head towards the front door.
“You want me to fill your thermos before we go terrorising the mushrooms?”
“Yes, please,” you nodded softly before blowing against the rising steam curling from the mug. “Unless you’re prepared to share yours.”
Eddie chuckled quietly while shaking his head before pushing himself away from the counter and reaching for the thermos resting beside the drying rack.
The trailer filled once more with the soft sounds of a slow sleepy morning – coffee pouring, cupboard doors opening and closing, glass containers clinking softly together as they disappeared into bags, rain tapping steadily against the roof.
You stayed seated for another minute longer, letting the warmth slowly settle into your fingertips and spread through your body while Eddie moved comfortably through the kitchen with a familiarity that no longer felt new.
By the time you finally stood to grab your coat, he’d already filled the thermos and clipped it carefully onto the side of your foraging bag.
“Your boots are by the door,” he reminded you absentmindedly while shrugging into his own jacket.
The words made you blink, then again, as a quieter smile tugged faintly at your lips as you realised he’d already pulled them there for you while you were still half asleep.
“You’re getting weirdly domestic, Munson.”
Eddie looked up immediately, deeply offended. “Weirdly?”
That pulled another soft laugh from you while you stepped towards the door, shrugging into your coat as pale morning light spilled gently across the trailer floor.
Outside, rain still drifted steadily from the washed-out sky, turning the trailer park into a blur of wet gravel, muddy grass, and little white ghosts dancing from every breath.
Eddie held the door open for you with an exaggerated bow.
“After you, miss mushroom witch.”
He pulled the key from the inside lock before stepping outside after you, locking the door behind him and slipping the keys into his front pocket like they belonged there.
You were already making your way towards the thick line of trees at the edge of the trailer park before you could change your mind and crawl back beneath your quilts again, though your pace stayed slow enough for him to catch up easily.
Eddie pulled his battered cigarette pack from the pocket of his jacket and held it out towards you in silent offer.
“Or d’you just wanna steal drags from mine again?” he asked after you shook your head.
Your thought about it for a moment, lips pursed slightly while the light drizzle settled across your lashes in tiny silver beads.
“Yeah,” you nodded eventually, curling your fingers around the lit cigarette when he held it out towards you.
The wet sucking sound of your boots sinking lightly into the forming mud echoed softly beneath the trees while the two of you wandered deeper into the forest through falling brown leaves and the pale silver mist that stubbornly refused to lift alongside the morning side.
The cigarette passed lazily back and forth between your hands while comfortable silence settled around the two of you once more.
The deep resonant croaks of some distant bird occasionally cut through the quiet, followed every now and then by the whistle of wind whenever it remembered to drift through the trembling branches overhead.
“Are we only looking for Velvet Foot today?” you mumbled after spotting an orange-brown cluster growing against the base of a distant trunk.
Eddie pondered for a moment while letting his gaze follow the direction of your pointing finger.
“Maybe some Shaggy Manes too, if we get lucky,” he murmured thoughtfully.
“Oh, that reminds me,” you hummed softly while brushing damp leaves away from your boots. “I’m running low on Shaggy Mane.”
“I know,” Eddie murmured quietly, offering you a small smile before crouching beside the scattered cluster of Velvet Foot growing along the fallen bark. “Noticed it yesterday when I was filling your jars.”
Your eyes flicked briefly towards him at the casualness of the comment.
Eddie reached for one of the straps of his foraging bag before setting it down carefully beside him and pulling it open.
His rings clinked softly against the glass containers as he pulled them free, balancing them carefully against his thigh before handing one towards you.
You carefully held the container steady while Eddie gently twisted one of the Velvet Foot clusters free from the damp bark before placing it inside with surprising delicacy.
Rainwater clung to the silver of his rings before slowly seeping into the coarse denim of his jeans while wet bangs stuck stubbornly against his forehead.
“You’re getting better at this,” you murmured softly while reaching towards another cluster growing slightly higher along the bark.
Eddie turned his head towards you.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you nodded while brushing damp moss from your fingertips. “You don’t rip them outta the ground like a barbarian anymore.”
“Yikes,” he snorted. “That bad?”
“You were violent,” you deadpanned.
That pulled a lazy laugh from him, warm and rough beneath the thin drizzle filtering softly through the trees overhead.
And that’s how the two of you continued for a while – quietly working beside each other while comfortable silence settled easily around you.
The forest echoed softly with the sticky pull of mud clinging to your boots as you wandered deeper between the trees. Fallen leaves scattered beneath your steps while brittle twigs cracked occasionally underfoot alongside the distant calls of hidden birds.
“Hey,” Eddie spoke quietly after a while, his eyes wandering across the forest floor. “These aren’t Shaggy Manes, right?”
You followed his gaze towards the small cluster peeking through damp moss and fallen leaves.
“No,” you murmured while crouching beside them, a softer smile tugging faintly at your mouth. “They’re Ink Caps. They’re edible, but you shouldn’t drink alcohol for like… seventy-two hours after eating them.”
Eddie looked oddly pleased with himself for noticing the difference anyway.
“Oh,” he nodded thoughtfully. “These the ones they used to treat alcoholism with, then?”
“Yeah,” you smiled softly over your shoulder, your eyes glimmering faintly beneath the misty rain. “Those exact ones.”
You pushed yourself upright again before gently nudging Eddie forward once you noticed a small cluster of Shaggy Manes growing nearby.
“Turn around,” Eddie murmured while waving his fingers vaguely towards your bag.
You did as told, and the soft sound of a zipper being pulled open briefly filled the quiet space between you while he searched through your things before pulling out one of the empty containers.
“Thank you,” you mumbled quietly once he zipped the bag shut again.
Eddie only hummed before crouching down ahead of you and carefully reaching towards the narrow bell-shaped mushrooms.
Crossing your arms loosely against your chest while leaning against a nearby tree, your attention drifted towards the side of his face instead – the tiny freckles scattered across his pale skin, the focused furrow between his eyebrows, the tip of his tongue peeking faintly between his lips while he concentrated.
A softer smile tugged unconsciously at your mouth while your gaze continued lingering on him.
“Do I have something on my face?” Eddie asked suddenly, still focused on the mushrooms while filling the container.
You let out a quiet laugh before quickly turning your attention towards the thick line of trees ahead instead, pretending not to notice the warmth suddenly creeping into your ears.
“Just looking at how ridiculous you look with your bangs all wet,” you mumbled.
The soft muted snaps of Eddie plucking the stems filled the quiet for a few seconds while you quietly debated whether or not to ask the though that had suddenly wandered through your mind.
“Do you have plans for the rest of the day?”
Eddie hummed softly, still focused on carefully twisting the Shage Manes free from the damp earth.
“Besides making Wayne mushroom tea, even though we both know damn well he’ll only drink it if you make it?” he joked, finally glancing up towards you. “Not really, why?”
You bit lightly against your bottom lip for a moment.
“Would you wanna go to the cemetery with me later?” you asked quietly, your eyes flicking somewhere beyond him instead of meeting his directly. “I need graveyard dirt.”
That finally stilled Eddie’s hands completely, his brows pulling together in immediate confusion and curiosity.
“Why do ya need graveyard dirt?”
You exhaled softly through your nose while your gaze drifted absently towards the wet forest floor.
“I think I wanna start making potions again.”
The soft crunch of leaves echoed between the trees while Eddie slowly pushed himself back upright.
For a moment, he visibly debated saying something about it. But after a second, he quietly decided against it, seemingly realising you already felt exposed enough simply admitting it out loud after the conversation you had yesterday.
Instead, he carefully secured the lid back onto the container before waving his fingers towards your bag again.
“Yeah, we can go,” he nodded after a moment. Then, softer: “What’s the dirt used for?”
He pulled your bag open while asking the question.
“I only use it for protection work,” you explained quietly while adjusting the strap on your shoulder. “It’s used a lot in Hoodo practices, so I try not to overstep with it.”
Eddie glanced up again. “What do you mean?”
“Hoodoo’s a closed practice,” you explained gently while the drizzle continued whispering softly through the trees overhead. “I don’t practice it myself, so I try to be respectful about not appropriating traditions or customs that aren’t mine.”
Eddie nodded slowly in understanding before returning his attention back towards carefully packing away the containers.
“What time you wanna go?” Eddie asked, already chuckling a little too hard at himself. “During the witching hour?”
You rolled your eyes even though he couldn’t see you, his attention still fully occupied with your bag and the stubborn zipper beneath his fingers.
“Right after this is fine,” you said instead of replying with something sarcastic. “But I gotta grab a few more jars.”
You then blinked a few times. “And have a quick pee break.”
While the distant trees swayed alongside the electric cables hanging above the trailer, Eddie lay sprawled across your bed like he’d already decided it belonged partially to him too.
One foot rested dangerously close to your pillow while he stared up at the ceiling, his gaze occasionally drifting towards the hanging plants and the wind chime suspended in front of the closed bedroom window.
You, meanwhile, sat cross-legged on the soft new rug the two of you had recently bought together while carefully smoke cleansing thrifted jewellery.
With your blessing, Eddie had chosen the record spinning in the living room, loud enough for the music to drift softly into the bedroom where the two of you had settled for the afternoon.
The warm bass and quiet resilience of Barry Hay’s voice – which had earned Eddie a proud grin after choosing – filled the comfortable silence between you, occasionally blending with the soft clinking of silver rings lined across the rug.
“Can I ask something about protective charms?” Eddie asked suddenly, his eyes still fixed on the mournfully still wind chime. “It’s kinda stupid, though.”
“No questions are stupid when you’re learning,” you murmured while setting one ring aside and lifting another instead. “Shoot.”
“Are they strictly for protecting homes?”
You slowly turned the tiger eye ring between your fingers, allowing the incense smoke to curl gently through the jewellery in your hands.
“Witchcraft is extremely personal,” you started softly. “There’s not really a right or wrong.”
You let the thought settle quietly between you before continuing.
“And that applies to protective charms too.”
Eddie hummed thoughtfully,
“Why you asking?”
“Wayne’s going on a trip with some friends for the first time in years,” he mumbled while finally glancing over towards you. “I kinda wanna charge his rearview hanger before he leaves. Just in case.”
A softer smile tugged faintly at your lips.
“You still working on his car?”
“Yeah,” Eddie replied. “He took the van to work.”
You thought about it for a moment while slowly turning the last ring between your fingers before finally setting it aside and glancing back towards him.
“We can do it now if you want,” you offered while placing the remaining half-burnt incense stick onto the little ceramic tray beside you before stretching your legs across the rug.
The loud crack your knees made echoed through the room and immediately pulled a face from Eddie.
“Jesus H. Christ.”
That pulled a soft snort from you.
“Why not?” you murmured while pushing yourself upright and wandering towards the dresser, your hand already reaching for one of the drawers. “I got everything here anyway.”
Your fingers curled around the knobs before pulling the drawer open with far more force than should’ve been necessary, revealing an almost excessive collection of candles alongside a little bowl filled with matches – yeah, you might have a slight problem when it comes to buying candles.
One by one, you pulled several candles free and placed them carefully onto the top of the dresser.
The muted thud of heavy wax against wood made Eddie finally push himself fully off the bed before wandering over to join you. A deep warmth that was uniquely his radiated from his chest almost immediately as he stepped close behind you. His fingers brushed softly against your arm while reaching for the candles spread across the dresser.
“Where d’you want these?” Eddie asked while stepping away from the dresser with an armful of candles balanced awkwardly against his chest.
“On the floor’s fine,” you replied quietly while continuing to pull more candles from the drawer. “Just make a circle big enough for both of us.”
Eddie hummed softly to himself before deciding it was easier to move the candles in batches before making the circle.
You pushed the drawer shut with your hip – noticeably lighter now without the weight of all the candles – before wandering towards the small collection of jars lined beneath the kitchen window.
With distracted familiarity, your fingers moved automatically towards the ingredients while your other hand reached for the cupboard knob, pulling it open to retrieve a shallow brass bowl.
Meanwhile, Eddie had become surprisingly focused on trying to make the candle circle actually round.
Once satisfied enough with the shape, he pushed himself back upright before wandering towards the front door where his sneakers rested neatly beside your boots.
“Be right back,” he murmured softly while shoving his feet into the worn white shoes without bothering to fully untie them before pulling the door open and disappearing outside into the drizzle.
When the soft creak of the front door echoed through the trailer less than a minute later, Eddie’s footsteps carried him back into the kitchen where you stood carefully placing small jars into the brass bowl.
A few of them he recognised immediately from helping you fill them before; others, he still couldn’t quite identify.
He watched quietly while you gathered everything together, the soft clink of glass against metal filling the small kitchen space until his brows furrowed slightly when you reached for the kitchen salt.
“Salt?”
“You’ve seen me work with herbs and weird powders, but salt is where you draw the line?” you teased while shaking your head before letting out a soft snort. “It’s good for cleansing, protection, grounding… all that stuff.”
You nudged the brass bowl slightly across the counter towards him in silent request before turning away again, your eyes scanning the trailer distractedly while trying to remember where you’d last left the crystal chips you usually saved for rituals like this.
“You remember where I put that wooden box with the tiny crystals?”
“I think you shoved it in the dresser,” Eddie replied immediately, his eyes following your increasingly chaotic movements around the trailer. “Third drawer, middle row.”
“And wouldn’t you know,” you muttered beneath your breath while your fingers curled around the drawer handle before pulling it open to reveal the exact box you’d been looking for. “At this rate, I’m gonna start charging you half the rent since you apparently know this trailer better than I do.”
The tips of Eddie’s ears immediately flushed red. And before the thought attached to your absentminded comment could fully settle inside his chest, he quietly shoved it away.
“You coming?” you murmured over your shoulder while walking back towards the bedroom with the wooden box tucked carefully against your side – not even stopping to second guess the implications of your earlier words.
Eddie answered with a quiet yeah beneath his breath before following after you down the hallway.
After setting the box gently onto the amber-yellow rug, you stretched your neck despite the deeply disturbed look Eddie immediately shot you before fishing his stolen lighter from your pocket and setting down inside the candle circle.
Eddie followed you into it almost thoughtlessly, like sitting beside you inside sacred spaces had already started becoming second nature despite this being the first actual ritual he’d actually take part in.
Outside, the leaves and electric cables continued their rough dance routine while the soft click of the lighter echoed quietly through the bedroom as you leaned forward to light each candle.
By the time you finished, Eddie was already watching you quietly, absentmindedly turning the little rearview hanger between his fingers.
“Do you want me to walk you through it?” you asked softly. “Or do you just wanna observe?”
He nodded before you’d even fully finished the question. “Walk me through it?”
“Always,” you whispered softly. “We start with cleansing, okay?”
A quieter smile softened your features while you watched his ponder for a while eyeing the small canisters spread across the carped.
“Knowing you,” he mumbled beneath his breath, “I’m guessing some of these aren’t actually cleansing or protective herbs.”
That pulled a soft chuckle from you while you nodded. “Yeah. I may or may not have done that.”
Eddie narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the jars like concentrating hard enough might somehow reveal the correct answers.
His ringed hand immediately reached for the salt first – your explanation from earlier still fresh inside his head – before selecting three more jars beside it; rosemary, crushed cloves, and juniper.
The corners of your mouth lifted into an unmistakably proud grin while your eyes lingered on his hands.
Almost instinctively, he opened each jar one by one before carefully pouring portions of the herbs into the brass bowl resting between the two of you.
His movements were calm and deliberate, almost serene in their quiet confidence, like he’d repeated the motions enough times now for them to settle naturally into his hands.
Then he glanced up at you from beneath his bangs, the look in his eyes almost silently asking whether he’d done it right.
“You’ve been paying attention,” you chuckled softly while pointing towards it. “Rosemary’s good for purification, cloves help banish negativity, and juniper wards off harmful energy.”
Your fingers brushed lightly against the jar of salt beside you.
“And salt kinda strengthens everything else,” you added while grabbing a few selenite chips from the wooden box. “Selenite clears negativity too, and promotes peace.”
Eddie’s attention remained fixed on your hands while you carefully added the pale crystal chips to the dry mixture.
“The most important part isn’t really the herbs, though they do help,” you explained quietly while striking a match and lifting it towards one of the candles surrounding you. “It’s the intention behind it.”
Eddie gave you a faintly puzzled look. “Intention?”
“You can’t force cleansing out of fear,” you murmured softly. “It has to come from care instead.”
Something quieter and softer settled across his features after that.
The warm flare of the match briefly painted gold across both your faces before you lowered it carefully into the bowl.
“Now close your eyes for a second,” you instructed gently. “And just focus on the charm.”
Eddie obeyed almost immediately, taking a slow breath as his shoulders loosened slightly.
“Picture the cleansing,” you continued softly. “All the lingering energy leaving it and making space for something new.”
His chest rose and fell in slow precision while he focused on the image forming inside his mind.
“Now hold it above the bowl,” you whispered carefully, your voice soft enough not to disturb his concentration. “Let it soak in the smoke.”
The herbs shifted quietly beneath Eddie’s fingers while he lifted the small salt dough charm above the bowl. The misshapen little triangle slowly disappeared beneath the curling smoke while he remained focused on whatever he was seeing behind closed eyes.
Rain crashed harder against the trailer roof and windows, while the record player crackled softly now that the needle had found it way back to its holder, filling the comfortable silence that settled between the two of you afterward as a faint white shimmer flickered across the surface of the charm.
“How does it feel?” you asked quietly after a while.
Eddie slowly opened his eyes again, blinking against the dim candlelight before lowering his gaze towards the charm resting in his hand, a faint furrow already pulling at his brows.
“It feels…” he trailed off softly, tilting his head slightly in surprise. “Lighter. Clean, even.”
His thumb brushed carefully across the uneven engraved letters pressed into the charm all those years ago.
You carefully pushed yourself upright before leaning down to pick up the brass bowl and empty its content into the now empty match bowl on top of your dresser.
When you stepped back into the candle circle again, you lowered the empty bowl carefully between the two of you once more, noticing the way Eddie had grown unusually quiet.
He simply sat there turning the small salt dough charm slowly between his fingers while candlelight flickered softly across the silver of his rings.
“Now we basically do the same thing again,” you explained quietly, “just with different herbs.”
Eddie hummed softly before lowering the charm carefully onto the rug.
After a moment of thoughtful hesitation, he reached for several different jars instead – rosemary, crushed bay leaves, and black pepper.
Your eyes lingered quietly on his hands while he carefully removed each cork stopper before pouring portions of the herbs into the bowl with the same deliberate gentleness as before.
Then his fingers reader towards the small pieces of black tourmaline near your foot.
“Do I do the same thing?” he asked lowly while pushing the cork back into the tiny jar. “Like… envision him?”
“Yeah,” you nodded. “Just picture him safe.”
Your voice softened further while watching him settle back into the candlelight.
“Think about him having peaceful days with his friends. Safe travels. Him making it home okay afterward.”
Eddie nodded faintly while lowering his eyes back towards the bowl, his ringed fingers curling carefully around the charm once more before finally closing his eyes again.
Flashes of Wayne’s wide toothy grin drifted through his mind while he pictures his uncle driving safely towards wherever the trip would take him, his favourite song crackling softly through his car.
Your attention lingered quietly on the way the corners of his lips pulled into a softer smile while he poured all of his focus into the hanger resting between his fingers.
Without disturbing him, you lit another match before carefully dropping it into the fresh mixture inside the bowl.
Eddie’s grip loosened slightly the longer he focused on the intention behind it, though his hold remained steady enough to keep the small hanger suspended above the rising smoke.
The faint crackle of the black pepper filled the quiet bedroom while smoke curled slowly around the handmade charm once more – this time, no pale shimmer appeared.
But, after a few seconds, Eddie’s brows twitched softly as his eyes slowly opened again.
Something different had settled into the charm now – something he could feel spreading through his fingertips and down into the rest of his body.
“I think it worked,” he whispered quietly, staring down at it in disbelief. “Holy shit, it worked.”
“Yeah?” you chuckled softly while gently smothering the tiny flame still glowing faintly inside the bowl.
“It feels heavy,” he tried explaining, his brows pulling together thoughtfully. “But not like, physically heavy.”
His thumb brushed absentmindedly over the uneven engraved letters once again.
“It feels warm, too,” he murmured quietly. “Like how good childhood memories feel.”
He continued brushing his thumb absentmindedly across the unevenly engraved n.1 dad pressed into the old salt dough while his other hand toyed quietly with the worn fabric loop threated through the top of it.
You stayed seated on the rug for a little while longer, your gaze drifting slowly from Eddie’s face to his hands before returning back up again.
His expression had softened completely now, relaxed beneath the warm candlelight except for the faint smile that slowly turned towards you once he finally lifted his head.
“Thanks for walking me through it,” he murmured quietly.
A gentler warmth settled beneath your ribs at the sincerity in his voice. “Always.”
For a little while afterwards, the two of you sat there exchanging quieter looks while the rain and wind outside gradually softened against the trailers roof.
Eventually, your gaze drifted towards the bedroom window.
“Come,” you murmured softly once your eyes found his again. “I’m gonna show you how to dispose of this properly.”
It was one of those rare days where the moody clouds had decided not to ruin everything with heavy rain, though the sky still couldn’t quite let go of the drizzle.
The stereo hummed softly with the Infernal Overkill cassette tape you’d lent Eddie a while ago – the very same one you pretended not to miss despite how obvious it had become that he liked it far more than either of you had expected.
Your tote bag rested across your thigs while ground-up weed sat patiently scattered over the linen fabric, waiting to be rolled into the joint you’d promised Eddie you’d make while he drove towards Ashwell Hollow.
The two of you had finally settled on a day to make the trip to the esoteric shop that had recently opened there and, coincidentally, the weather had decided to grant you something almost nice for the drive.
“I was thinking,” Eddie said while lowering the volume slightly.
“Dangerous,” you mumbled distractedly, your full attention still focused on rolling the joint half as perfectly as he usually did it.
“Funny,” he deadpanned before continuing. “Can we stop by the local music shop while we’re there?”
“Yeah, of course,” you replied before sticking the tip of your tongue out to seal the edge closed. “You lookin’ for something specific?”
Eddie hummed thoughtfully while drumming his fingers lazily along to the low explosive drums rumbling through the stereo.
“Nah,” he shrugged. “Just wanna look around.”
You snorted softly while tapping the filter against the door panel a few times. “That usually means you’re about to spend more money than you can actually afford.”
“That’s a problem for Future Eddie,” he replied easily while briefly tilting his head towards you before returning his attention back towards the wet road stretching ahead.
“No, it’s not,” you mumbled while tearing away the excess rolling paper before lighting the joint. “It becomes my problem since you’ll somehow make me pay for pizza again even though it’s your turn.”
He snorted while glancing briefly out the side window, shaking his head like he didn’t already know damn well you were right.
“Oh, c’mon,” he laughed. “That was one time.”
“Two, actually,” you corrected while taking a long drag before rolling the window another inch.
Eddie groaned softly. “Fuck, you’re right.”
The fast-paced riffs and punchy drumming of Trash Attack rumbled low through the stereo – far quieter than the song actually deserved to be listened to – filling the van with a gritty, cathartic atmosphere while the two of you lazily passed the joint back and forth.
Both of you bobbed your heads softly along to the steady snares while the occasional heavy raindrop fell from the trees overhead and smacked against the roof of the van louder than seemed remotely necessary.
Eddie flicked on the turn signal just as the large faded Welcome to Ashwood Hollow sign finally peeked out from behind a wall of overgrown bushes.
As the two of you got closer to the downtown storefronts, you reached into your tote bad and pulled out a thrifted glass test tube before popping the cork free and carefully sliding the half-smoked joint inside to save for later.
Finding the esoteric shop Edde had mentioned nearly two weeks earlier turned out to be surprisingly easy – its large open windows crowded with hanging plants and suspended crystals practically gave it away before the van had even fully rolled down the street, alongside the large decorative Moon & Myrrh decal stretched across the entrance door beneath a matching hanging sign.
Eddie killed the ignition, sharply cutting off the music even while his head continued bobbing faintly along to the drumbeat that had long since embedded itself into his brain.
He then turned towards you, still bobbing slightly, and watched you like he was waiting for you to move first.
“Take a picture,” you mumbled beneath your breath while pushing the van door open to join the cold breeze outside.
“I just might,” he murmured back, a softer chuckle slipping from his lips while mirroring you and climbing out after you.
He circled around the van before gently slipping the bag from your shoulder as he followed you towards the heavy purple door.
“You gotta put it in your wallet too?”
“Of course,” he grinned while pulling the brass handle open and holding the door for you. “Gonna show it to everyone willing to listen to me ramble about you.”
You snorted softly before bumping your shoulder lightly against his while stepping across the threshold.
The tingling sensation started almost immediately.
It spread softly through your fingertips the deeper you stepped into the shop while the lingering scent of dragon’s blood incense curled lazily beneath the ceiling like it hadn’t fully decided to disappear into the air just yet.
Eddie stopped beside you almost immediately, his arm brushing softly against your while he turned his head to look at you.
“You feel that too?”
“Yeah,” you whispered quietly.
Eddie blinked at you a few times while the tingling sensation slowly settled beneath your skin before finally glancing around the shop instead.
Then, almost absentmindedly, his fingers curled lightly around the sleeve of your sweater as he guided the two of you towards a shelf lined with divination runes.
Velvet pouches lined the shelves in careful rows while different rune sets sat displayed between them – dark polished pebbles, pale carved bones, weathered wood inked with ancient symbols.
Eddie finally let go of your sleeve once the two of you stopped in front of them.
His attention lingered on one specific pouch while his hand hovered uncertainly in the air, fingers stilling hallway there like he suddenly wasn’t entirely sure whether he was actually allowed to touch them.
“What are these exactly?” Eddie asked quietly while finally reaching for the pouch that had seemingly pulled his attention the strongest.
“Those are Elder Futhark divination runes,” you explained softly while watching the strangely transfixed look settle across his features. “They’re used for guidance. Mostly to help navigate problems or reveal possible outcomes surrounding a situation.”
Eddie carefully loosened the strings of the small green velvet pouch before glancing back at you again.
“How does it work, exactly?”
“You ask a question,” a voice behind the two of you answered before your hazy mind could properly piece the explanation together itself. “Or focus on a specific problem.”
Both of you turned around almost simultaneously.
The woman standing a few feet away could only really be the owner of the shop.
The first thing you noticed was the collection of necklaces adorning her neck – thick aged silver layered together with crystal pendants and familiar protective symbols resting between them.
“Your subconscious seeks patterns while you cast the runes,” she continued calmly. “Possible outcomes. Suggestions. Variables connected to whatever it is you’re asking.”
Eddie’s attention drifted briefly back down towards the pouch still resting in his hands, and the woman followed the movement immediately.
Then she smiled knowingly, her gaze lingering meaningfully on the green pouch. “I see you’ve been called.”
Eddie’s ringed fingers carefully loosened the strings further before reaching into the pouch to inspect one of the runes resting inside.
“What’s it made of?” he asked quietly, his eyes fixed on the small off-white piece and the black carved symbol etched across its surface.
“I think that’s raccoon bone,” you murmured softly while instinctively reaching for his hand to get a better look yourself.
“You’re right,” the woman smiled while loosely intertwining her ringed fingers together in front of her. “Raccoons represent transformation, curiosity, and resourcefulness.”
Something knowing flickered briefly through her dark thoughtful eyes, her gaze lingering meaningfully on Eddie a moment longer.
“That feels very fitting for you.”
The tips of Eddie’s ears flushed faintly at her words while he carefully slid the rune back into the green velvet pouch.
“Should I put these aside for you?” the woman asked gently, tilting her head slightly while her attention still lingered on him.
Eddie hesitated for a few seconds before nodding gently. “Yes, please.”
He carefully pulled the strings closed again before handing the pouch back towards her.
Her ring-clad fingers reached out gracefully to take it from him before her attention slowly shifted towards you instead.
Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully while she studied you for a few quiet seconds.
“You feel…” she trailed off softly, seemingly searching for the correct word before something knowing flickered across her expression. “Recharged.”
Your mouth opened and closed a few times, trying to find the right words. But instead of finding an actual response, you simply settled for offering her a smaller, slightly shy smile while warmth crept steadily into your ears beneath the weight of her knowing attention.
“Yeah,” you admitted quietly while your fingers fidgeted softly together like the movement might somehow ease the strange vulnerability buzzing beneath your skin. “I can feel it, too.”
The woman hummed softly in understanding before the corners of her lips curled into a gentler smile before she slowly wandered back towards the glass counter a few feet away without another word.
You blinked a few times beneath the warm amber light, quietly trying to settle back into the softer hazy comfort you’d been wrapped in before the woman’s knowing attention had suddenly been turned towards you.
Eddie had been watching you quietly the entire time – taking in the subtle way your shoulders slowly relaxed again once your eyes finally found his.
Without saying anything, he simply offered his ringed hand instead, the silver chain you’d gifted him resting loosely around his wrist while he lifted his head gently towards the back of the shop.
“I think I saw some bird skulls back there,” Eddie murmured while gently pulling you away from the runes section.
You only hummed softly in response as you let him intertwine his fingers with your and guide you deeper into the shop.
His thumb brushed absentmindedly against the back of your hand while he guided you deeper between the crowded shelves.
The further the two of you wandered into the back of the store – pushing aside hanging strings of beads to enter another room – the quieter the outside world seemed to become.
No sound of rain, passing cars, or even the lingering hum of downtown slowly disappearing beneath curling incense smoke and the soft chiming of bells somewhere around the store.
A quiet laugh slipped from your nose when Eddie finally let go of your hand and stepped closer towards one of the glass display counters instead, his eyes glimmering beneath the warm amber lighting while an overly excited smile spread across his face.
“Oh my god,” he drew out dramatically while leaning over the display. “They have tiny crow skulls.”
You shook your head lightly, unable to spot the smile tugging at your lips while watching him stare at the collection like he’d just discovered buried treasure.
“Those are ravens, stupid.”
Sheets of rain battered harshly against the roof of the Munson trailer while the scattered pole lamps of the trailer park outside blurred into smeared golden halos beneath the storm.
Every now and then, lightning forked sharply across the black night sky in white-hot veins before thunder rolled through the trees hard enough to make the windows tremble faintly in their frames.
The three of you sat gathered around the small kitchen table, steaming mugs of tea warming your hands – an experimental blend Eddie had thrown together using rosehip, lemon verbena, and stinging nettles.
Wayne laughed softly while telling the two of you stories from his boys trip, a tired but genuine smile resting across his thin lips.
His trusty LDT had pulled into the trailer park nearly half an hour earlier, the familiar engine cutting through the violent wind outside and pulling both you and Eddie from the sleepy little nest you’d built together on the couch while half-watching an old movie on the staticky television.
Wayne had practically thrown the front door open once he arrived home, rushing inside to escape the storm before dumping Eddie’s old gym bag near the entrance with a tired grunt.
Now Eddie sat focused on carefully rolling a joint from his special stash – reserved strictly for important occasions, and Wayne finally returning home after two weeks definitely counted as one in his eyes – all while listening to his uncle ramble about the trip.
Meanwhile, your socked feet rested comfortably across Eddie’s thigh while you slouched deeper into the chair, your eyes still pleasantly hazy from the earlier joint but fixed warmly on Wayne’s exhausted smile and tired, but bright eyes.
“Oh, that reminds me,” Wayne mumbled while pushing himself up from the table before wandering towards the old gym bag he’d dropped near the front door earlier.
The sound of rustling fabric filled the trailer briefly before he pulled something free and made his way back towards the kitchen.
“Got something from you.”
He settled back into his chair before sliding a neatly wrapped brown paper package across the table towards you.
“What?” Your eyes flicked down towards the gift before immediately lifting back towards Wayne again, your brows pulling together softly in surprise. “For me?”
“That’s what I said, didn’t I?” he chuckled from behind his mug.
Your attention slowly lowered towards the package resting in front of you before your fingers finally reached towards it hesitantly.
Beside you, Eddie licked the edge of the joint he’d been rolling, his eyes quietly flickering between you and Wayne while something warmer settled deep inside his chest at the sight unfolding in front of him.
You glanced towards Wayne again like he might suddenly laugh and tell you the gift had actually been meant for Eddie instead.
But all Wayne did was raise his eyebrows and tilt his head slightly towards the package in your hands.
Your fingers trembled faintly while carefully tearing into the brown paper until a familiar shade of green peeked through beneath it – the exact shade you’d once casually mentioned was your favourite.
Your eyes shot back up towards Wayne in disbelief before lowering once more towards the leather-bound notebook resting in your hands.
The more paper you pulled away, the more details revealed themselves – olive green, baroque detailing pressed carefully across the cover, and your initials engraved neatly into the bottom corner.
“Oh,” Wayne mumbled casually before lifting his mug again. “Eddie mentioned in passing you’d been putting off buying yourself a new… whatever it’s called.”
“Grimoire,” Eddie supplied quietly while leaning closer to admire the notebook in your hands while distractedly passing the joint to his uncle.
“Yeah, that,” he nodded, fingers curling around the filter. “Hope I remembered the right colour.”
Your eyes lingered on the cover for a few seconds longer while you slowly straightened in your chair, lowering your legs from Eddie’s thigh almost absentmindedly as a tight lump settled heavily in your throat.
Before Wayne could even properly react, you pushed your chair back and leaned forward to wrap your arms around his neck.
“Thank you,” you whispered quietly against him. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”
Wayne’s rough hand moved slowly across your back while he returned the hug, his tired eyes briefly drifting towards Eddie’s across the table, something even softer passed silently between them.
For a while afterward, none of you spoke; the only thing filling the quiet trailer was the distant roar of thunder rolling through the storm outside.
You tightened your hold around Wayne just slightly before finally pulling away again, pressing a soft kiss against the top of his bald spot before settling back down into your chair.
Beside you, Eddie quietly fished his lighter from his pocket before sliding it across the table towards his uncle without even needing to look up.
“You gonna light that, old man?”
Wayne snorted softly around the joint already hanging from his lips before flicking the lighter open.
“I’mma show you old,” he muttered. “My lungs work better than yours, boy.”
Eddie let out an ugly snort of his own while shaking his head towards his uncle, while his hand found your thigh softly beneath the table without much thought.
Your fingers curled instinctively around his while your other hand continued tracing absentmindedly across the cover of your new grimoire, your eyes taking in all the little details you might’ve missed before.
“Hey,” Eddie murmured while holding two fingers out towards Wayne for the joint, “you bring anything back for me?”
Wayne snorted loudly while exhaling smoke from his lungs as he immediately took another quick drag before he passed it to you instead.
“Nah,” he muttered while leaning back deeper into his chair and intertwining his hands behind his head. “You already got a whole damn room to yourself. Be grateful for that, boy.”
You took a long slow drag from the joint, letting the smoke sit in your lungs for a second longer before finally exhaling it back into the warm, hazy trailer air.
Your remaining fingers curled around the handle of your mug while you lifted it for another sip of tea.
Beside you, Eddie muttered something mostly unintelligible beneath his breath – something about already being grateful enough, or something along those lines – while taking the joint from your fingers the second you lowered your mug again.
“You stayin’ over tonight?” Wayne asked lazily from behind his own mug.
You thought about it for a moment before nodding softly. “Yeah, if that’s alright?”
Wayne waved the question away immediately.
“As long as y’all don’t keep me up all damn night,” he muttered, a teasing grin pulling at his lips right as Eddie inhaled wrong and immediately started coughing hard into his elbow. “I’m beat after all that drivin’.”
A rough chuckle rumbled from Wayne’s chest while he leaned back deeper into his chair.
Then, smugly:
“Told ya my lungs work better than yours.”
The new day slowly bled into the late-night tea drinking and joint smoking, giving way to a morning sky far clearer than it had been the night before.
Rare streaks of soft sunlight pierced through the thick lingering clouds and slipped beneath the hem of Eddie’s curtains until the faint warmth finally brushed against his face and stirred him awake.
His fingers twitched faintly against the sheets when the bittersweet smell of fresh coffee and something that smelled an awful lot like bacon drifted through the trailer.
Still half asleep, Eddie lazily rolled over in bed to face you.
Except his eyes found only the soft remaining dent your head had left behind on his pillow and the faint lingering scent of that new shampoo you’d been using lately.
Meanwhile, Wayne slowly stirred awake on the pullout couch as the quiet sounds of movement and shuffling from the kitchen gradually pulled him back towards consciousness too.
The soft creak of Eddie’s bedroom door drifted down the hallway and into the living room before finally reaching the kitchen and pulling your attention away from the smoked pork sizzling in the pan.
A few seconds later, the faint sound of socked footsteps shuffled closer before Eddie’s arms slowly curled around your waist in a sleepy morning hug.
“What’s all this?” he mumbled almost incomprehensibly against your hair before pressing a soft kiss to your temple.
“A little thank-you for Wayne letting me stay over,” you whispered back while carefully keeping your voice low enough not to wake the still-sleeping man out in the living room.
“There’s no need for that,” Eddie murmured sleepily while loosening his hold around you long enough to reach for the refrigerator.
“I know,” you replied softly while turning the bacon in the pan. “I wanted to.”
A quieter silence settled naturally between the two of you after that, filled only by the occasional early morning birdsong drifting through the windows and the soft sounds of Eddie pulling the orange juice carton from the fridge.
You scooped the last slices of crispy bacon from the pan before carefully placing them onto the paper towel-lined plate waiting beside the stove, and then carried it over towards the small table separating the kitchen from the living room.
Afterward, you moved quietly back and forth through the kitchen gathering plates, glasses and mugs from the cupboards before neatly setting everything across the table while Eddie leaned silently against the counter just watching you move through the trailer.
Through his home.
This was the first time you’d ever slept over there and one of the rare occasions where you’d come to them instead of Eddie always wandering the few feet towards you.
And something unfamiliar settled warmly inside his chest while he watched you straighten the table before softly wandering towards Wayne.
You crouched beside the couch gently, whispering that breakfast was ready while Wayne stirred sleepily awake beneath the blanket.
When you finally stood again while Wayne shuffled groggily towards the bathroom rubbing at his eyes, you caught the strange flicker crossing Eddie’s expression.
“You okay?” you whispered quietly.
Eddie only shook his head before pushing whatever though had surfaced aside to unpack another time, and then he gave you that softer sleepy smile that always told you everything was alright.
“It’s been a long, long time since somebody made us breakfast,” Wayne mumbled quietly from the hallway while making his way towards the table. “But don’t go spoiling us now, alright sweetheart?”
You only laughed softly before waving the comment away and gently ushering him towards his chair before the food got cold.
“Don’t gotta tell me twice,” Wayne grumbled sleepily while pouring himself a cup of coffee before automatically reaching for your mug to fill that too.
While you and Wayne fell into a quieter morning conversation around the table, Eddie wandered towards the television and switched it over to the local news channel his uncle usually missed thanks to his chaotic work and sleeping schedule.
He turned the volume up just enough for it to hum comfortably through the trailer without overpowering the conversation before finally making his way to his designated chair at the table.
By the time he sat down, you already had his plate in your hands, scooping scrambled eggs and a few slices of bacon onto it before setting it down in front of him.
“Thanks,” Eddie murmured softly while giving your thigh a gentle squeeze beneath the table before reaching for the coffee pot himself.
“So,” Wayne mumbled from behind his coffee mug while absentmindedly stabbing his fork into the scrambled eggs on his own plate, “what you crazy kids up to today?”
“Farmers market,” both you and Eddie answered at the exact same time.
That immediately pulled a rough chuckle from Wayne.
You and Eddie exchanged softer amused looks over the table before quietly returning your attention back towards your breakfast while the local news anchor continued humming through the trailer in the background.
Your fingers curled loosely around your mug while you turned slightly towards Wayne.
“You still got enough tea left?” you asked before lifting the cup towards your lips. “Or do you want me to make another batch?”
He thought about it for a second while cutting into another bite of eggs.
“I think I still got enough,” he replied finally before glancing back towards you. “But thank you, sweetheart.”
“You want anything else from the market then?” you asked while tracing your thumb along the side of your mug.
“I already told you to quit spoiling us,” he muttered, though the faint tug at the corner of his mouth betrayed him immediately.
Eddie quietly watched the two of you trade small talk and the occasional joke across the breakfast table while soft streaks of sunlight slowly spilled into the living room around you, wrapping the picture in front of him in another layer of warmth he found himself dangerously capable of getting used to.
A softer smile settled against the rim of his coffee mug while his eyes drifted lazily back and forth between you and his uncle.
And this time, when the familiar fleeting thought returned to him again, Eddie didn’t push it away.
It had been a long time since Eddie had last seen you, and it had started to make him antsy with worry.
In reality, it had only been three days.
Three long, painfully grey days without seeing you.
Eddie glanced up from his desk, momentarily abandoning the gouache mushrooms and raven skull he’d been painting into the pages of his grimoire before looking out the bedroom window towards your trailer instead.
Your car still sat exactly where you’d parked it after returning from the farmers market, and nothing else had moved either.
Not the front door, not the curtains, not even the rolled-up newspaper that had been tossed onto your porch earlier that morning.
A deeper furrow settled between his brows while his attention drifted back towards the open book in front of him, though suddenly the paintings weren’t enough to keep his increasingly restless thoughts occupied anymore.
With a sigh, he shoved himself away from the cluttered desk and dragged a hand through his hair while standing, already walking towards the living room.
His ringed fingers curled around the front door before he could stop himself, the ugly fleeting thought that maybe you were actively avoiding him threatening to settle somewhere far too deep in his chest if he stayed inside any longer.
So Eddie crossed the few feet towards you instead.
By the time he reached your front door, he was already half-kicking his shoes off while pushing himself inside without even bothering to announce himself first.
He had already started and abandoned at least a dozen different questions in his head by the time he finally pushed open your bedroom door.
But the ugly spiral in Eddie’s head unravelled immediately when the door swung open.
His hand stilled around the doorknob while his socked feet rooted themselves to the doorway as his eyes slowly travelled across the sight in front of him.
Your face was flushed with heat, your nose was red, and sweat dampened the strands of hair stuck to your forehead while soft congested snoring quietly filled the room.
It took Eddie a few slow blinks before he finally managed to pull himself away from the bedroom doorway and retreat quietly back down the hall towards the kitchen.
He opened the cupboard beside the stove with practiced familiarity before reaching for the old red kettle tucked away inside and carrying it over to the sink to fill it.
Eddie moved through your kitchen as quietly as possible after that, his mind already trying to piece together every herb he could remember that might help you feel at least somewhat human again.
His fingers curled instinctively around the glass jars lined beneath the kitchen window. Rosemary, ginger, yarrow, and lemon balm – a deeply questionable mixture he could only hope you were miserable enough not to fully taste.
His socked feet paced impatiently across the linoleum while waiting for the kettle to heat, restless energy settling beneath his skin now that he’d finally seen you.
Eddie immediately opened the refrigerator when another thought hit him – you probably hadn’t eaten either – before moving onto the cupboards, pulling out whatever ingredients he could reasonably throw together into a sad excuse for soup while waiting for the kettle to finally start whistling.
His arms moved as quickly as he worked – one hand stirred the pot while he tried his absolute best not to burn the expensive minced elephant garlic you’d insisted tasted even better than regular garlic. Meanwhile, the second the kettle finally began whistling, his other hand yanked it from the burner.
He lowered the heat beneath the soup pot before switching the second burner off completely and immediately crossed towards the opposite counter to prepare your tea exactly the way you liked it – not too hot, with a little bit of honey.
And a blend of deeply questionable herbs he sincerely hoped wouldn’t somehow make things worse.
Your favourite mug sat waiting on the counter while faint ribbons of steam curled softly into the kitchen air before Eddie hurried back towards the soup pot again so he didn’t accidentally ruin that too.
When the kitchen finally lifted with the smell of homemade soup – which, surprisingly, smelled pretty decent if you asked him – Eddie lowered the burner just enough to let the pot simmer a little longer before wandering towards the living room.
The sight there made something twist painfully in his chest.
Crumpled tissues littered the coffee table and couch cushions while a few dirty mugs from days earlier still sat abandoned in front of the television.
Eddie quietly hooked his fingers through the mug handles as carefully as possible before gathering as many used tissues into his free hand as he could manage and carrying everything back towards the kitchen.
The mugs landed softly in the sink, the issues disappeared into the trash, and then he turned around and did it again – and again, until the living room no longer looked overtaken by sickness.
The couch pillows were straightened and lined up the way you always kept them, the extra blankets folded neatly, the coffee table clear.
Only then did Eddie finally wander back towards the kitchen again to give the soup one last stir and check whether your tea had cooled down enough for you to actually drink it.
He carefully wrapped one hand around the still-warm mug before making his way around the kitchen counter and quietly down the hallway until he reached your bedroom once again.
His socked feet padded softly against the carpet while he approached your bedside before gently setting the mug down on the nightstand beside you, and then he crouched carefully next to the bed.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” Eddie whispered softly while his ringed fingers found your forehead, checking your temperature while his thumb slowly brushed against your temple. “Made you some tea.”
Soft congested snoring still filled the bedroom for another moment before you finally stirred awake beneath the gentle touch of his fingers.
“Hm?” you mumbled weakly.
“Tea,” he repeated quietly, keeping his voice low enough not to overwhelm you too quickly.
You hummed softly again before slowly blinking your eyes open, still heavy with sleep and whatever sickness had dragged you down over the past few days.
“With honey?” you mumbled hoarsely while lazily blinking up at him, unconsciously melting further into the gentle touch against your temple.
“You know it,” Eddie smiled softly.
You let your eyes drift shut again for another second while Eddie’s thumb continued brushing gently against your temple.
“C’mon,” he murmured softly after a moment. “Sit up for me a little.”
A tired groan slipped from your throat, but you still listened, sluggishly pushing yourself upright beneath the quilts while Eddie immediately reached behind you to prop the pillows up more comfortably against the headboard.
“Why didn’t you call me?” he mumbled quietly once you finally settled back again, his ringed hand already reaching for the mug resting on your nightstand.
“What do you mean?” you asked quietly while accepting the tea he held out towards you.
“Could’ve been here sooner,” Eddie murmured absentmindedly while his free hand returned to your forehead once more. “Made you soup, tea… whatever else you needed.”
A weak congested laugh cracked through your throat before immediately collapsing into a rough cough.
Eddie’s brow pinched together instantly while his hand moved automatically towards your back, rubbing slow steady circles between your shoulders until it finally passed.
“This,” he mumbled softly, concern settling deeper between his brows. “This is what I mean.”
“Yeah, well,” you mumbled groggily before taking another careful sip of your tea, “you never actually gave me your number.”
Eddie blinked a few times too many while letting that realisation slowly settle into his brain.
“You could’ve… screamed out the window.”
“With what voice?” you shot back immediately. “I’m honestly surprised you can even hear me right now with those damaged ears of yours.”
Eddie noticed immediately how you didn’t even flinch after taking another sip of the tea he’d made you. Whether that meant the blend wasn’t actually as terrible as he feared or you simply couldn’t taste anything anymore, he honestly didn’t know – but he felt grateful either way.
“But you’re here now,” you added softly after another moment, another sleepy little grin and heavy eyes slowly starting to droop again.
The words settled quietly between the two of you – and, for some reason, they loosened something deep in Eddie’s chest almost immediately.
“Hey,” he whispered softly when he noticed. “Let’s just get something in that stomach before you fall asleep again, okay?”
You obeyed with a miserable groan, finishing the tea while Eddie disappeared back towards the kitchen to grab the questionable soup he’d made for you.
It didn’t take long before he returned balancing a steaming bowl in one hand, and a small piece of bread and a spoon in the other.
His eyes softened when he noticed you’d already slouched lower beneath the blankets and quilts again, looking dangerously close to passing back out entirely.
“You want me to feed you?” he asked jokingly while placing the bowl carefully on your nightstand before dragging your desk chair closer to the bed.
You blinked heavily at him for a few quiet seconds while considering it.
“Would you do that?” you asked groggily.
Eddie’s expression softened almost immediately. “Of course,” he whispered with a small smile while already dipping the spoon into the soup.
And for a while after that – with Eddie sitting beside you and soft midday sunlight slipping between the moody clouds outside – the exhaustion finally didn’t feel quite so unbearable anymore.
Jesus Hotwheel Christ ● Reposts @jhc-reposts - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
