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something something King Steve's King Dick
#it's lockpicking lawyer's april fool's vid and it's chock-a-block with dick jokes#steve harrington has a big dick
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is this… anything
#anyway i hope ppl understand this meme#ej speaks !!#and they shouldn’t#steve harrington#steve harrington has a big dick#there i said it#let me objectify my favorite Guy
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Want to make a minor adjustment to my Steve With Much Older Siblings post from yesterday. I think it’d be a much more interesting dynamic if he’s actually their half sibling from an affair.
Their father had an affair with his secretary and then married her when she got pregnant. It broke up their family and they blamed Steve for it for years.
When they stayed over for their weekend with Dad, they were either outright cruel to him or pretended he didn’t exist. When they were old enough to stop coming over, they did. It’s only after growing up and maturing that (most of) his siblings were able to acknowledge that Steve was never at fault for their family breaking up.
They tried to mend their relationship with him, especially after realizing how absent his parents are, but by then Steve was old enough to build up his own resentment. It’s an uphill battle.
It’s a lot of actually coming around for holidays and a lot of teasing when they do. It’s actually picking the phone when the hospital calls, something that’s happening with increasing frequency.
Steve has never asked any of them for anything until one day, he shows up on Richie’s front porch smelling like death and gasoline. He’s got blood drying all over him and is visibly shaking, and Richie thinks that he’s been hurt in the earthquake but Steve barely acknowledges the concern, “I need you to represent my friend.”
“What?”
“You’re the only lawyer I know, and -“ Steve takes a big shuttering breath. “They’ll kill him, Rich. He never hurt anybody but no one will listen. They’ll lock him up and it won’t be fair, and Dustin can’t… I never ask you for anything but. But I need…”
“Eddie Munson?” He asks incredulous. “You’re friends with Eddie Munson?”
#Eddie meeting his lawyer for the first time: This is your brother? Dick?#Richie: Rich#Eddie: I’m sure you are#update made because I upset myself with my original post as a person who has a good relationship with their big age gap sister#I figure Steve’s got four siblings#the oldest is his sister Elizabeth who pretends his doesn’t exist and never comes around#and then Richie who was named after their dad. he’s a lawyer#and then Jason who was the family fuck up until Steve came along#and then Claire who is twelve years older than Steve#she’s a nurse#steve harrington#stranger things#Steve Has Older Siblings AU
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Steve takes Eddie’s virginity by riding the older boy after a long session of smoking and drinking inside the metalheads cramped van.
He’d praise Eddie on how good he’s making him feel, how big his dick is and how he’s so pretty under him that it makes Eddie moan loudly, strong hands roaming and squeezing the fat of Steve’s ass as he begs to fuck Steve harder.
”I need to fuck you, Steve- please, sweetheart-”
Steve would kiss him, sloppy and wet as he whines into Eddie’s mouth when the dick inside him hits just right.
When he pulls back, breathless, he picks up the pace and finally lets Eddie buck up to meet his thrusts.
Eddie would just look up at Steve, brown eyes wide and realize he’s so in love with the gorgeous boy on top of him and he never wants to let go. Never.
#Virgin Eddie#I love you#LMAO#And he also has a big dick Steve can’t stop praising#Steve riding someone Is so important to me like HED LOOK SO HOT#SOFT DOM STEVE TOO? hell yeah#I do love Sub Steeb the most but this is good shit too#Sounding like my fic ’The First Time With You’ right now LMAO#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#power bottom steve#steddie fandom#steddie fic#hairfreak#stranger things#lemon#my writing#headcanon#hc#steddie hc#text#steve x eddie#drabble
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y'know like barbie
ao3
It's Erica who gives him the idea, incidentally. Though she carries herself with a maturity that far surpasses the boys most days and though she's been through multiple life altering events, she does continue to only be eleven. Which is, it turns out, prime babysitting age.
The Sinclairs are going out of town overnight, it's their anniversary -- 18 blissful years, since our marriage can vote we thought we deserved a night away -- and they don't want Erica to spend the night home alone.
Enter Steve, who the Sinclairs trust with their children and who is inexplicably the only person Erica would accept staying the night with her. Steve honestly didn't believe it even as Mrs. Sinclair was saying it. But he smiles and nods, looks over the emergency numbers on the fridge when they're pointed to, nods at the money on the counter for food that he probably won't take, and waves as they walk out the door promising that he and Erica will be fine for the night and not to worry.
It's only when their car is out of the driveway and the door is shut that Steve realizes he isn't really a babysitter. He is a keep children alive while in a dangerous situation and when the situation is over drive them around because you feel bad that their childhoods have been marred by trauma-er which doesn't have quite the same ring as babysitter, and it's a lot harder to say with that rude tone the boys have been favoring. He also realizes that he's never actually dealt with children, or not girl children. The boys had all been older than Erica, when he had started keeping them alive. Max was definitely basically a teenager when he started really dealing with her; and she was usually okay to do what the boys wanted to do, like go to the arcade. Hopper didn't really trust him with El and that was fine, he wasn't sure he trusted himself with El either.
It put him in an awkward spot now though. Staring at Erica in her kitchen, a little afraid to ask the question on the front of his mind which was "What now?"
So he asks the second question on his mind, "What do you want to do that isn't eat ice cream all night?"
Say what you will about Steve Harrington, and a lot has been said, but he always keeps his promises and he always brings a pint of ice-cream for Erica to have when he comes over to the Sinclair house. Tonight he brought three, all different weird flavors he thought she'd like to try.
"Why can't I eat ice cream all night?" She says it with a challenge in her eyes, but he'd bet dollars to donuts that she's just doing it to make him sweat. "Because I've seen you eat ice cream, we've only got enough for two hours at most." His hand migrates as if of its own mind to his hip. "You need more than two people for Dungeons and Dragons, right?"
Her brows raise, for the first time since he's met her Erica Sinclair is stunned silent. Maybe she's just surprised he got the name right.
It lasts about as long as it takes him to notice it. "You'd play Dungeons and Dragons with me?" There's something fragile in the way she asks, and there is the eleven year old girl she's meant to be.
"Sure, you'd have to show me how, but if that's what you want to do I'm game."
Eyes narrowed in a distinctly intimidating way he kind of thinks she stole from Nancy, he does his best to make his sincerity clear on his face. "We need more than two people, but I've got something else we can do if you think your fragile manhood can take it."
He's got a retort at the tip of his tongue about just what his manhood can take and remembers just in time that yeah probably shouldn't make a joke like that in front of an actual child. "My pride isn't that delicate, I think I can handle anything you dish out."
"Famous last words."
He follows her to her bedroom, waiting outside the doorway to let her space stay private until he's told to come in. A clear plastic tub slides out from under her bed, out of sight but easily accessible and when the lid pops off he gets why. Rows of Barbies stacked neatly on top of each other, a mass grave for childhood. Steve has a stuffed bear, fur rubbed off of one ear, tucked up on the shelf of his closet that also got put away sooner than he would have chosen to, when it was too babyish.
“Alright, so who is the, like, elven warrior.”
“That’s not how you play Barbies.”
It’s snapped so fast that he thinks it embarasses her. He tactfully avoids eye contact, pulling out a doll with blonde hair snipped into a professional, if uneven, bob and a green skirt set. She's missing a shoe. “Then how do I play Barbies?”
“That one just won the Nobel Peace Prize, she solved world hunger, but she has plans to kill the Barbie who won the prize in Physics because she stole Barbie One’s research and gave it to NASA claiming it was her own.”
“Right, of course.” This was the kind of shit that happened on Dallas, only Barbie had a lot more awards. “And they’re all called Barbie?”
“Except for Ken, but Ken doesn’t do anything.”
“Well if Barbie just won the Peace Prize wouldn’t she use Ken to kill Barbie so she doesn’t get caught.”
Erica manages a look that is both condescending and considerate. “Barbie can do anything, including get away with murder; but she wouldn’t want to dirty her hands with that sort of thing.”
“And if Ken goes to jail it’s no loss.”
“Right.”
-
So maybe it's more accurate to say that Dustin actually starts it.
Dustin with the shittiest attitude this side of the Ohio, something Robin blames him for.
“Like father, like son.”
“Dustin doesn’t even know his dad.”
“I mean you and Eddie, dingus.”
“I am not that kid's dad. A brotherly figure at best, strong male role model more likely.”
“He’s a bitch because you are, Steve. Maybe if your and Eddie’s love language wasn’t being as bitchy as possible it wouldn’t have rubbed off on your kid.”
“Please don’t put Dustin and rubbing off in the same paragraph let alone the same thought wave.”
Dustin comes sprinting into Family Video on a Tuesday afternoon. “Steve! I need your car.”
“Did you learn how to drive when I wasn’t paying attention?”
“Obviously, I meant I need you too.” His hands are on his hips, eyes rolled. Shit maybe he did get it from Steve. “There’s this theoretical physicist coming to Notre Dame to give a talk on the Multiverse Theory.”
Steve was allowing himself a second to consider whether this was worth it, for once, instead of just blindly agreeing to drive Dustin wherever. The drive sucked ass, but it would put him close enough to Chicago that he could try to find a music store that would carry albums from the international metal bands Eddie couldn’t stop talking about.
It was a second too long for Dustin. “Steve, a theoretical physicist-”
See Steve had this suspicion that the kids did actually think he was an idiot. He was pretty sure that none of them, hell maybe none of Hellfire, save for Lucas realized that every athlete in the school had to keep up at least a 2.5 GPA. Which might not have been anything to write home about but Steve kept a 3.2 for most of high school, until the multiple concussions started to catch up with him. He wasn’t stupid, was the point and even if they didn’t think he was an idiot in a mean way he was a little sick of the shit.
“I know, like Barbie.”
That shuts Dustin up real quick.
“N- no, not like Barbie! Barbie is some girl's toy.”
“Excuse me?” Robin, who told Steve that she would not help him parent his children on work days or any other day ending in y had remembered that Martes doesn’t have one and her shift was almost over. “What does that mean, exactly, a girl’s toy?”
“And,” Steve adds, because he can and because Eddie made him drive him to fucking Bloomington because he was fixated on time travel and needed access to some science journal that only existed at Indiana U apparently, “Barbie is on a research team looking for the Higgs particle so she can start figuring out time travel.”
The bell chiming as Dustin leaves has never sounded sweeter.
He’ll definitely end up taking the twerp to stupid Notre Dame.
-
The thing is that Steve thinks he’s never really stopped being a bitch.
He doesn’t want to stop. He likes being bitchy. It’s fun, when you’re doing it with people you like it’s pretty funny, and honestly he’s kinda like Spiderman. With great power comes great responsibility, he’s only bitchy responsibly now.
And it’s actually perfectly responsible as an older brother type babysitter figure to correct the behavior of the younger siblings by being bitchy. If they don’t learn at home they’ll go out in the world thinking that kind of behavior is acceptable, see Steve Harrington in his early high school days who talked to people like his father did.
So when Mike interrupts El with, “I’m not going to ask Steve, he probably doesn’t even know what a Pulitzer is either.”
He says, “Oh, yeah like Barbie won. Or Nancy will someday, probably. It’s a journalism award, Wheeler.”
And when Lucas corrects, “I don’t actually think you can win an award for comics. It’s still really great though, Will!”
“Barbie won the Kirby Award in 1985 for best artist, I’m sure Will is soon to follow.”
Or when Nancy tells Holly, “Are you sure you wouldn’t want to be something important instead?”
“You could be an actress and do something cool like go to space if you want, Hols, like Barbie.” And maybe he says it with a little more bitch than he should that time, but he’s seen the ballerinas in Nancy’s room, she didn’t always want to be an investigative journalist.
It gets to be second nature. When someone starts being shitty about something or to lighten the mood.
Erica doubts whether she should run for student council. It's her first step to being actual president, like Barbie.
Dustin makes a crack about Steve's possible future prospects when he butts in on a conversation between Steve and Robin. "I could do all three, I could be a counselor and a hair stylist and an engineer. Maybe I'll add EMT too, Barbie wouldn't stop at three, why should I?"
Or when Mike sneers at him, "What are you a cop?" All because Steve told him not to buy weed now that Eddie had stopped dealing.
"Ew, no, because you look like a fresh-faced little narc trying to be cool and you're gonna get ripped off."
"What so not like Barbie?"
"The Barbie world has achieved equality at a level that it doesn't need the cops." Eddie sometimes has to get high after a run in with Powell or Calahan who he still doesn't really trust after the spring. Steve has been treated to many a lecture on why the police were a waste of resources.
He lets Mike sit with that for a minute before he adds, "Like Barbie, I am very cool and know what it looks like when I'm being taken for a ride. If you're gonna get pot from someone other than Eddie, ask Hop where he used to get all of his shit."
It doesn't feel stupid, until El comes running into the cabin one afternoon that Steve has decided to join the rebuilding effort. It’s actually just him and Hop, who has started trying to quietly parent him, something he’s not entirely convinced isn’t revenge for telling Wheeler that Hop has smoked pot before. Steve is pretty sure El was crying when she came in, something he bumps up to a certainty when he sees how awkward Hop looks right now.
“You mind taking that kid? It’s been a long time since high school.” he rubs the back of his neck, Steve does appreciate that he has the decency to feel weird about asking. “If it’s anything outside of big brother shit I can take over.”
He does let himself get suckered by that big brother line.
El is facedown on her bed in a clear ‘leave me alone I’m crying’ pose but he figures he’s already here it’s not like he can turn around and tell Hop that he was too afraid to approach a crying teenage girl. Like that wasn’t the whole reason he’d been sent in the first place. “Hey Ellie, can I come in?”
She sits up, tear tracks plain on her face but no more are falling, and nods in that endearing, aggressively certain way she’s got. “Is everything okay?” He pauses and asks, “Was it Mike?” because he knows that’ll be the first thing Hopper asks when Steve comes back out.
“You are worse than Dad.”
“That stings, Ellie Bell.”
She takes a deep breath, steeling an already impressive will, “Lucas says it is okay to just want to be happy right now, but all they talk about is what they are going to do. Dustin is talking about going to admission early, Will talks about talking to Dad and Joyce about art school, Lucas worries about his sports and scholarships, and Mike talks about classes that count twice. I do not know what I want to be. I do not know why I have to be anything.”
“You guys have been through a lot. I don’t think anyone would blame you for taking time to just be a kid.”
“What if I never want to be something? What if I do not ever want to go to college?”
He’s made his way over to the bed with her, sits tentatively on the edge like he’s seen Joyce do before. “Then you don’t. You’ll probably have to get a job at some point, but that doesn’t have to be what you are. Lucas isn’t a landscaper just because he mows lawns in the summer.”
“You don’t think Dad would be upset?” she asks.
“I don’t think there’s anything you could do that would really make Hop mad. And you might change your mind. I've been out of school for almost two years and I’m only thinking about college now. Or you could go to college and change your mind about what you want to be. You could be a hundred things, you could be anything! Like Barbie.”
He feels like an idiot almost immediately. A jerk quickly after that. He’s made El’s genuine crisis part of his stupid running joke. But something settles in the room. The underlying tension, the thing that had the hair on the back of his neck raised. He realizes, now, that her powers had probably also been on edge.
"Like Barbie." She says it with a graven seriousness, like Steve's dumb little joke is a mantra now.
"Yeah, and you're a sophomore you don't have to have your whole life figured out right now. And don't take life advice from Henderson anyway, he thought it was a good idea to raise an Upside Down slug as a pet."
He mostly just used it to be a bitch though. Because it was fun. No, it was what he was good at. So good at it he didn't even have to try.
Because Steve had a plan to be bitchy. Specifically to Mike Wheeler who kept flirting with Steve’s boyfriend while taking advantage of his hospitality. Sure it was at their stupid Dungeons and Dragons game, and yeah Steve was the one who said they could host the game at his house now that Eddie had graduated. Yes, he knew Eddie didn't mean anything by it when he responded and usually didn't flirt back with the kids. But it was still the kind of behavior that had to be gently corrected, for Mike's sake because if he didn't stop things were going to get drastic.
His initial plan is already in action. He encouraged El to come along to watch the Party play. It was, admittedly, a half hearted plan. Wheeler got so awkward anytime El was around he mostly just hoped that would keep him from trying anything.
It isn't. Eddie starts to describe a new character, "Blonde and statuesque, she has a long bow in hand and delicate elven features."
And even though El is sitting a few feet from him Mike perks up the way he always does when there's a new NPC to flirt with. He is going to have to have a talk with Eddie about letting the kid try out a bard.
He does at least have one other tool in his belt. "Oh, like Barbie."
Steve knew what he'd get as he said it. A groan from Dustin, who falls for this as being sincere about as often as he falls for the dumb-dumbs and dipshits line -- which is everytime for the record. Will and Lucas keep their laughs small, enough that they're covered by Erica's snort. The original Hellfire crew mostly looks confused, it's becoming less and less their default as they warm up to the Steve he is rather than the Steve they thought they remembered; but he likes to keep them on their toes.
Eddie is charmed. He can tell. Sees him duck his head behind his screen and his binders, trying to preserve the stern and scary dungeon master image. That apparently isn't possible if you're smiling like an idiot at your stupid boyfriend, so he's been told.
And Mike has maybe been on the wrong end of the joke a few more times than everyone else. He turns an interesting shade of red, two parts anger and one part embarrassed is Steve's guess. The foot stomp is unexpected, but he expects its been passed down the Wheeler line as a shared signal of outrage. "Not like Barbie, this isn't some stupid kids game. She's probably a hot, wisened archer ready to reward us for helping her village, not some stupid doll that you're obsessed with."
Eddie's blank face with the twitchy eyes has fallen into place when he sits back up from behind his screen. His things aren't going according to plan, panicked face. "I think that's a good place to end things this week. Wheeler, Henderson, Jeff, and Lady Applejack you've all cleared enough experience to level right? Do that before next week."
Steve knows enough to keep his mouth shut while everyone packs up to leave. Sends a small smile to Erica on her way out to the family minivan, he knows she struggles a little being the youngest at the table even if she won't say it. He has to imagine that the outburst had stung a bit.
"You gotta be nicer to little Wheeler." Eddie chides once everyone is gone, halfhearted at best when he's telling Steve off into the soft skin of his neck. When he feels the admonishment more than hears it.
"I'm not mean to Mike." He says on instinct, he does try not to be. "And he started it."
"Definitely think you started the Barbie thing, Sweetheart."
And well, yeah. "I Barbie all the kids equally."
Eddie hmms Steve can feel the vibration of it through his back and on his neck. Eddie is about to start something he better plan on finishing. "He asked Hop where he should get weed."
Oh. "I didn't think he'd actually do it!" And then, "Is that why he keeps flirting with you, revenge?"
"No, he's got a bunch of misplaced jealousy because Will and the girls think you're hot." He toys with the edge of Steve's shirt as he says it. Perpetually cold fingers brushing the clothes warmed skin beneath making him shiver.
"The girls don't think I'm hot."
He hums again, nips at the blush red skin at Steve's neck. "El used to, Max definitely has a taste for jock.
"That's not my fault, you let Mike play a bard." He wishes he didn't sound so desperate.
"Wanted to leave the Paladin spot open for you, baby."
"I'm starting to feel convinced, we could go upstairs and you could show me your character sheet."
The things he'll say to get laid.
"Don't think I can do that Stevie, smooth as a Ken doll down there. Could show you the actual character sheet though."
His back is cold as Eddie pulls away, smirking unrepentant as he lets Steve have the tiniest taste of his own medicine.
"Barbie has a very active sex life, actually." He's never been one not to double down. "Let me show you the fun we can have without getting your dick out."
-
He does leave it alone for a little while, even though he really, really doesn't want to. But despite what his friends, his fifth grade report card, and his mom might think; Steve is capable of keeping a hold of his worst impulses when he wants to.
So he lets opportunity pass him by.
He makes no comment about Barbie when Eddie talks about how John Carpenter is a film auteur. Not even when Dustin tries to define auteur for him. Incorrectly, but Robin comes to Steve's defense.
Barbie goes unmentioned, barely when an argument breaks out about Nobel prize winners, of all things. He thinks the kids argue more now than they ever have like it's the only way they have to get their bloodlust out now that the Upside Down was closed. He was quickly boxed out of the conversation, even if Erica kept sending him little glances over everyone's heads. (She'd let him have Peace Prize Barbie a couple weeks ago and maybe he was a little obsessed.)
Holly wants to be a vet now, a singing vet who is also on TV, but mostly a vet. She tells him all about it while he waits for Mike to find his shoes? Definitely not his quarters for the arcade, the day any of them bring those is the day Steve brings the nail bat back out. He’s one impulse purchase away from getting one of those little coin dispenser belts that the employees have -- Gareth just quit, maybe he still had his? Mike's frown is a little less general annoyance at Steve and a little more confusion when he's finally ready to leave and Barbie has gone unmentioned.
He almost breaks again when Eddie starts talking about sports. Or he starts talking about NASCAR which is close enough for Eddie, he has a surprising taste for racing for someone who never wanted to put his van on the starting line at parties. A woman led a Busch Series race for the first time, what a year '86. He's got no opinion on Barbie's ability to drive at all.
He could let a joke go. He could be nice. It wasn't so out of character that it needed this kind of attention.
-
Mike has forgiven him by the time the next session rolls around. Delayed two weeks after Eddie screamed so loud on stage that he couldn't speak for two days, and then again for Jeff's emergency appendectomy. Eddie has stopped leaving pointed gaps in conversation for Steve to fill with mention of Barbie, he has had his thinking face on instead which is good for Steve about as often as it isn't.
He leaves it alone. A little bit of non-life threatening surprise is good for the soul, or something. Listen, he’s made it this far by only asking questions when shit is about to get really, really bad and Eddie’s thinking face has only resulted in something bad once or twice -- and they probably should have spent more than a couple minutes negotiating that particular kink anyway.
When the kids start showing up and nothing has come from the thinking face, he assumes it was just for them anyway. He settles in to see whatever shit Eddie is going to do.
"From the ditch you pull a human man, a paladin. His plate is dirtied by his time on the ground but clearly gleams in its typical state. He's handsome, a square jaw and fluffy brown hair-"
"Ugh is this Steve? You already made us do a quest for him," Mike complains, maybe he hasn’t completely forgiven Steve for that last interruption.
Steve has, by his own count been the inspiration for at least three NPCs for this campaign: a white light faction rogue, Sol, that the party had to rescue from the dungeons of the nightmare King after he was caught sneaking into the bedrooms of the prince -- like it was Steve's fault that Wayne had super hearing; a young fighter from the gladiatorial combat ring who helped the party rescue a group of kidnapped children that were going to be used as bait in the next round of fights; and the most obvious Prince Stefan who sent the party on a quest to kill his betrothed a Duke called Thomas the Boarish and rescue his knight Rowen and beloved Bard Edwin -- it's not like he could unkiss Tommy, and he could be a dick but boarish was dramatic.
He was not this paladin, assuming Eddie was telling the truth about saving the Paladin he'd made for Steve.
"Cut the out of character chatter, Michael, before it starts counting in game. The Paladin before you is handsome in a bland, approachable, non-threatening way," Mike opens his mouth again, how is that not like Steve surely perched at the edge of his tongue and stopped in its tracks by elbows from Erica and Joey. "He introduces himself to his rescuer, Will the Wise, 'Thank you, kind sir, I would have been down there for ages before my lady noticed my absence. I am Sir Kenneth.'"
"What deity does he serve?" Will asks, something suspicious drawing across his face.
"Is there a holy symbol on his armor?" Gareth follows up. Gareth has been backing a lot of Will's plays lately, Steve thinks something might be going on there but he hasn't wanted to deal with Eddie teasing him for being a meddling matchmaker, again.
"There is no identifiable holy symbol on his clothes or armor." Eddie says, there's a mischief in his eyes, the way he tilts his head with quiet challenge and smiles.
"What God do you serve?" Erica asks, blunt and to the point. She gets cranky when her rogue doesn't have anything to stab.
"'The Lady in Pink,' he answers."
Any time Eddie reveals lore shit there's always a bunch of people talking over top of each other. It always turns into the kind of mass blob of shouting that Steve has a hard time parsing out, especially these days. Eddie somehow manages to distinguish not only people but the things they're saying and keeps his cool enough to keep the story going.
"Roll your insight, Gareth. Jeff, with a 15 history check, you have heard some whisperings from your homeland about a newly ascended goddess but not a name. Dustin, you're not getting shit with a 5 don't even try that but my back story says shit with me. Will, pretty sure that's a cleric spell but I'll let you have it he's a Neutral Good alignment. An 18, shit, yeah Garebear he does seem to be telling the truth that is the deity he follows; but that isn't the whole truth, you know a lot of the newer pantheon have a colloquial name and a true name."
"I'm sorry," Lucas says, "we aren't familiar with your lady. What can you tell us about her? Why would she leave you there? And that's a 14 on persuasion before you even ask."
"Why would I have asked that, Sinclair the elder? He has stars in his eyes when he speaks, 'before she ascended she was already limitless. A powerful warrior, an expert marksman, a mage beyond compare. Her power grew and grew until the only place left to explore was godhood.'"
"And what's her real name, if we wanted to spread the word?" Joey asks.
"'Oh she's everything. She's the lady in pink, she's the goddess with the golden mane, but before she ascended she favored one name I assume she has kept it.'"
"What is it?" Mike asks, perched at the edge of his seat.
"Oh no," Dustin whispers, a dawning horror on his face.
"'Barbara, though she preferred it shortened. Nicknames you call them," Steve sees the joke, knows where this is going a split second before reality breaks through the haze of fantasy for the players around the table. Eddie's smirking now, smile too pleased and too attractive. "'Y'know like Barbie?'"
#steddie#steve harrington#steddie fic#and in 1996 when steve and eddie are expecting their first kid - a daughter#erica gifts them the barbie camper so steve has something while he waits for the real thing#listen you know that oh like barbie post with the steve speaking image below it#i saw that and this happened#i just wanted to try out a little steve and erica bonding#and it turned into steve being a bitchy big brother#steve and eddies love language is being dicks#but their secondary love language is not letting the bit die and i do believe that#so eddie had to take it up when steve set it down
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childhood au except it’s baby billy who lives with his mom and neil’s not in the picture and steve’s the one who moves to california and the two of them are not friends because steve thinks billy’s weird and tells him as much when they first meet but billy just never drops the idea of them becoming friends because, well, he’s billy
and one of the first things steve tells billy is that he’s pretty and billy’s confused because he always thought being pretty was a good thing because his mama would always smile when people called her pretty but steve says it with a frown on his face like he’s annoyed before telling billy that he’s too pretty to be a boy and walking away
cue years of billy asking steve if he wants to come out to play and trying to show steve a flower he found or asking steve over to his house and rich kid steve thinking he’s too good for all that, that billy will screw his reputation up and also battling with this big crush he has on billy that he doesn’t actually know about himself until he gets older and goes through girl after girl after girl and still can’t get billy off of his mind
and then maybe they’re on speaking terms again at some point but billy’s kinda over steve now for obvious reasons but steve is absolutely head over heels for billy and eventually he tells billy as much and billy’s like.. why? and steve lists all the reasons he loves billy and the last one is that he’s pretty and billy kinda glares at him and is all oh yeah? like a girl? and steve’s all no, like billy
#and then they kiss#the end#happily ever after and all that#steve being angry at billy purely on the basis that he has a crush and steve is a Straight Boy is real actually#billy hargrove#steve harrington#harringrove#flipped (2010) but make it harringrove#billy’s mom is like nice to billy and a good mom but she has her issues because neil and#steve’s parents also get divorced at some point for the drama#obsessed with billy’s looks still being seen in a negative(ish) light by someone because that’s such a big thing with him idk#like in canon with neil#except steve realises he’s actually just a dick and it’s not a bad thing#and he’s got his own issues yadda yadda#but you get the picture#childhood au#ickyspeaks
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No one knows who writes the Hawkins High Tattler. It comes out every week, without fail, has for almost two decades. Everyone reads it, even teachers, even parents. It's caused more the one suspension, grounding, and even--famously--a shipping off to boarding school.
Steve's never let the Tattler get to him much. He's in it, of course, practically a new story every week. But it's just silly gossip.
Of course, Steve is also, currently, the titular Tattler, so. It's not like he's surprised when his name shows up.
It's his third year, his last year, and he knows everything that ever goes on at Hawkins High. It's pretty easy, honestly. Everyone thinks he's ditzy and vapid; nothing more than hairspray and polos. People will say anything around him, assuming he's not listening or not interested, and then bam. It's in next week's Tattler. No one even suspects him.
The confessions locker probably helps. Down by the theater, busted and unusable, the perfect place for people to leave tips, to tattle on their friends (or enemies, as the case may be).
That's what he's doing right now, checking the confessions locker. After 9:30 on a Friday night, the place silent as the tomb, perfect time for it. Pretty standard fare this week. The only thing of interest is that Eddie Munson was the person who broke all Ms. Click's pencils and left the stubs on her desk. This one, he laughs at, can't wait to publish it; can't wait to talk to Munson about it.
He gets a lot of stuff about Eddie. Most of it he doesn't publish because it's bullshit about satanic rituals--the nerdy kids he babysits play dnd, and there's no way Karen Wheeler is letting anything satanic happen in her basement--or about his sexuality, and one thing Steve doesn't do is out people.
Gathering up this week's submissions, he closes the locker with a soft clink, and he swears, swears he hears the squeak of a tennis shoe on the polished tile of the floor. He freezes, heart in his throat. Nobody has been here this late before.
Seconds pass but there's only silence. Confident he's only hearing things, he heads out, the parking lot just as empty as when he arrived.
---
He sees Eddie a few days later, when he's picking up the kids from the arcade. They typically exchange casual greetings, but as Steve waits, Eddie stands with him, offers him a cigarette.
"Read that was you who messed with Click's pencils. Good one."
Eddie shrugs, gives a little bow and a smile. "Happy to be of service."
"It was my class, when she found them. Never seen her so mad."
"No way," Eddie laughs. "Not even when Hagan drew dicks on all the textbooks?"
"Not even then, man. She was throwing pencil stubs everywhere."
"Fuck, sad I missed it." Eddie takes a drag, Steve's eyes following the movement, lingering on his mouth. Something warm and tingling builds at the base of his spine and he forces his gaze away.
"How long you in detention for?"
"I'm not. Swore it wasn't me, and Click doesn't want to admit she reads the Tattler, so. Not much they could do. "
"I've seen it sitting on her desk!"
"I know! She reads it when she has detention duty!"
They lean against Steve's car, laughing, and Steve feels good. This is good. He likes Eddie. He's funny and dramatic and smart and kind. He's not deserving of any of the mean things that get submitted to the Tattler.
The kids come streaming into the parking lot then, and Eddie stubs out his cigarette, says "see you around, Harrington," and Steve finds himself flushing for reasons he can't quite explain.
---
He starts seeing Eddie around way more. He's in school most days, smoking in the parking lot after the last bell, chatting with Steve in the hallways.
It shows up in the Tattler; big news that the King and the Freak are hanging out. Most of the submissions are about it, increasingly elaborate rumors about their supposedly deep, close friendship.
He wishes he could tell Eddie.
Eventually, Eddie invites him to smoke at the quarry. He doesn't hesitate to say yes, doesn't even bother to try ignoring the swoop in his stomach, the speed of his heart.
They sprawl out in the back of the van, Eddie's loud, raucous music pounding around them, sharing a joint back and forth.
Steve gets hazy, boneless, can't stop watching Eddie, the way his lips purse around the joint, his long hair glinting gold in the weak light of the camping lanterns, the pleased shine of his eyes every time he makes Steve laughs.
He likes Eddie so much. Everything about him, honestly. Butterflies ping in his stomach, happy and slow, and he thinks how nice Eddie's lips are, wonders how soft they must be. And he thinks--he's read the submissions, right--he knows the things they say about Eddie, and he wishes it was true, he wants--he wants--
He wants
---
Steve's running late to check the locker. Lost track of time at the diner with Eddie, and it's making him panic.
He stuffs the submissions haphazardly into the pocket of his hoodie, dancing with nerves, willing himself to grab them all and get out.
Locker emptied, he sprints towards the exit. He has a second to process someone barreling towards him in the dark, but he's going too fast to stop, can only brace himself as they collide.
It sends him sliding across the floor, Tattler submissions spilling out of his pocket like snow. He hits the ground, scrabbling for the papers, praying that whoever is here with him can't see them in the low light.
Hands grips his biceps. "Stevie, Steve, we have to get out of here" and there's a second where he's comforted by the familiar rasp of Eddie's voice before terror spikes again.
He pulls himself from Eddie's grasp, searching for any dropped submissions in easy reach. "Wha--why--what's--"
"I ran into Jason Carver and his band of idiots at the gas station. They're on their way to here to try to catch the Tattler in action."
Steve freezes. "I don't--that's not--I--"
In the deep silence of the empty school, they both hear the slamming of a door, a bitten off giggle. Eddie grabs his wrist and they run. Into the theater room, through a door Steve didn't know existed, to the backstage area of the auditorium.
"You should be safe here," Eddie says.
Panic spirals through him. "I can explain. I was just--I forgot a--I needed--"
"Harrington! I know, okay? I already know."
Steve can only blink at him, swallows rough in his throat. "What--Eddie, I--"
"I saw you. Weeks ago. Forgot my notebook in the theater room after Hellfire and had to run back for it. You were there, at the locker."
"You can't tell anyone."
"I'm not going to."
"No, Munson, you really can't. Nobody can know. Nobody--"
"Swe--Stevie, I promise. The secret's safe with me." He rocks back on his heels, chewing on his lip for a second before he continues. " I--I couldn't figure you out, you know? I saw you around with those kids and it didn't make any sense. King Steve, babysitting tiny nerds? But I saw you at the locker and..."
"You're giving me too much credit, man."
"I don't think so. You're never--fuck, Harrington--you're never mean. At least, not in the last couple years. You spread gossip, but you don't punch down, and you're funny as hell. Mean as shit too, but only to the people who deserve it."
His ears burn and he looks down. "Just because I have fucking--fucking editorial standards doesn't mean that I'm anything special."
Eddie scoffs. "Remember, Stevie, I was reading it a year before you were here. Cruel, vapid garbage. Always the most vile, pointless stories about people who couldn't defend themselves. And how many submissions have you gotten about me, for instance, that you've never used?"
Steve clenches his fists. "I would never--"
"I know. Sweetheart, I know. That's why I li--You're so fucking good, Stevie."
He laughs, ears burning. "I'm really not, Eddie. I try to write about fun gossip that can't hurt anyone too much, and nobody's found me out because they think I'm too dumb--"
Eddie reaches out then, fingers connecting softly with the edge of Steve's jaw. He can't help but lean into the touch, eyes flickering closed.
"You don't want to hurt people because you're fucking kind. You know how I know for sure? You must get submissions every week about me, and you've never once printed that I'm--" Eddie stops then, swallowing hard.
Steve's throat goes tight. He rests his hand over Eddie's, still holding his face. "Me too," he whispers. "Kind of. I like--it's both. For me."
"Oh," Eddie breathes, mouth lifting in a bright, beautiful smile that Steve can't help but return.
He's watching, sees when Eddie's gaze drifts his lips, making his breath hitch. He doesn't really think about closing the distance between them, slotting their mouths together in a tentative, gentle kiss.
"You're just full of surprises aren't you, Steve Harrington? Eddie asks when they part.
Steve blushes. "That's sort of the last of them."
"Sure. Next you'll be telling me you've played dnd."
"I have a character."
"What???"
"Human paladin. Dustin worked on it with me. Ready to get out of here?"
"Human paladin," Eddie gapes. "You know--you said--what's happening?"
Steve twines their fingers together, leading Eddie towards the auditorium exit. "Well, first we're going to walk out to my car and then we're going to my house, and we're going to look through Tattler submissions. Maybe makeout a little bit."
Eddie giggles. "What the fuck? Like. What the fuck, sweetheart?"
He turns to face Eddie, smile big and pure and bright with happiness. "If you're really nice to me, I'll let you help write this week's issue."
"Oh, oh. You're going to wreck me." Eddie mumbles, almost to himself.
"If you're lucky." Steve beams.
#steddie#steve x eddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#ficlet#fluff#friends to lovers#secret identity#gossip column#first kiss#getting together#steve harrington writes a gossip column#steve harrington is lady whistledown#eddie discovers steve's secret identity#they makeout about it#obviously erica becomes the tattler when she gets to high school. obviously
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she fuckin’ hates me - e.m.
enemy eddie munson x fem reader x crush steve harrington
18+ ONLY MDNI
warnings: hate fucking, semi-public sex, mean!dom eddie (he’s secretly down so bad), fingering, they both call each names (slut, brat, asshole, dickhead), big dick eddie, unprotected piv sex (the condom breaks oops), unintentionally cream pie, little sprinkle of angst
a/n: this is entirely inspired by that one audio by eyesofsuggestion (getting hate fucked on your crushes bed by his best friend).
word count: 3.5k
also huge shoutout to both @strangerstilinski and @uglypastels for helping me so much. i appreciate the hell out of you both. and also to @lesservillain for giving me the condom idea. enjoy my lil freaks xx.
“Looks like someone’s not enjoying the party…”
You barely register his deep voice over the thumping bass from inside the house when you stomp out onto the patio.
The night air feels nearly as sticky as inside the house, the amount of bodies pressing together causing the temperature to skyrocket.
But the moment you see his lanky figure leaning against the side of Steve’s house and the burning cherry of his cigarette in the dark— you’re half tempted to turn around.
You were already having a terrible night to begin with but you weren’t about to let Eddie Munson make it any worse for you. Knowing this was partially his fault to begin with.
“What‘s it to you, Munson?” you spit.
His answering chuckle has you gritting your teeth, tucking your skirt under yourself as you sit on the patio steps.
“Oh nothing…” he hums, taking another long drag from his cigarette. “It’s just hard not to notice how you’ve been throwing yourself at Steve all night.”
While you hate to admit it, and you wouldn’t out loud— Eddie was right.
You’d gone out of your way to pretty yourself up for him, wearing your lowest cut blouse and your shortest skirt in hopes of getting his attention. You stayed by his side, laughed at all his jokes. Despite all the effort you put in, Steve barely spared you a passing glance.
It was such a total switch from how he was acting towards you the previous weekend. Steve had barely got you in his bedroom before his hands were in your pants. But now he was too busy shoving his tongue down a pretty blonde’s throat to even notice your absence.
“I haven’t been throwing myself at anyone, dickhead,” you roll your eyes with a scoff.
Eddie just laughs again, leaning his head back against the siding. “I wouldn’t have assumed Steve’s dick game was so good that you’d be crawling back for sloppy seconds.”
And when you turn to glare at him, you can’t help but admire the way the smoke unfurls from his plump lips.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, prick.”
“— Hey now,” he mocked you with a slight pout, “Don’t take your sexual frustration out on me, princess. I was just stating the obvious.”
You avert your eyes before he catches you staring, but that frustration mixed with unkindled desire continues to mount between you with each passing second.
So when your eyes are drawn back to him, you aren’t entirely sure why.
As annoying as Eddie could be, you can’t deny that he was attractive. And if his shitty attitude towards you wasn’t the reason that Steve kept blowing you off, maybe you’d actually like him.
“Oh, fuck you.”
“— you’d like that wouldn’t you?” he teases.
While your face shows mock disgust, your body betrays you when you feel wetness beginning to pool in the fabric of your panties.
“In your dreams, Munson.”
Eddie smirks a little, taking that as a challenge.
“What are you, scared?”
Under normal circumstances, you’d tell him to fuck off and leave you alone. Perhaps it was your hormones getting the best of you.
But there was something about the way the moonlight catches on his rings, and the pale glow that casts shadows over his handsome features— that’s making you think otherwise.
“I mean… I don’t see anyone else lining up to take that bratty ass of yours home.” Eddie takes one last, long drag but this time he notices the way your eyes linger on his lips.
You make it almost too easy.
“And it would be a damn shame to let all that hard work of yours go to waste, you know?” he continues casually while he snuffs out his cigarette. “Since Harrington, clearly isn’t appreciating it.”
And you really can’t believe what you’re hearing.
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
Eddie closes the remaining distance between you, causing your head to tilt back as you look up at him in utter disbelief.
“Don’t act so coy, I saw how you were looking at me just now…”
Beneath his cocky demeanor, his heart is about to pound out of his chest.
Because unbeknownst to you, the real reason Steve was avoiding you at every turn was entirely for Eddie's benefit. He was just trying to be a good friend.
Eddie holds up his hand before you can say anything else, his lips lifting in a shit eating grin.
“Besides, we both know that if it’s not for me, you’ll be going home with an empty cunt. And we can’t have that, can we?”
Your body flushes at the vulgarity of his words, but you mull them over nonetheless.
While you didn’t like him, despised him in fact— this could be an opportunity to get some pent up frustration out of your system. Since it was clear Steve wasn’t up for the challenge.
So you tuck your lower lip in between your teeth and you rise to your feet.
“Fine,” you hum and there’s a sudden flash of surprise in his eyes. Like he half expected you to tell him to go fuck himself and storm off, but it’s gone just as quickly. “On one condition.”
The patio steps put you an inch or so above him, so now he has to look up to meet your gaze.
“Oh, yeah? And what’s that, princess?” he smirks.
You grip the fabric of his t-shirt in your fists, urging him closer. You can feel the heat radiating from him, your breasts now flush against his chest.
“You keep that big mouth of yours shut.”
And you use the advantage of your slight height difference to press your lips to his before he has a chance to respond.
Eddie all but groans into your mouth as tugs you closer, hands gripping onto your hips before splaying over the curve of your ass. When he slips his tongue in your mouth, he tastes like a dizzying combination of nicotine and cheap beer.
But the taste somehow leaves you wanting more.
So when you start to grind yourself onto his jean-clad thigh, he sinks his teeth into your lower lip. The male fully enjoys the pitiful whimper it pulls from you.
“If you think I’m fucking you out here… you’re out of your goddamn mind,” he pants into your open mouth.
“Well if you had somewhere else in mind maybe you should try taking the reins, hotshot,” you fire back.
Eddie takes a single step up the stairs to place himself at eye level with you, as if to even the playing field.
And you just stare at each other, both your eyes are ablaze with a mixture of annoyance and lust. It's Eddie who eventually breaks your gaze to brush past you and continue on towards the house.
He dares a glance over his shoulder once he reaches the patio door, a brow rising beneath his bangs as if to give you one final chance to back out. But you don’t want to give him that satisfaction.
No one spares either of you a second glance when he leads you up the stairs and pulls you into the first bedroom on the right.
You know upon entering that this is Steve’s room, recognizing the checkered wallpaper from the weekend prior. But you don’t have much time to dwell on it before his lips are back on yours and he’s leading you towards his best friend’s bed.
“In here?” you say between heated kisses, earning you a deep hum when he pushes you down onto the mattress.
“What Steve doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right?” he mused, dark eyes admiring the way your skirt has risen up your thighs. “Unless… you really wanna make him jealous.”
Eddie crawls over you after shrugging off his leather jacket and you can already feel how hard he is through the rough denim. You tug harshly on his hair when his lips trail down across your neck, teeth scraping against the hollow of your throat.
But the ache between your thighs only becomes stronger with each press of his lips, and in turn causes your already thin patience to slip further.
“Get on with it already, I don’t have all damn night.”
You can feel his laughter vibrate against your sweaty skin but his hand dips between your thighs nonetheless. Eddie cups your clothed pussy in the palm of his hand, pulling a breathy whine from you when he presses the heel of it against your clit.
“Hmm, givin' an awful lot of attitude to someone who's just tryin’ to do you a favor, sweetheart.”
You merely roll your eyes in response, reaching between your bodies to palm over the bulge that’s straining against the fly of his jeans.
“Huh, seems to me that you like my little attitude, asshole.”
The male groans into your neck when you apply more pressure, his hand quickly gripping onto your wrist before he pins the both of them above your head.
“Ya’know I usually love a bit of a challenge, but you sweetheart, are a giant pain in the ass.”
You giggle mockingly, tilting your head at him with a slight pout, “Aww, Eddie— I didn’t know you thought so highly of me.”
If only you knew…
That laughter morphs into a soft gasp when he yanks your panties down your thighs with his other hand. Those calloused fingers slipping between your slick folds to circle over your swollen bud.
His nose skims along the curve of your shoulder, greedily inhaling your perfume. Enjoying the way your body practically shudders beneath his own.
“So sensitive…” he coos mockingly, the tip of his middle finger brushing over your puckered hole. “And I’ve barely even touched you yet.”
Any snarky comment dies on your tongue when he slips the digit inside, his thumb pressing firmly on your clit. A small mewl gets caught in your throat when he slides another finger in and your body welcomes the stretch.
Eddie can only grin wider when you grind your hips down onto his fingers, his other hand releases your wrists to tug down the front of your blouse to free your breasts. He has to hold back a moan of his own when he realizes you aren’t wearing a bra, his lips latching around your nipple.
“Oh fuck,” you whine, your fingers tangling themselves in his wild mane while his curl up inside you.
“If only Steve could see how much of a fucking mess you’re making for me,” he taunts, leaning his mouth down to suck on the underside of your breast. “Bet he’d be so pissed that you’re ruining his expensive sheets, sweetheart.”
Your answering whimper has him chuckling, urging him to thrust his fingers even faster inside you. Ultimately proving his point as you can feel the wetness dripping down your ass and onto the sheets. But the noisy glide of his fingers are nearly as taunting as his words.
“E-Eddie— I…” your chest heaves as you trail off, feeling that rubber band in your middle about to snap with each pump of his fingers.
He knows what that blissful look on your face means and it brings him a little too much pleasure to see it crumble when he completely removes his fingers from inside you. Your cry of frustration has his cock practically throbbing in his jeans, sticky fingers hurrying to unbuckle his belt.
“Nah uh,” he tuts. “You don’t always get what you want, brat.”
Eddie pushes his jeans and boxers far enough down his thighs to free his cock, the sight of it momentarily distracting you.
He was big, much bigger than you anticipated.
Part of you was almost worried he wasn’t going to fit. Eddie must see the mixture of surprise and awe written across your features, as he leans forward to swipe his thumb along the corner of your mouth.
“Drooling already? You flatter me, sweetheart.”
He reaches over for a condom in Steve’s bedside drawer, ripping the packet open with his teeth. But Eddie can practically see the flash of disappointment in your eyes when he rolls the latex on, which only causes him to laugh harder.
“Oh how cute, you thought I was gonna fill you up, baby?” he all but sneers as he grabs your cheeks in his hand, squishing them together. “A slut like you has to earn that privilege.”
He lets go of your cheeks, ringed fingers spreading your thighs apart and pulling you down toward the edge of the mattress. Positioning you in just the right spot so he can tap the head of his cock against your clit.
The wet slapping noise it makes has him grinning even wider and it takes everything in you not to slap that look right off his face.
“Are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna actually fuck me?” you huff.
He tilts his head at you, a little surprised by your sudden outburst. And to think you were being so good just a minute ago.
“See, that’s not what we’re going to do, brat.” He clicks his tongue, his other hand gripping the meat of your thighs a little harder. “Keep giving me that attitude and I’ll have no issue walking out of here and burying my cock into someone else.”
You just glare at each other, in a silent struggle for power. But this time you are the first to crack when you cast your eyes downward. That uncomfortable silence stretches on for a moment too long, which he mistakes for regret.
He’s about to tuck himself back into his jeans when you grip onto his wrist with a soft whine.
“N-No, shit— please don’t go.”
Eddie just raises an eyebrow at you, not impressed by that meek attempt at begging. So you blow out the breath you were holding, swallowing your pride when your eyes flick up to meet his.
“I want you to fuck me, Eddie. Please.”
You feel incredibly pathetic begging Eddie Munson of all people. But you also can’t deny the way your cunt practically throbs when you feel the thick head of his cock glide against your entrance.
“See? Now was that so hard?” he snickers, giving you no warning before he’s guiding the head inside your sopping cunt.
“Jesus— fuck, you’re tight,” he blurts, marveling as your pussy practically sucks him in.
You let out a gasp when he bottoms out with a low hiss, his own head tipping backwards when you clench harder around him. But the male doesn’t move a muscle, his hands gripping onto your hips to keep you in place.
An act of mercy really— he doesn’t want to hurt you.
While you are grateful for the reprieve, that slight sting soon fades into a dull ache and you desperately need more.
When Eddie feels you start to squirm in his grasp, he groans low in his throat. His head tips back down to meet your half lidded gaze while he carefully guides his cock out before sliding it back in.
He works up a steady rhythm, but slow enough to keep you both teetering on the edge of desperation— until you can’t take it anymore.
“God— go faster,” your attempt at a direct order comes out as more a breathy plea instead.
But he doesn’t need to be told twice, his hands coaxing your trembling legs over his shoulders before slamming his hips back into yours. An elated moan leaves your lips, fingers gripping onto the sheets as you eagerly meet each hard thrust he gives you.
“It’s too bad Harrington’s missin’ out on all this,” he grunts, his eyes darkening as he watches that creamy ring around his cock expand with each snap of his hips. “But I can put in a really good word for ya, princess.”
And when your eyes roll back, it’s not from annoyance this time— as he hits your sweet spot dead on.
“I hate you,” you huff regardless, but your words don’t hold nearly as much malice.
“You keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.”
You miss the smug look that crosses his features when your back arches up off the mattress and you cry out his name repeatedly.
“That’s it, brat— say my name louder. Let them know… let Steve know who’s making you feel this good.”
Your nails dig into his forearms as he fucks you even faster, a low growl pushing past his lips with each hard thrust. The bed creaks harshly in protest but that doesn’t deter him in the slightest.
If anything— it encourages him to go harder, bucking into you like some wild animal. The little uh, uh uh’s that he pushes out of you are music to his ears, the sounds becoming higher in pitch the closer you get to the edge.
And when your eyes flutter shut, he only quickened his pace. The brunette practically bends you in half as he leans into you, this new angle forcing him even deeper.
“Look.” Grunt. “At.” Grunt. “Me.” Grunt.
In your blissed out state, you miss the hidden meaning behind his pointed words.
When you manage to finally open them, he’s closer. A lot closer than you expected. So close you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes, and the sweat that dots his upper lip.
Maybe you’ve never wanted to admit it to yourself before, but Eddie really was gorgeous. And from the way he’s gazing down at you, pupils blown out and glassy, you can only assume he feels the same about you.
And that last bit of self control slips when you smash your lips together.
He kisses you back just as forcefully, effectively stealing the air from your lungs. Gasping for breath, your fingers begin to loosen their grip on his arm. Slipping them between your bodies to rub quick circles over your swollen bud.
The sensation has your walls squeezing tighter around him, earning you another throaty moan.
“See how much easier you are to deal with like this, baby?” He mumbles against your mouth, enjoying the small scowl that crosses over your features. “All cockdrunk and stupid… it suits you.”
While you open your mouth to throw one last insult his way, a pointed thrust into your sweet spot has you trembling. A loud squeal leaving your lips instead when you tumble over the edge.
And Eddie can’t take his eyes off you as you fall apart beneath him, memorizing each expression with the utmost sincerity. Even if you did hate him, he couldn’t help himself.
“Oh, atta girl…” he praises, his hot breath fanning over your lips while he continues to bury himself inside you.
You feel the sudden snap of the latex before he does. The male blissfully unaware as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck and finishes with a deep groan, unintentionally filling you up in the process.
“Hm, guess I got what I wanted after all,” you laugh a little breathlessly.
Eddie lifts his head in confusion, the realization finally dawns on him when he feels his warmth start to trickle down your thighs.
“Shit, shit, shit.” He curses as he pulls out, making an even bigger mess of both you and the sheets in the process.
“Stupid, fucking cheap ass condoms,” he huffs under his breath, chucking the broken rubber into the trash.
Although his jaw is clenched in annoyance, his eyes are now transfixed on where his cum begins to leak out of your puffy pussy and onto the bedspread.
Unable to stop himself, Eddie reaches out a hand to graze along the underside of your ass. He collects some of the mess on his fingertips and guides them back inside you.
And despite the sensitivity, the possessiveness of his actions has your walls clenching around his dexterous fingers.
Everything comes to a sudden halt when the bedroom door swings open, knocking into the wall.
“Alright you horny shits, time to…” Steve trails off once he sees the two of you, honey hues widening in disbelief. “In my bed, Munson? Really?”
Eddie doesn’t bat an eye, merely straightening up from where he was hovering over your half naked form whilst you quickly tug the sheets over yourself from sheer embarrassment.
Now all Eddie can see is the way you're looking at Steve. Something sour settles in his stomach, a tangle of jealousy and hurt. While his heart rate slows, his defenses go back up.
That feeling prickles along his skin as he tucks himself back into his boxers and re-fastens the button on his jeans.
"Was just warmin' her up for ya, man," Eddie says through his teeth.
Steve's look of confusion deepens as he glances between the two of you, knowing that this is exactly what Eddie had wanted.
But now Eddie won’t even look at you.
He doesn't see the conflicted emotions swimming in your eyes when he speaks again. Throwing the words over his shoulder without a second glance as he grabs his jacket and turns to leave.
"She's all yours, Harrington."
That lie burns on his tongue like acid, but he doesn't look back.
taglist: @xxbimbobunnyxx @bimbotrashcan @popbangcrash @corrodedcorpses @demibats @hellfire--cult @calumfmu @bastardstevie @emmypoisonedqueen @probablyin-bed @luv4peterba1lard @stolen-in-moonlight @potatobeans99 @your-nightmaredoll @rebelfell @josephquinnsfreckles @chaptersleftunwritten @angel-eyes-and-devil-hearts @callsignmedusa @splendiferous-bitch @spenciesprincess @creepycranberry @idkwhattoputhere08 @obsessed-midwest-princess @joequiinn @celestialbat @rosekicks @not-my-lover @alba8688 @kellsck sorry if i missed anyone!
#the freak writes 🫧#eddie munson smut#eddie munson angst#eddie munson x fem!reader smut#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson x f!reader#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x steve harrington#enemy!eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson oneshot
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kinktober day two • accidental stimulation
aka: melting
steve harrington x fem!reader
kinktober masterlist
cw: 18+, minors dni, dry humping, public sex (kind of), slight humiliation, p in v
🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍
Scoops Ahoy! is the bane of your existence. Shilling ice cream for bratty kids and old classmates is a real pain in the ass. Especially on days like today, when you have to work with Steve instead of Robin. Steve’s annoying, always has been. You were once paired up with him for a biology project in high school and he didn’t do a goddamn thing but took credit and you’ve been holding onto that grudge for years. At the time, Steve treated you like the dog shit under his shoe but times have changed.
You’d sprouted tits and actually learned how to take care of yourself— how to wear makeup and style your hair. It’s landed you in a weird spot with Harrington. He hits on repeatedly, almost on the hour during hour six hour shifts. Maybe if he’d hadn’t been such a dick to you in high school, you’d consider it because let’s face it; Steve Harrington is a babe. A stupid, arrogant babe. It’s kind of fun, turning him down. Feels like you’ve won something. Even though, you ponder what would happen if you gave into his incessant flirting.
However, today, you wanna sock him right in his beautiful face. He’s been incredibly annoying, complaining how he hasn’t felt the touch of a woman since Nancy and how the uniform really isn’t helping his case. You’d beg to differ. He unfortunately looks… attractive in it. But he’s fallen off the social ladder and that’s why the girls reject him.
It’s closing time, you’re bent over into the drop ins. Covering the big gallons of ice cream when Harrington tries to sneak behind you to close up the topping bar. His crotch grazes your ass and he freezes. Pathetically, makes a shocked noise and presses his hand against the small of your back.
“What are you doing?” you ask, voice echoing inside the drop-in freezer.
Steve doesn’t move, keeps his crotch firmly pressed against your ass and even rolls his hips. You can feel his cock hardening behind his polyester shorts and your eyes widen. Why the fuck isn’t he moving? And worse, how did he get hard just from barely grazing against you? He’s really down bad.
You try to look back at him but then he’s grabbing your hips, rolls his again and you stare stunned down at the tub of U.S.S Butterscotch.
He jolts back, you can hear his body making contact with the counter behind him as he exclaims, “It was an accident! I didn’t mean to…”
You pull your head out of the freezer and turn to him, a sly smile spreading across your lips, “Did that make you hard?”
“No,” he lies but the proof is staring you in the face, those little blue shorts doing nothing to help him hide it.
You laugh, soft and shocked and fine, okay— flattered.
“Wow,” you exhale, “I didn’t realize it was that dire.”
“Shut up,” he shakes his head and tries to look nonchalant, but his cheeks are red, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Another laugh, your eyes trained on his erection straining through his uniform and then he moves his hands to cover it. His eyes everywhere but on you. You hum, pout and tilt your head, “You’re not as suave as you think.”
He swallows hard, “I need to, close the topping station… I uh—“
“Yeah… and I need to finish covering the ice cream. I’m gonna bend back over and do that…” you tell him, feeling bold because well, it’s been a long time for you to and you can’t deny you enjoyed the feeling of him against you. “If I feel something… I’m just gonna keep doing what I’m doing.”
You spin back around and get back to covering the tubs. Steve’s not as stupid as you thought, because when you duck back into the freezer, his crotch is pressed against your ass again. His large hands wrap around your hips, holding you steady.
Thank god you guys were behind tonight. The mall has to be empty, gates all closed and the whole food court is quiet. You wiggle back against him and Steve lets out a sound you hate to admit is pretty.
Keeping true to your word, you act as if nothing is happening as you cover all the tub while Steve grinds against you from behind. And you let him. Welcome it, actually. Feel pretty because of it. You even grind back against him, feeling your thighs heat up. This is dangerous yet it feels like maybe it was bound to happen. A part of you thinks that maybe if you give Steve this, he’ll stop being so insufferable. Like he needs to have this kind of interaction with a woman in order to stop seeking it out so desperately. You want to give Steve what he wants— what he’s been begging for for months.
The pair of you keep grinding into each other for a while. Until you start to feel uncomfortable from the coldness of the freezer. So you pull yourself out of it. Move over to the register and bend over the counter. Steve follows you, presses himself up against your ass again and drags his hands down your back.
So you reach behind you, pull the skirt of your uniform up and then push your underwear down your thighs.
“Fuck,” Steve exhales as he watches and you can hear him undoing his shorts and shoving them down. “I’ve had dreams like this.”
Yeah, that’s a big inflation to your ego. And you can’t help but admit, “Me too.”
Steve groans lowly, brings his fingers to your cunt and rubs them up through your folds. He scissors your clit and then brings them back down, circling around your entrance. “I’m kind of big, I should probably get you ready,” he says and sinks two fingers into your pussy.
You gasp and moan, rolling your hips back on his fingers. Part of you wants to look back, see if he’s exaggerating but from what you could see in his shorts, you don’t think he is. Steve thrusts his fingers in and out of you slowly, spreads them while they’re deep inside and you have to bite your lip to keep quiet. You’re sure you’re alone in this mall, aside from the security guards but they don’t hang around the food court this time of night. Better be safe, though.
“You dream about me?” you ask, voice shaky.
“All the time,” Steve breathes out, pulling his fingers out but circles the tips of them along your hole. “Didn’t know it’d be so easy like this.”
You giggle, pushing your ass back against him as you tell him, “Me either. You’re a pain in my ass, but you are cute.”
“Am I?” he asks, leaning over you and kissing against your neck just as he slides his fingers back inside you.
A groan pours from you as you close your eyes, “Shut up, Harrington, you know you’re hot.”
He licks your jaw, then nips at it gently before pressing his lips against your ear, “I know I am. I didn’t know you thought so, too.”
God, you wish you could see his face— to remind you how much you really think so. You know he’s still wearing that dumb sailor hat he hates so much and you haven’t had the guts to tell him he looks cute in it. He adds a third finger and the stretch of it has you crying out. Steve fucking tsks, tells you, “Just wait until I get my cock inside you.”
“Do it,” you plead, pushing your ass back against him desperately.
He nips at your jaw again, fingers leaving you abruptly as he grips his cock and guides his tip towards your hole. Once you feel it prodding, you inhale sharply. He slips the tip in, stretching you beautifully— almost has you in tears but he goes slow. Allows you to adjust to every inch as he mouths at your jaw and neck.
You feel like you're melting, hands gripping the counter as he sheathes himself inside you to the hilt. He’s completely inside you, hands clinging onto your hips as your walls grip and pulse around his cock.
“Oh, fuck,” you whine out, “You’re so fucking big.”
He groans, right against your ear and mumbles, “I told you…”
Everything is fuzzy. Scoops Ahoy! doesn’t exist. You’re in space with Steve’s impressive cock buried inside you, not in the mall where there’s a potential to be seen. He thrusts forward hard and deep, making you yelp. He grabs your jaw, turns your face towards him and kisses you sloppily, silencing your involuntary noises. He tastes sweet, like the maraschino cherries he snacks on. You wonder if you taste like the ice cream sundae he made you for your break. You try to think about when he slid it to you and said he made it with love. Which is easy to forget as he rolls his hips, cock dragging against your sensitive walls.
“You’re so tight,” he babbles out.
You reply with, “you’re so big…”
“Feel good, yeah? Me stretching you out?”
“So… fucking… good,” you give in, gasping into the sideways kiss as he delivers a hard and deep thrust.
Steve’s hands reach around, cupping your breasts over your uniform and you wish you weren’t at work— but somewhere where he could feel you up, completely exposed. This will have to do, though. He kisses your neck sloppily, repetitively across the expanse of it that his lips can reach. Small, quiet moans falling past your lips, hopefully muffled by the tinny speakers playing easy listening throughout the mall.
“Oh, god, Steve…” you whine, hips jutting into the counter from the force of his thrusts.
His hands knead against your chest as he presses his face against the crook of your neck and breathes, rugged and heavy. He picks up his pace a bit more and you know he’s close, so you shove your hand down between you and the counter. Get your fingers pressed to your clit and rub circles, mirroring the rhythm of Steve’s thrusts. The feeling of his breath against your neck is surprisingly pleasant. You focus hard on reaching your climax, luckily getting there before Steve. Unfortunately, you can’t keep your volume under control as you moan. Feel too good to really care, even. Steve whines from the sound, pulling out of you quick and then you feel thick, hot ropes of cum landing on your exposed ass.
Then the pair of you stay still, awkwardly— just panting. You turn your head to look back at him as he uses his apron to clean the mess on your skin. It makes you laugh, which causes Steve to smile and laugh. He’s got his shorts back up and he moves to pull your underwear up. Then you turn and look at him. He chews his bottom lip, staring back at you.
“I uh, forgot to ask you earlier but, could you give me a ride home tonight?” you ask, cheeks red in embarrassment.
“Oh, yeah, for sure,” he nods, looking as awkward as you feel.
You grab onto the collar of his uniform and suggest, “Maybe we could hang out at your place for a bit, first?”
Steve grins, gorgeous white teeth on display and he puts his hands on your hips, leans down and says, “Yeah, that could be fun.” before he plants a kiss on your lips.
#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington smut#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington x y/n smut#steve harrington x fem
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I have nothing to contribute to Harringrove Week today except for the smutty thought of modern au Steve using a pringles can for scale in his dick pics.
Thank you for your consideration.
#harringrove#that's just where my head went ok!#if any smut writers would like to do something with that then 👀👀👀#shan't actually tag this for the event cuz that seems silly#steve harrington has a big dick
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i can see you
♫︎ i can see you - taylor swift ♫︎
pairing(s): steve harrington x fem!reader
summary: The secret history of your long and arduous relationship with Steve Harrington.
aka: the 5 times you pined over each other, and the time you actually did something about it
words: 17.6k (we're NOT gonna talk about it lol)
cw: explicit, smut, piv sex, flirting, making out, heavy petting, slight exhibitionism, oral (f receiving), fingering, marking, biting, steve harrington has a big dick, themes of infidelity/cheating (sort of), skipping out on dates, bad dates, steve steal-your-girl harrington, almost-kisses, jealous!steve, jealous!reader, possessive behavior, smoking, alcohol consumption, allusions to marriage but it's never actually mentioned, canon compliant, reader and steve are the same age, 5+1 things, songfic, angst, fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, pining, mutual crush, slow burn one shot, mild twist ending, begins in season two (1984) and ends in the 90s, high school, scoops ahoy era, family video era, waiter!steve, steve harrington (the eras tour), vignette, one instance of billy hargrove slander, original characters created for plot, inspired by i can see you by taylor swift, other taylor song inspo throughout bc i'm insane like miss swift
a/n: hi and welcome to ✨rose's mental breakdown✨ yes this song will be my number one on spotify wrapped bc i listened to it on a loop for five days straight while writing this. idk. anyways this is So Much and i'm tired of looking at it so if there are any mistakes i apologize. anyways whoever can point out the most taylor song references aside from the obvious titular one gets a doubloon
ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI
You brush past me in the hallway, and you don’t think I can see you, do you? I’ve been watchin’ you for ages, and I spend my time trying not to feel it…
Hawkins High, September 1984
He’s so pretty sometimes that it’s disgusting.
That’s really the only thing you think when you watch Steve Harrington sneak up on his girlfriend, Nancy Wheeler, and swoop her off the ground in front of her locker. From across the hall, your locker hangs open, your body turned halfway toward them so that you can pretend that you’re not staring.
You stare a lot.
It’s not exactly the hair, you think- everyone shits a brick about his hair, for some reason that you don’t understand. Yeah, it’s nice… but you like everything else about him, too. You like how sweet he looks when he laughs. You like the way that he holds himself and the way that he looks when he puts his hands on his hips and stands around like he’s directing the traffic around him. You like how much of a prince charming he is, really. It would surprise you if he doesn’t win prom king at the end of the year. They already call him King Steve, it’s not too far of a stretch.
You close your locker just as Steve kisses Nancy, in front of god and everybody in the C Corridor hallway. Steve’s arms wrap around Nancy’s petite frame and he dips her, like they’re in some sort of George Peck and Audrey Hepburn movie. Not that the place is much of a cinematic setting, though. Down the hall, the science rooms are doing their dissection units, so the whole place smells like formaldehyde and disinfectant, and you sort of feel like curling up into one of those dissection pans and dying, yourself.
That should be me, your brain screams. Me!!
It’s always been like this. You’ve had a crush on Steve since freshman year- the fact that he’s dating Nancy, who’s a year younger than him, doesn’t escape your jealous mind. You’ve been in classes with him for four years, you’ve admired him quietly, you’ve hoped and prayed that he somehow noticed you noticing him.
You don’t think he knows you exist. Four years- and now you’re both seniors, about to graduate, and he still doesn’t notice you. You should really stop caring, or stop trying, or stop… pining. Or something.
You hike your bag up onto your shoulder and juggle your books in your arms. The bell rings, and quite suddenly the entire hallway erupts into pandemonium (predictable, sure, considering everyone loiters around instead of actually getting to class on time). Kids fly around you in all directions to get to their next classroom. Nancy Wheeler ducks away from Steve Harrington, avoiding yet another kiss.
God, you wish you could kiss him.
Someone slams into your shoulder from behind, muscling past you to get to science lab 5, rat central. Your binder slips out of the stack of books in your arms and clatters loudly to the ground, just as someone walks past and kicks it across the floor.
“Fuck,” you spit, chasing after it. The back of your neck feels hot. For the first time in four years, you hope to god that Steve Harrington doesn’t notice you.
You duck around people’s legs, trying to grab at your binder, while not trying to drop any more of the books in your arms. Loose papers are starting to fall out of the binder as it skitters across the floor, and this is becoming more and more of a comedy of errors by the minute.
Your fingers just brush the corner of it before someone kicks it again.
“Do you mind?” you snap as they walk away, not even looking in your direction. Crouched close to the floor, you don’t matter. Maybe you could count that as a blessing, considering you don’t want to be perceived right now.
You finally just throw away all dignity and crawl across the tile floor- disgusting and dirty and covered in sandy grit, as though it hasn’t been cleaned all year- to get to your binder.
And you come face to face with a pair of white Nike’s. Ones that you know way too well, because you’ve stared at them every time they’ve passed you in the hallway.
Nonononono- You clench your jaw and then look up, way up, to find Steve Harrington towering over you.
He looks like he was about to just step around you, but then he notices you gazing up at him from all fours, and his hazel eyes lock on yours. You blink at each other for a second before he flushes, a pink blush breaking out on his cheeks and crawling up his neck, and he looks away quickly, but crouches down to grab your binder before your hand can land on it.
“Sorry,” Steve says quietly, gathering up the couple papers that had started to slide out of the folders inside. You sit back on your heels, your blood rushing in your ears, mortified. His big hands gently poke the papers back into the folder as they should be before he hands it to you. “Looks like you’re gonna be late to class.”
You scoff. “Look who’s talking.”
Steve’s eyes find yours again, and he’s finally so close to you that you can admire the little bit of green in them. You’ve never been close enough to notice before.
He cracks a lopsided smile, one that he uses to charm people, you know- you’ve seen him use it on teachers and cute girls alike. “I’m always late to the party. But I get there, eventually.”
“I hope so.” He cocks his head at you. He doesn’t know the real meaning to your words- or, at least, you don’t think he does.
I hope you don’t stay oblivious forever, Steve Harrington. I hope you get there, eventually.
You take your binder from him, but you pull your eyes away from his a bit later than you properly should. “Thanks, Steve.”
You get up and take off toward your next class, walking quickly so that you don’t come off like you’re lingering too long. But, halfway down the hall, you look over your shoulder at him.
Steve hasn’t moved, still crouched down close to the floor, with his head bent like he’s deep in thought. With his back to you, you can still see the pink flush on the back of his neck, peeking out above his collared shirt.
‘Cause I can see you, waiting down the hall from me, and I can see you up against the wall with me. What would you do? Baby, if you only knew that I can see you…
Hawkins High, April 1985
Prom season sucks. Always has, and always will.
Maybe it was your fault for hoping that Logan Sawyer, popular prick extraordinaire, was serious about wanting to take you to prom. He seemed serious enough, stopping by your locker during passing period and leaning over you as he asked you, his mega-watt smile making you blush. You’d counted yourself lucky- you didn’t think anyone was going to ask you, and people aren’t allowed to go to prom stag.
It took Logan two weeks to find a prettier girl to go with, though. You don’t know why it hurts so much. Maybe it’s because you wanted to believe that you were someone’s first choice, but it never quite seems to turn out that way.
You wipe your tears in the mirror, scowling at your puffy, bloodshot eyes. The bathroom next to the girls’ locker room in the sports wing is completely deserted at this time- the boys’ gym class is in session now, and you’re cutting into your lunch time, but you really don’t want to have to go and cry at a lunch table, in front of a bunch of your bitchy peers, who will inevitably make fun of you for it.
Sniffling, but slightly more composed, you head out of the bathroom. The sports wing is ridiculously bigger than any other wing of the school (typical of American public schools, to prioritize sports over every other department). The wing boasts weight training rooms, dance rooms, three separate gymnasiums, and a door directly to the football field, with the locker rooms on the farthest end to allow for easy access to the field. Connecting all of these rooms is the longest corridor in the building, which seems to run for half a fucking mile.
You’ll have to walk that half mile, because in order to get to the cafeteria, you’re gonna have to traverse the entire building. You might not get to eat much today, but it was a sacrifice you were willing to make. Maybe Mrs. Marshall will be kind enough to let you snack on a granola bar in your next class period.
Halfway down the long hallway, you feel the angry sting of tears behind your eyes again, and your face screws up in frustration. You stop, turning halfway back toward the girls’ bathroom, wondering if you should just go back in and allow yourself to cry some more.
Suck it up, you think to yourself, smacking at your tear stained cheeks. He’s not the guy you really want to ask you to prom, anyways.
You press your fingertips into your eyes to relieve the sting of tears, taking a deep breath. Being in high school is driving you crazy. At this point in the year, the teachers have given up teaching, the students have given up learning, and you’re basically just biding your time in a glorified babysitting service until you can inevitably grab your diploma and get out of here. You can’t wait for that time to arrive.
A door opens further down the hallway, in the direction of the cafeteria. You wipe your nose once and keep moving in the direction you were going, not wanting to draw attention to yourself, standing in the middle of the hallway having a breakdown.
Moving forwards, you keep your eyes on the ground. Once you hear the door that had been opened slam shut again, you figure that whoever it was has moved on down the hallway, and you lift your eyes again.
They have not, in fact, moved on. And you suddenly have the urge to turn and fucking run back into the girls’ bathroom, because Steve Harrington is bent over at the drinking fountain, directly outside the boys’ weight room.
What the fuck, what the fuck. You suck on your teeth, trying not to falter in your stride. Maybe he hasn’t seen you, and you can just pass him up. It’s fine, he hasn’t seen you crying.
Your mind backtracks to the beginning of the year, you fumbling your binder all the way across the hallway and ending up right in front of him, crawling toward him. Looking up at him and probably, most definitely, making him really uncomfortable.
You have English class together, where you sit at the desk closest to the door. He comes in late almost every day, so he passes by you every time. Some days he looks at your desk. On good days, he meets your eye. But he hasn’t spoken to you since that day in September, and you really shouldn’t hold out hope that he will.
You definitely don’t want him to notice you when you’ve been crying, your face is a mess, your hair is limp and you look bedraggled. You just want to fade into the background of your next class with whatever snack you can get from the cafeteria snuck into your bag, so you can stress eat it without any guff from a teacher (like you aren’t 18 and capable of deciding when you are and aren’t allowed to eat).
You keep your eyes down. If you don’t look at him, he doesn’t exist.
Except, Steve Harrington always exists, in the back of your mind, and in your periphery. He is impossible not to notice, as per usual. He really just draws the eye like a magnet. Try as you might, your eyes keep flicking up to take stock of him.
He’s wearing a uniform gray P.E. shirt and gym shorts that don’t leave a lot to the imagination, and you fixate on his thighs more than you should. He has sweat dripping down his neck, wetting his hair on the sides of his face and the seam of his shirt. It shouldn’t be attractive. He shouldn’t be attractive. With his face a mess. And his hair limp, and looking bedraggled. Truly, you make a priceless pair, being the only two people in the hallway.
We’re perfect for each other, a voice says in your head. And you manage, for the first time in an hour, to crack a smile down at your shoes.
He finishes getting his drink at the fountain, and you figure that he’ll just go back into the weight room and not see you. But, of course, luck is not on your side.
Steve Harrington looks at you. And you look away, quickly, acting like you hadn’t been staring at him. And in your periphery, again, you see him stretch his arms over his head, and then turn and lean against the cinderblock wall beside the door to the weight room, with his hands on his knees as though he’s catching his breath.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
He does it so casually, and with the way he’s sweating and his face is flushed, you’re sure that he probably does just want to take a break before going in and lifting more weights. But something in the back of your mind says that the maneuver was too purposeful, immediately after he laid eyes on you.
It could just be wishful thinking on your part. You heard through the grapevine that Steve and Nancy Wheeler broke up in a nasty way just before winter break, and it doesn’t seem like he’s been interested in anyone since. He hasn’t dated anyone, hasn’t flirted with any girls or showed up at any parties. Nancy must have really broken his heart.
You know too well what that feels like, right now.
Nearing where he leans against the wall, you keep your head down and you plan on just passing by without any acknowledgement from him, same as it ever was. If he’s still carrying a torch for Nancy, you’re sure that he doesn’t want anything to do with you. You’ve nearly convinced yourself of it.
But then you hear your name called quietly, and it nearly makes you jump. You look over at him, thinking you’re just hearing things, but you look directly into a pair of hazel eyes again, and you feel yourself rocketing back in time to September.
You didn’t even think he knew your name.
You slow to a stop. It would be rude not to stop, right? “Uh… hi, Steve. You good?”
Steve Harrington looks you up and down, while he leans against the wall and breathes a bit heavily, like he’s out of breath. He peers at you through long eyelashes, looking impossibly inviting despite everything; the setting, your appearances, the way that you feel like dissolving into a puddle right in front of him. “Yeah, great. You?”
He’s scrutinizing your face now. You shrug, since he’s already seen you, and there’s no way to pretend you weren’t crying thirty seconds ago. “I’m fine. Just being dramatic, don’t worry about me.”
“When people say not to worry about them, it usually means that you should,” Steve muses. He looks coy, like he’s speaking from experience.
You sigh, stepping forward to get your own drink from the drinking fountain. “Logan Sawyer called off our date for prom.”
“Oh.” Steve pauses for a few seconds, watching as you bend down and take your drink, more silent than he usually is. “I mean… that really sucks. I’m sorry. But… Logan Sawyer?”
“Yeah.” You wipe your mouth, and then wet the ends of your fingers and use the cool water to rub at your stinging eyes again. When you’re done, you lean up against the wall beside him, letting your back settle into the cinderblock.
“The guy’s a fucking douche.”
“Tell me about it.”
“No, I mean it, I think it’s a good thing you’re not going to prom with him. He’s really shitty to girls.” You look up at Steve, who’s watching you with his arms crossed, with the most serious expression you’ve ever seen him wear. “I mean, the only guy worse than Logan is probably… I dunno…”
“Billy Hargrove?”
Steve laughs. Actually laughs. You’ve wanted to make him laugh like that for four years. His cheeks turn crimson and he grins down at his shoes, snickering like there’s way more to the joke he’s laughing at than you even know about. “Yeah. Yeah, he’s gotta be the worst.”
You chuckle, albeit with a sadder tone than he has. “Well, I’m not going to prom with either of them. So, I can count my blessings. I guess.”
Steve frowns, and he looks like he’s going to say something else, but you’re already turning away, not wanting to continue the depressing conversation about your lack of dates. Especially not from the one guy who you desperately want to go on a date with.
You get a few steps away before he takes a step after you, saying, “Wait. You, uh-”
You stop, and look back at him. He looks dumbfounded, his arm outstretched like he was going to try to grab you if you didn’t listen to him. When you frown, he steps back against the wall, bringing his hand up to run through his hair.
Oh . That’s a nervous tick. You know it, because you’ve watched him do it more than once in English, in front of the class during a presentation.
Steve looks down at his shoes, his brow scrunched in thought. He looks like he’s really trying to find the right words to say. In your head, a hopeful part of you imagines what those words could be. ‘Will you go to prom with me?’
Finally, he looks up at you resolutely. “You’ll find someone to take you to prom. I’m sure of it.” He nods a little, like he’s reassuring himself that he said the right thing.
You can’t help the smile that springs onto your face. It’s incredulous, of course, but he can’t know that. Keep trying, baby. You’ll get there, eventually.
“Thanks, Steve.” It’s the second time you thank him in the course of the year.
But what would you do if I went to touch you now? What would you do if they never found us out? What would you do if we never made a sound?
Prom Night, May 1985
The dress you’re wearing is sleek and a lot simpler than some of the more popular styles on the dance floor, but you like it more than you care to admit. You’d just grabbed it off the rack at Macy’s, and beyond that you didn’t want to go all-out for prom. It turns out that your lab partner, Gavin Connelly, needed a date, too. So, you’re here with him, because you knew that if you missed prom, you would probably regret it.
Except, well.
Gavin, stoned out of his fucking mind, is sitting at one of the tables, nursing a cup of punch, looking like he’s two seconds from falling asleep. You’ve taken to making the rounds and saying hi to anyone you can call a ‘friend,’ because you’re tired of just loitering next to him. Something tells you he didn’t want to even be here.
The speakers are playing ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart,’ and couples are swaying on the dance floor in a Bonnie Tyler-induced haze. At a loss for people to bother, you wander back over to your date to find his head plastered to the white table cloth.
You glance to the guy sitting next to him, a kid with glasses who you don’t recognize but who seems to know your date, because he’s just patting Gavin’s back. “Is he okay?”
“Oh, no, he’s dying.” The kid shoots you a sarcastic smile.
You nod, pressing your tongue hard to the roof of your mouth. “Well, if he wakes up, tell him I’m getting some air.”
Fuck this. Fuck prom. Fuck high school boys.
Your heels, which are killing your feet already, click loudly on the tile hallway floor as you exit the gym. The table where you can check your bag and coat are located at the other end of the hall, where everyone is supposed to enter through the door to the football field.
You can hear voices from the far end of the hall, and Bonnie Tyler’s voice fading out the further you get from the gym. You might never be able to hear that song again without thinking of your ruined slow dance opportunity.
As you pass by, someone coughs off to the left and you turn your head to see Steve Harrington, black tie and all, loitering in the shadows. You stop a few feet from him and squint into the dark.
You can’t believe it. He always seems to show up at the worst times. “What are you doing, skulking around?”
“I’m not sulking.”
You snort, stepping into the shadows with him. “No, skulk- like, sneaking around?”
“Well, I didn’t mean to sneak-” he looks over his shoulder at the gym entrance. “I’m just getting some air.”
“Funny,” you murmur. “I was just about to do the same thing.”
He eyes you, a lot like he did a few weeks ago in this same hallway, further up toward the other end of it. He takes in your hair, styled painstakingly to ‘perfection,’ or as close as you could approximate it, and your off-the-rack department store dress. You suddenly feel like you aren’t as pretty as you thought you were at the beginning of the night.
But then he meets your eye, and all those insecurities fade into the back of your mind. He’s smiling at you, and that can only be a good thing.
“So, uh…” Steve leans back against the wall, his hands in his pockets, “You found someone to take you?”
You press your lips into a tight line. You don’t really want to think about your date right now, but- “Gavin Connelly.”
“Who?”
You laugh, kicking the heel of your shoe against the ground with a soft clack. “Yeah. God, I wish I didn’t know him right now.”
“Why, what’d he do?” Steve sounds perturbed. You look up to find him scowling already.
“Oh, he just ate a pot brownie before he picked me up and passed out at one of the tables.” You finish with a tired giggle, shrugging at Steve as he peers at you with an annoyed expression. “Who did you bring?”
“Kelly Palmer.”
You know Kelly. She doesn’t say much, but she’s gotten a scholarship to a big art school. “Do you like her?”
“Yeah, she’s nice,” he says mildly. Unconvincingly.
You can understand the subtext. She’s not Nancy. When you look at his face, he seems tortured in the low light coming from down the hall.
“Guess I’m oh-for-two,” Steve adds after a pause. “Last year’s prom, Nance and I didn’t have such a good time, either.”
You nod. It seems like there’s more he wants to say, but he doesn’t. “I’m sorry,” you offer. You don’t know the ins-and-outs of Steve and Nancy’s relationship, aside from watching them suck face in the hallway five paces from you for a year and a half. “Prom sucks. High school sucks. These can’t be the best years of our lives, trust me.”
“Yeah, I hope not.”
“I just can’t wait to get out of here, you know,” you grumble, allowing your sour mood to come out a little more than normal. It seems like Steve is just really good at getting you to let your guard down. “I’m planning to go to Chicago for college. This is all just… you know, it’s just the starting point. What about you, any big plans?”
“Dunno. I didn’t get accepted to any schools, so I’ll just be getting a job here in town until something better comes along.” Steve shifts, his heel hitting the wall behind him. He looks disappointed when he says, “I think I made too many mistakes.”
You frown, chewing on your lip. “What do you mean?”
He gives you a heavy look, like he’s gearing up to say something important, something game changing- and then his gaze softens.
“You’ve got an eyelash.” He gestures to his own eye, like it’ll make you understand exactly where the loose one is on your face.
“Oh.” You falter, lifting your manicured hands and wiping at your undereyes. “Did I get it?”
“No, uh- here, I can-” Steve tentatively reaches forward, and you step toward him to let him touch your face.
Steve Harrington is touching your face.
His fingertip brushes your cheekbone, so featherlight you would barely feel it if you weren’t hyper aware of everything that he said or did. His touch glides across your cheek and toward your temple, and then he seems to keep it there, his hand hovering just over your skin.
Reflexively, your hand comes up to rest on his shoulder. You’re inches from Steve’s face, your eyes falling to his lips.
You could kiss him. You could live your fantasy, right now.
Steve’s gaze lingers on your face for a moment, and then he says, “You’re so beautiful.”
Your heart lurches in your chest. He doesn’t say that you look beautiful. He doesn’t say it conditionally, like it’s just for tonight. You are beautiful. Even when you’re crawling on all fours after your binder. Even when you’re crying, and your hair is limp, and you look bedraggled.
“Steve…” you whisper, inching closer to him.
“STEVE??!”
You jump away from him like he’s burned you, and peek around the hall corner to see Kelly Palmer standing outside the gym looking up and down the hall, searching for him. She looks lost, and sad, like he must have ditched.
She looks an awful lot like you just did, coming out of that gym.
You feel Steve’s hand where it had fallen to your wrist, dragging your attention gently back to him. You take his hand and squeeze it once, giving him a tight smile.
“You brought her here for a good time,” you say with your bravest smile. “Just don’t pass out at one of the tables on her, okay?”
Don’t be a douche. Don’t be like Logan Sawyer.
Steve swallows, and gives you a short nod. You think he finally got there.
You give a soft pat to the lapel of his suit jacket. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”
He touches your arm one final time before he slips around the corner, just as Kelly turns to go back into the gym. You watch him walk away, and you think to yourself, That’s the last time I chase after Steve Harrington.
Wherever there is, it’s not with you.
Steve loops his arms around Kelly’s waist and lifts her, earning a thrilled squeal as the silver taffeta of her dress glints blue in the light from the gym. You wait until they’ve disappeared back into it before you turn and high-tail it toward the coat check table.
And we kept everything professional, but something’s changed, it’s something I like. They keep watchful eyes on us, so it’s best if we move fast and keep quiet…
Starcourt Mall, June 1985
“Come on, it’s ridiculously hot outside,” your best friend, Shelly, groans as she pulls you along by the wrist. “I can’t believe they only have one ice cream place here.”
“I’m sure they have slushies at the-”
“Ice. Cream.” You know better than to argue with her.
Scoops Ahoy has a novelty nautical theme that makes you want to both laugh and break down in tears when you see it. The PA is playing a cutesy rendition of Drunken Sailor on accordion, and you think that if you keep looking at the striped wallpaper behind the counter, you might get literally seasick. In the mall. In landlocked Indiana.
Or… is it landlocked if it fronts Lake Michigan? It doesn’t matter. You’ll be in Chicago in two days, anyways.
You let Shelly drag you along until you look towards the front counter, and you see something that nearly makes you trip and face plant into Shelly’s fresh perm.
Even Shelly pauses. “Is that who I think it is?”
It’s something about the stupid little sailor’s cap and shorts, and that he’s so, so pretty in it, you think. It’s also something about how you have the perfect vantage point to watch him try and fail to flirt with the girl that approaches the counter to order. You’re enamored with him. There’s no other way to describe it.
You have half a mind to run away, after what you promised yourself on prom night over a month ago. You’d done good, you didn’t search for him in the halls, you ignored him in your last couple of class periods with him. You’d even been in the bathroom when his name was called at graduation.
But, here he is. Steve Harrington, absolutely obliterating his chances of getting a date with the girl ordering a sundae ahead of you.
Honestly, you don’t know what you’re waiting for. Maybe an invitation? A sign from god that today’s the day that you’ll make a move? Or maybe this is just a test of will.
You stop resisting Shelly’s attempts to drag you along, and straighten your spine. You can do this. Four years’ worth of pining won’t make a difference in whether or not you order a strawberry ice cream cone.
He’s even prettier up close, his rosy cheeks framed by sunkissed, wavy hair. When he sees you he stalls, going a bit wide-eyed and then seeming to realize he’s supposed to do his job. He leans heavily against the counter. “Ahoy, ladies! Would you like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me? I’ll be your captain, Steve Harrington.”
“Uh-huh.” You stare at each other for a long moment. “How much do they pay you to recite that script?”
“Absolutely nothing, I do this for pure enjoyment.” You’re almost sure that he doesn’t. He pauses, a hand poised on his hip. “Too much?”
“I’d dial it back just a smidge. Maybe keep the ahoy and the captain thing and toss the rest.”
“Noted.” He nods slowly, his eyes fixed on you. “I thought you were going to Chicago?”
“I leave the day after tomorrow,” you shrug. “Still time for me to burn the place down, you know.”
“Well, I’m glad you stopped by,” Steve chuckles. “I could show you where the gas line is, then we’d all be in trouble.”
“Oookay.” Shelly gives you a curious side-eye, and then turns back to Steve. “Well, I’ll have a U.S.S. Butterscotch with a chocolate dipped waffle bowl, if you don’t mind.”
Steve tears his eyes away from you long enough to grin at Shelly. “Coming right up. And for you?”
You freeze, glancing up at the menu. It’s written in an infuriatingly cutesy code-language that you have to decipher. “Um. I’m still deciding.”
“All right, then. Just let me know, when you’re ready.”
Steve slips away to make Shelly her sundae, a heaping pile of ice cream and butterscotch syrup that looks like the fast track to a heart attack. You alternate between trying to comprehend the menu and being distracted by Steve in that stupid sailor’s uniform.
The script on the menu may as well be written in a foreign language. Blackbeard’s Delight. Treasure Island Turtle. U.S.S. Sherbet. The sizes are even harder to understand. Fathom. League. Nautical Mile. You don’t have the capacity to decipher it- your eyes are seeing the words, but your mind is traveling back to prom night, and feeling Steve’s finger on your cheek as you gear up to kiss him.
“Are you ready?”
“Mhm…” It takes you a second to zone back into the present moment, where Steve is standing in front of you, on the other side of the counter, waiting to take your order. He waits, with a patient smile on his face, while you blink dumbly at him.
What did you say? What did he say?
“I… um.” You’re sure you look completely out of it. Your eyes flick nervously up at the menu, that you still can’t fucking read. Shelly’s already gone to sit down with her sundae, the traitor.
“It’s kind of hard to understand, isn’t it?” Steve says quietly after a moment, dropping the phony customer service charade. “I hate it. I think we should just be able to say what our favorite ice cream flavor is and be done with it.”
“Yeah,” you murmur, still squinting up at the menu. Blackbeard’s Delight: blackberry swirl with blueberry syrup and a gold doubloon. “The fuck is a doubloon?”
Steve snorts, and reaches under the counter before bringing back a handful of gold foil-covered chocolate coins, which he dumps into your outstretched hand. “You want more? We get them wholesale.”
“I’m good,” you giggle, juggling the chocolate coins before they go cascading to the floor. “I think… I don’t… I don’t understand a thing on that menu.”
“What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?” He leans forward to ask you, like it's a secret. Just between the two of you. His head bent a little to peer at you closely, so close that you can count the freckles on his skin.
You glance over your shoulder. Shelly is seated by the far wall, under a painting of a kraken, giving you an indignant look. When she notices you looking, she mouths an emphatic, ‘LET’S GO!’
“Don’t tell anyone,” you whisper, and Steve affects his gravest expression as he nods. “Strawberry.”
“A classic,” he grins. “Fan of sprinkles?”
“I can dig a few sprinkles.”
“Perfect. I think we have something up your alley.” He grabs a scooper out of the bin and twirls it once, just to show off. “Sex on the Beach.”
“What?” You don’t remember seeing anything about that on the menu.
He glances up to smirk at you before shrugging. “It’s strawberry ice cream with peach syrup. You’ll see.”
You keep an eye on his hands behind the glass partition, watching them put two scoops of strawberry into a medium sized carton. Completely unable to rein in your thoughts before they get away from you, you’re thinking about how good they would feel under your shirt. You follow a treasure map of freckles trailing up his arms, disappearing under the blue sailor’s shirt he wears. You want to kiss every single one of them.
You finally reply, “I guess I have to put my faith in your professional ice cream slinging abilities.”
“Oh, haven’t you heard?” Steve mutters sardonically as he squirts peach syrup across the two scoops of ice cream, giving it a golden sheen. “I’m the king of cream.”
You purse your lips as it takes Steve a second to realize what he just said. When he does, he snaps his head up to meet your eye in horror.
He opens his mouth to take it back, but you shake your head, holding back laughter. “Don’t ruin it.”
“I think it’s pretty much ruined already.” He turns crimson, blushing down at the half-made sundae as he rapidly shakes yellow sprinkles onto it. “I was doing so good, too.”
“Who says you aren’t still?” You give him a cute smile when he looks up through his lashes at you, still arranging toppings on the sundae. You’re not sure what happened between prom and now to change him so much, but it’s almost as if he’s… goofy. He’s less concerned with appearances, he’s more laid back and willing to make fun of himself.
You like it a lot.
You watch him plop two maraschinos onto one ice cream mound, and wedge a candied orange slice into the other, inverted, to look like a setting sun. As he passes it over the counter to you, he says, “Here you go, one Sex on the Beach. On the house.”
“What? No, I couldn’t-”
“I mean it. For overlooking my stupidity,” Steve insists. He gives you a meaningful look when he adds, “A million times over.”
“I’m not overlooking anything when it comes to you, Steve,” you tell him fondly, and drop one of the doubloons into the tip jar. It’s gaudy, gleaming artificially gold in the middle of the crumpled up dollar bills. “Hang onto that. You might be able to cash it in for a kiss someday.”
Steve blinks rapidly, leaning across the counter as you walk away. “After you come back from Chicago, right?”
You look over your shoulder, and you wink at him.
When you finally stop in front of Shelly, and you use your plastic spoon to dig into the adorable sundae that Steve crafted for you, you remember that you’d gone up to the counter with every intention of ignoring Steve and acting like you didn’t even know him.
You winked at Steve Harrington. You said you’d kiss him. You think back to the girl who was so afraid of Steve even noticing her, almost a year ago, and wonder where she went.
You look down at Shelly. She’d graduated a year before you, so she wasn’t there to witness every blunderous interaction you’d had with Steve in school. You never told her how in love you were with him.
Now, she looks up at you coyly. “So. Steve Harrington, huh?”
“Shut up,” you grunt, looking up and out at the food court outside of the Scoops Ahoy storefront. “As if you know everything.”
“Are you gonna try to make something out of that…” she gestures vaguely with her spoon toward the counter, “before school starts?”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” you say honestly, still poking at your sundae. “Anyways, I leave too soon for anything to really happen. What- I screw him tomorrow and then fuck off forever? It’s just wishful thinking, probably.” You finally take a bite of the ice cream, just to punctuate your sentence.
“Hm. Probably. How is that?” Shelly nods at the ice cream in your hand. “Looks pretty.”
“It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” You’re being honest. Something about the peach syrup with the strawberry base literally evokes the flavor of a sunset. “They should give him a raise.”
Humming, Shelly stands and takes her half-eaten sundae. She nudges you in the direction of the door. “C’mon. We’ve gotta eat these before the next showing of The Breakfast Club.”
Steve watches you and your friend leave, with the wistful gaze of someone who just watched their greatest opportunity walk away from them. He never knew that it was possible to hate an entire geographic location, but he really wishes Chicago would get blown off the map in the next 24 hours.
The wooden partition doors slam open, and Robin’s head appears in the window to the kitchen. “The cream king? Do you want me to actually hurl?”
“I said, ‘the king of cream,’” he groans, digging his knuckles into his eye sockets. “Kill me, Robin. Load me into the freezer. Bury me at the fairground.”
“You think you’re valuable enough to displace that much ice cream?” Robin rolls her eyes, and with another loud thwack, her white board appears in the space behind her. “We don’t make anything called Sex on the Beach. This is a family establishment.”
“I made it up.”
Robin coos, “Aww. Be still my heart. You love her to the point of invention.”
Steve whirls around. “Love? Who said anything about love?”
“I did.” Robin uncaps her dry-erase marker and draws a tally mark under the side that reads, you rule.
“Uh, Robin,” Steve snaps, pointing at the board condescendingly. “I think you put that on the wrong side. I fucked it up.”
“Dingus. Please. As much as it makes me gag- and you know I gain immense pleasure from counting how often you screw up- I could practically hear her heart eyes.” She sets the white board down, begrudgingly. “I think you found the only girl alive who’ll find all this-” she waves her hand at him, “endearing. Who was she? Some ex of yours?”
“If only,” Steve sighs, shaking his head. When he turns back to the counter, his eyes land on the single chocolate coin glinting in the tip jar.
He scoops it up with two fingers and pockets it.
You won’t believe half the things I see inside my head. Wait ‘til you see half the things that haven’t happened yet…
Family Video, March 1986
The air conditioning nearly blasts you backwards into the parking lot. You don’t know why they need it blasting so hard at 7pm, in the middle of March. It’s not like it’s the height of summer- your spring break takes place earlier than the local school’s, but it just means that you get to beat the crowds when you come home to visit your family.
Of course, they love to send you to run errands. You end up picking up the groceries, and the housewares, and, on this occasion, the choices for family movie night.
This Family Video’s selection isn’t necessarily as extensive as the ones in Chicago, but it’s good enough. You enter the store, and it dumps you directly in front of a cardboard cutout of Phoebe Cates about to flash you. Family friendly entertainment, and all.
The TV in the corner is running the final scene of The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly- Ennio Morricone’s score plays dramatically into the empty store. There’s no one behind the counter currently, so you pull the list of videos your extended family members had all requested. The Breakfast Club. Camelot. The Birds. Pretty general selections for your family, but it seems like you’ll have to hunt them up on your own.
You’re wandering down the romance aisle, since The Breakfast Club was nowhere on the new releases or comedy shelves, when someone finally emerges from the back room. You see a flash of a head moving toward the front counter from over the top of a rack, and you take it as your chance to ask for help.
“Excuse me? Do you guys have any copies of The Breakfast Club, or-”
You stop short, choking on your words. Steve Harrington turns around to look at you, carrying a stack of VHS tapes perched under his chin, and holding a folded up piece of paper between his teeth.
You stare each other down for a second, before Steve gracefully spits the paper over his shoulder and onto the counter. “Hey, um… long time, no see?”
“I’d say.” You tilt your head. Funny how quickly your eyes will hone in on his lips, like searching for a target every time. “We always seem to run into each other like this. What happened to the ice cream gig?”
“Starcourt burned down,” Steve says, plopping the stack of VHS tapes down on the counter beside the paper he spit out. “Right around the Fourth of July, last summer.”
“So, right after I last saw you?”
Steve smirks to himself before he turns back to you. “Yeah. Like, a week or so after. Did you manage to burn the place down, after all?”
“I wish.”
You pause, taking the time to size him up. It’s amazing what the better part of a year will do to someone, inside and out. With a striped shirt and green vest, he looks much more relaxed and casual than he had at Scoops Ahoy. His hair’s a little longer, his eyes a little darker as they rake over you, in return.
You’re a little bit desperate to see what’s going on in his head, if it’s anything like what’s happening in yours.
You wish you could say that you tried to seek him out when you got back to town- a year ago, maybe you would have. But you’d pretty much given up on the idea of him, moving up to dating college boys who don’t string you along, who don’t wait until the last minute to finally try their hand at flirting with you. If he ever passed through your mind, it was with the attached hope that he’d found greener pastures than Hawkins, Indiana. Foolishly, you hoped that as long as you told yourself that he’d moved on, it would be true. And then maybe what could have been wouldn’t matter anymore.
You’d stepped back into Hawkins after half a year of college, the graveyard of all hope in your happily ever after, and you hadn’t even thought of Steve Harrington. Except, seeing him now, everything comes flooding back. All the days spent pining over him. All the close brushes you’d had with finally getting the ending you wanted.
You have to be honest. “You look good, Steve. You always do.”
Steve chuckles, tilting his chin down as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his light wash jeans. “Better without the sailor costume, right?”
“Aww, I liked the sailor costume.” You step closer so you can whisper, “I thought it was sexy.”
Steve peers down his nose at you, drawing himself up to tower above you at his full height. He tries to look unaffected, but you can see his ears glowing pink beneath wisps of golden highlights. “Watch it. You’re gonna give me an ego.”
“We don’t want that, do we?” You unfold the list of movies you’re here to collect, holding it up to him between two fingers. “Got any of these movies?”
Steve reads the short list, and nods to himself. “I know we have Camelot, but I’m not sure about The Breakfast Club. Let me check in the back?”
“I’ll be here.”
“All right- don’t get up to any trouble, though. I’ve got my eye on you.” He points at you coolly, feigning an authoritative expression. He tries to hide his smile, but the creases around his eyes give him away.
“I hope you do.” You try to appear casual as you breeze past him, but you have to fiddle with your jacket collar to hide their shaking. Still, you feel the sweep of his gaze on you like rays of sun on your skin. It frightens you how easily you can fall back into the old back-and-forth routine you established in high school- how he gets you to say things you never meant to voice, but that live in your head effortlessly.
Steve watches you disappear down the drama aisle before he takes in a huge breath of air and bolts toward the back room. Any and all coolness he was performing disappears like so much smoke. Slamming open the door, he nearly shouts, “Do you have a doubloon?!”
Robin startles, swinging around in her seat, looking away from her computer screen. “A what? Why are you yelling?”
“A doubloon, a f-fucking-” Steve looks quickly over his shoulder, out the door, and starts hunching over as he whispers, “a chocolate coin. Like one of those ones we had at Scoops, remember?”
“Why do you want a chocolate coin?” Robin squints at him. “Stop crouching like that, you look like Nosferatu.”
Steve hisses through his teeth, and he’s got a frantic edge to his expression that Robin doesn’t like. “Okay- remember that girl, the one who showed up at Scoops that time, and you gave me my one and only ‘You Rule’ tally?”
“No.”
“Great. Well, she’s here, and she told me if I gave her one of those chocolate coins she’d kiss me.” Steve shoves his hands through his hair, mussing up the already disheveled style. “Please, Rob, I can’t let her get away again. I’ve done it, like, a thousand times already.”
“Okay, Romeo,” Robin humors him, turning around in her seat. “So you’re saying this babe, who I very much don’t remember because you always struck out while we worked at Scoops, told you that if you bribed her with chocolate she’d kiss you?”
“Yes.”
“And you don’t think she was maybe joking?”
Steve opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water. Truthfully, he hadn’t. He’d overlooked the idea that, after everything that had happened between you, you might just be joking about kissing him.
“You know you could use your actual charm to get a girl to kiss you?” Robin dips her chin, shaking her head like it’s obvious.
Steve frowns. As if he hasn’t already tried that. “Do you have any chocolate coins or not?”
Robin sighs exasperatedly. “I don’t think I’ve seen one of those things since we worked at Scoops. Sorry, bud. You’re out of luck.”
“FUCK!” Steve’s hand smacks the door as he heads out of the back room, making Robin scowl after him. She shakes her head as she turns back to her work.
Back out on the sales floor, the credits to The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly have finished, and white noise fills the empty space. Steve turns in a circle by the checkout counter, searching for you among the aisles.
Where did you disappear to, this time? A part of him dreads the answer. He was the one who fucked everything up- he shouldn’t have chickened out when he had the chance. He should have asked you to that fucking prom, but he was too scared to commit after what happened with Nancy.
If this is his last chance, he needs to make it count.
He coughs into the dead air, and says, “Looks like we’re all out of The Breakfast Club.” There’s a disconcerting amount of silence that leaves him cold, almost certain that you’ve left already, for the last time.
Then, you appear from behind the red curtain to the adult videos section.
Oh.
“Everything okay?” you ask sweetly as you approach, holding a couple tapes that you must have picked up while you shopped around. “I heard some yelling back there.”
“Oh, yeah. Just, uh… shelving issues.” Steve backs his way behind the counter. He repeats, “Sorry, I couldn’t find the movie for you.”
“I heard. I’m not worried about it.” You plop the tapes that you did find on the counter. “It was nice of you to look for me. Thanks, Steve.”
“Always.” Steve starts scanning your tapes; it looks like you managed to find the other films on your list, along with one for yourself. From the adult section.
You watch in amusement as you can see the cogs visibly turning in Steve’s head, while he stares at the front of the porn video you picked. Spring Break Sex Party II. Not that you’d ever seen the first one, but the cover of this one was suggestive enough- a bunch of drunk people naked on a beach, lying in a great big pile. Looks like fun, in your opinion.
You always love seeing Steve blush. The prettiest shade of pink colors his cheeks before he glances up at you. “Should I ask…?”
“It’s the closest thing to getting a Sex on the Beach, here.”
Steve chokes, and he scrambles for a response to that. “I- I was gonna ask for an I.D.”
“You know we’re the same age,” you deadpan.
“Y-yeah. I, uh- I know… I know that.” He hangs his head and pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyes tightly shut.
You wonder if this is what you looked like to him, that time in the hallway when he loitered by the fountain to talk to you. “Breathe, Steve.”
A blast of laughter leaves his mouth before he can swallow it. If only you knew how hard it actually is, to act like he’s not just fucking melting right in front of you. When he hangs on every word you say, and every other thought he has is about how badly he wants to tell Robin to get lost and take you in the back room. You don’t know how much he’s fixating on your curves and how they’d feel against him, how much he wants to taste every inch of your body. He’s practically vibrating in place with all his pent up frustration, and you’re here buying porn, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
Steve clears his throat, shakes his head. Christ. “Okay, well. You know that this is a sale item, it’s not for rent. You can return it within 10 days as long as the packaging hasn’t been opened.”
“I know.”
“Okay.” He’s still nodding as he puts it into the bag with the rest of your rentals.
“Are you always this affected by people buying from the adult section?” you ask mildly.
“Nah, usually I don’t care,” he replies without thinking.
“Good to know that you care about my taste in pornography,” you tell him with the most shit eating grin on your face, taking the bag from him. “I’m flattered.”
He makes a clumsy noise in the back of his throat, somewhere between a laugh and a grunt. He’s right back to working at Scoops Ahoy, fumbling every attempt at flirting, losing his cool at the sight of a pretty girl. It’s… humbling.
He’s sure Robin would say that he can always use more humility.
“It was good to see you again, Steve.” And just like that, you’re sand slipping through the cracks in his fingers.
Desperately, he tries to block the flow, closing his fingers around you in an attempt to keep you in his grasp. “Do you- uh-” He lurches forward, white-knuckling the counter like his life depends on it. You turn back towards him, an eyebrow raised at his sudden outburst.
You’re back in the school hallway, senior year. Crying over Logan Sawyer. Harrington is up against the wall by the drinking fountain. You want him to just say the words and ask you to prom.
“I mean… if you have the time, while you’re in town… do you want to go for a cup of coffee? With me?”
“Oh, Steve.” You sigh, and it’s the most heartbreaking noise he’s ever heard in his life. Soft sand, falling through his fingers, disappearing back the way you came. He already dreads your answer before it comes. “I wish… you know, if I had come in here and met you about a week ago, I would have said yes in a heartbeat. But I have to catch the train back to Chicago tomorrow. My break’s almost up.” You offer him a reassuring smile. “I’m just glad that you didn’t completely miss me, at least.”
“Right, of course.” Steve smiles back at you, feeling more like an idiot the longer this drags on. He’s like Sisyphus rolling that rock up the fucking hill. “I… I’m glad I got to see you, too. Maybe next time.”
Oh, it hurts. It hurts way more than you thought it would, to have to turn Steve down- after all the years pining for him through high school, after the time you turned him away when he would have kissed you. You think about kissing him, now. He would let you do it- he’s asking you out, and he looks so sad that you’re saying no.
You could. But wouldn’t it make saying goodbye this time even harder than it already is?
“Yeah. Maybe next time,” you tell him. You don’t want this to hurt more than it does. You truly hope there’s a next time, another year down the line when you run into him over winter break. Maybe you’ll find him at the Radio Shack.
Steve watches you leave, once again. Fumbling his chance, again. When the door swings shut behind you, Steve bends at the waist and drops his head against the countertop.
Typical Harrington. Late to the party, miss the girl.
“Well. That was… really painful to listen to.” Robin emerges from behind one of the shelves, crossing her arms. Gently, she adds, “On the bright side, I don’t think the chocolate coin would have mattered.”
Steve picks his head up, and he thwacks his forehead back down onto the counter.
And again.
And again.
And I can see you being my addiction, you can see me as a secret mission. Hide away, and I will start behaving myself…
Sur La Table Restaurant, Chicago, April 1991
You shake your umbrella out as you step into the warm foyer of, quite possibly, the most upscale restaurant you’ve ever set foot in. The carpet is deep, blood red, the walls a dark chestnut wood. The white covered tables are each spotlit within the otherwise dark dining room, and the atmosphere is flavored by soft piano and the quiet din of hushed voices.
You had been hesitant to accept Theo’s invitation to dinner- he seemed too stuck up for your taste, but when Shelly introduced you to him, you had to admit that the name of the restaurant piqued your interest. Sur La Table. Chicago’s premiere Michelin Star restaurant.
As you hand your umbrella over to the coat check clerk, you’re greeted by a smiling hostess. “What’s the name for the reservation?”
“Um… Theo Bowman. I believe he’s already here?”
“Yes, ma’am. Right this way.”
Theo stands as you’re shown to the table. Tall, with dark hair and a wide smile, he reminds you of someone you knew once, but you just can’t seem to place it. Then, when he towers over you to shake your hand, standing far closer than necessary, you’re able to pick it out from the recesses of your mind.
Logan Sawyer.
“You look nice,” Theo says pleasantly, and you chalk up your initial comparison to nerves, on your part. You don’t often let friends set you up on dates, so you’re a little bit out of your element as it is.
As you go to sit down, you admit, “I was so glad when you picked this place, I’ve always wanted to eat here, since I moved to Chicago.”
“It’s not the nicest place I’ve been,” Theo shrugs, taking the seat across from you.
Your smile falters, for a second. “Oh, no?” The water has already been brought to the table, you guess while he was waiting for you. You take a long drink.
“Nah, I’ve been to Le Bernardin, in New York. That’s fine dining.” Theo waves his hand at the upscale dining room. “This is… okay.”
“I see.” You lift your menu, hoping that he’ll do the same.
“Yeah, New York is so much nicer than Chicago, in my opinion,” Theo continues, fiddling with his napkin as he talks. “There’s a lot more to do. Have you ever been?”
You hope this is just his nerves talking. “No.”
Theo keeps talking as you stare at the menu in front of you, at a loss. It’s an a la carte menu, clearly, but extensive and all in french. Salade de poires pochées. Coquilles Saint-Jacques Gratineés. Filet au poivre vert. You’re scrutinizing the fine print of what all the dishes include when your waiter steps up to the table. You know when it happens, because Theo finally stops blathering about New York.
You break your eyes away from the menu to glance at the server’s waistline, at eye level with you. He wears a crisply pressed suit and tie, his hands clasped in front of his belt.
“Good evening sir, ma’am,” the server says in a hushed tone, to keep the volume of the dining room down. “Welcome to Sur La Table. I’m Steven, I’ll be serving you this evening. Before we begin, are there any questions about the menu?”
You peer up into the darkness to try to see Steven’s face. He’s standing just outside of the spotlight over the table, only able to be dimly lit from the indirect light reflecting from the tablecloth. Once your eyes adjust, they lock onto a pair of familiar hazel ones.
Oh my fucking god.
It’s got to be fate, or kismet, or some force of nature that keeps bringing you together like this. Steve Harrington’s face hasn’t changed in five years. Maybe he looks just slightly older, a little more filled out in his suit and tie. His hair is a bit shorter at the back but still that same shade of golden brown, neatly groomed and tidy for the formal atmosphere- but you can see it being tousled on his off days, still flopping across his eyes in waves. And those are the same lips you dreamt about kissing, the same eyes you admired in the school hallway, the same nose that you always wanted to grind o-
“No, I think we’re ready to order,” Theo announces, louder than necessary. You throw your gaze at him, your eyebrows raising despite your best efforts to remain calm.
Is he really going to order for you? Just like that?
“Well, I was going to ask-” you begin, wanting to get a little more specification on how the filet is made, when Theo cuts you off.
“It’s okay, I speak French,” he insists. Not that it makes a difference to what your question was.
You press your lips together in irritation and glance at Steve, who looks back at you stoically. You wonder if he recognizes you like you do him- it’s been long enough, and you’re sure that you look a bit different than you did the last time you saw him. And then you notice the creases around his eyes.
He’s playing it off well enough, sure. But Steve is doing that same look that he did there in the Family Video five years ago, trying to pretend that he’s not affected by you, swallowing back his smile. He sends you a knowing look that says, What a fucking douchebag, am I right?
Suddenly, this date just got way more entertaining. You give Steve a minute roll of your eyes, only enough for him to notice. Tell me about it.
“We’ll start with the Bordeaux,” Theo is already reciting to Steve as you settle back in your seat. Steve pulls a little notepad out of his jacket pocket and begins writing. “For an appetizer, the coquilles. Then for the main, I’ll have the canard montmorency, and she’ll have the mignons de veau.”
You watch Steve’s hand pause as he’s writing, and he looks to you. He raises his eyebrow, saying everything he needs to with the one gesture. Is that what you really want? “The veal?”
“No,” you say, digging your thumbnail into your palm, where it rests on your lap. “Actually, I wanted to ask about the filet. What brandy is the sauce made with?”
Steve smiles, leaning a little bit closer to you. “We use Courvoisier.”
“Great. I’ll have that, please.”
Steve nods encouragingly at you. As he jots down the order, he says, “Wonderful. I’ll get this to the kitchen for you, but before I can bring you the wine, I’ll just need to see the lady’s I.D.”
“Are you serious?” Theo snaps.
“It’s all right,” you murmur, hiding your face as you dip your head to fish your I.D. out of your clutch. “He’s just doing his job. Right, Steven?”
Steve meets your eye as he takes the card from your hand. “You can never be too careful.” You watch him smirk as he looks over your I.D., his eyes lingering on your name for a second before he hands it back to you. If there was any doubt in his mind that you are who he thought, it’s gone now. “Interesting. We’re the same age.”
You laugh. Probably a little louder than is respectable, but you can’t help it. Leave it to Steve Harrington to remind you of the time you bought porn from him, while you’re on a date.
You watch Steve write something else on his notepad, and rip the page out before folding it up. He tucks his notepad into his pocket as he says, “I’ll get this started for you. I hope you enjoy your evening.”
“Thank you, Steven,” you offer just as he starts to walk away.
Steve shoots you a sideways glance. “Always.”
Your heartbeat pounds in your chest as you turn back to your date. Theo looks disgruntled, but he just lifts his water to his lips.
“So,” you begin, “what do you do?”
“Marketing manager,” Theo says, with a click of his tongue. “For Bowman Wine & Spirits.”
“Oh,” you nod. “No relation, I suppose?”
“My father owns the company.”
“Right.” God, help me.
Across the dining room, Steve watches you over his shoulder. His jaw sets as he sees you, the girl of his literal dreams, sitting across from some idiot who doesn’t even know that you don’t order for your date without asking her what she wants first, you fucking weasel.
That’s all right. You seem to have the situation under control, for now. Steve watches you calmly sip your water, staring at your date but not listening to a thing he’s saying.
Steve sighs. He’s never been much of a schemer, but he’ll just make sure that you won’t leave with this guy if you don’t want to.
His fingers brush the note in his pocket, and he pinches it just as he passes the front of house manager, Taryn. Without breaking stride, he slips the note into her hand, heading toward the back hallway and down to the wine cellar.
As Steve passes by, Taryn unfolds the note he slips her, and raises one eyebrow at the request he’s written.
I can see you in your suit and your necktie, pass me a note saying, “Meet me tonight.” Then we kissed and you know I won’t ever tell…
Overall, you enjoy Sur La Table immensely. The restaurant itself, anyways. The wine is wonderful. The atmosphere is great. The food is exquisite.
You’re about to jump the waiter’s bones.
Theo got his second wind sometime after the scallops arrived, and you think he hasn’t paused for breath since. You’ve been calmly eating your food, while Theo tells you literally everything about himself. It’s the best case scenario you can see happening on this date. You enjoy the food, mumble a non-committal acknowledgement now and then, and Theo entertains himself with his own voice the rest of the time.
You’re gonna kill Shelly for setting you up with him, but that’s tomorrow’s problem.
Right now, you’re focused on finishing your glass of wine while he talks about camping, of all things.
“So we got up into the Rockies,” he’s telling you, gesturing with his hands like it’ll make you more engaged. “We ended up freezing our keisters off. No joke, I have frostbite scars.”
“That’s, um… that sounds like fun.”
“No, are you listening? I mean, it was terrible. We couldn’t move for, like, two days. And when the snow stopped we were so tired and cold, we almost died.”
You knock back the rest of your wine with one gulp, and say with a sticky voice, “Wow. A near death experience must have been really scary, I’m sorry.”
Theo frowns. “No- I mean… It wasn’t… it wasn’t near death-”
“You just said-”
“It was more like a serious inconvenience, you know. But we pulled through. I wasn’t scared. A little snow isn’t gonna kill me,” he laughs incredulously. “It was just-”
Theo stops as Steve approaches the table. You catch him giving the back of Theo’s head the most murderous look imaginable before slowing to a stop and plastering an easy customer service smile in its place. “How did you find everything this evening?”
“It was fine.”
“The food was wonderful,” you tell Steve reassuringly. Your date, on the other hand…
“Yeeeah, could we get the check, please?” Theo asks, finally looking up at Steve.
You watch Steve’s brow twitch, such a small movement you could have imagined it. “Certainly. But first-” from behind his back, he reveals two white gift boxes and places them on the table in front of you and your date, respectively. “We like to give each of our customers a signature chocolate truffle, as a token of our appreciation.”
Everything in you aches. “Oh, that’s nice. Thank you so much.” You look down at the box in adoration, thinking for a second that it might be the only time in your life that Steve Harrington gives you something similar to a ring box.
“I’ll be sure to have our hostess come through with the check,” Steve adds delicately, making a gracious exit. His finger just slightly brushes your arm as he passes by- a dangerous move, but one that nearly electrifies your entire body at the single touch. You shiver as he says, “Have a lovely night.”
You watch Steve walk away from you, and your heart sinks into your stomach. You want to chase after him. The 18 year old you, who almost kissed him on prom night, is trying to claw its way out of your skin and bolt after him.
When Steve disappears from view, you have nowhere to look but at your date. Theo opens the white box in front of him and pops a neapolitan colored truffle into his mouth. “Well, that was underwhelming.”
You don’t want to watch him chewing anymore, like a cow gnawing on grass. You sigh, running a frustrated hand across your forehead, and flip open the box in front of you. The top of it rears up like a clam shell, and you freeze, your fingertips suddenly sticking to the sweat beading on your brow.
You don’t have a neapolitan truffle- you have a single golden chocolate coin. You stare at it in shock for a second before you even notice the note pasted to the lid of the box.
Meet me outside- the door past the bathrooms.
“Aren’t you gonna eat yours?” Theo asks suddenly, as the hostess approaches holding the check.
Your eyes snap up just as your heart shoots back up into your chest. “I think I’m gonna save it for later.” You flash him a smile as you close the box swiftly and shove it into your clutch. “Do you mind if I hit the bathroom real quick?”
“No, go ahead. I’ve got it.” Honestly, it’s the kindest thing he’s done for you all night. You might have to thank him some day.
Once you’re out of your seat, you chase after Steve like a shot. Around a block of tables and into a tiled corridor, you walk past the kitchen doorway just as another server comes backing out, carrying a tray of dishes.
There’s a door at the end of the hall, labeled exit. You never actually thought you’d be escaping a bad date through the back door; the notion was too clichéed, you thought that sort of thing only happened in movies. But you find yourself nearly running past the men’s and women’s bathrooms, until your hands slam down on the bar of the back door and thrust it open into the wind.
The rain has picked up, more of a downpour than a light drizzle now. In your haste, you’d left your umbrella and coat with the coat check. Not that it would have been at all discrete if you’d gone to collect it before running towards the bathrooms.
The door clicks shut behind you, and you gaze around in the dark. The alley behind the restaurant is only partially lit by a yellow street lamp, making it even more difficult to find him than it was in the dining room. “Steve?”
You catch movement in the corner of your eye, and turn in the direction of the street lamp. Steve stands up from where he’d been sitting on an overturned crate- apparently the only accommodations the restaurant staff gets during a smoke break. The rain has already soaked into his hair, messing up the tidy style and turning it stringy, falling across his forehead, shining gold in the yellow light. He takes one last puff of the cigarette in his mouth before tossing it into the gutter, and he looks at you.
He sees you. And it’s all you’ve wanted since the day he first walked into your geography class, freshman year of high school. There’s been some kind of a magnetic pull between you two for years. Something keeps bringing you together, it’s just never been the right time. Until now.
Finally, you’re running towards him, and Steve’s arms finally come around you, pulling you against his body. Your hands find the back of his neck just in time for his lips to crash against yours.
You had lost count of the amount of times you watched him kiss other girls in the hallway in high school- not just Nancy, but any and every girl he attached himself to (for a while, it seemed like he couldn’t make up his mind who he was dating at any given moment). All you knew was that it was never you, and you wanted it to be so desperately that it consumed your mind half the time. He looked like a good kisser, and you fantasized about going up to him and testing that theory for yourself.
But you never expected that his lips would slide over yours with an urgency that you could feel through to your very core, probably even more desperate for your kiss than you are for his. Steve’s fingertips press into your body through the thin fabric of your dress, holding you firmly to him like he’s afraid you might disappear on him again if he doesn’t absorb you completely. Your mouth opens with a soft gasp, and Steve’s tongue against yours tastes like tobacco.
It happens so fast that you can’t even think- and you don’t really want to. You’re tired of thinking everything through, finding reasons upon reasons why it’s not a good time, why it’s a bad idea, why it won’t work. He moans into you, grabbing the side of your face as he stumbles with you to the wall, pressing you up against the side of the brick building.
You meet his moan with a whimper of your own as his hand slides down over the curve of your ass, and he hikes up the skirt of your dress to grab at your skin with abandon. There’s a ferocity in Steve’s kiss that you don’t know what to do with, like he’s trying to stake a claim to you right there in the rain, with no one around to see it happen but the moths in the street light overhead. Not that he needs to- he’s already got you. You already chose him.
Steve gives you room to breathe with a soft sigh, his forehead resting against yours. “Been wanting to do that since high school,” he admits, just loud enough for you to hear, before pressing a featherlight kiss just beside your mouth, and again to your cheek.
“Y-you fffucking-?” you gasp when he latches his lips around a sweet spot on your neck and sucks. “I had such a huge crush on you, Steve.”
“I know. I- I should have- I should…” Steve drops his head against your shoulder and groans when your nails rake against his scalp. “Fuck.”
He grinds his hips up against yours, biting your lip as the hard length of his cock presses up against your core. “Gonna fuck me in this alleyway, Harrington?”
“I’m seriously considering it,” he growls into your ear. His lips find yours again with a passion, his hand holding your jaw still. A hot breath escapes him, pouring over your skin and making you shiver. You’re lightheaded, so close to just letting him do it, too, when the back door of the restaurant swings open.
Steve still takes a second to pull away, a little too absorbed in kissing you to really care who sees him do it. If he had his way, he’d have everyone see that you’re his- that you belong with him, and have for a long time. He finally glances over his shoulder to see one of the cooks, Liam, walking off in the direction of the employee parking lot.
“Where did you get the fucking doubloon?” you whisper into his ear, sounding so fucking adorable that Steve can’t help the lovesick look he gives you.
He brushes his nose against yours. “I sent my manager on a treasure hunt.” You giggle, pressing your forehead up against his, and he can’t help but chuckle along with you. “I wanted to give you one at Family Video, that time.”
“I know,” you say, and he pulls back to look at your face. “I heard you yelling at your coworker in the back room.”
Steve snickers and turns red with embarrassment, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You run your fingers through his rain-soaked hair, a content smile on your face as you feel him grin against your skin and shake with laughter. “Take me home, Steve.”
You don’t have to ask him twice.
What would you do, baby, if you only knew? That I can see you throw your jacket on the floor, I can see you make me want you even more…
The drive to Steve’s apartment downtown is made with light conversation and the heavy, heavy weight of his hand on your thigh, creeping up further with each mile. But aside from the implication of sex hanging in the air, it’s as easy as breathing, chatting about the night with him. Shitting on Theo.
“Did you notice the way he said coquilles,” Steve murmurs to you at a red light. “I thought he was gagging on something. He was just trying to impress you, you know.”
You grunt. Could’ve tried a little harder. “He didn’t even like them. He said he didn’t like shellfish,” you laugh in return as you lace your fingers through Steve’s. “Why the fuck would you order scallops, then?”
“The price.”
“The price.”
It’s sweet, talking to him all the way to his apartment building, just catching up like old friends. He tells you that he’s going to culinary school now, and he’s been working at the restaurant for a little over a year, just to pay the bills.
“Culinary school? Really?” you say, with a note of awe in your voice.
“Turns out I’m really fucking good at cooking,” Steve chuckles. “Who’d have thought? Maybe someday I’ll stop waiting tables and work back there in the kitchen.”
“I can see it,” you tell him softly. “I can see you being the world’s best chef. Three stars and everything.”
He scoffs, but a pink blush creeps up the back of his neck. “You have too much faith in me.”
“Those are fighting words, Harrington.” You wag your finger at him. “Throwing down the gauntlet?”
“You just want me to cook you something,” Steve tuts.
“Absolutely, I do.” You consider him for a moment, in the passing light of a streetlamp. “Am I that transparent?”
Steve tilts his head to eye you meaningfully, and he smirks. “Always have been, honey.” His thumb rubs a little circle on your thigh that has you squirming in your seat.
The first thing you see of Steve’s apartment is the kitchen, and beyond that the dormant living room, but you don’t get that far before you’re sidetracked. Steve throws his keys onto a drop station by the door, and pins you up against the refrigerator before you can even think to ask where to put your shoes.
Your clothes are still damp, your hair still pasted to your clammy skin. Steve’s lips are attacking yours and his hands are grabbing at everything he can touch, but it’s still not enough. He’s not able to feel all of you at once, and it’s driving him insane with every passing moment.
Steve roughly yanks his suit jacket off, throwing it onto the tile floor beside the kitchen island. “Lay down.”
“What?” you whisper to him as he kisses your neck, guiding you away from the side of the fridge. “Here?”
“Right here,” Steve states, not joking in the slightest. You wobble on your feet as you kick off your heels, but his hands on your hips keep you steady. “Been waiting too long for this- can’t wait anymore.”
“I- wwhuh-?” you gasp as Steve kneels in front of you, and your knees buckle involuntarily as he lays you down across his discarded jacket. Your hands grab his shoulders as you tumble backward, taking him with you.
He face-plants into your stomach with a noisy, “Oof.” Cackling, you run your fingers through his damp hair, as he laughs and shoves his blushing face further against your torso. Steve litters your stomach with kisses, giggling against you with a note of nervous energy. He’s adorable.
You pet your fingers down the side of his face and he leans into the touch. “Can’t even wait long enough to take me to the bedroom?”
“Well, I would have fucked you in the alley,” Steve points out as his fingers breach the hem of your skirt and find your panties. He tugs as he says, “Be thankful I even got you home.”
Your cheeks burn hot. You fidget, trying to press your thighs together to abate the throbbing ache between them. “Careful, baby. You’re starting to sound desperate.”
Steve pauses, his hazel eyes lighting up when they lock on yours. “Call me that again,” he requests, pressing a kiss to your ankle as he pulls your panties off your feet. He tosses them over his shoulder, but you don’t see where they land as he continues peppering kisses down your calf.
You hold his gaze. “Baby?” His eyes flutter, his lips parting as they drag up toward your knee. “You like when I call you that?”
“I like when you call me anything,” Steve admits. “But as long as you call me that, it means I’m yours.”
Your breath stutters in your chest. Steve Harrington is yours. It doesn’t matter if it’s just for tonight- what matters is that you have him now, and he wants you just as badly.
“You’re mine, aren’t you?” he murmurs quietly against your skin, his voice crackling with brimming need. He’s flushed, his cheeks pink and his hair drying in tousled waves over his forehead the longer he drags this out.
Nodding your head, you reach down to lace your fingers through his, where they’re bunching your skirt up around your hips. “Yes, Steve.” Always have been.
He turns his head and sucks a spot on your calf, just below your knee, resting your ankle over his shoulder. Still, despite your desperation, you nervously keep your thighs pinched together.
Steve tuts, “C’mon, baby, you’ve gotta spread your legs for me. You wanna let me see that pretty pussy, right?”
Still clammy and cold with rain, the air on your exposed skin makes you shiver almost as much as his sweeping hands do when they gently part your thighs. You let go, let him take control as you still and keep your eyes focused on his face, because looking anywhere else would remind you that this is real, and not a dream.
Steve sighs, “There she is. Y’gonna let me taste you, sweetheart?” He bats his pretty eyes at you in a way that makes your heart stop dead in your chest. He can’t keep his mouth off of you, even for a moment, his lips and slight stubble dragging across your skin as he says, “Been wanting to forever, you won’t even believe-”
“Please, Steve,” you start to beg before he even finishes his sentence. “Please, my god, I- I just- I just want you so much-”
“Sh-sh-sh-shh.” His tongue licks wet and hot against your inner thigh before he whispers, “I’ve got you, baby. M’not going anywhere, I’m staying right here ‘til you cum.”
You’re instantly hot all over, your blood fucking boiling beneath your skin and your wet dinner dress. Steve’s fingers dig into the meat of your thighs as he yanks you toward his face, the fabric of his jacket beneath you audibly zipping along the kitchen floor.
Steve dips his head, and his mouth closes over your cunt right at the same moment that yours falls open with a moan that won’t come out, because you’ve suddenly forgotten how to breathe. The noise stalls right at the beginning- your lungs stop working and you can’t seem to get them to start again, because Steve’s tongue is everywhere, dripping wet and gentle on skin that’s way too sensitive to handle it right now. Your hips try to jerk away from him in resistance, but he slams his hand down on them, holding you hard and still against the tile floor, his shoulders pushed up against the backs of your thighs to keep them open.
Steve takes a break just long enough to grin evilly up at you, because he’s been waiting for five years to tell you to, “Breathe, sweetheart.”
“Fffffuck,” you manage to spit out finally, your voice cracking on the word like it didn’t even really want to put in the work to make it happen. Your breath comes back into your lungs all at once, rapid firing with a dozen moans for punctuation. Steve’s lips quirk against you, and he rumbles a noise of satisfaction against your pussy that makes you jolt in his hold again. “Steve…”
He pulls off of you with a slow, slow stroke of his tongue over your clit, making you whimper high and tight in your throat. “That’s it, baby,” Steve whispers, his breath fanning across your slick cunt, his left hand leaving your hip so that he can drag his knuckles teasingly through your swollen folds. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Feels so right.”
Two long fingers sink into you with ease, stirring the need in you to have him just simply destroy you. You moan loud, your hand shooting out and wrapping around the leg of a bar stool for the kitchen island beside you.
“Poor thing’s just so sensitive, huh?” Your head arches backwards against the floor, your pussy clenching tight around his fingers as he curves them with practiced accuracy. Steve’s voice is a deep murmur, distant thunder rolling over your nerves, “Relax for me, honey. You’ve waited long enough, just let it happen. Let me give you what you want.”
His lips shine when you look down at him, your hand reaching to run through his hair. Stifling a whine that threatens to come out when he kisses your clit and bends his fingers within you, you stutter out, “J-just want… I- ha-ah! Just want you.”
Steve purrs. “I know.” The crisp white fabric of his shirt scrapes against your thighs, almost rough in comparison to his tongue flat on your pussy. You can hear the wet, salacious sound of his fingers pumping into you, pulling you toward the edge of oblivion. He hisses through his teeth, shaking his head slightly. “God, I’m so fuckin’ lucky.”
“Y-you-?” you manage a laugh, scraping your nails along his scalp lightly. “You’re lucky? You have n-no… fffucking idea-” You cut off with a sob when Steve wraps his lips around your clit, sucking long and hard enough that your leg twitches, your heel dragging up the back of his pristine white blouse. Your breathing picks up just as all your muscles lock down tight. “Jesus Christ-”
“There you go,” Steve praises as your orgasm shakes your body, your hand gripping his hair so hard that he groans softly into your damp skin. He doesn’t stop moving his fingers, lewd wet noises picking up and echoing through the quiet kitchen. “That’s a good girl. Mmm , felt so nice to let go, didn’t it?”
You don’t know if he really wants you to answer that- you’re still twitching, coming down from your high as he pulls his fingers from your spasming cunt and sucks them into his mouth. The pause gives you a gentle reprieve, sinking back onto his suit jacket beneath you. Then, his mouth finds your pussy again, his tongue delving deep into your entrance and laving up to your sensitive clit.
You gasp, throwing your hands down into his hair. “Steve-?!”
He moans in response. “Just needed to taste you some more, honey. Taste so fuckin’ sweet, I can’t get enough.” Steve relents, crawling up your body to hover his face over yours. “Still wanna see the bedroom?”
You nod excitedly, your hands finding his smiling face and stroking the hair away from his eyes. With a gentle kiss of his wet lips to yours, Steve gathers your still-wrecked body into his arms and carries you into his bedroom.
He’s struck by how blissful you are as he sets you down on his bed, so soft and inviting. He encourages your arms up, his hands finding the zipper of your wet dress and finally, finally, pulling it over your head so that he can see you. All your curves and edges on display for him, after all this time imagining what he couldn’t see with the naked eye.
“You’re so beautiful.” Steve repeats what he told you all those years ago at prom- he meant it then, and he means it now. Maybe even more this time, now that he’s not a stupid teenager, now that he finally has his head on his shoulders.
You shiver against him when he unclips your bra- black lace that matches the underwear sitting in his entryway. A possessive part of him rears up, knowing that you’d worn them to a date with some asshole who couldn’t treat you right, even for one hour of the guy’s miserable life. Steve dips his head and kisses your breast, so much softer now than he was before, feeling your heartbeat against his lips.
“Hey.” You gently tug him by his tie, loosening it and his collar. You look into his eyes, and his heart melts. “Where’d you go just now, sailor?”
Steve blushes, his eyes flicking down as you remove his tie and start unbuttoning his blouse. “Just thinking...” he trails off, eyeing you thoughtfully. “Just thinking I could have missed you again if I wasn’t careful.”
“Mmm,” you hum, your hands smoothing up his chest and over his shoulders to get his shirt off of him. It drops to the floor with a whisper. “I don’t think so. I think this was meant to happen, eventually.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You scrunch your nose cutely, in a way that makes Steve’s pants tighten even more uncomfortably across his hips. “We’ve run into each other too many fuckin’ times, baby. Karma’s on our side.”
He laughs. “Karma.” He shakes his head as he undoes his belt.
You quirk your brow at him as your hands fiddle with the fly of his suit pants. “Don’t believe me?”
Steve grunts, shifting to lean over you. “I’ll believe anything you say when you’re taking my pants off, honey. I’m easy that way.”
Your nails rake through the hair on his chest- you can’t keep your hands off of him now that they’ve got him. You trace over two blotchy scars, one on either side of his torso that mirror each other. “What happened here?”
He blows a puff of air out of his mouth, rounding his cheeks as he shrugs. “Some… animals decided I looked really tasty, at one point. I know, they aren’t very pretty.”
Steve’s brushing over it like it’s nothing. You search his face, and you decide to do the same. “Actually, I think it’s kind of hot.” You drag your hand up to lay flat over his chest. You whisper conspiratorially, “Plus, I think you look really tasty, too.”
Steve quirks an eyebrow. “Y’gonna bite me about it?”
“Probably.” You wink. “Most likely.”
Your gaze falls indiscreetly to his cock, hard and flushed, glistening with precum and curving up toward his stomach. Girls talk, especially when they’re all trying to one-up each other; you knew that he was big. You’d heard the rumors. You’d seen him wearing those tight fucking jeans all the time, and you didn’t have to have much of an imagination to figure it out.
Still. It’s… a little overwhelming. You reach out a tentative hand, lightly wrapping your fingers around his base. They barely meet. Jesus Christ.
He groans, and kisses you until you can’t speak, resting his weight on top of you until you sink gleefully into the mattress. There’s a smile on your lips that transfers onto his, happiness and ease still flowing between you even as he grinds his hips up against yours.
“Ready?” Steve murmurs softly into your mouth, stealing your breath when you feel his cock slide through your folds, hot and fat.
“Dunno,” you tell him teasingly, but there’s an edge of reason to your words. Your hips squirm and you feel him even worse, slippery with your arousal. You whine. “I think you might kill me with that thing, Harrington.”
“I’ll go slow,” he whispers, hoarse in the back of his throat, his voice already shaking. “I’ll make sure you feel every bit of it, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you agree as you reach to line him up properly. “I’m all yours.”
Steve gives a relieved sigh as he slides into you, his head falling heavily to your shoulder. His cock aches, his torso shaking as he tries to steady himself. “Oh my god.”
“Baby,” you coo, choking on a moan when he bottoms out. He’s so thick- your nails dig into his shoulder blades as you try to remember how to breathe. It’s certainly a big stretch to try to fit him, but you can’t help wanting more just as soon as he comes to a stop. You can feel him trying to hold steady, holding himself back as though it’s the hardest thing in the world for him to do.
Because it is. You can’t see it, the way that his brow is furrowed in concentration, his eyes screwed shut. He didn’t know it would be like this- that he’d be in danger of blowing it just as soon as he started.
Your heel digs into his ass, and he doesn’t know if you do it purposefully, but he almost whimpers.
You take a shuddering breath. “Please- please move, Steve, I can’t take it.”
Oh, you can’t take it? “You know what,” Steve says with a hint of strain in his voice, picking his head up to nuzzle his nose with yours, “I think you like me.”
You snort, and kiss him lightly. “What gave you that impression?”
“Y’so fucking cute.” Steve hums and sloooowly pulls his hips back, dragging his cock through your walls so deliciously that your toes curl. “Could be all those times you stared at me in class-” He watches your face as he pushes forward, until his hips are flush with yours and your head arches backwards against his sheets. “Could be when you nearly let me kiss you at prom-” Out. In. Steve runs his tongue up the length of your throat, and bites at your earlobe. He whispers, “Could be that you came on my tongue ten minutes ago.”
He picks up his pace, just a bit. Just enough to have the bed creaking under you with the rhythm, to have you moaning in tandem with him- needy and high pitched, leaping from your throat into the hot, sex-charged air.
Steve’s lips latch onto your neck, and he sucks hard. He eases up after just a couple seconds, dragging his tongue over the sensitive spot, but you know what he’s just done- he’s marked you, right where you won’t be able to hide it in the morning.
You want him to do it all over your body.
Your jaw goes slack and you’re losing all integrity. He’s even better than you imagined- sleepless nights wanting, hoping endlessly that you’d find yourself here, under him, couldn’t have prepared you for how perfect it feels. His hand finds yours and laces your fingers together, pinning it to the mattress beside your head, squeezing with every slow and purposeful thrust of his hips.
Steve’s cock finds your g-spot like it’s nothing, like he’s known your body for ages. He barely even has to try before you’re whimpering, raking your nails up his back and leaving long red trails behind.
Your teeth latch onto his shoulder and you bite, probably harder than you should, but you just can’t refuse the urge to mark him the way that he’s left his mark on you. He moans, a deep and boyish sound in your ear, as you drag your tongue along his shoulder, soothing the bite, tasting his sweat. The salt and the sweetness of his skin, mixed with the heady smell of sex in the room, have you losing yourself in him.
“Biter.” You hear him chuckle dangerously, rumbling along your skin while his nose skirts your jawline.
“You’re so good, Stevie-” you whine, hot pleasure rearing up in you like a tidal wave. “Oh, you feel so fucking good, I love- love how you feel inside me.”
Steve groans loudly into your shoulder, his teeth grazing your collarbone. You think he has a mind to bite you back- maybe he’d do it harder. You can see Steve drawing blood, when the mood suits him.
But his hand squeezes yours, his other sweeping broadly up your thigh and hitching your leg up further over his hip. “Yeah?” His voice is rough, bordering on a growl, “What’d’ya say we stay like this forever, huh? Just like this?”
His pelvis grinds up against yours, his pubes crushing against your clit making you gasp. Everything’s wet- your skin, his skin, the sheets. Sweaty bodies sticking and sliding against each other, your hips meeting his in the middle.
“Like this?” you gasp, your head reeling. His forehead presses against yours, and it’s just about the only thing bringing you back into focus. Steve doesn’t falter, keeping the same pace and rhythm while he watches you try to form a coherent reply. “Mm- I- I, hhuh-”
“C’mon, babygirl,” he breathes against your damp skin, “you can do better than that. You love my cock so much, you wanna keep it warm all the time? Wanna stay in bed with me forever, is that it?”
You nod fervently, your hands grabbing at his neck, his hair, his shoulder- anywhere you can touch. “Yes, yes. God, Steve, I- you’re gonna make me cum, shit-”
“I know it,” Steve murmurs, tugging your lip between his teeth and making you whine again. Your cunt pulses around him, and he hisses, his hand slipping on your thigh. “Love seein’ you all drunk on my cock- shit, you’re so gorgeous like this.” He pauses to kiss you, making you lightheaded, making you tug at his hair. “Y’look so pretty under me, baby. Pussy feels so good, I wanna stay here, too. I can see us doin’ this for the rest of our lives, huh? How’s that sound?”
How does it sound? You and Steve Harrington, together forever? Intertwined, knotted up with no way to lose each other, no disappearing and then reappearing years down the line?
“S’that a challenge?” you whimper shakily at him. “Throwing down the gauntlet?”
“I don’t think I could let you go, now,” Steve tells you firmly, his hand leaving your thigh so that he can grab your jaw possessively, his tongue darting out to trace gently across your bottom lip. “I’m never gonna let you go, baby.”
You wrap your legs around his waist. “I don’t want you to.”
“I hope so,” he whispers, his breath mingling with yours.
Steve kisses you long and slow when you cum. You swallow his moans when he does.
What would you? Baby, if you only knew that I can see you, oh, I can see you…
You almost think it’s a dream. When you rouse in the morning, you feel like you imagined it. But you’re surrounded by the scent of Steve, of musky cologne and sweat and sex, and maybe just a little bit of hair gel stuck to his pillows.
You flop over and stare at the ceiling. You’re alone in a king size bed, fitted with gray sheets and a few too many pillows. The other side of the bed is still warm, but your paramour is nowhere to be found. His bedroom is fairly stark, with a few little things arranged on the dresser top and clothes thrown around the floor. It doesn’t feel like a room he spends much time in, aside from sleeping and dressing in the morning.
You immediately think about what this all means for you. Whether he really meant what he said in the heat of the moment, if he really wants this to be a long-term thing or if it was just pillow talk. It doesn’t take you long to determine which one you want it to be.
There’s commotion on the other side of the closed door. You lean over the side of the bed, searching for something to put on before you just waltz out there naked. Ultimately, you pull on his blouse from last night.
You emerge from the bedroom squinting against the light in the room. The blinds in the living room are open, casting bright sunlight across the room and into the kitchen. You find Steve in front of the stove.
“Hey, there she is!” he announces happily. “Just in time for breakfast.”
Steve looks so comfortable in the kitchen, moving around quickly and efficiently, whereas you tend to blunder about. When you wander over to the island, you notice he’s already picked up his suit jacket, and laid it across the bar stool next to the one you choose.
Your underwear is nowhere to be seen.
You grin at his back, plopping down onto the bar stool. The metal is cold against your bare ass, nearly making you squeal and jump back up. “Is it a Sex on the Beach?”
He laughs gleefully. “Nah, if only. How was that, by the way?”
“The ice cream, or the porn?”
He turns to grin at you over his shoulder. “Both.”
He’s wearing glasses. Round wire frames that complement his face perfectly, making him look distinguished in his gray sweats and black t-shirt. Just like that, you’re spiraling. Suddenly, you’re picturing yourself being here, with him cooking breakfast in his glasses and PJ’s every morning, on and on into the future. Doing domestic shit, grocery shopping, dancing around in the kitchen at 3 am, kissing in the rain- well, you’ve already done that one.
But you can see it. That future, with him by your side, it’s right there. You just don’t know if it’s the one that he wants. You don’t really know how deep this runs for him.
Funny what just an accessory can do to your train of thought.
“Um.” You swallow. What was the question? “The ice cream was great. Still the best sundae I’ve ever had, by the way. The porn was bullshit, I didn’t get through twenty minutes. I just wanted to make you blush.”
“Brat.” He spins around, and plates an omelet right in front of you. You watch his face, tracing the easy smile he wears. “I hope you like it- but if you don’t, you better not say anything. I don’t think I could handle the pain of your rejection.” He looks up at you, hazel eyes shining gold in the sunlight. “You’re staring.”
“I-” you blink at him. You don’t fucking say. You open your mouth to ask- you want to ask what this is, what he feels, did he mean it. Do you want to do this again? Is this serious for you? Because it is for me, if you want it. You just don’t get that far.
“You’ve been staring since we were fourteen,” he chuckles, sliding you a fork.
That startles you. “Well,” you click your tongue. “I didn’t realize you were looking so closely.”
“Oh,” Steve shrugs, turning to place the pan in the sink. “Just since freshman year. When you read Juliet’s monologue in English class. Remember?”
You tilt your head. Vaguely. It was just a class project, where each person had to choose a Shakespearean monologue to recite in front of the class. You thought he only even became aware of you senior year.
Romeo, doff thy name, And for that name which is no part of thee, Take all myself.
“Are you telling me,” you say, palms flat on the counter as you peer at him incredulously, “you’ve liked me just as long as I’ve liked you?”
“Told you I’d get there, eventually.”
Your brain refuses to compute. You stare at his back, his tousled hair, and want to yank him toward you and squeeze him like one of those fucking squeaky toys that you get at the pet store. The ones the eyes pop out of.
Steve turns to you with a smirk, leaning across the counter to mirror you. He reaches forward to trace the mark he made on your neck, still tender, while mocking your pout back at you. His eyes crease at the corners, like they always do when he’s trying to be coy.
“Eat your breakfast, baby. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”
(I see you, I see you, baby.)
#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington x you#steve harrington fanfiction#stranger things#roses*
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Steve Has Older Siblings AU: Robin Edition
In an ideal world, Steve’s family life is completely separate from everything important. But in an ideal world, monsters don’t exist so, you know.
1. Technically the first of Steve’s siblings that Robin meets is Jason because he came into Scoops Ahoy to be an asshole. Robin liked to see King Steve knocked down a peg or two more than the next person but not by a forty year old (he’s 32) loser who has nothing better to do on a Tuesday afternoon. Robin sees him knock Steve’s hat off his head and then informs him that they had a zero tolerance harassment policy (they don’t) and they can and are denying him service. “So leave, now.”
2. The first time she is aware that she’s meeting one of Steve’s siblings is after Starcourt burns down. They were drugged, tired, and Russians took Steve’s car keys so it felt like a good idea to just lay back on the hood of the Beemer and watch the smoke swirl in the air until they come up with what to do.
They never think of anything, and she is startled awake the next morning hungover and dehydrated by someone laying on their horn. Robin looks at the car and then at Steve, and then asks, “Is that your dad?”
Steve - looking somehow worse than yesterday - just blinks in the direction of the car like, “Richie?”
“Get in the car,” Richie practically seethes, barely lets them get in before he starts asking questions like, what the fuck and are you high, right now?”
“I don’t dooo drugs, Dad,” Steve spat out annoyed and Robin, in the backseat, felt compelled to adds, “Drugs do me.”
They both start giggling and can’t stop even when Richie tries to lecture them.
3. Robin meets Jason again when he attacks her.
She doesn’t remember much about the car ride back to Loch Nora or how Steve convinced Richie not to take them to the hospital, but she remembers flopping face first onto Steve’s cloud of a bed. She remembers him taking her shoes off for her and pulling the covers up.
Then she is rudely woken up by a hand yanking her out of bed and big arms wrapping around her head. They’re barely there before Steve is shoving them off her like, “Fuck off, Jason.”
“Carver?” She asks but, no. It’s the dick from the mall. She is ignored while Jason prattles on about how it’s not his fault that Steve looks so much like a girl that he confused him with one. Then he’s whistling about how Steve has a girl in his bed and how surprising that is to them considering they all thought he was a queer.
Robin stiffens beside him. New queer ally, Steve Harrington, not wanting her to be uncomfortable, blurts out, “What if I am?”
And the room goes quiet. Steve’s quiet. Jason’s frozen. Richie, coming in through the door, wasn’t moving. This family doesn’t really paint a picture of unconditional love and acceptance so Robin throws her entire (unsuccessful) theater career into use and slugs Steve in the arm with a snort like, “Yeah, right. With all the girls you flirt with? Ha!”
And everything comes back to life. The hospital conversation comes up and morphs into an argument immediately. Robin is just happy to fade into the background and observe.
4. Robin probably should’ve met Claire that day too but the hospital was an apparent disaster. She actually meets Claire randomly at Family Video.
She sees a woman who’s kinda cute come in and peruse the shelves. She comes to the counter where Robin is on register and Steve is stocking candy right next to her.
She’s carrying The Muppet Movie and makes small talk about watching it with her kids, and never looks twice in Steve’s directly. She’s not in the system and just laughs, “It’s probably under my maiden name, Harrington.”
Robin gives her a tight smile and finishes the transaction. Claire leaves with barely a ‘bye’ to her brother and Robin decides right there that she hates them all.
#Robin makes Steve sit down and actually tell her what is up with his family. he begrudgingly does#robin: wow. screw them. I’m your family now. no arguments#Steve feeling like he could cry: okay#Richie woke up to news that the mall burnt down and then couldn’t get ahold of Steve#he called Jason and they set out on a search and then painfully ran into the fact that they don’t know anything about Steve’s life#because Tommy and Carol told them that they weren’t friends with Steve and then#ted wheeler said that he didn’t think that Steve was dating kid daughter anymore#and also he no idea where his kids were#steve harrington#robin buckley#Steve has older siblings Au
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Steve couldn’t stop thinking about Eddie’s big dick.
When he got the chance to get a taste of it for the first time after a long night full of tension, he couldn’t help the way he had fallen to his knees and gagged on it with the knowledge of never even sucking a dick before.
But he had done it. He had done it for Eddie and for his enormous fucking dick that kept making Steve’s mouth water whenever he saw it, hard or soft.
They had fooled around a lot after that night. They had tried frottage and some really nice stuff too, but Steve had an itch at the back of his mind that he couldn’t ignore.
He wasn’t inexperienced on sex. He has had plenty of partners, tried plenty of things, but… not with men.
Eddie was his first.
Steve knew how men had sex together. He wasn’t a stranger on the topic. He had read about it. Shit, even seen porn of it with Tommy when he was younger, so he knew how things happened.
That’s one of the reasons he couldn’t help but to imagine a scenario of Eddie just, stretching him open with his dick as he’d fuck Steve so fucking full that his hole would be dripping of Eddie’s cum once he’d pull out.
All of that made Steve feel so horny. Just even thinking about Eddie and his pretty cock.
And that’s how he ended up here, Eddie laid between his legs as Steve jerked him off, a heavy weight on his hand while Eddie moaned into his mouth.
”You feel so good” Eddie moaned as he kissed Steve’s cheek, thumbs pressing down into the meat of his legs as he squeezed his hips tightly, ”gonna make me cum.”
Steve whined, but stopped his hand. It made Eddie groan, but he turned his gaze to Steve’s eyes with a soft look.
”You ’kay?”
”Yeah! I’m… fine. I just- I have something I wanna try out…?” Steve said, bit nervous as he bit his bottom lip. He wanted to kick himself a little, but he couldn’t help how his charm slipped when Eddie looked at him with his dark and hungry eyes. The type of eyes that if he could, he’d eat Steve whole.
”Tell me, sweetheart.” Eddie dropped his voice lower and the way it made Steve want to whine should’ve been embarrassing, but it wasn’t. He would cry and beg for this man to do whatever he wanted for him and it wouldn’t make Steve feel like a less of a man.
”I have been thinking about you uh- you fucking me.” Steve confessed, his hand that was still wrapped around Eddie’s dick slowly moving which made Eddie groan.
”Shit,” Eddie moaned ”Yeah? How long?”
”’How long’ what?”
Steve let out a small moan as Eddie leaned closer to his ear ”How long have you been thinking about me fucking you, Steve?”
Oh, Eddie was mean. And Steve fucking loved it.
”Ever since I saw your dick.”
Eddie laughed a little, but not in a mean way. More like he was taken back, surprised, delighted and he couldn’t help but to kiss Steve’s neck.
”What was it about my dick?”
”Eddie, c’mon-”
”No, no, Steve. I wanna hear it. What was so special about my dick that it made Steeeeeeve Harrington so impressed that he wants to be fucked?”
Steve gave tight squeeze to Eddie’s dick, making the older boy hiss on top of him, but the fucker was still grinning down at Steve’s small pout.
”Well?”
”It’s huge, okay?” Steve whined out ”, I can’t stop thinking about it or staring at it! And I really wanna feel it inside me, Eddie. Like really badly! That’s the reason, so please babe, can we-”
Eddie kissed him quickly but deeply, swallowing Steve’s surprised moan and soon his hand was pushed away and Eddie was holding his legs up, moving them to rest on his shoulders.
Before Eddie could ask for lube, Steve nodded his head towards his bedside table and his boyfriend grinned as he found it.
”Half empty?”
”…Been practicing. In case you haven’t noticed the size of that thing.”
Eddie laughed and it made Steve snort a little too, but then cold liquid hit his hole and a finger was massaging it softly, before slowly pushing in. Steve let out a satisfied moan as he gripped onto Eddie’s forearm.
”You can add more.”
”You sure? I think we should take it slow-”
”Eddie, I fingered myself before you came here” Steve looked up at Eddie who had a puzzled look on his face ”, I think I can take more.”
”Holy shit, Steve, you’re…” Eddie kept moaning praises before adding a second and a third finger soon after, pushing knuckles deep inside Steve’s tight heat as he prepped the younger boy open.
Steve moaned, hands holding onto Eddie’s long hair as he was fingered. God, it felt amazing when Eddie was doing it for him. Way better when he did it on his own.
”I’m ready, babe, please-”
”Yeah…” Eddie kissed him, but pulled his fingers out of him. He made out with Steve while putting on a condom on his cock and lubed it before he lined himself up with Steve’s hole and fed his cock slowly into him.
Steve couldn’t breathe.
His voice got caught on a half-scream-half-moan and he held onto Eddie’s shoulders tightly as he felt every inch of his cock filling him up. He was pretty sure he could feel it all the way up in his throat.
”Edd- Eddie- Ah!” Steve let out a high-pitched cry, mouth gaping open as Eddie just kept going.
”Holy shit, holy shit, Steve. You’re so tight, you feel so amazing around me, shit, are you o-okay?”
Steve nodded, making Eddie whine as he held their forehead togethers. He gave Steve’s nose a small kiss as they both breathed loudly.
When Eddie finally bottomed inside, they both stilled and held onto each other. It was overwhelming for both of them and Steve was pretty sure he was shaking, but he wasn’t in pain. He was so incredibly full and he loved the feeling so fucking much.
”You’re so b-big. So thick, Eds, oh my god-”
Eddie whined on top of him, trying to keep his hips still, but the praise made him buck up a little and they both moaned in union.
”S-sorry!”
”It’s okay. You c-can move.”
”Are you sure, baby?” Eddie sounded so breathless.
Steve leaned up to kiss Eddie ”, Yes.”
That’s all it took.
Eddie took a hold of Steve’s legs, giving his knee a kiss before he pulled out and pushed right back in, making Steve moan like he never has.
Every drag of Eddie’s cock inside him was addicting to him. He never knew he would love this so much, but when Eddie’s dick hit that spot inside him, his prostate and how it made Steve’s toes curl and back arch from the bed, he knew he would never want to let go of this feeling.
”You’re so perfect,” Eddie moaned as he watched Steve, big eyes full of desire when he realized how much pleasure he’s giving to Steve.
Eddie kept holding onto him, but dropped Steve’s legs from his shoulders and laid them down onto the bed softly without slowing down his movements.
Steve took that as a cue to wrap his legs around Eddie’s waist instead, pulling in the other closer. Eddie kissed him and Steve kissed back, both of them melting into the kiss.
Steve pulled back, voice hoarse and needy ”Harder, please. Need you-”
”Sweetheart…” Eddie moaned before picking up the pace. Steve held onto his shoulders, loving the obscene sounds of Eddie’s hips meeting his ass. The wet noise of his dick sliding in and out Steve’s hole, fitting in there like a glove.
When Eddie rammed into him with two rough thrusts and a hand on Steve’s cock, Steve came loudly suddenly between their sweaty bodies.
He kept moaning as Eddie fucked him through the aftershock, the older boy chasing for his own release as he picked up the pace.
”Gonna- gonna come.” Eddie whined and Steve clenched tight around him.
When Eddie came with a loud groan, Steve was right. His load was fucking huge and he was a little disappointed he couldn’t feel it dripping down from his hole, but at least he got to see it inside the used condom when Eddie threw it to the nearest trash.
”You really think it’s that big?” Eddie asked once they were both fresh out from the shower and laying on his bed with soft music playing from the radio.
Steve groaned and threw a pillow at Eddie ”, Shut up!”
”Nah, dude!” Eddie cackled ”, Now it’s not the time to start acting shy mister ’Oh, it’s so big, Eddie!’”
Steve rolled his eyes and let out a dramatic sigh, but scooted closer to lay under Eddie’s arm when the other opened his arms for him.
Eddie gave him a small kiss and Steve melted, accepting his defeat. Not that there was even a battle to fight for.
”Yes.” Steve bit his bottom lip ”, I have never seen anyone else with a dick like yours and if I had known you were hiding that monster under there earlier I’d-”
”You’d what?” Eddie grinned. He loved challenging Steve.
”Doesn’t matter.”
”Aw, don’t be like that!” Eddie complained before tickling Steve and it made Steve laugh loudly as he struggled to get away.
They messed around for a while before Eddie finally let Steve go and promised not to tickle him anymore after Steve threatened him with no kisses.
That always worked.
#Steddie#WOOOW#Wrote a thing#A short one#Eddie Munson has a big Dick#That’s it#Love this tag at ao3#ITS THE TRUTH#Posted to ao3 as well#steve harrington#eddie munson#stranger things#lemon#steddie fic#steddie fandom#steve x eddie#my writing#my fic#fanfic#ao3#ficlet
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missed wiggly wednesday again, so here's a Smutty Steddie Songfic September snippet instead 😇
“I’m telling you, Stevie! That guy had no shame whatsoever. Didn’t even hesitate to pull blank in front of me to show off that ridiculous tattoo right above his dick. It was horrendous! I even offered to cover it up for free but he declined, said the ladies dig it.”
Eddie snorts and shakes his head. The things you have to put up with sometimes in his field of work never ceases to amaze him.
“But hey, can’t say I didn’t like the overall view. A feast for my imagination. I’ll definitely use it the next time I’m ‘feeling lonely’.”
He uses his fingers to sign quotation marks and wiggles his eyebrows, delighted at the blush creeping up Steve’s cheeks when he realises what Eddie means by that.
Steve’s always been a little shy when it comes to talking about these things but they’ve been friends long enough for him to have gotten used to Eddie’s big, unfiltered mouth.
Eddie loves to rile him up, just a little, never so much that it makes him truly uneasy but enough to get a little kick out of it himself.
Steve’s cute when he blushes.
He’s damn fucking pretty, always, is the thing.
So what if Eddie stares a little too obvious? It’s not his fault Steve is so-
Nevermind.
He averts his gaze, takes a sip from his drink to cool off, giving Steve the chance to change the subject to something else.
"Sometimes I fuck you in my head."
Eddie splutters his mouthful of beer half over himself, half over the table, can't believe he heard Steve right.
No. That must be a mistake because he can't possibly have said that.
Right?
"I don't know why, it's just- sometimes when I touch myself, I think of you, you know?"
Eddie does, in fact, not know. Because what?
"Steve, dude, look at me. Did you take something? Without me?"
He must've. There's no way he'd talk that much bullshit if he was sober. But they've only been here for ten minutes, fifteen max, both still on their first beer and there is no way in hell Steve is already that drunk.
So this must be something else.
Because it is absolutely impossible that his straight best friend would ever fantasize about anything other than boobies and soft lips and long lashes and, hell, maybe even a tight juicy ass – a woman’s ass – to get him going.
Steve Harrington does not think about guys when he touches himself. And most certainly not about Eddie.
He’s messing with him, that must be it. A little revenge for Eddie being insufferable.
“Hah, that was good, Harrington. For a moment I really thought you’d lost your mind,” Eddie laughs half-heartedly in a weak attempt to cover up the slight tremble in his voice.
For a second you got me thinking my pining ass died and went to heaven, is the thought he keeps to himself.
Another second goes by and Eddie is still waiting for Steve to laugh, to maybe swat his arm and tell him ‘Ha! Got’cha! You should see your stupid face.’ but that doesn’t happen. Instead, the air thickens and the tension between them makes Eddie nervous.
Then, finally, after what feels like an eternity, Steve opens his mouth.
But somehow, that only makes it worse.
“Is- is that bad?”
(click here for more)
or here for the whole fic 😇
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ftm trans Eddie Munson gets turned into a chew toy for hell bats and rescued in the 11th hour by his friends who don't know he's trans, who have to run some triage first aid and can hardly make sense of the blood and gore that used to be his body as they cut off his shirt and pants to get access to the worst of the wounds, who definitely aren't in their right minds well enough anyway to think of anything other than stopping the bleeding and getting him to a hospital, which they do, and miraculously Eddie finds himself blinking awake in a bright, fluorescent room feeling exactly like he imagines a chew toy for hell bats would feel in the aftermath which is to say: like shit. Even more miraculously, he finds hometown hero Steve Harrington posted up at his bedside with greasy hair (!!! Eddie never thought he'd see the day) and bags under his eyes.
The overwhelming relief on Steve's face when he sees Eddie is awake is touching, the misty eyes and cracking voice when he says god, i thought you were toast, man are downright flattering and, let's face it, giving Eddie all the wrong ideas that he figures he has an I-almost-died pass for at the moment so he rocks with it, let's himself indulge in the fantasy for a moment. Then, gradually, Steve's relief becomes more and more obviously some brand of deeply felt pity (or sympathy, but Eddie's never been good at distinguishing the two), which bursts his bubble enough to call him out.
"I know I look like what comes out the business end of a meat grinder, but I swear I'm good, dude. They definitely have me on the good shit, I hardly feel it. I'll be good as new in no time." Big fat fucking lie, by the way, but he'll say whatever if it gets that wounded puppy look out of Harrington's eyes.
"I...yeah, Eddie, I'm glad." And whatever it is he doesn't want to say, whatever is putting that you poor motherfucker look on his face, he's absolutely the opposite of subtle about it.
Eddie can hear the manifestation of his panic on the heart monitor.
"What? What is it? Is everyone- is Dustin-?" He can't say it, can't even think it, would rather be slowly torn to shreds all over again than know he failed at his one fucking task to keep the kid safe.
"No! I mean, yes, he's fine, they're all fine. Henderson's got a broken ankle and both of Max's arms are broken but the docs say they'll be fine in a few months with physical therapy."
The release of tension in Eddie's body hurts almost as much as the relief soothes him. "Okay then, what the fuck are you not telling me? It's fine, I'm a big boy, Harrington, I can take it."
He sighs, looking sick with it. "Eds...I don't know how to tell you this."
Oh god, what the fuck. Eddie's right back to freaking out because Steve looks inexplicably guilty, pained in the face like he's about to deliver the worst news he could imagine but if everyone's fine then-
"It's your dick, man. It's- it's gone. The bats-"
And Eddie laughs so hard he tears about a dozen stitches, immediately stops laughing, and throws up over the side of the bed and thankfully not all over his freshly reopened wounds as Steve shouts for help.
Eventually, when he's all stitched up again and barely hanging on to his hard earned lesson to not literally bust his gut laughing about the look on Steve's face (he has to force himself not to tell Wayne the specifics of how he ended up back in the OR, because he's absolutely gonna crack up and Eddie will definitely be unable to help himself from laughing with him), he realizes he's going to come out to all his friends in the very near future because holy shit, he has to tell everyone about Steve's utterly devastated expression at the news of Eddie's Ken doll-ification by way of demobat.
#I've been laughing about this in my head for WEEKS#the idea that steve feels so bad eddie got his dick eaten by demobats that he literally can't hide it and tells him immediately kills me#as always please read into the gay subtext here bc yes eddie also tells this story at their wedding many years down the line#eddie munson#steve harrington#steddie
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thinking about riding steve 'big dick' harrington until you're crying )):
warnings: piv sex, praise kink, big dicks, filth.
he's got you naked and writhing on top of him as he works his cock into you, inch after inch sliding into the tight heat of your velvety walls, puffy red lips wrapped around your nipple — kissing, licking, biting. soothing you as you're practically impaled on his length.
your ankles almost meet around the base of his back, digging into the dip of his spine when you finally sit fully — he's so big. you don't think you'll ever get used to it, and this position was making every little bit of his cock known.
"god," you gasp — a small, choked off cry. you're flush, chest to chest, your arms flung around his shoulders loosely as you silently beg your body to relax. and he's everywhere, from his shaggy hair tickling your face to his big thighs plastered to your own with sweat.
“i know baby, i know,” steve’s breathy whispers sooth you as he grasps at your hip, rocking you back and forth on his cock until you’re whining, kiss swollen lips parting as you shake.
“you— you’re so deep,” you whimper, clawing at the nape of steve’s neck and pulling on the baby hairs until he’s grunting and fucking up into you from below, making the sheer stretch even more pronounced.
this position was intense. intimate. had him as deep as he could go and then some. you’re sure if you pressed down on your belly hard enough you’d feel the bulbous head poking out through your skin.
“think you can get those hips to work for me?” steve coos, trailing his nose up your chest until he's mouthing at your damp neck, kissing and nibbling the salty skin, savouring the taste of you on his tongue, “you feel like heaven, baby.”
the praise has you keening, rocking down onto him. the sound that breaks from deep in steve’s chest causes goosebumps to break out all over your flushed body — you swear you’d never heard anything like it.
you try, you really do. a gradual bounce at a slow, steady pace. you can feel every ridge and vein of his cock as he prods deep, deep, deep. it teeters on the edge of too much, the constant press on your front wall, enough to bring tears to your eyes but not enough to get you to stop.
“oh fuck,” you can hardly focus, steve is everywhere on you. his hands roam every bare inch of your skin, his lips latch to your throat, the swell of your tits — dragging wet and hot until the tears finally spill from your eyes from the stimulation.
he looks up at you with those stupid hazel speckled irises, all gooey and full of soft love behind the lust that hardens the edges, “you need some help? those poor legs can’t cope, huh?”
your cunt flutters at his words and he chokes on a groan, snaking a toned, tan arm around your back — it somehow drags you even closer to him as he slides you back onto his cock properly, snug once more against your frontal wall.
"you look so good like this," steve grins, rocking up into you and using the arm snaked around you as leverage to lift you along with it, "all fucked out and wrecked on my cock."
"you —i—" you can't form sentences anymore, clinging onto steve for dear life as he drives up into you, bouncing you up and down on his length, ragdolling you in the process. the sickening clap of your sweaty skin mixes with the squelch of your pussy sucking him in, almost drowning out your cries.
"want you like this all the time, fuck," steve's babbling in between grunts, kissing up along the side of your neck, bringing his lips back to your ear, suckling on your lobe until he's choking a soft moan from you, "fuuuck, you're gripping me so good."
you know you are. you can feel it too, the way your cunt reacts to every touch, every sound, every push and shove. his other hand grips onto your hip so tight it's going to bruise, using it to help guide your hips back and forth in tandem with his pistoning hips.
the blooming in your belly rolls in like tidal waves, your tear streaked eyes clenching shut as you allow the feeling to wash over you. the friction of your clit on steve's thatch of pubic hair and the way your pebbled nipples rub against his broad chest helping you get there.
"i— i'm going to—" you're trying so hard, but god it's just so fucking good. it's always been good, but never have you felt pleasure quite like this, and steve knows it too. he knows what he's doing with every thrust.
“s’okay honey, i’m right there with you,” steve pants, grappling at your sweat slick waist and burying his face into your neck, mouthing at your ear “c’mon, be a good girl and cum for me.”
you cry out, gasping and digging your nails tightly into his broad shoulders, lightheaded and dizzy with it as he whispers encouragements into your ear — you hurtle towards the edge fast, the deep heat in your lower belly bursting into flames as you release with a sharp scream.
"that's it — oh fuck, you're so tight, mmph," steve grips onto your hip for dear life, shoving you down deep and burying his face tightly into your neck to muffle his cries. you feel every hot spurt of cum paint your insides, every pulse of his cock. it feels like it goes on forever.
#steve harrington fic#steve harrington smut#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington drabble#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington x you#my fanfic#mine#x reader#this is self indulgent FILTH
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