#steve regal

[rawiswhore]

Steve Regal x Fem Reader- "Red Negligee"

"Three's Company" was the highest rated show on television in the late 1970's.

It was a sitcom notorious for featuring women walking around wearing short little negligees and nighties as well as sometimes wearing these lingerie teddy rompers and other skimpy outfits.

Despite that 1980 was the beginning of a new decade, "Three's Company" was still on the air even though Suzanne Somers had left the show and the sitcom was still fresh in our minds, not to mention still featured women bouncing around in short nighties and negligees.

Because of the show's popularity as well as teddies (not bears) and babydoll nighties being popular lingerie at the time, in 1980 you invited wrestler Steve Regal to a hotel room.

This isn't the same "Real Man's Man" Steve Regal during the Attitude era who would later on be William Regal, this Steve Regal was American with long blond hair.

As Steve lounged in the hotel room's bed, he had his long blond hair hanging down.

While Steve Regal laid on his back on top of one of the beds in the room, you slowly sauntered further into the hotel room dressed in a short feminine nighty/negligee where the bottom of it reached your upper thighs.

You couldn't decide if you wanted to wear a short nighty/negligee or a teddy/romper that was a mixture of a spaghetti strapped chemise with short shorts attached to it, or even wearing a spaghetti strapped camisole with matching short shorts that weren't attached to the top.

Steve's mouth spread and formed into smile as he watched you slowly stroll further into the hotel room dressed in that babydoll negligee.

You had a grin on your face as you slowly walked into the room to show off your negligee.

"I couldn't decide what to wear" you brought up to him. "A teddy or a negligee"

To quote the movie "Road to El Dorado": "both is good!".

Or even better...if you shed your negligee off to reveal that you're wearing a teddy, and you don't mean teddy as in bear. (come to think of it, this would be a good idea for a fanfiction!)

"And I mean teddy as in one of those teddy rompers" you explained "with short shorts attached to the chemise"

He knows what you're referring to.

With a grin on your face, you slowly crawled on top of the bed Steve was laying on, where you slowly crawled closer to him.

"As a valet, I'd love to shed my dress off to reveal a short negligee to your opponent" you told him when you laid right next to him. "Or I'd shed my dress off to reveal a teddy underneath as a distraction"

You could wear a negligee or teddy romper to the sexiest male wrestlers like Michael P.S. Hayes in the early 1980's (who I almost wrote this fanfiction about), Paul Orndorff/Mr. Wonderful and eventually wrestlers like Tommy Rogers from the Fantastics, Rowdy Roddy Piper, Terry Taylor, Marty Jannetty and even the British Bulldogs Davey Boy Smith and the Dynamite Kid.

Steve enjoyed hearing those ideas for sure, but professional wrestling was mostly family entertainment during the majority of the 20th Century.

"Or even better" you added excitedly with a smile on your face. "Walking to the ring wearing a short little negligee or a teddy romper, like what those women on 'Three's Company' wear!"

Underwear as outerwear.

"I hope I wouldn't be arrested for wearing underwear on in public!" you said, which made Steve chuckle. "Some teddies look like outfits people could wear in public, like spaghetti strapped camisoles with short shorts not attached"

Really, there are worse things than you being in a wrestling arena wearing a babydoll nighty or a teddy romper and you even said that to him.

Not to mention, there was the sexual revolution of the 1960's and 1970's, where people supported birth control, abortion, sex before marriage, pornography and even public nudity and sex in public places.

Professional wrestling has always been a reflection of the times, just look at the Attitude era reflecting the late 1990's and even early 2000's, the Ruthless Aggression era having the 2000's written all over it, and Women's Extreme Wrestling hypersexualizing the women during the 2000's as well as filled with edgelord commentary objectifying the women and saying things that were rather racist.

You actually thought of having a "Three's Company" related wrestling gimmick when the show was on the air, but cartoonish sports entertainment wrestling really didn't start taking off until the 1980's, when the World Wrestling Federation blew up in popularity.

Your "Three's Company" gimmick you brainstormed could involve you being like Chrissy Snow, wearing pigtails or a ponytail while the rest of your hair hangs down and you bounce around in babydoll negligees, teddies and even sometimes wearing nothing but a towel, as well as wearing strapless rompers and denim short shorts and a top with no bra underneath and your breasts jiggle under your top.

Another idea could have 2 female wrestling valets who have a male wrestler they lead to the ring.

The possibilities are endless.

Rowdy Roddy Piper was a rising wrestling star in the late 1970's and early 1980's who resembled John Ritter, "Three's Company"'s star.

[littletroubledgrrrl]

[ringthedamnbell]

Job Security: Looking at the So Called WWF "Jobbers" of the 1980's

Job Security: Looking at the So Called WWF "Jobbers" of the 1980's

Brian Damage I started watching pro wrestling in the early 1980’s and grew accustomed to seeing top wrestlers defeat what looked like average guys off the street in what are known as “squash matches.” Every week a “jobber” or better yet…enhancement talent…were used to make the stars getting a push look like a million bucks. Most of the time, that is exactly what they did. As I got older, my…

[corrodedcoughin]

Overdramatic married to the bit and the aesthetic eddie munson would have black candles right? Would exclusively burn black candles whenever he has the chance. And every time he forgets that black candles have repercussions. So when he sneezes and it’s black snot that comes out he convinces himself he’s got ‘the plague’ and every time Wayne just gives him this withering stare and goes back to watching tv because Eddie’s just crawled out of his bedroom, dragging himself along the floor giving it ‘uncle, fair and noble uncle, I fear the consumption had taken me. Look for me tomorrow and you shall find a grave man’

Wayne takes a sip of his coffee and lets Eddie know ‘I’ll make sure the Garfield mug goes to a good home, son’ and suddenly Eddie crawling back to his room, Garfield mug in tow muttering about nobody appreciating his dramatic flair. Steve is sat in silence on the couch with Wayne, watched the whole thing without saying a word and honestly? Would pay to see it again. Maybe plots to buy more black candles so that it will happen again

[sidetongue]

what a dingus 

[symbolicdecree]

Sting: *Gets called "sunshine" by Steven (aka William) Regal*

Just 20 seconds later Regal delivered the most lethal bitch slap I have ever seen to Sting. Had him cursing and all. Poor Stinger...

[daintyduck99]

First Lines Game

So I'm super behind on this even though loads of lovely people tagged me, but thank you @jmrothwell, @invisibleraven, @innytoes, @breakaway71, and @nuandia for doing so! I've posted a lot of really spontaneous one-shots this week, so this will look different than it would have when I was tagged a few weeks ago, lol.

Rules: Post the first lines of your last 10 fics posted to ao3. if you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics.

(from fly me to the moon, a short Julie/Bobby smut fic)

Julie sings quietly as she wraps herself in her favorite fluffy towel, smiling like the 'twitterpated loon' Flynn always says she is.

2. (from one more try (to feel alive), the ghost!Julie/alive!Reggie one-shot that I might write more for)

There's a girl in Bobby's garage.

3. (from you're more to me, you're everything, the "what if they kissed during the chemistry scene but make it Luke/Reggie/Julie" one-shot)

Reggie only starts teasing Luke about Julie because he desperately wants to see Alex smile again.

4. (from one more trip around the sun, part three of the sunflower series, where Reggie calls his grandma)

Should someone ring her before the sun rises, Bonnie expects it to be Carol or Alice.

5. (from operation rulie, part two of the sunflower series, the Luke & Flynn companion piece a la The Lion King 1 1/2)

Flynn looks up from the jacket she’s bedazzling as her phone chirps.

6. (from To Break The Thread Or Let It Bind, a canon compliant S1!Steve Harrington character study with heavy focus on Steve/Jonathan but also Steve/Jonathan/Nancy)

Something about Jonathan Byers catches under Steve’s skin. 

7. (from lucky enough to love you now, the second love Julie/Reggie one-shot inspired by Brandy (You're A Fine Girl)

Her nightly walks are much livelier with Reggie by her side.

8. (from All The Love In My Bones, a fluffy Julie/Reggie smut fic)

Julie wakes with a warm body beneath her and cool air curling over her back.

9. (from Butterfly Kisses And Glitter On Our Lips, a Flynn/Julie/Reggie one-shot in which they give him a makeover)

So this is what Girl's Nights are like. 

10. (from Our Luxury (A Love Like Stars), co-written by @psyduckappears, the Luke/Reggie/Julie Christmas proposal fic)

Walking home from campus with Luke is a highlight of Reggie’s Tuesdays and Thursdays. 

Everyone who wants to do this has probably done it by now, but no-pressure tagging @tiriansjewel and @psyduckappears!

[musicmags]

[blowflyfag]

Pro Wrestling Illustrated: October 1993

WIN LOSE OR DRAW 

BY ANDY RODRIGUEZ

IF THE EVENTS we have witnessed in wrestling thus far this year seem surprising or amazing or generally unbelievable, that would not make this year any different than the rest. When has there ever been a “normal” year in this sport?

The most normal thing or person we have seen is Bob Backlund, and even his return late in 1992 was heralded as a phenomenon, a George Foreman-like comeback. No, the most normal thing about the mat sport is its lack of normality. Which is probably the very reason most fans would give for liking it.

To believe Regal’s claim to royalty is to believe he offers something more extraordinary than any of his peers. Of course he does not. He is a fine wrestler, but he has not been blessed with skills that will, for example, cause him to defeat Big Van Vader in five seconds. 

However, Regal offers something perhaps just as important: a spectacle. He was, like Backlund, boring; now he is at least interesting, if not fun. He wishes to be known as Lord Steven Regal. He sports ring attire to match his new outlook. And he has a manager named Sir William.

Is all this going to help Regal reach his goals? Maybe. Is it all worth it? That’s for Regal to say. It would be correct, though, to regard this move as a failure, even if Regal wins the WCW World championship.

[Even if he lacks the skills, Lord Steven Regal certainly has the attire to back up his noble claims. Andy Rodrigue feels he’d be better off maintaining a low profile.]

Regal may well have a drop or two of royal blood in him; many British do. That claim is hardly worth disputing. The problem is that he is quickly losing the respect of his fans and, more importantly, his opponents. 

That is no problem for Regal, he says. 

“I am not going to concede anything to you,” Regal stated arrogantly. “You expect me to apologize for what I've become. You want me to bow down before the old order and retract what I now believe. I cannot and will not do that. I won’t live within your expectations. I won’t be bound by your beliefs.”

It was the first and final comment he offered on the subject. The rest of the Regal party line was given by his manager. 

“To begin with, no right-thinking wrestler has ever been helped by those fans,” William claimed. “They certainly did not help his Lordship. On the contrary. They distracted him. Because he was seeking to please them, he hurt himself in the ring.”

“He’s free of that now,” William continued. “Together we have chosen the path that will lead him to glory. I can tell you that he definitely has not lost the respect of his opponents. Actually, they have more respect for him, because they see in front of them a new man, one capable of great things. Lack of respect? Never!”

William is doing what all good managers do. He is sticking up for his charge. He is attempting to convince the skeptics that Regal did precisely what he had to do, and that William was the man to help him do it. What William says sounds good. What Regal’s foes say sounds worse.

“That old Steve Regal, if you can call him that, was a very serious one in the ring,” said one recent opponent. “He was straightforward, and the last thing he wanted to do in there was waste time. He definitely wasn’t someone you looked forward to wrestling. Today, he only seems to care about looking good. He and his manager create all this nonsense, and it distracts from his talents. I can’t take him that seriously anymore.”

[As a fan favorite, Regal engages Maxx Payne in a test of strength. As a rulebreaker however, Regal must count on the shaky support of fellow rulebreakers like Payne–which, in effect, makes Regal a loner.]

“Regal says nothing’s changed,” Rick Steamboat offered, “but, of course, it has. When Steve arrived in WCW. I was proud to see him here. I felt glad for him because he finally had made the big-time. He appeared to be a hard worker who wanted success the right way. It’s easy to respect such a man. I’m sorry to see him taking the shortcuts. He’s still a solid competitor, but I don’t fear him so much as I pity him.”

Steamboat’s views reflect those of even most WCW rulebreakers. Publicly, Regal receives their support, but may of them question whether he’ll stick with the plan he and William have formulated. 

“So far they’ve been talking a good game,” said a prominent WCW rulebreaker. I certainly think they’re on the right course. But I have my doubts about them, Regal in particular. Is his heart into doing what needs to be done to win? Maybe it is and maybe it isn't. I’ll leave it up to him to prove. A bunch of us are watching him very closely.” If regal doesn’t have the confidence of his fellow rulebreakers, he’s in trouble, because his old friends aren't about to extend assistance. Again, naturally, William puts a bright face on a potentially harrowing situation.

“Lord Steven and I are prepared to go it alone if we have too,” he insists. “Our aim is to win championships, not form entangling alliances. They talk about trust; how can we trust them? We fear no one, nor do we ask for their help. If we believe that in order to win the World championship–or any other title–we must alienate every other man in WCW, we will do that.’

[Regal and Sir William insist they don’t have the time or trust to form alliances with favorites such as Marcus Alexander Bagwell.]

One must wonder if Regal ever thinks about what his career was like before he hooked up with William. He was well-respected. He had friends on whom he could rely. He did not have to endure endless abuse from fans who once treated him kindly. It was the kind of career Regal sought when he journeyed to WCW from England. 

Now his situation is dramatically different, because he made it that way. He’s convinced that his new attitude will bring him new titles and new glory. It may bring that, but it has already brought him disdain and disrespect. For how long can he live with that? Sometimes boring is better.

Steve Regal’s career has changed considerably since he hooked up with his new manager, Sir William. Is the change for the better? Perhaps not.

[piratefishmama]

Steve being convinced (read: forced) by the highschool drama teacher to play the part of "King" in a production, not a speaking role, his job is to just... look the part, look down upon his subjects from a throne, sit above them, powerful, regal, with the side note that he has to maintain that air of disinterest through the whole thing until he's 'assassinated/usurped'.

he only says yes because he was promised an automatic pass if he did it, as no-one else could really fit and maintain the look the teacher had envisioned.

and Eddie Munson, playing the role of court jester, putting his whole jestussy into making Steve crack both his character, and a smile.

because Steve wouldn't get his automatic pass if he broke character, and Eddie feels it's his sworn duty to not let King Steve coast through school on his good looks.

[littletroubledgrrrl]

[bejeweledbaby]

obsessed with fics where steve and eddie were each other's first kiss when they were children but they don't connect the dots when they meet again as adults. Neither realize that this eddie is that eddie and this steve is that steve.

let me set the scene:

the older kids are having a small get together at steve's place and they're all sharing their first kiss stories. eddie starts regaling the group with the story of his first kiss with this beautiful boy at summer camp who had gorgeous hazel eyes and the softest hair. steve thinks the story sounds a little too similar to his first kiss. he starts connecting the dots when he realizes the chocolate button doe eyes he used to dream about years ago are the same chocolate button doe eyes he's been dreaming about in recent months. when it's steve's turn to share his first kiss story, he's like, "well, actually you've already heard it." and now eddie's connected the dots and pulls him into the bathroom to kiss about it. and there's some heartfelt love confessions and then they ride off into the sunset together.

[strangerstilinski]

𝙞𝙩 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙖 𝙠𝙞𝙨𝙨

𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

word count: 2.5k warnings: none really, fluffy ending, steve is kind of a dick, mention of alcohol, gender neutral reader (pls let me know if i missed anything) based on that scene in tasm where peter spins gwen around to kiss her — with just a dash of enemies to lovers

It should go without saying that Steve Harrington is the bane of your goddamned existence. If the two of you aren't at each other's throats, it typically just means that you're both doing your best to pretend the other doesn't even exist.

And, sure, maybe it drives you a little bit insane that he seems to get along just fine with every person in your friend group except for you. It was like you pushed buttons that Steve wasn't even aware he had.

Nancy finds the whole thing amusing, says that Steve's clearly so in love with you that he doesn't know how to handle it. Eddie swears that Steve looks at you with hearts in his eyes, though any time you've caught his stare those ‘hearts’ tended to look a whole lot more like daggers. Argyle and Robin both insist that love and hate tread a very thin line, and eventually, a little push will have the two of you stumbling head over heels into each other's waiting arms. Johnathan tends to stay out of it, but then, he doesn't really need to say anything, because you've seen that look he gives you when he catches you looking a little too long at the moles dotted along the length of Steve's throat, or that stubborn lock of hair that tumbles over his brow bone, or the way his tongue pokes out and his eyes narrow cutely when he's concentrating-

You hate it. You hate Steve. Even now, you swear you hate him, regardless of the way you shamelessly ogle the curve of his bicep when he reaches across the back of the sofa to drape his arm loosely behind Robin's shoulders. You've accepted it. At this point, allowing yourself to admire his stupidly handsome physique was merely reparations for being forced to put up with him on a near-daily basis. Compensation for the never-ending bad attitude that he seemed to direct solely at you.

“Does anyone hear that?” Steve's voice speaks louder than your own suddenly, effectively cutting you off even though you'd been in the middle of a sentence. His eyes meet yours for just a brief second before his gaze is moving elsewhere, “It’s like, this annoying buzzing sound?” He's sitting up a little straighter following his interruption, brows drawing together like he's listening intently for something.

His sudden line of questioning has thoroughly derailed your train of thought. The longwinded story you'd been regaling to the group about a customer at work is cut short, the words dissolving on your tongue as your try to work out what on earth Steve is referring to. Until his interruption, you hadn't heard anything.

“What are you even talking abou-”

“There!” He cuts you off once more, “There it is again! Did you hear that, Robs?” The fingers he nudges into his best friend's ribs makes her squirm away with a deep laugh.

“Are you seriously implying that I'm the-”

“God, you are hearing that, right?” Steve interrupts with an irritatingly pleased grin on his face, “Like nails on a chalkboard-”

Though Robin's laughter isn't actually directed at you, your face burns hotly anyway. A pity-filled smile graces her lips when she meets your gaze after escaping the wrath of Steve's tickling, and the boy's chuckles of amusement only serve to make you grind your teeth together in irritation.

“Real mature, dickhead.” You snap, snatching up the beer you'd set down on the coffee table when Eddie had actually asked you about your day a few minutes before. “I was in the middle of a story.”

“Yeah, no offense, honey, but I don't think any of us were that invested hearing you talk about the ‘big tip’ that some douchebag with a hand tattoo left you.” Steve grumbled with a roll of his eyes, “If your stories weren't so boring, maybe we wouldn't all be sitting here hoping for a hole in the earth to open up under us just so we don't have to keep listening to-”

“Steve, c'mon man-” Eddie tries, though his voice is drowned out by your own.

“Jesus, do you have to be such an asshole all the time?” You snap in Steve's direction.

“I'm just saying,” Steve shrugged, “Probably the only reason he left such a big tip was because pulled the wrong bill out of his wallet. It sure as hell wasn't 'cause of your shining personality.”

“What, and just 'cause you're a jackass that means no man could ever possibly find me appealing?” You bite back.

“Yeah, well, your pretty face doesn't quite make up for your constant need for attention.”

“My need for attention?” You scoff incredilously, beer slamming back down onto the tabletop in front of you as the rest of your friends seem to fade even further into the background. “You're the one who can't stand when the focus is on me for ten fucking seconds.”

“Well I don't care if some prick hit on you at work-” Steve argues, “So, I guess, if that makes me an asshole-”

“It does, as a matter of fact,” You interrupt easily, “Because I'm constantly listening to you whine about your conquest of the week, and I'm able to do so without acting like a fucking-”

“Careful,” Steve hums, cocky little smirk reemerging on his lips, “You're sounding a little jealous, there, honey.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“'S my house,” He returns just as quickly, “How 'bout you fuck off.”

The blood in your veins is full of fire. Your face is burning with rage and your eyes prickle traitorously with frustrated tears, because that customer from your story? That was the highlight of your day, because the rest of it had been a fucking disaster.

You'd slipped on freshly mopped floors and dropped an entire table's drink orders. You'd been forced to finish your shift with sticky, soda pop-soaked socks squelching wetly in your shoes with every step. Your boss had given you shit, even though it was one of your coworkers who had failed to put out the wet floor sign in the first place. You'd burned yourself on a hotplate, twice. And then, after all that, you'd had no choice but to take an ice-cold shower before heading over to Steve's house, because the hot water heater in your decrepit apartment building was apparently broken. Again.

“Y'know what? Fine.”

You're already rising to your feet, wiping the palms of your hands down your jeans to dry the lingering condensation from your beer. You blink furiously to push back the tears that had been pooling at your waterline, shaking your head at the ridiculousness of the turn in your evening.

“Wha-” Steve is watching you with something like concern in his eyes now, “Wh-Where're you goin'?”

“I'm leaving,” You announce, gaze steadfastly avoiding where Steve has removed his arm from around Robin's shoulders so he can sit at the edge of the couch, like he's planning to rise to his own feet at any moment. “I, um. I'll talk to you guys later.”

There are protests from everyone, but you don't bear them any mind. You're already turning on your heel and moving toward the entryway with hurried steps. The front door slams shut behind you before you've even gotten your jacket all the way on. You've still got one arm still struggling to find the hole of your sleeve when you hear the door swing back open behind you.

“Hey! Wait up.”

Steve's voice does make you slow where you've begun to move down the driveway, though you don't turn around. Your steps finally come to a stop when he calls out to you again.

“C'mon, honey wait, wait, wait-”

You blow out a frustrated breath as he finally catches up with you, your arms crossing over your chest like that might somehow put up a physical barrier between the two of you.

“I really don't want to do this with you, Harrington. Alright?” An air of defeat laces your words, one hand coming up to rub at the headache that’s begun to pulse between your brows, “Just.. Not tonight.”

You move to step around him and the heel of your boots click against the pavement once, twice. But then something hooks into the belt loop on your jeans and you're tugged back around. You lose your footing at the unexpected shift in momentum, knees wobbling unsteadily for just a moment before you're twirled back around to face him and then your palms are meeting a firm chest.

The adrenaline has your brain whiting out for just a moment, any and all thoughts screeching to a halt. There’s warmth seeping into your palms from beneath Steve’s tshirt. The racing of your own heart in your ears drowns out the distant sound of laughter and the opening trailers of a movie rental coming from inside. Your eyes are level with his chin, wide gaze locked on his lips as they quirk up at one corner with his gentle smirk. You’re still standing pigeon-toed between his own larger feet, a little off balance but held firmly in place by the wide hand splayed across your waist.

“I'm sorry.” Steve says quietly.

It’s only been a second or two since he dragged you back into his space, and to your surprise, his head dips, just a fraction. Steve brushes his nose against your own, a gentle stroke that sends butterflies in your stomach fluttering wildly. The cool mint clinging to his breath fans out over your face smelling of the gum he’s always chewing and smacking obnoxiously, but the scent this close is intoxicating. The hand he brings up to cradle your jaw is intoxicating. The loose flap of leather on his watch that tickles at the side of your throat. The way he’s leaning in-

The passion he kisses you with, from the moment your lips touch, is intoxicating. It's all-encompassing. You can’t think, and you’re not sure you’re even breathing, but his lips are moving in unhurried synchronization with your own. Your knees are weak. You’re gripping the material of his shirt in your fists just for something to hold onto, but Steve’s arm is curled tight around the curve in your spine now to hold you steady.

His tongue brushes against your lips, licking softly at the seam of your mouth like he's asking for permission. The desperate sound that crawls up your throat at just that quick brush of his tongue nestles in the depths of Steve's brain where he files it away for later. He hitches his arm even tighter at your waist, pulling your stomachs flush until your chest heaves against his own.

Your head is a little fuzzy when your lips separate long enough for you to take a breath, and you’re gasping comically in an effort to fill your lungs. Steve’s quiet chuckle meets your ears, his hand sliding back from your jaw to cup the back of your neck.

“You kissed me.” The words fall from your lips in a whisper of disbelief. Your eyes are still closed, lashes fluttering against the tops of your cheeks. You’re terrified if you open them even a crack, the entire scene will suddenly fade away around you like some kind of dream. The airy cadence of your voice is partially due to your surprise, but also thanks to the far-too-easy grace with which you've been spun and manhandled and swept entirely off your feet.

“I did,” Steve agrees just as quietly, “I did do that.”

His forehead meets your own as your eyes flutter open and he simply holds you there for a moment, nose dragging across your cheek before he presses another quick kiss to your lips. His head tilts, thumb stroking soft over the side of your throat before his mouth finds yours again, and again. These kisses are different — casual, tender, sweet and unhurried. Like he’s kissing you just because he can.

“You-” Is all you manage to get out before your words are silenced by his lips slotting between your own, but you carry on with barely a pause as you click apart once again, “Y'r still doing it.”

“Mhm.” He hums easily, the sound rumbling beneath your hands on his chest.

“Why-”

Kiss.

“Are you-”

Kiss.

“Kissing me?”

Steve’s breath mingles hotly with your own in the narrow breadth of space between your parted lips, “D’you want me to stop?”

“No. Hell no.”

And there's that perfect smile of his. Straight teeth make an appearance as his lips quirk up at the corner, a breathy spearmint scented laugh that sounds a little too relieved for the casual coolness that he's clearly trying to give off. His mouth opens like he's going to say something, but no words seem to come. Lips parted, throat bobbing as he swallows around the heavy silence weighing down his tongue.

He looks so pretty like this, you think. The light shining above your heads catches in his brown eyes, caramel sparking with flecks of gold and green that you've never noticed before, but you're sure you'll never be able to forget the sight of it now. You're still sharing breaths, faces so close that you can't avoid watching the way his full lashes blink at you dumbly. As if he isn't the one who spun you around and pulled you close and effortlessly gave you the best kiss of your entire life. As if, maybe, he didn't quite expect to make it this far, and now he's at a loss for how to proceed.

You release his shirt from your fist, the fabric crinkled and stretched with how tight you'd been gripping it, only to slide your hand up the back of his neck. The tip of his nose catches the bottom of your own, lips brushing faintly while your hand finds a new home in his hair. The soft strands tangle between your fingers when you give it a gentle tug and push up on your toes to draw yourself impossibly closer.

“If I'd known kissing you was all it took to shut you up, Harrington, I would've done it ages ago.” Your quip lacks its usual bite, but it breaks the silence between you, and it also seems to break Steve out of whatever spell he'd fallen under.

His tongue pokes out to wet his lips as he searches for an appropriate response, “Maybe we'll just have to keep kissing then.”

You find yourself swaying just a little on your feet at the way his eyes flick slow back and forth between your own, “Maybe we will.”

When his lips descend on your own again, it takes ages before he lets you back up for a decent breath of air, and even then he parts from you with obvious reluctance. You're both breathing heavy, lips a little swollen and shining wetly. Steve's expression has a warmth that you realize you've never actually seen directed at you before. Steve smiles at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and suddenly all you can think about is what Eddie has said a hundred times over.

It’s like there are hearts in his eyes.

[stevebabey]

this is pure stupid hell crack that took more time than it should’ve to finish BUT i’m ready 2 release it from my drafts <3 this is actually technically written partially w @corrodedcoughin in mind bcos i think u will mighty enjoy it! for cockney eddie!

It comes with the territory, the accents.

Drama kid or dungeon-master, either one could be credited with contributing heavily to his affinity for all of Eddie’s little voices.

There was the deep, low raspy one reserved for trolls in campaigns — and a nasally high one he used for goblins to pair. Wise wizards giving out crucial advice sometimes had a strong Scottish drawl to their words. And Dwarfs? Always English.

So, yeah, Eddie has a couple different accents in his different repertoire. Pulls them out as he needs — a regal tone when referring to Hawkin’s very own royalty or a buried Southern twang used when he’s in trouble with Wayne. The most common is a shoddy Cockney accent for when any conversation dips too far towards awkward or boring.

It's why it's not so surprising anymore when they just... slip out sometimes.

He's learned more now, when specifically not to do it (Mrs. Donnell had not found his plea for a re-sit, in a heavy Irish accent, endearing in the slightest). But with friends who know Eddie, they know the accents come along too.

Steve fucking loves them.

The first time one had taken over his voice, some New Yorker twang to carry a joke, Steve had laughed so hard he’d snorted. And god, had Eddie lit up at the noise— loved knowing that, deep down Steve Harrington had a delicious wonderful ugly laugh that he only showed to people he trusted.

Basically, it’s hardly news to Steve then, all of Eddie’s little voices.

But well, even Eddie didn’t expect… okay, the truth is he never expected to be in this situation at all.

It’s a Wednesday evening when it happens. Steve is over round the trailer like he is every Wednesday, keeping Eddie company while Wayne is out on the double night shift.

It originally had started out as ensuring wounds were checked and dressed properly — considering half of them had scaled up his back, where Eddie couldn’t reach — for the both of them. Then, when technically Eddie could manage the worst of his words, Steve was still coming around. Dustin’s insistence, he’d said.

Then it was… because Eddie asked Steve to come around, to stay a little longer.

So, Steve Harrington is in his kitchen and it’s a Wednesday ritual that they have together and that’s not even the weird part of the evening.

(And somehow, neither is the fact that Steve is, as of a few months ago, his boyfriend.)

Steve’s cooking. Something simmers low on the scarlet glowing hob, bubbling quietly and releasing aromas of spices that percolate into the Autumn evening air.

Eddie feels his stomach growl in its own twist of hunger as he follows his nose. With one hand still scrubbing a towel against his wet hair, he ambles down the hall, fresh out the shower, ready for love — be it the form of food or, he thinks giddily, kisses.

Steve’s not watching the food as Eddie enters, his eyes fixed somewhere across the room. There’s a crease between his eyebrows, an indication of his deep thought.

Eddie grins, approaching without any attempt of being sneaky, (Steve’s as good as comatose when he’s distracted as he’d found) and jabs his boyfriend’s calf with his toe.

“Thinking mighty hard there, Stevie. That’s dangerous.”

Steve jolts, snapping out of his thoughts. He straightens up automatically, then seems to recall the company he’s keeping, and relaxes back down.

He scowls affectionately at Eddie’s barefoot, still jabbing into his leg, and reaches out to flick it with his finger.

“Dickhead.”

Eddie’s faster. He dances away and laughs at the instinctual pout that forms on Steve’s lips.

“What ponders thy mind, hm?” Eddie drawls, a lilt of a Regency style accent in his voice. He sinks into one of the kitchen chairs and drops his task. The towel hangs over his neck, his damp curls resting against it.

Steve seems to jolt again at that, his shoulders rising for a moment. He spins, picking up the wooden spoon beside the stove to swirl the contents of their dinner around. Eddie admires him, broad shoulders and long back, ripe for his taking. Silently, he sighs dreamily on the inside.

“Just… what movie we’re gonna watch tonight.” Steve says unconvincingly. “I’m not doing another re-watch of the Fly.” He adds lamely, an attempt at his usual bitch.

Eddie lets him have it. With one final squeeze of the towel, trying to wring out all the droplets in his hair, Eddie abandons it on the chair as he stands. He waltzes forward, into Steve’s space, and hooks his chin over the other's shoulder.

“You know, that’s what you said last time.”

Steve side-eyes him, his eyes narrowing into a minuscule glare; bitch personified. Eddie grins. Then bats his eyelashes.

It makes Steve laugh, shrugging Eddie’s weight off politely as he gives their dinner another stir. There’s still this tenseness to his frame. Though, maybe it's one Eddie can only notice because he’s paying such close attention.

“Alrightttttt,” He pretends to relent dramatically, his hands coming up to give Steve’s shoulders a quick squeeze. “I’ll let you pick the movie tonight.”

He drops his hands back to his sides, smarmy grin already plastered on as Steve turns to face him, the wooden spoon placed down on the bench.

“Oh, you’ll let me, will you?” He gives this incredulous look, even if there is this playfulness toying at the corners at his lips.

“Uh huh,” Eddie affirms with a severe nod, then begins counting on his fingers as he lists off. “No badgering, wailing, complaining, of any sorts I—“

Suddenly, Steve’s reaching out, his deft hands reaching out to snag the waistband of Eddie’s pyjama pants. It supposed to be a smooth move he’s used countless times before; fingers looped through belt loops to pull a girl in for a kiss. It usually works like a charm.

Except, there’s no belt loops— and when Steve tucks his fingers beneath the waistband and tugs him forward, Eddie shrieks.

“Fucking christ, Steve!” He bats Steve’s hands back without thinking. Steve holds them up defensively.

“Sorry! I was just—”

“What are you doing sticking your hands in my pants?!”

“It was a move!” Steve insists, voice a little whiney. “God, you’re dramatic- I was trying to pull you closer, numb-nuts.”

“Oooh,” Eddie switches up in an instant, hands shooting out to grab Steve’s own. He pulls them forward and settles them on his own waist, shuffling in closer like he hadn’t just shrieked a minute earlier. “Continue.”

Steve chuckles, delight peeking through on his face. His hands, large and slender, curl around the skin of Eddie’s waist and Christ, he’s still not used to that. Eddie’s too focused on repressing his shiver to see the shadow of nervousness cross Steve’s face.

“I was actually thinkin’ about,” Steve starts lowly, eyes skirting off Eddie’s face, over his shoulder. His fingers tighten their grip. “How—”

He sucks in a breath, like drawing in courage, and meets Eddie’s gaze. “About how much I love you.”

There’s the smallest tremble to his voice, giving away the immense emotion behind the words.

And here’s the situation that Eddie never expected to be in, ever. His breath catches, his eyes widen — his heartstrings tangle and knot themselves as he soaks in Steve’s admittance. Love, love, love — he loves me.

His lips part, a raspy noise escaping as he tries to compute, tries to think of anything to say because the longer he stays silent, the more crushed Steve’s expression becomes. And then—

“Well, I luv ya too.”

The words fall out, thick in that godawful Cockney accent.

Steve's face doesn't change but Eddie's does, contorting in an amalgamation of pure cringe and panic as embarrassment crawls beneath his skin. He slaps his hand over his own mouth as if it can take back his awful reply to being told he's loved by Steve.

"I—" He starts, speaking through his fingers, except it still comes out in a funny accent. Eddie squeaks, his grip over his mouth tightening, brown eyes wide in his panic. Oh God, never in stupid silly life has his accents come back to bite him in the ass so magnificently.

"I'm so sorry," Eddie whispers-yells in his regular voice, finally dragging his hands off his face sluggishly. "Jesus H Christ, I didn't— that wasn't making fun of you, I— oh god, you know that happens when I'm nervous sometimes. Shit. Shit, I'm so sorry, Steve."

Steve hasn't moved, his hands still resting on the small of Eddie's waist. His expression is guarded, nothing betrayed. His dark eyes scan across Eddie's face and just before he speaks, the smallest glimmer of amusement glitters across his face.

"Well," Steve begins, heaving a faux large sigh. His hands squeeze comfortingly at Eddie's waist again. Eddie who is still frozen, still cursing himself internally, still echoing around the apparently true fact that Steve loves him— well, maybe not anymore with how awfully Eddie responded.

And then Steve opens his mouth and the most appalling attempt at some accent comes out. It makes his words all garbled and Steve's pink in the face, obviously embarrassed but trying to commit to some shoddy Scottish when he says, "Aye, that's al'right."

Eddie stares at him. Steve stares back.

The moment of silence is broken as laughter seizes him, a guffaw bursting from his lips and holy fuck, Eddie loves him so much. Steve laughs too, the two of them relaxing and sinking into one another. Eddie's hands, previously fluttering and unsure, find their natural place curled in underneath Steve's jaw and when he leans in, he's fighting off his laughter. His grin is unbearably wide, cheeks aching.

Steve's got this shine in his eye, his hands sliding further around to pull Eddie in closer, his pink lips quirked in delight. Eddie practically purrs, so close to kissing him but not quite closing the gap.

"Yep," He says, eyes bright as they bounce over Steve's face to drink in his boyfriend's love-soaked expression. He loves him. Steve loves him. Eddie sounds as lovesick as he feels when he whispers, "It's decided. I think you're it for me, Stevie-baby."

He presses forward, lets his mouth find their home in the curve of Steve's lips. It's warm like nothing he's ever felt before, softened by their gooey-grins of love. It's an in love kiss.

"Even if you're terrible at accents." He murmurs against Steve's mouth.

"Shut up."

Steve hisses, but he’s still grinning. The dinner bubbles behind them, still cooking away behind them. "Like I'm ever going to let you live that down."

Eddie finds he doesn't really mind all that much — God forbid his boyfriend ever remind him they're in love.

"Shut up," He still says, then sticks out his tongue, like he's ten years old. "You love me."

"I do." Steve admits easily, his fingertips dancing along the small of Eddie's back. Eddie has to tuck his bottom lip behind his teeth to restrain his wild grin.

"And I love you." He says, properly this time, jabbing his finger into Steve's chest — so there's no absolutely mistaking it.

[hotluncheddie]

eddie loves the public library, once he moved in with wayne he would regularly bring home a stack of books and devour them. wayne had barely gotten his head around the last lot eddie regaled him with, before eddie was onto talking about the next.

eddie using the school library sometimes, though it had nothing on the public one. would watch as steve harrington slumped in during lunchtimes, face bruised, just looking for somewhere quiet.

eddie in the library, secretly spying on steve harrington on saturday. there with a brown curly haired kid. eddie uses dustin speaking a little too loudly about dnd as an excuse to go talk to them. show them where the best dragon books were kept. heart clenching over secretly catching steves warm smile as dustin gets exited.

the librarians of hawkins being some of his few supporters during that terrible week. having the same learned faith in him as wayne - that hurting someone just wasn't in eddies nature.

librarian eddie - crushing on but always being too embarrassed to talk to the guy who comes in for the audio books.

fantasy writer eddie dedicating his first novel to all public library employees across the country, and steve.