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lovebugism · 1 year

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forgive me for what is likely a basic ass request but... steve has a crush on eddie's best friend? smut optional but encouraged :) (love, j.d. aka mypoisonedvine)

✶ ┄ LOVE YOU, ON PURPOSE (i)

part one | part two

summary: steve harrington took extra care to avoid the local freaks of hawkins. having shared custody of a fourteen-year-old forced him into a bitter friendship with one, he's steadfast in his refusal to befriend the other. that is, until you start working at the groove beside family video. steve claims he only fell for you because you tripped him. (17k)

pairing: steve harrington / eddie's bff!reader

tags: strangers to friends to lovers, mutual pining, protective eddie, canon divergence TW swearing, bullying, some smooching, talks of insecurities, reader is doubtful of steve's intentions because steve used to be a dick <3

a/n: this request has been sitting in my inbox for ages. ages, i tell you! i wrote the outline the day it was sent in and ended up turning the blurb request into a full on 30k+ word fic. i'm sorry for the wait j.d. (and to everyone else who's been waiting patiently for me to put this out). i quite literally put my heart, soul, pussy, and so, so many hours into this. please enjoy! feedback is always appreciated! xoxo

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Something happens and I'm head over heels.

It would be a total disservice to call you Eddie’s best friend.

It wouldn’t even feel right to call you his platonic soulmate or his sister from another dimension. Not when the two of you are essentially an extension of the same human being. It’s a twin flame on steroids — your mirrored souls make the rest of Hawkins believe in some sort of higher power. There’s no way it wasn’t destiny that placed the two of you together at exactly the right place, at exactly the right time.

Your entwined spirits could’ve been a beautiful thing.

It’s too bad you’re both total fucking freaks.

Unfortunately, being a couple of metalheads who spend their free time creating fantastical worlds in silly little board games hasn’t become cool yet — for some sad, strange reason. It leaves you and Eddie as the town’s token social pariahs. The kind of misfits you only spot when you care enough to look — laughing too loudly at the lunch table or sharing a cigarette in the alleyway between school buildings.

The kind of weirdos who get your attention without trying. The kind that people only look at when they need something to make fun of.

With that being said, everything Steve knew about you came from the people that hated you.

Tommy Hagan said that you and Eddie had been fucking since the seventh grade, that the two of you had gotten close between blowjobs and fingerbangs in the old chemistry classroom. No one’s quite sure where it came from, but they believed him without thinking twice. You and Eddie tried to squash the rumor for years before leaning into it full throttle.

“And these are the freaks,” Tommy announced when he approached your lunch table. He was giving Billy Hargrove a grand tour of the high school, or rather the shithole, and detoured like you and Eddie were some kind of sideshow attraction. Him and his goons ogled at you like zoo animals.

Steve idled some feet away, not as interested in the bit as the rest of them. He was even less interested in entertaining the new kid on the block thateveryone else seemed to be obsessed with.

“Hey, Tommy...” Eddie sing-songed through a mouthful of PB&J. You’d given him the other half of your sandwich, because you always give him the other half of your sandwich. “Hope you’re not comin’ back to ask for a handy again. I already turned you down, remember?”

A dumb grin took over the boy’s freckled face. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned over to the California boy. “I wouldn’t get too close to them. Don’t know where their hands have been, you know? If I had to guess, I think Punchy got Munson’s rocks off in the janitor’s closet before lunch period.”

Neither of you were particularly fazed by the laughter that erupted all at once and threatened to swallow you whole. Instead, you smiled with bits of grape jelly smeared on your chin. “I bet you think about it a lot, don’t you, Tommy?”

You really lived up to the nickname. Punchy. You weren’t entirely sure where it came from — your fierce temper, perhaps, or maybe your intense personality. Either way, it suited you.

Vicki Carmichael once said that you bit a guy on a date one time. Barry Jenkins, a tennis douchebag who thought the world revolved around him because his dad owned a string of local laundromats. He took you on a date in his mom’s Impala and assumed making out in the backseat gave him free rein to stick his hand up your skirt.

The asshole sported a red mark on his neck the next day.

When people asked you about it, you smiled with all your teeth in place of any real answer.

Carol Perkins loved to comment on the state of your wardrobe, telling anyone who would listen about the time she caught you rifling through the $1 bargain bins outside the thrift store. She liked to joke that you were stealing from them. “Because she can’t even afford a couple measly dollars. It’s kinda sad, honestly. I feel a little bad for her,” you overheard her saying once.

You were smoking a cigarette in the stall and watching through the crack of it while her and her friends touched up their lip gloss.

“Wait, really?” Tina wondered, stopping mid-swipe of mascara through her long lashes to gape at the girl beside her. Because, god forbid, they don’t have someone to make fun of.

Carol snapped bright pink bubblegum between her teeth. She looked offended, almost — manicured brows furrowed and shiny lips snarled — like the idea of her taking pity on you was insulting. “No,” she snapped in response.

You’re pretty sure it’s the only rumor about you that’s got any bit of truth to it. Or any rumor of hers, really. The thrift store was great and all, but you firmly believe that your best pieces come remanufactured straight from Eddie Munson’s closet.

So it isn’t any wonder why the two of you seem to dress so similarly — all leather jackets and distressed jeans and hand-me-down t-shirts that are either too big or too small. The both of you take little care in your appearance, wearing only what you feel good in. And sometimes that means wild hair and baggy clothes that swallow you whole.

To make it worse, you and Eddie even talk the same. You’re both loud and brash and have very little awareness of personal space. You aren’t scared to make a scene or use your voice when you think it’s being stifled. And when you love someone, they know it, because you won’t leave them the hell alone.

These are all the things that Steve hated about Eddie. So he hasn’t quite figured out why he’s so damn in love with you.

But he is.

Quite dreadfully so.

Head over heels and stumbling since the day he met you for a second time.

It was the spring of 1986 and The Groove had just opened up. Steve had heard murmurings of a record shop taking over the empty outlet adjacent to Family Video but had no idea it would nearly run them out of business. The shiny, new music store attracted all of their usual customers. People were more excited to buy new cassettes than rent movies they’d seen a thousand times already.

Steve didn’t mind, though. He liked it best when the store was empty. But all of his friends — a closeted lesbian, a basket case, and a couple of fourteen-year-olds — seemed to have the same affliction that was plaguing the rest of the town.

He tried not to be offended when Robin said she was going to spend her break next door and not with him in the closet-sized break room.

He failed.

Robin spent her half-hour and then some meeting you. She returned forty-five minutes later with a blushing face and a bleeding heart. Suddenly, there were two people in Steve’s life that couldn’t seem to shut up about you. As much as it annoyed him, he let her gush about you anyway, because that’s what best friends do, after all.

But Steve knew you once upon a time. Or he thought he did.

You were a loudmouthed metalhead who wore all black to blend in to Eddie’s shadow. You created fictional characters because it was easier than making friends with real people. You were strange and awkward and mean and gauche — the total opposite of this heavenly, mystical creature Robin was making you out to be.

But then it became this whole… thing.

With Robin and Eddie constantly talking over him about you, the rest of the kids were as confused as Steve was. And as they so often tend to do, the group decided to take matters into their own hands and make the short trek to meet you formally. Steve figured that their answer would be final. When those teenagers hate you, you know it. He learned that the hard way

They’re gone for a little over an hour and come back with a thousand stories and various tapes they say you gave to them for free.

Lucas has got a new Beastie Boys cassette and a proud smile on his face as he recounts the promise you’d made him about catching his next basketball game. “And she said she really liked my ranger,” he brags less than humbly, telling the older teens about how you’d heard stories about his track record in Hellfire campaigns. There’s a sudden suaveness to his voice as he bounces his brows up and down at them.

Max scrunches her face in disgust. She clutches a Kate Bush tape close to her chest, like it’s a prized possession she never wants to let go of. She rolls her eyes at her boyfriend (or maybe ex-boyfriend, but Steve can never keep up these days) and makes her own conversation with Robin. The two girls are the only ones with more than half a brain cell between them, or so they claim.

The redhead tells her that she plans on bringing her broken skateboard over to your store soon. She says the thing’s been wobbly for days, and Robin nods along like she knows all about it. “Well, apparently, she has some tools and knows how to fix it. Said the trucks just needed to be reinforced or some shit, I don’t know, I’m just glad it’s getting fixed.”

“Wait, why didn’t you tell me?” Steve asks her, confusion contorting his words along with his features. He crosses his arms and leans against the counter. “I could’ve fixed it.”

“You don’t know anything about skateboards,” Max monotones.

“Okay, but you don’t even know this girl! She’s a total stranger, Max. That’s dangerous.”

She rolls her eyes. “She’s nice, Steve. Way nicer than you—”

That makes him scoff.

“—And you’d know that if you got to know her.”

It’s Dustin’s turn to gush about you next. His opinion, for a reason Steve has never been able to place, arguably means the most to him. And the kid is just absolutely fucking beaming about you. He holds a Star Wars orchestral vinyl in his hand — the brand new one he’s been talking about for weeks but couldn’t afford.

He talks of the collection of DnD figurines you were painting behind the counter and the promise you made to make one for his bard come the next campaign.

Dustin gazes at Steve, wide-eyed and nodding like he’s as amazed by the revelation as Steve is. “She’s cool, Steve. Like… really cool.”

The boy thought that Robin just had a crush, that Eddie was just being Eddie and overdramatizing all of his stories about you. But you’re everything they said you’d be and then some. The kind of stranger you meet that takes your breath away, that makes you sad in the understanding that you’ll never see them again. Dustin is grateful you don’t have to be a stranger anymore.

You sounded… nice. More than nice. They painted you out to be a fucking angel, the way you took care of a bunch of kids you barely knew for the better part of an hour. You weren’t the freak everyone made you out to be all that time ago.

They talk a great deal about your looks, too. Dustin, mostly. Lucas had received a glare and a half-hearted punch on the arm from Max when he said how pretty you were — even though she ultimately agreed with him. The curly-headed boy uses too big words to describe the renaissance painting you are, all heavenly morose and beautifully strange.

“Hey,” Eddie scolds from the sidelines, mostly playful. “That’s my sister you’re talking about. Bring it down a few notches, ‘kay?”

Steve is silent for the rest of the day after that. He’s not pouting about it like Robin keeps saying he is, just reserved in his reminiscence.

He can’t tell if he’s intrigued or annoyed. They talk about you the way people used to talk about King Steve — with a borderline obsession for someone they don’t really know. And deep down, he knows he’s just jealous. Jealous that no one talks about him that way anymore. Jealous that none of the kids have ever talked about him that way.

It leaves him skeptical and wanting to see the real thing for himself.

Steve opts to meet you on his lunch break the next day with a tight chest and sweaty palms, like a part of him knew it was going to change the trajectory of his life for the foreseeable future.

The door dings with his arrival. The record store smells like earth and nostalgia, a bit like flipping through the pages of an old book. Vinyls sit in rows and in towers that rise to the ceilings. Colorful cassettes, of which there are thousands, have nooks and crannies of their own. Posters decorate the walls along with various patterned records — there’s hardly a blank spot in the entire store.

And when Steve sees you for the first time, he only sees the back of you.

You’re in all black, just like he imagined you’d be. A sliver of skin at your midriff is showing from where your too small shirt has ridden up your torso. And your hair is as wild as ever, though a little longer than he remembers. You’ve haphazardly pinned back the ornery strings with a sparkly pin, but it doesn’t do much to tame them.

A breeze of warm wistfulness washes over him at the sight of you. A reminder of a life that used to be his, that you were a part of only passively.

It’s your smile that does him in. Maybe because you’ve never looked at him with it. As far as Steve’s concerned, no one’s ever smiled at him the way you do, and you barely even know him. You hadn’t seen him in over a year and if you shared any words in the past, it wasn’t anything more than snarky one-liners. But here you are, looking at him with sunshine anyway.

“Hi,” you beam with the warmest grin he’s ever seen, swiveling in your chair to face him. “Welcome in.”

He’s too stunned by the sight of you to respond. He just stands in the doorway, all wide-eyed and gaping, like he’s the first to see an angel on earth. And it’s strange because you’re far from perfect.

You’re blousy and a little disheveled, like you’d been running late that morning. The lack of makeup allows your imperfections to shine through in a way that makes you somehow more alluring. And you’ve got paint splattered like freckles on your cheeks, the culprit being the figurines you’re painting behind the counter. If you know you’re dotted with shades of red, blue, and green, you don’t show it.

“Can I help you find anything?” you ask him, still kind even though he’s acting like a fucking weirdo. That’s supposed to be your thing, not his.

Steve grasps for something to say but comes up short. His lips part and then close again in an embarrassing pattern that resembles a fish out of water. It makes sense, though; it’s a bit how you’ve made him feel just now.

When he realizes he can’t make out anything intelligible, he shakes his head. “Uh… nope.”

He’s leaving before he even realizes he’s leaving. The door dings again and he’s on the other side of it, long legs carrying him the short distance to Family Video at record speed.

He swings and slams the egress shut in quick succession, as though the ghost of you had been chasing him. He leans against the glass pane and exhales a heaving sigh, eyes squeezing shut as he recoils at what he’d just done.

He always knew that King Steve had died some time ago, but this was a new low.

Robin watches from the front counter with wide eyes. “…Did you forget something?”

Steve sighs a big, hopeless sigh, then peeks his eyes open. “My dignity.”

“She’s cute, right?” she asks, already knowing the answer. Her brows bounce in time with the smirk on her painted lips.

“Yeah, she’s cute,” he answers, all mad because it’s obvious. “She’s fucking— she’s beautiful.”

“Aw. Look at you,” she sing-songs and tilts her head to her shoulder. “I think your heart grew three sizes today, Stevie.”

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

I never find out 'til I'm head over heels.

Steve, all caught up in his boyish misery, has no idea that he’s enraptured you in a similar way.

You hadn’t cared very much for the guy in high school. You didn’t really know him then, and you didn’t particularly want to. King Steve was rich. King Steve was pretty — too pretty. King Steve got attention from pretty cheerleaders and overaggressive douchebags alike.

King Steve didn’t need any affection from the local freakshow.

But, by some strange turn of events, he’d managed to make nice with your best friend.

The way Eddie talks about Steve, his words always dripping with a distant venom, it sounds like they still hate each other. Maybe they do. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to admit that they hang out far too often not to be friends.

If you were still in school, you probably would’ve judged him for it. Being friends with the boy whose buddies made your life hell certainly warranted some degree of ridicule. But now, having graduated and trying to move on from it all, you can’t find it in yourself to.

High school might as well have been a lifetime now. There’s no use in holding onto old ghosts.

If Eddie could let that shit go, so could you.

He drops by after school to keep you company like he always does when he doesn’t have a campaign to prep for. It’s his favorite pastime, perhaps a close second to Dungeons and Dragons. He gets to hang out with his best friend and swim in an ocean of music while he does it. As far as freaks go, Eddie Munson considers himself the luckiest.

He likes to hear you talk about everything new you’ve gotten in while he rifles through the old stuff that isn’t selling as well. You happily let him take what he wants for free. And what he doesn’t take, he doesn’t pay for either, because you cheat the system with your employee discount and then wipe the record from inventory. Just to be safe.

“I love having a criminal for a best friend,” he jokes every time, without fail.

Eddie stays by your side until the sun sets. He parts only to flip the sign at the door to closingfor you, then plops himself back on the counter again. His legs hang off the side of it, sneakers occasionally thudding against the wood when he kicks them back and forth too hard. He scans the back of an old Lynyrd Skynyrd vinyl and bobs his head to the rhythmic bass as the song fills the empty store. He’ll take this one home, he decides.

You keep on painting like you have been all day, breaking only to assist customers or stretch your aching spine. The forest dragon had been far more work than you expected — made of pretty purple leaves instead of scales and blowing blush-colored flowers instead of fire. The little piece of clay has resulted in a day of back-breaking work.

You’ll be damned if Eddie’s next campaign isn’t the most stellar looking one yet.

Focusing on that makes it easier not to bring up Steve.

You want to. You just don’t know how.

Eddie’s friends were Eddie’s, and you don’t get involved where it doesn’t concern you. Besides, you did sort of give him shit for hanging out with The Hair way back when. The last thing you want is him taking the piss out of you about it.

You don’t want to sound like you care too much. Even more, you don’t want it to be obvious that you’ve been thinking about the boy all day — making yourself sick as you stew in what could’ve run him out like he did.

“Saw your friend today,” you remark, feigning a sort of absentmindedness, as you swipe your brush along the petals of your dragon. “King Steve.”

“Oh, you met him?” Eddie wonders, more intrigued by your words than you expected he’d be. He says it like you didn’t already know the guy — like this new Steve was a totally different person you needed to be reacquainted with to really know.

“I wouldn’t say met him exactly. He just, like, popped in for half a second and ran out.”

With your back facing him, you don’t see the shit-eating grin that pulls at the corners of his mouth.

Eddie was waiting for Steve to crack and finally see you. He knew he’d bite after the way the kids had talked about you — Dustin, especially. Because even though he claims he doesn’t have favorites, he’s got a very obvious soft spot for the boy. And he knew Steve would like you because everyone likes you. When they’re not clouded by judgment and high school hierarchies, at least.

He’s still got no idea how a guy that trips all over himself at the sight of a pretty girl could’ve ruled Hawkins once upon a time.

“Fucking idiot,” Eddie laughs to himself, already gearing up for the shit he was going to give Steve the next time he saw him.

But you see the boy before Eddie does. Steve comes back the next day, an hour or more after opening, less frazzled than the day before. The nearly twenty-four hours he had to prepare himself for the angel he was going to see allowed him not to make a total fool of himself when he stepped into the store again.

And you wouldn’t say it out loud — hell, it’s not even something you want to admit to yourself — but you’d been hoping he’d stop by again.

You thought Robin would come by and drag him with her, or that Dustin and his friends would come around before Steve dropped them all home. Frankly, you didn’t really care what brought him back. You just wanted to see him again.

Steve’s different than the boy he used to be. Enough that it was obvious from a measly thirty-second interaction. He used to be a charmer who could talk his way out of anything. Not to you, of course, he wouldn’t have been caught dead talking to you. But then he stops by out of nowhere, in rare form, stumbling all over himself and looking like he didn’t recognize you at all.

You’re still trying to figure out if that was a good thing or not.

He’s mystified you in a way he probably isn’t used to. Most girls like the hair and the arms — the super buff, super strong arms that fit so nicely in his uniform — or the fact that he’s got money and a reputation that precedes him. But you’ve never given a shit about any of that.

You’re more enchanted by the way nothing could even begin to conceal the soft, shy boy that King Steve had apparently turned into.

The door chimes above his head when he enters. The scent of earthy nostalgia is already familiar to him — lavender, sage, and something deeper. Steve considers it progress when he plants himself a few feet away from the door this time. If he runs out again, he’ll have to make an embarrassingly longer escape.

You turn away from your nearly finished figurine to greet the new customer. The practiced smile unconsciously widens at the sight of him. “Hi!”

“Hey,” he smiles with a curt nod. He regrets the half-wave he gives you the second his hand shoots up.

“You gonna run off on me again?” you tease and swivel in your chair to face him completely.

You’re wearing a Hellfire shirt that’s just slightly too big for you. It probably belonged to Eddie before it belonged to you. And you wear a corset-looking thing over top of it, a sheer number with a lace embroidery and a ribbon that’s tied in a bow at your belly. It doesn’t cinch you in the slightest, though, more for decoration than practicality.

“No that was… I just—” Steve huffs out a laugh as he tries and fails to come up with an excuse. He figures anything is better than the truth — that he saw how pretty you were and his brain forgot how to work because he’s the lamest person on the planet.

So he chucks a thumb over his shoulder and fibs. “I left something back at Family Video. Had to run back.”

“It’s okay. I was just teasing,” you assure. “Uh— Are you looking for anything specific?”

“No. Not really. Just… new records to add to my collection, you know?”

“Oh, you collect vinyls?”

He doesn’t realize that’s what he’s just said until you repeat the words back to him.

He’s kind of just talking out of his ass and hoping something sticks. That line does, apparently, because you’re beaming at him instantly. He’s scared to say no because then you’ll stop smiling. And he can’t have that.

“Yep,” he answers with a nod. The stack of records collecting dust in his den has to count for something, right?

He can’t find it in himself to regret his little white lie when it has you lighting up like a christmas tree.

You toss your paintbrush down when you rush from behind the counter to meet him. You seem to have forgotten that you’d just dipped the thing in purple paint. The thing splatters shades of lilac all over the limestone bench. And, in your haste, you nearly smack yourself with the leaden slab as you raise it to pass by.

Steve’s eyes widen when you narrowly dodge the weighty thing — then jumps, startled by the dense thwap that echoes through the small store when it slams back down again. He’s almost worried that it might’ve busted the hinge.

You cower at the loud sound but move on with a commendable finesse, too focused on him to care about anything else.

“That’s so cool! I’ve always wanted to collect, but records are so expensive, it’s crazy,” you ramble as you walk up to him, totally unthinking in the way you grab his forearm and usher him to the back of the store.

Your sheer black skirt swishes at your ankles as you walk. The dainty fabric is patterned with sparkly stars and crescent moons. He notices you wear a pair of dark shorts underneath for modesty. Steve tries his best not to stare at your ass. He almost succeeds.

“We actually just got in a couple of Dio records — The Holy Diver, you know, the one that just came out. I’m pretty sure there’s only, like, a couple thousand of these things in the whole world — which is totally fucking bonkers if you think about it,” you explain in one breath, laughing, before stopping abruptly in your tracks. Steve nearly runs into you when you turn around to face him.

You laugh again, a sadder one, this time at yourself, as you bring your palm to your forehead. “Sorry. I don’t— I don’t even know if you like Dio. I mean, of course, you don’t, right? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… rambled like that.”

You’d just been so excited and Steve had just been so different that you forgot who you were talking to. Hawkins High Royalty, Prom King, Biggest Flirt and Life of the Party in the yearbook.

As far as you’re concerned, Eddie Munson is your only friend. He’s the only person in the whole world you can be yourself around and never get self-conscious about any of it.

But sometimes you have moments like this one with a total stranger. Moments where you lose yourself in the conversation and your own jumbled thoughts. Moments where you talk and talk and talk until something thumps you on the head and you realize how annoying you’re being. This time, it’s the musky smell of his cologne that knocks you back to Ms. Click’s history class. The crisp breeze of bitter nostalgia makes you shiver.

Steve can see the way you get so suddenly aware of yourself and how the cognizance of the moment makes you writhe. He tries to bat away the lingering insecurities with a smile.

“Love ‘em,” he responds with a nod. He raises his brows and scoffs, grins and crosses his arms over his chest. “I mean, Dio? God, they’re like… top ten bands of all time, at least. Maybe even five.”

That isn’t totally true. He doesn’t know much about the band to have an opinion, but he’s pretty sure he might’ve said he hated them once. That was only because Eddie wouldn’t stop talking about them, though. Steve could learn to like them, if it means so much to you.

That’s exactly how he justifies spending $60 on four records.

He tells himself that he’ll listen to them and think of you, that it’ll be a solid conversation starter the next time he sees you.

You had a whole damn rack dedicated to all your favorite bands — “I put it together myself,” you’d bragged with a proud smile. S it’s a wonder Steve didn’t walk out with the entire damn store. Because you just kept on smiling and talking, so happy to have someone to care about what you had to say, and he ate up every second of it.

He’ll have to work overtime to keep his pockets from hurting, but it’ll be worth it. Because he’ll get to keep talking to you and indulging in all the things you seem to love more than life itself.

You’re still rambling as you ring him up. Steve notices you haven’t stopped yourself like you did before. His lack of dismissal has made you more comfortable, it seems. He likes that.

“I think we’re also gonna get a couple cases of Def Leppard cassettes tomorrow, which is super sick. I think I might have to start collecting, honestly. Tapes are whole lot cheaper than records, you know,” you tell him as you scan and bag all his vinyls. “And it’s also, like, a fucking stellar album. I don’t think I’ve stopped listening to Photograph since it came out.”

“Photograph. Right. Love that one,” Steve nods with a kind smile as he props his elbows on the counter. He doesn’t particularly care that he’s not entirely sure what you’re talking about, or that he’s never actually heard the song. He’s starting to realize you could talk for hours and he wouldn’t get bored.

“Oh, is that your favorite too? Eddie’s more of a Foolin’ kinda guy.”

Despite the fact that he’s never heard the song or this album in his life, he nods anyway.

He sort of spent the first eighteen years of his life faking just about everything — it kind of came with being the King of Hawkins High. It’s a talent that hasn’t yet left him, it seems, lying through his teeth to impress people. It’s almost become a second nature to him.

“Foolin’s good, yeah, but I think Photograph is obviously better.”

“Obviously, right!” you exclaim with a sunshine-coated laugh. “That’s exactly what I told him! But he’s way too hard-headed to be wrong about anything, so…”

“Well, I’d like to put it on the record that I firmly agree with you,” Steve replies so smoothly that his tongue must be dripping with honey. It’s so easy for him to fall into King Steve mode — when he isn’t forgetting how to speak and running off, that is.

You’ve learned a lot Steve in the past half hour. He likes metal, but leans more toward rock. Particularly all the metal and rock that you like. He hasn’t once had a differing opinion than you, besides telling you he heard Eddie playing a Metallica song once that he didn’t particularly care for. The second you tell him it’s one of your favorites, he backtracks instantly, blaming the Munson boy for being too sloshed to play it properly.

And you don’t miss the way he’s looking at you just now either, with his chin toward his chest as he peers up at you with warm amber eyes. He’s the charmer that he always was. It makes you remember, again, just who you’re talking to.

“We have a lot in common, King Steve,” you lilt with a playful grin.

He deflates at the use of the old nickname. You see the light in his eyes flicker for a just moment before he’s ducking his gaze away from you completely. He tries to brush it off with a laugh. “Yeah, I’m not— I’m not really King Steve anymore…”

“No?”

“Nope. Just… Just Steve these days.”

When he looks back at you, he finds you nodding at him, almost in approval.

Most people are upset to find that he’s changed so much. They hate that he’s no longer the recklessly stupid dumbass they used to get drunk with.

Not you, though.

“Cool,” you mumble, smiling softly, as you hand him his bag and receipt.

“Uh, I’d love to, you know, come take a look at those tapes when you get ‘em in,” he says as he walks backward towards the door, finally making the brash offer he’s been thinking about this whole time. “Maybe I can bring lunch and we can—”

“Well, Hellfire’s been doing campaigns during lunch recently. And Gareth’s out sick, so I’ve been subbing for him, you know, so…” you interject awkwardly, shifting your weight on your feet. You hate to turn him down, but Eddie might just kill you if he has to get a substitute for the substitute.

“Oh…” he nods, softly puckering his plump pink lips that you can’t seem to stop staring at.

“But I don’t think they’re coming in until late, anyway,” you add quickly. “So, you can stop by at closing, if you want?”

“No, yeah, that’s cool. So cool,” he replies, a little more flustered than he’d been just moments before. He’s just happy that your rejection wasn’t a total refusal.

You try to bite back the wide grin threatening to take over your mouth. “Okay… I’ll catch you later, then, Just Steve.”

“See you,” he waves right before startling himself when he backs into the basket of clearance tapes sitting just beside the door. He barely catches the thing before it tips over completely. He flashes you a shaking smile afterward and finds you covering your mouth with your hand while you try not to laugh too loudly.

He wishes you’d just went ahead and laughed at him. He wouldn’t have even cared that you were laughing at him, if it meant he got to see you smile.

And even though he’d just gotten done making the biggest fool of himself, he walks back to work feeling like the coolest man alive. There’s a foreign strut in his step that hadn’t been there before he saw you. It doesn’t leave him when he realizes he’s gone slightly over his break and that Keith is manning the counter in his absence.

The man mumbles a monotoned goodbye to the customer he’d just checked out.

She turns around and Steve realizes he recognizes this girl — Mindy or Mandy or maybe Monica — from Mr. Kaminsky’s class way back when. She did all of his homework for him before and after letting him fuck her on her twin-sized bed in her all pink room. That’s when Steve was conquering girls like they were Mount Everest, way before Nancy, when King was a title he wore with pride.

But he’s still so stuck in his head with thoughts of you that he doesn’t even see Mindy-Mandy-Monica or the flirtatious wave she throws his way.

“You’re ten minutes late,” Keith scolds, with his dead tone and his deader eyes.

Steve only shrugs, uncaring if it came out of his paycheck because — “I just got a date with the hottest woman on the planet,” he boasts with a puffed out chest and too smug smile.

It doesn’t lessen Keith’s anger, just diverts it. Because he knows exactly who he’s talking about. And so does Robin, as she pops her head out from behind the man from where she sits at the computer. “No way,” they chorus in disbelief at his words.

Steve nods. “Yes way.”

“Eddie’s gonna kill you,” Robin remarks with the shake of her head.

He knows she’s right. He just doesn’t care.

Eddie’s always been protective of you. Everyone knows that. But the two of them were friends now — or somewhat good-natured acquaintances, at the very least. He would’ve been mad about a year or more ago, if King Steve had decided to suddenly woo his best friend.

But it’s different now. He’s different now. Eddie knows how much everything’s changed, it’s just a question of if he’s willing to rehash old wounds.

It’s a good thing Steve knows how to take a punch.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Don't take my heart, don't break my heart.

Steve finds you again the next day less happy than he’s gotten used to.

The record store is dim and the red sign at the entrance has been flipped to closed, but the door is left unlocked — for him. The warm scent is a distinct contrast to the frigid spring night, a cozy high hemp and lavender, but your absence is noticeable and terribly heavy.

Steve lingers in the doorway, his shadow looming like a giant before him from the moonlight streaming in from outside.

He calls for you in the emptiness.

“Uh… Punchy?”

He’s relieved when you answer. The “back here!” you shout to him is muffled and far away. He follows the sound of your voice, filled suddenly with a childlike consolation.

The yellow fairy lights dangling over his head guide him through the aisles of cassettes and closer to you. Through a cluttered backroom, Steve finds you standing just outside an opened door — left ajar, for him.

The smile you flash when you see him is as dim as the closed-down store. It lacks all the sunshine you usually look at him with, shades of stormy gray rather than the usual yellows.

A look of concern flashes across his features — furrowed brows and inquisitive twinkling eyes — as you take a drag from the lit cigarette caught between your pointer and middle finger. You muster your best grin, but it flickers like a shoddy radio signal.

“Punchy, huh?” you tease.

Steve’s brows pinch together as confusion floods his features. It takes him a moment to realize what he’d said and the nickname he’d used — and he doesn’t want to be dramatic or anything, but he kinda wants to die. It’s embarrassing, he thinks, to hold on to an old high school monicker. And, fuck, if you hate it half as bad as he hates being called king, he deserves a slap to the face right about now.

You laugh instead of ball your first. He’s able to smile meekly in relief. “Oh. Shit. Sorry, I… I don’t think I even realized it came out.”

“No, it’s okay,” you assure when you see him getting all apologetic. “Eddie still calls me that all the time, so… Old habits die hard, I guess.”

Steve tries to move on, but it’s hard to when you’re so obviously gloomy. He hates how reserved you’ve gone in your quiet, not talking up a storm like you had been the last time he saw you. Now you’re just… a storm. It’s a little like sitting next to a rumbling rain cloud.

The rumbling rain cloud beside him takes a drag of her cigarette.

“You okay?” he asks and sounds like he really cares.

You didn’t think King Steve was capable of caring about anything other than his hair, but he looks down at you like he can feel every blue bolt of your doom and gloom. He makes you feel seen in the void of your sadness despite all the years you spent being invisible to him.

“Uh, yeah. It’s just the tapes. They didn’t come in,” you answer with a shrug. Smokes leaves your mouth and lingers in white clouds in the air. “So I’m a little bummed.”

“Oh…” is all Steve says and his pink mouth forms a too pretty ‘o’ shape that you can’t draw your gaze from.

The following silence makes you momentarily cautious. Insecurity runs cold over you because no sane person gets this about upset over a broken promise of a couple cassettes. It’s stupid, you know it is, but you were really looking forward to them. It’s like promising a kid the most metal present ever and then snatching it out of their bare hands.

Now, over the course of a couple hours, you’ve managed to convince yourself you won’t remember happiness until you get those stupid tapes.

“Sorry,” you apologize to him for a reason he can’t place. You shift your weight on your feet and peer at him from beneath your lashes. “I know you were looking forward to them, too.”

You extend your hand and offer him the cigarette between your fingers like it’s an olive branch. He takes it from you with a distant smile, then opts to laze against the brick wall like you are. He stays a respectful distance on the other side of the entryway.

“It’s okay. They’ll come. If I’m being honest, you know, I was kinda more excited to see you.”

His admission is brazen and a tad bit brash, even for a certified ex-douchebag. It lacks all of the usual honey-coated flirtation that usually tints his tone when he’s talking to a pretty girl. Because he wasn’t trying to make you swoon — though he certainly wouldn’t have minded if you had. This wasn’t some romantic advance, just a proclamation of his own personal truth.

A flash of shock contorts your features. “Really?”

“Of course,” he answers, breathing out a laugh that exits along with the smoke in his lungs. “I love talking to you. You’re… You’re cool, you know? S— Super cool.”

His face screws up at his stuttering, and he shakes his head at how the words sound leaving his mouth. His cheeks glow cherry red beneath an orange street lamp.

“Super cool, huh?” you repeat with a giggle that’s bright enough to illuminate the velvet night. “I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that before.”

Steve scoffs when he passes the cigarette back to you. Because, lately, that’s all he’s been hearing about you. From Eddie, from Robin, from Dustin — every good thing a person could say about someone else, they all say about you.

He’s starting to understand why.

Because you’re sweet. Like, pure sugar poured on the tip of his tongue kind of sweet. You’re bright like sunshine and soft like summer rain. You’re a shot of pure espresso for a boy who thought his life was at a dead end. He’s not entirely sure how he ever could’ve thought you were some deep, dark, devil-worshipping freak.

“I don’t believe that,” he dismisses with the shake of his head.

You breathe out a sharp exhale and a puff of nicotine-coated smoke. “I’ve been the town pariah since I was eleven, Steve. Everyone thinks I’m some kinda delinquent who’s in a cult because I play a dumb board game. So, no. No one’s ever thought I was cool before.”

“Still?” Steve wonders with a twisted face. “You graduated, like, a year ago. Are... Are people really still on your ass about that?”

“A little,” you answer with a shrug, trying your best not to look as affected by it all as you feel.

Steve feels his chest swell with the fiery urge to protect you. The same one he gets when Dustin tells him about the assholes at school that are bothering him. He wants to defend you from the same sort of assholes that he used to be. The impulse is borderline primal, rooted somewhere deep and far within himself, because god knows he’s got a terrible track record when it comes to winning fights.

“Shit, Punchy… I’m— I’m sorry.”

You sputter out a laugh at the apology, louder when you realize he’s using the nickname again.

He can’t relate to any of this. The trials and tribulations of being persona non grata everywhere you went were certainly lost on him. Steve might’ve lost his touch somewhere down the road, but he’ll always be crown royalty — the kind of guy you think fondly of when your wonderyears are long gone. But you? You’re lucky if people don’t cross to the other side of the street when they spot you coming.

Perhaps that’s why his words warm you so much. Because, despite all that, he’s trying to make you feel better anyway.

You give him a tender smile and a dwindling cigarette.

“It’s okay. I mean, it’s whatever, you know? I think it’s because I still hang out with Eddie all the time. Like, people see us and remember what fucking freaks we used to be,” you say with a laugh, then start to ramble without thinking. “We saw Tommy Hagan at Melvald’s the other day, and he looked at us like we caused him severe PTSD or something, like, he looked terrified. I honestly felt a little bad.”

Steve smiles, wide-eyed, equal parts intrigued and unsettled by the reminiscent glimmer in your eye and the daunting giggle that spills from your lips.

“But I wouldn’t leave Eddie, you know?” you blurt, suddenly serious, like you’ve taken offense at the very thought. “Not even if it meant people stopped being so mean. ‘Cause I love him and everything… Even though he’s a pain in the ass.”

“Oh, he’s a total pain in the ass,” Steve agrees and flicks the butt of the cig between his fingers. “He loves you too, though. I can tell. The asshole never shuts up about you.”

“He talks about me?” you ask, voice fragile and pitched higher than normal.

Steve doesn’t like the way you say it. He hates how you look at him even more, with a scrunched up face and eyes that flicker with embers of shock. Like you don’t believe it, like you think yourself unworthy of it.

“You’re all he talks about,” the boy assures, feeling so suddenly brave and wanting to make you feel brave too. He hands the cigarette back to you. “I don’t blame him. If I were him, I’d never shut up about you either.”

The contorted look of confusion on your face untwists itself, and your features fall flat with disbelief. A smile pulls slow at your mouth. Your eyes glitter an orange gold beneath the streetlight. They flit over to the boy beside you just long enough to take the stick from him.

“Steve Harrington…” you lilt, almost scoldingly so.

It makes him smile. “What?”

“Stop flirting with me.”

“Well, that’s very presumptuous of you,” he retorts playfully. “Who’s to say I was flirting?”

“So you weren’t then?”

“Maybe a little,” he shrugs with a knowing, practiced smirk. “Can you blame me?”

You don’t seem impressed by his not-so-subtle attempt at flirting, and he isn’t at all used to that. The bravado and the puppy dog eyes are his one-two punch — any other time, he’d have a phone number tucked safely in his pocket by now. But you’re not biting.

“I’m so not your type,” you dismiss with the shake of your head.

“Yeah?” he challenges, shoving himself off the brick wall with his shoulder and making the short trek over to you. He plants himself next to you, leans with one sneaker crossed over the other, and smiles with a playful twinkle in his eye. “And what’s my type?”

“Nancy Wheeler,” you answer without missing a beat. “Pretty girls.”

“Well, I think you’re very pretty—”

“Not like her,” you interject with a foreign firmness that Steve hasn’t seen from you until now. You’re still smiling at him, though, still kind but looking like you don’t believe him. Like you think this must be some kind of sick joke that he’s taking too far.

You can entertain Steve. You like Steve. Mostly because he’s totally different from the douchebag you remember him being — the douchebag you were expecting him to be.

You find that he’s terribly clumsy and not overtly good with words. He says dumb jokes that don’t come out right and smiles in relief when they make you laugh anyway. He’s soft like peach fuzz or a fluffy cloud, mushy like warm chocolatey gooey goodness, and not at all like you remember him.

But then he does this. He morphs into something else, changes shape right in front of you. He smiles at you with little of his dumbassery behind it — all smirks and faux longing gazes with the intent of making you swoon at his feet. He grins down at you and all you see is the teenage boy who would’ve never looked at you that way four years ago. Hell, not even one.

It reminds you of who he is, who he used to be, and who you are now.

You haven’t changed so much since high school. You’ve matured a little, sure, but there was never an asshole exterior that you felt the need to outgrow. You’re still loud at times, unaware and ignorant of the world around you. You still play lightsabers outside Eddie’s trailer in between lengthy Dungeons and Dragons campaigns. You still pretend like the lingering glares from all the people you used to know don’t bother you.

They do, though. They always have.

You look at Steve and you see this butterfly — someone made of rainbow colors and mostly mature. He’s growing, and you’re stuck in the same cocoon you’ve been wrapped in since freshman year, still fumbling around and trying to figure out where you fit.

He’ll always be the pretty butterfly he always was, with his pretty little iridescent wings that catch the light and all the attention. He’ll feed off the applause he gets while you’re sitting on the sidelines. The girl who’s destined to stay bundled in her cocoon forever only hears all of his praise — never watches, never receives.

“You and I are completely different people, Steve Harrington,” you declare with a grin that tells him you’ve already made up your mind.

The boy doesn’t get it, though, why you seem so upset by the idea. Him and Robin were completely different people. Him and Dustin were, too. The two people he adored — tolerated — most in the entire world weren’t a single thing like him, and it was better that way.

You don’t seem to share a similar philosophy, though. You take a drag from your mostly gone cigarette and mourn what could have been; if only he had been the town freak or you had been born the pretty girl next door.

“That doesn’t have to be such a bad thing—”

He’s abruptly cut off by the sound of muffled rock music and the bright yellow headlights of Eddie Munson’s van. The two of you shield your eyes when he whips into the desolate parking lot and parks in front of you. The sudden intrusion feels like being blinding like the sun after you’ve found such comfort within each other in the dead of night.

The stifled Def Leppard song — or maybe Poison, Steve can never quite tell the difference — is brought to a sharp halt when the engine shuts off. The headlights dim. The metallic slam of the driver’s side door sounds so much louder in the darkness.

Eddie rounds the front of his van and eyes the two of you rather suspiciously. The boy inhales deeply, puffing out his chest and splaying his hands on his hips. “…What’s going on here?” he squints at you.

You give him a terribly manufactured sunshine smile and bat your lashes his way, like you’re pretending to be un-innocent. “Nothing…” you sing-song.

Eddie rolls his eyes at you, then turns his attention to Steve. They’re not really strangers anymore, but he still feels the need to treat him like an outsider anyway.

“Harrington,” he says in the place of any real greeting. “Don’t you have other shit to do? Like, I don’t know, a shift as the mannequin at the GAP or something?”

Steve can’t find it in himself to get self-conscious about his fitted-sweatshirt, khaki-slack combo when the insult comes from a guy in a decade-old leather jacket, unwashed t-shirt, and ripped jeans.

“Very funny,” the brunette monotones.

“I’ll see you around, yeah?” you ask when you turn and walk backwards towards Eddie, like there’s a gravitational pull dragging you to him.

You say it to be polite mostly, but you’re hoping for an affirmative — a promise that you’ll have another night like this one, where he sees you just to be seeing you. Hell, you’ll even take a nod if that’s all he’ll give you. And when he does, he gives you a tiny smile that almost makes you trip over yourself.

Fuck, you think to yourself, like your brain is talking to your heart. We just agreed not to do that.

Before you get in the van, you walk by Eddie and bring your cigarette up to his mouth. You coax the stick between his lips with your pointer and middle finger, opting to let him take the last couple of hits because he never turns down a free smoke.

The passenger door shuts once you’re tucked into the seat of it. The sound it makes punctuates your absence. Steve feels all of its emptiness.

He eyes Eddie from the distance, immediately noticing the darkened skepticism dancing in his dark eyes.

The boy’s always felt the need to protect you. When the entire town got spooked about stories of some satanic panic and started treating you like monsters, he wanted to shield you from the boogeyman everyone turned into.

Steve wasn’t one of them, the bad men. But Eddie loves you and it’s made him doubtful.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Steve feels the need to say, as though he’d been caught with his pants down and not just sharing an innocent cigarette with a friend.

Eddie takes the final few puffs of it and exhales rather dramatically, lips pursing to blow it in his direction though it’s too far away to hit him. The boy throws the filter to the concrete and extinguishes the ashes with the toe of his dirty sneakers.

He waits until the white smoke has fully dissipated to speak.

“Damn right, it isn’t.”

That’s all he says. He doesn’t even look at Steve when he says it, or when he rounds the van and hops into the driver’s seat next to you. Steve squints when the too bright headlights come alive again in time with the roaring engine and dated rock music. His tires screech when he speeds out of the back parking lot.

The tin can he drives nearly tips over when he turns too sharply onto Main Street.

Steve doesn’t get a chance to get a good look at you before you’re gone completely. It makes him all boyishly upset, knowing the hours without you will be most agonizing, but the empty feeling is eclipsed by the warm relief of not getting clock cleaned by Eddie Munson.

Damn right, it isn’t. Four words. That’s all he gets. But they’re daunting and coated with a lingering foreboding that feels almost like a threat.

So, by all accounts, Steve probably should’ve known there was no way Munson was ever going to back down that easily.

Eddie comes back the next day, a thundering storm cloud of the boy he usually is, head wild with curly hair and a million thoughts.

The door dings far too gently for such an aggressive arrival. Metal bangs against metal as the handle collides with the window pane. He stomps to the counter in several quick strides, dark eyes darting around the half-empty store — obviously searching for something.

Robin, manning the front counter, is entirely unable to be threatened by him. The all black, chunky metal rings, and crazy hair stopped being so intimidating when she found out you called him Eddie Spaghetti. Now, it’s all she can think about when she sees him.

Even as he stands ahead of her, obviously upset, all she sees is a very cartoonishly angry Eddie Spaghetti, and it takes everything in her not to laugh.

“Where’s Steve?” the boy finally wonders when he realizes the boy’s not in the front.

“Uh, he’s in the back, I think. Why?”

Eddie doesn’t humor her with an answer. He just storms past the counter and makes a b-line for the break room.

Robin watches him over her shoulder. “You’re not supposed to go back there!” she half-heartedly shouts, but makes no further effort to stop him from doing so.

He finds Steve working beneath the dim yellow light of the back room. There’s a warmed-up container of leftovers on the small round table on one side of the room and a stack of unorganized tapes on the counter on the other. Steve multitasks between both and hums something summery under his breath — The Beach Boys, maybe.

He’s too distracted to notice Eddie’s abrupt appearance. It’s the subtle click of the shut door that gets his attention.

Steve’s confused at first. His head snaps over his shoulder like a ghost must’ve closed the door on him. He realizes that it’s just Eddie, and he’s so innocently relieved that it’s almost humorous, then confused all over again. His brows pinch together and through the chicken tender jutting out his check, he mumbles: “You’re not supposed to be back here—”

“Yeah, I got that part,” Eddie interrupts in a monotone.

He swallows. It’s as thick as the tension that settles between the two of them, made heavier by the lengthy silence. He crosses his arms over his chest, stands up a little straighter, and bares his neck when he lifts his chin. “I want you to leave her alone.”

Steve scoffs and chews through his mouthful. “Leave who alone?”

“You know exactly who I’m talking about,” Eddie squints with an unusual sort of seriousness. “I don’t want you messing around with her anymore, man. I’m, fucking— I’m so fucking serious right now.”

The clarification makes Steve laugh. He shakes his head and goes back to piling the myriad of tapes into organized stacks on the counter. “We were just talking, Eddie. I don’t need the lecture, okay?”

“We both know it’s never just talking with you.”

“What? Are you in love with her or something?” he retorts, trying to make a joke of it.

Eddie, for the first time in his life, isn’t amused. “Oh, god, get over yourself, dude. I know what kinda guy you are, alright? I’m not gonna let you hurt her.”

His words hit Steve like a pot of boiling water. It prickles his skin, leaving blisters and burning red blotches in its wake. He’s all but on fire with his anger, less offended by the accusation than by the person it comes from.

Steve and Eddie aren’t friends by any means. They’re just two guys with shared custody of a bunch of teenagers, bonded in their want to keep them all safe. But through their lighthearted animosity, is a sort of understanding: neither of them are the assholes the entire town claims them to be. Eddie isn’t apart of some satanic cult. Steve isn’t a douchebag that uses women as accessories. And that’s just a silent agreement they’ve both come to on their own terms.

But now here they are, talking like it’s 1984 all over again and they’re strangers who hate each other’s guts.

“No. I’m not gonna hurt her. Because we’re just friends, Eddie.”

The boy just shakes his head. He scrunches his nose like he’s wincing, then laughs — a big, dramatic laugh that fills the tiny break room. He begins to pace, waving an accusatory ringed finger Steve’s way. “No, see… That’s the thing. I don’t think King Steve is capable of being ‘just friends’ with a pretty girl.”

Steve rolls his eyes with a heavy huff. He comes to the conclusion that Eddie’s just projecting and that there’s no use in arguing his case. He shoves a black VHS tape into its designated sleeve and slots it in with the rest of them, muttering under his breath, “I’m not King Steve anymore…”

“What?”

“I said, I’m not King Steve anymore!” he yells, a bit louder than he intended to.

He drives a tape onto the pile with an unexpected aggression. It hits the wall with a resounding thud. His arms flail wildly at his sides when he turns to face Eddie again. “God, you guys act like people can’t change! I’m not the asshole I used to be, alright? Jeez…”

Eddie exhales sharply through his nose in the place of any real reply. Deep down, he knows all that. He knows it’s all true because he would’ve never befriended him otherwise. Steve Harrington — the king, the rich kid, the douchebag — turned out to be a pretty damn good guy.

And maybe if Eddie didn’t love you so much, he’d be able to wrap his head around all that.

But does. So he can’t.

He saw you two together the night before, sharing a cigarette behind The Groove — albeit a little too close for his liking — and suddenly, it was junior year all over again.

You’re stressed out about the ACT and college acceptance rates, none of your clothes quite fit you, and you’re trying out bold things with your makeup that don’t quite fit you either. You grin wildly up at Eddie through the vibrant lipstick smeared on your lips, laughing at his half-hearted attempt to cheer you up.

And Steve is a senior, standing on the other side of the hallway — with his pretty clothes and prettier hair — and he lets all of his friends laugh at you. They make fun of your un-styled hair and the way your shirt makes your boobs look, and Steve doesn’t find any of it particularly funny but he lets them mock you anyway.

Eddie sees you together and forgets about the man Steve is now. All he sees is a boy who never stuck up for you, for either of you, who let his best friends make your lives hell because his reputation mattered more.

And it wasn’t like it was his job to defend you, because it wasn’t. Not really. It’s just that you would’ve done it for him, if the roles were reversed. Eddie, too. Neither of you would’ve let a lamb be led to the slaughter quite like that. It was the Hellfire motto, after all — to protect the little sheep from the creeping wolves.

That’s where the difference lies. It’s where the mistrust settles deep and where the root of all of Eddie’s worries lingers.

But Steve has done more to prove himself than Eddie likes to give him credit for.

He takes care of a bunch of kids like it’s his job. He runs Robin to and from school most days out of the week, on time each morning — which, for a guy who showed up late every day for four years, was definitely saying something. He even comes to Eddie’s shows when he’s not too busy working the graveyard shift, never minding that he sticks out in his collared shirt and slacks — a pretty boy amidst a crowd of freaks.

Fuck. Steve Harrington was a pretty alright dude.

But you’re better than alright. You’re better than good. Better than perfect.

If you got your heart broken, Eddie thinks he’d feel all of it times a thousand.

Steve’s been through his own kind of heartbreak, though. He’s slapped a bandaid over his own bleeding heart, and it’s made him soft. The good kind of soft — the kind where he sees a bug on its back and has to flip it over because it hurts too much to let it suffer. Eddie knows he’ll be that kind to you. Kinder, even.

“Yeah, you better hope so, Harrington,” the boy concludes with a slow nod of his wild head. He steals a chicken tender from the styrofoam box it sits in, like it’s some kind of power move, and waves it at him like a condemnatory point. “I hear you do anything — anything — to her… And your ass is grass.”

Eddie takes a hearty bite from the strip, then tosses it back into the container again. He spins on the ragged heel of his sneaker and stalks out of the break room, punctuating his absence with the slam of the door. The ancient thing gets lodged and doesn’t quite shut all the way, so he has to double back and shut it fully.

Steve is left dumbfounded, in more ways than one.

“…He just ate my chicken,” he mumbles to himself with a frown settled deep between his brows. But there’s a lingering tension in Eddie’s storming out — a tangible fog within his words that settles something heavy in the Family Video breakroom that doubles as storage.

It feels almost like a blessing.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Won't escape my attention...

The more time you spend with Steve, the more confident you get.

You visit him at work more often, caring less and less about bothering anybody when you realize they all wanted you there. You let yourself ramble in front of him, too, not stopping yourself nearly as often as you used to. Steve guesses you started to believe him somewhere around the millionth time he promised he liked hearing you talk.

You turn to glitter in his presence, becoming more unapologetically yourself and glowing with it — with all the things that used to make you insecure, things that King Steve would’ve made fun of you for some time ago. Everything you were scared made you too different, is why he liked you in the first place.

And Steve gets to watch it all play out right before his eyes. You inch slowly out of the protective shell you’ve built around yourself and bloom like springtime flowers. He’s grateful he gets to witness it, even more that you feel comfortable enough to do it all in front of him.

You’re hardly as timid as you usually are when you saunter into Family Video. Rather than tiptoeing in and apologizing for intruding, you burst through the front door with a beam and a high-pitched squeal. You’re as bright as every star in the galaxy combined; even dressed head-to-toe in black, you’re more blinding than the sun.

Eddie’s leather jacket, either stolen or unenthusiastically lent from the boy himself, swallows your upper half. You wear a piece of Metallica merchandise beneath it. The thing is cut up to your ribcage. The jagged edges in the fabric, likely from a dull pair of kitchen scissors, tells him the chop was intentional.

A leather skirt clings effortlessly onto you, revealing the pudge of your stomach and the curves of your hips. The thing is donned with two spiked belts and several chains hanging loosely at your waist.

Steve is dozing at the counter with his chin propped on his first when you walk in. He’s half-asleep until he sees you. The shot of espresso that walks in makes him instantly forget how tired he is.

“Guess what?” you ask with wide, sparkling eyes as you skip to the counter with your hands behind your back.

Steve always hated that question. Usually, it came from Dustin or Robin — or, god forbid, both of them — followed by a “No, seriously. Guess.” It left him with no choice but to humor them until they ultimately caved and told him something he couldn’t have guessed in a million years.

He isn’t so annoyed now, though. In fact, he smiles. “What?” he replies.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, as though in a futile attempt to conceal the wide grin on your face, and take your hands from behind your back. You flash him the cassette tape you hold in the palm of them, a blue and yellow thing with the angled Def Leppard logo printed on the cover.

“No way!” Steve finds himself exclaiming like he’s the number one fan of the rock and roll band. He isn’t; never has been, really. But he is a fan of you. All of his excitement, all of his bright and shining smiles — they’re all for you.

“They came in last night— when I was off, of course— and I opened this morning and there was a whole damn tower of these tapes! I’m the one who does the tape towers, okay? Plus, I’ve been doggin’ my manager for weeks about the things, so I can’t believe they came in and no one told me, you know?”

Steve gets lost in your rambling right along with you, nodding because he never wants you to stop talking. His twinkling gaze follows you back and forth as you pace in front of the counter. You gesticulate wildly with your hands, nearly elbowing a customer when they get too close to the line of fire.

“And she was all like ‘I can’t control when they come in,’ And I was like ‘well, you can’t control when I come in either, I’ll be taking a long lunch now, thank you’—” you recount, albeit at a slightly louder volume that shocks anyone who doesn’t know you. People shoot you lingering side eyes from over the aisles.

Steve doesn’t care. He’s even happier that you don’t seem to either. You feel comfortable enough with him now to stop caring about the rest. When you stop yourself, you do it because you’ve said everything you need to say, not because you feel like you’ve annoyed him in some way.

“Anyway,” you conclude with a sigh. “I wanted to run it to you personally because, besides Eddie, you’re the only person I know who cares as much as I do.”

You smile sweetly at him, peering at him through your lashes, so suddenly timid — no longer the boisterous girl lighting up the whole room. Steve notices that you do that a lot, go from loud and sunny to shy and glimmering. Eddie does it too, sometimes, but it’s not nearly as cute.

“My wallet’s in my locker,” he tells you when you hand him the tape. He cocks his thumb over his shoulder with his free hand. “Let me go grab it. I’ll be, like, two seconds—”

You reach over the counter and take him by the arm, wrapping chipped maroon nails around the crook of his elbow to keep him from straying too far. Shock coats his features at the suddenness of your touch and the way it makes him buzz.

You scoff. “Are you serious? I’m not gonna make you pay, you weirdo.”

“No?”

“Of course not! It’s a gift.”

“Well, gee, Punchy. Considered me flattered,” he concedes with a faltering smile.

You laugh at his half-hearted attempt to be charming.

He rests his crossed arms on the counter and leans over the top of it in an effort to be the slightest bit closer to you. He gazes up at you with honey eyes and raised brows and a big, dumb smile. “And, you know, flattery... it goes a long way with me.”

You arch an un-manicured brow at him. “Does it, now?”

“Yep. So much so, I’m willing to break a few rules and let you pick out a couple of movies. On the house.”

It’s dumb and it’s sweet and so terribly innocent. He wants to give you so much than that but he’s got about eighteen dollars to his name, so all he can do is offer you a few measly VHS tapes. It has you beaming like he just offered you the world.

“Steve Harrington,” you scold playfully. “I didn’t know you were so naughty.”

He falters. His resolve slips and, for no more than half a second, his brain forgets how to work.

He’s not quite sure how you manage to do that to him all the damn time. You make his brain shortcircuit and his belly quiver and his vision swim. He’s known you for a while now, long enough that the lovesickness should’ve well worn off.

Steve’s worried that there’s no cure for you, that he’s in it for the long haul now — upset stomachs, heart palpitations, and all.

“Well, I’m full of surprises,” he shrugs and sways on his feet. “What’s your poison, Punchy? Molly Ringwald? Robert Downey Jr.? The John Hughes type?”

You can tell he’s joking. You squint over at him and rest your elbows on the counter top your face-to-face.

The wintergreen mint on his breath makes your head swim.

Your rouge-tined lips are so close he can taste them — he wants to, desperately so.

You don’t miss the way his gaze flits to your mouth, lingering there for no longer than a blink.

“Try Night of the Living Dead,” you challenge.

“That is so dreadfully on brand for you,” he manages to reply without much stuttering. He’s surprised he’s able to get any words out at all, with the way his heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest.

“I’m nothing if not predictable.”

Steve doesn’t respond as he leaves the counter to get what you asked for. Silence is easier than saying that you’re the most surprising thing he’s ever met in his life.

When he returns, he brings the entire film franchise with him. All three movies are stacked in his arms and he scans the backs of them, hoping Keith won’t notice that they’re being rented free of charge.

“Have you ever seen them?” you wonder.

He shakes his head. “No. I saw one of them at a drive-in a long time ago, but I wasn’t exactly paying attention, if you know what I mean—” he answers with a soft laugh, quick to cut himself off. It was supposed to be a dumb joke, but both of you know what he was insinuating and it makes everything awkward.

Robin would’ve slapped him on the back of the head if she were around to hear it.

He would’ve deserved it.

“Well, you missed out,” you scold, not quite meeting his gaze. “They’re actually pretty good.”

“I’ll try and watch ‘em sometime then.”

“Tonight?” you offer suddenly.

Steve furrows his brows. “…Huh?”

“I mean, like— I don’t know… I thought maybe we could watch them tonight,” you stammer with your eyes turned down toward the counter, where you draw invisible patterns onto the granite with the tip of your finger. “Like, together… if you want.”

Steve is momentarily speechless. He’s spent weeks plotting how he was going to ask you out. It would come to him in waves. He’d feel like he’d concocted the most perfect, foolproof plan right before realizing there was no way in hell he could ever go through with it — all in the same fleeting thought.

But here you are, biting the bullet for the both of you.

He’s grateful. He thinks he’s dreaming.

“That sounds…” Steve trails off with the mindless nod of his head. “Yeah. No. Totally. That sounds… really cool.”

A wide smile pulls at the edges of your lips. You purse your mouth to the side in attempts to conceal it. “Cool,” you murmur all cool-ly, like his affirmation isn’t heaven to your ears.

“Uh, not to sound like a total douchebag or whatever, but my dad— he’s got this theater room and everything, and my parents are almost never home,” Steve rambles as he puts all three movies into a paper bag. Then his eyes go wide and his face glows cherry red. “Not like that! I didn’t mean it like— That sounded really weird… I’m sorry—”

You giggle at him, at the way he can pretend to be so suave, and then reveal all the marshmallow fluff he tries to keep hidden a moment later. “It’s okay, Steve. I got what you meant.”

He writes his address on a yellow sticky note with the Family Video logo printed in green at the very top. His handwriting is boyish and sloppy, the sign of a boy who never did care much about school. Some letters are connected, others far apart; some written too big, while others are too small. You find it endearing, but Steve knows it’s just because his hand was shaking something fierce.

He leaves his number written at the very bottom. Just for good measure.

“No funny business, alright, Harrington?” you joke, waving a ringed finger at him as you walk backward out of the store, heading back to your own job.

Steve bites back a smile. Once upon a time, he was all funny business. No girl was ever going to invite King Steve over and not expect some heavy petting. And he wants so badly to kiss you — fuck, he wants to kiss you all the time — but the want to spend innocent time with you eclipses all of those boyish feelings.

He yearns to be close to you. Like magnets. Or a moon and the ocean’s tide.

“No funny business,” he promises.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

You keep your distance with a system of touch.

It isn’t until you arrive at the front gates of the Harrington home you realize you’ve never been in the suburbs of Hawkins before.

You grew up on the very outskirts of town, where there were more trees than people or houses. The block was half rundown already and horribly secluded. The only interesting thing about it was the winding trail through the woods that led to the anterior of Forest Hills trailer park.

That’s where you spent the bulk of your time, practically living with Eddie and Wayne in their one-bedroom trailer, until you felt guilty enough to go back home for a day or two. Your parents would inevitably remind you why you ran off in the first place, and then the cycle would start all over again.

It was all just far enough away from Hawkins that you could pretend like the town’s bullshit didn’t exist. The freak from the wrong side of the tracks didn’t belong on Maple Street or Fairview Road or Laurel Avenue. That was for people who could afford new shoes every school year, who could go clothes shopping and not feel guilty about cutting into their food money, who were set up with trust funds before they were even born.

But here you are now, on Fairview Road, seven o’clock sharp, and standing in front of the biggest house you’d ever seen.

You ring the doorbell and flinch when it’s louder than expected. The chime is light and jaunty. You wonder if it’s been programmed for the change in season.

Steve answers no more than a couple seconds later. He swings both French doors open, arms spreading wide like the smile on his face.

He’s traded in his slacks for comfier jeans and his vest for a form-fitting sweatshirt he’s bunched at the elbows. You realize, then, that you’ve never seen him without the forest green Family Video jacket. It makes him look naked, almost, like a totally different person — no longer the dork who works a measly nine-to-five with his best friend and visits the freak next door on the off chance his manager won’t dock his pay for it.

The vest had humbled him to a certain extent. Now he just looks cool. Like the boy people would either praise or avoid like the plague, for fear of getting in King Steve’s path — just a little bit more mature looking now, with his chiseled jaw and scruffy chin.

It makes you feel a little stupid from where you stand on the porch ahead of him, wearing the same thing he’d seen you in earlier that day. He’s got no idea you spent the past couple of hours agonizing over what to wear. For the sake of not seeming crazy overzealous, you opted not to dress up. Now you’re scared he thinks you just didn’t care enough to.

But you do care. So goddamn much that’s it scary.

You never had to worry about what you wore or what you looked like before you left the house, about what you had too much of and what you lacked. Now, it’s all you can think about.

If Steve notices anything at all, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps on smiling at you, too happy to see you to care about what you’re wearing. He’s just glad that you showed up.

Truth be told, he had a six-pack and Robin’s number on speed dial on the off chance you canceled on him. He was preparing himself to wallow in self-pity and spend the rest of the night ranting to his best friend about the bleeding heart he had for you. Because, as far as he was concerned, you were far too good to be true.

You were beautiful and funny and kind and perfect. You treat him like you’ve known him for years, like he didn’t spend so many of them avoiding you in attempts to keep some measly title that didn’t mean shit. You were too perfect. Sometimes, Steve gets scared that he just made you up.

But whether you’re a dream come true or the real thing, you’re standing on his front porch anyway, with a smile and a bottle of grocery store wine.

He saves the beer in his fridge and the wallowing for another day.

Steve escorts you through his lavish living room and to the downstairs area that’s got a movie screen hanging on the walls and a couple of leather couches sitting in front of it. The coffee table in front of them holds a myriad of glass bowls — popcorn, various candies, and more popcorn.

“You planning on throwin’ a party down here, Harrington?” you tease with a soft chuckle, trying to conceal how your heart’s about to burst at the mere sight of it all.

“Well, I just— I didn’t know what you liked, and I didn’t— I wanted to make sure you had something to eat, you know,” the boy stammers out. He brings the palm of his hand to rub at the back of his neck. “So I just… I got… everything.”

“It’s a good thing a like everything then, huh?” you smile at him as you pluck a Red Vine from its dedicated bowl. You rip off an inch or two with your teeth and then talk as you chew: “I hope you’re prepared for all of this shit get eaten, Harrington. I can get quite ravenous.”

Steve nods to himself and tries not to smile too big. “Sounds entertaining… Maybe I’ll just watch you instead of the movie.”

It was supposed to be a joke.

But then you settled down next to him on the couch, keeping a respectful distance but sharing the same fuzzy blanket, and he has to physically force himself to drag his gaze away from you.

He was right about what he said before, you were far more entertaining than the black and white film projected ahead of him — grabbing handfuls of popcorn at a time and quoting the movie through the mouthful.

It’s a tad bit barbaric, the faintest bit off-putting, and otherworldly levels of endearing. It leaves him virtually unable to take his eyes off of you.

He didn’t think you could get more beautiful, but you keep on proving him wrong.

He’s starting to realize he doesn’t know shit.

You’re slowly coming to the same understanding.

You’ve heard stories about Steve. Usually from gossiping cheerleaders standing in circles at their lockers or whispering in the back of a classroom. Doomed as the freak and all but banished from the inner society of Hawkins High, you became an observer. You were so invisible that people sometimes didn’t realize they were talking right over you, sharing secrets they wouldn’t want someone else to get a hold of.

But apparently you were the exception. Because you weren’t a someone to them.

They talked about how kind he was, how well endowed, how they were meant to go on some stupid date but missed their reservation because Steve got a little too handsy beforehand, and how they spent the rest of the night with their hands shoved down each other’s pants at Lover’s Lake.

You were seeing, firsthand, how much he’d changed. How he made his promise of no funny business and how he was sticking to it — no teasing you about the whole thing with a knowing smirk and flirtatious honey eyes, no urging to close this distance between you, no tiny touches on your arm or thigh in the hopes of heavier petting.

He spends the entirety of the first movie perfectly respectful. Just like you’d asked him to be.

And it was nice, knowing that you weren’t wasting your evening with some asshole who was only spending time with you in the hopes of you putting out later. But it leaves you the faintest bit empty. Hungry. You long for his touch like a missed meal. Starving and feeling it all.

It’s not even heavy petting you want, you just want to feel him next to you — to press yourself into his side and to warm yourself with him like a blanket.

But you weren’t a pretty cheerleader or a girl dripping in expensive clothes and daddy’s money. You were the weirdo, the freak, the loudmouth nerd, Punchy — all names you wore proudly, like lit-up signs or steel armor.

Until now.

Now you think if you weren’t Punchy, if were you someone different, then maybe he’d want to touch you more.

The first hour and thirty-seven minutes of your favorite movie are strangely agonizing.

Your hands itch with the desire to touch the boy next to you, and they busy themselves with the bowls of candy and savory junk food splayed out on the table in front of you. It’s mindless more than it is anything. You’re absentminded binging does nothing more than half-distract you from the thoughts raging rivers in your skull.

You don’t even realize you’re doing it until your hand falls into an empty bowl of popcorn and finds nothing but kernels at the bottom of it.

It makes Steve laugh, thinking you were just too into the movie to notice — having no idea it was him taking up all your brain power.

He leaves to fix more snacks for you while you slip the second VHS into the movie player. He returns with a bowl of freshly popped popcorn and two beers after the wine bottle has been sufficiently emptied. When he plops down next to you again, it’s in the same spot he’d been sitting in all night — a couple of excruciating inches away.

Under the guise of sharing the popcorn in his lap, you make the too bold decision to slither in at his side. It’s innocent at first — your thighs just barely graze and your elbows bump when you dip your hands into the bowl. And it’s still innocent some thirty minutes later, when you find yourself resting your head on his shoulder with your legs curled up behind you.

Steve tenses when he feels your temple pressed against him, but only for a moment before he relaxes again. It makes him all suddenly warm and self-aware of every movement he makes. He tries not to breathe too heavy or shift too often, for fear it might jostle you too much. He doesn’t want to stop feeling you against him like this, even if it’s got his skin prickling with a searing form of anxiety.

“Don’t tell me you’re falling asleep,” he jokes.

“Of course not. It’s way too riveting,” you scoff, even though he can feel you cuddling further into him. Your cheek rubs against the soft cotton of his sweatshirt when you look up at him. He turns his head to peer down at you and his nose nearly grazes your forehead.

He finds you with a certain glint in your eye. It’s borderline playful, like it so often is, but coated with a sweetness that drips over him like honey. “You like it so far?” you wonder.

“Yeah,” the boy nods quickly. He couldn’t tell you what had happened the past two-and-a-half films, but he could tell you how your jaw tenses when you chew and how your smile curls just before you laugh out loud and how your eyes widen every time you quote the movie. “It’s really good. I like it.”

You beam at him before turning back to the projector again. You shift to get more comfortable against him. “Good.”

By the third movie, you’re somehow even closer.

Truth be told, Day of the Dead wasn’t your favorite in the trilogy, so it left your mind wandering to far off places — namely, the pretty boy sitting beside you. He goes to put the tape into the projector, feeling immediately cold without pressing into his side, and when he returns he tries his best not to beg you to cuddle against him again.

“My shoulder’s gettin’ real cold over here,” he tries to joke.

You see right through his beckoning, though. It makes you happy to know he wants it just as much as you do.

“Just say you wanna be next to me, Harrington,” you tease like you aren’t happily obliging him. You snuggle into his shoulder and rest your head against him while your arms curl around his bicep.

“I wanna be next to you,” he repeats, a playful smile on his lips though his gaze softens with sincerity. “Is that so bad?”

You shake your head against him in reply. Suddenly as mushy as the boy beside you, you turn to look up at him. “Not unless it’s bad that I wanna be next to you, too…”

“Nah. It’s not bad,” he assures in something short of a whisper. “Guess I’m just glad I’m not the only one that’s so far gone.”

He doesn’t elaborate on what he means by that. He doesn’t have to.

Perhaps it’s the admission that this boy is so far gone for you that gives you a sudden burst of confidence. Maybe it’s the comforting feeling of being seen, of knowing you’re no longer alone in your similar far gone-ness. Each feels like rays of sunshine to your skin and has you pressing your lips to his wanting ones without much thought.

The plump pink of his mouth are magnets for yours. They meet and lock together with little effort, almost destined to do it. It’s a soft, meager, and lingering little peck that sucks you both in a little too easily. It’s hard to pull away from him, but when you do, your lips click in protest.

Then there’s a look, then a deafening silence that says more words than either of you were capable of forming in that moment. His amber eyes dart between both of yours, asking a question without saying a goddamn thing. One that you answer with your own softening gaze.

And it’s almost better than the kiss itself, the swirling feeling in the pits of your stomach, the knowing of what’s about to happen.

A silent plea and a blink later and his lips are on yours again.

It’s an awkward mess of yearning mouths and tangled limbs as the both of you fight to find purchase on one another. Your fingers knot in the collar of his sweatshirt, pulling him impossibly closer, while his grip the bare skin of your waist from where your shirt had ridden up. His touch makes you buzz, like a static shock or a bolt of lightning.

Steve makes several observations when he feels you melt into him like honey on toast. He notices how you press yourself into him, like you won’t be satisfied until you’ve swallowed him whole, and how it has you kissing him like you’re scared he’ll pull away — like you’ll open your eyes and he won’t be real.

You’re as domineering against his mouth as you are in real life, still as all-consuming and overpowering as the girl he’s gotten so familiar with.

He doesn’t realize how you’ve settled so intently on top of him until his back meets the pillowy cushion of the leather couch. You don’t either, until he exhales a sharp gasp against your cupid’s bow. Then you part from him, for the first time in several minutes, breathing in the oxygen your lungs had just begun to scream for.

Steve finds you with kiss-bitten lips and glassy eyes that look upon him with a softness that he didn’t know existed until now. He smirks with his own swollen and pinker mouth like he isn’t glowing red beneath you.

“I thought you said no funny business,” he manages to tease through bated breaths.

You don’t bother to make up excuses for yourself. You’re already on top of him, all over him — you’ve already kissed him like you would’ve died if you hadn’t. Now, you’re straddling him, caging him between your legs and under your torso. You’ve settled on top of him with a comforting weightiness, like you’re building a home in the familiarity you’ve sought in him.

“I lied,” you mutter with a lazy shrug. A sly smile pulls slowly at your lips until you’re all but beaming sunbeams down at him. He revels in your warmth. “’S not my fault you’re so damn cute.”

It’s easier to blame it on him for all the reasons you’re attached to him like a magnet to his metal, your moth to his flame. You part his lips with your mouth, rut your tongue against his own, reveling in the foreign familiarity of it all, and then blame him for the way you can’t seem to stop any of it.

Steve doesn’t seem to mind, though. The way his hands find purchase on your hips, petting the warmed skin there and sometimes squeezing to pull you further down onto him, tells you that he has a similar yearning to melt with you. He lets you kiss him all slow, allows you to taste all of him, and doesn’t rush you in your process. It’s comforting, tender. Free.

He’s not used to being on his back like this. Usually, he’s the one taking control. It’s his mouth that does all the work. So, it’s strange to be under you and to have you above him. But it’s more pleasant in an even stranger way not to be rushed — not to have to do all the work. His mouth opens so obediently for you and finds an effortless rhythm with your lips and your tongue.

It’s the easiest thing he’s ever done in his life, kissing you.

He delights in every ounce of the warmth and unfamiliarity you press to his mouth, and tries to shove down feelings of unworthiness that simmer in his chest while you do so.

You don’t part until your mouths are numb and tingling with it.

Your lips are more vibrant in their color, aflame and swollen from being so ardently kissed and sucked and bitten. Neither of you mind making out like a couple of teenagers. It’s comforting to know that things won’t go further than a couple soft touches on burning skin. It was never supposed to be anything more than that, anyway. It was just about being close to each other.

You’ve almost succeeded in your effort to melt into the boy beneath you, when you hear the distant sound of a door opening and closing again. Muffled voices follow — unknown to you but obviously familiar to him.

You part from him without thinking, like you’re a couple of kids again who’ll get in trouble if your parents ever found out what you were doing down here. Steve groans at the loss of you and in annoyance at the sound of his parents. His heavy eyes fall shut and his head leans back to the couch cushions as he fights to swallow down all of his anger.

His parents never really come around these days. They’ve got a bigger home in the city, closer to his dad’s work, and they choose to stay there most days of the week — month.

They used to make excuses for why they left their only son behind. It’s five minutes from your dad’s firm. There’s more opportunity for your mom’s real estate business. Oh, don’t be so selfish, Steven, you’ll finally have the place to yourself. It’s a win-win for all of us.

Steve didn’t want their excuses. It was actually easier with them gone.

But they come around every now and again, whenever it’s most convenient for them, and treat their arrival like something that needs to be celebrated. Like they aren’t supposed to be with their child in the fucking first place. And they somehow manage to pick the most inconvenient times for him, like they know he’s in a bind and want to see him struggle to get out of it.

Usually, it’s when he’s in between paychecks — when they want to take him out to some fancy dinner he could barely afford anyway, but especially when he’s hardly making it until payday. Now, it’s when he’s got the prettiest girl he’s ever seen on top of him, and he’s all hot and half-hard. Steve doesn’t want to let them ruin the moment, as good as they are at it.

“It’s okay. They won’t come in here,” he assures when he feels you tense at the unexpected company. “My mom will go to the bedroom and my dad will go to his office. We’re good, I promise.”

You figure he’s right. The voices grow more and more distant. Heeled shoes click up and up the stairs while heavy stomps head the opposite way. But you’ve already been so woefully knocked out of your stupor that you’re scared it’s too late.

Your lips are numb and the credits are rolling and you’re on top of this beautiful boy and you have no idea how you got there.

It’s almost frightening, the way Steve had consumed you mind, body, and soul by just existing next to you. You become dreadfully hyperaware of the whole thing — of who you are, who he is, and what you’re doing. You lose all your softness and turn to ice, hardening and shrinking back into yourself.

“I should—” you start before clearing your throat when the words come out heavier than expected. “I should head out anyway.”

“Oh,” is all Steve can say. “Right.”

You stare down at him, chest still pressed against his, nose nearly touching the tip of his own. “I just— I have to open tomorrow and everything, so—”

“No. Yeah. Yeah, I— I get it.”

You make tricky work of untangling yourselves.

His legs twist with yours when you both try to rise from the couch at the same time. Then your ring gets stuck in the fabric of his shirt, but not before his belt buckle gets somehow caught in yours. It’s like fate is protesting the imminent parting, but neither of you are paying attention to the signs.

He walks you to your car and chuckles under his breath as you scurry to the front door.

You’re not-so-distantly terrified of running into his parents. They probably wouldn’t mind that he’s sneaking around with a girl, surely that they’re used to, but you’re almost certain they’re not used to girls like you. Girls with wild hair and leather skirts and chunky boots and too bold makeup.

You’re not the girl next door. You’re the girl parents warn their sons about. “Leave that girl alone,” they say. “She’s nothing but trouble.”

You tell him all of this on the short trek to your half-broken-down car when you catch him laughing at you about the whole thing. You say it in jest, lighthearted and trying to make a joke of it. But there’s an underlying melancholia to your tone that reveals every truth you’re trying to evade.

“They don’t care enough about me to give a shit about a girl I’m with, I promise,” he confesses with a laugh that sounds more like a sad scoff than anything else. His chocolate eyes turn gold beneath the yellow street light. He smirks at you. “Besides, I don’t know if I told you this or not, but my middle name is actually trouble, so… I think we might be a match made in heaven.”

You roll your eyes at his attempts to flirt with you, though his lack of finesse makes you smile. “You’re an idiot, Steve Actually Trouble Harrington.”

“You really know how to say goodbye, don’t ya?” he grins when you reach the curb where your tin can car sits.

“Yeah, I’m pro,” you shrug with a teasing glint in your eye, then you beam. “I’ll see you around, ‘kay?”

“Totally,” he nods, suddenly forlorn at having to leave you like he hadn’t just spent the past four hours with you.

Themetallic click of your car door opening sounds much louder in the emptiness of the suburbs. You glance at the boy right before you sink into the driver’s seat, feeling your heart swell with something short of yearning — anticipation.

You weren’t actually a professional at saying goodbye, you find, because you’re realizing how hard it is to leave him.

“Steve!” he hears you shout from across the lawn when he’s halfway up the drive.

He turns around, expecting to hear you tease him some more or tell him you were having car troubles. Neither would’ve shocked him. You’ve got a smart mouth and a shittier car. But you keep on surprising him, all but launching yourself into him before kissing him harder than he’s ever been kissed before.

Steve tenses against you at first, then relaxes again in record time. He sighs in the comfort of having your body pressed so intently into his and your arms wrapped around his neck to pull him somehow closer.

You feel the breath of his exhale fan against your cupid’s bow. It makes you smile, and he feels the expression contort against his lips. His hands rise to the widest part of your hips without thinking. It’s all muscle memory now.

And even though he’s spent the better part of an hour kissing you, this one is so obviously different. This wasn’t just to pass the time. This was more than just to feel him — it was to tell him something. He hears every word you don’t say, but rather press like a stamp to his mouth.

He’s breathless when you pull away. You meet his flushed face with a mischievous grin.

“What was that for?” he wonders breathlessly, but doesn’t waver with his hold on you. He quickly notices that yours doesn’t either.

You shrug in response. “‘Cause you’re pretty.”

“Yeah, well…” he tries to play off like he’s not blushing like crazy. “You’re pretty too.”

Your beam ebbs into a teasing, tightlipped smirk. “Stop flirting with me, Steve Harrington.”

You shove him away with a rougher hand than you realize before you walk away from him. Steve rubs at the ache in his chest with the palm of his hand.

Your playful teasing and your lingering kiss is the only thing Steve has to remember you by when you turn on your chunky heeled boot and head off down the driveway again. He’s frozen, mesmerized by the sight of you and reeling at how you manage to drive him crazy without trying.

Your eyes find him again just before you duck into your car, and you see him still looking at you — mouth agape and eyes wide like you’re some kind of rare find. You figure you must be, in some way. Girls like you aren’t supposed to like guys like him. Vice Versa. Tale as old as time.

The boy stays locked in his stupor until the sprinkles whir on. The spurts of freezing cold water spray all over him and his pretty hair and expensive sweatshirt and his vintage jeans. “Shit!” you hear him swear as he rushes for cover on his front porch.

He’s quickly soaked and freezing cold, but he smiles anyway when he hears the sound of your giggling behind him. It’s as animated as your personality and spills from your mouth like so many rays of sunshine, just a little too loud for the quiet midnight suburbs.

It’s perfect, he realizes. You’re perfect.

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #st oneshots #stevie oneshot #punchy x steve

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thesoftestpunk · 8 months

Text

Will you be mine?

Summary: your crush is starting to become something more

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Word count: 6.3k

A/N: This took for-fucking-ever, I'm sorry. I had a 5 month writers block

Warnings: Minors DNI!! If I find out you read this, I'm calling your mom. Lots of making out, dumb sex jokes, first time, smut, oral, piv sex, virgin!Eddie idk if I missed something lemme know. Also reader can honestly be read as plus size. I try to be inclusive.

Pt.1

When Eddie truly saw you for the first time, you were actually giving Dustin directions to the theater department, already late to swim practice, but you nodded along to his excited ramblings about joining Hellfire. You wished all three freshmen good luck and when you passed by Eddie, you smiled. Not even a half-assed, polite smile, but a full one. It’s so out of the ordinary for him that he just gawkes at you with wide eyes until your smile falters a fraction, and you move on.

It’s been two years since you’ve moved into town, so he’s seen you around school before, but it’s the closest your worlds came to colliding, and in response to that, you smiled. Most people turned their noses up at the sight of him but the harder he thought about it, you never did. Not in two whole years. Even when his hair went through a terrible awkward phase.

It set his curiosity in motion, unintentionally looking for you any chance he got. It was easiest in class, stuck in the back by choice, but that meant no one was looking at him looking at you. You sat with your friends any chance you got, devoted yourself to them, but anytime they made a snide comment, he saw you withdraw just the slightest bit, eyes drifting and frown deepening. Eddie never liked it when you frowned. In fact, anytime he could tell you were having a bad day, eyes burning with tears, he’d act like a fool in class. At first, you remained nonchalant, eyes drifting like they did with your friends, but the first time he got you to laugh, his heart felt too big for his chest.

“Again?” Gareth teased when he caught Eddie drooling over you instead of the worksheet in front of him that only displayed the addition of his crooked name and nothing else.

“I think I like her, man.” Eddie tries to keep his voice low. If anyone caught wind that he liked someone so high on the social ladder, he’d be eaten alive. The teasing over his hobbies he could take, but getting his heart caught on his sleeve and then stomped on made him nervous.

“You should just ask her out.” Gareth says it so nonchalantly that Eddie can’t help but scoff.

“She’s friends with Christina Whitlock, wannabe cheerleader. She’s worse than Carver and his goons. I’m not going to put myself on the chopping block willingly.”

“It’s either you ask her out or suffer in silence.”

Eddie looks at you sitting in the front of the classroom, smiling at something you’ve been told, and his heart sinks a little.

Then everything shifted after you sat next to him in English that day your friends seemed to be making fun of him about something. At first he thought you did it because you felt guilty, but when you seemed genuinely curious about his tattoos, he let his guard down. Which seemed to backfire pretty quickly. He had to endure hearing you say you didn’t like him, not once, but twice.

When he had lost all hope, you invited him to the pool. He almost didn't go, fully expecting you to turn him down politely, explaining that you were only being nice out of obligation, but none of that happened. When you had expressed your shared feelings for Eddie, he felt unadulterated joy. That was until he kissed you, and it seeped out of his skin, unable to be contained any further. Now, he got to walk hand in hand with you down the halls of the school, giving each other knowing looks when Tina stared the two of you down like she couldn’t believe you would have the audacity to hold hands.

You always initiated the pda, and he shook off the nerves just to feel the soft skin of your palm against his. He kissed you in private, not wanting any chance of a moment ruined. But you can’t seem to get any privacy for anything more than making out. You’ve come close to the idea of more but that’s all it seems to be. An idea. It’s a lot of getting interrupted in your bed, Eddie’s hand just having slid underneath your underwear and one of you freezing at the sound of the front door. You always proceed to hiss out ‘shit. Someone’s home,’ before the two of you scramble to get decent and when, nine times out of ten, your mother checks on you, you pretend to be studying.

Despite his -albeit joking- begging, you refuse the idea to do it in his van.

“I’m a bit of a romantic,” you argue. “So I don’t want our first time to be in the back of your smelly van.”

“Okay, it won’t be there.” He promises, bringing your knuckles to his lips. “It’ll be up front.”

You shove him off of you as he laughs maniacally, now beside you on your bed. Taking your childhood stuffed rabbit, you whack him in the shoulder playfully, and he catches it quickly.

“How dare you use miss hoppity as a weapon!” He teases further.

“Oh, you’re in for it now, Munson.”

He screams dramatically when you roll over on him and attack his neck in rapid kisses, making him uncontrollably giggle. He had warned you he was ticklish in some parts, and you quickly learned where for your own personal enjoyment.

“Uncle! Uncle!” He gasps out between bouts of laughter, even though he loved the feeling of your plush lips against his neck. His beautiful neck that left your mouth watering and legs clenching at the sheer thickness of it. Just more space to place kisses. There’s a moment when he’s calming and you’ve placed both hands on his stomach, neither worrying about your mother coming to check up on the commotion you just caused. You feel him harden underneath you, just like every time you get pulled onto his lap. He can’t help it. The way your legs spread just for him, and how your shoulders relax with ease gets him going.

“What?” You whisper when he just continues to stare like you’ve told him he’s won the lottery.

“I haven’t taken you on a proper date, have I?” As he asks, his smile turns downward at the sudden realization.

“No, but I don’t mind.” You trace a finger from the back of his jaw to his chin and give a little pinch. “I like this time together. Just us.”

“Well, I’d be a terrible–” the words get caught in his throat as he almost says the big word. Boyfriend. Neither of you had broached the subject, and maybe that’s why he’s brought up the fact that he hasn’t taken you out. Whatever this relationship was, he was afraid he was going about everything in the wrong way. He should have taken you out before even kissing you, if any romantic driven book he’s read has told him. “-guy if I didn’t.”

“Okay,” you ignore his fumble, bumping your nose into his. “Take me out then.” You flatten your chest to him to feel the rumble of his victorious laughter, but then you remember where you are, and your bedroom door is open fully. “We need to get up before the guard does her rounds.”

You untangle yourself from him, giggling as he has to adjust himself if your mom actually does make an appearance.

“This Friday, sweetheart. I’m picking you up at seven o’clock, sharp.”

“I look forward to it.”

***

Eddie says he would still rather not be seen at any school event, but he shows up to your swim practice, fulfilling his promise of being in the closest spot on the bleachers as he’s allowed. He drives you home from every practice, bragging about you to you. It’s selfishly endearing listening to the way he talks about how proud he is of you for how talented you are. The rest of the girls on the team didn’t understand his insistence on catching at least the last ten minutes. Usually he would be meeting with hellfire, but he would try and make it just to cheer you on, even if he was explicitly told not to by your coach.

“He was here again today.” you hear Christina whisper to one of the girls. “I’m starting to think it’s not just for Y/N.”

“What do you mean?” She asks innocently.

“I mean… it’s kinda pervy, right?”

“Ugh, totally.” Another agrees.

A chill runs down your spine at the idea of that rumor spreading. Something in you snaps as you slam your locker door shut before turning to see their shocked faces.

“Eddie is a gentleman,” you glare at Tina. “I don’t care that you all think I’m a freak too, now that I’m dating him, but you need to remember I’m co-captain. Keep his name out of your mouth, and if I hear any sort of disrespect about him, you’re doing drills until you puke.”

“You’re only co-captain because you’re the coach's niece.” Christina crosses her arms defensively.

“The only reason I’m not captain is because of nepotism. He didn’t want you whining all the time, but I work my ass off harder than anyone in this room. You could stand to be a little more humble, Tina, considering how slow you were today.” Your hands shake as everyone looks back and forth between you and Christina like they’re at a tennis match, just waiting for a full on cat fight to break out. “So, do you understand me?”

The locker room is silent as you stare down Christina, challenging her to retort back, but she actually looks flustered and nods. It has the others nodding along in a chorus of agreement. There’s no more chit chat as the girls rush to finish getting dressed. You’re one of the first few to leave, leftover anger and adrenaline making you stomp on your way out. That is until you see Eddie and feel your whole body relax.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says his usual greeting.

Sudden tears burn your eyes as you rush forward to tackle him in a hug, causing him to stumble backwards a couple of steps. He chuckles, arm coming around your middle as he assumes you’re just that excited to see him. A sniffle gives you away immediately.

“Hey,” he says softly, pulling away to look at you. His eyebrows draw together in concern as he looks you over, hands on either side of your face to inspect closely. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, yes, I just-“ you wipe your nose with your sleeve, feeling yourself get small. It’s the first time he’s seen you cry, and you don’t want to make him worry about why. “It’s stupid. Can you just take me home?”

“You can tell me.” His thumb moves back and forth over your cheek.

“Eds,” you let out a wet laugh. “I’m fine.” To prove this, you give him a kiss. “Let’s just get out of here.”

“Alright,” he eyes you warily, and even the door to the locker room, but wraps an arm around your shoulder to walk out with you.

You’re sour for the rest of the week, not even indulging in teasing Tina about your relationship publicly. Eddie knows you’re in a mood, but he has no idea why. He tries everything he can think of; jokes, the little kisses on your collar bones that make you smile, and more jokes, but you just seem lost in your own world. For a moment, he worries you’re tired of him already and the pressure of being seen with him has become too overwhelming, and for his own sanity, he does some digging.

It takes bribing four different people. One offer to deal at a party sends him to Andrew Rickman, who gets some weed for a huge discount, to send Eddie to his girlfriend, Jessica Armstrong who finally sends him to Janice Freedman and a promise to pass along her phone number to Gareth, and he’s sure he’s figured it out.

On Friday’s you swim on your own. Eddie knows to leave you be for an hour before entering the pool house to catch you just as you’re towel drying your hair. He doesn’t like wandering the halls to risk getting yelled at, so he waits in his van, blasting music while smoking a joint.

“Have a good swim?” His arms wrap around your waist from behind, the smell of chlorine invading his nose.

“Mmhm,” you hum, melting into his hold. You had pushed yourself to relieve the frustration because you didn’t want to ruin Eddie’s date plan.

“Just ‘mmhm?’” He copied your tone, slowly placing kisses along your shoulder, and up toward your neck.

“You know you’re not supposed to be in here.” You remind him, voice stern, but he knows there isn’t any anger behind it.

“Got away with it last time didn’t I?” He spins you around by your hips, making you wonder what’s suddenly gotten him in this mood. Eddie captures your lips, pulling your body flush against his, and tips your head back to deepen the kiss. It leaves you breathless immediately with how desperate it feels.

“Eddie,” you sigh when he breaks it to move to your neck once more. His ring covered hand slides up your side, cupping your breast and giving a squeeze. It’s a shame he didn’t show up sooner or he could’ve done this when you were wearing nothing but a towel. “Seriously? Here?”

“No,” he snorts, trying to behave. “I’m a gentleman.”

“Not with that poking me in the thigh.”

Before he gets the chance to laugh, someone is clearing their throat, making the two of you jump apart. Tina looks to the side, looking more than embarrassed by the obvious bulge in Eddie’s pants, and your kiss stained lips.

“T-Tina,” you step in front of Eddie for his sake. “What, uh, what are you doing here?”

“I signed up for extra practice time.” For the first time, Tina seems small, almost afraid to admit she needed the extra time in the water. “Guys aren’t allowed in the girls locker room, Munson.”

“I’ll wait outside.” Stiffly, he leans forward to give you a quick kiss on the cheek from behind before rushing out.

“Sorry,” you apologize before she can berate you for it. “I thought we were alone.”

And strange enough, she doesn’t.

“I used to sign up for the latest slot so Declan and I could be alone when we first started dating.” She opens up her locker in search of her suit. “Just don’t go making a habit of it. Coach nearly tore my head off. Can’t imagine what he’d do to his niece.”

“Right,” you laugh sheepishly, but catch a glimpse of the Tina you became friends with two years ago. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” She hardens once again. “You’re doing drills for getting caught.”

You sigh. Tough Tina was back.

“Aye aye captain.”

After you rush out, tail between your legs, you smack Eddie in the shoulder with the sleeve of your hoodie. He flinched back like it hurt, but the smile completely gave him away.

“You dingus!” You try to keep your voice down, but the shrill tone still echoes around the building.

“Ow!” He laughs more than he does whine. “I can’t appreciate you for sticking up for me?”

“What?” You stop winding up for another smack.

“I heard what you did for me.” He wraps an arm around your back, pulling you close so he has to speak quietly. “No one’s ever stuck for me like that before.”

“Well, I- I was just being honest…” your cheeks burn at the way he looks down at you, one corner of his lips tugging up.

“Mm, well, I find your honesty extremely hot.”

“We can not get caught by Tina again.” As much as you wanted to reciprocate his appreciation, you weren’t looking forward to extra punishment for making her endure another shared kiss between you and eddie. “You need to take me home so I can get ready for our date.”

“What’re you gonna wear?”

“Only if you tell me where we’re going but it’s—“

“A surprise,” he finishes for you.

***

Eddie shows up at your door on time for once. He isn’t allowed to pick you up for school, or else you’d be chronically late for first period. He had told you to dress casual, but you can’t help but grab your short tan pleated skirt to match your white shirt with extended shoulders and a jean fabric vest. (A jest if you will). To top it all off, you wear your favorite beat up sneakers and ankle socks scrunched down. When you hear the knock, your heart skips a beat and you take down the hall, shouting at your parents that you’ll get the door. Your dad beats you to it on purpose, but he’s already met Eddie. They were uncertain at first, but Eddie was polite and followed your house rules. To an extent. It was all a front, and you knew it killed him just a little, but he also knew if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to date you.

He takes you to a local restaurant, nothing fancy, but also not cheap. you love it either way. It never really mattered what the two of you did together, as long as you were doing it together. He’s a bit quiet as you eat, eyes scanning the room, but after you get him to loosen up, he acts like he owns the place. He leans back in his seat, arm thrown over the back as he heavily flirts with you, not even wondering if the other patrons are staring or not.

“Sorry,” Eddie mumbles while fumbling with the crumbled bills when he pays. You know he doesn’t have a traditional job, selling drugs to help his uncle with expenses, and it makes you wonder how much extra he had to sell just to take you here. There’s a pause as he calculates if there’s enough for a tip before slapping the money down and smiling at you to wave off your worry.

“Eddie?” You gently take his hand after he’s pulled out of the parking lot. “Did you- you know you didn’t have to take me somewhere that nice, right? I would’ve been fine if you made me, like, chef boyardee at your trailer.”

“I gotta make my girl feel special sometimes, right?” He flashes you that confident smile and brings your hand up to place a kiss on your knuckles. There’s a tug in your stomach when he calls you ‘my girl’ and you bite your bottom lip to stave off your sheepish grin. “Plus, the night’s not over yet. I got one more thing for you.”

You aren’t sure what to expect, but when he pulls up in front of his trailer, you feel a bit of a relief. Not because you don’t like being out in public with Eddie, you do, but you constantly worry about someone making a rude comment his way and upsetting him. In the time you’ve known him, though, the insults seem to roll off his back pretty easily, and you’re unsure how he does it. Every insult repeats in your mind for hours after.

“Give me five minutes.” Eddie leans over to give you a quick kiss on the lips.

“What, gotta hide all your cum socks before I go in?”

“I’ve got some class.” Eddie’s breath tickles your lips as he doesn’t lean back just yet. “I washed them yesterday.”

As he gets out of the van, you laugh to yourself, even when he’s unlocking the door and disappearing inside. You stay inside the vehicle, only unbuckling your seatbelt and glance outside the window. The openness of the area combined with how dark it is leaves you a little unsettled. It’s eerily quiet, and you can tell even with the windows rolled up. A lone cricket and distant barking seems to be the only noise going on around. Turning by your torso, you see there isn’t much to the back of his van, bits of carpet pulling up here and there along the seams, a guitar case covered in stickers similar to what’s on his jackets, and ashtrays with cigarette butts and half smoked joints. There’s a rug thrown in the middle, probably to cover a stain or his attempt to class things up. A sharp knock startled you out of observing the burnt orange and red curves and sharp corners.

“You okay there?” Eddie teases after opening the passenger door for you.

“It’s scary as shit out here.” You take his outstretched hand and hop out of the van. “It’s way too quiet.”

“Let me lead you to safety, princess.”

Inside, the trailer is lit by the dim lamp in the corner of the living area, but mostly by the scattered candles along random surfaces leading toward his bedroom. The low lighting flickers off the reflection in the mugs lined along the shelves, and shadows dancing along the walls. Eddie leads you down the short hallway before you can even comment on his romantic decor. You’ve gotten a peek of his bedroom in past visits, but the two of you usually would hang out on the couch, so you know he’s tidied it up for you. There’s still plenty of clutter along his dresser and desk, but his floor is clean from any clothes or trash strewn about.

He stops you at the end of his bed, your calves brushing against the sheets hanging over the side. Slowly, he brings up your hand to place a kiss on the back of your palm, causing you to shudder. A smile grows on his face and you can see it despite your hand being in the way. He lets go to drag the vest off of your shoulders and when it registers in your mind that he wants it off, you move with him, his face getting close to yours when he has to help your fumbling hands through the holes. You’ve been kissed by him a dozen times but when he dips his chin up to connect your lips, your skin burns in a want you’ve never felt before, as if he’s kissing you for the first time. You both move in sync, dipping down onto the bed, and not breaking contact until he’s hovering over you, delight making his features glow, but you can see the small bit of insecurity in his eyes while he seems to gather up his nerves.

“Will you be mine?” It’s quiet, intimate, barely above a whisper, but leaves his voice graveling deep enough to send a jolt up your spine. “My girl? Each second with you…” he trails off, shaking his head as his lips split into a grin. “It’s a piece of gold, sweetheart. I want you to be mine.”

“I-“ you huff out a laugh, his bangs moving with the small gust of air. “I thought I already was. Have been since you kissed me.”

If his grin could get any bigger, it just did, and his body relaxes, his weight heavier on top of you. The next kiss he gives you is all teeth and tongue, before he calms and kisses you proper. Kisses you like you’ve never been kissed before, his lips and the gentle swipe of his tongue erasing all the others that came before. Your giggle is muffled into his mouth, trying to pull him closer than he already was, but there wasn’t any room left. If you could find it within yourself to let go of his shirt, he could be pressed firmly against you, but then you would just want his shirt off, skin to skin, only for that to still not be enough.

A small moan from you escapes into his mouth when he grinds his hips down into yours, butterflies erupting in your stomach as he does so. His large hands slide up your hips, your shirt coming up with them, and up your ribs until he’s exposed your chest. You hadn’t even bothered with a bra, not entirely expecting the night to go this far. His eyes widen at the surprise, and his cheeks go pink like he’s never had the pleasure of being inches from any pair of tits. Especially a pair like yours, beautiful and on display just for him. His mouth wraps around your right nipple, his teeth sinking into the perked up flesh, and a pained squeak falls past your lips, the sharp sting only working you up more. As an apology, he releases your nipple to swipe his tongue over it in circles, while his other hand cups your other breast, giving it a perfect squeeze. His lips move down, alternating between kisses and biting the soft flesh of your stomach until he’s positioned between your thighs. Looking up, as if asking permission, to which you nod vigorously in agreement, his hands wrap around your legs to rest them on the top of your thighs, fingers digging into the meat as he kisses the inside of your thighs. You can’t help but squirm when he pushes up the fabric of your skirt with his left hand, the one with all the chunky rings, and leaves it there to rest and places one single kiss on your clothed pussy.

A broken whimper from you gets him into motion, removing his hand from the thigh for a brief moment, moving your panties to the side and licking up you slowly. Eager, he burrows down, his tongue swirling around your clit, nose pressed against your pubic bone, not minding the scratch of the coarse hair. In desperation to hold onto something to steady your uncontrollable squirming and maybe to just find a grip of reality while your mind floats into a high, your hand falls on his that kneads the flesh of your stomach. The lumpy metal digs into your palm, the pain bringing you further back to reality. His mouth, his hands, his heat leaves you for a moment, looking up to the panting mess that you are, and you whine at the lack of touch. One by one, Eddie removes the large jewelry while maintaining eye contact and tosses them to the side before slowly laying back down on his stomach. Slowly his eyes land on your drenched pussy, and you’d feel uncomfortable if it weren’t for the hunger in his eyes.

“Wait,” you breathe out. Removing the spare scrunchie from your wrist, you sit up to gather all of his hair quickly, apologizing when your fingers get tangled in the curls, and put it all into a messy bun. You don’t even get to soak up the image of his hair being held by something of yours before he’s gently laying you back down, and his mouth returns to his previous work.

His heavy hands hold your already trembling thighs apart. A hesitant finger hovers near your wet entrance, sliding in slowly. You sigh in relief until he experimentally strokes your core, breath caught in your throat and back arching slightly off the bed. Pleading words, begging breaths, you want for more of his hefty fingers inside you, stretching you out for what you expect to be more later. He complies easy, tongue and fingers moving in sync faster, enjoying every moan that falls past your lips. His name is whined out on repeat, each one raising in tone and intensity along with the pressure in your stomach. He laps up the mess you make as you clench around his fingers and fall over the edge for the first, but not final, time of the night. Soft kisses with the intention of being soothing are scattered along your thighs and stomach as his soaked fingers rub your overstimulated clit, letting you catch your breath as you ride the high just a moment longer.

“Fuck,” you huff, a dazed smile following. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

Eddie moves so he’s hovering over you, chin glistening with his work. “Fantasy novels.”

“No, seriously.” With your thumb, you wipe the wetness off of his chin for him. There’s a beat of silence and you realize he isn’t joking. “Wait, seriously?”

“Well… yeah.”

You sit both of you up, scooting up his mattress until your back touches the wall. There’s the pull of rejection in his chest the further you move away, the absence of your touch and the distance between the two of you sends a message that you don’t want to go further anymore.

“But you-” you pause, adjusting your shirt so it isn’t exposing your chest. “You… you’re you.”

“That’s the problem, apparently.” The defeat in his voice makes you wince in regret.

“No, I mean… you’re in a metal band and-” you almost don’t say it. “And I’ve heard… y’know.”

“That I’ll give a discount for putting out?” Amusement flickers in his eyes at that particular rumor. “Okay, I let one girl give me a handy, but that’s it. I’m a massive virgin otherwise.”

“Oh.” Your voice is small, going quiet so you can process what he’s told you. “Well, if you aren’t comfortable we don’t have to.”

“I set up the place for that purpose.” your stomach twists at the image of him excitedly getting ready, lighting the candles to set the mood all with the cute little smile he gets. “Unless you…”

“I’m not.” You almost feel bad for admitting it, but you didn’t regret losing your virginity to someone else. He didn’t seem jealous, just understanding. “And I wouldn’t mind.”

Eddie’s smile grows. “Good ‘cause I bought an entire box of condoms.” Leaning over, he pulls out the comically large box from his bedside table.

“Were you expecting a sex marathon?” You gawk.

“That’d be ideal.”

You shut him up by swiftly removing your shirt and tossing it in his face. He’s quick to pull it off and toss it to the side, but you’re quicker in moving forward, hands falling on his shoulders and pushing him down so he’s on his back. If his hair were loose, you’d be distracted by the halo it created around his bed, but it isn’t. Instead it’s already fighting the scrunchie, his bangs falling down in sparse strands, making him look more innocent than he ever has. Crawling into his lap, you take care in placing yourself directly on his growing hard-on. His hands slide up your thighs to your waist, gripping tightly while you run yours up the entirety of his torso. A couple tugs on the fabric is your way of asking him to sit up enough so you can take it off. Immediately, your eyes land on the one tattoo you haven't had the pleasure of looking at for longer than a few seconds, and slowly you take in the small patch of hair in the middle of his chest. What gets your mouth watering is the thicker patch leading down underneath his jeans. On his back, you can see the peaks of his hip bones leading down to the short valley to his happy trail.

You drag your nails over the thicker patch of hair, smiling to yourself at his sharp intake of air, the upward tilt of his chin from your peripheral, working him up to squirm just as much as you had. He’s a whimpering mess while you only touch him anywhere besides the one place he wants. Desperate, he moves your hips for you, begging for any amount of friction. Almost defiantly, you scoot back, sitting on his thighs instead, and he huffs indignantly. You smirk, bite your bottom lip to keep from smiling fully at his pouting.

“Please,” he begs breathless, hips jutting into the air despite no available pressure from your weight.

Giving in, you unbutton his jeans, finding the way they pop open satisfying, and tug slowly on his zipper. You can perfectly see the outline of his dick through his tight boxer briefs. You want to take your time, slowly pull his jeans off first and then his underwear, but that flies out of the window when you see just how girthy he is. You don’t undress him in any manner, running the palm of your hand up his length, a long moan filling the room. Leaning down, you kiss his stomach, his muscles jolting in surprise. You slip your hand past the waistband, fingertips brushing against the tip, already dripping at your light touch. Experimentally, you give a light squeeze when you’ve wrapped your hand fully around him. Using his pre-cum as aid, you start slow, his moans coming from deep in his chest. Slowly, you start increasing your speed, dropping kisses along his skin when he seems to get too quiet.

“Baby, you gotta stop,” Eddie pants. You pull away completely, confusion and hurt covering your features. “No, no,” he takes your face between his hands. “I’m just gonna explode if you keep touching me like that, and I’m not quite finished with you yet.”

You pause, blink once as heated shock covers your body over the realization. You almost made him cum too fast. Pride fills your chest, and you aren’t sure if it’s a bad feeling to have, but he returns your sheepish smile by grabbing a condom from the box. With fascination, you watch him as he rolls it on, not having had the luxury of witnessing this part. It was too dark or too quick before. There’s a bit of a struggle and you reach out to help but stop yourself, not wanting to take over.

“Got it,” he smiles.

“And you’re sure you want to…?” You aren’t afraid, but this is new to him. You don’t want him to be afraid. Everything should be perfect, though you know nothing ever is.

“Do you?”

“Of course, Ed’s.” Running a hand down his chest to his stomach, to land on his strained cock, you give a reassuring smile. Before you climb back in his lap, he helps you out of your underwear, watching the way you smoothly throw a leg over him and line yourself up expertly without even looking. Raising your brows to wordlessly ask one more time, he answers by resting his hands on your hips, eyes never leaving yours. As you sink slowly down, there’s the familiar burning stretch that causes you to whimper, even more by his girth, but it’s all covered up by his moans. You bottom out, wiggling experimentally while he adjusts to the feeling.

And then you start moving your hips.

Slow at first, grinding your pussy into him, his head falling back onto the mattress and eyes squeezing shut. If he had any nails, they’d be digging into your skin, leaving crescents behind to remind you of this moment later, but his fingers are dull, pushing and pulling you into a perfect rhythm. Leaning down, you press kisses and soft bites onto his neck, your tits flat against his chest and moving with every desperate thrust he gives into you. You support yourself by your forearms, stopping your movements and letting him fuck himself into you. He’s a beautiful flustered mess when you look at him. He opens his eyes just a sliver to catch your smile.

“Feel good?” You ask, voice soft.

“Mm-hm.” He can’t even speak, brows furrowed together roughly. “‘M gonna—“

“Go ahead.” You place a kiss on his pulse point, swallowing your moans as he thrusts harder, hitting your g-spot. His arms wrap around your waist holding you still, his hips becoming more erratic. “C’mon baby,” you coo.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, giving a few good thrusts before his hips stutter. You give him a moment to catch his breath, the only sound in the room being his panting.

Leaning back, you smother his face in kisses, feeling his laughter vibrate underneath your chest.

“Hey,” you say semi-serious, his soft eyes meeting yours. “You did great.”

“I sure hope so.” He finally slides out of you and you whine in indignation, missing the feeling of him already.

“You did.” You insist.

There’s this moment where he almost looks like he believes you and you get this warm mushy feeling in your chest at the realization that you’ve had your first time together. Not in the back of his van but in a lovingly decorated trailer with zero chances of being interrupted. To top it all off, you’re also officially his girlfriend.

“Sweetheart?” He breaks you out of your revere. “Kinda need you off of me to get this thing off.”

“And then we cuddle.”

He smiles. “And then we cuddle.”

Rolling onto your back, you realize you’ve still got your skirt on, laughing to yourself as you take it off. You look around and find a shirt, unsure of whose it could be, and slip it on, watching Eddie walk out of the room despite promising to get back in bed. A moment later, he returns with a damp rag, gently spreading your legs and cleaning you up the best he knows how.

“I got it, thank you.” You take it from him gently, getting the spots he couldn’t and hand it back. He immediately tosses it behind his shoulder, hoping it lands in his laundry basket. “Eddie, gross.”

“No time, my dear.” He crawls in right behind you, pulling his comforter over the both of you so you don’t end up cold. His nose nuzzles into the back of your neck, lips leaving soft kisses on the top of your spine.

“I can’t sleep over,” you remind him, eyelids already feeling heavy.

“I know.”

“My dad wants me back before midnight.”

“I know.”

A hand snakes over your side, wrapping around your middle to pull you flush into his chest. He breathes you in, the smell of your honey shampoo tingling his senses.

“Eddie?”

“Hm?” He sounds sleepy and you know you’re in trouble.

“We can officially do it in your van, now.”

“Finally,” he teases.

Tag list: @hesvoid3434 @jane-ways @akiratoro420 @ali-r3n @stupid-infinity (there were a couple of you it wouldn't let me tag, sorry <;3)

#eddie munson x female reader #Eddie Munson x reader #eddie munson x you #Eddie Munson x y/n #Eddie Munson fanfic #Eddie munson #my writing.

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aothotties · 6 months

Text

How they help you get over someone

Word count: 1016

Warnings: Levi is in his 30s, car sex, mating press, pet names (mama), squirting, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex.

“But i just feel so dumb, im literally so stupid” you huffed to your gym buddy, Levi as you spotted him.

He finished his set then sat up and turned towards you

“Y/N, you're so young. You're going to make mistakes plus you're a girl. No ones mad at you for believing what he said to you and having sex with him” he said plainly

You always vented to Levi when you were upset and he always found a way to give you great advice and help you through everything. Him being older made it easier to trust him because you felt like he was grown grown and had it all together

“I'm mad at myself. I feel like I'm too old to still fall for the same bullshit I fell for in highschool. Were you like me at my age?” you stated as tears threatened to spill from your eyes

“ I was worse” , he responded, “don't feel bad about it. Its a normal thing for you to be upset that he fucked you then never spoke to you again, youre not the problem. Any woman, no matter what age, would be upset about that. I mean there's some succubuses out there that just smash everyone and don't feel a thing, but most women aren't like that”

You couldn't lie, levi always reassured you and made you feel better about making regular human choices and never allowed you to beat yourself up for making mistakes

You both finished your workout and left the gym. He walked out next to you and made sure you were safe in the parking lot because it was late at night. You stopped at the car and he pulled you into a hug

“You'll be alright, mama. Don't be so hard on yourself” he said and you buried your face in his chest and began to cry

Even though his words made you feel better you were still sad. He rubbed your back and let you get it all out and refused to let go until you finished crying

You pulled away and wiped your tears on your shirt

“Thank you, i really appreciate you, Levi” you said to him once you composed yourself

“Dont worry about it, i'm always here if you need me” he responded.

You stared up at him completely enamored. You had the strongest feelings for him and had them for a while. You tried sleeping with that other guy thinking it would help you get over him but it clearly didn't work. You just ended up sad and crying in his arms which strengthened your feelings. You were convinced Levi didn't feel the same and you were too sacred to say anything in fear that it would ruin the friendship you have

“Aye aren't you glad you asked me to be your gym partner”, he said trying to change the subject

“yeah , i guess” you laughed as you responded

“You guess? You know you wanted to be like me, that's why you approached me and asked for my help” he nudged you a little bit as he teased

“That definitely not the reason i approached you but yeah let's go with that” you told on yourself before you even had the chance to realize it

He looked down at you and smirked as he nodded, “ yeah i know”

He confirmed in that moment that he knew exactly how you felt about him and apparently he felt the same because he grabbed you by your wrist and pulled you towards his car

Levi drove a nice white tesla and you had been dying to see the inside

He had you in the back seat folded completely in half as he pressed his weight onto you

His dick was reaching so far inside you that your mind went blank. All you could do was moan his name while he fucked you at a steady pace.

Sweat rolled down his abs as he was sliding in and out of your dripping wet pussy. He was mesmerized by the way you were sucking him in. He was also taken aback at how good your body looked folded under him.

Sometimes at the gym he would make slick comments about your ass but you never realized it was his way of telling you he felt the same.

“Fuck Levi, r-right there. Im gonna cum baby” you whined as you grabbed his biceps

His pace didn't change and he continued to fuck you all the way to your peak

“Mmhmm mama, cum for me” he said as he watched your face contort in pleasure

Your high flooded over you and you came hard all over his thick cock. You felt bad that you squirted on his perfectly clean seats but he couldn't care less. He wanted to see you cum for him over and over again and didn't care about what happened to his car.

He never let up and kept going until you came for him multiple times. Each time you came a mantra of praises left his lips.

His pace became more erratic as he came close to his climax. You could feel his dick throbbing inside you as he was about to cum

“ gonna cum inside you mama, f-fill you up real good” he stated between deep grunts

He slammed into you hard one last time then you felt as his hot thick cum spilled inside you. He slid out and watched as it pooled out of you but he quickly pushed it back in with his fingers.

You both threw your clothes on and you stepped out of his car and wobbled as you tried to stand up straight. He laughed at you and shook his head. He put his arm around you and walked you to your car

He leaned down and pressed a kiss on your forehead

“Best cardio i've ever done” he stated as he opened the door for you

You hopped in your car and deleted the other guy's number knowing damn well he did not match up to Levi in any way.

#aot #aot x black reader #aot smut #aot x reader #aot scenarios #aot imagines #aot x female reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman smut #levi x reader #levi smut #levi x black reader

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thebearer · 8 months

Note

if we're going for soft dom carmy, what about reader using a safeword and carmy looking after them?

i'm kinda struggling thinking of many scenarios where this happens just because i believe that carmen would fall into the worst kinda dom drop if you did. i don't think it would happen often because he's so meticulous with sex in general (with everything, really lol) but esp when it's a little rougher of a scene- when he's a dom.

i think carmen would be very cautious when you played, especially with impact play or anything kinda rough-ish. he is very careful with watching how you react. he's gotten comfortable with knowing when you've had enough or just the slightest changes in tone.

with that being said, i could 1000% see you safe wording with carmen when he's kinda using it as stress relief. i feel like that's part of his thing, like it's an emotional release and he's in control, so he enjoys the dynamic when you do play.

he comes home just fed up. it was stressful at work, some shitty critic left a half ass review that soured his mood. sydney and richie got into it, and on top of it all, it's mikey's birthday coming up and carmen is not coping very well. he decides to play with you, and while you're a little aware he's stressed, you're not worried about it.

he doesn't spank you or choke you, he knows better than to ever do that when he's like this. but he does something he never does- degrades you. one of the appeals for you, is while he'll call you a "bad girl" or "needy" or "desperate" sometimes during a scene, he's never actually mean.

tonight is different. he's started off rough, no warnings or easing into it. no he's abrasive with his maneuvering of you. which is fine, i mean it's not what you particularly prefer, but you can take it if it helps him feel better. it's alright until he starts talking, low grunts through gritted teeth that leave you whimpering.

"stupid fuckin' whore, you know that?" carmen sneers, his pace punishing with every snap of his hips. "useless. this is all your good for."

you can hardly believe it's your carmen speaking to you, half convinced this is some twisted nightmare you were in. it wasn't, you were reminded, his hand yanking on your hair, pulling you back towards him.

"you hear me?"

"yes." you squeak.

"yeah? you just fuckin' ignoring me now too? not gonna fuckin' listen?" carmen growls, one hand around your jaw, pressing you to his chest. "think you're better than me? know better than i do? you fuckin' don't, alright? don't know anything, just a dumb little slut. only good for this right here. takin' daddy's cock, isn't that right?"

you could feel the tears prick your eyes. any pleasure you were feeling was gone. everything felt so violating... so wrong. "no, carm, s-stop."

"what? the fuck did you just call me?" carmen snapped, fingers curling around your jaw.

"carmen, stop. red, stop." you babbled. "red, carmen, i said red. stop."

carmen halted, his grasp falling off of you, watching you scramble away from him towards the end of the bed.

"baby?" carmen's eyes were wide, an eerie calmness in his voice as he scanned over your body. "a-are you ok? fuck, are-are you hurt? c'mere-"

"no." you barked, lifting a hand to stop him. your knees to your chest, covering yourself from him. you felt too vulnerable. "just... i don't want you to touch me." you shuddered.

"are you ok? do-do i need to do something?" carmen's hands were shaking, every ounce of anger her felt gone, fear flooding his system in strong waves that crashed over him.

"why would you say that to me?" you croak, tears streaming down his face. "what did i... is that how you feel about me?"

"no, fuck, no." carmen's hands are shaking, running down his face. "i-i-i thought you would like that. the, uh, the mean shit. i thought you liked it wh-when i did that-"

"-when you called me stupid? and useless?" the tremble in your lip makes carmen's stomach lurch.

"i-i would never... baby, please, you know- you know i didn't..." carmen's chest constricts, strangling his words. he's on the edge of a panic attack, one he's trying to keep down because the last thing he needs is to be consoled. especially when he's the one who's fucked up.

you wipe your cheeks with your wrist, still shaking with your own emotions. "i... i need you to leave me alone for a little bit." you look at him. "i just... i need to calm down, and... and i don't want you near me right now."

carmen feels like he might sob. the burn in his nose tells him he is. but he nods anyways, tongue too thick in his mouth to say anything other than another apology. he doesn't go to the living room or guest room like you think. no, carmen goes to the bathroom and you hear him retching into the toilet through sobs moments later.

it takes him weeks to feel comfortable even playing a little rough again, and when you do- after you beg him to- he is so careful and checks in every second.

while it doesn't happen very much at all, i think the very few times it does, it would be bc of something like that.

#thebearer #bearblahs #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto smut #dom!carmen berzatto x sub!reader #dom!carmen berzatto #carmy smut #the bear

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oryxmuse · 5 months

Text

office au boss!könig x f!assistant!reader

• boss!könig needed assistant anyway, just to keep him organised, remind him about meetings, arrange these meetings, and to check paper work before it comes to his office, so when pretty thing like you came to him with these pretty eyes, pretty lips, pretty face, pretty long hair and with great cv... he couldn't not use this. he gave you the job really quick!

• boss!könig couldn't stop himself and not take advantage of this situation... saying that his coffee is already cold and you need to remake it so he could see your ass more as you walk away, and again when he said his coffee is too sweet, and again when he said you forgot to bring him papers from someone on the floor below, and again, again, again...!

• when boss!könig have important meetings he bring you with him and sit you down right next to him, so he can have you near him but also make you stressed because he wants you to tell all these people about his plans! but thats just your job!

• he can't stop using you to the limits, giving you so much work to do so you can't have lunch! after all, these are important documents for mr. könig! but he does this so you wont be distracted after some guy from another floor flirt with you! he does this for you! be thankful to your boss!

• boss!könig needs to keep his hand on your lower back while walking with you, he just needs to! he can't let anyone think they can mess with you. you're his! for you, you're just his assistant, you don't know yet he's the best man for you! he cares about you, soon you'll see it.

• when you talk to him, you make him go crazy as you keep calling him ‘sir’! it makes him so, so hard. boss!könig can't stop imagining his little assistant calling him ‘sir’ when he fucks her dumb on his desk. would she still be nice and cute? be obedient?

• boss!könig is so mean to you! why? you thought you work so hard to be a good assistant and still he's never satisfied! you learned how to make his favourite coffee, you smile at him, you always come to work early and stay late, and you wear such nice outfits for him!

• even if you think he doesn't see this, he does. and it makes him cum every night when he comes to his apartment! he sees how hard you're trying to be a good girl assistant. you're his little, good employee. he'll show you later how much he likes it.

• and seeing you in overtime is so so SO exciting, he can enjoy having you near in an empty office. and you think thats okay to undo the top few buttons of your shirt as almost everyone has already got home. and its so strangely hot here.. boss!könig can't help but look at your breast when you bring him some documents!

• but you are naive! you don't know that he doesn't look there because it's against dress code! he just... can't help but stare...

“sir... can i help you with anything else?”

you ask nicely, feeling uncomfortable as he keep staring at your shirt. he gets up from chair, finally looking into your eyes. you need to you have to tilt your head up to be able to look into his eyes. even wearing heels you're feeling small next to him.

“yes. you know this is against dress code, kätzchen?” könig ask, getting close to you. „you can't just walk here half naked”. you feel ashamed, looking at the floor.

“sir, i'm not half naked... i'm sorry, it wont happen again.” you say, not dares to look at him. so you don't know how close he gets. “but i thought, were the only ones here and its so hot here, so-”

“is it really that hot here? can't let you overheat. i'm not that bad, am i? i wouldn't want my favourite employee to feel uncomfortable. take off your shirt, kätzchen”. he commanded. könig doesn't even wait for your answer, he just starts unbutton angrily your shirt.

“wait, sir, wh-” doesn't even let you end, tightens his hand around your throat. turns you around and pushes you onto the desk. he pushes your ass onto the plat and presses his bulge against your pussy. he tears off the last buttons and takes off your shirt.

“can't even say anything now, huh, kätzchen? you're just stupid, little slut walking around trying to seduce me, aren't you?” he lets go of your throat, still holding you in place, his other hand rubbing your thigh.

“no, kön- sir, no, that's not like that!” könig doesn't listen to you, in trance, kissing your lips roughly. you kiss back, moaning. he breaks the kiss, playing with your closed clit.

“no, kätzchen?” he pulls your skirt up, putting your panties aside. “you're dripping wet, pup. be honest, you wanted this to happen, ja?” könig rubs your pussy with his finger, but takes him away.

he pulls your titties out of your bra and squeezes your right nipple and then twists it, making you moan. “könig...! sir, please!”

“what?” ah, so you are still nice. gonna call him ‘sir’ to the end? “what do you want, kätzchen? use your words.” he rubs his bulge against your pussy. his fingers come back to play with your clit, but he's so mean! he doesn't make you feel better!

“ahh-h please, fuck me” you close your eyes, ashamed. he moan with satisfaction. he kiss you again, even roughly than before. you can hear his pants being unzipped and after that you feel his hard, heavy cock on your thigh.

you can't make yourself open your eyes. mean, mean, mean. you feel a hard slap on your cheek. “look at me, kätzchen, or you're free to go”. you don't hesitate. “there you go, darling” he's touching you with his tip, then he slides himself slowly, your moaning with pain makes him even more disgustingly exciting.

what the actual fuck is this

english is not my first language

#konig smut #konig mw2 #konig cod #konig x reader #konig #könig #könig x reader #könig smut #rough kink #mw2 #cod mw3 #cod mwii #cod smut

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bluebeary-jay · 8 months

Text

Playing pretend

Jack "Whiskey" Daniels x f!Reader

Summary: a simple mission turns out to be quite a challenge when you find out that you're partnered with Jack Daniels. oh, and that you have to pretend to be in love with each other. easy? not at all.

Tags: fake dating lets gooo!! idiots in love, fluff, some steamier scenes later on, reader is a tease and Jack is a disaster. equals mutual dumbassery

Warnings: jealousy, not smut but some steam for sure, a few ridiculous southern sayings i had way too much fun coming up with

Word count: 5.5K

A/N: i don't really know why i chose jack for this prompt but i think it fits nicely. @pedrostories i know i'm late but i wanted to do this for you ❤️ congrats again!! and for all the other lovely people who stick around, i hope you like this and happy reading!! 💕 comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated and i love you all so much for the constant support 💗

This was supposed to be a delicate type of operation, which is why you were the first choice for the mission. It wasn’t a dig of any kind – everyone just knew you were good at handling tense situations and skilled at staying out of sight, not to mention your gift for making people trust you easily. Everything that was needed for this particular task.

Who wasn’t good at blending in, however, was Agent Whiskey. Which is why you were more than a little surprised when it turned out he’ll be your partner for the mission.

“I know he’s not exactly a subtle sort,” said Champ when you brought it up. “But we do need to get the target’s attention and… well, we can count on him when it comes to that. Besides, who knows,” he sent you a half-smile, though he seemed unsure of his own words, somehow, “maybe you two will balance yourself out. Maybe it’ll be good for you.”

So that’s how it happened. That’s how you got stuck with Jack Daniels.

It wasn’t that you disliked Jack. He was a handful, yes, an arrogant asshole and a show-off, but he also could make you laugh. He was very skilled at fighting and you knew you could count on him if things went south. And, though you would never admit it, he wasn’t the worst to look at.

The main problem was the combination of his stupid cockiness on this particular mission.

Because you had to pretend to be in love.

“C’mon, sunshine, it won’t be that bad.”

“Maybe for your dumb ass,” you murmured in response while walking to the table, squeezing Jack’s arm tightly and subtly looking around the hall. “I swear, Whiskey, if you try something…”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” The man you were supposed to pretend to be dating leaned in, and your whole body tensed. “I’ll be a perfect gentleman, sweet pea.”

“I doubt it.”

“...For the remainder of the mission.”

“There you go.”

In his usual ‘Jack Daniels’ fashion, he started pushing your buttons to the extreme even before your jet plane landed, and you had to close your eyes and count from ten to zero several times already, ordering yourself to calm down. Sometimes, you had to admit, his confidence and cheekiness were quite endearing, making you think about that frustratingly beautiful face of his late at night, but this time he was treading on very thin ice and you didn’t feel like being understanding.

You used to pride yourself in knowing exactly how to handle him. Jack was the biggest tease and a diva, and as long as you balanced the thin line between not encouraging his antics and giving him just enough attention, he became as gentle as a lamb in your presence. But this… this stupid, stupid mission…

“Would you like a cupcake, my lovely tater tot?” Whiskey’s voice jolted you out of your thoughts, and you had to stop the grimace on your face at the over-the-top nickname and his smug smirk. Instead, you just smiled sweetly.

“Only if you have some, my little meatball,” you answered through gritted teeth, but his infuriating smile only grew. Great.

The problem wasn’t even Jack. It was you, and that was what was driving you crazy.

You used to have a small, tiny crush on the older agent, but you liked to think it was long gone, water under the bridge and all that crap. He was Jack Daniels, for heaven’s sake – he’d never be interested in someone as guarded and shy as you, and though it took you a few months to realize that his ‘flirting’ was actually how he talked with every woman, you made your peace with it.

But being here with him, watching him acting as if he loves you, as if you hung the moon and stars in the sky… Touching you as if you’re the most precious thing in the entire world, trying to be as close to you as possible (though still respecting your boundaries, just like he promised)... It was tearing you apart.

And you hated feeling so out of control of your own emotions.

“You okay?” Jack murmured after a couple more minutes of silence, doffing his hat to someone walking by. “You’re unusually quiet.”

You were sitting on his lap all stiff, trying to remember how to breathe, but it wasn’t easy with his hand on your thigh. His touch was soothing, as if he suspected how uncomfortable all of it was for you and wanted to help you relax, but for all you knew, he could be just looking for an excuse to feel you up.

“M’fine,” you answered, trying to ignore your closeness. “I can just sit next to you, y’know.”

“Never hurts to act a bit over-the-top,” he said, and then eyed you warily. “You’d better not be sayin’ that ‘cause of these women’s talks about ‘bein’ too heavy’. I’ll have you know, cutie pie, that these thighs are meant for a wilder rodeo than holdin’ a pretty little thing like you perched on ‘em.”

You ignored his frivolous remark. Jack waited a couple of seconds before he sighed and slowly leaned in, probably wanting it to seem like he was kissing your neck. But instead of his lips, you felt his hot breath on your skin, making you shiver.

“You look like a gazelle in a lion den, sugar,” he whispered worriedly, taking his eyes off of you to look around inconspicuously. “If anyone’s to believe that we’re a couple of lovebirds, you gotta stop acting like I’m holdin’ you hostage.”

“Easy for you to say.” You had to stop yourself from smacking his hand away from your leg. “You’re probably upset the mission doesn’t let you flirt with any of those women,” you said to draw the attention from your own emotions, but Whiskey just laughed quietly.

“Who said I’d want to? I have the most beautiful gal right here on my lap.” He sent you a wink. “Though she could be more handsy for ol’ Jack’s standards.”

You shook your head disapprovingly, but that didn’t discourage him, especially when he noticed a small smile on your face.

“I’m serious. Or as serious as you’re comfortable with me to be.” He smirked, the bastard, and glanced at you with his eyes half-lidded. “So what will it be, sugar? You have to do your part, too, no?”

As much as you hated to admit it, he was right. Ever since you got here, you were wary, avoiding his touch and teasing more often than not, while he didn’t have any problem with acting as if he was interested in you. You presumed it was nothing for him – he’d do a good job with any woman on his arm, but for you it was almost too painful to attempt.

But if you didn’t want to blow your cover, you had to get over yourself and your stupid heart.

“My part?” you repeated in a whisper, steeling yourself and lifting your hand to his face. Jack froze in place, his eyes wide when you hummed and stroked his cheek with your thumb. “How’s this for acting all lovesick, cowboy?”

“Uhm…” he cleared his throat. There was a hint of surprise and enjoyment in his eyes, but though he tried to hide it behind his usual mask of arrogance, you could also see that he was almost… nervous. “S’better, sunshine. You’d have m– anyone fooled.” You squinted, and then, as if the spell was broken, all the awkwardness disappeared from Jack’s face, and he took your chin in-between his thumb and forefinger, bringing you an inch closer. “Though you could still learn a thin’ or two from your dashin’ lover.”

“Watch what you’re doing, Jack.”

“Oh, c’mon, I don’t mean anythin’ bad.” His hand squeezed your thigh just a little, making you tense. “Just a bit of harmless fun. Our target isn’t even here yet.”

“Talk quieter,” you hissed, but he just chuckled.

“Wanna shut me up, sugar?”

His smile was positively shit-eating, and you wanted nothing more than to wipe it off his face. Jack always knew how much to push and prod at your usually composed self, all to rile you up just the right amount. Ginger told you several times that he hopes for your reaction and that’s why he’s doing it, but it didn’t change the fact that sometimes he was pissing you off so much that letting him win would be considered a dishonor.

You squared your shoulders and just as you predicted, Whiskey’s eyes strayed to your collarbone before snapping right back. You raised an eyebrow and leaned in closer, closer, closer… until you heard him inhale sharply.

Your chests were brushing against each other with every deep breath you took, but you didn’t pull back.

Harmless fun, he said?

Your fingers traveled up to the collar of his shirt, fixing it a little, and then slid down his chest. His heart was pounding under your palm, and finding this out brought you a lot of satisfaction, so you took it to the next level and whispered sweetly:

“Please shut up, or I’ll act out a messy breakup and you will have to explain yourself to Champ.”

Before you fully grasped what you were doing, your teeth grazed his earlobe gently, eliciting a low groan out of the agent. His arm around your waist tightened, and that’s what finally brought you back to reality.

In an instant you pulled away from each other. Your neck was hot with embarrassment at your sudden boldness, but at least you achieved your goal – Jack looked completely stunned and, for once, speechless.

Both of you stared at each other for a few moments before Jack mustered a tight smile and nodded.

“Gotta say, uh…” Your eyes met briefly again, and he swallowed heavily, all his bravado leaving him. “Actually, ‘scuse me for a sec.”

Not paying attention to your bewildered expression, he stood up, almost causing you to fall to the floor. His name died on your lips when he fixed his tie and turned around, heading to the restrooms.

It was so unlike him to act this way, that you started to worry you crossed some boundary even someone like agent Whiskey didn’t dare to approach.

You behaved unexpectedly, yes, but was it a reason enough for him to leave like that?

“Looks like my date isn’t the only one who bailed.”

With the strange voice came a man you didn’t recognize, but who sat down right next to you with way too much confidence for your liking. It took you a second to realize he was talking about Jack, and you summoned a small smile.

“Oh, no, no. He just went to the restroom.” You waved your hand in the general direction. “He didn’t leave leave.”

“Then perhaps you won’t mind me keeping you company?” The man – tall, blonde and in a damn expensive suit – offered his hand for you to shake. “My name’s Jacob.”

Jacob? Was it the same Jacob that supposedly planned to seal some dark deal during the reception tomorrow?

You opened your mouth, but before you could ask about his last name – or offer him yours, for that matter – he continued. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before, sweetheart. Are you a friend of someone here?”

“Lillian’s old friend, actually.” That was the name of the maid of honor, the same one who had some connections with Champ and notified him about this whole business. “But I came a day before to see the city with my boyfriend.”

“Your boyfriend…” He nodded to the side with his eyebrows raised. “The Southern Sam?”

“That’s funny, cause his name actually is Sam,” you attempted to make a joke for Jacob to lower his guard, which seemed to have worked.

“And how long have you been together?”

Was that an interview? “Almost two years, why?”

“I’m asking ‘cause I saw the cowboy chatting with some ladies at the bar before.” He gave you a fake sympathetic look. “And you were nowhere to be seen.”

You knew about it, of course – Jack tried to get some information out of the singles gossiping at the minibar, but other than an offer for a ‘time of his life’, he couldn’t drag anything useful out of them. But still, Jacob was clearly looking for a reason to make you doubt your boyfriend’s intentions, so you went with it.

“What?” You changed your voice to be softer, and looked over your shoulder. “Oh… well, I’m sure it was nothing.”

“Sorry to say, babydoll, but it didn’t seem like it.”

Jacob shifted closer, now making you really uncomfortable, but you were careful not to let it show. He placed his hand on your thigh and draped the other arm over the back of your chair, sending you a flirtatious smile.

“But just to let you know, if, let’s say… things don’t work out with your cowboy, I have a beautiful mansion not far from here that I’d love to show you. There’s some things I have to take care of tomorrow, but after that…”

He trailed off, and his eyes suddenly strayed above your shoulder. You felt another, stronger arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer, and when you lifted your gaze, you were met with Jack’s brown eyes, full of well-hidden anger.

“Hi there, buttercup. Who’s your new friend?”

Though his tone sounded friendly, you knew it was anything but. You smiled tightly and turned to him.

“Sam, this is Jacob,” you said, giving the former a pointed look to let him know you’re in the middle of handling the latter. But the older agent seemingly didn’t take the hint and narrowed his eyes at their target. “We were just getting to know each other.”

“Well, hate to interrupt your chat, but I’ve got somethin’ I wanted to show ya, darlin’.”

Your eyes popped when you heard him, not believing that Jack was really sabotaging your work like that. But he didn’t back down, keeping his stare cold and hard.

“I think I’ll stay here,” you answered dryly. “We can talk later.”

“We’re talkin’ now,” he doubled down, tightening his hold on your waist. You glared at him angrily but before you could say something you’d regret, Jacob butted in.

“Maybe I should take my leave for now,” he said with a charming smile and winked in your direction. “I’ll see you later, doll.”

You watched in frustration as he walked away, and then faced Jack with barely concealed anger, but he didn’t even look your way.

“Found the conference hall,”he just murmured before standing up. “Follow me.”

An irritated huff was the only answer he received. You did as he asked, however, deciding to give him a piece of your mind in a more secluded location.

“So I think this is the place,” Jack said, stepping slowly around the table. He guided you through a closed off section of the building where you definitely shouldn’t be, stopping in a big, though quite narrow, room. “Had to break down the lock at the door, a pretty sturdy one. I reckon we plant the bug under one of the chairs and maybe somewhere on the other side, but I wanted to get a second opinion–”

“Aren’t we gonna talk about what happened there?” you interrupted him, crossing your arms over your chest. Whiskey paused and looked at you with his brow raised.

“What happened where?”

“With Jacob. What the fuck was that about, Jack?”

“You really wanna talk about this now?” he asked in response, but your unwavering stare spoke for itself, and he threw his arms in the air. ”Fine. Damn me for lookin’ out for ya.”

“He was eating out of my hand, and you blew it!” you accused him, which made him clench his jaw.

“If you didn’t notice, he was gettin’ way too close an’ personal–”

“He’s our target, Jack! The mission is to get close to him.”

Whiskey huffed and turned around, shaking his head. He adjusted his hat, angling it in a way so you couldn’t see his eyes anymore. “Look, sugar, I know the mission’s important and all that jackal’s shit, but we– you don’t need to let the bastard feel ya up to get the information outta him.”

“Is that what’s bothering you?” you cocked your eyebrow, not believing him. “It’s my job, Whiskey.”

“Still–”

“And besides, it’s none of your business! What if I don’t mind it?”

He did look at you in that moment, with a gaze so cool and dark that it caused your confidence and resolve to waver. His face, so harsh in its beauty, looked like it was carved out of a block of marble as he slowly strode forward, walking around the long table. Not for one second he took his brown eyes off of you, and you had to resist the urge to hold your breath.

Jack was rarely someone who could be considered ‘intimidating’. Goofy, arrogant, smartmouth – sure. But not intimidating.

But agent Whiskey… Agent Whiskey was a different story altogether.

“S’that so?” he murmured lowly, making your insides tighten at the timbre of his voice. “I didn’t realize my girlfriend is the sort to throw herself into the arms of the first man she meets.”

“Don’t forget yourself,” you scoffed, done with his theatrics. “We’re not together.”

“Jacob thinks so,” he shot back, stepping into your personal space and – to your irritation – forcing you to take a step back. “And now he’ll think I’m neglectin’ a gem like you.”

“So that’s what it’s about!” A short, dry laugh fell from your lips, and you rolled your eyes. “It’s all about Jack Daniels’ precious, fragile pride that some stranger will think you’re not the sex god and womanizer you think you are.”

“I’ve no clue what you’re blabberin’ ‘bout, pumpkin.” That bastard dared to smirk, his chest colliding with yours when you refused to move away from him again. “Sam Brooks is a very faithful and attentive boyfriend.”

“Oh, screw you.”

“And…” he continued, ignoring you. “He doesn’t wanna see any chowderhead’s hands on his girl. Mission or no mission.”

“You’re forgetting yourself,” you shot back with a pang of both irritation and electricity from the way he said ‘his girl’. “This is an act and… and besides, who do you think you are to be telling me that?!” His expression didn’t change and it made the flames of your rage burst higher. “It’s you who has a reputation of jumping at every chance to fuck any female target–!”

The man in front of you moved abruptly, quickly as a whip he was so proficient with, and though your training prepared you for such situations, you still didn’t manage to block his palm from covering your mouth. His head was turned to the side, but returned to its previous position when you smacked his hand away with an angry huff and pushed him strongly.

“What is wrong with you?!”

“Shh!”

“Don’t shush me, asshole! You started it, so now–”

“For cryin’ out loud, shut it!” he hissed, lifting his hand to signal you to be quiet. He tilted his head again and held his breath, waiting. And then you heard it.

Someone was in the corridor, from the sound of it opening and closing the doors to every room one at the time.

You and Jack looked at each other.

“We need to get outta here, sunshine.”

You had to save your argument for later, but the quick search soon showed that the door you came through was the only exit route. There were no windows in the room – a sought-after thing when you don’t want anyone to spy on your shady deals, you supposed – or even any nooks and crannies one could hide in. You were screwed.

“Fuck!” Jack hissed, quietly going back to you from searching around the conference room. “We’re trapped like a pair of mice under the cat’s tail!”

The echo of footsteps was getting louder, more frantic, and you raked your brain about what to do to appear the least suspicious if someone were to nail you in the area you absolutely should not be.

Beside you, Jack sighed heavily, closing his eyes for a moment, before quickly shrugging his jacket off. Then he unbuttoned two of his shirt’s buttons and walked up to you, forcing you to draw back until your back hit the wall behind you.

“What the hell are you–”

“You’re gonna hate me even more, and m’really sorry,” he cut you off hurriedly and apologetically. You shot him a furious, questioning look, which turned to total confusion when he took off his hat and placed it on your head, ruffling his own hair. “Just go with it, sugar.”

The door on the other side of the room creaked, but you didn’t have a chance to turn your head because right in that moment Jack crashed his lips to yours, kissing you with such passion that it stole the breath away from your lungs. It took you a few seconds to get over your surprise, but you quickly understood what his plan was.

It was wrong and you could still come up with another way to distract whoever was at the door, but if you were honest… you didn't want to.

With the first fiery caress of Jack Daniel’s lips, it became clear to you that his touch was extremely addicting, and as improper as it was, you were already starving for more. It briefly crossed your mind to push him away, because that is not how you imagined this evening to go, but… you had to admit, this was a good idea for a distraction.

And probably your only chance to kiss this handsome, maddening cowboy.

So you reciprocated, your hands grabbing him by his clothes roughly, and poured into the kiss all the longing and feelings you had for your fellow agent, and which you tried to contain all evening. You let it all out.

Jack didn’t waste any time, and the second you returned the kiss, he grabbed the back of your thighs and lifted you up, pressing you harder against the wall and forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist. The moan you let out was swallowed by his mouth, and he continued to kiss and caress you like a man starved, like he planned to devour you whole.

And maybe it was the alcohol you consumed, or maybe just that infatuation you never fully suppressed, but you didn’t fight your own desire to be as close to him as possible. You used to fantasize about wiping that stupid smirk off Jack’s face by stealing the breath out of him, but you never imagined how wonderful it’d feel.

God, the noises he was making when you tugged on his hair… the feeling of his hands on your bare thighs… and his mouth. On your lips, on your neck and collarbone, kissing every inch of your skin like there’s no tomorrow… Nothing could ever prepare you for how much you wanted him to keep going, to–

You pretty much forgot the reason this make-out session even started, and your heart almost jumped out of your chest when you heard someone clearing their throat pointedly.

Jack’s lips left yours in an instant and you had to stop yourself from pulling him back by the material of his shirt, your head still dizzy from what just happened. Instead you turned to the door, your nerves dying down when you saw a young and clearly uncomfortable man.

“Uhm, apologies,” he spoke up with a nervous smile. “Have any of you seen two little girls running around?”

He sounded sincere, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t calm down your pounding heart. Jack was still holding you up and for a second you worried that he’s going to drop you, but he supported your weight without breaking a sweat.

“No, buddy. Sorry,” your partner answered, and the man nodded.

“Alright… It’s just, they’re wrapping up the party for today, but my daughters ran off somewhere.” His eyes shifted to you and your bare thighs, the material of your dress rolled up where Jack had his hands on you. Before you could become embarrassed, the lost dad coughed again. “Uhm, the staff asked everyone to leave in the next half an hour, so… just so you know. Bye.”

The door quickly shut behind him, slamming a little too loudly in the sudden silence. The shame at being caught – and at your own eagerness to what Jack did – only now came crashing down on you. You didn’t want to face him, but knew it was inevitable.

Jack’s eyes were already on you, with his pupils blown wide. His expression showed the same desire as the one scorching your insides, the same unwillingness to pull away from you, but the special moment you shared was long gone. After ten seconds of silence, he cleared his throat and gently set you down. Your arms and chest felt cold without his body pressed against yours.

Whiskey sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. You slowly took his hat off your head, holding it in front of you awkwardly, and waited for him to speak.

And finally, Jack hung his head low and cursed under his breath. You watched in confusion as he turned to you, stuck his cheek forward and closed his eyes.

“Smack me.”

That was not what you expected him to say. “...what?”

“Smack me,” he repeated with confident readiness, not moving an inch. “I deserve it.”

“No,” you said, totally confused. “I’m not gonna hit you. You did it… only so we wouldn’t get caught…” Jack’s shoulders slumped, making you hesitate. “...right?”

“It’s not just that,” he spoke up quietly, opening his eyes but not looking at you. “If you knew, sugar… the things I did to–”

He let out a dry laugh, shaking his head at the words coming out of his mouth, but the sound wasn’t joyous at all. He ran his hand down his face, and you couldn’t help but be drawn to the motion of his thumb wiping the edge of his bottom lip.

“You were s’pposed to be paired with Tequila.”

This one sentence, which seemingly came out of nowhere, just made you even more confused. “Jack, I don’t underst–”

“I asked to go on this mission with you,” he repeated louder, looking almost irritated that he had to explain it to you. “Practically begged, like a damn fool. Tequila was s’pposed to be your partner, but I couldn’t… That is, didn’t want to…”

Whiskey let out another breathless chuckle, running his fingers through his dark hair. “I’m gonna sound like the most selfish asshole, though that’s probably not far from whatcha actually think of me…”

“I don’t understand a word you’re saying.” You went around him to look him solemnly in the eyes, but he avoided your gaze. “Just tell me, what do you mean by all that?”

“Look, darlin’, I’ve no clue what I wanted to achieve,” he spat with annoyance, as if it was your fault he wasn’t making any sense. “I just fuckin’ knew I didn’t want to see Tequila or any other agent act all lovey-dovey with ya, hold your hand and maybe…” he choked up suddenly, his gaze softening, “...maybe kiss you.”

Your eyes were wide and your mind struggled to comprehend what all of it meant, but Jack didn’t even give you a second to gather your thoughts.

“To be clear, I didn’t plan on that.” He gestured towards the wall against which you were pressed just a few minutes ago, and you understood he’s talking about the unexpected kiss. “I might be a dickhead, but it wasn’t all some grand scheme to suck faces with ya. I wasn’t thinkin’ in that moment.”

Oh.

Why did his last words hurt you more than anything else he said? Your thoughts kept circling back to the passionate kiss you two shared, and it didn’t seem to you like Jack was acting at that moment. Or just achieving a goal he pursued. It felt like he lost control. Just like you did.

But you knew now that you didn’t hate it. What about him, though?

“It wasn’t?” you asked after a few seconds of silence. Jack furrowed his brows, to which you clarified: “A grand scheme to get into my pants. It… wasn’t?”

“Fuck. No, f’course not.” The sigh that escaped him was so heavy with guilt and suffering, you could almost feel it in the air between you both. “It must be obvious t’ya that I find you attractive, sugar, and… I love talkin’ with ya. You’re sharp, funny, pretty as a peach, and I really… really wanted to do it right this time. Show myself from a better side, but…” He took a deep breath, then exhaled unevenly. “I blew it.”

He locked eyes with you, and smiled lopsidedly, but there were no emotions in the gesture.

“So I reckon y’know now why I deserve this smack. Probably not just one, but…” He closed his eyes and spread his arms wide. “C’mon, sweetheart. Bet it’ll feel better for both of us.”

You realized that, yes, Jack was really ready for you to slap him – because that, according to himself, was what he deserved. And maybe on another day, you’d even considered it. But after what you’ve been through tonight and after accepting that the feelings you harbored for the older agent never truly disappeared, you didn’t want to do that. You just needed to kiss him again.

So that’s what you did.

It wasn’t a confident display of affection. More like a shy, light brush of your lips against his, which almost immediately came to a halt when Jack pulled away, looking at you with wide, shocked eyes.

It must’ve been evident on your face, though, that you were equally – if not even more – terrified than him. You gulped and took a step back, but he caught your wrist before that could happen. His eyes were still unsure, but so bright and hopeful, it gave you a boost of confidence you desperately needed.

Jack liked you, you reminded yourself as you went in for a second kiss, which this time he eagerly reciprocated and melted into. He was jealous, you thought as your tongues naturally met and entwined.

He wanted you.

When you parted, breathless from adrenaline, and your lips swollen from the intensity of his kisses, his eyes stayed closed. You waited for any sign of regret on his face, but saw none, only raw wonder.

“I think you smacked me too hard,” he murmured, his eyes darting behind his closed eyelids in a weirdly adorable way. “M’pretty sure I’m hallucinatin’.”

“You’re such a dumbass,” you chuckled while shaking your head, and Jack snorted. “Now open your eyes and look at me.”

He obeyed, and a big grin spread on his face the second he laid his eyes on you. He drank in your bright smile and happy expression, and you let him – that is, for only a moment before you jabbed him in the ribs with your finger, causing him to grunt in pain.

“I like you, too, cowboy. Against all common sense.”

“Thank god for the bats in your belfry, then.” You scowled and scrunched your nose in a fake offense, but he just laughed. Then, very tenderly, he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, his eyes warm and soft like never before. “You’re cute as a speckled pup, you know that?”

“I think you’re the lovesick puppy here.”

“Technicalities,” Jack murmured before leaning down to claim your mouth in a gentle kiss. You’ve never thought he could be so tender, and immediately longed for more of this side of him – but too soon, he pulled away, gracing you with that smirk of his you always found so irresistible. “I was thinkin’...”

“That would be the first.” Jack shot you a warning glance at that, and you yelped when he smacked your butt lightly. “You’re so fucking lucky I like you.”

“And I can’t fuckin’ wait to shut you up,” he whispered, making you giggle at the clear fondness in his tone. “As I was sayin’, I think we have a king-size bed waiting for us in our shared room.” Your face split into a wide smile, and Jack shrugged nonchalantly. “All to keep up appearances, of course.”

You tugged forcefully on his shirt and claimed his lips again, but in a deeper, more heated kiss this time. A sound similar to a growl escaped Jack’s chest, and one of his hands found its place in your hair while the other one squeezed your butt lightly. You couldn’t help but giggle into his mouth, which caused a similar smile to spread across his face.

“We wouldn’t want anyone to suspect we’re just playing pretend, right?”

His response was immediate.

“Of course not, sugar.”

#pedrostories1k #jack daniels #agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #jack daniels x reader #kingsmen golden circle #pedro pascal fic

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