#steve is rich

[stupidfreakingthoughts]

steve and dustin’s relationship makes me so happy

Thinking about how the Hellfire Club would respond to them being friends because how the HELL did nerdy dnd player Dustin fucking Henderson become friends with the former king of Hawkins High, Steve “The Hair” Harrington? Because the last they knew of Steve, he was a jock, he threw parties in his giant mansion (that no one in Hellfire had ever been to) and he was just an all around asshole.

The first time Steve shows up in his fancy car (that was actually his fathers) wearing his preppy clothes and waiting in the parking lot, they assume he’s there to beat them up. Of course, they’re the freaks, the losers who don’t go to the basketball games and instead spend their time sitting in an empty classroom playing fantasy games. So what else would they expect?

When Dustin tells the club, “Oh, no he’s basically our mom he’s driving us home tonight”, they don’t believe him. They don’t know why he would be lying, but the people in the club who were at Hawkins High when The King was at the peak of his reign were honestly scared. They were at the bottom rung of the social ladder, if anyone was gonna bully anyone in Hawkins High, it would be the Hellfire Club. Although they were scared, they had formed some sort of bond with these 3 freshmen and they decided to walk out with them to the car. The kids leading the pack, Eddie, Gareth and Jeff slightly behind.

When they reach the car, the older kids try to get in front of the freshmen, but Mike and Lucas rush to Steve, each giving him a fist bump before Dustin reaches him and they perform an intricate handshake that has obviously been practiced a lot. The older kids can’t get exactly what’s happening, but they know there’s a lightsaber part and that it is a very complicated handshake that you wouldn’t learn for just anyone. Mike and Lucas fondly roll their eyes before getting into the backseat of Steve’s car, obviously having seen this same routine done before. Dustin laughs before getting in shotgun and Steve turns to Eddie. Eddie is dumbfounded, because whatever he was expecting Steve to do, it’s wasn’t this. As Steve turns to him and the rest of Hellfire, thanking them for giving the kids something to do that’s fun after school and sticking his hand out for Eddie to shake, Eddie can feel his old crush returning and he hopes he’ll see more of Steve soon.

#AND STEVE COMES BACK #TO SEE THE HOT METALHEAD DM OF HELLFIRE CLUB #AND THEY START DATING AND FALL IN LOVE AND GET MARRIED SOME DAY #hell fire club #gay #stranger things #steddie #tiny steddie ficlet #stranger things 4 #dustin henderson #lucas sinclair #mike wheeler #steve is rich #and bisexual #dustin and his dads #dustin and steve #steve is a mom #and drives his kids around everywhere

[sp0o0kylights]

Wayne takes in a Beat to Shit Steve Harrington after Starcourt as n Owed Favor to Hopper Part 4

Part Three: link

First Chapter (parts 1-3 on tumblr) on A03: Link

The kid was madder than a wet hen.

Just as slippery as one too, when he got like this--music pulsing like a living thing to signal all his rage and upset. 

Not like Wayne hadn’t expected it. 

He just wished it wasn’t quite so damn loud. 

The music had started up almost immediately after Eddie had stormed to his room, startling Steve awake and nearly making Wayne curse for it.

Normally it was a good thing--music meant Eds was willing to listen instead of heading for the hills.  

Normally, they didn't have a house guest who looked like he'd gone ten rounds with a bear.

They had a routine for this, was the thing and the music was a key part of it. It worked all the edges off for Wayne, and he'd long figured out that about thirty minutes was a the perfect length of time for Eddie to stew before he could actually talk things through.

Given the hand Harrington put to his forehead, Wayne wasn't eager to give him that thirty minutes.

Not when Steve deserved little peace he could have.

Unfortunately, so did Eds. 

Still.

 Strutting through the door and demanding to talk right now was a bad move and so, with a sympathetic look given to Steve, Wayne did what he did best

Gave space.

Let Eddie rage, as Wayne got up and shuffled about the kitchen.

Pulled out the soft earplugs he pretended weren’t there for Eds to steal (playing that damn loud guitar all the time could not be good for his ears) and offered them to Steve, before making two cups of what Wayne privately thought was the Munson “chitchat” drink. 

One cup of hot water, one packet swiss miss, a small amount of maple syrup drizzled in, topped with little marshmallows they reserved for these types of situations. 

Wayne took his time with it, thinking through what he wanted to say. 

‘I understand that this is a screen door on a submarine kind of situation...’ 

Nope. 

‘Son I know you hate listening to anyone for anything but this is serious...’ 

Absolutely not--that would end up with the boy bolting for sure. 

‘Ed’s, I love you but could we please turn Ozzy off while we talk? That man wails louder than any damn cat I have ever met.’

That one was purely self indulgent, mostly because the wall was starting to shake. 

Wayne put the finishing touches on the cocoa before staring at both of them. 

Perhaps if he stared the Garfield mug in its eyes hard enough, the right words would come through. 

They did not.

He kept trying, standing there long enough for the cocoa to reasonably have cooled and for Eddie’s song to flip over to something with more screaming in it than singing. 

Wayne supposed that this was the hardest part of being a parent. You just didn’t get to have the magical one liner. The right thing to say at just the right time.  

The joke that would ease all the tension and let things progress forward nice and easy.

Instead, you got to fumble your way through the dark with a flashlight up your ass and hope you were going in the right-ish direction. Ideally without making things worse. 

Wayne was here though, and that had to count for something. 

(Knew it counted for something--because Eddie was still here. 

They had cleared hurdles far higher than this when it came to trust. They’d get through this too, come what may. 

Steve too.)

“Can I just ask,” Eddie started, aggressive as always when Wayne finally gave in and entered his room, feeling all sorts of awful for the migraine Steve had to have, “what the absolute fuck is happening?” 

Sure as fire he was sitting on his bed, leg bouncing a mile a minute.

An unlit cigarette hung between two fingers, looking a little chewed on, but otherwise undisturbed--as it should be, because one of Wayne’s few rules was that smoke stayed outside the house. 

“You could.” Wayne said loudly but agreeably, as he turned himself around and dropped down next to his kid.  

Held out the Garfield mug, and was happy when it was taken from him. 

“Figured you might have other things to say, though.” 

Likely a lot of things. 

It was as good an opening as any, and his kid didn’t disappoint, launching right to it. 

“Why is he here and not at a hospital?”

 ‘Here’ was punctuated by Ed’s hand winging towards the door, and while it wasn’t the righteous fury Wayne expected, it was at least, an easy answer to give. 

“Steve has some people looking for him. Bad people. Hospital makes him an easy target.” 

Wayne was still talking loud. Could only hear Eddie himself because he was looking at the kid’s lips more than he was actually hearing his voice. 

Eddie took that in, swallowing it about as well as he’d swallowed anything he hadn’t liked. 

And thank the stars above, he finally reached a hand out and turned the music down. Not a lot--Steve wouldn’t be able to hear them over all this--but enough that Wayne didn’t have to struggle. 

“We’re hiding him from the cops now?!” Ed’s spat. 

“Cops know he’s here. Hopper’s the one who asked me to take him.” Wayne reminded him, because it was the truth. 

Not the full truth, but given how Ed’s pissed off half the local PD on a good day, Wayne absolutely did not want to see his nephew take on Federal Agents.

(Particularly not the kind who were going ‘round killing kids.) 

“So--what?” Eddie yanked hard on his hair, a gesture that looked less intentional and more like he was trying to fight his own anger down. “Hopper just called you up and said ‘Hey, we had a whoopsie with the rich kid, the hospital’s not safe anymore. Can we stash him with you for a few days?” 

Wayne nodded once, slow-like. 

Always remembered how too fast movements had made Eddie flinch and jerk back when was littler, and given the way Steve was looking, figured it was a good time to be cautious again. 

“He did.”

“And you just--agreed? Just like that!?” 

“I did.” 

He pretended not to see Eddie boggle at him at the simple admission, so furious that he seemed to struggle for words when he normally had too many to say. 

Wayne took advantage. 

“We did talk a bit more than that, I’ll admit.”

Ed’s scoffed. “About the weather I’m sure.” 

“‘Bout trust.” 

Eddie blinked at that. 

“Trust.” He echoed flatly. 

“What have I always told you? People like to ask you to trust them, but you they don’t get to have it until--” 

“They provide proof or a reason.” Eddie finished with an eyeroll. “So which did Hopper provide then?”

Wayne took a noisy sip of his coca. Smacked his lips a little before saying: “Both.” 

Didn’t bother to say anything else, because he knew Eddie would finish the thought for him. 

“One of them was me, wasn’t it.” 

Eds didn’t say it like a question, but Wayne hummed in agreement anyway. 

He wasn’t gonna shame his boy, but he wasn’t gonna sugar coat Eddie’s involvement in this either. Not when he’d already admitted that was half the reason Hopper had gone to Wayne to begin with. 

“No one is expecting Steve to be here.” He said, seeing the chance to hammer home the most important part of this entire shitshow. “So long as no one finds out he’s here, he’ll be safe. Everyone will be safe.” 

Steve from the Feds who were hunting him for while he was busy being involved in shit he couldn’t control and Eddie because he had a mouth that most people didn’t like. 

Not small town people anyway, and absolutely not authority figures with guns. 

“Who’s even after him?” Eddie was theatrical as always, hands waving away as he talked. “Did he make a deal with the mob? Piss off some other rich guy? I know it’s not anything drug related, I’d have heard about it by now.” 

After years of experience, Wayne knew exactly how far to lean away to stay out of range, too used to his nephew talking with his entire body.

“That’s his story to tell ya, Ed’s. It ain’t mine. Same way it ain’t my place to tell him your story.” 

That at least got the boy to think for a minute. Put down that frustration he carried with him all the time, and use the brain they both knew he had. 

“How long is he staying here?”

Wayne shrugged. “Don’t know.” 

Eddie sighed and mockingly mimicked Wayne, taking an obnoxious slurp of his cocoa. “The neighbors are going to notice if he’s here more than a few days. The trailer park isn’t exactly big.” 

“They didn’t notice that time you decided to make fireballs with the cooking spray and about blew up half the driveway. Don’t think they’re gonna notice someone being quiet in the house.” 

Eddie snorted, and probably rolled his eyes again, not that Wayne could see it given the kid was looking into his own mug as he thought it all through. 

Wayne sat with him as he processed. 

Eds worked at his own pace with things, and while life at large might be against that, Wayne was happy to let him do it. Found it easier that way, then trying to poke and prod and force him like so many father figures did. 

Wayne’s patience was rewarded not even a full minute later, when Eddie turned to him and asked; 

“What if he finds out?”  

This in a quieter voice. An unsure one--words and body hunching in a way unlike the Eddie the world outside knew, but very much like the little boy Wayne had brought inside his home. 

It took Wayne  a moment to connect the dots--he’d been speaking out of the place parents and authority figures often do, and in doing so hadn’t thought much of the fact his nephew had a real secret. 

The kind small town minds didn’t like--and would kill him over. 

This all wasn’t about Wayne taking in Steve, he realized abruptly.  It was that Steve being here meant Eddie couldn’t be himself. 

Could not relax in a place he was accepted for who he was, because Wayne knew and made sure Eddie understood he was wanted here, had a place here, regardless of who he loved. 

Now, Wayne had gone and removed it.

‘Shit.’ 

“He won’t.” Wayne said. 

Knew that wasn’t enough, and so, promised: “But if he does, I’ll make sure he understands his safety here relies on your own.” 

Ed’s chin jerked in a nod, the two of them sitting in silence for a moment before the boy did as he often did when he wanted a hug but felt too awkward to ask for one, and tipped himself into Wayne’s side. 

“Thanks old man.” Eddie whispered into his shoulder and not for the first time, Wayne wished things were easier for the poor kid as he put his mug in one hand and hugged his kid with the other. 

Hoped that in the future, it would be.

Even if he had to force everyone and everything coming after him--and now Steve--to do it.

(Wondered vaguely, how bad it was that he was already getting as protective as Steve as he was of his own kid.

Probably very, given his kid clearly hated Harrington.)

xXx

Wayne took the first night of Steve’s stay off.

He wasn’t the type to use his PTO lightly. Was used to rationing it for any possible thing Eddie might need him for.

A night up sick when he was younger, to a night spent chasing him down during some of their bad spots--but the last year or so Wayne had slowly realized he hadn’t had to use it much.

He was still careful with it though, precious as it was, and was thankful for it now as it ensured his nephew didn’t murder their house guest. 

Or at the very least, didn't sit there pecking at him.

The kid might've failed English a few times, but he had a real gift with words and an even better one with insults.

(Wayne wasn't quite clear on what all the "King" jabs were about, and absolutely did not get why Steve looked far more hurt at the comment about his "sad ass floppy hair" but given the increasingly flat look Steve was throwing Eddie's way, Wayne figured it couldn't be anything good.)

Thankfully a pointed reminder about Steve's injuries had finally gotten them all some peace, enough for Harrington to drop back to sleep--and for Wayne to realize he looked a little too dead while he did it to be comfortable getting any sleep himself.

The kids chest barely moved, and that it ate at Wayne’s until he got up and shoved a hand under his nose. 

Felt his breath, and told himself the poor sod was fine. 

Hurt, absolutely, but alive. 

Over and over again, until the sun had made its rotation in the sky, bringing the morning with it.

‘Better than nightmares, I suppose.’ Wayne figured, as exhaustion scraped at his eyelids.

Those Wayne knew, would come later. When Steve’s brain caught up to the rest of him, and stopping dumping survival chemicals through his battered body. 

He'd given up on sleep entirely sometime around 1 am, and now he sat at his small kitchen table, writing out a medication schedule for Harrington so he and the kid both knew when he could have his next Tylenol. 

Wasn’t even halfway through it before Eddie made his typically late appearance and blew through his door. 

Had his back up from the moment he’d stepped a foot in the kitchen and it didn’t take a genius to see he’d worked himself into a snit again.

Unfortunately for him, whatever scenario that imaginative brain of his had cooked up fell flat to the reality that was the poor kid on the couch. 

Steve Harrington was one a hell of a sight.

Didn’t help that he was doing his level best to make himself as small as possible, curled deep into Wayne's ancient couch.

The blankets covered the ribs and hid away most of the damage, but there wasn’t much Steve could do to hide the shiners on his face--or the marks around his neck.  

Not when they’d grown worse overnight, practically inviting questions.

It was almost laughable how quickly Eddie ate whatever words he’d prepared, mouth awkwardly chewing around them as if they were tangible. 

The less-than-sneaky looks he threw at the younger teen were equally amusing, and if Wayne wasn’t trying to peace keep, he’d have given in and chuckled when Eds split attention caused him to pour half his coffee into the sink rather than a cup. 

Looked utterly lost when, after finishing putting his coffee together and grabbing some junk food thing that absolutely was not a breakfast item, he came to stand awkwardly at Wayne's shoulder, openly staring as Steve blatantly ignored him.

Eds didn’t know what to do, and Wayne couldn't blame him. 

Seemed to keep thinking he was going to encounter a boy that likely no longer existed, and whose blood tinged specter just made things sad.

Shit like this, Wayne knew, took a man’s ego and warped it, shaping it to something else entirely. 

At least for Steve, it seemed that getting wrapped up in whatever mess he had had shaped him for the better, instead of pretzeling him into something worse. That, Wayne thought, spoke to the boy's character more than anything he’d done prior. 

(It helped to know what Hopper tolerated and what he didn’t. That he’d vouched for Steve in the same way Wayne knew he’d vouched for Eddie, even if Eddie didn’t yet realize the cop he antagonized so much would do that for him.) 

That didn't erase the history his kid had with Harrington, though.

Wouldn't stop him from seeing the old Steve, first.

‘Don’t you got school?” Wayne asked when he decided Ed had stared enough. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Eddie waved him off, trotting out the door. “Bye old man, house parasite!” 

It was clearly a jab, meant to nettle, but Steve barely acted like he heard it. 

Wayne rolled his eyes. 

“Goodbye, Eds.” He said firmly, much of a warning as he ever gave, and fondly watched his nephew scuttle out the door. 

Turned to see how Steve was taking things, and was once again given a reminder that Steve wasn’t doing a hell of a lot other than feeling his injuries. 

“I think I promised you a game, son.”  Wayne said gently, startling Steve out of the distant, dim look he had trained on the wall. 

It wasn’t a lot to offer in terms of a distraction, but it would have to do.

#small town rumors #this is the first part of chapter two #I will post all parts of chapter two once im done fighting through it lol #steddie #or pre steddie #where I exist as a person #best dad wayne munson #wayne pov #did I say this entire chapter was going to be eddies pov bc haha I lied #outsider pov #s3 au #hurt/comfort #enemies to lovers but like softish enemies to lovers as in Eddies not caring a whole lot that Steves hurt....yet #beat to shit steve harrington #0o0 fanfics #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #Eddies out here ready to face down snotty af rich boy king steve #keeps working himself up so much he forgets how badly off Steve is lol #dont worry his munson doctrine goes to shit later #mostly bc Eddie thinks steve stuck his nose where he shouldnt have and finally got what he deserved lmao

[steventhusiast]

dumb little thing i wrote about steve's real name actually being Alistair Steven Harrington and him hating that fact

-

Eddie's been peacefully letting Steve nap against him during their weekly movie night when the Harrington house phone goes off. Steve jolts upright, and blinks blearily at Eddie as it rings loud and clear.

"Hey, don't worry about it. I got it." Eddie assures him.

He gets up, and watches Steve deflate back into the cushions with a sleepy sigh before he walks off to the wall phone in the hall. As he's about to pick up the phone, he remembers whose phone he's picking up, and sighs at the formal greeting he has to force out.

"Harrington residence. Who am I speaking with?" He asks.

"Oh- uh. Who is this?" A feminine voice responds, and he's a bit surprised at how unsure it sounds.

"This is Eddie, ma'am."

"And why are you answering my phone, Eddie? Where's Ali?"

Eddie can't help the intense frown that creeps up on him at the words. Who the fuck is Ali? Wait. Shit. Is this Mrs Harrington?

"I'm sorry. I don't know any Alis. I'm a friend of Steve's, if that helps, Mrs Harrington?"

It's actually killing him to be this polite.

He hears a sigh through the phone, before the woman speaks up again.

"Well, that explains it. I see Alistair is still too stubborn to go by his first name."

"What?"

"Don't worry about it. Just let Ali- Steven. Let Steven know his mother called, would you, dear? Where is he, anyway?"

"Uhm, he's sleeping ma'am. I will let.. Alistair.... know you called."

As he puts the phone back on the wall, there's a shit-eating grin he can't help. He mouths the word 'Alistair' to himself and giggles a little.

What a little rich people name. No wonder Steve's been hiding it from him. He is going to have so much fun with this.

He walks back to the living room, and sees Steve still awake, looking adorably sleepy.

"Who w's it?" He asks. Eddie's grin sharpens a little.

"Oh, Ali, still sleepy, darling?" He asks, and delights in the way Steve completely wakes up in a split second. His eyes are wide.

"What did you call me?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Would you prefer Alistair?" Eddie manages to get out before giggles take over, and he lets himself collapse on the couch next to Steve as he hears an embarrassed groan from the other.

"Of course it was my mother who phoned. She's the only one who calls me that, you know?"

"Now there are two people that call you that, Stairy baby." Eddie claims, and leans forward to kiss Steve's cheek.

Steve seems less annoyed by this than Eddie expected. He mostly just seems put out, and he sighs again.

"If you call me Alistair in front of the kids I'm breaking up with you."

#steddie #steddie drabble #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #eddie munson #rich people things #mywriting

[catharusustulatus]

Steddie Drabble, TW: child abuse.

Initially, Wayne doesn’t care for Steve. Calls him “the Harrington boy” or “Richard’s son” with contempt, asks if “Richard’s son” is coming over for dinner again and Eddie just rolls his eyes and says “yes, Wayne, STEVE is coming over at 7.” Wayne doesn’t like him because…well, he’s not stupid to judge a book by its cover, he thinks.

But the fifth time Harrington comes over, he brings a bouquet of flowers, and Eddie, well, his cheeks are redder than the spaghetti sauce Wayne’s been stirring, so that’s something.

And then the sixth time Steve comes over, he brings Wayne a Garfield magnet. It’s small, “found it at the thrifty mart with Robin, I’m sorry it’s not brand new…” Steve mumbles, and Eddie is wide eyed and smiling, and Wayne LOVES Garfield. He puts it on the fridge, pats Steve on the back, says “um, thank you son.”

They fall into a pattern, the three of them. Steve comes over for dinner every Friday night after work. He dresses clean and is polite to Wayne, helps with the dishes, sometimes brings bread rolls or licorice or beer or jokes. Eddie starts setting the table. Wayne starts laughing at the jokes. After Steve leaves, Wayne knows Eddie smiles himself to sleep. It’s different, now.

And then the next time Steve is supposed to come over for dinner, he doesn’t show. Eddie had been making macaroni and cheese all evening, grating the cheese carefully as he bopped his head to some metal song, cheerful, and then it was 7 and then it was 8 and then Wayne thought “maybe call him, Ed.”

Nobody answers. When they call again, nobody answers. And Wayne has a bad feeling about it.

It isn’t until almost 11, dinner cold and Eddie pacing, about to radio someone named Robin when Steve’s car pulls up, they know the lights so well. They run outside to greet him and Eddie freezes when Steve starts falling out of the drivers seat, face dark and pained. Wayne jumps into action. Wayne catches Steve and hauls him into the trailer, his living room, and oh god, he’s covered in bruises like he was put through Eddie’s cheese grater, and oh god, Eddie’s broken out into tears behind him.

Steve’s left eye is swollen shut, and his face is purple and bloody. His lip is split and his hair is wild, his shirt is torn, and Wayne wonders what’s underneath the shirt as he gets the first aid kit, wonders how the hell he thought Steven was anything other than an angel.

Eddie gets a dish towel wet in the kitchen and cleans Steve’s face, quiet and crying, and Wayne sets the first aid kit down next to Eddie and makes some coffee. He thinks about talking, doesn’t. Touches the Garfield magnet for good luck. He feels like maybe Steve needs it.

Steve who is holding Eddie’s wrist as he cleans him up, wincing and crying from his good eye. Finally, after a silence that gives Wayne heartburn, Eddie sits back on his heels and says whisper quiet, “your dad?”

Steve gulps, blinks. “My uh, my dad. I was writing you uh, uh a love note.” Eddie looks over at Wayne. Wayne wipes his brow. “But uh, he found it, and your name’s not uh, Edith” Steve lets out a chuff, winces again. “So he asked what was going on, and I told him. I told him. And then he said I had one minute to take it back or he’d make me take it back.” Eddie lets out a small gasp, more like a howl, and sits completely on the floor. Wayne sits down at the table, cold mac and cheese looking like a sick joke. And he’s so mad. Wayne is so, so mad, seeing this young man who so obviously loves his pride and joy, shares in his pride and joy, who brings him apples to make apple pie, he growls out

“Don’t you worry about a thing, Steven, not one thing. You stay here long as you like, hell, don’t leave. We got you, boy.”

And that’s that. Steve crumples in on himself, and Eddie pulls him into a big hug, just holds him, rocks him, coos “a love note, huh, sweetheart? For me?” And Steve nods until he nods off.

The next morning, while Robin takes care of Steve, Wayne and Eddie break into Steve’s room, clear out everything he owns, and slash his dad’s tires. That was Wayne’s idea - the least he could do for a loved one.

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie drabble #wayne munson #I just am obsessed with Wayne being like who is this snotty rich kids oops I adopted him #Wayne and Steve forever #also Steve gives me huge scared of my dad vibes #so I just feel like if he came out he’d be beat up #tw: abuse #but I also think that if Steve was hurt #Wayne and Eddie would be like oh yeah? death to you #anyway idk #I just love them your honor

[hawkinsbnbg]

Steve who became Eddie's sugar baby mostly for fun because the older man always knew how to treat him right.

And Eddie who would do anything for Steve because his baby only the deserved the best.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #sugar baby steve harrington #sugar daddy eddie munson #spoiled rich brat steve #rockstar eddie #sionewrites

[finntheehumaneater]

I keep reading fics where Steve has no idea how to cook, or do any kind of “chore”, and that confuses me. Yes, he is an entitled little princess and he will whine whenever he has to do something slightly inconvenient—but he spent years alone at home. By himself! He would have had to do everything! He is the best cook!

Later in life, when he and Robin inevitably live together, he doesn’t even let her near the stove in fear that she might burn the house down. He’s in charge of all the cooking.

And occasionally when he goes out he’ll come home and the whole house smells like smoke. Because Robin can find a way to burn anything.

(Read tags)

#Like what did he eat when he was home alone? #TV dinners? #No #his family is rich he likes to make nice food for himself #And maybe it surprises everyone that he can cook and shit #Because. Again. He is a little princess and does not like to do things #ALSO SOMEONE POINTED OUT THAT IT WAS NEVER CONFIRMED HIS PARENTS WERE SUPER FUCKING ABSENT #BUT #I forgot to put down that this goes with the head cannon that his parents are super fucking absent #Steve Harrington #Robin Buckley #stranger things #stranger things headcanons #platonic stobin #platonic with a capital p #stobin #mine

[morganbritton132]

I can’t believe there’s no fic out there where Steve and Callahan are related somehow. I think they look similar enough that they could be related and I’ve got two ways you can go about it.

(1) Callahan is Steve’s uncle and the worst think this goofy cop has to deal with on a semi-regular basis is his sister’s asshole kid. He can’t even complain about it because his sister is never in town. Phil’s nickname when he was a kid was Noodle so Steve calls him Officer Noodles even after he cleans up his act.

(2) Callahan is Steve’s brother from his mom’s previous marriage and once she married Steve’s dad, she stopped acting like a mom towards Phil. They have a lot of resentment towards each other and it’s frustrating that Phil feels like he can’t give Steve a speeding ticket because he knows what kind of man his father is. He does get extremely jealous when Steve gets close with Hopper because the kid has already stolen his mom, now he’s taking his mentor too? Steve still calls his Officer Noodles.

#officer noodles because he has curly hair #also picture: Callahan confronting Billy about beating Steve up #I know it’s easier to say that they’d have the same dad but I think it’s more hurtful if your mom decides she doesn’t want to be your mom #because she wants to start a new family with some rich asshole and then they have a kid who is also kind of an asshole #phil callahan #steve harrington #stranger things

[superblysubpar]

'Rari Go Fast, I Know You Like It

rich!steve harrington x fem!reader

Summary: Steve takes you for a ride after closing a big deal at dinner. | masterlist | Title/fic inspiration song always at the bottom (please for the love of God listen to this song it's so hot) - steve's music | 18+ Only, NSFW

WC 3.2k

Warnings: SMUT (a little flirting/teasing at a handjob/fingering - both under the table in a very public setting / roadhead while Steve is driving - reader performing, steve receiving / car sex - parked with no one around / PIV intercourse - creampie ) | dirty talk

A/N: sorry this is late and if there's any formatting issues! I'm in the car! 💛

So, it was a little fun playing pretend. 

The chill of pearls against your heated skin, resting in the dip of your collarbones and worth an amount that isn’t even fathomable to you. A Chanel bag with Steve’s credit card hot from use nestled inside and a bottle of perfume in your backseat as the tires come to a halt in front of the valet. Expensive lace with straps and buckles - shiny, pretty things to tease your boyfriend with. Not to mention the color, cherry red, sour and sweet. Devilish beneath a respectable and pristine navy cocktail dress that hugs you in all the right ways.  

Heels clicking against the pavement, as you’re helped out of your car by not a man in a maroon jacket, but Steve. Dress slacks that fit him perfectly, a blazer and button down shirt that’s all worth more than your car. His shirt unbuttoned to show a tasteful amount of chest hair that has your mouth watering. Shiny shoes and a leather belt, a watch on his left wrist that stops halfway up to his hair, seeming to remember not to mess it up at the last minute. The one remaining piece of your Steve - hair still too long, but the carmel locks styled and gelled to look a little more purposeful than his normal mess. His hand rests on your lower back as he kisses your cheek and whispers, “Thanks for this, angel.”

Your perfectly manicured fingers slip into his, squeezing your thighs together as the cool metal band of his class ring stings your skin. Sue you, so you're a little aroused by your boyfriend dressed up for the part too. His thick fingers take over yours as he tugs you toward the hotel entrance. Murmuring in his ear as you slip through the held open door and into your role, “Anything for you, Mr. Harrington.”

Steve’s lips twitch, moss and cinnamon glinting in his eyes as they dance over your face. Testing the line, his gaze dips for only a second to the neckline of your dress, curving over your breasts in a simple sweetheart neckline and he blows a breath out through his nose. Glancing over his shoulder before his hand lands on the line of almost distasteful. His pinky and ring fingers gently rubbing back and forth, falling deeper towards the curve of your ass as he scolds, “Behave, baby.”

“Steven!” A voice calls, interrupting you both with a tone that’s deep and booming. 

Steve’s fingers scratch at your back, shoulders rolling as he straightens and mumbles, “Showtime.” Both of you turning with wide smiles, Steve extends his hand, “Jack! Bruce!”

It’s all firm handshakes and introductions of wives and slapping shoulders and you hate that it’s doing something to you. The wives complimenting your outfit, your makeup, the sharing of  town gossip that they include you in - asking you questions and your opinions on latest trends. It makes a bittersweet taste linger on your tongue when you get a little trill of excitement running through you from it all. 

Sitting next to Steve, legs tucked under the pristine white tablecloth. Table settings with more forks than you knew what to do with. His fingers buzz over the skin on the inside of your thigh as the waiter holds a bottle of red out for your approval. Steve's fingers squeezing and staying put when you nod and Bruce nods his approval. "Your wife has good taste, Steven!"

"Oh, I'm not…" you begin and he waves you off. 

Bruce winks at Steve, "Harrington's just taking his time picking out the perfect ring, right?"

Steve smiles into his wine glass, nodding. Another squeeze of his hand as he roams a little higher. Your thighs close around his fingers and his smile grows a little around the sip. 

Steve's hand doesn't leave its new home while the business discussion begins. Steve talks animatedly, hitting all of his points with a passion and confidence you've never seen in him. The men twice his age listening intently and you're incredibly aroused watching it all unfold before you. 

It's a part, you know it is. 

But is it? Steve eyes you cooly as your thighs press together in search for friction when he finishes the deal. Hands shook and promises of things signed come Monday morning. His thumb brushes your skin higher, his shoulders rolling back as he hits lace. Laura, Bruce's wife, asks you questions and you keep your attention on her, your hand trailing up Steve's thigh. You nod and reply, "Oh yes I'd love some cream-" palming Steve's quickly hardening cock as he chokes on his drink as you finish your sentence, "For my coffee."

Steve removes his hand from your thighs and pulls your hand up from his lap, kissing your palm and mischief glinting in his eyes as he rests your enclosed hands on the table. Laura talks your ear off about future get togethers, help with office parties and bridge clubs. Steve's thumb brushes your knuckles as you offer to send her your lemon bar recipe, lifting your fingers for another kiss when you turn bashful at her compliment of your new pearl necklace. The boys talk shop, plans for golf on Sunday and promises of scotch and whiskey tomorrow evening. 

When you walk out hand and hand with Steve next to Bruce and Laura, you're beginning to forget your initial resistance to the evening. Why didn't you think you'd have fun? Were you playing a part?

Laura gives you a hug and Steve whistles as Bruce motions to the Ferrari parked in his VIP spot. Bruce looks between the pair of you and the car before a wolfish grin spreads across his face.

“Take her for a spin, son.” Bruce winks, dropping the key into Steve’s palm. 

“Sir, I-” Steve’s argument is waved away and Bruce puts his hand on Steve’s shoulder, patting it roughly. 

“Just a little taste - enjoy it! You're one of us now, need another Ferrari man. Jack and his Porsche.” Rolling his eyes as he starts to walk back into the hotel, arm wrapping around his wife who smiles widely at you. He calls over his shoulder, “Bring it back for breakfast! We’ll play tennis after, right honey?”

Laura beams up at her husband, squeezing the arm that sits around his waist. He nods to the pair of you, Laura waggles her fingers and they disappear inside again. 

Steve lets out a surprised laugh, fingers covering his mouth as his eyes widen in their gaze at you. He’s whispering behind his hand, “Crazy, this is crazy…this is…”

Your eyes bounce between the car and Steve’s hand holding the key. A familiar ache in your stomach blooming from the thoughts swirling in your head and you step closer. You've been wanting him alone since you stepped out of your car and this was your opportunity to finally seduce Steve for a change. 

Your lips ghost over his cheekbone, whispering in his ear and relishing in the shiver that runs through his body when the words leave your mouth, “Take me for a ride, Stevie?”

Steve's tongue juts out over his lip, pupils taking over any color in his eyes as he nods and practically races to open the door for you, "Yeah, yeah okay."

Steve closes your door after you slip in, running around the hood and pausing abruptly in front of the car. He licks his lips again, his chest heaving and he finally breaks - the hand that’s been aching to run through his hair finally doing so. 

"Baby," he closes his eyes, blowing out a breath before opening them again. A mixture of a laugh and groan tinging his words, "Shit, I wish I had a camera. You look so sexy in this car."

Your body heats at his words, ducking your head down as you pull your bottom lip between your teeth. Stifling your giggle, you nod your head backwards, motioning him with your fingers, "Come on, loverboy."

Steve's grin could melt the ice in the furthest reaches of the globe. He hops in the driver's seat excitedly, hands rubbing the black leather of the steering wheel with eager eyes. He adjusts the rearview mirror. And then, he puts his hand behind your head on the seat, turning to glance over his shoulder as he backs out of the luxury parking space. 

Fuck, this is not gonna last long. 

Steve looks like he's made for this car, sitting back comfortably in the tan leather seat. The radio playing Queen and his lips quirk up on one side, nudging the dial louder. Flashes of the city lights hit the pair of you as you drive further out of Indianapolis. Oranges and gold illuminating his face as the wind whips your hair. City noises of horns, people yelling, and the clanking of alleyways being used by closing restaurants fading away quickly into crickets, to a peace that’s not quite silent but almost. Watching him closely as the speedometer slowly climbs, Steve’s face is illuminated by the soft glow of the dash. His eyebrows raise as the meter hits 80, the car making not a single noise of protest like yours would as he shifts gears smoothly. 

That’s when his lips twist into a smirk, his thigh flexes as he pushes the pedal harder, eyes dancing between the meter and the road. You can’t take it anymore, pressing the lock of your buckle and Steve’s eyes jump over to you at the noise. 

“Baby, what are you-”

You’re leaning carefully over the console, fingers gripping his seat as you kiss just behind his ear, nose trailing down his neck as he moans, sentence breaking off. Your fingers trail up the inside of his pant leg, lips smiling against his skin as you feel him already hard. 

“I-I can pull over and-”

You speak into his cheek, fingers on his belt now, “Keep driving.”

“Oh fucking hell.” He blows out his breath, a whine bubbling out of him as you drag the zipper down slowly. 

Your thighs are coated, slick and sticky since he closed the deal earlier. Steve lifts his hips as you maneuver his length free of his boxers and slacks. His foot presses to the pedal harder, bucking his hips into your hand at the feeling of your touch. 

Not giving him a single ounce of time to prepare further, your mouth slips over the swollen tip that's already leaking for you. One of his hands finds your hair, thigh under your palm flexing as he no doubt presses the pedal even harder as you dip lower. 

It’s messy, not as precise as you’d like to be, tongue swirling and spit pooling. Steve’s fingers grip your hair a little meanly, a little too rough and when he yanks your roots when he hits the back of your throat you moan around your sucking.

“Fuck, shit baby, you’re,” he gulps for air, trying to find his words and keep his eyes on the road. Voice shaking, filled with shock and confidence in the same breaths, “You like sucking the bosses cock, huh?” Moaning in agreement that's loud enough for the radio to be drowned out as you nod around your bobbing. 

Your new lingerie is ruined, you’re dizzy with Steve’s attitude, with the dinner, with the deals, with the fucking car. Tongue swirling around his tip, flicking the slit and collecting more precum and Steve jerks his hips up again. Your fingers grip his thighs, console digging into your knees and you can’t take it anymore, one hand reaching down and rubbing furiously at your swollen clit. 

Steve practically sobs as his eyes dart over to your hips rolling against your hand. Choking on his words,  “Oh my god, are you - christ babe,” as your nose hits the patch of dark hair at his base when you take him even deeper.

Pulling up his length slowly , lips swollen and wet as they drag against him. Your tongue traces the vein that runs along his shaft, your eyes glance up at him under fluttering lashes. Steve’s eyes are closed and your mouth leaves him with a sudden and lewd pop. Your head whips up to see you’re now going well over 100, moving into the gravel that starts the ditch on the side of the road. 

“Steve!”

“Wha-Shit! Fuck!” His eyes open, glossy and dazed and he straightens, blinking rapidly. His hands find the wheel, responsibly at ten and two, correcting the car’s trail into the lane again. 

Steve’s cheeks are red, chest heaving as his eyes dart left to right too quickly. He turns the wheel suddenly, the car spinning into a small clearing. Surrounded by trees and hidden from the road, he slams it into park and turns the lights off. 

“I need you right now,” he grabs at your jaw greedily, hair and eyes crazy and you pull away from his grip. Relishing in the glint that flashes in his gaze at your defiance, at the groan that rumbles in his chest and you have to bite back your grin. 

“Have a little patience Steve, I got all dressed up for you and you don’t even care? Maybe I had a really nice night for us planned back at the hotel…” you sigh, hand reaching up to unclip your hair. 

Steve licks his lips, as your hands shake out your curls. He moans when you lean forward, lips kissing up his dick and hovering over the tip. 

“Please, baby, I-”

Smiling against him, tongue flicking out and teasing him. Trying to contain your amusement in the whimper he makes at the motion as you kick off your heels and climb over the console. Your dress rucked up around your hips and Steve’s eyes drink you in, large hands roaming up your thighs. 

Your own fingers pull at the hem of your dress, removing it over your head and your smile finally wins as Steve falls back against the seat heavily with a loud moan. His eyes are darker than the night sky above you as he tugs on your lace covered hips. Breath hot against your skin as he yanks you closer to him, kissing over the swell of your breasts and up your neck. 

“You planned this?” He licks at your neck, your jaw, up to your ear. Sucking bruises and soothing them with his tongue too quickly for your liking. This is all going to be over too fast.  

Your body arches against his, neck extending for him as you gasp, “Well, not the car exactly, but-”

Breaking off into a moan as he kisses down the column of your throat, a thick finger pushing the lace of the lingerie set to the side. Steve’s able to slide through you easily and now it’s his turn to smile against your skin. 

He’s not the one who’s needy, you are. 

“Honey, you’re fucking soaked.” A second digit spreads your folds, teasing and circling your clit and you have to bite down on your lip hard to suppress the pathetic sound that’s trying to escape you. 

The pads of his fingers stop at your entrance and he smirks into your jaw, nose nudging your cheek as he speaks. Voice raspy and tinged with a desperation you’ve never heard before, “Got all worked up watching me make money, yeah? Wanna be a little spoiled, huh baby?”

When Steve pushes his fingers into you with no resistance, you know there’s no use in fighting it and you nod, your own fingers gripping at his shoulders. Your breath is coming too quickly, the heat pooling in your stomach coming too rapidly and you gasp out his name.

He smiles, lips hovering over yours as your hips roll against his hand. Steve watches you, almost casually, leaning back, thighs spreading wider. You wouldn’t be surprised if he put his other hand behind his head like he was relaxing by the pool. His fingers curl and find the spot you were aching for him to touch for hours, he doesn’t even blink as you clench around him. Steve’s tongue presses into his cheek, fighting a wider smile as he nods, “Yeah that’s it pretty girl, just take whatever you want. So spoiled,” his other hand tangles in your hair, pulling you closer and his lips press to yours roughly, “So fucking spoiled.”

Pushing on his chest, you whine, “Steve, I need-”

His fingers slip from you and wrap around his length, coating himself in your slick before he’s yanking you lower on his lap.

“Yeah? Then take it.”

Pathetic, you’re pathetic, and you don’t understand how the roles reversed so quickly. How did a night of pretending, a plan to seduce Steve turn into you begging for him in a fucking Ferrari?

There’s no sting as you take him, it’s too wet, too ready for him, and your head is thrown back with a gasp of pleasure. Your eyes blink as he sucks on the top of one of your breasts, hands on your hips as he moves you up and down on him sharply. Tears for Fears plays and stars glimmer above you and you’re already about to cum. How was he always able to seduce you into these sinfully delicious scenarios even when you had a plan to do it to him? 

Angry you didn’t win, again, you push his face into your chest harder, fingers tugging in the back of his hair. Steve’s breath hitches as you roll your hips, grinding down on him. He can feel you clenching around him, you can feel every ridge and curve. Steve kisses up your neck, begging your name as you bob on him faster, hands squeezing your hips. He’s gone. 

You’re both playing dirty now. A filthy grind of your hips against his, hands yanking in hair, mouths breathing into each other’s and Steve leans the seat back suddenly. Gasping as you fly backwards, your weight falling against him fully, he groans. The new angle has your clit rubbing against him just right and you’re panting into his mouth. 

The pressure builds in your gut almost in time with the music playing, swelling and crescendoing to a level you've never reached so quickly. You’re trying to win stil,l but it’s all over when Steve begs one simple word into your parted lips.

“Come.”

Your body spasms, it’s a demand and a plea and he nods as you whine and your bouncing picks up it’s pace as your orgasm rips through you. Steve is quick to follow you, painting your walls as he holds you down, hands pressing into your back as his hips buck up into you harshly before faltering.  

A whole song seems to play before the other sounds of the world return to yours and Steve’s ears. Cars driving by not too far away, owls and various woodland creature’s calls when you make eye contact. Steve’s cheeks are flushed, neck bruised by you even though you don’t remember doing it and his hair is messier than it’s ever been. You’re sure you look even worse and suddenly the two of you are laughing. 

You hide in his chest and he curls his arms around you. He lips brush along your temple and he squeezes you lightly. His laugh rumbles in his chest against yours as he whispers a little too cockily, “Told you you’d have fun tonight.”

Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you thought, and I hope you consider reblogging my work to get it circulated to new readers - thanks for being here 💛

#steve harrington #rich!steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fic #steve harrington oneshot #stranger things fanfic #Spotify

[houseofthetides]

PART II of COMPLIMENTARY COSTUME DESIGN ↳ RHAENYS & CORLYS | Matching Accessories and Face Cards

#house of the dragon #hotdedit #gameofthronedaily #rhaenys x corlys #rhaenys targaryen #corlys velaryon #eve best #steve toussaint #(rich) judgemental hotties 💅 #targaryensource #mine

[weird-an]

"So, Hargrove," Harrington says, stretching his long limbs out on the deckchair, water drops glistening on his chest hair, skin turned golden from the sun. "Isn't it a good idea to spend the summer here?"

Billy isn't really sure about that. He isn't exactly friends with Harrington. Spending a summer at the Harrington's summer residence near Sweetwater - because of course they have a whole ass mansion with a giant pool and marble everywhere - was at least better than staying home.

With Neil. Neil who is already calling him useless and a failure before he has even started college.

Harrington asked him, drunk on champagne and the last day of school. Billy can't remember agreeing himself, but Tommy did, loud and obnoxious as usual.

But here? Soaked in sunlight, sipping Campari and swimming in the pool? Having dinner every day, not just scraps from the kitchen or greasy fast food?

Yeah, that's not too bad. Especially when Harrington looks at him like that, with his big brown eyes and crooked smile.

"It's alright," he says, sucking on his cigarette. "Everywhere is better than Hawkins."

"You got no idea how right you are." Harrington throws his head back and laughs. Billy watches his Adam's apple bob. He can, today, because Tommy has pissed off today, too hungover and bitchy for a reason Billy doesn't know or care about.

"C'mon," Harrington gets up and grins at Billy. There's something dark lurking behind pearly white teeth, sending a shiver down Billy's spine. "It's no summer without skinny dipping, right?"

Billy freezes, feels almost caught, like they are back in the locker at school and someone saw him staring.

"It's noon," Billy says with a frown.

"Who gives a fuck." Harrington takes a gulp from his glass, a red drop of Campari stays on his lips.

Billy can't look away. Harrington licks it off. His tongue is pink. Billy wonders what it tastes like.

"C'mon, Billy." Harrington pulls down his swim shorts. "Don't be boring."

"Fuck off." Billy Hargrove is everything but boring. He slips out of his shorts and presses his cigarette out in the crystalline ashtray.

Harrington smiles at him, eyes wandering across his skin, lingering on Billy's cock. Or at least, Billy thinks so. He tries not stare at Harrington's. He can't be that. Not here. Not now.

"Let's get you wet," Harrington says with a wink, taking the bottle of Campari and jumping into the water.

Billy only sees a blur of red and blue - and the pale of Harrington's ass. Suddenly he finds himself in the water too and realizes he has underestimated the depth of it.

#i mean … let steve be a rich brat playing games with billy #harringrove #billy x steve #billy hargrove #harringrove ficlet #steve x billy

[sp0o0kylights]

Part One

Hellfire did in fact, have cookies to sell.

More than cookies, which Dustin practically preened over when Eddie dragged himself back to their table. 

The ornaments they had made were still there, but now the centerpiece was an array of baked goods. Spread out in a spiral, it started from the large cake in the center and spun out into miniature cookies held in tiny decorated bags, all while Harrington stood over them like a proud parent. 

It smelled mockingly delicious. 

Eddie glared at the display, resisting the urge to upend the whole thing onto the floor.

Cookies and cakes and (--was that frickin bread pudding?) whatever other treats Harrington had shown up with might look good, but Eddie didn’t trust it. 

Didn’t trust Harrington, even if the bastard had never really done anything himself--but then, he never had to, had he? 

That was the point of all that money, after all. So he could pay other people to do his dirty work while he kept his hands squeaky clean. 

“Inch a bit to the left--there, stop!” Harrington was saying, like the bossy asshole he was.

Like he thought he could just come in and expect everyone to follow his lead. 

“Perfect! Now don’t touch it.” 

God, Eddie had to nip this in the butt, now. Before King Horrorton harassed his sheep all day, and cemented the club's undeserved bad name in the minds of Hawkins.

“Dustin what did I just say--” 

Eddie stepped up to the front of their table, preparing himself for war. Looked over to his friends knowing they'd likely need a nod of reassurance. A show from him that said he had this handled.

There was no cowering. 

No pleading, helpless, 'What do we do Eddie!?' gazes aimed his direction.

Hellfire wasn’t even looking at him, and not because they were all avoiding Harrington's line of sight.

No, the fucking traiters were flanking the King. Like they were buddies with the bastard instead of mortal enemies. 

“Hey, Ed’s, Harrington brought pies. Cakes too!” Gareth said around a mouthful of said cookie when he noticed Eddie standing before him. 

It came out a garbled mess, but years of experience had Eddie understanding him anyway. 

Jeff was busy playing what sounded like twenty fucking questions regarding the setup, and even Grant appeared comfortable, happily letting Harrington order him around as they finished setting up. 

Like this was some kind of cutesy Disney movie where they all held hands and sang songs instead of a hostile takeover situation. 

Eddie’s eye twitched.

Sensing a disturbance in the force, Jeff looked up and immediately interrupted himself to point to a series of red and green cookies placed dead center, delighted. 

“Check it out man, Steve made some shaped like dice!” 

(And he did say ‘Steve.’ 

Not Harrington, or This Asshole, or The Invading Evil Forces of Darkness.

Just Steve, like Steve was someone Jeff hung out with everyday.

Jeff’s cleric was a dead elf walking.) 

Eddie took note of what was in fact, dice cookies. 

He hated how good they looked.

“There’s four flavors.” Steve told him, cocky little grin on his face as he observed his work.  “Chocolate chip, peanut butter, snickerdoodle--and the dice ones are sugar cookies.” 

He licked his lips before finally turning to look at Eddie, hair curling over his face and making him wave a hand to brush them out of his eyes. 

Eddie hated how good he looked too. 

‘Hate, hate, hate, absolutely loathe-’ 

“Great, sure, wonderful.” Eddie managed, though given the look Grant and Jeff both shot him it might have come out as more of a growl. 

Dustin rolled his eyes, and Eddie couldn’t help but notice that Hellfire’s other two youngest hadn’t dared to show their faces yet. 

Likely they knew Eddie was having an absolute meltdown over Steve’s presence and were waiting for his reaction to blow over. 

(Their characters were dead too.) 

“I have two full cakes--one chocolate, on vanilla--and a few individual slices we can sell.” Steve was continuing, as if Eddie wasn’t glaring a hole in his forehead. “Those did really well last year when I made them for the basketball team.” 

Insults fought for space on Eddie’s tongue, but he managed to roll a 20 to pick the best one, opening his mouth to let it fly.

"Harr-" is as far as he got before he was rudely interrupted.

“Steve? Is that you?” A woman Eddie didn’t recognize but was clearly someone's mom came up cautiously to the table, side eyeing the Hellfire banner like a nervous horse. “That can’t be your famous tiramisu, is it?”

Steve beamed at her. “Well hi Miss Carpenter. It is!” 

Eddie was bumped aside by a massive purse, the woman not even glancing in his direction as she stepped up to the table. 

With a sneer, he finally slumped to the back of their little spot as Miss Carpenter looked over all Steve’s (not Hellfire’s and absolutely not Eddie’s) offerings. 

Didn’t care to wipe it off right then, even if he knew he needed to if he wanted to make sales. 

Jeff sent him a look.

The same one he usually aimed Eddie’s way when he thought Eddie’s antics were going to cause problems. 

He ignored it, on grounds that traitors don’t get to be judgy. 

“Oh,” Miss Caprtender tittered, the draw of Harrington’s baked goods clearly overcoming whatever fear she had about Hellfire. “Well I just can’t pass that up. The swim team meets aren’t the same without you!”

Eddie pretended to gag.  

Waited for her to comment on Hellfire--their clothes, their music, hell even the length of Eddie’s hair--and found he was almost disappointed when there wasn't even a single question about Hawkins precious golden child was slumming it with the weirdos. 

Instead, Miss Carpenter's hand went fishing in her purse for her wallet as she loudly called out over her shoulder, to presumably another annoying woman; 

“Terry, Steve’s here! He’s been baking!” 

For two terrifying seconds, there was a notable dip in the conversations around them. 

Grant’s eyes went wide as several women responded to the announcement like dogs hearing food hit the floor, and within seconds their table was absolutely swarmed by the mothers of Hawkins.

Even Eddie’s eyes went wide at the sheer number of them. 

“Hold, men, hold.” Dustin cautioned as Jeff and Grant both took a step back. “Come on, we need to get our gold!” 

“They’re scary though.” Gareth whispered in horror as four women tried to talk at once, jostling each other so hard they shook the table menacingly. 

“Ladies, ladies there’s enough here for everyone!” Steve laughed, showing off his disgustingly cute dimples as he did, getting several of the mom’s to blush at their own behavior in the process. 

The sheer amount of attention of course, drew in even more people, and Dustin quickly took up directing, planting Jeff and Grant at either end of their table while he and Steve fended off the hoard from the front. 

(Given the way he and Steve were equally ordering Hellfire around, Eddie finally knew where the little shit had picked that attitude up from. He was going to have to cure Dustin of it, ASAP.  ) 

“Here you go Miss Harper.” Steve said sweetly, handing over yet another stack of baked goods.

Without turning his head, and in the tone of voice one used to warn a misbehaving dog, he added; “Gareth don’t think I can’t fucking see you, get back up here.” 

Caught trying to sink under the table with another cookie in his mouth, Gareth found himself hauled back to his feet by his collar, putting a snarl on Eddie’s face immediately. 

“Hey--” He started, defensive and more than ready to intercede, except Gareth wasn’t flinching or cursing or doing that thing he did with his mouth when he was desperately trying to hold in his temper. 

Instead he was giving a sheepish grin and a half-assed apology while he hung in Harrington’s grasp, before doing what the guy told him to do. 

(It did not help that Steve patted him on the shoulder when he released him, before handing Gareth a third fucking cookie.)

Eddie’s eye twitched a second time.

(He told it to knock it off.

It didn’t listen.) 

No one acknowledged Eddie or his outburst, which meant he was just skulking behind the boys while they all worked. 

Arms crossed, rings tapping a rhythm on his forearm, far too keyed up to do anything other than glare at the back of Harrington's skull.

The King seemed perfectly happy to ignore him.

Likewise, Gareth and Grant knew better than to bother him when he was in a snit. 

Henderson made the occasional snappy little comment, but the brat had mostly left him alone now that they were well into the swing of selling, chortling over the increasing stack of cash Steve kept trying to get him to put into a “safe place.” 

Eddie was seconds away from walking up and snatching the cash himself when Jeff decided it was on him to attempt the impossible. 

Get him to help Harrington. 

“More hands would be nice, Eddie!” Jeff called, looking more than a little harassed as the mom he was helping changed her order a second time, snaking out the last single slice of chocolate cake from another mom who was eyeing it. “Steve and I could really use your assistance over here!” 

Eddie’s glare, which had been doing its level best to try and vaporize the King’s brain, switched targets instantly. 

“I’m supervising.” 

Jeff made a face like he was about to argue, but the King beat him to it. 

“It must be tough,” Harrington said, tilting his head to look back towards Eddie, “to supervise people who are working so much harder than you.” 

Which promptly set the mood for the next full hour. 

xXx 

Harrington was matching him tit for tat.

Every shitty, sneered word out of Eddie’s mouth was met with an equally mean toned barb, though given the repeated looks everyone kept shooting him, Eddie was very much considered the aggressor here.

A fact he cannot believe is coming from his own friends.

What happened to comradery? To Eddie stepping in and protecting them, from the likes of people just like Harrington? 

But no, Eddie makes one fucking comment about how the cookies are probably half hair-spray and suddenly he’s the bad guy.

(Nevermind that Steve had fired right back, telling Eddie that any hair-spray taste was probably from all the drugs he did.)

Was somewhat, halfway--okay maybe amazing, Eddie might have snuck a cookie himself--food really all it took to get them all to turn on him like this?

Erase the years of Eddie being their shield in high school? 

Act like Harrington wasn’t just as bitchy and awful as he had been in high school (even if he was, admittedly, being nicer about it all right now? Almost--aloof, like he couldn’t figure out why Eddie hated him so much, but likewise wasn’t going to take even one eye roll sitting down--and no, no, Eddie wasn't derailing this by thinking about his stupid eyes, he wasn't!) 

Frankly he would have flipped them all the bird and stormed off, if it weren’t for the increasingly weird little comments people were making. 

‘Oh Steve, it's a shock to see you here.’ 

‘Are you doing someone a favor?’ 

‘You know Pastor Jim said something about this game…’

The last one had put Eddie’s teeth on edge, even if Dustin had brushed it off. It hadn’t been aimed at Steve directly but the women saying it had absolutely been looking at the King, as if waiting for his reaction.

Not that Harrington would take the bait this soon, though. 

There were too many people buying fricken…cupcakes and shit, while the King enjoyed the attention of the masses. 

Eventually this tiny crowd would die down though, and that’s when Harrington would change his tune. Start answering some of the questions he seemed to be dodging as more and more people got braver about coming up to the table.

This whole thing was a ticking time bomb, and Eddie would be ready when it inevitably blew. 

To defend his table, his club, his friends. 

Even Henderson, who absolutely didn’t deserve it just then. 

“Dude perk up would you? You look like you’re going to stab somebody.” Jeff hissed at him ten minutes later, when there was finally a break in the flood. 

Eddie ignored him in place of taking stock of the table. (And maybe, sneaking another cookie.)

“Hope you brought more than this, Harrington.” He said, knowing he sounded like a stuck up ass and not feeling an iota of guilt about it. “Unless you plan to run home and bake more like a good little housewife.”  

“Dude.” Grant said, casting him a look like King Dick might leave and take the cookies with him.

“Oh I brought more.” Harrington dismissed, with a small flick of his fingers. “And I’ll have you know you’d never find a housewife more perfect than I am, Munson.” 

Then he turned to nail Eddie with the most shit eating grin he’d ever seen the King wear. 

Facing flaming a brilliant red, Eddie sputtered for a second before finally getting ahold of himself and spitting; 

“How delightful. I--” 

“Okay.” Jeff cut in, forever the mediator. “Gary, Dustin can you help Steve pull the extra stuff out from under the tables? While I go talk to Eddie?” 

“Can I try the tiramisu?” Gareth asked, inching hopefully towards the treat while keeping an eye on Harrington’s hands, lest he get smacked again. 

“Only if you’re a good boy.” Harrington told him sarcastically and goddammit why did that make Eddie blush harder!? 

Jeff sighed, before grabbing his arm and hauling Eddie back, away from the table, right as a younger man in some stupid sport’s jacket asked questions about one of the dice cookies.

“Look I get it man, I do,” Jeff started, voice talking on the sort of wheelding, pleading tone it did when he really wanted something and knew Eddie was opposed. “but Steve’s actually been super cool. We might actually make money off this, and he’s giving us all of it. Can you just… not antagonize him for five minutes?” 

Eddie stared at his best friend in abject horror. 

“You couldn’t have talked to him for more than twenty minutes total. Half of which he spent bitching that you were bagging a cake wrong! At what point was Harrington "being cool!?"

The asterisks were made by his fingers, which Eddie mockingly framed his face with. 

He got a flat, unimpressed stare in return. 

“It was a very informative twenty minutes and he was right about the cake. Now are you going to help or are you going to glower in the corner?” 

Eddie gaped. 

“I cannot believe you right now--”

Jeff didn’t even wait to hear him out.

 “You’ve chosen to glower. I can’t help you man, but we’d all have a much better day if you weren’t at Harrington’s throat every five seconds.” Jeff turned smoothly on his heel.

Over his shoulder he added; “Seriously, don’t come back until you’ve worked your way out of your snit.” 

Shocked, Eddie watched Jeff float back to the front, inserting himself easily between Grant and Steve and immediately striking up a conversation.

With the enemy. 

“I didn’t know you baked.” Jeff told Steve loudly (and very obviously, for Eddie to see.) 

Steve gave a bashful little smile, then shrugged. “It’s a hobby. Got into it back when the basketball team needed to fundraise a few years ago and Tommy’s mom got it in her head we should sell home baked goods. Turns out its kinda fun.” 

“Please never get out of it.” Gareth insisted, a piece of God knows what crammed in his mouth.

“Dude, how many of those have you gotten into!? Stop eating the merchandise!” Dustin commanded, smacking at Gareth’s shoulder. 

“I physically cannot stop man.” Gareth dodged, reaching out for another cookie. “I’m not sorry.” 

Steve just laughed. All charming and buddy-buddy, like it was natural for him to be here. 

Wearing a Hellfire shirt. Making jokes and teasing the guys. 

In Eddie’s fucking place. 

He seethed, fingers twitching, and envisioned the very unsexy murder of one Steve Harrington.  

Cartoon X’s for eyes and all. 

xXx

Trouble didn't hit the table.

It in fact, seemed to stay away as if on purpose, to shove in Eddie's face that he was the one in the wrong here.

Even the questions toned done, as the second wave of moms showed up, this round prompted by some former teammate of Steve’s Eddie didn’t recognize yelling about his apple pie.

Instead, Eddie’s wayward sheep finally made their appearance Mike and Lucas trying to sneak in as if Eddie wouldn’t notice during the new rush.

(Eddie himself almost caused trouble when he realized Lucas was wearing a Not-A-Hellfire shirt, which solved the mystery of where Harrington had gotten his.

He was inching his way towards them, a snarky word on his tongue when he saw Sinclair said something about how he was “already on Eddie’s shitlist for joining the basketball team,” in relation to what must have been a question about his Hellfire shirt, that caused Eddie to freeze.

With the air of a sad, wet kitten, Lucas followed it with; “I’m sure it won’t be long before he kicks me out of Hellfire anyway.” 

Like he'd been punched in the gut, all the air left Eddie’s lungs.

Because before Lucas had said that, Eddie had been thinking it. 

Not really--he’d never kick anyone out of Hellfire.

It was more that he'd thought about it in the way one does when you know you're right, and are having to resort to underhanded tactics to force the other party to come to their senses.

Like a sort of shitty, angry “I should kick you out, let you see what happens when you don’t have us!” kind of innervation.

The same kind he had heard the jocks sling before, when they were mad at each other and--God he wasn’t--he couldn’t be, like them...could he?

Like fucking Harrington, who oh fuck, was patting Lucas sympathetically on the shoulder and giving him some kind of whispered advice. 

Sonovabitch. 

“I’m going for a smoke.” Eddie bit out, vision tunneling.

He knew he needed to go sit down somewhere, before he fucking lost it in front of Hawkin, Harrington and everyone. 

And wouldn’t that just be a treat for King Steve?

To watch Eddie realize he had turned into the very thing he hated, preached against, even? 

That Steve was, maybe, possibly, doing a better job of following Eddie’s own Munson Doctrine than he was?

Eddie barely saw the room anymore--waived off whatever Grant was trying to say to him as flew past, shaking hands fishing for a desperately needed cigarette.

Maybe a hope and a prayer too, because apparently he needed it.

How long had he been like this? 

Been a douchebag asshole? 

Was it the whole year? More than? Or was it just now, with stupid Steve involved? Could he trace this back to that stupidly cute--no, no, annoying, asshole?

Was this some fucked up way of coping with his growing crush!?

Lost in thought and growing self hatred he nearly careened right into Robin Buckley.

Her slightly bent paper reindeer ears marking her as a member of the band kids who had been absolutely butchering ‘Jingle Bell Rock’ a few minutes earlier. 

Vaguely heard her yell Steve’s name as he ran off (because that’s what he was doing. What he always did.

Run--from himself and his own fucking feelings, like a total cliche.)

--but didn’t take in that she was doing more than saying hi to, oh fuck him sideways--her friend.

Because she and Steve were friends.

Good ones, if the freshmen were to be believed.

Rather than go outside and catastrophize in the cold, Eddie threw himself threw the doors at the end of the hall, then up the stairwell, to the second floor.

Tucked himself right into a corner, right there by the stairs.

Sank down into a crouch, hands scrubbing up his face before tangling in his hair, head dropping between his knees, cigarette shoved into his mouth.

Somehow, Eddie decided, this was Steve’s fault. 

He'd have come up with a reason for that, he was sure. A good one even, except he forgot one of the key features of his life.

He was a Munson, and as a general rule of life, nice neat things did not happen to Munson's--but they did get kicked while they were down.

“Okay, what happened?” Steve fucking Harrington asked, voice loudly echoing up the stairwell from down below, and Eddie threw his head back, nearly slamming it against the wall. 

(Maybe he’d pissed off a witch. His life would make a lot more sense if someone had cursed it.)

“She gave me her number!”

That was Buckley, the shrill timber identifiable even as she whispered the words. 

Eddie can’t really see them without giving himself away--could probably make his escape if he got down and army-crawled past the railing he’s huddled by, but figured this is their fault anyway. 

Not his problem if he overhears a private conversation if they’re both too stupid to check to see if someone was seated literally right up above them.

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?" Steve was saying. "That’s what we wanted!” 

“Is it!? What if she’s just, you know, giving it to me?” 

“...I’m not following.” 

“Like in a friend way. Not a--”

“Romantic way?”

Harrington has the smarts to say the words quietly.  So quietly in fact, that had Eddie not been in the exact right position he wouldn’t have heard--but he almost swallowed his unlit (he should have lit it, maybe they'd have smelled the smoke and fucked off) cigarette anyway. 

“Sssshh!” Robin hissed, and Eddie can’t see either of them but he imagined her jamming her hand over Harrington’s big fat mouth. 

“Not so loud, Steve!” 

“Sorry, God.” Sure enough, Harrington’s voice is muffled. “How did she give it to you? Did she say anything?” 

“She asked if I want to hang out after band, but because I have that stupid family thing, I told her I couldn’t today, but I can literally any other day, and she said she’d call me, and I said--” 

“Robs, breathe.” 

“Don’t interrupt me, Dingus!” Robin said, voice shrill again, before she clearly listened to Harrington and took a breath. 

 It was big, and deep, and she blasted it back out loud enough for the fucking birds on the roof to hear. 

In a calmer voice, Robin continued; “I said we never traded phone numbers so I didn’t have hers. She grabbed my arm and wrote her number on it. Look, she added a heart!” 

“Okay, here you go! A hearts a good sign!"  

And Harrington sounded--sounds happy for her, practically ecstatic, which doesn’t make much sense given Robin is talking about a ‘her’ and-

And-and-and--

Eddie’s always been quick to connect the dots. 

It’s something he inherited from his old man. A Munson trait he’s tried to make his own through being an excellent DM (and not by robbing people blind or boosting cars.) 

Here, the dots clearly screamed that Robin Buckley was trying to ask a woman out. 

You know, in a gay way. 

Which Harrington not only knew, but was supportive of. 

Steve Harrington, who famously called Jonathan Byers' a queer before smashing the guy's beloved camera into the ground. 

Eddie’s head exploded. 

Or was in the process of exploding--he’s not entirely sure given the tunnel vision was back and his soul felt like it had exited his body entirely. 

Just knew that his world was being remade for a second time in five minutes, and that he was dealing with it pretty damn poorly.

(Maybe God would be nice for once, and just give him the aneurism he clearly deserved.)

Which was of course, when trouble finally did decide to show face, in the form of Dustin Henderson barging through the doors and into Steve and Robin's little meeting.

Eddie knew, because Eddie could hear him.

“Steve! Steve we have a problem!” 

“I’m busy Dustin--”

“Be busy later, we have an emergency on our hands!” 

“And what, pray tell, do you think is an emergency?” 

Eddie, who had instantly latched onto the conversation by the sheer need to have something distract him from his own thoughts, wondered the very same.

“Jason Carver showed up at the table, with a priest. They’re trying to do some whole kind of crazy sermon--is that a good enough emergency for you!?” 

“Oh shit. ” Steve spat, at the same time Eddie yelled it from up high. 

He sprang up, all thoughts of Robin and Steve knowing he’d eavesdropped vanishing entirely from his head as he lunged for the stairs.

Flew down them, because the thing he'd been waiting all fucking day for had finally happened.

He nearly crashed into Robin once again as he blew through the barely closed doors, Steve and Dustin already far ahead of him.

“Eddie?” Robin asked, voice noticeably nervous. "Were you--"

"Not now Starbuck, but we can talk later." Eddie told her, flying right past.

After he saved Hellfire. 

#Its my birthday have a thing! #sighs in why can’t I ever make things into two parts #THREE IT IS #yes ill do tags #you do have to comment though bc I will miss it if its just in the tags #this will be only three parts so help me #pre steddie #hellfire #steven harrington #eddie munson #dustin henderson #The Party #Robin Buckley #Steve is a Good Friend #Chaotic Gremlin Eddie #and Bitchy Mean Girl Steve #I will die on the “bitchy mean girl” Steve is VERY different from “rich kid asshole” Steve hill #Eddie loves it even if he hates that he loves it rn lol #Eddie does some grade A tier catastrophizing here #things are not nearly as bad as he spirals himself into thinking lol #0o0 fanfics #stranger things #hellfire club

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Washington State's capital gains tax proves we can have nice things

Today (June 3) at 1:30PM, I’m in Edinburgh for the Cymera Festival on a panel with Nina Allen and Ian McDonald.

Monday (June 5) at 7:15PM, I’m in London at the British Library with my novel Red Team Blues, hosted by Baroness Martha Lane Fox.

Washington State enacted a 7% capital gains tax levied on annual profits in excess of $250,000, and made a fortune, $600m more than projected in the first year, despite a 25% drop in the stock market and blistering interest rate hikes:

https://www.theurbanist.org/2023/06/01/lessons-from-washington-states-new-capital-gains-tax/

Capital gains taxes are levied on “passive income” — money you get for owning stuff. The capital gains rate is much lower than the income tax rate — the rate you pay for doing stuff. This is naked class warfare: it punishes the people who make things and do things, and rewards the people who own the means of production.

The thing is, a factory or a store can still operate if the owner goes missing — but without workers, it shuts down immediately. Everything you depend on — the clothes on your back, the food in your fridge, the car you drive and the coffee you drink — exists because someone did something to produce it. Those producers are punished by our tax system, while the people who derive a “passive income” from their labor are given preferential treatment.

The Washington State tax is levied exclusively on annual gains in excess of a quarter million dollars — meaning this tax affects an infinitesimal minority of Washingtonians, who are vastly better off than the people whose work they profit from. Most working Americans own little or no stock, and the vast majority of those who do own that stock in a retirement fund that is sheltered from these taxes.

(Sidebar here to say that market-based pensions are a scam, a way to force workers to gamble in a rigged casino for the chance to enjoy a dignified retirement; the defined benefits pension, combined with adequate Social Security, is the only way to ensure secure retirement for all of us)

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/25/derechos-humanos/#are-there-no-poorhouses

Washington’s tax was anticipated to bring in $248m. Instead, it’s projected to bring in $849m in the first year. Those funds will go to public school operations and construction and infrastructure spending:

https://www.seattletimes.com/seattle-news/politics/was-new-capital-gains-tax-brings-in-849-million-so-far-much-more-than-expected/

That is to say, the money will go to ensuring that Washingtonians are educated and will have the amenities they need to turn that education into productive work.

Washington State is noteworthy for not having any state personal or corporate income tax, making it a haven for low-tax brain-worm victims who would rather have a dead gopher running their states than pay an extra nickel in taxes. But places that don’t have taxes can’t fund services, which leads to grotesque, rapid deterioration.

Washington State plutes moved because they relished living in well-kept, cosmopolitan places with efficient transportation, an educated workforce, good restaurants and culture — none of which they would have to pay for. They forgot Karl Marx’s famous saying: “There’s no such thing as a free lunch.”

The idea that Washington could make up for the shortfalls that come from taxing its wealthiest residents by levying regressive sales taxes and other measures is mathematically illiterate wishful thinking. When the one percent owns nearly everything, you can tax the shit out of the other 99% and still not make up the shortfall.

Meanwhile: homelessness, crumbling roads, and crisis after crisis. Political deterioration. Cute shopping neighborhoods turn into dollar store hellscapes because no one can afford to shop for nice things because all their income is going to plug the gaps in health, education, transport and other services that the low-tax state can’t afford.

Washington State’s soak-the-rich tax is ironic, given the propensity of California’s plutes to threaten to leave for Washington if California finally passes its own extreme wealth tax.

There’s a reason all these wealthy people want to live in California, Washington, New York and other states where there’s broad public support for taxing the American aristocracy: states with rock-bottom taxes are failed states. All but two of America’s “red states” are dependent on transfers from the federal government to stay in operation. The two exceptions are Texas, whose “free market” grid is one nanometer away from total collapse, and Florida, which is about to slip beneath the rising seas it denies.

Rich people claim they’d be happy to live in low-tax states, and even tout the benefits of a desperate workforce that will turn up to serve drinks at their country clubs even as a pandemic kills them at record rates. But when the chips are down, they don’t want to depend on a private generator to keep the lights on. They don’t want to have to repeatedly replace their luxury cars’ suspension after it’s wrecked by gaping potholes. They don’t want to have to charter a jet to fly their kids out of state to get an abortion.

This is true globally, too. As Thomas Piketty pointed out in Capital in the 21st Century, if the EU and OECD created a wealth tax, the rich could withdraw to Dubai, the Caymans and Rwanda, but they’d eventually get sick of shopping for the same luxury goods in the same malls guarded by the same mercenaries and want to go somewhere, you know, fun:

https://memex.craphound.com/2014/06/24/thomas-pikettys-capital-in-the-21st-century/

We’re told that Americans would never stand for taxing the ultra-rich because they see themselves as “temporarily embarrassed millionaires.” It’s just not true: soak-the-rich policies are wildly popular:

https://balanceourtaxcode.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/02/WA-State-Wealth-Tax-Poll-Results-3.pdf

The Washington tax windfall is fascinating in part because it reveals just how rich the ultra-rich actually are. Warren Buffett says that “when the tide goes out, you learn who’s been swimming naked.” But Washington’s new tax is a tide that reveals who’s been swimming with a gold bar stuck up their ass.

It’s not surprising, then, that Washingtonians are so happy to tax their one percenters. After all, this is the state that gave us modern robber barons like Bill Gates and Jeff Bezos. And then there’s clowns like Steve Ballmer, star of Propublica’s IRS Files, the man whose creative accounting let him claim $700m in paper losses on his basketball team, allowing him to pay a mere 12% tax on $656m in income, while the workers who made his fortune on the court paid 30–40% on their earnings.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/08/tuyul-apps/#economic-substance-doctrine Ballmer’s also a master of “tax loss harvesting,” who has created paper losses of over $100m, letting him evade $138m in federal taxes:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/24/tax-loss-harvesting/#mego

These guys aren’t rich because they work harder than the rest of us. They’re rich because they profit from our work — and then, to add insult to injury, pay little or no taxes on those profits.

Washington’s lowest income earners pay six times the rate of tax as the state’s richest people. When the wealthy squeal that these taxes are class warfare, they’re right — it is class war, and they started it.

Catch me on tour with Red Team Blues in Edinburgh, London, and Berlin!

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/03/when-the-tide-goes-out/#passive-income

[Image ID: The Washington State flag; the circular device featuring George Washington has been altered so that it is now the head of a naked man clothed in a barrel with two wide leather shoulder straps.]

#pluralistic #steve ballmer #irs files #washington state #soak the rich #capital gains #taxes class war #euthanasia of the rentier

[stucky-headcanon-bot]

🙄

#They are going done with rich people bullshit #Not the first time getting bullied for me being poor #They are are from a background where every day word had a second meaning #steve rogers #james buchanan barnes #james barns #stevebucky #white wolf #stucky #chris evans #sebastian stan #cafta #captain america the first avenger

[hairmetal666]

Between jobs and back home—Eddie's real home in Hawkins, Indiana—he works on repairing the trailer where he grew up with his uncle and fixes up the man’s old beater of a truck. He’s doing the latter when his phone pings with a notification he’s been waiting half his life for.

It’s the obituary for Richard Stephen Harrington IV, husband of Miriam and father of Stephen. 

He knows the Harrington’s. Not personally. But they’re from Indianapolis, only about an hour away, so Eddie’s gathered intel on them for years. He knows that Richard Harrington was a Wall Street finance guy who struck it big and then got into real estate development. He knows that his company’s numbers don’t quite add up, that he came through the 2008 crash suspiciously unscathed. Probably the most important thing he knows about Richard Harrington, though, is that it was his company that put Eddie’s uncle out of a job during his freshman year of high school. 

Harrington Holdings LLC bought the factory where Wayne worked with all kinds of pretty promises of making improvements and keeping it open. Within six months it was closed, and half a year later converted to a pharmaceutical research and production facility. 

The Munsons weren’t doing great before Wayne was laid off, and after. Well, they could only afford the lot rent at Forest Hills with Eddie working part-time flipping burgers at the Burger Chef, and—when that wasn’t enough—supplementing by selling drugs to his classmates. Really takes a toll on the GPA when you work every weeknight and spend your weekends at parties peddling weed. 

Anyway, fuck the Harringtons, is what he’s saying.

Coming your way this Saturday!

#wip wednesday #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #forever is the sweetest con #teaser #rivals to lovers #con man au #fuck the harringtons but literally #con man eddie munson #coming soon #ao3 #telling all the rich folks anything they want to hear

[loverghoul]

I just really want Steve who fundamentally doesn’t understand that being gay isn’t actually a choice. He’s had crushes on boys his whole life, he’s noticed them and his attraction to them over the years. But he likes girls, so he doesn’t understand why the gay guys don’t just go with the girls they like, instead of the guys.

And it’s not until he says all this out loud to Robin one afternoon (whose facial expression cycles through about 4 stages of grief while he explains) that someone finally tells him. That he finally finds out that, no, not all boys have crushes on other boys. Some boys only like girls (Jonathan) and some only like boys (Eddie), and some girls only like boys (Tammy), and some only like girls (Robin). And he, Steve Harrington, is not a boy that only likes girls. That apparently he’s not straight, and his crushes on boys are things he doesn’t have to ignore, actually.

#like I absolutely love all the fics where Steve is aware of his sexuality and what it means but like he’s a rich white boy in the 80s l #I’d just love more exploration into totally clueless Steve who thinks everyone likes everyone like he does #steve harrington #robin buckley #steddie #steddie prompt #stranger things #platonic stobin #love speaks

[veltana]

Highest bidder - Steve Rogers x virgin!reader

✦ Pairing: Steve Rogers/Reader ✦ Word count: ~5k ✦ Raiting: Explicit ✦ Warnings: AU, kind of soft!dark Steve, reader is in her mid-twenties, one shot, pwp, insecurity, loss of virginity, piv sex, condoms, cunnilingus, smallest hint of a daddy kink, fluff and smut, dirty talk, friends to lovers, small hint of possessive/protective!Steve. Let me know if I missed anything! ✦ Summary: Tired of being a virgin and out of money you travel to Las Vegas to auction it off. Little do you know your friend Steve Rogers won't let anyone else have you. ✦ Note: I think this is among the first times that I cross-post a whole fic to tumblr. This fic is also on AO3. I'll see what the response is like here and maybe I'll continue to do it in the future.

Masterlist | AO3

"So what are you up to this weekend?" Steve asks as you take the first sip of your beer. For a second you debate not telling him and Bucky, sitting across from you in the booth. "Me and Wanda are going to Vegas." "What? Without me?" Bucky’s scandalized voice makes you laugh. "You don't like traveling, or Vegas for that matter," Steve points out. And that is true, you much prefer to stay in your apartment, reading your books and drinking tea. "Also, didn't you say you could hardly afford to go out with us tonight?" Bucky questions. "Well," you begin, scratching at the beer label, not wanting to look at them. "The trip is paid for." The stunned silence from across the table doesn't bode well, you know you're in for an interrogation now. "Do you need help? Are you in trouble?" Steve's concerned voice makes you look up. He's always so sweet and caring to you, looking out for you all the time.

"No, I'm fine. I'm doing it willingly," you answer. "What are you doing willingly?" There is no hiding the curiosity in Bucky’s voice. Once again you're not sure you're going to tell them, but it also doesn't make sense to keep it a secret. It's not a big deal, that's the whole point. "I'm auctioning off my virginity," you confess and are rewarded with both of them looking at you like you've grown a second head. Before they can say anything you continue. "I'm tired of it hanging over me, I just want it gone. And I'm also tired of scraping by. What you two make in an hour, I make in a month and I just want to be a step ahead instead of a step behind for once."

Bucky's smirk is the last thing you expect. "How much are you starting at, I'll double it." "Jerk." You throw some of your nuts his way. He laughs in response. "Honestly, tell me. What does a virginity go for these days?" "I'm starting out at three thousand. It would be more if I didn’t put in a clause about condoms and I’m a little bit older than most others.” “Well, my offer still stands,” Bucky concludes. “I bet it does, perv.” “And you don’t think the people buying you are pervs?” Steve’s been quiet up until now and his accusatory tone makes you defensive. “I’m not fucking stupid Steve, of course I know they are. They are also filthy rich. If I get bought by some disgusting old man I’ll smile and think about how fucking good it will feel not being stressed about money.” He still doesn’t look pleased and you didn’t come here to get judged. Finishing your beer you get up and grab your jacket. “I’ll see you around,” you say. Before walking out.

Vegas is overwhelming and loud. Instantly you shrink down, pulling your shoulders up. You would be lost if it wasn’t for Wanda. She’s in her element, flagging down cabs and weaving through the streets while you do your best to keep up. Finally, you arrive at your room. It’s small but not cramped and the two beds are clean. “First, shower, and then we’ll get started on your hair and makeup,” Wanda instructs. “You’re the best, you know that Wanda?” you smile at her. “What are best friends for if not fixing you up for some old guy to buy your V-card,” she winks.

Maybe Wanda is a witch, you think as you look at yourself in the tall mirror backstage. Somehow she took your average look and styled it into something you would never in a hundred years be able to recreate. Instead of the innocent style many seem to prefer, she made sure you looked sexy. If this had been a regular night of going out, you’d feel uncomfortable that someone you knew would see you, but the two glasses of champagne and the knowledge that no one except you and Wanda would ever see this made your confidence high. The night moves quickly, both women and men going up on the well-lit stage to present themselves and then watching as the bids start coming in. The people bidding are not in the room, but in different hotels scattered across the city, typing in numbers. Some people do elaborate shows when they step up in front of the cameras. One guy deep-throats a large banana and at first, you giggle but then you see the digits on the screen. His bids are the highest all evening so far. You decide quickly that you will just go up, smile, and wave and wait. You aren’t expecting much, but your pride hopes at least one or two people will find you attractive enough to at least pay the starting bid.

Soon it’s your turn. With a pounding heart, you step up on the stage, your body warms not only from the light but from the nervousness coursing through your body. You concentrate on your breathing so you won’t pass out and when you smile you hope it looks genuine. At first, the monitors are quiet and your heart drops. Are you not good enough for even some old lonely pervert? Then it dings with an incoming bid. It’s just above the starting sum, but you’re instantly relieved and can’t help the actually genuine smile that cracks your face. A second later another bid comes in. You don’t know how many people are placing the bids, you just see the number rise on the monitor, to your utter delight. Quickly it’s up to four thousand and the tempo slows, so maybe some people dropped out. But a few steady bids keep coming in, until it’s starting to near five thousand and it stops long enough for an automated voice ring out through the room. “Going once. Going twice.” Before it can finish the monitor chimes again, your mouth dropping open when you see the sum. Ten thousand dollars. It must be a mistake. The counting starts again, but you hardly hear it over the pure shock you’re experiencing.

Then you’re shooed away, given a room number and a key, before being put into a waiting car to take you to the hotel. When it stops outside of the Palms Casino you think you must be dreaming. It gets even worse when you realize you’re heading to the top floor. Whoever is waiting behind the door won’t matter, because you’ll gladly do anything they ask you.

The penthouse is stunning and it’s hard to take everything in. At the floor-to-ceiling windows, a figure is outlined. They’re backlit against the neon lights of Vegas and it’s hard to make out any details except the broad shoulders, narrow waist, and long legs. That feels promising. They don’t turn around as you close the door but you don’t hesitate to step into the room and begin to walk up to them. Stopping a a few steps behind you say “Hi. I am flattered by your very generous-” But you don’t get further because the person turns around and your words get stuck in your throat. “Steve?!” You quickly step back to get away. This must be some cruel joke he and Bucky have come up with. Before you can run out of the room he grabs your wrist. The usually soft eyes are hard and his smiling mouth is a line of displeasure. “Let go of me,” you demand. “No can do, I paid for you,” his hard voice makes you still. “This isn’t funny, Steve.” “No, it’s not. Now you’re going to go into the bedroom and take off those heels, then kneel on the bed and wait for me,” his instructions make it very clear that if you argue, you won’t like what comes next, so instead you bow your head and say “Yes, Steve.”

You’ve never seen a king-size bed before and it’s much larger than you could’ve imagined. The sheets are soft against your knees as you sit on your feet, waiting. There are too many emotions and questions running wild in your body, but the most prominent one is Why had he bid on you? There is no denying Steve is good looking and when Wanda had first introduced you, sure you’d had a crush on him. But you never thought about pursuing it. His life was far from yours, with luxury cars and expensive dinners, while you went out to eat once a year on your birthday. Both he and Bucky had offered you money on several occasions but you’d never taken it, because you’d never be able to pay it back and money being owed between friends always caused trouble.

You hear the steps nearing the room and you meet his eyes as he steps through the open door. He has left his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves on his shirt, making him more desirable and more dangerous at the same time. Taking a stand a the foot of the bed he stares you down but you don’t cower. Even though you want to ask what the fuck this is, the tension in the air tells you not to talk back right now, just show him that you’re not afraid. Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise that Steve is here because he is someone you trust would never hurt you, or do anything against your will.

“Here is how this is going to go, sweetheart. I’ll do right by you and take this nice and slow like you deserve. Then when it’s over we’re sitting down to a nice dinner, and afterward I’m bending you over the dining room table and taking out all my fucking frustration on that cunt of yours until you can’t walk straight.” His words send lightning bolts of desire through you and you nod in understanding. “Use your words,” he demands. “Yes, Steve,” you agree. Then he crooks his fingers, indicating he wants you to come to him. You crawl the short way to the edge and sit back again. His fingers grip your chin carefully. “I’m going to kiss you.” “Okay.”

The second he presses his lips to yours it's like being on cloud nine. It's soft but not hesitant and you instinctively grab a hold of his shirt. Steve begins slowly, as if not to scare you but the more you meet his advances the more he takes. Then he coaxes your lips to part, slipping in his tongue and finding yours to play with. Kissing other people has been nice before, but kissing Steve is exceptional. When his hands land at your waist and pull you into him, you can't keep the moan in. His touch hardens and it makes you throb to be this close to him.

You’re a little out of it when he pulls away and you must look it too because he chuckles. "You like that?" A dopey smile splits your lips and you nod. But then his hands travel to the front of your dress, hooking his fingertips into the fabric and you can’t help stiffen. "Have you ever had your tits played with?" he asks. With a groan, you shake your head. "If you think kissing was great just wait until I get my mouth on the rest of you." He sounds so confident, but you’re not and either it’s blatantly obvious that you’re insecure or he knows you too well.

"How are you feeling?" You think about lying for a second but then decide against it. "I don’t understand why.” "Why what?" "I don’t mean to sound ungrateful but, why me Steve?" You find the courage to look up at him. Now he has that soft smile that you absolutely adore on his stupidly handsome face. His voice is just as soft when he speaks.

"Not only are you absolutely stunning, and I’m not talking about the way you’re dolled up right now. I love seeing you in your big sweaters while you go around the bookstore and help people with recommendations. I also admire you, because you follow your heart. Doing what makes you happy is important to you and I wish I were more like that. Even if you look out for yourself, that never stops you from caring about others. You cry when you see clips of rescue animals. And you're so so obvious that I've been in love with you since Wanda introduced you." "What?" you choke, your whole reality shifting. "Sweet, dumb little pet.” Steve’s hands cup your face and light squeezes your cheeks together for a second. “I've wanted you since you stammered out your name. Something so pure and precious deserves the world." "I didn’t know,” you whisper. "Of course you didn’t. When I got home that night, I jerked myself off to the thought of you and I swear I never come so hard in my life."

"Steve!" Heat rushes into your cheeks at his words. "I’ve had time to think about this a lot. I'm going to get you so wet and needy you will beg for my cock. I'm gonna make sure you're at the brink of insanity, deliriously begging for me to fuck you, even though you don't know what it feels like." "Oh god!" you moan, desire moving through your body. "Let me taste you, kitten. Let me make you scream,” his seductive voice rumbles.

Nodding you watch as his fingers pull the dress down, baring your breasts to his eyes. Instantly he cups them, thumbs brushing your nipples, making you keen. "Prettiest fucking tits I've ever seen," he whispers before leaning down and licking a nipple. The sensation makes you grab hold of his head to steady yourself. His tongue flicks it several times before sucking it into his mouth and you arch into him, clutching him, moaning out his name. Sure, you've been aroused in your life before, but the ache Steve creates is starting to feel painful. "Steve!" you plead when he switches to the other side, giving your other nipple the same treatment. He hums against your skin before pulling off you with a plop and immediately kisses you again. Nothing is really different from before but just knowing that Steve's tongue was just somewhere else on your body and now it's in your mouth makes you heat up even more.

It feels good when he takes charge, it keeps your thoughts from running in all the wrong directions. He gets you to lie down, crawling onto the bed after you, kissing every inch of exposed skin he can get to while you shudder under him. "How are you feeling?" he asks with a shit-eating grin, clearly knowing he's responsible for your state. "Goodgoodgood!" Is all you can get out while pawing at his clothed chest. "Want me to take it off?" Nodding vigorously you try to undo the buttons, but fail. He laughs and sits back between your spread legs, untucking the shirt and pulling it over his head. The bulge in his pants is very visible and you swallow hard at the sight of it, both scared and excited. He notices you looking. "We'll get to that later," he promises with another kiss. "First I'm going to get you wet and ready for me."

A hand hikes up your skirt and a finger follow the edge of your panties, down toward the juncture of your leg. It's like hot coal against your skin, burning you most sweetly. Even if you’re already soaked, his touch is sending pulse after pulse into your cunt and you're scared you're about to stain the sheets if he continues. A fingertip caresses over your core, touch so light it's almost not there but your sensitive skin feels it. Trembling you arch up, gripping the sheets. "Is that good?" Not knowing if you can speak you just nod and he continues. Down your thighs and back up, over and over again against your covered cunt, fingers getting firmer and firmer the more sounds you make.

A thrill you've never felt before has taken up place in your body, threatening to send your mind spiraling. To distract yourself you explore the plains of Steve's body that you can reach, stroking his arms and shoulders, but to feel him makes it even worse. You can’t wait to have him pressed against you.

Sitting back again he says, "I'm going to take these off now." He hooks his fingers at the top of your panties and starts to pull. "Lift your ass up." He instructs. Now your tits and your cunt are exposed for him. Steve is staring, but when you try to close your legs from embarrassment he quickly puts his hands on your thighs to spread them apart even more. "Don't you dare take that pretty pussy away from me," he all but growls and it sends another wave of pleasure into you. The air feels cold against your wet, warm skin. Then his gaze flicks up to you and with another smile, he leans down bending you almost in half, placing a kiss on your lips. "Last kiss before I devore you," he whispers and slides down your body. When his words sink in, you go rigid.

"No, you don't have to, we can just‐" you begin but the look he gives silences you. "Do you know how long I have waited for this?" He nips the inside of your thigh. "No," you whimper. "Been dreaming about how you would feel, and taste." He mouths at your skin. "The nights I can’t sleep I lie there and think of you soaking my beard when you come for me," he groans and moves down a little more until his face is right in front of your pussy. "Now I'm having my fill and when I'm done you'll be primed for my cock, I promise."

Not giving you any time to answer he dives in. His tongue feels nothing like your own fingers, or the vibrator you have in your drawer. It's sending you to heaven with every stroke. Steve takes notes of what makes you moan the loudest and in no time the unmistakable warmth of an orgasm begins to build. You do your best to keep still, but it's hard when it feels so good and Steve follows your every movement until your thighs are trembling heavily, breath coming out in irregular gasps, your fingers threatening to tear the sheets apart.

It climbs quicker than you expect and when the orgasm rips through you it’s with a cry, that leaves you almost boneless afterward. Looking down, panting, you notice you've basically crushed Steve's head between your thighs. With a "Sorry!" You spread them apart and he comes up for air, his beard glistening with you. "How was that?" "Incredible," you sigh. The ache that threatened to consume you has died down to a more manageable throb. "Great." He positions himself again and you stare with wide eyes. An amused smirk plays on his lips. "Did you think that was it?" You try to stutter out a response but he raises his hand and wiggles his fingers playfully. "Now you get these too."

After a second you relax into the pillows, trusting Steve with your body. He's gentle when he begins, now that your cunt is a million times more sensitive, but soon you're trembling again, and then the tip of his finger is at your opening. It slides in without resistance and the feeling changes. More nerves send sparks through you from new places. It's too much for your poor brain to decipher and you don’t fight it, just let it take you, like you’re floating down a stream. "Good girl, relaxing for me so well." Through bleary eyes you see him looking up at you. "Ready for another one?" You're not sure what that means but you nod anyway and are rewarded with a smile. He never looks away from you as you feel another finger press in together with the first. A high-pitched sound leaves you as your chest heaves. It's too much but not enough. You’re so full but in the best way possible. Then he moves them and you can hear just how wet he's made you.

His tongue comes back to play with your clit and soon you're at the edge of another orgasm. "Yes yes yes!" You chant over and over again. Everything he does feels so good. The sensation of clamping down on his fingers as you come is new and makes the orgasm much stronger this time, leaving you mildly disoriented for a second. "God, you look so beautiful when you come." Steve lays his head against your leg, still moving his hand and sending small aftershocks into your body. "You know what?" "What Stevie?" you ask, your voice a little hoarse as you reach down and place your hand in his soft hair, carding your fingers through it, just to feel him. "I don't think you noticed, but there are three fingers inside you now." You make a questioning sound. "Added another right after you came. No problem at all. Just need you to come one more time, then I'll know you're ready." He does something with his fingers inside you, making you whimper from the pleasure it sends through you. "Found your G-spot too," he looks smug as he says it. "Let's see what happens when I play with just that."

It’s another new experience that puts your body on edge in the best way. The pleasure never dissipates but it never builds either and finally you can't stand it anymore, deciding to beg for the relief he can give you. "Stevie, please! Use your mouth again!" "Of course, when you ask so nicely." When he sucks your clit into his mouth, it makes you see stars, and seconds later the built-up ecstasy reaches its peak. Gripping his head you grind against his tongue with a cry of his name because it’s so fucking good.

Afterward, you sink down with a relieved sigh and you're pretty sure your muscles have never been this relaxed in your life. "Such a good girl for me." Steve praises before pulling out his fingers, licking them clean, and moving off the bed. You instantly feel achingly empty. Not taking his eyes from you he undo his pants and slide them and his underwear off.

The sight of his hard, leaking cock standing out from his body is kind of mesmerizing. You've seen dicks in pictures, sent unsolicited to you on a few occasions, and a couple of times when you've tried to watch porn. Never before have you thought a dick could look pretty. As if something possesses your body you crawl over to the edge of the bed, settling on your legs and reaching out towards it. Steve watches, chest heaving slightly as you trace his cock with a fingertip, all the way from root to tip, dipping it into the leaking mess. Looking up at him you bring it to your mouth and lick it. The groan he lets out in response is delicious.

It doesn't taste bad, just different and you're about to ask if you can try to take him in your mouth but as if sensing your thoughts he leans down to capture your lips in a kiss. At first, you try to move away, knowing where he has just been, but he keeps a steady hand at the back of your neck, forcing you to taste yourself on his tongue, and just like him, it’s not bad, just different. "If I let you touch me more than that, I'll burst,” he explains before he grabs your dress and pulls it off you in one go. “Now be good and lay down again." "Yes, Stevie," you answer and fall onto the bed, spreading your legs. Instead of joining you right away, he walks up to the bedside table and opens a drawer, pulling out a square package.

Embarrassment fills you. In your post-orgasmic state, you forgot about your own rule. If he hadn’t gotten a condom you would gladly have let him take you raw. Lucky for you, Steve is not the type of person to take advantage of you like that. He rolls it on and you swallow hard. Just the look of it is big, you’re not sure how it will fit. "Don't be scared. With how wet you are, it’ll glide right in," he says with a smile, kneeling between your spread legs.

This is the moment, you think. After this, you won't be a virgin anymore. Even if it is just a social construct, you've never actually had a dick inside of you and that will be a new experience. Steve kisses you, helping the doubts slip away. The rubber feels weird against your lower lips, and then it's at your opening. The tip presses inside and Steve watches your face. "Does it hurt?" he asks. "No,” you assure him. “It's just different." "Tell me if you want to stop." "Just keep going."

Slowly he eases his way inside and once he bottoms out both of you are breathing heavily. With a groan, Steve's head lands on your shoulder. "Fuck you're like a vice around my dick. I'm going to try to move." You wrap your arms around his shoulders, caressing his back and he starts moving. You feel like you're filled to the brim and it's pressing against your G-spot, making you warm and high again. Experimentally you lift your hips, meeting his, eliciting a moan from him. "I'm sorry," Steve mumbles. "I won't last long." Before you can respond he continues. "You feel too good. So tight and warm. Fuck!" Then he lifts himself on one of his strong arms before grabbing the back of your neck and bending it until you're looking down toward where your bodies are connected. Steve slams his hips into you and you answer with a cry of pleasure. "Look at that unused cunt taking my big cock so well." "Steve!" you whine. His thrusts are too good, the pressure too much, and looking at it only makes you hotter. "It was made for me, right?" "Yes! Ah! Steve!" The throb in your clit is driving you insane and you reach down to relieve it. "Oh fuck. Are you gonna come on my dick your first time? That's dirty." You never expected words to be such a big part of sex, but the way Steve is talking is heightening your sensation.

"That's right. Rub your clit for me. Fuck you're clenching around me so hard. Tell me if you're gonna come." Nodding frantically you feel the climax building. Your whole body is a coil wind up tight and you're not sure what will happen when it snaps.

"I'm - I'm… I think I'm going to come, Steve," you moan. The pressure in your lower stomach is excruciating and delirious. You just need a little more. Letting go of your head he meets your eyes. "Good girl, I'm right behind you. Squeeze me dry. Come for Daddy." The last words enter your brain and sweep you off. The orgasm takes over your whole body and drowns you in pleasure. The edge of your vision blurs, your body shuddering violently. You hear the blood pumping in your veins. Feel your heart drumming in your ribcage. On some level you're aware of Steve above you, chanting your name as his hips pump into you and he fills the condom.

The weight of him is nearly crushing but also makes you feel safe. For the first time, you have the presence of mind to take in his body as you caress down his sides and his back, down over his ass as far as you can reach. It makes him sigh happily and you feel so content. After a while, he raises himself on his elbows and pecks your lips, nose, and cheeks until you giggle, before getting off completely and disposing of the condom. As soon as the warmth of him leaves, small, cruel thoughts about this once again being some kind of joke start forming in your head. Despite what he’s said, you find it hard to believe that it would be true.

Before you have time to think more about it he is beside you in the bed again, leaning on his arm and looking down at you. "So, how was that?" He’s curious, there’s no hiding it. "Better than I could ever dream of," you answer honestly. "Well, that's an ego boost," Steve laughs. "How… How was I?" He kisses you before he whispers, "Best I ever had." You can't help but snort at that. "Don't fucking lie to me."

With a growl Steve rolls onto his back, taking you with him and making you lay on his chest. "It's the fucking truth, and unless you want a spanking to go with the next round, you're going to believe me." That tone of voice. The threat of pain and pleasure combined sparks something inside you, and Steve notices. "Oh, does that make you horny?" Hiding your face in the crook of his neck you say "Yes, Daddy." Steve groans and crushes you into his chest. "If I could fuck you again right now, believe me, I would."

Several hours later you're in bed again, pressed against Steve’s warm chest. He did what he promised and you’re sure you won’t be able to walk tomorrow. But something is weighing on your mind. “I’ll pay you back,” you say. “If you do, you’ll wish I spanked you.” “But-,” “No. I told you that you deserve the world, that money is a drop in the ocean to me.” “I can’t believe you bought me.” “I can’t believe you sold your body.” Even if you can’t see him, his voice makes it clear he’s not happy. “The thought of someone else touching you, fucking you. I’m not a violent man, but that makes me want to kill.” “I’m glad it was you,” you confess with a smile and kiss his skin. A moment later he’s on top of you, kissing you sweetly and you feel him stirring against you, growing hard. An answering wetness pool at your core. “I need you again,” he murmurs against your mouth. With a nod, you reach between your bodies to guide him inside. Pulling back, he says “Condom.” When he reaches over to the bedside table, you shake your head and lift your hips. “Oh fuck, are you sure?” “I want to feel you,” you reassure him. It’s a bit sore when he presses inside but the movements are slow, and the kisses quickly take your mind off it. Afterward, he doesn’t pull out, and you fall asleep with his cum and cock between your legs, happy he was your highest bidder.

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