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trashmouth-richie · 14 hours

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😭 this was so sweet thank you looove, just trying to bring the hoes back to eddie

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞’𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞

꧁ eddie x female reader

a multi chapter mini series— based on thoroughfare by ethel cain

listen here (apple music) + here (spotify)

summary: jumping into his truck at seventeen, eddie takes a journey in hopes to find love. years pass with no such luck, along the way he stumbles across you, a timid drifter who reluctantly agrees to join him, heading west. you’ve never trusted men, but something in those kind, deep colored coffee eyes stirs up a feeling you’ve never felt before. strangers to lovers trope, one bed trope.

triggers: 18+ smut

author’s note: no upside down, eddie was raised by his mom and dad in florida and they were in love.

The wet shell of a sunflower seed stuck to the tip of your finger. Slicked with salted spit and the tart bite of cherry chapstick, you hung your hand out of the passenger window, waiting for the western wind to blow the husk from your finger.

His thumb rubs against the rough edges of the flint wheel of his zippo, the sweet tang of tobacco invading your nose as the flame sparks leaving a burning cherry on the white paper. A slight chap to his lips from too much sun yesterday at the motel pool in BullHead City, you had supposed. Still, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. The only time you could was when his eyes caught yours, daring you to look away.

The way he stared at you with a smirk twisted on his mouth took every bit of breath from your lungs. Holding your gaze in a cozy embrace with the deep warmth of his russet colored eyes until you finally forced yours to break away and look out the window instead. Bottom lip bit between your lips as a growing heat travels over the apples of your cheeks.

If you would have looked back at him you’d have noticed the way he licked his lips as he watched you sigh as if you hadn’t been breathing. Snapping another sunflower seed between your teeth before putting them on the crest of your lips to put them out of the window— he had your movements memorized. Each more tantalizing than the next.

Neither of you were able to deny the tension between you lately, letting it build and fester, aching for relief in the form of pleasure.

The last eight weeks had started to wear heavy on your chest, and you found yourself daydreaming about the beginning of this adventure, like a record on an endless spin to your favorite song.

Not a single radio station would come in wherever the hell it was in Texas he was right now. With every crank of the tuning dial, only the agonizing noise of static strained through the speakers to keep him company as he drove along this highway that never seemed to end.

He cursed himself for not buying a map at the gas station he filled the truck up at this morning. His gut instinct usually guided him on which roads to take, and today was no different. Only today felt like he was pulled by something else, something deeper within himself.

The sky was a mix of cyan and cotton clouds, already hot for May, he was just about to give up on the radio before he popped over a hill and an oldies station came in clear as could be. And something else came into view, plenty far away yet.

Hot wind whipped at your shirt, providing next to nothing for comfort as you trudged along the broken asphalt. You now understood why this place was called the Lone Star State, because you haven’t seen a damn soul in miles. For today, you didn’t mind the loneliness. Leaving home, years ago, you didn’t have a destination in mind, only the knowledge that you needed to get the hell out.

Whatever highway you were on looked to be deserted. As if the state built a multi-laned monstrosity elsewhere and gave up on this slow, lonely stretch, leaving it to the elements. Prairie grass poked through the splintered road, tumbleweeds swayed in the ditches, collecting and tangling as one like a tawny bundle of barbed wire.

Looking behind you, a vehicle showed in the distance like a wavy mirage in the desert. You had half a thought to stick your thumb out and catch a ride to the nearest bus station, but when the vehicle got closer your conscience took over, and anxiety thumped in your chest.

Please don’t stop, please please.

The engine hummed to a lower gear, and you automatically put a hand on the pistol at your waistband. Moving further over to the side of the road where whoever was driving could see that you weren’t interested in their good deed, you kept your head down and kept walking.

Tires slowed and you went into a small panic, wishing you had something sharp to hold between your fingers, but the barren highway offered no such vice.

You heard faint music as the vehicle got closer, crawling almost to a stop as you quickened your steps hoping they would just keep going and leave you be.

“Pretty hot out today… need a lift?”

The voice felt like velvet on your skin, a warmth you’d never known. Endearingly charming, no southern twang like someone from Texas would have. You ignored him, letting the crunch of gravel on your worn boots answer instead.

You had never been given the luxury to trust someone, and you’d be damned if you were gonna start today with some stranger on the side of the road. Heart rate kicking up, you all but bolted to avoid him.

“Baby don’t run, I’ll take you anywhere,” his drawl wrapped around you like a vice, soft and pillowy, and finally your curiosity got the better of you, as you came to a halt. You wanted to look this asshole in the eyes and flash him the pistol you kept, maybe fire a warning shot over the hood of his truck so he’d get the message. That no, in fact you did not need a ride, not from him.

Stopping so his passenger window lined up with you in the center you eyed the only other beating heart on the side of the road.

His hair was past his shoulders, brown and wavy, more than likely frizzy in high humidity. Eyes that were shaped like Bambi’s colored like a bottomless cup of coffee without creamer. His nose sat with a fading sunburn painting along his cheeks, each dwelling a poked dimple in the center. And you swore the key to Heaven was buried in his smile.

When he spoke it was clear that his intentions weren’t to cause you any harm. Minutes ticked by as he waited for your answer.

“Hey, do you wanna see the West with me?”

It was a simple question asked from the quirked mouth of a guy you’d never met before, you would have remembered those eyes in any setting. He leaned an elbow out his window as he threw the truck in park, twisting in his seat to face you a little more. A cigarette dangling from his large hand.

The butter colored sun shone against his caramel curls like a breakfast roll full of sticky sugar, the same light changing his eyes into a whiskey auburn.

He was a complete stranger, but what was even stranger was your one word answer that spread that million dollar grin further onto his face than you thought humanly possible.

You moved your hand from that handle of the gun in your tattered jeans, bearing more holes than actual threads of denim. It was meant for situations just like this, and you had nabbed it from your dad right before you walked out the front door for the very last time.

Instinct told you to run, but something in those dark eyes brought you a wave of calm, whispering out as if you’d known him for years. Your boots had already blistered your heels from walking this far, so what the hell?

Pressing a thumb into the release of the door handle, you swung yourself and your knitted bag into the moth-bitten navajo rug that covered the seat.

His smile didn’t fade, never so much as creased into a frown as he waited for you to get situated. Before he put his truck into drive he explained where he was going.

He was making the grand gesture of looking for love like the kind he grew up watching with his own mom and dad. Explaining that love like that was out there waiting for him, and he was determined to find it, no matter the distance.

Suspicion jumped to your brow, and you tried to stifle the scowl on your lip. “What?” he chirped, a little twist to his lips, “don’t believe in stuff like that?”

This bastard clearly didn’t know heartache the way you were practically related to it. You sigh lazily before looking over at him. Trying not to break his dreams before he even had the chance to realize what a waste of time it was, you simply murmur, “honey, love’s never meant much to me, but I’ll come with you if you’re sure that’s what you need.”

After years of living and growing without being loved, it had become almost useless, something heard in songs or read in books, surely it wasn’t real. But hell, you’d humor this man whose smile danced like a western sunset against a salty ocean breeze, what was the worst that could happen?

A large calloused hand reached across the cab of the truck, and you shook it with a small grin as his voice rubbed like silk across your soul, “I’m Eddie.”

And so it began, the journey to find a love daring to be something greater than anything he’d ever known, hell bent and determined it was out there, wherever that may be.

He had asked about your life. Never pushing when your answers were too short, or ended the conversation entirely. Letting you have your space, he built a trust between the two of you that you weren’t sure about at first.

The roads were desolate, and you couldn’t imagine walking along them alone. You thanked whoever cared that your thoroughfare crossed into his, almost as if destiny had placed you there. Knowing you needed a friend after leaving the only thing you’d ever known and not having a single soul to rely on.

But as time went by, you realized just how much you could rely on him.

That first day, he drove until the windshield bled to ink. Stars dotted across the sky once the sun went to rest, and he encouraged you to follow suit, pulling a hooded sweatshirt from behind his seat and tossing it towards you. Your hesitation told him all he needed to know, that the uncertainty of him was rooted deep. Too deep for you to let your guard down around him.

That pearl handle poked out from your hip and his kind eyes met the scared look in yours. He rubs his lips together before he speaks calmly, “you uhm,” he looks over at you to show how serious this was to him, even if you couldn’t see it in the dark, “you don’t have to worry about using that with me… I’m not that kind of guy.”

His innocence spoke through his eyes in words he hadn’t said, showing you that he wasn’t lying, that you could trust him. You took a deep breath, wondering if you were insane for feeling comfortable with a guy you just met, but it wasn’t long before you whisper, “okay.”

When you snuck a peek over at him, his face was lit by the dim lights of the dash, a smirk nestled on his lips, cheeks welled with the deepest dimples you’d ever seen, and your shoulders eased for the first time since hopping in.

Neither of you spoke for the rest of the night. Your head resting on the window, his sweatshirt rolled under your neck as you fell into a sleep so tender and warm you felt like a baby being lulled to bed as he sang along to the radio.

The heat from the window warmed your cheek when you woke, leaving a less than glamourous mark. Letting out an embarrassingly long yawn, you stretch your arms above your head, feeling your back crack into submission.

“Shit, ‘m sorry, how long did I sleep?” you ask, covering your mouth again from another yawn.

Eddie smiled tiredly, his hair was wrapped into a bun at the base of his neck, sunglasses topping his nose, pushing up from his cheeks as he grins, “don’t apologize for sleeping when you’re tired,” he said, shrugging, “besides, you probably would’ve woken up if I crashed.”

A chuckle hits your dry throat and you cough, “where are we?”

“Still in Texas believe it or not,” he groans, turning it into a long yawn, holding a hand to his mouth, swallowing a bit, “I hoped we could’ve made it to New Mexico before I pulled over but I’m starting to think that ain’t gonna happen.”

You figured he would have stopped to sleep at some point in the night, even if it was just for a few hours. Guilt throttled you at the thought of him staying up while you were asleep. “I can drive while you take a nap.”

“Nah,” he says with a lazy smile, looking over at you, “not that I care if you drive my truck or not, I just think we could both use some decent sleep, watch a little tv, eat, plus… I need a shower.”

Taking a whore’s bath in the gas station sinks had kept you clean, but you almost cried outright at the thought of water, cold or hot you couldn’t care less, running down the length of your body. But the lack of money burning in your pocket stopped that dream in its tracks.

You had a couple hundred bucks left after selling off your car before leaving home. The cost efficient option would be to drive while he slept. “It’s really not a big deal, I promise I’m a good driver.”

The charm you tried to emanate when pulling out your license to show him that you indeed weren’t lying, fell flat as Eddie waved you off, “deodorant only lasts so long before we’ll have to ride with our heads outta the window.”

He laughs in your place as you stare out of the windshield, mind racing over the trouble of being able to afford a motel room.

“C’mon,” he smirks, that same lazy smile stretched on his face, you wondered if he ever got mad. “We survived almost a whole day together, if I was gonna rob you I would’ve done it already.”

“It’s not that,” you say, picking at your nails, fighting the urge to bite them to shreds, “I wasn’t walking because I wanted too…”

Wheels turn in a tired mind as Eddie nearly chokes when he realizes what you meant.

“Don’t worry about it,” he confirms, brushing you off as if it wasn’t a big deal that you’d be bunking with him for free, and when your facial expressions didn’t change, he lowered his voice, and took off his sunglasses, “seriously sweets, you’re doing me a favor keeping me company, ‘m not gonna make you pay for a trip you didn’t plan, okay?”

You sighed, and shook your head yes.

The nearest motel was a hole in the wall type of place. Adhering to the kind of people that either paid by the hour or stayed for weeks at a time. The perk being it was next to a gas station where you refused to let Eddie pay for the armful of snacks he had carried to the counter. Including two hotdogs that you couldn’t be bothered wondering how long they’d been spinning in the warmer.

His boots clunked against the sidewalk as he jumped from the bed of the pickup hauling his duffle bag over his shoulder, the hotel keys wrapped around his forefinger. Outside of you both relieving yourselves on the empty shoulder of the highway last night, this was the first time you’d seen just how tall he was.

He squints in the sun and cocks his head, “bet you a dollar the carpet is orange.”

Room 8 consisted of two full sized beds, a lamp between the two, an arm chair and a small television. A stiff neon brochure for adult channels lay next to the remote, and you scrunched your nose as Eddie pushed it to the floor with the heel of his boot.

Laying out the snacks neatly on the table, you hand him the other hot dog, licking a drop of mustard from your palm. He thanked you, and took a bite consuming almost half of it before dropping onto the bed closest to the door, laying flat on his back.

Having four walls around you gave you a sense of peace you hadn’t been expecting. Slipping off your shoes you wiggled your bare toes and sat on the bed facing away from him, rolling your socks into one another.

“How’s the hotdog?” you asked over your shoulder, moving your bag between the side of your bed and the wall for the bathroom.

A muffled sound comes from the other side of the room as he shovels another bite in, “rubbery, but not too bad for having been made at midnight.”

You snort and swing your legs into the bed. Grabbing the hotdog from the comforter and peeling back the white paper around it, taking a small bite. It was warm, and tasted a hell of a lot better than the moldy ham sandwich you ate yesterday. A satisfied hum leaves your mouth and you giggle.

“Hotdogs for breakfast… don’t think I’ve ever had this before.” You laugh again before taking another bite of the squishy snack. Eddie looks up as he chews the remaining bite, realizing this was the first time he’d ever heard you laugh loud enough for him to hear, what a beautiful sound.

“Stick with me, we’ll have breakfast for dinner, too,” his tongue pokes out to lick a smear of ketchup from the corner of his lip, and he yawns loud and proud.

You cross your feet beneath your legs, a content little smile on your face. “Do I still owe you a dollar if the carpet is also brown and green?”

Your combined laughter echoes across the wood paneling and the pictures of dogs playing poker. The two of you joke about the severely dated room, agreeing that this was probably the place to stay in its prime. But the sheets were clean and that’s about all you could ask for at this point.

Eddie’s eyes were nearly closed as he scrubs large hands down his face, his voice strained, “mind if I shower ‘fore I fall asleep?”

“Not at all,” you say, jumping from the bed and looking through the snacks to find the licorice, “take all the time you need.”

He tosses the remote to your bed and unzips his bag, pulling out a toothbrush and a clean pair of boxer briefs, a minute passes and he scratches his head before diving back into the bag, yanking out a folded pair of sweatpants.

Sighing as he peels off his boots, he walks to the bathroom door and before shutting it, he pokes his head back out, a curious little grin on his lips as he asks earnestly, “you’re not gonna run away, are you?”

You swallow the bite of licorice and smile back, “think you’re stuck with me, if that’s cool with you?”

His grin broadens to a cheshire smile and he says he won’t be long, promising to save some hot water.

Neither of you can quit the grin on your lips until the door unlocks, and Eddie mutters “cool,” to himself before leaving the steamed bathroom.

Diners with smudge stained windows and siding that was warped from the sun's rays, came few and far between on those lone, dust covered roads. Eddie had pulled into almost every one. “Never know when the next one will pop up, sweetheart,” he smirked, sending a wink your way that had your stomach fluttering.

Each menu, although stickier at some places than others, was relatively the same. Eggs, Bacon, Toast. Waffles at the fancier joints or maybe a bowl of fruit alongside a flapjack.

He watched you intently as your eyes scanned the menu, keeping his promise of having breakfast for supper a few week into your trip. His own stomach had been grumbling since you packed up from the last motel somewhere on the border of Oklahoma and New Mexico. A wrong turn near McCamey had taken you North to Amarillo, three hundred miles in the completely opposite direction.

Instead of screaming about the wasted fuel, Eddie had only shrugged. He was excited to cross into the panhandle, and to make a check along the list of states you’d scribbled onto a napkin a few days into the trip to cross off as you came through them.

That quiet, suspicious drifter he had picked up three weeks ago seemed to blossom with life the more he peeled back the bricks that you had surrounded yourself with. But Eddie was charismatic, easy to talk to, and you found yourself deep in the throes of explaining things to him you haven’t talked about in years.

When your cheeks would heat and embarrassment creeped up your neck, you apologized for talking too much. He only shook his head, a small smile on his lips as he said that he didn’t mind, he wanted to know more.

The waitress strolled back over with a cigarette hanging from her lip, a gray ash practically a mile thick on it as she grumbled about the specials and set glasses of water on the table—ice already melted besides a sliver of a stubborn cube.

“I’ll take a cup of coffee,” he charmed, folding the menu placing his hands on top of it, “two eggs hard fried, a couple of sausage patties and wheat toast, also one of those slices of lemon meringue pie I saw in the display window.”

Without so much as a grunt, the waitress lifted her eyes to look you over. Setting down the vinyl menu, you place your order and lick your lips at the thought of the homemade lard crust on the rhubarb pie.

Looking out the window to the dry landscape, you sigh with a breath of content. You had never been this far west before, never been anywhere really besides the small town you grew up in.

Two coffees sit in front of each of you and Eddie thanks the waitress, a dimpled grin on his cheeks as he opens a packet of sugar. Warm eyes look at you as he stirs the coffee into a swirl, “Nothing like home, huh?”

A smile presses to your lips and you sip the bitter liquid, chipped porcelain against your front teeth, “definitely not, the air is dry here.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, slipping the spoon into his mouth to clean the coffee up, taking a big gulp of the burnt— probably microwaved— concoction, “it is, but that’s the beauty in the journey, exploring different places, meeting new people.”

He tucks a curl behind his ear, a tiny silver hoop in his lobe, you hadn’t noticed before and you ask, “you keen on picking up strangers on the side of the road?”

A laugh bubbles from his throat, and he smiles big showing all of his teeth, “in all the years I’ve been on the road, I never have, not until you,” he takes a sip of his coffee, a pretty blush rides on his cheeks, “guess I haven’t run out of luck just yet.”

You hide your own smile, itching your nose, “how long has it been?”

Eddie thinks for a minute, “well, I left Florida when I was seventeen..,” he adds up the years on his fingers with this thumb moving to each one, “… shit,” he says with a smirk, “almost nine years now.”

He was older, not by much, but you had both left at a younger age. Calling the open road and warm air home for years. Living like a Steve Earle song sporting a two pack habit and a motel tan, it seemed like fate put you on the same road that he was traveling that day.

But you push that thought away, Eddie was looking for love, and you were just tagging along like a pet, a friend at best.

“Do you ever miss it?”

He stretches himself across the booth, arms on the back of the peeling seat, pearl snaps straining against the denim from the broadness of his chest, and you find it hard not to look, “Nah, I’ll go back someday, me and my girl.”

That flutter happens again in your stomach and you feel almost nauseous at how infectious his smile is.

You spend the rest of dinner that way, trying to shove down a grin with each bite of breakfast food as the sun fell behind the mountains. Letting the butterflies swarm, with each time he looked into your eyes.

Not knowing that Eddie was also slowly losing his own battles, leaving with something more in his stomach that was sweeter then the stiff meringue on that damn lemon pie.

🌵 taglist: @joejoequinnquinn @micheledawn1975 @dashingdeb16 @hereforshmut @welc0me-t0-hellfire @aropodcastfuck

#eddie x reader #reblog comment

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trashmouth-richie · 15 hours

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this got better since the last time i read it, plsssss i love.

cocky!steve deserves his own category for making me insaneee

HELPPPPP. send life alert 🚨

this has ruuuuined me, just won’t recover. something about steve calling me a brat is making me spiral out of fucking controlllll

FUCK YES TO A PART TWO 🚿 🧼 ♥️

live now, think later | steve harrington x afab!reader

a/n: thank you so much in advance to everybody who takes the time to read, reblog and comment on this fic. it's the first thing i've published in close to three months and i'm honestly a little nervous, i hope i've come back with a big enough bang! title is taken from think later by tate mcrae, and a massive thank you to @trashmouth-richie for making my header+dividers for me. 7.8k words.

summary: upon your arrival in hawkins to visit your old friend, eddie munson, his first idea is to drag you down to family video — where you ‘unintentionally’ meet steve harrington. a well timed deal, a fake friend date and a few drinks later, you find yourself in steve’s downtown apartment with lowered inhibitions.

warnings: sexual content 18+ minors dni, piv sex, unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, bratting, spit kink, biting, hair pulling, very poor use of the pull out method. alcohol consumption, mentions of drug dealing and public heavy petting. no use of y/n and very minimal description of reader. eddie munson being eddie munson.

Eddie is all but dragging you into Family Video by your hand, the harsh metal of his rings digging into the webbing of your fingers as he pulls you in through the door.

Eddie Munson was easily the most excitable person you’d ever met in your life, and his sudden enthusiasm to get you into the video store is going to land you in the emergency room, because if he tugs you any harder your shoulder will detach from the socket.

The buzzer above your head rings violently in an attempt to alert the staff that somebody has come in, and a mop of beautifully styled hair attached to an equally beautiful man comes into view as you edge closer to the rental counter.

"Hey, Stevie," Eddie grins, loud and unabashed, "you got that new one with Meg Ryan in it? Heard she cums at a dinner table and lady luck over here is desperate to see it."

He's sniggering as you pull away from him and smack at his arm hard enough that he lets out an indignant yelp. Your face is burning hot with embarrassment as the boy's eyes dart back and forth between you both, confusion etched on his face.

He - Stevie, apparently - raises an eyebrow at you both, taking in the disheveled and most likely chaotic scene in front of him, "You mean 'When Harry Met Sally'?"

"Majorly concerning you know what movie it is from the description of 'Meg Ryan cums at a dinner table'," you quip, mouth running away from you before you can even stop it. Your face somehow burns even hotter, Steve crossing his arms over his chest with a small smirk.

He's in a preppy little striped polo shirt under his green embroidered work vest, and god his arms are bulging. His skin is tanned golden, a product of the heat of an Indiana summer, freckles and beauty marks prominent on his face, trailing down his neck and dipping below the collar.

You stare for a beat too long. Taking in the man in front of you, who looks very sure of himself.

Eddie knows you all too well, Steve is absolutely your type, which makes your first encounter all the more mortifying.

"It's my job to know all the new releases, honey." Steve's smile grows smug, and it's breathtaking how attractive you find it, "You're both shit out of luck, it's been on rent all week. Romantic night in, is it?"

Eddie scoffs from beside you, and it takes everything in you to not be offended by how quickly the noise escapes him, "Yeah, she wishes. She's not my type at all, Harrington. Annoying, clingy, pisses too lo-"

"God, shut the fuck up," you're mortified, covering your face with your hands, "I've been in town less than a day, are you trying to get me ousted?"

Steve looks all too amused by the encounter, struggling to hold back a chuckle. His pretty eyes never leave you as he speaks, "Munson's deflecting, I already know you rejected him and he's taking it like a dagger to the heart."

Eddie points an accusatory finger, "Take it back, fucker. I've never been turned down in my life."

Steve quirks a brow at him, then turns his attention back to you. You squirm under his strong gaze, "Is that true, doll? I feel like he's lying."

"I'm not getting involved in this dick swinging contest," you hold your hands up, trying in vain to ignore the silly little pet name that really does it for you, backing away from the counter slightly, "what are we even here for, Eddie?"

"I was just making sure me and Stevie here were still on for drinks tonight." Eddie glances at Steve, who looks as confused as you feel, “You wanna join us?"

You shoot him an incredulous look, "This feels like a set up."

Eddie smirks, "Why's that? Can't three pals all go out for a drink together? I want my two best friends to get to know each other."

You narrow your eyes playfully, glancing at Steve who seems to have gotten with the program, all signs of confusion gone from his face, "I'm not sure I trust you." You huff, turning to Steve and nodding back at Eddie, "What if he's just setting us up so he can bail and I'm stuck with you all alone, Stevie?"

Eddie feigns offense, "Now why would I do that? Besides, even if I did, you're a big girl. I'm sure you could bully Steve into leaving you alone."

You smirk back at him, "Fine. But if you and Steve start getting all lovey-dovey, I'm bailing and leaving you to pay the tab."

Steve barks out a laugh, "Don’t worry about me, I can behave myself. Same can’t be said for Munson, he takes one look at the Harrington ass and loses all inhibitions.”

“It is beautifully round.” Eddie admits in defeat, hand clinging to his own flat ass, a ridiculously deep frown etched onto his features.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face and stays firmly put as you exit the video store, every nerve in your body buzzing when Steve winks in your direction when you depart.

The black lace bodysuit you wear clings to your curves nicely, the nip of your waist accentuated by your mom jeans. Eddie had even wolf whistled when he saw you, which was his nerdy way of saying you looked really fucking good.

As you pull up to the strip, Eddie slows down to a stop outside what looks like a dive bar, "I'm gonna drop you off here and go 'round back to park up the van, 'kay sweetheart? Steve's already in there."

Your eyes narrow, "I don't trust you, Munson. This feels like a set up."

Eddie holds his hands up, "It's not, I promise. I just need to go park the van and-" he trails off, sighs and rolls his eyes, "I have to go make a deal super quick. Don't want you there for that, this guy is sketchy."

You huff out a sigh, understanding him completely, Eddie really was a good guy who wouldn't put you in harms way. He knew leaving you with Steve momentarily was safer than taking you with him to a deal, and you trusted his judgment.

"Okay," you agree eventually, making to hop out of the van, "but I swear, Eddie, if you don't come back, I'm gonna be pissed. You'd better be dead."

Eddie holds up his hand in a scouts honor as if he was ever in the scouts in he first place, and you roll your eyes as you shove the creaky van door open and jump out.

"I'll be back soon, kiss Steve for me, will you?" Eddie jokes, grinning maniacally.

You stick up the finger and slam the door shut deliberately, making the walk around the side of the van before he can say anything in return.

As you make your way inside the bar, your mind races. Nerves and excitement are almost getting the best of you. Steve was just so cute, Eddie knew exactly what he was doing by introducing you both.

The place is surprisingly cosy, pool tables dimly lit by orange colored lights. It’s reminiscent of a bar from back home, all hard wood and walls covered in various pieces of movie and alcohol paraphernalia. There are people scattered here and there, in booths and at the bandits, playing games of darts and billiards.

Steve's sat at the bar on an old vintage barstool, side on to you. He's dressed in a tight black t-shirt, washed out Levi jeans clung to his muscular legs and a pair of Adidas trainers with green stripes on his feet. He looked relaxed, floppy hair falling into his eyes.

You were a goner already.

As you approach the bar, Steve must sense your presence, as he looks up with a grin, "Hey! Where's Eddie?"

"Parking up the van," you smile, taking the stool next to him and jumping up onto it, trying to ignore the way your tits bounce very obviously with the motion, "I wouldn't bother ordering him a drink yet, though. He's, uh, occupied."

Steve's mouth opens in an understanding 'ah'. It was no secret how Eddie made money, and you were sure Steve had to be used to this by now.

The bartender comes over and you order some fancy cocktail on the menu that consists of Coke, dark rum and cherry liqueur. It comes with a Maraschino cherry on top, and you can't hide the excitement on your face as you take your first sip.

Steve watches you with an amused grin, "You look like you're enjoying that drink."

"Oh, I absolutely am," you reply all too quickly, "a day of Eddie's shenanigans are enough to warrant a good drink."

Steve leans in closer to you, his eyes flickering over your body none too subtly, the charm ramping up with every sip of his Bud, "I think we’ve spoken far too much about Eddie for now. Tell me a little about yourself, honey."

Honey. There's that damn nickname again, enough to make you melt in a puddle off your barstool. There was no denying that Harrington knew what he was doing.

You shrug, going for nonchalant as you lock eyes, "Nothing to tell, really. I work in a little coffee shop during the day, and at night I guess I'm still trying to figure things out."

Steve nods in understanding, "What kind of things?"

You take another sip of your drink, relishing in the way it buzzes through your body, "Where I fit in the world, I guess. What I wanna do with my life in the long term. I’ve been in a rut for a while."

"I get that. Working in a video store in my mid twenties wasn’t really the plan set out for me, either." Steve responds with a furrowed brow, brutally honest, "Has Eddie told you much about me?"

You consider, "Not really. Just that you're a ladies man and you’re forever swiping the ‘hottest babes in Hawkins’ out from under him, but you know Eddie, he's a bit. Theatrical."

Steve chuckles, a flush on his freckled cheeks, as he leans in closer to you, "Between you and me, he's not wrong. Just haven't found the one to settle down with yet."

At the close proximity, you can really take in Steve. He's all tanned skin covered in gorgeous beauty marks, a strong neck with prominent veins, muscular arms but clearly on the softer side like he didn't take it too serious. He was like a Greek statue, his nose like it was carved from the same stone.

You flush, taking another - albeit larger - sip of your drink, swirling the ice in the glass, "So, do you pick up all the chicks in Family Video?"

Steve smirks, his eyes sparkling with mischief, "You recommend a chick flick to a girl and it's like a moth to a flame."

You do laugh at that, rolling your eyes fondly and nudging his shoulder with your own, "That's how you knew what movie Eddie meant! Romcoms are your strong suit for flirting purposes?"

Steve's hazel eyes run over your face softly, his soft, pink lips jutted out slightly, "Would it have worked on you, if Eddie wasn't there?"

Your breath catches in your throat, caught off guard by Steve's question, if only momentarily. "Yeah, I think so. Y'know, if it was actually the movie I was looking for and not an excuse for Eddie to mortify me."

Steve grins, big and wide at that. Your faces are so close together that if he leaned forward just a smidge more you could rub noses. At this distance, you find yourself being drawn into his orbit, nudging closer to him subconsciously.

"Guess Eddie's bailed on us, huh?" Steve chuckles, moving back a bit and looking at the clock above the bar, the time ticking past an hour with no sign of Eddie coming back, "Or maybe it was his plan all along?"

"He's a schemer." You hum, watching curiously as Steve flags down the bartender and orders you both another drink. You try not to panic about the lack of cash in your back pocket, hoping the drinks weren't too expensive.

As your conversation dies down, your eyes are drawn back to his neck. It's covered in an array of moles and freckles, and you find yourself becoming almost mesmerized by it as he swigs from his beer bottle.

His neck is strong and muscular, tendons protruding as he gulps down the warm beer. The dusting of week old stubble adds to the masculinity of it all. It's a beautiful feature, one that you can't help but stare at with hazy eyes, and the markings scattered across his skin just make it more attractive.

Without even realizing it, your hand lifts, drawn to the smooth skin on the right hand side. You trace your fingertips along a particular set of the moles, shaped like carved out fang bites, feeling the texture against the pads of your fingers.

Steve looks at you, his darkened eyes filled with curiosity and something else entirely. You can't help but blush as you realize what you've been doing, only to find your fingers continue to roam across the skin anyway.

"Is my neck really that fascinating?" He teases, a slight chuckle falling from his lips.

You laugh lightly, trying to play it cool as your fingertips slip from the stubble roughened skin, dancing across the open collar of his shirt playfully before falling back to your glass, "Maybe it's just a bit distracting."

Steve smirks, that look in his eyes causing your heart to rabbit in your chest, "You know, I could get used to having your hands on me."

The huskiness in his voice catches you off guard, and you subtly clench your thighs together, aware of the fluttering in your gut as he leans in closer.

You roll your eyes playfully, trying to cover your blush by raising your cocktail glass to your lips, "You're such a flirt."

Steve only shifts closer at that, his shoulder bumping yours gently, "And what if I am?" He asks, lips so close to your ear that you can feel his hot breath dampen the skin, "You're the one with your hands all over me, honey."

Your breath catches in your throat, a hot spike of heady need and want coursing through your body. It's a momentary slip, one that Steve no doubt catches immediately, "I never said I wasn't enjoying it."

Your voice is barely above a whisper, Steve's close proximity somehow narrowing further as his lips ghost over the shell of your ear, "Trust me, honey. I know you're enjoying it, you've had those pretty thighs of yours clamped together for a moment now. Gotta relieve that ache, huh?"

You shiver visibly, goosebumps rising across your neck and down your arms, jolts of electricity coursing through your body. As if Steve can sense it, he lets his own - unfairly, painfully large, veiny - hand run over your thigh, just above the knee. He traces the curve of your thigh through your jeans, barely touching but it's enough to make you ache for more.

Two seconds or five minutes later, who knows, he pulls away from your ear. You gawk, unsubtle, as he takes a long sip of his drink as if nothing ever happened. He smacks his lips together, those hazel eyes landing on yours again, a playful smile on his lips, "Where were we again?"

You try to play it cool, but your body is reacting to Steve, still reeling from the feeling of his touch all over you, "Uh. Um," you start, making yourself busy by tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, "we were talking about our favorite movies, I think?"

Steve's face kind of screws up into a fake 'ah-hah!' as you blindly (and wrongly) fill in the blanks for him, seemingly completely unfazed by what just happened, "Right! You said your favorite of all time was Dirty Dancing, right?"

He’s making it up right before your eyes, playing along. And it’s painfully unfortunate that he’s right without even trying, guessing your favorite movie right out the gate. It makes your brain go a little fuzzy.

You take a deep breath, trying to focus on the conversation at hand. Even as Steve's own godforsaken hand continues to rest casually on your leg, his thumb running circles over your inner thigh, just above the knee, "Yeah, absolutely. Patrick Swayze, he's just swoonworthy."

You say it so casually, as if Steve himself didn't look like Swayze. More James Dalton than Johnny Castle, though. The hair, the tight black shirt, the jeans hugged perfectly to the swell of his ass and the curve of his muscular thighs. You had a type, clearly.

"Don't tell anyone, but Roadhouse is my favorite movie of all time." Steve grins, as if reading your thoughts from across the way, "Patrick Swayze, huh? Your type buff guys with a soft side?"

"I would've thought me sticking around on this ‘date’ with you was enough of a giveaway on that front." You giggle, finally finding the courage to tip the last of your drink to your lips, swallowing it down in one fluid motion. You feel Steve's fingers dig into the meat of your leg, feel his eyes on you as you pretend not to notice.

You know you should move his hand away, but you can't bring yourself to do it. The feeling of his touch more intoxicating than the rum-filled drink you'd found yourself nursing, the hot feeling in your gut growing and growing the higher Steve's hand goes.

"And here I was, thinking it was just my natural charm keeping you stuck in that seat." Steve says with a chuckle, running circles around your inner thigh like it's not making your insides squirm.

You roll your eyes, unable to hide your tipsy smile. There's just something about Steve, something so naturally charming that draws you in - he's confident without it being too much, and the way a stormy look swarms in his hazel eyes doesn't help with the physical pull you feel towards him.

The more he touches you, the more he looks at you, the more distracted you are by him. The alcohol coursing through your veins does nothing but amplify the warmth spreading through your body at his heavy petting.

He's beautiful, and you're blissfully comfortable in his presence, comfortable enough that the lull in conversation isn't even awkward. You look at each other through heavy lids, find yourself smacking your glossed lips together prettily, leaning your chin on your palm, elbow on the bar.

Finally, you speak, "So, do you always put these moves on your customers like this? Or am I special?" You drawl, teasing.

Steve leans in, his hand skating higher up your thigh, so close to the warm heat between your legs that you squirm a little, "Only the ones who make the moves first. You started this, remember?"

Your heart rate kicks up a little more, and for a moment you forget where you are. All you can think about is Steve's wandering hand, the bedroom eyes he's giving you like he wants to devour you in public. You want nothing more than for him to pull you in for a kiss, to lose your inhibition and get lost in the heat of the moment.

Somebody across the room begins hollering, crashing you back to reality, and it's a sobering reminder that there are dozens of people in this bar, who can see exactly what's happening right now. You clear your throat, shuffling back on your barstool a little, regretfully.

Steve's face falls, the flirty smirk gone in an instant, his hand dropping back down to your knee. You want to throw a tantrum like a little kid, tell him that it's not him, that you want it. Want whatever he's offering, just not here.

"We should maybe call it a night?" You offer, nodding towards the door, "I've probably gotta catch the bus back home, I know it leaves soon, so..."

You trail off and Steve nods, the disappointed look still on his face but a charming smirk gracing it once again, "Of course, I'll walk you over to the stop."

Steve pays the tab like it's nothing, throwing bills and a nice tip on the bar for the guy who served you. As you leave the bar and walk out into the cool night air, it hits you fast just how much the drinks have gone to your head.

"Hey, you okay?" Steve asks gently, a strong arm snaking around your waist. "My apartment isn't far from here, we can walk back there and sober up a bit? I can drive you home in a few hours."

If it weren't for the fact you knew Steve, Eddie knew Steve, and he was known for being a decent guy despite his reputation, you'd have shot it down in a heartbeat. But, the opportunity to be in his presence a little longer was something you didn't want to give up.

And, honestly, you didn’t know which bus would get you back anywhere close to the trailer park, not knowing Hawkins from Adam. This was easily the safest option.

You look up at him, snuggling into him on instinct, "Are you sure? I don't mind catching the bus, Steve. I'm a big girl, I can look after myself."

Steve beams at that, teeth shining as he looks down at you, his eyes fixed on yours, "You might be able to, but I wanna look after you tonight. And besides, I don't think either of us are ready for this to be over yet."

You hide your small laugh into his shoulder, unable to ignore the strong smell of cedarwood and bergamot wafting from his shirt, intoxicating in its own right. The giddy feeling that erupts in you is almost juvenile.

You walk down the streets quietly, taking in the pretty sunset that dims the strip in pretty pinks and oranges. There's a comfortable tension between you both, like you're both attempting to play it cool but the attraction is too strong to stop you from pulling into each other. He never once takes his hand off your waist, and that's a revelation all on its own.

Finally, you reach Steve's apartment, a cozy little bottom floor space. It's minimalistic, like a typical guy's apartment, but it feels homely. Smells like fresh laundry and the same aftershave you'd been smelling the entire walk over.

Steve looks regretful as he untangles himself from you, throwing his keys down on a table at the front door, "Take a seat, honey. I'll go get you something to drink."

It's all open planned, the entryway leading straight into the living room, where a simple leather sofa and matching lazy boy sit. You throw yourself down ungracefully on the sofa, tucking yourself into the corner with a leg pulled up under your opposite thigh.

There's two pictures on a sideboard, one of Steve and Eddie with two women you don't recognize at what looked like an outdoor gig, amongst a crowd of concertgoers. Another with the Hellfire kids, who you wouldn't know if it weren't for Eddie. The lack of family pictures are telling, though you don't dwell on it.

"Lemonade okay?" Steve asks, a pitcher in hand and a few small cups in the other, "I mean, I do have whiskey and beer if you wanna keep the party going?"

"Lemonade's great." Your voice is fond, unable to keep the smile off your face as Steve sets them down on the coffee table in front of you, looking so domestic it makes you ache.

Your eyes trail over the broad expanse of his back, his strong shoulders in that same tight tee, the way his moles and freckles even continue past the neckline. You wonder if he's covered completely, that same dull throb between your legs returning even as you sober up.

"Stop staring, you'll give me a complex." Steve drawls, not turning to look at you as he pours the cool lemonade into the glasses. You flush warm, averting your eyes.

He throws himself down onto the sofa right next to you, body also tilted so that you're facing each other, though your legs touch, burning hot through layers of starchy denim.

"I'm sure plenty of girls have been caught staring at you over the years, Harrington." You counter eventually, mouth dry.

"None that looked quite as hungry for it as you do right now." Steve quips, that same flirty smirk on his lips as he hands you your drink, "I didn't say I didn't like it, though."

Heat creeps up your neck, the need to take a drink intensifying. You do just that, sipping from the glass in your hand.

Steve's a real handful, and the longer you spend in his presence, the less you know how to handle it. Your body reacting and taking over for your brain, any playful retorts dying in your throat.

"So," Steve starts, no doubt sensing your awkwardness, "tell me. How did you meet Eddie?"

You pause for a moment, caught off guard by the question, "How did I meet Eddie?" You laugh a little, flippant, "Before he came to Hawkins to live with Wayne, he lived in my town. He came home last Christmas break and we met at a friend's party."

Steve raises an eyebrow, "A friend's party?"

You smile. "It's not a crazy story, just a guy we both knew at different times. We just clicked I guess, we have similar interests and he just has this way of making you feel comfortable and safe. I can see why you're friends, you're so alike in that way."

It's Steve’s turn to blush, a flush of pink spreading over his nose and cheeks cutely, "What a compliment. That's cool though, so you didn't know each other before he moved?"

You shake your head, "Nah, he's a little older so we missed each other. But, our friend - Carter, told me this hilarious story about how he got kicked out of middle school that I've got to tell you..."

You trail off, telling the story that Steve genuinely laughs at, this booming, goofy thing that is just so goddamn endearing.

Steve listens intently, like he's genuinely interested. His gaze locked on yours, like he's trying to memorize every single thing you're saying. You don't miss his fond looks as you talk with your hands, gesturing wildly as you tell the story.

And then, without warning, he leans in with a strong hand on the side of your neck, fingertips sliding into your hair.

He gives you enough time to pull back, a moment to say no that you choose not to take. His lips brush yours, soft and tender at first until you're melting into his touch, deepening the kiss with a surge of your body.

His hand almost engulfs your neck, thumb running gently over your trachea as your chest rolls into his, desperate to get closer. The light smacking sounds of wet lips making you light headed, your hand coming out to tug at the material of Steve's shirt to steady yourself.

Steve's tongue slithers out to swipe your bottom lip and you're a goner, climbing ungracefully into his lap, knocking him back against the sofa. He lets out a startled huff, both hands coming out to bracket your waist when you allow him entry into your mouth.

It's raw, messy and a little bit gross. Steve tastes like beer and a tang of the lemonade he'd been sipping, a hint of something else under there, a heady cinnamon. It's intoxicating, more than the drinks you'd nursed in the bar, and you find your hips rolling down into his on instinct, desperate to show him how much you wanted him.

He grunts, hands rocking you and helping you along. He's not hard yet, not at all, but the way he's moving your body is clear enough that he's into it as your tongues slip back and forth. He pulls back a little, the kiss becoming light and you let him guide you.

"Sorry, I just," Steve looks up at you with wild eyes, hair fanned out around his face where he lies back against the sofa, "I couldn't help it. You're so kissable, y'know that?"

“Don’t say sorry,” you scold playfully, smirking down at him, “you have my permission to do what you want. Anything you want.”

His hand wanders over your breast teasingly, light touches that you can barely feel through the layers of bra and shirt over your taut nipple, enough to have you arching into the touch in a silent plea for more.

Steve chuckles, deep and mischievous, clearly enjoying how your body melts under the simplest of grazes. It’s clear as day that he doesn’t give one singular fuck as to how desperate you are, pleased and satisfied taking his time with you.

Your hands entangle in his thick chestnut hair, tugging roughly at the root until Steve is moaning, hand faltering to skate down your stomach. Landing on the button of your jeans, but not moving.

“Steve.” You groan, impatient, “Don’t frustrate me or I’ll do it myself. Please?”

Steve tsk’s, his pearly whites gleaming in the low light as he smirks at your desperation, “You don’t like it slow?”

You roll your eyes, tugging his hair again, using it as reins to grind down into him, the heat of your cunt enough to have him grunting quietly. “Slow is boring. Slow means careful. I don’t want you to be careful with me, Steve. Show me how desperate you can be, show me how desperate you are for me.”

Steve’s eyes flash so dark they’re near black, the sweetness still lurking vanishing in an instant. He gives you one last squeeze to your ass before he’s using both hands to practically rip the button of your jeans, fingers slipping into the tight denim and beneath the satin of your panties.

“I’ll show you, you impatient brat,” he grunts, fingertips sliding between your folds and his eyes roll back at the feeling, “like fucking velvet, honey. You’re so wet, how long you been like this for me?”

“Somewhere between entering the bar and you touching my thigh.” You breathe, crying out when his pointer and middle finger slide into you at once, a blissful stretch that takes your goddamn breath away.

“So easy for it.” Steve coos, and it would be offensive if it weren’t for the way he looks at you with honey swirled irises, soft at the edges despite the bite of his words.

The hand not preoccupied with your cunt grips for your throat, thumb pressing into your pulse point as Steve surges forward to capture your lips once again. It’s rough, intimate, the graze of Steve’s stubble rubbing your chin raw as he bullies his tongue into your mouth.

Your brain short circuits, his tongue reducing you to a bumbling, sobbing mess as you grind down into his palm, clit catching and rubbing against the dry skin in the most painfully beautiful way.

The air is thick with sexual tension, thicker than the strands of hair you pull and tug at, thicker than the outline of his cock that you can feel digging into the fat of your inner thigh.

“That’s it,” Steve mumbles against your lips, the pads of his fingertips rubbing against that little bump on your frontal wall that has your hips jumping forward of their own accord, “don’t hold back, honey. Let me hear you fall apart for me.”

It’s domineering. He’s fully in control and you’re letting him as you rut against the palm of his hand, sweat coating your brow as you fuck your hips against him, desperate to reach the edge.

The plushness of his lips kiss down your jaw, to your throat where he latches on and sucks his mark into your skin. Sure to be a beautiful purple bloom in the morning, a temporary reminder that he was there. You want to beg for more.

So you do.

“Mark me like I’m yours.” You cry, whimper, even. Your body runs hot, goosebumps erupting on your skin as your impending orgasm starts to build.

You swear you feel the smirk against your flushed throat. Steve latches onto you again, this time lower down, wider. You pull his hair, sighing contentedly as he suckles, nibbles at your tender flesh to produce yet another mark.

His hips jump up against yours, a momentary slip that makes you want to plead for his cock, your brain so fuzzy with the need to rut and fuck that you’re about to give up the orgasm you’re so close to getting.

“You’re clenching so tight around my fingers, baby,” Steve moans, kissing soothingly over the thumping ache of a bruise he’s left on your neck, “you gonna cum for me?”

The white hot flashes of want and hunger you feel prickle up your back only intensify with his words, the end in sight as you ride against the palm of his hand feverishly, your clit sliding beautifully over the flesh.

Your orgasm rips through you like a fucking knife to the stomach, your fingers gripping and pulling Steve’s hair so tightly that his head snaps back with the sheer force. You sob wetly, riding his fingers with jerky hips as he fucks you through it, eyes bleary but focused enough to see the hungry way he looks at you falling apart for him, soaking your panties and his fingers in the process.

“You needed that one, huh?” Steve coos, mocking you lightheartedly as his fingers deftly slip from inside of you. You try your best to ignore the way it makes you feel empty.

You nod dumbly after a moment, the whooshing in your ears beginning to fade out. You collapse into his chest with a small, contented sigh.

It takes only a mere few seconds for you to get with the program once more, kissing tenderly at Steve’s mole flecked neck, burying in to nip with your teeth hesitantly. Your hips move like they have a mind of their own, grinding down into the incredibly prominent bulge that rests hard against his zipper.

He grunts, hips thrusting up into yours as you move in some sort of slow, aching rhythm. His wide hands practically engulf your waist, fingertips digging into soft, supple flesh to help you rock your tired body against his own.

It feels so fucking good, your body reacting to his in a way that was genuinely concerning, the primal need to fuck and have him inside of you taking over any kind of inhibition you previously had. He feels big, thick and hot nestled between your folds through two layers of rough denim, and the desperation ramps up.

You whine, pathetic into his salty, sweat damp skin, “Need more. Need you inside me, Steve.”

Steve groans like he’s in pain, hips jerking up involuntarily like they have a mind of their own, knocking you both out of the rhythm, “You sound so pretty when you beg. I’ll take care of you, honey. Knock you dumb just like you need.”

The sound you make is so pathetic that you instantly bury your face tighter into his skin, fingernails biting at the back of his neck. Steve’s hands are under your ass in a second, gripping to your thighs as he flips you onto your back on the sofa, muscular thighs spreading your legs impossibly wide as he buries between them.

“You need these off.” He grunts, pulling at the baggy denim of your jeans with rough fingers. You barely have the coherency to lift your ass up to help him wriggle you out of the offending material, body practically limp after the bone melting orgasm he just gave you with practiced ease.

“This too?” He asks gently, reaching for your top. You nod, lifting yourself up so he can slip it over your head, leaving you in only your bra and panties.

You don’t wait for him to ask before you’re unclasping your bra, pulling that off so that your tits are bared too. They look great, your best feature if you did say so yourself, so it wasn’t exactly a difficult decision to make.

He marvels at you for a second too long, taking in the sight of your body laid out below him, and those stormy eyes of his look deeper yet again – he looks hungry. Instead of it making you self conscious, it only spurs you on.

You wrap your legs around his torso, thick thighs pulling him in until he’s losing his balance and having to lean one arm out against the arm of the sofa to brace himself over you. The gold of his chain dangles close to your mouth, cooling the plumpness of your bottom lip with every gentle sway.

“Down, girl,” Steve scolds, though that cocky smirk still graces his features and makes him look so painfully hot it makes your pussy flutter, “I gotta go get a condom.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, “And risk ruining the moment? You’re clean, right?”

Steve nods, that cock-sure confidence faltering for a second, “Are you?”

You nod, biting at your bottom lip, “Haven’t done this for a while, big boy. You think you have the restraint to pull out in time?”

Steve shudders visibly at your question, a heady whimper escaping his lips, “I can try my best, but no promises, honey. I felt how tight and soaked you were around my fingers, if you feel too good I’m not responsible for the consequences.”

You let out a shaky laugh, though it cuts off into a moan when Steve lifts himself up and away from your body for long enough to stretch his arms behind his neck, pulling his shirt off from the back of his head with one fluid movement.

He’s a marvel. The moles and beauty marks extend the entire way down his torso, even below his belt line, arms sculpted beautifully and his tummy muscular yet still soft. He’s everything, your belly flutters looking at this fucking perfect man sat between your spread thighs like some sort of Greek marble statue.

“Holy. Wow.” Your mouth is dry, your hands having a mind of their own yet again – just like in the bar – and coming out to touch and squeeze the flesh of his torso. Steve smirks, like he knows what you’re so hung up about, arching into your touch.

He allows you the seconds of indulgence before it’s back to business, his fingers making light work of his belt and jeans as he regrettably departs his space between your naked legs to push the material down his legs and away from your bodies.

His dick is so heavy that even though it’s fully hard, it doesn’t slap against his tummy, hanging slightly forward with its own weight. He’s big. Alarmingly big. And did you mention thick? Really thick.

God. He was going to be a stretch.

Steve grins sheepishly, settling back between your legs hesitantly. He makes to speak, but you stop him in his tracks;

“You’ve not gotta be gentle,” you reassure, reminding him of your words before he dipped his hands into your panties just minutes ago, “fuck me like you mean it.”

Steve groans, burying his face into your neck as he lines himself up with your cunt and pushes in with one fluid motion. It knocks the breath out of the both of you for a moment, and you whimper pitifully at the gorgeous, burning ache of him stretching you out to fit him perfectly.

“Holy shit,” He breathes, panting into your neck, “so fucking tight for me, honey.”

You preen at Steve’s words, arching into his torso and somehow pushing him in even deeper. He had no idea just how much it stroked your ego to hear those words, no idea that it turned your insides into goo to know you were doing so good for him before it even started.

He rolls his hips into yours, the wet heat of your cunt gripping him, and you pant like an animal in heat when the subtle movement causes the coarse hair nestled in his mons to catch onto your sensitive clit.

Your hips wriggle a little after a moment, a sign to let him know it’s okay to move, and Steve takes that subtle movement and runs with it — pulling out only to slam back in again, knocking your body up the couch.

It’s maddening. Your body runs hot with want and desperation, insides molding to the shape of his – quite frankly, annoyingly big - dick with each thrust, driving you absolutely insane in the process. The cut head rubs against that damn spot each time, and you know he’s going to tip you over for a second time all too soon.

“Fuck.” You cry, hands coming up to bury in his mane of hair once again and tug him down, “Fucking — how does it feel to be Gods favorite?”

Steve grins, mischievous and lust bitten around the edges as he sinks into your cunt with a quickening pace, “Stroke my ego baby, I love it.”

“Don’t get cocky, Stevie. Or I’ll just shut my mouth.”

The grin turns salacious, a large hand coming out to wrap along the expanse of your throat, just resting and not pushing, thumb caressing the side of your neck soothingly, “Don’t you wanna be good for me, honey? Or are you bratting so that I’ll give you what you really crave?”

You whimper involuntarily, and that's all the confirmation Steve needs to really drive into you. Your back arches so that your torsos flush together, and he snakes a hand beneath the curve to grip onto your waist from below.

“Oh my God!” You moan, body jolting at the change of angle. You’re turned into a babbling mess, fingernails digging into each of Steve’s biceps as he fucks you deep, rough enough to leave a mind numbing sting that you swear you feel in your damn throat.

He’s looking at you with this wild expression, eyes wide like he’s drinking you in, watching each emotion he evokes from you with his body, “That’s it, taking me so fucking good. You like being fucked like a whore, honey?”

You nod, knocked dumb, mouth hung open like a pliant slut, a constant steady stream of whines and shuddering gasps falling from parted lips with each deep slide of his cock inside of you.

“You trust me?” He whispers, lips hovering just mere centimeters from your own, and you nod again, going cross eyed.

A drop of saliva hangs from Steve’s pursed lips, sliding down into your open mouth and onto your tongue. You cry out, pathetic and desperate as you swallow down the spit like it’s cool water on a hot summers day.

Steve shudders against you, hips slamming into you as his thrusts become erratic. You pray his apartment is somewhat soundproof, for all you can hear is the wet slap of skin on skin mixed with dirty moaning and pitiful cries.

“You’re perfect,” Steve mutters, sloppily kissing your lips before moving back to your jaw, worrying the flesh between his teeth like he can’t help it, “a fucking dream, honey. See how you’re ruining me?”

You don’t get a chance to reply before he’s dropping your body back onto the sofa, his thumb swiping over your clit in a desperate attempt to get you there before he does.

It’s all too much. Your body runs hot, static surging up your back, hot in your gut as he works you over. You have to clench your eyes shut, painfully aware of his sculpted body gleaming with sweat, the swivel of his hips as his cock buries deep into you.

Your second orgasm hits you just as hard as your first, your legs shaking and cunt clenching sporadically as it washes over you like a fiery inferno, gasps and wet cries of Steve’s name and other incoherent nonsense spewing from your lips.

“Oh shit, holy fuck, baby you feel so – so good, god I’m gonna cum,” Steve shallowly fucks into you, jerky and desperate, “where do you want me to– fuck!”

You open your eyes within enough time to see Steve pull out of you, sloppily tugging at his cock two, three times before he’s spilling all over your stomach. Hot spurts of it cover you from your belly button the whole way to your chest, and you swear you’ve never seen a man cum so much in your damn life.

It’s so hot. Being branded by ropes of cooling semen, sparking over finger bitten skin and bruises made by warm and heavy lips.

There’s a long second afterwards, where Steve sags heavily against the couch as his dick softens, both of you panting and trying to catch a breath.

“I’ll be right back,” Steve’s voice shocks you out of the contented post-orgasm haze, his hand squeezing your inner thigh gently as he gets up from where he’s perched, off in search of what you don’t know.

He reappears with a wet washcloth, and it’s all very domesticated as he wipes you down gently with the cool towel, fingers gentle against your sore skin in a stark contrast to just moments earlier.

You’re both completely naked still. This should be strange, but it doesn’t feel that way. Steve makes you feel painfully at ease and that’s something your orgasm fogged brain can’t comprehend or bear to think about right now.

“This might be a bit presumptuous, but,” Steve hums, inspecting your body to make sure he’s cleaned you down good enough for his liking, smirking as you squirm under his gaze, “do you wanna stay the night? It’s really late and, uh, well I don’t wanna kick you out after that. It was a bit intense.”

Your eyes are bleary. Fuck. He’s going to ruin you for anybody else.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Your voice is soft, quiet as you rise from the soiled sofa to sit up properly, “You’ll need to call Eddie, let him know I’m okay.”

“I think he knows you’re all good,” Steve grins sheepishly, helping you to your feet and tugging you close as soon as you’re up, “I might’ve called him when I was in the kitchen earlier, let him know you were here to sober up.”

You roll your eyes with a small smile, leaning into him with a heavy sigh, “You better have a comfy bed.”

“The comfiest.” Steve confirms, dragging you gently towards the door, “I also have a really big shower, and really good water pressure, so…”

“Oh my God, I’m never leaving.” You mumble into his chest, giggling playfully when he lifts you up ever so slightly with his muscular arms and knocks the bedroom door shut behind you.

part 2?

#steve x reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington smut

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trashmouth-richie · 16 hours

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𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬

warnings: fem!reader x costar!joe, reader has insomnia, a little bit of angst but a lot of fluff to make up for it

silly little note: i started writing this fic last summer but then writer's block hit me like a brick and i never finished it til now. pls give me ur feedback! hope you like it <3

𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩, 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞?

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

you can’t exactly remember how you ended up here, sleeping on your coworker’s chest while he has his arm wrapped around you.

you remember coming into his room at four in the morning because you couldn’t sleep, you remember him inviting you in, you remember crawling on his bed to ‘talk’, you remember getting so close that you were able to feel his breath on your face but you don’t remember closing your eyes let alone falling asleep.

the rays of the sun beaming through the curtains are soft, coral red and vivid orange. the colors of the sunrise. it’s probably nearing 6am. i can’t believe i slept for almost two hours, you thought.

opening your eyelids a little more, you catch a glipmse of his hand, holding his phone on his exposed tummy and aggresively moving his thumb left and right on the bright screen. you squint your eyes at the brightness and lift your head away from it, looking up at him. his brows are frowned in concentration and his lips are pouted, giving his undivided attention to whatever it is he’s doing on his phone. he looks adorable, like a cat focused on catching the laser.

you spend a few seconds watching him before he catches you staring and breaks into a smile, immediately putting his phone down so he can focus on you. “you’re awake.. hi” he says softly, keeping his voice low and gentle. “did you sleep well darling?”

you mumble a ‘hi’ before nodding at him. despite that it was such a short sleep, it doesn’t feel like that. it feels like you’ve been asleep for eternity, a celestial eternity.

“what time is it?”

“seven thirty four..”

oh so you’ve slept for longer than you thought, that explains it.

“at night.”

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

joseph moved in with you two months ago. you were casted together for a movie, a psychological thriller of a normal, happy married couple living in the subrubs. the husband’s a murder detective investigating the brutal deaths of young women and the wife’s a surgeon who’s too skilled for her own good. the husband notices a pattern of the killings, all the women had the same hair color, the same eye color and the same body type as you. none of them had any restraint marks on their bodies meaning they didn’t try to resist by fighting or that they were forcibly held down. they were sedated and cut up by a professional, someone who knew their way around the human body and their hands were used to holding a fine knife. they were killed by a surgeon.

joseph was the husband and you the wife. he was filming away from his home so he needed somewhere not too expensive to stay and just as conviently, you broke up with your boyfriend six weeks before you got the role and being a struggling actress, you needed a roommate.

he moved in a week after you met. he suggeted it in a drunken moment but it stayed with you so the next day when you both sobered up, you asked him to move in and he happily obliged. one day later, he was settled in.

joseph was undeniably the best roommate you’ve ever had and yes, that includes your boyfriend, shit, your ex boyfriend. he paid his part of the rent on time, you never had to remind him to do it. he insisted to buy all the groceries since “you’ve already bought everything else for the apartment” and when you said no, he negotiated for do a 70/30 on the pills and turned out, he’s a master negotiator.

when he cooked, he always cooked for two, even during the days when you weren’t home. he’d leave your food in the microwave or saran wrap it and put it in the fridge with a little note that says “for you, i promise it’s not poisoned. joe :)” and cleaned up after himself which was nice and new to you. your ex never did. he made messes and left them for you to deal with. physically and mentally.

joe was everything you’d want in a roommate. but him being both your roomate and costar meant that you spent a hundred precent of your time with him. there was no escaping him. not that you wanted to, he was a great guy, smart, funny, the type of guy you feel safe enough to get drunk in an isolated space with, to not hide your overnight breakout acne or dark side from, to tell secrets to. joe was everything you’d want in a friend.

but joe was also observant. it was a trait you of his that you loved just as much as you hated it.

you loved that he learned your coffee order after hearing you say it one time because from that day forward, he saved you a run to the cafe. you hated that he knew why you needed that much caffeine without you ever having to tell him. he just pieced the pieces together when he saw heard you refer to yesterday as ‘today’, when he heard you ask the makeup artist to apply more concelear under your eyes, when everyday he woke up, no matter how early, you were always wake before him.

you’re not sure why you tried to hide it like a dirty secret. you knew there was nothing wrong with it, it wasn’t affecting anybody except you yet for some reason you felt guilty for it. maybe it was because your mother constantly made you feel like it was some sort of shame you should hide, like something was wrong with you. “all the kids are sleeping, everyone is. everyone except for you. you’re awake like an owl. do you know who stays up this late? only ghouls do. i’m going to bed and you missy, you can stay up with the monsters all by yourself.” she’d say and lock your door, leave little you to cry with her eyes squeezed shut and her head under the pillow.

you were old enough now to know that monsters aren’t real now but the feeling of fear still lingeried, so did the sound of disappointment in your mother’s voice.

you didn’t want to disappoint anyone else so you just hid it from everyone.

but joe was good at finding things.

he never brought it up though, not directly but he did let you know that he knew and that he understood.

one night he suggested that you two should stay up together, ‘have a sleepover’ he said. you asked him isn’t that what you do everyday? since you’re roommates and all? and he said that isn’t the point of a sleepover because according to him, a sleepover is sleeping on the floor, watching comfort movies and eating junk food until you’re feeling sick. you couldn’t aruge with that.

you tried everything. mediation, melatonin, masterbation, exhausting yourself to the point of passing out but nothing worked so a sleepover with your friend didn’t sound like the worst thing. in fact, it didn’t sound bad at all.

he set up ‘the sleepover zone’ as he called it in the living room by laying make-shift mattresses on the floor with weighted blankets, tossing pillows on top with them then throwing the couch cushions on the sides, making it look like a fortress. he had bowls filled with all sorts of junk foods your trainer would have a stroke over and where you expected to see liquor, instead there was fuzzy drinks. just sodas. the set up was ridiculous, if you didn’t know your thirty year old roommate made it, you would’ve assumed it was the work of a child eager to have their first sleepover.

“i promise i’ll tidy it up tomorrow.” was the first thing he said when he saw you standing and staring at his work. little did he know that you couldn’t care less about tidying right now, let alone about tomorrow.

you were just happy to be there. with him.

“and you better expect no help from me.” you tease him as you jump into the pillow town he’s made, pulling the blanket all the way up to your chin, immediately getting comfortable.

“absolutely none.” he smiled and turned off the lights, leaving the living room to be lit by only the movie on the television. the aristocats.

how did he even know that was your comfort movie?

joe laid down beside you with his own blanket, nothing separating you except the bowls of junk food he’d put in the middle where your fingers occasionally and accidentally touched, multiple times. each time you felt a miniature flame and you wondered if he could feel it too.

forty five minutes into the movie, your head begun to feel drowsy and your eyelids seem to have a mind of their own, slowly heaving and closing.

you tried to keep your focus on the illuminated screen but sounds started to crisp in the distance. you felt emptiness where the bowls took place but you were too dozy to question it. your relaxed muscles curling into themselves as you allow your eyes some rest, just for five minutes.

“goodnight baby.” you hazily imagined joe said then you imagined him kissing your head.

it felt so real. it felt like it truly happened.

but it must’ve been just a dream.

joe laid on his side after his lips touched your skin, staring at you, wishing he could keep you sound, safe and serene like this.

he’s seen how you struggle to sleep, knew how you pace behind your closed door late at night and heard all of the various methods you’ve tried to put yourself to rest and witnessed how they’ve all failed in the early morning when he saw you in the standing in the kitchen, your hands shaking as you hold your spoon.

this was his attempt of offering a helping hand. he didn’t expect it to work but he hoped it would at best put you to rest and at worst keep you company.

little did he know he did both.

you arose with the sunrise. it was still dark inside your shared apartment but sun rays were coming in through the cracks of your blinds.

five more minutes, you thought sleepily, burying your head into your pillow but it wasn’t your pillow, was it?

startled that your silk pillowcase has suddenly started to feel more like human flesh, your eyes shot open. you tried to pull away from the spot in his neck where you’ve been hiding but something heavy was draped over you, annihilating your attempts at moving.

his arm.

he’s holding you.

he’s holding you and you yawn, somnolence crawling back into your body.

he’s warm and he’s here but he’s your flatmate and your coworker but god it feels so good to sleep and he’s so warm.

just five more minutes. five more minutes can’t hurt, right?

it the history of him living with you, he’s never woken up before you so it’s not like he’s going to now, right?

right.

you allow yourself to nuzzle into his neck once more for just five minutes, feeling his scruff on your cheek. you breathe him in. fuck he smells nice and fuck that was such an intimate thing to do but how can you speak of odd intimacy when you’re sleeping in his arms like he’s your lover?

no no. you can’t be having thoughts like that.

you can’t jeopardize your job but more so, can’t jeopardize your friendship.

it’s only fine as long as he doesn’t know and it’s only fine as long as it never happens again.

clock’s ticking, your time is running out. each second is another breath you’ll never take while basking in his warmth again.

waiting on time was torturous so you cut it short, gently grabbing his draped arm and wiggling yourself out of his hold.

your arms instantly found your body, wrapped around your figure to hold onto the remaining heat you’ve borrowed from his endless blaze.

and he dares to look that good when he’s asleep, you thought as you stared down at him before padding your way towards your room. falling head first into your abandoned sheets, the chill of it sends shivers down your spine.. or maybe it’s just the thought of him.

no no. it’s the cold. has to be. it’s just the cold. definitely not the feelings for your coworker that you’ve been smothering. it’s just the cold.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

memories of that night have crept into your mind ever so often. how easily sleep came to you, how good it felt to close your eyes and not have them protest the rest you’re desperately needing. how nice it was to wake up in joseph’s arms with your head hidden underneath his, tucked away safely, soundly.

weeks passed and he never spoke of the sleepover again. he probably doesn’t even know what he did for you that night. he’s just your friend again, he doesn’t even know that for one blissful night, he was your only relief.

and now it’s been three days and four nights since your mind last let you rest and you’re aching for that relief again.

you’ve been pacing in your room. this time with a new thought in the forefront of your mind. a thought of the bed in the room that lays down the corridor and the man laying in it behind the door.

you shouldn’t be entertaining let alone contemplating that thought yet here you are, grabbing your door’s knob and twisting it.

you shouldn’t be taking the steps to your coworker’s room yet here you are, standing at his door.

you shouldn’t disturb him at the early hours of the day, he could be sleeping, he could be well.. busy yet here you are, walking into his space after you’ve heard his soft “come in”

you shouldn’t stare at him like that and you shouldn’t give in when he offers you his hand, beaconing you into the way you’ve daydreamed of taking yet here you are, hand in his as you wordlessly climb into his bed, under his covers, letting your body melt into the oddly familiar heat of his sheets, of him.

you shouldn’t let your brain get all distorted when he’s talking, shouldn’t let your heavy eyes blink for more than three seconds, should’ve paid him more attention yet here you are, willingly surrendering.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

“what time is it?”

“seven thirty four at night.”

you pull away from him and he lets you, sitting up in bed jarred, holding your head in your hands and rubbing at your eyes so hard you’re worried they’d fall too deep into their sockets.

“what do you mean?”

“i mean you slept for fifteen hours baby.” you can hear the smile in his voice and see it radiating on his face once you look at him.

fifteen hours..

you can’t recall the last time you slept for that long, not even sure if you ever have.

“i’ve been thinking i should change my name to melatonin, what do you think?” he jokes and you slap a pillow against his face leaving him chuckling.

“i don’t know how it happened.” you begin to say and remember something he’d told you the previous night, “oh my god joe you had the thing with your friends today! the aquarium.” he’s been talking about it for the past two weeks. his friends are coming from london and they’ve planned to visit the aquarium. he’s been beside himself with excitement. he bought tickets online and everything. yesterday he told you he’s going at three in the afternoon before offering you a spare ticket which you politely turned down.

and now he didn’t get to go either.

“it’s okay.” his scrunches his face, “told them something important came up and i couldn’t make it. they understand.” he smiles at you, him and his stupid smile that makes your stupid heart beat all quick and stupid. why does he have to be so understanding and so sweet?

“i’m sorr..”

“don’t.” he cuts you off before you could finish that word. “come here.” your body obeys before your mind could second guess it, crawling back into his open arm and letting your head rest on his chest. “i’m glad i didn’t go.” he utters out then kisses your head, it feels exactly the way you imagined that night on the floor in the livingroom.

did you really imagine it?

“so am i.” you whisper.

fuck the job and fuck the friendship.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

tags: @hazzaismyreligion @fantastic-fox @sugarheart-riot @phyllosilicate-s @becca-alexa @quinnsfae14 @munson-enthusiast @lovinvane @ficsbypix @josephfakingquinn @munsonluvrr @eddies-puppet @mattyhealyssideburn @flawiette @joeydoeeyes @ethereal-eddie86 @andrearose89 @musicmoviestv @witchwolflea

#tbr!!!

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trashmouth-richie · 18 hours

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2022: will the hell of creating au’s with eddie in them ever end?

2024 *eyes wide and blood shot, running on only coffee and my google docs is hitting wips into the 100s*

#eddie munson #My sweet boy where shall i put you next

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trashmouth-richie · 18 hours

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the question is… which steve girlie is gonna write this?

anyway who was talking about painter!steve?

#steve girls #come out come out wherever you are #steve harrington

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trashmouth-richie · 22 hours

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anyway who was talking about painter!steve?

#steve harrington

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trashmouth-richie · 1 day

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lookin’ good baby

#🥰

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trashmouth-richie · 1 day

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me to myself rn

pls i’ve never seen this before but i needed to share

Ziggy, this from Mika's insta.

#boo mika

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trashmouth-richie · 1 day

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good bye bee

thinking about how we’re probably gonna see joe, with a buzzcut (!!!!), in an army uniform… probably dirty and sweaty and barking orders and and and

#spiraling out of control #put me on a leash

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trashmouth-richie · 2 days

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won’t be normal about this, don’t ask me to be

Buzzcut Joseph throughout the years

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trashmouth-richie · 2 days

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cold dry stone

gator tillman x fem!reader ┃ 18+, MDNI 3.5k

Revenge is a dish best served immediately and relentlessly.

cw: hate-fucking/revenge sex, references to infidelity. pretty much just blatant bullying of Gator ‘cos it’s actually sooo fun to be mean to him?? hand job, bareback piv sex, finishing inside (consensually, despite the dialogue)

What’s the opposite of a breeding kink?

Gator’s party was too fucking loud.

You weren’t even inside yet and you already regretted coming here. A veritable horde of trucks and cars and more than a few cruisers littered the gravel drive and lawn, parked haphazardly over the dying grass with no rhyme or reason.

The walls of the house practically shook from the bass of the music playing inside and the drunken revelry could be heard clear across the fields.

The elder Tillman was away for the week—off taking care of some vague and surely nefarious business—and now his pissant son was throwing a kegger while daddy was away, carrying on with his dumbass friends like a fucking adolescent despite his ripe age of nearly 30.

You wouldn’t have shown up in a million years if not under such extenuating circumstances.

The back of your neck still burned at the memory of catching your so-called fiancée naked in bed with someone who was very much not you.

The ensuing fight left you in a kind of fugue state— speeding recklessly along deserted highways, knuckles throbbing as you gripped the steering wheel with one thing on your mind: revenge.

There was no shortage of people Drew hated in this shitty little town you had both grown up in. And any one of them would have sufficed for your purposes. But you didn’t just want to get back at him. You had to destroy him. You had to humiliate him the same way he had humiliated you.

And no one said “humiliation” quite like Gator.

You spotted him as soon as you walked in the door—all 5’11 of his stupid frame leaning against the stone mantle; sunglasses sitting on the back of his head; arms bulging in that same black polo he loved to wear under his Sherrif’s vest; the tips of his fingers brushing those two slits shaved into his hairline he thought made him look so tough; sucking down a hit from that lime green excuse for a phallic symbol he never put down.

He was talking to some girl. A pretty little thing in a pretty little dress looking up at him all demure and coy with fluttering lashes and puckered lips. She was the exact type he always went for—all pliant and willing, taken in by the veneer of status and power afforded to him both by his badge and being the son of the most powerful man in town.

Tough break, hon. Maybe some other time.

Thumb and middle finger pinched together, you pushed them between your lips and blew.

Your shrill whistle rang out over the din, silencing the party save Gator’s godawful choice of music. Every pair of eyes in the room was on you now, including the round hazel ones you were after.

Good. The more people Drew heard this story from, the better.

“Let’s go, Tillman,” you barked.

With two fingers motioning in a succinct come here, you beckoned him forward and jerked your head in the direction of the staircase, heading up them before he’d even started to follow.

You made your way down the narrow hall, cracking open doors as you went in search of Gator’s room, shocked you couldn’t smell your way to whatever dirty hamster cage he slept in. Behind you, the clomp of his boots alerted you to his presence as he reached the top of the stairs.

“You can’t just whistle at me like a dog. I’m a fuckin’ deputy—”

The family pictures in their gaudy frames rattled as you pushed him against the wall, your forearm planted in the center of his broad chest. Your face assaulted his, neck stretching to kiss him, tongue pushing past his teeth into his mouth—the sting of bourbon tempered by the sickly-sweet taste of his Mountain Dew mixer and…something with a synthetic smokey flavor.

Was he just eating jerky? Seriously?

His hand came up to try and grip the back of your neck, but you slapped it away with your free arm as your other drove a bit harder into his pecks.

He whined into your mouth, a choked-up simpering sound that made your heartbeat pulse between your legs. You pulled back to look at him, eyes flickering over his face, his lips spit-slick and swollen, his chin bobbing like a chicken’s head as he tried to chase your mouth, eyes round and pleading. Desperate and messy. Perfect.

He flinched as you ruffled his over-gelled hair, snatching his sunglasses off the back of his head and tossing them away, letting them clatter on the wooden floor as they fell.

“It’s the middle of the night, you idiot,” you sniped. “Now where’s your room?”

Jaw clenched, mouth forming into a hard, thin line as he bit back what he wished he could say, he made a loud sucking sound with his tongue behind his teeth. He pushed open the door to his room and you yanked him inside, closing it back by shoving him up against it on the other side.

It was a sty, no surprise there.

Dirty clothes scattered across the floor, mixing with (clean?) ones spilling out of hampers. Empty pop and beer cans dotted every available surface, alongside bottles of e-juice that sat in sticky rings made by their own drippings.

Half-dressed girls cut out of skin mags were pasted up on the walls along with some wrinkled posters of movies and bands you liked a little less just because he enjoyed them. He really was just a teenager frozen in time, wasn’t he?

You tsked at him as you looked around, your voice ripe with judgment. “Think you oughta move out of daddy’s house one of these days?”

Gator’s eyes hardened. “He likes having me close by when we’ve got business to attend to.”

He’s clearly irked, getting that look in his eyes like when you would mock and goad and tease during recess in grade school, and challenge him to races he never, ever won.

Most everyone knew there was no love lost between you and Gator. You had always been a little extra mean to him growing up, probably as a retaliation for all the knowing glances and nudges and so-called “jokes” people liked to make about you two getting married someday.

If he hadn’t turned into such an insufferable ass along the way, maybe you would have.

The old Gator, the soft and gentle boy who was so desperate for kindness and love and approval and encouragement he’d never gotten enough of, was nothing more than an ever-fading memory now—snuffed out by Roy’s influence and all his hyper-masculine, abusive, racist, cultish bullshit.

You might even miss him if you thought there was a chance that side of him still existed. But every day that possibility seemed less and less likely.

He jammed a hand into his cargo pants pocket to retrieve his vape, probably trying to recover some vestige of his dignity; or to pretend like he hadn’t been totally at your mercy since your whistle.

Mid-pull, you snatched the lime green machine out of his hand and stuffed it down the front of your dress so it rested between your cleavage.

He started to whinge in protest, only for you to cut him off with a harsh kiss, punctuated with a punishing bite to his bottom lip.

“You’ll get it back if you make me come,” you burred, fingers now making fast work of his belt.

Once it had been pulled through the loops and tossed to the side, your fingers curled around the waistband of his pants and you hauled him over to the bed. The ancient metal frame creaked in protest as he landed on it with a bounce, his legs spreading wide and eyes flashing with need.

He would never admit to this, but he loved how strong you were—the way your arms rippled when you threw him around, the latent strength built up by a lifetime of farm chores. If he had it in him to struggle or fight back a little, it might not be so easy for you. But he never did.

“Get undressed,” you said as you stepped out of your shoes, gaze as bored as your tone.

Muttering something unintelligible under his breath, he clumsily started stripping off his polo, toeing off his boots, and tugging down his pants and the briefs he wore underneath.

They pooled around his ankles and he leaned back on his elbows to kick them away, smugness now polluting his face. He smirked up at you, eyes flitting between yours and his substantial length that flopped across his thigh, as though waiting for your awed reaction.

He was an impressive specimen, as much as it pained you to admit. But you sure as shit weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of confirming it.

You tilted your head, studying it quietly.

“I remembered it being bigger.” You shrugged as Gator’s face fell. “I guess it’ll do.”

His cocky smirk disappeared, now looking all sour and deflated as he went to pull his white singlet over his head. You placed a hand on his chest, pushing him back to lay flat.

“Leave it,” you told him, tugging the hem back down. You much preferred the way his muscles bulged out of the too-small tank more than you liked the sight of his bare chest.

He licked his lips and nodded, jaw going slack as he watched you drop to your knees, the spread of his legs widening to accommodate you as you knelt on the floor between them. A shudder ran through him as your hand wrapped tight around his length and you let your tongue loll out of your mouth, the pool of saliva you’d collected there dribbling out all over his cock.

The tip of your tongue just barely grazed his slit that was already leaking and he moaned deeply at the feeling, knowing it was as close as he’d ever get to you sucking him off.

Your hand curled around him and began to move in a slow, even stroke. It was perfunctory. Totally emotionless. Gator couldn’t stay hard unless he got jerked off a little first—probably some kind of performance anxiety holdover from puberty.

Truth be told, you didn’t mind it so much.

You sort of liked watching him fall apart from nothing but your fist and spit. Making his brow scrunch and his mouth slacken, seeing him throw his head back and the muscles in his thick neck strain as he huffed and gasped out his labored breaths, cheeks puffing as he panted.

“Wh-where’s your ring?” he asked, his voice already weak and pitiful as he propped himself up on his elbows to get a better view of the work your hand was doing.

“Bottom of the lake,” you said shortly, giving him a steady glare over your pumping fist.

“That why you’re here, then?” he grunted. “Cos you two had a fight?”

“Not a fight,” you corrected, hacking another glob of spit on his cock. “We’re done. Found him in bed with some floozy from the Family Fare.”

Gator scoffed. “S’that it?”

“Yes, that’s it,” you snapped back. “That not a good enough reason for you?”

“Just seems kinda harsh s’all. It’s not like you and I haven’t been—ah-ah-ahhh!”

Your stroking ceased abruptly, a mean glint in your eye as you closed both fists around him and started to twist—not unlike the burns you used to give his arm on the playground.

“That’s different,” you seethed through gritted teeth. “We didn’t get caught.”

Gator whimpered at the harshness of your touch, his abdomen flexing under thin white cotton as he squirmed. “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he stammered. “You’re right, you’re right.”

“Damn fucking right I’m right,” you grumbled, releasing your hold on him.

With a couple of strained gasps, Gator struggled to regain his breath as you got to your feet and began to drag your panties down your legs.

He was hard as a rock now—no surprise there.

He pushed himself up to lay on the bed, his toes already curling over as you climbed on top of him. You straddled him at the waist, knees bracketing his hips as you lifted your dress.

His eyes strained in the dark for just a glimpse of you, watching hungrily as you bunched your skirt in one hand and made a few cursory swipes across your clit with your other.

“Suck,” you instructed as you brought your fingers to his lips, request redundant as he was already eagerly taking all three into his mouth.

He mewled around them, licking sloppily at the wetness there, the tang of your arousal covering his tongue. Bullying him always got you riled up in a way you never fully understood.

Fingers now thoroughly coated in a mix of your slick and his spit, you reached down to align him with your entrance. His cock twitched excitedly in your hand as you rubbed his head through your folds, and he made a sniveling sort of noise as you began to lower down onto him.

His hands came up and he reached for your chest only to be slapped away as you sank further, your body stretching to take him in until he was seated fully in your heat. The slow and deliberate grind of your hips had him squirming under you already, whimpering at the sensation as your walls squeezed around his shaft.

Letting your head tip back and your eyes flutter until they closed, you lost yourself in the rhythm you set rocking back and forth on his cock.

Tentatively he reached out again, this time aiming for your hips, and you surprised the both of you when you let his hands settle there to hold you.

He was nearly silent, emitting only a few soft grunts and quiet huffs of pleasure as you rode him at this punishingly slow pace. He could be such a fucking jackrabbit sometimes, it was like pulling teeth getting him to bend to your will and go at your preferred speed.

But he was behaving surprisingly well this time.

For a moment, it didn’t even feel like you were fucking someone you hated. It was as if Gator wasn’t the one under you at all. At least not the Gator you’d despised for most of your life, but a good Gator. A Gator who listened to you and cared about you and did whatever he could to—

“That’s right, you love that dick, don’t ya?”

The sound of his voice effectively shattered the illusion you’d built in your mind, and you felt your eyes narrow as they snapped open, reality rushing back in. Below you, Gator was totally unphased, lips still quirked and his brow raised as if expecting praise. Idiot.

“Feel’s good, eh?” he asked.

“It did,” you hissed at him. “Until you opened that stupid mouth.”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged with a knowing smile as his fingers tightened briefly on your hips. “I think you like my stupid mouth sometimes.”

Well…he’s got you there.

And the thought, unfortunately, has a wave of arousal crashing through your body that Gator can now feel gushing around his cock.

You slid forward roughly in retaliation, rolling your whole body against his as you started to fuck him harder. The motion and shift change made Gator suddenly buck up from underneath you, sending a jolt through your core. You glanced down at his face, all scrunched up like he was in pain, biting down on his bottom lip to hold himself together, even though you knew it was taking everything he had not to blow now.

“Don’t you dare come in me, Gator,” you warned, the grind of your hips still speeding up. “You keep your dirty fucking seed to yourself, you hear me?”

His long fingers squeezed harder at your waist, digging into your flesh like he was trying to bruise you through the thin material of your dress.

He started pushing you down to meet his thrusts as he in turn fucked up into you. Sweat beaded on the ridge of his strong brow, his rosy lips parting in a gasping moan. He threw his head back, the muscles in his neck flexing under freckled skin.

If he wasn’t such a tool, he might be handsome.

The lewd sound of slapping flesh filled the room as you worked up to a bounce to meet his thrusts. You leaned forward to brace yourself on his chest, a low moan escaping as you gripped the material of his white tank in your fists. He smirked at you, that insufferable smugness returning when he heard the sound you tried to hide and failed.

“Don’t you fucking smirk at me,” you sneered. “You think I want your melon-headed spawn? Think this town actually needs more of your godforsaken DNA in it?”

With a mean sneer of his own to match yours, he planted his feet on the bed and gave himself the leverage he needed to slam upwards inside you. The unforgiving punch and drag of his cock along your walls made you keen and grasp more desperately at his shirt, threatening to rip it apart.

“Whas the matter, hon?” he asked, his smile all teeth. “S’not me making you feel so good, is it? Can’t be—cos I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing? Right?”

He punctuates each word with an especially deep thrust and you hate how close he’s got you now.

You push back against him, returning each thrust with a squeeze of your walls. Everything else falls away as he strokes that spot inside you hate him for reaching. Especially now, as you’re going to come and you know he can tell.

With a guttural groan and making the ugliest face he’s pulled yet, Gator’s spend spilled out of him. The warmth of it flooded your whole body—never more grateful for the IUD you made that special trip out of state to get placed. Your body was still radiating from your own orgasm, all that tension and rigidness in you loosening at last like spaghetti finally starting to cook.

“Fuck, Gate…”

A languid sigh tumbled past your lips and your body slumped forward, limp and exhausted. You were closer to him now, hands still on his chest to keep yourself up, not quite laying against him, but close enough so he could slide his large hands up and down your back in a soothing rub.

“Oh, c’mon now, tough stuff,” he teased from beneath you. “Don’ tell me yer goin’ soft on me?”

“Only one goin’ soft is you,” you snapped, arms trembling as you pushed yourself up so his dick could slip out and flop over, slick and spent.

His hand came up and caught your face as you started to move off him, stilling you as he cradled your jaw in his wide grasp and a calloused thumb brushed across your soft cheek. And even though you knew he couldn’t, it almost felt as though he could see the faint remnants of tears that spilled there—the ones you despised yourself for letting fall; the ones you’d scrubbed from your face until your skin was raw and dry; the ones that made you feel so weak.

You withdrew from him, swatting his hand away as you climbed off him and the bed, ignoring the way his head had started to lift to kiss you.

Silently, he watched you gather yourself to leave.

The straps of your dress hung loose around your shoulders and you made no attempt to straighten the crooked bust or to fix your smeared mascara.

You picked up your shoes, but you let them dangle at your side, planning to stop at the front door downstairs to put them on—smiling out at the party, letting everyone get a good, long look. A big you-sized middle finger to Drew.

“Wait a minute—” Gator said suddenly, his voice hoarse and strained.

You paused at the words and glanced back at him over your shoulder. He sat up further, the heaving in his chest having started to slow, his eyes shiny in the harsh blue light of his computer monitor.

He gulped, inhaling a shaky breath as you arched your brow at him.

“Vape?” he asked, his gaze flitting to your chest.

A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of your mouth as you sauntered back over towards the bed. You leaned forward on your fists, his lumpy mattress sinking under them as he scooted closer and you kissed him. Sweet and soft this time.

Far nicer than he deserved.

He breathed into it, sucking you down as desperately as he did those strawberry-kiwi flavored hits, his hand coming up to finally, finally palm the breast you’d refused to let him touch.

So distracted by the kiss, he didn’t notice you slipping the lime green device from the front of your dress. You pulled back from his face, grinning at him now all sly and catlike.

And flung it straight out his open window.

#TBR

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