special interest: steve harrington's chest hair

PART TWO - SUPPORT SYSTEM

summary: steve and you are young, taking care of a younger child. ups and downs are expected to happen as the holidays approach.

time period: christmas 1985.

PART THREE - HAPPY BIRTHDAY

summary: jodie's birthday was coming up, and steve gets the group to throw a surprise party for her.

time period: early january 1986

PART FOUR - CHALLENGER

summary: after a horrifying day at school for jodie, you and steve comforted her, even though your mind could not stop thinking about the upside down horrors that she is unaware about.

time: january 28th, 1986

PART FIVE - ROCKIN' ROBIN

summary: jodie found an idol in robin buckley.

time period: august 1986

PART SIX - MR. WHATSIT

summary: when holly disappears, jodie does too and you nearly lose your life while trying to protect her.

time period: november 1987

PART SEVEN - VESSEL

summary: all you wanted to do is bring jodie home, which put you at another risk at death. steve and you get into a heated argument, since your mind was clouded over the decision to fully adopt jodie before someone else could.

time period: november 1987

PART EIGHT - WELCOME HOME

summary: after defeating vecna, jodie saw her biggest fears come to life. she thought abandonment was in her cards, unaware that you and steve would never leave her alone again.

time: november 6th, 1987.

~ season four AU headcannons

YOUR BIGGEST FAN HATER

“It’s fucking horse shit, Steve.”

You let go of the talking button from the mixer, and you heard Steve groan from inside the recording booth. Eddie was holding back a laugh from the couch as Joyce snickered on your side. You saw how Steve raised his arms in defeat, staring at you with eyes that were filled with anger.

“What the fuck do you want from me?” You leaned over to press the button again, speaking into the mic.

“I know this isn’t what you want to play, and I know this isn’t what your fans want. Stop trying to be mainstream.” You let go of the button again and inhaled deeply, when you saw him angrily putting the guitar away on its stand, and Joyce sighed heavily as Steve opened the door of the booth, walking towards you.

“We’ve been working on this song for a month already, I tried every fucking version of it, and you are still not happy.” 

“I’m in your PR team. I know what will look and sound best for you.” Your reply was cold, and it made Eddie whistle from the couch.

“Let’s not get into an argument today–” But he got cut off by Steve, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Too fucking late, stay out of it Munson.” Eddie sighed, and you crossed your arms over your chest, facing your client. “What if you are cutting my wings off, huh!? Maybe this is the music I want to make, and you are not letting me.”

“Oh no, you are completely free to do whatever you want. But I studied you, Steve, and punk is not your style, nor what you really want to do. Redo it.” Your voice was sharp as you stared into those hazel orbs of his. Joyce stood behind you, and you were either the best decision ever or the worst.

Because you were Steve’s number one critic. Number one hater.

It started as a joke months ago. You were bored, sitting in your bed while watching TikToks, where you slowly but surely started getting angrier and angrier because every two videos you scrolled, Steve Harrington’s song was used. Over. And over. And over. And it wouldn’t fucking stop.

So you decided to Google the bastard. He filled your TikTok, Instagram, car radio, and weekly top song playlists. His song stayed for weeks and weeks, and you were sick of him. When you looked at his photoshoots, you saw the attraction—you really did… until you saw red carpet looks… listened to his album, and—he was fucking overrated. 

His songs had different vibes, some lyrics didn’t make sense or didn’t match the tunes, then in the red carpet he was dressed horribly sometimes, and then at concerts he didn’t know how to properly interact with fans, and also how to fucking dress. Who the hell wears a basketball getup singing a ballad?

He almost looked like he didn’t have a PR team at all to advise him.

But you were pissed. It was going to be a small joke. A small blog post giving a detailed critique of his outfit on the red carpet. You were anonymous, so you weren’t worried about that part, but you were surprised when people started agreeing with you, as well as those crazed fans you hated who tried defending his every move. He could have made a lady trip on purpose, and the fans would defend him and say he has a condition that makes his body spasm and do things against his will.

For some reason, seeing people agreeing with you filled you with relief. You got the anger out. Only for it to come back the next day when your little cousin would not stop playing the damn fucking song at a family gathering. You watched an interview of his that night, the latest one he had. You were surprised he was quite charming, but there was still a tone in his voice that made your insides fire up with rage.

And then it was post after post after post. You had a following; some agreed completely with you, some found your content funny, and some followed you only to try to tear you down every time you posted. You didn’t care. You were right in what you were saying, in every little detail you pointed out. You did, though, delete all harsh insults against him. You disliked Steve Harrington but not to the point of being evil and a piece of shit about it.

He had his good points too, which you couldn’t deny. He was pretty, very much so. He had a good voice. He had good hair. He was very nice to people in interviews, and whenever he met fans outside. Still, the dislike won over those points each time he did something unnerving or his only two hit songs played over the most random shit. Like your elevator in your apartment.

You were venting out your anger towards this guy with no other thought than to relieve yourself from how annoying everything felt, only for that venting to be read by someone. The star himself.

Now Steve first laughed it off. He was a bit taken aback by people agreeing on some of the stuff you said, but he rolled his eyes each time, saying you didn’t know what you were talking about. He showed the blog to Eddie, and unbeknownst to Steve, Eddie showed it to Joyce, his manager. Without Steve’s knowledge, Joyce started taking some of your suggestions at hand, be it for his clothes, his getup, his topics of conversation in interviews or podcasts, and you nailed it each time.

His views went up. His following went up. His hashtags trended each time, unlike before. You were good, really good. And Joyce didn’t want you to go unpaid for it.

Two months have passed since Joyce contacted you. At first you thought it was fake, a bullshit account or them trying to dox you, only to find a legitimate contract, and you were in desperate need for cash. This paid well. Very well. The plus? You got to tour around the country and see many states, all paid for.

Steve had tried to fire you on the spot when he met you, but Joyce forbade it. You were under her agency’s contract, not Steve’s. He could complain, but unless you did a bad job, there was no need to fire you. And you hadn’t done a bad job. It was excellent each time. Thanks to you, Steve had risen in popularity as one of the hottest men of the day. You had advised him to be more carefree in interviews and give people a chance to make memes out of him, out of his faces, and out of his gestures.

He didn’t understand it at first until he started seeing a cropped part of an interview of his being used as a reaction. The comments were from ‘Who is this?’ ‘Oh, he is cute!’ ‘Damn he fine.’ He didn’t want to admit it. He wasn’t going to admit you were right. 

But now with his music, he didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of being right. Not with the one thing he wanted to do since forever, even when he was still following Daddy’s command. You didn’t know anything about him, so what could you know about his music? 

“You are fucking insufferable, I have promised my fans I would give them a sneak peek of my new song weeks ago, and I have till tomorrow!” His next concert was in Philadelphia. He suggested premiering a song he had been working on for a while, and you were skeptical. You started asking him for demos, and each time, you were never happy. 

“Then you won’t sing it!” Your voice was sharp as you delivered the order. Your body was tense, sweat pooling at the tips of your fingers, the more you stared at the man before you. There was fire in the room, that is something you could feel on your skin right now. 

“I will sing it! I promised that–”

“You are not even sure of your own song, so why sing it? People will not like it if you do not like it.” Steve’s jaw fell at your words, the anger rising up in him more and more. He couldn’t fucking stand you. He couldn’t fucking stand you were good at your work. He couldn’t fucking stand that you couldn’t stand him either.

“And what do you know what is in my mind?” He spat back, and Joyce finally got in between, separating the two of you. You hadn’t noticed just how close you stepped towards him. How his breath fanned over your face. Only when the warmth of it was gone from your nose did you realize the closeness. 

“Okay, let’s settle. Steve, I think she is right. You are not even sure of this song…” Joyce tried to explain calmly, unlike you did to him. You could see Steve’s vein popping on the side of his neck as he clenched his jaw. Eddie cleared his throat as he got up from the couch, putting a hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“Let’s go cool off, big boy.” Eddie winked your way, always telling you he would somehow make the waters grow calm again. You wondered if that was going to be the case this time. Steve’s eyes never left your face, and yours never left his. 

Finally, he turned around without saying anything else and left the room. Eddie turned to look at Joyce with a wince, only for her to wave at him as thanks. Once the door closed, she turned to you, crossing her arms over her chest. You frowned, confused, shrugging your shoulders in question.

“What?”

“A little more tact, next time?” You rolled your eyes at her request, shaking your head.

“Tact? Tact is what led him to make all the mistakes he did before. No one was telling him what was right and what looked awful.” Joyce sighed, rubbing her temple in annoyance. 

“You two…” 

“Us two, what?” And it seemed as if Joyce bit her tongue. She shook her head to dismiss what she was about to say.

“Let’s hope tomorrow he doesn’t… do something reckless.”

You doubted it.

It sucked.

People didn’t like it.

Just like you said.

Just like you had fucking said. 

He had tried the version of the song he liked best, and people clapped at the end of it, but it wasn’t massive cheering. He went against your order of not singing the song, but he had convinced himself he liked it, and honestly, he couldn’t even blame it entirely on the people. He hated every single version he made of this song.

The lyrics looked good, but the tune of it was what sucked. It didn’t fit. The lyrics didn’t fit any of those beats or genres he played around with. He really wanted this song, but he hated every version he wrote. What was his own version? He thought he had himself figured out, but now? Now it was all a blur.

It was 2 am, and he went down to the hotel bar for a drink because he needed a distraction from looking at his phone and read what people had to say. He sat down at a booth, drinking his negroni, and pulled out his notebook for his songs. He flipped through the pages and found the lyrics of this particular song, and he frowned as he remembered the lack of enthusiasm from the crowd. 

He put on his reading glasses and he was scanning it, over and over again, so focused he missed the part where you had sat down in front of him with a beer in hand.

“Told you.”

His head snapped up to look at you. There was no smirk, no smug grin, no ego being shown. You were being professional, but he still hated it. He hated you for being right. For having been the reason his career had been going up instead of plummeting to the ground. 

“No need for those remarks right now.”

You studied his face. It was one of those you particularly enjoyed. When he looked concentrated, and that little piece of hair fell on the side of his face, over those glasses, that's when you thought he looked best. Your breathing hitched at the intrusive thought, one of the many you had about the man in front of you, and even more since you started working with him. 

“You know, we could try to figure it out together.”

He was surprised at your response, making him look up from his notebook with a skeptical look. He studied your face, waiting to see a flinch that would give away you were joking, or a little tug at the corner of your lips trying to cover up your laughter, but he found none.

“Are you serious?” You shrugged, taking a sip of your beer before looking down at his hand that was holding a pen.

“When I tell you I didn’t find it nice, it didn’t mean I didn’t have ideas.” You confessed to him, and he tilted his head your way, still squinting with skepticism.

“Why didn’t you?”

“It wasn’t my place. Like you said, you know yourself better than anyone else, so I wasn’t going to let my ideas maybe… influence you.” You looked down, a little bit embarrassed because it was the first time you and Steve had a civil talk for once. You were also a little angry for wanting to talk to him like this, but he never gave you such a chance… or maybe you hadn’t.

He blinked a few times in surprise, looking down at his notes for a second. He gulped once, and he cleared his throat.

“You think your ideas are so good that they would influence me? Wow, a bit of an ego there.” You couldn’t help but chuckle because it was just a matter of minutes before he made it a fight, but you were surprised when he laughed along. He didn’t mean what he just said. He hesitated for a few seconds before sliding the notebook your way.

“Collaborative.” You said, and he rolled his eyes, handing the pen to you. You took it, your fingers grazing his for a second, sending chills all over your body. Chills, you were going to pretend did not happen at all. 

“C’mon, let me see what your ideas are.” He took a sip of his drink as he watched you study the lyrics. Instead of scribbling on top of his original ones, you were respectful and wrote it all over on a new page. He, of course, noticed it, and it made him move in his seat in which he thought was because he was uncomfortable, but in all honesty, he felt… delighted.

“I think that if you change some adjectives here, or even elongate some phrases, you can make this song like… Slow, but with a slight upturn in the bridge.” You explained as you scribbled a few more seconds before giving the notebook back to him.

He studied it with a frown and–

“God, can you stop being right for two seconds?” Your eyes widened at his outburst, but before you could mention anything of it, he called for a waiter and ordered another negroni and a beer for you. You hadn’t noticed you had drank the entire bottle while writing down notes. 

“I didn’t even say I wanted another beer!” You complained, and he glared at you, but there was a hint of something else behind it. Respect, and also, the need for you to stay.

“Well, we’re gonna work on this, so you have to be fueled up.”

And for some reason, that made you happy. It made you feel useful in another kind of way. Instead of clashing all the time, the two of you spent an hour working on that notebook while drinking and letting the alcohol relax you both. You did not fight. You did not clash against each other. You were hearing one another out and that’s– Fuck, that’s all you’ve ever wanted.

When you first met Steve, you tried to introduce yourself nicely; he was a client after all. He obviously had his ego busted thanks to you, so he didn’t want you near him at all. At first, you didn’t care, but then, when you saw him interact with his best friends, or with Joyce, even with random girls, you couldn’t help but feel jealous that you were never going to have that kind of Steve for you. You were never going to have one of his smiles directed your way, or you would never hear his laughter thanks to you.

And that’s because you liked it. You liked that side of him, and you have always loved what you shouldn’t have.

An hour passed, the three beers now kicking in, but just making you tipsy, bold, and to Steve’s surprise, giggly. You laughed at certain things he pointed out, and just like you, he hated that you never smiled for him. He hated that all he got from you were snarky remarks or orders. It intrigued him, which only added to the fuel of despising you. Why would he want a mean girl like you? Why would he want someone who criticized him out of fun? That’s fucked up. He clearly had something wrong going on in his head.

But he couldn’t deny how pretty you looked. There were times he remained silent while you said something because, even when angry because of something he said, you looked pretty. You looked pretty while frowning, glaring at him. Eddie had joked around with him, telling him you two needed to fuck it out and get it over with. Steve didn’t know what Eddie was on about because, why the hell would he want to fuck you?

And now, with four drinks in, he can answer that fucking question with no shame.

It was always a tug-of-war game, see who caved in first. There were times, little ones, when he would be having a hard time with a fan interaction, and you would step up to cover for him. You were in charge of making sure no interviewers asked out of line questions to him. 

And on your side, you noticed how Steve would order either coffee or ask Joyce if she could give you a day off. There were times when you didn’t sleep because it was an event, an interview, and a concert, back to back to back, so the content was fresh. You had to do your investigation and see what the people were talking about, and not miss a single hour. Joyce told you that Steve demanded you back off for a while.

You were mad at first, only to realize after sleeping for twelve hours straight just how badly you needed to rest. You tried thanking him after that, but it ended with you two staring at each other before he got called into the recording booth. You never got to thank him for those times when, even if your job was to basically shut him down, he cared for your health.

The two of you weren’t blind to each other, you were just idiots.

“Okay, hang on, so, you and Eddie never banged?” Steve almost spat his negroni, a laugh escaping his lips, shaking his head. 

“Why the fuck would you even think that!?”

“He is very touchy!” Steve smirked, tilting his head to the side, making that curl of his hair fall a little bit as well. Damn him.

“You jealous that he is touchy with me?” You gasped, feeling your stomach do a twirl at the accusation, but you shook your head aggressively.

“No! But come on, the girls online also think you two are dating! There’s even fucking fanfictions about you two!” He squinted slightly, now confused.

“What are fanfictions?” Your eyes widened in surprise, a smile of mischief appearing on your lips. You hummed as you grabbed your phone and tapped on the screen. He took this time to scan your features. You looked relaxed, as if you were treating him like a person and not the celebrity you have to keep in check. Then his eyes moved downwards, and– that damn neck of yours. Fuck–

“Here.” You handed him your phone with a smirk on your face. He took it without question, seeing it was text, and he took a sip of his drink as he read, adjusting the glasses over his face. For some reason, he decided to read it out loud, which only made you cover your mouth in anticipation–

“Steve could only look Eddie into his eyes for a few seconds, before his hands started making their way to the belt of his best friend’s pAAAHNT–” He dropped the phone on the table with disgust and a yelp, and you burst out laughing, throwing yourself back onto the booth, holding your belly. “What the hell!”

You couldn’t help but feel the tears building up from laughing so hard, and soon enough he started laughing too, taking his glasses off to cover his eyes as if he were in pain. The song was forgotten, the work, the fans, the blog, everything. You were just in a bar booth, laughing your ass off with a cute boy. That’s what it felt like.

“And you’re always the passive.” Steve choked on his saliva as he leaned down to rest his head into his arms, cradling it while laughing hysterically into them. You wiped your eyes, trying to cease your laughter, but having a hard time doing so. 

“I’m gonna kill myself.” He said jokingly, which prompted you to laugh again. After a minute, he finally came back up, his eyes teary from the laughter, and he was taking deep breaths in to calm himself down. “Also, the passive!?” 

“Yeah, the one who takes it.” He rolled his eyes and chuckled, leaning back with his arms crossed over his chest, which only made your eyes fall to the extent of his biceps getting slightly bigger because of the flex. You gulped as you were finally left with small giggles, putting your phone away.

“If only my fans knew.” He mumbled, but you caught on to it. You frowned in question, a cheeky smile on your lips as you rested your elbows on the table and your chin at the top of your joined hands. 

“Knew what, Harrington?” His eyebrow twitched for just a second in thought before he finally caught sight of you. His body tensed, and the air around you both did as well. You two were lucky no one else was down there at the bar at that time. 

So, as his tongue and muscles got a bit loose thanks to the alcohol, his crossed arms came to rest on the table as well, leaning forward, your way.

“If they knew how I really was in bed, I would not be considered the bottom.” Your legs clenched together at those words because– Fuck, it’s been a while since you had sex and, you had been interested in Steve despite hating him, but it shouldn’t be. It shouldn’t happen, and now he is letting your imagination go wild.

“Oh? And how is the nice, charming, gentlemanly Steve Harrington in bed, huh?” You tried to sound as teasing as possible, using the names people called him online, but all you got from him was a cheeky grin, one that was making your entire body turn on like a wildfire.

“That, I keep to myself and whoever I have sex with, honey.” The pet name. The pet name came out by itself and with no restraint. He was staring at your reactions, and– Was he causing any? He noticed how you looked away, taking the last sip of your beer and, fuck, he did. He did cause a reaction, and you looked good like this. You looked good when you were speechless.

And he can think of a way or two to provoke that again.

“As long as there’s an NDA afterwards.” You joked a bit, trying to hide how much you have reacted to his words because the images in your head kept popping up. You have seen him shirtless thanks to photoshoot campaigns, and, thanks to the girls online pointing it out, you obviously stumbled over thirst posts… some were of his bulge thanks to his tight pants. 

He huffed a bit as his eyes never left your figure, his tongue licking the inside of the bottom of his lip in thought, trying to gather up even more courage than what the liquid had given him. It was starting to wear off, so he had to use it quickly.

“And what about you?”

“Mmm?”

“How are you in bed? You think that in a so-called fanfiction of this, would you be the bottom?” Your eyebrows went up, stunned at the bold question. You leaned back, putting your hands to your sides, grabbing onto the seat, and popping your chest up as if you were lying back on the seat. His eyes drifted to your cleavage, and fuck, did that dress look good on you.

“Well… If it were a fanfiction of me and you… I would definitely be pegging you.” His eyes widened, his arms still crossed as he leaned back. His pants started to tighten up more and more, and if your teasing before made him hard a few times, the sexual teasing was going to be the death of him.

“Is that right?” He challenged, and the fire just kept spreading more and more, and this was not supposed to happen, because it shouldn’t. You really should get up, say goodbye, and go away. Yet, you stayed put.

“What? You think you could dominate the situation? I hardly believe it, you can barely fight me when I suggest something for your image.” You scoffed to emphasize your mockery, but he didn’t even smile. Instead, his pupils were dilated, looking your way. It only made your limbs grow limp. It was as if he just made your entire self feel like something you could squish with just a hard grip. 

“Hmm…” He hummed, his eyes still racking all over your body, and he wanted you to feel it. He wanted you to feel observed, he wanted you to feel like fucking prey for him, because he knew he was good. He knew it, and that is the one thing he won’t tolerate you criticizing.

He really wants to shut you the fuck up.

“I’m sorry. We need to do a clean-up before the morning shift starts?” The waiter came over as politely as possible, and your eyes noticed the discomfort on his face. He was obviously uncomfortable because he knew he had interrupted, but maybe it was for the better. You took a deep breath before standing up. Steve gave a generous tip to the waiter, getting up and putting the small notebook in his back pocket while he hung his reading glasses on the collar of his button-up shirt. 

“Thank you.” You mumbled to the waiter before you headed out of the bar, Steve following right behind. Every step felt heavy with tension as you two walked towards the elevators. He stood next to you with his hands in his front pockets, and you were trying not to glance, but the stickiness between your legs was bringing you back to the real world, in which you were wet for the man you ‘hated’, making you move in your place.

“You gotta pee?” He asked as the elevator dinged and the doors opened. Spacious and empty. Your belly flipped, and you noticed how his hand pressed against the frame so the doors wouldn’t close, so you could step in first. You gulped, walking into the elevator, shaking your head.

“No. These heels are just killing me.” He chuckled, stepping inside and pressing your room’s floor first. You were surprised he remembered it. 14.

“Really? You’ve been sitting all night, though.” He reminded you, and you felt yourself flushing over at being caught. You shrugged, trying not to let the nerves, or rather, the need to jump on him, consume you as the doors closed, leaving you two alone.

“They can still hurt. You’ve never worn heels, you have no say.” He chuckled at your response, and then it was silent.

The air was tense, just the sound of the elevator slowly moving as it went up. You scratched the side of your face, trying to distract yourself from the events of the night. He then leaned against the mirror behind him, his arms crossed as his eyes ran all over your body, which only made you scoff a bit.

“What?”

“Why are you acting like you’re the main character of a music video?” You asked, kind of irritated. He chuckled, tilting his head.

“Jealous?” 

“Of your ego? Never.” 

Then the floor kept clicking upward, and his hand raked over his hair, as if nervously, or maybe fed up.

“You know, for someone who claims to hate me, you have a knack of finding me in every single room we're in.”

Your eyes widened at his words, making your head turn to look at him. He was grinning your way, knowing he was getting under your skin. You level him with one look, shaking your head.

“Please, you orbit me, Harrington.” Then it was silent as you two stared at one another. The air was thick with tension, and you could hear your heartbeat in your ear, a loud ringing that was making you almost lose your balance.

Steve was feeling the pulse in his neck quicken by the second, and it almost felt as if it were about to pop his vein off. He uncrossed his arms, and he took a step closer your way, tentatively.

“Do you still hate me?” His question made your stomach flip, when it fucking shouldn’t. You lifted your chin, trying to make it look like you were unfazed.

“Shouldn’t I?”

That only prompted him to take one more step, and you would only have to raise your hand to touch his chest from how close he got to you. You could feel the heat on your ears, on the tips of your fingertips, in your belly. 

“You didn’t look like you hated me when you were laughing down at the bar with me.” 

Your breathing skipped as his eyes went down to your lips, and your knees trembled slightly at how good he was with physical teasing. He knew what to do to make you crumble, and you hated him a little more because of that. 

“Maybe you just didn’t look like a jerk then.”

“Do I look like one now?” His response was fast, ready to counterattack you. You stayed silent, and that was the answer he needed. He licked his lips, studying your face as his hand itched with the need to touch you. The need to grab you, anywhere. “You’re really… insufferable, honey.”

Your mouth opened in disbelief at his words, only for the elevator doors to open on your floor. Maybe he was only mocking you for the night. Maybe it was his goal to know if you fancied him or not, and he might have gotten his answer, and that made you mad. You scoffed and stepped out of the elevator, ready to go to your room and write a long fucking post on how he sucked ass tonight–

But his hand gripped your arm, pulling you back in as his other hand pressed against another button aggressively, his floor, just four more floors up. You managed to let a small gasp leave you before his lips clashed against yours, the elevator doors closing behind you.

Your body moved instinctively, your arms wrapping desperately around his shoulders as his arms wrapped around your body, his hands on your back, pressing you close to him. It felt desperate, rough, filled with pent-up feelings that both of you were never going to admit. 

He backed the two of you against a wall, his hand stopping the impact for a second so you wouldn’t hit it hard, before wrapping it back around your body. You could feel your center throbbing for him, and this was just a kiss. Not even with tongue. His hand glided down to your right thigh, making you wrap your leg around his hip, and then, you moaned into his mouth.

His hard on was tight against his pants, pressing it against you and creating friction on your clothed clit. He took the advantage of pushing his tongue inside your mouth, finally having a proper taste of you, making his stomach flip over. His hips rolled instinctively once, making you groan into the kiss as your nails ran all over his hair, scratching at his scalp.

You heard him groan and grip onto your thigh even tighter, his hand underneath your dress, and someone could walk into the elevator at any moment and see you two together, but you couldn’t care less. Not now. He didn’t care either, even when he should, because he was a rockstar, and this could make it in a post anytime soon. 

Your tongue was exquisite against his, and again, his hatred for you only grew. Why were you so fucking perfect? It wasn’t fair. He pulled away after a second, panting heavily against your lips. 

“Still hate me?” He mumbled desperately, and you nodded, your hips rubbing against his, earning a moan from both of you.

“So much…”

“Then get off on my floor.”

The elevator bounced a bit as it dinged. He pulled away from you as the doors opened, and you didn’t even hesitate to follow him, like a magnet. He smirked breathlessly as he grabbed your hand, pulling you out of the elevator and walking down the hallway. His hand went into the left back pocket of his jeans, and he got his card out, stopping in front of his door. 

You were looking around, making sure you were not being seen, but, in all honesty, some part of you wanted to. Some part wanted people, the girls who thirsted for him, to know he was taking you to his room. Maybe it was your ego talking. Maybe it was just some proud moment of fucking a celebrity… You weren’t going to admit the other possibility of why you wanted everyone to know you were about to fuck Steve.

He passed the card against the lock of the door, and it opened, letting you in first. Once he closed it behind him, he didn’t give you a single chance to look around, to look at the much fancier room he had rented for the night, because he was back on you in an instant. His hands cradled your face as he kissed you roughly, passionately, and fuck you were growing addicted to them. You had never been kissed in such a way, you felt completely and utterly wanted, desired. 

The kiss was greedy, desperate, and then he pulled away from you to kiss down your jaw, then your neck, grazing his teeth against the skin of your pulse point. Your hands were dragging against his biceps, trying to center yourself back to earth, a hoarse chuckle escaping you.

“You kiss like you’ve been waiting to do it since the moment I called you overrated in your face.” Your eyes fluttered shut at a particular suck on your neck, making you sigh.

“I have.” He growled against you, “you piss me off so much, I get hard by thinking about shutting you up.”

“Oh, fuck off–” You were cut off as his hand started moving up on your thigh, under your dress. His fingertips dragging against the elastic of your underwear. His hips pressed against you, making you feel his bulge against your belly, his leg sliding between yours, thigh pressing against your cunt. You moaned against your will, feeling that sweet friction on you again. He pulled away from your neck, his nose brushing against yours.

“This what you imagined?” He murmured, and his mouth brushed against yours, making you sigh. “Me, pinning you like this? Getting you wet after talking shit the way you did?”

“I imagined punching you–” You gasped as his fingers ghosted over your clothed pussy, a soft huff escaping him as he pressed even harder, feeling your wetness.

“And yet you are soaked.”

You were going to retort, if it weren’t for the fact that he got down on his knees, right before you. He hooked your leg over his shoulder, his eyes locked in your panties with hunger in them. You were shocked, looking down at him, and his lips found your inner thigh, kissing it softly before giving it a soft nibble.

“Still want to hit me?” You whined as your hips moved a bit towards him, and his mouth was on the wet lace in a second. You gasped, throwing your head back against the wall as your hands went to grab onto his head. 

“Fuck–” You moaned out as he sucked on your clothed clit. If this is how it felt with your panties on, you were desperate to know how it felt without them. He moaned at your scent, at your taste, and he got his other hand to move between your legs, while the other gripped onto your ass, and he hooked his fingers on the center of your panties to move them to the side.

You clenched at nothing when the cold air hit your pussy, only for that to be replaced by the warmth of his tongue, making you sigh with delight. He swirled it around your clit, making moans escaping you as he groaned into your cunt, before sliding his tongue between your folds, tasting you completely.

“You taste so fucking good…” He moaned into you as he fondled your ass, making you grip his hair even tighter. He lapped at you like a man starved, as if you were the most delectable thing he ever tasted. 

“Fuck, don’t stop… Steve–” You whimpered as your back arched off the wall when he dipped his tongue inside of you. This was the living proof this fucker was a singer. He knew how to move his lips, his tongue, going from licking to sucking and it was driving you wild. 

“Never.” You heard him mumble against you, and then his hand left your ass, and you felt the tip of his fingers gliding against your entrance, making you gasp. “Beg for them.” 

Your mouth fell open at the request, but he sucked on your clit again and your walls clenched around nothing, when they wanted to clench around something. Your body was flushed all over, hating him just a little more.

“Please…”

“Please, what? Come on, you are super clear when you order me around, you can be clear in your begging too.” You fucking hated him. Your belly turned desperately, feeling even more aroused than before, and your dominating side was slowly slipping away from you. 

“Please, use your fingers… Please–”

“Good girl.” Your eyes widened when you felt two of his fingers going inside of you slowly, his ring and middle finger, and– You couldn’t deny it. You had seen his hands before, way too fucking big, and maybe you had fantasized a bit once or twice about them. 

Those fantasies did his fingers no justice as he started pumping them in and out of you mercilessly. The squelching of your pussy echoing in the room as well as your moans and his. He was flickering your clit with the tip of his tongue, curling his fingers towards him to try to find that special spot inside of you.

You moaned his name when you felt your belly start to coil, and you realized you were getting close. Embarrassingly fast. This is what you get for not having a moment’s peace to take care of yourself for weeks.

“Steve– Oh–” He could feel your walls fluttering against his fingers and he groaned as he pulled away from your clit, looking up at you.

“Tell me how much you hate me.” And you felt your body growing a sweat as your legs started to shake, the one over his shoulder twitching as your climax built and built.

“I fucking hate–” You gasped at a particular movement of his fingers, making you jerk against him, the first warning you were going to cum making itself present. Your hands gripped his hair tightly, desperately. “-- that you’re so good at this–”

He chuckled and he sucked hard against your clit, his fingers dragging in and out of you. You were breathing heavily, and then, you came undone. You saw stars behind your eyelids as your back arched off the wall. Your leg over his shoulder hooked towards his back, pushing him into you desperately as you moaned loudly, and he had to concentrate on not cumming right then and there because you just sounded incredible.

He slowed his pace as he helped you ride your orgasm out, licking, taking your slick into his mouth to taste your climax. Once he felt you unclench, and your leg relaxed against him as well as your hands letting go of his hair, he pulled away from you. He breathed in deeply as he tried to catch his breath. 

He patted your leg, silently telling you to move from him, and you followed the instructions, trying to stabilize your breathing as you put your leg down. He gave one last kiss to your clit, making you groan and jerk in your place at the overstimulation. He chuckled, grabbing the edges of your panties to finally pull them down from you. You stepped out of them, and he finally stood back up, towering over you. He threw your panties onto the small table next to the door.

His eyes found yours, and you saw the darkness in them, the lust, and you trembled once again as you felt him grab onto your waist. His lips clashed against yours, and you could taste yourself, making you a little dizzy as your arms wrapped around his shoulders. His tongue instantly connected with yours as he pressed himself against you. Your hand glided downwards in between your bodies, finally touching the big bulge in his pants.

He groaned into the kiss as he felt you palming him, then pressing your palm against him. He needed more. He wanted more. He pulled away from you, breathing heavily into your lips. 

“Bed, now.” You nodded at his request, kissing him desperately again as he pulled the two of you off from the wall, walking you backwards and towards the bed. You jumped a bit when you felt the edge of it on the back of your knees, pulling away from him. His hands gripped the hem of your dress, pulling it over your head. “Oh, fuck–”

You didn’t let him touch you, moving to sit on the bed, getting out of your heels before you moved back onto it, setting yourself in the middle, completely naked. You saw how flushed he was, gripping onto his shirt, ripping it off his body, and then quickly moving to his belt. His movements were rushed as you stared at his stripping. You saw that chest hair you’ve thought of brushing your fingers over a few times before, then the freckles in places you’ve always wondered if they even had them. 

Then he got out of his shoes and jeans, and all was left were those blue tight boxers on him and– Fuck. He looked big. He looked so big. He noticed your eyes on him, making him smirk, but also shiver from the attention you were giving him. He grabbed the hem of them and pulled them down finally, his cock springing up and hitting against his belly and your eyes widened.

You didn’t know if in all your life you had slept with smaller than average dicks or if Steve was just… huge. You noticed the smug look on his face, and you wanted to wipe it off, so you stared at him as you were propped on your elbows, slowly spreading your bent legs for him. His eyes fell back to your cunt and he had to take a sharp intake of breath in, his dick twitching for attention. 

He got on the bed, crawling your way, but before he completely covered you, he leaned to the side, towards the bedside table. You saw him grab his wallet, opening it to get a condom out, making you roll your eyes. He noticed, straightening up after tossing his wallet back on the table.

“Anything you want to say?”

“Nope.” 

“I can absolutely get off of you, if you so want me to–”

“I swear if you don’t fuck me in the next five seconds, I’m walking out of here.” He chuckled at your whiplash of emotions. You saw him rip the foil with his teeth, and that shouldn’t have been as hot as it had been, but here you were. He rolled the condom on himself, and you took a sharp intake of breath as you lay down when he crawled a little closer, getting on top of you. 

“Anything your snarky mouth wants to add?” He asked and you were getting pissed, frustrated as you grabbed onto his shoulders, glaring at him.

“Why are you still fucking talking–” Your words were cut off with a gasp when you felt him pushing in. His eyes were on how your face contorted into a silent moan, a satisfying groan vibrating in his throat as he gave a nibble to your jaw.

“Yeah, there you go, shut the fuck up–” You wanted to punch him, but the more he filled you, the more you couldn’t come up with any words in your head. Your mouth was open, choking on your spit at every inch. “Fuck–”

He cursed as he felt your warmth all around him, and maybe Eddie was right. You two needed to fuck it out. He couldn’t believe how good you felt, and he could have had you all these months if he hadn’t been so stubborn. If you hadn’t been one too. If you two had stopped for a second and just talked with each other the way you did today.

But then, this sex wouldn’t have been as delicious as it was going to be.

He growled into your ear as he thrusted inside of you in one sharp movedent, hilting himself into your cunt, bottoming out completely, and you could barely breathe. It was a sudden stretch. It was big, suffocating even, knocking all the air that was held in your lungs. His hands were on each side of your head, but his lips were on your ear, breathing into it.

He waited for a few seconds for you to adjust to him, but also to calm himself down because he was sure he was going to cum two strokes in. He took deep breaths in as he concentrated on anything else but your soft little whimpers. He felt you roll your hips against him, and he cursed under his breath, his hands gripping the sheets beneath you.

His hips started to slowly roll, in and out, soft movements to get you used to the friction, and you were already going insane for it. You felt so full, each drag against you was incredible, making you tremble underneath him. Your nails were scratching on his back, legs spreading even more.

“Steve– More…” You gulped, not even believing the soft whimper, the soft plea that tumbled out of your lips. He hummed into your ear, and his hips started picking up a pace, and your moans finally started leaving your mouth. He felt a wave of heat all over his body the moment his name was called, breathlessly, and he had to see your face.

He leaned up, holding himself up by his hands as his hips snapped into yours. Your face was contorted in pleasure. Your eyebrows were downwards, your mouth was open, and your eyes were half lidded as you stared at the ceiling. You looked marvelous, and fuck he wanted to see more. He wanted to see you choke on your words.

He sat back on his legs, his hands coming to grip the back of your knees to keep you spread for him, and he started moving in fast thrusts, deep, making the bed creak and the headboard hit the wall behind it, over and over again. Your moans became louder, your hands coming to grip the pillow beneath you. Your eyes found his face. He was frowning, the hair now almost sticking to his forehead, his body was flushed red, and you noticed how the veins on his biceps were pronounced, as well as the one on his neck.

He rolled his head over his shoulders at a particular drag of his cock, making you clench around him. Then again, this time, making him moan your name, which made your brain short-circuit.

“You feel so fucking good…” He felt his belly burning, and he knew he had to be quick in making you cum again because he was going to anytime soon. It was embarrassing, but he wasn’t a man of taking groupies, or fucking his fans. He also barely had time to jerk himself off, because he was barely alone. 

You whimpered at his words, your back arching off the bed as your body bounced back and forth thanks to his thrusts. His eyes were fixed on your breasts, watching them, and he growled as he moved downwards once again, his lips closing on your left nipple and softly tugging on it.

“Steve!” You gasped and he gave the same treatment to the right one, making you clench around his cock. He growled into your breast, his thrusts becoming slow, shallow, and deep. Each time he pulled out, he kept the tip in, only to thrust back in roughly, rolling his hips inside of you at the end of it. 

At each snap, you both heard the loud thump of the headboard, but it only heightened the experience. Whoever was next to him, if they saw you the next day walking out of his room, they would know what happened. He couldn’t care less; in fact, he hoped someone would see you. Someone would see you walking out, with wobbly legs, with his marks all over your neck.

He continues that pace, getting his hand between your bodies, his fingers finding your sensitive clit which made you jerk your hips towards him. You were breathless as tears pooled in your eyes from how good it felt. How amazing he was making you feel, and you wanted to punch him for that. His breath was in your ear as his fingers picked up a pace, making you mewl underneath him.

“Say it.” You frowned in confusion, only for his teeth to bite your earlobe, making you gasp.

“Say what?” He rolled his hips inside of you, making your hands snap towards his biceps, gripping him tightly as you moaned out his name.

“That you don’t hate me.” Another roll that had you biting on his shoulder, a moan escaping his lips, and into your ear. 

“I don’t hate you…” You answered and he moaned your name, sweetly, this time, and you felt your body light up at his tone. Your belly started to burn up again, twirling inside out, and his fingers were working overtime now to get you to cum for a second time.

“Louder, baby. Say it louder.” His hips started moving faster, your walls fluttering around him as your hands ran through his hair, pushing his mouth into your neck. You could feel him biting down on your skin, making you whimper and shiver underneath him.

“I don’t hate you, Steve! Please– Don’t stop–” And he doesn’t. He kept the pace, his fingers on your sensitive clit, swirling around as his cock kept punishing your insides. Your g-spot was grazed at each stroke, and your eyes started to roll to the back of your head.

“I’m about to cum– Fuck–” He cursed your name, and you started panting before your second orgasm crashed into you like a tidal wave, stronger than the first one. Your walls clenched tightly around him, your eyes shutting tightly, and your nails digging into his shoulders.

His name came out of your lips with a cry, your cunt trying to push him out of you from how much you were clenching. He huffed a few breaths, choking on his moans from how tight you felt, to the point it was almost painful. He watched you contort underneath him, and you never looked more amazing than right now.

And at your sight, he came. He groaned your name as he spilled inside the condom, his hands coming to grip the pillow underneath your head as he snapped his hips into you at each spurt. His face almost looked pained, but it was the complete opposite. He could barely handle the pleasure he felt, and he was sure he came way too hard into the condom.

You managed to open your eyes to see his reaction, and fuck– He looked so good like that. Definitely another look you liked on him. Then he finally stilled, and that left the two of you breathing heavily, looking at each other with half-lidded eyes. 

You two crossed a line that should not have been crossed. You couldn’t blame the alcohol because that just made you both brave—brave to do something you were scared of doing before. It didn’t make you do something you two didn’t want; it urged and encouraged you to do it.

Then, he winced when he slowly pulled out of you, looking down at the mess he had made and– he did cum a lot. You groaned at the feeling, and then his eyes found yours again. Should you leave? Should you just… bid goodbye to him now? You didn’t know what any of this really meant, so you needed some guidance over here. You didn’t want to leave, but didn’t know where Steve stood. 

“Well… that happened…” You softly spoke, and Steve huffed, nodding and plopping next to you, staring at the ceiling, same as you. He took the condom off and tied it up, throwing it on the floor, something he could take care of later, because right now, he couldn’t concentrate on that.

“Yeah. That happened.” He was also thinking the same things you were. Should he let you sleep in his room if he leaves? Should he just let himself fall asleep? But fuck, he didn’t want to just pretend that didn’t happen.

So, fuck it.

You were surprised when you felt arms engulf you, pulling you towards a chest as you both now lay on your sides. Your eyes were fixed on his chest hair, feeling your cheeks burning like crazy because you weren’t prepared for him to cuddle you. Not that you were complaining. 

His hands rubbed against your back, his thoughts running. He wasn’t going to let this happen just once. Hell, he wanted what happened back down in the bar. He wanted to kiss you whenever you frowned at him. He wanted to make you proud as well, following your instructions, letting you know he heard. Letting you know he took your words into account.

“Still think I’m overrated?” You couldn’t help but chuckle, your arms wrapping around him.

“Absolutely…” 

But maybe you weren’t so sure you meant it now. His fingertips were softly grazing your skin, giving you soft caresses that made you melt more and more into him. You hummed appreciatively against him, nuzzling against his chest. Then, you started laughing, pulling back a bit from him. He frowned, a smile creeping on his lips.

“What?”

“I just remembered– So many of the comments I get, say that I secretly want to fuck you. That, that’s the reason why I do the blog.” His eyebrows raised in surprise, then a squint with a cheeky glint.

“Secretly? If only they knew we might have to pay the safety deposit of this hotel room because, pretty sure, we made a hole in the wall with the headboard.” You giggled, covering your face in shame, and he could not stop himself from being amused by this new side of you. “You gonna tell your loyal followers the truth?”

“That I got railed by the rockstar I roast for fun?” You hummed a bit, looking up at him. “Tempting.”

“Only if you include the part where you begged.” He smirked and you scoffed, shaking your head, but your heart was filling up with small little butterflies.

“I did not beg.”

“Oh, honey…” He bit his lip, loving this little banter with you as he rolled on top of you again, holding one of your hands against the pillow. “You absolutely begged.”

Before, you would have wanted to punch the smug grin on his face, but right now, you wanted to kiss it. His hair was all messy, and his skin was all flushed. He just looked too pretty, irking you just a little bit.

“You are more tolerable when you don’t talk.” You snarkily replied, and he coughed a chuckle, giving you a small nod.

“And you’re pretty when you’re helping me, instead of being a bit of a bitch.” Your eyebrows raised up in surprise, your mouth falling open. Your heart skipped a bit, tilting your head at him.

“Is this admitting you like me, rockstar?” He hummed, putting his lips on your shoulder to lay a soft, lazy kiss there. You sighed, your eyes fluttering closed for a second.

“Let’s say, I didn’t hate fucking you stupid.”

“Wow, romance isn’t dead.” You replied dryly, not really liking that answer, not noting the sarcasm and humor behind his tone. He noticed, chuckling and pulling his head back up to look down at your angry face.

“Let me take you out.” And you weren’t expecting that, your breathing catching in your throat as you tried to swallow from the sudden nerves that invaded you.

“Like a date?” He gulped, finally feeling his stomach turning at the fear of your answer. He slowly nodded, finally admitting to wanting more than to share some sheets with you.

“What do you say?”

You couldn’t help but ponder. This was probably a bad idea, wasn’t it? No matter how you looked at it, this would end up in shambles, wouldn’t it? He was someone famous, you were just a person in his team. That’s all. He noticed you were hesitating, making him grow a little anxious and a bit desperate, so he tried talking again–

“You can still make fun of me, my music, my lyrics, and what I wear. I will even let you write a scathing review of my bedroom performance…” He gulped, knowing he was begging at this point, but something about you was driving him insane. Something was telling him to risk it. To dive in. 

And you found it endearing. You couldn’t help but find him extremely charming, making you bite your bottom lip as your eyes went back and forth with his. You leaned up and gave him a soft kiss on the lips, pulling away with a small nod.

“Okay… Just one.” He smiled at your response, wanting to fist pump the air.

“That’s all I need.” You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. You weren’t going to show him how happy you were, at least not yet. You poked his chest jokingly, raising an eyebrow at him.

“You’re still not that great, you know?” You fought, and he smirked, his mouth leaning close to yours, his voice low and a bit wicked, which made chills run down your spine. 

“Then, let me prove you wrong, again.”

end

Until Noah completely blew it. You'd been on the rocks for a while - he was away at grad school, and you both struggled with the distance. And while you sat there, faithfully waiting for his phone calls and his good morning texts and denying you had any interest in sweet, handsome Steve from work, your boyfriend, as it turns out, was busy reconnecting with his high school sweetheart. Totally innocently, he insisted when you saw him interacting with her posts on Facebook. And then he removed his relationship status from his account. And then, one day, he blocked you and told you he'd deleted the account. But when you told this to helpful Jessica from work, she pulled his profile right up and turned the screen toward you, asking, "Is this him?"

And then tonight, when you were both two or three drinks deep, surrounded by your boss and coworkers, you told Steve. Just loud enough for him to hear you over the music, and just low enough that nobody else could hear, you told him you and Noah had ended things.

In any other circumstance, this might have been a neutral statement, but you saw the way he looked at you - the way his pupils expanded a little, dialed in. You don't even know what you looked like, what he might have seen in your expression, but you didn't miss the way he licked his lips, the way he leaned in just enough that you could smell the cologne on the collar of his brown, leather jacket.

You only just made it to your car when your phone lit up with a text message, all white and blue light illuminating your future transgressions. It only took one sentence for him to make his intentions clear.

I think you've got my wallet, his message read.

You both knew that wasn't true. And so the next phase, the real chase, was on. You sat in your spot in the parking lot, coming up with something plausible in case the company were to ever ask for your records. Your heart pounded in your chest in time with the rain on your windshield, and you finally sent back: Sorry, I'm already back home. Can you come and pick it up? Your follow-up text included your address.

And that brings you to now, waiting for Steve, knowing he's only a few minutes behind you. You've dashed through a quick routine - taking off your shoes and jacket, tidying the kitchen a little, and brushing your teeth again - by the time he knocks on your door.

When you open it and let him inside, your pulse races. You don't know what happens from here, how to get from Point A to Point C.

As it turns out, you don't need to know, because no sooner has he set foot into your house than he's taking your face in his hands, brown eyes burning with something both electric and dark.

You stumble backward, hands instinctually grabbing him by each side of the undone zipper of his jacket. "Steve." Your voice sounds foreign and breathy to your own ears, like someone who doesn't believe their own eyes. Like you think he might be a figment of your imagination, a dream too good to be true.

His jacket is damp from the rain, and his hair is, too, and the front door is still wide open when he rests his forehead against yours and hesitates, lips slightly parted and just a breath away from yours. His chest is still several inches away from yours, like his mind got a little bit ahead of him and now he's not sure he should be so forward. There's a lingering air of "should we do this?" in the space where a greeting should have been, but you've already made up your mind. You cradle the back of his head in your hand and pull him in. The air is thick with tension, like the thunderstorm outside has permeated the atmosphere of your house as well. And when his mouth descends on yours, that first touch is electric, so jarring and desperate that it feels like gravity's been multiplied, drawing you to him. You couldn't fight it if you tried.

Your heart hammers in your chest as he softens under your touch and tugs you in by the belt loops. You always wondered what it would be like, not just kissing Steve but to be held by him. Wondered if you'd be able to feel it in his touch, after all those stolen glances these last couple of years, the late night talks at the bar after your boss went home. Mused on whether his hands would feel as solid and sure on your skin as his thigh does when it's pressed against yours in your tiny cubicle. Well, you were right, but only partly - his touch is sure, but it's urgent, like he's thought about this every bit as much as you have. Like he needs you.

Somewhere in those first few moments, he nudges the front door shut behind him and begins guiding you backwards. One thumb slots into your belt loop, big hand wrapping around your hip as he goes.

He tastes like whiskey and honey and everything you've ever wanted. Because you've seen the way Steve treated Tamara. You've seen him hold her the way you've been dying to be held, the way he's holding you right now. If it were someone else, maybe that would bother you, the idea of him touching you like his ex-girlfriend. But this is Steve - warm, gentle, tactile Steve, and you've been dying to feel even a little bit of the warmth of his sunshine.

"Do you have any idea—" Steve pulls away, looking into your eyes as he eases you down onto the sofa. "—how fucking long I've been wanting to do that?"

Swallowing thickly, you watch as he shrugs off his jacket. As soon as it hits the floor, you pull your knees up to your chest, parting them enough for him to slot himself between them. "As long as I've wanted you?" you suggest, hands finding the buckle of his belt and dragging him closer.

You can already see him straining against the denim of his jeans, the imprint of him hard and mouthwatering. Your mind still feels a little warm and languid from the alcohol, but when you palm him through his jeans without even thinking about it first, you're moving on entirely on desire and instinct.

"Fuck, honey," he sighs, fisting one hand in your hair and pulling just enough to drag a moan from your lips. "Can I—"

He hisses when you begin unbuckling his belt. Your hands are careful as you tug his zipper down, but you look up at the sound he makes to be sure you've not hurt him. He doesn't look like he's in pain, but you ask anyway. "Is this okay?"

The way you look up at him through your lashes seems to do something to him, because his hips buck a little. "Oh my God, yeah. D'you—Fuck, where's the bedroom?"

He swipes a hand through his hair sloppily, pushing it back from his forehead, and you almost release your grasp on him, desperate to run your fingers through it yourself. When your breath hitches, it's like you can feel your lungs rattling against the cage of your ribs. "This way," you tell him, taking his hand in yours as thunder rumbles through the house. As you stand, a flash of lightning illuminates the room, a persistent flicker, thrusting you both into the light just long enough to remember that this isn't who you are in the daylight. Or, rather, that it wasn't.

It could be.

The air is alive with static electricity, and so are you, Steve's mouth only parting from yours just long enough to pull the camisole over your head. By the time you reach your bedroom, he's out of his Levi's, and you're down to your underwear.

You didn't dress up for Steve tonight, or at least not in a conspicuous way. You wore a skirt that was appropriate for work and a fitted, button-down top with a little flare at the waist - nothing super out of the ordinary. But you made up your mind this morning before leaving for work that you were going to tell him, that you were going to be prepared for the pipe dream of ending the night in Steve's bed. So it shouldn't be that jarring when Steve pulls back to observe you, gaze roving the thin material of your bra, a strappy little push-up you picked up last week. But in the lulls of the day, when you let yourself daydream about Steve's hands on your skin, exploring your new lingerie, you assumed it would maybe make him more excited, maybe signal to him just how ready you are. But you didn't expect it to be like this.

Because Steve groans at the sight of you, hands palming your breasts with reverence through the sheer fabric, and then he drops to his knees. You bury your hands in his hair, pulse racing as he presses kisses to your stomach, hands holding your hips. "You're gonna fuckin' kill me," he hums, sounding not displeased about the prospect.

Suddenly, he pulls you down by your hips, sets you down at the foot of the bed and remains on his knees, shuffling forward just a bit to close the gap.

"Steve," you gasp as he pulls one of your legs over his shoulder.

"Did you dress up just for me?" he asks, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of your knee. His gaze is burnt caramel, hot where it follows the curve of your calf, on up to the juncture of your knee, and up to your thighs and beyond.

It's probably a rhetorical question, but when he's looking at you like that, you feel like you need to respond, need to tell him. "I always dress up for you," you say softly.

Your stomach tenses a little in anticipation as his big, soft hands press your thighs apart, exposing you further. "Yeah? You mean like that pretty dress you wore yesterday?"

Lightning cracks across the sky, and the room is turned electric blue as the light shines through your curtains. You nod, watching him leave another chaste kiss higher up your thigh, on the soft skin of the inside. He pulls you a little closer to the edge of the bed, easier for him to reach. His voice is low and sultry, smooth in a way you've never heard it before, as he asks, "And like that tight little skirt you wore today?"

Swallowing thickly, you nod again. You've done a lot of things for Steve tonight, whether he knows it or not. The berry scented lotion, the skirt he always seemed to notice most, the lingerie, the posturing - all of it. All of it's been for Steve.

When his nose brushes against the damp fabric of your panties, the sound you make is less a sigh and more a breath being wrenched from your lungs. It's not voluntary in the slightest. The way Steve was tearing your clothes off in the hall, you didn't expect this, didn't anticipate he'd even bother with foreplay. But maybe you just don't know Steve yet, or at least, not like that. Because everything about him screams intentionality and gentleness.

"Love it when you wear that one," he murmurs, pulling your panties to the side. He presses your thigh against the bed, opening you up as far as he can with your other leg over his shoulder. Then he presses a kiss to the juncture of your thigh and the strappy waistband of your panties, you whine a little at his touch. Something about the tone of his voice, all soft and wanting, has your hands shaking already. His breath is hot on your skin when he adds, "Oh, baby, you're so wet for me already. If I knew you needed me this bad, I would have taken care of you sooner."

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, eyes fluttering shut at the thought as he continues. Your back arches just a little when his thumb drags a slow trail up from your entrance, through your slick folds, and circles around your swollen clit. "Could have drove you home. Could've stroked this pretty pussy in the passenger seat, maybe pulled over along the way if you still couldn't wait."

It's funny how just the sound of him describing the urgency, telling you you could have had him right there in the parking lot, makes you need him so much more now, while he's taking his time. "Steve—" Your hand curls around his bicep as his thumb circles your clit again. It's too direct, just a little too much when you're already so worked up. "—please, been waiting so long—"

"Oh, I know." His tone is bordering on patronizing, leaning just slightly more toward a coo, and hearing him like that makes you feel like your brain is running on dial up. "D'you think I didn't notice how you make twice as many trips to the printer as you need to, just so you can see me?"

No, actually, you didn't think he noticed. And just as you're about to tell him as much, when he buries his face between your thighs, tongue flattening to lick a stripe up from your entrance to the swollen bud of your clitoris.

You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding, fingers weaving into his hair reflexively. You've pictured Steve a lot of ways; you'd be lying if you said you never imagined this. But when he flicks his tongue against your clit, it's slower, gentler than you imagined. In your head, everything was always frenzied, as desperate as you felt. But the reality of his touch is so much… gentler, slower, like he's savoring you even from the very first taste.

One-night-stands and first-times in the days of yore were always very trial and error, and obviously so. You'd have to tell your partner what you do and don't like as it's happening if not discussed in advance, either through gritted teeth when something hurt, or over laughter with a new boyfriend, or with trepidation with your first love.

Steve, you find quickly, isn't like that at all. His mouth is, first of all, absolutely sinful - hot and agile and—

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip when he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks gently, hips rising involuntarily, chasing more more more. "Oh," you gasp, eyes screwing shut at the warmth blooming in your belly. You pull just slightly at his hair, knuckles pressed against the root, and a low moan rumbles from his throat, lips vibrating slightly against your skin. The wrist of your free hand twists above your head, fingers wrapping around the railing of the headboard for something, anything to hold onto. "'S good," you whimper, "so good, Steve."

There's a lot more finesse to Steve than you would have expected, the way he tries new patterns with his tongue, skillfully shifting from one technique to the next without pause. When he does come up for air, panting, he huffs out, "Do that again."

You tug on his hair again, gentle but firm, and that's when you see it, the way his big hand flexes as he palms the bulge straining against the confines of his briefs. Just as he shifts back into flicking his tongue against your clit, up and down, so direct the pleasure's almost painful, you moan with abandon, voice breathy and a little primal. You repeat his name like a mantra, like he can save you from the heat washing over your body, careening toward your orgasm too fast and too intensely.

"That's it, honey, let me hear you," he hums. Instinctively, like your body knows you shouldn't be finishing so soon, your thighs clench around his ears, trying to distance yourself a little from the overwhelming sensation building deep inside you. But try as your body might, there's no escaping him.

Steve's hands work quickly, grabbing your hips to push you farther up the bed, and when he kneels at the foot of the bed, he presses both your thighs flat against the sheets, opening you up entirely. There's nowhere to run, nowhere to hide when his mouth descends on you again, just your hips bucking against his mouth and thighs trembling, completely surrendering to the pleasure just as the first wave of your orgasm breaks.

You don't even hear the thunder rolling outside, pulse pounding in your ears. "Steve, Steve—" The sounds spilling out of your mouth are completely unintelligible. There's something you were going to say, but you don't have a clue what it was, or what you're even saying now, all the consonants soft and vowels trailing as he circles his tongue around the sensitive bud of your clitoris. It's just enough stimulation to work you through it, but indirect enough to keep you from crying out from overstimulation.

Your eyes prick with tears from the intensity of it all: the searing pleasure of your orgasm, the surreal edge of Steve's very presence in your bedroom that's setting in on the comedown, the longing pull coming from behind your ribs that feels like you just need need need more of him.

As the roll of your hips slows down, Steve presses a gentle kiss to your labia and looks up at you, eyes burning with desire and shining just a little with something that looks like pride.

His hand caresses your inner thigh, thumb stroking the sensitive skin there as he murmurs, "Taste so good, honey. Even sweeter than I thought."

Nobody's ever talked to you the way Steve does, with the kind of authoritative reverence in his voice - like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever laid eyes on and he knows you're all his. You've had guys try and talk dirty to you before, but they always seemed to over- or under-shoot—calling you names or sounding too embarrassed to possibly mean their words. But Steve, he can talk to you like this all night if he wants. From the smoldering look in his eyes, you think he just might.

The tears gather in the corner of your eyes, but you blink them away, reaching out for him, needing him like you've never needed anyone before. There's something about this dynamic between you - tense, like a fishing line pulled tight - that feels like it could break if you say the wrong thing. You want more of that authoritative but gentle tone of his voice, and his confident, attentive ministrations. When you told Steve you were single, you thought you were taking control of the situation, that maybe you'd be the one to shove him onto your mattress and tell him exactly what you want. But you weren't prepared for this side of Steve, cocky but so, so eager, so smooth and adoring all at once.

You need him, need more of him like you need to breathe. When he shuffles forward a little, crawling up your sweat-slick body to press a kiss to your lips, you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him in. He chuckles lightly against your skin, and while you might have worried that this hasn't affected him at all, the bulge grinding absentmindedly against your slick, aching cunt says otherwise.

His lips are soft and slick with the taste of you, but you don't mind - in fact, you find yourself chasing his kiss feverishly, craving more. So you're a little disappointed when he pulls back just far enough that his lips ghost against yours as he asks, "Was that everything you wanted?"

"No," you say, arms tangling beneath his to wrap around his shoulderblades, hands gripping his shoulders.

His eyes crinkle just a little at the corners as he grins, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, then another to your nose. "Oh, yeah? Was something missing?"

He's so smug, it drives you crazy, and you're about to tell him as much when he nudges his nose against the lobe of your ear, hips rolling against yours slowly, deliberately. Your response dies on your tongue, replaced with a breathy moan, your fingernails digging little half-moons into his skin.

Steve asks, "Did you know I had to get myself off in my car after we left the bar last Friday?" His hips cant against yours sharply, as though to punctuate his sentence, and your hole clenches in response, tightening around the mere idea of him. "Didn't even make it out of the parking lot, watching you move in that awful mini-skirt. Thinking how unfair it was that I couldn't bury myself in this pretty pussy because some dickhead in Missouri was wasting his shot with you."

A shiver runs down your spine at the admission, and with your eyes closed, you can see him, fist working over his cock, which you still haven't seen yet. "I want it," you find yourself babbling, seemingly no longer possessing any restraint or self-respect as you rut against his hard length. You're not sure if it's that his confidence is infectious or if you've just completely lost all your inhibitions, but suddenly, you're talking like he does, open and honest and completely without shame. "You can fuck me any way you want, Steve, I just need to feel you, please—"

"Oh, fuck." His eyes roll back in his head slightly, and his cock twitches against you, through your sheer panties, and you want him so badly you could scream. Within just a few seconds, he's completely undressed and dragging your panties down your calves before slotting himself back between your thighs like he belongs there. You wrap your legs around him again quickly, afraid to ever, ever let him go.

The flushed tip of his cock presses against you, and he laces his fingers with yours, holding your entwined hands to the mattress. "I'll be gentle, honey," he murmurs, kissing your lips.

And then he presses himself inside you with a slow, shallow roll of his hips. You expect it to sting a little - it's been a while since you've been with anyone beyond phone sex with your vibrator, and your vibrator is certainly not as girthy as Steve. But he strokes your hair, eyes shining with concern as he scans your face for signs of discomfort, and after a few shallow thrusts, he's more than halfway inside you.

"Oh, that's it, baby," he coos, gaze flickering down to where your skin meets his. "Taking me so well; I knew you would. So tight, honey, you have any idea how good you feel?"

You feel so full already that it's overwhelming, but you just open your legs up a little wider for him, craving—needing—all of him. And when you do, Steve takes the hint and realigns his hips, then slowly presses in again, taking you all the way to the hilt. You inhale deeply through your nose, trying to steady yourself, nails scraping down his back.

Pressing his lips to your hairline, he hums, "'S that okay, honey? You ready for more?"

Your stomach clenches, walls tightening around him, and you nod into the crook of his neck.

And then he rolls his hips against yours, still keeping those shallow thrusts from before, brow furrowing with pleasure. It's a slow few moments of him stretching you open, getting used to the feeling, before he lowers his hips slightly, changing the angle again. And when he does, you gasp at the sensation, the stimulation of that spot just behind your pubic bone that makes you see stars.

"Yeah? That feel good?" he hums, licking his lips. When you whimper in response, he slides one arm beneath the small of your back to support you, and then he's thrusting into you with intention, like he's chasing something. Each thrust forces a shaky breath from your lips, a little gasp at the feeling, and you take his face in both your hands, thumb brushing against his pretty cheekbone.

And then it's you who's pulling him in, kissing him slow and languid as his hips maintain a measured, steady pace. He doesn't taste like whiskey anymore, just tastes like Steve.

"Fuck, honey," he groans, burying his face in your shoulder. "I don't know how much longer I can last. You're so goddamn pretty wrapped around my cock."

You slide your hand between your bodies, fingertips finding the aching bud of your clit and rubbing circles around it in time with his thrusts. You're getting close again, can feel that tension coiling in your abdomen, easier this time after the first. When you whimper at the sensitive touch, Steve pulls back a bit, lifts one of your legs over his shoulder and begins fucking you deeper, just a little harder than before.

You're moaning now with each thrust, back arching up into him, and then suddenly, you're bucking your hips against his with abandon. Steve hisses at the sensation of your walls fluttering around him, and then suddenly, he's gripping your hips and pressing you harder into the mattress, fucking you harder and faster as he chases his release. You've only just begun to climax when his hips stutter, pace becoming more erratic, and then you're scraping your nails down his back, leaving pink, swollen trails in their wake, and he's pulling out, abruptly spilling streaks of his hot, white release on your stomach.

He's breathing hard as he comes down, but that doesn't stop him kissing you breathless as your brows knit together, fingers still working your sensitive clit.

You feel dizzy on the comedown as Steve laves messy, open-mouthed kisses against your collarbone, and after a few moments, he's reaching across to the nightstand to gather some tissues. He's gentle and attentive as he cleans you up, and you let him, watch him wipe away the evidence of his orgasm on your stomach.

Only then, when Steve lies down beside you and pulls you to his chest, does the intensity of the day settle into your bones. Eight hours at work, a couple hours at the bar, and who knows how long spent in bed with your coworker Steve Harrington.

Your coworker. You wonder what else he is to you now. A one-night stand? A friend with benefits? A lover? It's hard to say. But the patterns Steve's tracing into your skin feel nice and relaxing, and your eyes are heavy from a long, exhausting day.

As you curl deeper into his side, your eyelids flutter shut, and you ask, "Was that everything you wanted?"

You don't have to see him—you can almost hear his smirk. "Well, I wouldn't say everything," he says, then pauses. "I can think of a thing or two I'd like to try, but I'd call it a good start."

That draws a laugh out of you. So maybe not a one-night stand after all.

Then, he presses a kiss to your temple and asks, "Is it okay if I stay the night?"

"No, I'm gonna make you drive home in the pouring rain after giving me two of the best orgasms of my life," you say flatly. Now that you're listening, you can hear it, the faint patter of raindrop after raindrop falling on the roof above. When you open your eyes to smile up at him, you see he's already looking at you, brown eyes shining in the faint light from the window.

Eddie hummed, rolling his eyes as he looked at his band's platinum records on the wall. "I still don't understand how this movie made it past the writers' room. No one can seriously be that interested in sitting down and watching a two-hour movie about our lives."

You raised an eyebrow at him, and your hands moved down to rest on the shoulders of his black velvet suit you forced him into, "but you can understand how millions of people can buy your albums, attend your tours..." 

Eddie let out a gravelly laugh, "Corroded Coffin is a household name, sweetheart." He leaned in, a smirk playing on his lips. "But you would know all about being a household name, wouldn't you? Playboy Model... Miss Hawkins of.... what year was it again?"

"Multiple years, actually," you corrected, tilting your chin up slightly with a grin.

Playboy was once all your life revolved around in the first few years of you and Eddie living in LA, but it soon got replaced by Penthouse and other modelling opportunities that widened your world to more than naked photoshoots.

"And just how many is that?" he teased, looping his arms around your waist. 

"Thirty years, give or take," you replied, leaning into his chest, "now you need to be on your best behaviour, the limousine is outside waiting.

Eddie tightened his grip around you, "Limousine..." he sighs, "I still miss my van."

"You miss a lot of things from that town, Eds. It's a wonder you didn't go back."

The sleek white limousine came to a halt against the curb of the Chinese Theatre, and as soon as Eddie's door opened and he stepped out, the cameras began flashing in a frenzy. Eddie takes your hand, helping you to your feet, and all you could hear was your names being repeated here and there with demands on where to look and how to pose, with your agent quickly taking over, keeping you preoccupied on who to answer to and when to move on. 

Flashing lights and demands from paparazzi weren't anything new. On tour, you’d seen your husband ambushed in dim airport terminals and hotel entrances, powering through the sea of demands like a trooper, ignoring the re-sellers and only lingering around to scrawl his messy signature on battered Corroded Coffin CDs or a vintage poster for fans who saw Corroded Coffin as their lifeline.

"Mr and Mrs Munson!" a journalist shrieked, leaning over the velvet rope. "Please, just a moment!"

You glided towards her, Eddie's hand still gripping yours.

The journalist thrust a foam-tipped microphone toward you, "How does it feel, finally attending the premiere of a movie that showcases your entire lives? From the trailer park to the Hollywood Hills? You being fired from Enzos-"

"It's pretty surreal," you replied politely, maintaining eye contact. 

"Madness." Eddie added, "Feels like I'm trapped in some sort of dream that's too good to be true."

"They say the movie focuses heavily on the Found Family aspect of your lives," the reporter continued. "Is that still true today?"

"Absolutely," you said, leaning in slightly. "Found family is just as vital now as it was when we were teenagers... It's important for everyone watching to know that there is so much more to family than a bloodline."

"Now, Mr Munson," she turned to him, thrusting the microphone closer, "while we have you... Any comments regarding your longstanding feud with Tommy Lee?" 

Eddie clenched his jaw and swallowed hard, offering the journalist a smug expression and a firm, "I'm not saying nothin' about that asshole."

Before she could push her luck, he whisked you further down the carpet, his arm sliding firmly around your waist and leaned down, whispering in your ear. 

"He better not be here tonight."

"He won't be," you reassured him, "two of you in one room together? I'd rather be locked in a room with angry bees."

"Just remember it wasn't a fight, I was defending your name."

The ongoing feud began five years after your move to LA when Corroded Coffin was on the biggest tour of their career as the opening band for Mötley Crüe

Eddie had just finished refreshing himself in his hotel room when he found you cornered near the bar by Tommy Lee, who was leaning into your personal space with half a bottle of whiskey in his hand. 

"Come on," he’d drawled again, "You’re really telling me you’re satisfied with a scruffy little nobody, AND the occasional bedroom set with Hugh Hefner? You need a real rock star to show you a good time."

At this time in your career with Playboy, rumours started swirling that you had slept with Hugh to get yourself on multiple covers of the magazine.

"Tommy, I've said no already, now fuck off."

Eddie quickly hurried over and stepped between you and Tommy; the sight of him closing in on you frightened him. He knew what the band were like on tour. No one's girl was safe. No one.

"Something wrong, sweetheart?"

"He's trying to get me into bed with him!" You didn't hold back, "The asshole accused me of sleeping with Hef too!"

Eddie didn't blink as he socked Tommy across the face, sending his bottle of whiskey flying across the bar and smashing. Before Tommy could brace for another blow, Eddie grabbed his shirt and pulled him into him, their faces just an inch apart.

"If you ever talk to my girl like that," his eyes widened and jaw clenched, "or if her name ever leaves your mouth again, I swear to god I'll break both of your fuckin' arms."

Three hours later, the real fight broke out between the two of them over the TV in Tommy's hotel room; the tour ended with a very expensive fine from the hotel, and both bands were blacklisted for life.

The theatre lights dimmed, and everyone went quiet as you and Eddie got yourselves comfortable in the seats, your fingers lacing together when the studio logo flickered onto the screen, the opening shot of Eddie practising the Master of Puppets guitar solo in his bedroom, whilst you were draped over his mattress on your stomach, flicking through a Playboy magazine. 

"I never held my guitar like that," Eddie whispered in your ear, his eyes still fixed on the screen. 

"The only time I properly looked through one of those magazines was when I borrowed them off Steve for the first flight here," you whispered back, also unable to look away.

"Where is he anyway?" Eddie asked, "We invited him, right?"

"His wife is heavily pregnant, there's no way in hell he's going to risk bringing her here. I told him it was fine, that we'd send them some gifts when the baby is born." 

You felt a strange, beautiful ache in your chest watching your life play out with actors and dramatised versions of certain events. Thirty years had gone by in the blink of an eye, it still seemed like yesterday when you and Eddie accepted David's offer and moved your life out of the small town and into your forever home. 

"I'm nervous," you whimpered, swallowing hard, looking out of the plane window. 

"Babe, this is going to be new for both of us, but we're together. We're doing this together." 

Eddie spent the last three days reassuring you since David phoned with the offer of a lifetime of work. You were excited and feeling thrilled that you could leave Hawkins with Eddie, but after the gossip, public firing, and being branded as Hawkins' biggest slut - your confidence had been run through the shredder a couple of times, leaving you with nothing. 

"What if it doesn't work out?" Tears form in your eyes at the thought of going back home with your head bowed as the town laughs.

"It's going to work out, okay?" Eddie kisses your temple, the aeroplane tilts slightly, "if it doesn't, we'll figure it out together." 

You were thankful for Eddie's strength and overall acceptance of your new life; you didn't think it would happen but when he realised that the opportunity would truly, actually, save you from a dead end, Eddie knew that, regardless of how many men would drool over you, he always had to be your biggest supporter. 

Men would look at you. Not touch you. Eddie got every piece of you to himself; everyone else got glossy high definition posters... he could live with that, he could live with being the man who wins in the end. 

"Just picture it for a sec, ten years... I'm a huge rockstar, and you're... whatever you want to be, still with Playboy, or signed with Penthouse, or doing whatever opportunity you take on. We're happy, we're doing more than just surviving on scraps. We're living in a big fuckin' house with a swimming pool outside, and we're... happy." 

As the plane inched closer and closer to LA, little did you know, Eddie managed to speak everything into existence. The two of you would make a future for one another that meant Hawkins would never see you return, forever. 

The final credits began to roll over a montage of you on the cover of your first Playboy magazine in '86, followed by Eddie's performance at the hideout, slowly trailing to your wedding photos and more high-profile photographs from your careers. As the screen faded to black, the lights in the theatre grew brighter, and the silence of the theatre was obliterated by the cheering and applause from your guests who had stood up out of their chairs, staring at you and Eddie.

The two of you remained seated, slightly embarrassed from the inaccuracies in the movie but appreciative of the response from everyone else. 

"Well," Eddie leaned over, "I don't recall getting into a fist fight with your talent scout... David? I'm sure that was his name... who the hell wrote that scene in?!"

You let out a shaky, emotional laugh, wiping a stray tear before it could ruin your makeup. "The same person who wrote in that atrocious scene of Tommy and me kissing."

Eddie grimaced and reached out to take your hand, "The casting crew could've worked a little harder, the actress they hired to play you..." Eddie lowered his voice more in case she could overhear him, "can't act for shit." He pulled your hand up to his lips, kissing the back of your hand.

You stared into his eyes, and the applause seemed to fade away, the theatre with it too. It felt like you were back in his trailer, thirty years ago, the two of you lying on his stained mattress, your head resting comfortably in his lap as he massages your hair, stroking circles into your scalp whilst he hums along to Black Sabbath playing quietly in the corner of his room.

"We really made it, baby,"  Eddie whispered in your ear, pulling you out of the memory, his bedroom disappearing into thin air. 

He leaned in, his hand cupping your cheek as he pulled you into a deep, lingering kiss. 

When you finally pulled apart, Eddie stood up first, holding out his hand for you to hoist yourself up, facing the room of applause and whistling together, shyly nodding and smiling at everyone. 

"I told you, remember?" you murmured into his ear, "I couldn't do any of this without you."

That's The End of Miss Hawkins 1986

If you enjoyed this series, you might like Eddie's Bunny

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