#*2kcelebration

usually, the others pick the movie, but on this particular occasion, they've asked you to. as you hand steve your movie of choice, the first thing he notices is how cold your hands are, wrapping both of his around yours. you know he's a serial flirt, and it's always annoyed you a little how he assumes he can charm the pants off of anybody. you're even more annoyed at the fact that it's actually working. you feel butterflies in your stomach while he's holding your hands, and when he's negging you for your choice in movie, you hate how you're even more giggly in your defence.

you hate how you still think about the fact he winked when he finished your transaction throughout the entire following week. you hate how, when your friends are planning this friday's hangout, you're the first one to volunteer picking a movie. you hate how easy it is for you to blurt out why you rent out a movie every friday to steve and robin when they're serving you. you hate that their reaction leads you to inviting them along. you hate how, no matter where you sit that night, even if it's between your friends, steve always finds a way to sit as close to you as he can.

and the majority of people seem to agree with your reviews, too; except those that peaked in high school, they'll tell you to your face that you're clearly biased over certain genres, but you don't care. you also get a letter sent to your work pretty much weekly, at least every time there's a new release, that basically just raves about how accurate they found your review, adding their own commentary, too. they never leave a name, or a return address, so the people who vet mail responses assume it's someone trying to get a job, too. between those two kinds of responses, the post ends up deciding that your review column no longer accepts reader mail.

but that's okay, because you have another job at the post that the public doesn't necessarily know is yours. with your writing accolades, you also pose as the agony aunt. it's some extra money in your pocket, and it's a good laugh, especially when those who went from bullying you in high school to berating you for enjoying movies in a not-so-casual way are writing in begging you to help them with their marital issues. (it takes you So Much Effort not to answer every one of those with 'leave your partner, they deserve better')

anyway, one day, a couple of weeks after you've stopped accepting mail to your critic column, you recognise the scrawled writing on the envelope and get to reading: dear agony aunt, i think i fucked up. and now that i know you can't publish this, it involves someone you work with. i'd been trying to build something with your movie critic, sending my own two cents to see if anything resonated and if I could get any kind of response back, but obviously i've overstepped a mark. feel free to not do this, but could you apologise to her on my behalf? i didn't mean to creep her out, and i feel awful that i can't tell her i'm sorry. - eddie

one of your favourite things to do, though it gets you in trouble sometimes, is to recommend whatever spooky films are showing in the most chilling and gory-detailed manner. most of the time, it's to kids on dates who just wanted to watch a fluffy rom-com, or families with now-distraught young kids, but there's one group of people who are totally awestruck by the things you tell them. but, you tell them the same thing every time; if they want to watch an r-rated film, they've gotta bring an adult chaperone.

so at first, this group of six teenagers drags along one steve harrington, presenting him proudly as if it were a show and tell. however, they happen to show up just as the one stickler manager is right behind you, who's very quick to tell them that each kid needs a chaperone. the one with curly hair almost exploding out of his baseball cap rolls his eyes and starts leading the group in walking away, while monologuing about what a waste of a day this has been, but steve still stays at your counter. you can tell he's turning his charm up to the max, but you shrug and tell him you'd have snuck them in if not for your manager. he says it's because he'd have convinced you, right? you tell him not to flatter himself. he's completely smitten with you from then on.

through hearing them collecting their orders each time, you eventually learn that their names are steve and robin. you find it especially charming that you and robin have the same coffee order. what's not so charming, though, is that steve seems to mistake your interest as being into him, with his very obviously loud laughter and even more obvious looks.

at one point while you're waiting for your drink, robin ends up waiting next to you. curiosity finally getting the better of you, you ask her how she can put up with someone like steve to hang out with him outside of work, too. she laughs and tells you he's not all bad. she asks you what you're doing in hawkins, since she doesn't think she's seen you at school. you tell her where you're from, small talk gets bigger and bigger. you actually really enjoy talking to her, and just as she's about to leave you blurt something out about grabbing her number.

you're obviously kept busy during school hours, but there's one particular group of young boys who obsess over your displays, always eager to learn the science behind things. they're almost always chaperoned by jonathan byers from some of your classes at school. at first, he goes out of his way to make sure he never looks up at you, which you sort-of understand since he's always kept to himself in school.

but the more he watches you explaining things to his brother and his friends, the more intrigued he is by you. one day, he's passing your desk in class when he drops a little something onto it. a pin of a monarch butterfly that he eventually mutters to you that he saw on display in a shop. he's especially happy to see it attached to your schoolbag.

over time, he collects more pins to give to you, at first just based on the displays you've put on at work, but with every gift, you're given the chance to open up to him a little bit more each time about your personal interests, too, though it takes even longer to get him to talk about himself, too.

This young man certainly fit the last description, but he didn’t notice you at first. The intel from your stylist was that he was a Lord, she only heard him being addressed as “Ralph”, “my lord” from someone nearby, and “little brother” from the woman he was with. No sign of a wedding ring in sight. Your stylist also heavily hinted that the vibe was that Ralph was very interested in you. 

Of course, luck would have it that you only caught his eye just in the moment that you were being called away to stage. When he finally saw you, Ralph was mid-sip, forfeiting the other half of it as it fell from the glass and down his chin. Flustered, he’d quickly mopped himself up, but you’d giggled all the same, fluttering your fingers in a flirtatious wave and winking as you made your way to the stage - though not before noticing the way he looked at you. As you stepped away, full body in his view, he looked you up and down very deliberately, lustfully. You gave him one final flash of a smirk before turning towards your stage.

Of course, you commandeered your audience, as always, but you always made sure that any time a line in a song called for eye contact with one particular person, you were trained on Ralph, who’d been watching you like he were hypnotised. Mouth slightly agape, doe eyes twinkling. Putty in your hands, and you’d not said a word to him. Perfect.

You barely even needed to tell your stylist to invite Ralph backstage, she already knew the assignment. You smooth out your dress, touch up some of your make-up and smile over at him when you hear him clear his throat in the doorway of your dressing room. “Uh, Char- ahem, Ralph - My name is Ralph. Charmed to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Char-Ralph,” you smirk, holding your hand out to him. He takes it quickly, raising it to his lips and kissing your knuckles, his eyes never leaving yours. “What did you think of the show?”

“Oh, just magnificent, you were positively spellbinding,” he gushes.

“Well, thank you, kitten,” you smirk, revelling in the way the apples of his cheeks turn a delicious shade of pink at your words. “Please, sit,” you gesture towards the plush settee against the wall, to which he obliges. You remain standing as you study him. “Do you know why I called for you specifically, Char-Ralph?”

“You can - Just Ralph is plenty sufficient,” he corrects you. “But, um, if I had to hazard a guess, I would say that perhaps there was a certain… Spark, that you noticed, too?”

You hum happily, “Hmm, sure did, Just Ralph. Who could possibly resist those big, brown eyes? Especially the way they were looking at me, earlier.”

“Ah, yes, well, you must forgive me for the terribly embarrassing display over at the bar,” he frowns, “and when I said just Ralph, I - I didn’t mean to call me Ju-”

You interrupt him with a laugh, “Oh, honey, aren’t you precious? Just as fun to tease as I imagined you would be.” You step closer to him, standing with your feet just outside of his, towering over him as he looks up at you adoringly. “Now, I’ll ask you again, and we’ll see if you can be more specific this time. Do you know…” You remove the one accessory keeping your hair in place so that it falls perfectly out of its restraint into its natural state, and lean close enough to Ralph that the cleavage your dress had been teasing him with all night becomes far more revealing, “why, I called for you, specifically?”

He looks at you as though every birthday and Christmas has come at once. Eyes lit up with glee, his mouth stuttering wordlessly yet constantly falling into a wide smile every few movements, his shoulders heaving under his suit jacket as his breathing gets heavier. “I certainly have an idea of what I’d like it to be.”

“Oh, yeah?” You smirk, stroking a fingertip along his forehead, following the wave his hair has been styled into. “Well, colour me intrigued. Since I love that cute little voice of yours, why don’t you elaborate, sugar?” You ask, now gently running your fingers along his jaw, alternating between soft strokes and lightly drumming your fingertips against his jawline.

His cheeks turn darker. "Elaborate?"

"You heard me, doll," you move to drape yourself across his lap sideways, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Why don't you tell me everything that's going through that pretty little head? And I do mean… Everything," you whisper the last one into his ear, kissing the shell of it delicately and tracing your finger along the side of his neck where goosebumps are forming.

He swallows hard, "Well, I… I suppose if you would really want to know, I simply… I should like to… Well, to worship you, heavens, just look at you!" He gushes as he allows his hands to wander.

"Do you want a hand there, sweetie?" You ask with a small smile before standing and hitching your dress up enough to be able to straddle him. His hands instantly wrap around your thighs as soon as they're in sight, as though magnetised. Your smile widens as you perch yourself back on his lap, guided by his grip. "So, how do you intend on… Worshipping me?”

He runs his hands up your thighs, sparkling eyes never leaving yours. “If you should let me, I would make absolutely sure that not an inch of your skin were left untouched. Why, I would…” He runs a finger across your collarbones. “I would kiss every part of you that my lips were fortunate enough to grace, I would… Caress every part of you that you’d allow me to, I would…” He falters as you start grinding yourself against him, and you can feel him get harder from beneath you.

“I seem to have lost you, there, sugar,” you coo. “Perhaps if I got a little more… Comfortable?” You hitch your dress up in your grip and pull it over your head, revealing your fully nude form to Ralph. As he looks at your body, dumbfounded, you bite your lip. “Now you know my little secret. I never wear anything under my dress when I perform. You won’t go telling anybody, now, will you?” you ask with a false pout of your lower lip. “I promise, I’ll do anything to make it worth your while…”

Of course, Ralph is not the first man you’ve dragged backstage, and he won’t be the last. But something especially drew you to him, you knew you could corrupt him into doing anything you wanted. And he’s falling for you, hook, line and sinker.

He stares at your breasts, his light pink tongue poking out between deep pink lips, his fingers flexing out straight to curl into fists as he shakes his head, his face faltering. “Whatever’s the matter, sweetie?” you ask, cocking your head. “Do you not want this?”

“Oh, heavens, no- I mean, I do! I… I’d be a fool to not desire a marvel such as yourself,” he babbles, “but I’m afraid, um… I’m not sure how to… This is rather embarrassing to admit, but I… I fear I will, um… I won’t last long before the main event would be all over for me,” he admits, blushing deeply.

You stroke his cheeks sweetly with a, “Well, that’s fine, sugar, I can fix that for you,” as you slide off of his lap and onto your knees.

He looks incredulously at you, hurriedly handing you a pillow. “Please, who knows what filth lives on these floors?”

“Then perhaps a dirty girl like me is right where she belongs,” you smirk up at him, undoing his zipper while keeping your gaze locked on his. You take his cock out and, knowing you’ve little time to waste, wrap your lips around it. Ralph is a mess beneath you, whining and whimpering like a lost little puppy. A gentle caress of his balls and he’s tipped over the edge, filling your mouth with thick, hot spurts of cum, which you take happily.

You give him time to wind down as you once again slip your dress on, though you can’t quite reach your back fastening, despite your best efforts even while standing tall.

Ralph gets up to help you pull your zip up, and something about his touch makes your skin tingle. You turn to face him once he’s readjusted himself, to see him looking sheepish. “Please, accept my most sincere apologies for - For being such a disappointing end to your night, I’m sure -”

“You didn’t disappoint me, angel,” you smirk, cupping his cheek in your hand. “And besides, you’ve got all night to make it up to me.”

Ralph’s eyes widen. “Pardon?!”

which means, five days a week, robin throws herself into steve harrington's passenger seat for him to groan at her in disappointment that, yet again, she's not been able to successfully wingman for him. she's constantly telling him that he's wasting his time, since you have very little in common with him, but his rebuttals that robin doesn't, either, have him win that debate pretty easily.

robin finally wears you down, though, one stormy day. you quietly thank steve and tell him he can just drop you off at the library so that you can get even more work done; there's just something about being surrounded by bookshelves, sat at a desk in front of a giant window with the rain hammering down on it that really gets you in the zone.

throughout the whole car ride, robin's egging you on to talk about all the things you'd usually sneak notes to each other about in class, stuff that steve is also weirdly in tune with considering he's not even in school anymore. it makes the conversation flow way more naturally between the three of you, though, which helps you feel more comfortable sitting a handbrake away from steve harrington himself.

that comes in handy when you recognise his car parked up outside the library when you're done, too, despite you having worked up the courage to simply put up with walking the rest of the way home. the two of you pick up exactly where you'd left off when robin had been with you, too, and carries on all the way as you direct him to your house. he manages to convince you to let him pick you up along with robin every day, though you make him swear that in doing so, he isn't putting himself through any more effort than he would already.

you're not the only one who gig-hops, though; you and eddie start off by acknowledging that you've seen each other before with little nods of acknowledgement, which become him gravitating towards you at a show with a bunch of out-of-towners visiting, which becomes him gravitating towards you even when there's other locals there.

he's constantly trying to convince you to come to some dive bar in the back streets of Hawkins called The Hideout to watch his band perform sometime, and as tempted as you are, it's just too much fun watching how relentless he is even when you tell him the same thing every time - that you'll be right there at the barricade of their first real gig at their first real venue, but not a day sooner.