#🏷️ amy's flea market | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

appocalipse · 3 months

Note

hello ♥ i'd like to request faded photograph + antique lock and key set with steve. maybe after what happened in s4 with steve and nancy and all that r decides to leave hawkins because she's sure he still loves nancy and she wants to move on? and if you want it could have a happy ending with one of those super cute love confessions ♥♥♥

ahhhh this is so steve! ♥ (also this is my version where eddie and max are alive and fine and hawkins is safe again)

visit amy's flea market ♥

"I need to tell you something."

Steve is not sure he likes the tone of your voice. It's somber, serious. His gut clenches, and for a brief moment, he scares himself with the thought that something might be wrong with you, something he might not be able to help with.

And it's raining outside, for God's sake. It's never good news on a rainy day like this, is it?

"Everything... everything is fine?"

"Yeah. Yes, everything is...fine."

You smile, but Steve notices it doesn't quite reach your eyes.

You look at him as if the words are stuck in your throat, as if they're heavy and you desperately want to get rid of them.

Finally, you clear your throat.

"I'm leaving."

Steve feels as if the wind has been knocked out of him. "What?"

"I'm leaving. Hawkins, I mean. Tomorrow."

You shrug, as if you're not sure what else to do with your arms, and then you turn around and Steve can't even attempt to read your expressions anymore.

He knows you've been thinking about college and your future, but he thought... well, he thought you'd stay. You'd told him months ago that you were actually planning to stay. And now...

Steve clears his throat, trying to keep his voice steady. And because he's sure this can't be happening, he double-checks, "For...for good?"

"Yeah. For good."

The silence between you feels like a living thing, thick and suffocating. Steve can feel the weight of it pressing down on him, making it hard to breathe. He wants to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. He's not sure if he's in shock or if he's just too stunned to form words.

"Why?" The question finally escapes him. "Why are you leaving?"

You turn back to him, and for a moment, Steve thinks he sees a glimmer of something in your eyes. Is it... sadness? Regret?

"I...I'm not sure, I guess," you say. "Just...why not?"

The words sound pathetic even to your own ears, but you can't help it. It's not like you don't love this place, this town, your friends... Steve. You do. You love it all.

Too much.

And it's different now. Hawkins is safe. The kids are safe. You're out of excuses to stay and get your heart broken a little further. It feels like it's time to move on, to leave behind the shadow of the Upside Down, to stop waiting for something to happen.

But Steve looks at you like you're making the biggest mistake of your life, and then he says the last words you'd expect him to say right now. "You want to leave and you don't even know why?"

It's not anger in his voice, but it's close. It's desperation and fear and a kind of raw pain that you'd expect to see in the eyes of someone who's just been told they have a terminal illness or something.

"I just..." you stammer, feeling the weight of his gaze pressing down on you. "I have to."

Steve shakes his head, looking as if he's trying to will you to stay. "You don't have to."

"Yes I do! In a way that you don't understand."

"Then explain it to me!"

You're angry now, and a little hurt. All of your other friends supported your decision; Eddie, the kids. Nancy. And out of all of them, Steve is your best friend. Shouldn't he understand most of all?

"It's not that easy! You don't understand what it's like here! I can't...I can't just stay!"

Steve takes a step back, clearly hurt. "What do you mean I don't understand?"

"I mean..." You trail off, feeling helpless.

What are you supposed to do? Tell him how you are such a coward you cannot stand to see him and Nancy find their way back to each other?

"...doesn't matter," you murmur. "Doesn't matter. You'll be fine, okay? You have... everyone."

The words taste bitter in your mouth, and you can tell they're not sitting well with Steve. He looks at you like you've just slapped him, and you feel a pang of guilt. But what else can you do? You can't tell him the truth. You can't tell him that you're leaving because you're terrified of never getting over your stupid feelings for him, of watching him and Nancy falling in love with each other all over again.

You can't tell him that every time you think about it, you feel like you're drowning.

"Look," you say, forcing a smile, "it's not like I'm never coming back or anything. I'll...I'll visit. And...and I'll...call."

Steve doesn't return your smile. He just looks at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours, as if he's trying to find something. Something that you've been keeping hidden. And then he shakes his head, and a small, sad smile finally tugs at the corner of his lips.

"You know what?" he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe...maybe I should come with you."

You look at him, stunned. You hadn't even considered the possibility. Steve...leaving Hawkins? With you? It's a strange, surreal thought, and...no. Absolutely not.

That would totally ruin your plan.

"What?"

"Yeah," Steve says, surprising you again. "I mean...why not? It's not like I've got anything keeping me here. And maybe...maybe it'd be good for me to get away. You know? See something new, do something different."

He looks at you, hope in his eyes. And for a moment, you almost consider it. Almost. Because it's so much easier saying yes to Steve than saying no. You could be together, away from all the memories and the reminders of everything you've been through...but you'd still be just friends.

He'd be with you everyday, and that's the last thing you need.

You can't stand the thought of watching him find someone else, fall in love, and live happily ever after. Of course, you want him to have all of those things; you just don't want to watch.

Steve seems to sense your hesitation, his hope fading.

"You don't want me in your life," it's not a question.

You panic.

"No! I mean...I do, I..." You can feel the words tumbling out of you before you even realize what you're saying. "You just..."

"Is that why you want me to stay here? Just so you don't have to deal with me anymore?"

"No!" You shake your head violently. "Of course not! That's not it at all!"

But the words feel hollow, even to you. Because in some twisted, secret part of your mind, that's exactly how you feel. You want him to stay here, where it's safe, where he can't get close to you, where he can't hurt you. You know it's selfish, but you can't help it.

Steve's expression softens, and he takes a step closer. "Be honest with me."

You make an effort not to move.

"I'm sorry," you manage to say, your voice barely audible. "I don't want you to come with me, but it's not because...I just...I don't think it's a good idea. It'd be better for you to stay here, where you belong. You deserve...you deserve to be happy. Your life is here, your job...she is here."

"She?"

"Nance."

Steve's face twists into a bitter grimace. "What does Nancy have to do with anything?"

"I just mean...well, c'mon, she was your first love, and you still love her, it's clear, a-and now she's single again-"

"Wait, wait, wait, hold on a second here," Steve says, his voice suddenly raised. "Nancy? You think I'm still in love with Nancy? You're kidding, right?"

You blink, surprised by the vehemence in his tone. But Steve has always been…protective of his feelings, refusing to really understand them. You had seen how he and Nance looked at each other when no one was around, how he would light up whenever she was near...even when you were in the Upside Down, fighting for your lives, Steve's eyes would sometimes drift towards Nancy, his expression softening.

It's obvious to you.

"Forget it," you say. "It's none of my business, I just...I want you to be happy."

"I am happy," Steve says, his voice low. "I'm happy with you here."

It feels like the air has been sucked out of the room. You want to say something, to apologize or explain or reassure...but you can't find the words, and with the way Steve is looking at you now, you're not even sure what it is you want to say anymore.

"Steve," you murmur in a small, quiet voice, your heart feeling like it's tearing in two.

He takes another step closer, and you feel your heart start to race. He cups your face in his hands, his touch gentle but firm, and leans in until his breath is warm against your lips. "Don't go anywhere," he asks.

Right this moment, you're not entirely sure you'd be able to if you tried.

Your feelings are confused enough. Being this close doesn't help.

"Steve," his name rolling off your tongue is somewhere between a plea and a warning as you look up into his eyes, chest heaving. You tell yourself you want to pull away, that you simply can't find the strength.

"You really think that?" he whispers. "You really think I'm still in love with her?"

His hands are still cupping your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as his lips part, and he slowly leans in, closer, until his nose is almost touching yours.

You fist your hands in the fabric of his shirt, trying to will yourself not to give in to this, to not feel this way, to not want this. "Please don't," you manage to choke out. "Don't do this."

His lips brush against yours, soft and hesitant. "Don't do what?" he whispers against your mouth. "Don't love you?"

"Steve." Desperation. Feels like the world is spinning out of control.

He pulls back, eyes searching yours. "What do you want me to do?"

Your throat feels tight. "Don't do this," you manage to whisper. "Don't choose me because you think I'm a consolation prize."

He frowns, confusion flitting across his features. "What are you talking about?"

You swallow hard, feeling the tears burning at the back of your eyes. "I don't want you to do this just because you don't want me to leave, or because you're lonely, or-"

Steve cuts you off with a gentle shake of his head. "I know that's not true, and you know that's not true," he says, his voice soft. "But if it's what you need to hear..."

He kisses you properly this time.

It's the kind of kiss that makes your toes curl, your heart skip a beat, and your stomach flip-flop. It's the kind of kiss that leaves you breathless, and a little dizzy, and more than a little bit in love. It's the kind of kiss that tells you, without a single word being spoken, that you are wanted, and cherished, and loved.

"Do you feel like a consolation prize when I do this?" he whispers against your lips. And he kisses you again, slowly, his weight pressing you against the wall. You feel the warmth of his body against yours, the hardness of his muscles beneath your fingertips. "Or when I do this?"

He trails his lips down your neck, leaving a trail of tiny kisses behind. You sigh, arching into him, and he chuckles softly.

"Steve..."

"Or this?"

He pulls back slightly, cupping your face with his hands, looking into your eyes as he trails his thumbs across your cheekbones. The softness of his touch catches you off guard. His gaze is intense, searching, and you feel like maybe he can see something there that no one else ever could.

"Do you really feel like a consolation prize?" Steve gently brushes his nose against yours. He smiles. "Because if you do..." He leans in, lips parting just enough for his breath to tease across your skin. "...I'll prove you wrong."

"Actually," you smile, feeling the warmth spread from your chest up to your cheeks. You wrap your arms around his neck. "I think I might need some more... convincing."

Steve grins, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Well, then." He leans in, pressing his lips against yours in a soft, gentle kiss. "I guess that's what I'll have to do."

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve x you #steve x reader #stranger things fanfic #stranger things imagine #steve harrington drabble #🏷️ amy's flea market #amy's flea market

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appocalipse · 3 months

Note

Congrats! How huge! Can I shop?! 🛍️

There's an antique lock and key set and a pair of velvet gloves that look like they have my name written all over them (or a smutty friends to lovers with Steve Harrington where maybe we're partners in a game - drinking game at a rager, yard game at a bbq, board game on a game night, chicken at the pool party...I'm not picky - and celebrating our winning streak gets...a little out of hand 😉😉)

thank you, angel ♥ i got more than a little carried away with this one lol 6.4k words | cw: fingering, oral sex, unprotected sex 18+ only! mdni! literally the smuttiest smut that ever smutted

amy's flea market ♥

"Ready?" Steve asks.

No. Fuck, no.

“Yeah,” you respond. Steve smiles that almost evil smile of his and dives down so you can climb onto his shoulders. Again. You can't believe you're doing this again.

It's the third round of chicken fighting that you and Steve are participating in, and as you climb onto Steve's shoulders, you try not to think that you're climbing onto Steve's shoulders.

Steve. Your friend Steve. The guy you have the world's biggest crush on...no, fuck that. It's more. You know it's more, but you're afraid to admit the stronger word.

Because Steve is Steve. He's off limits.

Which doesn't make it any easier for you to try not to think about the way his big, warm hands are now on your thighs, holding on tight so you don't fall off his shoulders, where you're sitting in nothing but a bikini, his head between your legs...

"1, 2,3...go!" Robin yells, sitting on the edge of the pool with her feet in the water. You raise your arms as the team in front of you advances, the girl's arms stretched in hopes of pushing you off Steve.

But you and Steve are, apparently, invincible today.

It happens faster this time; next thing you know, the girl's grip slips, and you are the one who ends up pushing her into the water, her partner also losing his balance in the process. They laugh and the crowd — including Robin — goes wild. The adrenaline surges through your veins as you realize you've won. Again. Steve keeps you up there for one more moment, just so you can throw your arms in the air, giggling, enjoying your third victory in a row. Then, he carefully lowers you down into the water.

When he emerges again, wet hair sticking to his forehead, he's grinning at you as he grabs your wrist, making you raise your arm one more for the crowd.

You giggle.

Steve sighs. It's that laugh of yours, the one that makes his heart skip a beat every time.

"I think that's enough for today," you say, lowering your arm and grinning up at him, a bit dizzy from the adrenaline of the victory and the heat of the sun on your skin.

Steve suddenly feels dizzy too, for a completely different reason.

He unsuspectingly watches as a fat drop of water travels down your lower lip, to your chin, your neck... and then you turn around, moving in the direction of the pool ladder. Against his better judgment, he follows.

Once out of the pool, you look around.

"D'you want me to grab a clean towel for you?" Steve offers, ever the gentleman.

"Towel, yeah, that would be great..." you murmur, feeling ten times more self-conscious now that the two of you are out of the water. You don't even know most of the people here… "Can I come with you?"

Steve coughs.

The pool party had started earlier that day. The only clean towels remaining in that house now are in his bathroom.

In his room.

And you're all wet.

For God's sake. That's the last place where he should be alone with you right now.

But, like an idiot, Steve nods, "Sure, let's go."

He leads you through the living room, past a group of people who are sitting on the floor, drinking and laughing, to the stairs, taking them two at a time. You're a little out of breath, but manage to keep up with his long strides until he reaches the top. The hallway up here is a lot dimmer, but you can still see the soft, warm sunlight coming from beneath his bedroom door. It's strange how you've never been in his room before. Countless times in his house, sure, but never his room.

Steve clears his throat and then opens the door, stepping aside to let you enter first.

It's... not what you expected. It's not messy like the stereotypical rich boy's room, but it's not pristine either. It's neat, orderly, but... lived in. There's a king-sized bed in the center of the room, covered with a duvet that looks like it's been slept in. A small nightstand on each side of the bed, with a lamp and a few framed photos on top — you're even in some of them with him and the kids. The walls are painted a soft, warm blue, and there's a big window next to the bed, letting in the bright sunlight.

The air smells like... like him. Like soap and hairspray.

Steve clears his throat, drawing your attention back to him. He's still shirtless, so it's not like that's hard to do. "Here, take this," he says, tossing a towel in your direction. You catch it reflexively, feeling the softness of the fabric against your bare skin.

"Thanks," you murmur, rubbing your hair with it.

The sound of laughter from downstairs seeps in through the partly open window. Steve is standing on the other side of the room, a towel loosely draped around his neck, and maybe it's that mysterious drink Robin offered you earlier making you imagine things, but there's a strange tension in the air and you're under the distinct impression that Steve is consciously avoiding you as you dry off.

You wonder what he's thinking.

Steve clears his throat again, seeming to steel himself for something. "Um... I'm gonna go grab a drink. You... you want one?" he asks, not quite meeting your eye.

"Sure. And...can you get my dress? I left it downstairs earlier."

Steve nods, turning away from you so fast you almost wonder if he's mad. He disappears into the hallway, and you hear the click of the door being closed behind him, followed by the distant sound of footsteps as he makes his way downstairs.

Left alone in his room, you wander over to the bed and sit down on the edge, now wrapped in your towel. The duvet is soft against your bare skin, and the pillows smell like him. You can't help but wonder what it would be like to curl up here with him, to feel his warmth surround you as you drift off to sleep.

Probably not the kind of thought you should have in your friend's room.

The door opens again, and Steve steps back in, two glasses of something clear and fizzy in his hand. "Here you go," he says, handing you one of them. You take the drink gratefully, sniffing at it before taking a sip. It's some kind of spritzer, sweet and tangy. "And here's your dress."

It's draped over the curve of his arm. Steve sets his own drink on the nightstand before sitting down on the bed beside you, extending his arm so you could take the dress.

You do take it, but make no move to put it on. "I didn't know you were that good at chicken fighting," you say, trying to make it sound light-hearted.

Steve smiles. "Pretty sure it was all you."

"Of course not," you playfully nudge him. "We're a team."

He looks at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he reaches for his drink and takes a generous sip. "Yeah, a team," he repeats softly.

"What?"

"Nothing."

He studies you for a moment, taking another sip of his drink. The silence stretches between you. You wish you knew what was going through his mind, if he was feeling the same things you were.

"It is something," you quietly insist.

Steve looks at you, his eyes flickering uncertainly. "I don't know what you mean," he says finally, but there's a catch in his voice that betrays him, a hint of vulnerability that you've never heard before.

You stand up. He looks at you like you had just slapped him.

"I'm still wet," you explain. Then, way too quickly for your embarrassment to go unnoticed, you add, "from the pool, I mean! Not...I don't want to make a mess of your bed or anything, you know...I mean, by sitting there while I'm wearing a wet bikini and-"

Steve cuts you off with a laugh. "Hey, hey," he says, reaching out to take your hand. "It's okay. You're fine. You can sit here." He squeezes your hand gently, and there's a warmth in his touch that sends a shiver through you. "And if you did make a mess, I'd clean it up. No worries."

You sit down again. Better than awkwardly standing there.

"Very gentlemanly of you," you murmur, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Steve shrugs, returning your smile. "I'm not that bad, am I?" he asks, his voice teasing.

"The worst. But you're a good partner in chicken fighting, though."

Steve swallows hard.

"Just that?"

There is a moment of silence, as you and Steve stare at each other. You know exactly what he means, what's behind that question, behind the look he's giving you right now, studying your face like it's the first time he's seeing it. At least...you think you know.

He puts his glass aside again. You open your mouth to say something, but he's faster.

"I need to go."

"Wait-"

He doesn't wait. Steve is on his feet in a second, almost at the door in two.

But you, somehow supernaturally faster…you grab his wrist. You grab his wrist with both hands and oh God, Steve's not quite sure what to do with you now. He doesn't respond, doesn't move. You tug at his arm, wanting him to turn around, look at you. He doesn't.

"Steve."

His name feels like a whisper on your lips. It's not loud, but it's urgent.

Steve is having a hard time remembering why he's supposed to keep his distance from you. He turns around to look at you, your hand slipping down to his, still not letting him go…and he realizes it was a bad idea.

The desperation in your eyes mirrors his own, and before he knows what he's doing, Steve is leaning in, hands grabbing your face, mouth finding yours, lips parting.

He's not gentle, not soft.

You moan into the kiss and Steve kicks the door closed without looking, his hands finding your waist as you cling to his neck, the towel falling at your feet. Your lips part and he slips inside, tasting you, feeling the warmth of your breath on his skin as you gasp, stumbling back as he pushes forward.

The bed is soft but cold beneath you as you land, Steve on top of you, pinning you down."God," he groans into your neck. "Sorry."

You giggle. "God, sorry?"

He groans in reply, lips moving against your neck as he continues to kiss his way down your collarbone. "I mean it," he whispers, his voice hoarse with desire. "I shouldn't be doing this."

"M' not...complaining."

Steve laughs roughly into your skin, pressing his lips to the dip between your breasts and finally looking up into your eyes. He pauses for a moment, searching for something there. You can see the uncertainty in his expression, the fear of losing control, of what will happen if he really lets go.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No," you say automatically.

He chuckles at your answer, a soft, low sound that vibrates through your chest. "You're sure?" he whispers, leaning in to kiss you again, this time softer, slower. "Because I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to take advantage of you."

"How could you possibly take advantage of me?" you ask, sounding almost annoyed.

Steve smiles. "I don't know. I just..." He trails off, pressing a quick kiss to your chin. "I just want this to be right."

You can feel his hesitation, his worry, but you don't want to push him away. You reach up, gently cupping his cheek, and look into his eyes. "I want to."

"You want to?"

"Yes."

There's a moment where the weight of what you've just said seems to press down on Steve, making him pause. He looks into your eyes, searching for any sign of doubt or fear, but finds only the truth. He exhales shakily, looking like it takes every ounce of his self-control to do so. "Tell me you're not drunk."

You reach up, tracing his jawline with your fingers. "I'm not drunk."

"Fuck..." he mutters, trying to concentrate as you trail your fingers down his neck, over his collarbone. "Really? Don't lie to me."

You smile, shaking your head in disbelief. "I'm not drunk," you repeat. "I had like…two drinks. Are you drunk?"

Steve laughs, a choked-up sound. "I've had more than that," he admits. "But I'm…I'm okay." He looks at you for a long moment, like he's trying to commit your face to memory, just in case. Then he leans in, kissing you softly, his lips moving against yours with a tenderness that belies his earlier urgency. "But even if I were drunk, you're welcome to take advantage of me anytime."

You smile against his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck. "I'll keep that in mind," you whisper, feeling a rush of affection for him. Steve groans into the kiss, pressing your back against the mattress as his hips move between your legs. His skin feels hot against yours, his muscles tense, and with nothing but the thin fabric of your bikini bottom and his swim trunks between you, there's little left for the imagination.

"Steve," you breathe out as he kisses his way down your neck, nipping at your skin with his teeth. His name feels heavy in your mouth, like you've been holding it there for years and it's finally been given the chance to be spoken. "Steve…"

"You keep saying my name like that and I'm going to lose it."

You feel the wet heat of his mouth as he kisses his way back down your neck, over your collarbone. His fingers are patient, too patient as they trail up your sides, over your ribs, stopping just shy of your breasts like he's afraid he'll go too far, too fast, too soon.

"Can I-"

"Yes."

His laughter is soft as he pulls back to look at you, eyes half-lidded and mouth slightly parted. He brushes a strand of wet hair away from your face, tracing the line of your jaw with his thumb. "You don't even know what I was going to say."

"What were you going to say?"

He smiles, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. "Something about wanting you. About how I can't believe I'm finally here with you." His fingers drift lower, tracing the curve of your neck before one hooks playfully under the delicate string of your bikini top. "I was going to ask if I could touch you."

You nod, feeling the anticipation building inside you. "Yes," you breathe, arching into his touch. "Please."

His smile is slow, almost wicked. He lets go of the string and instead cups your breast, thumb tracing the hardening peak of your nipple through the thin fabric of your top. Your back arches further, and a soft moan escapes your lips as his fingers find purchase and squeeze. He pulls back slightly, watching as you close your eyes, your chest rising and falling rapidly. "Is this okay?" he whispers, tracing a circle around your nipple with his finger.

"Yes," you manage to choke out.

Steve hums in understanding, his touch growing more confident as he cups your breast in his hand, squeezing gently before circling your nipple with his thumb. The sensation is almost too much, making your hips twitch against his as you arch further into the touch.

He wonders for a moment if he should take it further, if he should untie the knot and push the bikini top down, revealing your breasts to his touch...would you be okay with that? Or should he keep going, teasing you until you beg? His eyes flicker down to your lips, watching as they part slightly with each shallow breath, how your tongue darts out to wet them.

You're so beautiful, he thinks, almost dizzy from the sight of you.

He can feel the warmth between his legs, the insistent pressure as his cock strains against the fabric of his trunks. You'll be the death of him, he's certain. He's already so fucking hard and you're not even naked yet.

He leans in, lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "Can I?"

He kisses your neck, your collarbone, your shoulder. And then his fingers slide lower, tracing the line of your stomach, pausing at your navel…

"Can I touch you here?"

The feel of his fingers tracing the line of your stomach, so close to where you ache for him to touch, is almost too much to bear. You chuckle as you arch your back, offering him more of your skin, more of yourself, then grabbing his wrist when he doesn't seem convinced, guiding his hand lower.

"Please," grinning, you run your fingers through his hair with your free hand, feeling the dampness there as it clings to the strands, "stop asking."

He smiles against your skin, his fingers finding the soft, warm skin of your inner thigh, tracing up and down, so close to where you're aching for him. "You're sure?" he whispers, his voice low and teasing. "You're sure you want this?"

"Steve Harrington, you-"

But you can't even finish the sentence before he's kissing you, his mouth warm and wet and demanding as his fingers finally slip between your legs, sliding beneath the thin scrap of fabric and you gasp into his mouth, arching into his touch, forgetting whatever insult you were going to say.

You feel the rough pad of his index finger against your clit, and then he's pressing, circling, teasing.

"Fuck."

"You're so wet," he breathes, watching your face. "So fucking wet for me, honey, God," His fingers move faster, his touch more demanding as he presses deeper, finding your entrance and circling, circling, wanting to push inside.

You grip the back of his head, your other hand clutching at the duvet beneath you, your hips arching off the bed as his fingers move in a blissful, insistent rhythm. It's been so long since anyone has touched you like this, since you've felt this kind of need and desire, but this…this is even better than you could have imagined. This is Steve, your Steve.

"I want you inside me," you pant before you can think twice about it, your words breathless and urgent. "Please."

Steve hums, his fingers still working their magic as he leans forward, kissing your neck, your shoulder, your collarbone. "I want that too," he whispers, and then he's pushing the bikini bottoms aside, throwing them across the room, revealing your wet, aching folds to his gaze, moving to trail wet, open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, over your hip, and finally to the juncture of your thighs.

Shit. He parts your legs with his shoulders, bending his knees to kneel between them. "Let me make you come first."

With...his mouth?

You prop yourself up on your elbows to look at his face, more than a little self-conscious now. "Wait, but you...you're gonna...?"

He wraps his arms around your hips, holding you still as he leans in, his breath warm against your exposed skin. Curiously, he asks, "You don't want me to?"

You shake your head; no, of course you do. But the idea of him going down on you...it's so intimate. So much more than just having sex. "I just..."

He looks up at you, and there's something in his eyes that makes you forget whatever you were about to say. Something that makes you feel safe and wanted and desired. "You just...?" he whispers, his lips brushing against the soft skin of your inner thigh.

It's hard to concentrate when he does that. You squirm a little, but his hold on you is surprisingly firm.

"I just..." You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. "I just haven't had anyone do that for me in a really long time." It's true; the last time you can remember was with a boyfriend years ago, and even then it was more of a "be polite" thing than anything else. But with Steve...it feels different. "Do you *really* want to? Because you don't have to if-"

You feel him smile against your skin as he continues to gently kiss his way up your thigh. "I want to," he whispers, and the way he says it, the sincerity in his voice, makes you believe him. "I really want to. But, um…only if you want it too."

You open your eyes, watching as he looks up at you, waiting for your answer. He looks so hopeful, so eager. If he wants this, if he wants to make you feel this good...how can you say no?

With a shaky breath, you nod, your fingers threading through his hair. "Okay," you whisper. "Okay."

Steve hums in satisfaction. You feel a shiver run down your spine as he slowly pulls your legs wider apart, resting his elbows on the bed as he leans in closer, his hot breath fanning across your folds. His hands grip your hips, holding you steady as he gazes up at you, watching your reaction, almost daring you to tell him to stop.

You watch, mesmerized, as he tilts his head, licking his lips before he leans in, pressing a gentle, open-mouthed kiss to the very center of you.

Boy... does he know what he's doing.

Your eyes flutter shut as he begins to lick and suck, his tongue dancing over your most sensitive skin, his fingers curling into the flesh of your hips, urging you to arch into his touch. You gasp, feeling your whole body tense, your hands tangled in his hair, your nails almost digging into his scalp. He moans, his breath hot against you, and you realize he's watching your reactions, taking cues from your body.

"Good?" he asks, as if you're not already on the verge of coming.

But you can't answer, can't form a coherent thought, let alone a word. So you nod. Frantically so, head thumping against the mattress. He smiles against your skin like he's won some sort of prize, and then you feel the slip of his fingers, two of them easily sliding inside you, tight but wet enough to be ready. You cry out, his name a desperate plea falling off your lips as he thrusts his fingers deeper, curling them up to find just the right spot.

"Oh, God..." you moan, your hips bucking up against his hand. "Steve..." Your fingernails dig into the duvet, your back arching as he expertly works his fingers inside you.

Steve seems to sense that you're getting close, the way your hips are moving erratically against his hand, the way your breath is coming in short, ragged gasps. He looks up at you for a moment as if to gauge your reaction, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. He keeps his fingers exactly where they are while he leans up over your body to kiss you, propping himself up on one elbow.

"You taste so good," his voice is a whisper against your lips as they part beneath his. "So wet. God, I want to feel you around me."

"Yes, please."

Your enthusiasm makes Steve grin against your lips. "Please?" he muses. He's hard, of course he is hard in his swim trunks, cock straining against the fabric as it leans against your thigh. But he doesn't want to rush this. Not with you.

"Steve," you admonish, sliding your hands up his arms.

His fingers are still moving, but more slowly now, less urgent. It's almost as if he's teasing you, drawing this out. Your hips rock up against his hand, and you feel a surge of wetness between your legs as you arch your back, seeking more contact. His lips find yours again, tongue sliding against yours as he thrusts his fingers deeper, curling them to hit just the right spot. You moan into the kiss, your body trembling as the pleasure builds, your fingers tangled in his hair.

"Oh God," you say in a shaky voice. "Steve, please..."

He groans against your lips, curling his fingers deeper inside you, searching. "Please what?" he whispers as he kisses along your jaw, teasing, not mean, never mean, but drawing it out just a little bit more.

In lieu of an answer, you find yourself arching your back in a desperate manner. His fingers brush against something deep inside you, something that has you gasping and tightening around him, close too close. His fingers find the rhythm you've been craving, your orgasm building, building, building.

"That's it," he whispers against your neck, his own breath hot and uneven. "That's it, baby."

And you do. It's unlike anything you've ever felt before, a rush of pleasure so intense it makes your vision blur, your skin warm all over.

Steve, watching your expression as you come apart beneath his touch, feels the warmth of your release coat his fingers, the tightness of your body around them. God. It's a heady sensation, knowing that he can make you feel this way.

His fingers are slick with your wetness as he pulls them free and gently pushes you back onto the bed. You're lying flat on your back again, and he's grinning as he looks down at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"You're...very good at this," your voice is a breathy whisper as you glance up at him, a flush rising in your cheeks. You chuckle, wrapping your arms around his neck, bringing him down for a gentle kiss. Steve's skin is warm beneath your fingertips, his kiss featherlight soft against your lips. "Do you want-"

"Yes," he cuts you off with a husky laugh, leaning down to nip at your neck. "If you do," His hand finds the string of your bikini top, finger following along it all the way up to the bow. With a practiced flick, he undoes it but doesn't yet pull the fabric away, watching your eyes as he lets the knot slide free, half expecting you to tell him to stop. You don't, though. You watch him, your chest rising and falling with every breath, and something in his chest aches at the sight.

"You can take it off," you reassure, feeling a blush creep up your neck. "It's just me."

You hope that comes across as playful and confident, but maybe you don't seem so convincing when you're still a little breathless, a little sensitive, so you decide to take matters into your own hands and reach up, fingers shaking only a little, to pull the cups of your bikini top down and away from your chest.

Steve watches you, his expression somewhere between adoration and awe as you reveal yourself to him like a fucking gift unwrapped.

"You're unreal," he breathes. "You're so..."

When he reaches out to touch, just the very tips of his fingers brushing against the sensitive flesh, you try to encourage him by arching into the contact.

"So fucking beautiful," he whispers, leaning down to kiss your collarbone. "I can't get enough of you."

His hands slide down your sides, over the smooth skin of your hips, and then lower still, cupping your ass. He pulls you closer, pressing your body against his, slowly grinding against you. "Do you want..." he tries, an urgent edge creeping into his voice. "Do you want me inside you?"

Steve looks like he's about to explode at the mere suggestion, his expression a mixture of raw desire and aching need. You're about to reply when he nips at your neck, his teeth grazing the skin there. You momentarily lose your words.

"You're killing me," he half groans, half laughs, his hips moving harder against yours as he pushes himself as close to you as he possibly can. You can feel him through the thin fabric of his swim trunks, hard and insistent, and you're sure it wouldn't take much more of this teasing before he loses control completely. "Just say the word," he whispers, kissing along the line of your jaw, "and I'll give you anything you want."

"Can I...can I touch you?"

You feel Steve stiffen at your request at first, his body tensing beneath your fingers. "Of course you can," he breathes, a shudder working its way through him. "You can do whatever you want, baby."

You reach down, fingers shaky in your eagerness to please. You grasp the hem of his trunk and tug gently, almost hesitant, but he's already cooperating, kicking them off and letting them fall to the floor without so much as a second thought.

"Oh," you breathe, eyes widening as you take in the sight of him, naked and perfect in front of you. Steve's cock is already hard, a bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip, and you can't help but reach out and touch it, tentatively at first, but then more confidently, wrapping your fingers around the base of him and waiting to gauge his reaction.

"Oh, fuck," he moans, closing his eyes as you stroke him. "That feels...that's so good."

Your fingers feel warm and soft around him, and with each gentle stroke, he feels himself growing harder and harder, unable to contain the pleasure building inside of him. He opens his eyes to look down at you, watching your expression as you touch him, your focus solely on the way your fingers slide up and down his length.

Before you can get too carried away, though, Steve's hands are grabbing yours, guiding them away from his cock rather urgently. "If you want me inside you," he pants, a strained smile tugging at his lips, "you're going to have to stop that." His voice is a little shaky, a little rough, and you can tell he's struggling to keep himself in check.

You grin up at him. "I...do want that."

Steve's answering smile is a little more confident now, and he leans forward, brushing the pad of his index finger across your lips, tracing the shape of your bottom lip as he does so. "I think you've had enough teasing today," he whispers, hand moving to cup your neck, his thumb rubbing gently over your pulse point. "You really want this?"

"Yes," you breathe, unable to keep the word from slipping past your lips. "Yeah, I do."

Steve's thumb continues to trace circles around your pulse point as he leans in, pressing his lips against yours. His kiss starts gentle, a mere brush of his mouth against yours, "Yeah? Can I?" sliding his hand down your stomach, between your legs, he adds, "Fuck, yeah, you're...you're wet enough."

You gasp into his kiss as he brushes his fingers against you. "Yeah," you moan, arching your hips up into his touch, with a grin, "Yeah, I am, I...you're gonna make me beg or something, huh?"

"I'd never make you beg for anything, sweetheart."

His fingers move in a slow circle, spreading your wetness around your entrance, making sure you're as ready for him as you can be.

You reach up, wrapping your arms around his neck. You pull him closer as he begins to shift between your legs, his hand coming back up to gently guide himself towards your entrance, and then he looks down at you, searching your eyes for some sign, some reassurance, before he's pushing inside, slowly, gently, taking his time to ease his way into you.

You gasp at the feeling of being stretched, filled, but at the same time it's perfect, it's...right.

He leans forward, bracing himself on his arms, and watches as you arch your back, your lips parted in a silent moan. "More?" he whispers, his voice a rough rasp. "Should I...?"

"More," you breathe, meeting his eyes.

And Steve gives it to you. He slides deeper, pushing in farther, stretching you just enough to make you feel so full of him. You're tight and he's impatient, but he makes sure he doesn't rush, doesn't force it. You feel the muscles in his back and arms tensing as he fights against the urge to go harder, how much he wants to lose control and just fuck you into the mattress.

He takes you like he's been dreaming of it for years, like he's never going to get the chance to feel you like this again. Slowly.

"Steve," his name rolls off your tongue like a sigh the moment he's all the way inside you, your muscles clenching around him in an attempt to hold him close.

He tries to remember how to breathe, pressing his lips to your shoulder. He feels you squeeze around him and muffles a sound between a moan and a growl against your skin, "Can I move?"

"Yes, I...yes."

He pulls back slightly, just enough to adjust his angle, and then pushes back inside you. The sensation is almost too much, the way your body seems to fit so perfectly around him, the way your muscles clench and release, drawing him deeper still. Fuck. You're so wet that he can feel himself sliding easily in and out of you. The sounds of your skin slapping against his is a perfect counterpoint to the gasping, keening noises you're making into his shoulder.

He knows he won't last half as much as he'd like if you keep that up.

"God, that's it," he growls, the words lost in the movement of his hips against yours. "Tell me how it feels, sweetheart." One of his hands slides down between your bodies, cupping your aching clit, rubbing in a tight circle as he thrusts into you. The sensation is overwhelming, too much and not nearly enough all at once.

Your legs twist, one hooking behind his back for leverage, and you arch into his touch, your nails digging into his shoulders as you feel the tension building, the familiar tightness coiling in your core. "So good," you moan, thrusting your hips up to meet his, wanting more of that friction, more of his skin against yours. "Can you go...faster, please?"

He's lost to the sensation of your body moving against his, the feel of you slick and hot and tight. He's close, so close, but he doesn't want this to be over yet. He pulls back slightly, only to slam back in harder, the head of his cock hitting the spot inside you that makes you arch your back and gasp.

His hand moves faster on your clit, circling and pressing, and you're so close now, so close, you can feel it building, making you shiver and writhe underneath him. Steve leans down, lips finding the skin of your neck, sucking and nipping as he thrusts harder, deeper, faster.

"Yes," you moan, arching into his touch, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Fuck, yes."

Steve lets his hand move from between your legs to the back of your knee, hooking it there, holding you open to him as his cock slides in and out of you with a harsh, wet sound. You feel so full of him, stretched and sore and aching in the best way possible.

He's so close now, the tension in his body almost painful as he fights against the urge to come before you do. Steve watches your face as you writhe beneath him, lips parted and flushed, eyes glazed over in pleasure like you can't quite focus. It's the most erotic thing he's ever seen. He doesn't want this to end. Being inside you like this, feeling the way you move against him...he doesn't think he'll ever get enough.

Your nails scrape down his back, leaving little red lines in their wake. Steve thinks he's going to lose it every time you do that.

"Fuck," he groans, the word caught in his throat as he thrusts harder into you. The sounds of your skin slapping against his makes it almost unbearable and he has to think of something else, anything else, to keep from coming. "Feels good, sweetheart?" he whispers, his hand moving between your legs again, this time finding your clit and rubbing in a steady, circular motion.

You arch into his touch, your hips moving in time with his thrusts. "So close," you moan, your voice shaking. "I...I..."

Steve feels the tension building inside you, knows that you're close. He watches your face, the way your eyes have almost rolled back in your head, the way your lips are parted and your breath coming in quick, shallow gasps.

He leans down, taking one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking and teasing as pushes inside to the hilt, holding you there, feeling your body trembling beneath him. You cry out then, your back arching off the bed, and Steve feels you tighten and pulse around him, gripping him like a fist as you come.

The sensation is almost too much, but he somehow manages to ask, "Can I come inside you?"

You nod, your eyes closed tightly, and he thrusts once, twice…then one last time, feeling himself spill inside you as he moans, body tensing and then relaxing, spent.

Steve collapses on top of you without pulling out, sweaty bodies sticking together. He somehow finds the energy to kiss your shoulder, your neck, your ear, nibbling and sucking until you laugh, shifting beneath him.

"You're heavy," you tease, but you don't really mind. It feels right to have him pressed against you like this, his heart thumping against yours, his breath warm on your skin.

He chuckles, nuzzling deeper into the crook of your neck. "Sorry," he mumbles, before pulling himself up enough to look down at you. You're beautiful, even with your hair tangled and your lips swollen from his kisses. "Do you want to get cleaned up?" he asks, running a hand through his sweaty hair.

"I think I love you."

The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them, and for a moment, you're not sure if you should take them back. But then Steve's eyes widen, his lips part in surprise, and you know it's too late. You've said it.

"Sorry, I shouldn't...I mean, I-"

Steve cups your face in his hands, his eyes wide and serious. "I love you too," he says, his voice a little unsteady. "I have for a long time."

He leans in, pressing his lips to yours gently, then more firmly, as if he's making sure this is real, that you feel it too.

But you feel it too.

God, you feel it too.

#🏷️ amy's flea market #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve x you #steve x reader #stranger things fanfic #stranger things imagine #steve harrington drabble

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appocalipse · 3 months

Note

can i please request a worn teddy bear + dusty love letters w/ steve harrington? 🥹 maybe steve feels insecure about his scars and reader makes him feel better and it's all 💗❤️💕🥹

i love this idea! tysm ♥ | cw: a little suggestive but no smut, 0.9k

amy's flea market ♥

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

"Stevie, do you...w-what's going on?"

You stop by the door, leaning against the frame as you watch him, confused at first, not sure what exactly you're seeing, then concerned when finally you do. He is standing in front of the mirror, his shirt off, hands pressed to the sides of his ribs like he's trying to force himself to see something different than what's before his eyes.

Steve's heart skips a beat as he follows your gaze down. His cheeks flush red.

He shrugs, trying to play it off. "Nothing, babe. It's just... I dunno. It's been a while since anyone's really seen them, y'know?" He gestures vaguely to the scars on his abdomen.

You feel like your heart might break just looking at him, the way he's so clearly struggling with himself. You take a deep breath, trying to steady your voice, and walk over to him, wrapping your arms around him from behind. "Steve," you whisper, pressing your cheek to his back. And because you don't know how else to explain how much you love him and how much those scars mean nothing to you, you reach around him, gently tracing your fingers over each one, and repeat, "Steve."

He sighs, leaning back into you just enough to let you know you're not upsetting him. "You really don't have to..."

"I want to," you insist, pressing a kiss to the spot between his shoulder blades. You grin. "You know, I actually think they're kinda hot."

You know that Steve's looks have always mattered to him in a way that no one else might be able to quite understand. It's not that he's particularly vain or anything, more like...he still finds it difficult to see his self worth beyond the image he sees in the mirror everyday, beyond his physical appearance. He is still trying to figure out who he is now, outside of being 'King Steve'.

He laughs softly and you can feel him relax a little as you run your fingers over his scars. The tension in Steve's body seems to ebb away. "Really?" he asks, turning his head slightly to the side, gazing at you over his shoulder with a grin.

"Oh, yeah, really," you say with a smile, tracing a finger along the edge of one of the scars, feeling the raised, puckered texture beneath your touch. You gently tug on his arm to turn him around to face you, meeting his gaze with a grin of your own. "I think they make you look tough."

He raises an eyebrow. "Tough?" he repeats, quirking a smile. "I'll take that."

You grin back at him, leaning in to brush your lips against his. He feels so good against you, warm and solid, and you want nothing more than to kiss him until he feels better and the rest of the world fades away. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his skin and the soft give of his abdomen where the scars are. You wonder, briefly, if and how anyone could ever find them unattractive.

"Mhmm, very tough," your lips gently trail down his neck, nuzzling at the soft skin just below his earlobe. You can feel him shiver ever so slightly, tightening his grip around your waist, fingers digging into your skin just enough to make you gasp. You move down to his chest, kissing his collarbone, sucking on the tender skin, your tongue flicking out to trace a line down to his abdomen. You press your lips against the top of his stomach and glance up at him through your lashes.

Steve sucks in a sharp breath as you kneel in front of him, looking down at you with newfound curiosity. He chuckles. "Baby, what are you..."

But then your lips are there, warm and soft as you gently kiss the center of his stomach. Steve tries to remember how to breathe. You chuckle softly as you nuzzle against his skin, pressing tiny, teasing kisses along the length of the scars on his sides, feeling the vibration under your lips as he, too, laughs.

"See?" you whisper, looking up at him with a wide grin, "Sexy."

He laughs, a real, unrestrained laugh that makes your heart swell. "You're insane," he tells you, but there's no sting in the words. He brings a hand up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing across your lips. Steve's eyes are soft, and he gazes at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. "But I'll take it."

You smile up at him, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. You reach up, twining your fingers with his, squeezing his hand gently as he helps you stand. "Thank God," you tell him, laughing softly. "And...seriously, Steve, I love you and I love every inch of you, but we don't have to go to the beach with our friends if you don't want to."

Steve frowns, looking thoughtful for a moment. "No, I do want to," he says slowly. "It's just...sometimes I feel like everyone's looking at me, and I just..." He trails off, shrugging a little. "It's stupid, I know."

You squeeze his hand reassuringly.

"It's not stupid," you say. "I get it. Sometimes I feel like people are looking at me, too, and I'm not sure why. But we don't have to do anything we don't want to. If you want to go, we'll go. If you don't, we can just...have a quiet day at home or something. I don't mind."

Steve looks at you, his expression softening. "You really are the best thing that's ever happened to me, sweetheart."

#🏷️ amy's flea market #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve x you #steve x reader #stranger things fanfic #stranger things imagine #steve harrington drabble #amy's flea market

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appocalipse · 2 months

Note

how about cracked compass + antique lock and key set with eddie munson? hear me out, but i'm thinking a historical AU and they're both servants at the same house/manor/castle (thinking kinda downton abbey energy with the servants drama). maybe she's carrying a tray or something and spills it everywhere (idk maybe it's food, maybe its something tiny like a jar of beads) and eddie swoops in and takes the fall so that she doesn't get sacked (because he's been working there a lot longer) makes up some story about how it was his fault and stuff. yup, that'd be the moment you fell stupidly hard for him... imagine all of the pinning? the staring at him when he's not looking? AH!

lea, you have such a beautiful mind 🥺♥ i tried my best but unfortunately, i've never watched downton abbey, so it's probably not exactly what you wanted :( hope you'll still enjoy it anyway, thanks for the lovely request 💗 | 4.3k words

visit amy's flea market ♥

The vase goes clattering to the floor and you watch with a desperate and frenzied heart as it hits the stone and...shatters instantly.

In a mix of dismay and panic, you reach to the floor where the delicate craftwork is broken into countless jagged and shattered pieces along the smooth white tile. Upon attempting to save the poor vase, you accidently slash your palm open on one of the sharp corners, and though the wound gushes blood, you don't seem to care. You think maybe if you gather all of the pieces and put them back together in their proper place, it may still be fixed, may still be saved, if you—

"Have you- Christ! Sweetheart, what...what happened?"

Startled, you look up to find Eddie running down the long and winding stairway, his chest rising and falling as if he'd just run a mile. He quickly makes his way over to you, crouching down on the floor, his dark eyes scanning your body for any signs of injury.

"Are you hurt? Oh God, there's blood," he breathes, and before you can reply, he's reaching out to take your wounded hand in his and inspect it closer.

The feel of his fingers against your skin sends a tingling sensation up your spine, but you shake the feeling away and focus on explaining yourself. "I...I was just passing by and...I tried to grab it, but it fell, and—I didn't mean for it to—"

"Hey, hey, shh, it's alright," Eddie murmurs, and without hesitation, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a clean handkerchief. He wraps it around your bleeding hand and ties it tight, his movements gentle and careful. "I'll talk to Mr. Harrington about it, okay? It's not your fault."

"I—no. It was all me. Don't...you shouldn't get involved, you'll end up getting in trouble too."

Eddie smiles softly, his dark eyes sparkling as he looks up at you. "You're sweet, but...it's okay. I've been a servant here for a longer time. I know how to deal with this. You don't need to worry, okay?"

Unable to form words, you stare at Eddie and wonder why he's being so kind to you. It's true that the two of you have grown close over the past few years—close enough that you'd even consider him your friend—but still...this isn't his fault, and he shouldn't feel the need to take the blame for you.

"Eddie, I—"

He blushes and drops his gaze, reaching out to gently brush a stray lock of hair away from your face. "Go clean up, okay? I'll handle it."

And with that, Eddie carefully picks up the broken shards of the vase and disappears down the hall.

For the next days, you can't seem to stop thinking about what happened. The guilt eats away at your insides, twisting and turning until you feel physically sick. Eddie had taken the punishment for you, from what you've heard — a severe deduction from his pay and the threat of getting fired, along with extra cleaning duties.

You had tried to protest, to tell Mr. Harrington that it was truly an accident and that you could handle the consequences yourself, but Eddie wouldn't let you. He'd taken on everything, saying that the vase had slipped off the pedestal as he was cleaning it, and that he'd been the clumsy and careless one, leaving you in the clear.

You hated it.

It was the reason you couldn't seem to sleep, couldn't seem to eat or even breathe. Every waking moment was haunted by the memory of his soft and understanding voice, the warmth of his fingers against your own, the smell of his hair lingering in the air long after he'd gone, like a ghost haunting your thoughts and—

"God, sweetheart, you look terrible," Eddie says one day as you make your way through the castle corridors. "When was the last time you had a good night of sleep, huh?"

You blush, self-consciously touching your hair and wishing you looked even a fraction better than you did. "I-I'll pay you back, you know. I promise."

Eddie frowns, tilting his head in confusion. "Pay me back?"

"For...for taking the punishment for me. I'll do double my duties, and with the extra payment—"

"Woah, wait...you want to do extra work so you can...give it to me? What? That doesn't even make any sense. I didn't take the punishment so you'd repay me for it, you know."

"But it was my fault," you argue. "And it's only right that I—"

"How's your hand?"

"I don't...what?"

Blinking in confusion, you look down to where your hand is neatly wrapped in gauze. You had accidently re-opened the wound a few days back while running some errands for your lady, but it had mostly healed by now, though it would surely scar.

"Is it feeling better? That was a nasty cut," Eddie asks, moving closer so he can reach out and inspect your palm. He takes your hand carefully, as if you're made of glass, gingerly unwrapping the bandage and scanning the sensitive skin with his eyes. His touch sends an electric buzz under your skin, a longing unfurling in your belly that you force yourself to ignore.

"Oh, uhm, yes. I'm fine," you reply, trying to calm the sudden rush of heat that's flooded your cheeks. "But—Eddie, please. If you won't take the extra payment, then please, just let me do some of your chores or—"

"No. Why would I do that?"

"Why would you not?!"

Eddie laughs, shaking his head and giving you a crooked smile. "Sweetheart, I told you—I did what I did because I wanted to. Because I'm your friend and...I like seeing you happy. Seeing you upset over this whole thing is worse than a month's worth of cleaning duties, honestly."

You frown, biting the inside of your cheek and staring down at the polished tile beneath your feet. "Still, it doesn't feel right, you taking the blame and...punishment for me. I can't stand the thought of you getting in trouble because of something I did, especially when it's...it's not your fault, and you shouldn't have to—"

"I don't think of it as punishment."

"You don't?"

You look up, watching as Eddie's chocolate eyes seem to sparkle in the dim light of the candle-lit hallway. "I've been here longer than you. It would've been much worse if you'd taken the fall."

Eddie's fingers are gentle and warm against your own, his calloused hands brushing over your palm with a feather-light touch. You watch as he carefully wraps the gauze around the wound again, his brows furrowed in concentration as he secures the fabric tightly.

"I think you're being too kind to me," you murmur, feeling your heart race as he brushes a stray lock of hair away from your face. "I don't deserve it."

Eddie chuckles, shaking his head and stepping back with a sigh. "What if I have an ulterior motive?"

You frown, tilting your head in confusion. "Ulterior motive?"

"Mhm. What if I'm only doing it so you'll see how good I am and fall madly in love with me? Hmm?"

You blush, unable to form words as Eddie grins mischievously. "I—you—what?"

"Kidding, sweetheart, I'm kidding," Eddie says with a chuckle, reaching out to gently pat your head. "I'm just trying to make you smile, that's all."

"Well, you're very good at it."

"You think so?"

"Yes," you breathe, surprised by the sudden sincerity in your voice. "I'm glad we're friends, Eddie."

"Me too, sweetheart."

After that night, you couldn't seem to get those stupid words out of your head.

Eddie had been joking, of course. The two of you were close, but he didn't have feelings for you. Of course not. Not like that. How could he? How could someone as sweet and handsome and wonderful as him like you of all people, when there were so many other girls who were prettier, with more money and manners than you could ever hope to achieve?

You sigh and return your focus to where you're meant to be helping your lady get dressed, dutifully lacing the ties of her corset and giving them a good tug.

You know that he'd meant it in good fun. Know that he had most likely forgotten about it as soon as he'd said it—but for whatever reason, you can't seem to.

It's so annoying.

You love Eddie. He is your friend, of course. And while you both had never broached any territory close to a romantic relationship, you aren't stupid or blind. You aren't oblivious enough to the way his dark eyes seem to linger on you for a little too long. To how he holds the door open and gently touches the small of your back whenever the two of you are walking through the castle or descending the grand staircase.

God, you could go on and on and on about him.

"Miss, you seem rather distracted," your lady remarks, causing you to flush with embarrassment. "Did you tie my corset too tight, by chance?"

"Oh—I'm sorry, my lady," you reply, shaking yourself from your thoughts and adjusting the laces once more. "There—how is that?"

"Much better."

After helping her into her dress and pinning her hair into place, you follow her out of her chambers and down the corridor to the grand staircase, where a few other servants are already waiting for her. Tonight you and most of the other servants will finally have some time to yourselves — the family you serve is going to be attending a lavish dinner party with many other high-class members of society.

They're going to be gone for most of the night, and though usually you'd look forward to this sort of thing, you can't seem to muster the same excitement as usual.

You just aren't...feeling it tonight.

You sigh and make your way down the stairs, where the front doors have just opened and your lady and her husband are now heading out to their carriages. Once they're all gone, the rest of the servants will enjoy their rare free time as well, either staying in their quarters or heading into the town. Maybe that's what you should do, you think; go into town and distract yourself from your confusing thoughts about a certain valet, now that you have the luxury of time on your hands and no expectations of anyone.

"Miss, you seem a little flushed. Are you feeling well?" Eddie asks mischievously, stepping up behind you and reaching out to brush his fingers against the back of your neck. "You don't have a fever, do you?"

You jump, startled by the sudden touch and turning to look up at Eddie with a huff. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Sneak up on me like that. You scared me half to death."

"Oh, did I?" Eddie asks, and the corners of his lips twitch upwards into a crooked grin. "Sorry about that."

You roll your eyes and try to suppress the sudden butterflies in your stomach. God, how could you have let yourself fall for someone like him, anyway? He'll be the death of you.

"Is there something on my face?"

"Oh, er...no," you murmur, suddenly feeling very flustered. "I was just lost in thought. I suppose you're also staying?"

"Staying?"

"Here."

Eddie makes a confused face, tilting his head in an adorable expression of perplexity. "Where would I go?"

You frown. It seems unlike Eddie to not find some sort of adventure in the rare and little free time you're given; he's always the first one eager to ride out to town and spend a free evening gambling and drinking with his friends, but this time, he doesn't seem eager to go anywhere at all.

"You...don't want to head into town with the others?" you ask, unsure of whether or not you're prying too much. "I heard the pubs are having a sale on ale and—"

Eddie sighs, running a hand through his curly dark locks and shrugging his shoulders. "Eh. I'm not in the mood, I guess."

You tilt your head, intrigued by his sudden change in behavior. Usually, he's the life of the party, the one who brings a room together with his energy and humor, but now, he seems almost...dejected.

"Eddie, is everything alright? Did something—"

"Fine," he replies a little too quickly, his voice sounding strained. He gives you a forced smile and reaches out to gently touch your shoulder. "Just tired, that's all."

You frown, unconvinced. "If there's something bothering you, you can always—"

"Sweetheart, don't worry, okay?" Eddie murmurs, his dark eyes sparkling in the dim light of the entrance hall. He leans closer, his fingers gently grazing over your cheek, and for a moment, your breath catches in your throat. "Promise."

Before you can say anything else, he's turning on his heel and heading towards the back staircase, his valet uniform swishing behind him as he goes.

You blink, your fingers lightly touching where his hand had been moments before. The sudden brush of his skin had sent electric shocks throughout your body, a heat building up inside your belly that you can't seem to get rid of.

"Excuse me," one of the maids whispers as she walks by, startling you from your trance. "I need to clear this hallway."

"Oh, um...sorry," you reply, flustered. "I'll get out of the way."

By the time you reach the servants quarters, most of the staff that had received permission to go out has already left. Most of the doors are closed, and the sound of chatter and footsteps and laughter fades out into the distance as you head towards your bedroom and gently shut the door behind you.

Your share your room with three other girls, but none of them are anywhere to be seen now.

Thank God.

You sigh, the dull roar of your thoughts finally starting to quiet down as you sit at your small desk and lean your head against the back of the chair.

You can't stop thinking about what had just happened.

Can't stop thinking about the sudden flirtatious behavior and the way Eddie had brushed his fingers against your cheek with a gentleness that made your knees buckle.

With a long, exhausted sigh, you rise to your feet and slowly start to unpin your hair from its tight bun. You replace your uniform with a simple cotton dress, comfortable enough for a night of light reading and...

A knock at your door jolts you from your thoughts.

"Hey, uh...sweetheart?"

You pause, blinking in confusion and taking a few tentative steps towards the door. "Eddie?"

It can't be.

"Yeah, it's me."

"Is something wrong?"

Eddie chuckles softly on the other side of the door, his voice sounding muffled by the heavy oak. "No, nothing's wrong. I, um...I found a jar of wine in the pantry that Mr. Harrington doesn't know about. Thought you might wanna join me?"

You bite your lip, a wave of nerves rushing through your body as you slowly reach out for the door handle. He shouldn't be here and you definitely shouldn't open the door.

But some things are easier said than done.

You carefully turn the knob and pull it back.

He looks downright sinful, his valet uniform unbuttoned at the collar, a few loose strands of hair falling over his forehead, dark eyes sparkling mischievously in the dim light of the hallway.

He holds the jar in his hand, the liquid sloshing around inside and giving off a slight spicy aroma that you can almost already taste on your tongue.

Male servants like Eddie are strictly forbidden from coming anywhere near the women's quarters, and if someone were to find you, it would be a hell of a lot of trouble for both of you.

"I—are you insane?" you whisper, unsure of whether to shut the door in his face or let him in. "If the housekeeper—"

"Come on, sweetheart, live a little. It'll be fun," Eddie murmurs, stepping closer and leaning forward so his face is level with yours. "Trust me."

You stare at him for a few more tense moments, your heart racing and your palms sweaty against the cool brass handle of the door.

Finally, you swallow thickly and step back, making room for Eddie to come inside.

As soon as he crosses the threshold, you shut the door quickly and lean back against it, waiting for the sound of footsteps or yelling or anything that would indicate the presence of another servant or staff member.

"Chill, sweetheart," Eddie murmurs with a smirk, carefully opening the window a crack and lighting a match to ignite a few candles. "Nobody's gonna come looking for us. Everyone's gone."

"Mrs. Byers is not, no," you argue, crossing your arms over your chest with a huff. Most of the time, you like the housekeeper; she is the closest thing to a motherly figure in your life right now. But she's also incredibly strict when it comes to rules. "She's probably somewhere lurking, as always."

Eddie chuckles softly, winking playfully in your direction. "Well, then we'll have to keep it down."

"Oh, for God's sake. Just open it already."

Carefully, Eddie pries the cork off the jar of wine and takes a swig, a grin playing on his lips. He takes a few steps towards you, holding the bottle out for you to take.

"Want some?"

"It's bad for your liver."

"Everything in life is bad for your liver," Eddie replies, tilting his head to the side. "C'mon, sweetheart. It's good."

You glance down at the bottle, taking in the sweet scent of dark cherries and spices, the bright purple liquid swirling around inside like a whirlpool.

You reach out, your fingers brushing against Eddie's as you take the jar and lift it to your lips, taking a sip.

The taste is unlike anything you've ever experienced. It's sweet and tart and spicy and rich, all at the same time, with an intense burst of flavor on your tongue that you never thought possible.

Feeling your skin warm, you hand the jar back to Eddie and watch as he drinks deeply, his eyes sparkling in the soft glow of the candlelight.

"Are you sure no one will miss this?" you ask, glancing down at the bottle and wondering how expensive it might've been. "What if Mr. Harrington finds out?"

"He won't. Not if we don't make too much of a fuss," Eddie replies, his voice growing softer. "I bet nobody's even thought to look for it. And besides, he wouldn't know it was us anyway."

You cross your arms, raising a challenging brow as you sit on the edge of your bed. "How can you be so sure?"

"There's plenty of wine in the cellar," Eddie counters with a grin, putting his hands up as if he's surrendering. "I didn't steal all his wine. I merely took one that was already there."

"Don't take anymore."

"No promises."

"Eddie."

"Sweetheart."

The nickname sends a rush of heat to your cheeks and you shake your head, fighting a smile as you smooth the fabric of your dress.

He takes a swig of the wine, never taking his eyes off you, and leans back against the wall, the familiar scent of him drifting towards you like a wave of summer air.

"It's good, isn't it?" Eddie asks, cocking his head to the side. "And you're, ah...you're really pretty tonight."

You roll your eyes and try not to look too affected, pushing the stupid fluttery feelings back down into your stomach and stomping them out like tiny little sparks. "Are you already drunk?" you ask, chuckling.

"Pfft, no."

"Then why are you suddenly talking nonsense?"

"It's not nonsense," Eddie protests, his ears turning red. He shakes his head and moves closer, setting the wine jar down on the desk and rubbing the back of his neck. "I think you're...really great, sweetheart. Really amazing. In every single way."

"Uh-huh, sure."

You look away, pretending to be interested in something else so that Eddie doesn't have a chance to read the emotions on your face and pick up on all of the pent-up love for him you've stored inside for the last months — love that is, you've decided, better off locked up tightly in the chest in the corner and never spoken aloud.

He looks different in the soft and sultry orange glow of the low-burning candle, though — his curls illuminated by the light, his dark eyes sparkling, his soft lips curved into a gentle smile.

"Hey."

Eddie sits down beside you, and the heat of his body radiates outward and dances across your skin like the waves of a flickering flame.

He smells clean and warm and fragrant, like soap and fresh laundry.

You lean closer, looking up at him through your lashes and watching as he nervously wrings his hands together.

"You know," Eddie murmurs, smiling gently. "You make my life a lot more interesting than it used to be."

"Are you suggesting I cause you a lot of trouble, then?"

"Not at all," he replies, laughing softly and looking back up at you, his expression softening. "More like...just makes me wanna keep coming back to you, over and over. Even when I don't have to. And especially when I need someone to talk to."

You bite your lip, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you let his words sink in. "Is that why you're here right now? To talk?"

He blinks, his tongue swiping out over his lower lip as his gaze drops to your mouth. "Are you drunk, by any chance, sweetheart? Be honest."

"Why would you—"

"Because I'm about to kiss you, and I want you to be sober."

His words come out breathless, his eyes flicking up to meet yours as your lips part in surprise.

"I am...not drunk," you reply, holding his gaze and leaning closer, your hands tingling from his sudden proximity. "I'm entirely in my right mind. Definitely."

He grins crookedly. "Really?"

"Really."

"So, if I did..."

Eddie's voice trails off as he inches forward, his eyes lidding slightly as he moves closer and closer and...

He stops, his nose inches from yours, and the tips of his long fingers gently brush over your chin, lifting your face up to meet his. "This okay?"

"Yes," you manage, your voice hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

"Good."

His lips are soft when they finally brush against yours, gentle and warm and inviting, and you inhale sharply, feeling yourself go weak in the knees.

He tastes like spice and cherry, and you reach out to grip his shoulders, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss, your head spinning as he kisses you back with equal fervor, his hand gently cupping the back of your neck to keep you steady.

You gasp softly, his teeth grazing over your lip and sending a shock of electricity through your core, and you reach out, your fingers gripping the fabric of his jacket as you hold onto him for dear life.

"Fuck," Eddie breathes, panting softly as he finally pulls away. "God, that was good."

"It was," you whisper, looking up at him and biting your lip. "Worth the wait."

"Wait, what?" Eddie asks, raising a brow.

You blink, realizing you'd said that last part out loud and instantly wanting to crawl under the bed and die. "Uhm...nothing."

"Oh, please," he murmurs, smirking. "Tell me more. Did you have to wait a long time for this to happen, sweetheart? Hmm?"

"Absolutely not," you reply a little too quickly. "Forget I said anything."

"Nope, not letting you get away with that. What are you trying to hide, huh? How long have you been harboring secret feelings for me?"

"You're ridiculous."

"Am I?"

You lean back, your body screaming in protest as Eddie gently pushes you back onto the pillows and straddles your hips. He's heavier than you realized, and his fingers are calloused from years of work, but the mere thought of him touching you sends goosebumps up and down your arms and legs.

"Do you like me?" he whispers, his lips brushing against your neck and sending sparks down your spine. "Hmm?"

"Eddie, we—"

"Please, just...just tell me. At least let me hear you say it."

He pulls back, his eyes searching yours as he waits for you to answer. Your heart is racing, blood rushing through your ears and making you lightheaded and dizzy.

"I...no," you whisper, grinning when he raises a brow and scoffs. "Fine. Maybe. Only a little bit."

"Liar."

"Okay. More than a little bit. Maybe...maybe, I even love you, alright? Jesus. There, I said it."

Eddie's jaw drops, his pupils blown wide. "What, seriously?"

"Oh, alright, get off of me. I'm done with you."

"Hey, no, wait, wait, wait, I'm sorry," he breathes, grabbing your wrists and pinning your arms above your head. "Don't—don't go anywhere."

"Eddie."

"Shh."

He chuckles, his warm breath fanning over your lips and making you weak in the knees. "What?" you rasp, struggling against his grip, stubborn in your attempts to stay mad.

"You love me, hm?" he muses, smiling brightly and making your heart skip a beat.

"I take it back."

"You're not allowed to," he breathes, his mouth barely an inch away from yours. "That's not how it works, sweetheart. Sorry."

"You're very annoying."

"And you're very pretty when you're frustrated," he murmurs, brushing his lips over yours. "I...love you too, in case you didn't know."

"You what?"

"Love you," he repeats, his cheeks flushing pink. "Madly. Desperately. Quite embarrassingly, in fact, sweetheart."

You blink, your breath catching in your throat. "Really?

"Really," Eddie breathes, kissing you softly once more. "Shoulda kissed you the second I met you. Wish I had."

"Well," you murmur. "I suppose you'll just have to make up for lost time, won't you?"

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