#and steve hypes the fuck outta him
Note
I wanna say best friend Steve, who doesn’t get why you’re insecure and wants to hype you up…
Reflections
Best Friend!Steve Harrington x Fem!reader
Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY, friends to lovers, light angst from body image issues but it resolves, PIV sex / mirror sex, praise, groping, a LOT of fluff
You’re getting ready for a party and he’s waiting for you but you’re taking foreeeeever and he’s so BORED. He’s flopped on your bed with an arm over his eyes moaning about how late you two will be. But then he realizes you’ve been in your closet for a long time and you’re really quiet.
“Babe? C’mon, what’s going on? Get outta there.”
When you finally do, Steve’s eyes go wide. He’s never seen you in something so form fitting. Something that hugs every delicious curve and exposes the hills and valleys of you. His mouth goes dry and suddenly he’s feeling all hot and clammy like a fucking teenager again.
Keep it together, Harrington. You used to run shit and now you’re getting stiff over your best friend? He swallows thickly at the thought and wrenches his gaze up to your face, startled to find you frowning.
“What’s wrong?” he asks and you throw your arms up into the air.
“What do you mean what’s wrong?” you huff, walking over to the mirror. Steve steps up behind you, doing his best to maintain a respectful distance. Your hands grab meanly at the rounded parts of you and your frown deepens. “This doesn’t fit how I wanted it to and I look awful and -,”
You’re cut off suddenly by the massive snort of a laugh Steve let’s out behind you. You glare daggers at him over your shoulder through the mirror.
“What the fuck, Harrington?!”
Steve continues chuckling but puts his hands heavy on your shoulders, good natured and soothing.
“I’m sorry but you’re fucking crazy if you think you look awful. You’ve gotta be pulling my leg here, babe.”
Your jaw tenses as it does every time he calls you ‘babe.’ Reminding yourself that he’s your friend and nothing more, regardless of the way his fingers are digging into your muscles, you shake your head petulantly.
“I look like bag of lumps,” you argue.
“Nah, you look like one of those paintings we saw on that field trip to that museum in Indianapolis,” he says wistfully, no longer pretending to not be appraising you in the mirror. Despite your lingering trepidations you can’t lie to yourself. You like the feeling of his eyes on your body.
“You calling me Rubenesque?” you ask, finally quirking a smile. Steve’s answer grin is huge, glad you’re no longer frowning.
“Look, I have no idea what that means but if it’s good, then yeah.” He shrugs and takes you in again, scanning your figure with eyes that finally settle on your ass, no longer looking in the mirror. You feel heat spread through you while he licks his lips unconsciously. “But really I’m calling you sexy.”
“Sexy?” you groan, ruffling with discomfort and squeezing your eyes shut against embarrassment. “Shut up, Harrington!”
Steve’s eyebrows shoot up.
“What?”
“Just shut up, will you?”
“Why? Because I called you sexy?” he asks defensively.
You curl in on yourself covering your ears.
“Stop fucking saying that word.”
“No. I won’t, you weirdo,” Steve laughs, grabbing you by the waist and wrestling you back to full height. You fight against him weakly by wriggling in his arms but his grip is firm. He locks eyes with you in the mirror and forces you to hold the contact. “You’re fucking hot, okay? Deal with it.”
“Ok fine, hot is a word that, while an exaggeration, I can maybe live with,” you respond, rolling your eyes. Steve shakes his head. It’s not lost on you that his grip tightens on your waist.
“But you’re also sexy,” he continues to insist. When you loll your head to the side in discomfort he has to steel himself so he doesn’t lean down and inhale the scent of your perfume on your exposed neck. He shakes you a bit and your head lolls to the other side. “What’s your problem with that word.”
“Because, Steve,” you harumph, slapping your hands over your eyes to hide your face. “Calling someone ‘sexy’ implies that people would willingly have sex with them.”
Steve is momentarily silent but the puff of air that you feel on your neck from his sudden and harsh exhale makes goosebumps erupt on your skin. It’s his turn to frown darkly at you.
“Is that a joke?”
“The idea of people willing to have sex with me?” you ask, reaching to dig and elbow back into his ribs. “Yeah. A big joke. Haha Ho Ho. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
Steve’s mouth flattens into a tight line.
“Lots of people want to have sex with you.” He says it bluntly. It’s not an argument. He’s not trying to convince you. Just stating it as if it’s fact.
And now it’s your turn to snort.
“As the sexual object in question, who has been so celibate it’s like her virginity has been reinstated, I’m gonna have to beg to differ with you, buddy.”
Steve stiffens behind you. You’re best friends. He knew about your dry spell, but he hadn’t realized the extent to which it had messed with your confidence. It makes him almost shake with a sudden rage he doesn’t understand. Not at you, of course. But at the situation. At the male population of Hawkins who clearly don’t have fucking eyeballs let alone brains to comprehend what a catch you are.
He’d been nursing his own pathetic crush on you since that first day you’d waltzed into Scoops Ahoy and immediately turned down his over the top advances. You’d laughed him off as completely unserious and the two of you began an unlikely friendship born of teasing, complaining, and messing with Dustin and Robin. Steve had swallowed his attraction to you, letting it surface only in moments when he could appreciate you without you noticing. Which means “appreciating” your ass when you bend over to pick something up. Or “appreciating” your tits when you bend over to pick something else up. The fact that you haven’t noticed how consistently Steve drops shit is honestly concerning.
Steve’s not a particularly eloquent guy. He can be smooth when he wants to be, but if his current season of striking out constantly has taught him anything, it’s the fact that he isn’t getting any better at speaking. All he knows is he’s desperate to change the look on your face that says you don’t believe in your own looks.
He doesn’t think. He just pulls you against the front of his body roughly, closing the gap he had been maintaining.
“Steve, what - oh!” you gasp when you feel it. Him. Hard against you, his fingers digging into your sides to keep you pressed to him. Steve lowers his head to speak in your ear, all the while maintaining eye contact with you in the mirror.
“You’re more than a sexual object,” he says roughly. Then his hands drop to the sides of your thighs, applying pressure as he slides them up to map the slopes of your curves. “But if that’s what you wanna be, believe me. You’ve got takers, babe.”
“Steve…” you mumble under your breath. Your eyes are wide and fixed on him. Lips wetted and parted as you inhale shallowly.
Well. At least he’d managed to get the frown off your face.
Steve does his best to analyze the look in your eyes through the mirror. He doesn’t want to make you more upset accidentally. You gape for a second, remaining silent, and his hands follow the same path back down your curves, sliding around to press into the roundness of your lower belly to push you more securely against his erection.
“You’re…you’re just trying to make me feel better…” you finally say weakly. Steve’s hands slide back up to hold your hips, pressing into the dip of your waist to savor in a supple roundedness present there as well. Your eyelids flutter for a second at the touch.
“So are you saying this is making you feel better?” He asks. You don’t respond so he rolls his eyes. “You think I got hard just to make you feel better? Seriously?”
“Well I don’t know how it works…” you sputter indignantly. Steve laughs into your hair.
“Yeah I don’t believe that for a second. I think you know exactly how it works and that’s why you find it so fun to mess with me all the damn time.”
Your brow furrows and Steve shakes his head.
“Cut the crap. You do shit to turn me on every single day. It has to be intentional at this point.”
Your mouth opens and you struggle to respond.
“I don’t know what you’re…I’m not doing anything.” Then your face screws up in frustration. “If you’re making fun of me, I swear to god, Steve, I’ll -,”
“Does this feel like I’m making fun of you?!” Steve says abruptly, grinding against you. Your dress is so short that this time it rides up with the pressure, making it so that his clothed cock presses between the plush of the backs of your thighs.
You want to protest, but the moan that rips from your throat doesn’t sound much like a protest. Steve groans in your ear and your eyes whip up from where they’d rested on his hands to find his face. The hunger in his expression steals your breath.
“You cant…you can’t really want this,” you mutter. You can’t want me, is what you mean. It makes a lump form in Steve’s throat. Makes him want to hold you even closer, so he does.
“I do,” he contradicts, rocking himself against you consistently now. He’s encouraged by the way you shiver and grip at his wrists. Not pulling him off you but anchoring him to you instead. Steve brings his face to the side of yours, staring till you turn your head to look at him. In real life this time and not through the mirror. He’s disconcertingly close and your breath stutters in your chest. His eyelids are half mast as he takes you in. “The question is…do you want this?”
You kiss him before you can think any deeper about what’s going on. You kiss him before you can convince yourself that this is a prank or a pity kiss or anything else other than an attractive man you care about lavishing you with physical affection. Steve’s eyes slam shut easily and he holds you close in this awkward position. Craning your neck around as his front is pressed still to your back. His lips are insistent and hot and wet and quickly he’s forcing yours open so his tongue can slip in.
You practically swoon over the combination of his hands and his lips and his tongue. His dick presses more insistently against you and you find yourself pressing back. Shimmying your was a bit to create more friction. Triumph shooting through you when Steve let’s out a quiet, low “Fuck” in response.
When you finally pull away for a oxygen, you straighten up and look at Steve and yourself in the mirror again. You look absolutely debauched out of no where. Eyes hazy, lids low, hair and dress askew, chest rising and falling in a restless pant. Steve ignores the opportunity to breathe, instead using the pause to start kissing your neck.
You watch him work at your skin. His jaw moving and throat tensing and releasing. His hair wild and disheveled in a way that makes him look even more sinfully delicious than normal. It really isn’t fair.
You’ve always been attracted to Steve Harrington. You have eyes and a healthy libido after all. But you’d never believed someone like him could want someone like you. You did believe, however, that you were a perfect match in every respect other than aesthetic. He needed someone to challenge him. Someone to keep him humble while also supporting him and building him up. You had plenty of confidence in your humor, intelligence, and overall personality, so him becoming your best friend made sense when you both fell into it.
But with his body against yours now, it’s the first time you’ve ever even considered the meaning behind his flirtatiousness. The intent behind the hands he places comfortingly on your shoulders or thighs. Hope bloomed hot and hesitant in your core as you watched his hands begin to roam and grope at parts he’d never dared touch before.
“This…this okay?” he asks into your skin as he tentatively cups one of your breasts. He cracks an eye open to look at you in the mirror and when you nod, he allows his hand to close tighter around you. You swallow another moan.
“Steve?”
“Yeah?” he whispers back, not looking up from your tits which he’s begun massaging through your dress. You grasp at his wrist and shake him to get his attention.
“Steve.”
The strain in your voice has his eyes snapping up to yours and his hands stopping immediately. He looks sheepish.
“Do you not like that? I can stop -,”
He goes to remove his hands from your chest but you slam your hands down over the backs of his to keep him fondling you.
“No!” you say hastily. Steve seems confused so you continue. “Remember what you said about there being ‘takers’ for me?”
Steve bites his lip, not enjoying the thought of how many other guys would find you thoroughly fuckable. But he nods.
“Yeah?”
“Well…” you say before you can overthink and ruin this. Your mind is reeling and your body is aching. The signs are too clear to question and even if this wasn’t what it seemed to be, you didn’t feel strong enough to look a gift horse in the mouth. You bite your own lip. “Would you…would you take me?”
Steve stops breathing. You can tell because his breaths were coming in heavy before and now suddenly his chest is still against your back. You don’t let yourself question it. Instead you widen your stance and lean over, flattening your palms against the wall on either side of the mirror. In the reflection of the glass Steve gets a good look down your dress into the cleavage below. Looking behind you he gets a good look up your dress where it’s ridden up, revealing a pair of dainty lace panties.
The groan that rips through him seems to restart his lungs because suddenly he’s practically hyperventilating behind you. His hands land heavy on your hips and he grinds against you with even more purpose. Steve’s instinct is to ask again if you’re sure, but you hum a low “yess” and drop your head to hand between your arched shoulders.
You’re into this. Maybe even as much as he is. It’s time to man the fuck up and take what he wants. What you want to give him.
So Steve places his hand on the dip of your lower back to encourage a deeper arch. You oblige him, sticking your ass out further in the process, and he groans.
“I’ll show you how you should be treated, babe, don’t you worry,” Steve says hoarsely. A thrill runs through you at his words but he continues. “But you have to do one thing for me.”
“Anything,” you answer breathlessly. You’re surprised by your own enthusiasm but you can’t help it, visions running through your mind of what he could ask of you. You mentally prepared yourself to drop to your knees, mouth already prematurely watering.
“Acknowledge how sexy you are,” he says, suddenly wrenching you upwards so you can see yourself more fully in the mirror again. Your back is once more flush with his chest and you moan at the sight of his hand wrapping lightly, delicately around the base of your throat.
“That....I’m...” you struggle with the words and then shake your head. Steve’s hand slides down and pulls at one strap and then the other, letting gravity do the work of exposing your breasts to the air and him. Steve’s eyes roll back and he bites his fist.
“I mean come on,” he moans. He gestures to your chest. “What the fuck is this? You’re the hottest girl I’ve ever seen.”
You can barely meet his intense gaze in the mirror but try your best.
“You...wouldn’t have dated me in high school.”
Steve blinks. Completely taken back by the juxtaposition of your sudden vulnerability and the absolute fantasy of having your body against him, tits out and ready to be fucked. It takes a second for his brain to work through it but then he’s laughing.
“We wouldn’t have even been friends in high school. I would have made fun you and Robin if we’d ever crossed paths. Probably would have beaten the shit out of Dustin if he’d been old enough. And you know why?” he asks. You’re confused by his laughter so you shake your head and he continues. “Because I was an absolute asshole. It’s a me problem. High school Steve was a dick and honestly you’re better off not even knowing him.”
His tone is flippant but you can see the strain in his features. He feels guilt about his past and you know that. You suddenly feel guilty for letting your insecurities drag up an ancient history that you know he’s more than happy to move past. Comforted, you squeeze one of his hands that now rests on your hip and smile.
“And these days you’re only sometimes a dick,” you tease. Steve’s smile becomes more genuine, but his features screw up when you catch him off guard and bend over again, grinding against his still present erection. His fingers dig into your hips harshly.
“I’ll show you a dick,” he hisses, pressing into you in a shallow thrust. It’s absurd and it makes you laugh, finally free of the tension that had coated everything up to this point.
“Please do, Harrington. You’ve kept me waiting,” you respond, impatiently wiggling your hips. Steve abruptly pushes the bottom of your dress up, exposing your ass and leaving all of the material bunched around your middle. He lands a slap against your right ass cheek that has you squealing, finding his eyes in the mirror. They glint with mischief.
“I know you liked that. You forget you’ve told me what gets you hot,” he says simply. You flashback to the weed fueled honesty session in the Family Video parking lot you both had had one night and tingles erupt at the thought of what else he might remember. But then you remember what he’d said.
“Yeah well you like it when a girl touches herself, right?” you say cockily, lifting one hand from the wall and brining it to slide from your jaw, down your neck, to cup your breast and play with your nipple. While doing so you accentuate the curve in your back. Steve watches, swallowing audibly, but then fast as lightning rips your hand away from yourself and presses it back to the wall. His full body doubles over yours. You gasp.
“Usually I do, yeah. But I’ve waited so long that right now only I get to touch this body, understand?” You’re nodding before you can even think about it. When he trusts that you’ll leave both your hands pressed to the wall, Steve let’s his hands return to you. He slides up from your knees to grip fully at your inner thighs. He manhandles your hips, moving them side to side in order to grind your ass against his tented jeans. He palms up your soft stomach beneath the bunched dress. And then he cups your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers, making you gasp again. His chuckle is low.
“See this is better. I’m the one who appreciates this body anyway. I should give her what she deserves.”
Your eyes are heavy lidded as they hold one another in the reflection. There’s hunger there that you’ve never known in your short lived sexual experience and suddenly you know for a goddamn fact that if this man is not inside you soon you will combust.
“Steve can you…can we just…?” You move against him impatiently and he leans in to kiss your neck with a chuckle.
“I’ve got you, babe. No need to beg.” The cockiness makes you roll your eyes but you hate that a fresh wave of wetness coats the tops of your inner thighs.
“I wasn’t gonna beg.”
“You weren’t gonna beg?” Steve asks, feigning shock. Your hands ball into fists against the wall.
“Pull your fucking pants down, Harrington.”
“Can do,” Steve says with a big grin. He unbuckles his belt and pulls down his jeans swiftly, in spit of how tight they are, leaving them and his underwear bunched at his thighs. He pushes you down farther and you have to strain to look up and watch him.
Over the curve of your ass you are treated to the sight of Steve Harrington stroking his massive cock. He hadn’t been called King Steve for nothing, that was for sure. His fist moves over it smoothly and with a familiarity that has you jealous of his fucking hand. Your eyes are wide and he seems pleased by your reaction.
“This work for you?” he teases. You bite your lip and consider your response.
“You’re sexy, Steve Harrington.”
A flush spreads across his face and down your neck and you’ve never been so smug in your entire life. But to his credit Steve clears his throat and grins.
“Thank you, babe,” he says before leaning over your body and rutting his cock against your core, leaving you gasping. He chuckles in your ear. “See, that’s how you take a compliment.”
“It’s not a compliment when it’s a fact, Steve,” you argue. But then he’s pulling down your panties and your legs begin to shake in anticipation.
“I don’t know because this is both a compliment and a fact - you’re fucking soaked!” he groans, running two fingers through your folds to collect the slick there. He flashes you a smile in the mirror that you can’t return because he suddenly sinks two fingers into you, causing your jaw to drop. “Which sexy thing in the mirror did this to you - you or me.”
“Shut - fuck. Shut up, Harrington,” you grit out.
He laughs and starts kissing your neck in tandem to his thrusting fingers. You bite back a moan, especially when his free hand lifts to play with your nipple. As someone who’d never been afforded much foreplay, you probably could have taken him two minutes into your argument, but Steve Harrington is warming you up. Getting you ready for him. And the realization makes you want to melt into a puddle at his feet.
When he adds a third finger and your hips work overtime, practically riding his hand, Steve finally pulls away, pressing a swirl into your clit that has you spasming as he takes his hand from between your legs.
“I think you’re good and ready,” he mutters, almost to himself. You nod feverishly up at him, swiveling your neck to try and see him directly. He shakes his head and nudges you back to the mirror. “No you’re gonna watch. You’re gonna watch me fuck you and see how well you take it.”
His words almost have your eyes rolling back in your head, but you hum an affirmative and go back to watching him in the mirror. Steve rubs the head of his cock through your folds and the way his face crumbles in pleasure has you absolutely preening. Then a sudden thought has your back rigid.
“Steve. Condom,” you say softly but urgent. His eyes snap open and he’s nodding immediately.
“Yeah sorry. Sorry!” He leans down and nips at the swell of your ass playfully and you yelp at the casual intimacy of it, heating up further as he reaches into the pocket of his bunched up jeans and pulls a foil packet from his wallet.
“How old is that?” you challenge with a cocked brow. He studies the packet for a second before looking up at you grinning.
“New enough that it’s not expired but old enough to have been collecting dust in there for a while,” he says, ripping it open and rolling the condom over his length. You bite your lip at the subtle confirmation that he hasn’t been with anyone else for a long time, trying to tamp down how good that makes you feel. Steve notices. “You like that? The fact that you’re the only one?”
You roll your eyes and repeat the refrain of the night.
“Shut up, Harrington.”
Steve pushes forward, one hand wrapped around the base of his dick, the other hand grounding on your hip. He spreads your folds with the head to cover himself in your slick. You sigh at the feeling.
“You’re not the only one whose been in a dry spell,” he says with a chuckle. You groan, letting your eyes slide closed while the hand that’s on your hip slips between your thighs to rub circles into your clit. He’s making you wetter. Prepping you further to accommodate his size. Again you feel overwhelmed by his attentiveness and how different this is from all your previous experiences. “You know the difference between us though, right?”
“Hm?” you ask, fully distracted by the pressure of his cock at your entrance and his finger on your bud.
“The difference is my dry spell is cuz I was waiting for you.” He says it simply. As if he’s not dropping a bomb on you in an incredibly intimate moment. Your eyes fly open and find his in the mirror and he’s grinning but this isn’t a joke. Your mouth opens to respond but the only thing that comes out is a moan when he chooses that exact moment to push all the way into you.
The feeling is otherworldly. It’s a stretch you’ve never felt and it’s got your legs turning to jelly and your face crumpling just on the line between pleasure and pain. You search for Steve’s face again in the mirror like a tether in a storm and he looks as overwhelmed as you feel. His eyes are screwed shut and he’s biting his lip so hard you’re worried because you sure as fuck want to kiss those plush lips again.
“St-Steve…” you all but whimper. He finds you in the mirror and looks almost distraught.
“Sorry yeah I’ll move it’s just…fuck.”
The desperation in his tone is such a boost to your ego that it’s got you rocking back into him.
“Feels good, Steve.” It comes out in practically a slur, but it seems music to his ears with the way he leans forward, gripping your waist and pulling out inch by inch.
“Feels incredible,” he contradicts before slamming back in. The suddenness of the movement has you clenching around him with surprise and he groans, fingers digging into your soft flesh. “Baby. Baby.”
Baby.
Not babe. Baby.
You hear the word ringing in your ears and your entire body reacts, letting him drive in even deeper somehow. It punches the air out of your lungs and you don’t let yourself think before responding.
“I like that.” It comes out in a rush. Steve huffs a laugh and starts finding a regular pace.
“You like that, huh? That the spot?”
“No,” you try responding but cut yourself off with a gasp. “I mean yeah, but no. I mean I…like you calling me baby.”
Steve’s eyes melt watching you. Saying sweet shit like that while taking his cock so well.
“Good. I wanna keep calling you baby,” he says quietly.
Your gazes connect and you could swear your hearing cuts out. Time stops and everything in your view fades into fuzzy blurriness, leaving only room for him. Steve had slowed his thrusts, but as you focus on one another he renews his efforts. Not going faster, per se, but harder. Deeper. Your hands do what they can to keep you propped up against the wall, but soon your cheek is mashed against the mirror. You’re completely unable to stop the momentum of his thrusts from driving you forward with each upswing.
“Defeats the purpose - fuck! Of the mirror if you’re not watching the show, baby,” Steve grunts out after a few minutes. Sweat has begun beading on his forehead and he’s losing patience with the distance between you. He’s enjoying fucking you from behind - it’s usually his favorite way of fucking - but there’s something missing. Before long he’s pulling out, much to your vocal protestation, and hauling you over to your long empty bed.
“Wanna do this now,” he says as explanation. You don’t care. All you care about is the relief you feel when he sinks back into you. He has you on your back now, knees pushed up to your ribs. But you do care when everything comes into focus and you realize his face is right there. And the weight of his body is on you and around you and suddenly you need nothing more on this earth than to kiss him.
So you do.
Steve hums into your mouth when you lurch up to press it to his. Your tongues fight for dominance and a line of saliva connects you when you finally part enough to pant for much needed air.
“Holy shit, Steve. Fuck!” You slam your head back down against the pillow, doing your best to lift your hips to meet each of his thrusts.
“I’m kinda mad we haven’t been doing this all along,” Steve admits with a grunting laugh.
“We were friends,” you reason, bucking against him when his fingers find your clit again. with the way he has you folded in half, the added stimulation has you rocketing towards orgasm at a breakneck pace.
“Aha, ‘were?’ So we’re not friends anymore?” Steve asks.
“How many friends have you been inside?” you ask, but then your eyes widen. “Never mind, I don’t want to know the answer to that.”
Steve barks out a laugh, shaking his head before pressing his forehead to yours.
“Only you, baby,” he says good-naturedly. “Don’t think I can settle for just friends now, though.”
“No?” you ask absently. You’re beginning to ascend and losing yourself in the feeling. He can tell by the way you’re beginning to spasm irregularly around him.
“No, I need the whole sexy package,” he teases. You hear even more than before at the implication. That he might want all of you, and for more than just this, in this moment. You bite your lip and don’t say anything but his lips find your throat and you whimper. Steve sounds impatient when he speaks again. “Tell me you want me, too.”
You blink up at the ceiling and sputter.
“Wh-what?”
Steve pulls back, his thrusts slowing to a roll. He looks a little more tense. A little more vulnerable.
“You’re not the only one who needs to hear it, you know.”
You almost laugh at that but swallow it when you see he’s serious.
“Of course I want you,” you respond firmly. “Obviously.”
“It’s not obvious to me…” he mutters, dropping eye contact. You crane your neck to follow him.
“Steve, you’re hot as fuck - ,”
“That’s not -,” he tries to cut you off dismissively but you continue over him.
“AND you’re my best friend. I love being with you. In any way.” You roll your pelvis and look shyly up at him when he meets your gaze again. “But I’ve been wanting this way the most.”
Steve perks up, his hand grabbing yours.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“You wanted this?”
“Since that first time we spoke at Scoops Ahoy,” you confess. Steve’s thrusts come in faster now so your breathing picks up again. He snorts indignantly.
“I asked you out that day! You turned me down!”
“Well yeah, cuz I thought you were still a dick back then, Steve,” you reply with a massive smile. “We’ve been over this. Oh god…”
“You like this dick now, though, don’t you baby,” he intones, nothing but smooth Harrington charm. You don’t have it in you anymore to laugh or disagree.
“Mmmmhm…”
“You know you’re beautiful, right?” You seem just fucked out enough at this point that you finally won’t protest and he’s right. Your head lolls around on the pillow and you blink up at him dumbly. Steve takes in the bouncing of your breasts and the way your curves jiggle with each impact and he swears under his breath. “Gonna remind you how beautiful you are till you believe me, baby.”
He drives himself in all the way to hilt, holding himself there deep inside you till you’re clawing at him and clinging to him, moaning around gasps. Steve’s huge, but even better than that is the fact that he knows what to do with it. You ache with the supreme stretch of him. Pulse around his throbbing length in a way that makes you dizzy while you look up at him with glassy eyes that show you’re at least kind of understanding the depth of what he’s saying to you.
Steve can’t even begin to comprehend how he was lucky enough to finally find himself in this position. With you beneath him, staring up at him as if he hung the moon and the stars rather than simply stating plain, painfully obvious facts. He sees the crease in your brow as you wrestle with all the emotion he’s making you feel, however, and he wants to ease it. There’s been enough agony tonight. Right now, all he wants you to feel is pleasure.
“Hey,” he whispers suddenly, leaning forward and nuzzling his nose against yours as his thrusts start up again. A hazy smile lights up your features.
“Hey,” you respond weakly.
“Still worried you’re not fuckable?” he teases. You huff a laugh that barely sounds like one because Steve chooses that moment to return his fingers to your clit, making you whimper.
“You seem to…mmm. You like…oh fuck…”
“Easy for you to say,” Steve chuckles, but the heat’s not lost on him either at this point. His face is screwed up in pleasure and the arm holding him up beside you is beginning to shake. He’s so fucking close, he just needs you to cum first because no matter the growth he’s gone through, he’s still King Steve and he’s gotta break you first for his ego, damn it.
Finally you whimper the magic words.
“Steve! Oh…’m so close…there…”
Steve knows what that means, so he changes nothing about what he’s doing, just focuses on doing it better. A deeper push against your sweet spot. A harder swirl against your clit.
“Come on, baby, c’mon,” he talks you through it and then you’re crashing over the edge. Seizing in his arms and clamping down on him in every way possible. Constricting your arms and legs around him. Pussy spasming and locking him in, making it hard to continue to steadily pull in and out.
The sudden onslaught of pressure has Steve toppling over soon after. He lets out a guttural grown and buries his face in your neck, his hips stuttering into yours as he spills into the condom. Though it accepts none of his cum, your pussy milks his pulsing cock for all its worth. His shuddering breath matches your own and you gasp and cling to one another as you slowly come back to earth.
It’s quiet for a few minutes in the aftermath. Aside from your combined slowing pants, of course. Steve’s face is still buried in your neck and it takes a while for you to regain feeling enough to recognize that he’s administering soft kisses to the skin there.
It all floods back into focus. The fact that you had been getting ready for a party (one that you were now astronomically late to). The insecurities you had exposed to your best friend. The insecurities your best friend had exposed to you.
You want to be worried about it. You want to feel stressed about what this will do to your friendship and about how he will look at you when he finally pulls back and sees you sweaty and disheveled and…and…and…
And Steve pulls back to give you the softest smile you’ve ever seen. And he’s sweaty. And disheveled. And luminous. Before you even realize it you’re stretching out your hand to touch his cheek. His eyes slide closed as he leans into your touch. Turns to press a kiss into your palm.
Your lip quivers and you do your best to swallow any of the negative self talk that had tried to bubble to the surface. When Steve’s eyelids float open again he sighs.
“I know you were thinking about it, but we’re not making it to that fucking party. I don’t care what you say.”
The laugh you let out is strangled. Rocketed right back to old times and the root of your teasing friendship. You go to swat at him and he grabs your wrist, nipping at the back of your hand.
“Hey, it’s your fault for being so sexy. Think I got my fill fucking you once? Not a chance, baby.”
His grin lights up the room. You manage to match it.
“Shut up, Harrington.”
~*~
#steve harrington smut#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#stranger things smut#best friend!steve harrington
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The Outsiders x Reader fluff - Steve Randle
Authors Note - I think this man gets slept on way too much. I don't know his character too well, but enjoy.
Steve Randle -
▪︎ Let's start with the basics
▪︎ He has the guts to ask you out, yeah, but his ego is too fucking big to allow that
▪︎ He spent weeks trying to figure out how to ask you out
▪︎ Eventually landed on the classic "take them out as friends but we all know it's not as friends" date
▪︎ Asked you to go to some diner with him
▪︎ Literally said "It's a date", completely forgetting his plan
▪︎ Still worked though, win-win.
▪︎ Wore his basic jean vest, but he put on a cleaner t-shirt and his best pair of jeans
▪︎ Looked in the mirror for a bit either hyping himself up or admiring himself 💀
▪︎ Actually showered for once
▪︎ When he saw you he nearly passed out
▪︎ Here he was in a jean vest and you looked ready to be on the cover of vogue
▪︎ You both just talked the whole time
▪︎ He was way too hyped up to be nervous, so it was actually laid back and fun
▪︎ Really shitty jokes
▪︎ You both shared a milkshake, probably shared chocolate cake too
▪︎ Whenever you went back home and you kissed him on the cheek he almost ate dirt again
▪︎ Told the whole gang about it
" We shared a shake Soda, that ain't somethin' just anyone does "
" It's been two hours, Steve.. "
" Ya shoulda seen 'em! I mean- "
▪︎ Once you two started seeing each other more often, you sort of just stayed as best friends but added some perks
▪︎ Really shit inside jokes and really comfortable around each other + kissing and touching
▪︎ Whenever he finally worked up the guts to kiss you he almost broke your nose
▪︎ You were both laughing too hard to actually kiss
▪︎ Whenever you finally shut up it was a really good kiss though
▪︎ You know how Johnny moved down on Dal's leaderboard?
▪︎ On Steve's ranks he moved down cars and chocolate cake for you
▪︎ That's saying something
▪︎ Not a lot of pet names, some basic ones though
▪︎ Baby, babe, darlin'
▪︎ Probably some sweetheart scattered in there if he feels like it
▪︎ Spends an ass ton of time with you
▪︎ I feel like quality time would be one of his love languages?? I don't really know, I just think it fits him
▪︎ Whenever the gang has their own shit and he's done at DX he just hangs out with you
▪︎ Considers anything and everything a date.
▪︎ HIS TATTOO??
▪︎ You getting bored so you start tracing the outline of his tattoo, not even realizing how many butterflies you're giving him
▪︎ If you get cold he offers you his vest, completely forgetting its a fucking vest
" God it's cold.. "
" Ya' want my jacket? "
" .. that's not a jacket- "
" It's real' warm, I swear! "
▪︎ Doesn't do shit but you wear it to make him happy
▪︎ Always has his arm either around your shoulders or on your thigh
▪︎ I think he's actually pretty affectionate?
▪︎ Not in public, gotta be tuff, but in private he'll just hold you
▪︎ No reason, he just likes holding you
▪︎ Let's you touch the swirls in his hair or run your fingers through the longer pieces in the back
▪︎ Practically melts everytime you do so
▪︎ Always tells you stories about DX
" So I was tryna fix an engine when a possum just flew outta' nowhere! I swear, it was like it was sent from God or somethin'. Hada' get a rabies shot that day. "
▪︎ Suprisingly good with hair?? Not just good at it, he's obsessed with playing with your hair.
▪︎ You could be in the middle of an equation an he'll be twirling your hair around his fingers or braiding it.
▪︎ Either really quick kisses or deep makeout sessions, no in-between
▪︎ Always smells like gasoline and some weird cologne
▪︎ The thing is he doesn't wear cologne?
▪︎ You and the gang have played guessing games trying to figure out where the cheap cologne smell is coming from
▪︎ He's basically a sweeter Dallas
▪︎ Like he's tough and acts tough but he'll hold you in public he doesn't really care
▪︎ He's a dumbass but he's sweet
▪︎ 👍
#the outsiders#the outsiders headcanons#dallas winston#sodapop curtis#johnny cade#ponyboy curtis#steve randle#two bit mathews#darry curtis#the outsiders x reader#steve x reader#steve randle x reader#the outsiders steve
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Baby, it's a secret
Billy x fem reader
Mentions of pregnancy and keeping a big secret
Chapter two.
GIF IS NOT MINE
Halloween 1984
Cassie hated Halloween. It had to be the most obnoxious time of the year next to Christmas, all it did was provoke teenagers to dress up in droves and act like sluts and the parties were always hyped up and let down. She didn't know why she was currently standing in Tina's living room, dressed in an angel costume and swirling a stale beer around her plastic cup.
She was bored and had been about five beers ago, but there was nothing better to do. Heather had abandoned her for a jock on the team whose name she couldn't remember, and she had no other real friends to talk too.
A jolt shook her out of her day dream, she looked up noting Steve Harrington standing infront of her a sheepish look on his face.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to bump into you Cassie" he winced clearly scared of the girls rage. Nancy peaked over his shoulder in a mousey manner.
Cassie shrugged, she couldn't be bothered to argue today. It wasn't that she didn't like Steve or Nancy, she just thought they were a tad bit boring and Cassie didn't do boring. She was moody and sassy which scared alot of people away from her.
"Whatever" she shrugged taking a sip of her beer.
Steve gave Nancy a glance, opening his mouth to speak but they were interrupted y the obnoxious chants of Tommy H.
"Billy! Billy!" He cried as he swaggered up to face Steve who was followed by the man of the hour himself. "Looks like we got a new Keg king Harrington" he jeered with a smirk etched on his freckled face.
Billy stood infront of Steve, a glare of his sharp jaw for once not saying a word. Nancy rolled her eyes whilst Cassie scoffed.
Billy flitted his eyes away to meet her gaze. "Got something you wanna say princess?" He addressed her in a mocking tone.
Cassie rolled her eyes. "It wouldn't be worth my time" she snapped back. "Im getting another drink, this pissing contest is getting real boring" she muttered before sauntering off and walking away to the punch bowl.
A guy in a toga shouted that it was 'pure fuel' as she dipped her cup into the bowl and chugged the contents. Nancy grew bored and came to join her a little while after.
"God, guys are gross" she slurred.
Cassie raised a brow. "You might wanna slow down" she advised to Nancy who already appeared hammered, and Cassie wasn't far behind this punch really did have pure fuel.
Nancy narrowed her eyes before dipping her cup into the punch and chugging the contents. Cassie shrugged, not her fault if Nancy didn't take her advice she thought as she zoned out and tapped her fingers along to the song playing on the speakers.
Steve eventually came to pick up his girl, which resulted in an argument and some spilled punch. Cassie didn't empathise, she warned Nancy to listen she thought as she took another sip of the punch her head starting to feel light, as she swayed to the music.
"Well, aren't you looking hot" a voice stated behind her.
Cassie looked over her shoulder, rolling her eyes as she met the eyes of Billy who looked at her through hooded lids. A cigarette lighting up his tanned features as he puffed on it.
"What do you want?" She slurred.
Billy chuckled, taking a step towards her as she turned to face him. "You know" he started licking his lips. "You aren't acting like an angel right now" he mused.
"Oh really" she replied sarcastically. "What am I acting like?" She asked.
Billy took one last drag, smoke flying out the corner of his mouth before his eyes met hers. "Like you want me to rip that outfit right off you" he stated moving closer so their chests met. "Bend you over and fuck the shit outta you" he whispered cruedly, his breath brushing her ear.
Cassie stared at him, on one hand she wanted to slap his smirking face and ask who the fuck he thought he was. On the other, he was handsome and she could do with a distraction from her shitty home life.
"Oh yeah" she mused, reaching over to grab his beer and swigging it down. "Then what are you waiting for?" She challenged.
Those words got her into trouble. Those words led her to a closed off bedroom, as she lay face down whilst Billy Hargrove pounded into her from behind, the sounds of their moans and skin slapping against one another was drowned out by the music. Their pace becoming unrelenting till one of them gave in and came first, but by then it was too late to realise that the condom had broke.
It was too late, and now Cassie was left holding the school players baby. She was in so much shit.
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THE STEVIE FILES PROUDLY PRESENTS - THE AMAZING ROCK & ROLL ODYSSEY OF STEVEN VAN ZANDT
From The Source to Soulfire via Springsteen and Sam & Dave
Recorded, transcribed, edited, written, produced, mixed and mastered by MIKE SAUNDERS
SIDE TWO (1975-1983)
Track 6: Miami Steve, The Asbury Jukes, Tenth Avenue and Hammersmith
In early 1975, Steven returned to New Jersey from Florida, inappropriately dressed for the winter weather. “I came back with the flowered shirts and the Sam Snead hat and continued wearing them in the snow.” For the next seven years, he was known as Miami Steve. He joined Southside in the Blackberry Booze Band and within weeks they’d altered and expanded its line-up (adding keyboard player Kevin Kavanaugh from Middletown and bass player Alan Berger from The Dovells’ backing band), transformed its musical direction, changed its name to Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes (referencing their mutual hero Little Walter’s band and first single release) and established a successful three-nights-a-week, five-sets-a-night residency at the Stone Pony in Asbury Park.
“Just before that, me, Southside, Bruce and Garry went to see Sam & Dave. A life-changing moment. So me and Southside basically decided we were gonna be the white Sam & Dave, with rock guitar. So the horns came in and although we didn’t know it, we would change the entire concept of what a bar band sounded like and the respect a bar band would get by making it creative, soul meets rock. ‘Bar band’ was an insult. ‘You’re a bar band,’ which means you can’t make it in the real music world. After the Jukes, they started using ‘bar band’ in reviews and they meant it as a compliment, with Graham Parker and Elvis Costello and Mink DeVille. We changed the way people thought about these things.”
The Miami Horns were a vital component of the new band. Steven composed the horn arrangements, but although he’s always possessed a natural ability to imagine horn parts, he doesn’t read or write music (“never have”) and has always required a little help from his friends to transcribe them. “I have people write ‘em down, to this day. I like that actually. You have to do a lotta things yourself so any excuse I find to collaborate I do it. I find other people will bring something to the party usually. That’s why [I’ve] used Eddie Manion for I don’t know how many years. He knows how I like to voice things. Once I think of something and create the parts, I get bored if I have to voice every part, exactly right. If I hear a voicing I don’t like, I will change it, but I get bored by the mechanics of everything.”
While the Jukes were building their reputation and growing their audience, Bruce invited Steven to hang out at the Born To Run sessions in New York, where he was working on “Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out.” David Sanborn and The Brecker Brothers had been hired to play the horn parts, but Steven created a spontaneous new arrangement. He’s told this anecdote countless times, but I ask him to repeat it because it provides perfect examples of his innate musical talents in action (“I can hear the parts, who knows why?”), the nature of his friendship with Bruce (“I still am the only human being not afraid of him”), and his no-bullshit attitude (“I didn’t know anything about diplomacy”).
“So he says, ‘Whaddya think?’ I said, ‘It sucks, that’s what I think!’ I didn’t know how uptight everybody was. I didn’t give a fuck either. The managers and producers were all afraid of him already. He asked me a question, I’m gonna be honest. I’m trying to help my friend here, not make points with some fucking record company guy. Moment of silence. ‘He just said it sucks, which means we all suck.’ Bruce [says] ‘Alright then, go in and fucking fix it.’ So I did. I went in and sang the [new] parts. I didn’t know they were the most famous [session] guys in New York. It wasn’t insulting them, the chart was ridiculous. That was my thing, just from the Jukes being around maybe six months.”
“I wasn’t really feeling the pressure that Bruce was at the time. I didn’t realise his life depended on this album. His first two records hadn’t done very well. They wanted to drop him. I don’t know how aware I was of any of that. He invited me into the session and I’m laying on the floor. All I can think is, we’ve been hoping to get into recording our whole lives, I’m listening to this and it sounds fucking terrible. Not just the horn charts, everything. It was the worst period of recording in history. Virtually every record from the 50s and 60s sounded great, virtually every record from the early 70s sounded terrible. Because engineers took over, started close miking, padding the walls. Separation, separation, separation, all the things that make rock ‘n’ roll suck. The idea was, you isolate everything and make it sound exciting in the mix. Which they managed to do, miraculously, with the Born To Run album. Because it was pieced together in a bizarre way. Bruce made that record 100% out of willpower, he willed that into existence!”
Soon after making his instinctive artistic contribution (and singing backing vocals on “Thunder Road”), Steven was invited to join the E Street Band. It was a chance to complete the circle, play with his old friend again and settle any unfinished business from three summers earlier, when he’d been sent packing at the Greetings sessions. He made his live debut on the opening night of the Born To Run tour, which ran until New Year’s Eve. His input and influence over the next decade, onstage and off, would prove invaluable. (Bruce even began playing The Dovells’ “You Can’t Sit Down” as an occasional encore). In the fall, the tour took everyone to Europe for the first time, where the culture shock was off the charts. “There was no hamburgers, no peanut butter. The only place you could get a hamburger in the whole of Europe was the newly-opened first Hard Rock Café. There was a line around the block even then.”
Culinary deficiencies aside, Bruce also had to endure the overblown hype surrounding his first UK gigs at London’s Hammersmith Odeon, where Columbia had displayed the legend “Finally London Is Ready For Bruce Springsteen” on every available surface prior to his arrival. “[It was] completely obnoxious,” says Steven. “[Bruce] spent half the time ripping down posters. It was an embarrassing time for him, between that and Time and Newsweek. He didn’t like that stuff. You wanna be in charge of your life, that’s why we get into rock ‘n’ roll. Suddenly it was slipping out of his control. We made the mistake of playing a place with seats. It just made the show that much harder. But by the end, we got ‘em outta the seats. We went to Amsterdam, Stockholm, and back to London. The second one was a bit easier.” The experience had a prolonged effect on Bruce. “He was uptight in those days and would remain so through Darkness into The River, until he asked me to produce the record and we found a way to have some fun.”
Track 7: Epic Records, Steve Popovich and The Stone Pony
Back on the shore, Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes continued the Stone Pony residency throughout 1975, gradually consolidating their line-up. For the next three years, between Springsteen commitments, Steven worked as their producer, arranger, manager, part-time guitarist and principal songwriter. In early 1976, after circulating a demo tape, they signed a recording deal with Epic, with assistance from Steve Popovich, the label’s Vice-President of A&R. “I Don’t Want To Go Home,” the song that Steven had kept in his back pocket since his days on the oldies circuit, became the title track of their debut album and their first single. Ben E King’s loss was Southside’s gain.
“I produced [the song] in a way which was appropriate for the Jukes. They didn’t have a big background vocal thing going on,” explains Steven. “I was very conscious of being able to try and do most of it live, although I put strings on it, on my very first production! There was no synthesiser in those days that could play strings. That’s why I re-cut it [on Soulfire] the original way I pictured it, with the singer and background vocals answering. That idea of writing for someone else is extremely important, critical and essential. It changes the way you write completely, from when you think of writing for yourself, which is extraordinarily complicated and confusing. It’s not easy, but easier, to write for someone else. There’s their identity in your mind at least. I’m writing them a song. That’s a wonderful exercise for songwriters.” I Don’t Want To Go Home was released in the summer of 1976 (“I’ve never received one penny of royalties, but whatever!”). The Jukes later began their first national tour and made their European debut in 1977.
Recommended by Bruce, Steve Popovich was one of a kind. “The last of the real music guys in the business. The only other person I can compare him to would be Lance Freed on the publishing side, who’s unique. He’s actually into music and songwriting and the things you’re supposed to be into when you have a job description like that. And Frank Barsalona, the only agent who really did his job and would set the standard for everybody to follow. Those three guys, really quite historic. [It was] Popovich’s idea to launch the record with a broadcast from the Stone Pony. Never been done before. Popovich loved the local scene idea and he largely made it happen. It never would have been recognised nationally, I don’t think, if it hadn’t been for Popovich, who had the vision to say it’s cool if you’re not from New York. Rather than being embarrassed if you’re not from New York, LA or Nashville, it’s actually cool.”
Track 8: Production Credits and Political Awakening
Steven developed his talents as a producer and songwriter with the Jukes in the late 70s, following I Don’t Want To Go Home with This Time It’s For Real and Hearts Of Stone. Successive releases featured greater quantities of his original material, which included “I Played The Fool,” “This Time Baby’s Gone For Good,” “Take It Inside” and “Some Things Just Don’t Change,” apparently written for another of his heroes, David Ruffin of The Temptations. During this period, he also produced the “Say Goodbye To Hollywood” single for Ronnie Spector and the E Street Band and provided production assistance on Darkness On The Edge Of Town. His relationship with the Jukes ended when they left Epic for Mercury in 1979 and he went on to co-produce The River and two comeback albums for Gary US Bonds, Dedication and On The Line. It was an impressive fast-track apprenticeship. Steven had no production experience when he began. He acquired the skills and learned from his mistakes in the studio. “That’s why all three Jukes albums are different,” he says. “By the time we did The River, I knew what I wanted to do. I got it all down by then. That’s how I tend to do things. I can picture what I want. Jump in, do it, let’s see what happens.”
Steven also kept his promise to himself to bring his musical heroes out of obscurity, initially as guests on the first two Jukes albums. “I did what I could, but I wanted to do so much more,” he admits. “First time I get in a studio, got Lee Dorsey out from under a car, where he’s a mechanic. Got Ronnie Spector out of retirement. Second album, we reunited The Coasters, Drifters and Five Satins. Me and Bruce worked with Gary Bonds. We got Ben E King and Chuck Jackson on that record. Those artists had a talent level noticeably above everybody that followed. I wish I’d been insistent on doing more of them. In those [early] days, you actually had to have talent to make records. You had to be able to sing a song, beginning to end, perfectly in tune, perfectly the right melody, and if you fuck up one word, you gotta do the whole thing again. Couldn’t do enough for those people, they were so much fun to produce.”
In addition to his studio accomplishments, Steven played more than 300 shows with Bruce and the E Street Band between 1976 and 1981, primarily on the Darkness On The Edge Of Town and River tours. The majority took place in North America, but the River tour included a European leg that took the band away from home and out of their comfort zone for nine weeks. Much longer than their previous visit in 1975, it was their first significant experience of foreign countries, languages, cultures and political perspectives. They received rave reviews wherever they played, but Steven gradually became aware that not all Europeans viewed the United States in a favourable light.
One particular encounter was pivotal in dramatically reshaping Steven’s worldview. “A kid asked me, ‘Why are you putting missiles in my country?’ I said, ‘I’m not, I’m a guitar player.’ I realised, for the first time in my life, at the age of 30 I’m embarrassed to say, that I’m an American. What the fuck does that mean? I managed to grow up in the middle of civil rights, the Vietnam War, demonstrations about every fucking thing and had no interest in any of it. Amazing when you think about it. Redefining tunnel vision. Suddenly, the tunnel is gone. We’re now successful. Who would have ever figured that would happen, right? Now it’s like, uh-oh, what did I miss, the last 20 years?”
Track 9: Men Without Women, Motown and Mixing In Mono
This revelation accelerated Steven’s growing political awareness, one of two important developments in 1981 that would change the course of his life forever. The second came when he returned from Europe and was approached by EMI America about making a solo album. Having spent six years producing and writing for others, he welcomed the opportunity to have his own creative outlet, which soon expanded into a separate career. In the fall, he enlisted musicians from the E Street Band and the Asbury Jukes to record most of the material for his debut album, Men Without Women, using his established rock-meets-soul sonic blueprint. Including “Lyin’ In A Bed Of Fire,” “Princess Of Little Italy,” “Angel Eyes” and “Until The Good Is Gone,” it remains an undisputed career highlight for Van Zandt devotees, but Steven feels that an outside producer might have helped him make a more commercial record.
“Conventional wisdom is you never should produce yourself and I have to say that’s correct. The only exception I can think of in the history of the business was Prince, who was an extraordinary genius, but other than him, I don’t know anybody who successfully produces themselves.” Describing himself as “extremely schizophrenic, I’m twelve different people, never mind two,” Steven explains how his inner producer failed to control the whims of his inner artist. “Without knowing it, the artist takes over. I was into this extreme naturalism, no logical reason why. I did the whole album live in one day. Came back the second day, did it again, beginning to end. Couple overdubs, that was it. There’s one guitar. The horns aren’t doubled. Nothing’s doubled. Bruce did all the harmony on that record but we couldn’t use his name. We [did] a similar thing with Born In The USA, where we just recorded live in the studio.”
“I made Bob Clearmountain mix ‘Forever’ in mono, to try and achieve the perfect Motown record. It’s never gonna be exact and it shouldn’t be exact, why should it be, but I wanted to capture a Smokey Robinson Motown record. The only way I could do that in my mind was to make it completely mono. He was so good in those days. I mean Bob’s still the best, but in those days he was beyond the best. He was something else when it came down to that Neve board that wasn’t automated, and he’s feelin’ those faders. I made him do something he’d never done before, which requires a whole different way of thinking. You’re now thinking depth-wise and vertically, not horizontally.”
“That’s where my head was at. Can I achieve the emotional communication that my heroes had provided me? My heroes being Motown in general, 10 acts there. Or my heroes at Chess, another 10 acts. Sam Phillips did ‘Rocket 88’ for Ike Turner (Jackie Brenston) and ‘How Many More Years’ for Howlin’ Wolf, three years before Elvis Presley. Unbelievable genius. [I’m] trying to achieve that level of quality in my own world, in my own little bubble, which has these ridiculously high standards. I’m absorbing the 50s and 60s and then trying to integrate them in my head and reproduce them in my own way, not the least bit interested in what’s going on in the 70s or 80s certainly, because it was shit to me, comparatively. An interesting moment here and there. Punk was certainly interesting. But mostly it’s all coming from what I call the renaissance period, ‘51 to ‘71, where it all was created. And that’s true to this day. That’s all I was interested in and that was enough for 10 lifetimes. I didn’t need another bit of input after 1972.”
Track 10: Little Steven, Little Richard and Bob Dylan
In 1982, after recording with Bruce and Gary US Bonds, Steven completed his album, formed the Disciples of Soul (which included Dino Danelli from The Rascals on drums, Jean Beauvoir on bass and Eddie Manion, Mark Pender, Stan Harrison and La Bamba on horns) and played a debut concert at New York’s Peppermint Lounge. Released in October, a month after Nebraska, Men Without Women preceded his first national tour and was credited to his new professional name of Little Steven, which would be used for all future solo activities. “I just wanted separation [from] being the sideman,” he explains. “Each of my personalities required a different name, in order to keep it straight in people’s heads and my own head.” The name referenced his early heroes Little Walter, Little Anthony and Little Richard. In his role as an ordained minister, the latter officiated at Steven’s wedding to Maureen Santoro in New York on New Year’s Eve. Percy Sledge sang “When A Man Loves A Woman” as they walked down the aisle and the reception included performances from Gary US Bonds, Little Milton, The Chambers Brothers and the wedding band from The Godfather. “Little Anthony was doing a cruise at the time or he would have been there.”
“All I can think is, we’ve been hoping to get into recording our whole lives, I’m listening to this and it sounds fucking terrible. Not just the horn charts, everything. It was the worst period of recording in history. Virtually every record from the 50s and 60s sounded great, virtually every record from the early 70s sounded terrible. Because engineers took over, started close miking, padding the walls. Separation, separation, separation, all the things that make rock ‘n’ roll suck. The idea was, you isolate everything and make it sound exciting in the mix. Which they managed to do, miraculously, with the Born To Run album. Because it was pieced together in a bizarre way. Bruce made that record 100% out of willpower, he willed that into existence!”
Steven toured internationally in 1983, then dropped the horns, adopted a more contemporary rock sound and made his second album, Voice Of America. It was an explicitly political record that featured “Solidarity,” “I Am A Patriot,” “Out Of The Darkness,” “Los Desaparecidos” and “Undefeated.” Triggered by his River tour experiences in Europe, this radical transformation was completed with a long period of self-education. “I read every book about post World War Two [US] foreign policy. [It was] shocking how often we were on the wrong side. All of these bad things were happening behind the scenes and nobody was talking about them. No political consciousness whatsoever in the country. I decided I have an obligation to say something about this stuff that we’re all paying for with our taxes.”
“Being conscious of the fact that everybody needs their own identity, I figured who the hell needs another love song from a fucking sideman? I’ll be the political guy. Nobody else is doing it. There were people demonstrating of course. Jackson Browne, John Hall, Bonnie Raitt, Graham Nash, those guys. The Grateful Dead were doing a benefit every week, but rarely did it end up in the work. In general, people weren’t putting much politics into the lyrics of their songs.” For artists with commercial aspirations, he concedes, that’s a smart move. “Jefferson Airplane being an exception with ‘Volunteers.’ Big exception, Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, with Neil Young’s ‘Ohio.’”
Steven contends that Bob Dylan’s “Subterranean Homesick Blues” introduced the idea of political consciousness in rock ‘n’ roll. “His first electric song. It’s not given enough credit. The first sentence from Bob Dylan’s electric period, ‘Johnny’s in the basement mixing up the medicine, I’m on the pavement thinking about the government.’ What? You’re doing what? You’re thinking about the government? Excuse me? Who does that? Whoever did that before, in a song, no less? There in that one sentence, Bob Dylan communicated what his entire career was gonna be about, which was having fun with language, with inference, symbolism, metaphor and nonsense lyrics that rhymed. ‘Johnny’s in the basement mixing up the medicine,’ what does that mean? It means whatever you want it to mean, right? Then ‘I’m on the pavement thinking about the government.’ Holy shit! You mean we’re supposed to figure out the government? That, to me, is the most important sentence in all the history of rock ‘n’ roll, right there.”
All photos below by Mike Saunders
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Broken Clocks Part 2
A/N: I had to make this into two parts otherwise this was finna be STOOPID long. Anywho, I’m kinda proud of how I wrote this one, dialogue is usually my kryptonite but this time it was weirdly easy lol. Again, thank you @darkficsyouneveraskedfor for your unintentional motivation. And I hope y’all enjoy it! Also happy birthday to the white man in this story sksksksks
Pairings: Steve Rogers x Black!Reader
Warnings: Cursing
Word Count: 2.1k
Part 1
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‘Oh Lord, it is Him,’ you thought to yourself, mental voice dripping with dread and disgust, your sense of calm dissipating into the quiet atmosphere of the subway car. You quickly turned around and hoped he hadn’t noticed you, but cruel fate decided to take the opportunity to ruin your plan; instead, you had bumped into a man who had been walking towards the door as the train was approaching his stop; this caused your purse to fall and letting your wallet to come out and makeup bag to slide across the train floor and in turn hit the foot of the one person you were trying to avoid, Jermaine, your lousy ex-boyfriend of four years.
“Wait a minute, I know this bag,” you had heard him mumble from the other side of the vicinity. You had seen that he had picked it up from your peripheral vision and began looking for the owner.
‘Oh fuck me,’ you winced as you went to pick up your wallet that luckily had landed a mere few inches away from you, but you knew fate wasn’t feeling exactly kind at this particular point in time.
Now came the moment you had wished never been a slight possibility, talking to this no-good ass hat. You turned in his direction and mentally began to hype yourself up for an inevitably awkward situation.
‘Girl you got this, he ain’t shit and you KNOW he ain’t shit, your stop is coming up, just grab your shit and get thee fuck outta there ASAP,’ you prepped yourself, a constant loop of ‘You got this’ playing in your head.
“(Y/N),” Jermery started,“you look good,” a firm grip still on your belongings, as if trying to hold you hostage.
“Thanks…” you replied, awkwardness coating every letter of the word, you grabbed one of your arms to try to gain a sense of ease and comfort as you swayed looking everywhere except in his general direction. You knew you would have to face him at some point but you truly wish now wasn’t the time. There was no point in beating around the bush, you truly had to get this over with, so you grasped every last bit of confidence and assertiveness and did what needed to be done; you didn’t have to worry about his feelings anymore, you didn’t have to fear him anymore, you had to remember you were That Bitch and He was missing out on being with You and you would never get that twisted. You had Captain fucking America’s phone number in you phone at this very moment for Christ’s Sake!
You looked him directly in the eye, and stated simply, “I’d like my makeup bag please,” while reaching out your hand for your things. This sense of fire behind your being that let off a blaze of confidence and self-worth that left him blown away. This wasn’t the (Y/N) he knew and left in the dust, but he sure did want to waste her time once again.
He tried to turn his sex appeal and swagger on, he was confident this would work on you; and to be completely and utterly honest, any other time it most definitely would have. But today he would be sorely mistaken.
“So,” he started, biting his lip and looking you up and down; light skin antics on one thousand,“ how ya been?” Oh Lord, why have you forsaken me? You know this man does not care about me.
“Fine,” you stated dryly.
“That’s cool, that’s cool… How ya momma and them?”
“Fine,” still dry.
“You know ma dukes still asks about you after all this time?” This man wants to bring up his mother? Really?
“Well, did you tell Miss Shirlene why I haven’t come around in three years? Or did you manage to skip past that detail like you used to skip over telling other women you were in a relationship?” you retorted, you obviously knew the answer. Your stop was so close you could almost touch it, no time to lose; you snatched your make-up bag from his grasp and shoved it back into your purse.
“Nah, c’mon don’t be like that mamas, you know you still miss me,” he said while using his now empty hand to grab yours and used his thumb to trace little circles on the back of it. You had snatched your hand back from his grasp.
“Ohhh yeeaaahhh, because I missed the 1-minute fuck sessions, and the skid mark boxers always lying in the middle of the living room!” With every word, your ex partner grew smaller and smaller, confidence chipping away with every syllable, “And always having your rowdy ass home boys who didn’t have respect for my apartment ever,” The patrons of the subway car now all ears and reacting with the hissing sound of second-hand embarrassment or a ‘damn’ under their breath.
“Or all those girls coming to me as a woman talking about they deal with your sorry ass. And ALWAYS paying the bill when we went out to eat because you conveniently left your wallet -which NEVER had money it- at the house, and let’s not forget how I missed your loud ass snoring that kept me up all hours of the night.” By the time you were done dragging this man’s name through the mud with all the sadly true testimonies of your relationship, the train had stopped at your destination and the doors opened. You made your way to the exit of the train, you just needed one last step and you were home free, but you stopped before turning around telling him one last thing.
“So, no Jermaine, I absolutely do NOT miss your ain’t shit ass. Now leave me the hell alone before I go to Raven as a women and tell her that you up to your ain’t shit ways again. Bet you didn’t know I know about her, huh?” And with that, the doors hissed closed but you could clearly hear the sound of the entire car screech from your victory as it rolled away.
Walking with a fresh sense of worth, you realized in your moment of triumph, where you needed to be in a matter of minutes.
“Oh shit!” You scream before making a mad dash for your final destination.
Luckily the station was only a block away from the club, you just needed to walk fast and pray all the crosswalks were ready for you before you even approached them and you’d make it in time. A skill you had managed to acquire over the years was ducking and dodging through crowds with absolute ease.
You had managed to make it when a huge crowd began to enter the club allowing you to slip into the club with absolute stealth. You made your way to the back, similar to before you greeted coworkers over the loud music but this time you avoided your boss at all costs by hiding behind customers. You had made it to your locker and began to throw in your belongings into it and undress into your new outfit and heels. You plugged your phone into the community charger, knowing it would be safe back there, seeing as you were on good terms with everyone and they always looked out for you.
You sat in a chair in front of the vanity and took a good look at yourself, exhaustion written all over your face as you added on to the makeup you were already wearing. The other girls squealing in excitement about the big celebrity that would be in The Champagne Room tonight and how they were trying to weasel their way into performing in there; you had slowly began to zone out before hearing who it was that was causing the big fuss this evening, you didn’t want anymore excitement tonight, you just wanted to dance to a couple songs, get as much money as possible and get your ass back into your bed.
“Drink this, you look terrible,” Maria, the house mother, jokingly said with a smile; snapping you back to reality handing you a cup of coffee just the way you like it.
“Thanks Mari,” you took it graciously, blowing it before taking a sip.
“Of course, mi querida,” she replied before kissing the top of your head. This was exactly what you needed to get through the night.
“Also, Johnny wanted me to tell you: you, Diamond and Star are working The Champagne Room tonight,” she whispered as to not start another round of chaos in the dressing. You simply shook your head grateful that the two you were closest to would be right by your side the entire time.
‘Please have a lot of money,’ you silently prayed to yourself before taking another swig of your coffee and getting up to make this money.
~
You had entered The Room, mind on another planet to not realize who the group that was causing all the buzz backstage. Once again, it was Steve, Sam, and Bucky. You always seemed to run on autopilot when it came to dancing, doing flips and tricks but not really being there mentally. This was your way of getting through your shift without hating every minute of it.
Steve was in awe at how flawlessly you could move up and around that pole. You were so graceful but also so sensual. He didn’t recognize you at first, due to the change in makeup and different clothes (or lack thereof) and he had the strong urge to look away from your lack of clothing but he just couldn’t because he knew who this amazingly talented woman was; it was You: the waitress from the diner. Sure the other two girls were just as talented -Sam and Bucky seemed to think so, with the way they cheered at everything they did- ,but they could not compare when it came to your beauty. He just couldn’t keep his eyes off of you.
You had just finished your third song and you were grabbing your tips from the three men, not making eye contact with Sam or Bucky; but once you had made contact with Steve, you had felt the familiar sense of electricity from earlier coursed through your body. This feeling zapped you from your daydream, you looked at the hand that was handing money to you and then you realized who it was: Your Captain.
“Oh it’s You” you said with a sincere smile that lit up your entire face, the shyness had taken, over given the surroundings in which you had bumped into each other and he tried to find the right words to say.
“Well what are the odds,” he said, a timid smile in place. You giggled at his response.
“What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here? What are you doing here? You really shouldn’t be working in a place like this,” Steve said softly.
Before you could respond, you could hear Sam let out an exasperated sigh while throwing his head back. He could just sense Steve’s ‘You shouldn’t have to do this’ speech coming at any moment because he did this the last time he had gone out with America’s beloved Super Soldier.
“Now don’t you start with this again. Just because you Captain America don’t make you Captain Save-a-Hoe,” he had said in a somewhat joking manner.
“Now who in the hell you callin a hoe, bird brain?” you snapped back, hands on your hips; ready to pop off if need be. Bucky quietly chuckled to himself saying, “I like this girl,” before taking a swig of his beer and sitting back to watch the argument that was bound to unfold in front of him; Diamond and Star equally entertained and taking seats next to the metal-armed man.
“Well if the platform heel fits,” he had clapped back as he stood to get closer to you.
“I work here, so I GOTTA be here, you came here by CHOICE Mister Parakeet. So what’s that say about you?,” you returned as you had a finger in his face to emphasize your point.
This caused a back and forth repetition of ‘Girl get your finger outta my face’ from him and ‘Or what?’ from you.
“Enough!” Steve shouted over the commotion. That was what rendered the Falcon speechless along with yourself and everyone else in the room. Bucky still giggling to himself about the ‘parakeet’ insult, he’d have to remember that one.
‘Now both of you, apologize.” The Captain had ordered. You and Sam both mumbling half-assed ‘sorry’s to one another, arms crossed and pouting like school children.
After the argument was over, you and the girls decided to talk with the men instead of dancing seeing as the crazy events that ensued made you all comfortable with one another. Sam was actually cool and you two ended up being the cause of most of the laughs in the group. Steve and you had grown closer as the evening went on.
“Would you wanna go out tomorrow?” he had asked suddenly, you raised your eyebrows at the question. Diamond and Star were behind Steve trying to convince you to say yes in their own silly ways. Without any hesitation, you looked him right in the eyes and said, “I’d love to.”
“How about dinner at 8?”
“Sounds perfect,” your smile growing.
“I’ll make sure to call you before, to make sure you’re ready on time. For some reason you can’t avoid a broken clock.”
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Taglist: @oceanscorazon @snazzyjazzy6 @illbethethundertoyourlightning @petlaufeyson
#steve rogers fic#steverogers#Steve Rogers#steve rogers fanfiction#steve x reader#steve rogers x you#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers imagine#steve rogers x black reader#MCU fic#mcu imagine#mcu#y/n#reader imagine#black!reader imagine
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Better
〖Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader〗
▷ request: Anon: Hey :) can I request a bucky one shot where the reader tries to break up with him because she thinks he deserves someone "extraordinary" too? Thank you so much!! BTW, I really really love your fics.
▷ warnings: swearing
▷ summary: You try to leave Bucky because you know he deserves so much better than you.
▷ word count: 1,483
▷ chapters: 1/1
▷ a|n: first request and I am hyped as fuck for this--thx, anon. sorry it’s a bit short though
You watched him with a small smile, stirring your coffee absentmindedly. He moved with such grace, such perfection. As he pummeled the punching bag you saw the deep furrow in brow disappear and instead, a smirk blossomed on his lips. He laid one last hit onto the bag causing it to groan then turned to you. Bucky swaggered over to you with eyes glimmering something sinful. He was blocked by the coffee cup that you kept close to your chest from pressing his bulky frame against yours and you tilted your head up to give him your own smirk.
Bucky brought up his metal hand and tucked a few stray locks of hair behind your ear. "Morning, sweetheart."
You leaned your head into his palm, chasing his touch. "What're you up to, sugar?" You drawled out, knowing that something about your southern tone drove him wild.
Bucky plucked the coffee from your grasp and set it aside. He wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face in your neck. You giggled a little as his breath tickled your throat, his lips leaving soft pecks. Dragging your fingers through his hair, you murmured, "how'd I ever get a man like you, James Barnes?"
Bucky lifted his head and stole your breath with the way his blue eyes shone pure affection. "I wonder the same thing about you, y/n Barnes."
A laugh bubbled its way up and you shook your head in amusement. "Sugar, since when do I have your last name?"
He kissed you softly, warm lips caressing yours. Wandering hands moved from your waist to your bottom making you squeak in surprise. Bucky let loose an alluring chuckle at the sound of your surprised and nipped your bottom lip before pulling back. "You'll have it soon, sweetheart."
You smacked his shoulder playfully and ducked out of his arms. "Jamie, you are too much," you teased.
Bucky wore a predatory grin as he circled around you. A slight arch of his brow sent shivers down your spine. "Too much? C'mere, doll, I'll show you too much."
"You'll have to catch me first," you shot back and darted to the side as Bucky lunged for you.
You had been an experiment by a disbanded organization whose name you never learned because you were too young, too broken to remember. Living as a street-rat for years and terrorizing people even killing some for money just to get food. Your ability to be invisible had kept you easily hidden from most until the Avengers came once you had killed someone too important. They took you in and gave you a second chance, one that you still believed you didn't deserve.
You spun around the gym as Bucky chased your reappearing figure. At one point he noticed that your footprints showed on the mat from where you placed your weight and he smirked up at the empty space where you stood.
"Bucky," you warned with a giggle as he stalked towards you. "Buck, I swear to the Lord."
He shot out and grabbed you, pressing you tight against his chest. His hands wandered down to your butt and he gave the soft flesh a rough squeeze. "So, if that's there then those should be here. . ." he captured your lips quickly while you laughed around the kiss. Your tongues dancing with each other.
"Bucky's kissing the air again!" Sam shouted to the rest of the Avengers that sauntered in behind him.
Tony grimaced as Bucky stopped kissing you and looked up. "Icicle, we can go find y/n if you need her so bad."
Bucky rolled his eyes and pinched your bottom causing you to be shocked into revealing yourself. "Already got her, Stark."
You smacked his shoulder again. "James Buchanan, you keep your hand to yourself in public, you hear?"
He flashed his perfect teeth in a perfect smile and pressed his forehead against yours. "You weren't saying that a second ago, y/n."
You pushed him away with a soft smile and turned to see Steve smiling happily at both of you. You loved the man but once Bucky and you had started dating, Steve had put a lot of pressure on you. He didn't mean to, that you knew for a fact, but being told repeatedly that you were something more than you believed made you worried. Of course, you put up with it for Buck but the anxiety ate away at you. What if you weren't good enough? You had killed people, good people. Bucky had too but your love wasn't in control of himself. Every time you rammed a knife through an unsuspecting person and watched the life drain out them you were in full control of your actions.
"Y/n?"
You turned back to Bucky and saw him reaching for you with worry. Giving a weak smile, you waved him off. "I'm all good, sugar. Jus' need some more coffee."
Bucky seemed to want to say something but looked over to see the rest of the group pretending not listen and settled for giving you a quick kiss on the cheek and joining them.
You grabbed your coffee and scurried out of the gym to the other side of the Avenger Tower. Thoughts about Bucky swirled into a storm in your mind. You loved him though you had never told him. You loved everything about him from his kindness to his lips. But, by the Lord, you knew you would never be extraordinary like he was; you would never deserve his love. For all of the good ol' confidence you bounced around you were weak inside with anxieties.
You went to the room you shared with Bucky and collapsed on the bed. It was time you told him the truth. . .
He deserved so much more.
>>>>>>>
Sitting on the edge of the bed with a frown you worried the blankets between your fingers. A bag sat next you, lightly packed with only a few days change of clothes and the essentials. You'd leave for Bucky's sake and yours. So many were scrambling for his attention that you knew he'd forget about you once he realized the truth as well and move on to another person. Your heart wretched at the thought of seeing someone else garnering his love but you knew that anyone other than you would be best for him.
"Sweetheart?" The door creaked open and Bucky entered. His eyes caught the bag whose straps you were fiddling with and he frowned. "Are you going on a mission?"
The way his eyes bore into yours forced you to look away in fear that the tears begging to spill would finally break free. "I'm leaving, James. Gave Fury my resignation this afternoon."
"What?" Bucky breathed so quietly you nearly missed the heartbroken plea.
You steeled your expression even as a tear betrayed you and stared at him. "We're done," you bit. It crumbled your heart when he flinched from the terse way you said it. "I'm no good for you. So, I got my bag and I'm gettin' outta here."
Bucky ran a hand through his hair and clenched his as he paced angrily. "What the fuck are you saying?"
You sighed and swung the bag over your shoulder as you got up. "You heard me damn well."
Bucky stopped and looked at you red, red eyes and red face. Red lust and red rage. "I. . ." He exhaled roughly and strode toward you with the force of a tornado. You didn't move, you knew he was too soft to ever hit you. But God you never expected a kiss to feel like a smack. It burned as he poured his feelings on your lips. He pulled away panting and shaking with a few tears welling up. "I love you, y/n."
You froze. It was a stab in the gut. The click of a clock that told you, you were too late. "N-No," you stammered. "No, I'm not good enough. You'll find someone better to love. Someone who deserves it."
Bucky was fuming. "Put the bag down, sweetheart. You aren't going anywhere."
"Bucky," you huffed.
He gripped your chin and tilted your head up to him. "You deserve everything, y/n. You were the only one to not tiptoe around me or treat me like a threat. You're the only one who wants to know me as me now and not the Bucky that I was before. You're fucking perfect, doll."
You were sobbing now. Bucky pulled you against his chest and swayed you lightly as your tears dampened his shirt. "I-I killed people," you wheezed out.
"Shhh." Bucky ran his hand over your head. "I know, sweetheart. It's my fault for not seeing how much it hurt you or how worried you were over us. I should have told you I love you sooner."
Your fingers curled around the fabric of the back of his shirt. The feeling of being safely tucked into his arms was something you never wanted to lose. "I love you too, Buck."
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Dallas in Rumble Fish
It was July of 1962. The Rolling Stones had their first debut, the first Walmart opened and Thomas Cruise Mapother IV was born. It was a hot summer day and the fans were whirling, keeping the costumers of Benny's Billiards comfortable. "Rusty-James," Midget Jones walked swiftly into the old restaurant. His mission was to get the news to his friend before reporting to Carlos Rodriguez that Bobby Williams had been killed not even an hour earlier. "Biff Wilcox is lookin' for you, Rusty-James."
"I ain't hidin'," Rusty-James Vincent replied, his focus on the cue ball in front of him.
"Says he's gonna kill you, Rusty-James." Midget knew Rusty-James was a good fighter so, like the rest of RJ's friends, he wasn't concerned. Midget was a precise, honest guy and he knew that even though Rusty-James could take the old cat, he'd need to be prepared. Dallas Winston, who was in the middle of kicking BJ Jackson's ass in their own game of pool, was suddenly interested and listened closer, even though he knew Biff wasn't shit.
"Sayin' ain't doin'," Rusty-James shrugged and missed his shot. "Shit."
"That's tough, Rusty-James." Smokey Bennet picked up a handful of dollar bills they put down as a bet. "Maybe we should go double or nothin' sometime."
Rusty-James knew he was the better pool player and he wanted to fight him, nearly shoving a pool stick into his face. "Sit down."
"You cats are constantly fightin' like typical fuckin' Yahoos."
"Watch the language," Benny warned from behind the counter as he wiped it down.
"Hey, Benny, get me a chocolate milk, will ya?" Rusty-James sat down on a bar stool and instead of calling over his shoulder, he nearly bent over backwards. "What's this Biff doin' about killin' me, anyway?"
"You're supposed to meet him, tonight, under the arches behind the pet store at about," Midget checked his watch, "Ten o'clock."
"He's coming alone then, huh?" Rusty-James asked, taking a sip out of his chocolate milk.
"I wouldn't count on it, man." BJ told him. He knew Biff was a snake, he couldn't be trusted. Midget had shared the news and walked out.
"Well if he's bringing friends, then I'm bringing friends." Rusty-James stated, walking over to his usual table.
"Yeah, but you know how that's gonna turn out, Rusty-James. Everyone will end up getting into it." Steve Hays was always cautious with these things.
"This kid and his fuckin' imagination, man." Dallas remarked. He'd been in gang fights Steve couldn't even dream of. But then again, he was working for Sonny. Dallas kept his mouth shut, not willing to chance the boys finding out about his side job.
Ignoring him, Steve continued, "You bring people, he brings people.."
Rusty-James cut him off. "If you think I'm going to that vacant lot by myself, man, you're fuckin' crazy." Just then, BJ slid into the booth next to Dallas. The two smiled to each other, they couldn't wait for the fight.
"Watch your language over there. Watch it!" Benny hated cuss words since it reminded him of his father. But Benny lived in the Bronx and it was impossible to get away from the foul language. At least in his restaurant, he could warn the young boys.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Smokey yelled at Steve and Steve hid his head, focusing on writing.
"Fuck you, Smokey." Dallas and Rusty-James told him. "Steve goes wherever I go." To Steve, RJ said, "Steve, c'mere. Sit down."
"Dammit, Rusty-James. It's been a long time since we had that kind of trouble." Smokey wasn't wrong. The whole idea of gangs was fading out. Only loyal friends continued to stay in packs, starting fights to make them feel alive.
"Chicken, Smoke?" BJ teased as Dallas and him started making chicken noises.
"Smokey doesn't wanna come, it's okay." RJ said, getting in on the teasing.
"Smokey, we understand." Dallas nodded sarcastically as BJ and RJ shook hands, agreeing to back the other up like had for so many years prior.
"What? You don't wanna come? Fine."
"Rusty-James, you know I'm gonna be there." Smokey always was, even if he didn't want to. "But you know what the Motorcycle Boy said about gang fights." Dallas shot a cold stare at Smoke and it shut him up. They both knew how sensitive Rusty-James was about his deadbeat brother.
Too late. "The Motorcycle Boy hasn't been around in two months. So don't go telling me about that." Rusty-James was angry. If they shut up, he might cool down without exploding.
"What if the Motorcycle Boy comes back?" It was mumbled and quiet, but Rusty-James heard Steve's comment. Dallas glared at the youngest boy but Steve didn't get a clue. "What if your brother came back and found out?" Of course he was writing in his stupid fucking notebook.
Rusty-James slammed his fist on the table. "My brother ain't back, man!" He shouted. "I'm sick of hearing this shit. I don't know when he's coming back, if he's coming back, but if you assholes wanna wait around for the rest of your lives to see what he says, fine." He was staring at Smokey. "Fine, man. But I'm gonna stomp that little shitass tonight and I think I should have a few fucking friends with me." Smokey was trying to talk over him, even though he knew RJ hated that. "Are you even listening to me?"
"We're gonna be there, man. Alright? We're gonna be there." Smokey tried to shake RJ's hand. He ignored it and went to shake Dally's and then BJ's. "But let's just keep it between you two, okay?"
"Right behind you." BJ promised with a smile.
RJ finally shook Smokey's hand and finally heard Benny, who had been calling for him to "get his dirty ass off the table" for the past five minutes. "I'm sorry, Benny. I'm sorry." Benny knew it was bullshit and began to reel in a fish, but it was only a middle finger.
They finished up in the pool hall and began walking down the street. "Man, I love fights. This reminds me of the old days, man, when we used to have rumbles. Heroin ruined the gangs, man."
"It ruined the gangs? It ruined everything!" Dallas corrected him, getting flashbacks of his mother lying dead in the cold apartment.
"I wouldn't know." Smokey said
"No, you wouldn't know, would you? Ask my brother, man. A gang really meant something back then." RJ said, picturing a group of diverse kids standing tall and proud.
"That gang shit was outta style when you were ten years old." Smokey stated as-a-matter-of-factly. He hated it when RJ talked things he didn't know anything about, especially gangs.
"Bullshit, man. I was fuckin' eleven. I can remember." RJ defended himself. Dallas and BJ were chuckling to themselves, knowing that they were one of the last gangs in town. They were approaching the old Catholic school for girls and Rusty-James and Dallas got distracted by their girlfriends.
That night, Rusty-James was about five minutes late to his own fight. Typical. Dallas, BJ, Midget and Smokey waited behind the pet store for their best friend, getting there ten minutes early. "Where the fuck were you?" Dallas asked, slapping RJ upside the head.
"Rusty-James, we just about gave up on you." Smokey said. He had even less patience than Dallas, and RJ's bullshit always lit the short fuse.
"With Patty." He answered. Smokey rolled his eyes, annoyed. He saw this and told Smoke, "Watch out of I'll take you on for a warmup."
"She gonna clean you up after the fight? Kiss your booboos?" BJ teased but Dallas elbowed him in the gut.
"Who's here, huh? I gotta have as many guys as Biff. This is bullshit." Rusty-James looked over the edge, seeing old buddies and friends before calling out to them, greeting them.
"I thought we were supposed to watch, Rusty-James." Smokey reminded him.
"We are," Dallas told him. "But the kid's an idiot. He'll need us as backup."
"You're not expecting to see Steve here, are you? Why do you put up with that whimp?" Smokey asked, ignoring Dal's cold stare.
"I've known him since kindergarten, alright?"
"You've got a bad habit of getting attached to people, Rusty-James." Leave it to Smoke to point out the obvious.
Rusty-James wasn't having it, he was too hyped up for the fight. "Yup," he agreed without thinking about it. "Let's go." And they slid down the pipe before looking for Biff and his crew.
They were nowhere to be seen and so BJ piped up, "Where's Steve?"
"Maybe he's late." RJ suggested and then a cat meowed. A homeless man coughed. "Looks like we're gonna have to fight ourselves."
"Rusty-James," Steve called out in a whisper-shout. He was terrified but clutched a wooden board, thinking he'd use it to protect himself. RJ laughed when he saw his best friend.
Just then, a train whizzed by and Biff's gang started walking out. "Where at, Rusty-James?" Someone shouted out, the voice coming from the left side of the gang.
"I'm here." Rusty-James looked for his opponent, unable to find him until he popped up outta nowhere.
"Not for long, punk." Biff said. He was doped up. Man, Rusty-James hated fighting druggies. He spit on him, disgusted.
Dallas grabbed Rusty-James by the shoulder. "Don't kill him."
"You can't stop me. I'm gonna kill if I have to." RJ argued, like usual.
"Don't fuckin' kill him, Vincent. I'll help you take care of him, if need be. But don't kill him. He's doped up, you've got the real advantage." Rusty-James wouldn't listen, however, and pulled away from Dallas.
"Take a fuckin' swing at me." He challenged Biff; he was losing vision, everything going red. He was getting angry, the rage consuming him. And then Biff pulled out a knife. "This was supposed to be a fair fight, man!" Rusty-James avoided the knife best he could, kicked him and climbing up pipes. He got ahold of a piece of ply wood and beat the shit outta Biff. Like in most fights, Rusty-James has the upper hand as he threw Biff in through a window and then punched him until he broke his jaw. Rusty-James was so caught up in his anger, he barely noticed his brother pull up on a motorcycle until the Motorcycle Boy said something.
"What is this? Another glorious battle for the kingdom?" The Motorcycle Boy asked, even though he didn't want to know the answer.
"I thought you were gone for good, man." Rusty-James said, looking up at his brother in a daze. Dallas was distracted, too, but his senses were a lot better.
"I thought we had a treaty." The Motorcycle Boy's voice was soft as he reminded his brother of what they had agreed to months prior.
"Look out, Rusty-James!" BJ shouted as Biff raised his switchblade to cut RJ's side. Dallas thought too quickly, however, and kicked Biff in the leg, hard enough to make him fall. Dallas pinned him down with his left foot and stole the knife out of his right hand.
"It was supposed to be a fair fucking fight, you twat." Dallas reminded the cheater before walking up to the Motorcycle Boy.
and that's it because if Dallas was in Rumble Fish, nothing bad ever would've happened and we'd all be happy still today. the end.
#rumble fish#Rusty James#the motorcycle boy#bj Jackson#Smokey Bennet#Steve Hays#the Outsiders#dallas winston#the outsiders weekend#the Outsiders au#dallas winston imagine#my writing#mine
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Stucky “i’ve never met you before but i went to a huge party at your house with my significant other - who then proceeded to dump me” au!!!!
A Shrunkyclunks AU wherein Steve does not have a sad apartment, but a sad mansion instead.
— —
“Do you really think we’re gonna see him?” Bucky asks. “I’m just askin’ ‘cuz you go to shit sometimes and the person isn’t actually—“
“Bucky, Jesus, would you shut up?” Brock snaps.
Bucky shuts his mouth. “Sorry,” he mutters. “Just excited.” He pokes at the little plate of appetizers that he picked up off a table that he overheard someone say once belonged to James Monroe. He’s not sure he believes the hype, but it’s kind of fun to think about.
Brock rolls his eyes. “Yeah, he’ll be here, but maybe I don’t wanna talk to him, huh? You think of that? Spend all day every day looking at his ugly mug, have to come to these bullshit events because he saved a cat from a tree and the world wants to kiss his ass for it. Last thing I need is to come to his place and fawn over him with all these sycophants and then to have you join them.”
Now would probably be a terrible time for Bucky to mention the Captain America lunchbox he had as a kid.
“You invited me here,” Bucky finds himself saying.
“So what?” Brock asks.
“So, if you didn’t wanna come, you shouldn’t’ve invited me!” Brock just rolls his eyes. “Or you could pretend to have fun, or you could ask me to leave! I would, Brock. We could go get a pizza and go to that—“
“Shut up, Bucky. Jesus, you’re like a fucking fly, buzzing around, never stopping.” A few people look over, wondering what’s happening, and Brock grabs his upper arm and drags him to the edge of the room. A few little bacon-wrapped scallops from Bucky’s plate go flying onto the suit of guy who Bucky assumes is an important politician. Normally, it’d make him laugh, but right now, he’s got more important things to worry about.
“Brock, stop,” Bucky says, struggling in Brock’s grip. But the problem with dating a guy who works for SHIELD is that they apparently have a very strong grip.
(Dating is a lose term. They’ve been out five times.)
He doesn’t stop until they’re at the side of the room. Brock takes a deep breath, shuts his eyes. “This won’t work,” he says.
“What?” Bucky asks.
“This. Whatever. I can’t date someone with a hero complex.”
Bucky’s heart sinks.
He didn’t think this was a love connection, but he thought it was… a connection. Something.
But he also doesn’t want to date someone who would drag him around like that.
“I’m gonna…” He swallows hard. “Go use the bathroom.”
“You do that.” He pauses, then adds, “Don’t find me after.”
Bucky nods, walks away, suddenly thankful that they were on the side of the room.
— —
When he finishes up in the bathroom, he hears cheering and loud noises from the party, and decides he can’t deal with it. Instead, he wanders.
Wandering through the government-sponsored mansion of an American hero probably isn’t the greatest idea in the world, but he’s a little shaken and a lot disappointed, so he can’t bring himself to care. He ends up on a balcony, looking out at DC, Capital Building in the near distance.
It’s a pretty good view.
He leans against the rail of the balcony and pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket. They’re not actually his — Brock had given them and a lighter to Bucky when they got to the party, saying something about keeping the lines of his suit clean. It sounded like bullshit, but Bucky almost appreciates it.
He’s not a smoker, but he takes a cigarette out of the package and lights it.
He takes one drag, nearly coughs up a lung and puts it out on the balcony.
“Careful, that’s the property of the United States’ taxpayer.”
The surprise causes Bucky to sort of fling the cigarette off the balcony. Bucky watches with wide eyes as it falls down onto someone’s Rolls Royce. “Shit,” he mutters.
“Don’t worry, Senator Royce has eight others waiting in his garage.”
Bucky looks up and sees… “Shit,” he mutters again, this time with feeling.
Captain America smiles. “You okay?” he asks.
Bucky nods. “Uh, yeah?” he says. “Why?”
“Saw you and Brock Rumlow chatting earlier. Didn’t look too friendly.”
God, Captain America is all broad and tall, and he’s looking at Bucky with these big, blue, concerned eyes that make Bucky want to sink in on himself. “He just broke up with me.”
Captain America frowns. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“He said it was ‘cuz I was too excited to meet you.” Bucky chuckles. “Gotta say that I’m not really excited to meet you like this at all.”
Captain America raises an eyebrow. “Why’s that?”
“I’m kind of breakin’ into your house, and lookin’ like the most pathetic ass at this party, and you probably came up here to haul my uncredentialed ass outta here, so… I’ll save you the effort and just head on out.”
And then, something miraculous happens.
Captain America smiles.
“I’m Steve,” he says.
“Bucky.”
“Mind if I hang out a while?”
“No,” Bucky says. “Not at all.”
#Captain America#Stucky#Steve Rogers#Bucky Barnes#Starbucks#Shrunkyclunks#Fic Nonsense#iamadelicateflowergoddammit#Words
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