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sp0o0kylights · 9 months

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Part Two / Part Three

Ao3

It's 8:45 am.

The Red Barn, which is neither red nor a barn, has been open since 7, catering to the early morning crowd with rounds of coffee and pancakes.

It was no Benny's, but given the size of Hawkins and the lack of alternatives?

No one was complaining.

They were all too happy someone had opened up another watering hole for the working class man (or lass, as Foreman Shelly will dutifully remind you) which meant the place was packed with both day and night shift regulars, passing each other in staggered waves.

It also meant Wayne was sharing the packed breakfast counter with a warehouse worker by the name of John Cheese on one side and Police Chief Jim Hopper on the other.

He doesn't mind it.

Wayne's a man on a budget thinner than his shoelace, but he's also a man who understands that small indulgences need to be made in life or you didn't truly live it.

This is how he convinces himself to get a coffee at the Barn after work everyday, reading the morning newspaper and chatting with the other regulars before he heads home.

Bonus, it gets him out of the rapid-fire franticness that is his nephew in the mornings.

(All the love in the world wouldn't change the fact that all that Eddie came with a lot of noise.

The kind of noise that was a tried and true recipe for a headache right after a long shift.)

As a trade off, Wayne went to bed early so he could wake up in time for dinner with Eddie.

It was a nice little system that worked for them.

A routine Wayne was reminiscing fondly on, when the pager on Chief Hopper started to chirp. With a sad moan, the man fished out a few crumbled bills and threw them on the counter, abandoning his coffee to trudge out to his truck.

This was not unusual.

Particularly recently, given they were but a scant few weeks past that whole mall ordeal. A fact all too easy to remember when one caught sight of the Chief’s still healing face.

What was unusual, was when he came storming through the doors a minute later, face now a furious shade of red with his hat clenched in his hand.

The energy in the room shifted, taking on something a little watchful as Hopper swept his gaze from side to side, like a dog on the hunt.

Judging by the way he stilled when he caught sight of Wayne, the latter assumed he found what he was looking for and could only pray it was the person behind him.

(He liked John, but Wayne had enough trouble this year and he wasn't looking for any more.)

"Munson." Hopper called, striding over and dashing all his hopes. There was a choked fury emitting off him, and given the way John audibly scooted his chair away, Wayne knew everyone had clocked it.

"Chief." Wayne greeted, inclining his head towards him.

Idly he wondered what the hell his nephew had done this time.

'So help me if he stole all the town's lawn flamingos and put them in that damn teachers yard again….'

Wayne didn't even get to finish his threat, the Chief was already next to him.

"Mind if I have a word outside?"

Dammit Eddie.

"Ah hell, what's he done now?" Wayne asked with a sigh, eyeing the coffee he had left morosely.

There was still almost half of it left and the pot had tasted fresh for once.

"What?" Hopper said, and then Wayne got to watch as the man ran through an entire chain of thoughts, each one punctuated by things like; "Oh," and "No. "

"This is something else." He finished, flushed and fidgeting, anger making him antsy.

Wayne stared up at him.

"Something else?" He repeated, not sure he heard.

"Yes, something else." Hopper snapped impatiently, before leaning forward, voice dropping low. "This doesn't involve your nephew, but we both know you owe me for how many times I've let that kid off, Wayne. That's a damn big favor I've been doing you and I'm calling it in."

If it were any other cop, it'd sound like a threat.

It was Hopper though. The same Hopper who Wayne had gone to school with.

They'd never been friends exactly, but they had been friendly and remained so. Even now, after Wayne had taken Eddie in, who’d gone on to be an undeniable pain in the local PD’s ass.

Hopper really did let the kid off easy.

Wayne really did owe him.

So he put down his coffee with a sigh, passed his newspaper over to John and stood up, motioning for Hopper to lead the way. Got into the Chief’s truck when he waved him in, and didn’t make a big fuss when Hopper tore out of the parking lot like hell was about to open up under them.

"Not a lot of the kids involved in the mall fire could be identified, but a few of them were." Hopper started, which felt nonsensical given the utter lack of context.

Wayne hummed to show he’d heard.

“Some of them got banged up more than others, and a lot of people wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t make it.”

A pause, Hopper white knuckling the steering wheel as he swung the truck hard around a turn.

“For certain people, those kids dying is the preferred outcome.”

A mix of fear and warning swopped low in Wayne’s gut.

"Jim." Wayne said, dropping the use of a last name because if any situation called for it, it was this one. "What exactly are you saying here?"

The Chief chewed on his split lip.

"I know you're smart, Munson. I know you, and plenty of others are aware that something's happening, been happening in this town."

Which was a hell of an understatement if you asked Wayne. Plenty of the upper classes might be able to bury their heads when it came to the military parading about and the flow of “accidents” they brought in their wake, but then, they didn't see all the other signs of trouble.

The absolute oddity that was Starcourt’s construction.

How it had been built using primarily outside crews and anyone who'd taken a singular look at the site could tell you they were building it weird.

Weird as in it looked like it would have a multi-level basement, and not what a mall should have.

Then there were the constant electrical problems. The backups upon backups that failed. The late night delivery vans headed out to the Hawkins Lab.

The things in the woods that kept spooking all the deer and the weird markings they left behind that unnerved even the hardest of hunters.

This didn’t even touch the Russian military that more than one reputable person swore was hanging around.

The very same Wayne himself had seen, on more than one occasion.

(And you couldn’t deny it; those boys were military. Past or present, it didn’t matter. They moved like a threat, and Wayne treated them like one, staying well clear.)

"Yeah." Wayne admitted. "I also know better than to stick my nose in it."

"That makes you a smarter man than me.' Hop complained under his breath, but the anger was self directed.

"The point is, there are some government types crawling around, doing shit they shouldn't be doing, and more than a few of them are in the business of making people disappear.”

This was absolutely not where Wayne had thought this was going.

Hopper took a breath. Than another.

A third.

It was starting to make Wayne nervous, in a way he hadn’t felt since a social worker had brought Eddie to him for the last time and final time. It was the feeling that things were about to shift in a way that would change the course of his life.

"Steve Harrington is sitting in my office right now, beat to absolute shit.” Hopper admitted.

Wayne gave him the floor to talk, letting him go at his own pace without interruptions.

“He's there because some of those government types finally figured out his parents are never fucking home.”

Wayne sucked in a breath.

"We both know his parents, Wayne. Harassing them to come back and take care of their kid won't work, and frankly, I’m beginning to think all the phone lines are tapped anyway.” He winced here, like voicing such a thing pained him, and Wayne understood.

It sounded a little too out there, a little like he was buying into a conspiracy.

Except he wasn’t. Wayne knew he wasn’t.

Jim Hopper might have been an alcoholic, a man living in pain and unconcerned with his own life, but if there was one thing he was solid for, it was shit like this.

He didn’t jump to conclusions. Didn’t believe the first thing people told him. Even at his worst, he did the work to see what was really happening, and made his decisions from there.

(Even if that decision was to accept the occasional bribe, or drive an intoxicated 13 year old Eddie home instead of hauling his ass into the drunk tank.)

“Harrington won’t admit it, but he’s got a hell of a concussion if not a full blown brain injury and he’s not reacting as well as he should to Suites trying to run him off the road.” Hopper continued. Angrily, he added, “Damn kid didn’t even come to me until they tried to break into his house last night.”

His fingers squeezed the wheel so hard Wayne heard the leather creak in protest.

“I’d take him, but my cabin is being renovated from…” He trailed off, heaving a sigh.

“A storm, so me and my kid are bunked with the Byers right now and we’re full up.”

Hawkins hadn't had a storm like that in years, but Wayne wasn't going to call him out on the blatant lie.

“I need a place to stash him for the next few weeks, until I can work with some of the higher ups sniffing around, and get them to call off their attack dogs.”

“And you want to stuff him with me.” Wayne finished.

“I know you don’t have the room.” Hopper admitted easily, stopping his truck at a red light and locking eyes with the other man. “But I also know you’ll be the last place anyone would look for him.”

'Ain’t that the damn truth.'

“You’re really gonna go this far for a Harrington?” Wayne asked, instead of the million of other questions leaping to the forefront of his mind.

This one, he figured, was the most important.

“He’s not his dad.” Hopper said, as firm as Wayne had ever heard him. “He’s not either of his parents, and he saved my little girl.”

Wayne hadn’t even known Hopper had another little girl, but he also knew better than to ask where the guy had found one.

It wasn’t his business, just as nothing else Jim was involved in, was his business.

Except, apparently, Steve Harrington.

“I’m gonna need my own truck if I’m takin' Harrington home.” Wayne said easily, instead of bothering to ask anything else.

If Jim said the kid was different than his daddy, then he was--because when it came to things like that, Jim didn't lie.

No point in it.

“I know. Just needed to talk to you first, without anyone overhearing.” Jim said, before swinging the police truck around and heading back to the Barn.

“I’ll stay in contact with you, and I’ll make sure Harrington pays you for the pleasure of your hospitality. Just--” Here Jim cut himself off, looking like he was struggling an awful lot with the next thing he wanted to say.

Once again, Wayne waited him out.

“Don’t let Steve fool you. He’s good at fooling people, letting them think he’s okay. Too good at it, and between the two of us, I have a real good idea of the reason why.”

A memory came to Wayne unbidden, of Richard Harrington and Chet Hagan, beating some poor kid in the highschool bathroom bloody. The grins on their faces as the poor guy wailed for them to stop.

How they almost hadn’t.

“Alright.” Wayne agreed.

Hopper swung back into the Barn's parking lot, and Wayne moved right to his own beat to shit truck, ready to follow Jim back to the police station.

He wasn’t a praying man, not anymore, but Catholisim wasn’t a thing that let you go easy.

He found himself sending up a quick prayer, fingers flicking in a kind of miniature version of the sign of the cross.

Considering his own kid’s history with Harrington, and the sheer small space of the trailer?

Wayne had a feeling it was needed.

#this has like t wo more parts #pre steddie #wayne as a BAMF #wayne and Hopper both as psuedo parents to Steve #ya'll are gonna have to put up with my weird ass jumping all over the place warm ups sorry lol #Gary's fourth piece is coming no worries #and then this will either take its place or the other one I have will #you CANNOT look me in the eye and tell me all the blue color workers arent aware shits going down #like 100% local crews took one look at starcourt and went what the fuck #nevermind you know the local power plant lol #and with demo critters running around its not like they were tearing through brushes and shit #your local hunters are gonna know somethings up #anyway #beat to shit Steve Harrington #my beloved #hes gonna show up busted to shit with a major grade concussion and Eddie is gonna shit himself #steve harrington #steddie #I spelled collar color and im not changing it #outsider pov #wayne pov #I will write the first person who knows where I pulled John from a prompt of their choice #catholic wayne munson #jim hopper

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cupid-styles · 8 days

Note

bodyguardrry x stripper!y/n?

pink pony club

in which harry is a bodyguard at the club y/n dances at

word count: 2.8k

content warnings: spicy content, minor violence, a small unwanted touching scene, smut (thigh riding, spitting, dirty talk, breast play, one "sir" mention, minor slapping......I think that's it gkdfjgkjd)

masterlist | talk to me

. . .

Harry doesn’t care much about his job.

He’s not all that interested in working night shifts that start at 8:30 p.m. and don’t end until 4 a.m. He’s not tempted by the constant flow of alcohol, the endless lines of powder that decorate the bartop and booth tables, and the half — and sometimes fully — naked girls that make their money by twirling around oiled up stripper poles and sweet-talking businessmen.

His job as a bodyguard is simply a means to an end. A paycheck. A way to survive.

Unless Y/N is working.

The second she started at Pink Pony Club, it felt as if his world brightened up. She emitted an effervescent pink hue everywhere she went, bathing Harry in it with her bright smile and sweet eyes. He’s always kept a special eye on her — while he didn’t care for the logistics of his job, he took the safety of the dancers seriously, and Y/N was no exception. In fact, maybe she was the exception.

He was the only dancer he watched. She was the only one he spoke to. His pretty, shy, pink girl.

When she took one-on-one dances in the Red Room, he was the guard she asked to accompany her. He never minded. No, he dropped everything to be there with her, even if it meant standing there stoically, watching as she grinded on the lap of a man that would tip her too little.

If it were him, he would never take her perfect presence for granted.

He would sit back and let her take her time. Shower her in every compliment his brain could churn out. He’d comply with the strict no touching rule, but god, if his hands wouldn’t tremble at his sides. He’d have to sit on them to stop himself from doing something stupid.

Sometimes, it’s what he wished those grimy men would do. Like this piece of shit, who’s been shelling out hundred after hundred dollar bills to keep Y/N locked away in the Red Room all night. It’s been hours and the guy can barely keep his head up straight. From Harry’s spot in front of the door, he can tell Y/N’s tired and in need of a break. And when the song comes to a crawling end, he’s ready to step in and tell the guy to get lost, but he’s already digging in his pocket for his wallet. Harry grits his teeth as he watches Y/N’s shoulders fall.

“Another one,” the idiot mutters, stuffing three hundred dollars in the waistband of her panties. Y/N jerks away from his touch and the man stills, flashing her a confused expression. “What? I’ve paid you your entire yearly salary tonight and I can’t put some fuckin’ money in your panties?”

Harry’s fists ball up at his sides, already taking heavy strides towards them as Y/N’s mumbling out, “you’re not allowed to touch the girls.”

“Oh, give me a fuckin’ break,” he wails, sending a look of disbelief to Harry, as if he should agree with him. “This girl’s a cocktease!”

Harry snorts and Y/N shuffles off the man’s lap. He stands in front of her, creating a physical barrier between the two.

“You heard her, you’re not allowed to touch any of the girls. Doesn’t matter how much money you’ve paid.” Harry says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Are you gonna get lost or are we gonna have a problem?”

The guy rolls his eyes. “You’re telling me you’re always here watching over this one and you’ve never once copped a feel? She’s out with her fuckin’ ass and tits out and you—”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish whatever disgusting sentence was coming out of his mouth because Harry’s already pulling him up by the shirt collar. The guy yelps as Harry’s strong grip yanks him off the couch and he scoffs, resisting the urge to spit in his face.

“Disgusting piece of shit.” he mutters, throwing him up against the maroon velvet wall. “You know that? You think you can fucking talk about her like she’s some kind of object?”

“She’s a stripper!” he exclaims, raising his hands up in mock defense.

“I don’t fucking care,” Harry growls, “She could be an escort for all I care, but you don’t touch anyone without their fucking permission. Especially her. Do you fucking hear me?”

“Yeah, man, whatever! It’s all good, I promise!”

“Oh, it’s all good?” he mocks, keeping him pushed up against the wall with his hand up against his chest. His other arm cocks back and his hand forms a tight fist, his knuckles white as hot adrenaline courses through his veins. He’s ready to beat this guy until he’s unrecognizable — until he hears it.

A small, quiet whimper of his name.

Immediately, he turns around. Y/N stands behind him, looking small and helpless with glassy eyes. Again, she repeats his name. “Harry,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s not worth it, I don’t wanna lose my job. Just let him go.”

And just like that, he does.

He lowers his fist, his hand unfurls around the cheap fabric of his button-up, and he’s free to go, scrambling out of the Red Room before Harry has the chance to tell the other bodyguards to escort him out. But he doesn’t care. All he cares about is the teary eyed girl with trembling fingers.

“Baby,” he breathes, fear surging through his chest as he wraps a tender arm around her waist. He sits onto the crushed velvet bench and pulls her into his lap, keeping a soothing hand placed at the small of her waist. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

She quickly shakes her head, allowing the tears to flow a bit more freely now. “I-I’m okay. Just scary.”

“I know,” he mumbles, biting his lip. “Was it— did I scare you?”

“No, no. I know you were just… trying to protect me.” she says softly, blinking her eyes at him.

“I was, sweetheart. I promise. I would never do anything to hurt or scare you.”

She nods. “I know.”

“How much longer do you have left of your shift? I can take you home. You shouldn’t be working when you’re upset.”

Y/N glances down at the watch around Harry’s wrist, nibbling on her bottom lip as she thinks. It’s already 2, which means the club closes in less than three hours.

“Just another hour. I can make it,” she replies as she straightens her posture in his grasp. “I’m just… I don’t think I’m ready to go back out there yet.”

“That’s fine. We can stay here as long as you’d like.” And he’d certainly knock out anyone who threatened to give her shit for it.

They sit in silence for a bit and Harry keeps a protective arm looped around her waist the entire time, drawing soft circles into her exposed hip. He feels relief at knowing that she doesn’t express discomfort at being in his arms and frankly, if it were up to him, she’d never leave them.

Harry’s torn from his thoughts when she runs her fingers over the expanse of tattoos that cover his arms. Glancing down, he watches as her manicured nails slowly float from the anchor on his wrist all the way up to the ship on his bicep. He swallows, staying impossibly still as she analyzes the ink. Eventually, she lands on the cursive A on his shoulder.

“Girlfriend?” she asks, peering up at him. He shakes his head.

“Mum,” he murmurs, “Do you have any tattoos?”

Y/N nods. “One.”

Harry’s tongue peeks out to moisten his lips as he maintains heavy-lidded eye contact with her. He’s seen nearly every bit of her skin and prickles form in his stomach, thinking about where her hidden tattoo could be.

“What is it?”

Slowly, she shifts off of his lap to stand in front of him. Using deft fingertips to peel the waistband of her lacey lingerie down, she reveals a simple red rose inked into her skin, just above where her mound begins. Harry swallows harshly at the sight.

“Do you like it?”

Harry huffs out a laugh. “Gorgeous.” he mumbles.

“I was thinking about getting another one,” she breathes as she shimmies the fabric just a bit lower. She taps the small patch of skin across from the rose. “An H, maybe.”

“That would be a silly decision, sweetheart,” he says lowly, leaning back against the bench and spreading his legs a little wider. “You don’t want an initial for the guy who beats up idiot losers.”

“I do, though. I love knowing you’re there to protect me.” she replies. Briskly, she climbs back into his lap, this time straddling his waist and placing her knees on either side of him. As if on instinct, he wraps his arms around her to steady her, pressing one palm to the back of her thigh.

“I’ll always be there to protect you,” he mumbles, chest tightening as she leans closer. Her lips are centimeters away and it makes his breath catch in his throat. His throat bobs as he swallows, angling his head ever so slightly to minimize the small gap between them, and then he whispers: “Stop me if it’s too much.”

“It’s not,” she’s so close to him that her breath ghosts over his plush lips, “Kiss me. Please.”

That’s all he needs to seal their lips, her shaky hands finding purchase at the back of his neck. It feels so special to have her hands on him as their lips meld; slowly at first, and then she’s straightening her back to push her chest forward, desperate to be closer, closer, closer.

It feels like their only source of oxygen is coming from one another. Harry’s hands grip her ass firmly, squeezing the plump skin in his palms. He’s content with keeping things here at a steady PG-13 level until her wet mouth breaks away for just a moment, only long enough to murmur, “touch me, I need it.”

A groan oscillates from his throat as his hands travel down to her neck, her shoulders, her chest, and then finally her breasts. His hands find the covered peaks of her nipples and she inhales sharply, shuddering beneath his touch. He smirks as he settles on the right side of her chest, using his thumb to gently brush over her nipple. She straightens her spine and leans into the sensation as he slowly rubs it back and forth.

"Always gonna keep you safe. You know that?” Harry mumbles into her mouth, licking at the seam of her lips. Her eyes squeeze shut and her thighs threaten to close around his wide, spread legs. “Uh-huh,” she nearly whines. He swallows as he watches her, noticing her quick descent into desperation. He gives her nipple a soft squeeze before quickly pausing to unhook her bra and toss it to the floor. He resumes his teasing just a moment later, leaning forward and attaching his lips to the hard bud. A quiet, shaky mewl falls from her swollen lips. He parts with a pop but only to spit messily onto the peak. She gasps when he takes her nipple into his mouth again, hissing as he bites the skin. It’s not hard or long enough to elicit any real pain, just a sweet sizzle in her stomach that makes her tug at the curled ends of his hair. He chuckles softly at her reaction before licking over the bite and tucking the bud back between his lips. Once he’s gotten his fix, he removes his hand from her breast and moves it up to her mouth. "Open." he commands. As if under a spell, her bottom lip drops open and Harry pushes two of his fingers inside, pressing them down against her tongue. "Dirty little mouth, hm?" He murmurs. She nods submissively and he grins, "Suck." She closes her lips, encasing his long fingers in her mouth as she begins to slowly bob up and down, taking them further. His fingertips make contact with her throat, eliciting a short gag as the muscles contract slightly around them. Quickly, he removes them. "Did I hurt you?" She shakes her head and reaches up to wipe away some of the drool that had escaped her mouth. "No. I like it." "Are you lying, baby?" He asks, moving her hair over her shoulder, "This isn't fun for me if you're just doing what you think I want." "I'm not lying, I promise. I like it." Harry's lips curl into a smirk. "Tell me what else you like, then." As she opens her mouth, he shifts his thigh between her legs, the muscles flexing firmly against her core. She gasps, though Harry pretends like he hadn't done anything, instead nodding at her shortly; an encouragement to follow his directions. "I like gagging on your fingers." She whines as he begins to move his thigh back and forth, just slow enough to create some friction between their bodies. "Yeah? What else do you like?" "You," she whimpers, gently rocking her hips against his jean-clad thigh, "When you keep me safe.” "Ah, my pretty baby likes feeling protected?” She nods as she begins to quicken my movements. He stills her hips but before she has a chance to whine about it, he mumbles out a "budge up, baby" so he can slip her panties off her legs. She resists the urge to hiss at the contact, her stomach tightening at the feeling of his thigh muscle against her. For a moment, he inspects the sodden underwear, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “You made quite the mess in these, baby. What got you so turned on?” She swallows harshly, her chest shaky. “Y-you. Seeing you threaten that guy for me.” He smirks but decides to leave it at that, feeling the desperate warmth radiating from her core. "Go 'head," he mumbles, leaning back. "Let me see you use me." She feels her hole contract at his words, mentally cringing as he chuckles. He feels how needy she is and he absolutely loves it. Slowly, she starts to grind against his thigh, holding in pathetic whimpers at the solid surface making contact with her clit. Harry tsks when he notices her roll her lips into her mouth. She looks down as he moves his hand towards her lower half, momentarily excited that he’ll pet at her the way she’s craving. The dream is short lived when he parts her pussy lips instead to look at the wet mess between them. "Don't hide your sounds," he scolds, pressing the pad of his fingertip to her clit, rolling it in small circles. "They're too pretty.”

She nods, prepared to continue her movements when she gasps out in surprise. Harry had delivered a swift slap to her clit — not painful enough to ask him to stop, but just enough to deliver a sizzling sensation to her core. "Tell me you'll moan for me." "I will, sir," she whines, rutting helplessly against his hand. He smirks and pinches the skin at her inner thigh before nodding again, a wordless order to continue. Hesitantly, she rocks her hips, building up a slow and intentional pace that hits her clit at the perfect angle. She’s dripping now, embarrassingly so, and making a mess both between their legs and on Harry's, but she’s too turned on to care. There’s something about knowing he’s watching her get off and doing exactly what he asks of her that sends her to another dimension. It’s not long before she feels a familiar tightening in her stomach. They’d built each other up and up and up, teasing one another until they could barely stand it, so she’s not surprised when her muscles started to clench, pathetic gasps falling from her swollen lips. "Is my good girl gonna cum?" Harry teases from beneath her. She nods jerkily, her nails digging into his stomach. "Let me see. Cum all over my leg, baby. Make a mess." Harry's dirty talk is finally what does her in. With a few more rocks of her hips, she’s in heaven, whimpering out calls of his name as she peaks. He holds her hips to keep me on his leg as she bounces helplessly through her orgasm, her eyes slowly blinking open to find a smirk on his face when she finally begins coming down. "You're heaven sent, y'know that?" he mumbles. Y/N laughs breathily as she shakes her head, her blushy gaze falling to his lap. He thumbs at her bottom lip and gently nudges her chin up. “Lemme take you home tonight,” he whispers, cupping her cheek in his palm, “I wanna take care of you.” She nods. “Yeah, okay. You’ll wait for me to finish my shift?” “Of course,” he murmurs as he presses his forehead against hers. “Always.”

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