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weasleyreidstyles · 3 months

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on a night like tonight

wrote this for @thatdammchickennugget's hogmarch challenge using the dialogue prompt!! just a fluffy (debatable) one shot for my favourite slytherin boy🫠🫠🫠

prompt 2: "are you speaking parceltongue or am i really drunk?"

pairing: mattheo riddle x fem!slytherin reader (although its not that important to the one shot, honestly)

warning(s): slightly suggestive (towards the end), alcohol consumption

~∞~ i love writing for mattheo😫 idk how i feel about this one but i enjoyed writing either way lol. and yes i titled this after a niall song (im still not over the fact that i saw him in the flesh like a whole week ago!??!?!) also happy international women's day to all of you sexy, beautiful women xxxx

The Slytherin common room was ripe with activity. The Quidditch team had beaten Gryffindor by an utter landslide (250-110), so it was only appropriate for them to throw a huge party to celebrate. The team were in the middle of the room, surrounded by their most loyal band of lovestruck followers, as they drowned in all sorts of alcoholic beverages.

Spheres of magical light littered the high ceiling, glittering like stars and creating an eerily green glow as they reflected off of the murky waters of the Black Lake. The seating areas had been cleared, and in place was a makeshift dancefloor of sorts, filled to the brim with students dancing, singing and laughing to whatever music was playing on a stereo that Blaise had brought in from his Ravenclaw friends.

You were stood against a wall beside Pansy, who was busy glaring at the girl who had draped herself against Theo's arm as he laughed heartily at something Enzo had said. Your best friend was seething with jealousy, but she was far too stubborn to do anything about her feelings for your Italian friend.

The two of them had been dancing around their feelings for months; it was downright infuriating.

"I don't understand why you won't do something about it, Pans!" You say to her loudly, so that your voice could be heard over the earshattering bass music. "I'm getting sick of the back and forth between the two of you!"

Pansy finally takes her eyes off of the floppy haired brunette, who is now whispering in the ear of the girl, with a suggestive smirk on his face. "I'd say the same for you." She scoffs and you turn to her with furrowed brows.

"Oh don't act dumb." Pansy says with a laugh as she turns towards you fully, the drink in her hand sloshing over the rim of the cup as she does. "I see the way you look at Matt. You're very obvious. Both of you are."

"I don't know what you're talking about." You say reluctantly, taking a lengthy sip of your firewhiskey to avoid her knowing look.

Had your affections for your friend really been so blatant?

And did he really return them?

You turn towards the middle of the room and the liquid in your cup is suddenly drained to empty as you watch Mattheo dance closely behind a pretty Hufflepuff girl.

You and Pansy return to your mutual solitude, letting your friends revel in their win against their greatest rival, while simultaneously becoming more and more drunk, the more you watch as Theo and Mattheo obliviously break your hearts some more.

~∞~

It's much later into the night, and the party has not died down. In fact, it only seems to have gotten busier as more and more people from the other houses joined in on the debauchery.

You are so drunk. Practically stumbling along behind Pansy as she drags you to and from the dance floor to get more drinks. The two of you are dancing on each other, her hips grinding against your's to the beat of the music as you both giggle tipsily. You're unaware of your surroundings and have surely pissed off many other partiers with your drunken moves. But it doesn't bother either of you, content to enjoy each other's company, until there is a presence behind you that has Pansy smirking cheekily at you.

You narrow your eyes at her, vision hazy as you feel hands cradle your waist, almost possessively. Looking up, you come face to face with the underside of Mattheo's sharp jaw as he says something to Pansy that you don't comprehend. Whatever he says has her disappearing into the crowd, leaving you to his mercy.

"Hello, Princess." He mumbles lowly, mouth brushing against the soft shell of your ear, causing a shiver to run down the length of your spine.

"Matty! Hi." You say, voice slightly slurred and you grimace at how drunk you sound. He only smirks before he's gently spinning you to face him.

"Haven't seen you since the start of the match. 'S been ages." He replies, voice raspy from how much he'd shouted and cheered during and after the match.

"It's not been that long." You say with a teasing smile as you take in his appearance. In place of the emerald quidditch robes he'd been sporting that afternoon, he's wearing a dark, black t-shirt which stretches tightly across his torso, emphasising his Beater physique and a pair of dark trousers drapes over strong legs. Your observation is slow and purposeful and the smirk on his face widens even further as you admire him more openly then you ever have before.

He's chuckling to himself and then says something that you can barely hear over the loud music that reverberates through the room. But the cadence of his voice and the way they almost seem to have been hissed out in a way you do not understand, makes you tilt your head to the side as he smiles.

"What did you just say?" You ask him, or rather shout so that he can hear you. He copies you with a tilt of his head as he looks down at you with his captivating onyx eyes.

He repeats it again, his hands tightening against your waist when you stumble slightly as someone jostles you in an attempt to get past, smirking when your face scrunches in confusion.

"Are you speaking parceltongue or am i really drunk?" You ask, your hands coming to rest against his firm chest when you were pushed into him.

"Gods, Princess. How much have you had to drink?" He asks with gleaming eyes. It's the mischief in them that has you opening your mouth in feined outrage.

"You were speaking parceltongue!" You accuse and he lets out a laugh as you lightly whack his chest. "What did you say!?"

"Now why would I tell you that?" He replies, his face leaning closer to your's. You can smell the alcohol on his hot breath, mingling with your own and you can feel every breath he takes as it fans across your face.

"Because I'm your best friend?" You say with a smirk as you unconsciously wrap your arms around his neck, leaning on your tip toes slightly so that you can be at eye level with him. The move has your hips brushing against his. You swear his eyes darken as you do.

"Theo's my best friend." He says in a tone of faux obviousness, mischief laced in his rough voice.

"But I'm your favourite, right? If you admit it, I promise that Teddy will never know. It can be our little secret, Matty." You tease and he's laughing again, before he says something else in that strange, reptilian voice, eyes flicking from you eyes to your lips.

You've always been my favourite, darling.

The ways his eyes sparkle, despite the harshness of the sounds against his tongue have you acting upon instinct as you surge forward and press your lips to his. It's as magical as you've always imagined, despite it being tainted by your twin inebriation. But you'll take what you can get.

Because Mattheo Riddle is finally kissing you and you reckon you could fall into a abyss of happiness as his pillowly lips caress your's with loving grace.

~∞~

The next morning, you wake up in an unfamiliar, yet familiar dorm room and Enzo is smirking at you with glee. A tanned, muscular arm is draped across your middle and you're using the other as a makeshift pillow. Your face warms as you recognise the large, veiny hand that stretches across your stomach.

"Fun night?" Your friend asks with a snicker and you flip him off in response. He leaves the room after he's done teasing you, his loud laughter echoing in the corridor. You move to stand but an arm tightens around the skin of your waist.

"Where do you think you're going, Princess?" Mattheo mumbles, his voice low and raspy from sleep.

"Well good morning, sunshine." You reply, a smile spreading across your face as you turn to face him, to find that he is already staring at you, with adoration in his onyx eyes.

"Am I still dreaming, or are you really in my bed right now?" He asks as you trace a finger lightly over his naked chest.

"Oh it's very real. And I'm sure Enzo has already told the others what he just discovered." You reply with a giddy laugh.

"About bloody time, don't you think?" Mattheo's question is muffled against the skin of your neck as he nuzzles his face there. You smile in response, giggling as pieces of his curly hair brush against your soft skin.

"I'd still like to know what you said last night." You say but he doesn't give you the answer. Instead, he rolls the two of you so that you lie beneath his toned body, strong arms caging you in.

"That's my little secret, Princess." He mumbles as he presses languid kisses down your neck and chest, travelling lower until your rendered a moaning mess beneath him.

#hogmarch challenge #mattheo riddle x reader #harry potter #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle #fluff

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mariahcarreyyy · 4 months

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.ೃ࿐𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐒 𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐄 . . . | 𝐨𝐩𝟖𝟏 |

oscar piastri x fem!reader

plot. your sexual frustration is humiliatingly evident when oscar lets you sit on his lap

wc. 2.2k

warnings. smut 18+, thigh riding, innocent!reader, praise kink, purity rings, osc has a major corruption kink & refers to himself as god (sorry🫣), manhandling, swearing, allusions to heaven, and religious symbolism

A time when the gifted silver band wasn’t laced around your ring finger is not one you remember clearly. At the ripe age of twelve, with a face adorned with baby-like features and an ever-present aura of giddiness, your father had gently placed the circle on your overstretched hand.

“It’s a promise for abstinence,” he’d responded to your furrowed brows, but the foreign word had only deepened your confusion. “Look—here, it says, ‘I will wait for my beloved’. And you will, won’t you?”

Even now, despite his absence, you find yourself nodding at the slightly threatening question as your right hand fiddles with the thin loop. Boredom eating at your mind, your eyes shift to the figure occupying your chair; a smile slowly creeps onto your lips.

Oscar, a man of stubborn chestnut hair and constellations of moles embellishing his toned frame. The gleaming screen of the rectangle illuminates his face harshly, likely stinging his eyes as they dart across his unanswered emails.

A sigh leaves your lips. You fall pliant on your bed, unraveling the tight knots in your shoulders with a roll of your arms and an arch of your spine—an obnoxiously loud noise (a little whiny, in Oscar’s opinion) echoes along the room.

“You need anythin’, baby?” Oscar mumbles, mindlessly tapping at his keyboard.

With an exasperated huff, you lift yourself to sit upright and lean on your arm, your head lolling lazily to the side. Oscar perks up. He rips his eyes away from the rectangle box to crane his neck back and peer down at you through thick lashes— you and that godforsaken circle around your finger.

The small, knowing grin that makes itself home on Oscar's lips almost makes you embarrassed at your obvious search for attention. Almost. Your boyfriend sways his hips lightly to turn the wheely chair toward your peripheral vision.

“C’mere, sit on my lap while I finish?” he muses, patting his right thigh encouragingly. When he registers your giddy smile and hasty advances toward him, Oscar wants to punch himself three times in the gut for not asking you sooner.

“Well, if you’re begging for it,” you shrug sarcastically through a tight-lipped smile, finding solace in the V of his pale thighs before pausing.

Oscar notices your sudden shift in demeanor because, well, when does he not? “What’s wrong?”

You blink dumbly, pointing your index finger at the hem of his loose, cobalt blue shorts. The Australian follows the invisible line shooting out of your finger and frowns; his thighs tense instinctively, your unnerving stare fueling his insecurities more than he would like to admit.

“Y’don’t like them? I went to the mall with Lan last week, and he told me they were nice, so—”

The last of his words are muffled by a hand pressing against his mouth. Guilt shines through your pupils, he notices. “No, no, Osc, t-they’re fine. Fine, just– just short, is all.”

Really, incredibly, stupidly short. They were bunched up to the crease between his inner thighs and crotch, the pure muscle spilling out from the sides, making you curl your fists by your sides.

“Ah.”

Hesitantly, you meet his eyes, and regret swells in your heart almost immediately. “What? Why’re y’looking at me like that?”

Oscar nearly coos at the slight whine in your voice, and he reaches out to wrap his fingers around your forearm. Now, he’s sure he coos when you melt into his lap, his palms gripping the back of your folded knees and pulling you closer into his embrace.

“M’sorry, sorry, baby,” he laughs, and you hum happily as you bury your forehead into the crook of his neck, Oscar pecking your temple lovingly.

He still sounds like he’s aware of something you have no recollection of but. The warmth that wraps your soul in a blanket each time Oscar touches you returns, and the thought is quickly forgotten.

“S’fine,” you murmur. And you mean it this time.

A hum ripples against his throat and vibrates against your skin; time drifts by unknowingly—fast or slow, ten minutes or hours—but it’s enough for you to shift listlessly in your place. Oscar freezes, his pupils blown wide.

“S–shit, y/n, stop that,” he seethes through gritted teeth, hands flying to your waist and pushing you back slightly.

Your eyebrows furrow, confused wrinkles covering your forehead as you gaze down at him for an explanation, a reason—really, anything to stop your mind from running at a hundred miles per second.

“What?” a pout graces itself on your lips; Oscar wants to kiss it away, but. But if he does, he’s not sure how much self-restraint he can muster around you. “D’I do somethin’? Why don’t you...”

Sighing heavily, Oscar’s tight hold on your waist relocates down to your thighs. “No, no, baby—fuck, no, nothing like that. Just,” he lifts your knee to straddle one of his thighs instead. “Like this... s’better.”

Half instead of whole, and.

And Osc would cross the world twice, delving into each volcano and marching up the tallest mountains, to reassure you that you did nothing wrong in particular. It was him. Him and the blood rushing to his balls from you practically humping your clothed pussy against his dick.

Okay, maybe ‘humping’ is a bit of an exaggeration, but it didn’t feel like one.

Unbeknownst to Oscar, however, the relieved pressure on his end only slipped through the cracks of his skin and into yours. But he, God bless him, thinks nothing of the tension that’s boiling in your shoulders or the hitch of your breath. Blaming it on the lingering effects of his sudden repositioning, Oscar gently pulls you down with two massive hands on the swell of your ass.

Flush against his thigh. His thigh, Jesus fuck—a quiet forgive me, Lord, echoes around the walls of your mind.

“Osc,” you gasp quietly, the constant pressure against your privates shooting unfamiliar spikes of something down to your stomach—something you needed more of.

He hums dismissively; you want to cry. It doesn’t take you long, though, to fully grasp his attention when Oscar registers the heartbeat pressing between your squished pussy and his thigh.

The Australian's mind short circuits. “Y/n?”

“Osc, I-” you roll your hips experimentally, slapping a hand over your mouth and flushed cheeks when it parts around an unrestrained whimper.

Your boyfriend, seemingly snapping out of his bewildered daze, dips down to dust his lips over your reddening cheeks, chuckling fondly. “Enjoying y’self, baby?”

And that. That is what pulled you away from the edge of logical thinking and onto its’ center, halting movement in every bone in your body. Wrong—this—it’s all wrong, isn’t it? ‘I will wait for my beloved’ is etched into your skin, engraved onto your heart, and yet.

Yet, you can’t help but wonder: Is Oscar not your beloved?

“Y/n,” his assertiveness grounds you, pulls you back to the surface of his honey-filled eyes—just as he had intended. “We don’t have to do this if you’re not ready…”

Oscar's hand leaves the curve of your waist and reaches behind his neck to clasp onto your palm, bringing the cool metal of your purity ring against his mouth as he murmurs, “But don’t stop on my account.”

The ring burns through your skin and falls to the ground; you hope it cracks into a million little pieces of stupid promises. And anyway, Osc’s giddy smile when you allow him to—do what, you’re not really sure—is too precious to deny.

Nibbling on your raw bottom lip, you slowly shake your head. “No, I– I want this, Osc. Want you.”

He does not disappoint; his eyes crinkle through that grin you’d pay to see a hundred times over. Oscar taps the side of your thigh twice, signaling you to stand up, so you do. Your hands lay helplessly by your sides as he smoothed over the contours of your body until—

You let out a little gasp. “Osc!”

A soft, harmless tug at the hem of your shorts widens your eyes.

“Y/n,” he calls, and you can’t bother fighting the urge to rub your thighs together. “Y’want me to touch you, right? Make y’pussy feel better?”

The amount of self-restraint needed to block the guffaw from slipping past your lips does not fit into a number. Or a word. In any language.

Nonetheless, you find yourself bashfully nodding.

“Words, Y/n.”

You gulp, embarrassment apparent on your crimson cheeks. “Want you to—to make m’feel better.”

Oscar heaves out a laugh at your refusal to say those objectively filthy words; you almost want to commit murder, but it hurts. It hurts, and you can’t help but sigh happily when his hands swiftly pull both your shorts and panties down, manhandling your ankles out of the pool of clothing by your feet.

And only then, being ogled at by his mesmerized eyes and hands sliding down the sides of your body, does your mind grasp the fact that you were standing in front of Oscar. Half naked. His for the taking. The shame you'd expected to feel never came, and when Osc pulls you to straddle his thigh, you knew it never would.

“There we go,” he praises when you shift your weight fully onto him, rewarding you with a bounce of the leg you were resting on.

Choking through a loud gasp, your hands fly to his shoulders to brace yourself. “Oh, Osc, oh my—”

“Yeah? Y’like that?” Oscar grins almost cockily, repeating the sharp movement of his legs and making your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Mm, fuck, baby, can feel you all ov’me.”

The humiliating amount of slick your pussy’s gushing out should make you ashamed, but, well. When you grind against his thigh, the glide is much smoother than when you were fully clothed, so you silently thank your desperation instead.

“C’mon, baby, y’can do better than that,” he urges, hands resting on the globes of your ass and grinding your pussy against his slick-ridden thigh. “Y’ve been waiting so long for this, haven’t you?”

He coos at your frantic nods and refrains from groaning at the sight of you tilting your head back in pleasure; using him—his fucking thigh—to get off. The sound of your little, whiny moans leaves him feeling like an inexperienced teenager all over again; he wants more. Wants to have your pretty sounds made into a song to play on loop whenever he needs to.

With Oscar’s forceful hands dragging you up and down his muscular thighs, tensing them occasionally, and lips mouthing at your collarbone, you don’t think a sin should ever feel this good. You don’t think it could feel any better than it does, but.

The urgency in your movements almost has your legs aching, your jaw parted around a permanent ‘o’; the whimper that slips past your lips when his fingers graze your folds, not pushing but they’re there, and Oscar fucking moans when he feels your hole clench against them; the stutter of your hips when he dips down to your tits, tongue licking over the tight, thin fabric covering the hard nubs.

“Osc, ohmygod, ohm—” Your wail echoes around the entire flat, you’re sure, and if you had even a sliver of dignity left, you’d quiet down.

But. Oscar seems to have that effect on you; really, you don’t mind.

“Yeah, baby, I’m your god, huh?” He huffs out, muffled by his sucking on your nipples like they’d disappear tomorrow—like he is the one being taken apart on someone’s lap. “Humping my thigh—fuck, so fucking desperate, look at you.”

Your mouth parts around a moan, and you quickly put your face into the crook of his neck to, hopefully, contain your embarrassing noises. It does fuck all. Oscar lets out a disapproving noise at the separation of your little, swollen nipples and his pursed lips.

“Oscar, Oscar, Oscar,” you sob out like a prayer. “I feel, ah, I think I'm—Oh, yes, feels s’good, so.”

When Oscar slides a hand up to your hair to tug your head up to his face, he looks nearly as fucked out as you feel. And when his eyes dart to your lips, visibly contemplating whether or not he should kiss you, you make the decision for him.

His soft lips meet the fuse of the boiling pleasure in your stomach, forcing your spine to arch and painting your eyes a shade of white you had only imagined would be in heaven—smiling hazily and foggy-brained, you can’t imagine this not being heaven.

A sharp cry dances between your mouths, and you swear you can feel a few tears trickle down your face, but your mind only processes the last few moments before you collapse onto his chest.

Oscar gently slides the silver band out of your ring finger, tucking it into his pockets, and placing a soft kiss on your temple as he murmurs, “No use f’this, now, is there?”

Even when on the brink of passing out, you find yourself nodding; Oscar thinks you’ll be the death of him. Or, more specifically, his dick.

authors notes this is an apology to @lifeboredme for ignoring the poll n writing the max fic hehe hope u enjoy 🫶 + thank you to @cafekitsune as always for the dividers mwah.

plot what plot??? porn without plot🗣️🗣️🗣️ very much hate this fic but i also hate every fic of mine so. en e wayz im sorry in advance for my inactivity the next few weeks i have sm shit going on. writing grind comes after march 6 istg🙏

also, thank you so much to everyone who waited for this fic and im so sorry for the delay!! i got hit by a mountains load of stress but yeah <3

lemme know how you liked this story or give me some feedback in the comments or my inbox! 💬🥕

taglist in separate posts again el oh el . . . i tagged everyone who interacted w/ my original post bcs i was too lazy to make an actual post dedicated to tags

p.s REBLOGS and likes are always appreciated 🧡🧡

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hairmetal666 · 27 days

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NSFW; Modern AU

Eddie feels like the luckiest man alive, that he gets to count Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley as his best friends, but he wasn't sure about it at first. No matter how often his new little sheepies praised Steve, Eddie remembered high school. He remembered the Steve that was a grade-A, top-choice asshole. But then--Robin comes out to him. And Steve knows. Steve knows and he's cool about it. So, Eddie comes out to them and Steve is cool about that too.

It fucks Eddie up a little, if he's being honest. Like, Steve, objectively, is hot, but Eddie's only ever been superficially attracted to him. He thinks the whole jock archetype just doesn't do a lot for him. Too much negativity attached to their whole thing. But he'd be lying if he said part of him isn't intrigued.

He doesn't develop a crush on Steve, though. Somehow, through all the charm and bitchiness and not-so-secret kindness, his heart remains unmoved. It must be the jock thing.

And then he's scrolling on Twitter. He's scrolling on Twitter and he's not looking for porn, not even in a "Oh no, I never look at porn on the internet" way, and there's this video.

The first thing he sees is the lowered waist band of a pair of 90's-style basketball shorts, Pacers logo just visible. Then it's the long fingers, the broad hands. They're skimming down a tanned, toned torso, not a six-pack but it's somehow sexier this way. Their path draws Eddie's eyes to the dot of moles, the spread of freckles. They're so kissable, Eddie's mouth waters. Those fingers, they linger against the trimmed thatch of dark hair just peaking out over the elastic, before pulling that waistband lower.

Eddie's hard. Rock hard. Fuck, he's so hard a wind gust could make him come.

The guy on screen, he's got his gorgeous dick in hand, giving himself slow strokes and thumbing at the tip to collect the obvious slickness beading there.

It's not really a decision when Eddie unzips and shoves his jeans just low enough to take himself in hand. On screen, the hand speeds up, the stomach shivering, breath coming in soft bursts, somehow almost more intoxicating than the jerking off.

Eddie times his strokes with the video, coming apart faster than he ever has watching porn. He can tell the guy is close, his grip goes tighter, his breath shorter. Eddie's about to go off like a fucking rocket.

The hand stills, the guy's cock fucking quivers, and he's ready for the money shot, will totally come at the same time, except--it doesn't happen.

The screen goes black.

Eddie comes all over himself.

"Fuck, shit, goddamnit," he hisses. He flails around trying to find something to clean himself up with and pause the video so he can read the fucking text.

As wiped up as he can be without showering, Eddie runs the video back a few seconds to see the words, "want the full experience? Subscribe to my OnlyFans."

He's never clicked a link so fast in his life. He's never really explored OnlyFans before, but he signs up for the free trial without a second thought.

The guy's username is KingJock016 and under usual circumstances, Eddie would be disgusted, but it's too late for that. He's already scrolling through thumbnails of hands and dicks and asses and butt plugs and dildos, pausing briefly at a preview of one where KingJock is bent at the waist, perfect ass--dotted with freckles-- framed by the bands of a jock strap. He's deliciously hairy, deliciously ripe, and Eddie is firming up again.

Without fully meaning to, he hits play, and the video starts with KingJock already rocking his cock into his fist. He's moaning in this one, full throated, almost desperate. And there's something about it, something that catches in Eddie's brain, but he can't focus on that when he's watching KingJock trace a finger around his own asshole.

It's insane that Eddie is this far gone without seeing the guy's face, that his toes are curling at the mere sight of KingJock fucking himself. The sounds are obscene, the slick and snap of skin on skin, the throaty moans, the creak of the bed as KingJock rocks into his fist and back onto his fingers.

Eddie's not even touching himself, and he's already standing at complete attention, a heady ache already starting in his balls.

And then KingJock flips his head back, revealing a shock of chestnut hair, the taut lines of a mole-kissed throat, the hard line of a jaw. One eye flashes open, looks directly at the camera, at Eddie.

It's fucking Steve Harrington.

Eddie comes all over himself again.

It's Steve. His best friend, Steve. His straight best friend. Making content clearly targeted for queer men? I mean, Eddie can't fault him. Like, nice work if you can get it, but Steve???

He hasn't done anything to clean up because his thoughts are spiraling too hard. How long has this been going on? Does Robin know? Should Eddie subscribe ? Leave a comment about how this video made him come untouched? Join a live? No, no, of course not. Steve was his real life friend. He couldn't hang out with him and then watch him fuck himself on a wall-mounted dildo.

He hits subscribe though. He'll hate himself for it later. It's only for the trial period, anyway.

He wipes himself off, but the come is already drying, sticky, against his skin and in his body hair. He needs a shower. He needs to practice being normal around Steve now that he--

Shit, Steve. They're going to the movies tonight. Steve's supposed to pick him up in, shit, fuck twenty minutes.

Eddie hurls himself into the shower, moves so quickly he doesn't really have time to think about Steve having an OnlyFans, about how hard he got off to his friend, about how he keeps having flashes of Steve's perfect body play through his head.

It's hard to ignore it when Steve is standing at his door in his form hugging jeans and little t-shirt and Eddie's done for, a dead man; here lies Eddie Munson. He's just standing in the doorway, smiling at Steve and he knows it's manic, but he can't slip it.

"Are you okay?" Steve asks. Eddie hears the words but all it does is remind him of KingJock's breathy moans.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" He keeps smiling.

Steve's eyes narrow. He leans into Eddie's space. "Did you drop acid again? We told you not to do it alo--"

"I didn't! Nothing's wrong."

"Your face is all flushed. You feeling okay? You could have a fever."

Before Eddie can react, Steve's resting the back of his hand on his forehead. Eddie flinches, swatting Steve away, which devolves into a brief slap fight.

"I don't have a fever, man. I'm fine. Hot shower, is all."

"If you say so. Ready to get going?"

Eddie nods. He can totally do this. He can pretend he doesn't know about the OnlyFans and the face Steve makes when he's about to come.

The drive is quiet. Too quiet. He thinks his bones are trying to rip through his skin.

He starts talking, isn't even tracking what he's saying. Dnd and then suddenly it's hobbits and then Star Trek for reasons even he doesn't comprehend. He glances over at Steve, and he's burnished golden from the light of the setting sun. He's so beautiful. How did Eddie miss it all this time? Why did he--

"Get any new subscribers lately?" He hears come out of his mouth.

Steve slams on the breaks, sending Eddie careening into he dashboard.

"Jesus Christ, what the fuck," Eddie shrieks. The car behind them lays on the horn, then speeds past when it's clear they aren't moving.

"Why are you saying what the fuck at me?" Steve hisses back. He hits the gas, pulling the car to the side of the road. "Eddie--what the fuck?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he chants. He hides his head in his hands. "I didn't mean to--I'm so fucking sorry."

"How'd you find it?"

Eddie snorts. "One of your videos showed up on my TL. That's the algorithm for you."

"Jesus christ," Steve mutters. "You weren't supposed to--it's--"

"What are you even doing, man?"

"My Family Video salary won't cut it, if we're moving to Indy."

"You're not even gay."

Steve mumbles something, but he's looking out the window and not at Eddie at all.

"What was that?"

"Maybe I am!" Steve doesn't shout, but it's forceful.

Eddie's mouth drops. "Does Robin know?"

Steve stares forward, hands tightening on the wheel.

"And you didn't tell me?" It hurts, he's surprised how much, so much it takes his breath.

"It wasn't like that, Ed."

"Oh, no? Then what was it like?"

"It doesn't matter."

"The fuck it doesn't! I'm the first person you should've come to! I know exactly what it's like."

"No, you don't." Steve explodes. "You don't because you made me realize. And I couldn't talk to you about it because I like you. And, yeah, maybe starting an OnlyFans as part of my gay awakening is weird to you, but it's done a lot for me, okay?"

Steve said a lot of stuff just there, a lot of important things, but Eddie's glitched out on one part. "You like...me?"

"Yeah, like. Have you met you?" Steve slumps in his seat, like he's defeated. "You're fucking beautiful, dude. And smart and funny and passionate. Nerdy as hell. I didn't stand a chance."

"But I'm--" Eddie shakes his head. "I mean, look at me."

"I have." Steve nods. "A lot. I really like what I see."

"When I realized it was you in those videos, I came all over myself. Untouched," Eddie blurts. He flushes deep crimson immediately. "Oh my god, I can't believe I just--"

Steve is laughing, hands pressed over his mouth.

"Shut up, shut up," Eddie swipes at him. "It's not funny, oh my god."

When Steve gets it together, he finally looks at Eddie, and there's pink in his cheeks and a shine to his eyes. "That might be the most gratifying thing anyone has ever said to me."

"Yeah, well. It was humiliating."

"It's hot, Eddie."

His blush hasn't cooled even a bit. "Yeah?" His voice comes out deep, husky.

"I wouldn't mind, uh--that is, if it's cool with you--seeing it for myself?"

Eddie giggles. "You wanna make me come untouched, sweetheart?"

Steve shifts in his seat. "I'd really like that. Will you let me?"

"Uh-huh, absolutely, definitely. If you don't put this car in drive and get us back to my place, I'm going to literally die."

Steve laughs again, a bright, free thing, and he swings back onto the road. "Not yet, you aren't."

That sends a shock of pleasant shivers down Eddie's spine, right to his dick.

"Maybe we can even make a video together sometime."

Eddie, much to his deep embarrassment, whines, hips shifting with the sudden need for relief. "Oh, you didn't want me to die before because this is how you're planning on killing me."

Steve turns to him, a smirk on his lips and a devilish glint in his eye. "You have no idea what I'm going to do to you."

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #ficlet #modern au #smut #onlyfans au #steve is an onlyfans creator #fluff #oblivious eddie munson #steve falls first #eddie accidentally finds steve's onlyfans #feelings realization #feelings confession #eddie is steve's gay awakening #onlyfans helps steve explore his sexuality #i decided steve's jersey number was 16 #there's a little wedding singer reference in here

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