#Bimmer Fix

[wheneverfeasible]

Bullshit (part 2/3)

Continuation “fix it” of this ficlet where Steve changed himself to try to earn Eddie’s love.

Steve missed his polos.

He missed his light wash jeans, his music, watching his favorite movies, he even missed his stupid plaid walls.

Eddie had laughed at them the first time he’d been in Steve’s room, back before they’d even started dating. Technically they were still there, they were just covered up with posters of bands Steve only knew about because his boyfriend liked them. Eddie had teasingly gifted him a Black Sabbath one back when they had just been friends to give his room more “personality” instead of his mostly undecorated room, which…okay, fair, because Steve had admittedly not done much of it himself just because he couldn’t be bothered.

(And he did, actually, kind of like the poster because it was their own little inside joke. It made him smile when he saw it, even to this day, even if he thought he could still taste the damned demobat sometimes.)

It wasn’t like he really knew much of who he was to begin with. He still had the bowling pin he and Tommy had stolen from the bowling lane their sophomore year (Steve’s idea, though only to impress his friend), and the picture of the car he had bought on a whim because Tommy had said he wanted a car just like it. Any other knickknack had either been gifted or purchased for a similar intent.

Now, that car picture was collecting dust in his closet, replaced by the Black Sabbath poster that Eddie had pinned to the wall slightly askew for ‘aesthetics,’ though it being slightly off-center and at an angle made Steve a little itchy. Soon, however, other posters soon followed, some given to him by Eddie and some he purchased himself after learning what bands Eddie liked, with a large Dio one taking up space by his bed.

Flyers of Corroded Coffin shows or other band merch dotted around the room as well, which he didn’t really mind because he liked supporting his boyfriend, though the clutter and disorganization slightly bothered him. Eddie had grinned at the sight however and called him a ‘real boy now’ for looking like the room of a young man and not a ‘30-something corporate stooge,’ so that would have to be fine too.

But he still missed his room looking like his room, instead of a replica of Eddie’s. It made Eddie feel more comfortable however, so he tried not to think about how it wasn’t his aesthetic at all, because he could learn to like it. He could change for the better. He could be what Eddie wanted. He could be good enough.

Which was why he was confused, staring at the garment box on the kitchen table where he’d been circling car ads in the classifieds, trying to find something cooler than his bimmer. Eddie had come over with a wide grin, sliding a box he recognized from one of the department stores he used to shop at before dating Eddie.

Eddie had proffered it with a flourish, grinning expectantly, practically vibrating with anticipation as Steve had carefully lifted the lid and moved the tissue paper aside to reveal the piece of clothing inside. A polo shirt in a soft, buttery sort of yellow with thick vertical white stripes running vertical over it.

Steve looked up at Eddie with a furrowed brow. “I…you got me a polo?” he questioned, confused and also concerned, knowing the department store was definitely outside of Eddie’s usual price range.

“Yeah!” Eddie confirmed happily, moving to sit in the chair next to Steve, looking down at the soft material Steve had yet to pull from the box. “The check from the gig came through, and I remember you looking at this shirt a couple weeks ago. I’ve been waiting to be buy it ever since.”

Steve blinked at that. He hadn’t known Eddie had caught him admiring the shirt in the window while he and Eddie had been walking around downtown. He felt a flair of panic at the thought, annoyed at himself for slipping up, for reminding Eddie that he was a stupid preppy rich kid. Eddie didn’t look upset though, or at least…he hadn’t. Now his eyes were darting over Steve’s expression with growing worry, chewing on his lower lip.

“Is that…is that all right? Was it a different one you wanted? I-I still have the receipt, we can return it and get the one you wanted,” Eddie rushed to say.

“No,” Steve quickly said, his fingers of one hand tightening slightly on the box while his other reached out of their own accord to slightly touch the shirt within. “I…Eddie,” he breathed, not knowing what else to say, what this meant. Why would Eddie buy him something like this? “You shouldn’t waste your hard earned money on…something like this.” Shouldn’t waste your money on me, he wanted to say. “It’s your first paying gig.”

Eddie shook his head quickly, an almost embarrassed smile curling his lips with a slight blush. “I wanted to, Stevie. You always buy me things, I wanted to return the favor. You’ve been so supportive of me and I wanted to…I don’t know. Thank you.” He glanced down at the polo with a soft expression, though he did frown a little too afterwards. “I haven’t seen you wear your polos in a really long time,” he murmured quietly.

Steve tensed at Eddie’s words. Of course he hadn’t. Polos weren’t cool. Polos weren’t good enough for Eddie. It was why he was so confused at this gift. He didn’t understand why Eddie would buy him something that wasn’t metal. That wasn’t suitable for his boyfriend.

“I know that you’re experimenting with your style and all, and I won’t deny you’re hot as fuck in these,” Eddie grinned, moving to pinch the loose sleeve of Steve’s tee between his fingers. It was from some band he didn’t actually know before he’d bought the shirt, something called Leatherwolf, though he had bought their tape as well so that he could pretend to be a fan and know some of their songs. “But you look hot in your polos too. I miss them.”

Steve sat up straighter at that, his eyebrows flying up in surprise. Eddie…liked his polos? “Aren’t the polos…kind of lame?” he asked carefully.

Eddie snorted, smiling as he leaned in to press a kiss to Steve’s neck, causing a startled smile to erupt over Steve’s own lips as he squirmed at the slight tickle of Eddie’s lips and hair. “There’s nothing lame about you, sweetheart,” Eddie murmured, voice roughened with his tease. He pulled back though, a touch of his worry on his expression again. “Do you like it?”

Of course Steve liked it. He loved it. It was exactly the one he had been looking at before, even though he’d tried to hide it, which meant that Eddie really had noticed it and really had been waiting to buy it for him. With his first paycheck from Corroded Coffin’s first real paying gig.

There had been the fear that Eddie’s involvement with the band would limit their options, that no one would want to listen to a band that had a member who was suspected of grisly murders. Eddie had been prepared to step down, to let the others move on without him, had offered it even though Jeff and the others had vehemently opposed the idea. They’d said that Corroded Coffin wouldn’t exist without Eddie and if he wasn’t part of it then they didn’t want to do it anymore.

In a surprise twist that probably shouldn’t have been all that surprising, Eddie’s infamy had actually helped the band. The news of his believed guilt and then later innocence and injury from the actual killer that he had tried to stop had spread even beyond Hawkins, drawing a crowd for their nights performing at The Hideout who began to see more patrons than ever before.

Then they’d been invited to participate in a Battle of the Bands, which they hadn’t won but they’d placed second, and the random shows they’d throw themselves at the quarry or wherever else saw larger crowds than usual, even the one they threw to celebrate Gareth graduating, and they’d even been asked to play at the fair, though it was a free gig.

Then, most recently, someone had approached them after one of their shows and asked to hire them for an event in Indianapolis. A paying event in Indianapolis. With it was the promise of possible future paying gigs as their fanbase grew and spread. There was even talk of a possible scout being at the gig.

Dustin had joked that maybe ‘86 hadn’t been his year, but ‘88 could be, though Eddie had just grinned and denied it, saying that ‘86 had been his year after all. He hadn’t said why, but he gave Steve a secretive smile and reached out to tangle their fingers together.

Steve felt a flare of warmth beneath his skin as he stared down at the polo again, hesitating before giving a brief nod. Eddie’s previously nervous smile bloomed into a joyous one, and he leaned in quickly to plant a smacking kiss to Steve’s cheek. Steve rolled his eyes but couldn’t prevent his own smile from growing on his lips.

“Thank you, baby,” Steve murmured, sliding a hand over Eddie’s neck to draw him in for a slow kiss. He didn’t know what it meant still, Eddie buying him a polo of all things, but it made him more determined than ever to be good enough for his boyfriend.

When they pulled back, Eddie soft with happiness, Steve made the decision. He needed to go all in if he was to keep Eddie happy. He drew in a deep breath and moved to take Eddie’s hand, his finger lightly tracing one of the scars there.

“I was thinking of growing out my hair. Maybe even dying it. Or maybe shaving i—”

“Don’t you dare!” Eddie interrupted, expression and tone absolutely scandalized as he squeezed Steve’s hand. Steve jumped slightly at the sudden explosion, blinking wide eyes at Eddie, causing the other to flush slightly in embarrassment. “I mean. You can, obviously, if you really want to, it’s your hair after all, but…” Eddie let out a small whine of protest as his gaze moved up to take in Steve’s hair.

Steve self-consciously reached up with his free hand to pass his fingers through his hair, which wasn’t quite as voluminous as he used to style it, but was still the last real testament of his former style. His former personality. The bullshit one.

“I mean,” Steve hedged, glancing away with a small roll of a shoulder in an aborted shrug. “It’s not exactly metal is it?” He looked back at Eddie with a slightly strained smile, rolling his eyes as though in commiseration. “I don’t want to embarrass you by making people think you have a prep for a boyfriend,” he laughed.

Eddie’s expression changed immediately as he stilled almost unnaturally, falling into a blank neutrality, even his eyes shuttering as he slowly pulled his hand from Steve’s grip. The response caused Steve to start panicking, worrying he’d messed up in some way, that he reminded Eddie of all the ways that he was lacking.

Steve opened his mouth to start apologizing, ready to apologize for anything, but Eddie held up his hand palm out to stop him, causing Steve’s mouth to shut with a soft click of teeth.

Eddie’s gaze dropped from Steve as his brows slowly began to furrow, a calculating expression settling over him as his eyes fell to the soft yellow polo still in the box. His lips twisted into a frown. After several excruciating moments, his eyes moved towards Steve’s shirt, an even more pinched look settling over his expression.

“Who are you wearing?” Eddie asked, his voice low and slow.

Steve glanced down at his shirt, the panic in him spiking, before realizing that this was a test. He had to prove to Eddie that he could like metal too (he didn’t, not really, though he could appreciate some of it) and wouldn’t be an embarrassment. He could do this.

“Leatherwolf,” he answered, thankful that he had done his job well enough to answer this pop quiz. He straightened his spine and pulled up the information he memorized with a slightly relieved smile. He could do this. “They’re from California. They were founded in, um, 1981.”

“What’s your favorite song of theirs?” Eddie asked, and there was something slightly off in his tone, but Steve couldn’t place it, not when he was frantically trying to recall the titles of the songs he’d made himself remember.

“Um. Cry Out?” he hesitantly asked more than answered, which caused Eddie’s lips to press into a thin line. He felt his breath catch at the obvious displeasure on Eddie’s face, wondering if he’d answered wrong. Was that a bad song? “O-or no, um, not that one. Uh. I like…um. I like…Magic Eye?” Fuck no, that wasn’t right. “Magical Eyes, I mean,” he corrected himself hastily.

Eddie’s eyes slowly dragged over Steve, his lips compressing again into a thin line as he drew in his own deep breath through flared nostrils. “Fuck,” he muttered, obviously not meant for Steve but it caused Steve to panic anyways as Eddie looked away, his brow furrowing in thought as his gaze settled on the newspaper on the table and the circled ads there.

“I’m sorry,” he quickly apologized, though he wasn’t certain what he had done wrong this time. Maybe Eddie didn’t like that band?

“Steve…” Eddie heaved a heavy sigh, rubbing his hand over his face before he looked over at Steve again. “I had thought you were just…trying things out. Experimenting. Lord knows your folks never let you be your own person,” he muttered before waving a hand as though to swat that thought away. “I didn’t realize you were actually trying to change.”

Why did Eddie sound so appalled by that? Wasn’t that a good thing? He was willing to fundamentally change who he was just for Eddie, to become someone deserving of Eddie, who fit in Eddie’s life. Didn’t Eddie want Steve in his life?

“Why are you upset about me changing?” Steve huffed, his worry turning into annoyance in his tone. “I thought that was a good thing. Not being the douchebag I used to be.” He scowled, crossing his arms with a roll of his eyes to cover his unease.

Eddie just looked at him in that way that made it seem like he was seeing inside Steve, which normally Steve liked because no one ever actually saw him, but now it just made him uncomfortable. Like he had done something wrong. He was just trying to be a good boyfriend, however. Besides, it’s not like he had come up with the plan on his own.

Everyone always talked about how different he and Eddie were. Always pointed out how preppy he was, made fun of Eddie for falling for a jock, had even asked at the start when they first came out publicly to their friends who was blackmailing whom into the relationship. Steve knew he had to change. They were too fundamentally different. It was the only way to keep Eddie.

Except Eddie didn’t look like he was going to be kept. He had started slowly shaking his head, pulling back, his eyes skittering over Steve again but in a way that said he wasn’t liking what he was saying. Steve’s panic spiked again.

“Eddie. This is good. I’m willing to change for you, that’s how much I love you,” Steve breathed, reaching out to grab Eddie’s hand with desperation. “I listen to your music now, and I play Dungeons and Dragons, and I don’t even talk about basketball around you anymore. As long as you’re happy, I’m happy. Don’t you see? Isn’t that all that matters?”

Eddie’s lips turned down into a sharp frown. A shuddering breath left him before he all but yanked his hand from Steve’s, his dark eyes turning even darker as he pulled away from Steve and said those damning words:

“But I’m not happy, Steve.”

Steve felt all the air leave his lungs, felt all the blood first rush to his head and then drain out of him, felt his mouth and tongue and throat shrivel into dryness as his eyes widened in horror. Eddie was shaking his head, stumbling out of his chair and back, an unreadable expression on his face as he distanced himself from Steve and this revelation.

“This wasn’t what I wanted, Steve. This doesn’t make me happy.” Eddie’s took another step back when Steve stumbled from his own chair, putting the table between them. “I…I need to go. I need to think.”

Steve knew with certainty that if he let Eddie leave now, that this thing between them would never be the same. His heart clenched in his chest painfully, and he felt his eyes sting with encroaching tears. “Eddie, please…” he begged, his words cracking.

Eddie only shook his head, sending his hair arcing around him, before straightening his spine. “This isn’t you. I don’t want this to be you. I love you Steve, but this version of you? The one that I created—” This time it was Eddie’s voice that cracked.

Clearing his throat, Eddie backed away. “No. No, this isn’t what I wanted. I’m sorry, Steve, but I need to go. I need to think. I can’t be here right now. I’m sorry.”

And with that, Eddie spun on his heels and all but ran towards the door, escaping from Steve’s incompetence, his unworthiness, his undesirability while Steve could only stand there in frozen horror, the tears he couldn’t hold back any longer slowly dripping down his cheeks.

Because he knew. He knew this would happen. He knew that no matter what he did, he would never be good enough. He knew that Eddie would leave him one day. Knew that he would never be able to keep the one he loved.

Knew that he, like his love, would always be complete and utter bullshit.

-

Part 3

-

tag list: @derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump

[patchworkgargoyle]

Booty 🌿

Steve has a plan, and Eddie falls for it. || read on ao3

Here it finally is, folks! My first smut for the ST fandom. I hope you like it!! Inspired by this post.

WC: ~4.8k || E || CW: Unsafe sex

“Please, Eddie?”

“Are you insane, Steve? It’s hotter than Satan’s taint out there, you cannot expect me to peel myself off this couch.”

Eddie heard a frustrated sigh and a small thud, imagining that Steve had let his head drop on the wall by his phone. “Yeah, I’m aware, I’m sweating buckets right now. But I gotta have the car fixed before tomorrow, I promised Claudia I’d pick up Dustin from the bus station and I can’t do that if it won’t start.”

Thing was, Eddie did kinda want to go and help him, heatwave be damned. They’d grown close in the months since spring break and despite his previous misgivings Eddie had gotten to like Steve. More than he should, really. He can’t help it if his queer little heart does a jig every time he manages to make Steve laugh in that eye-crinkling, head-tipped-back kind of way. Got good at it too, which made Eddie feel a great deal of selfish pride. And if he can’t take his eyes off the long lines of Steve’s mole-dotted neck, that’s his own business.

But this was something else. As soon as Steve called to ask if Eddie would help fix the Bimmer he couldn’t get the thought of him–sweaty and greasy and bent over the open hood of the car, his hair falling just so and lip bitten between his teeth in concentration–out of his dirty little mind. The things he’d want to do. It did as much to convince Eddie to go as it did to make him want to keep his distance.

He was a weak man, however.

“Fine. Alright. But you’d better make it worth my time, I’m risking my pale, un-sunburnt ass for this.”

Steve snorted. “Don’t worry, I will,” he said blandly.

They hung up after Eddie promised to be there in a few minutes, and he rolled off of the couch with a melodramatic groan. Moving in the muggy heat trapped inside the trailer sucked, but he wasn’t going to back out. Steve had sounded so relieved when he’d said goodbye that it gave Eddie enough pep to lurch his way to the kitchen to grab a few cold beers before scrambling into his van. He appreciated his own forethought when he burned his hand on the door handle and could hold a cold bottle against the spot. Fucking summer.

Parking in the Harringtons’ driveway, he spotted the Bimmer pulled halfway into the garage, the front shaded by the overhang in what must be an attempt to avoid the worst of the sunlight. The hood was popped open, but Eddie couldn’t see Steve.

“Ohh Stevie!” he sang, “your knight in shining armour has arrived!” He heard something thunk from the garage but got no response, so he wandered inside, trying to peer around the hood. “I come bearing gifts but they’re gonna get–”

Wheels squeaked from below and Eddie looked down, only to be treated to the sight of Steve’s legs, long and hairy and sprawled open, flexing as he dragged himself out from under the car on the creeper and revealing more inches of mouth-watering thighs. He was–oh fuck, Steve was wearing the tiniest cut-off jean shorts Eddie had ever seen, the fabric of the pockets poking out from under the frayed hems. They were tight, too, hugging his hips and, god, his bulge. The white tank top Steve wore had ridden up, too, exposing the trail of hair that dipped below the fucking shorts, but Eddie followed it up, along the grease stains and the swell of his pecs to Steve’s grinning face.

“...Hot.” Eddie’s voice cracked around the word.

“What was that?” Steve asked.

Clearing his throat, Eddie said, “The beer, it’s uh, gonna get hot.” Somehow he managed to not sound like he was choking on his own drool while Steve still stared up at him from the ground, a few strands of hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. There was a slight smear of dirt across his cheek and Eddie wanted to lick it off.

“You know where the fridge is, Eddie, if you’re that worried.”

“Nah, you look like you need a break. Get up here,” he said, waggling the bottle over Steve’s face. Steve chuckled but finally stood and relieved Eddie of the misery of seeing Steve on his back and not having been the one to put him there.

He popped the caps off with the bottle opener on his keychain, and Steve took his with a ‘thank you,’ downing half in a few gulps. Eddie distracted himself from the sight of Steve’s throat bobbing by peering over at the engine.

“So what’s the issue, doc?”

Steve pulled away from the bottle with a soft popping sound from his pink lips and a gasp. “Dunno yet. That’s why I called you,” he said, leaning on the car beside Eddie. “Oil and battery are fine, spark plugs look good too.”

“She been making a sputtering kind of sound recently? Could be the throttle.”

“Nah, no weird noises.”

Eddie hummed, then set his bottle aside. “Alright, let’s get underneath her then.” Lowering himself onto the creeper and sliding under the car, he said, “Could be a belt has finally busted. Got a flashlight?”

“Really need to ask that?” Steve’s voice got fainter as he walked a little ways away. “The kids insisted on a disaster preparedness kit after round two with the Upside Down.”

There was a tap on the wood under Eddie’s hip, and blindly he reached down to grab the flashlight Steve found. He tinkered around under the Bimmer, unable to wipe away the sweat that started to drip and stick his bangs to his forehead. But eventually he began to roll back out into open, but no less stupidly hot, air.

“Looks like everything’s shipshape, captain–” Eddie choked on his own words when he looked up and was met with a sight straight out of his wet dreams.

Steve stood over Eddie, his legs spread wide enough that Eddie had rolled right between them. If he sat down, Steve would be straddling Eddie’s hips, but that would deprive him of this new angle at which to admire all of Steve’s assets wrapped so tightly in frayed, lightwash denim. Mouth falling open, Eddie let out an eloquent, “Uhhh,” and Steve laughed, holding out his hand.

“Thought you’d like a hand,” Steve explained, smirking.

He took it without thinking and let Steve haul him off the creeper board and up to his feet. A kick, and Steve sent the board skittering away underneath the car, but Eddie barely winced at the noise. He was too busy standing so close to Steve that they breathed the same humid air. If he so much as swayed, their noses would bump together. Christ, Steve had pretty eyes, a bright, warm brown flecked with amber even in the shade of the garage and he swore he could see Steve’s pupils dilate the longer their gazes locked together.

“So, what were you saying?” Steve asked in a low tone. He tilted his head ever so slightly and those eyes held some kind of dare within them, one eyebrow ticked upward. Eddie couldn’t help swallowing, licking his lips, and Steve went from staring into Eddie’s eyes to down at his lips.

“Just saying that, that everything looked fine. Might, uh, might be the crankshaft or the–” Steve stepped forward just enough to bring their chests together, the back of Eddie’s knees hitting the bumper, and Eddie’s breath hitched, his voice cracking, “–the sensor.”

“Eddie.” The way Steve said his name sent a frisson of heat through Eddie, right to his dick, which was becoming a very obvious guest between them.

“Yeah, Stevie?” he whispered.

Broad, warm hands wrapped around Eddie’s slim hips. Steve worked a finger through a belt loop on each side and tugged, and Eddie realised he wasn’t the only one with a hard on when Steve’s pressed up against his own, pulling a hiss of pleasure from them both. Oh, shit. Leaning impossibly closer, Steve’s lips brushed against Eddie’s when he spoke. “I don’t care about the car right now.”

That snapped whatever faint, lingering reservations Eddie had. “Fuck, Stevie, please kiss m–” He didn’t even finish before Steve’s lips crashed into his, plush and hungry. It wasn’t long before Eddie began to nip and lick, his teeth drawing short, pleased noises from Steve’s mouth before he pulled back a scant inch.

“Fucking finally,” Steve said, and dove back in, biting back, making Eddie groan. His hands found their way to Steve’s sides, then, spurred on by Steve’s enthusiasm, he reached down and grabbed at his ass. His fingers wrapped under the hem and he yanked Steve’s hips in and up, rising to meet them.

Steve’s cock grinding against Eddie’s was a fucking revelation. From the way Steve’s mouth parted with a hot gasp, Eddie guessed he felt the same. “Hold on, baby,” he rasped, and using what leverage he had, Eddie hoisted Steve onto his lap, Steve’s knees spread and braced on the car. There was no way he could keep them there for long, but fuck it was hot, rutting their hips together while they kissed, wet and messy.

Eddie tasted the salt of his own sweat when Steve licked into his mouth and moaned, hands fisted into the denim in his grip, feeling more sweat beginning to drip down his back. The heat was stifling, but nothing compared to what started to grow in Eddie’s gut. One of Steve’s hands buried in his curls and pulled, had Eddie bucking up and whimpering around Steve’s tongue. He could come like this, dry humping on top of the Bimmer, lap full of Steve in those shorts, hands on his perfect ass, would’ve if the idea weren’t more embarrassing than hot.

“St-Steve, wait,” Eddie panted, whining again when Steve’s hand clenched in his hair again.

“Why’d you stop? Don’t wanna stop, Eddie,” Steve groaned, before a little more clarity seeped into him and he leaned back into his arms, concerned. “Or, shit, wait, is this okay?”

“God, fuck yes this is okay. Been thinking about this forever, man.” Steve smiled widely, verging on a little goofy, before ducking in and pressing open-mouthed kisses to Eddie’s throat. Eddie’s arms began to shake. His legs had long since begun to tremble. “But, hang on, ah, I’m gonna either drop you or come in my shorts in like two minutes if we don’t rethink this.”

All that did was make Steve start rocking into him again. “Hot,” he mumbled as he licked up a trail of sweat under Eddie’s jaw, making Eddie swear and tip his head back.

Eddie’s knees decided to buckle right then. They shouted, Eddie scrambled, locking Steve in his arms and getting his feet under himself before standing, his hands still hooked around Steve’s ass while Steve’s legs clung to his waist. Steve’s shocked expression likely matched Eddie’s, before he rested his forehead against Eddie’s and laughed so hard his body shook. Helpless, Eddie joined in, holding Steve close while their giggling faded out. But his arms were aching so, gently, he put Steve down.

“Do you wanna stop?” Steve asked. Eddie shook his head.

“You?” Steve shook his. “Thank fuck,” Eddie said. He ran his hands over Steve’s ass, over the crease of his thigh, the tips of his fingers tickling the hair on the back of his thighs before guiding him close again. “Didn’t wanna let you go now that I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

Steve dove into Eddie’s mouth with a hungry groan. The slick sounds of their lips echoed in the garage. With a tug, Steve turned them around and backed up into the car, his hands wandering underneath Eddie’s cut up Iron Maiden tee and clutching at his sides, over the fresh demobat scars, nails digging in bluntly.

Eddie couldn’t keep his hands off Steve either. He pawed at whatever he could, finding the places that made Steve pant and hum into his mouth. But he wanted more, because Eddie has always been a bit greedy. One hand snaked its way around to cup Steve through the shorts that barely contained him, pressing his fingers around the hard outline of Steve’s cock and squeezing, rubbing. The low, raspy moan he got for his efforts made Eddie grin wolfishly.

Head lolling back, Steve breathed hard and rose to meet each stroke of Eddie’s palm. Eddie began to bite and suck his way down the strong line of Steve’s neck, biting every mole he could find. “E-Eddie, I want you to fuck me.”

The words made Eddie bite down just shy of too hard. Steve whined, and Eddie lapped at the spot in apology. “I wanna, I wanna so bad, Steve, but we’re fucking filthy, sweetheart,” he mumbled into Steve’s neck.

“Don’t need to do anything. I, mmh, prepared for this.”

Eddie pulled back to blink at him in disbelief. “You what?”

“I’ve been wanting this for months and nothing was working! So I just, made this as obvious as I fucking could.”

“Months?” Eddie’s jaw dropped when Steve gave him a look that managed to be both fond, flirty, and frustrated. “I could’ve been fucking you for months!?”

“Or I could’ve been fucking you.”

That idea, as sexy as it was, had to be pushed aside before it managed to make Eddie’s horny little brain leak out of his ears. “Putting a pin in that, that’s absolutely gonna happen, but I wanna revisit something. You prepared?”

Steve smirked. “Yeah,” he said, simple and cocky and so hot Eddie could combust. Eddie tried to capture Steve’s lips again but Steve stopped him with a firm hand against his chest, pushing Eddie back a few steps. Turning, he closed the hood of his car and instead of twisting back around to face Eddie, Steve leaned on his arms and arched his back.

Now that was a sight. Steve’s long, tan legs spread just so, one knee cocked to give a slight tilt to his hips. The firm, round swell of his ass peeking out under the denim that struggled to hold together. And right on the apex of those pretty, biteable, jean-clad cheeks: two dark, dirty handprints. There’s even the blackened imprint of fingers on Steve’s skin. Eddie’s fingers, Eddie’s hands. His cock twitched against his zipper and he moaned out, “Ohhh my god…”

Looking over his shoulder, Steve’s smug smirk grew, and he tilted his hips up a little further. “I know I look good, Munson, but are you gonna do something about it or what?”

Eddie stepped forward and draped himself along the expanse of Steve’s back, rutting his hips into Steve’s and making him hum sweetly. “Don’t have to get bratty about it, baby,” he said. He dragged his fingers along Steve’s sides, letting his nails catch on the soft texture of Steve’s scars before dipping down and popping his button open in one swift motion. “Tell me how you prepared.”

He felt the shiver his words evoked run down Steve’s spine. As he slid the zipper down and slid his hand in to find Steve had gone commando–both of them groaning when Eddie’s hand wrapped around Steve’s leaking, twitching cock–Eddie nuzzled into the dip between Steve’s ear and neck, inhaling the scent of his sweat and musk and the faint traces of a clean, fresh cologne valiantly hanging on.

“I, I got this toy. In Indy,” Steve gasped as Eddie pumped him, pulling his cock out as his hand sped up the more Steve spoke. “Worked myself open on it.”

“What’dya think of?” Eddie squeezed.

“You,” Steve keened, jerking into Eddie’s grip.

“Fuck. God. Alright, enough of this.” Standing, Eddie took his hand away and ignored the needy noise Steve made to instead yank the shorts down. Steve only bothered to step out of one leg, having to kick his foot when they got stuck on his shoe. It made his cheeks jiggle. Eddie couldn’t resist giving him a few taps just to watch it again before spreading those cheeks with his thumbs. More dirt smeared over Steve’s dewy skin, but that was only the opening act. The true star of the show glistened with lube and twitched under Eddie’s hungry stare, already loose and used and ready for him. He held himself back from burying his tongue in Steve’s hole, but just barely, letting out a low, hungry rumble instead.

Eddie couldn't move fast enough after that. He grappled with his belt, popped the button of his shorts and shoved them and his boxers out of the way enough for his cock to spring out without help. Then he stepped forward. Eddie let out a shuddering gasp when his aching cock met the searing heat of Steve’s taint and smeared precome along it, echoed when Steve sighed unsteadily as his head slipped up, up, up. Brushed over Steve’s hole once, twice, before catching on the rim.

“Please, Eddie,” Steve whined as he pushed back, and who was Eddie to deny such a pretty request?

He thrust forward and sank into Steve with a slick sound and such little resistance that Eddie’s jaw dropped open in a soundless moan, eyelids fluttering at the hot, wet clench of muscle around him. Another thrust and Steve groaned thickly, his head tilting back so Eddie could see how his bitten-red lips parted deliciously.

“Steve, you good? Please tell me you’re good. Fuck. I wanna fuck you so bad, you feel so good, hot, please Steve,” Eddie begged and rambled, his hands shaking with the need to grab and pull and take.

“If you don’t fucking start right now I’m leaving–”

That was all the permission Eddie needed.

He sank slowly past that ring of muscle and Eddie didn’t have the capacity to be embarrassed about the high-pitched, breathy whine that escaped him. Steve really had prepped, just loose enough and slick enough, but he still took his time. He wanted to savour this, the way he slid into Steve’s tight heat, how the feeling made his legs tremble and his stomach clench. Steve deserved the caution. At first, at least.

“Tell me,” Eddie demanded, needing to talk to distract from the sheer feeling of bliss of being enveloped by Steve. “Tell me about what you were thinking when you fucked yourself on that dildo.”

Steve’s head tilted back with a moan, his brows drawn together, and Eddie longed to bite and lick the strong column of his throat, but he didn’t want to get distracted. He wanted to know.

“I thought about your fingers, first. Those rings, fuck, they drive me nuts. Wish you’d worn them today.” Eddie gave his hips a firm squeeze, fingers spread wide to catch as much soft skin as he could, and grinned when he felt Steve clench around him and heard a stuttering breath.

“I’ll wear them next time, big boy. Wanna see how good they look when I’m jerking you off.” The appreciative groan caused by Eddie’s words was divine.

“God yes. Next time.”

Of course it was then that the phrase sunk in. Next time. Eddie hadn’t even noticed he’d said it but Steve repeating it had something other than raging hormones rising in his gut. He didn’t even have time to process the implication because Steve kept going, and started meeting Eddie’s thrusts with small movements of his own.

“Then I thought about your dick. Y’know, it’s so hard not to stare when you get out of the pool.”

“Did you?”

“Duh.” Steve shot a bitchy look over his shoulder. The usual power behind the look was lost in the bright red flush on his face. It completely fell apart when Eddie shifted and hit somewhere new, Steve’s mouth dropping open with a guttural noise that made Eddie’s cock twitch. “S-shit, it’s so perfect,” he said.

Steve’s head hung loose from his shoulders, forehead resting on the hood of the car, needy, lingering moans bouncing off the metal, breath and sweat condensing on it while Eddie inched further into him every time he slid out and pressed back in. With his palms on the Bimmer, Steve used the leverage to rock into Eddie, the muscles in his shoulders rippling under the white cotton tank starting to go translucent with sweat.

Watching his cock steadily disappear into Steve’s hole was addicting. He leaned back to get a better view of how he split Steve open between the grimy handprints he’d left on the globes of his ass, placed his hands there again and dug his nails in, making Steve’s hips jerk so that Eddie sank the rest of the way with a groan.

“God, Eddie,” Steve mumbled, “fuck, you feel so. So, uh, so good.”

“Y-you too, baby.” Eddie could barely form words. The tight pressure around his cock threatened to end things there and then, but Eddie closed his eyes and breathed, letting the fire and the urge and the want die down to a less immediate threat. But then he opened his eyes, saw how good they looked locked together, the way his darker thatch caught against the lighter brown hairs decorating Steve’s ass, both of them wet from the lube he’d pushed out of his hole, and jesus fucking christ he didn’t want, he needed.

Pulling out slowly and bracing Steve’s hips with a punishing grip was the only warning he gave before snapping forward with a loud grunt, the slap of damp skin a filthy echo in the garage. Steve cried out at the second hard thrust, choked off when Eddie kept going, his hips picking up speed.

“Good?” Eddie gasped. Nodding, Steve uttered a desperate, pleading ‘yes’ that made him fuck into Steve faster.

“Look so fucking hot, Steve,” he started babbling, his voice reedy with pleasure. “God, my handprints on you. Want ‘em to stain, be there forever.” Steve moaned and Eddie felt him tighten around his cock. “Like that, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, fuck, I do, I do!”

Eddie leaned forward, draped himself across Steve’s back, and the angle was so fucking good, so much better, and he knew he’d started pounding into Steve’s prostate by the way his gasps had turned into a delicious mix of thin moans and choked out grunts. Fucking him into the car, Eddie let his hands roam. He rucked up the tank top, watched as the last of the dirt on his hands smeared over Steve’s perfect, scarred skin like loving and greedy claw marks. Finding a nipple, he pinched and squeezed until Steve writhed and squirmed.

Then Steve reached up. Buried a hand into Eddie’s hair, grabbed a handful and pulled.

“Oh fuck!” Eddie whined, his hips stuttering, the pain mixing with pleasure and zinging down his spine.

Steve chuckled, unsteady and breathy but so self-satisfied. “Thought about this… for so long, Eddie.”

“Thinkin’ about me so much, sweetheart. I’m honoured. What, hah, what did you think about?” he asked into Steve’s neck, lips catching on his skin, tempting him to lick, to bite. He did, groaning at the taste of salt.

“This. On your couch, by the pool, my bed, anywhere. Been desperate for it.” Steve pulled Eddie closer by his hair while he bounced back on Eddie’s cock as if to prove it. “Or, shit, bending you over that throne of yours and fucking you into it.” Eddie let out a pitchy whimper and Steve cooed in a way that could’ve been condescending but instead made Eddie melt. “But now, now that I know the kinds of fucking sounds you make–t-there, yes–I wanna take you apart. Slow a-and gentle until you’re a mess–”

He cut himself off with a broken moan. Eddie’s hips kept up their brutal pace with short, sharp, hard thrusts, the sound of their sweat-slicked fucking and and the jingle of Eddie’s belt buckle filling the room. His brain was nothing but static. The image was stuck in a loop like the end of a record left to spin. Eddie heard a desperate, animalistic whine and realised it came from himself.

“Close, baby?” Steve asked. Eddie nodded frantically, his lips dragging through beads of sweat dripping down his neck. He’d been holding it off, the fraying coil threatening to snap, his balls aching as they slapped into Steve’s asscheeks.

“You?” Eddie wanted to beg for Steve to be ready. 

“Getting there, just, don’t stop,” Steve gasped.

Twisting, Steve pulled Eddie down to catch his lips in an open-mouthed kiss, fingers tangled in his damp curls. Their tongues met sloppily. Shared panting breaths like trying to inhale each other. Eddie’s thrusts were starting to falter. He was going to shake apart at this rate. Might just shatter when he comes, the pressure and heat and need too much and so fucking perfect.

“Steve,” Eddie whined, and Steve’s eyes met his. “So good to me, Stevie, sweetheart. Feel so wet, fuckin’ beautiful. Nee–mmh–need you, need you to come, please baby, please.”

“Touch me,” Steve said, practically commanded, and Eddie wasted no time.

Spitting in his hand and hoping it was enough, Eddie wrapped his fingers around Steve’s dick, mixing his spit with the shocking amount of precome leaking from the head and spreading it over his length. Christ he was hung. Steve let out a relieved sigh, which Eddie swallowed, smashing their lips together again while fucking hard enough that he rocked Steve into his fist. Steve started making little ah, ah, ah noises. Next time–please let there actually be a next time–he’d worship this cock in the ways he wanted to, the ways Steve deserved, but for now he pumped him mercilessly. Then, then.

Steve seized, a full-body tremble ripping through him as he came, pulsing in Eddie’s hand as he tightened around Eddie’s cock and he was so fucking gorgeous, plush kissed-red lips open in a silent scream, so hot and tight and, and, and–

With a hoarse shout, Eddie came too, rutting helplessly into Steve as he rode out the sparking shockwaves that also had him shaking, the wet sounds between them even more obscene with Eddie’s come slicking the way. He finally stopped when Steve’s whimpers sounded a little too sharp. Breathing heavily, Eddie braced himself on the hood of the car on weak arms to keep himself from collapsing on top of Steve, only letting his head rest in the crook of Steve’s neck where he left one final, achingly gentle love bite.

“Okay?” he whispered.

“Mhmm,” Steve hummed contentedly, leaning his head against Eddie’s, their damp hair sticking together.

“Gonna pull out now, Stevie, okay?” When Steve just nodded lazily, Eddie slowly pulled out, both of them groaning at the feeling. And he couldn’t keep himself from parting Steve’s cheeks to see his come dribble out a little, feeling a great deal of pride and greedy satisfaction at the sight.

“Bit late to ask, but you’re still clean, right? After all those tests for the bat bites?” Steve asked, grimacing when he stood up. He was the perfect picture of debauchery, only wearing his rumpled, practically see-through tank top, socks, and shoes, with his hair a wild mess and sweat still dripping from his forehead. The dirty fingerprints and red marks starting to bloom on his neck and hips were Eddie’s favourite part.

“Yep, only time I’ll ever thank those shady government fuckers for poking me with all those needles.” Eddie grinned at Steve’s tired, but fond, chuckle.

Steve looked at the car with heavy-lidded eyes, then did a double-take. “Shit, I gotta wash that off.” There, on the shiny burgundy hood of the Bimmer, was the white splash of Steve’s come, stark against the dark colour. Eddie started cackling and Steve complained, “Dude, shut up, it’ll ruin the paint!” 

“Gonna wash your car without these, Winnie the Pooh?” Eddie bent down to scoop up Steve’s shorts, dangling them from a finger. He laughed when Steve snatched them back with a glare that barely hid his begrudging smile. While he stepped back into them with a wince, Eddie said, “Interesting choice of clothing to work on your car, by the way.”

“Worked, though, didn’t it?”

“What?” Eddie’s eyes narrowed when Steve smiled innocently and shrugged before he wandered off to get a chamois towel and soap. And it clicked. “You planned this? You lured me in with slutty shorts?”

Tossing the towel up and catching it, Steve’s smile widened into something smug. “Yep.”

“Wait. Is the car even broken?”

Steve just offered Eddie another sly shrug and started wiping his come off the hood.

[robthegoodfellow]

3DPC4EVA

@harringrovezine submission! Billy and Steve take a backseat while their cars get busy. Crack taken seriously. Brace for puns.

Summary: When the Camaro rumbles into the Hawkins High parking lot, she catches the attention of a certain luxury vehicle.

Harringrove, Camaro/Beamer (or Bimmer/Beemer whatever you prefer)

Rated G | ~2.2k (slightly expanded version) | Alternating Car POV

thank you @adelacreations and the rest of the zine team for all your hard work!

~🛞~

A car never forgot the moment it came to—became aware. For PC, it was rounding a bend of the Pacific Coast Highway, to the left a sprawling sea, baked cliffs sloping opposite. And inside… was a boy, death-grip on the wheel relaxing, his stiff back gone slack on a long exhale.

He was gazing at the water, mesmerized. Revved the engine, a vicarious roar—but not of rage.

Exultation.

They meandered north for miles, blue horizon painted pink and red, glittering in the sinking sun. Veering onto a rocky shoulder, he hopped on the hood. Reclined, sighing smoke, until the sky had bruised purple. 

The boy’s mind wandered on the drive back, and PC got a sense of him then—name, where he lived. Enough to nudge reminders before he missed a turn. 

PC learned its own names, too—knew the boy thought of it as a she. Called her Baby. Or sometimes he’d smush the first part of her plate together, PCE, and think peace.

~🛞~

3D didn’t belong here, wasting away parked outside a school. A BMW E23 7-Series? Far more befitting the head of the Harrington family, not his spoiled Lothario of a son.

But no—downgraded months after purchase when the wife gifted her darling husband a Rolls-Royce.

Who could compete? So here it was, surrounded by malformed AMC experiments, rusted-out Oldsmobile barges, decrepit Pintos liable to explode if you looked at them wrong. Oh, and tractors—let’s not forget the occasional farming equipment caked in mud and manure ridden to school for a laugh. 

3D could have borne the shocks without blowing a gasket—it was a high-performance vehicle—but then… then the boy made it his mission to bed every girl in town. And 3D had spacious seats. Spacious and luxurious: black leather, gleaming wood trim—not that the paramours would notice, too busy humping while 3D stared out its headlamps at the lake or the trees or wherever it could fix its attention that wasn’t the pair of humans copulating all over its pristine interior.

Finally, the boy hitched himself to a girl with standards, one who preferred privacy. Granted, that relationship coincided with some rather strange occurrences—early on, the boy sped off to a remote property with faulty wiring, lights berserk, and ran inside to much screaming and cacophonous violence. 3D was certain that menace would emerge grievously wounded if he emerged at all, and do you know how hard it is to get bloodstains out of leather?

Well, 3D didn’t, either, but it was bound to be impossible.

Anyway—despite that bizarre hiccup, the boy seemed happy, and so too was 3D.

Happy its rear bench was a Motel 6 no longer.

~🛞~

The blistering hurt he'd stoked from San Diego to Indiana—this despairing, gnashing fury—had simmered to a low-grade pang when PC rumbled into the Hawkins High parking lot, blazing past milling students.

Billy slammed the door—pat the handle, apologetic, before striding off. Max wheeled away on her skateboard.

Though PC was facing the school, she wasn’t limited to staring dully at the brick. Sky through her windshield, a side-view out her windows, the lot behind via the tail lights. In no time, she’d taken stock: not too different from back home. Less pervasive rust from salty air, fewer finishes sun-bleached pale pastel… and the crusty tractor was new… but a parking lot was a parking lot.

That’s what she repeated, again jerking her focus from a gleam in the next row. A BMW—PC had a weakness for German makes. Her first crush was a cute Volkswagen bug that belonged to one of Billy's surfer buddies, but the Beetle couldn’t hold a candle to this burgundy beauty—shining in the sun, the lines of its hood so proud, so pert and compact compared to PC. The appealing rounds of its double headlamps, spider eyes on either side of those distinctive kidney grilles. Like bared teeth.

The plate read 3Ds46T2.

Its wipers twitched, annoyance loud and clear. What?

PC barely reined in the startled beep, hot underhood. But then—well… what else to do when caught so blatantly staring?

She flashed a taillight, a quick, cheeky wink, and the headlamps across the way flared—a bright flush, though brief, firmly repressed.

Didn’t want to push it—the blush perhaps more embarrassment than pleasure—but when she risked a glance, 3D was looking back, intrigued. 

At final bell, PC blared both taillights, a last gambit—and her fan belt fluttered when 3D’s wipers swept a wide arc. A farewell.

Half-expected to overheat on the way back to the new house. Like all the coolant in the world couldn’t help her.

~🛞~

A showy, brutish Camaro Z/28 wouldn’t typically warrant more than an irritated huff of exhaust, but a car like that had never been bold enough to… flirt? Just brazenly wink for the whole lot to see, gazing like you were the most riveting object in existence.

It was… well, flattering, obviously—a Camaro was a handsome make, whatever its faults—but more than that, it had thrilled in a way 3D couldn’t shake. So next time the boy pulled into the lot, it gently nudged the wheel, willing them to the front where PCE 235 was sitting pretty.

Maneuvering to park next to the muscle-bound stunner took more of a push—enough to trigger a frown—but the boy rarely fired on all cylinders. He shrugged it off.

3D never dreamed it could be so forward, but the Camaro didn’t mind. Quite the contrary: as the school doors closed on the last straggler, 3D spied its neighbor’s window cracking open. A loaded quiet—then the soft static of the radio searching for a station. Odd squeals, a cut-off twang, belt, chorus, then—

—too good to be true. Can't take my eyes off you. Pardon the way that I stare—there's nothing else to compare.

An earnest crooning Oldie, and—it was like its undercarriage had bottomed out on nothing. 3D flushed hot as a busted radiator. 

If you feel like I feel, please let me know that it's real. You're just too good to be true. Can't take my eyes off you.

Seeming to sense its struggle for composure, the volume lowered until the song clicked off. The window rolled up, parted lips closing, and the wheel spun, nervous. Crunch of gravel as the front tires turned its way: Your move.

3D choked, butterfly valve sealing shut. The boy’s tastes weren’t exactly varied. Hardly strayed from the local channels piping nonstop Hot 100. But the silence would soon ring of rejection, so it powered the radio, scrambling, poised to blindly crank the dial and hope for the best—

Miracle of miracles. Rushing to open a window, it lowered all four, silently thanking Hump Day Hits of the 60s.

—thought love was only true in fairytales—meant for someone else but not for me. Love was out to get me—that's the way it seemed. 

Spontaneity sparking, it left the windows down. Let the whole lot hear! What did it care what they thought?

Then I saw her face! Now I'm a believer. Not a trace of doubt in my mind…

Last bell, after hours of trading silly ditties, their batteries were dead, and 3D was in love—felt drunk on diesel, sappy sentiment gumming up its engine.

PC. How wonderful, those two letters. And a she. Fascinating.

Their drivers were baffled at both needing a jump—a much remarked upon coincidence. Waiting for their cars to revive, the boy made awkward small talk with PC’s human—a blond ruffian who smoked like a chimney.

The boy asked the ruffian—Billy—if he was going to the Halloween party later.

Billy was.

“See ya there, man,” he said, tapping 3D’s roof. It would have cringed at the fingerprints left behind, if not for a more pressing thought.

It would see PC that night.

Perhaps all night.

~🛞~

Billy was nervous—PC could tell by his fidgeting grip, Metallica blasting. Odd outfit, too: leather jacket, shirtless, with fingerless gloves.

He parked behind 3D, no encouragement necessary. Before he’d even disappeared inside the pulsing house, PC waved her wiper, overeager but suddenly—shy.

They seemed to mutually agree not to drain their batteries again. Instead, at the risk of coming on too strong, PC reached out with the nebulous consciousness linking her to her body, linking her to Billy… until she felt a psychic bump. Not enough to dent. Just… alert.

She’d never done this—gone beyond basic flirtation—but something about 3D made her bold… and maybe Billy’s loneliness, the aimless despair bubbling under his skin since the move… maybe that had bled over more than she’d realized.

A bump, and she almost ignited her own engine, so intense was the bolt of excitement. 3D was reaching back, willing to open to her—

She had no idea how much time had passed, so submerged in their mingled selves, when Billy stumbled against her with a grunt, a slurred curse. The icy jolt must have transferred before she cut off to focus on the problem sagging at her door—a problem she knew too well.

Billy unlocked her after a couple tries, more falling than sitting in the driver’s seat. Shoved the key in the ignition—groaned when the engine wouldn’t start.

“Not tonight, baby—I’m fucking fine.”

She remained unmoved, even as he slumped, forehead knocking on the wheel.

“Just start! We’re three streets away, for fuck’s sake.”

An insistent bump—so unrelenting that she reconnected, conveyed through images, flashes of memory, that this was just something they did: Billy would drink too much, and she wouldn’t start until he was sober. But that only triggered a renewed wave of concern, a series of impressions in return: pulling over to assist a family broken down, the kids shivering in the chill evening air of autumn; 3D’s human, breath misting, joking with a pretty brunette about drinking until they were warm, the girl informing him that booze made you more vulnerable to frostbite.

But… it wasn’t nearly cold enough for that, right? Although what did she know? It had taken ages to warm up this morning. How cold was too cold?

Maybe Billy would just… go back inside the house. Or she could—start the engine but jam the accelerator? Or—

Billy jumped when 3D’s horn blared, obnoxious in the still night, its headlights flashing with each trumpeting blast. 

Not a minute later, PC understood in a burst of gratitude: 3D’s human trotted from the house. He would help. Flinging open the door, she spun her wheel, sharp.

A grunt, and Billy spilled onto the pavement. “Bitch.”

The alarm died with a chirp. “Hargrove?” 

Billy sighed, flopping backward. “Fuck off, Harrington.”

Harrington did not—kept coming until he towered, hands on hips. Prodded Billy with a curious foot.

“You wanna be roadkill, or what?”

Bratty snort. “Or what.”

“Well, in the interest of not scraping you up tomorrow, how about I drive you home?”

Billy propped himself on elbows. A hum, considering. “Pass.”

PC resisted whacking him with the door. From his expression, Harrington felt much the same.

“Take you to mine, then.” Stooping, he stuck his hand out, waiting while Billy curled his lip, rolled his eyes—finally took the hand.

3D’s lights beamed worry as Harrington started the engine, Billy safe in passenger. PC twitched a wiper—shoo—and settled in by the curb. Small price for peace of mind.

~🛞~

At some point between disappearing into the Harrington house and emerging in the early dawn, something had happened—3D couldn’t begin to guess. The surly quiet of last night now buzzed like coins in a cupholder. Glances darted, never meeting.

3D resisted cranking the radio to drown out the awkward. Or redirecting the beads of condensation cutting through the misted windows so their dewy paths spelled HELP.

It rumbled with relief to see PC, glistening in the gloom, right where they’d left her.

“Last night,” Billy said, as they rolled to a stop. “We—it can’t happen—”

“You scared?” The arched brow was bluster, his frame rigid with nerves.

“You dumb?” Sneered it, scathing.

He was dumb, 3D would vouch for that, but the boy only glared. Billy huffed, paired an eye roll with a shake of his head, reaching for the door. 

A lesser vehicle would’ve missed the other hand pounce across the console, but 3D fogged the windows just in time.

No one saw the driver yanked sideways by the shirt, arrested by snarling lips pressed to his own—or the hands that grappled in reply, cupping cheek and chin, fingers sinking into hair.

No one saw, but PC knew—was practically dancing, wipers waving, front wheels pivoting left and right. And usually 3D would sigh, resign itself to rounds of necking and worse, but it couldn’t muster the fumes.

Because it would put up with anything—happily, no matter the wear and tear—for more time right here, sharing PC’s air. 

Since keeping one meant keeping the other, this would be no fling. Not if 3D could help it. 

What was it humans liked to say? 

My way or the highway.

~🛞~

Read on Ao3

[ultimatebimmerservice]

To resolve drivetrain faults in your BMW, start with a diagnostic scan to identify error codes. Common issues include sensor failures, worn driveshafts, or transmission problems. Addressing fluid levels, updating software, or replacing faulty components can fix the issue. Professional inspection and timely repairs are essential to restore performance, prevent further damage, and ensure safe, reliable driving.

[dower]

Do you really want bespoke?

Say you want a new car: You choose it based on how it fits your need and wants. For needs, it might need 5 seats (kids/dogs), hatchback (weekly shopping), safety, low running cost (no one chooses high running cost, do they), cheap insurance, easy to fix, how green etc. At the “needs” level a basic Ford/Vauxhall/Nissan will probably do.

The £30k Ford will give you a choice of colour, a trim level, maybe a wheel option and Apple Carplay. Brill, simple and all that most folks would ever need in a car. But folks have wants as well and often as not a Ford is not on that “wants” list, they want the (perception of German) build quality, a premium interior, a lovely badge on the drive at home etc. So they pay 50% more to get a £50k BMW or Audi that is functionally very similar but meets some (probably not all) of the wants. With “wants” you’re often happy to compromise more on practicality or cost or usability - it’s easy to get carried away when it becomes a vanity purchase.

And, Bimmers and Audis are common as muck so maybe they’re not premium enough. They also look a bit staid and dull so let’s look at an Aston Martin or Porsche. Now we’re in the big leagues, it’s certainly rare (Porsche maybe not), available in dozens of colours, trims, wheel sizes, stereo outputs and has ridiculous performance you’ll never need, is far less practical than a £30k Ford but, well, it’s an Aston and makes you feel special and very different to all those German 3-box drivers. You still order the £150k Aston in black over black but who cares, there are only 1,000 the same as yours in the UK.

Except, being like 999 others maybe isn’t your ballgame, you’re special and different. So instead you go to Aston Works and bespoke trim your Aston with orange leather, carbon-fibre everywhere and a few other choice upgrades. It’s still an Aston Martin Vantage, but it’s now a one-off and costs £250k. It is still not bespoke though, 90% of it based on a standard production car, albeit a pricey one. But after a few years it just looks like a regular Aston, special but not special enough. The “shine” has gone, so has the value as it’s now non-standard no one really wants those. Some of the maintenance is also a bit pricey, did you really need that racing clutch, or that £6k carbon fibre front bumper that keeps getting scraped.

A truly bespoke car would require a visit to Pininfarina, Bertone, or more likely Zagato to get them to craft a body shape and interior to your exacting spec. You still need the underpinnings, the engine/gearbox etc so you could cut corners and use a cheaper base, maybe a Aston V12. You’d be mad to commission the one-off production of an engine, gearbox and running gear - that won’t be reliable and will cost an absolute mint as all the scales of production used for the last 100 years is thrown away to create your artisan car.

The end result is a bespoke £2m supercar that you can take to shops and carry the dogs in the back. It is unique. It also costs 20 times as much to service than the Ford and tens of thousands of pounds more to keep on the road every year. And it’s not allowed in London due to ULEZ. It’s probably not that reliable and not many garages will entertain looking after it. It’s become specialised to the point of being worth less.

People do buy exotic cars, but very few have them as their only car - they use something far more practical (and better) for everyday use, maybe even a Ford. Go back a hundred years and most high-end cars were bespoke, but standardisation, reliability, resale, maintenance, and usability has made these cars functionally extinct.

Are you sure you want bespoke? Ok … then don’t buy the design of a bloke in a shed in Lancashire. Do it properly and accept you’ll be burning money on a vanity project. But mostly, just buy something nice off the shelf - I hear the new Lotus is a bit special!

[sergeant-morozov]

Kinda thinking if I should get a project car.

Like, buy a car that has issues then fix it and profit a little bit.

Maybe to earn some tuning money for my lady.

[bimmerhatch]

Naprawa zapieczonego zacisku

Jeżeli na dworze przez cały dzień pada deszcz i jest super mokro, całe auto uwalone jest syfem z ulicy, a po kilku kilometrach jazdy felga jest dziwnie sucha - to wiedz, że coś się dzieje. I to raczej nic dobrego. Dlaczego? Dlatego, że najprawdopodobniej zapiekł Ci się zacisk.

Tak też było w moim przypadku. Przy okazji pojawiły się dziwne drgania na kierownicy podczas hamowania. Winnym okazał się zapieczony zacisk hamulcowy po stronie pasażera. Rozebrałem wszystko na śrubki, wyczyściłem, przesmarowałem, poskładałem do kupy i działa. Można powiedzieć - taka doraźna naprawa. Całością zajmę się na spokojnie przy wymianie klocków i tarcz hamulcowych. Ale o tym napiszę kiedy indziej. Niestety nie udało mi się zrobić zdjęć z naprawy "krok po kroku", ale pogoda w tym dniu nie rozpieszczała. W szczególności, że naprawa odbywała się pod chmurką, a nie w ciepłym garażu.

[patchworkgargoyle]

[slams fists on the table] BOOTY FOR WIP WEEKEND

Enjoooy <3 ;)

But this was something else. As soon as Steve called to ask if Eddie would help fix the Bimmer he couldn’t get the thought of him–sweaty and greasy and bent over the open hood of the car, his hair falling just so and lip bitten between his teeth in concentration–out of his dirty little mind. The things he’d want to do. It did as much to convince Eddie to go as it did to make him want to keep his distance.

He was a weak man, however.

“Fine. Alright. But you’d better make it worth my time, I’m risking my pale, un-sunburnt ass for this.”

Steve snorted. “Don’t worry, I will,” he said blandly.

Send me a title and make me write!! Please, I'm begging you.

[spicysix]

either eddie x reader or eddie x steve for #10?

Person A helping person B patch up their favorite shirt/sweater/jacket.

a/n: i chose to write about Steddie! and ughh okay i'm lowkey proud of this one, it turned out so cute 😭 thank you for requesting, babe! no warnings, all fluff ♡

word count: 1.3k

↳ requests are open!

patchin' up

“No, no, no no…” Eddie heard Steve’s muffled whines as he entered the trailer. 

After leaving his keys on the kitchen counter, Eddie followed the sound and found Steve kneeling on the floor in front of the drying machine, cradling a piece of jeans cloth in his hands.

“What’s going on, Stevie?” he asked, and his boyfriend turned his attention to him instantly, his face contorted in a sad grimace that made Eddie’s heart tighten up.

“My jacket got caught up on a button or a zipper or something, and now there’s a tear.” His voice was trembling, and he fumbled with the jacket to show Eddie the tear near the front left pocket.

“You’re really upset, huh baby?” Eddie was careful to not sound like he was teasing, he actually found it adorable how much Steve cared about every little thing.

“It’s my favorite one Eds,” he answered, and Eddie walked up to him and kneeled by his side, taking his time to better assess the tear.

He knew what jacket it was, the one he gave Steve the morning after their first night together at Eddie’s trailer, months ago. It was a windy October day, and Eddie didn’t want Steve to leave and get cold - didn’t matter if the Bimmer had heating, and Steve’s house had it too. He was actually just trying to find excuses to see Steve in his clothes again, the memory of him, hairy torso bare if not for Eddie’s jeans battle vest in the Upside Down still got him blushing and feeling hot all over, even almost a full year later. The vest got lost somewhere at some point in their Saving The World Adventure, unfortunately. When Steve tried to give the jacket back a few days later, Eddie refused to take it and just let Steve have it.

“Didn’t know it was your favorite,” Eddie said, looking up to find Steve’s eyes on him.

“Of course it is, you gifted it to me,” Steve explained, and Eddie couldn’t help the smile spreading on his lips. “But now it’s ruined,” Steve murmured again, that sad little quiver in his voice breaking Eddie’s heart.

“Oh no, baby, no! Don’t worry, we can fix it,” he hugged Steve’s shoulders, and the hopeful gaze he got in response would be enough to send him soaring if that was physically possible. “Remember the patches on the vest? I still have some here, you can choose and we’ll sew it on the jacket,” he explained and Steve beamed.

“Really?” Eddie just nodded in response. “Hell yeah, let’s do it!”

Steve got up excitedly and pulled Eddie with him. They both stumbled and laughed, heading to Eddie’s room. Steve’s clothes on the bed, Steve’s shoes by the door, Steve’s smell in the air. Steve started spending more and more time at the trailer ever since that first night, his own house too big and quiet and empty and cold, but Eddie was warm, and Wayne was welcoming, and the trailer was much more of a home than the Harrington’s mansion ever was.

Eddie shuffled around the mess of his bedroom until he found the little plastic bag that had all his patches. He scattered them on the bed for him and Steve to look through. Most of them were of metal bands Eddie liked, but there were a few others as well, some funny ones, some weird ones. But Steve was Steve, a fucking ray of sunshine hidden under all the bitchiness, so he chose a cute one.

Well, as cute as something in Eddie Munson’s possession could be.

It was a bat, just the two big yellow eyes on his face, all ears and wings spread open.

Eddie wasn’t as fond of bats as he used to be before the Events Of March, but even he couldn’t deny that this one wasn’t as bad. And Steve was really excited about it, for some reason.

So Eddie picked the jacket, the chosen patch, and his sewing equipment and sat on the floor, Steve beside him and paying full attention as Eddie explained how to do it, the best sewing techniques and tricks. Eddie didn’t see it, but Steve’s eyes gleamed as he watched the man he was in love with explaining something with so much passion and patience, as Eddie’s calloused fingers worked on something so small with so much delicacy.

“There he is! All set, baby,” Eddie exclaimed as he raised his hands and showed off the jacket, tear successfully hidden behind the little bat patch. He had also sewed the tear from the inside and placed a plain piece of cloth to prevent it from stretching wider.

Steve caught the jacket and got up from the floor, fitting his arms through the sleeves and, once wearing it, assessing Eddie’s work in the mirror, a sweet smile on his lips that never ceased to make Eddie’s heart beat faster.

“It’s perfect, Eds. Thank you so much.” Steve went back to where Eddie was still on the floor, offered his hand and Eddie didn’t hesitate to grasp it.

“It was nothing, baby. We could find other patches you like and customize it more, if you want to? Or we could thrift a different jacket just so you can go nuts,” he offered, and Steve nodded.

“I’d love that! Maybe I’ll sew a Make It Big picture on the back as you did with that Dio album on your vest,” his smirk made it clear that he was teasing, but Eddie gasped loudly in offense anyway.

“I refuse to help you sew Wham’s faces onto a piece of cloth, my liege, you’ll have to do that by yourself. It would just be sacrilegious to the jacket, to the art of sewing and patching, and to music as a whole,” he protested and Steve laughed loudly at his antics. Eddie got up from the floor, finally, Steve’s hand still on his helping him. “Why’d you choose this one, though?” He poked at the bat.

“It reminded me of what we both survived, of the scars we share. Reminds me of us,” he answered, voice low, hazel eyes staring deep into Eddie’s, and he swooned.

“Jesus, Stevie, I love the fact that this is your favorite because I gave it to you, and I love the fact that you patched something that reminds you of us onto it, and you look very fucking hot in it,” he started rambling, Steve’s lips quirking up at Eddie’s words. “But imma need you to take it off now after that,” he finished, already pulling at the jacket’s sleeves, and Steve laughed once again.

“Gonna carry you over my pocket all the time now,” he whispered against Eddie’s lips, his hands already fumbling with Eddie’s pants.

“Right over your heart, baby?” Eddie’s words were automatic out of his mouth, his brain already fuzzing and he hoped, prayed, his reactions to Steve would never change.

He wanted to feel like this - hook, line and sinker in love with his Sunshine boy for as long as the Universe would let him, for as long as Steve would have him, for as long as the Sun itself would shine.

“Right inside it, too,” Steve answered, jacket already on the floor and Eddie’s hands already wandering through the warm skin of his torso, up, up, up. “Love you, love you, love you Eds.”

“Love you so much, Stevie,” he replied, falling over Steve on the mattress, the rest of his patches tumbling to the floor.

But the mess they were making didn’t matter now because Steve’s lips were all over his neck, Steve’s nails were scratching his back, Steve’s heart was in his hands, and Eddie’s heart was all Steve’s.

-----

the patch was inspired by this one (only bigger) and you can buy it here 🥰

[power-chords]

A quick-and-dirty gift for, and inspired by, @indifferentvincent...

EXT. – GROCERY STORE PARKING LOT – DUSK

MAX and VINCENT, dimly visible through the headlight glare behind the windshield of a nondescript GRAY SEDAN, pull into a parking space. The lot is almost entirely empty except for a handful of parked cars, making the ABANDONED GROCERY CART in the space by Vincent’s passenger side door that much more of a glaring intrusion.

Max kills the ignition. They exit the vehicle. Max is about to start off for the building when he notices that Vincent has not followed.

Vincent is still standing by the passenger door, a statue frozen in silent outrage, glowering at the shopping cart.

VINCENT Look at this. Can you believe this shit?

Max registers the shopping cart for the first time. A look of resignation falling over his face. He knows exactly what’s about to follow.

MAX What?

VINCENT The decay of Western civilization. There’s your evidence, right there. First stage of a terminal social cancer.

Max sighs. He begins treading purposefully around the back of the car, toward Vincent’s side of the vehicle. As he approaches:

VINCENT (accusatory) What are you doing?

MAX (flatly, pleasantly) Chemotherapy.

He takes hold of the cart and starts to roll it backwards, out of the parking space. Intending to return it himself.

VINCENT'S HAND CLAWS OUT, lightning fast, catching the metal grating at the opposite end. An absurd standoff over the length of a shopping cart.

VINCENT The fuck's wrong with you? Don’t return it for him. That’s not on you. That’s not your responsibility. You’re not the asshole who—

MAX Or her.

VINCENT (beat) What?

MAX Could be a her. (shrugging) The asshole.

Vincent is clearly annoyed, a bit flummoxed. They’re getting off the subject here.

VINCENT A she. (sternly) Leave it.

Max acquiesces, holding his hands up off the handlebar, proclaiming his innocence.

VINCENT And put your hands down. C’mon, let’s go.

CUT TO VINCENT TAKING POINT

As he marches briskly toward the store. We see the slight smirk on Max’s face as he follows behind, trotting to keep up.

MAX (innocently) We were already on our way in. Why not bring it with us? Or just use it ourselves?

VINCENT It’s the principle, Max. All right? You don’t clean up after somebody else’s mess.

MAX That’s what you did.

VINCENT They paid me to do it. And they pay the employees here to do it. Not your fault some dumb schmuck in a Benz, a Bimmer, whatever, can’t summon the basic courtesy ‘cause his whole life he’s had somebody else doing the dirty work for him— (off the idea, thrusting a finger at Max) And what if it’s covered in gross shit or something? What if he left it there ‘cause he spilled his green juice, protein smoothie all over it? You don’t know.

MAX (beleaguered, but with affection) Yeah, I sure don’t.

VINCENT You can’t fix guys like that. They’re beyond help.

Max is breaking into a smile now, Vincent too caught up in his righteous indignation to notice, let alone comprehend why.

MAX If you say so.

VINCENT I do.

MAX Hey. Look on the bright side. At least his car’s leaking oil fluid.

Vincent does, indeed, suddenly brighten. He looks over at Max, as they fall in step side by side, their legs swinging in synchrony.

VINCENT Really?

MAX Yeah. You didn’t catch that puddle there? And trailing out from the end of the space? Dude’s an asshole, and he’s oblivious.

Vincent grins with satisfaction, clapping Max approvingly on the shoulder.

VINCENT They always are.

CUT TO VINCENT AND MAX FROM BEHIND

The two of them approaching the GROCERY STORE at last, its exterior strangely UNMARKED, devoid of branding. The concrete edifice bleached and faded with time.

The SLIDING GLASS DOORS open to greet them, and the grocery entryway is BRILLIANTLY FLUORESCENT, beckoning with an unnatural, desaturated light.

[manmach33]

BMW 7-Series rear air strut replacement underway. 👨‍🔧 . . . . #bmw #7series #f01 #730Ld #airsuspension #manandmachine #german #cars #garage #autoshop #autorepair #autodiagnosis #fix #repair #shoplife #bimmer #justkeepdriving (at Madhapur) https://www.instagram.com/p/B3McxeQp91S/?igshid=1hyyeexf98bkb

[vividracing]

New Post has been published on https://www.vividracing.com/blog/top-5-best-lowering-springs-for-bmw-f80-m3-and-f82-m4/

Top 5 Best Lowering Springs for BMW F80 M3 and F82 M4

Suspension is one of the most important factors in determining your vehicle’s day-to-day drivability. The first step in suspension tuning is to upgrade the factory springs. Upgrading these suspension components will ensure that your car has improved handling and reduced body roll for an overall better driving experience. There are a number of highly reputable brands on the aftermarket with impressive spring kits for the BMW F80 M3 and F82 M4 that will lower the car’s center of gravity, improve cornering ability, and heighten performance all while maintaining a comfortable ride quality for everyday tasks. Below, we have compiled a lost of the top five choices for your Bimmer based on how well they perform on the street and track, and the overall level of comfort paired with the improved driving dynamics. Be sure to also browse our complete inventory of lowering springs for the M3 and M4 right here. 

1. Swift Springs Sport Spec-R Springs

The Swift Springs Sport Spec-R Springs were built for track duty, designed at the upper limits of the M3/M4’s OEM shock valving. Thoroughly track tested and tuned for optimum performance, this spring kit still maintains a ride comfortable enough for a daily driver. Swift engineered its Sport Springs to keep the quality ride you get from the showroom, with improved handling and lower ride height for driving enthusiasts and style-minded drivers who demand only the best. The Spec-R Springs are wound with the same engineering principles and materials as the Sport Springs but with the exception of stiffer rates and a slight change in ride height. From HPDE events to SCCA competition, Swift Spec-R Sport Springs are tailor-made for the track buff looking to take their BMW to the next level.

Swift Springs Spec-R kit is engineered with three characteristics in mind. The first is a modified ride height compared to the Sport Springs in order to maximize optimal suspension geometry. The second is to further increase the spring rate to enhance overall performance, especially when cornering (through entry and exit). This increased rate is based on the upper limits of your vehicle’s factory strut valving. Sport Springs Spec-R are increased to the optimal rate that the stock shocks can handle. Higher performance shocks are not required, but recommended. The third is maintaining optimal comfort levels for street use as these springs maximize suspension performance allowing your M3/M4 to fully absorb road conditions for better traction. All in all, this spring kit was designed for the enthusiast who spends most of their time on the street, but does multiple track events per year.

Features:

Made from Swift’s own proprietary material (H5S.TW)

Improved handling and reduced body roll

Lower center of gravity for better cornering

Track tested and tuned for optimum performance

Comfortable enough for the daily driver

Spring Rate Front: 279 lbs/in.

Spring Rate Rear: 726 lbs/in.

Front Lowering: -1.1 inch

Rear Lowering: -0.9 inch

2. H&R Super Sport Lowering Spring Kit

The H&R philosophy is simple and effective: to build the best suspension products using only the highest-grade materials and back those up with unparalleled service. As an industry leader, H&R has continued to grow and takes pride in having a solid reputation synonymous with consistent, proven suspension success on the road and track.

The H&R Super Sport Lowering Spring Kit for the BMW F80 M3 and F82 M4 is a top suspension choice. H&R springs are all ISO 9001 certified, TUV approved, and are crafted from a special (hf) 54SiCr6 spring steel, which has its strength rated at 290,000 psi resulting in unrivaled tensile strength and resiliency. That means that these lowering springs are much more durable than other automotive coil springs on the market. The H&R Super Sport Springs are also shot-peened which increases their life by more than 200 percent.

Only from H&R, the Super Sport Springs include all of the features associated with the original Sport Springs, plus additional lowering. That makes the Super Sport Spring package ideal for the seasoned enthusiast looking for a little more than the basics. These high-tech progressive springs retain superior ride quality so you and your passengers can enjoy a comfortable ride. You will also notice that the handling of your BMW is improved with a lower center of gravity. H&R Super Sport Springs give your vehicle the best-looking performance stance with the functionality to boot.

Features: 

Provides superior ride quality and maximum lowering

Reduces body roll for improved vehicle handling

Superior ride quality and ultimate comfort levels

Reduces wind resistance and improved fuel economy

Approximate Front Lowering: 1.6 in.

Approximate Rear Lowering: 1.0 in.

3. KW H.A.S. (Height Adjustable) Coilover Springs 

The KW H.A.S. (Height Adjustable) Coilover Springs for the BMW M3/M4 is the easiest way to give your Bimmer a sleek, lowered look without spending all the money needed for a full coilover kit. For a more affordable price, you can get high-quality KW springs and threaded collars that work with your BMW’s OEM dampers to give you a sporty but comfortable ride that will simultaneously improve vehicle handling and offer a more aggressive feel. Apart from enhanced drivability, these springs will eliminate any unsightly wheel gap to give your car a more intimidating stance that not only looks good but functions great all the same. 

The KW Height Adjustable Springs are made for vehicles equipped with electronic dampers straight from the factory. The factory spring perches are removed from the front dampers, and KW’s very own threaded height-adjustable perches are installed. This kit includes progressive rate lowering springs for each of the four corners of your car, height adjustable spring perches for the front and rear, strengthened and shortened bump stops, and KW shock sleeves to protect the OE BMW dampers. The KW H.A.S. kit is also fully EDC compatible! 

In many ways, this package is even better than a full coilover kit because you do not have to sacrifice any functionality in order to lower your BMW. That, combined with KW’s legendary quality and renowned race heritage, gives you the peace of mind you need and deserve when modifying your F80 M3 or F82 M4. After all, KW Suspensions has grown to become the leading suspension tuner for European cars with products that boast impeccable performance and longevity as well as give regular M3/M4 enthusiasts access to Formula 1 technology.

Features: 

Eliminates unsightly fender gap for that added sporty look on the F8X M3/M4

Achieve the look you have wanted with complete height adjustability

Excellent ride quality that you and your passengers will enjoy

Improved handling means added confidence when taking those turns

Individual height adjustability of the original suspension

Does not interfere with factory electronic damper control

Composite Spring Seat and Trapezoidal Shock Threads

Provides industry-leading durability, load capacity, and ease of adjustment

Front Lowering Range: 15-30mm | 0.6-1.2 in

Rear Lowering Range: 5-30mm | 0.2-1.2 in

  4. ST Suspensions Adjustable Lowering Springs

The ST Suspensions Height Adjustable Springs for the BMW M3/M4 is a great alternative to conventional springs. With this kit, you do not have to settle or be satisfied with a fixed lowering rate as you can freely tweak the height with the ST height adjuster even after it has been installed on your car. Not only will your BMW get a more dynamic appearance with this kit, but its steering behavior will improve and the response of the standard dampers becomes more agile. All of the driver assistance systems and comfort features of an adaptive series suspension remain intact with this spring kit developed specifically for your vehicle.

The ST adjustable springs are made from high-quality chrome-silicon steel with vehicle-specific spring rates adjusted to the respective standard suspension dampers and wheel loads. Boasting a high-quality surface finish as well as an ST height adjuster for added convenience, ST spring kits always deliver the utmost performance and include bump stops with dust protection to keep your vehicle’s standard suspension safe from wear and tear caused by road spray and salt.

The ST height adjustable spring kits are ideal for drivers who want to lower their cars and have the advantage of an individual adjustment range. Depending on the application, you can change the lowering rate within the adjustment range using the threaded spring perch when the springs are already installed. You will also not experience any difficulties adjusting the lowering when changing up your wheel-and-tire combination.

Features:

Stiffer-than-OEM spring rate reduces body roll

Delivers improved handling and more aggressive stance

Better steering behavior and improved appearance

Individual height adjustment of standard suspension kit

Coil springs are constructed with a tempering process

Springs are compatible with any brand of shocks

Durable powder-coat resists corrosion and scratches

Adaptive damper control remains active

Vehicle-specific spring rates

5. aFe CONTROL Lowering Springs

Owned by a BMW enthusiast, aFe Power is recognized all around the world as being a leader in quality performance parts for your Bimmer. aFe has taken the knowledge it gained from creating performance intakes and exhausts for the German marque to produce high-quality lowering springs for the F80 M3 and F82 M4 models. The aFe CONTROL Lowering Springs optimize the factory shock absorber damping and offer a one-inch drop for the perfect balance of styling and functionality. Engineered for better performance as well as improved looks, these lowering springs offer a mild drop for optimum handling and drivability all while getting rid of that pesky fender gap.

The CONTROL Lowering Springs by aFe will increase cornering ability and handling to give you the confidence to take those turns without negatively impacting ride quality. The lowered stance will not only transform the look of your ride, but it will also offer improved aerodynamics. The 2-Stage tangerine orange powder-coated finish ensures that these springs will continue to look great even after substance abuse. Street and track testing has proven that the aFe CONTROL lowering springs boast high levels of durability, material quality, and longevity. Designed as a direct fit application, these springs require no modifications to your vehicle upon installation.

Features: 

Engineered to optimize the factory shock absorber damping, including selective ride.

1 inch of drop for the correct relation between looks and proper function

Engineering design and race testing ensures the ultimate in quality and longevity

2-Stage, high-luster, tangerine orange powder-coated finish for good looks and durability

Direct-fit kit for easy installation on the BMW F80 M3/F82 M4

[drabbleitout]

The Last Line: Character Introduction Commissioner Draven

(Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the tag list) @abalonetea​, @for-fuchs-sake​, @idreamonpaper​, @simplelinesunfashiond​, @starlitesymphony​, @wheres-the-eszett​

It was well after dark by the time Rune was able to slip away from Rask’s socializing. It was hard to see her way home, clouds hiding the moon without even a glimpse of a single satellite. She couldn’t get rid of the thought of the white eyes of those Dræcraft officers, the way they had stared into her, as if they knew.

She shuddered.

Crossing the bridge she thought she saw a figure standing at the other end. It was hard to tell who it was, or if there was even anyone there.

Her stomach knotted at the memory of the man who attached Becker.

Would someone attack her too? For being his orderly? Perhaps not. Not since she was a representative of Rome. No one would want to hurt her since Rome was helping Anglia.

Unless it’s one of them. Unless they know.

She swallowed roughly, trying to keep her legs under her as she continued across the bridge. There was little choice as to what she could do. There was no where else for her to go, and turning around would only cement she was guilty. But if it was someone with ill intent, there was no one else around. No one to help her.

Tucking her hands into her pockets she kept to her side, doing her best to seem unbothered. She had her keys. Why had she stayed so long? She had only meant it to be a quick visit. The sun set earlier now and she knew being out in the dark was dangerous. Why hadn’t she interrupted Rask and left sooner?

Her stomach bolted up her throat as a shadow stepped away from the railing and into her path.

“Orderly Vitale?” The gruff voice was like the growl of a dog, danger in a whisper. She wondered if she could survive the temperatures and rush of the water beneath the bridge.

“Sir,” her voice shook.

“Commissioner Rocco Draven,” his introduction was no more pleasant.

“Nice to meet—”

“What has kept you out after curfew, my boy?”

“I, uh, I was visiting the chapel after work. I was on my way home.” His boots were heavy on the bridge, form growing even taller as he approached. The twisting in her stomach became a chill, difficult to hold her knees steady. This was no man. This was a hunter.

“That doesn’t answer my question, Vitale.” Easily a foot taller than her, he stopped just far enough away to lean down eye to eye. But she wouldn’t dare look at him, knowing better than to lock eyes with a predator. “Why are you out after curfew?”

“He’s accompanying me.” Becker.

Her stomach climbed down from her esophagus, swallowing the chill as Draven rose to his full height. He was pale, as sharp and dangerous as lightening. “I didn’t mean to keep him out so late. I blame Bailey, really.” Becker reached her side, sure and steady. “I assure you it won’t happen again, Commissioner.”

“I do hope that it doesn’t, Earl. The Romans need to learn punctuality if they’re going to live among us. The night is only good for thieves and assassins.”

Becker pressed a hand to the small of her back, a nudging guide around Draven.

“I tell Grandmaster Møller the very same.” Another press and she was able to unlock her knees and move. One step became two and it took all of her control not to run. “We appreciate your vigilance, Commissioner.”

Draven gave an unimpressed hum, anything else lost to the rising ring in her ears. Her feet were numb, gaze fixed on what little she could see of the street ahead. She wasn’t sure how far she walked before being tugged into an alley.

“Humor me,” Becker hissed, hand in her sleeve. “At which point did you think being out on your own in the dark was a good idea?” She could only shake her head, barely able to breathe. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I just… I was with Earl Rask.”

“And did you tell Rask?” His voice shook with the strain to keep quiet. “Do you have any idea who that was?”

“No, sir.”

“A Dræcraft officer, one of the Council’s personal ranks. He can do whatever he likes given any reason to be suspicious of you. If any Dræcraft even think you’re dishonest, they will arrest you. Draven makes a living forcing information from Brogaldans. What chance do you think you’d stand?”

Her stomach lurched, hand flying over her mouth. She just barely stopped it, eyes and jaw clenched shut, shaking from head to toe. Becker huffed.

“You must always be careful around them if you can’t avoid them.” His voice was less harsh, “They’re trained in weeding out dishonest persons, foreign and Angle alike. No matter what, you can’t let them catch you alone –and I can guarantee Rask will do nothing to help you. He’s a coward.” A tap to her arm caused her eyes to open, quickly grabbing the offered handkerchief.

“I just wanted to find the chapel.” She tried not to cry.

“For what?”

“To give thanks for getting us out of Bimmer safely.” He gave a stale chuckle.

“You went to the chapel to give thanks for that? You are far more turned around than I thought.” He leaned out from the alley, peering up and down the road before waving them out.

“There was a good chance we wouldn’t have made it out alive. I feel like it’s the least I could do.” She followed, stomach settling at the twinge of irritation. “I gave thanks for meeting you, too.”

“You give thanks to a whittled chunk of wood and not to Møller who selected you, or Fuchs who won the alliance to begin with?” Shaking his head he checked over his shoulder again. “You poor fool.”

“If you aren’t religious that’s your choice, but I know it wasn’t chance that got us out of Bimmer.”

“You’re right. It was hard work.” He stopped, turning to her. “Would your chunk of wood have helped you from the Dræcraft?”

“I’m—”

“What would your most holy have done against Shaders trained in interrogating Brogaldans? Predator men who can see in the darkest nights, five times stronger than the average person, who hardly tire or fail? What would he do to help you escape these fortress walls before they could arrest you?”

Her words failed her, tensing as he stepped closer, finger pressing into her shoulder.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. So don’t disrespect my men by saying it was your make-believe deity when they protected Bimmer.” Straightening his blazer he stepped back, frowning. “Give my men more credit. They trust you, don’t they?”

[sergeant-morozov]

Just venting about a car, nothing much, nothing "serious".

"Don't worry, this'll be fixed today"

*the car was supposed to be ready yesterday, its been on the lift for most of the week just sitting*

Buddy, I haven't slept or eaten well in about a fucking week. I've gotten TWO panic attacks in a single week, I WILL STRESS over my fucking car, okay?? She's the only one who's gonna take me home every week, I only have a limited time to fix her, ALRIGHTY??? And NOBODY KNOWS how to fix a fUCKING BMW AROUND HERE-- I'VE NEVER HAD ANY GERMAN CARS TO FIX, I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THE FUCK I'M SUPPOSED TO DO, MY DUDE???

In conclusion, I just wanna explode. BMWs are somewhat sensitive things and someone almost ripped off a part that would spear my wallet and make my brain do a flip. Then they're confused on why I hate bringing her into the garage..fml..

"idk, let's just try that?"

No, hell no. We go by the fucking book alright?? No touchy on the tuned bimmer, okay???