#candy buffet

[milomortimer]

Happy birthday Marie, you’re probably the purest 18 yr old in existence. 🍭🍬🍡

My sister turned 18 yesterday. She’s the best.

[pumpkidgrove]

"Vintage Buffet"

Halloween 2007

https://www.pumpkidgrove.de

[chromaglitchgaming]

🍭 We’re huge Kirby fans in the. ChromaGlitch household, and we’re both in love with this Dream Land candle we bought from ember works by Ashe! It smells so good! Even Boba Fett likes the smell!

[justobsessedwithvic]

it’s fine…it’s cool…you can say the suspicious candys good and 75% off just cause and ahahaha NOO that’s not mold nonono the expiration date is actually incorrect ahahaha yeah ignore that centipede in it ahahaha but you know the truuuuuth….

[hookahpop]

customers are so fucking stupid every day my sister comes home w stories and every day i am grateful to have left the service industry 😭

[wearemidnightsouls]

Meat Candy Small smoked sausages wrapped in bacon are baked in brown sugar with a dash of cayenne pepper to make savory and sweet appetizer bites.

[hannahology]

Meat Candy Small smoked sausages wrapped in bacon are baked in brown sugar with a dash of cayenne pepper to make savory and sweet appetizer bites.

[goldensunset]

WAUGH AND MY STARTER FINALLY LEVELED UP TO LVL 100

[nearina]

[pumpkidgrove]

"Beste Reste"⁠ "Best leftovers"⁠

Halloween 2018:⁠ Die Krampus Mär⁠ The Krampus fairytale⁠

https://www.pumpkidgrove.de⁠⁠

[noosayog]

[9:47 pm] ft kita shinsuke

wc: 300

i wrote this with kita in mind but tobio, ushijima, akaashi came to mind too!

--

Watching a movie is not Kita Shinsuke’s ideal method of unwinding after a long day.

Sure the occasional documentary can be relaxing, but he finds opening a new book or reorganizing the kitchen cabinets much more effective activities to shut his mind off for the evening. 

Yet, here he is, curled up on the couch, scouring film options for the one you’ve been wanting to watch. He scrolls through the icons while you make a ruckus in the kitchen microwaving popcorn, digging out your stash of candy, and putting together a chip salad - all items Kita doesn’t particularly enjoy either. 

He clicks on the classic rom-com and leans back into the couch, watching as you hurry over, laying the multiple bowls and bags in a jumble on the tea table. Kita’s eyebrows furrow a bit at the mess you leave, crumbs tumbling to the floor in your hasty set up. 

“Sorry for the wait, I’m ready now!” 

He hums and hits play. 

You nestle into his side, content to pick at your junk food buffet as the movie plays. 

Kita watches with mild interest, periodically stifling a yawn. But he holds out, because he knows what’s coming. 

An hour in, your hands still, your snacking coming to a halt. Kita watches as you fold your legs up on the couch, pushing further into his side. When his hands wind around your waist, you don’t take your eyes off the screen as you help him lift you into his lap. Kita smiles.

At the height of the movie, when the main protagonist is turned down by her love interest and she walks away heartbroken, Kita feels you fit your hand into his, twining your fingers and holding back a quiet sob. 

He can’t help the smile that blooms wide on his face or the lurch of his heart when you subconsciously squeeze his hand while watching the main characters make up and confess their love to each other. 

Yeah, he thinks as he tucks your head into the crook of his neck, movies aren’t too bad after all.

[overstuffd]

Taking you out to a - unbeknownst to you - feeder cinema.

'It's amazing!' I tell you. 'They have waiter service right to the seats - and I got us a great deal. We're going to watch a marathon of classic stoner movies and we get dinner and unlimited snacks. Doesn't that sound perfect?'

Without thinking your hand goes to your growing pot belly. You kept saying you need to take it easy on indulging your appetite for greasy food - but your gut rumbles in response.

After a moment's hesitation, you agree that it sounds like fun. I smile, hungrily.

They're stoner comedies, so of course I get you stoned beforehand. Plenty of bong hits before we head out, encouraging you to hit my vape on the -thankfully- short walk to the movie theatre.

When we get there, the staff are so delighted to see you. They explain that you'll be served one course of dinner between each of the four movies and there'll be a midnight feast at the end. In the meantime, help yourself to the snack table.

Snack table hardly does it justice - there's a huge buffet set up with every kind of appetiser you can think of. I encourage you to go through to the theatre and get comfy in your seat while I fix you a plate.

The seats are really two person couches, with soft looking pillows to prop ourselves up on. They're pretty well sized, but with your thicker thighs you realise we'll be pressed close together.

You get settled, and I show up with your pre-dinner snack. If you weren't so stoned you'd say it seemed like a lot. Your plate is stacked with mozzarella sticks, garlic bread and mac and cheese, all of them geneorusly portioned out for you by me.

As it is though your munchies are kicking in hard, so you accept the plate and start eating. Before the film starts one of the attendents comes by and smiles as they place a bucket sized soda cup and extra large popcorn next to our seat, on your side naturally. I already let them know your favourite candies, and they're mixed through the popcorn, the chocolate gently melting in the still warm kernels.

The film starts, and soon you're snorting with laughter like a dumbass at the cheesy jokes and slap stick. Your mouth is dry from the smoking and all the salty food, so you end up chugging your soda hard, but whenever it starts running low one of the attentive staff is there with a replacement.

The same happens with your popcorn, you're only halfway through before your carton is replaced with a fresh batch. It makes it hard to keep track of what you're eating, but between the snack plate and the endlessly refilling bag you're pretty sure you've already had what most people would consider a meal.

It's hard to concentrate on that though, because the first movie is over and it's time for appetisers to be served. You almost don't believe me when I say you haven't even had the first course yet.

Before you put up too much of a fuss though I hand you my vape - no, the staff won't mind I promise - and you relax again, especially when I offer you a pair of gummy edibles to kick in during the movie.

I took the liberty of ordering for you, and you're already faded by the time your heaping pile of nachos arrive, loaded with cheese, guacamole, sour cream, hot salsa, jalapenos and brisket. The spiciness hits your sensitised pallet hard, but there's always more soda to soothe it.

The second movie has started now, and as it plays you polish off your nachos, and most of my order of onion rings once I pass it over.

At some point, your soda cup is replaced with an extra-large cold beer, but you chug that down just as happily, your mind getting floatier with every gulp.

At the end of the second movie the main courses arrive, and you try and tap out. The greasy, double-patty burger is huge, even ignoring the massive side of fries and slaw. The attendents have bought you mug sized tubs of spicy mayo, creamy burger sauce and barbecue to help everything slip down easily, but even so.

You turn to me, your eyes big as the third film starts to roll. I pretend to be sympathetic, but my words are the last thing you want to hear. 'Oh, poor thing! Are you too out of it to eat your dinner even though you're so hungry?'

You try to put together a protest but forming a whole sentence is beyond you at this point, so you flop backwards and let me slowly feed you the burger and sides, holding the dripping handfuls to your mouth until you take a bite and then pushing salty fries in afterwards. When you slow too much I push my vape into your mouth again and the new rush of haziness gives you another burst of energy.

You don't remember anything that happens in the third film, just the growing heat between your legs as your waistband presses harder and harder into your stomach.

The final break - dessert. I get up from our seat, and even if you'd been able to speak you didn't think to ask where I was going, your mind completely preoccupied with the pressure in your belly.

When I come back though, you've realised there's a sundae bar in the lobby that I've visited on your behalf. A huge bowl of softserve, another bucket really, smothered in caramel and chocolate sauce, peanuts, cookie crumb and whipped cream.

Your stoamch audibly groans when you see it, but you're so docile you let me push more than a few spoonfuls between your lips before you start turning your face away, struggling even to move that much.

You're expecting me to grow more forecful, but instead I set the icecream aside and pay attention to your straining gut, undoing your pants (you sigh in relief, they were moments away from bursting) and rubbing slow circles on your belly. My hand dips lower as I make lazy circles and you moan appreciatively, way too far gone to care about embarassing yourself in public.

The film is drawing to a close, the lovable losers have completed their stoner quest, and you're getting close to finishing too. Once you're frantically grinding against my fingers, though, I pull away, and suddenly the icecream bucket is back at your lips.

No spoon now, the softserve has melted into a thick and creamy shake mined with sweetness. I part your lips and tilt the bucket so it pours into your mouth. Youf flabby mind can think of only one defence against choking on it so you swallow, slowly, painfully, your overstretched stomach straining at the additional pressure.

The credits of the movie are rolling and you're almost finished with your shake - and my hand is back between your legs, rougher than before.

I've been training you to come when your stomach is straining, so I up the speed as you take your last mouthful and you finish over my fingers.

I ruffle your hair and wipe a little icecream off your cheek as I coo at what a good job you did for me.

The staff are in no rush for us to leave, which is good because you can't stand right now.

Instead they leave the lights low as I gently rub your eager belly, enjoying the deep rumbles as you start digesting your enormous meal.

When you've recovered a little I'll walk you to the car - and maybe if you're good we can get drive through on the way home.

[janananarei]

Rivals!Satosugu x Reader

≿━━༺❀༻━━≾ ༻✧༺ ≿━━༺❀༻━━≾

contains: fluff, kinda satosugu-centric, love triangle (in the beginning)

a/n: just thought of this out of nowhere. New one shot will come out soon!

≿━━༺❀༻━━≾ ༻✧༺ ≿━━༺❀༻━━≾

Imagine...

Rivals! Satosugu who both have a crush on you. But ever since they found out they both like you, there has been a silent rivalry between them. Having a competition on who wins your heart first.

Rivals! Satosugu who does anything to impress you and one-up the other. Suguru gave you flowers and chocolate? Satoru bought you the newest designer bag and all the sweets you can think of. Satoru reserved you both a seat for the restaurant down the street? Suguru made you a whole buffet, home cooked and handmade. Your just standing there confused from all the attention your getting from them. Your flattered, but still confused.

Rivals! Satosugu who's rivalry continues even through missions. You three assigned to clear up the curses in an abandoned school. Satoru would always take the last hit just as Suguru was about to kill a curse or absorb it. And Suguru would use one of his curses to lead Satoru away from you both, so while Satoru was killing Suguru's curses, you and Suguru got to spend more time together with no interruptions.

Rivals! Satosugu who would spar with each other infront of you, so that they can show off their skills and strength. They would go back to back, not holding back, always making sure to reach their limit whilst your int he bleachers wit shoko cheering for them both. Despite their 'friendly' competition, Satoru would still make sure that Suguru didn't get too hurt after their matches.

Rivals! Satosugu who would ruin each other's supposed dates with you by tagging along. Suguru would just be sitting across both of you, with an annoyed expression, as you both gobble up the cake he had to pay (even though Satoru was the one who insisted they eat at this specific cafe, and is more than rich enough to afford the whole menu). And Satoru, in the sidelines, would just roll his eyes whenever Suguru wins you something from the claw machine.

Rival! Suguru who is used to Satoru butting in his date with you. So he always carries candy in his pocket whenever Satoru gets a headache from keeping up infinity for too long.

Rivals! Satosugu who was just sparring with each other again, as you and shoko converse with each other in the sidelines. Satoru was sure he would win since Suguru was getting tired and starting to struggle. But he was caught off guard as Suguru suddenly appeared behind him and pinned him down.

Rival! Satoru who opens his eyes and is met with dark eyes that look just like the night sky. Suguru's face was just inches away from his, so much so that he can feel his breath. Satoru felt his face burning up and his mind becoming a scatter. Suguru just looks at him confused, about to ask if he was okay but was caught of by shoko.

"Hey! You boys okay? You better not be bleeding, cuz I'm not gonna heal you!"

Rival! Suguru who answers back and stands up, dusting away the dirt. Satoru still lays on the ground all beet red and still in shock. "You good man?" Suguru asked, holding out his hand for Satoru to take. Satoru finally gets out of his daze and takes his hand to stand up. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I'm just tired from the mission yesterday. I'm gonna go back to my room." Satoru scratches the back of his head and bolts his way out of there. Suguru just looks confused, as you and shoko start to approach him.

Rival! Satoru who buried his face in his pillow as he couldn't stop thinking about his face being so close to Suguru's. His face once again beet red as he recalls what just happened. Satoru is trying to collect his thoughts until his eyes widen and he stops breathing for a second. Having a striking realization.

He likes you and Suguru

'Well shit.'

[housecow]

i have a lot of cute ideas

my feeder travels a lot—he’s lucky enough to have a job that can take him all over the world. his cow, however, cannot really follow.

i outgrew a regular plane seat sometime after 300lbs. we discovered that after a particularly fruitful trip to spain; although eating our way through each city racked up a lot of steps, the funnel sessions and late night snacking really did me in. neither of us were really surprised that my hips just didn’t quite fit. rather, i could tell it was all he could think about the entire way back. his hand on my soft thigh, slightly clenched and almost possessive… the way his eyes flickered to mine and there was this look.

our trips together became rarer but neither of us minded. as i’d grown, a lot of what we used to do together faded. i couldn’t keep up on the hikes, biking was out of the question, and even the long walks we enjoyed wound up split by breaks so i could catch my breath.

throughout it all, however, my feeder just grew more enthusiastic. he’d tell me he was so proud after we made it back to the hotel each night. his hands would massage my softened shoulders, he’d hold the shake to my lips, and he’d coo into my ear, “it’s okay, i won’t make you do this again,” “there’s a buffet tomorrow morning,” or, “you can really feel how fat we’ve made you now, right?”

i’d melt with whatever he said and he’d fill me up, every way i needed. funnels and shakes, expansive platters of pastries… him inside me, i’m so full and he’s telling me how good i’m doing for him, my belly touching the bed while he’s breeding me…

neither of us minded when we had to do things separately. he’d be off on a trip, sending me photos of the views and the food (“wish i could be feeding you these!”), and i’d return the gesture. belly pics, selfies of my fatass planted on the couch working on the last bit of the gallon of ice cream that was supposed to last the week, meal ideas and articles and excitement about all he’s getting to experience.

the best part, however, is when he’d get back. over the longer trips i’d have settled in a bit too much. nothing was overly dirty, of course, but the fridge was overstocked with takeout. i’d finished almost everything and move on to whatever was next, absentmindedly leaving behind remnants of everything i’d made my way through. the trash would be full of boxes and candy wrappers, vegetable skins and soda cans, too. and he'd be able to see what it all did to me.

i was bigger every time he came back. it wasn’t too obvious, maybe just a pound or two, but it was enough to excite him. he’d admire the way i had to focus and gather momentum to heave myself out of the car, how my belly hang hit my thighs just enough to make a sound when i tried to move quickly, and how he could always count on me to gorge myself while i missed him.

he never made a comment though. but every time before he left the pantry would be replenished—zebra cakes, brownies, chips, pasta, sauce, boxed mac n cheese, everything he could think of would be left there for me.

he once said, “i won’t let a moment pass where you can’t reach for something to eat,” and it was true. a candy bowl mysteriously appeared on the coffee table one day, each time i reached the bottom it’d be refilled. the mini fridge side table was “cute and functional,” he reasoned, as he showed me where the sodas and premade shakes were going. i’d thank him, a soft kiss and several grateful expressions, before admitting that i was relieved at having one less trip to the kitchen now when i was settled in.

and he’d just smile. enabling a cow like me is easy, he just has to set the food out. i know what to do.

[katesimblr]

Summer Wedding

The wedding venue is located on a 30x40 lot, next to a decorative church. The location was built in the middle of the green between old ruins. There is a small room for the getting ready of the bride, a place for guestbook entries and two nice places for the selfies and souvenir photos of the guests, a decorative buffet as well as two functional buffet tables, a bar, a candy table, an invisible dance floor, some round banquet tables, a romantic stage with a piano and of course the heart of every wedding, the place of the actual ceremony.

Thanks to all creators who made this lot possible with their CC, like @aggressivekitty, @animefemme69, @chicklet, @tububsubub, @k-hippie, @lady-moriel and @msteaqueen many many more.

Download CC

Download tray files

[steddieasitgoes]

Detours & Second Chances

written for @steddie-week Day 5 prompt: Reunion / Getting Back Together Rating: T | wc: 3545 | no cw Another big thank you to @sidekickjoey and @thefreakandthehair for giving this a beta read for me! Read on ao3

Steve had high hopes for this road trip. 

Just him, the twins, and the wide open roads with the promise of the beach and Disneyland on the horizon. He knew better than to plan it down to the second, especially when traveling with Mabel and Ollie, but he did hope to keep to some kind of schedule. A few nights here, a couple of nights there, a handful of free time hours carved into nearly every day so the kids could pick which tacky roadside attraction they could visit and then gloat to Aunt Robin about seeing. 

What Steve hadn’t planned for was the Winnebago going up in smoke four and a half hours from Disneyland on I-15. 

The good news is that it happened just as they entered Las Vegas, Nevada, and not thirty minutes later in the middle of the Nevada-California desert. The bad news is that it happened just as they entered Las Vegas, Nevada on a Sunday afternoon when everyone was trying to leave. 

Steve expects the drivers around him to curse and flip him off. At the very least, he imagines them shaking their heads in disapproval as they slowly inch past the smoking Winnebago broken down in the middle of the three-lane highway. And there is some of that, honking horns and judgmental gazes, enough that he has to explain to Mabel and Ollie that showing someone your middle finger is not nice and no you shouldn’t do it to each other. But there’s also a handful of Sunday travelers who take pity on him. 

Two truck drivers manage to get their rigs off onto the shoulder and then mosey their way over to see if they can help Steve identify why the RV is smoking. A woman in a mini-van full of preteens in sports jerseys offers him an entire ice chest full of snacks for Mabel and Ollie. Some good Samaritan even makes the half-mile hike to the nearest pay phone to call for a tow truck so Steve doesn’t have to leave the kids or make the track himself with them following behind him. 

Forty-five minutes later, they all climb into a yellow taxi while Winnie the Winnebago gets towed away. For a moment, he thinks he’s ruined the entire vacation, but listening to Mabel and Ollie talk about how cool it was to watch the “toe man” do his job eases the guilt. 

Unfortunately, the repair shop is nowhere near as exciting as standing in the middle of I-15 — at least, that’s what Ollie tells Steve five minutes after they’ve walked into the garage. Steve tries his best to keep everyone’s spirits up in between filing out paperwork and bargaining with the mechanic over the price of the repairs. He lets the kid raid the vending machine and spread it all out on the worn plastic chairs in the makeshift lobby like some kind of five-star buffet. It’s mainly cookies and chips, a few candy bars, and a granola bar Mabel even generously spent $1.10 on for him. 

It’s not the worst meal they’ve had on the trip — that honor goes to the gas station in Kearney, Nebraska, and the hot dogs he knew were a bad idea — but it’s definitely the least nutritious. And, in hindsight, it’s not the best idea now that Mabel and Ollie are hyped up on sugar in a small space with no central air conditioning. He gets it. He’s almost at his wit’s end, too, and he has several decades of patience over them. 

He’s hot and tired and so frustrated, he’d break down and cry if he could, but he doesn’t want to upset the kids or ruin the day more than it’s already been ruined. Instead, he puts on his brave Dad Face™, leaves his pager number with the mechanic’s receptionist, and takes the kids to explore Las Vegas. 

The city wasn’t on their list. It’s not kid-friendly, and the July heat is anything but welcoming, but thankfully, they luck out and stumble across a hybrid game and music store a few blocks away from the repair shop.

The bell above their door announces their entrance to the quiet storefront as the sweet, sweet relief of the AC hits them. Steve closes his eyes, soaking in the cool air for a moment before Mabel and Ollie are tugging on his hands, trying to drag him in different directions. 

Steve knows he should put an end to their bickering that borders on full-on sibling bullying, especially judging by the way they’ve dropped his hand in favor of pinching each other’s arms, but he gets distracted when a figure emerges from the back of the shop. 

The footsteps are uneven, which makes sense when an ornate cane enters Steve’s line of sight. He studies it, taking in the impressive woodwork and paint job — Max’s own can is pretty spectacular, but this one is a close second. Soon, his eyes drift from the cane to the hand holding it, a ring on each finger. Silver and gaudy and eerily similar to—

“Holy shit,” the voice says. “Are my eyes giving out on me too, or is Steve Harrington really standing in my shop right now?” 

Steve’s eyes shoot up to meet the man’s face — to meet Eddie’s face. It’s been years, shit, almost a decade he thinks, but Eddie looks the same. Older, sure. A few wrinkles around his eyes and a softer belly. But he’s still him. Unruly curls barely contained in a bun at the base of his neck, mischievous eyes, and a smile that makes Steve’s stomach flip in a way it hasn’t done in too long. Yup, definitely him.

“Eddie?”

Eddie laughs, throwing his head back with the same carelessness as he had at twenty years old. Only this time, when he rights himself, he has to reach a hand up to his neck to massage the ache. “Man, this is some cosmic, universe shit!” 

“At least it’s the good kind this time,” Steve jokes. 

Eddie goes for a full-on hug, Steve an awkward side one, and as a result, they end up with their bodies smushed against each other, arms pinned between each other in the world’s worst hug of all time. But it’s also the greatest, as far as Steve’s concerned. 

When they separate, Eddie gives Steve a quick once-over before shaking his head again. “So, what brings you all the way to Sin City?” 

“A family road trip.” 

“Ah, so the six nuggets and a Winnebago dream came true, then?” Eddie muses. 

“More like two nuggets, a piece of shit rental that’s in a repair shop after crapping out on me on I-15, and a co-pilot that doubles as my son’s emotional support stuffed animal,” Steve says, then smiles. “But I can’t complain.” 

“Wheeler never jumped on the Harrington Express?” 

Steve’s interrupted by Ollie running at him with a vinyl record thrust above his head. Mabel appears a moment later, holding a giant box in her arms that’s clearly too heavy for her. She passes it to Steve, who hands it over to Eddie, who has taken refuge behind the glass counter. As soon as the kids appear, they’re gone again. Steve shouts after them to stay together and not to touch anything. It goes in one ear and out the other if the loud crash that follows a moment later is anything to go off of. Steve winces and looks at Eddie apologetically. 

“I promise I’ll pay for whatever they break. They’re a little stir-crazy from being stuck at the repair shop all day.” 

Eddie doesn’t look worried about it in the slightest. In fact, Steve’s willing to bet he didn’t even hear the crash, judging by the fond look on his face. It’s a soft smile, almost bittersweet if he had to put a name to it. It looks out of place on his face — almost too earnest, which makes no sense because Eddie is the most earnest guy Steve’s ever known. 

“Eddie?” 

“Huh, what?” Eddie blinks himself back to the present. When he shakes his head, the elastic holding his hair back snaps, sending his curls cascading down to his shoulders. It’s easy now to see the hints of gray peppered into the locks that used to keep Steve up at night — occasionally still keeps him up. 

Steve gestures toward the row where Mabel and Ollie are frantically trying to restack things on the shelves. This time, Eddie snorts and meets Steve's gaze with that familiar crooked smile. 

“Don’t worry about them. S’just boxes and shit.” 

Steve nods and then grabs a pen out of the cup on the glass counter. He twirls it between his fingers, something about the rhythmic motion calming the silly nerves running wild in his body right now. 

It’s just Eddie. 

“Nance would kill you for even thinking she’s a part of this circus,” Steve says, then panics. “To answer your question from before. No misses at all actually. Or misters either,” Steve says before he chickens out. 

Eddie left before he realized that little fun fact about himself. It was ironic (and tragic), considering he’s the reason Steve even realized it to begin with. Chalk it up to cosmic, universe shit — the bad kind that time. 

“Cause that could be an option to, you know. Obviously you know, but it’s an option for me too in case you didn’t know and—“

“Woah, breathe, Steve.” 

Steve takes a slow, deep inhale. His exhale is strong enough to send a few of Eddie’s stray curls fluttering before settling back amongst the rest. “Sorry.” 

“Stop apologizing!” Eddie throws his hand across the counter, squeezing Steve’s wrist, 

It’s silly, but something about the simple touch relaxes the nervous energy that’s taken over him ever since Eddie emerged from the back. A part of Steve wants to blame the relief on the touch, but he knows better. Knows it has everything to do with finally telling Eddie about this part of him he helped him discover. 

Steve’s been out to just about everyone he cares about, and now he’s certain he’s told them all. 

“So no misses or misters,” Eddie says, before hiding his growing smile behind a curl. “What about Buckley? Is she on the great American family road trip with you?” 

“Robin refuses to get into Winnebagos after, well, you know.” 

“Can’t say I blame her for that one.” 

“It’s just me and the kids. Mabel and Ollie. They’re my kids…I mean, well, obviously, they’re mine, and anyone who says they’re not are fucking idiots, but they’re not blood mine or whatever people say.” Christ, he’s rambling again. “I adopted them. Actually, I was supposed to be their temporary foster parent. I was in my second year as a social worker, and they were two and six months old when they came in the middle of a Saturday night and we had no one on standby. They came home with me, and then they just never left.” 

Somewhere in his rambling, Eddie made himself comfortable, pillowing his chin on his hands, elbows sinking into the giant mouse pad that’s stretched out on top of the glass counter. He’s dropped the curl, his bright smile on full display, dimple, and everything when he looks at Steve now. 

“I love a good foster fail story,” he cooed. “I have a few myself. Fosters that turned into full-on adoptions. I mean not human kids, cats. And a few dogs. Even a bird. But they’re my kids, you know. I mean, not that what you did is the same thing as me or anything, but I… I’m just going to stop talking now.”

This time, it’s Steve's hand that breaks the barrier between them, reaching out to pat Eddie on the shoulder. A reassuring thing that he hopes conveys that he’s not offended. Just in case, he spells it out for him verbally too. 

“I get it. Kids mean a lot of things to different people. If you say they’re your kids, they’re your kids,” he says, smiling. “Robin has a plant, Ferguson. When she first got it she carried it around in Ollie’s baby bjorn because she needed to ‘bond’ with it.” 

Eddie laughs, this time hard enough that the case between them vibrates. “Lesbians, and their plants, man.” 

“She rescued it from her ex, who was drowning it.” 

“We’re just all patron saints of lost things, aren’t we?” 

“Guess so.” Steve smiles, then adjusts his own stance so he’s leaning against the counter. Something pops in his back, and for once, he doesn’t make an excuse. Eddie knows all about their aches and pains — the way their bodies are thirty years older than they should be, thanks to their teenage years. He runs a steady hand through his hair, hoping beyond hope that it’s not as greasy as it feels and then turns his attention to Eddie. “What about you? Game and record store sounds like a pretty sweet deal.” 

Eddie blows out air in a whoosh and reaches for another curl. “I mean, yeah, it’s pretty cool. Closest I could get to being a rockstar, I guess.” 

“Do you still play?” 

“Occasionally. There’s a dive bar a few streets over that I perform sometimes. No band, though. At least, not yet. I’m giving myself a few more years; let the gray really come in,” Eddie says, fluffing his curls. “And then I’ll join one of those mid-life crisis dad bands.” 

“Solid plan.” He fiddles with the pen again, contemplating if he should ask what he wants, too. Screw it. Who knows when he’s going to see Eddie again — if it’ll ever happen again. It’s best not to leave anything on the table. “What about a partner?” 

“Me?” Eddie asks, pointing to himself before laughing. “Nope. No partner. No lovers either, really. It’s just me and the petting zoo. And Wayne, when the old man makes the trip out to visit me.” 

Eddie being alone all these years shouldn’t make Steve happy. He should want him to be settled by now, grossly in love with someone who makes him feel special like he deserves. But Steve’s heart is a traitor, and his brain is no better, already imagining ten different ways he could change that. 

Had he known Eddie’s been in Vegas alone all this time, he would have visited a lot sooner. Hell, he would have made this their final destination — he’s sure he could find something family-friendly here for Mabel and Ollie. There’s a lake around here or some shit, right? They could have—

“Shit,” Steve says, reaching for his beeping pager. The repair shop number appears on the small screen. “Could I borrow your phone? This is the repair shop.” 

“I suppose I could make an exception on my no-customers rule,” Eddie teases. “Phones in my office, straight back there.” 

Steve nods and rounds the counter towards the backroom but stops short. The kids. He almost forgot about the kids. “Do you mind keeping an eye on them?” Steve asks, tilting his head to Mabel and Ollie who have finally picked up the mess they created. 

“Of course! Don’t worry about them. I’m great with kids.” 

“I remember.” 

___

Eddie’s office isn’t unlike his teenage bedroom Steve spent many nights in. It has his typical brand of messiness but with an added layer of professionalism. Like, there’s an honest-to-God filing cabinet in the corner, but next to it is a three-foot-tall Yoda statue.  Papers lay haphazardly on the desk beside a calculator. 

There are posters all over the walls — some Steve recognizes, some he doesn’t — and endless photographs in mismatched frames. At least three wallet-sized frames with pictures of his pets — kids — sit on the desk. There’s one of Wayne and Eddie on his graduation day on the bookshelfnbeside photos of him with Dustin and some of the other kids over the years. 

He even spots himself amongst the familiar faces — a polaroid they took one summer in Hawkins. It feels like a lifetime ago, but a part of Steve remembers what it was like to have Eddie’s arm slung around him like that with the sun beating down their faces, causing them to squint in the photo because Jonathan refused to shoot directly into the sunlight. 

Steve gives himself another second to soak in Eddie’s office, searching for any other details he can find to fill in the years he’s missed — a pride flag draped over a chair, his business license framed on the wall, packs of half-used nicotine gum instead of cartons of cigarettes. Finally, he makes it to the phone and punches in the number of the repair shop. 

___

When Steve resurfaced twenty minutes later, the neon “open” sign that flickered in the window had been shut off. Eddie’s abandoned his post behind the counter, taking up space at a table in the game section of the store. Mabel and Ollie are sitting on either side of him, listening intently with wide eyes as he moves two figures across a board toward a hoard of waiting miniature figures. 

“I leave you for twenty minutes, and you’re already corrupting them with your nerd games?” Steve teases, ruffling both Mabel and Ollie’s hair in the process. 

Eddie scoffs. “You expect me to believe Dustin hasn’t put them through D&D boot camp yet? Please.” 

“Your stories are nothing like Dustin’s,” Ollie says, voice full of awe. 

“Yeah, he always wants to skip the fun adventure stuff and get straight to the battles,” Mabel chimes in. “That's why we like it when Daddy gets to be in charge.” 

Eddie’s head swivels so fast that the irrational part of Steve’s brain fears it’s going to fly right off. “You DM for them?” 

 “I wouldn’t call it Dungeon Master-ing,” Steve says, grabbing the back of his neck. The room feels ten times hotter all of a sudden. The AC must have shut off, he reasons. There’s no other explanation for his sudden flush. Not at all. “I really just make sh— stuff up.” 

“He’s the best make-believer! You should play with us sometime. Like tonight!” 

“Mabel, Eddie’s busy running this store; he can’t just stop to play with you. And besides, we have to get going soon.” 

“They fixed Winnie?” Ollie asks, jumping up from his seat. 

Steve sighs. “Not yet. That’s why we have to leave. I need to find somewhere for us to sleep tonight that’s—

“—I have a guest room.”

Steve blinks. Is Eddie offering his place to them? His hearing may be spotty lately, but he’s never imagined entire phrases before. Which means—

“I mean if you want,” Eddie says sheepishly this time. “I have a hoard of kittens running around right now, so if you’re allergic, it might not be the best place but—“

“Kittens!” Mabel squeals before rapidly asking Eddie a hundred questions about them, but he doesn’t stand a chance of answering. 

“Can’t we stay at his house, Daddy?” 

“I really do have a spare bedroom and bathroom. Plus, a couch and a semi-stocked fridge. And I wouldn’t charge you. The hotels around here are going to sense your need and charge you an arm and a leg, trust me.”

Steve would be stupid to turn it down. A free stay in an actual house. A meal he can cook with his own two hands that don’t involve a shitty stove that gives out after a few minutes. Not to mention, a shower with actual hot water. 

Plus, it comes with the added bonus of a few more hours with Eddie. Yeah, there’s not a chance in hell he’s turning that down. Not again. 

“Alright, yeah. Let’s do it.” Mabel and Ollie shout in excitement, spinning around the table. Eddie might not have the same energy level as them to join them, but his smile says it all. 

“It’ll be just like old times.” 

“Wait! You guys know each other?”

Steve laughs first, but soon Eddie’s cackle joins him and it really does feel like old times again. “Of course, I know him. What? You think I would let us stay in a stranger’s house? Don’t you know me at all?” 

___

Three days later, Steve finds himself behind the wheel of Winnie the Winnebago as she makes her grand return to I-15. When he glances over his shoulder as the traffic crawls for miles in front of him, he spots Mabel and Ollie throwing Fruit Loops at each other to see who can catch the most in their mouth. And when he looks to his right, Eddie’s there — feet up on the dash, hands protectively clutching Ollie’s teddy bear as if he’s hoping it offers him the same comfort it does for the six-year-old — handsome as ever.

“Didn’t think I’d ever be back in one of these,” he says fondly. “Especially not with you behind the wheel.” 

“Really?” Steve lets the corners of his lips twitch upward. Doesn’t try to fight the blush he knows is creeping across his cheeks. “‘Cause this is all I’ve thought about for years.”