#idk where this thing came from

[erstersauce]

hEY I JUST MET YOU 🫵🫵🫵

AND THIS IS CRAAZYYYYYYY 😲🫣🤯🤯

BUT HERE’s MY UNDYING LOVE FOR YUO 💗💖💞💓

SO CALL ME DAVEY 🌈🌈🌈🌈

[jewishrat420]

No one has ever flirted with Steve the way Eddie flirts with Steve.

And it's not like no one flirts with Steve. God, no, it's not like no one flirts with Steve. Steve can't walk into the grocery store without at least three sets of heads turning and focusing all their attention on him.

And he's not even trying to be cocky about it. That's just the reality he was gifted when he came out of his mother's womb looking like the world's freshest Adonis. Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if they changed the colloquialism to "Steve."

Regardless. For as many people like to flirt with him, make themselves known, filtering in and out of his orbit like willing planets, no one knows quite how to get him going like Eddie. Maybe it's that they're not as confident as he is, maybe they're scared of the rejection Eddie was born facing and will die knowing.

Maybe they're scared of ruining their chances. Maybe Eddie isn't.

For whatever reason, Eddie doesn't seem like he's scared. Even though there was a long time before he knew Steve was bi, was just as into the flirting as Eddie was, even though there was a chance (not like it'd ever happen, but the unknown was there) that Steve could have beaten him up just for calling him "sweetheart," he did it anyway. He got right up into Steve's space, close enough that Steve could get high off the remnants of the joint he'd smoked earlier, and gave him a look that offered everything.

And, God, Steve wanted it. He wanted it all.

And so that began months of what Steve has so aptly referred to as torture. Apt, because he knows what it's like. He has the scars and the fear of ice cream and needles to prove it.

But this... this is a different kind of torture. Mental, emotional, spiritual, whatever you call it-- this is meant to tear him apart from the inside out, meant to make him want to rip his own bones out from his body and offer them to Eddie if it meant the other man making a fucking move.

And Steve would, is the thing. He would absolutely make the first move-- it's what he usually does, anyway, and he's got a pretty damn good success rate for it.

But, for whatever reason, this feels different. This back and forth they have, the constant teasing, the sliding in and out of each other's orbits, unable and unwilling to refute the most fundamental laws of gravity... it's something special, at least to Steve. Something sacred.

Which is why, when Eddie calls Steve "Harrington" for the first time in months, his first response is to pout.

They're about halfway through splitting a joint, the sweet smoke curling around wisps of hair and parted lips and filtering in and out of the holes in their sweaters. The air outside is getting colder, thinner, sharper, as the winter months dreg on. But inside the trailer, it's comfortable and warm. Safe.

Steve's being a bit of a hog, and he's man enough to admit that. But he had a shitty day at work and all he wants is to feel nothing other than the weightless relaxation of a good high buzzing through his bones. Sue him for taking a little more than his fair share of the good stuff, even if it is Eddie's.

"Steve," Eddie whines, reaching his hand out and curling his fingers in request. "Give it over."

"No," Steve responds, just on the edge of whiny. He brings the joint to his lips and takes a long, slow, deep drag, feeling the sweet heat of the smoke burning in his lungs, taking up the space where oxygen should be. He goes a little dizzy with it, feels his eyes lower. "Mine."

Steve can't see it, but he knows Eddie's rolling his eyes. Can sense the shift in the air, can sense every little fucking thing about Eddie at any given moment.

"C'mon, Harrington, you're being a brat."

And, normally, Steve would find another aspect of that sentence to freak out about. Would zero in on the word brat and relish in the flare of heat it sends shooting up his spine like firework sparks. Would squint his eyes at Eddie and tilt his head in the way he knows makes him look good, would give him his cutest little smirk and say, "Who, me?" and would preen in the response it gets.

This time, though, he's much too focused on the other name Eddie used for him. The one he hasn't heard come out of Eddie's mouth since before he realized that Steve was, as he put it, "actually a good dude."

He doesn't realize he's pouting until the sudden silence in the room starts to creep in, make a home in the buzzing in his ears. He didn't realize that he didn't say anything, and neither did Eddie, and now they're sitting in a mess of their own making. Of Eddie's own making, really.

His next words come out without effort, without intent.

"Don't call me that."

He chances a look over at Eddie, at the risk of appearing as vulnerable as he feels, and to his distress, he can't get a read on the man. His dark eyebrows furrow, brown eyes squinting slightly, and his lips part like he wants to speak. He licks them. Steve's eyes follow the motion unintentionally.

"Call you what?" Eddie says on an exhale. "A brat?"

Steve shakes his head. "Harrington. Don't like it when you call me that."

Eddie kind of softens, then, and Steve didn't realize he had stiffened until he isn't anymore. He sort of sinks into the couch, spreads his legs imperceptibly wider, and Steve wouldn't have noticed if it wasn't for the way his left knee brushes against Steve's just barely. Just enough for those heated sparks to send a couple pinpricks across his skin.

"No?" he says, looking over to meet Steve's gaze. His cheeks are flushed, whether from the weed or the heat of the room or the heat between them, and Steve's sure that his look the same. "What do you want me to call you, then?"

Steve's definitely blushing now. He looks away from Eddie, tucks his chin to his chest, lets the joint between his fingers burn away. Eddie takes it from him, gently, and brings it to his lips. Steve hears the paper crackling as he inhales.

His voice is quiet, almost meek, when he speaks. It's completely unlike Steve, completely unlike the persona he used to so proudly take on-- but then again, Eddie is completely unlike anyone that Steve has ever met. He's more real, more human, and in turn, Steve is too.

"...You know."

Eddie makes a little noise, then, something in the back of his throat that was born and died within the very same second it was released. Something soft, almost pained, like his body couldn't help the reaction it had to that sentence.

Steve watches the thin, long line of Eddie's arm reach forward and press the joint into the glass of the ashtray. He follows the motion until Eddie's hand settles into the rips over his knee, fingers intertwining with the thread. His pinkie is dangerously close to Steve's own sweatpant-covered skin, and he feels the contact as if Eddie were touching him.

Eddie's hand twitches like it wants to move, and Steve resists the urge to grab it, hold it within the warmth of his own palms.

"Do I?" Eddie says, his voice quieter than it was a moment ago. That thick silence fills the trailer once more, settling in between the soft buzzing of the lightbulb in the kitchen and the muffled humming of the crickets outside. Steve hears Eddie take a stuttering breath. "Tell me."

Steve sighs, feeling his chest burn as his heartbeat picks up. His throat pounds with the pulsing of it. He places his own hand on his right knee, pinkie finger edging closer and closer to the space where Eddie's meets his. Eddie's hand twitches again.

"Like it when you call me sweet things," he says on an exhale, as though getting it out all in one breath would make it easier. "Like how it makes me feel."

Eddie lets out another one of those noises, then, something more like a cut-off groan. His hand curls into the fabric of his jeans for no more than a second before he releases it, and Steve gets to watch as the blood blanches and then returns to his knuckles.

"Sweet things, huh?" he muses, voice only slightly strained. If Steve didn't know any better, he'd say Eddie is nervous. "Like... Stevie?"

Steve hums. "Yeah. I like that."

Eddie's pinkie moves closer. Barely. Imperceptibly, if not for the way Steve is tuned into his every movement, like a dog to the sound of their owner's keys.

"Yeah?"

Steve hums again.

"What about... sweetheart?"

Steve closes his eyes. Lets out a shaky breath, inhales a smoother one.

"Yeah."

Steve feels something brush against his pinkie. Something warm.

"Honey?"

Steve nods, biting his lip. "Mhm."

Eddie lets out a quiet little laugh. "Even big boy?"

Steve returns it helplessly, feels the edges of a smile pulling at his lips. The air feels cold on his teeth, as though he's burning up from the inside out and anything outside of his own body is a cooling salve.

"Especially big boy."

Eddie laughs a little louder, and the jostling of his body brings his pinkie even closer to Steve's. Completely pressed against his own, now.

Steve swears he can feel his heartbeat through it. Or maybe it's his own.

"What about..." Eddie takes a breath. "Love?"

Steve's own breath hitches. He opens his eyes, looks at where their skin is touching in more than one place. He feels it, feels every point of contact where the cells that make Eddie are existing with the cells that make Steve. Wonders, maybe, if they stay here long enough, if they'll merge and mold over time. Become one.

"Yeah," Steve breathes. "I like that one a lot."

Eddie hums, and the room falls back into silence for a moment. Steve's skin burns where their fingers are touching. He moves his hand to the right, just barely, just enough to let Eddie know that he feels it. Just enough to ask Eddie if he does, too.

His response is overwhelming.

Eddie moves his hand to the left, solidifies all the points of contact between them, and Steve feels like he's exploding. Feels like a bubbling pit of lava that's set to burst, to overflow, like it can't hold back anymore. Like it's tried for so long that it's hurting, now, pressurized and boiling and hot, way too fucking hot.

And then, Eddie crosses his pinkie over Steve's, and Steve thinks he's dying.

He takes in a sharp breath like it's the last one he'll ever get, and he doesn't even have it in him to be embarrassed about it. He knows Eddie is right there with him, knows he's not the only one feeling this irrefutable pull like gravity between them. Knows, hopes, it's only a matter of time before they collide.

Eddie hums again. He taps his pinkie once over the smallest of Steve's knuckles, almost like he's making a decision. He takes a long, slow breath before he speaks.

"You know which one's my favorite?"

Steve's throat clicks. "Which?"

"Look at me."

Steve turns his head to the right for no more than a second before Eddie's lips are on his.

It's hungry, it's indulgent, it's immediately addictive. It feels like breathing.

Eddie presses his whole body against Steve's, and he can feel the way his tendons flex where his hand is covering the back of Steve's. Where their pinkies meet, their fingers intertwine and cross over one another like the roots of a tree, their bodies the whole mycorrhizal network.

The next word is spoken against Steve's lips, and Steve can feel the way his mouth forms around it. Decides, from this moment on, that he never wants to hear it another way.

"Baby."

Steve's exhale is more of a moan, a dying sound that, like Eddie's before, lived for only a moment in his throat before pushing through the wall of his lips. Eddie takes it, holds it in his own mouth, swallows it down hungrily and slides his tongue against Steve's as though asking for more.

"That's--" Steve pants, getting his hands on Eddie's hips and pulling until he's seated in his lap. "Mine too."

"Yeah?" Eddie asks, his lips still pressed against Steve's. Their words are muffled against each other, but they don't need to hear them to understand. They only need to feel the outline of them, the shape of the consonants and vowels against and around each other's tongues. They only need to press their bodies together and know, intimately, the meaning in each other's hearts.

"Yeah. Want you to call me that forever."

This time, Steve feels Eddie's laughter against his lips. His chest. Feels it bubble up in the space between his ribs, feels it flow into his mouth like a river, swallows it down like the first glass of water after a run. Feels his own creep up behind his teeth in return, gives it back to Eddie like an offering, who takes it greedily. Hungrily. Gratefully.

"Think that can be arranged, baby."

[sneez]

family portrait :D young sam and sybil are behaving themselves and vimes is throwing a hissy fit because they tried to make him wear the helmet

[id: a digital painting of three people sitting for a portrait in a domestic interior. young sam is standing with his hands behind his back and beaming proudly. vimes is standing behind him with his hand on his shoulder, wearing a shiny military uniform and a surly expression. sybil is sitting on the right with an arm around young sam, smiling at the viewer. a plumed helmet is sitting on a table on the left. end id.]

[ikarakie]

tw / roofies

after corroded coffin goes big, sometime in the mid 90s, they go on tour. mostly in smaller venues and little dive bars, but eddie fucking loves it. drags robin and steve along with him as his 'managers' (see: freeloaders) mainly because he wanted his boyfriend with him and knew he couldn't keep birdie away from him for that prolonged period of time. it would be cruel.

mid-way through the tour, they perform in a bar. eddie likes to mill around after, chat to fans, get a drink, sign things, peacock a little. this time is no different. until robin comes up to him, noticeably alone. he asks where steve is at the same time she does. not fucking good.

they both scour the bar, and eddie's about two seconds away from ripping his hair out when robin grabs his arm and points to a booth in the corner. it's filled with girls, all in battle vests and dark eye makeup, and nestled between two of them on one side is steve. he's slumped over, head rested on the table, pillowed by one of the girl's hoodies. there's an empty glass beside another half empty one, both seemingly water. he rushes over.

they're a bit surprised to see him. when he asks after steve, they regard him with fucking suspicion. he has to show them the polaroid he carries around with him to make them soften. they explain they'd spotted him looking a bit dazed, and called him over. he'd told them he thought someone, somewhere, had slipped something in his drink and he couldn't find his friend, and so they'd squished him between them to keep him safe. eddie feels his heart burst, especially seeing the little corroded coffin pins on all their jackets and bags.

he gently shakes steve awake, presses a kiss to his temple and hands him off to robin, who carefully escorts him to the back exit where their van is parked. thanks the girls, profusely. they try to wave him off but he refuses to leave until he has all their names, has signed at least one thing for each of them and taken a photo with them on their camera.

years and years and years down the line, he still mentions them in interviews. by name. gushes about how they're the original corroded coffin fans, how dearly he loves them, and how if anyone is allowed to gatekeep in his fandom, it's them. every time he sees them at barrier for a concert he fucking lights up and calls them out. they're hailed by fans as minor celebrities, even. only they, steve (who calls them each every holiday and has actually become fucking friends with them) and robin know why they're so close.

[momotonescreaming]

Modern au where Steve is a part time aquarium mermaid.

He's studying to be a marine biologist or something, living in a big city, loves swimming, loves the ocean, and leapt at the chance to work at his local aquarium. Even if most of his job is swimming around in a long, dark blue, mermaid tail. Merman tail? And honestly? He kind of loves it. He gets to swim amongst the tropical fish, gets to wave at kids and do tricks in the water. The aquarium discount is nice too.

Eddie always thought the ocean was cool growing up. It seemed freeing, even if he was never very good at swimming. When he was little, before he moved in with Wayne full time, apparently he had told his uncle he wanted to be a fish when he grew up. And being a poor kid in a landlocked state, he didn't exactly get the opportunity to go to the beach, or visit those big aquariums, and his interest in the ocean sort of stagnated there.

So when he got older, and him and Wayne moved to the city, his uncle got him an annual pass to the aquarium. And Eddie was going to make sure Wayne got his money's worth.

So on weekends off or afternoons after work, he'd go to the aquarium. Watch the penguins being fed, or the keeper talks in the otter enclosure. Walk through the tanks and watch the fish. And then at the end he'd sit on the bench by the huge tank they have with all the different sorts of fish in them. And he'd put on his headphones and listen to music, or pull out a notebook and work on a dnd campaign as he watches the fish.

One day, a gaggle of young kids rush in excitedly, chattering about how excited they are to see the mermaids. Eddie furrows his brow until he sees a person in the tank, peering around the coral and the rocks with his brown hair flowing around his head. He swims closer, and that's when Eddie sees the navy blue merman tail the guy is wearing. Hugging his legs, and blending in seamlessly with his waist. A girl swims out after him, in a matching pink tail and shell bikini top. They wave and blow kisses at the kids, doing twirls and flips and tricks.

And listen, Eddie's got eyes. The dude is hot as hell. Nice toned muscles, tanned skin dotted with moles, square jaw. He's exactly Eddie's type, but he's working, and in a fishtank, so Eddie sits and watches.

Eddie keeps visiting the aquarium in his free time, and by coincidence he keeps ending up in front of the tank when the mermaid and the hot merman is there. And the guy waves at him, and smiles, and Eddie shyly smiles back with a lil wave of his own. And Eddie swears it's almost like the guy is happy to see him. Not just putting on the act.

One day when the hot merman shows up, Eddie has been doodling fish in his sketchbook. And fuck it, he sketches the merman. He's hot and Eddie's an artist. Why not right? Only when he looks up, the merman is right up by the glass, watching him. They lock eyes, and the guy mimes at him in a watery version of charades. Are you drawing?. And Eddie nods, before taking a deep breath and flipping the sketchbook around so the guy can see. The merman squints as he looks before his eyes widen as he points at himself. You drew me?. Eddie nods again, blushing faintly, and watches as the guy gets all flustered and then pretends to swoon in the water. Eddie goes to sit back down and the guy swims off to get some air.

Later, Eddie's still drawing, listening to music on full blast through his headphones, completely in the zone, when he feels a tap on his shoulder. He jumps, startled, and turns to see the merman in front of him, wearing jeans and a polo, looking a little sheepish. He apologizes for startling him, his name's Steve. And fuck, if he isn't prettier up close.

Eddie introduces himself, and the guy - Steve - asks him sort of sheepishly if he actually drew him? It was sort of hard to see through the water and the glass. Eddie says yeah he did, sorry if that's creepy, but drawing and watching the tank makes his brain quiet. It's calming.

And Steve says he get it. He gets Eddie. And they chat, and they flirt, and at the end, Eddie asks Steve if he wants to see the drawing, if he wants to keep it. And Steve light up, and he looks so happy, so before he can think to hard about it - Eddie writes his name and cellphone number on the bottom of the page - and rips it out and hands it to Steve.

And Steve beams.

[steddiealltheway]

Steve asks Robin during a shift at Family Video, “Hey, how do I know if an embrace is platonic or romantic?”

Robin shrugs and replies, “Why don’t you show me?”

Steve scoffs, thinking of the way he and Eddie had held each other the night before, hands roaming through hair, reaching up to scratch lightly under clothes, trailing over each vertebrae as if memorizing it, all while stay connected by their foreheads touching, lightly panting into each other’s mouths. “Yeah, no. That would be weird.”

Robin smiles at him. “Then it looks like you found your answer.”

[choccy-milky]

clora with @lamieboo's dahlia💛🩵 i had to draw them together as soon as i saw dahlia was yellow and blue, bc their colour schemes are kinda the same, just inverted (and u all know how i love my opposites LMAO)

[forest-hashira]

this absolutely would not leave me alone, in reference to this post. @fushigurro thank u for supporting/enabling me. divider by cafekitsune. this is omegaverse, mentions of heat cycles/sex but nothing explicit. minors dni.

it had been a few days since your synced heat with satoru had ended, and though it hadn't actually lasted longer than normal, it had felt like it, neither of you able to get the kind of relief you really needed. you'd given yourselves a day to sober up and recover, and then you'd had a much dreaded conversation.

you'd been everything to each other since you'd gotten together straight out of school. in all that time, you'd never needed anyone else for anything, even able to get each other through your heats with a little help from some toys. but this had been a brutal wake up call, a reminder that there were some things you'd never be able to do for each other, no matter how hard you tried.

it was unsettling to realize, though, and the following realization that you would have to find someone else to trust in your most vulnerable moments was downright scary. a new partner couldn't be just anyone, especially not if they were going to help both of you when you needed it. in fact, there was only one person either of you could imagine trusting with that.

and so you set up a coffee date.

"you feelin' okay, baby?" satoru's gentle voice pulled you from your mental spiral, and you offered him a weak smile.

"what makes you ask?" you set your drink down on the table, unable to stomach anything because of your anxiety.

"your leg has been bouncing nonstop since we sat down." he peered at you over the tops of his sunglasses, leaning in to rest his forehead against your temple. "it's all gonna be fine, you know that, right?"

"unless he hates us for asking this of him and decides he never wants to speak to us again." you weren't expecting the laugh your words drew from him, and you pinched his side harshly. "don't laugh at me! it's not impossible..."

you could practically feel him roll his eyes at you. "he's not gonna hate us," he soothes, the faintest hint of a purr rumbling beneath his words, easing some of the tension in your shoulders. "i doubt he'll say no, either. he's had a thing for you for years."

"he has not!" you turned and looked up at him, wide-eyed.

satoru cocked his head slightly, seeming genuinely surprised. "he has too! he told me once when we were drunk, before we all graduated and you and i got together. you didn't know?"

"of course i didn't know! he never said anything to me. i knew he was in love with you, though."

it was satoru's turn to look shocked. "you're lying to me."

"i am not! we all saw the way he looked at you. it was obvious."

your boyfriend seemed to pale at your words, as impossible as it was. "for how long?"

"from the very first day i met you guys. he still looks at you like that, y'know."

"who looks at satoru like what?"

suguru's voice startled both of you, and you looked up at him with burning faces. the alpha's brows pinched with concern as he sat across the table from the two of you. satoru pushed a black coffee towards him, but it went untouched as he spoke again.

"are you guys okay? you said you needed to ask me something important. is something wrong?"

you and satoru exchange a look, your omega offering you an encouraging nod.

"sort of," you sighed after a moment. "we, uh. well. our heats synced last week, and it sucked. like it was really bad."

suguru nodded, worry still painted across his features. "even with each other and..." he trailed off, glancing around as if remembering you were in a public place, and that it was probably not a great idea to talk openly about sex toys.

"yeah, even with that," you confirmed. "it was really, really miserable, and we really don't want to be caught off guard if our cycles ever sync like that again. which is why we asked you here."

now he really looked confused. "i don't think i understand."

"we need an alpha," satoru replied, his blunt nature a true blessing in that moment. "and you're the only one we trust to help us – to take care of us."

there was a beat of silence, then another. your heart began to pound, and you felt a bit sick all of a sudden. because this was it, wasn't it? your best friend outside of your partner was about to tell you both that you were disgusting simply for asking, and that he never wanted to hear from you ever again. he was—

"oh, uh... really?" there was no mistaking the flustered look on your friend's face, and that surprised you; he was usually so confident. "yeah, of course. i'm honored you trust me like that. anything you need, just let me know. i'll be there for you."

the relief that washed over you was so intense it nearly made you dizzy, and you were certain you would've collapsed if you weren't already sitting down. "you don't wanna take some time to think about it?"

he shook his head. "don't need to. if it means helping you guys, the answer's always going to be yes."

"whipped for us already, huh?" satoru teased, attempting to maintain his composure despite his face being the prettiest shade of pink.

the smile that tugged at suguru's lips was affectionate, his gaze warm as he took in the two of you across from him. "yeah," he agreed softly. "something like that."

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

if you struggle with mental health, one piece of advice i would genuinely give you is learn to knit.

or crochet: something repetitive to do with your hands, assuming you're capable of it. if you're like me and learnt to knit as a kid but let it lie fallow for a long time, it may be that starting a large, simple project (for me it was a cloak, but a blanket could work too) gets you back into it. or maybe doing something smaller, idk. i personally found socks really hard for a while because they felt smaller than my cloak but weren't getting Done quick enough for me. as i've sped up i find it more interesting to knit socks.

regardless, a repetitive task is great for emotional regulation (also see: autistic stimming), and something that you can look at and go hey i've done something, unlike simply using a fidget toy, can also help to pick your mood up when the brain is being cruel.

it's also useful as a conversation starter or distracter if you don't know what to talk about. if you're wanting to talk to older people also you're more likely to reel them in with knitting (i work better with older people, and 99% of people who ask what i'm knitting are older than me). it also gives you the opportunity to not make eye contact because you're busy knitting, even if you're still carrying on a conversation. if you're absolutely stuck for conversation you can count your stitches and people might stop bothering you.

if you have trouble focusing without doing something with your hands, you can knit! i knit a lot in church, and it helps me to focus on what's being said.

i probably have more reasons you should pick up knitting, but i can't recall them right now, so yeah.

[pizzaqueen]

Eddie calls Steve up and he’s like “Steve! I need you to come over ASAP! I’m in a real pickle!” So, Steve goes over and finds Eddie in a giant pickle costume, laughing his ass off

[wroteclassicaly]

Best-friend!Pervy!Reader and Bestie!Eddie, whom is getting so annoyed with you talking during his campaign planning, that he swats your ass a little too hard (you always slap each other’s butts), and you moan. It causes a chain reaction that ends up in you being over his knee and staring at a carpet full of his nasty magazines, babbling about how you want him to do all of that stuff to you. You do, however, get some teasing of your own in.

“Go look in my bag. I brought something I was gonna use in your bathroom when I took a shower.”

When he brings the vibrator into his sights, his eyes widen. “Wait — is this… One of those toy things?”

“That it is.” You’re smirking as he shifts, clearly growing in discomfort, in more ways than one.

“And you were gonna make yourself at home with it in the bathroom I share with my Uncle? The man you look at across the dinner table four nights a week?”

“After I stole a few of your shirts to hump first, that is also correct.”

You’ve never seen the metal-head, motor-mouth so slack jawed and speechless. Until he he says, “You better fuckin’ show me.”

~*~

“Fuck, sweetheart. No, slap yourself with it harder.” A groan of appreciation, before a deep huff of annoyance. “I fuckin’ said — HARDER!” And he has to force his impulses to stay in control, to not overstep and do it himself.

When you struggle to slap the pulsating end of the buzzing toy to your swollen clit, overly slick, you see Eddie completely drunk on you from his palm to chin position, between the plush of your thick thighs. He’s trying to communicate a want without the desire to cross a boundary. You melt and choke on a gasp of excitement, before you level off your ballooning heart rate with a statement.

“Help me, asshole!”

Rings clink, air is inhaled so sharply that you’re surprised he doesn’t choke. The warmth fans across your cunt, making you arch, your embarrassingly soaked pussy leaking into your ass, causing your cheeks to stick when you move. Eddie’s day old washed curls tickle your calve. Shaking fingers are explorative, hesitant, tickling the creamy curls that have matted above your clit. He dips in seconds later, spreading your lips into a typical V.

Firm, confident direction is given next. His lust clouding his usual demeanor. “There. Like —“ He wraps his spare hand around yours over the toy, bringing it down with a strong, sopping wet smack. You both moan out, his getting caught on the sentence’s finish, “— this.”

[bobzora]

clock strike 12

[raiiny-bay]

the kids released a new album

[basketobread]

Lunara and her four (five?) weed smoking girlfriends……. Nobodies doing it like her

you already know it!! (her ass does NOT smoke i promise you she coughed up a storm and then vomited after this photo was taken she wasnt built for this)

[metalhoops]

Steve starts driving Eddie places after he gets out of the hospital. It just makes sense. He’s so used to chauffeuring Robin and the kids around, that driving with Eddie is natural. Sure, unlike the others Eddie has a driver’s license, but they both know the road is a hell of a lot safer when Eddie isn’t behind the wheel. 

The thing is, Eddie’s always complaining about Steve’s music. Steve’s a simple guy. He turns on the radio and listens to whatever it spoon-feeds him (pop garbage, according to Eddie). Steve likes the music well enough. He’s never really loved music, it’s just background noise. Hell, when pushed Steve couldn’t think of what his Vecna song would be. So to avoid Eddie’s gripes he relents and lets Eddie leave a couple of his cassettes in the BMW. 

At first, Steve only plays the tapes when Eddie’s in the car but as time passes something changes. Steve finds himself driving home alone, dreading returning to the cold and quiet halls he knows await him in Loch Nora. The radio isn’t cutting it when it comes to drowning out the background chatter and dread in his head, so he switches over to one of Eddie’s tapes. It makes him feel less alone. He can imagine Eddie’s ringed fingers tapping their way across the passenger door furiously to the beat of the song, and he doesn’t feel so alone. 

That’s how some of the tapes manage to migrate from his car to the tape deck in his room. When he plays them, he feels like the house comes alive, that he isn’t alone. He doesn’t tell Eddie, of course. He doesn’t tell anyone. One day he slips up while driving Dustin to Hellfire. 

“I didn’t pick you as a metalhead, Steve,” Dustin notes with a shit-eating grin. 

He’s confused at first, until he hears the familiar tune of Metallica’s Welcome Home, through the BMW’s speakers and knows he’s messed up. Dustin definitely brings it up as soon as he gets to Hellfire, spouting nonsense about how Eddie’s corrupted Steve with ‘the devil’s music’- seriously, where does the kid even come up with that shit? 

The ride back from Hellfire is made all the more painful, with Eddie in the passenger seat and Dustin mouthing off from the backseat. Steve’s being berated from all angles about being a ‘closeted metalhead’. It’s been a long day and Steve is so goddamn tired so he can be forgiven for finally snapping. 

“I only listen to that shit because it reminds me of you,” Steve remarked shutting them both up in an instant. 

Dustin is the quickest to recover. He leans forward, nudging Steve’s shoulder. 

“Careful dude, say stuff like that and Robin’ll get jealous. It sounds like you’re in love with Eddie.” 

“Shut the hell up, Henderson,” Steve snaps, too quickly, too defensively. 

That’s when Dustin realises he’s screwed up. Royally screwed up, because Steve being gay never entered the ballpark of his imagination and it made sense didn’t it? Kind of. The way Steve kept insisting he and Robin were platonic. He hadn’t gone on many dates since Eddie’s return from hospital. 

He tried to dredge up all the things he’d been planning to say when Will inevitably came out because that, Dustin saw coming. 

“Actually it’s cool if you are, you know, gay. We wouldn’t think of you any differently if you were. Right, Eddie?” Dustin desperately looks to Eddie, who’s gone full deer-in-the-headlights, wide-eyed. 

“I might think of him a little differently,” Eddie breathes, sounding a million miles away. Dustin looks at him like he’s about ready to kill a man and Steve’s gone pale. 

The rest of the drive is spent in awkward silence. Steve dreads the moment he arrives at the Henderson household, knowing the second Dustin leaves the car, things are going to get infinitely worse. 

“If I’ve screwed things up, just let me know because I don’t know where to go from here,” Steve says once they’re alone. He hears Eddie exhale and braces himself for the worst as he waits for the man to reply. 

“How about we start with one of those trademark, pickup lines I’ve heard so much about,” Eddie prompts. Steve is confused. It might be a common occurrence, but that doesn’t make it any better. 

“What?” Steve asks, not able to come up with something more articulate. 

“Is what Dustin said true?” There was no point in lying, was there? 

“Yes. No. Mostly. I’m not gay-,” To Steve’s surprise, he watches Eddie’s shoulders fall. If he didn’t know better he’d think the guy was disappointed. 

“But I do like guys. Not all guys. Some guys. Sometimes.” Steve’s rambling and he knows it. 

“Then I meant what I said, to Dustin.” And there it is, the thing Steve’s dreading. 

“Right. Yeah, okay. So do you still want me to drop you off at your place or should I just pull over now?” 

Steve tries to hold back the hurt in his tone because he hasn’t admitted it out loud to anyone yet and it sure as hell smarts to be so blatantly rejected. He might actually have preferred getting punched in the face, at least there was something finite about it. 

“Steve,” Eddie breathes and his voice is soft, gentle even. Which makes no damn sense. He sounds like Robin did, on the floor of the cinema bathroom: vulnerable and exasperated, but not mad. 

“Pull over.” So Steve does. 

Eddie sets a hand on Steve’s shoulder, looks him dead in the eyes and licks his lips. 

“Steve, I’m gay and very much in love with you. Up until tonight, I thought you were very straight and totally out of my league, so if you’re telling me I’ve got a shot, that changes shit.” Oh. Steve finally caught up. 

Steve turns down the volume of the music, just to make sure he’d heard Eddie right. Then leaned into the man’s space. 

“Ahoy there, sailor.” 

Much to his dismay, Eddie laughs- scratch that, he snorts, doubling over, trying to muffle the noise with a hand. 

“That was the pickup line?” Eddie clarifies. 

“I’m rusty and I’ve never used it on a guy,” Steve retorts defensively. 

Before he knows it, Eddie’s back in his space, his breath ghosting hot over Steve’s cheek. 

“Hey, I didn’t say it didn’t work.” 

[momotonescreaming]

Love, Eddie Munson was realising, was in the act of trying.

Love is Uncle Wayne sitting down and listening to a Dio album, trying to see what Eddie saw in it, simply because his nephew loved it. It was Wayne asking to read The Hobbit once Eddie was done with it. It was Wayne making an effort. Learning how to take care of a kid. How to connect.

Love is Eddie reading western books Wayne recommended to him because I’m sure you’ll really like this one, Boy. It was going on fishing trips together on early Sunday mornings, even though Eddie wasn’t one for fish because Wayne liked the company, and the contemplation, and the sound of the water lapping against the boat.

Another thing Eddie was realising, was how effortless it felt to try with Steve. He swallowed down his knee jerk reaction, his history of insulting basketball, and instead asked Steve the rules, about his favourite teams - and the grin on his boyfriend’s face made it all worthwhile. He’d willingly watch action movies and frat-boy comedies Steve liked, try to see what he saw in them, even though they weren’t really his speed. Eddie asked Steve if the next time he went on a hike - maybe Eddie could come with? And the exercise was killer, but Steve was sweet, and excited, and helped him the whole way through.

Steve, in turn, was trying with Eddie. Laying on his bed listening to metal tapes and Eddie’s running commentary about it all. About the music, and the band, and the history, and how it scratches an itch in his brain nothing else quite does. Steve’s never gonna be a metal head, and Eddie’s fine with that. But it makes him happy to see Steve trying, and actually finding some songs he quite likes. It’s Steve helping him with creating NPC’s, fixing plot lines in his campaign that he couldn’t quite fix on his own - even though Steve’s played DnD before and it wasn’t really his thing.

Love is Eddie asking Wayne to help him get baseball tickets for Steve’s birthday.

Love is Steve driving up to Indy just to buy a novel Eddie wanted, but Hawkins’ local bookstore didn’t stock.

Love is putting in effort to connect with someone, only to realise that it’s not any effort at all.