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urdreamgirls-dreamgirl · 3 days ago

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And now, a very silly one-shot based on this Tumblr post.

Steve is kicked out of his parents house and has all of five minutes to grab everything he cares about— which isn't much. He leaves with the clothes on his back, the cash from under his mattress, and a handful of photographs of him and his friends.

After paying first and last month's rent plus a security deposit, he realizes he can either furnish his new apartment, or eat, but not both. He buys a pillow and a blanket, trashpicks some odds and ends to stand in as furniture, and luxuriates in a dinner of frozen lasagna.

He spends the next couple weeks working as many hours as he can stand. It makes it a bit easier knowing how comfortless his apartment is— Family Video may drain his soul a little, but at least there's air conditioning, and chairs. But his new spartan quarters are almost like a badge of honor, a reminder that he doesn't need to live like his parents, surrounded by plush carpet and formal dining rooms and plaid wallpaper. And honestly Steve is feeling pretty proud, like he's actually doing well for himself for the first time in his life.

Until the break-in, anyway.

Exhausted after a double shift, Steve dragged himself past the threshold of his apartment on autopilot before he even registered that the door was already open.

There was a strange man standing in the middle of his living room.

Now, just because Steve had no furniture, that didn’t mean he had no weapons. He wasn’t a complete idiot. There weren’t any couch cushions to stash daggers underneath or whatever, but he'd stashed the nail bat behind the front door, a can of mace under the milk crate he sometimes sat on, and a housewarming gift from Nancy in the form of a revolver duct-taped to the underside of the wire spool he'd been using as a table.

He was mid-decision of which of his weapons to lunge for when the guy turned around to face him.

He was gorgeous— Steve cursed his survival instinct for that being the first and only thing he noticed— with dark hair pulled up to reveal the tattoos on every inch of his skin. He looked like he belonged in a punk band, or maybe prison.

To add insult to injury, he wasn’t concerned or even surprised to see Steve there, despite the empty muslin laundry sack thrown over his shoulder like Santa Claus's sketchy nephew, leaving no mystery of what he was there to do.

"This your place?" the guy asked dubiously, as if he had any right to ask questions. "Cuz I broke in to rob you, but shit, man, you got nothing." He laughed, casual as anything despite being caught red-handed. Steve could only stare, open-mouthed and stunned by the confession.

"Wait here," the man said, sauntering over and bracing an arm on Steve’s shoulder as if they were old friends.

Bizarrely, there were still no warning bells going off in Steve's head, even as he took in the stranger’s face: sharp features pulled into a hard line, with tattoos creeping up his neck, onto his jaw and cheekbones.

He looked like the kind of guy that Steve's mother would cross the street to avoid, clutching her purse tightly and refusing to make eye contact.

But Steve held his gaze without fear, caught up in the warmth of his beautiful brown eyes, made only more striking by the scar slicing through one eyebrow. There was something soft there that caught Steve off guard and left him wanting to know more, a gentle curiosity even as Steve's eyes darted down, drawn to the movement of the man skillfully flipping a butterfly knife shut with one hand and slipping it into his pocket.

The man gave him an apologetic smile. Steve studied it, told himself he was analysing it for signs of danger, trying to suss out the likelihood he was about to be stabbed.

But the truth was, all he could focus on was the plush curve of the stranger’s lips, pulled taut into a perfect cupid’s bow.

The gentle curiosity was back in full force as the man's hand slid up from Steve's shoulder to the side of his neck, a far more intimate touch that had Steve frozen, unable to think of anything but his own pulse hammering away under the pads of the stranger's gentle fingers.

"I'll be right back," the man promised with a soft, reassuring squeeze to his neck. And with a wink and a reckless grin, he turned and slipped out the door.

Steve stood there stunned, only sitting down on his milk crate when the world went dark around the edges and he realized he was hyperventilating, and in real danger of passing out.

The man was not right back. By the time Steve fell asleep hours later, comforted only by a single pillow and blanket on the floor of his lonely apartment, he still wasn't sure if his a reaction was to the danger, or to the stab of desire he felt the moment the man touched him.

Steve was awoken the next morning by a knock on the door. He crept over to look through the peephole with his hand hovering over his nailbat in the corner, but let his hand fall to his side when he saw that the man from yesterday, his burglar, was back— and he'd brought friends. Even while mentally berating himself for his own stupid naivety, Steve opened the door.

Not a second later, somebody pushed past him to enter the apartment. Or tried to, anyway. Two new strangers stood in the doorway, holding a heavy wooden dining room table, bickering and ignoring him completely as they attempted to angle it this way and that to get it through the doorway without snagging the legs.

"Manners, gentlemen, where are your manners?" the man from yesterday called loudly from behind them, obviously irritated. "Sorry to intrude, pretty boy. We come bearing gifts,” he said with a mischievous smile that sent a shiver down Steve’s spine. “This here is Jeff and Gareth," the man announced, pointing to them each in turn: Jeff was dressed all in black, with thick locs covered by a slouchy black beanie, with a heavy padlock and matching key around his neck, and Gareth, in red plaid pants, a Mohawk and a noise piercing. "And this is Freak," the man continued, gesturing at the heavy-set one with curly hair, dressed in more leather than seasonally appropriate, carrying a television— with a built-in VCR, no less.

Without warning, the burglar dove to kneel at Steve’s feet, puffing his chest out boastfully as he reached to take his hand. Maintaining eye contact all the while, the man placed a loud, deliberate kiss to the back of it.

He was, without a doubt, the strangest person Steve had ever met.

And all Steve could think about was tackling him to the ground and tasting every one of his piercings.

He laughed at the thought, loudly and helplessly, which only seemed to encourage the man to press more kisses up and down Steve’s wrist. What a bizarre moment, he thought, to become fully cognizant of his own same-sex attraction.

"As for me," the man said with a dorky little bow, releasing Steve’s hand to place one on his own heart while throwing the other out in a theatrical flourish, “you can call me tomorrow.”

His friends all groaned, dragging dining chairs into Steve’s tragically empty living room and stacking them haphazardly next to the table.

“Sorry,” the man said, shaking his head as if just realizing he’d misspoken. “I meant to say, you can call me Eddie. But, you know, now that you mention it…” The man— Eddie, apparently— reached into his back pocket, pulled out a tattered piece of corrugated cardboard, and handed it to Steve. It was clearly a torn piece of a pizza box, roughly the size of an index card. There were unmistakable smears of dried sauce, and the edges looked as though they’d been aggressively torn by hand. Steve glanced up, brows raised in question.

Eddie just gave him a hopeful little nod.

Steve flipped it over and sure enough, there was a phone number there, scrawled in barely-legible Sharpie. He looked up again to find Eddie grinning at him shamelessly.

“Yeah, let us know how that works out for you,” Jeff sighed, pulling out a cigarette, sticking it behind his ear, and tossing the pack at the back of Eddie’s head. “If you’re not back at the van in five minutes, we’re leaving without you,” he called over his shoulder as the three of them filed out of Steve’s apartment.

Eddie scoffed, bending over to pick up the pack, taking one for himself and lighting it, right there in the middle of Steve’s living room.

“Oh, one more thing,” he said, all faux innocence. “I think I got you a bed too, but that might take a couple days.”

Eddie took a long, slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling heavily in deep satisfaction. Then, eyes half-lidded, he gave Steve a look so filthy, so openly wanting, leaving no room for doubt of what was on offer.

“When can I come… give it to you?”

Steve felt like the breath had been punched out of him. He choked, whether on the smoke or the implication, coughing as he scrambled to figure out what the hell to say to that.

Because despite all rational thought… the attention wasn’t unwelcome.

Was it a bad idea to flirt back within hours of his first inkling of being interested in men? Probably.

Was it an even worse one to flirt with the guy who broke into his apartment and then did… whatever this was? Absolutely.

But this guy seemed to know a thing or two about bad ideas, and Steve was feeling inclined to trust the expert.

“Do these lines actually work for you?” Steve asked teasingly, letting his voice fall into the lower register he had once reserved for sweet-talking cheerleaders under the bleachers.

“I don’t know, big boy,” Eddie shot back, brown eyes gleaming as he stepped in closer until their toes were almost touching. “You tell me. Is it working?”

Between the proximity and the secondhand smoke, his head was spinning once again. "Steve," he found himself saying despite his better judgment as he allowed his eyes to sweep over Eddie’s face, taking in every detail. Feeling emboldened by the shameless, hungry look Eddie was giving him, he reached out to pluck the cigarette from Eddie’s lips, took a long drag and exhaled through his nose before carefully placing it back.

All the while, Eddie watched him, dark eyes tracking his every move like a shark drawn to blood in the water.

"My name,” he said, voice low and gravelly, “is Steve. So when I call you tomorrow, I won't have to introduce myself as the guy you reverse-burgled."

"Revurgled," all three of his friends supplied helpfully in unison from just beyond the door, out of sight.

Steve jumped back, startled, and just like that the moment was over.

Eddie whirled around and stormed out of the apartment, berating his friends for their poor timing, not even bothering to say goodbye or close the door on his way out.

Steve stepped out after him, watching as the four of them disappeared down the hall, still bickering the whole way. He reached into his pocket, reassuring himself that the phone number was still there.

He wondered how soon was too soon to call. Because he was sure of it now: he just couldn’t wait to get into Eddie’s bed.

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urdreamgirls-dreamgirl · 3 days ago

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list link here

#39 💔

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urdreamgirls-dreamgirl · 4 days ago

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i hope this email kills us both instantly

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urdreamgirls-dreamgirl · 4 days ago

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me as a writer

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urdreamgirls-dreamgirl · 7 days ago

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Slowly moving my old art from the dead bird site and back here, enjoy 🤡

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urdreamgirls-dreamgirl · 8 days ago

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Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

Open Wider

"Fine. Just let me look," Robin says, pushing Steve down into the chair, "Open wide. Wider, dingus."

Steve opens a millimeter wider. She didn't want to bring the office home with her at all, and this is how he repays her kindness?

"Steve."

"What do you want, me to unhinge my jaw?"

"If that's what it takes," she states.

They had an agreement. She knows that. She swore to herself that she wouldn't mess with his teeth. That he would see another hygienist, because it's weird to have your best friend messing around in your mouth. She knows she'll be too rough on him, even if she isn't on everybody else that sits in her chair.

But he's been whining all weekend that he's pretty sure this filling is loose, and it's Sunday. Things like this always happen on Sunday. It's supposed to be her day of rest.

It never is.

Eddie comes in the front door just as Robin's starting to get a good look, which just accentuates her point.

"Oh good, free dental care. Me next," Eddie says, dropping onto the couch.

Robin ignores him.

"Which tooth?" Robin asks. Steve tries to answer with her fingers in his mouth. It's not easy.

She lets him point with his tongue, and as she follows it up, she sees it. The tell-tale bruising, the spattering of red dots in his soft palate. It's kind of bad. Some of the worst she's seen, and it's like he's been—

"Uh, oh, no. That's. That's fine," she says reflexively, and then tries to catch herself. She knows Steve can tell when she's lying. She's a terrible liar.

But, Eddie's here. And she's not doing this in front of Eddie. She knows how he feels about Steve, and she's not about to let him know that apparently Steve does like cock, and that Eddie's just missed his window by being such a big chicken.

"Robin!" Steve says as she presses his chin, closing his mouth.

"It's fine," she reassures. "It's not falling out anytime soon. Just see your dentist, dingus."

"Why're you being weirder than normal?" Steve asks, and Robin rolls her eyes.

"I'm not!" she says, trying to deflect.

I just know you've been sucking cock. A lot of cock. Maybe cocks, plural. A buffet of cocks. That's all.

Cock, cock, cock.

Her inner monologue needs to be muzzled.

There are other causes, sure. But he hasn't been sick, and she just knows. She can tell.

"Rob, c'mon, are my teeth that bad? Am I going to a bad dentist?"

"Steve," she says, taking him by both shoulders, "Your teeth are fine. Your dentist is fine. Let it go."

He doesn't let it go.

Fine.

"You've just got some bruising on the roof of your mouth."

He looks like she called him a troll, "Oh my god, am I dying? Is it bad? Is it ugly? How can a person even bruise their mouth? Is it from burning my mouth on the cheese on last night's pizza? I knew it was too hot."

"No, but I saw that, too. That's behind your front teeth. This is further back."

"What is it? Robin. Robin, why? How do I fix it?"

"It's called palatal petechiae. It's normal. People have it," she says, but she's not touching the why or how with a ten foot pole.

Because you've been sucking cock. You fix it by stopping doing that so goddamn much. Come up for air once in a while. Goddamn.

She shakes her head.

The less she knows, the better. And maybe there is another explanation. Another cause. Yes. Definitely. He's taken up deepthroating suckers. That's probably it.

But she doesn't think so. That's the work of a cock, she can tell.

"Do you have it? Open your mouth, let me see."

"I certainly do not have it," she says, and then mutters under her breath, "Never have. Never will."

"Do I have it?" Eddie asks, and Robin rolls her eyes at him.

"Seems unlikely," she banters. She hasn't seen Eddie go on a date, in well, ever. She's never seen that. Unless he can suck his own dick? Gross. That seems like something Eddie could, and would, do.

"Look. Make sure," he says, and she humors him.

Jesus Christ. He does, too. Not as bad as Steve's, but it's definitely there. Is everybody in this apartment getting laid more than her?

She pulls back.

Looks at Steve. Looks at Eddie. Back and forth.

Jesus Christ.

"How long have you two been fucking?" she asks, and the squawk that comes out of Eddie's mouth is embarrassing for him, surely.

"We're not!" Eddie yells, hands flailing.

Steve. Steve, though. He's just sitting there, unflappable. He's not a bit embarrassed, not a bit concerned that she knows.

"Steven," she says.

"A few months," he says, "How'd you know?"

If she had a rolled up newspaper, she'd hit him with it.

"Because your mouth is bruised from all the vigorous dick sucking you're doing. Lay off. Jesus."

He laughs. He fucking cackles. And it infuriates her.

Eddie is red, and she didn't even know Eddie could get embarrassed. It's a novel look.

She feels just the tiniest bit sorry for him. Taking him by the shoulders, she looks in his eyes.

"I'm happy for you. But I want to know less than nothing about you jamming your cock down Steve's throat. Got it?"

He nods, cheeks still red.

"Good. Use your hands, make an appointment for next week. Late next week."

Steve salutes her, and honestly, she shouldn't be surprised. He's complained very little about his love life these past few months. She should have realized something had changed for the better.

She's happy for him, for both of them, but she never wants to think about it again.

"Okay. What's for supper?" she asks, knowing that will get them focused on something else. They might be fucking, but they can't decide on a meal to save their souls.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

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urdreamgirls-dreamgirl · 8 days ago

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'Keep your light on'

written for @steddiemicrofic, prompt 'sign', wc: 507

R: T | Dystopic AU, soulmates, sci-fi, star-crossed lovers, light angst, happy ending | CW: mention of blood

Ao3 link

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**CONGRATS ON YOUR MATCH**

*You've finally been paired. Here's the profile of your Designated Soulmate, and the location of your first meeting. Don't be late!*

Eddie is late. He was supposed to be on his date one hour ago. Instead, he's turning off the engine of his bike in front of the Harrington's residence, in a quiet pampered neighborhood

He glances at the security cameras on the fence, but he's not worried. Steve knows how to avoid them, he proved it everytime he snuck out without getting caught.

Eddie's chip keeps vibrating. They don't have much time: ghosting your Designated Soulmate is an offense, if you don't show up, you're quickly found and arrested.

But Steve's window is still dark, so Eddie waits.

They fought about it all the time. Eddie wanted to cross the border and settle, anywhere - Steve wanted to wait for them to be paired together. Eddie knew it was never gonna happened. And as predicted, he got paired with another lowclass worker, and Steve with some rich chick.

"I'll come get you," Eddie had promised. "When it happens, I'll be there, waiting for you. Keep your light on so I know you're coming."

Steve got angry. Called him dramatic. "What if I don't want to leave everything behind?" he asked. Eddie sighed, "Then I'll leave you behind with the rest of this bullshit."

It's been an hour and the light of Steve's windows is still off. Eddie's bag is heavy on his shoulders, the cold of the night slithers its way under his jacket - he can't wait anymore. He's not gonna let the Matchmaker decide who he can love. He gives a decisive kick to the bike, and the engine roars.

He says a silent and bitter goodbye to the boy who won't fight for what they have.

He's ready to drive away when a light blinks in Steve's window. Frozen, Eddie looks up - here he is. Eyes red and wet, one hand pressed against the window, the other one flickering the switch so Eddie couldn't miss the blinking light that says "wait for me".

A few minutes later, Steve climbs up the portal and lands softly in front of Eddie. He hooks his thumbs in the straps of his backpack.

"You were really gonna leave?" Steve asks with a sheepish smile.

"You were really gonna let me?" Eddie retorts.

Steve steps closer, but doesn't reach to grab Eddie's jacket, doesn't throw his arms around Eddie's neck, doesn't kiss him with this urgency usually vibrating between them. Instead, he rolls up his sleeve. Eddie hears the distinctive switch of a blade. Before he can stop Steve, his boy is already diving two fingers into the deep cut on his wrist, sliding out the chip.

Eddie stares at this small shackle they all wear in their flesh as it's tossed to the ground. Steve licks the blood out of his wound and steps on the chip, burning the last bridge between himself and the Matchmaker.

Without a word, he hands the knife to Eddie.

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urdreamgirls-dreamgirl · 8 days ago

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Zero to Sixty

Written for day 28 of @corrodedcoffinfest Never been kissed, round one of @steddiebingo: Friends to lovers Rating: T | WC: 992 | Tags: Getting together, first kiss, dry humping

ao3 | Divider Credit

Steve was watching Eddie like the most interesting insect in the world. "You're shitting me."

Eddie nearly choked on the smoke he was letting out of his lungs. "Eloquently put, Harrington. Why would I lie about that?"

"Eddie, there's no fucking way!" Steve shook his head as he stole the joint from between Eddie's fingers. "You're twenty-one, there's no way you haven't had your first kiss."

Heat flared warm and pink in Eddie's cheeks. Steve wasn't an asshole, maybe he would pretend like it was from the weed mixed with the oppressive summer heat that had turned the Munson trailer into a microwave.

"Ah, how fast you forget." Eddie lazily gestured towards his body with one hand. "Not everyone hears the name Eddie Munson and thinks hero. They think about me being a drug dealing triple senior who was acquitted of murder charges." He stole the joint back, took the last hit before stubbing it out in the ash tray. "And that's before they even remember the fact that I'm a fag, man."

Steve rolled his eyes. "That's not what you've always been."

Eddie's lips curled into a grin. "I assure you, I have always been a f—"

Steve cut him off with a barking laugh. "You know what I mean! There had to have been someone before high school."

"I don't know when you started going around trying out the taste of lipgloss secondhand but that wasn't me." Eddie reached for his now warm beer.

"Surely someone wanted to, though," Steve insisted. He scooted to the edge of his seat and rested his elbows on his knees. "I've seen pictures, you were a cute kid!"

Eddie nearly choked on his beer. "Where the hell did you see pictures?" It was his turn to roll his eyes as they let out a, "Wayne." in unison. "That nosy old man."

"I asked," Steve said. "You really pulled off the shaved head look."

"That's a fuckin' lie." Eddie grinned at him. "I was a weird lookin' kid."

"Some people are into weird!" Steve cocked an eyebrow. "C'mon. You are not seriously trying to tell me no even weirder eighth grade girls were trying to kiss you."

"I'm telling you, they weren't." Eddie gave a noncommital shrug. "Thought about going to Indy just to get the whole thing over with and out of the way but…"

"That's not very romantic," Steve said.

Eddie laughed again. "Harrington do I look like a guy who does flowers and dinner and romance?"

Steve rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "Well, yeah..."

Eddie arched his own eyebrow and sat forward so he was mirroring Steve's position. "Is this you offering, Stevie?" He watched with delight as Steve turned the prettiest shade of pink. "You wanna wine me, dine me…" He trailed off, mouth curving into a smirk.

"I mean— I can at least do better than some random guy in the city." Steve pushed a hand through his hair. "I know you and I know what I'm doing."

"So I've heard." Eddie twisted a ring around his finger. "I'm still not hearing a no in there…"

Steve drained his beer, then put the can to the side. "'Cause I'm not saying no." He met Eddie's gaze. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes bright. He looked so goddamn eager.

There was a familiar squeeze in Eddie's chest. He should say no, call this off before their friendship was changed forever. Then again, if this was his one and only chance to find out for himself what a good kisser Steve Harrington was… "If I say yes you're not gonna kick my ass after, right?" he joked. Joking made it easier for him to hide how fucking badly he wanted this.

Steve's laugh was warm and bright enough to ease Eddie's nerves. "Even if that was my plan, we both know you'd kick my ass. I don't think my head would appreciate me losing again."

"Yeah, maybe not." Eddie grinned and reached out to rest his hand on Steve's knee. "You're sure?"

"Yeah. I'm sure." Steve covered Eddie's hand with his own, sending an electric jolt through Eddie's body. He shifted even closer, until their knees were touching, until he could cup Eddie's jaw gently. "Are you—"

Eddie didn't trust his voice, he just nodded and leaned into the hand that was curled into his hair.

Steve's lips were soft and warm. He kept the pressure light at first, like he was waiting for Eddie to stop him, to change his mind.

Stopping was the last fucking thing Eddie wanted to do. He let out a soft moan, pressed closer, pulled Steve in with an arm around his waist. Between one breath and the next the kiss changed, heated up. Steve's other hand tangled in Eddie's hair while Eddie licked into Steve's mouth. There was nothing soft about it, it wasn't the romance that Steve had offered him.

There was only want, the weight of Steve's body in Eddie's lap. Eddie's teeth caught at Steve's lower lip, Steve's hands tugged at Eddie's hair and drew another moan from his throat.

"Eddie," Steve breathed before going right back in.

It was messy, spit-slick and uncoordinated. Probably what Eddie would have found in Indy.

Only this wasn't Indy, this was Steve. Steve who was rolling down against Eddie's hips like they'd done this a dozen times, who was just as fucking hard as Eddie behind those designer jeans.

"You wanted this, too, huh?" Eddie panted against his mouth.

It was Steve's turn to swallow, to nod as he pulled Eddie's lower lip into his mouth and bit down hard. "You have no fuckin' idea."

"I think I do, big boy." Eddie's hands moved to Steve's ass to try and get their bodies that much closer. "You wanna… bed?"

"You sure?" Steve murmured.

Eddie rocked up hard enough to make them both shudder with the friction. "Never been more sure, sunshine."

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