zombiethingy

[zombiethingy]

i keep having this idea where eddie just so happens to be at there at the worst point in times and chooses to forget. like he just chops it up to being high off his rockers, or simply had the option go shut that part of his brain off

in season one, he was doing a drug deal in the woods by the Byers and hears a gunshot and then sees Steve, Nancy, and Jonathan standing outside the door. Nancy with a gun and Steve with the bat.

But that's like, not that crazy so he doesn't try to forget it, it just slips from his memory and only shows up every now and again, leaving him curious but not going around questioning

But then he's getting high in the junkyard in season 2, and suddenly looking at the big open part he sees Steve with the bat again fighting these big ass.. things and he doesn't even try to rationalize. just silently leans back into his seat and closes his eyes

In season 3, you can decide. He's either got a job at the mall or is doing business on the side that doesn't get a delivery and he sees this big ass fucking monster climbing the building and he just.. walks his ass home. doesn't even try the car. that thing isn't paying attention to him anyways, why start up something loud?

of course the events of season 4 happens and he starts to remember, making his freak out worse than before because holy shit he wasn't high. he wasn't dreaming. this was real shit and of course these kids would have to be at the center of it.

and to make it angsty-er, he knows whats going on and chooses to run away. he packs everything away and just pretends because he knows that he cant handle it. that the best thing he can do is to run away.

and so when he decides to save dustin, 'i didn't run away this time' means SO much more to him than just running when he saw the deaths.

he didn't run away from the truth this time, and actually did some good in the process if it meant the kid got to live.

[zombiethingy]

I love my leg hair #myleghair

[zombiethingy]

just saw someone say they were "hyperfixated" on cooking with seasonal squash i love that nothing means anything

[zombiethingy]

“Black kitty with her lucky sock”

(via)

[zombiethingy]

"I need you to take a walk with me," Dustin demands as soon as Steve opens his front door.

"Well hello to you, too."

Dustin rolls his eyes. "Steve. Please come take a walk with me."

And Steve would have protested. He would have dragged it out a little more. Would have told him that he can't right now, he's getting ready for a date tonight (he would not have mentioned that said date is with Eddie. The kid doesn't need to know about that until they themselves figure out what this is). But the thing is- the thing is that Steve can tell there's an undercurrent of desperation there. He can see the barely constrained stress around Dustin's eyes. And Steve has never been able to leave Dustin like that. Will never be able to.

So he toes on his sneakers and hopes that wherever they end up won't get too much dirt on his light wash jeans or mess up his hair too much.

"You've got two hours," he says, glancing at his watch and shutting the door behind him.

***

Dustin silently leads them into the woods. Steve tries to ask him where they're going and why he needed to take a walk right then but Dustin stays quiet, giving only short replies when he bothers to talk at all.

It's freaking Steve out.

It freaks him out so much that he doesn’t even realize where they’re heading until they’re already walking on the old railroad tracks. This feels familiar.

Dustin is walking just slightly ahead of him, staring resolutely ahead. He only lasts maybe another 30 seconds before he sighs. “So.”

Steve’s head pops up. He’s finally going to know why Dustin dragged him out here.

“I think I’m ready to make love to Suzie now and I need some help,” he says, determined. He’s still staring straight ahead, not even looking at Steve.

“Ew, gross dude. Why’d you have to say it like that?”

That gets Dustin to turn around. “Steve! I need some help,” he says shrilly.

It takes everything he has in him but Steve manages not to laugh when he says, “I don’t know. I think it should kind of be a solo activity the first time, bud.” No, wait. That doesn’t sound right. “…or well. A party of two, I mean. Three’s a crowd and all.”

“Steeeeeeve.”

Steve does laugh then. “Okay. Okay! Fine. But why didn’t you just ask Lucas? Or Mike? They’ve both been with their girlfriends for years now I’m sure they’d have some useful information for you.”

“Ew, no. That would’ve been weird. Plus you have way more experience.” Um, rude. Was he calling Steve a slut?

“And it’s not weird asking me?”

Dustin scoffs. “No. That’s what older brothers are for. To teach you things that you can’t ask your mom.” Steve melts a little. He knows he and Dustin see each other as brothers, have for years, but it still gets him every time Dustin calls him that. “Plus,” Dustin continues, unaware of Steve internally liquifying. “I don’t want to know any details of Mike and El’s relationship. I want complete plausible deniability with Hopper.”

“That’s actually probably not a bad idea,” Steve concedes.

“I know,” Dustin says, arrogance shining through again. The kid really does need to humble himself.

They’re silent for another minute as they continue to walk on. “So?”

“So what?”

“Steve! Are you gonna help me or what?”

Steve stops and groans, running a hand down his face. “I can’t believe I’m actually going to do this, but yes. Fine. What do you want to know?”

Dustin beams up at him. “Yes! Okay. Okay,” he takes a breath. “Okay so, like, how does it work?”

Steve looks at him, horrified. “Dustin, what do you mean how does it work?”

“No! No, I know, like, the mechanics of it all,” he starts to make a gesture with his fingers but Steve slaps his hands down before he can get too far. “But how do I make it good? Like for Suzie. And safe! How do I know which condoms to get? Do I need to buy dental dams?”

“Whoaaaa slow your roll, dude. One question at a time!” He takes a deep breath. “Okay. So. You’re ready to have sex with Suzie. Is she ready to have sex with you too?”

“Um, yeah.” Dustin says yeah like he means duh. But then he pauses. “I mean, I think so.”

“You gotta know so. None of this ‘maybe, I think so’ shit. She’s gotta be into it and ready too. So you need to have an actual conversation about that first. And if you’re not ready to do that, then you’re not ready to have sex.”

“Okay. Yeah, I can do that,” Dustin says nodding.

“Okay. Good. What else?”

Steve spends the next hour and a half talking Dustin through it, giving him tips on eating a girl out (“dude I don’t know anyone who has ever used a dental dam” and “why are you flicking your tongue like that at me. No. No one wants that. Stop that, it’s gross”), on buying condoms (“just grab the regular size. No one expects you to have a magnum and honestly it’d be way more embarrassing and a much bigger problem if it slips off inside of her because you’re not actually big enough to fit in it”), on how to touch her (“do you know where the clit is?” and “you’ve got to curl your fingers, like this”), and on how to not blow your load the second you get it in (“jerk off before you go to see her. No, Dustin, don’t look at me like that. I’m serious. You are not going to last more than three seconds if you’re all keyed up and haven’t gotten off already at least once that day”).

By the time they make it back to Steve’s, Dustin feels a lot more confident, and Steve feels like he’s actually helped him to at least not completely humiliate himself his first time.

Dustin is strapping his helmet on when Steve stops him. “Oh, Dustin! One last thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Stop calling it making love.”

“But it is.”

“What?” Steve deadpans.

“It is making love. And it’s romantic.”

“Whatever you say dude. I’m just telling you, it’s not a very sexy thing to call it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Steve. What should I call it instead? Fucking? Boning?”

“Ugh. You know what? Call it whatever you want.”

“You know what Steve? I’m surprised you even get dates with that attitude.”

Dates.

Date.

Oh shit. His date with Eddie.

“Oh shit. It’s been way more than two hours, dickhead. Okay, I have plans and you need to go now,” Steve calls out before running inside to grab his keys and rushing by Dustin on his bike to pull out of his driveway and down the road. He will not be late to his first date with Eddie.

(He was a little late to his first date with Eddie. But Eddie said it was worth it after Steve told him about how he spent his afternoon. And yeah. He thinks this is something he’ll get to tell Dustin about sometime in the near future.)

[zombiethingy]

housewives were not banging out spirk fanfiction in the 60s for you to be AI generating your fic

[zombiethingy]

Apparently there’s a “kids shouldn’t be allowed in grocery stores” thing being spread on TikTok because they might scream or run around and look yeah that’s annoying but at a certain point you’ve gotta just put up with kids being a little annoying in public. Sure the kid pouring milk in the isles is the fault of a shitty parent and should be asked to leave, but a single mom with an otherwise controlled by crying toddler isn’t doing anything wrong. I think you’ll live if someone’s two year old starts screaming in their arms in isle 3. It might be annoying but that mom is probably having a worse day than you

[zombiethingy]

Hey Fae,

sorry to bother you but I hope you will hear me out:

Germany is trying to start a register with the AGAB of every trans-, inter- and nonbinary person, accessible by any government agency, including cops. The problems and discrimination that might cause are immense.

You got a bigger reach so I am hoping you could reblog that link to a petition against it: https://weact.campact.de/petitions/kein-sonderregister-fur-trans-personen-nie-wieder-listen-gegen-minderheiten

OFC I won't blame you if you refuse. Thanks for hearing me out anyways

Actually I've been looking into this today and I was going to make a statement about it myself but this is perfect!

Anyone who can should sign this because what Germany is planning is sickening, it's like no one has learnt anything from the past, especially since basically this exact same thing was in effect during the 3rd Reich's rise to power.

[zombiethingy]

have you joined the chronic pain club today? it's not too late!

[zombiethingy]

Fic where Steve brings someone back to their shared apartment and Robin is just like, “That’s a vampire.”

“His name is Eddie.”

“Eddie is a vampire,” Robin says. “You’re dating a vampire.”

“He’s not.”

“He’s drinking your blood right now!”

Steve looks over where Eddie is lapping at a little cut on his arm. He looks back at Robin and shrugs, “He has a kink. We discussed it.”

“He’s going to suck you dry and then-“

“I certainly hope so!”

“Shut up. And then he’s going to kill me and drink my blood.”

Eddie lets up on Steve’s arm and informs her, “I’m gay. You’re not my type.”

“Oh,” Robin says. “Well, thank god for that. Do your kinky shit in your room and don’t kill him.”

[zombiethingy]

Vital Signs

Written for the @steddiemicrofic July prompt “sign” | wc: 507 | rated: T | cw: canon-typical gore | tags: established relationship, nightmares, (literally) sleeping together

———

Steve doesn’t have nightmares so much as he relives memories. He dreams of the demogorgon at the Byers’ house, the labyrinthine tunnels beneath Hawkins, human fists and bone saws and needles, always exactly as they happened. Their predictability doesn’t make them any less terrifying, or exhausting.

The newest and most popular additions to the rotation include a variety of Vecna-related horrors like tails and vines around his throat, the sting of teeth tearing his flesh, and Eddie. Never mind that they managed to get Eddie out of the Upside Down and he’s still whole and healthy all these months later. Never mind that he’s curled up in bed next to Steve most nights, clinging and drooling in his sleep. Now that he and Eddie have turned their flirtation into an actual relationship, Steve’s subconscious insists on dwelling on how close he came to losing Eddie before he ever had him.

Eddie, limp on the ground while Steve calls his name and starts CPR. Eddie, bleeding so heavily that Steve’s hands slip across his chest on every compression and he has to spit out a mouthful of blood after each breath he forces into Eddie’s lifeless lungs. Eddie, silent tears carving a path through the dirt on his cheeks, biting his lip against the pain as Steve carries him through the gate.

Steve wakes with the taste of iron on his tongue, thick enough to make him gag. The blankets are too heavy, heavy like Eddie in his arms, pinning him down, keeping him from taking a full breath. He can’t move for long minutes, just lies there and blinks at the ceiling until his vision clears and his heart rate settles. Once his exhales no longer sound like sobs, he rolls onto his side to check on Eddie.

His boyfriend is sprawled on his stomach with his face smooshed into the pillow, snoring away like nothing is wrong. There’s dried drool crusted on his chin. Steve smiles a little, the normalcy of the scene comforting in the wake of his nightmare. He watches Eddie’s back rise and fall, lets the rhythmic whistle of each breath lull him into calm.

Eddie is here, with him, breathing, warm, alive.

“Stop creeping on me, weirdo,” Eddie mumbles into the bedding.

When Steve’s gaze returns to his face, Eddie has one eye cracked open and an affectionate smirk lifting the visible corner of his mouth.

“Sorry,” Steve murmurs back.

Eddie hums. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Did for a while. Nightmare.” The fact that it was about Eddie hangs between them, unspoken but loud.

“You okay?” He reaches out a cautious hand like Steve is one of the feral cats hanging around the trailer park.

Steve lets Eddie’s palm settle on his cheek, closes his eyes and leans into the touch. His own hand grasps Eddie’s wrist like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality. “You’re okay. That’s what matters.”

His thumb rubs across the back of Eddie’s arm while his fingers feel for the pulse point in his wrist, strong and steady

[zombiethingy]

Like so Whatever

This is for @steddiesongfics prompt "songs sang and written by women" I picked Girlfriend by Avril Levine | wc: 1233 | cw: Tommy’s really mean but they break up | rating: G Summary: Eddie's eating dinner with his friends when he overhears a conversation. AO3

Eddie took a bite of his pasta with a grim smile. The rest of the guys don't seem to notice, but the couple next to them have been fighting since they got here. If it could even be called fighting. The guy with freckles has found fault with everything his companion has done. Every word made Eddie's protective instincts wrinkle until his knuckles were white around his fork.

“Seriously, Steve? I know you're not very bright, but there is no way you think filet Mignon and fries is an okay combination. That’s not even mentioning the white wine.” Freckles sneered.

“I like white wine.” The brunette, Steve apparently, shrugged. Eddie felt a pang of sympathy as he watched the guy curl into himself.

“Then order fish.” Freckles said.

“Can we not do this right now? We're celebrating our anniversary.” Steve whispered harshly.

“You're lucky we even have an anniversary.” Freckles snapped.

Eddie wanted to interfere, but when he moved, Jeff shook his head quickly in warning.

“Eddie it's not your business.” He whispered.

“Yeah but that guy's being so mean.” Eddie replied. Jeff laid an arm along the back of Eddie's chair and squeezed his shoulder.

“I know, but going over there might make it worse not better.” Jeff said imploringly. He was right of course, but it still made Eddie’s conscience twitch.

It was then that the couple’s waiter arrived. “I’ll have the rib-eye with a baked potato.” Freckles began. Steve made a sound like he wanted to speak, but freckles talked right over him. “He'll have the salmon with asparagus.” The waiter jotted down the order as quickly as possible and power walked away.

“Tommy, I'm allergic to salmon.” Steve said angrily. “And I hate asparagus.”

The silverware in Eddie's hand bent when he heard that. He looked at Jeff, a fire in his eyes, begging to be let off the leash.

“Go with God.” The man sighed and removed his hand, shaking his head all the while. Eddie nodded in thanks then jumped to his feet. As he approached the couple, he appraised this Tommy fellow and decided if it came down to it, he could take him in a fight. The two men quieted down as Eddie got closer before falling silent as he stopped right next to them.

“Can we help you?” Tommy sneered as he sized Eddie up. Pointedly ignoring him, Eddie slid into the booth next to Steve, throwing his arm over the back of the shared seat.

“Name’s Eddie and you are?” Eddie asked, he overheard it but he didn't want to freak the guy out.

“Steve.” The other man replied confusedly.

“Stevie, can I call you Stevie? Do you like the way this guy talks to you?” He asked.

“Um…what?” Steve replied, tilting his head adorably.

“Hey, mind your own business dick.” Tommy said; Eddie ignored him.

“Because I gotta say sweetheart, unless this is some weird form of foreplay, your boyfriend here is a grade A douche bag. If you were my boyfriend I would never talk to you like that.” Eddie continued, throwing in a flirty smirk for good measure.

“He doesn't mind the way I talk to him. He's too stupid to understand when someone's condescending to him.” Freckles snorted as he looked at Steve. “Isn't that right, baby. There's nothing upstairs.” The tone Tommy used was obviously supposed to make it seem like a joke, but Steve's face fell at the cutting words. “Besides, I'm the only one who can put up with his neediness.” Tommy went on. Steve turned away from them and Eddie saw red.

“He’s not wrong.” Steve mumbled. “I'm an idiot, barely graduated high school, and I only have a job because I work for my dad. I'm clingy and every time I tried to date someone else they didn't stay. Tommy's the only one that stayed.” He said it so quietly but with so much conviction, like he really believed it.

“That settles it.” Eddie stood from the booth, the two men stared at him with different expressions; Steve resigned while Tommy was triumphant. “You need a new boyfriend, this one is useless. Come on.” He stood to the side, waiting. Steve's eyes darted between the two men, hesitantly. “You won't regret it, sweetheart I promise.”

“How do you know?” Steve whispered. With a soft smile, Eddie took Steve's hand, pulling him from the booth.

“I’ll remember you're allergic to salmon and you hate asparagus. I never understood the point of pairing your drink to your food if you don't want to, steak and potatoes is steak and potatoes regardless of the shape of either. And while you're beautiful even when you cry, you're way to gorgeous to be crying over this dickhead.” Eddie said. “I can tell that you deserve so much more, let me give it to you.”

“Okay.” Slowly, a radiant smile spread across Steve's face as he interlocked their fingers. Bringing them up to his lips, Eddie kissed the back of Steve's hand reverently.

“Yeah?” Eddie replied shyly.

“Yeah.” Steve whispered. The two walked hand in hand to the table with Eddie's friends; a nearby waiter brought them an extra chair.

“Hey!” Tommy shouted across the restaurant. “You cannot just walk away! You’ll be nothing without me!” With a shaky breath, Steve sat at Eddie's table, turning his back on his now-ex. Eddie introduced them to his friends and asked the waiter to bring Steve his filet Mignon and fries.

“Let's start dating tomorrow, Stevie. I already don't like that I had to share you with that ass hat, I don't want to share an anniversary with him.” Eddie said as they watched Tommy get escorted out of the restaurant.

“Deal. It wouldn't be the same day anyway, our anniversary was two weeks ago.” Steve replied with a sigh. “He forgot until this morning.”

“Wow dodged a bullet didn't you.” Jeff chimed in.

-----------------------------------

A year and a day later, they returned to the restaurant where they met. Steve ordered white wine with filet Mignon and fries, Eddie ordered pasta with a beer. They traded bites, laughs, and kisses.

When it was time for dessert, they decided to share a piece of cheesecake. As the dish arrived, the chef wrote something in chocolate sauce on the plate. Eddie's eyes widened when he saw the words and he gasped in shock.

“Steve…what the hell?” He whispered. Steve slid from his chair onto one knee and pulled out a velvet box.

“A year and a day ago, I was stuck in a relationship with a guy who made me feel like shit every day and I thought it was the best I would ever get.” Steve began, choking up a little as he spoke. “Then, in one conversation you changed me life so much for the better. You make me feel like I'm worth everything and I'm actually starting to believe it. You're everything to me and I never want to let you go. Will you marry me?” Steve asked. The sounds of the restaurant faded as Steve spoke. With watery eyes and a bright smile, Eddie nodded holding his hand out so Steve could slip the ring on his finger.

“Of course I will, Stevie.” Eddie said, pulling his fiance into a sweet kiss. “Interrupting your date was the best thing I've ever done.”

“I couldn't agree more.” Steve sighed against his lips.

permanent tag list(open):

@katyawriteswhump

[zombiethingy]

another round for me

for @corrodedcoffinfest prompt 'ten rounds with jose cuervo'

rated t | 883 words | cw: alcohol | tags: established steddie, famous corroded coffin, eddie munson lives, he has trauma though

also on ao3

🍺🍺🍺🍺🍺🍺🍺🍺🍺🍺🍺🍺🍺

“Boss said I gotta cut him off,” the bartender apologizes, winces when Eddie spills a drink on the bar. It’s not even his drink. Gareth and Steve share a look with each other before smiling at the bartender. He sighs. “He’s had, like, ten rounds of Cuervo.”

“12.” Steve sighs. “He won’t remember anything after the fifth.”

Gareth nods as they watch him leaning on Frankie, yelling in his ear about the music being shit but the drinks being lit. He turns to the bartender and holds out a $100 bill.

“We’ll go in a few minutes. One more for the road?”

The bartender makes sure his boss isn’t looking, pours another shot, and passes it directly to Gareth. “One more. Security has their eyes on him so be careful.”

Eddie’s not a danger to anyone, not really. Not even when he’s had just about a bottle of tequila all by himself. He’s just loud and clumsy, and sometimes doesn’t realize he’s in someone’s personal space.

Which can definitely be dangerous if he’s too drunk to realize someone’s annoyed.

But they’re all watching him. No one else had as much as him, and Gareth almost never has more than one. He’s always ready to step in if he has to.

“Another one? For meeeeee?” Eddie grins as he leans over to grab the shot from Gareth. “You tryna get me drunk or sum’n?”

Gareth snorts. “You did a great job of that yourself, dude. Last one and then we gotta head out.”

“Steeeeeve. Steve. Is this really the last one?” Eddie pouts and then throws the shot back before Steve can answer him. “That. Was. Water.”

His words are so slurred, it’s almost like he’s speaking another language. They understand him though.

He does this every year on the anniversary of when he almost died. No one argues, no one dares stop him, and most importantly, he’s never alone. Everyone silently recognizes the importance of this ritual and everyone lets him have round after round of whatever liquor he wants. Steve only had to step in one time a couple years ago when they were on tour and fans kept trying to buy him shots. He could get drunk if he wanted, but he couldn’t get alcohol poisoning.

Frankie guides him away from the bar, Jeff trailing behind to make sure no one follows them. Gareth and Steve settle the tab and add on to their already generous tip, thanking the bartender for his patience and understanding.

The walk back to the hotel is short, but the fresh air seems to be enough to keep Eddie from being ill. He’s wobbly, but Frankie’s got him. Steve’s watching him with a mixture of fondness and concern.

Sometimes tequila makes him weepy. None of them have seen how bad it is quite like he has. Hopefully he makes it to the room before he’s crying.

“Frankie. Hey.” Eddie’s voice is a bit quieter, the sounds of the city around them drowning it out a little. Steve can still hear, though. “You think you woulda missed me?”

Uh oh. Frankie slows down, and everyone else does too. Steve is wondering if he could pick Eddie up and run the rest of the way to the hotel, but that would be ridiculous.

“Yeah, man. We all would’ve.” Steve is holding his breath as Eddie processes Frankie’s words.

“He saved me.” Eddie’s voice is shaking now, wobbly with emotion that he tries not to show very often. “Didn’t have to. Risked his life. For me.”

Frankie’s looking at Steve with wide eyes now.

They all know the story. Hard not to tell them every dirty detail eventually. They’re sworn to secrecy, of course. And they don’t ever talk about it unless Eddie brings it up, which is rare.

Usually only on these nights.

“It was worth it,” Steve says quietly, coming up next to him to take his weight from Frankie. “You know it was. Let’s get you to bed.”

Eddie’s surprisingly quiet for the rest of the walk. He hugs everyone as they separate in the elevator. Jeff always stays on the lowest level he can get away with, and Gareth and Frankie will only stay on odd number floors. Eddie likes to stay as high as he can, loves a good view even when it sucks.

He’s quiet when Steve strips off all his clothes and has him at least rinse off in the shower. They can take a longer one in the morning. He’ll need the steam to help his hangover headache.

He’s even quiet when Steve tucks him in, makes him drink a bottle of water, and gets in next to him.

Just when Steve thinks he might be asleep, he lets out a sob.

Steve pulls him close, holds him as tight as he can. He kisses the top of his head, tells him he’s okay. It’s a lot like what he did the night he saved him.

Better though, since there’s no imminent threat or blood anywhere.

“Love you,” Eddie says when he’s finally calmed down.

“Love you, too. Get some rest. We can get room service in the morning.”

“Too much.”

“Hm?” Steve pauses his hands slowly rubbing his back.

“Tequila. Shoulda had less.”

Steve smirks. “Remember that for next year.”

[zombiethingy]

Little Stalker Pt 5

Part 5! Thanks to everyone who made me write this weekend ❤️ I think there's one more part to go!

Chapter cw: no consent given in any direction for anything, humiliation, obsession, spit as lube, painful sex

Pt. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

Last time:

“Now spit.”

👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️

Eddie's heart stutters in his chest, and thoughtlessly (not thoughtlessly at all, so, so many thoughts are running through his mind right now, but none of them matter at all, not when Harrington told him to spit in that tone of voice) he stops swallowing, letting drool pool under his tongue, gathering it up, and spitting into Harrington's palm under his mouth. A thin line of fluid strings between his lips and those thick fingers that were so recently inside of him, connecting them until Harrington pulls his hand back.

“Ugh,” he says, “Whatever. That'll do.”

There's a wet swipe of skin on skin behind him, Harrington sighing in contentment, and then.

And then.

Then comes the touch of soft-firm-hot skin against his hole, pushing, prodding, bullying its way in, hairsbreadths at a time. He's not wet enough, not loose enough, though Eddie tries his damnedest to bear down, because there is nothing he has ever wanted more in his life than to get Steve Harrington's cock in him, but rather than the smooth slide he's dreamed about, it hurts. The skin around his hole is pulling in a not fun way.

It's not wet enough. Harrington tries to bulldoze his way in, but it’s clear that he’s having a rough time of it, too. “Or not,” Harrington grumbles behind him, impatient. He’s impatient too, everything he’s wanted for so long is so close he can literally feel it—

He can feel it, like he just felt the slick, wet splat in the cleft of his ass. Harrington just spat on him, warm and gross and amazing where they’re almost, almost joined. Eddie breathes out, trying so, so hard not to moan at the thought, and desperately wishes he could have seen him do it. Instead, hot digits press around, spreading the additional spit around where Harrington’s cock presses against him, and slowly, so slowly, he pushes in.

There’s still an unpleasant pull as the head of that perfect cock moves, flaring and sliding into Eddie, and Harrington is finally inside, if only a bit. It hurts, he hasn’t prepped enough and the only lube they’re using is spit and Harrington isn’t waiting for Eddie to adjust at all, and Eddie is obsessed. It’ll be painful tomorrow, it’s painful right now, but Harrington is inside of him even more than he was a moment ago and he’ll come inside of Eddie and Eddie will be able to take that with him, that dripping warmth will come home with him just like the aches and tears that are already building.

Harrington pushes, and pushes, and after what feels like an hour or maybe just a few seconds, Eddie feels Harrington’s hips up against his, breathes out hard when Harrington grinds into his hole indulgently. The coarse hair is rough on his sensitive, stretched skin; he hopes it leaves a rash he feels every time he sits down for the next week.

Harrington is inside of him. He clenches around the hard flesh he feels stretching him.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you, fuckin’ freak,” Harrington leans forward to growl into his ear.

Eddie feels every inch of skin on skin, a brand on his back. He could die happy in this moment, he thinks, skin on skin, outside and in.

The precious inches of contact peel back, and Eddie mourns even as he celebrates the hands curled around his hips, the sway of Harrington’s balls against his own as he shifts his weight.

Inches of obsession meet a new meaning as Harrington slowly pulls out and pushes back in hard. Eddie can’t help the grunt that escapes.

“Let's see if you can keep quiet now, huh?”

“Shit.”

Harrington is off like the athlete he is, in and out and in and in until Eddie is gasping in pain and pleasure, sure there will be rips but not giving one single shit, not when he gets this. A moan is building in the cavity of his chest and Eddie shoves one hand between his teeth, biting down. He is not going to ruin this.

Instead, he uses what little leverage he has to push back against the rhythm Harrington has set himself to. The slaps of their flesh are metronome-steady, faster than any song he’s ever played, surely leaving bruises that will blossom into handprints he’ll be able to press against later. Eddie will covet every bruise, every rip and tear, every moment of whatever the fuck this is for as long as he has memory.

After too much time, after not nearly long enough, Harrington starts jerking, losing and gaining the steadiness he started with. He uses Eddie, clearly getting close, pulling him onto his dick however he wants, setting Eddie off balance but it doesn’t matter, he couldn’t pull away or off if he tried, if he wanted to.

Eddie knows what’s coming soon, feels his dick pulsing in time to Harrington’s movements, feels the thrusts get less and less steady, relishes in the fact that his body has brought Harrington so, so close, and can only hope that he—that he—

He bites down harder, his spit trailing down his wrist, dripping onto the bench below. God, he’s so close, please, please let him come untouched with Harrington in him, let them come at the same time, let this—this connection bond them forever, let him be used by Harrington forever, let Harrington come to Eddie begging for more—

Harrington pushes all the way in, four more tiny thrusts, and Eddie feels a rush of liquid heat filling him up, and up, and up.

Yes. Yes.

He’s not coming, not yet, he just needs to touch himself, he needs one, maybe two strokes, so he brings his hand down to do that when—

No.

👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️

Pt. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

Tag List:

@hiei-harringtonmunson @eyehartart @queenie-ofthe-void @lets-try-to-be-normal-otakus

[zombiethingy]

Little Stalker Pt 4

I'm back! I'm thinking there will be another 2 parts after this, then I'll post to AO3 😊

Chapter cw: no consent given in any direction for anything, humiliation, obsession, Eddie can't leave but is into it, spit as lube

Pt. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

Last time:

And he's still fucking hard, still leaking into his boxers, still aching for Harrington to touch him even now.

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When he does, it's another pinch, this one harder, right over the slit of Eddie's cock, the wet cloth rough against the sensitive skin, and this time he doesn't let go. He pinches rhythmically harder through the cheap, worn cotton, loosening a bit, harder again. Eddie swallows down a whimper as best he can, his hips jerking away what little they can without any conscious thought from him, but Steve's fingers follow without effort, pulling and pushing in a way that could be considered playful if it wasn't so fucking painful.

He fucking hates how much it hurts. How much he wants more anyway, because fuck, Steve Harrington is touching his dick.

So when Steve's fingers pinch and pull, Eddie’s still-clothed dick and an unwilling whine go with them, pulling Eddie forward in an awkward shuffle away from the cold metal of the lockers. At some point his eyes have fallen shut again, so when Harrington lets go of his searing grip and shoves Eddie's shoulder forward instead, he's not prepared at all. Eddie stumbles forward, his shins impacting the benches running lengthwise along the room, and grunts in pain of a less teeth-aching type.

That's going to bruise, he thinks to himself, as if that matters.

As if Harrington wasn't, even now, shoving him forward roughly, forcing Eddie to lean forward and catch himself on the bench, his palms slipping along the worn wood, and Eddie tries to fall sideways a bit so as to not ruin his knees, as ungraceful as a newborn fawn, but–

“Stop fucking moving, Munson,” Harrington growls, the hand not pressed between Eddie's shoulderblades digging into his hip to stabilize and bruise in turn. It takes all of Eddie's poor self control not to moan at the contact, the feeling of control and heat at the contact, swallowing it down ruthlessly.

All that effort is for absolutely nothing when Harrington presses his hips up against Eddie's bony ass.

He's hard.

Eddie can't take it, knowing that Harrington is hard because of him, he did that, and that moan in Eddie's throat overflows. It echoes amongst the lockers for a moment until Harrington shoots a hand forward, covering Eddie's mouth sloppily.

“Are you insane? Do you want to get caught?” he hisses in Eddie's ear, shifting his grip on Eddie's mouth to pinch at his jaw. Eddie's mouth falls open and Harrington takes what's given, thrusting three fingers deep into Eddie's willing mouth, pressing down on his tongue and far back enough that Eddie has a hard time trying to swallow. Harrington huffs a laugh into Eddie's ear, “Might as well,” he murmurs, quiet enough that Eddie isn't sure he was meant to have heard it. He's definitely meant to hear when Harrington continues, thrusting his fingers a little further back, enough that Eddie chokes. “Do something useful for once and get them nice and wet, huh Munson?”

Eddie can feel the wet warmth of Harrington's breath, and deliriously imagines that breath whispering over his cock even as the hand Harrington had on his back trails down purposefully, grabbing the waist of his boxers and sagging pants and pushing them down just enough to expose Eddie's backside entirely. Fuck, what is even happening? What are they doing?

On the other hand, who the fuck cares?

Eddie gets Harrington's fingers nice and wet, is what he does.

“Yeah, good enough,” Harrington mutters, pulling his hand back and down, prodding abruptly at Eddie's hole. His fingers are cold and wet and aggressive, pushing in with no real warning down to the knuckle with one, thrusting a few times and adding another thick finger. It's too fast, too harsh, and it hurts but Jesus fucking Christ, how many times has he dreamed about this, has he touched himself to the very concept of Harrington touching him like this?

Another moan rips its way out, even knowing they can't get caught, that someone will check up on Steve soon, but fuck.

“I said shut up, freak. You know what? Fine. You're so eager?” Harrington pulls both hands back and Eddie whines at the loss, pressing his hips back. He can't help it, it's not a conscious decision, but he felt Harrington inside him and now he's not sure how he'll be able to live without it, even if it's just rough and harsh and painful. He'll take anything Harrington gives him, fingers, plug, he'll sit under Harrington's desk and cockwarm him as long as he doesn't feel like this again.

Shit, what if Harrington leaves?

What if he doesn't?

The sound of cloth-on-cloth is brief but reassuring, and soon Harrington's hands are on his hips again, hard dick pressed up against him, skin on skin, thrusting between Eddie's ass cheeks as best he can, and Eddie realized he was wrong. Harrington being inside of him is nothing on this, on his taking his pleasure from Eddie. Take it. Take everything, take everything until there's nothing left of Eddie at all.

“Now spit.”

👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️

Pt. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

Tag List:

@hiei-harringtonmunson @eyehartart @queenie-ofthe-void @lets-try-to-be-normal-otakus

[zombiethingy]

Little Stalker Pt 3

Chapter cw: no consent given in any direction for anything, humiliation, Eddie can't leave but is into it

Pt. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

Last time:

“Caught you, my little stalker~”

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Contrary to everything that may have led up to this cold blast of air, of clarity, Eddie usually has at least a shred of self preservation running through his veins.

So that's exactly what he does. He runs, or at least tries to. His hand ignobly yanks itself out of his boxers, the other pushing off against the back of the locker, hoping to a god he doesn't quite believe in that the sudden movement will startle Harrington enough that he'll have a head start, however small. Not a ton, he doesn't need a ton, just enough to flee the scene of the crime, and get home and grab his belongings, long enough to flee Hawkins, or maybe Indiana, or the States altogether. He can run to Canada, it's not that far. Wayne will be disappointed, but when isn't he? He'll get over it better than realizing he has a queer peeping tom for a nephew.

Or, Eddie realizes far too late, maybe it won't startle him enough, or at all, not even a little. Maybe Harrington was expecting it, not that it's a hard thing to guess, an escape attempt. They both know what could happen with a single word from Harrington to the right person.

He doesn't get more than a foot (and that's generous) before Harrington's hand is curled in the collar of his Hellfire shirt, stretching it out even more than it already was, slamming his neck back against the unforgiving steel hard enough to have glass shards sparking off behind Eddie's eyes, holding him there hard enough to make it just a little hard to breathe.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Harrington croons, “you don't get to run away now. You got a show, didn't you?” He glances down, a smirk drawing its way across his face. “A show you enjoyed, clearly.” To really add insult to injury, the King of Hawkins High flicks the wet patch showing at the front of his boxers with his free hand.

Humiliation burns through Eddie. To make this already impossible situation worse, Eddie is still hard. From adrenaline, from residual arousal, it could be–but no. How many times has Eddie dreamed of being pressed against a locker like this, maybe having Harrington slot a thigh between his, make him hump his leg like an untrained dog? He'd do it, too. Fear, arousal, it doesn't even matter, right now Harrington could order him to kneel on the cold tile of the locker room floor and lick his sneakers and he'd do it happily. He just knows it.

If his expression is anything to go on, Harrington knows it, too. He has Eddie over a barrel, and he knows it.

It's not helping Eddie's erection. Not at all. If anything, he can feel himself twitch at Harrington's condescending stare, to his clear delight. “You little freak, you're getting off on this! You get off on being called out, freak?” he presses Eddie's neck a little harder and gets another twitch.

Eddie belatedly reaches forward to try to cover himself up where his pants are drooping slightly open at the front, but Harrington bats him away.

“Nuh-uh, Munson. You don't get to watch us all naked and then get shy when you're called out.”

“N-not everyone.”

A moment of silence, and Eddie curses his big fucking mouth, biting his lip, screwing his eyes shut, just…bracing for a hit. That's got to be too far, to make it so clear that Eddie wasn't looking at Jason or Jackson or Johnny M, just–just him. Shit, shit, shit–

“Strip.”

“…What?” He can't have heard that right.

Harrington hums a bit. “It's only fair, right? I mean, you've been watching me. Drop ’em.”

For one wild second, Eddie flits his gaze to the door. Maybe if he kneed Harrington–

“Don't. You won't make it,” Harrington says like it's just a fact. Maybe it is. “I'm faster than you. I'm stronger than you. I know it, you know it, and we both know you don't really want to run.” Just to be a shit, Eddie pushes against Harrington's grip. He moves maybe half an inch. “Tick tock, freak. You take too long, maybe Coach will come looking, and then where will we be? C'mon.” His captor reaches down, pinches where the tip of Eddie's still-hard cock pushes at his boxers above where his pants flap open a bit. His hips jerk away from the sensation, but Eddie can't help the whine that erupts. “Unzip. All the way.”

Eddie unzips, shaking. And stands there, holding up his sagging pants, not quite sure what to do next, but starting to get the inkling he might not be about to die, which is sending him into a hell of an adrenaline crash.

Or it would, if Harrington wasn't now inspecting his plain boxers, the wet spot that's only grown, the tent he's pitching, with a distinct hunger Eddie knows well. He feels it every time he so much as looks at the asshole in front of him with his life in his hands. Now if only Harrington would put something else in his hands, maybe that would actually get him off, that would be wonderful; he's starting to ache.

Harrington snorts.

Laughter isn't the worst reaction he's ever had to someone seeing him hard, but it's up there. Great.

He tries again to cover himself, humiliated; again, Harrington bats his hands away, leaving his fingers closing into fists at his sides, his fully open jeans to sag downward. They don't go far, but there's no chance he'll be able to run easily now.

Not that he was going to, at this point. God dammit.

“So, freak, did you get what you wanted, hiding in there?” Standing powerless, with his pants down, Eddie does his best not to respond.

…Yes and no.

Even if he teleported away now, he'd have enough jackoff material to keep him sated for years. (That's a lie. It would never, ever be enough.)

“No, you didn't, did you?”

And he's still fucking hard, still leaking into his boxers, still aching for Harrington to touch him even now.

👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️

Pt. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

Tag List:

@lawrencebshoggoth

[zombiethingy]

My ideal societal treatment of transitioning is that its like, finding a new, better job and/or moving cities

It's a big, positive life event, but it happens to people all the time. It's often celebrated casually. It just happens sometimes, though. Maybe people at your old job change their relationship with you, and maybe you fortify your relationship with people elsewhere. You can mention where you used to work casually without it being a huge deal. You can joke about people quitting their jobs and becoming a goat farmer without it being a huge deal.