justanother-anon

[justanother-anon]

[justanother-anon]

it's both funny and frustrating when cultural differences affect the way a character is interpreted in fandom.

for example, one guy is very studious and "proper" and it's canonically depicted as his attractive traits (though there are moments of gap moe where these traits are challenged), and the east asian fanbase mostly sees him that way.

the english side, however, portray him as a lame nerd with a grandpa fashion sense whose attractiveness comes from his cringefail nerdery. which is. hm. it was funny and fresh at first, but it's starting to grate me

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[justanother-anon]

When people say, “nature is my religion” are they talking about flies that feed on shit, maggots in decomposing corpses, lionesses with stained teeth and mouths full of blood? Are they talking about floods and fires and things from which we should always run? Are they talking about carcasses, rot, death?

Or do they just mean “this particular copse of benign trees is my religion”

[justanother-anon]

u guys are crazy if u think a man needs literally any redeeming qualities for a woman to go out with him have you ever met a straight girl in your life they love dating men with terrible personalities who also can't get them off

[justanother-anon]

first 5 faceless emojis are how your summers gonna go

[justanother-anon]

Someone on Twitter proposed Steve and Gareth as cousins whose family had a major falling out, and then someone else brought it up recently and long story short no idea who to credit the idea too bc you can’t search for SHIT on Twitter but it’s theirs not mine. 

Anyway I wrote a lil thing as a warmup 

“Why don’t you come sit with Hellfire?” Gareth asked, angrily leaned against the bathroom wall while Steve fixed his hair.

He’d tried not to cling since he entered high school. Tried to keep things on the downlow, least any gossipy mouths started running. 

It was so stupidly, needlessly, hard. 

 His cousin was only two years ahead of him but they’d spent the last year in different schools because of it. 

 That year, and the lack of Steve’s presence in it, had grated. Now that he finally had Steve back, Gareth was loathe to play by the rules. 

“Sit with you and Eddie, “the freak” Munson? I’ll pass.“ Steve said, but there was no bite in it. 

That, Gareth knew, was because Steve was  using Eddie as an excuse. 

"You’d like Eddie if you spent five minutes with him, King Steve.” Gareth fired back on automatic. His fingers dug into his arms, as he resisted the urge to pace around the bathroom floor. 

Unspoken was all the shit that had taken place.

Keep reading

[justanother-anon]

when steve and eddie finally adopt, everyone thinks that eddie's gonna be the fun parent and steve's gonna be the strict one. when their kid falls from climbing the playground equipment at the park, they find out its the complete opposite.

eddie's on the ground with the kid pulled onto his lap and wiping their tears and speaking in soft tones to calm them down.

steve takes one look at their scraped knee and says, deadpan, "yep. we're definitely gonna have to chop your leg off." which makes the kid scream and cry harder into eddie's chest as eddie tries to scold steve without laughing.

[justanother-anon]

Growing up, food is always a bit of a sore spot for Eddie. Of course, Wayne does his best to make sure that Eddie never goes to bed with an empty stomach, but growing boys need lots of fuel. And while there always is food, there often isn’t much food. But it’s fine, Eddie knows Wayne is trying so hard, picking up all the extra shifts he can. Eddie would never hold it against his uncle, he knows how much Wayne already frets. And even though Eddie’s stomach growls every now and then, he learns to ignore it. Learns how not to be hungry.

While other kids experiment what herbs might go best with pasta sauce and how to caramelize sugar without burning it, Eddie tries to find out how to water down soup and stretch stew for days. Figures out how to make rice with beans still taste good on day five. Hunts down coupons and keeps an eye out for discounts so they can have hot dogs on the fourth of july and candy on Halloween. Food is never really pleasure or indulgence. Only something neither he nor Wayne try to worry about. Some days it’s easier than others.

It’s not really until after the upside down, after he has been discharged from the hospital and off the murder accusations, not until Steve that food becomes more than just another annoyingly human need. Thanks to the government hush money and Eddie picking up a mechanic jobat the local garage they don’t need to worry about food anymore. 

But it’s still just means to an end, there is no luxuriating in it, no big cravings, Eddie still cuts out coupons. Steve offers them to host Hellfire at his house and Eddie offers to buy snacks. It’s the least he can do if Steve is letting them into his mansion. But Steve declines, says he’ll take care of it. And he does. 

When Eddie and the rest of Hellfire show up the dining room table (Steve has a dining room Jesus H. Christ) is filled with all kinds of snacks. It’s everyone’s favorite kinds of snack. And not the store brand knock off snacks, no, it’s the real fancy shit. Or well as fancy as pringles and mountain dew can be. But it doesn’t stop there. 

Once the game is over, the kids help clean up, but none of them rush to get their shoes back on or slip into their jackets. Instead, they pile into the kitchen, dragging Eddie and the older kids of Hellfire with them where Steve is already handing them steaming plates of lasagna. 

“You running a soup kitchen, Harrington?” Eddie can’t help but tease as a  plate is pressed into his hands. 

There is a blush creeping over Steve’s face and Eddie instantly regrets his comment. It’s just the snacks, the dinner, it kinda makes him feel inadequate, like he was bad at hosting Hellfire because he never brought snacks let alone dinner.

It takes Eddie a while to understand that Steve doesn’t do it to show off, but simply because he enjoys cooking. He always provides snacks when they are at his house, be it Hellfire, movie night, or pool parties. There is always home cooked food and often even homemade dessert too. The day he bakes a bunch of lemon meringue cookies is a horrible day because those cookies are to die or fall madly in love for and Eddie can feel his stomach swoop. He ignores it like he has ignored all his cravings over the years. And it works for a while.

Until one golden autumn afternoon when Eddie is early and the kids are still at school. Eddie offers to drive around the block a couple of times, but Steve just laughs, tells Eddie not to be stupid. He leads Eddie into the kitchen and motions for him to sit on the counter.  Talks about how he likes company while cooking. The radio in the corner of the kitchen blares pop music loudly and Steve turns it down, no need for it to longer fill the oppressive silence. Eddie hops on the counter, dangles his legs and watches Steve cook. It’s so obviousthat he loves doing it. The way he hums quietly, sautees onions and garlic, stirs in herbs and spices, tastes his sauce, frowns and adds more salt. It’s horribly endearing and cute and dangerous and Eddie can’t tell if his stomach is growling or filled with butterflies. 

“Have you always loved cooking?” he asks, desperate to keep his thoughts from spiraling. Steve laughs again in response and the sound kicks up another storm in Eddie’s stomach. 

“God no,” Steve says and stirs his sauce. “I couldn’t cook for the longest time. Lived off tv dinners and take out for some years.” 

The soft smile of his lips faints slightly. Eddie knows what a bitter taste loneliness can leave in your mouth. Knows that while Steve never had to worry about food, he also never had someone to share it with. 

“Found some cookbooks inthe attic a few years back,” Steve continues. “Tired out some recipes, asked Claudia and Mrs. Wheeler for advice when I couldn’t get something right and well here we are.” 

“Here we are,” Eddie echoes, unable to tear his eyes away from Steve. He looks gorgeous in the golden afternoon light, a dorky apron that says Kiss the cook on it and god how Eddie would like to oblige that order. Steve catches him staring, but doesn’t call him out on it. The corner of his mouth twitches up as he dips a wooden spoon into the sauce, holds a hand under it and turns to Eddie.

“Taste this for me?” he asks, stepping closer, until he is bracketed by Eddie’s thighs. Eddie can just swallow and nod, not sure how to cope with Steve being this close. Steve lifts the spoon until wood touches Eddie’s lips. He parts them hesitantly, lets Steve push the spoon into his mouth, licks the sauce off it. All while looking in the gold honey and caramel of Steve’s eyes. Eddie wonders if Steve's lips would taste of spun sugar too. 

“It’s good,” he rasps once Steve has lowered the spoon. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

Steve smiles and god if smiles had a taste, Steve’s would be Eddie’s favorite flavor. The kind of flavor that would teach Eddie indulgence. The same way Steve indulges in his cooking, lets all the time and care he puts in his food speak for how much he loves the people he prepares food for. Because for Steve food is more than just sustenance. It's love. 

Steve goes back to the stove, stirs some more and begins humming again. Eddie continues to watch him. And for the first time in years, Eddie allows himself to be hungry. 

.   

[justanother-anon]

i need ! !! to be ! !!! !! ! ! kissed ! !! !! ! !! and held!! !!! ! ! ! and !!!! !! kissed some more!! !! ! !!!

[justanother-anon]

saw this prompt @newgrangespirals @steddieas-shegoes; needed to write it but also i kind of derailed it bc my brain has a mind of its own and its focus is steddie so i apologize also on ao3

He’s met with silence. 

Eddie supposes Murray Bauman must only ever be met with silence after speaking; he doesn’t seem the type of man to hold an easy, casual conversation. Especially now. 

Even Argyle is silent, his fork stalled on its way to his mouth as he looks from Murray to Jonathan, whose face is red, then Nancy, who’s equally flushed. 

Eddie looks at the table, his vision blurring. His hands are shaking.

“Murray,” Joyce says in a lethally calm voice. Eddie had forgotten she was here. “Go.”

“What do you mean, go?” Murray says, his voice quieter like he’s starting to sense what he’s just done. “We’re in—“

“Murray,” Joyce snaps. Eddie flinches. His fingers are knotting with the hem of the tablecloth, his food uneaten on his plate. “Go. I will deal with you later.”

There’s a moment of quiet before Murray’s chair scrapes across the uneven tile floor, and his footsteps retreat. And then there’s silence again. Tense, tense silence. 

“Steve,” Nancy says quietly, and Eddie looks up at her, glaring even though she hasn’t done anything to him. Jonathan looks at her too, anxious. Joyce sips her water, her hand shaking, and Hopper has his head down, his face hidden in his hands. 

“I’m good,” Steve says shortly, and Eddie looks at him, his stomach flipping. Steve is smiling a little, but it’s an awful smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes. He pushes his plate away with a breath like he feels just as sick as Eddie does, and he nods, but he doesn’t look like he’s really here. “I’m…”

“Steve, it— it wasn’t—“

“You told him my name,” Steve snaps, looking at her across the table, his eyes wide. Nancy looks like she’s going to start crying, and Eddie finds that he really doesn’t care if she does. “And you still…”

He laughs. Dryly, humourlessly. Eddie feels like he might throw up. 

Steve closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose the way he does when he feels a migraine coming on, and he laughs again. 

“Steve—“ Jonathan tries to say, but Steve just holds his hands up, shaking his head. 

“I’m just…”

He pushes his plate farther away, moving his chair back with a loud scrape, and then he’s leaving too, going upstairs. Eddie watches him go, watches Robin get up to follow him before she deflates, seeing the way Steve gestures for her to stay, to leave him alone. Robin’s hands are shaking, and Eddie can practically feel the anger radiating from her. 

The silence is back after a door slams upstairs. 

Joyce sets her glass down loudly, and she puts her hands flat on the table next to her plate, taking a deep, shaky breath. Hopper says her name softly, but she holds a hand up, shushing him. 

“I have never…” she starts slowly, her voice shaking with anger. “I have never been more disappointed in my life.”

“Mom—”

“Jonathan,” Joyce snaps, fixing a look on him, and he falls quiet. “…I did not raise you to be the other man. And Nancy, I…” She puts her hands on the table again, taking a measured breath before she looks at Nancy. “I am not your mother, but I think I am well within my rights to say I’m disappointed in you, too.”

“Ms Byers—”

“I don’t want to hear a word out of either of you,” Joyce says calmly before she touches her face, rubbing her chin anxiously as she stares at her plate in front of her. Nobody is eating anymore. Eddie still feels sick, but he also feels like he’s blended into the wall, like everybody’s forgotten that he’s here at all.  He looks at the table, at the fraying tablecloth that’s clutched in his fingers. 

“Unbelievable,” Joyce mutters to herself. “I can’t…” She doesn’t finish the sentence. Nancy takes a shuddering breath. She might be crying. 

“Eddie, dude.”

Eddie looks up, his eyes meeting Argyle’s. He’s looking over at Eddie anxiously, his head tilted a little bit, and as they look at each other, the others look at Eddie too. And suddenly he isn’t in the wall, but he’s the centrepiece of the table, the showstopper, the freak. 

It’s like they all remember what Murray said at the same time. 

“Eddie,” Joyce says, her voice softer than it was a moment ago. Kinder. Eddie looks at her. “Honey, if… if it is true. None of us have any problem with it.”

If it is true.

They all know it is. Eddie can tell just by looking at them that they all know. 

He feels so… small. Like he’s fifteen again. Like he’s new in high school, like he’s walking down the hallway and feeling all the stares, the eyes and eyes and eyes looking, watching, analysing, judging. Even though Joyce’s gaze is kind, and Hopper gives him a slight nod when their eyes meet. 

Eddie’s chest feels so tight he can’t breathe, each breath shallow and weak, and he’s kind of lightheaded, and he feels fucking nauseous. 

“I, uhm.” He clears his throat, his stomach churning, and he untangled his fingers from the tablecloth, taking a sharp breath. “Excuse me,” he says quickly, breathlessly, moving his chair back so fast it tips on the uneven tiles. He feels like he might pass out as he goes upstairs, hearing Argyle say something quietly behind him.

Upstairs feels even quiet than downstairs. Like every room could have an echo. 

Eddie finds a room that’s empty except for some cardboard boxes, and he shuts the door behind himself before he goes to the opposite side of the room, closing his eyes as he presses his forehead to the wall. It’s cold. 

He’s breathing too fast, and his head feels light, like if his eyes were open his vision would be dark. He wraps his arms around himself tightly, squeezing as he exhales until he wheezes, until there’s nothing in his lungs, and then he inhales as slowly as he can. In, in, in, until he can’t anymore. He holds it. Exhales. Does it all over again. 

Until he can breathe without suffocating. 

He turns to rest his back on the wall, and he slides down to the floor, closing his eyes and pulling his knees to his chest, exhaling shakily. 

He’s never felt like this before. 

He feels so… lonely. 

He feels almost cold, even though sunlight is streaming through the window, beams of golden light glowing across the floor. 

He cries. Even though he tries not to. He can’t help it, and the tears are absorbed by the sleeves of his hoodie. 

Steve’s hoodie. Eddie hates that he’s wearing it, even though Steve brought it just for him. Even though Steve specifically made sure he brought a black one, even though it smells like Steve. Eddie hates that Murray noticed that it’s Steve’s. 

He stays there for a while. Until the sunlight dims. 

He only lifts his head when the door breaks open, and Steve’s voice says, “Eddie?”

Eddie stands quickly, wiping his face and sniffling as Steve finds him and shuts the door behind himself. 

“Hey,” Eddie says, his voice wavering. “You okay?”

Steve nods. He doesn’t look like he’s been crying, but his eyes are shining blankly. And Eddie aches. 

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t really have to. Steve blinks at him, hesitating. 

“I kind of already knew,” he says like it’s a question. “I just…” He exhales, swallowing, and Eddie knows he’s talking about Nancy and Jonathan. It. “I, like, convinced myself I didn’t care? That it— it didn’t matter?” 

Eddie listens, leaning against the wall, watching Steve push his hair back anxiously. 

“I mean— the world was ending, who gives a shit if— if I get cheated on? It’s so fucking stupid.” He doesn’t seem to realize he’s even talking to Eddie. He’s just talking. Saying what he didn’t say downstairs. “But I’m so… Jesus. Hearing it out loud, like— like Murray was fucking proud, like it was funny, I’m just… I don’t know.”

Steve deflates, leaning against the door, looking at Eddie, and his eyes are shining. 

“Embarrassed?”

“You don’t have anything to be embarrassed about, Steve,” Eddie says softly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“...I trusted them,” Steve says quietly, weakly. 

“You trusted them,” Eddie repeats. “What they did is their fault, Steve, you didn’t do anything wrong. Trusting them wasn’t wrong,” he adds adamantly, watching the way Steve’s eyes shine. “You thought they were— they were trustworthy. You didn’t know they’d do something like that.” 

Steve sniffs, looking at the floor. His cheeks are flushed, and Eddie hates himself for thinking he looks beautiful. 

“You have every right to feel hurt,” Eddie says gently. Steve looks at him. He swallows. “And to feel angry.”

“What about you?” Steve asks quietly after a moment. Eddie blinks. 

“What about me?” 

Steve looks at him. His eyes flick back and forth between Eddie’s for a moment, intent and searching before he speaks. His voice is so soft. Kind. 

“He just outed you in front of all of us,” he says quietly. “You’re not angry?” 

Eddie blinks again. 

Steve looks at him so kindly. Eddie likes being looked at like this. Like Steve is listening to him even though he isn’t speaking. And Eddie realizes that Steve just knows, that he doesn’t question it. That he knows how Eddie is feeling, but is waiting for him to say it himself.

Eddie’s lip quivers, and he feels like a child again. 

“I…” He hesitates, taking a breath as a wave of nausea washes over him again. Steve just looks at him. “I’ve never come out to anyone,” he says weakly. He doesn’t recognize his own voice. “I’ve never gotten the chance to. My— My dad found some zines in my room when I was fourteen, and I didn’t… I didn’t have to say anything.” His voice is shaking. He’s never told anyone about this, not even Jeff. “The only time I ever heard that man say anything about God was when he was trying to beat the queer out of me,” he says, laughing the way Steve laughed downstairs. Humorless. Almost hysterical. “And he— he called Wayne to tell him everything because he…” 

Eddie trails off, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. 

“I told myself no one would ever know when Wayne took me in, but I swear it was like overnight, the whole town knew,” he chokes. “Because of— of my hair, or my clothes, or— or because people associate queerness with evil and— and Satanism, I don’t fucking know, but everyone knew and I…” 

He covers his face, his face hot with embarrassment as a sob escapes him, and it feels so stupid to be so upset right now, but Steve just waits patiently, listening and looking at him. 

“People keep taking it,” Eddie chokes, his face wet with tears now, looking at Steve desperately. “It’s mine, and people keep taking it from me.” 

Steve nods. 

And then he’s coming close and wrapping his arms around Eddie, and Eddie is crying into his shoulder, his hands clutching at Steve’s shirt the way they clutched at the tablecloth earlier, his fingers gripping the fabric so tightly his knuckles ache. He’s shaking. But Steve’s hands feel steady as they run over his back, and Eddie wants to die. 

Because Murray told them to have sex. And Steve is still here, holding Eddie while he cries, even though he knows Eddie is gay, even though Murray told the whole table that Eddie likes Steve, that it’s so painfully obvious that he likes Steve. That he’s pining, yearning. 

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, pressing his face into Steve’s neck, his shoulders shaking as he sobs, and Steve moves a hand to hold the back of his head, his fingers pressing into Eddie’s curls to cradle his skull. And it’s almost fucking tender, and Eddie doesn’t know how he got here. Or where he’s going to go. 

Steve is murmuring to him. Quiet I got yous and It’s okays, his voice breathy and soft in Eddie’s ear. Eddie melts against him, and Steve holds him tightly, swaying with him, rubbing his back and scratching his fingertips over his scalp carefully the way he does when Eddie has nightmares. 

Eddie whines into his neck, choking on his breath, and Steve’s arm tightens around his waist like he’s preparing to catch Eddie if he falls. 

“I know,” he whispers softly. “It’s not fair.” 

Eddie shakes his head. 

It’s not fair. 

It’s fucking bullshit. 

The whole world thinks it knows him better than he knows himself. Even if they’re fucking right. It’s not fair. He’s never gotten to speak for himself, never gotten to really introduce himself. 

He aches when he finally stops crying, his fingers relaxing but still holding Steve’s shirt loosely, and his hands are sore. Steve runs his hand through Eddie’s hair. He waits, holding Eddie close even though he isn’t crying anymore, touching him gently, kindly, as Eddie catches his breath. 

“You know what I’m angriest at?” Eddie asks softly after a few moments, his voice weak and breaking from his crying. Steve touches his head again. 

“What?” Steve whispers. 

“...He’s fucking right.”

Steve is quiet. Eddie squeezes his eyes shut as they burn again. 

And then Steve is shifting, holding the back of Eddie’s head, and Eddie blinks his eyes open to look at him. Steve looks into his eyes intently, and it’s almost too much, but Eddie can’t look away, his hands tightening on Steve’s shirt. 

“About everything?” he whispers softly. Tentatively. 

Eddie looks back and forth between his eyes, and he nods. 

He feels sick again. He can’t breathe. 

Steve’s hand moves to Eddie’s face, and he’s so fucking warm. His thumb brushes over Eddie’s cheek so lightly Eddie can barely feel it. And Steve’s face relaxes, like he’s deflating, as he touches Eddie’s face, as his other hand presses into the small of his back. 

“I really fucking hate him,” Steve breathes. His eyes flicker across Eddie’s face, and they linger on Eddie’s mouth. Eddie whispers his name. Steve hesitates, stammering silently for a moment before, “Can you say it?”

Eddie steps back a little, and their hands fall even though they’re still close enough for Eddie to see the green in his eyes. 

“...Say what?” he asks hesitantly. Steve looks at him, his eyes shining, and he looks so desperate suddenly. 

“Everything,” he says breathlessly. “I wanna hear it from you.”

Eddie’s eyes fill with tears, but Steve looks like he’s begging, and Eddie is weak. 

“I’m gay,” he says softly, whispering like he’s worried someone outside might hear. “And I…” He takes a breath. Steve’s eyes look back and forth between Eddie’s like he’s looking for it. “I have, like… a huge fucking crush on you.”

Steve’s eyes drop to Eddie’s mouth like he’s watching his lips form the words. Eddie is trembling. Steve suddenly feels like he’s across the room, like he’s far away even though they’re standing so close. 

“I might fucking be in love with you, Steve, I…” 

He chokes on his breath, and Steve is touching him again, reaching for his face and wiping away his tears carefully, stepping closer. Eddie’s hands find his waist, and he grips his shirt again. 

Steve says his name. 

It always sounds so nice in his mouth. 

“You don’t– You don’t have to,” Eddie says, trying to tear himself away, closing his eyes as Steve holds his face and wipes his tears. “I know, it’s…”

“Eddie,” Steve whispers, his hands tightening on Eddie’s cheeks, and he’s so close now, their noses almost brushing. “Is it okay if I kiss you?”

 Eddie’s eyes widen. He leans back to see Steve clearly, and Steve looks so nervous that Eddie aches. 

“Really?” Eddie asks weakly. 

“I…” Steve pauses, brushing his thumbs over Eddie’s cheeks and licking his lips, hesitating. “I might be fucking in love with you too,” he whispers. 

Eddie closes his eyes, exhaling as Steve strokes his cheeks again. He gasps for breath when Steve’s forehead touches his, his hands tightening on Steve’s shirt before he slides his hands over his waist gently. He can feel the heat of his skin through the fabric. 

“Is it okay if I kiss you?” Steve asks again, his breath soft on Eddie’s face. 

“Yeah,” he chokes. 

Steve’s palms press to Eddie’s cheeks, and Eddie’s hands clutch at Steve’s waist desperately when Steve’s nose nudges his, when their lips brush. He feels like he’s dying. 

But Steve kisses him so softly, so sweetly. Holding his face tenderly in his hands and pressing a lingering kiss to his lips before pulling away to look at him, to check, even though Eddie is holding him against himself, even though Eddie’s chin lifts like he’s subconsciously searching for his mouth again. 

Eddie’s eyes flutter open, and Steve is smiling at him. It’s such a soft smile, and Eddie forgets everything that’s happened today. Except Steve’s lips on his. 

“Please,” he breathes. Begs. Pleads. 

Steve kisses him again. One of his hands slides to hold the back of his head again, his fingers threading into Eddie’s curls, and his other shifts down to Eddie’s neck, his fingertips slipping under the hoodie as his thumb brushes over Eddie’s throat so lightly it tickles a little bit. Eddie’s hands press to Steve’s waist and slide to press into the small of his back, and he’s probably wrinkling the fabric of his shirt, but neither of them cares as they tilt their heads, as their lips part. 

They pull away to look at each other after a few moments, close enough that they’re sharing breaths as they both breathe hard, as Steve’s fingertips scratch over Eddie’s scalp lightly and Eddie’s eyelids flutter for a second. And then Steve is tilting his head and leaning down to kiss Eddie’s neck, his fingers twisting in his hair to hold him in place, and Eddie is dying, letting out a whimper as his eyes close and his hands reach for Steve’s arms. His fingertips dig into the soft flesh of his upper arms, squeezing as Steve presses a slow kiss under his ear. His mouth is so warm. 

Steve kisses him when he lifts his head, and Eddie kisses him back desperately, reaching to wrap his arms around his neck, whining when Steve’s hands find his waist and pull. 

Then Steve pushes, reaching up to hold the back of Eddie’s head, and Eddie stumbles back, his fingers tangling in Steve’s hair and tugging when his back hits the wall.  Steve’s hand blocks his head from the wall, and Eddie smiles against his mouth, gasping when Steve’s tongue slips across his lip. 

“Steve,” he gasps, lightheaded as Steve sucks on his lower lip, as one of his hands slides under the hoodie to touch his skin. His palms are a little rough with calluses, scratching the sensitive scar tissue on Eddie’s waist lightly, and Eddie groans. 

Steve pulls away with a gasp, looking at Eddie desperately, frantically, his other hand holding his face. His cheeks are flushed pink, and his lips are shining, and his hair is a mess, and Eddie wantshimwantshimwantshim—

“Do you wanna leave?” Steve asks, his voice rough, and Eddie looks at his mouth, still panting. “I… I don’t wanna see any of them, I just…” He’s breathless too. His hand runs over Eddie’s scarring again almost mindlessly as his thumb brushes his cheek. “Do you wanna go?”

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes. 

Steve smiles softly, his eyes shining at him, and he leans in to kiss him one more time, caressing his cheek. (Caressing. Jesus.) Eddie hums, savouring it before they part with a quiet, slick noise that seems to echo in the empty room. 

Eddie feels lightheaded again, but he’s smiling like he’s sleepy as Steve shifts his hands to press his chin up, smiling at how pliant Eddie is. Eddie laughs under his breath, his hands holding Steve’s shoulders. 

“I’m so fucking… relieved right now,” Eddie whispers, his head falling to rest on the wall behind him. Steve kisses him again before he pulls him close, hugging him tightly. 

Eddie buries his face in Steve’s neck, wrapping his arms around him tightly, wanting to jump up and wrap his legs around his waist, to cling to him like a koala, wanting to climb inside him, to be as close as fucking possible. Steve exhales roughly, pushing a hand into Eddie’s hair. 

Steve holds his hand as they leave, ignoring the others that are gathered in the living room, even though they’re clearly waiting for the two of them. Eddie lets the door slam shut behind them. Steve drives. Eddie reaches over and puts a hand on his thigh, squeezing gently as he looks out the windows and watches the world go by. 

He’s kind of anxious about this, whatever it is. Anxious that he isn’t what Steve thinks he is, what Steve hopes he is, anxious that he isn’t enough for him. 

But he’ll try his best, he knows he will. He’ll bring Steve fucking flowers, he’ll write him fucking poems if it makes him smile. He’ll ravish him the way he deserves, touch him the way he likes, tell him every chance he gets how fucking beautiful he is. He’ll kiss him good morning and learn how to make his coffee just right. He’ll memorize the pattern of his moles and name constellations on his skin. 

He’ll remind him every single day, as long as Steve lets him have him, what he deserves. 

[justanother-anon]

what scary movie has them acting like this? wrong answers only

[justanother-anon]

i just think that steddie is the furthest from those couples who joke about hating each other. they've both been through too much and had been given too little love for what they need (and deserve). someone talks like marriage, huh? end of your freedom and life? and steddie just go straight faced, no. no i love my husband why would you say that.

they're one of those couples where you think they must be faking it, because you can't possibly wake up every day this happy and love your husband more? but they're really that. waking up earlier just so they can spend time together before work. getting each other flowers and gifts for no reason other than "i just thought about you" or "just wanted to make you smile". when one of them is out and he's like. i have to go home because i miss my husband too much now. just genuinely wanting to be around each other all the time. even during the worst arguments, there's never a doubt they're not still completely head over heels. they're It. and they can't even bring themselves to joke about ever feeling anything different. they sure tease each other a lot about everything but this? this is the one thing they're too scared to joke about

Logging on to see this and I am nodding aggressively. They are BESOTTED with each other. They are DISGUSTINGLY in love. They make other people YEARN for silly love songs they make come true. I, for one, am furious

[justanother-anon]

I forgot to tell you but but I think you'll find it amusing that I recently had a freind compliment me (and I did politely have to clarify that it was in fact a compliment) by telling me that he believes without a doubt that I would survive a mosh pit (some context as I have never given you much on my appearance as it has never been relvant I am below average height, have hair more than half my height, and generally wear skirts and dresses with pastel colors and florals) which seems like the kind of conversation that would happen between Nancy and eddie or El and eddie after vecna

But also I just thought you would appreciate the ✏️ anon lore

-✏️

✏️ lore for FREE???? I’m pinning this to my cork board.

Anon you must have some intimidating aura about you and that is truly wonderful. I hope you are showing up unexpected to big angry gigs and causing a stir. You are doing The Good Work