she says he won't let her get a dog, which is fine, because they're in an apartment, and that's the kind of thing people say about their partners. he won't let me get a dog. and you're at a dinner party and you tilt your head a little to the side just like that dog he won't let her get, because is this the thing that's going to upset you? you don't know every corner of their relationship, she could be joking, they could have had so many healthy conversations about the dog, right, and maybe she's not letting herself get the dog because of money and time and whatever. but, like, she did say let
and she wants to move away from his hometown and he wants to stay and then he tells you with a wink and a conspiratorial stage whisper don't worry i'll convince her and she laughs about it - so clearly this is something they laugh about. but you do just stand there and stare at him like what the fuck, man. you can't say what you want to say which is why do you get the final say on everything because they're both obviously aware of the other person's stance on this and have obviously had private conversations about it and what are you going to do about it except make a scene and then he'll be mad at you and call you one of those bitches behind your back and she'll cut you off, which is a loss that doesn't feel worth it just because he makes you a little skeeved out every 3rd comment
and they both agree he just isn't the type to get flowers which is fine because everyone shows love differently, and are you really gonna judge someone based on their sense of individual relationship responsibility? maybe he's constantly cleaning her car and writing her poems and making her furniture or something. maybe she doesn't even like flowers and this is perfect, actually. and no you couldn't date him, obviously, ew; but like, she tells you she's happy. you almost send her a tiktok that says don't be 25 and the cool girl that doesn't need anything, you'll hate not getting flowers at 30, but that's like, starting drama & you shouldn't start drama needlessly.
and you're a little older than her but not so much older you can pull the whole trust me on this one babe thing and besides that wouldn't have worked anyway (when does it ever) and besides you have trauma so you and your therapist both agree that you're always looking for a problem even when there isn't one. and you tell yourself that just because you see them for 15 minutes every month does not mean you can identify every single red flag based on a single shitty half-joking(?) comment
and besides, what are you going to do? she says i actually wanted another stand mixer but thankfully he stops me when i'm about to spend too much money and you're standing there like are you okay? is this normal? is this just something people say? and again - what are you going to do?
to your therapist you try to language it - it's not, like, any of my business. but sometimes, doesn't it feel like - you should do something. there's got to be something, right? you've tried dropping little hints but they sail right through and you've tried having a single serious conversation and she got upset because why does it matter to you, yes it's different but we're happy, it doesn't need to make sense to you and you're like. really unwilling to push a boundary about it anymore; because the truth is that you know logically it shouldn't matter to you, as long as both parties are happy.
and besides, you've been wrong before. it's just... like, every time you see them both, something else happens, some kind of shiver down your spine like do you even hear each other when you talk. it's their strange, bickering orbit. just the way he's on his phone through dinner or watching sports instead of helping in the kitchen or, fuck, another one of these little throwaway comments he makes about we'll see about that, babe. she laughs when he calls her passions stupid shit and meanwhile she gets him tickets to see the knicks and he tells you well at least she's smart about something and still! it's none of your business.
you say get the dog anyway and she laughs. like, this is is you being funny. and not you saying - no really. get the dog. get the dog and get out of here. pack up and start running.
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This is easily the most inconvenient moment possible for Eddie to have a hard-on and yet, here he is, standing in the remains of what used to be the Hawkins Public Library with his dick hard as a rock in his pants.
Eddie had heard tell of a nailbat, rumors of Steve Harrington’s weapon of choice in dealing with matters related to the Upside Down, but it had seemed mythical to him. The way the boys talked about Steve wielding it made him sound like a hero from some ancient mythology.
“You should have seen him, Eddie,” Dustin would grip Eddie’s arm with a grasp that hurt as he regaled Eddie with the tale of Steve in the Junkyard Fighting the Demodogs once more. “He was such a badass, like, so insanely cool!”
Eddie is deeply glad that he was not present at that battle, but there is a part of him that wishes he could have seen it. That he could have seen Steve wield the suburban equivalent of a mace while trying to defend his brood of strange children.
Not that Eddie would ever admit that, of course. He and Steve are tentative friends, and Eddie is not going to risk what progress he and Steve have made in maintaining a civil relationship just because he thinks the guy is hot. Of course he thinks Steve is hot, so does every other breathing human in Hawkins, Indiana.
So, yeah, Eddie is keeping that piece of information to himself. Taking it to his grave. Besides, they’re in the middle of an apocalypse and now is hardly the time for getting horny over Steve Harrington proving competence with a blunt instrument.
But apparently Eddie’s dick never got that memo. Because he’s standing here watching Steve knock those goddamn fucking demobats out of the spore infested Hawkins sky with his infamous bat, dripping with blood and snarling at the monsters. He swings with a terrifying rage in his eyes, laser focused on removing each and every single bat from the sky with a sort of feral grace that shouldn’t be possible.
Eddie watches, pants uncomfortably tight, as Steve makes one final swing at the last bat standing (flying?) with a flourish of his wrist, giving the nailbat a little twirl before using it to strike the last creature down.
Steve Harrington is absolutely unreal.
He turns around to face Eddie and Eddie is reminded that, oh yeah, they’re in the middle of a massive battle right now and he had maybe let himself get a little distracted and wow, the blood dripping through Steve’s chest hair as he tosses the nailbat onto his shoulder with practiceed ease is really doing it for Eddie, which would be fine (well, not fine, but at least somewhat manageable) if it were literally any other moment in time.
“Are you okay?” Steve asks Eddie, voice hoarse and raspy in a way that really shouldn’t be sexy because it’s probably caused by Steve breathing spores and demobat guts or something else equally horrifying, but it is hot and there is something deeply wrong with Eddie.
And maybe there is some single solitary shred of mercy left remaining in the universe, because Steve is seemingly too focused on the war waging around them to clock the bulge in Eddie’s pants.
“Yup!” Eddie nods, feeling like a bobble head in his enthusiasm. “Great! Feeling great! Never better!”
Steve gives him an odd look, considering, but seems to accept Eddie’s assertion that he’s unharmed. He probably just attributes the strange behavior to Eddie’s general weirdness, which is perfectly fine with Eddie.
“Good,” Steve’s eyes drift to the steadily growing dark cloud that obscures much of the red sky. “Let’s get moving then.”
He stomps past Eddie, clapping him on the shoulder as he passes. Eddie closes his eyes and scrapes the corners of his mind for the least sexy thoughts he can summon to will his boner away.
“You coming?” Steve calls back from a few yards behind Eddie.
“Right behind you, big boy,” Eddie says. He takes a deep breath in and out before turning to follow Steve back into the fray.
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