queenie-ofthe-void
Babysitter's Club
Queenie ~ 30yo ~ She/They ~ 18+ NSFW (Minors DNI)
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#sorry to all the aros and aces! shouldve included a vibes only option lol#attraction can mean whatever you want 💜#i focused on physical looks bc fics make them out as the most beautiful men#but im just like meh lol not my types#so i wanted opinions#steve harrington#eddie munson#stranger things polls
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There is a knock at Steve Harrington’s door.
Three to be exact.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
It’s nothing new. This happens every night. It doesn’t make it any less terrifying.
Steve gets out of bed and walks over to his apartment door, hands hovering over the handle. His body shakes, he feels too cold for a July evening.
Steve doesn’t bother looking out of the peephole. He knows there will be nothing to see. He hopes briefly it’s the awkward girl from down the hall, she always wears beat up converse and can hear her raspy laugh two doors down—but he knows it’s not. She often speeds by Steve’s apartment door, like she’s either terrified of him or what’s inside his home.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Three knocks, three times. It’s only number two.
Steve wishes he knew more people here, but he hasn’t been here very long. So no one is looking for him, no one is here to wake him up at 3 am.
His palm sweat—but the chill hasn’t left him. He’s starting to think he’s haunted. Though nothing ever happens inside. Nothing happens at all, except the knocking. Steve never dares to open until it’s finished.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Steve takes a deep breath, and opens the door….
No one is there.
Releasing a stuttering breath, Steve gently locks up and puts his head on then door.
“Fuck.” He whispers.
Then he hears, it from his bedroom.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Steve’s let something inside.
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Steve Harrington: I love the kind of woman who can kick my ass.
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Eddie chronically leaves his rings at Steve’s place to the point that Steve checks the bathroom and kitchen sink every time after he leaves, only to find one of them there every time.
Not that Steve is entirely complaining since this means he gets to call him and Eddie gets to stop by on his own to pick them up.
But when they’re at the Wheeler’s place, and Eddie says he’s going to the bathroom, Steve says, “Be careful not to leave one of your rings behind,” with a wink that has the kids exchanging confused looks. But Steve doesn’t notice because he’s too distracted by the light blush coloring Eddie’s cheeks.
“Why would Eddie leave one of his rings behind?” Dustin asks Steve when Eddie’s out of earshot.
Steve laughs. “He leaves one behind every time he washes his hands I swear. I don’t know how he hasn’t lost one at this point.” But his amusement is quick to die down when he realizes the kids are staring at him as if he’s absolutely insane. “What?”
They all glance at each other, and Steve is surprised when Mike is the first to pipe in, “He never leaves them anywhere. They’re like his prized possession. I’ve never even seen him take them off.”
Steve frowns and glances around at everyone, sensing that there’s definitely something he’s missing, so he’s quick to lie, “Well, I guess it was only once or twice that it happened. Maybe it was my fancy soap. Made things too… slippery.”
He gets a few eye rolls at the comment, but the group is quick to move on especially when Eddie comes back a few moments later with all his rings on his hands.
Steve gives him a quick smile, and Eddie is quick to return it, eyes lingering on him for a few seconds longer than necessary and the same blush from earlier returning.
It hits Steve very suddenly.
The rings are an excuse to come back.
And with this knowledge, Steve’s let’s his own gaze linger on Eddie longer than he usually allows, moving into his space more often than not, and carefully keeping track of time, waiting for the hang out to end.
When it finally comes to a halt, Steve is quick to say his goodbyes, hoping that Eddie will join and let the kids have their unnecessarily prolonged goodbyes in private. And luckily, Eddie is quick to move out of the basement, following after Steve in a way that’s supposed to look causal but is anything but casual now that Steve knows to look for the signs.
When he and Eddie silently go out the front door, Steve is quick to turn to him and hold out his hand. Eddie gives him a confused look but offers his hand which Steve takes and slides one of the rings off of.
Eddie stares at it for a moment, looking slightly frightened, as if he’s been caught doing something he isn’t supposed to.
Steve is quick to soothe the fear as he pockets the ring and says, “Just so you’ll have an excuse to stop by later tonight.”
Eddie’s cheeks flush bright red and he runs a hand over his face. “Shit.”
Steve laughs, “So it has been on purpose?”
“No,” Eddie clearly lies, pulling a strand of hair in front of his face.
“And what if I told you I wanted it to be on purpose?” Steve asks.
Eddie freezes for a moment as if he’s waiting for Steve to tell him that he’s joking, but Steve sits in the silence, letting the question settle between them.
“Then,” Eddie starts, taking a small step forward into Steve’s space, “I would-”
The door behind them bursts open and Dustin yells, “Hurry up I have a curfew!” as he races off to Steve’s car.
Steve rolls his eyes at the kid and takes a step back as everyone else makes their way out the door to the cars or their bikes.
Steve and Eddie linger behind for a moment, which Steve uses to quietly ask, “I’ll see you tonight?”
Eddie gives him a bashful smile in return and nods. “Yeah, I’ll see you tonight.”
Steve resists the urge to celebrate in any way in front of the kids and instead puts his hand in his pocket, fingers curling around Eddie’s ring.
As he gets into his car, ignoring Dustin bitching and complaining, he slips the ring over his finger and smiles at it.
He notices the car go quiet and he nearly groans at his mistake.
“Is that Eddie’s ring?” Dustin screeches.
It’s going to be a long drive home, but Steve doesn’t mind when he has Eddie to look forward to.
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Do you guys think Jensen is hearing about balls deep destiel at the same time as us?
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#Steve is my precious baby and im not at all physically attracted to him or Joe Keery#i mean except the scene where he's sweaty and shirtless and dirty and hurt and spits blood out of his mouth#but thats understandable#so i want to know how everyone else feels obv#Also why can i not find Steve merch but a TON of Eddie stuff??#just want nice nailbat earrings#steve harrington#steddie poll#eddie munson#steddie#steddie headcanon#stranger things
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by lexigraphic
Kas!Eddie,,,,evil? Eddie Munson,,,,forced to watch??? Imagine that.
Words: 1036, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Fandoms: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Categories: Gen, M/M
Characters: Dustin Henderson, Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington
Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson
Additional Tags: i am so sorry for what i made him do, dustin im so sorry i used you as the sacrifice for this one shot, i havent written in so long i needed to do something angsty to shake the rust off, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Eddie Munson Needs a Hug, Kas!Eddie, this is like super gory, and my beta said it felt like reading a panic attack, a line from ophelia inspired this, Hurt Steve Harrington, Hurt Eddie Munson, Major Character Injury, no happy ending, One Shot, Eddie Munson as Kas the Betrayer (Dungeons & Dragons)
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Tumblr Top Ships Bracket - Round 2 Side 2
This poll is a celebration of fandom and fandom history; we're aware that there are certain issues with many of the listed pairings and sources, but they are a part of that history. Please do not take this as an endorsement, and refrain from harassment.
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sometimes I think about the ladies of atla and cry
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Peter Joseph on structural violence, from this video.
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last sentence tag game
ahh thanks so much for tagging me @queenie-ofthe-void 🥰
rules: in a reblog or seperate post, post the last sentence you wrote in any of your wips (original, fanfic, etc) & tag as many as there are words in your sentence.
early 2000s au with no other background info but a little more context than just the last sentence:
Steve let go after realizing he’d held on for a beat too long. Biting back another smile, “What are the chances?” He asked just as amused.
Eddie shuffled a bit as he looked as his feet, the man's cupids bow an endearing distraction. Fate doesn’t exist, his mind yelled at him.
But the coincidence felt insurmountable.
super chill laid back tags: @wormdebut, @thefreakandthehair, @stevesbipanic, @brbsoulnomming, @fuctacles
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Last Sentence Tag Game
tagged by @finntheehumaneater (ahhh my first ever WIP tag tysm)
rules: in a rb or separate post, post the last sentence you wrote in any of your wips (original, fanfic, etc), and tag as many people as there are words. (Let's pretend there's three words lol)
This is a Rockstar!Eddie Steddie AU based on the ficlet A Desperate Fool I submitted to the steddiemicrofic April prompt. Never would've guessed this is what my first multi-chapter fic would be, but here I am adding a little more hurt before the comfort.
Reeking of alcohol and a stranger's cologne, Eddie opened the front door to find a hollowed-out home, with no evidence of Steve left behind except for a single house key placed atop a note on the coffee table with the words "Don't call" scribbled in Robin's looped handwriting.
No pressure on the tags!
@paperbackribs @doublecherrypiediscosuperfly @lingeringmirth @cuips-not-cute @chaosgremlinmunson @sourw0lfs
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Everyone in the league knows about Eddie Munson. He has the makings of a great pitcher, except for the fact that his slider has a 75% chance of sliding too high and his fastballs mostly end up in the dirt. His technique is wild, flailing, unrestrained. Which is why Steve is beside himself when he learns about the trade.
The owners, they think that Steve being the best catcher in the league means he can work with Eddie, settle him, make him a real prospect. Steve's input isn't needed with the decision already made, but Munson--with all his tattoos piercings and leather--looks like he'd rather hock a loogie at Steve than take directions from him.
And Steve is the best in the league, the glue that keeps the team together. They're a well-oiled machine, and Eddie is--Eddie is a squeaky wheel.
They meet for the first time, briefly, in the locker room. He's seen the guy before, of course, but now, like this, he can't help but be intrigued by his pale skin and long curls and brown doe-eyes, his lightly muscled frame. And they're in the locker room, Eddie with just a towel around his waist, exposing his toned chest and stomach and the black swirl of his tattoos.
"Steve Harrington!" Eddie reaches out a hand. "Great to meet you, man."
"You too. Excited to have you with us." The handshake is quick and firm and Steve is trying not to be surprised about how excited and genuine the guy sounds, keep his mind away from thinking of how Eddie is naked aside from the towel.
With only a few weeks until the start of the regular season, Eddie starts pitching to Steve. And Steve, he so expects Eddie to fight and grumble and refuse, that his head sort of spins when, on the first day, Eddie claps him on the back with his glove, says, "where do you want me, cap?" and that's that.
He wants to say that they dislike each other, that they're a bad fit, that Eddie is full himself and refuses constructive criticism.
Instead.
Instead it's easy.
Eddie doesn't complain, doesn't argue, just watches Steve, learns him, takes his advice and notes and implements them as much as he can. They like each other, have an easy rapport, get each other. He's tight with all the pitchers, but Eddie is different. They settle each other.
They're best friends. They hangout constantly. And he doesn't have a crush; he doesn't. It would be unprofessional. They're best friends.
But sometimes, sometimes he thinks he catches Eddie looking at him. It's impossible. Of course it's impossible. Eddie couldn't be into the guy Sports Illustrated called "baseball's Ralph Lauren model" in the intro to Steve's Body Issue photo spread. And it doesn't matter one way or the other because Steve won't make a move. He won't jeopardize the team like that.
They don't touch. He touches everyone on the team, often, and Eddie particularly is a physical guy, but aside from that first handshake, he keeps his distance. Steve's afraid--even though it's silly, he's afraid--that once they start touching, he won't be able to stop, and he can't let that happen.
The team is good, competing for first place in the National League. Eddie's success has made everyone else better.
It's late July, they're in first place in the league, and Eddie's pitching a perfect game. There's only been 24 perfect games thrown in the history of Major League Baseball, but it's the eighth inning and Eddie's doing it.
A pitch goes wild, veers high over the umpire's head. Eddie's shaken, Steve can tell with how his fist tightens compulsively around the ball. The next pitch swings wide, towards the batter's knees.
The count is at 2 balls, no strikes, and he can see, even from behind home plate Steve can see, that Eddie's losing it. He heads for the mound, refuses to let it end like this. He closes the distance between them, has a quick internal debate before he puts his hand on Eddie's lower back. They've never touched, this is it, this is--warmth bleeds from Eddie's skin, through the fabric of his jersey, goes straight to Steve's head.
Eddie frowns. "I don't think I--"
"You're going to do it, Ed. I know. I can feel it." He pats his chest, over his heart. "It's gonna happen."
Eddie's breathing settles and it's only then that Steve realizes he's rubbing circles into Eddie's back with his thumb. He's not sure when he started, doesn't want to stop, loves being able to feel.
"Okay," Eddie says.
"Okay."
Steve removes his hand, heads back to home, still tingling with the warmth of Eddie's body even as he crouches behind the plate.
He closes out the inning with three definitive strike outs. The crowd goes wild.
They take the field for the top of the 9th, the crowd is screaming, ready for this, the energy zipping through every player on the field.
It goes by in a blur. Nine pitches. Eddie's perfect game is wrapped up in nine phenomenal pitches.
As the ump calls the last out, there's a moment of complete and utter quiet in the stadium, Steve's heart a pounding hum in his ears, before pandemonium breaks loose. There's screaming, fireworks, someone is crying--
All he can see is Eddie. Eddie's who's thrown his glove to the dirt, is barreling towards him with a triumphant smile bright on his face. Steve stands, runs to close the distance. He sees the moment that Eddie decides to jump into his arms, catches him easily--will always catch him--but his legs are tired and the momentum gets him, sends them tumbling back into the grass.
They're both yelling, laughing, smiling hard enough to hurt. Eddie's hair has fallen out if its tie, tumbling around his shoulders, and Steve gazes at him, can't help it, in this moment can admit that he's so, so astronomically in love.
It's only then Steve realizes that the laughter's stopped, that Eddie's gazing back. Brown eyes shining bright with happiness, cheeks flushed pink, lips parted. Thoughtless, he reaches up to caress Eddie's cheek.
The team reaches them, streaming around them, yanking Eddie and Steve to their feet. The celebration stretches around them, the moment slipping away. He wants to finish what they started but there are interviews, champagne showers, congratulations, that keep them apart. Sometimes, from across the room, their eyes meet, and there's heat there that's new, that sparks something low in Steve's gut.
Hours pass, and finally he finds himself alone in the locker room. He's just pulled on his t-shirt when the door shuts behind him. He spins, finds Eddie, waiting, watching.
He crosses the room without a word, can't not, not now, not after everything. They grapple for a second, the wanting so strong that it takes a second to settle, to find each other. They kiss hard, desperate, seething with desire.
Steve hopes it never ends and it doesn't, just tapers into soft kisses, gentle nips. He can't bring himself to step away.
"Is this for real ?" Eddie whispers.
"I've been insane about you since the trade."
Eddie's smile is blinding. "I used to have those pictures of you--the ones with the little red shorts?--in my locker in the minors. Feel like I'm living in a dream right now."
It lights him up inside, knowing that Eddie wants him, has wanted him. "Let me take you home and show you just how real it is?"
He snorts, but his dimples deepen, eyes shining. "What a line, sweetheart."
"Yeah well, the baseball field isn't the only place where I hit home runs."
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congrats on 1k!!! can i have Q and 🥵?
Thank you so much! 🥰
This was ... less angsty and more smutty in my head. 😅
Guiding light
Rated: E
Words: 997
Tags: Post-Vecna; Kas!Eddie Munson; monster!Eddie Munson; rough sex; monsterfucking; angst; hopeful ending
He doesn't know what pulls him in.
He doesn’t know a lot of things, these days.
The portals have closed. Master is dead. So are his siblings. The comforting buzz of their claws and wings and voices in his head, the cold, familiar slither of their minds against his, it's all gone.
It’s dreadfully empty, all alone in his head. His mind flails like a bird the dark, released from the confines of its … house? prison? A thing with bars, he doesn’t know the word. It’s lost somewhere in the void and he can’t grasp it, doesn’t know how to reach for it. Doesn’t remember.
That’s how the golden glow flickering beyond the trees finds him - naked in the night, stumbling around without aim. He doesn’t know why he follows it.
The house is dark, half-destroyed from the ground tremors. The light pulses from a window above him. A … a tiny fire thing. A candle.
A candle to light his way, like something from a … another thing he doesn’t remember the word for, a thing with words on pages that takes you to far-off worlds, a thing that smells of ink, paper, dust. A thing he used to … love.
The distant echo of the feeling makes his head erupt in pain, makes something horribly warm bubble in his chest. He scales the wall, using his tail and wings for support, ready to snuff out the tiny light.
“There you are.”
A whisper, barely more than a breath floating on air. He whips around as if yanked by a leash, fangs bared.
There’s a … sleep thing in the corner of the room. Blankets and pillows that smell of comfort, warmth, rest - but that isn’t what makes his mouth water and his stomach churn with a terrible, primal feeling. A feeling that’s close to hunger but not quite.
It's the figure sitting on top of the thing. A boy with eyes that are bright in the flickering candlelight, eyes brimming with emotions he doesn’t know.
But he knows those eyes.
The warm thing in his chest explodes, like boiling liquid eating at his insides. He roars in pain and confusion and fear and launches himself at the boy. He wants to shred, he wants to maim, he wants the burning to stop, he wants the emptiness to go away, he wants, he wants, he wants-
Something touches his face, something soft and light. A hand. He has the boy pinned, claws digging into his shoulders, ripping through the fabric of his shirt. Fangs inches from his throat, breath hot against his pulse.
There's no fear in those eyes. Instead, those lips - soft and inviting and familiar - curl into a smile.
“I thought I'd never see you again,” says the boy, fingers slipping up to his temples, gently combing aside the tangled curtain of his hair.
He doesn’t know gentle.
Then why does he remember it?
He peels back his lips and hisses, wings flaring out, tail slicing the air like a whip.
“It’s okay,” says the boy. His hand tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, slowly, tenderly and the warm thing coils in his chest, in his abdomen. “I know you're in there, Eddie.”
The pain in his skull turns blinding white. The word … the name ricochets in the empty cavern of his mind and his chest pulls with want, so hard he thinks it might crack open.
The boy's eyes are bright like the candle. Pulling him in. His claws shred through fabric, exposing soft skin, patterns of moles like … sky things. Stars.
“Go ahead,” says the boy. “I'm here. Take what you need.”
He doesn’t know what he needs.
But he thinks he remembers.
*
He doesn't know gentle, but the boy does.
His claws can only leave gashes and cuts, but those hands can tease and caress. His fangs can only bite and tear, but those lips leave kisses and whispered words of endearment. He's death and destruction and cold, but the boy is warmth and kindness and life.
He shouldn’t want that warmth, but he does. And he takes it. Takes it in all the ways he knows and all the ways he remembers.
The boy doesn't stop him once. Not when he pushes inside of him with a brutality that punches the breath from his chest in a hoarse whimper. Not when the force of his thrusts makes the sleep thing … the bed … groan and creak. Not when his claws leave bruises and draw blood, not when his tail wraps around the boy's throat, leaving him gasping for breath underneath him.
By the time he spills inside of that warmth and collapses on top of the boy, spent and exhausted and finally sated, the candle has burnt to a small stub and the sky beyond the window is turning brighter. Birdsong reaches his ears and he snarls reluctantly.
“You need to go?”
The boy's smile is tired and slow, and a little sad. He's beautiful in the waxing light, skin littered in marks. Marks he left there. The warm feeling blooms in his chest again. He thinks he could get used to the pain if means seeing that smile again.
“That’s alright.” Fingers combing through his hair, lips tracing the ruined remains of pictures etched into his skin. “I'll leave the candle burning so you can find me again, now that you know the way.”
He whines, even as he disentangles himself from the boy's embrace. He doesn’t know gentle, but he still presses his lips to the long stretch of that throat one last time, fangs scraping over bruised and bitten skin.
The boy sighs and melts into the touch.
“I'll get you back, Eddie. No matter how long it takes.”
He doesn't know gentle, and he doesn’t know the person that name belongs to.
But the darkness is a little bit thinner now. And he thinks that some day, he might remember.
Steve guiding Eddie back to himself through unhinged monsterfucking? Why not?
More celebration ficlets
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