Would you maybe possibly consider writing a ballet au? With Eddie as a powerful crimelord - maybe some smutty power dynamic stuff? 👀
https://www.tumblr.com/laughconfetti/774022134731259904?source=share ( saw this post and i could just picture it 🥵)
I don’t quite have it in me to write a whole fic right now, but I can make you a moodboard and write you a ficlet!💛
If Eddie was supposed to be looking respectfully, he had already failed.
There was no way he could control the powerful reaction his inner alpha was having to such a beautiful ballerina.
The most stunning omega dances his way gracefully across the stage as if his very existence hasn’t changed Eddie’s permanently.
While he’d never considered himself to be an expert on the arts or theater, Eddie can appreciate talent. Truthfully, he hadn’t even wanted to come tonight. Ballet isn’t something he needs associated with his name.
Eddie Munson isn’t soft. He isn’t known for his kindness or his mercy on others. He’s in charge of a massive organization that moves between the shadows.
He’s killed before and fools have tried to kill him in return.
There’s no reason for him to be at the theater if not for one man’s insistence that a deal be struck up over drinks and entertainment.
Eddie had been feeling generous enough to agree. He could use a night out on the town and perhaps the ballet would make his business counterpart more amenable to striking a deal.
“Steven has caught your eye, eh?” Richard asks, his tone unreadable. “He’s a beauty. That boy dances like a fish swims, effortlessly. Shame he’s an omega, but at least he’s good for something.”
Eddie isn’t sure what to do with that. Whatever Richard is insinuating with his almost fond rambling makes Eddie feel protective of the ballerina.
Richard is far too old to be looking at him, but Eddie isn’t much younger. It’s wrong for either of them to be looking.
“He is beautiful,” Eddie agrees, taking a drag from his cigarette thoughtfully. There’s a no smoking rule, but they’re in a private box and rules don’t apply to him.
Richard gives him a scrutinizing look.
“Allow me to be direct here, if I may: he’s for sale, Munson.”
For sale? Well, now that is interesting information. Why does Richard know that? And are they speaking of the same matter?
“His contract or…?”
Richard smiles in that particularly sleazy way of his.
“Even better. His marriage contract. He’s on the market for a mate and I happen to have quite a lot of influence over the matter. That is… if you’re interested.”
Eddie glances back towards the stage where his beautiful ballerina is taking a bow and waving at the crowd with a bright smile, catching flowers that are thrown in his direction.
Jesus, he’s precious.
“I might be interested,” he confesses hesitantly. It’s bullshit. Eddie’s so interested that he’ll die if Steve isn’t his. “What sort of sway do you have over his mating and why?”
Richard nods his head smugly.
“I’ve heard you have a particular taste in omegas, Munson. Knew you’d take one look at Steve and open your wallet,” he laughs.
Eddie is not amused. If this is the sort of attitude Richard has, Eddie will be dealing with Steve’s seller directly. Whoever is managing his sale has to be more tolerable than Richard.
“Listen, you piece of—”
The door to their box swing opens and snags both their attentions. It takes about half a second for Eddie to realize that Steve has changed out of his ballet costume and into something softer and looser.
The young omega has bundled himself up in pastel colored sweats that match the sweet scent wafting from his form.
“Oh. Hello there,” Steve greets him with a cheery smile.
Holy shit. He’s even prettier up close.
Richard springs from his seat and places an arm around Steve’s shoulder. Eddie almost growls at him for touching the omega.
“Allow me to introduce you to my pride and joy, my beloved son, Steve.”
Son. Eddie might be fucked.
“One million dollars,” he tells Richard confidently.
Steve looks adorably confused, but Richard looks like he might just pee himself like an overexcited dog.
“Steve, come meet your new alpha, Eddie.”
It occurs to Eddie too late that Steve may not be aware of his marriage contract being on the market. The hurt look in Steve’s shining eyes certainly says so.
AO3 Comments are SO SO SOOOOOOO important because you can only leave Kudos ONCE. You add to the hit count ONCE (every 24 hours).
So whenever someone updates their fic, the ONLY way an author knows who their regular readers are is if they comment on each chapter. And we WANT to know who's still reading.
Believe it or not, some of us think about the name that pops up constantly in the comments and go "omg I can't wait to see what they think of THIS SPECIFIC SCENE cuz I KNOW they'll say something about it!!!"
This one goes out to that old guy I saw at walmart yesterday loading up his pioneer woman cookware onto his motorcycle while enter sandman played
steddie | G | WC: 1154
---
“Hey baby, can you?”
“No.”
Steve's sweet tone sours immediately returning to the much more familiar gently bitchy tone Eddie knows and loves. “You don't even know what I was gonna ask.”
“Twenty-five years of marriage, lawful and not, Sunshine. I know when you're about to ask me for some shit we don't need.”
“Why would I be calling you if we didn't need it?”
“Because if you needed it you would have told me about it when I said, ‘Stevie, sweetie, light of my life, sun to my dawn,’” he looks around trying to figure out where the hell they moved the oranges and why the produce section is never in the same configuration anytime he comes here. He makes eye contact with a kid wearing an artificially faded printing of his own tour merch looking at him with a starry eyed look of recognition not of the celebrity but of family.
“Did you forget where you were going with that old man?”
He decides he might as well put on a show, both halves of this conversation already know he's going to do what he's told. “‘Stevie, my one truth north, my muse, my reason to continue living, my dearest husband, I'm going to Walmart,’ I told you not but thirty minutes ago and asked if you needed me to get you anything and you said no.”
“Oh, you aren't going to monologue for your adoring public all the sweet names I called you?” Steve is amused, he can tell, he's always been able to tell. He's accepting this as his penance for not giving Eddie an actual grocery list when he left.
“Well dear heart I am in public, but if you think we can find another grocery store to go to after getting banned from this one. I guess there is the Kroger on the other side of town.” The kid laughs, tries to hide it behind their hand, but if Eddie has had anything in this life it's experience with teens eavesdropping on conversations they shouldn't be.
“Oh you're really hamming it up, huh, Teddy. Can I tell you what you're getting me yet or do you still have a couple minutes in your set?”
He's given up on oranges, moves on to the onion he actually came here for, the lone ingredient for dinner that he'd forgotten from his clicklist. If they want to actually have the roast tonight it needs to start soon. “What is it that you remembered we needed, oh song of my heart.”
“I already sent you the link so you get exactly what I want.”
It's just ominous enough of a non-answer that he pulls his phone out of his pocket, juggling it and the five things he'd already grabbed that weren't on his one item list. He doesn't have the time to regret not grabbing the cart he was sure he hadn't needed when he sees what he's been sent.
“I'm on my bike! Where am I going to put that?”
“I'm sorry, am I hearing you correctly? Was I right when I said, ‘Teddy bear, my stars, my bard-’”
“You aren't on speaker.”
“My beloved damsel in distress, maybe the motorcycle isn't the most efficient of midlife crisis vehicles. Aren't you going to want something with more trunk space, why don't you get a Caddy or a Bimmer for old times sake. And what did you say?”
“I don't recall.”
“Probably for the best wouldn't want you banned from Walmart, what would the tabloids say?”
“Nothing that would match your wit, Sweetheart. Does it have to be this one?”
“Yes, the plaid matches the kitchen remodel, so be a good boy and strap it to your bike. And remember we've still got one kid to put through school if she decides to go, don't bring home any strays with you. Do you need to do your encore now, baby?”
“I accept your quest, my dashing prince. I shall return home with my bounty posthaste.” Encore complete, audience still enraptured, Eddie dips into the sincere. It's been nearly thirty years together and he's not once ended a call without saying, “I love you.”
“Love you too, my knight in denim battle vest. I'll see you when you get home.”
The call ends with the usual dull toned beep beep, the playlist the call interrupted starts to filter back into his earbud. He realizes he's going to have to walk right past the kid to get to the side of the store with Steve's Instant Pot.
“Hear they're about to have a reunion tour,” he says gesturing down at the reprint of their Came Back Wrong Tour shirt. The faux-fading has left a crack through his own face at the bottom making him unrecognizable, not that he looks the same now as he did at 25. “Those old bands just don't know how to retire.”
“I think it's smart that they're playing up the recent tik tok fame.” The kid says, “No one's even seen their lead singer since the 90s and after their first national tour he'd started wearing that mask.”
It hurts a little bit the way the kid says 90s like it's some bygone era lost to time. Tries to appreciate instead how good the mask idea had been, he'd really been an innovator. “That was a pretty sweet gimmick, you think he'll bring it back? It's kind of Orville Peck's thing now isn't it.”
The kid slumps, managing the impressive feat of looking desolate while standing over the tomatoes. “Probably, not that I'll see it. I couldn't manage to get a ticket.”
That is something he can fix, “Here,” he manages to grab ahold of his wallet, “as luck would have it, I've got a couple spares.”
The kid looks torn between fear and elation, it's likely at least the second strangest thing to ever happen to them in a Walmart. “Oh I can't-”
“No strings, I got it through work for my sister-in-law to go with my husband. She asked why none of the good bands ever have reunion tours so… not going obviously. And my husband insists he's too old to be that close to the stage. You'd be doing me a favor really.”
“If you're sure,” they say, the hesitance more a mannered necessity than real.
“Sure as shooting. Seriously, here give me your name so my husband knows who to make the thank you note out to.”
“Aspen, thank you really!”
Twenty minutes later when he’s got a kitchen appliance bungied to the back of his bike he’ll appreciate that something good came out of this. Three weeks later when he’s standing at the front of a sold out arena he’ll mostly appreciate another chance to be dramatic, “This next one is for Aspen who didn’t laugh when an old man tried to flirt with his husband in the produce aisle. Gareth, count me in.”
Steve may not have the people who brought him into this world at his side anymore, but he's found someone to hold him through the end of it.
-or-
As a packless omega suffering with isolation sickness, Steve is just trying to survive the zombie apocalypse. Instead, he ends up courted by a lovesick alpha and getting his dream of six kids and a Winnebago in the most unconventional way possible.
One day when Steve's over at the trailer, he responds to Eddie's bow and "welcome to my humble abode, sir Steven" with a dignified nod and a,
"Thank you for having me, sir Edward, Son of the Moon."
Just to play along, for the fun of it.
But Eddie is gone, he's falling head over heels because he's never heard anything hotter and has nearly came on the spot, just from Steve Harrington throwing a nerdy title at him.
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