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.
May Prompt: Song From 2020 On || Song: Keep Your Head Up by Djo (2020) | Word Count: 555 | Rating: E | CW: Erectile Dysfunction | POV: Eddie | Tags: Future Fic, Established Relationship, Eddie Munson Lives, But Some Things Just Aren't Back to Normal Yet
It's not working. It's never working. Eddie's frustrated, and embarrassed.
Really fucking embarrassed.
Steve Harrington's between his thighs, and his dick is acting like it's too good for it. Old Eddie, Before Eddie, would have accidentally shot his load in Steve Harrington's eye before he even touched him if Steve got as close to his dick as he is right now. He was that easily overstimulated.
Now, he can't get stimulated at all.
Eddie slings his arm over his eyes.
Steve is nuzzling his soft cock. Kissing it. Fingertips trailing up Eddie's scarred thigh, before holding Eddie's dick in his mouth. Tongue flattened, pressing against him, nose buried in Eddie's pubes. His soft balls cradled in Steve's hand.
All the tricks being pulled out, for no goddamn reason.
"It ain't happening," Eddie finally says. It's never happening.
Steve pulls off, and his eyes are hooded, pupils blown wide. He looks horny as fuck, and Eddie doesn't understand why. Eddie's dick is soft. That shouldn't exactly make Steve feel good.
"You want me to stop?" Steve asks. His lips are red and slick. He's curling his fingertips against Eddie's thighs, like he's desperate to get back to it. He looks like a wet fucking dream but Eddie can't get wet to save his soul. It's tragic.
"Yeah," Eddie says, but he doesn't want him to stop at all. There's just no point in continuing.
Steve pulls away, resting back on his heels. Steve's big dick is hard, and leaking like a faucet. Steve reaches for it, and squeezes, trying to get it to go down. Eddie can see his thigh muscles are tense, flexed. He's trying to redirect all that blood.
Eddie doesn't want that. Erections shouldn't be wasted. They feel like a precious commodity these days.
"No, let me see you," Eddie says, and Eddie watches as Steve's thighs relax, as Steve strokes himself leisurely. Like he's in no hurry. No rush.
"Go ahead, touch yourself," Steve directs, and Eddie isn't sure he sees the point. If Steve Harrington couldn't get him hard, he's definitely not gonna be able to do it for himself.
"This is stupid," Eddie says, cupping his soft dick. He doesn't know if it's all in his head, or if something actually got fucked up down there. Blood vessels or nerves, whatever the bats gnawed on while trying to eat him alive.
None of the doctors warned him about this, and well, he's kind of pissed off. He's lost enough.
"It's not stupid," Steve says, "does it still feel good? Does it hurt?"
It doesn't hurt.
It feels good. Just not as good as he remembers.
"No, it feels good," Eddie answers.
"Good, then it'll happen. Or it won't. We can do other stuff. I could eat you out. Finger you," Steve says, like these are normal, everyday suggestions.
Eddie feels like his dick hardens a smidgen. It's probably in his goddamn head, but he'll pretend, and take it.
"Fuck you," Steve continues, and Eddie arches his head back against the pillows. "That's it," Steve coaches, and Eddie rubs his soft dick. "You just gotta keep your head up. I'm having fun, and you should be having fun, too."
Eddie nods, squeezing his eyes shut. He's having fun.
Steve Harrington is in his bed. If that's not fun, nothing could be.
If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiesongfics to follow along with the love! 🎵
Written for the @steddiesongfics January prompt “based on a song from Season 5 of Stranger Things” and the round 3 @steddiebingo prompt “tradition” | song inspiration: “Fernando” by ABBA | wc: 1,000 | rated: T | cw: PTSD and hypervigilance | tags: canon divergent from season 4, Eddie lives and Vecna was killed the first time, future fic, established relationship, healing from trauma, featuring the whole party
———
It’s cool and quiet at the edge of the woods surrounding Lover’s Lake. Eddie didn’t park too far away from the group’s spot on the shore, but Steve appreciates the distance as he goes to get another beer from the cooler in the back of the van.
From here, the shouting laughter and the crackling bonfire fade into the background. Steve’s path is lit by the moonlight streaming between bare-branched trees, each step accompanied by the crunch of dry leaves and the swish of his coat.
They were here this time last year, too. And the year before. What began as a one-off party to help the kids blow off steam has become an annual tradition. Every November, when the trees start to die and the nights get too long and the rustling woods sound too much like monsters from another world, they come back here. It’s their own pagan ritual, a cleansing– fears and memories carried away by smoke and the ripples of stones thrown into the lake. They gather together, remind themselves that they survived, and celebrate.
It had been Eddie who suggested it, in that dark year after they defeated Vecna. Eddie who pulled them together when the shock of their victory threatened to tear them apart. Eddie who started the fire, who pulled out his battered acoustic guitar and played every song the kids could name, who sang and danced and joked with them beneath the starry sky until they all remembered how to laugh again.
This year, Steve needs the reminder more than ever. He’s here. Vecna’s not, hasn’t been for two and a half years, never will be again, Steve knows that… but the longer it’s been since that fateful spring break, the harder it is to shake the feeling that something is going to happen, that he’s missing the warning signs and won’t be ready when the Upside Down inevitably strikes again.
He sighs forcefully enough that his breath fogs around his face. His first two beers are flowing warm in his veins. He’s here with all of the most important people in his life. He takes another breath, a slow inhale through his nose that burns as the cold air enters his lungs. Holds it, lets his anxiety diffuse into carbon dioxide, releases it, and watches the mist dissipate into the night. If only it were that easy.
The beer cans, when Steve finally grabs them, are shockingly cold. It grounds him enough that he doesn’t think so hard as he trudges back down the hill towards the bonfire.
The sights and sounds of their group come back into focus slowly. He can make out the shock of Max’s hair where she huddles beneath a blanket with Lucas. Robin’s obnoxiously patterned sweater stands out with the lake as her backdrop, sleeves waving wildly as she gesticulates her way through a discussion with Nancy and Jonathan. Steve can just make out the back of Eddie’s head, nodding in time, his gentle fingerpicking weaving around the sounds of bickering as Dustin, Mike, and Will try to decide what the next song should be.
Steve follows the quiet guitar, shifting from a delicate melody into a lazy strumming pattern, until he’s close enough to make out Eddie’s humming beneath the dull roar of the surrounding conversations. The familiarity of the scene warms Steve nearly as much as the bonfire, now that he’s close enough to feel the radiating heat once again. Eddie always chooses a spot close to the fire, given his tendency to run cold.
He’s wondering how to let Eddie know he’s behind him without startling him too badly when Dustin spots him and yells, “Steve! Tell Mike we’re sick of his stupid punk songs.”
The sudden outburst still makes Eddie jump, his fingers skidding across the frets, though he’s smiling good-naturedly when he turns to look for Steve. He winks when their eyes meet, on the side facing away from the kids so it’s just for Steve.
Steve steps over the log to settle in his seat beside Eddie, close enough for their thighs to touch and for the body of Eddie’s guitar to bump against Steve’s hip. To Dustin, he says, “Maybe Eddie is tired of being your human jukebox, huh? Give him a break.”
Mike mumbles something snide that diverts Dustin’s attention, and that distraction is the closest Steve and Eddie will get to having a private moment for the rest of the night. Steve takes advantage of it by leaning in, close enough for this nose to brush Eddie’s temple, and whispering, “You gotta tell them when you’re getting sore.”
Eddie shakes his head as he gently lays his guitar to the side. Despite his denial, he flexes his hands, stretching the aching joints. “I’m fine, really.”
“Would another beer help?” Steve holds up a can in offering.
“Aww.” Eddie’s eyes sparkle in the firelight. “You really do love me.”
He rolls his eyes and pops the tab on the can before handing it over. “Duh.”
Even after years together, it still shocks him that something as monumental as loving Eddie could ever become mundane. Steve has already told Eddie he loves him three times today– a sleepy farewell when Eddie abandoned their bed in search of breakfast, the punctuation on their late morning tryst, a casual thank you after Eddie loaded the beer cooler into the van. It’s an everyday occurrence now, as easy as breathing.
Eddie furrows his brow as he looks Steve over. “Are you okay? You’ve been quiet tonight. Thinking too much?”
“As usual,” he agrees. “You’ll have to distract me.”
Obligingly, Eddie leans in for a kiss. It’s chaste, but apparently lingers long enough for the kids to notice and express their annoyance at the “lovey-dovey shit,” as Dustin calls it. Robin wolf-whistles from the other side of the fire.
Beneath the twinkling stars, in the glow of the bonfire, surrounded by the joyful chaos of the people he loves, Steve continues to heal.
written for the @steddiesongfics June prompt and as fill for the @steddiebingo prompt: mutual pining
song inspo: Summer Sweat by Hannah Cohen (with a hidden nod to Djo's song Potion) | wc: 2.500 | rated: M | tags: alternating pov, not actually unrequited crushes, sexual content, idiots in love, friends to lovers | also on ao3
“I’m not gonna survive this. Tell Wayne I love him. Tell Dustin he can have all my DnD stuff and you... you can have whatever’s left of my weed. It’s hidden in the-“
“Oh for fuck’s sake, Munson! Will you stop with the dramatics? It’s just a sunburn! You’re gonna live.”
If I don’t strangle you with my own two hands, Steve mumbles to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose trying to calm his nerves.
Eddie has been whining ever since he woke up from the little nap he took by the pool. In the sun. Which Steve had explicitly warned him about.
He told him it was a bad idea to lie in the blazing sun unprotected, but did he listen? No. Of course not. Because underneath that pretty hair is a skull so thick, no reasonable advice – no matter how well-intentioned – gets through.
Now, Eddie’s back and shoulders are glowing bright red, and they hurt. Probably not quite as bad as Eddie lets on but it sucks either way, Steve knows it does. Had learned it the hard way and never made the same mistake twice.
Because unlike Eddie, he’s not a stubborn donkey. So, no. No pity there. He did that to himself.
“It doesn’t look that bad. You’ll be fine in a few days. Once the burned skin peels off, you’ll be as good as new.”
Eddie’s eyes widen.
“Wait, hold on. My skin will do what?”
He sounds genuinely distressed now and- okay. Maybe Steve does feel a bit sorry for him.
“Why are you acting like this is news to you? Are you telling me this is the first time this has happened? How?”
There’s no way Eddie never had a sunburn before. That would be, like, a miracle or something. Because let’s be honest, Eddie Munson does not seem like the type of guy that takes good care of his skin. Not like- he doesn’t have bad skin. It’s actually unfair how good his skin looks despite the fact that he probably never used any cream or other products in his whole damn life.
Not the point, though. The point is-
“It’s all your fault, Harrington!”
The accusation leaves him speechless for a moment because seriously, “What?”
“Yeah, well, this never would’ve happened if I’d stayed in my dark room, where the sun can’t hurt me. And I’m only not because you invited me over and I-“
Eddie stops his tirade, teeth pressing into his bottom lip.
“Oh excuse me for wanting to spend time with you! You dickhead!”
Steve throws his hands up in frustration and starts pacing from the counter to the fridge just to let off some steam.
This is ridiculous.
If Eddie doesn’t want to be here, why did he agree to come when Steve asked him if he wanted to hang out?
Didn’t he enjoy himself earlier? Steve sure as hell thought so. Thought it would be nice to spend the day together.
It’s so rare they get to be together alone, just the two of them. Where they can talk shit and be stupid without having to keep one eye on what the kids are up to, and Robin’s not there to make fun of him for being a apparently too obvious with his stupid, unrequited feelings.
Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe that’s why Eddie doesn’t want to be here. Why he-
“Steve?”
A hand drops on his shoulder and when he blinks himself out of his spiralling thoughts, he finds Eddie looking at him with those soft, disarming eyes, and an apologetic smile on his lips.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. It’s obviously not your fault. And I’m glad you invited me- you have a fucking pool, man! The trailer doesn’t even have air-con. I’d be dying of a heatstroke right now if it wasn’t for you. You’re literally my saviour, Steve! Knight in shining armour and all that.”
Eddie shakes him lightly by the shoulder, and Steve can’t not laugh at his overdone speech.
“You’re lucky I like you enough to put up with you,” Steve counters as nonchalantly as possible, not giving away just how much he likes him.
Take that, Robin.
“Still like me even if I’m being a big whiny baby about a sunburn?”
Eddie pouts, looking up through his stupidly long lashes, and- okay yeah, fine! Maybe Robin does have a point because Steve feels weak, unable to keep a straight face when Eddie’s looking at him like that. He wants to bite his cheeks. Or lick them. Press his mouth against those unfairly kissable looking lips.
Fuck. Get a grip, Harrington.
“Yeah, yeah. Now, do you want the lotion or the aloe gel? Both will sting a bit but it’ll cool your skin and you’ll feel much better.”
Steve grabs both bottles and holds them out for him to choose – that’s what they came inside for, after all, before Eddie started to make his last will.
“Doesn’t matter, I’m not gonna be able to reach most of it anyway.”
Eddie turns over his shoulder, looking at the reflection of his back in the sliding door that leads from the kitchen to the backyard.
“Well, yeah. That’s what I’m here for,” Steve answers matter-of-factly, ignoring the small but unsubtle tug in his gut.
This is not quite how he imagined getting his hands on Eddie’s body, but he’ll take it. It’s not like he’ll ever get a chance for more anyway.
When Eddie looks back at him, his face is painted with the same colour as his damaged skin, a flashing red that spreads from his nose right down to his bare chest.
“If, uh, if you don’t mind,” Steve adds, suddenly unsure.
“Y-yeah. That- that would be nice.”
Despite the undefined tension hanging thick in the air between them, Steve walks over to him, clutching both bottles like their weapons and he’s going to battle, buzzing with nerves.
“Aloe?” he asks again, setting the lotion aside when Eddie nods.
He clicks the cap open, tips the bottle and lets its content drizzle into his left hand.
From the corner of his eyes, he can see Eddie watching him, dark eyes fixated on the translucent liquid collecting in Steve’s palm. Watching even more intently when Steve spreads the gel between his hands.
He seems nervous, biting his lip while his hands fiddle with the cords on his swim shorts, feet tip-tapping from left to right like he can’t stay still.
“Turn around for me?” Steve asks and he hates how soft his voice sounds, how unsteady he moves when he closes the remaining distance between them. “Tell me if it hurts, okay?”
Eddie nods again and turns around like Steve asked him to. He hisses at the first contact of Steve’s hands with his neck, shoulders tensing up.
“Doesn’t hurt, ‘s just cold.”
His words are a little slurred, and Steve worries that he’s lying, trying to act tough. But then he can feel him relax, shoulders dropping when Steve continues, carefully spreading the cooling gel over hot skin.
“Feel okay?”
Eddie’s head falls forward before he answers with a sigh, the sound bordering on a moan, and Steve has to bite his tongue not to mirror him.
It’s hard to focus on the steady movement of his hands, hard not to let his mind misinterpret Eddie’s reactions to his touch. How he squirms slightly when Steve’s fingers tickle his sides, letting out these soft little puffs of air at every gentle stroke along his spine.
This shouldn’t feel so intimate, but it does, the way Eddie leans into him, his body relaxed, his skin soft under Steve’s palms. How he hums contently when Steve reaches the small of his back, fingertips dragging along the waistline of his shorts, itching to dip lower.
A real torture on his heart that flutters violently, not understanding that this isn’t what it so desperately longs for.
“All done,” Steve says, not without regret, when all of Eddie’s back is covered under a soothing layer of aloe, that’ll offer relief for his irritated skin.
He steps back to give Eddie some room, instantly missing the contact now that his arms are hanging useless down his sides.
The blush on Eddie’s face is still visible when he turns, and his chest is heaving, almost as if he’s a little breathless, when he lets out a small giggle.
“Fuck, Steve. You’re like a witch with healing hands. It already feels so much better.”
In response, like a dork, Steve lifts his hands and wiggles his fingers in front of him, and is instantly hit with a wave of shame. He tries to laugh it off, acting casual, annoyed.
“Next time, let me do that before you get sunburned.”
Eddie stops mid eye-roll, smile faltering “Ugh, fuck. I can’t sleep on my back like that.”
“Then... don’t?”
“But what if I turn in my sleep? It’ll hurt and I’ll wake up and then I’ll be grouchy all day.”
Steve chuckles, can’t not when Eddie’s being his over-dramatic self.
“You’re such a baby.”
He laughs even more when Eddie crosses his arms before his chest and frowns.
“Hey! Stop being mean.”
It’s just an act, Steve knows that. The problem is, that it’s working on him. Eddie is cute when he’s fake-sulking like that, and Steve can’t handle cute right now. Not with his whole system still running on overdrive from hearing Eddie fucking moan because he enjoyed Steve’s hands on his body so much. That’s... a lot to take in, okay?
He needs a distraction, or he might do something stupid.
“Come on, let’s grab a beer and sit in the shade. No more sun for you, mister.”
Two weeks later, Eddie is back at Steve’s place. They’re having a pool party, grown-ups only, and Eddie promised to help with preparations.
He’s stacking bottles in the refrigerator when he notices movement behind him, finds Steve standing there with a grin on his face and a bottle of sunscreen in his hand.
“No excuses this time,” he says and Eddie doesn’t dare to argue; he’s learned his lesson.
Once he’s done, he follows Steve outside, who sits down on a recliner, patting the empty space between his parted thighs.
Eddie swallows hard, feels his insides tie into knots, heart beating rapidly in his chest, when he settles down in front of him.
He should’ve just waited and asked Robin to help him out. Or Jonathan. Anyone else would’ve been the better choice, because none of the others make him feel like Steve does.
It’s so stupid, but it’s hard to stay cool when the guy you’ve been having a tragically miserable crush on forever, is sitting so close. Dressed in nothing but shorts, heat radiating off his unfairly perfect body that must’ve been blessed by the sun god himself.
“Take off your shirt,” Steve tells him, and Eddie thinks he might combust.
Keep it together, Munson. You survived this once, you’ll survive it again.
Only this time, it’s so much worse.
Because last time, Eddie could focus on the bearable but omnipresent stinging sensation that mixed with the soothing touch of Steve’s hands.
But now, with his skin unblemished, Eddie is committed to the full force of how good it feels. And if he thought the noises he involuntarily made last time, where embarrassing, then whatever sound breaks free from his throat now, makes him want to die on the spot.
It sounds downright pornographic, the way he moans when Steve’s thumbs press into space between his shoulder blades, kneading his flesh with strong hands, smoothly following the shape his spine, teasing fingertips reaching around his waist, dipping almost all the way down to his waistline.
It goes on and on, with no mercy on Eddie’s weak heart that tells him, delusional as it is, that this isn’t about putting sunscreen on him anymore. Can’t be, because Eddie’s skin has already soaked up all of it. Still, Steve keeps going, massaging Eddie’s back, hands gliding over his skin, working the knots in his shoulders.
Eddie’s melting, not just into the touch, it’s like his whole body is suddenly made of molten wax. He feels hot, and he’s not sure if it’s from the sun or from the burning wildfire of emotions that’s raging inside of him.
It’s too much, but he doesn’t want it to stop. Wants to tell Steve how fucking good it feels. Wants to feel more of him. Wants to feel him forever.
Another breathy moan breaks the silence between them, but to Eddie’s surprise, the source isn’t his own mouth.
Steve’s suddenly so close, his breath hot on the side of his neck, chest pressing against Eddie’s back.
“Fuck, Eddie. I’m-”
Oh.
O-holy shit.
He can feel it. Unmistakably.
Steve is hard.
Rubbing against him with shallow movements, barely there but enough to send him into spiral of overwhelm and arousal and- fuck!
“Steve.”
The name spills into a desperate little whine when Steve wraps a hand around his throat, thumb pressing against his jawline, forcing his head to turn to the side, awkwardly twisting to meet Steve’s lips in a kiss.
Eddie thinks he might’ve fallen asleep again. Thinks he must be dreaming when Steve’s mouth connects with the sweaty skin on the side of his neck, sucking, licking, biting.
But he can taste the salt on Steve’s lips, somehow still sweet like candy, when they collide again and again while their hands have developed a mind of their own, searching, finding, moving where they’re both aching for touch.
Their bodies now a tangle of limbs, unsteady on the recliner that wasn’t made to defy such need but holds up anyway. Barely. Hinges groaning to the sound of unrestrained lust, shaking with the violent tremble of two people slowly coming undone. Every hip thrust welcomed by a tight fist threatening to cause a collapse. Not of the recliner, but it’s a fall nonetheless. Down into the pit where desire meets the unison echo of a four-letter word confession.
Choking on each other’s breath, Steve follows him over the edge. It’s over too soon, and not soon enough, because God knows when the others will arrive and burst the bubble Eddie finds himself floating in.
“Can we-“ Steve starts, still a little breathless, “Can we come back to this? Later? When everyone’s gone?”
His voice is only a shy whisper, like he’s scared Eddie might pull away.
Like it isn’t obvious that he’s all in.
“I meant what I said, Steve. I want you. Now. Later. Forever.”
He doesn’t say love this time, not because he doesn’t feel it in every fibre of his being, only because he wants to do this right, take his time to pour it all out, let his heart speak through his body. Let Steve know he wants this more than anything.
“Kiss me again?” Steve asks, and Eddie is more than happy to oblige.
Written for @steddiesongfics and @steddiebingo
Song: Baby, It's Cold Outside
Prompts: Under the influence (R1), winter (R1 and 12 days of Christmas)
Rating: E | WC: 2,343 | Tags: Alpha Eddie Munson, Omega Steve Harrington, getting together, first kiss, snowed in
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This wasn't how Steve had expected his night to go. He'd expected the blind date his mother had set him up on to suck (it had). He'd expected there to be a kerfuffle over the bill, no matter which of them paid (his date had). He'd expected the night to end with him and Robin cuddled on the couch, eating cookies and ice cream while they talked about how bad his mother's taste in dates for him was.
The getting home part was where everything had gone wonky. Even if he hadn't locked the keys in his car, the snow had piled up so fast that he wouldn't have been able to make it out of the parking lot.
Maybe if he'd left at the same time as his date then he would've been able to get out. But he hadn't, he'd stayed behind and finished the wine he'd ordered while watching the Alpha behind the bar.
Now here he was, sitting in the corner of said Alpha's couch while Eddie puttered around the kitchen. He hadn't yet decided whether Eddie living above the restaurant was good luck or not. It would depend on if Steve's mother found out he'd started the evening with one Alpha and ended it with another.
"Marshmallows or no marshmallows?"
Eddie's voice pulled Steve back to the moment. "Marshmallows," he said, looking towards the kitchen.
When Eddie joined him again he was holding two mugs piled high with whipped cream, marshmallows, and… chocolate shavings? As if the cocoa wasn't surprising enough, it was brought out in matching Garfield mugs.
"I sort of thought you were joking about making cocoa." Steve took his mug and held it close. The warm scent of chocolate and cinnamon wrapped around him. It mixed surprisingly well with the scent of Eddie — tobacco and leather.
"Stevie. I would never joke about hot cocoa." Eddie didn't sit down beside him right away and instead crossed to a table pushed against the wall. Steve watched nimble fingers flip through the vinyls until he'd found what he wanted.
"…Really?" Steve laughed as the voice of Ella Fitzgerald filled the room. "Isn't this a little on the nose?"
"Maybe that's why I picked it." Eddie grinned as he took his seat. "Did you get ahold of your friend?" He gestured to the cordless he'd given Steve before stepping into the kitchen.
"No. She didn't answer, I figured I would try again in a few minutes." Steve flicked his tongue out to try and clear a spot for himself to drink out of through the whipped cream. Rich chocolate flavor exploded on his tongue, followed by the subtle burn of alcohol.
"I think Ella was on to something, there's definitely more than chocolate in this," he teased.
Eddie's rumbling laugh made Steve shiver. "I just figured it would help warm you up," he said. His nose wrinkled in a way that made Steve want to lean in and kiss the tip of it. "…Was that creepy? I can make you some without, I just remembered you having wine earlier, didn't think it would hurt—"
"You were watching me?" Steve asked.
"I didn't say that." Eddie arched one brow as he took a long drink. He licked the whipped cream mustache away before Steve could offer to do it. "But yeah, I was. It's always fun to be an innocent bystander for the trainwreck dates."
"Trainwreck!" Steve barked out in a laugh. "You could not tell it was a trainwreck from all the way over by the bar."
"Trust me, you work with people as long as I have, you learn to pick up on things." Eddie settled in against the couch with one arm stretched out along the back of it. "If that's what you count as a good date, I would hate to see what counts as bad."
Steve settled back, too, with his hands around his mug and his body facing Eddie's. "It wasn't the worst date I've ever had. Just… awkward."
"What is the worst date you've ever had?"
Another laugh bubbled up as Steve drained half of his mug. "It'll take more than one mug of hard cocoa to get that out of me."
"You're not serious." Eddie watched Steve with wide eyes.
"I fucking wish I was joking!"
It had taken more than one hard cocoa, but just barely. Steve had managed to get through to Robin (who, to her credit, only panicked a little at the idea of Steve being with a guy neither of them knew, and she only demanded his full name, address, a physical description, and his license plate number in case Steve didn't show up again once the weather had cleared up). Once the cocoa was gone and Robin knew Steve was somewhere safe for the night, they had switched to a bottle of bourbon Eddie had brought home from work.
There was something about Eddie that Steve found comforting in a way he hadn't found with anyone but Robin in a very long time. Maybe it was because Eddie hadn't even blinked when Robin had demanded to speak to him, too. Maybe it was because he looked tough and rugged, with his ripped jeans and his motorcycle boots and the tattoos covering his arms, but he had at least two Garfield mugs in his kitchen and he listened to Ella Fitzgerald on snowy nights.
Eddie's laugh was big and bright and Steve found that he wanted to wrap himself up in it because it warmed him even more than their drinks had. He was just warm, and Steve found himself slowly gravitating closer and closer to Eddie's end of the couch.
If Robin was here, she would be telling him that he needed to be careful. He fell too hard too fast and he always got hurt for it. This night, though, Eddie, it all felt different. This wasn't even a date, Eddie had just been nice enough to offer Steve somewhere to warm himself up for the night.
Now Steve wanted to offer Eddie somewhere warm, too.
It was a stupid line brought on by a horny thought, and Steve nearly spat out his drink.
"You good, man?" Eddie asked as he reached over to lightly clap Steve on the back. His scent was even stronger when he was this close.
"I'm good." Steve wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and cleared his throat. "Just— stupid thought. I think I need to take that as my sign to head to bed."
"Okay." Eddie tossed back the rest of his drink and started cleaning their dishes up. Steve reached out to help and Eddie stopped him with a wave of his hand. "Stay there, I've got this."
"I can help," Steve insisted. He stood up and grabbed their empty mugs. "Besides, I'm, uh… going to need some pajamas, if you have anything I can borrow?"
"Oh fuck, right!" Eddie put the bottle of bourbon back down on the coffee table and hurried down a short hallway to what Steve assumed was his bedroom.
While Eddie was gone Steve carried their dishes to the kitchen. He rinsed them out and left them to be washed in the morning. Eddie could still be heard rummaging in his room, so Steve took a moment to be a little nosy. He let his fingertip curl around the cabinet door.
Eddie didn't just have a Garfield mug. There were juice glasses with the fat orange cat on them, and were those dinner plates? Steve lifted one up carefully to get a closer look— Garfield in a night dress and cap, beside Odie in a rocking chair.
"Not what you expected, huh?"
Caught, Steve put the plate back and turned to Eddie with pink cheeks. "I was just wondering, after I saw the mugs. I would say I'm not usually that nosy, but…" He shrugged. "I would be lying."
Eddie grinned wide and Steve once more found himself watching the way the corners of his eyes crinkled.
"It's something I got into with my uncle," he explained. "We watched the cartoons together. It's something we bonded over when I moved in with him." He held something out to Steve. "I don't actually have any clean pajama pants…"
Steve unfolded the shirt. It was soft and worn, with a few tiny holes around the neck. Clearly this was a shirt that Eddie had had for a while, one he loved. And he was offering it up to Steve to use for the night.
Whatever resolve or sense of propriety Steve had left flew out the window. He'd wondered earlier what his mother would think about him having dinner with one Alpha and then going home with another one entirely.
Finding out her son not only went home with a stranger, but that he was the one who made the first move, might've sent her to an early grave.
Steve didn't let that stop him as he closed the distance between them. His hand cupped Eddie's cheek, thumb stroking his jaw, and then their lips were pressed together.
Eddie's lips were soft and warm. He tasted like chocolate and alcohol and Steve would never get enough.
"Look, I know it might be forward," he murmured. "But you smell so good, and you're so nice, and I would kick myself if I didn't shoot my shot."
Warm air brushed Steve's mouth as Eddie laughed again. Steve was becoming addicted to that, too.
"I got you tipsy and didn't give you pants to sleep in, and you think you're being forward?"
"Giving me pants would've just made it that much harder for you to get into them, wouldn't it?"
Eddie actually groaned, but then his mouth was on Steve's again and Steve's back was pressed against the lip of the counter. "Fuck, that was cheesy."
"Says the man with the Garfield collec— hey!" Steve yelped as he was lifted up onto the counter. Eddie was slim, lean, but there was a strength in his arms that was surprising.
Eddie's lips trailed over his jaw and up towards his ear. "Don't pretend the Garfield collection isn't what won you over."
"Was I that transparent?" Steve murmured. His legs came up to wrap around Eddie's waist, his arms draped around those wide shoulders.
"'Fraid so." Eddie pressed a kiss to the moles on the underside of Steve's jaw. "You know… if seeing my dinnerware made you want to jump into bed with me, I can't wait until you see my pajamas."
Steve threaded a hand into Eddie's soft hair and stole another kiss that was almost teasing. "Oh, baby. I don't think either of us could handle that."
Neither of them stopped smiling as Eddie lifted him off of the counter, as they bumped their way down the hallway.
Steve was far from a blushing virgin, had been around the block more than few times. None of his partners had been like Eddie, though.
Eddie's mouth left a trail of fire as he played connect the dots with Steve's moles. His fingers stoked Steve's pleasure higher and higher, until his thighs shook and there was a patch of slick on the bed beneath them, until he'd fallen apart not once but twice.
Eddie was right there after, too, kissing Steve's shattered edges and melting them until they were fitted together and he was whole again.
When Eddie finally settled over him, when they were finally joined as one, it was with their hands threaded together on either side of Steve's head.
It wasn't rushed. It was slow and languid, with kisses to eyelids and cheeks and chins, with Eddie sucking marks into Steve's skin and Steve urging Eddie on with his heels.
They came together with a cry from Steve and Eddie panting Steve's name into the hollow of his throat.
Afterward there was an ease with Eddie that Steve hadn't gotten from other partners. There was no hasty cleanup, no scrambling for clothes. Eddie just rolled them away from the wet spot. He kissed Steve gently, then slipped out of bed to get a wet washcloth to wipe them both off.
Steve slipped into the shirt Eddie had brought to him. It was even softer when it was on. Eddie's scent was there beneath the laundry detergent scent, too.
Eddie wrapped around him when he got back into bed. He tucked the blankets around them and buried his face in Steve's neck in a way that showed Steve wasn't the only one feeling a little scent addicted.
Sleep was just taking over when Eddie's voice roused him again.
"You think roses would be appropriate?"
"Hmm?" Steve cracked one eye open. "For what?"
"Feel like I owe your date a thank you after this."
Steve lightly smacked Eddie's hip. "You don't think there's someone else you should be thanking?"
"Oh, right." Eddie nuzzled down against the top of Steve's head and held him that much tighter. "I'll have to get some for your mom, too."
"Eddie!" Steve dissolved into sleepy giggles that he tried to stifle against Eddie's shoulder. "That's still not who I was talking about!"
"I know." Eddie pressed a kiss to the corner of Steve's mouth and gathered him impossibly closer. "Thought you might like breakfast more than flowers. Figured I would save flowers for our first date."
"This wasn't a date?" Steve asked. "What would you call it?"
Eddie took so long to answer that Steve was almost sure he'd fallen asleep, too. "Our meet cute. But we should probably leave out the sex when we tell our future grandpups."
Steve couldn't stop the purr that started in his chest.
Even if there was talk tomorrow about what he'd done, and if it made its way back to his parents, he'd met the Alpha of his dreams, someone who collected Garfield memorbilia and talked about pups before they'd even technically been on a date.
They fell asleep wrapped up together, with Steve's purr still rumbling on and the snow falling down around them.
Rating: M; WC: 2945; CW: mentions of recreational drug use; Tags: O!Steve, A!Eddie, Omegaverse au, Steve has chronic pain syndrome/fibromyalgia, scenting, mutual crushes, Steve has shitty parents, angst and hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, cuddling and snuggling, happy/hopeful ending. Summary: O!Steve is losing his mind, struggling with chronic pain, and it feels like nobody believes him or hears his pleas for help. In his desperation, he goes to A!Eddie to score drugs… and they end up ‘saving’ each other.
For @steddiebingo fill, ‘Ring,’ and @steddiesongfics May prompt, Free space and AU. Song inspiration, Livin’ on a Prayer, by Bon Jovi (not exactly original tho’ I was mainlining the 80s again and it got indelibly stuck in my head. The original version of the fic used the song more integrally, rewrites after my laptop disaster ended up more loosely inspired till the end😉) Read on Ao3
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Eddie drops onto one knee on the dewy grass.
He plucks off one of his own rings—the blue mood ring on his right hand, tho’ they all mean everything to Steve—and offers it up between a finger and thumb.
Steve staggers backward. Might’ve literally toppled, if it hadn’t been for his Alpha landing a hand, warm and steadying, on his hip.
“Steve Harrington, will you…”
Steve’s blood pounds to the phantom beats from the ghetto blaster Eddie recently switched off. His brain is a freakin’ fog. He’d been having a shitty night, his pain and insomnia feeding greedily on each other, as per ever. Eddie woke too, as he intuitively does, when his Omega’s struggling this bad.
They came out to wait for the dawn. So yeah, this feels like a hazy dream.
“…marry me?”
It’s real. As is that cliché of a galaxy glittering across his Alpha’s super-earnest, super-loving eyes.
Eddie loves him. The Omega who often lacks the energy to style his hair. The Omega whose scent is too regularly soured with pain. It is right now, when he’s on top of the world, really. It’s like there’s always a darn bluebottle drowning in his honeysuckle perfume.
He’s sucked in the best Alpha in Hawkins too, tho’, so that’s a total win.
He dabs his eyes, sniffs, kinda squeals. The heat of his Alpha’s touch flows through his sore hip and floods his belly, and his heart, with warmth.
They both know what Steve’s answer is going to be.
Life shouldn’t be this perfect.
…
Three years ago
“Are you okay, Steve?” asks Chrissy, dropping her pom poms and hurrying over.
“I’m good. Quit fussing and leave me alone already.”
She’s hunted him down in the locker room at the end of Omega cheer squad practice, and yes, he’s lying. He’s not okay. He’s not crying either, which is one strike for his tattered pride, tho’ he’s pretty damn close. His eyes and throat burn with unshed tears.
He wants to sneer, “Come to gloat?”
Apart from this is Chrissy. Kind, caring Chrissy. Why the heck is he being a bitch?
His only excuse is that he’s useless, and that’s on him. He can’t even follow a cheer routine without his shoulders feeling like they’d been wrenched at the sockets, and he’s constantly stumbling over his own damn feet. No wonder she quietly suggested he sit out the pyramid and basket toss.
Now, she sits down and curls an arm around him. “Stevie, you’re not okay.”
He chokes the truth out to her. Doing anything, everything, any sport, any movement at all—hell, even sitting down in class—it hurts.
“Chrissy, what’s wrong with me? The doctors haven’t a clue. They say I’m making it up. Why the heck would I do that?”
She folds both arms around him and snuggles him properly. Her scent is sweet, proper Omega cotton-candy sweet, saturated with comfort pheromones that only choke him up more.
“I’m sorry, Steve,” she sniffles.
“Why? It’s not your fault.”
It is my fault. For not being the grade-A, piano maestro, sports champ Alpha he was supposed to be. Who else was there to blame?
“It’s not your fault either, Stevie.”
He actually smirks.
Of course, she knows what he’s thinking. Clever, empathetic Chrissy. He’s not even good at being Omega, not like her.
He knows she’ll never push him away. He quietly drops out of the squad.
In the final years of High School, the fatigue kills him worse than the pain. He rarely sleeps for more than an hour or two, and his grades crash and burn.
His love life crashes and burns, too.
He takes a chance on Jason Carver. One moment, the Alpha is husking in his ear, “Gonna take good care of you, little darling.” The next, he’s growling, “Gonna split you so wide you’ll squeal for your momma. Gonna bone you so hard your brains rattle.”
“Yeah, I’ll pass on that one, Romeo.”
Jason seems genuinely hurt. Steve realizes that it was supposed to be a ‘turn on.’ For other Omegas maybe. Omega biology can absorb some pretty full-on fuckings. For the Omega off sick half the time, who’s been barred from all the sports he once loved?
No thanks, dickwad. Read the room.
He swears off Alphas. Their spiky, predatory stench makes his over-sensitive skin crawl, and his own perfume grows simply depressing, bitter as vinegar. Besides, how is he supposed to be a goddess in the kitchen and a whore in the bedroom, if he can’t get out of bed in the morning? He bruises easily, too, like the rotten apple he is. How will he ever safely perch a pup on his hip?
And yeah, he’s a bitch to everyone, exhausted and fractious all the time. Probably deserves the ‘frigid cow’ graffiti somebody sprays on his locker.
Nobody will want him. Ever.
Then his mom flushes his painkillers down the toilet. “I don’t want you getting addicted to those things, Steven.”
He tries to explain. It’s not like he’s getting high. He only wants to get to some place where he feels normal. Where every raw nerve, every fiber in his body, stops complaining enough to let him sleep.
Nobody listens. Which is how he ends up arranging to meet Eddie Munson at some skanky picnic bench in the scrubby strip of forest behind the football ground.
Munson isn’t there when he arrives. Its dead quiet. Too quiet. Not a bird squawks, and it’s bordering on creepy.
Steve slides onto the bench and slumps forward, pillowing his head in his arms.
This is insane.
Munson is an Alpha. Steve should leave, like now, for a billion good reasons. On the other hand, his legs are a crazy cross between jello and ton weights, and he’s used a whole day’s worth of energy getting here.
“Harrington?”
Steve jumps, squeaks, gulps air into his too-tight lungs. Eddie looms over him. Also, smiles down at him, and his eyes are kind.
His scent reassures Steve, whose rabbiting heartbeat slows. He inhales Indiana fir and juniper berry, with low notes of earthiness and freshly ground coffee. It’s potently Alpha, yeah without being punchy or scary. Eddie’s words underline his soothing musk:
“You’re safe, I promise. Nobody ever comes out here.”
He sits down opposite Steve, places a boxy kind of satchel between them, opening it to reveal packets of druggy shit inside. A cloying marijuana stench sticks in Steve’s throat and makes his eyes water, and he wishes he could just taste more of Eddie.
Eddie, meanwhile, explains how the exchange is gonna work. Then pauses, a smile flirting across his absurdly pillowy-soft looking lips:
“Can’t believe here I am doing a drug deal with Stevie Harrington, the Omega Princess of Hawkins High.”
“Uuuuuh, I think you’re mistaking me for Chrissy Cunningham? Or you’re outta your mind on your own weed and missed, like, a year of everyone’s life.”
“My Liege Lady, you wound me!” Eddie’s hands clasp his chest like he’s been stabbed. Then—to the soundtrack of Steve’s latest surprised squeak—he tumbles dramatically from the bench. “I am a loyal and true knight! After all, this isn’t the first time we've hung out together.”
Huh?
Eddie springs up like Tigger. “Have I got stuff in my hair, Princess?”
He clowns around, fiddling with that feral mane, which Steve is already hankering to groom. He reminds Steve of their ‘shared history.’ Steve laughs so hard he hiccups, and yeah! He does remember that Middle School talent show.
Turns out, Eddie was that dude with buzzed hair.
The dude who, though Steve keeps silent about it, he’d secretly crushed on for months. Eddie’s band, Corroded Coffin, had gone down a whole lot better than Steve’s yawn-fest piano recital. At least following that, his mom had let him focus on sports, and on the cheer squad after he presented Omega, until… until…
Eddie yanks down his collar to display more of the ‘sweet ol’ tatties’ that’d transformed his look so completely. Steve starts salivating, sucking and licking and even biting at his own lips.
No doubt now. He’s still gotten that damn crush. He longs to lick the salt from Eddie’s inky skin, nibble that creamy collar bone. He wants that expressive hand, with all its badass chunky silver rings, to clasp his. Above all, he yearns to crawl into Eddie’s lap, be cocooned in that caressing Alpha scent.
To feel safe, to let it smother his pain.
Yeah, like that’s ever gonna happen.
His a-hole of a body is already destroying this glimmer of fun. He was so tired this morning, he forgot his sunshades, and the daylight glare is triggering a headache, even out among the trees. He rubs his brow, feeling slightly sick and dizzy, then a gust of wind slams him from behind, scattering leaves, litter, and any remnants of Eddie’s scent. That bone-deep weariness reclaims him. His spine sags, and his eyes flutter closed.
“You okay there, Stevie?” Eddie is sat opposite again, his stash bag open. “You don’t want to do this, just give me the word, I’ll walk away.”
“No! Please, I don’t want you to go. It’s just… I’m in pain, like, all the time. I can’t sleep, and I’ve tried weed, and…” His teeth skate up his lower lip, which is getting sore. Probably all yuck and swollen. Ew, he must look gross. And did he even remember to put concealer on the circles beneath his eyes. He shades his face. “I wondered if you’d got anything maybe stronger? I got cash. Plenty of it.”
Eddie closes his bag with a devastating clack. “I can’t do this, Stevie. My mom had issues a bit like yours. More Omegas have to put up with this kinda shit than you think. Let’s just say, folks weren’t very kind to her either, and in the end… the wrong drugs didn’t help, okay?"
Steve almost defaults to cranky bitch mode, his mind reaching for something unforgivable to say about Eddie’s junkie mom. Eddie obviously wants rid of him. He might as well force the issue by saying something horrible and doubtless untrue.
Instead, tho’, he forces a trembling hand across the table, grabs those be-ringed fingers. They both startle slightly, and Steve conjures the truth.
“Please, Alpha, I need something. Anything. I’m so through with it all, and… I honestly don’t think I could make it back to school without help.” Eddie pulses Steve’s fingers, and Steve’s heart squeezes with a pathetic hope. He’d do anything to prolong this time with Eddie, and he can’t believe what he’s about to say: “C-can I, erm… sniff you? I-I don’t usually like the scent of Alphas. I really like yours, and maybe it will help?”
Eddie gawks at him. He’s grossed out. Ugh, of course he is. Steve tugs his hand away, wishing the forest would somehow swallow him. Where are those ravenous Omega-munching bears when you need them?
Then he sees.
Eddie is nodding vigorously, a strange unreadable glow in his intoxicating eyes. “Yeah, you can totally do that.”
Eddie scoots around the table and slides onto the bench, closing in. Steve cringes and wriggles away slightly. “Oh God,” he moans, “I’m such a freak.”
“Don’t steal my thunder, Honey.” Eddie waggles his brows, swinging his legs around so he’s leaning against the table. “Would it help if I..?”
Eddie opens his arms, and Steve surrenders, tumbling forward, notching his nose above that inviting collarbone. Eddie enfolds him gently, and he’s choking up.
He’s been touch starved so long.
He swallows hard then breathes Eddie in till his lungs are bursting. Till an incredible sense of ease overwhelms. Instincts kick in, and he tentatively slides his nose up Eddie’s throat.
He licks and nibbles that salty inked skin, hugs loosely around Eddie’s neck and simply inhales more. Eddie’s scent seems to be getting stronger. Which must be born of pity. Nothing more. Soon, however, Steve is literally chewing on earthy fruity tones that are, somehow, uniquely Eddie. His headache fades to a bearable background hum.
“Is this okay?” Eddie’s fingers lightly comb through Steve’s hair, kindling truly delicious shivers.
“Mmmmmm,” sighs Steve. “As long as you don’t mind?”
“Mind? I don’t leak off pheromones like this for any random Omega who bats their electric-blue lashes at me. For you, Pretty Baby? I could do this all day. So, now I’ve come clean… Is this okay?”
The revelation washes through Steve, leaving a strange fizzy frothy sensation in its wake.
Eddie likes him.
Eddie likes him, and that super-strength Alpha aroma surely can’t lie. And it's been so darn long since he’s been called ‘pretty.’ His tears are leaking, steady and silent. He wants to burrow into Eddie, and sleep forever, till every last shred of his pain and misery slides away.
“Yes,” he whispers, brokenly, “I love it. Th-thank you, Alpha.”
Time passes. All of it floaty and wonderful, and Steve faintly realizes it’s not all about the scent. He’s never believed in that quasi-mystical tug everyone yaps about, between Alphas and Omegas. He’s beginning to, which is dumb, because he barely knows Eddie. He wallows in it all the same, clinging ever tighter, revelling in the coolness of Eddie’s rings as the Alpha’s palm lightly cups his nape.
Eddie’s solid heartbeat thrums through him, till his own falls into sync.
Steve crawls into Eddie’s lap, and Eddie rumbles in blatant appreciation. He holds Steve and gently sways, rubbing soft circles down Steve’s sore spine, his burning hips and always miserable lower back. Their bodies notch together as if some crazy deity created them to fit this way.
Occasionally, a breeze ruffles Steve’s hair. Other than that, the whole rest of the world has scooted away.
All that exists is them.
Steve lays his head on Eddie’s chest and sighs contentedly.
“You’re not what I thought you’d be like,” he says at length, peeping up through the blur of his lashes.
Eddie beams, flashing his Alpha fangs. “What? Mean and scary? Alpha as He-man? Nearly as Alpha as She-ra herself?”
“Yeah. You’re not like that at all.” Eddie hoots and Steve mentally facepalms. “Crap! That came out wrong. I mean, obviously, you’re still uber-Alpha and all, and mega scary—"
“It’s okay, I get ya, and you know, flattery works with me, so I’ll let you in on a secret. There was a time I thought you were terrifying, Harrington.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you and your mighty pompoms, and your ice-princess pout, and those green ribbons jangling in your petrifyingly perfect hair. Always had a bit of a crush, tho’.”
“You’re kidding?”
“No, I swear.”
Steve giggles, and the answering rattle of Eddie’s laughter awakes something—a strange unfamiliar vibration that radiates from Steve’s chest. Christ, is he purring? Hot on its heels, something like warm honey starts trickling from Steve’s innermost core.
He gasps. Then he giggles again. His fingers twist in the back of Eddie’s Hellfire-club t-shirt, clenching in sheer surprise.
He’s perfuming wildly, and it’s not all sourness and yuck. Somewhere, blooming deep inside Steve, are honeysuckle levels of sweetness.
“Baby,” husks Eddie, dropping a gentle kiss to Steve’s hair, “you smell completely amazing.”
…
Eddie holds Steve for as long as he needs. In fact, he never lets Steve go.
While Steve’s pain doesn’t vanish overnight, it’s more bearable when somebody ‘gets’ it. When he’s not so incredibly alone. Also, he’s now got a living, breathing body-wrapping hot water bottle, and Eddie’s Alpha fingers do their bestest to soften his seriously bullet-proof muscle knots.
He’s found an Alpha who will be gentle with him, and he’s grateful every damn day.
Mutual need and love happen first. A realisation that they complete each other, that they can’t be apart without ripping their souls in two. Then leisurely, loving sex happens. Eddie makes Steve’s body sing with pleasure and that, in itself, is a fucking miracle.
“You saved me, Honey,” says Eddie, one day, as they’re cuddling and figuring life out. “I wasn’t an Alpha. I was a kid, pushing drugs to other kids because I couldn’t see any other way to rock and roll. You gave me the kick up the ass I needed.”
Steve smiles and purrs into Eddie’s neck.
They still struggle. However they manage to get their paws on them, Steve’s meds cost far too much. He refuses to let Eddie pawn his guitar.
They hold each other through the endless nights, with Eddie worrying, working two bar jobs to pay the bills. Steve hates not being able to earn much and still gets snappy sometimes.
“Baby, it’s okay,” whispers Eddie, when Steve cries because it’s all too much, “it’s okay.”
His parents are out of the picture now. They’ve had their fill of Steve’s ‘weakness and faking,’ and ‘typical Omega attention-seeking antics.’ Wayne stands by them, steadfast and solid. Good, kind, unjudging Uncle Wayne.
And now here they are, on a hilltop backlit by a smudgy yellow dawn. Steve is managing his pain, not ‘beating’ it, but getting by with a temp job in retail. And Eddie earns enough at the bar and as a gigging guitarist to start to save. They’re not sure if they can have pups, let alone afford them. The future is theirs, together, whatever happens.
“Steve Harrington, will you marry me?”
Steve’s nodding his head off, grinning his face off. Eddie slides that ring onto his outstretched finger, chasing up the cool slide of metal with a warm and slightly damp kiss.
Steve drops to his knees, arms flung around Eddie’s neck, cheek rested, perfectly dry, on Eddie’s shoulder. He breathes in the perfection of life, and of being alive and in love.
“Like you need to ask, idiot,” he murmurs into Eddie’s ear. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you.”
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no pressure tag @wheneverfeasible (if anyone else would like to be tagged, I would be very happy to do so) 💕💕💕💕💕
for @steddiesongfics July prompt using song lyrics from ‘bad idea right’ by olivia rodrigo
rated e | 1569 words | cw: alcohol, super mildly dubious consent because of the alcohol | tags: angst with a happy ending, post break up, exes to lovers, getting back together, sex
📱📱📱📱📱📱📱📱📱📱
Eddie isn’t afraid to admit that he makes mistakes. Sometimes, he makes big ones.
Answering the call from Steve is the first big one.
“Steve?” It’s been almost a year since he’s heard from him, their breakup being the finite end to any and all communication. “You okay?”
“Eddie! Oh my god. So I’m out right now, and I’m all fucked up, and I was thinkin’ ‘bout that time I got so drunk you had to carry me to my bed.” Eddie’s listening to Steve, but he feels like his soul is leaving his body. “You remember how gentle you were? You were so worried about tripping up the stairs and you kept cussing when you lost your grip. You kissed my head when you thought I was asleep.”
Steve’s words are slurred, but Eddie can make them out fine. He was good at understanding Steve all the time, even inebriated.
“I knew you were awake,” he gulps. Robin’s gonna kill him for even entertaining Steve like this. Actually, speaking of her- “Is Robbie with you?”
“No.” Eddie can hear the pout on his lips. “She’s on a date with her girlfriend.”
Right. She’d mentioned that to Eddie yesterday when they were texting about plans for next weekend.
Robin had refused to be split between her two best friends when they broke up, and rightfully so. She may have been Steve’s platonic soulmate, but she knew that what happened between them wasn’t Eddie’s fault. She made sure to spend time with Eddie when Steve was otherwise busy.
“Are you good to get home? I can send an Uber for you.” Eddie offers even though he’s sure Steve thought of that already. Even drunk, he would know how to get home.
“I can get my own Uber.”
“I know.”
“I missed your voice.”
Eddie is doing his fuckin’ best not to make his second big mistake tonight, but it’s not going well. He knows what’s gonna happen. He knows because he’s weak and loves Steve more than anything even after having his heart torn to pieces by him. Even knowing it’ll only lead to more heartbreak.
“You should get home, Stevie.”
“Missed that, too.”
It’s quieter on Steve’s end now, like he’s stepped away from whatever club or bar he’s holed up in, maybe outside to get some much needed fresh air. Eddie hopes it sobers him enough to realize what he’s done so he hangs up.
“Steve…”
“Can I come over?”
Eddie makes the second big mistake of the night and says yes.
-
When Steve arrives, he’s a beautiful mess.
He’s drunk, but the ride must’ve helped a little. His eyes are clear, his cheeks not as flush as they probably were before.
Eddie’s waiting at the door when he gets there, standing with a smile that doesn’t belong. He’s trying to be welcoming to a man who did everything to make sure he felt like he didn’t belong.
Steve is in his arms as soon as he makes it to the front door. Eddie’s third big mistake of the night is wrapping his arms around him as if he’d never stopped, as if this last year wasn’t the worst of his life and he’s barely made it through.
“Sorry I called. I didn’t know where to go.”
And now Eddie’s confused. He’s confused because Steve has an apartment of his own, one that he definitely knew how to get to even when drunk. Even if he didn’t, he would’ve been able to call Robin to help. Or Max. Or Lucas.
And he’s sure that Steve’s been drunk in the last year and not called him.
“Why couldn’t you go home?”
“Too quiet.”
11 months ago, almost to the day, Steve Harrington told Eddie Munson that he was too loud, too hyper, too messy.
11 months ago, Eddie Munson gathered whatever he could find in four minutes and left Steve’s apartment for the last time.
11 months ago, Steve ruined a three year relationship because he’d been feeling overwhelmed and didn’t tell Eddie until it was too late.
Now, Eddie Munson is sure that Steve Harrington is about to be his fourth big mistake tonight.
“You wanna come in?” He asks, already knowing Steve’s answer.
“Please.”
-
Steve is tucked into Eddie’s bed, curled around a pillow, mouth open as he snores quietly. Eddie watches him for a moment before tip-toeing from the room.
Robin’s livid when she answers her phone.
“This better be good. I was two fingers-“
“Steve’s here.” Eddie interrupts what was sure to be too much information about what Robin was getting up to on her date. “Drunk.”
“He just showed up at your house?” Robin sounds less mad now, more concerned, though he’s not sure who she’s more concerned about.
“He called first.”
“And you answered.”
“Yeah. Well.” Eddie sighs. “I’m gonna sleep on the couch, but just wanted you to know he’s safe and I’ll make sure he gets home tomorrow.”
“Eddie, I’m so sorry. He said he was just gonna watch a movie tonight or else I would’ve suggested he go hang with Dustin or something.”
“It’s not your job to babysit him.” Eddie doesn’t like the way she said that, but he’s probably reading too much into it. “He’s an adult.”
“Yeah, no. He’s. I mean, he’s fine. It’s just that we all try to keep his mind busy since…ya know.” Robin explains, though Eddie feels even more confused.
“Since he specifically told me I was too much for him?”
Robin’s silence speaks volumes.
“Eddie?” Steve’s voice is behind him and he’s quick to turn and make sure he’s okay. “Sleep?”
“I’ll text you,” he whispers to Robin before hanging up and turning to Steve. “You should go lay down. I’ll bring you some water.”
“You too?” Steve was blinking slowly, barely awake as he stood in Eddie’s living room.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Stevie.”
“Is it because of what I said?”
It’s not the time for them to have this conversation, and it’s not the time for Eddie to wish he could forget it ever happened so he can hop into bed with Steve. But he thinks Steve is probably sobering up little by little, and if he expects Steve to sleep, he may have to do this.
“You made it very clear how you felt. I’m just trying to respect your space until I can get you home tomorrow.” Robin would be proud of how he’s handling this, he thinks. He’s at least keeping things civil even though his head is screaming at him.
“I didn’t mean what I said.”
Eddie stares at him, tries to find the telltale signs of Steve lying. He doesn’t see any.
Steve’s too tired and too buzzed to hide it.
“Then why did you say any of it?” Eddie feels his chest constricting, his heartbeat racing the longer he looks at him. “Why did you make me think I was too much?”
“My dad came by that day,” Steve’s head falls, his hands wringing in front of him. “My dad had spent two hours telling me I wasn’t enough and that I’d done nothing but disappoint him and I’d never be what he wanted. And it wasn’t the first time, but it was after my boss gave a promotion to someone else even though I was more qualified and my head was killing me and Robin and I had gotten into a stupid argument that morning and it was a bad day.”
Eddie’s staring at him, mouth wide open, watching as the man he loves falls apart.
“It’s no excuse. I shouldn’t’ve said any of it no matter what. Not when it’s not even true. I’ve never felt like you’re too much or too loud.” Steve’s stepping closer now. “I’ve always just wanted to soak up whatever energy you have. And I didn’t know how to tell you that you’re more than I deserve without saying you’re too much for what I can offer.”
Damn Steve Harrington and his charm, even when buzzed, even when exhaustion is causing him to curl into himself.
Damn Eddie’s inability to avoid his fifth mistake of the night.
He doesn’t know if he is the catalyst or if they both are, but suddenly his mouth is on Steve’s and teeth knock together, and there’s a slight taste of blood on Eddie’s tongue.
There’s moans and hands against skin and in hair and hard cocks rubbing against thighs and bruises on hips.
There’s Steve’s head hitting the pillow and Eddie’s mouth sucking marks into his stomach and inner thigh and the blanket falling off the bed as they try to strip out of their clothes too fast.
There’s laughter and soft touches and nails biting into skin and check-ins.
There’s love when Eddie holds his face in his hands as he slides into Steve for the first time in too long, and there’s hope when Steve cries out for more, and there’s passion that Eddie knows he’d never find with anyone else.
After, when there’s sweat and tears and cum and an unfortunate wet spot in the middle of the bed, there’s whispers of tomorrow and the next day and apologies and promises.
It may have been a bad idea answering Steve’s call, but Eddie’s happy to make more mistakes if it means keeping Steve in his arms and being enough for each other.
Rating: T Words: 350 Tags: Eddie's Mom is the mom from Martina Mcbride's 'Independence Day', Implied Manslaughter, Established Steddie
For @steddiesongfics
Divider by @steddiecameraroll-graphics
A mini ficlet of a bigger idea I had of eddie telling steve the story of what happened as they go to pick his mom up when she gets out of prison early for good behavior
4th of July, 1990
Eddie asks Steve to come with him to meet his mom. They'd been together a few years and Eddie hardly ever mentioned his mom, except to mention bands she liked and her favorite pie. So, Steve figures Eddie's ready to take him to visit her grave.
Except, they drive 3 hours out of town and pull up to a prison.
Steve follows Eddie in, following his instructions for what he can take in and where to sign, until they're sitting at a metal picnic table.
Steve hasn't questioned Eddie once since they drove in. At this point it feels a little awkward to say 'oh hey, I thought she was dead! Very cool that she's just in jail!', so he just sits and waits with him.
After a few minutes a woman is led to their table and Steve gets to see Eddie light up, grinning and shifting like he's holding himself back from jumping the table to hug her tight.
After their introductions, she looks at Steve and suddenly laughs, saying that he looked like he saw a ghost. Apparently, he's not the first person Eddie had brought to meet her who had assumed she was dead.
Eddie looks baffled, pointing out that all his stories about her are in present tense! And that he must've mentioned that she was in prison at some point! Steve just gives him a flat look, saying that he thinks he'd remember that little bit of information about his boyfriend's mom.
With a sheepish look, Eddie admits that with the story of what happened being so public and so gossiped about in their old city that he just kinda always assumes everyone just knows
Because in their old town everyone knew everything about everyone. They knew his dad was an angry drunk. They knew that he would come home from the bar and hit her. They knew she covered bruises with makeup and scarves. They knew, but they all looked away
And then one 4th of July when Eddie was 10, she set fire to their house
