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scoops-aboy86 · 8 months ago

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not to add to your wip's but... Eddie saying this to Steve as he watches him cook breakfast on their six month anniversary https://www.tumblr.com/heavyheavycream/735906040127930368/small-dialogue-i-thought-would-be-cute?source=share :)

Oh you. (I'm not complaining, this gave me something to do on a three hour flight. 😋)

Ugh, this turned out so domestic and sweet that I'm getting a toothache.

❤️🥞🫐❤️🥞🫐❤️🥞🫐❤️🥞🫐❤️🥞🫐❤️🥞🫐❤️🥞🫐

Eddie has never been in a relationship where he got to celebrate anniversaries before. Hell, he’s never been in a relationship before, full-stop, let alone a long term one.

Steve has, but he always points out that it wasn’t exactly a successful one—whatever was between him and Nancy to start with had started its emergency descent the night Barb died, or maybe the afternoon he’d stood back and let Tommy H. spray paint slut on a movie theater marquee. Either way, he’d missed the memo and never assumed a crash position, and that had been one hell of a thump on the head.

And Eddie knows this. He knows that bullshit eroded a lot of Steve’s confidence in keeping someone interested long term, not helped by the way his parents seem to have forgotten they have a son and a home in Hawkins. He and Steve have talked about it, just like he’s admitted his worries that he’s only ever a temporary attraction, a warm willing hand or mouth, or a hard dick, good only for back alley or bar bathroom lust. He’s had some grimy one night stands that never moved on from standing and lasted less than ten minutes, and on some level he’d likened that to his mom dying (leaving him) when he was still little and his dad’s short attention span for anything that wasn’t shiny and easy to pawn.

They’re both damaged goods, is the thing; they even have enough scars to prove it to any casual observer at a quick glance. And everyone has always taken one look at Eddie Munson and thought they knew exactly what he was: poor, abandoned, trailer trash, nerd, metalhead, super senior, cult leader, trouble.

But he wakes up and rolls over, stretching and yawning, to find a note on Steve’s side of their shaded bed, right on the pillow that still smells of expensive shampoo, and it reads, Happy 6 month Anniverasry Eds!

It makes Eddie feel warm all over, spelling error and all. So loved, that Steve never lets his runaway imagination get the mistaken idea that his boyfriend is gone gone.

He continues stretching, going lazily through the morning routine that will help keep his right leg from cramping up the way it’s prone to doing now. Luxuriates in rolling around without restriction, arching his back up from the mattress and letting out a little moan as his spine pops a little, because it feels satisfying. An outward (inward?) echo of how his life has fallen into place since the Upside Down. First a free man, then a high school graduate, an honest to god boyfriend, and now gainfully employed at a record shop. It’s not glamorous, but he doesn’t need glamor anymore. Rock star life doesn’t hold the same appeal now that he’s been in the worst kind of spotlight, and as a taken man the only other appeal would be the freer access to hard drugs, which… pass. He’s retired his old metal lunch box, except to house his personal weed stash.

Speaking of, he sits up and looks around for it only to find a joint already rolled and waiting for him on the nightstand. He recognizes Steve’s handiwork with a smile, and takes it up along with the lighter waiting beside it to hit the green.

It’s gonna be a good day.

He feels nice and loose by the time he leaves the bedroom, barefoot and clad in boxers and a faded crop top that’s seen better days. His stomach rumbles and he gives it an absent pat, scratching idly beneath where it curves out more and more these days as he shuffles down the hall to the kitchen where he can already hear Steve singing a Tears for Fears song.

“—Don’t take my heart don’t break my heart don’t, don’t, don’t da da da da…”

Eddie takes a seat on one of the tall chairs along the outer counter that separates the kitchen proper from their second hand breakfast table. He knows that Steve notices the scrape of it against the linoleum because he perks up, not turning yet because he’s alternating between flipping fried eggs and pancakes in different pans on the stove, reaching over them to give the third pan of bacon on one of the back burners a shake to make sure it isn’t sticking. The fourth burner is occupied by a lidded pot with steam leaking faintly around the edges, likely some sort of berry topping for the pancakes, because Eddie likes to drown his in more than just syrup and melted butter.

And, frankly, Steve likes to spoil him. It shows in the way Eddie’s arm spreads a little where it rests on top of the open counter shelf and pushes his softened pec up to a rounded curve at the stretched collar of his top, and the way his belly plops onto the countertop below when he leans forward. His thick thighs have sent the legs of his boxers riding up again, pushed to kiss the waistband where it’s been rolled in the opposite direction by the weight of his midsection. He knows that his ass is spreading on the vinyl seat and will make a noise whenever he stands up, and that he’s developed some serious love handles and back rolls. Who the fuck cares about that, though, when his man is cooking him a mouthwatering spread for breakfast and humming a dumb pop song about being head over fucking heels? Eddie props his other arm on the shelf and his cheek on one hand, swinging his legs contentedly and enjoying the way it makes parts of him wobble with the motion.

“What’s cookin’, good lookin’?” Steve calls over his shoulder, and Eddie chuckles indulgently at how dorky it is, keeps kicking his feet.

“A feast, by the looks of it, Stevie,” he teases. “Did you invite anyone else to our special anniversary breakfast without telling me?”

“I didn’t even invite you, nerd,” comes the retort. “You were supposed to still be in bed so I could bring it to you and feed you there.”

Eddie smirks. “What can I say, baby. I got hungry. Got the little gift you wrapped for me, though… smoked it all up, hope you didn’t want any.”

“That’s alright,” Steve says, and flips a perfectly golden pancake onto an already stacked plate with a grace born of practice. “I knew you wouldn’t leave leftovers.”

“Damn right,” Eddie murmurs, ogling both the food and Steve’s perfect pert ass in white briefs. It’s nothing compared to his own these days, but he’s quite partial to it. Could make a feast of it in fact, and has. But that’s not what this morning is about.

Steve must feel his gaze, because he wiggles his hips enticingly before sliding the eggs out onto another plate, piling the bacon on next to and a little on top of them. A third plate has a stack of pre-buttered toast, and Eddie licks his lips at all of the above as Steve takes the lid off the pot and ladles a thick, sticky substance over both toast and pancakes—smells like blueberries today. Of course it is; blueberries are Eddie’s favorite.

His empty belly gives an anticipatory rumble.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Eddie says, licking his lips. “You remember our first night together?”

And oh, what a night that had been. Back when Eddie had still been thin as a rail, thinner than usual after his near death experience and still fresh off a hospital discharge. All pent up from a long stretch of heated fantasies about what Steve sticking by his bedside almost constantly could mean. So of course Steve had been the one to drive him home, since Wayne had run out of time off from the plant. Of course Steve had stayed to keep him company, and Eddie had suggested they smoke up because he had to do something to keep from getting all in his own head about it, and Steve had agreed and then kept watching him with those eyes. Fuck, a guy could drown in those things, and Eddie had, and then Steve had kissed him and whispered wonderful things. And Eddie had thought, Okay, at least I get to live the dream for a bit, then life’ll go back to normal once I fall asleep and he takes off.

“Yeah,” Steve says now, turning off the burners and turning to face Eddie with a tender look on his face. The same one Eddie had first seen upon waking six months earlier to find he’d been wrong, that Steve hadn’t left after all.

Eddie favors him with a slow smile. “Remember the next morning, when you told me that food was your love-language?”

“Yeah, I remember.” A hint of red warms Steve’s cheeks, and he starts picking up the plates. There are only three this time, but he can stack two on each arm when he needs to, Eddie’s seen him do it. His man is so capable, it’s really such a fucking turn-on. “Why?”

Smile turned up to full-on dimples now, Eddie leans forward just a little bit more. Puts the full heft of himself even more on display because he knows Steve loves it, loves how soft and insatiable he’s become, outsides matching how he’s always felt about Hawkins’ golden boy on the inside. “Because, baby… I feel very loved right now.”

Steve’s laugh is delighted, giddy, perfect. He shoos Eddie down the hall back to the bedroom of their new apartment, following with the food that means I love Eddie Munson even though neither of them has officially said it yet. They’re still both a bit broken, a bit fragile, but healing.

It’s the first major relationship milestone Eddie has ever gotten to celebrate, and it’s sweeter than syrup mixed with homemade blueberry compote.

#scoops words #wg steddie #hotluncheddie #ask #chubby eddie munson #sweet chubby domestic fluff

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