#rock star eddie munson

[dynamic-power]

Steve calls in to the radio show because he's pretty sure Dustin has mentioned Corroded Coffin before - something about them getting their start in Hawkins, of all places - and no one is more shocked than him when he actually wins the tickets. Four seats on the floor, right in front of the stage, and backstage passes for after the concert. Dustin loses his shit when Steve calls him that night and immediately decides that Steve needs to come. Steve has to admit he's intrigued. Dustin mentions Eddie Munson, and Steve vaguely remembers curly hair and speeches in the cafeteria.

He's not prepared for tattoos and rings and piercings or the way the man struts shirtless around the stage like he knows he's hot shit. Every word he says or sings drips sex appeal, and from the moment Eddie catches Steve's eye, does a double take, and fucking winks, Steve is a goner.

Eddie, in that moment, recognizes Steve immediately. How could he not, with the signature hair and perfect face and pretty eyes? He makes it his mission to show off as much as possible. To show perfect Steve Harrington how much better his life has gotten; that the loser is selling out stadiums.

He siezes the opportunity when Steve ends up backstage, flirting shamelessly and even slipping his room number into Steve's back pocket. Showing Steve up is great, but maybe getting sex out of it, too? Even better.

What Eddie isn't prepared for is the way Steve works into Eddie's life like he's always belonged there. An offer for another night when Eddie is in town next turns into late night phone calls and surprise visits to Hawkins and weekends away whenever Steve can afford it. Eddie doesn't expect to end up actually falling for Steve Harrington.

[kitchen-spoon]

Chef Steve dating rockstar Eddie. When Eddie is home from tour writing Steve makes him lunch every day. Eddie records it, gushing over the food and his boyfriend.

Eddie: “today it was rainy and cold so I requested homemade tomato soup and grilled cheese.”

Steve comes in the frame, hair long and brushed up and back. He has little circular glasses he pushes up before he speaks. The movement shows off his hairy forearms, on display as the sleeves of his green and white stripped button up are pushed up to his elbows.

Steve: “This is blistered garlic and basil tomato soup with roasted garlic spread over fresh sour dough toast as an open face grilled cheese with provolone cheese.”

Eddie smiles as Steve explains the dish and then thanks him, tipping his head back for a kiss. He takes the roast and dips it in the soup, bringing it up to carefully take a bite. He moans as his tongue gets a first taste of the soup.

Eddie after he swallows: “oh Steve that is wonderful baby. This is just fantastic.”

He reached out and pulls Steve over, giving his hand a kiss then pulling him down for a real kiss.

Steve accepts the praise easily, smiling against Eddies lips. He stands behind Eddie and smiles proudly as Eddie finishes off the rest of the food. He watches so fondly his eyes are basically cartoon hearts popping out of his face. And Eddie cant stop complimenting and praising Steve and his food.

The video ends with them sharing one last kiss as Steve takes Eddies empty plate away.

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Two

It’s dark. The window is still open, but the chillier air is kind of nice on Eddie’s flushed skin.

The clean bedding is nice too; Eddie tries to remember the last time he appreciated something as nice as clean sheets and draws a blank.

Probably when he still lived with Wayne. Probably before they made it big. Probably before the partying started.

Eddie picks up his phone, his thumb hovering over the call button. He presses it.

Wayne doesn’t pick up. Eddie’s not surprised, not really.

He tries Chris; she doesn’t answer either.

Likewise Gareth.

He doesn't bother calling Jeff.

There’s no one else in his phone; Chrissy took it all away when Eddie couldn’t differentiate between a friend a dealer or a booty call.

Like the worst Marie Kondo ever, Chrissy had held up the hundreds of friends Eddie had in his phone, one by one, ‘does this spark joy?’

No. Sometimes sucked his dick, though.

Eddie has money though. He twirls his phone on his chest, flipping it from long edge to short. There’s always somewhere open. Flip. Flip. Flip.

Not like anyone's answering him right now anyway. They’ve just left him here. With fucking Steve. It’s just one time anyway, he wouldn’t get away with it more than once. Chrissy would put him on proper lock down if she found out. Probably shove him back in the clinic.

So...just once.

One last go. And then he’d quit for sure. He hasn’t touched it for months, so he’s pretty much proved he can do it, anyway.

Eddie gets dressed. Finds cash balled up in random places.

Eddie stands in the doorway. Look up at the stars and then across the lawn at the security gates. He hasn’t had so much as a cigarette in nearly half a year. This is fine.

“Where you going, Eddie?”

Eddie sighs. Fucking busted. Still, “no where you need to worry about.”

“Uh hu.”

“Look, I’m not on house arrest okay? I can go out, I’m a grown fucking man.”

“You totally are. You want to go out, you go for it. No skin off my nose.”

Eddie whirls, shocked, “what the fuck? Aren’t you supposed to try and stop me from doing dumb shit?”

Steve raises the eyebrow, “so you admit it’s dumb?” He looks sleep rumpled, wearing sweats and a white tee shirt.

Walked right into that one. “You’re dumb.”

The face again. The totally schooled features that are utterly professional and give absolutely nothing away and yet...somehow...he’s laughing at Eddie. Eddie can feel it.

“So you go out,” Steve saunters over, stands next to Eddie, bare toes curling over the doorstep, “you score or drink or do whatever it is you’re aiming to do. Then what?”

“Then what,” Eddie mimics, all bitchy, “I’ll come home, and I’ll sober up, and it won’t change a fucking thing,” Eddie bites out.

“You think? You’ve had sober spells before, is that how it’s gone in the past?”

Eddie takes a deep breathe, because no, no that is not how it’s fucking gone in the past, “this time is different.”

“Is it?” Steve asks, completely fucking nonchalant, “how so?”

Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to punch someone so bad in all his life. Imagines it viscerally, Steve's fucking head cracking on the door frame while he slumps to the floor in a bloody heap.

Eddie does not do that, obviously.

“Look, I’ll come home, we don’t do anything about it, you still get paid, sound good?”

“I get paid either way,” Steve shrugs one shoulder, because he’s a cunt. “This is how a lot of addicts die, did you know that?”

“What?” Eddie asks, startled by the left turn.

“Yeah, get out of rehab, think their tolerance is still the same, get back on it…” he doesn’t bother to finish.

“That won’t happen to me.”

“Oh yeah, right. Of course. Because you’re Eddie Munson, sorry, sorry, forgot a second there.”

Eddie takes two thumping angry steps into the yard and just...just fucking screams at the sky. Just...roars at nothing. This is shit. It’s so shit. Everything is shit. And Eddie nearly fucking died last time and there’s no escaping that fact. There’s no help. There’s no point to any of this. There’s just pain and fucking misery and something clawing at Eddie’s insides trying to get out.

He roars until he’s hoarse. Until he can’t any more. Until his chin is wet with spit and he feels week and rung out.

He sits on his ass on the cold, dewy lawn.

Steve is still standing in the doorway, he doesn’t look like he’s moved at all. If he’s at all bothered by Eddie’s little meltdown, he isn’t showing it.

“Why did you want to go?” Steve asks finally, "did something change?"

Eddie shrugs, he’s got nothing, not really. No real reason past just wanting to get fucked up. Because it feels good. Because he likes it.

“Okay, what’s worth staying for?”

Eddie makes a dismissive ‘pfffft’, made croaky by his fucked out voice.

“They always say you need to do these things for yourself,” Eddie glares at Steve, because that's some dumb shit right there. Always had it in therapy though. Self worth. Mindfulness. Living in the moment and being proud of what you’ve already achieved and every journey starts with a single step and all that other bull shit they try and feed you. “I know. I agree. When you...feel like you’re nothing, you’re not worth any effort. It’s the hardest time. So pick someone else. Who can you do it for?”

“They don’t care,” Eddie croaks, “they didn’t answer,” he pulls his phone out, flips it onto the grass.

“Who?”

“Chris. Wayne.”

“Okay, give me a good reason why Wayne didn’t answer? That’s your uncle, right?”

“Yeah he...he could be at work,” Eddie admits quietly. Eddie’s given Wayne money. Well, practically forced it on him. Set him up with a nice place; or at least as nice as he could talk Wayne into. Wayne doesn’t believe in free loading though. Eddie’s convinced him to do less hours, but he still works nights two or three times a week. Claims it’s ninety percent of his social life, or some shit like that.

“Okay, and Chris?”

Eddie shrugs, embarrassment over his outburst making him petulant now.

“Eddie, what time is it where Chris is, right now?”

Eddie sighs up at the stars. It’s the middle of the fucking night, “late. Early. I guess.”

“Okay. So they’re not ignoring you, they’re just living their lives like normal human beings. Come on, get up, your ass is gonna be wet.”

“And do what?” Eddie snaps, “what’s the fucking point.” It’s not a question.

“Come on, I want to show you something.”

“It was a tough time, you know? Like, life sucks hard sometimes. Music helps. My favorite is The Wilds, you know? You heard that one?” The interviewer mumbles something indistinguishable, “it’s kind of...like the bit about the shining sea, you know? How like, it’s so beautiful, but it’s fucking hard to sail on. Or like how the mountains are so beautiful, but if you go up there alone, you’re gonna’ die, right? So I think...like how insignificant, and meaningless my life is, in like, the grand scheme of things, but like...that makes what you do even more important, right? Like, it means more, when you choose to be...I dunno,” the kid with a million piercings shrugs, “like just be good to each other, you know?”

“That’s not even remotely what that song is about,” Eddie mumbles at the laptop monitor.

Behind him, Steve snorts a laugh, “well that kid thinks it is.”

Another kid, more makeup than the whole of Kiss slathered on her face, “I just think it has meaning, you know?” The interviewer mumbles something again, “oh my favorite?” A lip bitten in thought, she looks at the sky for inspiration, it’s sunset, Eddie figures. Lots of similarly dressed kids in the background. Takes him a second to realize this was filmed outside of a gig, or something like that. “It’s hard to pick, but if I gotta’, it’s definitely Double Down. Those lyrics are just...Eddie Munson is just...he’s a fucking genius, you know?” She frowns, “but also really fucking dumb soemtimes, I hope he’s okay.”

“I didn’t even write that one. Jeff wrote most of that. On napkins, I think. I just...worked it together.”

Another kid, saying how important Corroded Coffin are; how they helped this kid through hard times. Honestly it’s a difficult watch, Eddie has no fucking clue where Steve even found this, and when Eddie’s phone rings he jumps on it, glad of an excuse to slap the screen of the laptop closed.

“Hi, Eddie! You called, sorry it’s early I got up to go for a run-”

“No. No, it’s fine, I...I shouldn’t have called you so late. Early. You were probably sleeping.”

“That’s okay, of course it’s okay, it’s nice you called me,” she snickers, “you never call me.”

That’s true, and Eddie feels bad. It’s always Chrissy chasing after Eddie. Trying to keep a lid on him...trying to keep him safe. He was always the one dodging her. “Yeah, sorry…” Eddie gets up so he can walk away from Steve, tail between his legs he slinks into the hall, he vows, “I’ll try and do better.”

“Good, how are you feeling? Hows your rut?”

Eddie is not fucking admitting that he just had a breakdown and nearly fucked it all up in the middle of the night. No fucking way is he admitting that, “yeah...yeah, just...couldn’t sleep, you know? I guess the rut...still going. Feels weird.”

Eddie can hear Chris moving around, figures she has him on speaker or something, “uh hu, that’s because you haven’t cycled a proper rut in like, four years honey, these things take time to settle. Is Steve doing okay? You’re not being a cunt to him are you?”

“Well I’ve only thought about punching him,” something jogs in Eddie’s mind, “Chrissy, what happened to the cleaning lady?”

“Oh...we did talk about it honey but you weren't really...taking it in, I don’t think-”

“I was fucked up.”

“Yeah...but she…”

“Just say it.”

“The...you know, the vomit. You were constantly trashing the place. She was worried she was...well she was mostly scared she was going to walk in one day and find your body.”

“Oh.” Eddie slumps down on the bottom step, “that sucks. I liked her.”

“Don’t worry, her final pay was incredible. She got a really impressive bunch of flowers.”

“Oh...well. Thank you. For sorting that.” Eddie’s eyes feel wet. His lip wobbles a little, but he holds it in. He’s got no right to guilt about that, not now. “The place looks okay though, I think Steve’s been cleaning some.”

“Yeah, probably, he seems like a good guy.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, but the first tear breaks free and he knows he can’t hide it much longer, “go on your run.”

“Okay, speak later?”

“Yeah, course.”

“Eddie?”

“Hmm?”

“It’s so great to hear you sounding more like yourself, I missed you so much.”

Eddie hangs up, draws his knees up to his chest, the material of his sweats already darkened with tears.

Part Four

[xoxoladyaz]

Eddie Munson, frontman and lead guitarist to the four-time Grammy award-winning metal band Corroded Coffin, is notorious for his incredibly complex and hard to replicate guitar solos. Naturally, when the creators of "Guitar Hero" announce their collaboration with Corroded Coffin in their next game, fans are eager to see him easily win the game.

It turns out that he's actually terrible at Guitar Hero, though, and it becomes a huge meme.

(Especially when his normie husband Steve, fed up with Eddie's days of whining while live-streaming on Twitch, picks up the guitar, scores a 96% on expert mode and walks out of the room without another word.)

[dinkeydina]

worked on the designs of spicy six for my Night School steddie AU! 👀

here’s them separately!

[steddieas-shegoes]

pop goes metal

for @corrodedcoffinfest prompt 'alternate universe'

rated t | 964 words | cw: language | tags: famous corroded coffin, pop star steve harrington, flirting, getting together

🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤

"No fuckin' way are we working with him," Eddie argues with their manager. "You're always so worried about our image and then you go and have us doing a song with a fuckin' pop artist?"

The manager, Anthony, rolls his eyes. "It'll broaden your fanbase. You know who spends money on shit? Women. You know who likes Steve Harrington? Women."

"Does he even write his own shit?" Gareth asks.

"Does it matter?" Eddie turned to him with a glare. "Even if he writes it, it's not our style."

"Maybe we could at least hear what he's trying to work with us on?" Jeff, always the calming presence, asked towards Anthony.

"He sent over a sample before we sign any agreements."

Eddie sat down in the chair furthest from everyone else, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Now, this isn't an official recording. Just what he did on his phone on his tour bus with his acoustic guitar. He arranged the bass already for Frankie, too, but said he's open to whatever Gareth feels is right for the drums." Anthony pressed play on his phone and the room was filled with strumming and a surprisingly raspy voice singing what was clearly a chorus.

Eddie could pretend he hated it, and maybe the guys would agree with him and they'd never have to speak of this again.

He couldn't hide his reaction fast enough, though.

His jaw dropped as he listened to the lyrics, surprised to find that they weren't just about going to a club and dancing or being in love.

Steve's voice broke at the end before there was shuffling and the recording stopped.

Eddie felt everyone's eyes on him. He closed his mouth and looked down at the floor, tapping his fingers against his arm.

"It's not bad," he finally said. "Not sure why he needs us, though."

"Apparently, his brother is a huge fan of you and suggested he try to work with you."

"I think we should do it." Jeff said, a note of finality in his tone that Eddie knew he wouldn't try arguing with.

"Yeah, can't hurt." Frankie shrugged.

"If he's giving me creative freedom on the drums, how can I say no?" Gareth smirked.

"Guess we're working with the pop diva, then."

****

Steve Harrington was nothing like what they expected.

He showed up to their studio in sweats and glasses, holding a tablet and a bottle of Tylenol. They started to introduce themselves as he found a spot on the couch.

"I'm really glad you guys were willing to work with me," he said after he shook everyone's hand.

Eddie stared.

"My uh, my brother, Dustin, he's kinda why I wrote this song and I know it means a lot that you agreed to be on it," Steve continued. "So, thanks. Hopefully it doesn't ruin your vibes or anything."

Eddie felt every wall he built crumbling with every word Steve spoke. God dammit, this man just had to be sincere and hot and talented, didn't he?

"Nah, we're gonna sound great together." Eddie smiled at Steve's wide-eyed look. "You wanna show us the whole song?"

Steve nodded, pulling something up on his phone. Another recording, this one more professional and included an electric guitar.

"Robin was the stand in for the electric while I did bass."

"So you can play bass?" Frankie asked, leaning in.

"Yeah, but my preferred instrument is piano. I just don't do a lot of slow songs. Guitar is what gets the women interested, or so they tell me," Steve smiled awkwardly. "But feel free to change some things up. I'm totally open to suggestions."

But really, it was damn near perfect as it was. Frankie made one tweak during the bridge, but Steve ended up loving it more than the original and told him so with a grin.

"You're a fuckin' genius!" He exclaimed.

Gareth started messing around on the drums while Steve and Eddie worked on the first couple of lines.

"Something still doesn't feel right," Steve mentioned.

"Maybe we change the rhyming pattern?" Eddie suggested. "You've got ABAB. Might work better to do AABB. Some of these words can be moved around to make that work."

Steve stared at the notes app for a moment, then looked back up at Eddie, beaming smile making his eyes squint.

"I could kiss you!" He shouted. As soon as he realized what he said, he blushed, looking back down at the phone. "I mean, thanks. That's a great suggestion."

Eddie searched Steve's face, coming to the conclusion that there was probably a good reason why Steve didn't care about what women liked when it came to his music.

"I have a pretty strict rule about kissing people I work with," Eddie said slowly, quietly so they wouldn't be overheard.

"Yeah, no, that makes sense. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or-"

"But we won't be working with each other for long, right?" Eddie continued, letting his hand rest on Steve's thigh. God, he was muscular.

"Um. No I guess not."

"Rain check, then. Until we've finished our professional relationship." Eddie couldn't believe he was suggesting this. Showing interest in a pop star. What's next? Dating one? Marrying one?

"Are you saying you wanna kiss me, Munson?" Steve suddenly sounded more confident.

"I'm saying we've got work to do before I can get my hands on you." Eddie tapped his thigh before pulling away. "So let's get to it."

"Dude! I got it!" Gareth yelled, interrupting their moment.

"Be right there!" Steve yelled back, not looking away from Eddie. "Might break a record for fastest recording time ever just so I can kiss you," Steve added quietly to Eddie before standing and walking over to Gareth.

"Well, fuck." Eddie sighed, smiling to himself.

[solarmorrigan]

Wait hold on I'm having a thought

We have rock star Eddie whose dreams take off and who starts going on tour, and we have Steve who misses him while he's away and would love to tag along, except -

He'd grown up watching his father go on business trips (and "business trips") and watching his mother eventually start traveling with him because she didn't trust him

He'd watched his father start to resent his mother and call her overbearing and jealous and controlling, and he doesn't want the same thing to happen between him and Eddie. He doesn't want Eddie to think that he doesn't trust him, or to seem like he's hovering and trying to keep Eddie on some kind of short leash

It takes time for him to realize that Eddie wants him to take an interest in that part of his life. He wants Steve along on his tours, if Steve wants to come, because he loves him and he misses him while he's away, too

It takes time for him to realize that his parents' model of marriage doesn't have to be his own, and with every song Eddie dedicates to "someone special in the audience," with every party he keeps glued to Steve's side through, with every secret smile he aims backstage during a performance, Steve's worries that Eddie is only humoring him (or, worse, harboring some secret resentment) melt away

He isn't a weight around Eddie's neck and he isn't merely tolerated - he's welcomed, and wanted, and loved

[libraryofgage]

Stardew Valley AU where Eddie is a "burnt out at 27" former rock star who impulse buys a farm in Hawkins Valley for a change and finds he actually really enjoys fixing the place up and getting ridiculously wealthy on cauliflower

Steve is a local who had dreams of being a pro football player but they just...never went anywhere and he somehow ended up local carpenter instead because he likes seeing the appreciation on people's faces when he finishes a job for them

And obviously Eddie needs help fixing up the house, he doesn't know what he's doing there, and Steve spends the whole time talking about the locals until Eddie feels like he's also known them for years and not, like, a week

Anyway Eddie keeps finding increasingly ridiculous jobs around the farm that just can't be done without Steve's help and at some point they kiss about it

[dreamsteddie]

The Cost of Love

Written for the @stmarchmm day 14 prompt “second chance romance” | Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Rock Star Eddie Munson, Alpha Eddie Munson, Omega Steve Harrington, Cw: Buying Someone in the Name of Love, Not as Creepy as it Sounds - Also on Ao3

Bat divider -@popmilky

The thing about being an Omega that sucks is that you very rarely get to make decisions for yourself.

Somewhere along the line, society decided that Omegas were too weak, too reliant on their packs, to make their own future.

For a lot of things, it was up to the luck of the draw whether or not an Omega got to choose anything or themselves. If they were born into a kind, loving pack who cared about their well being, then chances were high they could live their life in relative peace. If they weren’t well, their only chance at freedom was to find a good Alpha and try to convince them to take you on. 

Otherwise, you would live the rest of your life under someone else’s thumb.

Steve had that, once. An Alpha who saw him, who never tried to stifle him, who held him close but never down. They had two wonderful years together. They’d met in Steve’s junior year, fresh off a rejection, all alone. Packless. Eddie had scooped him up, taken him under his wing, and they’d almost instantly fallen in love.

They were inseparable.

Until they weren’t.

Because no matter how dedicated, how in love they both were, Steve was still under the legal guardianship of his parents. He thought they were being sneaky. Thought by the time they found out, it would be too late. But someone caught them, saw them sitting just a little too close at the diner or sharing candy in the darkness of the movie theater and called his parents. That’s all it took.

One day, he was falling asleep in the arms of the Alpha he was planning to mate as soon as he was 18, the next he was being locked in his all but abandoned bedroom on his weekly trip to switch out his clothes. His parents wasted no time in shipping him off, finding a ‘suitable’ Alpha to set him straight and make him a good Omega.

It felt like he was being torn apart.

The only saving grace was that this Alpha had no interest in mating him, he was only interested in an attractive, young Omega to hang off his arm after his last mate passed. It made Steve sick just to think about it, the Omega that came before him, how easily she had been forgotten and replaced. It didn’t really matter, though. None of it mastered. At the end of the day, even if he wasn’t mated, he was legally bound to his position. His parents had sold his future away for their own gain. 

He wonders, every day, if Eddie thinks of him. He wonders if he knows what happened, or he’s out there thinking that Steve just up and left him. On his worst days, he wonders if Eddie found himself a new mate.

Those days, he doesn’t bother to get out of bed, and his Alpha knows better than to try by now.

This has been his life for six years, and these days, he can almost pretend he’s ok. One month in, his Alpha put him on rejection blockers, tired of his new toy constantly scenting like rotten, sad Omega. They helped, made the ever-present ache in his chest feel distant. Made him feel distant.

Today was another party. Some gala or fundraiser or whatever that required him to put on a dress and hold on to his Alpha’s arm. Steve hated them, hated that Eddie wasn’t the one he was holding on to, that he wasn’t the first one to pick out a pretty dress for him to wear, but by now he was used to it.

All the signs and gift bags told him today was a music charity event. Something for underprivileged children who deserved a creative outlet. The thought of it made his chest squeeze painfully, even through the blockers. It was exactly the kind of thing Eddie would have loved.

He’s thinking so hard about him that for a moment, he thinks he sees him out there in the crowd of actual VIPs. He catches sight of dark curly hair and a lanky frame and he feels his heart leap, but he quickly shoves it down. There’s no way Eddie would be here at an event like this. He turns away, tuning in to the conversation his Alpha is having with another benefactor. 

They're getting ready to move into the dining room when things change. All these events are the same. Drop off your coat, mingle in the foyer, eat an overpriced meal, listen to a speech, applaud for the entertainment, mingle again, go home, and rest your aching feet.

But this time is different, because one moment he’s getting ready to finally sit down and give his feet a rest from these heels, and the next there’s a gentle hand around his wrist.

And a voice he’d know anywhere.

“Steve?”

And a face he could never forget how to love.

“Eddie?”

He can feel his Alpha tighten his hold on him, trying to pull him into the next room. Steve doesn’t care, he digs his heels in and makes him stop. He’s not leaving Eddie behind. Not now, not again. He can see the other Alpha, his real Alpha, look him up and down. Steve wonders if he looks different, he tries not to look in the mirror too long these days.

“Can I help you, sir?” His Alpha asks, posturing like he’d have any chance if Eddie decided to challenge him. At 53, his Alpha is getting a little pudgy in the middle and, more importantly, has given up on the gym in the last two years. Eddie looks mad enough to take on a bear. His eyes don’t leave Steve, but he can feel his hand tighten where he hasn’t let go of Steve’s wrist.

Eddie doesn’t respond, just keeps staring at Steve, the scent of pissed off Alpha starting to fill the space around them. It should probably make Steve cower, but it just makes him feel safe. Complete in a way he hasn’t been in six years. Eddie’s gaze travels, taking in his face before trailing down and getting stuck on his untouched mating gland. Steve watches as the Alpha’s nostrils flare wide, finally turning to Steve’s Alpha, lifting up to his full height to posture back. People are probably watching them, but Steve doesn’t care.

“How much?” Eddie asks, which, what?

“Excuse me?” His Alpha asks, clearly confused.

“How much, to buy your marriage contract?” Eddie says, clearly losing patience. Steve’s breath caught in his throat, not even the blockers could stop the feeling of molten hope rising in his chest. He wants to say something, to beg his Alpha to let him go, but he holds his breath instead. Doesn’t want to risk drawing too much attention to himself.

Steve’s Alpha laughs, that stupid rich-person laugh that always makes the Omega grind his teeth. “I really don’t think that’s appropriate, son. And anyway, I wouldn’t let this one go for anything less than a million, which I highly doubt is within your price range.” He gives Steve a tug as he says this, drawing him in and lifting a hand to his face to stroke his cheek. It’s a move that Steve hasn’t flinched at in years, but with Eddie watching, he can’t help but tilt his head away in shame. “Such a pretty face shouldn’t be wasted,” his Alpha finishes.

Eddie’s hand is gripping him hard enough to bruise. Steve kind of hopes it does. His Alpha was right; the Eddie Steve knew could never afford that price, and even if he could, Eddie had always been surprisingly frugal. He wouldn’t waste it all to buy an Omega he hasn’t seen since they were teens.

“One and a half million.”

“What?” This time, it’s Steve who speaks. And oh, there’s that look. That look Eddie used to give him every morning, every time they kissed goodnight, every time they scented. Eddie still loves him, even after all this time. He still wants Steve.

“Now young man, I really don’t think you should make jokes like that. You clearly don’t belong here,” his Alpha says, referring to Eddie’s dirty docs and ripped jeans. He probably thinks he’s one of those underprivileged youths.

Eddie drags his eyes away again, baring his fangs mean and smug. “You really don’t give a shit about who you donate to, do ya buddy?” He says, leaning in to leverage his superior height. “This is my god damn charity dip shit. Lead singer and founding member of Corroded Coffin, at your service.”

Oh. Steve thinks. Of course.

Because Steve had always known, even if he could never really say he understood it, that Eddie was talented. Extremely talented. Of course he’d gone out and made a name for himself. He’s probably been out there gaining fans and winning awards while Steve lived under his rock, kept away from the real world. Shielding himself from the light of day.

He couldn’t be prouder.

Something must bloom in his scent because Eddie is turning that look back at him with that look again. “I can cut you the check right here, right now. I’ll walk you to the bank right now if that’s what you want, but I’m not leaving here without Steve.” It’s the assurness in his voice, the finality to his declaration that wakes Steve up fully.

He’s allowed himself to become a passenger in his own life, floating between the days when he could have been running. Maybe trying to escape, even if the law was against him. Meanwhile, Eddie has been out there, presumably, loving him through the last six, miserable years.

He can’t let this opportunity pass him by. He won’t.

People are definitely staring now, stopping to stare at the person they’re all here to support making a scene, but Steve doesn’t let that scare him. He rips his arm out of his Alpha’s grip, turning his back to Eddie, taking solace in the warmth of his shadow, letting it fuel him. “You can keep my dowry,” he says, facing his Alpha. This small man who owns him. Steve used to think of himself as strong, large for an Omega and defiant to society's expectations for him to be dainty and sweet and empty. “I’ll sign it over to you, but I’m going with Eddie.” He can feel Eddie’s hand on his upper arm, letting him know he’s there with him.

His Alpha, his hopefully soon to be former Alpha, is giving him an appraising look. Not the one he gave him that day he picked him up from his childhood home, like he was a lamb ripe for the slaughter. This look is like the ones he’s seen on the days his Alpha brought him into the office to show him off, like he's weighing the pros and cons of a major deal. It means he’s taking them seriously. “One and a half? Plus the full dowry? Are you willing to put that in writing?”

Steve can feel Eddie’s heart beating where he’s pressed himself flush with Steve’s back, his scent blooming sugary spice with his excitement. Eddie catches him waving his arm behind him, making some kind of gesture to someone in the crowd. “I’ll have my lawyer draw up the papers right now.” A pretty blond draws up to Eddie’s side and if it wasn’t for the way Eddie has wrapped his arms around his waist, Steve might feel worried about him whispering in her ear.

There’s a serious look on her face, which is quickly overtaken by wide eyes and a sharp gasp, her eyes turning toward the Omega. “Steve? Your Omega?” And oh, that makes Steve want to purr, the fact that this lady has heard of him. The idea that Eddie has been talking about him all these years.

Her face firms, her position as a high-profile lawyer evident in her stance. “Sir, if you’ll follow me, I can get those papers drafted right away. Would you prefer a check or a direct wire transfer?” Her smile is sweet but leaves no room for argument. This is really happening

Holly shit this is happening.

Not in his wildest dreams did Steve ever think he would be free. He’d resigned himself to keeping his memories of life with Eddie at the forefront of his brain and staying on the rejection blockers for the rest of his life.

Now, it’s looking like he won’t have to content himself with memories anymore. Maybe he can have the real thing. He’s almost afraid to breathe, afraid to turn around, like the whole thing will be an elaborate dream. Like any pressure from his expanding chest will make the arms around his waist turn into a fine vapor.

“Hey, let’s get you out of here, sweetheart,” Eddie whispers in his ear, picking up on his distress.

Steve should probably say no. Should probably let Eddie go in there and be a part of his own charity event and get a grip. Maybe step out for some fresh air. But he doesn't. He lets himself turn to face his Alpha, his real Alpha, his only Alpha, and take a breath.

“Take me home Alpha. We have a lot to catch up on.”

[katyawriteswhump]

love and other catastrophes at the omega cafe (1/8 and index post, fic now complete 🐈‍⬛)

So I posted about this idea before here, (and was overwhelmed by the response—thank you!) but basically a cat café opened near me and inspired this:

Summary: Steve is a runaway Omega who gets a job at an Omega café, where he’s basically paid to curl up and purr in Alphas’ laps. It’s legal, and he earns a living, rents his own place. He’s getting along fine for a packless Omega. Then Alpha rockstar Eddie Munson turns up for an hour of ‘kitty’ petting, and shatters Steve’s fragile little world…

Rating: E; No major warnings, sexual content, omega-verse; Tags: omega steve, alpha eddie, a/b/o dynamics, fluff and angst; (It won't get tooooo angsty, I promise, and I should probably write a shorter version, but this seemed to want to get bedded in for some plot, so...) read on A03 and thank you @lexirosewrites for being so patient with my weird belated questions about what do with my idea!

Chapter 1 (below) Chapter 2 Chapter 3.1 Chapter 3.2 Chapter 4.1 Chapter 4.2 Chapter 5.1 Chapter 5.2 Chapter 6.1 Chapter 6.2 Chapter 7.1 Chapter 7.2 Chapter 8.1 Chapter 8.2 and THE END

🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛

Chapter 1

Steve clocked in with Carol at the coffee counter and cosied up on a beanbag waiting for the first customer to arrive. He couldn’t stop yawning and struggled to keep his eyes open.

He didn’t usually work the Monday morning graveyard shift at ‘Kitties’—otherwise known as the Omega Café. Carol usually put him on the weekends, which were their busiest times. Plenty of Alphas—and sometimes Betas—were free then, to pass an hour with a cute Omega purring in their lap.

For a cost, naturally.

Steve, though, had called in sick yesterday and needed to make up his lost earnings. He’d been in heat. So, three days of cold sweats, congealed slick, and crippling cramps. At least the blockers he used for this job curbed his desperation to be fucked. All the same, a dull gnawing pain in his pelvis persisted, he’d barely slept and…

…Ugh, this beanbag was, if anything, too inviting and soft.

He’d gotten his most comfy, stretchy shorts on, his most butter-soft collar, and an only-slightly-cropped-at-the-midriff vest. His feet were bare, which was fortunate. Right now, only his icicle toes were keeping him awake. He was tempted to grab one of the many fluffy blankets scattered around the café, pull it up over him and snooze.

He was torn between asking Carol for a double espresso or napping—to be fair, it was unlikely anybody would join them till noon—when the bell on the door tinkled.

So much for a peaceful snooze.

Fortunately, rather than a hungover Alpha, Robin burst in. On spotting Steve, her shoulders sagged with obvious relief. She hurried up to the counter and presented Carol with her Apple-Pay. “Flat white with an extra shot, and an hour of kitty cuddles, please.”

“Sure.” The payment bleeped through, and Carol turned to grind the coffee beans. She never bothered with great customer service for Steve’s best friend. That said, customer service wasn’t Carol’s strength at the best of times. Steve liked that about her. For an Omega, she was a bitey feral, and she sure had their boss, Tommy, under her claw.

Robin sat down at a table, pulled a cushion onto her lap. Steve shuffled over on his knees and laid his head on the cushion:

“Jesus, Robin,” he whispered, as she started to pet his hair. It was usual practice for Omegas to wait till the customer spoke first, but this was, well, Robin. “You don’t have to pay to see me, you know that?”

“Apparently, I do, Dingus! I’ve been going out of my mind! Why didn’t you return my, like, billion texts?”

“Shit. Sorry.” Her fretful pettings only made him feel more guilty. “I’m out of data, and you know how shit Wi-Fi is in Sunshine Village. Plus, I had really bad cramps this month—I could barely crawl out of bed this morning.”

“Yeah, I guessed that. God, I’m sorry, too.” She slowed her strokes, as they both relaxed a little. “I worry about you all the time, living there. Working here. I wish I could take you home with me. Damn, I should rent somewhere you’re actually allowed to live.”

“No way. I’m fine, Robin. Seriously, I’ve landed on my feet. I like having my own little home. The heating is working in my block this week, and this is a pretty cushy gig.”

Steve didn’t even say that for the benefit of Carol, who’d just dumped Robin’s coffee on the table, slopping half of it into the saucer.

Steve had arrived in the city four months ago, down to his last few dollars. He’d soon realized that acceptable Omega jobs—teaching assistant, nanny, seamstress, junior positions in retail and catering—would all require handing over too much information about himself. He’d also swiftly discovered that Sunshine Village, the district he’d heard about where single Omegas could live unmolested, was little better than a slum.

He’d been caught between the terrifying choices of fleeing back home, starving, or sex work. Then he’d stumbled across this place.

If Tommy had checked the fake name Steve gave, he hadn’t cared. Steve got paid in cash after each shift and earned enough to rent a small place in the Village. Which, despite its shabbiness, turned out to be full of friendly, supportive Omegas.

It all meant he didn’t have to worry about Robin being evicted from her pleasant ‘beta’ neighbourhood for harbouring an unregistered Omega.

Robin chatted on, while sipping the remnants of her coffee and petting Steve idly. While she complained about how unfair the world was for Omegas—they’d met when Steve had turned up at an Omega soup-kitchen she volunteered at—her speech also underlined his point.

His life could be a shitload worse.

This morning, he was being paid for his best friend to give him much-needed bodily contact in a no-strings-attached fashion. While he didn’t have to force fake purrs for her, like he did for the majority of customers, soft sleepy purring happened anyhow.

After Robin left for work, the café was empty again. Carol made them both hot chocolate then turned her attention to doing her nails. Steve breakfasted on an out-of-date lemon muffin, which was still nice and gooey in the middle, then slipped out to the washroom for the second time since Robin left. He needed to re-check his hair.

He was reapplying his eyeliner, when he heard the bell tinkle again.

So much for the ‘graveyard’ shift. He pinched his pale cheeks, bracing himself to face whoever wanted to cuddle him next.

A high-pitched squeal from Carol pierced Steve’s hearing—one that was probably only audible to other Omegas.

And the scent snatched his breath.

The Omega café was flushed with scent-neutralising air fresheners, for obvious reasons. Whoever this Alpha was, his musk was potent enough to punch straight through. It nearly floored Steve with low notes of leather and woodsmoke, and high notes of… Christ, Steve didn’t know what that was.

Plums? Fine Californian wine?

It set his mouth watering, for all of a split second.

Carol! Was she okay?

He rushed from the washroom and peeped from behind a thick velour curtain.

Carol was fine. She was taking payment from an Alpha with long, slightly-frizzy retro hair, a jean jacket—who the fuck wore those?—and dark soulful eyes.

Steve’s heart rate spiked.

The Alpha was pretty damn good-looking, and young too, maybe only a year or so older than Steve.

He was also faintly familiar.

Did Steve know him from back home? Would he recognise Steve?

“So, how does this work?” asked the newcomer. His drawling accent sent a shiver down Steve’s spine that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. His voice was as sexy as the rest of him… and that definitely wasn’t a North County accent. Steve relaxed slightly, ogling the guy who was literally setting both his and Carol’s legs wobbling.

“You pay up front for an hour of kitty cuddles,” she said. “You have to order a minimum of one drink, and all new customers must read and sign our rules and disclaimers.”

“Ma’am, it’s Monday morning.” The Alpha sounded wearily amused, gesturing to the three-page fine-print document she shoved across the counter. “Do I really have to read all this?”

“How about I summarize for you.” Yup, Carol was being helpful and polite. Either someone kidnapped the real Carol, or this Alpha really was special. “You’re not about to go into rut, I take it? Because if you are, Sir, I’m really, really sorry—we can’t take that risk here, or we could get shut down.”

The Alpha shook his head. While Carol reeled off a few pertinent points—“no scenting, obviously. No kissing,”—his gaze snapped onto where Steve skulked, half-hidden behind the drapes.

Steve jumped back out of sight.

“Soooo,” said the Alpha, when Carol finally stopped talking. “To summarise—I can stroke the pussies, but I can’t stroke the pussies?”

Carol giggled. Though they’d all heard that joke, and every variation on it, at least a billion times.

“Pretty much,” she said. “We’re absolutely NOT a brothel. And don’t expect cat-ears and whiskers and all that jazz. Thursday is usually full-costume night, and… erm, right now, we only have one kitty, and he seems to have strayed. Boy kitty okay with you?”

“Yes, thank you, Ma’am,” said the Alpha.

“Cool. I’ll go coax him out with a saucer of milk or something.”

She found Steve backed up against the dingy back-corridor wall, knees basically jello. “Get out there! Christ, you do realize who that is?”

Steve shook his head, throat too tight to speak. He honestly didn’t know what was wrong with him. Alphas moseyed in and out of this place every day. He was usually able to keep himself together.

“It’s Eddie Munson! Lead singer of Corroded Coffin? Super-hot and super-famous bad-boy Alpha rockstar? Jeeees, you really did live in a box till you got here, didn’t you? Look, get out there—before I tell him boy kitty is off the menu, grab my skimpiest bikini, and burrow into that scorching lap myself.”

She nudged him through the curtain. Eddie Munson had already settled onto one of the cafe’s roomiest couches, arms splayed along the back.

Legs splayed too.

Eddie glanced up and those gorgeous eyes raked Steve, head-to-toe, stripping him so bare he might as well have forgotten his shorts. The Alpha’s grin spread slowly, revealing glinting incisors, and creasing up into the sexiest dimples Steve had ever seen.

Steve wasn’t sure how he made it across the room. Somehow, he did, shuffling the final few feet on his knees.

“Hello, Kitty,” said Eddie. Possibly taking pity, he closed his legs. He shoved his thighs forward so Steve could easily lay his head in them.

Steve did so, facing out across the café. His heart skittered like a little prey animal’s. It was only then that he realized Eddie hadn’t placed a cushion on his thighs. Well, if Carol hadn’t highlighted that part of the rules, Steve was hardly in a position to do it now.

Eddie didn’t mess around. Strong fingers plowed straight into the springy mass of Steve’s hair. “What’s your name, Honey?”

“Uh… St-steve?”

Who fucking stammers answering his own name?

“Hi, Steve. I’m Eddie.” He leaned a little closer, hot breath joining those strong fingers to send Steve even deeper into fluster. “How do you put up with the stink in here? I mean, I get it. All those Alpha-Omega scents battering each other would make this place a real fleshpot. Shame, though. I bet you smell real sweet. I mean, I think I get a whiff of you, even now.”

“You get used to it,” squeaked Steve, cutting that line of conversation off pronto.

“You get used to the diabolical plinky-plonky piano music too, Steve?”

“Honestly, I don’t even hear it anymore.”

To be fair, Steve didn’t hate the perpetual loop of movie theme-tune classics for exactly that reason. Even the smoochiest love songs—like the instrumental version of “Everything I do, I do it for you,” currently playing—didn’t mess with his emotions in the way music so often did.

Eddie snorted a dry chuckle, leaning back against the cushions again. Steve’s eyes fluttered closed.

“You’re right, Steve,” drawled Eddie, massaging deliciously into Steve’s scalp, “it’s pretty easy not to hear it. You have got the cutest purr.”

Steve’s eyes flew wide. He hadn’t even realized he was purring yet! Yeah, he could fake purr, but he’d been too befuddled to get to that. Now, he shook with loud rattling purrs that he could barely control.

Omegas purred when they were happy and relaxed, and also when distressed, to comfort themselves. He’d been reduced to that over the weekend. These purrs, though, grew couch-quakingly loud and felt different from anyway he’d purred before.

“You okay there, Honey?” Thank heavens Eddie was nice, though that made Steve’s weirdness all the more inexplicable. Eddie ran the back of coolish fingers down Steve’s burning cheek.

“I’m sorry,” whispered Steve. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” His hormones must still be doing weird things after his chemically fucked-up heat.

He probably should’ve called in sick today too.

“Don’t apologise,” Eddie said. “Look, it’s freakin’ Monday morning. I’m the weirdo Alpha checking this place out. You’re just doing your job, and you’re mighty fine at it, I’m sure.” The words washed through Steve, their brutal truth leaving an awkward residue. “Listen, I’m just gonna sip my coffee and chill. You reckon you can chill too, little kitty?”

“Yes, Alpha,” murmured Steve. The preening growl that jostled from Eddie was enough to make Steve desperate to obey.

He didn’t usually call anybody Alpha on the job. It wasn’t strictly against the rules, but unless a client demanded it—and only the real a-holes did—the kitties avoided it.

Eddie, though, had dragged it from Steve before he could think about it, much like those purrs.

And much like how, a minute or so of petting later, Steve found himself purring effortlessly, and totally relaxed. He wasn’t even stressed by the fact that his cheek rested dangerously close to Eddie’s Alpha dick. Which appeared to be ballooning slightly beneath his thick pair of sweatpants.

This was exactly why the cushions were compulsory. Though Steve barely had time to worry.

“Steve,” said Eddie, fingering around the edge of Steve’s collar in a fashion that literally made Steve’s eyes cross with yumminess. “Are there any rules against you getting in my lap for proper cuddles?”

“No. Absolutely not.” There really wasn’t, though of course, it only worked with the larger Alphas. There’d been no way Steve could’ve fitted into a Beta like Robin’s lap, for example, without some level of squishing. Eddie was, to be fair, not the largest Alpha around, but he was certainly large enough.

After some not-too-awkward manoeuvring—and guided by Eddie’s hand in the small of his back—Steve soon found himself sitting across Eddie’s lap. Eddie scooped him close, and his arms curled around Eddie’s neck.

He stared point-blank into the fathomless depths of Eddie’s dark eyes. Nope. Too much. He dipped his gaze, then squeaked. Now, he fixed on Eddie’s jawline and throat, dusted with scruff, and which drew him like, well, catnip.

Steve inhaled oaky-smoky plums and… Holy crap, what even was that? He was in serious danger of burying his face there and violating the no-scenting rule himself.

Once again, Eddie sensed his discomfort and guided Steve’s head down onto his shoulder, holding him there. “Hey, any chance of another coffee,” Eddie called to Carol. “Extra-large mocha with marshmallows, please, Ma’am? Think I might be settling here for a while.”

After that, Eddie appeared to go out of his way to make Steve even more comfortable. Perhaps noting Steve’s squirmings over getting too close to his scent gland, he slid a thin throw cushion beneath Steve’s cheek. He then settled them both back against the comfiest, most enveloping part of the sofa. He pulled one of those fluffy blankets up over them both. Soon, a floaty weariness, bone-deep but pleasant, overcame Steve.

Even his ovaries had stopped bugging him. God, this was nice. He really got paid for this? Damn, he’d fallen on his feet and Eddie smelled divine. He couldn’t help but daydream about that huge Alpha dick nestled stupid-close to his pussy, with only two layers of fabric between them. He was too sleepy to get too excited, tho’. He soon floated on the surface of a calm ocean, safe and serene…

When Steve began waking up, a honeyed glow saturated his head and heart and previously aching pelvis. He couldn’t remember his dreams, but they must’ve been good ones. He felt complete and happy and… he flicked his eyes open. Oh shit! The cafe buzzed with conversation. Several other kitties had come on shift and were snuggling with Alphas.

He’d fallen asleep on a customer’s lap.

Steve’s focus snapped onto the clock behind the counter, where Carol and her assistant, Chrissy, who also did kitty duties, were rushing around making lunches.

1.57 pm.

He’d been asleep on the job for nearly three hours.

Asleep in the lap of…

“Hey there,” drawled Eddie, “somebody’s a sleepy kitty.”

Steve daren’t look up. Was Eddie pissed? He didn’t sound it.

Steve opened his mouth. Shut it again, dabbing the corner. His head had slipped off the pillow and rested against Eddie’s chest. The Alpha’s booming heartbeat mingled with an amused chuckle.

Steve wasn’t laughing: “Oh shit, I’m so sorry. I drooled on your t-shirt!”

“I know.” Eddie’s low rumbling sigh was one of the most contented sounds Steve had ever heard. “You gonna charge extra for that, Honey?”

Chapter 2 on tumblr On A03

🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛ I have got quite a bit of this fic drafted, so hopefully more soon. If you’re enjoying, please let me know, or like and reblog... it means a lot to know somebody would like to read more *purrs hopefully* and thank you soooo much for reading this far 💚

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Famous CC rockstar Eddie Munson processes his yearning for Steve by writing enough rock ballads to make a Best Of album.

Once they actually start dating, the songs turn so soft and sappy the boys force him to create an alternate, secret persona to release pop acoustic love songs.

[kitchen-spoon]

Steve who finishes hair school in Indianapolis then moves to LA because he wants to do hair for movies.

He can’t find a job on a film set right away so in an attempt to get closer to the industry he starts booking at home hair drying & styling through an app.

When he starts its mostly older rich ladies who book him before dinners with their husbands business partners or soirées with their girlfriends. It reminds him a bit too much of his own mother but he pushes that aside in hopes that one day he gives the right rich lady an at home blow out.

That day comes but it isn’t a rich lady. Instead cut to Chrissy manager of newly famous up and coming band corroded coffin, desperate and scrambling. It was the day the band was meant to be shooting their music video for their latest single but the hair stylist they booked called in sick that morning. Out of desperation Chrissy gets on the app and hires Steve. He has 4 stars and over 20 positive reviews and she is running out of options.

Steve sees the name chrissy and sees its for a music video and assumes he is going to be doing some fun bouncy youthful hair for an up and coming pop star. Imagine his shock when heavily pierced and tattooed lead singer of corroded coffin Eddie Munson sits down in his chair with his curly birds nest of hair. Steve does his job though, detangling and defining Eddie’s curls. Steve is even more shocked though, when it turns out Eddie is actually super sweet and…kind of charming? He might even be flirting?

Steve is unsure through the whole day and all of the touch ups he does. There is plausible deniability to all the light touches and brushing against one another that happens. Until the end of the day when Eddie comes to him looking frustrated. Instantly Steve’s stomach drops, he seemed happy with the style all day! If he didn’t like it why film a whole music video with it?

“Steve.” Eddie stops in front of him. “Look, I’m just gonna be blunt.”

Steve’s eyes go wide and he clears his throat, “uh, yeah sure go for it.”

“Am I an idiot who has been flirting with a straight guy all day?” Eddie asked.

All the air left Steve’s lungs, he couldn’t help the small wheeze that escaped him. “No you haven’t I- god Eddie.” Steve started giggling with relief, he even felt a little dizzy with it. “I’ve been trying to keep it together all day, thinking I was delusional and you were just really nice.”

“Oh,” it was Eddie’s turn to widen his eyes. Then a huge smile broke out in his face. “No delusions there, I was definitely flirting with you all day.” He paused taking one of his curls between his hands and separating it causing it to frizz. “And uh, would love to keep flirting with you over dinner tonight…if you’re interested?”

Steve smiled reaching forward taking the curl from Eddie. He began smoothing it back together and smiled warmly. “I’d love to.”

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One

Eddie squints into the bright sunlight flooding the kitchen. He’s eating a bowl of lucky charms that taste like chemicals and fake sugar and he’s not even sure he’s going to make it to the end of the first mouthful. The texture is grainy and artificially chewy and Eddie is sure he used to like these.

Steve, the guy in Eddie’s house, sits himself opposite with a neat little piles of scrambled eggs and cut fruit on his plate. He looks at Eddie, gets up again, pulls the blind just far enough that Eddie’s eyes are shaded, and then comes back again.

“Can I get you anything?”

“You can get the fuck out of my house,” Eddie replies. But there’s no bite. No meaning. No energy. No anything behind the words. He’s so fucking tired and so done with it all.

Steve carries on like Eddie hasn’t spoken, and eats his breakfast.

Eddie’s spoon clatters on the rim of the still full bowl; he goes back to bed.

Eddie blinks open gummy eyes to find some electrolyte sports drink thing and a banana sitting offensively on his bedside table. His cock is hard and unrelenting and making him fucking miserable. He flops over onto his back and shoves his hand down his pants, thinking vaguely that he’d kill a dude for a bag. For a pre rolled. For a fucking cough sweet.

He comes too fast, his knot doesn’t even pop, and it feels empty. Like he’s starving and someone handed him a handful of popcorn; doesn’t solve anything. If anything, it’s made it worse.

He clambers out of bed, his sweats soaked with come. When they start to slide off his too skinny hips, Eddie lets them. Watches as they slide to the floor, a wet, pointless mess. Just like him.

Eddie stalks into the kitchen, Steve’s sitting at the table, he has a pen in his hand, and he’s tapping it gently against the page. Doing a cross word or something, Eddie guesses. Where the fuck did he even get a newspaper. Eddie didn’t even know you could still buy newspapers any more.

“Aren’t you supposed to be doing something to make all this better? Isn’t that your fucking job, or whatever?”

Steve sits back, he doesn’t seem to bat an eyelid over Eddie being naked, and he doesn’t stare either, just makes normal eye contact like Eddie being bare assed in the middle of the kitchen is a day to day occurrence.

“Are you open to taking a suggestion?”

“Are you open to taking a suggestion,” Eddie snarks back, bitches back, “like what?”

“Have a bath.”

“A bath? Really? That’s all you got for my...recovery or well being or to cure me of being a fucking addict?”

“No. You just stink,” Steve replies, still in his totally even and reasonable tone of voice.

“I’m in rut,” Eddie snaps back.

“Are you?” Steve raises an eyebrow, “can’t smell anything over the arm pint stank.”

“I- you- that’s just fucking rude, aren’t you supposed to be working for me? You can’t say shit like that-”

“I work for Chrissy.” Steve folds his newspaper and stands, “I presume you have a full bath in your en suite.” And Steve just...walks away. Eddie trailing behind as Steve lets himself into Eddie’s room and then into his bathroom.

“Oh. Sure. Just, make yourself at home,” Eddie bitches at him, “you just do whatever the fuck you like.”

Steve sets the bath running, rummages around under the sink and comes up with bubbles and bath salts that Eddie didn’t even know he had.

He wonders vaguely how bad bath salts would burn if he tried to snort them.

And then Steve starts cleaning, while the bath fills. He pulls out supplies, wipes down the counters and sinks. He throws some bleach down the toilet and wipes that down, “get in,” he turns the taps off, “I’m going to find something for this mirror.”

The mirror does look grim, Eddie can’t remember the last time he even had the cleaning lady over. He can’t remember if he’s still paying her. He can’t remember Chris saying a word about her. He wonders vaguely where she’s gone.

Eddie lies there in the steaming water, eyes slitted and vaguely watching as Steve brings the glass back to a perfect mirror shine, climbing up on the counter stretching high to buff away every last smear.

“I had a cleaning lady. Where’d she go?”

“She quit months ago.”

“She quit?” Eddie asks, genuinely surprised, “why?”

Steve raises that eyebrow, “wage dispute.”

“Fuck off, I paid her plenty.”

“Didn’t sound like any amount would be enough for what she was dealing with.” Steve lets that one sit, and Eddie wishes Steve would at least be smug or be a cunt or anything about it, but he’s not, he just delivers it like it’s a calm fact, the same as everything else he has to say. “I’ll do your hair.”

“I’m not a child.”

Steve doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to. His face is an unreadable mask of cool professionalism that’s screaming, ‘why do you act like one then?’

When he wets Eddie’s hair, Eddie’s sure he pours water all over his face on purpose.

Eddie sits in the tub, Steve perched on the side, and he lets Steve wash his hair. He knows which products to use. He knows which order. He knows what to let sit and when to bring out the wide toothed comb. This is not Steve’s first rodeo with curly hair.

Eddie slumps back at some point, muscles feeling like they’re unwinding and unspooling into the water, his eyes have been closed for ages and he doesn’t remember closing them.

It takes a long time for him to put it together.

“You’re not washing my hair any more,” he slurs. He sounds a little drunk.

“No,” Steve says quietly.

“What, you a masseuse too?”

“I wear a lot of hats. It’s part of the job. I believe in a holistic approach to recovery.”

"Oh yeah," Eddie speaks quietly, "gonna' wave your magic wand and fix me? Solve all my problems and let me skip off into the sunset?"

"No. You're probably going to be fighting this battle for the rest of your life."

"Jesus Christ. Do you have to be so honest about it? Aren't you supposed to be all positive and shit."

"I am being positive. I'm positive you'll always be an alcoholic and a drug addict-"

Eddie snorts a derisive noise.

"But I'm also certain it gets easier, if you stick with it."

Eddie makes another dismissive noise, and goes back to being half asleep, Steve’s sure fingers working into his scalp.

Steve leaves, at some point. The water starts to cool. Eddie starts to become aware of himself, and he doesn’t like it. The rut is there, itching under his skin, but it feels weird and half formed and almost like it’s happening to someone else, far away.

He vaguely wonders about scoring and then realizes he can’t. It just makes him want it more though. The more he tries not to think about it, the more he can’t avoid thinking about it.

He gets out of the water, finding clean towels on the heated rails he dries himself, twisting his hair up on top of his head inside a towel.

His bedroom has also been cleaned, the sheets changed. The drapes are pulled and a window is open, letting in fresh, warm afternoon air.

Steve has laid out a clean tee shirt and sweats on the bed.

Steve can go fuck himself.

Part Three

[xoxoladyaz]

Famous musician with three daughters under the age of seven Eddie Munson hears that they’re making a Barbie movie and offers/peer pressures his agent to get him presented to the production team as a potential songwriter for the soundtrack. He meets with the team, and eventually the cast, and they all hit it off, and he writes and plays on the eventually award-winning song “I’m Just Ken.”

When he gets asked about whether or not it was hard to write this song, especially since it’s so different from Corroded Coffin’s usual output, he always laughs and says it was easy because he’s got a hell of a Barbie at home that he lives to worship.

(Which the internet finds hilarious because his Barbie is certified Normal Guy and Hot Dad Steve Harrington.)

[sidekick-hero]

Phoenix

(steddie | explicit | 7.4k | AO3 | tags: porn with fluff, rock star eddie, roadie steve, canon divergence - eddie lives and cc gets famous)

The most talented @firefly-party drew some gorgeous art of Eddie enjoying some cake 😏🍑 and this inspired this fic. Lots of love go out to @hbyrde36 and @pearynice for being amazing cheerleaders and beta readers 💜

Excerpt

A loud throat-clearing cuts through the haze, and Steve opens his eyes to see Gareth, sitting with a wicked grin, tossing a crumpled-up piece of paper at Eddie’s back. “Oi, lovebirds,” he says, “save those bedroom eyes for the actual bedroom, Munson.”

Eddie grins, unashamed, flashing Gareth a mock salute. “I don’t need a bedroom for bedroom activities, losers.”

Jeff leans casually against the wall, arms crossed, smirking. “Can’t say I’m surprised. You two always manage to bring your own kind of encore,” he teases, waggling his eyebrows in a way that’s both exaggerated and somehow fond.

From across the room, their sound tech, Lucy, chuckles as she shoves a bag into her duffel. “Guess the ‘Phoenix’ isn’t the only thing heating up tonight,” she jokes, grinning at Steve’s half-embarrassed, half-amused expression.

“And he'll rise again and again and again,” tones Frank’s dry voice, making Eddie cackle and waggle his eyebrows at Steve.

Jeff groans at the horrible innuendos. “Don’t mind us, we’re heading out anyway. Figured we’d leave you two to, ah, continue the celebration?”

Eddie flashes them all a shameless grin, winking as he wraps an arm around Steve’s waist. “You all sound jealous,” he quips, barely missing a beat.

Gareth laughs, grabbing his jacket. “Oh, trust me, I’m good. Those pants are enough of a show by themselves,” he teases, smirking. “But seriously—thanks for sparing us the rest.”

As the last few crew members file out, tossing in good-natured jabs and rolling their eyes, Jeff gives Steve a pat on the back. “You’ve got him all to yourself now, Harrington,” he says with a smirk. “Don’t wear him out too much. We’ve still got another show tomorrow.”

And with a final chorus of laughter and a few mock wolf whistles, the door swings shut, leaving them in blissful privacy.

Steve sighs, his forehead still resting against Eddie’s, his own grin breaking through as they’re finally alone. “Well,” he murmurs, voice low, “now, where were we?”

“You mean before you were trying to ravage me in front of our friends?” Eddie says with a shit-eating grin, as if Steve were the only one acting like a love-struck teenager.

Read the rest on AO3

For everyone who rather reads on here, have the whole fic under the cut.

Phoenix

The arena is almost silent as the lights go out, the applause fading into a hush as everyone around him holds their breath. It’s as if they’ve all merged into one living entity, one organism waiting for the band to return and deliver the encore they’re all craving.

Corroded Coffin’s encores have become legendary among their fans. Mostly because of Eddie.

Of course.

Steve can’t blame them. He’s never been able to take his eyes off him either. In any room, no matter what was happening, the moment Eddie came alive, when that inner light blazed through, Steve was captivated. It’s no surprise he isn’t the only one, but he finds comfort in knowing he was one of the first.

They all fell in love with Eddie Munson, the rock star. Steve fell in love with Eddie Munson, the nerd. The part-time drug dealer, the super senior, the dungeon master. He fell for the brave man who was willing to die for a town that hated him and the man his kids trusted and looked up to.

That very man is now strutting back onto the stage, his silhouette barely visible in the dim twilight of the arena. But Steve would recognize him anywhere. Besides, he knows what’s coming—he’s heard Eddie excitedly ramble about his plans while they lay in bed, Eddie’s head resting in Steve’s lap as his fingers combed through damp curls, untangling them before they dried after his shower.

This is the first time they’re playing this particular song, Phoenix. It’s about someone dying so they can finally live, and only their tight-knit circle knows just how much truth is behind it. The song is Eddie’s way of processing what happened during that fateful week in the spring of '86. But, like most of Eddie’s songs, it’s also a love song.

A love song for Steve.

Eddie sings about a man burning in hell to rise from the ashes, hands lifting him to soar again, flying higher and higher, fueled by love instead of air beneath his wings. It’s classic Eddie—telling Steve he loves him in front of thousands of people, with words that sound like they’re straight out of one of those fantasy novels Eddie and the kids all love so much.

The whole band is on fire—literally—because their show features some wild pyro effects. Steve hadn’t been thrilled when Eddie first floated the idea of setting parts of the stage ablaze. He was even less enthusiastic when Gareth and Eddie began talking about adding flames to their outfits. To Steve, that was practically asking for disaster. But, as usual, he hadn’t been able to resist Eddie’s big brown puppy eyes for long.

Now, watching them perform, Steve has to admit it works. The fire dances across the stage in time with the music, bursts of flame punctuating every explosive guitar riff. Smoke swirls in sync with the pounding drums, and sparks rain down like stars during the climactic solo, making it feel as though the whole arena is caught in the heat of the moment. It’s pure chaos, and yet, somehow, it’s beautiful.

As Phoenix reaches its crescendo, Eddie steps into the heart of the flames, the light catching his silhouette as though he’s rising from the ashes himself. His voice soars above the roaring crowd, each note carrying both the weight of the past and the promise of a future. The audience, already mesmerized, holds its breath as Eddie holds the final note, arms outstretched, as if he’s daring the fire to consume him.

There’s a beat of stunned silence, and then the whole arena erupts into a roaring applause. People are whistling and cheering, Steve among them. Sue him, but even after a year of doing this with Eddie, he’s still in awe of how good Eddie and the other guys are. They’re a garage band from some small town in bumfuck Indiana, but the moment they step on stage, they have the crowd completely under their spell. Steve had read an article about Corroded Coffin that said all guys want to be them and all girls want to be their lovers.

He disagrees. He’s pretty sure some of these girls wouldn’t mind rocking on stage themselves, and Steve knows from experience that some of the guys definitely want to be their boyfriends, too.

The only difference between Steve and those guys? While they all want Eddie, Steve is the one who gets to take him home every night.

How he got so lucky is still beyond him. For months, Steve had been convinced he’d ruined everything between them before they ever got a real chance. And now he’s the one Eddie Munson calls sweetheart, darling, princess. The one he calls Love.

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, you’ve been wonderful tonight. Your high esteem has fed us well, and we’ll repay the favor with another firestorm of a concert very soon. So keep your eyes peeled for the announcement. Until then, remember to be the menaces you’re meant to be, and rock on! We are Corroded Coffin, the devil’s own jesters, and this has been another glorious night of our Rituals tour!”

The lights go out after Eddie’s final words, and with another round of thunderous applause, a single spotlight highlights each band member, giving them their moment to shine before darkness swallows the stage. Steve knows it gives the band time to slip away before the crowd starts to disperse.

Back when Steve first started at their shows as a roadie, a fan had somehow tricked security into believing she was part of the crew. In the general chaos of people leaving, no one questioned her as she followed them all the way to the green room. She’d launched herself at Eddie, knocking him over onto the hard concrete. He’d only ended up with a few bruises, but he hit his head, and the headache lasted well into the next day, making him feel miserable. Worse still, it made his old scars ache in sympathy.

Steve had been livid.

After, Steve had been adamant that the band needed to invest in more security—less access for the public, stricter controls, the whole nine yards. Eddie, Frank, and Jeff didn’t want to hear any of it. To Steve’s surprise, it was Gareth who found a compromise for them. The head start they get now is part of it. Another is the presence of Sam and James, two guys built like tanks, who travel with the band and keep things secure backstage, on the tour bus, and everywhere in between.

Except for Eddie, who’s Steve’s to keep safe—and he takes that job seriously.

Which is why he packs up on stage as fast as humanly possible, only to be shooed away by Anna, the head of stage design. She oversees cleanup and can tell Steve is practically vibrating out of his skin to get to Eddie.

“You’re stressing me the hell out, Harrington. Go check on your man before you have a heart attack or something equally dramatic that’ll keep us here longer than necessary. And take that amp with you—put those guns to use,” she adds, gesturing at his biceps.

It’s a testament to how desperately he wants to see Eddie that he doesn’t protest, just salutes her and grabs the amp. “Thanks, Anna. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she says, waving him off. “To be young and in love again.”

“You’re 34, not ancient.”

“I’m not Munson, Harrington—flattery doesn’t work on me. Now shoo, before I change my mind and leave you to clean up the whole stage yourself.”

That's all the encouragement he needs to make a hasty retreat. As fast as he can, he heads backstage to the green room, where the band is no doubt coming down from their post-show high.

As Steve nears the green room, he can already hear laughter and excited chatter. Eddie’s voice rings out the loudest—it always does—but he can also pick out Jeff’s deep rumble and Gareth’s indignant “Oi!” He’s probably been teased again. The happy sounds make Steve pick up his pace, and as he rounds the last corner, he nearly barrels into Sam.

“Careful, Ozzy,” Sam laughs, dodging aside with surprising grace for someone his size. When Steve had first started tagging along, the crew had looked a little skeptical of his preppy outfits, which stuck out among the metalheads and crew members, who dress more for comfort and utility. Eddie, in his usual fashion, had vouched for him, regaling everyone with a heavily edited story about how Steve had once bitten the head off a bat to save them. Steve's scars, which matched Eddie's own, had helped sell the story. It had earned him coolness points and the nickname "Ozzy”.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Oh, please. You probably wouldn’t even feel it if I charged you with a battering ram.”

“Stop flirting with my boyfriend, Ozzy,” comes James’ teasing voice. “I think you’ve got your hands full with your own.” Steve knows James isn’t actually jealous—anyone with eyes can see he’s completely gone on Eddie. Robin’s words, not his. She’d visited them about three months ago during a break in the tour and had teased him mercilessly. Steve plans to return the favor once she finds someone who steals her heart. It’s what best friends do.

“Speaking of—think you could open the door for me?” Steve nods at the amp he’s still carrying. “My hands are full, and this thing’s getting heavy.”

“Sure thing,” Sam says, already moving to open the door as James smirks at Steve.

“Your game’s slipping, Oz. Pretty soon you won’t even be able to toss Munson around.”

“What a sad day that would be,” chimes a familiar voice as the door swings open, revealing Eddie’s grinning face. He winks at Steve. “But that day’ll never come, right, big boy?”

“Never,” Steve promises as he sets the amp down and immediately sweeps Eddie off his feet, pulling him into his arms. Eddie whoops loudly, then breaks into manic laughter, clearly riding high on adrenaline and endorphins.

Steve lets Eddie slide down his body, his hands resting firmly on Eddie’s hips, holding him close as Eddie beams down at him.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Eddie says, voice warm and a bit breathless.

“Hey, baby. You look happy.”

Leaning in until their noses are almost touching, Eddie grins and says, “That’s because I am! Did you see us, Stevie? We rocked! I told you, Phoenix needed fire. They loved it, didn’t they?”

Steve rubs their noses together, his heart swelling at how excited—and just plain adorable—Eddie is after a good show.

“They loved you,” he says proudly, his voice going rough. “But they can’t have you.”

Eddie’s grin turns mischievous. “Oh? Is that so?”

“Yes,” Steve almost growls. He knows exactly where this is headed, but he can’t resist. Something about the way Eddie commands the stage and the way people respond to him always stirs Steve’s more possessive side.

Good thing Eddie loves it.

“And why is that?” Eddie asks, already knowing the answer, but playing along. It feels like they’re the only two in the room, though Steve knows everyone else is well-accustomed to their little ritual by now.

Another growl rises in Steve’s chest. “Because you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” Eddie agrees, and finally leans in to kiss him.

It stays gentle and innocent for all of five seconds before Eddie, ever the troublemaker, lets out a quiet moan against Steve’s lips. It’s a sound that’s practically Pavloved Steve into instant reaction; he bites down on Eddie’s lower lip, slipping his tongue into Eddie’s willing mouth when he gasps in response. The familiar shock of Eddie’s tongue piercing, cool and metallic against his own tongue, is addictive, a reminder of just how intoxicatingly Eddie he is. And as soon as he catches that taste of energy drink Eddie always downs like water before a show, Steve is completely done for.

He couldn’t say exactly why—certainly not in this moment, when he’s all lust and love and instinct, and not even later when his head isn’t so full of EddieEddieEddie. Maybe it’s because that taste, coupled with the playful brush of that piercing, makes everything feel so real. Tangible. No one else knows the slightly off-putting tang of that artificial drink on Eddie’s tongue, or the way the cold steel feels against his lip as Eddie’s tongue brushes past it. It’s not something he could’ve imagined back when he used to daydream about kissing Eddie in Hawkins, when they’d still been circling each other. Watching, waiting, pining.

They let themselves get carried away, hands wandering over sweat-soaked clothes, slipping beneath them and feeling slick skin, neither of them having had a moment to shower or change. Not that they care. They’ve seen, touched, tasted each other like this a hundred times, and to Steve, it’s just one more part of this that feels undeniable. Real.

Eddie’s right hand finds its way into Steve’s hair, gripping just the right amount of tight, while his other hand explores the skin beneath Steve’s tank top. His fingers skim along the waistband of Steve’s pants, light and teasing, and it’s maddening how much Steve wants him to dive deeper, to put those skilled fingers to use. Steve’s own hands are busy, shoved down the back pockets of Eddie’s nearly scandalous leather pants, kneading the flesh beneath as he pulls Eddie even closer.

It’s only when Eddie slips a leg between Steve’s spread ones, his thigh pressing deliciously against him, that Steve feels his knees go weak. Pulling away from Eddie’s mouth takes what feels like Herculean strength, and he only just manages to break the kiss, his forehead pressed to his boyfriend’s as they both pant, breaths coming in heavy and warm. The sound is loud enough to almost drown out the creaking of someone shifting in an old chair nearby.

That’s when Steve remembers they’re not alone in the room.

A loud throat-clearing cuts through the haze, and Steve opens his eyes to see Gareth, sitting with a wicked grin, tossing a crumpled-up piece of paper at Eddie’s back. “Oi, lovebirds,” he says, “save those bedroom eyes for the actual bedroom, Munson.”

Eddie grins, unashamed, flashing Gareth a mock salute. “I don’t need a bedroom for bedroom activities, losers.”

Jeff leans casually against the wall, arms crossed, smirking. “Can’t say I’m surprised. You two always manage to bring your own kind of encore,” he teases, waggling his eyebrows in a way that’s both exaggerated and somehow fond.

From across the room, their sound tech, Lucy, chuckles as she shoves a bag into her duffel. “Guess the ‘Phoenix’ isn’t the only thing heating up tonight,” she jokes, grinning at Steve’s half-embarrassed, half-amused expression.

“And he'll rise again and again and again,” tones Frank’s dry voice, making Eddie cackle and waggle his eyebrows at Steve.

Jeff groans at the horrible innuendos. “Don’t mind us, we’re heading out anyway. Figured we’d leave you two to, ah, continue the celebration?”

Eddie flashes them all a shameless grin, winking as he wraps an arm around Steve’s waist. “You all sound jealous,” he quips, barely missing a beat.

Gareth laughs, grabbing his jacket. “Oh, trust me, I’m good. Those pants are enough of a show by themselves,” he teases, smirking. “But seriously—thanks for sparing us the rest.”

As the last few crew members file out, tossing in good-natured jabs and rolling their eyes, Jeff gives Steve a pat on the back. “You’ve got him all to yourself now, Harrington,” he says with a smirk. “Don’t wear him out too much. We’ve still got another show tomorrow.”

And with a final chorus of laughter and a few mock wolf whistles, the door swings shut, leaving them in blissful privacy.

Steve sighs, his forehead still resting against Eddie’s, his own grin breaking through as they’re finally alone. “Well,” he murmurs, voice low, “now, where were we?”

“You mean before you were trying to ravage me in front of our friends?” Eddie says with a shit-eating grin, as if Steve were the only one acting like a love-struck teenager. Steve would be more annoyed if it weren’t for the happy flutter in his chest when Eddie says, “our friends.” An image flashes through his mind, unbidden—Dustin, animated and in charge, leading a round of their fantasy game, the same one Eddie used to lead. Steve remembers watching, his heart aching like an open wound, because by then, Eddie had been gone for three months.

Steve had let him go.

Eddie had asked Steve to come with him, his head on Steve’s chest as they lay tangled in Eddie’s bed, his voice barely above a whisper. “I have to go, Stevie. This town is killing me. But I don’t want to go without you. Please, come with me. Let us be free together.”

But Steve had said no. He'd told himself it was for the kids, that they needed someone to stay and look after them. But deep down he knew that wasn't the real reason. At least not the whole reason. He didn't say no because he didn't want to go with Eddie, but because he wanted it too much. Wanting things, wanting people too much had left its mark, and some of those scars still ached some days, worse than his physical ones, the phantom pain of a broken heart and shattered dreams. Eddie had asked him why, his voice trembling, and Steve had lied, making Eddie believe there was nothing between them that warranted uprooting his whole life. It was the only way to set Eddie free, even if it meant breaking both their hearts. His own fears and insecurities were not going to be the thing that stopped Eddie from making his own dreams come true.

“I think I was telling you about the show,” Eddie says, breaking Steve from the painful memory with a grin. “What’d you think, Stevie? Rockstar-worthy?”

The question brings him back, though the ache of the past lingers in his chest. His voice is quieter, more earnest than he intended. “More than that. I always knew you were born for this, Eds. That people should hear your stories, see you, and the wonder you are.”

He knows he’s gone too deep, missed the playful mark by a mile. But Eddie, who’s all brashness and boldness on the surface, can read Steve better than anyone. Sensing the shift, he meets Steve’s gaze with a softness that’s rare and achingly sincere.

“I only ever needed one person to see me, Stevie.”

Now, Steve believes Eddie. It hadn’t always been like that, though. He’d struggled to accept that Eddie truly wanted him—Steve Harrington, the guy who’d peaked in high school, who didn’t have much to show now that the world wasn’t ending and no one needed him to swing his nail-studded bat, or throw himself between monsters and the people he loved.

His doubts had almost cost him the chance to be loved the way he’d always dreamed.

Gazing into Eddie’s warm, dark eyes, filled with so much love and sincerity it almost hurt to look at, Steve decided to push down the strange wave of melancholy that had crept over him. Eddie was here, they were here, and Steve wasn’t going to waste another second thinking about the past and the what-ifs. He’d focus instead on showing Eddie just how rockstar-worthy he truly was.

“Is that so?” Steve asks, his tone coy as he ducks his head just enough to look up at Eddie from beneath his lashes. His fingers trail slowly up Eddie’s stomach and chest, and with his voice dropping to a low, inviting register, he murmurs, “What if he wants to see more of you?”

Eddie searches his face, the shift in mood not lost on him. For a moment, it looks like he’s deciding whether to let Steve get away with it or press him about the strange melancholy that had surfaced just moments ago. But then a slow smile spreads across those full lips, and Steve feels the thrill of Eddie giving in.

“Mmm,” Eddie muses aloud, his gaze mischievous. “I think he’ll have to wait for that. Earn it, really.”

“How?” Steve asks, his voice barely more than a breath, eager and completely captivated.

Eddie leans in, nosing his way along the line of Steve’s jaw until he reaches his ear. “Be a good boy, of course.”

A shiver ripples through Steve’s body, though he couldn’t say if it’s from Eddie’s warm breath on that sensitive patch of skin or from the words themselves.

Steve’s breath hitches, and he fights to keep his composure, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “And if I’m not?” he teases, his voice low but challenging, tilting his head to give Eddie even better access to his neck.

Eddie chuckles, his lips ghosting just below Steve’s ear. “Then I’ll have to remind you who’s in charge here,” he murmurs, voice warm and rough, a promise wrapped in mischief.

Steve lets out a shaky laugh, his fingers curling into the leather of Eddie’s jacket. “Guess I’ll have to be extra good, then,” he replies, his tone daring but with that undeniable note of surrender only Eddie could pull from him.

The sharp nip of Eddie’s teeth sinking into the tender skin just above Steve’s pulse point quickly gives way to pleasure as his tongue soothes over the bite. “That’s right,” Eddie murmurs against the spit-slick skin, his voice low and warm. “So be a good boy and lay down on that amp you oh-so-helpfully carried in here.”

It takes Steve a beat to process, his brain a little scrambled from the emotional whiplash of the past few moments—pride, love, possessiveness, melancholy, lust, and back to love, all tumbling through him. He blinks up at Eddie, parsing out the command, and Eddie arches an eyebrow, giving the amp a pointed look.

With a playful bite of his lower lip, Steve nods and, after stealing one more quick kiss, saunters over, hips swaying just enough to make Eddie’s gaze darken. The back-and-forth between them is new to Steve, something he never had with the girls he dated before, this easy way they can trade roles, each giving and taking as they like, slipping between comfort and thrill with ease.

Right now, Steve’s perfectly ready to take whatever Eddie has in mind.

The amp’s just high enough that he doesn’t have to contort too much to lie on it, bracing his upper body on his forearms comfortably. Not exactly nap material, but he isn’t here to relax. It lets him tilt his hips, though, and he pushes his ass out in invitation, casting a look over his shoulder to find Eddie watching him with wide, hungry eyes, his hand pressed firmly against himself.

“You wanna take a picture?” Steve teases, wiggling his ass with a grin. “Or are you finally gonna put your money where your mouth is?”

Eddie’s startled laugh echoes in the empty room, and Steve’s grin widens, his heart racing at how fun it is to let loose with Eddie like this.

At last Eddie moves, taking off his leather jacket before closing the distance between them, and his hands settle on Steve's hips, firm and possessive. “Oh, I’m definitely putting my mouth somewhere, princess.”

With a teasing slowness, Eddie’s hands slide from Steve’s hips around to his front, fingers working open the button on his cargo pants. He takes his time, drawing out each motion—the button popping, the zipper sliding down, every small movement building up the anticipation until the air between them practically hums. Bit by bit, Eddie tugs Steve’s pants and underwear down over his hips, savoring every inch of skin he exposes to the cool air and his hungry gaze.

Steve’s patience frays fast, and with a breathless whine, he finally mutters, “Eddie, come on.”

Eddie just chuckles, then nips at the small heart-shaped tattoo on Steve's left buttock. While Eddie's body is littered with black ink, this is Steve's only one so far. Eddie had talked Steve into it when he came with him to get the Phoenix tattooed on his left arm. “I’m unwrapping my favorite present here, babe. Gotta savor it.”

Steve barely has time to roll his eyes before Eddie’s mouth descends once again, and this time it’s warm lips and tongue tracing a slow line along the curve of his lower back, licking up the faint sheen of sweat gathered there. The heat of Eddie’s mouth steals the words right from him, and instead a rough “Fuck” slips out, loud and unfiltered.

“That’s the idea, sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs, sounding downright smug. “But first? I’m treating myself to a sweet little appetizer.”

Steve finds out exactly what Eddie means when his tongue dips lower, slipping between his cheeks with a slow, tantalizing precision. His pants are still bunched around his upper thighs, limiting his movement, but as always, Eddie makes the most of the space he has.

The heat of Eddie’s tongue leaves a burning trail down his skin, edging closer to where Steve wants him most, while Eddie’s hands grip his hips and pull up his tank top, his hold firm and anchoring, as if grounding them both in the pleasure building between them. But just as Steve expects Eddie to go further, he pulls back, taking his time sliding Steve’s pants all the way off, leaving him bare from the waist down.

“God, would you look at this? Fuck, I still can’t believe it sometimes,” Eddie mutters, his voice thick with reverence. “Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson gets to have the most gorgeous guy in the world. Part of me wishes I could show you off to everyone right now, do this to you up on stage, so they’d know exactly how lucky I am.”

The thought sends a thrill through Steve—a fantasy he’s toyed with more than once. It’s one of those ideas they’ll never act on, but one that he loves to imagine just the same.

“But hey, this is the next best thing,” Eddie continues, still kneeling behind him, his hands sliding up Steve’s legs, fingertips pressing into the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. “Right here, where anyone could walk in, could see you with your ass up like this for me. And they’d be so damn jealous. But they don’t get you—you’re mine, just like I’m yours.”

As if sealing his words, Eddie spreads him open and lets a warm trail of saliva slide down, glistening as it slips toward his entrance. Steve can’t see him from this angle, but he can feel Eddie’s gaze, heavy and possessive, just before he leans back in, his tongue pressing deep, the metal of his piercing gracing the sensitive skin of his entrance, sending a shiver down Steve’s spine.

Steve feels like he’s going out of his mind, the way Eddie holds him down, keeping his hips pinned firmly in place, letting Steve have only as much as he’s willing to give. It’s torture—he wants to push back, to make Eddie’s tongue delve deeper, faster. But Eddie’s having none of it. For all his usual impatience and impulsiveness, in moments like this, Eddie becomes a master of restraint, driving Steve up the wall with it.

It’s infuriating. It’s maddening. It’s also the single hottest thing Steve’s ever experienced.

His breathing is rough, coming in shallow pants that mix with the filthy, wet sounds filling the room as he loses himself in the relentless, almost lazy pace Eddie keeps. Eddie’s tongue teases, sliding in with agonizing slowness, while his content, low hums add a pulse of heat through Steve’s body. Eddie pauses now and then to add more spit, until Steve’s slick, almost dripping, every nerve thrumming with need.

“Edd-die,” he gasps, his voice thin with desperation, almost lost beneath the steady, obscene rhythm. “Pleasepleaseplease.”

He’s shamelessly begging now, but doesn’t care. Eddie lives to hear him beg, and maybe, just maybe, Steve can get what he wants, too.

Eddie chuckles low, his tone one of pure satisfaction. “Please what, my love?”

Of course, he’d make Steve say it. Typical. Alright then, two can play this game, Steve thinks and decides to see just how steady Eddie’s self-control really is.

“Please,” he says, his tone turning breathy, edging into desperate pleading. “Please, give me that thick cock. Fill me so deep I can taste it. Make me take it, make me yours. Make me forget everything—everyone—but you, fucking me so good.”

Eddie growls, the sound low and guttural, and Steve smirks, triumphant.

Checkmate.

A finger suddenly presses at his entrance, sliding in easily where he’s already loose and wet from Eddie’s mouth and tongue. Steve arches back, pushing onto the finger, forcing it deeper with a groan that earns him a low chuckle.

“So greedy,” Eddie murmurs, his voice thick with approval as he works his finger in and out with a steady rhythm. Soon, he adds a second finger, stretching him open, sliding in with only the slightest resistance. There’s a slow burn, one he welcomes, letting it remind him how real this all is.

“Look at you,” Eddie muses, voice dark and low. “So needy, taking it so well. I wanted to take my time with you tonight—take you apart, bit by bit, until you were wrecked.” He pauses, letting his fingers curl inside. “But you just wouldn’t let me, huh?”

Steve shudders, Eddie’s words digging deeper than his touch, leaving him desperate and tingling all over. Eddie’s tone is playful, a tease threaded with adoration, and Steve knows he’s on the edge of getting everything he wants, even if Eddie just can’t resist drawing it out. Clenching down on Eddie’s fingers, he says with a challenging grin, “There’s lube in my pocket. Right side.”

Eddie’s breath hitches, his fingers stilling just for a moment before he drops his forehead onto the small of Steve’s back with a heartfelt groan. “You’ll be the death of me, Stevie. God, I love you.”

Steve laughs, even as his voice comes out shaky. “I love you, too. Now, would you please hurry up and fuck me already before I die of old age?”

Eddie’s laugh vibrates against his spine as he reaches down and into Steve’s pocket, retrieving the lube with a triumphant little sound. “Oh, sweetheart, don’t worry. I’m about to make sure every second counts.”

Steve is counting on it.

He watches as Eddie tears open the corner of the small lube satchel with his teeth, his other hand still buried deep inside Steve. Their eyes lock, and Eddie throws him a cheeky wink before drizzling the cool liquid directly over where his fingers are working him open. The sharp contrast of the chill against his heated skin sends a shiver racing up Steve’s spine.

Eddie spreads the lube with practiced ease, his thumb joining in to work it deeper. His movements are confident, deliberate, and Steve can’t help but marvel at how well they’ve come to know each other’s bodies. He thinks back to their first time: the fumbling hands, lube smeared everywhere, hesitant stops and whispered reassurances, mixed with laughter and tender kisses. Now, there’s a rhythm between them, a deep familiarity that doesn’t dull the edge of excitement but makes it sweeter, more profound.

Steve’s awareness narrows to the sensation of Eddie’s fingers stroking inside him, teasing just right. Meanwhile, Eddie’s mouth and tongue explore every inch of skin they can reach, leaving trails of wet heat in their wake. Time becomes meaningless, and Steve lets go completely, unbothered by the sounds spilling from his lips or how desperately he’s moving into Eddie’s touch. He’s pliant, undone, surrendering himself fully to the moment.

And then, suddenly, Eddie’s fingers withdraw. Steve lets out a whine of protest, his body already aching for more.

Placing a soothing kiss over Steve’s heart tattoo, Eddie murmurs, “Shhh, sweetheart, I’m just giving you what you want.”

Anticipation coils tight in Steve’s belly as the emptiness makes him hyper-aware of every nerve ending. Seconds stretch into agonizing hours before he feels the thick head of Eddie’s cock pressing against his slick entrance.

“Ready, love?” Eddie asks, his voice low and warm.

“Please,” Steve breathes, his entire body taut with need.

Eddie doesn’t waste another moment. He pushes in slowly, steadily, until his hips are flush against Steve’s. Even with the careful preparation and Steve’s eagerness, it’s still a lot, and he sucks in a sharp breath, needing a moment to adjust. Sensing this, Eddie stills, his hand sliding forward to find Steve’s. He intertwines their fingers, squeezing gently, a silent reminder that they’re in this together.

A bead of sweat trickles down Steve’s temple as he exhales deliberately, forcing his body to relax. He squeezes Eddie’s hand in return, grounding himself in the connection.

“I’m ready,” he says softly, his voice steady. “You can move.”

Months ago, Eddie might have asked again, just to be sure, but now he trusts Steve’s word implicitly. He responds with a reassuring squeeze to Steve’s hip before pulling out almost entirely and sinking back in just as slowly. The deliberate drag of Eddie’s cock has Steve’s nerves sparking like live wires, every inch of the stretch intense and maddeningly good.

Steve lifts their joined hands to his mouth, pressing a kiss to Eddie’s knuckles. His voice comes out wrecked, raw with need.

“Faster,” he pleads, his breath hitching. “Please.”

As much as Eddie loves to tease, drawing out both their pleasure until Steve feels like he’s teetering on the edge of madness, he loves giving Steve what he wants even more. And tonight, Steve has been a very good boy—just like Eddie had asked. So when Eddie withdraws again only to slam back in without hesitation, setting a relentless pace, Steve knows this is his reward.

“Fuck, how are you always so tight?” Eddie mutters, his voice hoarse and awestruck.

The question isn’t meant to be answered, and Steve is far too gone to respond anyway. Instead, he pushes back into every thrust, letting the intense, repeated sensation of Eddie filling him wipe away any semblance of coherent thought. His cock hangs heavy and aching, no doubt dripping pre-cum onto the floor beneath them. For a fleeting moment, a hysterical image pops into his head: one of them slipping in it, both crashing down, stark naked.

But then Eddie’s next thrust slams right into his prostate, obliterating the thought entirely. What escapes Steve’s lips isn’t laughter but a long, shameless moan.

“There—fuck, there,” he gasps, his voice raw with need, urging Eddie to do it again.

Eddie doesn’t disappoint. Now that he’s found the perfect angle, his thrusts hit that spot with precision, sending sharp jolts of pleasure coursing through Steve’s body. Each impact wrings high-pitched, breathless ah, ah, ahs from him as he clings to the amp for stability, every muscle taut and trembling. The pleasure is building fast, a searing heat that coils tight in his belly, but it’s not enough.

Steve’s cock pulses painfully, desperate for attention, but he can’t reach it. His arms are trapped beneath him, and trying to shift even a fraction risks toppling them both. The need is maddening, almost unbearable, and his whimpers grow louder as frustration mixes with the overwhelming stimulation.

When the constant onslaught skirts the edge of too much, his moans turn to pleading whines, raw and vulnerable. He’s close, so close, but he needs just a little more.

“Shhh,” Eddie coos, slowing his thrusts as his hand rubs soothing circles over Steve’s back. “What is it, baby?”

The change in pace gives Steve a reprieve from the relentless pounding against his prostate. He sags forward, caught in the strange limbo of both relief and frustration, his need to come still burning hot and bright in his groin.

“I’m so close, but I need…” he trails off, his voice cracking with emotion. The sound mortifies him, and the tears edging into his tone threaten to spill over. Eddie stills entirely, his concern immediate.

“What do you need? I’ll give you everything, love, anything you want.” Before Steve can manage a response, Eddie drapes himself over his back, the weight of him grounding, the motion pushing him deeper inside. His lips brush the shell of Steve’s ear, and he whispers, “You need my hand? Want me to touch that pretty cock of yours, gorgeous?”

Steve lets out a soft, desperate whine, his body trembling. It’s all the answer Eddie needs.

Eddie’s arm snakes around Steve’s chest, his palm resting gently against his throat—not squeezing, just holding, steadying him. His other hand slides down and wraps around Steve’s aching cock. Steve shudders at the first firm stroke, the slickness of pre-cum making each movement smooth and electric.

“I—I won’t last long,” Steve manages, his voice wrecked as the coil in his belly winds tighter with each pump of Eddie’s hand.

Eddie nips at Steve’s earlobe, his voice rough with lust. “Don’t worry, baby. Me neither. I’ve been on edge since you walked in carrying that stupid amp, wearing that indecent outfit, showing off those arms like some kind of wet dream.”

Despite the intensity of the moment, Steve laughs, the motion jolting Eddie’s cock inside him. He clenches involuntarily, drawing a deep moan from Eddie that vibrates against his skin. “What the hell is indecent about a black tank top and cargo pants?”

“You wearing them.” Eddie’s tone is all duh, and it sends another wave of laughter spilling from Steve’s lips.

“You fucking sap,” Steve teases, the love in his voice unmistakable.

“Oh no, you’re fucking a sap, sweetheart,” Eddie shoots back, his cheekiness undiminished. “Now, how about you take what you need, huh? Fuck yourself on my cock, use my hand while you’re at it.”

Only Eddie could turn cheesy banter into something this hot, and Steve has no intention of arguing.

With Eddie’s arm propping him up, Steve finds just enough leverage to move. He thrusts forward into Eddie’s hand, the tight circle of his boyfriend’s fingers sparking pleasure through him, before shifting back to impale himself again. He angles his hips, seeking that perfect spot, brushing it just enough to send sparks shooting up his spine. Combined with the steady friction of Eddie’s hand, it’s almost too much to bear.

The improvised rhythm of his movements grows frantic as he races toward the edge. Behind him, Eddie’s breaths come hot and fast against his neck, and his grip tightens, keeping Steve grounded even as he comes undone.

“You’re so sexy, baby,” Eddie pants, his voice raw with emotion and lust. “Fuck, I’m the luckiest guy alive. I love you so much.”

Trust Eddie to pour his heart out in the middle of this. And trust Steve to have those words be what finally pushes him over the edge.

Steve’s orgasm tears through him like a wildfire, leaving him shaking and breathless. It feels like it goes on forever, each wave dragging him deeper into a blissful haze until his legs threaten to buckle beneath him. Eddie’s arms tighten around him, steadying him as he continues thrusting, fucking Steve through his release, drawing out every last drop of pleasure.

When the high begins to fade, Steve’s nerves flare with overstimulation. Eddie’s movements, once perfect, now teeter on the edge of too much. A shudder ripples through Steve, a mix of cooling sweat and discomfort making him tremble.

Eddie stills immediately, in tune with him as always. “Want me to pull out?” he asks softly. “I can finish in my hand. Two pulls, max.” His voice is gentle, full of love and concern, and it makes Steve’s heart ache in the best way.

“No,” Steve murmurs, voice still shaky. “I want to feel it. Want to know I’m yours—wet and dripping with your cum while we walk to the car.”

“Jesus, Stevie,” Eddie groans, his hips twitching involuntarily.

“Come on, baby,” Steve encourages, voice husky and teasing. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

That’s all Eddie needs. He grips Steve tighter, hauling him upright so their bodies are flush. His chest presses against Steve’s back, his arm locks around Steve’s waist, and he moves with renewed intensity. Eddie’s hips snap against him, each thrust urgent, driven by need and love. He buries his face in Steve’s neck, grunting and panting, entirely lost in the moment.

It doesn’t take long. Eddie’s rhythm falters, his breath catching. “Fuck, Steve—fuckfuckfuck,” he groans, voice breaking as he spills inside him, warmth flooding between them.

They collapse together, Steve barely catching himself on trembling arms before he face-plants into the amp. Eddie slumps against him, muttering a soft, “Sorry—can’t feel my legs.”

Steve bursts into laughter, his body shaking with it. Eddie joins in moments later, his laugh raspy and infectious. The movement dislodges Eddie’s softening cock, and Steve grimaces at the inevitable sensation of cum leaking out. It’s a mess, but he wouldn’t change a thing.

After a few beats of shared laughter and steadying breaths, Eddie peels off his own shirt, using it to clean them both.

“You’ll get cold,” Steve says, voice softer now, even as he leans into Eddie’s tender touches.

“I’ve got you to keep me warm, don’t I?” Eddie quips with a grin.

“Only if you cuddle me first,” Steve counters, mock-serious. “You can’t just use me for my body heat. I have standards, you know.”

“Sure you do, sweetheart,” Eddie replies with a chuckle, pulling Steve into his arms and leading them toward the worn couch in the corner of the room. They sink down together, Eddie sprawling on his back with Steve sprawled across him, their bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces.

They continue to lay there, tangled together in the lazy, sated warmth of post-coital bliss. Steve is already half-asleep, his head resting on Eddie’s chest, lulled by the steady rhythm of Eddie’s heartbeat and the gentle stroke of his fingers through Steve’s hair. Eddie presses a kiss to his temple, a smile tugging at his lips as he breaks the comfortable silence.

“So,” Eddie begins, his voice soft, curious, “you gonna tell me what had you in such a weird mood earlier?”

Steve hums, the sound vibrating through Eddie’s chest. He considers brushing it off, but Eddie’s been patient, and he deserves the truth. “Got an invitation from Dustin and the kids,” Steve says finally. “To their graduation. It’s for both of us, actually.”

Eddie stills, his hand pausing mid-stroke. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, his voice low. “Made me think about stuff, I guess. Like… leaving Hawkins. Leaving them.” He tilts his head to look up at Eddie, his expression thoughtful. “And whether I regret it.”

Eddie’s breath catches, his hand resuming its motion in Steve’s hair as he braces himself for Steve’s answer. “Do you?”

Steve doesn’t hesitate. “No. Not even for a second.” He shifts so he can meet Eddie’s eyes fully, a soft smile curving his lips. “If anything, I’m grateful Dustin kicked my ass into following you. The little shit was right—they’re fine without me. But I’m not sure I’d have been okay if I stayed.”

Steve sits up slightly, his fingers tracing idle patterns on Eddie’s chest, tracing tattoos and scars alike. “I’ve been thinking about how lucky I am. That I’m here. With you. That it all worked out the way it did.”

Eddie blinks, his throat working as he processes Steve’s words. “You’re not the only one who got lucky, Stevie,” he says, his voice tinged with raw honesty. “Leaving without you broke me. Felt like I’d left my heart in Hawkins while the rest of me moved to LA. The day you showed up? It was like the last puzzle piece finally slid into place. Like the universe had been holding its breath, waiting for us to figure it out.”

Steve’s smile widens, his hand cupping Eddie’s jaw as he leans up to press a tender kiss to his lips. “I love you,” he murmurs, the words soft but fierce, carrying every ounce of emotion he feels.

“I love you, too,” Eddie replies, his voice steady and sure, as if he’s been waiting his whole life to say it.

They settle back into each other’s arms, the greenroom quiet save for the hum of fluorescent lights and the distant sounds of the venue being cleaned up. The world outside feels a million miles away, and for now, that’s exactly where it can stay.

Here, with Eddie, Steve is home.

[steddieas-shegoes]

“any regrets? anything you’d do differently?”

eddie knows the interviewer is just doing her job, probably doesn’t even realize that’s the worst question she could ask. but the guys tense and the air gets thick and something shifts inside eddie’s chest.

“it’s been two years and i still haven’t apologized.”

the interviewer doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about, but she doesn’t need to. he’s not gonna explain more than that and he doesn’t care if people make their own connections and excuses.

maybe steve will hear it. maybe robin will. maybe dustin will convince steve to call him.

or maybe he was cryptic for nothing and steve will keep ignoring his calls. he used to think his timing sucked until mike let it slip that he lets all calls go to his answering machine to avoid picking up when eddie calls him.

eddie only calls on bad nights, if he’s drunk or high, or sometimes on the nights that could only be better if steve was by his side. eddie calls most nights.

the interview is done and eddie is being whisked away, getting berated by their publicist about his answer to a question that can never have a good one. the guys are pretending not to listen, but failing. eddie loves them for trying.

the next interview, he stays quiet, at least as much as he can get away with. he fakes a smile, a laugh, whatever it takes to seem like he didn’t just admit that he fucked up on live television.

they get to sleep in their own beds tonight, but tomorrow is the start of their radio show tour to promote their album. it’ll be two weeks long, hitting the major stations daily until they’ve answered all the hard hitting questions like if gareth snores or if they ever find time to eat healthy on tour.

but his bed is his least favorite place to sleep, and no amount of tossing and turning is gonna give him what he needs.

so he calls steve.

“harrington’s house, you’ve reached the harrington who actually lives here.”

eddie’s so shocked that steve answered he barely even registers his words.

“hello?” steve’s voice turns serious. “anyone there?”

“stevie?”

eddie shouldn’t have started with that, but he wasn’t in control of his body anymore.

steve hangs up.

somehow it’s worse than if he hadn’t answered at all.

but eddie is fine. he is.

he’s gonna close his eyes and go to sleep and maybe not dream about dying or fucking up the only good thing he ever had.

his phone rings and he’s almost certain he’s dreaming already.

“hello?”

“sorry i panicked.”

steve’s voice is like a reverb in an arena, sending chills down eddie’s arms.

“you’re not the only one.”

“but…you called me.”

“because you never answer.”

“so why call? if i’m never gonna answer.”

“because if you do answer, i can hear your voice.”

steve sits with that answer for a minute before he speaks.

“dustin played me the interview.”

“yeah.”

“was it me? was i your regret?”

how could steve think that? how could the man who saved his life ever believe he was anything less than a gift? in no universe would eddie regret steve.

“no. my regret is making you ever think that you could be a mistake.”

eddie should end it there, let steve marinate with that. he knows no amount of apologies will actually help, but he could give it a try anyway.

“i’m sorry i left when you needed me. i’m sorry i was selfish and chose to get out and leave you behind. and i’m sorry none of my sorries even matter because it’s too late.”

for a minute—yes, eddie counts— there’s silence. and then there’s a small shuffling sound and eddie’s almost sure that steve’s gonna hang up.

instead, steve sounds like he’s holding back tears when he speaks.

“are you gonna come back?”

eddie can’t. he can’t just put a pause on the band or any of their plans. it’s not fair to the guys or the fans or himself.

but he can do something he should’ve done two years ago.

“will you come with me?”

the question hangs in the air for what feels like forever. steve may say no. that’s part of why eddie didn’t even ask the first time. but he may say-

“yes.”

“you will?”

“on one condition.”

“anything.”

“you stop trying to forget all the bad parts. the bad parts sucked, but they brought us together. running from them means running from me. at least hold my hand so i can run with you.”

eddie thinks maybe he could write a song about that.

and he thinks he’d like to hold steve’s hand while he does.