#thisapplepielife: steddiebingo

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiebingo.

Slip Slidin' Away

12 Days of Christmas Prompt: Coat | Word Count: 1355 | Rating: T | CW: Language | POV: Eddie | Tags: Modern Day AU, Ice Storm, Neighbors Meet Cute, FYP Getting *Far* Too Local

Eddie reaches for his phone. It's buzzing against his thigh again. He's getting annoyed. His doorbell camera has been going apeshit for the last ten minutes, but every time he checks, nobody's out there. 

Another notification, another annoyance, and this time he actually pulls up the recorded clip instead of just the live feed to see what kind of insect has survived the freeze just to terrorize him. 

It's not a bug, though.

It's worse. It's a man, on a pair of ice skates, gliding up and down their frozen street. 

What in the actual fuck? Is he crazy? This guy isn't even wearing a coat, but he glides into, and then out of view, on honest to god skates. In the street. Who the fuck is this dude?

Eddie watches the rest of that clip, then a couple more, before he puts his phone out of his reach, not picking it up again until it actually rings.

"It's too cold for band practice," Gareth says by way of hello, and well, no shit. None of them should be out in this weather. Especially not Eddie, he's a terrible driver under regular circumstances. On ice? Recipe for disaster, for sure.

"What gave it away, the solid sheet of ice or the freezing temperatures?"

"Asshole," Gareth laughs. "I'm just saying. Don't come slip slidin' away over here. You'll die."

"Speaking of slip slidin', Simon, there's a dude skating in the street outside the house," Eddie tells him. "He keeps setting off my doorbell cam."

"Like, hockey skating or figure skating?" Gareth asks, and fuck if Eddie knows? 

"I don't know. He's got blades strapped to his feet and a death wish." 

"Sounds familiar," Gareth says.

Eddie ignores him. He's crazy and reckless, but he's not skate in the street crazy. There's a difference, surely.

"He's not even wearing a coat. I'd at least wear a coat to my death."

"Because you're a delicate flower with no circulation."

Eddie laughs. He's not delicate, but he is cold-blooded to his core. 

"How long is this ice storm supposed to last?" Eddie asks. He hates this kind of bitter cold.

"Three days, give or take."

Three days. He can handle three days without interacting with another human being.

Later, when he's laying in bed doom scrolling, he gets a text from Gareth:

Eddie opens the link, and it's definitely his street, and is the video of the skating guy. The other POV? He thinks that's the right term, but he wouldn't bet the farm on it. Either way, the account's name is Robin, and with a quick glance through her profile, he suspects she's the wife of Mr. Skates. 

These must be his neighbors. He's done a pretty damn good job at avoiding meeting anyone, but here they are, on his phone. Small world.

She's razzing the shit out of him in the clip, and Eddie thinks she's not wrong. Dude's lucky he didn't catch a rock taller than the sheet of ice with his skate and eat shit. 

He's gorgeous. It loops again, and again.

Eddie watches him lace up his skates, over and over, and hit the icy street, laughing the whole time. 

Why is this video an hour long? 

He lets it cycle through one more time, gives it a like and a favorite, and Eddie's not much for social media, or playing nice with neighbors, but he leaves a comment before overthinking it. 

It's not until the next night, back in bed, his phone in his hand that he realizes there's a metric shit-ton of notifications waiting for him. Mainly likes on his comment and then a couple responses. This video must have blown up today. Which makes sense, if it was pushed into Gareth's feed for him to even see to send to Eddie, lots of other people must have gotten it, too.

His neighbors have responded, but were mainly just bantering with each other:

Well, now Eddie's embarrassed. Nice moves? He didn't realize this was gonna go public. Especially since this guy is good looking. Way to make a fool of yourself in front of the hot, new neighbor. Jesus H. Christ. 

He really needs to think things through before he says — or types — them. 

Oh well. He'll avoid them. That hasn't been hard to do so far, last night's assault on his camera, notwithstanding.

The next morning, Eddie's carefully tiptoeing outside to retrieve his mail, trying not to bust his ass on the ice that just will not melt, three days his fucking ass, when a yellow blur is zooming towards him. It comes to an abrupt stop, ice dust flying, right on the iced over pavement right in front of Eddie's mailbox. It's kinda impressive.

"You're Ed, right?" he asks.

"Eddie, yeah. Steve?" Eddie questions, and so much for not interacting. But the guy nods, giving him a bright smile. They shake hands, and now Eddie's met his neighbors. Anti-social streak over.

"That's me, I can't believe you saw our video from next door!" 

Eddie doesn't think he needs to go into a bunch of details on how it was really Gareth whose algorithm got fed it, so he just nods along, "Small world, indeed." 

"Robin is dying that it went kinda viral." 

"Your wife?" Eddie asks, and Steve nearly falls off his skates laughing. 

"No. No way. Best friend. Platonic with a capital P. Hetero life mates, except for the hetero part." 

Eddie's ears definitely perk up at that. 

"Well, I feel lucky to be on the non-hetero side of the street, then." 

Steve grins, "Oh, you definitely lucked out. Mr. Hollins across the street is straight enough for the whole neighborhood." 

Eddie doesn't know who that is, but laughs anyway.

Then has an idea: 

"So, I have an important question," Eddie says, and Steve just looks at him, curious and expectant. 

"Are those hockey skates or figure skates?" 

Steve holds onto Eddie's mailbox and laughs, head tossed back, hair flying. It's perfect. He's perfect.

"Hockey, but that doesn't mean I don't have moves. I have moves for days. Don't you worry." 

"Moves, you say? Well, let's see 'em, big boy."

Steve smiles, and pushes off into the street. Eddie ribbed him for no coat last night, and now here Eddie is, outside, no coat, freezing his ass off as he's demanding his cute neighbor skate for him. 

He takes out his phone, and starts recording. Even he knows this will be a popular update to their little moment. 

Steve skates backwards, crossing his legs over each other. 

"Can you jump?" Eddie yells. 

"It's not advised!" Steve yells back, "But, since when do I ever listen to advise! Waltz!" 

He does a little jump, and lands on one foot skating backwards. Eddie hoots and hollers, and Steve takes a bow. 

And that's it. He skates over and Eddie can't stop staring at him. 

"You want to come in for coffee? Warm up?" Eddie offers, unwilling to let him just leave. 

"Hell yeah, sure," Steve agrees, and Eddie watches him skate up the driveway, and then stop on the porch to take off his skates. He holds onto Eddie's shoulder to balance himself, and Eddie can feel his warm hand, fingers gripping his skin, through his shirt.

He wants those hands in other places.

Oh, he's in trouble. Big, big trouble.

Steve has on big, thick socks and looks so cozy in his sweater as he follows Eddie in the house. 

"It's nice to have a good neighbor again. The last lady," Steve says, then gives two big thumbs down, blowing a raspberry.

Eddie laughs. He's never been considered the good neighbor before. Not with his shitty van, long hair and too loud music. 

He starts a pot of coffee, and looks in the fridge. He has a few things, and he wants Steve to stay as long as possible. Eddie has some wooing to do.

"You hungry?" 

"I could eat," Steve admits. "I can always eat. Hollow leg, all the sports will do that to you."

And Eddie starts fixing this hot guy, who's certainly way out of his league, no matter which sport, breakfast.

If you want to sign up for a future bingo event or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiebingo and follow along with the fun! 🧥

Notes: I saw a video of someone ice skating on the street, and their neighbor saw it and commented like, "Hey! That's my car in the background!"

Slip Slidin' Away is a Paul Simon song.

Hetero life mates is a Jay & Silent Bob reference.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiebingo.

Novel Movements

Countdown to Midnight Prompt: Eddie Munson | Word Count: 2684 | Rating: T | CW: Medical Emergency (Not Steddie), Language | POV: Eddie | Tags: Gym AU, Modern AU, One-Sided Enemies to Lovers, Misconceived Notions, Platonic Stobin, Steve's Flirting, But Eddie Doesn't Know That, Oblivious Eddie Munson

"Eddie Munson."

His name is said with such sarcasm that Eddie turns his head to look.

Of course.

Just what he needed today.

"Steve Harrington," Eddie mimics in the same mocking tone. He doesn't know very many names in this place, but Steve Harrington has made sure Eddie knew his, even if it was totally against Eddie's will.

Now, Steve's standing there, grinning at him.

He's not going to put up with him. Not today. 

Eddie hates this dude more than anyone else at the gym. And there are lots of gym bros here to choose to loathe. He honestly barely knows him. But Steve Harrington is always prancing around in his little shorts, with his hair stretching towards the sky, like he's not preparing to teach a workout. Eddie isn't even sure what class he teaches. All Eddie knows is that he never seems to work up a sweat during them, as far as he's ever seen.

If he's not standing around taunting Eddie, he's leaning over the front desk, harassing Robin. She's a lesbian, Eddie is sure of it, and if Steve Harrington can't see that and know to leave her alone, he needs his eyes checked. He's always just a step too close to her, and about two steps too close to Eddie.

It's frustrating, infuriating, and Eddie hates him.

He might not sign a second contract with this place. He was asked, as a favor, to take over some classes short-term, and he's enjoyed the extra cash. But it clearly comes with a cost. 

He's gonna kill Gareth for assuring him this was a cool place to work. It's not cool. Well, it's cool. Except for Steve Harrington.

There were more than enough Steve Harringtons in his high school that he doesn't need to work alongside any more of them now.

Eddie looks away, and watches as his own kickboxing students filter in. When he was younger he needed an outlet for his teenage rage, Wayne signed him up for a kickboxing class at the local gym. At first, he hated the idea. Exercise? A sport? No fucking thanks. But he gave it a try. For Wayne. 

It was just him and some weird older dude that really preferred karate in that first class, but Eddie quickly learned to love it. The release. The pounding of his heart. How the stress would seemingly just melt away, one kick, one elbow, at a time. How the resistance, heavy and thick, would ground him. 

It was a good idea. But Wayne's ideas usually are, Eddie damn well knows that. 

And now, years later, he's the one teaching the classes to help others maybe find their love of it, too. Eddie's no sports guy. Not at all. Kickboxing is his main form of exercise. Sure, he'll use the rest of the gym every so often, since it's a perk of working here, but overall, this is his only thing. 

Nothing else has ever appealed to him in this same way. 

Steve saunters down the catwalk, the sun reflecting through the huge pane glass windows, illuminating him as he's bouncing with every step. The motherfucker always gives off main character energy, and that's true today as he glows while Eddie watches him go.

He'd much rather see him going, then coming, that's for fucking sure. He's too goddamn chipper.  

Eddie's already soaked, hair clinging to his neck, so he just as well run for a bit. It's not his favorite thing, not by a long shot, but it's necessary evil sometimes. 

The wall of treadmills is blissfully empty, and he picks one, and gets to work. Feet hitting, over and over, as he counts down the time he needs to spend on this thing. He doesn't enjoy it, but he'll do it. Occasionally.

Then he catches movement beside him.

Jesus H. Christ. 

The place is a ghost town and Steve Harrington still feels the need to set up camp right next to him. 

Eddie ignores him. Pretends he doesn't even realize he's got unwanted company, and pounds along the belt. Eddie can see him in the mirror though, unfortunately, and Steve smiles. He looks graceful while running, of course he does, especially compared to Eddie's heavy stride. 

When Eddie's cooldown begins, Eddie's grateful. He's ready to hit the showers and get the hell out of here.

Steve's still running, like it's easy as can be, even after Eddie's showered and dressed, bag slung over his shoulder. 

He's gotta get home. Tomorrow is his early class day. He's not a morning person, but he conceded to having at least one class a week before nine.

Eddie rolls in, coffee cup in hand. He hears the commotion, the frantic buzz of something is happening echoing through the open gym, bouncing down the catwalk, from room to room, like it's seeking help it just can't quite find.

"Okay, everybody, give me a second. Get a drink, stretch, I'll be back and we'll get started then," Eddie says, telling his class. They are all huddled in groups discussing what might be going on. 

He jogs down the catwalk, then peeks into every class on the other side of the split structure as he passes by, looking for the right one. Most of them are empty. When he turns the corner, he sees a crowd gathered at the end of the hall, and jogs that way. Someone's on the phone with 911, thankfully, because inside Steve Harrington is performing CPR on an older man, while everybody is just standing around watching. 

Eddie ushers them away from the door, and then starts gathering up the rest of the class Steve was teaching. A room filled with senior citizens, all in their matching sweatsuits and white New Balance shoes. Standing around, looking lost.

He's not sure where to move them. He could just send them home, but thinks they need time to unwind, process what they've witnessed, and maybe that's better done here than off somewhere else, possibly alone. He sees Gareth down the hall, and snaps his fingers, waving him over, getting Gareth to take all of the now shaken students to his classroom. No, they probably aren't gonna join in on his cardio drumming class, though Eddie knows he's offered one for seniors in the past.

Then Eddie runs back in, and it's just Steve Harrington, working his ass off on this poor guy.

Eddie counts for him, like he's been trained. 1, 2, 3, over and over and Steve follows the beat of Eddie's cadence until he looks worn out.

He's sweating now. Bangs clinging damp and limp to his forehead, and Eddie hates it. It looks unnatural.

"We'll switch, in 3, 2, 1," Eddie says, and Steve lifts his hands and Eddie takes over. 

"I got…I started, fast. I think, I think, maybe," Steve breathes out in short bursts, clearly exhausted. Out of breath and shaken.

Then, Steve counts for him, while Eddie listens for sirens.

It doesn't take long before he hears them, screaming up the road, and they switch off again as Eddie runs to the main stairs to guide them in. 

The professionals take over, and Eddie stands next to Steve, watching as they shock the guy back into a normal rhythm. Maybe they did it. Maybe Steve did it. Time is the most important thing, and Steve started right away. There's a chance.

Steve gave him a chance.

Hopefully, the guy will be okay.

Hopefully, Steve will be okay.

After they wheel him out, Steve looks around, "My class."

"They're fine. Gareth's got 'em. Probably turning them into the next Ringo's as we speak."

Steve cracks a grin, but it's small, and not all there.

"C'mon," Eddie says, "you can watch me teach my beginner class, if you want, and then we'll go get something to eat. You look like you need it."

After checking in with his class first, Steve agrees, and that's how Steve Harrington, enemy number one, ends up sitting on a fitness ball, watching Eddie prepare to teach his kickboxing for beginners class.

There's an empty bag, and Steve nods towards it when Eddie circles past, "Can I?"

Eddie grins, "You want to?"

Steve nods, and Eddie nods back, helping him get set up. 

He's a natural, Eddie thinks, as he helps him make small adjustments, and then just lets him follow along. 

Maybe he's never done any kickboxing before, but he's clearly athletic. He follows Eddie's instructions well, is very flexible, and definitely not afraid to get to work. For a beginner his kicks are high, strong and confident. He's comfortable behind the bag, as he seems to be getting all his frustrations from the day out on the bag. Good. That's what he's supposed to do in here.

When the hour is up, he's dripping sweat, exhausted.

Steve's wiping his brow with the tail of his shirt, letting Eddie get a glimpse of his hairy belly. Not the right time, not the right person, Eddie has to remind himself. 

"Still want that breakfast?" Eddie asks.

"Hell, yes. I'm starving. That was a workout."

Eddie laughs, and follows him down the stairs and towards the locker room. 

They both shower, and today Eddie's not annoyed that he's in the stall next to him, not like he was on the treadmill. 

It's funny how a moment or two can change your whole perspective that you just assumed was set in stone.

They pass the front desk, scanning their keycards to sign out, and Robin stands, looking at Steve, clearly concerned. She's fidgeting, worrying her hands. 

"Are you okay? Chrissy said–"

"I'm good," he says, interrupting, reassuring her, and Eddie watches them interact. She comes around the desk and throws her arms around his neck, squeezing him tight. 

He hugs her back, "Thanks, Rob. I needed that."

"You sure you're okay? Do you want me to find someone to cover–"

"Eddie's taking me to breakfast," Steve says, and Eddie does not miss the little widening her eyes do before she schools her face back to neutral. 

"Well, that's nice of you, Eddie," she says, and Eddie realizes he's been very, very wrong about whatever their dynamic is. She adores him, obviously. 

They hit the sidewalk, "So, Robin. Is she your…"

"Best friend. She's my best friend."

Eddie nods. That checks out. Steve was annoying her, but on purpose, mutually agreed upon nuisances, without a doubt.

They're best friends. He wasn't trying to pick her up against her will.

That's interesting.

Very interesting.

"Functional fitness," Steve says, sitting across from Eddie in the booth at the diner down the street from the gym, "it's for anybody, but I mainly teach seniors. It helps keep them mobile longer, and that makes me feel like I'm making a difference, you know?"

Eddie didn't know. Eddie had no idea what Steve was doing across the building, and had clearly assumed the worst, instead of the best of him.

He was wrong about Steve Harrington, he's pretty sure.

Steve keeps talking, "It helps them with everyday tasks, you know? Push, pull, carry. That kind of thing. So, I'll get younger participants that are rehabbing injuries, or that have chronic illnesses. But it mainly skews older, for sure. I never expected one of them to go down. I don't have them do novel movements over their hearts or anything, I swear."

Eddie nods. He's not sure what a novel movement is, not really.

"What a novel movement?" he asks.

"Well," Steve says, "it's like, something that you don't do everyday. A change. Shoveling snow. Shoveling snow is a novel movement, and that's why so many people unexpectedly die doing it."

Steve makes the motion for slinging a shovel full of snow over his shoulder, "So, like, I'm not making them do things like that."

"No shoveling snow in the gym, got it," Eddie says, teasing him a little, and Steve chuckles.

"You know what I mean," Steve says.

"I do," Eddie agrees. 

"I've never had that happen before," Steve then says quietly.

"And hopefully never again," Eddie comments. "It's not your fault. It's probably lucky for him he was with you. Best possible outcome if it had to happen."

Steve runs both of his hands down his face.

"Maybe."

Steve Harrington really isn't so bad, he supposes. He clearly cares a whole lot about what happened today.

The server puts down their plates, and they eat in silence, but it isn't uncomfortable.

Then Steve speaks again, "Thanks for helping, I was surprised to see you."

"Why?"

"You always seem so annoyed when I try to chat you up," Steve says.

Eddie can't really deny it. He has been annoyed. 

Wait.

Wait.

Was Steve trying to chat him up, chat him up? Like, flirting? Eddie wasn't reading flirting from him, that's for damn sure. 

Maybe he needs to pay better attention. That's been a common theme in his life, but usually about school, not attractive men that may or may not be interested in him.

"My bark is worse than my bite," Eddie settles on, and offers him a smile.

Steve laughs, his mood finally lifting, just a little, "Well, I hope not."

Holy shit. 

Eddie is such a goddamn idiot.

He's being flirted with. He's been being flirted with, for all the time he's known Steve Harrington.

Steve sits there for a minute, stirring his drink with his straw, knocking the ice around, "Do you think any of them will show up again?"

It takes Eddie a minute to parse his meaning, "Your class? Of course they will."

Steve rolls his shoulders in a non-convinced way.

"Steve. They know how old they are. You didn't do anything wrong."

Eddie doesn't know that. Not for sure. But he believes it to be true. He's just not sure how to prove it to him. Steve clearly cares too much to have done anything risky. 

Instead, Eddie asks, "When's your next class?" 

"Tomorrow."

"For the same people?"

"Some of them. Not everybody comes everyday."

"But some do?" Eddie asks.

"Some do," he confirms. "Usually, anyway. I have regulars. Vincent was a regular."

"Well," Eddie says, "I'll come. Then we'll know at least one person will be there. You took my class, so I should take yours. It's only fair."

Steve laughs, "It's not gonna be nearly as exciting as kickboxing."

Well, Steve's gonna be there. So, that sounds pretty exciting to Eddie.

The next day the class is as full as ever, Eddie suspects. And they're all kind to Steve, patting him on the back for saving their fellow classmate. He's stable in the ICU, and things are looking positive. Steve did good. He did real good.

The only discourse is a few of them trying to figure out how they're going to figure out the scheduling to take both Steve's functional fitness class and Gareth's cardio drumming. Eddie's pretty sure the kid is gonna have to add a senior class to his schedule again now that everyone got a preview of something they may have never tried on their own.

Eddie sidles up to their conversation, "I know Gareth. I'll make sure he schedules it so you can do both."

And just like that, he's won them over as well.

Steve gets started, and Eddie follows along with the routine Steve's leading. There are chairs for some of the less stable to hang onto, when needed, and it's just a thoughtful experience, honestly. Steve's kind, and funny, and they very clearly adore him.

He might not break a sweat, but he's really doing something special here. 

Eddie really hopes he'll get to tell him that later, over dinner, or drinks. Anything he wants, as long as Eddie can make up for lost time and for being a judgmental asshole for no good reason.

Steve grins, and Eddie smiles back as they get in place for the next rep in the set.  

Now, Eddie is certain that he wants to get outside of his comfort zone, outside of the box, when it comes to Steve Harrington.

Novel movements, indeed.

If you want to sign up for a future bingo event or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiebingo and follow along with the fun!

Notes: I didn't know where this was going, but I knew I wanted to use "Eddie Munson" the prompt as his name being said by Steve. So I got as far as, "Eddie hates this dude more than anyone else at the _."

Where? Where are they? I wondered if I could find a randomizer for jobs, and just...see if that would produce an idea. I did, right here, and spun the wheel and got "personal trainer" which isn't exactly where this led, but it got them in the gym, and the rest of the story fleshed itself out from there.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiebingo and @steddiemicrofic.

Mordor It Was

Steddie Microfic January Prompt: New || Countdown to Midnight Prompt: Hurt/Comfort | Word Count: 517 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Post-Bat Attack | POV: Eddie | Tags: S4 Fix-It, Eddie Munson Lives, Steve Harrington Will Make Sure Of It, And Then Not Go Away. Pre-Steddie

The darkness takes hold faster than Eddie imagined. He didn't think one bite, followed by another, and another, could fuck up his whole world this much. But it has, and now he's faced with the reality that he's gonna die here. On the ground, having run in the wrong direction.

Having failed.

And that's something he's gonna have to live with. Just, not for very long. He can feel his pulse hammering, beating in his chest. His neck. As the blood pulses out of him, spilling onto the filthy ground below.

He wanted to do better, wanted to not run away this time, but he still managed to fuck it up. 

Goddamnit.

He's made peace with it, even if Henderson isn't as accepting of what's coming. Maybe it's the blood loss making Eddie feel serene when he should be fighting, panicking.

It doesn't matter.

Steve Harrington is here, fighting for him. 

Eddie kind of wishes he wouldn't. He's floaty, no longer feeling pain, and anything Steve can possibly do will disturb that, surely.

"Eddie, for fuck's sake," Steve's saying, and Eddie tries to open his eyes.

"Eddie!"

His eyes snap open. Steve is hovering, "Good. That's good. I'm going to pick you up. Don't fucking die."

He's definitely gonna die, but he nods. He'll try his best.

Steve tugs on him, and the pain that sears through him is above and beyond anything he's ever felt. He lets out a hoarse scream.

"I know, I'm sorry," Steve says, throwing him over his shoulder like he weighs nothing at all, repeating his previous order: "Don't fucking die."

But Eddie thinks he'll do just that.

When he wakes up, he's in a sterile hospital room. Machines are beeping, whirring, and he thinks this has to be the calm before the storm.

But Steve Harrington's sitting in the chair next to him, looking comfortable, his feet propped up on Eddie's bed, reading a book.

Harrington reads? 

Eddie squints, tries to look closer, to see what he's reading, and realizes it's not a new book. No, it's his own copy of The Return of the King. He recognizes his own paperback's well-worn, dog-eared cover.

"My book," Eddie croaks, and Steve startles so bad, the book goes flying, skittering across the tile floor.

"I'm sorry. Wayne left it. I was bored," he starts, then immediately changes direction, "You're okay, it's okay," already pressing the call button, hammering it with his thumb, as if he's convinced Eddie's gonna drop dead in the next five seconds without help. 

The way the room fills, maybe he will. Steve has backed up against the wall, the book clutched to his chest. 

There's poking, and prodding.

Wayne rushes in, and Steve still stands there.

Finally, the crowd thins. Apparently, he's gonna live.

Steve sits back down.

"So, what's new?" Steve teases, and Eddie laughs. His throat is hoarse, dry. Steve pours water from the pink, plastic pitcher, directing the straw to his mouth. 

Eddie takes the longest, best drink of his life, then says, "Not much. You?"

Steve holds up the book and grins, "Learning about Mordor."

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for these challenges, pop on over to @steddiemicrofic and @steddiebingo and follow along with the fun!

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiebingo.

Midnight Rain

Countdown to Midnight Prompt: Midnight | Word Count: 1062 | Rating: T | CW: Alcohol, Language | POV: Eddie | Tags: Future Fic, Famous Corroded Coffin, Post Break-Up, Eddie's Going Through It, Gareth's a Good Best Friend, Angst, Hopeful Open Ending

Eddie's sprawled on the couch of the fancy hotel, in a room overlooking the city, literally at the top. He tilts back the bottle, downing it. The show tonight was great, another sold out arena. The crowd, the lights, the whole show, electric. 

But now it's midnight, and he's alone as the rain pelts against the floor to ceiling windows.

When they walked back into the hotel, there was a group of friends in the lobby, coming in from their night out, still in their fancy clothes, celebrating a birthday. Soaking wet, but happy.

Singing to Steve. 

A Steve, not his Steve, not that he has any Steve these days.

Just the mention of someone that shares his name was enough to send Eddie into a spiral. It's hard to reflect back on his mistakes. On the life that he gave away. Steve Harrington. Sunshine personified, while Eddie's a storm cloud, midnight rain.

He's haunted.

Eddie decided to chase that fame, while Steve stayed the same. Comfortable where he was, while Eddie could only chase more pain. He was damaged after that spring break, damaged after his mother's death, damaged after it all. His whole life. It's all he knew. He didn't deserve anything better. He wanted to punish himself, then, and forever.

He deserved the pain of the music business meat grinder chewing him up and spitting him out.

Except it didn't. 

They made it. The tide turned. Something good, finally. He got just what he wanted. 

And he's tried to tell himself that it was worth it. Most days he believes it.

Then, he thinks of Steve Harrington.

But Eddie knows Steve never thinks of him, except maybe when he's on MTV, right in his face.

Eddie tries not to think of him either, except for midnights like this. When he's slid into the regret, the sorrow, the pain that he might have sold his soul to the devil, losing the best thing he ever had in the process.

Hawkins was a wasteland. A prison. And Eddie had to go. 

But Steve thought it was home, and wanted to stay. Wanted a life, a family. The house, the two-car garage, the kids. 

Eddie wanted to make a name for himself.

And he fucking did. Eddie Munson is a household name, a brand.

Eddie, himself though. He's hollowed out. The spark, gone.

The door opens, closes, and Gareth is tossing his jacket on the chair. 

"You should have seen her tits–" he starts, then stops, when he sees Eddie, his tone changing immediately, "What happened? Eddie? Talk to me."

"I broke his heart 'cause he was nice," Eddie slurs. 

"Goddamnit," Gareth says, sitting down next to Eddie, prying the little bottle from the mini bar from his hand. There's a half dozen more scattered across the coffee table, already empty.

A menagerie of liquors that are now mixed together, churning in his stomach.

The band can afford it.

But he's not sure he can. 

"I left you alone for an hour," Gareth accuses, but it's not harsh. It's sad. 

"I left him alone for a decade," Eddie counters, scrubbing the back of his hand across his eyes. But he didn't. Steve's not alone. No way. Luckily, these nights are few and far between, but when they steamroll him, it's like he's been hit by a truck.

The last time it was that Christmas card pinned to Wayne's fridge. Steve, a girlfriend and dog. No babies. No ring. Not yet. But smiling wide, looking perfect. Happy.

Wayne hadn't realized what it would do to him. Wayne's never mentioned Steve again, not ever, and if he's still on the Harrington holiday card list, Eddie will never know about it.

"Steve Harrington is fine," Gareth says, as if that's reassuring. Eddie isn't worried that Steve isn't fine. He knows he is. Knows he landed on his feet, is happy out there, somewhere. Probably with his bride, his dog, and now kids. A whole happy life.

There's no other option.

Eddie's unbearable loss was someone else's infinite gain.

"I'm not," Eddie says, reaching for one of the unopened bottles, and Gareth snags it first. 

"You're not what?" 

"Fine." 

"You are fine. Go to bed, it'll be better in the morning," Gareth says, pulling him up off his ass, and stripping him down to his underwear, forcing him onto his side in the bed.

Not his bed, never his own bed. The last time he had one of those, Steve was next him.

At least this one is comfortable, and he nuzzles into the pillow, his stubble scratching against the soft pillowcase.

Gareth's standing there looking at him. 

"'m fine, go." 

"I just need a shower. Then I'll bunk in with you tonight. Go to sleep. I'll be right back."

Eddie nods, and it feels like seconds later when the bed dips. The mattress shifts with the weight of Gareth. 

Gareth slings his arm over Eddie's back, being the big spoon. His wet hair tickling the back of Eddie's neck.

"You're not doing this anymore," Gareth says, and Eddie doesn't have it in him to argue, so he just goes back to sleep.

Eddie has a hangover from hell. His head is throbbing and he refuses to open his eyes for the longest time. Just laying there, regretting last night. Regretting a lot of things. But last night especially.

He hates when he gets that way. Steve is long gone. There's no taking that back. He ruined them, and he has to live with it. 

When he finally swings his legs over the edge of the bed, hanging his head, eyes downcast, he sees that there's a note on the nightstand. Gareth's familiar handwriting scrawled across the hotel stationary:

He said to call him.  S.H. - 765-555-0385

Eddie looks up, and Gareth's on the couch, staring at him. Cup of coffee resting on his knee, his foot braced against the edge of the coffee table. The same table that's now clean, no traces of his bender last night.

"You talked to him?" Eddie croaks, voice dry and scratchy.

Gareth nods. 

"He's…he's still…?" Eddie questions, not even sure of the rest of the question he was starting to ask. He has too many.

Gareth nods again.

Eddie picks up the paper, clutching it tight in his fist.

And he finally feels something he hasn't in years:

Hope.

If you want to sign up for a future bingo event or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiebingo and follow along with the fun!

Notes: Inspired by the Taylor Swift song Midnight Rain.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiebingo.

Black Velvet, If You Please

12 Days of Christmas Prompt: Velvet | Word Count: 1113 | Rating: T | CW: Language | POV: Steve | Tags: Future Fic, Established Relationship, Famous Corroded Coffin, Corroded Coffin Guys, Steve Trolling Eddie, Because He Loves Him

It's tacky. Kitsch. An oversized eyesore. 

And it's perfect. 

Steve couldn't be more pleased. It's exactly what he envisioned and more when he commissioned it.

He watches the artist carefully wrap it, then with their help, Steve picks up one side of the frame, both of them wrangling it carefully so they don't drop it, and carry it out to the waiting car. Gareth's behind the wheel, engine running, like he's the driver of a getaway car. 

He kind of is. Eddie's gonna consider this a crime.

And Steve loves it.

They very carefully place it in the folded down backseat of Gareth's ridiculously huge SUV, which for the first time in history actually came in handy. Steve shakes the artist's hand, and then climbs in the passenger side. 

"Well. Let me see it," Gareth says.

"It's wrapped, you can see it when we get it to the house," Steve explains. He's definitely not unwrapping it until they get it home safely.

Gareth mutters, but agrees, and puts the car into drive. 

Heist over, bounty secured.

Once it's safely hidden away inside the pool house, Steve gently peels back the brown paper and cardboard that has been protecting it.

Gareth leans forward, as if that'll help him get a better look. It's huge. He could see it from across the lawn. 

"Holy shit," Gareth says. 

"I know," Steve laughs, delighted. 

"It takes talent to craft something so magnificently ugly," Gareth says, and Steve agrees. It's ugly because it's on black velvet. That's kind of its thing. But it's not technically bad, nowhere near. It looks just like Eddie, and cost a pretty penny, but Steve definitely got his money's worth. Because the painting is damn good, and exactly what he commissioned.

But utterly and completely ridiculous.

Eddie — on black velvet. 

Christmas is gonna be so good this year.

"Why are you talking all the pictures off the wall?" Eddie asks, laying on the couch, eating popcorn, watching the annual A Christmas Story marathon. He's said he isn't moving today, and Steve is taking advantage of that. Eddie won't ask too many questions, for once in his life. Because if he does, he's scared he'll have to help.

"Gonna dust the frames, maybe change things up," Steve says, clearing off the entire wall behind the couch.

Eddie just shrugs, and goes back to watching the Bumpus hounds wreak havoc on the turkey dinner.

And Steve turns back towards the wall, grinning to himself, as he carefully measures, then drills the new holes in the wall to anchor it. 

It's like a black ops mission. Steve crawls out of bed just after four a.m. and when he gets downstairs, Gareth, Jeff and Goodie are all standing around waiting. 

"Sorry. Overslept. I couldn't set an alarm," Steve whispers, and they just nod, looking tired. He appreciates them all getting up early on Christmas morning just to help pull this off. 

Steve stands on one of the dining room chairs, Jeff on another while the other two hold the bottom of the giant frame.

"This is a ridiculous way to spend money," Goodie grumbles.

"Says the man with so many basses that he needs storage units, plural," Gareth banters back.

"Those are for work," Goodie snaps, a little too loudly.

"Sshh!" Steve shushes.

And in an unprecedented move, they stop fussing and fighting. 

It's a Christmas miracle.

They get it hung, and the holes Steve drilled yesterday actually work perfectly. He was worried his measurements would be off, and then they'd be screwed. Eddie can sleep through anything, but maybe not power tools in the middle of the night.

"He's gonna shit," Jeff says, and Steve giggles. That about sums it up.

They scatter, back to their own homes, their own families, and Steve goes back to bed. 

With no kids, Eddie isn't exactly raring to hop out of bed first thing in the morning, even on Christmas. This will work in their advantage.

Steve stays still in bed, waiting until he hears the first signs of movement from downstairs. They're back. After having Christmas morning with their families, they've all returned to see Eddie's face when he notices this thing for the first time. 

Steve gets up, and heads down, and with help gets brunch started. They always do a full spread, the works, and today is no exception. Bacon, eggs, pancakes, biscuits and gravy, ham steak, hash browns, and every burner and the oven are being fired up all at once.

The kids are all screaming at a dull roar, showing each other their new toys from Santa, and Harrington House feels like a home in a way it never did while Steve was growing up.

He loves it.

They finally hear Eddie moving around upstairs. He's loud, by nature, so there was no chance he was gonna sneak up on them.

Steve carefully wrapped the front of the painting after it was hung, anyway, so even if he did, they wouldn't miss his reaction. 

"He's coming," Gareth says, stating the obvious.

"He's gonna kill you," Goodie says to Steve, "and I'm gonna tell him Gareth helped."

Gareth makes a noise, and Jeff steps in to intervene. They can't have bloodshed before breakfast.

Then Eddie's coming, heavy feet bounding down the stairs, and they all freeze. Waiting for him to go through the living room.

"What the fuck is that?" Eddie hollers, "Steve?!"

Steve just smiles, and throws his tea towel over his shoulder. When he walks through the doorway, everybody following, Eddie is standing in front of the wrapped painting. 

"I don't know. Santa must have brought it," Steve lies, and Eddie turns to look at him.

"What'd you do?"

"Open it and find out," Steve says, and Eddie grabs a corner of the wrapping paper and tears. It doesn't come off in full, but it reveals a hint at what's to come.

"You did not," Eddie says, as he pulls more of the paper loose.

Steve did. He definitely did.

Eddie bends over at the waist and laughs, "I hate you. I hate it."

Then, he stands up, throwing his arms around Steve's neck, "I love it. I love you."

Steve laughs, that's about what he expected. And Eddie pulls away to study it again, as all their friends hoot and holler in the background, riling him up further as they all look at it. 

Eddie, painted in his onstage glory, young and wild, on black velvet.

Steve watches as Eddie reaches out to touch the canvas, "Black velvet. Like I'm Elvis."

Yep. That's exactly what Steve had in mind.

Eddie turns back to grin at Steve, "Has Wayne seen this yet?"

If you want to sign up for a future bingo event or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiebingo and follow along with the fun!

Notes: The "painting" image is from this statue of Eddie that's for sale. I thought I could make it look more like a painting than an actual picture from the show.

The title come from the song Black Velvet by Alannah Myles.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiebingo.

Goddamn, Fuck You, Motherfucker

Countdown to Midnight Prompt: Soulmate | Word Count: 3420 | Rating: E | CW: Language, Sexual Content, Male Titty Fucking | POV: Eddie | Tags: Soulmate AU, College AU, Modern AU, Meet Cute, Or: Meet Ugly, Soulmarks, Invisible Strings, Hijinks Ensue, The Universe Had to Work Overtime on These Two, Matching Each Other's Freak

I actually got assigned the prompt "soulmates" on both the Christmas and New Year's bingo cards. Instead of trying to double-up, I decided to just make them companion pieces. Here are the links to both:

Part 1: Steve POV | Part 2: Eddie POV | Also on AO3

They are intended so they could be read standalone, but I wrote Steve's first, so I say go back and start there if you'd like to read both.

Eddie wears it like a badge of honor. He wishes it was scrawled across his forehead instead of his arm. Goddamn, fuck you, motherfucker! is a damn good soulmark, if he doesn't say so himself.

Feisty. He likes that. 

He hasn't met him, or her, yet. He's not picky, never has been. 

Eddie rolls up his sleeves, and the mark is dark black, prominent. Like the freshest, newest tattoo. And he knows tattoos. He's got some good ones, and some bad ones, but this right here is his favorite and he didn't even get to choose it. It just showed up one day, a promise of who was to come.

They have nice handwriting, whoever they are. He's always thought so. He brushes it with his thumb. He just wonders when he's finally going to get to meet them. 

It wasn't in high school, not during any of the three senior years he had. He kind of thought that was why he kept sticking around, like he was just waiting for them to round a corner.

They never did.

Now, he's a senior in college on schedule to graduate in one go, thank you very much, and still nothing. Nada. Zilch. 

Oh well. It'll happen, or it won't. 

"You about done primping your hair or what?" Jeff yells from down the hall, and Eddie laughs. Jeff wanted to go to the big frat party on campus tonight and Eddie definitely wasn't opposed. He can probably off-load some weed, make a little extra cash, so sure, why not? 

Eddie settles onto the couch where he usually does his business. Right out in the open. He's the one to be feared, not the other way around. Gareth is next to him, yapping about some movie that they watched in his film class last night. Eddie's slightly interested. Playing chess against death for your soul? That does sound like something he'd like.

His arm itches. He looks down to scratch at it, right over his soulmark. This couch had better not have fucking bed bugs.

"Oh shit, Goodie's fighting with some frat boy," Gareth announces, sitting up to lean closer to the action, and Eddie looks up.

And Goodie most certainly is doing just that. 

Goodie just shoved a guy, and Eddie has about two seconds to open his arms to catch the cussing heap of a man as he slides across the coffee table, knocking Eddie's lunch box of inventory, and every goddamn drink, onto the ground. Not cool. 

What the fuck is Goodie doing? Yeah, he got the first cheap shot off, but this guy isn't small, and Goodie's definitely gonna get them all into a brawl if this dude has friends. Still, Eddie can't help but laugh, and he yells at Goodie, "You're a fucking dickhead!"  

He shifts the guy over onto Gareth, who makes an oomph sound like he's a delicate flower, as Eddie hops up to try and get this straightened out before it progresses into an actual problem.

Eddie slides his arm around Goodie's neck, and tucks him into his side in a headlock. Goodie lets him, laughing.

"What the fuck, Goods? You just laid that poor guy out, say you're sorry," Eddie demands, looking back at the pretty, if very confused guy still sitting on Gareth who has his hands up in the air, like he's being accused of a crime.

"I'm sorry," Goodie laughs, hand finding Eddie's side, and Eddie damn well knows he's positioning himself to get out this headlock if he needs to, "It was an instinct! A remnant from high school. Get bullied, push back, that's what you always said!"

Eddie turns back to look at the guy. If he really was picking on Goodie, there's gonna be a problem here, "He was bullying you?"

"I was not!" the guy yells. 

"He stepped on my foot!" Goodie clarifies, and Eddie laughs. Stepping on a foot is not bullying. It's an accident.

"He stepped on your foot, so you shoved him in my lap?" Eddie asks, making sure he's got this right.

Goodie huffs, "Well, I didn't think you'd mind!"

It was a nice gift, but still, Goodie's gonna get them in real trouble one of these days if his temper can't be, well, tempered.

"What's going on here?! I just went to the bathroom, there wasn't even a line!" a girl shows up shouting, hopping mad. "Now Steve is sitting in Gareth's lap? How do you know Gareth? You can't sleep with Gareth!"

She's rambling, hands waving in the air.

How do you know Gareth? Eddie thinks. He's never seen either of these two people in his life.

"I'm fine. We're fine, I think?" the guy says, but he doesn't sound sure about that. Eddie's sure. He's fine. He's definitely fine. In more ways than one. Goodie's not gonna do shit. None of them are. "I'm not sleeping with Gareth?" he adds, and Eddie's also sure about that. Gareth's not into men. 

This was just a misunderstanding. A comedy of errors.

Eddie's life, in a nutshell. 

"Not a question. Absolutely not. No offense," Gareth says, and well, that's his loss. Eddie would definitely take one for the team.

But he can't resist. 

"Look what you've done, now you've made his girlfriend mad," Eddie teases, still not releasing Goodie from his grasp. He deserves a little more torture. 

"Ew, gross. Not my boyfriend," the girl says, like she's absolutely disgusted by this idea. Has she not seen that guy? 

"She's a lesbian," Gareth says. And oh, that'll do it. Mystery solved. If neither of them want to sleep with this guy, Eddie will volunteer.

"Don't be so disgusted," the guy with the good hair and bitchy face complains. "I'm a catch."

That he most certainly is. Eddie caught him, if only briefly, and if he can reel him back in, he'll definitely be doing that.

"Do you still have a dick?" the girl asks, snippy.

"I still have a dick," he confirms quietly, and they're bantering. Eddie likes them. Likes this show he's unexpectedly been invited to watch.

"What she said," Gareth pipes up.

And Eddie definitely likes that this handsome devil has a dick. Eddie would like to be introduced to it, up close and personal, post-haste. 

"Well, we're all glad to hear it," Eddie says, finally letting Goodie stand up. Goodie shrugs, trying to get re-situated, and Eddie pats him on the back.

Jeff comes back, having missed the whole altercation, "What's going on?"

Then it turns out the girl, Robin apparently, knows all of his friends. And that is just an unfair and unjust world. 

Gareth seems determined to get Jeff caught up on all the action he missed, "Oh, Jeff, you picked the exact worst time to wander off. Short story: Goodie pushed this guy—"

"Goodie's here, too?" Robin says, like she hadn't even noticed him.

Gareth keeps talking, but what else is new, he's always talking, "—and get this, turns out, this dude is Eddie's soulmate."

Wait, what?

Eddie turns his head, eyes darting between Gareth and the very pretty man that looks like a deer caught in headlights, "What'd you say? Gareth, why do you think…" he trails off, and then looks down at his arm.

"You're Goddamn, Fuck You, Motherfucker?" Jeff cuts in, beating Eddie to the punch. Well, he might not have asked it like that, but the guy laughs.

"Well, I prefer Steve, but I'll answer to anything, I guess."

Steve. His soulmate's name is Steve.

That's officially his favorite name ever, now.

"Jeff, help me. Eddie tried to take my head off my neck," Goodie complains, and while Jeff will take Goodie's side, he's not gonna come in hot at Eddie, even if Goodie is angling for it.

"You pushed my soulmate. You got off easy, my child," Eddie banters back, circling Goodie, like he's sizing him up. Pushing at his chest, and Goodie laughs, batting his hands away.

"Let me see," Steve says quietly.

Eddie stops in his tracks. He knows exactly what Steve wants to see. Eddie walks over to him, and offers up his forearm:

Goddamn, fuck you, motherfucker!

The words, Steve's words, have finally been said. They're right here on Eddie's skin in Steve's messy cursive scrawl. 

Steve brushes his thumb against Eddie's mark, and Eddie feels a jolt go up his spine, as he goes half-hard in his jeans, immediately.

"Holy shit," Eddie whispers, he's never reacted to anyone like that.

"Uh, yeah," Steve says, and Eddie can't stop staring at him. 

They've got to leave here before he does something embarrassing in front of all his friends and a house party full of strangers.

"Wanna get out of here?" Eddie asks, and Steve is nodding before Eddie's even done asking. 

Back in Eddie's room, Eddie keeps running his hands over every inch of skin he can. All those moles and freckles. He's gorgeous.

This was the man made just for him?

He's never been that lucky a day in his life.

"You said it, and I missed it. Can you say it again?" Eddie asks, hand tangled in Steve's hair, pulling his mouth closer, so he can brush his lips against Steve's.

"Say what?" Steve asks, eyes glazed over. Nobody told Eddie meeting your soulmate would be such horny business. They've been touching, and rubbing all over each other for what has to be hours at this point.

"The words, your words," Eddie says, and Steve has to take Eddie's arm into his hand, looking like he's double-checking what he even said.

"Goddamn, fuck you, motherfucker!" Steve pops off, laughing as he says it, and Eddie giggles with delight, pressing his face into Steve's neck.

"You're a fucking dickhead," Eddie says back with affection, and Steve wraps his arm around Eddie's back and pulls him tight. 

Eddie can't believe he finally met him, and he's this gorgeous. Way out of Eddie's league, but Steve seems just as happy to be here as Eddie is, which, hot fucking damn.

He just wants to touch him everywhere, wants to see every inch of his body, wants to worship him now that he's finally here. 

Stripped down and bare, Eddie's checked him over, and Steve only has the one mark. No other tattoos. Just Eddie's own words, and miles of tan, freckled skin. And the moles. Oh, the moles. Not to mention the thick thatch of chest hair that lights a fire inside Eddie. Eddie rubs his fingers through it, and has the unexpected thought that he wants to come in it, wants to titty fuck him, even if that wouldn't exactly be an easy endeavor. Not to mention, well, maybe not something to suggest on the first date. He doesn't have to let his entire freak flag fly. 

He moves on, but will tuck that pretty mental image somewhere safe in the back of his brain, as he slides his hand down to thumb at Steve's nipple. Steve's hips come up off the bed, and Eddie knows they are going to have so much goddamn fun tonight.

Not just tonight.

Forever.

And isn't that a heady thought?

His fingers go right back to that chest hair, and his hand wanders, getting a handful of his chest, squeezing, and Steve chuckles. 

"Boobie man?" Steve asks, and it's playful, not judgmental at all.

"Fuck," Eddie says, and he wouldn't have especially said that he's a boob man. He likes them just fine, but there's something about Steve's chest hair. Manly, dark and thick in the middle, spreading up and out, that is really pressing buttons he didn't even know he had.

"I'm a pervert, the things I want to do to you will send you running for the hills," Eddie says, and Steve lets out the best sounding laugh in the world.

"Doubtful. Do 'em," Steve says, "I'm no blushing virgin. I've been around the block. I've been around several blocks, and had fun on every corner."

"Fuck me," Eddie says, rubbing his hard cock against Steve's thigh, "how come our blocks never crossed until now? My map was faulty."

Steve giggles, and it's adorable.

"You're gorgeous, and your chest hair is making me think all kinds of thoughts," Eddie admits, leaning back so he can see Steve's face.

By giving Steve space, Steve takes both hands, and presses his pecs together. There's just enough softness, just enough give, that Eddie is sure he could actually do it.

He could slide his dick between them, and feel all that hair hugging the underside of his cock.

Eddie starts fisting his own cock, watching. Wanting.

Their first sexual encounter cannot be him fucking Steve's chest. He's weird, and proud of it, but maybe not that weird.

Instead he slides down the bed, and admires Steve's impressive cock as it lays against his belly, hard and leaking. Steve flexes, making it bounce, and Eddie laughs, delighted. Can he already love him? Because he thinks he already loves him.

Eddie slides his fingers between Steve's cock and his belly, guiding it upwards, rubbing the head against his bottom lip, tongue sneaking out to taste, and then he sinks down, taking him fully into his mouth. He's a mouthful, more than, but Eddie's no quitter. Eddie moans, and Steve echoes him, as Eddie uses his free hand to grip Steve's hip.

He wants to blow him, wants to roll him over and eat him out until he cries and begs for Eddie's cock. He wants it all, wants everything, and thinks he just might get it.

Eddie's never had sex like this before. And he's had some damn good sex. This just feels like a whole different level of attraction, of connection.

Soulmates. 

He thought he knew, but he really didn't.

Steve's in his lap, rocking back and forth on his cock, working him over like a goddamn pro. Arms wrapped around Eddie's neck, mouths locked together, sharing breath, unwilling to let one another go. 

He was right. He is feisty. Just not in the way Eddie had always expected. 

Eddie's getting close, and he snakes a hand between them, fisting Steve's cock, hoping he'll be able to to take him over the edge right along with him. 

"Eddie," Steve breathes against his mouth, a warning, and Eddie nods up and down, encouraging him.

"Do it, god, do it. Come," Eddie demands, and Steve does. Warmth hitting Eddie's hand, his belly, as Steve tightens down on Eddie's cock, pulsing with his orgasm.

Eddie pushes up into him, still chasing his own, when Steve unceremoniously slides up and off him. He's bewildered, stunned for the heartbeat it takes Steve to flop onto his back, hands pressing the sides of his chest together, an offer.

Eddie strips off the condom, slides his thighs along Steve's ribs, and leans forward, bracing himself against the headboard. Slick cock pressing into Steve's skin, the slight roughness of the chest hair a new sensation, and he thrusts. He can't see Steve's face, not from this angle, but the idea alone is enough to get him across the finish line, and he slides back, a downstroke, coming with a long, hard groan. Fuck. That was something. Too quick, but so fucking filthy that he couldn't hang on a second longer.

He pants, and scoots back down to Steve's waist. Admiring his handiwork. Come is stuck in Steve's chest hair, and some shot upwards, hitting the underside of Steve's chin, pooling in the hollow of his neck.

"Fuck, we are meant to fucking be," Eddie says, rubbing his thumb through the mess, darkening his chest hair even further, matting it together.

Steve laughs, "I'm gonna need a shower, but goddamn, you were worth the wait. I've been waiting for somebody to match my freak."

Eddie laughs, delighted and wowed by this man under him. His fucking soulmate. He moans, and buries his face in Steve's neck as they cling to each other, spreading the mess further. They're both gonna need showers, and that's totally fine with Eddie. Worth it.

And this was just the first time. First times have no business ever being that good, and Eddie presses his mouth to Steve's sweaty neck, offering him open-mouthed kisses.

Offering Steve himself, his love, his whole future if Steve is willing to take it.

All of his freak, and more.

Morning comes too soon, and Steve slides out of bed to get dressed. Eddie watches as Steve pushes down his sleeves, and then changes his mind, pushing them back up towards his elbows. 

"It's supposed to be sunny and seventy, definitely up," Eddie chimes in, hands tucked behind his head, just enjoying the free show.

Steve smiles, "Yeah. Just, habit. I've hidden my mark for so long it's gonna take some time to break the habit."

"You hid it? Why?"

"Well, you're a fucking dickhead didn't seem wildly romantic. I had no idea it wouldn't be directed at me," Steve says, and oh, Eddie never thought of that.

Eddie gets out of bed, and wraps his arms around Steve's middle, squeezing him tight, "I'd never. But I get it. I thought mine was towards me, too. But I was wearing it like a badge of honor. Fucking Goodie," Eddie teases.

Steve grins, "He finally introduced us. I can't be too mad at him."

And Eddie isn't mad either, he owes Goodie several beers. A new pair of shoes if he's still salty that his toe got stepped on. Whatever he wants, within reason.

"Do you really have to go to class?" Eddie asks.

"At least my first one. Six more weeks to go."

"Yeah, yeah. Same boat. You anywhere near the union for lunch?" Eddie asks, hopeful.

"Yes. Meet you there at twelve-twenty?" Steve asks, and Eddie nods. That works. Eddie doesn't want to take his hands off of him, doesn't want to let him out of his sight, like he might disappear, even if that's irrational. They've exchanged numbers. Apparently all of Eddie's friends know Steve's best friend. Steve's not going anywhere. 

"Here," Eddie says, walking over and rummaging through his closet, pulling out a black t-shirt, "wear this. Nowhere to hide."

He hands over the shirt, and watches as Steve tugs off his Henley, tossing it onto Eddie's bed, and then slips the new shirt over his head. Corroded Coffin emblazoned across his chest, and Eddie grins. He's got a soulmate.

He's got Steve. 

"Look at you," Eddie says.

Steve looks down at his chest, "Oh, my friend Chrissy talks about this band."

"You know Chrissy?" Eddie asks, because Jesus H. Christ, of course Steve does. The universe was working overtime to get them connected, but for some reason they were just stumbling around the same campus like fools, not making it happen, for four years.

"You know Chrissy?" Steve repeats. "I've been meaning to introduce her to Robin, I think they'd hit it off. We should all do something. Goodie can push me down again, or whatever it is that you all do for fun."

Eddie tosses his head back and laughs, "He's not usually that aggressive. He must have been possessed by our profane soulmarks."

Steve smiles at him, and it makes his heart flip in his chest. How did he get this lucky? Steve Harrington is perfect. He couldn't have picked better if given the choice. He's really something else.

"The universe thought we needed a shove, literally."

Eddie grins. Definitely worked. Job well done.

"Full transparency? That's our band," Eddie says, a smile tugging at his lips as he touches the logo on Steve's chest, "and we have a slot at The Cave on Friday."

"Wouldn't miss it," Steve says, leaning forward to kiss him one more time. Eddie kisses him back before Steve really has to leave, the door closing softly behind him.

Steve may have had to go, but Eddie'll see him later, and they'll pick this right back up where they left off.

Eddie picks Steve's discarded Henley up off the bed. Maybe he'll wear this today. He doesn't need to wear his mark like a badge of honor anymore. He won the whole goddamn lottery, because Eddie's finally met his match, his soulmate, and Steve is more than he could have ever hoped for. He can't wait to see what the future brings for them. 

He pictures an entire life shared between Mr. You're A Fucking Dickhead and Mr. Goddamn, Fuck You, Motherfucker.

And Eddie laughs, absolutely delighted by the prospect. 

He can't wait.

Read Steve's POV here.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiebingo and follow along with the fun! 💞

Notes: I don't think I've written soulmates before, so I'm not sure if I've stayed with the trope or veered into left field, but I know I had fun with this one. I loved the idea that their first words in each other's presence would be something so unhinged, lol. And Goodie shall never let either of them forget that their soulmarks were spoken to him not each other.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiebingo.

Fool Me Twice, I'll Bring You Down

12 Days of Christmas Prompt: Snow | Word Count: 2398 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Mentions of Upside Down Trauma | POV: Eddie | Tags: Future Fic, Post Break-Up, Self-Sabotaging Eddie Munson, Good Uncle Wayne Munson, Reconnecting, Olive Branches, Second Chances, Always the Right Guy, Finally the Right Time, Hopeful Ending

Eddie toes at the dirty snow under the sole of his boot. Nudging out a shallow hole in the mostly frozen dirt, and then filling it back in with his heel. Stamping it down, and starting the process all over again. Once he's done dragging his foot through the slush, he swings the axe one more time, splitting another log for firewood.

His arms, his shoulders, his back, are all aching. But he needs to get this done before the winter storm rolls in. They're looking at more snow, and a lot of it.

It's busy work. He doesn't have anywhere to be, or anyone to be with, and that's been a hard truth to accept. He's chilled to the bone, and this has been a long, never-ending winter of his own making.

Steve left without a sound, didn't linger, and there was nothing Eddie could do that would have made him stay. What once worked, now didn't, and Eddie's been left alone pining for what once was. It's his own fault, and he knows that. He could have tried harder, could have been easier to live with.

But he wasn't, so he hasn't heard from Steve since the day he packed up and drove away. He gave up first, and Steve gave up last, after they both fought so hard to make it work. To pull Eddie out of the hole he was hellbent on digging for himself, until the moment it wasn't worth it any longer.

Hopeless.

Eddie doesn't blame him for going, for throwing in the towel on a lost cause. It had a been a valiant effort. Steve Harrington always tried so fucking hard to save everyone, and Eddie just didn't want to be saved.

Until he did. And then it was too late.

Steve was already gone.

That realization was unbearable, and Eddie closed himself off from everyone else, besides Wayne, who packed up his shit from Hawkins and moved to the woods with Eddie.

Their home here would be peaceful, if peace was even remotely on the menu for him. It's not, not without Steve, but he's learned to accept that long ago. It is what it is, and all that. He has Wayne, and he has his solitude, which he's greatly come to appreciate. 

It's enough. It has to be.

It's snowing and blowing, as advertised, and Eddie stands at the window and watches it accumulate. Through the falling snow, Eddie catches sight of headlights, weaving down the road in the distance. Some poor asshole definitely took a wrong turn, and is now fighting the shitty roads out this way for no reason. If Eddie was an axe murderer, and believe him, he's considered that as a viable option at times, this would be the opening act of the horror film that awaits. Alas, he's just Eddie. A recluse. A hermit, living down a road with his uncle that nobody else should be on, especially not in this weather, venturing further and further off the beaten path.

Two confirmed bachelors, except. Well.

Eddie turns the silver band on his finger. He said he would until the end. And he's still here, so it is, too. Even if Steve isn't.

He keeps expecting the lights to turn around, to realize they've made a mistake, and backtrack.

They don't. Somebody's not only lost, they're apparently dumb, too, and they better not get stuck because he's not in the mood to go dig anyone out in this weather.

The lights turn up the last stretch of road to the dead end, shining towards the house, and Eddie heaves a sigh.

"Who the hell is that?" Wayne asks from his chair, as the headlights glide across the living room wall.

"Some lost idiot," Eddie says, and reaches for his coat. He'll get them turned around, so they can be left the fuck alone. They live out in the middle of nowhere for a goddamn reason.

The car slowly crunches up the driveway, and Eddie opens the front door and stands on the step. Shielding his eyes from the blinding lights.

Eddie waits until the car door finally opens, and a figure he can't make out due to the fucking headlights, stands up in the open door.

Asshole.

"Seven miles back to the highway!" Eddie yells, only taking his hand away from shielding his eyes for long enough to point back towards the dirt road. He's hoping they take the fucking hint. There's room enough to pop a u-ey in the driveway, and then be back on their merry way.

But there's silence, and for a fraction of a moment, Eddie worries that maybe he's the one at the beginning of a horror film, not the lost sheep in the car.

"It's me." 

Fuck.

Maybe a serial killer would be easier to face.

His voice is tentative, but it's Steve. There's no way it isn't. 

"You're blinding me," Eddie says, and then feels stupid about it. Like, that's what he really needs to tell Steve after all this time and distance? 

"Shit, sorry," Steve says, and leans back in the car, killing the lights.

Eddie still can't see him well, but he can at least make out his silhouette, and it's definitely Steve. He's not imagining things. Steve's here, standing in the snow.

"Can we talk?" Steve asks, as if there'd be any answer other than please.

"Yeah, c'mon in," Eddie says, and nods towards the house. Wayne's gonna give him shit for this, but what the fuck is he supposed to do? Run Steve off a second time?

He at least owes Steve the courtesy to hear him out, no matter what Steve might have to say.

Eddie kind of expects divorce papers. 

Steve's probably moved on, found someone else, and wants to legally sever their ties. Eddie wouldn't blame him. It's been a handful of years now. They can't stay in this limbo forever.

Eddie holds open the door, and Steve stamps his boots, shaking the snow loose, before he steps inside. Wayne's looking at them, face schooled totally neutral.

At least, that's what Eddie interpreted it as.

He was wrong, as per usual.

"Hey, kid. Long time no see," Wayne says, and Steve makes a noise that sounds wounded. Eddie thinks Steve hadn't expected Wayne, and Steve doesn't even take off his coat before he's leaning down to Wayne, pressing against his chest, hugging him tight as Wayne stays seated in his recliner. 

Eddie shifts his weight back and forth from foot to foot. What's he supposed to do now? Steve's here. And Eddie's been set adrift once again.

He's not mad at Steve, he's longed for him since the day he left, but Eddie can't blame him. Eddie knows he got harder and harder to live with over the years. Damaged, and fucking haunted. Steve tried. Steve tried so hard, and in the end, Eddie wouldn't let him try any longer.

He pushed, and pushed, until Steve left.

And Eddie stayed. 

Missing him, missing them, missing the full fucking life that he threw away. A storm cloud that took too long to lift, that only lessened once Wayne turned up to knock some sense into him.

He got better, got himself right, but by then, it was too late.

Steve was already gone.

When Steve rights himself, pulling away from Wayne, he follows Eddie through the house to the bedroom, and Eddie's not sure that's the place to do this, but it's pretty much the only option for any sort of privacy at all. 

Eddie closes the door behind them, and then just stands there. Looking at Steve, eyes raking over him, taking him in. If this is the last time, he wants a real good look. He's missed him.

It's like they've struck a deal, neither of them willing to speak, neither willing to break the silence that has engulfed them, finally snuffing out the yelling, the fighting like dogs in the summer sun. 

Steve reaches into his back pocket, and there is a folded over manilla envelope. He tries to smooth it out, then hands it over. It's paperwork, definitely. And Eddie doesn't want to open it, doesn't want this to be over. Steve was his chosen family, and he's not ready for that to be over for good. He's fucking self-saboteur, and the only one to blame here.

So, he pulls up the fastener, opening the brad holding it closed, and pulls out the stack of paper. 

It's not divorce papers. It's the deed to the house. 

Steve's signed in all the flagged places.

"You should have it," Steve finally says.

"But it's ours," Eddie blurts out.

And it is. They built it into the home that it is, together. It was their dream, not Eddie's dream. He can't just take it, not for good. He's kept care of it, though, hoping someday Steve would want to come back and see it. 

See him. 

Even if Eddie doesn't think he actually deserves Steve being here again.

The hint of a frown crosses Steve's mouth, "Is it, though?"

It is. 

"I've always thought so," Eddie says quietly, head bowed as if he's confessing something. Maybe he is, even if he assumed Steve would already know that. He feels pretty shitty that Steve doesn't, even after everything that's happened between them, but that doesn't change the facts, "It's our home."

Steve sits on the edge of the bed with a flop, the old box springs creaking under him.

"Well, what are we gonna do now, then?" Steve asks.

And isn't that just the million dollar question?

Eddie doesn't have an answer, so Steve fills the silence.

"I'm glad Wayne's here with you. I've been worried."

"About me, or him?" Eddie asks.

"Both, but him. His number was disconnected the last time I called and I got scared that something happened and you didn't tell me."

Eddie wants to say he would have, but he doesn't know if that's true. There's a good chance he wouldn't have been brave enough to reach out, even in a time he would have needed him the most. Maybe, especially not then. Steve's handled with care enough of his sadness and trauma to last a lifetime.

"He's fine. We're fine. Two old Boo Radleys."

Steve furrows his brow. He doesn't get the reference, so Eddie clarifies, "Two shut-ins."

There was a time he'd have poked at him, demanded to know how he hadn't read To Kill a Mockingbird, or at least seen the movie, but those days have long passed. He's grown up since then, learned the hard truths of the world, much like Scout did. He got to see the not-so-secret courts of men's hearts up close and personal in Hawkins.

Steve nods at that, and just looks so fucking sad that this is where Eddie ended up. Eddie's a little fucking sad about it, too.

But it is what it is, life is just that way sometimes.

Eddie sits on the bed next to him. 

"I've missed you," Eddie says, "I fucked it all up. And it wasn't fair to you. But I am sorry. For everything. If I could take it back, I would."

It's like time slows down, and then speeds back up, as Steve's hands rake through Eddie's hair, his fingers scratching against Eddie's scalp as he pulls him closer, kissing him like they haven't in a long fucking time. With passion, and fire, and a love that never died despite everything Eddie did to try and snuff it out to punish himself for things that were always out of his control.

When they finally pull away, Steve laughs, delighted as he flops back onto his back. He picks up Eddie's hand in his own, his thumb brushing against Eddie's wedding band, with soft little strokes.

"It's like you're you again. Almost. Sadder, though. But I never thought I'd see you again, if I did, you know, see you," Steve says, slinging his arm over his eyes. 

Eddie knows what he means.

He is a little more subdued now, whether with age, or just experience that the world isn't always something to waste energy being loud about. Not if you can't change it. And Eddie Munson's never been able to change anything.

But, maybe. Just maybe, he can change this. 

Eddie lays back beside him, just enjoying the warmth his body is putting off, just like he always did, in their best days.

"I've worked through some of my shit," Eddie admits, "Wayne helped."

Steve uncovers his eyes, and they are shiny, but happy, "He always helps."

Eddie nods, grinning, "That he does."

And then they just lay in the silence. There'll be a lot to discuss, a lot of decisions to be made. But Eddie is just going to enjoy this for what it is, at this exact moment. A chance. 

He has a chance. 

A chance to try to make it right, to show he'll be in it, if Steve will just let him. 

A chance to prove he loves him, still. Always.

But all that can wait. They've got nowhere to go, and might not for days. Because Steve's gonna get snowed in, but Eddie suspects Steve knew that when he headed out all this way. 

It was gonna end between them, in either a showdown where they were fit to be tied, or with this, perhaps. A quiet hopefulness that neither of them can dare trust. Not yet.

There is one order of business they better attend to first, though.

"Does Robin know you're here?" Eddie asks, because if she doesn't, Steve had better check in.

"Of course she does," Steve chuckles, "you think I do anything without her express written permission?"

Eddie laughs. He's missed her, too.

"We're gonna get a lot of snow," Eddie comments, "you might have to stay a while."

Steve turns his head, and catches Eddie's eyes, "That's the plan."

"Good," Eddie says, "that's good."

"But, fool me twice and I'll bring you down."

Eddie leans close, so close, "Deal. I'll provide the shovel."

"Shovel?" Steve teases, "I saw a perfectly good axe out there."

Eddie laughs, chin against Steve's broad shoulder, breathing in the smell of him, pressing the tip of his nose to Steve's warm neck.

He has a chance, and he's not about to fuck that up. 

Not again.

If you want to sign up for a future bingo event or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiebingo and follow along with the fun! ❄️

Notes: This was heavily influenced by the song Thistle by Breech. Haven't heard of it? You probably didn't watch Dawson's Creek as it originally aired. 🤣 (Like basically everything else, it was replaced with another song for DVD/streaming. Boo. Hiss.)

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiebingo.

You're a Fucking Dickhead

12 Days of Christmas Prompt: Soulmate | Word Count: 1894 | Rating: T | CW: Language | POV: Steve | Tags: Soulmate AU, College AU, Modern AU, Meet Cute, Or: Meet Ugly, Soulmarks, Invisible Strings, Hijinks Ensue, The Universe Had to Work Overtime on These Two

I actually got assigned the prompt "soulmates" on both of my Christmas and New Year's bingo cards. Instead of trying to double-up, I decided to just make them companion pieces. Here are the links to both:

Part 1: Steve POV | Part 2: Eddie POV | Also on AO3

They are intended so they could be read standalone, but I wrote Steve's first, so I suggest starting here if you want to read both.

Steve pushes his sleeves up, realizes, and pushes them right back down despite it being sweltering in this auditorium. As much as he prides himself on being confident in his own skin, on being exactly who he is, no apologies, this little three inch line of text scrawled on his arm is the bane of his whole existence. He hates it. 

Robin glances over at him, and gives him a raised eyebrow. Yeah, yeah. He had promised he would cut it out once they were at college, but fuck, old habits die hard. He's only a senior. Maybe he'll go to grad school and he can stop hiding his arm then. Plenty of time.

"I know," he hisses at her, and he's told himself over and over that someday he won't care. That someday he'll just let it all hang out. So what if his so called soulmate is out there somewhere waiting to meet him, only to say: You're a fucking dickhead!

Yeah, sign him up for that. Not.

No matter who it is, Steve isn't interested. He's going tell them to fuck right off. If he ever meets them. He hasn't yet, and he's not exactly frothing at the bit to do it soon.

He focuses back on the professor, and he's almost made it through undergrad. Six more weeks. He can do this.

"A frat party? Steve. No," Robin says, and Steve is just nodding.

"Steve, yes," he says, smiling wide. "We'll get some bathtub punch, maybe bum a joint. C'mon. Maybe we'll even get laid."

"Dingus, the odds of me getting laid at a frat party are negative seventy-five thousand."

"Then let me get laid. Rob, please. For me," and he gives her the eyes. They always work, and he spins around after she reluctantly nods her consent to his plan. 

"You've gotten laid plenty," she argues.

"That's patently untrue," he lies. "I'm in a dry spell."

"It's been four days."

"It gets mighty cold at night," he says, and she laughs and pushes him, but she'll go.

He might not have good soulmate prospects, but he does have the best best friend a guy could ask for, and his charm, which he's applied liberally all up and down the eastern seaboard.

So, yeah. Tonight is gonna be awesome, he just knows it.

Tonight is not awesome, Steve thinks, as he's shoved so hard he stumbles. The guy is bigger than him, but honestly just caught him off guard. Steve doesn't know what the fuck his problem is. It's a party. They're supposed to be having fun. But this? This is not fun.

All Steve did is walk by, and now he's fucking stumbling like he's drunk, which unfortunately he is not since he hasn't even had one drink yet, but his balance is already a distant memory. He catches his shin on the edge of a coffee table, and that really fucking smarts. Then, he's going down. There's no other possibility. No way to catch himself.

"Goddamn, fuck you, motherfucker!" Steve shouts, sliding over the table on his knees, tipping over cups and bottles, knocking everything in his path off to the hardwood floor with a clatter, before finally coming to a stop with a thud on top of the person sitting on the couch. That's fucking embarrassing.

"You're a fucking dickhead!" The guy under him laughs while patting Steve's back, and it sounds amused, not angry. But those words. Those are his words. Steve freezes. But not for long, because he's unceremoniously being shifted and dumped into the lap of the guy on the right. 

Big blue eyes, and a mop of curls, looking down at him, asking, "What'd you say?"

"Huh?" Steve asks, trying to right himself.

Oh. The guy — his soulmate? — wasn't talking to him. He was talking to the guy who shoved him.

"What did you say when you literally fell in Eddie's lap?" he asks.

Eddie. His soulmate's name is Eddie. Steve has no fucking clue what he said, but he's guessing that whatever it is, it's scrawled somewhere on Eddie's body and his friend here knows that. 

Steve's ignoring ol' blue eyes, and trying to turn to get another glimpse of Eddie, to see what he's doing, to see if he's gonna fight for his honor or some shit.

He's not fighting, but he does have the guy in a headlock. But they're both laughing. What the fuck is happening right now?

"What the fuck, Goods? You just laid that poor guy out, say you're sorry," Eddie is telling the dude who shoved him. Who looks far less scary with his head tucked under Eddie's armpit. He's all red-faced and curly-headed, squirming, but looking amused. 

"I'm sorry," the shover laughs out, and Steve is still trying to slide off the other guy's lap. "It was an instinct! A remnant from high school. Get bullied, push back, that's what you always said!"

His supposed soulmate knows the asshole that knocked him clean off his feet for no good reason? Well, that's just great. Very promising. He knew he was in for a bad time with the words alone, and now he's been knocked clean off his feet, and not in a good way.

"He was bullying you?" Eddie asks, face looking serious.

"I was not!" Steve says. He's never even seen this guy before. He walked by him in the crowded room, and then was shoved.

"He stepped on my foot!" 

Eddie laughs, "He stepped on your foot, so you shoved him in my lap?"

"Well, I didn't think you'd mind!"

"What's going on here?! I just went to the bathroom, there wasn't even a line!" Robin screeches. "Now Steve is sitting in Gareth's lap? How do you know Gareth? You can't sleep with Gareth!" Robin is rambling, talking with her hands, flailing and fluttering with all her might. 

How do you know Gareth? Steve thinks. 

She's all worked up. Well, she can join the club.

"I'm fine. We're fine, I think? I'm not sleeping with Gareth?" Steve says, but his voice trails upward, unsure. 

"Not a question. Absolutely not. No offense," Gareth says, and well, that's kinda rude.

"Look what you've done, now you've made his girlfriend mad," Eddie says, still not releasing the guy who caused this whole situation. 

"Ew, gross. Not my boyfriend," Robin says, way too fast. 

"She's a lesbian," Gareth says, and Steve wants to wheel on him. Gareth better not have a problem with that, but Steve can only fight one battle at a time, and Robin offending him always takes precedence.

"Don't be so disgusted," Steve complains, and then turns to look back at Gareth, "Same for you. I'm a catch."

"Do you still have a dick?" Robin asks, her go-to response in this situation. He knows the script.

"What she said," Gareth adds.

"I still have a dick," he confirms quietly.

"Well, we're all glad to hear it," Eddie says, finally letting his friend go. 

Another guy walks up, looks between all of them, "What's going on?"

"Jeff?" Robin questions.

Robin knows Jeff? Who's Jeff?

"Hey, Robin," Jeff says

"How do you know Jeff and Gareth?" Steve asks, whoever the fuck they are, but he's being ignored.

 "Oh, Jeff, you picked the exact worst time to wander off. Short story: Goodie pushed this guy—"

"Goodie's here, too?" Robin interrupts.

Gareth keeps talking, "—and get this, turns out, this dude is Eddie's soulmate."

Eddie turns his head, "What'd you say? Gareth, why do you think…" he trails off, and then looks down at his arm.

"You're Goddamn, Fuck You, Motherfucker?" Jeff asks, as if that's Steve's legal name.

Steve laughs, "Well, I prefer Steve, but I'll answer to anything, I guess."

Everybody laughs.

"Jeff, help me. Eddie tried to take my head off my neck," Goodie complains. Which, honestly, the nerve. He started this whole fiasco. Steve was minding his own goddamn business.

"You pushed my soulmate. You got off easy, my child," Eddie says, circling Goodie, clearly teasing him. 

Eddie. Gareth. Goodie. Jeff. Steve's putting these names to faces, because he's afraid it might all be important later. Maybe forever. 

These people are a circus and a rodeo all rolled into one. 

He feels sick to his stomach. In a good way? A bad way? He isn't sure. All this time, and he still somehow wasn't ready for it. This scenario wasn't even in his wildest of dreamed up scenarios. Yeah, he got pushed. But his proposed soulmate doesn't appear to be a total dickhead either. 

"Let me see," Steve says quietly, a demand more than a question, and Eddie stops what he was doing, stepping closer. His arm is right out there, uncovered, for all the world to see. And that's for sure his own handwriting.

Goddamn, fuck you, motherfucker!

Plain as day.

Steve reaches out and brushes his thumb against Eddie's mark, and suddenly he feels like he's riding lightning.

"Holy shit," Eddie says.

"Uh, yeah," Steve answers. 

"Wanna get out of here?" Eddie asks, and Steve is nodding before Eddie's finished asking. 

His body feels warm.

But Robin, "I'm with Robin. I need to-"

"Nope, dingus. Go. I'll ride with Jeff. Or Gareth. Or Goodie," she says. "I can take my pick. I know them all."

"How do you know Jeff, Gareth and Goodie?" Steve asks, because he feels like he's losing his mind.

Jeff waves. So the other two follow suit.

"Jeff and I have had like a thousand classes together," Robin says, and Jeff is nodding in agreement. "We studied together all last year. Do you not recall all the, 'I'm going to study at Jeff's' that I said, week after week?"

Steve shakes his head. He does not.

"You were in our house! All the time!" Eddie says, pointing at Robin. "I have seen you before! I knew you looked familiar!" 

"Yeah, obviously," she says, rolling her eyes, "Anyway. Gareth's in my film class. And Goodie's in the marching band."

Steve feels like he's going insane. He got pushed by a marching band geek? Then there's Eddie, his soulmate, and apparently Robin's just been running in Eddie's whole goddamn circle without his knowledge. What? How?

He can't. Not right now. He needs to process this later. Maybe with a flow chart pointing out all the invisible strings that have been forming, trying to connect them.

"You'll get her home safe?" Steve asks, because that's all that matters.

"They will," Eddie assures, and puts his palm in the middle of Steve's back. Steve can feel it even through his shirt.

Steve looks back at Robin, slightly helpless. 

She takes a step forward, "If you don't-"

"I do," he interrupts, "I do."

He really does.

"Gross, go then," she says, holding up her hands, and when Eddie takes a step forward to lead them out, he goes.

Steve sneaks looks at Eddie as they make their way through the crowded house. He's pretty. Not what he'd expected, not that he'd ever really had a good mental picture of what his soulmate might look like. He'd been too focused on the harsh words, that he hadn't tried to form them into a real person.

Eddie's real.

He's so fucking real.

They step out into the night, and Eddie stops on the sidewalk, meeting Steve's eyes, smiling wide, "Your place or mine?"

Read Eddie's POV next.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiebingo and follow along with the fun! 💞

Notes: I don't think I've written soulmates before, so I'm not sure if I've stayed with the trope or veered into left field, but I know I had fun with this one. I loved the idea that their first words in each other's presence would be something so unhinged, lol. And Goodie shall never let either of them forget that their soulmarks were spoken to him not each other.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiebingo and @steddiesongfics.

When I Think About Seventeen

Countdown to Midnight Prompt: Ball | Steddie Song Fics Prompt: New (Springsteen by Eric Church) | Word Count: 2795 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Sexual Innuendo | POV: Eddie | Tags: Baseball, Big Dreams, Canon Divergent Interactions: Childhood, Post-S1, Post-S4, Time Skips, Eddie Munson Lives, Crossing Paths Over The Years, Acquaintances to Friends to Lovers

Also right here on ao3.

I bumped into you by happenstance, You probably wouldn't even know who I am, But if I whispered your name, I bet, Still be a spark, And back when I was gasoline, And this old tattoo had brand new ink - Springsteen, Eric Church

1974

Eddie wiggles his four fingers, calling the pitch from behind the plate. A change-up. Harrington's the only pitcher on their team that even has different pitches. With everyone else, Eddie just needs to try and catch whatever wild throw comes free of their hand as they pretend they did it on purpose. 

Not Steve Harrington, though. Steve can place the ball, and it's no different today when the championship is on the line.

Steve nods, accepting the call Eddie's made.

The final pitch hits Eddie's mitt, a strike, the third out. 

It's over, the Hawkins Hawks are finally done for the summer.

And Eddie's done forever.

The rest of the team is jumping all over Steve Harrington on the mound, Tommy Hagan hanging off him, as they all wait for their little gold trophies, and Eddie waddles back to the dugout. He starts stripping off his catcher's gear. The leg guards, and the chest pad. It's all borrowed, not his own, and never quite fit perfectly, anyway.

He lays it in the corner, up next to the chain link fence near the bats. Coach will take it, get back where it needs to go.

Because he's done.

Eddie promised Wayne he'd make it through the season, and he did that. 

But now he's done.

He doesn't like these boys, or this sport, not anymore. And he's not going to force himself to play next year.

Or ever again, for that matter.

He exits the dugout, not sticking around for the trophy presentation or the group picture. 

Wayne doesn't try to make him, just puts an arm around his shoulders as they walk towards his truck. 

"Proud of you, kid. You did it," Wayne says.

Eddie did do it, and now he'll never have to do it again.

1984

Someone is playing Springsteen. Loudly. Eddie doesn't recognize the songs, but the voice, definitely. School's out for summer. Eddie should be done for good, but he failed his senior year and now he's moping about it. 

There shouldn't be anybody at the school right now. He's only here because he had a meeting at the picnic table earlier, and just stayed to draw some. But now Eddie stands near the edge of the woods, and watches Steve Harrington practicing all by himself. He's pitching into a net, and then having to collect all the baseballs himself before starting the whole process over again.

This goes on for several rounds, until Eddie finally can't take it. He's too nosey. 

"What are you doing?" Eddie hollers, and Steve jumps, clearly having no idea he wasn't all alone on the field. His head whips around, looking for the voice that startled him.

"Goddamn, you scared me, Munson," Steve says, when he lays eyes on him, finally.

Eddie chuckles, walking across the field towards him, "Isn't baseball over?"

Steve nods his head, "Yeah. I just…"

"What?" Eddie prods. There's no way Steve Harrington is worried about his starting position for next year. It's summer. He should be playing Babe Ruth, and enjoying his last summer league season before he ages out. Even with whatever weird vibes he's got with Tommy Hagan and the rest of the asshole jocks these days. Eddie has eyes. He knows something is up with all of them.

Eddie doesn't give a shit about sports, the jocks and their problems, but even he knows that Steve Harrington is captain of the swim team, a basketball starter, and has been the starting pitcher since before Eddie got dumped in town.

This is all non-negotiable.

"They're having exhibition baseball at the Olympics this summer."

Eddie laughs, "And you thought, what? As a high school pitcher from Hawkins High, you'd be a shoe-in?"

Steve laughs at that, "No. Not at all. I just, well, what if it isn't an exhibition in 1988? Or 1992?"

Eddie can't argue with that. It's a lofty dream, but shit, Eddie's got some pretty absurd dreams himself. But as far as Eddie knows, Steve isn't even being recruited for college baseball, or anything else for that matter, so the Olympics seem a little far-fetched.

"Well, good luck, I guess?" Eddie says, and turns to head back towards his office in the woods.

"Hey, wait. Would you want to catch a few pitches?"

Eddie thinks Steve must have lost his mind. 

"I don't know anything about baseball, Harrington."

Steve cocks his head to the side, looking more like a confused dog than anything else, "You didn't catch for me?"

Eddie nearly chokes. He'd catch for him, all right, and all the filthy jokes rattle through his brain, like a rapidly fluttering Rolodex, where he can't decide which one to choose. Which one would make Harrington stumble over his words and blush and–

"In Little League. When we were kids? That a different Eddie Munson?" 

Instead of any of those witty comebacks, what comes out is, "You remember that?"

Steve laughs, and offers up a grin, "Was I not supposed to? You were the scrappiest catcher I've ever played with. Nothing snuck between your legs."

Well, that's an image.

Eddie thinks he might be the one blushing. Sports weren't for him. But it's true, balls rarely hit the dirt with him behind the plate. He gave it up because he hated the team aspect. Hated the other boys, and never really felt like he belonged with any of them. Not after losing his mom. Not after moving to this shitty town where the only bright spot has been Uncle Wayne.

But he was good behind home plate.

His own island. Them, all facing one way, and him facing the other.

Seems apt, maybe even more so today.

"I'm sure I'm rusty," Eddie answers, because, you know, it might be fun to see if he's still got it. Just for a minute. What could it hurt, besides his ego and pride? He just failed high school. Those things have already been trampled into the dirt.

"Rusty's fine. You gotta be better than the net," Steve teases, and digs through his baseball bag until he finds a catcher's mitt, tossing it to Eddie.

Eddie squats down, getting into the stance he hasn't been in, in a long time. He pounds his fist into his glove and really hopes he doesn't take one square between the eyes.

Or in the shin. That fucking hurts.

Or, god forbid, his nuts.

He doesn't.

It's like riding a bike. Steve throws strike after strike, dead-on, and Eddie catches them. Steve's better now. Can throw faster. Harder. But Eddie still keeps up. It's muscle memory, even if those muscles haven't been used in a very long time.

"What is this?" Eddie hollers, as Springsteen shouts about baseball and glory days. It's all very on the nose. 

"Springsteen," Steve hollers back.

"No shit, Harrington. What album?"

"Oh," Steve says, "I stopped by Klein's today and bought it."

Steve reaches down and grabs the tape case and brings it over to Eddie. It's Springsteen's ass in blue jeans, a hat shoved in his back pocket. Eddie's pretty up to date on music, all music, and he's never seen this in his life.

"Is it new?"

"Yeah, out today," Steve says, taking it back.

They reset, Steve throws him another fastball, and Eddie throws the ball back again. It hurts a little, he'd just gotten a new tattoo over the weekend. Black bats, stark against his skin, on this throwing arm. He ignores it.

Then, Eddie calls pitches. Sometimes Steve will agree, and sometimes he'll argue silently. Holding up his glove, waving it to indicate what he wants to throw. Eddie lets him. This is his rodeo. Eddie's just along for the ride.

They play, and Eddie feels ten years old. It's actually kind of fun. He's not into sports, not anymore, but there's no pressure here. Just the two of them. Batterymen.

It all ends when it finally gets too dark to see. 

"I know it's a pipe dream," Steve says, soft and low as they pack up the equipment, "I just need out of this town."

Eddie glances over at him, "Me too, Harrington. Me, too."

They part ways, and Eddie doesn't really think about Steve Harrington again until two years later, when he's in a boathouse, running for his life, a broken bottle pressed to Steve's neck.

He lives, they all live, and then part ways.

Such is life, he supposes.

1996

Another bar, another gig on this never ending van tour they've been on for years. It's not good money, but they can make a living playing music, and not everyone can say that. They've been making it work for several years, and they'll keep at it until the wheels fall off.

They aren't famous, will never be famous. But that's okay. They get to do what they love.

Eddie looks up at the television mounted on the wall behind the bar, and it's the Olympics. Baseball.

He smiles, because it suddenly makes him think of Steve Harrington. Makes him think of him at seventeen, at nine, at nineteen. He wonders if he made it. Wonders if he's doing what he loves. Wonders if he'd even remember Eddie if they ran into each other. It's been ten years.

"Hey, it's baseball," Eddie says, and the guy behind the bar chuckles.

"It is."

"Is there, like, a lineup? Who's pitching for the US?"

The guy next to him turns, like he's been waiting for this his entire life. He starts listing off players, and where they're from, what colleges, giving far more information than Eddie wants, but Eddie quickly realizes they're all about twenty-one. College kids, headed for the draft, maybe. 

Steve's nearly as old as him.

There are definitely no thirty-year-old former high school pitchers on Team USA.

Eddie's a little disappointed, and he doesn't know why. It wasn't his dream. He's living his dream. He just thinks Steve should have gotten to live his, too. That's all.

He sits down on the open stool, then gets right back up again, heading to the payphone stuck in the back corner of the bar. He calls Henderson.

"You got a number for Harrington?" Eddie asks, not giving the kid a chance to get wound up about the fact that he hasn't heard from him in a while.

Henderson harasses him, of course he does, but he still coughs up the digits and Eddie drops more change into the slot, then dials.

Steve answers, and Eddie doesn't even greet him, just asks, "What are you watching?"

"Baseball. The Olympics. The United States is trouncing Japan." 

Steve doesn't ask who Eddie is, but Eddie knows he already knows.

"Well, that's funny. Me too. And I wondered if Steve Harrington was their pitcher."

Steve laughs, "Definitely not. I can't believe you even remembered that. That was dumb."

It wasn't dumb, and of course Eddie remembered. He's never forgotten anything about Steve Harrington, especially not after that spring break. He saved his fucking life, and then waved it off like it was nothing.

It wasn't nothing. It was everything.

"You still play?" Eddie asks.

"Baseball? Well, I'm on a co-ed slow pitch softball team with Robin. She's still so uncoordinated, it's ridiculous. Nothing's changed there. But it's fun."

Eddie laughs, "Oh, that hurts my knees to think about."

Steve Harrington giggles in his ear, and Eddie's glad he called. Glad he saw that baseball game and thought of him.

They lull into a bit of silence, and Eddie wonders if this is wrapping up. If it's gonna be over as soon as it started.

"Well, if you're ever in town, come play catch with me. We'll catch up."

Eddie laughs, but mocks his bad pun, "That was awful."

Steve doesn't care. Just laughs like he's absolutely delighted that Eddie called.

Eddie decides he wants to cover Glory Days during their set, and the band goes along with his whim without asking questions. He sings about his friend that was a baseball player in high school, and the band has to know what this is about. 

When he transitions into I'm on Fire, he knows he'll get shit, but he doesn't care. He's gonna sit in this nostalgia for a minute. He's got a bad desire.

A couple months later, fall is cooling everything down, and the band finally have a long enough break to justify venturing away from each other, and he finds Steve in another small town, not all that different from Hawkins. Except, the bad memories aren't tainting it. It's nice. The town, his house.

Eddie climbs the steps to the porch, and knocks. Steve's not expecting him. He might not even be home. But the door opens, and Eddie just holds up his mitt.

The smile that crosses Steve's face is blinding, and Eddie has butterflies. It's unexpected, but not really. Steve swings open the screen door, letting it snap closed behind him, as he yanks Eddie into a hug, like this is something they do.

Maybe it is.

Eddie hugs back. Steve Harrington is an old friend of his, somehow. Ten-year-old Eddie, who hated everything about that damn baseball team, wouldn't believe this turn of events.

Steve ushers him inside, and digs his glove and a ball out of his hall closet.

In his nice, fenced-in yard, Eddie's knees crack when he gets into his stance, and he laughs. He's a rough thirty-one. He knows that. Muscles gnawed away at by bats doesn't leave you exactly the same, Steve knows that, too, but Eddie thinks he's still capable. Maybe. But when that first pitch hits Eddie's hand through leather, Eddie feels at home in a way he didn't even know he could. Not anymore.

Eddie tries to call a pitch, and Steve keeps shaking his head. Fine.

Steve winds up, and the ball seems to float, doing unpredictable shit, before Eddie's able to snag it at the last second.

"Was that a fucking knuckleball?!" Eddie yells. Steve didn't have a knuckleball at nine, that's for damn sure. And he didn't have one at seventeen either, at least not that he showed Eddie during that one, weird afternoon.

"Maybe," Steve teases, coyly. 

"You're trying to trip me up with a passed ball, ruin my stats, is that it?" Eddie accuses, but he's grinning. "Not on my watch, asshole."

Steve just grins, "Well, don't worry. You still got it, old man. We were always a pretty good battery. You and me."

They were. Eddie smiles, and throws the ball back. 

Maybe they've both still got it. Together.

Eddie catches a few more, then stands up, "You got a boombox?"

Steve nods, and they lay down their mitts and go inside. Eddie squats in front of Steve's rack of CDs. Not tapes, not now. Times have changed.

"What are you looking for?" Steve asks.

"Mind your own business, Harrington," he quips and Steve shakes his head.

"Fine, I'll take this out. If you find something acceptable, you bring it on out."

They aren't in any order that Eddie can discern, but finally finds what he's looking for. He knew he'd have it. At least, he hoped he would.

Outside, Eddie shoves it into the top of the boombox. Then he advances through until he gets to track ten. Steve just looks amused, and then he laughs when The Boss's voice fills the air.

"Seems fitting. I, too, had a high school friend that played baseball."

Eddie squats, and his knees don't betray him this time, but Steve's just standing there, looking at him. Not throwing the ball.

Eddie pats his glove. Only short of offering him an engraved invitation to throw the ball.

Steve just looks at him.

"What?" Eddie asks. But he knows what. That look on his face. Eddie understands that look. A hungry heart.

Oh shit.

Eddie swallows.

Steve throws his glove to the ground, and stalks towards him. It should look intimidating, but it doesn't. Eddie knows what's about to happen, and falls back onto his ass in the grass.

Steve sinks to his knees, and then crawls forward, leaning in, and he's gonna kiss him. He's gonna do it. Eddie reaches up, sliding his hand into Steve's hair, inviting him to please do.

And then he's kissing Steve Harrington, lips, tongues as Steve presses him back into the grass, covering Eddie's body with his own. Eddie lets his thighs fall open, letting Steve slot in between his legs, and goddamn.

He didn't.

He hoped.

But he didn't actually expect this. 

Eddie can't believe it is happening. Him and Steve Harrington. Though, it seems kind of fitting that The Boss is currently growling out of the speakers that you can't start a fire without a spark.

And what a spark this is.

If you want to sign up for a future bingo event or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiebingo and @steddiesongfics and follow along with the fun! ⚾

Notes: If you aren't an Olympic junkie, baseball has always came and went. And in 1984 it was back, after a twenty year hiatus. So, the first time in Steve's lifetime. At first I was like...maybe? Pros still couldn't play in 1996, but then I really looked at that 1996 roster. They really were all about 21 years old, born between 1974-1976. The oldest, the catcher, was born in 1973. So, Steve was just too old. I was like, could he coach?? And even that seemed far-fetched, so I went this way, which I think turned out far more realistic, anyway.

Lots of Springsteen references abound in this one, lol. Born in the U.S.A. came out June 4th, 1984. It had the song of the same name, Glory Days and Dancing in the Dark, on it.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiebingo and @steddiemicrofic.

Wave After Wave

Steddie Microfic January Prompt: New || Countdown to Midnight Prompt: Hawkins Lab | Word Count: 517 | Rating: T | CW: Hawkins Lab Test Subjects | POV: Steve | Tags: Hawkins Lab AU, Childhood Meeting, Making Friends

There's a new kid today. 

And he's little.

That's the first thought Steve has. Too little to survive this place, not without help. Steve's help, maybe. Steve doesn't have friends, but he wants this new boy to be his friend. He looks like he could use a friend, feels like it, too. He's so sad. Steve can feel it radiating off him, wave after wave.

It's overwhelming, and he breathes through it. Most of the kids here are dimming by the day, their feelings disappearing.

Not this boy. Not yet.

He's feeling a lot and Steve wants to reach out to him. Wants to smooth the rough edges and sadness away.

He can do that, sometimes. They make him practice in the lab, but he holds back. Not showing them everything he has. They don't deserve it.

"What's your name?" Steve whispers over the table in the rainbow room, pretending to scribble across the page with crayons. He doesn't care about coloring. They can't make him. 

"I'm Seven," he says, and his whole being doesn't believe that. Steve can tell. Steve knows they've given him that number, but he plays dumb.

"Not your age. Your name."

"I'm not seven!" he snaps, "I'm ten! My name is Seven."

He's older than Steve, but doesn't look it. They want to call Steve by a number, too. Five. But that's not his name. Not who he is, no matter what they say. And they say a lot. Do a lot. With needles, testing and pills he's supposed to swallow, but hides in his cheek and spits in the toilet, later. 

He's trouble. 

They all say so. Too willful. Too strong for his age. Too dumb. 

He's not dumb. He's one of the only ones here that still knows who he is, that means he can't be dumb, he's pretty sure. 

Steve Harrington. He's Steve Harrington, and he'll always be Steve Harrington. Five's a number, not a name.

It's not who he is.

And now he wants to know who this boy is. 

"Here," Steve says, tearing a page from his book, and splitting the pile of crayons in front of him, pushing half over to Not-Seven. 

He takes them. 

"Where'd you come from?" Steve asks.

"Nowhere," he answers, and Steve knows that can't be true. They all came from somewhere, they weren't hatched here out of eggs in the lab, despite what Dr. Brenner likes to think. They're people. Kids. Not test subjects. 

Despite what powers they might have.

"What's your superpower?" Steve asks, and the kid just shakes his head. He has to have a power or he wouldn't be here. Steve closes his eyes and concentrates, trying to feel him out, fully.

All he sees is red, and flames licking at his feet.

He's a firestarter. Steve's pretty sure.

"I'm an empath," Steve says, "whatever that means."

Steve knows exactly what that means.

"You're a firestarter," Steve tells him.

"I don't mean to," he whispers, voice broken.

"I know."

Then he's silent, they both are.

"I'm Eddie," he finally says.

Eddie. 

Steve and Eddie. 

He'll save this one.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for these challenges, pop on over to @steddiemicrofic and @steddiebingo and follow along with the fun! 🔥

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiebingo.

Same Time Next Year?

12 Days of Christmas Prompt: Krampus | Word Count: 2400 | Rating: E | CW: Monsterfucking, Spanking | POV: Steve | Tags: Modern AU, Steve "Monsterfucker" Harrington, Krampus Eddie Munson, Size Difference, Immortality, Rimming, Anal Sex

Also here on ao3.

This art by Brom is very much the Krampus that Eddie is based off of. Of course, picture adding the long Krampus tongue and hooves, and now we're cooking.

There's a parade. A night parade. Fuck. He missed that memo, clearly. Tons of people dressed up as Krampuses. Krampii? Steve isn't sure. It makes no difference, the point is, he just didn't realize it was the sixth or he would have avoided downtown entirely. Jogging while weaving through a parade isn't exactly his idea of fun.

There are so many horned creatures walking down Main, some blowing fire, some riling the crowd, trying to elicit screams. Some are there for fun, while others are serious scare actors, giving it their all, making it impossible to maneuver through them.

So, he makes the decision to veer off-course, and takes a detour through the wooded area, where he nearly runs straight into one of the guys in costume that has clearly wandered off the parade route. Probably to take a piss. 

Even trying to get out of their way, he still runs into one of them. Perfect.

"Sorry, man," Steve says, and the guy cocks his head. He's tall. Tall, tall. With long hair, and horns. Broad shoulders that look very sinewy. Purposefully dehydrated, maybe, for the whole look. Like a bodybuilder or action star would do, but not nearly that big and broad. Still, Steve can see every line, every muscle, in his chest and arms. It's all so visible and defined, even out here in the moonlight. Even with his body painted black. 

And won't that be a bitch to get off for him, later.

But Steve really studies him, cloven feet, the expressive, if not slightly terrifying prosthetic mask. A tail that's whipping back and forth like a curious cat. His legs are covered in a dense layer of wavy fur, making him look like he'd feel like a black goldendoodle. 

His inner voice asks: Can I pet that dog?

But, yeah, no. Steve wants to pet him, but would also like to keep his hands, so he resists.

His brain is poking at him that it's not a mask, that this is not a man, but he ignores it.

"Um, your costume. It's really good. You should win," Steve says, not even sure if there are prizes for whatever the townsfolk are doing back there. But if there are trophies. This is the guy. Even if it looks like he's wearing some poor dog's fur swept up from the groomer's floor for pants.

It's very realistic, he'll give him that.

He takes a step towards Steve, and Steve doesn't take a step back. He lets him close the distance.

And his brain has given up on poking, now it's all out screaming that it's no mask. No costume. No man. His eyes are deep brown, and beyond expressive. Captivating. Steve can't look away. Then they flash red for a split second, before sliding back to their dark goldenness.

This thing is real, whatever it is.

And then it hits Steve: It's Krampus. The real Krampus. 

So, he's about to die. Awesome.

It leans down and Steve realizes he has exactly zero survival instincts, because he still doesn't run. Instead he fawns, watching in rapt fascination as its tongue extends out of the creature's mouth, revealing just how thick and long it is before coming to a point.

Steve feels his cock twitch in his shorts, and what the fuck? Seriously? Calm down, dick. Not the time.

Krampus lifts his nose to the air and sniffs. Then he looks down, homing in on Steve's traitorous cock, the very one that's currently hellbent on rising to this occasion. If he lives through the night, he'll be forced to tell Robin she was right when she swore him watching werewolf porn was a gateway drug to monsterfucking.

Now that he's actually met a monster, and one that didn't immediately rip his entrails from his body, well, shit. Color him intrigued. 

If he dies, he's gonna die trying to get laid.

It's the Steve Harrington way.

So, Steve gives in. He reaches out and touches the chest that's covered in that all-over short coat. So short he can still see skin peeking through, see the definition of muscle over bone, but there's enough hair there to feel, definitely.

If Steve squints, it looks almost human. Well, human-ish, human adjacent, whatever.

The tongue snakes out again, this time curling around Steve's neck, and Steve moans, lilting his head to the side. It feels good, warm and wet, and he knows he wants that tongue somewhere else.

Steve's in over his head. He's, fuck, he's never felt anything like this in his whole goddamn life. The long, agile tongue is in him in ways no human man could ever reach. Split wide on the thick girth of it, with the tip flicking against his prostate, over and over.

Fuck. He's gonna come, just like this.

Being eaten out by a demon in the woods. 

What a way to go. Nobody will ever say Steve Harrington isn't up for an adventure.

His waist is wrapped in chains, and they are heavy and warm against his bare back. He doesn't feel tied down, though. They're there, but they aren't attached to anything else, he doesn't think.

The tongue slides out, and he wants to complain. He was so close, his balls have drawn upwards towards his body, and he starts to slide his hand toward his aching, dripping cock.

"No," comes the voice. The first word it has spoken. Steve wasn't even sure it could talk.

And then he feels the first blow. Wood to his ass, a bundle of switches. He keens as he tries to crawl forward, but he doesn't know where he plans to go. Then it changes to a more solid rod. And it hurts, but he doesn't think he's trying to be hurt by this thing. There's a difference, and he can feel it.

It has one hand braced on the small of Steve's back as it strikes him over and over.

He can feel the warmth throbbing in both ass cheeks, after taking the spanking. Then the tongue is back, and Steve sags with relief. He's letting a demon go tongue-deep in his ass, so maybe he has been bad. Very bad, indeed. The rod has branded him, surely reddened his skin, and now he's on his hands and knees in the woods asking for more.

One more flick, and Steve comes untouched all over the dry, dead leaves. 

The tongue slips out once again, and Steve falls forward. It's cold, and the ground is hard, but he's too wrung out to care. 

All he did was go for a run. This was a misunderstanding. 

But he's not so sure he cares about that now.

Steve rolls over onto his back, his spent cock, nestled against his body, in search of heat. He watches the thing as it stands over him. Not sure if he's about to get killed, or fucked. 

Its tongue retracts fully, disappearing into its mouth and well, that's a cool party trick. He supposes it'd never be able to speak if it was hanging out of his mouth all the time.

Krampus is moving a hand towards its beltline, long claws on even longer fingers, pushing away the heavier pelt of fur that covers his crotch. Steve isn't sure what he's got going on down there, but a throb of want goes through him. He needs to find out. He's sloppy and loose from the tongue, and whatever Krampus is working with, Steve's determined to take it.

Even if this is fucked up, even if he's fucked up. He doesn't care. He's into it and as long as he doesn't die, nobody can shame him. 

If he dies, well, he'll be dead and the newspapers can have a field day. 

Once revealed, its cock is as red as its tongue, thick and definitely not human. Not at that size. But not too foreign, either. Just scaled up, and apparently ribbed for Steve's pleasure. 

Don't mind if he does, thanks.

It's looking down at him — asking permission? — and looks almost human.

"Fuck," Steve says, and spreads his thighs wider. Maybe they can do it like this, face to face. Steve will roll back over if that's what's demanded of him, but if he gets to choose? He thinks he wants to see. That feels more thrilling, more dangerous.

Krampus pulls Steve's body towards him, bowing Steve's back, as he nudges the head of his cock at Steve's hole.

And then he's in. 

Steve lets out a whine, a keen, that he hopes nobody in the distance heard. It's bigger than it looked, so fucking big, that it's really edging far closer to pain than pleasure. He needs more lube, to be slicker, he thought he was open, but this is—

Krampus snaps his fingers, and suddenly the next stroke is considerably easier. He's gotten exactly what he was wishing for: he's slick, opened up, and ready.

Holy shit.

Well, that's a neat trick. 

And what was painful, is now just an incredible fullness, and he just enjoys being fucked by this creature. He's pretty sure he can't come again, but he's still enjoying himself. Every thrust, every noise he's making above Steve, it's all so goddamn hot.

Steve reaches up and grasps his shoulder, digging into the muscle, feeling the tuft of hair on his shoulder tickling his palm. He glides his fingers through the hair, it's thick, but soft and he follows it, down the middle of Krampus's back where it comes to a ridge, like a startled cat.

He combs his fingers through it, stroking, and Krampus lets out a noise, a purr, almost, and comes, thrusting deep inside of Steve. It feels insanely warm, and like it's a lot. He's sure he's full, and his spent cock twitches at the thought.

When Krampus finally slides out, his thick, red cock hanging soft between his thighs, he lowers Steve back to the ground. Steve feels hollowed out. In a good way, the best way, but also in kind of a sad way that it's over. He stands up and pulls his underwear and jogging shorts back on, sure he'll be leaking the whole way home.

Krampus is just standing there, watching Steve dress. It's oddly human, and Steve doesn't know what comes next. Does he say thank you? Does he try to kiss him? Does he run for his life just thankful he's survived the best sexual experience of all time?

He doesn't do any of those things. 

Instead Steve asks, "Same time next year?" 

Krampus is towering over him, head cocked in an inquisitive way, but then he nods, and Steve can't wait. 

One Year Later

Steve had almost convinced himself it had been a fever dream. But one year later, with the parade raging once again down mainstreet, Steve has slipped back off into the woods. Krampus is waiting, as promised, and he didn't come empty handed. He presents Steve with an offering: A bloody set of clothes that look suspiciously like an old fashioned Santa suit. 

Steve takes them, "Thank you?"

"You. St. Nick now," Krampus grumbles, and Steve isn't sure if this is a roleplay situation or what.

"For tonight?"

"For forever," Krampus declares. 

Well, Steve doesn't really have anything else going on, he supposes.

"You bring the children," Krampus says.

"And you kill them?" Steve asks, because he's not down with that. He's a good babysitter, not a murderous one.

"I do not kill them," Krampus says, "the good, you gift. The bad, I punish."

"How do you punish them?" Steve asks, because he needs details.

"My rod," Krampus says, pulling it from his side, showing it to Steve.

Steve's offended, and slightly aghast, "You used that on me doing that and now you spank children with it?"

"I washed it first," Krampus tells him, like that's reasonable.

"We'll discuss this later," Steve says. If he's gonna be Santa, he'll be the new sheriff in town. Krampus will have to follow a few new rules, maybe. And maybe that rod will just be for him, for now on.

"Do you agree then?" Krampus asks.

It's impulsive, and insane, but Steve nods.

"I agree," Steve says, and Krampus puts his hand on the top of Steve's head, covering his whole crown, his claws tickling all the places they reach.

And then Steve feels it. A warmth, a glow, like he's never known. Starting at his scalp and zipping down his body until it reaches his toes.

It's magic coursing through him. He's immortal now. He's sure of it. 

He's goddamn Santa Claus.

Krampus lets go and is looking down at Steve.

"You got a name?" Steve asks.

"Krampus."

"Nothing else? No nicknames? Nothing that's, well, more normal that I can call you?"

Krampus is silent for a few more steps. Steve keeps walking beside him. And, well, he'll just have to come up with a nickname himself.

"Krampie?"

"No," Krampus says.

"Puss?"

"Absolutely not."

"Amp—"

"Stop it. Eddie," Krampus offers.

"Eddie," Steve repeats. "I like that."

"I'm so glad," Eddie says, and it's dry, and hilarious. 

Which is good, if he's gonna be stuck with him for the rest of all time. Or, at least until Krampus kills him next year and gives his clothes to some new dude in the woods? Steve's not sure how the whole Santa situation works. Oh well. Steve can't think about that right now.

"Did you just make that name up?" Steve asks.

"Maybe. Maybe not."

Steve smiles. It doesn't matter. 

"If I'm Santa Claus—"

"St. Nicholas."

"—do I get a Mrs. Claus?"

Eddie lets out a possessive growl.

"Don't worry, strictly Platonic with a capital P."

There's a few moments of silence, and Krampus must be pondering this proposal. Finally, he sighs.

"If you must," Eddie says, and Steve can't wait. Another customer service job with Robin? The biggest one ever, maybe. One that can last all of eternity while they get to be The Clauses? Sign them up.

"Awesome. You'll love her. So, tell me. What do we do now, Eddie?" Steve asks, readjusting his stocking cap. It has a fluffy little ball on the end and everything, and is only streaked with a little bit of blood. Hopefully that'll wash out.

Eddie just grumbles, and that's okay. Steve can be surprised, it's surely meant to be a magical adventure, after all.

Next Part: Climb You Like a Tree

You can see my updated cards and all my filled bingo prompts right here.

If you want to sign up for a future bingo event or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiebingo and follow along with the fun! 👹

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiebingo.

Climb You Like a (Christmas) Tree

12 Days of Christmas Prompt: Santa | Word Count: 2806 | Rating: E | CW: Monsterfucking | POV: Steve | Tags: Modern AU, Steve "Santa Claus" Harrington, Krampus Eddie Munson, Size Difference, Banter, Fluff and Smut, Is It Still Monsterfucking If They're Both Kind of Monsters?

This follows: Same Time Next Year?

Also here on ao3.

The same artist that did Krampus did a version of Santa and that had to be what I based Steve off. I wasn't even going to do Steve as Santa, but that made it a necessity. It honestly worked out nicely that I had both Krampus and Santa as bingo prompts.

"I'm getting fat," Steve says, looking in the mirror. None of his clothes fit. His pants won't even close enough to button anymore. Hell, he swears he's fucking getting taller. He can't get taller. He went through puberty a long, long time ago. 

"You're not fat," Eddie says, sharpening his claws in a way that hurts Steve's ears.

"Stop that," he snaps.

"Oh, your hearing is expanding, too?" Eddie asks.

"What about my hearing?" Steve demands, putting his hands on his hips.

"You're changing. Ahead of schedule. This usually takes longer. Immortality lasts a while, you know. Forever."

Eddie snaps his fingers, and suddenly he has a pair of red velvet pants in his hand. He tosses them to Steve. There are two big, solid gold jingle bells right in front.

"Very funny," Steve says, but he puts them on, because at least they fit.

In his hands they looked way too long, but now that they're on his body, they seem to be hitting him right where they should. 

He's fucking taller. 

"Am I seriously getting taller?!" Steve demands, but not really believing it. Because there's no way. He always wanted to be taller, but not like this. This had better not be some sort of delayed wish granting situation.

"By the day, I can hear your bones growing," Eddie says with glee, making a horrible creaking noise. "Music to my ears."

"Stop that," Steve says, it's like nails on a chalkboard, which Eddie would definitely be scratching his claws against if he had a chalkboard handy.

Steve can't believe this, though. Taller? He cannot be getting taller. Eddie never told him he was gonna Hulk Out to be Santa. Eddie didn't tell him a lot of things.

"You're Saint Nick," Eddie says, "that comes with height. And girth. Lots of girth. Everywhere."

Steve whips his head around, and Eddie is smiling, flicking his long tongue in and out of his mouth, like a menace.

Like a goddamn demon. 

And Steve's incredibly fond of him. 

Eddie's changing, too. His vocabulary is growing as fast as Steve's waistline. He's becoming more and more human under that Krampus skinsuit. 

"Well, you seem more human," Steve accuses, trying to dig at him a little bit in return.

Eddie's unbothered by that, apparently, "Well, I was human, once upon a time."

"Then why with all the gruff?" Steve asks. Eddie was barely grinding out single syllable words when they first met.

"Disuse," Eddie says, stroking his long goatee with his knobby fingers, "I didn't like the last Nick. We didn't see eye-to-eye, so I had no reason to speak to him for centuries."

"But me?" Steve asks.

"You I like," Eddie says, and Steve smiles, then frowns, as he looks back at himself in the mirror. He didn't know he was signing up to look like Santa Claus. 

"How big am I gonna get?" Steve asks, and he's a little scared of the answer.

"Big enough for me to climb you like a tree," Eddie says, and Steve isn't sure if he's joking or not.

He'd better be joking.

He wasn't joking.

Steve barely recognizes himself anymore. He feels like himself on the inside, but on the outside? He's definitely changed. 

Without making a single adjustment on his own, he's suddenly built like a brick shithouse. 

Solid muscle over an exaggeratedly large frame. He's not fat. Not really. But he's built as if the biggest NFL O-lineman, met the tallest NBA player, and then had a long-haired, long-bearded baby. All of it, white as the driven snow.

"Did the last Santa look like this?" Steve asks.

"Hell no. He was a feeble old man. Think a fat Dumbledore," Eddie says, and then adds. "The first one."

"You said I wasn't fat!" Steve argues.

"You aren't, he was. Use those big ears and listen," Eddie banters. He's funny. Evil, certainly. But funny. 

Then Steve thinks about what he'd actually said:

"You watch movies?!" Steve squawks, and he can't imagine the Krampus he met in the woods sitting in front of a television set. "Do you have HBO? Netflix?"

"Shut up," Eddie laughs, "it's a long time between Christmases."

Steve smiles.

"So, he looked like that, and I look like this?"

Eddie grins wickedly, "It's certainly been an improvement."

Steve's not the only one changing. 

"Dingus, look at my hair!" Robin yells, and Steve doesn't have to look to know exactly what's happened.

He turns and faces the music.

Oh. It's not that bad. In fact, it's pretty.

She hasn't grown, upward or outward, thank god, or he'd never hear the end of that, but her hair is now a sleek, white bob. 

"Wow, you're beautiful," he says, because she is. She isn't like any Mrs. Claus he's ever seen before. She's not old, or dowdy, in the slightest. 

"Be serious," she says, hands on her hips.

"I am," he says. "I really am."

"Steve," she says, as she runs her hand over her new hair, but she's smiling. Just a little. 

Good. She should. 

Walking over, he towers over her now, but he wraps her up in a hug, his huge biceps swallowing her around the shoulders, "Thanks for agreeing to spend forever with me."

"And me," comes the snarky voice, seemingly appearing behind Steve out of thin air, and Robin groans.

"You're not a selling point, you're literal hellspawn," Robin banters at Eddie, laying her cheek against Steve's soft, white Henley. He's Santa. But modern. So, it kind of makes sense that she'd be a modern Mrs. Claus, too.

Eddie and Robin might bicker, but he knows they like one another. They're both just jealous. He has the magic to know who's naughty, who's nice, and that doesn't exclude either of them. Eddie is naughty by nature, but that doesn't extend to what he feels for Steve, or Robin, because she's a beloved extension of Steve.

Steve doesn't tell either of them he knows all this, and just lets them continue to act like they aren't friends. 

It's easier that way, and more fun. 

"What in the fuck are you wearing?" Steve asks, taking in Eddie's current appearance.

"Tsk, tsk, Santa shouldn't use naughty language like that. Might get himself on a list for a spanking," Eddie says, from under some sort of pelt. 

"Did you skin a reindeer?" Steve asks, "That better not be Rudolph. He gets picked on enough."

"Because they never let him join in any reindeer games?" Eddie asks, then laughs like the demon he is from under his fur cloak.

Steve puts his hands on his hips. That's not an answer.

"Baby, it's cold outside, and I'm meant for a warmer climate," Eddie says, pointing downward. 

Steve grins, just a little. He knows it was a sacrifice — and not the kind Eddie likes — to spend the year in the North Pole instead of in the underworld. But, Eddie wants to be with him, and Steve needs to be here.

It's a compromise. And Steve thinks more humans should be capable of making those, too, if even Krampus can do it.

"I like it, it looks warm," Steve says, but he really does hope it's not one of the reindeer. At least not one of the main nine. Maybe someone from the backup squad could be sacrificed for Eddie's warmth. Maybe. 

Eddie's been a good sport. Well, he's been a sport. Steve needed to learn the ropes, and wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea of spending most of the year in hell, either. So, Eddie's here. 

Unfortunately, the elves hate that Eddie's decided to call the North Pole home. They call him Belsnickel behind his back, and it just makes Steve laugh and think of Dwight Schrute. He wonders if Eddie's seen The Office, or if he's just more of a fantasy film kind of creature.

"It's not a reindeer, calm your tits. Your big, burly tits."

Steve gives him a pretend disapproving look, because if he lets him run wild, they all suffer.

But, that's something at least. Steve won't ask any further questions. It is what it is, and it isn't what it isn't, and Steve's moral compass isn't exactly pointing towards true north these days, despite their current location.

Another day in Santa's workshop behind them, with the sign counting down the days to Christmas flipping lower, Steve lays in his big sleigh bed. It's a bit on the nose, with red, satin sheets, but it's sturdy, so he doesn't mind. 

Plus, Eddie's in it.

The first time they did this, Eddie towered over Steve. Now, the tables have turned as Eddie slides up Steve's solid belly, tightening his thighs down against Steve's bare skin.

The fur on them tickles, just a little. Eddie isn't a man, at least not all man, but he's so expressive that Steve sometimes forgets that. 

Now, rutting against his belly, he seems more animal-like.

Steve wraps his large hand around Eddie's cock, and grins wickedly, "Not so big now."

Eddie bares his teeth, sharp points that are all bark, no bite, at least when it comes to Steve.

Steve laughs, "Easy, tiger."

Eddie grabs a hold of his tail, and runs the tuft of hair on the end against Steve's ribs, making Steve twist with laughter, "Okay, okay, uncle!"

Appeased, Eddie lets it go, and gently scratches his claws down Steve's chest. It feels good. Really, really good. 

Steve rolls Eddie's heavy balls in his large palm. He doesn't know where they go. He should look like a squirrel with his nuts always prominently on display, but somehow doesn't. Must be magic. Or, they just retract into his body like his cock does when not in use.

Steve doesn't know. He should ask. He's sure Eddie would give him an explicit demonstration. 

Eddie grinds against Steve's rounded middle, and Steve can't believe this is life. He just went for a run. Now he's Santa Claus and Eddie is his demon companion. Light and dark, good and evil. 

Steve strokes him with a careful fist. 

He's cautious in a way he never had to be until recently. Eddie'd probably enjoy a little pain, but Steve is still getting used to all the changes his physical body has gone through. His hand feels like it's the size of a dinner plate. That might be an exaggeration. But he feels like that. 

Everything he touches feels smaller these days, and he thinks he looks like Shaq always looks holding a can of pop with everything he touches. Including Eddie.

Steve wonders if he's still the monsterfucker or if he's unwittingly became the monsterfuckee. 

He'll ask Robin. 

But Steve knows he still looks like a man, just a scaled-up version, so he'll keep his monsterfucker title. Eddie can be a Santafucker, if that jingles his bells. 

"Oh Satan, split me wide, send me to hell," Eddie says, and Steve laughs. There's dirty talk, and then there's…that. But he gets the sentiment. Everything grew with him proportionally, and that means his already above average dick is still impressive against his large frame. Eddie's bouncing up and down, working himself open on it, and if it wasn't obvious before, it's obvious now, that they aren't mere mortals anymore. 

"You've got it wrong. That's a synonym. I'm Santa not Satan," Steve banters.

Eddie groans, annoyed, "It's an anagram, not a synonym. No. Wait. Santa and Satan do mean the same thing, currently. Carry on."

Steve grins. Eddie talks and talks, but Steve has his number, and presses up into him in just the right way. Eddie howls as he comes all over Steve's belly. Still fisting his deep red cock, thumb pressing against every ridge, still chasing more, and he doesn't give up until he comes again, adding to the mess. 

Only then does Steve let go, coming inside him.

"Hot damn," Eddie says, stretching, arms above his head. 

Then he smiles down at Steve, wickedly. 

"Roll over, my tongue has places to be." 

And Steve's not gonna argue with that. 

Steve thinks Eddie is part demon, part goat. He never tells the truth, though, so he can't be sure. But laying against the red satin sheets, asleep, long hair fanned out, he's beautiful as far as Steve's concerned. He got lucky. Most probably wouldn't say getting fucked in the woods by a monster, and then being chosen to become his immortal companion, would be a win. 

Steve isn't most people. He wasn't before, and he definitely isn't now.

"What?" Eddie asks groggily.

"I see you when you're sleeping," Steve teases. 

"I'm glad your eyes still work, grandpa," Eddie banters back. 

Steve laughs. Yeah, he needs glasses now. And, yeah, his hair has gone long and white. But he's happy. Jolly, even.

He pulls up his velvet pants, the ones with the bells, and straps on his thick leather suspenders.

"Sleep, hellspawn. I have a workshop to run," Steve says, and Eddie closes his eyes again.

The elves are happy to see him, and even happier to not see Eddie at his side. They'll warm up to him. It's inevitable. 

Robin is giving directions, keeping the whole operation running, and he smiles at her.

"About time, old man," she says, and starts giving him the rundown of today's schedule. What they're making, how many, and what's already on the docket for tomorrow. It's a well-oiled machine here in Santa's workshop, he's just the figurehead.

But he still goes around, visiting each station, chatting with the elves that are the backbone of the place. 

When he goes back to his bedroom, Eddie is hunkered down in the corner near the fireplace chattering in a language Steve doesn't speak, probably communing with his minions. 

He finishes up, and Steve has settled near the window. The snow outside always makes everything look so bright. 

"Here, think fast," Steve says, and Eddie looks up just in time to catch the orange. Then he joins him at the table.

Eddie slides a claw through the thick skin, starting to peel it easily. Then he offers segments to Steve, and they share it sitting around the little table. They must look funny together. Steve, an oversized Santa, and Eddie, a still oversized, just less so, demon goatman. Eating an orange. At the North Pole.

Steve has a pile of letters to Santa to answer, and he slides half of them to Eddie, "Be nice. I'll know if you're naughty."

"What if they're naughty?"

"Then their letter isn't in this pile. You know that."

Eddie grumbles, but he'll do it, because Steve asked. Robin will double-check Eddie's work to make sure he didn't go off-script. It's happened before.

"I don't know why you insist on putting an orange in every kid's stocking," Eddie complains, but he keeps eating, so he's kind of answering his own question.

He picks up the pen, and it looks funny in his knobby fingers.

"It's tradition," Steve says. There was a handbook, and Steve read it. Then Robin read it, and made sure he understood it. 

There are different ways he can change things up, if he so chooses, but the oranges in the stockings don't seem to be optional.

"Sixty-nine days till Christmas," Steve says. 

"I'll get my paddling rod shined up." 

"I thought we talked about that," Steve says, a raised eyebrow. 

Eddie bares his teeth. 

Steve chuckles. 

"Maybe Santa will bring me a new one, then, if he's so selfish that he wants mine all to himself." 

"Maybe he will," Steve answers. "You'll just have to wait and see. Maybe write Santa a letter and ask real nice." 

Eddie glowers. 

"Or you could ask the elves." 

Eddie narrows his eyes, but not before they flash red. 

Steve pulls his sack closer, the one he still doesn't understand the bottomless magic on. It's like Hermione's bag, with the undetectable extension charm. 

He reaches in and pulls out something, squeezed in his fist. He turns his hand over, and opens it, offering it to Eddie.

It's a lump of coal. 

Eddie laughs, picks it up and puts it in his mouth, chewing. 

"My favorite," he says through blackened teeth. 

He's something else. 

But then Steve pulls out a brand new birchwood rod. It's carved, and has red ruby on the end of the handle. 

He hands it over, and Eddie smiles. 

"I guess I was a good boy this year." 

Steve laughs, "You were something, for sure." 

"Can I try it on you?" Eddie asks, a glint in his eye. 

"No, that is the whole point!" 

Eddie weighs it in his hand, and meets Steve's eyes, "Maybe there could be a third rod." 

Steve shakes his head, but he's already moving towards the bed, his hands working his belt, the bells on his pants jingling all the way as they hit the ground. 

You can see my updated cards and all my filled bingo prompts right here.

If you want to sign up for a future bingo event or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiebingo and follow along with the fun! 🎅

Notes: I knew so very little about Krampus, that this became a rabbit hole. Man, I had fun, though. As soon as I saw he was a companion to St. Nick, it basically wrote itself.

When I wanted the elves to have a nickname for him, and googled "nicknames for Krampus" and saw that Belsnickel was one, so that had to happen. Like, there's a reference Steve will get, and be tickled by.

[thisapplepielife]

My 12 Days of Christmas Bingo Masterlist

This is my personal masterlist of the fics I submitted towards filling my bingo card for this @steddiebingo mini event. (Bingo for this event was completing 6/12 card prompts. Completed on 1/10/25.)

Completed Prompts:

"You're a Fucking Dickhead" - Prompt: Soulmate | Word Count: 1894 | Rating: T | CW: Language | POV: Steve | Tags: Soulmate AU, College AU, Modern AU, Meet Cute, Or: Meet Ugly, Soulmarks, Invisible Strings, Hijinks Ensue, The Universe Had to Work Overtime on These Two

Same Time Next Year? - Prompt: Krampus | Word Count: 2400 | Rating: E | CW: Monsterfucking, Spanking | POV: Steve | Tags: Modern AU, Steve "Monsterfucker" Harrington, Krampus Eddie Munson, Size Difference, Immortality, Rimming, Anal Sex

Climb You Like a (Christmas) Tree - Prompt: Santa | Word Count: 2806 | Rating: E | CW: Monsterfucking, Spanking | POV: Steve | Tags: Modern AU, Steve "Monsterfucker" Harrington, Krampus Eddie Munson, Size Difference, Immortality, Rimming, Anal Sex

Black Velvet, If You Please - Prompt: Velvet | Word Count: 1113 | Rating: T | CW: Language | POV: Steve | Tags: Future Fic, Established Relationship, Famous Corroded Coffin, Corroded Coffin Guys, Steve Trolling Eddie, Because He Loves Him

Slip Slidin' Away - Prompt: Coat | Word Count: 1355 | Rating: T | CW: Language | POV: Eddie | Tags: Modern Day AU, Ice Storm, Neighbors Meet Cute, FYP Getting *Far* Too Local

Fool Me Twice, I'll Bring You Down - Prompt: Snow | Word Count: 2398 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Mentions of Upside Down Trauma | POV: Eddie | Tags: Future Fic, Post Break-Up, Self-Sabotaging Eddie Munson, Good Uncle Wayne Munson, Reconnecting, Olive Branches, Second Chances, Always the Right Guy, Finally the Right Time, Hopeful Ending

[thisapplepielife]

My Countdown to Midnight Bingo Masterlist

This is my personal masterlist of the fics I submitted towards filling my bingo card for this @steddiebingo mini event. (Bingo for this event was completing 6/10 card prompts. Completed on 1/17/25.)

Completed Prompts:

"Goddamn, Fuck You, Motherfucker" - Prompt: Soulmate | Word Count: 3420 | Rating: E | CW: Language, Sexual Content, Male Titty Fucking | POV: Eddie | Tags: Soulmate AU, College AU, Modern AU, Meet Cute, Or: Meet Ugly, Soulmarks, Invisible Strings, Hijinks Ensue, The Universe Had to Work Overtime on These Two, Matching Each Other's Freak

Wave After Wave - Prompt: Hawkins Lab | Word Count: 517 | Rating: T | CW: Hawkins Lab Test Subjects | POV: Steve | Tags: Hawkins Lab AU, Childhood Meeting, Making Friends

Novel Movements - Prompt: Eddie Munson | Word Count: 2684 | Rating: T | CW: Medical Emergency (Not Steddie), Language | POV: Eddie | Tags: Gym AU, Modern AU, One-Sided Enemies to Lovers, Misconceived Notions, Platonic Stobin, Steve's Flirting, But Eddie Doesn't Know That, Oblivious Eddie Munson

Mordor It Was - Prompt: Hurt/Comfort | Word Count: 517 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Post-Bat Attack | POV: Eddie | Tags: S4 Fix-It, Eddie Munson Lives, Steve Harrington Will Make Sure Of It, And Then Not Go Away. Pre-Steddie

When I Think About Seventeen - Prompt: Ball | Word Count: 2791 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Sexual Innuendo | POV: Eddie | Tags: Baseball, Big Dreams, Canon Divergent Interactions: Childhood, Post-S1, Post-S4, Time Skips, Eddie Munson Lives, Crossing Paths Over The Years, Acquaintances to Friends to Lovers

Midnight Rain - Prompt: Midnight | Word Count: 1062 | Rating: T | CW: Alcohol, Language | POV: Eddie | Tags: Future Fic, Famous Corroded Coffin, Post Break-Up, Eddie's Going Through It, Gareth's a Good Best Friend, Angst, Hopeful Open Ending