#double proposal

Arceus, you were so nervous and for no good reason either. 

Everything was going exactly to plan, Corbeau had finished his work right on time, dinner had been everything it needed to be, and the sky was clear with the moon watching dutifully overhead. Perfect for the nighttime stroll you had suggested. 

Now the two of you were rounding Centrico Plaza, hand in hand and the ring in your bag. 

And you were still nervous. 

You hadn’t been nervous at all when you had covertly asked Philippe for Corbeau’s ring size, nor had you been nervous when you and Philippe spent hours deliberating over tea the style and material you’d get the ring made in. You were maybe a bit nervous when you were mentally revising what you were going to say until the early hours of the morning. You were maybe a little more nervous when you picked out your clothes for your date. Maybe even a little more nervous when you checked the ring for the millionth time, marveling in the fact that it was real. 

You were definitely nervous when Corbeau came into the room mere milliseconds after you’d tucked the ring away into your bag. 

“I’ve been thinking about something.” You pressed into Corbeau’s side, trying your absolute best to hide any hint of nervousness as the two of you walked hand in hand, shoulders practically pressed against one another. You'd rehearsed what you were going to say probably a thousand times now, but it still didn’t make you feel any less nervous. 

“And what would that be?” Corbeau chimed, the same unexpected soft and reassuring expression on his face that made you fall for him in the first place. It was the look he reserved only for you, and it never failed to make you melt. 

Instead you averted your gaze, as much as you didn’t want to stop looking at him.

“-Just been thinking about when I realized I cared about you.” You answered, “I think I fell pretty hard and fast for you. You surprised me, really.” 

“I surprised you?” He almost laughed, “Mon coeur, what is this about?” 

“Nothing special.” You quickly lied, “I realized we’ve been together for a few years now… and as for you surprising me. Given how we met I wasn’t expecting you to be so kind, or attentive to others. But you were that and so much more… I’m really lucky to have you.” 

“Luck, is it? I don’t think luck had anything to do with my falling for you, mon amour.” Corbeau tucked his free hand into his pocket, “You were and are a good person, a formidable trainer, and fiercely reliable. I trust you entirely, and unflinchingly. Really, my heart was yours the moment you defeated me in our promotion match.” 

You could feel your cheeks flush and your ears burn, Corbeau had always been verbally affectionate with you in a way that felt raw and honest, as wrapped up in pretty language as it was. But this… this felt like it was leading to something. You couldn’t place what. 

“Maybe luck wasn’t the best word.” You corrected, trying to ever so subtly maneuver the two of you in a particular direction, “What I mean is that you’ve made my life into something I never thought it would be. Not that I never felt undeserving of love, but that you’ve taken up such a space in my life that I can’t remember who I was before I met you, and I can’t fathom the person I’d be if I had never met you.” 

You were rambling, and getting close to your destination. And Corbeau was letting you ramble. You couldn’t tell if he was onto your plan, but you continued. 

“It’s just… so amazing to me how important you’ve become to me, you’re my partner! We’re in love, I’m in love! My life is better because you are in it! It just got me thinking..” You had a plan, a script, you’d practiced it, “I think I fell in love with you early on, but I didn’t realize it until that night in Galerie de la Lune.” 

You were there now, standing exactly where he had stood those years ago. This was your plan. 

“Do you remember that night?” The moonlight bathed the two of you in a pale glow. He was just as beautiful now as he was back then, your heart yearned, reminding itself that he was yours.

“Of course I do.” Corbeau stepped towards you, tenderly resting a hand against your face, his fingers tracing your jaw, his thumb brushing along the top of your cheekbone, “How could I forget? I had every confidence in you, and any worry I had was gone the moment you finally arrived.” 

“I thought you were the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.” You admitted, not for the first time, “You still are.” 

“Careful, mon coeur, flattery will get you everywhere.” His thumb rested on your lips, his fingers curling beneath your chin as he lightly traced his thumb down and tilted your face towards him, “-But only because it’s from you.” 

“Beau..” his name slipped past your lips with an air of near reverence, barely above a whisper. Your heart hammered against your chest, your hands shook. 

He whispered your name, softly, pressing the gentlest of kisses to your lips as if willingly committing the gravest of sins. 

“You said that you were the lucky one. Non, the lucky one was me.” And he meant it, you knew he did. His eyes never left yours as he sank to his knees, his hands clasping yours and bringing them to his face, brushing his lips against your knuckles, “To be loved by you, despite the life I’ve led… There has been no greater treasure, no kinder reward.” 

Your heart leapt into your throat as you desperately tried to find words to reply with. You had a script, you’d written it yourself, you’d practiced it so many countless times… and you couldn’t remember a word of it now. How could you? When he was on his knees before you? His hands holding yours so tenderly, his gaze soft and so painfully reverent, his heart bare before you in a way that you knew was only ever meant for you? 

“Corbeau.” You managed after a hard swallow, your face burning, “would you..?” 

The words barely came out, a strained whisper covered by Corbeau’s next words:

“Marry me.” 

It was a whisper, a plea, and yet still, a proclamation loud enough to silence the world. 

Your knees buckled and you tried to keep standing, tears burned your eyes and were on the cusp of spilling. You blinked. Taking a breath. 

“I was about to ask you that.” You couldn’t stop the quivering smile you had, nor the way that your voice shook with excitement and nervousness all in one. Corbeau looked perplexed for a moment, then his eyes widened, his jaw went slack, a rare look of surprise gifted the moment as you quickly fell to your knees, leveling your eyes with his. 

You pulled out the box the ring was in, opening it. The ring itself was a rather simple band of polished steel, but what was enticing about it were the distinct patterns that rippled and flowed serenely throughout the metal. It reminded you of him the moment you saw it, of the carefully curated rock garden in his office and the poison drip accents of his suit. You had thought it perfect in the moment, but now anxiety washed over you as you presented the ring to him. What if he didn’t like it? What if it wasn’t elaborate enough? You could have gone with a fancier design, more expensive materials, a jewel, maybe even- 

“Ask me.” Corbeau nearly begged, swallowing hard and repeating the demand, “Ask me to marry you.”

“Corbeau,” you steadied yourself, voice quivering, “Will you marry me?” 

He kissed you, having held himself back long enough. His hands tangled in your hair, his breath hot and heavy as he kissed you over and over, deeply, passionately. Peppering your skin with his answer between each kiss. 

“Yes.” A kiss, “Yes.” Another kiss. He finally pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, his breathing shaking with excitement. 

“Yes, I will marry you.” 

Your hands shook wildly as you tried to slide the ring onto his finger. With his own hands shaking too, Corbeau guided you. The ring fit him perfectly, and Corbeau admired it silently, tracing the tiny ridges across the surface before pulling you to his chest. His heart raced and laughter bubbled from him, surprised at the turn of events. 

You found yourself joining him, relief washing over you, your legs feeling like jelly. 

You caught your breath as your shared laughter died down. Your head felt light, the tips of your fingers tingled, and your heart felt so full that it felt as if it would burst at any given moment. There was a wild smile on your face, elation coursed through you as you locked eyes with Corbeau again. 

He had steadied himself, his composure returning with cracks of elation that were practically bursting at the seams. 

There was a small velvet box in his hands, and he tenderly called your name. 

“I already know your answer, but I still want to hear you say it. Marry me?”

Bonus scene: 

Philippe watched you wave goodbye as you left Corbeau’s office with a skip in your step, noting the glint of a ring on your hand. He made a glance towards Corbeau at his desk, unable to hide his satisfied smile at seeing the ring he helped you pick out on the boss’s hand. 

It happened during a doomscrolling session. Eddie stumbled upon a tagged photo of Dustin’s birthday. And there he was. A man with a beautifully angular nose, a jawline that could cut glass, and hair that made the whole thing even sexier. Eddie went down the rabbit hole immediately. He stalked Steve Harrington’s profile (which was disappointingly private, revealing only that he was a swimmer, a movie buff, and really into vintage BMWs). So, Eddie pivoted to the best friend, Robin Buckley. Her account was a goldmine, also open to the public, full of long captions about translation history, art, queer culture, her girlfriend… and, also, as she wrote herself, “the purest heart and the most mean girl personality an eighteen-something girl could possibly have found in high school” Steve. Smiling like the sun.

So, Eddie agreed.

Now, sitting across from Steve Harrington in a fancy-ish Italian bistro that smelled of garlic and expensive cologne, Eddie felt like a feral raccoon trapped in a Gucci store.

Steve was... a lot in person. He was infinitely hotter than the pictures suggested. He was polite, spoke in a soft yet steady way, and held eye contact that was slightly disarming:  those pretty brown eyes didn’t help either. Cutting his lasagna with unnerving precision, and asking genuine questions about Eddie’s music, Steve even did that thing where he looked Eddie up and down with a lingering, appreciative gaze that settled on Eddie’s rings and tattoos…. which are all huge green flags on Eddie’s book. 

But Eddie’s brain was screaming: It’s going too well. When does the other shoe drop? He felt like he needed to test the waters, to see if this sweet boy could handle his silly ideas before Eddie got too many hopes up. 

Then, he remembered the Instagram Reel (honestly, he urgently needed to cut down his screen time) he’d seen about the place at 3 AM: “I THINK I WANNA MARRY YOU: Newlyweds get a complimentary bottle of Prosecco and the house Tiramisu!”

A wicked, impulsive thought bloomed. If this was going to crash and burn, he might as well try to get free alcohol out of it if it went well.

"Hey, Harrington," Eddie said, his voice dropping to that conspiratorial rasp. He reached into his pocket, fished out a soda can tab he’d forgotten to throw away, and slid out of the booth.

Steve looked up, fork midway to his mouth, eyes wide and innocent. "Yeah?"

Eddie dropped to one knee right there on the checkered floor. The chatter in the restaurant died down instantly.

"Steve, love of my life!" Eddie announced, projecting his voice just enough for the elderly couple and a huge family three tables away to gasp.

He held up the aluminum tab,  gazing up at Steve with wide, adoring eyes, putting to practice those improv classes he did ages ago.

"Every time I see you, it feels like it's the first time…" Eddie declared, improvising wildly. "I want to feel like it’s the first time for the rest of our lives!"

Steve didn't freeze. Actually, a small, delighted giggle escaped him, and his eyes lit up with mischief.

"So, Steve Harrington. Will you marry me?" Eddie finished, feeling, somehow, countless people and cellphone cameras pointed at them. 

Steve Harrington dropped his fork with a clatter. His face crumpled into a mask of pure, overwhelmed emotion that was Oscar-worthy.

"Oh my god," Steve choked out, pressing a hand to his chest. "I thought you’d never ask! Yes! A thousand times yes!"

Eddie blinked, his brain short-circuiting. Oh.

Steve scrambled out of the booth and hauled Eddie up, practically throwing himself into his arms. The restaurant erupted in applause. People were cheering a lot. Someone yelled, "Kiss him! Kiss him!"

Eddie, still slightly in shock that his test hadn't backfired, found himself wrapped in Steve's warm embrace in his strong arms. Steve pulled back just an inch, his hands coming up to cup Eddie’s face. He looked at Eddie with a silent, inquisitive raise of his eyebrow, a non-verbal check-in amidst the scene. Is this okay?

Eddie’s heart stuttered. He nodded, breathless.

Steve didn't hesitate. He leaned in and kissed him. It started delicate, sweet enough for the audience, but then Steve’s hand slid to the small of Eddie’s back. With a smooth, confident motion, Steve dipped him. Literally tilted him back like they were on a movie poster.

He wondered if it was normal for a 24-year-old to nearly cream his pants after ten seconds of a soft kiss in public, or if that was just him.

The kiss deepened, just a little bit, but still hot and dizzying.

As the room spun and the applause roared in his ears, another terrified thought crossed Eddie’s mind:

Fuck. I’m so in love.

When the waiter eventually brought Prosecco and a Tiramisu the size of a brick with a bunch of congratulations, Eddie was still dazed, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm, he didn’t even remember he would get the free booze.

"Shit. You're a menace," Eddie murmured, clinking his glass against Steve's, watching the way Steve licked a bit of cocoa powder from his lip with a tiny smile.

"I was thirsty," Steve countered, winking. "And you started it!"

2

Gate C14 was a purgatory of exhausted families, crying babies, and the smell of stale pretzels. Steve was sitting on the floor, leaning against a pillar, clad in an old, fuzzy beanie that had seen better days. He looked like he was about five seconds away from a mental breakdown. His shoulders were tense, but it was the specific pinch in the center of his forehead that worried Eddie the most.

"I hate this," Steve mumbled, staring at the 'DELAYED' sign again. "We’re not getting there for Christmas Eve dinner. Nance’s going to be waiting, and we promised to—Babe. Where are you going?" Steve hissed as he saw Eddie stand up abruptly. When he saw his smug grin, tried to grab Eddie’s jeans, panic flashing in his eyes. “No, no. Don’t you dare!”

"Relax, honey," Eddie said, gentle but firm.

Eddie hated seeing his boyfriend like this. He needed to break the tension before Steve spiraled into his somehow, everything is my fault headspace. There was only one way, fully reserved for special occasions since the first day they met.  He unplugged his wired headphones from his phone and swiftly knotted them into a loop.

"Attention! Attention passengers of Gate C14!" Eddie’s voice boomed, his theatrical dungeon master projection filling the waiting area.

Steve buried his face in his hands for a second, then looked up, horror warring with exhaustion.

"This man," Eddie gestured wildly at Steve, "has put up with me for three years! Three years, folks! And since this airline has completely ruined my romantic proposal in the Maldives..."

A gasp went through the crowd. Steve’s jaw dropped slightly.

"...I gotta ask him right here!" Eddie continued, voice cracking with fake emotion. "Here, where we are struggling together, and right after he just got out of the hospital, too!"

He pointed accusingly at the gate agent, then back to Steve, who looked perfectly healthy aside from the dark circles under his eyes. Steve choked on a laugh, realizing exactly what Eddie was doing. The crowd, however, was immediately sympathetic, nodding along and paying attention. 

"I don’t even have the ring," Eddie declared tragically, dropping to one knee on the dirty airport carpet, "because our luggage was also lost!"

He held up the knotted headphone wire.

"So, Steve Harrington... will you take this man to love you, even in travel difficulties, with missing bags and no fancy food?"

A few tired travelers were now filming with their phones. Steve stared at him, the stress pinch in his forehead smoothing out completely. He was laughing now, a genuine, breathless sound that made Eddie’s chest ache. He shook his head in disbelief and nodded.

He didn't wait for Eddie to put the wire on his finger; Steve surged forward, grabbing Eddie’s face and kissing him hard, right there on the floor of Gate C14.

"In sickness and in delays," Steve quipped against Eddie’s lips as they pulled back just an inch. "I do." and went to kiss him again. "You're such an asshole," Steve whispered, his forehead resting against Eddie’s, a smile playing on his lips. "I love you."

"I'm your asshole, my love." Eddie grinned.

A smattering of applause broke out from the weary crowd, people shouting "Congratulations!" while Steve waved at them, face red but smiling brighter than he had all day, finally relaxing into Eddie’s side.

3

The venue was a literal sweatbox, a glorious, vibrating furnace of high-gain amplifiers and three hundred bodies that refused to let the night end. It was the final stop of Corroded Coffin’s regional tour before the New Year’s break, and the air tasted of ozone, cheap lager, and pure, unadulterated adrenaline.

Eddie was vibrating in a way that had nothing to do with the bass frequencies. His skin was slick with sweat, his hair a tangled, damp curtain around his face, and his typical aesthetic was being hilariously undermined by a fuzzy, lopsided Christmas hat perched precariously on his head. It clashed violently with his shredded black denim and the heavy guitar slung across his chest, but he didn't care.

Because his eyes were locked on the front row.

"To finish this tour off right," Jeff announced, leaning back and throwing a conspiratorial wink at Eddie, "we’re gonna play a track written by the single most lovestruck man in this room."

The crowd roared. Eddie just shrugged, a smug, lopsided grin splitting his face as he adjusted his guitar strap.

"Let’s go with Red in Veins!" Jeff yelled.

As the drums kicked in, Eddie’s mind flashed back to just a few days ago. They were in their kitchen, Steve leaning against the counter, looking unimpressed.

"I don’t know, Munson," Steve had said, a teasing glint in his eyes. "I think your proposals are not courageous enough recently. You keep asking me to marry you in the drive-thru or while we're brushing our teeth. Where’s the thrill? I doubt you could propose to me at your concert, for example."

Eddie had just grinned, sharp and dangerous. "You wound me! Is that a challenge? Wait and see, Harrington. Wait and see."

Steve was there, right near the stage, standing with Dustin and Robin. It didn't matter how many years passed; the image of Steve Harrington wearing a Corroded Coffin shirt, looking at him with that completely lovesick expression, singing every word... it always made Eddie weak in the knees. Steve’s eyes were tracking Eddie’s every movement with a gaze so heavy and enamored it made Eddie feel like his heart could go outside his own body. Next to him, Dustin was screaming himself hoarse, while Robin had her phone out, filming the whole thing. 

The song was a chaotic masterpiece of mythology and filth. It was loud, it was heavy, and it was quite literally a public declaration that sex with Steve Harrington was the only religion Eddie ever needed to engage with. During the bridge, Eddie tore into the solo. He moved to the edge of the stage, right where Steve was standing. He dropped to his knees, the guitar wailing under his fingers, pretending to give the fans his full attention. But as he leaned over the edge, he caught Steve’s eye, tilted his head just a fraction, and blew him a kiss.

Steve’s face went a shade of red that rivaled Eddie’s Christmas hat. He let out a breathless, laugh, shaking his head.

When the final chord died out and the venue exploded into screams, Eddie didn't put his guitar down. He marched over to Jeff, leaning heavily on his friend’s shoulder, and snatched the microphone.

"I made that song..." Eddie panted into the mic, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that sent a visible shiver down Steve’s spine. "I made that for the hottest man in the world."

The crowd went feral. Jeff was just grinning, leaning back to give Eddie the floor.

"And I told myself," Eddie continued, his eyes locked onto Steve’s panicked, wide-eyed expression, "that on the last show of the tour, as soon as we finished playing it... he’d have to be mine officially."

Steve looked like he wanted to bolt and scream simultaneously. Behind him, Dustin was doubling over with laughter, and Robin was vibrating with the effort of keeping the camera steady. Eddie reached into the pocket of his vest and pulled out his custom guitar pick he’d been using all night. He gestured for Steve to come closer, leaning over the stage until their heads were almost touching.

"So, Steve Harrington..." Eddie’s eyes were dancing with mischief, the “courage” Steve had doubted now overflowing. "Would you play with my pick? For the rest of your life?"

Steve’s eyes were the size of dinner plates. He let out a loud, shocked laugh, his hands coming up to grip the edge of the stage.

"Yes! Yes, you are insane! YES!" Steve yelled back, his voice cracked with pure joy. "FUCKING CRAZY!"

Steve surged upward, grabbing Eddie by the lapels of his sweaty vest and pulling him down for a kiss that was messy, salty, and passionate. Eddie didn't care about the hat falling off or the guitar clunking against the stage. He just held on, his hand tangling in Steve’s hair as the crowd’s cheers turned into a deafening wall of sound.

If that moment created massive speculation on the internet about whether they were actually engaged or not, well... that wasn't a problem for either of them.

4

It was supposed to be the crowning achievement of one more year together. With Steve’s new position as a head swim instructor, complete with benefits and a salary that made his eyes water,  and Corroded Coffin finally playing venues large enough to justify an actual tour bus, they were moving together to a new place. A house. A real, multi-bedroom house with a yard for a future dog, cats, whatever and enough wall space for both gold records and framed swimming medals.

But "adulting," as Eddie was quickly discovering, had a dark, Swedish-designed underbelly.

"It’s a POÄNG, Eddie. It’s a modern classic."

"Honey. It looks like something a dentist puts in his waiting room. I feel like I need a root canal just looking at it."

They had been in IKEA for three hours. They were lost. They were hungry. Robin, who had been dragged along as a neutral judge, was currently lying face-down on a display bed, groaning into a decorative pillow that they were insufferable.

"We need a chair that says adults live here," Steve argued, crossing his arms over his chest. He was wearing a soft, cream-colored sweater that made him look infuriatingly domestic. 

"We need a chair that says we live in the house and we love the chair, my love," Eddie countered, stepping into Steve’s personal space.

Steve’s resolve softened instantly at the nickname, his shoulders losing their defensive rigidness. Eddie knew exactly which buttons to press.

"Let's just... take a little walk? Try one more chair before we commit to the dentist chair?"

Steve pouted, his bottom lip jutting out. "Babe. I really loved this one."

Eddie looked at him. He looked at those giant, pleading brown eyes that were so close to his. He groaned, tilting his head back. He already knew he had lost. It was only fair, he supposed; after all, Steve had barely batted an eye when Eddie insisted that his vintage, framed Alien movie poster deserved a prime spot on the main bathroom wall.

"Have the gays decided already?" Robin’s voice drifted over from the bed. She sat up, her hair a static-charged mess. "I’m so hungry I’ll probably eat whatever you guys buy here. Even the wood."

"The lady has declared!" Eddie shouted, his theatrical flair returning. He grabbed Steve’s hand, his fingers tangling with Steve’s with a familiarity that felt like breathing. "Steeeeeve Harrington..." Steve rolled his eyes, a gorgeous, genuine laugh bubbling out of him. Eddie didn't even hesitate. He dropped to one knee right there on the fake laminate flooring

"Eds, not in front of the fancy frames."

"Steve Harrington," Eddie repeated, holding Steve’s hand tight. "If you agree to be my fiancé right now so we can finally go downstairs and get a huge-ass discount on meatballs, I promise I will assemble whatever ugly, soul-crushing chair you want without a single word of complaint. We could just pretend Robin’s our kid, they’ll buy it, I think."

Robin lifted her head, her eyes wide. "For the love of God, Steve, say yes so we can eat!"

Steve looked down at him. He didn't laugh this time. His expression shifted to something terrifyingly fond.

"Get up, you idiot," Steve said, his voice a low, private murmur. He reached down, grabbing the hem of Eddie’s t-shirt and pulling him back up to his feet. Steve didn't let go once Eddie was standing; instead, he leaned in close, his nose brushing against Eddie’s. "Yes, my husband, we can go eat. But can we get the chair?."

Eddie felt his heart swell, the bit of being called husband suddenly feeling very, very real. He leaned his forehead against Steve’s, exhaling a shaky breath. "Okay. Fine. We can get the ugly chair."

Steve leaned in, pressing a series of quick, sweet kisses to Eddie’s lips. "I love you, I love you, I love you," he whispered between the kisses, his hands sliding up to cup Eddie’s jaw. "And it’s not ugly. Don't say it like that. It’s fancy!

"It’s hideous," Eddie murmured back, grinning into the next kiss. "But you’re pretty, so I guess it balances out."

"FOOD!" Robin screamed, marching toward the stairs. "NOW!"

5

It happened on a crisp Tuesday night in October, on the wide, wooden balcony of their new house. The neighborhood was quiet, the kind of high-end, secluded suburbia. Their yard was a dark, vast stretch of lawn shielded by tall oak trees; there was absolutely no one around, no risk of a neighbor peering through a window or a stray car driving by.

It was perfectly safe, but still, Eddie was losing his mind.

Because despite the privacy, Eddie thrived on the sensation of being exposed. He loved the way the moonlight made his body look vulnerable, and he loved the idea that at any second, the world could catch them like this. Deep down, he knew Steve felt the same, he had always had a streak of exhibitionism that only Eddie knew how to unlock.

"Honey, harder, please," Eddie choked out, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the cold metal of the railing.

Steve was behind him, a heavy, warm weight in the chilling air. One hand was anchored like iron on Eddie’s hip, while the other was tangled deep in Eddie's curls, pulling just ouch enough to force his head back, exposing the line of his throat to the autumn wind. Steve wasn't being gentle; his thrusts were deep and rhythmic, hitting that one specific, devastating spot that made Eddie’s knees turn to jelly.

"Marry me," Eddie suddenly rasped, the words tumbling out as a needy, broken prayer. He was overstimulated, the contrast of the freezing air against his feverish skin and the relentless friction of Steve’s body was too much. "Fuck, marry me, please, please, please! I want to marry you so fucking much, Steve."

Steve let out a low, vibrating growl against the shell of Eddie’s ear. He didn't pull back; instead, he buckled Eddie’s waist with a surge of possessive strength.

"Oh, is that right?" Steve’s voice was a dark, morning-rough whisper that made Eddie’s stomach flip. "You want to be my wife, Munson? My hot, loud, filthy little wife?"

Eddie let out a strangled, high-pitched moan, his head thumping back against Steve’s shoulder. "Yeah... yeah, fuck, please!"

"Is that the plan? You want me to put a ring on you so everyone knows you belong to me?" Steve nipped at the sensitive cord of Eddie’s neck, his breath hitching. "So I can do this to my wife every single night on every surface of this house?"

Eddie’s brain was officially short-circuiting. The combination of the raw physical sensation and the sheer intensity of Steve’s dirty talk was pushing him toward a cliff he couldn't climb back from. His legs were shaking so violently he couldn't stand, but Steve, ever the caretaker, didn't let him drop.

In one fluid motion, Steve hauled Eddie up, carrying him the two steps toward the oversized patio armchairs. Steve sat down heavily and pulled Eddie onto his lap, facing him.

Eddie gasped as Steve guided him down, his body opening up to take all of him at once. The sensation of sinking onto Steve’s length while looking him directly in the eyes was always overwhelming. With his legs wrapped tightly around Steve’s waist, he was a mess: eyes glassy, sweaty curls all over his face, breathless and chest heaving. He felt completely filled and utterly exposed under the moonlight. Steve cupped Eddie’s face, his thumbs stroking over Eddie’s flushed cheeks with a terrifyingly fond heat.

"Tell me again, Babe," Steve breathed, his eyes darkening. "What are you?"

"Yours," Eddie sobbed, his hips beginning to grind against Steve’s in a desperate, uncoordinated rhythm. The mental image of being Steve’s "wife", of this being their life, just married, sent a lightning bolt straight to his gut. "I'm yours. Just... fuck, Steve, don't stop."

"I'm never stopping," Steve promised, his hands sliding down to grip Eddie’s thighs, anchoring him.

The physical connection was so deep, the roleplay so dangerously real, that Eddie felt the pressure behind his eyes peak. He didn't even need to be touched. As Steve whispered into his mouth about their future, how they would be forever, Eddie’s structural integrity finally gave way.

He let out a long, broken wail, his back arching into a bow as he came hands-free, the pleasure so sharp and sudden it left him sobbing, hiding his face in the crook of Steve’s neck. Steve followed seconds later, a low, guttural shout echoing. For a long time, the only sound was the rustle of leaves and their synchronized, ragged breathing. Eddie was a boneless weight in Steve’s arms, his nervous system still humming with aftershocks that felt like static electricity.

Steve held him tight, stroking slow, soothing circles across Eddie’s back, pressing a lingering, reverent kiss to his damp temple.

"I love this kink of yours." Steve whispered, his voice full of that trademark tenderness.

Eddie let out a shaky, exhausted laugh, finally pulling back to look at his boyfriend. Eddie looked completely wrecked, his eyes struggling to focus on Steve’s dimpled smile.

"Only mine, huh, Harrington?" Eddie murmured, and Steve grinned—that smug, charismatic look that had made Eddie fall for him on day one. He tucked a stray hair behind Eddie’s ear, his gaze lingering on Eddie’s lips.

"Well," Steve winked, "I think I was proposed to, but I don’t see any rings on my fingers.”

"Shut up," Eddie groaned, though he was beaming as he buried his face back into Steve’s chest.

+1

The house was a humming, golden hive of activity and Steve Harrington was in his element. He was the happiest host, looking like a beacon of light in a soft, white cashmere sweater and cream-colored pants. It was a contrast to the outfit of the man currently leaning against the kitchen island, who looked like he’d stepped straight off a gritty magazine cover.

Eddie was wearing his newest leather jacket, Steve’s Christmas gift to him, which fit his broad shoulders like a second skin. He was swaying back and forth on his heels, a nervous, electric energy radiating off him as he nursed a glass of champagne.

“So, about the cabin trip,” Steve said, leaning over to nudge Dustin, who was currently excavating a bowl of chips. “We should probably organize the carpool for the third. Eddie and I can take the lead if we get the groceries sorted by—”

“Steve,” Dustin interrupted, looking at him with a flat, knowing expression. “I don’t think you guys are going to be carpooling anyone. In fact, I think you’re going to be... occupied.”

Steve rolled his eyes, adjusting a coaster. “Dude, you know Eddie and I aren’t two rabbits, right? We can go ten minutes without pouncing on each other.”

“First of all, that’s debatable,” Dustin countered, counting off on his fingers. “Second of all? After tonight? I doubt you two are leaving your bedroom for the next twelve hours. You’ve got that look.”

“Shut up, Henderson,” Steve hissed, but a flush crept up his neck. He glanced over at Eddie.

Eddie was watching him. From across the room, those dark, blown-out eyes tracked Steve with an intensity that made the white cashmere feel too thin. Eddie’s rings clinked against his glass as he shifted his weight. The thing was weighing heavy in his pocket. He’d been planning this since the IKEA talk, so. Safe to say it was nerve wracking. 

The clock ticked down. Five minutes to midnight.

The party moved toward the large floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the yard. The band, Jeff, Gareth, and Freak were already loud, chanting different hit songs. 

Steve didn't say anything at first. Instead, his eyes raked over Eddie’s entire outfit, His gaze lingered on the way the broad shoulders of the jacket framed Eddie’s chest, then drifted down to where the silver necklace caught the light, before finally traveling back up to Eddie’s throat.

When Steve’s eyes finally met Eddie’s again, they had darkened with a heavy, possessive appreciation that made Eddie feel a little dizzy.

"Hey," Steve breathed, stepping into Eddie’s personal space. He smelled like vanilla and expensive cologne. "You look good. Like, really gorgeous."

"You look..." Eddie swallowed hard, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. "So cute. I want to ruin it all."

Steve let out a breathless laugh, biting his lip. He checked his watch.

Five minutes to midnight.

"We’ve met almost seven years, my love," Eddie murmured. He reached out, his rings clicking against the glass as he adjusted the collar of Steve’s sweater. "Can you believe that?"

Steve leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a second before locking onto Eddie’s with intense, terrifying vulnerability.

"Yeah," Steve whispered. "I can believe it. But it’s not enough."

Eddie’s breath hitched. "No?"

"No," Steve shook his head, moving closer until their chests were brushing. "I want seven more. And then another seven after that, then one more. I want decades, Eddie."

"Yeah?" Eddie’s voice was barely audible. "I love you, you know? Like... violently."

"Uh, really?" Steve’s lips quirked into a teasing smile, though his eyes were wet. "I didn't know that, maybe you should’ve told me this earlier."

"Stop being cute, it’s annoying," Eddie laughed nervously.

Two minutes. The room was getting louder.

"Steve," Eddie started, urgency taking over. He needed to say this. He needed Steve to understand before he did the crazy thing. "Listen to me. After all these years... you are my favorite person. I love that we have this house. I love that we built this trust and adoration so profoundly with each other since day one."

Steve’s smile was blinding, radiant. He placed a hand on Eddie’s chest, right over his beating heart.

"I love that you are the weirdest, most aggressive Mario Kart player I have ever seen," Eddie continued, words tumbling out in a rush. "I love your obsession with your little mini car collection on the shelves, fucking matching with my figures. I’m obsessed with how you’ve been so unapologetically you for so long. Every day, every detail I learn about you... I just fall more in love. It feels endless and I’m the happiest I’ve ever been"

Steve’s face crumpled beautifully. He cupped Eddie’s face with both hands, ignoring the party around them.

"Babe, babe," Steve whispered fiercely. "You’re my favorite person too. I love how we’re so strangely connected. It’s like... we complete each other in this surreal way. I don't know who I am without you anymore, and I also don't want to know."

"Lemme just- I need to do something," Eddie blurted out, his adrenaline peaking.

"ONE MINUTE!" The room erupted in a collective scream.

"I do too," Steve said, his voice trembling.

"Love, you don't understand, let me—"

Eddie stepped back and sank down.

But as his knee hit the floor, Steve didn't stay standing.

Steve dropped with him.

It was like a mirror image. Suddenly, they were both kneeling on the hardwood floor of their living room, face to face, surrounded by a bunch of people screaming.

It was forty seconds left, and Eddie, halfway through pulling the black box from his leather jacket, froze. He stared at Steve, fumbling with the pocket of his tight white jeans, pulling out a dark green velvet box.

They looked at each other. The world stopped.

"Wait," Eddie whispered, his brain short-circuiting.

"Thirty seconds!"

Steve popped his box open. “Eddie Munson,” Steve said, his voice cracking as he tried to mimic Eddie’s dramatic tone. “You are the man of my life, and I hope that you will want to be father to my kids, too. I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

“Fuck,” Eddie choked out, tears finally spilling over. “What the fuck, Steve?”

Eddie’s hands were trembling as he clicked his box open. Inside was a silver band intertwined with gold. Steve opened his own at the same time. It was a matching pair, nearly identical in their brushed gold finish.

“Steve,” Eddie sobbed, his voice a raspy wreck. “You are my anchor. You’re my home.”

“Ten! Nine! Eight!” the crowd roared.

Steve leaned in, his forehead pressing against Eddie’s. “Will you marry me? For real this time?”

“Only if you marry me, my love!” Eddie yelled over the noise.

“THREE! TWO! ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

The room exploded. Confetti cannons went off, the neighbors cheered, and a loud noise from the speakers started with the fireworks. But Eddie and Steve were a world of their own on the floor.

They surged together, the kiss messy and desperate and wet with tears. It was the "I do" they had been practicing for years now, finally spoken in the silence between their lips.

Later, after they received many congratulations and happy new years, they were sitting on the stairs, rings finally on fingers, Eddie nudged Steve’s shoulder.

“You’re an asshole, Harrington,” Eddie muttered, drinking a sip of the wine and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Steve laughed, his head resting on Eddie’s leather-clad shoulder. “What now?”

“Why didn't you do this at a restaurant? Or somewhere where we could get free stuff?” Eddie asked, gesturing to the gold on his hand. “We wasted a perfectly good real proposal on our own living room. I mean, where’s the tiramisu?”

Steve tilted his head back, his eyes dancing with that classic, smug charismatic light. "You didn't do it either! You also did it in our living room!”

Eddie let out a low, wicked chuckle, his eyes raking over Steve, with a shiny new gold ring, and that smug, beautiful face.

"Fiancé," Eddie whispered, the word tasting like absolute luxury on his tongue. "Damn, Harrington, I could get used to calling you that."

Before Steve could even retort with a clever comeback, Eddie lunged forward, stealing a sharp, nipping kiss that left Steve breathless. But one wasn't enough. Eddie surged back in, his mouth opening against Steve’s in a way that was deep, wet, and more than a little filthy. It was a possessive, tongue-heavy kiss that completely ignored the fact that their entire social circle was standing three feet away. Eddie wanted to taste the champagne, the salt of the tears, and the terrifyingly bright future they had just locked into place.

They were lost in the heat of it, bodies pressed tight in the middle of the stairs, until a loud, familiar voice cut through the romantic fog.

"HEY! GET A ROOM, YOU TWO!”

Robin’s shout was followed by Dustin’s loud, hysterical cackle.

Eddie and Steve broke apart just an inch, both of them dissolving into breathless, giddy laughter. They stayed there for a moment, literally laughing into each other’s mouths, their breath hitching in a shared, joyful rhythm.

The day before Valentine's day, I was at a live Jazz event, and a thought crossed my mind; I think I want to marry Vincent. Him being from my city via association with Christian, as well as the map shown in "Brighter", is something I've never had with any other F/O in my whole life. I used to hate where I lived. Now I feel a sense of endearment and belonging. Plus, there were a few particular instances I encountered of people that tried to act like they were the only person in the world to ship with Vincent and made everything about them with no etiquette or regard for others. Because of that, Ihave to admit, I felt very possessive of him, which has never happened with another F/O before either. (I still feel comfortable sharing him with people I know btw!)

A few days later, a mental image of a ring popped into my head. An oval Sapphire surrounded by a halo of diamonds. I knew it felt familiar, so I looked it up and it turns out it was princess Diana's engagement ring... I have the song "New Dress" on my Playlist for him, which is about Princess Diana and manipulation of the news, which is right up his alley. Then, I went to a thrift store by my apartment I always love to go to (they always got that goth heat🔥). They had a tray of assorted rings, and there were 3 different faux Sapphire rings in different shapes...Only the oval one with a halo of diamonds fit on my ring finger... I just knew it was meant to be.

I waited for today because I had been planning to meet Christian himself at a convention for quite a few months now to sign some art of Vincent and I, as well as a screenshot of Vincent, to use in my photocard holder. And today is when that happens!