Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Eddie knows he looks like a creep right now.

Even if his reputation wasn't about as shitty as reputation could get, the sight of any alpha standing outside the unresponsive door of the illustrious Harrington household wouldn't exactly look well-intentioned.

But! He swears on his life and his uncle and every D&D god, he's only here because he's worried. Because Steve, despite all of his jockiness and douchebagery, means way too much to Eddie, and the guy hadn't been showing up to school for a while now. Or, really, only for a day or two. Eddie shouldn't be worried but, damn it, he is.

And he's never been very good with impulse control, especially when both him and his inner alpha are actually on the same page about something.

..Which is how he's landed himself here, gnawing the hell out of his lip while he debates his next actions.

He's knocked three times now, and he's starting to feel frantic. The last one sounded more like pounding, and it probably didn't help the whole ‘not being a creep’ thing. He hasn't gotten a reaction from anyone inside, hasn't even heard anyone.

Fuck, he's really worried.

He exhales a slow breath and rocks back on his heels, looking up at the dark, murky sky above him. The air is a little chilly, a little grounding.

When he lets his head lower again, his eyes catch onto one of the windows, and his stomach drops when he notices its cracked open. Like, as in, completely unlocked and probably liftable.

As in, anyone could get into Steve's house right now. And the omega might be in there. Alone. Unmated.

Okay, fuck, he really has to get it together, or else he's gonna do something stupid like– yep, like walk right up to the window and slide it open himself.

It's a stupid idea. The stupidest, really.
But Eddie and common sense aren't the best of friends, so he maneuvers his way in and lets his feet hit the carpet and stumbles forward.

And then, before he can get any real read on his surroundings, something hard and metallic hits him square in the back of the head and he topples over into darkness.

When he comes to, it's dark and musty, and his skull aches. Although he doesn't feel like he's bleeding, so, small mercies or whatever.

But when he reaches up to check, just to make sure, he finds that his wrists have been condemned to a rope prison, held right up against something cold and wooden.

A chair.

His arms are tied to the back, his legs to the chair’s legs, and fuck, he can barely think about the pain in his head before the heady scent of an omega in heat is slamming him in the face.

He swallows hard, baring his neck to the pitch-black, dingy air of the shed. Any other alpha would've probably started growling and snapping their teeth instead, but Eddie never has been one to follow the crowd.

His first response is anything but aggression.

The chair is cold against his skin, but it does nothing to stop the blood racing through his veins and…downward.

Because that isn't just an omega in heat. That's an omega in heat who’s gone feral, and both Eddie and his poor alpha know exactly who the scent belongs to.

The light flickers on, and he hisses at it, eyes squeezing shut.

When he dares to open them again, he has to swallow a whimper and his hips jerk forward without permission.

Jesus.

Steve looks gorgeous. Metal as hell. And also pretty fucking scary.

He's breathing hard and looks just as feral as he smells, hair ruffled and clothing stretched around him at odd angles. Holding a goddamn nail-studded bat in his right hand, trembling slightly and holding himself up against the doorframe.

Eddie corrals his dumb, horny alpha (something like this should not be turning him on) and tries to shove it down inside of himself, but he only manages to make it pool in his stomach, burning hot.

He takes a breath and nearly chokes on that overwhelming scent again, sour and frenzied but also warm and sweet and needy, and it has his head spinning.

He can practically feel the way ‘aroused alpha’ starts flooding from his scent glands, and he very quickly tries to replace it with something that won’t spur the feral omega on further and get him snapped in half.
He fails miserably.

For once in Eddie Munson’s sad, pathetic life, he can’t seem to get any words out, mouth opening and closing like a dumb fish until he’s giving up and baring his neck even further, resting his head against the back of the chair and panting.

Steve growls at the sight, but Eddie can hear the waver in it, can smell the sour stench of fear that’s layered in with his scent. The omega’s feral, so he isn't thinking right. Maybe doesn't even recognize the alpha he’s tied up.

Eddie forces himself to talk against his entire body’s will, “Heyyy, Stevie. Um. ‘m not gonna hurt you, man. I mean,”
He tugs on the rope binding his wrists together, body only getting hotter when he feels how tight it is. He swallows. “I kinda…can’t right now anyways, even if I wanted to. Which I don’t. At all, by the way.”

If he could reach his phone, he’d call someone from Steve’s actual pack- someone who would know what to do, like maybe Robin or Nancy or somebody, but a quick glance to the floor by his feet, where his phone is laid there with a massive crack in it, tells him that isn't an option.

Steve still doesn't respond. Or at least, not verbally. But his eyes narrow and he shoulders off of the wall on clearly shaky legs, readjusting his hold on the bat.

Eddie hopelessly wishes he could hold the guy up. He looks pained, and it makes Eddie’s heart tug in that annoying way it does whenever Steve’s involved.

“Omega,” he tries shakily, knowing that Steve's actual name probably doesn't hold much weight right now. “I'm not a threat, I double- no, triple promise, alright?”

He tries to breathe through his mouth, desperately reeling back his own scent so it won't make Steve even more frantic.

“I'm not strong enough to get out of these clever little binds of your's, and I don't wanna hurt you- I- I can't. Won't.” God, he hopes this is helping even slightly. Alphas are already pretty shit at mediating conflict or being comforting, and Eddie's even worse than most.

Steve just snarls, but the fear in his scent dampens in place of anger, so Eddie still considers it a win.

“You. Alpha. Broke into my den.”

Eddie cringes. He did do that, didn’t he? Fuck, he’s such an idiot.

He keeps his neck exposed, eyes flitting over Steve’s face. No point in trying to deny it, he guesses.
“Right, yeah, that's true, man. I’m sorry.”

Steve takes a menacing step forward, teeth bared, and Eddie's voice raises a few octaves, and he squirms in his binds. “B-but! I didn't do it to get you in heat, or, or hurt you or anything! I swear on my uncle, man! I was just–worried.”

And he still is. What on earth got Steve like this? Eddie feels like shit, especially if he's the one who brought it on. He hopes he wasn't, but at the same time, he really doesn't want there to be something else in Steve's life so distressing it has him going feral.

“I could tell something was off, and then you wouldn't answer your door, and– I just wanted to make sure you were okay..” his voice comes out soft, weaker than he would like. Too meaningful. He just hopes it can get through to Steve, even just a little bit.

He feels the omega coming closer, and goosebumps rise all along his neck and arms. He spares a glance down to see that his sweatpants are embarrassingly tented, and he kind of just wants a hole to open up underneath him and swallow him whole— okay, wow. Bad fucking word choice.

And then Steve's breath is fanning over Eddie's face, and the alpha is not strong enough for this shit. He whimpers. Full-on, high-pitched, omega-type whimper, the kind of thing that would get him called names in school and probably beaten to a pulp.

Steve responds with a little growl, his scent filling Eddie’s head and making him feel all fuzzy and disoriented, like he’s been drugged.
“Truth,” he snarls, half a question and half an accusation, his hand coming down and digging into Eddie’s pant leg.
“Tell the truth.”

He’s still got the nail-bat in his other hand, scraping against the floor, and Eddie swallows helplessly when he sees Steve adjust his hold, fingers tight and ready (once again horrible word choice. Jesus, Eddie. Get a grip).

“That is the truth,” he pants, eyes wide and searching Steve’s for any sort of recognition or lucidity. “I was just worried. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have entered your den like that without permission- you can- if you need to, like, hurt me..” He works at his throat, squeezing his eyes shut, tensing his fists, doing anything in his power to try and keep himself sane.
“If you need to hurt me just to prove you can and that I’m not a threat, I- I can’t do anything about it, so- so I’ll let you, I mean-...”

Shit, he sounds so stupid right now. Scent-drunk to all hell and babbling nonsense.

“Alpha,” Steve breathes out, some of the anger beginning to fade and make room for hot, fiery need.

Eddie barely opens his eyes, and Steve is suddenly straddling his hips and leaning over the chair, using the wooden back and those strong-ass arms as support, and Eddie is met with his chest, sweaty and heaving. It absolutely drips with that overwhelming scent, like pastry cream and butter, fresh bread and cookie dough.

When Steve’s soaked crotch brushes over Eddie’s painful erection- the alpha completely falls apart.
Little whimpers and growls start tumbling from his lips, completely outside of his control, and his entire body squirms and bucks and struggles to press closer.

“Steve,” he mumbles, head buzzing uncontrollably and gut boiling. “Steve, don’t do this to me, man.”

“Alpha,” is all Steve says in response, voice breathy and devoid of his earlier aggression. He noses at Eddie's neck and presses deeply against his scent glands, letting out a low whine in his throat as he drops the nail-bat and instead starts grabbing at Eddie's belt buckle, hands clumsy and uncoordinated.

Eddie's head is fuckin' swimming as he hopelessly wishes he could help, but the ropes stay firm- keeping him in place.

Eddie thinks about stopping this, really, really tries to convince himself to- but Steve has already managed to get the buckle undone, and Eddie's pants are pooled at his ankles within moments. He feels high and drunk all at once, and he feels like trying to stop this is both pointless and dangerous. Steve still has that sick-ass bat, after all.

And, if he's being very, very honest, he wants nothing less than to reject this god-send of an omega.

Still–

“Steve, wait,” he growls, trying to use his alpha voice without scaring the omega or making him uncomfortable or, god forbid, angry again. He wishes he didn't have to, but this is important.
“In my bag. We need a condom- please, Stevie. You aren't in your right mind right now, don't wanna.. mess you up.”

Steve’s scent immediately sours and he growls against Eddie's neck, continuing to fumble at his own slick-soaked pants. “No,” he mumbles. “Want your pups.”

“Omega,” Eddie sighs, laying his head back and squirming again, feeling like an electric wire about to explode with all the energy inside his body.

Clumsily, he tries to sweet-talk his way into preventing a disaster.
“Be a good boy and grab a condom for me. Please, baby?”

That seems to do the trick well enough and thank God feral Steve still knows what a condom is, because after a moment of unhappy grumbling, he leans over toward Eddie's abandoned bag and impatiently digs through it, arising with one of the few condoms Eddie keeps in his bag for– no particular reason.

“Thank you,” he breathes out desperately, melting in real time. He's so hard it feels like he's about to rip through his (super embarrassing) boxers.

Before he can so much as think another syllable, Steve is scrabbling for said boxers. He gets pissed off that Eddie's dick isn't out yet, and apparently decides that just ripping it in two is the obvious next option.

Eddie nearly cums from that sight alone.

“Alpha,” Steve murmurs, eyes locked on Eddie's tall, straining cock. He looks like he's in an entirely different world, and Eddie feels a little sick at the thought. He really hopes the omega won't feel awful about this when they're both in a better headspace.

Guiltily, he wonders if he should be doing more to stop it, maybe using the voice. But he hates doing that.

Thing is, he never paid any attention in health. He doesn't know what it means when a feral omega decides to fuck an alpha instead of ripping them to pieces.

All he knows right now is that Steve is the prettiest and scariest thing to ever grace this world and that the omega is currently tugging off his own pants and boxers and– holy shittt, Eddie isn't going to make it.

Steve's cock is large for an omega, and it's so gorgeous, perfectly proportioned to the rest of his body. It's tall and flushed, and he's got a mess of brown pubes that Eddie wants to shove his face in.

And his heat. Holy hell.

It's glistening, as beautiful as the rest of him, loose and nearly pulsing, and the smell. By God, the smell. Eddie can tell how needy Steve is, can taste the scent of his fucking slick, and it feels like a drug. He wants to taste it. Wants to lay there underneath the omega for hours, just lapping at it like a good boy.

He whines and bucks his hips like an animal again, head almost so fuzzy he doesn't even notice.

Steve responds with a sound halfway between a chirp and a growl, and then he's on top of Eddie, smothering the alpha in his scent and taste and warmth and omega, omega, omega- Steve, Steve, Steve.

There's lips against his, firm and desperate and moving with hunger. Eddie tries his best to give back the same, tilting his head up. This feels like every dream and fantasy of his come true.

All cognitive thought becomes negligible while Eddie drowns in the omega, feeling Steve impatiently tug the condom on (thank god he remembered, because Eddie didn't) before lining up his poor, aching cock and slowly lowering himself, enveloping Eddie in warm, slightly textured walls that make every part of his body sing and cry.

The omega keens and whines and murmurs against Eddie’s neck, burying his nose in the scent gland, and the alpha follows suit, letting himself give into the scent of cookie dough and fresh bread and omega.

His nose runs over Steve's mating gland, breaths shallow, and Steve arches his entire body forward, gripping around Eddie's neck like the alpha might somehow find a way to leave.

Everything is hazy minds and pure bliss and the intoxicating mixture of their scents, and they barely last any time at all before Steve is moaning and whining, clenching tightly around Eddie’s knot, and Eddie can feel his brain cells depleting as he frantically jerks upward, popping his knot with a flash of colors and white in his eyes.

The omega huffs and whines, grinding down on Eddie's cock like he's trying to get it impossibly deeper, and Eddie is just trying to recover from the most heaven-sent orgasm he's ever had.

His alpha mourns the fact he insisted on a condom, and he can tell the omega hates it too, growling a little as he nips at Eddie's skin.

There's an overwhelming want to pass out right then and there, surrounded and cradled by their mixed scents, hot brands against one another's body, Steve slumped over Eddie's form to keep himself from falling off of the chair.

Somehow, somewhere in Eddie's sad, fucked-out brain, he wants to lift his omega and bring them to a bed, lay them out comfortable, and he wants his wrists untied now, as hot as it was at first.

He lets out some kind of pathetic noise, and somehow Steve understands, using shaky hands to claw at the ropes, miraculously getting them undone.

Eddie takes his release in stride, wrapping his arms around the omega and pulling him close. He wants to stand and bring them somewhere better, somewhere like a nest, but his legs feel like jelly, so he'll have to settle for this right now.

And he'll do everything in his power to apologize to Steve come morning. He hopes he hasn't completely fucked up.