Archive of Our Own ^beta

Eddie always woke up a little before Steve.

He didn’t mean to. It wasn’t a conscious thing. He just liked to watch the morning light settle on Steve’s face — liked the way his chest rose and fell so softly, like nothing in the world could touch him when he was like this. Peaceful. Safe. Still.

Their bed was warm, tangled, a mess of soft cotton sheets and one shared comforter. Eddie’s arm was already tucked under Steve’s shoulders, their legs loosely intertwined. From this close, he could feel every exhale on his collarbone, every subtle shift as Steve mumbled and twitched through the final stage of sleep.

And then there was that.

Steve’s right hand — curled up and pressed against his mouth, two fingers balled into a loose fist, thumb tucked securely between his lips.

Eddie blinked. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just… watched.

It wasn’t the first time. Not even close.

The first time had been a surprise — a sleepy Saturday, Eddie walking back into the bedroom after starting breakfast only to see Steve, dead to the world, with his thumb tucked into his mouth and the blanket pulled up to his chin. It had knocked the breath out of him a little, honestly. Not in a bad way. Just... in the kind of way that makes your chest ache.

Back then, he hadn’t said anything.

He still hadn’t.

The habit wasn’t constant. Steve didn’t do it when he was awake. Never in front of other people. And it wasn’t every night — just when things were especially hard. Or when he was especially soft. It always came on the heels of something: a bad day at work, a nightmare, a quiet little twitch in his shoulders when the wind got a little too cold.

And Eddie, for his part, had learned to recognize it.

He never commented, never teased. Mostly because it was... cute. Heart-wrenchingly cute, in a way that made Eddie want to wrap Steve in every blanket they owned and never let him go. But also — and maybe more importantly — it felt *important*. Like it wasn’t something to point out. Like it was safe, in that invisible, sacred kind of way.

But lately… it had started to worry him.

The faintest redness sometimes on Steve’s knuckle. A little soreness the next morning. Once or twice, Steve had flexed his hand with a soft hiss of pain when he thought Eddie wasn’t looking.

Which is how Eddie found himself staring at his boyfriend’s peacefully sleeping form with the word orthodontic floating through his brain like a curse.

He sighed quietly, reaching out to gently brush Steve’s hair back from his face.

“God, you’re ridiculous,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to Steve’s temple. “And perfect. And maybe slowly destroying your own mouth in your sleep.”

Steve shifted a little, brow furrowing, and his thumb slipped free. He turned his face into Eddie’s chest with a soft sigh, lips parted, arm flopping lazily across Eddie’s middle.

Eddie swallowed hard. Then let his hand rest at the nape of Steve’s neck, grounding himself.

This wasn’t something he wanted to fix. That wasn’t the point.

Steve could suck his thumb for the rest of his life, for all Eddie cared — if it helped, if it soothed, if it kept him from breaking down on the nights when the world was too much. But if there was any way to make it gentler on his body — safer, even just a little — wasn’t it worth looking into?

He didn’t want to shame him.

He just wanted him to be okay.

Eddie stared up at the ceiling for a long time, thumb tracing idle circles into Steve’s back, the morning sun slowly stretching across the floorboards.

Later, he’d go looking. Quietly. Discreetly. Without pressure.

For now, he just held him.

---

The clock read 2:14 AM.

The house was quiet. Too quiet, if you asked Eddie, but that wasn’t exactly unusual these days. Steve was curled up in bed, fast asleep, breathing slow and even, face half-buried in Eddie’s pillow.

Eddie was… not asleep.

He was sitting cross-legged on the couch, hunched over his laptop like a gremlin, surrounded by the ghostly glow of the screen and the dim orange warmth of the living room lamp. His mug of tea had gone cold half an hour ago. The TV was on but muted, playing some old rerun Eddie couldn’t focus on if his life depended on it.

Because instead of relaxing, or sleeping, or being normal, Eddie Munson — full-grown, adult Eddie Munson — was currently deep in a black hole of mommy blogs.

He groaned quietly and rubbed both hands over his face, muttering to no one, “This is so stupid. This is so insanely stupid.”

But he couldn’t stop reading.

The tabs he had open were… extensive. And embarrassing. And kind of wild.

“Sucking vs. Soothing: How to Help Your Toddler Transition from Thumb to Paci”
“10 Reasons to Switch to an Orthodontic Pacifier”
“Is Your Kid Over 4 and Still Sucks Their Thumb? Here’s What You Can Do Without Shaming Them”

That last one had hit him hard. Right in the gut.

Because yeah. That was the whole thing, wasn’t it?

Eddie didn’t want Steve to stop. He didn’t want to change him. Didn’t want to take away whatever little scrap of comfort that poor boy had managed to hold onto from his messed-up childhood.

He just… didn’t want his boyfriend to wake up with a raw, sore thumb every other morning. Or worse — down the line — end up with dental problems no one had warned him about.

But how the hell was he supposed to bring this up without sounding like a jackass?

Eddie clicked open another tab. This one was titled “Gentle Soothing Tools for Older Children” and featured a soft pink website with pastel cartoon animals smiling at him like they knew all his secrets. He scrolled past a list of calming sensory objects, until a small section caught his eye.

*Adult-sized orthodontic pacifiers.*

His heart stopped.

There were pictures. Reviews. Actual stores that sold them. “For anxiety and sleep disorders,” some said. “Safe for teeth,” others promised. “Special needs / sensory-friendly,” read a few of the tags. And then the customer comments — not from parents, but from actual adults.

“I never thought I’d use something like this but it helps me calm down so much before bed.”
“Switching from thumb-sucking to a silicone pacifier helped my jaw pain immensely.”
“Zero shame here. Everyone needs comfort. This is mine.”

Eddie swallowed hard. Something ached deep in his chest.

That was Steve in those reviews. That was *his boy* — the one who carried too much, gave too much, barely even let himself be held until he was breaking apart.

He clicked to a store. The pacifiers were simple. Some were bright colors, others soft pastels. He picked a few — one blue, one soft grey, one light pink with little stars on it. All silicone, all designed for comfort. He even found one with a clip, just in case Steve dropped it during the night.

Just in case… he ever used it at all.

Eddie stared at the cart for a long time, the cursor blinking next to the shipping address.

His stomach twisted.

What if Steve hates me for this?

What if he thinks I’m mocking him?

What if he thinks I think he’s a baby?

The thought made him physically sick. He couldn’t imagine looking into those warm brown eyes and seeing disgust there. Or shame. Or that horrible thing Steve did when he tried to pretend he wasn’t hurting — the tight jaw, the too-casual shrug.

But worse than that?

He couldn’t keep watching Steve suffer every night, trying not to use the one thing that clearly soothed him just because it left his thumb sore and aching by morning.

Eddie drew in a slow breath. His hands shook a little.

He clicked purchase.

The confirmation email popped up, promising delivery within three days.

Eddie closed the laptop, leaned back against the cushions, and stared at the ceiling like it had all the answers he didn’t.

Now all he had to do was figure out how to not get punched in the face when they arrived.

---

It happened fast — like those things always do.

One minute, Steve was jogging down the quiet tree-lined street near their house, hoodie sleeves pushed up, earbuds in, hair still damp from the shower.

The next, there was a patch of uneven sidewalk, a badly-angled curb, and a crack of bone and gravel and startled breath as he went down hard, catching himself instinctively with both hands.

Eddie got the call half an hour later. By the time he pulled into urgent care, Steve was already bandaged up and scowling at a vending machine.

“It’s not broken,” he said, by way of greeting. “Just sprained.”

Eddie’s eyes flicked to the thick white bandage wrapped around his boyfriend’s right hand. The thumb was stiff, immobile, and Steve was very obviously not using it.

“You okay?” Eddie asked softly.

“Yeah. Fine. Just feels stupid.” Steve shrugged. “They said I can’t move it for a few weeks. Gave me some pills. I’m fine.”

He smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes.

---

That night, Eddie could already feel the tension building.

It started with silence.

They curled into bed as usual, lights off, Eddie on his back and Steve tucked against his side. At first, everything seemed fine. Steve even made a dumb joke about “falling for him all over again” while Eddie was fluffing the pillows.

But then... the quiet got heavy.

Eddie didn’t realize what he was hearing — or rather, not hearing — until well past midnight.

Steve wasn’t breathing evenly.

He wasn’t asleep.

He was fidgeting. Shifting. Tossing gently beneath the covers every few minutes. It was subtle — just the sound of fabric moving, a quiet sigh, a little huff of frustration. Over and over.

Eddie cracked one eye open.

Steve was lying perfectly still on his back, arms awkwardly crossed over his chest, face tense. Not peaceful. Not soft. His bottom lip looked chewed raw.

Eddie reached out and gently laid a hand on his shoulder.

“You okay?”

Steve startled. “What? Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just… can’t sleep.”

“Want me to turn the fan on?”

“No. It’s not that.”

“…Want to talk about it?”

There was a pause.

Steve rolled onto his side — his left side, away from Eddie — and muttered, “I’m fine. Just gotta wait it out.”

Eddie didn’t push. He just scooted closer and pressed a soft kiss to the back of Steve’s shoulder.

But he didn’t sleep, either.

---

The next night was worse.

Steve tried tea. Eddie brewed it for him, sweetened with honey and everything, just the way he liked. It sat mostly untouched on the nightstand.

They tried melatonin. Steve took two, then paced the bedroom like he was waiting to be called to war.

At one point, Eddie caught him trying to lie on his hand — as if pressure would trick his body into thinking his thumb was where it belonged. Like he could fake comfort. Like he could fool himself into calm.

It didn’t work.

By 3 AM, Steve was curled into a ball, eyes squeezed shut, breathing hard.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I know I’m keeping you up.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Eddie said, rubbing slow circles between his shoulder blades. “You’re not bothering me. I’m just worried.”

“I’m fine.”

He wasn’t.

And Eddie knew exactly why.

He didn’t say anything. Not yet.

But his eyes flicked to the drawer of the nightstand, where a small package sat waiting, unopened.

---

By the third night, Steve looked like a ghost.

He barely touched dinner. He snapped at Eddie for folding his laundry wrong, then immediately apologized like he’d just kicked a puppy. His eyes were red-rimmed, his movements sluggish.

He dropped a glass in the kitchen, and when it shattered on the floor, he just stared at it for a full ten seconds before Eddie wordlessly knelt and cleaned it up.

That night, Steve tried sleep music. He tried white noise. He tried wrapping himself in the weighted blanket Eddie had bought for him last Christmas.

Nothing helped.

Sometime around 2 AM, Eddie reached for him in the dark and found him curled up in the fetal position, forehead pressed to his knees.

“Baby,” Eddie whispered. “Please. You gotta let me help.”

Steve’s breath hitched.

He didn’t speak.

And Eddie didn’t push.

He just held him, all night long, while Steve trembled quietly in his arms, as if his body knew what it needed — and hated him for not giving it.

---

Eddie had never been so nervous to talk to someone in his life.

And that included the time he told Wayne he wanted to be a guitarist instead of going to trade school. It included the time he accidentally asked Steve Harrington on a date when he thought he was just flirting for fun. It included… everything.

But this?

This was different.

This was Steve.

Steve, who had been slowly unraveling all week. Steve, who hadn’t slept more than two hours at a time in days. Steve, who kept saying he was fine, even as he winced trying to unscrew a jar, or leaned heavily against Eddie like his bones were too tired to hold him up.

And most of all: Steve, who looked so, so small when he thought no one was watching.

Eddie found him in the living room after dinner, curled up on the couch with a heating pad pressed against his hand, a blanket over his legs, and a pinched look around his eyes like he was pretending really hard to be okay.

“Hey,” Eddie said gently. “Can we talk for a sec?”

Steve blinked at him. “Sure.”

Eddie sat down on the coffee table, facing him. Too close for casual. Not close enough to touch.

Steve’s brow furrowed.

“…What’s wrong?”

Eddie exhaled slowly, fingers twisting in his lap. “Okay. So—first of all, you’re not in trouble.”

Steve blinked. “What?”

“You’re not in trouble. You’re not weird. You’re not doing anything wrong.”

“Eddie,” Steve said flatly. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I just…” Eddie scratched at the back of his neck. “I couldn’t keep watching you suffer. Like, actually suffer. You’ve been miserable. And I know—I know—it’s because you can’t do the thing you normally do to sleep.”

Steve went still.

Very, very still.

Eddie tried to smile. It wobbled.

“I know about the thumb, Stevie. I’ve known for a while. I never said anything ‘cause—because it’s not a big deal, okay? I think it’s… sweet. Honestly. It helps you. I don’t care.”

Steve’s ears turned bright red.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, stiffly.

Eddie gave him a look. “Babe.”

Steve looked away. “It’s not—fuck, Eddie. I’m not—Jesus, do you think I’m a baby?”

“No!” Eddie said, loud enough to startle him. Then, softer: “No. God, Steve. Never. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

Steve’s jaw clenched.

“I just… I’ve seen how much you need it. And how much it hurts now that you can’t. And I couldn’t just sit here and watch that anymore.”

He reached slowly behind him and pulled something from the drawer of the side table. A small, soft bag. He unzipped it and held it out.

Inside, nestled on a folded washcloth, were three adult pacifiers in soft colors — blue, grey, and pale pink with little stars.

Steve stared at them like they were on fire.

“…Are you kidding me?”

Eddie’s heart dropped. “No.”

“You bought me a pacifier?” Steve hissed, voice sharp. “Like I’m some kind of infant?”

“No,” Eddie said, quick, gentle. “Like you’re someone I love. Someone who deserves comfort. Someone who already has this need, and I just wanted to make it easier for you.”

Steve’s face crumpled.

He wasn’t angry. Not really.

He was hurt.

He was embarrassed.

“…I didn’t think you noticed.”

Eddie’s voice broke. “Baby. Of course I noticed.”

Steve wrapped his arms tightly around himself. “I thought I was hiding it.”

“You were. Mostly. But… you do this little thing in your sleep. You curl up, real small. You look so scared. And then you settle, and it’s always when your thumb’s in your mouth. I didn’t want to say anything. I didn’t want to take it away.”

Steve swallowed hard. “Then why this?”

“Because it’s hurting you now. And if there’s a way to make it better—safer—gentler—I’m gonna try. Because you matter that much to me.”

Silence.

Thick. Awkward. Tense.

Steve didn’t look at him.

But after a long minute, he reached out and took the bag from Eddie’s hands with a shaking grip.

“I’m not saying I’ll use it.”

“I know.”

“I might just throw them out.”

“That’s okay.”

“…But thanks. For not laughing.”

Eddie smiled, aching and soft.

“I never would.”

---

Steve didn’t say a word about the pacifiers.

Not the next morning.
Not that evening.
Not even when he opened the bedroom drawer, looked inside, and stood there for just a beat too long before grabbing his melatonin.

Eddie didn’t push.

He just noticed that when he changed the sheets that afternoon, the little pouch had been moved — from the bottom of the drawer to the top.

Closer.

---

That night was the worst yet.

It hit Eddie hard, how quiet the house had become.

There was no music playing. No sounds from the kitchen. No soft thud of socks on hardwood or Steve’s usual humming under his breath as he brushed his teeth.

Instead, Steve had crawled into bed without a word and curled up tight on the far side, back to Eddie, face turned into the pillow like he didn’t want to be seen.

Eddie got in carefully, pulled the blanket over both of them, and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

The minutes stretched on in stifling silence.

Then came the shudder.

A quiet, trembling breath. Then another. A little gasp. And finally—

“I can’t do it anymore,” Steve whispered.

It came out hoarse. Raw. Wrecked.

Eddie rolled toward him instantly. “Baby—”

“I can’t, Eds. I’m so tired,” Steve choked, still facing the wall. “I can’t sleep, I can’t get comfortable, my hand hurts and—and I want it, okay? I want it so fucking bad and I hate that I do because it’s stupid and childish and I hate it—”

Eddie was already reaching for him. He pulled Steve into his arms without hesitation, tucking him against his chest, holding him close as Steve trembled like a leaf.

“You don’t have to do anything, sweetheart,” Eddie whispered. “Not tonight. Just let me help you, okay?”

Steve made a noise — somewhere between a sob and a protest. He tried to bury his face in Eddie’s chest, tried to disappear.

Eddie kissed his hair. Then his forehead. Then reached blindly toward the nightstand drawer and opened it.

He fished out the pink pacifier. The one with the tiny white stars.

The one he hoped would feel gentle enough. Soft enough. Familiar.

Steve saw it and froze.

“Eddie…”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“I—”

“I know.”

His voice was a whisper. Kind. Steady. Loving.

Eddie looked him in the eye.

“You’re safe with me.”

Steve swallowed hard. His cheeks were already wet.

“I’m so embarrassed,” he whispered.

“You don’t have to be. You’re tired. You’re hurting. This helps. That’s enough.”

He held up the pacifier, just slightly.

Steve looked at it like it might burn him. Like if he took it, he might fall apart completely.

Which… maybe he would.

So Eddie helped him.

Still cradling him gently, he brushed Steve’s messy hair off his damp forehead and pressed a kiss there.

Then, quietly, he brought the pacifier to Steve’s mouth.

Steve hesitated for one breathless moment.

Then another.

And finally—he opened.

Eddie slipped it in carefully, gently, one hand still cupping the back of Steve’s head.

Steve flinched at first, the faintest twitch of shame…

And then — melting.

His whole body let go.

The tension bled out of his muscles all at once. His shoulders dropped. His breath evened out. His eyes fluttered shut, the softest little sound slipping from behind the shield of the paci — a kind of sleepy sigh, laced with relief.

Eddie rocked him slowly. Back and forth. Back and forth.

“There you go, baby,” he murmured. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Steve didn’t speak.

Didn’t try to.

He just curled into Eddie’s arms like he’d been waiting years to be held like this, and sucked gently on his pacifier, and slept.

Deep. Peaceful. Safe.

And Eddie stayed right there, one hand on his back, one stroking through his hair, whispering quiet promises to the boy he loved more than anything in the world.

---

The first thing Steve became aware of was how warm he was.

The second was the feeling of Eddie’s chest rising and falling under his cheek, steady and safe. The scratch of chest hair beneath his fingers. A soft blanket pulled up over both of them.

And then—

—the pacifier in his mouth.

Steve froze.

His eyes snapped open.

His lips parted, and he felt it—the soft pop as it slipped free and dropped quietly onto Eddie’s chest.

Pink. Silicone. Star-patterned.

Fuck.

He sat up like he’d been electrocuted.

His heart was pounding. His mouth felt dry. His face was already burning. He scrubbed at it with both hands and immediately winced when he accidentally jostled his bandaged thumb.

Eddie stirred, groggy and soft.

“Mm… Stevie?”

“Don’t,” Steve croaked. “Just—don’t.”

Eddie blinked awake, eyebrows creasing. “Hey, what’s—”

“You can’t—we can’t—*fuck*, Eds, I can’t believe I actually—” He ran both hands through his hair, fingers shaking. “It worked. I used that thing and it actually worked.”

Eddie sat up slowly, not reaching for him yet. Just watching.

Steve was spiraling.

“I slept all night,” he whispered, voice cracked and horrified. “I haven’t slept in days and then you—you gave me that—and I just—I just—”

“Breathed,” Eddie said gently. “You breathed, baby.”

Steve’s mouth twisted. His eyes were glassy.

“It’s humiliating.”

“No. It’s not.”

“You gave me a pacifier, Eddie.”

“I did.”

“And I—” His voice broke. “I didn’t even fight you. I just took it. Like some stupid little kid who can’t fall asleep without his blankie.”

“You took it,” Eddie said softly, “because you were hurting. And tired. And trusted me enough to let me help.”

Steve flinched.

“Don’t make it sound noble,” he muttered. “I literally sucked on a paci all night.”

“You slept all night.”

Steve went quiet.

And Eddie could see it: the war happening behind his eyes. The part of him that wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out. The part that hated needing comfort, even when it saved him. The part that still thought comfort had to be earned.

Eddie leaned forward slowly, so Steve could move if he needed to.

But he didn’t.

He stayed frozen in place, too humiliated to move, as Eddie reached up and brushed a piece of hair from his face.

“I don’t think you’re a baby, Steve,” he said softly. “I think you’re exhausted. And scared. And carrying way too much.”

Steve’s breath hitched.

“I think you’ve been holding yourself together with duct tape and charm for years, and nobody ever told you it was okay to fall apart.”

His eyes welled up. But he didn’t speak.

Eddie took his hand. Careful. Slow. Not the bandaged one — the other.

“I’m not laughing at you. I’m not judging you. I’m grateful you let me in.”

“…I don’t deserve this.”

Eddie flinched like he’d been struck.

“Don’t say that,” he whispered. “Don’t you ever say that.”

Steve shook his head, biting his lip. He looked like a kicked puppy.

“I was so scared you’d think I was pathetic.”

“You’re not.”

“That I’m broken.”

“You’re not that either.”

Steve swallowed. Looked down.

The pacifier was still sitting on Eddie’s chest where it had fallen, soft pink with its little white stars. It was quiet in the room. Too quiet.

Eddie reached for it.

Steve tensed.

But all Eddie did was cup it in his hand and say, “It helped. That’s all that matters.”

Steve blinked hard.

And then, voice almost too quiet to hear: “Can we… keep it in the drawer?”

Eddie smiled, small and warm.

“It lives there now,” he said. “Always yours. Only if you want it.”

Steve hesitated.

Then nodded, just once.

And when Eddie pulled him in again, this time he let himself be held.

---

The pacifier didn’t come up again the next night.

Not in words.

But when Steve came to bed — freshly showered, bandaged hand unwrapped and re-wrapped with clean gauze — he was quiet in a different way.

Less guarded. Less angry.

Still shy, still pink in the cheeks when Eddie smiled at him. But not panicked.

Not hiding.

And when Eddie slid into bed beside him, Steve didn’t curl up on the edge like usual.

He reached for Eddie.

Crawled into his lap, tucked himself under Eddie’s arm, and laid his head right on Eddie’s chest like it was a perfectly normal thing to do. Like he belonged there.

Eddie ran a hand gently through his damp hair.

They stayed like that for a long time. Just breathing.

Then, without looking up, Steve whispered, “It’s still in the drawer, right?”

Eddie’s heart did a little flip.

He didn’t say anything. Just leaned over and opened it.

The soft zip of the pouch. The crinkle of the cloth. The faint click of plastic.

Steve’s eyes were already closed when Eddie looked back.

“You sure?” Eddie asked quietly.

Steve nodded against his chest. A tiny motion. Barely there.

Eddie held the pink paci up between them. “Same one?”

Steve gave the faintest hum.

So Eddie brought it to his lips — and Steve parted them instantly.

No hesitation this time. No flinch. No shame.

Just… peace.

The moment the pacifier settled in place, Steve’s whole body relaxed. His jaw unclenched. His shoulders dropped. A soft, steady breath flowed out of him like he’d been holding it all day.

Eddie kissed his temple.

“You did so good today,” he murmured. “You walked all the way to the park. You even let me brush your hair.”

Steve made a soft sound behind the paci. A happy little hum.

“You know what I think?” Eddie whispered, rocking him slightly. “I think you were waiting for someone to notice how tired you were. For someone to tell you it’s okay to stop trying to be the toughest guy in the room.”

Steve didn’t answer. But his grip around Eddie’s waist tightened a little.

“And I think… this is the bravest I’ve ever seen you.”

Steve sighed. Deep. Content.

Eddie held him as he drifted off, pink pacifier snug between his lips, thumb safely out of commission, and every inch of him softened in Eddie’s arms.

---

By the end of the week, it had a name.

Not officially.

But Steve would quietly say “Is it okay if I use it tonight?”
Or “Can you get the pink one?”
Or just crawl into bed and whisper, “Do you have it?”

And Eddie always did.

Always.

Sometimes Steve sucked quietly on it while Eddie rubbed his back.

Sometimes he curled up on Eddie’s lap during late movie nights and let himself doze off, paci in place, tension melting from his face like a candle snuffed out.

And the first time he asked for it without being exhausted or on the edge of tears?

Eddie had to bite his tongue not to cry.

Because he knew what it meant.

That Steve was safe.

That Steve trusted him.

That Steve — his strong, brave, sunburned boyfriend — had given himself permission to need this.

And Eddie would never, ever take that lightly.