Comicnerd557

You slip your phone into your back pocket and keep trekking toward the university cafe. There’s a small two-seater table in the back corner that you snag and immediately spread out your books and laptop to get to work. You’re lost to diagrams and note-taking for fifteen minutes before a paper cup gets placed into your field of view, on top of your notebook.

You follow the arm attached to the cup and meet Jason’s watchful gaze. He holds yours while lifting his own coffee cup and taking a swig. “Hey.” His greeting is straight to the point, which is very on brand.

“Thank you!” You smile gratefully and take a sip of your coffee while he takes the seat across from you.

“What are you studying today?” He asks, casually throwing his arm over the back of his chair and sipping from the cup with his other hand.

“Rotator cuff recovery.”

“This for your rehab class?”

“Yep.” You pop the ‘p’ and focus back on your notes. "You know, there's some stuff in here that might be good for you to try out." Your voice remains casual, no pressure, mere suggestion, eyes remaining averted.

"I don't have a torn rotator cuff." His response is gruff, like a cat with their hackles raised.

"Maybe, maybe not. But you do have trouble with your shoulder." You keep calm, eyes focused on your screen, hand scratching pen to paper.

"Says who?" He glares out the window and drinks his coffee.

"Says the person studying for their kinesiology degree."

He smiles without humor, head tilting back to your direction. You feel his eyes on you, but you keep your focus elsewhere. "You know... sometimes it seems like the whole reason you're studying Kin is so you can learn how to put me back together."

He expects another sarcastic quip or witty comeback. He's not prepared for the way your eyes narrow on the screen in front of you, like it takes extra effort to keep them there. Or how you bite your lip to keep the words in, rather than letting him have it like you usually do. He waits another beat, wondering if maybe you just need to finish your train of thought, but the silence between you remains. And it's loud.

"Are you?" he finally asks, setting his paper cup down on the table and straightening his posture in the chair.

Your willpower breaks, and your eyes flicker up to catch his piercing stare from across the table. You only hold it for a heartbeat, then turn back to your screen. "It... may have had some influence." Your confession is quiet, barely even heard over the chatter filling the cafe.

The background noise continues: names being called for orders, the constant whir of the coffee grinder, the hiss of the milk steamer, the general din of the other patrons. The world keeps spinning, but somehow, impossibly, in this one darkened corner of a crowded cafe, it's also come to a complete stop. Jason doesn't blink. He doesn't breathe. He stares, like a predator caught off guard, because its prey has walked right up to it and curled against its side for a nap. He drops his elbows onto the table and leans forward. "You need to keep talking."

"Don't make it weird, Jay."

"Nope." He reaches across the table and snatches your coffee cup, placing it on his corner of the table out of your reach. "You're not just brushing this off. Explain. Now."

You huff and drop your pen onto your notebook. "What's there to explain? You get hurt—I patch you up. This isn't new. I'll just actually know what I'm doing, now."

"I never asked you—"

"You didn't need to," you cut him off before he gets the chance to gain any steam. "I'm doing this because I want to. I've got your back, Jay. Both physically and metaphorically."

You've completely thrown him for a loop, which is why he doesn't react fast enough when you reach for his coffee cup in retaliation for him taking yours. "No. Fuck. Don't drink that!"

He reaches out to take the cup back, but it's already tilted toward your mouth. You brace yourself for the bitter taste of black coffee or whatever awful concoction he ordered for himself, but are stunned when a sweetly spiced flavor hits your tongue instead. The air between you both stills once again, but this time, it's for an entirely different reason.

You stare at Jason, eyes wide. He stares back. You watch all five stages of grief flicker across his face in rapid succession, like a video fast-forwarding. "Ah, fuck..." he mumbles and rubs a hand over his face.

You look at the cup, look back at him, then look to the cup once more. "...Did they mess up your order?"

He drops his hand from his face, crosses his arms, and leans back in his chair, glaring out the window. "No..." He doesn't need to be looking at you to know the smile that's spreading across your face. It's like clouds parting to let the sunlight through. "Don't fucking say it."

"Pumpkin."

"Don't."

"Spice."

"Fucking Christ!"

"Latte."

"I said don't say it!" He lunges, fast as a striking snake, and swipes the cup out of your hand, then promptly dumps your own cup back on top of your notebook.

"Jason, are you a basic bitch?" You're grinning so wide, it probably looks like you've huffed Joker gas.

"Shut the fuck up," he grumbles, still refusing to look at you while he takes another sip of his coffee.

"Oh my god. You are!" You start laughing maniacally. "Is this why you always insist on ordering for me? So everyone will assume the PSL is for someone else?"

"See if I ever order for you again..." He gipes.

You only laugh harder. "Oh, this is amazing! I have to tell everyone! Dick is gonna give you so much shit." You pull out your phone, only for him to immediately snatch it away.

"Don't fucking tell anyone. I swear to fucking god..."

"Come on!" You reach across the table to try to get your phone back, but he just holds it above his head. "This is too juicy to keep between us."

"It's not juicy! It's a popular drink. A lot of people like it!"

"Yeah, but you're you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

You pin him with a flat look. "You know what it fuckin' means."

He glares back. "If you tell a single soul, I'm never taking you to another Griffin's game."

"Wha-" you sputter. "That's not fair! You promised me season tickets!"

"Yeah, well, that was before you started threatening me."

"Jay!" You groan while flinging your head back. "Okay, fine." You straighten your posture, eyes flashing with mischief. "You can buy my silence, but it'll cost you." Your smile is positively evil. You touch your fingertips together, like a villain whose plan is coming along perfectly.

He sighs like he knew it was going to come to this. "What do you want?"

"Upgrade our next Griffin's game tickets to box seats."

"Deal."

You hold a finger up to indicate that you're not done yet. He rolls his eyes and gestures for you to continue. "You have to let me work on a body rehab plan for you, and you have to commit to it."

"I don't need—"

"Jay." You give him a pointed look.

He shifts under your stare and grunts. "Fine..." he eventually concedes. "Anything else, princess?"

You pause for a moment, unsure if you really want to say your last piece.

Jason raises a brow at your hesitation. There's a shift in the air between you two. Not a full-on stop, but a slide, like a wave coming up to kiss the sand.

"I want you to take me to dinner. Somewhere nice. One of those places only you Wayne-boys can get into on short notice."

Jason continues to watch you closely, wondering why that particular request would put you on edge. You both have gone out to dinner before. Granted, it was never anywhere fancy. Diner food, Chinese takeout, pizza... All easy, quick, and casual. That's usually how he preferred it, but if you wanted to get all dolled up and go to an unreasonably priced restaurant, who was he to— It finally hits him.

"Are you... blackmailing me into a date?" He asks, needing to confirm his theory.

"No!" you scoff, like his question is absurd. Then you wince. "I mean, maybe?"

"Like a real date?"

Your blood heats in embarrassment. "Yes, a real fucking date. Jesus, I know you know that I love you."

"Not like that, I didn't!"

"Seriously?!" You narrow your eyes at him like he's an idiot. "What part of I'm-getting-a-university-degree-in-keeping-you-alive doesn't scream endgame?"

"In my defense, I didn't know why you were getting that degree until less than an hour ago."

"You're a fucking detective!" you whisper hiss.

"Not a very good one, apparently!"

"Yes or no, Jason?" you ask point-blank, your anxiety not enjoying this particular back-and-forth bit.

He goes quiet, watching you in that way that feels like he's seeing everything. With most people, it would feel invasive, but not with him. Where others might look at you and judge, he simply observes and understands. He sees you as you are, not as how the world wants you to be. "I'll pick you up at 7."

You release the breath you didn't even know you were holding. "Okay." You continue to keep his gaze for another moment, then turn to get back to your note-taking. "Also, I think my roommate has pumpkin spice donuts in the pantry."

Jason's mouth curls into a devilish smirk. "Don't tempt me with a good time, baby girl."

Dick is out on patrol. Left before you even got home from work, with a bowl of pasta kept warm for you in the oven and a post-it note with a smiley face atop a box of brownies on the counter from the bakery just around the corner. The empty pasta bowl is keeping you company on the couch. The box of brownies would be too if you had any less self-control. You'd seriously considered it, but then you remembered how much he'd pout if you didn't leave him any. So you took only your half, the crumbs falling into the bowl and sticking to the last few streaks of pasta sauce.

During the next commercial break, you force yourself off the couch and take your fork and bowl to the kitchen to be washed. You leave them to dry on the drip rack and wipe your damp hands on a dish towel. You turn from the sink when the click of the electronic window lock unlatches before the pane slides against its track. The sound of boots on hardwood follows shortly thereafter, an audible queue he only makes for your benefit. You step into the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, still running the dishtowel between your fingers.

"You're home early."

He shuts and locks the window, then turns toward your voice. "Quiet night. Had better places to be." His grin is all charm that's pretending to be innocent. It doesn't fool either of you. The grin falters as soon as he sees you. "What is that?"

You raise a brow. It's difficult to distinguish what exactly he's referring to when you can't see his eyes through the whites of his mask. "What's what?"

"That." And now he's pointing.

You look down. "A dish towel?"

He sighs like a veteran detective who's been paired up with the new rookie. "Babe, the sweater."

"Oh!" You're finally on the same wavelength. "Yeah, I found it on Etsy. Cute, right?" You do a little twirl, showing off how the blue V shape stretches across your shoulders in both the front and back.

The tilt of his smirk is laced with smug satisfaction. "You look up Nightwing merch on Etsy?"

You pause and feel a brief flicker of embarrassment deep in your belly. "I mean, sometimes..." You turn to put the dishtowel back on its hook, so you don't have to see his smirk grow.

He doesn't let you get far before his arms are around your waist and he's pulling your body into his chest. "You like me," he teases.

You groan and struggle uselessly against his hold. "Pretty sure that was well established."

He hums in confirmation and kisses your hair. "You look good in my colors."

"Basically everyone looks good in blue and black," you argue.

"Not as good as you and me."

You hardcore roll your eyes and twist in his hold to face him. "You're insufferable."

His grin holds no shame. "You love me anyway."

"Well, your face certainly helps."

He huffs an amused laugh. "Don't be mean."

"Someone's gotta keep your ego in check."

His head tilts until his nose brushes against yours. "Tell me more about my face and your Etsy search history, then we can check in on my ego."

"Shut up."

"Make me."

You do.

Your fingers rake through the soft strands of his hair while your mouth traces the shape of his. He kisses back, eager and wanting. His tongue darts out, collecting a crumb of brownie at the corner of your mouth. "Save any for me?"

"I almost didn't."

His laugh feathers across your lips. "Good thing I came home early." He kisses you again, this time with a hint of possessive intent. Hands that have been trained with lethal efficiency are splayed across your back like you're the one thing he can't afford to lose hold of. They glide down the length of your spine and over the swell of your hips before gripping the back of your thighs and lifting you up. Your legs wrap around his waist, never breaking the kiss as he carries you back to the living room and deposits you on the couch.

He pulls back with a soft brush of his nose against yours, then kneels in front of the couch between your spread legs. You brush the back of your knuckles over his jaw and follow the curve of his cheekbone up until you reach the edge of his mask. You pause for a breath, then pull it off. His midnight-blue gaze finally meets yours, filled with heat and desire. The look in his eyes makes your heart do somersaults and gives your stomach the feeling of stepping onto a tightrope without a safety net. "Yeah, the face definitely helps," you joke, because the only other option is to embarrass yourself over how bad you want him.

He smirks like he knows anyway. He presses a blue, leather finger to the coms device in his ear. "Going dark. No contact unless it's an emergency." He then pulls the device out of his ear and tosses it onto the coffee table along with his mask.

"Better places to be, huh?" You ask with a raised brow.

His smirk only grows. "There's no better place in Gotham or Blüdhaven than between these legs," he says, hands spreading your knees even more.

"Dick!" you groan, half embarrassed, half aroused.

His chuckle is dark chocolate incarnate. "You talkin' to me or my cock?"

You nudge your foot into his ribs. It doesn't do much with all the armored plating in his suit, but it makes you feel better. "Smartass."

He grips the back of your calf and holds your leg still while he kisses the inside of your knee. "Think you mean great ass."

"Keep telling yourself that." The sharp sarcasm in your voice is immediately softened by the sigh that escapes you as you settle back into the couch cushions.

You feel his smirk as his mouth drags up your thigh. "Don't need to. Your eyes do all the talking every time they stare at it."

"You are such a shit." The sound that comes out of you is half-laugh, half-moan. "Always have to have the last word."

"Oh, my mouth's about to be real preoccupied in a minute." Dexterous fingers curl into the waistband of your leggings and underwear and start dragging them down. You lift your hips to make it easier for him to pull them off. He tosses them to the floor, along with your fuzzy socks, and hooks your legs over his broad shoulders.

You shiver as the cool evening air hits sensitive bare skin. His breath is a hot contrast as he drags your ass to the very edge of the couch and spreads your already soaked folds. "Already so wet for me. Good girl." His praise drags through you like the moon controlling the tides. He leans down and gives your clit a long, open-mouthed kiss. His tongue flicks and swirls over the tight bundle as he sucks it deeper into his mouth.

"Fuckk!" Your hips rock against his face, helpless under the onslaught of his oral faculties. He drags the tip of his tongue down the length of your slick folds, circles your dripping entrance, then laps back up to your clit. He does this over and over again until you're a writhing, whimpering mess, and your slick has completely covered the lower half of his face. "Dick, please," you shudder, thighs clenching around his shoulders.

"I know, baby." He pulls back, eyes wild. He knows exactly what you need. Biting the tip of his middle finger, he uses the leverage to pull off the leather glove. Long, nimble fingers glide to where you ache the most. He spreads your folds with two fingers and watches how your entrance pulses and drools, practically begging to be filled. "This what you need, pretty girl? Need to have my fingers stuffed up this dripping cunt?" He presses two fingers into your heat and moans at the way your body practically sucks them in. "God, beautiful. So fucking eager, every time." He thrusts his fingers into you, working them deeper. He curls them up into that spot that makes you whimper and say his name so sweetly.

"Fuck, Dick!"

There it is. He grins in wicked triumph. "Gonna make you feel so good, princess. Gotta show you how much I appreciate my number one fan."

You jolt when one particular twinge of his fingers sends ripples to your core. "You talkin' to me or my pussy?"

He scoffs with amusement. "Now who's being a smartass?"

"Takes one to know one—fuck!" He latches back onto your clit and sucks hard while pressing into your pleasure center with his fingers from inside. "Not fair," you hiss through clenched teeth while reaching down, nails scratching at his scalp as you fist his hair.

His eyes flash with self-satisfied mischief. He makes a show of slurping at your clit as loud and obscenely as possible, like he's trying to harmonize with the wet squelch of your body consuming his fingers. He continues to hold the upper hand in the conversation, even without saying a single word. This might be one of the few times you're actually willing to concede. You'd be mad about it if it didn't feel so fucking good.

Your grip tightens in his hair as you surrender to the whims of your body and ride his pretty boy face. Your back arches, hips rutting against his fingers and tongue as that primal need for release takes hold. He moans in delight and works you even harder. He loves it when you reach this point. When you stop resisting and finally give in to your carnal nature. When pleasure becomes all-consuming.

"Dick! I'm gonna... O-oh, shit!" Your hips buck in uncontrollable spasms, pleasure shooting through you like a speed elevator in a high-rise. He guides you through it, continuing to curl his fingers against that spongy place inside you, thrumming your pleasure like a master musician. He moans even louder, tongue hot and heavy on your clit until you're seeing stars behind your eyes.

Your thighs shake and clamp around his ears, and still, he doesn't let up. He fucks you with his fingers and tongue until you're well past the point of overstimulation. He waits for you to melt against the cushions, muscles going limp, before he finally removes his fingers from between your legs

"Dick, 'm getting too hot," you whine, fingers curling into the bottom hem of the sweater and dragging the material up your stomach.

His other hand settles above yours, stilling your movements. "Not yet, baby. Wanna see you wearing me on the outside while you're stuffed full of me on the inside."

Your breath catches in your throat at the prospect.

Before he can do anything about it, though, there's suddenly a loud series of bangs against the window he came in through. "Get your ass back out here, Grayson!"

You yelp in a very unlady-like manner and scramble for the blanket folded across the back of the couch to cover your naked lower half. The fancy windows of Dick's apartment are tinted to prevent people from being able to look inside, but you know he and his siblings have ways of working around that sort of tech.

Dick releases an annoyed sigh and turns his head toward the window. "Go away, JT!"

Jason laughs without humor from the other side. "You left your tracker on, Dickshit! We all know that when you go dark while you're at home, it's 'cause you're planning on getting laid."

"Oh my god..." You cover your face in mortification and desperately will the couch to swallow you whole.

Dick finishes extracting himself from between your legs and moves toward the window.

"What are you doing?!" you panic whisper after him.

He sends you back an appeasing look before turning and opening the window.

Red Hood is leaning casually on the other side. "You've got a little something..." Jason gestures to the general area of his mouth beneath the bright red helmet.

You want to die.

Dick glares at his brother. "Kindly fuck off."

Jason laughs again. "No can do, hermano. Penguin and Two-Face are on the move. Something big. Bat wants all hands on deck."

Dick's gaze glints with danger. "You've got impeccable timing."

"Hey, I let the lady finish, didn't I?"

"Oh, fucking kill me!" You pull the blanket over your face and curl up into a ball of embarrassment.

"Cool sweater, by the way," Jason calls into the apartment past Dick's shoulder.

Your only response is to stick a hand out from under the blanket, middle finger raised. You hear Jason's amused laugh.

"We're supposed to meet at the harbor in 10, which gives you 5 to finish up whatever's happening here. Should be plenty of time for you, TD!" He slaps Dick on the shoulder, none too gently, then jumps off the fire escape.

You hear the window slide shut, and only then, emerge from the safety of your blanket den. "TD?" you question, watching your boyfriend move to the kitchen sink to wash your slick from his hands and face.

"It's what he calls me when he's trying to piss me off." He dries himself with the hand towel and looks at you from over his shoulder. "Stands for Tiny Dick."

Your mouth curls to the side, amusement slowly bleeding in to cover your earlier embarrassment. "And does it work?"

That smirk is back on his face. "Well, you and I both know it's not true, so..." He lets the words drift off, his intent perfectly implied.

You roll your eyes. "Get outta here. Stop the bad guys. Then come back and you can show me how not-tiny your TD actually is."

His grin is full of boyish charm and wicked anticipation. "Keep the sweater on. I'm not done with you wearing it."

You watch him slip his mask and gloves back on with a raised brow. "Only if I can finish the brownies while you're gone."

He rests his hands on his hips and contemplates your counteroffer. "Deal, but you have to show me what other Nightwing apparel they've got on Etsy. Especially if it's got lace and a lot of straps."

"You are so full of yourself!" You throw a pumpkin-shaped couch pillow at his head.

You have served at the Temple of Solis for longer than you can remember. Guided by her light and warmth, and motivated by her flaming fury. When you are given your assignment to leave the Temple and travel to Metropolis, of all places, you don't fully understand why. But who were you to question the wisdom of your superiors, who have a much stronger connection to the Divine Goddess than yourself?

A new exhibit is opening at the Metropolis Museum of Natural History on ancient deities, and the Temple is allowing them to borrow some holy artifacts for one of the displays. You've been tasked with facilitating their transfer to the museum, as well as with guarding them for the duration of their stay within the museum's walls. Though many believe these artifacts to be just some ancient relics from a forgotten time, the power housed within them is far too great to be left unattended.

With credentials given to you by the Temple, you are able to get on staff with the museum as an expert on ancient religions, which allows you to stay close to the new exhibit and the artifacts.

It's a few weeks before the official grand opening, when you are informed that you will be speaking on the museum's behalf to one of the local newspapers for their article regarding the new exhibit. You're given a date and a time on when you can expect the journalist's arrival and a sample of a few questions they'll likely ask. You plan your responses and work on a quick guided tour of the exhibit hall.

Fifteen minutes after the expected time, one extremely flustered Clark Kent comes stumbling through the museum doors, glasses skewed, shoulder bag swinging precariously from his arm, and smelling like sun-kissed open skies. You take one look at the man and you know exactly who he is. Hypno-glasses have no effect on a priestess of light. Even without them, there's no concealing the way sunlight seems to bend and stretch its golden fingers toward his direction. You've never seen your Goddess' light react to someone in that manner. Like She mourns his loss when he moves into the shade. He then steps under one of the skylights in the main hall, and suddenly the room feels brighter, solely because he's back within Her reach.

His eyes lock on yours, and you're instantly reminded of the summer skies at the Temple when you and the other priestesses in training would sneak out to cool off by the river. You never expected to find a piece of your home anywhere in this city of steel and concrete. Yet alone someone who seems to have been directly touched by the Goddess you've dedicated your entire being to. You have to clear your throat before introducing yourself, just to keep your voice steady.

He smiles, and his dimples are so adorable, you feel your knees weaken. He shakes your hand, his grip so gentle, he may as well be holding onto a feather. You briefly wonder if he does that to conceal his true strength or because of his true strength. "Sorry, I'm late," he apologizes while fixing his glasses. "Seems like there's always some sort of catastrophe blocking traffic in this city."

The corner of your mouth lifts in amusement as you read between the lines of his comment. "Yes, I have quickly learned that flying appears to be the most reliable form of transportation in Metropolis."

His head tilts, lips parting as he flounders for a response. "I-um... I'm not sure I know what you mean."

You laugh innocently. "Just that Superman seems to be the only one who has the ability to show up on time, while the rest of us have to either walk or sit in traffic."

"Oh," he breathes in relief, shoulders loosening while he chuckles lightly. "Right, of course."

"Well, then," you hide your grin by gesturing further into the museum. "Shall we begin your tour, Mr. Kent? Or did you already have some questions for me?"

"Just Clark, is fine." He sends you a shy smile, his ears turning pink. "I'm not that formal." He then fumbles with his bag, pulling out a notebook and a recording device. "And I most definitely have questions. Do you mind if I record this? Only as source material for the article, I won't post the tour transcripts online or anything. Oh, and what about pictures?"

You want to laugh. He's so endearing that you could probably watch him all day long and never grow bored. "Yes, you can record this for reference, and pictures are fine, just keep the flash off."

"Perfect." He turns on the voice recorder and slips it into his shirt pocket.

You begin leading him toward the new exhibit hall, which is still curtained off from the general public. "Here at the Metropolis Natural History Museum, we believe that education and understanding of the past helps to shape and influence our progression toward our future. And though modern science may have ways of explaining the impossible, there's still a significant gap between explainable forces of nature, versus our understanding of miracles from the Divine. This exhibit has been designed to convey the transformation of human belief in the Divine across time, as our fundamental understanding of the world has also changed. Starting with ancient deities, all the way to our modern perception of God."

You walk Clark through the exhibit, showing him the various artifacts, artworks, and historical relics that the museum has carefully curated for their displays. He asks several insightful questions, which have you stretching your knowledge on the items within the exhibit, especially since this job is just your cover for staying close to the Solis artifacts, rather than your true passion. You're immensely grateful for the several days you spent studying for this interview prior to his arrival.

"Wow, that's gorgeous." Clark's eyes are immediately drawn to the golden display at the back wall of the final room to the exhibit.

You smile to yourself and allow him a moment to take in the display before he snaps a few pictures. "Solis is the oldest God of record to still have a following even in modern times," you explain, a hint of pride sweetening your tone. "What you're seeing here is an ancient headdress for the high priestess of the Temple of Solis, The Sun's Halo."

Stationed behind 2 inches of bulletproof glass is your very reason for being here. The gilded halo crown is so intricately carved, it shimmers like the sun over rippling water, even from the dim fluorescent lights of the museum. It's the most treasured possession of your temple. So much so that you've never even seen it worn. You can hardly believe that they allowed it to be taken from the vault, where it's been held for thousands of years.

"Legend has it that in times of crisis, the high priestess can use the crown to commune with the Goddess herself."

Clark hums thoughtfully, eyes still locked onto it. "A direct link to a God? It's a wonder why no one's already using this. Seems like there's a crisis every day on this planet."

You laugh ruefully. "Well, the legend also states that if one who is unworthy deigns to wear the crown, the wrath of Solis will smite them with a radiant flame so powerful, it will be the last deed they'll suffer on this earth."

Clark blinks heavily and finally rips his gaze away from the relic to give you a look of surprise. "Right. Don't touch the crown." He jots a quick note into his notebook, which makes you laugh.

"The Mother Sun can be quite ruthless if you spark her ire."

He eyes you curiously, "You sound like you're talking from experience."

You shoot him a conspiratorial smile. "I did my dissertation on Solis, and instead of finishing my first draft, I took the day off to go to the beach with some friends. Worst sunburn I've ever had in my life."

Clark chuckles in amusement. "Do you think that could have been avoided by a little sunblock?"

You shrug, still smiling in jest. "Normally, when I'm not incurring the Goddess's wrath, I don't need any."

"So, what exactly does one have to do to stay in her favor?" There's still a teasing lilt to his tone, but you also catch the flash of genuine curiosity in his eyes.

Your skin warms under the gentle intensity of his gaze. "Well, the easiest ways to win her favor are to appreciate her presence. Even the smallest of gestures have a way of adding up. Saying hello to the sunrise when you wake up in the morning. Taking a moment to truly feel the breeze on a sunny day. Giving thanks for the food on your plate that was grown under the grace of her light. Even grander gestures are also a surefire way to earn her blessing. Kindness, generosity, hope."

"Hope?" he repeats.

You're not surprised that the word caught his attention. "Well, what greater meaning could you possibly derive from the first rays of the sun after a seemingly endless night?"

He takes in your words with a soft nod of understanding. "You seem to know a lot about Solis. Are you with the Temple?"

You blink and rip your gaze from his, realizing you've been letting your passion leak through too much, and you may have just blown your cover. You quickly scramble for an acceptable response. "While conducting research for my dissertation, I fell in love with her teachings. I apologize if I came off a little preachy."

"No, you were perfect," Clark insists while shaking his head. His next words come out quickly, like he can hardly even contain them within his body. "Would you like to have dinner with me?"

You stare in surprise, head slowly tilting to the side. "Is this on or off the record?"

"Oh, Golly," he hastily reaches for the recorder in his pocket and turns it off. "I'm sorry, I'm not usually so unprofessional. It's just, you're so pretty—I mean, you seem pretty intelligent, and I like hearing you talk—Uh, talk about Solis. I find it incredibly fascinating and would love to hear more."

He's like a golden retriever puppy; tail wagging in excitement, but tripping over his own paws. It's incredibly charming without feeling excessive. You couldn't fight the grin tilting your lips even if you wanted to. "I get off work at 6 on Friday." Your eyes sparkle coquettishly. "And I've heard that Helios Steakhouse has good reviews."

He raises a brow over the rim of his glasses. "Wouldn't a place like that be considered sacrilege for someone trying to keep from Solis' wrath?"

Your grin is cheeky and mischievous. "Luckily, my Goddess also has a sense of humor." Your heels click on the hardwood floor as you start walking backward toward the exit. "Well, Clark, I believe that concludes our interview. Did you have any further questions for me?"

His eyes flash with heat at the sultry lilt of his name on your lips. "I think I've got everything I need for the article, but just in case, maybe I should grab your number?"

Smooth, Kent. Real smooth.

You make your way back over to him, maintaining eye contact as you reach for the pen and notebook in his hand. At the bottom of the page, under his hastily scribbled notes, you jot down your number, followed by a quick doodle of a sun. “That’s my personal number, so you can reach me, even after hours.” You hand the notebook and pen back to Clark with a saucy wink.

His cheeks flush, instantly ruining the stoic and composed look he was going for. “Thanks,” he smiles shyly.

You escort him back to the main hall, slipping back into your professional persona now that other guests and museum staff are around. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Kent. I look forward to reading your article.”

“You, too,” he says, shaking your hand again, his hold a little firmer this time around. “The new exhibit seems like a real show stopper. It’s both informative and visually appealing. I’m sure it will be quite successful.”

“Thank you. I’ll be sure to extend your praise to the team.”

“Please do.” He releases your hand, and your fingers flinch at the loss of contact.

You’ve only just met the man, but as you watch him walk out the doors to the museum, you can’t help but notice that it feels like he’s taken a part of you with him.

Friday evening doesn’t come fast enough. You spend the remainder of the week finalizing preparations for the exhibit’s grand opening. There’s going to be an unveiling ceremony for the museum’s donors the night before it opens to the public. You’re in constant communication with the caterers and wine suppliers to make sure everything goes off without a hitch. Then the graphic artist sent over the PDF file for the updated Museum map, but there were several egregious spelling errors, and they had mixed up the placement of the bathrooms with the emergency fire exits. On top of all of that, you get called out to the main floor to give VIP tours at least three times a day.

You’re definitely missing life at the Temple while you’re heading out the employee exit of the museum, but then your eyes land on the broad shoulders of one Clark Kent, and all your worries seem to wash away. He turns at the sound of your heels clicking softly on the pavement and smiles as soon as those cerulean orbs have you in their focus. “Hi,” he grins boyishly, meeting you halfway.

You find yourself matching his grin with one of your own. “Hey there.” As soon as he’s within reach, you lean closer and place a kiss of greeting to his cheek. “From ancient deities to modern Gods, the hands of the Divine have shaped mankind’s perceptions of the world both as it is and how it could be.”

Clark bashfully drops his gaze to his shoes. “You read the article.”

You giggle at his pinkening ears. “I told you I would.” You hook your arm through his and begin walking in the direction of the restaurant.

He falls into step with you, a little too aware of how nicely you fit against him. “Did you like it?” He feels pathetic for asking, like a puppy seeking approval from its new owner, but he can’t help himself.

“It was a glowing review of the exhibit. Of course, I liked it.” You smile like a cat that’s just caught a mouse. “Although, did I detect a hint of bias?”

Clark clears his throat and averts his gaze. “Maybe you’re just really good at giving tours.”

You laugh, but before you can tease him further, there’s a distant boom followed by a smoke cloud from what looks like Downtown Metropolis. Your smile quickly turns into a frown of concern. “That doesn’t look good…”

Clark stiffens next to you. “Um, I just realized my wallet is missing. I think I dropped it in the subway. Why don’t you head for the restaurant, and I’ll catch up with you in a minute?”

You look up into his anxious gaze. “Oh, okay.” He’s a terrible liar, but you don’t tell him that. You unlink your arm from his and give him an encouraging smile. “Be careful.”

He smiles like he’s got a secret, but he appreciates the sentiment. “I will.” He rushes off. Not even in the direction of the nearest subway. You smile to yourself and shake your head, wondering how no one else has found him out yet, or if they're all pretending to be oblivious, like you.

Fifteen minutes later, you make it to the restaurant. Thirty minutes after that, Clark comes running around the corner, his tie missing, hair ruffled, and a streak of ash on his cheek. You’re still waiting outside the restaurant, but you now have a bag of takeout in one hand and some plastic cutlery in the other. “The restaurant’s pretty crowded. I thought it might be nicer to find a bench by the water and watch the sunset while we eat,” you explain when Clark gives you a curious look over.

His eyes soften. “That sounds great.” He takes the bag from you, ever the gentleman. You thread your freed-up fingers through his, feeling the warmth of his palm against yours.

“Did you find your wallet?”

“Huh?” He looks confused until he remembers the excuse he gave you earlier. “Oh, yeah! It was in the lost and found. Took them a while to find it, since it hadn’t been officially logged yet.”

“You’re lucky no one stole it.”

He chuckles good-naturedly, “Well, this isn’t Gotham.”

You hum in agreement.

There’s a free bench by the waterfront that you both settle into, shoulders and thighs brushing as you eat from the takeout boxes in your lap and talk. Clark tells you about growing up in Kansas and how different everything seemed to be out here when he came to Metropolis for school. You tell him that you’re also still growing used to Big-City-Life.

“So, what drew you to Solis? If you don’t mind me asking.” Clark’s eyes are full of curiosity.

You smile fondly toward the pink and orange hues painting the horizon. “I’ve always loved the sun. On nice days, it was practically impossible to keep me cooped up indoors. My parents used to call me Sun Beam, because I was happiest when I was out playing in the sun.”

Clark's eyes are as soft as a spring morning, his smile like the first rays of the sun after the rain. “Sun Beam… It suits you.”

Your cheeks warm, whether in embarrassment or from the intensity of his gaze, you’re not sure. “When I found out there was a practicing faith dedicated to the sun, I was beyond excited. And then the first time I visited the Temple of Solis… it felt like coming home.”

The two of you sit in companionable silence as the sun dips below the horizon. You mutter a short prayer under your breath, more out of habit than anything else.

“What was that?” Clark questions.

Your gaze swings back to his, having forgotten that he has super hearing. “Sorry. That was a short prayer to Solis in the language of the sun. It roughly translates to By the Grace of Her Light. You’re supposed to say it in moments you’re feeling grateful or as a thank you to Solis at the end of a day. It’s like saying thank you for the light that she provides the Earth.”

“Can you teach it to me?” Clark asks, eyes not just inquisitive, but wanting. Like he’s genuinely interested in learning about your faith.

Oh Goddess, is this man easy to fall in love with...

A few minutes later, and there’s a stitch in your side from how hard you’re laughing while this poor Kansas farm boy tries and fails to speak the language of the sun. “You need to roll the R, Clark! Rrrrr… Gratiserrrrraa,” you say it slow and drawn out. “Per gratisera,” you say the beginning of the phrase again at normal speed.

“Great-E-Syrup. That’s the best I’ve got.” He shakes his head while laughing with you. “I don’t think my mouth was designed to make those sounds.”

Amusement lights up your features in the dimming daylight. “All right, hotshot. What is your mouth made for, then?” You don’t realize the implication behind your teasing jab until it’s already slipped past your lips.

Clark goes still, eyes flickering down to your smile. “...I’d say it can do this pretty well.” You barely have the chance to take in a breath before you feel the brush of his lips against yours. He cups the side of your face, head tilting a little as he deepens the kiss. You moan into his mouth, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt where your hand rests against his chest. You feel the brush of his tongue against the seam of your lips and are utterly helpless as they part and invite him in like a long-lost friend. Now Clark is the one moaning, because the moment your taste reaches him, he’s hooked. You’re like liquid sunlight, vibrant and golden, and seeping into him like you have more light inside of you than you know what to do with.

“Wowza…” He pulls back, looking at you like he’s never been kissed like that before. “You taste like sunshine.”

You giggle at his words. “Does sunshine taste good?”

He grins and leans back in. “Let me have another taste to make sure.”

Your fingers dive into the curls at the nape of his neck as you sigh against him. His tongue finds yours once more, and just like before, he feels a steady stream of energy flowing into him. It’s not nearly as potent as when he’s being healed at the Fortress, but the sensation is unmistakable. “Is this what taking a shot of espresso feels like?” he mumbles against you.

You laugh while pulling back and look at him dubiously, not entirely understanding his reaction. “You’ve never had a shot of espresso?”

He flounders for a response. “Um, I have, but caffeine doesn’t really affect me.”

You hum, tightening your hold around his neck. “Well, then I guess that just means you’ll need to come find me when you’re in need of a pick-me-up.”

He grins, letting you pull him back in. “Guess so…”

The sun has long since set by the time the two of you are leaving the bench and heading back home. Clark’s suit jacket is draped over your shoulders to protect you from the barely chilled evening breeze. Summer nights in Metropolis are fairly warm, but you’re not going to reject his act of chivalry.

He walks you to your apartment building and even follows you up to your door, just so he can be sure you’ve gotten home safe.

“Do you want to come inside?” you offer, fiddling with your keys instead of opening to door.

He looks down at your kiss-swollen lips, and you see the temptation in his eyes, but after a second, he shakes his head and shifts back half a step. “I shouldn’t. I’m not normally even a kiss-on-the-first-date kind of guy.”

“I can respect that.” You smile up at him so sweetly, it makes him want to take back his words even more.

“When can I see you again?” Does he sound desperate? Does he care if he does? The answer to the first is yes, the answer to the second is no.

You either don’t notice or don’t mind that he’s practically whining for the scraps of your attention. “I’ve got an empty +1 slot for the Donor’s Gala, the night before we open the exhibit. Would you be interested?”

“I would,” he responds immediately. Good gosh, was he always this pathetic?

Your smile is pure radiance. “Okay. I’ll text you the details. It’s a black-tie event. I hope you’ve got a tux.”

“I do,” he confirms.

You finally turn and push the key into your door. “Have a good night, Clark.”

“Good night.” He has to physically curl his hands into fists to restrain himself from chasing after you for one more of your sunshine kisses. Your door clicks shut and he doesn’t have the strength to stop himself from activating his x-ray vision. You’re leaning with your back against the door and have your fingers pressed to your lips. Clark feels a jolt of victorious satisfaction running through him. He smiles to himself and it takes extra effort to keep his feet on the ground as he walks away.

Three weeks and two weekend coffee dates later, it’s Donor’s Night at the museum. You asked Clark to meet you there, since you were going to have to work all day for the last-minute preparations. Sweetheart that he is, he showed up an hour early bearing a fresh cup of coffee and a box of cookies. You could have kissed him on the spot. In fact, you did. He smiled all giddy and asked if there was anything he could do to help.

“Catering table three in the Dinosaur Hall keeps losing power, and I haven’t had the chance to get over there to see what’s going on. Can you take a look?”

“Sure thing.”

Twenty minutes later, he finds you organizing pamphlets at the guest services counter.

“They were running two different power strips into a third one, and it kept tripping the surge protector. I got them all sorted and politely scolded them for nearly burning this whole place down.”

You smile gratefully. “A verbal lashing from Clark Kent? Sorry, I missed it.”

He averts his gaze, cheeks dusting a light pink. “I wasn’t mean about it.”

You laugh and make your way out from behind the desk. You lean close and kiss the corner of his mouth. “Thank you. You’re the best.” He wants to lean in for a proper kiss, but you’re already stepping away. “I need to get changed before the first of the guests start arriving.” You walk a few more steps before glancing over your shoulder with a raised brow. “Are you coming?”

Clark blinks in surprise, “Oh!” He quickly trails after you, following you through the Employees Only door and to the back offices.

There’s a garment bag hanging off the wall sconce near your desk. You grab it on your way to the employee bathroom. You reemerge a few minutes later, draped in pale yellow silk, clenching bobby pins between your teeth while you attempt to tame your hair into an acceptable updo for the company you’re about to keep. “Can you get my zipper?” you ask Clark, flashing him with your bare back.

He gulps and feels the temperature of the room rise significantly. You’ve got too much on your mind to really notice the way Clark’s knuckles brush against your skin as he drags the zipper up your back, but he’s in pure agony. One wrong move and he could all too easily tear the fabric. He has to hold his breath too, because you’ve sprayed just a hint of some type of floral perfume that smells so good, it’s making him dizzy. When the zipper reaches the end of its track, you flash Clark a smile over your shoulder, completely unaware of the torture you’re putting him through. You walk around him to swap out your work heels for a dressier pair and then touch up your makeup in a compact mirror.

“Okay,” you breathe, running through your mental checklist. When you’re certain that you’re as prepared as you can possibly be, you turn back to Clark. “All right, Kent, which smile says thank you for the donations without also looking like I want to throw up on everything you did to amass such wealth; this one or this one?” You show him two different types of practiced smiles.

He chuckles, “Definitely number two. I can feel the hostility in your eyes with number one.”

“Good to know.” You link your hand with his and tug him back out to the main hall. As guests start showing up, you force yourself away from the relative safety of his presence in order to mingle and network with the donors. An hour later, and you realize Clark might be doing some networking of his own, because you’re pretty sure you caught him chatting with Bruce Wayne next to the display of Panathenaic amphorae. You’re beginning to lose track of time the more your feet start to hurt in these stilettos. Designer does not equal comfort.

You feel a familiar warmth at your side moments before Clark’s hand rests against your back. “Careful, you’re starting to give your number one smile,” he warns in a low tone.

You moan in discomfort and lean more against him. “Goddess, smite me here and now. I don’t have the strength for smile number 2.”

Clark laughs quietly, arm tightening around your waist. “I don’t want your goddess to smite you. Here or anywhere.”

“Well, if it isn’t Clark Kent… Shouldn’t you be out chasing after Superman?”

Smile number one makes its way back onto your face as you both turn toward Lex Luthor’s approaching figure.

“I report on other things,” Clark responds, a hard edge to his tone you’ve never heard him use with anyone else before.

Lex smirks dryly, “Yes, like the heavy-handed drivel you spewed about this sorry excuse of a collection. Clearly, you had someone you were trying to impress.” His eyes switch to you, making you feel unclean as he rakes his gaze over your form. “I’ll give you some points, Kent. She may very well be the most interesting thing in this room. Her, and the object she was sent here to protect.”

Your entire body stiffens before you can tell yourself not to react, because he knows. You don’t know how, but the glint of interest in his eyes is unmistakable. It’s not the same kind of interest that Clark looks at you with. It’s pure greed. A hunger for power he has no right to covet. Power he doesn’t even understand.

You feel Clark’s hand tighten against your waist and it’s the only thing stopping you from dashing forward and clawing that smug grin off Lex Luthor’s face. He takes a sip from his glass of wine and continues to smile knowingly before he moves on and blends into the crowd.

“That man is the worst,” Clark mutters, watching him leave before he looks down at you and realizes how shaken up you are. “Hey, are you okay?”

“I need to make a phone call.”

You rush back through the Employees Only door, Clark hot on your heels. “What’s going on?” he asks, noticing how your hands shake as you reach for your cellphone that sits on your desk and activate a number you have on speed dial.

You’re talking as soon as the line picks up, and Clark quickly realizes that he doesn’t understand a single word you’re saying, but he doesn’t need to know the foreign language in order to grasp the severity of the situation. He hears you say Solis several times, and then recognizes the cadence of your words from the prayer you’d tried to teach him on your first date. What did you call it? The language of the sun. That’s what you’re speaking right now. While you pace and speak urgently into the phone, Clark is starting to connect the dots. Clearly, you’re much more involved with the Temple of Solis than some Grad Student’s fleeting interest. He’d already had his suspicions on that, but now they were confirmed. And Lex mentioned that you were sent here to protect something. It’s not difficult to piece out what.

Your tone changes to desperate pleading as you argue with the person on the other side before they hang up. You gape at the phone, barely even able to comprehend what they told you.

“Lex Luthor is going to try to steal the crown, isn’t he?” Clark asks, drawing your attention back to him.

The despair on your face makes his stomach clench. “Yes,” you whisper, like saying it too loud will bring it into existence this very moment.

Clark’s brows pinch together. “Lex Luthor can buy just about anything. He’s not a jewel thief. Why would he even want it?”

You release a long sigh while tossing your phone back onto the desk and rub at your temples with your other hand. “Because the legends about it are true,” you finally confess. Your hand drops from your face, and then you cross your arms over your chest like it’s the only thing keeping you in one piece. You lift your eyes back to Clark’s. “Whoever wears the crown… wields the Sun.”

He blanches as your words fully sink in. “Golly…” He runs his fingers through his unruly curls. “Well, what did the temple say? Are they sending more people to help you protect it?”

You scoff and look to the ceiling, willing the tears stinging the back of your eyes not to fall. “They said that Solis is testing me and I’m supposed to handle this on my own.”

“What?” he stares at you incredulously. “A holy relic powerful enough to control the sun, and they’re leaving one person to protect it against a man with his own private army?”

Your voice wavers from the stress bleeding into your veins like poison. “Oh, I am abundantly aware of the situation, Clark! Thank you very much.”

He grimaces and rubs at the back of his neck. “Sorry, that wasn’t very helpful.” He steps closer and gently grasps your shoulders. “Even without the Temple, you’re not alone. I’m here. I’ll help you keep the crown safe.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. “I don’t know what to do.”

Clark pulls your body into his chest, arms wrapping securely around you while he tucks your head under his chin. “We’ll figure it out together.” His grip tightens when he feels you shudder against him.

After you’ve had a minute to calm down, the two of you make your way back out to the gala. Things are already starting to wind down, and Lex Luthor is nowhere in sight. You make your way to the back of the new exhibit, and are only able to take in a full breath once your eyes land on The Sun’s Halo and you confirm it’s still safe. Once the last of the guests have left, you kick off your heels and quickly collapse into a chair at one of the dining tables. The caterers are packing up, and the cleaning crew will be here soon, but you’re too exhausted to care.

Clark kneels on the ground in front of you and gives you a worried look. “You’ve had a long day. Why don’t you head home and get some rest? I’ll watch over the crown tonight.”

Your hand reaches out, brushing the curls off his forehead. “If I go home, I won’t be able to sleep.”

The concern in his eyes only grows. “Honey, you’re gonna have to sleep eventually.”

It takes you a second to remember that there are foldout beds in the supply closet. “There’s a cot here that I can use. We host slumber parties for the summer camp kids. I just need to pull something out of storage.”

Clark helps you carry the cot and a vacuum-sealed bag with blankets and sheets out of the storage room and sets it up in the employee lounge while you change out of your dress and back into your work attire. It’s not as good as pajamas, but better than the constricting dress. By the time you’re coming out of the bathroom, Clark has rolled your desk chair over to the cot and is making himself comfortable in it. He’s removed the top half of his tuxedo, leaving him in his white undershirt and slacks.

“Are you sure you don’t want to set up another bed?” you ask, standing between his legs.

He smiles and shakes his head, hands resting gently on your hips as he looks up at you. “I’ll be okay. I don’t need much sleep to function.”

You run your fingers through his hair and watch how his eyes fall shut at the sensation of your nails against his scalp. “Thank you for coming tonight, Clark,” you tell him with weight behind your words. “For being here now.”

He blinks his eyes back open, sky-blue pools full of sincerity and significance. “You’re not alone in this.”

Your palms cup either side of his face as you lean down to kiss him. It’s raw and heavy. Not suffocating, just meaningful. It’s less teasing and more substance as you convey your emotions through action rather than words. When you pull back, even Clark is a little breathless. You rest your forehead against his, your eyes still closed. “Thank you,” you whisper once more, breath tickling his lips like a summer breeze.

“Get some sleep, Sun Beam.” Despite the situation, the fear and uncertainty, hearing that nickname from him manages to pull a small smile out of you.

Shifting away, you half walk, half stumble into the cot. You lie on your side, facing Clark as he rolls the chair closer to you. His hand wraps around yours, where it rests on the mattress. Your blinks become slower as your exhaustion settles in. Fighting the urge to sleep is a losing battle and it’s not much longer before you’re out.

Morning comes without any sort of break-in attempt, but this does nothing to ease your frazzled nerves. Clark runs home after you’re awake to change out of his tux, then comes back with coffee, pastries, and a change of clothes for you. It’s the first day of the new exhibit now being open to the public. You’re not sure if that means Luthor will be more, or less likely to strike. On one hand, it’s a lot of witnesses, but on the other, large crowds make blending in easier.

All your panic and planning are for naught, because it ends up being a completely normal day at the museum. The worst part had been when some guests ignored the Emergency Exit signs all over a set of doors and tripped the fire alarm. You were certain that it was Lex Luthor’s doing, and it took Clark nearly an hour to get you to calm down.

The next few days seem to follow a similar pattern. Normal inconveniences that come with the territory of running a public attraction that used to just have you rolling your eyes, instead are sending you into borderline panic attacks. It’s made worse when Clark needs to start going back to the Daily Planet. You know you can’t keep him away from his day job, and if anything were to actually happen, he could be here faster than anyone else, but not having him close by makes you feel like you’re spiraling.

Three months pass without even a whisper of action from Lex. At this point, you’re starting to gaslight yourself into thinking you blew his words way out of proportion. Maybe it was just an eccentric billionaire’s way of making a bad joke?

You’re going through some feedback emails and are compiling a report to give to the board of directors regarding the success of the new exhibit when you hear a familiar gate walking toward your desk. Clark smiles when you look up and spot him. He waves in greeting to some of your coworkers, who all know him by name at this point, because he’s here so often. He’s holding a wicker basket and has a checkered blanket tucked under his arm.

“I thought we could have lunch out on the grass,” he explains once he’s reached your desk.

You glance at the clock on your computer screen and realize that it is indeed time for your lunch break. “Perfect timing.” You save your files, then push out your chair and stand to give Clark a kiss on the cheek. You thread your fingers through his free hand and pull him out the back door to the small grassy park behind the museum. You pick a spot in the sun and Clark spreads out the blanket while you’re kicking off your heels and diving into the picnic basket. Lunch is simple: handmade sandwiches with potato chips and fresh lemonade, but the bread is nice and fluffy, and the chips have the perfect amount of salt, especially when chased down with a refreshing sip of lemonade.

Clark asks you how work is going, and you try to play off your response as nonchalant, but he sees right through you.

“You look tired.” He doesn’t say it to be mean. He’s concerned about you.

You scoff, and your smile is self-deprecating, “Well, I’m still not sleeping well, so that tracks.” You take another sip of lemonade to avoid his gaze.

“You know, I’ve been told my lap can be a pretty comfy spot for a quick nap,” he offers while patting the top of his thigh.

This time, your laugh is more genuine. “By who?”

He grins back. “By the farm cat we had growing up, mostly.”

Your amusement is plain to see as you move your plate and lemonade to the side before lying down with your head on his leg. “Did this cat tell you other things?” you ask teasingly, shifting into a more comfortable position and closing your eyes.

Clark chuckles softly and starts running his fingers from the top of your temple down the side of your face. “My parents kept him around to catch mice in the barn, but he was mostly feral. Hissed and spat at anyone who got too close. I’ve never seen an angrier ball of fluff. I used to sit with it in the barn, after all my homework and chores were done. I don’t really know why. I guess I didn’t want him to feel lonely. In the beginning, if I sat down too close, he’d get up in a huff and move somewhere else, but after a while, he started letting me get just a little bit closer. Then one day, I was sitting cross-legged, watching the sunset from the loft, when I felt the tiniest amount of weight settling into my lap, and there he was. He didn’t purr and he didn’t fuss, just curled up and went right to sleep. I spent the whole night trying not to breathe too hard, and by sunrise, I could no longer feel my legs, but he stayed with me the whole time.”

There’s a serene smile on your lips as you listen to the story. “That’s so sweet.”

Clark’s fingers come to a stop as he debates whether or not he wants to ask the question that’s been eating away at him for the last several weeks. He’s scared that asking it might put things in motion, but not having the answer to it is slowly killing him. “Why haven’t you taken the Halo back to the Temple?” he finally asks.

Your eyes snap open, the smile sliding off your face as you tilt your head to look up at him. “You want me to leave?”

“No! Of course not,” he insists. “But if you’re so worried about the Halo’s safety that you can’t get a proper night’s sleep… wouldn’t it be better to take it back to where you know it will be safe?” He feels like there are rocks in his throat when he speaks. He doesn’t want to have to say goodbye to you, but he’s also worried about your health. He can see how much all this uncertainty is affecting you.

You’re silent for a long moment, eyes looking up at him like you’re searching his soul for the answer to his question. “Solis sent me here for a reason… and I can’t leave until I find out why.”

“Well then—” Clark’s response is cut off by the sound of distant screaming.

You sit up quickly and scan your surroundings with him, trying to figure out what’s going on. “Oh Goddess…” you breathe, when you notice the gigantic wave of black cresting over the edge city. You turn and see another wave towering over the buildings on that side, too. You’re completely surrounded. As the waves spread higher and higher, they seem to be coming together into some sort of focal point in the middle. Not waves… “It’s a dome,” you mumble, still hardly believing what you’re seeing with your own eyes. The blackness suddenly becomes high enough that it blocks out the sun, immediately covering you in shadow. As soon as the black waves have hit the peak of the dome, the entire city is completely shrouded in black.

“What in the world?” Clark questions, looking just as confused as you feel.

Your eyes are still adjusting to the sudden darkness as the streetlamps start turning on, one by one.

Clark’s gaze drops from the dome back to you, a sense of urgency in his eyes. “Get to the Halo.”

Your breath stutters in your chest when you realize that this dome definitely has Lex Luthor written all over it. He’s finally making his move. “Okay,” you nod, grabbing your heels. “Are you coming with me?” you ask when you notice he’s not moving to pack up his things.

“I’ll catch up with you in a minute.”

You pause, reading the severity of his expression. “Be careful, Clark.”

He nods once. “You too.” He watches you run for the building and waits until you’re safely inside before he takes off, shooting into the sky to investigate this strange black dome that’s enshrouding the entire city.

You open the bottom drawer of your desk, pulling out the combat boots and tactical gear you’ve been keeping here for this exact situation. The guests and museum staff have already evacuated and abandoned the building by the time you’re settling yourself in front of the crown’s display case. You input your access code to the case next to the crown’s and pull out the twin gilded blades. Weapons used by the Guardians of Solis. You feel their familiar weight in your grip and give them a few test swings, hearing the metallic twang of the blades slicing through the air.

It doesn’t take long before Luthor’s squad of Raptors arrives. They’ve split into two teams and immediately flank you by coming in through the main entrance and the back exit at the same time. You pounce before either team gets a chance to take action, slicing through their specialized armor and weapons with ruthless intensity. You have the upper hand in the first few heartbeats of battle, but there are so many of them, it doesn’t take long for them to turn the tide and back you into a corner.

A startled scream rips out of your throat when the ceiling suddenly collapses above you. Dust and falling debris have you coughing as you jump out of the way. Crushed under a large wooden support beam and broken pieces of plaster is a familiar figure in blue. A different Raptor, even bigger than the ones you’d been fighting, is standing over him with a heavy metal boot on his back. Even more of them swarm into the room from the new entrance that’s been blasted into the ceiling.

“Superman!” You try to get to him, but the army of Raptors quickly overpowers you. They force you to your knees and twist your arms until you drop your blades.

Your cries of pain cause a visceral reaction in Superman. He tries to push himself up, but between the support beam and the Raptor’s boot, he stays pinned to the ground. He coughs and a spray of blood splatters on the floor in front of him. “Let her go, Luthor. She’s innocent.” He tries to sound strong, but his voice wavers.

The Raptor above him kneels down and grabs a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back before slamming it into the floor.

“Stop it!” you scream, struggling against your own captors.

Luthor’s voice comes out of a drone that’s sitting back and observing the situation. “Innocent? Hardly. She’s the one who brought a weapon of mass destruction to the heart of Metropolis. I’d say I’m doing the world a favor by taking it off her hands.” His maniacal laughter makes you feel sick. “Also, she’s been shaking up with your favorite journalist. That puts her just one degree separated from you. Too close for my taste. Take the crown, then do whatever you want with the girl. The more she screams, the better.”

“No!” Your eyes meet Superman’s for a split second and the utter devastation on his face makes your heart twist.

Your vision of him gets blocked by the Raptor standing in front of you. You stare defiantly into the soulless lenses of their suit’s mask, and you see your reflection in the glass. Their hand moves faster than you can react, pain exploding against your cheek as your head whips to the side. A trail of blood leaks out of the corner of your mouth as metal coats your tongue.

The gigantic Raptor finally steps off Superman’s back and makes his way to the crown’s display case. He rears his arm back and slams it into the glass. It cracks from the powerful blow, but the integrity of the case holds. He pulls back again and again, each hit causing the cracks to spiderweb and grow, until finally, it shatters completely.

You watch in horror as he reaches through and pulls The Sun’s Halo from its pedestal. The desolation of your failure hits you all at once. You’ve failed the Temple. You’ve failed your Goddess. You’ve failed Clark. And now the worst possible person in the world is going to have unlimited power.

Before you can fall completely into despondency, something strange begins to happen. The Raptor holding the Halo starts to scream. White light glows from his clenched fist. No. Not light. White fire. It starts at his hand but quickly licks up his entire arm. In just a few seconds, his entire body is engulfed in flame. His screams are the sound of nightmares as the Divine flame purges him from the inside out.

It doesn’t stop there. Even after the flame has turned his vocal cords to ash, it continues to spread, pooling out from his feet and spreading across the room. The Raptors that hesitate are instantly consumed by the flames. The ones that don’t, take off through the hole in the ceiling or run away in panic. The ones holding you down are part of the group that runs. Some of them aren’t fast enough.

As soon as you’re free, you’re scrambling across the room and throw yourself over Superman’s body in an effort to protect him from the flames. You curl in tight around him and squeeze your eyes shut, waiting for the pain, waiting for the heat to reach you, too. It never does.

Several agonizing seconds later and the screaming has finally stopped. You blink your eyes open and cautiously look over your shoulder. The white flames are going out and the Halo stops glowing moments before it clatters to the floor with a soft clank. There are charred shadows on the ground where the flame meted out its divine retribution, but other than that, there’s nothing left of those that faced judgment.

You look back down and find that Superman has lost consciousness under you. “Superman!” you call, shaking his shoulder. “Clark!” you cry desperately. That causes his eyes to snap open. He groans in pain, and when he tries to breathe, he instead coughs up more blood. “Hang on, Clark. Stay with me!”

His unfocused gaze finally snaps to you. “You’re not supposed to know it’s me…”

In any other situation, you would have laughed; instead, all you can do is sob. “I know. I’ve always known.”

“That… makes a lot of sense, actually.” He tries to shift and grimaces against the pain. “You accepted every excuse I gave you and never got mad when I showed up late. Thought you were just really trusting…”

You choke on an attempted laugh. “I’m not. I just trust you.” You brush his sweaty, matted curls off his forehead. “Clark, we need to get you out from under this rubble. Luthor will send more men.”

“I can’t,” he huffs, the pain making his head swim. “It’s the dome. Without access to the sun, I can’t heal, and I lose my strength. I’m practically human.”

Your mind scrambles for ideas; leaving him here is not an option. “Then what if I brought the sun to you?”

“What?” he feels dread pool in his gut when he follows your gaze. “No!” he urges, grabbing your wrist in his weakened grasp. “You saw what it just did to those soldiers!”

You turn back to Clark and smile like you’ve already accepted your fate. “It’ll be okay. This is why She sent me here.”

“What if it isn’t? What if you—” he can’t bear to say it. “I can’t lose you!”

“Clark… You’re Superman. You take the gift of Solis’ light, and you do amazing things with it. You fight for everything that She stands for. You’re Her number one champion. I realize now that She sent me here for you. For this exact moment. She sent me here because She loves you. And I stayed because I love you.” His breath catches at your confession. “I love you, Clark. And while you’re out there protecting the world… I’m going to be protecting you.”

You brush your fingers over his face one more time before gently extracting your wrist from his grasp. “Wait,” he urges, but you’re already walking toward the crown.

You start speaking in the language of the sun, uttering the oath you gave on the day you were knighted as a Guardian of the Sun. You pledge your loyalty to Solis and promise to uphold her principles and values against all odds. To reach for the light beyond the darkness. To dedicate yourself to a cause greater than yourself. Per Gratisera Lumira Solana. By the Grace of Her Light.

You pick up the halo and place it on your head.

You’re instantly covered in that same white flame, but there’s no pain, no heat. Only gentle warmth and soft light. You feel your feet leave the ground as overwhelming power floods your veins. Heat builds in the center of your chest, like your very own tiny sun is being born inside of you. A jolt runs down your back, still not quite painful, but intense as the Mark of Solis is branded in gold to your skin, finalizing your link to the Halo.

You’re slowly lowered back to the ground, but you’re no longer wearing what you were before. Instead, you’re draped in gilded armor and white silk, looking the picture of a Sun Goddess in human form.

Your body feels lighter than air, like gravity no longer has any sort of hold over you. When you move to go back to Clark, it only takes one step to cross the distance. Then you reach for the large wooden beam, and it’s so light, it may as well be hollow. You toss it aside and finish pulling him out of the rest of the rubble.

“Oh Goddess…” Your breath stutters when you see that his entire uniform is soaked in blood from his torso down to his legs. “Clark, stay with me!” He tries to respond, but all he does is cough up more blood. If you don’t do something soon, you’re going to lose him. “Goddess, what do I do?” It doesn’t matter if you have all the power in the universe when you don’t know how to use it.

In a moment of clarity, you remember something Clark said to you once. He said your kisses tasted like sunshine. Without further delay, you cup the sides of his face and slant your mouth over his. Clark grunts as your power surges into him. Pure, unrefined sunlight fills his body, traveling down his veins, filling his lungs, correcting any breaks or injuries it comes across along the way. It’s potent, maybe even more so than the machinery at the Fortress. He groans when a fracture in his femur resets, but his hand reaches up to cup the back of your neck and keep you against him when you try to pull back. His tongue licks into your mouth, seeking your familiar taste, which now has an entirely new spark of flavor layered in with the old. You don’t just taste like sunshine; you taste like every version of the sun. You taste like sunrise. You taste like sunset. You taste like summer skies and autumn mornings. You taste like every memory Clark has of tilting his face up to that golden light in the sky and feeling the way it caresses his skin.

By the time you pull back, you’re both a panting mess, lips swollen, pupils blown. You look over his face, noticing the flush to his cheeks. “How do you feel?”

He looks back like he’s awestruck. “I feel like I didn’t know I could love you any more than I already do.”

You huff out a laugh, smiling at your ridiculous boyfriend. “I meant your injuries, Clark. Does anything still hurt?”

He runs a quick mental assessment. “I’m fit as a fiddle,” he assures you. His hand braces against the side of your face, thumb brushing over your cheek. “You’re gorgeous…” His eyes take you in like he’s seeing you for the first time again.

“And you’re a flirt,” you grin teasingly while nuzzling into his palm.

His eyes soften, filled to the brim with tender love and affection. “I never thought I’d need someone else’s protection, but I’m glad it’s you.”

He pulls you back against him, lips seeking another taste of your light. You hum into his mouth but force yourself to pull back. “Slow down there, Romeo. We’ve still got a dome to crack.”

“I know,” he looks at you like he wishes he were just a little more selfish. Like he’d choose kissing you over cleaning up yet another mess started by someone else. But he won’t. He blinks and forces himself to avert his gaze; it’s even more difficult to do now that you’re actually glowing. He looks up to the hole in the museum’s ceiling. “The second wave of infantry is inbound. They’ll be here soon.” He pushes himself up to standing and offers you his hand, which you really don’t need, considering you just saved his life, but you take it all the same and allow him to pull you up. “Ready to kick some behind?” he asks with a toothy grin.

You wave your hands out in front of you, and the discarded twin blades vanish in a flash of golden light, only to reappear in each of your hands. “They’ll learn to fear the sun’s wrath.” Your eyes burn with feral rage, scorning those who dare covet the power of your Goddess. Clark doesn’t think he should find that look so attractive. But he does.

You take to the open air like you were born to fly. You hover hundreds of feet above the museum, and there’s not even a flicker of doubt in your abilities. Clark hovers next to you, the both of you staring up at the dome. “It appears to be made from pure kinetic energy. Everything I hit it with was only absorbed and seemed to reinforce it even more,” Clark explains. “Lex counted on me exhausting my powers by trying to take it down. I flew right into his trap.”

Your gaze drops, noticing the flying legion of soldiers heading your way. “You handle the Raptors. I’ll handle the dome. If it thrives on kinetic energy, then we just need to give it more than it can handle.” You take off like a shot. A golden arrow arcing up to the top of the dome. Your twin blades glow with the energy of the sun as you sink them into the inky blackness and begin channeling pure sunlight into the forcefield.

You hear Clark engaging in battle below you as he single-handedly fights against the horde of soldiers, but you continue to focus on your task, trusting him to have your back. Trusting him to protect you, just as you’ll protect him. You force every drop of liquid sun out of your veins and into your blades, feeding the seemingly insatiable hunger of the dome. It takes everything from you, like a black hole. The one thing that can easily devour a sun. But just when you begin to feel a flicker of doubt, you see a crack. One tiny hairline fracture where your left blade has pierced the darkness. You force even more energy out of you, and the crack grows, fingers of golden light piercing through from the other side.

Clark looks up when he hears your scream. It’s not a scream of pain, but of someone pushing themselves past their limit. You’re going to burn yourself out. A sun just barely formed and already swallowed by the emptiness of the universe. There’s a sudden burst of light, and for one heartbeat, it looks like you have giant golden wings of sunlight sprouting from your back. And then the dome bursts.

A wave of pure energy comes raining down, frying the circuitry of the Raptor suits, and they start dropping like flies. Clark barely pays them any mind because now you’re falling, too. He swoops in and catches your limp form, fearing the worst. You’re unconscious, but still breathing. He sighs in relief, cradling you close as he flies you to the safest place he knows.

"Gary, power up the chair," Clark calls as soon as he's past the Fortress entrance.

"Your vitals are showing no injuries," Gary calls back from deeper within the fortress.

"It's not for me." He steps into the medical wing and lays your body on the medical chair. "Power it up."

"Are you certain this is wise? Concentrated solar radiation is highly toxic to normal humans," the robot questions dubiously.

"She's not normal, she's extraordinary." He runs his fingers down the side of your face, like he can’t bear to stop touching you entirely.

"If you say so..." The robot mutters doubtfully.

The crystals in the ceiling shift, allowing the Antarctic Sun to shine into the room and through a series of magnifying lenses. The concentrated beam of sunlight hits you directly in your chest. Your back arches off the table, eyes flying open as you gasp for breath. You feel like you've just taken a shot of adrenaline at a dose intended for an elephant.

"Okay, that's enough!" Clark orders, helping you sit up as the machine powers down. "You okay?"

You attempt to cough your breathing back into a normal rhythm. "Ugh, I think that gave me heartburn." You press your fingers to your sternum and rub in small circles.

"Sorry," Clark grimaces. "I may have panicked a little. Thought you were going to burn out."

You blink up at him and then notice the illuminated crystals in the wall behind him. "Uh, Clark... Where are we?" you ask, looking around a room you couldn't have even imagined until this moment.

The robot next to him speaks before he gets the chance to respond. "Kal-El, it would appear this human is aware of your alternate identity. Shall I eliminate the threat?"

"Excuse me?" You narrow your eyes defensively at the robot.

"That's not necessary, Gary!" Clark quickly jumps between you two, holding his arms out in a subduing motion. "She's not a threat, she's my girlfriend."

"Ah." The robot backs down. "Analysis indicates multiple translations for girlfriend. Does the use of this term indicate that she is a female acquaintance? Or is this relationship more carnal in nature?"

Clark immediately starts choking on his own saliva.

Your grin widens the redder his face gets. "Yes, Kal-El. What exactly is the nature of our relationship?" You throw your legs over the edge of the medical table and cross one knee over the other while holding your chin in your palm and look at him inquisitively.

"Stop that," he berates you over his shoulder, cheeks still flushed with embarrassment. He then turns back to Gary. "She's my significant other. Please treat her with all the luxuries you would afford me."

"How nice to finally have a guest that does not immediately destroy the place upon arrival." You're pretty sure you sense an undertone of sarcasm in the robot's voice before he turns and walks away.

"He's funny," you giggle at Clark's expense as he turns back to you with a sigh.

"I take it you're feeling better?" he questions, holding a hand out to help you out of the medical chair.

You take his proffered hand and hop down. You expect your legs to quiver under your weight, but you actually feel fine. "Surprisingly, yes. Although I think I saw Solis while I was passed out."

You feel Clark stiffen next to you. "Saw as in, you nearly died and she sent you back or..."

"No," you squeeze his hand in assurance. "She wanted to talk. She told me how proud she was of me for accepting the Halo, and she also..." Your voice drops off as embarrassment floods your veins. You clear your throat and try again. "She also mentioned that she blesses our union."

"Oh..." Clark's eyes widen, and he looks like he doesn't really know how to interpret that information.

"I'm sorry. Is that weird?" You panic at the expression on his face. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"No, it's okay." He quickly steps closer and holds your face in his hands. "She sent you to me, and I'm going to be grateful for that for the rest of my life. I've been doing this on my own for so long, I could never have even imagined that I'd meet my perfect match in you. I love you beyond words. Beyond comprehension, even."

You look up at him, smiling so wide, you’re beaming. "I love you, too, Clark."

He leans close and slants his lips over yours. You sigh against his mouth and wrap your arms around his neck. He kisses you long and slow, like he has all the time in the world to learn this new version of you and how you feel against him.

"I have a question," he pulls back while grinning boyishly. "It's regarding pillow logistics."

Your eyes shine with humor as your head tilts. "Pillow logistics?"

He huffs an amused laugh. "If we were to... hypothetically, sleep in the same bed, how concerned do I need to be about accidentally poking an eye out?" His eyes flicker up to your halo and all its pointed spires. "Like, is this a permanently attached situation, or can you take it off?"

"It's kind of both?" Your eyes briefly flash the color of the sun as the crown on your head fades into gold dust particles that are then absorbed into the tattoo on your back. "The Halo and I are one, but I can seal it within the Mark of Solis." While you're at it, you also seal away your gilded armor, leaving you in just your thin silken tunic.

"You're incredible," Clark looks at you like he can still hardly believe you're real. He leans in close, nose tilting your chin up as he trails feather-like kisses down your neck. His touch is so light, it may as well be the brush of butterfly wings.

"You don't have to be so gentle," you tease.

His response feels a little pre-programmed as he mumbles against your skin. "Don't want to accidentally hurt you."

All at once, you realize he's never been with someone who could fully handle him. He's had to be so careful with every single person he's ever met for nearly his entire life. Honestly, he's even had to be careful with you until just a few hours ago. Even the smallest accident on his part could break human bone. Things people took for granted every day could have deadly consequences when coming from him. People who brushed against his shoulder on the street would feel like they'd hit a brick wall if he didn't twist around them. The drawer full of smartphones with cracked screens, all because he pressed just a little too hard. The entire door frame that had to be replaced in his childhood bedroom after he'd slammed the door too hard in a fit of teenage angst.

"Clark..." There's an edge to your tone, somewhere between temptation and danger, that has him lifting his gaze back to yours. He feels a pulse of energy, and in the next moment, he's flat on his back, pinned with enough force to crack the stone beneath him. He blinks up at your Cheshire cat grin, mind still catching up with the situation. "You don't need to be careful with me."

You see the moment it clicks for him. Surprise gives way to knowing, which then melts into desire. His pupils expand, inky black swallowing steel blue. His tongue slides out and licks over his lower lip. You feel a twitch beneath where you're straddling his hips. He attempts to move his wrists from where you have them pinned above his head, and his breath hitches when he realizes he can't. Not easily, at least.

Your laugh is low and sultry as you rock against the rapidly hardening erection under you. "Does getting pinned to the floor turn you on, Superman?"

His abs clench under his suit. "Only when it's you."

"Perhaps I was mistaken in my comment about destroying the place..."

The two of you turn to the side to see Gary standing there, looking down at the new cracks in the floor. You release Clark's wrists and allow him to sit up while he grins sheepishly at the robot. "Sorry, Gary..." He pulls you both up to standing and starts moving you down one of the hallways. "We'll be more careful!"

The two of you laugh like giddy teenagers and stumble into his bedroom. Clark has you pinned to the wall before the door is fully shut. Now he kisses you like he’ll never get enough of your taste. Like he wants to devour you whole. His tongue slips into your mouth, no longer exploring, but claiming. His hand grips the meat of your thigh where it’s pinned to his hip, his hold tight enough to dent steel, but with you, it will barely leave a bruise.

His other hand reaches for the elastic of your panties, but the fabric dissolves into gold dust under his touch. "That's very handy," his laugh brushes against your lips.

You can't respond because his fingers are now on you, and the ability to form words has left you entirely. He collects your slick on the pads of his fingers and drags them up to your needy clit, rubbing in small circles. Your breath catches in your throat, nails digging into the fabric of his suit where you're clutching his shoulders.

"You're already so wet," he groans, dropping his forehead to yours.

You whine low in the back of your throat, hips grinding into his touch. "This is so much better than I imagined."

His dimples show as his smile widens. "You imagined Superman's hands up your skirt?" he teases.

Your breathing stutters when his fingers press into your clit once more. "No," it's one syllable, yet still manages to sound so wrecked. "I imagined Clark Kent's hands up my skirt," you explain between uneven breaths. "Whenever I thought of Superman, I was usually sitting on his face."

He huffs in amusement, head rocking against yours when he shakes his head. "Well, that can certainly be arranged." His face pulls away from yours at the same time you feel his hand leave your soaked folds and move to grip the outside of your other thigh.

Before you get the chance to comprehend his meaning, Clark is hoisting your body higher up the wall. You yelp, more from surprise than fear, as you're lifted high enough to sit on his shoulders. You pull the hem of your tunic up to your hips, revealing his smug grin, perfectly bracketed between your thighs. "This? Is not what I had in mind!"

His smile only gets bigger. "You comfortable?" he asks, hands shifting slightly to grip the globes of your ass from underneath.

"You're not serious—" your voice turns into a gasp when he dives in and begins to feast on your dripping cunt. "Clark!" Your hands scramble to find something to hold onto, but your options are extremely limited. That’s how you end up with one hand plastered to the wall above your head while the other sinks into his thick, curly hair. “Oh!” Your head thunks back against the stone wall.

He explores your folds with all the enthusiasm of a person trying to lap up the last drops of ice cream at the deepest part of the cone. Your slick coats his tongue, unequivocal evidence that you’re enjoying this just as much as he is. He drags the flat of his tongue up your dripping center and over that tight bundle of nerves. He swirls and flickers over your clit in short, quick movements that have your core tightening. Your thighs are already shaking, and he’s just barely started.

He keeps one hand firmly holding the weight of your ass as the other drifts back to your leaking entrance. While his tongue continues to have its wicked way with your clit, he coats his fingers in your abundant slick and slips one inside of you. Your pussy pulses eagerly around the thick digit, and after a few shallow thrusts, he stuffs you with a second one. He pushes in deep, all the way to the last knuckle, and curls them into your upper wall. Your entire body shudders.

“Oh my—Clark!” His name comes out a broken sob as he pushes into your pleasure center with relentless intensity. His fingers scissor out, working you open enough for him to push in a third. You already feel so full, stretched out around the largest hands you’ve ever seen on a man. His tongue flits over your clit to a beat rivaling hummingbird wings, further proving how no other man on earth will ever be able to compare to him. He’s ruining you in the best way possible.

“Goddess, please!” Your voice breaks down into incomprehensible chanting. It might be a prayer to your deity, or it could just be unintelligible sounds from a mind so clouded with pleasure that higher functioning thought becomes nonexistent.

Clark curls his fingers into your G-spot at the same time he suctions against your clit, and you’re done for. Both of your hands fist into his hair as your back arches off the wall and your hips buck feverishly against his face. His hand flexes over your ass as he keeps you balanced up on his shoulders. He doesn’t stop, even as your shaking thighs squeeze his ears. He hums his satisfaction as you soak his fingers and tongue with your release, the pleasure making you taste sweeter than ambrosia.

“Clark…” you sound completely wrecked, tightening your hold in his hair while trying to force his head back.

He resists at first, leaving one last sloppy kiss over your buzzing clit before pulling back enough to reveal slick-coated cheeks and gluttonous blue eyes.

Your breath is still heavy as you laugh incredulously down at him. “If Clark Kent ever needs to write an article about Superman’s phenomenal head, I will happily give a statement.”

His dimples are back, and they’re even more devastating with your essence painted over them. “Duly noted.” His fingers slip out from between your legs, and your arousal smears against your skin where he grips your leg to carefully slide you back down the wall.

“I need you out of this suit and on the bed,” you urge as soon as you’re touching solid ground again.

A trail of discarded boots, a tangled cape, and wrinkled super suit follows the two of you as you push him back onto the mattress. You flick the silk tunic off your shoulders, but before it falls past your thighs, it’s already vanished into gold dust. The icy air causes your nipples to pebble, but you hardly feel the chill with the sun heating you from the inside out. You crawl over the royal blue duvet and settle over Clark’s lap. His heavy cock rests against the top of his thigh, impossibly thick and leaking at the tip.

“Oh… Solis has indeed blessed every aspect of you, hasn’t she?” Your fingers trace his pulsing veins from base to tip.

He groans from the back of his throat, jaw going slack when your fingertip spreads his precum over the sensitive head. “You don’t need to force yourself to take all of me,” he huffs, your touch is both pure bliss and utter agony. “I know it’s not small.”

Not small might be the understatement of the century, but you just smile as you close your fist around him and start stroking up and down his full length. “Are you underestimating me again, Clark?”

He grunts low, hips stuttering against your touch. “No, never!”

You lift up onto your knees and drag the head of his cock through your wet folds, then use your fingers to smooth your slick down his considerable length. His hands clench into fists against the sheets from the effort it takes to resist rutting up into you. A few more strokes up and down, then you have him notched against your entrance and begin to sink down.

“Oh, fu—Ha…” He was so close to letting that one slip out. You’re just, “So tight!”

You mewl weakly at the way your body stretches to accommodate him. “Clark!”

One hand leaves the blankets and clamps around your hip. “Don’t!” He pleads, but sounds just as wrecked as you do. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

“’M not,” you promise, sinking down another inch. “T’s so good!”

You stop about halfway, needing to catch your breath. Your hips swirl experimentally, and Clark swears his soul is seconds away from leaving his body. His hand flexes against your hip, every muscle in his torso pulled taut with barely contained restraint. “So perfect,” he looks up at you like he’s never seen a more beautiful sight. “So wet. So hot. Squeezing me so good. My very own Sun Beam.”

You drop another inch. “Ngh, Clark!” Your nails rake down the curve of his shoulder, hard enough to leave angry red marks on his normally impervious skin.

He hisses through his teeth, hips jolting up against his will and forcing even more of himself into you. “Shoot! Sorry,” he apologizes immediately. “I’m so sorry! Didn’t mean—"

“Shut up.” You bend down, teeth sinking into his opposite shoulder, right as you make the final push and shove yourself fully down to the hilt. The two of you groan in unison, yours muffled by the meat of his shoulder, while Clark throws his head back. He’s not used to the feeling of pleasure mixing with pain. So few people are even capable of causing him pain, and no one’s ever had him feeling this much euphoria. He’s fully encased inside your walls, every pulse and twitch sending tremors through his cock and straight to that hungry thing deep inside his core. It’s the part of him that he fights against every single day. The part that thrives on greed and pleasure.

“You’re so deep,” you moan after releasing his shoulder from your mouth.

“Believe me, I know,” he huffs back, cock twitching inside of you.

You roll your hips in small circles. “So big, so thick, so full…” You’re practically delirious from how stuffed you are. Stuffed full of cock. Stuffed full of him.

“Jeez Louise…” he rocks against you because he can’t help it, but he forces himself to move slow. Careful.

You’re having none of that.

Your hands settling over his shoulders is the only warning he gets before you start bouncing on his cock. He makes a choked sound, hands flying to your waist as you slam down on him over and over again. This is nothing like the slow, tender lovemaking he’s used to. Clark Kent has never fucked anyone in his life. It’s a risk he was never willing to take. Yet here you are, not only taking him deeper than any of his previous partners, but also ruthlessly pummeling your own pussy on his cock while screaming to the heavens over how good it is.

He feels the flip of the switch inside him. One second, he’s sweet, kind, innocent Clark Kent, and the next… he’s something else.

Within the blink of an eye, the world tilts, and he now has you pinned beneath him, cock still buried impossibly deep inside your body. His eyes flash with something primal when he meets your startled gaze. “Still think you can handle all of me?” He questions, eyes locked on yours to catch every flicker of reaction.

“Yes,” you respond without hesitation. “I do, Clark. Please, I need you!”

The first thrust punches the air from your lungs. The second makes the entire room shake. By the third, your eyes are rolling back while your nails rake lines down either side of his spine. He fucks you like a man who’s been released from lead shackles after a lifetime of holding himself back. The normally careful consideration in his eyes has been replaced with sheer determination and raw desire.

 His massive body keeps you pinned down to the mattress, despite his thrusts having enough power to launch you into orbit. Your legs squeeze around his hips, feet crossed over the curve of his ass, pulling him even deeper into you. The wet sounds of raw sex mix with your panting breaths. Both of your skins become slick with sweat. Two bodies that already naturally run hot only stand to generate even more heat when moving at a pace that could break the sound barrier.

The level of pleasure you’ve achieved is higher than you ever thought was possible. Clark is pushing all the right buttons to get you primed and ready for takeoff. He keeps his upper body weight propped up on one arm while the other slides to where you’re both connected. He thumbs over your clit in sure strokes, making your pleasure soar. You’re so overstimulated. From his touch. From his relentless pounding. From the breathy, pleasured grunts that leak out of him like a porno played back on vinyl.

You’ve reached your limit. Too much pleasure. Too much heat. Too much cock. You burst like a sun flare, coming hard enough that you see the entire galaxy behind your eyelids. You call out his name, because it’s the only word you know, as you arch up against him and shudder through your release. You feel a splash of heat deep in your core and know that he’s coming with you. His hips jerk with every jolting spurt as he paints your insides white. He groans against your neck, rutting into you until the overwhelming sensations come to a stop. Even then, he pushes as deep as he can before collapsing onto his forearms.

For a while, all you can hear is rushing blood and your own pounding heart, but then you start to come down enough to hear Clark’s panting breaths. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him out of breath. “Did you mean to do that?” he eventually asks, still pressed heavily against you.

You throw a weak arm over your eyes. “Do what?” you question, just as breathless. “I was kind of in the middle of a mind-blowing orgasm…”

Clark shifts, and all at once, you feel the thick weight of him, still hard, inside you. “Yeah, well, when you were in the middle of that, you also pulsed more solar energy into me…”

You lift your arm off your face and look at him incredulously. Sure enough, all of your scratch and bite marks have vanished from his skin, along with his refractory period, apparently… “Oh Goddess…” You might faint, but then a flicker of movement behind him pulls your focus. “Uh, Clark?”

He turns and looks up to where you’re pointing. “Wowza…”

Shimmering, swirling lights dance along the vaulted ceiling in varying shades of greens and purples.

Clark blinks at the stunning sight, then turns back to you with all the wonder of a child seeing Santa Claus for the first time. “Did I make you come so hard you… Aurora Borealis-ed?”

You stare back at him, at a complete loss. “It would seem so…”

After a short break, entirely for your own benefit rather than his, Clark has you pinned under him once again. This time, you’re on your stomach, hips propped up on a pillow as he thrusts into you from behind. He still snaps forward with enough force to cripple a small nation, but now he’s taking things slow. His hands trace the golden patterns marked into your skin, then he traces them again with his lips, and finally with his tongue. You’re completely pliant beneath him, muscles lax except for the occasional shudder when he hits you extra deep.

When your third orgasm of the evening sends, yet another burst of solar energy through Clark, you have to beg him to let you sleep. He chuckles and kisses your temple before rolling you both onto your sides and bundling you up in his arms. The crystal lights all around the room automatically dim to a faint glow. After all the events of the day, it doesn’t take you long to fall into a deep and dreamless slumber.

You're not even sure what time it is when you're suddenly jolted awake by a loud crash, quickly followed by the entire fortress shuddering around you. The two of you bolt upright, sharing a brief look before scrambling out of bed. Your tunic materializes around your body with a mere thought, while Clark swipes his boxers off the floor and struggles to pull them up his legs as quickly as possible, nearly falling over in his haste.

"That's entirely unfair," he huffs, chasing after your laughter as you dash out of the bedroom.

The two of you hurry down the hall toward the source of the blast. You've just barely stepped into the main room when a blur of red and white comes flying out of the rubble from the broken wall. Your reflexes have you dodging out of the way before you even place the incoming projectile, but poor Clark isn't so lucky.

"Ow! Krypto!" He yells out after getting body slammed into the floor. "Dude! Stop!" He writhes on the ground and uses his forearms to shield his face from what you now realize is a dog. An incredibly animated, aggressively playful, super-powered dog... It jumps on his chest, knocking the wind out of his lungs, and you're not sure if it's trying to lick his face or bite it.

"Hey, I'm gonna leave my dog here again!" You turn back around to find a person now stumbling out of the rubble. "Also, you moved the entrance, again? What the hell?"

"It's always been in the same spot! And we put in a side door where you busted in last time!" Clark cries in exasperation. "Ow!" With one final hop to his stomach, Krypto takes off down the hall, probably in search of something else to destroy. Clark groans in pain, clenching a hand to his abused torso as he sits up. "When are you going to start training that dog?"

Kara blatantly ignores him and scrunches her face in disgust. "Ew, why aren't you wearing more clothes?"

Clark looks down at his bare chest and swipes some errant dog fur off his abs. "It's 6:30 in the morning, I was sleeping," he argues while pushing himself up to standing.

She hums like that barely counts as an answer, then nods her head in your direction. “Who’s the hottie?”

“My girlfriend.” He tilts his head toward her with a be nice expression in his eyes.

“Double ew.” Her eyes flicker up and down your form with an assessing brow raised. “What exactly do you see in my dork of a cousin anyway?” she finally asks you directly.

You pretend to be inspecting your cuticles when you respond in a casual tone, “He’s got a big dick.”

“Good gosh, you did not just say that…” Clark covers his face in mortification.

Meanwhile, Kara is making gagging sounds. “I did not need to know that… but mad respect.” She regains her composure and starts heading back for the hole she created in the wall. “If you let anything happen to my dog, I’ll kill you,” she calls with finality back to her cousin. “See you later, loser!”

As soon as she’s gone, Clark pins you with a disapproving stare.

“What? It got her to leave, didn’t it?” You grin teasingly while stepping past him. “I’m heading back to bed, you coming?” You glance back over your shoulder, your tunic dissolving into gold dust.

You wouldn't understand what exactly she meant by that until you were knocking on his front door. The apartment building's location was in a nice enough area. Not exactly 'Posh-Gotham', but not Southside either. In addition, there was a Metro access line just around the corner that could take you straight to the University. The building itself was also fairly nice, at least from what you'd seen so far. Wall sconces lighting the hall, framed paintings on the walls, and carpeted flooring. The place honestly looked more like a hotel than an apartment building.

You're still looking around the hallway when the door swings open and you're suddenly face-to-face with a man big enough to take up the entire doorway. You gulp and all too suddenly realize why Barb gave you a heads up. Impossibly broad shoulders, arms the size of tree trunks, a scar running a few inches into his hairline all the way down to the edge of his mouth, and a section of white hair at the front of his bangs. He cuts an imposing figure, even with his relaxed stance. His eyes wash over you in an assessing gaze.

"You Barb's friend?"

You try not to fidget under the weight of his stare. You're pretty sure you're unsuccessful. "Yeah. I take it you're Jason?"

"That's me." The corner of his mouth lifts in a partial smile. "Come on in." He nudges his head to the side in a gesture of invitation, stepping back from the door to make room for you to pass him. "Kitchen's to the right, living room straight ahead, one bathroom here on the left, and another in between the bedrooms in back."

He gives you a quick tour of the place. It's sparsely furnished, but what little he does have seems to be luxury-made. He's got one of those giant L couches with a simple, blue throw blanket folded across the back. A bookshelf that definitely did not come from IKEA, given the ornate carvings in the corners and along the lip of the shelves. A leather recliner and a huge flatscreen TV are the only other things occupying space in the living room. The spare bedroom also already has a bed and a wooden dresser, but is otherwise unfurnished.

"My only rules are: stay out of my room, and I'll stay out of yours. Clean up after yourself. And let me know if you plan on having anyone over. What you do in your room and who you do it with is your business, but I'm not overly fond of having strangers in my space without knowing about it."

You turn in a slow circle around the bedroom, already picturing where you might put your things. "Barb mentioned you work nights, but didn't really say what exactly you do." Your eyes flicker to where he's casually leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed.

He smirks like you've asked something funny. "Private security."

You give him another once-over. Yeah, he's certainly got the build of someone who could be some bigwig's private bodyguard. You shrug and look away when you realize that's all the answer you're going to get out of him. "How soon can I move in?"

"As soon as you want."

By that weekend, you've gotten the hell out of your old apartment, leaving your roommates to duke it out over who left whose dishes in the sink or what-fucking-ever they were going to argue about on that particular day. Jason hands you your key to the apartment and helps you bring in your boxes, even when you try to dissuade him since he's done more than enough by offering you a place to stay. He shrugs like it's no big deal and continues to follow you silently down to the moving truck you'd rented for the day.

After that, the two of you quickly settle into a sort of routine. Jason leaves typically sometime after dinner and returns around sunrise while you're still in bed. In the mornings, you try to be mindful and quiet while he's asleep before you head out to class. By the time you get back, he's usually already whipping something up in the kitchen and hands you your plate when it's done, like it's a given he'd make enough for you both. After he heads out, you get to spend your evenings however you want. No fighting over TV rights or music choice, which, again, is a godsend compared to your previous situation.

It's about three months later when you get a text while in class that he's planning to have a 'guest' over later that night. You shoot him a thumbs-up emoji and, for the first time, come home to realize you need to arrange your own dinner plans. He's home, but is otherwise occupied, based on the rhythmic thumping coming from his bedroom. His guest is also extremely vocal... like pornstar-level. Lots of "Uhn, uhn, oh, yes! Fuck, JJ!"

That gets you to pause mid-step. JJ? Jason does not look like a JJ...

You snicker to yourself and continue heading for your room to put down your stuff and grab your headphones. You drown out the ambiance with even louder music and make something quick for dinner to eat in your room before tackling your homework. It's a few hours later that you reemerge to go clean your plate, and you're surprised to find Jason sitting in the recliner with a book in his lap.

You pause in the doorway. He looks more relaxed, less tension in his shoulders. You glance down the hall toward his closed bedroom door.

"Not here," he answers your unasked question while flipping the page of his book. "They don't tend to stick around."

"Your girlfriend?" you ask, stepping into the living room to head for the kitchen.

He scoffs out a humorless laugh. "I'm not really the commitment type."

You hum casually. No judgement. Everyone has needs, and clearly, he knows what works for him. You wash, dry, and put away your dishes, then fill up a glass of water and head back toward your room. "Have a good night... JJ."

His soft chuckle of amusement sticks with you longer than it should after you've closed your door and crawled into bed to go to sleep.

After that, Jason starts bringing new guests home every few weeks or so. He sticks to the roommate agreement and gives you a heads-up every time, and you either come home with your headphones already on and blaring or stay out later with friends or at the school library. You try your hand at dating, but learn early on that bringing them home is not a good idea. The one and only time you did, the guy nearly pissed himself when Jason came out of his room at the same time the two of you were about to enter yours.

Jason had taken one look at the guy before smirking ferally and drawing himself up to his full height. "Sup?" he gave that chin tilt guys do when they're greeting each other.

Your fling of the night had gulped thickly before turning to you and giving some sorry excuse about leaving his oven on at home before getting the hell out of dodge. Jason only laughed when you glared at him. From that moment on, you elected to not bother bringing anyone home.

Aside from that little hiccup, living with Jason is actually pretty nice. What little time the two of you do spend together, usually while making and eating dinner, you share casual conversation. He'll tell you about the latest book he's reading, and you'll explain your most recent homework assignment. You've learned not to ask too many prying questions about his job, or his friends or family. He's a master at giving vague or deflecting responses.

It all comes to a head, though, when you're up extra late one night, studying for an upcoming exam, and you hear a crash in Jason's room. You jolt with a start, because you definitely saw him leave several hours ago. In a split-second decision, you grabbed your pepper spray from your backpack and your heaviest textbook, before sneaking down the hall.

Your heart pounds in your chest, not only because there's an intruder in your apartment, but also because you're going to break Jason's first rule in the roommate agreement. But you're pretty sure he'd like it even less if you just left some petty thief to take all his stuff, so you take a steadying breath and shove open the door. "Freeze!" you shout, holding your pepper spray at the ready while also clutching your book to your chest.

You are wholly unprepared for the sight that greets you. There's a vigilante inside Jason's bedroom. Not just any vigilante, either. It's Red Hood. He's sitting in Jason's desk chair, with an open case in front of him that looks to be a first-aid kit or something. He barely glances your way. "Hate to break it to you, Sweetheat, but that spray won't reach through the helmet, and I'm not sure what you're planning to do with the book other than bore me to death."

You gape, a little dumfounded. You're not sure what to do at this point... "You're not supposed to be in here." That's really the best you've got.

The cadence of his chuckle sounds familiar, even though it's being filtered through a voice modulator. "Neither are you."

You narrow your eyes at him. "My boyfriend's going to be pissed when he finds out you touched all his stuff." You're not sure why you say it like that. Maybe because boyfriend sounds slightly more intimidating than roommate.

"Boyfriend?" he echoes before releasing a hearty laugh. "Oh, baby, I didn't know you cared so much." He reaches up and pulls off the helmet, revealing his face to you.

"Jason?!" You're gaping once again. The last of your tension oozes out of you like a melting candle. "Dude, what the fuck! You gave me a heart attack!"

He drops the helmet onto his desk and turns back to the first aid kit. "Thought you'd be asleep by now, and I just needed a quick patch-up before heading back out."

"You're hurt?" You perk up and step deeper into the room.

He shrugs like it's not a big deal. "It's just a scratch." He pulls off his leather jacket, revealing a shallow gash on the back of his forearm.

"Can I help?" You're already setting your book and pepper spray down on the edge of his desk and pulling his arm closer for inspection. You reach into the first aid kit for a sterilizing wipe, rip open the packet, and then press it to the wound. Once it's been cleaned, you cover it in antiseptic gel and a clean bandage.

Jason stays quiet the whole time, observing you closely and wondering when the game of twenty questions will start. It doesn't. You already know how good he is at dodging questions, and you now know exactly what he's been hiding. Sure, there's probably more secrets and things you don't know, but you figure if there's something he wants to tell you, he'll do it in his own time.

"What exactly was your plan with all of that?" He finally breaks his silence after you've finished patching him up by pointing at your book.

"Spray you in the face, then whack you over the head with the book."

His lips spread into a wide smirk as he shakes his head. "Babe, we're gonna hafta work on your self-defense skills."

The corner of your mouth twitches as you fight off your grin. "Not tonight. I'm going to bed, and you apparently need to get back to your private security job." You toss the trash from the first aid kit into the mini trash can on the ground next to his desk, then take your stuff and head back to your room.

"Good night," he calls to you when you're passing through his doorway.

You pause and turn back to look at him. "Be careful out there."

"You worried about me?"

You stare back him him for a moment too long. "I just don't want to go back to my old living situation." That's not the whole truth. You know it, and he knows it, too, based on the look in his eyes. You turn away and return to your room before he can say anything else.

The following evening, the two of you have a more in-depth conversation regarding his vigilanteism. He explains that he used to be one of the former Robins, before he was taken by the Joker, where he was then brutally beaten and eventually murdered. It's where he got the scar on his face and several others that he alluded to, but didn't show you.

"Now, when you say... dead... Do you mean, like your heart stopped for a few seconds before they revived you? Or..." You ask slowly, trying to rein in your horror at his story.

"Nope. Dead-dead. Like buried in the ground, funeral and everything, kind of dead." He says it so casually, almost like he's talking about someone else.

"Then, how...?" You stare back, overwhelmed and at a loss for words.

"There's this group, the League of Assassins. Their leadership has a... complicated relationship with Batman. They have access to this stuff called the Lazarus Pit. It has mystical healing abilities and is even powerful enough to raise the dead. Case and point." He gestures to himself. "They took my body, hoping to use my revival as leverage against Batman. But I didn't come back right. I was angry, vengeful, and broken enough that they could use it against me and turn me into another one of their puppets. I did some stuff I'm not proud of while I was running with the League. Eventually pieced myself back together enough to break out. Came back to Gotham and did some more stuff I'm not proud of... Now, I'm working to atone for the things I've done wrong while keeping this dumpster fire of a city as safe as possible."

"Holy shit..." You breathe, still processing his words. "Do all the other vigilantes know all this stuff about you?"

"The ones in Gotham do. We're what you might consider a 'tight-knit bunch'."

You hum thoughtfully. "Then does that mean they all know about me, too?"

"No." He shakes his head, then pauses, considering. "Well, one does. Batgirl."

You arch a brow. "You told Batgirl about your roommate?"

He chuckles lightly. "Nah, she's the one that told me about you."

Your head tilts in confusion until you connect the pieces. "Barbara is Batgirl?"

"Bingo."

"God, I knew she was coasting through that computer science class! She made everything look so easy!" Jason smirks as you come to several realizations about your friend. "Wait. Is it okay for you to tell me about her?"

"I already fessed up to Barb this morning about you catching me in the act. She confirmed my suspicions that you're trustworthy enough to know at least some of our secrets."

You give him a bemused look. "You were suspicious that I was trustworthy?"

"I'm always suspicious. It's what keeps me alive. Well, the second time around, at least." He shrugs.

"How can you so casually joke about your own death?"

"Little bit of dissociative amnesia and a lot of fucking therapy."

"Okay, then..."

The two of you talk a little more before he has to get ready for patrol. A part of him is a little relieved that you now know. It makes sneaking in and out a lot easier when he no longer has to sneak at all. Going forward, when he comes back a little banged up and you're still awake, you'll step in to patch him up, without him having to say anything about it. He finds that it's kind of nice, being taken care of. If he's unfortunate enough to get any serious injuries, he'll still go to the Belfry Tower or the Cave, but anything small or easy, and he'll come home to you.

Weeks turn into months, and then before you know it, you're graduating from GCU and you're suddenly starting your first "Big Girl Job" as a university graduate. You've managed to secure an entry-level position at Stagg Industries. It's a long shot from your dream job, but hopefully a solid enough stepping stone for you to find your footing before moving on with your career. Jason had told you he had enough connections to get you into Wayne Enterprises, but you'd insisted on wanting to stand on your own two feet.

Your tasks were menial. A lot of grunt work, or the shitty things no one else wanted to do, but it was a full-time job, with benefits and a paycheck slightly above minimum wage. The benefits weren't all that great, and neither was the paycheck, if you were being honest with yourself, but it was yours. You found your groove, worked hard, and hoped you might eventually catch the eye of your management team in order to get promoted to a better section within the company.

That hope very quickly dried up and died. Nepotism was clearly running rampant within the company. The only ones that seemed to move up were the people who already had connections. It didn't seem to matter how competent you were; it was never enough to prove your worth when dollar signs and family names were all that mattered.

You were already sick of working at Stagg by the time you managed to get yourself actually sick. It seemed to be just a simple flu. You're pretty sure you caught it that night some of your coworkers convinced you to go out to a seedy bar with them. It was one of those nights Jason had a guest over, so you'd agreed to hang out even though you weren't really feeling it. The bar was a total dive. Looked like the last time it had been cleaned was over 10 years ago. You'd only ordered one drink, but apparently that had been enough to pick up the virus.

You were bedridden for three days, then stayed home an additional week after that, while more mucus came out of your nose and lungs than you thought was physically possible to store within one human being. You disgusted yourself with the sheer number of tissue boxes you were going through.

Jason was a better caretaker than you expected. You'd told him early on to stay away, since you didn't want to get him sick, too, but he completely ignored your request. He made you soup, which he'd leave on your nightstand while you were asleep, along with cold and flu medication. He'd also routinely empty your trash can for you after you'd filled it to the brim with used-up tissues. He made sure to only come in while you were passed out from the medication, so you wouldn't yell at him to stay out, but he took good care of you.

After your week away from work, you felt mostly well enough to go back, but you had a very persistent, lingering cough after the whole ordeal. You figured it would go away eventually on its own, and continued to trudge along like everything was normal.

"You know... you've been coughing for like two months now." Jason brings it up one night that you're both home. He's sitting back on his recliner, book forgotten in his lap as he stares at you from across the room.

You're tucked into the corner of the couch, fiddling with a Rubik's Cube in your hands. You've been getting into puzzles a lot recently to give your brain the mental stimulation it's severely lacking at your job right now. "I'm sure it'll ease up any day now." You shrug noncommitally and keep fiddling with the cube.

"It hasn't so far. Don't you think you should get it checked out?" The implication in his voice is heavy.

"I've started taking herbal tea. I think that'll really help clear out the last of the mucus."

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Okay, can you be real with me for a minute and just tell me why you refuse to see a doctor?"

You finally stop messing with the cube and look at him like the answer should be obvious. "Um, because I can't afford to?"

"What?" That's not the answer he was expecting. He thought maybe you had a bad case of white-coat-syndrome or something. Not this. He nearly kicks himself for not even considering it.

You shift uncomfortably under the weight of his stare and start messing with the Rubik's Cube again. "Yeah, the health insurance offered by the company is really bad. It's like a $5,000 deductible before the insurance will start covering my expenses. So, everything until that point I need to cover out of pocket. I'm not sure how much a doctor visit will be, let alone the cost for the diagnosis and the medication."

"What the fuck? Is that even legal?"

You shrug again. "No clue. I'm sure I could pay more money for better coverage, but again... can't really afford to. It's just how this shit works, right?"

"No, it fucking isn't. At least it shouldn't be. Why do you still work there if the benefits are ass and you fucking hate it?"

"Nowhere else is hiring."

"I can get you into WayneTech!"

You sigh quietly, wanting this conversation to be over. "Jay, we talked about this..."

"No. I tried to bring it up, and you shot me down before I could finish."

"Because you're already doing more than enough for me by letting me live here!"

He runs a hand through his hair, tugging on the longer strands. "It's just an interview! I can get you in the door, but the rest will be up to you to impress them with your knowledge and skills. It's not a fucking handout. It's an invitation."

You go quiet once more. "...I'll think about it."

He grunts and settles back into his chair. "Yeah, well, think fast, because you should have seen a doctor like a month ago."

"Still not going to the doctor." You shake your head.

"Fucking Christ! If your insurance is so fucking bad, then just use mine!" He throws his hands up in the air out of frustration.

You furrow your brow in utter confusion. "What, do you have like special vigilante insurance or something?"

"No, I have real fucking insurance, that I can't really even fucking use, but Bruce sets all of his kids up with the best Wayne Enterprises can offer."

"Wait, wait. The fuck? You're Bruce Wayne's kid?"

"Ah, shit." He presses a palm to his face. "I forgot you didn't already know that. I'm adopted, but yeah..."

You try to laugh hysterically, but all you can manage is a coughing fit. "Okay, that part aside... I still feel like the doctor's office won't exactly accept little old me walking in there with an insurance card for Jason Todd written on it, unless this is some magical perk you 1-Percenters get to have that us peons don't."

He rolls his eyes. "No, obviously you'd have to like marry me to get on my health insurance, but if it'll get you to the doctor sooner, why the fuck not?"

"WHAT?!?" His words shock you so bad, you spiral into an even worse coughing fit.

"Fucking hell..." He mutters while jumping up from his recliner and rushing to get you a glass of water from the kitchen. "If you keel over in front of me right now, that'll really piss me off." He takes the Rubik's Cube from you and shoves the glass into your hands.

You take a few small sips of water until your throat calms down enough that you stop coughing. "Did you seriously just propose marriage in order to get me to the doctor?" You ask, voice raw from your coughing fit, but deeply incredulous.

"Hey, with Bruce's lawyers, we could probably have the papers drawn, signed, and filed within a few days. I sure as hell can't show up to the hospital every time I get hurt without people asking questions, so someone may as well be getting some use out of the insurance my trust is paying for."

Your eyes narrow into tiny slits as you stare up at him. "But then we'd be married..." You say it slower to leave a bigger impact. It seems to have no effect.

"Like legally? Yes, we would. But not a real marriage. Oh! Like one of those marriage of convenience things!" He snaps his fingers when the words come to him.

"Oh god, you're reading one of those period dramas right now, aren't you?" You rub a hand down your face.

"Hey, they wouldn't have a word for it if it wasn't a real thing." He points out, like this adds any sort of validity to his outrageous idea.

You can't believe you're even entertaining this. "Okay, so hypothetically speaking, if I were to agree to this insanity... we get married, I get on your insurance, go to the doctor, get better... then what?"

"Then we stay married. We can't split immediately after without someone looking into the arrangement as insurance fraud."

"That's because this is insurance fraud, Jason."

"Not if we stay married." He grins like he's got all the answers.

"Jesus... Okay, then what happens when, down the line, you meet someone else and fall in love?"

He laughs like you've just told a hilarious joke. "It's cute that you think I'm even capable of such feelings."

You roll your eyes at him. "I'm being serious."

"Alright, alright. Hypothetically speaking, if you later on meet someone and 'fall in love', then we divorce and go our separate ways. Easy-peasy. It doesn't have to be complicated."

"This is fucking crazy." You give him a hard stare, but he only grins wider.

"Crazy brilliant."

The next morning, Jason is still awake after his night on patrol and is making breakfast in the kitchen when you're getting ready for work.

"I told Bruce the plan. He's willing to have the papers made and filed, but he and Alfred want to meet you first."

You stare at him like he's criminally insane. "I never actually agreed to any of this. We were speaking hypothetically, Jason!"

"Yeah, well, I'm realistically invested in keeping you healthy. You're pretty decent as far as roommates go. I'd hate to hafta find another one."

You cross your arms and stick out a hip. "What, so now I don't even get a say in our fake marriage?"

"Marriage of convenience. And you've already proven you don't take matters concerning your health seriously, so as a good future husband, I'm electing to make those decisions for you." He sets your plate down on the dining table and waits for you to take your seat before he brings you a glass of orange juice and sits with his own plate of food.

"You also told Bruce the terms of this marriage of convenience? And he was okay with it?"

Jason shrugs casually. "Meh, he's fine with a little light insurance fraud if it's done for the right reasons. It's Alfred who you're really going to have to convince."

"Who's Alfred?"

He grins. "The butler."

Two nights later, and you're scrambling in the kitchen of the apartment to get dinner finished. You'd told Jason that if you were going to be meeting his billionaire family, you wanted to do it on your home turf. Now that the moment was here, you were questioning your decision. You'd mad-dash cleaned the entire apartment: wiping the counters, mopping the floors, scrubbing the tile in the bathroom.

The whole place had become a lot more homey after you moved in. You'd added some artwork to the walls, candles on side tables, hanging plants, that sort of thing, but now you were worried they might think the place looked too cluttered. Don't rich people nowadays usually take a more minimalistic approach?

Dinner has been left to simmer on the stove when there's a knock on the front door.

"I'll get it," Jason tells you when the sound makes you freeze in panic. "Hey, come on in."

You peek out from the kitchen doorway to watch the two men enter the apartment. Bruce is easily recognizable; you've seen him plenty of times on the news. You still can't really believe that you're seeing him in person now. It's surreal. He catches your stare from down the hall and smiles in greeting. "You must be the roommate."

You gulp and force yourself to step out into the hall and introduce yourself. "Thank you for coming. Please take off your coats and make yourselves comfortable. Dinner's almost ready."

"It smells divine." Bruce gives you a charming smile that makes your face hot. "Thank you for having us." He holds out a bottle of wine.

You take it graciously, only to almost drop it when you look down and recognize the label. You saw it once, inside a glass display case at an art and wine festival you went to with friends back in college. It's an $8,000 bottle of wine... You're gonna fucking pass out. You clutch the bottle to your chest, laugh nervously, and excuse yourself back into the kitchen.

"The place looks great, Jason. Can't believe it's taken marriage talks to get you to invite us over."

Jason grunts some response you don't hear before walking with Bruce deeper into the apartment.

"I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of bringing along some cookies for dessert."

You look up to find Alfred standing in the doorway of the kitchen, holding a pink pastry box. "Oh, of course not. Jason's already told me all about your world-famous cookies." You indicate to a spot on the counter where he can place the box.

"Might I be of any assistance with your dinner preparations?"

"Thank you for offering, but I think I've got it handled. You're a guest tonight, Alfred."

He steps back and gives you a fond smile. "I take it the sunflower hand towels and cat paw oven mitts are your additions to the household?" He inquires while gesturing toward the items in question.

You laugh in embarrassment. "Yes. Jason kind of had that monochrome bachelor aesthetic going on in here until I showed up and ruined it."

"I like them. They add warmth to your home. I may have to invest in my own pair of pawprint oven mitts."

You giggle again and hope he's not just really good at masking his sarcasm. "I'll have to keep that in mind when Christmas comes around."

Dinner starts off pretty well. Bruce and Alfred alternate asking you different questions about yourself. What you studied in school, what you're doing now, what your future goals are. They're very good at making it seem like casual conversation, but you get the distinct feeling that you're under interrogation. You at least expected this much. You can't imagine the lengths someone like Bruce Wayne must have to go through to keep his family members safe from scammers and con artists. You answer everything truthfully, and admitting that Barbara was the one to introduce you to Jason seems to earn you some brownie points, which makes you wonder if these two know about Jason and Barb's late-night extracurriculars. There's a niggling at the back of your mind, like when you're really close to figuring out the trick to one of your puzzle games, but it's not quite there yet.

At one point, you get a little piece of food stuck in the mucus buildup of your throat and have to excuse yourself to have a coughing fit in the bathroom. While you're away, Jason feels himself getting put in the hot seat.

"So... she seems cute," Bruce grins casually at his son.

Jason's hand tightens around his fork as he glares. "Keep your hands to yourself, Old Man."

Bruce only laughs heartily. "Not for me. For you."

Jason shifts in his seat, glancing over his shoulder to make sure you're still in the bathroom. "It's not like that."

"Ah, yes. I do believe young master Jason called it a marriage of convenience, Sir."

"Yeah," Bruce scoffs like he doesn't believe a word of it. "Normally, something like that means both parties have something to gain. Once she's married to you, what do you get out of it?"

Jason stares back at his mentor and father figure. They've certainly had their ups and downs over the years, but Jason trusts that Bruce is just trying to look out for him in this moment. "I just want her to live a long and healthy life. She deserves to have someone taking care of her, even if she says she doesn't want it."

Bruce hums and mulls over his words.

You return from the bathroom at that point and smile shyly while returning to your seat. "Sorry about that. Where were we?"

"We were just beginning to discuss the logistics of your marital arrangement," Bruce supplies helpfully.

"Oh, perfect. I want a prenup," you announce, and the table goes dead quiet.

All three men stop eating and turn to look at you inquisitively. "I... wasn't aware you had any assets you wanted to protect," Bruce starts up again.

"Not for me. For Jason." You point over at him. "I want to make this clear from the get-go that I don't want any of his money."

Jason sighs and rubs a hand over his face. "See? This is exactly what I was talking about. She's a detriment to her own health."

"What the hell does that mean?" you ask with a dangerous lilt to your tone.

"It means we're not getting a fucking prenup."

"What, so you actually want me to go running off with half your stuff?"

He releases a dry chuckle. "Oh, baby, I'd like to see you try."

Alfred leans in his chair to whisper toward Bruce. "Sir, I do believe we are bearing witness to young master Jason's first marital spat."

"We should have brought some popcorn."

The two of you continue to argue for several minutes, impressing both Bruce and Alfred with your ability to hold your ground against Jason, even though every argument you provide only makes him more frustrated. Even more impressive is how long Jason continues to maintain his composure, even when everything you say irritates him even further. He's completely blown up at his siblings or his enemies for offenses far less than this. They can see how easily you're able to slip under his skin, but it's almost like he doesn't even mind that you're there. That maybe, he even enjoys it.

The two share a knowing look before Bruce breaks up your arguing with a decisive, "Ahem." You both stop and look his way. "I'll have my lawyers whip up a contract that should satisfy all parties. You'll still need to take it down to City Hall to have it notarized, but if we work quick enough, you both can be officially married by the end of the week."

"Jesus, you know how to get shit done," you gape at him.

"I prefer the term efficient," Bruce laughs.

"Welcome to the Bat Family, young Miss," Alfred smiles warmly.

Your head tilts curiously. "The Bat Family?"

All three men tense up once more, the older two pinning Jason with a look. "I thought you said you told her," Bruce frowns.

"I told her about me! Not about you!"

That's when it clicks. Jason running around as Robin at the same time he'd been adopted by Bruce, the Barbara connection, Bat Family??? "Oh my God, you're fucking Batman!"

Bruce and Alfred make their escape while you're laying into Jason for not better preparing you to play hostess to fucking Batman himself. You end the night by taking the box of Alfred's cookies into your room and refusing to share any of them with him despite his numerous apologies through your locked bedroom door.

This story has absolutely spiraled into a whole thing and got way longer than I was expecting. I'm splitting it into multiple parts for everyone's sanity

Part 2

Clark pauses mid-stir.

Turns his body slowly towards you like he had a stiff neck.

“Can I... what?”

You blink innocently. “Babysit. Just for a couple hours. I’ll be back before bedtime.”

He squints, the wooden spoon still in hand like a weapon of betrayal.

“You want me to babysit... my own daughter?”

You shrug. “Yeah. Just for tonight.”

Clark gasps like you slapped him with a diaper.

“Is this—are you filming me?!”

You grin. The not-so-subtle phone camera in his direction gives you away.

“You ARE!” he points at you accusingly. “You’re doing the TikTok thing. I knew it. I’ve seen this. Bruce sent me one last week and said ‘This’ll be you.’ I said, ‘No. I am a grown man. A father. That could never be me.’ AND YET—” He gestures wildly to the kitchen.

Leia, delighted by the sudden performance, lets out a happy screech and flails both arms in support of her father’s monologue.

Clark turns to her. “Did you hear what your mother said? Babysit. Like I’m the backup. Like I’m a part-time uncle who pops in from time to time! Like...like Kara!”

Leia blows a raspberry.

He nods solemnly. “Exactly.”

You’re now fully laughing, tears stinging your eyes as Clark keeps going.

“I changed sixteen diapers last week. Sixteen. I tracked them.” He looks down and points the wooden spoon at your daughter, “I burped you while writing an article. I once flew across four time zones with only one pacifier and a dream. And now—babysit.”

He crosses his arms, staring at you with the full judgment of an overcaffeinated PTA mom.

You finally stop recording and set your phone down. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. It was a prank!”

He points at you again. “Tell TikTok I live here.”

You walk over, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your chin on his chest. “Okay. But seriously, will you watch her for an hour so I can go to Target in peace?”

He eyes you suspiciously.

“Yes,” he mutters. “But only because she just smiled at me, and I think I’d die for her.”

You reach up to kiss his cheek. “Knew it.”

Clark adjusted his glasses with the expression of a man facing public execution. “In my defense,” he said weakly, “you’re very pretty.”

Somewhere across the newsroom, somebody choked on a laugh.

You looked down at the coffee dripping off the edge of Clark’s desk. Then back up at him. Then at the completely soaked stack of papers in his hands.

“Oh my God,” you whispered.

“I know.”

“No, I mean—” You pointed at the papers. “Weren’t those your interview notes?”

Clark glanced down.

The color drained from his face. “Oh no.”

The bullpen erupted.

Jimmy Olsen burst into laughter so hard he physically folded over his desk. Someone else wolf-whistled. Perry White shouted something from his office about professionalism that nobody listened to.

Clark stood frozen in the middle of it all looking deeply, deeply miserable.

And weirdly adorable.

You pressed your lips together, trying not to smile. “You’re kind of a disaster, Kent.”

He looked at you over the rim of his glasses, visibly horrified. “You think I’m a disaster?”

“I think,” you said carefully, “that you just sacrificed your notes to avoid having a conversation with me.”

“That’s not what happened.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” He paused. “Mostly.”

Jimmy made a loud fake coughing noise that sounded suspiciously like he likes you.

Clark shot him a betrayed look.

You laughed before you could stop yourself.

And that—that seemed to make Clark’s entire brain shut down.

Because he stared at you for half a second too long, looking startled by the sound, before smiling instinctively.

It hit you like a truck.

Not because he was handsome—you had unfortunately noticed that weeks ago when you’d first started at the Daily Planet—but because his smile changed his whole face.

Clark smiling felt warm. Soft. Like sunlight through open curtains.

Your stomach flipped embarrassingly hard.

Clark seemed to realize he was still staring at you at the exact same moment you realized you were staring back.

He immediately looked away so quickly he knocked another coffee cup over with his elbow.

“Oh my God,” Jimmy wheezed.

-

Working at the Daily Planet meant existing in a constant state of chaos.

Phones rang nonstop. Reporters argued across desks. Perry barked deadlines like military orders while interns sprinted through the bullpen carrying stacks of papers and half-dead laptops.

You’d only been there three months, but somehow it already felt normal.

Mostly because of Clark.

Which was ridiculous.

You barely knew him. Technically.

But Clark Kent had this strange gravitational pull to him. The kind that made people naturally drift toward him without realizing it.

He remembered everyone’s coffee orders. Held doors open. Asked about your day and actually listened to the answer.

He was impossibly kind in a way that should’ve felt fake considering he looked like that, but somehow didn’t.

Honestly, the man looked like he’d been engineered in a lab specifically to make people stare.

Broad chest. Strong hands. Dark curls that always fell messily over his forehead no matter how many times he pushed them back.

And his eyes.

Jesus Christ.

You’d made the mistake of maintaining eye contact with him once during a meeting and forgotten your own name halfway through a sentence.

Which apparently wasn’t a problem exclusive to you.

Because Clark got nervous around you too. Painfully nervous.

At first you thought you imagined it.

Then you noticed patterns.

Clark dropping things whenever you walked too close to him. Clark forgetting what he was saying mid-conversation because you smiled at him. Clark volunteering for stories on the opposite side of Metropolis whenever you wore something nice.

It was honestly kind of endearing.

Today, however, was especially bad.

You walked into the break room around noon and stopped short.

Clark was standing at the counter holding a mug that literally bent in his hand.

Not metaphorically.

Literally.

Ceramic cracked beneath his fingers.

Clark stared down at it in horror.

You stared at him.

“…Did you just Hulk-smash a coffee mug?”

Clark nearly jumped out of his skin. “What? No.”

You pointed.

The handle fell off the mug and hit the floor.

Clark looked genuinely distressed. “I can explain.”

“I would love to hear this explanation actually.”

He glanced around the empty break room like he was searching for divine intervention.

“It was slippery.”

“The mug exploded.”

“It’s a very slippery mug.”

You laughed again.

Clark visibly melted.

Not metaphorically either. The man genuinely seemed to lose all motor function when you laughed near him.

It was becoming a problem.

“You know,” you said, leaning against the counter, “for a Pulitzer-winning reporter, you’re a terrible liar.”

Clark ducked his head, smiling sheepishly. “That obvious?”

“Clark, you once told Perry your laptop stopped working because of solar flares.”

“They can interfere with technology.”

“Sure.”

“It’s science.”

“You sounded like a conspiracy podcast host.”

Clark huffed out a laugh.

God.

That was dangerous too.

Because Clark didn’t laugh quietly. He laughed fully. Warm and surprised and bright like he couldn’t help it.

You liked making him do it.

Probably more than you should.

“You’re staring,” Clark said softly.

You blinked.

Shit.

“I am not.”

One dark eyebrow lifted.

You folded your arms immediately. “Okay, maybe a little.”

Clark’s ears turned pink.

And for some reason, that made you bold.

“You get flustered really easily for someone who looks like he belongs on a magazine cover.”

Clark made a choking noise. “A magazine—”

“You know exactly what you look like, Kent.”

“I really don’t think I do.”

“That’s actually insane.”

Clark rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Well… I think you’re beautiful, so maybe we’re both insane.”

The room went completely silent.

Your heartbeat stuttered.

Clark seemed to realize what he’d said a full three seconds later.

“Oh my God,” he whispered to himself.

Then he physically walked into a cabinet.

You slapped a hand over your mouth.

Clark stood there with his eyes squeezed shut like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole.

“You okay?” you asked, voice shaking with suppressed laughter.

“Never better.”

“You hit that cabinet really hard.”

“I’m durable.”

You snorted.

Clark looked absolutely devastated by his own existence.

And somehow, impossibly, it made him even cuter.

-

Lois Lane cornered you two days later.

“You like him.”

You nearly inhaled your own coffee. “What?”

Lois sat casually on the edge of your desk like she wasn’t about to ruin your entire life.

“You and Smallville.”

“We are coworkers.”

“You look at him like he personally invented romance.”

You opened your mouth.

Closed it.

Lois smirked.

“Oh my God,” you muttered.

“Yeah, that’s usually the reaction.”

You dropped your head onto your desk dramatically. “Is it that obvious?”

“To me? Absolutely.”

“This is humiliating.”

“Nah.” Lois nudged your shoulder. “It’s cute.”

Cute.

Right.

Except your crush on Clark Kent felt less cute and more actively life-threatening.

Because the problem with Clark wasn’t just that he was attractive.

It was that he was good.

Everywhere you looked, Clark was helping someone.

Carrying absurdly heavy boxes for interns. Staying late to help fact-check stories. Walking little old ladies across busy streets outside the Planet building.

Once, you’d watched him stop in the middle of a conversation because he noticed a little kid crying outside through the bullpen windows.

Clark had excused himself immediately and come back twenty minutes later with melted ice cream on his sleeve and a shy explanation about helping the kid find his dad.

Who does that?

Who is actually like that?

“You’re smiling,” Lois said knowingly.

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

Unfortunately, she was right.

Lois leaned closer. “So what’s the hold up?”

“What?”

“With Clark.”

You stared at her. “There is no ‘with Clark.’”

“Please. That man looks at you like you hung the moon.”

Your stomach flipped violently.

“That’s dramatic.”

“It’s accurate.”

Before you could respond, a familiar voice called your name from across the bullpen.

You looked up instinctively.

Big mistake.

Clark was walking toward you holding a file folder against his chest, glasses slipping down his nose slightly. His tie was crooked. His hair looked windswept like he’d just sprinted back from somewhere.

Which honestly was possible.

The man moved weirdly fast.

Clark smiled the second he saw you.

And there it was again.

That stupid, soft sunlight feeling.

Lois watched your entire expression change and looked unbearably smug about it.

“I’m going to kill you,” you muttered.

“Worth it.”

Clark reached your desk, slightly out of breath. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

For a second, both of you just stood there smiling at each other like idiots.

Lois made a fake gagging noise before hopping off the desk. “I’m leaving before this turns into a Hallmark movie.”

Clark looked alarmed. “What turns into a Hallmark movie?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly.

“Everything,” Lois corrected.

Then she disappeared into the crowd of desks before either of you could stop her.

Clark looked adorably confused.

You looked anywhere except directly at him.

“So,” Clark said after a moment. “I, uh… brought those files you asked for.”

He handed them over carefully.

Your fingers brushed his.

Clark froze.

You felt him freeze.

The entire atmosphere shifted instantly.

It was ridiculous.

A tiny touch shouldn’t feel electric.

And yet.

Clark swallowed hard. “You okay?”

“You’re asking me?”

A nervous laugh escaped him.

“You just—” He stopped himself abruptly.

“What?”

Clark stared at you for one long second like he was debating something internally. “Nothing.”

“Clark.”

“It’s not important.”

“Clark.”

His shoulders slumped in surrender. “You just make me nervous.”

The honesty in his voice hit you straight in the chest.

“You make me nervous too,” you admitted quietly.

Clark blinked.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“But you seem so calm around me.”

You stared at him. “Clark, last week you smiled at me and I walked directly into the women’s restroom instead of the elevator.”

For a beat of silence, Clark just looked at you.

Then he laughed.

Not a polite chuckle.

Not a soft huff.

An actual laugh.

Head tipped back slightly. Eyes crinkling behind his glasses. Warm and bright and helpless.

Your heart basically dissolved on the spot.

“You think I’m funny?” you asked weakly.

Clark looked at you like that was the dumbest question he’d ever heard.

“I think you’re incredible.”

Oh.

Oh, you were in serious trouble.

-

It started raining halfway through your walk home.

Not normal rain either.

The kind of dramatic Metropolis downpour that felt personally targeted.

You groaned as cold water soaked through your jacket within seconds. “Seriously?”

“You forgot your umbrella too?”

You turned.

Clark stood a few feet away under a massive black umbrella, glasses speckled with rain.

Of course he had an umbrella.

Clark looked like the kind of man who reminded other people to bring umbrellas.

“You stalking me, Kent?”

A smile tugged at his mouth. “Coincidence. I was getting groceries.”

He lifted a paper bag slightly.

You frowned. “How are those not soaked already?”

Clark glanced at the perfectly dry bag in confusion before quickly holding the umbrella lower. “Good umbrella?”

You narrowed your eyes.

Clark smiled innocently.

Suspicious.

Still, he stepped closer, angling the umbrella over both of you.

Warmth immediately surrounded you.

Clark smelled ridiculously good. Like clean laundry and coffee and something faintly earthy after the rain.

You tried not to notice.

Failed horribly.

“You can’t walk me home every time it rains, you know.”

Clark looked down at you. “I can try.”

Oh.

Oh, that was dangerous.

The city blurred around you as you walked side by side through the rain.

Cars hissed past on wet streets. Neon signs reflected off puddles. Somewhere nearby, someone played music loud enough to echo between buildings.

Clark kept subtly adjusting the umbrella to make sure you stayed covered.

Meanwhile his own shoulder was getting soaked.

“You’re terrible at sharing umbrellas,” you informed him.

Clark blinked. “I am?”

“You’re getting rained on.”

“That’s okay.”

“No, move over.”

You grabbed his sleeve and tugged him closer underneath the umbrella.

Clark immediately went completely still beside you.

Your arm brushed his.

Heat radiated through the contact even through layers of clothing.

Clark looked down at you slowly.

And there it was again.

That look.

Like you were something precious.

Something worth handling carefully.

It made your chest ache.

“You know,” you said softly, “for someone who panics every time I touch him, you really like standing close to me.”

Clark’s mouth twitched. “Maybe I enjoy the panic.”

“Is that what this is?”

“No,” he admitted quietly. “Not really.”

Rain hammered softly overhead.

Clark’s gaze dropped briefly to your mouth before snapping back up.

Your breath caught.

He noticed.

You knew he noticed because his own breathing changed instantly.

And suddenly the space between you felt very small.

Very warm.

Very dangerous.

A car horn blared somewhere nearby.

Both of you jumped apart like guilty teenagers.

Clark cleared his throat violently. “Well.”

“Yep.”

“That was—”

“Definitely something.”

Clark laughed nervously.

You smiled despite yourself.

Then, before you could overthink it, you reached for his hand.

Clark went silent.

His fingers instinctively curled around yours.

Warm.

Careful.

Like he was afraid to hold on too tightly.

You looked up at him.

Clark looked completely undone.

“You’re doing that thing again,” you murmured.

“What thing?”

“Looking at me like I personally invented happiness.”

Clark stared at you for one long second.

Then he smiled softly.

“I might argue you did.”

Your heart was never recovering from this man.

Ever.

-

By the time you reached your apartment building, neither of you had let go of the other’s hand.

Clark looked mildly stunned by that fact.

You were trying not to look equally affected.

Rainwater dripped from the edge of the umbrella while the city buzzed around you in blurry lights and distant traffic.

Neither of you moved.

“This is usually the part,” you said carefully, “where people say goodbye.”

Clark nodded immediately. “Right. Yeah. Goodbye.”

Neither of you let go.

A smile tugged at your mouth.

Clark noticed instantly.

“What?”

“You’re still holding my hand.”

Clark looked down like he’d genuinely forgotten.

“Oh.”

But he still didn’t let go.

Instead, his thumb brushed lightly across your knuckles.

The movement was absentminded.

Gentle.

Your heartbeat nearly climbed into your throat.

Clark looked like he realized what he was doing at the exact same moment.

His eyes widened slightly behind his glasses.

“You should probably kiss me now,” you blurted before your brain could stop you.

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Clark stared at you.

You stared back in horror as your own words replayed in your head.

“Well,” you said weakly. “That was terrifying.”

Clark still looked frozen.

“Oh my God,” you whispered. “Forget I said that.”

“No.”

Your eyes snapped back to his.

Clark stepped closer slowly, like he was worried you’d disappear if he moved too fast.

“No,” he repeated softly. “I really don’t think I can.”

The rain suddenly felt very far away.

Clark lifted one hand carefully toward your face.

Even now—even with the way he looked at you, with your fingers tangled together, with every charged moment between you hanging in the air—he still hesitated like he wanted permission.

You leaned into his touch before he could ask.

Something in Clark’s expression melted instantly.

Then he kissed you.

And—

Oh.

That was not a first-kiss kind of kiss.

There was nothing uncertain about it.

Clark kissed you like he’d been thinking about it for weeks and was only now allowing himself to do it.

Warm lips. Careful hands. The soft sound he made when you kissed him back harder.

Your fingers curled into the front of his jacket automatically.

Clark’s free hand settled against your waist like he physically couldn’t stop himself.

And somehow, impossibly, he still kissed like Clark.

Sweet.

Tender.

Like he was trying to memorize you.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were visibly breathless.

Clark looked completely wrecked.

His glasses were crooked.

His hair was damp from the rain.

And he was looking at you like you’d personally rewritten his entire universe.

“You kissed me,” he said softly, sounding genuinely awed by it.

You laughed quietly. “Pretty sure you kissed me too, Kent.”

“I know, I just—” He stopped to smile helplessly. “Wow.”

You smiled so hard your face hurt.

Clark looked at you for another long second before blurting suddenly, “I have wanted to do that since the first day you worked at the Planet.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “The first day?”

“You smiled at me in the elevator and I walked into a wall.”

You stared at him.

Then burst into laughter.

Clark groaned immediately. “Please don’t laugh.”

“You walked into a wall?”

“It was a glass wall,” he muttered.

“That is somehow worse.”

Clark covered his face with one hand while you laughed harder.

“I’m trying to be romantic.”

“You are romantic,” you promised, still grinning. “You’re just also deeply awkward.”

Clark peeked at you through his fingers. “You still like me though?”

The fact that he sounded genuinely unsure nearly killed you.

You reached up, adjusting his crooked glasses carefully. “Clark Kent, you spilled coffee on yourself because I touched your arm.”

His ears turned pink again.

“You carried one umbrella specifically big enough for two people.”

Clark looked away innocently.

“You looked at me like your entire life changed because I held your hand.”

A soft smile spread slowly across his face.

Then he leaned down and kissed you again.

Softer this time.

Slow enough that your chest physically ached from it.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours.

“So,” you murmured, “does this mean you’ll stop destroying office supplies every time I flirt with you?”

Clark considered that seriously.

“…Probably not.”

You laughed.

You and Nancy sit on your respective beds, her voice filling the room while you try, desperately, to focus on reading The Feminine Mystique for the Advanced Lit paper due on Monday. 

“Ohhh my god—”

“Oh. my. GOD. Nance, seriously? You can have this conversation literally anywhere else.”

She pauses, lowering the phone and covering it with her palm. “And you can read anywhere else.”

You huff a loud, dramatic breath before lifting the book back to your face, desperately trying to cover the loudest eye roll you’ve ever done. 

She carries on gossiping, giggling about Steve and his impending rise to Varsity basketball captain. That is, if Billy Hargrove doesn’t bulldoze his way into it first. Not that you care about Hawkins High’s sacred basketball throne.

You exhale another long sigh and place the book down in your lap, seconds away from giving her another comment, before a tap at your window stills both of you. 

Both of your heads snap to see Steve, arms resting on the outside of the sill, cheeky grin plastered across his face. 

“I’ll uh—I’ll call you later,” Nancy says before placing the phone in the holster, giddily walking over to the window. 

“Steve!” she hisses, though there’s no real threat behind it. “You can’t be here, what if my parents—”

“Isn’t Ted already asleep? And isn’t it your mom’s Friday night bubblebath and chardonnay routine?” 

She giggles, glancing over her shoulder at you. You sigh, already standing to grab your jacket from the back of the door and your shoes from the closet.

“You sure you don’t mind?” She asks, as if it really makes a difference. Either way, you suffer.

If you say “yes, Nancy, as a matter of fact, I do mind,” she will pout the second he leaves, and you have to listen to her bitching and moaning about how she misses him. 

And if you say “No Nancy, it’s okay!” you’ll have to sit through Steve and her pawing at each other while you’re “not paying attention.” 

Either way, all signs point to a graceful exit, going to the one place you always find solace in: the town park.

Specifically, the town park after dark. No kids, no noise, just you, your book, and a cigarette with your name on it. Perfect bliss; quiet, dark, and entirely yours.

You wave in Steve and exchange places with him, waving a final dramatic gesture before you scale down the trellis. 

The grass is still a little damp from the afternoon rain, soaking faintly through the soles of your sneakers as you cut across the park. 

Hawkins at night always feels like something softer, like the whole town is holding its breath instead of buzzing the way it does in daylight. You prefer it this way.

You find your usual bench tucked beneath the old oak, the one far enough from the streetlamps that it feels almost private, but not so hidden that it’s unsettling.

Your bag drops beside you with a soft thud, and you settle in, pulling your book back out like you never left it. The Feminine Mystique falls open easily, spine already bending to your will from overuse. 

You smooth a hand over the page, but before you start reading, you reach into your jacket pocket, pulling out a cigarette and your lighter.

A practiced flick, a small flame, and the quiet inhale.

You let the smoke sit in your lungs for a second before exhaling slowly, watching it curl into the night air. It feels like exhaling everything else, too. 

Nancy’s voice, Steve’s stupid grin, the constant feeling of being just slightly out of place in your own house.

From your bag, you pull the small flask, unscrewing the cap with a faint metallic click.

Cheap wine, stolen from the back of your mom's not-so-secret "secret stash" in the back of the kitchen cabinet. You take a quick sip, nose scrunching slightly at the bite, then settle back against the bench.

Book in one hand. A cigarette in the other. Flask resting against your thigh. Perfect.

You actually managed to get through a paragraph this time before—

“Well, shit.”

Your head lifts immediately, eyes narrowing just slightly as you turn toward the voice. He’s leaning against the tree like he’s been there the whole time.

Or like he just appeared.

Leather jacket. Chains catching what little light there is. That messy halo of curls that somehow looks intentional even when it definitely isn’t. And his eyes, wide for a split second, like he didn’t expect to actually see you.

Eddie pushes himself off the tree slowly, hands coming up like he’s been caught doing something he probably shouldn’t be.

“Didn’t mean to—uh,” he gestures vaguely between you, the bench, the cigarette, the whole scene. “Interrupt your… whole vibe you’ve got going on here.”

You stare at him for a second, then another.

Because, yeah, you know him. Everyone knows him. The freak, the drug dealer, the guy parents warn their kids about, like he’s some kind of urban legend. Hellfire Club. Lunch table speeches. The whole thing.

But up close? He’s different. And annoyingly attractive.

You take another slow drag from your cigarette, eyes still on him as you exhale.

“Were you just lurking in the shadows, or is that a new hobby you’re trying out?”

There’s a flicker of something like surprise across his face. Then a grin, crooked and immediate.

“Hey, I prefer the term mysteriously existing,” he says, stepping a little closer but still keeping his distance, like there’s an invisible line he’s not sure he’s allowed to cross. “Lurking sounds way creepier.”

“Debatable.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I didn’t think anyone else came out here this late,” he admits, glancing around the empty park before looking back at you.

“Usually just me and my incredibly profound thoughts about, you know, life. And stuff.”

“‘And stuff’, sounds deep,” you deadpan.

“Thank you, I work very hard on my intellectual image.”

Your lips twitch despite yourself.

His eyes flick down briefly, to the book in your hand, the cigarette, the flask, and then back up to your face.

“…You’re Wheeler’s sister.” It’s not a question.

You raise a brow. “Observant.”

He winces, just a little. “Yeah, that came out way less cool than it sounded in my head.”

“You had a cool version of that?”

“Oh, absolutely. Smooth. Mysterious. Possibly British.”

That pulls a small laugh out of you, quicker than you expect. His expression softens at the sound, like he’s quietly relieved.

“I, uh—I’ve seen you around,” he adds, more careful now. “You’re not… like, Nancy.”

You tilt your head slightly. “That obvious?”

He shrugs, a little sheepish. “Not in a bad way. Just—different. You don’t look like you’d survive a pep rally without committing a felony.”

“Bold of you to assume I haven’t.”

That earns you a full laugh this time, loud enough it echoes faintly through the empty park.

“Jesus,” he mutters, grinning. “Okay. Didn’t expect that.”

“Yeah?” you say, taking another sip from your flask, then holding it up slightly. “What did you expect?”

He hesitates, like actually hesitates. Like he’s weighing whether he should say it.

“Honestly?” he says finally, softer now. “I thought you’d be more like Nancy. You are Wheelers, after all.”

You glance away for a second, watching the smoke drift instead of looking at him.

“Funny,” you murmur. “I’ve spent most of my life feeling like the extra Wheeler.”

When you look back at him, something in his expression has changed again.

“Well,” he says, after a beat, shifting his weight as he gestures toward the empty space beside you on the bench, “for what it’s worth… I think the extra Wheeler is way more interesting.”

You hold his gaze for a second longer than necessary. Then you tilt your head slightly toward the empty space beside you.

“Sit,” you say simply.

There’s a flicker of surprise across Eddie’s face, like he wasn’t entirely convinced you’d invite him at all. But he recovers quickly, pushing off the tree and making his way over.

Careful, though; always a little careful. Like he’s still expecting you to change your mind halfway through.

He drops onto the bench, leaving just enough space between you to be polite. You take another drag from your cigarette, then glance at him from the corner of your eye.

“May I?” he asks, nodding toward it. Polite, unexpectedly so.

You raise a brow, studying him for half a second before handing it over without a word.

He takes it carefully, like it’s something more valuable than it is, bringing it to his lips and inhaling. When he exhales, the smoke curls around him, catching in the low light like something almost cinematic.

“Didn’t peg you as the sharing type,” he says, glancing over.

“I’m full of surprises.”

“I’m starting to see that.”

You take a sip from your flask, letting the silence sit comfortably for a moment before…

“I thought you’d be mean,” you admit, eyes forward.

He chokes on a quiet laugh, turning toward you. “Mean?”

“And scary,” you add, finally looking at him. “You know. Cult leader. Devil worship. Sacrificial rituals behind the gym.”

“Ah, yeah, Wednesdays at five,” he nods seriously. “You just missed it.”

Your lips twitch.

“But no,” you continue, softer now, “people talk.”

He shrugs, passing the cigarette back to you.

“People love to talk,” he says. “Usually about shit they don’t understand.”

You take it from him, bringing it back to your lips.

“I thought you were mean too,” he adds after a beat.

That makes you pause. “Me?”

He nods, a little sheepish but not backing down. “Yeah. Thought you’d be one of those—” he gestures vaguely, searching for the word, “intimidating, untouchable types.”

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head.

“Untouchable,” you repeat, like the word tastes strange.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that,” he says quickly, grinning. “You’ve got the whole thing going on. The hair, the attitude, the—” he motions toward your book, “—mysterious intellectual vibe.”

“Mysterious intellectual vibe,” you echo. “That’s new.”

“I’m workshopping it.”

You glance at him, immediately starting to see beyond the facade. The way he talks with his hands.

The way his eyes flick to you and then away, like he’s trying not to stare too long. The way he’s trying, even when he pretends not to.

“And here I thought you’d be something terrifying,” you say lightly.

“Oh, I am,” he shoots back immediately. “Just not, like… evil terrifying. More… misunderstood terrifying.”

“Tragic,” you murmur.

“Deeply.”

He leans back against the bench, one arm draped along the backrest behind you, not quite touching, but close enough that you feel it.

“You read that stuff for fun?” he asks, nodding toward your book again.

“For a paper,” you say. “But I don’t hate it.”

“Yeah?” he hums. “What’s it about?”

You glance down at the worn cover, then back at him.

“Women being miserable in their perfectly curated suburban lives.”

He snorts. “Sounds familiar.”

You raise a brow. “Oh?”

He gestures vaguely toward the direction of your house. “Big houses, nice lawns, picket fences… everyone pretending they’re not losing their minds.”

You smile, slow and knowing. Your knee shifts just slightly, brushing his for a split second before settling again. Neither of you moves away.

After a moment, he tilts his head toward you, studying you in that not-subtle way of his.

“So,” Eddie starts, voice light, “what’re you doing out here, anyway?”

You hum softly, like you have to think about it, even though you don’t.

“Escaping,” you say, taking a small sip from your flask. “Mrs. Perfect and Mr. Perfect are busy ‘studying’ for chemistry.”

He lets out a quiet snort, already catching on.

“Right,” he nods. “Studying. Very academic of them.”

“Extremely,” you deadpan. “I’m sure there are flashcards involved.”

He grins at that, shaking his head.

“Didn’t he fail chemistry?” he asks, glancing at you.

You turn your head slowly, eyes narrowing just a touch. “Didn’t you?”

His hand flies to his chest like you’ve just mortally wounded him.

“Wow,” he breathes, dramatically offended. “Okay. First of all—rude.”

“Second of all?” you prompt.

“Second of all, I didn’t fail,” he insists. “I simply have a complicated relationship with the American education system.”

“Mhm.”

“It’s mutual,” he adds. “They don’t understand me, I don’t understand them. Very tragic.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head as you look back out toward the empty park.

“Sounds like you just didn’t do the work.”

“Wow,” he repeats, pointing at you now. “You’re really coming for me tonight.”

“You started it.”

“I asked a simple question!”

“And got a simple answer.”

He huffs out a laugh, leaning back again, that crooked smile tugging at his lips.

“You know,” he says, glancing over at you, “you’re actually a lot meaner than your sister.”

“Good.”

That catches him off guard for a split second, then his grin widens.

“Yeah,” he says, a little quieter now. “Yeah, I think I like that.”

You glance at him, just briefly, before looking away again, but there’s a hint of something warmer sitting in your expression now.

Just the two of you, sitting a little closer than before, the space between you shrinking without either of you really acknowledging it.

“You always ditch them like that?” he asks after a moment.

“Pretty much,” you shrug. “I’ve learned my lesson.”

“Which is?”

“That I’m not sticking around to be the accidental third wheel in someone else’s soft-core, soft-porn romance.”

He chokes on a laugh at that, actually coughing a little. “Jesus, okay—yeah, that’s fair.”

You smirk slightly, bringing the flask back to your lips. “Figured you’d understand.”

“Oh, I definitely understand,” he says. “I’ve spent most of high school watching people make terrible decisions in dimly lit rooms.”

“Observation or participation?”

He grins, all teeth this time. “Observation,” he says. “Mostly.”

“Mostly,” you repeat, skeptical.

“Hey,” he lifts his hands in surrender, “I’m a gentleman.”

“Debatable.”

“Wow,” he says again, but he’s laughing now, shaking his head. “You really had me pegged all wrong, huh?”

You glance at him, eyes flicking over his face, the way his hair falls, the way he’s still half-guarded even when he’s joking.

“Maybe,” you admit. Then, softer, “Or maybe I just never actually looked.”

He doesn’t joke this time. Just watches you for a second longer than usual, something a little more thoughtful settling in.

“Well,” he says, after a beat, voice quieter but still warm, “kinda glad you are now.”

“You know,” he says, glancing at you with that crooked grin, “for someone who ditched a perfectly good ‘study session,’ you seem pretty content out here.”

“Perfectly good is generous,” you murmur. “I’m sure they’re doing very rigorous academic work.”

“Yeah,” he nods. “Real hands-on learning.”

You snort softly, shaking your head. “Jealous?” you tease.

“Of Harrington?” he scoffs. “Please. I’ve got way better hair.”

You turn, eyeing him deliberately, letting your gaze drag just enough to make your point.

“…Debatable.”

He freezes for half a second, then laughs under his breath.

“Wow. You wound me.”

“I’m just saying,” you shrug lightly, lips twitching. “The competition’s stiff.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” he says, leaning in just slightly, voice dropping like it’s suddenly just for you. “But I’ve got my strengths.”

Your stomach does something annoying at that.

“Yeah?” you say, lifting a brow.

“Yeah.” He doesn’t elaborate.

You take another sip from your flask, then pause. Tilt it again, nothing. You frown slightly, giving it a little shake like that’s going to magically fix the situation.

“Jesus,” you mutter, squinting into it. “I think I’m drunk.”

You tip it upside down for emphasis; empty, completely.

Eddie watches this unfold, trying very hard not to laugh.

“Yeah,” he says carefully, “I was gonna say, you’ve been hitting that thing like it personally offended you.”

You glance at him, unimpressed. “It did.”

“Of course it did.”

You huff, leaning back again, head tipping slightly toward the sky. The world doesn’t spin, exactly, but it’s looser. You’re also more aware of him next to you in a way that’s hard to ignore.

“C’mon,” he says after a second, gentler now. “I’ll walk you home.”

You turn your head toward him, narrowing your eyes just slightly. “I can walk.”

“I’m sure you can,” he says easily. “But you might end up in, like, Illinois.”

“Tempting.”

“Yeah, but I feel like your sister would hunt me down, and I’m trying to avoid that whole situation.”

“Fine.”

He stands with you immediately, like he was already planning to.

The walk is quiet at first. Your shoulder brushes his once, then again. Halfway down the block, you shiver slightly, the night air finally cutting through.

Without a word, he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders before you can argue.

It’s warm. Smells faintly like smoke and something distinctly him. You pull it a little tighter around yourself, glancing up at him.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

You walk a little closer after that.

When you reach your house, the lights are low, the whole place quiet in that heavy, late-night way. You hesitate on the lawn for half a second.

“Guess this is me,” you say.

“Guess it is.”

Neither of you moves right away.

“I’ll see you around?” he asks, trying for casual and almost pulling it off.

You look at him, almost astonished at the soft porch light catching in his hair, in his eyes.

“Yeah,” you say. “You will.”

That’s enough for him. He steps back, giving you just enough space to climb back up the trellis, watching until you make it to the window safely.

Inside, it’s dim, quiet. You land softly on the floor, slipping your shoes off immediately. And then—You freeze. Because there they are.

Nancy and Steve, asleep.

You stare at them for a long, unimpressed moment. Nancy curled up against him, Steve half-sprawled like he owned the place.

You blink once, twice. Then you walk over and smack his leg, hard enough to wake him.

“Hey,” you whisper sharply. “Romeo.”

He jolts awake, blinking up at you in confusion. “Jesus—what—?”

“Get out.”

He squints at you, still half-asleep. “What?”

“You heard me,” you say, already moving to pull your jacket off. “Out.”

Nancy stirs beside him, mumbling something incoherent. You glance at her, your expression softening for just a second, then back to Steve.

“Go home,” you tell him, quieter now but no less firm. “Before my dad wakes up and kills you.”

He groans, pushing himself up carefully, trying not to wake Nancy fully.

“Okay, okay,” he mutters. “Hostile environment…”

“Extremely.”

He shoots you a look, but there’s no real bite behind it as he climbs back out the window. You wait until he’s gone before turning back.

Nancy shifts again, pulling the blanket closer. You sigh softly, grabbing it and tugging it up properly around her shoulders.

You stand there for a second, watching her. Then shake your head, muttering under your breath as you grab your things.

“Unbelievable.” But there’s no real heat in it, just habit. And maybe, somewhere underneath it, care.

Monday mornings at Hawkins High always feel louder than they should.

Lockers slam. Someone’s laughing too hard down the hall. The fluorescent lights hum overhead like they’ve got something against you personally. It’s all a little too much, a little too bright, a little too on.

You lean against the row of lockers, shoulder pressed beside Nancy’s as she twists the dial on hers, already mid-conversation with Steve.

“I’m just saying,” Steve is going on, running a hand through his hair like he’s in a shampoo commercial, “if Coach sees the way I’ve been playing lately, captain is basically a done deal.”

Nancy hums, halfway listening, pulling out a notebook. “Unless Billy—”

“—is overrated,” Steve cuts in quickly. “Thank you, Nance, glad you agree.” She gives him a look.

You hum faintly, not really listening, flipping open your book more for something to do than anything else.

“Hey, Wheeler.”

Your stomach drops just slightly, and you look up. Eddie stands a few feet away, trying for casual and only half pulling it off.

His eyes find yours immediately, like they knew exactly where to look.

You straighten just a little. “Munson.”

He nods once, stepping closer, hand coming out of his jacket pocket.

“You, uh… forgot something on Friday,” he says, holding it out.

A ring, one hundred percent one of his. A small smile forms as you look between his face and the ring. You don’t hesitate.

“Right,” you say, like it makes perfect sense, reaching out and taking it from him. “I was wondering where that went.”

There’s the smallest flicker of surprise in his eyes, then he’s grinning.

“Yeah?” he says, playing along instantly. “Figured you might miss it.”

“Sentimental value,” you shrug, slipping it onto your finger like it belongs there. “Can’t just lose things like this.” Your fingers brush his for a second longer than necessary.

Steve is staring. Nancy is staring. Eddie notices.

“Good thing I found it, then,” he says, voice dipping just slightly, something more intentional in it now.

“Good thing,” you echo.

There’s a beat where neither of you looks away. Then he leans back just a fraction, like he’s remembering where he is.

“I’ll, uh, see you around,” he adds, a little softer.

You nod, maybe a little too quickly. “Yeah,” you say. “See you.”

He lingers for half a second longer, then turns, disappearing back into the hallway like he was never there. Except he very much was.

The second he’s out of earshot, “Okay,” Steve says slowly. “What was that?”

You open your book again like nothing happened. “Nothing.”

Nancy doesn’t say anything right away, which is how you know it’s bad.

“…You’re blushing.”

You freeze. “I’m not—”

“You are,” she says, turning fully toward you now, eyes narrowed in disbelief. “Oh, my god.”

“I am not blushing.”

“Your face is totally red.”

“It’s warm in here.”

“It is not warm in here.”

Steve leans in, squinting at you like he’s inspecting evidence. “…You are kind of red.”

You snap your book shut, shooting them both a look. “Can you both relax?”

Nancy crosses her arms, clearly not letting this go. “Since when are you and Eddie Munson—”

“We’re not,” you cut in quickly.

She raises a brow. “Is that not his ring?”

You glance down at your hand. Right. The ring.

“It’s mine,” you say.

Nancy stares at you. Then lets out a short, incredulous laugh.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not—”

“You’re so lying.”

Steve, for once, looks entertained instead of confused. You groan, dragging a hand over your face.

“It’s not a thing.”

“Mhmm.”

“It’s not.”

Nancy just smiles, slow and knowing in a way that makes your stomach twist. “Sure,” she says lightly. “Whatever you say.”

You look back down at your book, trying very hard to focus on the words in front of you.  But all you can think about is the way he looked at you. And the fact that, yeah, you were definitely blushing.

By the end of the day, you feel like this day has wrung you out. The halls are quieter now, lockers hanging open, scraps of conversation echoing as people trickle out. 

You lean against your car in the parking lot, keys dangling from your fingers, watching the last of the crowd filter out like you’re waiting for something. Or someone.

You don’t let yourself think too hard about that part.

“Hey.”

You glance over to see Nancy jogging up to you, bag slung over her shoulder, hair slightly windblown like she’s been rushing.

“Hey.”

She slows when she reaches you, giving you a look, that look, that she’s been giving you all day.

You sigh immediately. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t even say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

She smiles, just a little too pleased with herself.

“Anyway,” she says, shifting her bag, “I’m going with Steve. We have… somewhere to be.”

You stare at her for a second. “Somewhere,” you repeat flatly.

“Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting anything,” you shrug. “I’m just deeply intrigued by this mysterious commitment you both seem to have.”

She rolls her eyes, nudging your arm. “Very funny.”

“Thank you.”

“Can you drive Mike home?”

You blink. “From where?”

“Hellfire.”

You let out a slow breath, already knowing where this is going. “Of course he’s at Hellfire.”

“He needs a ride,” she says, like that explains everything. “And Mom thinks I’m taking him home.”

You turn your head slowly, narrowing your eyes at her. “So you’re not taking him.”

She winces, just slightly. “I would,” she says quickly, “but Steve and I—”

“—have somewhere to be,” you finish for her.

“Exactly.” 

You stare at her, and she smiles. You sigh, long and dramatic, pushing yourself off the car.

“Fine.”

“Thank you,” she says immediately, relief washing over her face.

“You owe me.”

“I know.”

“And if Mom asks, I drove him.”

“Obviously.”

“Hey, Nance?”

She turns back.

“Try actually studying this time.”

She scoffs, cheeks pinkening just slightly. “Shut up.”

You grin, walking towards the school. “Have fun.”

She shakes her head, but she’s smiling as she heads off, already spotting Steve walking towards his car. 

The drama wing is quieter than the rest of the school, tucked far enough away that the noise fades into something distant and dull.

You’re stretched out across one of the benches in the hallway, legs dangling off the side, book resting against your chest.

One arm hangs lazily over your stomach, the other holding your place on the page as you read. Or pretend to read, rather. 

The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, and every now and then, you catch the rise and fall of voices behind the closed drama room doors. Dice clatter. Someone shouts. A chorus of groans follows.

Eventually, the door bursts open.

Noise floods the hallway all at once as a cluster of boys spills out, mid-argument, mid-laugh, mid-everything. Backpacks slung over shoulders, voices overlapping, the energy loud and chaotic in a way that feels entirely contained to them.

“—I’m telling you, that was a terrible move—”

“It was strategic!”

“It got us killed!”

Your eyes don’t lift from the page. Not right away.

“…Holy shit.”

The voice is quieter than the rest. Closer. Your lips twitch faintly as a shadow falls over you.

You don’t move. Don’t look. Not until—

“What are you doing out here, Wheeler?” comes that familiar voice, hovering somewhere just above you.

You tilt your head back slightly, and there he is.

Eddie is leaning over you, hands braced on the bench on either side of your shoulders, curls falling forward just enough to frame his face as he looks down at you.

Upside down, and way too close for it to be casual. Your heart does something annoying. You close your book slowly, using it to nudge lightly against his chest.

“Waiting for my brother,” you say.

His brow lifts. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You always wait like this?” he asks, glancing down at the way you’re sprawled across the bench.

“Comfortably?”

“Dramatically.”

You hum, considering. “Depends who I’m trying to impress.”

A grin pulls at his mouth, slow and crooked. “Well,” he says, leaning just a fraction closer, “it’s working.”

Your breath catches, just for a second. Then you recover, lifting a brow. “Good.”

Behind him, the rest of the group has mostly filtered out, except for one very familiar voice.

“…Oh my god.”

Mike is standing a few feet away, staring at the two of you like he’s just witnessed something deeply disturbing.

“What are you doing here?” he demands.

You don’t break eye contact with Eddie. “Picking you up.”

Mike makes a face. “Why are you—” he gestures vaguely between the two of you, “—like that?”

Eddie glances back over his shoulder, then down at you again, clearly amused.

“Like what?” he asks innocently.

“Like that,” Mike repeats, horrified. “Can you not—like—hover over my sister?”

You finally sit up a little, just enough to ease the situation, not that you really want to.

“Relax, Mike.”

“I am relaxed,” he says immediately. “I just don’t like this. It’s like, gross.”

Eddie straightens, but he doesn’t step far. Still close, still in your space in a way that feels intentional now.

“Your sister’s cool,” he says, like that’s supposed to help.

Mike groans. “Great. Awesome. That makes it worse.”

You snort softly, slipping your book back into your bag as you stand. “Ready to go?” you ask him.

“Yes,” he says quickly. “Right now. Immediately.”

You glance back at Eddie, just for a second. He’s already looking at you, naturally. 

“I’ll see you around,” he says, a little quieter now.

You tilt your head, a small smile pulling at your lips.

“Yeah,” you reply. “You will.”

Mike makes another deeply pained noise behind you. “Can we please go?”

You roll your eyes, wrapping your arm around his shoulder as you head down the hall. 

The house is quiet in that familiar, late-night way. Floorboards creak if you step in the wrong spot. The hallway light hums faintly. Somewhere downstairs, the TV is still on low, your dad having inevitably fallen asleep in his chair.

You’re in bed: book open, lamp on, and not reading a single word. Because your attention keeps drifting to the window. You don’t know why you’re expecting anything. You just are.

A soft tap finally comes, barely there, like whoever’s outside isn’t entirely sure they should be. Your head lifts immediately. You sit up, already moving toward the window, pushing the curtain aside, and then you blink.

Because it’s not who you expected.

Steve is perched outside your window like he owns the place, one arm braced on the sill, looking far too comfortable for someone breaking in.

He grins the second he sees you. “Hey.”

You just stare at him. “…You’ve got the wrong Wheeler.”

He laughs quietly. “Yeah, I know. Nancy said to come around back, but the window was closer.”

“Shocking,” you deadpan. “Truly.”

He glances past you into the room. “Is she awake?”

You jerk your thumb toward the hallway. “Bathroom.”

“Perfect.”

He starts to climb in, and then another voice cuts in from below.

“…You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Both of you freeze. You lean out slightly, looking down, and there he is.

Eddie, halfway hidden in the shadows near the base of the trellis, looks up with a mix of disbelief and something that looks a lot like irritation.

Steve squints down at him. “…Munson?”

Eddie gestures vaguely upward. “Yeah. Hi. Didn’t realize there was, like, a schedule.”

You press your lips together, fighting the urge to laugh.

Steve, meanwhile, straightens slightly, fully committing to the bit.

“Occupied,” he says, nodding toward the window like he’s guarding it.

Eddie blinks. “Occupied,” he repeats flatly.

“Occupied,” Steve confirms.

Eddie lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Wow. Okay. That’s—yeah. That’s great.”

You lean further out the window now, resting your elbows on the sill.

“You gonna stand down there all night, or…?”

His eyes flick up to you immediately, expression shifting the second he sees you.

“Depends,” he says. “You planning on making this a double booking situation?”

Steve scoffs. “Absolutely not.”

You roll your eyes, pushing yourself back from the window. “Hold on.”

Steve looks at you. “What are you—”

“Don’t fall,” you say dryly, already heading for your door.

You slip into the hallway, quiet and quick, knocking once on the bathroom door.

Nancy’s voice comes through, muffled. “What?”

“Your boyfriend’s here,” you hiss.

“Just let him in!”

“Gladly.”

You head back, swinging your window open wider. “Alright, Romeo,” you say, gesturing Steve inside. “You’re clear for entry.”

He grins, climbing in as he’s done a hundred times before.

“Much appreciated.”

You glance out the window again, and Eddie’s still there. You hold his gaze for a second, then tilt your head, just slightly. Meet me.

His mouth quirks immediately, like he gets it without you saying a word.

You slip out of your room, quieter this time, grabbing your jacket on the way and easing down the stairs. The back door clicks softly behind you as you step out into the night.

He’s already there when you round the corner of the house, leaning against his van.

“Didn’t realize I had competition,” he says as you approach.

“Relax,” you reply. “He’s here for Nancy.”

“Yeah, I figured,” he mutters. “Still rude.”

You laugh softly, pulling your jacket tighter around you. “What were you even doing here?”

He shrugs. “Drove by. Thought I’d see if the mysterious, intellectual, ring-stealing Wheeler was around.”

You smirk slightly. “Lucky you.”

“Very,” he says, pushing off the van and stepping closer.

“Wanna get outta here?” he asks.

You glance back at the house once, lights low, everything quiet, then back at him.

“…Yeah.”

His grin spreads, quick and bright. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

That’s all it takes. He moves around to the passenger side, pulling the door open for you like it’s second nature.

You climb in, settling onto the worn seat, the familiar smell of smoke and leather wrapping around you again.

“Where to?” you ask.

He glances over at you as he starts the engine. “My place,” he says. “If you’re not too scared.”

You lean back, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I think I’ll survive.”

Eddie’s van crunches to a stop in front of his place, engine ticking as it cools. You don’t move right away, and neither does he.

Then he glances over, a small grin pulling at his mouth. “Home sweet home.”

You look out the window, taking it in. “Cute,” you say lightly.

He snorts. “Wow. Brutal.”

“I mean it,” you add, pushing the door open. “It has character.”

“Yeah,” he mutters, climbing out on his side. “That’s what people say when they’re trying to be nice.”

You round the front of the van, bumping the door shut with your hip. “I’m always nice.”

“Liar.” You smile.

Inside, his room is exactly what you expected, and not, all at once.

Dim lighting, a clutter of tapes and records, a guitar leaned against the wall, posters layered over each other like they’ve been there forever. It smells faintly like smoke, like him.

“Make yourself at home,” he says, tossing his keys down somewhere without looking.

You do, dropping onto his bed like you’ve been here before, shrugging off his jacket but not moving it too far from you.

He notices, and there’s a moment where he just… looks at you. Then he shakes himself out of it, moving toward the small table, rummaging around before pulling out a joint and a lighter.

He glances back over his shoulder. “You smoke?”

You lift a brow. “You’ve seen me smoke.”

“Yeah, cigarettes,” he says, holding it up. “This is different.”

You tilt your head, considering for half a second before, “Depends,” you say. “You offering?”

His grin comes back immediately. “Always.”

He crosses the space between you, dropping down onto the bed beside you. Not too close, but definitely closer than before. Close enough that your knees almost brush.

He lights it, takes the first drag, then passes it over. Your fingers brush again. It seems to be becoming a pattern.

You bring it to your lips, inhaling slowly, the smoke harsher, heavier than what you’re used to. You cough a little on the exhale, turning your head away slightly.

He laughs softly. “Easy, Wheeler.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, though there’s no bite to it, handing it back.

“I warned you.”

“You did not.”

“I implied.”

“Poorly.”

He grins, taking another drag. The room settles into something slower after that, quieter. You lean back onto his bed, head tipping slightly as you watch him from the side.

“What?” he asks, catching you.

“Nothing.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re just…” You trail off, like you’re not sure you want to say it.

“Just what?”

You shrug, lips twitching. “Not what I expected.”

“Yeah?” he says, echoing you from earlier, a little softer now.

“Yeah.”

He studies you for a second, then leans back too, mirroring you without realizing it. “Can I ask you something?” he says.

“Depends.”

“Are you and Nancy, like…” he gestures vaguely between his own face, “identical twins?”

You choke. Actually choke this time, coughing hard as the smoke catches in your throat.

“Oh my—are you serious?” you manage between coughs.

He’s already laughing, hand coming up instinctively like he might help, then stopping himself.

“What? It’s a valid question!”

“It’s not,” you insist, wiping under your eye. “Have you seen us?”

“I have!” he says defensively. “You look similar!”

“Barely!”

“Okay, not identical identical,” he amends quickly. “But like close enough that I had to check.”

You shake your head, laughing despite yourself. “God, no. We’re just twins.”

“Fraternal,” he says, nodding like he’s learned something important.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you, I try.”

“You’re definitely the cooler one,” he adds.

You glance at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t let her hear you say that.”

“Oh, I absolutely won’t,” he says. “I value my life.”

You laugh again, softer this time, the sound lingering between you. The joint passes back and forth, slower now. Your shoulders brush, then stay. Neither of you moves away.

At some point, your hand ends up resting on the space of the mattress between you, and his is already there. Fingers close enough to touch, but not quite. 

“You know,” he says quietly, eyes flicking down to your hand, then back up, “you’re not what I expected either.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His voice has changed.

You turn toward him fully now, closer than before, without really deciding to be.

“What did you expect?” you ask.

He hesitates, not in a joking way, but in a real way.

“Like… I shouldn’t even bother.”

That does something to you; something warm and a little dangerous. You shift just slightly closer, your knee brushing his, staying there.

“Maybe you should’ve,” you say, just as quietly. His breath catches; you can see it. Hell, you can feel it.

The space between you shrinks without either of you naming it. His eyes flick to your lips, then back up. Like he’s asking. Like he’s not sure.

But you don’t pull away. You don’t say anything. You just stay, gaze meeting his. That’s all the permission he needs. He leans in slowly, giving you time to stop him. You don’t.

The kiss is soft at first, careful. Like he’s still half convinced you might disappear if he moves too fast.

Your hand lifts without thinking, brushing against his jaw, steadying him as you kiss him back, just as gentle, just as unsure for a split second.

Then less unsure, then not unsure at all. His hand finds your waist, light, grounding. The room feels smaller, warmer. Everything else fades out a little.

When you pull back, it’s not far. Foreheads almost touching, breath still uneven.

“…Not scary,” you murmur.

He huffs a soft laugh, eyes still on yours. “Told you.”

You smile, just barely. “Maybe I was wrong about you.”

“Maybe,” he says, just as softly. But he doesn’t move away, and neither do you. Instead, he lifts your chin and brings your lips to his again.

The kiss lingers, softer than you expected, but it quickly turns deeper. Eddie’s hand stays at your waist, fingers pressing in like he’s grounding himself.

You shift closer on the bed, one leg sliding over his, and the old mattress groans loudly under you both. He laughs against your mouth, the sound low and rough.

“Fuckin’ bed,” he mutters, not pulling away. “Always cockblocking me.”

You snort, nipping at his bottom lip. “Then shut up and do something about it.”

His eyes darken. “Bossy. I like it.”

Clothes come off in that messy, uncoordinated way that makes everything feel more real.

Your shirt catches on your earring; Eddie curses under his breath and helps untangle it, nearly elbowing you in the face in the process. 

When you tug his Hellfire shirt over his head, his hair gets caught in the collar, and he has to shake it free like a wet dog.

You both end up laughing quietly, but the laughter dies fast when your hands slide over his bare chest, tracing the tattoos on his chest and the line of hair disappearing into his jeans.

Eddie pushes you back onto the pillows, mouth trailing hot and wet down your neck. He’s not gentle exactly, he sucks a mark just below your collarbone that’ll definitely be there tomorrow. 

But there’s a hesitation in the way his hands move, like he’s still half-waiting for you to tell him to fuck off.

When he finally gets your jeans and underwear down, they snag around one ankle. He yanks a little too hard, and you nearly knee him in the shoulder.

“Shit—sorry,” he mumbles, tossing them somewhere toward the floor.

He settles between your thighs, broad shoulders spreading you open. For a second, he just looks, pupils blown, then glances up at you with that signature smirk. “You good?”

You nod, breath already uneven. “Yeah. Just… don’t overthink it.”

He huffs a laugh. “Me? Overthink? Never.”

Then his mouth is on you.

The first lick is experimental, a little too broad, but when your hips twitch, and you let out a shaky breath, he figures it out quickly.

He gets messier and more eager, tongue dragging through your folds, circling your clit with sloppy enthusiasm. 

One hand grips your thigh hard enough to leave marks, the other presses flat on your stomach, holding you down when you start to squirm.

Every time you moan, he hums against you like he’s proud of himself, the vibration shooting straight through your core.

“Shit, you taste good,” he mumbles, pulling back just enough to speak, lips brushing your folds. “Thinking about me often?”

You tug his hair, hips rolling against his face. “Nope,” but the breathy moan you just exhaled gives you away instantly. 

Eddie chuckles darkly, the sound muffled against your pussy. “Liar. You’re soaked. I can feel how bad you want it.”

He licks a slow stripe up your center, then sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue flicking in tight circles that make your back arch off the bed.

You’re panting now, one hand fisted in his messy curls, the other twisted in the sheets.

He slides two fingers into you without warning, curling them just right, and the sudden stretch pulls a louder moan from your throat.

“That’s it,” he groans, voice rough. “Make those pretty sounds for me.”

He picks up the pace, fingers thrusting deep and steady while his mouth works your clit relentlessly.

He’s completely lost in it, groaning and cursing softly against your skin like eating you out is the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

You can feel yourself getting close, thighs starting to tremble around his head. Every time your hips jerk, he presses you down harder, refusing to let you escape the overwhelming pleasure.

“Eddie—” you gasp, voice breaking.

He pulls back just enough to look up at you, eyes dark and mouth slick. His fingers keep moving, slow and deep, dragging it out on purpose. “Yeah? You close already? Let me taste you, sweetheart.”

The filthy words in that smug voice push you right to the edge. You nod frantically, tugging his hair harder.

“Then do it,” he says, voice dropping lower. “Come for me.”

He dives back in, sucking your clit hard while his fingers curl against that perfect spot inside you. The orgasm hits you hard: thighs clamping around his head, back bowing off the bed as you moan his name, hips grinding against his face. 

Eddie doesn’t stop, licking you through every pulse and aftershock, groaning like he’s the one coming.

Only when you start twitching and weakly pushing at his head does he finally ease off, kissing the inside of your thigh softly before crawling back up your body. 

His mouth finds yours in a messy, desperate kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. He’s rock hard against your thigh, still trapped in his jeans, grinding down once without thinking.

“Fuck,” he breathes against your lips, voice hoarse. “You’re dangerous.”

You reach between you, palming him through the denim, and he hisses, hips jerking into your touch. “Then take these off already, or I’m doing it for you.”

Eddie laughs, low and ragged, sitting back on his knees to fumble with his belt. His cock springs free, flushed dark and leaking at the tip. He strokes himself once, eyes locked on you with that hungry, slightly dazed look.

He leans back over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other guiding himself between your legs. The head of his cock nudges hot and blunt against your entrance, and he pauses, breathing hard, forehead pressed to yours.

“You sure?” he asks, voice rough but surprisingly gentle underneath the usual bravado. “We can stop if—”

You wrap your legs around his waist and pull him closer. “I said take them off, not talk me out of it. Fuck me already, Eddie.”

That’s all the permission he needs. He pushes in slowly, both of you groaning at the stretch. He’s not small, and you’re still sensitive from coming, body shaking under him.

He pushes in slowly, both of you groaning at the stretch. He’s thick, and you’re still sensitive—he rocks his hips in shallow little thrusts until he’s fully seated, hips flush against yours. For a moment, he just stays there, panting against your neck.

“Shit… you feel incredible,” he mutters.

Then he starts moving, slow, deep rolls of his hips at first, like he’s savoring it. The old bed creaks with every thrust, but he quickly finds a steady rhythm, pulling almost all the way out before sinking back in. 

He lasts longer than you expected, changing pace whenever he feels himself getting too close, slowing down, grinding deep, sometimes just holding still inside you while he kisses your neck and catches his breath.

One hand slides between you, thumb rubbing messy circles over your clit. His mouth stays on your skin, sucking marks along your collarbone and the top of your breast, murmuring rough, broken praise between kisses.

“Taking me so fucking well… look at you,” he groans, hips snapping harder for a moment before he forces himself to slow again. “You’re gonna kill me, Wheeler.”

You come again with his thumb on your clit and his cock dragging perfectly inside you, clenching tight around him.

Eddie curses, hips stuttering, but he doesn’t let himself go yet. He fucks you through it, slower now, drawing it out until your breathing evens.

Only when you’re boneless and trembling does he finally let go. His thrusts deepen, a little erratic, his grip tightening on your hip.

“Fuck—gonna come,” he warns, voice strained. You hum in approval, locking your lips around his neck to send him over the edge.

He thrusts deep a few more times and comes with a low, guttural groan, hips pressed tight against yours as he spills into you, pulsing hot and deep.

He rides it out with lazy little rocks until he finally collapses half on top of you, both of you slick with sweat and breathing hard.

For a long moment, there’s just the sound of your breathing.

Eddie eventually lifts his head, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, and gives you a lazy, satisfied grin.

He presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, then shifts so he’s not crushing you, though he stays buried inside you for a little longer, like he doesn’t want to pull out yet.

His eyes drift over your neck and chest, and his expression shifts, something between smug and sheepish.

“Shit…” he mutters, thumb gently brushing over one of the darker marks he left on your collarbone.

 “I, uh… got a little carried away with the hickies. Sorry about that.” He winces, but there’s a soft laugh in his voice. “You’re gonna look like you got attacked by a vampire. Nancy’s gonna kill me if she sees these.”

You snort, still catching your breath, and run your fingers through his messy curls. “You didn’t exactly hold back.”

“I know, I know.” He leans in and kisses the worst of the marks gently, almost apologetically, then rests his forehead against yours. 

“They look kinda hot on you, though. Like… property of Eddie Munson or something.”

He pauses, realizing how that sounded, and his cheeks flush a little. “Okay, that was fucking stupid. Ignore me, please.”

You laugh softly, the sound warm between you, and tug him down for a slow, lazy kiss. He melts into it immediately, one hand cupping your face like you’re something precious.

When you pull back, you smirk. “You’re such a dork.” 

For a while, neither of you says anything. The air in the trailer is warm, heavy, quiet except for the sound of your breathing slowly evening out.

Eddie shifts slightly, careful this time, easing his weight so he’s not crushing you, but he doesn’t go far.

Doesn’t want to. He stays close, really close, one arm draped loosely over your waist like it just belongs there now.

Your fingers are still tangled in his hair, lazily combing through the damp curls at the nape of his neck.

He lets out a soft breath at that, eyes fluttering shut for a second like he didn’t realize how much he needed it.

“…You trying to put me to sleep?” he mumbles.

“Maybe,” you murmur back. “You seem like you could use it.”

“Rude,” he says automatically, but there’s no bite to it. “I was performing.”

You huff out a quiet laugh, thumb brushing over his cheek. “Yeah, Munson. Stellar performance.”

“Thank you,” he says, voice a little smug now. “I aim to please.”

You roll your eyes, but your hand doesn’t leave him. He tilts his head slightly, looking up at you properly now, softer than before.

“You okay?” he asks, quieter.

You nod, just as softly. “Yeah.”

There’s a moment where he just studies your face, like he’s making sure you mean it. Then his expression shifts again, lighter this time, a crooked smile pulling at his mouth.

“Good,” he says. “Would’ve hated for my big moment to be a total disaster.”

“Your big moment?” you echo.

“Yeah,” he nods seriously. “Gonna go down in Hawkins history.”

“Oh, absolutely,” you deadpan. “I’m sure there’ll be a plaque.”

“Hey,” he points at you lazily, “you’re laughing. That means I did something right.”

You are laughing. You shift slightly, tucking yourself a little closer into him without thinking. Your leg hooks loosely over his, your head finding a spot against his shoulder that feels easy.

He stills for half a second, then relaxes into it. Like he’s trying not to make a big deal out of the fact that you chose to fuck him and stay.

His fingers trace slow, absent patterns along your side, not pushing, not rushing anything. 

“You always like this after?” he asks after a minute, voice quieter again.

“Like what?”

“Cute. Cozy. No ‘tude?”

You glance up at him. There’s a hint of something real under that question. You shrug slightly, fingers still playing with his hair.

“Depends who I’m with.”

That earns you a small smile. “Guess I’m lucky, then.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late.”

You both fall quiet again. Eventually, you let out a soft breath and sit up, stretching slightly as reality starts to creep back in.

“I should go,” you say, glancing toward the clock like you already know it’s late.

Eddie groans quietly, flopping back against the mattress.

“Or,” he offers, “you could not do that.”

“Tempting,” you admit, sliding off the bed to gather your clothes. “But I’d like to survive the rest of the week.”

“Fair.”

He props himself up on his elbows, watching you as you get dressed, not even trying to hide it.

“Eyes up here.”

“No promises.”

“Eddie.”

He grins, completely unashamed. “Worth a shot.”

You shake your head, but you’re smiling. By the time you’re ready, he’s pulled on his jeans, grabbing his jacket again like it’s second nature.

“I’ll take you,” he says.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

The ride back is quieter than before, but not in a bad way. Your hand rests between the seats, and at some point, his fingers brush yours, then they stay.

When he pulls up outside your house, the engine idles for a second longer than necessary.

“You good?” he asks again.

You nod. “Yeah.”

“I’ll see you around?”

You glance at him, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“Yeah,” you say. “You will.”

You open the door, then pause, shooting him one last look, debating your actions. Then, you tilt your head back, landing a soft kiss on his cheek.

He turns his head down to face you, stunned, then that usual smirk grows once more. 

“Yeah, I’m definitely seeing you again.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Inside, the room is not quiet. You barely close the window before Nancy’s voice cuts through your soul.

“Oh, my god, finally.”

You freeze and slowly turn.

Nancy’s sitting up in bed, wide awake. And Steve is right beside her, looking way too present for someone who was definitely supposed to leave hours ago.

You stare at them. They stare at you.

“…Hi,” you say.

Nancy’s eyes narrow immediately. “You were gone for a while.”

You sink a little, then immediately point at Steve, “Yeah, and he’s supposed to be gone. It’s 1 a.m!”

“You just got back,” she retorts.

“I live here. He does not.”

Steve leans forward, squinting at you. “…Whoa.”

You blink. “What?”

He points. “Your neck.”

Your hand flies up instinctively. Nancy’s eyes follow the movement, and then widen.

“Oh my god,” she breathes. “Are those—”

“No,” you say immediately.

“They are,” Steve cuts in, already grinning.

“They are not.”

“They are so hickeys,” he says, delighted.

Nancy scrambles off the bed, grabbing your arm and pulling you toward the mirror. “Let me see—”

“Nancy—”

“Oh my god,” she laughs, covering her mouth. “You’re covered!”

“I am not covered.”

“You absolutely are,” Steve calls from behind you. “Munson really went for it, huh?”

You whip around. “Shut up.”

He holds his hands up, still grinning. “Hey, I’m just saying, respect.”

Nancy is still staring at you like she’s just unlocked the biggest secret in Hawkins.

“You and Eddie Munson?” she says, half shocked, half impressed. “You’re the one blushing earlier and now this—”

“I was not blushing.”

“You were.”

“You’re deflecting,” Steve adds helpfully.

You groan, dragging your hands down your face. “Can you both not do this right now?”

“Nope,” Nancy says immediately.

“Absolutely not,” Steve agrees.

You look between them, already exhausted. “…I hate both of you.”

Nancy just smiles. “Yeah,” she says lightly. “But you had fun.”

You pause, just for a second, and that’s all they need.

“Oh my god,” Steve says. “She did.”

“I’m going to bed,” you announce, already moving to shove him toward the window.

“Hey—hey!” Steve protests, laughing.

“Out,” you snap, pointing. “Now.”

Nancy is still smiling as she climbs under the covers. “This is not over.”

“It is for tonight.”

Steve pauses halfway out, shooting you one last grin.

“Munson, huh? Didn’t see that coming.”

“Goodnight, Steve.”

Morning comes too fast. You’re awake before the alarm. Not because you want to be, but because your brain won’t shut the fuck up.

You’re flat on your back, staring at the ceiling, one arm tucked behind your head, the other resting over your stomach like you’re trying to physically hold yourself still. It doesn’t work, by the way.

Because every time you close your eyes, it’s him.

The way he looked at you. The way he laughed. The way his hands felt, the way his voice dropped when he got quiet, the way his face looked between your thighs…It’s annoying. Deeply.

You groan softly, dragging a hand over your face.

“You’re thinking so loud right now.”

Your head turns. Nancy is propped up on her elbow, watching you like she’s been awake for a while.

“You can’t hear thinking,” you mutter.

“I can when it’s this dramatic.”

You roll your eyes, staring back up at the ceiling. “Go back to sleep.”

“No,” she says simply. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing’s going on.”

“Mhmm.”

Silence stretches for exactly three seconds.

“…It’s Eddie.”

You immediately regret saying it.

Nancy’s face lights up. “I knew it.”

“You didn’t know it.”

“I absolutely knew it.”

You turn your head, narrowing your eyes at her. “You didn’t know anything.”

“You were blushing at your locker.”

“I was not—”

“You had hickeys.” You freeze.

She raises a brow. “…Continue.”

“Shut up.” You say, but there’s no real bite to it. 

“Okay, okay,” she says, still grinning. “So what? You hooked up. That doesn’t mean you have to—”

“It’s not just that,” you cut in, quieter now.

That makes her pause. “…Then what is it?”

You hesitate, picking at a loose thread on your blanket. “I don’t know,” you admit finally. “He’s just not what I expected.”

Nancy softens, just a little. “Different?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

You exhale, frustrated with yourself.

“He’s not trying to impress anyone. He’s not pretending. He just is.” You shake your head slightly. “And it’s… kind of hot. But, I dunno. You know what people say about him."

Then Nancy smiles. “Then go for it.”

You blink at her. “What?”

“Go for it,” she repeats. “He obviously likes you.”

You scoff automatically. “You don’t know that.”

She just looks at you.

“You don’t bring someone home, give them your jacket, and then show up at their locker with a fake excuse to talk to them if you don’t like them. And, the hickeys are like, a dead giveaway.” 

You hesitate. “…Okay, yeah. Maybe.”

“Maybe,” she echoes.

“Fine,” you sigh. “He does.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

You don’t answer because you don’t have one.

Nancy nudges your leg with her foot. “You don’t have to marry him,” she says, softer now. “Just… try.”

You sit with that. Long enough that it starts to feel like a decision instead of a suggestion. Then you swing your legs over the side of the bed.

Nancy’s brows lift immediately. “…What are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” you say, already standing. “Something impulsive.”

“That checks out.”

You move to your side of the closet, pulling it open and immediately frowning.

“Why do I have nothing to wear?”

Nancy snorts. “You have everything to wear.”

“I have nothing appropriate.”

“For what?” she asks.

You pause. “…I don’t know yet.”

She gets up, walking over and pushing past you to start flipping through your clothes.

“Okay, not that,” she mutters. “Definitely not that. Oh—wait—this.”

She pulls something out and holds it up. You eye it.

“…Really?”

“Yes, really,” she says. “It’s still you, just… slightly less chaotic.”

“I’m not chaotic.”

“You’re curated chaos.”

“Same thing.”

“Not even close.”

You take it anyway. You get dressed faster than you want to admit, checking yourself in the mirror once, then again, adjusting something small that didn’t need adjusting.

Nancy watches the whole thing. “You’re nervous,” she says.

“I’m not nervous.”

“You’ve fixed your hair four times.”

“I always fix my hair.”

“You’re doing it again.”

“…Stop looking at me.”

She smiles, stepping closer. “For what it’s worth,” she says, softer now, “he’d be an idiot not to like you.”

“…Thanks.”

She nods once. “Go!”

You grab your jacket and leave before you can overthink it. The drive feels shorter than it should. Or maybe you’re just not paying attention.

Before you know it, you’re pulling up to the trailer, engine idling as you stare at the door.

You could leave. You could absolutely just turn around and pretend this never happened, but you don’t. You exhale, pushing the car door open and stepping out before you can change your mind.

The gravel crunches under your shoes as you walk up, each step louder than the last. You knock once, twice.

A pause, then the door swings open, and there he is.

Eddie, hair a mess, shirt halfway on like he just dragged it over his head, eyes still heavy with sleep, and then he sees you. And freezes.

“…Wheeler?”

You don’t give yourself time to think. You tilt your head slightly, a small, confident smile pulling at your lips.

“Come on, Munson,” you say.

His brows knit together, still catching up. “What?”

“You’re taking me on a date.”

IM SO OBSESSED WITH THIS OKAY!?!? IM SORRY HELLO???

anyways....let me know if you want more, yk me and how I love making everything into a series LMAO

beasbuggies:

Eddie still remembers the day he first laid eyes on you. Summer, going into his third senior year at Hawkins, you walked into Larry’s Auto Body Repair looking like something pulled from the pages of a half-burnt gothic novel left to rot in an attic trunk.

The heat outside had been miserable; thick, wet Indiana air that made grease cling to skin and tempers run short, but you arrived untouched by it all. Draped in black despite the July sun, lace sleeves swallowing your wrists, silver rings glinting like tiny knives beneath the fluorescent lights. 

Your perfume smelled faintly of clove cigarettes, old paper, and rain. Long dark hair spilled down your back in soft waves, and your eyes, God, your eyes, looked mournful in the way stained glass saints did. Beautiful enough to make a man confess every awful thing he’s ever done, truth or not.

Eddie had nearly dropped an engine part directly on his foot.

You’d stepped into the garage like you belonged in another century entirely, gaze drifting slowly across the room with detached fascination, lingering on rusted tools and oil stains as if they were artifacts in a museum.

Then you smiled at him. Not sweet, not shy, but devastating. Like you already knew every terrible thing about him and adored him for it anyway. From that moment on, Eddie Munson was ruined.

Years later, the people of Hawkins still spoke about the two of you in hushed, bewildered voices. The Munsons of the Creel House. The strange family on the hill with wrought iron gates, tangled in dead vines and black roses that somehow bloomed year-round. 

Children swore candlelight moved through the windows at impossible hours. Neighbors whispered about organ music drifting through storms and the silhouettes dancing behind curtains long after midnight.

The truth was far less sinister, mostly. You simply loved beautiful things that others were too frightened to appreciate. And Eddie loved you enough to follow you anywhere, even the old Creel House.

At first, he’d refused to even step onto the property. Too many memories. Too much blood soaked into those walls. Vecna. Chrissy. The Upside Down. Every rotten thing Hawkins tried desperately to bury lived in the bones of that house.

But then you’d walked through the front doors for the first time, black dress trailing over dusty hardwood, staring up at the massive chandelier with wonder glowing across your face like moonlight.

“Eddie,” you’d whispered softly, almost reverently. “It’s perfect.”

And that had been it. Because you looked at the house the same way you looked at him, not with fear, but affection. Like ruined things deserved devotion too. So he rebuilt it for you.

Every creaking staircase. Every shattered window. Every rotted inch of wallpaper. Together, you turned the graveyard of Victor Creel’s legacy into something warm, strange, and terribly romantic. A home, your home.

Corvina, your eldest daughter, drifted through the manor like a tiny phantom in velvet dresses, all solemn eyes and unnerving intelligence. She collected moth wings in glass jars and read Poe beneath thunderstorms while Eddie watched with equal parts pride and concern.

Meanwhile, Edward Jr, though everyone called him Teddy, was chaos incarnate. Wild curls, scraped knees, and his father’s crooked grin. The poor kid had inherited Eddie’s dramatic flair and your complete lack of fear, which meant most afternoons ended with him attempting something mildly catastrophic somewhere on the property.

Eddie had been hesitant about naming him after himself. Truthfully, he was terrified.

He remembered sitting beside you in bed while rain battered the windows, your newborn son asleep against your chest. Candlelight flickered gold across your skin as Eddie stared at the tiny little thing wearing his name.

“What if he ends up like me?” he’d asked quietly. You’d looked at him then with that same devastating softness you’d always reserved for his ugliest thoughts.

“My darling,” you murmured, brushing your fingers through his curls, “I should certainly hope so.”

And just like that, the fear dissolved. Because in your eyes, Eddie Munson had never been something to outgrow or overcome. He had always been something to cherish.

The Creel House came alive slowly in the mornings. Rain tapped softly against the tall windows that morning, the sky outside painted silver and gloomy in the way you adored most.

Eddie stood at the stove in silk pajama pants and a black robe hanging open over his tattooed chest, swaying dramatically to the music while making pancakes shaped vaguely like bats.

“Darling,” you called from your place at the kitchen table, long black sleeves draped elegantly around your coffee cup, “I do believe those are becoming progressively less edible.”

Eddie pressed a hand to his heart in mock offense. “Cruel. Wounded before breakfast.”

“You married me for my cruelty.”

“I married you because you looked at me like a Victorian widow cursed by the sea.”

You smiled over the rim of your mug. “And you looked like trouble wrapped in leather.”

“Mm,” Eddie hummed proudly. “Still do.”

Before you could respond, Eddie appeared beside your chair suddenly, dramatically dropping to one knee like a man overcome with passion. He took your hand delicately, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. Then another to your wrist. Then another just beneath your sleeve.

You laughed softly, tilting your head as his curls brushed your skin. “Edward Munson,” you murmured. “The children are awake.”

“Good,” he replied against your hand. “They should witness devotion.”

Right on cue, Corvina entered the kitchen carrying three books against her chest, long dark braid hanging over one shoulder. She glanced once at the scene before deadpanning:

“You’re disgusting.”

“Thank you, my dove,” you said warmly.

Corvina moved to pour herself coffee like she hadn’t witnessed anything unusual at all. Then came the sound of slower footsteps, Teddy.

Edward Jr. appeared in the doorway wearing his Hawkins High hoodie, backpack hanging off one shoulder, curls sticking up wildly like he’d been running nervous hands through them for an hour.

And immediately, both you and Eddie noticed the expression on his face, and Eddie straightened a little. “Whoa. What’s with the funeral look, Theodore?”

Teddy hesitated, then slowly held up a folded yellow slip of paper. Your brows lifted slightly while Corvina sipped her coffee with the detached calm of someone witnessing an execution.

“It’s a summons,” Teddy muttered.

Eddie blinked once, then dramatically pointed the spatula toward him. “What’d you do?”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“That’s exactly what I used to say,” Eddie nodded solemnly. “And I was usually innocent at least forty percent of the time.”

You extended your hand calmly. “May I see it, darling?”

Teddy crossed the kitchen and handed it over anxiously while Eddie abandoned the pancakes entirely to loom over your shoulder. His chin immediately dropped onto the top of your head while his arms wrapped around your shoulders from behind instinctively.

You unfolded the slip carefully:

REQUESTED PARENT CONFERENCE. PRINCIPAL HIGGINS. REGARDING: EDWARD MUNSON JR.

Eddie groaned immediately. “Jesus Christ. They started early this year.”

Teddy looked miserable. “Dad, I swear, I didn’t even do anything. It was those idiots from the basketball team—they kept messing with my stuff in gym, and one of them shoved me into a locker, and when I shoved him back, he started bleeding and—”

“Bleeding?” Corvina asked mildly.

“He ran into the trophy case!”

“Ah,” she nodded. “Natural selection.”

“Teddy,” you said softly, reaching for his hand. “Look at me.”

He did immediately.

And despite being nearly Eddie’s height now, despite the deepening voice and teenage awkwardness settling into his limbs, he still looked at you the same way he had as a child: like you could fix anything simply by speaking.

“You are not in trouble with us,” you assured gently.

Eddie nodded instantly. “Absolutely not.”

“But—”

“Nope.” Eddie waved him off. “Listen, kid, Hawkins High has been blaming Munsons for shit since before you were born. It’s practically a school tradition.”

Teddy huffed out a nervous laugh. You rose from your chair then, smoothing your hands over Eddie’s wrists where they rested around your waist. “We’ll attend the meeting.”

“Together,” Eddie added.

“And if your principal insists on being unreasonable,” you continued calmly, “your father does so enjoy making authority figures uncomfortable.”

Eddie grinned wickedly. “Baby, remember the vice principal in ‘89?”

You smiled faintly. “He looked moments from cardiac arrest.”

Teddy finally laughed properly at that, the tension melting from his shoulders almost instantly.

Without another word, Eddie reached over and grabbed one of the bat-shaped pancakes, shoving it onto Teddy’s plate. “Eat up, kid,” he said. “Nothing scarier than school administration on an empty stomach.”

Corvina glanced toward the stove. “Those are burnt.”

“They’re wonderful,” Eddie corrected.

You reached for his hand again, kissing his knuckles this time. “My talented husband,” you said softly.

Eddie practically preened under the affection, leaning down immediately to kiss you dramatically enough to make Corvina groan.

“Oh, my God.”

“Teddy,” Eddie said seriously against your mouth, “never settle for a love that doesn’t make your children physically ill.”

“Noted,” Teddy muttered through a mouthful of pancake.

By noon, rain had turned into a heavy mist that clung to Hawkins like a veil, which was the exact kind of weather you loved. The kind of weather Eddie insisted was “romantic as hell.”

The two of you walked through the halls of Hawkins High side by side like something entirely out of place amongst the fluorescent lighting and beige walls. Students slowed as you passed, conversations dipping into whispers almost immediately.

You floated through the hallway in a long black coat that brushed your calves, silver jewelry gleaming beneath the dim lights, while Eddie walked beside you in dark rings and leather, one hand firmly wrapped around yours, as if he physically couldn’t stand not touching you for more than a few seconds.

Which, truthfully, he couldn’t.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie murmured low enough only you could hear as you approached the office, “if Higgins pisses me off, are we thinking subtle psychological warfare or full public humiliation?”

You glanced at him calmly. “Let us see how brave he feels first.”

“God, I love when you threaten people poetically.”

The secretary barely looked up when you entered the office, though her expression tightened almost immediately at the sight of Eddie, still, after all these years. Eddie noticed too, squeezing your hand once before leaning casually against the counter.

“We’re here about Teddy,” he said.

The woman cleared her throat awkwardly. “Principal Higgins is expecting you.”

“Lucky him,” Eddie muttered.

You placed a gentle hand against his chest before he could continue, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from his jacket. “Behave, mon amour.”

Eddie looked down at you like you’d hung the moon itself in the sky. “For you?” he said softly. “Always.”

The secretary looked deeply uncomfortable. Good.

Principal Higgins’ office looked exactly the same as it had when Eddie sat in it at seventeen; stale coffee smell, ugly filing cabinets, school banners hanging crookedly on the walls.

Only now, Higgins himself had more gray hair and less patience. He didn’t stand when you entered. Instead, he leaned back slowly in his chair, eyes moving between you both with poorly concealed irritation.

“Mr. and Mrs. Munson.”

Eddie sat down across from him casually, slinging an arm immediately across the back of your chair. “Higgins,” he replied. “Still alive, huh?”

You rested one elegant hand atop Eddie’s knee beneath the desk, feeling him relax instantly under your touch.

Higgins ignored the comment. “Teddy was involved in an altercation yesterday afternoon.”

“Involved,” Eddie repeated. “Interesting wording.”

“He assaulted another student.”

“He defended himself,” you corrected smoothly.

Higgins finally looked directly at you then, expression tightening slightly. “And how exactly would you know that, Mrs. Munson?”

“Because, unlike this institution,” you replied calmly, “our son tells us the truth.”

Higgins folded his hands atop the desk. “Mrs. Munson, with all due respect, Edward Jr. has inherited certain… behavioral tendencies.”

There it was. Eddie’s jaw tightened instantly beneath the lazy posture he wore like armor. But you? You simply tilted your head slightly.

“What an unfortunate thing to say aloud,” you murmured.

Higgins shifted faintly. Eddie watched you carefully now, eyes practically sparkling because he knew that tone and knew it well. It was the same tone you used moments before verbally disemboweling someone.

“The Munson family,” Higgins continued carefully, “has had a difficult history with this school. Your husband, especially.”

Eddie gave a dry laugh. “Yeah, because this town treated me like I was carrying the plague.”

“You developed quite the reputation.”

“And your athletes didn’t?” Eddie shot back. “Interesting.”

“Eddie,” you said softly, not looking away from Higgins. You folded your hands neatly in your lap, expression serene enough to be unsettling.

“Our son,” you said carefully, “was cornered by three boys larger than him.”

Higgins opened his mouth, but you continued before he could speak.

“One shoved him into a locker repeatedly. Another destroyed his sketchbook. And when Theodore defended himself after being physically provoked, suddenly, he became the problem.”

Silence, and Higgins shifted again. You leaned forward slightly then, dark eyes steady on his.

“And now you sit before two former students who know exactly how Hawkins High operates and imply there is some sort of inherited defect in our child because his last name is Munson.”

Eddie looked dangerously proud beside you.

Higgins cleared his throat. “That isn’t what I meant.”

“No?” you asked gently. “Then perhaps choose your words more carefully.”

The office went quiet except for the rain tapping softly against the windows. Eddie finally leaned forward himself, rings clinking against the desk.

“Look,” he said flatly, “I know exactly what this place thinks about me. Fine. Whatever. But you do not get to stick that shit onto my son because some meathead couldn’t keep his hands to himself.”

Higgins sighed heavily. “No one is suspending Teddy.”

“Very generous,” Corvina’s voice drawled suddenly from the doorway.

All three of you turned. Corvina stood there holding a hall pass and looking deeply unimpressed.

“She followed us?” Higgins asked incredulously.

“She’s observant,” you replied.

“And nosy,” Eddie added proudly.

Corvina stepped inside without invitation. “Also, for the record, Tyler Bennett admitted in chemistry that he started it because Teddy wouldn’t let them make fun of that freshman girl.”

Eddie blinked. Then slowly turned toward his son’s principal with the most insufferably smug expression imaginable. “Huh,” he said. “Would you look at that?”

You reached over then, brushing your fingers lovingly along Eddie’s jaw.

“My darling,” you sighed softly. “It appears our son inherited your unfortunate tendency toward heroics.”

Eddie practically melted into your hand. “Baby,” he whispered dramatically, grabbing your wrist to kiss your palm, “you say the sexiest things to me.”

Corvina stood near the doorway with her arms crossed, entirely too pleased with herself. Eddie lounged back in his chair again, one boot hooked over his knee while he admired you with open, ridiculous affection.

Meanwhile, you remained perfectly composed, which somehow made you infinitely more terrifying.

“Well,” Higgins said stiffly after a long silence, “I believe this matter can be considered resolved.”

“How fortunate,” you replied smoothly.

Eddie snorted under his breath, and Higgins ignored him. “I’ll speak with the boys involved.”

“You should,” you said. “Especially if the school wishes to maintain the illusion of fairness.”

The principal’s jaw tightened faintly. Then, as though remembering something unpleasant, his eyes flicked briefly toward a framed flyer hanging beside his desk. 

Hawkins High Arts Expansion Fund: Sponsored by the Munson Mortuary. 

Eddie noticed immediately, as did you. A slow smile touched your lips. “You know,” you mused softly, rising from your chair, “Edward and I have always cared deeply about the arts.”

Eddie stood the second you did, naturally gravitating toward your side like a shadow stitched to your heels.

“The theater department,” you continued thoughtfully, smoothing the sleeve of your coat, “the music programs, student scholarships…”

Higgins straightened slightly.

“Hell,” Eddie added casually, “the new ceramics kiln was us.”

You turned your attention back to Higgins, expression warm enough to unsettle.

“It would simply devastate us,” you said gently, “if the environment here became hostile enough that we no longer felt comfortable continuing such generosity.”

Higgins cleared his throat quickly. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”

“No,” you agreed pleasantly. “I imagine it won’t.”

Eddie grinned beside you like the devil himself. God, he loved you. Loved the way you could flay someone alive without ever raising your voice. Loved the way people underestimated your softness right until the moment they realized it had teeth.

You reached for his hand, and he took it instantly.

“Well,” Eddie sighed dramatically, “this has been deeply irritating.”

As the four of you started toward the office door, Higgins spoke again. “Mrs. Munson.”

You paused, turning slightly. “I assure you,” he said carefully, “Theodore will be treated fairly.”

You held his gaze for a long moment, then smiled faintly. “I should hope so.”

And with that, you left. The halls quieted again as your family walked through them together.

Eddie’s hand remained clasped tightly with yours while Corvina drifted ahead in a sea of black fabric, entirely unbothered by the stares surrounding her.

The second the front doors shut behind you, Eddie turned toward you with outright admiration burning in his expression.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed. “Marry me again.”

You looked at him calmly. “I would a thousand times.”

Candles flickered low throughout the house, golden light dancing against dark wallpaper while thunder rolled softly somewhere in the distance.

Dinner had long since ended, dishes abandoned in favor of the far more important activity of Eddie dramatically sprawled across the velvet chaise in the sitting room with his head in your lap.

“Darling,” he sighed as you lazily combed your fingers through his curls, “if I die right now, know that I died fulfilled.”

“You’re forty years old,” Corvina deadpanned from the armchair across the room. “Not a dying Victorian poet.”

Eddie pointed accusingly toward her without lifting his head. “Your mother encourages this cruelty.”

You smiled softly down at him. “I find it endearing.”

“That’s because you worship me.”

“Correct.”

Corvina physically recoiled. “Can you two act normal for ten minutes?”

“No,” both of you answered immediately.

Teddy snorted from the floor where he sat building something suspiciously dangerous out of spare radio parts. Then, the doorbell rang, and everyone paused. Corvina moved first, way too fast for her character. 

You noticed immediately. Eddie noticed immediately. Teddy noticed immediately. The three of you slowly turned toward her as she stood abruptly from the chair, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from her black skirt.

“…Interesting,” you murmured.

Corvina narrowed her eyes. “Don’t.”

Eddie sat up slowly now, a grin already forming. “Oh, my God.”

“It’s probably nothing.”

“Corvina Lucille Munson,” Teddy gasped dramatically. “Are you nervous?”

“I will kill you.”

The bell rang again. Corvina moved toward the front door with all the rigid dignity of someone approaching their execution.

You and Eddie exchanged a look. Then, silently, both rose from your seats to follow.

The front door creaked open, and standing beneath the porch light was perhaps the least expected person imaginable. A boy. Tall, clean-cut, nervous beyond belief. Bright blue varsity jacket. Hair neatly combed. Holding flowers.

The poor thing looked like he’d wandered into the wrong horror movie. Corvina stared at him; the boy stared at Corvina. Then his eyes slowly lifted, and landed directly on you and Eddie looming behind her like two beautifully dressed vampires awaiting explanation.

His face drained completely of color. Eddie blinked once, then immediately leaned toward you and whispered with genuine awe:

“He looks like he says ‘yes ma’am’ unironically.”

You nodded thoughtfully. “How refreshing.”

“Mom,” Corvina warned.

The boy swallowed hard. “H-hi, Mr. and Mrs. Munson.”

Eddie lit up instantly. “Oh, I like him.”

Corvina closed her eyes briefly like she regretted ever being born. You stepped forward gracefully, gaze drifting over the bouquet in his trembling hands.

“How lovely,” you said softly. “Funeral lilies.”

“They’re her favorite,” he blurted.

Then you looked at Corvina slowly, while Corvina looked horrified. Eddie looked seconds from losing his mind entirely.

“Teddy,” he whispered sharply. “Your sister has a boyfriend.”

“I KNEW IT.”

“He is not my boyfriend,” Corvina snapped immediately. “He’s an experiment.”

The boy blinked. “An… experiment?”

“You’re studying social dynamics?” you guessed politely.

“Yes,” Corvina said quickly.

Eddie crossed his arms. “By holding hands with the quarterback?”

“Second-string quarterback,” Teddy corrected.

Everyone looked at the boy while he awkwardly raised one hand. “We lost regionals.”

Eddie burst out laughing. “Oh my God, sweetheart,” he wheezed to you. “She brought home a jock.”

“He’s not a jock.”

The boy tried to help. “I’m also on the debate team.”

You gasped softly. “How multifaceted.”

Corvina looked moments from throwing herself from the staircase.

Eddie grinned wickedly at her. “Baby bat’s got a crush.”

“I do not.”

“He knows your favorite flowers,” Teddy sang obnoxiously.

“I hate this family.”

The boy, still somehow standing there despite the obvious psychological warfare occurring around him, looked toward Corvina carefully. And to everyone’s shock, his expression softened.

“She talks about you guys a lot, actually.”

Corvina froze.

Eddie immediately clutched his chest dramatically. “Oh, my.”

“Dad.”

“She told me,” the boy continued nervously, “that her parents are… intense, but very in love.”

You smiled faintly. Corvina looked like she wanted the floorboards to consume her.

“And,” he added carefully, “that her dad still leaves dead roses on her mom’s pillow every morning.”

Eddie looked at you instantly, utterly smitten. “Baby,” he whispered emotionally, “our love is inspiring the youth.”

You reached up, smoothing your hand against his jaw affectionately. “We are deeply romantic.”

“You’re deeply weird,” Teddy corrected.

“Thank you.”

Corvina groaned. “Can we please go before they start kissing again?”

Too late. Eddie had already grabbed your hand dramatically.

“You wound me, little raven,” he said, pressing a theatrical kiss against your knuckles. “Your mother’s beauty simply overwhelms me.”

The boy stared. Teddy stared. Corvina pinched the bridge of her nose. And you, you simply looked at your husband with soft, endless devotion while thunder echoed gently overhead.

“Oh, mon amour,” you sighed lovingly. “You are still the most handsome thing this house has ever held.”

Eddie nearly died on the spot.

The house felt different when the children were gone. Corvina had vanished off to some poetry reading with her painfully polite almost-boyfriend, while Teddy was staying overnight at a friend’s house after aggressively insisting he was “old enough to survive one night without parental supervision.”

Eddie had looked personally offended by the statement. 

Now the evening rain had finally stopped, leaving the world outside soaked silver beneath the moonlight.

You stood in front of the bedroom mirror, fastening a pair of silver earrings, when Eddie appeared in the doorway, already staring at you like a man deeply unwell. His dark button-up hung half-open, curls still damp from the shower, rings glinting in the candlelight.

But his expression, my God. After all these years, he still looked at you like the first breath after drowning.

“Well,” he murmured, leaning against the doorframe, “there goes every coherent thought I’ve ever had.”

You smiled softly at his reflection. “You say that every time I wear black.”

“Because every time you wear black, I fall in love with you all over again.”

“You’re very dramatic.”

“You’re very beautiful. We all cope differently.” You laughed quietly as he crossed the room toward you.

The second he reached you, his hands found your waist instinctively, warm and familiar through the fabric of your dress. He buried his face briefly against your neck with a content sigh like “this—this right here—was the safest place in the universe.”

“Close your eyes,” he murmured.

You raised a brow. “Edward.”

“Please?”

Amused, you obeyed. You heard him moving around the room for a moment before something soft brushed across your palms.

Flowers. 

When you opened your eyes again, Eddie stood before you holding a bouquet of black dahlias and dead roses tied together with velvet ribbon, just like your first date.

“Oh,” you whispered.

Eddie suddenly looked shy beneath all the tattoos and bravado. “I know they’re a little wilted, but Gareth’s florist cousin said—”

“They’re perfect.”

The relief on his face was immediate. You reached up carefully, fingertips brushing his cheek while he melted into your touch on instinct.

“Do you remember,” you asked softly, “what you said to me the night you gave me flowers for the first time?”

Eddie grinned a little. “Yeah.” He leaned closer. “‘Most girls want roses. You looked like you’d appreciate something half-dead.’”

“And I nearly married you on the spot.”

“You definitely wanted me carnally.”

You laughed again and kissed him gently. Eddie hummed happily against your mouth, already chasing after another kiss before you’d fully pulled away.

“Come on,” he whispered. “I’ve got a surprise.”

The graveyard sat at the edge of Hawkins beneath enormous twisted trees, moonlight filtering silver across old headstones and damp grass. Most people found it unsettling, but you found it beautiful, especially tonight.

Your breath caught softly as Eddie led you through the cemetery gates hand in hand.

Because there, beneath the crooked oak tree where he’d taken you all those years ago, sat an entire picnic laid out atop black blankets and velvet pillows. Candles flickered inside lanterns. An old radio played something metal, low enough to blend with the wind.

Your favorite wine rested beside a basket overflowing with chocolate-covered strawberries and homemade pastries, which Eddie had very obviously burnt slightly. And in the center, a vase of black dahlias. Eddie rubbed the back of his neck suddenly, almost bashful. “I know it’s kinda stupid—”

“It isn’t.”

Your voice was so soft that it stopped him immediately. He watched as you stepped slowly into the little space he’d created, moonlight catching the emotion shimmering across your face.

“You remembered everything,” you whispered.

“Course I did.”

Eddie moved closer then, taking your hands carefully. “This is where I fell in love with you,” he admitted quietly. “Figured it deserved revisiting.”

Your chest ached. Because despite all his theatrics, despite the flirting and dramatics and endless teasing, Eddie loved with terrifying sincerity, always had.

You touched his face gently. “You never told me you loved me that night.”

“No,” he said softly. “But I knew.”

The wind moved through the cemetery trees around you, carrying the scent of rain and earth and candle smoke. Then Eddie suddenly dropped dramatically onto the blanket.

“Now,” he announced, patting the spot beside him, “come seduce your husband under the moonlight.”

You smiled helplessly and settled beside him. Immediately, he pulled you into his lap like gravity itself demanded it. You curled against him easily, fingers playing with the rings on his hand while his chin rested atop your shoulder.

For a while, neither of you spoke. You simply existed there together beneath the stars, wrapped in candlelight and old music and decades worth of devotion.

Eventually, Eddie pressed a slow kiss against your neck. “You know,” he murmured, “I was so scared to bring you here on our first date.”

You turned slightly. “You were?”

“Terrified.” He laughed softly against your skin. “Wayne told me if I took a girl to a graveyard, she’d think I was either a serial killer or possessed.”

“And instead?”

“You told me it was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for you.”

“It still is.”

Eddie looked at you then. And suddenly he was twenty again; grease stains on his hands, heart beating too fast, staring at the most hauntingly beautiful girl he’d ever seen while wondering how someone so lovely could possibly want him back.

Only now, he knew, because you’d spent decades proving it.

His hand slid carefully against your cheek. “My sweet girl,” he whispered.

You kissed him before he could say anything else. Slow and loving, the kind of kiss built from years and years of choosing each other over and over again. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled softly again.

Eddie smiled against your mouth. “Think the kids are behaving themselves?”

You smoothed your fingers through his curls lazily. “Not our concern tonight.”

“God,” he sighed happily, pulling you impossibly closer, “I adore you.”

“Eddie,” you whispered, tilting your head as his lips brushed the side of your neck. “You’ve outdone yourself, mon amour.”

He hummed against your skin, the sound vibrating through you. “Only the best for you.”

You laughed softly, and the sound made him tighten his hold, one hand sliding reverently down your side, tracing the black silk of your dress. 

Eddie loved pleasing you more than anything, maybe even more than breathing. He lived for the way your breath would hitch when he touched you just right, for the way you looked at him like he was the only man in any world worth having.

His fingers found the hem of your dress and slipped beneath it, warm palm gliding up your thigh. “Let me worship you here,” he murmured, voice low and rough with devotion. 

You turned in his lap, straddling him, your long dark hair falling around you both like a curtain. The cemetery was empty, the night yours alone. You cupped his face, thumbs brushing his cheeks, silver rings cool against his skin.

“Then worship me, Edward,” you said softly, the command wrapped in velvet.

Eddie’s eyes darkened with hunger and endless love. He kissed you deeply, almost reverently at first, then with growing heat as your tongues met. His hands roamed, pushing your dress up around your hips. He groaned when he realized you’d worn nothing beneath it.

“Fuuuck me,” he breathed against your mouth, a crooked, adoring grin breaking through.

“Oh my love, I plan to.”

He laughed, the sound rich and warm, then lowered you gently onto your back atop the velvet pillows. The cool night air kissed your skin as he peeled the dress from your body, kissing every inch he revealed. Your collarbones, the swell of your breasts, the soft plane of your stomach. When he reached the apex of your thighs, he looked up at you with pure reverence.

He settled between your legs, curls brushing your inner thighs as he pressed open-mouthed kisses along your skin. His tongue found your center with devastating patience; slow, worshipful strokes that had your fingers tightening in his hair. 

He moaned into you like you were the finest thing he’d ever tasted, savoring every gasp and whisper of his name that left your lips.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured against your slick flesh, voice thick. “Let me hear how good I make you feel.”

Your back arched as pleasure coiled tight inside you, and Eddie watched it all unfold like a man witnessing divinity. When you came undone beneath his tongue, thighs trembling around his head, he held you through it, kissing you gently until the waves subsided.

Only then did he rise, shedding his shirt and pants with reverent haste. His cock was hard and aching for you, but he took his time, crawling over you, kissing you so deeply you tasted yourself on his tongue.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips, lining himself up. “More than life. More than death. More than anything in this fucking universe.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him inside you with one smooth thrust. Both of you moaned at the perfect fit; years together, and it still felt like coming home. 

Eddie moved with slow, deep rolls of his hips, savoring every clench of your walls around him. His forehead pressed to yours, curls falling around your faces as he gazed into your eyes.

“Look at me while I fuck you, baby,” he breathed, devotion dripping from every word. “Want to see those saintly eyes when you come on my cock again.”

The cemetery felt alive around you; the wind whispering through the trees, the distant hoot of an owl, the scent of earth and night-blooming flowers mixing with sweat and sex. Eddie’s pace gradually quickened, one hand sliding between you to circle your clit while the other pinned your wrist gently above your head.

You came again with a soft, broken cry of his name, pulling him over the edge with you. He buried himself deep, spilling inside you with a guttural groan, hips stuttering as pleasure wrecked him. Even then, he kept moving; lazy, loving thrusts to draw it out, kissing you through every aftershock.

Afterward, he collapsed beside you and immediately pulled you into his arms, tucking your head beneath his chin. His fingers traced lazy patterns along your spine while your leg draped over his hip.

Eddie pressed a kiss to your hair, voice hoarse with satisfaction. “I’d desecrate every grave in Hawkins if it meant making you feel like that.”

You smiled against his chest, fingertips playing with the silver strands beginning to thread through his dark curls. “If we keep this up, Corvina and Teddy may have a sibling.”

“Would that be so bad? Another mini-Munson running around, raising hell?”

You rolled your eyes lovingly, planting a few peppered kisses along his chest and jaw. “Poor Principal Higgins wouldn’t know what to do with himself with a third Munson.”

Dinner in the Creel-Munson House was rarely quiet. Not because anyone particularly tried to be loud, it was simply impossible for four Munsons to exist in the same room without the atmosphere becoming theatrical.

Thunder groaned outside while candlelight flickered across the dining room, illuminating velvet curtains, silver dishes, and the massive candelabra Teddy insisted made “every meal feel like a vampire intervention.”

Tonight, Eddie had been suspiciously smug since five o’clock, you noticed immediately. Corvina noticed immediately. Teddy noticed immediately. Which meant all three of you spent most of dinner staring at him with increasing suspicion while he fought a grin behind his wine glass.

Finally, Teddy pointed his fork accusingly. “You’re hiding something.”

Eddie gasped dramatically. “What a horrible accusation.”

“You’ve been smirking for an hour,” Corvina added.

“You also called the garlic bread ‘historic,’” Teddy said. “That means something’s wrong.”

You smiled faintly from your seat at the head of the table. “Darling,” you said gently to Eddie, “are you planning a crime?”

Eddie looked delighted by the question. “No,” he answered proudly. “Something better.”

Then, with all the ceremony of a man revealing the crown jewels, Eddie reached into his jacket and slapped four tickets dramatically onto the table. Silence.

Teddy squinted. Then his eyes widened so violently you thought they might leave his skull.

“No fucking way.”

“Language,” you corrected softly.

“No FUCKING way.”

Corvina leaned forward slightly now, dark eyes narrowing in interest. Eddie sat back in his chair with unbearable smugness. “Iron Maiden,” he announced grandly. “Indianapolis. Front section.”

Teddy SHRIEKED, like actually shrieked. The sound echoed through the dining room while Eddie burst into laughter.

“Oh my God,” Teddy gasped, grabbing the tickets with trembling hands. “Dad—Dad, are you serious?!”

“Your old man still has connections, baby.”

Teddy launched out of his chair instantly. 

You sighed knowingly. “Brace yourself, mon amour.”

A second later, Teddy practically tackled Eddie backward in a hug. “There he is,” Eddie wheezed dramatically as Teddy nearly crushed him. “My son. My flesh and blood.”

“You are the coolest person alive.”

“I know.”

Corvina, meanwhile, carefully picked up one of the tickets with much more restraint. But you noticed the tiny upward twitch at the corner of her mouth immediately.

“Dickinson is still performing?” she asked calmly.

Eddie clutched his chest. “That sounded almost excited.”

“It wasn’t.”

“She got the Munson concert gene,” Teddy informed you loudly.

“She absolutely did,” Eddie whispered emotionally. Corvina rolled her eyes, though there was the faintest flush creeping into her cheeks now. You watched your family fondly from your chair, chin resting against your hand.

This. This was your favorite thing.

Eddie glowing with happiness while the children inherited every loud, passionate, ridiculous piece of him without even realizing it. Teddy flopped back into his chair, grinning wildly.

“This is literally the greatest day of my life.”

Eddie pointed at him immediately. “That’s exactly what I said when your mother kissed me the first time.”

“You say that about everything Mom does,” Corvina muttered.

“Because your mother is extraordinary.”

You reached over and touched his hand gently, as Eddie looked at you like he’d been shot directly through the heart.

Then, Corvina cleared her throat, causing everyone to look at her immediately.

“…What,” she said flatly.

Eddie narrowed his eyes. “You’re about to ask for something.”

“I’m not.”

“You did the voice.”

Teddy gasped dramatically. “She DID do the voice.”

Corvina looked deeply regretful. “I hate all of you.”

You smiled softly. “What is it, little raven?”

A pause. Then, with visible reluctance: “…Could I possibly have one additional ticket?”

The room went silent, and Eddie blinked once. Then slowly lowered his wine glass.

“…For who?”

Corvina stared at her plate. “No one.”

“Corvina.”

Another pause.

“…Damien.”

Eddie’s entire body reacted as if he’d just been informed the government had finally collapsed.

“THE BOYFRIEND?”

“He is not—”

“The assistant quarterback?!” Teddy shouted.

“THE DEBATE CLUB ONE?” Eddie cried simultaneously.

Corvina groaned into her hands. You, meanwhile, were trying very hard not to smile.

“He likes Iron Maiden,” Corvina muttered.

Eddie looked genuinely betrayed. “The clean-cut child likes Maiden?”

“He listens to metal with me.”

Eddie stared at her for a long moment. Then suddenly leaned back in his chair, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. “Oh, my God.”

“What?”

“She likes him.”

“I do not.”

“She’s sharing music with him,” Eddie whispered hoarsely to you. “Baby, that’s intimate.”

Teddy looked horrified. “That’s like… sacred.”

“Exactly.”

Corvina looked ready to walk into traffic. You finally spoke, voice warm with amusement.

“Perhaps,” you said carefully, “she simply enjoys his company.”

Corvina nodded quickly. “Exactly.”

Eddie narrowed his eyes immediately. “Have you held hands?”

“Dad.”

“HAVE you?”

“No.” Too fast.

Teddy slammed both hands on the table. “THAT WAS A LIE.”

Corvina pointed at him. “You are dead to me.”

Eddie suddenly looked emotional again. “Oh, sweetheart,” he sighed dramatically, “your first love.”

“It’s not love!”

You stood then, gliding around the table toward your daughter. Corvina visibly braced herself for teasing. Instead, you simply smoothed a strand of dark hair behind her ear gently.

And very softly, you said: “If someone makes our little raven smile enough to frighten her this badly… we should like to know him.”

Corvina froze. Because despite all the drama and teasing, your family loved hard. Openly, and without shame, just like Eddie always had.

The house had long since gone quiet. Somewhere downstairs, the grandfather clock groaned past midnight while rain tapped softly against the windows of your bedroom. Eddie lay sprawled across your chest like an oversized cat, one arm wrapped tightly around your waist while you lazily played with his curls.

This had always been his favorite place to exist, right here, with you.

Even after all these years, he still sought you out instinctively. Every night, somehow ended the same way: his head in your lap, or tucked against your chest, or buried into your neck while he mumbled half-asleep nonsense against your skin. Tonight was no different.

“You know,” Eddie murmured sleepily, eyes closed, “I think Corvina gets scarier every day.”

You smiled softly, carefully winding one silver-threaded curl around your finger. “She is your daughter.”

“Exactly why I’m concerned.”

“You cried when she said she held his hand.”

“I did not cry.”

“You absolutely did.”

Eddie cracked one eye open. “I became emotional.”

“You gasped loud enough to frighten Teddy.”

“That was fatherly grief.”

Your laugh came soft and quiet in the dark. God, he loved that sound.

Eddie tilted his head slightly against you just to hear it again. Then your fingers paused suddenly in his curls, a tiny thing, barely noticeable. But Eddie felt it immediately.

“What?” he murmured.

You said nothing at first. Instead, your fingers carefully separated one curl from the rest, then another. Eddie finally looked up slightly, finding your expression softened by something achingly tender.

“My darling,” you whispered.

“Hm?”

You gently pulled something free: a silver strand, then another.

Eddie blinked once. “Oh,” he said.

There was no fear in his voice, just surprise. You held the strands delicately between your fingers, studying them beneath candlelight like they were precious threads of moonlight themselves.

Eddie suddenly looked sheepish. “Well,” he muttered, “guess I’m getting old.”

You looked almost offended by the statement. “Edward Munson,” you said softly, “you have survived.”

You slid from beneath him carefully, crossing toward the antique vanity near the window while Eddie watched you in sleepy confusion.

Then you reached for the little silver locket resting beside your jewelry tray, the one you wore nearly every day, etched with the letter ‘E’.

Eddie pushed himself upright slightly as you opened it carefully. Inside rested tiny fragments of your life together.

A pressed black rose petal from your wedding bouquet. A piece of the guitar pick Eddie used the first time he played guitar for you. A photograph so faded it barely showed two young people grinning in a cemetery beneath storm clouds.

Eddie went completely still.

You placed the silver strands gently beside them, like they were treasures. Then you closed the locket softly and climbed back into bed.

Eddie stared at you for a long moment after you settled beside him again. “…You kept all that?”

You looked genuinely puzzled. “Of course I did.”

“Baby, there’s literally a piece of an old guitar pick in there.”

“The broken corner because you were nervous while playing for me.”

His expression cracked instantly. “You remember that?”

“You dropped it three times before speaking to me,” you replied calmly. “You were adorable.”

Eddie let out a weak laugh, suddenly overwhelmed in the way only you could overwhelm him. Because no one had ever looked at the broken, embarrassing, vulnerable pieces of him and treated them like sacred things before you.

Your fingers slowly returned to his curls. “You know what I see,” you murmured softly, “when I look at these?”

Eddie shook his head once.

“A life.”

His eyes burned immediately, so you kissed his forehead gently.

“The silver only proves you stayed long enough to grow old with me,” you whispered.

And that nearly destroyed him. Eddie suddenly pulled himself over you completely, burying his face into your neck while holding you tight enough to make you laugh softly again.

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbled against your skin. “How are you real?”

You stroked your fingers through his curls carefully, silver strands and all. “I might ask you the same thing.”

“No, seriously,” Eddie groaned dramatically. “You put my gray hairs in a locket. That’s insane behavior.”

“You married me willingly.”

“I’d marry you in every lifetime.”

Your expression softened instantly. Eddie lifted his head, then just enough to look at you through the candlelight; older now, yes, lines at the corners of his eyes and silver threading through dark curls.

But still the same boy who fell hopelessly in love with a gothic girl in black lace all those years ago. Still yours, always yours.

“You know what the worst part is?” he murmured sleepily.

“What’s that, mon amour?”

“I still get nervous around you.”

You smiled. Then pulled him down into another kiss while rain whispered softly against the windows of your haunted little home.

AGH I HOPE YOU ALL LOVED ITTT:)))

Hell of a Summer pt.2 is currently in the works, GET EXCITEDDDD YUHHH

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"They despise each other." Tim reminds for the fifth time.

"I am aware.” Dick mutters, thumb scrolling through his contacts list. "What did I say about hacking my contacts list, Best Robin?"

"You didn't say anything about that specifically." Tim's foot taps impatiently against the tiles. “And why'd you think that contact name was meant for the demon spawn—never mind, that's besides the point right now. She's clearly disoriented.”

“I just have a gut feeling.” Pressing the phone against his ear, Dick runs a habitual tug over his locks whenever another situation pops up that he has to solve. Being in this line of work is bound to give him early greys.

"A gut feeling." Tim huffs, shaking his head in disagreement. “We better hope this doesn’t start another scuffle. Wouldn't want to toss another bone to the press. 'Blood son of Bruce Wayne attacks hospital patient'. I can already smell the print.”

Dick's frown sticks as he eyes you through the open door frame, laying in a hospital bed—unconscious ever since your first waking. The dots aren't connecting, not when the soot from the explosion still singes the edges of his jacket and his mind is all fuzzed up from a lack of sleep and endless documents. Still, the world had a knack for surprising him whenever he least expects it.

The ringing on the other side stops after two seconds.

"Damian." Dick addresses, re-running his fingers habitually through his hair. "There's been a situation at the hospital..."

Here's the thing, Dick knows Damian. He understands the passing trait of impatience among their family, which is why he's already summarised the facts down to twenty seconds. The call abruptly ends at ten.

"Huh." Dick mutters, brows pressed together as he looks back to Tim. "He hung up."

Dick barely got to explain anything beyond the mention of your name and their current location. Your voice echoes in reminder as he stares at his screen, the duration of the call staring back at him. It's him you have to worry about.

Damian's anything but subtle. Of his frigid attitude—his blatant dislike towards you. Putting the two of you in the same room, it was guaranteed disaster. Yet, Damian was the first name that came out of your mouth.

"Told you it doesn't make sense." Tim shrugs. "Logically, he's the last person we should've called."

"We'll see." Dick answers, head leaning back to rest against the wall. "He's surprised us both plenty of times."

"Yeah, by attempting murder on us both. Your point being?"

Dick restrains a much-needed sigh.

Barely fifteen minutes later, Dick stirs at a loud commotion beyond the walls of the waiting room. His neck is cramping from this unergonomic chair, and his feet are nerved with pins-and-needles. Tim's ears are plugged in with wired earphones, jammed high with Green Day as he concentrates on his tablet, opting to work through his insomnia instead.

There’s a slamming of doors, rapid footsteps thundering against the tiles, coming closer and closer. Dick barely has time to nudge Tim’s shoulder before the hallway door slams open.

Damian comes through like a storm, movements overly controlled in the way a person would seize up before a fight. As if he's expected the worst, and is prepared to battle whatever he might encounter.

“Where is she?” Damian commands, voice echoing off the tiles.

Staring back at Dick are frantic, darkened eyes pinpointed on locked targets—searching for his answer. It's so abruptly intense, almost inhuman, that his mind stutters in regaining its grasp on reality. He hasn't seen that look in a long time, not since their first meeting where one wrong answer would make Damian your enemy.

“She’s asleep.” Tim answers for him, one side of his earphones still plugged in throughout this entire mess. “She needs the rest.”

Damian disregards his words, brushing past him. “I have to see her.”

Dick must’ve subconsciously shifted his glance to your room, towards the shine of the metal carvings of 78 placed in the centre, as Damian doesn’t hesitate in heading for the door.

Dick catches Damian's arm right before he enters, and the glare he receives? Murderous. As if everything in his way of getting to you has become mere obstacles he has to overcome.

"Grayson." Damian's voice is all wrong, shortened and taut, syllables used to convey only what was needed. "Unhand. Me."

"Dames." Dick tries to make sense of this adverse reaction, but nothing from that brief phone call provided him any clues. "She's still unconscious, and I don't think it's a good idea for you to be in there—in this state."

Damian's chest heaves once, but the storm in his gaze has only darkened. "She called for me, didn't she?"

Dick blinks once. "Well, yes but—"

"Then, I will be there for her."

Damian disarms his grip with an alarming quickness, and Dick doesn't even have time to recalibrate his mistake before he's slipped through.

Dick's palm splays onto the door right before it closes, pushing it fully open with a warning ready on his lips to not disturb your recovery, only to find that—Damian hadn’t moved from his spot since he entered. Dick feels Tim pressing into his side, curious eyes flickering at the situation, but Dick is too busy watching to care about how they're practically hanging onto the doorframe.

When Damian catches sight of you, his entire frame freezes into place. He's watching you, and Dick's watching him—and he sees it then, and realises what an idiot he's been.

Damian's entire expression immediately shifts. Loosening in relief at the sight of you mostly unharmed, at the sound of a calm beeping from the heart monitor. It's frighteningly out of place, the tenderness softening his wrath-like panic mere seconds ago. He moves almost mindlessly towards your side, forgetting the presence of his two brothers gawking at him from outside the doorframe, peering into what must be a fever dream.

"Idiot." Damian mutters, but it sounds more like a prayer answered.

"We've got it all wrong, didn't we?" Tim mutters, staring at the sight in awe.

"Told you." Dick whispers, his lips tilting upwards into a smile. "Gut feeling."

You stir not long after Damian’s arrival, as if your body is already attuned to his presence. Lids peering half-open, you squint at the shadow towering over you. For a moment, there was nothing but held breaths and a long pause as you familiarise yourself with forest green.

Then, the most miraculous thing happens. You smile, completely unaware of the turmoil and confusion you've caused.

“Dami.”

Dick decides today is an absolute possibility for the world to be at its end.

“You're an idiot.” Damian hurls the practiced insult out like he’s been running it off in his mind for the past few minutes, but his weakened voice holds no bite against the sight of his overwhelming relief.

Under the sheets, Dick swears he sees his brother’s fingers intertwining with yours.

“I told them to tell you not to rush.” You mutter hazily, still readjusting to reality. “At least—I think I did.”

Damian sucks in a breath, low, undistinguishable mutters whispered. Your lip twitches up slightly, which could only mean another insult you're brushing off.

“Yet, you’re still here.” You tease. “Fretting.”

The thin line of his lips creases deeper. “I do not fret.”

“Arguing with the patient?” Your body shifts, tilting closer to Damian.

“I prefer arguing with you unharmed.” Damian mocks lowly. Dick sees the stiffness bleed out of Damian’s expression the longer his gaze is locked onto you, as if materialising your talkative state in his mind.

"I am unharmed."

"A mild concussion, a hospital bed." Damian's frown deepens. "At least attempt at a reasonable lie."

Damian’s body tilts just slightly, lowering to match yours, and the light catches your features once more. Your lips tilt downward for a single second, the sting of the fluorescent lights irritating your vision.

In a sudden movement without words exchanged, Damian adjusts. His shoulders block the light over your face once more, covering you with his shadow.

You can't help the grin that escapes. "That is what I was thinking about, before I passed out again."

Damian's expression contorts, as if his mind can't decide on hyper-focusing on the details of you falling unconscious again or on what you were imagining about him. You decide for him.

"The lights were all in my face and—" You suck in a breath. "I kept trying to remember your name. I tried so hard to find it, this person who knows that I hate hospital lights without me needing to say it. Then, your name just slipped out."

“Oh.” Tim murmurs from afar.

“Oh.” Dick agrees.

“Don’t do that again.” Damian mutters in the quiet buzzing of the machines.

“Save people?” You tease.

“Put yourself in harm’s way.” Damian pushes back.

"Hey, what about the two of us?" Tim calls out, and Dick's quick to shove his elbow into the idiot's stomach. "Ow—what? We never got this treatment and all the fretting."

Damian's gaze shifts at the disruption, the softness creased into the corners of his eyes fading into annoyance. "Leave us."

"Woah." Tim holds a hand to his abdomen, still feigning hurt. "That's just cold."

Damian's eyes narrow further, and Dick's reminded instantly of how the press is probably waiting outside the hospital for any hints of a scuffle. It's already news enough for not two, but three members now of the Wayne family rushing to the emergency ward. Grabbing Tim by his hoodie, Dick tugs roughly. "We'll leave you two be to—catch up. No attempted murders, if the reminder's still needed."

It had slipped out so easily, the old warning, but it feels strangely out of place with this tender atmosphere. Dick's most definitely intruding on something he's not meant to see, but questions can be reserved for later.

You snort, a sheepish expression caught between your teeth, watching for confirmation as the door shuts with a click. When you have a shred of confidence that they're at least out of hearing range, you turn your attention back to Damian with growing excitement.

“You know they’re probably freaking out right now?” You mutter conspiratorially. "They'll never buy into us hating each other anymore."

“That is not my concern.” Damian frowns. “You are.”

“That might be the sweetest thing you've ever told me.” You coo. "I matter enough for you to deal with family dinner interrogations now."

Damian's stare remains unimpressed. “I will smother you with pillows.”

“That’s unhygienic—and cruel.”

His tongue clicks softly as his hand comes up behind the pillow, instinctively propping them up higher as you adjust your neck, an action completely unrelated to his threat. “Only you would be concerned of bacteria before attempted murder.”

“Yeah, I’m a piece of work." You murmur distractedly, choosing to gaze intently at him instead. His hair's fallen into different directions, all un-Damian-like. "That’s why you rushed all the way here, didn’t you?”

He stiffens, hand shifting away from the pillow, but still lingering near you. After a moment, the inner workings of his mind battling between his logic and his emotions must've finally faltered, as his fingers delicately cup the back of your head. He doesn't move you towards him, choosing to come over to you instead, his body hovering halfway over yours before finally letting his weight topple gently over you.

His arms wrap around you gently as his comforting weight falls over you, and the first thing you feel is how quickly his heart is racing. He needs this, you realise, as he settles with his arms wrapped protectively around you. To be physically present as your shield, even when there is no danger present.

He is more affected than he seems with his tightly concealed expressions, now that you physically feel the effects on his body. There's the slight twitches of his fingers when he's still afraid, waiting for the noise in his head to calm down. You know Damian, that he needs time to process before he reveals his cards.

“I didn't want you to worry.” You mumble into his embrace.

“Impossible.” Damian huffs softly, tracing his other hand over your wrist, feeling the soft thudding of your pulse. “You're my problem to handle."

You feel a soft, imperceptible kiss pressed onto your temple, and your eyes flutter shut. This is the side of Damian only you get to have, the proof of its existence ghosting your skin. You have to force your eyes open, the lure of sleep already trying to dig its claws into you—and that's something you absolutely refuse. You don't want to miss this rare side to Damian, all soft and disarmed.

"You scared me." Damian admits after a long pause, barely audible.

You blink, surprised. "You're never scared."

"For you, I am." Damian confesses, his grip tightening slightly. "You tend to render me painfully exposed to weakness."

"Weakness, huh? You haven't got rid of me yet." You hum lightly.

"No." His tone is decisive, stern. "If I haven't decided that I've had enough of you, the world doesn't get to."

"I'm starting to think threats are your love language, Dami." Your hand lifts, struggling twice before you manage to run your fingers through his hair, resting its weight over the nape of his neck.

His body shudders slightly, and his nose buries itself deeper into the crook of your neck. If anyone were to look into hospital room 78, they'll encounter the strange sight of Damian Wayne embracing you as if you were his lifeline. No one would believe them, but the truth remains.

He was yours. Completely yours.

He was also definitely sentenced to a long interrogation the moment he steps out of this room.

"Who was the perpetrator?" He mutters after a moment.

"Damian." You're stuck deciding between a snort and a sigh. "It was an accident."

"You don't know that." He huffs. "I sincerely doubt in your ability to detect an attempted murder while you're unconscious."

Your grip tugs at his hair playfully, a pretty effective way of shutting him up. "Argue with me later."

You feel his lashes flutter against your skin, processing. "...Fine."

He breathes you in, his heart rate finally starting to calm the longer he hears your voice so close to his eardrums, your touch grounding his senses.

"It was torture." His voice is too still, stating the facts without the emotion that's driven behind them. "The drive here. I kept envisioning the worst, that you had called out for me—and if I didn't make it in time—"

His grip tightens with his words, and you're pressed into his chest, feeling what his words refuse to convey, starting to thud again below his ribcage.

"Damian." Your hand traces reassuringly over his neck. "I'm right here."

He listens, his rampant thoughts slowing in pace at the reminder. "I had never been so terrified." His voice remains level, his attempt at reinforcing his reality over his fears. "To receive a call from Grayson, hearing your name—I couldn't let myself think of anything else other than finding you."

"You did." You mutter reassuringly. "You found me. I'm safe."

He lets out a low breath, a slow exhale at the sound of those two words he'd been needing to hear. "Sometimes, I think you've ruined me." He murmurs in truth.

You think he's unused to this. Letting down his walls, experiencing the blatant terror for another person's life that is completely out of his control—that he's left with nothing but pieces to readjust, to compromise. By letting you into his life and allowing you to be his person, he has abandoned his need to preserve himself, to be above fear.

"You're not escaping the argument." He notes down distractedly. "I still have my reservations."

"Anything you need, Dami." You reassure.

"Anything?" He murmurs, head shifting out of the crook of your neck to face you fully.

His green eyes are narrowed with intent now, gazing at you with unhidden intensity.

You swallow, nodding slightly.

When he leans in, the palm of his hand slips from the back of your head to over your jaw. His thumb traces over your lips softly, and he leans in replacing the ghost of his touch with his own mouth. It's tender, a separate language to convey the emotions he hasn't learnt to spell out, on what you do to him. Yet, with the way he's handling you, nose brushing against yours, in a way so precious it makes your heart ache—you think that impending argument's worth it.

likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! <333

dc masterlist -> damian + other dc works

Eddie lounged beside you with his arm draped casually over the back of your chair while he disappeared into a deep conversation with Jeff across from him. Meanwhile, you, Robin, and Gareth had drifted into your own chaotic little world entirely.

The jangly electric guitar chords and tight snare beats of Girl Can’t Help It drifted softly through the Hide Out in the rare moment Doris decided to keep the radio tuned to something vaguely mainstream.

The music settled comfortably into the guitar lull that had taken over your side of the table after the earlier wave of drunken laughter had finally left all your stomach aching.

Robin had clumsily shoved her chair back a few minutes earlier to disappear towards the bathroom while Gareth let out a deeply satisfied sigh before leaning forward onto the table, elbows planted against the sticky wood as he took another sip of beer.

“Tell me something,” he started casually between swallows while squinting jokingly towards you, “has he told you yet?”

Eddie snapped his head towards the two of you so fast he practically abandoned whatever conversation he’d been having with Jeff mid-sentence, and shot Gareth a sharp look that could only really be translated as shut the fuck up.

“Told me what?” you asked while furrowing your brows softly in confusion before lifting your beer for another sip.

“About the show we’re playing in Ashwood,” Eddie answered quickly the second he noticed the dangerous glint of mischief flickering across Gareth’s face.

“Ashwood?” Your attention immediately turned towards him instead, eyes lighting up almost instantly. “The one with the esoteric shop?”

Eddie couldn’t help smiling a little at that. “Yeah.”

“Eddie!” you laughed, immediately beaming at him across the table. “Why am I only hearing about this now?”

“Hearing what?” Robin mumbled after a small hiccup while dropping heavily back into her chair again.

“Oh, y’know,” Gareth started with a grin already spreading across his face.

“About our show in Ashwood,” Eddie cut in immediately for the second time.

Jeff snickered quietly behind the tall beer glass in his hand while flicking ash from his cigarette into the already overflowing ashtray closest to him, exchanging a knowing look with Gareth across the table.

“Oh, that’s sick,” Robin mumbled while wrapping her fingers around her glass before immediately frowning down at it after realising she’d already finished the whole thing. “But yeah, why are we only hearing about this now?”

“Eddie wanted to wait until the flyers were ready,” Jeff supplied casually before taking another drag from his cigarette.

Your brows immediately shot upward while you slowly lowered your beer back onto the table.

“Flyers?” you repeated while turning fully towards Eddie again. “This is, like… an actual big deal, then.”

Eddie pursed his lips for a second like he was debating how much he wanted to admit.

“Yeah,” he finally muttered. “I guess.”

“Oh, don’t start acting all humble now.”

Eddie only snorted softly at your remark before taking another long sip of beer instead of answering properly.

Then he lifted a hand towards Doris for another round.

In the background, Journey had long since been replaced by ZZ Top while the conversation around the table settled into a brief comfortable lull beneath cigarette smoke and the steady drumming rain outside.

A few moments later, Doris’ familiar complaints drifted closer towards your table alongside the rattling sound of a full serving tray balanced against her palm.

Gareth snorted at her complaints while helping her stack some emptier glasses back onto the now-cleared tray.

“You really should’ve told her, man,” he added with a deeply suspicious grin aimed directly at Eddie.

Jeff snickered from across the table, trying – and failing – to hide the grin tugging at his lips behind the fresh glass of beer in his hand.

“Yeah, man,” he mumbled before taking another sip.

Robin’s head immediately snapped between the three boys before she shot you a deeply suspicious look, her brows furrowing tighter the longer Jeff and Gareth continued quietly snickering while Eddie sat beside you with his lips pressed together in growing irritation, as she leaned closer towards you, whispering a soft, confused what?

You only shrugged back just as helplessly.

After another second, Robin gave up entirely with an exaggerated little scoff before reaching for one of the newer beers instead like she’d decided she no longer cared enough to investigate whatever weird male telepathy was happening across the table.

“You’re all acting incredibly weird right now,” Robin informed the table while narrowing her eyes suspiciously before taking another sip of her beer. “More than usually.”

“We’re not acting weird,” Eddie muttered immediately, shaking his head a little too much.

“That was a weirdly defensive response,” Jeff snorted.

Gareth leaned back in his chair with a proud grin stretching wider across his face while Eddie closed his eyes for a second, visibly preparing for the worst.

“Oh my god,” Robin gasped suddenly after almost choking on her beer when something finally clicked in her head. “Did Eddie finally confess to that thing?”

“Robin,” Eddie warned instantly, nervously flexing his fingers in and out of a fist behind your back.

“What did he confess?”

Gareth looked – to Eddie’s distaste – a little too delighted as his fingers started thrumming against the table. “Should we tell her?”

“Fuck’s sake,” Eddie sighed as his hand immediately reached for his already half-empty glass of beer.

While Velcro Fly reached its end in the background, your eyes drifted around the table, noticing the glimmering eyes and knowing grins being exchanged between everyone except you.

A sour feeling settled heavily in your stomach when you realised you were being left out of something. And before your expression could twist into anything too pathetic, you quietly muttered something about going to the bathroom while pushing your chair back from the table.

You vaguely heard Eddie say your name somewhere behind you while you disappeared down the hallway.

A ringed hand curled around the bathroom door before you could fully shut it behind yourself, and Eddie slowly pushed it open again before slipping inside.

“You couldn’t wait one minute?” you mumbled tiredly, though the joke fell flat before it could properly land. “I’m just gonna pee and come back.”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie whispered instead while absently twisting one of his fingers around his finger.

A deeper furrow pulled between your eyebrows. “For what?”

Eddie sighed heavily before dragging a hand through his hair as he leaned back against the closed bathroom door.

“For…” he exhaled sharply through his nose. “Whatever the hell that was.”

Your hand curled around the handle of one of the bathroom stalls just as another deep sigh slipped from his chest.

“I just…” he muttered quietly, his eyes flicking up towards you before dropping back to the tiled floor again.

Eddie swallowed hard, crossed his arms, and then uncrossed them again.

“I just…” he trailed off once more like he was physically pulling himself back from saying whatever had been sitting in his chest for weeks, before finally continuing softly, almost too quietly, “I like you.”

You blinked at him a few times before slowly letting go of the bathroom stall handle.

“And?”

Eddie’s brows furrowed instantly. “What do you mean, and?”

A softer laugh slipped from your lips while you shook your head lightly at the deeply confused look on his face.

“I already know that.”

“What?”

“I mean,” you started softly before briefly glancing away, “you let me spoon you whenever you sleep over, and you know I hate red apples.”

That immediately pulled another bewildered blink from him.

“I know that you hate sweet things unless it’s my lemon cake,” you continued while moving your hands absentmindedly like it helped organize your thoughts. “And I know you’re allergic to that cheap fabric softener.”

Eddie’s gaze slowly lifted from the floor back towards you; yours never really left his.

“I like you too, stupid,” you murmured while stepping closer towards him. “I’m honestly surprised you didn’t already know that.”

For a second, Eddie only stared at you like his brain had completely short-circuited before a breathless laugh finally escaped him.

“You for real?”

That pulled a quieter laugh from you too.

His eyes lingered on your face for another long second before something softer settled there – relief, disbelief, maybe both tangled together beneath the dim bathroom lighting.

“I mean,” you scoffed lightly while stepping closer towards him, your fingers slowly finding his cheek, “we’ve basically been in a relationship this whole time. Minus the obvious part, of course.”

You tilted your head slightly while a softer chuckle slipped from your lips, your thumb brushing gently across his cheekbone.

“Unless you’ve secretly been living with other girls whenever you’re not with me.”

Eddie’s hands immediately lifted to cover yours, his thumb brushing absentmindedly across the back of your hand while he leaned further into your touch.

“Wouldn’t dare,” he whispered softly before briefly shutting his eyes like he physically couldn’t look at you while saying what came next. “You’re it for me.”

Your expression softened instantly.

“Good,” you whispered back with a smile tugging at your lips. “‘Cause you’re it for me, too.”

Eddie slowly opened his eyes again, something quieter and more vulnerable flickering beneath them while he looked at you.

Then, carefully – almost hesitantly – his hands found your hips like he still wasn’t fully convinced this was actually happening. His ringed fingers tightened on you for a brief second before relaxing again while he slowly pulled you closer against his chest.

Your thumb continued brushing gently against his cheek for another moment before your other hand rose to his face too, softly guiding his head down towards yours.

Eddie’s lips felt impossibly soft against yours, and the second you kissed him properly, his grip on your hips tightened all over again as a quiet, content breath escaped through his nose while he tilted his head slightly to deepen the kiss.

You parted his lips and lightly brushed your tongue against his bottom lip just before multiple loud knocks suddenly slammed against the bathroom door hard enough to force the two of you apart.

“You guys fuckin’ in there?”

“Classy, Gareth,” Robin muttered from the other side of the door while Jeff completely lost it laughing drunkenly beside her.

Eddie groaned quietly before dropping his forehead against yours.

“No, seriously,” Gareth groaned. “I think I need to throw up.”

The closer fall drifted towards its end and slowly gave way to early winter, the shorter the days seemed to become.

The weather outside had been acting up again too – dark moody clouds swallowing the night sky whole while the wind violently rattled the electrical cables and shook the balding tree branches outside your trailer hard enough to make them scrape against the roof every now and then.

Unfortunately, it had ruined the plans you and Eddie had made for the evening.

So, instead of making the drive to the library to look for books about pagan gods and Luciferianism, the two of you had ended up stranded inside your trailer together instead.

Eddie lounged lazily across the couch while rummaging through your extensive collection of incense boxes, carefully reading the labels one by one while trying to remember the exact properties you’d explained to him over the last few months before eventually picking one that simply felt right for the mood outside.

Meanwhile, you sat curled sideways on one of the barstools by the kitchen counter while carefully flipping through one of your grandmother’s old grimoires.

Your eyes scanned lazily across the pages searching for something specific while simultaneously getting distracted by the soft curls of her handwriting scattered between the notes and illustrations, until your gaze eventually landed on one of her intricate gouache paintings decorating the yellowed page.

Your fingertips hesitantly brushed across the paper, touched suddenly by a strange kind of longing you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in a very long time.

Letting your eyes linger lazily across the page for another moment longer, you eventually pushed yourself away from the kitchen counter before wandering around it towards the cupboards.

Eddie’s attention briefly drifted away from the overwhelming pile of incense boxes scattered across his lap at the soft clinking sound of glass jars landing carefully inside your old brass bowl before his eyes slowly dropped back down again.

Balancing the bowl against your hip with one arm, your other hand tugged open one of the drawers while you searched around for your scissors before eventually placing everything neatly onto the counter.

Your socked feet padded softly across the linoleum afterward while you wandered towards the dresser behind the couch, pulling a pen and a few loose scraps of paper from one of the drawers before returning towards your barstool again.

“Watcha doin’ over there?” he asked distractedly while turning one of the red incense boxes in his hands, carefully reading the intricate gold lettering printed across it.

“Oh, y’know,” you murmured vaguely while beginning to scribble something down onto the torn piece of paper in front of you.

Eddie narrowed his eyes slightly, already knowing that tone alone sounded suspicious.

He finally looked up properly from the incense boxes sprawled across his lap, his brows furrowing deeper while he watched you carefully fold the small piece of paper in your hands.

“Why do I suddenly get the feeling you’re plotting something?”

A quieter laugh slipped from your nose. “I’m literally sitting at the kitchen counter, babe.”

“Yeah,” Eddie nodded immediately. “Exactly. That’s where all the dangerous things happen.”

You rolled your eyes lightly while reaching for one of the jars instead of replying.

He shifted slightly on the couch before finally setting the incense boxes aside altogether, curiosity clearly winning over whatever he’d been doing before.

When the soft rhythmic clinking of crystal chips against glass filled the quiet trailer, he pushed himself up from the couch and wandered over towards you.

Warmth spread across your back the second he stepped close enough behind you, his chest brushing lightly against your shoulders while his chin settled comfortably on top of your head. His eyes wandered slowly between the scattered herb jars, the folded paper already resting inside the brass bowl, and the little pile of clear quartz chips sitting beside it.

His brows slowly furrowed tighter while he pieced everything together, and then his expression suddenly changed.

“Hold on,” he mumbled suspiciously. “Why are you making a love spell?”

The accusation came out sounding equal parts scandalized, intrigued, and faintly concerned.

“What?” Your head snapped upwards immediately, forcing him to lean back slightly. “I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” Eddie argued immediately while pointing towards the jars spread across the counter. “Rosemary attracts love and ensures fidelity.”

He blinked quickly, clearly trying to remember the rest before you could interrupt him.

“Lavender’s for affection and harmony in relationship,” he continued quickly. “Cinnamon’s for desire and intensity, and rose petals are literally for passion.”

You blinked at him silently while he continued pointing towards your setup like he was presenting evidence in court.

“And the folded paper,” he added, nodding towards the bowl. “Plus the clear quartz chips to amplify it all.”

The mortification that had immediately climbed up your spine slowly started melting into something softer instead – quiet amazement.

“I mean…” you trailed off gently while glancing back down at the ingredients spread across the counter. “Those are just some of the things they’re useful for.”

You tilted your head back until your gaze found his.

“But they all have multiple meaning too,” you murmured while reaching for the lavender jar again. “This one’s for inviting peace and protection into our lives.”

You pulled the cork free before carefully sprinkling some of the vibrant lilac buds into the bowl.

“Rosemary for clarity,” you continued softly while reaching for the next jar. “Cinnamon for abundance.”

Your fingers brushed lightly through the dried rose petals.

“And these are for emotional healing.”

He blinked heavily down at the bowl after you finished explaining before eventually reaching into the front pocket of his jeans to fish out his lighter.

“That…” he trailed off while tilting his head thoughtfully to the side, “actually makes a lot more sense now that I think about it.”

You picked the folded paper back out of the bowl before carefully lighting the corner of it on fire and dropping it back inside.

Eddie’s hands settled gently onto your shoulders almost immediately afterward, slowly massaging them while you curled your fingers around the warm brass bowl and closed your eyes to focus on your intentions.

The soft pale smoke rising from the herbs slowly shifted colour as it spiralled upwards in delicate curls, fading from light grey into something closer to haint blue before disappearing near the ceiling.

When you finally opened your eyes again, the smoke had completely faded.

Eddie leaned back into you almost immediately, this time resting his chin comfortably between your shoulder and neck – his new favourite place to touch you.

“You’re so sweet,” he murmured softly while brushing the tip of his nose against your skin. “Putting protection spells on us.”

 A quieter laugh slipped from your lips while you leaned further into his warmth.

“Who says it’s for us?” you teased lightly.

“The blue smoke told me,” Eddie whispered back before pressing a soft kiss just beneath your earlobe.

The two of you had been lying in bed for a while now, quietly soaking in the rare streaks of sunlight peeking through the soft clouds outside your bedroom window.

You lazily curled your fingers around a strand of Eddie’s hair while lying comfortably across his chest, the syncopated groove of Rare Earth’s Magic Key filling the otherwise soft silence surrounding the both of you.

Eddie’s thumb brushed absentmindedly across the knee you’d hooked over his waist while he quietly let your chosen record – the one you insisted would broaden his music taste – slowly settle into him.

His attention lingered carefully on the lyrics carrying that faint spiritual undertone he didn’t necessarily associate with late-sixties psychedelic rock.

After another drag from the joint between his fingers, he tilted his head towards your nightstand before lazily flicking the ash into the ceramic ashtray sitting there and passing it over to you.

“I was thinking,” Eddie started softly while hooking his fingers beneath your knee and pulling it slightly higher against his waist, “you wanna go to Ashwood today?”

Your brows pulled into a faint furrow while you exhaled the smoke from your lungs, watching it drift lazily towards the wind chime hanging near the window.

“The show’s only tomorrow,” you murmured while passing the joint back to him. “Why you wanna go today?”

Eddie’s ringed fingers curled around it carefully before he tapped the ash into the ashtray again.

“I thought we could make a little getaway out of it,” he admitted quietly before taking another drag. “Go to Moon & Myrrh again, explore the town some more.”

You though about if for a moment while the confident brisk groove of Magic Key slowly faded out and gave way to the rougher blues-rock chords of Tobacco Road.

“Yeah,” you murmured eventually as a softer smile tugged at your lips. “That’d be nice.”

Your fingers curled carefully around the joint before you slowly pushed yourself upright before shifting to sit on his lap instead. You took another drag before passing it back to him and leaning down to press a soft kiss against his forehead while climbing over him entirely.

He pushed himself upright too, adjusting the pillows behind his back while quietly watching you drift around the bedroom already for your trusted travel bag.

Eddie’s gaze followed your familiar movements around the bedroom, quietly taking in the way you immediately opened the drawer you’d recently cleared space out in for some of his clothes before even reaching for your own.

You grabbed his favourite pair of pants without hesitation before tossing them carefully into the travel bag resting it next to his feet. Then, you pulled out two shirts, holding them up for him to inspect.

His eyes flicked lazily between both options before he silently pointed towards the overly washed Black Sabbath shirt while exhaling smoke from his lungs and pulling it right back in through his nose.

“Which one you wanna wear tomorrow?” you asked while folding the other shirt back into the drawer, your fingers already drifting through the remaining neatly folded stacks. “And please don’t say the Hellfire shirt.”

Eddie snorted quietly while shaking his head.

“Nah,” he murmured after another drag. “I wanna wear that Corroded Coffin shirt you designed.”

Your eyes immediately snapped back towards him while warmth crept into the tips of your ears. “You sure?”

Eddie smiled softly around the joint between his fingers. “Never been more sure.”

Your eyes lingered on him for another few seconds, almost like you were still searching for confirmation before you finally nodded and turned back towards the dresser again, reaching for the soft cotton shirt he’d mentioned.

Eddie kept his gaze fixed on your chaotic movements around the bedroom while you opened and shut drawers in search of something that, as you’d put it, looked good enough for their first official show.

After another moment, he finally placed the joint down in the ceramic ashtray before pushing himself off the bed entirely and wrapping his arms loosely around your waist from behind.

“I honestly couldn’t care less what you wear,” he murmured softly against your neck before pressing a gentle kiss against your skin. “Long as you’re there.”

A quieter smile tugged faintly at your lips while your fingers continued drifting through the clothes in your drawer.

“Yeah, well,” you mumbled teasingly. “I still need something that screams I’m with the lead singer.”

Eddie immediately laughed beneath his breath.

“Something that lets every girl there know they don’t stand a chance,” you continued while shooting him a joking grin over your shoulder.

His arms tightened slightly around you while another laugh rumbled warmly against your neck.

You turned back towards the dresser again afterwards before finally putting out the velvet skirt he liked alongside a few different shirt options.

“I can always write taken across my forehead with your favourite lipstick,” Eddie joked back.

You snorted softly. “You literally have bangs, Edward.”

“Aw, c’mon,” he groaned dramatically. “Not the government name.”

That pulled another laugh from you before you finally stepped out of his hold entirely and wandered towards the bathroom to start filling the toiletries bag instead.

He had already dropped dramatically back onto the bed by the time you stepped back into the bedroom.

“You pack like we’re fleeing the country,” he murmured lazily once he heard the familiar clinking of bottles and jars joining the toiletries bag.

“You’ll thank me when you need headache tea the day after tomorrow.”

Eddie blinked slowly at the ceiling, knowing damn well you were probably right.

“You know what?” he mumbled after a second, his eyes drifting back towards the quiet wind chime. “I actually don’t have anything smart to sat to that.”

“You’re welcome,” you chuckled while stuffing the toiletries bag into the larger travel bag before turning around to grab your small pouch of jewellery from the dresser.

And hour later, the two of you were finally pulling away from the trailer park beneath the soft grey skies while the crescent moon slowly began climbing into the evening sky overhead.

The heater rattled weakly beneath the dashboard while Eddie lazily drummed his fingers against the steering wheel in time with the music humming softly from the stereo.

At some point, you’d kicked off your shoes off completely before throwing your legs across the seat beside him, a half-smoked cigarette hanging loosely between your lips while the familiar roads slowly gave way to denser woods and narrower winding streets.

Eventually, the faded welcome sign of Ashwood Hollow emerged once again from beneath the overgrown trees.

Eddie drove further into town afterward until the familiar downtown storefronts finally came into view beneath the dim amber streetlights.

It was a little after four by the time he parked a few blocks away from your favourite shop, a lazy yawn escaping him the second he finally turned off the ignition.

Eddie’s gaze drifted out the window while you slipped your shoes back on beside him, quietly noticing how the darkening skies above Ashwood somehow felt harsher than the ones back in Hawkins – there were no lingering streaks of sunlight left here, only sharp wind whistling through the narrow streets and rattling against the storefront windows hard enough to make the old signs creak softly overhead.

Eventually, his attention drifted back towards you again.

Without saying much, he reached over and gently pulled the lapels of your coat higher around your neck before leaning in to press a soft kiss against your temple – only after that did he finally push open the van door and stepped out into the cold evening air.

“C’mere with that warm hand of yours,” Eddie mumbled the second he rounded the front of the van and reached you, already tugging your hand into his colder one before you could protest.

Despite the biting wind constantly shoving his bangs away from his forehead, the walk towards Moon & Myrrh ended up feeling strangely peaceful. The streets of Ashwood had mostly emptied by now, leaving only the sharp whistle of the wind weaving between the storefronts and the occasional glow of amber streetlights reflecting against wet pavement.

But the second the familiar heavy purple door finally came into view, your steps slowed.

The sign hanging behind the window had already been flipped to closed, the curtains behind it drawn.

Before you could even let out a disappointed groan, or turn around entirely, the door suddenly swung open.

“I’ve been waiting all day for you two,” the owner muttered while pulling the door open wider, a faint scowl tugging at her brows. “Started thinking you weren’t coming anymore.”

Eddie immediately shot her a puzzled look while you simply grabbed his sleeve and tugged him inside behind you, desperate to escape the cold weather outside.

The warmth and familiar smell of incense wrapped around you almost instantly.

“I’m a nosy old woman,” she added dryly after catching his expression. “Spirits keep me entertained when I ask nicely.”

Most of the overhead lights had been turned off by now, leaving the shop bathed almost entirely by candlelight. Warm flickering shadows stretched lazily across the crowded shelves and glass displays while the familiar scent of incense and old paper wrapped itself around the room like a heavy blanket.

You slowly let go of Eddie’s hand before stepping further into the shop.

The tiny bells hanging above the door gave one final chime behind you while he lingered near the entrance a little longer, quietly talking with the older woman about the rune set he’d bought the last time you’d visited.

Moon & Myrrh felt different this late in the evening with the overhead lamps switched off – quieter, and older somehow, like the walls themselves were listening to your breaths and the faint murmur of conversation drifting behind you.

The warm candlelight flickered softly across the shelves while shadows stretched lazily along the floorboards beneath your feet as you walked absentmindedly towards the spines of stacked books somewhere in the corner.

Behind you, Eddie finally stepped fully inside too, the heavy purple door creaking softly shut while the sharp whistle of the wind outside faded into something distant and muffled instead.

Eddie barely had the chance to follow after you – curiosity already tugging at him over whatever had caught your attention – before the older woman suddenly spoke again from beside him.

“Sit down for a minute.”

He glanced towards her in visible confusion but still followed after her anyway towards the small circular table tucked into the far corner of the shop – the one permanently cluttered with candles, stacks of tarot cards, and an enormous crystal ball that honestly looked like a movie prop.

The older woman lowered herself into the chair across from his before quietly lighting the scattered candles one by one.

Warm flickering light immediately stretched across the tabletop and danced softly against the silver jewellery layered around her wrists and rings.

Then her hand reached for the tarot deck resting nearby. The cards shuffled slowly between her fingers in complete silence while the slight furrow between Eddie’s brows deepened further.

The shop suddenly felt strangely quiet – only the soft sound of your fingers turning pages somewhere deeper between the shelves and the distant beginning of a storm outside filled the room around the three of you.

Eddie sat quietly across from her, his arms crossed loosely over his chest while he tried not to look as nervous as he suddenly felt.

You’d drifted somewhat closer too, lingering somewhere beside a display island filled with intricate daggers and little bowls and trays filled with animal bones and herbs that were unknown even to you, pretending not to openly eavesdrop.

“Cut the deck,” the woman murmured eventually.

His ringed fingers carefully split the deck in half before pushing the cards back towards her again after he stared at it for a few seconds too long.

She hummed softly to herself before gathering them once more, slowly laying the cards down one by one across the table in a way he hadn’t seen you do before. Eddie’s gaze drifted across the placement with nervous curiosity, swallowing the dry lump that had settled in his throat.  

“The crow’s eye,” she explained while resting her fingertips lightly against the face-down card. “Something obvious about your situation, but only visible to the trained eye.”

His brows furrowed slightly. “That sound… ominous.”

“It usually is,” she chuckled humourlessly.

You immediately noticed the way his shoulders tensed beneath his jacket before the woman finally flipped the first card over.

Warm candlelight flickered across the illustrated figure holding one hand towards the sky and the other towards the earth – The Magician.

“Well, that’s rather loud,” she murmured, smiling faintly.

“What does it mean?” Eddie leaned slightly forwards despite himself.

“Skill, power, resourcefulness,” she explained calmly. “Learning how to use the tools already available to you.”

Her gaze lifted towards him.

“You’ve already started assembling the pieces without even realising it,” she added softly, gesturing vaguely towards him. “You’ve been practicing intention, protection work… most people spend years refusing to trust themselves enough to even begin with it all.”

A faint warmth into the tips of Eddie’s ears as she simply reached for the second card.

“This one’s the wings,” she murmured while placing two fingers against it, “where there’s room for movement and change.”

Then she flipped it over – Two of Wands.

His eyebrows slowly pulled together again while he stared at the figure illustrated across the card.

“Crossroad,” she explained softly. “Expansion, and choice.”

The hard wind outside had slowly given way to the beginning of a storm, briefly filling the silent shop before she continued.

“You’re standing at the beginning of something much larger than the life you originally imagined for yourself,” she watched how Eddie leaned back in his chair and lifted one of his hands over his mouth. “It’s not a warning in your case. It’s encouragement, actually.”

Her ringed fingers tapped lightly against the card as she continued, “You’re finally allowing yourself to explore paths you would’ve mocked or maybe even feared before.”

Eddie looked over his shoulder, his eyes briefly flickering towards you before returning to the woman in front of him, who was already reaching for the third card.

“A hidden treasure,” she murmured as she flipped it smoothly between her fingers – Page of Cups.

The candle flames surrounding the table flickered faintly before she continued. “Emotional intuition, creativity, and sensitivity. Unexpected spiritual openness.”

“You mean feelings,” Eddie mumbled as he stared at her blankly.

“You feel things before you understand them,” she continued calmly, completely ignoring his comment. “You notice energy instinctively, and you trust emotion before logic, even though you pretend otherwise.”

He immediately opened his mouth to argue before stopping halfway through, his brows furrowing when he realised he didn’t actually have a defence for that.

“The underworld,” she murmured quietly. “A message delivered from beyond.”

The storm outside cracked louder overheard while the older woman slowly turned the final card over, revealing the Empress beneath the flickering candlelight before her expression softened almost immediately, her eyes flickered quietly between the card and Eddie.

“This is maternal protection,” she explained softly. “Nurturing. Guidance. Loving pride.”

Your attention drifted away from the jewelled dagger in your hands the second the words left her mouth, noticing how Eddie sat unusually still in his seat.

“You’ve spent a very, very long time believing you were abandoned,” she continued quietly. “But you weren’t, not entirely.”

The candle flames flickered even harder for a brief second while thunder rolled through the streets outside as her gaze lifted towards him again.

“She’s still here.”

Eddie’s breath hitched softly for a second as his eyes immediately flickered towards the woman sitting across from him.

The ringed fingers that had been nervously thrumming against his thigh only a moment ago suddenly fell still too once her words finally settled somewhere deep inside him.

And for a while, nobody spoke.

The otherwise silent shop continued filling instead with the sound of the storm outside and the distressed flickering of the candle flames scattered across the table between them.

Your grip tightened slightly around the jewelled dagger in your hands while you quietly took in the tense line of Eddie’s shoulders from across the room.

For a brief moment, you debated putting it back and walking over him. But ultimately, you decided against it.

This was something he needed to sit with on his own first – in his own time, and in whatever way felt safest to him. But you stayed close enough, just in case.

“I…” Eddie started quietly before the word died in his throat altogether.

His brows furrowed deeper while his gaze slowly drifted back towards the Empress resting beneath the candlelight.

Eddie swallowed hard against the dry lump that had suddenly formed in his throat before nervously dragging his tongue across his bottom lip.

“What do you mean…” he tried again after a few long seconds. “Here?”

The candle flames suddenly stopped flickering for the briefest moment, then they flared upward all at once – large and impossible to miss – before slowly settling back down again like nothing had happened at all.

You quietly placed the jewelled dagger back where you’d found it before finally making your way closer to the table – not too close, just closer than before.

Eddie glanced over his shoulder towards you almost immediately, his eyes slightly glassy now while a deeper furrow slowly settled between his brows.

That alone was enough to make you step the rest of the way forward.

Your hand found his shoulder gently, almost hesitantly so, giving it a soft squeeze that silently told him you had him.

The older woman watched the interaction quietly from across the table before her gaze lowered back towards Eddie again.

“I think you already know what I mean,” she said softly, understanding flickering behind her eyes.

He slowly nodded, almost automatically, like he wasn’t even fully aware he was doing it, while forcing another tight lump down his throat.

Outside, the storm had calmed slightly. The thunder had stopped a few minutes earlier, although the wind still whistled softly through the streets every now and then.

“Hey,” you whispered gently while giving his shoulder another soft squeeze. “You wanna see the book I just found?”

Eddie slowly lifted his gaze towards you, blinking heavily before nodding again – this time with a little more certainty behind it.

You offered him a small smile before wrapping your other arm loosely around him and leaning over the shoulder you still held to show him the thick leather-bound book resting in your hand.

“Found a first edition of that Luciferianism book you wanted,” you whispered softly before pressing a gentle kiss against the top of his head.

His ringed hands curled gently around the book as he took it from you, his thumb absently brushing across the embossed upside-down pentagram decorating the cover.

You pressed another soft kiss against the top of his head while quietly watching the slow way his fingers drifted across the leather before finally opening the book.

“Do you wanna stay here and read for a little?” you asked softly after a moment. “Or do you wanna explore the rest of the store?”

Eddie didn’t answer immediately, his attention stayed fixed on the open page resting in his hands for a few long seconds before he finally gave a quieter nod.

“C’mon,” you murmured gently while brushing your fingers through the curls near the back of his head. “I think I saw a ring to add to your collection, too.”

You quietly took in the way Eddie closed the book and lowered it to his side before finally pushing himself up from his seat.

The second he stood beside you, his fingers instinctively curled around yours and let you guide him towards the glass display island where you’d spotted the velvet ring tray earlier.

Behind you, the owner followed at an unhurried pace, the soft clinking of an overcrowded keychain accompanying her footsteps before she crouched down beside the display case and unlocked it.

She carefully pulled the velvet tray free before placing it gently in front of the two of you. Then, without interrupting the quiet settling around you, she simply wandered back towards the circular table to clean up the cards.

“Here,” you murmured softly while picking up the ring you’d noticed earlier and holding it out towards him.

The aged silver ring had a broad rectangular face set with polished black obsidian, a small engraved silver star resting at the centre of the dark stone like trapped light beneath the candle glow.

Four decorative claws rose around it protectively, the weight of the ring feeling older somehow once it settled into Eddie’s palm.

You offered Gloria a soft smile – now finally knowing her name – before wrapping your fingers around the paper bag filled with the things you’d bought and making your way back towards the entrance.

By the time you stepped outside again, Eddie was already leaning against the brick wall beside the shop with a cigarette resting between his fingers.

The wind pushed softly through his curls while amber streetlight spilled across the wet pavement beneath his boots.

His head lifted almost immediately at the soft chiming of the bells above the door.

He exhaled another slow stream of smoke before silently holding his hand out towards you – the black obsidian glimmering faintly beneath the streetlight before you took his hand.

The walk back to the van two blocks away passed in near silence, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable one.

Eddie’s thumb brushed absentmindedly against the back of your hand while he lifted the cigarette between his fingers every now and then with the other.

The wind had settled somewhat since earlier too, leaving only the occasional whistle weaving through the empty streets beneath the glow of amber streetlights.

By the time you finally reached the van, the cigarette had nearly burned down to the filter. Eddie dropped it onto the wet pavement before crushing it beneath the heel of his shoe and reaching for the passenger door to pull it open for you.

Once you’d climbed inside, he closed the door gently behind you before walking around the back of the van instead of immediately getting in himself, like he needed those few extra seconds alone first.

You quietly watched his silhouette disappear past the rear windows before instinctively pulling out everything you needed to roll him a well-deserved – and badly needed – joint for the drive towards the little motel sitting at the edge of town.

The unimpressed teenager behind the counter barely seemed to care when he glanced over your shoulder and spotted Eddie leaning beside the van outside smoking a joint.

Maybe the extra twenty you’d slid across the counter had encouraged him to mind his business.

Either way, he simply handed over the room key without another word.

Eddie’s free hand curled around the handle of your travel bag while he followed you up the narrow outdoor staircase and down the long hallway past a broken ice machine humming loudly beneath the flickering lights.

The motel room smelled heavily of dust the second you stepped inside, old cigarette smoke still clinging stubbornly to the faded sixties wallpaper and worn carpet beneath your shoes.

Still, for the price, it could’ve been worse.

Eddie passed the joint to you before disappearing into the bathroom almost immediately afterward, barely bothering to shut the door properly behind him as a heavier sigh slipped from between his lips once he finally disappeared from view.

You didn’t think twice before kicking your shoes off near the motel door, placing the joint carefully in the glass ashtray resting on the nightstand, and immediately changing into something more comfortable.

The extra shirt you’d packed still smelled like Eddie beneath the detergent.

Heavy footsteps crossed the room behind you only moments later before a pair of arms wrapped tightly around your frame from behind.

His ringed fingers curled softly into the worn fabric of the old shirt hanging from your body while his nose buried itself against the back of your neck, a slow, exhausted exhale leaving him against your skin.

Your hands instinctively found his forearms, your thumb brushing gently against them while you leaned back into the warmth of his chest without hesitation.

“You wanna lay in bed and smoke with me?” you whispered softly while swaying the both of you in slow gentle movements.

Eddie hummed in quiet agreement after a few seconds before loosening his hold on you long enough to tug off the tight skinny jeans he’d been wearing all day.

You rubbed tiredly at one of your eyes while climbing onto the bed, stretching your other arm towards the nightstand to grab the half-smoked joint before leaning back against the headboard.

A moment later, Eddie stepped closer to the mattress in nothing but his boxers and quietly settled himself between your legs, his fingers curling around your free hand the second you lowered it from your face.

Your fingers flicked Eddie’s lighter open before you brought the joint resting between your lips to flame, taking a long, slow drag once the paper finally crackled back to life. The smoke settled warmly in your lungs for a moment before you passed it down to the curly-haired boy sitting between your legs.

Eddie’s ringed fingers curled loosely around the filter as he brought it towards his mouth, his eyes already drifting shut the second your fingers disappeared in his hair. A quieter breath left him while you slowly scratched your nails against his scalp in that gentle, lazy way he liked.

The tension in his body softened almost immediately beneath your touch.

Outside, the wind whistled faintly against the motel windows while the neon lights beyond the glass mixed with the warm amber glow of the bedside lamp, painting the room in hazy colours.

For a while, neither of you spoke. Only the wind, the soft scratching of your nails through his curls, and the occasional slow exhale of smoke filled the room around you.

Eddie simply leaned heavier into you while smoke curled lazily through the quiet between slow breaths and softer touches.

“The older I get,” Eddie whispered quietly after a long stretch of silence, “the less I remember her face.”

His eyes stayed unfocused somewhere ahead of him, fixed on nothing in particular while the joint burned slowly between his fingers.

Your brows pulled together softly, but your fingers never stopped moving through his curls.

“We don’t really have a lot of pictures of her,” he continued lowly after another moment, absentmindedly tapping the joint against the glass ashtray resting beside him on the bed. “Didn’t really have the money to get a bunch developed back then.”

He passed the joint back to you before leaning even heavier into your touch, eventually turning onto his side so he could loosely curl one of his hands around your calf.

“Freud would probably celebrate if he heard this,” Eddie murmured softly after a moment, a quieter chuckle slipping from his nose, “but that loud, ugly snorting laugh of yours?”

Your fingers slowed slightly in his curls.

“She sounded like that too.”

Your chest tightened painfully at the quiet confession.

“She sounds like sunshine,” you whispered after a while.

Eddie didn’t answer immediately.

His fingers only tightened slightly around your calf before he buried his face further into your shirt.

Outside, neon lights continued bleeding soft colours across the motel walls while the wind whistled faintly against the windows.

“Yeah, she was.”

The first thing you noticed was the half-broken sign above the heavy double doors, a few missing letters leaving awkward gaps in the venue’s name before you stepped inside the venue with Eddie hot on your heels.

The second thing you noticed, once you were finally inside, were the towering dark walls painted in deep oxblood reds, the black rubber flooring somehow cleaner than the sticky floors back at the Hide Out, and the two people working behind the bar who looked like they’d stepped straight out of one of those underground metal magazines Eddie always flipped through.

The hall-wall serving as the bar counter had practically disappeared beneath layers of old band stickers while massive signed posters hung between the endless rows of liquor bottles that made Doris’ cheap collection back home look embarrassing in comparison.

Eddie let out a low whistle beside you before turning towards you with eyes nearly as wide as your own.

“Holy shit,” he whispered while looking back towards the empty venue again. “Please pinched me.”

He immediately yelped and jumped dramatically the second your fingers harshly pinched the tattooed skin of his arm.

“Fuck, what was that for?” Eddie pouted dramatically while rubbing at the reddening spot on his milky skin.

You glanced back towards him innocently. “What? You told me to pinch you.”

That only earned another offended look from him while you wandered a few steps further into the venue, slowly taking in the details of a place that would never survive longer than a month if it had somehow opened in Hawkins.

Your gaze drifted across the stage lights, the sticker-covered bar, the vinyl booths tucked against the walls, and the handful of people already lingering near the back of the room.

“This is, like…” you murmured while your brows furrowed faintly in disbelief. “The Midwestern version of the Starwood.”

Annoyed mumbling suddenly cut through the low hum of the venue after one of the heavy double doors creaked open again and a scowling blonde shoved her way inside with her shoulder.

Robin’s arms were wrapped around a gigantic carboard box that looked dangerously close to slipping from her grip at any second.

“Am I getting some help here?” she complained while the door slammed shut behind her again. “You guys are so buying me the first round for making me carry this heavy ass box by myself.”

Eddie immediately snorted beside you while you hurried towards her before the entire thing collapsed onto the floor.

“How many shirts did you order?” he asked while staring at the box like it personally offended him.

“Don’t look at me,” Robin muttered immediately, still scowling at the both of you while readjusting the box in her arms. “This was entirely her doing.”

A quieter snort slipped from you while your gaze drifted away for a second before reluctantly returning back towards them.

“I, uh…” you mumbled while scratching awkwardly at the back of your neck. “I might’ve ordered three different versions of the design.”

Eddie’s brows lifted higher almost instantly.

“Just in case,” you added after an awkward seconds.

He looked at you with an unreadable expression for a few lingering seconds, his eyes glimmering softly beneath the dim overhead lights, while Robin let out another increasingly irritated groan.

“Hello?” she dragged out dramatically while shifting the heavy box higher against her chest. “My arms are literally dying over here.”

That finally snapped Eddie back into motion.

You and Robin dragged the folding table towards the section of wall one of the venue staff had pointed our earlier while Eddie disappeared back outside to help unload the rest of the equipment from Gareth’s car.

A few moments later, he reappeared through the heavy double doors carrying an amp in his arms while an equally awestruck Jeff followed close behind him with the rest of the cables slung over his shoulder.

Gareth, however… You were pretty sure he had completely abandoned them somewhere around the side of the building to go throw up his nerves before the show.

Robin snorted under her breath while pulling open the cardboard box and handing you stacks of neatly folded shirts that still carried the sharp chemical smell of freshly screen-printed merch.

She leaned closer over the table, lowering her voice dramatically while her eyes flicked towards Eddie struggling with the amp near the stage.

“You know,” she started while aggressively pulling out another stack of shirts out of the box, “if this whole music thing fails, I think we’d absolutely crush it in the world of designing merch.”

A snort slipped from your nose as you lined up another pile by size and colour. “Yeah?"

“Oh, absolutely,” Robin nodded seriously. “Look at us. We already have the emotionally unstable musicians, questionable finances, and a deeply concerning amount of cigarette smoke surrounding us.”

You laughed quietly beneath your breath while reaching over to fix the crooked stack she’d somehow already ruined.

Robin glanced briefly towards the stage again where Eddie was still fighting with the amp while Jeff attempted to help in the least helpful way possible before her attention suddenly shifted towards the entrance instead.

“Oh my god.”

You looked up from the stack of shirts in your hands. “What?”

“There are actual people coming tonight.”

Your eyes instinctively flicked over your shoulder towards the heavy double doors where more figures had started filtering through – leather jackets, heavy boots, patched denim vests, and hairstyles questionable even by 1986 standards.

Robin slowly looked back towards you with widening eyes.

“We might actually have to do customer service,” she muttered nervously. “You’re still buying the first round, right?”

The more the venue filled with people, the thicker the humid air became with cigarette smoke and overlapping conversations until the music pouring from the overhead speakers slowly faded into background noise altogether.

You eventually left Robin guarding the merch table with not one but two drinks – just in case – and made your way towards the small backstage room tucked near the end of the venue with your makeup bag in one hand and one of the shirts slung over your warm.

Not bothering to knock, you simply pushed the door open with your shoulder before stepping inside.

Jeff was lazily strumming at his beloved Ibanez from the couch while Gareth leaned dangerously far back in his chair as he spun one of his drumsticks between his fingers with practiced ease.

Eddie, meanwhile, was apparently on his sixth cigarette in less than thirty minutes while he paced the cramped room back and forth, periodically dragging a hand through his curls with the other.

Judging by the exhausted looks on Jeff and Gareth’s faces, the two of them had already spent the last several minutes unsuccessfully trying to calm down their front man before finally giving up entirely.

You immediately threw the folded shirt towards Gareth the second the door clicked shut behind you.

“Gareth, you are so not wearing that Hellfire shit tonight,” you informed him while pointing accusingly in his direction. “Especially with that tiny vomit stain near the collar.”

“Aw, dude,” Jeff groaned in immediate disgust while finally sitting upright on the couch. “I knew this room smelled way too weird compared to the rest of the place.”

Gareth looked down at the shirt in betrayal. “It’s barely noticeable.”

Putting your makeup bag down onto the coffee table between them, you instinctively reached for Eddie’s hand where it was currently tangled in his gurls again.

“And you,” you murmured while giving him a stern look despite the amused glimmer hiding in your eyes, “stop pulling at your hair.”

Your fingers gently untangled his hand from the mess of dark curls before squeezing it softly.

“You know damn well that’s my job, not yours.”

That finally pulled a lower laugh from him, some of the heavy nausea twisting in his stomach easing slightly the second he snorted at your choice of words.

The lighter, breathier chuckles leaving Eddie slowly faded again until a more worried furrow settled back between his brows.

“But what if–” he started quietly, seemingly forgetting Jeff and Gareth were still sitting only a few feet behind him.

“Absolutely not.”

You shook your head immediately before grabbing his face between your hands and squishing his cheeks together before he could finish whatever catastrophic thought had been about to leave his mouth.

Eddie looked absolutely ridiculous like this; his lips had been pushed together into something vaguely fish-like while the tops of hic cheeks squished dangerously close towards his eyes.

For a brief moment, he felt overwhelmingly grateful the two of you were tucked away in one of the backstage rooms and not standing out in the venue itself – because the way he looked right now?

Yeah, not very metal.

“Listen to me,” you murmured firmly while holding his face still and looking directly into his eyes like you were trying to force the words permanently into his brain. “I’m gonna get you a glass of whiskey.”

All he could really do while you continued squishing his face was blink slowly at you.

“Then,” you continued carefully, “when I come back, I’m gonna do your makeup.”

His brows relaxed slightly as he listened carefully.

“And after you makeup’s done,” you added while a smaller grin slowly tugged at your lips, “we’re gonna make out in a bathroom stall until you finally feel like the rockstar you already are.”

By the time Gareth had finally changed out of his disgusting shirt, Jeff had tied a bandanna around his forehead, and Eddie had nearly finished his seventh cigarette, you finally made your way back down to the backstage room carrying a tray loaded with whiskey glasses – perks of being with the band.

One glass for each of you.

Two for Eddie, just in case one somehow didn’t do the job.

The new obsidian ring glimmered faintly beneath the dim backstage lights the second Eddie reached for one of the glasses, immediately throwing back half of it without even flinching at the disastrous burn trailing down his throat.

You pushed your boyfriend down onto one of the foldout chairs before settling comfortably onto his lap, guiding his free hand towards your hip while your other disappeared into the makeup bag now resting on your lap.

Almost immediately, his fingers started absently toying with the crooked cut-off hem of the Corroded Coffin shirt you’d thrown on earlier before eventually slipping beneath the fabric to rest against the warm skin of your waist instead.

“Watcha want, my love?” you murmured distractedly while pulling pencils and powders from the makeup bag spread across your lap.

Eddie absentmindedly rubbed his thumb against the skin beneath your shirt while he thought about it for a second too long.

“I dunno,” he started quietly before immediately stopping once he caught the look you gave him – the one that wordlessly told him to quit overthinking every little things.

His shoulders loosened slightly.

“Black eyeliner, please.”

He was trying his absolute best not to move too much while you carefully applied the black eyeliner along his waterline – having both learned your lesson after the disastrous attempt before one of the usual gigs at the Hide Out – but the unfamiliar sensation still had him blinking uncontrollably every few seconds anyway.

And the fact the backstage door suddenly flew open definitely didn’t help.

“Holy shit,” a loud familiar lisp echoed through the otherwise quiet room. “It’s fucking packed out there.”

“Henderson?” Gareth immediately leaned forwards in his chair to get a better look. “What the hell? How’d you even get here?”

“Told his mom we were having a sleepover,” Steve’s voice answered from behind the teen in that forced disinterested tone that never fooled anybody anymore. “You don’t even wanna know how much I had to pay the bouncer to get this little shit inside.”

He pressed his hands together dramatically before pointing towards you and Eddie.

“You guys are absolutely paying me back, by the way.”

Dustin barely even acknowledged him before immediately marching further into the room and throwing himself directly between you and Eddie hard enough to force you slightly on his lap, wrapping his arms tightly around Eddie’s shoulders like they hadn’t seen each other in years.

“You didn’t actually think I was gonna miss this, did you?” Dustin asked after finally letting go of Eddie again.

The boy beneath you immediately laughed at that – a real, full-bodied laugh this time, completely free of the nervous shakiness that had followed him around all evening.

“Can’t believe I’m about to say this,” Eddie started while squinting through his smile towards Dustin and the deeply exhausted babysitter behind him, “but I’m actually kinda happy to see both of you.”

Your expression softened slightly at the sight of how much more relaxed he suddenly looked.

“Especially you, big boy.”

Steve was cut off before he could even mutter a response when a series of loud hysterical knocks suddenly rattled the backstage door.

Robin shoved it open just enough to stick her head through, her wide eyes blinking rapidly beneath dramatically raised brows before she finally seemed capable of getting actual words out.

“Hey, so,” she started while her voice cracked slightly. “It’s fucking packed out there, and you guys are up in ten.”

Her mouth stayed slightly open while she blinked another few times like she still hadn’t fully processed it herself.

“Also,” she added weakly, “we’re kinda running out of shirts.”

That immediately snapped your head over your shoulder fast enough that you barely missed stabbing Eddie directly in the eye with the black eyeliner pencil still clutched in your hand.

“What?”

“Yeah, it’s insane,” Robin nodded quickly, her eyes still ridiculously wide. “People are literally buying one of each design.”

She pushed the door open wider so she could squeeze herself fully into the cramped room, her fingers twitching nervously while she shifted her weight from foot to foot.

“There’s also this girl behind the bar – I think it’s a girl,” she added quickly while gesturing vague panicked circled with her finger, “and she’s really hot and I’m pretty sure she just flirted with me.”

Steve listened to Robin’s increasingly frantic rambling with both hands planted firmly on his hips while he slowly leaned his head forwards in growing confusion.

“What does that even mean?” he muttered at first before his voice grew louder with every word. “What do you mean you think it’s a girl?”

Gareth let out a weak snicker from his chair before abruptly pushing himself upright again and hopping anxiously a few times in place like he was physically trying to shake the returning nerves back out of his body.

Meanwhile Jeff – who you strongly suspected had gotten at least a little stoned earlier judging by how suspiciously relaxed he’d been acting all night – simply chuckled quietly to himself before returning his attention back towards his bass, absently fiddling with the tuners.

You turned back towards Eddie to finish up his makeup while Robin continued desperately trying to explain to Steve that whoever had flirted with her had way too many facial piercings for her to confidently identify anything, and a haircut that leaned aggressively towards androgynous than anything else.

Eddie snapped his fingers towards Dustin before roughly pointing towards his second glass of whiskey sitting on the table nearby, clearly unwilling to rick moving his face too much while you worked.

“Can I have a sip?” Dustin immediately asked while reaching for the glass.

“No,” every single one of you answered at the exact same time.

Robin and Steve immediately resumed their increasingly confusion conversation while you carefully dragged the eyeliner pencil beneath Eddie’s waterline one final time before finally pulling away from him.

“Aw, c’mon,” Dustin groaned dramatically.

The second you started standing up from Eddie’s lap, his free hand immediately curled around your waist and tugged you back down long enough to press a slow kiss against your lips, a quieter thank you brushed against your mouth afterward before he leaned back just enough to finally take a sip from his drink.

The silver Casio wrapped around Robin’s wrist suddenly let out a soft, electronic beep loud enough to quiet the cramped backstage room almost instantly.

For a brief moment, nobody spoke.

You leaned back towards Eddie, a grin already tugging at your lips while you pushed yourself up from his lap and started packing everything back into your makeup again.

“Well,” you sing-songed lightly while zipping it shut, “I think it’s time, boys.”

Jeff immediately stood up from the couch while Gareth inhaled one sharp nervous breath before bouncing on the balls of his feet again.

Before Eddie could fully follow after the others through the backstage door, you gently tugged him back by his arm long enough to press one final kiss against his cheek.

“For good luck,” you whispered with a cheekier smile spreading across your lips while admiring the deep red lipstick stain you’d left behind on his skin.

You gently shoved Eddie towards the door before cheekily smacking your hand against his ass as you followed him down the long hallway leading back towards the front of the venue.

A dense cloud of cigarette smoke drifted through the corridor while muffled music and crowd noise grew louder with every step closer towards the stage.

Faint red and orange stage lights sliced through the darkness in hazy beams, painting faces in bruised theatrical colours while turning sweat into tiny glittering flames beneath the heat.

When Robin had said the place was packed, you definitely hadn’t imagined this.

The crowd had become a heaving shoulder-to-shoulder mass of leather jackets, raised glasses, elbows, cigarettes, and lighters all moving hazily in time with the final song of the mediocre opening band stumbling through the end of their setlist.

The stage itself dissolved into smeared movements as dark silhouetted figures gave something vaguely resembling a bow before disappearing off the platform to scattered cheers and whistles.

Robin stopped near the end of the hallway almost immediately after realising actually moving through the crowd now required a level of sidestepping and practiced body squeezing she simply did not possess.

So instead, she stayed behind waiting for you while Eddie and the others continued weaving towards the stage.

You quickly grabbed Robin by the wrist before dragging her into the sea of sweaty metalheads yourself, skilfully manoeuvring through the shifting bodies with an ease that immediately told her you’d clearly done this before.

By the time the two of you finally managed to squeeze your way towards the wall beside the stage, Steve’s painfully uncomfortable expression had already come into view as he did his absolute best to keep a protective distance between Dustin and the increasingly excited crowd of leather-clad strangers surrounding them.

The four of you had managed to find the perfect spot – close enough to clearly see the stage once the boys stepped out beneath the lights, but still far enough away to avoid getting swallowed by a potential mosh pit if one suddenly broke out.

Jeff softly bobbed his head to a rhythm only he could hear while plugging his bass into the amp, as Gareth absentmindedly spun his drumsticks between practiced fingers sitting diagonally behind him.

Eddie still hadn’t stepped onto the stage yet, but his beloved guitar had already found its place waiting for him beneath the dim red lights.

The second his frizzy curls finally appeared beneath the dim stage lights as he hesitantly climbed up the few steps onto the platform, you immediately caught the nervousness still lingering across his face.

His fingers twitched faintly at his side while his gaze flicked anxiously across the crowd searching for you somewhere amongst the sea of bodies.

Your hand instinctively slipped into the front pocked of your skirt, fingers curling around a tiny ziplock bag that admittedly looked incredibly suspicious once you pulled it out – enough to immediately earn a deeply concerned look from Steve when his eyes darted sharply between you and Dustin.

Ignoring the increasingly stressed babysitter entirely, you quietly spilled the contents into your palms before murmuring something low beneath your breath and gently blowing it towards the stage.

And just like that, something in Eddie finally settled.

He rolled his shoulders back, cracked his neck once to their side, and then finally wrapped his ringed hand confidently around the neck of his guitar before throwing the strap over his head.

After Jeff passed him the cable, Eddie plugged the guitar into the amp before experimentally pulling at a single chord with practiced fingers and letting the sound bounce through the deep red venue walls and out into the crowd.

The loud overlapping conversations filling the club softened almost instantly before giving way to whistles, cheers, and excited hollering directed towards the three-man band now standing beneath the stage lights.

The lipstick stain you’d marked him with briefly disappeared beneath the spill of deep red stage lights when Eddie turned towards his bandmates with a grin stretching across his face before giving them one final confident nod.

And then, before you could even fully process it, jagged palm-muted riffs suddenly tore through the venue.

Razor-edged distortion immediately followed beneath Eddie’s practiced hands while the thick percussive bassline rolled effortlessly beneath Jeff’s fingers and Gareth’s double-kick pedals and sharp snare hits punched through the air with relentless force.

The sound pouring from the amps swallowed the venue whole in seconds, filling the crowded room with the familiar predatory urgency and high-adrenaline aggression Hammerhead carried so naturally.

Deciding that whatever damage he might do to his neck tonight was entirely Future Eddie’s problem, he threw his head back and forth beneath the stage lights with his eyes squeezed shut behind already damp curls while his fingers followed the quick and raw chromatic runs across the strings effortlessly.

By the time the earlier hollering had fully dissolved into spilled drinks, shoving bodies, raised fists, and overlapping shouting from somewhere inside the crowd, Eddie finally forced his eyes back open again.

And for the first time since stepping onto the stage, he actually let himself fully take in the packed venue in front of him.

Even from where you stood only a few feet away, you caught the exact second his dark eyes widened slightly before he swallowed hard and let out that familiar scoff – the specific one he always did whenever he way trying very hard to act unimpressed despite secretly feeling proud of himself.

Beside you, Steve crossed his arms tightly across his chest while that very specific expression settled across his face – the exact one disappointed parents gave their rebellious teenagers the first time they heard the aggressively screechy music blasting from their bedrooms – while Dustin had apparently already lost his cap somewhere in the crowd after nearly giving himself a concussion headbanging the second Eddie stepped up to the mic.

Robin attempted to scream the lyrics along with Eddie, but somewhere between the noise and excitement, the words leaving her mouth mostly tangled into nonsense instead while her fingers stayed busy repeatedly snapping pictures with the disposable camera she’d bought specifically for tonight.

And you? Well, Eddie had taken your breath away, like he always did when he performed.

The way he moved around the stage like he belonged there, the veins rising along his throat while he aggressively shouted into the mic, the effortless slide of his fingers across the strings, the way he somehow commanded an entire room without even realising it himself.

Somewhere around the middle of the set – shortly after Eddie had aggressively screamed for the crowd to get louder with a crooked grin pulling at his lips – his attention suddenly caught on the familiar skeleton design stretched across the chest of a bald guy somewhere near the front of the crowd.

The screen-printed figure climbing from the coffin was unmistakable.

His fingers tightened slightly around the microphone as his words momentarily faltered before he quickly caught himself again, though not before a different kind of warmth spread through his chest entirely unrelated to the sweat dripping beneath the stage lights.

“Fuck, Ashwood,” he laughed breathlessly while his brightened eyes briefly found yours somewhere near the side of the stage before flicking back towards the crowd again. “Y’all looking fucking bitchin’ wearing my girl’s design.”

That immediately earned him another round of loud whistles, cheers, and chaotic hollering from the crowd while Eddie licked slowly across his chapped lips and casually leaned an elbow against the microphone stand, still gripping it with his older hand.

“Can’t fucking hear you,” he sing-songed into the mic with the smirk stretched wider across his face beneath the stage lights. “Make some fucking noise for my girl, Ashwood!”

The reaction from the crowd somehow grew even louder and, with it, the heat across your cheeks spread down your neck while your eyes stayed helplessly glued to Eddie standing beneath the deep red lights.

Still wearing that dangerously confident smirk, Eddie turned towards Gareth while absently sliding the microphone back into its stand.

You could practically smell the sweat clinging to Gareth’s loose curls when he suddenly lifted both drumsticks into the air and slammed them together loudly to count them in.

A sharp screech of feedback immediately tore through the venue when Eddie accidentally tugged against the plugged-in cable while his fingers found the strings again, his dark eyes still glued to the steadily growing mosh pit near the front of the crowd.

Somewhere between the overdriven ringing notes and the sharp nasal timbre of Eddie’s controlled vibratos, Steve suddenly turned around in absolute horror after finally realising he’d been too distracted watching the boys onstage to notice Dustin disappearing entirely.

Meanwhile, while you and Robin screamed the lyrics badly into each other’s faces with the disposable camera now clutched in your hands, Jeff’s closed eyes finally opened again before immediately landing on the familiar mess of tight curls bouncing wildly somewhere inside the pit.

A warm laugh escaped him beneath all the noise as he stepped closer to Eddie during the brief second the singer leaned away from the microphone before jerking his head towards the crowd where Dustin had somehow ended up hoisted onto somebody’s shoulders in the middle of the chaos.

The exact second Eddie’s bright eyes landed on the familiar curls bouncing above the crowd, Steve – still standing on his toes with absolute horror written all over his face – muttered something deeply distressed beneath his breath before dragging a frustrated hand through his hair and disappearing directly into the sweat-drenched sea of leather jackets and flailing limbs.

The scoff leaving Eddie’s mouth was quickly followed by the faint sound of laughter accidentally echoing into the microphone before he shook his head once and forced himself fully back into his frontman persona to finish the song properly.

As his ringed fingers sustained the chiming final chords and his voice stretched through one last emotional phrase before easing into a softer harmonized close, the venue slowly filled with restraining ringing melodies while you screamed something incoherent directly into Robin’s ear.

A second later, her sweaty hands suddenly curled around your thighs before she hoisted you upward so you could get a better angle for the final few pictures with the disposable camera.

You shouted the last few lines of How Many Tears along with the crowd while one fist stayed raised triumphantly in the air and an almost childishly wide grin stretched across your face.

When the final reflective melody slowly faded towards its end, Eddie’s fingers slammed against the strings a few final times, letting the dramatic ringing chord vamp fill the venue while the chaotic hollering from the crowd slowly blurred into nothing beneath the violent pounding inside his ears.

His chest rose and fell rapidly while his uneven heartbeat thundered beneath the lingering screech of feedback and excruciating ringing still buzzing through his head.

Sweat clung damply to his curls when he finally dragged them back away from his face and let his gaze slowly drift out across the crowd standing beneath the stage lights.

Eddie barely even realized he’d gone completely still until Jeff suddenly threw an arm around his shoulders and screamed an overly excited thank you directly into the microphone before roughly smacking him across the back and disappearing down the stairs again.

An exhausted breath finally slipped from Eddie’s lips when he spotted Robin leaning towards the edge of the stage so you could carefully climb down from her shoulders and onto the platform.

Before he could even react properly, you stepped closer and gently lifted the guitar strap back over his head while carefully taking the instrument into your own hands.

“C’mere,” you whispered softly while intertwining your fingers with his free hand. “Robin’s getting us drinks.”

You flashed him another toothy grin while his eyes lingered on the unmistakable pride still shining across your face before you softly tugged him towards the stairs leading back down from the stage and into the quieter backstage hallway again.

Before pushing the backstage door open with your shoulder, you carefully turned back towards Eddie – mindful of the guitar still balanced in your hand – and pressed one long kiss against his drenched temple.

The cramped room smelled heavily of weed, spilled beer, and sweat mixed in with cigarette smoke by the time you finally stepped back inside with Eddie trailing closely behind you.

You reluctantly let go of his ringed hand long enough to carefully place his beloved instrument back onto the spare stand tucked in the corner before dropping yourself down onto one of the foldout chairs and quietly coaxing Eddie over towards you.

Without much resistance, he immediately sank down onto your lap instead while wrapping one exhausted arm loosely around your shoulders.

“The big, bad rockstar is actually a giant baby, huh?” Steve joked from behind his beer glass the second he saw Eddie practically melting into you.

“Shut up, Steven,” you muttered firmly while your hand brushed gently up and down Eddie’s damp back. “And pass that joint before you become physically incapable of driving Dustin home.”

The soft blend of exhausted laughter, proud compliments, and overlapping voices filling the cramped backstage room was momentarily drowned out by the loud creak of the door opening again when Robin shoved it closed behind her using her back while balancing an almost concerning amount of drinks across the tray in her hands.

“Can I try a drag?” Dustin immediately asked the second Steve passed the joint to Eddie.

“No,” every single one of you answered in perfect unison once again.

The joint kept making lazy rounds around the cramped room while tired laughter and overlapping conversations slowly softened beneath exhaustion.

Somewhere outside the backstage walls, the crowd still hadn’t fully settled either – occasional whistles and chants bleeding faintly through the venue every now and then, which caused Eddie to bury his face further against your neck each time it happened.

Somewhere between Robin loudly recounting Steve disappearing into the mosh pit after Dustin and Gareth insisting he deserved medical attention after almost getting hit with a flying beer bottle, Eddie’s responses slowly dissolved into quieter hums against your skin.

“You wanna go back to the hotel, baby?” you whispered quietly as your fingers drifted softly through his damp curls while a small smile tugged at your lips.

“Only if you carry me,” he mumbled sleepily against your skin.

After almost an hour, you finally unlocked the door to the motel room and pushed it open so Eddie could stumble inside first while you carefully carried the heavy guitar case in behind him.

The second he stepped into the room, he kicked off his shoes and immediately collapsed face-first onto the mattress without even bothering to take off the rest of his clothes, which instantly pulled a softer chuckle from you.

Before joining him, you changed back into the oversized shirt you’d slept in the night before and grabbed a glass of water from the bathroom sink for him.

“C’mere, baby,” you whispered softly while setting the glass down onto the nightstand before climbing onto the bed beside him.

You gently poked at his arm until he finally rolled over enough for you to carefully tug his still-damp shirt up and over his head.

The vibrant neon lights glowing outside the motel had been softened by the curtains you’d drawn shut earlier that evening, and the only sound filling the room now besides Eddie’s exhausted breathing was the faint endless humming of the broken ice machine somewhere down the hallway.

His ringed fingers dragged through his curls while you worked open the buckle of his belt, carefully tugging him out of the uncomfortable skinny jeans so he could finally get some proper sleep.

Your hands paused halfway through pulling the rough denim down his thighs when your gaze caught the noticeable outline beneath his boxers.

“Baby, you’re exhausted,” you whispered softly, your fingers resuming their absentminded movements as you eased the jeans lower.

“But I want you,” he mumbled groggily, rubbing at one of his tires eyes.

After a brief struggle to free his calves from the stubborn denim, you climbed back onto the bed beside him and propped yourself up on one elbow, your chin resting in your hand.

“Are you sure?” you asked quietly, a faint crease of concern tugging at your brows.

He only nodded, eyes slipping shut for a moment before he forced them open again, heavy with exhaustion as they lingered lazily over your face.

Another small nod followed, and you pressed a gentle kiss to his temple before carefully climbing back down the bed until your knees sank into the carpet beside him.

Eddie’s breath caught softly in his throat as you gently tugged his boxers down, the soft cotton brushing against his cock as you did so.

A soft, tired gasp escaped from his lips when he felt the warm, wet feeling of your spit landing on the angry red tip of his cock right before your hand gently curled around his sensitive flesh.

His eyes slipped shut again the moment your lips wrapped around his leaking cock, and despite the exhaustion weighing heavily on his body, he still had to fight the instinctive urge to thrust his hips forwards to bury himself deeper into the warmth of your mouth.

Your free hand slid gently over the blankets underneath him and intertwined his fingers with yours as soft, sleepy whimpers continued spilling from his mouth the deeper you took him in your mouth.

His free hand curled softly into your hair as another low whimper slipped from his lips at the teasing flick of your tongue against his slit. With gentle care, you bobbed your head and took his cock a little deeper, your gaze fixed on the way his eyes had fallen shut and the slow rise and fall of his chest – calm enough to tell you he was seconds away from sleep.

The grip in your hair loosened slightly when he finally drifted off, though you kept moving in a slow, unhurried rhythm while his sleepy cock twitched against your tongue.

Soft, low snoring soon filled the room around you as you gave one last flick of your tongue against his tip, your fingers moving gently up and down until his softening cock finally slipped free from your mouth.

Carefully, after swallowing everything he’d given you, you pulled the soft cotton of his boxers back over his hips before climbing back into bed beside him.

Then, just before sleep finally claimed you too, you pressed a soft kiss to his temple and snuggled quietly against his chest.

Your eyes stayed fixed on the wooden record crate while your fingers carefully flipped through the sleeves one by one, keeping an attentive eye out for anything remotely interesting.

Somewhere in the back of the music shop, Eddie’s voice echoed through the storage room while he aggressively cursed at whatever new shipment had arrived earlier that morning, the rattling sound of boxes being dragged around followed right after.

He’d asked you to keep an eye on the front of the store and come get him if any customers wandered in, and in return, he’d handed over the sacred privilege of choosing the record of the day.

Naturally, you’d accepted immediately.

Warm amber lights filtered through the dusty glass display counter, catching against the details of harmonicas, rare singles, enamel pins, and patches while casting long shadows across the shelves lined with plastic-wrapped cassettes and music books.

You’d already been there a handful of times by now, but the walls plastered with framed concert posters and overcrowded cork board still managed to amaze you every single time you stepped inside.

The entire store carried a kind of clutter that bordered on tactile – with a cozy listening station tucked into the corner beside a couple of worn beanbags, and the faint lingering smell of coffee and freshly unpacked merch.

“You find anything interesting yet?” Eddie mumbled while pushing through the beaded curtain with his shoulder, a heavy box of records balanced carefully in his arms.

He dropped the box onto the counter before immediately pulling the cardboard flaps open.

“Yeah,” you murmured distractedly after a second once your eyes landed on a particularly colourful sleeve. “I think so.”

Three faces stared back at you from the cover art, looking either like a clown had violently exploded across the design or like the artist had been aggressively experimenting with LSD while designing it.

Soft footsteps echoed quietly through the otherwise empty shops before Eddie’s arms wrapped themselves loosely around your waist and his chin settled into its usual place between your shoulder and neck.

“Cream, huh?” he mumbled while brushing his nose lightly against your skin, breathing in the soft herbal scent clinging to you from whatever oils and mixtures you’d been experimenting with lately. “Pretty sure Wayne saw them live back in the day.”

“Yeah?” you mumbled back, your gaze still lingering across the cover. “They must be good if Wayne spent money to see them.”

Eddie just hummed in agreement as he continued brushing the tip of his nose against your skin.

You turned the sleeve around to take a look at the tracklist, and immediately let out an ugly snort when your gaze fell on the very first song, pulling Eddie’s attention away from your neck to see what was so funny.

“Strange Brew, huh?” he chuckled when he followed your pointing finger under the track. “You’re never beating the witch allegations if everything slightly witchy keeps finding you like this.”

A softer laugh slipped from your lips as you finally tore your eyes away from the sleeve long enough to glance back at him over your shoulder.

“You found me too, remember?” You lifted an eyebrow at him, immediately pulling another laugh from Eddie.

His grip around your waist loosened while he laughed before he leaned down to press a quick kiss against your cheek and finally stepped away from you again, returning towards the cardboard box still waiting to be unpacked on the counter.

“I have absolutely no response to that,” he mumbled while reaching into the box, his fingers carefully curling around the brand new record sleeves before lifting them out one by one.

You rolled your eyes lightly to yourself before turning the Cream album back around in your hands again.

Then you wandered around the counter to join him behind the register, drifting closer towards the beaten-up turntable sitting beside the stacks of freshly unpacked vinyl.

“So, I was thinking,” you mumbled while carefully sliding the record from its sleeve, already waiting for Eddie’s usual little I’m listening hum before continuing, “should we get a cat?”

That made him blink a few times.

His fingers paused halfway through pulling another record out of the box before one of his rings snagged briefly against the cardboard flap.

“You mean,” he started slowly while untangling himself from it, “should you get a cat.”

Your brows immediately pulled into a faint scowl while you carried the record over towards the beaten-up turntable near the register.

“I know what I meant,” you mumbled while carefully lowering the needle. “And I meant us.”

Eddie looked up at you properly then.

You kept fiddling with the stereo knobs while continuing like you hadn’t just casually rearranged his entire emotional state.

“You basically live with me already,” you added distractedly while fighting the stubborn speaker static. “It’s your home, too.”

It took another few tries before the quiet record store finally filled with a lazy blues-rock groove and the fuzzy lead guitar of the opening track – something psychedelic and slow that sounded strangely like a light-night potion brewed from equal parts charm and danger.

“I don’t think I’m ready to become a father,” Eddie finally settled on after a few long seconds instead of voicing the far uglier self-deprecating thoughts that had immediately started clawing their way through his head.

Because, yeah – he basically did live with you already.

Most of his clothes had somehow found a permanent home in the middle drawer of your dresser, and Wayne had recently ended his long-term relationship with the pullout couch in favour of starting a new one with Eddie’s old bed.

And Eddie did feel at home in your trailer.

He liked the small routines the two of you had quietly built together – the late-night grocery runs, shared cigarettes on the porch, records humming softly through the kitchen while one of you cooked.

But besides helping around the house whenever he could and occasionally paying for groceries, Eddie still sometimes felt like he wasn’t really contributing enough to deserve any of it.

“I know what you’re thinking,” you murmured softly while lowering the dust cover back over the turntable. “Stop it.”

Eddie blinked up at you. “Stop what?”

A deeper sigh left you as you turned towards him properly, already reaching for one of his hands.

“I didn’t think I actually had to ask it out loud,” you mumbled while gently tugging him closer until he fully turned to face you again. “But do you wanna move in? Like… really move in?”

Eddie stared at you for a few seconds.

“Are you asking me this because you really want a cat?”

That immediately pulled a softer laugh from you while you closed the remaining distance between your bodies.

“Maybe,” you admitted quietly before smiling up at him. “I don’t wanna be a single mom, though.”

Eddie snorted quietly under his breath.

“And,” you added softly. “I really would like you to permanently move in with me.”

You leaned up just enough to press a gentle kiss against his cheek before pulling back again.

“Plus,” you added with another teasing smile, “I’m pretty sure Wayne’s more than happy to pass the burden onto somebody else.”

Eddie fell quiet for a few long seconds, trying his best to shove aside the familiar self-deprecating thoughts with the warmth of your words instead.

Eventually, another quieter breath escaped him.

“Only if we get a black cat,” he murmured after a moment, his thumb brushing slowly against your knuckles, “and call him Ozzy.”

You immediately snorted – the loud and ugly kind of laugh that somehow only ever came out around Eddie.

“What if it’s a girl?” you asked while a stupid grin already pulled at your lips. “You gonna call her Sharon?”

“Oh, you’re giving me way too many ideas right now,” Eddie murmured while his hands found your hips again, gently pulling you back against his chest.

“Yeah?” you whispered back while leaning your forehead softly against his.

“Oh, yeah,” he grinned. “Ozzy and Sharon Munson. That’s sick.”

You immediately burst into laughter at the look on his face – the one that always made him look like he’d just received divine revelation straight from the Universe itself.