not bad for the end of the world

A woman stood there, examining a box cover – the artwork then turning it over to read the synopsis on the back. He recognized the profile instantly. You. You don’t seem to notice him. He hadn’t seen you in years. You had been the "neutral" one in high school—not a popular kid like Steve, an outcast like Robin, or a "freak" like him. Just a ghost who graduated and presumably left Hawkins for good.

Every few months you’d return to your stomping ground to check in with family and visit old friends, keeping it on the low. Trying to entertain yourself during your stay, you decide to rent a movie for the night. So, to your surprise, when you stepped into Family Video, you weren’t expecting to see anyone familiar, much less Robin and Steve now employed there. 

When you first walked in, Steve and Robin didn’t recognize you. You’d leaned into it, playing along with Steve’s clumsy flirting just to see how far you could go. The old you would have been too shy to look Steve Harrington in the eye, let alone make Robin Buckley blush with a single mischievous glance. You had the adult film industry to thank for your newfound armor of confidence.

You had cut Steve off mid-sentence, swiped a piece of candy from his hand, and strutted into the aisles, leaving them both intrigued and bewildered.

When you were out of their view, they debated trying to get a clear read on you. Who were you really flirting with? Who had a better shot? Him? Her? Both? All thoughts of trying to decipher your intentions ceased when the door chimed again signaling Eddie’s eventual arrival, leading them to abandon the argument, their focus shifting on catching up with their friend.   

He couldn’t help but notice the slight transformations you’d undergone. You had seldom spoken to Eddie throughout the school years except for in passing or the occasional transactions in the woods behind the school, which had been mere business rather than personal. He thought you were cute back then, but with the passing of time, it had brought about significant growth and development, catching Eddie’s full attention once more. 

His mind raced as he contemplated the possibilities that lay before him. The thought of reconnecting with you, a gateway to the possibility of exploring a potential deeper connection. Would he come up and say hi to you? Spit out something witty? Sell you more weed? Ask about what movie you’re looking at or how have you been since leaving him in the educational prison? Not that it was your fault he got held back. Caught in a whirlwind of emotions, his fight or flight mode was activated and he chose to flee. 

As Eddie scrambled to make a hasty getaway, you caught his movements in your peripheral – the flash of brown, frizzy hair whipping past at the end of the aisle. You knew exactly who he was. His booming voice was still unmistakable, even after all this time, memories of his youth antics resurfacing.

He nearly knocks heads with Steve as he crashes into the counter, startling Robin at the register. 

"Jesus, Munson! What's the rush? We still have half an hour before we close," Steve snapped.

"Did you guys know you have a fucking movie star in your store?" Eddie hissed, his eyes wide.

Robin and Steve exchanged blank stares. "Who are you talking about?" Steve asks, Robin turning her attention back to the computer.  

Eddie sighed, his shoulders slumping. You were a big thing to him and the lack of shared enthusiasm only deflated his mood. The disconnect between their understanding of your presence and his own excitement weighed heavily on Eddie’s spirit as he quickly realized that they didn’t recognize you. 

“Y’know…Hawkins High Class of ‘84,” Eddie hints and then pairs your name with the title Porn Star. 

"Porn star?" Robin’s eyebrows shot up.

Steve says your name and shakes his head. "The cute, quiet, sweet girl? No way." He can’t get himself to believe it. “We’re talking about the same person?”  

"Yes, her!" Eddie insisted.

“Wait, how do you know that?” Steve asks only to be met with Eddie’s widened eyes conveying a “how else do you think, idiot?” kind of way. 

“Oh! Ew, dude!” Steve yells, expressing his disgust before backing away. 

“You had to ask,” Robin chuckled, shaking her head, finding the situation now amusing. 

“Come on, man. Grow up. It’s totally normal,” Eddie retorted, debunking Steve’s disgusted demeanor. Robin nodded in agreement. 

“Still, I don’t want to think about it,” Steve insisted, slightly annoyed and crossed his arms. 

“Whatever. Did you guys know she was even in here?” Eddie asked. 

“No. I guess we forgot when you got here. She’s probably been here for a while,” said Steve. 

“She got here a little before you did,” Robin suddenly recalls, “I remember now because Dingus flirted up a storm with her.”

“Don’t start with that,” Steve quickly defends himself, “I wasn’t the only one doing the flirting,” he added as the two revived their unsettled debate from earlier. 

“Hey! Can I check out?” Your voice cut through their bickering like a blade.

Eddie spun around, his mouth hanging open. He took in your outfit—the cut-off shorts, the tight black tank top, and the oversized jacket.

The eye contact was heavy. Eddie was visibly flustered, caught between his teenage memories of you and his adult admiration of your work. You watched him, amused. Steve was gawking, and Robin was fighting a smirk. Steve was attractive, sure, but he didn't have the edge you were looking for. Eddie, however? He talked a big game. You wanted to see if he could back it up.

"Hi, Eddie," you said softly.

When he failed to find words, you stepped past him, placing a tape on the counter. You smiled at Robin as she processed the rental, ignoring the way Steve and Eddie were burning holes in your back.

"Good to see the selection has improved," you teased, taking the bag from Robin. You gave her and Steve a wave, but saved a lingering, finger-wiggling goodbye for Eddie.

The moment the door chimed behind you, Robin threw a Tootsie Roll at Eddie’s head. "Dude! She wants you!"

"You really think so?" Eddie asked, dazed.

"Duh! Go after her!" Steve urged, pointing at the door. "Because if you don't, I will."

“Oh please!” Robin scoffs at his empty threat. 

“Don’t start with me again, Buckley-” Steve warns before the two begin insensibly arguing again. 

Eddie rolled his eyes and bolted out the door to escape their quarreling. Outside, the night air was cool. He scanned the lot and found you leaning against the brick wall, a cigarette in hand. Smoke swirled past your lips as you looked at him, your rental bag dangling from your hand.

"You know my name?" He asked, the formal introductions clearly dead in the water.

"Of course I do," you replied, taking a slow hit of your cigarette. "Who doesn’t know Eddie Munson?"

He gave a small, self-deprecating nod. Who didn’t know the town freak? "It’s just... we never really talked back then."

"So, you remember me?"

"Of course I do," he mimicked, though he started fumbling the moment you raised a skeptical eyebrow. He shifted his weight, his usual bravado replaced by a restless, leg-to-leg shuffle. "I mean, we didn't hang out, but you were cool. From what I remember."

"And what about now?" you interjected, throwing the ball back into his court.

"What?"

"What am I like now?" You dropped the cigarette, extinguishing it with your foot as you stepped into his personal space.

"I-I mean, you're still cool," he stammered, his voice dropping as you closed the gap. "Cooler, actually."

"What did you think of my last movie?" You went straight for the jugular, your arm brushing against his. You felt him go rigid.

"You were phenomenal," he blurted out. The memory of your performance and your newfound flexibility flashed behind his eyes. He’d had no idea you could bend like that.

"Phenomenal, huh?" You tilted your head, savoring the way he was falling apart.

"Uh, yeah. You were... great." Eddie was a stuttering mess again, and you fought the urge to smirk.

"So, you're a fan," you concluded, finally backing off to let him breathe.

Eddie exhaled a breath he’d been holding since the store. He knew the cat was out of the bag; you’d obviously overheard him talking to Steve and Robin. He waited for the rejection – for you to be grossed out by watching your tapes. But you didn't flinch. You were a professional. As an adult film star, you were aware of the nature of the industry and the intent of your projects. None of the concepts, especially Eddie Munson jacking off, bothered you in the slightest.

"You know, I was a fan too," you revealed.

Eddie blinked, confused. "Oh, you...?" He tries to process why you would be having a conversation about watching porn.

"I used to watch you play at The Hideout on Tuesday nights," you clarified, enjoying the way his brain short-circuited.

"Oh! The band!" And like a light bulb…it went off. You nodded, smiling. He was sexy, sure, but he was also undeniably adorable.

You reminisce about the time a flier was hastily shoved at you and other select classmates in between the bells by Eddie and his band mates promoting the band’s weekly show. You had snuck into The Hideout in the middle of the week with your fake ID to watch Corroded Coffin and, in particular, Eddie, curiosity getting the best of you to learn more about him. He oozed confidence and unabashed authenticity on stage. With his guitar strapped around him, he was in his element, completely immersed in the music, transcended into another dimension. It was a high that you wished you could ride along with him and experience that same sense of freedom and passion. 

"We still play there on Tuesdays," he said, trying to regain his cool.

"I'm only in town for the weekend," you pouted. You saw a flicker of genuine disappointment in his brown eyes. At that moment, you knew how you wanted to spend your last few days in Hawkins. "Do you want to watch this movie with me?" You shook the rental bag for effect.

Eddie, usually never at a loss for words, simply nodded, overwhelmed by the situation and his desire to spend the night with you.

Hell, he would be content watching whatever you picked even if it turned out to be some overrated John Hughes movie, but still the idea of engaging in other activities with you weren’t completely thrown out the window because God forbid, he’d be a lucky son of a bitch.

You hopped into his van, giving him the short directions to your apartment. It was a private, quiet space—a luxury your job afforded you. Inside, the atmosphere shifted. You kicked off your shoes and headed to the kitchen, leaving Eddie to admire the sanctuary you’d built.

The soft glow of the lamps and the mundaneness of a simple throw, trinkets, artwork and personal photos on the fridge made the "porn star" persona fade. To Eddie, it was a reminder that you were still the same person he’d grown up with.

You returned from the kitchen, hip-bumping the fridge shut and handing him a cold drink. As you settled onto the couch beside him, the playful teasing died down, replaced by something raw and unfiltered when you both started catching up.

"I wish we’d hung out back then," he confessed, finally able to look at you without faltering.

"I would’ve bored you," you dismissed.

"No, you wouldn’t have." He turned in his seat to face you fully. "You went to my shows. You have great taste in music... and beer." He raised his bottle with a grin. "You're fun, and you're..."

"I'm what?"

"...you're perfect."

You hummed, wondering if he meant you, or the version of you he’d seen on screen. If you’d had this confidence in high school, would you ever have left Hawkins? Would you be sitting here with Eddie for different reasons? You pushed the thoughts aside, reaching out to take his half-empty drink and setting it on the table.

"So," you whispered, your eyes locking onto his. "You still want to watch that movie?"

He catches the flicker of hesitation across your features, but you mask it before he can truly process it. You offer your hand and his larger one swallows yours, completely enveloping it.

He follows your lead into the bedroom, settling at the headboard of your bed. His eyes track your every move as you pull a tape from your bag and feed it into the VCR. The screen erupts in a burst of static before a familiar intro begins to roll. Eddie’s breath hitches, he knows this film. It’s one of his favorites, but the realization that you are the star hits him like a ton of bricks.

It’s one of your movies.

When you turn back to him, the soft, familiar girl from Hawkins is gone. In her place stands the woman from the screen—his favorite porn star, brought to life in the dim light of the room. As the audio fills the space, you begin to mirror your on-screen persona, silently mouthing the lines with a practiced, sultry precision. It’s a solo scene, and the heat in Eddie's gaze makes it clear he knows he’s just secured a front-row seat to the show.

The jacket hits the floor first. Between the sudden chill of the room and the adrenaline spiking through your veins, your nipples harden visibly against the thin fabric of your tank top. The flickering glow of the television acts like a spotlight, carving your body into a landscape of shifting shadows and curves.

He follows every inch of your silhouette as the layers fall - first the top, then with the rhythmic sway of your hips as you step out of your bottoms, leaving you in nothing but your lace set all while the muffled melody from the TV hums in the background.

Propping a knee on the edge of the mattress, you begin a slow, predatory crawl toward him, your gaze fixed. Eddie offering a silent prayer to gravity because from his reclined position, the view of your cleavage is devastating. His mouth goes dry at the sight of your breasts straining against the lace, and while he tries to maintain eye contact, he’s effectively paralyzed by the vision in front of him.

Balancing your weight on one palm, you use the other to trace a path up his denim-clad leg. You give the meat of his thigh a firm, lingering squeeze just enough to make his muscles twitch beneath your touch. After a playful tug on the silver chains looping from his belt, you shift, settling onto your shins directly between his parted thighs.

Your hands move upward, mapping the heat of his torso. You let your palms skim his skin, fingers grazing through the light hair of his happy trail before dragging your nails lightly over his nipples. The contact elicits a sharp, jagged hiss.

You pull yourself upward until his face is level with your chest. Any lingering sense of modesty has long since vanished, leaving him with nowhere to look but the soft curves right in front of him. The sharp snap of a clasp echoes in the quiet room, and then he’s watching, breathless, as your breasts spill free from the cups of your bra. You are so close that the heat of his staggered breathing ghosts across your skin.

You push back just enough to toss the lace aside, your hands returning to his thighs. You take a moment to admire the feeling of him, groping the sturdy muscle before your fingers hook into the waistband of his jeans. You tilt your head back, locking eyes with him in a silent, loaded question.

Eddie nods eagerly, desperate for you to keep going, but you go still. You wait, watching him, until the realization finally flickers in his blown-out pupils. You aren't going to do all the work. You’re waiting for him to aid you in the undressing process.

He wastes no time, popping the button and dragging the zipper down with frantic fingers. He arches his hips off the mattress, and you reward him with a smile as you grip the denim, sliding his pants down the length of his legs until he’s left in his boxers. The fabric is already straining, a prominent tent rising beneath the material. You’re tempted to strip him bare then and there, but you decide to draw out the agony of anticipation.

After tossing his jeans to the floor, you settle back between his legs, turning your own undressing into a choreographed show. With your knees bent—cruelly obstructing his view—you lift your hips and slide the thin silk of your panties down your legs. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you slowly spread your legs, baring yourself to him. His expression is a masterpiece of shock and adoration, frozen and utterly captivated.

“Watch the movie,” you command softly.

The cinematic version of you lies on a crisp white bed, hands kneading your own breasts. As the on-screen you whines and tugs at your nipples, your thighs rub together in a restless rhythm.

Eddie’s gaze flickers between the screen and the reality in front of him. In the flickering glow of the TV, he can see the glisten of saliva on your nipples as you mimic your on-screen self. What truly unnerves him, in the best way possible, is your stare. You keep your eyes locked on him throughout the performance. He knows this movie by heart; he knows exactly what comes next, but he isn't sure his heart can take the live rendition.

You bring your fingers to your lips, wetting them before sliding them down to circle your clit, mixing your heat with the slickness of your mouth. Eddie bolts upright, abandoning his slouch for a better vantage point just as your fingers sink into your own wetness. Your head falls back, a moan escaping your throat that harmonizes with the audio from the speakers. The wet, rhythmic sounds of your friction fill the room, drowning out everything else.

When you finally slow your pace, you glance at him, savoring the look of hunger on his face. He’s still wearing his shirt; a flicker of self-consciousness crosses his features as he likely compares himself to your co-star on the screen.

You cock your head, reading the room instantly. “I want to see you, Eddie,” you murmur, your voice a low as you run a hand over his ankle. “...all of you.”

Well, fuck it, he thinks. He pulls the shirt over his head and tosses it aside. Your eyes immediately map the landscape of his chest, the dark ink of his tattoos, the light dusting of hair, and the trail leading downward. He isn't a plastic movie star, and that’s exactly why he’s so delicious.

“You’re so hot, Eddie,” you praise him, the pace of your hand between your legs quickening. The faint blush on his cheeks tells you he doesn't hear that nearly enough.

The time for teasing is over. Your voice drops to a demanding edge. “Take your cock out.”

Shedding the last of his inhibitions along with his boxers, he finally reveals himself. He is thick, flushed, and perfectly at attention, the tip already weeping with a bead of pre-cum. You bite your lip, fighting the impulse to lean forward and taste him right then.

“Touch yourself,” you command, your eyes dark with intent. “Show me what you do when you watch me.”

Your gaze remains fixed on him, your fingers maintaining their steady, rhythmic friction as the digital version of yourself continues its performance over your shoulder. You watch with a voyeur’s curiosity, imagining the dark, frantic thoughts racing through his mind.

You’re mesmerized by the sight of him – the way his hand firmly grips his length, knuckles white as he works himself. Your own mind begins to wander, replaced by vivid images of his thick fingers replacing your own, plunging deep into your heat or using the right amount of pressure at the bundle of nerves. You can almost feel the weight of him, the slick, weeping head of his cock dragging against your slit, the promise of him splitting you open and throbbing within you.

He seems lost in the haze of his own fantasy, his movements becoming more urgent, so you decide to pull him back to the reality of the room.

“How does it feel, Eddie?” you ask, your voice thick with a low, fervor.

“S-so good,” he chokes out, his voice cracking under the strain of his arousal.

“Yeah?” you lean in, egging him on with a predatory smile. “Are you getting it nice and hard for me?”

A ragged string of curses falls from his lips in response. His eyes squeeze shut, his head falling back against the headboard as your words weaponize the pleasure, sending a fresh wave of overwhelming intensity crashing through his body.

You reach over and seize Eddie’s wrist, yanking his hand away. The sudden movement breaks his trance, his eyes snapping to yours as you bring his palm directly to your face.

On the screen, you do the same to your co-star. You stick your tongue out, running it flat and slow along the center of his palm, tasting the salt of his skin. Eddie lets out a choked sound, his fingers twitching. Without breaking eye contact, you lower his hand, guiding it down until his slick palm meets the rigid length of his cock. Once he finds his rhythm again, you go back to your earlier task of teasing yourself.

"Is that better?" you murmur, quoting the film with a wicked tilt of your head.

Eddie can only nod, his eyes darting frantically between your fingers, which are now disappearing into your own heat. The dual audio of your real-life whimpers and the recorded moans create a dizzying, erotic echo in the small room.

You watch him watch you. He’s completely captivated, his head rolling back as he witnesses you reach your first climax in person. As you pull your fingers back, glistening and trembling, you outstretch your arms toward him.

"Taste it," you command.

He doesn't hesitate. He’s on autopilot, leaning in to wrap his lips around your digits, sucking the arousal from your skin with a desperation that makes your own knees weak. You can feel his tongue against your fingertips, his eyes squeezed shut as he finally abandons the screen for the real thing.

The game is over. You’re done sharing him.

You pull your fingers from his mouth and lunge forward, crashing your lips into his in a messy, spit-slicked collision. You let him have dominance, giving him permission to explore your mouth while your hands snake down, wrapping around his thick length. You give it a light, deliberate squeeze, swallowing the delicious moan that erupts from his throat.

You reluctantly pull away, loving the sight of his kiss-swollen lips. You slide down the bed, meeting his throbbing cock face-to-flesh.

"Such a pretty cock," you whisper, gripping him and tapping the head against your cheek. "And so big."

On the TV, the "routine" continues, but Eddie isn't looking at the screen anymore. He’s looking at you, his chest heaving as you finally take him in.

"Open your eyes," you instruct, your voice dropping into a domineering purr. "Look at me."

You glide your tongue along the length of his shaft in a slow, deliberate motion that makes him jolt. You watch in awe as your spit cascades down his length, scooping it up to use as lube as you begin to stroke him.

"Holy shit," he gasps. Your half-lidded eyes never leave him.

You wrap your lips around the crown, sucking lightly and dipping your tongue into the slit to taste the salt of his pre-cum. Then, you take him in inch by inch. None of your past "performances" prepared you for Eddie. He’s nestled deep, triggering a mouth-watering ache in your throat. You hold the position for a few seconds, the muscles contracting around him as you gag, then pulling away to search for air, using the slick mess to aid you as you dive back in.

"Fuck. Do that—do that again," he grunts, rubbing his face in disbelief. "Please, please."

He doesn't have to beg. The wet, rhythmic sounds of your throat battle with the audio from the TV, but the real-time version is louder, hungrier. You drag him against the inside of your cheek, mimicking the screen one last time before releasing him with an audible pop.

Using the mixture of spit and heat at his base, you give him a few final, frantic pumps before letting go to straddle him. You lean down for a chaste kiss, bracing one palm on his stomach while the other holds him hostage right at the gate of your entrance.

You don’t rush as you sink down inch by inch, watching Eddie’s jaw drop, a long, breathless hiss escaping his teeth as you stretch to take all of him.

"God..." he groans out your name, his hands coming up to rest tentatively on your hips.

"Don't move," you say, leaning forward so your hair brushes his face. "I wanna feel you for a second." You really want to just bask in him inside you before you let loose.

As you begin to ride him, the friction creates a frothy, white lather where your bodies meet, a visceral sign of just how worked up you’ve made him. You aren't just riding him; you’re grinding down, using your weight to ensure he feels every bit of friction. You arch your back, your hands moving to your own breasts, mimicking the scene on the screen but with a raw intensity no camera could ever capture.

Eddie is a wreck beneath you, especially when you lean back to brace your palms on his thighs, feet planted on his sides, all so Eddie could have a bird’s eye view of his glistening cock disappearing inside you repeatedly. What a POV.

His hips hitch upward instinctively, trying to meet your rhythm, but you keep him pinned, your eyes locked onto him. You want him to watch you—to see exactly what he’s doing to you.

"You're... you're fucking unreal," he gasps, his fingers digging into the skin of your thighs. The bruising touch makes your thighs give up, and your legs reclaim their position trapping his hips.

You lean in, “Touch me” you demand, guiding his hands up to your chest, your voice a low, vibrating hum against his ear as the male co-star flickers onto the screen. “Do you imagine you’re him?” you ask seductively. “Do you imagine it’s your hands on my body?” Then bring his hand to your mouth, “Your fingers in my mouth?” Sucking his thick digits before asking one more question, “Your cock in my pussy?”

You pick up the speed, your pussy walls clenching around him with every stroke. You can feel Eddie vibrating, his breath coming in ragged, desperate hitches as he nears his limit.

"Please," he whimpers, his head thrashing back.

You snake a hand around his neck while the other grounds itself on his thigh for balance as you grind harder and faster against his cock. “You gonna cum?” you choke out. He nods frantically, his eyes wide and dark. “Good. Because I want you to cum inside me. I want it deep. Can you do that? Can you cum for me?”

Eddie doesn't need to be asked twice. Who was he to deny a goddess?

He reaches up, his hands tangling in your hair to pull you down for a deep, messy kiss as he finally snaps. He bucks upward one last time, his entire body jolting then still as he pours himself into you, each pump of hot cum filling your insides spreading warmth through your lower body, whereas the tight coil in your belly snaps, your walls repeatedly trigger aftershocks squeezing him tighter, driving you head first into the crook of his shoulder, your face buried in his messy locks and sweaty skin.

When your strength finally returns, you slowly lift your hips. His spent cock slips out with a wet sound, a trail of mixed fluids escaping you and staining his lower abdomen. You both whine at the sudden loss of connection.

Guided by the last bit of adrenaline, you maneuver down, greedily lapping up the spent heat that spilled onto his skin. You run your tongue down the length of him, cleaning the mess, causing his hips to jolt from the sensitivity. You moan around him one last time before releasing him with a soft, audible pop and plopping down to lie next to him.

Meanwhile, the credits roll in a silent, flickering crawl on the TV until the screen turns blue. Eddie looks like a man who has lost his grip on reality. The air in your room is stifling, thick with the scent of sex and the hum of the static coming from the speakers.

"You're...you're phenomenal,” he says breathlessly.

You let out a shaky laugh, turning your head to look at him. His hair is a wild, tangled mess across the pillows, and his dark eyes are softer than you’ve ever seen them.

"Eddie," you whisper, your thumb stroking his cheekbone. "You are phenomenal. Always have been…on stage, back in the cafeteria, when you’d stand on tables and make a scene during lunch," His cheeks tint momentarily at his ridiculousness, only because he still does that to this very day, “…and especially in bed.” You put emphasis on this one as you turn to snuggle into the warmth of his chest.

He pulls the duvet up high around the two of you, creating a small, private world – just long enough for the weekend.

The following Monday at Family Video, Steve leans over the returns bin, picking and handing the next film to Robin, who clicks away on the computer.

The bell chimes, and Eddie Munson didn't just walk in, he swaggered. He looked delightfully wrecked; his hair is wilder and his eyes rimmed with the kind of exhaustion that only comes from a very successful weekend. In his hand, he gripped the plastic rental bag like a holy relic.

"No way," Steve said, dropping a VHS tape onto the counter with a heavy thud. "Munson? I thought you’d died of embarrassment after Friday night,” he adds with a little mockery of Eddie blubbering. 

Eddie ignored him, sliding the bag across the laminate toward Robin with a slow, triumphant flourish. "Returning a rental for a friend," he said, his voice a low, smug rasp.

Robin’s eyes widened as she pulled the tape out. She recognized the title immediately—it was the adult film you had rented Friday night. She looked from the box to Eddie, then back to the tape.

"You're returning her movie?" Robin asked, her voice jumping an octave. "As in... you were with her? All weekend?"

"The cinematography was even better in person, Buckley," Eddie leaned over the counter, his voice dropping to a whisper that he knew Steve could hear. "High definition doesn't even begin to cover it."

Steve’s jaw practically hit the floor. He looked at the tape, then at Eddie, his brain struggling to bridge the gap between "Quiet Classmate" and "Porn Star." It’s always the quiet ones, he guessed.

"Wait, wait, wait. You’re telling me she spent the weekend with you? I gave her free candy! I used my best material!" Steve paced a small circle behind the register, his hands flying up in exasperation.

"Your material is a bit... 'G-rated' for a girl like her, Harrington," Eddie teased.

"I don't believe it," Steve muttered.

Eddie leaned over the counter, sliding a second movie toward Steve. "Oh, and I almost forgot. I’d like to return this one too."

Steve picked it up, flicking the case open to check the return date. He groaned, rubbing his temples. "Munson, this is three days late."

"Hey," Eddie said, spreading his hands and tilting his head with a look of mock innocence. "Better late than never, right?”

Steve looked at the tape, then at Robin. "I'm charging him double for the late fee."

“Whatever” Eddie says shrugging. It wasn’t the first late fee he received.

He could only think about your inevitable return to Hawkins. Ain’t nothing was going to break his stride, he was going to enjoy the ride with you. 

Your fingers tangle in his wild hair, tugging gently just to keep yourself grounded. “I’d just—” you sucked in a sharp breath, body betraying you as pleasure builds up anyway when you’re trying to get serious for a moment, “...like to have bruises anywhere other than my head.”

That gets a short laugh from him. “Fine,” he mutters relentlessly. “Turn around. Hands and knees. Now.”

He reluctantly eases out of you with agonizing slowness. The obscene, wet sound fills the room in the process and you shiver at the loss, however, the demanding edge in his tone has you moving quickly, pushing yourself up on your elbows.

Your muscles shook from anticipation as you shifted and turned, your heart hammering against your ribs. You could feel his eyes watching you the entire time, dark, hungry, and ready to do it again…just in a different position.

“Oh, motherfucker. Eddie! Ed-” Your voice cracked as the bed betrayed you. The silk was like ice, your body sliding too far and too fast, and soon gravity took over. Panic flared through you for half a second before Eddie’s strong arms shot out, his fingers digging into your skin to  anchor you, stopping you just before you tumbled off the other side of the bed.

He catches you, but not without consequence. His cock slips free in the scramble, and the loss hits you hard. You feel the slick heat of him drag along the inside of your thigh, so wet, so hard against you, leaving goosebumps in its wake. You let out a frustrated groan, insides burning because you were right there—so close it almost hurts.

“Damn it,” Eddie growled. His jaw clenched tight, his chest heaving as he stared down at you like he’s trying not to lose his damn mind.

“It’s these silk sheets, Eds,” you managed to breathe out, the sound somewhere between half a laugh, half a whine. “They’re making me slip all over the place.” While the black silk sheets were beautiful and felt great to the touch, they were not practical for certain activities. 

“They’re not gonna stop me from fucking you,” he snaps back immediately, voice rough and stripped of its usual playfulness.

Before you can say another word, he turns you back around to pull you to the center of the bed, hands firm and unyielding as his arms hooked under each of your legs. You slide effortless over the silk, a flash of heat flares between your thighs as you’re repositioned exactly where he wants you. His hands spread you open for him like it’s instinct. 

“Fine,” he mutters, already lining himself up again. The tip of his cock brushing against you, teasingly and agonizingly. “We’ll go slow,” he scoffs just before pushing in. “I guess.” 

It was a promise wrapped in a threat, delivered with a look that made it painfully clear - slow is going to feel just as devastating.

“Stop getting away from me!” he demands, frustration bleeding into his voice. His grip tightens as the damn silk sheets slide beneath you again, your body shifting helplessly, forcing him to involuntarily pull halfway out.

The sudden loss makes you gasp. “I’m not!” you snap back breathlessly, looking for purchase, thighs trembling. “It’s these fucking sheets, Eddie—I swear.” Your voice is desperate, sick of being on the cusp of pleasure just to be ripped away every time in every position.

He lets out a broken groan, head tipping back for a second like he’s trying not to lose it entirely. The tension in the air is tight, and suddenly there’s a harsh rip that cuts through the room. You blink just in time to see him tear the corner of the bedsheet clean off the mattress.

“Fuck this,” he mutters, eyes still just as dark as he tosses the ruined silk aside. So much for sexy. All it’s done is rob you both of the release that’s been hovering just out of reach.

He moved back between your legs, his knees digging into the bare mattress now. His hands found your hips, pulling you back toward him, where you belong. No slipping. No escape.

“I’m gonna fill this pussy up tonight no matter what,” he promises, words thick with need. His pace picks up again, harder this time, more determined, every thrust deliberate like he’s chasing something he refuses to be denied of...again.

And this time, he makes damn sure nothing, no fabric or force of gravity, keeps either of you from chasing that high.

The friction of the bare mattress changed everything. Every time he drove forward, you felt the sheer impact vibrating through your very bones. The "slow" he had promised was long gone, replaced by a frantic, rhythmic desperation that pushed you right back to that edge.

"Eddie," you choked out, your head thrashing back against the pillows. Your vision was beginning to blur, the world dissolving into flashes of white light and the sound of his uneven breathing.

"I've got you," his voice vibrating against your collarbone. "I’m not letting you go anywhere. Literally” he adds, letting out a lone chuckle, somehow finding time to make a joke even in this situation. 

The ache inside coiled tighter and tighter, on the brink of snapping. You could feel it in the way his muscles bunched, the way his fingers dug into your waist as if he were trying to merge his body with yours. It was a sensory overload—the scent of him, the salt of sweat, and the fullness of him filling every inch of you until it happened.

You cried out, a sound of pure, shattered relief as your climax washes over you like harsh tidal waves. Your walls clamped down around him in pulsing rhythm, and that was the final straw for Eddie.

He let out a low, guttural sound finally breaking. His thrusts are almost uncoordinated, but nonetheless, he drives into you, his hot cum spilling deep inside until he’s spent. His forehead crashes against yours, his eyes squeezed shut as he shook with the force of his own release.

The only sound in the room was the heavy, synchronized pounding of your hearts. The high was devastatingly blissful, leaving you both wrecked and tangled together on the ruined bed, the discarded silk sheets forgotten on the floor.

"Well," he wheezed, his voice muffled and scratchy. "That’s the last time I try and buy something luxurious."

You let out a weak laugh, your fingers feebly tracing the line of his spine. "I thought you said they were supposed to be sexy."

Eddie finally pushed himself up on his elbows, looking down at you with a lopsided, exhausted grin. His hair was a bird’s nest, his chest was flushed, and he looked entirely satisfied, even if he was currently glaring at the floor. He pointed a finger at the pile of black silk crumpled in the corner like a fallen enemy.

"They were sexy. For about thirty seconds," he countered. "Then they became a slip-and-slide from hell."

You leaned up to plant a lingering, lazy kiss on his jaw. "You handled the difficult terrain pretty well at the end there."

"Yeah, well, I had to resort to barbarian tactics," he muttered, glancing at the jagged, torn remains of the fitted sheet still clinging to the corner of the mattress. He winced slightly, realizing something. "That was a nice thread count, wasn't it?"

"The highest," you confirmed.

Eddie fell back onto the bare mattress with a dramatic thud, pulling you into his side and tucking you under his arm. "Worth it. But tomorrow? We’re going back to the cheap cotton."

It’d been over a month, and you couldn’t bear it any longer. You threw yourself head first into Eddie’s world, unearthing everything you could find about him. You were obsessed with the idea of him and how to help him. 

As a junior detective, snooping for clues shouldn’t be a problem, especially with the chief of police’s fondness of you. You loved your job and rather than only using it to your advantage, you reopened Eddie’s cold case and started putting the pieces together. Then when the first free weekend arrived, you decided to take the plunge and call out to Eddie. 

Steve’s timing couldn’t have been worse. He knew his luck had changed since high school, but he never imagined it could keep fluctuating like this. Struggling to find his place in adulthood – skipping college and taking odd jobs – and then meeting you, a wanderer in the bleakest town of Indiana. What a cruel irony it was. A positive in a negative. Life seemed to revel in his misfortune, and now things were becoming even stranger. 

“Really? I thought you were done with this,” Steve says, when he sees the Ouija board on the coffee table, his hands on his hips. 

He was ready to pick up wherever of whatever you two were, starting with a date, but the universe decided to put another roadblock in his path. Now, here you were trying to coax him into reaching out to the dead. 

“I’m not sure,” he hesitated, looking at the board then back to you. “I still think this is wrong.” 

After that night, you were eager to confirm your suspicions to Steve, save for the explicit details, the next day when you visited him at his workplace. You had told him there was in fact a ghost in your trailer and it was Eddie. The mention of Eddie’s name was enough to turn Steve as white as a ghost himself. Memories of Eddie and his tragic story flooded back, leaving Steve feeling guilty for withholding this history, including how much of an asshole he and his friends were to people like Eddie, from you as you began piecing things together.  

“Please, Steve,” you pleaded gently. “He’s harmless. Maybe we can help him.” 

“How do you even know he’s still here?” Steve asked, noting your absence of recent complaints about any oddities occurring. 

“Well, then there’s nothing to be scared of, right?” you countered his question. 

“I’m not scared,” he huffed, to which you raised your eyes in response, silently challenging him to prove it. 

“Fine,” he relented with a sigh, rolling his eyes before joining you on the couch. 

As you lit the strategically placed candles around the living room and dimmed the lights, Steve attempted to make light of the situation, “Candles, really?” he joked, attempting to mask his discomfort. “Isn’t that a bit cliche?” His forced chuckle faltered when he saw the serious expression on your face, and he quickly apologized under his breath. 

Instead of sitting next to him, you settled across on the floor. Instructing Steve to place his hands on the planchette with you, you closed your eyes, he mimicked, and called out into the void. 

“Is there someone here with us?” you asked, allowing a moment for a response, filled with patience and hope. 

Steve, on the other hand, cautiously peeked one eye to ensure your safety, then quickly shut it again, bracing himself for whatever might materialize out of thin air. He waits for the next move, only that next move didn’t come from you. 

To your surprise, both of your hands suddenly jerked to the word YES on the Ouija board. 

“Holy Shit!” Steve exclaimed, pulling away from the planchette and scooting far from the Ouija board. 

“Steve!” you scolded, annoyed that he broke the connection. 

“It moved!” he cried out, pointing to the pieces on the table. “The thing fucking moved!” 

“Yes, that’s what happens when you use a Ouija board to talk to the dead,” you replied. 

“You’re not fucking with me, right?” He asks, eyes wild and scared. 

“No! Why would I do that? I have better things to do than a thing like that!” you responded appalled by that kind of accusation. 

“I think we should stop before this gets dangerous,” Steve cautioned, slowly regaining his composure. 

“What danger? Nothing happened,” you asked, puzzled. 

“Nothing yet!” Steve retorted, his voice overwhelming you. Seeing you visibly flinch made him feel terrible. He sighed deeply, ran his hands over his face, and then apologized. The topic of this ghost was a touchy subject and continued to stress him out. He hadn’t planned on entertaining the idea until tonight. 

“Look,” he began again, adopting a calmer tone. “All I’m saying is, we don’t know who we’re talking to or what we’re dealing with, and that is dangerous,” he reasoned. 

“Eddie,” you corrected him, but he was confused. “It’s Eddie. We’re talking to Eddie.” 

“Okay, how do we even know that? We could be talking to another lost soul,” Steve countered skeptically. 

“Again, there’s only one way to find out,” you replied, nodding in the direction of the table again, urging him to continue communication. 

He sighed once more, “You just don’t give up, do you?” 

“Nope! Now come on,” resuming your position, knowing you roped him back in. 

You posed your initial question again, receiving the same affirmative response. The light gasp from Steve confirmed he was still internally spooked by the unfolding events. Resisting the urge to wrap your arms around him and run your fingers through his thick hair the way he liked just to provide comfort, you stayed focused on the task at hand. 

“Who is with us?” you asked, instructing Steve to open his eyes as your hands guided the planchette to spell out Eddie’s name. 

“Son of a bitch, Munson,” Steve muttered to himself. There was no malice in his voice, only profound shock. Steve is terrible at concealing his emotions, and you could see him struggling to grasp the reality of the situation. He was talking to someone who he used to know, and that someone was dead. He didn’t know what to believe anymore.

Lost in your own thoughts, you began to wonder if involving Steve was the right decision. You had been so determined to make someone believe you that you hadn’t considered how he would react. Not everyone shared your enthusiasm for the supernatural. Moreover, what exactly were you planning to do to help Eddie pass on? 

Suddenly, the trailer began to rumble and vibrate, as if caught in an earthquake. The lights flickered, interrupting your thoughts, alerting you both on your feet and deciding the next move would be to safety. Steve looked around anxiously for an area of the trailer to seek refuge. The tension in the air escalated, leaving you frozen in place, uncertain of what was happening. A sharp pain shot through you, your head immediately started to pound, but when you tried to let out a scream, nothing came out. It was only when the rumbling ceased that a loud thud echoed through the room, snapping Steve’s attention. 

“No,” Steve cursed under his breath, realizing where the noise came from. “No, no no, no, no. Fuck!” He exclaimed, nearly leaping over the table to attend to your unconscious body off the floor. 

Something felt different. 

Though it was hard to articulate, you felt lighter. A sense of ease and freedom from worries – it felt good. 

Confusion sets in as you recall the last memory of sitting in your living room with the Ouija board laid out and Steve in front of you. Panic gripped as you scanned the room, you discovered that you were alone.

Had Steve left?

Had he finally grown tired of your bullshit? 

You picked yourself up from the ground and it was then you noticed your surroundings. It was your living room, but only it wasn’t. The furniture, decoration and accents were not yours. 

Your mind is wrecked with uncertainty. Where do you go from here? You’re ready to run back to Steve and admit he was right – maybe you were nuts. The dead were better off left alone. Not only did you spook Eddie, now Steve. 

Your thoughts are broken by a voice calling out your name – an unfamiliar yet strangely comforting voice. Turning towards the source, you were shocked by who you saw. 

It was Eddie Munson. 

He stood a few feet away, partially hidden by the doorway to a room, looking slightly apprehensive. You, on the other hand, are perplexed by the situation. He said multiple times he couldn’t show himself to you. Yet, here he is and you could also hear him. 

“Eddie?” you managed to croak out, your voice hoarse and strained. Attempting to clear your throat only resulted in a fit of dry coughs.  

“Whoa,” Eddie cautioned as he hurried to assist you. “Take it easy, sweetheart. You’ve been out for a few days.” Seeing you wince as you struggled to swallow your own spit in an attempt to soothe your throat, he swiftly moved to the kitchen area to fetch a glass of water. 

You nearly choked on the water as you gulped it down greedily, shocked by his admission of you being unconscious for days. 

“Days?!” you exclaimed, setting the glass down and wiping your mouth. How many days had it been? “You just let me lie there?” Your voice boomed incredulously, causing Eddie to flinch slightly.  

“Well, I couldn’t exactly take you anywhere,” he replied, trying to keep up with your barrage of questions.  

“Why not?” you demanded, your mind racing. 

“We’re not in Hawkins,” he responded, but none of it made sense to you because you’re in your trailer, which as far as you knew was located in Hawkins.  

“What? Where are we then?” you asked, feeling disoriented and confused. You must’ve hit your head harder than you thought.   

“You’re sort of in between…like purgatory”, Eddie began to explain, carefully choosing his words. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you scoffed, unwilling to accept his answer. 

“Look, I was just as skeptical of this as you were, but after a while, it was clear I wasn’t going anywhere,” he replied, and you could tell he was growing frustrated at your stubbornness. “Whether you believe it or not, sweetheart, you’re stuck here.” 

You try to ignore the stirring feeling of the harmless pet name he kept using. It almost feels the same way when Steve calls you honey… 

“Okay, but how?” That was the burning question. And why were you here? “How did I get here? Why am I here?” you asked. Did you die?

“Beats me,” Eddie shrugs, unsure himself. “One second you and pretty boy were asking me questions, and the next, it was like the world turned upside down.” Well, that explains the earthquake at least. 

“Steve,” you muttered his name to yourself, feeling a wave of panic again. “Where’s Steve?” you asked desperately, locking eyes with Eddie. Was he stuck here too? He seemed to be wrestling with himself on how to answer you. 

“He’s at the hospital,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. Before you could start worrying, he quickly added, “He’s fine…you passed out and he took you to the hospital.” 

Relief temporarily washed over you knowing you didn’t in fact die and that Steve was alive and okay, but Eddie was still not making any sense. “Eddie, how is that possible when I’m right here?” 

“No, you-you, is at the hospital in Hawkins…on the other side,” he finally revealed with a grave expression. 

Steve didn’t waste any time. 

He scoops up your body and rushes straight to the nearest emergency room. To his surprise, there was no evidence of an earthquake or any natural disaster. The medical staff looked at him confused, questioning if he had checked the weather report for the day. One even had the audacity to ask if he sustained a head injury himself. It only infuriated him because he didn’t need them attending to him, he needed them to focus on you. You weren’t waking up. 

After stabilizing you and conducting necessary tests that provided little reassurance to Steve beyond the fact that you would recover once you woke up, albeit with uncertainty about when that would be.  

“Shit,” Steve muttered, biting his knuckle in frustration as he stared at your unconscious figure. “I knew we shouldn’t have messed with that stupid board.” He mentally berated himself for not being persistent enough to dissuade you.  

Steve rarely left your room. The incessant beeping noise from the machine could have been maddening, but he blocked it out, patiently waiting for you to awaken from your coma. He managed to take a few days off from work and informed his friend, Robin, on his whereabouts. Robin, knowing how much Steve adored you, understood that he needed support and solace at this moment. 

Having met you several times at gatherings with Steve, Robin grew fond of you, particularly because you brought happiness to her friend. She convinced Steve not to neglect his own life though. While he could afford a few days away from work, he still needed to take care of himself. 

Steve reluctantly agreed with Robin and decided that one night away wouldn’t hurt. She argued that a few hours of rest would benefit him. So, he returned home, showered, ate something other than cafeteria food, and slept in his own bed instead of the uncomfortable chair in your hospital room – though “slept” was hardly the right word. 

His mind was consumed with thoughts about what transpired with the Ouija board. Where have you gone? Why was this experience different from the first time you used it? Was it Eddie’s doing or something worse? Would you ever awaken? Frustrated and determined, Steve resolved to seek answers himself. 

Returning to your trailer, he found the Ouija board exactly where you had left it. He felt somewhat foolish as he re-lit the candles around the room and picked up the planchette that had fallen during the commotion. Taking a deep breath, he called out to the first person who could help. Eddie. 

If you could pass out again, you would.

Was it even possible to lose consciousness when you were already untethered from your body? Where would you go next? Hell? An empty void?

The realization deflated you. You plopped down on the couch, looking over at Eddie, who stood a few feet away, almost scared, unsure of your next move.

“Well, make yourself at home,” you say, patting the seat next to you. “It is yours, technically.”

He hesitated, then carefully made his way over. He sat with a tentative lightness, afraid he might slip right through the furniture. The silence that followed was suffocating. Eddie rubbed his hands over the denim of his dark, ripped jeans to soothe himself. A sudden, dry laugh cut through the thick air, making him jump slightly.

“This is all my fault.” At least you felt like it was as you reclined against the back of the sofa, tossing your head back and covering your eyes with your arm. 

Eddie opened his mouth to speak, but the words died in his throat. You didn't expect a response anyway. The truth was just spewing out of you now, a dam breaking after months of haunting. 

“I wanted to see you again so bad, Eddie. I spent every night going through your records and looking for a sign, anything...but you never gave me one. I got so obsessed that I almost killed myself just to find you.”

“You wanted to see me… again?” he asked. His voice was small, cracked with vulnerability. The admission hit Eddie like a ton of bricks. 

Your eyes snapped open. The weight of what you’d just admitted out loud settled in your chest. You pushed yourself upright, turning to face him fully. His eyes were wide, dark, and searching yours for a lie you weren't telling.

“Yeah,” you confirmed, nodding slowly. “I thought I’d scared you away. You weren’t around anymore, and I thought maybe you’d moved on...or that I crossed a line when we-”

“I never left,” he interrupts, his voice barely a whisper. He looked away, a faint, spectral flush creeping up his neck. “I thought I’d gone too far. That night...in your bed. I figured the best thing I could do for you was stay in the walls. Let you have your life back.”

“No, Eddie,” you said. You reached out, your hand hovering just above his. “I wanted it. I wanted you there.” You could feel the static pull and you wondered. Could you actually feel him here? You let your hand drop and a wave of relief coursed through you as the warmth of his hand seeped into your cold palm. You could actually touch him. “I wanted more.”

Eddie looked down at where your hands met—the living and the dead, together. He turned his palm up, his fingers curling around yours, squeezing lightly.

“I want more, too,” he rasped.

“You do?” The question barely poses as one. You just needed to hear him say it.

“Yeah,” he admits, "You have no idea how many times I've tried to imagine it. How many times I-“ he doesn’t get to finish his confession because that was all the opening you needed before colliding into him.

The kiss was desperate, a mess of teeth and tongue with the sense of chasing something that felt long overdue. Your hands were everywhere at once – along the column of his neck, the firm planes of his chest, the dips of his ribs and down the narrow line of his waist just above his belt.

Eddie on the other hand was aching but hesitant to touch you, hands still planted behind him keeping him steady from when you launched yourself at him, but you weren’t having none of it. Grabbing his wrists, you forced his ring-clad fingers to your waist, digging them into your skin. The groan that slipped past your lips into his mouth sent a violent vibration through him, making his blood rush. You needed him to know you weren't going anywhere and that you really wanted this. It seemed to do the trick as his hands wandered between the valley of your breasts, the reluctance now replaced by unashamed urgency.

You push Eddie into a reclining position to settle on top of him, legs caging his hips, your fingers tangling in his wild curls and lips tracing a feverish path from the sharp line of his jaw down to the pulse of his neck until you’re slowly sinking to your knees between his legs.

"You don’t…” his eyes searched for any sign of doubt.

"No, I want to..." you insisted, voice low but steady with pulsing intent.

The click of the buckle gave way, loud in the small trailer. You huff in frustration, your fingers at the waistband, unable to pull down his jeans because of his dead weight. Sensing your struggle, he lifts his hips to help you strip the layers of denim and cotton from his body, hissing at the rush of cool air that hits his skin.

Your gaze lingers and mouth watering as his cock twitches with the sudden exposure. Eddie let out a long, shaky sigh – half-relief and half-surrender – as you wrap one hand, then the other around him. Fuck, he really is that big. He lets out a low groan when you start to stroke his length, his fingers digging into the cushion.

"I’ve thought long about how I wanted to return the favor...from that night” you murmur, pumping slowly, lost in the softness of him under your hands. Eddie’s head hits the back of the couch, eyes fluttering shut. You watch in a daze as his precum oozes out of his slit and trickles down, the slick gathering in your messy hands. You wanted a taste so badly. You stop momentarily, which causes him to pick his head back up only to see you resting your head against the meat of his thigh, eyes big and mouth parted. 

"The night you made me feel so good, Eddie," you whisper against his skin and plant open mouth kisses to his thigh before picking up the pace of your strokes once more. He swears under his breath when you lean in, poking your tongue out at his slit, the taste sending a burst of flavor onto your tastebuds. You trace the rim of his tip before sealing your lips around the head, easing into a slow steady rhythm up and down. You pull back just enough to savor his taste for a moment, hands sliding along his shaft, spreading the slick as you pause to catch your breath.

"Shit, sweetheart," he chokes as you take more of him in, enjoying the way it feels when his abdominal muscles ripple and tighten under your touch. His hands thread into your hair, holding you there as he watches, the shape of him pressing boldly against the inside of your cheek and basking in the warmth of your mouth closing around him.

“If I wasn’t already dead, you’d be the death of me.” You now move at an agonizing pace, reducing him to mindless babbling, especially when you cup and knead his balls. 

It’s when he feels your throat contract around the tip of his cock, he quickly reaches out for you. The sensation threatened to undo him completely. You reluctantly agree to pull away, a drooling mess, after hearing his incessant pleas to release him.

He’s quick to remove his leather jacket but just before he can fully rid himself of it, he pauses, seeing you reach for the hem of your shirt. The mounds of our breasts, restrained by your bra, out on display, gaze darkening with renowned lust. Your movements felt slow and deliberate especially when you moved them to unhook the garment, and Eddie was eager to see more skin.

The fabric of your bottoms pools at your ankles until you kick them away, leaving you almost completely exposed but still vulnerable in the dimly lit room.

His hands reach for your waist, pulling them close to face level, so he can press soft kisses to either side of your hips while his eyes are looking up at you through his shaggy bangs. He wasn’t just looking at you; he was worshiping you. His fingers hook into the thin, delicate material of your underwear, knuckles grazing the skin of your hips as they begin the slow descent of your legs.  

You gently push him back so you could reclaim your seat on his lap once more. The scent of leather and smoke invades your nostrils as you peel away the heavy jacket from his frame, his Hellfire baseball tee following suit.

Gawking at the ink that litters his pale skin, your fingers feel like ice against him as you messily trace the outline of the design. Seeing Eddie like this, branded by his own rebellion was turning you on, and made you bite your lip hard to ground yourself. A fleeting thought of Steve crossed your mind - unmarked and devoid of a dangerous edge - and the contrast to Eddie made the air in the room much thicker. 

The friction of your bodies made your heads spin as you grind against his cock. Every shift of your weight causes him to involuntarily thrust upwards where you met. Eddie was a blur when he suddenly had you on your back, his body instantly hovering over yours. 

His mouth seeking yours in a frantic kiss, dark curls falling like a curtain around your face. One hand braced beside your head while the other slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You swallow his moans as his hips roll, dragging out the friction until it’s almost unbearable. 

“God” he breathes, pulling back just a fraction, lips slick and swollen, dark eyes blown wide. Pulling back he searches your eyes for that final, silent permission. 

“Please,” you nod eagerly, guiding his cock to your entrance, rubbing the tip through your wet folds for easy entry. When he finally pushes forward, the crown breaching, a sharp gasp escapes you both - finding relief in something that’s been far too long denied. 

Rhythm comes naturally to Eddie as he soon begins to move, unhurried, savoring every moment inside of you. Each thrust builds toward that white-hot intensity you crave. You feel the fullness of him consume you, the initial sting of each thrust eased into a deep, satisfying pleasure. 

He finds your hands and intertwines his fingers with yours, pinning them above your head with a possessive grip, like he’s afraid you might vanish. 

“I can’t-I need to cum, Eddie.” you choke, voice wrecked as the pressure coils tight in your belly.

“Look at me,” he rasps, forcing your gaze to his dark eyes blown wide, glossy with need.

He needed to see it, the moment before the dam breaks - when you shatter for him. 

"I’m close,” you whimper, your back arching off the cushions, as tiny sparks race through you, ready to explode. 

“Yeah?” he asks, mouth hot against your neck. His grip tightens, hips slowing as he drags himself through you inch by agonizing inch, each deeper than the previous.   

“Eddie, please” your head thrashing back against the cushion, fingers digging between his as the tension in your core twisted into an aching knot. 

“Go ahead, sweetheart,” his lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice low with a primal rumble. “Let go,” he instructs while refocusing his attention on you.   

That was it. Your release tears through you with a sharp, visceral gasp. You cry out as it hits you hard - like an old guitar string snapping and white-hot shock waves that momentarily blind you. 

Eddie’s struggling to keep it together as he watches the tears track down your face. You don’t want him to hold on any longer, desperate to see him cum. 

“Inside,” you breathed, “Do it, inside me,” you repeat the broken. 

His release crashes into him with a rush, your name tearing from his lips. You barely have time to catch your breath before his face starts to crack, he dips his head, but you catch his jaw. It’s your turn to watch him. You force his eyes to stay on yours - you want to watch him come undone. He’s not far long, not with the way your pussy pulses around him, before he goes rigid.

“Fuck,” you groan, feeling him spill deep inside, his body wrecked with tremors as his climax rippled through him. Your name falls repeatedly from his lips followed by a low, guttural moan after the last spurt. 

When he finally pulls out, he hisses softly, catching the mess as it spills freely, staining the couch—thankfully, no one here to care.

He rolls onto his side next to you, the small space keeping you close. One arm slips around your waist, thumb tracing lazy circles as you both breathe through the last of it. The world feels distant now, quiet, soft. He presses a gentle kiss to your temple and pulls you closer, giving you all the time you need to catch your breath.

Free.

You felt free here, wherever or whatever here was, you still weren’t sure. 

"I could stay like this forever," you whispered, closing your eyes. "I could just forget about everything. I could die happy…here with you."

The reason you didn't want to go back wasn't just about Eddie; it was about the crushing weight of a world that felt too demanding. And here? There were no expectations. There were no stressors and no more searching for answers that were impossible or would take a lifetime to find. Here you were free. 

As much as Eddie wanted to hear that, he knew it wasn’t appropriate. "Don't say that,” he responds, his breath fanning your lips. 

"Why not?" You ask as you trace the black orb of the lone ring he wore on his right hand.  

"Because I know what forever looks like for a guy like me," his voice dipping into vulnerable territory. "It’s a void. And you... you're a brightness with a future ahead." He looks down at you and pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you with an almost desperate grip. You tucked your head into the crook of his neck, breathing in his comforting scent.

You didn’t have an answer to that, so you both lied there in the silence, holding onto a lie because the truth was too heavy to carry.

The room suddenly started to grow cold and vibrate. 

It was a low-frequency hum that was all too familiar for Eddie that it made the hair on the back of his neck stand. He’d been through this before. Twice with you when you tried to reach out to him via the Ouija board. He was in the middle of putting his clothes back on, when he lost his balance sliding on his boots. 

You reached out, steadying him, "Eddie? What’s happening?" your eyes wide with fear and concern. 

"I don't know," he gritted out, his form flickering like a bad television signal. "It feels like... someone is trying to talk to me…through the Ouija board.” The hum grew louder. 

The veil between this world and yours was thinning, and through the static, a voice bled through. It was faint, desperate, and unmistakably familiar.

"Is it Steve?" you asked instantly, your voice rising with a frantic sort of hope. "Is he using the board to find us?"

The name hit Eddie harder than the invisible force pulling at his soul. He saw the way your expression shifted, the spark of light in your eyes at the mere mention of him. It caused a sharp pang in his chest that had nothing to do with the supernatural. Even here, in this hollowed-out version of reality, Steve was the anchor you were looking for. 

Eddie wanted to say something witty to mask his jealousy, but he didn't have time to process it as he started to slowly disappear. Only he could hear Steve’s voice clearly because it was him being summoned, not you. 

"Eddie, wait!" You lunged for him, but your fingers passed right through. He didn’t even get to answer you because he suddenly vanished. 

The silence that followed was absolute. The humming stopped, the vibrations ceased, and you were left standing there alone. And for the first time since arriving, the shadows of this purgatory began to weigh in on you.

Steve had to do this. 

He was internally arguing with himself as he sat in front of the Ouija board again. His knuckles were white as he gripped the planchette, his brows furrowed in deep concentration.

“Come on, I know you’re lurking around here, Munson,” Steve called out, almost unsure. Was Eddie still here? His voice was steady, but there was a flicker of fear in his eyes - the fear of a man who was running out of options.

Eddie watched from the corner of the room. He’d been trying to stay hidden, fighting the pull of the board, but as amusing as it was watching "King Steve" fumble with the occult, it was almost too painful to watch.

Steve was beginning to grow frustrated until finally the planchette jerked under his hands.

“There you are!” Steve exhaled, his head snapping up to the empty air where Eddie stood. He hadn’t revealed himself yet, so he was looking at an empty room, but by God was he proud of himself for getting this to work. 

Ever since your energy intertwined with Eddie, he found it easier to appear where he wanted. The board would take longer, so he allowed himself to materialize in front of Steve.  “What the hell do you want, Harrington?”

“Oh, good. You remember me,” Steve said, a dry, nervous laugh trailing behind.

“The fuck? Of course, I remember you. You don't exactly forget the guy who spent four years being the biggest douche to you in high school.”

“Come on. I’m sorry. Really, but that’s not me anymore,” Steve pleaded. He looked at the board, then back at Eddie. “Would I be here fucking with a Ouija board, talking to a ghost, if I hadn't changed? I’m doing this for her.”

Eddie’s posture stiffened. The sarcasm drained out of him, replaced by a dark, protective cloak. “You know where she is, don’t you?” Steve pressed.

He could see Eddie fighting an internal battle, his spectral form flickering with the intensity of it. “Eddie, if you know where she is, you can bring her back. You have to.” Steve begged. 

“What if she doesn’t want to come back,” Eddie said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

The words hit Steve like a physical blow. “What?” he asked, his voice cracking. “Did she tell you that?”

Eddie went silent, staring at the floor. You had mentioned it, but you never confirmed it. You didn’t know what you wanted. The silence was an answer in itself, and it gutted Steve. He shook his head, refusing to accept it. “Look, Eddie, you’ve gotten some time to know her. You know how she is…how she gets when she’s scared or overwhelmed-”

“She’s not scared or overwhelmed, Harrington. Maybe she’s tired of living in a world that doesn't care. She deserves better. She’s special.”

“I know she is,” Steve agreed. “But you know she has to come back. This isn't her time. I’m sorry this happened to you. I’m sorry you’re stuck here, but you can’t let her stay just because you’re lonely. You have to let her live.” As harsh as it sounded, Eddie knew he was right. “Bring her back, please.”

“I don’t know how!” Eddie yelled, the trailer shook with his frustration.

“What?”

“I said I don’t know how! I’m a ghost, Harrington, not a god! I can’t even leave this trailer, let alone cross to the other side. You think if I had that kind of power, I’d still be in Hawkins? Even when I was alive, all I wanted to do was get the hell out of this town.”

Steve stared at him, the gravity of the situation sinking in. “So, she’s stuck? Until her body just… gives up?” He looked down at the board, a desperate idea forming…and like a lightbulb going off, he came up with one. “The board. Can I use it to reach her?”

“I don’t know. She isn't dead,” Eddie said skeptically.

“But you’re in the same place, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then if I can reach you, I can reach her too.” Steve’s eyes lit up with hope. He wasn’t wrong. You did hear him after all, but whether you could reveal yourself to Steve through the Ouija board was a different thing. 

Deciding on his next move, Steve frantically began setting up the planchette on the Ouija board again. “Alright, good talk. I guess you can go back to doing whatever ghost stuff it is that you do. I need to focus on bringing her back.”

Eddie blinked, a dry smirk returning to his face. “Rude.”

“Hey, Munson,” Steve called out just as Eddie began to fade into the shadows. Steve looked at him with wholehearted sincerity. “I really am sorry. For everything. For high school, for the way things ended… all of it. Even for now.”

Eddie paused, his form slowly evaporating. Now. He was even apologizing for you. He looked at Steve and finally saw the man he had become. The one that you were so fond of. 

“Whatever, Harrington,” Eddie murmured. “Just make sure, whatever she decides on… she’s happy.”

As Eddie vanished, he felt a strange weightlessness. For the first time since he’d died, the bitterness didn't feel so heavy. 

Your voice is fragile as you materialize in front of him. 

“Steve?”

"Oh, thank God! It worked—it actually worked!" Steve said letting out a huge sigh of relief, the crushing pressure of his plan gone now that you’re here. 

The sound of his voice anchored you. You turned toward the source, your feet moving before your brain could even process the reality of him. You collided in the center of the room, Steve’s arms wrapping around you tightly. 

You pulled back just enough to look at him, his face pale and etched with exhaustion. "What are you doing? Are you using the Ouija board?" 

A million questions spiraled through your mind. Steve hated that board; he was a man of logic and tangible things. 

"I got desperate," he admitted, his breath hitching. "I needed to find you. I couldn't just sit there while you slipped away... to wherever you've been." He paused, his expression flickered with the pain he’s been put through the last few days. "I got to Eddie before I found you."

The name hit you like a physical blow. "You talked to Eddie?"

The way your voice cracked was all the confirmation Steve needed. In that silent, heavy beat of air between you, the truth settled. He knew. He knew about how you’d developed feelings for the boy the rest of the world had branded a monster.

"Oh," you whispered, dropping your gaze. 

"Honey, I need you to come back," Steve pleaded, his grip tightening on your shoulders. He wouldn’t allow himself to give up now. He would fight for you. 

"I don't know how. Steve, I think... I think I’m tied to him. To Eddie."

Steve’s brow furrowed in confusion. "What? What does that mean?"

"I don’t know if it’ll work but I think I know who did it. I know who killed him," you said, the words tumbling out of your mouth. "I think if we can get the rest of Hawkins to see the truth, then maybe I can come back and Eddie can move on…” This had to be the solution, right? At least that’s what you tried to convince yourself when you were alone earlier. “But unless I can wake up, I need you to be my hands, Steve. I need you to prove it."

"How? I don't even know where to start."

"My desk," you frantically said gaze moving towards the corner of the room. "The stack of papers next to my computer.” You both race the short distance to the tiny table. 

You saw his eyes scan the chaotic landscape of your desk until they landed on the folder labeled E. Munson. As he flipped it open, the silence stretched. He hadn't realized how far down the rabbit hole you went.

"I know it’s pathetic," you murmured, watching his stunned face. "I’ve been living in Eddie’s case files for weeks. You probably think I’ve lost my mind, but Hopper let me reopen the case." 

"No," Steve said, his head snapping up to meet your eyes. “This is what you do. You help people. It’s not pathetic. This is incredible. I just didn't realize..."

"I know where the murderer is, Steve. He’s in Hawkins’ Correctional Facility."

Steve blinked, the gears turning. "Okay. He’s in jail already. Who am I looking for? Some drifter? An out-of-towner?"

"Jason Carver."

The name hung in the air like a curse. "Carver? Whoa. Wait. You’re saying Jason Carver killed Eddie Munson?"

"Why is that so hard to believe? It makes perfect sense, Steve. He had a motive."

"No, you’re right," Steve conceded, his voice dropping an octave. "It’s just... how has nobody seen this? How is he sitting in a cell for something else while this stays buried?"

"Because no one can prove it and because no one cares about a freak, right?," you said bitterly. "Who else in this godforsaken town was going to get Eddie justice? His uncle? A few 'freaks' from the Hellfire Club? No one was going to take them seriously. They need a voice."

Steve looked at you, a new kind of warmth, and a trace of something like jealousy, shining in his eyes. He admired the passion you had for your work and advocacy for victims, but he was also annoyed at the amount of attention you put into and gave Eddie. You barely knew him. "You. You are going to do it, Detective."

"Steve, don't—"

"I’m not mocking you," he interrupted softly. "I think it’s pretty badass. You solved a cold case from a hospital bed or in another dimension technically. You almost got yourself killed doing it, but you solved it." He looked away for a second, his jaw tight. "I’m going to bring you back. And then we’re going to finish this."

“I don’t know if this is going to actually work, Steve, but I want to try everything we can to help Eddie pass on,” you whispered.

"It will work and he will. Because of you." Steve assures you, bringing you into his arms again before his time with you is up. 

"So, Steve? Will you go to prison?" You ask, looking at him while resting your chin against his chest. 

Eddie grew restless as he awaited your return.

“Oh, cool. You’re back!” he said, taking a few strides to you. While he was relieved you were back, the heavy expression on your face couldn’t keep him from asking what was wrong.

“I know who did it,” you whispered. You didn’t need to elaborate. He knew who you were talking about. 

“It?” Eddie tilted his head, his dark curls falling over his face.

You reached up to brush the strands away and nodded slowly. “Who?” he asked.

“Jason.”

Eddie’s expression shifted from confusion to a cold realization. “Son of a bitch,” he breathed, a bitter laugh escaping him. He looked away, in disbelief of not putting it together himself years ago. 

“I’m sorry, Eddie.”

“No.” He shook his head sharply. “It should’ve been obvious, right?”

“This town treated you so horribly,” you said, reaching your hand out to place it on his arm as a sign of comfort, although it was you who probably needed the comfort with your eyes beginning to swell up with tears for Eddie. “He got away with it.”

“Hey, sweetheart. None of that.” Eddie said, referring to your tears and stepped closer, voice softening. “I’m fine. You’re here with me now. I’m fine.”

You took a shaky breath, the reality of what you had to do pressing against your chest. “Eddie, I can’t stay here.”

“What? Yes, you can. You said it yourself. You’re here now. You can do whatever you want.”

“I want to go home, Eddie.”

His face contorted, a flash of hurt crossing his features then anger. The words just flowed as he spoke, “It’s Steve, huh?” 

“Please don’t bring him into this,” you pleaded.

“But he’s got a role in all this, doesn’t he?” Eddie paced the small space, his movements jagged. He knew letting Steve talk to you would make you change your mind. “King Steve, coming to the rescue of the damsel in distress.”

“He’s not who you thought he was, Eddie. He’s changed.”

“Sure, that’s rich,” Eddie snapped, his voice echoing against the walls. “I’ve known him my whole life and he’s done nothing but made my life a living hell. Why is he the one you're choosing?” The rage just took over him. It was like high school all over again - guys like Steve always won. 

“Because he’s out there helping get justice for you!” You stood your ground, your voice rising to match his. “I asked him to go to the prison. I asked him to get the truth out of Jason. He’s the key, Eddie. He’s the one who can help you finally move on.”

Eddie froze. The anger drained out of him, leaving him looking smaller. “I don’t want to move on.”

“Why? Aren’t you tired of being stuck in this trailer?”

“I was,” Eddie said, his voice barely a whisper. He looked around the room, then back at you. “I was so tired of it… until you moved in. You gave me a reason to stay.”

The honesty in his voice broke something inside you. You stepped into his space, reaching out to take his hands. They felt like mist and ice, but you held on anyway.

“Eddie,” you said softly. “I know I didn't know you when you were alive. And yeah, you absolutely terrorized me when I first moved in. But you’re so special to me. You hit me harder than anyone I’ve ever known.” You felt tears prickling your eyes. “I would love to stay here. My heart hurts for the life you didn't get to live. Maybe in another world, we would've had a chance. But it was wrong of me to give you false hope and stay here when you know I still have my own life to live.”

Eddie looked down at your joined hands, accepting your decision, “I do. I know.”

You leaned in, closing the gap between your lips, a goodbye disguised as a promise.

“I’ll never forget you, Eddie Munson.”

A thick pane of plexiglass separated the two former kings of Hawkins High, but the tension between them was enough to shatter it.

Jason Carver looked different. Prison did a number on him since he last remembered the Golden Boy. The varsity jacket was gone, replaced by a drab orange jumpsuit, but the self-righteous fire in his eyes hadn't dimmed. He sat down, the phone receiver clattering as he picked it up.

“Harrington?”

“Carver,” Steve replied, his voice flat, devoid of the warmth he usually carried.

“What an unusual surprise.” Jason leaned back, a smug smile on his face. “Still hanging around Hawkins, huh? Love this shithole that much?”

“I’m not here for small talk, Carver.” Steve gripped the receiver tight. He could feel the slight itch of the wire taped to his chest - a wire that led directly to Hopper, who was sitting in a surveillance van just outside the gates. It took a while to get him to agree to this, but with proof of your findings and one mention of your name, the Chief of Police knew he couldn’t turn away. 

“Okay, so what do I owe this lovely visit? Come to talk about the good old days? Back when people actually respected us?”

Steve fought the urge to roll his eyes but instead narrowed them as he leaned in. He needed to push the right buttons. He needed Jason to feel superior. “I’m going to get straight to it. I can help you, but I need you to be honest with what I’m about to ask you. Can you do that?”

Jason sat there for a few seconds, seemingly contemplating this whole interaction. Why does Steve care? Then again, he’s been here a few years and he can confidently say he hates prison, so he takes the bait on a faster ticket out. He lost his glory days, his girlfriend, his freedom. What else does he have left? 

“Did you really kill Chrissy? People are talking again, Jason. They say you snapped.”

Jason went stone cold. The smugness vanished, replaced by an  anger that made his knuckles turn white as he gripped the phone. “Of course not, you asshole. I loved her.”

“It was just a question,” Steve said, raising a hand dismissively. “If you didn’t do it, then why are you here? Why take the fall?”

“I didn’t. This town is corrupt!” Jason hissed, his voice dropping to a dangerous, vibrating pitch. “Hopper and his goons weren’t doing a damn thing to get Chrissy justice. We all know who really killed her. They wanted to prolong it with useless trials and bullshit. They were going to let a monster walk free.”

Steve felt his heart gallop. This was it. “The actual murderer? You know who actually killed Chrissy? Come on, Jason. Everyone knows you’re just in here because you couldn't prove it was anyone else.” Steve pushed. 

Steve wasn’t wrong. Jason was found guilty of Chrissy’s murder. He knew he couldn’t control her anymore and the closer they approached graduation, he knew she’d be leaving him and he couldn’t take that. His male ego wouldn’t let him have it. Him believing he could pin her murder on someone else, someone like Eddie Munson, showed the type of God complex he possessed. He didn’t expect the town to give the freak a fair trial. He believed Eddie was guilty of corrupting his girlfriend and he was outraged. 

Jason slammed his free hand against the table, the sound echoing like a gunshot. “I had to take care of him myself.”

“You were found to be Chrissy’s murderer by the court, Jason,” Steve prodded, his voice smooth and doubting. “What do you mean you 'took care' of him?”

“Someone had to take Munson out and I knew it had to be me! He corrupted her!” Jason barked, the confession spilling out of him like venom. He leaned in close to the glass, his eyes manic. “I cornered that freak. I watched the light go out of his eyes, Steve. I gave Chrissy the peace the police wouldn't. I killed Eddie Munson, and I’d do it again a thousand times over.”

A heavy silence followed. Jason looked triumphant, as if he expected Steve to nod in solemn, comraderic approval.

Instead, Steve cracked a slight smirk. It wasn't a friendly smile; it was the look of a man who had just won a game the other person didn't even know they were playing. He reached up and lightly scratched at his chest, right over the hidden microphone.

“Thanks, Jason,” Steve said, his voice now chillingly calm. “That’s exactly what the Chief needed to hear.”

Jason’s face drained of color. He looked at Steve’s chest, then back at his eyes, the realization hitting him like a physical blow. Before he could scream or lunge at the glass, the heavy steel doors at the back of the room swung open. Two guards marching toward him.

“Eddie’s name will officially be cleared,” Steve said, standing up but not before leaving him with parting words, “And you? You’re never seeing the sun again,” then hanging the receiver back on the hook. 

As the guards hauled a shouting, struggling Jason Carver away, Steve walked out of the prison. Before he meets up with Hopper, he looks up at the bright, afternoon sky. 

“We got him, Honey,” he whispered. “You did it.”

There was a moment where the urgency to return to the hospital, to the beeping monitors and Steve’s worried face vanished. 

The "other side" didn't matter anymore. When the trailer didn't feel like a cage or a crime scene, but a sanctuary. 

The stress of the real world didn’t exist here. The endless bills and late payments you could barely scrap up the money for. The late nights at the station that made you feel your aspirations to become a detective seemed far away. The guilt you felt for blowing people off because you were exhausted. The confusing feelings you had towards Steve. None of those were here. The world had a way of wishing you’d just disappear. Perhaps, this is what you were looking for when you left home and set out to Hawkins. Maybe you needed to encounter Eddie to find solace. But did you have to be dead? Almost dead. 

A few days had passed, and you thought more and more about the plan you and Steve concocted. Was it worth trying? What if it failed? What would be your next move? How long could you afford to be hooked up at the hospital? The damning thoughts earlier were going persistent each time. It had to work. 

You gasped, clutching your arm. The warmth of Eddie’s body, still encapsulating you, suddenly felt fleeting. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Eddie’s eyes widened with immediate concern.

“My arm,” you whispered, the pain making your vision swim. “It’s… it’s like I’m being pulled. I think-“ the pain was so intense you couldn’t finish your sentence, but you both knew what was beginning to happen. You just didn’t think it would be soon. Your body was calling you. Your life, your future was tugging you away from this suspended reality.

You leaned your forehead against his chest, the faint chill of his form a stark contrast to the burning pain in your arm. “I don’t want to leave you yet.”

He squeezed his arms around you, holding you tighter than he ever had before. “I know, sweetheart. God, I know. But you said it yourself. You have a life to live. And I… I’ve lived mine.” He pulled back, holding your face in his hands and leaning in to kiss your lips. His touch was cold, but tender. 

“Eddie,” you whisper against his lips, his image beginning to blur as you reach out for him, only for your hand to pass through him again. You could faintly hear him thank you for everything before the darkness of his world imploded around you, replaced by a blinding white light and the sudden, overwhelming sensation of falling.

To everyone else, "waking up" was a miracle. To you, it felt bittersweet.

The dull ache of your arm was a reminder of a reality you had grown to dread. 

Living was exhausting. Living meant waking up every day in a world where justice was a fairy tale. Living in the trailer park, people looked at you with pity. This town judged you harshly and you were stuck in it. The reality check was more than just physical pain; it was the realization that life required a bravery you weren't sure you had. And you were scared of the silence that would follow when you finally couldn't feel him anymore.

Coming back to your body felt like putting on a heavy dress. The silence of the "in-between" was shattered by the harsh, rhythmic beep... beep... beep... of the heart monitor. Loud and mechanical, it pulsed in time with the throbbing ache behind your eyes. The clinical smell of bleach and antiseptic replaced the woodsy scent you were growing accustomed to.

For a split second, you felt a phantom pressure on your hand - the lingering sensation of Eddie’s fingers you yearned for before the cold reality of a hospital bedsheet took its place. You gripped the rough, white sheets to ground yourself.

Your eyelids felt glued shut. A groan catching in your dry throat as you fought the heaviness.

"Steve?" you croaked.

Beside the bed, there was a frantic rustle of fabric and the sound of a chair scraping harshly against the floor. A hand, warm, solid, and shaking, grabbed one of yours. 

"I'm here. I'm right here," Steve’s voice cracked. He sounded like he hadn't slept in a week. "Don't go back. Stay here with me, please.” He pleads noticing your eyes struggling to stay open. 

When you finally forced your eyes open. The fluorescent lights were blinding, making you wince, but as your vision cleared, you saw him. Steve was leaning over you, his hair a mess, dark circles under his eyes, looking exactly like the man who had just used an Ouija board to talk to you from another dimension, went to prison to extract a confession from a murderer - all for you.

"Did you...?" you whispered, your heart hammering against your ribs. 

Steve let out a breath that was half-sob, half-laugh. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper—the top sheet from your E.Munson file.

You closed your eyes for a moment, a single tear slipping out. You were back. But as you felt the warmth of Steve’s hand, a small, hollow part of your chest ached for Eddie. Not only could you still feel the faint, ghostly echo of his kiss on your lips, but as your other hand untwisted itself from the sheets, your palm revealed something hard in it - something obsidian. 

Some days have passed as you eased back into the real world. 

Ever since you returned, there was an air of delicacy around you. Especially now, as you carefully sit on the edge of the couch, your hands fidgeting with the ends of the blanket that Steve fetched for you. Steve, who had been with you all through physical therapy and staying with you in the trailer the last few days. He hasn’t left your side since being discharged. 

"I thought I lost you," he choked out, his voice shaky. While it has been a few days, you both haven’t had the time to really talk about everything. "Honey, I would’ve spent every second of the rest of my life looking. I’d go through wherever it was you were…hell, I’d go through hell too. I’d buy every Ouija board on this planet and scream your name into the void to find you.” 

Taking your hands in his, gripping them with enough pressure to convey his emotion, “I’d do it all over if it meant you ended up back here with me. I love you. I love you so much." Your heart skips as he repeated it. You’d never said it to each other until now. Somehow, you knew he always did though.

When you looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time without the fog of your own pride or the walls you’d built to protect your heart, you noticed that the thing, the person, you’d been searching when you left home was in front of you, looking at you the entire time you’ve been in Hawkins.

Love wasn't a destination you had to earn, it was the man in front of you. Steve had fought through another realm and an evil of this one for you. You could now confidently allow yourself to be loved by him, and more importantly, finally love him back with everything you had - what he deserved. 

The realization hit you hard, your first instinct was, pushing your lips against his in a bruising kiss. His lips reciprocated instantly. His hands let yours go to cup your face as he kisses you with the same sense of urgency. "I love you, too, Steve," you mumble against his lips. "I think I always knew.” 

A smile spreads across Steve’s face as he lets out a breathless sob, the relief of knowing the feeling was mutual. 

“Hey, wait right here” he says, suddenly remembering the bag he placed on your counter. 

He retrieves a small cardboard box from it and takes his seat next to you once more, “I got you something.” 

"What’s this?" You asked curiously.

"Just a little something," Steve muttered, a faint pink tinting his cheeks. He always got nervous when you opened any of his gifts even though you liked every one of them. He put a lot of thought into them and they never missed because he paid attention.  

You pulled back the flaps of the box and out with the layers of tissue paper. When you see the ceramic item, your breath hitches. It was the same mug that Eddie had knocked over due to his jealousy of Steve. You still remembered the sound of it shattering.

You stare at it the same way you had the original. In awe and flutter, the familiar weight in your palm, it wasn't just dishware; it was a piece of Steve. You and Steve.

"Steve," you said lightly, thumb tracing the vinyl of the silly words on it. 

"I figured I’d replace the broken one." He said almost nervously, as if afraid you’d hate it. You could even hear his heart beating.  

You turn to him and smile assuring. “I love it,” you say, planting another kiss on his lips. “Thank you.” You realize there was no sense in mourning the broken pieces of your old life...because like a broken mug, you could pick up the pieces and start new. 

The wind at Hawkins Cemetery always seemed to blow a little colder than anywhere else in town. 

Eddie’s grave had once been a site of vandalism, but today was different. The news of Jason’s confession had hit the Hawkins Post that morning. Eddie Munson was no longer a murderer; he was a victim.

"Looks like someone got here first," Steve noted, gesturing toward the now clean headstone and fresh batch of flowers in the center. 

"We did it," you whispered, the words catching in your throat as you clutch the lone ring in your jacket pocket. 

Steve stepped closer, looking down at the grave. "I'm sorry I didn't see it sooner, Munson," his voice was low and sincere. "I spent years being a dick to guys like you just because I thought I had to. Rest easy, man." 

You reach out to take Steve’s hand in yours - the same hand that had held yours while you were drifting in the dark, the one that saved you.

"You're not a ghost anymore, Eddie," you murmured, “I hope you’re happy.”

A sudden, sharp gust of wind swept through the trees. It didn't feel like the chilling, spectral kind from the trailer. It felt cool and calming. And you could’ve sworn that for a fleeting second, the faint familiar scent that once comforted you, wafted by, giving you all the assurance that you needed. 

Life had moved fast after the trial. 

A couple of years later, Steve now wielded a whistle and a chalkboard, finding peace and fulfillment in helping kids navigate the same hallways and field he once had. 

You, on the other hand, had traded your amateur sleuth files for a badge. Your hard work and time had proven you worthy by Hopper, who aided & guided you in the direction to officially becoming a detective for the Hawkins PD. It wasn't always easy, especially with how deep you went in, treating every victim like Eddie, save for using the Ouija board, and every time you cleared a case, you felt the weight of it drift away, reminding you of the purpose. To make sure no one else ended up forgotten like Eddie was.

You’d finally managed and were convinced to move in with Steve into a new house. The dirt at the trailer park had always felt like it was clinging to something dead compared to suburbs that smelled of freshly cut grass. Right now, it smelled of a faintly sweet scent of cedar from the nursery you had spent all weekend painting, staring intently at the designs you had free handed. 

"Hey, detective. You’re overthinking again. I can hear the gears turning from the hallway."

Steve teased and leaned against the doorframe, still wearing his Hawkins Baseball pullover. A whistle hung around his neck, and his hair was windblown from a long afternoon on the diamond. 

"Are they crooked? I’ve been staring at them so long, you’d think I was trying to solve a case,” you ask, referring to the stars you drew on the wall, a hand resting on the gentle curve of your stomach, "Old habits die hard, I guess."

Steve walked over, wrapped his arms around you, his expression turning serious but infinitely tender. He reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "The only thing you need to solve is this little one’s name,” his hand resting over yours on your bump, “...and maybe what’s for dinner.” That last bit earned him a light slap. His expression softens instantly as you look up at him, dipping his head to give you a quick kiss.

“They look just fine, Picasso.” He assures you, squeezing the embrace lightly. "Think they’re going to be a shortstop or a cop?"

"I don’t know, but I hope they have your hair," you laughed, a hand reaching over so you could run your fingers through his floppy hair. 

“And your spirit,” he adds, resting his chin between the crook of your neck as you lean back into him, the pair of you stare at the drawings on the wall. 

You sigh gently, swaying side-to-side. "Whatever they want to do, I just hope they’ll be happy.”