REBLOG PARTY🤍

"Something funny?"

"No, no," he shakes his head. "Coming right up." You watch him mix your drink, wondering what you'd be doing right now if tonight had gone according to plan, but you think you prefer being here with with cute bartender. Even though this is a side of town you don't usually end up on, you don't feel like your in danger here. In fact, this place feels cozy, much like being wrapped up in a warm blanket.

The music playing over the speakers isn't typically something you'd listen to, but you don't mind it. All of the other metal music you've heard has been very harsh on your ears, but this-this is nice. You just know that the bartender controls the music by the way he's singing along as he mixes your drink.

He's not the kind of guy you'd normally be into, but there's something about him that's reeled you in. It's the mysterious air about him that's intrigued you. You can't read his mind and you like that. Too many men have been far too forward with you and if this guy's interested, you have no idea.

"Here you are, one Bahama Mama." He sets the drink in front of you and it's just as blue as the picture, like someone has poured Windex into the glass. He watches you take a sip, smiling when he sees you nod in approval. It's strong but you prefer it. It's been a long night and you deserve a fucking drink.

"Thank you," you pause, waiting to him to give his name.

"Eddie." The name fits him, you think, then immediately wonder if it's short for something or just Eddie. Part of you wants to call him "Edward" just to see his reaction

You give him your name in return and you love the way it sounds when he says it. It sounds so pretty coming from his lips. You have to keep yourself from imagining how it would sound during climax, trying to keep your mind from straying into dirty thoughts territory.

You make small talk as he continues to clean and you sip on your drink. A few of the regulars are still in their usual spots as others have left. It's getting closer and closer to closing time and Eddie really doesn't want to say goodbye to you. You're the most interesting part of his night.

"So, who is this?" You ask, pointing upwards to signify that you're asking about the music. His eyes bug out at the question so you're assuming that you asked the wrong one.

"You're joking," he sputters out a laugh as his hands slam down onto the bar, looking you directly in the eyes. "You've never heard of Black Sabbath?" You shake your head in response. "Ozzy Osbourne?"

"Well, I've heard of them, just never listened to them. At least, not on my own time." He's so used people hating on him for the music he listens to but he appreciates how polite you're being.

"Voluntarily? I can't believe what I'm hearing. You have to be pulling my leg now." He knows you're not and wonders who turned you off of metal. An ex most likely.

"Sorry, metal just hasn't been my thing, but I'd definitely listen to more of this." He can't seem to keep the smile off of his face for the first time tonight. He's not used to talking to customers like this but you're just so easy to have a conversation with. The playful side of him just comes out so easily and he can actually see himself talking to you more after tonight."

"Tell you what, after I close up, we can go upstairs and listening to their greatest hits." You don't usually go home with people you've just met, but you promised yourself you'd get out of your comfort zone. And even though you've just met Eddie, you feel like you can trust him. You fully believe that you're just going to listen to music and that this isn't some ploy to take something from you.

"I'd actually really like that," you nod. It's already 11:30 according to the clock on the wall behind Eddie so you don't have much longer until the bar closes up. You talk about everything and nothing as you help him finish cleaning despite him telling you not to. You don't seem to understand the concept of sitting there and looking pretty which is a damn shame because you're so good at it.

He reluctantly agreed to let you mop the floor, unable to deny that pretty smile you flashed him when you offered. He's pretty sure he'd let you do anything just by seeing the way your lips curl up, showing off your nice teeth. God, he's so easy. You came in here in that fucking dress and charmed him despite your dislike of metal, (he's really going to have to change that) he really wants to get to know you better.

Once the bar is all cleaned up, Eddie takes you by the hand like the gentleman he is and leads you down the hall where the restrooms are located to the door at the very end that's locked. Eddie unlocks it to reveals a staircase that you assume leads up to his apartment. The stairs are very narrow so Eddie makes you go first, so he can catch you if you fall. He truly has no idea how you're wearing those heels, deciding that you have to be a warrior of some type to do it.

You get to the top with no issue and he unlocks the door, opening it for you and letting you in. He's trying to remember if he left it a complete mess before he left but he can't be sure. When he peeks inside, he doesn't see anything wrong until he fully gets through the door and sees the singular bowl in his sink from breakfast. How embarrassing.

You take in the place before you as Eddie turns on the overhead light, the kitchen coming into view as you step inside. It's a small studio apartment, but he's done what he can with the space. You move out of the small kitchen and head into the living/bedroom, his unmade bed taking up most of it. There's a small TV on top of a short bookcase across from the bed. Next to the bookcase is a large stack of books that clearly wouldn't fit and you admire that he likes a read since you know a lot of men don't. And if they do, they're those bullshit shelf help books.

You make yourself at home by sitting on his bed, moving to take off your shoes as he does something in the kitchen. Just when you wonder what he's doing, he comes into the room with two glasses of water.

"Just wanted to make sure you were hydrated after that drink," he says as he passes you one of the glasses which you take gratefully.

"Thank you." You take a few sips then set it on the bed side table to your left before collapsing onto the bed. It's been a long night and the comfort and sheets are so soft that you could just-

"Nice place you've got here," you compliment before you can fully fall asleep. You turn to your right to see Eddie putting on a record and adjusting the volume on the record player that you haven't noticed until now.

"Thanks. The commute to work is really long, though," he jokes and you can't help but laugh. He's got a Black Sabbath album playing just like he promised and when he's got the volume to where he wants it, he makes his way over to the bed and sits next to you but keeps his space.

He wants you to feel comfortable here and really doesn't want to ruin whatever is going between the two of you by not reading the room. You surprise him by scooting closer until your thighs are touching.

"This is a nice dress." He's starting to sweat at his embarrassing attempt at flirting but you seem to be into it with the way that you lean into him, a smirk playing on your pretty lips. He admires the way it flows out, stopping at your thighs, the shade of red popping against your skin.

"Thanks. I actually wore it on a date."

"Did it not go well?"

"Nope. He stood me up." You don't know why you expected anything else since was like pulling teeth to get him to pick a restaurant. It was clear from the beginning that he didn't want to go out with you in the first place so you don't know why you even went through it. Maybe it's just because you're tired of being alone.

"What a dick." Eddie already has a hard time getting dates in the past so he can't imagine just not showing up. He'd consider himself the luckiest guy in the world to be with you. In fact he already does because you'd rather be in his apartment right now than anywhere else.

"Yeah, he was, but all worked out because I'm here with you." Eddie cheeks heat at your words and they're practically on fire when your hand lands on his thigh. It's an innocent touch in this context but it's still burning through his jeans. You lean closer and he closes his eyes in anticipation, only opening them when you lean your head on his shoulder. His arm wraps around your waist awkwardly as you scoot even closer.

You've been quiet for a while and when he turns his head, he sees that you've fallen asleep. He can't help but let out a laugh before slowly moving to lay you down on the bed, draping the comforter over you. You look so pretty like this and he turns off the record player and puts the record back in its sleeve to prevent dust from collecting on it.

And as he places a pillow on top of the rug that's going to be his bed for the night, he wonders what you'll think when you wake up. Like when you realize that this was all a mistake like they all do, will you be mean about it, or will you be the sweetheart he knows you are? He guesses that only time will tell.

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You hadn’t called anyone ahead of time to tell them you’d be back home for the upcoming twelve weeks – not even Eddie – simply because you didn’t have the energy to make family plans and empty promises of catching up with old classmates you didn’t like just yet.

Tilting your head to the side far enough for it to crack loudly, you flicked the turn signal when the weather-tattered Forest Hills Trailer Park sign came into view. You exhaled softly as you slowed down enough to turn right, the crunching gravel and uneven ground beneath the tires rocking the car from side to side until you finally pulled up in front of the Munson trailer.

You turned off the engine and sank further into your seat as the last four hours of driving without stopping finally caught up to you. For a moment, you simply stared at the wooden porch, already dreading the aching trembles that would settle into your legs the second you got out of the car.

Eddie’s van sat parked beside the trailer, confirming he was home and that your surprise wouldn’t be ruined by him spotting your car.

You pulled the key from the ignition and pushed the door open before flicking through the abnormal amount of keys on your keychain until you found the copy he’d given you years ago – perks of being best friends for almost two decades.

Not bothering to grab your bag from the passenger seat – you’d probably make Eddie do it later – you pushed the car door shut with your hip and headed up the steps leading to the front door.

Eddie blew out the earthy smoke of his joint as he glanced at the kitchen clock with furrowed eyebrows when he heard the muffled noise of clinking keys followed by the soft click of the lock.

Wayne had left for work less than an hour ago. There was absolutely no reason for him to be coming back already.

You lazily pushed the door open as a tired sigh escaped your lips before crossing the threshold.

The joint between Eddie’s fingers nearly slipped from his grasp when he dragged his gaze away from the clock and towards the door, finding you instead of Wayne.

For a second, he genuinely wondered if the weed was making him imagine you.

His big brown eyes widened ever so slightly while his eyebrows disappeared behind the frizzy bangs that had escaped the messy bun he’d thrown his hair into hours ago.

“Fuck off,” he mumbled after a solid thirty seconds of staring at you like he’d just witnessed some kind of miracle. “What the hell?”

The cursed welcome-home greeting – so uniquely Eddie – made the corners of your mouth curl upwards as you kicked off your shoes.

“Surprise,” you murmured tiredly as you stepped over to the kitchen table, snatched the joint from his fingers, and dropped into the chair beside him.

The trailer hadn’t changed a bit since you’d last stepped foot inside nearly five months ago. The wallpaper was still ugly and yellowed from years of cigarette smoke, and the AC still made that annoying rumble as it struggled to cool down the place.

“The fuck do you mean surprise?” he asked, blinking a few times as he tried to process the fact you were sitting in his kitchen and not a whole state away.

“The meaning of surprise hasn’t changed as far as I know, Eddie.”

He leaned back in his chair like the extra distance was necessary for it all to sink in.

Then, slowly, the disbelieving chuckle escaping his lips turned into full-blown maniacal laughter as he shoved back his chair and practically launched himself at you.

“Holy shit, you are home!” he exclaimed as he wrapped his arms around you so fast you nearly choked on your drag.

“Yeah, yeah, I love you too,” you replied between coughs, forcing yourself to ignore how the weight of those words spread warmth along your chest.

“I’m ordering pizza to celebrate,” he mumbled against your hair before finally loosening his grip.

He was already halfway to the kitchen when you furrowed your eyebrows and took another drag of the joint.

“Do you even have money?”

Eddie grabbed the yellowed menu from the fridge and clicked his tongue as he shot you a look.

“For your information,” he deadpanned, pointing the menu at you, “I have been saving up money to come visit you.”

Your eyebrows shot up.

“You?” you scoffed out. “Saving money?”

“I can be a responsible adult,” he replied, sounding personally offended.

“Sure you can, buddy.”

Eddie rolled his eyes as he sat back in his chair and pushed the menu towards you.

“Pick what you want.”

“The fuck are you giving me this for?” you asked, immediately sliding it back across the table. “You know my order.”

Eddie looked at you for a moment longer than necessary before his gaze dropped to the joint resting in the ashtray. He picked it up, lit it, and took a long drag.

“You don’t wanna try something a little more socially acceptable?” he asked, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Margherita, maybe? Like a normal person?”

A groan escaped you as you sank lower into your chair.

“I’m not even home for ten fucking minutes, and you’re already torturing me.”

“You’re the one torturing me with those taste buds.”

That pulled a tired chuckle from your lips before a yawn overtook it instead. Your eyebrows furrowed slightly as you covered your mouth with the palm of your hand.

Eddie’s grin softened at that. His gaze drifted over your face, lingering on the faint bags beneath your eyes and the slow blinks that had far more to do with four hours of non-stop driving than the joint you’d stolen from him moments earlier.

Without a word, he stood up and disappeared down the short hallway towards his room.

You’d learned a long time ago to let Eddie do whatever weird thing he was about to do instead of wasting your breath asking questions.

A minute later, he reappeared carrying a clean towel and a chance of clothes. Holding them out to you with one hand, he brough the joint back to his lips with the other.

“Knowing you,” he started before slowly exhaling a stream of smoke, “you left all your shit in the car for me to deal with.”

Your gaze dropped to his ring-covered hand before lifting back to his face as a smile tugged at your lips.

“You’re the best, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, echoing your words from earlier. “I love you too.”

You hesitated for a beat, something about the earnestness in his voice catching you off guard. Before you could dwell on it, you blinked once, then again, and reached for the clothes and towel in his hand.

“You better not mess up my order, Edward,” you muttered as you headed towards the bathroom.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, princess.”

Thankfully, Eddie had not, in fact, messed up your order.

The heart-attack-inducing pizza topped with double pepperoni, white mushrooms, extra red onions, and a generous drizzle of pesto – much to Eddie’s eternal horror, despite this having been your order for years – was absolute heaven after months of suffering through one-star college-town pizza.

The TV hummed quietly from the living room, forgotten somewhere between slices of pizza and the overwhelming exhaustion that came with four uninterrupted hours on the road. At some point, the two of you’d migrated to Eddie’s bedroom instead, trading the uncomfortable kitchen chairs for the familiar comfort of his unmade bed and cluttered floor.

Somewhere between yawns, giggles, and marijuana smoke, the simmering heat of Eddie’s body had slowly found its way towards your side of the bed while you relished in the comfort and familiarity of his old mattress.

You were in the middle of telling him about something stupid and annoying that had happened at college a few weeks ago when he reached up and gently smoothed a loose strand of hair away from your temple. His hand drifted lower until it found the ends of your hair, absentmindedly curling a strand around his finger like he always did. You shook your head as you tried to remember where you’d left off before the story abandoned you altogether.

Before you could come up with anything that remotely resembled a coherent thought, Eddie let go of your hair and allowed the strand to fall softly back against the pillow.

“You tired?” he mumbled after a while.

Propping his head up on the palm of his hand, he looked down at you.

“Kinda,” you admitted with a slow blink.

The warm glow of the nightstand lamp spilled through the room, painting amber streaks and dramatic shadows across the little things that made the space so uniquely Eddie. The guitar leaning against the wall. The cluttered dresser. The faded band posters that somehow still managed to hang on despite years of being held together by tape and stubbornness.

Its reflection danced in his eyes, though there was something else swimming beneath it – something you couldn’t quite place.

“It’s pretty late,” he said, flicking his gaze towards the red numbers of the alarm clock. “We can just sleep if you want.”

“Nah.” You shuffled closer onto your side and tucked your arm beneath the pillow. “Wanna talk. Missed this.”

For a moment, something softened in his expression.

As soon as it appeared, it was gone again.

“Of course you did,” he replied with a grin. “It’s impossible not to miss me.”

You rolled your eyes, absentmindedly fidgeting with the comforter beneath your fingers before another yawn escaped you.

“That’s it. Let’s get you some sleep,” Eddie mumbled as he pushed himself upright.

He tugged the comforter free from where it had become tangled under the two of you before giving it a quick shake and draping it back over your bodies. The bed creaked and groaned beneath his weight as he settled back against the mattress, fluffing his pillow before getting comfortable.

Then, without thinking anything of it, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you closer until you were practically sprawled across his chest.

You ignored the small sigh that slipped from your lips when your cheek settled against the inked demon head stretched across his chest.

“You comfy?”

“Yeah,” you murmured. “Can you do that thing with my arm?”

A crooked grin tugged at Eddie’s lips as he looked down at you. “You’re spoiled, you know that?”

There was no bite to the words as his fingers found your forearm, lazily tracing soft spirals against your skin.

You hummed contentedly. “And whose fault is that, hm?”

Eddie knew damn well whose fault it was – his fingers always found their way into your hair whenever you were close enough, his wallet somehow opened a little easier whenever you tagged along to the arcade, and every piece of good news was shared with you before he’d even thought about telling Wayne.

Something tugged softly at his chest.

He ignored and chuckled under his breath instead.  

“What if I wanna be spoiled for once?”

“Then I’ll spoil you rotten,” you replied without hesitation.

Eddie fell quiet. His gaze lingered on the wall opposite of the bed while his finger continued tracing lazy circles along your arm.

Then, ever so quietly:

“Can you scratch my head?”

Sometime in the last few minutes, your eyes had drifted shut in the quiet stillness of the room. you blinked them open slowly, trying to adjust to the warm glow of the bedside lamp.

“Yeah, of course,” you mumbled, the corners of your mouth curling upwards. “C’mere, big boy.”

Eddie’s fingers stilled against your skin before he uncurled his arm around your frame.

You pushed yourself a little higher against the headboard and stretched out your arm for him. Eddie immediately shuffled closer and carefully rested the side of his head against your bicep.

“There he is,” you teased quietly, threading your finger through his hair.

He smelled like the cheap sandalwood and pine shampoo Wayne always bought from the dollar store, lingering traces marijuana smoke, and something else entirely – something that was uniquely Eddie. His curls were frizzy and probably held more knots than he’d ever willingly admit to, but you didn’t comment on any of it. You simply worked your hand through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp as quiet, content sighs slipped past his lips.

“Hm,” he hummed, practically melting beneath your touch. “Yeah, you’re definitely gonna have to spoil me more often.”

A low chuckle escaped you as you brought your free hand up to his curls, carefully teasing apart a few stubborn knots before they could snag.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

Blinking slowly, he tilted his head just enough to find your gaze already fixed on him.

For a moment, Eddie was certain he’d never seen you look at anyone the way you were looking at him.

“Your future boyfriend’s gonna have a hard time competing with me if you keep looking at me like that.”

The words left Eddie’s mouth before his brain had the chance to catch them. An uncomfortable buzz immediately settled beneath his skin.

Your hand stilled for only a fraction of a second, but it was enough for him to notice.

Silence settled between you. The space separating your bodies was practically nonexistent, yet somehow it suddenly felt heavier than it had moments ago – not awkward, just… different.

Then, slowly, the smile that had slipped from your face returned, spreading a familiar warmth through his chest.

“There’s no competition, Eds.”

Your fingers resumed their gentle scratching, as though you hadn’t just ripped off a bandage neither of you had been brave enough to touch for years.

Eddie felt his pulse stumble. “What?”

“In fact,” you continued, completely ignoring the disbelief in his voice, “there never has been.”

He broke his gaze away from yours and furrowed his eyebrows as he swallowed.

“Stop…” he trailed off, trying to lean away before immediately giving up. “Don’t say stuff like that if you don’t mean it.”

You opened your mouth before closing it again. For a moment, you simply stared at him, his words hitting you like a punch to the chest.

“Of course I mean it,” you whispered.

You let go of his hair and dragged a hand through your own before flicking your gaze towards the yellowed stains on the ceiling.

“I always carry extra cetirizine whenever we hang out, just in case we run into a cat,” you continued quietly. “And I know the real story behind the scar on your chin even though you’ve never told me.”

Eddie’s frown deepened while his entire body went still beside you.

“I know you skipped an entire week of school when Cliff Burton died but told everyone it was because it was the anniversary of your mom’s death,” you continued. “You say you hate broccoli, but you always eat it when I make it.”

A soft sigh escaped you before you swallowed and finally looked back down at him.

“I was prepared to stay best friends forever and be miserable about it,” you admitted quietly. “I figured that was better than losing you.”

The room fell silent. Eddie stared at you. Not moving, not speaking – just staring.

His eyes darted across your face as if searching for the punchline. For the moment you’d laugh and tell him you were kidding. For the moment he’d wake up, for anything that made more sense than this.

But there wasn’t one – there was only you.

The faint bags beneath your eyes, your nervous smile, your shaking hands tangled in his curls.

The look in your eyes he’d been trying not to think about since you’d told him there was no competition.

“Jesus H. Christ,” he whispered.

Your breath caught. “Eddie–”

“I’ve been in love with you for fucking years.”

The words sounded almost pained as they left him – like he’d been holding them back for far too long.

For a second neither of you moved again. Then Eddie surged forward before he could lose his nerve.

One hand found your jaw, while the other buried itself in the comforter.

And then his lips were on yours.

They felt like silk, and his breath was warm against your skin as he let our a ragged exhale, spreading heat from your cheeks all the way down to your chest.

Your eyes drifted shut as you pulled him closer, unable to stop what he’d started.

A shiver ran down your spine as your senses became overwhelmed by everything Eddie – the shirt he’d loaned you hanging from your frame, the earthy scent of his shampoo, the familiar weight of his hand against your cheek, the nervous drumming of his fingers beneath it.

When he finally pulled away, his eyes slowly opened and found yours. They lingered on your face as though he was trying to memorize every detail while desperately attempting to get the fireworks in his chest under control.

“Fuck Springfield,” he mumbled after a few seconds, apparently incapable of surviving a vulnerable moment without cracking a joke. “I’m kidnapping you.”

A laugh escaped you. “Kidnapping isn’t very boyfriend material, Eddie.”

“Boyfriend, huh?” the words sounded almost disbelieving coming from him. “I like the sound of that.”

“Good,” you replied with a grin. “Because you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“Obviously,” he scoffed. “Do you know how hard it is to kidnap a college student?”

You barked out another laugh, the ugly kind that made your stomach hurt and was reserved for him alone – and pulled him closer again, threading your fingers back through his curls. The frizzy strands felt soft against your fingers as you resumed scratching his scalp.

Eddie couldn’t seem to stop looking at you. Like he needed the constant visual confirmation that you were still there, still real. His gaze carried a quiet sort of electricity now, something warm and disbelieving all at once.

Slowly, he tilted his head forwards until his forehead rested against yours, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek.

Then he leaned in and kissed you again. He pulled you into his chest and rolled the both of you until his back laid flush against the mattress.

A sound that was half groan, half disbelieving laugh escaped him against your lips. His fingers tightened slightly against your cheek as he kissed you slowly, almost teasing at first, though there was something else underneath it now; something desperate, and that had been waiting for too long.

You hooked a finger around one of his curls and gave it a gentle tug when a quiet sigh slipped from his lips. All the frustration had been building between the two of you for years slowly found its way into the kiss.

Neither one of you seemed willing to be the first to pull away. But when you finally did, both of you were breathing a little harder than before.

Eddie’s eyes looked darker beneath the amber glow of the bedside lamp, his lips slightly swollen from kissing you. For a moment, he simply stared like he still couldn’t believe any of this was real.

“Please tell me you want this,” his words came out rough and breathless, his chest rose and fell unevenly beneath you as his eyes searched your face.

A soft, disbelieving scoff escaped you while you glanced away for a second before looking back at him – back at the man you’d spent years trying not to fall in love with.

“I’ve wanted this for years,” you whispered.

Eddie didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let your words settle between you while his eyes continued searching your face. The longer he looked, the more ridiculous he felt. The faint shadows beneath your eyes. Your messy hair. The unmistakable affection swimming in your gaze that, apparently, had been there all along. How the fuck had he missed it for all these years?

“Good,” he said after a moment. A mischievous grin was already spreading across his face before the word had fully left his mouth. “Because I really wanna eat you out.”

A loud, undignified snort escaped you. Your head tilted back as laughter burst from your chest.

“Jesus Christ, Eddie,” you wheezed.

“What?”

He tried to sound defensive, as though laughing at the words that had just left his mouth was the most offensive thing you’d ever done in all the years he’d known you. But the act lasted all of three seconds when his lips pulled into a pursed smile before giving way to a chuckle at your disbelieving expression.

“Just being honest here, sweetheart,” he replied quietly. His thumb brushed absentmindedly against your waist. “Since we’re confessing and all that.”

You were still trying to catch your breath from the kiss while his ridiculous words continued echoing in your ears.

You brushed a stray curl away from his eyes and made a mental note to trim his bangs the next chance you got.

Reaching for the back of his head, you gently pulled him closer. A soft sigh escaped you when your lips met once again.

Something in Eddie seemed to snap the moment you kissed him back. Slowly, he rolled the two of you over until your back met the mattress again, bracing himself with one arm while the other remained firmly around your waist. The bed creaked beneath the shift in weight as he settled between your legs.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he mumbled when he finally pulled back for air.

His thumb continued brushing softly against your cheek as he shook his head in disbelief, as though he didn’t quite trust himself with the affection spilling from his mouth.

“You have no idea how much I want you,” he admitted quietly, his eyes flickering between yours and your lips. “But you’re tired, and–”

“I want this, Eds,” you whispered, and slid your hand from the back of his head to his cheek, cradling his face gently.

Eddie’s gaze finally lifted from your lips to your eyes.

“Are you sure?” the question came out softer than before. “Because it’s okay if you don’t.”

A disbelieving laugh escaped you – sometimes he could be so ridiculously stubborn.

“How many times do I have to say it before you believe me?” You stole a quick kiss before he had the chance to answer. “I want this.”

Whatever had been holding him back finally snapped once and for all when he leaned in again, his lips finding yours like he needed your kiss to breathe.

His fingers twitched against your cheek before they slowly trailed down to the hem of your shirt. A warm breath escaped him when his fingers skimmed over the skin of your hips, leaving goosebumps in their wake. The gentle grip you had on his cheek faltered for a brief moment as he started tracing soft circles beneath your shirt, like he was trying to memorize every inch he could reach.

You parted your lips when you let go of his face entirely and brought your fingers back into his curls. Eddie stilled, and his thumb pressed a little harder into your hip when he felt you give his hair a tentative tug. A shiver ran through him at the touch, and he slowed the kiss just enough to catch his breath before he finally – almost hesitantly – pulled away.

“Can I…” the words died on his tongue as he swallowed hard and opened his eyes.

His fingers drifted back to the hem of your shirt, giving the fabric a small, uncertain tug. It took your brain a split second to catch up before you gave him a shaky nod. Eddie swallowed again and nodded back – though it seemed like he was doing it more for himself than for you.

Slowly, he pushed himself upright until he was kneeling between your legs. His hand slipped beneath the fabric and gently lifted your shirt over your head.

Heat instantly rushed to his cheeks, tainting his milky skin a bright pink, as you pulled your arms free from the sleeves, but he didn’t let his gaze wander. Instead, his eyes stayed fixed on yours, still searching for even the smallest hint of hesitation.

Eddie’s heart pounded wildly in his ears as he finally dared to let his eyes trace the delicate curves of your collarbone, down to the swell of your breasts. With shaking hands, he gently caressed your sides as he marveled at how you reacted to his touch. Goosebumps rise in the wake of his fingertips, your nipples hardening in the cool air.

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmured reverently, barely above a whisper.

His fingertips danced along your sternum, circling each breast with agonizing slowness. You arched into his touch, a soft gasp escaping your parted lips when he dipped his head and pressed feather-light kisses along the valley of your cleavage. Your fingers pulled at his hair, urging him closer.

Eddie cups your breast almost hesitantly, brushing his thumb over the sensitive peak. At the same time, he captured the other nipple between his lips, and flicked it teasingly with his tongue. Emboldened by the sharp gasps spilling from your mouth, your body arching off the bed and into his chest, he sucked harder and grazed the hard peaks with his teeth. He moaned against your skin, lavishing you with devoted attention as he switched between them, alternating between licks and nibbles until they glistened with his spit.

Your hips roll restlessly beneath him, seeking friction. He let go of your breasts and trailed open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, pausing to dip his tongue into your navel – the little shit shot you a little grin when he did so, always one for the dramatics. Lower he went, until he finally reached the waistband of the boxers hugging your hips. Slowly, almost torturously, he inched the fabric downwards, exposing more than he’d ever seen of you.

His breath hitched as something urgent and hot coiled in his core. Eddie curled his hands around your thighs, softly pushing them further apart until his gaze found your slick folds. The heady scent of your arousal filled his nostrils, making his cock throb almost painfully under his boxers.

“Gonna make you feel so fucking good,” he mumbled almost absentmindedly, and trailed one finger through your wet slit. “Fuck, can’t believe you’re letting me do this.”

Eddie then locked his eyes with yours as he lowered his head, holding your gaze. His plush lips grazed your clit, pulling a sharp exhale from you both. He lapped softly at your pussy, savouring the way you tasted and ingraining it into his tongue. You pressed him closer, nails scraping sharply against his scalp and fingers tugging harshly at the curly strands, desperate for more. The silent plea you gave him was more than enough, and he sealed his mouth over your slit and thrusted his tongue inside, fucking you steadily as he all but slurped at your essence.

“I– Fuck,” you breathed out as Eddie trailed a thick lick back to your clit, and softly pushed a finger into your pussy. “Y-yes, just like that.”

A groan escaped him when you fluttered around him, drawing him in deeper. He pumped his digit lazily, curling it to stroke that secret spot like he’d done it times and times before, making stars burst behind your eyelids. His tongue swirled mercilessly around your throbbing clit, lashing and flicking it with practiced precision.

He couldn’t remember when he’d closed his eyes, but when he opened them again, he found you with your head thrown back, your lips parted in a small circle as your chest heaved up and down. He added another finger, stretching you open deliciously slow as you writhed mindlessly underneath him.

Your legs trembled around his face, your feet accidentally brushing against him when your toes curled until suddenly, he withdrew completely, denying your release.

“No, no, no,” you whine out, your eyebrows pulled into a tight furrow. “Fucking hell, you’re such a fucking di–”

Eddie silenced you with a filthy kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You returned the heated kiss fervently, licking into his mouth and letting your slick tongues intertwine.

Pulling away again, Eddie gazed down at you with molten brown eyes, a grin spreading across his kiss-swollen lips.

“You taste even better than I imagined,” he murmured, ignoring the curses falling from your mouth.

Like he needed to make his point, he dove back between your thighs, and latched his lips onto your clit like a man starved. He suckled forcefully, flicking the swollen nub with rapid strokes of his tongue.

“Eds–” you whine, desperate to finally get the release he’d taken away from you moments ago. “Fuckfuckfuck.”

Just as the wave of ecstasy had found its way back to you, Eddie drove two fingers into your clenching slit, pumping vigorously as he kept sucking. Your juices gushed on his chin, back bowed clean off the bed as wave after wave of mind-melting bliss crashed over you until you collapsed bonelessly against the mattress.

Eddie watched raptly as you came undone, a broken groan slipping from his lips, completely transfixed by the picture in front of him – hair splayed wildly, skin gleaming with a sheen layer of sweat, mouth agape in ecstasy as a broken moan slipped from your lips. Pride surged through him knowing that he did that, that he unravelled you so thoroughly like he’d had wanted to do for so long.

He gave you a moment to come down, and placed a tender kiss on your inner thigh before crawling up your body. He settled between your limp legs, nestling his aching shaft against your slick entrance. Capturing your lips once more, he kissed you deeply, conveying without words every feeling he had ever pushed down over the years. You looped your arms around his neck, and pulled him impossibly closer as you ground up against him, frantic with need.

“Can’t believe you’re all mine,” he mumbled against your lips.

He reached between you, and tugged his boxers down just enough for his cock to slip out and gave himself a desperate tug, then another, and guided himself to your dripping opening. You felt hot and tight around his swollen tip as he prodded insistently at your slit until finally sinking into your slick pussy. A breathy encouragement of his name escaped you as he sank himself deeper into you, groans spilling from his own lips at the feeling of being fully sheathed within your walls.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he grunted sharply as you locked your legs behind him, and pulled him impossibly deeper until he was buried to the hilt. “You’re so… I don’t think I’ll last long, sweetheart. Fuck.”

Eddie hissed sharply when he felt your nails dig into his shoulder, and pressed his clammy forehead against yours as he took a moment to let you adjust – although he probably needed the moment more than you did.

Electricity zinged up his spine at the delicious pressure engulfing his aching cock, and he set a deep, driving rhythm as he rocked into you with purpose. Each slow, yet powerful thrust punched the breath from your lungs, his heavy balls slapping at your ass as he drew broken moans from your sweet lips. Eddie’s hand roamed greedily, squeezing and kneading every supple curve of your body as you met him stroke for stroke, clinging on for dear life as the knot deep in your stomach wounded tighter and tighter.

His ears twitched with every hitch in your breath, every shiver that ran down your spine, every time your nails dug a little deeper into his milky skin, like he desperately needed to memorise every little detail of how you reacted to him.

“Where do you want me, baby?” he pushed himself off of you just enough for his gaze to find your closed eyes, furrowed brows and mouth lulling open.

“Fuck, Ed-Eddie,” you moaned out as he gave you another hard thrust. “In– mhm! Inside, p-please.”

“Jesus,” his hips faltered when your words reached him, but he picked up the pace again just as quickly. Every roll of his lips was deliberate, insistent on drawing out every breathless whimper and broken moan you had to offer. “You can’t just say shit like that.”

“P-please, Eddie,” you breathed out, and opened your eyes, blinking a few times until his face came back into focus. “I want it, please.”

Eddie gave you three last hard thrusts before his hips halted, pulsing hot seed directly into your spasming core. You followed right after, clamping down on his spurting cock as you shattered around him. He collapsed on top of you, burying his face in your neck as he tried – and failed – to catch his breath. The two of you had become a tangled mess of limbs and heavy, ragged breathing.

“I don’t– Jesus,” he breathed out after a moment, the words muffled and low. “I don’t think I’ve ever came that hard.”

His breath steadied after a few more seconds, although his heart still pounded loudly in his ears as he pushed himself up just enough for his eyes to find your face. His gaze softened immediately at the sight in front of him – you licking your dry lips as you blinked lazily up at him.

But then he immediately groaned and cringed at himself.

“Ah, fuck,” he mumbled as he fell forwards again, nearly suffocating you.

You hummed softly in confusion as you let go of his shoulder and dove your fingers back into his messy locks. You pull a low, satisfied sigh from him as your nails scraped gently against his scalp.

“Can’t believe I came before you.”

A low chuckle escaped you before you could stop it. Shaking your head, you whispered something that sounded an awful lot like idiot under your breath.

“I couldn’t care less, Eds,” you managed to say after you’d finally gotten your laughter under control. “It’s not gonna make me love you any less.”

Eddie stilled above you, like your words had hit him square in the chest. His breath caught, and his fingers twitched against the sheets beneath you. For a moment, he kept his face hidden into the crook of your neck.

But the tension melted from his shoulders as quickly as it had appeared. He leaned back just enough for his lips to find yours again, slow and careful.

“I fucking love you too,” he mumbled against your lips.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes glimmered beneath the low amber light of the bedside lamp, his expression softer than you’d ever seen it.

“Yeah?” you asked with a bashful smile before something else crept into your gaze. “Even my dubious pizza order?”

Eddie snorted. “Yeah, even your dubious pizza order.”

“Good.” A grin spread across your face. “Because I could really use another slice after all of this.”

He stared at you for a long moment, blinking in disbelief.

“We just confessed our undying love, and you’re thinking about pizza?”

“Don’t pretend like you couldn’t go for another slice too,” you chuckled.

Eddie hissed lowly as you accidentally clenched around him, and softly pulled out his softening cock out of you. He shook his head, though the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth ruined any attempt at looking annoyed. He pulled his boxers up his hips and, without another word, pushed himself off the bed and disappeared down the hallway.

Not even ten seconds later, you heard the fridge open and close, followed by the soft sound of footsteps making their way back towards the bedroom. Eddie appeared in the doorway with the pizza box in one hand and two cans of beer balanced in the other. He dropped both at the foot of the bed before helping you sit up, trying his best – and failing – not to stare at your chest.

“You hate eating in bed,” you pointed out as he pulled his eyes away from your naked frame, and flicked open the pizza box.

“But I don’t hate you,” he mumbled in return, passing you a slice.

For a moment, all you could do was stare at him.

A soft smile slowly spread across your face as you took the slice from his hand.

“I don’t hate you either.”

He crossed the space in three long strides and pulled you straight into his chest without a word. His arms wrapped around you tight enough that your feet almost left the ground. You felt the frantic thump of his heart against your cheek.

“I’m gonna throw up,” he mumbled into your hair, voice half-laugh, half-terror. “I’m actually gonna puke on the stage of Madison fucking Square Garden. They’re gonna have to put up a little plaque. ‘Here lies Eddie Munson’s dignity, died 1994.’”

You laughed quietly and rubbed slow circles between his shoulder blades. “You’re not gonna puke. You’re gonna go out there and remind every single person in this building why they fell in love with Corroded Coffin in the first place.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you. Those big brown eyes were glassy with adrenaline and pent up emotion.

“Sweetheart… what if I forget the words? What if I trip over my own goddamn cables like I did at the Hideout in ’86? You remember that? You were sitting right in front with that glitter sign and I almost took myself out in front of like twelve people—”

“Eddie.” You cupped his face in both hands, thumbs brushing over the faint scar on his cheek from years ago. “That night you still made every single person in that bar feel like they were the only one in the room. And tonight? There’s gonna be a hell of a lot more of them, and every single damn one is gonna feel exactly the same way. Because you’re you. And I’m gonna be right here the whole time, losing my voice cheering for you and the boys.”

A shaky laugh escaped him. He leaned down and pressed his forehead to yours, eyes fluttering shut for a second like he was breathing you in.

“Still can’t believe you’re here,” he whispered. “After everything. After Hawkins, after all that fuckin' bullshit. Every shitty motel and every late-night drive where I swore I was gonna give up… you’re still my girl. My biggest fan. My home.”

You rose on your toes and kissed him — soft, slow, the kind of kiss that said I’ve got you without needing any words. When you pulled back, you tucked a stray curl behind his ear.

“Go be a rockstar, Munson. I’ll be right here screaming your name louder than anyone.”

The stage manager’s voice crackled over the comms. “Two minutes!”

Eddie took one last deep breath, then grabbed your hand and squeezed it hard enough to hurt a little. “Don’t move from this spot, okay? I need to be able to look over and see you. It’s the only thing that’s gonna keep me from combusting.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promised.

He started to turn, guitar already in his hands, then spun back one more time. That crooked, devastating grin broke across his face — the same one he’d given you the first time he’d asked you out with a mixtape and a nervous ramble about how you were “like, the coolest person in this entire hellhole town.”

“Love you more than metal, baby.”

“Love you more than anything,” you answered, voice thick.

You blew him a kiss and caught it dramatically against his chest like he always did, then jogged out to join the rest of the band. You watched him go with your heart so full it almost hurt.

The lights dropped.

The crowd’s roar hit like a physical wave.

You stepped right up to the edge of the wing, heart hammering, and started screaming at the top of your lungs the second the first chord rang out. Eddie strode into the spotlight like he was born for it — head thrown back, grin wild and free, every inch the rockstar he’d always dreamed of being.

But even in the middle of the chaos, even with thousands of people losing their minds, his eyes flicked sideways.

Found you.

And the nervous wreck from five minutes ago disappeared completely.

Because you were there.

Just like you always had been.

Just like you always would be.

The final chord rang out like a gunshot, and the entire arena exploded.

Eddie threw his head back, laughing into the mic as the crowd screamed his name — their name — loud enough to shake the foundations of Madison Square Garden. The band took their bows together, sweaty and grinning like idiots, pyrotechnics still flickering behind them. Eddie waved one last time, blew a kiss toward the sea of lights, and then turned.

The second his eyes found you waiting in the wings, something in him broke wide open.

He didn’t walk offstage. He stumbled.

The adrenaline that had carried him through two hours of pure fire hit him all at once on the way down. His legs went a little unsteady, guitar still slung across his back, curls sticking to his damp forehead. The second he was close enough, he let go of everything — the persona, the rockstar swagger, the years of holding it together — and collapsed straight into your arms.

You caught him.

You'd always catch him.

Your arms came up automatically, one hand sliding up his back, the other cradling the back of his head as he buried his face in the curve of your neck like he was trying to disappear into you. His whole body was shaking. Not from exhaustion. From everything.

Happy tears were already soaking into the collar of your shirt.

The rest of the band saw it immediately. Gareth gave a soft nod and started gently herding people away. Jeff clapped a hand on one of the crew’s shoulders and murmured, “Give them space, man. Just… give them a minute.” Even the stage manager, who usually lived off of telling the band what to do, quietly redirected traffic so the little pocket of space around you stayed clear. No one stared. No one interrupted. They all knew what this moment meant.

Eddie let out a shaky, broken sound against your skin — half laugh, half sob.

“I did it,” he whispered, voice cracking. “We actually fucking did it. Madison Square Garden. Sold out. And you were right there the whole time. I kept looking over and you were screaming your head off for me and I just— baby, I can’t—”

His arms tightened around you like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go. You felt every tremor run through him, felt the way his chest hitched with the force of holding back years of dreams that had finally, finally come true.

You didn’t rush him. You just held on, rocking the two of you gently side to side like you had a hundred times before — in the van after bad gigs, in your tiny apartment after good ones, in the quiet after every storm you’d weathered together since high school.

“It’s okay, baby,” you murmured against his ear, your own voice thick with emotion. “Let it all out. I’ve got you. I’m right here.”

That was all it took.

Eddie let go completely.

A quiet, overwhelmed sob escaped him as he pressed his face harder into your neck, shoulders shaking. Happy tears kept coming — not the kind that hurt, but the kind that felt like years of pressure finally releasing. You stroked his damp curls with one hand and rubbed slow, soothing circles between his shoulder blades with the other, whispering soft things only he could hear.

“You were incredible out there. I’m so proud of you I can barely breathe. You and the boys… you turned every late night, every shitty bar, every time someone told you it would never happen… you turned all of it into this. And I got to watch it happen. I'm so fucking proud of you baby.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes glassy and red-rimmed, cheeks streaked with tears, but smiling so wide and bright it made your chest ache. The leather jacket was half-off one shoulder, his tank top clinging to him with sweat, and he had never looked more beautiful to you.

“I kept thinking the whole time,” he said, voice hoarse and raw, “that none of this would mean shit if you weren’t here. You’ve been with me since I was just some freak with a guitar and a dream in Hawkins. And you’re still here. Still looking at me like I'm your universe even when I'm a fucking disaster.”

You reached up and gently wiped his tears with your thumbs, then leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth, soft and lingering.

“Because you are my universe, Eddie Munson. Always have been. The loud, dramatic, beautiful center of my whole galaxy. And tonight? You proved to everyone else what I’ve always known.”

He let out a wet little laugh and rested his forehead against yours, breathing you in like you were the only steady thing in the universe right now.

“I love you,” he whispered. “So much it’s stupid. Thank you for never letting go of me.”

“I love you too,” you answered, brushing another kiss across his lips. “And I’m never letting go. Why would I let go of the best thing thats ever happened to me?”

For a long minute you just stood there together ignoring the existence of anyone else but each other — him still trembling with leftover adrenaline and overwhelming joy, you holding him steady like you always had. The distant roar of the crowd still chanting for an encore faded into background noise. The only thing that mattered was the way he clung to you and the way you clung right back.

Eventually Eddie let out a long, shaky breath and nuzzled into your hair.

“Lets go somewhere quiet after this?” he asked softly. “Just us. I wanna be in bed with my girl and cry some more and then probably pass out on top of you.”

You smiled against his temple and tightened your arms around him one more time.

“Anywhere you want, rockstar. I’m yours.”

He pulled back just far enough to give you that crooked, tear-streaked grin you’d fallen in love with all those years ago.

“Best night of my life,” he said. “Because you were in it.”

You roll your hips, feeling every inch of his throbbing member press against your walls.

Eddie should not feel this good. You think to yourself. 

But the guy shows up on your doorstep, all rattled and out of breath. He had stormed up your apartment steps and pounded on your door like he was trying to break it down. And before you could inquire about what the hell was going on, his hands reached for your face. 

He did this from time to time. You had done it to him more times than you could count. 

You fucked each other when neither of you wanted to think. It was nothing serious. Friends with a mutual understanding. Sometimes you just needed to fuck, and you both agreed that finding partners was too much of a hassle. 

You were busy with work and school, he was too busy being a menace to society. 

Both equally stressful things, of course.

But today must have been bad. He usually would lay it all out for you before getting down to business, but he could not get his pants off quick enough. 

Your hand mounts firmly on his chest as you draw your hips upward, finally slamming down onto him with equal precision. 

“Do you wanna,” You start to speak but his hips start meeting yours and your brain blanks. What were you even trying to say again?

For the first time since you laid eyes on him today, he smiles. 

“Do I wanna what?” He asks, breathlessly. “Do you wanna talk about-” You suck in a sharp breath, forcing all your weight on him so his cock is fully sheathed inside you for a second. “Talk about it? W-what’s going on?”

He reaches up to fondle your bare chest before propping himself up more on your headboard. He shakes his head, his sweaty bangs sticking to his forehead. 

“Just a bad day.” You shift on his pelvis, giving him only a bit of friction. “Anything I have to worry about?”

He presses a small kiss to the swell of your breasts. You think it’s sweet and tender at first, but then he begins extending his tongue out of his mouth and flicking your taut nipple with it. “Wasn’t the agreement ages ago that it's no talking about the shitty stuff while I’m stuffed inside you?” You throw your head back, the view of him playing with your tits a bit too much. “Yes, but I’m just worried about you.”

His hands move from your hips and slowly begin traveling upward to your waist. He locks his arms around you before throwing you down onto the mess of the bed. You lie on your back, eyes wide and confused.

His dick is still stuffed snugly in your dripping cunt, but this time the curve of it is pressing inside you differently. Hitting that delicious area that Eddie usually toys with his fingers. 

“Worried about me, hm?” He hums, sitting back slightly on his calves. He looks between the two of you, still connected, and dribbles just a bit of spit. 

The sight alone makes you clench. You cannot even verbalize when he’s looking like that above you. 

He smirks before slowly drawing himself out of you, “I appreciate the concern, sweetheart, I really do. But please, just let me drown my sorrows in this perfect pussy of yours.”

You jerk a nod, letting him unhurriedly thrust himself in and out of you. The feeling is maddening. You want him to speed up so bad, but he looks so spent above you that you say nothing. Just some broken moans in between each thrust and hushed whispers of his name. 

He drops down on top of you, his elbows pressing into the mattress next to your shoulders. His face is wedged into your neck as he continues his prodding at your pussy. You push your fingers through his disheveled curls, grabbing onto him by the roots of his hair.

His motion never speeds up, if anything it just becomes more powerful. As he nears his end, you can feel his dick twitching against your g-spot. You know you are close, too. You push your hand between your bodies, but before you could even get near your clit, his hand is over your mound and rubbing fast circles against that sensitive spot. 

When you clench around him, he’s chanting your name and stilling his movements completely. You feel him seeping out of you almost immediately, but especially when he retreats from your cunt. 

He exhales, his hot breath fanning across your throat, “Did I say how much I needed that?”

You did your best to adjust your expression and be empathetic. “Okay, well that didn’t happen with Sheryl, did it?” He shook his head. “Maybe you’re still stuck on Sheryl.”

He shrugged, letting himself relax a little. “Eh, not really. She was fun, but clingy.”

You sighed, leaning forward like a scientist observing him under a microscope. “Other than like… the finale, was the sex good?”

“Yes! And the date was perfectly fine too.” He sat up straighter, crossing his arms across his chest. He was telling the truth… mostly. It wasn’t bad, it wasn’t amazing. It was just… fine. He gave you a half-smile. “Thanks for letting me talk to you about this. Robin would be all weird about it.”

You smiled teasingly. “Oh, Robin would’ve bailed the moment you said the word cum.” You altered your voice into a shockingly accurate impression of your friend. “‘Ew, Steve! I don’t want to hear about the details of hetero sex. I faked mono during sex-ed for a reason.”

“She would’ve agreed about Katie’s tits, though,” Steve insisted. “She’d pretend to be mortified that I’m objecting women or whatever, but she’d agree.”

You laughed and shook your head at his words, and he felt a tiny tug in his chest— some sort of like, stirring, big feeling.

He didn’t get it. The two of you had been friends since Freshman year, when you moved next door to Carol and she dragged you to every hangout, big and small. He always sort of figured that Carol was trying to set you up with him, but neither of you ever made a move.

He wasn’t sure why he felt that uncomfortable ache in his chest when you smiled lately. There had never been any feelings there in all the time he’d known you, right? Sure, he thought you were hot— that’s why he had to give you dating advice all the time—but that was different.

"Maybe you just need to find the right girl, or something,” you said earnestly. “Like… maybe your dream girl is right in front of you, and even if your brain doesn’t know it, your body does.”

You tucked your permed hair behind your ear and it made his stomach drop like he was on a roller coaster. And he was confused about how such a tiny sensation could feel so overwhelming when he heard the bells above the door ring.

The girl approached the counter with big brown eyes and hair that looked a little fried by bleach and perm solution. He did love curls, though.

“I called this morning,” she said, her voice low and sultry. He liked sultry. “Some guy named Keith set aside Footloose for me? Should be under Rebecca Martin, or Becky, maybe.”

Steve smiled and turned on the charm.

Becky wasn’t the hottest thing to moan during sex, but Steve Harrington wasn’t a quitter. He’d just… avoid names in general.

Steve was a gentleman. They’d gone to dinner a few nights prior, and he’d been polite and kissed her at the front door. It had gone well enough to tell Robin about, which was saying something. He liked her sense of humor, she was sweet, and her perfume was so nice that it was practically addicting.

The second date wasn’t as formal. Movie at his place, stealing his parents’ fancy wine out of the cabinet like a high schooler. It started innocently enough that he wasn’t even sure if he should go any further, keep things cool, really see this one through this time.

But, Jesus Christ, did she have other plans. Pretty, pink manicured nails traced along his thigh, dimpling the fabric of his jeans, which were already tight enough. She played coy— eyes on the movie, a satisfied smirk on her lips as her hand paused just below where he wanted it. He squirmed, just slightly, feeling his dick stir with interest. She batted big doe-eyes at him and furrowed her brows in a very practiced manner.

“Something wrong?” She asked, and he could see the amusement in her gaze as her hand wandered up, cupping the bulge that was swelling in the front of his jeans. She sprung into action after he captured her lips in a hungry kiss, making quick work of the button and zipper so she could wiggle her hand beneath his boxers.

Her hand was deliciously soft, and he liked the soft gasp of surprise that escaped her when she took him into her hand and gave a testing stroke. It was dry, and a little uncomfortable until she spat into her hand and started over. It felt good. She felt good.

“Do you wanna go to your room?” Her words were damp against the column of his throat, no doubt leaving pink stains from her lipstick.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah. I want to.”

——

His cheeks were burning as he watched Becky redress, hurriedly tugging her panties up her legs. Her annoyance and disappointment was blatant in her features, and it made his chest ache with mortification.

“That doesn’t—“ He shook his head. That doesn’t usually happen sounded like a stupid excuse, especially considering that his last hookup had ended similarly. This time had been worse. “I don’t know why that happened.”

She shrugged, shimmying into her denim skirt. “It’s whatever, Steve.”

“No, no I mean it,” he said, trying to fight the frown on his lips, trying to seem at least a little… casual about it all. He’d gone down on her until she came apart right on his tongue, then he took his time to get her stretched out and ready for him until she couldn’t take anymore and begged for him.

He wanted to fuck her, he wanted to feel her around him, warm and tight and pliant, blinking prettily up at him while she moaned and gasped. So why wouldn’t his body let him do it?

What the fuck?

“It’s fine, really. Don’t worry about it.” As soon as he heard the pity in her voice, he nearly wanted to die. “I’m only in town to visit my aunt anyway.”

“This really never happens to me,” he insisted. The look on her face— the subtle mix of disbelief and scorn— made him feel like he was a bug under her shoe.

He didn’t bother redressing more than just tugging on his boxers as she left, and he was grateful she at least let him walk her to the door after the world’s most disastrous hookup attempt.

He groaned in annoyance as he closed the door behind him, running his hands through his mussed-up hair. He was at the phone before he even realized where he was walking, dialing the number through sheer muscle memory.

“Hello?” Your voice crackled along the line, sounding sleepy. What time was it?

“Hey,” Steve said, leaning against the wall where the phone was mounted. He didn’t need to worry about calling directly from his personal line when his parents weren’t home. Besides, he was sweating, smelled like sex, and there was something comfortable about the cool, empty room downstairs. “Am I bothering you?”

“Nuh-uh,” you hummed, and he heard something shuffle on your side of the phone. “Just painting my nails. What’s up? I thought you were busy with Becky tonight?”

His heart thumped uncomfortably and he wished he hadn’t called. “Yeah, uh, she left.”

“Oh,” you replied, and he could picture the look of soft concern you would be wearing. “You sound disappointed. Did it not go well?”

Steve scratched at his chest, the hair there still a bit tacky with sweat. “Permission to overshare?”

You paused. “Hm…” Another beat. “Uh, I guess so. Why not?”

You were quiet as Steve recounted the experience with you, right down to the horrific realization that he couldn’t stay hard and their night had to be cut short. He waited as soon as he explained Becky's departure, waiting for you to laugh or tease him.

“That’s tough, but it happens, Steve,” you said softly. “Maybe your heart wasn’t in it.”

He groaned again, pressing the heel of his hand into his forehead. “I don’t care if my heart was in it. I wanted my dick to be in it.” He paused. “That wasn’t on purpose, but you know what I mean. My heart has never been a problem before.”

“Well, stress can impact performance,” you explained. “Especially if you’re psyching yourself out about whether or not you’re going to get off. Permission for me to overshare?”

He sighed and ran a hand through his mussed hair. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Permission granted.”

“Last year when they hired me at The Gap at the mall and made me a manager for no reason, I was so fucking stressed out that I couldn’t get myself off for weeks. Like, I tried everything. You know what finally helped?”

Steve swallowed. Hard. “W-what?”

“I turned off my brain for a few hours. I just let my hands wander a bit, figured out what felt good, and explored that for a while before moving on to the next spot. Eventually, I made myself cum without even realizing what I was doing.” You paused, and he heard a nervous laugh slip past your lips. “Um, that's just, like, a suggestion.”

The mental image was enough to make his cock twitch beneath the thin material of his boxers. He swallowed, trying to block out the images of you; naked, hand between your thighs, writhing in pleasure. His length throbbed again, because despite his best efforts, the image didn’t go away.

“I’m just trying to explain that it’s super common to have issues getting off, and it’s not weird!” You said, the silence clearly making you antsy. “Did that help at all?”

“Mhmm,” he hummed. “Robin would say this is a sign from the universe that I should just be single for a while.”

“Maybe.” You paused. “Give yourself some time, alright? You’ve been through a lot, Steve. Stuff like that is bound to catch up sooner or later.”

You were waiting for him by your next shift, sneaking past Robin to pull him aside. “Did you try it?” You asked, blinking up at him.

“What?” He furrowed his brows until you mimed jerking off and his cheeks fucking burned. “Oh, no. I wasn’t up for it.” He groaned. “I didn’t mean it like that either.”

“I know, I know,” you assured, a pretty smile on your lips. “So, do you think that Becky’s not…”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be seeing her again, which blows.”

You shrugged. “Screw that. You can find someone way better, alright?” He wanted to roll his eyes as you grabbed his shoulders in your hands, making him look right at you. When he tried to look away, you repeated yourself. “Alright?”

He sighed. “Yeah, yeah, alright.” He wriggled out of your grip. “Can you just hand me the returns cart so I can shelve them?” You shrugged and passed him the cart, eager to offload your tasks if he was willing to take them.

He needed a distraction. Because you were wearing a black miniskirt with your dumb family video vest, and a fucking Star Wars shirt he would’ve found dorky if you weren’t perfectly endearing.

You were giggling and smiling, fighting with Robin over a copy of some movie you both were dying to see before the other. He sighed as he shelved a copy of A Christmas Story, wondering why someone would’ve rented that in August.

He got the cart shelved, helped a nice old lady find a Hitchcock movie she’d liked when her late husband showed her, and even reorganized the snack counter before he finally came upon a hitch in his day.

“Steve!” Your voice was barely a whisper, coming from Keith’s office. He looked around at the store, where Robin was sitting unfazed at the main counter, and slipped past the door.

Oh fuck. You were bent over Keith’s desk, legs sprawled awkwardly, tugging hopelessly at where your shirt was caught on a screw pinning it and you to the wall. He couldn’t even fathom how you’d gotten into that position— maybe reaching for something that had fallen behind the bulky desk?

Worst of all, that stupid mini skirt. Bent over the desk, he saw the baby blue cotton of your panties. His mouth went dry. He’d forgotten why he’d walked into the room in the first place.

“Steve! My shirt is stuck on one of the screws,” you explained, squirming slightly with impatience. “I got this when Empire came out, it’s irreplaceable. Just pull the desk out so I can move.”

It took a few seconds for his brain to comprehend what was asked of him. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that. Easy-peasy.” He grimaced. Why the fuck did he say that?

“Steve, hurry.” He tried not to look back at your ass as he approached the desk, giving it a slight tug so you were no longer pinned. You stumbled a bit before standing and tugging your skirt down, giving him a sheepish smile. “Jesus, that was so stupid. I dropped my time card clocking in from my break. Thanks Steve.”

With the desk pulled out, you grabbed it easily and waved it in front of his face. He gave a weak heh as you patted his shoulder and sauntered back out.

He leaned against the wall, relishing in how cold it was against his weirdly hot body. He wasn’t dumb. He knew you were attractive. He thought you were fucking stunning. But you were his friend, not someone he was trying to fuck around with.

Imagine his surprise when he found himself already half-hard just from barely even a glimpse of your panties when he couldn’t even get it up for the girls he was actually trying to sleep with.

“God fucking damn it,” he muttered, adjusting himself as best as he could before stepping out of the office. As soon as he hit the floor, Robin grabbed his arm and tugged him towards a box of new releases.

“Hey, Stevie, do you mind putting out the pornos? I would but… you know. I don’t really want to.”

Better and better. “Yeah, what would Gloria Steinem think if she knew you saw a VHS sleeve that showed tits?” He raised a brow and took the new box, boasting salacious titles like— Slutty Slumber Party and Cock Fight III.

She pinched his cheek with a grin and patted his back. “You’re the best, Steve.” He rolled his eyes. He knew that already.

You caught up to him before he could pass the privacy curtain that partitioned the triple X section from the rest of the store, peering down into the box.

“Let me help you put these out,” you offered, already scooping up as many titles as you could carry from the box. It was his worst nightmare come to life— an inconvenient boner, his cute friend, and a million sets of tits and dicks everywhere the eye could see.

It was blissfully quiet as he focused intensely on alphabetizing the titles. You helped him do stuff all the time, no need for him to make it weird just because you were shelving movies like Hot Groupie Fuckfest 2.

“Maybe you should sneak one of these home,” you finally said, turning the title in your hand towards him. “It could help.”

“I don’t need tapes to get off,” he insisted, maybe a little too defensively. “I like magazines better anyway. Classier.” He swore internally, realizing he had revealed something extremely private that he hadn’t shared with anyone.

You shrugged and continued shelving. “Magazines are cool,” you replied, rather awkwardly, like you were walking on eggshells. “Very classy.”

“Nothing is wrong with me,” he finally said. His mortification had gotten the best of him and the words just came out. “I’m fine.”

“Okay…” you replied, a furrow between your brows. “I never said you weren’t, Steve. I’m just—“

“Trying to help— I know but…” he groaned, raking a hand through his hair. “Let’s drop it, alright?” You nodded in agreement and he sighed, feeling like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

The two of you stood there for a moment before you nodded back to the crate. “Okay, we’ve got, like, three dozen more to stock, so let’s just get it done.”

He hated that he’d upset you, or offended you, or made you feel any way towards him other than perfectly happy. But what was he supposed to do? The entire ordeal was utterly humiliating.

And you seemed totally unbothered as you read the back cover of some girl on girl flick, interest in your eyes. Were you into that stuff? Was that what you liked thinking about? Why was he even concerned about what you think about?

You shelved the movie and moved on— grabbing your next pile, one that took you across the room to the shelf of more taboo, kinky stuff. He stared as you got onto your knees, bending over to stock the bottom shelf. And there he was— greeted by another tiny flash of your panties under the fluorescent lights just before you tugged your skirt down.

His cock stirred with interest, toeing the line between half-hard and impossible to ignore. Jesus. Were you doing it on purpose?

“Hm? Doing what?“ you asked, glancing over your shoulder. “Because if you mean stocking the weird shit on the bottom shelf, that’s a yes. No one wants to walk in and be eye-level with Fist Fest II.”

There was something about your smile then— sweet, like you had no idea the torment you were putting him through. He wanted to cry. “I’ll be right back.”

Robin ignored him as he practically darted past her and into the back rooms. He didn’t even bother clocking out for his break before he ducked into the employee’s only bathroom and locked the door behind himself.

He wasn’t an animal. Typically, he had self control. But a week of being unable to get off combined with your obliviousness as to what you were doing to him had him ready to jump out of his skin.

He fumbled with his belt, the metal clinking echoed off of the tile walls as he practically ripped it off. He made quick work of the button and zipper of his fly, practically moaning with relief at the lack of restriction. He spat into his hand before he shoved it into his briefs, crying out in relief before he thought better of it and bit onto his fist to keep quiet.

This, he realized as he grew frustrated with the lack of mobility and pulled his dick out at work, was a new low for him. Teeth cut into the meat of his palm as he fucked his hand in earnest, muffled moans coming out strangled and desperate. There wasn’t time for teasing, for drawing it out like he usually did when he was alone. It felt like his body was a rubber band, stretched and poised to snap.

And, god help him, he was thinking about you. Of you bent over Keith’s desk, legs gangly and awkward, ass in the air, wriggling to try to free yourself before caving and asking him for help. Steve was a gentleman. He only spared one look of shock before averting his eyes. But fantasies didn’t hurt anyone.

Fantasies about you doing it on purpose— arching your back and wiggling your hips invitingly because you wanted him to see you like that. In another world, where you wanted him and he wanted you, he would’ve relished in that scenario. Of you teasing and entrapping him in some game of cat and mouse. Of fucking you over the stupid squeaky desk and covering your mouth so Robin didn’t hear. Biting into your shoulder to keep himself quiet.

He came thinking about you, a guttural, desperate moan cutting into the air despite his best efforts to stay quiet. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed a release until he was coming down, his hand sticky and warm, cum painting the tile in front of him.

“Jesus fucking— goddamn it.” His voice wavered, most of his energy sapped. He felt pathetic as he stuffed his softening length back in his briefs and tugged his pants up, wincing at the sensitivity. And he felt even more pathetic as he grabbed paper towels from the dispenser and cleaned up his spend from the bathroom wall at his fucking workplace.

A sudden loud knock sounded on the door, nearly making him yelp. “Are you okay in there, dingus?” Robin asked, her genuine concern masked by the sarcasm that dripped from her tone. “You ran past like you needed to shit, or something, so I wanted to check.”

He sunk onto the gross bathroom floor and banged his head against the wall. Dying, he decided, would have been less painful than whatever this was.

It had been days, and he had yet to cum unless you were at the top of mind. It had to be a coincidence, like he’d Pavlov-ed himself into only getting hard if he thought about you.

No. That wasn’t exactly true. He could get hard, he just couldn’t cum unless he thought about you. There was a big difference, and it meant he wasn’t totally broken after all. It meant he could fix it.

The most inconvenient thing about it was the fact that he had to jerk off before any shifts with you or he’d have to repeat that first bathroom session, which was something he really, really wanted to leave in the past.

There was a possibility that there was something to the situation at hand— that the reason for his body’s reaction to you was beyond just physical. But that was dumb, and every time that tiny voice in his brain told him to consider it, Steve just shook it off.

His phone rang at his bedside and he sighed, tossing the book he’d been trying to read for the past hour with no avail.

“Yeah?” He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He really needed some glasses, huh?

“Hey, Steve, it’s me.” Your voice was like music over the phone, and he sat up quickly, like you were there to witness his lazy, slouchy morning. “I was just calling to ask if you could cover my shift this afternoon. I know it’s a big ask since it’s so last minute, but I can totally pay you back double sometime.”

He scratched the back of his neck. Fucking Keith was on the schedule tonight, and they hated each other. Then again, it wasn’t like he had any plans. He couldn't risk another failed hookup, or word might get around that he was a limp dick loser. “Mhmm. Shouldn’t be too bad,” he lied.

You sighed with relief on the other end. “You’re a lifesaver, Steve. I thought I was gonna have to cancel my date.”

His heart stuttered for a few moments before he recovered and tried to act casual about it. “Date? I didn’t even know you were…” He trailed off, unsure of how to even finish that sentence. His voice was higher than usual, so he cleared his throat to brush it off.

You laughed. “Yeah, I know it’s been a while. I figured I should stop waiting around for something to fall into my lap and just put myself out there, or something. You know, just… casually, nothing too serious.”

Oh. He didn’t have the right to feel disappointed, and yet… He wanted to tell you not to go, to stay home like normal, and keep things like they were already. He didn’t want to imagine you with some random Hawkins asshole right now, especially when he couldn’t think of a single person in city limits who might be worthy of your time.

It was crazy. He’d set you up on plenty of dates and coached you through even more. He didn’t have any reason to feel weird about it now.

“Steve? Did I lose you?” You asked softly. “I know you’re still dealing with… you know, everything. I don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want me to. God, hearing you talk about getting laid while I was having a dry spell used to make me want to rip my hair out.”

“It’s fine,” he insisted. “Go have a good date, and don’t let him have all the fun, alright?”

You laughed, and he could picture you wrinkling your nose the way you always did when he said something dumb. “I would never. Thanks again, Steve.”

You were giddy at work the next morning, a pretty glow about you, an unusual chipper attitude that you shared with every single guest. You weren’t even being particularly snarky with him or Robin.

“Good night?” He asked, despite not really wanting to know. God, it was like there were two halves of himself constantly working against the other.

You smiled brightly, and he almost winced. “It was so good. I think you know him— Andy from Varsity baseball in ‘84. He graduated a year earlier than us and goes to Purdue. He’s living at home while he’s doing an internship for some financial firm.”

“What happened to just being casual?” Steve asked, brows furrowing as he looked at you.

You laughed in lieu of a response and grabbed the box of merchandise for the latest new releases. He stood there dumbly until Keith knocked into his shoulder.

“Back to work, Harrington,” he said in that stupid, asshole voice of his. “These returns aren’t going to shelve themselves.”

——

“You’re glowering.” Robin whispered into his ear a few days later, so close it made him jump out of his frustrated stupor and back into reality.

“I’m not, I'm just focused,” he insisted, even though his eyes were burning holes into the back of Andy’s head. He hit stop on the tape he had successfully rewound and put it back into the case, then back into the cart for shelving.

It was the sort of monotonous task that gave him time to ruminate. And to glower.

Why was Andy even there? Just to distract you from work and charm his way into your pants? Again? You’d been shelving the same tape of The Outsiders for twenty minutes, at least.

God, he sounded like Keith. Wasn’t that terrifying?

“Do you remember him from high school?” Steve finally asked, sparing a glance back at Robin. She shrugged, and he whipped his gaze back to the two of you. His hand was on your hip, dangerously close to grabbing your ass. Classless, asshole college guy. “Yeah, I figured. He graduated in ‘84. Third baseman.”

Robin snorted. “I bet.”

“Cute. Very charming, Robin,” Steve sighed, shaking his head. He stopped the tape and slipped the cover back on. “Whatever. He just doesn’t seem her type, that’s all.”

Robin rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand before he could reach for the next tape. “Steve. Andy is exactly her type. Sweet guy, athletic, charming…” She raised her brows, like she was trying to make a point. But to Steve, the only point she seemed to be making was that Andy was the total package and he was a loser.

“I’m not glowering,” he repeated, if only to prove it to himself. “I’m just trying to finish up the rewinds since we’re down an employee.” He gave a lazy gesture towards the front of the store, where you and Andy were making eyes at each other.

Not jealous. Not jealous at all. Just… sexually frustrated. That was an easy fix.

His Rolodex was filled with girls who he’d fooled around with. When he got home, he flipped through the remaining names, each eliciting vague memories.

Deanna was hot… she had a weird laugh though. Not like you. Your laugh was a nice, warm sound. He liked your laugh more than anything. As a friend. Of course.

Maybe Kelly? She was sweet, pretty. Not as pretty as you were, obviously, but who was?

He tried calling a few, but most of them wanted nothing to do with a guy who’d forgotten to call for a few months. After his third rejection, he gave up entirely. He didn’t really have it in him to lead another girl on, anyway.

Maybe there was something there he should acknowledge. That itching, stirring feeling of want that had started to fester months ago. Gnawing at the edges of each interaction he had with you. Maybe it had always been there and his dumb body was making him do something about it, just like you’d said.

He was in a mood for the next week. He hadn’t felt this pent up since after graduation, when he had to wear a sailor uniform and perform a public humiliation ritual for minimum wage.

You sidled up to him at the register at closing, where he was getting a sick sort of satisfaction in checking on all of the late charges about to hit the overdue rentals.

You were dressed like you were going to go on a date later— with one of your favorite tops and that goddamn mini skirt. Even worse, you were smiling a pretty smile like you wanted something, which made the itch of irritation claw at his tongue. “I’m not taking another one of your shifts so that you can go out with Andy,” he said sternly, with a narrowed glance at you.

Your brows raised and you gave him a look that told him he was being an asshole, which he already knew. “Okay, one, I wasn’t going to ask you to take one of my shifts, and two, who pissed in your cereal this morning?”

He just huffed. “Sorry, long day.” Long month. “I’m being a dick.”

You smiled and nodded. “Yeah, you are… but I forgive you.” You brushed your hair back and leaned imperceptibly closer. It probably wasn’t on purpose, but your arm pushed against his and you were so warm, and you smelled like the Avon perfume your mom always bought you. ”Let’s hang out tonight. I feel like I only ever see you at work lately. I’ll rent us a movie, grab some dinner on the way… it’ll be just like old times.”

The realistic part of his brain told him it was a bad idea. He’d been plagued with graphic, explicit images of you playing in his head at the worst of times. He wasn’t sure he could trust himself to be normal about hanging out at your place.

Which was absolutely ridiculous. It would be the thousandth time he’d been over, but the odds of him getting an inconvenient, persistent boner around you were frustratingly high.

But his alternative was going home to sulk alone and sink deeper into his funk, so he nodded. “Yeah, sounds fun.” It would be fine. He could persevere.

——

Your basement had always been his favorite place to hang out. Unlike his own parents who wanted input into every facet of his young life, your parents let you do whatever the hell you wanted to the space, as long as they could store their treadmill and your mom’s Tupperware stock.

It was lit with old Christmas lights and covered in tchotchkes that you had found in garage sales. Old quilts, your grandma’s macrame, needlepoint throw pillows. It was like an estate sale had crawled inside to die, and he loved it.

The couch had an uncomfortable spring that always dug into his thighs, you picked a really dumb movie, and you had slightly burned the popcorn on the stove, but he couldn’t complain. Maybe he did need this.

”So… are you still seeing Andy?” He asked when the movie hit a lull. It wasn’t that he wasn’t paying attention, it was just hard to focus.

You laughed, shaking your head. You were sprawled across the ugly floral couch, legs in his lap, curled up facing the TV. “Ew, no,” you said with an eye roll. “He was fun at first, but I was just kind of using him, you know?”

Did he know? Probably not, but he nodded like he understood anyway. He took another handful of the mildly-burnt popcorn and watched you out of his periphery (which was, admittedly, not what it used to be).

He tried to focus on the movie some more, but it was you that broke the silence next. You shifted your legs a bit to get comfortable before he felt your gaze on him. “So, how’s your problem?” You asked.

His cheeks felt hot, like his entire head had been shoved under the heat lamp in Dustin’s turtle’s tank. “Oh,“ he cleared his throat. “Fine, I guess. I don’t know, actually. I haven’t been on any dates since Becky, so…”

“Really? Why not?” You asked, brows knit.

His expression was incredulous. Why not? Oh, nothing too bad— just that I can’t get hard lately unless I’m fantasizing about you. “Why do you think? This is totally reputation killing stuff here. I’ll be lucky if the entire female population of Hawkins doesn’t think my dick doesn’t work.”

You shifted closer, but your legs were still heavy in his lap, which he was growing increasingly conscious of. “What about when you’re alone?”

His heart started to hammer as thoughts flooded his brain of the session he’d had in the shower that morning, which had been, in part, fueled by a quick perusal of his photo album from last summer and the handful of pictures of you in a remarkably high cut swimsuit.

“Uh…” His voice was higher than usual, and he tried to bring it back down to Earth before continuing. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, glancing only briefly at your lips before forcing himself to look back up at your eyes. “Normal. It’s normal.”

“So, if that's normal, what do you think about when you’re alone?”

His throat feels tight as he tries to think of something to say other than you, you, you, you. You in your stupid granny pajamas, you in the backseat of his car, you bending over to shelve DVDs… you had burrowed into his mind and totally corrupted it. He squints, like he’s considering anything else. “Um… normal things. Just… normal stuff, you know?”

You sighed out a soft huh, and there was something in your gaze that made his stomach flip. It was an expression he’d never seen you wear so plainly, especially not towards him. Pure, hungry desire, so obvious that he had to have been imagining it. “Steve,” you whispered.

He closed his eyes, swallowing. “Mhmm? Yeah?”

“You’re hard right now.”

He glanced down as you shifted your legs again and had to swallow a pathetic moan at the tiniest amount of friction. And, well, he was obviously, undeniably hard in his jeans.

“Oh, that’s just… y’know, from me remembering all of the totally normal stuff that I—“

The rest of his lame excuse was swallowed by the warm press of your lips against his. Lapped away as your tongue slipped into his mouth and took every rational thought away with it. It was slow and sweet, like you were trying your best to savor every second of it. Jesus, had you always been that good of a kisser?

When you pulled back, with spit-glossed lips and met his gaze, he felt so turned on that his head started to swim. He couldn’t find words for how he was feeling, for how he’d been feeling, so he offered a meager, “You’re really good at that.”

You rolled your eyes and laughed, and his heart did that thing again, which felt more embarrassing than the obvious bulge straining in his Levi's. For once, his body’s ability (or lack thereof) to function was the least of his worries.

“I don’t know how much more obvious I can possibly make it,” you said softly. “I’m really into you.”

His brows furrowed. For a second, he thought he might have slipped in the shower, died, and woken up in a very forgiving afterlife. “What? Since when?”

You swallowed and chewed your lip sheepishly for a moment. “Um, on and off since I’ve known you, but, like, very much on since graduation.”

It was like a fog had lifted over his memories. The lingering touches and flirty eyes across the rooms. The late nights on the phone, where it felt like talking to Steve was the only place you wanted to be. And, frankly, it had been all he wanted to do too.

Maybe he had been a total idiot this whole time. A dense, oblivious dumb ass who had been ignoring his dream girl because she was one of his best friends first.

Then his brows knit deeper, forming two parallel furrows between your brows. “But you were just dating Andy.”

You groaned and rolled your eyes. “I was trying to make you jealous, which obviously worked since Robin told me that she caught you pouting.”

Robin. “I didn’t pout,” he insisted, but he knew that lying was futile. He had just… glared in Andy’s general direction. “Okay, fine. If that was on purpose, I’m guessing your panty flashing was too.”

That seemed to make you pause. Your head tilted, brows furrowing. “I’m sorry, my what?”

He blanched, embarrassed. “You know, the time you wore this same skirt, and you got stuck on Keith’s desk. You were messing with me, obviously.”

He could see the gears turning in your mind as you thought back to when you’d gotten stuck on the desk. As soon as the grin split across your features, he wanted to melt right into the shitty couch cushions and die next to the fucked-up spring. “You think I’d risk my Empire shirt just to turn you on?” You questioned, frankly offended at the insinuation. When his face went pink with embarrassment, you looked positively giddy. “Oh my god, Harrington you perv—“

He had you pinned on your back before you could fully form the insult, planting kisses to your neck. “You’re so evil,” he mumbled into your throat, lips grazing, soft and wet against your fluttering pulse. Each kiss made you squirm beneath him, which wasn’t doing much to help him cool down. “You’ve been driving me crazy, like you’ve got some sort of witchy spell on me.”

You giggled, and the sound went straight into the warm, gooey center of himself. “Did it turn you on?” You gasped softly. He groaned as you hooked one of your legs around his thigh and pulled him closer against you, so he was grinding directly against your core.

Did it turn him on? It had led to one of the most humiliating moments of his life, of which there had been many. It was embarrassing, but the sound of your laughter was like a drug to him, so he’d throw himself into the fire for your amusement. “It turned me on so much that I had to jerk off in the employee bathrooms,” he mumbled against your throat.

That was a dumb thing to admit. A dumb, gross, creepy thing to tell one of your best friends. Your oldest friend! Stupid, stupid Steve—

“That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard,” you said finally. One of your hands came up and he shivered as he felt your nails combing through his hair. “But you could have just told me, dummy. We could’ve run out to my car so I could take care of it for you.”

Just the thought made his hips buck against yours, seeking sweet, sweet friction between your thighs. “Don’t say things like that,” he groaned. “If you talk like that it’ll fucking kill me, I swear.”

He pulled back, just to see the sharp, wet glint of your teeth as you smiled up at him. You drove him crazy. Before, it was just in the normal ways, like when you made him give you a ride into the city and didn’t give him gas money, or when you drank too much at a party and puked on his new sneakers.

This was new. He felt stricken by some new form of hysteria, where something as tiny as the smallest twitch in your brows made him feel overcome with intense need. Jesus, he’d never been so pent up in his life. He felt the soft pressure of your leg tugging him close again, then the slow roll of your hips against his.

"Fuck," he panted. It was embarrassing, frankly, how gone he already was. He leaned down, capturing your lips with his again, and relished in the slow drag of your tongue against his.

He'd never loved a kiss so much in his life. With you beneath him, grinding up against him and moaning against his lips. The way your tongue felt tangling with his. He got too lost in it— in the kiss, in your bodies pressing together. After a while, the kissing got lost and it was just the two of you, panting into each others mouths as you slowly ground against each other.

You pulled back first— lips kiss-swollen and slick. It took everything in him not to kiss you again.

“So…” You murmured, peering up at him. When you bit your lip sheepishly, he wanted to bury his face in your throat and groan. He watched, hypnotized, as your tongue slipped out and wet your lips. “Everything definitely feels like it's working like normal.”

He nearly whined as your other hand moved down and palmed him through his jeans. Your fingers pressed against his button, working it undone. He groaned as your hand wriggled past his waistband to grope him through his briefs.

It all felt so good, too good. Your thumb brushed over the damp fabric clinging to his weeping tip and he swore he saw stars. "Ah, just… just wait—" He choked out.

You froze, brow quirked. He could feel his cock twitching in your palm, and tried to think about horrible, disgusting things to keep from coming too soon. Demodogs, Russian torture, Tommy Hagan's gym locker, mopping random kids' puke off of the Scoops Ahoy tile. "What? Is it happening again?"

"No, no, the opposite," he panted. His eyes squeezed shut and he tried to control himself as best as he could, given the circumstances. You showed him a little bit of mercy and slipped you hand free, which he was immensely grateful for.

"So I beat the curse, huh?" You asked with a coy smile. "Becky Martin and Katie Frey can totally suck it."

Steve laughed, despite everything. "Jesus, you are the curse," he said, meeting your gaze. "For the past month, I could only get off if I was thinking about you." He swallowed, feeling vulnerable with you looking up at him. "Like I said… witchy spell."

He sat back as you pushed at his shoulders, encouraging him to sit back against the cushions. His eyes widened as you shifted into his lap, the weight of you warm and comfortable there. When he glanced down at where you sat on his lap, where your skirt rode up your thighs, he got a head rush. "You know…" You trailed off, looping your arms around his neck. "Usually, I'd never sleep with a guy who said I'm a curse."

He groaned as you tugged at the hair at the base of his neck, forcing him to tilt his head back and expose his throat. He laughed weakly, eyes half lidded as he looked at you. "Usually," he echoed.

You nodded and leaned closer, so he could feel the warm buzz of your proximity. Like every cell in his body was vibrating with the desire to just press against you. "Well, someone needs to fix that attitude of yours. You've been really bitchy for the past few weeks." He scoffed at your words, but couldn't fight the smile on his lips.

You sat back on his knees and pulled his shirt over his head, revealing the toned expanse of his torso. He hummed contentedly as your fingers combed through his chest hair, just exploring the newly exposed skin.

Your hands trailed down, following the trail of dark hair on his tummy that disappeared into his briefs. He swallowed hard as you wrapped your hand around his cock, warm and tight. He wanted to see though. He wanted to look at the way your manicured hand fit around him, so he tugged his pants down and moaned at the sight.

"You must really want this," you murmured, lips twitching up in what he could only recognize as pure triumph. "You're dripping." The pad of your thumb swept over his tip, gathering slick precum to make the glide of your hand smooth.

It didn't take much. Actually, it took a mortifyingly small amount of attention. Your hand just felt so good wrapped around him, and it was the very thing he'd been fantasizing about for the past month. You, in his lap, with your hand around his pulsing cock and your lips on his throat. It couldn't have been more than three pumps of your hand, not even enough time to get a good rhythm, and he was crying out with pretty moans and shooting thick ropes of cum all over his abdomen.

His chest was heaving like he'd just run a marathon as you worked him through it. "Fuck," he panted. "Nngh— You've gotta— Ah, fuck— 's too much." You relented, like a benevolent god, and released him from your grip, so his dick twitched and softened against his stomach.

"Is that how you sounded when you faked it for Katie?" You teased.

"Oh, fuck off," he panted, a smile splitting his features.

When his mind cleared enough to have a little bit of shame, he realized how embarrassing it was that he'd finished so fast. Maybe you were into him for other things, but he didn't want to risk losing you now. So as he hastily tugged his pants back up, he stumbled through an explanation. "I'm not usually, like… I mean… I do have stamina, typically."

"I actually think it's really sweet, Steve. It's like a compliment." He was going to argue more, then you licked the cum from your fingers to clean it up and he nearly blacked out at the sight. He couldn't wait a second more, he had to have his hands on you.

"Alright, your turn," he said, and before you could say anything, he had you pinned beneath him on the couch again. He worked the buttons of your shirt quickly, until it fell open at your sides. He sat up, just to take in the sight.

"You're so goddamn pretty," he practically groaned. With your shirt undone, he relished in the sight of your tits cupped by white lace. "I don't even wanna take it off."

"Steve," you gasped as his mouth moved down your throat and sternum, until he was planting wet, hot kisses onto the plush of your breasts. He moaned against your chest, propping himself with one arm so he could grope at your tit with his free hand. You keened, arching into the attention, and he relished in your neediness. "I think you should take it off."

Your wish was his command. Not that it was such a difficult ask. He made quick work of the clasp and let you shrug it off and onto the floor. He sat back and really had to fight the urge to whistle at the sight. "Goddamn," he murmured, letting his hands roam up your body and cup your breasts.

You rolled your eyes, but he could see the tiniest bit of bashfulness in your eyes. In the back of his mind, it was kind of weird. Not bad weird, just… different. You were the person he went with to the hair salon and watched the Bulls with. It felt odd to have you pinned beneath him, moaning softly as he squeezed the plush of your tits and teased your nipples.

To your credit, you let him take his time. You let his hands wander and explore at his own pace. Your breath hitched as his hands dipped lower, until he was hiking up the fabric of your mini skirt to reveal your panties. Baby blue.

"Oh, fuck you," he groaned, meeting your gaze. "It was on purpose, you liar."

You grinned, and the smug expression you wore made him feel like his chest was going to implode. "I don't know what you're talking about, Steve. Do you really think I'd play mind games to torment you when you're pent up and needy?"

Yes, actually. He huffed and shifted down your body. He felt right at home with your thighs bracketing his head. He pressed a kiss to the soft skin of your inner thigh.

The pastel of your panties betrayed just how affected you were, much to his amusement. He ran a thumb over the damp patch at your center and felt your thighs tense on either side of him. "You must really want this," he said with a grin, echoing your previous teasing.

"Jesus, of course I do," you said, breath shuddering as he thumbed at your clit through the sodden fabric. "You're, like, my dream guy, and you're about to go down on me."

Your dream guy. Steve's pulse thrummed as he took it in. You were incredible, way too good for a Hawkins loser who spent his shifts renting video tapes. To be fair, you were also spending your days shelving video tapes, but he always felt like that was a brief stop in your life that you'd move on from.

But if you thought he was good enough to be your dream guy, maybe there was something worthwhile left in him after all.

He kissed your clit through your panties almost reverently. His tongue laved over the fabric and he groaned at the taste of you saturating the cotton. God, you were like heaven. He could have stayed like that for hours— just tasting you through your panties. Each lap over your center just soaking the fabric more, until it clung to the shape of your lips like a second skin.

It wasn't enough though, and he was too lost in his desire to be particularly patient. He wanted his tongue on you, in you, licking up every drop of your juices until he made you spill more onto his tongue. He sat up and tugged your panties down, then quickly repositioned himself between your legs with your thighs over his shoulders.

Steve's tongue darted out, wetting his lips as he took in the sight of your pussy. Slick with arousal, twitching with anticipation. He ran his thumb up the seam of you, spreading you open. He relished in the cute twitch of your clit as blew a puff of cool air over your heated, sensitive skin.

"You're really pretty," he murmured. "So wet for me. And so goddamn responsive." He grinned up at you from between your thighs, relishing in the way your tits heaved with each shuddery breath.

His tongue lapped at your center, tasting just how badly you've wanted him. You writhed beneath him, thighs tensing to clamp around his head before he finally just held them apart. He started to taste you in earnest then, lapping up your juices, stroking the bud of your clit with the flat of his tongue.

You tasted so good, practically gushing onto his tongue as he feasted on you. His tongue pressed against your entrance, just barely dipping in so he could feel the way you clenched around the intrusion.

"Fuck, Steve," you panted. Your hips bucked, practically grinding against his mouth. He moaned against you, nuzzling his nose against your clit. "That's— ah, fuck— that's really good."

He smiled against your pussy, giving a few more slow, wet kisses before he sat up. In the dim light of the basement, you could see where his face was slick and shiny with your spit and juices. "Gonna stretch you out a little for me, okay?"

You nodded, propping yourself on your elbows to see him better. He pressed another sweet kiss to your clit before he eased his middle finger into you. If he hadn't already fully recovered from his first orgasm, just the feeling of your walls clenching around his finger would have done it for him.

It took a minute for him to learn your body. Where to touch, what spots inside made your legs shake. You took two fingers easily, squirming as he pressed his fingers against a sensitive, spongy spot. Your eyes rolled back and his head thumped against the arm of the sofa, which made him grin.

"Right there, huh?" He teased. He applied a little more pressure and felt you gush around his fingers. Yeah, right there. He wrapped his lips around your your sensitive clit and sucked until your thighs trembled on either side of him.

"Steve!" You gasped, back arching. Your voice was high and breathy, he'd never heard you so desperate before. He knew you were close— he could feel your walls clenching and fluttering around his fingers. "Oh, fuck. Jesus christ, like that— Just like that—"

When you finally came around his fingers and on his tongue, he had never heard such a perfect sound before. Soft, keening moans and pretty cries of his name. Your clit twitched against his tongue, and when your sweet moans finally turned into overstimulated whimpers, he relented.

You panted, chest heaving breathlessly as you came down from your high. You propped yourself up on your elbows and giggled as he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "Holy shit," you gasped.

He grinned, crawling up your body to plant a slow, sweet kiss on your lips. He could feel you smiling into the kiss, until his teeth knocked with yours and he had to pull back with a sheepish laugh. "Think you can give me another one?"

You raised a brow. "I can, but do you think you can?"

He laughed. Jesus, he'd been hard since he'd gotten his hands on your tits. "I definitely can."

Your gaze was on him as he stripped the rest of his clothes off— kicking his socks, jeans and briefs into a messy pile on the floor. For the first time in a long string of hookups, Steve Harrington felt self-conscious under your scrutiny.

"You're staring," he said weakly, feeling heat flood his cheeks. Usually, the second he was undressed he had a partner ready to jump his bones, but you just took in the sight of him.

"Only because you're really hot. You're forgetting that this is the culmination of every teenage fantasy I've ever had," you finally said, shifting to sit up. He hummed contentedly as you ran your hands up his chest then traced over his broad shoulders

"How did this next part go in those fantasies, huh?" He asked.

With a tiny grin, you pushed him back onto the couch, which creaked under his weight. "Well, usually," you began, straddling his hips. "They start like this."

Oh. Steve swallowed, peering up at you with wide eyes. Your hands splayed over his chest, fingers dimpling the muscle of his pecs. He groaned as you gave a slow rock of your hips, gliding your cunt along his length.

You were so wet and warm on top of him, and the precum dribbling from his tip only added to the sticky mess. All he could do was watch, totally slack-jawed as you ground your hips against his.

Well, he could also reach up and play with your tits. So he did. His heart thrummed at the soft and pretty sound that fell past your lips as he tugged and pinched your nipples.

You didn't wait any longer, not that he would have made you. There was something so sexy about the way you took control— taking his cock in your hand so you could line him up with your entrance and begin to slowly sink onto him. His hands quickly moved down to your hips, squeezing tight as you took inch after inch.

Jesus, you were taking it like a champ. With your head tossed back and your pussy clenching around his cock, he knew you really fucking loved it. He wanted you to love every bit of it.

"That's it," Steve goaded, the tiniest hint of a smirk on his lips. "Just a little more, honey. You've got it."

You moaned, lips parted as you sunk down. Warm, wet, tight until you were fully seated. A furrow formed between your brows as you stilled, accommodating to the size of him. "Fuck," you breathed, fingers tensing on his chest.

He wanted to squirm, to buck his hips deeper, to force you to finally move. But he could behave, he could let you have this. You gave a slow roll of your hips and he groaned, squeezing your hips tighter. "You doing okay?"

A cocky smile broke across your lips, and when you laughed he felt your walls squeeze around him. "I'm doing great," you said, punctuation your words with another slow grind. "I'm just trying to make sure you can last long enough to enjoy it."

His cheeks went hot with embarrassment and arousal, the smirk faded into mild offense. "Don't be cute. I'm fine."

"Yeah?" You began to move faster, your thighs colliding with his with each bounce onto him. You took him as deep as you could, then rose up until he was just about to slip out of you, only to slam back down. In, out, in, out, in, out. "Is this what you've been thinking about every time you jerked off?"

Had he thought of this? And then some. Steve had learned that he could be very creative when he needed to be. "Something like it," He managed, eyes squeezing shut as you gave a particularly sinful swivel of your hips.

He groaned, head falling back, neck bared as you rode him within an inch of his life. At least, that's what it felt like. Pretty moans and soft ah, ah, ahs slipped past your lips like his cock was punching them out of you. He moved his hands, grabbing your ass like he had any semblance of control over what you were doing to him.

Who the fuck taught you to ride dick like this? And should he thank them or murder them?

"Fuck, Steve," you panted. "Should've known you'd feel this good. No wonder you have a fucking harem around you."

He didn't want to think about that. He didn't want to think about another girl ever again. In one steady motion, he had you pinned to the couch. From beneath him, he relished in the way your eyes went wide with surprise. He didn't just feel good, he was good. He wanted you to know how good he was for you, how good he could make you feel.

"You feel goddamn perfect," he groaned. As soon as the compliment passed his lips, he felt you squeeze around him, pussy fluttering as he drove into you again and again. "So wet and tight, so pretty. Can't believe I've wasted my time when you've been right here."

Steve moved his mouth to your throat, licking and sucking and biting at all of the soft skin there. He wanted to leave a mark. He wanted Andy to show up to Family Video the next day so he could beg for a second chance, only to see you'd already moved on.

But he couldn't focus too much on vindictive pettiness when you were so beautiful beneath him, with your eyes wide and full of so much want. Had he ever felt so wanted before? So needed? Your legs wrapped around him, heels digging in to drive him deeper.

His thrusts slowed, until he was buried deep inside of you and grinding nice and slow, rubbing against the soft, sensitive spots inside of you that made you drip around his cock.

It was then that he pulled back, meeting your gaze as he ground into you. Your eyes fluttered, rolling until he saw the whites of them. "Jesus Christ," you gasped. "Fuck, Steve, just like that. Feels s'good."

He grinned, preening at your praise. He propped himself up on one arm, then snaked the other between your bodies, so he could rub at your clit. The second his thumb rubbed over the slick bundle of nerves, your walls squeezed around him so tight he could hardly move.

You cried out prettily, nails cutting into the meat of his back. "Just a little more, yeah?" He cooed. He moved his thumb a little faster, feeling the way your clit twitched against the pressure.

"Fuck—" You gasped. "Steve, god, don't stop, please—"

He could feel that the band was going to snap. Your gasping breaths and whiny moans were as much of an indicator as the fluttery way your walls clamped down on him.

Steve wasn't much better off. He could sense his impending orgasm like the buzz of lightning about to strike. A tightly wound spring, a dam about to burst. But, god, he wanted to feel you cum first. "C'mon, I've got you, sweetheart. Just give it to me."

It was a goddamn miracle that you came when you did— crying out nice and pretty as you clenched around him like a vise. The sound of his name falling from your lips, with your body enveloping him like you were made to… it was everything he'd been craving for the past month. Probably longer, if he was honest with himself.

He barely managed to work you through your orgasm before it all became too much. He pulled out and spilled onto your tummy with a guttural moan.

"Fuck," he panted, collapsing onto you. He should have been disgusted about the warm slickness of his cum sandwiched between your bodies, but he was so sated that he couldn't bring himself to care. "Was it okay for you?"

Steve propped himself up on his elbow so he could look at you. God, you were pretty. You'd always been pretty, but right now you looked so perfect.

You bit your lip and nodded. "Yeah, it was great," you replied. "Really great, actually. I guess it was okay for you too, considering I'm glazed with your cum right now."

He laughed sheepishly and rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

The two of you dressed in comfortable silence, mopping yourselves clean of fluids and sweat with a few towels sitting on top of the washing machine… that promptly went right back in for another clean.

You hopped on top of the machine when it was running, peering over at where Steve stood. "Penny for your thoughts?" You asked. He glanced over and his heart thrummed. Even in shitty lounge wear with your hair pulled back in a banana clip, you looked like a supermodel.

"Just thinking about work tomorrow," he confessed. Your brows knit in confusion as you looked at him. Work? Now? "I don't know how we're going to share a shift without me going absolutely crazy and wanting to get my hands on you. Especially now that I know that I can."

You grinned, and Jesus, he wanted to just jump your bones again. "Well, it's just you and me on the schedule tomorrow," you reminded him. "Maybe we close at lunch so you can help me with restocks? Just to make sure your problem is completely solved. I don't want you relapsing."

He knew there wasn't a chance in hell that he'd ever have a problem getting hard again. Not with you around, looking like the finest goddamn thing to ever set foot in Hawkins, Indiana. "Might as well," he said. "Just to be sure."

Pale morning light filtered softly through the bedroom curtains, painting warm stripes across the rumpled comforter and the hardwood floor beyond. Somewhere down the hall, the refrigerator hummed faintly through the otherwise silent house while rain tapped lazily against the kitchen windows, steady enough to blur the world outside into muted shades of gray.

She stirred slowly beneath the blankets, still caught somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. For a moment, she stayed exactly where she was, eyes still closed as she listened to the familiar sounds surrounding her. The ceiling fan turned steadily overhead, cool air brushing across the room, while the mattress shifted ever so slightly beside her.

A quiet grunt.

Her eyebrows pinched together. Still half asleep, she frowned faintly into her pillow before finally blinking her eyes open. The digital clock on Eddie’s nightstand glowed just after eight in the morning. Normally by now, he’d already be up, dressed for work, halfway through a cup of coffee, and teasing her about sleeping in while he headed off to Hawkins Auto.

Today, he hadn’t even gotten out of bed. He was still lying beside her, flat on his back with one forearm thrown over his eyes. His dark curls were even messier than usual, sticking out in every direction against the pillow, and every few moments another quiet, miserable little groan escaped him beneath his breath.

She propped herself up onto one elbow, studying him for a second.

“…Eddie?”

The only response she got was a low, sleepy hum that sounded more exhausted than conversational. That alone was enough to tell her something wasn’t right. She shifted to face him, gently guiding his arm away from where it was draped over his face.

“Are you sick?”

He exhaled heavily through his nose, squinting up at her with tired, bloodshot eyes before immediately grimacing and covering his face again.

“Oh, fuck, no,” he muttered into his palms, his voice rough and strained. “No, no, I’m fine. Just… slept weird.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You slept weird.”

“Yeah.” He sniffed sharply, rubbing his nose with the heel of his hand before shifting uncomfortably beneath the blankets. “Yep. Neck’s all messed up. That’s—that’s definitely it.”

She leaned over and pressed the back of her hand to his forehead before he could duck away. His skin was burning.

“Eddie.”

He groaned, twisting away from her touch like a petulant child.

“Okay, okay, maybe I feel like shit,” he admitted, his voice cracking halfway through. “But it’s probably just allergies.”

She gave him a knowing look. “Mhm. Allergies my ass.”

Sliding out of bed, she disappeared into the bathroom and returned a moment later with the thermometer she’d pulled from the drawer.

“Give me your head,” she instructed, switching it on. A tired huff escaped him that almost sounded like a laugh.

“If you insist.” He rolled onto his back, one hand disappearing beneath the blankets. She smacked him lightly over the covers, fighting a smile.

“Your forehead, dummy.”

A brief smirk crossed his face before another cough interrupted it. He brushed the bangs from his forehead, and she held the thermometer against his skin until it beeped.

“100.1,” she read. “Just like I thought. Sick.”

Eddie groaned dramatically before rolling onto his side and looping an arm around her hips, tugging her closer until he could bury his face against her thighs.

“I gotta go to work,” he grumbled.

“Tuh,” she scoffed. “Absolutely not. You’re staying right here and resting.”

She set the thermometer on the nightstand before gently working herself free from his hold.

“I’m gonna make you some tea,” she said, already heading toward the dresser. “Then I’m finding you some medicine.”

Eddie didn’t have much of a reply, which she took as the first sign he was finally accepting defeat. Once she moved his arm away from around her, he simply let it fall back onto the mattress and stayed where he was, watching her through half-lidded eyes as she got dressed and disappeared into the kitchen. A few minutes later, she returned carrying a steaming mug of tea in one hand and a medicine cup filled with DayQuil in the other.

“Eds,” she said, walking over to his side of the bed, “sit up and take this.”

With the world’s most dramatic sigh, Eddie slowly pushed himself upright for the first time that morning. His hair stuck out in every direction, his beard just as disheveled, faint creases from the blankets marked one side of his face, and the miserable expression he wore made him look every bit as sick as he felt. He eyed the little medicine cup with obvious suspicion before gingerly taking it between his fingers.

“How do I know you’re not trying to poison me?” His voice was hoarse enough to make the joke lose some of its usual charm, but he tipped the medicine back anyway. The second he swallowed, his face twisted in disgust.

“Ugh,” he groaned. “That is foul.”

She ignored the complaint, looking at him with equal parts amusement and sympathy as she held the mug out instead. “Tea.”

His fingers curled gratefully around the warm ceramic. He lifted it toward his face, letting the steam wash over him before taking a slow, careful sip. His eyes drifted shut for a brief moment, and he let out a quiet sigh through his nose.

“God,” he muttered into the rim of the mug, his voice muffled and scratchy, “you’re too good to me.”

She reached out without thinking, smoothing down a few stubborn strands of his hair before giving his scalp a gentle squeeze.

“Get some more rest,” she said, her tone leaving very little room for argument. “I’ll be in the office if you need me, okay?”

Eddie lowered the mug from his lips and wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. Then, without a word, he puckered his lips expectantly.

She looked at him, then at his lips, and her face scrunched almost instantly.

“As much as I love you…” she muttered. When he saw her hesitating, his expression melted into an exaggerated pout.

“Damn,” he said, sounding genuinely betrayed. “You’re gonna do me like that?”

A sympathetic, mildly disgusted noise escaped her. “You’re contagious.”

“So?”

She shook her head, laughing despite herself before finally giving in. Leaning over as quickly as humanly possible, she pecked his lips in what was quite possibly the shortest kiss either of them had ever shared before immediately pulling back.

“There,” she said. “Happy?”

A lazy grin spread across Eddie’s face. “Very.”

“Thank you, angel,” he murmured before taking another sip of his tea and setting the mug back on the nightstand.

Rolling her eyes with a smile, she left the bedroom, pulling the door nearly shut behind her before deliberately leaving it cracked open just enough to hear him if he called.

The home office wasn’t anything extravagant. It had once been the guest room until Eddie transformed it into a workspace for her after she moved in, knowing she’d need somewhere quiet to work as a freelance creator. One of the projects currently spread across her desk was a refreshed logo for Hawkins Auto, something Eddie had asked if she’d be willing to design. Naturally, she’d said yes. Settling into her chair, she picked up her pencil and quickly fell into a rhythm, her attention narrowing to the sketchbook in front of her. Time slipped by almost unnoticed until, less than two hours later, a faint, raspy voice drifted down the hallway.

“Baby…”

Her head lifted. “Yes?”

Silence.

Setting her pencil aside, she got up and walked back to the bedroom. Eddie hadn’t moved much. He was lying on his stomach with his face half-buried in the pillow, one eye barely cracked open as he looked at her.

“Can you make me more tea…”

She blinked at him, folding her arms as she took in the truly pitiful state he’d managed to become. Without a word, she picked up his mug, disappeared into the kitchen, and returned a few minutes later with a fresh cup before quietly heading back to her office.

That became the pattern for the rest of the morning. Almost every hour, Eddie called for her, and not in the way she was accustomed to. He was rarely sick, but when he was, he turned into the stereotypical man who suddenly needed the world to know exactly how miserable he felt. Sometimes he wanted something. Other times he simply wanted to announce his suffering.

“My throat hurts.”

“I hope Ray doesn't burn down the shop.”

“You think my D&D character ever gets sick?”

A pause.

“Did you know I love you?”

It wasn’t until a little after noon that she found herself slumped comfortably in her desk chair, laptop still open in front of her. Her head rested against her hand, her eyelids growing heavier with each passing minute until, without realizing it, she’d drifted off. A warm hand settled gently on her shoulder.

“Hey…”

She stirred, blinking sleepily as she craned her neck to look up at him. Eddie stood beside her wearing nothing but a pair of wrinkled gray sweatpants, his hair messy and his beard still a little tousled from sleep. He still looked a little pale, but the feverish haze in his eyes had softened into something closer to exhaustion than misery.

“Awe, angel…” he murmured with a tired smile.

She rubbed at her eyes as she sat up straighter. “Didn’t realize I fell asleep.” A yawn escaped her. “How’re you feeling?”

“Ehh.” He gave a small shrug, gesturing vaguely with one hand. “Better than this morning.” He sniffed, scratching lazily at his beard. “Hungry though. You want lunch?”

She raised a brow. “I was literally about to ask you the same thing.”

His smile grew a little. “Great minds.”

Taking her hand, he gently pulled her to her feet before leading her into the kitchen.

“I was thinking grilled cheese,” he said, already opening the refrigerator. Then he paused. “And tomato soup, if we still have a can.”

He gathered the cheese and butter before reaching for the bread on the counter. After rummaging briefly through one of the cabinets, he pulled out a can of tomato soup as well before setting a pan over the burner to warm.

“You sure you don’t want me to do that?” she asked.

“Nah.” He waved her off. “I got it.”

She leaned against the counter and watched as he buttered each slice before laying them into the pan. The kitchen filled with a familiar sizzle as he layered thick slices of sharp cheddar between them and flipped the sandwiches with ease. While they toasted, he emptied the soup into a small pot and stirred it occasionally until it began to steam.

“I really do feel better,” he said after a moment, glancing over with a small smile. “Promise.”

She answered with a skeptical hum, reaching up to press the back of her hand against his forehead. He was still warm, but nowhere near as hot as he had been that morning.

“Maybe,” she admitted.

Eddie chuckled under his breath as he ladled the tomato soup into two bowls before sliding a grilled cheese sandwich onto each plate. He took the first bite of his sandwich, letting out a satisfied little hum before dipping the next into the warm soup. They ate together, the shared silence broken only by the occasional sniffle from Eddie and the steady rain outside.

He nudged her shoulder with his. “Told you I was fine.”

She rolled her eyes, though she leaned into him anyway. “You’re still taking it easy for the rest of the night.”

“Whatever you say, angel.” Eddie smiled, leaning over to press a kiss against the side of her head before murmuring into her hair, “Thanks for taking care of me.”

A quiet laugh escaped her through a mouthful of grilled cheese.

“No problem, baby,” she replied once she’d swallowed, her voice warm.

“The kitchen?”

“No don’t.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, bending over just enough to see his eyes had fully closed, pushing lightly at his shoulder.

“I need tea.”

“You don’t need tea,” he mumbled, snuggling into place a little more. “You need to sit right here.”

“Mm… is that right…” you used your fingernails to scratch at his scalp. “You’re extra clingy tonight.”

The words had barely left your mouth before the thought popped into your head: he’s getting ill. Joe gets noticeably more soft and needy when he doesn’t feel well. He also will milk the absolutely shit out of it once it gets acknowledged, so you refrained from saying anything then.

You see, Joe likes proximity in the way cats do. It’s always entirely on his own terms. He can be deeply affectionate but will remain allergic to being perceived as such. He will tuck his cold feet beneath your thighs in bed or rest his chin on your shoulder while you brush your teeth, but only whilst acting like he’s doing you a favour. Even after sex he usually maintains at least the vague illusion of independence, like he can’t quite let himself openly need things, like soft human touch in the form of a good snuggle for example.

But, feeling a little poorly apparently burns that instinct straight out of him.

When you finally make your way into your bedroom, he’s fully feverish, sprawled diagonally across the bed, both his cheeks pink with heat. You move around quietly in the dark, grab a few things before you plan to slip into the bathroom. Before you’ve even left the room though, his voice rasps out, “Where’re you going?”

You thought he was asleep – apparently not.

“To get ready for bed and get you some water.”

“I’ve already got some.” Joe slurs into his pillow.

You spot an empty water bottle on his bedside table and say, “You drank it.”

You step into the bathroom and decide to turn the lights on after you’ve closed the door. From behind it, you hear a soft muffled and miserable, “Come back.” and you know Joe would rather actually perish than admit weakness properly, but you very much would like him to not actually die.

So, you bring him water.

And a paracetamol.

And in the morning, you bring him some buttered toast he barely touches. You get back into bed and make him take a couple of bites – you’ve never seen someone chew so slowly. Halfway through you have to remind him he’s still got bread in his mouth and he can’t fall back asleep, and he quickly swallows and mumbles, “S’gone.” before he curls back up underneath the covers again.

He doesn’t really sleep though. You can tell just because every single time you try to get up afterwards, Joe quickly reaches for you.

“I gotta get up.”

“Mm.” He hums as he sighs, but doesn’t really let his grip waver.

“Let me go, please.”

Sometimes it’s your wrist, other times your waist, and once it’s just the back of your shirt that he grips onto and holds in a strong fist, forcing you to slip out of it in order to escape.

When he starts following you around the flat just so he can hold you and, more importantly, be held, you decide to call a spade a spade and speak the truth into the room.  

“You cannot physically restrain me every time I stand up just because you’re ill, Joe.”

“Mm, watch me.”

You just about manage to place what you’re holding on the kitchen counter before you get pulled backwards and fall against him with an undignified noise. You get caged in by warm limbs that radiate fever heat and feel the scratchy drag of stubble against the back of your neck as he buries his face there. You’d complain some more, but then Joe sighs so deeply and relieved, it actually makes your chest ache a little for him.

It gets worse at night.

Or, better, depending on perspective.

Joe already sleeps close under normal circumstances, but sick Joe acts like separation might actually kill him, and sometime around two in the morning you wake up almost unable to move because he’s practically wrapped around you entirely. He’s got one arm across your waist, one leg tangled between yours, and his face pressed into the space between your shoulder blades. It feels a bit like he’s tried to get as physically close as possible in his sleep, yet still found it insufficient.

Your throat has never been drier, you’re fucking boiling.

You shift slightly to reach for your glass of water and immediately feel him tighten around you.

“Noo,” he mumbles sleepily.

“Sh I need a drink.”

Joe lets you go for a millisecond before you hear the soft complaint of it being cold come from behind you.

“Joe, you’re so hot you’re sweating. I’m sweating because of you.”

You have a sip of water, and tell him he could probably use one too. “Sit up a bit.”

Moving the covers exposes more cold air to Joe’s damp skin and, it’s already sort of difficult to make someone half asleep have a sip of water from a glass in the dark, but one with chattering teeth is a whole other challenge. He just about manages it without spilling, and you use your other hand to touch his forehead.

“You’ve got a fever, I think.”

“Mm. Still cold, c’mere please.” And he sounds so fucking wrecked saying it, voice rough and sleepy and entirely unguarded, you easily end up giving in and quickly find yourself chest to chest under the covers. You decide you can just be hot and sweaty for a bit if that makes him feel better.

You end up barely getting any more sleep that night.

When the morning light starts to filter into the room, there’s a moment where Joe’s eyes blink open slowly as your fingers move through his hair. They’re unfocused at first before they settle on you with a level of exhausted softness that catches you off guard a little. Joe always feels things so intensely, but also so very privately, that this takes some adjusting. You’re used to his emotions having to fight through three layers of sarcasm before reaching the surface, and now it’s all just… right there.

Right here.

“You okay?” you murmur.

“Mhm.” Joe nudges closer, finds he’s got no energy at all even though he’s just slept for hours. Everything’s heavy and sore.

“You look terrible.”

“Mm. Feel terrible.”

You’ve got one arm wrapped around him, and you can feel how wet his back is. This man needs a hot shower, at the very least. A good breakfast too. Vitamins. Some pain meds too, maybe.

It’s silent for a while, and then he suddenly whine-whispers, “Come closer.”

You laugh quietly into the dark and you do your best to move closer somehow, impossibly, until he makes this deeply content sound against your throat and falls properly asleep again.

After about another thirty minutes of cooking yourself alive next to Joe, you decide to attempt productivity.

Joe is still asleep when you carefully slip out of bed. For the first time in nearly twenty-four hours, he doesn’t immediately wake up when you leave. That’s good. That’s promising. He needs to sleep this fever off, sweat all of it out, and you’d prefer to not be stuck to his side for every single passing second of it, if possible.

You risk making coffee and open your laptop at the kitchen table, trying to work through some messages whilst the flat stays quiet around you.

You get nearly forty minutes in before you hear soft shuffling.

You glance up to find Joe standing in the hallway looking genuinely devastated and… wet.

He’s wet, and he’s hurt.

His hair is flattened on one side, he’s only half wearing his hoodie which hangs off one shoulder, and his expression reads exhaustion and betrayal.

“Hey, how’re you feeling?” you can’t help the soft fond chuckle that escapes you just from the look of him.

“What am I waking up alone for?” he croaks with a deep frown as he shuffles closer, padding towards you with slow determination.

“Had some things to do,” you’re already holding out an arm for him to attach himself onto whilst the other brings your cup of coffee to your lips. Joe doesn’t go for your hand though, he doesn’t take it. Instead, he stops right next to you and looks down expectantly.

“What is it?” you coo like you’re talking to a child, using your arm to touch his damp lower back for some soft touches.

“Move.” He nudges your thigh with his knee.

You frown in confusion, “So you can sit down?” because there’s three other chairs at the table, all easily accessible.

“So I can sit on you.”

You laugh so suddenly coffee nearly goes down the wrong way.

“I feel awful.” Joe complains, disregarding your coughing entirely. “Why do I feel so bad?”

You just blankly stare up at him in silence for a moment, the answer is so obvious. He still just waits there patiently until you inevitably sigh and shift your chair back enough for him to collapse into your lap with all the dignity of a large dog that thinks it’s small. His face finds the crook of your neck to bury itself into before he mumbles, “There.” into your skin.

“There what?” you find it’s impossible to hide the humour in your voice. Big man snuggling into your lap that can barely hold all of him – it’s ridiculous, this. It doesn’t seem like Joe thinks so, though.

“Better.” Joe says on the back end of a sigh, sinking into you a bit more, making you just a tad more uncomfortable. The warmth of him settles heavily against your chest, all sleepy weight and fever heat.

“Wait, can you–” you try and shift in your seat a little, “Yea, that’s better.” You can reach your laptop from his new angle, and with Joe in your lap, you do your best getting back to what you were doing before.

There’s a moment where you think just from Joe’s slow breathing that he’s fallen back asleep, but after a while you stop trying to work altogether because every time your hand moves away from his back for too long, he sleepily tries to find it with his own. When, after a few times, he takes hold of it and threads your fingers together without even opening his eyes, you decide to stop trying to work. It’s of no use like this, anyway.

“All right. Come on, up.”

You manage to move onto the sofa with him for a while, and at one point, you extract yourself long enough to put laundry away.

Or at least, that’s the plan.

You make it from the kitchen to the bedroom with a basket balanced against your hip before you hear slow footsteps behind you. You don’t even turn around when you tell him he should go lay back down on the sofa.

“Mmm,” Joe hums, completely ignoring what you said. He hovers in the doorway, sort of dazed and out of it. When you glance a look over your shoulder, you make eye-contact and Joe immediately tries to defend himself.

“Was jus’ curious what you were doing.”

He wasn’t just curious what you were doing. He came to get you.

“You are carrying a blanket.”

Joe looks down at what he’s holding and it takes him a second to come up with a good explanation for it.

“I’m cold.” He lies. Well, he probably is cold, but that’s not why he’s here. Then he wanders over, drops his forehead onto your shoulder and simply remains there, participating to your household task by being an extremely inconvenient accessory.

You try folding one of his shirts, and Joe’s arms slide around your waist.

You try hanging a jumper in his wardrobe, and Joe’s chin settles on your shoulder.

You attempt to walk across the room, and Joe simply just… follows.

“You know what though?” you say eventually, “You’d probably feel better if you just went and laid back down… went back to sleep.”

You’d get all of this done so much faster if there wasn’t a whole other person attached to you is what you mean, but you don’t want to tell Joe to his face that he’s being annoyingly clingy. His ego wouldn’t be able to take it.

“Yea probably,” he hums against your shoulder, but makes no attempt to move away from you at all.

“So…” you try, and hope for a deep sigh from him that means he’s going to give in and listen to you.

Instead, a very soft and sad, “Jus’ want you.” gets mumbled into the room, and you’re instantly glad you didn’t actually tell him he’s being annoying clingy. You actually feel bad for even thinking it in the first place.

By the afternoon he’s back asleep on the sofa with his head in your lap, one hand still loosely hooked around your wrist, even unconsciously unwilling to let go. Your mind can’t help but wander back to the work you abandoned hours ago and still need to finish, but instead, you sit and watch rain gather against the windows whilst you listen to Joe’s breathing and feel the occasional sleepy twitch of his fingers around your hand.

At some point he very quietly murmurs, “Jus’ another minute… don’t go anywhere.” and you know it’s just his fever talking. He’s just tired and feeling a bit dramatic, dangerously fever-soft, he’ll deny having said it tomorrow. Still, you remind yourself to slot it away so you can let it pull your chest tight when you think of it again.

Joe spends so much time pretending not to need things, that his affection is a casual thing and his intimacy is effortless and unserious and entirely under his control… but when he’s sick like this, half-asleep against you with his cheek pressed to your thigh and his fingers still tangled with yours, he loves with his whole body, without any of the usual deflection.

You smooth your fingers through his hair slowly, no need to hide your smile.

“Not going anywhere.”

And you feel him relax immediately, boneless with relief, turning his face further into your lap before pressing one sleepy kiss against the inside of your wrist.

You suppose just another minute was never really about time.

---

The Taglisted

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“I don’t think I can do this.” Eddie glanced over Nancy’s shoulder. Finding you ever so easily amongst the crowd of family and relatives.

I’ll be the one in white. 

You had joked before meeting him at the altar. Now here you are, enjoying your reception party. Drinking wine and mingling with each of his relatives. Eddie let his shoulders fall as he bared a smile. He fathomed you an angel, and yet, here you were in a room surrounded by demons. He was starting to lose his shit.

“W-What if we just postpone the whole tradition?” He turned to Steve, his sister Ella, Nancy, and Jonathan. “No rituals, no turnings. I mean, we have her parents to think about, too!” Eddie spared a glance at his new in-laws.

“Yeah…no! We’re going to welcome the bride and our new in-laws with open arms…and bearing fangs.” Ella let her fangs protrude. Lurching forward in a teasing manner, but making her twin flinch and uneasy.

“Funny.” Eddie hummed. He rolled his eyes. “Put those away before she sees you. Wouldn’t want her to call you a monster now, would you? She already thinks you’re a bitch.”

“Oh, you–“ Eddie knew how to press her buttons, and Steve knew when to butt in.

“Okay! How about we not create a bloodshed before midnight, yeah? We don’t need our new family members getting concerned so soon.” Steve gestured over to Dustin, spinning you in a circle or attempting to. 

Eddie sighed heavily, relaxing into himself upon seeing you laugh. You had no idea what you were getting yourself into. You had half a mind to think nothing of his stupid, rich family, or their ethics and their ways of living. You were simply in it for the love. Eddie’s love. To have and to hold. He closed his eyes, feeling nothing but guilt.

“You’re all I need…and if marrying into this crazy family of yours and having to get along with your relatives is what it takes…so be it!”

Eddie would have proposed then and there…he almost did too. The ring was safely kept in his leather pocket, but Eddie did have half a mind, and he wanted to give you the world. So he planned out his proposal with the help of his family, and you said yes. He was doubtful at the moment. A part of him wanted you to say no, to give you an out of his life. His family. He would have been ready for your refusal to marry him, but then you said yes and now you were all in. You made him crazy to the point of losing control. You were like a drug he couldn’t stop taking. You were his world, and he’d rather die than live a life without you.

“Helena instructed that we shouldn’t make a scene. She wants things to go accordingly tonight. That meant no picking fights.” He gripped his wife’s arm a little tighter. Giving her a silent warning. “A happy bride makes for a happy, safe family. I don’t know about you, but a stake to the heart isn’t fun, okay.” Steve smiled through his teeth. “Got. It!”

“Whatever...” Eddie raised the tall glass of blood to his lips. To an outsider, the drink looked like typical wine, but to everyone in the loop…well, you know.

“Yes.” Ella sighed, pulling her arm back.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and spun her around, so she no longer faced her twin. “If you’ll excuse us.” Steve smiled, spinning his wife onto the dance floor. The manor itself was big enough to host a ball. There have been many of them. Yet the most common of events was weddings.

Now they were celebrating his own.

Eddie was about to take a sip when he felt your presence. His mood was instantly lifted as he turned around to greet you. Your arms were half raised in an attempt to cover his eyes, but flopped back down to your sides. You slouched with a pout. “Aw, I was trying to surprise you…” You whined. “I still don’t get how you do it.”

“I call it my Y/n sense.” Eddie wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you against his chest. 

“I know when you’re near…” Eddie immediately winced. His eyes shut as he thought over what he just said. “That sounded a whole lot sweeter in my head.” Your laugh was a reassurance to him. He let his body shake with joy. He took the lead and began swaying you back and forth. The music had an elegance to it. The music is expected to be played at such events.

It wasn’t anything he liked, nor did you, but to at least appease the elders, a slow classical waltz was vibrating through his and yours ears. Eddie knew how to dance; you and your left foot not so much, but he opted to just hold you close and sway in place. He pressed his head against the side of yours. Your hands were curled in on the front of his suit. Your chest was pressing against it.

You had closed your eyes, wanting to take in the time to just be, to just exist with Eddie in his arms. Being so close, you picked up on how fast his heart had been beating.

“You okay?” Your cheek pressed against his jaw as you murmured low enough for him to hear. Yet even if you spoke in a pin drop manner, he would still be able to hear you.

“Just a lot on my mind.” He closed his eyes as he breathed in your scent to help him relax. He leaned forward to press kisses into your hair.

“Like?” You playfully pinched the fabric of his shirt.

“Like…how good this dress is gonna look on the floor tonight.” He chuckled. You would have laughed too, but being with Eddie for a long time, you began to pick up some things. Sex jokes were his go-to when he wanted to avoid answering something. It was a cause for concern.

“What’s wrong?” You pulled back slowly to stare into your husband's eyes. The crinkles at the corners of your eyes were evident now.

Upon staring into your eyes, Eddie felt his heart sink into his stomach. His eyes shifted left, then right, then left again. He couldn’t keep lying to you, but he also didn’t want you to know about what he was just yet. He wanted you in the dark. He’s had you in the dark for so long, for your own safety, but everything was coming out tonight. Whether he would go through with it or not. His family. His sister, his mother…his uncle. Hell, even Steve! They would all make sure you and your parents stuck to their traditional ‘welcome to our long living legacy’ initiation. 

It was utter bullshit.

“Eddie?” Eddie snapped out of it. His eyes, fear-stricken, met your bearing, concerned ones.

“N-Not here.” He stuttered out nervously. He looked around the great hall. Everyone was occupied and chatting amongst themselves. Then he looked down at his watch, which read a quarter till midnight.

“My love, what’s the matter?” You ducked your head down to try to catch his eye.

“Not here…not here, come on.” He gulped nervously, then gently took your hand, but pulled you along harshly. Eddie threw his head over his shoulder, trying to make sure no one noticed you two leaving in a rush. You did your best attempt to keep up, for your dress was floor length, trailed out 6 feet behind. It was over the top, but your mother-in-law insisted on the matter. Who were you to argue? I mean, it was certainly beautiful. You felt great, it fit great, the only real complaint was the way you couldn’t run down the halls in it like those princesses who frolicked effortlessly. You were anything but gracefully moving it in.

Eddie had taken a final sip of his glass before he placed it on a tray of a server that you passed in the halls. He made haste as he sped you down the long, empty halls of the mansion. You kept tripping over your own feet as he tugged you along, further and further away from the party.

“Eddie, slow down, please!” You felt your heart sink when he hadn’t even turned around to acknowledge you. He took a sharp turn around a corner, then pushed open the doors to the gardens outside. Your chest rose and fell heavily. You began trying to take your arm back, but Eddie’s grip wouldn’t let up. Descending the stairs was a challenge, but as soon as your heels met the cobblestone ground. You fell on your knees in front of the opening of the pathway. It was surrounded by tall walls of hedges. It was perfect for you two to get lost in. 

You let a few tears shed. You looked down, seeing the dirt coat against the white material of your dress. It was ruined.

Eddie was flung back at the pull of your fall. He immediately whipped around and gasped, seeing you on the ground. His eyes were wide in worry as he knelt in front of you, trying to get you to stand. He insisted urgently. 

“Sweetheart, please, I need you to get up, okay. Can you do that for me, please? I need you to stand.” He shot up, turning in all directions. You only shook your head. “Please!”

“W-Why are you acting like this?” You cried. “L-Look at my dress…” You let your arms fall in your lap.

Eddie reached forward and wiped a tear that stained your cheek away. He was breaking your heart. On your special night. “Sweetheart, I really, really need you to stand up for me.” His eyes glossed over.

“What’s wrong, Eddie?” You held his eyes. Your body stilled as you inhaled deeply. You meant business. No more playing around, no more tugging you along in a death grip. You wanted an explanation.

A tear spilled down his cheek, and he then looked down at your intertwined hands. He gently slid his palms over your forearm and turned your right one outward. His thumb rubbed over the prints he left on your wrist from how hard he was gripping you. He closed his eyes, guilt flooding him.

“I’m sorry.” He brought your hand up, pressing a kiss to your wrist gently. He kept shaking his head. “I didn’t mean to hurt you…” Mumbling to himself. You leaned forward, lifting his chin gently to meet your narrowed eyes.

“It’ll hurt.” You shook your head. “I’ll be alright, nothing an ice pack can’t solve, but that’s not what’s troubling you, though.” Eddie only shook his head, getting up onto his own feet, then trying to pull you up. You did, you let him, but that was it. “Eddie, what’s wrong? Please just tell me what's wrong, you’re scaring me.” Your bottom lip trembled. You were tired out, and the only way your emotions were coming out was in deep, shuddering breaths. There was a tight pressure in your chest, and it fucking hurt.

Eddie looked nervously over your shoulder. You followed his gaze, but saw nothing. “What are you looking for?”

Eddie's eyes shifted onto yours, but then he kept a close eye on the entrance of the path. His silence was really starting to upset you.

“Y/n, please!” Eddie's eyes shifted back to yours. “I just need you to trust me and believe me when I say we need to leave.” Eddie’s face fell as you slowly retreated your hands from his.

“Trust you?” You scoffed in disbelief. “No! We just got married! Married Eddie. We were fine a few minutes ago. We were dancing…at our own wedding.” You felt more tears spill down your cheeks. Your makeup was surely ruined at this point. “W-Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong? Huh? What the fuck has you so scared? I’m scared!” Eddie has tried reaching for your hands, but you took a step back from him. “I’m scared, Eddie.”

“Baby, please…” Eddie couldn’t see you cry any longer. “You’re not safe here!” He exclaimed. You stopped retreating from him. Your brows furrowed.

“What? What do you mean?”

“It’s a lot to explain right now, but all you need to know is that there’s a tradition we do when one of us gets married. The newest additions, in this case, you, have to undergo an initiation.”

“What kind of initiation?” You feel awry about what he just told you. If he had him this rattled, then maybe it wasn’t good, right?

“Y/n, I need to get you out of here–“ Eddie had begun to tug you along again. Though you stopped upon hearing another voice that wasn’t one of your own.

“Eddie?”

Eddie whipped around, his eyes wide in fear when they settled on Dustin’s figure.

Dustin’s eyes fell upon Eddie trying to get you behind him. Your rapidly beating hearts betrayed you, though. Dustin had zoned in on them.

“You’re running?” Dustin frowned.

Eddie just about shitted himself.

“W-What? No, we weren't running! We’re huh–“ Eddie choked.

“Strolling!” You blurred out nervously.

Eddie spared you a glance. Then nodded furiously at Dustin. “Yep. Strolling. We’re strolling…and walking.” You visibly cringed at his choice of words. 

“Shit…” He murmured under his breath. Eddie slowly peered up under his lashes. His heart rate picked up again as Dustin didn’t seem the least bit convinced. You were both totally screwed. Dustin looked back up at the house. The party was still in full swing.

“Dustin, please…” Eddie begged him. Dustin looked back at you, hiding behind your husband. He knew Dustin had a soft spot for you, but the fear in the poor boy's eyes told Eddie otherwise.

“Helena’s already snapped my neck enough times.” Dustin shook his head. You felt ill at his words. Gripping the back of Eddie’s tux tighter.

“No…” Eddie choked up. “Dustin, please, let me take her. Okay. You never saw us.” Eddie gestured to both of you.

“He already has, though…has he not?” Eddie tripped back into you. His mother appeared from the dark. Eddie stood fully in front of you now. Shielding you from her line of sight. “Oh, child, no need to hide her now. You knew what you were getting her into when you decided to put a ring on it. Quit acting like this day was never gonna come. It was bound to happen eventually.”

Eddie moved his jaw to the side. He peered back to meet your eyes; nothing but guilt shone behind them. Your inevitable faith was just waiting to come at this point. He shifted to hide you further from his mother's sight, but it did nothing to satisfy her.

“Thank you, Dustin. You may leave us now.” Helena bid him off. Her eyes were locked and loaded with determination, and they were set on you. "Seriously, my child, have you learned nothing from Ella and Steve?"

"Mother, I don't ask anything of you. I just thought–"

Helena lifted a single brow, sharp, unamused as the torchlight caught the old gold in her eyes.

“You thought,” she repeated softly, as if the word itself offended her. “Well, clearly you haven’t thought at all tonight. What is this plan? You thought booking it to the States would keep us from officiating her into this family? Please.”

Eddie swallowed. His shoulders squared, but his hands shook where they reached behind him, taking your hands and using your grip as a means to ground himself. He didn’t turn around to look at you this time. If he did, he might crumble. He might run. He might grab you and damn the consequences. All options that would further anger his Mother, and heaven knows that her rage was worse than her bite.

“Steve agreed,” Helena went on, voice smooth as poured wine. “Nancy agreed. Jonathan agreed. Even Dustin–God help that child–understood the importance of the tradition.” Her gaze flicked past Eddie, locking onto you to land her emphasis. “Why would you be any different, my dear?”

You felt Eddie stiffen, felt the subtle shift of his weight as he tried to block her view. It was instinctive. Protective. Desperate. 

“I didn’t agree,” Eddie said hoarsely. “I went along with it because I thought… I thought I could keep her human. Maybe if we stalled this long enough, you’d grant her immunity from all this that–”

“The moon would stop rising?” Helena cut in, unimpressed. “That we’d finally have a mortal within our family? Please.” She stepped closer. Eddie backed up without thinking until both of your delicate hands brushed his back.

You tugged against his tux.

“Eddie,” you whispered. “Look at me.”

He did. Slowly, over his shoulder. Like it hurts. Your dress was ruined at the hem. Your mascara had streaked. Your eyes were glassy but sharp, searching his face for the truth he’d been dancing around all night.

“What are they going to do to me?” You asked. 

Silence swallowed the garden. The hedges seemed to feel insufferable, like they’d cave in at any second. Helena answered when Eddie couldn’t.

“We’re simply making you a part of our family, dear. To allow you an eternity with Eddie till stakes pierce your hearts. We’re welcoming you,” She said simply. “The way our family has been towards newcomers for centuries.”

Your brow creased. “That doesn’t sound like a welcome.”

A corner of Helena’s mouth lifted. Not a smile. A warning.

“Child, you marry a monster,” she said. “You don’t get to stay human forever.” “What kind of monster?” You truly didn’t want to know what would befall from her lips. Curiosity did get the best of you, but was that what you truly wanted? To know.

Eddie snapped.

“No.” He turned fully now, hands coming up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing tears you hadn’t realized were falling. “No, listen to me. Whatever happens nex–whatever they say–you do not consent. You hear me? You don’t let them bite you, don’t let them isolate you in a room, don’t–”

Helena clicked her tongue. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” she sighed. “You’re already isolated.”

Torches flared brighter. Footsteps crunched beyond the hedges. You felt it then–something truly wrong in the air. Thick. Heavy. Like the night itself was waiting for you. 

“You should have told her,” Helena said, almost gently now. “Before the vows. Before the kiss. Before the first date. Before she decided to marry you without knowing what you are.”

Eddie’s forehead dropped to yours.

“I wanted you to have one perfect night,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Just one. Where you were mine and safe, and not looking at me like you are right now…I was gonna tell you, I was gonna tell you everything. I ruined today, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”

You lifted your hands, framing his jaw.

“I married you,” you said, steady despite the fear clawing at your ribs. “Not whatever monster you and your family say you are. You. You didn’t ruin anything.”

Helena exhaled, long and patient.

“It’s midnight,” she announced. “Bring her inside.”

“No,” Eddie said again, louder this time.

Steve appeared at the path entrance, his face tight, jaw clenched. Nancy stood beside him, eyes apologetic but resolute. Same as Jonathan’s, Ella leaned against the hedge, arms crossed, fangs barely hidden. You shudder as her eyes turn what you thought appeared to be a dark red hue. 

Eddie laughed once. Sharp. Broken.

“Look at you,” he said to them. “A whole coven pretending this is normal.”

Steve swallowed. “Eddie… if it helps, Nancy and I could–”

“It doesn’t,” Eddie snapped.

You tightened your grip on him.

“Eddie,” you said softly. “Don’t leave me alone, please.”

That did it.

He turned, wrapping you into his chest like he could shield you from a bite and the fate of centuries of tradition with sheer will alone.

“I won’t,” he promised. “I swear on everything I am, I won’t.”

Helena stepped forward.

“Then walk her,” she said, pointing back to the mansion. “As her husband.”

Her gaze sharpened.

“And pray she forgives you when she wakes up.”

The bells inside the manor began to toll.

Midnight had come.

-

Eddie walked with you like you were the purest angel that ever graced his path. That if you slipped from his fingertips, he’d forego all things holy and revert to something breakable.

He didn’t take you by the arm, not like earlier when panic made him cruel. This time, his palm stayed warm at the small of your back, his other hand laced with yours so tight it felt like he’d crack your dainty bones with another squeeze. You were half-dragged, half-carried up the stone steps through the hedged corridor, torches lining the path.

Behind you, the garden seemed much more inviting than it had been when Eddie dragged you through it.

Ahead, the manor waited.

The doors yawned open before you reached them, two staff members letting you all enter. The music was gone. No more waltz playing for guests. No more laughter. No clinking glasses. It was the kind of silence that wasn’t peaceful; it was filled with trepidation. Anxiety-ridden, like you were waiting for some pin to drop.

You noticed it first in the absence.

Where there should’ve been friends and distant relatives and strangers in their best suits and gowns, there was only the core memory of them now. Steve, at the entryway, stepped forward, his shoulders stiff. Nancy was beside him and Jonathan, hands folded so tightly her knuckles looked bloodless. Dustin was hovering behind them like a kid anticipating a punishment. Ella leaning in the shadows, unreadable, her gaze flicking to you and away like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to apologize or laugh.

And Helena.

Helena stood at the top of the stairs. Perfect posture. Perfect hair. The calm before the storm. She looked at you like you’d be the solution to her finding peace at last.

Eddie’s hand twitched at your back. His jaw worked like he was chewing down a scream.

“Just keep walking,” he murmured, low enough for only you. “Just–stay with me.”

Your legs moved because you didn’t know what else to do. The moment you crossed the threshold, the smell hit you. Bitter. Copper, sharp and faint. Your stomach turned.

And then you saw them. Your parents were on the floor.

Right there, just beyond the foyer, laid out like discarded coats.

Your mother’s hand was limp at her side, wedding corsage crushed beneath her wrist. Your father’s head lolled slightly, chin tilted up like he’d been coaxed into surrender. In the soft light, you could see it too clearly.

Two puncture wounds at their throats.

Two clean little holes in the place you’d wrapped your arms around at the altar.

Your body forgot how to function. A sound crawled out of you that didn’t feel like it belonged to your mouth at all.

“No–no-no–” Your knees hit the marble floor.

The skirt of your dress pooled around you like snow melting into slush.

Eddie dropped with you instantly. His arms wrapped around you, crushing you to his chest, trying to trap your panic before it could break the whole house open. Your frantic cries and gasps reached his core. 

“Baby–baby, look at me,” he said, voice cracking as he rocked you. “Look at me, please. They’re fine. They’re fine–”

You tried to shove away from him, clawing forward, clawing at the ground to get to them, but he kept you close, forehead pressed to the side of your head like he could hold your mind together by force.

“Eddie, they’re–” your voice snapped, hysterical. “They’re–”

“They’re going to wake up,” he rushed, almost pleading with you as much as himself. “Okay? They’ll wake up. They’ll wake up, sweetheart. This is–this is what they do, it’s what they–”

He sounded like he was drowning in his own lies.

Your sobs turned sharp, ugly, raw. The kind you can’t just stop. The kind you make when your world splits right down the center.

Nancy moved first. She crouched beside you, keeping her distance like she didn’t want to startle you, like you were an injured animal.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. And it wasn’t performative. Her eyes were wet. “I didn’t know it would be so soon.”

Steve came down a step, hands raised like he was approaching a bomb.

“They’re not dead,” he said quickly, voice strained. “They’ll come back. It’s–it’s just… it looks worse than it is.”

You snapped your head up at him, mascara streaking down your cheeks, rage and terror mixing into something feral.

“Looks worse than it is?” you choked. “They’re on the floor. With bite marks on their necks. What do you mean it’s not–”

Dustin stood behind Steve, swallowing hard. He looked like he wanted to vomit. Eddie’s arms tightened around you until you could barely breathe, and you realized he was shaking too.

Then he lifted his head. And the temperature in the room dropped when his eyes found his mother.

“Why?” Eddie rasped.

Helena’s expression didn’t change.

“I did what needed to be done,” she said. “They’re part of the family now.”

“You couldn’t wait?” Eddie’s voice rose, sharp and boyish in a way that had nothing to do with centuries of power. It sounded like a son who begged and had been ignored his whole life. “You couldn’t give her one night without putting them on the goddamn floor like decorations?”

Helena’s gaze slid to you, still in Eddie’s arms.

“This is what you married into,” she said simply.

Eddie looked like he might lunge at her.

Steve stepped forward fast. “Eddie don’t–”

“Don’t,” Eddie snapped without looking away from Helena. “Don’t tell me to calm down. Not right now.”

Ella tilted her head, tongue pressing to her teeth like she was bored. “They’ll wake up. Our blood is in their system, it takes an hour or so to give, but they always wake.”

Eddie’s head whipped toward her, eyes blazing. “Shut up.”

Silence cracked like ice.

You couldn’t stop staring at your parents.

Your mother’s eyes left wide open. Your father’s chest, too still. Your mind kept trying to rewrite what you were seeing, to make it make sense, to force it back into the world where weddings were just weddings and families were just families.

Your throat hurts from crying.

Eddie’s voice lowered, ragged, to your ear again.

“Baby, I swear to you, listen to me–” His hand cradled the back of your head, fingers tangled in your hair. “They’re going to wake up. It’s like… like they’re asleep. It's not permanent.”

You laughed once, a broken sound.

“You’re… you’re saying that like it’s supposed to make everything better.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“This was supposed to be on her time. Her choice!” He lifted his head again, eyes turning hard as flint.

Helena’s mouth curved. Not kind.

“It still is,” she said. “She can choose to become one of us…or she can leave the old-fashioned way, each unwilling in law decided to.”

Eddie’s face twisted, disgusted.

“You changed her parents,” he hissed. “You forced this without easing them into this.”

“They’ll thank us when they wake,” Helena replied, like she was discussing a gift basket.

Eddie breathed in, then out, like he was counting the seconds to keep from ripping someone apart. Then he looked at Steve. And Steve, who’d been trying to play mediator, went still at the intensity in Eddie’s eyes.

“No,” Eddie said.

Steve swallowed. “Eddie–”

“I said no.” Eddie’s voice shook with restraint. “Nobody touches her. Nobody takes her to a room. Nobody isolates her.”

Helena’s eyes narrowed. “Eddie.”

He stood up with you in his arms like you weighed nothing. Like he decided gravity didn’t apply tonight.

You didn’t fight him. You couldn’t. Your body was hollow.

He carried you closer to your parents, kneeling with you still held tight against him so you could see them up close. So you could see that their wounds weren’t excessive or harsh. Just…placed. Instinctively. Like someone knew where to puncture the two holes.

You made a sound that was barely a whisper.

“Why did you do this to them?”

Helena’s voice floated from above you, calm as a closing door.

“Because you three are part of this family now, and you drank our blood, I merely finished the transition,” she said.

“What?” Your brow furrowed slowly, mind moving through molasses.

Eddie stiffened.

Helena’s gaze flicked to the side, toward a servant holding a silver tray with the remnants of the wine from earlier.

“The toast,” Helena continued. “The bride’s toast. The one you enjoyed so much.”

Your stomach dropped. You saw it in your mind like a replay you didn’t consent to.

The glass in your hand. Eddie who had been watching you too closely. His smile was too tight. The taste richer than normal, metallic under sweetness. You laughed. You said something dumb like wow, your family’s wine is insane.

Eddie’s voice went hoarse.

“You snuck it in their glasses.”

Helena’s smile sharpened. “Yes.”

Eddie’s head snapped up, fury incandescent. “You laced it.”

“I honored tradition,” Helena corrected.

“You did it without hers and their knowledge,” Eddie said, voice trembling. “God, you knew I’d be careful, so you one upped me.”

Helena’s tone didn’t shift. “You can’t stop what’s already begun.”

Something in your chest went tight, like your ribs were shrinking. You swallowed, throat dry.

“Already begun?” you repeated faintly, like the words didn’t belong to you.

Eddie turned to you so fast it almost hurt.

“No,” he said immediately, softer now, desperate. “No, baby, listen. Whatever you’re feeling, whatever you start to feel, there are ways to slow it. There are ways to–”

“Eddie,” Nancy warned gently, like she didn’t want to poke the bear but needed him to hear it. “If she drank it…”

Eddie’s eyes flashed to her. “Don’t.”

Steve stepped closer, voice quiet. “He’s right. There are ways. But Helena’s not wrong either. It’s in her system now.”

Your hands lifted slowly, like you were underwater, and you touched your throat where your pulse hammered. 

You stared at Eddie.

His eyes were red-rimmed. His breathing, uneven. His mouth still stained faintly, like he’d been drinking from something that wasn’t supposed to be served at weddings.

You blinked, slowly. Tears clung to your eyes but didn’t fall.

Your face went very still. Eddie’s hands cupped your cheeks, thumbs brushing at your skin like he was trying to smooth the terror away.

“Talk to me,” he pleaded. “Please, say something. Y/n.”

You looked past him at your parents on the floor. At the wounds. At the manor full of predators pretending to be family. At the midnight bells still echoing in the bones of the house.

“I know what you are now.” Your voice came out quiet.

Eddie flinched like you slapped him.

His eyes filled instantly. “No, sweetheart, listen–”

You didn’t even blink. Your gaze stayed locked on his mouth. On his teeth.

On the way, he’d always been a little too cold sometimes. The way he never ate in front of you. The way you could never truly sneak up on him, on any of them, really. Everything you’d written off as eccentric rich-family weirdness suddenly clicked into a single awful shape.

“A vampire,” you whispered.

The word didn’t feel dramatic. It felt factual. The hidden secret.

Eddie’s breath hitched. “Yes.”

You nodded once, like you were accepting a diagnosis.

Then your eyes flicked to Helena.

“And you want to make me one too.”

Helena stepped forward. “To give you eternity. To keep you from being the fragile thing time takes away.”

“My parents didn’t choose this.” You stared at her, mouth trembling once.

“They will thank us,” Helena said again, as if repeating it enough would make it true.

Eddie’s hands shook as they held your face.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said, voice breaking. “I’ll get you out. I’ll take you far away. I won’t keep you in the dark–”

A sound left you. Not a laugh. Not a sob. Something like disbelief.

“You mean like how I was about you and your family being vampires?” You asked softly.

Eddie’s throat bobbed. He couldn’t answer. Because you were right.

Because he’d kept you in the dark about such a secret that it was costing you your mortality, something you shouldn’t have had to give up so soon.

And Helena, who watched as the two of you fractured in real time, finally sounded pleased.

“Bring her to the study,” she instructed, like you were a dress that needed to be delivered. “We finish it properly there.”

Eddie’s head snapped up, eyes wild.

“No.”

Helena’s gaze sharpened. “Eddie.”

He stood, placing you behind him again, but this time you didn’t fight him.

You stood there in your ruined gown, face streaked, hands trembling at your sides, looking like someone who was just told the world was ending and realized she still had to keep going in said world.

Eddie’s voice was low, lethal.

“If she’s going to be turned,” he said, staring at his mother, “then I’ll be the one to do it.”

A hush went through the foyer.

Steve’s eyes widened. “Eddie–”

Nancy whispered, “That’s… not how Helena planned it.”

“I don’t care,” Eddie cut in. His gaze flicked to you, softened, shattered. “If this is happening, it’s on my terms. With me. With her. Not a damn audience. Not in your hands. Not from your teeth.”

“And you think you deserve that privilege?” Helena’s smile was thin.

Eddie swallowed, voice shaking. “I’m her husband.”

Helena looked at you then. Really looked.

Like she was measuring how much fight was left in you.

“Do you consent, child?” She asked, tone smooth as silk, the question a blade dressed as courtesy.

Everyone stared.

Your parents lay unconscious at your feet. Your husband stood in front of you, shaking with love and rage and guilt.

The manor held its breath.

You opened your mouth, and for a moment, nothing came out. Then you lifted your eyes to Eddie.

“Eddie,” you said quietly, voice raw. “If you do this, if I become that…” Your throat bobbed. “Will I still be me?”

Eddie’s face crumpled. He looked like he might fall apart right there on the marble.

He stepped closer, hands hovering like he didn’t know if he was allowed to touch you anymore.

“Yes. I’ll do everything to make sure you stay this way,” He whispered.

Your gaze shifted behind you at your parents again. And you realized, with a sick trace of calm, that you were already trapped in said fate.

The wine. The midnight bells. The blood tainting your system.

There was no going back to the version of tonight where you just danced and laughed and left in a limo with rice in your hair.

You inhaled. Slow. Like you were bracing for impact. Then you spoke again, voice barely there.

“Then I consent,” you said. “For you to turn me.”

Eddie nodded immediately, fierce. “Okay.”

Helena’s eyes narrowed, but she tilted her chin, conceding with the grace of someone who still believed she was winning.

“Very well,” she said. “If you insist on being the one to damn her. Do it in the west wing. Where the family does not have to witness your theatrics.”

Eddie’s laugh was hollow. “My theatrics? You put my in-laws on the floor.”

Helena’s smile didn’t move. “They’ll wake.”

You flinched again at that phrase.

Eddie’s hand found yours, gentle this time. He leaned in, forehead to yours, voice breaking into a whisper only you could hear.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I’m going to make this right. Even if it kills me.”

And then, with your parents still on the cold floor behind you, with your wedding dress ruined and your life rewritten, Eddie started walking you deeper into the manor.

Toward the west wing. Toward whatever waited in the dark. Toward a choice that didn’t feel like a choice at all.

-

The west wing felt different at night. Quieter.

It was the room you’d laughed about earlier on, half-tipsy and giddy, tugging Eddie down the hall and whispering about ruining pristine sheets and knocking over priceless antiques. The room you thought you’d earn the privilege of messing up together.

Now it was a room you were growing to despise.

Eddie shut the door behind you with a soft but final click. The sound echoed too loud in your chest.

You didn’t sit. You just stood there, hands wringing together like you could twist the fear out of your bones, eyes locked on the fireplace across the room. It wasn’t lit, but the dark mouth of it stared back at you, reminding you that it’s supposed to bring you warmth. 

“So this is it,” you murmured, voice thin. “Our room.”

Eddie didn’t answer right away.

You could feel him come up behind you. Just there, holding himself back. Trying not to add on to the already there nerves. 

“It was supposed to be,” he said finally. His voice cracked on the word was.

You swallowed, your throat tight and warm in a way that had nothing to do with nerves anymore. Something coiled under your skin, a low heat that made you want to pace, to press your palm against your chest and tear something open just to let the pressure out.

You stared at the stone hearth.

“I thought I’d get to spill wine on the rug,” you said quietly. “Kick my shoes off. Laugh about how big the bed is.”

Eddie stepped closer. Enough that you could feel him like gravity.

“I wanted that for you,” he said. “God, I wanted that.”

You laughed once, breathless. “You’re really bad at giving people what they want, Munson.”

“I know,” he whispered. The silence stretched.

Your hands trembled harder now. You clenched them together, nails biting into your palms, grounding yourself in something real. Your pulse was loud in your ears. Too loud.

You turned slowly. He looked wrecked.

Jacket gone. Tie loosened and hung uselessly around his neck. Hair falling into his eyes like he’d been running his hands through it nonstop. His face–was pale in a way you’d never noticed before, jaw tight like he was biting back words, or hunger, or both.

Your stomach flipped.

“You’re scared,” You said softly.

Eddie huffed a laugh that didn’t hold humor. “Terrified.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“I know,” he said again. Then, quieter, “I wish I could lie to you. I’ve already done enough of that though.”

You stepped back until the edge of the bed pressed into the backs of your legs. “What happens now?” You asked.

Eddie hesitated. That pause told you everything.

“Eddie.”

He closed his eyes.

“The wine wasn’t just blood,” he said. “It was prepared. Old magic. Binding stuff. It makes your body, receptive. It’s why you feel like this.” His gaze snapped back to you, sharp with concern. “You’re warm, right? Restless? Everything feels louder?”

Your breath caught. “Yes.”

His shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry.”

You pressed a hand to your throat. “So if you don’t do it?” You asked.

Eddie swallowed. “It’ll hurt worse. Your body will keep trying to finish what it started.”

You stared at him. “So this isn’t really a choice.”

“It should’ve been,” he said fiercely. “I would’ve made damn sure it was. I would’ve–”

“I know,” You interrupted gently.

And that, somehow, was worse than yelling.

You exhaled slowly, then looked around the room. The bed. The tall windows. The curtains, to the soft sheets. The future you imagined folding itself neatly into this place.

“I don’t want it done by anyone else,” You said. Your voice surprised you with how steady it sounded. “Not your mother. Not a room full of people watching like it’s some sort of ceremony.”

Eddie nodded immediately. “It’s just us.”

Your eyes lifted to his.

“If you do this,” you said, quiet but firm, “You don’t get to disappear on me. You have to walk me through this whole vampire shit.”

His breath stuttered.

“I won’t,” he said. “I swear. I’ll talk you through everything. I’ll stop if you tell me to. I’ll–”

You stepped forward. His hands came up automatically, then froze midair like he was afraid to touch you. You closed the distance yourself, pressing your palms flat against his chest. His heart thundered beneath your hands, faster now, betraying him.

“Look at me,” you said. He did. Your fear was still there. Your grief. Your anger. But beneath it all was resolve, it was quiet, shaking, real.

“I married you,” you repeated. “Not a lie. Not the family. You.”

Eddie’s eyes shined.

“I’ll be the one to turn you,” he said, voice barely holding together. “And I’ll stay with you through every second. You won’t wake up alone. You won’t change alone.”

You nodded once. Then, softly, numb but honest, you said it again.

“I know what you are now.” A beat. “And I’m still here.”

Eddie let out a shaky breath, forehead dropping to yours, relief and terror tangling together.

“Will it hurt?”

His hand came up slowly, deliberately, stopping just short of touching you-waiting. Asking without words. When you didn’t pull away, when you didn’t flinch, he let his knuckles graze the side of your neck instead. Feather-light. Reverent.

“Yes.” He said quietly.

He didn’t sugarcoat it. Your breath stuttered, but you didn’t move your hand away.

“How?” You asked.

Eddie swallowed. His jaw flexed, eyes darkening with something like grief.

“It’s not in the way you think,” he said. “Not like what you saw downstairs.” His thumb traced your pulse, grounding, steady. “It’s sharp. Suddenly. Like your body realizes all at once that something’s changing, like one big surprise.”

You huffed a weak breath. “Great. Love surprises.”

“I know,” he murmured. “You’re gonna hate me for about ten seconds.”

Your lips twitched despite yourself.

“And after that?”

Eddie hesitated. That scared you more than the honesty before.

“After that,” he said carefully, “it stops hurting. It turns into pressure. Heat. Like your blood is moving too fast for your veins.” His eyes searched yours, desperate to be understood. “You’ll feel thirsty. Confused. Emotional. Everything gets louder. Clearer. You might cry. You might want to scream.” You nodded slowly, absorbing it. "And then I snap your neck..." He's firm. "That's what my mom did to your parents. You have to die for the transition to set in." 

"Oh. Can you tell me when you'll do it then. So I'm not surprised." 

"I could just drain your blood from your system. Snapping your neck isn't the only effective way." 

"But it's the fastest right?"

Eddie grew very still. Statue-still. The kind of still that comes right before a man breaks apart.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “It’s the fastest.”

The word fastest sat between you like a loaded gun.

You swallowed, throat bobbing beneath your fingers. Your hand was still at your neck, thumb pressing lightly where his mouth would be, where you never thought about how vulnerable that spot really was until now.

“So I’ll die,” You said.

It wasn’t hysterical. It wasn’t dramatic. It was a fact you were testing aloud, like pressing on a bruise to see how bad it really hurts. Eddie’s breath shuddered.

“You’ll… stop,” he corrected softly. “For a moment. Your heart. Your breathing. Everything goes quiet.” His jaw clenched. “Then it restarts. Differently. Stronger.”

You searched his face.

“And you’ve seen it,” you said. “You’ve watched it happen before?”

“Yes.”

“Every time?”

He nodded once. “Every time.”

Your shoulders sagged a little at that, like the weight of inevitability finally settled where panic had been rattling before.

“Oh,” you whispered again. “Okay.”

Eddie couldn’t take that tone.

He stepped closer, hands coming up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing beneath your eyes like he could wipe the fear away before it had time to settle.

“I don’t have to do it that way,” he said quickly. “I can drain you slowly. Keep you conscious longer. Let you fade instead of–” He swallowed hard. “Instead of snapping your neck.”

Your brows knit together.

“That sounds worse, actually,” You said honestly.

A weak huff of air left him. “Yeah. It is.”

You were quiet for a long moment, staring past him at the fire. The flames reflected in the glass of the windows, jittery and alive. Too alive. Then you looked back at him.

“But snapping my neck…” Your voice wavered just slightly. “That’s… instant?”

“Yes,” he said immediately. “I won’t let you feel it longer than a heartbeat. I swear.”

Your fingers tightened at his wrist.

“Then…” You hesitated, breath catching. “Tell me when you’re going to do it?”

Eddie’s face broke.

“Sweetheart–”

“So I’m not surprised,” you rushed on, panic creeping back into your voice. “Please. I just–I don’t want the last thing I feel to be confusion. I don’t want to wonder what’s happening. I don’t want to be scared.”

That one hurt him visibly.

He nodded, eyes shining. “Okay. Okay, I can do that. I’ll tell you. I’ll count if you want. I’ll hold you. I’ll–”

You cut him off gently.

“No counting,” you said. “Just… tell me. And don’t hesitate.”

His breath hitched sharply.

“Don’t hesitate. Got it.” He echoed.

You nodded, tears finally spilling free now, hot and silent.

“If you hesitate,” you whispered, “I’ll know you’re afraid to lose me. And I can’t think about that while it’s happening.”

Eddie pressed his forehead to yours, eyes squeezed shut, a broken sound leaving his chest.

“I am afraid,” he admitted. “I’m terrified. But I’ll do it clean. I promise. I won’t let it hurt longer than it has to.”

Your hands slid up into his hair, fingers tangling there, grounding both of you.

“Okay,” you breathed. “Then… when you’re ready.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you. Really look.

“I need you to hear me,” he said hoarsely. “When it’s over and when you wake up. It’s going to be overwhelming. You might not recognize yourself right away. You might be angry. You might hate me.”

“I don’t think I could,” you said softly.

Eddie gave a sad smile. “You might.”

Then his voice dropped, earnest and unshakable. “But I’ll be right here when you do.”

Your hand slid back up to his neck. You took one steadying breath.

Then another.

“Tell me,” you said quietly, eyes locked on him. “Right before you do it.”

Eddie nodded, jaw tight, hands shaking just a little as they slid to your waist, pulling you closer.

“I will,” he promised.

You sank together, knees hitting the rug first, then the floor, the silk and tulle of your dress blooming around you like a fallen halo. Eddie followed you down immediately, one arm locked around your waist, the other bracing you so you didn’t collapse all at once.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, voice wrecked. “I’ve got you.”

You nodded, even though your eyes were already closing, lashes trembling as you tried to steady your breathing. Your hands clutched weakly at his jacket, fingers curling into fabric like it was the only thing tethering you.

“Tell me,” You whispered.

Eddie swallowed hard.

“I’m here,” he said first, making sure. “I’m not leaving. And I’m going to do this fast.”

You exhaled, shaky. “Okay.”

His hand slid up, gentle, achingly gentle as he tilted your head to the side. The gesture was reverent, careful, like he was handling something already half broken. His fingers trembled against your jaw. You could feel how hard he was trying to stay controlled.

Your eyes squeezed shut. The room felt too quiet. Too still. Your pulse roared in your ears, loud enough to drown out your nerves.

Then… Pain. Sharp. Immediate. Nothing like you’d imagined and somehow worse because of it.

You whimpered as his fangs pierced your skin, a hot, burning sting that made your whole body jerk. Your fingers spasmed, clutching at him, nails digging into his shoulder as your breath hitched hard in your chest. 

“Eddie.” You gasped, the sound breaking apart.

“I know,” he choked out against your skin. “I know, baby, stay with me.”

The pain flared, white-hot, spreading fast, like fire racing through your veins. Your heartbeat stuttered, then pounded harder, faster, like it was trying to outrun the venom.

Your body arched involuntarily, a broken cry slipping from your throat as your senses overloaded. The world sharpened violently, the distant echo of the manor settling, Eddie’s breath shaking against your neck.

Then came the pressure.

Exactly like he’d said.

Heat bloomed under your skin, swelling, compressing, like your blood was trying to escape your body all at once. Your chest burned. Your limbs went heavy and light at the same time, nerves screaming as something ancient and wrong threaded itself through you.

Eddie pulled back immediately, hands cradling your face, panic flooding his expression.

“I’m stopping,” he said urgently. “I’m stopping, look at me, sweetheart.”

Your eyes fluttered open, unfocused, glassy. You tried to speak, but the words tangled on your tongue.

“Thirsty,” you breathed, barely audible.

His face crumpled.

“I know,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Your heart was racing now. It was too fast, too loud. Each beat slamming painfully against your ribs. The room tilted. The heat surged again, unbearable, and then.

Eddie’s hand slid behind your neck. He leaned in, forehead pressing briefly to yours, breath shaking.

“Look at me,” he whispered.

You did. His eyes were red-rimmed, devastated, full of love and guilt and terror all at once.

“I love you,” he said. Then, steady and clear, exactly as you intended for it to happen, you gave him the go ahead. “Now.”

Then there was a sudden, violent crack. Your vision had gone black.

Just darkness rushing in, merciful and complete, as your body went slack in Eddie’s arms and the light vanished from your sight.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Eddie whispered, nodding to himself like the words could stitch reality back together. “Okay… I’ve got you.”

His hands were shaking as he gathered you up carefully. So gentle, knowing nothing beyond gentleness could undo what he’d just done. Your body was slack in his arms, impossibly heavy and impossibly light all at once. He adjusted you instinctively, resting your twisted neck against the crook of his forearm, supporting you the way you’d once leaned into him during lazy mornings and half-asleep kisses.

You were warm. Too warm at the moment, but knowing sooner you’d hate the feel of your cold skin. That scared him more than your stillness.

He leaned back against the edge of the bed, sitting on the floor with his knees drawn up slightly, cradling you against his chest. One hand came up to brush your hair away from your face, tucking stray strands back with trembling fingers.

“I told you,” he murmured, voice cracking. “I told you I wouldn’t leave. See? Still here. Still here, sweetheart.”

Your lips were parted just slightly, lashes resting against your cheeks, feathered down delicately. If it weren’t for the unnatural angle of your neck, if it weren’t for the silence, he could almost pretend you were asleep.

Almost.

Eddie pressed his forehead to yours, eyes squeezed shut.

“Come back,” he whispered. Not commanding. Begging. “Please come back. I did it right. I didn’t take too much. I swear to God, I didn’t–”

He sucked in a sharp breath, forcing himself to breathe slower, steadier. Panic wouldn’t help you. Panic never helped anything. It certainly wouldn’t help his inner turmoil.

He adjusted you again, easing your head into a more natural position, fingers gentle as he realigned your neck with a quiet, practiced care he hated knowing how to do. The soft click made his stomach twist, even though he knew it was necessary. To realign the bones.

“There,” he murmured shakily. “There you go.”

His thumb brushed over your cheekbone. Down to your jaw. Over your throat, where two small wounds had already begun to darken, the skin around them faintly bruising.

Your heartbeat was gone.

Eddie knew that part. He’d known it from the second your body went slack, from the second the silence swallowed the room whole. Death was a step towards an eternity with you, not the end. It was necessary. Temporary.

Only temporary.

He kept telling himself that, like a prayer, as the seconds ticked by.

Then the minutes went on.

Then the clock on his wrist crept closer to 2:00 a.m.

“No,” he whispered hoarsely, glancing at it again. “No, no, no–”

His thumb brushed your cheek again, harder this time, then slightly tapping against your cheeks, thinking adding pressure alone might summon you back. Your skin was still warm. Too warm to be concerned. Yet too warm to not stand by on alert.

“Come on,” he breathed. “You’re supposed to–you’re supposed to–”

There was nothing, no response, no hint of your rebirth, nor a twitch, or a breath.

Then the real panic hit him.

“Oh fuck–”

He didn’t bother being gentle anymore. Careful, yes. But gentle? That luxury evaporated the moment his watch ticked past the hour.

Eddie scooped you up, your head lolling against his shoulder, your ruined dress trailing like a ghost behind him as he tore the door open and sprinted down the west wing corridor. His shoes pounded against marble that had witnessed centuries of this ritual, generations of who had woken on time.

“Please,” he muttered, half-sobbing now. “Please don’t do this to me. Please don’t–” The manor blurred around him. He burst into the ballroom, breath ragged, chest heaving, his grip tightening reflexively around you. 

They were still there. Every one of them.

Helena stood near the dais, composed as ever. Steve and Nancy hovered close by, tense, eyes snapping to Eddie the second he appeared. Dustin straightened sharply, color draining from his face when he saw you still limp in Eddie’s arms.

Eddie dropped to his knees on the ballroom floor.

He laid you down gently, reverently, on the cold marble, cradling your head in his hands as he leaned over you, shaking. Quiet, broken sounds tore out of his chest.

“Eddie?” Steve said carefully, stepping forward. “What’s going on?”

Eddie didn’t look at him. He looked at you.

“Why isn’t she waking?” Eddie demanded, voice cracking as he glanced wildly at his watch again. “The hour mark is up. It shouldn’t be taking this long. Why isn’t she waking?”

His hands trembled as they hovered over your chest, like he was afraid to touch too much and afraid not to touch you at all.

“I did everything by the book,” he choked. “I didn’t rush the process. I didn’t take too much. I stopped when she told me to. I snapped her neck clean. I stayed with her. I did everything by the damn book!”

“Eddie,” Nancy said softly, kneeling down across from him. Her voice was steady, practiced, even as her eyes shone. “You’re panicking.”

He let out a sharp, humorless laugh that broke halfway through.

“No shit!” he snapped. “She’s not waking up!”

Silence fell heavy over the ballroom.

Helena finally moved.

Her heels clicked once against the floor as she approached, gaze flicking over you with clinical precision. She crouched slowly, fingers brushing just beneath your jaw, her expression unreadable.

The pause did nothing to spare him the heartache.

Eddie’s breath hitched. “Say something.”

Helena’s eyes narrowed with calculation.

“This is… unusual,” she admitted.

That word nearly destroyed him.

“Unusual?” Eddie echoed, rising to his feet so fast his knees scraped the floor. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?”

Steve shot him a warning look. “Eddie–”

“No,” Eddie snarled, rounding on his mother. “No, don’t tell me to calm down. You promised me. You said it was binding wine, not poison. You said it would work.”

Helena stood smoothly. “And it should have.”

Nancy frowned. “What do you mean it should have?”

Helena’s gaze flicked to your parents’ bodies, still laid out nearby, still unmoving.

“Sometimes,” she said slowly, “the body resists.”

Eddie felt his vision blur. “Resists what?”

“Change,” Helena replied. “Acceptance. The blood.”

Eddie laughed again, wild-eyed now. “She didn’t resist. She agreed. She looked at me and agreed.”

He dropped back down beside you, hands framing your face desperately.

“She chose me,” he whispered. “She chose this.” His voice cracked entirely then. “She wouldn’t leave me like this.”

Dustin swallowed hard. “Eddie…”

Eddie whirled on him. “Don’t.”

Steve stepped in front of Dustin immediately. “Yeah. No. That’s not helping.”

Eddie dragged a shaking hand through his hair, chest heaving, tears spilling freely now, unashamed.

“Say it again,” he begged Helena. “Tell me what fixes it. Tell me what I missed. I’ll do anything.”

Helena studied him for a long moment.

Then her gaze dropped, it was sharp, piercing at the faint marks on your neck.

“You didn’t finish,” she said.

Eddie froze.

“I did,” he snapped. “I stopped because–”

“Because you love her,” Helena cut in. “Love makes monsters hesitate.”

Eddie’s hands curled into fists. “I wasn’t going to drain her dry.”

“I’m not suggesting you do,” Helena replied coolly. “But the blood drain must be completed. A bridge must be sealed. You must take, so the bind gives back.” 

Nancy’s breath caught. “You mean–” 

“He needs to dry her,” Helena said simply. “For it to work.” 

The words ran dry, rang ugly and final in the air. Voices collided at once.

Steve swearing under his breath, Nancy arguing fast and sharp, Dustin stammering something about how that couldn’t be right, how there had to be another way. 

Helena waved them off like flies and ,God help them, she began to hum. 

Then sang very off-key. A song. Old and cruel. 

“We must take, we must dry, For those we love we must die– It’s in the song, child!” 

Eddie stared at her like he might lunge. 

“No,” he said hoarsely. “No, she asked me to stop.” 

“And now she’s not waking,” Helena countered lightly, as if she were stating the weather. Silence slammed down again. Eddie dropped back to his knees beside you, hands trembling as they hovered over your face. You were still. Too still. Too peaceful for what he felt. It was tearing him apart. 

“Baby,” he whispered, voice shredded raw. “Please–” 

You gasped. The sound ripped through the ballroom like glass shattering. Your back arched violently as air tore into your lungs, sharp and painful and wrong. Your hands flew to your throat instinctively, clawing at skin that felt like parchment paper. 

Fire burned down your chest, your veins screaming for something you didn’t understand yet.

“Oh God–” you choked, panic exploding out of you. 

At the same moment, your parents woke up. Your mother’s gasp turned into a sobbing cough as she clutched at her neck, eyes wild and unfocused. Your father lurched upright with a strangled sound, hands gripping the floor like he was trying to anchor himself back to reality. 

Nancy and Steve moved instantly. 

“Hey, hey, easy,” Nancy said, rushing to your mother’s side, hands gentle but firm. Steve crouched beside your father, voice low and grounding. 

“You’re okay. You’re okay. Just breathe.” Dustin and Eddie surged toward you at the same time. Eddie caught you as you thrashed, arms wrapping around your shoulders, pressing you back to the marble before you could scramble away on pure instinct. 

Your strength startled him, too strong, too sudden. 

“Easy, easy, it’s me,” Eddie said desperately. “It’s me. You’re safe.” 

“I can’t–” you panted, eyes darting wildly. “My throat, it feels–” Your vision flickered. 

The ballroom lights sharpened painfully, colors too vivid, sounds too clear. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears, no, not your heartbeat. 

Everyone’s. 

You could hear them all. 

Steve’s steady and loud. 

Nancy’s fast. 

Dustin’s frantic. 

Eddie’s…

Eddie’s was a roar. 

Your eyes flashed. Brown. Then red. Then back again. Eddie froze. 

“Hey,” he whispered, terrified and awed all at once. “Look at me. Don’t look at anything else.” But you couldn’t stop staring. 

Because then they were brought in. Staff emerged from the side doors quietly, efficient, guiding three young people forward. Humans. None you had seen in passing during the party. Dazed. Glassy-eyed. A girl was pushed gently but firmly down beside you on the floor, her head lolling like she was half asleep. 

Your gaze locked onto her. Your mouth went dry in a way that had nothing to do with fear. Your stomach twisted painfully. 

What the fuck is this, your mind screamed. 

“Who is that?” Eddie looked up, horror dawning across his face as the pieces slammed together. “Where did they come from?” he demanded, fury cutting through the panic. 

Helena smiled faintly, shrugging one shoulder. “Tourists. Won’t be missed.” Eddie stared at her, deadpan and shaking. “You had people ready.” 

“Of course,” Helena replied. “We’re not amateurs.” Your breathing hitched as the girl beside you shifted, exposing the soft line of her neck. Something pulled in your chest. Hard. Your fingers twitched. 

“No,” you whispered, though you didn’t know why. “No, I don’t–” Your eyes flashed red again. 

"Baby you have to feed okay. It's part of the transition." He didn't want to but he inched the human girl closer to you. He could see your hesitance towards sinking your teeth in her.

"She'll be the only one after this okay. We can do bloodbags. That way it's easier on your mind. But you need to feed. Okay? Can you do that for me baby?” Eddie gathered the girl's hair in a bunched up mess, allowing you easier access to her neck. Then with his free hand he cupped the back of your head, edging you closer to her.

Your mouth opens and closes and before he knew it you were sinking your fangs in her neck. Faint moans spilling past your lips as you lifted your frazzled gaze up to your husband, receiving a nod of approval, before letting them close from the sweetness that coated your mouth. 

You froze for half a second, as warmth flooded your mouth, thick, metallic. Your body reacted before your mind could catch up, hands clutching her shoulders instinctively as you drank.

Eddie and Dustin sighed in relief as you drained her, your shoulders sagging as you slowly sucked on her blood. He glanced at your parents doing the same to their victims. Steve and Nancy ease them into it. His palm lessened its pressure on the back of your head, as you continued to hum around her neck, he pressed a kiss to your head before meeting his mother's warmth. Her eyes, proud and sweet of her newest daughter feeding. Then turned back to face you.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “You’re doing so good.” 

Your hum vibrated faintly against the girl’s neck as you drank, slower now, more aware. He noticed the girl's pupils dilate slightly before he felt her lose her strength in your grip. Then and there he knew you had drunk past her limit. When Eddie gently tugged you back, letting you gently back come from your high. You felt your fangs release her neck with a soft, wet sound that made your stomach twist with shame and disbelief. The girl slumped forward immediately, caught by waiting staff hands and ushered away quickly after.

You swayed, blinking, breath uneven.

Eddie caught you instantly, pulling you against his chest, arms firm around you as if anchoring you to the world.

“It’s okay,” he said again. “It’s over. You did it.” Your lips were stained red. Your eyes flickered once more, then settled.

Helena watched the scene with unmistakable satisfaction, her posture relaxed, hands folded neatly in front of her. Proud. Like this had all gone exactly as planned. She stepped forward, heels clicking softly against the marble, and glanced around the ballroom at the wreckage of the night, the fed, the shaken, the newly made.

Then, casually, brightly, she said,

"So, where'd you say you were going for your honeymoon?" Everyone turns to look at her.

Eddie mid-swiping your bottom lip, as your eyes widened innocently. Her question seemingly caught everyone off guard. 

Eddie stared. Dustin gaped. Nancy looked like she might scream. And you, still slightly confused in Eddie’s arms, the thirst in your throat, no more, your pulse pounding stronger with new life–laughed at her.

It slipped out of you before you could stop it. Soft at first. Breathless. Then a little louder, edged with disbelief and something sharp enough to surprise even you.

Helena blinked. Just once. She hadn’t expected that.

Your laugh faded into a shaky exhale as you lifted your head, fingers curling into Eddie’s jacket like you needed the reminder that he was real, that you were still here. Your voice came out rough, newly tuned, unfamiliar to your own ears.

“You’re unbelievable,” you said, half-dazed, half-awed. “My parents are learning how to breathe again, I just–” you gestured vaguely at yourself, throat still warm, still too aware. “I just sucked my first neck…and you’re planning where I’m gonna go and fuck your son?”

Eddie gaped at you now, stunned in the best way. Then he barked out a laugh of his own, sharp and incredulous, and finally found his spine again.

“Yeah,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes never leaving his mother. “We’re not…not telling you.”

Helena arched her brow. “Eddie–”

“No,” he cut in, voice firm now, steel threading through the exhaustion. “You don’t get that luxury. You don’t get to plan her getaway, our getaway, like a fucking like a seating chart. You don’t get to know where we go, when we leave, or how long we’ll be gone.”

A beat.

“You got your ritual,” he went on. “You got your new vampires. You got your bridge sealed. Congratulations.” He looked down at you then, softer, reverent. “But she’s mine. And I’m hers. You don’t get to meddle your way into the one thing we have left to savor today.”

Your chest tightened at that, it wasn’t painful this time. Just full.

Helena studied the two of you for a long moment. Measuring. Weighing. Then she smiled again, but it was thinner now. Cautious.

“Very well,” she said lightly. “Mystery keeps things interesting, I suppose.”

Nancy stood, finally finding her voice. “We’re taking them upstairs,” she said, nodding toward your parents. “They need rest. You all do.”

Steve nodded immediately, already guiding your father carefully to his feet. Dustin hovered close by, eyes flicking between you and Eddie like he was trying to memorize the sight of you breathing, laughing, alive.

Helena turned away, already bored, already done. The family dispersed like this was just another evening concluded. Eddie didn’t move. He pressed his forehead to yours, breath shuddering as the adrenaline finally dispersed out of him all at once.

“You okay?” he whispered. “It’s okay if you’re not.”

You nodded, slow and honest. “I’m here,” you said. Then, quieter, “Everything feels weird. I’m sure that’s just the new benefits of being immortal now. Everything feels amped up times a thousand. It’s louder now, but clearer. I think the only thing making me feel less stressed though is the twenty-twenty vision I’ve now been blessed with because I didn’t think you could ever look more gorgeous to me, but you do so it’s okay. Also, I’m not dead, so I think it’s a big win…”

His eyes shone.

“I win indeed,” he murmured. “I almost lost my mind.”

You huffed a weak laugh. “I could tell, though your heart has been a bit steadier after I drank the poor girl's blood.” Your smile fading as you thought about taking a life. You let your head fall as you look at the grim and dirt and stains, red coated, took over your appearance and once white dress. You let a finger brush against a dark red spot absentmindedly. Your furrowed brows gave Eddie all the confirmation he needed that this would take a while to get over. Knowing just how much your first person could affect you.

“Your first time will always be the heaviest weight you'll carry,” Eddie murmured, taking your hand from your dress and brushing a thumb over your knuckles. “After that, you learn how to live with it. Doesn't mean you stop caring though. Just means it hurts a little less every time.” He smiled, small and crooked, then brought your hand to his lips. “The day it stops hurting is the day you should start worrying.” 

"So it'll get easier, is what I'm gathering?" You feigned a laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

"I wouldn't go that far." Eddie let out a quiet huff through his nose.

"That's reassuring."

"You always remember your first one."

"You do?" Your eyes lifted to his.

He nodded.

"Every face. Every name. Every reason." His jaw tightened. "The guilt just stops feeling sharp all the time."

"Who was your first?" You met his gaze, curiosity getting the better of you.

Eddie's smile faded at the edges. For a moment, he looked past you. Past the ballroom. Past the manor. Like he'd been pulled somewhere years away. Your brows pinched together.

"Eddie?"

He blinked and looked back at you.

"We'll save that one for another time."

"That bad?" 

"Something like that." A humorless laugh escaped him.

You studied him carefully. The way his jaw tightened. The way his thumb stopped moving against your hand. 

"You still think about them."

"More than I'd like." His eyes lowered to your intertwined hands.

Silence settled between you.

"Were they someone you loved?" you asked softly.

"Another time, sweetheart. Promise.” Eddie let out a slow breath through his nose.

There wasn't any teasing in his voice now. No clever remark. No attempt to dodge with a joke.

Just a quiet finality.

And for the first time since meeting him, you got the sense that whatever story sat behind that answer was one Eddie carried far heavier than he ever let anyone see.

“Come on,” he said gently. “Let’s get you upstairs. You earned the right to sleep for an eternity after tonight.”

“I’d hope so.” You leaned into him, letting him hold up your weight as the world spun around you for a second. He steadied you, before he walked you both towards the grand staircases. Bending down to pick you up in his arms once more. Your head lolled onto his shoulder, allowing your eyes to close