formerly fruityfour-rp

You narrowed your eyes. Hold it for you. The way she laughed through the phone, all sweet anf flirty, made your blood heat. Steve wasn't hers. The though of some video store girl trying to get his attention made you want to remind him exactly who he was with.

You shifted in his lap, turning so you were straddling him properly. Steve glanced at you with a small, questioning smile, but kept talking. 

"Sure, I can check the inventory list-"

You didnt give him time to finish. Leaning in, you pressed your lips to the side of his neck, right under his jaw where you knew he was sensititve. He tensed slightly, breath hitching.

"Uh, yeah… I'm still here," he said into the phone, voice a little rougher.

You smiled against his skin and sucked gently, then harder, leaving a mark. Your hands slid down his chest, fingers working open the rest of his buttons. Steve's free hand gripped your hip tighter in warning, but you felt him twitch beneath you.

The girl kept talking, something about new releases and how Steve always gave the best recommendations. You rolled your hips slowly against him, grinding down on the growing bulge in his jeans. Steve bit back a groan, turning it into a cough.

"Yeah, thats one's… really good," he managed.

His voiced cracked when you reached between you and palmed him through his pants, stroking firmly.

"Fuck- I mean, uh, its a classic."

You smirked, loving how he was fighting to stay composed. You popped the button on his jeans and tugged the zipper down, slipping your hand inside to wrap around his cock. He was already half hard, thickening quickly in your grip. You stroked him slowly, thumb circling the head, spreading the bead of precum that had leaked out.

Steve's head fell back against the couch, eyes squeezing shut for a second.

"Mhm. No Im good just… tripped over something."

His hand on your hip slid under your shirt, squeezing your waist like he needed something to hold onto.

You leaned down and whispered right against his ear, quiet enough the phone wouldn't pick it up, "Tell her you're busy, Steve."

Instead, he kept listening, jaw clenched. So you doubled down.

You slid off his lap and onto your knees between his spread thighs. Steve's eyes flew open, staring down at you in a mix of panic and raw want. You pulled his cock free, thick and flushed, and gave him one long, slow lick from base to tip.

"Shit." He nearly dropped the phone. "Sorry, uh, the cat. We dont have a cat, nevermind."

You took him into your mouth, lips stretching around him as you sank down. Steve's hips jerked, and his free hand flew to your hair, gripping tight but not pushing. You bobbed your head, taking him deeper, hollowing your cheeks and swirling your tongue just the way he liked. The wet sounds were quiet, but you knew he could hear them. Every time the girl on the phone said something else, you sucked harder.

Steve's voice was getting strained. "Yeah… yeah, I'll let Robin know. Listen i gotta go, something just came up-"

You looked up at him through your lashes, lips wrapped tight around his cock, and took him all the way to the back of your throat. Steve's grip in your hair tightened, a low, broken groan escaping before he could stop it.

"Fuck, sorry- bad connection," he rasped. "Talk later. Bye."

He slammed the phone down so hard the whole thing rattled.

"Jesus Christ, baby," Steve growled, finally free. Both hands tangled in your hair as he thrust up into your mouth. "You're so fucking jealous… so hot when you get like this."

You moaned around him, the vibration making his thighs ense. He fucked your mouth for a few more strokes before pulling you off with a wet pop, breathing hard.

"Up here. Now."

You barely had time to stand before he yanked you back onto his lap, shoving your skirt up and panties aside. In one smooth motion he pulled you down onto his cock, burying himself inside you in a single thrust. You both moaned loudly, the stretch perfect and overwhelming.

Steves mouth crashed against yours, messy and desperate. 

"All yours," he muttered between kisses, hands gripping your ass as he guided you to ride him. 

"Not hers. Never hers. Only you."

You rocked your hips faster, grinding down hard every time you sank onto him. The jealousy still simmered in your chest, mixing with the heat until it burned away into pure pleasure.

"Say it again," you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders

"Only you," Steve roaned, thrusting up to meet you.

"Fuck, only you, baby. Always." 

He reached between you to rub your clit, relentless, until your thighs started shaking. The phone call was long forgotten. There was only the slap of skin, your moans and Steves wrecked voice chanting your name like a prayer as he came deep inside you, pulling you over the edge with him.

Afterward, you collapsed against his chest, both of you sweaty and breathing hard. Steve pressed a kiss to your temple, a lazy, satisfied smile on his face.

"Next time she calls," he murmured, voice hoarse, "You can answer the phone whilst im between your legs."

You laughed softly against his collarbone, still catching your breath, his cock still buried deep inside you. Steve's hands stroked up and down your back, soothing and possessive at the same time.

"Deal," you whispered, nipping at his skin again.

Steve hummed, the sound vibrating through this chest.

"You're trouble, you know that?" He tilted you chin up and kissed you slow and deep, tongue sliding against yours like he was tasting the jealousy that had driven you to your knees earlier. When he pulled back, his hazel eyes were dark, a wicked little smirk tugging at his lips. 

"That phone call really got to you, huh."

You narrowed your eyes, rolling your hips once just to watch his breath hitch. "She's always flirting with you. Leaning over the counter, batting her lashes."

Steve groaned as you clenched around him. "Baby, I dont even remember her name half the time. Only one girl Im thinking about." 

He flexed his hips, grinding up into you. "And she's currently dripping all over my lap."

Heat flooded your face, and somewhere much lower. You tried to move off him, but Steve's grip on your hips tightened, keeping you seated.

"Nuh uh. Not done with you yet." He stood up suddenly, still inside you, strong arms holding you against him as your legs wrapped around his waist. You yelped, clinging to his shoulders while he carried you down the hallway toward his bedroom, each step making him nudge deeper.

He kicked the door shut behind you and dropped you onto his bed, following right after. In seconds he had your skirt and panties off, tossing them somewhere across the room. Your shirt followed. Steve hovered over you, shirt hanging open, jeans barely pushed down his thighs, looking like pure sin.

"Gonna make sure you forget all about that phone call," he murmured, kissing down your neck, sucking fresh marks into your skin. Lower and lower until his mouth closed over your breast, tongue flicking your nipple while his fingers slid between your legs, spreading the mess of your combined release.

"Steve-" you gasped as two thick fingers pushed back inside you, curling just right.

He worked you open again, slowly and filthy, thumb circling your swollen clit. Every time you moaned his name he grinned against your skin, clearly enjoying how easily he could turn the tables.

When you were trembling and close again, he pulled his fingers out and flipped you onto your stomach. He yanked your hips up, pressing your chest into the mattress.

"Arch your back for me, baby. Thats is…"

You barely had time to obey before he thrust back into you in one smooth stroke, bottoming out with a groan. The new angle was devastating. He set a brutal pace, one hand fisted in your hair, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he panted. "So tight. So wet. All for me."

You pushed back to meet every thrust, fingers twisting in the sheets. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, mixed with your broken moans and Steves filthy praise.

"Tell me you're jealous again," he growled, slowing down to deep, punishing rolls of his hips. "Tell me why you sucked my cock while I was on the phone.

"I didnt like her voice," you gasped, pushing back harder. "Didn't like her trying to get your attention… you're all mine Steve."

"Yeah, I am." He leaned over you, chest to your back, biting your shoulder as he drove in deeper. "All yours. This dick is yours. Say it."

"Its mine," you whimpered, pleasure coiling tight in your belly. "Only mine."

Steve reached around and rubbed your clit again, fast and perfect. "Then come for me, baby. Let me feel you."

You shattered hard, crying out his name as your walls clenched around him. Steve followed right after, burying himself deep and groaning loudly as he spilled inside you again, hips stuttering through the aftershocks.

He collapsed beside you, pulling you into his chest. For a few minutres there was only heavy breathing and gentle kisses on your forehead, your cheek, your lips.

Eventually Steve chuckled. low and warm. "Next time she calls… im not answering. Or maybe I will and you can ride me while I tell her I'm very, very busy."

You smacked his chest lightly, laughing despite the fresh wave of heat the words sent through you. "You're such an asshole."

"Your asshole," he corrected, grinning as he rolled you on top of him again. His hands smoothed over your ass, squeezing. "And I'm nowhere near done proving it tonight."

You felt him twitch against your thigh, already half hard again

"Round three?" You asked, raising an eyebrow.

Steves smirk was pure trouble

"Round three. Then the shower. Then maybe my desk chair. We've got all night, baby and I want you to still be jealous tomorrow when we go return those tapes.”

You kissed him hard, already rocking against him.

“Deal.”

A - Aftercare: The former King of Hawkins High who evolved into the ultimate babysitter and protector after diving headfirst into the horrors of the Upside Down, treats aftercare like one of his non-negotiable duties. By the time he is fully entangled with the group, driving the kids around in his BMW, wielding that nail bat and trading sarcastic quips with Robin at Family Video, he has learned that real strength means showing up for the people he cares about, especially after intense moments. 

Imagine a stolen night in his parents' empty house after a close call with demodogs or Vecna's influence lingering in the air. Sweat still clings to his chest, his famously great hair tousled from your fingers, as he pulls you close on the king-sized bed. He keeps a warm washcloth ready in the bathroom (old habits from trying to be the perfect boyfriend back in the day), gently cleaning you up while murmuring in that low, self-deprecating tone, "You did so good for me, baby. Took everything I gave you like a champ." He wraps you in one of his letterman jackets or a soft blanket, holding you against him as he strokes your back. Steve has grown into someone who checks in, "Was that too much? Tell me where your head's at." He fetches a soda from the fridge or plays a mixtape he made for you on the stereo, the soft 80s synth filling the room while he listens to how you feel. This is Steve proving he is nothing like the distant, neglectful parents who left him alone in that big house, his care is fierce, consistent and laced with that signature Harrington charm.

B - Babysitter instinct: Steve's protective "babysitter" energy translates perfectly into the bedroom, especially post-Season 2 when he has fully embraced looking out for the kids and the group. He is dominant in a guiding, watchful way, never controlling out of ego but out of that deep-seated need to keep you safe in a town full of literal monsters. He’s the guy who’s been hit in the head too many times, who’s fought demodogs and who now channels all that hyper-vigilance into making sure you’re taken care of, even (especially) when you’re falling apart under him.

In a midway-kinky scene, he might “babysit” you through an intense edging session on the hood of his car parked deep in the woods after a risky Upside Down-related errand. The engine is still ticking as it cools, headlights off, only the faint glow of the dashboard radio lighting his face. His strong hands pin your hips down gently but firmly against the warm metal, that signature smirk in place as he says, “Stay right there, honey. I’ve got you…just like everything else. Let me take care of this.”

He brings you close over and over with his mouth and fingers, pulling back right when your thighs start shaking. His voice stays low and teasing with that sarcastic encouragement he’s famous for, “Don’t fight it. I know what you need. Breathe… yeah, just like that. Good girl.” He keeps one hand splayed across your stomach like he’s physically holding you together, the other working you expertly while he watches your face the entire time, checking for any sign that it’s too much. The thrill of secrecy makes everything sharper.

Afterward he always debriefs, pulling you into his chest in the backseat, running fingers over your skin and asking quietly if you’re okay, if the power exchange felt good, if there’s anything he should do differently next time. It’s rooted in his growth from selfish King Steve to the selfless guardian who’ll throw himself in front of danger without hesitation, only now the danger is how hard he can make you come before you lose your mind.

C - Caretaking kink: Whether he’s patching up the Party after battles, driving the kids around in the middle of the night or making sure everyone’s got snacks and a safe place to crash, he finds real satisfaction in providing. In intimate moments this becomes a full-blown kink with slow, attentive worship where he focuses entirely on your pleasure like it’s his personal mission.

Picture a steamy shower in his big empty house after a long shift at Scoops Ahoy or Family Video. The 80s tiles are fogging up, water beating down as he washes your hair with careful fingers, massaging your scalp like he’s got all the time in the world. He’ll kiss every bruise or hickey he left the night before, murmuring apologies mixed with praise. Then he drops to his knees on the wet floor, water dripping from his perfect hair and looks up at you with those big brown eyes while his tongue works you over with focused dedication.

“God, you taste amazing,” he groans against you, the vibration making your knees weak. “Just relax and let me handle it, okay? I’ve got you.” He’s relentless in the best way, two fingers curling just right while his mouth stays on you, bringing you over the edge repeatedly before he even thinks about himself. He loves the way you grab his hair, the way your voice echoes off the tiles and the way you go boneless against the wall when he finally lets you come.

It soothes his own insecurities about being “just the muscle” or the guy who used to be all flash and no substance, making you fall apart becomes proof that he’s good for something deeper now. Afterward he wraps you in the biggest, fluffiest towel, carries you to his bed if your legs are too shaky and keeps the caretaking going with some cuddling, snacks and soft kisses on your forehead while he checks in. “You good? Need anything else, princess?”

D - Dirty talk: Steve is surprisingly verbal once he drops the cool-guy facade. His dirty talk is a perfect mix of 80s swagger, sarcastic teasing and genuine affection that makes your stomach flip. He’s not crude for the sake of it, it’s always laced with that signature charm and the protective streak he’s developed after everything he’s been through.

Pinned beneath him in his bedroom, the faint glow of his bedside lamp catching the sweat on his shoulders, he might growl against your ear, voice low and rough, “Fuck, you’re so tight for me…my good girl.” He builds you up with steady praise while he moves inside you, “Look at you, taking me so well. I knew you could handle it. Just like that…yeah, squeeze me again.”

He’ll mix in that sarcastic edge that never fully left him, “Thought you said you could keep quiet? C’mon, let me hear it. The neighbors already think I’m a delinquent anyway.” But it always circles back to reassurance. Mid-thrust he’ll slow down, press his forehead to yours and check in with a soft, breathless “You okay, honey? Too much?” before picking up the pace again when you nod. “I’ve got you. Let go for me. I want to feel you come on me like only I can make you.” He loves whispering filthy praise while his hair falls in his face, eyes locked on yours the whole time.

E - Experience: Steve had plenty of casual experience as King Steve from pool parties, backseat hookups, the kind of quick, ego-stroking encounters that never went deeper than a night but with you, especially after Season 3 and 4 when he’s working retail jobs, bonding with Robin and confronting his own insecurities, he learns to slow down and actually communicate.

He studies your body like he memorizes the kids’ routines or the layout of the Starcourt mall. He remembers exactly how you like his fingers curled, the precise angle that makes your back arch and the way you shiver when he kisses that spot just below your ear. He’s confident without being arrogant, open to experimenting but always discusses it first, “You ever thought about trying this? We can stop anytime, just say the word.”

What used to be shallow technique becomes attentive skill. He turns potential awkwardness into shared laughter like the time he nearly fell off the bed trying a new position and ended up cracking a joke about Russian torture being less complicated. That trust makes the sex better every time because he’s not afraid to admit when he’s learning, “Tell me if this feels good… yeah? Fuck, the way you sound when I do that…I’m never forgetting it.”

F - Foreplay: Steve excels at drawn-out, teasing foreplay. He’s patient, using his charm, his hands and that devastating smile to turn you into a mess before he even gets your clothes fully off.

In his car parked at the quarry or a quiet spot outside town, the windows fogging up while a mixtape plays low, maybe some Springsteen or The Police, he kisses you deeply, one hand sliding under your blouse while the other grips your thigh. He takes his time, sucking marks into your neck, careful ones that can be hidden with a scarf or high collar while his fingers tease light, maddening touches over your clothes until you’re squirming.

“Patience, honey,” he murmurs against your skin, that smirk clear in his voice. “I’ve waited through demodogs, Russians and a thousand screaming kids. I can wait to hear you moan my name properly.” He loves building it slowly by kissing down your chest, tongue flicking over sensitive spots, fingers slipping under fabric but never giving you everything at once. He watches your reactions like it’s the most important thing in the world, whispering encouragement the whole time, “So pretty like this…”

By the time he finally sinks into you, you’re already shaking and he loves every second of it. Foreplay with Steve isn’t just the warm-up, it’s part of the caretaking and of making sure you feel completely wanted before he loses himself in you.

G - Guiding hands: Steve's strong, capable hands become one of the most intoxicating parts of being with him. He’s acutely aware of his own strength and is careful with it, turning those hands into tools of both control and comfort.

He loves pinning your wrists gently above your head with one big hand while the other explores your body. The hold is secure and protective with enough pressure to make you feel held and completely safe in his grip. “I’ve got you,” he says, voice low and steady like when he’s herding the Party away from danger. His thumb brushes soothing circles over your pulse point even as he’s buried deep inside you, a constant reminder that you’re safe with him.

In heated moments he’ll use those hands to guide your hips exactly where he wants them or wrap one around your throat with the lightest pressure while murmuring, “Eyes on me, honey. Just feel me.” 

Afterward he’s always massaging your wrists gently, kissing the spots he held, checking for any discomfort with that soft, concerned look that melts you every time. Those guiding hands make you feel claimed and cherished at the same time.

H - Hair pulling (light): Steve’s famously great hair is not just for show, especially once he has traded popularity for protecting the Party from the Upside Down horrors. By Seasons 3 and 4, when he is working at Family Video or Scoops Ahoy and has faced Russians, demodogs and Vecna’s curse, he craves that tangible connection during intimate moments. He loves when you thread your fingers through his thick, perfectly styled hair and tug lightly as he thrusts into you on the plush couch in his empty family house, the distant hum of a radio playing in the background. 

The sensation makes him groan deeply, hips snapping forward with a little more urgency as he buries his face in your neck. “Fuck, honey, do that again,” he murmurs in that smooth, slightly breathless voice. He returns the favor gently, fingers sliding into your hair to guide your head for a messy kiss or to tilt your face so he can watch your expressions while he grinds deep and slow. It’s never harsh or painful, just enough pull to heighten the connection, a playful reminder of how alive you both feel after surviving another close call with the other dimension. He checks in constantly with soft questions like “Too much?” or “Feels good?” because his experiences have taught him that real strength is knowing when to hold back. 

In a heated quick moment in the back of his car parked at Lover’s Lake after a tense night watching for threats, your hands fisting in his hair as you ride him turns the windows foggy and draws out those rare, unguarded sounds from King Steve. The light hair pulling becomes another thread in the trust you have built, blending the adrenaline of your secret life with raw, affectionate pleasure.

I - Intimacy: For Steve, intimacy is the core that makes everything else worthwhile after the chaos of the Upside Down. Once he is deeply involved with the kids, driving them around Hawkins and sharing knowing looks with Robin about the weirdness of it all, he values real emotional closeness more than anything. Even in midway-kinky scenes, he needs eye contact, foreheads pressed together and whispered confessions. 

Picture a quiet night in his empty house after helping the Party escape another threat. He has you beneath him on his bed, moving slow and deep, one hand cupping your face so you can’t look away. “Stay with me, baby,” he whispers, voice rough with emotion. “Just us right now…no monsters, no bullshit.” His thrusts are measured, grinding against you with every roll of his hips while he kisses you like he is afraid the world might end again. The kinky elements, like light restraints from a silk scarf or his belt, only heighten the feeling of being completely seen and safe with each other. 

He talks openly during and after, sharing how the battles have changed him and asking about your fears, turning the bedroom into a sanctuary where vulnerability is as powerful as any nail bat swing. This deep intimacy helps him process the weight of being the group’s protector, making every touch and shared breath, a reaffirmation that he is more than the former King of Hawkins, he is yours.

J - Joyrides: Joyrides in Steve’s car are charged with kinky energy, especially during the later seasons when late-night drives serve as both escape and lookout for Upside Down activity. He pulls over at a secluded spot outside town, engine still ticking as it cools and hauls you into the backseat with that smirk of his. The leather seats creak under you as he peels away layers of clothing, hands roaming with confidence while a mixtape of upbeat tracks plays low. He loves the confined space for its forced closeness, fingers teasing between your thighs and mouth hot on your neck, building tension until he has you straddling him. The risk of passing headlights or distant thunder that could signal danger adds adrenaline but Steve stays in control, with one hand steady on your hip while the other explores. “You feel so good like this,” he groans, guiding you down onto him with care. Afterward he drives with one hand on your thigh, windows cracked to let in the cool Hawkins night air, talking through the session and making sure you are okay. These joyrides blend his love for speed and freedom with caretaking, turning potential danger into thrilling, intimate release.

K - Kink level: Steve operates at a solid midway-kinky level shaped by his growth across the seasons. As the former popular jock who became the reliable, bat-wielding guardian for Dustin, Lucas, Max and the rest of the Party, he is confidently dominant in a protective, guiding way. Light restraint with scarves or his own hands, praise that borders on worship, edging to draw out pleasure and caretaking elements dominate his style. He stays far away from anything violent, degrading or truly painful, the real monsters he has faced make him fiercely committed to safety, enthusiastic consent and frequent check-ins. “You tell me if anything changes, okay? I’ve got you,” is a constant refrain. His kinks revolve around trust built through shared trauma and everyday normalcy at Family Video or the mall. Everything feels fun, immersive and deeply connective, with plenty of sarcastic humor to keep things light even when the intensity peaks. This level lets him channel his strength into making you feel cherished and secure in a town that offers little safety.

L - Locations: Steve is hyper-aware of the constant dangers lurking in Hawkins, so every location is chosen and prepared with safety and secrecy in mind. His parents’ empty house is the go-to for long, uninterrupted nights, sprawling across his king bed with zero fear of interruption but he also thrives on the risky thrill of other spots.

The back of his car during night patrols is a favorite. The storage room at Family Video after closing, surrounded by stacks of VHS tapes and the faint buttery smell of old popcorn leads to quick, desperate encounters against the shelves. Hidden clearings in the woods near the quarry feel dangerous and exhilarating, he always brings a blanket, keeps one ear open for anything unnatural and has an exit plan ready like the seasoned survivor he is.

Lazy afternoons at the empty community pool (after hours, of course) let him indulge in playful variety, chasing you through the water, then lifting you onto the edge for teasing foreplay with ice cream smeared across your skin from Scoops Ahoy shifts. Stolen moments in the back of the ice cream shop after closing turn into sticky, giggling sessions that quickly become heated. No matter where you are, Steve turns even risky places into safe havens through preparation, constant check-ins and that protective instinct that never sleeps.

M - Mirror (or reflection): Mirror play appeals to Steve’s lingering appreciation for visuals. In the large bathroom mirror of his family home, he positions you so both of you can watch him standing behind you, one arm banded securely around your waist while he enters you slowly. His chin rests on your shoulder, eyes locked on your reflection as he murmurs, “Look how perfect we look together. You’re so beautiful like this.” He keeps the pace deep and rolling, one hand sliding down to circle your clit while narrating softly how warm your skin feels and how well you take him. The reflective surface lets him read every micro-expression, adjusting instantly if he sees anything off, true to his instincts honed through seasons of watching over the Party. There aren’t any harsh grips, just steady strength and constant praise that combats any doubts, turning the visual into emotional vulnerability and connection after all the unseen horrors you have faced together.

N - Nail bat energy: Steve channels the fierce energy of his nail bat into controlled dominance that feels safe, empowering and deeply personal. 

In his bedroom after a long strategy session with the group, the faint smell of pizza and tension still lingering in the air, he uses his body to pin you gently against the mattress. His strong hands hold your wrists above your head with enough pressure to remind you how strong he is while his hips grind slowly between your thighs. There is no actual bat of course but he brings the metaphor in with that sarcastic-yet-earnest voice you love. “This right here?” he murmurs against your neck between kisses, “This is nothing compared to what I’d do out there for you. I’d swing for anything that tried to hurt you…but right now I just want to make you feel good.”

He teases you open with his fingers, precise and relentless, keeping you right on the edge with perfect strokes while his free hand roams your body. He stays playful about it, never letting it cross into anything dark. “Think I could take on a demodog one-handed while doing this?” he jokes breathlessly right before he makes you fall apart with a particularly devastating curl of his fingers. 

O - Oral: Steve is an incredibly generous and skilled giver when it comes to oral. He takes his time, settling between your thighs on his bed or the backseat, strong hands holding you open while his mouth works you over with dedication. His tongue is talented and relentless, alternating broad strokes with attention on your clit until your legs shake. “Taste so fucking good,” he mumbles against you, looking up with those warm eyes and messy hair, the same proud expression he gets when the kids succeed. He draws it out, bringing you close and backing off slightly in a light edge, then dives back in with renewed enthusiasm. When you return the favor he is vocal and appreciative, fingers in your hair guiding gently while praising you. Long sessions often follow close calls with the Upside Down, turning physical relief into emotional grounding.

P - Pace: Steve masters a full range of paces but he’s especially skilled at reading what you need in the moment. After narrowly escaping danger, the adrenaline often leads to hard and fast, slamming you against the wall of the empty house, breath hot on your neck as he groans your name like a prayer and a curse. “Fuck, I need you,” he growls, hips snapping with urgency that leaves you both breathless and shaking.

Most of the time though, he prefers a slower, more controlled build. Deep, grinding thrusts that let him feel every flutter and clench, forehead pressed to yours, eyes half-lidded as he watches your face. He reads your body like a book from the way your nails dig into his back, to the hitch in your breathing and how you moan his name and adjusts perfectly. “Slow like this?” he’ll murmur, rolling his hips in a devastating circle. “Or do you need it harder, honey? Tell me what you want.”

He loves drawing it out, making you beg with teasing thrusts, then giving you exactly what you need when you’re trembling beneath him. The man who once coasted on charm now puts in the work to make every second feel perfect.

Q - Quickies: Steve is exceptionally good at quickies, a skill honed by his chaotic life balancing dead-end shifts at Scoops Ahoy or Family Video, wrangling a bunch of supernatural-traumatized kids and constantly watching for interdimensional threats. He’s efficient without being selfish, the type of guy who can go from zero to making you see stars in under ten minutes but still ensures you’re taken care of.

In the Family Video break room during a slow afternoon, with the bell above the front door rigged to give a few seconds warning, he’ll yank your pants down, bend you over the rickety table and bury himself in you with efficient, devastating strokes. One hand covers your mouth to muffle your moans while the other grips your hip hard enough to leave faint marks you’ll trace later with a smile. “Gotta be fast, honey but I’m still making you come,” he promises in that low, breathless voice, lips brushing your ear. His fingers slip between your legs, working your clit in tight circles in perfect sync with his thrusts. 

The faint smell of stale popcorn and plastic VHS cases fills the air as he drives into you with intensity, hair falling messily over his forehead.

He always makes sure you finish first, sometimes twice if he’s feeling particularly cocky, before chasing his own release. Afterward you’re both flushed, grinning like idiots, fixing your clothes with hasty laughs and stolen kisses. He’ll run his fingers over your hair to tame it, wipe away smudged lipstick with his thumb and murmur, “Still okay? Didn’t hurt you, did I?” 

R - Risk: The constant undercurrent of danger in Hawkins and the ever-present risk of Upside Down exposure, demodogs or worse, makes semi-public and secretive encounters with Steve thrilling yet meticulously managed. 

In town, the back alley behind Family Video after closing or the locked storage room become playgrounds for charged, whispered sex where every creak of the floorboards or distant car engine sends a jolt through both of you. Steve turns that risk into shared excitement that deepens your bond as fellow survivors. He’ll pull you close afterward, breathing hard, stroking your back while he scans the darkness out of habit. “You’re safe. I’ve always got an exit plan, remember?” The danger never fully leaves him but with you it transforms into something electric, a reminder that you’re both still here, still fighting, still finding pleasure and connection despite everything trying to tear Hawkins apart.

S - Sensory/scents: Steve engages every sense with pure 80s flair and the attentive care that defines him now. He’s a man who notices details and he brings that same awareness into the bedroom, overwhelming you in the best possible way.

His signature cologne, something clean and woody with a hint of musk, mixed with the worn leather of his jacket creates an addictive scent that makes your head spin when he pulls you close. He loves using temperature play, stealing ice cubes from the fridge in his empty house and trailing them slowly down your body while you’re blindfolded with one of his bandanas. “Feel that chill?” he murmurs, voice husky as the ice melts against your heated skin. “Now my mouth…yeah, just like that. Fuck, you’re so sensitive.” The contrast between cold and the heat of his tongue has you arching off the bed.

He incorporates texture intentionally, the rough denim of his jeans rubbing against your inner thighs as he grinds slowly, soft feathers pulled from a torn pillow teased across your breasts and stomach or the smooth warmth of his palms mapping every inch of you. The low hum of his favorite mixtape provides the soundtrack, mixing with his filthy praise and the wet sounds of his fingers or mouth working you open. He describes everything in that smooth Hawkins drawl: “God, you smell so good when you’re this turned on. Can feel how wet you are for me…hear how desperate you sound? Just let me take care of you.”

T - Toys (improvised): Steve gets wonderfully creative with improvised toys when high-end options are not exactly lining the shelves of Hawkins. His resourcefulness shines through as he turns everyday household items into tools of pleasure. He always keeps your comfort and enthusiastic consent at the absolute center.

He discusses everything first so he can make sure you are fully on board. “What do you think about trying the ice tonight? I will go slow, promise. Tell me if it is too much.” 

He trails the ice cube across your nipples and down your stomach until you are shivering and aching, he then immediately follows it with the heat of his mouth. He might use the smooth handle of a hairbrush for gentle internal stimulation. If you manage to get your hands on a discreet vibrator from a trip to the mall or a catalog order, he incorporates it like a pro. He holds it against you while he fucks you slow and deep, with his eyes locked on your face the entire time to read every reaction.

“Feel good?” he murmurs in a low husky voice. “Want me to turn it up? Or do you want my fingers instead?” Everything is done with care and curiosity. He loves watching you fall apart from the new sensations but he’s quick to stop and switch to his hands or mouth the second anything feels off. 

U - Undress: Steve savors undressing you like it’s a sacred ritual. He turns the simple act of removing clothes into one of the most erotic and affectionate parts of being together. He takes his time and lets anticipation build with every layer peeled away. Whether it’s your tight denim, delicate lace or one of those oversized sweaters you steal from his closet, Steve will worship you with reverence. 

He starts with slow deep kisses as he slips your jacket off your shoulders. He then trails his lips down your neck while unbuttoning your blouse. “God, you’re beautiful,” he whispers against your collarbone while pushing fabric aside so he can taste the skin underneath. He loves it when you wear his jacket or one of his stolen work vests from Scoops Ahoy or Family Video.

The process is always teasing yet deeply affectionate. He kisses the tops of your breasts as he unhooks your bra and flicks his tongue out to taste you the second you’re bare. When he finally slides your panties down your legs, he follows the path with his mouth and murmurs praise the entire way. “So soft. So perfect. Been thinking about this all damn day.” 

The sight of you in his clothes makes something primal flare in his chest. He pushes the oversized fabric up around your waist while he’s inside you, with the Harrington name tag brushing against your skin as he thrusts.

V - Volume: Steve is wonderfully vocal. He fills the space around you with a symphony of groans, filthy praise, sarcastic one-liners and that deep husky voice that makes your toes curl. 

He has never been shy about expressing himself and once the cool-guy walls came down his sounds and words became one of the most addictive parts of being with him. Whether it’s in the privacy of his big empty house or a risky spot where you have to stay quiet, Steve uses volume as another way to connect and heighten everything.

Pinned beneath him in his bedroom with the headboard knocking softly against the wall, he lets out low groans right against your ear every time you clench around him. “Fuck, baby. You feel incredible. So tight and warm like you were made for me.” He mixes raw dirty talk with genuine affection effortlessly. “That is my good girl, let me hear you. You sound so good when you moan my name like that.” 

When the location demands quiet, he muffles your cries with deep devouring kisses yet he’ll  actively encourage you to let go when it’s safe and coaxes you with that signature sarcastic charm. “Come on honey. Don’t hold back on me now. The neighbors already think I’m trouble so we might as well give them a show...” Even in the middle of intense punishing thrusts, he drops playful one-liners that make you laugh and clench at the same time. His voice gets rougher as he gets closer, breaking into breathy praises and desperate groans that let you know exactly how wrecked he is for you. 

The combination of his sounds, his dirty encouragement and the way he listens and reacts to every noise you make, turns sex into something immersive and deeply intimate. Afterward, when the room falls quiet except for your slowing breaths, he’s still murmuring soft affection against your skin.

W - Wild card: Steve’s standout wild card is edging. It’s the perfect blend of his babysitter instincts and his deep need to keep you safe even while pushing your limits. He brings you right to the edge, holding you there with expert precision while constantly reassuring you and turning the tension into something cathartic and profoundly bonding.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he murmurs in a voice that stays steady and warm even as his fingers or cock keep you teetering on the brink. “ Just hold on a little longer…Trust me, I know what you need.” His strong hands pin you in place or stroke soothing patterns across your skin so you never feel abandoned in the overwhelming sensations. He watches your face the entire time, reading every tremble, gasp and every flutter of your lashes. The build-up is exquisite torture with slow deep thrusts that drag right against that perfect spot inside you combined with his mouth on your neck and his filthy-sweet praise.

When he finally lets you tip over the edge, the release is absolutely shattering. Your whole body seizes as waves of pleasure crash through you and Steve is right there through all of it. He holds you tight and talks you through the orgasm with words like, “That’s it, let it all go. So fucking beautiful when you come for me.” 

The intensity leaves you boneless and floating, often with tears in your eyes from how overwhelming and safe it feels at the same time.

He pulls you into his chest, wipes your tears, gets you water, strokes your hair and checks in softly until you are fully back with him. 

X - Explicit communication: Steve believes in raw, honest explicit communication both in and out of the bedroom. He describes exactly how you feel around him with zero filter. “God, you’re soaking my fingers. So fucking warm and tight, gripping me like you never want me to leave.” He wants the same level of honesty from you and creates a space where you feel safe giving it. “Tell me how you want it. Harder? Deeper? Want my mouth on you while I fuck you with my fingers?” There is no vagueness and no guessing games. It’s just clear, filthy and loving communication that makes every encounter better.

During sex he narrates what he’s doing and how it’s affecting him. “Feel that? That’s me rubbing right against that spot you love. Fuck… your thighs are shaking. You’re gonna come again aren’t you, baby?” He constantly checks in with soft but direct questions even in the heat of the moment. “I need you to come on my cock honey…Let me feel it. I’m right here with you.”

By the time you are both coming down, tangled together and catching your breath, the honest words keep flowing with praise, affection and quiet admissions that make you feel closer to him than ever.

Y - Yearning: Separations caused by dangerous missions into the Upside Down, late-night kid-wrangling duties or the need to keep certain town secrets hidden, make Steve’s yearning for you intense and all-consuming. He’s the guy who has lost count of how many times he has had to watch people he cares about disappear into danger so every moment apart from you weighs on him heavily. The longing builds like pressure until he can finally get back to you.

He shows up at your door or the arranged meeting spot looking a little rumpled with maybe a bruise fading on his cheekbone or his hair still messy from the wind. He carries small thoughtful gifts such as a new mixtape he spent hours curating with songs that remind him of you, lots of heartfelt ballads mixed with upbeat tracks for the drive, your favorite snacks from the gas station or a single flower he definitely stole from someone’s yard on the way over. The second he sees you the dam breaks and he pulls you into a crushing hug with hands roaming like he needs to reassure himself you are real and safe before the kisses turn deep and desperate.

Those passionate reunions are filled with months’ worth of pent-up need poured out in one night. He kisses you like he is starving against the wall or tumbling straight into his bed. His hands map every inch of you as if committing it to memory all over again. “Missed you so fucking much,” he groans between kisses with his voice rough with emotion. “Every damn night I was out there all I could think about was getting back to you.” The sex is intense and multi-round mixing slow savoring touches with urgent needy fucking that leaves you both sweaty and marked up. He whispers constant reaffirmations. “You are my safe place. Do not ever doubt that.” The separation makes every moment together feel infinitely more precious. It’s a reminder that in a town that keeps trying to tear everything apart, the two of you keep finding your way back to each other.

Z - Zzz (Sleep): After thorough aftercare with cleaning you up gently, making sure you have had water and snacks massaging any sore muscles and talking softly about how you’re feeling, Steve pulls you close like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

His strong arm drapes protectively over your waist with his chest pressed to your back and his nose buried in your hair as he finally lets himself drift off. In his parents’ house or a makeshift safe hideout after a long night you become his anchor against the darkness that still haunts him.

Steve doesn’t sleep easily. The nightmares of demodogs, the Russian base, Vecna’s curse and the fear of losing the kids or you, linger even years later but with you there warm and safe in his arms his body finally relaxes. His breathing evens out and the constant tension in his shoulders melts away as he holds you like you might vanish if he loosens his grip. He sleeps better knowing you are protected and loved with the steady rhythm of your heartbeat under his palm acting as the best lullaby he’s ever had.

In the morning he wakes slowly often before you and is content to just watch you sleep for a few peaceful minutes with that soft unguarded expression he rarely shows the world. Lazy morning talks come easily with his voice still sleepy and raspy as he traces patterns on your skin. 

“Morning honey. You okay after last night?” These quiet moments often lead to more of that devoted care. Slow gentle morning sex or just lying there tangled together talking about everything and nothing while sunlight filters through the curtains. He makes breakfast or at least attempts it with his limited skills, brings you coffee and checks in again making sure the night’s intensity has not left you overwhelmed.

When you returned to the house that evening, Eddie was sitting on the porch, anticipating your arrival. The second you came into view, he snubbed the cigarette out and tossed it into the yard.

“Hey,” he said, voice calmer than you’d ever think Eddie was capable of.

Your mother and aunt exchanged a quick look before brushing past Eddie, leaving the two of you alone.

Eddie searched your face, the faint smile he'd been wearing when you'd first appeared slowly disappearing.

"You wanna go for a walk around?"

You glanced toward the garden and let out a tired laugh. "I think I've walked enough today."

"Fair. You hungry?"

You shrugged.

"Tired?"

Another shrug that earned the faintest twitch of a smile from him.

"You're really giving me a lot to work with here."

"I'm trying."

"I know."

His fingers laced between yours without another word.

"I don't wanna talk about it," you admitted quietly.

"I figured."

"...Can we just pretend everything's normal for a little while?"

His thumb swept absentmindedly across the back of your hand. "You’re a witch living in a haunted funeral home with a ghost for a boyfriend. Sure, we can do normal."

You let out another exhausted laugh and planted your head on his chest. He chuckled and kissed the crown of your head before giving you a gentle tug toward the house.

"I think your folks made dinner."

Dinner was... normal; strangely, painfully normal. Your aunt complained about a supplier who'd sent the wrong flowers for a service that weekend. Your mother argued that your aunt had absolutely ordered the wrong flowers. Your aunt insisted she had not.

Eddie quietly sided with whichever one wasn't looking at him. You mostly pushed food around your plate while pretending to listen.

Every now and then, your gaze drifted toward Eddie, and he'd catch you looking every single time. Never saying anything, just offering a small smile before going back to the conversation.

By the time you were ready for bed, you and Eddie had barely spoken. Your mind was still racing from the day’s events, battling between what should happen and what you wanted. 

It was selfish in a way, you thought. Not performing the ritual meant you got to keep Eddie around. Performing it meant that Eddie and the other souls trapped in the house could find peace at the expense of the loss of the first real relationship you’d ever had. As real as dating a ghost could be, anyway. 

Eventually, Eddie wandered into your room carrying the old portable television he'd somehow convinced himself still worked better than it had any right to.

"I brought entertainment."

You looked up from where you'd been staring blankly out the window. "You mean distraction."

"...Semantics."

Despite yourself, the corner of your mouth twitched.

"There's my girl."

You rolled your eyes, but shifted over on the bed anyway, making room while he set the television on top of your dresser. The screen fizzled with static for a few seconds before finally settling into a familiar opening sequence.

You frowned. "The Lost Boys?"

Eddie looked genuinely offended. "What?"

"I don't know..."

"You don't know?" he repeated dramatically. "Sweetheart, that's practically sacrilegious."

"I've never seen it."

He stared at you for a long moment before placing a hand over his heart. "I don't know if I can be with someone who hasn't seen The Lost Boys."

You scoffed, fake-insulted, and swatted at him. He caught your wrist with an obnoxiously smug grin.

"I'll pretend you didn't say that."

"You can't."

"I can."

"You literally can't."

He laughed, kissing your hand once before stretching out beside you. The mattress dipped beneath his weight, his shoulder bumping lightly against yours as he reached for the remote.

"You've been dating a dead guy for months," he informed you. "Honestly, vampires should be the least concerning part of your evening."

A quiet laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

"There it is again," Eddie murmured, not taking his eyes off the television. "Missed hearing that today."

Your smile faded a little. "I know."

The room settled into silence as the movie played, broken only by the occasional sarcastic comment from Eddie whenever a character made an objectively terrible decision.

"Told you he was gonna die."

"You say that about everyone."

"I'm usually right."

"You are literally watching the movie again."

"Details."

Eddie absentmindedly traced lazy circles against your arm, more focused on comforting you than on whatever was happening on the screen.

"You don't have to figure it out tonight," he said quietly.

You swallowed. "I know."

"And whatever it is..." He hesitated. "We'll deal with it."

We'll.

You nodded, unable to trust your own voice.

As the movie progressed, your eyelids became heavier and heavier. The dialogue on the television blurred together with the rhythmic creaking of the old house until you couldn't quite tell which sounds belonged to which.

The last thing you remembered before sleep claimed you was Eddie pressing a gentle kiss against your temple.

Then, silence. Not the silence of an empty room, but the silence of somewhere else. So quiet that it didn’t even feel humanly possible. 

When you opened your eyes, you were standing beneath a canopy of ancient trees.

Their branches stretched impossibly high overhead, woven together so tightly they swallowed the sky whole. Silver mist drifted lazily between the trunks, curling around your ankles with every cautious step you took. The forest was familiar in a way that made your pulse quicken.

The last time you were here was the night of your dark baptism. 

Four worn paths stretched outward before you, each disappearing into a different corner of the endless forest. One swallowed by dense pines. One lined with skeletal white birch. One overgrown with thorned vines. And the last...

The last disappeared into darkness so complete that it seemed to consume the light around it. The crossroads, exactly as you'd seen them before. Only this time, you weren't alone.

A soft crackle echoed somewhere behind you, causing you to turn.

Hecate stood between two towering yew trees, one hand wrapped loosely around a burning torch. Three large black dogs rested quietly at her feet, their golden eyes fixed on you with unsettling intelligence. An owl perched silently on the branch above her shoulder, watching with the same patient curiosity.

The goddess herself looked almost different from how she had in your vision. Not because she'd changed. Because every time you looked away and back again, she seemed older. Younger. Dark-haired. Silver-haired. Beautiful. Terrifying.

Like your mind couldn't settle on a single version of her.

"My child." Her words echoed throughout the entire forest, as opposed to simply being stated to you. 

You instinctively lowered your head. "You know why I have come."

A small smile touched Hecate's lips. "No."

She stepped forward, the mist shifting around her feet. "I have come to you."

She stopped at the center of the crossroads, lifting the torch just enough for its warm light to spill across the weathered stone beneath her feet.

"You wonder why this path was placed before you."

You swallowed. "Yes."

Her gaze drifted beyond you, toward the forest itself. "The house called."

Your brow furrowed.

"It has called for many years. Many heard it. None answered."

Your chest tightened.

"You did."

"I didn't know what I was walking into."

"No." The corners of Hecate's mouth softened. "You walked toward suffering anyway."

"You found frightened souls."

Another step.

"You offered kindness."

Another.

"You found a lonely spirit."

Eddie.

"You offered love."

"I wasn't trying to..." Your voice faltered. "I just..."

"I know." There wasn't an ounce of judgment in her voice. "Compassion rarely arrives with intention."

The forest around you seemed to breathe. Branches creaked softly overhead while the mist rolled slowly across the crossroads.

"You believe the house chose you."

"It did not." Her golden eyes met yours. "You chose it."

Confusion settled across your face. "I don't understand."

"The house has called to witches before. They sought power. You sought people. And the house answered accordingly."

Then Hecate slowly turned, raising the torch toward the forest surrounding the crossroads, and the mist shifted. Shapes began emerging between the trees. One. Then another. Then dozens. Hundreds.

Transparent figures stood quietly amongst the trunks, watching. Children. Old men. Young mothers. Teenagers. People from centuries apart, all gathered together in complete silence.

"So many..." you whispered.

"They have stood at this threshold for generations."

Hecate's voice carried no sadness. "They wait."

You looked from face to face, your heart breaking a little more with each passing second. "They're waiting for me."

"They are waiting for someone." Her eyes found yours once more. "And you possess the key."

Your fingers instinctively curled into your palms. "I don't know if I'm strong enough."

Hecate stepped closer until only a few feet separated the two of you.

"Strength is not the absence of grief." Her hand rested lightly over your heart. "It is carrying it."

The warmth spread through your chest immediately.

"You have been chosen not because you are powerful. You have been chosen because you love."

Her hand fell away.

"And love will make this choice both impossible..." She looked toward the waiting souls. "...and worthy."

Your eyes snapped open, and a shriek left your mouth as you dropped onto your bed.  The mattress bounced beneath you, knocking the breath from your lungs as your heart hammered painfully against your ribs.

"Hey—hey!"

Before you could fully orient yourself, a pair of hands caught your shoulders.

"It's okay."

You blinked wildly, your breathing coming in sharp, uneven gasps. The bedroom slowly came back into focus around you. The television still glowed faintly on the dresser, long since switched to static. And Eddie.

He was kneeling beside the bed, both hands still gripping your shoulders, wide brown eyes searching your face with an expression you'd never seen on him before: fear.

"Eddie..."

His shoulders visibly sagged with relief the second you spoke. "Jesus Christ."

You frowned, still trying to catch your breath. "...What happened?"

He stared at you for a long second, like he was making sure you were actually awake before answering. "You tell me."

Your brow furrowed.

"I've been trying to wake you up for the last forty minutes."

"What?"

"You were..." He gestured helplessly toward the ceiling. "...floating."

Your stomach dropped. "I was what?"

"You were three feet above the damn bed."

You looked instinctively toward the ceiling as though expecting to find some explanation written there.

"I kept calling your name." His voice was quieter now, lingering somewhere between disbelief and lingering panic. "You wouldn't answer."

He laughed once under his breath, humorless. "I tried shaking you."

"I was trying to pull you back down," he admitted, almost sheepishly. "Thought maybe if I got enough leverage..."

A weak smile tugged at your lips despite everything. "You were gonna wrestle witch-gravity?"

"I was gonna try. I was running out of ideas."

Your smile disappeared just as quickly as it'd come. "...I saw her."

Eddie's expression shifted immediately. "Hecate?"

You nodded once. His thumb absentmindedly brushed over your shoulder, grounding both of you more than either would probably admit.

"...Was it bad?" he asked quietly.

You swallowed hard. "No."

The word caught in your throat. "...That might be the problem."

Eddie searched your face before sighing. “What happened at Myrtle’s?”

You looked down at your hands. "...Everything."

His brow furrowed as you took a slow breath, and you told him. You told him about Myrtle's shop. About Hecate's connection to you growing stronger with every passing day.

You told him about the crossroads. About the trapped souls. About the dream. The forest. Hecate.

The thousands of spirits waiting in silence. The house calling for help long before you'd ever stepped foot inside it. The witches who had come before you searching for power, only to leave empty-handed. 

How Hecate had told you that the house hadn't chosen you because you were the strongest, it had chosen you because you'd stayed. Because you'd listened. Because somewhere along the way, you'd stopped seeing ghosts and started seeing people.

Not once did Eddie ever interrupt. He simply sat beside you on the edge of the bed, listening while your voice occasionally caught in your throat.

You even told him the part you hadn't wanted to say out loud. The ritual, the one capable of breaking whatever ancient force had kept the spirits tethered to the house for generations. The one that would finally allow them to cross over.

"...So." The word barely left your mouth. "If I do it..."

You couldn't bring yourself to finish the sentence. He stared down at his hands for a long time before letting out a slow breath through his nose.

"...Guess Myrtle was right."

You frowned. "About what?"

He gave a small, tired smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Things were finally starting to make sense."

Tears began to well in your eyes as you nodded gently, “I know. I know they were. It doesn’t mean I have to do it right away, I can—”

“I think you should do it.”

His words stopped you in your tracks. You stared at him.

"...What?"

Eddie didn't look at you. Instead, his gaze settled on the worn hardwood floor beneath his feet, elbows resting against his knees while he slowly rubbed his palms together.

"You heard me."

"No." Your voice cracked. "No, you don't get to say that."

He let out a slow breath. "I do."

"You can't possibly mean that."

Finally, he looked up, and his eyes were already shining. "I do."

You shook your head over and over again. "No."

"I love you." The confession slipped out before you could stop it.

"I love you, and you're sitting here telling me I should just..." Your voice broke completely. "...let you go?"

Eddie's face crumpled for only a second before he forced it back together. "I know. I love you too. But I know that this is the right thing to do."

"No, you don't."

"I do."

"You don't know what you're asking me."

"I know exactly what I'm asking."

You stood abruptly from the bed, pacing a few steps before turning back toward him. "What about us?"

"What about Wayne?"

Eddie leaned forward, resting his forearms against his thighs.

"What about every family that's spent years praying and talking to their loved ones?"

You opened your mouth, but he kept going. "What about the little girl that died in there in the forties?"

Your chest tightened.

"The old man upstairs who still thinks his wife is waiting for him."

Another pause.

"The soldiers."

"The kids."

"The people whose names nobody even remembers anymore."

He laughed softly to himself. "I've been so damn focused on staying with you..."

His smile faltered. "...that I forgot they never got a choice."

"I kept them here."

"Eddie..."

"I did."

His eyes finally met yours again. "When I died..."

He swallowed. "I was angry. So fucking angry."

His jaw tightened.

"I wanted Jason to hurt. I wanted all of them to."

You remembered, then. The nightmares. The endless loop. The way Eddie had to relive killing Jason and the others over and over again.

"I wanted every single one of them to know what it felt like."

His voice dropped lower. "I convinced myself they deserved it."

"...Maybe they did." He shrugged weakly. "But not forever."

You watched tears begin gathering in his eyes.

"I've had ten years to think about it."

His laugh came out broken this time. "You know what I realized?"

"I'm tired." The admission was barely louder than a whisper. "So are they."

He glanced toward the bedroom door. "I hear them, sweetheart."

Your brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"They don't scream anymore."

His eyes drifted toward the window. "They just..."

He searched for the words. "...wait."

Your own tears finally spilled over.

"They deserve better than waiting." His voice cracked on the last word.

"So do you."

"No." You crossed the room in two quick steps before kneeling in front of him. "My better is you."

Eddie smiled through wet eyes. "God..."

His thumb brushed a tear from your cheek. "You make this so hard."

You leaned into his hand instinctively. "I don't want to lose you."

"I know."

"I don't know how to do this."

"I know."

"You keep saying that."

"Because I do."

He rested his forehead against yours. Eventually, Eddie took another shaky breath.

"When it's time..." He paused. "...I only want one thing."

You looked up at him. "What?"

A sad smile spread across his face. "I wanna see Wayne one last time."

He laughed quietly through the tears.

"Without worrying whether it's the last conversation we'll ever have."

His eyes drifted toward the bedroom window, somewhere beyond the glass.

"I just..." His voice nearly disappeared. "...I wanna tell him goodbye."

Morning arrived far too quickly. Golden sunlight spilled lazily through the bedroom curtains, warming the quilt tangled around the two of you while the old house creaked awake around you.

You were sprawled across the bed on your stomach, elbows propped beneath you while a mountain of books surrounded the both of you. Myrtle had apparently decided that if she was going to burden you with an impossible decision, she might as well provide enough reading material to make your eyes bleed.

Eddie had appointed himself your unofficial research assistant.

Which mostly consisted of lying half on top of you, his chin resting comfortably against your shoulder, while stealing your coffee every few minutes.

"You know," he said, turning another page of one particularly ancient-looking book, "witches really need to discover bullet points."

You snorted. "They're manuscripts."

"They're exhausting."

"You've read three paragraphs."

"I've suffered enough."

You reached back without looking and flicked him on the forehead.

He gasped dramatically. "Violence."

"You'll live."

"I literally won't."

You rolled your eyes. "You're unbelievable."

"I've been told."

His arm lazily tightened around your waist as he settled closer, pressing an absentminded kiss against your shoulder before returning to the book resting between the two of you.

For a while, the only sounds in the room were the occasional turn of a page and the soft chirping of birds somewhere outside the window.

Book after book offered little more than fragmented stories. Accounts of rituals. Old prayers. Warnings. The occasional recipe that somehow involved rosemary and what you sincerely hoped wasn't grave dirt.

You sighed dramatically before reaching for yet another weathered leather-bound journal. "Please tell me this one's in English."

Eddie leaned over your shoulder. "...Questionable."

You opened it anyway. The handwriting was faded enough that parts of the ink had nearly disappeared altogether, forcing you to read each sentence twice before it finally made sense.

Halfway down the page, a phrase caught your attention.

You frowned. "...Wait."

Eddie looked up immediately. "What?"

You straightened slightly, rereading the passage.

"'The passage shall only be opened beneath an orange moon, when the veil between worlds grows thinnest, and the Keeper may safely guide wandering souls beyond the final crossroads.'"

Eddie blinked. "...Orange moon?"

You looked over at him. "I've never heard of that."

"Me neither."

You carefully closed the book before reaching toward the stack beside your nightstand, grabbing an old lunar calendar your aunt had apparently tucked beneath the rest of Myrtle's notes.

Months. Phases. Eclipses. Harvest moons. You skimmed through them as quickly as you could, but nothing.

"...Come on."

Your finger continued tracing down the page. Then, it stopped.

Your stomach dropped. "No..."

Eddie immediately sat up straighter. "What?"

You looked up at him slowly. "The orange moon."

He searched your face. "...When?"

"...Two days." The words barely left your mouth.

Finally, Eddie let out a quiet breath through his nose.

"...Guess Hecate doesn't waste much time."

You stared down at the calendar resting in your lap. Two days, forty-eight hours. Forty-eight hours until the decision stopped being hypothetical.

Without thinking, your fingers found Eddie's hand beneath the blankets. He intertwined them immediately.

Neither of you acknowledged it because neither of you had to. The countdown had begun.

The next two days passed differently. Not because either of you pretended the ritual wasn't coming, but because neither of you wanted your final memories together to consist entirely of crying.

So, somewhere between breakfast and another failed attempt at deciphering Myrtle's handwriting, the two of you silently agreed to stop talking about it. At least for a little while.

Late that afternoon, you disappeared without much explanation. Eddie frowned from where he was stretched across the couch.

"You're being suspicious."

"I'm running errands."

"You hate errands."

"I know."

"...Now I'm more suspicious."

You only smiled. "I'll be back."

Nearly two hours later, the front door swung open with considerably more effort than you'd anticipated. "I'm home!"

Eddie looked up from the record he'd been flipping through. "Took you long eno—"

He stopped. Your arms were overflowing with paper bags.

"...Did you rob somebody?"

"Maybe."

He stood, immediately moving to help you before stopping when he noticed the logo stamped across one of the bags.

His eyebrows shot upward. "No..."

A grin spread across your face. "I figured ghosts still deserve comfort food."

For a second, he simply stared, then he laughed. "You went to Benny's?"

You nodded proudly. "The waitress thought I was insane."

"I mean..."

"I told her I had a family to feed."

His expression softened. "...You did?"

"I wasn't about to tell her I was buying a million cheeseburgers for my dead boyfriend."

"Probably the right call."

You laughed as you unpacked everything onto the kitchen table.  Cheeseburgers. Fries. A chocolate milkshake. Exactly like he had once told you he liked it.

"You remembered."

You shrugged, suddenly feeling shy. "You mentioned it once."

He looked between you and the food before shaking his head. "...You're unbelievable."

"No." You nudged the tray toward him. "I just listen."

A while later, once the milkshake had mysteriously disappeared despite Eddie insisting ghosts couldn't technically digest anything, you disappeared again.

He looked up suspiciously. "...Where are you going now?"

"No peeking."

"I wasn't—"

"You were absolutely going to peek."

He grinned. "Maybe."

You disappeared upstairs anyway. A minute later, you returned carrying something behind your back.

Eddie immediately narrowed his eyes. "...What'd you do?"

"Close your eyes."

"I don't trust that sentence."

"Eddie."

He sighed dramatically. "This relationship is built on coercion."

"Eyes."

"Fine."

He covered them with one hand. "The other one too."

"...You're demanding."

"You love me."

"I really do."

His other hand lifted. "Happy?"

"Very."

You stepped in front of him, taking one slow breath before bringing the object around from behind your back.

"...Okay."

He lowered his hands, and his smile disappeared. The guitar. His guitar. The battered Warlock sat in your hands exactly as Wayne had kept it all these years.

Fresh strings. The body is polished. Still scratched from years of use, and still unmistakably his.

Eddie didn't move. "...How?"

"I stopped by Wayne's."

His eyes never left it.

"He said..." You swallowed. "...he thought you'd want it."

Slowly, Eddie reached toward it. His fingertips brushed the black finish, like he was afraid it would disappear if he touched it too hard.

"I haven't..." His voice cracked. "I haven't seen this since..."

His eyes shimmered as he carefully took it from your hands. The guitar settled naturally against him, like it had never belonged anywhere else.

He ran his thumb across the familiar scratches near the bridge. "...I put that there."

A tiny laugh escaped him. "Gareth knocked over an amp."

Another scratch.

"...Jeff dropped a drum stand."

His smile grew. "I forgot about that."

You leaned quietly against the doorway, letting him rediscover pieces of himself one mark at a time.

Finally, he looked up. "I don't know what I did to deserve you."

You crossed the room until only a foot separated the two of you. "You haunted me."

He snorted through the tears threatening to spill. "Right."

"I fell in love with you anyway."

He set the guitar carefully against the couch before wrapping both arms around you, pulling you into him so tightly you could barely breathe. Neither of you spoke then.

You simply stood there in the middle of the living room while the afternoon sun streamed through the windows, holding each other as though time itself had decided to slow down.

After a long moment, Eddie pulled back just enough to look at you. "...Wanna hear something?"

You smiled. "Always."

He reached for the guitar again, settling onto the couch with it across his lap. His fingers found the strings instinctively as the first chord rang through the old house.

"So..." he said, a mischievous grin slowly spreading across his face. "Think you know me that well?"

You narrowed your eyes. "I know that's never a good sentence."

"We're playing a game."

"I don't like the way you say that."

"You'll survive."

"I might not."

"You'll be fine."

He gave the strings a quick strum before settling his fingers near the top of the neck. "Opening riffs only."

You blinked. "...That's the game?"

"You guess the song."

You laughed.

"You're kidding."

"I'm absolutely not."

"What do I get if I win?"

He pretended to think about it. "...One kiss."

You snorted. "I get those anyway."

"Damn." He sighed dramatically. "Alright."

"...Two kisses."

"Now we're talking."

Eddie rolled his eyes, fighting back a smile before looking down at the guitar. "You ready?"

You nodded. Without another word, he played four quick notes.

You didn't even hesitate. "'Sweet Child O' Mine.'"

His head immediately snapped up. "...Lucky guess."

"It wasn't."

"Hm."

He shrugged before launching into another. This one took you maybe two seconds.

"'Livin' on a Prayer.'"

"...Okay."

Another.

"'Crazy Train.'"

Another.

"'Don't Fear the Reaper.'"

Another.

"'Every Breath You Take.'"

Another.

"'Carry On Wayward Son.'"

Eddie slowly lowered the guitar.

"...What."

You smiled innocently. "What?"

"How?"

"What do you mean, how?"

"You answered before I even finished playing."

You shrugged one shoulder. "I like music."

"No." He pointed accusingly with the neck of the guitar. "That's suspicious."

"It isn't."

"It absolutely is."

"I listened to your tapes."

"My..."

He blinked. "...My tapes?"

You nodded. "The ones in your room at Wayne’s."

His eyebrows climbed even higher. "You talked to Wayne?"

"He likes to talk."

"He really does."

"And..."

You smiled sheepishly. "I wanted to know what you liked."

Eddie simply stared at you. "...What?"

He shook his head once. "You've been doing homework."

"I have not."

"You researched me."

"I did no such thing."

"You absolutely did."

"I was gathering information."

He barked out a laugh. "Oh, my God."

"What?"

"You are..." He rubbed a hand over his face. "...ridiculously adorable."

"I'm literally sitting here beating you."

"I know."

"And you're calling me adorable."

"I am.”

He set the guitar carefully beside the couch before reaching forward and taking both of your hands.

"I don't think anybody's ever cared enough to learn me."

"I wanted to."

His thumb brushed over your knuckles. "I noticed."

You smiled. "Wanna keep going?"

Eddie looked at you for another second before picking the guitar back up. "...Yeah."

He grinned. "But now I'm picking harder songs."

"You'll still lose."

"We'll see about that."

Five songs later...he was, in fact, still losing.

"You've gotta be cheating," he groaned, dropping his head dramatically against the back of the couch.

You laughed so hard your stomach hurt. "I'm not cheating."

"You got Hotel California in three notes."

"It was four."

"That is not helping your case."

"It was the chord progression."

"You are such a nerd."

"So are you."

"...Yeah."

By the time night rolled around, you and Eddie were tangled together on your bed, watching The Princess Bride for what had to be the fourth time since you'd moved into the house.

"It is physically impossible," Eddie declared, pointing accusingly at the television, "for one movie to have this much charisma."

You smiled into his shoulder. "You've said that every single time we've watched it."

"And every single time I've been right."

He adjusted the blanket draped over the two of you before absentmindedly tracing circles against your forearm. You smiled into his shoulder, the familiar rhythm of his heartbeat steady against your cheek as Inigo Montoya dueled on the screen. 

Eddie’s fingers kept tracing lazy circles on your arm, but the touch grew slower, more deliberate, until it wasn’t absentminded anymore. His hand slid up to cup the back of your neck, tilting your face toward his.

“You’re staring at me instead of the movie again,” you whispered.

“Can’t help it,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “You’re better than any story.”

He kissed you then; soft at first, a brush of lips that quickly deepened with the kind of hunger that came from knowing time was slipping away.

You shifted closer, legs tangling tighter under the blanket as his tongue swept into your mouth. Your hands found his hair, fingers threading through those dark curls you loved so much, tugging gently.

He groaned softly against your lips, the sound vibrating through you. “God, I love you,” he breathed, pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against yours. 

His eyes, those warm, expressive eyes, held yours with an intensity that made your chest ache. “More than anything.”

“I love you too,” you whispered back, the words catching in your throat. You kissed him harder this time, pouring everything into it: the fear, the devotion, the way your heart felt like it was cracking open just looking at him.

Eddie rolled you beneath him with careful strength, the blanket falling away as he settled between your thighs. 

He took his time undressing you, reverent hands sliding your shirt up and over your head, lips following the path of exposed skin. Every kiss was punctuated with soft declarations: “I love this spot right here,” against your collarbone, “and this one,” against the curve of your breast.

When he closed his mouth over your nipple, sucking gently while his tongue flicked, you arched into him with a needy whimper.

Your fingers worked at his clothes in return until he was bare above you, skin warm and flushed. He was already hard, pressing against your thigh, but he didn’t rush.

Instead, he hooked your leg over his hip and rocked slowly against you, letting you feel every inch of him through the thin fabric of your panties.

“Eddie…” You reached down, wrapping your hand around him, stroking with long, loving pulls that drew shaky breaths from his chest.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before locking back on yours. “Need to feel you.”

He peeled your panties down your legs, then slid two fingers through your folds, finding you slick and ready.

He circled your clit with practiced care, teasing until your hips bucked, before pushing inside you; slow, deep, curling just right. The slight stretch made you moan his name like a prayer.

When he finally replaced his fingers with his cock, sinking into you inch by inch, the world narrowed to just the two of you. He filled you completely, pausing once he was buried to the hilt so you could both savor it.

His arms bracketed your head; he kissed you deeply as he started to move long, rolling thrusts that built heat between you like magic.

“I love you,” he panted against your mouth with every thrust. “Love you so fucking much.”

You wrapped your legs around him, heels digging into his back to pull him deeper. One of your hands stayed tangled in his hair, tugging harder now as pleasure coiled tighter in your belly.

He responded with a low growl, hips snapping a little sharper, a little more desperate, but still so full of adoration. His free hand slid down to grip your ass, holding you right where he wanted you as he drove into you with passionate, steady rhythm.

“Look at me,” he whispered when your eyes started to close. “Want to see you when you come.”

You did, gazing into his eyes as the pleasure crested. Your walls clenched around him, thighs trembling, and you cried out his name as the orgasm washed over you in deep, rolling waves.

Eddie followed moments later, burying his face in your neck with a broken moan of “I love you,” hips stuttering as he spilled inside you.

Afterward, he stayed there, still buried deep, holding you close while your breathing slowed. His fingers traced soothing patterns on your skin again, and he pressed soft kisses to your temple, your cheek, your lips.

“I mean it, y’know.” He whispered, forehead pressed to yours.

You nodded, “I know.”

The following morning, your mother announced over breakfast that the three of you were leaving for the day.

You looked up from your coffee. "...We are?"

She nodded matter-of-factly as she buttered a piece of toast. "Mhm."

"Where?"

"Wherever."

You blinked. "...That's not a place."

"It is today."

Your aunt hid a smile behind her mug. "We thought we'd go into town."

"Get lunch."

"Walk around."

"Maybe stop by Myrtle's."

You looked between the two of them suspiciously. "...You're kicking us out."

Your mother laughed. "No."

"You absolutely are."

She reached over and patted your hand. "We're giving the boys some privacy."

Eddie nearly choked on his coffee. "'The boys?'"

She smiled sweetly. "You and Wayne."

"Oh." He rubbed the back of his neck. "...You don't have to do that."

"We know."

Your aunt reached for her purse. "Which is exactly why we want to."

Just after noon, the familiar rumble of Wayne's truck echoed up the driveway. Eddie was already on the porch before the engine had even shut off. Wayne climbed out with the kind of grin that immediately made Eddie suspicious.

"...What?"

"Nothin'."

"You've got the face."

"What face?"

"The one that says you're up to something."

Wayne chuckled before walking around to the bed of the truck. "I figured..."

He dropped the tailgate with a metallic clang. "...we'd take a little trip down memory lane."

Eddie's eyebrows shot upward. The truck bed was packed with cardboard boxes, plastic storage bins, an old milk crate overflowing with cassette tapes, a guitar stand, and even a faded tackle box.

"...Wayne."

"I've been collecting this stuff for ten years."

He grabbed the first box with a grunt. "Figured you oughta see it."

By then, you, your mother, and your aunt had made your way onto the porch.

Your mother smiled. "We'll be back before dinner."

Wayne looked over. "You sure?"

She nodded. "Take your time."

Your aunt gave Eddie a gentle squeeze on the shoulder as she passed "We'll leave the house to the two of you."

Eddie smiled softly. "...Thank you."

"No thanks necessary."

Your mother jingled the car keys. "You only get so many afternoons with family." 

You pursed your lips together and shot her a look as Eddie’s eyes darted to his shoes. Then your mother deliberately clapped her hands together.

"Come on." She looped her arm through yours. "Let's go spend an irresponsible amount of money at the bookstore."

You laughed. "I thought we were getting lunch."

"We can do both."

"And antiques," your aunt added.

"Ooh, antiques."

By the time the three of you climbed into the car, Wayne had already set the first box on the porch. You glanced back through the passenger window just as Eddie crouched beside it as Wayne carefully peeled back the flaps. 

The very first thing inside was an old Polaroid. A scrawny, curly-haired twelve-year-old Eddie stood in the middle of the trailer living room wearing an oversized leather jacket, one hand wrapped around a broom like it was a guitar.

Wayne burst out laughing. "Oh, Lord."

Eddie groaned loud enough for you to hear through the closed car window. "...Burn it."

"Absolutely not."

"You promised me nobody would ever see that!"

"I most certainly did not."

Your mother smiled as she shifted the car into reverse.

"You know..." She watched them in the rearview mirror. "I think they'll be alright today."

You looked back one last time. Wayne was already digging into another box while Eddie leaned over his shoulder, laughing despite himself.

By the time the front door clicked shut behind your car, Wayne had already opened three boxes. The living room looked as though someone had emptied an entire lifetime across the floor.

Photo albums sat open beside stacks of cassette tapes. Old Hellfire binders had been spread across the coffee table. Concert tickets, campaign notes, guitar picks, bent bottle caps Eddie had apparently insisted on keeping for reasons he could no longer remember.

"You really kept all this junk?" Eddie laughed, holding up a cracked pair of sunglasses.

Wayne snorted. "I was hopin' you'd finally decide to throw it out."

"Never."

"You've been a pack rat since you were ten."

"It's called being sentimental."

"It's called havin' a problem."

Eddie rolled his eyes before tossing the sunglasses onto the couch. The afternoon passed easier than either of them expected. Wayne showed him photographs he'd forgotten existed.

Embarrassing school pictures, Halloween costumes, A birthday cake that had collapsed before the candles were lit. A blurry photo of Corroded Coffin crammed into Gareth's parents' garage, all four of them grinning like idiots.

Eddie laughed so hard his stomach hurt. "I remember that!"

"Jeff broke your amp."

"He dropped it!"

"He sat on it."

"I told him not to!"

"You also told him it'd hold."

"...Fair point."

For a few hours, it almost felt like they were making up for ten years in a single afternoon. The laughter faded as the sun began sinking lower outside. Most of the boxes had been emptied, and only one remained. Neither of them was in a rush to reach for it.

Wayne leaned back in the armchair with a tired groan, rubbing his hands together. "So."

Eddie looked over. "So."

Wayne studied him for a long time. "...Somethin's been eatin' at you."

Eddie tried to smile. "Nothin' gets past you."

"It never has."

Eddie stared at the floor. "...I probably oughta tell you."

Eddie took a slow breath.

"The ritual..." His throat tightened. "...it's tomorrow night."

Wayne's face didn't change.

"The witch who started all this..."

Eddie continued quietly. "...she finally figured out how to send everybody across."

"The others?"

"Everybody…The kids from my school. The soldiers. The old couple."

He swallowed. "...Me."

Wayne closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, they were glistening.

"So..." His voice came out rough. "...This is goodbye."

"I think so."

Wayne let out a shaky breath. "You know..."

He looked toward the family photos scattered across the coffee table. "I used to be so damn angry."

Eddie frowned. "At who?"

"Everybody."

He gave a humorless laugh.

"The police. The town. Hell, myself."

He rubbed his palms against his jeans. "Thought maybe if I'd looked harder..."

His voice cracked. "...I'd have found you."

Eddie's eyes immediately filled. "Wayne..."

"But then you came back." Wayne smiled sadly. "And I got more time."

"Not as much time as I wanted, but time all the same."

Eddie quickly looked away before the tears could spill. "I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"I left you alone."

"You didn't choose that."

"I know." His voice broke. "...But I still hate it."

Wayne stood slowly from his chair, crossed the room, and without a word, pulled Eddie into a hug. Eddie clung to him immediately.

"I'm gonna miss you."

Wayne squeezed him tighter. "I know."

"I don't wanna leave you again."

"I know."

"I finally got you back."

Wayne swallowed hard. "...Yeah."

Finally, Wayne pulled back just enough to cup Eddie's face the way he had when Eddie was still just a kid.

"You listen to me."

Eddie nodded.

"When you get where you're goin'..."

His voice wavered despite every effort to steady it. "...You tell your mama I said hello."

Wayne smiled through tears.

"And tell her..." He laughed softly, shaking his head. "...Tell her I did my best."

That finally broke Eddie. Fresh tears spilled freely as he shook his head. "You did more than your best."

Wayne smiled. "You grew up alright."

"I grew up because of you."

Wayne reached up, brushing one of Eddie's curls back from his forehead. "I've been proud of you every single day."

Eddie closed his eyes. "...Even after..."

"Especially after."

Wayne's answer came without hesitation. "You spent your whole life thinkin' people saw the worst in you."

He squeezed Eddie's shoulder. "I never did."

"And if you happen to run into your daddy..."

Eddie raised an eyebrow.

"...Don't tell him I said hello."

A surprised laugh escaped Eddie through his tears. "I can do that."

"Damn right you can."

By the time night settled over the old house, everything had already been prepared.

Your aunt had spent the better part of the afternoon painting careful symbols across the worn wooden floor of the parlor, each one copied painstakingly from Myrtle's journals.

Fresh bundles of rosemary and mugwort had been tied together with twine and placed at each point of the circle, their earthy scent mingling with melted candle wax until the entire room smelled ancient. 

Outside, the moon hung low over the trees. Orange, just as the books had promised.

"You don't have to rush." Your mother insisted. 

You nodded absently, though you weren't listening. Across the room, Eddie was already watching you. The second your eyes met, everything else faded into the background.

You crossed the room without thinking, stopping only when your hands found his. His fingers laced between yours automatically, as if they'd been practicing that motion your entire relationship.

"I'm scared," you admitted quietly.

"I know."

"I keep thinking if I wait another day..."

He smiled sadly. "You'll think the same thing tomorrow."

A tear slipped down your cheek. "I hate that you're right."

He lifted a hand, brushing it away with his thumb. "I know."

"I don't want this to be the last time I touch you."

"It won't be."

You looked up at him, and he rested his forehead against yours. "You'll carry me around for the rest of your life whether you like it or not."

"You are unbelievably cocky."

"I've been told."

"You've haunted me for almost a year, and you're still flirting."

"I've got a reputation to maintain."

Your laugh broke into another sob before you could stop it.

"I'm sorry."

"No..." You shook your head. "...Don't apologize."

You reached up, cupping his face in both hands as though trying to memorize every curve of it.

"I just..." Your voice trembled. "...I love you so much."

His eyes filled almost instantly. "I know."

You smiled through tears. "You don't get to answer with 'I know.'"

"Fair." He swallowed. "I love you too."

"I think..." His voice caught for only a moment. "...I think I've loved you since the first cigarette."

You laughed wetly. "The one you stole?"

"I borrowed."

"You absolutely stole it."

"I intended to give it back."

"You can't give back a smoked cigarette."

"I could've bought you another."

"You didn't."

"I was poor."

"You were dead."

"That too."

Eddie leaned down and kissed you slowly, like he was committing every inch of feeling and skin to memory. When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours once more.

"I need you to promise me something."

You frowned. "What?"

"You keep living."

"Eddie..."

"I'm serious."

His voice remained gentle. "You don't spend the rest of your life wondering what would've happened if you'd waited."

Another tear escaped him. "You gave me more happiness in a few months than I ever thought I'd get."

He smiled. "That's enough."

"It isn't enough for me."

"I know."

"I wanted decades."

"So did I."

You wrapped your arms around him, and he held you for what felt like forever.

Eventually, your aunt's voice broke the silence. "It's time."

Your mother quietly approached, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "We'll be right here."

You nodded once as you, reluctantly, stepped into the center of the circle.

Your aunt handed you the worn grimoire Myrtle had entrusted to you before taking her own place just beyond the markings. Your mother stood opposite her, each holding a bundle of burning herbs, ready to intervene if the ritual turned against you.

Eddie remained just outside the circle, close enough that your fingers still brushed when you reached toward him.

"I'll stay until I can't."

You nodded. "I know."

Taking one final breath, you opened the book. As the first incantation left your lips, the room shifted. The candles flared. A sudden wind swept through the house despite every window remaining shut, extinguishing none of the flames while every loose page trembled violently.

The symbols your aunt had painted began glowing softly, their pale light weaving together until the circle shimmered around you.

You continued reading, your voice growing steadier with each line. Like taking attendance, the house answered. One by one, the ghosts appeared.

The little girl with the ribbon in her hair stood near the staircase, clutching the rag doll you'd seen so many times before. The elderly couple emerged hand in hand. The soldiers. The children. The nameless faces that had wandered the halls for generations. Even Jason.

Dozens, then hundreds. The room filled until every corner of the old house seemed occupied, every spirit quietly facing the circle, waiting. You looked toward Eddie, and he looked back with no fear in his expression, simply peace.

The final page turned beneath your trembling fingers. The instant the final syllable echoed through the room, the orange moonlight pouring through the windows intensified until the entire house glowed.

The floor shook. The candles burned impossibly bright. For one breathtaking moment, every spirit in the room seemed wrapped in warm golden light,  as though something unimaginably heavy had finally been lifted.

You looked desperately toward Eddie. "I love you," you whispered.

His eyes never left yours. "I know."

Then he laughed softly. "...I love you too."

Almost like a cruel joke, the golden light swallowed him first. Then the others, one after another. Afterward, the room grew impossibly still.

You blinked through your tears and noticed a feeling you hadn’t had since moving into this house. It was completely empty. The place where Eddie had been standing was empty. Every spirit was gone.

That strange whisperlike buzz was gone from your ears. Only then did you realize that the house was finally at peace. 

The constant feeling of being watched had disappeared. The floorboards still creaked with age, pipes still groaned when the weather changed, and the windows still rattled whenever a storm rolled through the valley, but none of it carried the weight it once had.

You hadn't realized just how loud the house had been until it finally learned how to be quiet. The first few days were the hardest. Your mother and aunt never once tried to rush your grief.

They didn't tell you he was in a better place. They didn't tell you it had happened for a reason. They simply sat beside you.

Sometimes your mother held you while you cried so hard your ribs hurt. Other nights, your aunt silently left mugs of tea outside your bedroom door because she knew you weren't ready to come downstairs. 

There were mornings when you couldn't bear to look at the couch because you could still picture Eddie sitting there with his guitar across his lap, and afternoons when you caught yourself carrying home enough food for two before remembering.

Weeks turned into months. The flowers your mother planted outside the porch began blooming. Summer slowly gave way to autumn. The orange leaves eventually replaced the bright green ones that had shaded the yard the day you met him.

Life continued, just like Eddie had asked you to.

You returned to Myrtle's shop every now and then, helping organize books or learning new remedies simply because it made you feel close to the part of your life that had changed everything. You and your aunt spent evenings experimenting with spells that had nothing to do with death and everything to do with healing. 

Wayne still visited almost every Sunday. At first, the two of you mostly sat in silence on the porch. Eventually, silence turned into stories, and stories turned into laughter.

Sometimes he'd bring one of Eddie's old cassette tapes, and the two of you would sit in the living room listening to music while Wayne told you what an absolute menace Eddie had been as a teenager.

"He convinced me there was a bat livin' in the trailer."

"There wasn't?"

"There was."

You blinked. "...Then why was it a prank?"

"'Cause he'd put it there."

You laughed until your stomach hurt. "He what?"

"Don't ask."

One ordinary Tuesday evening, you stood in your bedroom deciding between two sweaters before dinner. Your hair was still damp from your shower, music drifted faintly from the radio downstairs, and through the open window you could hear your mother and aunt laughing somewhere in the garden.

You reached for the black sweater hanging inside your closet when every hair on your arms suddenly stood upright.

Your breath caught. The same feeling you'd experienced every single time a spirit entered a room. 

You swallowed. "If someone's there..."

Your voice came out steadier than you felt. "...show yourself."

Silence followed, so you listened carefully. But no response.  You almost convinced yourself you'd imagined it.

"So bossy."

Your heart stopped.

A familiar soft chuckle filled the room. "...Hey, sweetheart."

You spun around so quickly the sweater slipped from your hands. Eddie stood beside the bedroom door exactly as you remembered him. Your brain refused to believe what your heart had already recognized.

Then the first sob escaped your chest. "Eddie..."

He smiled. "Oh, don't do that."

His own voice cracked immediately. "'Cause if you start cryin'..."

A tear rolled down his cheek. "...I'm gonna start too."

You crossed the room so fast you nearly tripped over the rug, and he met you halfway. The second your arms wrapped around him, you felt him. Actually felt him.

You buried your face against his neck and cried harder than you had the night he left. He held you just as tightly.

"I missed you."

"I know."

"I missed you every day."

"I know."

"I still talk to you."

"I heard."

You pulled back just enough to look at him. "...You did?"

He smiled. "You always picked the prettiest flowers."

Fresh tears spilled down your face. "You were there?"

"Not like that." He shook his head gently. "But..."

His smile grew softer. "I heard enough."

You searched his face desperately, afraid that if you blinked he'd disappear again. "How?"

He laughed quietly. "I had to ask a lot."

"You... asked?"

"Hecate."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I think she got tired of me."

A watery laugh escaped you. "That sounds about right."

"I might've been... persistent."

"You?"

"I know."

You reached up, touching his cheek just to reassure yourself he was still there. "What happened?"

"So much." He looked down at your joined hands before meeting your eyes again. "I found my mom."

A smile spread across his face unlike anything you'd ever seen. "It was her."

His eyes filled again. "The first person I saw."

He laughed softly through his tears. "She looked exactly the same. She hugged me before I even said anything."

He shook his head, overwhelmed by the memory. "She just..."

"...She kept saying how sorry she was that she couldn't stay."

"What about Wayne?"

Eddie nodded immediately. "I told her."

"What did she say?"

He smiled. "She cried."

You laughed through your own tears. "I figured."

"And..." He squeezed your hand. "...She wanted me to tell you thank you."

You frowned. "For what?"

"For loving her son when he couldn't."

You closed your eyes. "He always could."

"I know."

“How long? How long do we have?”

He shrugged, looking around the room. "Long enough."

You gave him a look. "Eddie."

"What?"

"That's not an answer."

He smiled. "It kinda is."

You folded your arms. "I've missed you for six months."

"I know."

"You don't get to be mysterious."

He laughed quietly. "Fair."

He rocked back on his heels before rubbing the back of his neck. "...Truth is..."

He looked at you with that same gentle smile you'd fallen in love with months ago. "...' Selflessness deserves to be honored.' As I was told."

Your heart squeezed. "Wha— She…said that?"

He nodded. "You gave up the person you loved to save people you'd never met."

His eyes grew glossy. "And I chose to leave with them instead of asking you to keep us here."

He reached for your hand. "She called it..."

His thumb brushed gently across your knuckles. "...a gift of selflessness."

You stared at him. "So this..."

"...Is her gift." He finished for you.

"And..." He pointed toward you. "...She also said something else."

"What?"

He grinned. "Congratulations."

You frowned. "...On?"

"You're stuck with ghosts."

Your mouth fell open. "What?"

"You heard me."

He looked far too pleased with himself. "Apparently, becoming Hecate's apprentice wasn't exactly a temporary arrangement."

"Eddie."

"I'm serious."

"I thought once everyone crossed over—"

"They did."

"But..." He gestured vaguely toward the ceiling. "...People still die."

You blinked. "Oh."

"Yeah."

"Oh."

He nodded sympathetically. "So every once in a while..."

He smiled. "...Somebody might need a little help finding the right door."

You stared at him. "So I'm..."

"A psychopomp."

"A what?"

"A guide."

He shrugged. "Sort of."

"You know that word?"

"I've had six months."

"So..." You looked around the room. "...Now what?"

"Now..." He glanced toward the bedroom window.  "...You keep doing what you've been doing."

"Helping people?"

"Mhm."

"Annoying Wayne every Sunday."

You laughed. "He likes when I annoy him."

"He really does."

"And..." He pointed toward the bookshelf. "...Maybe don't buy every occult book you see."

"I make no promises."

"I figured."

Before either of you could say anything else, a knock sounded softly against your bedroom door. "Come in," you called.

The door opened just enough for your aunt to poke her head inside. She took one look at the room.

A slow smile spread across her face. "Well, well, well."

Eddie immediately rubbed the back of his neck. "...Hi."

Your aunt leaned casually against the doorframe like finding your undead-dead boyfriend standing in your bedroom was only mildly surprising.

"I had a feeling."

You blinked. "You... did?"

She nodded toward Eddie. "The wards around the house shifted."

Then she looked back at him with an amused expression. "I suppose Hecate finally decided to stop pretending she doesn't have a soft spot."

hey so im actually NOT okay.

hope you all enjoyed!!! cute fic coming soon as an apology hehe.

taglist:

Your father stood on the top step, nearly already crossing the threshold. He held out a printed police report up to your face, nearly blocking your view of him entirely. Even if you hadn’t seen a glimpse of his face, the anger in his voice was identifying enough. 

“Dad?” You were caught completely off guard, unable to process his appearance or his demands. You thought for a moment that it was a nightmare, even tried pressing your nails into the flesh of your palms as you balled your hands into fists. The sharp pain alerted you that this was real. 

“A man nearly stabbed you and you just never thought to tell us?” 

Your breath caught in your throat but you kept composure. 

“Sir, I assure you it wasn’t as bad as that makes it sound.” 

“Really? He held you at knifepoint and that is somehow not a problem? Are you stupid?” 

“The knife never left his pocket, I swear.”

“This says you ran home through a forest.” 

“Yeah,” you opened your mouth for an excuse but came up with nothing. 

“And then you went radio silent for almost a week? What is going through that tiny brain of yours?” He had finally finished his yelling, but his quieter stern tone was just as intimidating. 

“I was sick, Sir, I swear.” 

“You seem fine to me.” 

“That was a week ago, I’m feeling better now,” your voice came out as a whine and he gave you a warning look. You fixed your posture under his gaze, hoping he wouldn’t find another thing to criticize you on. 

“You should have called us the second this happened. And you should have called the second your fever went away, if you ever had one. You knew better than to hide this. The moving van will be here Tuesday morning, you better start packing now.”

“No, wait-” 

“Are you talking back to me? Want to add that to the list?” 

You paused, and when you went to speak again nothing but sputtering came out. It wasn’t the ideal moment for your mother to enter, but you were glad to not be alone with him any longer. 

“Mom, please,” you nearly cried, but tried to hold it together. She shot you a sympathetic look, but you knew there was nothing that she could do. And even if there was a way to talk sense into your father, she wouldn’t be the one to do it. 

“Don’t plead with her. You dug your own grave out here, and we are here to pull you out of it. You should be grateful.” 

“I can’t leave, I like it here.” 

“Like it so much that you quit your job? So much that you haven’t left your dingy little trailer for over half a month now?” 

“How did you-”

“I know everything. I told you I would be keeping an eye on you, did you not believe me?” 

You shut your mouth and just shook your head. 

“That’s better. Your mother and I will bring the boxes in. Then we’re going to go find a hotel,” he glanced around the room to add insult to injury, “We will be back tomorrow to make sure you’re on track.” 

You considered fighting him further on it, considered finally trying to grow a back bone and chew him out for treating you like a child. But before you could speak, your eye caught the trailer across the street, and your mind began to wander. What did you have to keep you here? 

Eddie wasn’t the sole reason you loved Hawkins, but he was the heart of it. If he wasn’t going to let you be a part of his life any more, you weren’t sure your future here was one that you wanted. You imagined Steve would come by less, his friends would become less welcoming. You would become a memory in the rearview mirror, the girl that they almost befriended. Home didn’t sound much better, but at least no one seemed to want you dead there. 

You resigned to help them bring in the boxes. 

They left within the hour, and you still had trouble accepting that their presence hadn’t been a bad dream.The stack of flattened boxes in your living room were the sole physical reminder that it had truly happened. You felt sick to your stomach packing all night, but you knew it had to be done. 

You had collected a small stash of alcohol during your stay in Hawkins, something your father would frown over. So instead of packing it up, you drank it. The buzz helped the sorrow subside while you packed your memories, old and new, into the freshly taped up boxes. 

You woke up at 10 am the next morning to your first hangover. You had always taken care to drink plenty of water when you drank in the past. When you lived at home, it was just to make sure your parents never caught on, but the habit stuck. Your care had left you while packing though, and you had betrayed yourself. 

You dug through your medicine cabinet, searching for the bottle of pills that Eddie had been so adamant about you being careful with. You grimaced at the memory before popping two into your mouth. 

The headache had barely begun to subside before a knock sounded at the door. You dreaded your father seeing you like this, you knew that the second you opened the door he would smell it on you. You tried your best to stand tall and act as if your head wasn’t splitting and your stomach wasn’t in knots as you opened the door. 

You lost all composure when you opened the door. At first you were only relieved to not be met by your father, but Eddie stood on your doorstep with that kicked puppy look, and you suddenly remembered where you two stood. It had felt a little less all consuming, met with the threat of moving home. 

“Eddie?” You asked breathlessly, it had been completely knocked out of you the second you met his eyes. 

“Hey, can I talk to you?” 

He smiled down at you for a moment, but the expression left his face when he read yours. You looked like you had been through Hell and back, dark circles under your glassy eyes and color barely in your cheeks. He almost wondered if you were still sick, but you looked perfectly healthy when he saw you taking out the trash the other day. This was something new.  

You thought for a moment before letting him in. You knew the second he entered your trailer, he would know you were leaving. You weren’t sure if that would be an issue though. You desperately wanted it to be, but you worried he would be relieved. 

You stepped aside and opened the door just enough for him to enter. You saw his shoulders drop as he looked around the room. 

“Y/n, what is all this?” His eyes scanned the room twice before landing back on you. You shied away from him, not knowing what to say. “Are you leaving?” 

He wanted to reach out and grab you. He wanted to force you to look him in the eye and tell him what was going on. He wanted to plead with you to stay, get down on his hands and knees and beg you to forget everything he had said. 

But he just stayed frozen.

“What were you wanting to talk about?” 

“Please, don’t do that. Don’t just ignore the situation. Why are you packing?” 

You finally looked up to see the pure panic in his eyes and part of you felt relieved. You hated how selfish that made you feel. 

“My dad showed up yesterday. He’s moving me back home.” 

You sounded so small, it knocked the wind out of him. 

“But why wou… why would you let him do that?” 

“Didn’t have much of a choice. Besides, he heard about the whole-” you stopped yourself from finishing the sentence, realizing you still hadn’t told him the details of what had happened to you. 

“The Hunter thing?” 

You shot him a look of surprise but it was quickly replaced with betrayal. “Steve told you?” 

“Wasn’t his fault, Robin let it slip.” 

“Right, well he showed up with the police report, and I didn’t have much left to keep me here. Didn’t really feel worth trying to fight it,” you shrugged, shrinking in on yourself again. You turned away from him and tried to finish packing up the decor from the living room. The moment you put the first item in the box, he finally snapped out of it and moved towards you. 

“No, you can’t leave,” he grabbed your hand before you could put the picture frame you were holding in the box between you. You looked up at him, and he released your hand when he saw the look of hurt in your eyes. 

“Eddie, I appreciate you looking out for me, but this is what’s best.” 

“Well, what about your job? That’s a reason to stay.”

“I quit earlier this week.” 

“What? Why didn’t-” he had to stop himself before he could finish the question. Of course you wouldn't have told him, he had done that to himself. “Ok, fine, what about Steve?” 

“What about Steve?” you chuckled. 

“I mean, you two have gotten so close. You shouldn’t just throw that away. He’s a good guy.” 

You furrowed your brow and paused your movements. “Do you think I’m interested in Steve?” 

Steve was handsome, caring, and a good friend, but that was all he had been to you. 

“I mean, I don’t know. Can’t really imagine many girls not being into him,” he shied under your gaze, suddenly realizing how stupid his jealousy had been. 

“Well I can assure you that the thought never crossed my mind.” 

He breathed a sigh of relief before he remembered the conversation at hand. “Well there has to be something.” 

You looked into his eyes for a moment and you almost said it. Your breathing grew shallow for a fleeting moment as you pleaded with your eyes for him to see it. But he didn’t acknowledge it, and you thought maybe it would be better off that way. 

“My dad will be here any minute. You should really go.” 

“Y/n-” 

“Oh, right, you wanted to talk about something. Make it fast.” 

Your tone was polite, you weren’t dismissing him, you were allowing him a moment to speak. Possibly the last of its kind. He wasn’t sure if he should take it. 

You allowed him to think while you worked, taking items off the shelves and walls and packing them neatly into scattered boxes. He watched as you moved, and tried to hype himself up again. He had spent the last three days trying to figure out what to say to you after his heart to heart with Robin. He thought he had gone over every scenario, every possible thing you could have said to him, but this hadn’t been in the cards. 

Robin's last words rang in his head  “Interdimensional beings or not, sometimes you just have to do scary things for the people you love.” And though he had been through so much worse, had seen things you would never begin to be able to comprehend, he still thought this may have been the most afraid he had ever been. He would have rather gone through it all again if it meant not having to lose you. 

He finally opened his mouth to speak, but he was cut off before a word left his lips. Your head shot up at the sound of a car approaching, and the sheer terror in your eyes strangled his heart. 

“Save that thought,” you offered a frightened smile, and rushed off to the kitchen. You tied off your trash bag and rushed back over to Eddie. “It’s a little too late for him not to see you, but he can’t see this. Can you take it out for me?” 

He looked down at the bag you had thrust towards him. It was filled with a couple liquor bottles, some crushed cans of beer, and a few empty bottles of wine coolers. “Did you drink all this last night?” He looked from the bag to your face with worry, finally understanding why you looked as rough as you did that morning. 

“Please, Eddie,” you urged. He sighed before walking out the door to rush to your trash can. Your father was too distracted by the man leaving your trailer to notice what the bag he was holding was full of. You exited the trailer a few steps behind, knowing full well how your plan would go. 

“Who the fuck is that?” your father bellowed, pointing at Eddie as he rounded the corner back towards you. 

“This is my neighbor Eddie. He just came by to help me pack,” you smiled sweetly at your father, trying to act as if there was no issue. 

“You must be y/n’s father, it’s so nice to meet you. I’ve heard nothing but good things,” Eddie tried to approach with an outstretched hand, knowing full well that it may be slapped away, and that everything he said had been a lie. 

Your father scowled as he squeezed Eddie’s hand, and grew more frustrated when Eddie didn’t shy away from his strong grip. “We don’t need any more help, you can scurry on back home.” 

“Dad-” you tried to reason with him but he stopped you immediately. 

“Uh-uh, you’ve got enough help between your mother and I. This is the whole reason we’re here in the first place. We should have known you’d make poor decisions the second you were out of our line of sight. And this,” he gestured to Eddie without acknowledging that he could hear him, “Is probably your worst decision yet. Now say goodbye.” 

Your heart broke with his words, but not for yourself. Eddie had spent his entire life being made to feel like he wasn’t enough, like he didn’t belong in any room he entered. You wanted so desperately to take that from him, but here you were adding to it. He looked up at you, and you could see that he was masking how much the words had hurt him. You were proud of him for seeming to stand his ground, with a stranger no less, but you didn’t want him to have to. 

You smiled at him as you tried to hold back your tears. “You can go home,” you reassured him. It wasn’t supposed to be goodbye, it was supposed to be reassurance that you could handle this on your own, that he didn’t have to go through this. But after your father’s demand, it felt so much deeper. 

“Y/n-” 

“It’s ok Ed. I’ll, uhm, stop by on my way out of town tomorrow to say bye. I promise.” 

He could hear you choke over your words, he knew that this wasn’t what you wanted. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. This wasn’t how the conversation was supposed to go. His mind was spiraling, but he didn’t have a care for the strangers standing near him, he only wanted you. 

“Sir,” he turned to your father and you nearly jumped between them, “May I please have a moment with your daughter? Just to properly say goodbye?” 

You froze as your father deliberated. For the first time in years, your father looked at you and saw the sorrow in your eyes, and he actually cared to alleviate it. 

“You have 5 minutes. And I will be watching from the living room window, got it?” 

“Of course,” Eddie smiled politely. You stepped out of the way for your parents to enter your home, but you couldn’t find the strength to cross the extra six feet to meet Eddie. He went to you instead. 

“Are you ok?” he asked as he approached. It took everything in him to not pull you into him and hold you there. He knew that would cause your father to storm out. 

“I’m so sorry, he shouldn’t have said that about you,” the sorrow in your voice was palpable but Eddie still chuckled at it incredulously. 

“Is that really what you’re worried about right now? It’s ok, I’ve heard so much worse.” 

“You don’t deserve to be talked to like that.” 

He sighed and took a seat on the second step leading up to your front door. After a moment, you followed his movements and sat next to him. 

“You can’t leave,” he said, barely above a whisper, but you heard it loud and clear. 

“Eddie-” 

“There’s no way that you actually think this is a good idea. I’ve seen the way the light leaves your eyes when he calls, how scared you look. You can’t go back there.” 

“Eddie, it’s fine. I’ll be ok,” you actually sounded sure of yourself. You may not have truly wanted it, but you knew you could learn to live with it, and you didn’t want Eddie to worry. “Besides, I kinda figured you’d be relieved.” 

It was a poor attempt at lightening the mood, which you learned when the look of horror came over his face. 

“Why would you think that?” 

“Come on, really? It’s a lot easier to steer clear of each other if we’re in different cities.” 

“No, y/n, I fucked up. I didn’t mean it. That’s…” he paused and waited for you to make eye contact with him, “That’s what I came over here to talk to you about.” 

“It’s a little late now, isn’t it?” You didn’t sound angry, the best way he could describe it was devastation. It matched how he felt. 

“Please, don’t do this. I want- I need you to stay. Please, I want to be the reason you stay.” 

“What do you mean?” You asked in confusion, not letting yourself assume what you thought it meant. It couldn’t mean that. There was no way. 

“I was an idiot. I shouldn’t have pushed you away. I-I miss you,” he paused, and for a moment you thought he would stop there. But he was just struggling to say what came next. “Please, I need you.” 

You froze completely, your body felt numb. You didn’t notice the way your breath had stalled, but the way Eddie breathlessly whispered your name kickstarted it again. 

“Eddie,” your words caught in your throat, breath hitching and jaw trembling, but he didn’t rush you to finish your thought, “Why are you telling me this now? I’m already half packed and I… Eds, I can’t stay.” 

“Why not?” 

“I mean I quit my job, and what am I supposed to do? Go in there and just tell my dad to shove it?” 

“We can find you another job, or hell, I’ll even get one to help you make ends meet, and make sure no one fucks with you again. I don’t care, I’d face anyone in this town if it meant not losing you.” 

“No you wouldn’t,” you giggled, but continued before he could speak again, “And that’s ok. I would never expect that of you.” 

He just stared at you, letting your gears turn. He said everything he needed to say, and he knew you understood him. It was up to you now. 

“I think you broke my heart for a minute there,” you tried not to cry as you admitted it, but he heard the tremor in your voice. 

“I know, I’m so sorry. Please don’t let that be how this ends. I need to make it up to you. And if you stay I promise I will.” 

You took a deep, shaky breath as you stared at him. You didn’t want it to end this way either. 

“How do I get out of this?

“Of this? I can go if that’s what you really-”

“No,” you stopped him as if his words physically pained you, “Not that. Eddie, I don’t want to leave.” Your voice cracked, a tear slipped, and he had to hold himself back from comforting you. He knew your father was watching, he could feel his gaze on his back. 

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You’re not a kid anymore, he can’t make you.” 

“I’m scared.” 

“Let me talk to him with you then.” 

“No, that’s really sweet but you don’t need to.” 

“I want to. Please let me help you with this.” 

“I don’t want him to talk down to you again, Ed.” 

His hand finally inched towards yours, linking your pinky fingers together between your bodies so it would be hidden from prying eyes. 

“I can handle anything he throws at me. I’m being serious, I would do anything to not lose you.” 

Before you could formulate any kind of plan, with or without Eddie, your father opened the door.

“OK, times up. We need to get back to packing.” 

You barely turned your head to see your father in your doorway, your eyes rested on Eddie. He watched as your face grew pale, and tightened his pinkies grip on yours for a moment before letting it go. 

“It’s ok,” he whispered, trying to do anything he could to encourage you. You gave him one nervous nod before standing. 

“Dad,” you squeaked out, too cowardly to meet his gaze, “I don’t want to go home with you.” 

Eddie turned his body to look up at you, but stayed seated on the step. You may have looked afraid, but he was still in awe of how brave you were being. 

“Well it wasn’t a question. Send your friend home and get inside.” 

“No.” 

“Ok, son, I don’t know what kind of filth you’re feeding my daughter, but I don’t appreciate you turning her against me. You better get-” 

“Don’t talk to him like that,” your jaw tightened, but the tears still threatened to spill. Your face grew hot both from anger and fear. 

“Excuse me?” 

“I said don’t talk to him like that,” you raised your chin to look him in the eye, hoping he wouldn’t sense your nerves. 

“Young lady, get inside this house right now.” 

“You mean my house? Y-you’re not the boss of me here,” your stutter gave you away, but you persisted, “You and mom should go home. I promise I’m fine out here.” 

Your father glanced down at Eddie, jaw tight, as he calculated his response. 

“I’m not going to ask you again.” 

“Dad,” you choked as you began, and Eddie finally rose to his feet to stand behind you, “I’ve been an adult for years now, and you’re still treating me like a child. You have to let me grow up at some point.” 

“I would if I thought you were capable.” 

It pained you to hear but you couldn’t let it stop you. 

“You may not approve of how I’ve been living out here, but I’m happier here than I ever was at home. And I wish that was something you wanted for me.” 

Eddie brought a hand to rest on your back, which came at the perfect time to keep you steady on your feet. Confronting anyone was hard for you, but doing it to your father was a nightmare. 

Before he had a chance to reply, your mother approached him from behind, mirroring Eddie’s position with you. 

“Honey, she’s right. She has to grow up at some point,” she spoke sweetly. Eddie noted the same fearfully polite tone that you had used over the phone. 

It took him a moment, but your father’s shoulders lost their tension, though his nostrils remained flared. “You hid so much from us, how can we trust you being out here on your own?” 

“I’m not on my own.” 

You knew it was probably the last thing your father wanted to hear, but it was exactly what Eddie needed. He tried to remain stoic through the conversation. 

“If we leave you out here, I still expect you to check in with us every day.” 

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen,” Eddie spoke up from behind you. You glanced at him, but his eyes remained on your father. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Your daughter is responsible and careful and incredibly smart. She doesn’t need someone to babysit her, even over the phone. She’ll call when she feels like it, which would be a lot more often if you would just lighten up.” 

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. You were grateful that your father was hearing it, but you knew it wasn’t going to end well. 

“And what makes you think you can speak for her?” 

“No, dad, he’s right,” you jumped in, “I’ll call when I can. But I’m staying and that’s that. You’d have to kidnap me to get me back there.” 

“Come on, Honey,” Your mother shot you a smile before smiling brighter at your father, “She’s going to be fine. It’s time to let her go.” 

Your father opened his mouth to speak, but you could see the defeat wash over him. He was outnumbered, and he knew there was no winning this fight. You had finally made him feel how you had felt all those years. 

“Fine,” he aggressively grabbed his keys and shoved his arms in his coat, “But I’m not afraid to come back out here.” 

He stormed down your steps, nearly knocking you over, but Eddie steadied you. Your mother walked down much slower, and paused next to you, waiting for your father to slam the driver's side door.  

“It was nice seeing you sweetheart,” she smiled and hugged you, “And for what it’s worth, I like your boyfriend.” “Oh, he’s not-” you began to correct her, but she had quickly moved from you to hug Eddie too, which caught him completely off guard. He smiled at her before she left, and shot a confused look at you. You answered him with a shrug, and waved after your mother as the car drove off. 

“Want some help unpacking?” 

He sounded humorous, but you weren’t in a joking mood. 

“I think I’m going to throw up.” 

Your face grew pale and it knocked the smile off his face. He reached out to grab your arm to steady and reassure you. “You’re ok. Wanna go inside?” 

You simply nodded. 

He led you to your couch and sat a few feet away from you, but you weren’t having it. You scooted towards him and wrapped your arms around his torso tightly. You hid your face against his chest and did your best not to cry, but failed to keep your composure. 

“Hey, it’s ok,” his arms shot up to hold you tightly, “You’re safe, you’re not in trouble.” 

‘That was fucking terrifying,” you let out a watery laugh against him. 

“And you were really brave. Quite the inspiration.” 

“He’s gonna be mad for like a decade.” 

“Let him.” “Eds, you don’t get it, he’s gonna-” 

“Hey,” he pried your face away from his chest and guided your chin to look up at him, “It doesn’t matter anymore. He can’t make you do anything you don’t wanna do.” “And what if he comes back?” 

“I’ll beat him up.” 

“Eddie,” you laughed and slapped him lightly on the chest, which only made him smile. 

“I’ll be here if he comes back, and we can tell him off again until he gets the hint. He doesn’t have power over you anymore, and he needs to get used to it.” 

You nodded, though you didn’t truly believe his words. Your father would always have some sense of power over you, his control had woven its way into every fiber of your being, but Eddie was still right in one way. Your father couldn’t make you leave him. 

“So are you over the whole keeping out of my hair thing now?” you pouted and his entire demeanor softened. 

“Yes, Sweetheart, of course I am.” 

“What’d you just call me?” you blushed. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean-” 

“No, it’s ok.” 

“Ok, good,” he paused to look at you, “Can I ask you something?” 

You nodded. 

“Would you want to come over for dinner tonight? Just you and me this time. You can let me make up for being an idiot the past couple weeks.” 

“You’re not an idiot.” 

“Is that a yes?” 

You paused, but not to think, you just wanted to soak in the sight of his pleading eyes. 

“Yeah, ok.”

A/N: Sorry for the long wait on this one! I have been having a really rough go lately and I appreciate the patience! One more chapter of this and I have another Steve request in the wings. I may take a little time away once those are posted, just to try to really figure some stuff out, but I will be back with PLENTY more if do!

the funny thing is, she wouldn't even know about his existence if it weren't for the chanting coming from his corner.

look, she made a promise to herself to stop fucking rescuing strays and yes that especially includes frat brothers, for the love of god.

her new resolution was to mind her business, drink her lemonade in the corner of the party, wait until an acceptable amount of time has passed and then leave.

it's the cheering.

it's always the god damn cheering.

her head perks up, thinking maybe it's someone from class she knows, a friendly face to make this party tolerable-

instead it's the one constant in her life she can't get rid of.

steve is drunk.

this is obvious, even from as far away as she is. drinks always get passed to him the second he walks through the door, claps on the back, greetings.

steve is fucking everyone's best friend, a party is political campaign and he's not leaving until he finds out how your mother is doing (after you mentioned her once, sobbing and drunk) or how the other frat brother is holding up in his math class.

she imagines it's exhausting for him, but she refuse to let herself linger on it to long or to feel any kind of guilt towards him-

and she had disappeared the second she saw him staggering around, one of those blue plastic baby pools in front of him.

"fucking idiots I swear-" she mumbles, shift her weight from one foot to the other, debating on interrupting him.

she don't know steve. that's obvious. she knows of him but who doesn't, really.

everyone's friend, star right winger for the colleges hockey team (with a team like hers, at a college like this, it isn't hard to be the star, but she’s seen how hard he works, so she can't really deny it) and seeing him, clearly drunk out of his mind, is hard to watch.

deciding she can't be an accomplice to whatever bullshit is about to happen, she angles her body away-

it's the way the entire crowd all flinches, "Oohs" being yelled out, that finally makes her turn around.

steve lays on his back in the empty kiddie pool.

For a second, she thinks he's dead, that she’s an accomplice to murder-

until he groans, a loud "Fuuuck" is yelled out as he holds his shoulder and rolls back and forth.

"Idiot-"

"Yo!" One of his friends fell out, "Can we get some fuckin' help?"

no more adopting strays- you tell yourself gently-especially not frat brothers-

"no but like," he's hiccuping, crying fat tears, "I think i hurt my shoulder."

"Fucking idiot." she chugs what's left in the cup, throws it onto a table, and beelines for the corner.

"what did you idiots get into this time?" she groans as she kneel down, offering her hand to steve.

"Our guardian angel!" one of them yells out, clearly drunk, "Yeah-I remember you! You got Sam when he ran through that fence!"

she remembers this guy; Clay, she think it is, he's nice enough for the most part, sometimes walks with her to class and has these elaborate stories that make her laugh, a good enough lab partner-

"Guys."

steve groans from the inside of the pool, rolling around, holding his shoulder, and she resists the urge to roll her eyes as she and Clay lift him up slowly, ignoring his whimpering.

he looks at her, glassy eyed, sniffles, rubbing at his eyes, "C-Can you grab my other arm?" he hiccups, "I think i fucked this arm up."

understatement of the year but she rolls her eyes as she obeys, switching over to the other side,

"You got him?" Clay says gently, seems sober

"We'll be okay. Gonna get the idiot some water." she groans-and he gasps from your side-

"Idiot?" mock horror, “how dare you-“ he stops.

"steve." she says, watching him carefully.

"Think i'm gonna be sick." he whimpers.

"Oh, my god." she groans, picking up speed. she only made it to the kitchen, have him kneel on the cold floor, his head buried in the trash as he pukes.

she rubs his back, hating that this is becoming a normal Saturday her you now-

he pulls his head out and she offers him water, which he takes, sitting with his back against the wall.

he looks bad, is all pale, "My Ma use to make me soup when i'm sick," he whimpers, "Will you make me some soup?"

she bites her tongue from saying that he's sick because of his own stupidity, looks so pathetic suddenly-

The second time steve hears an out of tune kazoo badly play Jingle Bells (In May, which is a crime itself) he figures fine he'll finally check the room next to him.

Look, he has one sided beef with the last art teacher, who constantly plastered children's photo's against the walls, overlapping posters for jazz club and marching band (both of which are severely understaffed and more of punchline of joke but that's neither here nor there, he guesses) so sure, he still has one sided beef.

And look, he's heard good of you. Of this new teacher who's changing things up, the kids aren't skipping the class anymore, less fights and more figuring it out-how kids are practically dying to be in your class

And that's fine. Really, it's fine. He's happy, even. Less fights to break up in hallways and if it means he has to look at a shitty picture that a kid insists is abstract again, sure-he'll go through it.

And then there's you.

There you fucking are.

It's hard to hide the smile on his face, even if he's trying to hide it as he wraps his cardigan closer around him, uses his knuckle to push his too large glasses up his face-

you're in the room, alone, in the middle of a large room-your overalls are broken, one strap is over the shoulder, a tie dye shirt under-and your hair is in high space buns-two dirty paintbrushes are shoved through them, and there's fucking paint all over your face, on your cheeks and your neck-he thinks about brushing it off of you before shaking that idea from his head-fucking stupid.

"I can feel someone watching."

Your voice comes back light, even if you're back is to them, kazoo still in your mouth.

You turn, expecting a kid to be there, backpack on their back and a large smile on their face-

"Oh," You're smiling, shoving the kazoo in the front bib over the overalls, "You aren't a kid."

He rolls his eyes:

"Excellent observation, can tell nothing gets past you."

And while most people would be put off by this, something radiates off of him-the hard ass exterior he's putting on is obviously a defense mechanism, something he put up as a young, second year teacher.

"Nice to meet you!" You're at his side, all smiles offering your hand, "You must be the music teacher, Harrington, right? The second graders redemption of hot cross buns on the recorder is getting better by the day."

A smile threatens to pull on the curve of his lips for a second, before he's shaking his head.

"I just have to ask," He sighs, "Jingle Bells? In May?"

You bite your lip, rocking back and forth on your heels.

"Yep!"

steve rubs his forehead at the headache that's threatening to form behind his eyes; your brick walls are painted a bright yellow, a rainbow on the opposing wall, the other has different colored handprints from children that come through your class.

"I heard good about you," You smile widely, going to your desk and grabbing a paper off of it, holding it up to him, "The kids love you."

If steve squints, he guesses he can see what might be a portrait of him as a teacher, his large glasses on his face, a mop of unruly hair and a guitar on his lap.

"Don't lie to me."

He accept the photo, and a smile threatens to form in the corner of his lips as he rubs his finger over the hard edges of the paper.

He goes to hand it back and you wave it off, "Keep it for a rainy day."

The smile never leaves your face and steve doesn't know if it's annoying or endearing yet.

Face red, he goes to turn around and leave before he can make an ass of himself, when you stop him instead.

"Hey," You say, taking the kazoo out of your pocket again as he turns to leave, "If you want, I'm free for lunch. Beats sitting alone in your room."

It takes everything in him to not stop at that. Have you seen him during lunch? When he walks up and down the halls, a crumbled brown paper bag in his hands-at first, he was searching for a friend, a friendly face someone to welcome him in, but slowly it evolved to going to the cafeteria as quickly as he can before retreating to the safety of his room, shoved in the corner, lights out-it's a lot like how he spent his own elementary school experience.

"It was nice meeting you, Mr. harrington!" You call back, your voice is light and sincere, he knows your smiling without saying anything back. "Come back anytime."

And that's how the rivalry starts.

So Robin agrees to carry a baby for her single best friend Steve. There's no way he can afford IVF on a teacher's salary so they settle on the old fashion way instead. Ew, no, not that! At-home artificial insemination. Robin gets some hormone shots, Nancy throws them a party, and Steve jizzes in a cup. One problem though, Eddie had to use the bathroom really bad after Steve... did his thing and he accidentally knocked over the cup. Now Steve's little swimmers are swimming down the drain.

Robin has been complaining about how awful and crazy the hormone shot made her feel. Offhandedly earlier that night, Eddie heard her grumble at Steve, "I'm only giving you this one chance, Dingus. If your jock sperm can't kick a home run then it just wasn't meant to be." So Eddie has two choices, tell everyone what he did, effectively dashing Steve's chance at fatherhood, or refill the cup.

"Looks like someone forgot this in the bathroom," Eddie announces as he holds the refilled cup aloft, just out of reach of Nancy who appointed herself the official inseminator. "Give me that," she demands, between tiny hops. He watches her struggle for a few more seconds before giving up the goods.

Over the next few months, Eddie doesn't give it another thought. When Robin announces that the baby is kicking during the baby shower, Eddie stays firmly in his seat, completely uninterested in the parasitic presence gestating inside his friend. It isn't until Steve introduces him to the new baby that the weight of his decision hits him. As their eyes meet, Eddie can't help but notice that the new life Steve is holding has his dark brown eyes and his curly brown hair. Fuck, he can't just let Steve raise his kid. He'll end up dressing him in khaki and letting him listen to Top 40s music.

But the kid isn't really his, he realizes as Steve coos down at the baby, jiggling him up and down to soothe his fussing. It's their baby! Somehow, he and Steve made a baby together and they haven't even had sex yet. Eddie has no way to break that information to Steve without also breaking his heart in the process. But maybe he doesn't have to, maybe he can just finally make that move he's always been too scared to make before. Maybe he can have the baby, the boyfriend, the whole package!

In middle school, Kurt tagged along with you and your friends to school dances and parties. This dorky, needy worm that wriggled his way into the spotlight without even caring that he was the butt of the joke.

He didn't have friends so he sat at your lunch table, playing Clash Royale on his phone more than he was eating. Sometimes he'd play his shitty soundcloud music for the table, or pester you with questions for vlogs. And that would've been bad enough, but then it was homecoming, then winter formal, then prom.

Well, Honey, Kurt doesn't have a date and you broke up with your boyfriend. I already promised Angela that you'd let him ride in the limo with you and take some pictures.

His hair was still wet when you took pictures in your living room. Posed in that stupid, stereotypical prom pose with your back against his chest. He didn't even have the guts to really touch you— he did stupid hover hands at your hips, so you could just feel the ghost of his body heat through your dress.

He sat in the passengers' seat of your Honda on the way to Katie's house for group pictures, eyes on you as you kept yours on the road.

"Your, uh, your dress is fire."

Your expression wrinkled as you slowed at a stoplight, and his gaze was so intense that you could feel it like a shiver on your spine. "No one says that."

He laughed, not sheepishly like someone else might, but like he was in on the joke instead of the punchline. It was deeply frustrating and only soured your mood further.

"Oh, right, yeah," he said, with a stupid smile and a clumsy rake of his fingers through his air-drying hair. "Did you, like, pick that dress because of an influencer, or—"

"No one does that, Kurt. I picked the dress because I tried it on and I thought I looked hot, just like everyone else does."

"Oh. Yeah, individuality is super big right now." He swallowed, and you thought he was going to shut up, but as you started to drive, he kept speaking. "I mean, like for me, with my account Kurtsworld96, I'm super authentic. I think people just want to see people being real, and I'm all about that."

"Cool," you deadpanned. There wasn't a single thing about Kurt Kunkle that felt real in any way. At least, nothing that you'd ever gotten to see, and you'd spent eighteen years of your life around him.

It made you a little sad to be around him, frankly. You didn't know what kind of home Angela raised him in, or what it was like when his loser dad skipped out on them, but something had to have happened for him to turn out so hollow.

Kurt's tie was lime green. Your corsage was a hideous aqua-dyed rose that totally clashed with your dress. And he was sweaty and nervous and got pretty much wasted just from a couple of vodka shooters that you all had on the limo.

He puked on your dress after dinner and his mom had to come and pick you both up. You didn't even make it to the first song, because Kurt ruined everything.

With distance, Kurt became an oddity you showed your friends. Look at this weird review he posted today. You have to watch his fourty five minute Taco Bell mukbang. He dropped a new song on SoundCloud, isn't it just horrible?

"Sounds like you're his biggest fan," your coworker said after months of hearing Kurtsworld96 updates like they were the morning news.

The accusation made you scoff. You weren't a fan of Kurt or his stupid social media presence. He was a curiosity to gawk at behind a thick plane of glass. A case study in why you should reduce your screen time. A real life example of a boy raised by the internet. "No, I give him views so he doesn't off himself. It's public service."

The next time you saw him in person was at your mom's birthday— a close-knit pool party in the heat of summer. It brought you from the comfort of your apartment into the heart of Azusa, and everything that came with that.

Kurt, glued to your side, streaming to an audience of six. All of the comments were about you in a bikini, which you knew from the way the text to voice read comments aloud.

Kurt just fuck her you virgin. Smash or GTFO. You couldn't handle the gorilla grip lmfao

You tried to ignore it, really. You didn't want to give whatever cretins watched his stuff the pleasure of your attention, but it really got to a point. With an eye roll, you stood and made your way into the house, hoping for five minutes of quiet before he found you again.

You got two. At least he had the decency to look ashamed when he found you in the kitchen. All of the cupcakes that you'd gotten for the party had begun to deflate in the heat, so you licked the frosting off of one so it didn't drip off with your first bite.

"I'm sorry about the chat, they're just joking around," he said. He swallowed hard, eyes flicking from your tongue to your bikini-clad body, then back to your mouth. Never actually managing to land on your eyes where they belonged. "They just think you're pretty. You know, you could have a huge following if you tried to grow your online presence."

"Not interested," you said. "I don't want pervy losers creeping on photos of me to jerk off to later."

He swallowed, brows knitting. "Well… why? Isn't that a compliment? Like… for people to think you're pretty and want to…"

He trailed off, and you could hear the rattle of his shaky exhale as you licked frosting from your fingers. Another swallow, and your eyes trailed down to his stupid minecraft swimtrunks. Swimtrunks that were filling out to accommodate an obvious boner. It sent a spark of something through you that you didn't want to face head on— a sick, perverted thrill knowing the effect you had on him without even trying.

"Were they right?" You asked, narrowing your eyes as you looked at him. His gaze tore away from your tits, and you nearly giggled at his desperation.

"Ab— about you being pretty?" He stammered. "I mean, y-yeah, you're so pretty. You're, um… you're uh… so… so pretty."

You shook your head, a cruel smile twitching at the corner of your lips. "No, I know that. I meant were they right about you being a virgin?"

Talk about a rhetorical question. Is the sky blue? Do fish swim? Is Kurt Kunkle a virgin?

Still, the effect was instantaneous. His cheeks went cherry red and his mouth opened to stammer out weak excuses. "No, that's— I'm not a virgin, I've had so much sex with tons of people. Girls. Tons of girls. And I'm really good at it."

All it took was a tiny scoff and he stood a little straighter, bottom lip jutting out in a pout that might have been adorable if you weren't viscerally annoyed by him. "Why are you hard right now?" You asked, cocking your head with amusement. "Is it the bikini, or that you're getting actual attention from a girl?"

"I— I don't know," he stammered, and you could swear his bottom lip trembled. "You're making me nervous. You always make me nervous."

But, notably, not nervous enough to keep from pimping you out to his loser audience, which was neither here nor there. There was something so empowering about making him squirm in front of you, especially after he'd spent the past decade wriggling his way into your proximity, poisoning your social life.

"Do you want me to touch it?" You questioned with a slow smile, easing closer. "Is that why you came in here to chase me down? You want me to fuck you so that you can brag to your loser followers?"

Kurt whined, but didn't say no. Your manicured hand moved along the cheap nylon of his swim trunks, grazing over his thigh just high enough that he had to fight the urge to buck into your palm.

He smelled kind of good, actually. Like one of those manly deodorant brands and clearance shelf cologne. It shouldn't have been so enticing, but it was… even if you'd never, ever tell him that.

"If you tell me you'll never put me on your stupid stream again, I'll touch you," you promised.

You met his gaze and watched the gears turn behind his eyes, the internal war between wanting to defend his social media presence to you and actually feeling the touch of something besides his own hand, or whatever he hid under his bed. "Yeah," he breathed, with a tiny nod. "Yeah, I won't put you on my stream anymore, I promise."

Who were you to go back on a deal? You tugged down his ugly swimtrunks and swallowed at the sight of his dick— thick and stupidly pretty. He'd been impressive soft, but this was something else entirely. It twitched under your attention, and you watched a sticky string of precum dripping from the tip.

You slid your hand up, just barely wrapping around the base before he came with a shaky groan, shooting rope after rope of cum onto your wrist and the tile floor. He feebly bucked into your grasp, whining with each spurt of his release, until he leaned onto your shoulder and just trembled.

"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry," he mumbled, over and over again. "You're just so pretty. I'm so sorry, I should've been better."

You let him stand there for a little, until you finally shrugged him off and rinsed your hand in the sink. You glanced down at the puddles of cum on the floor and your expression soured. "Gross, can you clean that up? My mom cooks in here. And don't lie and tell your loser followers that you got a handjob, because that wasn't a handjob. I touched you and you came."

He nodded weakly as he pulled his trunks back up. His cheeks were a ruddy pink, and his eyes had a pretty, hazy sheen to them, like he hadn't come back down to Earth yet. "Okay, uh… thank you."