pairing: steve harrington x hopper!reader
summary: You've known about the prophecy since the day you were born. The curse of the older sister. Ever since you and El were raised together in that sterile, white hell—shaped into weapons of war—you knew your life wasn't yours. Dying wasn’t brave. It wasn’t noble. It was simply the inevitable conclusion you had been walking toward since birth.
wc: 3.7K
warnings: mentions of violence, cursing, mention of y'know, since she choose to die, heartbreak and angst. if you don't feel comfortable reading this, even if it's a 'rewrite' scene from the tv show, please don't read and preserve yourself.
a/n: I was obsessed with the idea of Steve taking Mike's place when El leaves. So, here it is. I think I cried a few times while writing it (help). I was inspired by Ethel Cain's Nettles and Purple Rain to write it.
To love me is to suffer me
And I believe it.
The cacophony was absolute—a craggy wall of voices, the sharp clack of assault rifles being readied, and the guttural curses of men who had forgotten how to be human.
Steve was shoved forward, the momentum of the crowd carrying him along with Dustin, Mike, and Robin. He caught a glimpse of Robin’s hands, bound tight enough to turn her fingers white, before a soldier’s gloved hand slammed into the back of his neck.
His face was crushed against the cold metal of the transport truck. The smell of oil and old blood filled his nostrils. He couldn't breathe. Every gasp was a battle, his lungs struggling against the weight of a man twice his size pinning him down.
The problem was, he couldn't find you anywhere.
“Hey—hey,” He grimaced, a sharp, sickening pop echoing in his ears as his zygomatic bone groaned under the pressure against the metal panel. “Have you seen her?”
Dustin twisted his head as far as the restraints allowed, face pale but steady.
“She was with El, they must've escaped.”
The relief hit Steve like a physical wave. Good. That was more than good, it was the only thing that mattered. If the plan had worked—if the girl he loved was somewhere safe, somewhere far away from the screaming and the cold steel—then he could endure whatever was coming.
So a small, genuine smile blossomed on Steve's lips. It lasted only a second, because when he looked up, the smile died where it was born.
Where the sky had torn itself open, where the portal to the Upside Down bled a bruised, pulsating violet into the world, he saw you.
You weren't running. You were standing at the threshold, your silhouette framed by the apocalypse, your eyes fixed on the military line with a gaze so deadly it looked like it belonged to a different person.
“No… no, no, no—” Steve’s voice rose from a whimper to a raw, jagged roar. The realization settled in his gut like lead: you had stayed.
You were going to fight a war you couldn't win.
With a strength that shouldn't have existed in his broken, battered frame, Steve threw his head back. He felt the icky thud of his skull connecting with the soldier’s chin. He didn't wait for the man to fall. Two other guards lunged for him, their hands like iron claws on his sleeves, but something had snapped inside him. It wasn't bravery anymore, it was an animalistic, primal instinct.
“Steve!” Robin’s scream was high and thin, a desperate warning as a soldier leveled the butt of a rifle.
Steve didn't hear her. He stumbled, his legs heavy and uncoordinated, and when he finally fell to his knees, he didn't hit the pavement. Cold water splashed against his skin. He realized then, he was in your mind.
You walked quickly toward him and he got up, running to you.
“What the hell are you doing?” His voice broke on the words. “Please—please don’t do this.”
His hands gripped your shoulders, his fingers digging into the fabric of your jacket as if the sheer force of his touch could tether you to the earth.
He was shaking. There were tears welling up in his eyes, and despite everything, it was his broken expression that haunted you the most.
“Steve,” you whispered, swallowing the thick knot of grief in your throat. You looked into those deer-like eyes, your own vision blurring as the first hot tears spilled over. “You need to listen to me. We don’t have much time.”
He was hyperventilating, his chest heaving under his bruised ribs. His eyes searched yours, begging for a lie, begging for a misunderstanding he could desperately fix.
“What? No—no, whatever you’re thinking, we’ll find another way. We always find another way.”
“I need you to understand my decision.”
“No. No. I don't—Please.”
You kept going because stopping would mean breaking. “I need you to tell the others the truth. Tell Hop that Jane's safe. I need you to tell them—” Your voice faltered. You forced it steady. “Tell them how grateful I am. For being so kind to me. For loving me.”
Tears slid freely down your cheeks. Steve lifted his hand without thinking, brushing them away with his thumb like he always did, like it was a reflex built into him. He was crying too, silent and helpless, but still trying to take care of you. He always would put you first.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said, pleading now, like if he said it enough times, reality might listen.
“I do. Steve, this will never ends. El will be hunted for the rest of her life. She’s just a kid. She deserves a chance to grow up without blood on her hands.”
You caught his hands, pulling them from your face to hold them against your chest. His fingers were calloused, covered in the fresh scratches and deep purple bruises of the fight. They were the hands of a protector, and they were the only things you were going to miss.
He stared at you like you were speaking another language.
“What about you?” The question came out with a sharp edge of accusation, a jagged shard of resentment born from pure, unadulterated heartbreak. “Don’t you deserve to live? Don't I deserve for you to stay?”
You've known about the prophecy since the day you were born. The curse of the older sister. Ever since you and El were raised together in that sterile, white hell—shaped into weapons of war—you knew your life wasn't yours. Dying wasn’t brave. It wasn’t noble. It was simply the inevitable conclusion you had been walking toward since birth.
You were the burden that was meant to be dropped so the light could keep shining.
And Steve—sweet, stubborn, endlessly kind Steve—was the only thing that had ever made you wish, just for a moment, that fate might be wrong.
But then Hopper found you and Jane together in that forest, clinging to each other like a second skin, desperate and afraid of what fate had planned. And that changed everything.
He had reached through the brush and pulled you into a life you were never supposed to have. He was resilient, jaggedly caring, and he tended to your wounds with a gentleness that felt like an assault on everything the lab had taught you. He fed you, gave you shelter, and advised you—doing all the things a father was supposed to do. A father you and Jane had only ever seen in child storybooks.
You had been reluctant at first, a wild thing trapped in a cabin. You ran away a dozen times because you were convinced that this life—the warm blankets, the Eggo waffles, the safety—was for Jane, not for you.
But Hopper had been immovable. He insisted, with a gruff, stubborn love, that you deserved that comfort too. It wasn't a luxurious life, but it was a life full of affection.
And what was supposed to be just a life for three became a big dysfunctional family, but one that you loved with every shattered piece of your heart.
Joyce, Jonathan, and Will. The family that went through hell on earth when little Byers was possessed and captured by darkness. There was Joyce, who taught you what it meant to be a woman, who brushed your hair with a mother’s tenderness and hugged you until the cold in your bones finally began to thaw. There was Jonathan, the quiet observer, who always stayed close enough to make sure you were alive.
The kids, who followed you like you were something out of a comic book. They made you feel brave when you were anything but. They welcomed Jane like she had always been theirs, and through them, you learned what friendship really was, unconditional, loud, forgiving.
Nancy showed you worlds hidden in books and taught you how to hold a gun without flinching. She kept your secret without ever asking for anything in return. Let you sleep in her basement when Hopper’s house became unbearable. Robin taught you sisterhood—real sisterhood. Movie nights, bad jokes, honesty without fear. She made life feel lighter just by standing beside you.
“Every moment of my life has led me here,” you said softly.
“Bullshit.” His voice cracked, raw and furious. “This is all bullshit. You can’t—you don’t deserve this. You can stay, I—”
“Steve,” you whispered. “Look at me.”
You reached up, cupping his face with both hands. His skin was cold, damp with sweat and tears. He pressed his lips together, a sob catching in his throat, and you felt the hot, thick tears roll down his cheeks until they pooled in the palms of your hands.
“From day one, you saw me. You saw beyond what I could see in myself.”
Steve let out a broken, animal sound and leaned into your touch, his eyes searching yours for a way out that didn't exist. He had spent years trying to convince you that you were worth saving, and now, he was watching you use that very life to save everyone else.
How could you ever forget that first night in the Wheeler basement? You had been a mess, bruised and soaked from head to toe, looking like you’d gone ten rounds with a nightmare. But even then, he didn’t look at you like a wounded animal. He didn’t look at you like a disposable tool of war. He looked at you with a careful, tentative affection that felt like the first warm sun after a lifetime of winter.
But the words had been written in the stars long before you met him and your story couldn't have been written any other way. If you were here now, it was because fate had allowed you to live. And if you lived, it was because Steve Harrington happened in your life.
It was because he accepted you for who you are. Because he fell first, pretending that all that fascination wasn't masked as love. Because he held your hand that Fourth of July and kissed you under the fireworks. It was because he saved you from near death and allowed you to still have some time together. It was the way he had knocked on Hopper’s door with a bouquet of flowers, his knees literally shaking with fear of your father, just to take you to a movie date. It was because he loved you devotedly, respected you, adored you with everything he had.
“If I know what it's like to love and to be loved, it’s because of you,” you whispered. “And you don't know how forever grateful I'll be to you for giving me that.”
“Please,” Steve murmured repeatedly, his hands trembling as he held your body against his. He was clutching you as if he could absorb you into his own skin, as if he could hide you from the fate that was coming for you.
“You made everything easier. All my life I believed I wasn't worthy of being loved, but then you came along and changed everything.” You smiled through the tears, a fragile, beautiful thing. “I wouldn't do anything differently, Steve. Not a single second.”
“Don't do this to me, babe—please, please—”
It was breaking your heart. Each plea was a physical blow. You felt your heart cracking, tiny pieces of it falling away one by one.
“I need you to promise me something, okay? Look at me, Steve.” You sought his eyes and had to exercise a lot of self-control not to break down right there. “I want you to be happy. I want you to live the life of your dreams.”
His laugh was broken, almost soundless. “I fucking hate this,” he said. “How am I supposed to do that without you?”
“I’ll always be with you,” you said, even though you both knew what that promise cost. “You have a life ahead of you, Steve. A good one. Promise me you won’t stop. Promise me you’ll fight for it.”
He couldn't speak. He just looked at you, his chest heaving, his face a mosaic of soot, drying blood, and fresh, hot tears. He looked like he was physically dying, like his soul was being pulled through his ribs.
“I love you,” was all he managed to choke out between the jagged, guttural sobs that racked his body.
You smiled, even as your heart felt like it was being torn in two.
“I love you, Steve Harrington.”
When you moved, you collided like lightning meeting thunder, violent, inevitable, and destructive. Your mouths crashed together in a disastrous mess of tears, salt, and terror.
Steve wanted time. God, he had wanted time so badly. He had built plans around it, trusted it like it was something guaranteed. The weight of his mother’s ring, hidden on a small chain beneath his shirt, felt like it was branding his skin. He had decided he'd propose the moment you got home, the moment the world was safe. He knew how much you dreamed of Alaska—of the frozen, silent mountains and the way the northern lights painted the sky—and he had spent every spare cent he had for a year to make that happen.
The initial plan was to propose to you with that breathtaking view as a witness to your youth, reckless, love. But Steve had always been haunted by the feeling that time was a thief. That was why he’d put the ring around his neck that morning.
He just hadn’t known how little time he had left.
As he kissed you with a painful, bruising intensity, he reached for the chain. He ripped it from his neck, the metal snapping with a faint ping that was lost to the chaos. He pressed the cold silver into your palm, his fingers trembling as he closed your hand around it.
You felt it when he placed it in your hand, the cold metal against your palm.
You felt the weight of it, the history of a family you would never officially join. You deepened the kiss, holding him with a strength that defied your tired body. You were holding your first love, your only love, the boy who had made you human.
When you finally broke apart, foreheads touching, both of you breathless and ruined, you closed your fingers around the chain and held his hand instead.
“Please, please—” he whispered, the word barely there. “Don’t leave me.”
You wanted to say everything. You wanted to stay forever.
You were at the end of the road, and the time for promises had run out.
“Goodbye, Steve.”
The sound never fully left his throat. It caught there, raw and animal, and when reality slammed back into place, it did so cruelly. Hands dragged him backward. Boots scraped asphalt. Someone shouted orders he couldn’t hear because all he could hear was his own voice breaking apart as he screamed your name.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Everyone was frozen, witnesses to a sacrifice they were powerless to stop. Robin had collapsed to her knees, her sobs racking her frame until she was doubled over. Hopper stood paralyzed, his eyes brimming with tears he couldn't shed, his path blocked by a wall of military personnel. Nancy’s hands were pressed tight over her mouth, a single, silent tear tracking through the soot on her cheek.
These were your people. The one you had built out of chaos and survival and love. The one that had taught you what it meant to belong.
Steve fought like a caged animal, his boots scraping against the asphalt as he begged them to let him go, shouting your name until his lungs burned. He was thrown to the ground, the grit biting into his skin, but he never took his eyes off you.
You looked at Hopper one last time. Not to ask. Not to beg. Just to let him see that this was your choice. That you were at peace with it. That Jane would live. That she would grow up safe, loved, ordinary in all the ways you never got to be. She was now the age you had been when he found you in that forest, feral, terrified, alive. She deserved the life he had fought to give her.
“I'm sorry,” you whispered.
Then, the air crackled. You felt the surge of energy before the world white-outed—a hum that vibrated in your very marrow. A flash swept across the perimeter, a titanic force field that pushed the entire world back. The C4 charges detonated in a synchronized roar, and the Upside Down didn't just break, it folded. Everything was sucked into a violent whirlwind, a chaotic abyss that began to erase itself from existence.
The noise was horrifying, a primal scream of a dying dimension. You closed your eyes, letting go of the tethers that held you to the world of the living. In the fading distance, you could still hear them screaming your name.
But this was the end. This was your story, and as the darkness rushed in to claim you, you realized you were happy. You have lived. You have loved.
One last tear tracked down your cheek. And then, nothingness.
A deafening silence took over the place. Steve stared in sheer, unadulterated horror at the space where you should have been. There was no portal. Just a building in ruins, smoking under a normal, mocking sky.
You were gone. Truly, finally gone.
He dropped to his knees, skin splitting against dust, pain flaring uselessly through his hand. He didn’t feel it. There was no room for it. All he could see was you, every version of you he had ever loved, layered one on top of the other until it crushed him.
Steve squeezed his eyes shut, his breath coming in broken hitches. It was then that he realized his fist was clenched tight around something cold. He raised his hand, blinking through the tears, and saw it: the silver chain, the wedding ring dangling from the end. He hadn't noticed, but you had put it back in his hands as a promise you were forcing him to keep. You wanted him to move on.
You wanted him to be happy. A future you were asking him to live without you.
Steve let out a sound that barely resembled a sob and curled forward, clutching the ring to his chest like it might still anchor him to you.
But it would never be the same.
Without you, there was no happy ending.
“All right, all right—let’s go.”
Steve planted his hands on his hips, scanning the parking lot as the kids—who absolutely were not kids anymore—filed into the trailer. “Jeez, did you have to buy the whole store?” he asked, one eyebrow lifting as Robin struggled with a bag that looked one bad move away from tearing.
“In my defense,” she said, breathless but defiant, “we have, like, a small army to feed. And I needed a Kit Kat.” She held one up proudly. “I even brought one for you.” She tapped a second bar against Steve’s chest.
He caught it between his fingers, let out a long, grounded breath, and stuffed it into his pocket. “All right. Enough. Everyone here?” He poked his head into the trailer, performing the mental head-count that had become second nature.
Lucas glanced around. “Uh—Dustin’s not back yet.”
Steve opened his mouth to complain about the schedule when a familiar voice grumbled behind him.
“Jesus Christ, the bathroom in this place should be classified as a biohazard.” Dustin shrugged, his face twisted in a look of pure disgust.
“Everything okay, bud?” Steve took off his shades and patted Dustin’s shoulder, fighting back the laugh that threatened to break through his responsible adult mask.
“Barely,” Dustin said. “I stared death in the face in there, ‘cause—.”
“Biohazard,” Max interrupted, rolling her eyes with a smirk. “We get it.”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“All right,” Steve said, gentle but firm, clapping hands to get everyone moving and get things in place. “Everybody, buckle up. Right now!”
Max and Lucas were already arguing about who got to lean on whom for the next leg of the trip. Dustin went back to his astrophysics book while Mike, Will, and El chatted happily in the back.
Steve caught El’s eye in the mirror. She gave him a small nod, there was a depth of respect and gratitude in her eyes that always made Steve’s heart ache.
When she had returned to Hawkins eighteen months after the Upside Down took you, it had been a bittersweet miracle. Hopper and Mike had known she was safe because of your final message, but for Steve, her return was the final, broken proof that you were gone.
He didn't blame her. He loved her. But looking at her was a constant, living reminder of the price you had paid.
“All right, dingus,” Robin said, already buckled in, watching him closely. “We doing this or what?”
Steve slid into the driver’s seat and fastened his seatbelt. “Yeah,” he said. “Let’s do this.”
He pressed play.
The familiar, melancholic chords of Piano Man filled the cabin, your favorite song. Billy Joel’s voice drifted through the speakers, steady and nostalgic. Steve turned the key, the engine roaring to life, and before they even cleared the gas station parking lot, the chaos in the back reached a fever pitch. Max was yelling at Lucas, Dustin was laughing at something Will said, and the air was thick with the life you had died to protect.
Beside him, Robin offered a small, closed-mouth smile: a look of pure solidarity.
Before hitting the highway toward the long road to Alaska, Steve glanced in the rearview mirror. Hanging from the glass was the silver chain, the wedding ring catching the afternoon sun. It swung gently with the movement of the car, a North Star to guide him.
A small, genuine smile touched his lips. This was what you wanted. This was the life you would have led if fate had been kinder.
“All right, Alaska,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the music and the kids. “Here we come.”
He shifted the trailer into gear and pulled onto the open road. It was for the kids. It was for the future.
In this NSFW Choose Your Own Adventure, fitting in at Hawkins High turns out to be harder than you anticipated. Fortunately for you, Eddie Munson is there to help you find your way...
Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader
NSFW Choose Your Own Adventure
🔗 READ/PLAY HERE
🎮 interactive fanfic "Party Foul" by amulet
📖 Episode 1 of 1
Not in a crude way but heaven knows he’d go scarlet if I so much as looked at him too long but in that soft, instinctive, almost unconscious way people touch things they love just to reassure themselves they’re real. Like he thought I might evaporate if he stopped holding me for even a second.
Which is why, somehow, I was currently sitting cross-legged on the carpet of his bedroom, talking far too enthusiastically about the migration patterns of corvids, while he sat behind me on his bed, absentmindedly combing his fingers through my hair as though it were the most interesting thing in the entire world.
“And the thing is,” I continued, waving my hands like a lunatic, “people always assume crows are only clever for animals, but honestly, they’re clever full stop. They can recognise human faces, solve multi-step problems, even...”
Eddie inhaled like he’d just surfaced from underwater.
He twisted another strand of my hair round his fingers, slow and reverent, brushing his thumb against the back of my neck.
“Mmm,” he hummed. “Love it when you talk like this.”
Like this. Meaning: excited. Animated. Unfiltered. The version of me I normally tried to tone down so I didn’t overwhelm people.
But Eddie? Eddie drank in every word as if I were telling him the secrets of the universe.
“You’re not even listening,” I teased, glancing over my shoulder.
He had the audacity to look offended.
“I’m listening,” he insisted, leaning down until his curls brushed my cheek. “I’m always listening to you. It’s just...” His fingers slid softly from my hair to my shoulders, squeezing gently. “your voice does things to my brain, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart. That stupid word went straight to my stomach every time, fluttery and ridiculous.
I tried to keep talking, I really did.
But then Eddie’s hands were on my waist, big and warm and careful, and he pulled me backwards slightly so my back rested against his knees. His rings were cool through the fabric of my shirt, and I felt myself melting like an absolute idiot.
“Anyway,” I said, trying to remember where the hell I’d been in my explanation, “erm...yes the crows, right? So they’re capable of...”
His thumbs brushed softly back and forth across my hips.
I completely lost my train of thought.
Eddie laughed quietly behind me, the sound low and fond, and pressed a kiss just a tiny one, barely there right against the crown of my head.
“Please carry on,” he murmured. “I like seeing you all passionate.”
I twisted round to squint at him. “You’re doing this on purpose.”
“Doing what?” he asked, all false innocence and fluttering lashes.
I poked his knee. “Distracting me.”
He grinned, dimples deepening. “Sweetheart… everything about you is distracting. I’m just matching your energy.”
His hands slid back up to my shoulders, thumbs making slow circles. It wasn’t sexual it was just affectionate in that intense, overwhelming way he had, as though he physically couldn’t keep from reaching for me. He’d do this even when we were out: stand behind me in queues, hands resting on my waist or draped over my shoulders; fiddle with my fingers when we sat together; tug me into his side when he laughed too loudly.
Eddie liked people, but he loved touch. Or maybe he just loved touching me.
“Come up here,” he said suddenly, tugging gently on my shirt like a child begging for attention. “Want you closer.”
I rolled my eyes but got up anyway, shuffling backwards so I could sit next to him on the bed. Immediately, he wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me against his chest, chin resting on my shoulder. He was always so bloody warm like leaning against a radiator in human form.
“There we go,” he sighed, content. “Much better.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Yep.” He kissed the side of my head. “But I’m your ridiculous.”
He said it casually, but it hit with an embarrassing amount of force.
I fiddled with one of his rings, tracing the grooves, while his other hand smoothed up and down my thigh in long, absent strokes. Possessive. Protective. Present.
“Well, if you’re going to keep touching me like a cat marking its territory,” I teased, “I won’t be able to finish my point.”
“Hmmm.” He nuzzled my neck, curls tickling my jaw. “Territory, huh?”
“Oh don’t pretend you don’t know you’re obsessive.”
He froze for only a second enough for me to feel it before he spoke again, voice low and a bit shy.
“Is it too much? The touching? I know I’m… a lot.”
That soft little dip in confidence nearly shattered me.
“No,” I said instantly, turning to face him. “God, Eddie, no. I love it.”
He blinked. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I said, suddenly feeling just as shy. “It makes me feel… wanted.”
Something changed in his expression then, softening in a way I didn’t have a name for. He cupped my face gently two big hands holding me as if I were fragile and leaned forward until our foreheads touched.
“You are,” he whispered. “More than you’ll ever bloody know.”
My chest went warm and tight.
Eddie Munson did not say things lightly. Whether he was joking or pouring his heart out, he meant every word with his entire soul.
I swallowed. “You don’t have to get all sentimental.”
“Too late,” he said, kissing the tip of my nose. “Damage is done.”
Then his arms wrapped around me fully, pulling me right into his lap, my legs draped across his thighs. He held me like he’d been starving and I was the first meal he’d had all week. His hands wandered softly, slowly over my sides, my back, my arms, like he was trying to map every part of me.
“You were saying something about crows,” he murmured into my hair.
I snorted. “Oh now you want the biology lecture.”
“I always want the biology lecture.” His hands slid to my waist, squeezing gently. “Makes your eyes go all sparkly.”
I felt myself blush. “They do not.”
“They do,” he said solemnly. “You get all animated, and you start talking faster, and your hands do this thing...” He took my hand and moved it around in a wild gesture. “and it’s my favourite thing on earth.”
“You’re very sappy today,” I muttered, burying my face in his shoulder so he wouldn’t see how red I was.
“You bring it out in me.”
His fingers ran through my hair again, slowly, soothingly. He always did that touched my hair like it was something precious. Sometimes, when he thought I wasn’t paying attention, he’d twist a curl around his finger and smile like he had no idea he was doing it.
“Tell me more about the crows,” he whispered.
“You really want to know?”
“Sweetheart…” His hands slid down to cradle my hips, holding me steady as he pressed a kiss behind my ear. “I want to know everything.”
And so I kept talking.
About crows forming communities.
About their memory and problem-solving.
About how they gift shiny objects to people they like.
All the while, Eddie listened like really listened his hands never leaving me. They roamed in slow, adoring touches: tracing patterns into my thighs, smoothing over my stomach, drawing lazy circles on my back. Nothing rushed. Nothing demanding. Just pure affection, as though he were physically incapable of not touching me when I was within arm’s reach.
By the time I finished, he was smiling at me like he’d just discovered a new religion.
“You’re brilliant,” he said simply.
I laughed awkwardly. “I’m hardly brilliant.”
“You are to me.”
He tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear, fingers lingering to stroke my cheek. His touch was so gentle it barely felt real.
“You make my head go funny,” he admitted. “In a good way. Like...like everything gets louder but calmer at the same time? Does that make sense?”
“Not even a little,” I said, grinning. “But it’s sweet.”
He groaned and buried his face in my shoulder. “You’re killing me.”
I threaded my fingers through his curls, scratching lightly at his scalp. He melted instantly, arms tightening round my waist.
“See?” I teased. “You’re as bad as me.”
“M’not,” he mumbled into my collarbone.
“You absolutely are.”
He pulled back just enough to look at me properly. His eyes were warm and dark and intense in a way that made my breath catch.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he said softly.
My heart stuttered. “Eddie…”
He touched my jaw, thumb brushing my cheek again.
“I’m obsessed,” he confessed without a hint of embarrassment. “Completely. Hopelessly. Can’t stop thinking about you. Can’t stop wanting to touch you. I swear my hands move on their own now.”
“That sounds like a medical problem,” I whispered.
“Yeah, sweetheart,” he said, smiling against my mouth as he leaned close, “it’s called being in love.”
I froze.
He didn’t.
He kept his forehead against mine, breathing slow and steady.
“You don’t have to say it back,” he murmured. “I just… I needed you to know.”
I swallowed, heart hammering.
Then, quietly... truthfully... I said“Good. Because I’m in love with you too.”
Eddie’s smile went soft and stunned and absolutely beautiful.
He didn’t kiss me. Not right away.
Instead, he pulled me into the tightest embrace he’d ever given, arms wrapped round me like he could shield me from the whole bloody world. His hands slid up my back, down my sides, into my hair touch everywhere, warm and overwhelming and perfect.
When he finally pulled back, he cupped my face again, thumbs sweeping my cheeks.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked.
“You’re already holding my entire soul,” I said breathlessly. “You can definitely kiss me.”
He laughed, then kissed me like he’d waited his whole life for it—gentle but sure, slow but deep, his hands framing my face as though he were terrified I might disappear.
When we finally pulled apart, dizzy and grinning, he rested his forehead against mine again.
“You know,” he whispered, hands sliding back to my waist, “crows mate for life.”
I snorted. “Are you comparing yourself to a crow?”
“Absolutely. I’m gonna bring you shiny objects and everything.”
