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ghost-proofbaby · 2 months

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IT WILL COME BACK (E.M.)

"honey, don't feed me - i will come back."

summary: when eddie came back from the upside down, he was different. and you finally come to realize just how different the man you saved truly is one night, when push comes to shove.

pairings: kas!eddie munson x reader

warnings: mentions of BLOOD (in sexual manner), mentions of BITING (in sexual manner), allusions to possible coercion (consent is still explicitly stated - trust me), mentions of death and trauma, mentions of eddie's canon death, taking a lot of creative liberty with expansive vampire lore across all media, mentions of murderous dreams? (eddie dreamt about killing reader idk), oral (f receiving), smut. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT - 18+ ONLY.

wc: 7.7k+

a/n: i told y'all i'd write a serious biting/blood kink fic one day - today is the day. very lazily edited so beware.

When Eddie came back from the Upside Down, he was different.

There were subtle changes at first. Small, minute details that were easy to ignore. Everyone could turn a blind eye to them — everyone figured they would fade once the boy healed. His healing was first priority, and whatever lingered after could be dealt with.

Get Eddie better. Then question all that lingers.

A simple plan. A genius plan. A torturous plan.

The two of you had been friends, if you could even call it that, prior to it all. Teasing in the hallways, working on school projects here and there when in shared classes, he was your favorite (and only) dealer when you craved something to make sleep come just a little bit easier. He had been familiar — an old ghost you'd grown comfortable with, long before you’d seen those large and wet eyes looking back up at you in the boathouse.

Long before he’d pieced together the puzzle pieces as to why you’d needed the weed to cancel out the nightmares. Long before he’d processed exactly what those nightmares entailed.

But then, you’d fought for him. You’d fought with him. And most importantly, you’d bled with him.

God, you had bled for him.

Something admirable had blossomed in that short time. Eddie’s entire life had fallen apart, thread by frayed thread, and that new planted emotion had been the only solid thing to emerge for him to absolutely cling to. You were more than a fellow classmate to pass by in the hallways. You were more than his favorite customer, always weaponizing fluttering lashes and puckered lips for a discount he’d have given you regardless.

You were a force to be reckoned with, and had ignited a hunger in him like no other.

That’s all he had thought it was when he’d awoken in his living room — not the distorted version but the real one — to you screaming for the others to help you as you’d sealed his wounds. That’s all he had thought it was when you’d come to visit him as wounds turned to scars, and stabbing pains turned to hungering pangs. So he had tried to bury it, listen to Harrington and Wheeler and Buckley when they told him to take time to readjust. He’d locked away that hunger and focused on his healing, just as everyone else had, and told himself it was just residual feelings.

Residual feelings had been bound to happen after seeing someone bloody their hands, with your own blood, for your survival.

And in his burial, he’d never considered a similar hunger igniting somewhere deep within you.

You visited far more often than you should have. Returning time and time again to change his bandages, taking on one too many shifts at the hospital during his unconscious spells and baring your teeth for anyone who got too close. The sweet blood on your hands hadn’t washed away in that first shower; you swore, if you looked closer, you could still see the stain of nearly losing him across your knuckles.

Physical wounds were easier to heal than the internal ones. It was easier to lather on antibiotic lotion than it was to sleep soundly at night. Both of you came to realize that quickly in the weeks that followed Eddie’s return from the dead.

His nights were plagued with bad dreams, with thirst and cravings he couldn’t quite name. He’d wake up, burning up from the inside out with a fever that never existed. Tearing skin. Puncture wounds. Blood spilling across floors and his lips alike. He could never tell if the shivers that traced his spine had been from the cruel visions that had become his nightly visitors or if it was due to his perpetual drop in temperature that had worried Nancy since the very first night home from the hospital, that had concerned the nurses who piled blankets atop him during his week long sleep of recovery.

Your nights were even less kind. Horrific memories were the demons that haunted you — remembering the way you had watched Eddie cut that sheet rope, remembering finding him bloodied on the ground, remembering the warmth of his blood seeping across your palms and how when your ear had turned just as heated with it as you pressed it to his chest. Only to hear nothing. Emptiness.

His heart had stopped for minutes. Plural.

It had been your steady rhythm, your desperate hands and your gasping breaths breathing into his lungs. You’d sunk your claws into him, caught them right between his ribs and had decided he couldn’t leave you.

Some nights, when you wake up screaming, you can still taste his blood on your lips. You sometimes still swore that when you’d checked for a pulse after that, you hadn’t heard anything. Still worried that Eddie Munson’s heart never really restarted and resumed beating.

The worst was when you’d stare through the faded grey of mornings plastering across your room’s walls, and could still remember that initial look in his blown out pupils, once honey brown swallowed in pure black as he’d taken his first breath on his own.

Hunger.

You’d felt it, too. Shame riddled you on the nights you’d come down from the nightmares and remember it; it was as though the Universe had snapped back into place the moment you’d watched his chest first rise. A need so ardent to remain at his side. A chain clicking into place, binding both yourself and Eddie to one another, unaware of just what price had been paid to keep the boy that had laid under you in this world. Unaware of the hunger you had struck the match too that would become both your downfalls.

And so it had been buried. Something alive, even with your doubts of Eddie’s liveliness, and choking on dirt while six feet under. You and Eddie, two sides of the same coin, had decided to not speak of it. He never told you how he had come to be able to pinpoint your heartbeat in every shared room he entered, throat burning as his gaze always settled on you, and you never told him of the matching aches that had shamefully sparked within your chest and between your hips for him.

A hunger to be near one another. A hunger to devour. Neither of you really understood the heaviness.

“How are you feeling today, Eddie?” Steve asks as he sits on the edge of the new bed in the new apartment in the new part of town the Munson men now occupy.

Government money could go a Hell of a long way. Especially after your home had been devastated by the aftermath of alternate dimensions and unheard of evil being defeated.

“Fine,” is the only response Eddie can muster.

In reality, every time anyone came near him now, he burned. His throat tightened till it was surely raw, he swore his teeth sharpened until a mere slip of his tongue against his canines could bring the taste of metallic blood to his mouth. His entire body would tense with every person that walked through his door.

Control. Whatever was happening to him, Eddie needed to exercise control.

“Just fine?” Steve continues on, not catching the drift as he puts down the bag of things he’d bought at Eddie’s request. Basic things — painkillers, packs of cigarettes, a 6-pack. Some habits die harder and can’t be controlled, “You look like shit, Munson.”

“Gee, thanks, Stevie.”

Everyone had assumed the dark shadows beneath Eddie’s eyes would fade. They assumed his cheeks would eventually fill back out. They assumed he could wash away the ashen shade his hair now flatly flowed in. It was as if the life had been drained from Eddie since that day, and they had all assumed it would eventually flow back into him.

It never did. Just as his new hunger lingered, so did the look of Death.

“Sorry, man,” Steve throws his hands up, shrugging a bit before he stands, “Just being honest. It’s the best policy.”

“Is it? Is it really?”

If honesty was the best policy, Eddie could have filled the room with it. He could admit about the nightmarish wants, needs, he’d been keeping at bay. He could admit the way his irritation had been growing this last week every time another body, another friend, walked through his doorway and it wasn’t you. You, who had begun to plague the night terrors. You, who Eddie was beginning to crave far more than he had before he’d stared the afterlife down the barrel of the gun.

Steve just looks at Hawkins’ newest zombie boy, sighing, “Look, I don’t know what’s got you pissed off-“

“The whole dying thing, for starters.”

“-or why you’ve insisted on being an asshole to all of us these last few weeks-“

“Again, I died.”

“-but you’ve got everyone but me scared to visit you. We’re all scared of you biting our heads off, dude,” Steve finally finishes with a scowl.

Everyone. It’s unspoken that you’re included in the generalization.

It occurs to Eddie that maybe, just maybe, he should be kinder if he ever wants the ache of yearning to see you again to fade. If that’s what he could call this ache.

By the time Steve has left, Eddie’s still thinking about his warning. About the way he had been unusually cruel since coming back to life, since waking up handcuffed to a hospital bed. It made sense initially. But he wasn’t handcuffed to a hospital bed anymore — he was home, or as close to home as he could get, and he was technically safe.

The issue was that he’d accepted his safety. Everyone who had wanted Eddie Munson dead was now six feet under themselves. No, the bigger issue at hand was everyone else’s safety.

Your safety.

Once he’d realized you were the staring lead in his violent fantasies, he had stopped calling. Half of your absence last week had been his fault.

No one really bothered to look deeper into it. Steve didn’t press as to why Eddie’s fridge had remained empty, Nancy didn’t take second glances at the odd books on vampire tales that were now littering all the free real estate of Eddie’s room, and you hadn’t questioned the coldness of his tone whenever he spoke to you. The chill of his words had grown icier than his own palms, desperate to keep you at arm’s length until he figured out what had changed in him that day he came back to life.

He wanted you near. He wanted to rip your throat out. He wanted your blood to stain his mouth and neck just as his had stained your hands. That was an issue. That wasn’t normal.

Something had changed in Eddie Munson, and it had terrified him to his twisted core, and no one had cared enough to notice. Not yet.

–

It took you two weeks to be fed up with the radio silence.

Eddie stopped calling even Jonathan (the only one of the group he found he didn’t want to devour whole, as it turns out). When everyone had mentioned it in passing, it had only reminded you of the sleepless nights you’d be enduring. That small voice in the back of your head that had called out to you in the dead of night, the whisper of come to me that echoed all the way across a broken town.

Come to me.

Sometimes you swore it was Eddie’s voice calling to you. Sometimes, you nearly left your own new apartment in the dead of night, and let your legs guide you to the undead boy you had single-handedly revived.

Tonight was one of those nights. Your stomach was twisting, your head was pounding, your bones were aching. Every single inch of you hurt as it listened to that soft calling, and at some point, you gave in.

Hunger. You were insatiable with the need and drive to be at Eddie’s side. Warnings from the others be damned.

One thing leads to another. You find your coat, you find your car keys. You find yourself driving the deserted streets of Hawkins in the middle of the night. You find yourself on the Munson doorstep, knuckles shaking and aching with the knowledge that just beyond the wood of the door, he was there. You don’t have to see him to feel him; his thrumming presence, his anchoring existence.

Come to me.

The door swings open before you get the chance to knock. This string tying your two souls together is not a one-way channel, it seems.

“Why are you here?”

You watch him wince as the harsh words leave him. Immediately, you know that the abrasiveness is on instinct. Just as something claws inside of you to be near him, there is something within him howling to keep you far from him.

The polarity of two magnets. Some nights, surely, his twists in a way that would draw him to you, just as yours will twirl with the sensibility that whatever has changed within him should give you cause to run as far away from him as possible.

But tonight, your magnetism only yanks you closer to him. He doesn’t even invite you in, and yet, you find yourself stepping over the threshold of the new apartment.

“You’ve gone quiet,” you whisper as an answer. It’s not what he wants to hear, grimace deepening, nearly a scowl now, “I just… It’s been weeks. I…”

I missed you. I needed you. I heard you in my dreams and I’ve never had much self-control when it comes to you.

Magnets are a useless metaphor for whatever is happening here between you. A better comparison would be the cliche image of a moth to a flame; he’s dangerous, threatening to burn you alive, and you still find your heart fluttering after him hopelessly. You’re going to get scorned, and you’ll still never learn. You’ve fallen victim to a tired narrative that you’d rolled your eyes at in a plethora of books. How many times had you sworn that wouldn’t be you? Just how many eye rolls had you exhausted at the mere idea?

And now, here you were, on his doorstep. Grasping for something you’re not sure either of you can give.

“I’ve been dealing with a few things,” he mutters as he shuts the door behind you, shielding you both from the chill of the night. The room is still cold, especially in his radius, “Didn’t think it would make much of a difference.”

“You didn’t think I’d care if you just stopped calling?” you turn slowly, taking in the state of the living room. Wayne was clearly gone for the night, work most probably, and several books littered the coffee table. Eddie had been the one reading them, lounging on the couch.

The last time you had seen him, he couldn’t even sit up in bed on his own.

He’s keeping an unusual distance, nearly leaning back out of your vicinity, “Figured you were busy.”

He’s never been this short with you. His words are choked up, his body tense with pain. You assume it’s just his injuries bothering him.

You couldn’t be more wrong, but you’re completely unaware.

“I brought you back from the dead, and you think I’d still be too busy for you,” you laugh humorlessly, fully in disbelief at his pitiful excuse, “Eddie, we could find out Vecna didn’t really die, those damn cracks in the Earth could open right back up, and the first person I’d care about finding is you.”

The animal inside that had been yearning for his presence is satiated for now, but you can still feel it lurking in the darkest depths of your mind, ready to call out a new request at any moment. It’s the distraction that has you spilling pathetic truths.

The only response he offers you is a dead stare. With eyes wide, pupils nearly swallowed up by darkness.

“You could have called,” your voice cracks, body shaking with the effort not to take a step closer to him, “You could have just let me know you were still alive.”

“I-”

He cuts himself off when he’s the one taking a step closer. His entire face twists with pain, and you give up keeping your distance. In an instant, you’re at his side as your hand reaches out for his bicep.

He flinches away. Something inside of you burns.

Your hand is hovering in the air between the two of you, and in this lighting, you swear the skin is still stained with the blood that won’t wash away.

“Please don’t,” he begs, “I’m fine, but… please.”

You don’t know what he’s begging for. Distance, for you to pull your hand away, time – you don’t know what he needs.

“We should sit down,” you insist, finally pulling your hand as far from him as possible but making no move to put the space back between you two, “Has anyone helped you with your bandages? If your wounds got infected-”

“They didn’t.”

“If you didn’t change the bandages, they definitely could have-”

“They’re not infected,” he grits out, but he’s still walking over to the couch regardless, “They’re healed.”

Healed.

Mere weeks ago, those wounds were still deep enough to keep you from ever achieving a full night's rest. Deep enough to worry you to the core that you would wake up to them finally having consumed him. Deep enough that you all assumed it would take him months, not weeks, to recover.

“What do you mean they healed, Eddie?” you whisper, almost reaching out for him as he sits down.

Your hand twitches, but the echoes of his begging and his flinching keep it at bay as you stand before him.

“I mean, they healed,” he huffs, nostrils flaring as he takes deep breaths. He’s looking anywhere in the room but at you, his gaze subverting you with purpose. As though the mere sight of you, the mere proximity, is painful to him, “Don’t know how, don’t know why – they just did.”

“So why are you still in pain?”

A sharper intake of breath. A hush of silence falling over the apartment. Even the buzz of the building’s AC unit has faded from all your senses. It’s just you and him, and a heavy quietude like no other.

Until he finally breaks the surface tension, breathing out, “You.”

Your heart drops. That tug inside your chest, the one taut as you look at him right within your reach yet still so far away, almost snaps.

“Me?”

He nods with a harsh swallow, “I- Look, I can’t explain it, but when I came back, I came back…”

“Different?”

He doesn’t have to explain it. You’d felt it.

The moment his eyes had opened, just moments after what should have been blissful victory. The taste of his blood heavy on your tongue, a terrible sweetness that had choked you rather than its initial metallic twang. The whispers of his voice in your mind.

He wasn’t the only one changed from whatever had occurred that night.

“Different is a good way of putting it,” he nods, looking up with apologetic eyes, “It’s not you. It’s cliche as fuck, but it really isn’t – it’s me. I died, and you brought me back, but I don’t think either of us knew the cost.”

The yearning. The nightmares. The unmanageable needs. The hunger.

“What was the cost?”

He almost doesn’t hear you. Your voice is a whisper, tone weighed down with the curse of knowing.

You might not have known the cost when you were pressing your palms into his chest through your wretched sobs, functioning as his heart and lungs for nearly a minute, but you think you might have a clue now.

All that had been tethering you to him since he’d come back to you, all those webs and strings that had formed their knots around both of your necks. He’d changed, and you had plummeted right into the chasm of the unknown with him.

His blood on your tongue, sweet as honey.

Blood shouldn’t be sweet.

He grabs one of the books off the coffee table, motioning for you to join him on the couch. Under the weight of your realization, you’re nearly under a trance. All he has to do is wave a hand, and you follow.

You’re at his beck and call. Just like you had been when he’d been calling out for you, yearning for you.

“Don’t make me say it,” he mutters under his breath, tossing the book into your lap the moment you’ve sat down. This time, you’re mindful to keep your distance.

This time, you’re painfully aware of the compromising situation the two of you have found yourselves in.

The book is older, leather-bound and worn from years of readers’ careless hands breaking the spine. The corners of every page are weather, close to disintegration. The entire thing could easily pass for a Halloween decoration.

It’s not. You flip open to the title page, and if Eddie didn’t appear so deathly serious at your side, you would have scoffed.

“Dracula?” you question carefully, running a finger over the delicate script of the title, “Eddie, I don’t-”

“I’m not insane,” he interrupts you, “I’m not fucking- I swear to you. I’ve gathered up every goddamn book about it that I can. Fictional, nonfictional. Just- there’s obviously a Hell of a lot more fictional material to work with, okay?”

A vampire. He’s convinced he’s a vampire.

And even worse – you’re convinced right along with him.

You turn your head to look at him, trying to find the right words, but all you find is Eddie burying his face in his hands, head nearly hung between his knees.

“I can’t eat normal food anymore,” his voice is muffled, “That was the first sign. Couldn’t stomach it, made me throw up for hours when I tried. And then all those nurses kept talking about how I was healing faster than they expected. Most of my smaller cuts – those healed in under a day,” he finally lifts his face just enough to turn and peer at you through all the stray curls that fall into his vision, “My vision and hearing were the next things I noticed. Remember how I had a nonstop migraine those first few days?”

He doesn’t need to convince you, but the argument is compelling, “It… wasn’t a migraine.”

He shakes his head. “Not even close. Just turns out that it’s a killer to get used to fucking superhuman night vision and impeccable hearing. I still can’t handle being out in the sun very long. I don’t… burn up or any of that shit, but�� it just…” he trails off, shoulders falling in defeat before he throws himself back against the couch. When he continues, his tone is flat, devoid of all emotion, “I keep having these dreams about you, too. Bad dreams. Terrible dreams.”

You shut the book, toss it back onto the coffee table, and decide to Hell with keeping your distance.

You need it. Even if he’ll only allow you to get an inch closer to him, you need it.

“What do you mean by terrible dreams?” you ask, breath catching at the end of your question as you scoot yourself closer on the couch. Even with such a small movement, Eddie is quick to notice, eyes flicking to you quickly with a sense of urgency flashing behind them.

“Don’t,” he lowly warns.

“What’s happening in your dreams, Eddie?”

Another inch closer. His jaw clenches.

“Sweetheart, do not-”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. Your knee bumps into his thigh, and you watch him go rigid. Hands turning to fists, eyes pinching shut and face twisting with the same pain he’d worn the ghost of when you first arrived at the apartment.

The moment you touch him, you see it. The flashes of his nightmares, all those terrible actions haunting him every time he closed his eyes. You. Your blood. That hunger.

Like a blackhole in the center of your stomach, it burns viciously as it sucks the air out of your lungs. It threatens to cave your entire being into itself until there’s nothing left. Not even a crumb of who you once were.

But it's not yours. It’s Eddie’s.

That pain on his face is only exhibiting a fraction of what he was feeling. That dizzying craving that he’d miraculously been keeping at bay since you’d simply entered the building, not even yet knocking on his door. You hadn’t even been in the same room as him yet, and he had still known. Had smelt you, had felt you.

He could almost taste you.

“You…” you have to shift your knee away from him, break the touch, break the connection, “You haven’t fed since you woke up.”

“I haven’t fed, period.”

With the connection severed, he somehow finds it in himself to open his eyes once more. You don’t know how – if he’s feeling what you’d just been privy to, you’d be an incoherent mess on the floor. Something feral and unrecognizable.

Although, maybe he was nearly there. You couldn’t see his pupils. That same look when he’d first woken up – a man swallowed whole by hunger.

“You’ve been dreaming about ripping my throat out,” you say it as a matter of fact, not a lick of judgment in your tone.

It wasn’t you scrutinizing him. It was what you had seen, with one simple touch.

His voice is hoarse as he echoes in confirmation, “I’ve been dreaming about ripping your throat out.”

You should probably be afraid. All your survival instincts should be kicking in, your feet should be carrying you towards the door, you shouldn’t be leaning in closer.

“You know what really sealed the whole vampire ordeal though, sweetheart?” he breathes out, your eyes fluttering shut at the lull in his hushed tone.

Just as you’ve been leaning in, he’s been slowly turning his body to face yours, hands twitching at his sides. He’s no longer retreating from your presence, sucking down breaths in harsh gulps the closer you grow to him.

He’s losing control. You’re losing control.

That thread, vibrant red as it draws you near him, is clear as day now. A noose around your neck. A road to your damnation.

A road to your hunger.

You hardly hum in response, completely entranced now. Had he ever been capable of this before? Of holding you beneath such an inescapable spell with such ease?

Probably.

He doesn’t use his words to answer. Instead, he finally takes the plunge.

His head ducks down towards your neck just as his hands lose the war, grabbing onto your hips, dragging you dangerously close to him until his lips hovered just over your pulse point. And by some strength that you certainly don’t possess, he stops there. Letting his lips barely brush against your soft skin, breath coming out in pants for you to feel, to relish, to get lost in. And just as soon as those pants, those waves, become a comfortable pattern to succumb to, you feel them.

His fangs.

Grazing over your sensitive skin. Sharp tips nipping at a surface they could so easily break, pierce with one wrong move. Your pulse is thrumming beneath the surface, heart racing painfully as Eddie’s grip turns bruising.

Come to me.

“Please.”

You’re the one begging now. It goes against every rule you’ve ever seen applied in fiction. If a vampire is baring their fangs against your neck, you should be reaching for a stake. The only noise escaping you should be a scream for help, not the pathetic whimpers beginning to slip out.

“I can’t,” you feel his gasp more than you can hear it. Your blood is too loud, roaring in your ears as you feel the fangs slip with his words, “I can’t.”

That hunger you felt, the one that had called out to you through the night and led you right to his doorstep, is unavoidable now. You need him closer, you need him to do this. For the first time since you had saved his life and tasted his blood after the Upside Down, everything seems to click into place. All he needs to do is let them sink into you, take that final leap of faith and reprieve that ache you’ve battled for weeks now.

You’re so close. So close.

“Eddie, please,” you’re nearly sobbing, hands gripping onto his shoulders, trying to pull him in closer.

But you’re no match for his strength. You don’t know if it’s a new addition with his vampire business or if there was always more to him than met the eye, but he easily stays stoic against your attempts, not moving a centimeter. Still hovering, still just barely making contact with your heartbeat.

“I-” his head drops slightly, tip of his nose beginning to trail down the side of your neck, mouth no longer dangerously close, “You saw my dreams-”

“I trust you.”

You do. You trust him even more now than you had when you first stumbled upon him in the boathouse. More than when he had pleaded his case, promised he hadn’t been the one to kill Chrissy Cunningham. The trust comes easier than breathing as his nose nuzzles into the junction of your neck and shoulder.

“You shouldn’t,” he mutters, fangs now brushing your collar bone, “You really, really shouldn’t.”

He doesn’t stop you when you move to straddle his hips. Your weight settles onto his lap, and he only fights to keep his face burrowed there in your shoulder, arms now moving around your waist to hold you tightly to him.

His self-control is impeccable. You’d admire him and all this impressiveness another time, when something inside of you wasn’t lamenting his resistance.

All at once, it occurs to you how to give him the final push.

“Did I ever tell you how sweet your blood was on my tongue after I brought you back?” you start, sighing, rolling your shoulders to expose more of your neck, grip on his shoulders tightening, “All that blood, all those tears, and I still can’t forget how welcome that warmth of you was in my mouth. How I needed more. How I pictured it every night, after every nightmare-”

He breaks.

One moment, his nose is buried in your skin. And the next, his fangs are.

You weren’t sure what to expect, but relief would have been low on your list. You gasp out in initial shock, but as you feel his teeth dig in, it’s as though something has snapped. The ache has been satiated, preening as you feel the warmth of your blood contrast the chill of his chin pressing into you.

If there’s any pain, you don’t feel it through the haze of pleasure.

Ice shards spread through your bloodstream, but the point in which Eddie’s mouth is connected to you radiates heat. He’s pulling you into him, letting go completely and relinquishing all that control as he nearly purrs against your skin in satisfaction. That connection is back, two minds linking with a heavy click, and you can feel all his pleasure mingling with your own. Satiation, desperation, adoration – the plethora of emotions all swarm your head and block out any better judgment.

You’d let him drain you dry, if that’s what he needed. If nothing more than to hear those soft moans as his fangs sink even deeper.

He pulls back too soon, though, suddenly and unexpectedly. Just as quickly as he had given in to both your desires, he’s putting an end to them. He hadn’t taken much blood, but your head is swimming from the loss all the same. Your grip has gone slack on him, hands slipping down to just barely cradle his biceps while his own touch stays unyielding around you.

You can hear his thoughts. Or rather, maybe more aptly put, you can feel them.

He wants to devour you. Wholly, ruthlessly.

He looks up at you with pupils still blown wide, chest heaving and a small scarlet drip trailing from the corner of his mouth. For the first time since he’d come back to you, he looks alive. Hair fluffed in a halo around his head, skin tinted with a healthy glow and unmistakable blush, bags beneath his eyes faded for the time being.

You were never quite sure if Eddie Munson’s heart had ever restarted, knew for certain that it hadn’t now, but you swear you can feel its pulse finally thrumming for you.

I need more.

It’s his voice in your head, echoing in the empty space as you look down with wild eyes to match his.

But it’s your voice in his head when you respond instantaneously.

Then take it.

Something unspoken lies there in the need. He doesn’t move back to your neck, doesn’t bite down and drink his fill of your blood. He only stares for a few seconds, watching the welt of blood that pools from each puncture wound of his making. His eyes follow when it runs down your skin, as though he might lose it should he so much as blink. Down, down, down. Following the trail that his nose had followed minutes before, across your collarbone until it stains the neck of your loose shirt.

My pleasure.

His hold proves helpful when he quickly changes positions, roughly throwing you down onto the couch before he’s settled between your thighs, crawling his way up your body. He pays close attention to the maroon trail on your throat, his tongue cleaning up after his mess, savoring the taste of you on his tongue.

Sweet as honey.

His tongue only pauses for a moment over the bite wound, pressing into it, making your back arch as you press yourself fully into him. Your head digs painfully into the cushion behind you as you expose your neck, wanting and begging and pleading all without words.

“I think we should take this off,” he plucks at the hem of your shirt, tugging hard before he begins to carefully lift. His freezing knuckles brush against your burning skin, eliciting a whimper from you, “Before we make an ever bigger mess. Don’t you agree, sweetheart?”

A sultry tone you’ve never heard from him before. Honeyed words, familiar to how he once spoke, but entirely new in the way they curl around you. There’s a confidence there, a baiting that he’s luring you with.

“Yes, please.”

He could ask anything of you in this moment, and you’d be eager to comply. Fueled by your desire for him before the events of spring break, worsened by his new condition. A bright, red, vibrating thread. You couldn’t severe the tie if you wanted to.

And you most certainly did not want to.

Your shirt is removed, his hands careful despite the way they shake. His words may be smooth, but each move is jagged, the only sign you had that he’s still exercising control.

“And these?” he whispers, lowering his lips to your sternum as he toys with the band of your pants. His fangs scratch down the center of your stomach as it quivers with each breath, careful to not break skin as they make their presence known. You nearly lose all capability to speak until he says, “Use your words, baby. Tell me I can take them off.”

Yes.

His eyes flare, looking up to you, “Use your words. Not your mind. I want to hear how badly you need me – I want everyone to hear you beg.”

The words strike straight to your core. Lashing out in your lower stomach, burning deliciously.

It’s more than putting on a show. He needs to know you want this.

“Take them off,” you gasp out, hands wandering to tangle in his hair, “Take- Take it all off. I’m yours, Eddie.”

Shaking hands perform a dance you had long since fantasized about. In easier days, when Eddie had been uninvolved in the episode down, heart still beating along as he would bounce his knees in front of you and his fingers would idly fiddle with his pencils and pens. A yearning, a wanting, you’d always held for the boy.

He used to be an escape from it all. A pretty thing to daydream about when you weren’t worried about monsters. And now – he was one of the monsters.

Your monster. Tied to you inexplicably, brought back by your hands and your stubborn efforts.

His lips and fangs are one in the same, trailing along your body as he finds a home at the apex between your thighs. Even in undeath, he’s the most beautiful thing your mind could conjure.

You’d forgotten how he was privy to your every thought until he reacts.

“You’re too sweet,” he murmurs, smirking salaciously as he mouths innocently at that sensitive skin of your inner thigh, tongue darting out to lick a cool stride before he breathes out against it. It has you writhing beneath his hold, “You’ve wanted this all this time, sweetheart? Wanted to see me, between these pretty thighs, making you scream my name?” His mouth falls open a bit wider, the sharp canines pressing but not sinking against where he had just licked. He holds there, eyes locking with yours, until he pulls back to cockily say, “Could’ve just said something, y’know. Didn’t have to bring me back from the dead to have me devoted to you.”

Finally, finally, he lets his fangs sink back into you. The soft meat of your thigh is more pliant in his mouth, and he doesn’t linger as long as he had on your neck. One nick, just enough to start the blood flow, before he’s pulling back and licking hungrily at the scarlet liquid. Less for feeding, more for marking.

Marking you as his, just as you have with him. His methods just appeared a bit more physical.

He’s quick to avert his focus on your cunt, no warning before the tongue still covered in your blood is taking long strides over your entrance and clit. Devotion. That was the only word to describe the way he was unraveling you, alternating between indulging in your sweet cunt and returning back to that bite, going as far to even sink his teeth in a second time to take a proper drink of you. His chin and lips grow slick with it all – with the blood, with your wetness, with his own saliva. A starved man with a feast before him.

The way he’s rutting his hips into the couch as he slings your legs over his shoulders doesn’t go unnoticed.

It’s a mess. A wonderful, satisfying, enchanting mess.

Beautiful. So beautiful, all mine.

His voice has you teetering on an edge of new carnal pleasure. Completely consumed by him, your hands tugging viciously at his curls. His face is round once more, eyes and cheeks no longer sunken in, vitality being breathed into him with each taste of your blood.

Let me touch you. Please.

You beg over that connection, trying your best to not buck your hips mercilessly against his tongue. You feel his wicked grin.

“You’re already touching me, sweetheart,” he reaches up, untangling your fingers from his hair for emphasis before he’s pinning them to your sides, “And what did I say about using our words? Hm?”

“Need more,” your voice is wrecked as you tilt your head back, wrists straining against his hold, “I need more.”

You’re fully light-headed now, the blood loss finally catching up. Maybe you were about to let him drain you dry.

And what a beautiful way to die. At the hand, at the fangs, of the one you had fought so urgently to bring back to you.

One last timid lick to the wound on your thigh, and he’s crawling his way back up to you. The mess doesn't phase you as he kisses you hungrily – the blood remains sweet rather than metallic, the remnants of your juices still on his tongue – and you meet him with an unbridled fervent. Nipping at his lips with your own dull canines as if you were the one looking for a bite of vivacity.

You don’t know when he lets go of your wrists, or when your hands find their way up beneath his shirt. The specifics don’t matter once he’s naked before you, clothes discarded messily to the ground with your own. The only thing that matters is the weight of him, the reminder that he was still here as his hips roll into yours and the head of him catches on your entrance.

He had been dead. For minutes. And you had brought him back to you.

The process had taken longer than the mere CPR administered, had taken weeks of whatever waiting game you two had tortured yourselves with, but you had him now. He was yours. You were his. There wasn’t a deity, a monster, an omniscient being in this world that could take that away from you. Not even Death herself.

“Last chance, baby,” he whispers against your lips, holding himself up so that not a single inch of his skin pressed to yours. You nearly cried out, missing that connection, missing him. Your hunger, the hunger for him entirely, rattles your bones once more, “Say the word, and I’ll-”

“No,” your hands pause their exploration of skin jagged with scars. Reminders of those few dreadful moments in which the world existed without Eddie Munson in it, that would fade in time but never fully disappear. Always there, just like the stain of his blood on your palms. Always there, just like your desperation to have him at your side. “I meant it when I said I’m yours. I’m not changing my mind. I want this.”

His skin is back on yours, body laid fully along your own road map, and it all comes flooding back. The pain of seeing his lifeless body, the nights spent in an eerie hospital room, baring your own teeth at any one who came too close to the man you had pulled back from the ledge of Death. The anxiety, the fear, the relief, the yearning – it all accumulates as he’s pressing into you, brimming you so full that there’s no room for memories of nightmares.

He’s here. He’s yours. You’re his.

His heart didn’t need to beat for you to accept that truth.

You can’t decipher which chants of your name fall from his lips for others to hear, and which ones whisper in the depths of your mind for only you to bear witness to. Each curse, each grunt, each moan – there for you and only you anyways. You’re entirely unsure if your lips even separate once as he thrusts, cock brushing somewhere deep in you that has you clenching around him.

And if his fangs wander, it only adds to the pleasure.

Blood, sweat, and tears all mingle between your bodies. He’s holding you tighter than water, as though you’re at risk of disappearing from him at any given moment. But that link between your two minds, your two souls, is unwavering. It’s the only thing grounding you to the moment as your half curls around his waist and your heel digs into his lower back. Urging him, pressing him, taking him.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he says it out loud, this time. You feel his lips brushing against your ear as he does, “Gripping me so tightly. This pussy was fucking made for me.”

Every movement only unlocks something more feral inside the two of you. Your nails rake down his back, leaving angry red lines to trace over once it’s all said and done. There’s enough shallow bite marks across your neck that you’ll be wearing scarves for weeks, months. The others might question it, strangers might stare, but the pride you feel as he marks you is unmatched for any anxiety about it.

That black hole of hunger is no longer swallowing either of you whole. That debilitating pain, that animal inside, has been tamed.

When his hips begin to stutter, mouth no longer capable of the strength to properly bite you as his lips only smear the soft spattering of blood pooling at the base of your throat, you’re already there. Squeezing him tightly, sucking him in, voice raw as you let everyone know who’s ravishing you.

Eddie.

Hawkins’ newest zombie boy – Hawkins’ newest vampire.

The climax is just as pleasurable as the lead up. The haze lingers long after his spent has dripped out of you, long after he’s collapsed into your body with exhaustion and contentment. The blood dries, the wounds clot – but that haze doesn’t falter.

As long as his skin presses to yours, you feel that caress of his mind against yours.

“Did…” you’re breathless as his face nuzzles into your nude chest, a few mindless hums of gratification still slipping from him as you bring a hand to toy with the curls at the crown of his head, “Did any of your vampire books say anything about… that?”

The connection. The bloodlust. The spell you swear he still has you under, even as it’s all said and done.

He snorts against your skin, “Not that I, uh, recall.”

“What? You mean to tell me in all your research, you never dived into any vampire smut?” you tsk jokingly, a calm smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. He lifts his head, and you swear, those honey-brown irises have threads of a deep maroon now, “You’re slacking, Munson.”

“Why read about it when I can just experience it?” he coos, letting his nose and lips drag across your still hot skin before he rests his chin on your sternum, “Besides, I mean – we’ll need to do this again, won’t we, baby? For research.”

Your head still spins. Your body aches in a welcome manner. There will be a need for explanations to others, for actually researching his condition, later on. But for now, it’s enough.

The pounding behind your ribcage, the one you know Eddie feels for the both of you when his ear presses to your chest, is enough.

Of course, lover.

That thought stays between the two of you. The world doesn’t need to know what can’t hurt them.

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steddieas-shegoes · 2 months

Text

crawl home to you

for @steddiesongfics february song 'work song' by hozier

rated e | 5,223 words | full tags on ao3

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Steve should never have kissed him. He knew that now.

While Eddie was dying, bleeding out on the ground of their version of Hell, the only thing Steve felt he could do to help him was kiss him. It was quick, just a peck on the lips, lingering only for a moment. Their eyes never even closed.

Steve wanted to take in every remaining moment that Eddie had.

There was nothing else he could do, just hold him, try to whisper comfort that may not have even been heard.

Dustin was yelling to save him, but there was no way to do that. His injuries were too severe, he’d already lost too much blood. Moving him now would just kill him faster and more painfully. Nancy and Robin were trying to hold Dustin back, but their tears were making it harder to maintain any control.

When Eddie was gone, Steve set him back down on the ground.

“We have to get out of here,” he said, biting back the sob he could feel in his throat.

“We can’t leave him! Steve, please,” Dustin begged.

“We can come back for him once we check on everyone else. I promise. I’m not letting him stay here,” Steve lifted Dustin in his arms, ignoring his protests.

******

When they finally managed to sneak through the safest gate, Eddie’s body was gone.

Steve fell to his knees, silently begging any higher power to make him appear.

But Robin’s hand on his shoulder and Jonathan’s voice by his side made him stand up and leave.

He was gone.

He couldn’t even bring his body back to bury it properly.

He’d made another mistake.

******

Nobody moved on quickly, but Steve seemed to feel the most guilt. It was written all over his face anytime someone mentioned Eddie, it was in the way he visited Eddie’s uninhabited grave every weekend to clean it and leave flowers, it was there when he wore the battle vest around town, still bloodstained and obvious.

No one commented on it. Only Robin ever saw him cry over it.

Only Robin knew that part of his guilt was from not saying how he felt before Eddie died.

The kiss was too late and the words were nonexistent, and now Steve had to live with the missed chance.

******

It was a hot summer day when things changed.

It was subtle at first, the sky darker than usual and the air stagnant.

He got ready for his day, skipping the vest since he’d be volunteering and “bloodstains scared the children.”

And then he heard a crash outside, followed by yelling and banging on his front door.

“Steve!” “Open up!” “Code red!”

Steve ran downstairs and threw open the front door.

“It’s time,” Dustin said.

“Now?” Steve asked, incredulous. How had they not had more warning?

They all thought El and Will would be able to sense more of the Upside Down leading up to Vecna’s return, even Dr. Owens had mentioned a possibility of signs for days or even weeks leading up to his return.

How could they all have been so wrong?

“Where are we meeting?” He asked, running through a checklist in his mind of everything he would need to bring with him. Most of the emergency things he planned on having were already in his car, but it helped him keep the nerves at bay to have something to do.

“The cabin. It’s closest to the gate we can use. El’s already there with Will and Hopper getting what they can done. We don’t know how long we actually have.”

“Do they feel him?” Steve had to ask, had to know.

“El said she’s not sure if it’s Vecna or the mindflayer, and Will thinks it’s just the entire hivemind, but yeah. They do feel something. They expected it to be stronger so Nancy thinks something is messing with their connection,” Lucas said.

Steve nodded and told them to load their bikes in his trunk while he finished grabbing some things.

Most of what they would wear was already at the cabin, but he couldn’t do this without a piece of Eddie.

He slipped the vest on and laced up his boots. He put the only ring he had of Eddie’s on his ring finger, the only one it would fit on.

He checked the mirror once to make sure he didn’t look like he was falling apart at the seams.

The black shadows under his eyes and greasy hair would have to be alright.

******

They split up, but differently this time. One group stayed with El, protecting her while she protected the world. One group stayed with Will in the Upside Down.

Steve insisted on being part of the group in the Upside Down.

He carried his nail bat while Robin carried a flamethrower. She had lessons and everything.

Joyce had a rifle loaded with special bullets that exploded into actual flames upon impact, something Dustin and Suzie had cooked up over the last month to try to gain any leverage they could.

Nancy and Jonathan were ahead of them, rifles in hand to fire warning shots if they saw anything before Will felt it.

Will was quiet, but he’d been pretty quiet since he’d arrived in Hawkins.

It was eerily quiet, more than they were expecting. They’d come in thinking they’d be fighting off demobats and demodogs constantly, but so far they were met with nothing but falling ash and the occasional sound of a tree limb breaking.

“Are we sure he’s still here?” Steve finally asked.

“He’s here. I can feel him. He’s just being quiet, waiting,” Will answered. That was the most he’d said all day.

So they continued.

A gunshot went off.

Everyone froze.

Jonathan yelled to them that something was nearby.

“It can’t be him. He’s still too distant,” Will said as Joyce stood in front of him.

“Unless he’s messing with you,” Robin whispered. “He knows we’re on high alert, right? He knows we’re strong and we aren’t just gonna give up. He’s not gonna let himself be known until he’s certain he’s got us in our weakest spot.”

Will nodded. “I don’t think he has that much control over what I can feel, though.”

“He has a lot more control over all of you than you think,” a voice said from to their left.

All weapons were pointed towards it except for Steve’s, who would recognize that voice in any situation, no matter how insane.

“Eddie?” He pushed everyone out of the way and moved towards the voice.

“Wait!” Eddie said from the shadows, barely an outline visible in the darkness. “Don’t come closer yet.”

“Why not?” Steve felt Robin’s hand on his shoulder, comforting and holding him back at the same time.

“I’m not…Steve.” Something in his tone told Steve to actually listen to him, to not push.

“Can you at least let me know if you’re alright?” Steve was scared to actually believe this was Eddie.

Eddie was dead. His body was missing.

If this wasn’t actually Eddie, Steve wouldn’t handle it well. He’d do what he needs to make sure everyone gets out of here, but after that?

Who knows.

Eddie sounded like he was cursing under his breath, which felt like such an Eddie thing, Steve couldn’t help smiling a little.

Maybe the world would end today, maybe he’d die, maybe everyone would die. But right now, Steve felt Eddie’s presence, and that was something worth dying for.

“Okay, this is gonna sound like a trap.” Eddie cursed again. “But I don’t know if I can be trusted near anyone except Steve.”

“Yeah, hard pass,” Robin said as she tugged Steve back. He’d already put one foot forward like he was actually going to get closer. “If I can’t see you, you’re not getting any closer to him.”

“That’s what I thought you’d say,” Eddie sighed. “I just need you to not freak out if I come out there.”

“Why would we-” Steve started to ask as Eddie stepped out of the shadows.

It was still pretty dark, but it was easy enough to see the outline of him.

In many ways, he looked the same, still pale, still long dark curls, still wearing the clothes he’d died in. But there were things Steve noticed immediately.

His wounds seemed healed, which should be impossible. Well, he shouldn’t even be alive, but even still, there should be way more scars covering his face and neck. His eyes were nearly black, not the deep brown they’d been before the life left them in Steve’s arms. When he opened his mouth to speak, his teeth were pointed, sharp.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone. But I haven’t been around anyone since-” He gestured to himself. “And I’m not sure how much control I have.”

“What…are you?” Nancy asked from behind them.

“I wanna say vampire, but nothing is really that simple, so blood-thirsting creature who hasn’t had blood since he discovered he needed it.” Eddie flashed his teeth. “I’ve got no heartbeat, which is weird. And I can hear what Steve’s thinking.”

“What?” Steve asked, almost too shocked by seeing Eddie to actually process what he was saying.

“Your thoughts have been like, the only thing keeping me alive. No blood yet, remember?”

“How does that even work?” Joyce asked, hand on Steve’s arm. “Did you feel anything strange?”

“No,” Steve answered, not taking his eyes away from Eddie. “So you…you know?”

“Yeah, Stevie. I know,” Eddie took one step closer and paused, closing his eyes. “I don’t wanna get any closer to anyone. But I know for a fact that I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“You know how that sounds, right?” Will finally spoke up.

“Yeah, Will the Wise, I do. Which is why I won’t push. But I think something happened when Stevie here kissed me while I was bleeding out in his arms and I’m pretty sure that I would actually die if I hurt him,” Eddie said.

Everyone looked to Steve, who could no longer think of a single reason not to go to Eddie.

Robin seemed hesitant to let him go, but he smiled at her and said to trust him. They all had plenty of weapons if something went wrong.

He walked closer, his only thought being able to actually touch Eddie again, maybe kiss him when he wasn’t dying.

“I wouldn’t be opposed,” Eddie said quietly as Steve stopped right in front of him. He seemed taller, just a couple inches, but definitely noticeable. “Gotta watch the teeth though. They’re pretty sharp.”

“It’s really you,” Steve reached a hand out to cup his cheek. Eddie nuzzled against his palm. “You came back.”

“I’ll always crawl home to you, Stevie.”

“How did this happen?” He whispered, his hand dropping to Eddie’s chest. He really didn’t have a heartbeat. “How are you here?”

“I don’t really know. I woke up and got flashes of your thoughts, and then my own memory kicked in and all I could think about was getting back to you.” Eddie leaned forward until his forehead touched Steve’s. “It killed me to hear how much you were hurting and I couldn’t do anything.”

“Why couldn’t you come through the gate?” Steve asked, fingers curling into Eddie’s shirt. “Why didn’t you come to us when we came to get your body?”

“Every time I tried to leave, I would pass out. One of those times was when I could hear your thoughts about coming to get me and I wanted to meet you at the gate, but I blacked out somewhere by Skull Rock?” Eddie sighed. “I didn’t get to you in time.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Steve sobbed.

“Hey,” Eddie cupped his face and shook his head. “You didn’t know. This isn’t your fault. If anything, you’re the reason I’m even alive-ish to begin with.”

It was like everything around them disappeared when Steve leaned up to peck Eddie’s lips.

It was even quicker than the first time, barely even a graze. But they both felt the spark.

Steve fell against his chest, his face nuzzling into his neck as he let out another sob. “I needed you.”

“I know. I’m here now,” Eddie said.

Steve hadn’t realized how much it was true, how much he did need Eddie this whole time. The grief he’d felt was beyond what he should’ve felt, more than what even some of the people closest to Eddie had been showing. It didn’t make sense to him why he felt so much for this man he barely knew.

“It feels like I have your heartbeat in my chest,” Steve mumbled. It didn’t make any sense.

“Maybe you do, sweetheart,” Eddie kissed the side of his head. “Must’ve stolen it from me when you kissed me.”

Steve smiled against Eddie’s skin. “Maybe I did.”

“Um, not to break up…whatever this is,” Robin started. “But Will’s hearing things.”

Steve whimpered as Eddie pulled away.

“It’s okay,” Eddie said as he laced his fingers with Steve’s. “I’m right here with you.”

And it turned out, he was more help than anyone could’ve expected.

He wasn’t exactly connected to the hivemind, but he could sense Vecna. He was almost certain Vecna was the reason he passed out anytime he tried to leave.

Which Nancy had explained probably meant Vecna would need to be severely weakened or die before Eddie would be able to leave.

If Steve had to kill Vecna himself to have Eddie back, he would. He would do anything.

But since Eddie seemed connected to him, he could give them more warning than even Will could when something was going to happen.

That warning is probably what saved them and ultimately helped El get into Vecna’s mind to finish the job she started in March.

It was obvious almost immediately when she won, when they won.

Steve’s first response was to hug Robin, her tears and sweat and a little blood soaking into his shirt while he cried into her hair. He could distantly hear everyone else crying and yelling, cheers coming from the walkie that Joyce was holding.

Everyone was okay.

Robin patted his back and pulled away. “You better get to Eddie before he rips my face off.”

Steve’s brows furrowed as he looked over to Eddie. He’d distanced himself from everyone, and even though he was smiling about their victory, he looked incredibly uncomfortable.

“Hey,” Robin said, patting his cheek. “I’m happy for you. If he’s what you want, I’m glad you get to have him.”

“Thanks, Robs.”

Robin turned to pull Nancy into a hug and Steve made his way over to Eddie.

“We couldn’t have done it without you,” Steve started. “You made sure we got him before he could get us.”

Eddie’s wide eyes wouldn’t focus on him, darting from his face to his neck to behind him.

“Stevie, I-” He groaned. “I really need blood. Everyone smells so strong. I think Vecna was covering some of my hunger before.”

Steve paled. “Okay. Let’s just- okay.”

“Steve.”

“Bite me.”

“Steve!”

“No, seriously. You won’t hurt me. You can’t hurt me. And I barely even lost any blood today. Might as well let you have some.”

Eddie whined. “I-”

“Eds, look at me,” Steve guided his face towards him. “If you drink a little now, we can all leave here. You can come home. You can see Wayne. You can see the kids. You can stay with me if you want.”

Eddie nodded. “I just don’t wanna freak you out. I feel like you’re handling this too well.”

“Maybe,” Steve snorted. “But this is not even top three weirdest things to happen to me. I want you to feel like you have control again. You can be in control of your own body.”

“I don’t know what it will feel like for you. It may hurt,” Eddie said.

“It won’t hurt as much as knowing you’re suffering.”

“You would fall on a sword I’m holding if it meant I was happy, wouldn’t you?” Eddie asked, shaking his head. “How have you not died?”

“I almost have many times.” Steve cupped the back of Eddie’s head and pulled him in, tipping his head to the side so he had better access to his neck. “This won’t be one of them. You can’t hurt me.”

“Steve,” Eddie nipped at his neck. “You smell so good. I can’t-”

“Then don’t, baby. Drink.”

The moment Eddie’s teeth sunk into his skin, every surrounding noise and sight was gone from Steve’s mind. All he could think about was giving Eddie everything, whatever he needed was his.

He could feel Eddie moaning against his neck, but couldn’t quite hear it.

Eddie’s arms were around his waist, holding him up while he took the blood he needed.

Steve lost track of time, lost track of everything except the way Eddie’s lips felt against his pulse point. His tongue lapped up the blood leaking from where his mouth connected to his veins.

They both shivered.

Steve blacked out.

******

“If you killed him, I swear to god Munson, I will kill you.”

Robin’s voice was the first thing Steve became aware of.

And then he felt Eddie’s fingers on his wrist, probably checking his pulse.

“‘M not dead,” he managed to say.

He was definitely in a bed, though he couldn’t be sure if it was his own. He didn’t really want to open his eyes yet.

He turned his head a few inches and let out a small whimper at the sting in his neck.

“Can’t believe you tried to eat my babysitter,” Dustin’s voice said from somewhere across the room. “After he basically saved you by kissing you. I gotta call Suzie. There’s theories on a “sleeping beauty” kiss, but there’s no actual science to back it up. Yet.”

“Dustin, please shut up,” Steve groaned. “I’m fine.”

He finally opened his eyes to emphasize his point, shocked to see almost everyone surrounding the bed he was in.

“This wasn’t really an everyone needs to be here situation, was it? I just passed out.”

“Eddie was panicking. He thought he killed you,” Lucas provided.

“But he cannot. You are soulmates,” El said from a chair on the other side of the bed. She looked exhausted, but otherwise okay. “It is impossible for him to kill you.”

“Well that’s…nice.” Steve was feeling a bit exhausted himself. “How long was I passed out?”

“Long enough to get through the gate and get you back to your house. 30 minutes maybe?” Eddie said, pulling his hand up to kiss his fingers. “I was worried I took too much.”

“No,” Steve said, certain he hadn’t. “I think it was just overwhelming. It won’t happen next time.”

“Did I hurt you?” Eddie’s voice sounded broken and unsure, like he would crumble into pieces if Steve said yes.

“No. You didn’t hurt me. I promise. It felt…good,” Steve was hesitant to say more with so many ears listening in, especially young ones. “It was just a lot.”

Eddie watched him for a moment, determining if he was lying. But he could read his thoughts, knew he wasn’t, and eventually gave a nod and another kiss to his knuckles.

“Well, since we know he isn’t dead and probably won’t be anytime soon…we should go!” Robin said because she was a good friend who knew what Steve was thinking even without the mindreading superpowers.

“But we should monitor him and make sure nothing weird happens. We don’t know what Eddie’s got going on and-” Dustin started to argue.

“Yep, he’s fine.” Hopper started to nudge everyone out the door. “We have stuff to do anyway. Eddie can watch him. He’ll call if anything weird happens, right?”

“Right,” Eddie answered, not taking his eyes off of Steve.

As everyone filtered out of the room, Steve blinked back at Eddie, fond smile spreading across his face.

“You need any more?” Steve asked when the door closed.

“You’re joking,” Eddie laughed, but there was no amusement in it. “I could have actually killed you. I’d never drank before and you tasted so good, Steve. You have no idea how hard it was to stop. And then you passed out! I almost had them bring you to the hospital!”

“I’m fine! I passed out because it felt good.”

“Steve. No one passes out like that just because something felt good.”

“Well, it did! It felt kinda like having five orgasms at once. Except kinda different, too. Like I wasn’t quite over the edge?” Steve shook his head. “Either way, I’m okay and it felt good and if you need more, you can have more.”

“I don’t need more right now,” Eddie sighed. “But I know I will. We’ll figure out what to do to make sure you get enough vitamins so I can drink from you next time.”

“Mhm. Sounds good,” Steve closed his eyes and tugged Eddie’s hand to rest on his chest, where his heart was beating against his ribs. “Feels like you’re part of me.”

“Yeah. You feel it too?”

“El said we’re soulmates?” Steve opened his eyes again and found Eddie’s gazing back at him already.

“I don’t know, but there’s definitely a connection. A pretty strong one. I don’t think we can ignore it,” Eddie admitted, almost apologetic.

“I wouldn’t want to. I should’ve told you before how much I wanted to get to know you,” Steve felt tears in his eyes. “You didn’t deserve to only know after you were already dead.”

“I’m not dead. I’m here with you.”

“But I watched you die. I thought you were dead. I mourned you with the kids. Robin had to stay with me for a week straight because I could barely sleep, blamed myself for everything. You must have heard all of that.”

“I think I heard a lot of it. You tortured yourself. I wanted to come here and tell you I was okay so many times. I tried so many times,” Eddie kissed his forehead. “But I’m here now. You’re mine now. I’m yours. We can figure out what this means for us.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, sweetheart.”

“Will you get in bed with me?” Steve asked.

“To sleep?”

“Eventually,” Steve smirked. “Remember when I said I was still on the edge?”

Eddie snorted. “I’m not fucking you tonight. No way.”

“Why not?” Steve pouted.

“Because it should be special and because you’ve already been through enough today,” Eddie chuckled. “You can wait a day or two.”

“Can we at least make out a little?” Steve tried to compromise.

“Will you get some rest after?”

“If you make me tired enough.”

“I didn’t know I’d end up with Steve Harrington, The Brat.”

“You’re the one who pointed out I was a spoiled rich kid,” Steve argued, turning on his side so that Eddie could climb into bed next to him. “I’m used to getting what I want.”

Steve hadn’t felt this light in a long time, maybe even years.

Eddie must have sensed it, his beaming smile lighting up the room, his sharp teeth glistening in the low lamplight.

His lips crashed against Steve’s, his arms pulling Steve closer and then on top of him as he rolled onto his back.

Steve moaned into his mouth, licking past his lips and across his fangs.

He could almost still taste his own blood in Eddie’s mouth.

He rolled his hips forward, cock already straining against his pants. The friction was perfect, just enough to keep Steve on the edge, but not so much to make it seem like he was pushing.

He was pushing though. He wanted to see how far Eddie would go, how far they could get tonight even with the events of the day behind them and the exhaustion sinking in.

Eddie nipped at his lip, just enough to break skin, and Steve whimpered.

“Shit, sorry. Forgot how sharp these things are,” Eddie pulled away and thumbed away the blood.

“It’s good, I like it,” Steve gasped out. He pulled Eddie’s thumb to his mouth and sucked on it. “Bite me anywhere.”

“Sweetheart…”

“Please, I’ll be good. You don’t have to drink. Just…bite me.”

Eddie held him still for a minute, his eyes searching his face.

“I have an idea.”

Steve nodded. “Anything.”

“Ever fingered yourself?” Eddie asked casually.

“Um, kind of? I mean I have, but I got frustrated with the angle pretty quick.” Steve suddenly caught up to what Eddie was suggesting. “Are you gonna finger me?”

“If you have lube.”

Steve sat up, nearly falling back over from a head rush. Once he managed to stay upright, he reached over into his bedside table and moved a couple things over to get the lube.

He handed it to Eddie and started to get off of him, but Eddie’s hands grabbed his hips and stilled him.

“Nope, like this. I want you to ride my fingers,” Eddie smirked. “You can find what feels good like this. Use me to get off.”

“Is that what your idea was?” Steve gulped. He’d never done anything like this before and wasn’t sure he’d do it right.

“No, but it’ll make my idea more fun,” Eddie squeezed his hips. “But we can stop anytime, okay? Even if it’s just because you’re too tired.”

“I’m not.”

“Love, you defeated an alternate dimension and its super evil guy today. Plus, I drained you of a pint or two of blood. You can be tired,” Eddie opened the cap of the lube. “You wanna get undressed?”

Steve rushed to pull his shirt off, and quickly stood up to remove everything else. Eddie tried not to laugh at his eagerness; It was honestly pretty endearing.

Once he was naked, he got back on Eddie’s lap. “Are you gonna get undressed?”

“Not right now. This is all about you, sweetheart.”

Steve’s blush went down to his chest, and Eddie was ready to proclaim his love to anyone who would hear it. He didn’t care how ridiculous it was; He loved Steve and his beautiful red glow.

He hadn’t mentioned it to him yet, but Eddie could hear the blood rushing in his veins, could hear his heart pounding even from across the room. He could almost feel every breath in his own lungs.

He spread the lube across his fingers as he helped Steve scoot up enough to make this easier for both of them.

Steve’s breath hitched as he circled his hole, and Eddie heat rushing to the places his fingers brushed against.

He pushed a finger in slowly, slow enough that it felt like Steve’s entrance was making his finger a part of him. Steve let out a long, low moan as he pushed himself down further, until Eddie’s knuckle was resting against him.

“You were made for me, weren’t you?” Eddie said in awe. He’d done this plenty, but never like this, and never with someone who wanted him this badly. “Taking me like you’re starving for it.”

“Am starving for it. Need you,” Steve moved his hips forward and back, barely riding Eddie’s finger.

Eddie pulled his finger out and replaced it with two, trying to take it slow, but Steve wouldn’t let him.

“Oh fuck,” Steve whined when Eddie crooked both his fingers inside him, brushing against his prostate repeatedly as Steve’s hips started moving again.

His cock was leaking, dripping precome down his length and onto Eddie’s stomach. He couldn’t wait to have a taste of it later. Soon, if the way Steve’s heart kept skipping a beat was any indication.

“You want another?” Eddie asked him, somehow feeling breathless despite the fact he may or may not even need to breathe.

“Please,” Steve begged. “Need to be full.”

“You want me to fill you up?” Eddie stretched him open around three fingers, going a bit slower this time when Steve tightened around him. “How much can you take? Think you can do four fingers? Think you can have my whole cock in there next to a couple fingers?”

Steve nodded, though Eddie was pretty sure he had no idea he was doing it. He wasn’t picking up any actual thoughts from him right now, which was definitely good for his ego, but a little concerning.

“Hey,” Eddie paused with his fingers inside him, his free hand against Steve’s chest. “Let me see those pretty eyes.”

Steve blinked his eyes open and Eddie was gifted with a few random thoughts about how nice his fingers felt and how much he wanted to come.

“You wanna come on my fingers?” Eddie asked.

“Mhm.”

Eddie thrust his fingers in and out a few more times before tugging Steve down.

The new angle caused him to nearly scream, Eddie’s fingers putting constant pressure against his prostate as his cock got trapped between them.

“Gonna test something. Can I bite you?” Eddie whispered against his ear.

“Fuck, yes,” Steve agreed, tilting his head to the side like the good boy he was.

Eddie stilled his fingers, but kept them as deep inside Steve as he could. He leaned forward and breathed in the scent of Steve, his sweat, the lingering smell of his body wash from his last shower barely clinging to his skin, his blood.

His teeth found their mark and he bit down, groaning as he broke the skin and tasted the first drop of blood on his tongue.

He didn’t suck, didn’t need to. He lapped at the droplets of blood as he felt Steve tense, let out a high-pitched whimper, and warmth coat both their stomachs and chests.

He pulled off immediately, pulled his fingers out so he could wipe them off on the sheets.

“Fuck, sweetheart, that was perfect. You were perfect for me,” Eddie kissed his neck, his shoulder, the side of his head. “Can’t believe I get to do that.”

“Mmm…again?” Steve’s raspy voice breathed out against his shoulder.

Eddie laughed. “Not tonight, beautiful boy. I need you to rest. You did so good.”

“Mhm. You too.”

Eddie laughed again. How did this become his life? Or death? Undeath? Whatever.

He didn’t have the heart to move Steve, but he knew they’d end up literally stuck together with dried cum if he didn’t at least wipe them down. He managed to lift Steve enough to wipe them off with the sheet, but it wasn’t perfect and they’d definitely need to shower as soon as they woke up.

Eddie had changed as soon as he got to Steve’s house at everyone’s insistence, but he had yet to shower, and he was pretty certain the only reason he didn’t smell worse was because he technically wasn’t alive to produce any body odor.

He turned his head to look into the bathroom.

Steve had a huge bathtub. They could share in the morning.

For now, Eddie ran his fingers up and down Steve’s back as he fell asleep on top of him.

“Thanks for kissing me, sweetheart,” he whispered before closing his eyes and letting out any of the tension he’d been holding onto.

Tomorrow, they’d find a way to explain his presence to Wayne, and he’d really be back home.

But tonight, he’d let the weight of Steve and his love cover him up.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddiesongfics #work song #check ao3 for full tags #vampire eddie munson #blood drinking #soulmates #canon temporary character death #canon typical violence

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