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targaryenrealnessdarling · 5 months ago

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A Duet of Fire and Fate

Part Three | Series Masterlist

Summary: tensions between Aemond and the pianist reach boiling point | Word Count: 4.6k~ | Warnings: smut, semi-public sex, forced proximity, mummy issues

There was a sense of unease about being awake at this time. An early riser, Aemond was, but even this was pushing it for him as he sat on the creaky bus, having to listen to the way plastic and metal jolted his bones with every little divot in the road, only amplifying the disquiet that was equally happening inside his head.

Glancing at his watch, the gold hands mocked him once more. 5:49 in the morning.

That morning, Alys had made her stance painfully clear: their encounters had to end. She seemed to realise that their relationship had become merely a means to an end, a way for him to escape his pressures. The implication that she felt used weighed heavily on Aemond, even though she framed her decision in practical terms.

"You need to focus on your music, not me," she had said, her voice firm, leaving no room for argument. It was a logical decision, one that should make perfect sense to a disciplined musician like him. Yet, as he turned her words over in his mind, they struck a dissonant chord.

The thought of facing Otto's incessant messages about organising a meticulous solo practice session, only to nitpick at his every perceived flaw, was unbearable. So, Aemond sought refuge in the numbing scroll of social media, anything to ward off the encroaching silence of the apartment.

As his thumb flicked mechanically across the screen, a thought struck him, a reckless impulse that had been lurking in the back of his mind. He paused, his heart rate ticking upward with the audacity of what he was about to do. Swiping out of the mundane updates and into the search bar, he typed her name, the pianist who had so effortlessly invaded his thoughts and challenged his perspectives.

Her profile wasn’t hard to find, her public persona was as vibrant and engaging as her performances. There she was, in photos and tagged videos, her presence as dynamic online as it was in person. Each post, each snippet of her life and art, pulled him in deeper, her world unfolding before him through the glow of his phone screen.

The more he watched, the more he realised how much she had begun to permeate his thoughts, challenging not just his musical ideals but the very way he viewed his art. It wasn’t just professional curiosity, it was something more, something deeper. A connection he hadn’t anticipated, one he wasn’t sure he wanted, but also one he couldn’t seem to deny.

He thought perhaps a nice, hot shower would clear his thoughts with heavy ribbons of steam, near-scalding his pale skin as droplets of water slid off his body. His hair clung to his neck, falling in strips around his face as he stared at his reflection on the drain cover. Sometimes he could not bear to even look at himself.

But even with his eyelids pressed tightly shut, he did not know peace.

He was sixteen again, standing on the stage of a packed auditorium. The applause had faded, and he was left alone with Otto, whose presence loomed larger than the praise had ever felt. Otto's face was stern, his eyes dissecting not just the performance, but Aemond himself. "That was adequate, Aemond, but only just," Otto had said, his voice cold and precise. "Your bowing was sloppy in the second movement. You must control every motion, every emotion." Aemond's hands had trembled with a mix of exertion and suppressed anger. He had poured his heart into that performance, felt every note resonate within him, but Otto saw only flaws. "Control, always control," Aemond muttered under his breath, his grip tightening on the neck of his cello. Otto had caught the muttered defiance. "What was that?" he snapped, stepping closer. "If you have something to say, speak clearly, boy." "Nothing," Aemond replied, his voice low, but inside, a storm was brewing. Otto’s relentless criticism after every performance, his inability to see anything but the mistakes, Aemond felt like a vessel about to burst. That night, back at the music academy, in the solitude of the practice room, Aemond stared at his cello. The beautiful instrument, which had always been his voice, now felt like a chain. In a moment of blinding rage, a desire to break free from Otto’s relentless grip, he did the unthinkable. With a shout that echoed through the empty room, Aemond lifted his cello and smashed it against the floor. Wood splintered, strings snapped, a harsh, discordant noise that was the antithesis of everything he had been taught to produce. The destruction was quick, but the silence that followed was heavy, filled with the weight of what he had done. But didn’t regret it one bit.

Aemond opened his eyes, the memory leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He had eventually replaced the cello, and Otto had never mentioned the incident, assuming it had been an accident. But something inside Aemond had changed that day. The act of destruction, though regrettable, had been his first real rebellion, his first step toward finding his own voice amidst the oppressive expectations placed upon him.

Now, years later, as he considered reaching out to the pianist, he realised he was standing at another crossroads. Would he continue to conform to the stringent demands of his classical training, or would he dare to explore the emotional depth that she so effortlessly embodied in her music?

Stood there, beneath the stream of water that had now ran cold, Aemond felt the old, familiar stirrings of rebellion. This time, however, it wasn't about destruction but about discovery. Maybe, just maybe, it was time to smash through the invisible barriers he had erected around his music and his heart.

The loud chattering and messy runs of various instruments made it difficult to concentrate. She found herself blinking hard and tiredly, willing the exhaustion away. Lyonel Strong had yet to arrive to conduct today's practice, and so everyone had taken it as an excuse to not practise at all.

"Can you believe this?" Jason called out from across the room, his voice tinged with annoyance. He was leaning against the wall, his violin hanging loosely in his hand. "Lyonel's late again. We could have started at least half an hour ago."

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I know, Jason. But complaining isn't going to make him appear any faster."

Maris, with her fiery red hair and a perpetual scowl, was plucking at her strings, each note more discordant than the last. "It's not just Lyonel," she snapped. "Half of you can't even play your parts right. Couldn't organise a piss up in a brewery.”

The others chimed in, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of complaints and criticisms. Jason and Maris continued to bicker, their frustration with each other and the situation palpable. She tried to mediate, her soft voice lost in the din, while others muttered under their breath or joined in the argument.

The pianist tuned out the noise, focusing instead on marking her music sheets. She meticulously made notes, adding small annotations to help guide her through the piece. The process was calming, a small island of order in the midst of the chaos around her. She could hear snippets of the ongoing argument, but she chose to ignore them, her mind drifting.

Their band was a far cry from Aemond's. His ensemble operated with a precision and unity that seemed almost unattainable for her group. Every member of his band knew their role, their place, and they worked together seamlessly. In contrast, her band felt like a collection of individuals, each with their own agenda, their own frustrations.

When Lyonel eventually decided to join them, having had his fill of several espressos, their practice could finally begin. The tension lingered, a constant reminder of the disunity that plagued them. As she played, her thoughts drifted to the upcoming competition, the inevitable clash with Aemond's band. She knew they needed to be better, to be more cohesive, if they were going to stand a chance.

"Can I have a word?" Lyonel asked authoritatively as she was packing her things away with practised efficiency. The room had cleared, others wanting to escape the confining claws of his teachings.

She nodded, trying to mask the fatigue she felt. "Of course."

Lyonel glanced around the now-empty room before speaking. "I wanted to talk to you about your solo performance."

She had known for a while that she would have a solo, but the way he said it now made her stomach twist with unease. "Yes, sir?"

Lyonel studied her for a moment longer, then sighed, his stern demeanour slipping. "Look, I know our chemistry as a band isn't perfect," he admitted, his voice softer. "But that’s exactly why we need you to shine. Your solo can elevate the entire performance. It can make up for the lack of cohesion."

She bit her lip, feeling a mix of frustration and resignation. "I understand the importance of my solo, but wouldn’t it be better if we worked on our chemistry as a band? If we played better together, maybe the pressure wouldn’t have to fall entirely on one person."

Lyonel’s expression hardened again, though not unkindly. "I know it’s not fair. But with the time we have left, we need to play to our strengths. And right now, you are our strength."

She wished he would address the root issue instead of putting all the pressure on her, but she knew better than to argue further. "I'll do my best," she said finally.

Lyonel placed a hand on her shoulder, a rare gesture of support. "I know you will. Just remember, it’s not just about you out there. It’s about all of us. We’re counting on you."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She stood there for a moment, letting his words sink in. The pressure was immense, but so was the opportunity.

“Music is in your blood, my dear.”

Memories of her family surfaced unbidden. Her father, a renowned classical musician, had always been a looming figure in her life. His talent and success were legendary, casting a long shadow over her own musical ambitions. Yet, despite his fame, he had left her mother for another woman within the same industry when she was still a child. The betrayal had torn their family apart.

Her mother, once supportive of her daughter's musical pursuits, had become bitter and resentful. The very sight of a piano seemed to deepen the rift between them. "You'll end up just like him," her mother would say, the words dripping with disdain. "Consumed by music and blind to everything else.”

Their relationship had deteriorated to the point where they barely spoke. Communication was limited to snotty texts, her mother’s disapproval seeping through every word. Her mother couldn't understand why she wanted to follow the same path that had destroyed their family.

On the other hand, her father would occasionally reach out, but his messages were infrequent and perfunctory. His busy schedule left little room for meaningful connection. When he did find time to call, his conversations were often laced with criticism.

She often found herself caught between two worlds, one that resented her passion and another that demanded perfection. She longed for approval, for a sense of belonging that seemed always just out of reach.

Her fingers hurt but she didn't care. She stood on stage, feeling like a million dollars, soaking in applause that rang in her ears, the first place medal cool against her chest. But as her eyes scanned the crowd, searching desperately for a familiar face, for her mother, she felt her stomach sink. Her heart pounded harder than it had during her performance, but for all the wrong reasons. The rush of victory, the adrenaline that should have been pumping through her veins, was rapidly replaced by a hollow feeling. She stepped off the stage, clinging to the hope that maybe her mother had just been late or stuck in traffic. Maybe she’d be waiting outside, apologising for missing the performance, but there nonetheless. She checked her phone, scrolling through her contacts until her mother’s name flashed on the screen. Her hands shook as she dialled. It rang. Once. Twice. Three times. Voicemail. The third call, the fifth, the eighth, it all blurred together as she wiped at her eyes. By the tenth attempt, her hands were trembling, and the high of winning was a distant memory. She dialled again, fighting back tears that threatened to spill over. When the voicemail beeped once more, she paused, then finally spoke, her voice breaking. "I won, Mum…” She stared at her phone for a long moment before slipping it back into her bag. The title, the first-place medal, they felt like nothing now.

Packing up her sheet music, she made her way towards the practice rooms, and as if on cue, a text buzzed in her pocket. With a sigh, she opened the message from her mother, bracing herself for the usual criticism.

Your father mentioned you have a competition coming up.

She rolled her eyes. As if her mother had expected her to bite when that is the bait.

No ‘how are you’ or ‘how is music school’. No. It was always about how she had to not follow the same path as her father and not let music consume her like it had him.

Whenever her thoughts drifted to him, she found herself sinking into confusion. However distant he was, she still craved his approval. Longing for him to say he was proud of her. Just once.

She slipped through the doors with the hotheaded mindset that she would do better. Determined. But she halted when she heard the familiar whine of a delicate instrument she had come to know so well. If her shoes hadn’t squealed against the varnished, wooden floor, she wouldn’t have disturbed him from his practice. But like an animal primed for distractions, Aemond’s head whipped up from his cello, his expression hardening once he saw her.

“I have this room booked.”

She narrowed her eyes, her jaw tightening. "Funny, because I do too."

Aemond's lips pressed into a thin line, his annoyance palpable. "You must have made a mistake."

She shook her head, stepping further into the room. "No mistake. Maybe you're the one who needs to check the schedule.”

She slipped her bag off her shoulder, searching it with her back turned to him. Her hands shook with frustration, the build-up of the day lingering with fire in her blood. She froze when she stared at her blue tinted screen, seeing that somehow…

Double booked.

“You're not going to leave, are you,” Aemond muttered annoyed.

She turned to face him, an eyebrow raised. “Why should I? I have as much right to be here as you do.”

Aemond smirked, leaning casually against his cello. “Is that how you justify it? Riding on the coattails of your daddy’s fame?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

“You know,” he continued, his voice dripping with condescension, “the big famous musician embroiled in scandal. Must be tough living in that shadow.”

Her jaw clenched. “You don’t know anything about my family.”

“Oh, but I do,” he said, setting aside his instrument to taking a step closer. “Everyone does. It’s quite the story, isn’t it? Daddy leaves Mummy for someone else in the industry. Must be quite the inspiration for your music. I knew I'd seen your surname around somewhere. Turns out it was the tabloids.”

Her hands tightened, her nostrils flaring with irritation.

“Aw, sore spot?” he taunted, enjoying the way her eyes flashed with anger.

She took a deep breath, trying to keep her composure. “You think you’re so much better than everyone else, don’t you?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Maybe I am.”

“That arrogance is going to be your downfall one day,” she shot back.

“And your baggage is going to be yours,” he replied smoothly.

Without warning, she stepped closer, their faces inches apart. “You want to talk about family baggage? Let’s talk about yours.”

Aemond’s eyes darkened. The smile, victoriously wiped from his face. “Careful.”

“Why? Can’t handle it?” she challenged. “Maybe you throw accusations of daddy issues because you have them yourself—”

“Watch it.”

“Or what? You’ll keep me from practising? You’ll sabotage me?” she retorted, stepping closer. “You're a fucking coward—”

The door to the practice room opened abruptly, and the sound of footsteps interrupted their heated exchange. Without thinking, Aemond grabbed her arm and pulled her into the storage room, shutting the door quietly behind them. They stood in the cramped space, their breaths mingling in the darkness.

The footsteps in the practice room slowed, followed by the unmistakable murmur of voices. Aemond stiffened, his body going rigid against hers, and for a split second, all he could smell was her perfume and feel the rapid fluttering of her heart against his chest. The weight of the voices hit him hard, and he recognised them immediately.

Otto.

And Lyonel.

His heart pounded harder now, not only from the closeness of her body, but of the two men outside the door.

Otto's voice carried through the thin walls. “I trust you’ve got a firm hand on your group.”

Lyonel made a noise of agreement, but there was a subtle edge to his tone. “They're a bit disjointed, but not as much as I hear yours are.”

Aemond’s jaw clenched. Neither of them dared to breathe too loudly, straining to hear the conversation outside, but the pressure between them, physical and emotional, was unbearable.

“That is none of your business,” Otto's voice was guarded. Icy.

Aemond’s breath hitched, and she felt the sharp intake of air against her ear, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. His hand slid to brace himself against the wall beside her, his body pressing more firmly against hers not out of seeking comfort, but simply because he had no choice.

“Hmm, your grandson I hear is a bit of a wild card.”

“He’s difficult, but I’ve trained him for this. He just needs focus.”

The footsteps shifted, and for a moment it seemed like they were heading toward the door of the storage room. Her mouth opened but Aemond’s hand shot up, covering her mouth as he leaned in even closer. His eyes widened in silent warning.

Her pulse quickened.

"Your grandson is a good player," Lyonel said, a hint of frustration in his tone. "But from what I've seen, he’s too rigid. No room for improvisation. He might fall apart when things get unpredictable."

Aemond’s teeth clenched, his hand now gripping the edge of the shelf beside her. She could feel the tension vibrating off him, and she fought the urge to push him back and say something. But they couldn’t risk being heard.

“That’s why you’re counting on her, aren’t you?” Otto’s voice was quieter now, almost conspiratorial. “Your pianist, what’s her name again? She’s your only shot at taking the solo.”

Lyonel chuckled softly. “She’s going to win it for us. I have no doubt about that.”

The footsteps began to fade, the two continuing to speak about where the final performance would be held, and she heard the distant click of the door closing. Aemond finally released her, but the tension between them was far from gone. The room seemed smaller, the air heavier with the weight of everything unsaid.

She pushed against his chest suddenly, a sharp shove that didn’t budge him an inch. “What the fuck was that for–”

I am no fucking coward.

“Just stop fucking talking," he growled, cutting her off with a kiss that was as furious as it was desperate.

She felt the hardness of the wall behind her as Aemond shoved her against it, grounding her as he deepened the kiss, exploring with an urgency that made her breath hitch. Coupled with that was the hardness that pressed against her stomach. It was a fight in that of itself, the clashing of their lips and teeth only intensifying what was already a fiery dynamic.

There was something exhilarating about it. And as her fingers weaved into his hair, pulling him closer, no matter how small the gesture, it solidified the simple fact that he needed this. She was intensity personified. And he was drawn to it like a moth to a flame, in his personal and in his musical life, combined in one dangerous cocktail that was her. It wasn’t only lust, it was an addiction to the thrill of the chase, the danger that came with being so close to her. His rival, his obsession.

He trailed kisses down her neck, feeling the pulse of her heartbeat beneath his lips as she arched up against him in silent encouragement. But he was the one who pulled her legs around him, rucking her black skirt up to her hips and ripping ladders into her tights as he shoved them down her legs, his movements frantic and needy, as if he were a man starved of water. She was soft and yielding beneath him, yet there was a strength in her grip that intrigued him still.

Clothes. Fucking clothes.

He perhaps thought that if he tried to mould himself to her. If he could just be inside her for a moment, would he be able to understand her? To absorb her.

The urgency of their actions felt reckless, yet a part of him revelled in it. It was the kind of intimacy he craved, the kind that made him forget everything else.

She gasped against his mouth as if completely not expecting the blunt head of his cock against her, his fingers having wrenched the gusset of her underwear aside to press against her bare skin. And she felt heat rise to her cheeks when she glanced down between them, watching the way his length glistened as he teased himself against her slit. The spontaneity of the moment meant that while she was not completely wet, it was embarrassing that she was at all.

She dare not look him in the face. He was doing this to prove he knew what he did to her. To let her sit in this feeling of resentment for responding to it.

And yet she would not admit how it stole her breath away when he firmly pressed into her. There was something exciting about the feeling of being partly unprepared. Her ego somewhat inflated that he simply couldn't wait a moment more. But the sting of it as he slid to the hilt reminding her that she would most certainly be sore the next morning.

He wanted her to feel it.

But equally, she wanted him to want it. And the breathy whimper he gave when he pulled back to push his hips back against her, made her think that he absolutely did.

And he didn't wait. His movements became frantic, each thrust igniting a fire deep within. Her breath hitched, and he felt a flicker of satisfaction at how easily he could provoke such a response from her. There were no words. If there were, they would have carried the same fire that had simmered for days, weeks.

Had it only taken weeks for him to crave her.

Her nails dug into his back, grounding him. And so his grip tightened around her thighs as he drove into her, as if holding on to her could tether him to something solid, something real. He could feel the tension in her muscles, the sharp gasps escaping her lips, the way she arched into him. And he knew, he knew this wasn’t just him.

They were both lost in it, both fighting against and succumbing to whatever this was. He wanted to hate her, to despise her for how easily she got under his skin, but in this moment, all he could feel was her, the way she wrapped around him, the way she pulled him deeper.

She wasn’t supposed to mean anything to him, just another obstacle, another rival to conquer. But her taste was on his tongue, her scent filled his lungs, and her body felt like the answer to a question he’d been too afraid to ask.

He raised his gaze from where they were joined, plunging into her with abandon, less about pleasure and now more about the release.

Aemond's grip shifted, his hand trailing up her neck, his fingers curling gently around her throat. Not in a way that threatened, but in a way that demanded attention.

“Look at me.”

She hesitated for a beat, then her eyes flickered up, locking with his. A flush spreading over her cheeks, a soft pink bloom that travelled down her neck. His gaze was relentless, searching her expression.

Look at me.

He could see it now, the way her composure was slipping, the way she was coming undone beneath him. That small, vulnerable break in her guarded facade was everything, and it only drove him deeper into the need to witness her fall apart, to be the one who made her unravel.

Aemond felt the shift in her body first, the subtle tremor that ran through her as she neared the edge. Her head tipped back against the wall, her eyes fluttering shut as she finally surrendered to the intensity between them. He felt her body tense and then shudder as she came apart beneath him, the quiet, breathless moan escaping her lips like music. Soft, involuntary, raw.

It wasn't the feeling of her trembling around him, more the sight. He couldn't hold back any longer. His grip tightened around her hips as he followed her over the edge, his body trembling with the force of his release. His forehead dropped to her shoulder, his breaths ragged, the tension that had been coiled inside him snapping with a fierce, undeniable rush.

After, they stood still, bodies pressed together, the lingering heat between them slowly dissipating. For a brief moment, as he felt her skin warm under his hands, there was a flicker of vulnerability. But as quickly as it came, it was drowned out by something darker. Regret. A sharp, suffocating regret that sank deep into his chest.

He had given her power. Ammunition. She could use this, twist it, turn it against him. The walls he had carefully built around himself felt as if they had cracked in her presence, and that thought made him recoil internally.

She let out a quiet breath as he pulled away, feeling the loss of him instantly, followed rapidly by the warmth dribbling down her thigh. His hands worked swiftly to do up his belt, his movements mechanical and detached. He couldn’t look at her. Couldn't let her see the conflict etched across his face.

If he had looked. He'd be more irritated by what he saw.

She stood there, half-naked and breathless, the flush of their shared moment still on her skin. He didn’t stop to think about how she might feel, the confusion, the embarrassment, the sense of being used. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t let it matter.

She was never going to see that side of him again.

Without so much as a glance back, Aemond turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving her alone in the suffocating quiet, half-naked and stunned.

Aemond snatched up his cello as he left.

Leaving her behind, vulnerable and half-dressed, he had merely traded one form of destruction for another. But he’d rather face the self-imposed torture of his strings than the unpredictable vulnerability of human connection.

Swapping one prison for another, the cello felt safer. At least this was a pain he knew how to manage.

General Taglist: @1lluminaticonfirmed @aemondsfavouritebastard @all-for-aemond @bellstwd @blackswxnn

@blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @cl-0-vr @eddieslut69

@emmaisafictionwhore @eponaartemisa @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @justbelljust

@minholy223 @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @nixiefics

@primonizzutto @qyburnsghost @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @sheshellsseashells

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hippiegoth97 · 2 months ago

Text

Into the Fire: An Eddie Munson x Reader Story Pt. 43

Collage by me :)

Master List

Part 42

Tag List: @keikoraven @ar-jupiter @alcielo1438 @cairro-xx @stolen-in-moonlight

@micheledawn1975 @janiejenn @rafescvntyclubgf @melodymunson @spacedoutdaydreamer

@veemoon @sariahs-stuff @feral-pumpkin-energy @comeonatmebruh @munsoneightysixx

@morgthemagpie @josephquinnsfreckles @jenniquinn @songbirdmunson @cometzombie

@spookybabey @daggerdaggerkitten @nina6708 @sanctumdemunson @yourdailymemedelivery

@person-005 @slowandsteddie @gri959 @elegantkoalapaper @letitgoandletlive

@loserboysandlithium @costellation-hunter @leelei1980 @h-ness1944 @pretendthisnameisclever

@ohmeg @stalactitekilla @hellfirenacht @birdysaturne @oneforthemunny

@prettyboyeddiemunson @eddievanmunson @msgexymunson @rattkween86 @violetpixiedust

@bimbobaggins69 @angel-munson @eldermayfield @munsonsbtch @bimbogorewhore

@mediocredreams @bloodibambiidoll @taintedcigs @ali-r3n @emxxblog @losingmygrasponreality

Content Warning 18+ Only, Minors DNI: swearing, light anxiety, smoking, crying, mentions of dead parents, anger, fluff

Word Count: 6.6k

divider by @strangergraphics

Part 43: Celebration

Friday, June 8th, 1990

You stand in front of your bedroom mirror, inspecting yourself as you smooth down the front of your black graduation gown. Your hair is straightened, the ends sitting right at your shoulders. You've applied subtle makeup to your face, rosy pink lipstick on your pout. You take a deep breath, reaching for your cap that's resting on the dresser. You look it over for a moment, namely the tassel with a 'Class of 1990' charm laced onto it. You smile to yourself, before bringing the cap to your head. You slip it on, straightening it out while trying to avoid messing up your hair. Today is the day. After four long years of working your ass off, you're finally graduating from college.

"You ready, sweetheart? We're gonna be late." Eddie calls to you from the living room, currently dangling feathers on a string in front of Arwen while she tries to jump up and catch them.

"Yeah. Coming." You call back, giving yourself a final once-over. Your reflection smiles back at you, all dressed up and ready to go. You feel ready, too. To transition from a dutiful, diligent student, into an educated adult. You take another deep breath, calming your nerves before leaving the room. You walk down the hall to meet Eddie, finding him playing with the cat. He hears your heels clicking on the floor, looking up at you. His mouth cracks into a wide smile, immediately abandoning the cat to get to you.

"Well, hot damn! Look at you, bookworm!" He exclaims, making you giggle as he takes your hands in his. "I'm so proud of you, Y/N. You've worked hard for this." Eddie continues, absolutely beaming with joy at your achievement. "You ready?" He asks you again, noticing your hands shaking in his grasp.

"Yeah. I am." You answer assuredly, nodding your head. Your tassel sways at the movement.

"Good." He says, giving you a rewarding peck. "We'd better get going." He pulls away, picking up your purse to hand it to you.

"Shit, I need my speech." You say abruptly, about to dash back down the hall for it. But Eddie stops you.

"I already put it in your bag, angel. I knew you'd be worried about losin' it." He chuckles, putting you at ease.

"Thanks, Eds." You sigh in relief, peeking inside the purse just to make sure. The little note cards are safely tucked inside, in between your wallet and compact mirror. "Okay. Let's go!" You chirp, ready to get this show on the road.

You've been awarded the coveted opportunity to give the commencement speech at the ceremony, as you're graduating with highest honors. Everyone you know is coming, sure to take up a good chunk of seats in the auditorium to cheer you on. Later, there's to be a rehearsal dinner hosted at Applebee's in preparation for yours and Eddie's nuptials in two days. What can you say? Neither of you want to wait a second longer than necessary to get hitched. You promised your mother that you'd hold off until you at least finish school, but she never specified exactly how long to wait after you get that diploma. But, there's been no complaints about it from her, or anyone else. It's a special day that belongs to you and Eddie, so no one else truly has any say over it.

You drive to the college in the Datsun, having to speed a little to make it on time. You barely take a moment to give Eddie a kiss good-bye once you park, zooming off towards the auditorium to get backstage and in place. You rehearsed for the ceremony last week with the Dean, and a few other students who'll lead each section in alphabetical order to walk across the stage. The Dean greets you as you enter the wings of the auditorium, hurriedly leading you to the spot where you'll wait for her to announce you to the audience. You put your purse somewhere safe, taking the note cards out and shuffling them around to make sure they're all in order. Your hands shake, nearly dropping them all onto the floor. Keep it together, you've got this. You reassure yourself, swallowing thickly. You can hear the cacophony of voices on the other side of the heavy velvet curtains, hundreds of overlapping voices anxiously waiting for the ceremony to begin. You try not to remind yourself of just how many people can fit in all those seats, but your brain has other ideas. You're worried that you're going to choke out there, or worse yet, lose your lunch all over the podium.

"Hey, Y/N! You excited?" Jamie approaches you from his spot in line, checking up on you. He's noticed you poring over your speech whenever you've had downtime at work these last couple weeks.

"If by excited, you mean nauseous, then sure. I'm stoked." You reply queasily. You swear you can feel your face turning a sickly shade of green.

"Oh, don't say that. You're gonna do great! If there's anyone I know who can do this, it's you. Besides, you're the smartest girl in our class." He tries to put you at ease, taking your clammy hand in his. "Relax, Y/N. You could go out there and tell a bunch of knock-knock jokes, and still end up sounding like a genius." Jamie chuckles, drawing a light laugh from you as well. His words coax your stomach acid back where it belongs, heart no longer racing, breathing steadying once more.

"You're right. I'm overthinking things." You give him a smile as a wave of relief washes over you. All you needed was a familiar face in this crowd of students waiting in the wings to set you straight. You wish Eddie could've been the one to deliver these last-minute words of encouragement, but he's stuck in the audience at the moment. Fuck it. As long as it comes from someone you trust, it'll get the job done.

"Alright, places, everyone!" Dean Edwards addresses you all, clapping her hands together. She's looking very nice this afternoon, dressed in a red power suit with matching sensible shoes and flawlessly set curls. "Now, Y/N, I'll announce you after I welcome everybody and thank them for coming. Then, you'll give your speech." She recites the plan one last time for everybody, ensuring no one forgets at the last second. "Then, you'll find your place in line, and we'll start calling names. Now, remember to smile, everyone! And no rude gestures, no immature stunts! We're here to celebrate all your hard work, and we don't need any funny business today. Got it?" She asks, awaiting a resounding 'yes, ma'am'. The student body agrees to her terms, ready to get this shit moving already. "Good. Here we go, the beginning of the rest of your lives." She smiles with pride, signaling to the volunteers behind the scenes to open up the curtains. The heavy sheets of red part ways, pulling along to opposite sides of the stage. Edwards makes her way to the podium, heels clicking on the floor as she walks. She clears her throat, leaning into the mic to speak.

"Good afternoon, and welcome to the graduation ceremony of Hawkins Community College Class of 1990." A round of applause breaks out in the crowd, and the Dean waits a moment for it to die down. "I think I speak for everyone when I say that we're all very proud to be here today. Families, friends, faculty, underclassmen, and graduates. We've all gathered here to see another accomplished batch of young people see their way out of our halls, and into the wonderful world of adulthood." She pauses to make room for another round of whoops and cheers. "One student in particular has far exceeded this university's expectations, setting a historical record of a consistent, spotless grade point average for her entire four-year career at this school. The first to do so at this university, as well as any other university in the state of Indiana. Without further ado, I'd like to welcome to the stage, graduating with highest honors, Ms. Y/N Henderson!" Edwards steps aside now, clapping her hands for you, as does the entire auditorium.

You walk out onto the stage, head held high as you make your way to the podium. You smile wide, finding your personal cheerleaders in the crowd. Mom, Dustin, Wayne, Ian and James, the Sinclair's, the Wheeler's, Steve, Chrissy with JJ in her lap, Robin, the Hopper/Byers Clan, Angie and her kids, the members of Corroded Coffin, everybody from the Hawk, even Dotty and her husband. And most importantly, Eddie, the love of your life. All sat in the rows of seats, cheering you on. Your heart swells at finding them all sitting there, here to see you on one of your proudest days. You never thought in a million years that you'd have so many people that love and care for you. This past year has been absolutely chock full of surprises, both good and bad. But, gaining this massive family to call yours is definitely one of the sweetest. You reach the podium, setting your note cards down on its slanted surface. You follow in the Dean's footsteps, clearing your throat and gathering yourself before you speak.

"Thank you, Dean Edwards. Good afternoon, fellow graduates, esteemed faculty, proud parents, and distinguished guests. It's a privilege to stand before you today, awarded with highest honors." You read from your cards, addressing your audience. Once these words leave your lips, however, the rest of your speech feels... wrong. You've spent so long 'perfecting' it. Reading numerous books about writing speeches, constantly editing and rewriting, even throwing the whole thing out to start over a couple of times. Despite all of that stressing, and practicing in the bathroom mirror with the door locked, you realize now that this over-rehearsed piece of crap just won't do. "Um..." You hold the now useless cards in your hands, shaking your head. Your eyes meet the crowd again, locking onto Eddie's, who's looking rather worried. He probably thinks you're going to either flip out, pass out, or run away. But none of that is happening today. Not a chance.

After a period of silence that feels like eternity, though it's only a few seconds, you open your mouth to speak again. "I'm sorry. I've just realized that none of this is what I want to say." You laugh lightly, waving your little bundle of cards before tossing them to the side. Dean Edwards gives you an odd look, wondering what kind of stunt you're trying to pull here. You take a deep breath, deciding to wing it. You know in your heart what you want to say, and it's far better than the bullshit you've spent weeks planning. "Look, I could bore you all with a cliché, trite speech full of inspirational quotes and repetitive phrases. But after four years, I think we've all earned more than that." You say with purpose, straightening your shoulders. You can feel a few hundred pairs of eyes staring at you inquisitively, wondering if the 'star student' has finally cracked under the pressure. But they couldn't be more wrong. "What I'm trying to say, is that this town has been through a lot these last few years. Hawkins may be a miniscule blip on the map, but we've seen enough hardship, and triumph, to rival the largest cities in the world."

"Speaking from experience, this past year alone has been a rollercoaster I was unwittingly strapped into. There were a lot of times where I just wanted off, to hide away and ignore the world in front of me. I lost my father, I testified against a past abuser in court, and for a minute there, I nearly threw away the greatest love of my life." You continue, completely off-script. But as you scan over the crowd, you can tell they're receptive to it. "In spite of all these painfully difficult things, I persevered. It would be so easy to say I did that all on my own, but it's a universal truth that no man, or woman, is capable of that. I owe a good majority of my strength, my pursuit to push forward no matter what comes my way, to the people who have been there for me in my darkest moments. My mom, my brother, my friends, and my lovely fiancé." You smile, finding their eyes again. They reflect your expression, giving approving nods.

"But, enough about me. This day is about all of us. Like Dean Edwards said, what's taking place today is a vital change in our lives. We're growing up, starting our careers, taking the tools we've been given and applying them out in the world. That prospect can be terrifying for most, we get too accustomed to a routine. Going to class, taking notes, writing papers, studying for exams. Partying, for some of us." You earn a light chuckle and a couple whoops from the crowd at that. "Then one day, it's all over. And whether we feel ready for it or not, it's here. But I think一 no, I know, that the class of 1990 is ready for it. We're this town's future, and I can honestly say that it's never looked brighter." You speak emphatically, sensing that it's about time to wrap it up. "And on that note, I propose we light up this room with the beautiful faces of this graduating class!" You finish your speech, bringing everyone to their feet as they applaud and cheer for you.

Dean Edwards gives you a moment to bask in the applause, before coming over to you. "Great job, Ms. Henderson. Short and sweet. You had me worried for a minute there." She says quietly to you.

"So did I." You reply, overjoyed that you didn't make a total fool of yourself. She gestures for you to leave as the noise dies down, and you find your place in line with the 'H's. Your heart is nearly bursting, unable to believe that you not only went rogue (which is so unlike you), but that you actually managed to pull it off.

"That was amazing, Y/N. And you didn't even barf!" Jamie jokes from the row beside you, giving your elbow a small poke with his finger.

"Thanks, Jamie." You giggle, relieved that all you have to do now is wait for your name to be called and receive your diploma. It's all smooth sailing from here on out.

"Pomp and Circumstance" plays over the sound system, and Dean Edwards starts calling the students to the stage one by one, moving their tassels from one side of their cap to the other, and handing them their diploma before they head straight on the other end of the backstage area. Families and friends cheer for their graduates, whooping and hollering with intense pride. Jamie's name gets called next as he's far earlier in the alphabet than you, and you give a cheer from your spot for him. He receives a good share of noise, undoubtedly from his parents and your coworkers at the Hawk. It takes a good while for your turn to come up, but you slowly inch closer to the spot where you'll be prompted back onstage as name after name is called. It's a good thing you wore comfortable shoes, or else your feet would be killing you by now.

"Y/N Henderson!" Edwards calls your name finally, and you immediately hear everyone who came here for you erupt in raucous elation. You dare to look over at where they're seated as you walk over to get your diploma. Mom is crying profusely with joy, holding that damn polaroid camera up to her mascara-stained eye. Dustin is jumping up and down, clapping almost violently as he cries your name in excitement. Eddie's got his hands cupped around his mouth for maximum volume, shouting out how proud he is, how much he loves you. The others are just as rowdy, not giving a single shit how unseemly their overzealousness may look to the other attendees. They came here to cheer you on, and they're damn well gonna do it. You can't help cracking a huge smile at their antics, simultaneously embarrassed and entertained. That's family for you. The Dean hands you your diploma, moving your tassel just like she has all the others. "That's some family you've got there." She comments kindly, and all you can do is nod. You move along, finding Jamie to hang around him until this thing is all over.

"I guess you lost your speech after all, bookworm." Eddie teases once you find him and the others in the parking lot after the ceremony has drawn to a close and the auditorium has been cleared out. His arm slips around your waist immediately, his head leaning towards yours to give you a brief kiss.

"Guess I did." You reply, still grinning as all the excitement hasn't left you yet.

"Well, I thought it was just wonderful, sugarpuff! I'm so proud of you!" Mom practically squeals, nudging Eddie out of the way to give you a suffocating hug.

"Thanks, Mom." You strain, barely able to breathe in her hold.

"Nice job up there, kiddo." Hopper grins, Joyce on his hip as always.

"Totally! The way you just threw your speech away and winged it? So badass!" Robin adds. The others join the conversation, their compliments and congratulations overlapping as they all talk in an animated manner. Mom also insists on everyone taking pictures with you in your cap and gown, holding up your diploma while wearing a cheesy smile. It's a bit overwhelming, if you're being honest. You smile and nod, accepting their statements with gratitude as Mom snaps photo after photo.

"Alright, alright. I think she's had enough, guys." Eddie cuts in, noticing the rather dizzy look on your face once everybody gets their turn. "We'd better get goin', if you wanna have time to make that stop before dinner." He says to you, and you nod.

"I really appreciate you all coming today, it means everything to me. If it wasn't clear already, it's having all of you in my life that inspired me to speak from the heart like that." You announce to your large gathering.

"Oh, you're gonna make me cry again!" Mom sniffles.

"I have a feeling there'll be a lot of that this weekend, Mom." Dustin chimes in, rolling his eyes.

"As I was saying, we'll see you guys at Applebee's for dinner. Eddie and I just have a small errand to run." You pull the focus back on you, bidding the others farewell until you meet up again at the restaurant. They give you friendly waves and parting words back, and Eddie leads you back to the car. "You mind driving, Eds?" You ask him as you reach the Datsun.

"Sure thing, sweetheart. You doin' okay? Today's been kinda crazy." He replies with concern, taking the keys when you hand them to him.

"Yeah, I'm good. This is just gonna be really hard." You say, giving him a small smile as you slide into the passenger seat.

"I know, babydoll. But you can do it. And I can come with you, if that'll help." Eddie offers, putting the keys in the ignition, taking hold of your hand once the car starts.

"No, I have to do this on my own. One last difficult thing, and then we can focus on the happiest day of our lives." You sigh, squeezing his hand. He squeezes back, pulling out of the parking lot to head over the Roane County Cemetery.

During the entire span of the wedding planning process, your mother has been commenting on the fact that your father isn't here to see any of it. She hadn't really done that before his death, too pissed at him to waste a single syllable lamenting the loss of him witnessing your milestones. She must've gotten it out of her system in all those letters she used to send to him and Angie. Now that she no longer has that outlet, Dad's name has been leaving her lips a lot around you. You'd love to say that it hasn't been weighing on you, that you don't give a rat's ass that he's not here to see you thriving. As much as it kills you to admit it, you wish so badly that he was.

Eddie pulls up to the cemetery, shifting the car into park. "Here we are, princess. You sure you don't need me to come with you?" He asks you one final time, willing to do whatever you ask. He wants to be supportive of you, despite his surprise that you wanted to visit your father's grave in the first place. You made it pretty clear at the guy's funeral that you had no intention of wasting another thought on him. But, once you explained to him what Claudia had been saying, and how it made you feel, he understood completely. And he'll do anything it takes to make sure you're ready to go on this lifelong journey with him. George Henderson is the final loose end, and the time has come for you to tie it off.

"I got this, love. Thank you for bringing me here, and for understanding." You give him a quick peck before you get out of the car, hoping to hide the tears already welling in your eyes.

"Of course, baby. I'll always do whatever I can to make you happy." Eddie says sweetly, letting you go off on your own. He watches you make your way to the paved path in the graveyard, pulling out his cigs so he can smoke to pass the time.

You walk silently through the cemetery, listening to the chirping birds overhead, feeling the warm sun shining down on your skin. It's a really beautiful day, and it's thankfully been forecast to be perfectly blue and sunny all weekend for your wedding. You follow the trail, passing by headstone after headstone, memorial tree after memorial tree, until you eventually find the marker you've been looking for. George Henderson. You stray from the path, stepping onto the well-kept grass. You approach his grave cautiously, becoming highly aware that his body is a mere six feet under where you now stand. You sit on your knees in front of the headstone, taking a deep breath. It's so peaceful here, not another living soul in sight. It almost feels wrong to break the silence. But it's what must be done.

"Hi, Dad." You start, softly as not to wake the dead. Not that you really believe in all that stuff, despite Eddie's numerous attempts to convince you otherwise. You feel a bit silly talking to your father at all. He's not alive anymore, it's not like he can hear you. But, this is as close as you're ever going to get. "If you couldn't already tell, I graduated college today. Top of my class and everything." You continue, fiddling with a loose thread on your gown that's ridden up above your knees. "I kicked ass with my commencement speech, too." You add, taking a moment to think over what to say next. "I still don't forgive you, ya know. For leaving us, leaving Mom. You nearly killed her doing that." You find yourself getting frustrated, almost angry, as well as sad. It's like all these pent up emotions are just spilling out of you, when you didn't even know they were inside you at all.

"You're a real asshole, you know that?" You say bitterly, hot tears rolling down your cheeks. Your heart aches, but letting these words out makes it feel good. You decide to keep going, until all the pain is finally gone. "You were supposed to be here! To cheer me on when I walked across that stage! To take a picture with me in my cap and gown!" You shout at him, not giving a damn about disturbing the deceased anymore. "But you weren't! You weren't here for any of it!" You sob violently, doubling over yourself, hands digging harshly into the grass as a way to hold onto something. You begin to wail, chest heaving as the lap of your gown becomes wet with tears and spittle. Now that you've opened the floodgates, you can't seem to get them closed again. You cry helplessly for what feels like hours, getting dirt under your nails from clutching the ground so hard. Your abdomen starts to hurt, the muscles yanking taut over and over as you weep.

"Y/N." You hear Eddie's voice above you, his eyes widening in shock to find you in this state. He must've heard the heart-wrenching noises all the way from the car, coming over to investigate. "Sweetheart." He says sadly, getting down in the grass with you. He kneels beside you, moving to gently pull your hands out of the tangled green you're twisting in your grasp. You let him, unable to put up a fight. He pulls you into his lap, shushing you as you continue to cry. You immediately envelop yourself around him, burying your head in his neck. Your arms wrap over his shoulders, legs encircling his waist. "Shh, it's okay, honey. I'm right here." He coos, rocking you back and forth to soothe you. He was worried this would happen, that this was a bad idea, though he never said it out loud.

You slowly calm down in his embrace, your sobs quieting, tears flowing in a steady stream as opposed to pouring like heavy rainfall. "I'm sorry." You say weakly.

"It's okay, baby." Eddie reassures, rubbing your back with his hand. "Let's get outta here." He suggests, but you shake your head. "It's time to go." He calmly insists.

"I'm not done, Eds." You lift your head to look at him, needing him to understand. You have to finish this.

"Y/N, I really don't think一" He attempts to explain, but you don't need him to.

"I can do this. I have to." You say, unwilling to relent.

"Fine." Eddie sighs, knowing there's no way you're dropping this. "But I'm staying with you."

"I want you to." You nod in agreement, turning yourself around in his hold to face George's grave again. You take a deep breath again, exhaling shakily. You feel ridiculous doing this in front of Eddie, but you're sure he won't judge you for it. "Dad, this is Eddie." You introduce him. "He's my fiancé, and we're getting married in a couple of days." You smile, happy to say those words out loud any chance you get. "I love him more than anything, and he loves me just as much. Maybe even more. He makes me so happy, happier than I ever thought I could be." You giggle tearfully, Eddie's arms giving you an affectionate squeeze. "You should've been here to walk me down the aisle, Dad. That's one of the few jobs a father is supposed to have in his daughter's life. You're missing out, because Eddie and I planned a bitchin' wedding." Eddie chuckles quietly at that, the sound rumbling in his chest. "But, as we've done with everything else, we'll get by just fine without you." You finish, left with nothing else to say to your father.

You and Eddie move to stand up, ready to get the hell out of this place. "C'mon, angel." He takes hold of your hand, about to lead you back to the car.

You stay put for a moment, giving George's grave a final glance. "Bye, Dad. Your pumpkin doesn't need you anymore." You finish, before turning away to follow the path back to the parking lot. "Ugh, my face is a total mess." You groan as you assess the damage in the mirror inside the car.

"It's not that bad, Y/N. You look beautiful to me." Eddie contradicts lovingly. In all honesty, you do look a bit demented with the dark tracks of mascara streaked down your face. Though he'd never tell you a thing like that.

"Kiss-ass." You grumble playfully, reaching inside your purse for some tissues to clean yourself up. You wipe away the tears and smeared makeup, applying a fresh coat of mascara and lipstick. It's not a full face like you had before, but it'll do. At least no one will know you've been crying your eyes out. "All set, love. We've got a dinner to get to." You chirp, putting your cosmetics back in your bag, pulling out your smokes instead. You definitely need a cigarette after all that, especially if you're going to deal with a chaotic meal attended by a total of thirty-eight people.

"You sure you're up for that, princess? You've been through a lot today. Everyone would understand if we cancel on dinner." He doesn't mean to come off as coddling you, but he knows how stressed out you've been lately. And with what just happened in the cemetery, he can't help worrying that it's all getting to be too much for you.

"I'm fine, Eds. I promise. Everything from here on out feels like the easiest thing in the world, compared to this little detour." You speak honestly, taking a drag of your freshly-lit cigarette.

"Yeah? Why's that?" He asks with a knowing grin on his face.

"Because I have you, baby. We've both been ready to do this for a long time. Nothing can stop us now, and I don't want to waste a single second." You take his hand in yours again, interlacing your fingers.

"Neither do I, sweetheart." Eddie replies softly. You bask in this heartfelt moment together, adoringly gazing into one another's eyes. "I love you so much, Y/N. I can't wait to marry you." He says as his eyes begin to water.

"I love you too, Eddie. Ugh, you're gonna make me ruin my makeup again!" You laugh, much happier tears pricking your ducts.

"Sorry, honey. Emotions are runnin' high these last few days." Eddie laughs with you, letting go of your hand and wiping his face so he can drive. He grips the steering wheel, taking a deep breath to regain composure. "'Kay, I'm good. Applebee's, here we come." He turns the key in the ignition, setting you on your journey to the restaurant.

Once you arrive, you recognize at least half the cars parked outside, looks like you two are the last to show up. You take off your cap and gown before stepping out of the car, the fabric gets rather warm after a while. Eddie takes your hand as you walk inside, meeting the hostess and letting her know you're with the large Munson/Henderson party. She leads you towards the back half of the restaurant that you'd reserved in advance, walking into raucous cheers from your enormous group. Multiple tables have been pushed together to form a large square in the middle of the room, leaving two spots at the top center for you and Eddie, right next to your mother and Wayne.

"The lovebirds have finally arrived!" Steve comments loudly. "You two get caught up celebrating, or something?" He teases, drawing 'ooh's from the others around the table.

"Wouldn't you like to know!" Eddie bites back, rolling his eyes. His less than stellar attitude earns him a light jab in the ribs from your elbow.

"Be nice, Eds. And if you must know, I went to see my dad." You explain yourself, feeling a bit bad for holding everyone up. The room falls silent, every single one of your guests realizing what you mean.

"Sorry, Y/N. I didn't know." Steve apologizes, picking up her beer to take a large, embarrassed gulp.

"It's fine. I wasn't planning on telling anyone. It's just something I had to do." You reply sadly, feeling even worse for ruining the mood.

"How'd it go?" Mom asks, coming to the conclusion that you only went because she kept bringing up her ex-husband like it was a damn compulsion.

"It went fine. I talked to him. Well, actually, I yelled, cried, and told him how much he's missing out on." You answer with a shrug, shrinking under the thirty-seven pairs of sympathetic eyes around the table.

"Did he say anything back?" Polly pipes up from her high chair. You look over at her, noticing Angie about to scold her for asking such a thing. But she's just a kid, she doesn't know any better. Not to mention, George was her dad, too. You just smile, and shake your head.

"No, Polly. But I'm sure he would've if he was able to." You speak kindly to her, though you doubt she really understands. She just gives a little nod, accepting your answer.

"I'm sorry, sugarpuff. I shouldn't have brought him up so much." Mom says apologetically.

"Mom, it's okay. I got it out of my system. It's not weighing me down anymore." You reassure her, picking up your menu to change the subject. The silence in the room is far too deafening for your liking. "Now, are we gonna order, or what? Last I checked, we have a lot to celebrate!" You say cheerfully, lightening everyone's mood.

"I'll drink to that!" Hopper cheers heartily, lifting his glass. The others follow his lead, raising their drinks in the air. Even Jake and Polly lift their kids cups with their little hands. "To Y/N and Eddie, for embarking on this wonderful journey together!" He calls, taking a large drink afterwards.

"To Y/N and Eddie!" Everyone else says together, and you and Eddie take a sip from one of the beers that were ordered on your behalf. A moment later, a couple of waitresses come by to take everybody's order, frantically writing meals and specifications on their little notepads, They leave to put the orders in with the kitchen, allowing you to engage in numerous loud, joyous conversations. It's mainly just catch-up among friends since most of you are pretty close with one another, but there's many curious inquiries made between the less-than-familiar groups. Angie gets to talking with Mr. Biggs about his business, Milo seems to have a lot in common with Gareth, and Dotty and Chrissy are nearly attached at the hip. It warms your heart to see everyone getting along so well, despite the varying paths in life they've all taken.

One by one, the meals are brought out on overflowing trays and distributed amongst your group. The youngsters have kids portions of mac 'n cheese, and the adults are pretty evenly split between burgers, steaks, and salads. You yourself have opted for a grilled sandwich filled with all your favorite fixings, while Eddie's picked spaghetti and meatballs. When everybody digs in, the talking dies down significantly, replaced with the sounds of chewing and silverware scraping against ceramic plates. You munch away on your sandwich, and Eddie slurps up his pasta while holding his free hand on your thigh. He strokes you softly, in a perfectly innocent gesture. He's long since learned his lesson about putting his fingers in certain places underneath tables when you aren't alone. You swallow the bite you've been chewing, wiping your mouth before leaning over to give him a kiss on the cheek.

"What's that for, sweetheart?" Eddie asks quietly, keeping the words between you.

"Do I need a reason to kiss your handsome face?" You tease, laying another one on him.

"'Course not." Eddie chuckles, giving your thigh a loving squeeze.

"So, Y/N, when do you get to take over for Mrs. O'Donnell's science classes?" Jamie asks, as it's been something you've discussed recently. You haven't gotten around to telling everyone yet, considering you weren't completely sure it's what you'd wanted to do until you'd heard about the elderly teacher's retirement coming in two years.

"It'll be a couple of years yet, I have to get my teaching certification, working under her in her classroom. But, I'm looking forward to it." You reply happily. As it's been said, you've been a bit aimless about your choice of career for a majority of your adulthood. You've juggled numerous dreams of marine biology and forensic research, even behavioral psychology at one point. The result of these long-abandoned aspirations is that you've earned just about every science-related credit in whatever classifies as a 'long list' at a community college. So, when it came time to hurry up and pick a career field already, it finally clicked. You've spent four years absorbing nearly all the scientific knowledge at your disposal, why not make a career out of imparting said knowledge to the developing youth of America?

"Really? I never took you as someone who'd want to work with kids, Y/N. Not to mention shithead teens like we all used to be." Steve comments. This is certainly news to him, and well, everyone besides Jamie, Eddie, and your mother.

"Believe me, I didn't either. But when I thought it over, I came around to it like this. Have you ever had a teacher that made you excited to learn? One that made you look forward to going to school every day, because they made learning fun?" You ask.

"No." Both Steve and Eddie reply, earning a light laugh from the room.

"Alright, maybe I shouldn't be asking Party Boy and Three-Time Senior." You bite back, rolling your eyes. Another collective chuckle, though you quiet them down a moment later. "Anyway, most people have at least one of those teachers, I had a few myself. And I'd like to be that for someone else. Because, despite what my fiancé might think..." You give the man in question a playful nudge in the ribs. "...school is important. But that doesn't mean it has to be boring." You end on a light note, prompting murmurs of approval.

"I may despise the American education system, sweetheart. But if anyone can make it better, I know it's gonna be you." Eddie says sweetly, leaning over to kiss your lips. 'Aw's and obnoxious noises break out in the room this time.

It's a really odd feeling, having all eyes on you these last few days. It's like the two of you are starring in some fresh new sitcom, and everyone else is the studio audience reacting to everything you do. Of course, this audience consists of people you love and care for, and thankfully, they talk back. They're all here to support and celebrate your love, and you're so very grateful for that. That being said, you're really looking forward to when the next two days come to pass, and you finally get a chance to breathe. As lovely and exhilarating as this all has been, there's been a lot of little choices to make, to a point where it's felt never-ending. Cake tasting, invitations, floral arrangements, dress shopping, party favors, bridal shower activities, and the list goes on for miles. The weeklong honeymoon you'll share at home after this whole circus concludes is most definitely your coveted light at the end of the tunnel.

Despite all of the stress that comes with planning and hosting a wedding, you're completely overjoyed to be doing all of it. You can't wait to get married to Eddie, to be his wife. It won't necessarily change much about your dynamic, per se, but it’s all so wonderfully grown up. Everything about it feels natural and right, for once in your life. There's no doubt in this decision. There's no fear gnawing away inside your head. No anxiety whispering in your ear about how everything will surely be a disaster. There's nothing but love, confidence, and self-assurance coursing through your entire being. You're ready to marry Eddie, and you couldn't be happier.

To be continued...

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