041

The haze lifts slowly, like waking from a fever dream, like coming up for air. 

Your breath is ragged, your body still trembling, your lips swollen from his kisses, his teeth. Eddie’s eyes are dark, glazed over, his pupils still blown wide, and his chest heaves against yours, warm, damp with sweat and blood.

You pull back first.

It’s like cutting off a lifeline.

Eddie stares at you, disoriented, like he’s not sure how you ended up here, tangled together in the middle of his kitchen, his hands still gripping your waist, his fingers still warm under your hoodie. Then his expression shifts, shock flickering over his face before something deeper sets in. Something urgent, something terrified. "You’re bleeding", he says, his voice sharp, bordering on frantic, and before you can react, his hands are on you again, scanning, searching, fingers shaking as he tilts your face up, thumbs brushing against your cheek, your lips, your jaw.

"Eds", you whisper, "I'm not, I'm okay". It’s his blood. Smearing your skin, staining your hands, streaked across your face from where he touched you, from his busted lip, from the cut on his cheekbone. His breathing picks up again, panic creeping back in, but before he can spiral, your own hands snap up, cradling his face, forcing him to focus. "It's not mine", you whisper, your voice trembling but firm, "It's yours. You're hurt". His body twitches, like he wants to argue, but you don’t let him. Your hands slide down, skimming over his throat, his collarbone, scanning for injuries as you murmur, "Let me see. Sit down". He shakes his head, still clinging to you, his lips brushing against yours again, desperate, like he just needs one more kiss. But you push his hand away, firm this time. "Eddie, sit down".

His jaw tenses, like he’s about to fight you on it, but when he sees the look in your eyes, the fire, the sheer force of your worry, he exhales heavily and gives in. "Okay, okay", he mutters, dragging a hand down his face before stepping back, his whole body swaying slightly. You don’t miss the way he winces, the way he cradles his ribs for just a second before forcing himself upright. 

You don’t say anything, just turn and head to the bathroom to grab the first aid kit, your hands still trembling as you walk away from him. You freeze when seeing your reflection, your hands immediately reaching into the sink. The blood, it’s everywhere. Streaking your fingers, staining under your nails, smeared across Eddie’s hoodie. It's on your face, your lips, your cheeks. For a second, you just stare at it. And then you turn on the water, scrubbing, watching it swirl down the drain. It doesn’t make you feel any cleaner.

The first aid kit is in the mirror cabinet. You grab it, clutching it tight, taking a deep breath before heading back. Eddie is at the dinner table now, his head bowed slightly, his fingers pressing against his side. You freeze when you see it, how he’s holding his ribs, his face tight with pain. You take a step forward, and his head lifts, catching you. Instantly, his expression shifts, his hand dropping from his side, his mouth twisting into a weak smirk to cover it up. "You’re in pain", you murmur. "No". He shakes his head, "It’s nothing. Don’t worry". Your heart clenches, and you swallow against another wave of tears. "Take off your shirt".  He looks at you, hesitates. "Take it off, Eddie. Now", you repeat, your voice firmer as you step closer. He sighs but obeys, wincing as he peels the fabric over his head, exposing his torso.

Your stomach twists.

His ribs are already bruising, deep purples and reds blooming across his skin, stark against the pale expanse of him. There are fresh scrapes on his knuckles, a gash on his arm, and his face, God, his face, his beautiful, stupid face is battered, his lip split, his cheek swollen. When you reach out, brushing your fingers over his ribs, he flinches. "Does it hurt when you breathe?", you ask softly, your voice shaking, "When you move?" He exhales, still trying to play it off, but you see through him. You see all of him. "Maybe a little", he finally admits, avoiding your gaze. You swallow back a wave of tears, blinking rapidly as you reach for the disinfectant. Eddie watches you, silent, letting you clean his wounds, letting you press gentle fingers against his skin, dabbing at the blood, the bruises. Your hands shake, your lip wobbles, and when you sniffle, he catches it. His expression softens instantly. "Baby", he murmurs, reaching for you, his fingers brushing your wrist, "It’s okay". You shake your head, "No, I-..." But he doesn’t let you finish. Instead, he reaches for you, pulling you onto his lap despite the pain it must cause him. "No", you protest, already trying to pull back, not wanting to hurt him more. "Stay", he rasps. His hands tighten on your hips, holding you there, grounding himself with you, "Just stay". You sigh. And you do.Your hands are careful as you dab at his lip, his jaw, his cheek.

His dark chocolate eyes never leave you as you focus on his wounds, holding you close as you lean in to clean the cut above his brow. His hands stay on you, fingers tracing slow, grounding patterns against your back, your sides. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches, just feels you. It’s like he can’t stop touching you, like he has to reassure himself that you’re here, safe, whole.    Then, just as you press a damp cloth to his temple, a single hot tear slips down your cheek. You tried so hard to keep it in, but it slipped out anyway. "Hey", he mumbles, voice rough, low. He sees it before you even realize it yourself. You shake your head quickly, biting your lip as you keep dabbing at his jaw. "Baby", he tries again, a little more urgent, squeezing your side, "Look at me".

You don’t. You can’t.

Instead, you turn to the other side, inspecting the cut in his eyebrow, pretending you didn’t hear him.  He exhales, a soft, pained sound. Then his hand, bloodied and bruised, lifts and wraps gently around your wrist. He forces you to stop, to still. To finally look at him. His eyes are dark, deep, filled with something you can’t name, "Please don’t cry". You try to pull your wrist back, but he doesn’t let you. Not tight enough to hurt, just enough to keep you with him. You sniffle, shaking your head. "You’re hurt, Eds", you whisper. "Again. Because of me". "Don’t". His voice is firm, but his touch is soft. He shakes his head, his grip on you tightening just slightly. "You wouldn’t be that beaten up if it wasn’t for me", you whisper, your voice wavers, cracking at the end. "That’s not how this works, sweetheart". He lifts a hand, thumb brushing over your cheek. "This-", he winces slightly, shifting in his chair, "This is my choice". His fingers tighten just a little more, his warmth sinking into you, "No one gets to lay a hand on you and walk away".    Your throat tightens, "But I-...""No". He shakes his head, eyes dark, certain, "You don’t get to blame yourself for this". Your hands shake as you cup his face, thumb ghosting over the edge of a bruise. "I told you not to go after him", you whisper, and there’s anger there now, buried beneath the ache, beneath the fear. Eddie lets out a tired chuckle, lips twitching despite the pain. "Yeah, well..." His fingers press into your side, "You know I don’t listen for shit". Your chest twists, "But you promised me". Something flickers across his face, guilt, maybe, or something close to it, but it doesn’t stay long. He just watches you, never looking away. "I know", his voice is softer now, hoarse, "And I’m sorry. But I couldn’t..." He swallows, jaw clenching for a second before he exhales, "I couldn’t let him get away with it". Another tear slips down your cheek. He catches it with his thumb, his touch featherlight. "Baby". His voice is barely above a whisper, "I need you to understand". He pauses, fingers brushing the hem of your hoodie, over your ribs, warm and careful. "When it’s you, I can’t..." He exhales sharply, tilting his head up until his forehead presses against yours, "I can’t stop myself".

His warmth, his scent, his touch, it’s too much.   

"You could’ve gotten killed, Eddie". He pulls back just enough to look at you, his brows furrowing. "Yeah?", his lips twitch, "Well, you should see the other guy". You huff out something between a laugh and a sob, shaking your head, "You’re an idiot". His grin is tired, small, but real, "Yeah". He lifts his hand, tucking your hair behind your ear, his touch lingering, "But I’m your idiot".

And for some stupid little reason, that’s what breaks you. A small, choked noise escapes you, and before you can stop yourself, you’re wrapping your arms around him, burying your face in his shoulder. He lets out a quiet groan at the pressure, but his arms tighten around you anyway, holding you close, his breath warm against your hair. Your fingers curl into his naked shoulders as you bury yourself deeper into him, silently crying, your whole body wrapped around him like you’re afraid he’ll slip through your grasp.

Maybe you are. Maybe you’ll never shake the image of him hurt, bloody, barely standing, because of you.

Eddie breathes you in, arms locked tight around you despite the pain. He feels it, your trembling, your quiet sniffles, the way your breath hitches as you try to keep yourself together. It makes something deep in his chest ache in a way no punch ever could. "I can’t lose you", you finally whisper, voice so small, so fragile. Your fingers tighten against him, "I need you to be more careful". He hums, a soft, wordless sound, but he doesn’t answer. Because he knows he can’t promise you that. Not when it’s you. Not when keeping you safe is the only thing he cares about. You pull back, just enough to look at him, your teary eyes searching his. "I mean it", you say, voice firmer now, determined, "You can’t do all that stuff you do, make me feel all that shit you make me feel, and then scare me so much, you idiot". You shake your head, a broken laugh slipping out. "You can’t make me fa--"You stop abruptly, lips pressing together like you’re swallowing the words.

Eddie’s eyes flicker, something unreadable passing through them, "Can’t make you what?"You shake your head quickly, "Just... don’t". His brows furrow slightly, but he doesn’t push. You sniffle, biting your lip, "Don’t do stupid shit, okay? Just don’t". Your voice is thick with emotion, with something close to desperation. "I can’t… stand seeing you like this". Eddie exhales, his fingers twitching against your waist. Then, slowly, he lifts a hand, brushing the backs of his knuckles against your cheek. You lean into it before you can stop yourself. Neither of you speak.

Something shifts in the air, something heavy, something electric.

His thumb strokes over your cheekbone, eyes searching yours, his breath warm and shallow. You feel it, the weight of everything unspoken between you.

The fear. The relief. The ache.

His fingers slide down, tilting your chin up just slightly. You don’t stop him. And when he leans in, his nose brushing against yours, his lips hovering just close enough that you can taste his breath, you swear your heart stops. "I'm sorry", he murmurs, and it’s wrecked, like you’ve already ruined him, "I'm sorry I broke my promise. But I'll do it again if it means keeping you safe". You let out a shaky breath, your own fingers curling around his wrist. He kisses you. It’s slow at first, reverent. You press into him, your hands sliding into his hair, pulling him closer, needing more. He makes a soft, desperate sound against your lips, his grip on you tightening. The heat, the hunger, the longing that’s been building between you spills over, igniting like wildfire. His hands roam, his lips press harder, and you’re both lost in it, lost in each other. 

It’s everything. 

  It starts as something slow, something aching.

But then you shift, moving slightly in his lap, and Eddie groans, low, dark, rough in his throat. His hand falls to the curve of your ass, fingers gripping, pulling you closer, pressing you deeper into him. His other arm tightens around your waist, locking you against him. And then he kisses you again, deeper, hungrier. His tongue glides into your mouth, his breath heavy, his body hot beneath you. You feel the vibration of his needy sounds against your lips, the way he’s holding you like he’ll never let go, and your whole body reacts to it, heat pooling low in your stomach.

You want him. You want him so badly it steals the air from your lungs. But he’s hurt. He shouldn’t even be sitting up like this. You pull back, breathless, shaking your head. "Eds", you whisper, hands pressed to his chest, "This is a really bad idea. We shouldn’t-" But Eddie doesn’t stop. His hand flexes, grips you rougher, and his other arm tightens like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. "Oh, sweetheart", he rasps, eyes dark, lips swollen, "I think we should". You let out a shaky breath, trying not to melt into him immediately. "You’re hurt", you remind him, voice weak, hands trembling against his chest. He smirks, slow and lazy, eyes half-lidded. "Still got one good hand", he murmurs, giving your ass a squeeze for emphasis. You let out a choked laugh, shaking your head again. But then his lips find your neck, trailing up, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against your throat, your jaw, your cheek. And you whimper. Because he knows exactly what he’s doing. His hand slides under your hoodie, warm fingers dragging over your bare skin, sending shivers down your spine. "C’mon, sweetheart", he whispers, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, voice dripping with mischief, with heat, "Don’t act like you don’t want this as much as I do". Your fingers dig into his shoulders, trying, trying to hold on to logic, but he tilts his hips just slightly beneath you, just enough to make you feel him, and a soft, wrecked sound escapes your lips before you can stop it. Eddie grins against your skin, "That’s what I thought". Your lips meet again, and he's stealing your breath, your thoughts, every ounce of resistance you had left.

The moment your hoodie hits the floor, Eddie stops breathing. You see it, the way his lips part slightly, his pupils blowing wide, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows thickly, taking in your topless body. He’s seen you like this before, but something about this moment, about the slow, deliberate way you let him take you in, has him looking at you like he’s never seen anything more beautiful. A slow smirk tugs at your lips as you lean closer, his good hand already reaching for you, tracing lightly from your ribs to your waist. His touch is warm, reverent, almost shaky as his fingers slide up, cupping your boob. He groans softly under his breath, his thumb brushing over your nipple, watching the way your breath hitches, the way your body responds to him as you press yourself deeper into his hand, needing more. "Jesus", he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your collarbone before pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss there, "You’re perfect, you know that?" You let out a quiet gasp as his mouth moves lower, his breath hot against your skin. Your hands tangle in his curls, pulling him closer, and he hums in approval, his lips trailing to your throat, your shoulder, the swell of your breast, luring a soft gasp from you when wrapping around your nipple, sucking it, grazing it with his teeth. "You’re such a tease", you whisper, shifting slightly in his lap, feeling the hard press of him beneath you. Eddie chuckles, low and rough, squeezing your waist. "Oh, sweetheart", he smirks against your skin, "you’re the one straddling a half-dead man like you’re trying to bring me back to life". You huff a laugh, threading your fingers deeper into his curls, "Is it working?" His grip tightens on your hips, pressing you down just enough to make you feel every inch of his reaction. He groans, dark and needy, "What do you think?" Your stomach twists at the sound, at the way he’s looking at you like he wants to devour you whole. Your hips shift again, experimentally, and his breath stutters, his fingers digging into your skin. "Careful, baby", he murmurs, his voice strained but teasing, "Keep that up, and I won’t be responsible for what happens next". You bite your lip, heat pooling low in your belly, "Maybe I don’t want you to be". Eddie’s grip on you tightens as he lets out a low curse, his head dropping back for a moment before he looks at you again, something dark and wanting flashing in his eyes. "You’re gonna be the death of me", he mutters. Then he’s kissing you again, deep and consuming, stealing your breath, making you dizzy. 

Your hands roam over his bare shoulders, his chest, feeling the warmth of him, the strength beneath your fingers. You can feel the way his body trembles slightly under your touch, how much he wants this, how much he wants you. You break the kiss just long enough to whisper, "Be right back".Eddie blinks, dazed, his hands still on you as you pull away, "What? Where--?"He watches as you stand up, throw a flirty look at him and grab the waistband of his sweatpants you're still wearing, slowly sliding them down and leaving them on the floor, now completely bare in front of him. His mouth opens slightly, his gaze drinking you in, his breath shuddering. "Oh", he mutters, a slow, lazy smirk spreading across his lips. You roll your eyes, turning toward his bedroom. "Stay put", you tell him, giving him a pointed look. Eddie huffs a breathless laugh, still staring, "Yeah, like I’m gonna risk missing this view".

You feel his eyes on your back as you head to his bedroom, quickly grabbing a condom from his nightstand and return, your steps slow, deliberate, letting him watch you, letting him feel the weight of your gaze as you move. His eyes track every movement, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips, his fingers twitching where they rest on the arms of the chair. By the time you reach him again, he’s practically vibrating with tension. "You’re unreal", he breathes, shaking his head slightly as he reaches for you again, pulling you effortlessly back into his lap. He winces at the motion, but the grin he gives you is pure trouble, "If I die tonight, just know I went out happy".You roll your eyes, laughing, but it’s breathless, full of warmth, of something deeper you don’t have the words for. Your fingers slide over his jaw, tracing the bruise there, and his smirk softens just slightly.  "You okay?", you whisper. He exhales, pressing his forehead to yours, "Never better". Your lips meet again, and this time, there’s no hesitation. Just heat. Just hunger. Just the electric pull of him and you and everything between you. His hands move to pull you impossibly closer, to claim every inch of you, grab your naked ass with one, your boob with the other, making you moan softly as he squeezes a little, groaning at the soft grind you're giving his lap again. Eddie’s breath stutters as he tabs your ass to give you a sign to lift, moving his hand between your bodies to quickly open his jeans and tug them down just enough to pull out his very hard dick. You gulp at his size, arousal flooding your veins as you watch his skilled hands quickly rolling the condom on, his fingers shaky slightly, black pupils blown wide as he watches you hover over him, your hands braced on his shoulders. "Jesus Christ, sweetheart", he breathes, his lips parted, his voice thick with awe and hunger as he looks back up at your smirking face, "You really tryna kill me? ‘Cause this might actually finish the job". A small, breathless laugh escapes you, but any retort dies the moment you start to sink down onto him. "Oh, my god", you moan quietly, letting your head fall back for a second while taking him in. Eddie groans, his head tipping back against the chair, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. "Oh, fuck". His voice is a rasp, a prayer, a plea, and the sound of it alone sends a fresh wave of heat rolling through you. You take him slowly, feeling the stretch, the way your body accommodates him inch by inch, the burn delicious, devastating. Eddie’s fingers twitch against you, his grip tightening. "Jesus, baby, you feel--" He cuts off with a strangled noise, his jaw going slack as he forces himself to look at you. "Perfect", he murmurs, voice wrecked, reverent, "Every fucking goddamn time". Your hands slide up, tangling into his curls, tugging lightly as you adjust, breathing through the intoxicating fullness of him. Eddie makes a sound, low, needy, his good hand drifting up to your waist, then higher, grazing the curve of your ribs, his thumb ghosting over your nipple once more. "Fuck, look at you", he mutters, almost to himself, his eyes dragging over your bare skin, your parted lips, the flush crawling up your chest, "Prettiest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen".

Heat coils low in your stomach, the tension between you thick, heavy, suffocating in the best way. "Eds-" His name spills from your lips, breathy, desperate. "I got you", he rasps, his grip on you steadies, firm but careful, "Go on, take what you need".

And you do. 

You move, slowly at first, rocking your hips, finding a rhythm that makes your breath catch. Eddie groans, his good hand sliding to your back, pressing you closer, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your jaw. "That’s it", he murmurs, voice rough, almost dazed. "Fuck, you feel so good. So goddamn good for me". The praise unravels something in you, makes you move faster, makes you seek more, makes you tighten your grip in his hair, pulling him back enough to crash your lips against his. Eddie kisses you deep, greedy, tongue sweeping against yours, swallowing every gasp, every little whimper. His fingers dig into your skin, guiding you, meeting your movements with slow, deliberate rolls of his hips. He’s grinning against your lips now, breathless and cocky, because he can feel it, how wrecked you already are. "Oh, baby", he teases, nipping at your bottom lip, his voice thick with something both smug and absolutely smitten as he makes you moan softly, "You gonna fall apart for me already?" Your answer is a choked sound as he thrusts up just right, sending a sharp, delicious spark of pleasure through you.  Eddie groans, his forehead pressing against yours. "Shit", he mutters, breath hitching as he watches you, completely transfixed, completely lost in you. His lips twitch, his hand sliding up your spine, his fingers tangling into your hair, "You look so fuckin’ pretty like this, baby. You even know what you do to me?" You do. It’s written all over his face, painted in the way he looks at you like you’re something unreal, something holy. You kiss him again, slow, deep, pouring everything into it, everything you can’t say, everything that’s been simmering between you for too long, letting your moans mix into it. And Eddie feels it, responds in kind, his hands cradling you like you might disappear, like he needs to keep you tethered to him. His moan is low, rough, and utterly wrecked as you roll your hips again, stretching around him in a way that has his fingers flexing against your skin, his breath hitching. His head falls back against the chair, jaw clenched, eyes fluttering shut for a second before he forces himself to look at you, because there’s no way in hell he’s missing this.  "Fuck, you feel too fucking good", you moan, leaning down just enough that your lips brush his, your fingers tangling in his curls, "Oh god, you're so deep, baby".That sparks something in him. His lips quirk into that signature cocky smirk, the one that always makes your stomach flip. "Yeah?" His voice is rough, teasing, dripping with satisfaction, "God, I love hearing you say that". His hands slide up, cupping your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive skin, making you whimper as he carefully rolls your nipples between his fingers, "Love knowing I’m the only one who gets to feel you like this."You whine, moving a little faster, gripping his shoulders as your body finds a faster rhythm, as you get lost in him, in the heat of it, in the way he feels so perfect beneath you. Eddie’s hands never stop roaming your back, your thighs, your ass, your breasts like he can’t decide where he wants to touch you the most. "Fuck, baby", he groans, his head tipping back slightly, his fingers tightening on you, "You’re gonna ruin me". "You already ruined me", you pant back, pressing your forehead to his, grinding against him just right, making him groan deep in his chest, "No one else. Ever".

That does something to him.

His grip tightens, his hips roll up to meet yours, and his breath stutters as he groans against your lips, completely undone by your words. "Shit", he huffs, laughing breathlessly, "You can’t just say stuff like that and expect me to keep it together". You grin, kissing him deeply, swallowing his next groan as you move faster, pushing both of you closer and closer to the edge. The tension between you is electric, all-consuming, and you can feel it building, winding tight in your stomach.  Then Eddie lets out a strained chuckle, his lips brushing your jaw, "You know I’m never gonna be able to sit in this chair again, right?" That makes you laugh, your rhythm stuttering as you slow, grinding against him instead, teasing him now, feeling every inch of him. "Guess you’ll just have to find a new one", you whisper, biting your lip as you watch his eyes darken, "Until I fuck you on that one as well". He growls, his hands guiding you again, his grip firm but careful, moving you with him, teasing, coaxing, pushing you higher and higher until you’re finally falling apart in his arms, moaning his name. Your body trembles, your breath catches, and Eddie watches every second of it like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. "Fuck, that’s it, baby", he murmurs, voice hoarse, wrecked, "God, you’re perfect". You collapse against him, breathless, clinging to him as you ride out the last waves of pleasure, your body still trembling, your heart still racing. Eddie’s arms wrap around you, holding you close, pressing slow, lingering kisses to your shoulder, your neck, your temple. But he’s not done. You can feel him, still hard, still needy inside you, and when you finally catch your breath and sit back up, he frowns, confused as you lift yourself off him. His brows furrow, lips parting to protest, until you drop to your knees in front of him, looking up at him through your lashes, hands trailing up his thighs, quickly pulling off the slick condom. Eddie goes completely still, just lifts his hips to help you yank down his jeans even more. "Holy shit", he mutters, staring down at you like you just knocked the air from his lungs. His hands twitch on the armrests of the chair, his breathing uneven as he watches you. Your lips quirk into a smirk, and his cocky demeanor falters for just a second. But then it’s back, stronger than ever. He leans back against the chair, his head tilting as he watches you, his bruised lip curling into that signature Munson smirk. His fingers twitch on the armrests of the chair, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. He swallows hard, trying to play it cool, trying to keep that signature cocky grin on his lips, but the moment your hands trail further up his thighs, he’s done for. "God, baby", he mutters, voice rough, nearly breathless, his dark eyes locked onto you. You smirk, loving every second of his unraveling. Slowly, deliberately, you lean in, pressing soft, teasing kisses along the inside of his thigh, never breaking eye contact, his twitching dick right in front of you, dying to finally feel you again. His jaw clenches. Your lips brush higher, your nails tracing lightly up his sides, and he shudders beneath your touch. His confidence flickers, fighting against the pleasure flooding his senses, but it’s a losing battle.  "Thought you had more self-control than this, Munson", you tease, voice soft, sultry, your breath hot against his skin. He lets out a low, shaky laugh, his hands finally finding your shoulders, his fingers gripping, flexing like he’s trying to ground himself. "I do", he rasps, eyes half-lidded, a smirk still lingering on his lips, "Or, at least, I did… before you". Your stomach flips at that, heat rushing through you at his words, at the way he’s looking at you, like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered.

And then, you give him exactly what he needs. 

The second your lips part and your tongue traces a slow, teasing path up his length, his bravado cracks. A sharp hiss slips past his lips, his fingers twitching on the armrests of the chair as he watches you, wide-eyed, his pupils blown. "Jesus", he breathes, head falling back for just a second before he forces himself to look at you again. You smirk, dragging your tongue along him again, slower this time, watching the way his jaw clenches, the way his abs tighten beneath the bruises. His breath stutters when you finally wrap your warm lips around his tip, take him in deeper, your lips stretching around him, your tongue working in slow, devastating strokes. His hand lifts, fingers threading into your hair, not to force, just to feel, to anchor himself.  "Shit-", he groans, voice wrecked, thick with need, "You- God, baby, you're so fucking good at this". His cockiness falters, his usual teasing, sharp remarks lost in the sheer pleasure rolling through him, "Too good". You hum around him, watching how his body reacts, how his head tips back, his fingers tightening in your hair as your tongue flicks over his swollen tip, your hand firmly wrapped around his shaft, moving along with your bopping head. His breath grows ragged, his thighs tense beneath your hand. He tries to stay in control, to keep his usual flirty arrogance, but you feel it, the way he’s unraveling, the way his body is betraying him. You're taking him deep up your throat, eyes watering lightly at the size of him, but you keep going. Keep sucking him, licking him, stroking him, spreading your hot saliva everywhere on his dick, moaning softly. "Fuck, baby, just like that," he groans, his voice strained, "You look so fucking good with my dick in your mouth". You wink at him, making him drag a hand over his face to gain back some composure, but you don’t let up. You give him everything, sucking him harder, deeper, wetter, working him over until his hips jerk up slightly, his control slipping completely. His free hand clenches the armrest of the chair, his chest rising and falling in uneven, heavy breaths. "God- oh, fuck, I'm so fucking close". His voice cracks, his body tensing, his grip on you tightening as he falls apart, pleasure crashing over him, a dark groan escaping his lips as he cums hard. You don’t look away, watching every second, taking in every sound, every shudder while feeling him pumping on your tongue, his overstimulated dick twitching in your hand. You're giving him some satisfied hums when licking him clean, your eyes locked with his as you swallow every little drop of his hot cum. He’s still catching his breath, his body slack against the chair, eyes dark and hazy as he watches you.

A slow, lazy grin spreads across his face, his hand running through his sweat-damp curls before dragging down his face. "Jesus Christ" he rasps, voice hoarse, spent. You smirk, wiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, giving him a look that makes his stomach flip. His head falls back against the chair for a moment, his chest rising and falling heavily. But then, with some effort, he reaches for you, his fingers curling around your wrist as he tugs you up, pulling you back into his lap. His grip is gentle but firm, and the second you straddle him again, he buries his face in your neck, exhaling a deep, satisfied breath. "You're unbelievable, you know that?" His voice is muffled against your skin, his lips brushing your jaw as he speaks, "M’pretty sure I just saw God, and she looked exactly like you." You laugh softly, running your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly at the curls at the nape of his neck. His hands roam your back, warm, possessive, sliding down to your hips as he lets out a contented sigh. "Can’t believe you’re real", he murmurs, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder, "And that you’re actually mine."  You roll your eyes, but your heart squeezes at his words, "You're so full of it, Munson."  He grins against your skin, biting playfully at your shoulder before pulling back to look at you. "Maybe. But you love it." His hands squeeze your waist, his thumbs tracing soft, lazy circles, "You’re insane, though, you know that? That mouth..." He exhales sharply, shaking his head as if he’s still recovering. "I’ll never get over you. Ever." His words send a rush of warmth through you, but then he shifts slightly, and you see it, the way his jaw tightens, the small wince he tries to hide. His ribs.  "Eddie," you scold softly, frowning as you pull back to get a better look at him, "I knew this was a bad idea. You’re still hurting." He grins, cocky and shameless, "Oh, I’m hurting, sweetheart. But I’m also in the best kind of pain right now." He winks, then groans as he stretches slightly, "Worth it". You roll your eyes, pushing lightly at his chest, but he just laughs, grabbing your wrist and kissing your palm before pressing it to his heart. "Don’t look at me like that," he murmurs, voice softer now, more sincere, "I’m fine. Better than fine, actually. Thanks to you". His fingers trail up your spine, slow and reverent, "You’re magic. Absolute fucking magic." His lips brush against yours, a kiss so slow and tender that it makes your stomach flip, "And I’ll never get enough of you". His words settle deep in your chest, warm and heavy. You stand up, stretching slightly, and Eddie watches you like a man possessed. He huffs out a breath before completely kicking off his jeans that were pooling around his feet, just pulling his boxers back up as you shake your head. "This was a bad idea," you mutter, grabbing his hand to pull him up, leading him toward his bedroom. "I probably made things worse. And it’s your fault, by the way". "My fault?" Eddie scoffs, following you, though his steps are a little slow, "Sweetheart, you were just as--""You," you cut him off, throwing a look over your shoulder, "are impossible to say no to. Even when you’re bruised and beaten up, you’re still too damn hot for your own good". He smirks, looking smug as hell, but he’s also distracted, because you’re still completely naked. You’ve forgotten that little fact, too focused on getting him to bed, but Eddie hasn’t.His eyes are locked onto the sway of your hips, the curve of your ass, the ink decorating your spine. His bruised ribs and sore body are secondary to the absolute vision in front of him.

By the time you reach his bed, he’s got ideas. 

"You know," he starts, voice low and teasing as he sits down, watching you with that lazy, lopsided grin, "I think a second round might be what I need to heal properly." He reaches for you, hands warm and eager, but you slap them away, "Absolutely not." 

"But baby..." 

"Eddie. No".

He pouts, but you just shake your head, stepping away to fish a pair of fresh boxers and a random band tee from his dresser. You slip them on, the fabric soft and worn, smelling like him. You’re thinking this will help him focus, make things easier for him to actually lie down and rest. It does not. He groans dramatically, his hands running over his face as he watches you. "Great, yeah, put on my clothes, that’ll help." His voice is dripping with sarcasm, but his eyes are dark, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip, "You being naked was already bad enough, but now? Now I gotta deal with you in my shirt? That’s just mean."  "You’ll live", you chuckle, rolling your eyes as you look at him. He sighs, "Debatable." 

There’s a fond smile tugging at your lips as you push at his shoulder lightly, guiding him to finally, finally lie down. He stretches out with a groan, reaching for you again, but you dodge, stepping back, "Get comfy, Munson. I’ll be right back." Eddie watches you go, frowning, "Where are you going?"  "Cleaning up." 

He groans again, dramatically, flopping back onto his pillow, "You’re killing me, sweetheart. Just come cuddle me". "You’ll be fine," you call back as you head into his living room again, gathering the bloody cloths and wipes, tossing them away. The first aid kit gets put back where it belongs, and you grab both your scattered clothes from the kitchen, throwing them into the laundry bin, making sure Wayne doesn’t walk into a crime scene. "Babe," Eddie calls again, voice muffled from the bedroom, "What are you doing? I miss you." You roll your eyes, smiling to yourself, before heading to the kitchenette. You rummage through their cabinets, finding some bread, peanut butter, and jelly. It’s simple, but it’s something, and he needs to eat. You make two sandwiches, one for him, one for you, grab two sodas from the fridge, and on your way back to his room, stop in the bathroom to grab the pill bottle of painkillers.

Eddie watches you with an amused smirk as you walk in, balancing the plate and drinks with practiced ease. His curls are a mess against the pillow, his lips still kiss-swollen, and there’s a lazy, satisfied gleam in his dark eyes. He shifts slightly, wincing at the movement, but his grin doesn’t fade. "You made me a sandwich?", he teases, cocking a brow, "What, was I that good? Did I earn boyfriend privileges now?" You roll your eyes, setting the plate down on his nightstand, "Oh, please. This is me making sure you don’t pass out from hunger and leave me traumatized forever". You grab the bottle of painkillers and shake it at him, "And this is me making sure you can actually move tomorrow". He chuckles, reaching for you with grabby hands, "What I need is for you to come here". You swat his hands away, ignoring the way his fingers brush your bare thigh, "Eat first. Then we’ll talk". Eddie groans dramatically, but he grabs one of the sandwiches anyway, taking an exaggerated bite. He chews for a second, then nods in approval, "Damn. You really have a thing for me, don't you". Your heart stutters for a moment, but you cover it up with a scoff, "You’re so full of yourself". He winks at you, mouth still half full, "You make it too easy, sweetheart". Shaking your head, you sit beside him, pulling your own sandwich from the plate. Eddie watches you, eyes flicking over your frame, the way his oversized shirt drapes over you, barely covering your thighs. You know exactly what’s going through his mind, and he’s not subtle about it. "You’re staring", you say, biting into your sandwich. He doesn’t even try to deny it, "I’m appreciating". "You’re plotting", you mumble, giving him a pointed look, licking some peanut butter from your finger. His grin turns wolfish, "Maybe a little".You huff out a laugh, nudging his leg with your knee, "Just eat, Munson. You need your strength". His smirk softens just slightly, and he takes another bite, eyes never leaving yours. "You take good care of me, you know that?" His voice is quieter now, almost sincere. Your stomach flips, but you cover it with another dramatic eye roll, "Someone has to". Eddie grins, swallowing down his last bite, then pops one of the painkillers into his mouth, chasing it with a sip of soda. He leans back against the pillow, stretching a little before groaning, "Okay, yeah, you were right. I needed that". You smirk, finishing your sandwich, "You should listen to me more often". He tilts his head, considering, "Hmm. Nah. Where’s the fun in that?" You shake your head with a laugh, setting your empty plate aside, "You’re impossible". Eddie shifts again, this time without a grimace, and holds his arms open for you, "And yet, you’re still here. Taking care of my wounded body after I rode to battle for you, princess". You roll your eyes, put the plate down and pretend to consider it for a second before finally crawling into his arms, letting him pull you against his chest. His body is warm, his touch easy, familiar. He presses a lazy kiss to your temple, sighing in contentment. "See?", he murmurs, "This is the best medicine". You hum, letting yourself sink into him, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers trace absent patterns on your hip. 

After a few moments of just lying there, you shift slightly, tilting your head to look at him. "Be honest with me", you murmur, "How bad is it? How do you really feel?" Eddie exhales through his nose, his fingers brushing lazily along your back, "It’s alright". You frown, "Eddie, your ribs are looking really bad already. Maybe we should get you to a doctor tomorrow, see if something’s broken". He shakes his head immediately, "I’m fine, babe". You don’t believe him for a second, "I really think we should". "It’s not my first bruised rib, sweetheart, and it sure as hell won’t be my last", he tries to sound casual, but you can hear the strain beneath it. Your chest tightens, "Did he hit your head?"You shift to get a better look at him, "Do you feel dizzy? Nauseous? Headache? Anything like a concussion?" His lips curve slightly, "What are you, my personal nurse now?"

"Eddie".

The smile fades just a little, and he sighs, "No concussion. I swear". You don’t feel reassured. You reach for his hand, the knuckles already swollen, his fingers scraped up from the fight. Your heart clenches as you bring it to your lips, pressing soft kisses to each bruised knuckle, one by one. Eddie watches you, his expression unreadable, but his hand stays limp in yours, letting you do it. He leans his head slightly, tilting his face toward yours, his hair brushing against the pillow. "Stop worrying so much", he murmurs. You exhale a quiet chuckle against his skin, "I can’t". Eddie watches you for a moment, his brows drawn together like he’s trying to figure you out.  "I’m usually not like this", you admit. "Caring about someone. Usually, I couldn’t care less what happens to anyone else". You pause, "I’m egoistic as fuck. But… not when it comes to you".His lips quirk, his tired eyes softening just a little, "That seems like a bad sign, huh?" You nod, sighing as you take him in. His bruised face, the cut on his lip, the way exhaustion tugs at him.

He fought for you. So much. All within a week. 

No one’s ever done that for you. You’re used to fighting on your own. To not being cared about, not being protected. You always handled things yourself. And now, this long-haired, metal-loving idiot had stumbled into your life, bringing chaos and heart flutters, and somehow, without you even realizing it, became the first person to ever make you feel safe. You take a slow breath, still holding his hand in yours, your fingers tracing over his bruised knuckles. The words sit heavy on your tongue, unfamiliar but pressing, demanding to be said. Eddie watches you, waiting, his dark eyes searching yours, like he knows something’s coming. "I don’t know how to do this", you admit softly, "I don’t know how to care about someone like this".His brows twitch slightly, his grip tightening just a little. "I’ve fought my battles by myself my whole life. No one ever gave a shit if I was okay. I never expected them to", you swallow, glancing down at his battered hand, "And now… now there’s you". Eddie doesn’t say anything, just lets you speak, his thumb slowly brushing against your wrist. "You fought for me". Your voice wavers. "You got hurt for me". You lift your eyes to his. His throat bobs, his expression unreadable. "I worry about you so much it makes me sick", you whisper, "I hate seeing you in pain, and knowing you’re hurting, that you got beat up because of me..." you shake your head, blinking against the sting in your eyes, "I don’t know how to deal with that, Eddie".

He exhales slowly, shifting onto his side so he’s facing you fully. "Hey", he murmurs, cupping your face gently despite his busted knuckles, "I’d do it again. A thousand times over". Your chest tightens and You let out a breath, shaking your head, frustration mixing with the storm of emotions twisting inside you. "I don’t know how to thank you", you murmur, "But I also kinda wanna hurt you really bad right now". Eddie snorts, but when he sees your expression, the amusement fades. You’re not joking. Not really. "You keep picking those fights, Eddie", you whisper, "Even though I told you not to". You swallow hard, your throat tight, "This is exactly what I wanted to keep from you. Why I didn’t call you after Billy left my place, after he..." Your voice catches, and Eddie’s jaw tenses. His hand clenches in yours, you can feel the rage humming under his skin. "This is why I didn’t tell you immediately. Why I went to work, why I aimlessly walked through the rain instead of going home, why I kept it to myself even when you found me. Because I knew this would happen. And now… here we are". Eddie exhales sharply, and you see the flicker of regret, the silent war in his eyes. "And Billy?", you continue, "He’s got a broken nose now, that for sure, and God knows what else. He’s gonna want revenge for that".

"I can handle that motherf-"

"What if he reports you to the cops?", you cut in, your voice rising, "What if he gets you arrested for battery? What if next time, he doesn’t just threaten me? What if he..." your voice cracks, and Eddie is suddenly sitting up, pulling you into his chest. "Hey, hey", he murmurs, holding you close, his fingers threading through your hair, "Breathe, baby. Just breathe". You squeeze your eyes shut, gripping onto him. "I’m scared", you admit, voice small, barely above a whisper. He tightens his hold on you, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. "I know", he murmurs, "But I swear to you, I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. Ever". You pull back just enough to look at him, your hands framing his face, your thumbs brushing over the bruises there. He watches you, quiet, his dark eyes searching yours. "You have to", you whisper, "You have to stop".

His brows furrow, "Stop what?" 

"Stop throwing yourself into fights for me", you state, your voice is firm, but there’s a desperate edge to it, your throat tightening with the weight of everything unsaid, "Because I don’t want you to get hurt again. I don’t want you to get suspended again, or arrested, or kicked out of school, or worse". Eddie’s lips press into a thin line, his jaw ticking as he listens. You can tell he wants to argue, that part of him thinks you’re overreacting, that he’d do it all again in a heartbeat. But he doesn’t interrupt. "You think I can handle seeing you like this?", you gesture at his bruised ribs, his busted lip, the way he’s wincing every time he moves, "You think I don’t wanna go back there and put Billy in the ground for what he did to you?" Eddie huffs out something between a chuckle and a scoff, shaking his head, "You? Gonna take down Hargrove? For me?" "I would", you say seriously, "If it meant keeping you safe".

His expression softens, and for a second, he just stares at you, his fingers curling around your wrists.  You two look at each other, his dark eyes wandering over your pleading face as he lets your words sink in. Then, his fingers tighten around your wrists, his breath uneven as his expression changes again, something wild and unguarded in his eyes.

He shakes his head slightly, a rough chuckle slipping past his lips, but there’s no amusement in it. "You don’t get it, do you?" His voice is low, almost a whisper, but it scrapes against the quiet like gravel, thick with something that makes your chest ache, "I don’t give a damn what happens to me, Sam. I don’t care if I get my ass kicked, if I get suspended, if I get arrested, I don’t care. I would burn this whole goddamn town down before I let anyone lay a fucking hand on you again". His grip on you isn’t rough, but it’s unyielding, like he’s terrified you might slip through his fingers if he lets go. His thumb brushes over your pulse, feeling it race beneath his touch.  "You think I don’t know what it’s like to be alone? You think I don’t know what it’s like to fight your own battles, to not have anyone looking out for you? You think I don’t know how fucking exhausting that is?" His jaw clenches, his dark eyes locked onto yours with a desperation that makes your stomach twist. "I was fine with it," he admits, his voice raw, "For years, I was fine with it. No one gave a shit about me, so I didn’t give a shit about them. I didn’t need anyone." He exhales sharply, his fingers twitching against your skin, "And then you happened." His lips press together, his expression twisting, almost like he’s in pain, "And suddenly, I wasn’t fine anymore. Suddenly, I wanted someone to give a shit. Not just anyone. You." His hand cups your jaw now, thumb sweeping over your cheek, his touch reverent, "And I sure as hell wasn’t ready for what that did to me."

You swallow hard, your heart hammering against your ribs.

"I don’t know how to do this either", he admits, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath warm against your lips, "I don’t know how to care about someone like this... like they’re fucking stitched into my bones, like losing them would rip me apart from the inside out." His voice lowers to a whisper, wrecked and honest, "But that’s what you are to me."

Your breath hitches, your hands trembling as they slide up his chest, feeling the steady, frantic beat of his heart.

"You’re not alone anymore, Sam", he murmurs, brushing his nose against yours, his lips barely grazing yours, "You don’t have to fight by yourself. Let me do this. Let me keep you safe. That’s all I want." You squeeze your eyes shut, a tear slipping down your cheek, and Eddie is there instantly, catching it with his lips, kissing it away with a tenderness that shatters something inside you. "You’re mine," he whispers against your skin, his voice rough, pleading, "And I fucking protect what’s mine". With that, he presses his lips against yours, raw and desperate, like he’s trying to brand you with the shape of his mouth, like he needs you to understand just how deep this goes, how there’s no part of him that isn’t yours. You nod, frantically, overwhelmed by the weight of his words, the honesty laced through every breath, every touch. His hands are everywhere, gripping your waist, cradling your face, fingers threading through your hair like he can’t hold enough of you, can’t pull you close enough. "You’re mine, baby" he murmurs against your lips, between kisses that steal the breath from your lungs. "Mine." He presses the word into your skin, whispering it like a prayer, like a promise, like he’s trying to fuse it into your bones.  He drags you closer, onto him, a sharp hiss breaking through his lips when your weight settles over his wounds.You jerk back, panicked, but his grip tightens, keeping you in place. "Don’t," he breathes, his forehead pressing against yours, his eyes dark, wild, "Don’t pull away." His hands slide down your back, holding you firm against him despite the pain that flickers across his face. You shake your head, tears pricking at your eyes, "Eddie, you’re hurt, I--" "I don’t care," he cuts you off, his voice rough, almost pleading, "I don’t care if it hurts. I need you here. I need to feel you." He swallows hard, his fingers digging into your hips, "I need to know you’re real, that you’re safe, that you’re mine." He kisses you again, slow and deep this time, stealing the air from your lungs. You melt into him, every part of you trembling, the heat of him, the scent of leather and smoke and something undeniably him sinking into your skin. "Mine", he whispers again, kissing the word into your lips, your jaw, the curve of your throat. Over and over, like a vow, like a plea. And all you can do is nod, helpless beneath the depth of what he feels, because it’s too much, too overwhelming, too real.

And because you know, without a doubt, that you are. His.

2:47am

The first thing that wakes you is the sound, low, pained, slipping from his throat like a plea. A groan, then a wince, his body shifting restlessly beside you. Eddie.  Your eyes blink open to the darkness of his bedroom, the only light a faint glow from outside, barely touching the sweat on his forehead. His breath is uneven, heavy, too fast. He murmurs something, your name, soft, strained, as his fingers twitch against the sheets. You sit up slowly, watching him. His brows are furrowed, lips parted. He shifts again, wincing, face twisting like he’s fighting something, or someone.

A nightmare.

Your heart clenches. You reach for him, fingers brushing his arm. "Eddie", you whisper, soft, gentle. But he doesn’t wake. His muscles tense beneath your touch, his breath stuttering. You try again, firmer this time. "Eddie, wake up." 

Still nothing.

Another groan slips from him, deeper now, filled with something raw. His hands grip the sheets, knuckles white, jaw clenched. His breath turns ragged, chest rising faster. He murmurs something else, broken, desperate. You lean closer, heart pounding, "Eddie, wake up".

Then he moves suddenly, his whole body jerking, his face twisting in pain, as if something is ripping him apart in his dream.

Enough. 

You grab him, both hands on his shoulders, shaking him, "Come on, Eds, wake up!"

His eyes snap open. He gasps, sharp, ragged, his chest heaving, pulse hammering beneath his skin. His eyes flicker wildly, darting around the room, over your face, wide and unfocused, like he doesn’t know where he is, who you are. Then he sees you. His hands fly up, grabbing your face, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear between his fingers. "Are you okay?" His voice is wrecked, shaking. His thumbs brush over your cheeks, his hands trembling. "There was... a gun". His breath stutters, his whole body locked tight. "I couldn’t- couldn’t reach you. I ran, I ran so fast, but I..." His voice cracks, "I didn’t move." Your chest aches. You wrap your hands over his, pressing them to your skin, grounding him. "Baby", you whisper, firm, steady, "Look at me. I’m here." His eyes search yours, wild, lost. "I’m okay," you say again, softer this time, "You’re okay. It wasn’t real." His breathing is still too fast, panic still curling around him like a vice. His fingers tighten against your face, tracing you, memorizing you, as if reassuring himself you’re real. You press closer, hands slipping to his jaw, thumbs brushing over the rough stubble there. "It was just a dream, okay? It’s over", you murmur, "You don’t have to run anymore." 

His breath shudders. You shift, moving into his arms, wrapping yourself around him, holding him tight. His chest rises against yours, still too fast, but slowing. His hands find your back, your waist, his grip still firm, still desperate. You press soft kisses to his temple, his jaw, whispering against his skin, "Close your eyes. I’ve got you." Slowly, so slowly, his breathing evens out. His grip eases. His forehead presses against yours, his arms still wrapped around you, holding you close, holding you safe as he sinks into the pillow again.

The room is quiet again, save for the sound of his breath, still uneven, still coming down from whatever darkness had gripped him. His face is softer now, but there’s still tension in his brows, a ghost of fear lingering in his features even as he sleeps. 

You don’t close your eyes. You can’t.

Instead, you stay right where you are, curled against him, your fingers moving in slow, delicate strokes over his skin. Over his forehead, smoothing out the creases there. Over his temple, tracing gentle circles. Along his cheek, rough with stubble, your fingertips brushing like whispers. He shifts slightly, a quiet groan leaving his lips as he tries to get comfortable, the movement pulling at his bruised body. Your chest tightens as you feel the way he winces, the slight tremor in his breath before it steadies again. His body is worn, battered, still healing, but even now, even in sleep, he holds onto you like you’re the only thing tethering him to this world. His arm, heavy and warm, stays wrapped around you, his fingers curled against your back. You press a featherlight kiss to his temple, lingering there, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your lips. Then another, just below his eye, where his lashes brush against his cheek. Then one more, at the corner of his mouth, the barest touch, just enough to ground him, to remind him. "I’m here".

His breath deepens, his body loosening by degrees. The tension in his face fades with every soft whisper of your fingers, every quiet press of your lips. You watch the way your touch soothes him, the way his jaw relaxes, the way his grip on you eases, not because he’s letting go, but because he’s finally safe enough to rest.  You whisper his name, barely more than breath, watching as the sound seems to reach him even in sleep. His lashes flutter for half a second before settling again, his body melting further into the mattress, into you. You smile softly, tracing the shape of his nose, the curve of his cheek, memorizing him like this.

Whole. Here. Yours.

You don’t stop watching him. Not for a long time. Not as the night stretches on, not as the world outside stays still. You let yourself be his anchor, let yourself watch over him. Protect him like he always protects you.