046

Tuesday 09:17pm

You sigh deeply, looking at the clock hanging above the front door of your workplace. An hour past closing, and you’re still stuck here, hunched over the counter, sorting through a mess of mislabeled inventory that you botched last week when you weren't focusing properly.

Usually, you'd be out by eight, but not tonight. Tonight, you're here, sighing at the clock, knowing Eddie's gig has already started.

You haven't seen him all day. Just woke up together, then drove to school in separate cars, and you didn’t even have a single class with him. Lunch? Missed that too, he had business to take care of, and you weren’t about to hang around while he handled it. The whole day, you’ve been waiting to see him, feeling the weight of his absence like an itch you can’t scratch. You told him you’d be there for his set, promised you wouldn’t miss it.

And now?

Now you're late, beaten down by work, exhausted but still aching to see him. 

Finally, after fixing your mess and locking up, you head through town toward the bar, smoking a cigarette and feeling all excited to see him play again tonight. Even from a distance, you can hear the music, the pulse of it vibrating through the pavement, luring you in.

But as you step closer, that familiar, uneasy feeling creeps up your spine, just like every single time when you're at the Hideout.Scott might be here. The owner and, unfortunately, your father.

The only reason he allows you in his bar is Eddie, who blackmailed him into backing off and leaving you the fuck alone, who reminded him just how much trouble he could stir up if he wanted to. It’s a delicate balance, a tightrope act, because despite everything, Scott still lets Eddie’s band play here every week. He keeps his distance. Usually.

Still, you're always kinda uneasy when coming here.

Pushing open the door, you step inside. The place is packed, thick with cigarette smoke, the air humming with conversation and the deep thrum of live music. You stop, your eyes immediately finding Eddie across the room.

And your heart flutters at your view.

He’s on stage, sweat-damp curls clinging to his forehead. Completely in his element, head tipped back slightly, lips parted as he plays like he was made for this. You can't help yourself but to just stand there for a moment, watching, crushing over him. And the fact this man is yours. Like, officially.

Tonight is the first time you get to see him like this, without hiding, without sneaking glances and pretending like you’re not with him, scared that Lauren might find out. Scared you'd ruin everything.

Tonight, shit's officially ruined already.

But this guy? He's so worth it. Fuck.

You keep watching, can't pull your eyes away from him. The way he's commanding the room with his music like he was born to do it. His long fingers work the guitar like it’s just an extension of himself, his bruised knuckles flexing. His shirt is already clinging to his chest, the neckline just deep enough to show the sheen of sweat on his collarbone, the chain around his neck catching the dim light. He looks… fucking obscene.

As if Eddie feels your eyes, his head snaps up mid-riff, and his eyes find yours.

For a second, he just stares, like he’s making sure you’re real, like maybe he thought you wouldn’t actually come.

But then you smirk at him, slow and deliberate, dragging your gaze over him like you’re eating him alive. And just like that, his entire expression shifts. That signature Munson smirk pulls at his lips, his fingers stuttering just slightly on the strings before he covers it up. He huffs out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head like he can’t fucking believe you, and keeps playing.

But now, you have his full attention.

You don’t look away, and neither does he, the tension thick as you slowly shrug off your jacket and saunter toward the bar, taking a seat at the far end where you can still see him.

For a few moments, you force yourself to pull your eyes away, focusing on Donna, the bartender, to greet her and order yourself a beer. She slides it in front of you, and you flash her a quick smile, lighting yourself a cigarette and leaning back, ready to watch Eddie play again, when you notice a group of girls from school, ones you've never seen here before, all turned with their backs to the bar, their eyes glued to the stage. You can hear them whispering from where you sit, and curiosity gets the best of you.

"He literally fought for her"

"And won"

"Oh my god, I saw them kiss after, he was all bloody and just...ugh, it was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen"

"He’s so fucking badass. I never realized how hot he is until now"

Your eyes go back to Eddie on stage as you lean a little closer to eavesdrop, smoking your cigarette and casually sipping your beer. He keeps glancing over between chords, his fingers moving like muscle memory, his focus entirely on you now. His stare is dark, heavy-lidded, hungry. Like he’s playing for you and only you. And you love every second of it.

"He’s been hot this whole time, right? And we just, never noticed?", one of the girls mumbles again, and you see how they all tilt their heads to shamelessly stare at Eddie.

"Right? That fight just made it, like, undeniable. I wish someone fought for me like that"

"You think they’re actually together? Him and that girl?"

"Maybe it was just a heat-of-the-moment thing…"

You smirk, exhaling smoke slowly, not bothering to let them know they’re being overheard.

Eddie keeps glancing over, eyes flickering between his guitar and you like he can feel the tension in your body from across the room. You don’t break eye contact, moving with the music, just enough to let him see how he’s got you hooked.

And yeah, he might have an audience tonight. But you know damn well you’re the only one he sees.

Still, you got that urge to show them who he's with.

Just to make things very clear.

The band finishes the song, and their lead singer announces a short break.

The second the last note rings out, you’re already pushing off the bar, heading through the crowd, your beer in your hand.

Eddie grins when he sees you heading for him, stepping down from the small stage, setting his guitar aside. He runs a hand through his damp curls, eyes dragging over you shamelessly. "Baby", he drawls, voice all gravel and honey, "thought for sure you ditched me".

You arch a brow, tilting your head, "What, and miss the show? I was just held up at work, that's why I'm late".

His smirk deepens, and he takes the last step toward you, closing the gap entirely, "Miss me, you mean".

Cocky bastard.

You hum, running your fingers lightly over his bare arm, smirking at the way he shivers under your touch, "You looked pretty comfortable up there, Munson".

His eyes flicker to your lips. "Yeah?", he smirks, "Looked like you kinda liked what you saw".

Slowly, you bite your lip, nodding your head. "Maybe a little".

He chuckles, stealing your beer right from your hand and taking a long sip. You snatch it back before he can go for another, narrowing your eyes, "You do remember you’re on pain meds, right? No beer for you, baby".

He pouts. "Just a sip", he tries, all wide eyes and faux innocence.

You shake your head, lips quirking. "Nuh-uh. Don’t want you all hammered and forgetting who your girl is, Munson". You glance past him, just for a second, at the group of girls still watching,  "Now that you’ve got a little fan club following you everywhere you go, apparently".

He squints over his shoulder, looking right at the group of girls, making them all nervous and giggly before turning back to you again. He shrugs, smirking cocky, "Can't blame them. I mean, look at me". He wiggles his brows, causing you to roll your eyes. "Don't be jealous, baby. Didn’t even realize they watching me", he murmurs, voice dropping, as his eyes flicker to your lips, "but the second you walked in, my dick lit up".

You roll your eyes again, about to shove at his chest, but he catches your wrist and presses a quick kiss to your knuckles. "And my heart, of course", he adds smoothly, grinning and making you blush.

"You’re impossible", you groan, and his smirk widens.

"Impossibly hooked on you, maybe", he mutters, leaning back just enough to flick a cigarette between his lips and light it, shamelessly letting his eyes drag down your body while his other hand firmly stays on your lower back. You smirk, moving to pluck the cigarette from his fingers, but he’s quicker. He catches your wrist again, flips it, and instead brings the cigarette to your lips himself, watching as you take a slow drag. His other hand finds your chin, tilting your face up, and before you can exhale, his lips are on yours. The kiss is deep, lazy, and full of smoke and heat, his tongue brushing yours, stealing the breath right from your lungs.

By the time he pulls back, you’re dazed, gripping his shirt, and he’s grinning like he just won something. He nods at the beer in your hand, "So, uh… you gonna let me have another sip, or what?"

You hum, lifting it to your lips, taking a slow, deliberate drink. Then, you swallow, smirking, "Guess you gotta lick it off my lips, baby".

Eddie groans under his breath, shaking his head, but he doesn’t hesitate before pulling you right back in, moving his salty lips with yours, making your heart flutter and your body immediately react. You barely pull back from his lips before whispering, "Missed you".

Eddie huffs out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. "You’re killin’ me, sweetheart", he murmurs, voice all low and warm. His fingers squeeze your waist, his thumbs rubbing slow, teasing circles. "You have no idea how happy I am that I can just...", he leans in, lips brushing your ear, "fuckin’ do you right here, in public. Show everyone you’re mine".

His words send a full-body shiver down your spine, heat curling low in your stomach. "Eds", you breathe daringly, and he smirks, because he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

"God, baby", he muses, pretending to be deep in thought, "wouldn’t that just be so convenient? Just…" He slides a hand down your hip, barely skimming the top of your ass, his rings cold against your skin, "Spin you around, bend you over the bar, let everyone see how fuckin’ wrecked you get for me".

A soft, strangled noise gets caught in your throat.

Eddie hears it. Feels it. And he loves it. He grins, nipping at your jaw, his body heat practically suffocating you. He’s sweaty, warm, his scent thick in your nose. Smoke, cologne, cheap beer, him. His fingers flex on your hips, his breath heavy against your skin, and when he pulls back just enough to look at you, his pupils are blown wide, his lips red and swollen from your kisses.

And he doesn’t give a single shit about the eyes on him.

Those girls at the bar? The ones whispering, giggling, suddenly dreaming about a chance with him?

They don’t exist. Not for him.

Because he’s yours. And he knows it.

"You’re not playing fair", you murmur, letting your fingers drag over his damp collarbone, nails scratching lightly down his chest.

He hums, head tilting. "Oh, sweetheart". His fingers brush the hem of your shirt, ghosting just under it, barely teasing the skin beneath, "You love it when I don’t play fair".

He’s right. He’s so fucking right.

So you decide to return the favor.

You step even closer, pressing into him, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as you whisper, "That's right. And now, you got me all wet for you, baby".

Eddie chokes on his own saliva. His hands tighten on you immediately, his entire body tensing like a live wire, and for a second, he actually looks like he’s about to drag you away, say fuck it to everything, and do exactly what he just threatened.His jaw flexes, "Baby, you can’t just--"

"You started it", you remind him sweetly, tracing your fingers over his bruised ribs, just enough pressure to make him shudder.

He exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head. "You suck", he mutters, trying to keep his composure.

"No", you hum, eyes flicking down to his mouth, "but I could".

Eddie groans, low and dangerous, fingers twitching against you, his restraint hanging by a thread. His lips part, his knee slots between yours, and just when he’s about to say fuck it...

"Alright, break’s over, let’s go!"

Gareth’s voice slices through the haze, and Eddie physically tenses.

You bite back a smirk, watching as his head falls back, eyes screwing shut in pure agony. "Dude", Gareth calls again, already climbing back on stage. Eddie grumbles under his breath, rubbing a hand over his face. Then, his head snaps back down to you, and he glares. "You planned this", he accuses.

You laugh, shaking your head, "Oh, I wish I was that good". He groans again, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip, looking you over like he’s memorizing exactly what he’s coming back to the second this set is over.Then, with a final, reluctant huff, he drags himself away from you, stepping back onto the stage.

But before he starts playing again, before he even picks up his guitar, he leans into the mic, eyes locked on you, and says, "That was the longest fucking break of my life".

And the whole bar laughs, but you know.

You know that as soon as the set is over, you’re done for.

20 minutes later, the music pounds through the bar, vibrating beneath your fingertips as you lean against a high table near the stage, another drink in hand.

But you’re not paying attention to the music, not really.

You’re watching him.

Eddie is in his element. His fingers dance over the strings, his body moving with the music, sweat slick on his skin, his rings glistening under the dim stage lights.

He’s playing like he was born to do this, and yet, you are all he sees.

Because you’re teasing him.

Your drink is cool against your lips as you take slow, deliberate sips, eyes locked on him, tracing every inch of his body. The way his arms flex, the way his shirt clings to him, the way his fingers move over his guitar. Fuck. You drag your tongue over your bottom lip, your gaze smoldering, letting him know exactly what’s on your mind.

And he sees it.Even while playing, his dark eyes keep flickering to you, his focus torn between the music and the way you’re watching him like you’re already planning to devour him after this. His smirk deepens, sweat dripping from his curls. 

You’re both caught in this silent, electric game, until someone interrupts.

A presence steps up beside you, and a voice, smooth and confident, cuts through your haze.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

You blink, breaking your stare from Eddie, turning to see some guy. Tall, broad shoulders, smug grin. He’s looking at you like he just walked up on a girl who clearly wants his attention.

You sigh, shaking your head, polite but firm, "I’m good, thanks."

He doesn’t budge. "Aw, come on. One drink."

Your eyes narrow slightly, "No, really. I’m fine."

He steps closer, the smell of cheap cologne and beer hitting your nose. "What, you waiting for someone?" He nods toward the stage, "Don’t tell me you’ve got a thing for him."

Your jaw tightens, "I do, actually. So why don’t you piss off?"

His face darkens, amusement flickering into something else. "You don’t gotta be a bitch about it," he mutters, taking another step toward you.

And that’s when you feel it. Eddie’s eyes.You glance toward the stage, and sure enough, he’s watching. His fingers are still moving over the strings, but his gaze is sharp, intense, locked onto the guy like a goddamn target. You can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenches, the fire burning beneath his sweat-slicked skin.

The guy in front of you doesn’t seem to notice, doesn’t realize he just made a big mistake. "You should walk away now," you say, voice cold.

He scoffs, tilting his head, taking another step forward, reaching for you, "Or what, mh?"

And that’s when it happens.

A sudden, sharp screech of feedback from the stage.

Eddie’s guitar shrieking as his fingers slam against the strings.

The music stops.

The whole bar falls into confusion, heads turning toward the stage, the rest of the band looking at Eddie like what the hell?

But he isn’t paying attention. His hands move fast, he slides his guitar down his body, blindly handing it off to Jeff without looking, and then, he jumps down from the stage. Your stomach tightens as you watch him move, his eyes blazing, his whole body radiating raw, protective rage.

The guy barely has time to react before Eddie shoves him back, making him stumble. "Back the fuck off," he growls, voice low, dangerous, vibrating with fury. His bruised knuckles flex at his sides, his chest heaving, "Now."

The guy stumbles back a step, shock flashing in his eyes. He wasn’t expecting this. Wasn’t expecting the bands guitarist to actually jump off that stage, wild and untamed, fury rolling off him in waves.

Eddie doesn’t give him a second to recover.

He takes another step forward, close enough that their chests almost brush, his jaw tight, his fingers twitching like he’s dying to throw a punch.

The bar is dead silent, all eyes locked on them, but Eddie doesn’t give a shit. He’s staring this asshole down like he’s about to rip him apart. "You got a problem?" His voice is low, a quiet threat beneath the din of the bar.

The guy scoffs, regaining some of his arrogance, "Relax, man. I was just talking to her."

Eddie tilts his head, tongue running over his bottom lip as he lets out a slow, humorless chuckle. "Talking?" He repeats the word like it’s the funniest fucking thing he’s ever heard. Then, suddenly, his expression drops, and his voice turns razor-sharp. "Nah. You weren’t talking, man. You were pushing." His body is coiled, barely restrained, a loaded spring ready to snap.

You're not gonna lie. It does something to you, to see him like this, all tense and protective and yours. You move before you even think, stepping in close, sliding a hand up his arm, over his shoulder. His skin is hot, sweat-damp, muscles tight beneath your touch. "Baby", you murmur, voice soft, pulling his focus back to you.

His breath shudders. His fingers flex. And when he turns his head to look at you, that fire in his eyes flickers, just slightly.

The guy sees it. Sees how easily you pull Eddie’s attention, how that rage softens into something else entirely when it comes to you.

And that’s when he realizes he’s already lost.

"Fuck this," the guy mutters, backing away, "Not worth it."

Eddie watches him retreat, chest still rising and falling in sharp bursts. His knuckles are white where his fists are clenched, the veins in his forearms standing out. But then, slowly, his head turns back to you. That shift in him is immediate. The second his eyes land on yours, all that anger bleeds into something else. Something darker. Hungrier.

You’re still touching him, your fingers curling into the damp fabric of his shirt, and he likes it. He tilts his head, breathing hard, lips parting, his expression melting into a smirk that’s so cocky, it should be illegal. "Jesus Christ," he rasps, voice wrecked from the adrenaline. His fingers lift, brushing along your waist, dipping under the hem of your shirt just enough to tease, "You’re really gonna touch me like that after I nearly knocked that guy’s teeth out?"

Your pulse pounds in your throat, "You didn’t even hit him".

"Didn’t have to," he hums, sliding his hands lower, gripping your hips, his thumbs rubbing circles into your skin, "He knew better."

You exhale shakily, caught between arousal and the thrill of the moment, "You’re a menace".

"And you," Eddie leans in, breath hot against your ear, "are fucking mine."

Your stomach flips. Your fingers tighten against his shirt. The whole bar is watching, but you don’t care. He doesn’t care. "You should be playing right now," you murmur, lips brushing against his jaw.

"Yeah?" Eddie hums, pressing in closer, his body radiating heat, "And you should be sitting pretty, cheering me on from the crowd, not..." he pulls back, looking you over, gaze dark, "groping me in front of everyone".

Your lips curl, "Groping?"

"You’re all over me, sweetheart." He chuckles, raspy and wrecked, "Not that I’m complaining".

You smirk, sliding your fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck, "Maybe I just like making sure everyone knows you’re taken."

He grins. His nose scrunches, his dimple peeking out, his fingers tightening on your waist, "Ohhh, you’re jealous again, mh? That what that little fan club does to you?"

You roll your eyes, "I’m territorial".

"That’s just a sexy way to say jealous."

You huff, but before you can snap back, someone from the stage yells, "Munson! You planning to finish the set, or what? Stop dry humping your girl and get back up here!"

Eddie groans, rolling his head back dramatically. "Jesus Christ," he mutters, before looking back at you with pure, unfiltered desperation, "You owe me for this".

"Do I?" You tease, dragging a single finger down his chest.

"Oh, big time", Eddie breathes. Then, low enough for only you to hear, "I was two seconds away from dragging you out of here."

Your body shudders.

His eyes flash, and for a split second, you think he might just say fuck it and take you right here. But then Jeff shouts again, and Eddie sighs, stepping back with a shake of his head, muttering, "Fucking cockblockers."

You laugh, swiping your drink off the table as he heads back toward the stage.

But even as he picks up his guitar, tuning back into the music... his eyes?

His eyes stay glued to you.

The set is electric.

The energy between you and Eddie never wavers, only builds with every riff, every beat, every smirk exchanged across the stage.

You move just enough to the music, swaying, tilting your head, letting your body react in a way that makes him shift on his feet, his fingers nearly fumbling at the bridge of the song. Every time he catches your eye, the hunger between you sharpens, an unspoken challenge neither of you wants to lose.

By the time they crash into the final note of the last song, the bar erupts into cheers.

Eddie, grinning wide, slings his guitar behind his back, chest rising and falling as he soaks in the applause. His eyes are already locked on you as you step closer to the stage, taking a slow drag of your cigarette.

The other guys are chugging their drinks, wiping sweat off their faces, but Eddie? He only has eyes for you.

"You liked that, didn’t you?", he drawls, voice thick with smug satisfaction.

You raise a brow, "Liked what?"

"Our show", he says, stepping forward, fingers tapping lazily against the neck of his guitar. "Me". His grin turns devilish, "Couldn’t stop eye-fucking me the entire time".

You huff a laugh, flicking ash from your cigarette as his bandmates groan, shaking their heads. "Jesus, man", Gareth mutters, sipping his beer. "Shameless", Jeff adds, grinning behind his bottle.

You smirk, exhaling smoke as you tilt your head up at Eddie, "You were alright".

His eyes narrow, "Alright?"

"Yeah", you shrug, taking another slow drag, "There’s room for improvement".

The guys let out an exaggerated oooh, but Eddie just laughs, shaking his head, too cocky, too high on adrenaline. "You’re such a pain in the ass", he muses, running a hand through his damp curls.

"And you’re a little too confident", you tease, flicking your gaze over him, exhaling smoke.

Eddie leans in, resting his forearm on his guitar, "Think you can do it better, baby?"

You meet his eyes, kissing your teeth with your tongue, "Probably".

That grin. That damn grin stretches across his face like he just won the lottery, and before you can clock what he’s up to, he turns, plugs his amp back in, and grabs the mic. "Alright, alright, listen up!", he calls out, grinning as the crowd settles. "My girlfriend...", he lets the word hang, drawing a few whistles, emphasizing it just enough to send a pulse of heat through your body, "thinks she can play better than me".

Laughter, applause, and the weight of every single person in that bar turning toward you.

You stare at him, incredulous, "Eddie, I was joking".

"Oh, were you?", he teases, cocking his head, "Damn. Too bad, sweetheart. Crowd seems real eager to see if you can back it up".

The bar whoops. Jeff and Gareth exchange knowing looks, both stepping back like they know you’re screwed. Someone hands them another round, ready to watch the chaos unfold.

Eddie holds out his hand, grinning down at you, "Come on, rockstar".

You glare. You hesitate. But the cheers only grow, and when he wiggles his fingers impatiently, you huff, stump out your cigarette and grab his hand. He pulls you up easily, stepping back as you land on stage. His guitar is warm in your hands. His guitar. The strap is still damp from his sweat, the scent of him lingering as you adjust it.

Eddie watches you like a man starved, licking his lips as he grabs the mic again. "Damn", he murmurs into it, smirking, "You look real good in my guitar, think I just found a new kink".

You roll your eyes, hearing the people whistle again, "Shut up, Munson".

"Can’t", he grins, still talking into the mic, "Not when you keep looking at me like that". The crowd laughs, and Eddie leans in a little further, eyes burning through you as he continues. "Go on, baby. Show ‘em what you got".

You hold out your hand, "Pick". Eddie dangles it between his fingers, teasing, until you snatch it from him. "You better hope this doesn’t bruise your ego", you murmur.

Then, without another word, you plant your feet, press your fingers to the fretboard, and shred the opening to "Eruption".

Van Halen’s most insane solo.

The crowd silences.

Even Eddie, all smug and cocky, freezes. His lips part slightly, brown eyes widening as your fingers fly across his guitar, precise, controlled, effortless.

By the time you hit the last wailing note, the bar erupts. Cheers, whistles, people pounding on tables.

You turn to Eddie, smirking, letting your fingers glide over the strings in one last teasing caress. "Something wrong?"

Eddie is wrecked. Still gripping the mic, still catching his breath, still staring at you like you just flipped his entire world upside down. The bar is roaring, but he doesn’t even seem to hear them, not at first. His fingers twitch at his side, jaw shifting like he’s trying to come up with something, anything, but for the first time in his life, words fail him.

And then, he clears his throat. "Well, fuck me".

The bar erupts again, laughter and cheers filling the air. He runs a hand through his sweat-damp curls, still looking at you like you just changed the course of his life.

"Alright, alright", he laughs into the mic, voice still winded from everything, "I’ll admit it, I have officially been silenced. And I have never been more into that in my entire goddamn life".

The crowd eats it up. More whistles, more applause. Someone near the front yells, "She’s got you wrapped, Munson!" and he doesn’t even deny it, just grins, biting his lip like he’s debating whether or not to say something absolutely filthy. His bandmates, on the other hand, are living for this. "Damn, dude", Gareth laughs, shaking his head, "I think we need to replace you". Jeff crosses his arms, grinning. "Yeah, man. She’s clearly the more talented, less annoying guitarist. She might be a better fit for the band. And she's way better looking".

Eddie glares at them, but the corner of his mouth twitches, he’s not actually mad. Still, he rolls his shoulders, squares his stance, and throws them a look that has them both immediately clearing their throats and stepping back, hands raised in surrender. "Thought so", he mutters. When he turns back to you, his expression softens, dark eyes raking over you like you’re the only person left in the bar.

You chuckle, slipping the guitar strap off your shoulder and handing it back to him. Eddie takes it almost absentmindedly, still staring at you like you just walked straight out of one of his best dreams.

The background music hums through the bar’s speakers, the crowd’s attention slowly shifting away, but Eddie doesn’t move, not really. He sets his guitar down carefully, then turns back to you, gaze raking over you like he’s trying to figure out how the hell he didn’t know this about you. "Why the fuck didn’t I know you can play like that?", he finally asks, voice low, rough. His hands find your waist, tugging you just a little closer, like he needs to feel you against him to make sure you’re real. His pupils are blown, the adrenaline still running hot in his veins.

You smirk, pretending to think, "Maybe because you never asked?"

Eddie huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. His fingers press a little tighter against you as he leans in, his lips barely grazing the shell of your ear, "Yeah? Well, now I’m never shutting up about it". His voice is all gravel and heat, and fuck, it’s unfair.

You swallow, feeling the warmth creep up your neck as he presses his mouth just under your jaw, murmuring things that make you blush and bite back a chuckle, about how he needs you to play for him again, but with absolutely nothing on.

And then he kisses you. Right there on stage, his hands gripping your hips as he tilts his head just enough to deepen it.

The crowd may not be watching, but his bandmates definitely are, and you can hear them groaning and making dramatic gagging noises in the background.

You laugh, turning in his arms to glance through the bar, and... your stomach drops.

Because there, leaned against the doorframe leading outside, arms crossed over his chest, watching you with an expression that’s far from amused, is your father.

Your laughter dies in your throat.

The warmth of Eddie’s hands on your waist fades into the background, drowned out by the ice creeping up your spine as your gaze locks onto Scott’s. He’s standing in the doorway, a tension in his jaw, a twitch in his fingers, his nostrils flaring just slightly. He’s fucking livid. He just watched Eddie announce you as his girlfriend. Watched you take his guitar and tear through it like you were born with it in your hands. Watched Eddie kiss you like he owns you. Like you’re his.

Scott saw it all. And he fucking hates it.

The last time you saw him, he told you that Munson boy was nothing but trouble. That you needed to stay the hell away from him. You told him to shut it, that if he didn’t like Eddie, that was reason enough for you to stay. And you went to him. That Munson boy, who didn't even hesitate to tell Scott he'll talk about everything illegal going on in that bar if he ever gets too close to you again. Makes you uncomfortable. Or even lays his hands on you.

And now? That same troubled boy's got his arm around you, standing on his stage, in his bar, acting like he fucking belongs there. Like he owns the whole goddamn place.

Scott doesn’t move. He just stands there, arms crossed, shoulders squared, watching. Waiting. Like he thinks you’re gonna break. Like you’re supposed to cower under his stare. Like the weight of his presence alone should make you tuck your tail and scurry off that stage, out of Eddie’s arms, back into line.

But you don’t. You won’t. You hold his gaze, chin tilted just slightly, eyes unreadable. Unimpressed.

Because what does he have left to hold over you?

You don’t need him. You made that damn clear when you packed up and left his trailer, found your own place, your own job, your own damn money.

The only thread still tying you to him is your car, the one you stole from him when you left, the one that broke down and ended up sitting at the town's garage because you didn’t have two hundred bucks to get it fixed. Scott paid for it. Not that you asked him to. Not that you’d even known, until last time you ran into him here and he rubbed it in your face.

That he’s still watching you. That he knows where you are, what you’re up to. He knows everybody, and they talk.

But this? Seeing you up there, Eddie Munson’s girl? Letting that troublemaker pull you onto his stage, wrap his arms around you, kiss you like he owns you?

Scott Moore sure as hell didn’t see that coming.

And you? You’re still buzzing, adrenaline in your veins from the solo, from the crowd, from the power of it all. You felt it when Eddie kissed you, when he pulled you in right in front of all those girls who’d spent the whole damn night drooling over him.

You wanna piss him off, that asshole of a 'father'.

So you grab Eddie by the front of his shirt and crash your lips against his, harder this time, rough and heated and shameless. He groans raspy, his arm snakes tighter around you as he pulls you deeper into his warm chest, humming as your lips move against his.

The bar fucking erupts again. Cheers, whistles, drunken applause. Someone smacks the side of the stage. A few people pound their fists against the tables.

Eddie barely has time to catch his breath before his bandmates start in on him, making obnoxious, teasing comments about his rockstar girlfriend. Gareth dramatically fans himself, Jeff whistles, and their lead singer Grant, who’s already a few drinks in, slurs something about how Eddie’s officially the second-best guitarist in the band.

He rolls his eyes, clearly annoyed but not actually mad, and silences them with another glare before turning his attention back to you. "You done embarrassing me in front of my friends?", he mutters, voice rough but full of warmth.

You smirk, reaching up to push some damp curls from his face, "Not even close. Because now? I'm getting drunk".

He blinks, then lets out a short laugh, "Yeah? On a Tuesday night? Fine for me".

"Yeah", you wink at him and press another quick kiss to his cheek, then tap his chest, "But you, Eds, are not".

Eddie groans, tipping his head back dramatically, "You just love ruining my fun".

You grin, "I’m looking out for you, baby. No booze and meds. But you can watch me have fun instead".

He huffs but doesn’t argue. If anything, the idea of staying sober while you get tipsy and clingy seems to appeal to him, especially since it means he’s the one making sure you get home safe.

You both step down from the stage, followed by his band, weaving through the crowded bar.

The energy in the room is electric, everyone still hyped from the performance. It's already 11pm, and you know you should probably head home. But the heat from the stage, from the crowd, from that kiss, it’s all still there, humming under your skin.

You should be exhausted. You should go home and to bed and rest for tomorrow. But you don’t want to. Not yet. You’re still riding the high, and if Eddie’s hand gripping your hip is anything to go by, so is he.

You throw a glance over your shoulder, locking eyes with him. "You’re my driver tonight", you murmur, making sure the words drip with implication, "My very attractive chauffeur".

Eddie leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, "Might take the long way home then".

You shiver, grinning as you pull him to the bar, leaning at the counter, feeling him stepping right behind you, his heated body against your back now, one hand supporting himself at the edge of the sticky countertop. Donna, the bartender, spots you two immediately and smirks, shaking her head like she’s been expecting this. "Well, look who finally got their shit together", she muses, already reaching for the whiskey, "What’s the damage tonight?"

"Two shots and a whiskey", you say sweetly, already fishing for cash.

Eddie hums behind you, pressing in closer, his palm splaying over your stomach, fingers resting low, teasing the edge of your belt, "Three drinks? And none for me, apparently".

You smirk, glancing at him over your shoulder, "A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do, babe. Want me to order you a water? It's on me".

"Mm", he presses his lips to the side of your neck, slow and deliberate, just to watch you react, "You’re really enjoying this, huh? Making fun of my wounded body?"

You lean back into him, chuckling as his fingers cheekily tickle your stomach, "Maybe a little".

He chuckles, but you don’t miss the way his grip tightens slightly, how his fingers flex like he wants to do more, to pull you closer. He’s needy, and you love it.

When your shots arrive, you waste no time downing them back-to-back, the alcohol burning pleasantly down your throat. Eddie watches, visibly disturbed and just a little turned on. "Jesus", he mutters, trailing his lips down your neck. You hum in amusement, taking a slow sip of your whiskey before turning in his arms to face him. His hands settle on your hips immediately, pulling you in. Dark eyes wander over your face, and you frown lightly, taking another sip of whiskey.

"What?", you laugh, looking up at him.

He huffs out a laugh, his fingers tightening on your hips, "Just trying to figure out if I should be scared or turned on by how you downed those shots".

You smirk, reaching for him, your fingers curling in his shirt, "How about both?"

He grins, leans in and kisses you, soft and deep, tasting the alcohol on your tongue, feeling your soft sigh against his lips. As he pulls back, you're biting down on your lip, taking another sip and gazing at him with hungry eyes.

Eddie barely gives you room to breathe before he’s leaning in again, his breath hot against your ear, his voice rough and low, dripping with something dark and desperate. "Do you have any fucking idea how hot you looked up there?", he murmurs, his lips barely brushing your skin, sending a delicious shiver down your spine, "Playing my guitar like you fucking owned it? Like you owned me?"

Your lips curl, taking another slow sip of whiskey as you feel his fingers flex around your waist, as if he’s restraining himself from doing exactly what he wants. "Maybe I did", you tease, eyes flicking up at him under your lashes.

Eddie huffs a short, rough laugh, pressing his forehead briefly against your temple. "Fuck, baby", he groans, his voice raspy and thick with want, "I wanted to take you right there on that stage, y’know that? After the way you teased me all night?"

You smirk, swirling the whiskey in your glass. "You always wanna take me somewhere inappropriate, Eds".

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his dark eyes flickering with something feral, "And you love it".

You chuckle, heat pooling in your belly at the way he’s looking at you, like he’s about to drag you to the back room of this bar and ruin you. You like how needy he is for you, how obsessed, how he can’t help himself when it comes to you. You can feel the way he’s holding himself back, just barely, his fingers gripping your hips, thumbs stroking circles against the fabric of your jeans. You take another sip of whiskey, biting down on a grin as you flirt right back, leaning into him, letting your fingers trail teasingly up his chest. "Well, you were very hot tonight too", you admit, tipping your head slightly, letting your lips almost brush his, "Sweaty, loud, all rockstar and shit… stopping your set to push a guy away who got too close..."

Eddie’s smirk is cocky as hell, his head tilting slightly, challenging. "Yeah?"His hands tighten on your hips, "That why you’re all over me right now?"

"Maybe", you hum, pressing a slow kiss to the corner of his mouth before pulling back just to watch his frustration.

His fingers twitch like he wants to grab you harder, pull you back in. "Tease", he mutters, his voice wrecked, and it makes you giggle, just a little.

And then you see them again. The girls. Still watching. Still whispering.

You shift in Eddie’s grip, letting your arm slide down his back, your hand boldly grabbing his ass, squeezing possessively. You can feel the way he tenses, his breath catching slightly before he follows your gaze, finally noticing the girls at the bar, still eyeing him like they’re waiting for their chance.

Eddie smirks. And that’s when he decides to fuck with you. "Y’know", he murmurs, his voice suddenly too casual, too smug, "maybe I should go over. Say hi. Maybe they want an autograph?"

You roll your eyes, already seeing through him, "No, Eddie. They want your dick".

He grins, oh-so-smug, and then, to your absolute horror, he lifts a hand and waves at them.

Your jaw drops, "Oh, you asshole".

Eddie just shrugs, biting his lip to keep from laughing at your expression, "What? I’m just being friendly".

You groan, downing the rest of your whiskey in frustration, giving Donna a silent signal to refill your glass. The alcohol is definitely settling into your system now, making everything just a little warmer, making your body just a little looser.

He leans in close, his nose brushing your cheek, his voice a murmur, all smug and teasing, "You jealous, baby?"

You scoff, grabbing your fresh drink. "Jealous?" You take a slow, deliberate sip, letting the burn settle before looking at him again, "Nah. Just reconsidering whether you’re allowed in your own bed tonight".

That finally wipes the smirk off his face. Eddie tilts his head, giving you an incredulous look. "Wait, what?"

You shrug, taking another sip, smug as hell, "Keep it up, Munson, and you can sleep on the couch tonight".

He lets out a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head, "Babe. It’s my bed".

"Don’t care", you swirl the whiskey in your glass, watching him over the rim.

He huffs, running a hand through his curls, clearly torn between frustration and amusement, "You’re really doin’ this right now?"

You just smirk and take another slow sip.

Eddie groans, leaning in, pressing a kiss just below your ear. "Baby", he murmurs, his lips brushing against your skin, "You really wanna punish me like that?"

You grin, biting your lip, but you don’t answer.

He presses another kiss, this time lower, right where your jaw meets your neck. His voice drops even lower, "I could make it up to you, y’know..." His hands tighten on your hips, fingers teasing just under the hem of your shirt, "Make you feel real good".

Your breath hitches slightly, but you don’t let it show. Instead, you smirk, tilting your head just slightly. "Nah", you say, voice dripping with mock sympathy,, "maybe those girls could do a better job. You should go ask them".

Eddie freezes. Then pulls back, just enough to meet your gaze. Oh, you got him. His eyes flick between yours, darkening with something hungrier, something deeper. "You little..."

You just smirk, taking another sip, still playing with him, pushing him, making him want you more.

He groans, his hand sliding down to grab a handful of your ass, hidden behind the bar. His voice is a low growl against your skin, "You are such a fucking tease".

You giggle, tilting your head slightly as his lips graze your neck again, "And you love it".

He groans again, pressing himself harder against you, letting you feel exactly what you’re doing to him. "You make me so fucking hard, babe", he mutters, his breath heavy, his hands gripping you like he needs you.

You glance at the girls one last time, then back at Eddie, smug as hell as he practically devours you right there at the bar. You can feel him, the way his fingers grip your waist, his breath coming heavier the longer you tease. And you’re so enjoying yourself. "You know", you murmur, tracing a slow circle on his chest with your finger, "if I didn't know any better, I'd say you want me to get drunk".

Eddie huffs out a laugh, but it’s strained, his hands flexing around your hips, "Oh yeah? Why’s that?"

You smirk, swirling the last sip of whiskey in your glass before tipping it back. You don’t flinch at the burn, just lick the remnants off your lips, slow, deliberate. His eyes track your tongue, jaw tightening."Because, baby", you hum, placing your empty glass back on the counter, "the tipsier I get…the less I care about who’s watching".

Eddie groans, low and deep in his throat, his fingers tightening, his hips shifting just slightly against you.

You feel everything. Fuck, you love how easy he is to unravel. How he wants to be unraveled by you.

Your lips curl as you press in closer, your hip shifting, just enough to brush against his crotch. Just enough to make him suffer.

And oh, he does. His breath stutters, his grip digging into your hips, his forehead pressing against yours. "Jesus fucking Christ, baby", he groans, voice all rough and wrecked, "You're killing me."

You hum in mock sympathy, fingers tracing slow patterns up his chest, your lips grazing the corner of his mouth. "Poor thing," you murmur, "What can I do to make it better?"

Eddie growls. "You know what you can do," he mutters, shifting against you, his breath hot against your skin, "But you're having too much fun making me suffer, aren't you?"

You giggle, tipping your head back slightly, "Maybe."

Eddie groans again, his lips brushing your neck, his fingers gripping your hips so tightly you’re certain he’ll leave marks. "Fuck," he whispers, voice so thick with need it makes your stomach flip, "I need you so fucking bad."

And shit. You need him, too. You can feel it, the heat pooling between your legs, the way your body thrums for him, the ache deep in your core.

But you’re not done playing.

You pull back slightly, grinning as you turn to Donna, raising a hand. "Two more shots!" you call, your voice light and teasing.

Eddie groans behind you, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. "Baby," he mutters, voice full of pain.

You laugh, turning slightly in his arms, reaching up to brush his damp curls back from his forehead, "What?"

He lifts his head, eyes dark and full of frustration, "You’re really gonna make me sit through more of this?"

Your grin turns wicked, "Yup". Donna sets the shots down, and before you can take on, Eddie reaches for one, eyes flickering with heat and challenge.

"No drinking, babe", you remember, and he grins.

"Oh, I'm just... assisting", he murmurs, lifting the glass up to your lips, "Open that pretty mouth, baby".

You arch a brow but obey, parting your lips, letting him tilt the glass, the liquid burning down your throat. You barely have time to swallow before he crashes his lips against yours, catching the Tequila on your tongue, swallowing it down like it's the only thing he needs to survive.

Fuck.

Your fingers tangle in his curls, tugging slightly, making him groan into your mouth. You’re all heat and hands, and you can feel him against you, hard, needy, barely holding on as you pull away, smirking smugly.

His grip on the bar tightens as you grab the second shot, your lips curling into a lazy, mischievous grin. "Wish you could take these with me, baby", you sigh dramatically, trailing a finger along the rim of your shot glass before glancing up at him, eyes hazy with tequila and heat.

He huffs, jaw tightening, "Yeah? That so?"

You nod, leaning in just a little, enough for your breath to brush against his lips. "Would’ve been fun", you hum, tilting your head, "We could’ve made a whole thing out of it".

His fingers twitch against your waist. His self-control is hanging by a fucking thread. "A thing?", he rasps, voice already shot to hell.

"Mhm", you hum, lazily picking up the salt shaker that came along with your shots but you didn't bother using before, and turning it in your fingers. "You ever done a body shot before, Munson?"

Eddie blinks. And then groans, tipping his head back, "Fuck".

You giggle, pleased with yourself, and tap a finger against your bottom lip. "I’d have made it real easy for you", you muse, pretending to think. "Pick any spot you like. Right here...", your fingers trace the dip of your collarbone, "... or here...", a slow drag down your stomach, "Or, if you were really feeling greedy…" Your smirk turns wicked, and you trail your fingers even lower, just to the waistband of your jeans.

Eddie swallows hard. His fingers dig into your hips, his breath coming out rough. "You’re fucking evil", he mutters, his eyes locked on your hand, his brain already short-circuiting at the thought. But you’re not done.

"Then", you say, twirling the shot glass between your fingers, "the best part. The tequila".

Eddie is struggling to breathe.

"Where d’you want it, baby?", you ask sweetly, "Could pour it in my mouth, make you chase it with a kiss…" Your smirk deepens as you lean up, voice dipping to a whisper, "Or, if you wanted to be really filthy… you could pour it anywhere you like and lick. Every. Last. Drop".

Eddie’s dying. Actually fucking dying. You’re already pressed between him and the bar, his body caging you in, his fingers gripping you like he can’t not touch you. And with every word that spills from your mouth, he’s losing his fucking mind. You’re too much. Too pretty. Too smug. Too goddamn sexy, standing there, looking up at him with those tipsy, lust-drenched eyes, telling him how you want him to lick and bite and taste you. "Jesus fucking Christ, baby", he grits out, lips brushing against your skin.

You grin, taking your shot and tossing it back. Eddie watches, his whole body wound so tight he feels like he might snap in half. You’re enjoying this. Enjoying him, the way he can’t function when you’re like this, hot and teasing and tipsy, pushing him to the edge of insanity.

And you’re not even done yet.

"And finally", you purr, reaching for the lemon wedge, bringing it to your lips. You take a slow, sensual lick, letting the citrusy tang sit on your tongue before dragging your teeth along the flesh, "You take this… and bite. Right after".

He’s gone. Absolutely fucking feral.

His hands snap to your waist, fingers flexing against you as he groans, low and wrecked, forehead dropping to your shoulder.

You chuckle amusedly, turning your head just lightly to press a kiss to his neck, before whispering, "I fucking love seeing you all wrecked for me, Eddie".

His hands grip your hips, he leans even closer, pressing you back into the counter.Your breath hitches, but you don’t pull away. If anything, you press even closer, grinning up at him, loving the way his pupils are blown as he glances at you, his chest heaving, his jaw tight. His lips brush your ear. “You", he grits out, voice rough, "are a fucking menace".

You smirk, lifting your chin, pressing your lips just barely against his, "And you fucking love it. You're obsessed with me, babe".

Eddie groans, a deep, wrecked sound, his hands grip your hips tighter, ringed fingers flexing. Warm lips find your neck again, hot and hungry. Long fingers slide under the hem of your shirt, thumbs brushing dangerously close to your waistband. You shiver, your body humming with heat and tequila, your head dizzy with the way his breath feels against your skin.

And then, his teeth scrape against your neck, nipping just hard enough to make your breath stutter. You gasp, arching into him, and Eddie smirks against your skin. "You like that?", he murmurs, lips brushing against your jaw, his hands sliding further under your shirt, fingertips teasing over heated skin.

You swallow thickly, biting down a grin, "You tell me".

He sighs again, low and deep, pressing a slow, deliberate grind against you, letting you feel exactly how much he likes this.

You bite your lip, fingers tangling in his curls. "Eds", you whisper, dragging your nails down the back of his neck.

His breath shudders against your skin. "Fuck, baby", he mutters, lips brushing yours again, "You have to let me take you home. Now".

You smirk, still tipsy, still teasing, still loving the way Eddie is barely hanging on. You tilt your head, looking up at him through heavy lashes, pretending to consider his words. "You sure?" you murmur, fingers still lazily playing with the curls at the nape of his neck, "Thought you wanted to take one of them home."

Eddie tenses.

You peek over his shoulder, eyes flicking toward the same girls from earlier, the ones who’d been watching him all night, still watching now, seeing the way he’s pressed up against you, seeing the way his hands grip your waist, the way his lips keep dragging over your skin. "They’re still looking, y’know," you hum, voice dripping with something smug, something playful, "Bet they’re talking about you right now. Hoping you’ll come over and give them a little attention."

Eddie exhales sharply through his nose. And then, before you can say another fucking word, his fingers grip your chin, tilting your face up, forcing you to look at him as his mouth crashes onto yours.

It’s not sweet. It’s desperate. A claim, a correction, a punishment for your teasing, your smug little jokes, for every second you spent making him suffer. His lips move hungrily against yours, his hand tightening on your waist, pulling you closer, pressing himself so firmly against you that there’s no space, no breath, no doubt left in you.

And when he finally pulls back, just barely, his lips brushing yours, his breath hot and needy against your mouth, he growls. Low.Dark. So quiet that only you can hear it, but it shoots straight through your bloodstream, making your knees weak, making your whole body react to him."You", he mutters, voice wrecked, "are coming home with me."

Your stomach flips.Your body betrays you, pressing into him instinctively, fingers curling tighter in his hair, breath hitching as he keeps talking, keeps murmuring against your lips, every word laced with hunger.

"Y’know what I’m gonna do when we get there?" he rasps, his grip tightening, his free hand slipping lower, dragging dangerously down your spine.

You swallow thickly, trying to hold onto your teasing composure, but it’s crumbling, slipping through your fingers like sand.

Eddie smirks, knows he’s got you now, knows exactly what he’s doing to you.He presses his mouth to your jaw, dragging his lips slowly to your ear. "First," he murmurs, voice deep, dark, possessive, "I’m gonna strip you down, just the way I fucking like you."

Your breath stutters.

"Then," his lips brush your earlobe, sending a shiver down your spine, "I’m gonna lay you out, spread you wide, and take my fucking time with you."

A whimper threatens to slip past your lips.

"Touch you everywhere," he growls, his hands tightening, gripping, "make you beg for me."

Your grip on his shirt tightens, body burning, knees weak, melting in his hands.

"And when you’re a fucking mess under me," he breathes, dragging his lips back down your throat, "I’m gonna bury my dick so deep inside you that you never fucking forget who you belong to."

You gasp, your body completely boneless now, shuddering, barely holding yourself up.

Eddie feels it. Feels the way you give in, feels the way your teasing fades, feels the way you need him now just as much as he needs you. His lips brush yours again, softer this time, more deliberate. "And you wanna know the best part, baby?" he murmurs, his breath hot, his hands everywhere.

You don’t answer. Can’t.

He smirks, noses against your cheek, whispers the words right into your skin,"I’m gonna do it all while telling you how fucking madly I love you."

You break.

You don’t even think.

The second he finishes that sentence, the one that destroys you, the one that makes your whole body ache for him, you grab him. Fist curled in his shirt, you yank him toward you, crashing your lips together, kissing him so hard, so hungry that he groans, gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him. "Time to fucking go", you whisper, before dragging him through the bar, barely acknowledging the people around you, barely caring if anyone watches.

You just need him. Need to be home, need to be alone with him.

You stumble out into the cool night air, both of you sliding on your jackets, the parking lot mostly empty, the streetlights buzzing faintly.

But none of that matters.

Eddie’s right behind you, his body heat radiating against your back, his breath still shaky as you reach his van. You spin, pressing yourself against the driver’s side door, gripping his jacket, trying to kiss him again.

But he moves away.

You blink, frowning.

He smirks, unlocking the door, like he hasn’t just spent the last thirty minutes telling you how desperately he wants you, like he hasn’t just gripped you so tight you could feel his pulse in his fingertips.

Your lips press into a pout. "Just one kiss," you try, voice dripping with sugar, eyes big, pleading.

Eddie chuckles, shaking his head, refusing.

You huff, shifting, pushing your hips forward just slightly, enough to press against him, "Just one, baby".

"Nope."

Your eyes darken. "Fucking kiss me, Eddie. Now."

The switch in your tone, the sudden demand, the command, makes him freeze.You see it happen, see the way his hand tightens around his keys, see the way his throat bobs as he swallows thickly, see the way his whole body reacts to your words.He turns. His hands slam onto the van behind you, caging you in, lips crashing onto yours with zero restraint. It’s needy.Messy. Hot. Teeth knocking, tongues tangling, hands gripping.

His body presses into you, and fuck, he’s already so hard, and the knowledge makes you whimper, makes you grab at his belt, needing to unbuckle it. "Uh-uh," he pants against your lips, pulling away just enough to make you chase him.

You groan, gripping his shirt, trying to yank him back. "Eds--"

"Home," he mutters, pressing a quick, breathless kiss to your lips, "We’re going home." He’s barely got the control to step back, barely managing to pull you with him, opening the vans passenger door and ushering you inside.

And the second you’re in your seat? You pull him down again, hands gripping his face, lips dragging over his jaw, your body still burning with need as you kiss and kiss and kiss him, making him groan, making him suffer. But somehow, some fucking how, he gets away from you, shaking his head as he laughs, breathless, rubbing a hand down his face as he heads around the van. "Jesus," he mutters, unlocking the driver’s side, climbing in beside you.

The moment he closes the door, you’re on him again.

Your fingers thread into his curls, your lips finding the skin beneath his ear, your mouth moving slowly, deliberately as your other hand slides shamelessly down his torso. "Fuck," Eddie breathes, his hands gripping the wheel, his body tensing as your palm drags over his crotch. You smirk against his throat, purring as you rub him through his jeans, feeling how hard he is, how badly he wants this. "I wanna fuck you right here," you whisper, breath hot against his skin, fingers pressing just right.

Deeply, he groans, eyes fluttering shut, head tipping back against the seat... But then he forces himself to pull away, forces himself to take a steadying breath, to think. "Baby", he rasps, "I told you. I’m not fucking you in my van. Not tonight."

You whine, shifting closer, gripping his thigh, pressing your lips to his jaw again, pleading.

But he shakes his head, forcing himself to sit up, to focus, to start the engine. "Close your belt", he mutters, voice still strained, his whole body taut.

Your lips curve. You reach for his belt instead, your fingers grazing over his lap, your voice sweet and sultry as you murmur, "I’d rather take yours off."

He growls, hands white-knuckling the wheel as you lean in again, lips ghosting over his pulse point. "You’re killing me," he mutters, his breath shaky as he shifts into reverse, pulling out of the lot.

You giggle, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt, nails scraping lightly over his stomach. His abs tighten. "You love it," you whisper, pressing another kiss to his neck, letting your tongue flick just slightly over his skin.

Eddie groans, shifting in his seat, hands gripping the wheel even tighter.

You watch him, eyes dark with mischief, with heat, watching the way his jaw clenches, the way his hands twitch, the way he keeps shifting, keeps adjusting, desperate for relief. Your lips brush his ear. "Wanna suck your dick while you drive," you whisper.

His foot slams on the brake.

You yelp as the van jerks, your hands bracing against the dash, but before you can even turn to look at him, you hear him. "Baby," Eddie growls, one hand gripping the wheel, the other digging into your thigh, squeezing so tight it makes your head spin.

You bite your lip, blinking up at him, feigning innocence. "What?" you murmur, tilting your head, fingers playing at the hem of his shirt again.

His jaw tenses. His nostrils flare. The grip on your thigh tightens. "You know what," he mutters, his voice so low, so wrecked, like he’s hanging on by a single, frayed thread.

You grin, shifting in your seat, turning your body to face him completely. "You don’t wanna?" you tease, running your fingers up his arm, feeling the way his muscles flex under your touch.

Eddie scoffs, shaking his head as he exhales sharply through his nose. "Don’t", he warns, gripping the wheel again, his fingers white-knuckling the leather as he forces himself to put the van back into drive.

But you don’t listen. Of course you don’t listen. Because you’re tipsy, and you’re needy, and he’s so fucking hot when he’s barely holding on.

So you push.

You lean in, pressing your lips to the side of his neck, lingering there, letting your breath fan against his skin. "You’re so tense, baby," you purr, fingers sliding lower, grazing the top of his belt, your voice dripping with honey, "I could help you relax."

Your boyfriend grunts, gripping the wheel even tighter, trying so fucking hard to ignore you, to focus, to drive.

But then you lick his pulse point, feeling his sharp inhale, the way his whole body locks up, the way his hips jerk slightly off the seat.

"Jesus fucking Christ", he growls, his voice so wrecked, so strained, it makes your stomach flip. You giggle against his skin, pressing another slow, open-mouthed kiss there, letting your fingers dance along his belt, teasing the buckle. Eddie grits his teeth. "Home," he mutters, forcing himself to focus, his voice so gravelly, so needy, but so fucking determined, "We’re getting home."

You pout dramatically, dragging your fingers up his chest, feeling the way it heaves with every breath he takes. "You’re no fun, baby", you tease, your lips grazing the shell of his ear. He huffs, shaking his head as he makes a sharp turn down a side street, speeding up. You laugh, gripping his thigh for balance, feeling the way it tenses under your palm. "Speeding home just to fuck me, Munson?" you tease, voice dripping with mischief.

Eddie’s hand suddenly lands on your thigh again, tight, squeezing so hard that you gasp, your breath catching as he yanks you closer. His voice is low, dangerous, his lips right against your ear as he rasps. "You better be ready for what you started, baby. Because when we get home?" His fingers dig in deeper."I’m wrecking you".

The drive to Forest Hills is absolute torture, for both of you. You’re a mess of heat and need in the passenger seat, your hands constantly finding their way to him, fingers tracing along his thigh, dragging over his belt, teasing at his zipper. You’re whispering in his ear, lips ghosting over his jaw, telling him how badly you need him, how much you want to feel him, taste him.

Eddie grips the steering wheel like it’s the only thing keeping him sane, his knuckles white as he speeds through the dark, empty streets of Hawkins. His jaw clenched so tight it could crack. "Fucking hell, Sam", he grits out, eyes locked on the road even as your fingers trail dangerously close to his growing problem, "Stop fucking teasing me, I'm driving".

You smirk, shifting in your seat to lean closer, your breath hot against his neck. "You love it", you purr, pressing a slow, teasing kiss to his pulse, feeling it race beneath your lips. 

He groans, his fingers flexing on your thigh, a silent warning,  "Baby, I swear to God-"

"You could just pull over", you tease, voice dripping with suggestion, fingers sliding up his torso, toying with the open collar of his shirt, "I could take care of you right here."

He makes a sound, half growl, half laugh, shaking his head. "You’re fucking insane", he mutters, gripping your thigh tighter, thumb stroking the inside, dangerously close to where you’re aching for him, "And if you don’t sit back and behave, I’m gonna make you wait even longer". The threat makes you whimper, makes your thighs press together, but the challenge in his voice only fuels the fire in your stomach.

You don’t stop.

You shift closer, letting your tongue flick against his jaw as your hand drags lower. "C’mon, Eds", you whisper, voice all honey and heat, "Don’t you wanna let me make you feel good?" 

Eddie curses under his breath, fingers digging into your skin, but he doesn’t break. He’s stronger than you thought. Barely.

By the time he pulls into the trailer park, you’re both seconds away from snapping.

The van jerks to a stop, tires kicking up gravel as Eddie slams the brakes.

Before you can even process it, he’s yanking his door open, storming around to your side, wrenching it open and pulling you out into the cool night air. You let out a breathless laugh, gripping his leather jacket to steady yourself, but he’s already got his hands on you, dragging you against him, his lips crashing into yours. It’s messy, desperate. His fingers tangled in your hair, his other hand gripping your waist like he needs to feel every inch of you. You whimper against his lips, pressing into him, your hands trailing down, gripping at his belt, tugging. He groans into your mouth, fingers digging into your hips as he blindly walks you back toward the trailer, lips never leaving yours.

By the time you make it inside, you’re shedding layers - your jacket hitting the floor, his following right after. His hands are greedy, rough, sliding under your shirt, over your stomach, up to cup your tits, your breath hitching as his fingers tease. You tug at his shirt, pushing it up, your nails scratching over his abs, careful of his bruises even in your drunken haze. "God, you’re so fucking hot," you whisper, voice wrecked, fingers dipping beneath his waistband, feeling the heat of his skin.

Eddie groans, his lips dragging down your jaw, his teeth nipping at your neck as he moves you toward his room. "You have no fucking idea what you do to me", he growls, his hands gripping your waist as he spins you, pressing you back against his bedroom door. You shudder, gasping as his mouth finds your throat, kissing, sucking, leaving marks that you know will be there tomorrow. You don’t care. You want them. You want to wear his love on your skin. Your fingers fumble with his belt, but he catches your hands, pulling back just enough to smirk at you, breathless. "Ah, ah", he teases, voice low and dangerous, "I told you, baby. I’m taking my time."

You whimper, arching into him as guides you back onto his bed, his hands roaming your body. Your heart pounds, your body burning with anticipation as he crawls over you and kisses his way down, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. "Tell me what you want," he murmurs against your skin, his hands gripping your thighs, his breath warm, teasing.

You’re already unraveling, already lost in him, in his touch, in the way he’s looking at you like he’s never wanted anything more.  "Please, Eddie," you whisper, fingers tangling in his curls, your whole body trembling beneath him. "I need you." 

He grins, pressing one last lingering kiss to your stomach before looking up at you, eyes dark with love, with need, with absolute devotion. "That’s my girl." His big hands continue to roam your body, fingers teasing along the band of your bra before he reaches behind you, making quick work of the clasp. The straps slip down your arms, and he watches with hooded eyes as the fabric falls away, baring you completely to him. "Gets me every time", he breathes, his voice rough with awe, hands cupping your breasts, thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples. He leans in, his mouth trailing kisses across your collarbone, down between your ribs, before his lips finally capture one of your nipples, sucking gently. You gasp, arching into his touch, his other hand rolling your other one between his fingers, sending sparks shooting through your body. "You like that, sweetheart?", he murmurs against your skin, his breath hot, teasing.

"Yes", you gasp, fingers tangling in his curls, tugging him closer, desperate for more. He chuckles, his lips leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, over your hips, his hands gripping your thighs, spreading you open beneath him, when his teeth graze the fabric of your panties. Your breath catches as he tugs them down with his mouth, so agonizingly slow, his eyes never leaving yours. The sight of him, dark curls falling over his face, lips parted, voice wrecked with need, has you whimpering. "Eddie", you plead, your voice breaking, your own fingers digging into his sheets, into your skin, anything to ground yourself against the burning anticipation flooding through you. 

He smirks, dragging the lace down your calves before tossing them aside, "You’re so needy for me, aren’t you?"

You nod frantically, panting, your thighs squeezing together instinctively, seeking relief.

But Eddie isn’t having it. His hands grip your legs, spreading them again, settling himself between them as his lips ghost over your inner thighs, teasing, kissing, biting just enough to make you whimper. Your breath stutters as you lift a hand to your chest, squeezing your own breast, your hips shifting impatiently beneath him. Eddie watches every movement, his pupils blown wide, his lips parting as he exhales a shaky breath. "Look at you", he murmurs, voice husky, reverent, "So fucking hot". His breath is hot against your pussy, his lips barely ghosting over you, the tease of his stubble leaving a delicious burn in its wake. His hands grip your legs tighter, thumbs pressing into your skin, grounding you even as you feel like you’re floating, tipsy, weightless, burning from the inside out. 

You’re so worked up, so desperate for him, and he knows it.

He takes his time, pressing lingering kisses, his lips soft, his breath warm as he inches closer, and closer, until...

The first slow, broad stroke of his tongue up your folds has your entire body shuddering. It’s torturous, devastatingly slow, and he groans deep in his throat as he tastes you, the sound vibrating against your skin.  "Fuck", he breathes, his voice rough, wrecked. His fingers flex on your thighs, gripping like he’s holding himself back, like he’s savoring this moment just as much as you are. Your own fingers tighten in his curls, a broken whimper slipping past your lips as he licks again, long and unhurried. His tongue parts you gently, lapping at you with a slow, wet glide before pulling back just enough to exhale against your sensitive skin, sending a shiver up your spine.

"Don't stop", you gasp, back arching, hips tilting up toward him, begging for more.

He chuckles darkly, the vibration of it shooting straight through you. "So impatient", he murmurs, pressing another open-mouthed kiss against you, lips and tongue working in tandem, dragging another long, teasing lick, swirling, flicking, then pulling away just when you think you’ll fall apart.

It’s torture. Beautiful, agonizing torture.

His hands squeeze your thighs, thumbs stroking, soothing, while his tongue keeps working slow, deliberate circles that have you panting, your body twitching, heat coiling low in your stomach. Just when you think you might go insane, he shifts slightly, one hand sliding up, fingers pressing against your soaked entrance, teasing, barely dipping in before pulling away. You whimper. He groans, watching you, devouring the way your body reacts beneath him. "God, you’re so wet for me", he breathes, eyes dark and hungry, "So fucking perfect". His finger finally pushes in, slow and deliberate, stretching you just enough to make your breath stutter. His tongue never stops, flicking against you, working in tandem with his hand, his movements unhurried, savoring every single second.

You’re completely at his mercy, panting, trembling, gripping the sheets, gripping his hair, drowning in sensation. He’s utterly lost in you, wrecking you with every slow, torturous movement. And he watches you with dark, hooded eyes, taking in every little gasp, every tremble of your body beneath him as he licks into you with slow, teasing strokes, moving his finger just enough to make you lose your mind.

The heat of his mouth, the deliberate pace, it's all meant to drive you insane, and it’s working.

Your fingers tangle in his curls, tugging, trying to get him to move faster, to give you more. But he just groans against you, the vibration sending a shiver up your spine. His breath is warm, his tongue languid as he flicks over your most sensitive spot before dipping lower, tasting you like he has all the time in the world. 

"Fuck, come on, please", you whimper, hips twitching as you try to grind against his mouth.

He hums, the sound low and smug, but doesn’t pick up the pace. If anything, he slows down, dragging his tongue in agonizingly slow circles.

You throw your head back, moaning in frustration. "Please," you gasp, "Please, baby, I need fucking more".

He finally lifts his head, lips glistening, pupils blown wide as he licks his lower lip like he’s savoring you. "You need more?" he murmurs, teasing, his voice a little hoarse.

"Yes," you breathe. "Fuck, Eddie, I’m begging you!"

That’s what he wanted.

Your shameless desperation. Your surrender. 

His grin is wicked as he slides a second finger into you, slow, deliberate, curling them just right. You choke on a moan, back arching, fingers gripping his hair as he lowers his mouth again, sucking, licking, working you apart with skilled precision. The pleasure coils tighter and tighter, your body strung high on tension, on need.

And just when you think you might snap, when you’re teetering on the edge, he groans against you, his voice wrecked and full of want.

And you cum. Hard.

Your whole body tenses, then unravels as waves of pleasure crash over you, your cries muffled by the bite of your own lip. Eddie doesn't stop, not until he’s wrung every last tremor from you, watching you fall apart beneath him with pure, adoring hunger in his eyes.

When he finally pulls back, pressing kisses along your inner thigh, he looks up at you, smirking, breathless. "That’s one", he murmurs, voice full of promise, "And I’m not done with you yet."

You gasp for air, legs still trembling as you already reach for him, still catching his breath as you pull him up your body, fingers gripping at his arms, desperate to feel him against you. Your lips find his in a messy, heated kiss, all tongue and need, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him impossibly closer. He groans against your lips, hands roaming, teasing, touching, dragging out your impatience just to watch you squirm. 

"Jeans", you pant against his mouth, nipping at his bottom lip before sucking it between your teeth, "Take them off. Now."  But Eddie only chuckles, low and raspy, eyes full of mischief as he kisses down your jaw, your throat, pausing to suck at the spot that makes you shudder, "You really think I'm gonna make this easy for you, sweetheart?" His voice is pure sin, fingers dipping between your thighs again, teasing your oversensitive skin. You gasp, body jerking as he smirks, "I told you, baby. I’m taking my time."

Your fingers tangle into his hair, tugging hard, making him groan against your collarbone, "Just fuck--"

"Shh, just let me enjoy you." His hands press into your thighs as he moves lower, lips and tongue tracing every inch of you, savoring the way your body reacts, the way you arch, the way your breath stutters. He kneels, watching you through lidded eyes as he finally drags his belt open, followed by the slow, torturous slide of his jeans and boxers. You bite your lip, eyes locked onto him, drinking in every inch of his bare skin, the way his muscles flex, the way he kneels between your angled legs, bare, confident, smirking at the way you shamelessly stare at his rock hard dick.

He knows exactly what he’s doing to you. 

You move before you can think, shifting onto your stomach, crawling toward him, your hands smoothing up his thighs. His smirk falters for just a second when your lips part, when your tongue flicks out to tease, when your eyes meet his, full of mischief, full of intent. "Holy shit," he rasps, his fingers pushing into your hair, his breath hitching when you take him slow, teasing, your tongue tracing him before your lips seal around him. He curses, head tipping back, fingers tightening in your hair. "Someone's eager".

You hum around him, eyes locked to his face, taking in the way his jaw clenches, the way his chest rises and falls in uneven breaths, completely at your mercy now.His dark eyes meet yours, utterly wrecked, his fingers curling around the base of his length as you take him deeper, your mouth so warm, so perfect. His breath shudders, a deep, needy groan spilling from his lips as his fingers weave into your hair, gripping, not to control, but because he needs to hold onto something, anything, as you drive him insane. "Fuck, baby," he rasps, head tipping back, hips twitching forward just the slightest bit. His restraint is admirable, considering how wrecked he already is for you, "You're, fuck, you're gonna kill me."

You moan softly, lashes fluttering as you peer up again, taking in the way his stomach tenses, the way his lips part as he stares down at you sucking his dick. The vibrations of your moan make him curse under his breath, his fingers tightening in your hair.

That's enough for you.

Your free hand moves beneath you, between your own thighs, needing something, anything to ease the ache as you slowly start to rub your clit, sucking his dick a little harder, moaning again."Jesus Christ," he groans as he sees you touching yourself, how your hips grind into your own hand as you let your tongue flick over his swollen tip, his voice breaking, his hands gripping your head as his hips jerk involuntarily. He watches you, wide-eyed, his lips parted, completely undone. "Oh, no. Fuck that. I need you. Now." His hands grip your arms, pulling you up, flipping you onto your back, eyes burning as he settles between your thighs. His mouth is on yours before you can even catch your breath, his hands gripping your hips, pressing himself against you, skin to skin, breath to breath. 

His mouth crashes against yours, stealing the breath from your lungs. His hands are everywhere, gripping your waist, your thighs, running up your sides. You can feel how desperate he is, how badly he needs you.

And you need him just as much.

He reaches over blindly, fumbling in his nightstand drawer until he finds what he's looking for. You hear the crinkle of the wrapper, watch as he tears it open with his teeth, and your breath catches as he rolls the condom over his aching length, his eyes locked onto yours the entire time. "You ready for me, baby?" he murmurs, dragging his fingers up your thigh, teasing.

"Please, Eddie," you whisper, arching into him, nails digging into his back. "I need you so bad."

His smirk is wicked as he presses a kiss to your jaw, your throat. "I know, sweetheart," he murmurs against your skin. "Been driving me crazy all night. Teasing me. Making me wait. Now it's your turn." He positions himself at your entrance, rubbing himself against you, spreading the slickness, teasing you until you're whining, trying to move your hips to take him in, but he holds you still.

"Baby" you plead, eyes fluttering open to meet his, "Please, please, I-"

"That's it", he groans, and then he pushes in, slow and deep.

Your moan is broken, breathless, nails scratching down his back as he fills you inch by inch, stretching you perfectly. He stills for a second, savoring the moment, savoring you, before he starts to move, long, slow strokes that leave you gasping, trembling beneath him. "Fuck, you feel so good," he pants, lips dragging over your collarbone, your shoulder. His voice is raw, wrecked, and his hands grip your hips tighter, pulling you against him with each thrust, "So tight, so fucking perfect." Your fingers weave into his hair, tugging him up to kiss you, tongues tangling, sharing breathy moans.

He starts to move faster, deeper, his pace relentless but controlled, hitting that perfect spot that makes you cry out his name. "Oh fuck, yes", he growls, "say my name again. Let me hear you."

You do. Again and again, your voice rising with each thrust, each delicious drag of his cock inside you. And Eddie? He loves it. Loves the way you sound, the way you cling to him, the way you shudder when he slows down just to hear you whimper. "You close already, baby?" he murmurs, lips brushing your ear, "I can feel you squeezing me. So fucking desperate. You gonna cum for me again?"

"Yes, don't fucking stop", you groan, arching into him, moving your hips with his, chasing your relief.

"Beg for it," he demands, voice husky, teasing, as he slows his movements, making you sob in frustration, "You made me wait. Now I wanna hear you beg."

You bite your lip, eyes hazy with lust, hands gripping his shoulders, "Oh God, please make me fucking cum", you whimper, arching into him, "Fuck me".

"Good girl", he breathes, and then he's giving you everything, his hips snapping into yours, deep and fast, fingers reaching between you to rub against your clit, sending you spiraling over the edge. You shatter, gasping his name, nails digging into his back as your climax rips through you. Eddie groans, gripping you tighter, thrusting through your release.

Your body is still trembling from the waves of pleasure crashing through you, breath uneven, chest rising and falling rapidly. He watches you, completely transfixed, your flushed skin, the way your lips part on breathless little gasps, your lashes fluttering as you come down. He looks utterly wrecked, jaw tight, fingers digging into the softness of your thighs as he holds them apart, still buried deep inside you.  But he’s not done. Not even close. A low growl rumbles in his throat as he moves, shifting your legs over his shoulders, his hands gripping your thighs, spreading you wider beneath him.

The shift has him pressing deeper, the stretch of him making your breath catch. "Oh, FUCK", you gasp, fingers clawing at the sheets, legs shaking as he slides even further inside.

Eddie smirks, dark and possessive. "Yeah?" His voice is thick, heavy with need, "That deep, baby?"

You can only nod, whimpering as he adjusts, leaning forward slightly, the new angle sending a sharp, blinding pleasure straight through you. He groans, watching your expression twist in desperation, his cock throbbing at the sight of you utterly undone beneath him. "You take me so well", he murmurs, hands gripping your thighs tighter, holding you in place, "Your pussy's so fucking perfect for me".

You whimper at his words, every nerve in your body on fire, "Oh God, Eddie!"

"Shh, baby", he soothes, voice dark with amusement, shifting his hips slightly before snapping forward in a deep, deliberate thrust that has you crying out, "I know. I know".

And then he starts moving again, hard and deep, his pace relentless, rocking you up the bed as he fucks into you with perfect precision. Your moans turn desperate, eyes rolling back as you're letting him take you so fucking good. His hands slide up your trembling legs, gripping your waist, pulling you closer, keeping you right where he wants you. His lips part as he watches you, completely enthralled by the way you’re falling apart beneath him. "Look at you", he groans, voice raw, "So fucking pretty, spread out for me".

Your hands claw at his arms, at his thigh, desperate for something to hold onto as his thrusts get harder, faster, making your breath come in sharp little gasps, "Eddie, oh my GOD!"

He groans, dropping one hand to press firmly against your lower belly, right where he’s filling you. The added pressure makes your entire body jolt. Your back arches off the mattress, a broken moan spilling from your lips, "Oh, fuck, fuckyes".

"You feel that, baby?” His voice is rough, low, edged with something dangerous. He presses down just a little harder, reveling in the way you squirm beneath him, "Feel how deep I am?"

You’re absolutely wrecked, eyes glassy, head spinning, the pleasure so overwhelming it feels like too much. He’s driving you straight to the edge again, and he knows it. He can see it in the way your body tightens around him, in the way your hands grasp desperately at his skin, in the way you beg for it. "Please", you gasp, barely coherent, moaning again, arching into his hips.

His lips curl in a smirk, knowing exactly what you want, "Please what? Gonna beg for it, again, sweetheart?"

"Yes", you gasp, tears pricking at your lashes from the overwhelming need pooling in your stomach, "Oh my god, pl- Holy sh-, please make me cum". 

His grip tightens, his rhythm turning brutal, every thrust hitting that perfect spot inside you.

Within second, you shatter beneath him, your whole body going taut before trembling violently, a strangled cry escaping your lips as the pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave. You're so loud, the whole trailer park probably hears how Eddie completely ruins you. A low groan leaves his panting lips, hips stuttering as he works you through it, your walls pulsing around him, gripping him so fucking tight he has to clench his jaw to keep from finishing right then and there. He watches as you slowly come down, your body trembling, breath hitching, your eyes fluttering open, dazed and unfocused.

And fuck, seeing you like this, completely ruined because of him, pushes him straight to the edge. You meet his gaze, panting, completely spent, grinning but still so desperate for him. "Fucking cum on me", you whisper, voice hoarse and wrecked.  You barely have time to catch your breath before you feel him pull back, his body shaking with restraint.

His fingers fumble for the condom, ripping it off with a low groan.

Eddie curses under his breath, pumping himself a few times before spilling over you, groaning deeply as he coats your stomach and tits, his whole body trembling as the pleasure rips through him.

He collapses forward, catching himself on his forearms just before he can crush you, his breath hot and ragged against your neck. "My god, I love you so fucking much", he rasps, pressing a lazy kiss just beneath your ear.

You laugh breathlessly, running your hands up his back, feeling the sheen of sweat that clings to him. "Yeah?" you tease, still dizzy from the high, your limbs loose and heavy. 

"Yeah", he murmurs, nuzzling against you, "You have no idea".

You hum in contentment, fingers tracing mindless patterns against his skin, still tingling all over. He’s warm, solid, and so utterly satisfied that it makes you grin. "That was…", you trail off, shaking your head with a dreamy sigh, "God, Eddie. I think you might actually kill me one of these days".

He chuckles, rolling onto his back beside you, still breathless, a hot, sweaty mess. He drapes an arm over his forehead for a second before reaching for the pack of cigarettes on his nightstand. He pulls one out, lights it with practiced ease, and exhales a slow stream of smoke toward the ceiling. You stretch, still feeling that delicious burn between your legs, then reach for a tissue to wipe yourself off. He watches, all smug and cocky, taking another drag as his dark eyes trail shamelessly over your body. "You really are the prettiest damn mess", he comments, his voice thick with lazy satisfaction.

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks warm under his gaze. "Shut up", you mumble, snatching the cigarette from his fingers and taking a slow, deep pull before falling back against the sheets. Eddie turns onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow, still watching you. His gaze rakes over every inch of you, the rise and fall of your chest, the way your skin still glows, the way your lips are swollen from his kisses. He looks completely wrecked, his curls a wild mess, his expression the perfect mix of adoration and mischief. "You know", you say, turning your head to meet his gaze, "I so have the best sex with you".

His lips curl into a slow, cocky smirk. "Oh, sweetheart", he drawls, reaching out to brush his fingers lazily over your thigh, "You don’t just have the best sex with me. You have the best sex because of me."

You scoff, nudging his arm, but you can’t fight the giddy warmth that spreads through your chest. He’s so annoyingly cocky, but damn it, he’s not wrong. He grins, leaning in, stealing the cigarette back from you as he presses a lazy, lingering kiss to your lips. Your heart flutters, and you sigh into it, already feeling that pull toward him again. He falls back into his pillow, exhales another slow drag of his cigarette, watching you with that lazy, satisfied smirk that drives you absolutely insane. His free hand traces idle patterns on your thigh, fingers warm and teasing, even in the aftermath. He looks so damn smug, and you should probably be annoyed, but you’re too blissed-out to care.

Instead, you turn on your side, propping yourself up just enough to meet his gaze. "I love you, too, Eds", you murmur, voice soft but certain, still tinged with the breathlessness of everything he just did to you, "So fucking much".

His smirk falters for half a second, just long enough for something deeper to flicker across his face, something raw and real. He blinks, cigarette dangling from his fingers as he lets out a breath, and then suddenly, he’s on you again, pulling you into a slow, messy kiss that makes your heart pound all over again. When he finally pulls back, he grins, nose brushing yours. "Yeah?", he whispers, like he already knows but needs to hear it again anyway.

"Yeah", you nod, voice stronger now, "And you’re killing me, Munson".

He chuckles, cocking a brow, "Me? Killing you? Sweetheart, I think I just brought you back to life".

You groan, shoving at his chest, but he catches your wrist, pressing a kiss to your palm before you can pull away.

That stupid grin of his is still there, but you narrow your eyes. "And I  swear to God, Eddie, if you ever wave at a fucking girl who suddenly decides she has a crush on you again, I’ll be the one killing you".

His grin grows wider, "Oh? Jealous, are we?"

You sit up slightly, poking a finger into his chest, "You’re fucking mine. I don’t share".