074

You barely remember how you made it off that stage.

Everything is a blur of heat and noise and Eddie's arms around you, his sweaty body pressed flush against yours as he half-drags, half-leads you backstage with the rest of the band.

Your heart is still racing. Your hands won't stop shaking. Your body buzzes with everything, the gig, the crowd, the song.

That song.

The words he wrote. For you.

You can't even process it, can't begin to fathom how they all kept it a secret, how they pulled it off so perfectly.

The weight of it crashes into you again, overwhelming, but then, Eddie's lips are on yours. Hot. Desperate. Triumphant. His hands grab at you, gripping your waist, your hips, your back, pulling you as close as he can, like he wants to fuse you together. He's radiant, practically vibrating with energy, with heat, with that smug rockstar confidence as he kisses you like he owns the fucking world.

The guys are still losing their minds, a mess of cocky grins and relieved laughter, so fucking thankful for how everything turned out. Grant slaps Eddie on the back, Jeff rubs a hand over his face, Gareth is still breathless, drumsticks spinning between his fingers as he grins at the rest of them.

They did it. They fucking did it.

A familiar voice, somewhere beyond the stage door.

"Look, man, we know them. Just let us back there!"

"We're with the band, I swear to god"

Eddie snorts, still holding you against him, turning toward the security guard standing firm at the entrance. "Hey, let 'em through!" he calls out, smirking, all cocky and self-satisfied.

The second he says it, he feels that power. That absolute rockstar energy. He's never felt this high in his life.

The security guy barely has time to step aside before your friends and Vanguard burst into the backstage room, all hyped, all loud, still riding the adrenaline of what they just witnessed.

"HOLY SHIT!" Robin yells, practically vibrating, immediately launching herself at Eddie, "What the fuck was that?!"

Eddie laughs, bracing himself as she shakes him by the shoulders, "You tell me, Buckley! You're the one crying your damn eyes out!"

"Oh my god, I was," Robin groans, wiping at her already red, tear-streaked face. "Vickie, tell them."

Vickie nods rapidly, eyes still shiny, "She really was. I was too."

Steve just smirks, shaking his head, then steps forward, slapping Eddie on the back. "My man," he says, full of approval.

Eddie grins, slapping him back. "Harrington."

The Vanguard guys are already on the band, clapping shoulders, laughing, hyping them up while also throwing in joking critiques, because of course they do.

"Alright, alright," Greg says, grinning, "you might be able to hang with us."

"Might?" Eddie scoffs, smirking.

Rick just laughs, taking a drag of his cigarette before nodding. "Nah. You boys killed it."

The praise lands deep, and Eddie, smug as he is, lets it settle. His arms tighten around you again, pulling you impossibly closer, still not over you, still not done having you against him.

You're high.

On adrenaline. On love. On him.

He's never been more attractive to you than he was up there, sweat-drenched and wild, the stage lights catching every sharp, beautiful angle of his face as he poured his soul into that mic. As he sang for you.

You need him.

It's a slow burn in your stomach, something hot and dangerous, something you'll deal with very soon.

But for now, you just sink into him, dizzy and so ridiculously happy.

Your group eventually settles in the backstage room, where a high table and some couches wait, a haze of smoke already settling in the air.

The band members start peeling off their sweat-drenched shirts, digging through their bags for dry ones.

Eddie, that menace, just stays topless to cool off, all jeans sitting low on his hips, tattooed skin and silver chains.

You stare. Your brain completely shuts down, short-circuits, gone.

He knows it, too.The smug bastard just lounges back, arms stretched over the couch, looking like sin incarnate with his sweat-slicked skin and very satisfied smirk.

That lap is the only place you want to be.

Tipsy, shameless, and still so high on adrenaline, you don't even hesitate before crawling into it, your hands gliding over his bare chest, tracing the sheen of sweat still clinging to his skin.

Eddie groans softly, tilting his head back as you press your lips to his throat, his grip tightening on your ass.

The others groan too, but for a different reason.

"Oh, come on," Gareth grumbles, rolling his eyes.

"Jesus, they're worse than before," Jeff mutters, shaking his head.

Grant just takes a sip of his drink, deadpan, "We really should've seen this coming."

Eddie doesn't give a single fuck. He flips them all off without looking, his hands staying exactly where they are, his attention fully on you. His head is in your hands, lips parting under yours as you kiss him deep, slow, teasing. Between kisses, he murmurs against your mouth, voice low and rough. "You really liked the song, huh?"

You hum in response, dragging your nails lightly down his chest, feeling him shudder."Mm. Loved it," you murmur, lips brushing against his.

"Yeah?" His hands slide lower, gripping your thighs now, squeezing, "How much exactly?"

You smirk, leaning in even closer, not caring that your friends are all still there, watching. "I'll show you soon enough," you whisper, voice sultry and thick with promise. "And then again back at the hotel."

He groans softly, fingers digging into your thighs.

"And then," you continue, ghosting your lips over his, "then, I'll be completely at your mercy."

He exhales sharply, grip tightening. "Fuck."

"To thank you properly," you purr, hands roaming up his chest, feeling his heart pound under your fingertips, "I'll do anything you want, baby".

His breath catches, his hands twitch against you, his pupils blow wide. "Anything?"

You nod, lips brushing his ear now. "Anything."

Your boyfriend makes a low, desperate sound in his throat, already aching for what's coming later, already completely fucking gone for you. But before he can pull you back in, before he can demand more, a familiar voice calls from down the hall.

"Hey, rockstars! Want some drinks to celebrate?"

You barely turn your head before Elena appears, carrying a tray stacked with beers and long drinks. Behind her, her colleague follows, carrying another one.

"Fuck yes, we do!" Eddie calls out, though his grip doesn't loosen on you.

You beam at Elena, so happy to see her again, and she just smirks, all cool and casual as she takes in the scene. Her sharp eyes flicker over the Vanguard guys, then to the band, and she grins. "Not bad, boys," she teases. "Had the whole bar losing their minds for a second there."

The guys all laugh, still drunk on the high of the night, immediately trying to flirt with her.

"Any favorites?" Grant winks.

"Who impressed you the most?" Jeff grins.

But Elena just breezes past them, totally unfazed, setting the tray down before turning to you instead. "So," she says, eyebrow raised, smirk playful. "That song, huh?"

You giggle, still a little dazed from everything, "I know."

She shakes her head, clearly delighted for you. "Shit, I'm happy for you."

Without thinking, you grab her hand, squeezing it, still grinning, still tipsy and blissed out.

She winks at you as your hands part, lifts her gaze, and sees Steve. Her expression shifts instantly, turning sharp, playful, flirty.

For one second, Steve is frozen. Then, like a switch flips, he snaps out of it, regaining his usual confidence, his easy charisma, flashing her that million-dollar Harrington smile. "Oh, hey," he drawls, leaning casually against the table, voice all charm, "Funny seeing you here."

Elena smirks. "Yeah? I work here."

"Right, right," Steve nods, pretending to just remember, "Guess that makes sense."

You and Robin exchange very telling glances. Vanguard and the band do too. They all watch as Elena leans in a little, just to see Steve squirm. His ears go red, just barely, and Elena notices, biting back a knowing smile before turning back to you.

"Anyway," she sighs, "probably time to say goodbye. My shift's over in a few minutes."

Your smile drops. "You're leaving?"

She shrugs, casual. "Yeah. I mean, my night's over."

"No, no, no," you mutter immediately, shaking your head, "You stay with us."

She raises an eyebrow. "Do I?"

"Yes!" You grin, squeezing her hand again. "Just come back here and join us. We'll head for the bar soon, maybe go someplace else. It'd be so cool if you're a part of it".

She chuckles, amused. "You sure?"

"Yes!" And then, with a sly smirk, you nod toward Steve, whose eyes have not left her since she walked in. "Someone," you mumble, voice teasing, "will surely be very happy about it."

Her eyes lift again, glancing back at Steve, who sends her his shiniest smirk. "Okay", she grins, "I'll be back".

One hour later, the backstage room is alive. Music, smoke, and laughter fill the space, the air thick with warmth and wild energy.

Empty beer bottles pile up on the table, cigarette smoke curls toward the ceiling, and somewhere in the haze, someone's rolling another joint.

Eddie is still topless, still buzzing from the high of the night, still absolutely wrecking you just by existing.

You're still in his lap, a total mess. Needy, tipsy, feral for him. His body, his voice, his everything. But you're not the only ones getting lost in the moment.

Vickie and Robin, usually a little more reserved, start to relax as the drinks keep flowing. Vickie's fingers graze over Robin's arm more often, their whispers turn flirtier, and Robin? She's glowing. The more touchy Vickie gets, the redder Robin's ears go.

Elena actually came back, and she's a vision. Gone is the bartender uniform. Now, she's in a deep neckline, fresh lipstick, eyes sharp and full of fire.

The second she came back, Steve was gone.

You all watched it unfold, the exact moment he realizes he's fucked.

They flirt, they touch, they laugh. And every time Elena leans in just a little closer, Steve blushes. Like, actual pink-cheeked, flustered blushes.

It's ridiculous. It's hilarious. It's the biggest fucking crush you've ever seen in real-time.

Matt picks up Eddie's guitar, messing around with the strings while Gareth and Salva drum on the table, the rhythm infectious. Grant and Rick join in, singing, grinning, drinking, letting the moment take over.

You and Eddie are still on the couch, barely paying attention, lost in a completely different world. His hands haven't left your body. Your legs are over his, your fingers are on his bare chest, dragging over his collarbones, his stomach, his arms. His breath hitches every time your fingers trace his skin, his eyes darken every time you shift in his lap, pressing closer, rolling your hips just enough to make him groan.

He leans in, his lips at your ear, his voice thick and dripping with heat. "You're killing me, baby," he murmurs, his fingers digging into your thighs.

You smirk, your own voice barely above a whisper. "Good."

Eddie laughs, breathless, wrecked, before dragging his teeth over your jaw, his lips brushing your pulse. "Fuck," he mutters, "I need you."

You shudder, aching now, desperate, gripping his face, kissing him deep, hungry, your tongue slipping against his.

He groans into your mouth, fingers gripping your waist, and for a second, you forget where you are, until someone coughs. Loudly.

Your heads snap up.

Gareth is staring, eyebrows raised, "You do know we can see you, right?"

Grant snorts, tilting his beer back, "Pretty sure we can hear them too."

Eddie, flushed, cocky, absolutely unashamed, just flips them off again, his grip not loosening on you. "Jealous?" he smirks.

Gareth throws a peanut at him, "Of you? Never."

Eddie just laughs, pulling you closer, pressing another kiss to your lips before lifting his beer to his lips, smirking at you.

The night goes on, and what started as a short break after their gig slowly turns into a full blown backstage after-party.

The room has completely descended into chaos. The kind of feral, reckless, no-tomorrow kind of chaos.

Someone found a boombox and a stash of old tapes in a closet, and now music blasts through the backstage lounge, bass-heavy and filthy, rattling through the floors.

Drinks flow like water. Shots, beers, whiskey passed around between eager hands.

Someone keeps lighting fresh joints, keeping the haze thick and intoxicating.

Matt and Greg disappeared up front for more drinks and came back with a handful of girls who were desperate to get their hands on a real-life rockstar.

Everyone is flirting.

It's wild. It's messy. It's the kind of afterparty people dream about.

Corroded Coffin are having an absolute fucking blast. They were nobodies last week, but now? They've got girls hanging off their shoulders, whispering in their ears, pressing closer, fingers playing with their necklaces, their rings, their hair.

Following Vanguard's lead, who are in their absolute element again. They live for this kind of debauchery, for these fleeting moments of careless, consequence-free pleasure.

The air is thick. With smoke. With heat. With the kind of reckless, drunken electricity that only comes after a night like this.

There's nothing but music and sweat and bodies pressing close, lips brushing skin, laughter turning into moans behind corners.

Still in Eddie's lap, still touching him, still marking him, you're making damn sure everyone in this room knows he's yours.

He doesn't even glance at the girls who giggle past him, who lean a little too close. Doesn't notice them. Because you're already wrapped around him, your fingers playing with his chains, your lips on his jaw, your body pressing just enough to make him ache.

You're sharing a joint, both of you drunk, both of you high, both of you filthy.

You pass the joint between your lips, your fingers dragging over his bare chest, tracing the sweat-slicked lines of his tattoos. "God, you look so fucking hot like this," you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear.

His lips curve, eyes dark and lazy, heat pooling under his skin. "Yeah?" he drawls, tilting his head back against the couch, exhaling a plume of smoke, "Tell me more."

You smirk, sliding your hand lower, fingertips ghosting over his stomach, his happy trailer, his waistband before dragging your nails down his chest, watching how his abs tighten under your touch. You shift in his lap, rolling your hips against him just enough to make him groan. "So hot," you whisper, leaning in, brushing your lips over his, teasing, "Gets me all needy for you, baby. All wet".

His hands slide lower, fingertips toying with the hem of your skirt, eyes dark and full of promise. "Yeah?" he breathes, lips curving. "How about we fucking l-"

"Who's first?!"

Rick's voice cuts through the haze, and suddenly there's salt and limes and tequila being passed around, bodies shifting, people cheering.

"Yo, body shots?", someone yells, but the second the words hit the air, the whole room erupts.

"Fuck yes!"

"Bring the salt!"

Eddie just grins, sluggish, lazy, wrecked from your touch, and tilts his head at you."Wanna play, sweetheart?"

You laugh, taking another slow drag from the joint, blowing the smoke right into his parted lips. "You have no idea."

Robin and Vickie are giggling against each other, already halfway through their first shots, Vickie licking salt off Robin's collarbone before knocking the liquor back.

The way Robin gasps makes you snort.

"Damn, Buckley," Eddie chuckles against your skin, "Didn't know you had it in you."

"Shut up," Robin groans, but her cheeks are flushed, her lips glistening, her whole body shivering when Vickie presses closer, whispering something into her ear that makes her blush deeper.

Next to them, Elena, in that low-cut top, her lipstick fresh, eyes locked on Steve as she slowly drags a lime slice between her lips, smirking.

Steve looks absolutely wrecked. His jaw tightens, his fists clench, but the second she licks the salt from her wrist, throws back the shot, then bites into her lime with a slow, drawn-out hum, he's done for.

Matt howls from across the room. "Harrington's gonna fucking die."

"God," Grant groans, laughing, clapping Steve on the back, "Go help the man before he passes out."

Steve barely registers them. Just watches, entranced, as Elena walks over to him, hips swinging, eyes dark, tequila still lingering on her tongue. "Your turn, handsome," she purrs, dragging her fingertips down his chest, "You up for it?"

Steve just nods, almost dumbly, and the room fucking erupts. Bodies press closer, a circle forming, everyone drunkenly entranced as Elena slowly sprinkles salt along the curve of her collarbone.

"She's gonna be the death of him," you whisper, grinning against Eddie's mouth.

Eddie just smirks. "Hell yeah," he murmurs, squeezing your hips, "Like you are mine".

And when Steve leans in, when his tongue flicks over Elena's skin, when she gasps and tilts her head back and he drags his lips over her throat, things are slowly getting filthy back here.

She immediately takes another shot, slow and teasing, dragging the lime between her lips, her eyes locked onto him like she knows exactly what she's doing to him. And she does. "Can you handle another one, Harrington?" she purrs, her voice thick with tequila and amusement.

Steve swallows, jaw clenching, but he nods. A little too eager. A little too gone.

"Good," she hums, leaning in so close that her breath is hot against his ear, "Because I wanna feel your mouth on me again".

The room erupts.

Eddie fucking howls with laughter. Robin chokes on her drink. Matt and Grant cheer, banging on the table.

The next shot happens fast. Salt on her skin, his tongue flicking over it, the burn of tequila, the sharp bite of lime, but before she can even swallow, before she can get that last bit of citrus off her lips, Steve grabs her. Crushes her against him, slams his mouth onto hers in a messy, tequila-soaked, desperate fucking kiss. Her nails scratch down his chest. Their mouths move like they've been waiting years for this.

The whole fucking room loses it.

"Oh my god, you're killing him, Elena!" you cackle, your head dropping against Eddie's shoulder, absolutely giddy with drunken excitement.

Elena just smirks against Steve's lips, and when he groans, deep and wrecked, when he pulls her even closer, you feel Eddie tense beneath you. "Fuck," he mutters, voice gravelly, his fingers gripping your thighs as he pulls you tighter into his lap, "That's kinda hot."

You grin, twisting in his hold, pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth. "Yeah?" you breathe, teasing, nipping at his jaw.

He groans again, hands sliding under your shirt, fingers hot on your bare skin.

"Wanna taste me now, rockstar?" you murmur, voice dripping with heat.

Eddie growls, doesn't hesitate and grabs a shot glass. A lime. The salt. Sprinkles some on the swell of your boobs right where your neckline ends. His eyes are locked on you as he drags his tongue over your skin, slow and deliberate, making you shiver as he presses the slice of lime between your lips to hold. The tequila burns on his tongue but his lips are fire as he bites into the lime, his free hand sliding up your spine, pressing you closer, deeper, into him. The sucked lime falls out of your mouth, but your lips fall back on each other, sharing another hot kiss, your hands buried in his hairs, his beneath your shirt, running up your bare back.

You pull back and grin at him, licking your lips as you reach for your drink, snorting when seeing how Elena and Steve are now all over each other. She's got her fingers hooked in the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer, closer, until there's not an inch of space between them. His hands are everywhere, palming her waist, her hips, sliding down to grip the backs of her thighs as she arches against him.

Her lips are swollen from kissing, her eyes dark and wild.

He is completely gone for her, looking like he might fall apart if she pulls away even an inch.

"You gonna survive this, Harrington?" you tease, voice thick with amusement as you settle deeper into Eddie's lap.

Steve barely registers your words, too busy kissing her like he's trying to consume her.

Eddie chuckles, his grip tightening on your waist as he presses his lips hot against your neck. "Oh, he's fucked, baby," he murmurs, voice low, all smug and gravelly against your skin. A sharp nip at the soft curve of your throat as his teeth sink in, just enough to make you gasp, to make you arch against him, hands curling into his wild hair as you tug him closer.

"Fucking hell," you whisper, breath hitching, "Stop turning me on, Munson".

Eddie just grins, wicked and all teeth, his hands sliding lower, fingers teasing at the hem of your shirt. "God, I can't fucking get enough of you", he groans as he kisses you again, deeper, harder, stealing the breath from your lungs like he's starving for it.

You moan softly, shifting in his lap.

The rest of the party doesn't even matter anymore. At least, not until you hear a very familiar sound. A loud, needy gasp from across the room.

Your head snaps toward the source, and... Oh, shit.

Steve's got Elena pinned to the couch now, one knee between her legs, his hands gripping her tight as he devours her, kissing her like he needs it to fucking breathe. Her hands are tangled in his hair, nails scratching down his scalp, pulling him closer, closer, like she wants to disappear into him.

Eddie whistles, low and impressed, you cackle, grabbing his face to kiss him again, all smug and tipsy and absolutely thriving in the chaos.

The whole fucking room is on fire. God knows what's going on right now, but everyone's having an absolute great time.

The bottle of tequila resurfaces.

And suddenly, body shots aren't just taken from collarbones anymore.

It starts with Gareth, already half-gone, lying back on one of the couches, a girl giggling as she trails salt down his stomach, licking it off slowly before taking her shot.

His groan is swallowed by the music, but it sets something off in the room.

Then Matt's next, his shirt's been missing for a while, and a girl with red lips and wild eyes dips low to take a shot from his tattooed stomach, her mouth lingering, lips dragging as she savors it.

You glance at Eddie, smirk, and get up from his lap. "Lie down, loverboy". A girl hands you a shot and a lime, smirking, and within a second, Eddie's the one lying back, still shirtless, sprawled out like a fucking feast on the couch.

"You gonna be a good girl for me, sweetheart?" he teases, voice rough, eyes dark as they watch you.

"No", you smirk, crawling up his body, dragging your nails down his chest as you lean in, tongue flicking against his stomach before you pour the tequila into the dip of his abs.

Eddie shudders, breath catching, hands flexing on your hips as you lick the shot up, slow and teasing, before chasing it with the lime between your lips. "Jesus fuck," he groans, head tipping back against the couch. His big hands are on you before you can even settle back, gripping your waist as he flips you onto the couch with an easy, practiced motion.

You yelp, breathless laughter spilling from your lips as you land on your back, eyes wide and gleaming.

The room erupts into cheers, but you barely hear them, too caught up in the way Eddie is looking at you, eyes dark and hungry, mouth twisted into a devilish grin.

"Your turn", he murmurs, voice rough as he pushes up your shirt, baring the smooth expanse of your stomach. His fingers skim over your skin, making you shiver as he reaches for the bottle of tequila.

You wiggle your brows at him, a smirk playing on your lips as you pick up a lime slice, holding it between your teeth.

His eyes flash with something wicked. "Oh, you're a little menace, aren't you?", he muses, dipping his head.

Your retort dies on your tongue when you feel him sprinkling a fine dusting of salt onto your skin, immediately followed by his warm, wet tongue dragging a slow, deliberate line up your stomach. A sharp gasp escapes you, your body arching slightly into his touch, the anticipation sending a shiver through you, and he must notice because he chuckles, dark and knowing.

Then comes the tequila. The cold liquid pools in your navel, shocking against the heat of your skin.

Eddie barely waits a second before dipping his head, lips sealing around the small dip of your stomach as he sucks the shot down, his tongue flicking against your skin in a way that makes your breath hitch.

"Jesus Christ", you murmur, the room spinning slightly, whether from the alcohol or Eddie, you're not sure.

He grins against your skin, then moves up, slow and deliberate, until he's hovering over you, his breath warm against your lips. His hands frame your waist, holding you still as he leans in, his mouth brushing teasingly over the lime slice still clenched between your teeth. You barely have time to react before he bites down, lips brushing yours in the process. The tang of citrus floods your mouth, mixing with the lingering burn of tequila, and then suddenly he's kissing you, hot and demanding, stealing the air from your lungs as his body presses flush against yours.

You're buried under him, his naked torso pressing into you, the scent of tequila and lime lingering on his lips as you kiss him breathless. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling, making him groan, your tongue licking the citrus from his mouth, tasting smoke and salt and him.

Your pushed-up shirt slides higher as he shifts, one hand sliding under your neck, gripping tight as he pulls you deeper into his mouth, his tongue tracing yours, desperate, like he's drowning in you.

You are drowning in him. In the heat, in the energy of the room, in the fact that somewhere behind you, Steve and Elena are still devouring each other on that couch, seconds away from fucking right there.

It's all too much.

The music pounding through the walls, the filthy things happening around you, the drinks, the teasing, the way Eddie's been looking at you all night, smirking, knowing, the way you've been touching him, flirting with him, waiting for this.

You're burning for him.

And when you grab his chin, tilting his head just enough to kiss him slow and deep, just enough to make him shudder against you, you know exactly what you want. You press your lips to his ear, breath hot, body arching into him as you whisper, filth dripping from your tongue. "Wanna fuck you stupid, rockstar."

Eddie fucking freezes.

His whole body tenses, grip tightening, breath hitching against your throat. Then, a low, wrecked groan rumbles from his chest. He's gone. Completely fucking gone. "Jesus Christ, baby," he rasps, voice gravelly, rough, already moving, already pulling you up with him, hands gripping tight as he drags you onto your knees.

Your laugh is breathless, giddy, as he hoists you up, your legs wrapping around his waist on instinct. Someone whistles. Someone cheers.

"Holy fuck, we thought they were gonna do it right there!"

Eddie flips them off, grinning against your lips, pressing a filthy, tequila-soaked kiss to your mouth as his fingers dig into your ass, slipping into the holes of your fishnet tights, yanking you closer. You gasp against him, and he growls low in his throat, stumbling past the couch, past the mess of empty bottles and flushed bodies, past the heavy bass thumping through the Black Cat.

The noise swallows you both, the laughter, the party, the actual after-party still going on outside.

But Eddie doesn't give a shit.

He presses you against a wall, grinding into you, drunk and wild and so fucking gone for you. His hands are everywhere, on your thighs, your ass, gripping, pressing, as he buries his face in your neck, sucking a mark just below your ear. "Fuck, you're so hot," he groans, his voice wrecked, desperate, "Hottest fucking girl in the world, you know that?"

You shiver, nails scraping down his back, dragging over the ridges of his spine, down to the curve of his ass. "Yeah?" you breathe, teasing, rolling your hips into him, "Wanted you the second you got on that stage, Munson. Wanted to sit on your face the whole fucking set."

Eddie stumbles. Almost drops you. Then recovers, groaning, his laugh hoarse as he nips at your bottom lip, his hands flexing around you. "Fucking hell," he mutters, breathless, "You're gonna kill me, baby."

You grin, pressing a slow, dirty kiss to his jaw. "Then die happy, rockstar."

Eddie growls, then he's moving again, stumbling further down the hallway, past discarded bottles, past the last few people lingering outside the green rooms, ignoring the knowing smirks, the catcalls, the laughter.

He finally kicks open the dressing room door, practically falls inside with you still clinging to him, both of you laughing, breathless, high and so fucking desperate.

The door slams shut. Locks. The room is dimly lit, warm from the night, from the mess of clothes and bags still scattered from earlier.

Eddie almost trips over something but he doesn't care. His lips are on you again, hungry, greedy, his hands yanking at your shirt, dragging it off, his fingers slipping beneath your leather shorts, shoving them down your legs with a frustrated growl. You gasp as the air hits your skin, as Eddie pulls back just enough to take you in, perched on the dressing room table, mirror behind you, eyes hungry, hair a mess, bra barely holding you in. His breath hitches. "Jesus fuck," he mutters, fingers skimming your skin, hot and rough, "You're a fucking dream, you know that?"

You don't answer. Just grab his belt, already unbuckling it, already palming him through his jeans, feeling how hard he is, how desperate.

Eddie shudders, then grins, eyes dark, wild, completely wrecked. "Needy little thing, aren't you?" he teases, voice thick with heat.

You just smirk, licking your lips. "You have no fucking idea."

He doesn't hesitate. Doesn't take his time. He's too fucking gone for you, too high on tequila and weed and the way you're looking at him, half-naked on that dressing room table, your breath coming fast, your lips kiss-swollen and parted, your body ready, waiting. His hands find your thighs, fingers curling into the fishnet tights still clinging to your skin. He grins, breathless, voice rough when he murmurs, "Oops".

The fabric splits under his fingers, just enough, just where he needs.

And when his hand slips between your legs, when his fingers drag over the heat of you, he groans, low and wrecked, his head tipping back as he presses his palm harder against you. "Fuck," he rasps, fingers sliding slow, deliberate, feeling just how ready you are. "Look at you. So fucking wet for me already. Jesus Christ."

You moan, biting at his lip, nails dragging down his bare back, your body arching into his touch. "Been dripping for you all fucking night," you breathe, voice thick, teasing.

Eddie shudders, groans again, his forehead pressing to yours as his fingers tease you, rubbing slow and slick over the soaked fabric of your panties, making you whimper. "Goddamn," he mutters, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth, biting just hard enough to make you gasp as you're shoving his jeans open, hand slipping inside, finding his dick hot, thick, so fucking hard. Eddie jerks, curses against your lips, his hips bucking forward into your touch. "Jesus." His hands flex on your thighs, gripping, desperate, his breath shaky as you stroke him, slow, teasing, just enough to make him groan.

You smirk, breath hot against his mouth. "Can't wait, Munson. Need you now."

He growls, hands yanking at your bra, pushing it up, palms covering your breasts, fingers rolling over your nipples just to hear you whimper. "I should make you wait," he mutters, smirking, teasing, "Make you beg me for it."

But you're not having it.Your hunger is too big. The ache too deep.

"Fuck no," you gasp, gripping him tighter, making him hiss, making him groan, making his control snap.

He curses, breath hot and ragged, hands gripping your thighs, pulling you to the edge of the table with a rough jerk, slipping your panties to the side. Your leg is slung around his waist, your nails dig into his back, and finally he pushes in.

Fast. Deep. Ruining you.

And it's perfect.

"Oh, fuck, yes baby, give it to me", you moan, head falling back as he drives all the way in, filling you with every inch of his throbbing dick.

His lips curl into a smirk as he pulls back, hands digging into your ass as he holds you right in place, and start to fucking wreck you. He slams into you, fast and deep, tearing a sharp gasp from your lips as your back arches, your fingers clawing at his skin.

"Fuck" You barely manage the word before his mouth is on yours again, stealing your breath, swallowing your moans as he ruins you, pounding into you with the kind of reckless desperation that matches the pulse of the music outside.

The dressing room is filled with it, the sharp slap of skin, the sound of ragged breathing, the breathless moans, the guttural groans. The chaos of the afterparty outside barely registers anymore. You don't hear the drunken laughter, the shouts, the pounding bass. All you hear is him. All you feel is him.

Eddie's hands are everywhere, gripping your hips, digging into your thighs, grabbing at your ass as he pulls you impossibly closer, shoving you harder against the edge of the table, making sure you feel every inch of him. "Fucking hell," he groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and wrecked against your skin.

You moan, throwing your head back, fingers tangling in his wild curls, tugging just to hear him growl. "Fucking love your dick," you breathe, voice thick with pleasure, nails raking down his back, "Knew you'd fuck me stupid the second you got me alone."

His grip tightens, his pace turns brutal, relentless, desperate. "Yeah?" he pants, voice breaking with how hard he's fucking you, "That what you wanted, baby? Wanted me to wreck this pretty little pussy? Make sure you can't even fucking walk tomorrow?"

"Yes, oh fuck, Eddie!", you cry out, your nails dig deeper, your body bowing against him, every thrust sending a sharp bolt of pleasure through you, making you cry out.

"Jesus fucking Christ" Eddie groans, his voice wrecked, his body shaking with how hard he's giving it to you. His fingers slip between your bodies, teasing, rubbing your swollen clit, dragging you even higher, making your thighs tremble around him. "Come on, wanna feel you cum all over my cock, wanna fucking ruin you".

The table slams against the wall with every relentless thrust, the mirror behind you rattling with the sheer force of it.

Your moans are loud, uncontrollable, each one torn from your lips as he ruins you. Your wetness coats his cock, spreading everywhere, making every movement slick, messy, perfect. "Oh my god yes, fuck me", you whimper, losing your mind from how good he feels, letting him take you however he wants.

"Fuck, baby" Eddie groans, voice wrecked, panting into your mouth as he keeps driving into you, his grip bruising on your hips, "Listen to you, so fucking loud for me, so goddamn wet"

You are. Your body is surrendering to him completely, every nerve igniting under his touch, every thrust sending you spiraling higher, higher, higher.

"Yours," you gasp, locking eyes with him, that wicked grin curling on your lips, teasing, taunting, "All yours, baby, fuck yes, oh my god just like that".

"Yeah?" His hand wraps around your throat, just enough to make you feel it, his thumb pressing against your pulse as his other hand grips your thigh, holding you open, taking you. "Then cum for me, cum all over my cock, let me feel how bad you fucking need me"

Your body clenches around him, pleasure tearing through you like fire, making you arch, making you tremble, making you scream his name. Your nails dig into his back, your legs locking around his waist as you cum hard, hard, soaking him, squeezing him, taking him so deep.

Eddie grins down at you, watching you fall apart, eyes dark, hungry, his pace unrelenting, ruthless. "Fuck, look at you" he groans, "so goddamn perfect, so fucking wrecked"

He keeps going. Doesn't stop. His lips crash against yours, kissing you breathless, swallowing your moans as his hips slam against yours, deep and fast and so filthy, your tits bouncing with every brutal movement.

Your bra is shoved up, your ripped tights barely clinging to your thighs, his back and chest scratched raw from your desperate grip. "Fuck, Eddie" Your voice breaks, gasping against his lips, hands clawing down his back, grabbing at his ass, needing him, dragging him deeper. "God, you feel so good, so fucking big, baby"

"Yeah?" He groans, his grip tightening, his pace snapping into something downright punishing, "Who do I belong to, baby? Tell me, fucking tell me-"

"Me," you growl against his lips, biting down on his bottom lip, making him moan. "You're mine, Eddie, fuck, every fucking inch of you--"

That does it.

He loses it, slamming into you, groaning loud, almost feral as he wrecks you so deep you see stars, driving you right back over the edge.

"Oh - fuck - Eddie, ohmygod!"

You cum again, harder, louder, your body shattering, trembling, your eyes rolling back as your breath catches in a wrecked gasp.

"Jesus Christ, baby" Eddie groans, watching you, his pace stuttering, his jaw going slack, barely holding on.

Your fingers yank at his hair, dragging him into a desperate, sloppy kiss, your body clenching around him, pulling him in. "Cum for me, baby" you whisper against his lips, "cum so fucking deep, give it to me".

His whole body shudders as he buries himself deep, gasping against your mouth, groaning low and wrecked as he finishes, giving you every last drop, holding you tight, clinging to you as he falls apart.

The only thing left is heavy breathing. Heat. The smell of sweat, sex, tequila, weed.

Eddie grins against your lips, still breathless, spent, his body heavy against yours. "Holy fuck, baby" he pants, laughing softly, "you're gonna fucking kill me one day, I swear".

You grin, gasping for air, your leg still wrapped around him, hand fisting his hair.

He stays inside you, still buried deep, both of you gasping, shivering from the aftershocks. His forehead drops against yours, his breath hot against your damp skin. He laughs. Drunken, breathless, wrecked laughter, his whole body shaking with it, pressing against yours in the best way.

You giggle, arms still locked around his neck, dragging him closer, pressing kisses anywhere you can reach, his cheek, his jaw, his temple. "Love you so fucking much," you mumble against his skin, still high off him, still twitching around him, feeling every little pulse of him still inside you.

Eddie groans, hips barely rocking, just feeling you, both of you too wrecked to move but god, you can't stop wanting him."How are you so fucking perfect, baby?" he breathes, dazed, voice hoarse. He kisses you like he needs it, deep and slow and hungry, his fingers trailing down your back, over your thighs, feeling you everywhere, like he never wants to let go.

And neither do you.

You shudder at the way he still stretches you, at the way he stays inside, still thick, still warm, so good, so fucking right. "God" you sigh against his lips, fingers sinking into his hair, "I'm so fucking addicted to you".

"Yeah?" His grin is wicked, teasing, but his eyes, his eyes are dark, still full of heat. "That why you're still squeezing my dick, sweetheart?"

You are. Still pulsing around him, still clenching just enough to feel every little movement, every tiny throb of him inside you.

And then, he moves. Just the slightest shift of his hips, and your body jerks, oversensitive, needy, a breathless whimper spilling from your lips.

"Oh, baby," he chuckles, voice dripping with trouble, hands sliding down your waist, "you're insatiable, aren't you?"

You whimper again, nails dragging down his back, biting at his jaw. "Only for you."

And just like that, he's kissing you again.Deeper. Hotter. Hungrier.

Because fuck, he's just as addicted to you.

You feel it, with your tongue slipping in his mouth, you feel it right there, still buried deep inside you, twitching, pulsing.

Eddie's growing hard again. Already.

Your breath hitches.

He groans against your mouth, barely pulling back, dark eyes flickering open, his lips curling into that cocky, breathless smirk. "You feel that, baby?"

You clench around him, just a little, grinning dirty.

He hisses, his fingers flexing against your waist, dragging you closer. "Fuck, you really don't get enough, do you?"

You laugh, breathless, smug, rolling your hips the tiniest bit, making him curse under his breath. "Guess not," you murmur, biting his lower lip, "but look at you, rockstar. You still want me so bad, don't you?"

His head drops back, eyes fluttering shut for a second, like he's trying to compose himself, but fuck that, because when he looks back down at you, his eyes are hungry. "Baby, I don't think I'll ever stop wanting you," he groans, rolling his hips, just once, slow, deep, sending a shockwave through your wrecked body.

You moan, nails digging into his skin, arching up into him, "Then prove it."

Eddie groans into your mouth, hips twitching, growing harder at your words, still stretching you so perfectly it's filthy how much you need more.

You're rolling your hips again, making him curse under his breath, fingers digging into your thighs as his head drops to your shoulder. "Jesus fucking- baby, you're actually gonna be the fucking death of me".

You grin, biting at his jaw, voice thick and teasing, "Then die inside me, Munson."

With a wrecked, ragged groan, he grabs your hips, drags you flush against him, and fucks you all over again.

Hard. Deep. Like he owns you. Like he needs you.

The table slams against the wall again, the mirror rattling behind you, but you don't give a single fuck. Not when he's stretching you so good, when every thrust pushes you closer to that edge again.

You dig your nails into his back, dragging them down his sweat-slicked skin, feeling the muscles flex and coil under your touch. "God, Eddie" you gasp, "yes, fuck, just like that".

He's grinning filthy against your neck, one hand gripping your ass, the other sliding up, pushing your bra higher, palming your breast. "You feel that?" he breathes, teasing, rolling your nipple between his fingers, "Feel how fucking wet you are? You're fucking dripping".

"Because of you, baby" you moan, fingers tangling in his hair, yanking him into another desperate kiss, "Yes, fuck me harder!"

He yanks your legs higher, practically folding you in half, and slams into you, deep, relentless, making you cry out, making your whole body shake. "That what you fucking want?" he growls against your lips, "Wanna be ruined? Wrecked? Screaming my fucking name?"

You're already screaming it.

The filthy sounds of skin slapping, the wetness between you, the desperate moans and gasps, it's obscene, it's insane how hot it is, how much you need it, how much he gives you, how much you take.

"You belong to me," you gasp, locking your eyes with his, grinning through the pleasure, "Tell me, baby. Say it."

His fingers tighten, his rhythm wrecks you, his lips hovering over yours, panting, "I belong to you, baby- fuck, I'm yours".

"That's right" you moan, tilting your head back, "Fucking show me."

And he does. Fucking you so good, so deep, so perfect until you're clenching around him again, gasping, moaning, shaking, cumming so hard again it leaves you trembling, whimpering, almost passing out.

"Fuck, I love watching you cum for me" Eddie groans, grinning down at you, "You're so fucking beautiful like that".He barely holds on, barely keeps his rhythm until you make one final filthy noise, until your fingers grab his ass and pull him deeper, until you moan, "Cum for me, baby, fucking fill me up again"

Eddie loses it. Groaning deep and wrecked, he shudders, thrusts hard one last time, and spills deep, gasping your name, pressing his forehead to yours, body shaking as he finally lets go.

His breath is still ragged against your skin, his body heavy over yours, both of you completely wrecked, your limbs tangled together like neither of you can bear to let go.

The air in the dressing room is thick with heat, sweat, and the lingering scent of sex, the mirror behind you still trembling slightly from the brutal way he had taken you.

You can feel his heart hammering against your chest, his forehead pressed against yours, his lips still curved into a breathless, cocky grin. "I'm never leaving this fucking dressing room ever again," he pants, laughing softly, his fingers lazily tracing up and down your spine.

You giggle, just as wrecked, just as deliriously satisfied, your nails dragging lightly over his shoulders. "Guess we live here now," you murmur, pressing a slow, lazy kiss to his jaw, tasting sweat and something so distinctly Eddie.

He groans in response, shifting just slightly, and you both let out a shaky breath when you feel the way he's still buried inside you, still warm, still thick, still so goddamn perfect. His fingers tighten on your hips as if the thought of pulling away is unbearable. "You're still squeezing me, sweetheart," he rasps, voice dripping with amusement and heat.

You smirk, shifting your hips just enough to make him hiss. "Maybe I don't want to let you go yet."

Eddie curses under his breath, dropping his head into the crook of your neck. His body trembles, overstimulated but still wanting, and you bite your lip, savoring the way he twitches inside you, the way his breath hitches like he's fighting the urge to just take you all over again.

But eventually, reality sneaks in.

The distant sound of music, the muffled voices of your friends still partying just outside the dressing room door.

He groans dramatically, finally pulling back just enough to look at you. "We should probably go back out there before they start knocking down the fucking door."

You sigh, reluctant but knowing he's right. "Fine," you pout, dragging your fingers through his damp hair, raking them back, loving the way he shivers under your touch. "But only because I'm thirsty as hell, and I need a cigarette after that."

Eddie chuckles, kissing you one last time before reluctantly pulling out, making you both shudder from the loss of contact. He watches, grinning wickedly, as you wince slightly, your legs weak, your body still buzzing. "Fuck, baby," he murmurs, brushing a hand down your thigh, watching the way his cum drips out of you, utterly satisfied. "I really did a number on you, huh?"

You roll your eyes, shoving at his chest, making him laugh. "Shut up and help me down, idiot".

It takes a few minutes to make yourselves look somewhat presentable. Your tights are a lost cause, completely ripped at the thighs, but you manage to smooth down your shirt and shorts enough to make it work. Eddie is still grinning as he closes his belt, still topless, and you can't help but admire the way his skin is littered with red scratches, proof of just how good he made you feel.

When you finally step out of the dressing room, the party is still going strong. The bass from the speakers thrums through the floor, bottles are being passed around, and the air is thick with cigarette smoke and laughter.

The second you and Eddie reappear, a chorus of cheers and whistles erupts from the group.

"Well, well, well," Matt drawls, leaning against the couch, beer in hand, his grin downright smug, "Look who finally decided to rejoin the party."

Eddie just smirks, completely unbothered, stretching his arms over his head, purposely showing off the deep nail marks on his back as he bends down to a bag and digs for a dry shirt, "Missed me that much, huh?"

Rick laughs, raising his drink. "Dude, we heard you. I think half the fucking venue heard you."

You don't even have the decency to blush, just smirking as you grab a cigarette from the table, lighting it with steady hands. "And?" You exhale smoke, raising a brow. "Jealous, Rickie?"

That earns a round of laughter, and Eddie grins, pulling you into his side, pressing a kiss to your temple, "That's my girl."

"Speaking of missing people," you say, glancing around, "where the hell are Elena and Steve?"

Greg snickers, taking a long sip of his drink before answering. "Oh, you mean right after you two disappeared? The bar girl loudly asked if anyone had a condom and then practically dragged your friend off with her."

You laugh, shaking your head. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

And as if on cue, the two of them finally make their way back into the room.

Elena is glowing, lips swollen, hair a mess, her top slightly twisted like she didn't have time to fix it before stumbling back into the party.

Steve, on the other hand, oh, poor Steve, looks like a man who just went through war and came out victorious but barely alive. His shirt is buttoned wrong, his belt is still undone, and his hair... oh, his usually perfect hair is a wreck.

The second they step in, the whole room erupts into cheers and wolf whistles, making Steve groan as he drags a hand down his face.

"Look who finally decided to show up!" Matt calls out, grinning. "How was your little... adventure?"

Steve just shakes his head, grabbing the nearest beer like he needs it to recover. "I'm not talking about it."

Elena, on the other hand, is smirking like the goddamn devil. She plucks the cigarette from your fingers, taking a slow drag before exhaling lazily. "He was very good," she purrs, winking at Steve.

The room erupts into laughter, and Steve groans again, face burning red.

Eddie slings an arm around your shoulders, chuckling. "Jesus Christ, I love this group."

You lean into him, smiling, feeling the warmth of his body, the way his fingers absentmindedly trace patterns against your arm.

Everything is loud and chaotic and perfect.

You're with your friends. You're with Eddie.

And the night is far from over.

The Black Cat is still alive with energy, the air thick with smoke, alcohol, and the lingering buzz of Corroded Coffin's set.

The crowd that had come to see the gig is still here, drinking, laughing, riding the high of the night. A classic rock song blasts through the speakers, voices are raised in drunken conversations, and the smell of sweat, booze, and cigarette smoke lingers in the air.

The moment your group emerges from the backstage area, the crowd erupts in another wave of cheers, raising their drinks, voices blending into a chaotic mix of drunken excitement.

Eddie's arm is slung lazily around your shoulders, fingers drumming against your arm in rhythm with the song playing over the speakers. His other hand holds a beer someone shoved into it the second you stepped into the main area, and his grin is smug as hell.

Of course, all eyes are on him. The whole goddamn bar is still reeling from his performance, from the way he owned the stage tonight, and especially from the way he surprised everyone, including you, with All I Am, the song he wrote for you.

Your heart still hasn't settled from it, still fluttering in your chest at the raw intensity of his words, the way he looked at you as he sang.

Every single person in the venue saw it, how utterly yours he is.

But that doesn't stop the vultures.

The second your group pushes through the sea of people, the girls descend.

You feel it before you even see it, the shift in energy, the way they move in, drawn to Eddie like moths to a flame. Whispers, giggles, eyes full of intentions as hands reach out, brushing his arms, his chest, trying to capture his attention.

And your drunk, still-wrecked, possessive ass is not having it.

Eddie doesn't even realize at first, too caught up in the high of the night, basking in the attention, smirking as he takes a swig of his beer.

As you all make your way through the venue, heading for the bar, a group of them immediately zero in on Eddie. They're bold, drunk, and completely ignoring the fact that he's standing right next to you.

"Oh my god, Eddie, that song was so amazing," one of them coos, stepping into his space, reaching out to touch his arm. "I had no idea you were such a romantic."

Another one, blonde, with too much confidence, presses closer. "Your voice is just so sexy," she purrs, trailing her nails down his bicep, "And that performance? God, I felt it."

Your eye twitches.

Eddie, to his credit, barely glances at them. He's drunk, high, and still wrecked from what the two of you did backstage, and the second he catches the look in your eyes, he steps back. Hands raised. Voice firm."Yeah, uh, listen, ladies, thanks, but I'm taken," he says, tilting his head toward you, making it very clear, "Like, very fucking taken."

But they don't care.

"Taken?" the blonde giggles, looking you up and down, dismissing you instantly, "That's cute."

And oh, fuck that.

Your blood is boiling.

Of course, the Vanguard boys are eating this shit up. They know you too well.

Rick, smirking, nudges Greg. "Oh, shit. Here we go."

Matt chuckles, shaking his head, "These poor girls have no idea what they're walking into."

Greg takes a long sip of his beer, then, loud enough for everyone to hear, says, "Ladies, you might wanna back off before she throws a fucking punch."

The girls laugh, thinking it's a joke.

It's not.

Eddie watches you with amusement and adoration, letting you handle it, because he knows you.

And so, you take one long, slow step forward, your voice sweet. Too sweet.

"Listen, honey," you purr, tilting your head, "I get it. He's hot. He's talented. And if I were you, I'd probably wanna fuck him, too." You smile, but your eyes? Cold. "But the thing is? He's mine."

Blondie opens her mouth to argue, but you don't let her.

"And just in case you didn't hear him the first time..." You step even closer, voice dropping to something dark, something dangerous. "Back. The fuck. Off."

The shift in your tone? Immediate. The amusement in the guys behind you? Louder. The warning in your voice? Clear.

And finally, finally, the girls get it.

They hesitate, eyeing Eddie one last time, but when they see the way he's looking at you? The way he's grinning, like he loves how possessive you are? They know they don't stand a fucking chance.

You nod your head to where the rest of your group is, specifically, where Gareth, Jeff, Grant, and the Vanguard dudes are already surrounded by girls who are very happy to throw themselves at a rockstar. "Go bother them. They'll be very happy to give you attention, maybe they even pity-fuck you if you ask nicely"

The girl scoffs, flipping her hair, clearly offended, "Jesus, possessive much?"

You grin, sharp and deadly, "Oh, baby, you have no idea."

Behind you, Matt cackles. "Told you."

Rick claps Joe on the shoulder. "You owe me twenty bucks. She didn't throw hands, but that was just as brutal."

The girl glares at you one more time before storming off, her friend following.

You turn back to Eddie, who's still grinning at you, looking all amused, flattered, and, if you read him right, very turned on. "Baby", he hums, wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him, "Stop turning me on".

You smirk, leaning up to kiss him, slow and possessive. "Just making sure everyone knows who you belong to."

Your boyfriend groans into your mouth, fingers digging into your waist, "Fucking love when you get all territorial."

"Yeah, yeah," Salva calls out, "Save it for later, you two. We're still in public."

You roll your eyes but let Eddie keep his arm around you as your group keeps moving toward the bar. But before you get too far -

"Oh, no you fucking don't."

Your head whips around just in time to see another girl making a beeline for Steve.Poor Steve, who is barely functioning after whatever Elena did to him, is just standing there, still looking wrecked, sipping his beer like he's recovering from war.

The girl spots him, locks on, starts strutting his way, but then, Elena steps in her path.

She doesn't even hesitate. Just moves right in front of the girl, tilts her head, and hisses, voice sharp and warning. "He's mine for tonight."

The girl freezes, eyes going wide, before she quickly changes direction and scurries off.

You were expecting her to be done with him after their little backstage adventure, but to your surprise, Steve just smirks, pulling her in, letting his hands settle on her waist. "It doesn't have to be just for tonight, you know," he murmurs, voice low, eyes flicking to her lips.

The guys behind you whoop, hollering like they're watching some kind of goddamn movie.

But the biggest shock? Elena actually likes it.She smirks, sliding her fingers into his hair, tilting her head. "Yeah?" she muses, teasing, "That so, Harrington?"

Before he can even respond, she's kissing him, right there, right in front of everyone, like she doesn't give a single fuck.

Eddie whistles lowly. "Well, damn."

Robin and Vickie watch from the sidelines, amused, tipsy, their fingers barely brushing together as they whisper between themselves.

You just shake your head, grinning at them and stepping at the counter, your boyfriend right behind you. Drunk, high, still completely obsessed with how you just handled all of that. His hands are on you instantly, pulling you into him, his lips brushing over your neck, whispering, "Jesus Christ, baby, I fucking love you."

Greg, still laughing, calls for another round of shots, but the bartender just shakes his head, amused. "Man," he sighs, motioning to the empty shelves, "your audience fucking drank us empty."

Eddie stares at the bar, then at the people around him, proud as hell. "Well, fuck," he grins. "That's kinda impressive."

You just smirk, reaching for his hand. "Come on," you smirk, pulling him toward the door, "We're not done yet."

And with that, your group spills out into the night, heading for the next bar.

The dive bar you all find just around the block is perfect. Cheap beer, loud rock music, a half-filled space with enough room for your whole group to settle in without pissing off the regulars. The neon signs glow dimly against the smoke-stained walls, a jukebox hums in the corner, and there's a couple of well-worn pool tables, a dartboard, and an old, sticky bar lined with dusty peanut bowls. The air is filled with smoke, the scent of beer and cheap whiskey and a Black Sabbath song rumbling through the jukebox, welcoming you as you push the door open. It's a mix of chaos and comfort, the kind of place that doesn't give a shit how loud you get, as long as you keep drinking.

The second you all pile inside, the atmosphere shifts.

Your group, rowdy, drunk, and thriving off the energy of the night, quickly takes over. Everybody's ordering drinks, before scattering over the place.

Elena and Steve immediately settle at one of the high-top tables, leaning in close, laughing, flirting, stealing kisses between teasing remarks. Steve's hand stays on her thigh, fingers tracing absent-minded circles, and Elena, for all her usual guardedness, is absolutely eating it up.

Across the room, Robin and Vickie lean against a pool table, watching them with matching smirks, before eventually focusing on the game, Robin turning into full-on teacher mode. "Okay, so you wanna line up your shot like this," she says, leaning over, cue in hand, her entire body pressed so unnecessarily close to Vickie's as she guides her hands into position.

Vickie hums, tilting her head. "Mmm. Right. This is purely instructional."

"Uh-huh."

"You're definitely not just using this as an excuse to wrap yourself around me."

Robin freezes.

Vickie, tipsy and feeling bolder than usual, smirks. She leans back just enough to let her lips brush Robin's ear and murmurs, "Babe, if you wanted to touch me, you could've just asked."

Robin's cue clatters to the floor.

Vickie just giggles, bending down to pick it up, letting her fingers graze Robin's in the process, absolutely reveling in how pink her face is. And as much as Robin wants to recover, she's utterly fucked when Vickie, acting like it's nothing, leans in again, her voice just for her ears. "Now, are you gonna teach me how to play, or are you just gonna stand there looking adorable?"

Robin dies. Fully dies.

Meanwhile, at the dartboard, Jeff and Gareth are having a ridiculous competition over who can land the best shot, while Matt, Salva, and Joe watch from the sidelines, making increasingly stupid bets.

"Alright, alright," Salva slurs, laughing. "If you miss this one, you have to buy the next round."

Gareth, way too drunk to be aiming properly, squints, takes the shot, and completely misses the board.

The entire group howls.

"Bro, how the fuck did you miss that bad?" Matt cackles, wiping tears from his eyes, "It's right there!"

Gareth just groans, dragging a hand down his face, "I hate you all."

At one of the booths, Rick, Grant and Greg have already settled in, drinks in hand, a couple of girls perched in their laps. Lips brush over necks, hands wander under shirts, and there's a steady hum of drunken giggles and slurred whispers.

Eddie and you claimed a shadowy corner near the jukebox, tucked away just enough to be out of the chaos, but still close enough to watch. Your boyfriend leans against the wall, smoking, the dim glow of the neon lights flickering across his features. His arm is draped lazily around your waist, fingers tapping idly against your hip, and you're pressed up against him, his jacket half wrapped around you, both drunk and giggly. "You know what I wanna see?" Eddie murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple.

"Hmm?"

"You fighting off my groupies," he mumbles, exhaling smoke, smirking, "Like, full-on mud wrestling, just - bam, knocking bitches out. In a bikini, maybe. Or naked. Preferably".

You snort, laughing as lean into him, forehead against his chest.

Eddie joins in, his laughter rumbling through his body, his grip tightening around you. "Fucking hell, baby, I love it when you laugh like that," he mutters, grinning, pressing a quick, sloppy kiss to your cheek.

You pull back, shaking your head, still grinning, "I swear to god, Munson, you're such an idiot."

"And yet," he hums, flicking ash from his cigarette, "you love me."

You roll your eyes, but your heart does that annoying little flip it always does when he says shit like that. "Speaking of love," you murmur, running a hand through his curls, "that song you sang tonight..."

His expression softens. A big hand moves from your waist to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. "You really liked it?"

You nod. "Baby, I loved it. Can't believe you hid that from me"

"Hey, hey," Eddie grins, "I wanted it to be a surprise."

"It was a surprise." You pause, smirking, "A really fucking hot surprise. And very so romantic".

Eddie groans, tilting his head back dramatically.

You just smile, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "Sing it again for me?"

He exhales, eyes flickering to the rest of the bar, before his gaze settles back on you, dark and warm. "Later," he murmurs, voice thick with something that makes your stomach flip, "When we're alone."

You pout up at him, lower lip jutting out just enough, eyes big and pleading. "Please, baby?" You drag your fingers over his chest, slow and teasing, feeling the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. "Just for me?"

Eddie groans, tilting his head back against the wall like he's in agony. "Jesus Christ, you're fucking evil."

You grin, stepping in closer, pressing your front to his, your fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt to trace lightly over his stomach. "Evil? Me?" You blink up at him through your lashes, voice all sweet and innocent, knowing exactly what you're doing to him.

His jaw clenches. His hands twitch at your waist, but he shakes his head, looks away.

He doesn't wanna. He's drunk, and his voice is rough, and he's not on a stage anymore.

The crowd is long forgotten, lost in the haze of bar lights and the lazy churn of the jukebox.

Not here. Not now.

But you don't stop. You tug on his sleeve, press up on your toes, let your lashes flutter just enough.

He groans, scrubbing a hand over his face like he's trying to resist, but you see the crack forming in his armor.

"Please, Eds" you whisper, "Sing it for me."You press closer, warm against him, fingertips tracing slow circles on his wrist. You don't have to say another word.

He exhales sharply, something breaking in him, something giving in, because when it comes to you? He's got no defenses. "You're dangerous, you know that?" he mutters, shaking his head like he's mad at himself. But his hand finds your waist, tugging you away from the jukebox, away from the group.

Further, further, until it's just the two of you in the dim glow of neon signs and the low hum of bar chatter.

He pulls you in. The distant thrum of another rock song starts behind you, but it barely registers.

All you hear is the rasp of his breath, the slight tremble in his hands as they find your waist. And then, his lips, just barely brushing yours, his voice slipping between the space of your breaths, lower, softer than before.

It's not the same as on stage. There's no roaring guitar, no pounding drums, no electric hunger. Just him. Just you.

"I was hollow, I was weightless, just a ghost inside my skin..."

His voice is like gravel and whiskey and sleepless nights, like something sacred only for you. It curls around you, wraps itself in your bones. You shiver. He holds you closer.

"Didn't know I was still breathing till you pulled me back again..."

The words melt against your skin. His hands settle at the small of your back, swaying you both, slow and aimless. Your fingers clutch at his shirt, twisting in the fabric like it's the only thing keeping you upright. His forehead presses against yours, his breath warm, his eyelashes brushing your cheek.

"Didn't run, didn't waver, you just stayed right by my side."

Your throat tightens. There's something in the way he sings it, something raw, something that makes your chest ache. He means it. Every word. His voice dips lower, more raw.

"And I don't know what I did to deserve you,But I swear on my soul I won't waste it..."

Your heart stutters. His voice dips lower, a quiet rasp, his lips just a breath away from yours. The world around you dissolves, no more bar, no more jukebox, no more anything. Just him. Just the song.

"Take my soul, take my sinsIf you want them, they're all yoursYou're the blood in my veins, the fire in my ribsI am nothing without youIf the sky breaks, if the stars fall,I will hold you through the darkNo gods, no fate, no heaven aboveJust you and my heart beating wild in your hands."

His fingers tighten on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. His voice is raw, thick with something too heavy to name. The weight of it presses against your ribs, settles deep in your stomach. You feel like you might break under it. You barely breathe as he keeps going.

"I was reckless, I was drowning, filling lungs with bitter nightsI was searching for a reason, but I couldn't get it right..."

He pauses, tilting his head just enough to brush his lips against your temple, his fingers tracing slow patterns into your spine.

"Then your voice cut through the silence like a flame against the dark...Lit a fire, burned the wreckage, left your name inside my heart."

A shudder rolls through you. His hands slide up your back, fingers curling in your hair. Your chest tightens. It's too much. You feel it, feel every note in your bones, in the way your chest tightens, in the way your throat aches. His voice almost breaks on the bridge.

"I'd tear myself apart if it kept you whole...I'd carry every burden just to lighten your soul...I'd break, I'd bleed, I'd burn, I'd drownJust to know that you're still around..."

Your eyes sting. You try to blink the tears away, but they slip free anyway. He feels it, catches them with his thumb, his hands cradling your face as he sings the last lines so quietly it's barely more than a breath.

"You saved me...You made me...All I am... is you."

Silence.

Just his heartbeat, pounding against yours.

Just his breath, shaky against your skin.

Your fingers curl in his shirt. You can't speak. Can't move.

He presses his lips to your forehead, lingering there, his arms wrapping tighter around you. "You okay?" he murmurs.

You nod against him, letting your head sink into his chest, arms wrapped around him, but your throat is too tight to speak.

Because you don't just hear the words. You feel them. You feel every bit of him in them. Every ounce of love, of devotion, of Eddie.

And you know, without a doubt, you'll never hear this song the same way again.

You sniffle against his chest, fingers still curled tight in his shirt like you need to anchor yourself.

His arms tighten around you, warm, steady, safe. He feels it, the slight shake in your breath, the way you're holding onto him like he's the only thing keeping you upright. "Hey", he murmurs, voice softer now, rough but careful. His fingers slip under your chin, tilting your face up to him. "C'mon, sweetheart. Don't cry". But he's smirking, even as he wipes a stray tear from your cheek with the rough pad of his thumb.

You blink up at him, still caught in the weight of everything, still feeling his voice wrapped around your ribs like a vice. "I'm not", you whisper, though your watery eyes betray you.

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head, "Liar".

You try to look away, but he doesn't let you. He cradles your face in both hands now, thumbs sweeping slow over your cheekbones, grounding you. "Didn't mean to wreck you, baby", he teases, though there's something deeper in his eyes.

You sniffle again, half-laughing, half-sobbing, "You didn't wreck me."

His brow lifts.

"You just..." You break off, swallowing thickly, shaking your head as you fist your hands into his shirt, "You... God, Eddie, that was..."

His lips quirk, amused, "That was...?"

You huff, pushing at his chest lightly, but he just pulls you right back in. "You know what that was", you mumble against him.

"Yeah?" His voice dips lower, teasing, but there's something else beneath it, something reverent, "Tell me anyway".

You roll your eyes, but the warmth in your chest is unbearable. You tilt your head up, letting your fingers slide to the nape of his neck, holding him like he's something precious. Because he is. "That was everything", you whisper.

Something flickers in his gaze, something raw, something vulnerable. His breath catches. Just for a second. Just long enough for you to see it. He leans down, kissing you. Slow, deep, like the song is still lingering in the space between you, like he's still singing it against your lips.

You pull back from Eddie's kiss, eyes still damp, breath still shaky. He watches you, fingers brushing along your jaw, but before he can say anything, a voice cuts in.

"Did you make her cry?"

Greg.

You blink as he stops in front of you, arms crossed, expression serious despite the slight sway in his stance.

He's tipsy, no, he's drunk, but his concern is clear. His gaze flicks between your still-wet cheeks and Eddie, who remains silent, just watching.

You chuckle, wiping at your face, "I'm okay, Greg".

He squints at you, not convinced, "You sure? You don't look okay".

"I am okay", you promise, voice warm, affectionate, "Just... emotional. Happy tears".

Greg doesn't move. He shifts his weight, then jabs a finger toward Eddie. "You never make her cry sad tears, you hear me?"

Eddie huffs, amused, "Wouldn't dream of it, man".

But Greg's already turning, looking over his shoulder, because Rick and Salva have caught wind of the conversation from the bar.

The moment Rick sees your face, he groans, dramatically slamming his drink down. "Goddammit, who made our girl cry?"

Before you can stop them, both of them are in front of you, Salva wrapping a heavy arm around your shoulders while Rick takes your chin in his tattooed fingers, turning your face to inspect your damp lashes.

"She says she's okay", Greg tells them.

Salva squints at Eddie, "You make her cry?"

Eddie just smirks, shaking his head, "Not in a bad way".

Rick scoffs, looking back at you, "Yeah? You good, baby girl?"

You snort, waving them off, "I swear I'm fine, you guys".

They don't budge. They're talking, tipsy, protective, affectionate.

"Listen, sweetheart", Rick says, squeezing your hand, "you stumbled into our lives, and that means you're ours now. You get that?"

"Means we take care of you", Salva adds gruffly, nudging your head with his.

You shake your head, overwhelmed, but

Greg's still going. "Especially after hearing that story earlier. Your family? Fuck 'em."

Salva nods. "Your dad never cared. Your mom, yeah, don't even get me started. But us?" He gestures at the group of them, including Joe and Matt, who have wandered over, looking completely confused. "You got five big brothers now. You need anything, you come to us."

Joe blinks, "Wait, what's happening?"

"Group hug", Salva declares.

And before you know it, you're drowning in them, all five of them, loud and warm and tipsy and so annoyingly protective.

You sniffle, "You guys..."

"Shut up", Rick mutters, squeezing you tighter, "We love you."

Joe and Matt still look confused, but they go along with it, laughing as you're smothered in their arms.

Eddie watches from a few steps away, arms crossed, shaking his head with an amused smirk. Normally, he hates seeing you around other men. It makes him itch, makes something hot and possessive crawl under his skin. But these five? No jealousy. No tension. Because he sees it. Feels it. They love you. They actually love you.

And when Rick finally pulls back, pointing a finger at Eddie, his tone goes dead serious. "No heartbreak. No cheating. No bullshit".

Salva cracks his knuckles, "You make her cry, we make you cry."

Eddie lifts both hands in surrender, grinning. "Message received, gentlemen."

They all grin, nod and pat his back, before all of you make your way back to the others, the warmth of the moment still clinging to your skin.

Your eyes are a little puffy, your heart still full, but the energy of the bar shifts the second you step closer.

Robin and Vickie are still at the pool table, pretending to focus on their game, but it's obvious they're far more interested in each other. Vickie keeps sneaking glances at Robin when she thinks no one's looking, and Robin, God bless her, looks like she's about to vibrate out of her skin with nerves.

A few feet away, Steve and Elena are at their high table, completely lost in each other. Steve leans in, saying something low that makes Elena smirk behind the rim of her glass. She tilts her head, teasing, and he eats it up, eyes locked on her lips like he's already imagining kissing her.

Meanwhile, Eddie's bandmates have surrounded the jukebox, arguing over the next song.

Within seconds, the opening notes of a Metallica song blast through the bar, and all of them, every single one, immediately start air-playing their guitars, headbanging and singing along like they're on stage, causing the Vanguard guys to join in.

The energy is back.

You smirk, turning to Robin, wiggling your brows before nodding toward Vickie.

Robin's eyes widen, cheeks turning pink.

You don't even have to say anything out loud. Your expression says it all.

Do something.

Robin swallows hard, her gaze darting around the bar. She's dying to kiss Vickie, you can see it, but she hesitates.

The world is still small-minded about this kind of love, and that fear, that bullshit fear, keeps her frozen.

You raise your brows again. Bathroom. Now.

She shakes her head frantically. I can't!

Your eyes narrow. You CAN. You WILL.

Eddie, watching this silent exchange, leans down, "What the fuck are you two saying?"

You ignore him, still staring down Robin.

She sighs loudly, muttering, "Jesus Christ", under her breath. Then, finally, she takes a breath, leans into Vickie's ear, whispers something.

And Vickie's eyes light up.She grins, takes Robin's hand, and just like that, they're gone.

You watch them disappear, satisfied, turning back toward Steve and Elena.

Steve shakes his head, smirking, "You really just sent them to go make out?"

Elena grins, sipping her drink, "She totally did".

You lean against their table, swirling your drink with a smirk before turning your attention to Steve. "So", you start, voice dripping with mischief, "what do you think about Elena?"

Steve doesn't miss a beat. He keeps it cool, effortlessly flirty, shooting Elena a playful smirk, "She's alright, I guess".

Elena scoffs, raising a brow. "Alright?"

Steve grins, sipping his drink, "Yeah. You know. Kinda cute. Kinda fun." His gaze lingers just a little too long, the corner of his mouth twitching, "Kinda trouble".

Elena bites her lip, fighting back a grin, but you see the way her eyes light up, the way his casual teasing gets to her.

But then, just for a second, Steve throws a glance at Eddie. And whatever silent conversation they have in that moment makes Eddie's brows lift slightly in understanding. "C'mon, Harrington", Eddie mutters, clapping a hand on his shoulder, "Let's take a walk".

Steve blinks, caught off guard, "What? Why?"

Eddie just grins, "You know why."

Steve exhales sharply, but follows, letting Eddie pull him away toward the back of the bar, far enough that you and Elena can't hear.

Your attention snaps back to her. You lean in, voice dropping to a whisper. "Okay, but seriously", you murmur, "What do you think about him, hm? Looks like you guys really hit it off". You grin, wiggling your brows.

Elena huffs out a small, almost frustrated laugh. "Honestly?" She shakes her head. "I wasn't even looking for someone. I wasn't planning on this."

You tilt your head. "And yet...?"

She exhales, glancing toward where Steve disappeared with Eddie, then back at you. "I think I really wanna see him again". Her voice is quiet, hesitant, like she's still processing the thought herself.

Your lips part slightly, surprised, "Wait. Seriously?"

She nods, rubbing her temple, "Yeah. He's a dork, but he's funny. And he listens. And he compliments me like all the time". She groans, shaking her head, "And don't even get me started on the way he kisses."

You grin, "Oh, please start".

Elena laughs, lowering her voice, "He's so good. Like, the kinda good that makes your knees weak". She pauses, then smirks, "And the sex? Amazing, babe".

You nearly choke on your drink, "Oh my God".

She just shrugs, looking almost annoyed at herself, "I don't know. I wasn't looking for this. But I think I wanna see where it goes". Her fingers drum on the table. "And I don't wanna wait too long, either. I wanna see him again. Sober".

A warmth spreads through your chest, excitement bubbling up as you watch her realize this in real time. And then your eyes flick over her shoulder, straight to Eddie.

He's still talking with Steve, nodding at something he says, grinning like he already knows how this is gonna play out. He glances up, meets your gaze.

And in that single second, you both know.

You know that Steve's saying something just as revealing.

You know that Eddie's hearing it, taking it in, approving of it.

You know that you and Elena aren't the only ones caught up in this.

And you know, without a doubt, that Steve Harrington? He's just as hooked on her as she is on him.