076

The moment you step into the 92.3 Rock FM building, you can feel the energy of it.

Walls covered in framed posters of famous rock bands, the low hum of music playing through the speakers, the faint murmur of conversations happening behind glass-paneled offices.

Eddie looks every bit the rockstar as he strides inside, dressed head-to-toe in black, leather jacket hanging effortlessly off his frame, chains clinking slightly as he moves. His dark curls are wild from the wind, eyes sharp with excitement despite the lingering hangover.

The others look more alive now, the mix of coffee and aspirin finally kicking in.

Jeff cracks his neck, Gareth adjusts the drumsticks he’s been nervously twirling between his fingers, and Grant exhales, nodding to himself like he’s psyching up for battle.

And then there’s you, pressed firmly against Eddie’s side, also dressed in black, hips swinging slightly with every step as he guides you toward the front desk with a hand resting just above your ass.

The receptionist barely glances at the others. Her eyes are locked on Eddie.

She’s young, blonde, and definitely interested.

Her fingers twirl around the pen she’s holding, lashes fluttering as she takes in his rings, his jacket, the easy smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

You tilt your head, unimpressed, and lean even further into his side, letting your fingers slip into the back pocket of his jeans.

Eddie chuckles. Low, knowing. His fingers squeeze your hip. Still, he flashes the girl a polite grin. "We’re Corroded Coffin, here for the radio interview?"

She blinks, seeming to remember she has a job to do. "Oh! Right, yeah." She glances at the list in front of her, dragging a perfectly manicured finger down the page. "You’re all set to go up." Then she pauses, eyes flicking back up to you. "She part of the band?"

You shake your head before Eddie can answer. "Nope."

She pretends to pout, all fake sympathy, but there’s a glint in her eye as she says, "Oh. That’s too bad. Only the band can go upstairs."

Eddie freezes. Like, actually stops moving. His jaw tenses, and suddenly, the entire energy in the room shifts. "She belongs to me," he says, voice firm, no room for argument, "She’s coming upstairs."

The receptionist blinks, lips parting slightly like she wasn’t expecting that.

You sigh, squeezing Eddie’s arm. "Babe, it’s okay. I’ll just wait here. I’m sure they have a radio down here-"

"Nope," the receptionist cuts in, far too cheerfully.

You exhale sharply, already annoyed, "Fine. I’ll wait in the car and listen there."

But Eddie is not having that. At all. He keeps his hold on you as you try to step away, his fingers tightening around your waist like he’s physically anchoring you to him. "She’s coming with me."

Jeff, Gareth, and Grant exchange looks, all of them suddenly very interested in the drama unfolding before them.

You groan, turning in his grip, "Eddie".

"I’m serious, baby," he murmurs, voice dropping so only you can hear, "I don’t want you sitting in the car like some groupie while we’re up there. You’re with me. You belong up there with me."

Your chest tightens at the sincerity in his tone.

The receptionist clears her throat, clearly uncomfortable now. "I mean, I- I just follow the rules, you know? I can check with my manager, but..."

"Yeah," Eddie cuts in, flashing her a sharp, charming grin. "You do that." And as she scrambles to make a phone call, he turns back to you, tilting his head. "See? Problem solved."

You sigh, biting back a smile. "You’re so dramatic."

He grins, winking. "And hot."

Grant groans, rubbing his temples "I swear to god, if they deny her access after all this, I’m leaving Eddie here and doing the interview without him."

Eddie just smirks, pulling you closer.

The receptionist is still on the phone, her polished nails tapping against the counter as she glances between you and Eddie. She definitely wasn’t expecting this much pushback. Your boyfriend just waits, arms wrapped around you like he has all the time in the world, fingers idly rubbing circles into your hip as if to remind everyone in the room exactly where you belong.

Grant, Jeff, and Gareth have taken to leaning against the counter, looking equal parts exhausted and amused, sipping their to-go coffees like they’re watching a damn soap opera.

"Yeah, I know, but-" The receptionist lowers her voice, clearly trying to convince her manager that letting you upstairs isn’t a big deal. She chews her lip, nodding along. "Mhm. Right. But, like..."

Eddie raises a brow, watching her struggle.

You sigh, turning to him. "Baby, I can just wait-"

He tuts, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. "Nope. We’re not doing that."

Finally, the receptionist huffs, putting the phone down with a slightly forced smile. "Okay, well, good news, I got special approval for her to come upstairs."

Eddie beams, smug as hell. "Told ya."

You roll your eyes, but there’s no hiding the way your stomach flips at how adamant he was about keeping you close.

The receptionist grabs visitor passes from a drawer, handing one to you. She still won’t meet your eyes. "Just keep it on at all times, alright?"

You take it with a sweet smile. "Will do."

Gareth claps his hands together, pushing off the counter. "Alright, are we done with the soap opera now? Or should we sit down for another episode?"

"Shut up," Eddie grins, but he’s too pleased with himself to be genuinely annoyed.

Jeff stretches, grumbling about how he needs another coffee before dealing with Eddie’s ego for an hour, and Grant just shakes his head, already making his way toward the elevator.

You hook your fingers through Eddie’s belt loops as he leads you forward, ignoring the receptionist’s lingering stare.

As the elevator doors close behind you all, Eddie leans in, voice low against your ear."Next time," he murmurs, fingers squeezing your waist, "I’m just carrying you in."

The elevator dings, and the doors slide open to reveal a sleek, modern hallway lined with framed posters of past rock legends who have passed through this station. The floor hums with quiet energy, phones ringing, distant voices over speakers, the subtle bassline of a song playing somewhere down the hall.

A man in a button-down and jeans stands just outside the elevator, waiting. His face lights up when he sees you all, stepping forward immediately. "There they are! Corroded Coffin", he grins, shaking hands with each of them in turn, "Eddie, Grant, Gareth, Jeff, pleasure to finally meet you guys in person. You killed it last weekend."

Eddie smirks, tossing his hair back like he was born for this, "Hell yeah, we did. Thanks, man".

Then, to your surprise, the rep turns to you. "And you must be Sam."

Your brows lift, but you shake his offered hand, "Uh, yeah. Hi."

He chuckles, "Yeah, we know who you are. Especially after they broke the rules for you during the battle. Great song, by the way. Really liked it".

"Thanks", you whisper, glancing at him with big eyes. Someone working for the radio likes your song. Damn.

Eddie squeezes your hip, leaning in, "Told you, my love. You're famous".

You scoff, nudging him, but the rep just waves you all down the hall, already talking as he leads the way. "Alright, so here’s how this is gonna go. The interview is short, maybe ten, fifteen minutes on air, just a quick chat about your win, your sound, your next steps. Standard promo stuff. After that, we’re playing two of your songs."

Grant hums, "Two?"

The rep nods. "Yeah. We took the best recordings from last week’s battle and last night’s gig. So first up, we’ve got the track from the battle, real heavy, classic Corroded Coffin sound." He glances back, grinning, "Then we’re playing the new one. The one you wrote for her."

Your stomach flips. You barely register Eddie’s cocky little grin before Gareth groans, rubbing his face, "Jesus Christ, we’re about to be part of this dude’s public love letter."

Eddie just laughs, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your temple as you walk, "Damn right you are. Your fault, you agreed to play it with me".

The rep chuckles. "Honestly? The song’s fucking great. Your usual stuff is killer, but this one? It’s got something."

Your heart races. Because you know it’s different, too.

This isn’t just another Corroded Coffin song.This is Eddie’s heart, wrapped in a melody.

And in a few minutes, the whole city is gonna hear it.

The rep leads you all through the winding hallway, passing doors with ON AIR lights glowing red above them, muffled voices bleeding through. The place hums with quiet energy, this is where it happens, where voices become legend, where rockstars get their stories told.

And Eddie? He looks like he belongs here. His rings clink against your hip as he keeps you pressed into his side, his leather jacket warm against your arm despite the cold bite of the hallway’s AC.

You can feel his excitement, wired, electric, his knee bouncing slightly as you turn a corner.

Then, you reach it. A large window opens into a studio, soundproofed walls covered in black foam, a massive radio desk lined with mics, soundboards, and stacks of papers. In the center, a radio host sits with a pair of bulky headphones already around his neck. He’s in his late thirties, tattoos peeking from under his sleeves, a Metallica tee beneath his denim jacket. He looks the part. He grins when he sees them. "There they are!" He stands, shaking hands as the band filters inside. "The men of the hour!"

Eddie shakes his hand last, all confidence as he pulls out a chair, "Hope you guys are ready for some chaos".

The host laughs, "Oh, I count on it".

You stay in the doorframe, nodding as the rep points at the "no guest"-sign outside the booth. You obviously weren't planning on sitting down in there with them. It's their interview. Not yours.

Eddie glances at the sign, then back at you in the doorway. His brows knit together slightly, but he doesn’t say anything, just gives you a short wink, a silent promise that this won’t take long.

The radio rep gestures for you to follow him a few feet down the hall, where a large glass window looks into the studio. A few chairs are set up for station staff, but right now, it’s just you. You settle in, crossing one leg over the other, and Eddie immediately finds you through the glass. His lips twitch up, eyes lingering as he leans back in his chair, drumming his fingers against his thigh. Even through the barrier, his presence is magnetic.

"Alright, Corroded Coffin", the host grins after they all settled in their seats, "Welcome to Rock FM. I’m Mike, I’ll be running this thing today."

Eddie likes him instantly. You can tell by the way he relaxes, his usual cocky smirk settling right back in place. "Good to be here, man", Eddie says, smirking widely and leaning back.

Mike gestures to the table, where four headsets and mics are set up. "Go ahead, get comfortable. Headphones on, mic about a fist-length from your mouth. If you need to mute, just tap that red button. You’ll hear my voice in the cans when we go live, but if anything weird happens, just roll with it. Questions?"

Grant shakes his head, already adjusting his mic. Jeff takes a sip from the water bottles Mike hands out, looking more awake than he did ten minutes ago. Gareth, still hungover, but rallying, leans into his chair, drumming his fingers against the table, "So what happens first?"

Mike grins. "We chat, we hype you up, and then we play your first track. We talk about it. We play the second track. Talk a little more. And that's it. Simple enough?"

Eddie grins back, shooting a glance toward you through the glass before sliding on his headphones. "Let’s do it".

Then, the ON AIR sign flicks on. And the city of Indianapolis tunes in.

"92.3 ROCK FM!" The host’s voice bursts through the hallway’s speakers. "You’re listening to Mike Stone, and today we’ve got some fresh blood in the studio - last weekend’s Battle of the Bands winners, the guys that tore up the Black Cat last night, and the newest band to watch out for."He grins at them. "Say hello to Corroded Coffin!"

A mix of cheers, claps, and Gareth making a drumstick-on-table rimshot fills the mic.

Eddie leans in, voice dripping smug confidence. "Hello, beautiful people".You snort, shaking your head, but your heart is racing. Because Eddie is made for this.

"Fellas, how the hell are we feeling?", the host asks, grinning at the boys.

Eddie leans in first, flashing that signature Munson smirk. "A little hungover, man", he admits, making everyone laugh, "but otherwise? Pretty damn good."

Grant nods, "Yeah, adrenaline’s still high from last night."

Mike chuckles. "Yeah, you guys tore that place apart. But let’s back up for a second, tell me how this all started."

Eddie glances at his bandmates before answering. "Way back, man". His voice is warm, nostalgic. "We met in middle school. Played in Gareth's garage, pissed off his parents with our deafening tries of making good music, did some talent shows, got banned from talent shows..."

"Not our fault," Jeff chimes in.

Gareth snorts. "That’s debatable."

Eddie grins, continuing, "We got a little older, kept playing, moved to our local dive bar when they’d let us in. Kept grinding, kept writing, kept getting better".

Mike nods, impressed. "And now you’re here. Winning battles, headlining gigs".

"Finally, right? It's been almost 10 years since we started playing together, now that hopefully pays off", Eddie chuckles.

"Now, Grant, you and Eddie handle the songwriting, yeah?"

"Yeah", Grant confirms, "Most of the time. Eddie's a riff machine, and I'm better at lyrics, melodies. We kinda build off each other".

"That's great, so most of the songs are a team effort, yeah?"

"Yeah", Grant grins, "Not all of them, though".

"Alright", Mike leans back, grinning, "let’s talk music." The band perks up. "We pulled two recordings from your gigs. One from last weekend’s battle, one from last night. First up? A real heavy one. Classic metal sound. What’s the story behind it?"

Eddie smirks, "That one’s called ‘Dead Man’s Curse'".

You watch as Grant grins, Gareth twirls a drumstick, and Jeff nudges Eddie, grinning. Grant leans forward. "Eddie and I wrote it together years ago. Still one of our favorite songs. The most fun to play, actually. Always enjoying it".

Mike chuckles, pressing a button on the board. "Well, let’s hear it".

The room fills with the roar of Corroded Coffin.

Even through the hallway speakers, the energy is electric. The recording is sharp, clean, but it still holds the same raw, unapologetic power of their live performance. It’s loud, hard-hitting. Heavy riffs, pounding drums, Grant's voice rough and commanding. You’ve heard them play it live, but hearing it here, coming through the speakers like it’s meant to, it’s something else entirely.

Inside the studio, the guys are buzzing. Gareth air-drums along to his own beat. Grant mouths the words. Jeff grins, shaking his head like he still can’t believe this is happening.

You close your eyes for a moment, letting the music crash through you. When you look back through the window, the guys are nodding along, feet tapping. Eddie is drumming his fingers on the table, eyes flickering toward the glass. Right at you. His lips curve, head tilting slightly, eyes dark and thrilled as he drinks in your reaction.

You smirk, rolling your eyes, but your chest is tight with pride. You tip an imaginary hat to him through the glass, mouthing, Rockstar. Eddie’s grin widens.

Then the song fades out, and the host is already applauding. "Jesus," he says, shaking his head. "You guys sound like you belong on every rock station in the country."

Eddie chuckles, "That the official review?"

"Damn right it is," the host grins. "Now, tell me, what’s next for Corroded Coffin?"

The guys take turns answering, talking about their plans, their dream collaborations, how the dream of playing as an opener for Metallica, the shows they’re trying to book, the dreams they’re chasing. They joke with the host, laugh, banter.

And you watch them, so proud, so in love.

Then, the host switches gears. "Alright," he says, smirking, "Now, we gotta talk about the second song we’re playing today. The one from last night’s show. The one that, I gotta say, had people in the crowd losing their minds."

Eddie chuckles, ducking his head for a second, "Yeah?"

Mike hums, nodding. "I hear it’s got a bit of a story behind it. Eddie?"

The mic is silent for a second.

Then, Eddie leans in, voice lower now. Steadier. "Yeah,” he rasps, "I wrote this one alone. For someone".

The host hums, "That right?"

Eddie glances at the window. Straight at you. Your breath catches. "Yeah", he murmurs, a small smile curling his lips, "For the love of my life."

The moment "All I Am" starts playing, the world outside the studio seems to fade away. It’s quieter than the last song, but it’s just as powerful. The opening riff is raw, Eddie’s guitar singing with this slow, aching intensity. The drums come in, steady and strong, grounding it. Then Eddie’s voice, low and husky at first, rough with emotion.

"I was hollow, I was weightless, just a ghost inside my skin  Didn’t know I was still breathingtill you pulled me back again"

You remember it clear as day, how Eddie sang it for the first time on stage, bathed in the dim red glow of the Black Cat’s lights, his voice raw, urgent, like he was tearing himself open for everyone to see. You remember the way the crowd screamed for it, how they felt it, even if they didn’t know it was written for you. But later, when he sang it again, at the bar, low, murmured just for you, forehead pressed to yours, calloused fingers stroking your jaw, you lost it. And now? Now it’s playing through the speakers of a whole city.

And he’s watching you.

You can’t help it. The first notes make your breath shudder, and by the time the chorus slams in, your vision is blurring. Your fingers grip the arms of your chair like you can physically hold yourself together, but it’s useless, the song moves through you like it owns you.

Because it does.

Because it’s him.

Eddie fucking Munson, spilling his entire soul into every note, every lyric.

When it fades out, you exhale, hands trembling, tears on your face.

There's a beat of silence in the studio.

Then the host whistles. "Jesus Christ", he sighs, shaking his head, genuinely impressed, "That’s one hell of a love song, man."

Eddie just grins, his eyes still going back to you. "Well", he shrugs, casual as ever, "she deserves the best".

The host follows his gaze, spotting you through the glass. His eyebrows lift, he smirks. "Ahhh", he drawls, leaning into the mic, "So that’s our muse, huh?"

Eddie chuckles, shaking his head fondly. "Yeah", he murmurs, soft and certain, "That’s her".

"Now, folks", the host grins, amused, "I wish you could see what I’m seeing right now. Because Eddie Munson? He hasn’t looked away from the window once since that song started to play". Eddie’s chin lifts slightly, caught red-handed, but he doesn’t care. "And our mystery girl out here?", the host continues, "Well, she’s crying her eyes out, so I think it’s safe to say the song works".

The band laughs, soft and knowing.

Eddie just leans into the mic, voice gravelly, warm, eyes still locked onto yours. "Yeah, well", he murmurs, "it’s hers, isn’t it?"

You sniff, half-laughing at how utterly unashamed he is, while the others shake their heads in amusement.

Jeff nudges Eddie’s arm, grinning. "Dude. Get a room".

Your boyfriend just smirks. "Later".

The host chuckles, leaning forward. "Alright, alright. Let’s talk about this track. Because it’s different from your usual stuff, heavier in the chorus, but deeply personal in the verses". He glances at Eddie. "This is about your relationship, yeah?"

Eddie nods, twirling his ring, "Yeah".

Max grins, "So, tell us about her".

Eddie glances at you again.

And you can see it, the way his fingers twitch, like he wants to be close to you, like the glass separating you is suddenly too much to bear. His jaw shifts, softening, his whole energy changing.

"She’s everything".

The band groans, all fond, all exasperated, but Eddie just grins, like he’s got nothing to hide.

The host laughs, clearly enjoying this. "Alright, Romeo, tell us, how’d this song come to be?"

Eddie exhales, rolling his shoulders, gaze flickering to the mic. "Started as a riff", he murmurs, tapping a rhythm on the table, "Just something I kept messing with between rehearsals. Thought it’d be another rage-fueled, middle-finger-to-the-world kind of song, y’know, standard Corroded Coffin shit".

Mike chuckles, "And then?"

Eddie’s voice dips, "And then, Mike, I fell in love".

You bite your lip. "I didn’t mean to write it", he continues, rubbing his jaw, "It just... happened". His voice is different now, lower, rougher. His hands clench and unclench, like he’s feeling the weight of it all over again. "I wrote the first verse in the van after dropping her off", he admits, "Second verse in my room, drunk off my ass. And the chorus?" He chuckles, shaking his head. "That came in the middle of the goddamn night, her sleeping in my arms. Finally. Woke up and just... knew."

"Knew what?"

Eddie's dark eyes look up. Right at you."That I’m hers", he replies. Simple. Certain. Final.

Just like that, your eyes burn again.

Eddie notices immediately. His brows knit, fingers tightening on the mic stand, body shifting like he wants to get up. Grant nudges him, amused, "You gonna make it, dude?"

Eddie exhales sharply, but he can’t help it. His knee bounces, his fingers drum against the table, and he keeps glancing at the window, at you, at the door, like he’s seconds away from breaking the rules and walking the fuck out.

The laughter inside the studio is immediate."Oh my god," Grant groans, rubbing his temple, "this is painful to watch."

"True love," Jeff deadpans, pretending to wipe a tear.

"Seriously," Gareth snickers, pointing at you through the glass, "she’s crying her eyes out, he’s about five seconds from breaking the window to get to her, this is like, peak romcom levels of ridiculous."

You laugh, shaking your head, cheeks burning, mouthing, I’m fine.

Eddie scoffs, not buying it for a second.

The host grins, fully entertained, "Man, I have never seen a guy this wrecked over a girl. Eddie, you good, man?"

"No." Eddie slumps forward, dramatic, fingers drumming against the desk, "I am not good, Mike. I am suffering."

The guys groan, the host laughs, and you just shake your head, sniffling, torn between tears and amusement.

"But for real," the host says, shifting gears slightly, "this song’s different from your usual style, more emotional, more... y’know, deep." He glances at the others, "How do you guys feel about playing something this personal? Something Eddie wrote for someone?"

"Eh," Grant shrugs, smirking, "We’re used to it. He’s always dramatic, just usually in a different way."

Jeff nods, grinning, "I mean, hey, the crowd ate it up last night. You could feel it. Shit, even I got a little emotional."

"You cried," Gareth accuses, pointing at him.

"I did not."

"You totally did, dude," Eddie laughs, pointing at him now, "I looked over, and you were doing that weird eye-squint thing, like you were feeling something."

The host chuckles, "Sounds like you’re all romantics at heart. Any of you got someone special you could imagine writing a song about?"

The guys groan instantly.

"Here we go," Grant mutters.

"Eddie’s infected the conversation," Jeff sighs.

Gareth snickers, "I mean, I could write a song about my cat. Does that count?"

"Depends," the host says, amused, "Does your cat have you completely unraveling on live radio the way Eddie’s girl does?"

"No one unravels the way Eddie does," Grant points out.

"True," Jeff adds, "We are merely spectators to this insanity."

Eddie just grins, twirling a ring around his finger, "Hey, man, if I’m gonna be a mess, at least I’m a legendary one."

The conversation shifts back to their music, to how the battle win and the gig last night could open doors for them. "This is the goal, man," Eddie says, voice steadier now, determined, "More gigs, maybe a record deal, who knows? We just wanna play. We wanna make music people feel".

"Well, based on last night’s performance," the host says, leaning back, "I'd say you're on the right track. And hey, if Eddie keeps writing songs like this, you might just have a whole new audience."

Eddie smirks, "Only if she lets me."

The host grins, glancing at you, "Well, based on the amount of crying happening outside the booth, I’d say she doesn’t mind too much."

You sniff, dabbing your eyes, laughing.

Eddie’s watching you again.

And suddenly, it’s too much. The weight of it, the meaning, the fact that he wrote this for you, about you, because of you.Your breath shudders, fresh tears spilling.

Eddie’s jaw tightens. His fingers twitch. His entire body shifts, like he’s barely holding himself back from bolting to you.

"Jesus Christ," Grant mutters, shaking his head. "Dude, just let her breathe for five minutes."

"Can’t," Eddie says immediately, barely looking away.

The host laughs. "Alright, alright, let’s wrap this up before Munson loses it completely."

The last words are spoken, the goodbyes are said, and then, it’s over.

The red ON AIR light flicks off.

The moment it does, Eddie is moving.No hesitation. No second-guessing. He shoves back his chair, practically knocking over his mic, ignoring the amused laughter from the band and the host.

"Jesus Christ, Munson, at least pretend to be professional," Grant calls after him.

But Eddie does not care. He's already shoving through the studio door, zeroing in on you like a man starved. You barely have time to stand before he's on you, hands gripping your waist, pulling you in, crushing you against his chest. His face buries into your neck, breathing you in, his whole body tensing, like he’s been holding himself back this whole time and he just can’t anymore. "Baby," he rasps, voice wrecked, desperate, "C’mere". He tilts your chin up, kisses you. Not caring that you’re in a public hallway, that the band is watching, that the host is probably smirking at the ridiculous display of devotion happening right outside his studio. Eddie kisses you like a man who just got off a battlefield. Like he barely survived it.

Your fingers dig into his jacket, your knees almost buckling, because fuck, the way he kisses you, slow, deep, consuming, like he's making up for the entire time he had to sit in that room and not touch you.

It’s insane. It’s him.

"Eds", you murmur against his lips, breathless, shaking, overwhelmed. He groans, arms tightening, pulling you even closer.

"You okay?" His voice is low, gravelly, thumb brushing over your cheek, catching the last traces of your tears.

You laugh softly, nodding, "I am now."

The band groans loudly. "Oh my God," Gareth sighs, shoving past, "We’re leaving before this gets worse."

Jeff snickers, clapping Eddie on the back as he passes, "You’re disgusting."

"Yeah, yeah," Eddie mutters, not even looking away from you.

Grant throws up his hands. "Next time? Can you maybe not make out with your girlfriend the second we go off-air?"

Eddie finally turns, grinning, "Nope."

The host chuckles, shaking his head as he watches the band file out, "Well, Munson, that was one hell of a performance. On and off the air."

Eddie smirks, arm still wrapped around you, "That’s what I do, man."

"You’re insane," you murmur, tilting your head up to look at him.

Eddie grins, completely unrepentant. "Yeah, well," he murmurs, brushing his nose against yours, "you make me this way."

Eddie shakes the host’s hand, still grinning, his other arm firmly around your waist. "Thanks, man," he rasps, voice still a little hoarse from everything, the singing, the talking, the emotions. "This was… huge for us."

Mike, still smirking, nods. "You guys earned it." His eyes flick to you, amused, before he chuckles, "And, uh, you? You’re adorable. I get it now."

Eddie’s grip tightens.Like, noticeably.

You feel the shift in him immediately, the subtle tensing of his muscles, the way his jaw clenches just a little too hard.

The host clearly notices, too, because he laughs, holding up his hands. "Relax, rockstar. I’m not about to steal your girl."

Eddie huffs, pulling you even closer, pressing a quick, territorial kiss to your temple. "Yeah," he mutters, flatly, "Damn right you’re not".

You watch how a slow, knowing grin spreads across Mike's face. "But she'd absolutely be my muse as well," he muses, voice all smug amusement.

Eddie’s brows twitch.

And when the host’s gaze flickers, too obvious, to your tits, then back up, throwing Eddie a wink like they’re in on some kind of fucking joke, your boyfriend goes stiff.

His entire body shifts, shoulders squaring, muscles coiling, a slow, heavy breath pushing through his nose.

The air changes.

Even the band notices.

Jeff raises an eyebrow. Grant and Garethexchange glances.

Eddie’s jaw ticks. For a split second, you actually think he might say something, tell him to watch his fucking mouth or watch where he’s looking, but the door swings open, breaking the tension in the room as the rep steps in, all smiles and excitement.

"You guys killed it," he beams, "Seriously. This was one of the best in-studio interviews we’ve had in a while."

The band grins, still buzzing from it all.

"Glad we didn’t totally fuck it up," Gareth jokes, running a hand through his hair.

He laughs, shaking his head. "Not at all. Now, before you go, we’d love to get some pictures for the station’s collection. And for your own memories, of course."

Grant perks up, "Hell yeah!"

Eddie doesn’t move. Not right away.His fingers are tight on your waist, the warmth of his palm burning through your clothes. His jaw locks, shoulders tense, the muscle in his cheek twitching as the host leans back against a doorframe, still smirking, still thinking he’s made some harmless, friendly joke.

Like Eddie is just one of the guys. Like it’s all in good fun.Like he didn’t just sit there and sexualize you right in front of him.

And the wink. That fucking wink.

You feel Eddie shift. His grip on you tightens, the slow inhale he takes through his nose controlled. Too controlled.

You’ve seen him like this before.You know exactly what’s about to happen.

The others do, too. Jeff is already watching him carefully. Gareth glances at Grant.

And then, Eddie speaks. His voice is low. Steady. Dangerous. "What, you think her fucking tits are what make me write a song like that?"

The room goes silent.

The host blinks, thrown off for a second, before his expression twists into something almost amused, like he can’t believe Eddie is seriously upset about this. "Hey, man, I was just-"

"Just what?" Eddie cuts him off, stepping forward slightly. The air shifts. "You think that’s why I wrote it? That that’s what my fucking muse is to me?"

The way he says it, muse, makes the word sound like an insult.

Mike’s smirk falters.

Eddie’s nostrils flare. "She’s not some, some fucking fantasy, some piece of ass I write about to get a reaction from a crowd." His voice is hard, unwavering, the words sharp as knives. "She’s my girlfriend. Have some fucking respect, man".

The host shifts, clearing his throat, eyes darting toward the radio rep still standing by the door, suddenly uncomfortable. "Look, I didn’t mean-"

Eddie just scoffs. A sharp, disbelieving sound. He shakes his head, fingers flexing against your side before he pulls you with him. "Yeah, well," he mutters, leading you away, "Think next time before you open your mouth."

And just like that, he’s done.

You feel the heat radiating off him, the subtle vibration of his muscles still coiled tight as the band follows, leaving the studio behind, heading toward the open space where the radio rep is already setting up for pictures.

Eddie exhales slowly, rubbing his jaw with his free hand, muttering something under his breath as he rolls out his shoulders.

Then, he feels you staring.

He glances down to see how you’re grinning. All smug. All soft. Like he just did the hottest thing in the world. His brow arches. "What?"

You bite your lip, tilting your head. "Nothing."

His gaze narrows.

You smirk.

Suddenly, the tension in his body melts into something else. Something slow, something taunting. His hand drags up from your waist to the small of your back, palm warm and possessive. "You look like you wanna say something," he murmurs.

"Do I?"

His eyes flick to your lips. "Mhm."

You hum, stepping back as the band calls for him, as the rep waves everyone toward the backdrop. "Better get over there, rockstar," you tease, biting your lip as you pull away.

Eddie watches you for a second, still smirking. Then he scoffs, shaking his head as he turns toward the camera.

The pictures are quick.

A couple posed, serious shots. Then a few chaotic ones, Grant flipping off the camera, Jeff pretending to choke Gareth out in the background. To none of your surprise, your boyfriend is in his element. Leaning against the mic stand, fingers hooked through his belt loops, giving the camera that slow, lazy smirk like he was born to be famous.

And he knows you’re watching.Of course he does.

Because every few shots, his gaze flickers to you, the edges of his smirk twitching, his dark eyes glinting, like he can feel you watching him, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

By the time they’re done, the rep is still beaming, shaking hands, thanking everyone.

And an hour after you arrived, you're back outside. The sun is bright. The air is cool. The buzz of the city hums around you.

Eddie pulls out a cigarette, lighting it as he leans against the van. No cameras. No mics. Just the five of you, standing by the vehicles, processing.

Jeff runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head. "Jesus," he mutters, "We've just been on the fucking radio. The whole city heard that."

Gareth exhales. "Not just the city," he says. "Back home, too."

Grant chuckles, rubbing his face, "My mom listens to this station."

Immediate groans.

"Oh, fuck."

"My uncle, too."

"Dustin. You know Dustin heard it."

Eddie lets out a short laugh, rubbing his forehead. "Yeah. And Henderson’s never letting me live it down."

You grin, taking a slow drag of your cigarette, warmth filling your chest as you look at all of them. "You guys fucking killed it in there, you know that, right?"

They all blink at you.

Eddie smirks, taking a puff, "Yeah?"

"Fuck yeah" you grin, "You're fucking naturals! How easy you talked, how you presented yourselves. Guys, that was awesome! I'm so proud of you. You did such a good job. Today, yesterday. Last weekend. You're amazing, all of you".

"Aw, thanks, Sammy", Grant grins, taking another puff.

"So proud", you smirk, suddenly lunging and throwing your arms around all of them, yanking them into a full-body, inescapable group hug.

Immediate protests.

"Oh, for fuck’s sake"

"Jesus, Sam"

"We are grown-ass men"

"You’re ruining our image!"

But they don’t move. Not really.

Not when you hold on tighter. Not when you laugh against Jeff's chest. Not when Eddie just leans against the van, watching the whole thing unfold with quiet amusement.

Eventually, they give in.

Grant sighs, Jeff rolls his eyes, Gareth just accepts his fate. Eddie watches you, cigarette burning between his fingers, that warm, smug look in his eyes. One of them actually pats your back, awkward and careful.

"Love you, guys", you smirk when finally stepping away.

They all pull wry faces, rolling their eyes.

Jeff groans, rubbing his face like you’ve just physically exhausted him. "You’re such a pain in the ass, you know that?"

You smirk, "Yeah, yeah. I know you love me too".

Grant mutters something under his breath about "debatable", but it’s useless, because even as they roll their eyes and shake their heads, they don’t actually argue.

Because, well. They do. In their own grumbling, sarcastic, perpetually-annoyed way.

"You know," Gareth sighs, arms crossing over his chest, "as much as I want to say I fucking hate this, I will admit…" He pauses, making a show of considering it. "You do always smell good," he finishes.

A slow, smug smile spreads across your lips.

Eddie snorts, "Dude."

"What?" Gareth shrugs, "I’m just saying. I wouldn’t put up with all this PDA shit if she smelled like, I don’t know, old cigarettes and spilled beer."

Jeff laughs, "Yeah, well, you deal with that smell every time Eddie’s in the van."

Eddie flips him off. But he’s grinning.

This right here, the jokes, the banter, the completely unprompted observation that you smell like something other than sweat and desperation, means something. They might bitch about it. They might roll their eyes every time Eddie gets soft, every time you melt him, wreck him with one look, but they like you.

Grant clears his throat, tilting his head. "For the record," he states, gaze flicking back to Eddie, "we all would’ve said the same thing back there. To that guy."

Jeff nods. "Yeah. That was fucked up."

Eddie exhales through his nose, kicking at the pavement. "Yeah, well," he mutters, glancing at you, "not gonna let some dipshit talk about my girl like that."

You feel your chest tighten. His girl.

Jeff snorts, shaking his head. "Jesus Christ, man. You’re so far gone."

Eddie just grins, taking a slow drag of his cigarette.

Eventually, Gareth checks the time, sighs, and gestures to his car. "Alright, saps. Beer tonight. My place. We’ll celebrate, process the fact that we were just fucking broadcasted to the whole goddamn state, and then get back to fucking reality tomorrow".

They all nod, one by one.

After a few more jokes, a few more exaggerated groans over having to witness another long, disgustingly affectionate kiss between you and Eddie, they pile into Gareth’s car, engine roaring to life, pulling away from the curb, leaving you two alone.

Eddie flicks the cigarette away, grinding it out with his boot, stretching his arms above his head before letting them drop. His fingers drum against his thigh, restless, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself now. "Alright, sweetheart," he sighs, voice rough, thick with exhaustion and something else, something heavier, "You ready to head back to reality?"

Reality.

Hawkins.

Back to the trailer, where the shower pressure sucks, where the bed isn’t as soft as the hotel’s, where there’s no room service, no luxury, just the familiar creak of the floorboards, the sound of the wind rattling the thin windows, the comforting weight of home.

You nod, "Yeah", but don't move.

You need a moment. And so does he.

The way his hands keep clenching and unclenching. The way his jaw keeps shifting, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek. The way his eyes dart to the pavement, then to the radio station behind you, then back to you, like he’s still trying to process everything, like the past 48 hours are circling in his head and he doesn’t know how to land.

He straightens, already reaching for his keys, but instead of turning to the van, you open your arms and step closer. Eddie exhales, long and slow, and melts into you without hesitation.His arms wind tight around your waist, pulling you flush against him, his chin hooking over your shoulder as he breathes you in. His hands slip under your jacket, fingers curling into the back of your shirt.

You slide your arms around his neck, pressing close, tilting your head so your lips brush his ear. "Eds, baby, you were so amazing," you murmur, "I'm so proud of you".

His breath shudders.

"Yesterday at the gig," you continue, fingertips tracing slow, absentminded circles against the back of his neck. "Today at the interview. You’re such a natural. You're fucking born for this. My rockstar". You feel the way he smiles, small and crooked, against your skin.

He squeezes your waist, murmurs, "Damn right."

But you keep going.

"You were amazing," you whisper, brushing your nose against his, "and I still can’t believe you wrote that song for me. That you feel that much. That..." You exhale, shaking your head, "I’ll never be able to listen to it without crying, you know that, right?"

Eddie smirks, soft, tracing a slow line down your spine. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you murmur, looking up at him, "And I don’t care how many people love it. I don’t care if it becomes your biggest hit, I don’t care if the whole fucking world sings it." You press your palm flat against his chest, right over his heart, "That song? It’s mine."

His throat bobs. His breath shudders. "Yeah," he whispers, brushing his lips against your forehead. "It is."

You smile, so full of love you could burst, and then your voice drops, softer, quieter, your fingers tracing his jaw."I love you so much, baby", you whisper, "God, I can't even tell you how proud I am of what you achieved already".

His expression flickers, something vulnerable and soft flashing across his face.

You just tighten your grip around his neck, tugging him closer, serious now. "And I know, Wayne is dying of pride right now," you murmur, "Sitting at home, inches away from the radio, listening to his boy. Smoking, smirking, drinking coffee because of course he is."

Eddie chuckles, but it’s quieter this time. A little uneven. You see it.The way his throat bobs. The way his fingers twitch against your back. The way his eyes drop, just for a second, like he can’t quite let himself believe it.

"She would’ve been so proud of you, Eddie", you whisper.

He stills. Completely. His arms lock around you, breath halting, like his whole world has tilted for a second.

You reach up, cup his face between your palms, force him to look at you. "You hear me?" you whisper, thumbs smoothing over his cheekbones, "She would have been so, so proud."

His eyes, deep, dark, impossibly wide, flicker wildly between yours. Like he’s searching for something, some kind of proof, some kind of truth.

"You did such a great job in there," you murmur, "And yesterday. And every day. You’re such a good man, Eddie Munson."

His breath catches.

"You protected me. You wrote me a song. You put your soul into your music, and now the whole world knows what I’ve known all along". Your voice breaks. Your throat tightens. You grab fistfuls of his shirt, pressing desperately close, shaking your head. "I love you so much," you breathe, voice cracked and trembling, "We all love you so much. So fucking much".

Eddie just stares at you, taking you in.Your eyes, shining, fierce, so full of love.Your lips, soft, trembling, parted like you’re still trying to find more words, as if you haven’t already wrecked him completely.Your face, tilted up to his, open, vulnerable, his. He blinks, swallows hard, breath shaky. When he speaks, his voice is barely more than a rasp, wrecked and raw, "Baby… you have no idea how much I need you." His hands squeeze your waist, fisting into your shirt like he’s scared you’ll disappear if he lets go. His forehead dips to yours, nose brushing yours, breath mingling. "God, I need you so much," he whispers, voice hoarse, thick with emotion. "Fuck, I love you so fucking much".

You pull his face down, kissing him so soft, so loving, pouring everything into him as he pulls you deeper into his body. When you finally break apart, breath mingling, foreheads still pressed together, you murmur, "I’ll always be there, my love. Front row or backstage at your gigs, at interviews. Waiting in bed for you, if it's in shitty hotel rooms or in fancy ones. Wherever you are, I’ll be waiting for you, baby, I'll be watching you, cheering for you. I'll come with you, wherever you go, if you want me to".

His fingers tremble as they slide up your back. As they weave into your hair, tugging you closer, closer, like he can’t get enough."You’re my biggest fan, huh?" he breathes, lips ghosting over yours.

"Forever."

"Sam, you have no idea how much I love you," he mutters, shaking his head, eyes tracing every inch of your face, "How fucking obsessed I am with you".

"Kiss me", you whisper, both of you leaning against the van, bodies pressed so close, the November wind around you, the busy streets of downtown Indianapolis behind you, but none of it matters. Not the wind, not the noise, not the way the city keeps moving around you like nothing monumental is happening.

Because for you, for Eddie, this is everything.

His breath is warm against your lips, his hands firm and reverent where they hold you. One on your waist, fisting into the fabric of your shirt, the other sliding up to cradle your jaw as he moves down to your face again, kissing you once more, slow, deep, like he’s savoring every second, like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth, the way you sigh into him. His body presses against yours, needing more, needing closer, but not in a rushed way. Not now.

You shiver, but not from the cold.

Eddie smirks against your lips. "Cold, sweetheart?" he murmurs, voice low, teasing, fingers slipping under your jacket, spreading warmth along your spine.

"Not even a little," you murmur, eyes twinkling, lips still ghosting over his.

He huffs out a quiet laugh, his hands tightening on your waist, pulling you in like he can’t stand even an inch of space between you. "Jesus Christ, you’re killing me," he mutters before kissing you again, deeper this time, like he’s making up for lost time.

You hum into it, fingers curling into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan, and suddenly, the intensity shifts.

From soft and reverent to playful, hungry.

Like the moment got too big, too heavy, and now he just needs to feel you. He nips at your bottom lip, makes you giggle, and that sound is his favorite fucking thing."God, the guys are right," he breathes, pressing his nose to your cheek, inhaling deeply, "You smell so good. Like, fuck, what even is that? Vanilla? Sugar? Heaven?"

You laugh again, full and bright, tilting your head as he presses another kiss, then another, quick and eager, along your jaw."You’re ridiculous," you giggle, hands sliding down his chest, feeling his nose nudging against your cheek, then down your jaw, sniffling playfully. You laugh again, wriggling in his grasp, pretending to push him away, but you both know you don’t really want him to stop. "Jesus, Munson, you sound like a bloodhound", you giggle, and Eddie grins, all mischief, nipping playfully at your jaw.

"Mmm, nah, I think I’m more like a man starved."

"Oh, that’s subtle", you snort, looking back up at him. His eyes shine in amusement as he casually replies, "I’ve never been subtle about you, baby."

You roll your eyes, laughing, but before you can say anything else, his hands slip under your jacket, then your shirt, finding your bare skin. Eddie grins, all teeth, all heat, and dives back in, capturing your lips again in a kiss that’s deeper this time, hungry but still teasing.

You sigh into him, fingers tightening in his hair, pulling him closer like you’ll never get enough. Like he’ll never get enough.

His fingertips glide up your bare back, making you shiver in his arms. "Not even a little cold, huh?" he murmurs against your lips, smirking, his nose brushing yours.

"Not even a little," you repeat, grinning, tugging at his bottom lip just to watch his breath hitch.

Eddie groans, the sound low and rough, pulling you in even tighter, like he could melt into you completely. "Fuck," he mutters, his lips brushing yours, breath hot, hungry, "You’re really trying to kill me, huh?"

You smirk, your fingers trailing down his stomach, feeling the slight tremor in his muscles as you toy with the hem of his shirt, "I mean… there are worse ways to go."

He huffs a laugh, but it catches in his throat when you bite your lip, looking up at him like that. Like you know exactly what you’re doing to him. "Christ, you’re dangerous," he rasps, shaking his head.

"Mmm, you love it," you tease, pressing a quick, sweet kiss to his lips before suddenly sliding your ice-cold hands under his shirt.

"Jesus, fuck!" Eddie jerks, muscles tensing instantly, his entire body going rigid as the chill crawls up his ribs, his back.

You cackle, delighted, wrapping yourself around him, giggling into his chest as he grits his teeth, exhaling sharply through his nose.

"You little shit," he hisses, shivering, trying to twist away, but you hold on tight, your arms locked around his waist, pressing your freezing hands flat against his warm skin.

You gasp innocently, blinking up at him through your lashes. "Me? A little shit? I’m just a poor, freezing girlfriend, in desperate need of your warmth."

"Mm-hmm," he deadpans, jaw tight, like he’s fighting the full-body shiver crawling up his spine. "This is payback, isn’t it?"

You grin, slow and sweet, pressing closer, rubbing your hands along his stomach in slow, circling motions, feeling the way his muscles jump beneath your touch. "You’re just so warm, baby," you murmur, all syrupy-sweet. "My personal radiator. My furnace. My big, sexy space heater..."

He snorts, shaking his head, trying so fucking hard to look pissed, but you can see the way his lips twitch, the way his hands tighten on your hips. "You’re the worst," he grumbles.

"But you love me."

His brows twitch, eyes narrowing, but you just keep smiling, wiggling your fingers against his warm skin, feeling him twitch beneath you.

"Oh, you love me so much," you tease, voice sickly sweet, and that’s when he snaps.

With a low growl, he moves, suddenly grabbing your wrists and yanking them out from under his shirt, trapping them against his chest. "Alright, that’s it," he mutters, shaking his head, finally grinning, and before you can react, he twists you both, pressing you right up against the van, pinning you between the cool metal and his very warm, very solid body. You gasp, laughing, but he just leans in, voice low, breath hot against your ear. "Aw, baby," he coos, his grin going full-wicked, eyes alight with mischief as his hands suddenly tighten on your hips. "You do seem cold. Let me warm you".

You feel it a second too late.

"Wait, Eddie, don’t-"

But it’s already happening. He lunges, fingers digging in, merciless and precise, finding every single one of your worst spots like it’s muscle memory as he tickles you.

You squeal. Loudly.

People turn. Heads snap toward you. The street is busy, pedestrians weaving through the sidewalks, and the radio station is right there, the glass doors wide open.

Eddie doesn’t give a single shit. He’s laughing, cackling, full-body grinning as you writhe, gasp, squirm against the van, hitting him, shoving him, begging for mercy.

"Eddie, no- fuck, stop, people are watching!" you gasp between helpless bursts of laughter, hands grabbing at his wrists, trying desperately to escape.

"Let 'em watch, sweetheart," he croons, utterly shameless, pinning you closer and doubling down, fingers dancing along your ribs, your sides, your waist.

You’re weak.

Your legs buckle. You wheeze, choking on laughter, falling against his chest as he grins down at you, triumphant. "I hate you," you gasp, breathless.

He just smirks, watching you catch your breath, arms tightening around you, locking you against him. "Nah, you love me," he murmurs, soft, smug, dipping down to brush his nose against yours.

You glare. Or, you try. But you’re giddy, flushed, heart racing, so it’s not very convincing. "Jury’s still out," you mumble.

Eddie grins, tilting his head. "Liar."

3h later

It’s late when you pull into Forest Hills, the trailer park bathed in the soft glow of streetlights, everything still except for the rustling wind.

Eddie exhales as he parks, fingers tapping absently against the steering wheel. "Home sweet home," he murmurs, before climbing out, grabbing your bags, his guitar and following you to the front door.

Inside, the trailer is quiet, but the moment you flick on the light, you spot it. A note, folded neatly, resting on the counter. Eddie picks it up, eyes scanning the familiar scrawl of his uncle’s handwriting.

So proud, son. Heard every second. Bragging about it at work.

His breath hitches. He swallows, shoulders tensing like he’s holding something in. Then he huffs out a soft, wet laugh, shaking his head. "That old man," he murmurs, voice thick with affection.

You don’t say anything. You just slide your arms around his waist, pressing close, and he lets out a slow breath, leaning into you.

His room is exactly how you left it, messy, a little chaotic, but yours. Your bag drops onto the floor with a dull thud, but you don’t even make it to unpacking.

The second you hit the bed, exhaustion crashes over you, your body sinking into the mattress. You barely have time to exhale before Eddie is on you. Not just on you. All over you.

Crawling up your body like a starved man, hands greedy on your waist, your ribs, lifting your shirt before dramatically sliding his head underneath it and burying his face between your boobs with a deep, theatrical groan. "Home," he sighs, muffled against your skin, like a weary traveler returning from war, "My happy place."

You snort, hands automatically flying to his back, holding him there as he dramatically melts into you, arms wrapping around your torso like you might disappear. "Jesus, Munson, at least let me-"

"Shhh," he hushes, adjusting, burrowing in deeper, rubbing his stubbly cheek right against soft, sensitive skin. You shriek, giggling as you try to squirm away, but he clings, "Nope, nope, no escape. The twins need me."

You wheeze, "Babe, I don't-"

"You heard me," he murmurs, cutting you off, voice already heavy with sleep, lips moving lazily against your skin, "They missed me. They’re telling me all about it right now."

You cackle, hands sliding under your shirt, tangling in his hair, tugging lightly, "Are they, now?"

"Mhm," he hums, giving an exaggerated squeeze, pressing his whole body against yours, sandwiching your tits between you like he belongs there. "They say, ‘Eddie, you devastatingly handsome genius, where have you been? We’ve been so neglected.’"

"Devastatingly handsome genius?" You’re full-on laughing now, your whole body shaking beneath him, but Eddie stays firm, latching on like he’s permanently moved in.

He gasps, affronted, "Don’t interrupt. It’s rude." His fingers squeeze at your waist, making you jerk with another giggle. "Anyway, I was like, ‘Babies, I know, I know... I’m so sorry. But I’m here now, and I’m never leaving you again.’"

"Oh my God," you wheeze, helpless beneath him as he wiggles his nose against your skin, all warm breath and scratchy stubble, tickling and teasing and making you squirm, "Eddie, stop".

"Never," he declares, tightening his grip, fingers trailing up your ribs, making you gasp, "Shhh, baby, it’s fine, just let me drown in them."

You shake your head, still laughing, pressing your palms against his back, fingers slipping under his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin. He sighs at that, whole body going boneless, nuzzling against you like a cat soaking up sunshine."God," he mutters, voice muffled, "I could live here. I could die here. This is it. This is where I belong."

"That so?" you tease, breath still uneven from all the giggling.

He shifts, lips curling slow and wicked against your skin. "Baby," he murmurs, voice dripping with heat, "you have no idea what you do to me."

You swallow, pulse skipping, but then he grins, devilish and playful, before blowing a loud raspberry right against your skin. You screech, laughing so hard you nearly throw him off the bed. You lift your shirt, peering down at the absolute menace sprawled across your chest. Eddie’s got his eyes shut, face smushed between your boobs like he’s nestled into the world’s softest, warmest pillow. "Oh my god," you giggle, watching as he shifts just enough to nuzzle deeper, pressing a lazy kiss to the swell of one, "Are you serious right now?"

He cracks one eye open, sees you looking down at him through your neckline, and smirks like the devil himself. "Oh, I’m dead serious, baby." His voice is all low and rough, completely wrecked. His hands slide up your sides, pushing your shirt even higher, giving him full, unrestricted access.

"You just gonna stay there forever?" you tease, brushing your fingers through his messy curls.

Eddie huffs, fisting your shirt in both hands, holding it up like it’s some sacred fucking relic. "You act like that’s a bad thing," he mutters, before mouthing at your skin again, lips dragging slow and warm, lazy, like he’s got all the time in the world. "God, baby, they’re just so fucking perfect."

You squeak, shivering as he presses open-mouthed kisses along the curve of one, then the other, all while keeping heavy, hooded eye contact with you through your lifted neckline. "Edward!"

"Shhh," he soothes, eyes flickering shut as he lets out the most obscene groan, like he’s in the middle of something downright filthy, "Lemme have my moment, sweetheart. I’ve missed my girls."

You snort, trying to wiggle out of his grip, but he just clings, groaning dramatically as he buries his face deeper between your tits.

"Baby," he mutters, half-laughing, half-moaning, "this is heaven."

"It’s boobs, Munson," you deadpan, still giggling.

"It’s our boobs," he corrects, lifting his head just enough to flash you that wicked little smirk, "Communal property. Shared custody. I take visitation rights very seriously."

"Our?" You roll your eyes, reaching to shove him off you, but he stays right where he is.

"Nuh-uh," he warns, "You wanna fight me on this? I will argue my case in court, sweetheart."

You sigh, all dramatic. "Fine, they’re ours. Happy?"

He grins like he’s just won the fucking lottery. "Ecstatic," he purrs, before dropping his head again, muffling another groan into your skin, "Mmm, fucking love you, girls."

You flick his forehead. "I hate you."

"You don't", he chips, shifting again, eyes flickering up to yours through the lifted neckline of your shirt, and fuck, that little smirk of his is downright sinful. "Baby," he murmurs, voice all low and rough, "I need you to do me a favor."

You blink down at him, still laughing, still breathless from his ridiculous worship. "A favor?"

He nods, solemn as ever, fingers tightening where they grip your shirt, "Yeah. Close the door."

You snort. "The... what?"

Eddie gives your neckline a pointed look, then meets your eyes again, all serious, like he’s about to make the most important request of his life. "Shut it. Pull it down. I need some privacy with the twins."

You gasp, genuinely scandalized, "Eddie, we live together. They're attached to my body".

"And?"

"You see them all the time!"

"Not like this," he argues, shaking his head like you just don’t get it. "Not like..." He sighs dramatically, nuzzling back in with another deep groan, "...like this, sweetheart."

You roll your eyes, fingers twitching against his scalp, ready to push him off, "Jesus, babe, it’s been, what? Ten hours since you last saw them?"

"Exactly." He lifts his head, gripping your waist for emphasis, "Do you have any idea how long that is in boob time?"

You blink. "Boob time?"

"Boob time," he repeats, as if it’s a widely accepted unit of measurement. "Eternity, babe. Literal eternity. And you know what’s even worse?" He drops his head back down with a suffering sigh, rubbing his stubbly cheek along your skin, voice all gruff and whiny. "It’s been days, probably years, since I got some quality happy place time."

You’re dying, shaking with laughter beneath him. "Years, huh? Even after we've known each other for just a few months?"

"At least, yes" Eddie grumbles, "You’ve been depriving me, sweetheart. Starving me. Poor little me, just wandering this cold, cruel world, alone, boobless".

You snort so hard you nearly choke, and that’s when Eddie strikes.

With a wicked little laugh, he sinks back down, burying his face fully between your tits, smushing himself in so hard you can barely breathe from how much he’s clinging to you. "Oh, my loves," he sighs, voice all muffled and wrecked against your skin again, "My sweet, beautiful angels, I’m home."

You’re losing it, hands scrambling at his shoulders, trying to pry him off as he groans, shifting side to side, rubbing his face all over again like some kind of happy, deranged cat. "Eddie, oh my god," you wheeze, shaking with laughter, "Get off me, you menace!"

"Never," he moans dramatically, squeezing you tighter, "This is where I belong."

You gasp when his stubble scrapes against your skin, making you squirm, but that only seems to encourage him.

"Oh, you like that, huh?" he teases, voice muffled, lips dragging warm and slow over your skin, "My baby’s ticklish, mh?"

You gasp, shoving at his shoulders, but Eddie’s a goddamn barnacle. "Don’t you dare." His laughter rumbles against you, and then, oh, you fucking knew it, he attacks, stubble scratching mercilessly against the soft skin of your chest, making you yelp and writhe and laugh so hard you can’t even fight him."EDDIE!"

"Shhh," he hushes, half-laughing himself, pressing another deep, satisfied groan into your skin, "You’re ruining the moment, babe. Lemme have this."

"Oh my god," you giggle, breathless, dying, "You’re ridiculous."

Eddie hums, smug as ever, then sighs, heavy and content, arms tightening around you one last time before finally lifting his head and slipping out of your shirt. He grins down at you, all warm and lazy-eyed, looking completely wrecked, like he just had the best meal of his life. "Mmm, love you, sweetheart," he murmurs, brushing his nose against yours, lips curling, "Love you so fucking much."

Your heart melts, laughter fizzling into something softer, something real, and you reach up, cupping his face between your hands, tugging him down into a kiss.It’s slow, warm, deep, and when you finally pull away, you murmur, "Love you too, you absolute idiot."

Eddie’s grin turns downright wicked. "You love it, babe", he singsongs smugly, brushing his nose along yours, "You love that I can’t keep my hands off you, that I can’t go a single goddamn hour without thinking about these". He palms your tits through your shirt, giving them a reverent squeeze, "Without dreaming about my happy place."

You snort, rolling your eyes, but your breath catches when his hands slide up, thumbs brushing slow, teasing circles over your nipples, "Eds".

"Hmm?" His eyes flick up, all feigned innocence, but the way his fingers flex says otherwise.

"You’re obsessed," you tease, nudging his nose with yours.

He hums, pretending to consider. "Yeah," he finally agrees, completely shameless, "So what?" His hands squeeze again, fingers spreading wide, "You gonna report me to the Titty Police? Lock me up for loving my girls too much?"

You wheeze out a laugh. "The what?"

"The twins, babe." He leans in, whispering it like a secret, voice warm and husky against your lips. "They deserve worship. Adoration. And me? I’m just a humble servant, here to provide."

You’re giggling again, shaking your head, but Eddie’s already diving back in, now pushing your shirt up your body, nose dragging slow down your throat, lips brushing along the swell of your chest the second he freed them. "It’s been too long," he murmurs, breath hot against your skin. "You have no idea what it does to me. Walking around all day, knowing my happy place is just right here..." He presses a lingering kiss between them. "... all soft, warm, perfect..." Another kiss, wetter this time, his hands sliding under your shirt, fingers teasing at the bare skin beneath. "And I can’t even touch?" You gasp when he nips, teeth scraping just enough to make your breath hitch, and Eddie groans at the sound, shifting so he’s fully on top of you, pressing you down into the mattress. "It’s torture, babe," he rasps, grinding against you, "Pure, fucking torture."

You clutch at his back, feeling heat rise in your cheeks, breath uneven, "Babe".

Eddie leans back just enough to take in the sight of you, his lips parting, eyes dark and hungry as they rake over your bare tits. His hands spread wide over your ribs, fingers twitching like he doesn’t even know where to start. Like a man presented with the finest meal after weeks of starvation. "Jesus fucking Christ," he breathes, shaking his head in disbelief, "Look at them. My beautiful, perfect girls."

You snort, biting your lip as he reaches out, thumbs brushing over your nipples, watching the way they pebble under his touch. "Eddie," you laugh, "they’re just boobs."

His head snaps up, scandalized. "Just... excuse me?" His hands fly to his heart, clutching his chest like you’ve personally wounded him. "Baby, you can’t just reduce them to that. They’re art. They’re my whole world. My happiness, my religion, my life’s purpose". You shiver as his thumbs brush teasingly over your nipples, circling slow, smirking when he sees the way your breath catches. "Fuck," he murmurs, biting his lip as he rolls them, "I mean, look at ‘em. How am I supposed to not lose my mind over these, huh?"

You roll your eyes, but your breath hitches when his hands squeeze again, firmer this time, like he can’t get enough. "You love them that much, huh?" you tease.

Eddie looks you dead in the eye, completely serious. "Baby, I would sell my soul for these." His thumbs brush over your nipples again, making you gasp. "I’d start a religion around ‘em. The Church of the Holy Fucking Tits. Patron Saint of Driving Me Insane."

You burst out laughing, but it turns into a moan when he dips down, tongue flicking hot over one nipple, sucking it into his mouth with a filthy groan. His stubble scrapes deliciously as he moves, lips trailing kisses, tongue teasing, his hands still kneading greedily."Fuck, Eds," you breathe, back arching into his touch.

"Mmm," he hums against your skin, tongue teasing over your nipple before he switches to the other, lavishing just as much attention, sucking, licking, making sure not an inch of you is neglected. "Fuck, baby, you’re perfect."

You feel the heat building low in your belly, the way his grip is getting tighter, more desperate.

His hands slide down, rough fingertips teasing along your ribs before skimming lower, toying with the waistband of your pants. "Baby," he murmurs, kissing up your chest, voice thick, wrecked, "You gotta know what this does to me." He presses his hips against yours, and you feel it, how hard he is, how much he needs you.

"Jesus" you gasp, gripping his shoulders, rocking up against him without even thinking.

"Yeah?" He grins against your skin, kissing back down to your tits, mouthing at the soft curves, dragging his teeth lightly over your nipple, "Shit, baby, I think they missed me, too."

"I think they had enough attention now", you mutter, grabbing his face and pulling him up for kiss him. His lips crash against yours, desperate, hungry, all-consuming. He tastes like cigarettes and the lingering sweetness of the cheap gas station candy he had earlier, like something intoxicating, something you could lose yourself in forever. Your hands tug at his shirt, eager, needing to feel him, and he lets out a soft chuckle against your mouth.

"Impatient little thing," he teases, though his voice is shaky, breathless, betraying just how wrecked he already is. Still, he sits up, peeling his shirt over his head in one swift motion, before leaning back down, pressing himself against you again, skin against skin. The warmth of him, the solidity, the way he fits so perfectly against you, it’s dizzying. He smells like his cheap cologne, that familiar warm scent of his skin, something that makes you feel drunk off him.

You dig your fingers into his back, dragging him closer, needing more, needing everything.

His lips are on you again, trailing heat down your throat, his hands tugging off your pushed up shirt, tossing it aside like it’s the most inconsequential thing in the world. "How are you even real", he mumbles, hands tracing your body. Your heart stutters, your whole body burning under his gaze, but then he’s kissing you again. His hands slide down, hooking into the waistband of your jeans, undoing them with practiced ease. He leans back just enough to tug them off, along with the last barrier between you, his fingers grazing down your legs as he goes.

You shiver at the loss of contact, but then he’s back, pressing against you again, letting out a rough groan when his hand slides between your legs, when he feels just how bare, how ready, how wanting you are. His jeans are the next to go, then his boxers, the two of you moving in sync, shedding the last of the barriers between you until there’s nothing left but heat and skin and the maddening, aching need for more.

His body is a furnace against yours, all heat and tension, hands roaming, gripping, desperate as he falls back on top of you. His breath is ragged, hot against your throat, and his lips trace a slow, open-mouthed path down your neck, tongue flicking, teeth grazing, making you shudder. "Goddamn, baby", he rasps, voice thick with need, "I'm so gone for you". His fingers dig into your hips as he presses against you, his weight grounding you, his body fitting so perfectly against yours that it’s almost maddening.

You arch into him, gasping as he rolls his hips, teasing, dragging his hard dick against you wet slit, making you whimper."Baby" you whisper, fingers threading into his wild curls, tugging just enough to make him groan, "I need you".

He doesn’t make you beg. With a deep, shuddering breath, he slides in, slow and deliberate, stretching you, filling you, making you gasp as your body molds around him. His head drops forward, lips parting against your collarbone, exhaling a curse against your skin as he sinks deeper. "Jesus Christ", he breathes, voice wrecked. He stills for a moment, letting you adjust, but his hands won’t stop moving, gripping your waist, tracing up your ribs, his thumbs stroking reverently over your skin as if he’s afraid this isn’t real.

Then, he moves with slow, deep thrusts that send a delicious shock through you every time he presses into you, every time his hips meet yours.

"Holy sh- mh, yes, baby", you moan softly, your fingers gripping his shoulders, nails pressing into his skin, and he groans at the sting, his mouth finding your throat again, sucking, biting just enough to leave his mark. You moan his name, and he loses it, his hips snapping forward, harder, deeper, making you cry out.

"Yeah?" he pants, voice strained, "You like that?"

You grin up at him, leg flexing around his waist, your naked body moving in his rhythm, "Yeah", you pant, "Love it, oh- fuck yes". You're gasping as his hands grip your wrists, pinning them beside your head, his fingers lacing with yours. His kisses are messy, desperate, devouring, tongue tangling with yours, lips swollen and slick as he drinks down every sound you make, thrusting into you. You're moaning with every deep snap of his hips, kissing him breathlessly, biting his lip with your hands pinned down, wrapping your legs tighter around him. "So good", you moan, arching into him, and he grins, lips leaving your mouth and falling down your neck, your boobs, your nipples as he slows down just slightly, letting go of your wrists to hold your hips.

Then, with a sudden shift, he rolls you, flipping you onto him, hands sliding down to grasp your thighs as you straddle him. You smirk down, brace yourself against his chest, panting, his cock buried deep inside you, making you shiver. His hands run up your sides, squeezing your boobs before gripping your waist, guiding you as you begin to move. 'That’s it, baby", he groans, eyes dark, gaze locked onto you like you’re the only thing that exists, "You're a fucking dream".

"Yeah?", you grin, and he grins back so devilishly, his big hands holding you as you ride him, slow at first, teasing, grinding down against him until his hands tighten on your hips, desperate for more. His fingers dig into your skin as he meets your movements, his head falling back, a deep groan ripping from his throat. "Oh my god, Eddie", you whimper, hands cradling his face, fingers tangling in his curls as you lean down, capturing his mouth in a searing kiss.

He drinks in your moans, hands sliding up your back, pressing you against him as you both move together, bodies melting into one. His hips thrust up into you, your boobs press down to his chest, gasping lips falling on his again, and again, and again.

With a growl, he sits up, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into his lap, the new angle making you gasp sharply. Your legs wrap around his waist, arms draped over his shoulders, hips rolling, grinding, making both of you tremble. His hands roam, gripping your ass, dragging up your spine, cradling your face as he kisses you, wet and deep, lips swollen and insatiable. "Fuck, Sam", he groans, burying his face in your neck, teeth nipping, tongue soothing.

You can only moan in response, clutching at his shoulders, your pace quickening, your body moving against his in a frantic, desperate rhythm. Every thrust, every roll of your hips sends sparks shooting through you, your whole body on fire, shaking, needing. Strong arms wrap around your body, pulling you deeper into his lap. Your legs tighten around his waist, fingers threading into his damp curls as your mouths crash together. The kiss is hungry, messy, lips parting only for gasped breaths and choked moans. Eddie's big hands roam, gripping your hips, guiding you into a rhythm that sends shudders through both of you. "Oh god, fuck yes", you moan out loud, grinding down, rolling against him, and he groans, the sound vibrating against your lips.

"Just like that", he breathes, his forehead pressing against yours. His fingers dig into your skin, desperate, worshipping, as if he can’t get enough of you. You tilt your hips, sinking down harder, deeper, and his hands fly to your ass, gripping tight. "Jesus", he groans, his voice raw, wrecked. Your nails drag over his shoulders, head tipping back as another desperate moan leaves your throat. His mouth is everywhere, kissing, sucking, biting along your neck, collarbone, shoulder. His teeth sink in just enough to make you gasp, your hips stuttering, and he growls against your skin, his tongue soothing the sting. He shifts, one hand slipping up your back, pressing your damp body closer as his other tangles in your hair, pulling your mouth into another bruising kiss.

Your bodies move together, slick and desperate, nothing between you two but heat and need. "Eddie", you gasp, breathless, and his grip tightens like he can feel you unraveling around him.

"Yeah, baby", he groans, his lips tracing my jaw, down to my throat, "Say my name again, fuck, you drive me fucking insane like that".

"Fuck, Eddie", you moan, rolling your hips in a slow, torturous grind, and his whole body shudders beneath you.

"Shit", he chokes out, his hands sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing over ribs, your boobs. He buries his face in your neck, his breath ragged, his groans spilling against your skin as he matches the pace, thrusting up hard to meet you.

"OH my god", you gasp, clutching at him, fingers tangling in his hair, nails biting into his skin as the pressure builds, unbearable, overwhelming.

His hands grip your hips, guiding you, urging you, his breath hot against your skin as he moves with you. His lips find yours again, messy, desperate, tongues tangling as he groans into your mouth. Your fingers cradle his face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones, his sweat-damp curls tickling your wrists. The way he holds you, like he can’t get enough, like he never wants to let go, sends shivers down your spine. "Fuck, you feel so good," he rasps, his voice wrecked, his grip tightening on your waist as your hips roll together in perfect rhythm.

Every movement sends sparks through you, makes you moan his name like a prayer, makes him curse under his breath. He kisses every inch of you he can reach, your throat, your shoulder, the valley between your breasts, his lips and tongue leaving a burning path over your skin. You gasp when his teeth graze your pulse point, a broken sound that has him snapping his hips up harder, deeper. Your nails sink into his shoulders, legs wrapping even tighter around him, desperate to pull him closer, deeper, to never let him leave.

"Eddie, please"

The plea slips from your lips before you even know what you're begging for, but he knows, he always knows. His hands slide down your back, gripping your ass, lifting you just enough before he shifts, rolling you onto your back again. His weight presses you into the mattress, grounding you, stealing your breath as he looms over you, eyes dark and wild with hunger.

"God, look at you," he groans, running his hands down your sides, gripping your thighs. His fingers dig in as he pushes your legs up, over his shoulders, spreading you open for him.

The stretch has you gasping, and he watches you with something close to worship in his gaze before he thrusts back in, deep and devastating. A choked moan rips from your throat, back arching off the bed as pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave. "Fuck, ohmygod--!"

He grips your legs, holding you in place as he sets a relentless pace, every thrust hitting so deep it has you sobbing his name. "That’s it, baby- fuck, take it" His voice is wrecked, breathless, and he’s barely holding on, his fingers shaking as they slide over your skin, his lips pressing messy, open-mouthed kisses along your calves, your knees, whatever he can reach.

You’re gone, lost in him, lost in the way he moves, the way he fucks you like he’ll never get enough, like he needs this, needs you, like he’s drowning and you’re the only thing keeping him alive. Your fingers claw into his arms, desperate to anchor yourself as your orgasm builds tighter and tighter, ready to snap. "Oh- m- my fucking god, EDDIE! YES!"

His name is a broken cry, and he groans at the sound, one hand sliding between you, fingers finding your clit, rubbing messy, desperate circles that have you spiraling. "Come on, baby, fucking give it to me", he pleads, voice rough, eyes burning into yours.

Then he leans forward, pressing deeper, shifting just enough that he hits that perfect spot, and your world shatters.

You cry out, your body tensing, legs shaking as white-hot pleasure rips through you. The whole trailer park probably hears you, but you don’t care. You can’t care. Not when he’s giving you everything, holding you through it, whispering filthy, sweet, desperate praises into your skin.

"Fuck, baby, yes, just like that. That’s my girl, fuck you're so fucking- so good for me, so- so goddamn perfect".

Your legs tremble on his shoulders as he keeps moving, drawing it out, dragging you through the fire. His hands grip your hips, holding you still as he gives you everything, pouring every ounce of himself into you. Warm lips pressing kisses wherever he can reach, forehead pressed to yours, sweat-damp curls tickling your skin, his breath mingling with yours, ragged and wrecked. "Mine," he breathes against your lips, voice shaking, filled with something raw, something deeper than just need. "Always mine."

"Always fucking mine", you gasp, your trembling legs slipping from his shoulders to wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper, holding him closer.

His forehead presses to yours, his breath hot and ragged, his body shaking with restraint. "God, baby" His voice is wrecked, like he’s unraveling, like he’s breaking apart in your arms. His fingers dig into your hips, holding you steady as he pushes into you, slow but deep, savoring the feeling of you wrapped around him.

You gasp, nails scratching down his back, pulling him closer, needing more, needing everything. His lips find yours in a messy, desperate kiss, all heat and hunger and devotion. You can taste his moans, can feel the way his body tenses, how he’s right there on the edge with you. His hand finds yours again, fingers lacing tight, grounding himself in you as he chases the final, dizzying wave.

"Look at me", he breathes, voice barely more than a plea.

Your eyes meet his, and something cracks open between you, something raw and unspoken and infinite. "Love you", you pant, "Love you so much".

He presses his forehead to yours again, groaning deep in his throat as his body locks up, his release crashing through him, his dick twitching deep inside you as he finally cums too.

The world blurs, nothing left but the sound of your breathing, the feeling of him shaking against you, the warmth of his lips as they press soft, lingering kisses to your jaw, your shoulder. He collapses beside you, pulling you in and wrapping himself around you, arms strong and sure as they tighten, pressing your naked body into his.

Your skin is warm, damp, still tingling with the aftershocks of pleasure. You melt against him, leg slung over his, chest flush to his, your fingers trailing absentmindedly along the ridges of his ribs. His skin sticks to yours, but neither of you minds. If anything, it makes you want to stay tangled up even longer.

Eddie shifts just enough to push your hair away from your face, his fingers gentle as they brush the damp strands back. You do the same for him, combing through the unruly waves sticking to his forehead, tucking them behind his ear.

Your fingers catch on the cool silver of his chain, and you stay there, playing with it, letting the delicate links slip between your fingers.

He watches you, eyes dark and soft, lips curled into something too tender to be called a smirk. His hand finds your wrist, thumb running over the familiar bracelet that never leaves your skin. Two of his old guitar strings, twisted together, shaped by his own hands. His little way of keeping a part of himself on you. "Still wearin’ it," he murmurs, mostly to himself.

"Always," you whisper, your fingers still idly playing with his necklace. 

His big hand slides up your back, warm and steady, just holding you there. You shift slightly, pressing a kiss to his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your lips. He sighs, completely undone, and you know it’s not just from exhaustion, it’s from you. From the way you look at him, touch him, love him. "Goddamn," he exhales, his hand smoothing over your spine, "We are so fuckin’ good at this." 

You smile, humming softly against his skin. "Oh, we’re keeping score now?"

"Yeah," he grins, shifting just enough to tilt your chin up, making you look at him. "And we’re undefeated."

You laugh, soft and sleepy, tracing slow circles over his chest. "You make me feel amazing," you say, quieter now, almost shy.

Eddie’s gaze darkens, something more than just lust flickering in his eyes. He leans in, brushing his lips over your forehead, then your temple, then down to your cheek. "You ruin me, sweetheart," he murmurs, voice thick with adoration, "Don’t even think you realize what you do to me."

Your fingers slide into his hair, playing with the curls at the nape of his neck, tracing the lines of his jaw, the stubble along his chin. You touch him like you’re memorizing him, and he lets you, drinking it in.

His hand travels lower, caressing your back, smoothing over your hip before giving your ass a slow, lazy pat. "Can’t stop lookin’ at you," he admits, almost to himself. His other hand cups your cheek, thumb stroking the curve of it, "You’re so fuckin’ pretty. Just… Christ."

You shiver under his praise, warmth blooming in your chest. He pulls you up, kissing you slow and deep and so full of love.

You stay like that, tangled together, breathing each other in, letting the world outside fade away.

It’s only when Eddie shifts slightly, stretching just enough to glance at the clock, that reality creeps back in. "Shit," he mutters. "I’m late."

You blink up at him, your fingers still toying with his necklace. "For what?"

"Gareth’s," he groans, rubbing a hand over his face. "Celebration, remember?"

You nod, but neither of you moves.

His body is still pressed to yours, his fingers still tracing over your skin, and you don’t want to let go. Not yet.

"You wanna come?" he asks softly, but you shake your head.

"Spent the whole weekend with you guys. This is your night".

Eddie frowns. He doesn’t like that answer, "But I want you there."

You smile, pressing a kiss to his chest. "I know. But you should go, have fun. No girlfriend. Just the band."

He scoffs. "No girlfriend? Not happening."

You roll your eyes, amused. "I’m just tired, Eds. I just wanna take a hot shower, eat some mac and cheese, maybe watch a movie before sleeping early." You pause, looking up at him, "I’ll be here when you come back." And then, without thinking, you add, "You better come home to me tonight." 

The words land heavy between you, and immediately, you regret them.

Eddie stills, his grip on you tightening just slightly. His jaw tenses, his eyes flickering with something you recognize the second you see it.

Last week.

That awful morning when you woke up alone, when you searched half the city for him, only to find him stepping out of Chrissy Cunningham’s house.

The moment you thought, just for a second, that he had cheated.

The way you ran, sped off so fast you nearly crashed, the panic attack that hit so hard you couldn’t breathe.

The way you broke up with him, left him standing there.

The way you turned around and came back.

The way you realized it was all just a horrible misunderstanding. But the hurt still lingers, just beneath the surface.

And Eddie feels it. 

He looks at you now, his eyes slightly pained, just by the memory of it. By the fact that for a moment, just a moment, you thought he would do that to you. That he might not come home. That you might not be enough.

You open your mouth to apologize, but before you can, Eddie shakes his head. He cups your face, his touch firm but gentle, his eyes holding yours. "I will always come home to you," he rasps, voice low and serious. You swallow hard, nodding against his touch. "I swear it," he adds, softer now, pressing a kiss to your forehead, "Always."

You close your eyes, letting yourself sink into him, into his warmth, into the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. 

"Alright," he exhales, running his hand down your back, "Lemme get dressed before they start sendin’ search parties." 

You laugh, rolling onto your back as he groans dramatically, forcing himself up.

He’s barely off the bed before he’s looking back at you, like he’s already missing you. 

You shake your head, smiling. "Go." 

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbles, shoving on his jeans. But as he’s buttoning them, he pauses, watching you again. His lips twitch. "You sure you don’t wanna come? I’ll make it worth your while."

You throw a pillow at him.

He catches it, grinning, "Worth a shot", before dressing quickly.

With one last lingering kiss, one last slow drag of his hand over your bare skin before he groans and pushes himself off the bed, he leaves you.

You watch him go, your body still warm from his touch, still tingling with the weight of him. You stay where you are, sprawled across his sheets, completely naked, not bothering to cover up. The sheets are damp with sweat, his scent all over them, all over you. You hear him moving through the trailer, his heavy footsteps down the hall, the jangle of his keys, the shuffle of his boots as he yanks them on.

He mutters something to himself, low and distracted, and then you hear the creak of the front door opening.

But then, footsteps. Coming back.

Before you can lift your head, Eddie is there again, standing in the doorway, staring at you. His eyes darken instantly, flicking over your body, still bare, still waiting for him. "Need another kiss", he mutters, voice rough.

You grin, already knowing he’s full of shit. But you tilt your head up, letting him lean down, his cold fingers brushing your jaw as he kisses you again. Slow, warm, lingering. Like he never planned on leaving in the first place. He pulls back just an inch, his forehead resting against yours. "I'll come home," he promises, voice softer now. "And if I don’t, if I get too hammered or whatever, I’ll call. I’ll never do that again, baby. Never let you wake up without me and not know where I am".

You nod, eyes fluttering open to meet his. "I know," you whisper.

Another kiss. Longer this time, slower. His hand slides down, over your shoulder, your ribs, your waist. Fingers brush your hip, your thigh, gripping just enough to make you shiver.

He groans. "Fuck", he mutters, pulling back just enough to look at you again, really look at you, "You’re-" He swallows thickly, shaking his head, "Jesus, Sam".

You bite your lip, tilting your head, "What?"

Eddie doesn’t answer. He just exhales sharply, like he’s fighting something he already knows he’s gonna lose to, before crawling back into bed. Still in his cold leather jacket, boots half-laced, he falls onto you again, his hands already greedy, already grabbing. His fingers slide over your hips, up your sides, over your stomach. One hand finds your ass, squeezing, pulling you into him as he groans into your mouth.

You squeal, giggling as his lips find your neck, then your collarbone. "Eddie-"

"I mean, c’mon", he mutters against your skin, "You’re naked, just layin’ here like this?" Another squeeze to your ass, another groan. "Expectin’ me to just walk away?"

You laugh, tangling your fingers in his hair as he kisses down, down, down. His face dropping right between your breasts again. He exhales, nuzzling in, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the warm skin there. "Fuckin’ impossible", he mumbles, voice muffled. "Just a man, babe". He lifts his head slightly, grinning up at you. "And you? You’re my hot, naked girl. In my bed."

You laugh again, and Eddie catches your sound in another kiss, deep and lazy and full of something you both know will keep him here a little longer.

His face drops, and he groans against your skin, like he’s actually in pain at the thought of leaving. His fingers are still greedy, still sliding over your warm, bare skin, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you before he goes. His lips brush your throat, your shoulder, the swell of your breast, soft, worshipful, absolutely gone for you. "Baby, I gotta-", he starts, but doesn’t finish, because his mouth finds yours again, and he’s kissing you, deep and slow, like he has all the time in the world. His hands grip your waist, fingers pressing into soft flesh, like he’s trying to hold you there, keep you under him just a little longer. You giggle against his lips, wiggling beneath him. "Two more minutes", he mumbles, "Just two, baby, swear".

You roll your eyes, but you let him kiss you again, let him run his hands over you, let him take his time even though you both know two minutes isn’t gonna be enough. His thumb brushes over your hip, then lower, his other hand threading through your hair, tilting your head just right so he can kiss you even deeper. He groans again, frustrated, torn, absolutely lost in you. 

"You should go", you murmur, though you don’t sound convincing, not with how breathless you are, not with how you’re clinging to him just as much as he is to you. 

Eddie shakes his head, nipping at your jaw, then kissing the spot he bit. "Don’t wanna." 

You huff a laugh, running your fingers through his hair. "You should be celebrating with them. You played a huge gig. You were on the goddamn radio, Eddie. This is big. Bigger than me in your bed."

He lifts his head, eyes dark and serious. "Not to me."

Your breath catches. You see it in his face, the weight of what he’s saying, what he’s feeling. He’s not just saying it to make you feel good, not just saying it to stay here a little longer. He means it. To him, nothing is bigger than this. Bigger than you.

You swallow hard, shaking your head with a soft laugh, pretending like your heart isn’t about to burst. "You’re ridiculous", you whisper.

He grins, eyes crinkling, dimples deep as he winks at you.

You roll your eyes, but he catches you in another kiss, one that steals your breath, steals your thoughts, makes you forget, for just a second, that he’s supposed to be leaving. His hands slip down, squeeze your ass, pull you against him again, making you yelp, then giggle. "Eds", you laugh, pushing lightly at his chest, "You have to go."

He groans dramatically, dropping his head against your chest like a man defeated, "Fuck. Fine". 

You smile, threading your fingers through his curls, "You’ll have fun".

He lifts his head, pouting slightly, "I’d have more fun here".

You laugh again, and he kisses you one last time, slow and lingering, before finally pulling away.

He hovers over you for a second longer, drinking you in, eyes sweeping over your flushed, bare body, before he mutters, "Fuckin’ impossible", and sits up. 

You watch him go, watch him straighten his jacket, run a hand through his hair, grumbling under his breath like he’s actually mad at you for making him leave. 

At the door, he pauses, looks at you again. His gaze softens. "I’ll come home", he states. You nod, "I'll be here, my love".

One last grin, one last wink, and then, he’s gone. And you’re left staring at the ceiling, still warm, still breathless, still smiling, counting the hours until he comes back to you.

Hours later

Eddie steps inside quietly, pushing the door shut behind him, frowning at the light still being on inside the trailer. The soft glow from the TV flickers across the room, casting shifting shadows over your sleeping form. His frown melts into something softer, something fond, as he takes in the sight of you.

You're curled up on the couch, bare legs tangled in the throw blanket, his shirt hanging off one shoulder, his boxers peeking out from beneath the hem. Your hair is still damp, strands clinging to your cheek, lips parted slightly, chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. The empty bowl of mac and cheese sits forgotten on the coffee table, spoon resting on the rim.

Eddie exhales, running a hand through his hair, shaking his head with a quiet chuckle.

Of course you fell asleep here. Of course, you’re wearing his clothes, smelling like him, like home.

He tugs off his jacket, drapes it over the chair, and toes off his boots. Then, as quietly as possible, he crosses the room, crouching down beside the couch.

He should wake you. Should scoop you up, carry you to bed, tuck you in where you’ll be more comfortable.

But instead, he just stares, his fingers twitching, aching to touch you. His ringed hand lifts, hovering just above your face, before he finally gives in, tracing the soft curve of your cheek with the backs of his fingers. His touch is featherlight, barely there, but you still stir, nuzzling into his hand, sighing softly in your sleep. His chest aches.

God, you’re so fucking pretty. So his.

Eddie swallows hard, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone, then along your jaw, before trailing down to your throat, his fingers tracing the curve of it. You’re so soft, so warm, so trusting, just sleeping here like you knew he’d come back, like you never doubted it.

His throat tightens. He leans in, pressing the lightest of kisses to your forehead, lingering there, breathing you in.

Your lashes flutter. Your lips part slightly, a sleepy little sound escaping you, and Eddie freezes, watching as your brows furrow, your nose scrunching just the tiniest bit.

Then, your eyes blink open, slow and hazy.

For a second, you just stare, your gaze unfocused, dream-heavy, before your brows lift slightly in recognition. "Baby," you mumble, voice thick with sleep, warm and syrupy sweet, and fuck if that doesn’t wreck him completely.

Eddie huffs out a quiet laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, "Hey, my love."

You blink again, slow and heavy, before a soft, lazy smile tugs at your lips. "'S late," you murmur, shifting slightly beneath the blanket.

"Yeah," he whispers. "Didn’t mean to wake you."

You just hum, stretching a little, your leg brushing against his where he’s still crouched beside you.

He watches you, a slow grin tugging at his lips as you burrow deeper into the couch, drowning in his clothes, your soft, sleepy body curled up under the blanket. "You comfy?" he asks, voice low and warm.

You nod, eyes barely open, already sinking back into sleep. He chuckles, shaking his head, "Wanna go to bed?"

You make a small, tired noise, shaking your head just slightly. "Too tired," you mumble.

Eddie huffs a soft laugh. "Too tired to go to bed?" He watches as you shift, already half-asleep again, your cheek pressing into the pillow, your breath slowing. His heart clenches.

You’re the cutest goddamn thing he’s ever seen.

"You want me to carry you?" he murmurs.

You mumble something incoherent, your voice small, already slipping further into sleep. Eddie doesn't need to hear the words to know the answer. "Yeah, alright, sweetheart," he breathes, more to himself than anything, before he slides his arms under you. You barely stir as he lifts you, your body soft and warm against his, your face pressing instinctively into his chest. He laughs, low and breathy, as you nuzzle into him, breathing him in.

"Missed you," you mumble against his shirt. And fuck if that doesn’t just wreck him completely.

"Missed you more, princess," he murmurs as he carries you easily, cradling you close as he walks to the bedroom, his grip firm but careful, like you're something precious. "You fell asleep out there," he murmurs, nudging the door open with his foot.

You sigh against him. "Was waitin' for you."

His grip tightens, "Yeah?"

"Mmhm," you hum, pressing a sleepy kiss to his throat. "Told you to come home."

Eddie groans, burying his face in your hair, inhaling deep. Jesus fucking Christ, he’s in trouble. He lowers you onto the bed gently, but the second he tries to pull away, you whimper, grabbing at him.

"No," you murmur, eyes barely open, reaching blindly for his arm, his shirt, anything to keep him close.

He huffs a quiet laugh, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Baby, I’ll be right back," he murmurs, brushing his knuckles down your cheek. You make a small, discontented noise, nose scrunching, and Eddie swears he feels his heart physically squeeze. "Just gotta turn off the lights, yeah?"

You don’t answer, just frown, stubborn even half-asleep, but you let him go, reluctantly.

He shakes his head, grinning as he slips from the room, padding back into the trailer’s dim glow. He moves quickly, flicking off the TV, grabbing the empty bowl from the table, placing it in the sink for tomorrow. His mind is still back in the bedroom, with you, warm and soft and waiting. He heads to the bathroom, brushing his teeth, stripping off his jeans and shirt, leaving him in just his boxers.

When he steps back into the bedroom, the sight of you, already asleep again, curled up small in the blankets, just about knocks the breath from his lungs. He slides into bed, careful, slow, trying not to wake you, but the second the mattress dips under his weight, you stir, mumbling something sleepily.

Then, before he can even get settled, you’re rolling into him, pressing against him, tucking yourself into his side like it’s instinct, like you belong there. And Christ, if that isn’t the truth.

Eddie chuckles, low and quiet, letting you press into him, wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. You sigh, warm and content, burying your face against his throat, fingers curling lazily against his ribs. He feels you breathe him in, soft and slow, and something inside him clenches.  "Clingy thing," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"Mm," you hum sleepily, barely even awake, "Need you." 

Eddie tucks you in even closer, his fingers tracing slow circles against your back. "I know, baby," he breathes, voice barely more than a whisper, "I’m here. I'll always be right here."