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crybabyddl · 15 hours ago

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Don't it Make You Feel | E.M x Fem!Reader

Series Summary: The state championships for the battle of the bands brings in new opportunities for your Fort Wayne band Head Case. Things flip on their head when you meet who you'll be competing against...

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Series Warnings: NSFW! Minors DNI!, Smut, Fluff, Angst (would it be a bvtbxtch fanfic without all three?), mentions of abusive relationships, p in v sex, oral sex, kissing, cuddling, violence, mention of drugs and alcohol, being drunk, romance under the influence. By clicking the read more, you are confirming you are over the age of 18!

Word Count: ~ 7250

Author's Note: Hello everyone! It has been a while since I have posted and I have taken a much needed little hiatus. I am so happy to be back and I have been cooking this fanfic for a while! I heard the song Don't It Make You Feel by Chilliwack and my brain kind of short circuited around how much I love this song, and the rest kind of fell into place!

The large van that you piled into was practically sparking with all of the energy radiating through it. You had taken this sleepy route several times before, the flatlands and farms seeming so miniscule now. You could all feel it. This was your break to get out of Northern Indiana and make a new life for yourselves, there was only one band that stood in the way. You clutched the flyer with your band and their band name in big font. The word final in the center of the page, in big block letters felt so - well, final. There was an urgency about them. You and the boys bounced down the highway in your guitarist’s beaten up, overfilled van. You had all made a mixtape for the adventure, and it sent you flying down the I-69. But none of you felt that you could get to the Whiskey Barrel Bar fast enough. You looked out the window and dreamed of singing in the luxe studio of Round Table Records, the radio signals buzzing in your brain.

The sun was quickly setting, unlike your determination. The bar was dimly lit with whatever spotlights the dive bar could find. You unpacked your equipment and started your sound check, your heart dropping at every open door, anticipating the meeting between the band you were dueling. You knew that it would be a fierce fight, that if they wanted this even half of what you and the band did, you were going to have to bring your A game.

Your sound check went great, guitars wailing, kicks of the drums setting the pace of your own heartbeat. Your voice had the bar techs raising their eyebrows and bobbing their heads. If there weren’t any more unknowns, you would feel unstoppable; but the question marks over who this ‘Corroded Coffin’ was made you uneasy.

The posse of bandmates found their way back to the greenroom - if you could call it that. You grabbed your fanny pack and pulled out a bright pink bullet of lipstick, your eyeliner pencil, and a lighter. You leaned into the dingy mirror as you warmed your eyeliner up over the lighter. You pressed the softening kohl to your waterline, smoking out your bright eyes.

“Hey doll, can I borrow that light?” Joey, your bassist, smiled with a cigarette pressed between his teeth. His large frame teetered over you as you leaned up to light his smoke. Suddenly, the door flew open and four mops of hair strutted into the room.

“Well, well, well. Guess this is our fresh meat…” One man with luscious brown curls sneered. He was tall, pale, and covered with tattoos. His tone was ruthless, but there was a sparkle in his eyes. The rest of his gaggle followed behind him, snickering back at your band in the room. You grimaced at the attempt to intimidate and you rolled your eyes at Joey. He gave you a pat on the shoulder and turned to the man who invaded your space.

“You guys must be Corroded Coffin. I’m Joey, I’m bass.” He held out his hand for the man to shake “That’s Owen. He’s on drums, and Dave and Jake over there are our guitars. This is-” Joey was cut off before you could step forward with a curt wave.

“I don’t need to know who your roadie is, tool.” The man puffed his chest out and pressed into Joey’s outstretched hand. “Listen. We don’t need to know who you are, and you don’t need to know us. All you need to know is Corroded Coffin will be the band that kicks your sorry ass back to wherever you came from, got it?” His words shot through the room like knives, instantly raising the tension of everyone there. Joey backed off but you couldn’t help but snort at the mystery in front of you; suddenly all pairs of eyes in the room were on you. The dusty blond haired guy looked to his leader with worry, the larger man, with short curled hair shifted his eyes between their friendly looking fourth and the man squared up in front of your bassist. The last member of the band had a beautiful dark complexion and a friendly face - He looked like the least likely person in the room to want to start a fight. Joey retreated to the ripped leather couch the remaining three members of your band settled around. The man’s combat boots stomped closer to you.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize I asked for your opinion, babe.” He smelled intoxicatingly of whiskey, weed and smokey cologne. You bit your lip to prevent you from straight punching him in the face. “This is a band issue… why are you even back here? Don’t you have some beers to grab?” That was it. You pushed yourself away from the mirror and into the snarling man’s space. “This is our house, our rules. You’re lucky you’ve stayed back here so long.”

“Oh. I get it. You’re gonna go after the people you don’t even know to try and intimidate. Jeez guys” you turned to your boys staring helplessly at you, a silent plea to let it go. “Sounds like someone is trying to overcompensate for something.” You looked the man up and down, taking an extra moment at his hips. When you met back with his face, you could see bright red cheeks and a furious furrow in his fluffy brows. His breath was heavy, almost blowing the hair off your collar bone with how close the two of you were. Joey rose from his seat and took a few steps toward you, you waved him off and he froze in place.

“Now let’s get something straight. We have every right to be here. I have every right to be here. So are we gonna get along nicely, or keep huffing and puffing like oafs?” You looked past the blubbering man in front of you to the rest of his stunned bandmates.

“Whatever.” The mess of hair turned to Joey. “Get your bitch under control.” His eyes bore into you. As angry as they were, there was a curiosity, and eagerness to know more about you. Before you could wind back to slap his smug face silly, Joey’s strong arms had grabbed your waist and pulled you back. Another shit eating grin came from the man donned in a battle jacket and tight ripped denim. He retreated back to his band on the side of the green room he had claimed as his. He couldn’t help, however, to glue his eyes to where Joey touched you. He soothingly rubbed up and down your arms and led you to the couch with a hand on your lower back. When you sat, he rubbed a hand on your knee. You caught his eye with an icy, daring stare. Before he had time to react, a large man in dark clothing burst into the room.

“Eddie, you guys are on.”

“Well, kids. I would say it’s been fun, but my Uncle told me it's a sin to lie so…” With a showboaty bow, this so-called Eddie bounced out of the room, followed by the rest of his bandmates.

“Come on,” you hopped up and checked your reflection one more time. “We should watch this”. With a groan and head shakes, the rest of your band followed suit.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Finale of this year’s Indiana Battle of the Bands!” the host boomed. “We are stoked to have the top two contenders in the state - our Southern finalists, Corroded Coffin,” the bar roared with applause. “And our Northern finalists, all the way from Fort Wayne, Head Case!” There was a polite enough applause for your band, but you knew you were the underdogs, away from home, and eager to win the house over.

“These two bands will be competing for the grand prize of a recording session with Indianapolis’ very own Round Table Records to produce their very own song! They will also get to feature their song to a panel of Label Executives from around the country and get a segment on Q 95 FM!” Your heart pushed its beat into your throat.

“Up first, we have Hawkins’ very own Corroded Coffin!” The host ran off the stage and the lights dimmed. You saw the shadowy figures of the boys you met in the dressing room slither onto the stage. The thrum of the bass and kick of the drums made vibrations run up your feet. The lights flickered on to reveal the arrogant sack of shit strumming his guitar like he was making love to it. The familiar riff of For Whom the Bell Tolls.

You can’t deny, the man has charisma. He excites the crowd, feeds them what they want and then takes it away. He gets down on his knees and throws his shirt at the desperate girls waiting to get at him after the set. His glistening chest is as pale as his face, with galaxies of unreadable tattoos dance across his skin as he moves. His guitar is an extension of him, when he strikes chords, his whole body reacts. His eyes searched the small sea of people who have joined in the mosh and locked eyes with yours. He strutted his way to the other side of the stage where you and your bandmates stood, arms crossed over your chest. A few thrusts of his hips in your direction, as well as a tongue wag and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. He laughed as he returned to his microphone to complete the chorus.

“Let’s go,” you whispered to Dave. “We gotta get ready to go up.”

You felt slightly humiliated going up after the tsunami of applause Corroded Coffin received. Luckily, Eddie and his gang jumped right off the stage to the bar, into the arms of waiting women and men wanting to buy them drinks. You didn’t have to deal with any last minute intimidation efforts. You locked in and hugged your boys as the host boomed over the mic.

“And lastly, our finalists up north, give it up for Head Case!”

Eddie sat smug at the bar. Confident the four losers that he had seen in the green room were no match for the absolute sex Corroded Coffin just had with the audience. He turned his back to the stage and faced Gareth, Jeff and Doug with a smug grin, and signaled to the gruff looking barback to get them a round of beers; A celebration, albeit premature, they thought they all deserved. Their faces grew pale with shock, and Eddie choked on his mouthful of beer when your band played their first note.

You stumbled over snakes of wires and to the dimmed front of the stage. The tech’s stood at the ready to light your bodies. Your sweaty hands gripped the microphone on its stand, emitting a small whine. You looked back and gave a jittery nod and with that, a flourish of drums started, you let out an excited yell into the microphone, the rest felt like a sweaty, loud, heart pumping blur.

Eddie spun wildly around in his seat when he heard you. His gaze transfixed in bewilderment on your figure positioned where he just was. You looked nervous, but still confident. How the fuck did you do that? He felt his face grow hot and the stares of Gareth, Jeff and Doug shifted between him and the stage. It took you to the chorus to really get comfortable, but the audience were still eating you up. You bent down and grabbed hands and sent winks and serenades throughout the crowd. He never won anyone over that easily.

“If I didn’t know you better, Munson. I would say you’re getting jealous.” Jeff teased, with a pat on the shoulder. Eddie shluffed him off with a grunt and continued to loathingly watch you.

“Fuck, she’s a natural…” Every ounce of post-gig confidence he had dissolved with Gareth’s comment. They were in trouble.

“Please,” Eddie turned back to the bar and stared into the bottom of his beer bottle. He gestured for one more. He turned back around, nursing his new beverage, to see you crawling on the floor, soaking up all the shouts and hollers everyone was giving you. Your hair had grown stringy, and your skin glowy with sweat. You hopped up off the floor and sauntered over to your bassist. Eddie snorted as you rolled your hips against his wide stance. You plucked at the chords he was to be playing. Eddie would never let someone - especially someone like you - touch his guitar. You were doing this all for show, to distract from…. Fuck, he couldn’t even say subpar music… He hated to admit it, but you were really good. He flipped his curly head back to the bartender.

“Two whiskeys, Del.” He winked. He gritted his teeth and muttered under his breath, “We’re gonna fucking need them.”

You were vibrating with adrenaline. The past 3 and a half minutes seemed to last for hours, and mere seconds at the same time. Your chest was heaving as your band shuttled each other off the stage. Electric current danced across your skin as you congratulated your bandmates and waited, in frazzled anticipation, for the MC to retake the stage. A manicured nail tapped you on the shoulder. You turned to see one of the barbacks with a tray of shots in her hand.

“Courtesy of the boys at the bar” she purred. You peeked past the tattered excuse for a curtain that separated offstage from on, to see Eddie sprawled out on his barstool. He lifted his glass to you, shit eating grin never leaving his face. You rolled your eyes and turned back to your boys, who had happily accepted the shots, and picked your tiny glass off the woman’s tray. The amber liquid burned down your throat. You grimaced away the urge to spit the liquid back out and shot a wincing smile at Joey. He wrapped his arms around you with a giggle. Nothing could break your excitement - or so you thought.

“Wow… quite the… show you put on out there.” Eddie’s sneering voice made yours and Joey's giggles mute. You broke away from his embrace.

“Told you I wasn’t a groupie.” You challenged. Eddie couldn’t help but let his eyes rake over your glistening body. Your chest still heaved with excitement. The valley between your breasts shone with extra sweat, your tank top just hiding your bra from view. Your legs were elongated by the tattered shorts and combat boots you wore, tattoos littering your arms and thighs. He couldn’t help but wonder what other ink you had that he couldn’t see. He knew he wasn’t being discreet, but would only blame the beers and whiskeys he had already consumed. You flashed him a disgusted look, which brought him back down to reality.

“Thought I would bring you one more consolation shot before we send your sorry asses back North.” Eddie’s chortle rattled in your chest. He shoved another small glass into your hands.

“Here’s to being the best frontmen of Indiana.” His eyes swallowed you whole as you rolled yours at him.

“Whatever Eddie, you’re just being nice so it doesn’t hurt so bad when you lose.” You slammed the shot down and handed him back the empty glass. You whipped yourself back around to your waiting bandmates. Eddie stood dumbfounded, left to retreat to the other men standing behind him, donning matching faces.

The speakers squealed and the crowds hushed as the MC took his place on stage. The only thing you could hear was your pounding heartbeat in your ears. The mic boomed the winners of the competition, then Head Case’s name was called and everything in your body went numb. The following moments will always be a blur - Ironically, they will be moments Eddie Munson will never forget. Your smile nearly split your face in half. The boys jumped around you and you all rushed the stage. Corroded Coffin clapped politely, but you could feel a shiver of cold run down your spine while Eddie directed his jealous energy solely on you. Joey grabbed your waist and brought you in for a chaste kiss on the cheek. You swore, even over all of the cheering, you could hear Eddie Munson scoff. You turned to him and your grin faltered slightly. You pushed yourself away from your boys and to the microphone perched on the stand. You grabbed the mic and cleared your raspy throat.

“Thank you all, so much! But let’s give a hand to Corroded Coffin!” You looked over to the wings where the rival band stood in surprise. You waved them on with an encouraging flail of your hand. All of the boys shrugged and with a laugh took the stage - All but one…

Eddie took the stage like a man on a mission. His eyes were burning with rage. You and your band shook hands with the three members of Corroded Coffin. Eddie pushed his way up to you, and you stood almost chest to chest, his aura was intoxicating to you. You gulped, your throat suddenly dry. You flashed him a sorry smile and stuck your hand out.

“Good job, Eddie. You guys sounded awesome.” Eddie’s face didn’t move. He stayed cold and his chest heaved.

“You won this round, sweetheart. But let’s be honest here. You won’t last a second in the industry. You’ll have to do a lot of favors to get your music out there. Just like you did to score your musicians.” Your face bloomed bright red and your eyes glazed over. You wanted to run away, to leave the stage and sit in the back of the van and cry until you got home. But this was your win. This was your moment. You willed the tears back into your eyes, jutted your hand out towards his and stared straight into Eddie’s dark brown doe eyes.

“Anything else you wanna say, Eddie? Or can I go back to celebrating with my band now?” You stood, unmoving. It was his turn to turn red. His cheeks flushed pink and his eyes smoldered with loathing. He turned away from you, leaving your hand outstretched waiting to greet him.

Eddie could barely look at you. Fuck, he didn’t even want to be in the goddamn building anymore - he heard the burly MC call your band’s name and not his and he just saw red. What, did you win because you were one of the only female-led acts in the whole competition? God, it had to have been. Fuck you and your charm and talent. It didn’t help that you were trying to be nice too. It would have been so much easier to hate you if you were just an asshole. But of course you weren’t. You were too nice for your own good, but you put him in his place. Your smile on the stage was as intoxicating as the shot he had just taken. Your smooth voice oozed charisma - it was sickly sweet and Eddie hated that he wanted to hear it in the confines of his own bedroom. He heard you get loud, but what your voice would sound like whispering in his ear, what your small moans would sound like as he -

He needed to get out of here. This was all too much. Your stubbornness, your determination threw him. He was angry and he said things he immediately regretted because he was insecure. He couldn’t be on stage with you, let alone act nicely to you. He made a beeline for the back door exit. The boys could celebrate without him. Eddie kept his head down, his mouth fumbling with the cigarette from behind his ear pressed between his lips. His head ran into a strong chest with an ‘oof’.

“Hey, what the fuck man. Watch where you’re going.”

“Rough night, Munson?” The smooth bass voice made Eddie swivel his head up in wonder. An older man, in his mid to late 50’s stood. His salt-and-pepper hair had been slicked back neatly. He had on an oversized leather blazer, matched with a dark t-shirt and dark cowboy boots. The man smelled of expensive Whiskey and money. Eddie straightened up and pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and tucked it back behind his ear.

“You’re-”

“Yeah, don’t get your dick in a twist about it” The man chuckled. The force that stood before measly Eddie Munson was Richard Beaucanon - owner and operator of Round Table Records, the man who was supposed to make Corroded Coffin’s dreams come true. He had about half of the record execs and radio hosts on the East Coast in his pocket. He laid a large hand on Eddie’s shoulder and the boy flinched.

“You can’t be leaving yet, your bandmates are gonna miss you.”

“No they won’t-”

“Are you seriously throwing a fucking temper tantrum because you didn’t win? Because a little girl went to shake your hand and didn’t take your shit?” Eddie was pinned under Richard’s gaze. He was stuck for words. Barely a squeak left his mouth before Richard continued on. “It would be too bad too. Because I was so impressed with the talent I saw today, I wanted to reward both bands with a little something. But I’m not going to do that with a partial band standing up on the stage. So quit your fucking moping because you got beat by some bitch and her pets from up north.” His words gave Eddie a nervous cramp in his stomach. He was quick to call you any name under the sun, but he felt an urge to protect you from the man’s words. Richard sent a hard slap to Eddie’s back and glided towards the backstage area. Eddie punched the concrete wall in front of him and headed to the dingy bar floor to meet back up with the rest of the band - who, unbeknownst to them, were in for a far bigger treat than getting a shoutout from some stupid band up north - led by some stupidly beautiful, kind, sharp girl. Fuck Head Case.

You jumped off the stage with the rest of your band and Corroded Coffin, absolutely horrified from the encounter you and Eddie had on stage. You didn’t let anyone else in the band know the devastation that happened on stage between you and the other lead singer. Joey kissed the top of your head before heading towards the bar. You stopped to thank your ex-rivals-turned-friends.

“We didn’t get to properly introduce ourselves on stage.” You shouted over the calamity of the bar. You introduced yourself with a handshake to the three boys standing in front of you with a chuckle. The blonde mop headed drummer came forward first.

“I’m Gareth” he smiled at you. “This is Jeff, and Doug” you happily took their hands again, but pulled each of them into a hug. As you pulled away from Doug, you were met with the towering, lanky brunette, whose eyes were boring into you.

“And, of course, you met Eddie.” Gareth offered coldly.

“Sure did,” Eddie mumbled. “But I need to talk to my band though, so if you don’t mind-” Before Eddie could turn away you found the courage to confront him for his stunt on stage. It was now or never.

“What is your deal, Eddie? Are you that much of a fucking pussy that when you get beat you go all ‘I hate women’? That’s very elementary of you. It’s so interesting. I’ve read a lot about Corroded Coffin and you specifically. The whole ride down here, I was so nervous to meet you, to compete against you, but you’re not scary or intimidating. Hell, to have this much of an attitude, you have to be pretty fucking talented… and I don’t think you’re good enough for this ego you have.” Without letting Eddie speak, you turned on your heel back to the boys standing, slack jawed and left them with a sincere smile and an invitation to come grab shots with you any time. Eddie couldn’t help but watch your hips sway while you walked into the arms of your other bandmates. Fuck, he wanted to punch that Joey guy out. He handed you a shot, and Eddie could see the hunger in his eyes as he watched you tip your head back to shoot back the clear liquor that you were given.

“Way to fucking go, Eddie.” Jeff hit his chest. It shook Eddie out of his trance and looked at his bandmates with fiery eyes. He changed the subject before he could think too much about how much of a dick he was.

“Yeah, way to go Eddie. Because guess who the fuck I ran into?” He was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. The men looked at him quizzically. Before he could answer, the stage lights returned to highlight Richard Beaucanon on stage. Eddie shook his bandmates and pulled them towards the stage. Richard looked like a marble statue, strong, authoritative, exactly where he needed to be. Eddie quickly turned to sneak a peek at your surprised face. Your perfect lips were formed into an ‘oh’ and your eyes were bright. You knew who he was.

“Sorry to interrupt the party, folks,” Richard’s voice soared through the venue. “But I have some things to announce. I’m Richard Beaucanon, the owner and founder of Round Table Records here in Indianapolis. I came down tonight because I happened to catch wind of these two talented bands through respective DJs in Hawkins and Fort Wayne. I think I can say for the whole room, we certainly got a great show tonight!” the crowd hollered. You clapped excitedly. Joey and Owen on either side of you, bumping shoulders and holding your hands. You never thought that the Richard Beaucanon would be here - hell even if you won, you doubted he would ever hear your band play. But there he was. “My sincerest congratulations to Head Case for their amazing performance tonight. But I want to congratulate Corroded Coffin as well.” You felt your heart sink to your feet. You were happy for all of the new friends you had made, but Eddie. How can someone so vile get rewarded for such shitty behavior? “I am signing Corroded Coffin to a 2 album deal, as well as the chance to work in the studio for a jam session with the industry’s hottest producers. We got some talent on our hands, y’all!”

You felt your body go numb for the second time tonight. You watched in frustration as the band took the stage to shake hands with the owner of your record label. You pulled yourself away from your bandmates and over to a lonely corner of the bar. You raised your hand for a shot of whatever the hell the bartender could get in your hand fast enough. You needed to think. You needed to think - or maybe not think. The only thing you could think of is numbing this confusion. You sat and ordered two more before Joey came to your side.

“What you doing, honey? We should be celebrating together!” He squeezed your thigh and his touch felt like poison. You crossed your leg over the other to pull his hand off of yours.

“I just feel like we were bulldozed. Like what’s the point if we both won? Where’s our special treatment? This feels a lot like home field advantage.” You scowled into your empty shot glass. You raised your hand for another, but Joey signaled to the bartender to cut you off. You whined at him. He got off the stool and spun you towards his body. He also reeked of alcohol - as he should - you thought - they have a right to celebrate; they weren’t the ones that were bullied by a man that’s now getting everything he wanted. Joey’s hands rested on your shoulders.

“Come on, babe, this is supposed to be our night!” You shrugged Joey off.

“I know, Joe. I just need some time alone to process.” He sighed, disappointed that you weren’t entertaining his advances.

“And that Eddie-”

“Nevermind about him,” you snapped at the man in front of you, mouth shut in rejection. “I can handle him - We can handle him. I just, I just need some time to think, please, Joe.”

“We just wanna celebrate with you, Y/N. Come find us when you’re ready, and maybe drink some water.” God, Joey could be touchy.

Eddie watched you retreat into yourself in the corner of the bar. He had consumed shots after shots after beer, after whiskey cokes, and between each new beverage, his eyes trained back to you; secretly hoping that someone would come up and save you - but also wishing no one would so he could be the one to come whisk you away. He was conflicted, and angry, but entranced by you. The alcohol was making him lose his composure.

“Why the fuck is she there all by herself?” Eddie slurred into Gareth’s ear. “Like where the fuck is her band?” he chided.

“I don’t know dude. Why the hell do you care? You were a complete ass to her.” Gareth scolded. Eddie waved his friend’s words away from him like smoke blown in his face.

“She’s like the only talented one in their band. Too bad she’s a pain in my ass and she fucking hates me” he chuckled. “She could do better.”

“Yeah, better than you even!” Jeff added. “Go talk to her then, if you’re so worried. Or are you scared you’re gonna come back with third degree burns like last time?” Eddie shrugged them off, downed his drink and shuffled his way over to where you were sitting.

The bar was starting to spin in circles. You did not heed the advice given to you and downed more drinks and shots, some to your own volition, others thrust upon you from new fans or admirers, but you took the drink and shooed them away. You sat there, drowning in your own sorrows, when you felt a presence sit in the barstool beside you. You looked to your side to see the last (and admittedly first) person you wanted to see at the bar - hell ever again. You rolled your eyes and snorted. He looked almost as drunk as you: dark eyes highlighted by red veins around his irises. His pale skin was highlighted in a sweaty glow, and his cheeks were a pale pink. He smelled just as intoxicating as when you first met him, but it was now underscored with tequila and beer. His brows furrowed in what you thought was concern. It made you laugh at him again.

“Can I help you, sir?” you sneered at him. “Come to give me more advice?” You wanted to turn away from him, to slide off your stool and into the night and hope to never see him again, because the knot in your stomach was getting too much to bare. You hated that Eddie Munson didn’t like you. You couldn’t stand the fact that he thought of you as just another slut that didn’t have talent. You bit your lip to prevent yourself from spiraling.

“I.. I guess I just wanted to check on you.” He scratched the back of his head. “You’ve been sitting here alone all night, I just-” he sighed. Why the fuck did he come over here? He just wanted to be close to you, to get another shot. He liked seeing you smiling and bubbly, like the beginning of the night. He loathed to admit it, because you still pissed him the hell off, but he would do just about whatever it took to see you smile.

“I’m fine. Not that you care..”

“I.. I do though. I shouldn’t have said that shit on stage. I was angry and upset and I really didn’t mean it.” You dared to look at the man and you were entrapped, his slight pout reeled you in. You let your vulnerability show as your eyes twinkled with uncried tears.

“You mean it?” you whimpered. It took everything for Eddie to not pull you into his chest and take you away from this shitty bar. A beautiful girl like you shouldn’t be sitting in a dark bar, tears staining your face. He fucked up so badly. He smiled tightly at you and nodded.

“How about we start again?” He stuck his hand out towards you. “I’m Eddie Munson, and I’m a big fan. Can I buy you a drink?” You tried to hide your smile, to no avail. You both giggled and you grabbed his hand.

“I'm Y/N L/N, and I’ll let you buy me a drink only if I can buy you one after.” You offered. The two of you giggled as Eddie waved the bartender over.

“One of whatever the lovely lady wants and a whiskey for me.” You beamed at Eddie and gave the tender your order. If the alcohol you already had didn’t knock you on your ass, being around Eddie sure would.

Time flew, and you felt like if you weren’t holding onto the bar, you would drift away. Eddie told you about Hawkins, and being the resident freak, about how he thought he would die in Hawkins High and that Corroded Coffin wouldn’t ever go anywhere. You told him about living in Fort Wayne and wanting to play at the Embassy Theatre with all of your being. You wanted to go to Jacob’s School of Music, but couldn’t pay the tuition. How you longed to get out of Indiana, and to some place far away from your shitty dad, and without your band - a point of conflict for you because you loved them all, but they were a band long before you came around, and Eddie’s point about being a girl in a band that doesn’t respect women is hard. Head Case was the first time you had ever been taken seriously. Eddie listened intently, your filter was broken with the alcohol and Eddie’s intoxicating presence. Two hours ago, you were sitting alone, hating the man that was sitting with you now, and you had no idea how you were just going to turn around and go back home.

On the other side of the venue sat Joey and Owen, entertaining the groupies that came to chat. But Joey’s eyes laid fixedly on you, sitting with the fucking loser that talked so much shit about their band earlier that night.

“I don’t fucking like that Eddie guy,” he seethed. He ran his fingers through his dusty brown curls and gritted his teeth.

“Don’t like him or don’t like that he’s flirting with your girl?” Owen teased. Joey sent him a smack to the chest.

“I don’t like the fact that he said some really out of pocket shit, and she’s still sitting there talking to him like a dummy. I should go get her,” Joey slid out of his chair and past waiting fans towards you.

“I’ll fucking solve this Munson problem” he whispered under his breath, and cracked his knuckles.

You and Eddie laughed loudly. You let out another small snort that made both of you laugh harder. Eddie couldn’t believe that something so perfect could be packaged into a person like you. You went to push the metalhead on the shoulder and slid off your stool with a ‘woop’. Instinctually, Eddie grabbed your arm and waist to prevent you from falling to the floor. His face dropped dangerously close to yours; all it would take is for you to lean up and your lips would connect. It didn’t seem like a bad idea. As you closed your eyes and willed your body to do what it thought it should, a firm hand pulled you backwards and out of Eddie’s arms. Your back flew flat to a toned chest. A familiar stubble glided across your ear.

“You’re drunk and it’s time to go.” Joey’s smooth voice sounded rough and stern. It sent a shiver down your back. Eddie jumped out of his seat and towards Joey.

“I think she can make decisions for herself, big man,” Eddie threatened.

“She can barely fucking stand. Think I’m gonna leave my girl with a fuckhead like you?” Joey scoffed. Your eyes finally surrendered the tears that wanted to fall all night as Joey pulled you to the door.

His girl. His girl?! You hadn’t mentioned anything about him. Why weren’t you two together earlier in the night? He was confused, angry, and (although he would never admit it) slightly heartbroken. He grabbed his leather jacket that he had perched on the back of the stool and pushed through the crowd and out the door after you. He had time to see your small body being crumpled into the back of a taxi. Joey was about to duck in after you, but saw Eddie standing stunned in the cool Indiana night. He stalked towards the man now clenching his fists in anticipation.

“Hey, Munson. I’m gonna tell you a little something. You’re a fucking loser, bro. She’s not into one night stands and she would never date a fucking freak like you. So back the fuck off before I have to put you in place myself.” He pushed Eddie back, but all Eddie could focus on was you hanging out the window, silently pleading with the fuckass in front of him.

“Hey, Joey is it? Fuck yourself. Make sure she gets home safe. Take her to her hotel room, or wherever the hell you’re staying and tuck her in and stay the fuck away from her.” Eddie pushed his index finger into Joey’s chest. “Or I will drive up to Fort Wayne and kill you myself.” Eddie leaned around the man in front of him and waved to you. You sent him a nervous smile and a wave. Eddie stepped back and leaned against the wall and watched your cab disappear into the night. You sat backwards in your seat to watch Eddie’s figure shrink into nothing before turning back around with a sigh. Joey rested a hand on your bare knee and rubbed circles into your skin that felt like sandpaper.

“Let’s get you back to the hotel and nice and comfy, doll. Okay?” you silently shook your head at the boy beside you, wishing it was the mopheaded, dimple-cheeked boy you sat with at the bar all night.

Eddie let out a long sigh and crinkled his nose with a heartbroken sigh. He pulled the cigarette hiding behind his ear and popped it in his mouth. At least he could finally have his smoke.

You woke up with the same pounding in your head that you felt in your heart. The slow streets of Indianapolis were bustling already. You glanced over to the alarm clock on the side table in your small hotel room, reading 11:42am. You groaned, grabbed the glass of water by your bed and sat yourself up. You loathed getting back into a van with your bandmates and going home. In protest to all the fibers in your body, you packed your small bag, got yourself ready for the trip back home and shut the door to your hotel room behind you.

The rest of your band sprawled across the lobby, waiting for you and Joey. They looked as bad as you did; Owen and Dave looked as green as the tacky carpet and Jake had barely lifted his head to wish you a good morning. You sulked to the reception and dropped your key on the desk with a tight smile. The young woman who took your key gasped in remembrance.

“Oh! Someone left a note for you.” She slid a small, tattered piece of paper folded into a messy square. You picked up the note cautiously. You unfolded it. It took a moment to realize what you were reading, but when you did you continued with a shy, excited smile.

Your pulse quickened when you finished reading the note. You held it to your heart and said a thank you to the woman smiling knowingly at you. You pulled it away from your chest to make sure the ink was still preserved when the note was hastily snatched from your hands.

“What’s this?” Joey’s voice taunted. You could hear the sneer in his voice, but it was panged with insecurity. His eyes glazed over the note and looked at you in surprise. His voice was playful to everyone else’s ears, but you could feel the venom in his words.

“Look, guys,” Joey got the attention of the waiting boys in the lobby. They glanced over to the two of you. “Y/N Has a little admirer.” Your eyes were burning with angry tears. You lunged for the note, but Joey was faster. He wagged his finger at you as he read the chicken scratch. You wished you could snap it off.

“Wow, Eddie Munson underestimated you… Do you care to elaborate?” His eyes bored into you. The room was constricting and you needed air.

“Nothing, Joey. We were just talking.”

“Oh, this was about when he called you all those lovely names in the green room? Or backstage?” His eyes narrowed and yours fixated on the floor. You squirmed under Joey’s gaze, your bandmates feeling just as awkward as you now.

“He said he was-”

“Oh I know, I can read.” Joey stepped towards you, but didn’t lower his tone. “What did you do to convince him otherwise? God who would have known what would have happened if I didn’t take your sorry ass back last night? God, Y/N that was embarrassing.”

“Joey, knock it off man, it’s no biggie. We were all drunk last night.” Jake defended. He was silenced by the sharp look he received.

“Yeah, but we don’t get taken advantage of like she does. Hope it was worth it, doll, because you don’t need men like Eddie Munson in your life, and you won’t be seeing him anymore.” Joey sauntered over to a garbage can in the lobby and shredded the flimsy paper in his hands, along with your heart. His eyes never left yours. Your breath was caught in your throat and the molten tears finally spilled down your eyes. You grabbed your bag that had been dropped on the floor and stormed out of the hotel. The gaggle of shocked men followed behind you, each one giving Joey a disappointed glare on the way out. Dave was the last out, Joey following behind him.

“It was for her own good.” Joey tried to reason. Dave shook his head and scoffed him off. He swung the keys on his finger before hopping in the shabby van. You found your seat in the back by the instruments and pulled your Walkman out of your bag. You hastily shoved your headphones over your ears and desperately hoped the booming bass of the Beastie Boys would drown out any of the men’s voices. It was going to be a long ride back home.

Part two soooooon...

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