#and so will Corroded Coffin being famous as fuck

[wormdebut]

LET DOWN AND HANGING AROUND (CRUSHED LIKE A BUG IN THE GROUND)

Ahoy! This is my first VERY LATE ficlet for @corrodedcoffinfest ! My absolute bad for being so late, but BOY am I HAPPY TO BE HERE!

Warm Up Prompt One: Taxed. Word Count: 1000 (scrivener says 1000 Wordcounter says 979. IDK Man, it’s within limit), Rating: T, Pairing: None, CW: Swears, Smoking, Angst Tags: Eddie, Gareth, Jeff, Freak

----

October 1987

They've been at this for fucking years. Eddie feels like a fucking girl scout.

'Well hello there Mr. Music Man, would you like to buy a box of shitty garage band metal?'

Except they weren't fucking shitty. All of the guys had been working their assess off, writing, playing shows, shitty gig after shitty gig after shitty gig.

But they haven't managed anything. Nothing, zilch, nada.

They had a small crowd showing up at the Hideout, and the owner, Benny, started letting them play not only their usual Tuesday but because Eddie had been helping him with placehe was letting them play Saturday nights now too, which was great because while he appreciates the likes of his uncle and Wayne's best friends on Tuesdays, there were almost twenty people every Saturday night and that was something.

They also had a standing gig at a bar in Indianapolis at least once a month, lately they've been playing The Barrel every other week and Eddie thought--he thought--that that would get them somewhere.

The guys were fucking exhausted but Eddie kept pushing because they could do this. Corroded Coffin was great. They were great and somebody was going to see that…right?

Eddie saw what they had. He did. But the guys--

"C'mon Ed, we can't keep sneaking Gareth into bars forever. I think we need to--maybe consider other options or--" Jeff rambles. They were supposed to be practicing but Jeff Williams had to swoop inwith his stupid common sense bullshit. Jeff motherfucking Williams is one of the best guitarists Eddie has ever had to the privilege of listening to, but Jeff wants to go college like a real boy!

Gareth cuts him off, "It's just the two bars man, and I have a fake, if I need it anyw--"

Would you look at that, it's time for Freddy to cut in. "Yeah, but you're three feet tall and have the face of a newborn child."

Gareth shoves at Freddy's chest. "Oh fuck off, man. At least I'm not a virgin!" He yelps and great. This is great.

Now the band is fighting, again, because Jeff wants to go to College, Goodie is a Virgin, and Gareth is short.

Eddie just want to play music.

If they all want to yell, Eddie can yell louder. "See. Do you see what happens when you start talking about 'other options' Jeff? Chaos--and not the fun kind!"

"See, Eddie--this is the fucking problem with you. All you care about is your music, your dream, It's all about you!"

Jeff is yelling at Eddie, Gareth and Freak are rough housing, how did this even happen. All Eddie wants is to do something. Be something. He believes in this, in Jeff, and Freddy and Gareth, in the band.

And he gets that everyone is taxed, tired. Eddie is fucking exhausted. Gareth is trying to not fail his senior year. He gets it, he does, but-- "You know what, Jeff?" His voice breaks, and isn't that fucking humiliating? "Some of us, don't have college as an option. Did you ever consider that?"

Eddie leans over and grabs his cigarettes from the table, before shoulder checking Jeff as he leaves.

——

What’s the fucking point? Eddie puts everything into lyrics that people probably don't even know, all of them spend hours writing and harmonizing, making sure chords make sense, just for everything to be a pipe dream. They haven't taken a break for anything. It's either work or school or Coffin Shit. They haven't played D&D in months. They've just been doing this.

But it's all Eddie has. How the hell was he ever going to get out of shitty ass Hawkins, if it wasn't this way? He didn't exactly ace his finals--even the third time around. Honestly? He's pretty sure they just let him pass, to get him the fuck out of there.

He lights up what feels like his eighth cigarette--it's not, it's his second--and stares out to the empty street. They use Gareth's garage to practice…for being as straight laced as she is, Ms. Emerson sure does believe in the band.

Dottie Emerson and Eddie. God dammit, maybe Jeff is right.

He should go back, he should go back and apologize, and let this go. He has the job at the Hideout, he can save and maybe move to Indy--play an acoustic at some bars or…something.

God, he's just so tired of this shit.

He finishes his cigarette, and tries to breathe. Breathe in--hold--breathe out--he doesn't realizes Jeff until he taps his shoulder.

"Hey." Jeff says, quiet. Eddie, just nods, grabs his pack and offers a cancer-filled olive branch. Jeff takes it.

Eddie doesn't say anything. Doesn't want to, doesn't know what he should say.

So Jeff does. "I'm sorry, Ed. I didn't mean to make you upset. I'm just fucking tired man, we all are and I do want this, I do, but it's fucking scary." Eddie turns, watches Jeff blow out smoke. "I got accepted to IU, did you know that?"

Eddie blinks. He did not know that. "No, you hadn't mentioned it."

Jeff turns to look at him, "I didn't want this to happen."

Eddie closes his eyes, takes in a deep breath. In--hold--out. "You should go." He forces a smile, watches as Jeff's eyes shine for a moment--no wonder he had that silly crush on him his second senior year, but it was only for like a week, leave it alone--before he srunches his face up, Eddie can't help but laugh. Jeff always does that, when he's stressed. It makes him look like a rabbit.

Jeff goes to speak, but Eddie cuts him off. "Let's do this Halloween show, it'll be our going away gift to our tens of adoring fans."

Jeff laughs at that, nods, and pulls Eddie into a hug.

Everything will be fine, with or without Corroded Coffin.

[libraryofgage]

Steddie brainrot continues to worsen to a concerning degree but here's a crack idea that is absolutely sending me:

Famous Spicy Six in which Jonathon is a director who decides to work on a passion project: a Scooby-Doo movie. His ideal cast is as follows:

Nancy Wheeler (investigative journalist with a few special appearances on crime dramas) as Daphne Blake

Argyle (an actor with a habit of playing small parts; he acts only because he thinks it's fun, so he's not concerned with significant roles) as Shaggy Rogers

Robin Buckley (a well-known voice actor who is more well-known for her social media posts and clap-backs) as Velma Dinkley

Steve Harrington (basketball star who is also more well-known for his social media clap-backs and for being Corroded Coffin's number one fan) as Fred Jones

Eddie Munson (frontman for Corroded Coffin, an insanely popular metal/punk/rock band and "infamous" for unashamedly posting Steve Harrington thirst tweets) as the voice of Scooby-Doo

Corroded Coffin is also creating an entirely new, original soundtrack for the movie

And because I think it's funnier this way, this is also an AU where the Upside Down still happened, so Jonathon just calls his friends up and is like "Okay, so hear me out"

The absolute insanity that breaks out when both the movie and cast are announced because nobody can figure out how Jonathon managed to convince all these powerhouses to join his movie.

The further screaming online after one of the movie promo interviews where a reporter asks how they all agreed to the movie and Nancy hits them with, "Well, Jonathon asked, and he never asks for anything."

Which leads to the discovery that they all knew each other in high school, and the reporter jokingly asks if that means they've all dated each other, too, which leads to Eddie jumping in with absolute delight like, "Well, that's a funny story, there. See, Stevie here dated Nancy, who then dated Jonathon when they broke up, who then dated Argyle after they broke up. And I thought Stevie and Robin were dating, so I was very confused when I saw Robin and Nancy kissing. But then I found out that Robin was a true-blue lesbian, which meant Stevie here was open for the taking, and we've been banging ever since."

and Steve is just sitting there, head in his hands while Robin cackles and decides to tell the reporter all about Steve's "fuck I have a crush on Eddie" crisis

This interview, of course, leads to even more freaking out online and comments like "I know I asked for poly Scooby gang, but this is ridiculous," and "I can't believe that in this, the year of our lord 20xx, ScoobyXFreddy became a canon ship," and "if I had a nickel for every romantic relationship the Scooby gang actors have had with each other, I'd have five nickels, which is way more than any of us fucking expected to have," and "suddenly Eddie Munson's thirst tweets make a lot more sense, but can we talk about Steve Harrington's CC tweets now," and "everyone say thank you to Eddie Munson for revealing that mess of a relationship map," and "finally, the canon lesbian velma and daphne we deserve"

The movie is a box office hit, btw, and bloopers from filming roll with the credits, among which is Eddie Munson making Steve Harrington lose his shit laughing on set while dressed in a Scooby Doo onesie and singing Corroded Coffin songs with his Scooby Voice

[vapekingg]

Heyyy bestie, if you’re still looking for Eddie prompts, how about rockstar!eddie that’s like publicly obsessed with his wife, always talking bout her interviews and name dropping her in songs, and so he has gained the reputation of being a “wife guy” to all his fans.

Thank you! Shout out to my wife because I would also be Eddie "The Wife Guy" Munson if I were famous @doomsdaybby

"How are we feeling tonight, Los Angeles?" Eddie's voice is smooth and steady over the microphone that's stationed at the center of the stage.

The House of Blues. Los Angeles, California. Night eight of their second World Tour.

You and Eddie are used to the limelight. Your relationship had bloomed in it.

From the first day you met at The Hideout, to working the merch table at Corroded Coffin’s first shows, to getting engaged on stage during the encore of closing night on their first world tour.

It became sort of a thing, your romance. The higher Eddie’s band soared on the charts, the more desirable he became, the more the media swarmed you. They had questions, understandably.

Is this gonna last? Are you ever worried when Eddie’s on tour? Do you think he’s been faithful all these years?

As if you could dare to question Eddie's loyalty.

His manager had warned him to break things off with you when they first signed. Guys like him are supposed to remain available. They represent something in Hollywood. The sex, drugs, rock and roll of it all. But whenever those flashing lights started going off, he was quick to grab your hand or pull you into his ribs and fall into the roll of overprotective partner that his groupies so wish that he would abandon.

It's become sort of a thing — him name dropping you any chance he gets.

"The fans want to know, Eddie. What do you look for in a woman?" He'd recently been asked in an interview.

His eyebrows had scrunched up a bit, not understanding the question.

"I look for my wife." He'd responded with a flippant motion of his hand, as if the answer was that obvious.

You stand side-stage now. Eddie waves his arms in the air to egg the crowd on. Their screams are deafening even over the in-ear monitor that he had specially fitted for you.

"That's what I like to hear. All right, this next song goes out to my fucking wife!" He screams into the microphone.

This is the fifth song in a row that he has dedicated to you, and each time it gets the same reaction.

"Babe, this one's for you!" "Love you, sweetheart. This is our jam!" "Everyone give it up for Mrs. Fucking Munson!"

You can't hear your own laughter over the sound of the drums that begin with the strum of his guitar, but it's there. The laughter is always there.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiesmuttyseptember.

Ready For It?

Week #1 Prompt: Mile High Club | Word Count: 2589 | Rating: E | POV: Steve | CW: Sex Acts, Risk of Being Heard, Alcohol Consumption | Tags: Famous Corroded Coffin, Road Manager Steve, Established Relationship, Steve Will Make Good on an Old Promise, But The Guys of Corroded Coffin Don't Wish to Hear It

"Are you ready for it?" Eddie asks, standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. Steve hears it creak, and rattle, under his weight. It's a door that's not made to be touched or used, only looked at, Steve's pretty sure.

"Don't lean on that. What's it?" Steve asks, not looking up from the binder that's on the desk in front of him. He has a thousand things to look over before they land, and he really doesn't have time for whatever nonsense Eddie's proposing. 

And Steve knows Eddie well enough to know it really could be anything that he's trying to break Steve's concentration with. A tray of shots. A racoon he smuggled on board the plane. Or just his finger sticking out of the fly of his jeans, so he can pretend it's his dick. 

Nothing would surprise him at this point. Between the four of them, he's seen everything twice at this point. Okay, maybe not the raccoon. But Eddie would, if he could just get one caught.

"It," Eddie stresses again, but not elaborating any further. 

Steve finally looks up, "It, like, the clown? What do you mean, it? You love to talk, use your words."

Steve's sure he sounds snappish, and short-tempered. But he's always this way before a show, and Eddie knows it. He entered at his own risk. There's too much to do, and never enough time.

That's why Steve gets this back section of the plane, the only bit of privacy on board, unless he wants to hang out in the john. So, he squirrels away back here so he can work while they're flying from show to show. It's technically a bedroom, and there is a bed that any of them are welcome to use to sleep while Steve works, as long as they are fucking quiet about it. 

Eddie's never quiet, though. 

And today surely won't be the moment that changes. 

Eddie laughs, amused and delighted, and it's a good sound, so Steve relaxes against his will, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Spit it out," Steve says, raising an eyebrow, then watches as Eddie pulls the flimsy accordion door closed behind him. It's not much of a door, more of a paper-thin screen, and Steve hopes whatever Eddie's about to say is something he's fine with the rest of the band hearing, because. Well. Door basically made of tissue paper and paper clips.

Lean on it, and you're definitely crashing through, as if you're the Kool-Aid Man, and that's why Steve just leaves it pushed open all the time. He's scared if any of them touch it, they'll destroy it and then they'll have to pay some ungodly amount of money to replace a shitty excuse for a fucking door.

Eddie flops on the bed, or what passes for one at the back of a small, private plane. For as much as this costs to lease, Steve really thinks it should be a little more sturdy in the furniture department. 

Steve watches as Eddie then runs his hands over his body, down his chest, finally settling on framing his crotch with his hands. 

"That's it?" Steve questions, trying not to laugh, but he's smiling. He can't not. Eddie's ridiculous. But he loves him. 

"C'mon, you promised we'd join the mile high club. Let's do it now."

Steve had promised that, a long time ago, when it seemed highly unlikely that he'd ever have to make good on the deal. Eddie wanted to do it on a commercial flight once upon a time, and Steve preferred to not have an audience of three-hundred and an indecent exposure arrest on his record when the plane touched down.

So, he'd promised that when Eddie made it big, and had his own private plane, they'd do it then.

Fucker probably went and did it just to spite Steve. 

But Steve smiles, "You can't be serious. They are right out there. They can hear every word we're saying-"

"We can!" Gareth yells from the other side of the sad excuse for a door, "And we are formally requesting that this not happen. We voted."

Eddie laughs, and shouts back, "You don't get to vote on whether I have sex or not! This is not a fucking democracy!"

"We do. We did. It is," Goodie says back, interjecting, not even raising his voice. He doesn't need to, nothing is blocking the sound, and Steve can hear all three of them cackling. He's sure they're each three drinks into the mini bar by now. 

He really should go take it away. They've got a show tonight, and he needs everybody to be able to stand on their own two feet. Well, Gareth just has to be able to sit. But Steve's not gonna remind him of that. Give him an inch, he'll take a mile.

Eddie sticks out his bottom lip. 

"You'll trip on that lip, if you keep it up," Steve says, looking back down at his tour bible. 

"Steve," Eddie whines. 

Steve closes his binder, and crawls up on the bed, until he's hovering over Eddie's face, whispering, "We will. I don't renegade on my deals, you know that. But not right now. Wait until we're at least halfway alone."

Eddie's about to argue, Steve can tell, he always can, when they hear an acoustic guitar plucking out the melody to Let's Get It On. Then it's followed by laughing, and Gareth drumming on something with his hands, and Goodie making bass noises with his mouth. 

Eddie laughs, "Okay. Point taken."

And Steve's fucking thrilled, because those three already know more about their sex life than Steve would ever prefer. 

"Alright, alright!" Eddie shouts, and they howl as they stop. 

Eddie's big eyes are still pouting, but he nods, ever so slightly.

"Nap with me at least?" Eddie asks.

Steve looks at his watch, figures out the remaining duration of the flight plan, and decides he probably has enough time for a short nap.

"That I can do," Steve says, and crawls on the bed, curling against Eddie's side. 

"I really wanted to join that club," Eddie says. "I wanna get my wings."

Steve laughs, "That's not how you get wings"

"It could be," Eddie stresses. And yeah, Steve supposes it could.

"Okay. You will," Steve promises. Just, hopefully when everybody else is knocked the fuck out. 

They have almost no privacy from each other, as is, but doing that with them right there would be ridiculous. They'd never hear the end of it. 

Eddie rolls off the bed, standing up, and starts removing his jeans. Steve's seen this move before. He knows the ending, and waggles his finger, shutting that shit down. 

Eddie doesn't listen. He never does. And the jeans hit the ground, the heavy belt buckle reverberating as it lands. 

Then he's standing there in his boxer briefs. Hand fondling his dick. 

Steve shakes his head. 

Eddie pantomimes jacking himself off, then points at his eyes, then at Steve, then at his own eyes again. 

Steve rolls his eyes. There's no way in hell Eddie can stand there and jerk off with Steve watching, and stay completely quiet. 

But if Eddie wants to embarrass himself, which probably isn't even possible, then he can go right ahead. As long as Steve doesn't have to be involved in any compromising ways.

So, Steve folds his hands behind his head, propping himself up, and crosses his legs at the ankle, getting comfortable. 

Then raises his eyebrows, like, I'm waiting. 

Eddie wastes no time, he steps out of his underwear, and strokes himself one, twice, then holds up a finger. Telling Steve to wait. Steve waits as Eddie bends over, bare ass mooning him, and Steve smiles. 

He's never prepared for anything. 

He finally digs around in his duffle until he comes up with the lube and raises his eyebrows, slicking up his hand, and going back to stroking. 

He tilts his head back, exposing his throat, and Steve looks between that length of pale skin and his hard cock sliding in and out of his fist. The soft sound of his strokes, the sight of the head of his cock appearing and disappearing, his other hand on his chest, playing with the ring through his nipple.

Fucker.

It's working on Steve, of course it is, even if he's not gonna cave and get fucked right now. But he'll enjoy the show, and has to force himself to not give in and join in. He won't give Eddie the satisfaction.

Eddie adjusts his head back upright, and catches Steve's eyes. Then he looks down at his slick cock, gazing at his own hand as if he isn't the one doing it to himself.

And they both watch. The slide, the firm grip of his talented, calloused fingers, and Steve lets out a small involuntary noise.

That's all it takes. Eddie's gonna come. Steve can see it in the shudder that rolls through his body, can see it in the tension in his stomach, his forearm, as he slows his stroke as he looks around for something to come in, to not make a fucking mess. Unprepared, as always.

Steve takes pity on him, and sits up, scooting towards the edge of the bed, letting Eddie slot between his thighs. 

Then he lowers his head, and opens his mouth. 

Eddie keeps stroking, and then slips the head of his cock past Steve's lips, the underside of his length rubbing against Steve's tongue, as he thrusts in once, twice, shudders and bites back a whine as he pushes all the way in, coming.

Steve closes around him, bobbing slightly, and swallowing as Eddie chuckles. Steve lets go, and licks his lips. 

Eddie bends down, slick hand finding Steve's cheek, and Steve can't even complain as he kisses him. Then Eddie's crawling onto the bed and falling face first into his pillow, sure to be asleep in a minute or less. 

Steve slides back off the bed, wipes his face with Eddie's shirt, and goes back to work at the desk. 

The show is textbook, running smooth and on schedule, and then they are wheels up again just a couple hours after. Off to the next one. The pace of this tour is faster than any other they've been on before. 

Steve's balancing the books from the night, when Eddie very carefully slides through the flimsy door, slotting the accordion door into place behind him. Turning the lock that can only be decorative. Steve had heard them out there doing shots and playing cards, the noise slowly dwindling as they wound down, the adrenaline finally fading.

"Everyone's asleep," Eddie whispers, "Now? Can it be now?"

"Didn't we already check that off the list?" Steve teases him. 

"That didn't count," Eddie hisses, eyes pleading. 

Eddie had somehow conned the band into playing a metal version of Learning to Fly during their encore earlier, really stressing the "I'm learning to fly, but I ain't got wings" portion of the song. Steve had heard him loud and clear.

Steve looks at him, standing there looking so hopeful, and laughs, "Okay. It can be now."

Eddie smiles so fucking wide. He's adored by fans worldwide, he just stood in front of a roaring stadium crowd a few hours ago, for god's sake, but Steve knows it's somehow still him that Eddie most wants attention from.

And he'll damn well give it to him.

Steve's facedown on the bed, and Eddie's grinding into him so slowly, trying to not make any noise. Not that he thinks anything would wake the rest of them up at this point in the night, but still.

Eddie's doing such good fucking work that Steve wants to moan. To whine. To scream. He doesn't know how Eddie has the drive, the stamina, after a whole night on stage. He just never stops, and right now, Steve is the lucky beneficiary of all that boundless energy.

And he can't help it, Steve lets out a muffled whine and Eddie covers his whole back, pressing into him, "Be quiet, sweetheart." 

Steve nods. He can be quiet. He can. 

Eddie doesn't move, just stays laying on top of him, his full weight pressing Steve down into the mattress as he slowly grinds his dick right into Steve's prostate.

It's torture.

It's hell.

It's fucking goddamn perfect.

Just a slow, firm roll of his hips, pushing up into him, over and over, and Steve is gonna come. 

The moan starts to escape his lips, and Eddie's hand is suddenly over his mouth, meant to silence him, but all it does is push him right over the edge. Body spasming as he comes into the sheets of the leased plane bed. 

Eddie chuckles, thrusting another half a dozen times, before coming inside him. He releases Steve's mouth, and Steve sighs, Eddie collapsing on top of him. Still deep inside. Right where he belongs.

"Fuck," Eddie whispers, and Steve laughs.

Fuck indeed.

"Oh, gross," Steve hears, and opens one eye. Gareth is standing in the doorway of the bedroom, looking at them laying on the stripped bed, the dirty sheets balled up in the corner, on the floor.

"I thought I locked that," Eddie says, not even opening his eyes.

At least they aren't naked. It could be worse. It really is a fucking worthless door, though.

"Twenty minutes to landing," Gareth says, "You need to get your asses in seats."

"Says who?" Eddie mutters.

"The pilot, asshole," Gareth answers.

Eddie groans, not moving, but Steve rolls out of the bed. Cars should be waiting at the airport to take them to a hotel so they can get some actual rest, and showers, before the show tonight. He definitely needs one.

"Eddie," Steve says, "get up."

"No," Eddie says, and Steve laughs. Now he's suddenly too tired to do anything. His motivation clearly all dried up since he got what he wanted.

"Yes," Steve says, pulling his shirt over his head.

Eddie mutters and grumbles, but flings himself off of the mattress, falling to his knees on the floor of the plane, crawling around, grabbing at his clothes. Eyes still closed. Hands reaching out, patting around, like he's a little raccoon looking for food.

It's a method of getting dressed, Steve supposes. Not a good one. But a method, nonetheless.

Eventually, they slide into their seats and buckle up, just in time to feel the decent starting, and Steve looks at Eddie. Eyes closed again, already falling back asleep. He reaches over, and slides the needle of the pin through Eddie's shirt.

Eddie opens his eyes, and looks down to see what Steve's doing.

They are a pair of golden wings, like children get to celebrate their first flight. Steve had asked their private pilot if he had any when they landed earlier, but he hadn't. However, when they reboarded after the gig, Steve climbing the portable steps, the pilot had handed over a pair he'd scrounged up at the airport while they were gone to the gig.

Now, Steve has gotten to give them to Eddie.

"Your wings," Steve explains.

And Eddie just grins, covering the pin with his hand.

Steve shakes his head, and looks down at his binder, going over the schedule for the coming day, and the days after.

He smiles to himself, happy that Eddie's happy, and decides that maybe he needs to pencil a few more of these mile high sessions into the official itinerary, after all.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiesmuttyseptember and follow along with the filthy fun! 💦

Notes: Song from the encore is Tom Petty's Learning to Fly.

[asbealthgn]

(i am not immune to peer pressure so here's a continuation. part one here)

It’s so rare that Steve meets anyone nice anymore.

It’s just hard to find people. Dating apps suck, and ever since Robin and Nancy got together, they hardly ever want to go to bars together. And what’s he supposed to do, just drink alone and hope he stumbles across someone? 

Well, that’s exactly what happened today, sans drinking. He was heading for the bus stop, a tiny bit lost but he had a map and was pretty sure he could figure it out. He realizes he’s a tiny bit directionally challenged, and he’s still relatively new in town, and Robin and Nancy just moved to a new place, so it all came together to mean that getting there would take some puzzling out. All the same, he was prepared to figure it out on his own right up until he saw the super hot guy sitting at the bus stop and figured a little help couldn’t hurt.

And that’s how Steve ended up with an unexpected date (sort of) to Robin and Nancy’s baby shower (not a real baby shower).

Robin answers the door and smiles, then does a double take when she sees Eddie. Whoops, Steve probably should have texted her that he was bringing someone. He’d gotten a little caught up in the moment.

“Hey, hope you don’t mind I brought a plus one,” Steve says, hugging her before walking inside. Eddie follows him.

“No, no, that’s fine,” Robin says, voice a little strange as they take their shoes off and she shuts the door. “We’re all in the living room.”

They follow her through the kitchen and into the living room where half a dozen calico kittens and several adults are on the floor.

“Oh my God, they’re adorable,” Eddie says, leaving Steve’s side to get down next to the kittens. Steve gets a huge smile watching him. Fuck, he’s super hot and he’s now holding a tiny kitten, cooing at it? Steve might just get on one knee right now. Or both knees. Honestly, either one works.

If he were paying more attention to literally anything other than Eddie, Steve would notice that nearly everyone else in the room is also staring at Eddie. The only exception to that is El, who’s sitting cross-legged on the floor with the mama cat in her lap, both watching the kittens with the same wide-eyed intensity.

There’s a tap on Steve’s shoulder, and he turns to look at Robin. “Can we talk for a sec?” she asks, voice still odd.

“Yeah,” he says and follows her back into the kitchen.

She crosses her arms and leans back against the counter. “So are you gonna tell me what Eddie Munson is doing in our living room?”

“Oh, have you already met him?” Steve asks.

Her eyes widen. “Are you being serious right now?”

“Uh. Yes?”

“Steve, that’s Eddie Munson,” she says, “From Corroded Coffin?”

“From what?” he asks, though as she says, it does sound a tiny bit familiar. 

“Corroded Coffin?” she says, “It’s that band the kids love. Along with like half of America if they’re not completely scandalized by them.”

“So what, you’re trying to tell me Eddie’s famous?” Steve asks. Robin nods. “Hold on, this isn’t like Paul all over again, is it?” Paul was a guy Steve briefly dated a few years ago, and Robin had somehow convinced Steve that he was an Olympic athlete. In his defense, she had mocked up some seriously convincing news articles.

But Robin is shaking her head. “No, I’m serious this time,” she says. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone. After a second she turns it around to show him the Google results for Eddie Munson. There are a lot of red carpets and pictures of him onstage. And damn, Eddie seriously is so hot.

“Alright, well, you definitely didn’t have time to photoshop these,” Steve mutters. Robin nods, patting him on the shoulder. How did he accidentally bring a famous guy over?

Just then, Eddie comes into the kitchen, a kitten in his hands. 

“Stevie, look at her,” he says, holding the kitten up.

Stevie? Robin mouths. Steve kicks her as he reaches out to scratch under the kitten’s chin. It mews at him.

“I asked Nancy—she’s terrifying, by the way,” Eddie adds to Robin, “And she said I can keep her.” He lifts the kitten to his face and it purrs as it rubs its cheek against Eddie’s. Steve is actually going to combust.

“Alright, well, I’m heading back in,” Robin says, voice back to that strained quality as she escapes the kitchen. Eddie doesn’t seem to notice, too busy whispering praise to the kitten.

Steve scratches under its chin again and it purrs at him. “What’re you gonna name her?” he asks.

“Don’t know yet,” Eddie says, “Isn’t she per—oh, hold on.” His phone is ringing, so he moves the kitten to one hand as he reaches into his pocket and pulls it out. “Hey Gar….Yeah, ‘cause you abandoned me….No, I’m in Japantown getting a kitten….No, that’s not a euphemism….Listen, I’m kinda busy, I’ll call you later, alright?…Yeah, see you, man.”

While he was talking, the kitten clawed its way up Eddie’s shirt and into his hair. “What’re you doing in there, sweet girl?” he asks, tucking his phone back into his pocket and reaching for the kitten. It’s gotten very tangled in his curls, though, and apparently really likes being there. 

“Lemme help you,” Steve says, stepping closer to Eddie and extricating the kitten. Eddie’s hair is very soft. Good to know. “Here you go,” he says, holding the kitten out for him.

“One sec,” Eddie says. He ties his hair up quickly (also hot, fuck) before taking the kitten back. He boops noses with it. “Such a mischievous little girl.” 

“Well, can you blame her?” Steve asks. He brushes a loose curl behind Eddie’s ear. “Your hair seems like a nice place to be.”

Eddie smiles at him, a dimple appearing on his cheek. “I’ll be honest, Stevie,” he says, voice getting a little lower as he moves closer, boxing Steve against the counter. “At first I just came along because you’re gorgeous, but I think I’ve fallen in love.” He holds up the kitten in one hand.

“You think I’m gorgeous?” Steve asks, feeling his face heat. 

“‘Course I do, big boy,” Eddie says, leaning closer and putting his free hand on the counter by Steve’s hip.

Maybe this is stupid and way too forward, but Eddie is so dreamy with his eyes and his dimple and his hair and the kitten in his hand, so Steve leans in and kisses him. It’s a little relieving when Eddie kisses him back, free hand lifting to his hair while Steve wraps his arms around his waist.

Steve doesn’t notice the front door opening or a new group of people that includes Dustin Henderson coming inside. He doesn’t notice them entering the kitchen and freezing as they take in the scene.

That is, not until Dustin shouts, “Holy shit, is that Eddie Munson?”

tagging a few people who asked for a continuation/asked to be tagged (sorry if i missed anyone!): @nburkhardt @stargyles @csinnamon-fox @manda-panda-monium @silly-jellyghoty @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @starquirk

edit to add that this ficlet is complete and the last part is here

[runninriot]

written for the @corrodedcoffinfest prompt 'behind the scenes'

fun to be famous

wc: 1000 | rated: M | cw: language | tags: famous Corroded Coffin, musicians Jeff, Gareth and Frank, frontman Eddie Munson, model Steve Harrington, the 'struggles' and perks of being famous

Eddie hates photo shoots. Hates the clothes the stylist chose for him to wear. Hates having to pose like a soulless mannequin just to portray some bullshit cliché - surrounded by cheap props like fucking plastic skulls with red glowing eyes that look absolutely hideous. Really ruins the magic of the end result when you know what’s going on behind the scenes.

But he knows it’s part of the game, part of what makes people want to buy their albums, and merch, and come to their shows.

It’s a small price to pay, really, when put in perspective. Because what’s a few hours of being uncomfortable if in return, they get to live their fucking dream.

To be the rock stars they always wanted to be, playing sold-out shows in huge arenas, listening to massive crowds singing their songs back to them.

Still, he hates it.

Especially because they always put him upfront, always the centerpiece of every goddamn magazine cover, as if the other members don’t matter as much. It's stupid but his band mates never complain about it. And maybe he brought it upon himself for being a bit of an attention whore on stage.

It was never a conscious choice; he’s always just being himself. Sue him for looking damn fucking good in his mesh tops, and skin-tight leather pants. For loving to make the crowd go wild when he struts around with his pierced nipples out in the open, wearing a skirt that barely covers his best bits, and thigh-high boots.

He loves to be just a little extravagant and coquettishly playful when putting on a show.

That, and the fact that he's always been unashamedly open about his sexuality and his many hook-ups in the past, gave him a certain… reputation. And he’s completely fine with that, really, as long as the way they’re marketing said image doesn't take away from the really important stuff, which is and always has been the music.

They are good at what they do, all of them, didn’t become famous for nothing.

Jeff, Gareth and Frank are exceptionally gifted musicians. And Eddie doesn’t just say this because they’ve been his best friends forever. It’s a fact. And without them, Corroded Coffin wouldn’t be the band it is.

Eddie wouldn’t be who he is without them.

That’s why he wants to protest when the photographer suggests to do a few shots of just Eddie, to ‘give the people what they want.’, but his treacherous friends beat him to it, agree happily to step back and let them do their thing.

He’s told to sit down on some kind of makeshift throne like he’s the Dark Lord himself, while someone calls for someone else to ‘bring in the models’.

Eddie’s mouth falls open when he sees the two ravishing beauties that look like they’ve just tumbled out of a kinky fantasy. The girl is petite with big blue eyes and the cutest smile, her strawberry blond hair in a high ponytail, dressed in lace and leather, enhancing the perfect shape of her body. She’s gorgeous and totally his type, but-

It's the other model, the guy, who has Eddie's full attention. Because holy shit, that man’s a wet dream come true and for once, being in the spotlight doesn't seem so bad anymore.

Eddie thinks he might be in love.

The photographer is yelling instructions but Eddie can hardly hear what he's saying. He’s too distracted by the way the girl drapes herself lasciviously over the armrest on his left, making him feel hot all over with her closeness. And when the guy drops down to his knees in front of him, both hands on Eddie's thighs, looking up at him like he's a fucking God - Eddie forgets how to breathe.

He moves on autopilot, mindlessly following orders. Not once taking his eyes off the beautiful fucking good boy at is feet, thinking dirty rotten thoughts about all the things he'd do to him if this scenario was real and not just for reader-baiting purposes.

It all ends too soon. He could've done this for hours.

Eddie is in the dressing room when someone knocks at the door. And because he assumes it's one of his mates, he just calls for them to 'Come in!', unbothered by his state of undress, naked except for his underwear – nothing to hide once you've shared a tour bus so many times – standing with his back to the door, rummaging around in his suitcase for a fresh set of clothes.

"Sorry to bother you. I just wanted to as-ohmygod! I am so sorry! I didn't know you where-"

Eddie turns around so quickly it makes him dizzy, surprised to find not Gareth, or Frank, or Jeff but another a familiar set of eyes staring back at him.

It’s hot guy from earlier.

“You’re not a fan, huh?” Eddie asks with a cocky grin on his face, just a bit too proud of himself for how quickly he regained his composure. “Because if you were, you wouldn’t be so shocked to see me half-naked.” Eddie winks and pretty boy's face turns a deep cherry-red.

“No, I, uh, I mean, yes. I mean-,“ the guy struggles for words and it's so precious, Eddie wants to bite him.

“I wanted to ask you for an autograph.”

Oh please. Baby, you can have so much more.

“Tell you what, sweetheart. I’ll sign my name if you give me your number. How’s that sound?”

When Eddie reunites with his friends 30 minutes later, Gareth is immediately onto him.

“Please tell me you didn’t just fuck the model.”

“His name is Steve and you know what they say - what happens behind the scenes, stays there.”

“Literally no one says that. And you’re a slut.” Gareth laughs and Frank and Jeff agree.

They're not wrong, Eddie’s definitely a slut for Steve. And he can’t wait to meet him at the hotel room later to finish what they started.

[justmeinadaze]

Yin and Yang Part 2 (Steddie X You)

Warnings: Older Daddy Eddie (Late 30s)/ Older Dom Mr. Harrington (Late 30s) & Younger Fem Sub Y/N (mid 20s), SMUT, voyeurism (technically; Eddie's not far lol), male masturbation, big dick Steve Harrington :P, dirty talk (LOTS of dirty talk), light spanking (once), light choking (once), established relationship mentioned and vaguely touched on between Steddie, aftercare always.

There's no real angst or fluff. Eddie does have a moment where he's worried about Y/N and does a temperature check but other than that nothing big. Just a lot of self indulgent smut. I have some ideas for more parts to expand on all three of them so more for sure because I am a thirsty lady.

Word Count: 4973

Part 1 here/ Donate to Me :)

It had been a little over three hours since you and your boyfriend had arrived at his best friend’s house and had yet to run into the host at all. To be fair, Steve Harrington’s house was much larger than even Eddie’s but the man told you he didn’t need a lot of space having grown up in a trailer. 

The party he had invited you both to was in full swing with guests running wild knowing they could leave any mess since they didn’t live here. People everywhere were lip locked with a significant other as hands roamed in places that were meant to be private. Drunk hooligans were screaming and shouting, some happy and others angry. 

A few guests like the man you loved were calmly talking shop as you remained at his side. You’d be lying however if you said you weren’t a little…bored. 

“Eddie, Chemical Waste is a great band with a magnificent drummer but I don’t see how you’re going to get the general public to attach to them the way they did Corroded Coffin.”, a man in a suit practically whined making even you cringe. 

“And that’s why I bring in more money than you, Jesse. I don’t take good sounds for granted especially where a rock band fits in any aspect of life.”

“Pfft please! It’s not like you can get in the mood to metal.”

“Hm. Well, you’re definitely not fucking any woman right then.”, Eddie replied cheekily as he glanced your way. “Are you alright?”, he asked, noticing your antsy demeanor. 

“Yeah, baby. I’m going to go outside for a bit and get some air.”

“I’ll come with you—”

“No, Eddie. It’s alright. I won’t be long.”

“Y/N, I don’t think you should be wondering around here alone.” When you sigh and roll your eyes, his own irises shift into that particular dark look you had come to know very well. Taking a step closer to you, he lowered his voice so only you would be able to hear. “Do I need to scold you here in front of all these people, little girl? Is that the first impression you want to make?”

“No.”

“No, what?”

“No, Daddy.”

His chocolate eyes flick to the balcony patio outside before sighing heavily himself. 

“Go out that door but don’t go where I can’t see you.”

“Okay…”, you reply but when you start to walk away, Eddie grabs your wrist, pulling you to his chest and lightly kisses your lips making you smile. “I love you.”

“I love you to.”

***

Leaning against the railing, you took in the city around you. Being with a famous music producer allowed you to see parts of the world you never thought you’d get to experience even just in the town you were from. Coming from a small area with very little money, you were barely able to cross the street let alone a state line to see new things. 

You never took for granted the sights and places Eddie took you to even if it was just the inside of hotel room for a lay over to the next place. The first time he flew you somewhere, you cried, fearing you were taking advantage him. 

“Baby, it’s ok. I like taking you on trips like this and seeing you have fun.”

“I just don’t want you to feel like this is the only reason I’m with you.”

Eddie chuckles at your statement as if it’s the cutest thing he’s ever heard and pulls you into his embrace. 

“The fact that you’re worried about that tells me you’re different than the other people I’ve met. No one even cares enough to be concerned about that kind of thing.”

“Does Eddie know you’re out here all by your lonesome?” You jump at the sound of the man’s voice who immediately throws up his hands in surrender. “I’m so sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to startle you. To be honest, I thought you were just some woman who snuck in because I didn’t remember inviting someone as gorgeous as you.” He smirked cockily when you blushed, leaning his elbow against the railing. 

“Then of course I remembered my best friend was bringing his girl over. Hi, I’m Steve Harrington.”

When he extended his hand to yours, you shook it relaying your name softly as he continued to hold your palm. 

“So does he know? Eddie? That you’re out here alone?”

“Of course.”, you grin as your eyes gesture towards your boyfriend whose own eyes met his friends as he smiled. 

“Oh, of course.”, he teased as he obnoxiously waved his way. “I’m not going to lie, a part of me was hoping there was a bit of a bad girl in that sexy dress so we could have a bit more fun. Nothing hotter than watching Eddie get tightly wound.”

When your head tilted to the side, he chuckled as he took a sip of the whiskey in his glass. 

“I guess he didn’t tell you. That’s alright. Wouldn’t want to overwhelm you when it’s your first time meeting me. I understand that.”

“I wouldn’t get overwhelmed.”

“No? It wouldn’t intimidate you to know that Eddie and I have fucked before?”

Steve’s eyes locked with yours as a steady breath escaped your lips. The action itself didn’t intimidate you but the casual way he was speaking about it as if he was talking about the weather. 

“N-No…it doesn’t intimidate me. You’re a lot more forward than he is.”

“Pfft, you’re not wrong.”, he laughs. “I spent most of life being pushed around by my father so I decided when I got my own company I’d never do that again. If I wanted something, I’d say it.”

“He’s teaching me how to do that. I’m not great at that especially when I’m…”

“When you’re what, honey? Tell me.”

“W-When I’m calling him Daddy.”

“You mean when you’re in that little girl headspace?” A bit to aggressively you nod your head making his smile widen as his palm reaches out to caress your cheek. “I can help you with that, pretty girl, if you want me to.”

“Wait.”, you reply suddenly grasping his wrist and his eyes promptly fill with genuine concern. “I just, um, everyone here thinks I’m with Eddie. I mean I am with Eddie but… if people see you touching me like this it could affect his business. I wouldn’t want to jeopardize that or anything.”

Again, Steve’s head tilts.

“Huh. You’re more worried about him and how he’ll be perceived than yourself?”

“To an extent. People can think whatever they want independently. You can’t control that but if it interrupts my life or his or even yours…”

For a second, you thought you may have offended him with how his jaw jutted out and he clicked his tongue against his teeth until he started addressing people outside. 

“Attention! Everyone listen up! Thank you for coming but I need everyone to leave!” Murmurs and awkward giggles flow through the crowd before he claps his hands and shouts even louder. “You people heard me! Get the fuck out of my house! That’s right, come on now. Oh, I know. You’ll have to get free booze somewhere else.”

Your eyes widen as you power walk to your boyfriend and hastily loop your arm through his. 

“I think I did something wrong.”

“What do you mean, sweetheart?”

“H-He’s kicking us all out.”

“Not everyone, baby girl. We’re still welcome to stay unless you want to go.”, Eddie asks as his hand cups your cheek. “Do you want to leave?”

Glancing towards Steve, who was coming back down the hallway, ushering people out from the bedrooms while they hurriedly put back on their clothes, you shook your head and leaned on the boy’s shoulder. 

“No, Daddy, I don’t want to leave.”

He blinked as you used his title so freely without prompting and a sigh of relief left his chest; you were comfortable. 

“Yes, alright, alright. Thank you for coming and destroying my space. My cleaning lady would like me to remind you that she hates you all. Ok, ba-bye.”, the businessman continued to sass before slamming the door shut and raising his arms in victory. “All gone! Now it’s just us.”

“I’m sorry if I upset you.”, you respond meekly, grabbing his attention. 

Balancing his hands on his knees, Steve bends to your level as his soft eyes find yours. 

“Look at me, honey? Do I look upset?”, he asked in a calm tone.

“You kicked everyone out…”

“Yeah, you mentioned being afraid of ruining our businesses and reputation if people saw me touching or talking to you a certain way. I don’t care about the people I kicked out but I do care if you and Eddie are comfortable.” When he reached out to caress your cheek, this time you allowed it as you tenderly kissed the pad of his thumb as it grazed your lips making him smile. 

“Are you both hungry? I don’t know about you but I’m starving.”

###############

You giggled from your place on the sofa as you took a bite of the food Steve had ordered for you three while he continued to regale you with stories of his friendship with your boyfriend. 

“I kid you not, honey, this party in LA was insane. It reminded me of dance scene in Moulin Rouge where she dangles from the roof. Girls where dancing fucking everywhere and this guy acted like he was stepping into his office or some shit. Just like zero emotion painted on his face.”

“Look, that’s your scene, Harrington, not mine. I’m more into like metal shows and concerts, things like that. I don’t know how to be at a regular party let alone that.”

“I think you did well tonight, baby.”, you beam as you tilt towards him to kiss his cheek. 

Steve silently studies the exchange as his friend blushes and places his hand back on your calf to continue massaging your legs comfortingly. When you lean back against the couch your eyes linger on his smile before you turn towards the other man and notice that he was watching. 

“What about you, honey? What’s your scene?”

“Um…I’m not really sure to be honest. It may sound cliché but right now it’s Eddie. I love everywhere he takes me and places he shows me. I feel like I’m taking advantage though.”

“Baby, you’re not taking advantage. You know I love taking care of you.”

“I know but…I can’t help that I have a heart.”, you smile.

“Hm. Is that why you agreed to this? Because he wants you to?” When your gaze shifts his way and you flash him a confused look, Steve can’t help but sarcastically chuckle. “Don’t play dumb, Y/N. The three of us know you’re not just here to meet me. There’s a whole other side to Mr. Munson here that no one knows about that I just find so fucking attractive.”

While he speaks Eddie’s eyes lock with his friends as his demeaner hardens while Steve cockily grins his way. 

“Eddie would never force me to do anything I didn’t want to.”

“Huh uh. Your point being…?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be, Mr. Harrington. I just know how important you are to him and I don’t…want to disappoint…”

“I highly doubt that’s possible, pretty girl.”, the businessman grins your way. “He means a lot to me to. Eddie’s saved me from myself a few times and been there when no one else was. Which is why I’m asking the questions that I am.” Slithering to the carpet, he scoots his body till he’s in front of you and takes your legs off Eddie’s lap to place them in front of himself. “We want you to do this because you want to. Not because you think it will appease him…which it will but…”, he chuckles. 

Your eyes scan over him as he waits for you to respond. 

Steve had taken some effort to dress up for his party donning a suit that haphazardly hung to his frame. After everyone left, he had removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, leaving a couple of buttons open on his chest to show off the undershirt that barely covered the chest hair peeking through. 

His slacks were a bit baggy but the belt that clung to his waist accentuated his hips making you promptly want to wrap your arms around him. His hair, that had been styled when you first saw him, was now frayed due to him running his fingers through it as he spoke throughout the dinner and if he had bothered shaving this morning, you couldn’t tell with the light shades of hair that dusted his upper lip. 

While Steve came off strong, he radiated a safety that told you everything was ok and that you could trust him. 

“Can we go slow?”

“Of course. Of course, baby.”, Eddie comforts as he slides closer to you and wraps his arm around your shoulders. “Just say Red like I taught you if you get uncomfortable, ok?”

“Ok, Daddy. I love you.”

“I love you to, princess.”, he whispers as he kisses your lips. 

“Are there any hard no’s for either of you?”, Steve asked as his fingers slid down your legs till he reached your heel and began unbuttoning the clasp.

“She’s pretty timid so she’s not really into the rougher stuff.”

“Can she not tell me?”, the man snickers as he moves to your other foot. 

After rolling his eyes, Eddie gestured towards his friend urging you to answer. 

“I’m open to trying anything… just…don’t hurt me…”

“You have to define ‘hurt’, honey.”

“Don’t like punch me or anything.”

Your answer gave Steve pause as his gaze shifted between you and your boyfriend. 

“Y/N, that never crossed my mind. I would never hurt you like that. I know some people are into that but I know Eddie and he knows me. We don’t want to see you hurt or cry like that. No one’s ever hurt you like that right? Because I’ll fucking kick their ass.”

“No, Sir.”, you giggle at his slightly teasing yet protective tone. “No one’s ever hurt me like that. I just…like I said, I’m new to all this. Eddie teaches me things and he’s always so patient.” The man besides you beams with pride as he kisses your temple. “What about you? Is there anything I should know?”

Steve blinks as his little smirk flickers along his lips. 

“Would you be surprised no one has ever asked me that?”

“Why? I mean I want you to enjoy yourself to and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable either.”

“Jesus Christ.”, he groans as his cheek falls against your bare thigh and his hands hug your leg. “You have to take me to this coffee shop you found her at, Ed, because she is perfect.”

On impulse, your fingers reach out to pet his head and he moans lightly at the action as he tilts a bit to kiss your skin. 

“No, honey. Just be honest and vocal with me. Sometimes I get…passionate…so if I’m doing something you like or don’t like just tell me.”

“Yes, Sir. What about you, Daddy?”

“I’m just watching tonight, sweetheart.”

“Yeah but is there…is there something you don’t want me to with him? Like…can I kiss him?”

“Yeah, baby girl, you can kiss him. You can do anything you want as long as you feel safe and I will be right here if you need me.”

“Ok, Daddy.”

“Why don’t you take off your dress, babe, and show Steve what he gets to play with?”

Nodding, you rose to your feet and wiggled your frame as you slid the tight-fitting fabric down your body bringing your panties down with it.

“No bra?”, Steve asked as you sat back down and he took a seat beside you.

“I didn’t think it went with the dress.”

“We were at the mall for hours looking for the ‘perfect’ dress. She wanted to look nice for you.”, Eddie jested making you blush.

“Aw, honey. Well, it was absolutely gorgeous.”, his friend cooed as he placed his arm over his own behind your head and rested his other palm on your stomach. “I think I like this outfit the best.”, he whispers causing a shutter to ripple through you.

Leaning your lips toward Steve’s, your pussy clenched as they mingled together while you mewled at his taste. They both had a lingering note of nicotine but this man was oddly softer with his technique than Eddie; so much so that you constantly chased his mouth for more friction. 

As you turned to kiss your boyfriend, his lips were desperately waiting as he cupped your head in his head and held you still. Steve’s tongue grazed your throat as he placed open mouth kisses along your skin causing you to pant as you struggled to stay connect to the man you loved. 

“How does it feel? Tell Daddy, baby.”

“G-Good. Want more.”

“Tell him. Tell Mr. Harrington what you want, sweetheart.”

Your eyes fluttered closed as Steve’s mouth and tongue found purchase on your tit as he sucked and licked your nipple. 

“Please—mmm—Mr. Harrington. I want to feel you t-touch me.”

Without saying a word, he tore off his shirt and pushed down his pants to his ankles. 

“Fuck, come here, honey.” Laying on your side, you place your head towards his stomach and Steve groans when a glob of spit falls from your mouth on to his tip. “There you go, Y/N. Shit.”

As your hand begins to pump him, you listen as he sucks on his fingers before rubbing them against your clit. 

“Oh…Oh my god, Steve.”

No sooner had his name left your mouth was your hair being yanked back as his angry eyes found yours. 

“When we are together, little girl, you will show me respect. Do I make myself clear?”

“Ah…yes, Sir.”

“Who am I right now?”

“Mr. Harrington.”

His cock twitched in your hand as he gripped you tighter.

He was enjoying the control. 

“Louder, Y/N.”

“Mr. Harrington! You’re Mr. Harrington, Sir!”

As soon as he let you go, you desperately wanted to make up for your indiscretion, immediately wrapping your lips around his length and bobbing your head. 

“Atta girl. Fuck-- don’t overwhelm yourself. I-I know I’m a lot.”

The sound of a belt unbuckling echoed through the living room and you know Eddie was making himself more comfortable especially when Steve’s fingers breached your entrance as he curled them inside you. 

“Jesus, look how fucking hard you are. You like watching your girlfriend take my cock down her throat?” Utilizing one of your hands, you massaged the businessman’s balls eliciting a loud grunt that had you clenching around his fingers. “You were right, Ed. She’s—mmph—she’s good at sucking dick. Damn, and she’s so fucking tight. You’re right, baby. I’m going to stretch you in half.”

Your moan mixes with Eddie’s at the notion. 

“Fuck me. I can’t—” Abruptly Steve removed his fingers and manhandled you till your head was on your boyfriend’s lap on your back. After removing the rest of his clothes, he opened your legs wide and spit directly into your cunt before falling on top of you. “I’m gonna try and go slow at first but I just really want to fucking pound into you so like I said…If I’m hurting you—”

“I’ll tell you. Please, Mr. Harrington, I need you.”, you whine as you grind your hips along his hard cock. 

His arms boxed you in as his head fell beside your own and he began guiding himself into you. Your hands promptly grabbed his shoulders as you bit your bottom lip. 

“There y-you go, sweetheart. Such a good girl.”, Eddie cooed softly above you as you felt the slight wind of his hand stroking his length. 

The whole scene was driving you wild and you couldn’t help but squeeze tighter around the man inside you making him grunt as you whined in slight pain. 

“A-Are you o-o-okay, Sir?”

Steve’s fingers threaded in your hair as he lifts his head to look down at your face. As he thrusts in another inch, a heavy breath leaves your lips hitting his own as his features scrunch in what looks like pain. 

“Talk to me.”, you whimper. “I need you to be v-vocal to.”

Leaning his forehead against yours, his tenderly gives you a kiss. 

“I’m not even…even all the way in…I feel like…mmm…I’m gonna cum. Am I h-h-hurting you?”

“A little but…feels…good…” This time you kiss him as your nails drag down his back till your palms grip his ass. “It’s ok, Steve.”, you whisper. “Keep going. I want to feel all of you. I don’t care if I can’t walk tomorrow as long as I can feel you.”

Subtly guiding him with your hands, he delivered you small thrusts as his beautiful eyes remained locked on yours. 

“Uhhh, fuck. Feels so good, Mr. Harrington.” When he was fully seated inside of you, you both froze as you relished the feeling of each other. “Please, Sir. I need you to move.”

A large palm circled around your throat and lightly squeezed as Steve pushed up on his elbow to glare down at you. 

“You need me to move, little girl? Then don’t fucking pout. You take what I fucking give you.”

Eddie’s movements still as he watched the scene before him. The few times the two of them had played this was how Steve was. Where Eddie was a bit softer, Steve was much more rugid and rough around the edges. Daddy wanted to teach whereas Mr. Harrington wanted someone to obey. When they were intimate, they bounced off each other quiet well. When Steve needed someone to just love him and care for him Daddy was there. When Eddie was tired of being in control all day, Mr. Harrington took over. 

They never dug too deep into it or what that aspect of their relationship meant. They just knew they were best friends and that’s all that mattered. 

With him, you were always very shy about a lot of sexual things. You were no prude but like you said, you had only experienced the vanilla lifestyle. Eddie loved your innocence and it catered to his Daddy nature. But neither of you had ever gotten this far. 

He’d never tried being rough with you in this way nor had he ever had to “punish” you. Unlike the women he dated previously, you were far from a brat. Occasionally yes he did scold you but all in all nothing more. When he asked you about being intimate with Steve, he knew the man leaned more towards that spectrum which is why he insisted on you utilizing the safe word should you need it. 

Eddie had also warned him that you were timid and to just go along with your flow. 

To him on the outside looking in, however, it seemed like Steve jumped to a 10 without warning. 

“Sweetheart, what color are we at?”

Instead of answering you tried push against his friend’s grasp to kiss his lips again but he just pushed you down as he smirked at your insistence. Eddie couldn’t believe what he was seeing and his cock twitched slightly at the sight.

You were disobeying. 

“Answer me, Y/N.”

“Green, Daddy.”

“She’s fine, Munson. Look at her. Desperate little thing just wants to cum.” Suddenly wrapping his arms around you, Steve sits up without pulling out so you’re straddling him. “Well, go ahead, honey. Take what you want.”

Balancing your hands against his shoulders, you bounced your hips slowly at first as you fully got used to his size. The burn had long since passed and pleasure was fully in the driver’s seat as his cock hit and surpassed all your buttons till you were a desperate mess. 

“Fuck, Eddie, do you hear that? She’s so f-fucking wet. Come on, baby. Harder!”, he scolded as he spanked your behind. A string of ahs escaped you as you did what he commanded, your eyes rolling as your head fell back. “Atta girl. Taking my dick so well. No one-mmph—no one’s ever taken all of me before. Not even him.”

Glancing towards your boyfriend, you moaned as his hand stroked his cock at a blistering pace as he grunted at the feeling, his eyes focused on your tits and body as they moved. 

“M-Mr. Harrington feels so good, Daddy. Can I have his cum? Please! I wanna feel him cum inside me.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. Y-Yeah, baby girl. If you squeeze his cock real tight when you cum I’m sure he could return the favor.”

Your lips crashed to Steve’s as your tongues danced together and his arms held you in place.

“Just like that, Sir. Please…I’m gonna…”

The pants that left his mouth warmed your cheek as he clung to you, planting his feet into the carpet as he thrust up into you roughly. The sound of skin slapping skin hit your ears and after a few more pumps your body trembled as you came. 

“FUCK! God fucking damn it!”, Steve shouted as his hands held you tighter to him. “You pussy is choking my dick. Fuck I’m gonna cum.”

Hastily, he tossed you to the side on your stomach and lifted your ass in the air as he shifted around behind you. Sliding his cock back inside of you, Steve set an animalistic pace as he chased his high. Leaning over your back, his palm pinned you into the sofa cushion squishing your face as he rolled his waist till you felt his release coat your insides. 

Eddie grunted above you till you listened to his voice shake as his seed shot out and hit his thigh. 

“Oh oh oh. I know, Y/N. I’m sorry.”, Steve soothes in a soft tone when you cry out as he tries to carefully pull out of you. After throwing himself down behind you, he tugs on your hips bringing you on to his lap. Just as you had with his friend, you wrapped your arm around his neck and rested your head against his chest as your eyes closed. 

“What should I do?”, he whispers to Eddie who breathily chuckles. 

“Play with her hair and rub her back or something. Tell her she’s safe.”

“Should we at least get her clean?”

“Yeah sure. Go ahead and try that.” As Steve tries to readjust you so he can stand and bring you to his bathroom, your arm holds him closer as you nuzzle your nose into his neck. “I told you, man. I’m not sure if it’s the headspace or just her but either way I love it. Makes me feel wanted…needed…”

“Hey.”, the businessman calls out as his arm reaches out to lightly hit his friend’s shoulder. “I need you, Ed. You’ve been a really good friend to me. As you can tell a lot of people like the idea of me and what that brings.”, Steve sighs as he gestures around the house. “You’ve never been like that. How, um, how was this? Did you like it?”

“I did. There was a moment there though… she doesn’t talk like that with me or misbehave at all really. It was fascinating to watch.” The other man nods at his assessment, shifting his gaze towards you as his hand plays with your hair. “What about you? Did you like being with her?”

Steve chuckles as he continues to stare forward. 

“Yeah, I did. I’m a little worried because I wasn’t joking when I said no one has ever taken all of me before. She may be really sore in the morning but yeah. I also liked you watching; turned me on a bit more. You should join in next time. I mean if she wants there to be a next time. There doesn’t have to be. I like her personality to. She’s adorable and she seems to genuinely care about you.”

Sensing something in his friend’s tone, Eddie pulled up his pants as he shuffled closer to his side and without hesitating, Steve leaned onto his shoulder. 

“Everything ok?”

“Yeah…just been a rough few weeks. It’s oddly calming having her hold me like this. Never had a woman in my bed long enough to cuddle with after. Either they get sick of me or I get sick of them.”

“Sounds about right.” 

Steve’s head tilts back to watch his friend laugh with glassy eyes before pressing his lips to the other man’s throat and peppering him with tiny, soft kisses.

“Didn’t you just cum, needy boy?”, Eddie lightly teases.

“Mhmm but I could go again if you’re playing to.”

“Oh my God, Steve, you slut.” The sound of their breath filled laughter woke you from your sleepy state. “Hey, sweetheart. How do you feel?”

“I’m ok, Daddy. Cold but ok.”

“How about we get you into a bath and then you and Eddie can crash in one of my guest rooms?”

“Oh. Alright.”, you reply sullenly causing Steve to grip your chin so his eyes could find your own. “I just thought you’d lay with us but I understand if you don’t want to.”

“Hey, I’d love to lay with you both. I just didn’t want to overcrowd you if you wanted some space after everything.”

After placing your lips on his, you grab Eddie’s collar to do the same. 

“I don’t want space. I want to feel you both hold me.”

Both men exchange a glance before getting to their feet and carrying you down the hall. 

“We can do that, baby girl.”

#############

@aol19 @livsters @dashingdeb16 @too-efn-old-to-be-here

@yesimabratandwhataboutot @eddiesguitarskills

@scarlet-witch23 @soph342 @micheledawn1975 @thatgurljen @fluffansmut

@chelebelletx @peaches-roses-sins @areiofhope @hugdealer @nerdygamingartist@bootywizzard @bexreadstoomuch @calumfmu @nailbatanddungeon 

If I missed anyone in the tags please let me know!

[musedblues]

FOREVER AND FOR REAL

(photo edits by @pitifulbaby_ on insta)

a/n: daisy jones eat your fucking heart out. i present yet another rockstar!eddie fic. this one features fem rockstar!reader, a fake marrige, a lot of reckless behavior and lovely little ending.

warnings: descriptions of sex, drugs, rock and roll, themes abt alcoholism/addiction, mentions of abusive ex partners, god-awful rom com tropes, fantastical bullshit. sorry not sorry for this yall know i love a good fake marriage 

30k

MINORS DNI

/// New York 1988 -

"So, how did it start with you and Eddie?" The woman from the Rolling Stone smiled as she quizzed you. Her voice was low, her demeanor was patient.

"He asked for my autograph." You revealed with a laugh.

///

Sunset Strip 1986 -

The rooftop party was in full swing. Your labels oldest and most endeared studio musician had announced his retirement and everyone who was anyone showed up to his celebratory send off.

Ozzy was stumbling from guest to guest. Prince was casting smug grins from his poolside perch. You were being reprimanded by you manager in the middle of the shindig.

"Go wish Terry a happy retirement and maybe go catch up with some other studio musicians while you're at it. You can't let your last guitarists new rumors ruin your reputation. We'll need to hire some of these people to record your next album, you know?" Kelsey snarled, his cigarette-stained smile repulsing you. He was a hard ass. That made him a damn successful manager. And a shitty fucking person.

You grumbled and spun to do what he said, trying to stay in favor with the musicians who worked under your label was a must. If only you would have known falling in love with your last guitarist would result in the messiest breakup of all time. If only he hadn't spread such vial rumors about you to his fellow studio musicians and the press.

But they were just rumors. And you had proven yourself to be one of the music's scenes most prominent figures in the past few years. You wouldn't let this hiccup be the one to topple over everything you worked so hard to achieve.

On your mission to save your name, you stopped by the rooftop bar. There were a cast of patrons who parted to let you ahead in line. That was a good sign. You still held an absurd amount of social import. After asking the man behind the counter for a vodka soda, a commotion turned everyone's gaze.

Out of thin air, was the illustrious Eddie Munson. In a flash he jumped behind the mini bar and proceeded to pour the drink you asked for. He was hammered, the drunkest of any attendee. He was smiling at you as you accepted the vodka... and then he introduced himself.

"I of course know who you are." Eddie smiled, ignoring the bartender who was frustratedly insisting the guitarist get out from behind the workspace. Eddie was leaned against the counter, watching you laugh and roll your eyes. Of course, he knew you. And of course, you knew him. He was the newest name attached to your shared label, but perhaps the most famous.

In the one year that Eddies band Corroded Coffin had appeared on the scene, their music and personage had taken over rock and roll. Their tours were selling out, their greenrooms were stuffed with groupies, their producers were booking studios so far out in advance your next session had to be postponed.

"I've known who you are since your first single became the soundtrack of the summer of '84. I've had your posters on my walls. Would it be impossibly tacky of me to ask for your autograph?" Eddie slurred, but past his inebriation lied a sparkle in his eye that you read as genuine.

"Our generations most admired guitar virtuoso is asking for my signature?" You snorted. "I should be asking for yours. Could sell it for millions." You grinned back, watching Eddie's wide smile faulter as the bartender had started swatting his shoulders, demanding he leave.

"Okay, okay. I'll go." The rockstar turned and submitted with a sigh, and a paused smirk. "But only after one more shot." Eddie spun to grab a bottle of whiskey, lifting the nozzle to hold over his opened mouth, draining more than a shot worth as the small crowd of party goers cheered him on. The bartender cursed Eddie, snatched the bottle back, and announced he was calling security. Eddie had heard enough, hoping over the bar, his boots shinning across your field of vision as he whizzed past you, landing stealthily, and grabbing your wrist on his sudden escape.

"That way!" You chuckled, just buzzed enough to let yourself enjoy the change of pace. Eddie darted in your demanded direction and found a pair of elevators around the rooftops pool, busied by party goers.

As the pair of you lunged into the lift, you reached for the buttons to shut the doors fast as possible. They slid together in slow motion as your fingers fumbled over the buttons, pressing a couple different floors by mistake as the ride descended. Eddie's laughter rang in your ear as he drunkenly bobbed to find footing. But soon as the pair of you were being lowered to freedom, your ride creaked eerily to a halt. The doors did not open. The ride did not move.

"Oh no." You called, racing to press more buttons but worrying that your initial doing so was what had stopped the ride. But surely the button meant to press for an emergency was safe, right?

"We stopped?" Eddie realized, his lithe grin faltering, sobriety bubbling into his gaze.

"Shit, I'm so sorry." You turned to face the rockstar, who was just realizing the gravity of your situation. Just then a crackly voice rang through the rides system, informing the pair of you that your alert was received and asking what had happened. A nice enough woman assured help was on the way and insisted the pair of you stay calm. You started to apologize to Eddie once more when he waved to dismiss you.

"No, it's my fault for dragging you away with me. I'm kind of a pro at causing so much trouble."

"There are worse rockers to be trapped in an elevator with." You chuckled, leaning back against one of the walls railings.

"Took the words outta my mouth... I do want your autograph. Heartbeaten was the only album I played the winter it came out."

"You're a very dangerous flirt, you know that?" You warned, looking the guitarist up and down. It was beyond flattering to hear your music complimented by a musician you admired all the same. It didn't hurt how easy it was to look at Eddie, either. Leather clad, hair a mess, eyes glazed over by the night's events. You'd forgotten for a moment that you were trapped.

"Is it getting hot in here? I'd say it's cause of you but I don't really like this..." Eddie tried to play off his worry but you watched his chest rise and fall and remembered you were trapped and suddenly everything became more realistically grim. You pressed the emergency button once more and the kind woman insisted the fire department was on their way up now.

"Just a couple more minutes." You nodded toward Eddie. "We'll be out of here before you know it."

"Thank God." Eddie noted. "But I might just miss you, ya know?"

All of a sudden it hit you. Everything you'd been through in the past year played like a montage through your mind, leading up to this moment. You realized you hadn't been trapped so much as given a golden opportunity to ask a very important question to what seemed like the exact right person.

"Eddie..."

"Yeah?"

"I'll sign my album for you if you do something for me?"

Just then a loud scraping against the metal entrance broke your collective focus on each other. A group of firemen pushed open the elevator doors by aid of some tools, informed the pair of you had been stuck on the 17th floor, and escorted you down the stairwell asking a few questions about how everything had gone down.

When you and Eddie reached the lobby, a woman you'd recognized from the label's office came hurrying toward the pair of you. She had to be Eddie's manager.

"I think it's time we go." The woman offered you a polite smile before turning a stern gaze to Eddie. "You've already pissed off three of the four bartenders here tonight. And I'm sure you've overstayed your welcome in her presence, Munson." She eye'd you.

"Actually, he was just agreeing to meet me in my studio over the weekend." You blurted. Eddie was the best player on the scene. He was your best and maybe only hope. Eddie beamed at you, realizing that this was your barter for giving your autograph to the rockstar.

"I'd love to work together." You spoke quickly enough to result in a blush of embarrassment. You were usually good at keeping your cool. But something about Eddie made you giddy and terrified and everything else all at once. You watched as Eddie's manager nodded in contemplation.

"I know Kelsey. I'll give him a call to set up the times." She dropped your managers name and yanked Eddie away in a hurry. The rocker didn't go without flashing you a smile and a wave before stumbling off through the lobby. After that, nothing was keeping you at the party any longer, either.

///

Century City L.A. 1986 -

When Eddie breezed into your recording booth the next weekend, he was refreshingly sober; and made sure you knew how grateful he was for the invitation. He slung his guitar around his back and shook your hand and listened intently to your vision for the music you were creating.

Eddie's presence was magnifying. But differently than you'd expected. You'd seen headlines and heard rumors float about from countless greenroom groupies and stagehands. Eddie Munson had gained quite the salacious reputation within the year fame had found him. He was no stranger to romantic quarrels and quandaries, legal battles, displays of public intoxication, the whole shebang. You knew he was going to captivate you, he already had. But he was not so unruly as the press made him out to be.

Eddie was respectful, desperate to fully understand your musical vison. Eddie was kind, complimenting your work and the tracks you'd scrapped together so far. Eddie was brilliant, adding licks and riffs right away that you'd never dreamed you'd be lucky enough to have featured throughout your music. He helped you write what you hadn't finished. He made you laugh in the middle of recording and apologized profusely when you had to start over and over again.

He said he could only stay for a couple of hours. But two hours turned into two days, turned into two weeks. When it was finished, your third album, Steel & Stone, had a healthy dose of Eddie's input sprinkled throughout. It was more a collaboration than a solo record. It was fucking Beautiful. Your producers thought so too. They said your sounds married well together.

That made Eddie laugh. And then it gave him an idea.

"The album cover should be a wedding! I've got it all figured out!" He excitedly sketched out his suggestions for your albums cover; and because he was so excited, you humored the guy by scheduling a photoshoot. A week later you were cutting up an old, thrifted wedding dress in Eddie's back garden. He'd hired a fake priest and invited some friends over to fill the background.

The pair of you looked fetching, Eddie in his size too small tux. loose tie, hair pulled back. You, in a ragged old dress, pearls hanging past your torso. The photos for the album cover came out killer, you and Eddie looked like a bride and groom out of a horror show. It was perfect.

The paparazzi thought so too. Somehow, someone with a camera and a lot of guts managed to snap a bevy of photos of your make-believe wedding over the hedges of Eddies back garden.

The photos were all over the tabloids the next day, and Hollywood went berserk at the news of your presumed wedding to the rock God. You found out when your phone clattered to life at 7am the next day. You answered the line to a frantic Eddie, who was less concerned about the rumor that you two had gotten legitimately married than the fact that his privacy was so easily invaded. So, you suggested he schedule a meeting with your real estate agent to find a safer, better shielded home. And because he was too frantic to take notes, you huffed and headed over to his humble abode to help the poor boy plan.

It wasn't even twenty-four hours later that rumors the pair of you were house hunting together sparked interest alongside the blurry wedding photos. News of your alleged link to Eddie traveled fast, but your management worked faster. Forty-two hours after the gossip spread, you and Eddie were called in to address the rumor mill.

///

"Sit, both of you, and listen to our pitch in completion before you voice opinions." Eddies manager, Brooke, was stood before an oak desk, she was a sharply dressed middle aged cunning sort of a woman you respected for rising to ranks men usually dominated in the industry.

You and Eddie gave each other a look as you settled in opposite armchairs. This was going to be interesting. Your manager was sat at the head of the desk, eager to have his turn of attention.

"In the past few months, both of you have been in a little trouble with the press, no?" Kelsey began, gazing over his tinted glasses to meet your eye.

"Try the past year." Eddie huffed a laugh, sitting back. The musician really had always been linked to some salacious headlines since his rise to stardom. You were rather new to the negative press, but had done a better job beating the allegations, you thought.

Brooke slid a trio of papers across an oak desk then. One showed a collage of tabloid write ups from the past few days. Every word gushed over the supposed connection you and Eddie shared. It was an overwhelming collection of rose-colored journalism. The other two papers looked like contracts.

"We think," Brooke breathed, glancing to Kelsey, "given the immense positive reaction to your supposed wedding, that you and Eddie staying allegedly betrothed is a divine PR opportunity to push alongside the new album you're each equal parts credited to have made."

"You want us to pretend to be married?" Eddie laughed. The kind of chuckle that burst from behind his teeth, like a kid in class that couldn't help but disrupt.

"Of course we do. Just for five months, till the start of next year. Besides being a brilliant PR move to promote Steel & Stone, it could save your ass, Munson."

"What's my ass got to do with anything?" Eddie quipped.

"Edward, now is a good time to inform you that your label is threatening to drop you if you don't get your shit together before this year ends. You don't want to pass the point of no return, do you?" The news hung in the air with, menacing finality. Eddie's carless behavior was catching up with him.

"Settling down in general is a good look for you. Settling down with this world famous takes no shit rock and roll chick is even better. You both get to remain reckless, except now with morals. America just creamed their pants. The tabloids have already begun rebranding Eddie, let see what was it..." She picked up a daily newsprint to quote...

"Ah yes, 'From Don Juan to I Do, can this wild rocker finally be tamed?' Cheesy but you get the gist. This positive spotlight might be your last before you're dubbed hopeless!" Brooke tossed the newsprint in Eddies lap. He grumbled back a "Hey!"

Then Kelsey spoke up...

"Of course you're not in such hot waters," He pointed your way, "but the sooner we clear up the mess you let your last guitarist make, the better off you'll be."

"I didn't let-"

"You will sign these contracts." Kelsey boomed, jabbing his finger on the dotted line of the paper in front of you. The room went quiet as his voice rattled the walls. "We'd hate for the premier of your new album to be delayed while you remain obstinate."

"You can't do that." You stated. You worried.

"We're going to talk about this." Eddie stretched from his seat and swatted your shoulder to meet him in the hall. You followed gladly, anxious to get out of the tension filled room.

A few steps closer toward the stairwell, Eddie slowed there. "Kelsey is a scary fucker, huh?"

"A lot of information just came at us at once. I think we should-" You tried to reason as you stalled at his side.

"I don't want to delay your album." Eddie blurted; brows pressed tightly together. "I don't want you to have to lug me around for five months either." He leaned against the wall, jamming a fist in one of his many leather pockets for a cigarette.

"I won't be lugging you around, doofus." You laughed, kicking his boots with your heel. "I dunno. You do need a bit of a boost in the social department. Every girl I know has a story about you, Edward Munson."

"Yeah, I know. Got outta control on tours. But you know I've been doing better, we talked in the studio about how big of an idiot I used to be. But I'm tryin'. Apologizin' and shit! I don't want you to feel like you gotta save me. I'm working on that myself!"

"I've witnessed the progress you've made! Lita called last week to gossip and she didn't curse your name once!" You noted, dropping the name of the mutual friend and one Eddie's many ex-lovers.

"See! You don't need to be fake married to me. I'm my own personally savior. Hey, that's a good lyric..."

"Listen. If we did this, it's mostly because I'm worried about the album's release being threatened. And only a little bit because I would want to help clean your social slate and save you from being dropped from the label. So..."

"Awe, you like me enough to clean up after me? Gives me reason to keep making messes..." Eddie sing songed, breathing out smoke and shooting you a wink that made your eyes roll. You had been given a small thrill when you helped Eddie escape disaster upon your first meeting. You wouldn't mind having to look out for him for a few more months in a row.

"Look, do you want my help or not? My offer is about to be swiftly redacted!" You'd been moved to this major act of charity after spending that week in the studio, learning about the guy behind the guitar. He was much more than all those famous songs and infamous rumors and those silly rambled in the broken elevator. He was funny and smart and you liked him enough by now to consider doing this insane fucking thing. But too, there was a pit opening in your stomach that warned if you didn't do exactly as Kelsey wished, he would fuck shit up for you worse than he originally threatened.

"Okay! It seems like we're doing this. But no lugging me, got it!" Eddie sighed past his smoke, decided all of the sudden. You barely had time to process what you'd both agreed to before agreeing, but there you were.

"No lugging!" You echoed, rounding your shoulders as you slinked back into the room with the papers. You didn't like your work being held over your head. But you didn't see much harm in letting the rumors go on a little longer. You were looking at the tabloid cover story about what a perfect couple you made. All very sanguine. Why fix something that wasn't broken?

The pair of you signed on the dotted line.

That same afternoon, you were sent to pick out wedding bands. You quite admired a tiger-eye stone; but before you could ask how much it would cost, Kelsey had picked out gaudy diamond studded rings for both you and Eddie. You then realized this wasn't your relationship at all. None of this was up to you. But you'd be expected to act as if it was.

///

The Beverly Hills Hotel 1986 -

"Tell us about the wedding! Did you write your own vows?" A voice called from a pit full of reporters, each one of them as sly and insatiable as the last.

You and Eddie were sat shoulder to shoulder at the press conference meant to discuss your collaboration album that hit shelves the midnight before. And too, Eddie was meant to announce his L.A residency and you were meant to announce your upcoming tour. But you both knew your alleged wedding would be the subject on the tip of every tongue. This was it. The real test.

"I wanted to sing my vows but apparently that was too theatrical." Eddie joked, charming the room, shooting winks and stretching out smiles. What a fucking bullshitter.

"You've always been a showoff." You glanced to the man out of the corner of your eye as you spoke into your mic on the table before you. He was eating this up.

"That's right. I'm my best self in the spotlight. So now I'd like to announce for the next two months I've accepted a residency at the Roxy. One show every weekend until November. Dates will be in Rolling Stone this Monday!"

Cameras clicked and voices muddled over one another as reporters clamored to ask a million things. Your manager picked one man with a notepad out of the mix. His question was for you.

"Will you be able to enjoy a honeymoon before your husband goes back to work?"

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes,

"I'll be going to work myself. I'm touring this summer, a few dates need decided before tickets go on sale next week. We've got to promote this new album. Any questions about Steel & Stone? Any at all?"

The crowd roared louder than before. Reporters demanded to know why you and Eddie would be spending so much time apart so soon after tying the knot. Questions about the strength of your love and were directed at you like shrapnel. They wanted to know how two musicians with separate demanding schedules could maintain a happy life as a couple. They wanted to know why a honeymoon had failed to be arranged.

"If you must know, we're spending the weekend in Hawaii. Then, my wife and I will get to work promoting this very well made new album that you should all buy and review warmly!"

Oh, this motherfucker. Eddie was concerned about you lugging him around given this arrangement? Well, he never warned you about the bullshit antics he was eager to pull first shot he got a chance. You should have known better than to sign up for anything with this wildcard of a man.

To your surprise, Eddie's little joke couldn't be left to rest. By the end of the press conference Kelsey had your meetings canceled and a flight booked for Honolulu Friday morning. Shit, this was about to be a really weird year.

On the way out of the conference hall, you let Eddie kiss you on the cheek where the cameras could see before hurrying into a shared limo.

"Are you sure you wanna spend two days and three nights in Hawaii together?" You wondered, settling into the ride as it started zooming off. "You might get so sick of me we blow this whole thing."

"Relax babe, we'll be so chill beach side that we won't worry about stuff like that. Plus, why not make the most of this thing? Enjoy it!" Eddie shrugged and looked at you with a softness in his gaze. You saw a reflection of exhaustion you recognized. You both worked hard. Maybe it was time to sit back while the ride whirled on, for now.

"Plus, I'd rather play it cool with you for five more months than get sued for breaking contract." Eddie winked at you and popped open the limos complementary bottle of Champaigne.

///

New York 1988 -

"I wrote my first album at eighteen years old. Sold out Madison Square Garden by 19. Made three platinum records by 20. But Eddie gifted me the song that made my third album the nation's best seller for three months in a row. He played guitar on that track because I asked him too. He squirmed his way onto four more tracks because he was that charming. He was that good. He was one of the best guitarists I knew."

You bragged to Rolling Stone, watching her take notes and nod along, grinning past her cigarette. As she scribbled away you thought back to that time with reverence.

That invitation to play on Steel & Stone was never meant to be more than just that. An invitation for Eddie to play in your studio for a couple hours. But that invitation morphed into a lasting connection no one could have seen coming. You didn't regret that it happened. But perhaps if you hadn't let your management teams concoct such a devious plan to pair the two of you up contractually, you and Eddie would have been spared a world of hurt.

Eddie was one year younger than you but perhaps somehow even more famous. Maybe because he was a man, but probably because he was more talented. You could write, you could sing. But so could Eddie. He wrote and sang and played guitar and bass and drums and was a wizard behind any sound booth. A musician's musician through and through. It's something you admired about him.

But Eddie, like yourself, was a rockstar. He was reckless and late and messy and incorrigible. When the pair of you really got going, you'd bicker like bitches. When you were forced to make appearances together, the bantering made the tabloids. And apparently, sold records too. You'd seen the numbers yourself. Associating with Eddie was good for your career, back then. And vice versa.

"Next question."

///

Hawaii 1986 -

Brooke handled booking your fake honeymoon, thank God. She actually asked where you'd like to stay, how you'd like to spend your false vacation. You fantasized about a tiny little bungalow with shops nearby enough to walk to and days free of any plans.

After your plane landed and your cab ride stopped, you were left standing before the cottage of your dreams. Behind a wooden picket fence was a green home with wide windows, cozy and inviting. You hurried up the porch steps, dragging your suitcase as fast as the heavy thing would follow.

Inside was warm and homey as you could have imagined, big comfy furniture cluttered around a fireplace. A square kitchen with walls full of cabinets, plants on the large stretched out windowsills, a staircase that led to just three bedrooms. The lack of extravagance made you realize you didn't feel at home at all in your ridiculous Hollywood estate. There was more space in that home than you could fill with money or good intention. But this quiet and calm seaside bungalow would break your heart to leave, you already knew.

"Look, they already stocked the fridge," Eddie laughed behind where you admired the homes decor. "Benefits of super stardom I suppose." You turned to meet him where he stood when something else caught your eye.

"Brooke left a note." You realized, finding her scrawl on the kitchen island.

'The next three days are mostly yours to do what you please. But you must be seen out together at least once a day, given the rules of your contract. There are a row of shops a few minutes west of here and there are dinner reservations at the cities most renowned restaurant on your last night. The details and address is at the bottom of this note.'

"Right." You laughed. "It's 'our time to do as we please,' so long as we follow their rules."

"And that's the drawback of super stardom." Eddie pointed, bending to pick up both of your bags, heading toward the stairs. He announced that he'd leave your stuff in the bigger room, assuming there would be one. You announced a thanks for his chivalry and roamed toward the patio doors that opened to a private pool. Past the little garden area was the most spectacular view of the ocean, the roar of the waves providing glorious white noise.

"So... what do we do now?" You called out to your weekend roommate who you lost amongst the floor plan. You thought he was still upstairs. But as you shut the patio doors, Eddie appeared in the doorway of the kitchen with a guitar case in hand.

"Wanna write?"

So with the sun setting and nothing better to do, you sat across from Eddie on opposite ends of the cozy living space and hummed along as he made up chords for what felt like forever. Neither of you spoke much, only letting your craft occupy the time.

How funny this was, in a weird sort of way. When you met Eddie, it wasn't like you were meeting at all. It was as if you'd always known each other. Banter wasn't just easy with him, it was natural. But now, once the pair of you had been left completely alone, the silence between the pair of you was full of tension. He'd look past his curly fringe every once in a while, to shoot you a grin when he liked a melody you came up with. And you'd ask him to show you a tab or two. What happened to the effortless chatter? Why was there a buzzing in your chest in his presence, all of a sudden? It was time to get up, it had to be dinner time now.

You expected the counter space to be full of liquor, as food and drink of all kinds had been stocked. But not a single adult beverage was in your line of sight. You opened a couple of cabinets until you finally found a single bottle of cabernet. Your favorite brand too, thank God.

"I'm making pasta and opening some wine. Do you want a glass?" You called out, knowing Eddie was still one room away.

"No, no." He sighed. "I really shouldn't."

"Shouldn't you? We're supposed to be relaxing and indulging!" You teased, still only getting one glass down from the open-faced cupboard.

"I kind of just got out of rehab." He called back. The news was a shock to you, since you'd met him blindingly drunk, and he hadn't left town since you'd made his acquaintance.

"Oh?"

You listened to the clatter of Eddie's instrument into its case as you found ingredients for your planned meal. His presence in the room was made soon after.

"Went to rehab. Two months. Told everyone I was recording, managed to put out Chains of Sorrow in a reasonable amount of time to make the fans believe I'd been in the studio all that time. I've been doing better." Eddie explained. The solo track he referenced came out four months before you'd met him. You asked if it bothered him that you were drinking now and he gave you a stern no.

"You've been doing better. But not always sober?" You daringly quizzed, Watching the man you fake married move from the far end of the kitchen, closer toward you.

"Recovering, not completely recovered." He grinned, leaning against the marble island. "Call it what you'd like. I've gotten good at only getting smashed at parties and saying no everything other time."

"And how many parties have you been to?" You smiled, casting the guy a suspicious glance.

"Can I help you with dinner?" He chuckled, shaking his head to your previous question. You considered the guy before you, his loosely buttoned cutoff flannel, the flutter of his eyes.

"Come, I'll show you how to make my special spaghetti sauce." You laughed. Eddie smiled in response but did not move per your request. He stood and took a hissing breath in before meeting your gaze to say,

"Before we stray too far from the topic... I have a terrible confession."

You stared at the guy, eyes flickering from his withheld grin to the tattoos on his arms.

"I don't remember meeting you at all. When my manager told me I planned to crash your studio I was so embarrassed. Did I make a complete fool of myself that night?"

"You would have if I didn't help you outrun an angry bartender. And you did ask for my autograph. Like three times. But I got us stuck in an elevator." You chuckled, handing Eddie a knife and placing a trio of tomatoes before him.

"Oh... my God."

"I promised to sign my first record, but you never brought it to the studio... I guess because you didn't remember." You pieced together, setting out other ingredients to add to your sauce as the pasta boiled on the stove. The realization that Eddie had blacked out during your first adventure together selfishly stung. You were left to carry the fond memory all alone. Left to wonder what else he may forget in the future, left to wonder why that might matter much at all to you.

"Alright, I'm going to be perfectly suave on this trip. No more being completely stupid." Eddie grinned and proceeded to follow your instructions on making dinner. The pair of you went on to laugh and cook and talk about Hollywood gossip until midnight.

When it was time for bed, Eddie followed you up the stairs. He went down one hall and you went down another, but not before casting a glance over your shoulder to find Eddie was looking back too.

///

The sun was especially warm the next morning, the rays soothing your skin from the window before the light opened your eyes.

You rose with an anxious glee, excited to find where the day would take you, but nervous all the same. Ever since ending up in this predicament with Eddie, his company made your heartbeat a little heavier. Your connection was an amusement ride, an adventure, an experience.

When you padded out into the main room, you found the patio doors wide open. Your eyes followed a set of footprints in the sand that belonged to Eddie, who was milling about the shore, looking for shells. You smiled to yourself and went about making some coffee, watching the man from the comfort of shelter.

After your morning cuppa and a little nourishment, Eddie popped his head in the doorway.

"Hey!" He called. His curls were dripping sea water onto the hardwood, his chest rising and falling quickly. Did he run up here?

"You're getting the doorway all wet!"

"Come out here with me! The waves are beautiful."

"The ocean freaks me out, Eddie!" You revealed. Would have sooner if his declaration about going to Hawaii wasn't so sudden and so public.

"Awe man!" He rang like a disgruntled grade schooler. "Well at least come walk the shore with me. We have to be seen together, remember?"

There were resorts and shops easily seen to the west of your private beach front. There were surly paps and press waiting nearby to score shots of you and Eddie after his announcement about coming to stay here.

"Ugh, okay." You huffed, declaring something about finding your bikini. You and Eddie had signed a contract. And there was one clear rule. Be seen together as much as possible.

You found Eddie on the shoreline again and trekked to meet him. He smiled at you and asked once more if you'd join him in the sea. The waves were roaring, and the vastness of the water sent a chill down your spine. Your hesitation was answer enough for Eddie, who shrugged and nodded and started walking along the sea's edge, holding out his hand for you to join him.

He let you keep hold of him as the pair of you meandered along the shore, a little closer toward the resorts in the distance. Your ever dancing nerves fell away as the pair of you talked about space and time and the existence of mythical creatures. And at the end of your fantastical conversation Eddie went quiet, letting his deep eyes search your face.

"Should I kiss you? Ya know, in case someone is watching?" He asked matter of factly, stalling in the sunlight that sparkled through his glittering sand sprinkled curls.

"What if no one is watching?" You countered, daring to reach out and loop one of your fingers around Eddies, holding on. The guy simply shrugged, keeping his eyes locked on yours. Considering the rules, you were meant to follow, you let a small nod tilt your chin. Eddie watched you come to a positive conclusion and took his sweet time leaning in. Eddie stalled for a moment, letting his breath fam across your lips, and you thought that was curious. For a kiss just meant for show, he was sure being timid.

"Eddie, you don't have to kiss me if you don't want too." You chuckled only to lighten the tension. He grinned in response, letting his dark eyes dart across your features.

"That's the problem, babe." He rose a brow. "I really want to. More than I ought to."

That made you pause and consider this whole crazy thing. You thought of how you got into this predicament and how Eddie was looking at you now, and the billions of things you wanted to say. In the time you stayed quiet and full of consideration for how to move on, Eddie became too antsy to let you say more at all.

"Should we go back in?"

"No," You shook your head. "No let's enjoy the weather." You assured, reaching a handout to brush Eddie' bicep as if to reassure him. So that's just what you did. You kicked about, dodged waves that came to close to the shore, and baked in the sun until it started to lower from its highest point in the sky.

After running in, washing up, and realizing there was still so much time left to waste, you talked Eddie into going out. You asked him to put on something nice and call a cab to drop the pair of you off at a local place by the sea.

Per the suggestion of the local driver, you and Eddie ended up at a quaint little outdoor eatery. The staff was so delighted by your surprise appearance that they invited you and Eddie to skip the line, sat you at their alleged best table, and poured you each a complimentary glass of champagne.

You tried to wave the waiter off, to dismiss them from giving Eddie the glass of sparkling wine.

"S'okay. Don't wanna be rude." Eddie insisted, taking a small sip out of obligation. You rose a brow and sat back and decided it was a night out. Eddie had said he was doing better. You chose to believe him and placed your order for the night.

"So," You spoke. "Should we come up with an elaborate backstory? Some swoon worthy anecdote about how you asked me to be your wife? A sickly sweet first date memory?"

"I think the story we have is suitable enough. You stopped me from making a fool of myself at a party, let me play on your badass new album, and I fell head over heels." Eddie laughed, but despite himself, it seemed. He breathed out a small sigh as he settled his elbows on the table. It seemed he was trying to say more.

"Everything okay, dear?" You emphasized the pet name to poke fun at your situation. You watched as the well-dressed man chewed his lip in contemplation.

"This whole thing... are you sure you're okay with it?" You knew what he meant.

"Yeah, I mean, it's not hurting us, is it? It's helping you out of the hole you're in with the label and it's selling our album. I never thought I'd be married for real but, this isn't so bad."

"What are you talking about? Everyone loves you. " He pointed, sitting up a little straighter.

"Everyone loves my persona." You pointed, lifting a finger as Eddie rose a brow. "Everyone loves my music. Loving me, is another story. Loving me is personal. I can't imagine letting anyone in that vulnerably, anymore."

"Oh, anymore?" Eddie quipped, sitting back as the waiter brought complimentary appetizers. You were going to refrain from drinking to make Eddie feel more comfortable, but at the turn of topics, you reached for the glass to calm the jitters.

"You know how I needed a someone to play guitar on my album?" You recalled. Eddie nodded, obviously. "Well, that's because I let my last guitarist get to know me a little too well."

You downed your champagne and was delighted when a staff member dropped another off right on cue.

"Go on, please..." Eddie motioned with a fork, taking a bite of food and staring at you with curious intensity.

"Well I'm sure you've heard the rumors." You shrugged.

"I have." Eddie carefully admitted. "But I always figured they were nothing more than just rumors. I do want to hear your side of the story..."

"My last guitarist and I had a fling. And right when I started to think I loved him... well it just didn't work out. So after the breakup, this motherfuker went around telling every studio musician that the only way they could play on my album was in exchange for sex. He said that was the price he had to pay. As if we hadn't been dating." You began with a scoff. "He took it further by telling the press I slept my way to the top. Probably because I wasn't giving him the time of day near then end and he was bitter that I'd been with so many others who are far more relevant than he'll ever be."

You reveled to Eddie some of the more horrific details of your last disastrous relationship and how it ended, because he asked. Eddie seemed to genuinely listen to the details you gave. Eddie took a few more sips of champagne.

"Fuck that dude to the moon and back. You didn't tell me I had the shoes of an asshole to fill!" Eddie grumbled past his mouth full of food.

"That's because I didn't want you filling his shoes. I like your shoes. I like you. And I'm grateful you played on my album and that crazy as it is, that we're in this fucked up situation together."

"This just... isn't how I wanted things to be with you."

"Oh?" You wondered, taking a hesitant bite of the dinner that had just been delivered.

"I mean... the whole thing with the contract and the lie. I thought I could ask you out for a nice dinner, like a normal date. I feel shitty about having trapped you in some kind of publicity stunt."

"You wanted to take me out for real?" You grinned, settling into your posture.

"I did. But now it's this whole circus and it's so disingenuous. I don't want you to think I'm getting to know you because I'm contractually obligated."

"You're a sweetheart, you know that?" You smiled. Eddie smiled back, and seemed to wait for you to speak further, but you had nothing more to say, you couldn't have any more to say. You planned to keep your heart on lock down. You planned to remain closed off. Being open and willing with others had only resulted in heartache in the past, in this industry. And you couldn't imagine that with Eddie. You wanted to enjoy your time with Eddie.

"I'm not willing to let my guard down for you, Eddie. But we can make the most of our circumstance, if you really want."

"What do you mean?" He puzzled, brow furrowed.

"Ask me again back at the house." You shrugged and smiled and sipped more champagne.

Dinner went on between bits of conversation that grew deeper each sentence. Eddie revealed childhood traumas. You voiced secrete fears about your career. The pair of you laughed hard over old jokes you'd heard on TV specials and picked four albums each you'd bring on deserted islands. You each finished one more glass of champagne.

Hawaii was stunning, even at night. You wondered if Eddie made the comment knowing how lovely it was here, if he needed such a rejuvenating get away. He seemed less at ease as the evening went on, however, chewing at his lip and wringing his hands the whole ride home. You hoped you plans for tonight would change that... but he had to ask you that question again.

///

Back at the house you stood, squinting to see the midnight waves from the patio doorway. Relishing their sounds, the crash of the ocean, the breeze through the windchimes near the pool. This was proving to be a very relaxing getaway indeed. You could get used to Eddies ideas. He was off up the stairs, getting ready to call it an evening you presumed. But then he appeared in his swim trunks, headed straight for the hot tub on the patio. He announced his intentions and halfheartedly invited you to join.

How curious, you thought, Eddie was so magnetic, but every time the pair of you became secluded in this home, he seemed to hide a bit of himself away all the same. You understood it, of course. Youd just admitted to doing the very same. But the pair of you had been more than open with each other by now. What had him so aloof here?

You shrugged, and spun to put on a record while concocting a plan. Of course you were banking on Eddie bringing up the question you once reminded him too, but a little nudge wouldn't hurt. After picking a Chet Baker album to spin, you decidedly flounced over toward the hot tub, watching Eddie rest there with his gaze locked on you.

"You're supposed to join me, remember?" He called, sinking a little lower beneath the bubbling waters. You watching his dark eyes fix on yours, and made your decision.

"If you insist." You smiled. The silky dress you'd worn to dinner would surely be ruined by the chemically enhanced waters. So, you slipped it off right there on the patio and hurried to the hot tub in undergarments that were just as good as any bikini.

"Happy now?" You rang, sinking so far below the water that only your eyes floated above the surface, locking on to Eddies still intensely held gaze.

"Delighted in the throes of post false marital bliss." Eddie laughed, a breathy sound he seemed to have to force a little. His eyes tore away from yours, looking for a distraction. "Shame they gave us the rings you don't like, though." He held a hand up from the bubbles to consider his diamond studded band. Yours matched because it had too.

"The rings are ugly. But we've made it work well so far I think. Haven't been this sure of a relationship since Steve Vai, you know?" It was a joke, but it was not. You'd loved your time with Steve. It was your most renowned relationship in the eyes of the press and all your friends to date. And though this time with Eddie was a sham, the connection you had to him felt frighteningly natural.

"Fuckin' Vai. Why'd you guys break up anyway? Seemed good together."

"Steve got back with his college girlfriend around the same time I opened for Metallica. Kirk swept me off my feet."

"You and Kirk? So that really happened." Eddie gapped at you with a grin. You'd kept that relationship on the down low, though a few good paparazzi photos tried to test the limits of the connection you'd had with the metal guitarist. He broke your fucking heart, ending things when that tour was said and done.

"I have a type, it seems. Dark haired dreamy eyed guitarists." The one before you now was the most intriguing of them all. And he knew it too. He had too. The way his eyes locked on yours changed. The way silence fell between the pair of you rang loud with anticipation, no matter who might speak next.

"What did you mean earlier?" Eddie finally wondered.

"When I said we could make the most of this, if you wanted?" You grinned, staying put for a beat longer in the spot you'd been floating. What you were about to suggest would either make or break the next five months you were meant to endure together. You sincerely hoped it would land well. You watched Eddie nod for you to continue.

"Well, I simply won't allow myself to fall in love with you." You prefaced, inching closer. It was easy to move through the water, stalling centimeters away from the man who shared the space with you. You could feel the heat radiating from Eddies form- even though the warmth of the bubbling water. "But I wouldn't mind enjoying the benefits of having a partner, even if we're just playing pretend." You dared to glide flush against the rockstar, resting each of your knees on either side of his lap with calculated caution. A set of his fingers brushed against your thigh in an instant, but that could have been a reflex. You needed a yes or no.

"Wanna have fun while this is meant to last?" You asked in a hush, your fingers resting gently on Eddies broad shoulders. His other hand came to rest on your hip. His faltered smirk gave you confidence to lean in for a kiss no one could see.

He kissed you back, lips timidly locked against yours, muscles tense under your fingers. But after a couple more careful pecks, his passion grew. Eddies lips parted against yours, and a sigh escaped his lips. You had him right where you wanted him. He grabbed you, nails dug into your hips, teeth piercing against your neck.

You had no fear raking your fingers through his curls to claw at the roots of his hair, maneuvering him to kiss your lips again. Eddie did so intensely, tongue jammed down your throat. His grip pulling you closer, his hips jutting up against yours. You couldn't wait much longer to go all the way, body language suggesting that's how far the pair of you would take this, it seemed.

Eddie whined a curse as your hand slipped below his waist band, kissing hard as ever. He let his fingers drift across your form until he reached the hem on your underwear, yanking them to the side. Before you knew it you were sliding into his lap as he pushed completely into you. Eddies fingers bruised against your hips and your nails dug into the back of his neck. You both rocked together, slack jawed and doe eyed, gazes fastened.

When your efforts were exhausted and passions simmered, Eddie moved your underwear back, and fixed his shorts all the same. He let his lips press against your forehead, leaving a couple gentle pecks there. He let his fingers brush against your face, cradling  your cheek as his eyes fluttered to land on yours.

"That was amazing." Eddie stressed all the right syllables. "But please... never fucking do that again."

You were too stunned to respond. Frozen now in complete confusion. Luckily, he had more to say.

"If you won't let me really love you, I can't do what we just did again. Because I'm already dangerously close to really loving you. And it would suck to have my feelings fucked around with. I understand if you aren't willing to open up. But please understand that's where we're very different." Eddie chose his words carefully and watched your eyes as he explained himself.

"O- okay." You managed to nod. "Yeah, I hear you." It was a reasonable explanation, an understandable stance. But you felt that familiar pit opened up inside you while he spoke. And it felt more empty and hollow than ever.

Despite that, you tried to cling to the fact that you'd just had the pleasure of shagging the guy, and how divine it was to feel him pull you closer the whole time. You reveled in Eddie's kindness as he helped you out of the hot tub. He guided you inside and upstairs and insisted you be the first to use the one shared bathroom. You knew this was going to be a weird year. But it kept getting weirder.

///

The next morning, you woke just before the sun. With quiet steps, you readied yourself in the loo and headed downstairs, out the door. Desperate for the freedom of normalcy, you started walking in the direction of the shops Brooke had left directions too. After a couple blocks, a variety of bodegas came into view. There were hardly any cars or bikes on the street, and only a few pedestrians popping from one shop to the next.

This was perfect. If there was any commotion over your presence here, it would likely be very minimal. A stall selling fresh fruit and veg was being opened by an older gentleman as you admired a cart full of flowers a foot away. Some store fronts were still closed as the early morning was still new. But the handful you slinked in and out of were open and occupied by people who were more or less unphased by you. A few whispers and pointed fingers among friends, and stares and smiles from clerks was perfectly tolerable. You offered them smiles and waves as you admired locally made clothes and lotions and oils.

But men with cameras waited outside, word spreading fast that you'd made your way into town. There weren't many photographers, thank God, maybe five. And they were respectful as could be, calling your name and welcoming you to the island. You gave them rushed acknowledgement and waved them off when they demanded to know where Eddie was. They didn't need to know he was sleeping soundly in the spare room of your shared bungalow. But they could watch as you decided to buy fresh produce from the little local man at the edge of the hamlet. A nice big breakfast sounded nice.

As you thanked the vendor and made your way to head home, the men with cameras began to follow your footsteps. You dreaded having to beg them away. But this time, you didn't have to. The vendor who'd sold you a canvas bag full of produce shouted ardently enough to get the paparazzi to stay back and let you be on your way. You knew you'd love it here. You knew it would be hard to go back to L.A. but you didn't have to yet. The only thing on your agenda was to make breakfast.

Eddie was already in the kitchen when you'd walked back. You could tell from the sound of a mug rattling against the counterspace and the drip of the coffee machine. He rolled his shoulders to adjust to the morning as you carried your fresh food into the little room.

"I popped to the shops! It was sort of nice. There were only a few paps out."

"Did they bother you?" Eddie seemed to worry, locking a puzzled gaze on you before peeking in on what groceries you brought home.

"Almost. But a nice older shop owner shooed them off from following me home. I really like it here." You lamented, not taking a single moment for granted. Soaking up the sights and sounds of the kitchen as you opened the white chipped cupboards, catching glances of the ocean out the window. You announced your intentions to make breakfast and Eddie hummed past his coffee. He stayed quiet afterward, lingering as you mucked about with pots and cutting boards.

The room was full of quiet tension again. Not like something ominous was near happening. Just the weight of the obvious being unspoken. You knew Eddie liked you more than he should. And you both knew you couldn't let yourself feel the same. Knowing all this, you went on slicing tomatoes. And turning on the radio. And switching stations when one of your songs came on.

The rest of the trip was spent in quiet; shared meals and movie marathons on one particular rainy afternoon. Small conversations and one last wordless jam session.

You were really going to miss it here.

///

L.A. 1986 -

It was Eddie's debuted at the Roxy, the first of a string of already sold-out shows. He asked you to perform with him to kick things off.

Backstage, you hesitantly watched his bandmates pour him several shots. You helped him decide what to wear and let him give you a sloppy kiss in front of a reporter. His tongue jammed toward your throat, his hands splayed against your hips, and he continued even after the snaps from the camera ended. Then, when the room got a little quieter, and when you were starting to lose feeling in your lips, Eddie pulled away and murmured something in your ear.

"Felt like a real kiss. Wish it was. Wish you'd really wanna be my girl." His words slurred. He was clearly already inebriated. But it wasn't like he was wasted. The words shot a thousand feelings from your heart into your nervous system, anger being the most immediately powerful. You shoved the man's shoulders to loosen his grasp on you, his face fell. The reporter's camera started clicking again.

"You're pushing your luck." You warned. He was trying to get a rise out of you, right? He was trying to get you to cause a scene for the photographer to capture, right? He was whiskey talking, right? He said your name and tried to reach for you as you blocked his advances.

"Go toward the stage." You demanded, turning the musician by the shoulders in the right direction. He protested for you to listen, but you couldn't do this right now. You couldn't imagine doing this ever. He knew you couldn't let yourself go there.

"Shut the hell up Eddie. You've got a show to put on. I'll meet you out there. Son of a bitch." You whined, shoving the musician toward the side stage as he tried to get you to wait up. But he was being introduced and the cheers from the crowd called the man to saunter toward the mic center stage.

Why the fuck did he say all that? You couldn't stop playing it over and over in your head. Why did it make your heart stop a little? You stole the bottle of whiskey from a stagehand and went to shake out your jitters in his dressing room. You had three songs until you would share the mic with Eddie. That gave you time for a drink and a half, a few vocal warmups, and a sudden costume change into suede platforms that made your toes a little less constricted.

Just as you stomped into your last boot, a stage hand came rushing over, stealing back the bottle of whiskey and pulling you toward the stage. You stormed into the spotlight where you met Eddie, playing a riff that a steady drumbeat accompanied. He started singing, staring right at you while you added harmonies you could barely hear over the cheers from the crowd. It was the single from Steel & Stone. It was a packed house, audience from stage to sidewalk outside the entry. An Eddie sized crowd. He deserved bigger yet, you thought.

The pair of you stared each other down throughout the next couple songs, and you danced next to the bass player when Eddie broke into a few guitar solos. When the last song you were meant to share ended, you bowed, thanking the people in the front row. But Eddie spoke into the mic.

"Baby, baby, wait don't leave." He sing-songed, stopping your exit with a breathy plea. "No, not yet. She's about to leave for three months ya'll." Eddie addressed the audience who awed in commiseration. The fuck was this about? A public display of sorrow so the nearest magazine reporter could write in that Eddie seemed to really adore his wife in the middle of the review for this show?

"Why don't you sing one more song. Just you. Just for me. Before you go." Eddie looked at you, his voice echoing from the stage to the back of the venue. The crowd applauded the idea and you paused in consideration. You rarely passed up the opportunity to preform, but this was Eddies' show. You decided since he was giving you puppy dog eyes, and a room full of a few hundred were chanting for you to do it, you would.

"Okay but it's gonna be one of your songs, got it? You gotta come see me on tour if you want one of mine." You took the mic, and as he stepped away Eddie smiled and said "Deal."

You picked your favorite Corroded Coffin number and the band behind you knew exactly where to jump in almost right away. Eddies music was heavy and hard to sing, but you'd gotten pretty good at it, putting on fake concerts on the patio of that little Hawaiian bungalow.

You sang your heart out, you sang for Eddie like he'd asked. He played toward the left of the stage, mesmerized by your every move. The number ended with the thrash of a few cymbals and the crowd going wild. As you backed away from the mic, Eddie came toward you. You met him halfway, planted a kiss on his lips for show, but also partly for revenge's sake. You hoped the gesture would leave him as frustratedly guessing as his left you.

///

LAX 1986 -

"We land in Ireland, I'll play two shows. Then it's Glasgow, Manchester, London, and then France. You're coming to Paris, right?" You listed off the first half of your European leg as Eddie matched the pace you set; a steady march down the tarmac of the airport. He had an arm tossed over your shoulder for show, and his head bent in to hear you better as you spoke up past the roar of the jet you approached. Beyond the aircraft were a roped off coral of press and fans who'd gathered to see you off. Their shouts didn't make conversation any easier. But their smiles when you offered a gentle wave settled the usual despair in the pit of your stomach.

"Yes, three weeks from today, I'll be seeing you again in the most romantic city of all." Eddie grinned as you stalled to face him. 

"I hope your Roxy gigs stay sold out. You can call me to brag about em if you'd like." You smiled up to the guy, admiring his hair that moved with the gentle morning breeze. You'd miss his companionship. You'd grown quite fond of having a friend nearby, despite being almost strictly business partners. That's all this was, you reminded yourself.

"I'll take you up on that offer. You better call me at least when you make it safely overseas. And anytime at all, if you want." Eddie grinned at the same time he let a hand smooth the back of your hair. His fingers settled loosely at the base of your neck to pull you close for a kiss to the forehead, for show, you reckoned. Eddie insisted on walking you onboard the flight and you took the time to introduce him to the band you'd be traveling with. 

Izzy, the bassist, had only ever played on Neil Young's tours. The guy was excited for a change of pace, touring with you. Ambrose the guitarist was new to the scene but a damn fine player. He'd seemed to keep almost totally to himself. Your drummer was called Zed. He asked Eddie for a spare cigarette and informed you he'd brought snacks for the plane ride. Everyone was nice enough, but your nerves stood on end when you realized you were about to be far from home with a bunch of practical strangers and your vile ass manager to boot.

"I'll call you right when we land." You nodded to Eddie, who lingered near the exit of the jet. But it was less because he'd asked you to call, and more now because you knew you'd be a little desperate to hear a familiar voice as soon as you'd be able too. But Eddie didn't need to know that. 

///

Ireland was beautiful. You hadn't quiet found a friend in any of your new band mates by then. But since Kelsey was busy managing a whole new team of people, his pressures never quiet landed on you, those first few days. You knew the steps to take around that maniac of a man. What to say and withhold to keep from setting the manager off. So, things seemed to be going well.

You told Eddie as much when you rang him the next three nights in a row, and laughed as he told you a story of his recent invitation to lunch with the Osbornes. Eddie had a newer, wilder story every night. And you swore you slept better when he wished you well at the end of every chat.

You were hopeful for this tour. The first few shows flew by with ease. You'd hardly had many kinks to work out with the new band. You were able to keep to yourself. You were treated like royalty by every villa foreman, wait staff member and venue manager.

But on the ride from Manchester to London, something shifted. You wanted to blame the dreary weather. You wanted to blame end of the fortnight fatigue. But a gnawing deep in the pit of your core warned you that something was simply not right. You mulled over telling Eddie. Calling him to ask if he thought you might be going crazy. If he believed in the power of premonitions. You didn't feel like you could ask that same question to Ambrose or Izzy. They'd hardly given you the time of day, off stage. Maybe you'd try with Zed, who'd offered you countless snacks and played a couple heated rounds of eye spy with you from city to city. But what if your desire for a deeper connection scared off the one potential friend you had in your drummer? What if asking Eddie if he thought you were going crazy made him realize you probably were, and he couldn't even pretend to be your friend anymore, let alone your lover? Why were you letting yourself care?

"Practicing telekinesis?" Zed interrupted your internal downward spiral by plopping down at your side on the aisle seat of the plane. "You've been staring a hole through this page of Rolling Stone for at least a half hour."

"Oh, hi." You huffed a laugh, shutting the magazine you'd forgotten was open in your lap. "Just thinking." You sighed, settling deeper into your chair. 

"Don't let Kelsey know." Zed scoffed. "It's his ideas or nothing around here isn't it? Why does he have to kill the vibe so bad?" 

"I hope he isn't starting his bullshit already. This tour has been fine! He just has this sick desire for things to go his way, whether they're going well or not."

"We're in for a looong tour, then, huh?" Zed rolled his eyes and stole the magazine you'd shut. Whether or not anyone around you believed in the power of intuition, you knew something bad was coming.

///

The phone line buzzed and buzzed. Almost to the same beat as a drip of rainwater from your balcony doorway. The streets of London sounded frenzied even from far off. You were about to let out your held breath and hang up when someone finally answered.

"Hellooooo?" A high pitched greeting came across the other line. Certainly not the tone you'd been expecting to hear. Another wave of trepidation dawned in your gut. But instead of admitting to yourself that much, you decided to match the girl's inflection. 

"Hiiii." You wickedly grinned, hoping what you said next would wash the girl over with the same unease. "This is Eddie's wife. I'm sure he has a minute to spare."

"Oh." The girls pitch shifted immediately as the receiver became muffled. Only seconds passed before the person you were calling finally picked up. 

"You just scared the shit out of her." Eddie chuckled. "It's not funny but it's... it's a little funny."

"I'm cracking up." You rolled your eyes. "Listen is there any way you can book a flight a day early for Paris?"

"Nice to hear from you too. Geeze, what's got you sounding so serious and scary?" 

"This tour!" You snapped, but followed with a groan. "I'm sorry I just- I need a night off or something." 

"I hear you." Eddie seemed to understand. "I'm sure I can catch a flight for tomorrow. What's the occasion?" 

"Kelsey is booking a couple press things and demanding I get you to be a part of some of them." You twisted the phone cord around your index finger and rolled your eyes again, imagining the girl that answered the phone throwing herself back into Eddie's bed. 

"Yeah, Brooke can make anything happen. I'll have her get me out there by tomorrow night. Plus the press keeps doing us wonders. You've seen last weeks write ups, calling you and me rock and roll royalty, right?" Eddie smiled; you could hear it in his voice.

"Yeah," You began. "And we've all seen this morning's Star headline. How is making out with three different girls in front of the entire Rainbow Room supposed to keep you and me a happy couple in the headlines? You gotta be more careful Eddie." You ranted, more pissed than you ought to have been about other women taking up Eddie's time and space. 

"Wait, last night- that's a headline?" Eddie's tone sounded grave. "Shit. I- I'm sorry. I was drinking and..."

"Forgot." You realized, finishing his sentence. "So should I call your babysitter Brooke instead? Should I expect you not to remember this conversation?"

"Listen I don't know what's got you so agitated over there. But can you not take it out on me? I will see you tomorrow. And I will figure out a way to convince the press there are no issues. I can clean up my own messes, remember?" 

"Got it. Sorry. Bye." You finalized, slamming the phone down with a heavy exhale. Right on cue, Kelsey was in your doorway, yelling about how you were going to be late to sound check if you weren't standing up and running toward the limo right then and there. You were thirty minutes ahead of schedule. But still somehow, your manager threatened to grab ahold of you if you weren't speed walking ahead of him in the next ten seconds.

Zed and Izzy appeared, rushing ahead of the rest of the band, cursing at Kelsey, demanding he lay off. But you're already hurrying to shut up his rage.

///

France 1986 -

After a break of dawn radio interview, Kelsey rushed you along to a high-end cafe where supposedly a reporter from Europe's most renowned pop culture magazine was waiting for a one on one with you. Your manager certainly knew his was around keeping you relevant but didn't seem to care if his efforts exhausted you or not. You blinked away thoughts of a nap, straightened the ripped-up suit jacket you wore over tights, and struggled not to stop in your tracks when you glanced up to a booth to find Eddie there.

He looked sleepy as you, hair all mused, ripped up Led Zeppelin tee straining against his fit figure. Eddie said he'd make it, you weren't shocked he had. But you were alarmed, more or less, by how he lit up when he saw you. And how at ease that made your entire being feel. Wishes of nap time and bubble bath breaks didn't seem as pressing any longer. You were relaxed in Eddies presence, and he hadn't even said hello. And that really freaked you out. You needed to get a fucking grip.

Brooke popped into frame too, walking up to great you with a smile and a hug. She complimented your makeup and turned to inform Kelsey the reporter was on her way inside. You gravitated toward the man waiting in the raised up booth, grinning as he smiled broadly your way. 

"I told you I'd make it in time." Eddie sing songed, holding out an arm as you slid in the booth at his side. The guy pressed his ring clad hand to one side of your head and his lips to the other.

"Thank you." You rose a brow and nodded his way. "We're being interviewed together it seems. I'm sure our managers arranged this for a reason. I'm sure they'll ask about those photos with the girls you were out with. Should we get our story straight?"

"I think I have the right words ready. Anyway, since this whole thing is based on a lie, I think it's best we stay as honest as possible about everything else... avoid digging ourselves into too deep a hole." Eddie reasoned. 

"Well, it's not totally based on a lie, it's not like-" You began to argue back, a little too desperate to mention that you liked Eddie enough to agree to this whole crazy thing with him. You couldn't have imagined being falsely married to anyone else. But Kelsey interrupted you, waving a warning that the reporter was walking in, alerting you to be on your best behavior. God he was becoming more unbearable as the days dragged on. 

The reporter was an older woman, dressed drabber than you would've expected. She chain smoked as you and Eddie shared a diet soda and answered her questions with easy smiles.

"How is the tour going for you?" She pointed, locking her tired eyes with yours while you droned on about the professionalism of your bandmates and the electricity of your fan base and how much more connected to them you felt on the road.

"It's so much easier to get to know people when I'm playing for them, watching them sing along, meeting them after each show." You said. 

"It seems that's a factor you reap the rewards of as well, Mr. Munson. You're aware that photos of you romancing a couple of fans have been spread across every major tabloid, no?"

Between the reporter's question, and Eddies deep breath in, you felt Kelsey's gaze like a dagger. And your mouth started moving before your brain stopped you otherwise. 

"Of course he's aware.  This is the lifestyle we each chose." You hurried to end this part of the conversation you'd been dreading.

"So, is that to say you've had these same sort of affairs?"

"That's to say that Eddie and I are happily married to each other. What happens with anyone else is irrelevant to us and should be irrelevant to the rest of the world as well."

You hoped your answer would put an end to this segment of questions as you firmly glanced to  Eddie, who sat clenching his jaw. He feigned a smile right on queue, when the next question targeted his way was about how his shows were going. The interview didn't last much longer before a photographer was introduced. The man led you and Eddie toward the back garden of the cafe where you posed for a shockingly small amount of photos for the magazines cover. Eddie kept his bejeweled fingers curled at your side as you settled in his lap. You gazed down at him and searched his dark eyes, hoping he was less mad at you than he obviously was just moments ago. If he was, he played it off well, planting a kiss on your cheek as you looked back toward the flashing camera. 

When the people from the magazine shook your hands and headed to leave, Kelsey bought lunch for you, Eddie and Brooke. When the managers when inside to order, Eddie pulled out a cigarette and slouched in the chair you rose from, suddenly desperate to get off his lap.

"Why did you speak for me? I was ready to own up to that shit. I was ready to say all the right things." Eddie waved a hand and let his head hang back as he breathed out smoke.

"And I'm sure you would have. But the world doesn't care about why a man cheats on his woman. They care about how the woman feels about it. And so long as they know I don't give a shit then we stay happily married. Isn't that the point of all of this? To stay happy and get this all over with as soon as possible?" You paced as you answered, stalling with a sigh at Eddies side. But you weren't done rambling...

"Can we just forget about it? That photoshoot is gonna be killer and the fact that we're being seen together after your little tryst is gonna change everyone's minds. We're doing the right things. Can we please just not worry about it anymore? I've got enough to worry about out here."

Eddie sat up and looked at you with what you hoped was concern but worried was something closer to appalment. But then he took another drag and started to nod.

"I guess I see where you're coming from." Eddie seemed to choose his words carefully. After a few more puffs he spoked once more, changing the subject. "Can I take you out after the show? Have a little fun? You're too wound up."

You looked to him and nodded, trying not to give away how much of a thrill it really was to you that he was asking this sort of thing. This tour had your emotions all frazzled and confused, damn it. You really did need a night out.

///

You put on a badass show that night. When you weren't signing to the front row, or screaming toward the sky, you were glancing to the side of the stage where Eddie stood watching. He was all smiles, clapping and mouthing encouragement you couldn't quite read but felt the well-meaning of from centre stage. Kelsey was even bearable, clapping your back when it was all said and done, finding someone else's throat to jump down for the evening. This made it easy for Eddie to sweep you away, out for a night of good old fashioned fun.

You wound up in some burlesque pub, accepting free shots and signing your autograph on dinner napkins for a dozen scantily clad dancers. 

"I'll have a rum and coke." Eddie shrugged to a waiter, as a crowd of strangers clamored closer to the booth you'd occupied with your alleged man. 

"Is that a good idea?" You asked, careful of your intonation. Worried only a little about Eddie finding annoyance in your question. Worried more by the idea of him with alcohol. 

"I promise to handle my liquor tonight. Only drinking to celebrate the kick ass show you just put on. Hard to come down from that high and I wasn't even on stage, babe!" Eddie excused his drinking, and made you feel valuable in one suave sentence. 

"Well thanks," You nodded decidedly, flagging down someone to mix you a mojito. "One drink." You hopped Eddie would echo your number, agree to the limit. But he changed the subject as if he hadn't even heard the past few words you spoke at all. 

"You sounded so fucking good tonight. What warm up's are you doing to keep your screams so effortless? I'm always exhausted halfway through a set. Would never be able to tell if you were or not." 

"You're full of compliments tonight." You rose a brow, speaking loud, you realized. Even though Eddie leaned in close the club was still pounding with bass and drum and crowd buzz. 

"Well, I mean them." Eddie smiled. He let his eyes fall across the features of your face. He ordered another drink. Another rum and coke. He said he was following your one drink rule by not ordering something different. You couldn't help but scoff a laugh and go with the flow, not wanting the night spent by his side to sour or end. Eddie drank and laughed his way through a story about his bandmates high school prom date. He asked you where you grew up. He listened while you yammered on all the same. 

And sometime between your fifth mojito, a foreigner was handing you a microphone. You didn't know quite how you wound up being dragged toward the little club stage to sing Don't Go Breaking My Heart with a man in a pristinely applied wig and bright make up. You never saw Eddie find his way toward the front of the venue either. But when you glanced out to find him laughing and cheering along in a little wicker chair, you'd felt something in your soul settle. You felt your smile grow. You felt a reason to keep singing.

When your surprise performance ended and your once in a lifetime duet partner sent you off the stage with a kiss on the cheek, Eddie stayed sat in his chair near the stage. But he'd held his arms out wide, and you didn't think twice about falling into his lap like you'd never belonged any place else.  Eddies lap was warm. His arms enclosed your waist securely. His lips pressed a couple of kisses to your shoulder as you leaned back into him. You needed this. You'd been longing for comfort. For a care. A very drunken part of you was even beginning to consider calling it love. But the other well trained half of your nervous system shut out that blossoming idea. 

Still, you let yourself enjoy whatever spell you were under in that little burlesque club. You sat in Eddie's lap and let him hold you while a few other performers came and went. And just before last call, Eddie nudged you from your perch and decided your night was over easily as he'd decided on making it happen for you all those hours ago.

"Thanks for that. It was fun to get out, break free from a schedule." You mentioned, walking alongside the guy. Your hotel was only two blocks away, and no one was out, with cameras or otherwise.

"Of course. I needed it too. Nothings is as fun with anyone but you these days." Eddie said, slinging an arm around your shoulder as he matched your pace along the pavement. 

"Easy now. Don't have to keep wooing me. No one is watching anymore." You teased, ignoring the sinking in your stomach. Ignoring those dangerous thoughts that had started to bubble in your mind back at the club. 

"I know." Eddie replied, softly yet surely. 

His arm stayed firm across your shoulder as he went on to joke about something that the waiter had said earlier. You laughed and rambled on down the block until your hotel came into view around a certain corner. In the glow that illuminated from inside out, stood a small gathering of your fans. Four or five friends who all danced a little at the sight of you approaching, waving your records and posters in their clutch. 

"Well hello everyone." You chuckled, moving with more intention, closer to the group and out of Eddies grasp. Without a second thought you started signing albums and listening to pairs of friends tell you how much your music meant to them. You relished being able to hear their stories, to be able to connect with people who gave a fuck about you for longer than a second outside busy airport gates and vip green room meet ups.

One of the meeker girls, to your surprise, caught the attention of the man who'd been hanging back, watching with a grin as you shone.

"Eddie, can I have your autograph too?"

"Ah, you don't want mine, do you? We'd all much rather have hers." Eddie sauntered closer to the group, eyes steady on your form, you realized, when you turned to smile at him. "In fact, I'm still waiting on one myself."

The pit that usually felt like a void in your gut seemed to fill with butterflies and ocean waves then. It was getting hard to ignore the fact that you liked this man more than a little. After saying pleasant goodnights and farewells to the small group of your admirers, Eddie walked you up to your room. He did not reach out an arm across your shoulder. He did not even brush his arm against yours the whole journey seventeen stories up. The absence of touch felt heavy and hurtful.

And when you stood lingering in the doorway of your room after asking if he would come inside, he shook his head. Funny how quickly agony replaced excitement. Funny how you'd only moments ago marveled over how close enough he was to touch. How you now despised the space between you entirely.

Eddie only shoved his closed fists into his leather pockets and let his unsteady focus bounce between either of your eye's.

"You know I want to. And you know why I won't." Eddie said.

"Well..." You tried like mad to get out what you wanted to say. But you weren't even sure how you were really feeling let alone able to express that much. Your pause was too long. Eddie pressed a divine kiss to your hairline, finally closing the space in between you, but tragically ending the time you'd got to spend with him. Eddie slinked off and around the corner, out of sight, hardly out of mind. 

The hall got quiet. Your heart felt loud. Must've meant bedtime.

///

A couple weeks passed by without hearing from Eddie at all. A couple weeks had passed since you'd heard from anyone but Kelsey, constantly screaming in your ear, waking you up, rushing you to sound checks, telling you to throw away breakfast because there was no time to eat it.

When the phone in your latest hotel room rang after a much-needed hour long bath, you ran to answer after its first clatter.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's Brooke. Do you have a minute?"

Oh, how curious. The pit in your stomach buzzed with worry as your brain collected a million reasons for Eddie's managers phone call.

"I should, yeah. How are you, Brooke?"

"I'm okay. Eddie isn't. Last night he caused a bit of a scene on stage at the Roxy, he was so drunk he could barely remember the words let alone sing them. This morning, I found him hanging out of the back of his limo, almost passed out on the side street of the Troubadour. He asked me to drive him back to rehab. He wanted you to know before you found out through the news."

You let out a long sigh. Frustrated. Worried. Confused. Brooke went on to leave you an address to write to, saying he'd asked you too.

So, after hanging up you didn't waste any time pulling out the hotel's free stationary, scribing one really long letter. You wrote about how the tour felt like hell and how you couldn't wait to be home. You wrote about how proud of Eddie you were for seeking help and taking time for himself. And you dreamed of doing the same, asking him to tell you any and everything he would be comfortable sharing.

That afternoon you left the letter in Kelsey's grasp, asking the manager to mail it. The next few days, a cycle was born. Wake up. Write Eddie, leave the letter with Kelsey, sing a bunch of songs.

Then your drummer came knocking on your door.

"Do you plan on writing Eddie anymore letters?" Zed wondered, curiously. You didn't think much of it, he'd probably seen you leaving the envelopes with your manager.

"Yeah." You shrugged.

"Well, I found a stack of them in Kelsey's room. He hasn't mailed any. So, I gave them to the front desk of the hotel to send out this morning. I hope that's okay?" Zed went on to explain that he'd figured you'd want them sent as soon as possible, hoping he hadn't crossed an odd boundary. The pit in your stomach threatened to swallow you hole. The thought of Eddie sitting in rehab, wondering if you were going to send letters like he asked, receiving nothing. You worried at the thought of letting him down, even though you'd never intended to.

"Fuck man. Thank you, Zed." You grumbled some curses against your manager and thanked your drummer a few dozen times for sending the post and letting you know what you should've known better about, you guessed. Like he'd sensed you talking shit, Kelsey slinked in the room soon after, asking you to get a move on. But you'd been ready to go. Moving faster to get the sorry excuse of a man away from your sight.

"See how much nicer things go when you don't piss me off?" Kelsey called across the hall. You begged to differ.

///

On the way to the next gig, you heard a familiar tune on the radio. Lyrics you'd written. A riff of your bass players on creation. Prince's vocals mysteriously added to the mix.

"Why is Prince singing my song?" You turned to your band who were all equally as befuddled as you, stammering different 'I don't know's.'

The from the edge of the limo came the voice you dreaded hearing most.

"Sold it. He heard it in the booth and offered you a few million for the rights. I said yes." Kelsey huffed past a cigar.

"You sold my song to-" You began to see red when the ride stopped and your manager interrupted you, pushing you to get out and onto the stage. Your band couldn't help. They were being corralled all the same. Was this life even yours anymore? It seemed every move you made was orchestrated and modified by the manager you'd mistakenly given too much power too.

By then, the refuge you found on stage began to feel like the same old trap. Kelsey started deciding your set lists. And the first night of three at Maddison square garden, your first stop of the USA leg of the tour; you changed up what had been written down on a whim. Because the crowd was chanting for a number from your very first album. And who were you to deny them that?

Apparently, according to your manager, the devil incarnate. 

Kelsey lost his shit on you in the limo on the way to CBGBS, all for changing the fucking setlist. Your fucking setlist. Zed, bless him, tried to speak up in defense of the situation. But his arguments were shut down soon as Kelsey could form a word.

Thank God the club was in sight.

///

CBGB's 1986 -

Lou Reed gave your drummer a little blue pill. Zed said he felt free for the first time maybe ever. You found this out after the guy stole another little blue pill for you. It went down well with whiskey. Then Kelsey started to kill your buzz, being all charming and nice in front of strangers. And that was the most upsetting part of all. Because he was such a dick. And you hated to see anyone believing otherwise.

And because he couldn't help but pick apart your every move, he tried to stop you from ordering a sixth vodka.

"You've made my life hell. This is the only way to cope." You pointed.

"I've made you rich and famous, dear, you may be drunk but you're not that stupid." Kelsey droned in that stupid fucking accent.

"You sold my song to fucking Prince! You didn't even tell me. God knows you'd never ask first but you didn't even mention it! Where is the money for that transaction, huh? Already snuffed up your nose?"

"Maybe." Kelsey boasted, snatching your vodka from your grasp.

"You change my set lists. You deny me meals. You force me to fall in love with a man to make the press happy, to keep your name fucking shinny!" You were seething as you yanked back the glass and chucked it to the ground, glass shattering at your feet. Kelsey only chuckled, a dark low rumble that opened the pit in your stomach where fear and rage lived.

"I only told you to stay married to him darlin', you didn't have to suck him off and pout as he left, that's your own idiocy." Your manager loomed over you, his smoke scented breath blowing in your face. You were jabbing a finger into his chest and calling him a bloodsucking cunt as his smile twisted into a snarl.

By that point Ambrose and Izzy were pulling you and Kelsey back from each other. You yelled for your bassist to let you go, to let you keep calling out your manager for all the shit he kept pulling.

"You know that's a really bad idea. Go find Zed. He's been looking for you." Izzy's hold on you was barely a grasp but you still yanked your arms away, pissed. You grumbled away from the tension filled situation and pushed passed the crowd cheering on Blondie to find your drummer leaned against the back wall, all buddy buddy with Lou Reed, by then.

"Perfect timing, Mrs. Munson. I was just going to invite you and your drummer here to the Chealsea." Your ears rang as Lou Reed waved you and Zed along. On your walk behind the bleach blonde songwriter, your drummer revealed he'd been gifted a whole giant bottle of those little blue pills for the pair of you to survive off of the rest of the tour. Anything to dull the ache.

///

Chealsea Hotel 1986 -

The clock on the dimly lit hallway wall read four in the morning. There was a faint yet ever-present ringing in your ear. There were people packed into every room on this floor, bodies were scattered through the halls, waiting their turn for entry to a room. Or impatiently having a go at each other between potted plants and elevator doors. Someone grabbed you, they were crying and saying they loved you. They were begging you to sing a song as you shrugged them off and told them maybe next time.

"Too many people." You suddenly realized, gripping onto your drummer's forearm. He stalled and turned back to understand what you were saying. Lou Reed was long gone, had been since you'd arrived here however long ago.

You announced that you were headed down to the lobby and began stepping through the maze of strangers, breathing in their smoke and wondering how time was moving so fast. Had thirty minutes really already passed on your journey through this weird gathering?

Down at the front desk, workers smiles were wide as you glided up to the counter. If anyone was ahead of you, you'd cut them. Maybe they had let you. They usually did.

"Do you have any available rooms?" You smiled hopefully. For you, surely they would. For you, they had too. You couldn't be sure you could get back to the place Kelsey had you staying at. And you were in desperate need of some space that didn't feel completely suffocated by responsibility. The women at the front desk told you there were opening but none of the more accommodating rooms for guests as elite as yourself were available. You assured her you didn't care if it was a closet with pillows for a bed so long as you had a place to crash. With in minutes you were being handed a room key.

On your way to the tenth floor, Zed appeared again, this time with company. Ambrose and Kelsey were having a spat, and your drummer was being cornered with his hands up. You saw your guitarist notice you and that was enough to send you sprinting past them to get to the room you booked. Your manager started to call after you, demanding you stop. But you were too quick. You locked yourself into a perfectly adequate room, with a bed, a balcony and a small additional bathroom. This was more than enough. But it wasn't long before your crew was pounding at the door.

"You can't stay here. I've got two entire floors of the Marriot booked just for you, your royal fucking highness." Kelsey spat on the other side of the wooden door.

"Stop fucking talking to me like that!" You hollered back, unzipping your boots and tossing them against the door. God you could really go for another one of those little blue pills.

"Come on, please let's just go." You heard Ambrose whine like an impatient kid brother.

"Fuck you too!" You called back, angry that everyone surrounding you went along with Kelsey's bullshit. You knew they had to, to survive. But you were ready to start fighting against it. You heard the men bickering beyond your seclusion, Kelsey yelling at Zed to have a go at demanding you leave the room. He argued back that he wasn't going to beat on the door like a maniac, but he would try and talk to you like a human being, if they so insisted. His knock was polite. He had more of those little blue pills. You let him in.

Your drummer eased into the room as you slammed the door in the other's faces. That didn't stop your manager from shouting still, demanding you and Zed leave right that moment. Demanding Zed better not be a fucking idiot and just drag you out of there. Your drummer only shook his head and rose a hand to nudge you away from the door you stood seething in front of. He guided you to the far corner of the bed closest to the balcony. He opened the doors, letting in fresh autumn air.

"Don't listen to them." He said in a hush, hunkering down at your side, hands clasped between his knees.

"Well, aren't you gonna try and talk me out of here?"

"No. I think if we stay quiet, they'll leave. And maybe we can have one night of fucking peace." Zed laughed hopelessly as one of them conditioned to pound on the locked door. You sat, biting back tears.

"You're the only one who has checked up on me this whole time. I know the others don't want to cross Kelsey. But none of the rest of the band has even like, said good morning to me. Or sat next to me at lunch. Izzy will share lyrics on plane rides. Ambrose will thank me for rolling up his joints. But then they fuck off to the green room or the dinning hall with all the groupies. I've never expected us all to be best fucking buddies. But I've never felt so alone Zed."

You vented, choking back the ever-growing lump in your throat. Your drummer unclasped his hand and placed his palm on your knee as he shook his low hung head.

"And," You went on, unable to stop now that your expression had started. "Eddie can't call. He's in rehab. Even if he wasn't it's not like we're really married."

"What?" Zed turned, confused.

"Eddie's getting sober somewhere in the middle of nowhere California. And our marriage is a lie. Kelsey made us sign a contract. We're not married. It's all for show. My whole fucking career is all for show at this point. I'm Kelsey's little puppet and every time I try to cut the strings, I just end up tangled up in them."

"He's such a fucking devil." Zed frowned. "Once this tour is over..." You watched your drummer search for his next words. "I don't even know. But none of us should let him keep this shit up."

The banging at the door started again. Zed held a finger to his lips, stopping you from speaking. After a moment in the faintest whisper, you could muster you asked your drummer for another one of those pills from Lou Reed.

He pulled the bottle from his brown leather coat, and portioned you out two. You started to reach for both when he quirked a brow.

"Sorry." You grinned, guilty. Zed took the other pill and his jacket off, tossing the garment and the bottle to the corner.

"So, is that why Eddie has been so sloppy with being seen with so many girls, last month? You two really aren't a thing at all?"

"I guess." You sighed. "I thought we were something. I think he's, bare minimum, a friend. But everything else is just for show." You realized, recalling the tabloids recent write up about Eddies much too public fling with a girl from the crowd of his latest concert. You couldn't pretend that didn't hurt.

"I feel like no one is on my side." You struggled to hide the tears that pooled in your eyes, desperate for what you took to kick in already.

"Well, I'm here, aren't I?" He seemed concerned about however you may answer. And you realized that he was here. And that he did care. And that despite being caught up in the same bullshit as you, he was giving you all the space and time to talk about it.

You leaned in, sniffling back your crocodile tears as that faint ringing in your ears began to grow a little miraculously louder. You hugged your drummer and thanked him for listening and sitting in here and for not talking you out of going anywhere else. He let a calloused hand pet back your hair and reminded you that he was hiding away all the same. Trauma bonding.

"Can I say something?" Zed asked as you pulled away. You nodded.

"I kind of want to kiss you. But not like out of love. I think it's the pills. And the pent-up stress. And the fact that you get it. And I trust you." He shrugged and you took in every word. "Do you want me to leave now? I know that's probably the last thing you-"

"No, it's okay." You insisted, reaching out to rest a hand on the guy's thigh. He let his brow push together. His silvery eyes studied yours. He wasn't your type at all. Shaggy blonde, too toned drummer. But he was a good friend. And that was more than you could ask for at this point. "Wanna blow off some steam?"

"Seeing as how you're not actually married, I'm okay with it." Zed laughed a little, letting you be the one to make the first move. You kissed him and blocked out every thought that popped up of Eddie, and every wish that you were desperate to be kissing him instead.

Zed was warm and patient and really good with his hands. He asked over and over if what you were doing was okay. He fucked you three times by the time the clock read six in the morning. Then he helped you get dressed and turned over to give you space to sleep beside him in the full-sized mattress.

Your early morning freedom was interrupted by lunch time when Kelsey boomed at the door. He gave the pair of you a scolding through his teeth as you passed through the Chealsea, and really reamed into the pair of you on the limo ride to the tour bus. You'd be traveling to New Jersey, down to North Carolina, then down to Georgia and Florida, back up and across most the states from there. It was a daunting schedule to look ahead to after traveling so much of Europe already. And to know you weren't able to enjoy any of it at all, being under such restrictive control.

///

The next four shows were a blur. You were taking a trio of those little blue pills before every sound check. Whatever your manager shouted in your ear went out the other until the next day. You let time pass you by as you left your heart and soul on stage, using each show as some kind of therapy, best you could. And somehow, without discussing it at all, you and Zed had made a habit out of sneaking into each other's rooms each night. You used each other's sex to pacify the horrors of the tour. And that much you discussed. It was mutually agreed that no feelings could be born from the habit, and if they were it would have to stop. Your hook ups were strictly medicinal. Zed was your supplier, after all.

Ambrose caught on, and so had the others, you were certain. But your guitarist had spotted you in Zeds room one late night when he'd come knocking in search of some cocaine.

"Really, you two? How does Mr. Munson feel about that?"

"I'm sure you'd like to know. Get the fuck out of here." Your drummer slammed the door in his face. But his question haunted you for days after he asked. How would Eddie feel? Would he care at all? Would he be glad you found someone to bone after trying to shag him a time or two to no avail? Would he be pissed you were being sloppy? Would he be pissed if you accused him of being sloppy too? Would he be pissed if he knew how much you missed him?

And God how you really missed Eddie. How you hated catching glimpses of your fake ass wedding ring. How you wished you'd never left Hawaii.

///

Chicago 1986 -

The crowd stretched for miles; the open green field packed with fans far as the eye could see. The wind was welcome as its chill cooled you from the heat of the stage lights. The show was going as well as it could. Your band was in sync. You didn't even mind how Kelsey had organized the set list. Something was bound to piss you off soon, since nothing had yet. You considered this as you ran off stage during Ambrose' guitar solo, reaching for a bottle of water and a shot of something stronger.

Then the unthinkable. It was like the first time you met. You looked up and Eddie Munson was standing before you, eyes a little clearer than ever, hair longer too.

"You're looking good out there!" He smiled and shouted past the music.

"Eddie?" You grinned, baffled by his very sudden and unexpected appearance. Before he could explain himself, Kelsey nudged his way between the pair of you.

"Good! You're here! How's about a song or two?" Your manager smiled to Eddie, whose face grew concerned.

"Oh, no. I'm just here to see my w-"

"When Ambrose runs back, he'll trade off with you. Just two songs. No better way to promote the new album!"

"This is their show, not mine. I really don't want-"

"Ambrose!" Kelsey waved as your guitarist skipped side stage after his solo. Izzy was sauntering on to take his turn in the spotlight now. "Eddie is gonna take your spot for the rest of the show."

"You said only two songs!" You rang with worry. Why was this evil Brit so dead set on causing such chaos? Kelsey looked to you with a glare, ripped the bottle of water from your hand and pushed you toward the stage before going on to force Ambrose custom flying V onto Eddie.

The ringing in your ear that those little blue pills brought on was beginning to fade away. The audiences' roars dulled your senses now. You waved at them as you hurried to tell Izzy there was a change of plans and you'd only be playing songs from the new album now. The first five tracks, then the hit single, you decided in a hurry, telling him to pass the info onto Zed.

"Okay Chicago!" You breathed into your mic. "You're about to be just as surprised as I am!"

Eddie's entrance toward center stage caused the crowd to react so loudly it felt as though an earthquake could have been coaxed from the ruckus. You caught a glimpse of Ambrose at the side of the stage, throwing a fit, before turning to cue Zed to start the next song. He'd been giving the right info, playing the beat to the song you decided. You clued Eddie in, too, before taking centre stage once more and doing the best you could to carry on this concert without having a mental break down.

It was good to see Eddie. But the pair of you had a lot left unsaid. It was a sick joke, being forced to sing the songs you wrote with him, into the same microphone now. To be looking right in his big brown eyes, to feel his exhales, to be stupidly intoxicated by his presence after months, after no contact, after feeling so abandoned and hurt, even if that wasn't entirely his fault.

The four of you played a decent show, and the sold-out festival crowd was in a frenzy by the encore. You sang with Eddie and looked right at him. He kissed your cheek as Zed dragged out the beats that ended the set. But your phantom husband had never felt further away.

There was no time to talk still as your band was corralled into separate interviews and congratulations from festival promoters. Eddie was the most sought-after entity, of course. Not only was his appearance on your set a surprise but it was the first time he'd been seen out in months since disappearing to rehab. You weren't sure what excuse he gave the press this time. You couldn't quiet hear the answers he was giving journalists now, as you rushed toward the green room showers.

You found Zed leaving there and asked him for more pills, as big a handful as he'd give you. He was hesitant, but you promised it was just so you wouldn't have to track him down for more later. The blonde was worn down, dumping a few into your palm as you hurried to get cleaned up.

You knew your time was limited in the green room's shower, and you knew the night ahead was a long one. There were three more official interviews with festival promoters to complete, and a VIP tent to make an appearance in, all while Iron Maiden played the final set of the evening. You realized, as you washed the sweat from your back, that you didn't know if Eddie would still be there when you came out of the room. Or if he'd be lingering close by the rest of the evening. Or if you two were going to have time for a real discussion. So, under stress from every angle, you broke your promise to Zed and downed the handful of pills at once.

And then you were off, dressed in a new silk slip and pre torn tights, sprinting down the hall to make it to the press tent in time. Outside, Kelsey was off in the distance, shmoozing some promoters. Izzy was flirting with Lita Ford by the craft table. And you were scurrying between tour busses as dusk started to set in. Iron Maiden hadn't yet started their set. And on the steps near your tour bus, you found the rest of your band, and Eddie, sharing beers. Oh how fucking lovely.

"You've got to be fucking joking." You stood before Eddie, seething, rage coursing through your nervous system. He knew exactly what you were on about, shifting his weight as his lithe expression turned pale. Eddie shifted his weight and kept the bottle in his grasp close to his chest. You almost couldn't believe he was choosing to be so dumb right now. Led by anger, you reached out to grab the beer from Eddie's grasp. He let you rip it from his fingers and avoided the way your eyes bore into his very being. 

The boys at his side were quiet until Ambrose let out a low whistle, mentioning that he would run and get Eddie a third drink. A third. Meaning he'd had another before now. Meaning that he was acting way dumber than you ever fathomed he was capable of.

Suddenly it was all too much. As each boy noticed watch you turn red from outrage, it was like every emotion you'd suppressed in the past handful of months broke past the seal and your world began to spin. Yeah... maybe you should have heeded Zed's worry.

"Shit." You groaned, feeling your chest tighten. You dropped the bottle, rushed past the group and grabbed at the door of your traveling home. Thank God, no one was inside. Your sprint to the loo was just in time as you began to vomit. You cried, and cursed, and got sick again and wondered why nothing felt good anymore. Even the shit that used to keep the bad feelings at bay was back firing now.

You heard the group of guys just outside the door you left swung open, wondering what just happened to you. Ambrose far off muffled voice was unmistakable, "Come on, Eddie. I'll get you more beer. Let Zed deal with her sorry ass. He's been pretty good at filling your shoes, ya know?"  

Nausea rushed over you, shutting off the rest of your senses. You stayed slumped on the little loo floor, the room was small enough that your feet stuck out into the hall. Then you heard the door shut. And the sound of heavy boots clucking toward you.

"Are you wasted?" Eddie wondered. You looked up to him, standing with his fists balled up, his fingers working nervously at each palm. His dark brows were furrowed, and his speech was ever so slightly slurred.

"Are you wasted?" You shot back, still so beyond pissed off at him.

"I told you I was a recovering fuck up. Not a fully rehabilitated one." The guy reminded with a small humorless laugh.

"Why are you here?" You whimpered, resting your head against the lid of the toilet, the latter half of your sentence, a mumble.

"I'm here to see you, why the fuck else would I be? I didn't want to play the last thirty minutes of your damn set. I wanted to see you! It's been months you know?" Eddie shot back. It had been a long set of days since you'd had the pleasure of hearing the guys voice. Why did his return have to leave you feeling so fucking awful? Why didn't you stop all this shit from playing out when you had the chance? Crumble up that dumb ass contract in front of Kelsey and everyone. If only you could've saved yourself this world of hurt.

"And whose fault is that?" You asked through a whine, feeling sick all over again.

"Don't you dare put all the blame on me. I know I fucked up. I'll own that. But you're the one who pushed me away from the beginning. You told me you didn't want a real connection with me. I was willing to actually fall in love with you. And newsflash. I am actually in love with you!" Eddie's voice was growing firmer with each word he spoke. "I'm in deep fucking disgusting love with you. And you told me you didn't want that. So, I kept my fucking distance."

"I find that hard to believe." You rang through your teeth, sitting up a little. "You told me you couldn't sleep with me again because you'd fall too much in love or whatever the fuck. That hasn't stopped you from sleeping with what, three, four groupies since I left for tour? In deep disgusting love with every single one of them, are ya?"

"Of course not." Eddie waved as if it were obvious. "Those were drunken flings. Based on lust. I was already head over heels with you when you shagged me in the hot tub. I knew I'd only fall more. And since you said you weren't looking for love I set a fucking boundary. To please you!"

"Well I do love you! I don't fucking want to, but I do! I don't want any of this shit. I don't want our bullshit marriage. I don't want to be on this fucked up tour. I want to quit this shitty fucking job, oh God-"

You caught a glimpse of Eddie's face before you started to lose your lunch all over again. His eyes were wide, his jaw was slacked, his head shook in disbelief. And then what felt like a life time passed as your body writhed in agony.

"What did you take?" Eddie demanded to know.

"I don't know." You lied.

"Bullshit! What did you fucking take?" Eddie raised his voice as you started to sob.

"Zed's pills. Please don't yell at me!" You responded past tears and waves of nausea.

"I'm sorry." Eddie heaved, and you could tell he meant it and that made you cry harder. You heard his boots stomp away as you lost your fucking mind between tears and sick. You heard the door swing open. You heard Eddie say, "Get a medic in here, you son of a bitch." And you just knew he was talking to Zed, and you imagined the poor drummer lingering worriedly near enough the bus door to be there when Eddie opened it. The dreamy eyed guitarist was back in the room and kneeling at your side to comfort you while you both waited for someone to come and help.

You started to apologize for what exactly you weren't sure yet. Eddie dismissed you and said you could talk more later tonight. And you realized that meant he was staying. And that made you feel the smallest bit better.

When the medic came, he assumed you'd already vomited up most of the pills, but insisted you to come to the emergency tent for a while. You worried instantly, knowing Kelsey would blow a gasket. The rest of the band could carry on perfectly suitable interviews without you, but you knew there'd be hell to pay. Eddie sat with you, listened to the medics with you, gave you his jacket as the night grew cold. Then he walked you toward the car that the doctors called for you, insisting you get to a bed and rest as long as you could. He slid in the other side of the cab and let you slump against his shoulder the whole ride to whatever hotel you were staying in that night.

///

As Eddie walked you toward the sanctuary that was this evening's quiet hotel suite, the elevator doors chimed down the hall.

"You fucked up tonight beyond your wildest imagination!" Your managers shouts were more irate than you'd ever heard them. But you were almost too exhausted to care. Only three steps away from your room. Stubborn still, you couldn't help but turn to fight back.

Kelsey was red faced and rambling so viciously that the assistant that had followed him up was taking a step back with apparent concern. Around this time, the elevator dinged again, revealing Izzy and a group of strangers hanging off his arm.

"This is coming out of your paycheck! Do you realize that? You can't just do whatever pleases you!" Your manager raved.

"Your threats are getting boring." You stated simply, lazy eyed, hoping your lackluster engagement to this man's tirade would sting his ego.

"It's not a threat, it's a fucking promise. Have you forgotten I control every aspect of your sorry little life?"

"Don't fucking talk to her like that man." Eddie snapped, unable to cope with this nonsense any longer.

"This conversation doesn't fucking concern you," Kelsey, red faced and practically foaming at the mouth, shoved a hand to your fake husband's chest. Eddies back hit the door of the room you'd been trying to enter with a thud. He stayed a bit stunned, letting a shocked grin grow under his furrowed brow. But your composure was lost by then. You couldn't help but to begin to lose your mind.

"You absolute twat!" You shouted; lunging toward your manager who was significantly taller and was holding a stance like a boxer who was prepared to demolish his opponent. All hell broke loose. You were barely able to land a swing to Kelsey's iron build when his assistant moved to block you from becoming more physical. Izzy had rushed to involve himself by then too, much to the shock of the friends he'd brought along- who stood at the end of the hall in awe.

"You're all bark and no bite, just like your pathetic excuse of a husband." Kelsey tried to squirm away from the way your coworkers were backing him up. Eddie was simultaneously placing the hotel room key you'd given him back in your hand and motioning you to unlock the door, distracting you from escalating the situation further.

"I know better than to swing back. We're done here." Eddie let out a huff of a humorless laugh and shrugged his shoulders back in place. You got the door open just in time and let Eddie nudge you into the room first. Kelsey's grumbled curses were drowned out when your pretend husband shut and locked the pair of you in; and a deafening silence surprised you when you were only minutes ago seeking out the refuge of quiet you knew would be here.

You stood in the middle of the room, trying to catch your breath from getting so worked up. But the adrenaline that coursed through your system raged on and the overwhelm that had dawned over you in the tour bus was still shading your every thought.

"I want to go home." You whimpered. But that's not what you really meant. You'd never felt at home in the house you'd lived in the past four years. The only place you'd ever really felt at ease was Hawaii. Was that one house. Was with Eddie. But you couldn't say all that now.

You realized you were crying again when the man on your mind was suddenly standing before you and pulling you too his chest for an embrace.

"I'm so sorry. You wrote in your letters that this tour was awful but now I see they're worse than that. We've gotta get you away from this crazy dude." Eddie soothed, letting his hand brush over the back of your hair while holding you closer with the other all the while. You sank into his embrace for a moment longer before pulling away to sniffle and speak more clearly.

"He- he has me wrapped up in so many contracts. Half of which I don't even know the full extent of because he's so tricky. I don't even know where to begin." You let out a shaky breath as Eddie listened. "He's slowly killing me. He sold my music to Prince. Did you know that? He writes my set lists. He times my meals. I'm supposed to be living the dream, but it feels much more like a nightmare." You groaned, hanging your head in your hands.

"He what?" Eddie asked, alarmed. You knew Kelsey was pulling fucked up shit, but in the midst of it all, it seemed all too impossible to retaliate against. The man you'd been missing was standing before you now, reaching out a hand to brush his fingers against your wrist. Eddie's hand stroked toward your shoulder as you wiped your eyes and took a deep breath in.

"He also threatened me into pretending to marry this really cool guy. Who I'm really in love with now. But I'm so scared this guy'll never want to really be with me. And when our contract is up, he'll be free to fall for someone without being obliged."

Eddie watched as you spoke, biting into a frown that drooped lower still.

"You're gonna make me cry." Eddie breathed a laugh through his nose as a sheen covered his big brown eyes, and his hands found either side of your face.

"Cryin' because you know I'm right? Or cryin' because you know I'm wrong?" You dared to ask, fearful all the while your heart really couldn't take it if he turned you down now.

"Are you crazy? What part of 'I've loved you since the Hawaiian hot tub' don't you understand?"

Bitting back a smile, you took a beat to look into Eddie's dark dreamy eyes. Your brain was almost to fogged by the chaos of the day to fully comprehend the conversation you were having right now. But your heart seemed to understand, as it settled and warmed within you.

"You sobered up fast, huh?" You joked, but not really, as your eyes focused back and forth between his.

"I don't know why it's so hard. Maybe I need longer than three months in rehab. God it's so embarrassing."

But you got it. This lifestyle wasn't for the tender soul. But a tender soul always made the best art. And self-medication was the quickest method to suppressing the madness.

"Hey," You shook your head, catching Eddies eye. "No more talking about all this shit tonight. We'll figure it out soon enough, won't we?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I hope so." Eddie nodded, sucking in a breath and drawing out its release. "Come on then... let me take care of you for once."

Eddie dragged you into the bathroom, filled up the tub and dimmed the lights. He joined you in the water and washed your hair and kissed your shoulders. He held you close enough to feel his heart beating. He dried you off and helped you slip into your pj's and joined you in bed for what you realized was the very first time. It was early by rockstar standards. Only ten. Still early enough to catch a special on the telly, the perfect white noise that sent you drifting off in Eddie's arms. And just before sleep, you felt the peace of belonging you'd wished for when you dreamed of home.

///

The next morning you were awoken by a cart of food being pulled in by the wild haired guitarist.

"Didn't mean to wake you, sorry love. Food can wait if you're still tired."

"Don't you have a show to play or an interview to film or anything? How are you still here?" You wondered, staying cocooned under the duvet.

"I've got nothing. I was actually going to ask if you minded me staying a few nights on tour with you. We are still contractually wed. But more importantly I really fucking missed you, ya know?"

"Do you really want to stay? It's no fun."

Just as Eddie started to answer, the door to your room that had been unlocked from Eddie's breakfast delivery, swung open. Kelsey barged in, rolled up papers in hand. You assumed they were the doctor's notes left from last night. They'd ordered you to a day of rest.

"You're one lucky fucker, you know that? You might get to be babied today but you're making up the interviews I had to cancel before we leave at six tomorrow morning."

"What are you gonna do Kelsey, drag me out of fucking bed?" You sat up and spat right at the guy. "I'm not some fucking pet you can leash up and show off. I'm a person! With a soul! I guess I can see why that's hard for you to comprehend, being the leach you are."

"You need to leave. Don't come back today. I will call security if you do." Eddie walked towards Kelsey, beginning to back him out of the room. The manager laughed lowly.

"Well aren't you two cute? Treacherous nobodies." Kelsey tossed the rolled-up papers at you before turned to leave.

"What a fucking prick." Eddie growled, picking up the papers that had floated each and every direction. He tossed them on the desk and moved to sit on the bed at your side.

"So what'll it be? Pancakes? Or back to resting?" The guy reached out a hand to brush a strand of hair from your face. Just as you grinned and opened your mouth to answer there was another persistent knock at the door.

"It never ends!" Eddie chimed.

"I told you it's no fun here." You shrugged pointedly. "Will you answer again?" You were gonna choose going back to sleep, if the fates would allow. Your body ached from its efforts of violent sick the night before. Your mind ached from exploding under the pressure of it all, last night.

"Oh, hi." Eddie opened the door to Zed. His hair was mused. He was clad in only a robe and boxers. And he held a paper in his hand.

"Was Kelsey just here?" The drummer looked anxiously from Eddie to you, back to Eddie.

"Yeah, why?" Eddie assured, seemingly worried.

"Did he leave you papers? Because it's our bank statements. And they're way fucking wrong, at least on my end." Zed held up his bluish tinted sheet that looked just like the one sitting on the table of your room. You didn't feel very tired anymore. You rushed to stand, grabbing the document and scanning the words and numbers on the page.

"There are hundreds missing. Maybe more. And it's all charged under 'miscellaneous funds.' What the fuck is this?" You waved the page before both boys, alarm bells whirring in your head. When Kelsey threatened to pull from your paycheck he wasn't kidding.

"We've had almost mirrored spending habits as the month before yet more is being taken out this time?" Zed shuffled documents until he reveled last month's invoice, pointing out the differences.

"My lawyers are Kelsey's lawyers. What should I do?"

"I'm gonna go to the lobby and call Brooke. I've just had an idea that should hopefully help you all." Eddie noted in a hurry. He nodded to you and brushed past Zed on a sudden mission.

"Fuck dude. It's like, never ending." You wanted to cry but were probably too dehydrated to produce tears at this point.

"I'm going to make sure the others know but..." Zed spoke, shifting his weight in the doorway. "Are you okay?"

"I will be, I think. I don't know. Probably no more little blue pills, yeah?"

"Oh, I already flushed em." Zed assured. "And I assume I won't be getting any more late-night visits either?" The drummer scratched the back of his head and looked to you like a sad little puppy. He wasn't in love with you. And you had nary a feeling for him. But the pair of you had found comfort in your routine hookups.

"I don't know. It's not like Eddie and I have anything officially going on. But I can promise you, you'll be the first to know when I've got my shit figured out, yeah?"

Zed nodded and told you to get back to bed, and thanked you for having a meltdown grand enough to allow everyone else a day off too. You shot him a middle finger and chuckled your way back under the hotel sheets.

///

Kansas 1986 -

Eddie hadn't left your side since Chicago. The last night you spent there he'd called Brooke and asked her to sneak into Kelsey's office in L.A. to go through his files. The brave soul did just that, and found a fax Kelsey had sent to himself of a new contract where he forged the bands signatures and decided to charge you each more monthly. Brooke called you in Detroit and set you up with some well renowned lawyers. You had big plans to fuck Kelsey's shit up after the tour. There were only seven shows left. And you weren't in the business of disappointing your fans.

Kansas was pretty beautiful, the sun shone, your plans were coming together, Eddie spent a lot of time sober and reading a paper back with his head in your lap. Your tour bus pulled into the finest hotel available. You were an entire day ahead of schedule. And there was nothing to do with it.

"Let's go to dinner some place nice, no late-night pub. Wanna?"  Eddie coaxed, crash landing to sit on the edge of this weekends bed. You watched him in his own amusement, grinning as the mattress continued to spring. 

"Sure, that sounds like a nice change of pace." It wasn't to say that you'd been starved of fine dining experiences on this tour. But the past few days had been nonstop with no time to relish or relax outside of the tour bus.

Before you knew it you were dressed to the nines, hanging off of Eddies arm as he escorted you out of the back of the resort where your limo waited. Unsure where exactly you headed, Eddie had taken care of asking the front desk for the nicest eatery nearby. 

A castle like building with French style cuisine it was. Skipping ahead of reservations and smiling politely to wait staff, you wound up settled comfortably in a leather booth, sipping a lemonade and staring at Eddie. He leaned both elbows on his side of the table and stared right back at you.  

"Thanks. For dinner. And for staying on the road with me. And for... well everything I guess."

"It's been truly the least I could do. You shouldn't be saying thanks at all. I should be saying sorry for how much of an embarrassment I've been to you, like, since the dawn of our meeting." Eddie spoke up, twirling the straw in his soda.

"Don't start that-" You tried to stop his groveling, shaking your head.

"I am sorry. We agreed to this marriage to help each other's image, more or less. And I've been parading around like a fool."

"Maybe. But you also got us a trip to Hawaii that changed my life a little. And you're here with me now. You've been better to me than you give yourself credit for." You grinned, searching Eddies deep wide eyes. He squinted as if to consider the weight of your words. He let the chatter of the atmosphere grow louder as silence settled in the space between you. One sip of your drink. Two. Three.

"So, what... how..." Eddie started, struggling to choose his words until he just came right out with it. "Do you really love me?"

"I really do." You nodded, letting your head bob more assuredly as you thought on your statement. "I'm not sure when it happened but I can promise you, you'll break my heart when you leave."

"Well, I don't want to leave." Eddie shook his head, seemingly worried, like he was about to be swept off into a void. "I don't want to leave you. I know I have to go back to L.A. soon but, that's not what we're talking about here."

"It's not." 

Just then, your kind waitress breezed by, offering refills and desserts. You declined both and decided to call it a night, hoping to get some proper beauty sleep in since you had a night free enough to do so. The pair of you breezed out of the restaurant, flashing smiles to the fans who'd gathered outside of the business after learning you were dining inside. You shouldered your way into the limo without too much fuss, and then turned to find Eddie settling at your side. 

And when he looked back at you, it was like the whole world made sense. It baffled you. Here in the middle of America, without a single prompt, it felt like your world just shifted on its axis all because of the smile that reached Eddie's eyes when they locked on yours. Maybe it was the effects of a proper meal settling in after probably too long without one. Or maybe the tour had finally driven you mad beyond comprehension.

But by the time you got back to the hotel, you weren't so naive. You realized that the wall you'd built up that guarded your heart from this man had finally crumbled, the last brick blown over after your conversation at dinner. 

"Eddie-"

Like a mind reader or a braver soul, the man in question spun around from locking the hotel door to grab your face and kiss you. And you got it then. You got why he couldn't have done this with you, if he'd been half as in love with you as you were with him right in this moment. You understood why it would have wrecked him. But you got to kiss him now, letting your soul settle as he kissed you back.

It was as if you'd never done this before. With Eddie or anyone. A carnal desperation washed over you, now that the waiting was over. Your hands traced the inside of Eddie's leather jacket, falling until they reached his belt. As your fingers started to undo the thing, Eddie pushed them away. Oh no, he was about to stop you again, wasn't he? 

"We have all night." Eddie explained, saving your heart from sinking to your stomach. "Slow?"

"Yeah, I like that idea." You smiled, letting Eddie gaze at you through hooded eyes, pressing his smile to your cheek for a kiss. He let his lips wander from your jaw to your neck as his hands trailed from your sides to your back. 

This was all you'd ever wanted from him. This was more than you'd ever let yourself have with him. His body firm against yours. His heart on the table. God, you'd nearly forgotten you were in the midst of a tour that made you nearly consider quitting this business entirely. You'd nearly forgotten you'd ever been hurt at all. 

You simply soaked up the way Eddie peeled off your layers one at a time, taking forever to do so. He laid you down and let you rip away his shirt. He smoothed his hands over your skin and let you tangle your fingers in his hair. 

Dusk cast through the curtains, coloring the room a dull purple. Eddie marveled at the beauty of the evening and moved his kisses down your stomach. Eventually his lips met the middle of you and his kisses were unrelenting. As tortuously slow as he'd taken his time to wind up between your legs, he made up for by working you up into a frenzy in the matter of seconds. And then he claimed he had only just begun; Eddie announced his plan to make you come undone as many times as he could muster before you were each too tired to go on.

He kept his word, sending stars into your vision over and over as the night turned black. You returned every favor, dragging out your efforts to drive Eddie wild until he absolutely couldn't stand it any longer. When it came time for the guy to press himself all the way into you, overwhelming peace filled your heart so full it frightened you. You were almost moved to tears by how in utter fucking love with Eddie Munson you were. Unsure how else to express those profound emotions in a time like now; you let your jaw slack and your breath catch as the weight of these intense feelings and realizations wracked your body and soul. 

Eddie's eyes were focusing on yours then, and with a smile he sighed, "I know." And somehow, you believed that he somehow truly did have an understanding of the exact feeling you struggled to articulate. Still, you barely got to relish the way his hips rocked into yours before he was losing composure. But still, it was beautiful to watch Eddie reach his peak, straining against you. Because of you.

Eddie was crashing at your side, spent and sleepy and so fucking beautiful. 

///

The next morning came too soon. You knew last night was a one off, for now. You knew there were days that waited just ahead that demanded attention you worried you didn't have patience for. You knew you needed to hold onto last night for all it was worth, when morning came.

Eddie woke up, slinging an arm surer around your middle, groaning about not wanting to ever get up. You chuckled and shifted your weight to sit up ever so slightly. You had time left to laze, but not much. So you knew your question needed to be asked right away. 

"Eddie." You whispered, grabbing the hand he left splayed across your stomach, bringing his knuckles to your lips. The guy lifted his mussed head of hair and let his dark eyes flutter to meet yours. He propped himself up on his elbows and pressed his own lips to your shoulder.

"Eddie... What are we doing? What happens now?"

"I want something real with you." Eddie lifted his face to find yours. He was smiling at first but it faltered before he spoke up again. "But I think we need to figure out our shit first. Let our dumbass contract end. Get you through this tour and away from Kelsey. Get myself off the fuckin' bottle. Then maybe we can live life together instead of just trying to survive it."

"I see." You mulled over his statement, still holding his knuckles in your grasp.

"All that to say I want to see you all the time. I want this with you all the time. But I don't want to make you promises I'm afraid I'll break. I meant what I said about staying in rehab longer than three months, this time."

"Is that why you're going back to L.A.?"

"I already asked Brooke to find me a residency." The announcement was a happy one. But it meant his leaving was soon and it meant his absence would be significant. It meant mornings in sheets and sunlight were further away than you'd recently hopped.

"Can I come visit you?"

"I don't think I could fully heal if you didn't."

///

Topeka wasn't the most glamourous city. But deep in the heart of the Midwest, the wildest shit seemed to be going down. Your green room was full of groupies, clowns, bikers, freaks of all kinds. There was probably nothing left to do in the middle of tornado alley than to go a little crazy.

Maybe that's why you weren't surprised when you found Eddie backstage. Maybe that's why you weren't disappointed. Maybe that's why you didn't stop Eddie when he let some pink haired punk rocker pour a shot down his throat. 

But then he saw you and he smiled. He fucking smiled. And you couldn't help but let outrage burst from your being at that point. Marching through the crowd, you plunged a hand out to grab Eddie's sleeve, yanking him away from the madness. All around you people were laughing and yammering and singing, lost in their own plots. Eddie wasn't laughing anymore. He wasn't smiling. He was protesting as you dragged him behind you, around the corner toward a row of backstage showers. Secluded in the tiled room, you let go and turned to face him, Eddie didn't even look like himself. His eyes were glassed over, his demeanor barely held together.

"What the fuck?" You yelled. "Just because you have a room booked at rehab doesn't mean you get a free bender. Stop trying to kill yourself!"

"I- thinking..." Eddie rose a finger, pointing your way before he huffed a small curse, losing his balance, staggering toward the wall.

"You're a fucking mess. I don't even know what to do." You wanted to cry, you wanted to yell at him until he sobered the fuck up and promised to stop this bullshit forever. For good. He stayed leaning against the wall, furrowing his brow, closing his eyes as a you shouted his way.

"You're not the only one this shit is hard for!" Eddie slurred back, opening his eyes and gesturing your way.

"What are you talking about Eddie?"

"This is too hard. I'm too-" He huffed a frustrated sigh, too drunk to possibly convey a proper expression. Still, to the best of his shitfaced ability, he tried. "I'm too fucked up for this job. I'm too fucked up for you. I think I'm always gonna be. So... so jut go back to Zed. Or something. I'm gonna fuck this up. I don't want to but-" His words slurred so close together it may have been impossible to understand him if you didn't know him so well. There were tears welling in his eye's as he rambled, and every word went straight to the pit in your stomach.

"Eddie, baby, listen-"

"No, you gotta go on stage!" He waved a hand for you to hurry away. It was true, but your concerns for him were increasing by the second. Stagehands poked their head in the locker area, calling your name, insisting you hurry. You called back to them to find Kelsey, God how you wished anyone else would be in charge enough to help. When your sleezy ass manager finally rushed in, you told him you refused to go on stage until you saw Eddie put into a cab and escorted back to your hotel. Because there were people watching, Kelsey did as you said.

You played that show with your heart in your throat. You sang with your brain turned off. You tried to remember how great last night was. But tonight scared you too bad.

///

You didn't get on the tour bus. You didn't let Kelsey threaten you to stay for the after party. You rushed to hail a cab and paid the driver far more than anyone ever should have to book it to the hotel.

The driver was brilliant. But the ride seemed to last forever- every second, a threat, in your mind. You worried almost to the point of getting sick. What if they hadn't dropped him off in the room like you demanded? What if he got out and went to a bar or got lost? What if something far worse happened?

You ran inside the fivestar lodge and sprinted to the elevator. You pressed the button to your floor a dozen time, willing it to move faster, muttering your will outloud. The elevator doors creaked shut as you pressed the button again and again, beyond desprate to get upstairs. The indicator passed the second floor. Then it passed the third. And then your ride screeched in an unfamiliar tone, stalling before the arrow could make it to the fourth floor. No.

"This is a sick fucking joke!" You cried out to no one, kicking the doors of the elevator that stalled between floors. You cried and cried and pressed the button again a dozen times before back up, accepting your fate, letting your shoulders hit the wall as you stood alone in tears. Maybe Eddie was right somehow. This was never going to work. Maybe you were destined to break each others hearts. You almost let the grim thought take over your mind. You almost let that conclusion be the finale one to make.

But then you remembered the look in Eddie's eyes last night, when he pinned you against the mattress. And the look in his eyes at dinner. And from the side stages and passenger seats and press junkets. Maybe it was destined to fall apart with Eddie. But you weren't gonna go down without a fight damn it. 

Pushing yourself from the wall, you cursed and pounded the button until the elevator screeched into motion again, rising passed the handful of floors it took until your destination. You practically pried the doors open when you got to where you needed to be, racing down the hall, fumbling your key from your pocket. 

Eddie was there, slumped halfway on the foot of the bed, like he couldn't make it the rest of the way. Empty cans a littered near the bin by the door. Kicking past them, you moved to shake Eddie's shoulders. He grumbled at your jostling him, but nothing you could understand. You cried and tried your best to move him to a more sensible position in the middle of the mattress. You cried and rolled over to kneel by the bedside telephone. It rang twice before she answered.

"Brooke, you need to come get him." You cried. 

"I'm on my way." She assured; without an ounce of hesitation or question or anything but allegiance.

You stayed up, checking Eddie's pulse that never faltered, sniffling back tears for this whole fucked up situation. You stayed up writing a letter to Eddie, promising him things with Zed weren't going to work out. Promising nothing would work out with anyone but him. Promising you'd come visit Eddie in rehab and that you actually loved him more than you knew you were capable of. That even though you were scared too, you were willing. Promising you were proud to call yourself his wife even if you were never actually married. Then you signed your name at the bottom, finally giving him that autograph he'd once asked for.

Brooke was there six hours later. Dressed to the nines, slipping in the room unsurprised by the scene, reaching out to hug you without asking. You let the woman hold you for a moment as you focused on taking deep breaths and convincing your nervous system help was here and happening.

"Thank you for giving a fuck about him. And helping him. For coming all this way." You shuddered a breath and looked to the woman with kind eyes and a killer fashion sense.

"I care about Eddie. I care about you too, you know?"

Brook went on to say that if you ever wanted to call her to talk, her line would always be open. And if you ever wanted to call her to replace Kelsey, she'd gladly represent you. She went on to curse the man in charge of your career, insisting you deserved better than the treatment he gave you. You struggled not to keep on crying as you thanked her a billion times more, and moved to deal with Eddie.

As you and his manager sat up the man, he seemed to wake up from his stupor. Still out of it enough to stay silent, but alert enough to help as you and Brooke dragged Eddie out of the room- and to another stupid fucking elevator and out of the back of the hotel. You had packed his things and stuck your letter in his bag. No doubting he'd receive it in a timely manner.

Outside, Brooke left you to bear all of Eddie's weight as she opened the limo door. In that time, Eddie tried his best to support himself more fully, grabbing at your shirt and yanking himself up to look at you. His eyes were brimmed with tears, still dark and beautiful. Still your favorite pair. 

"You promised." Eddie winced. "No lugging me around." You had a firm hold around his waist, and under his arm. You remembered the deal you made before signing the contracts. You remember what he referenced.

"Not lugging. Helping. That's what I promised." You sniffled, letting more tears fall as you brushed back Eddies hair. His eyes closed and his brow furrowed as you guided him toward the limo. Brook shut his door and promised to phone you. Then they were off. The car sputtered to start and turned down the alley and you stood there all alone again.

///

The next few nights went by in a blur. Texas was hot, Colorado was pretty, Oregon could have been fun, but it wasn't. You allowed yourself no time to think or feel or wonder. You focused solely on the music and getting off this God forsaken tour.

Kelsey went flying down the halls of a casino in Vegas when Ambrose tried to call him out for stealing money from you lot. It resulted in a physical altercation where the manager had your guitarist by the collar against a wall, but the staff security team broke it up and Ambrose slumped off to the lobby bar instead of responding when you asked if he was okay.

That night you stayed up late on the bus to Phoenix, staring at the screen of the telly mounted near the cabinets.

"You're doing that thing again." Zed appeared, looking down at you with tired eyes. "Where you stare a hole through whatever is in front of you."

"Yeah." You sighed. The drummer seemed to decide something, and moved to sit at your side- handing you the joint he'd been smoking. After a beat, he asked if you'd found any good lawyers. You mentioned that you in fact had. Sometime around Detroit, Brooke had phoned you with more information than you knew what to do with and a list of people rallied to help.

 Silence fell between the pair of you once more as a late-night show began to air. You halfheartedly listened to the host relay news updates while passing Zed's joint back and forth. And then a certain topic demanded your full-blown attention.

"Corroded Coffin announced a hiatus tonight, disappointing fans who'd recently been promised an upcoming tour." The late-night host made a joke about the metal groups fans being a bunch of softies. "Yeah, apparently, lead singer Eddie Munson checked himself into rehab for a whole year..." Whatever joke that crackled through the screen next was lost on you, as your eyes brimmed, full of pride and fear. Proud for how Eddie was being public now about his absence from the scene. And fearful for what was next to come. 

A lot could happen in a year. A lot needed to happen in a year. But what if it didn't go how, you all hoped? What if your attempt to hold Kelsey accountable backfired? What if you were never able to get free? What if Eddie found a nice girl down the hall from whatever room he booked and forgot all about how badly he said he wanted a real shot with you? 

"We'll still be friends, right?" Zed pipped up, taking the joint from your grasp and passing you a stray tissue instead. "Way less codependent? More morally supportive?" 

"I'd like that, yeah." You sniffled and smiled to the drummer whose presence had been a surprising safe place for you through this whole mess. You thanked him for being there and for understanding the time and place for your vice driven alliance had come to a close. But after a newly born secret hand shake it was decided that you'd still be glad to call each other a friend.

///

L.A. 1986 -

The holidays fast approached by the end of that tour. Your Christmas was shrouded by legal documents. Kelsey hadn't spoken to you since you'd served him those papers. He didn't even look your way in the court room. 

When the new year kicked in, you spent most weekends visiting Eddie in rehab. You'd play a round of cards and tell him how good he looked and listen as he spoke about how much better he felt too. You each dreamed of life after he got out. Movie dates and song writing sessions. You each parted ways with a well-meaning embrace and sometimes a small kiss or two. 

While awaiting the verdict to your case against Kelsey, you declined your labels deal for a new album. You phoned Brooke instead and asked her to book you a trip to Hawaii. You started packing that night, unsure when you'd leave or for how long. But your trust in Brooke's ability to work miracles remained steadfast. So when your phone clattered and you answered to the sound of her voice, you weren't surprised by the glee in her tone. 

"Do you want the good news or the bad news first?" She asked. Her question faltered your grin and opened the pit in your stomach. Hadn't she just said hello cheerfully as ever? 

"Uh-" 

"The bad news is that old house you wanted me to rent again is no longer available. I can't book it for you." Brooke interrupted, voice flat and tone descending.

"Oh, I see." You shrugged, not half as hopeless as you'd expected to be by her bad news. You expected much worse. But you were pretty bummed. That home was the only one you had in mind, the only space you imagined finding true peace in for your planned getaway. The only home on your mind since you'd left it. You and Eddie had so much fun there. Sure, there were moments filled with awkward silence and questionable decisions made there too. But that little Hawaiian home had your heart damn it.

"But the good news is, it's for sale. And I asked them to hold off on accepting offers until I called you." Brooke rushed to inform. Oh. Now this was very good news indeed. You asked a couple times if she was joking. You knew she wouldn't do that. But you just couldn't believe you had an opportunity much grander and more promising ahead of you. Potentially more than a suitcase to pack.

Without any hesitation you formed a plan. Two days later Brooke sat next to you on a plane, a bundle of hundreds in hand and every pair of fingers crossed. You rented a chic little motel room for one night, and abandon your things there soon as they hit the shelves. You had a house to go buy. 

It all happened so fast. You made an offer any relator would be a fool to refuse, cash in hand. In the matter of an hour and a half meeting, you were signing your name on a dotted line and being handed the keys to a door you'd opened a few times before. It was yours. It was all yours now.

Brooke took you to dinner to celebrate. You bought her desert and asked her what more you could do as thanks. She had done so much for you, more than she ought to have done. The stunning woman shook her head and smiled and reminded you friends didn't owe friends anything. All she cared to ask of you was to make this year better than the last. To see you happier would be enough thanks for Brooke.

The flight back to L.A. was surreal. You spent it planning paint colors and writing a list of movers to call and dates to settle. 

And as soon as your plans were solid and your bags were packed, another weekend rolled around. It was time to see Eddie again. You drove to the rehab in the middle of nowhere and felt something like melancholy weighing in your gut. Something bittersweet in the back of your throat. Things were never going to be the same. 

 The halls were bright white, sunlight making the tile floor shimmer. Residents you'd come to recognize pursed polite smiles your way as you turned corners to find Eddie. You knew where he would be. At the picnic tables in the garden. Maybe with a book in hand. Maybe with a pencil. 

Today, he was sitting amongst the sprawling green grounds alone, a magazine on the table before him. It was closed. As you approached you recognized the Rolling Stone font across the glossy page, looking up to find Eddie staring a hole through the cover. 

"You gotta turn the pages with your hands babe, won't open otherwise." You remarked, stepping through the grass to see Eddie grinning up at you. He was more despondent today than he had been your past few visits. He waited till you sat at his side, resting your head on his shoulder as an affectionate hello. 

"Apparently there is a pretty scathing write up about me in here. One of the first since I paused the band to come here." Eddie voiced, letting one of his big hands rest on your thigh. His rings were missing, and his other usual regalia too. The grey hoodie he wore suited him well, you thought, with his pulled back hair. He looked very clean, in every sense.

"You don't have to read it if you're not ready." You reminded, lifting your head to face the man at your side. He left his hand resting on your leg as he bit his lip and looked to you too. "Or I could read it to you?" 

Eddie shook his head.

"It's time I start facing some facts, ya know? Start doing the hard work of facing what I have to change now that I'm sober enough too." Eddie sighed. He'd spent the past few months getting well, letting his body and mind recover. The next step was to grow. To start molding himself into the version he came here seeking help to rebuild. It was time for the hard part. The part he never got to in rehab before.

"I messed a lot of shit up." Eddie nodded, letting his eyes fall away from yours. "I should have done a lot of things differently. Especially with you." 

"Babe, it's okay. You don't have to do this." You assured, reaching out to smooth your hand over his shoulder. You had never held anything that happened against him. 

"I know we both kind of got roped into a weird and shitty situation. But I could have handled it so much better. You deserved so much more respect than I gave you. And that last night. You never should have had to take care of me like that. I shouldn't have gone that far off the deep end," Eddie sighed, letting his eyes well with tears, sniffing them away as he apologized for it all. You brushed away a loose strand of his hair and shook your head. 

"S'okay, Eddie. We were both just taking those days as they came. We did what we thought we needed to, to get by. It's okay."

As you pulled the guy in for a hug, Eddie fell into your frame without hesitation, burying his head in your neck. You held him there for a moment muttering something about how proud you were that he was doing his best to be better.

"Can I tell you something, now?" You wondered, smoothing Eddies hair as he pulled away to lock his dark eyes with yours. He smiled, when he noticed you were already grinning. When he nodded, you drew in a breath and said,

"I asked Brooke to book me a trip to Hawaii. You know how stressful the past few months have been. Hell, the past year." You began. Eddie nodded along. "She found that same little place we stayed in for our honeymoon." You rose your fingers to curl into air quotes around the last word of  your sentence. Eddie huffed a laugh before speaking up. 

"You loved it there. So did I. So you're staying there again?" Eddie beamed. So did you. 

"It was no longer available to rent." You revealed, watching Eddie's brow furrow. "Because it was for sale. So I bought it. And I'm moving there. Like now. Like after I leave here." Your smile was so wide it nearly ached your cheeks. Eddie was shocked, brows shooting up, mouth hanging open, palms held out before you. You took his hands and nodded to assure you weren't fibbing. 

"Oh my God." Eddie gasped. "This is perfect. I'm so happy for you." He wrapped you in another embrace, planting his lips to your cheek as you started yammering about plans to paint and furniture to buy and an open door policy Eddie was allowed to mind at all times. Eddie watched as you rambled, his grin flattening a little, until his lips were bitten together and his brows pushed togeteher. 

"What is it..." You stopped listing plans and straightened your posture to watch as Eddie sucked in a deep breath. Seeming to choose his words, you tried to remain patient, ignoring the pit in your stomach threatening to grow.

"I can't have you read me this Rolling Stone article because I need to do it on my own." Eddie spoke decidedly. "I can't come visit you in Hawaii. I can't-" Eddie shuddered a breath. "I know we aren't really together. But I need to be really alone, for a while. I need to deal with my own shit, ya know?" Eddie's voice shook as he explained himself, bouncing his knee and moving his eyes from yours to his lap. The void in your stomach widened exponentially. 

You wanted to argue back, remind him what he said the night you slept together last. How he said he wanted to be with you. But you couldn't be so selfish. You unfortunately understood where he was coming from. You swallowed your despair and nodded.

"Okay. Yeah, I understand Ed."

"I'm sorry. I lo-" Eddie blinked up to the sky and shook his head. "I'm sorry."

A moment of heavy silence swirled between you, as you made the hard choice to be okay with this, at least in the moment. Then you looked up with a grimace of a smile. 

"Can I still write to you? I'd like to still write to you." You declared, watching Eddie work to find composure. 

"I'd like that too." He breathed, forcing a smile. "I'm still happy for you." He assured, his voice thick with emotion. 

"And I'm still proud of you." You smiled, and you meant it.

///

Hawaii 1987 -

Another holiday season was fast approaching. And this year you had every opportunity to celebrate. You bought a little faux tree and put it by the fireplace. You decorated the big kitchen windows with garland and let Christmas vinyl's spin from the record player in the guest room. 

The little Hawaiian home was clean and cozy and decorated just the way you liked. Since moving in, fresh paint brightened the walls. Old familiar photos hung there too. A few miscellaneous tour posters and three platinum records the only memorabilia you held on to from the past four years.

On the kitchen counter was an offer from your record label you were still mulling over. The year off and away from Hollywood was a refreshing and much needed break for your sanity. Creativity seemed to flow more freely all the while. You definitely had music in mind to record. You just weren't sure if you were ready.

You liked the life you had here. The mornings you spent milling about the markets down the block. The friends you made of your neighbors. The quiet. 

You missed your old life too, though. More than you thought you would have. You missed making music and singing for crowds. You missed dressing up and going out. The closest to a wild night out you had since moving here was when Brooke surprised you one summer weekend. She stayed at your insistence and took you to the finest restaurant on the Island and gossiped for two days and three nights straight. And when you asked about Eddie, she said he missed you. She said he kept your rarely exchanged letters on his coffee table. She said you should call him. But you couldn't. You wanted to respect his space. To allow him all the room he needed to grow into sobriety and into the new version of himself he was anxious to learn about.

But Brooke wouldn't answer when you asked if you should get back in the studio soon. She said only you could know the right answer to that question. So you mulled it over from then until now. Teetering closer to calling back your label every day, eager to agree to record something. 

And then it was Christmas time.

It would've felt lonely if you let it. But you'd worked too hard on finding hope in the dullness, this year. You worked too hard finding peace in the quiet, this year. You reminded yourself to relish the home you got to call your own. How you truly felt you belonged here. You marveled over how fate handed you these house keys. You smiled when you remembered how you'd come to fall in love here, in more ways than one. 

Then there was a knock at the door.

Mulling toward the front of your home, you expected a delivery or two. You'd ordered gifts for your neighbors this year, and some for yourself too of course. You were determined to have a happy fucking holiday.

But the man at your door was more of a gift than you'd asked for, this year. 

Eddie was there, grinning wide, wringing his hands. His hair was a little longer, the longest you'd ever seen it. His frame was toned, his face was full of warm color and his eyes were bright and clear. He was a vision. He was so damn beautiful.

"What's all this?" You smiled, letting a laugh of surprise escape your lips. 

"Surprise? I hope I'm not intruding." Eddie rose a hopeful brow, his dark deep eyes peering into yours for the first time in too damn long.

"Shut the fuck up and come inside you fool." You smiled and widened the doorway, stepping aside so Eddie could enter. Your heart hammered at the sight of him, your soul buzzed to life at the realization that he was here, he was really fucking here.

"Just like old times, aye?" Eddie grinned, letting his gaze float across the home he'd discovered with you, a year ago. 

"Hopefully not." You noted, crossing your fingers this visit led to a more positive and promising outcome than your last time together in this home. Eddie laughed and asked how you were liking it, complimenting the changes you'd made since last he saw.

You rambled for a bit about a particularly hard renovation and another story about how perfectly another came together. Then you asked if he was hungry. It was almost dinner time. 

Before you knew it, you were mixing up your famous pasta sauce to the tune of Eddie's story telling. He made you laugh so hard you cried, and nearly burnt yourself stumbling to catch your breath near the oven. He ate your dinner with gratitude and answered your questions about how his life had been going. Eddie spoke about a tiny apartment and a sparse kitchen and an empty schedule. Eddie admitted it had been hard, but that he was finally in a place he felt he had control over. Eddie helped you clean up and let you make some hot cocoa's because it was the damn season.

You led Eddie to the living room, warm mugs in hand, rambling back and forth about the year you'd spent apart. You spoke about making new friends and considering calling your label back. You mentioned how much you missed him, like a lot.

"You're not mad I'm here?" Eddie cautioned, setting his mug on the coffee table and turning to face you. He rested an elbow on the back of the sofa and his head in his hand.

"Why would I be mad, Eddie?" Your mind boggled, unable to consider feeling anything besides unbridled glee at the mere thought of the man's presence.

"Because last time I saw you, I said I couldn't come here. And now I've just invited myself over all of a sudden. I'll understand if-"

"No, I'm not mad. I didn't think you'd never show up. Maybe that's the hopeless romantic in me." You shrugged, smiled and dipped your chin toward your shoulder, trying to hide your embarrassed blush.

"Romanic, eh?" 

"I never stopped loving you, Eddie." Your voice was a whisper. Eddies eyes burned into yours. His gaze was full of desire you recalled rising up in him before. His gaze was full of adoration you remembered him expressing. His dark chestnut gaze was familiar and warm and so nice to stare back into after too damn long.

"Okay I'm gonna say something, then. You can kick me out after this. But I'm gonna say it, okay?" Eddie seemed to decide. 

"O-okay."

"In rehab I did a lot of thinking about the past. What I fucked up. What I lost. But when I got out, I started to realize I had forever in front of me. And there was so much I still had the opportunity to fix and change. And I realized there was no version of forever I want to spend without you. I know this is like... the third time we've come to this crossroad but..." 

Suddenly Eddie was sliding off the sofa and kneeling before you on one knee. Suddenly, he was reaching in his pocket. Suddenly you were staring at a ring. The stone was tigers eye and the band was gold. It was what you tried to pick out all that time ago.

"I'm a mess." Eddie proclaimed "I cannot promise to make your life better. but I can promise I want to be a part of your life. I want to marry you. Actually this time."

"For real?" You gasped a chuckle, sniffing away the spring of tears that clouded your vision from focusing on every little detail of this perfect fucking moment.

"Very much for real. No contracts. No reason besides the fact that I love you." 

You were nodding, holding out your left hand and struggling to suck in a breath before you could say yes a dozen times in a row. The space in your stomach where despair often bloomed was now only full of hope and assurance and calm. The space on your finger that had been left bare since your tossed that ugly diamond ring into the ocean was now perfectly fitted with the jewel of your dreams. The space in front of you was now taken up by Eddie. And he was finally all yours.

///

New York 1988-

"So after Kelsey went to prison and Eddie got out of rehab and moved to Hawaii with me, we got lawfully married, got a dog, helped each other rediscover music."

"The release of your new album suggests you and Eddie are a duo now. Do either of you plan on making solo records again?"

"I don't." Eddie chimed in, finally settling at your side in the booth with a fresh soda in hand. "I'm too unhinged without her around. Plus, she clearly makes music better. It's because of her touch we won album of the year. We probably lost to Paul Simon in 86' because there was too much of my misguided influence on Steel and Stone." Eddie laughed and you shook your head. 

"Don't discredit yourself."

"Will there be a coin toss to decide who gets to keep the Grammy?" Rolling Stone chuckled.

"We'll probably keep it on the mantel where we both can see."

After that interview ended, Brooke picked you both up from the lounge and let you stay in her loft until your flight back to the Island was due the next morning. You didn't wake her when the both of you got up and snuck off. But you left a letter on her counter, explaining that she deserved an award for putting up with the pair of you after all this time. So, you left the Grammy on her counter too. ///

Hawaii 1990- You opened the front door with one hand and balanced a bag of produce with the other. The man at that bodega at the edge of town was still selling veggies from his garden. Even though he walked with a cane now he'd manage his way to sell you produce for half price every weekend. 

You breezed through your home, toward the kitchen where you rested your bags on the counter next to a radio that had been left on. Right on cue, Eddie made his way in from out back, dripping ocean water on the rug you put down to protect the hardwood floors. 

"Wanna come out there with me while the waves are still calm?" He wondered, finding a towel and kissing your cheek as a morning greeting. You'd been brave enough recently to wade in the water a little deeper than ever before, with Eddie at your side, and only when the tide was calm. 

"I'm making breakfast now," You waved off your husbands offer, catching a glimpse of your tiger eye ring in the sun rays through the window curtains.

"Then I'll help." Eddie smiled, stealing the tomatoes you were in the process of washing clean. He took the food to begin prepping and turned up the radio on his way, a song you'd both written played. You watched as Eddie helped make your meal and listened as he sang to you and thanked God for the music that made it possible for your paths to cross and connect together. 

What you might write next together was just as an exciting thought as what the pair of you might watch on the telly later. Life was easy to find love within when Eddie really clearly loved the hell out of you. This house felt like a home with him in it. Eddie was finally home... and so were you.

///

[stevesjockstrap]

kinktober 5: Corroded Coffin/Steve & group sex

Rated E • Corroded Coffin polycule + Steve • famous Corroded Coffin, regular guy Steve, no UD, indeterminate time frame, implications of free use, double penetration

Suggested by @fuctacles

Corroded Coffin had always been close; maybe a lot closer than anyone would’ve expected. No one remembered how it had started, really. Just a bunch of dudes stuck in close quarters together for too long, especially in the early days where groupies were unheard of. Guys messed around with their friends, helped them out, right?

Eddie knew what they had was taboo, and of course this unspoken thing continued after the band had hit it big, hiring assistants and management, through relationships and falling outs. The band knew they always had each other. That had worked for them for so long, why stop now?

Until Steve Harrington crashed into his life, uprooting everything Eddie had thought possible. He was nobody, just a normal man who worked a boring office job. They’d crossed paths randomly, at a hotel where Steve was attending a work conference. Eddie had made a fool of himself, unable to speak or make sense, mystified at the beautiful man in front of him.

The band laughed at Eddie falling so hard so fast with this regular guy, figuring it would burn out as fast as all of their attempts at separate endeavors always had.

Eddie soon learned that Steve was very needy, and found the idea of others joining them more than appealing. He wasn’t put off by Eddie’s shy admission of the band mates helping each other out. It wasn’t the dealbreaker it had been in the past. Eddie, and everyone else, were pleasantly surprised.

He had talked Steve into taking a sabbatical at work to join the band on their international tour. He’d finally caved, as there'd be no way Steve would survive without his boyfriend for the months they’d be gone. The few days or weeks in the beginning of their relationship had been unbearable for him.

The boys were even more hyped up than usual after the show tonight, rushing through meet and greets. It may have had something to do with Steve waiting for them in the green room in only a pair of baby pink panties, cock hard and plug already in place.

Eddie smirked at him, taking his time as he licked across his sensitive nipples while Drew pushed into him from behind. Steve’s own dick was engulfed by Jeff’s skilled mouth and his hands were working Gareth’s hole and cock. They had all perfected their roles, the boys knowing what each other wanted before they could ask for it. And Steve fit in quickly and immediately, completely uninhibited and giving as good as he got.

Eddie usually found himself hanging back, wanting to watch them take Steve apart and then use him to exhaustion. Steve was the most insatiable person Eddie had ever met. He’d come again and again and still cry and whine for more. Jeff and Drew were mostly useless after coming once, so then it was up to Gareth and Eddie to work him to completion.

Not that anyone ever complained.

Once Drew was snoring on the other couch and Jeff was chugging a bottle of water, Eddie slid into his twice-filled hole as Steve bottomed out into Gareth.

“Oh shit, baby. You love being in the middle, huh?” Eddie gasped as he clenched around him.

“Love all of it,” he murmured, starting the rhythm of their thrusts. He cried out as he fucked himself back and forth between them. Gareth was unusually quiet, and Eddie realized Steve’s fingers were shoved into his mouth.

“Gareth really wanted Steve to fuck him, but he said he didn’t want Becky to have to listen to his wailing. Her room is right next to us here,” Jeff explained.

Eddie chuckled, sucking a dark bite into Steve’s shoulder.

Their publicist had put up with a lot the last few years. She really liked Steve, probably because he was so easy going and friendly. Being gorgeous probably helped, but Steve always tried to help out with whatever Becky needed.

Gareth reached up to pull the fingers away from his mouth to grumble, “Don’t know why you have to suck up to her, you’re already her favorite.”

They both fucked forward hard at the same time, making Gareth cry out loudly. Proving his point, Steve shoved three fingers back in, snorting at his choked off noise.

Gareth came quickly after that, rutting back to try to make Steve come first but Eddie pushed two dry fingers in alongside Steve’s cock as Steve jerked him off. He didn't stand a chance.

“Want me all to yourself now, princess?” He teased as they switched positions, Steve riding him fast. His cock was hard and dripping, bouncing with him as he sunk down onto Eddie. They both jolted as Gareth decided to get revenge by pushing his own thick fingers next to Eddie’s cock.

“Yesss,” Steve whined. “More, Gare. That’s- oh fuck. Shove your cock in too.”

Eddie laughed but Gareth spit into his other hand and worked himself back to hardness. He pushed at Steve's shoulder to get him into a better angle, holding himself above Eddie’s chest. After only a few moments of rubbing his cock between their bellies, Steve came again, easing the way for Gareth as he slowly pressed in beside Eddie’s cock.

The tightness around his cock was insane. But looking up at both of their faces was better. He’d never seen Steve like this before, eyes unfocused, keening loudly as he and Gareth found a rhythm to fuck into him together.

“Oh fuck, that’s hot,” Jeff groaned from his seat, leaning forward unabashedly staring at where they were all connected.

Steve pulled away a bit, and Eddie stilled. But he only pushed up on one arm to reach back with the other, teasing his fingers around the stretched skin. The other two groaned with him.

“So fucking full, oh my god,” he nearly shouted.

Gareth giggled and shoved forward roughly, making all three of them cry out. When he continued, Steve was the one making all the noise. So much for not pissing Becky off.

They both had the same idea, both of their hands coming to cover Steve’s mouth simultaneously.

“Gunna come, Gare, oh shit,” Eddie warned.

“Me too.”

Eddie reached one hand to pull at the hair at the base of Steve’s skull, bringing him in for a filthy kiss as Gareth pulled Steve’s hips back and forth. Steve came again, squeezing impossibly tighter around them, Eddie swallowing his noises as they continued fucking him through it.

He felt Gareth’s release hot around him before he succumbed to his own climax.

When he’d caught his breath, Steve was laying on his chest, a satisfied sort of smirk across his face.

“We are definitely doing that again,” he mused.

“Oh, you are trouble,” Gareth responded where he was sprawled on the floor a few feet away, pushing his hair off his sweaty forehead as he panted.

Insatiable as always, Steve somehow conned Eddie into eating out his abused hole in the shower until he came twice more.

They bought flowers and a bottle of wine for Becky, who only avoided eye contact with them for a couple days afterwards.

Dividers by @/steddiecameraroll-graphics & @/fuctacles

[eddiesghxst]

PRICE OF FAME (PART 1/12)

yes i have eighty different rockstar!eddie's now, pls don't look at me, i rewatched almost famous and had a moment, k bye, enjoy!

————

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: rockstar!eddie x journalist!reader

summary: you're a writer for rolling stone magazine and eddie hates the media so... he hates you

contains: enemies to lover trope, themes of sexism/misogyny, smoking, drug and alcohol use, sexual themes, and eddie being an asshole <3

word count: 4.5k

| next part |

| series masterlist | -main masterlist- |

You love your job more than anything.

You love that it allows you to travel, that it’s centered around music, and that you get to meet people and make friends and do extravagant things you would’ve never imagined you’d be doing. You love your job.

“I love my job.” It’s starting to taste like a lie when it reaches your tongue.

You mutter it to yourself again, looking around the bright hallway and searching for any fucking door with the words ‘CORRODED COFFIN’ written on it.

You glance at the watch on your wrist, teeth digging into the soft skin of your cheek as you keep walking down the corridor. 

You feel as if you’ve been walking down this hall for years, miles of white stone wall and shiny gray cement floors, equipment littered here and there with staff walking through doors and yelling commands.

You follow the echo of chatter and soft giggles, the sound getting closer and closer until a group of girls meets you. A red-headed girl lazily chews gum and stands against the wall, glaring at you from behind her blood-red shades. You take the chance to ask them your pressing question, “Do you know where I could find the dressing room for Corroded Coffin?” You ask.

The girls glare at you and giggle, eyeing you and, without a doubt judging your lack of fishnets and leather clothing. Brown leather boots, flared jeans, and a white long sleeve— you don’t belong here. “You a reporter or something?” 

You look at the redheaded girl, pursing your lips and taking a steady breath, reaching up to grasp the strap of your crossbody bag. “I’m a writer for Rolling Stone Magazine,” you explain, ignoring the snickering girls on the side. You clench the leather band of your bag in your palm, “I’m doing a piece on the band.”

The girl silently studies you; a ghost of a smile passes her lips, “Rolling Stone Magazine?”

You shift on your feet, eyebrows furrowing, “Yeah um… they’re big on music and—“ “I know what Rolling Stone Magazine is.”

You love your job.

You steadily breathe, clenching your bag once again. Your feet ache in these boots, and your jeans are teetering on the cusp of too tight after you ate a quick dinner— you want to go home. “The boys won’t speak with Rolling Stone.”

It falls silent between the two of you, and you glance at the other three girls, huddled together and passing a joint. “They don’t like watered-down shitty tabloids like yours. They won’t want to see you.” The redhead explains, silently reaching over to accept her turn with the joint.

You watch as she brings the burning paper to her lips, taking a long drag and smirking at you. She expects you to take her word and leave, but you’ve dealt with enough people like her to know she’s bullshitting you.

“Could you please point me toward their dressing room?” You ask, reconstructing your previous question because you now understand that, without a doubt, these women know where the dressing room is.

She laughs and points across the hall, some feet from where you’re all standing. You can see the first few letters of the band's name from your angle, and you internally rejoice. You thank her and walk over to the door, mentally reviewing your introduction a few times before laying a few knocks on the heavy black door.

There’s no response for a moment, and you try not to let the snickering sound of the girls tick you off. You lift your hand to knock again, but the door swings open before you can do it. A tall, muscular man glares down at you, dressed in black with a scowl. He must be security.

“Hi, I’m a writer for—“ “Groupies aren’t coming in yet; wait out in the back.” 

Your face twists in offense, glaring at the man as you, yet again, clench your fist in annoyance, “I’m not a fucking group—“ The door slams shut before you can finish your sentence. 

“Fuckin’ asshole.” You mutter to yourself. 

You love your job.

The girls snicker behind you, and you feel your face heat in embarrassment and annoyance. Why is nearly everybody in this industry just a bunch of assholes? You figure you’ll just have to wait for the band members to come out, leaning back to press your back against the wall and patiently wait.

From outside, you can hear the chaotic noise of yelling and loud banter from inside the room— the clatter of furniture breaking and thuds against the wall. You remember when behavior like this used to shock you, but artists seem to have reckless behavior nowadays.

The group of girls chatter amongst themselves, and you busy yourself with following the cracks in the floor. You stand there with aching feet and a mental ticking clock for what feels like hours, and you almost give up until the door flies open and three boys stumble out, reeking of alcohol and weed and musk. 

You watch as they all brush past you, ignoring you for the group of girls standing across the hallway, cheering their names and draping their arms across their shoulders. 

“And who might you be?”

You turn around at the gravelly voice, locking eyes with a glazed pool of brown. The last of the group, the fourth member— and, by what you can piece together given the notorious long dark brown locks dusting his shoulders, Eddie Munson. You clear your throat, stepping forward and telling him your name. You extend a hand for him to shake and ignore how his gaze rolls over every inch of your body.

“I’m a writer for Rolling Stone Magazine,” you explain, retracting your hand when he only glances at the kind gesture. He stands before you, an uninterested smirk dancing against his lips. He’s dressed in black jeans and black leather boots that look worn to hell despite his bottomless pit of a wallet. A black sheer button-down top, fully open to expose his sweat-glistened chest, shiny chains hanging from his neck and kissing his collarbones. His ringed fingers are wrapped around the neck of a half-empty bottle of whiskey, tiny sticky streams of spilled alcohol coating the bottle.

“I’m here to interview your band.” You add. 

He laughs, spit-slick lips forming a mocking smile as he speaks, “My band?” 

You blink, “Yes, you’re all a band, right?” You motion to the boys, still chatting with the girls across from where you stand, ignoring the sight of one of the members groping a girl as she giggles. “Heavy metal band, Corroded Coffin?”

Eddie snickers, “Yeah, toots, we’re a band,” he lifts the bottle to his lips, speaking over the rim, “But this isn’t my band.” He tips the drink back and gulps down the bitter drink.

You watch as he takes it down without a single twitch of displeasure. You take a deep breath, shifting on your feet as you ignore his smart response, “Okay, well, it won’t be long,” you try to reason, reaching for your bag to dig out your notepad.

“Just a few questions; I won’t take much of your time—” Eddie cuts you off with a wave of his hand, “Listen, princess,” he presses his hand against the wall beside you, using the hand wrapped around the whiskey to gesture as he speaks. “While I’d love to sit and chitchat like a couple of teenage girls, we’ve got two issues here, sweetheart.”

“One,” he raises his index finger, “We don’t do interviews before shows.” He explains as if it’s common knowledge. He lifts another finger, “And two,” he steps closer, a sickening grin spreading across his lips when you step back. “We want nothing to do with your shitty dick-sucking career-crushing poor excuse of a magazine.”

You stare at him, a million different responses churning in your head, and you so badly want to read him to filth, but you really fucking love your job.

“Mr. Munson, I promise you—” “Where are you from?”

What is it with these assholes and cutting you off mid-sentence? 

You swallow your pride and answer, “Michigan.” Eddie hums, nodding his head, clicking his teeth as if tasting the state on his tongue. “I’ll tell you this, Michigan,” he bumps the bottle against your shoulder, and you grimace at the drop of liquor that seeps into your shirt. “We’re not doing your shitty piece of a story, but we’ll graciously give you a nice view of the show from the side stage.” He grins, patting your shoulder once and winking.

A staff member passes by you, alerting the band that they have less than a minute to be on stage. You open your mouth to object to his offer, but the boy is downing the rest of the bottle and shoving the bottle into your chest, “Enjoy the show, Michigan.” 

You watch in disbelief as he walks off with his band members, the other members not even glancing your way as they holler and cheer down the corridor of the venue. For the 80th time tonight, you clutch the band of your bag and curse to yourself.

Fuckin’ dipshit rockstars.

Against your better judgment, you, again, swallow your pride and watch the show from the side of the stage. You decline any drinks offers, wanting to stay as sober as possible for the interview after the show (if you can weasel one out of them). 

Corroded Coffin knows how to put on a show. Each band member works the crowd in ways you have rarely witnessed in this industry— it’s not difficult to see their appeal to the younger generation of music listeners.

None of the members outshine the other; they are all equally in the spotlight, playing their part to create a well-oiled machine of an act. Granted, most of the show is concerningly chaotic; Gareth kicked his foot into his drum set near the end, Jeff smashed the fret of his guitar over the side of an amp, Eddie made out with a fan and Gareth, and the other member you can’t seem to name for the life of you sprayed the front row with multiple bottles of liquor.

It’s chaotic, an endless list of violations without a doubt, but the fans eat it out of the palm of their hands.

You don’t even bother trying to get their attention when they run off the stage, quietly watching from afar as they’re cheered on by VIP fans, managers, and staff. Security rushes them to the green room, where a line of fans waits with various pieces of merchandise to be signed.

You follow, silently taking in the busy scene, saying nothing when you catch a few members stealthily swiping tiny bags of party favors from fans. It’s a movie of never-ending noise and movement, and you’re wondering how they put up with this every night.

You glance at your watch and grunt in annoyance, half past midnight, well past the time you’d hoped to be back in your hotel room.

You stand aside and watch the room as the squealing fans go to each boy, getting autographs and Polaroids to commemorate the moment. Gareth is a flirt, shakes every girl's hand and only lingers for the ones he fancies, gazes into their eyes like they’re the only girl in the room, and smirks when they giggle and lean into his touch. Tells them they’re pretty, compliments their dresses and tops, and gazes at their chest for too long until staff breaks the moment and tells the girls to ‘keep the line moving, ladies’. 

Jeff is almost the same, except he’s less performative with it. He’s got a hint of a gentleman in him, thanks each fan for coming, and asks how they liked the show with a sneaky glint in his eyes and a sly smirk. Winks at one of the girls and leans in to whisper something in her ear, something you can’t read from his lips, but later on, you will see them step onto the tour bus together, snickering like sneaky teenagers.

The bass player, the one whose name always slips your mind, has gone off somewhere with a groupie; you watched them slip away from the madness the second he stepped off stage. 

And Eddie— Eddie can’t stop glaring at you. Can’t stop looking at you and making you squirm because he wants you gone. He’s got an arm draped around a girl's shoulder, neck craned down to hear what she whispers, and through the chaos of the room and the pretty girl practically pawing at his chest and giggling in his ear, Eddie still manages to find the time to look at you. Curly bangs wet with sweat sticking to his forehead, cheeks rosy and flushed with adrenaline, wide eyes diminished beneath smudged black eyeliner. He looks like an animal, damp and matted, searing gaze dripping with malice. 

You almost take the bait and cower.

A hand is placed on your shoulder, breaking your silent staring contest with Eddie as a man steps into your view. He is taller than you, older with lines of age sinking into his skin, glaring down at you over the end of his cigarette as he speaks, “Rolling Stone Magazine?”

You wonder how he was able to pick you out, but your itchy jeans and suffocating boots quickly remind you that you don’t exactly fit into the crowd. You nod, sticking a hand out and telling him your name. “You must be Richie, the manager?” You assume, kindly smiling when he takes your hand with a friendly grip in greeting.

“I’m here to interview your boys. We called this morning,” you remind him. He nods, puffs out a cloud of smoke from the side of his mouth as he speaks, “Yeah, uh… The thing with that is,” he tilts his head to scratch at the stubble on his chin, “I’m not so sure the boys’ll be up for that.” 

You breathily laugh, glancing at the boys behind him, ignoring when Eddie glances your way, “Yeah, I gathered that already.”

The man hums, reaching up to pluck the burning paper from his lip, blowing the smoke away from your face before speaking, “Yeah, Eddie’s not too keen on big media. Bad run-in from the past.” He explains. You nod understandingly, “The Face?”

The man nods, taking another hit, “Tore ‘em to shreds.” You nod, crossing your arms over your chest with a breath, “I remember.” He offers you a hit, and you shake your head, kindly waving him off.

“Shitty, you came all this way, though. Where you from?”

You don’t look at him as you respond, too focused on the man across the room, his attention locked in on the fans now that he sees you’re being taken care of— like an unwanted intruder being exterminated. But you’re not an intruder. You’re a journalist, a writer, a listener— and you’re damn good at it. 

Before you can thoroughly think about the repercussions, your mouth is running, gaze still locked on Eddie, “I can get them on the cover.”

Richie pauses his rambling at that, pauses the lift of his cigarette to his lips, and looks at you, waiting for you to say it was a joke or something— but it’s not. Your gaze flitters to him, your expression unwavering as you wait for him to respond. “The cover?”

You nod once, watching as he takes one long drag of his cigarette. “We can do one big interview with them all,” you begin, “I’ll tag along for a few shows to gather more on the experience, get a photoshoot booked and have them on the cover for the July issue.” You’re pulling strings, tugging at what sounds enticing and will get you where you need to be. You’re good at your job, you’ve done this before, and you know how to bend things to your will because the rockstars— the rockstars are always easy to break.

Richie glances over his shoulder and grunts, rubbing a hand over his face before turning back to you, “Okay, um,” he sighs and curses under his breath, “Let me see if I can talk them into it, yeah?” He sticks the cigarette between his lips and starts searching his pockets. “We’ve got a residency tour in New York next,” he announces, finally fishing out his wallet and sifting through cards until he finds what he needs. He offers the card to you, “Think you can meet us there?”

You take the card and glance over it before glancing at the boy once again. You nod, and he smiles, “Give me a call when you land; I’ll let you know if it’s a go.”

He leaves without another word, and you stay standing for a bit, rubbing the card between your fingers as you watch the boys meet the last of their fans tonight, Eddie no longer looks your way, and you hope he does for just a split second so he can know— so he can realize that he lost.

You give up when he seems too preoccupied with the girls, stuffing the card in your purse and making your way toward the exit. You’ll have to settle for rubbing it in when you see them in New York.

You spent the better part of your week convincing Anna, your manager, to give you the benefit of the doubt and allow you to pull through with a cover story. Anna wasn’t so excited when you told her you offered them a cover, but Anna is never excited by your ideas; she’s always worried until the final product comes out like a fine piece of gold. Treasure. You create treasure, and Anna knows this, so she finally relents and lets you go through with it— “You better get me the biggest story ever made. Bigger than Madonna.”

You can do bigger than Madonna— and seeing as your subject is four young men at the peak of worldwide fame, ‘bigger than Madonna’ will be a piece of cake.

You grab the hotel phone the second you get in, dialing the number on the creased business card you’d fished out from your bag. Your knee bounces in anticipation, teeth digging into your lip as you listen to each agonizing ring, almost thinking Richie gave you a fake card before finally, the phone picks up, “Hello?” It’s groggy, like he’d just woke up.

“Hi, it’s Rolling Stone Magazine,”

He groans on the other end, and you can hear the rustling of sheets, and you assume he’s sitting up in bed, “Rolling Stone Magazine… Oh— oh, uh… are you here?” He asks. You nod before answering with a short yes. 

“Are we on for today?” You ask. He’s silent for a few moments, nothing but sleepy, distant grunts filtering through the speaker. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, we’re on just uh,” you pick at the seam of your jeans as you wait for him to finish his thought, “Come to the garden at around three; they’ve got rehearsals, and you can try to squeeze in after.”

You thank him and end the call, placing the phone back on the stand and sighing as you glance around the room. This will be your home for the next month; Anna advised you to stay for the entire residency tour despite your reassurance that you can complete the story in a week— “A big story, birdie. A massive one. A good one. That doesn’t happen in a week.”

So, one month. Twelve shows and thirty days. One month.

Eddie doesn’t like rehearsals. 

He thinks they’re stupid and useless and take up too much time of the day when he could spend it doing something else. Could be writing, could be out having fun with the boys and getting high as a kite, could be fucking that redheaded groupie, Lany. He could be doing so many things, but instead, he’s up on stage in an empty arena listening for feedback in the mic and testing the amps for the guitars. 

“Let’s do that last track one more time; I think I’m picking up a bit of feedback on you, Gareth.”

Eddie sits down on the edge of the drum riser, sticking a cigarette between his lips and lighting it up. He tilts his head back and blows up toward the beaming lights, squinting at the bright rays and imagining them enveloping him. He closes his eyes and imagines it’s the sun, thinking about Hawkins and the last summers he spent with the gang. Thinks about Dustin and Lucas and Max and Mike. Steve, Nance, and Robin. Thinks about how he hasn’t called or visited in a while, even though he got their card on his birthday.

He feels shitty for not calling home; he itches to make the call now and let them know that he misses them and wishes they could fly out more often to watch the band play. They’re all busy, though; the kids are about to start college— dusted the shit out of high school, which Eddie obviously flew in to watch them walk the stage— and the older half of them are all getting jobs, looking for their next big step in life, and Eddie misses them.

His reminiscent thoughts are cut through with the sharp and loud slamming of the arena door, grasping his attention in seconds. He blinks a few times to get the light out of his eyes, squinting at where the noise came from— and Eddie’s mind is fresh off a joint, so he’s not a hundred percent sure if he’s just envisioning that journalist from the other day or she’s actually here.

He stands up from the drum riser, stepping further into the stage as he watches you walk down the rows of seats; barely acknowledges the stage manager when he asks him to play the riff from track four until Jeff walks into his line of sight, “Come on, man, I wanna get this over with.”

Eddie situates his fingers over the frets of his guitar, watching as you find a seat in the third row and settle in, settling your bag in your lap and holding it to you as you silently watch the crew work the stage. He plays the riff a few times, until they can fix that god-awful ringing noise behind the higher notes, and when they finally wrap up rehearsals, Eddie makes a beeline to the front row where Richie is standing, quietly chatting with a staff member about where he wants the road cases to go. Eddie doesn’t care much for their conversation, steps in, and promptly interrupts, “Why the fuck is that journalist here?”

Richard turns to him and raises his eyebrows, “Sir?”

The staff member leaves as Eddie leans in and points over Richard's shoulder to where you sit, still quietly watching the stage, bright lights illuminating your face like you’re some god-sent fucking angel— and you’re not. Eddie knows you’re not. He sees straight through your friendly act. “The journalist, Richie. Why is she here?” He slowly repeats.

Richie glances at you and looks back at Eddie, “She’s doing a story on the band—” “No, she’s fucking not.”

Richie stares at Eddie, blinks for a silent moment before speaking, “Son,” —and sometimes Richie reminds Eddie of Wayne, and it scares him, “She’s gonna put you on the cover of Rolling Stone Magazine.” Richie points your way. Eddie falters momentarily, mindlessly blinking and shaking his head, “Cover?”

Richie laughs and pats Eddie on the shoulder, “Yeah. The fucking cover,” he says, “so, whether you like it or not, you’re doing the interview. This is what the band needs.”

Eddie shakes his head, curly strands brushing the muscles of his shoulders, “We don’t need a goddamn cover, Richie. We’re not doing a fucking story—” “Yes, you are.” Richie doesn’t mean to make his voice boom through the arena, but it attracts attention either way, and he sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose before clapping a hand onto the back of Eddie’s shoulder, turning both away from the stage.

“You’re putting out an album in a few months. You want it to sell, don’t you?”

Eddie clenches his jaw, teeth grinding against each other as he glances over his shoulder, annoyed when he catches you watching— almost smirks when you quickly look away as if you’d been caught red-handed. Despite Eddie’s strong will, he nods because fucking obviously he wants the album to sell— but at what cost?

Richie nods and squeezes Eddie’s shoulder, “Good. Then you’ll do the interview. She’ll be with us for all of New York, so play nice. We need a good piece.” and leaves Eddie with a pat on his shoulder. 

Eddie stands there for a moment, gathering himself and trying to cope with the fact that some fucking narc will be on their back for the next month. He doesn’t see or hear you walk up to him until you say his name. The barricade separates you, your fingers gripping the black railing as you stand before him. Eddie’s hands are on his hips, not moving an inch as he looks at you.

“I know you don’t want me here, but I… I’m just doing my job, and if you can cooperate, this will be easier for the both of us.”

And Eddie— god, Eddie can’t fucking believe the audacity.

“Did you fuck Richie?”

He watches you pull back, blinking at him as you stare silently. Eddie tilts his head, eyebrows raising to push the answer from you, “No, I didn’t—” You shake your head and blink hard in confusion, “Why would I—” “Because you want a good story.” Eddie snaps, “Right?”

Because that’s all anybody ever wants from him. A good story. A tale to tell their friends about. Tell them the secrets they pulled from Eddie Munson, tell them about the famous rockstar that fucked them backstage, tell them they know what makes him crack. A good story.

You gape at him, lost and shocked by the sudden confrontation. 

You straighten up and tilt your head, eyes growing harsh with anger as you respond, “No. I didn’t fuck Richie. I don’t fuck to get where I want, I pull strings, and I make it work,” you snap, “I treat people with the respect they deserve, and I get what I want. You could learn a few things from that.”

And with that, you’re gone. Leaving Eddie behind with a twisted face of annoyance. He watches you walk over to where Richie is and greet him, but he doesn’t stick around long enough to watch or tune in to the conversation, storming through the arena and grabbing his coat to get in the car and tell the driver to take him to his hotel.

One month. Twelve shows and thirty days. One month.

Eddie can play along, he thinks. How hard can it be?

————

part two

[rogueddie]

Famous Steddie Au Recs

Important: READ THE TAGS! Also, leave a comment and kudos! These fics are amazing and I love them and I hope y'all do too 📸

Help I'm Alive

ChaoGarden

Eddie reached a hand out and gently tucked his fingers under Steve’s chin, tilting it upwards and turning Steve’s face just a little to the side as he observed something on Steve’s face with a look of intense speculation. Steve couldn’t say for certain, but there was almost a tiny bit of anger there just along the edges, like he was stifling away anger at whatever it was that he was looking at.

Surely he wasn’t looking at the-

“Somebody put their hands on you, sugar?”

Words : 65,581 Chapters : 9/9 Rating : Explicit

AO3 : x

Somebody To You

tears_for_years

@ bisexual_disaster: i would let eddie munson make me bark like a dog

Words : 4,714 Chapters : 3/3 Rating : Teen and Up Audiences

AO3 : x

you smile that beautiful smile and all the girls in the front row scream your name.

antithetical_dreamgirl

Eddie has three major rules when it comes to working with celebrities: 1. don’t flirt with the talent; 2. don’t hang out with the talent; 3. don’t, under any circumstances, fuck the talent.

He’s had enough rockstars’ managers kick him out of hotel rooms after waking up to an empty bed with cold sheets to have learned his lesson ten times over by now.

He doesn’t even think of adding a fourth rule: don’t fall in love with the talent. Has never even come close to needing a rule like that. Not until he meets Steve Harrington.

Words : 4,510 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen and Up Audiences

AO3 : x

Consensual Catfishing

foresthearts

When Eddie gets a message on instagram from an account claiming to be the famous pop-star Steve Harrington, he knows immediately it's a catfish. He's not dumb. The account has no pictures and people like Steve Harrington don't just randomly DM guys like Eddie.

Still. What would be the harm in letting it play out? It's not dangerous if he knows he's being catfished. No, if he knows about it, then it's basically like a fun little roleplay. No harm, no foul.

Words : 32,108 Chapters : 4/4 Rating : Mature

AO3 : x

abstract

a_little_unsteddie

The break-up had been messy, and long overdue by the time it happened; Eddie had spent the better part of two years avoiding everything in the news including Steve's name, half convinced that Steve hadn't ever loved him at all. So, why was Chrissy sending him an interview that Steve had done at some talk show?

Words : 1,107 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen and Up Audiences

AO3 : x

the night breeze carries something sweet

asbealthgn

Eddie is used to getting recognized in public, but it doesn’t mean he likes it.

That is, until the most beautiful man he’s ever seen in his life sits in the seat next to him, unfurling a giant map that easily shields both of them. Eddie’s fucking savior.

“Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know how to get to Japantown, would you?” the guy asks.

Words : 4,898 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Explicit

AO3 : x

Your Life, Framed on the Wall

orphan_account

A scrapbook of interviews and articles following Eddie Munson’s rise to fame as the frontman of Corroded Coffin, and his relationship with one Steve Harrington.

Words : 9,379 Chapters : 9/9 Rating : Teen and Up Audiences

AO3 : x

Make Them Feel It

camouflagedlove

Steve Harrington has acted in many romance movies over the years but finds himself yearning for that same kind of love in real life. He struggles to make those connections but feelings start to boil up for him when his co-star, Eddie Munson, wants to rehearse the love confession scene from their movie. It's just a scene...isn't it?

Words : 2,835 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen and Up Audiences

AO3 : x

We're Going The Distance

stevelovers

Steve doesn't know where Dustin got this little idol crush. After seeing world famous Olympic Gold Medalist “Medal” Munson- a geek who has set world records in snowboarding, he begs Steve to take him and the kids to watch him compete in an amateur charity tournament at Mad River Mountain’s Mad Dog snow race. Too bad he's a complete asshole.

Words : 14,732 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen and Up Audiences

AO3 : x

i'll find my soul as i go home

oakenorcrist

Eddie Munson has had a rough go of it -- broken-hearted and uninspired, he decides to leave everything behind in San Francisco and spend some time with his uncle in a small town in the mountains. Little does he know that there he will find not only the peace and rest he's so desperately needed but also everything he never knew was missing from his life up until this moment.

Words : 31,868 Chapters : 5/5 Rating : Teen and Up Audiences

AO3 : x

[munsonsmixtapes]

Fulfill My Fantasy

Based on this poll, it looks like rockstar!Eddie has won!

rockstar!Eddie x plus size!groupie!reader

summary: you jump at the chance to finally hook up with your celebrity crush in a porta potty at a music festival

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) reader calls Eddie a good boy

If you were being honest, you had been convinced that you were put on this earth for the sole reason to fuck rockstars. You had been in the pants of the most famous names out there, each one being surprisingly easier than the last. They were always so eager to get into anyone’s pants and you always left them wanting more even though you never slept with the same person twice.

Your most recent target was Eddie Munson, even though you weren’t sure you would have been able to get to him because he was always already with someone. You almost had him in Texas, but saw him enter his dressing room with another girl so you took the loss and tried again in Missouri only for the same thing to happen.

You felt a little stupid for trying so hard if it wasn’t going to work out, so you just decided that you’d give up and stopped following Corroded Coffin on tour. You then settled for men who you weren’t interested in, completely forgetting about Eddie altogether since you knew that wouldn’t happen. It was all just a pipe dream, it seemed.

You found yourself at yet another music festival, on the prowl for yet another celebrity to add to your list, but weren’t finding anyone who you felt was worth your time. They were all either creeps or just weren’t interested in you. But then, as if the universe had listened, your eyes locked on Beckett Brooks, the guitarist of one of your favorite bands, who was purchasing a beer from one of stalls.

You made a beeline for him and stood behind him to act like you were in line. You didn’t know why you were nervous since you had done the same thing more times that you could count. Maybe it was because you had looked up to him for so many years.

You tapped him on the shoulder and he turned around, giving you a bright smile once he caught sight of you. You watched his eyes rake down your body and you were eating it up, hoping he was liking what he saw.

“Hi,” he greeted and your smile matched his as he put his hand out for you to shake. “I’m Beckett,” he introduced himself and you shook his hand briefly before letting yours fall back by your side.

“Y/n,” you replied and he nodded and he turned to grab the beer he had purchased that was sitting on the counter of the stall and twisted off the cap before taking a swig of the drink.

“Can I buy you a drink?” There was no way you were drinking with no one around to take care of you, but you’d definitely take a soda or water because it was so hot in the summer heat.

“I’ll take a water.” You really needed to hydrate, especially with what the two of you were going to get up to if you played your card right.

“Sure,” he nodded and ordered you a water while you tried to amp up the flirting to really get the ball rolling.

“I saw you on stage earlier,” you told him as he handed you the bottle of water and he looked at you in interest, as if he was intrigued by what you were saying.

“Oh yeah?” He titled his head to the side and pushed some of his blond hair out of the way. You thought the long hair suited him and wondered what it felt like. It looked soft and shiny in the sunlight.

“Mhm,” you nodded, taking a sip from your water.

“What’d you think?” They were great as always, but you couldn’t help but notice that they were pitchy in a few spots.

“You guys were really good,” you told him, putting on the excited face that men always ate up. “Especially you.” You stepped closer to him and wanted to push some hair behind his ear when you felt an arm drape over your shoulder.

You turned your head and held in a gasp as you saw that Eddie Munson was standing next to you. He was dressed in a mesh top that showed off his tattoos and nipple piercings off so nicely. The top was paired with a very short pair of black shorts and you had to stop yourself from drooling at how hot he looked. Honestly, it should have been illegal.

He turned to you with his signature mega watt smile and you tried to figure out what he was up to. You had had maybe a couple of conversations with him over the years and honestly didn’t think that he even knew who you were. Especially not enough to have his arm draped over your shoulders as if you were old friends.

“Sorry I’m late, hon,” he smiled and you furrowed your eyebrows, unsure as to what he was up to. You barely knew each other and now he was acting as if you were super close despite the face that you had only had a few conversations that had only consisted of small talk.

“Eddie, man, so good to see you,” Beckett greeted him, but Eddie couldn’t have given less of a fuck, keeping his gaze on you. You looked into his eyes and the sun reflected off of them, making them a warm honey color that was just so pretty.

“Hey, Beck,” he gave him a wave, still keeping his eyes locked on yours. “I think Millie, you know, your girlfriend, was looking for you.” Eddie finally turned to the guitarist and gave him a look that told him to get lost and Beckett was quick to make himself scarce.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I should go find her. It was nice to meet you, y/n.” This wasn’t the first time that you found out that one of them had a significant other, but at least you had found out before sleeping with one them this time.

You pushed Eddie’s arm off of you and turned to face him, wondering what he was playing at. You had a feeling that this little game was for his own personal gain and that he wasn’t just trying to protect you like he may have wanted you to believe.

He just smiled at you and you hated that you almost wanted to melt looking into his stupid, pretty brown eyes. It was almost as if he was looking at you on purpose and you had a feeling that look got him out of so much trouble.

“What the fuck was that?” You yelled, ignoring the eyes that were now on you. Eddie just crossed his arms over your chest and blinked at you as if he had no idea what you were talking about.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, y/n,” he shrugged and that made you even more angry. He wasn’t going to get away with what he did and you were going to make sure of it.

“Bullshit.” You stepped closer to him and he mimicked your actions, a grin breaking out on his face.

“Oh, she’s getting angry.” You were falling right into his trap and you didn’t even care. He deserved to be yelled at.

“Of course I’m angry. You drove Beckett away while I was just about to get him.” You weren’t even close to getting him, but you could have been having him in that moment if Eddie hadn’t ruined it for reasons you were still unsure of.

“I think that was an exaggeration,” he laughed. “But I honestly think you dodged a bullet. I mean, he has a girlfriend and honestly, he’s not that great in bed.” He grimaced as if he had been speaking from experience and that didn’t surprise you since Eddie was openly bisexual and seemed to get around just as much or maybe even more than you did.

“Right, of course you’d know.” You crossed your arms over your chest and smirked as Eddie’s face twisted into a look of anger.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He glared and you just stepped closer to him so you were toe to toe.

“We both know what to means. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to find a hook up since you ran mine off.” You turned on your heel and searched around for another person as Eddie followed you, not wanting to lose you in any of the crowds. He has already been looking for you all day and wasn’t going to have all of that time go to waste.

Little did you know that he had wanted to hook up with you just as much as you wanted to hook up with him. He had wanted you the moment he saw you, but he was just so intimidated by your beauty that his mouth went dry when he tried to talk to you. So, he settled for another girl and let you slip through his fingers twice.

Today was the day, though. He was desperate for you and really needed to know how his dick felt inside you and it was driving him mad thinking about you. Maybe interrupting your conversation with Beckett was wrong, but he thought you deserved to know the truth about him even if the reason why he did it was selfish.

“Hey, wait up!” He grabbed your arm and pulled you back, turning you around to face him. “Why don’t you hook up with me?”

“After what you just pulled? Fuck no!” You laughed and even though it was at him, Eddie still loved the sound and wondered what he could do to make you do it again.

“Listen,” he licked his lips. “I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you in Atlanta, okay?” You figured he hadn’t been lying since he remembered the exact city he first saw you. And even though you believed him, he was not off the hook.

“I saw you backstage and ran into a wall because I was staring at you.” You didn’t believe that, though. Unless he had some sort of proof, you were convinced that he was lying. If he wanted to have you, he was going to try harder. He was going to have to beg. On his knees. With tears.

“Right. So that’s why you passed on me twice?” You had a point there. That definitely didn’t make him look good.

“I was nervous. You’re just so pretty that I was intimidated.” You laughed again and wondered how stupid he thought you were. This definitely wasn’t your first time hearing that and it wouldn’t be the last.

“This may work on new groupies, but I’ve been around long enough to have heard that line more times than I can count. You know, for an alleged casanova, you’re doing really bad at this.”

“What do you want me to do, y/n? Beg?” Exactly. He was finally getting it and you didn’t even have to spell it out for him.

“Right on the money, Munson. You’re not as dumb as you look.”

“I can beg,” he nodded furiously.

At that, Eddie dropped to his knees and grabbed onto your hips while he looked at you. You loved seeing him so small and pathetic and were eating up the way his eyebrows pinched together as if he was in pain.

“Please forgive me,” he begged, his voice coming out like a whine and you felt yourself getting wet at the sound of it.

“Gonna need a little more.” Your hands moved to his hair, giving his head a scratch.

“Please,” he said again, his words somehow coming out even more whiny. “I promise I’ll be a good boy.” Your pussy was become a sopping mess and you desperately needed him inside you.

“Alright, I forgive you,” you nodded, giving his head another scratch and he hummed at the sound. “Now c’mon.” You pulled him to his feet and took him by hand to lead him to the only private place you could think of.

“Where are we going?” He asked and you just ignored him, pulling him across the grass as fast as you could without breaking out into a full on sprint.

You finally got to the porta potties and Eddie nodded, finally understanding what you were getting at. You pulled him to the only vacant one at the far end and he opened the door, letting you in first. You both squeezed inside, the space very tight and your lips were on his in an instant, not wanting to waste any time since the place wasn’t somewhere anyone wanted to be for longer than necessary.

You liked into his mouth and he let out a whimper as his hands moved to your waist, his hands dipping into the waist band of your skirt as your tongues swirled around each other, the two of your letting out moans as you did so.

“Take off my skirt,” you instructed and he was quick to oblige.

“Yes, ma’am,” he nodded.

“Good boy,” you patted his head and it drove him wild to hear you call him that, practically creaming his pants at hearing it.

Eddie removed your skirt in record speed before taking off his shorts and underwear. He reached into the pockets of his shorts and pulled out a condom before opening it and rolling the thing onto his cock then thrusting into you, both of you letting out moans as he did so.

He thrusted in and out of you slowly so the movement wouldn’t rock the porta potty even though you both always wanted it fast and hard. You grabbed onto his shoulders and dug your fingers into them, pressing little crescent shapes into the skin as you did so.

“Fuck, so good,” you moaned and Eddie continued, testing the waters by moving a little faster and harder and you moaned even louder, digging your nails further into his skin. He responded by grabbing onto the backs of your thighs and you jumped, knowing that he would be able to catch you even though you were bigger than him. Your legs wrapped around his waist and you buried your face into his neck as he fit all of himself inside of you, both of you letting out loud moans as he did so.

“Taking me so well, hon,” he breathed. “Look so good wrapped around me too. Like, fuck. You’re even hotter than I imagined.” He continued to pump in and out of your cunt and his fingers dug into your ass as he tried to keep putting all of himself inside of you, your moans getting louder as he did so.

“Same goes for you. You’re much bigger than I anticipated.” That was exactly what he liked to hear and in response, he pumped the hardest and fastest he could, nor even caring if it made the whole thing too over.

“Sh-shit, Eddie. Oh my god.” Your head tilted back as your eyes closed and Eddie wished he had a camera to photograph just how fucking hot you looked in that moment.

Just as you both reached your climaxes, the porta potty did in fact tip over and it was needless to say that the both of you had been asked to leave and were told that you were never allowed to return to the event ever again.

But neither of you cared and you laughed your entire way to your car to continue where you left off, finding it hilarious that you really thought you could get away with fucking in a porta potty. Well, at least you both had a great story to tell to tell people how you officially met.

[steddieas-shegoes]

maybe forever

for @corrodedcoffinfest prompt 'on the road again'

rated t | 689 words | no cw | tags: bisexual gareth, good friend eddie munson, future fic, super famous corroded coffin

🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸

Gareth stared out the window of the bus, watching as trees passed in a blur as the sun sunk low in the sky. They'd been on the road for four hours and had roughly 81 days to go.

They'd all agreed no girlfriends or boyfriends on the first leg of the tour. This was just for them, for their hard work, for their passion.

Gareth had agreed. He hadn't really thought much about it. He figured they'd be so busy writing music, playing shows, and sleeping it all off, they wouldn't even have time to miss them. But after the initial celebration with drinks on the bus, they all went to their bunks, or in Gareth's case, the table by the long window.

He was lonely.

He was surrounded by his closest friends, and doing his favorite thing in the world, and got to live a life he only dreamed of.

But he was lonely.

"Gare? Probably should get some rest. We've gotta do souncheck as soon as we get there in a few hours," Eddie said to him from next to the bunk beds.

"Yeah. In a minute," he sighed.

But Eddie wasn't the type to leave him alone if he sensed something was wrong. Gareth wasn't the type to be able to hide when something was wrong.

"What's goin' on?" Eddie asked as he sat down next to him, looking out the window too.

"Just miss him," Gareth admitted.

Eddie was the only one who really knew what was going on with him and Sam. Everyone had their suspicions and Frankie even made a joke about him being sad without his boyfriend, but he hadn't officially told any of them except Eddie that that's what he was.

It was still pretty new, but they'd gone head first into something more serious than Gareth had ever expected of what was supposed to be a hookup at a bar.

"Yeah. I miss Steve," Eddie agreed. He put his arm around Gareth and tugged him into his side. "We didn't have to worry about boyfriends on the last tour. Kinda think we made a mistake not having them here."

"Maybe. Might just be something we have to get used to," Gareth leaned his head against Eddie's shoulder. "Do you think i'll have time to call Sam when we get there?"

"I could distract the guys for a few minutes. As long as you promise to let me have the phone after the show to call Steve."

"Deal."

"You really like him, huh?" Eddie nudged Gareth's cheek with his thumb.

"Yeah, he's pretty great."

"Think you might love him?"

Gareth paused. He'd never had a serious relationship. A couple short-term girlfriends in high school, one guy who he thought was cool because he was five years older, but was actually just an asshole who liked fucking younger guys. One guy who was never an official boyfriend, but they met up any time he was in New York and always had fun.

Sam was different.

Sam was maybe forever for him.

It wasn't as scary a thought as it may have been back before Corroded Coffin got famous enough to headline their own world tour.

"Yeah, I think so."

Eddie squeezed him in his arms before letting go. "Then you should tell the guys. Might make it easier if they know. I know it did when I first realized how I felt about Steve."

"They know I'm into both, though."

"But they don't know that you've found someone who means a lot to you, not really. That's the part they need. It's easier when you can talk about him. I promise," Eddie stood up. "I'm taking a nap. You should too."

"In a minute."

Gareth watched as they passed a sign for some small town that they'd probably never see again.

He thought about being on the road, how much fun he always had with the guys, how having Sam here later on would feel.

He smiled to himself as he stood up.

He was ready for this tour, but he was even more ready to show Sam what tour was like someday.

[cranberrymoons]

have a cup(cake) of cheer

prompt: cooking together (@steddieholidaydrabbles) rated: t word count: 668 tags: future fic, rockstar eddie/teacher steve, evil pta moms notes: this one is part of the future fic series! it stands alone, but just for context, corroded coffin exists and is very successful! steve is a teacher and they have four kids 🥰

welcome to Day 6 of the fic advent calendar – bite-sized fics posting every day during the month of december. enjoy!

“Give me the –” Steve says, gesturing at the pastry bag on the counter. “The that.”

He pushes his glasses up the end of his nose with the back of his wrist and shakes his hair out of his eyes, frustrated and sticky and – Eddie glances up from where he’s diligently adding glitter sprinkle snow to the top of the iced cupcakes. He makes a face.

“You realize we could’ve just bought these,” he says under his breath as he hands it over. “No one would have even known.”

Steve lets out a hollow laugh. “You clearly haven’t met Jackie from the PTA.” He squeezes out a dollop of chocolate icing. “Sorry, Jaqueliiiine , even though everyone knows she’s not actually French. She’s from Texas.” He ices another cupcake. “Jackie from Texas who’s out to get me.”

“Baby, come on,” Eddie says. “I doubt she’s harboring some secret vendetta against you. You just don’t like her because she put you on ticket-taking duty at the start of year picnic.”

“She told me to buy the cupcakes,” Steve says. He widens his eyes. “Because she was – how did she put it – ‘just so concerned about how difficult it must be to manage a family and a career with a partner who’s always leaving on tour’.”

Eddie snorts. “I take it back,” he says. “She sucks.”

Steve looks up from his cupcakes. “Right? Thank you. Robin said I was overreacting.” 

He squeezes the pastry bag again with more force than necessary, and the icing comes out faster than he means for it to, drooping down over the sides of the cupcake.

“Does she realize who she’s dealing with?” Eddie asks, shooting Steve a sideways glance. “I mean, you’re not being nice to her, are you?”

“No, but I’m biding my time,” Steve says. He finishes with the tray he’s working on and sits back in his chair, watching Eddie work. “I just need to figure out how to hit her where it hurts.”

Eddie lets out a laugh as he pulls Steve’s tray of cupcakes toward himself to start adding sprinkles. 

“Run against her in the next board election,” he says. “That’d show her.”

And he sort of sounds like he’s joking, but Steve frowns as he turns it over in his mind, staring out the darkened window at the shadowy shape of the lemon tree in the backyard. He doesn’t know why he didn’t think of it first.

“That might actually work,” he says after a moment.

“I know,” Eddie says. He glances up, flashing a smile. “That’s why I said it.”

Steve gives his ankle a little kick under the table. “Don’t be a dick.” He squints. “Do you think I’d win?”

“You’re the only hot dad on the PTA, and you have a very famous rockstar for a husband,” Eddie says. “Just tell them you’ll get Coldplay to do the winter carnival next year or something. They’ll vote you in for sure.”

“Isn’t that kind of cheating?” And then, maybe more importantly because he doesn’t actually really care about being fair, “Can you actually get them to play?”

“Please,” Eddie scoffs. “They owe me a favor after that thing at the VMAs last year. This is worth cashing in for.”

“I love you,” Steve says. He hooks his foot around the back of Eddie’s ankle. “So fucking much.”

Eddie grins at him. “As if I’d let King Steve go down to Jackie from Texas without a fight.”

Steve laughs and reaches over to snag the over-iced cupcake. He peels off the paper and breaks it in two, taking a bite as he passes the other half to Eddie. 

“Jackie can suck it,” he says. “She doesn’t even know how to make her own cupcakes. Did you know she brought store bought ones to the Thanksgiving bake sale?”

Eddie looks genuinely scandalized as he takes a bite of his own cupcake half. “She didn’t.”

“She did,” Steve says. “And they weren’t even good ones.”

[also on ao3]

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiesongfics.

Vigilante Shit

October Prompt: Vigilante Shit by Taylor Swift | Word Count: 7777 | Rating: E | CW: Unsafe Sex, Mildly Dubious Consent | Tags: Modern AU, Past Break-Up, Divorced, Angst, Exes-to-Lovers, Hopeful Ending, Famous Eddie, Corroded Coffin, Platonic Stobin: Ride or Die (Eddie Might Die If Robin Has Her Way, lol), Unsafe Sex, Barebacking, Hurt/Comfort, Love/Hate, Except It's All Love Underneath, Mr. Americana and the Heartbreak Prince

Also available right here on ao3.

they say looks can kill and I might try Taylor Swift, Vigilante Shit

Steve steps out of the taxi, and looks down, smoothing the lines of his shirt. Hoping it's not too wrinkled. He's left it unbuttoned one more button than would be considered decent, but nothing about today is going to end up decent, he's sure of it. The fabric is tight, midnight blue and clinging to his sides, his biceps, tailored to perfection. He made sure of it. When he looks good, he feels good. And today? He needs to at least feel good about how he looks. 

He stands on the sidewalk, shrugging on the leather jacket that doesn't actually belong to him. The one with the chained up broken zipper on the sleeve. The one from before. A relic of years gone by, of kids that have been dead and buried by adulthood.

He doesn't actually need it, weather-wise. But if he's digging up bones, he might as well dig deep.

And he looks good in it, without fucking question.

Tonight he isn't dressing for women, or men. He's dressing for revenge.

The event space is old, he can tell. One of those remodeled places, salvaged from the hands of time. He's never been here before, and wishes he didn't have to be at today, either. He wishes he was seven hundred miles away, at home. When the plane touched down here this morning, he felt like he was being suffocated. Like the air was thicker, like he was being stifled, just because he lives here.

Steve avoids the city like the plague. Henderson moved here a few years ago, though, and Steve would be lying if he hadn't felt betrayed. He felt like a side had been chosen, and that it wasn't his. 

Steve knows that's irrational. But he still feels that way, especially when he's alone with his thoughts. Robin has gotten sick of hearing about it. She's the only person on earth he feels comfortable letting see how much he still hurts.

How much he'll always be hurt, maybe.

Coming here today feels a little bit like torture, and opting out was definitely his first instinct. 

But here Steve is. He couldn't do that to Henderson.

Even if he lives in town. It's not like Henderson ever mentions him anymore. Dustin quickly learned that was a bridge not to cross with Steve if he wished to continue living.

So, Steve cut off his nose to spite his own face, like a fucking idiot. Now he gets no information on Eddie, no secondhand gossip from friends, no nothing that doesn't come from the gossip rags. 

Steve double-checks his reflection in the door of the brick building, fingers combing through his hair. Looks good. Like the rest of him. That much he is confident about. Everything else is the problem.

It's an old building, and when the old elevator opens, Steve looks around the big, airy ballroom. There's an open window seat, and he walks over and perches in it, waiting. The setting sun is warm on his back, and while he hasn't heard for sure, he knows in his gut that Eddie will be here. There's no way Eddie's missing Henderson's engagement party. 

Even if that means seeing Steve.

Steve had checked the tour schedule, hoping, praying he'd be halfway across the world tonight. But there was a suspicious looking break in their dates. As if this had been planned around it. 

It probably was.

But Steve can't worry about Eddie. He will, of fucking course, but it would be so much better for his own well-being if he didn't.

Eddie cut the first tie between them, but Steve is the one that burned the bridges behind him, making it permanent. If Eddie wanted to run from him, well, then he was gonna stay fucking gone. Steve wasn't interested in providing any sort of lifeline for Eddie to ever use to climb out of the hole he insisted on digging for himself.

Robin and Henderson have both said in soft, roundabout ways that Steve was kind of being a dick. Being petty, bitchy, mean. But Steve doesn't care. He got his heart broken. He lost his husband. He can be all of those things, and more. 

Steve spins the ring on his finger, the one he hasn't worn in years. The old gold band that he dug out of the back of his closet, and spent all morning polishing into a gut punch.

His motto for tonight: Don't get sad, get even.

He wishes Robin were already here, but she's never been on time a day in her life. Every flight she's ever booked has been delayed, if not outright canceled, and today was no different. Unfortunately, that means he's sitting off to the edge of the ballroom by himself, waiting for something to happen.

Nothing does.

Friends who have become closer to strangers mingle, and laugh, leaving him on fringes, alone. And Steve knows that's his fault. He cut a large swath out of his life, isolating himself. Licking his wounds in solitary confinement. Robin is his only companion, besides his misery and grief.

He needs to suck it up, go mingle, force himself to dole out apologies and be a little more active in the festivities, certain that he's been foolish. Eddie isn't coming after all.

Steve makes his way over to Dustin.

"Congrats, kiddo," Steve says, wrapping his arm around Dustin's shoulders, squeezing.

"About damn time, I thought you were gonna sulk in the corner all night," Dustin snaps, and Steve laughs. No, he's not gonna do that. He just needed a minute. And he gets that Henderson understood that. He's a good kid, a good man, now.

He keeps talking, "I thought you were gonna go on some sort of anti-marriage tirade."

No, no, Steve was wrong. He is still a little shit.

"I'm not anti-marriage," Steve says, and he isn't. Sure, his didn't work out, but he's not going around assuming that everybody else's will end up the same way.

Unless they plan on marrying Eddie. Then, that's on them. Play dumb games, win stupid prizes.

"He was supposed to come tonight," Dustin admits.

Yeah, Steve figured as much, "Sorry he let you down, kid."

Dustin looks up at him, "Sorry he let you down, too."

Yeah, well. Shit happens.

The room is sparkling with twinkling lights that look even better as the sun melts into the horizon. Tray after tray of drinks and passed hors d'oeuvres make the rounds, and everyone seems happy to see him, maybe forgiving him a little too easily for his disappearing act. 

They come see him in his window, like it's his new office. Handing him drinks, food. Doling out hugs and kisses. Stories. Sharing their lives with him.

Robin comes in earlier than he expected her, and she throws her hands in the air, announcing her arrival.

Dustin hugs her, and then she marches over to the window seat he's been holding court from.

He stands, and she steps into his arms, squeezing him tight, "Hi, dingus. Sorry I'm late."

"You're early," he says, and she's not. She's nearly an hour late. But for him, she's right on time.

Eddie didn't come. He doesn't have to say it, she knows. He feels foolish. He's wearing Eddie's leather jacket and his old wedding band, and dwelling on a past Eddie clearly doesn't give a flying fuck about.

Steve squeezes Robin back. It's been too long. Living in separate cities is for the goddamn birds. Maybe he should move closer to her. Pack up his life and just hit the road and be wherever she wants to be, always.

That sounds like the best plan for a lifetime of happiness that he's had in a goddamn long time.

"We could call the FBI. Tell them he's a drug mule. Tell them he's evading taxes."

Steve doesn't think either of those things are true.

He's about to say so when he feels the air in the room change. 

Fuck.

He drops back to the bricks, not really able to stand under these conditions.

Eddie's here, Steve can't see him yet, refuses to scour the room, looking, searching, but he knows. He always knew when Eddie manifested himself into Steve's presence. Like a magic trick Steve doesn't know the secret behind, and probably never will. 

Steve leans back, and sprawls out on the brick window sill he's been sitting in, and Robin is looking down at him wide-eyed. Because she's well aware of the only thing here that could knock his feet out from him.

She steps to the side and turns to look.

And he's determined to keep his head up. He's gonna meet this head-on, no-holds-barred. If Eddie wants to look away, wants to run like he always does, then he can be the one to do that. Again. Because Steve's got nothing to be ashamed about.

He didn't fuck up their lives. Eddie did.

Two black suits, his private security Steve's sure, flank Eddie. Like there's a threat at his friend's engagement party. Fucking ridiculous. 

Well.

Maybe there is a threat: Steve. 

At least a threat to his peace, and as if on cue Eddie stops in the middle of the room and stares. Steve stares back. Wrist resting over his own bent knee. They say looks can kill, and tonight Steve damn well might try.

Steve won't blink first, won't back down.

And eventually Eddie gives, loses, and looks away.

Steve smiles to himself, taking a sip of his drink, swirling the ice in the lowball glass, as Robin's eyebrows have permanently lodged themselves into her hairline. He makes small talk with her, when he knows she wants to say so fucking much about what just happened. There will be time for that later, time to dissect and replay, but only then does he unfold himself from the window seat, sauntering across the room, stopping to talk to his friends. His. 

Steve doesn't look his way again, but he can definitely feel the eyes boring into him as he moves around the room. Good. Let him stare. 

On the way back from the bathroom, Steve passes a little too close to the sun.

And Eddie reaches out, snagging Steve's hand in his, squeezing it hard enough that it pinches his skin between the ring he has no business wearing, but Steve doesn't react. Doesn't give him the satisfaction of knowing he can get to him in any way.

Not anymore.

He just looks at Eddie, and Eddie stares back. 

Eddie doesn't let go. Instead he shifts his hand, sliding it upwards, until he's hooked his finger through the chain on the jacket sleeve, and starts to pull Steve by it, like he's on a lead. His feet betray him, and he follows. 

So do the bodyguards.

"No, stay," Eddie says, like they're guard dogs. Maybe they are. They definitely heel to his command.

And he leads Steve out of the ballroom, down a long hallway, trying to push open door after locked door, until he finds one that gives, swinging open. It's empty, and probably used for staging or a dressing room during other events. There's a fancy couch, and the whole place is lit by the moonlight coming through the deep-set windows.

Only then does he let go. Steve feels burned.

But he doesn't react to that, instead Steve stands there, hands on his hips as Eddie lingers, several paces away, staring back. 

He didn't ask for this, for any of this.

"What the fuck do you want?" Steve snaps, and Eddie's teeth are showing as he stalks forward. Steve refuses to take a step back, refuses to flinch or lose an inch of ground to him. Eddie's not gonna steamroll him, not ever again.

"What the fuck is this?" Eddie asks, reaching out and squeezing Steve's wrist. The jacket. Then flicking Steve's finger, the ring, as it rests on his hip.

"It's a wedding ring. I know that's probably confusing for you, since you never wore one of them. It ruined your aesthetic, or whatever this is," Steve mocks, waving his hand around Eddie's whole being. All the black leather and silver jewelry that doesn't mean shit.

Eddie ignores all that, and his eyes narrow down on Steve's hand, demanding, "You marry somebody else wearing my ring?"

"Maybe I did," Steve snaps. "What's it to you?"

And Eddie loses the standoff. His hands find his hair as he roughly pulls at it, spinning in a circle.

Steve smirks. 

"You want it back? Here. Take it," Steve spits out, angry, so fucking pissed off for the past decade or more, pulling the ring off his finger and throwing it. Listening as it hits the wall across the room, and then clatters across the hardwood flooring. 

He shrugs out of the jacket and throws it next. Hitting Eddie square in the chest.

The sound Eddie makes is distraught, feral, and if Steve didn't know he's only bullshit and bluster, he'd probably be scared.

But he's not scared of Eddie Munson. At least not in the way the rest of the world is, hoodwinked by the reputation he built with his carefully cultured public image that is just lie after lie.

Steve wasn't sure what would happen next, but Eddie on his hands and knees, patting around in the dark, his phone flashlight darting around trying to catch the glimmer of metal, wasn't what Steve expected.

"Why fucking bother?" Steve asks as he crosses his arms over his chest. Because honestly? He doesn't need it. He made his point. He cut him. He won this round. He needs to leave before he gets left. Again.

And Eddie didn't want him to have it back then, so why waste time digging up old bones? Let sleeping dogs lie. 

"Because," Eddie grits out.

"Just let it go, Eddie. Just like you let me go," Steve snaps, and Eddie's head whips up, the flashlight suddenly blinding Steve.

Steve shields his eyes, "Put that down, asshole."

"Then don't fucking say that," Eddie snaps.

"Like it's not true?"

It is true, and Eddie can't even begin to deny it. He fucking ran, two years into their marriage. Two years that they spent more nights apart than they did together. Two years where they were too young. Too different. At least that's what everyone else said when the dust settled. Like, it was just a mistake anyone could have seen coming.

Like, two years had been a good run, but that this had always been the expected end result.

Steve hadn't expected it. 

That didn't matter, though. They divorced, long-distance, papers delivered and signed through lawyers. All contact completely severed. And then they both spent more than a decade being extra careful to not wind up in the same region, let alone the same building, or room.

Now, here they are. Eddie on his hands and knees rooting around for ancient history, and Steve wishing he could be swallowed up by the floor under his feet just to be out of here. Away. Anywhere else.

It's bullshit. All of it.

Eddie finds it with a huffed laugh, and Steve isn't sure what happens next. Does Eddie pocket it? Keep it? 

No, he stands, and stalks over to Steve, "You wanna wear it? You're gonna wear it."

And he forces it back onto Steve's hand, a perversion of the first time he did it. It catches on his knuckle, and hurts as Eddie forces it on, but Steve watches it happen, can't look away. 

Then, Eddie's even further in his personal space, mouth closing over Steve's, hand sliding into Steve's hair, pulling. Steve kisses him back, hands digging into his back, holding on tight to everything he's already lost.

Steve's whole fucking body betrays him. He moans in Eddie's mouth, dick rushing towards hard, as Eddie leans further into him.

Learning all Steve's secrets from his time away.

Steve doesn't want Eddie to know anything about him.

He also wants him to know everything.

It's infuriating.

Even more so when Eddie spins him around, shoving him forwards, making Steve catch himself on the back of the couch.

Eddie puts his hand in the middle of Steve's back, and presses downwards, hard. Bending him over the back side of the vintage couch. Steve goes, willingly. The ornate wood trim digging into his belly. Eddie's hand rubs up and down his sides, hands feeling how his shirt is hugging his skin, and Steve knew it was a good choice. But he doesn't have time to gloat before Eddie's fingers slide around, brushing Steve's stomach, slowly unbuttoning every button of his shirt. Roughly pulling it from his arms, catching on his wrists before being tugged loose, then moving on to unhooking his belt, unbuttoning his jeans, before yanking them down his thighs.

Steve digs the toe of his boot into the hardwood floor, trying to get some leverage that he knows he'll need. It's gonna be rough, and fast, and hard. Desperate. 

Overdue.

Maybe a little bit mean. Steve's not sure what kind of headspace Eddie's in. Hadn't had the chance to really gauge him, before he was drug away into the darkness to fight and fuck about unfinished business.

All their business is unfinished.

Eddie's pressed flush to his back, his palm pressing into the center of Steve's chest, his fingers moving through his chest hair. His cock, hard through his jeans, pressing into Steve's ass. A promise, or a threat.

Either, both, maybe. And then Eddie makes good on it. Steve hears him tearing open foil. Then he feels the cool liquid running down his crack. He tries not to jump, startle. Of course Eddie's carrying travel packets of lube. He shouldn't have assumed anything else.

Then there are slick fingers, one, then two, pressing at him, in him. Sliding deep, working to push all his buttons, proving Eddie hasn't forgotten a goddamn thing. One hand working fingers inside him, the other palming his balls before reaching down to tug on his cock. Just like Steve always liked. But Steve won't make any noise. Won't give Eddie the satisfaction. But Steve's breathing deep and hard, panting as he pushes back against Eddie's hand. Demanding more.

Eddie listens for once, too fast, too soon, and Eddie's breaching him. Steve wanted to draw this out. But that cock that Steve has loved, missed, needed is working him open, fast and rough. It's not enough, it's too much. All at once.

Steve loses, can't bite it back any longer, and Steve huffs out a whine of a breath as Eddie slams into him. He hasn't felt this in years. It's exactly the same, but totally different, too. It's like being fucked by a complete stranger.

It's also like coming home.

He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to keep quiet. The last thing he wants is any of their friends to see him like this. To know that he allowed himself to be bent over this easily. That all he had to do was spend fifteen minutes alone with Eddie before he allowed his resolve to crumble to dust, desperate for it, the second Eddie laid hands on him.

Eddie's not wearing a condom, Steve can feel the difference, can feel the ease of the slide in a way that he hasn't since Eddie cut and ran. Steve knows he should be mad, furious that Eddie thinks he still has that right. That he thinks his blanket permission from a decade ago overrides a goddamn divorce. But Steve's not mad. And he hates that he's not mad. Resents that he gets off on the fact that it's still only Eddie that has been invited inside him, and has been allowed to leave his mark deep, in more ways than one.

"Fuck you, Harrington," Eddie says, and Steve claws at the fabric of the couch, blunt fingernails scraping against the rough texture of it. 

"You already are, asshole," Steve says back.

Eddie laughs. It sounds more delighted than deranged, and if Steve keeps his eyes shut, he can pretend this was another lifetime ago. 

It's easy to go along for the ride, just allowing himself to feel what he hasn't in so many years. It's not like he's been celibate, or alone, but he has been without this. Without Eddie, and having a taste of it again might just wreck him.

There are lips against his back, and a cock splitting him wide. In his mind he's twenty-two and in love. Really in love. 

When he opens them again, he's thirty-four, and bitter. Broken.

Angry. 

So goddamn angry that his life, their life, turned out to be bullshit.

And suddenly the tears burn his eyes. Fuck. He's gonna cry. He reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose, as if he can stave it off with that alone. As if he can just will it away, by wanting it bad enough. But it's not working. He's gonna do the very last thing he ever wanted to have happen in Eddie's presence ever again. When he can't hold it back a second longer, he hitches in a ragged breath, and Eddie stutters, stilling all momentum, immediately.

It nearly gives Steve whiplash, going from a hundred to zero, just like that.

Which is fitting. That's how their whole relationship turned out. From hot and heavy, to distant strangers. Why would this be any goddamn different?

"Steve?" Eddie asks, a warm palm against his back. Rubbing soft, soothing circles, his guitar calluses scratching gently. "Sweetheart?"

That's the last straw, it's too familiar, too much, and he curls over the back of the couch as far as he can as Eddie pulls out, leaving him empty and more bereft than he already was. Steve tries to reach backwards, tries to lure him back. Back inside, back to Steve. Just back, in any way he can get him.

It doesn't happen, of course, and Eddie tries to manhandle Steve into turning around to face him. Steve would rather do anything else, so he won't allow himself to be turned because Steve's still bigger, always has been bigger and stronger, and Eddie's hands disappear before reappearing as he moves around the couch to kneel on the cushion next to where Steve is actively wishing to be swallowed whole.

"Steve," Eddie says, the voice reedy and scared, hands brushing down Steve's back, then moving through Steve's hanging hair, trying to find his face. "Did I hurt you? Did you…" Eddie trails off, thumb on Steve's cheek, "Did you not want that? Did I - did I read you wrong?"

Steve shakes his head. He's hurt, of course he is, just not in the way Eddie means. Of course he wanted this. He just can't. Not with Eddie. It's too hard.

Even if that's all he wants.

He looks down at the cushions below, he sees Eddie's bare thigh, tattoos unfamiliar, and his cock, very familiar, scared into softness. Nestled there in his open fly. Steve wonders if he smells the same. Wants to bury his face in Eddie's crotch and breathe deep.

What an unhinged thing to want, he thinks. But Steve just wants to go home, go back in time.

Eddie's still gorgeous. Always has been, though, and Steve snakes out a hand, curling it around Eddie's forearm.

Asking him not to go.

Asking him to stay this time.

"Sweetheart. Look at me, or I'm getting Robin," Eddie says, and Steve hiccups a laugh as Eddie plays with the hairs at the nape of his neck.

He's not his sweetheart, not any longer, he knows that all too well, but hearing that come out of his lips makes something bloom in his chest. An unfurling longing. Nostalgia for a time he'll never be able to return to, as long as he lives. 

It's already gone. They've already grown up, distant from each other.

And Steve raises his head enough to meet Eddie's eyes.

"She'd kill you," Steve says, trying to blink the wetness from his lashes.

"I'd let her," Eddie answers.

Steve misses him. He's right here, looking right at him, but Steve misses him something fierce.

"Are you okay? What's going on?" Eddie asks, scooting closer, his hand never leaving Steve's neck. Fingers brushing against his skin, keeping contact, soothing him in a way only he ever could.

Steve laughs, bordering on unhinged.

"Vigilante shit," Steve breathes out, and it's like he's ran a marathon, maybe an ultra.

And Eddie laughs, leaning forward and pressing his mouth to Steve's temple.

Steve leans into him. 

"Well, that's fair, sweetheart," Eddie says, "I'll give you that. I deserve it. But are you okay?"

"I'm okay," Steve reassures. As okay as he'll ever be, anyway, here surrounded by the smoldering embers of the life he watched burn to the ground.

Eddie rotates until he's laying down on the couch, and opens his arms for Steve. Steve takes the offer, sliding over the back of the couch, crawling on top of Eddie. Not very gracefully since his pants are still trapped around his thighs, boots on his feet. 

"Here, let me help," Eddie says, trying to maneuver him to sitting. Steve allows it.

And Eddie slides off the couch, kneeling at Steve's feet. Eddie looks at how Steve has them laced so they just slip on and off, and it's an old Eddie trick. Steve knows it, Eddie knows it.

"Well, this is sexy," Eddie says as he gently pulls the first one off his foot, then the second. And Steve laughs. Eddie then pulls his jeans down, tossing them aside, "Can you breathe now?"

Steve nods.

Undressed, and a little more unburdened, Steve watches as Eddie sheds his own pants, and then gets back on the couch, laying back against the cushions, an invitation.

Steve takes it.

He's pretty sure their naked asses aren't supposed to be on this antique piece of furniture, but he'd like to see anyone tell Eddie Munson no. It's impossible, and a waste of breath. Always has been.

So, they lay together, Eddie's hand stroking up and down his back, fingers against his spine. Whispering words that Steve's waited a decade to hear. And Steve listens, feeling the rumble of Eddie's chest, the timbre of his voice that is somehow even deeper than it was at twenty-three. They kiss and grind soft cocks together until they aren't soft anymore. They roll together until Steve slides back down on Eddie's cock, ready to finish what they started. 

It's gentler now, and Steve's pretty sure that might make this worse, after. Hate sex, angry fucking to get each other out of their systems, he thinks he could get over. That he could take at face value.

But this?

This is too soft. Too loving.

And that's gonna destroy him when it's over.

Eddie was, is, will always be, the greatest thing he's ever lost. Steve swears he only blinked, but in between that breath and the next, Eddie had slipped through his fingers.

But he wouldn't give this up. He never wanted to give Eddie up. Not then, not now, and that's really fucking hard to wrap his head around. That it ended against his will. That the thing he was sure was forever, crashed and burned so fucking quickly, completely out of his control. 

He couldn't save them from themselves. He couldn't save them from the self-destructive streak Eddie just couldn't shake.

He couldn't stop Eddie from running.

Distance, blossoming fame, and the road just being more of an obstacle than they would have ever imagined when they stood up and said I do, promising forever. 

Well, forever was pretty fucking short, Steve guesses.

He rocks on Eddie's cock, fucking himself as Eddie holds his hips in his hands. 

"That's it, sweetheart," Eddie encourages, and Steve's setting the rhythm now. The pace, the intensity, so he can't even blame Eddie for this slow down. For this softness.

This is all on him. 

But Eddie still fits in him like he was made to be there. Of course, Steve assumes Eddie's cock has been in lots of places since they buckled and folded. So, yeah, that probably means a doctor's visit, and a nerve wracking wait for test results will be in his future for being impulsive and foolish.

At the same time, he still trusts Eddie. Maybe he shouldn't. It makes no sense to, for fuck's sake. Eddie broke his heart, abandoned him like he meant nothing. But for some reason he trusts that Eddie would have never slid into him, warm and bare and familiar, if there was a cause for concern. 

He's always lost his fucking mind when he came to Eddie. That not changing today is no fucking surprise, not really.

Steve angles himself so Eddie's bumping his prostate, over and over, and it's just too much, too good, and Steve tenses, coming all over Eddie's belly. But he keeps grinding down on Eddie's cock, determined to get him over the edge, too.

Eddie groans, hand squeezing Steve's hip, "I'm gonna come."

"Do it," Steve breathes out, and Eddie does. Shoving up into him as far, and as hard as he can, and Steve tilts his head back, enjoying that this moment has happened for them, one more time.

He collapses onto Eddie's chest, laughing the way he always has after good sex, Eddie's softening cock still inside him, and Steve's not about to pull away yet.

The door opens, and Steve pops up to look to see who has found them.

Robin. 

"Goddamnit, dingus," she says from the doorway. He's aware from her angle she can see he's shirtless and debauched. She can't know that Eddie's still in him, soft, but unwilling to extract himself.

"I take it that asshole ex of yours is under you?"

"Hi, Robbie," Eddie says, still unseen by her, from his place on the couch under Steve.

She doesn't respond, ignoring Eddie. Which is to be expected, Steve supposes.

"Get cleaned up. Dustin's realized you're both missing."

Steve watches as Eddie stretches his arm backwards into her view, making the okay sign and she slams the door in response. 

They both laugh, and Steve lays back down on Eddie's bare chest, kissing him again. And again.

"She hates me now," Eddie says, when they break apart.

"With the fire of a thousand suns, yes," Steve answers, tucking his face into Eddie's neck. Robin and Eddie used to be friends, best friends, but when Eddie cut and ran, Robin wrote him off swiftly, with finality, and without remorse. Steve appreciated the loyalty. And he's gonna need it, tomorrow. Because he knows this was just one night, one mistake, but he's gonna milk it for all that it's worth since he's already in for a penny.

"We really have to make an appearance," Eddie says, and Steve whines at the idea. But he lifts up, Eddie's cock sliding out of him for the last time. At least he knows this time. At least he can brace for the impact.

But Eddie has other ideas.

"We'll be seen, we'll congratulate the kid, and then I'll take you back to bed, and show you how much I've missed you."

Steve nods. Yes. That. All of that, please. 

If he only gets one more night, he wants to draw out this long overdue goodbye as much as possible.

"We hadn't even had dinner," Dustin admonishes, shoving Steve's shoulder. Eddie puts a hand between them, like this might escalate.

"That's my bad, kid," Eddie says, shit-eating grin on his face.

Henderson is more forgiving. He loves them both. But Robin's glaring daggers through Eddie's back. There's no way he doesn't feel it. Steve can feel it, and it isn't even directed at him.

The party is winding down, and at the first opportunity, Eddie holds out the old leather jacket, helping it up and over Steve's shoulders.

"Steve," Robin says, a warning, and he steps away from Eddie, leaning down, hugging her.

"Let me say goodbye right this time," he pleads and she nods against his cheek.

She hates this, Steve knows she does, but she lets him go. She'll let him make this mistake. Will let him poke at this old, never-healed, wound.

Eddie leads him out the front of the venue. A crowd has gathered. Word must have spread that Eddie Munson was in the building, and now flashbulbs are blinding Steve, and Steve's instinct is to let go. Drop Eddie's hand and run. Hide, get out of sight. But Eddie doesn't let go of his hand. Even as he's guiding them towards the waiting black SUV. 

One of the security guys reaches for the door handle, and Steve sees Eddie rest his hand on his shoulder. The guy immediately backs off, and Eddie opens it for Steve himself. Standing there, looking grown up, and then suddenly his arm pops out, and he dips into a half-bow.

Steve laughs, loud and happy. He's still Eddie. 

He wishes he had a picture. Wants to replay that memory in his mind forever, and he realizes suddenly that he probably can. That in the next ten minutes the entire walk from the building to the car will be uploaded from at least a dozen angles.

There's gonna be story after story of Eddie Munson entering the building alone and re-emerging four hours later with his ex-husband on his arm.

The divider in the car goes up, and they can't keep their hands off of each other.

Steve shifts on the leather. 

"What's wrong?" Eddie asks, pulling back to look in his eyes.

It's only Eddie, so he tells the truth, "I'm leaking."

And Eddie grins, wolfish and wild, "Well. I could take care of that."

The pulse of want goes through Steve. It's filthy and is he really gonna let Eddie eat his ass in a moving car, a driver just on the other side of the barrier?

Yeah, yeah he is.

He moves to his belt, but Eddie's fingers replace his own, "Let me, sweetheart."

And at this point, Steve thinks he'll let Eddie do anything he wants.

The pictures from outside Eddie's building are sure to be obscene. Eddie, mouth red and lips shiny, Steve's hair in utter disarray. The crowd is rowdy, extra loud and demanding, and Eddie seems to be in no hurry. He's smiling, and looking around, as if this is completely normal. 

As if he always hooks up with his ex-husband, rims him in the car, and the waves to the fans, after. He looks happy, thrilled even, instead of annoyed to be caught in the public eye.

Maybe it is normal for him, but it's definitely not for Steve. This was never his life, not even when they were married and Eddie's star continued to rise. Maybe, especially not then. Eddie wanted his private life to be private and that meant Steve was left at home, out of sight. 

Not tonight.

Tonight it's obvious what they've been doing during the car ride. The press will have a field day building a timeline with the pictures and videos.

Eddie holds Steve's hand, tight and protective, leading the charge, but he uses the other to wave. To stop and sign an album. A poster. All while his security tries to wrangle him inside.

"This is Steve," he tells a fan, a camera shoved in his face.

Steve tries to put on a pageant smile, and is certain he's failed. This is fucking bizarre. Has Eddie really changed this much? Then they're moving again, finally making their way towards the door.

"Thank you," Eddie says, looking right at the man holding open the door.

"Mr. Munson," the doorman says, and Eddie shakes his hand, and Steve really thinks the guy wouldn't have if he knew where Eddie's hands have been recently. 

They're taken to a private elevator, and when it opens, it's in the middle of a huge penthouse apartment. 

Which is pretty amazing. The only thing fucking up the view is Gareth on the couch, in his underwear. He's holding a bowl of cereal under his chin, and he accidentally tips it on himself.

"Sorry," Eddie says, "I wasn't expecting to bring home company."

"Oh, that's okay," Gareth answers with a smirk.

"I wasn't talking to you," Eddie laughs, and Gareth grins. "If you got cereal on that couch, clean it up. I'm not smelling sour milk for the next decade every time I sit down."

"Yeah, yeah," Gareth says. 

Then he looks right at Steve.

"Steven," Gareth greets, and Steve gives him a little wave. He's really grown up since Steve saw him last.

Eddie puts his hand on the small of Steve's back, "My bedroom is back here."

It looks like his closet exploded, a familiar mess. Eddie starts picking up clothes off the bed.

"Sorry, I had trouble deciding what to wear tonight," Eddie says, several pairs of black jeans that look identical to Steve slung over his arm. 

His room has a hell of a view. There are floor to ceiling windows, and Steve stands there and looks over the city. Eddie's done well for himself. But Steve knew that, never doubted that he would, but it's just something else to see the reality of that with his own eyes.

Eddie wraps his arms around Steve's middle, hugging him from behind, his chin hooked over Steve's shoulder.

Steve closes his eyes and just leans into his touch.

Eddie's hands are all over him. Rough calluses touching, stroking, remapping his skin. Seemingly marking the changes. Steve's face down on the softest, worn-in sheets he's ever felt. They smell like Eddie. They feel like home. 

They aren't fancy, no satin or showy black here, just comfortable gray cotton. The real Eddie, not the persona.

The lights of the city are casting the room in shadow, but Steve doesn't need to see Eddie. He can feel him. 

Eddie is rocking into him, slow and steady. There's no hurry, no racing towards the finish line.

Because this is goodbye, and neither of them are quite ready to let go. Not yet.

When Steve wakes up, it's dark in the room, and Eddie is dead to the world, his hair is fanned out across the pillow. As much as Steve wants to roll over, curl into Eddie's body and go back to sleep, he's aware it's time to go. He doesn't want to do it in the morning when it's awkward and sad. The harsh light of day ruining this. Eddie had shown him how much he'd missed him, as promised, and Steve's gonna carry that with him, feel it for days. 

This is a better ending than they got last time.

He dresses quietly, and Steve's carrying his boots out of Eddie's bedroom, when another door in the hallway cracks open.

"Oh, hell no," is the pronouncement, and Steve turns and looks. Gareth.

"Yeah, well, I love you, too, Gareth," Steve says, as he keeps walking. He doesn't need any lip from this kid. Never has, never will.

But then he's jostled as Gareth forces his way in front of Steve, blocking his path out of the hallway. Standing in front of him, not allowing him to just sneak away in peace. Does there really need to be salt rubbed into the gaping wound? He's going. Maybe he fucked up. Maybe they both did. But it was one night. Closure. Ripping open old wounds. Whatever you want to call it.

"Just where do you think you're going?" Gareth hisses, and Steve just glares at him. 

"Back to my own hotel, back to my own life. What the fuck is it to you?"

And Gareth grabs Steve's boots, yanking them from his hand, one landing with a thunk against the plush carpet. Then he kicks his foot out, banging it against the door they're stopped in front of, like a crazy person.

"What the fuck is your problem, dude?" Steve snaps, and the second door opens. Goodie, then Jeff, standing in the doorway. Why are they all fucking here? Don't they see enough of each other on the goddamn road? Steve tilts his head back, annoyed, "Great. Just great."

"Steve?" Jeff asks. Like he might be someone else.

"Don't you run away from him again!" Gareth hisses, and Steve feels insane. In what universe did Steve ever run from Eddie? 

"What the fuck? Run? Me? I'm the one that ran? I think you've rewritten history there, kid," Steve says, squatting down to pick up his fallen boot.

And Gareth shoves his shoulders, knocking him off-balance and onto his ass. 

Oh, Steve's gonna kill him.

But Eddie gets there first.

"What in the actual fuck?!" Eddie screams, getting in between Gareth and Steve as Steve puts on the one boot he has control over.

Eddie attempts to wrestle the other away from Gareth, bullying him around the hall.

"I was helping you!" Gareth yells, ducking under Eddie's arm, darting to the side, but that allows Goodie to easily snag the boot being held hostage during the evasive maneuver. He turns it over to Jeff, who hands it down to Steve, waiting for him to get it pulled on, and then helps him to his feet.

Ushering him past Eddie roughhousing Gareth against the wall, making him squawk and squall. Not a thing has changed. It'd be funny if it wasn't so ridiculous.

Jeff holds his arm out behind Steve, a protective gesture, and presses the down button for him.

Steve steps in when the door opens, sees Jeff pressing the intercom on the wall, and then the doors close. The last thing he hears before he descends is a hand slapping against the doors, and Eddie's muffled, "No!"

When Steve steps out of the private elevator, the same doorman from earlier is waiting and steps forward.

"Mr. Harrington, this way," he states, and hovers a hand behind his back, just like Jeff had, like Jeff must be so used to this, that now he was doing it himself. He hears the doorman radio for a car to be sent to the escape hatch and Steve thinks that sounds a bit dramatic, but smiles to himself.

So, there's a back entrance they use, but Eddie decided to have them dropped off out front. He wanted them to be seen, and Steve doesn't try to read into that. Tries not to interpret it as a hard launch, as he's led down a long hallway, far away from the front of the building. 

The doorman holds open a door that leads to a flight of stairs that go down, down, down. Steve smiles at him, even if he's a little embarrassed to be slinking off underground in the middle of the night. Maybe the doorman is used to it. Maybe this is part of his regular job, ushering out Eddie's conquests. 

"Steve, wait!" he hears, as Eddie is rushing down the hallway toward them.

"Mr. Harrington," the doorman says, giving him a choice. He surely works for Eddie, especially if he knows who Steve is without having ever met him before, but he's clearly giving Steve an out. 

"It's okay," Steve says, and the doorman takes a step back, as they both watch Eddie run down towards them only in his jeans, barefoot.

The doorman lets Eddie and Steve step into the stairwell, and then closes the door to the hallway, giving them some privacy. Eddie nods towards another door, and then taps his watch against the plate on the wall, lighting it up green, unlocking it. Once he opens it, it's a small balcony. With some sort of dark screen that Steve assumes only works one way. They can see out, but the world can't see in. Eddie's sure living a fancy life.

The fresh, fall air feels nice against his face, and Steve closes his eyes. Eddie pats his pockets, finds what he's looking for, and then lights a cigarette. When it's offered up, Steve takes it. At least on this side of the building, the street is blissfully empty. The crowd from earlier, totally gone. 

It feels normal, and the sounds of the city hum with life down below.

"Don't go, or at least let me walk you out," Eddie says, hand on Steve's forearm, and he keeps talking, "Are you okay?"

Steve laughs, "Just plotting Gareth's demise."

"I'll help," Eddie says, a small grin on his face. Then he looks serious, "He shouldn't have shoved you."

"I just didn't have my center of balance, and he took advantage like a little shithead."

"Still," Eddie says.

Steve's not mad. Trying to be forced to stay is way better than being encouraged to leave.

"It's fine. He just didn't want me to run again," Steve says, raising an eyebrow, and he smiles when Eddie cackles. "You been telling stories?"

"No. Well, of course, but not about that. He knows what really happened. He's just-"

"Your Robin," Steve fills in.

"Yeah. How is Robbie? We didn't really get a chance to catch up."

Steve laughs, Robin would have eviscerated him had he tried.

"Good, great. Happy. Well, probably not tonight. She doesn't want to clean up any more messes you and I make with each other. But good, otherwise."

Eddie just stares at Steve, eyes unwavering.

"What?" Steve finally asks.

"What if we don't make any more messes?" Eddie asks, big, brown eyes looking into Steve as if he can see his soul if he stares hard enough.

"Eddie," Steve says.

"Seriously. What if we do it right this time?"

"Are you not still on the road?" Steve asks, because he knows the answer to that, and Eddie's a lot more famous than he was the last time he thought he needed to leave Steve in the dust.

"Yeah, but not in the same way. I'm older. Wiser."

"You sure about that?" Steve teases.

"Let a guy dream," Eddie banters back, then adds, "Let a guy make up for his sins."

"Well, you do have plenty of those," Steve teases.

"I do," Eddie admits, then reaches out to squeeze Steve's arms, "But I'm ready. For you. For this," he says, hand sliding down to brush against Steve's wedding band. "How 'bout it?"

Like it's that easy. Like there won't be conversations to have, and the same old problems to tackle. Like there isn't deep-seated hurt to smooth over, overcome.

But none of that matters. Not really. 

Because, yeah. Steve's ready for it, too. 

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiesongfics and follow along with the fun! 🎶

Notes: If you're familiar with the song by Taylor Swift, you'll have recognized where several of the lyrics popped in. (And other songs from Taylor's discography as well.) I love these song challenges, since music inspires me to write things SO often.

This got way longer than I intended. I was gonna write it jointly for this and "wrath" over at @corrodedcoffinfest, but 1313 words went by way too fast, haha. 🤣

[choke-me-joey]

Eddie Munson x fem metalhead cheerleader

Summary: Based on this - how Eddie met his not so typical cheerleader girlfriend and a little exploration of their relationship.

Content warning: 18+ content minors DNI, smoking, underage drinking, drug use, swearing, flirting, smut.

AN: there is a scene in this based on a ✨️video✨️ i had sent to me by a beautiful anon and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. If you want the link you can find it on my page or message me and I'll try to send it!

📢 TAG LIST IS NOW FULL 📢

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 5

Chapter 4

The following Tuesday, after practice and your homework, you'd driven over to The Hideout to see the famous Corroded Coffin play to their crowd of regular drunks. You parked your car in the lot, getting out and straightening out your cropped Iron Maiden shirt. You'd paired it with some shorts and fishnets, as well as your Docs and your jacket which, courtesy of Eddie, now had a WASP pin resting proudly on the lapel.

You made your way into the, quite honestly, dump of a bar, impressed that you didn't even need a fake ID to get in. You grinned when you saw Corroded Coffin setting up on the small stage and made a beeline for your friends and your....Eddie.

"What's up, rockstars?" You smile, giving Eddie a cheeky pinch to the butt as he was bent over with his back to you sorting out his peddle. He angled his head to look at you, and nearly keeled over at the sight of your outfit. He recovered, standing up to hug you.

"Now this just isn't fair, sweetheart, gonna be playing our set with a fucking boner," he groans into you ear, making you giggle. He subtly kissed your head.

"Holy shit you actually came!" Gareth said, grinning at you from behind his drum kit. "Eddie said you might not make it because of practice."

"Like I'd miss the infamous Corroded Coffin live in concert," you gesture to the homemade banner behind them. "I'm excited!"

"You're probably the only one in the audience who is," Jeff laughs, glancing over the few people who had come to the bar to watch them play.

"Well, just remember who your biggest fan was in the early days, yeah?"

"Of course, sweetheart," Eddie winks at you and you have to wrestle down the urge to kiss him, not knowing how he felt about your...whatever this was between you being made super public yet. You instead settle on shooting him a wink and going to get yourself a drink whilst they finished setting up, patiently waiting for their set to start.

You were surprised when the bartender handed you a beer, apparently Eddie had sorted you with a drink before you'd gotten there, and again that meant nobody was checking your ID. You said nothing, taking your beer and sitting at a table close to the stage where you had a good view and Eddie could definitely see you.

The band start their set and you're completely blown away. Not only are they actually pretty damn good, the way Eddie carries himself on stage is incredible. He's confident, charismatic, nothing new there, but he eludes this sexy rockstar attitude that makes your pussy clench as you watch him. He plays with an energy that should be for 80,000 people not just 0.01% of that.

You watch his skilled fingers running up and down the frets, effortlessly playing chords without even glancing down. And when he sang, god your heart skipped a beat. His voice was the perfect mix of soft melodic singing and raw yells and shouts. They played a mix of covers and their own songs, their musical influences clear in those original pieces. Your favourite so far had been their rendition of Paranoid by Black Sabbath, and a song called Shallow Grave of their own. You had screamed and shouted and applauded, probably too enthusiastically really, but you didn't care. They were good, and Eddie was hot.

As the notes of another original song, Strangers in the Dark, came to an end, Eddie spoke into the microphone.

"We're going to change things up a little bit now folks, with a new cover dedicated to a very special person who happens to be our number one fan. This one's for you, airhead." He shot you a smirk and you grinned back at him, your cheeks flushing. "Sing along if you know it, maybe even dance a little if you're drunk enough."

The opening notes of Edge of Seventeen by Stevie Nicks, but with a Corroded Coffin touch, began to play and your jaw dropped. You fucking loved this song, and your mind and heart race when you remember you had told Eddie that, probably about 3 weeks ago when you'd first started speaking properly, only mentioned it briefly when he'd seen the tape of Bella Donna sticking out of your bag.

He'd...learnt this, for you? Made his band learn this for you without even knowing if you'd ever come to one of his shows?

It's a good thing you were sat down because your knees felt stupidly weak.

"Just like the white wing dove, sings a song sounds like she's singing, ooh, ooh, ooh," Eddie croons; his voice could have brought tears to your eyes. He wasn't playing guitar for this, cupping the mic in his hands in a way that should have been illegal.

You sit in your seat, singing along, watching as a few drunks get up to dance, mostly middle aged women who look as if Stevie Nicks is their lord and saviour.

"Come on honey, your boyfriend is singing this for you! You gotta dance!" One of the Stevie-ites grabs your hand and tries to pull you up to dance.

"Oh, I cant-" you start, feeling a little embarassed. Ridiculous really, seeing as you were in front of two entire high schools nearly every week dancing and cartwheeling and splitting. Why the fuck was dancing in front of Eddie making you shy?!

You catch Eddie's eye as you're dragged onto the small dance area in front of the stage, the woman lets go of your hand to do her own Stevie style twirl, and you laugh, doing the same when she encourages you to do so. You glance up at Eddie and he grins back at you, still singing away as he pulls you up onto the small stage, twirling you around. You stay next to him, wrapped in his arms as the band finishes the song. When the last note plays, Eddie grabs you and you kisses you hard on the lips and you wrap your arms around his neck, the small crowd whooping and cat calling as you break apart, both of you panting and grinning like fools.

"You're amazing," Eddie says breathlessly, looking into your eyes.

"Me?! I'm not the one who just turned Stevie Nicks into a bad ass metal anthem! You gotta record that, you...you're incredible!" You pant, your face starting to hurt with how much you're smiling. You run one finger down his chest whilst looking up at him through your lashes. "How much longer is the set, rock star?"

Eddie swallows hard.

"Uh, th-three songs."

"Perfect, I'll be waiting by your van when you've packed up." You shoot him a sexy smirk, pecking his lips once more and hopping off the stage to watch the rest of the set.

*

True to your words you were waiting, leant up against the side of Eddie's van as he finished loading up his equipment.

"So, I've been thinking, that bed you've got in there?" You gesture to the back of the van. "Super fucking comfortable, perfect for laying down after a successful show, don't you think?"

"While every fibre of my being is going to hate me for saying this, Y/N-"

"Who said anything about sex?" You cut him off and he looks at you, confusion etched on his face. "Just wanna show you how appreciative I am that you learned a song for me, very cute by the way."

"Well, I have been known to be pretty cute," Eddie grins, letting you pull him into the back of the van, kicking the door shut. He grunts, letting out a breathless laugh as you push him onto his back and straddle him, pushing his shirt up his stomach. "Hey, you know you don't have to do anything you don't want to, right?"

"What about if I want to?" You smile, rocking your hips experimentally against him. Eddie groans, fingers biting into your hips. You lean down and kiss him, tongue immediately finding his. Eddie's hands travel from your hips to your ass, squeezing it softly at first, then harder as your kisses grows deeper and more desperate. You pull away from the kiss, sitting back on your heels and your hands hover over his belt buckle. "Can I?"

"Yeah, yes, shit, you can do anything you want to me right now, sweetheart." Eddie groans as you undo his belt, your hand ghosting over the bulge in his jeans. Once his jeans are also undone, he helps you by lifting his hips so you can pull his jeans and boxers down to his mid thigh. You can't help the gasp that leaves your mouth as his cock springs free, slapping his lower stomach.

"Holy...what the fuck, Eddie?!" You laugh, unable to process what you're seeing. He's big. And not just big, but thick too. Uncut, with a delicious thick vein running along the underside of his cock. His balls are - is it weird to say perfect?- big and round and your mouth salivates at the sight. Would you even be able to wrap your hand around him? Swallow him down? Would your cunt stretch enough to accommodate him? Your brain buzzed with arousal.

"Not really something I go around showing off," Eddie chuckles, hissing as you attempt to wrap your hand around him, slowly stroking him. You pull back his foreskin to expose the head of his cock, the same beautiful shade of reddy purple as his lips, and you watch in fascination as a small bead of precum blurts out and over your fingers. "Shit, Y/N, your hand feels so fucking good."

"I haven't even done anything yet," you giggle, moving a tiny bit faster, your other hand gently cupping his balls. You make sure he's looking at you before you let a glob of spit fall from your mouth onto the head of his cock, using it to lube his shaft for your hand to glide easier along it. Eddie fucking whimpers, whimpers, at that, his head dropping back onto the pillow beneath him.

"Fuck, babe, you're fucking...you're a dream."

"A wet one, I hope?"

"You're...everything. God the amount of times I've thought about this, about you...Jesus, how are you fucking real?" Eddie sighs as you work your hand over his cock faster, the mix of your spit and his precum making it easier. "Can I...fuck, can you take your shirt off? And...and put my jacket on?"

He prayed silently that you'd agree, it was all he'd been able to think about for about 3 weeks. You smile, nodding, taking off your shirt. Eddie almost blows his load there and then. Not only were you braless, but you also had your fucking nipples pierced, the two silver bars winking at him in the dim lights streaming in from the car park. You send him a knowing smirk briefly letting go of his cock to grab his previously discarded jacket and slip your arms into it, the leather cool and somewhat a little sticky against your damp skin.

"How do I look?" Your voice is low and sultry, laced with arousal. The throb between your legs is almost unbearable now, and you grind your crotch against his leg for some relief.

"Like every wet dream I've had since I was 13," Eddie groans as you spit on his cock again. "Shit, never thought you'd be so..."

"So what?" You challenge with a smirk, one eyebrow cocked as you continue to jerk him off.

"Jesus, so fucking...filthy." Eddie gasps as you run your other thumb over the slit of his cock, gathering some precum on the digit and sucking it into your mouth. You exaggerate a moan, this was purely for him right now but he did taste really fucking good. "Shit, gonna cum soon, don't stop baby."

"Not going to Eds, want you to make a mess all over me." You push the jacket off of your tits so he can clearly see them. Your free hand pinches one of your nipples, making you moan and grind down onto him again, a whimper leaving your mouth.

"Jesus fuck!" Eddie grunts, his cock twitching in your hand as he cums, streaking your tits, stomach and a little bit of his own jacket with thick white ropes. You stroke him through it, letting go of his thick cock when he starts to hiss in discomfort. "Fuck, princess, easy, easy," he lets a breathless laugh as you scoop up some of his cum off your tits with your finger, popping it into your mouth and sucking it off. "Jesus H Christ."

"I prefer Y/N." You grin, letting out a squeal as Eddie pins you down onto the floor of the van, kissing you hard. His hand wanders to the button of your shorts. "Hey, don't worry about me, handsome. This was all for you."

"You sure? I want to." Eddie's eyes flick to yours and you smile.

"I know, and believe me I really want you to but I have to get home, school night and all that." You sigh and Eddie groans, dropping his head to your shoulder. "My fingers will just have to do tonight."

Eddie groans even louder.

"Shit, Y/N, that isn't fair."

"Relax, Eds, my parents are away this weekend, so I'll have that big, empty house all to myself. You wanna come over and protect poor little old me?" You put on a fake pout. Eddie smirks.

"And by protect you mean-"

"Fuck my brains out until I can't fucking walk and make me scream so loud the neighbours will know your name? Yeah, that's what I meant." You giggle, pecking his lips softly.

"Oh, I'll be there baby, I'll protect you so hard, don't you worry."

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