#eddie munson rockstar au

[carolmunson]

alive with the glory of love

(older!rockstar!eddie x older!actress!wife!)

a valentine's slice of life with our favorite rockstar almost thirty years into our marriage. the year is 2023 and we're still stella rink and we're still famous as hell. aged like fine wine. a decades long career and a decades long marriage with two twins in their late twenties. this is semi from the twins perspective. we know what our life was looking like before, let's see what it looks like now. :) eddie manip by @eddiemunsons-missingnipple cw: 18+ minors dni, allusions to smut/wearing lingerie, but overall this is a short little something. reader and eddie are both 57, so, sorry if you don't want to be fifty seven. but if i have to be in my 'early twenties' every time i read a fic, you can be older for like, seven and a half minutes.

The phone eases into focus, Violet’s giggle sounds as she presses record, leaning on her elbows at the kitchen island. The room is a sun drenched, black and white tiled vision — still partially stuck in the 90s, remnants of your old life, despite the ongoing renovations. Despite the teasing from your adult children. Some stuff just never lost its charm – plus, the kids were calling it ‘a 90s vibe’ and you were both pretty sure that was cool. 

“Morning, happy Valentine’s Day,” Violet says sleepily, Van trudging in behind her. They both take lazy seats on the bar stools across from the chef stove that their father is delicately working over. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, honey,” Eddie calls over his shoulder, daintily pouring pink batter into a cookie cutter mold on a hot pan. The kitchen and dining room are filled to the brim with flowers and balloons. Eddie’s been up for hours getting everything set up for you, some things never change. Some things never get old. 

“What’re you doing?” Van asks. 

“What do you mean, what am I doing? I’m making mommy—” He turns around with a furrowed brow, deepening his forehead creases before he realizes they’re recording him. He sighs before turning back to his task, “Guys, again with the phone?” 

“C’mon dad, they love you!” Violet begs, putting her phone down and shoving it in her sweatshirt pocket, “Van show him the comments on the last one.” 

“They think you’re hilarious, they want you to have your own account,” Van encourages, he opens his own phone to bring over to his dad. He grew up to be a spitting image of the two of you, as if they pasted Eddie’s face on his and gave him all your other features. The color of your eyes, the texture of your hair. Your bright, enrapturing smile. A perfect fifty-fifty. 

Van scrolls slowly through the endless comments, Eddie squinting down at them, “Van, I don’t have my glasses.” 

Eddie peers down lower, “What does that mean? ‘I know it’s big’? What’s big?” “New…choker…just…dropped? I didn’t make chokers for merch,” he shrugs, waving him away to pay attention to the stove. “Ew,” Violet laughs, “Stop making him read these out loud, that’s so gross.” 

“You should still make your own,” Van says, sitting back down, “It’d do way better than the one for Corroded.” 

“Have your mom do it,” Ed shrugs off, “She knows how to do all that internet shit.” 

“That Howard Stern clip is going viral again,” Violet says devilishly, “The girlies are obsessed with you.” 

“I don’t care about the girlies, Vi,” Eddie blushes, flipping one of the pancakes on the pan, “I care about your mom.” 

“I just wanna show them what you guys do for your favorite holiday,” Violet whines, “They’ll love it.” 

“They’re gonna call him a simp,” Van teases, a look of realization washing over his face,  “Wait, you’re such a simp for mom, actually.”  

They both laugh, Eddie doesn’t know what ‘a simp’ is so he laughs too.

“That’s a good word for like, a DND character type — you should see about that in your campaigns,” Ed continues while he plates a pancake on an ever growing stack of pink and red. 

“Ohmygod Dad, no, that’s not—“ Van laughs silently into his hands. 

“Stop making fun of him, he’s old,” Violet pleads between giggles, taking her phone out again, “Dad, seriously can you just tell us what you’re doing? Why do you love Valentine’s Day?”

“Is this for your TikTok thing?” he asks, pulling his dark curls up in a ponytail with a black silk scrunchie, bangs he can’t quite part with falling in waves over his brow. ‘My Pilates teacher was telling me they’ll be safer on your hair,’ you’d said — and he’s never been one to say no to you. Every time the kids came home they’d take their phones out and make Tiktok’s of the two of you, sometimes you’d make a solo one for Violet or Van’s page if you felt like it. But with Twitter and Instagram, you didn’t want to overload your assistant with some other form of social media – but it looked like the two of you were really popular. Especially Eddie. 

Violet educated you about ‘fancams’ which were just clips to music. There were a lot of the two of you together, or you solo from your movies and shows in the 90s. Progressions of you then and now and how you’re still ‘so hot’ and ‘unproblematic’. Eddie’s almost always started with the clip of him at Howard Stern, jaw ticking while he tried to keep his composure: ‘Excuse the fuck out of me, what did you just say about my wife? Do you wanna lose your fuckin’ teeth?’ The comments were always flooded with a mess of young people losing their shit: ‘god i’ve seen what you’ve done for others’ ‘stopppp he’s obsessed with her’ ‘@vidawn i hope your mom can fight’ ‘@vannywayne @vidawn i’m five years younger than u but i would be a great step dad’ ‘when is someone gonna fight howard stern FOR ME?’ ‘@vannywayne @vidawn they’re thirsting over your dad again’ ‘i’m banging on the walls of my enclosure’ 'ewwww we hate cheaters' ‘i NEED to fuck him’ ‘@vannywayne you look EXACTLY the same’ ‘are they looking for a third?’ 'idgi he looks dirty' ‘they are notttttt making them like him anymore’ ‘not him being old enough to be my father i’m sick’

“Obviously,” she snaps back, rolling his eyes when he starts touching himself up for the camera. 

“Should I do a couple of push ups so I look buff or…?” he teases. Violet and Van make a face that puts any face you’ve given him to shame. It’s the only regret he has about having kids with you – all that attitude had to go somewhere. 

“Fine, fine,” he huffs, “I’m ready for my close up, Vi.” 

“You’re so cheesy, dad. Just be normal for like, five seconds,” Violet huffs, taking out her phone again, “You’re ready?” 

“M’ready,” he smiles. “Okay, so, what’re you doing?” Violet asks again. 

“I am making pancakes,” he starts, pouring red better into the cookie cutter mold on the pan this time, “In a heart shape, for your mom.” 

“How long have you been doing this?” she asks, a smile spreading across her face. It matches her dads. There was no mistaking that Violet was Eddie Munson’s daughter. 

“Since we got together, so – the first one was in 1990,” he muttered, flipping the pancake, “I do it every year ‘cause she loves it. They’re strawberry, but they’re pink and red ‘cause I put food coloring in them.” 

“Is Valentine’s Day her favorite holiday?” 

Eddie grins, “No, her favorite holiday is the fourth of July. Not ‘cause she’s got a boner for America or anything. She just likes fireworks and when I use the grill.” “Is it your favorite holiday?” Van asks this time. Eddie nods, a bright blush pushing up on his face. 

“How come?” Violet and Van ask at the same time. Eddie turns the burner off, placing the heaping plate of heart shaped pancakes on the center of the island. He opens the wine cooler on the opposite wall, pulling out a bottle of champagne and two flutes from the top cabinet.

“‘Cause I get to spoil your mom all day,” he smiles, “She deserves it.” 

“You spoil her every day,” Van teases, “I can’t think of a more doted on woman on earth than mom.” 

“She’s very special,” he shrugs. 

“And you do this every year?” Violet asks, zooming in on the pancakes. 

“Every year for the past thirty four years, well, minus ninety-two,” he frowns a little, “We had some time apart that year.” 

“Still had my chef make them for me though.” 

Your voice cuts in from the large arch way connecting to the dining room and Violet pans quickly over to get you in frame. 

“Hi mom,” Vi says, “Is this your favorite holiday?” 

“No,” you shake your head and laugh, the same laugh he fell in love with, “It’s the fourth of July. C’mon Vi, how long have I been your mom? Do you even know me?” “You’re supposed to be in bed, honey,” Eddie frowns, “You’re ruining the surprise.” 

“The surprise that’s older than my kids? How could I forget,” you grin, rounding the island and greeting your husband with a gentle kiss, “Happy Valentine’s day.” 

“Happy Valentine’s day, baby,” he murmurs into a second chaste peck, “You’re supposed to let me bring them up to you.” 

“My kids are home, I don’t wanna spend all day in bed,” you pout. He pouts back dramatically, tugging on your arm to pull you flush against his chest. 

“I thought you loved spending all day in bed with me,” he pushes some of your hair back before resting a palm on your cheek, moving in to kiss you deeply. The scruff on his chin scratches around your mouth but you never care because he still kisses you, he kisses you every day. He’d kiss you all day if you let him. You had too many girlfriends whose ex-husbands were on their third wife and every year they’re more surprised that Eddie is still on his first.

“Okay, I think that’s our cue to leave,” Van says, Violet stops recording. Their faces sour.  

“Yeah we don’t want a January ‘94 repeat or anything,” Vi jokes. The twins high five at their own mean reference to your horrific sex tape debacle, but you and Eddie toss them a playful glare. 

“Hey, she might be your mother, but she’s my wife,” Eddie warns, hand sneaking down to rest on the small of your back to pull you close to him, “Don’t mess with her.” 

“Yeah,” you tease, crossing your arms, “You saw what he did to Howie’s studio. I just gotta say the word.” 

“So scary,” Violet rolls her eyes, leaving the kitchen with her twin in tow, “We’re taking the Jeep to get Jamba Juice, do you want anything?” 

“My usual,” you answer while Eddie goes to the fridge to get grapefruit juice out of the fridge, “And get daddy’s usual too. Do you want his card? Where’s your card, hun?”

“Wherever you last left it,” he responds, gracefully pouring grapefruit mimosas for the both of you. 

“It’s in my purse,” you call out. 

“Which one?!” Violet calls back, both of them waiting by the door. 

“The pink Kelly!” 

“Got it! Do you want anything else?” Van calls out. 

“Just uh,” Eddie giggles to himself, tossing you a once over, “Take your time!” 

“Gross!” they yell back in unison. Eddie waits for the door to close to pull you back into him, he watches you at first. Brown eyes cascading over the slope of your nose, your cheeks, the crinkles at the edge of your eyes, your smile lines. He looks at you like he’s looking at you for the first time, every time. He looks different, but the same. Dark curls smattered and entwined in silver, a nose ring, a never ending scratch of overgrown stubble. Deep lines on his forehead that exaggerate his already animated features. Lips still full and warm, hands still big and covered in rings. He’s kept his body real tight for fifty-seven, still throwing himself in the gym daily. ‘If I’m gonna be addicted to something now it might as well be like, my cardiovascular health, babe.’ His crows feet make him somehow more attractive, his smile got better with age. He still makes your heart race when he catches your eye from across the room. “You wearing that little red thing I like?” he purrs in your ear. The tie to your robe sliding between his inked fingers.

“Maybe,” your finger trails over a tattoo on his bicep, “Maybe, I got something new for you to see. Maybe it’s black, maybe it’s strappy. Maybe it’s that thing you saw when we went shopping last week.” 

“Christ,” he huffs, pressing a kiss to your cheek before stepping back over to the counter, “Do you ever stop getting hotter? Eat your breakfast before I bend you over this bar stool.” 

“Let’s bring it upstairs like you wanted,” you smile, following him closely to press your hips up against him, “We can get a little messy.” 

“Yeah?” he growls, pushing part of your robe away to see a peek of black lace and strappy leather, “Fucking god, Stell.” 

“C’mon,” you whisper breathily, pushing up on your tiptoes to kiss him again, “They’ll be home soon.” 

Some things have changed, some things remain the same. He still fucks you like a rockstar.

[abibliophobiaa]

I Will Wait

Chapter Two (9k)

a soulmate!fakemarriage!au with rockstar!eddie and personalassistant!reader (also featuring ronance)

cowritten by @abibliophobiaa, @blue-mossbird, @breddiemunson, @myosotisa, and @fracturedarkness​ 

18+ only for mature themes, alcohol consumption, and eventual sexual content. fem!reader

one (9.9k) | next (15k) | masterlist  |  AO3  |  🎵 shmackin' tunes

in this universe, there is no upside down, the year is 1995, and corroded coffin = nine inch nails. if you didn't check out the prequel publications (hot off the press on our series masterlist), make sure you do, since they provide important backstory for the IWW universe! read them carefully; there are secrets. 😉

Eddie’s passion didn’t scare you, but anxiety now crawls up your throat as your eyes dart to the clock on the wall, which reads just after eleven. Frozen in sudden indecision, you just stare at him with surprised eyes.

“What?” Eddie scoffs, “Did you think we wouldn’t need to eat? What kind of assistant are you?” He crosses his arms, arching a critical brow, nose wrinkled in a scowl as your mouth falls open. For a moment, you’re at a loss. 

An unexpected voice interjects, smooth and calm. “My dude,” Argyle drawls, “to be fair to the little lady, she did ask you if you wanted her to do anything. And she did exactly what you told her to do.” Faced with Argyle’s defense of you, Eddie’s scowl deepens and the tension in the room rises.

You swallow down your panic, squaring your shoulders and standing tall under his disapproval. “I apologize for the oversight, Mr. Munson. I’ll take care of it right now.”

“Seriously, Ed?” Jeff cuts in, pushing off the sunken couch with his hands on his knees, eyebrows drawn together in frustration. “Was she just supposed to—”

“No, no. It’s my fault,” you assure the group with a smile, stepping in the line of fire to calm the sudden unease and keep the situation from escalating. “I’ll run and grab food for everyone and be back in no time.”

The other men mumble an agreement, seemingly happy that it didn’t become a larger issue. You attempt to make eye contact with Eddie as you prepare to leave in a hurry but he pays you no mind, bending at the waist to confer with Argyle. Deciding it would be better not to ask additional questions and potentially cause your new client more displeasure, you loop your pocketbook over your shoulder and push out into the hallway— leaving the pressure of the confrontation behind.

As soon as you reach the elevator again, the mirrored doors sliding closed behind you to grant a moment of privacy, you allow your shoulders to deflate. While you are no stranger to dealing with unearned irritation directed your way, the speed with which Eddie seems to ricochet between moods is staggering. It leaves behind a sense of instability that threatens to shake the very foundations of what rests upon it, as though even a single moment of vulnerability could send you flying off your feet.

With each passing hour, you understand more and more clearly what Steve was referring to when he insisted that Eddie ‘needed someone who could handle him.’ And, despite the subtle missteps so far, you find yourself ever more determined to make sure that person is you.

The doors slide open to the bottom floor and you exit with a renewed vigor, setting your attention to completing the task at hand. Your shoes echo even louder across the tile now that the building is seemingly devoid of life— the front desk and lobby beyond are entirely empty. With that sight comes the startling realization that you are in an unfamiliar part of the city in the middle of the night, and you have to find something quick to bring the boys to eat. A slight hesitation as you rack your brain for the best way forward ends up being your salvation: your savior coming in the form of an older man making his way out of one of the double doors across from the entrance. He pushes along a bright yellow bucket by the handle of his mop, water sloshing loudly as he inches forward, head bopping to the beat of whatever plays from the headphones settled on his ears. You immediately power walk over to him, the movement catching his eye as he rears back in near alarm and slides one of the cups off his ear to face you.

“Hi, sorry to bother you,” you greet with a smile, “I was wondering if you might be able to help me?”

Wrinkled, deep set green eyes blink back at you, surprised and unsure, as he drawls out, “What can I do ya for?”

“I’m not from around this side of town and I need to grab some food quickly. Do you have any recommendations for something that would be open around this time?”

He visibly relaxes, eyebrows raising in pleased surprise as he offers a grin that lacks a few of his teeth, the others yellowed from nicotine. “Boy, are you a fan of chopped cheese?”

In another strike of what feels like fate, you find yourself eternally grateful for the city that never sleeps.

Following the janitor’s vague directions, you cross the threshold into a brightly lit sandwich shop that is bustling with energy despite the hour. Blue collar workers of all kinds fill the space, conversing happily and giving each other a hard time between bites of greasy food. And, to your relief, none of them seem to pay you any mind as you make your way to the counter and pick out a variety of food from the handwritten board that hangs above the cash register. The man taking your order doesn’t say a word other than to tell you the total, which alerts you to the fact that you weren’t given a way to pay for this. Gritting your teeth, you offer up the cash from your own pocketbook, nearly emptying it completely, and watch with a sense of dread as he gets you your change and huffs that it should only be a few minutes before it’s ready. You make a mental note to reach out to Steve about how situations like this should be handled in the future and to get reimbursed for what you just paid.

Stuck with nothing to do but wait, your attention wanders across the room. There are many different types of men here – some young, some old, some dirty and tired, some fresh-faced and ready to conquer the day. Converging between the swap of shifts, sharing stories and shooting the shit. No one table is excluded from the revelry, each group interacting with what seems like everyone in the room. A contained ecosystem of hard earned repose and comradery between people who may not know each other by name, but by the hardships and struggles they each experience day by day. Forged in the dark of night and the effort of refueling around a hard day's work – both in body and soul.

A bark of your name rockets you back into reality and across the slightly sticky floor to receive what you’d ordered, throwing out thank you’s and other platitudes as you grip the plastic bags in your fists and push back out into the night in a hurry.

You’re borderline out of breath by the time you’re yanking at the cold metal handles of the studio’s heavy doors, a stark contrast to how you had crossed the threshold just a few hours ago. You shuffle across the tile as fast as your heels will allow; once safely in the elevator again, you take the time to catch your breath and return to some semblance of order, preparing to face what the rest of the night holds for you.

There’s a rush of air as you shoulder your way back into the studio, feeling eyes on you immediately. “Food’s here,” you offer, lifting the bags with a smile. Gareth and Harry sigh in what looks like relief, the former immediately hopping over to you as if he can not wait another second to get his hands on whatever you had brought. You shoo him over to the coffee table between the couches, sparing a glance through the glass as you pass. Jeff and Eddie face each other with warring grins, appearances almost taunting, fingers flying across strings as they play a duet that only Argyle can hear. Ripping your attention from the booth, it takes mere moments for you to spread your bounty across the wood, a huge pile of hot fries in the middle and a selection of sandwiches with vague lettering sharpied on their paper wrappers. Gareth and Harry both grab for one, seeming not to care exactly what’s on it, as you also grab one of the greasy sachets and slip it to Argyle. He looks surprised for a moment but then offers you a leant back nod, a lazy smile, and a thumbs up before returning his attention to the mixing board before him.

It doesn’t take long for Eddie and Jeff to realize the food is here. They tumble out of the recording room, exchanging friendly jabs as you sit down on the couch beside Harry, carefully unwrapping your own sandwich. Caught up in the whirlwind of your new job, you hadn’t noticed just how hungry you’ve become until the soft hero roll emerges from greasy parchment. The sandwich is split in the middle, and as you pull apart the halves, putting one on the coffee table so you can dig into the other, Jeff and Eddie stagger their way over to the couches, pushing one another as they go; Jeff makes it to the table first, flopping down beside Gareth on the opposite couch. You’re distracted from their bantering by a groan of deep contentment.

“Oh, my God,” Gareth moans around a mouthful, tilting against an unphased Argyle. “This is so good.”

Harry nods his eager agreement. “I love chopped cheese,” he says, his voice a quiet rumble beside you, and you smile at him. He glances at you shyly before returning to his meal with a pleased curve to his lips.

You’re about to take a bite when the couch dips down on your other side; it draws your eyes to wild curls and stiff limbs as Eddie snatches the final sandwich from the table. He unwraps it hastily, widening his knees and slouching against the creaky leather of the couch, eyes locked on his dinner. He looks largely neutral, but there is a vague tightness to his brow, a pinch to his mouth that implies he’s annoyed by something. And when his knee nudges even further into your space, nearly brushing against yours, it becomes clear what that is.

He doesn’t seem to like that you’re taking up space beside him, that he has to accommodate you in any way, even in something as simple as sharing a couch. Whereas Harry is sitting normally at your side, and on the other couch, Jeff, Gareth, and Argyle are happily fitted together, you are forced to shift over in order to avoid his aggressive elbow as Eddie tears at the paper of his wrapped sandwich. He slouches even lower into the couch, as if to insist on his own comfort at the expense of yours.

You scoot closer to Harry and return your gaze to your sandwich, trying not to let Eddie’s behavior affect you as you take the first bite. Savory meat, melty cheese, crisp lettuce and sweet tomato act as an adequate distraction, and all that fills the recording room are the crinkling of parchment and the muffled sounds of food being enjoyed until you ask, “So, what’s the new album going to be called?”

It opens the floodgates. The guys are more than happy to inform you of their creative decisions over greasy chopped cheese. They talk over one another as they gesture wildly, threatening to fling loose lettuce and bits of steak all over the leather couches and the cherry-wood coffee table as they recount the story of their latest album’s conception. The only one who stays quiet is Eddie— though, as you sneak peeks at him from the corner of your eye while you eat your sandwich as daintily as you can, he doesn’t seem to be sullen anymore. Instead, a faint smile plays on his lips in-between giant messy bites of beef and cheese as he lets his bandmates enthuse over their latest creation. Even when they mention him specifically, like when Harry remarks, “It was Ed’s idea to have the whole thing represent someone’s life going down the shitter,” Eddie merely nods, his cheek dimpling as he sucks grease from the pad of his thumb.

By the time empty crumpled paper hits the coffee table, the guys are ready to return to recording with a sense of renewed vigor. They lurch up from the couch, bellies full and fingers itching for their instruments as they file back into the recording studio. Argyle mosies his way to the soundboard and you follow him, surveying the different lights, switches and sliders with curiosity; you watch his hands flit around the complex board with practiced ease, tapping and nudging things so quickly it’s hard to follow.

Argyle angles the mounted microphone closer to his lips to drawl, “Alright, ah… Jeff—” He snaps his fingers, shooting a finger gun towards the plexiglass. “What’re we starting with?”

You look up towards Jeff to see him flash an open palm and a peace sign, which seems incomprehensible until Argyle confirms. “Track seven. Sweet.”

Jeff shoots him a smile and a thumbs up, and as you look away, your gaze catches deep brown.

Eddie is staring at you.

As soon as you register it— the split second you catch him watching you— Eddie’s eyes widen and dart away, expression flashing with an emotion that looks out of place on his typically-assured face. And then it’s gone. Just as quickly, as though it had never existed, that vulnerable expression is replaced by a quirked eyebrow, smugly narrowed lips, and an even, penetrating stare as his eyes return to yours. Before you can even think about it, he’s beckoning you toward him with a crooked finger.

Obligingly— it is your job, after all— you leave Argyle’s side and pull open the heavy glass door to the recording room.

The space is not overly generous, but it is large enough to give each band member a comfortable buffer of space with his instrument. The drums are set up near the back, with Harry on the left and Jeff on the right, a guitar strapped against his chest but flipped around to the back as he stands in front of the keyboard. There’s a boxy amp covered by a shield to dampen the sound in the corner opposite the door, and Eddie is standing beside it, dark-clad legs spread wide as he hooks a forearm casually against his red electric guitar.

“Yes?” you ask him neutrally, though it’s difficult to hold back the roll of your eyes when he doesn’t reply, merely beckoning you with that same finger again. You breathe slowly through your nose as you walk over to him, planting your feet right before him though your heels wobble slightly on the springy carpet. Your pleasant face grows a touch flatter as he regards you silently, blinking slowly— clearly wanting to keep you waiting, to make you pay for the split-second of whatever he’d felt when you caught him staring.

Eventually, a crooked grin spreads on Eddie’s lips as he looks at you, and your brow twitches in alarm as Eddie abruptly lifts one heavy booted foot and thumps it down on top of the amp. The move stretches his tight pants even tighter, pulling the rips at his knees to reveal pale skin underneath. It draws your eye, tempting it to run over the angular bones; they’re strong and dense, substantial beneath string that cuts shallow indents into his skin.

“Tie my boot.”

Your gaze shoots straight to his face. “Excuse me?” you ask, neutral mask slipping as some incredulousness leaks through. 

Eddie’s expression doesn’t waver as he nods his head towards his foot in a flippant little jerk. “Laces are loose, and I don’t wanna take Sweetheart off.” When he pats the guitar fondly, you realize he’s referring to his instrument. “Such a pain. So be a good little assistant and tie my shoe for me.”

You look at the scuffed Doc Marten propped against the top of the amp’s shield near your upper thigh. Indeed, the laces on Eddie’s boot are untied, dangling loosely, but you also notice that they’d clearly been tied very sloppily— they aren’t even laced all the way up to the top. Sucking your teeth and resisting a grumble, you comply with your client’s demand, bending slightly at the waist to tighten the laces before you tie them. But the thought of doing this again— ever, really— causes irritation to pang deep in your stomach. If he’d just tie his shoes properly, I wouldn’t need to do this. 

Rather than just knotting the laces, you take a moment to thread them deftly through each hole, tugging extra tight between each row until you reach the top where his pants are stuffed into them. With a quick pair of bunny ears and a double-knot, you’re done, straightening at the waist and staring again into Eddie’s face, unable to keep the defiant spark from your eye.

You find Eddie with his lips twisted smugly, tongue bulging against one cheek, dark eyes glittering with amusement. “Well,” he says, his voice deep and musical, “now you’ve gotta do the other one up to the top, too. A rockstar can’t have two mismatched boots. What will my fans think?”

“Fine,” you say, a little tightly, waiting for him to switch that foot to the amp. But he doesn’t; instead, Eddie just stares at you expectantly until you huff a tiny indignant breath and crouch down to retie his boot on the floor.

You know, then, that the entire thing has been meant to humiliate you, to remind you of your place— squarely below him, looking up at him as he towers over you, curls a wild cyclone around his pale, angular face. The fact isn’t lost on the others. “Really?” Harry’s typically quiet voice is a scoff, and you yank extra hard on Eddie’s laces as you hear his defense of you, feeling vindicated. I hope I cut his circulation off. He’ll never ask me to tie his shoes again, you think sourly, flexing your calves as you tug the double-knot tight and begin to rise.

Though the plush carpet in the recording room is good for sound absorption, it’s not so good for balance when one is wearing heels; you find your left foot wobbling as you try to straighten so hastily, and a spike of adrenaline bursts inside you as you feel your ankle weaken.

Two things happen.

One: your hand darts out, automatically seeking stability from the closest object, which just so happens to be Eddie. Your fingers clutch the bony knob of his knee, pressing desperately to threads and the hot skin exposed between them.

Two: as you waver, Eddie sways forward and his hand jerks out to catch your opposite elbow in a firm, broad palm, applying pressure to keep you stable.

Instantly, you burst with feeling. 

Sparks bloom from each point of contact, racing up your arms and trailing goosebumps in their wake until they meet in the middle behind your ribs. They pop and fizzle, colliding as tingling waves that reverberate outward from your center. The feeling overwhelms you, making your breath catch in your chest and your spine jerk ramrod straight as you push up from Eddie’s knee. The cold solidity of his guitar brushes against your front as he straightens with you; his head jerks back so you don’t collide with his chin.

Just as quickly as it happened, in the matter of a second, Eddie’s hand drops from your elbow and you step back from him, crossing your arms beneath your breasts. That same uncanny feeling from earlier— that low pang in your stomach, not altogether unpleasant— returns, reignited by the feeling of his hot skin under your fingers and the firmness of his grip on your arm.

“T-thank you,” you start to say, voice wavering slightly as you try to recover from the sudden unexpected intensity of your feeling. But then Eddie rubs the side of his neck with the same hand that caught your elbow. When his chunky rings glint in the light of the room, demanding your attention, it lingers on one in particular.

It’s a heavy dose of reality when you see the platinum band on his ring finger, more elegant and polished than the chunky aggressive rings adorning his other fingers. He’s my client. And he’s married. 

It’s all that’s needed to have you stamping insistently down on that feeling again. When you glance at Eddie’s face, the wideness of his eyes and the downturn of his mouth belies the same tension you suddenly feel. Desperate to cut through what suddenly envelops the room, you blurt a lightly teasing remark. “Next time, Mr. Munson,” you say, “wear velcro shoes if you don’t know how to tie your boots.”

Thankfully, your voice doesn’t waver this time, and your lips even curl in a small smirk when you hear the strength of Gareth’s sudden barking laughter. You don’t wait around for Eddie to offer a response; with Gareth’s mirth accompanying you, you stride from the room, letting the thick glass door mute the sound of his amusement as it thumps closed behind you. You’re grateful for the privacy that the distance affords you; you have no interest in letting Eddie see how his proximity affected you in the booth. You won’t let him see the momentary chink in your tweed armor, the effect just a knick of his touch has had on your composure.  

The cold glass door provides respite for your heated body as you lean against it. You take a moment to collect yourself, to rescue your composure from the pull of Eddie’s rip current before it can be swept further out into turbulent waters. Your hand settles over your heart, feeling it thud wildly against your palm as you wait, reminding yourself of the need for patience. You’re no stranger to feeling this pressure of restraint. Breathe in. Breathe out. Eventually, your goosebumps settle, your blood stops burning, and your lungs fill with air once more. 

Once you feel a little more composed, you retreat to the soundboard to keep Argyle company, hoping that his mellow presence can imbue in you the tranquility needed to survive the night. Gathering every remaining ounce of poise you possess, you lift your chin and look through the glass to see the band preparing for their next take. Gareth makes himself more comfortable on his stool. Harry and Jeff check the tuning of their instruments. And then there’s Eddie, who appears to be more interested in staring you down with those dark eyes instead of preparing to play. He folds his arms over his chest, and his sharp gaze sizes you up in a clear response to your earlier sass. You stare back, eyes unblinking and face impassive. Though the prickling heat threatens again, you don’t let it show, thinking of Jason and all of his attempts to intimidate you into submission. Don’t let him. I never gave Jason the satisfaction, and he won’t get it either.

“Alright, my talented amigos. Show me just how rad you can be.” When your staring contest with Eddie is broken by Argyle’s fried drawl, you’re not entirely sure who is the victor.

Argyle leans back in his swivel chair, lacing his fingers behind his head, his giant headphones hung abandoned on the hook mounted beneath the soundboard as the studio blares with sound. You stand at his side for some time, watching the guys perform. And as the music picks up, you find yourself hypnotized by their talent once again. The familiarity of lifelong friendship makes the band’s coordination appear seamless, almost second nature as Eddie and Harry catch eyes across the room, nodding together when guitar and bass fall into sync. Eddie leans back, lifting his angular guitar as he flourishes at the end of his next lick, and you watch the bobbing of Jeff’s head deepen as he shoots his friend a broad grin.

Time passes, enough time for you to retire to the couch, though you choose the one that still affords you a view into the recording room. There’s no less wanting from the men— no less striving for their product—  but as the night goes on, the process seems to begin taking a physical toll on them. You’d watched the growing consternation as Argyle asked Eddie to re-record a verse several times; his voice is straining, fatigued from the hours of singing, and you can hear the difference. When it cracks again not even two lines in, resulting in another failed attempt, instruments squeal to a halt as Eddie shakes the dented microphone by its stand, soft nose wrinkled up and teeth bared in frustration.

“C’mon—!” he grinds out, and you’re half up off the couch before Argyle takes over, interjecting with his calm drawl.

“Bro, maybe you should think about resting those bodacious vocal chords,” he suggests. “Give those puppies a break.” 

 Eddie snorts in stubborn refusal, his damp curls shaking until his head abruptly stills. His face lights up as though he has had a groundbreaking revelation; a playful smile slides across his plush lips. 

“I know just the cure,” he sing-songs dramatically, pursing his lips as, with a jerk of his arm, he snaps his fingers in your direction. You can hear the sharp sound vaguely echoing through the microphone inside the recording room.

Within a moment, you’re at the glass door; despite the earlier tension, it’s all water under the bridge now that it’s time to do your job. You dutifully pull it open to poke your head inside. “You summoned me?”

“Yes,” Eddie says, brows flashing and voice utterly serious. “Listen carefully, now. I have an incredibly urgent task for you.” He pauses dramatically, brown eyes wide in an attempt at earnestness. “It is of the utmost importance.” 

Internally, you brace yourself, knowing that whatever he says next will be anything but important. You feel the impulse rise up your throat, sarcastic words dancing on the tip of your tongue. Maybe you should take acting lessons from your wife. It takes considerably too much effort to resist it, but you do; instead, you raise your eyebrows and incline your head towards him in a nonverbal prompt— Go on. 

“I need you,” he claps his hands together, folding his fingers until just his indexes are pointed at you, “to go get me some whiskey.” 

The recording room hums with reactions from the rest of his bandmates: a groan from Jeff, a delighted guffaw from Gareth, and an uneasy sway from Harry, accompanied by a little uncomfortable chuckle.

Exasperated disbelief creases your brow. “...Whiskey?” you question once you’ve recovered from the initial shock of the request. You’d known what Eddie would ask wouldn’t be serious, but you didn’t expect it to be this absurd.

Eddie’s voice, even croakier than usual thanks to his fatigued vocal chords, is full of condescension. “What’s wrong, sweetie? Don’tcha know that whiskey can soothe a sore throat?” His tone sharpens, a victorious smile curling on his lips as he eyes you. “You wouldn’t want me to delay this album now, would you? This voice is our money maker.”

“More like his voice drives us up the wall,” Gareth wisecracks. Eddie swiftly knocks him upside the head, hushing the drummer immediately, though the younger man’s eyes glitter in amusement as he rubs the back of his head. 

When you continue to hesitate, any last vestiges of playfulness slide from Eddie’s face. “Listen.” There’s that hardness you’d been confronted with at the beginning of the night; his tone brokers no argument. It’s the tone of a man who’s driven countless personal assistants toward the door with their tails between their legs. “You’re my PA. Doing what I say is your job. So if I ask you to get me a bottle of fuckin’ whiskey, you do it. Do you understand?”

You swallow. He is right; it is your job. “Of course, Mr. Munson,” you reply, face carefully impassive as his eyes search yours. When he leans back and huffs through his nose, your shoulders relax fractionally.

“Alright, guys, let’s take a break ‘til the good stuff gets here,” he says, pulling Sweetheart over his neck and setting the guitar on the stand beside him. “Run along, now,” he says mockingly, flicking his fingers in your direction.

As they all start to drift towards where you stand, your mind races; automatically, you move out of the way for them to exit the recording room, holding the door as you think. Yes, it is your job to do what he asks, and it would also give you a chance to escape the studio for some time to be away from his taunting. But something makes you pause. You’ve already depleted your cash source from buying the men dinner. How were you going to pay for a bottle of whiskey, too? You’re not their ATM. And while you aren’t typically in the habit of pressing the issue, as the men take their seats on the couches to wait for you, you decide you will not be jeopardizing your financial stability for the sake of buying this man booze.

You let the glass door thump closed, mentally steeling yourself as you pull your pocketbook over your head. “And how would you like to pay for your whiskey?” you ask Eddie. “I can take your card, or you can give me cash.” 

He casts a glance of disbelief around the couch he’s sprawled on, catching his bandmates’ eyes. They’re quiet, attention bouncing between you both as Eddie scoffs, “I’m not giving you shit. Just pay for it yourself and get Harrington to reimburse you.”

“Well, seeing as how I already paid for your dinner, I’m a little low on funds,” you explain, careful to remain firm but not contentious, standing tall against his onslaught. “So, it’s either you give me a way to pay or you don’t get your whiskey. The choice is yours.”

 The silence in the room after you deliver your ultimatum seems heavier, more oppressive than a moment ago. It’s a tense standoff: you in your heels and tweed, standing calmly at the edge of the coffee table, and Eddie in his leather and chains, staring up at you through the wild curls of his disheveled bangs. Everyone else in the room is looking between you and Eddie as if they’re eager to see the next serve in a verbal tennis match. The silence extends for an uncomfortable duration, but you refuse to break under the heaviness of his stare. You know your request is more than reasonable, and the justice of it keeps you from backing down.

Eddie Munson may be stubborn, but so are you.

With a huff, Eddie shifts his hips, tilting so he can reach into his back pocket to retrieve his wallet. With a sneer, he digs limber fingers in the envelope and pulls out a hundred-dollar bill, holding it between two fingers and extending his hand with a dramatic, resigned flop. You smile politely in thanks, but when you attempt to take it from him, his fingers tighten on the paper. 

“Don’t get any of that cheap shit,” he orders, eyeing you as he keeps a firm hold on the bill. You two are tethered by the thin, green paper, which would tear if one of you applied more force. But you don’t; instead, you reply, “I understand, Mr. Munson.” When he still doesn’t let go, you add, “Is there a brand you prefer?”

Eddie grunts, finally releasing the bill, effectively freeing you from his hold. “Just none of that Carver piss-water,” he mutters. “Top-shelf, or as close as you can get with this. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.” The word slips out automatically, like it would for Steve Harrington, or Jason Carver, or your boss at the community college you worked at prior to Carver Distilleries. Eddie doesn’t comment, but the sudden gleam in his eye— amber brown, like sun through whiskey— follows you onto the elevator and onto the sidewalk as you burst out onto the city streets.

The hustle and bustle of New York city has noticeably waned now, and it has you hastily pushing up your sleeve to check the dainty watch strapped on your wrist. The time is late— later than you are typically awake, nearly too late, in fact— and it dawns on you that you’ll need to find an option soon since closing time for most places is rapidly approaching. Your eyes dart across the buildings on the block, searching for the word ‘liquor,’ but a quick survey yields no results. Picking a random direction and hoping for the best goes against everything inside you, but in your desperation, you realize you have no choice. 

A glance to the right yields nothing but darkened windows and silence, so left it is.

You hasten your pace, walking one block and then another. And when the neon sign flickers the words ‘Starcourt Liquor’ above your head, managing to find a liquor store with ten minutes to spare before closing feels like a miracle. 

The shop owner seems less than thrilled to have you entering his business so late, so you toss an apologetic grimace in his direction before rushing to the whiskey section, eyes scanning for nothing but price— as close to a hundred bucks as possible to follow Eddie’s instruction. Being so unthorough makes your stomach squirm as you rush back to the front and thump the thick glass bottle on the countertop, but you don’t have even a moment to second-guess yourself. You always ruminate on your options, assessing the choices carefully before selecting the best one. This— plunking down a pricy purchase without even examining the label— is enough to have panic biting at the back of your throat.

Nevertheless, the purchase is quickly made, and you jingle out the shop door with Eddie’s whiskey bottle wrapped in paper. As you make your way back to the studio, you try to shake away your negative thoughts. Clearly, if I want to survive being Eddie Munson’s PA, I’m going to have to stop overanalyzing everything and go with my gut sometimes. 

More than anything else tonight— Eddie’s taunts, his cold demeanor, the nerves that accompany a new situation— this thought is what rattles you the most. It’s something you’ve always struggled with; the pressure to be the best version of yourself has led you to dissect every decision that is presented to you. Every choice, no matter how seemingly small, feels significant when you consider the implications of what’s awaiting you. There’s always this little voice in your ear whispering insidiously: 

Choose right, and you’ll find what you’ve always been searching for. All that you want will be yours. 

Choose, y/n. 

Just choose, but you’d better not be wrong.

When your heel nearly gets stuck in a crack on the sidewalk and you stumble to keep your balance, you realize you need to snap out of it. This is just a bottle of whiskey, you remind yourself. Eddie will have to take what I give him. Finally, you’re back inside; the records line the walls, the elevator dings, and before long. you’re faced with that heavy metal door again, the one that separates you from your client beyond. 

You pause before opening it. You think of all the tasks you’ve accomplished today; you think of how you’ve prevailed against all of Eddie’s little tests.  

“I can do this,” you remind yourself in a whisper. “I can do tough things.” And you know it’s true. It just takes your own voice sometimes to drown those sibilant whispers out, to remind you of the light inside, standing strong and tall and steadfast against the waves.

Confidence renewed, you open the door to find the band deep in discussion with Argyle. Their heads turn at your entrance, and the conversation pauses. But unlike earlier this evening, when the pressure of their stares felt oppressive, they glance off you now. Your light swings in their direction, washing them with a glow that chases the threat of shadows away.

“Will this suffice, Mr. Munson?” you ask, handing the bottle over to Eddie. He takes your offering from your outstretched hand, leaving it empty. You fold your hands in front of you, waiting as he silently turns the bottle over in his broad grasp, assessing the label carefully. After a moment of extended silence, Eddie finally looks up at you. A dimple emerges with the stretch of his smirk; ruddy ringed fingers close firmly around the neck as he wrenches the cork off with a pop and takes an unceremonious swig.

The whiskey must be strong, because his adam’s apple only bobs twice before he’s lowering the bottle from his now-slick lips. And you were right; when he isn’t glowering at you, the amber of Eddie’s eyes looks just like warm light shining through a whisky glass.

“Just what the doctor ordered,” Eddie quips, swiping the back of his tattooed hand across his plush lips. They drag with his fingers before pulling into a grin. “Now buzz off, you little insect. We’re busy here.” 

Eddie waves you off as if you actually are an insect, and the sting of his blatant dismissal is only soothed by the sympathetic looks Harry and Jeff dart your way as he continues planning with his fellow band members. It’s rude, certainly, but at least it releases you to your own devices.

Still, when the men shuffle back into the recording room, your hands begin to fidget with the anxious desire to feel productive; you’re caught between aiming to make a good impression but not wanting to disrupt the band’s creative process, especially as Eddie has made it clear that he doesn’t need anything from you. If they don’t need me right now, then I’ll just have to make myself busy.

An idea comes to mind. You think back to how your first task of the day brought you to the mess that is Schmackin’ Records’ studio closet. The small space is overflowing with cardboard boxes affixed with nonsensical labels, which only makes everyone’s job harder— yours and Argyle’s, in particular. Revisiting the closet would allow you to continue familiarizing yourself with Corroded Coffin’s discography while helping to make things more organized— two birds, one stone. 

You search the studio for supplies; masking tape, a marker, and other items useful to you are all, ironically enough, found buried within the very place you’re looking to organize. With a quick roll of your sleeves and accompanied by the gravelly voice of Eddie in your headphones, you get to work. You methodically relabel each box by artist and organize each item within in meticulous chronological order. You’re careful to store away any loose cords and equipment scattered on the floor, winding each coil in a perfected loop before tucking them away in appropriate storage spaces. It’s soothing to make sense of the chaos, to bring peace to disquiet, to bring order to the disorderly. You’ve always found comfort working like this, left to your own devices within your element, thriving in the peace of solitude.

Nearly three hours later, you’ve rearranged the collection in its entirety. The closet looks neat and tidy, vastly improved from what you initially stumbled upon hours ago. You return to the lounge area feeling accomplished, heels thumping against floors, head tipped up high as you move to rejoin the main room. The band is situated around the soundboard, listening to a playback from one of the tracks they just recorded while Argyle offers feedback. Upon seeing you reappear, Argyle pauses his commentary, wheeling chair twirling enough until he’s facing you, eyes darting up to yours.

“Hey there, dudette! Where have you been hiding?” he asks, head bobbing with his words. That dark, shiny raven hair dances in the dim light, casting it in a honey glow, those soft eyes of his kind and comforting—enough so to quell the rapid thrum of your heart as the others shift to gaze your way.

“Ah, I noticed that some of the items in the storage closet were in need of organization,” you reply sheepishly, awkwardly throwing a thumb over one shoulder, indicating the closet you’ve since reorganized. “I fixed some of the labels and cleared off the floor. I hope that isn’t a problem.” 

“Well that is mighty nice of you,” Argyle compliments, reaching his hand up to give you a high five. Your hand claps against his, warmth curling around your palm, lips tugging into a soft smile at the man lounging before you.

Your actions seem to intrigue Eddie, those liquid amber eyes of his darting in your vicinity. He peers around you towards the newly-organized space, brows climbing high against his forehead. When his gaze returns to yours, his face is masked in an unreadable expression. He looks as though he is trying desperately to hide that he is impressed. 

“Maybe I should tell you to buzz off more often,” he comments, and only then does he allow it: the slightest dimple of his cheek as he smirks. And yes, it’s still a smirk, but it’s significantly less sharp and cutting than the ones he’d aimed at you earlier tonight. 

The observation isn’t a compliment, but you suppose it’s the closest thing to one you can expect from Eddie. Despite the urge to rise to challenge those words, his manner makes you pause; you’re still trying to think of how to respond when he turns away from you, seemingly already exhausted by showing you a scrap of kindness. 

As the boys file back into the recording room and the night continues to stretch on, you feel a palpable shift in energy within the studio. Their playful nature has transitioned to something less enthusiastic and more irritable. They reach a point where they’re spinning in circles – stuck on a track that isn’t quite ready yet. You listen to them debate over stylistic differences, hung up on the minute details embedded in the sound. As an observer, you clearly recognize that exhaustion has clouded their creative flow and left them feeling drained, each quick to argue and reluctant to concede to the others. 

You’re empathetic to it, really. Your feet are screaming for solace after spending hours confined in heels. Your head is pounding from the constant barrage of sound and pressure to problem-solve. You check your watch – 4:37 am. Your new schedule is so out of sync with your normal circadian rhythm, and your body is paying the price for it. 

The boys continue to bicker, too engrossed in perfecting the song to recognize the need for a break. You are not alone in your observations, as Argyle suddenly leans forward on his chair, pensive and serious as he regards the room.

“Alright, my dudes. I think we’ve made some gnarly progress. How about we pick up with these shmackin’ tunes tomorrow. Same time?” Argyle’s suggestion sends relief through your exhausted body, knowing that you may soon be graced with some respite. 

A silence befalls the group as they weigh Argyle’s counsel. Gareth, Harry, and Jeff remain silent, looking to Eddie for a decision. You find this odd. Is it because Eddie is the front man, or because they believe he is most likely to be defiant? After a moment of consideration, Eddie acquiesces to Argyle’s suggestion. You take this as your cue to call a private driver on Eddie’s behalf. 

You watch the men as they gather their belongings and prepare to leave. The impending rest lifts their spirits, and their banter returns in full swing. Gareth and Harry playfully nag Jeff about ‘getting home to the Mrs.’ while making kissing noises. The loving undertone in their teasing is indisputable, and Jeff waves them off goodnaturedly. As the three continue exchanging quips, you notice that Eddie remains uncharacteristically quiet, his lips downturned as he watches them joke around. Chin tipped down, dark eyes not quite caught in a glower, but he’s certainly no ray of sunshine. He turns away from them, choosing instead to hang back with Argyle as he prepares to close up the studio. 

“You did good, newbie. See you around!” Gareth playfully calls out as he leaves. Harry opts for a simple, shy wave as he follows Gareth’s lead. 

“Hey, uh… can I talk to you for a minute?” Jeff’s quiet request feels gentle, so unlike the orders Eddie has sent your way today, the latter’s requests feeling more like demands. The two of you make your way to the corner of the studio to speak privately. 

“Yes, of course. Is there something I can help you with?”

“No, nothing like that. You don’t have to be in PA mode with me, okay? I just wanted to tell you that you did a great job today.” Jeff offers, smiling kindly. His words bring warmth to your cheeks. 

“That’s very kind of you,” you answer, grateful for the small reassurance. 

“Listen, I understand that Eddie isn’t the… easiest person to work with.” His whole body stiffens with a sympathetic wince. “I’ve known him since we were kids. Trust me, his bark is worse than his bite.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.” The defense falls from your lips instinctually, ingrained in you from your days at Carver Distillery. 

Jeff is quick to reassure you, “I’ve seen you handle it all day. I wasn’t lying when I said you did a great job. Just remember that the first day is always the hardest. Hang in there, okay?” 

The two of you watch as Argyle and Eddie head in your direction, encroaching on the privacy of your conversation. With a gentle pat to your shoulder, Jeff leaves your side before making his way to the door. On his way out, you catch Jeff giving Eddie a hard stare. His eyes convey a clear message: play nice. 

“Really rad to meet you today, dudette. Catch you later!” Argyle sees you and Eddie out, offering a friendly wave as he closes the door. 

As you stand in the hallway with Eddie, you realize that this is the first moment you’ve been alone with the rockstar since meeting him. The entire night, you’ve watched him parade around the studio - soaking up the attention that his skills and antics attract. As quickly as the realization hits you, it’s replaced by shock. Eddie is making his way down the hall without so much as a glance in your direction. By the time you realize what’s going on, he’s halfway to the elevator. 

You quicken your step, heels clacking loudly against the tile as you increase your pace. Eddie enters the elevator, and hits the button for the ground level. Without hesitating, you wedge your arms between the doors to halt their closing. 

“Thought you could escape?” Your tone is light as you attempt to break the tension of being stuck with someone who clearly does not want you around. Eddie stares firmly ahead at his distorted reflection stark against those silver walls, seemingly too indifferent to look your way. 

“More like you need to learn how to keep up,” he snorts as he rolls his eyes. Perhaps it’s the exhaustion. Perhaps it’s Eddie’s endlessly mocking tone. Either way, his unfair dismissal irks you in a way that has sarcasm rising to your tongue.

 “Are you sure you can fit in this elevator with the size of that head?" You retort. With that, he turns his gaze toward you. The weight of his stare feels imposing in the small elevator, amber eyes practically molten as they dart upward and greet yours.

A smirk plays on his lips, the sight of it curling deep within your gut. "And which head are you referring to, doll?" Steve warned you this would happen, but Eddie’s audacious flirting still bewilders you. Your surprise is interrupted by the ding of the elevator signaling your arrival. Unsurprisingly, Eddie does not wait for you. You follow after him, quick behind his step having anticipated his rush. 

“You're not going to tell me how I did on my first day?"

“You survived, didn’t you?” he offers, sounding wholly bored with the question.

Undeterred, you press on, “Is there anything I could have done better today?”

“Are you always this needy?” He doesn’t even look your way, voice dripping in disdain.  His brusque tone further stokes the flames of indignation you felt spark to life in the elevator. 

“Says the man who asked me to tie his shoes,” you retort. You’re too caught up in your annoyance to notice Eddie has stopped walking. You collide with his back, feeling his hard muscles tense from the unexpected force. Slowly, Eddie turns to loom over you. Your breath catches in your throat, panic starting to build. You took things too far, and he’s going to fire you on the spot. You’re sure of it. 

To your surprise, you find mirth dancing in his eyes. A smile tugs at his lips. 

“Keep that up, and I might have to keep you,” he chuckles. With a wink in your direction, Eddie exits the building and swiftly slides into the awaiting vehicle. 

I might have to keep you.

I might have to keep you.

I might have to keep you. 

His words haunt you on your commute. They keep you company like a phantom friend on the subway. They trail beside you with every step closer to home.  

The sky awakens with hues of pink and orange, ready to welcome the sun in a new beginning. You pass strangers on the sidewalk, and you note the contrasting personalities present at this time of day. People on the still crowded streets of New York City stumble home after the last call. Runners rise to hit the pavement to chip away at their morning mileage. Twilight offers these night owls and morning birds the chance to cross paths in the painted sky, a contained ecosystem of push and pull that circles around itself with the same ease as the moon and the sun. A stark reminder that sometimes, that’s all you need for opposites to flourish together – the right circumstances. 

You stand in front of your apartment door, and you make a promise to yourself. Once you cross that threshold, you will take care of yourself. You’ve spent hours sprinting to accommodate the needs of others today. From now until your next shift, you will be unhurried in your self care. 

You savor the warmth of the shower soothing your aching muscles. You relish the softness of pajamas against your skin. You enjoy the cleansing feeling of your skincare routine.  

You run your fingers through your hair, and you stop at that cherished spot behind your right ear. You can’t see it, can’t see the swirling patterns you’ve only seen captured in pictures throughout the years, but you know it’s there. You press your fingertips to your soulmark with the gentleness owed to such a sacred gift. You briefly allow your mind to wander, to wonder if somewhere out there your soulmate does the same, gentle brushes of fingers against the mark that signifies an eternal bond with a person you haven’t met, yet feel you’ve known your whole life.

Turning to your towel rack, you gently pat your face dry of any remaining droplets of water, slipper-covered feet careful as they meander down the small hallway so as to not wake a sleeping Angela within her own bedroom. Once inside, your fingers curl gently around the golden door handle and slowly push it shut, flicking on your bedside lamp as you lower yourself down into your bed. You root around in the top bedside drawer for a familiar notebook and pen, stickers scattering onto the floor from where they’re tucked into the front page of the well-loved spine, little hearts and smiling faces, flowers that you’ve previously decorated pages with. You bend to retrieve them, clicking the top of your pen and pressing it thoughtfully against your chin once settled back on your pile of pillows. You open to a new, unadorned page. The blank sheet stares up at you, lines stark against pages, full of space for your thoughts to be written. The tip brushes the page, etching the present date into the top left corner, and you begin. 

Dear Soulmate, 

I started a new job today. It’s…definitely different. I’m working for Eddie Munson. Yeah, Eddie Munson from Corroded Coffin. He’s…well, he’s not Jason Carver, that’s for sure. He’s rough around the edges, but I don't think he’s particularly cruel. Sure, he made me run around doing errands for him, and I wasn't particularly fond of having to tie his boots, but it’s not like the blatant disrespect Jason would casually throw my way.

If anything, he’s a little confusing. And yet there’s something in him. I don’t know what it is yet, but it seems like he’s…searching for something, almost. Does that even make sense? I mean, what could he be looking for? He’s a rockstar. But there were just moments sometimes where I felt this… restlessness inside him or something. I don’t know. It makes me wonder who Eddie Munson is. Who he is really, at least. Not the Eddie Munson from all the news articles and bad publicity, or the Eddie Munson he tries to portray himself as in front of others, but the real man beneath. 

Anyway, enough about me. What was your day like? I hope it was better than mine, at least. I’m just getting home and the sun is coming up, but there’s this new excitement I feel growing. This could be really life changing. I hope one day soon I can tell you all about it. Who knows? Maybe it’ll bring me closer to you. I should probably head to bed. Not sure when I’ll be needed come tomorrow, but I’ll write to you soon and tell you everything. 

Giving the ink on the page a chance to dry, you reflect on the wild nature of your first day. It proved to be challenging, and it tested the strength of your resolve. You think back to Eddie’s simple assessment – “You survived, didn’t you?” He was right. You did survive. In fact, you might even argue that you had thrived under the watchful gaze of Eddie Munson.  

You are smart. You are capable. You are resilient.

You repeat these affirmations to yourself like a promise, as you shut the notebook and settle down to go to sleep. They’re a reminder of your inner flame, which flickered today under Eddie’s scrutiny. Yet, you know this to be true - Eddie Munson will not be the one to extinguish your light.

the next chapter will be released on @blue-mossbird​’s blog!

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[mmunson86]

Y’all you can’t tell me that this is not Rockstar Eddie Munson coded

Just imagine them in the green room before a show and reader takes out her phone to record Eddie messing with Gareths drums 🤣💗🥹

[meet-me-backstage]

🜸

𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐅𝐢𝐯𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 🎸 Virgin!Eddie Munson x Fem!reader

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 🎸 You play at the Hideout with your band, Stake For My Valentine, every night - you're considered the metal queen of the bar and your band are the rulers of the roost, famously loved by the Hideout's local drunks. However, when a band named Corroded Coffin land their first gig there, the sparse crowd warm quickly to the unique and awkward charm of the leading metal head, Eddie Munson.

However, you don't warm to him so easily - in fact, you don't warm to him at all. Eddie, on the other hand, worships the ground you walk on and doesn't hesitate to make it known, leading to a cold rejection from you.

Band rivalry occurs - you vs. Eddie, Stake For My Valentine vs Corroded Coffin.

You hate each other... but one night everything changes when a plan is created and executed by yours and Eddie's bandmates with the intention of bringing you two together and harmony between the bands.

𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒏 𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒊-𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒍𝒐𝒕𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕, 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈!

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 🎸 bad language, angst, mention and consumption of drugs, mention and consumption of alcohol, sexual innuendos, mention of blood, Eddie wearing eyeliner bcuz damn😍, some typical bar fight drunkard violence and SMUT so you must be 18+ to read‼️

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐅𝐢𝐯𝐞 🎸 10K words.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐅𝐢𝐯𝐞 🎸 bad language, angst, mention of smut, blood, mention and consumption of drugs and alcohol.

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐚 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐨 𝐮𝐩 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 - 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 (𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐱, 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐞 𝐈 𝐮𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐮𝐩𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐨𝐫 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 ‘𝐄𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐌𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧’ 𝐨𝐫 ‘𝐁𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬’ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!)… 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐬 𝐈 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭!

𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 - 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠!

𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲, 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐎𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐈 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 <𝟑

⇜ 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫

𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲 • 𝟑𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 • 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟓

'He's just a loser with a guitar.'

'You're a dick but I think I've fallen in love with you.'

'I fucking hate you Eddie Munson.'

'No I don't.'

You stare down at your lyric book with tired eyes, trying to decipher the scribbles of words that you'd crossed out and areas where you'd pressed the pen so hard against the paper that you ripped away some of it. They were all lines that you'd written over the weekend, ever since you'd gotten home from almost fucking Eddie Munson outside the Hideout, from realising that he had been the most beautiful guy you'd ever met and from crying so hard about him that you thought your eyes may fall out due to being so exhausted.

Elektra, Alyssa and Cherie are sat in the back room that had once been only yours, you can't help but think about how much the dynamic had changed since Corroded Coffin had stumbled through the doors behind you - you'd been so occupied with them that you realised that you hadn't even spoken to your band since last Friday...

Since I fucked it all up... I used to tell them everything... they're my best friends, my only friends - well, maybe not anymore since I've kept secrets and treated them like complete garbage... but we were always there for each other at school - always, surely they'll forgive me? I don't know, maybe Saturday night was the last straw, maybe I've fucked up one too many times.

You hear Cherie's voice through the door, it's muffled, but loud and it snaps you away from your thoughts.

You quickly slam your lyric book shut in your hand and take a deep breath that lasts for about five seconds before exhaling...

I've got nothing to lose now... I just hope Alyssa kept her word about not telling Elektra and Cherie what happened between me and Eddie.

With a determined stare, you head straight for the door like a missile to it's target, your worn and cracked black leather boots, as usual, thudding on the old floorboards of the Hideout. They can hear your footsteps because as soon as you start walking their voices go quiet, immediately knowing that it is you who had just entered the bar rather than a drunk that has nothing to do apart from sit at the bar and drink all day on a Monday.

You knock on the door, your knuckles brushing against the red tape that label the initials of yours and Eddie's bands on it.

Elektra clears her throat, you assume it's her because a few seconds later she calls out to you, "Come on in!" She didn't sound like her usual self who would crack a joke or dirty innuendo whenever you would walk into the room, starting band practice with a bellow of laughter from all four of you.

You grip onto the handle of the door, your forehead almost touching the wood before you slowly push it open, revealing your bandmates one by one.

Alyssa is sat on the manky rug in the middle of the room, tapping away at it with her drumsticks loosely gripped by her hands. Elektra is stood by Alyssa wielding her black and purple Jackson Dinky electric guitar, she's staring down at it so you can't see her face because her black hair, identical to Alyssa's, which is styled into a shorter mullet than her younger sister's, is falling in front of her green eyes, also identical to Alyssa's. Then, lastly, you see Cherie, with her bleach blonde hair as bright as ever, she is sat on the couch with her black Danelecto 58 Longhorn bass guitar nestled in the space beside her.

"Hi," you sigh, stepping into the room and gently setting your guitar case down beside you before turning around and shutting the door. The creak of the door being closed completely grabs all three of your bandmate's attention. They all look disappointed, confused, disheartened and it's all so quiet suddenly, Alyssa's drum beat couldn't be heard, Elektra is holding tightly to the neck of her guitar and Cherie has her mouth tightly shut. "Sorry I'm late," you mumble.

"Again," Elektra adds, rolling her eyes after.

You blow a puff of air out of your mouth, glancing down at your boots, briefly thinking about the words you'd rehearsed for them all day yesterday. "I - er I know - I'm sorry - I'm letting you guys down. I've been a real selfish bitch the last few weeks-," you sigh out with a nervous chuckle before your eyes flicker between all three of your friends, "I'm completely aware of that now and I'm sorry - so fuckin' sorry. I've not listened to you, I've been slacking at band practice, I've kept you in the dark, I've not been a good friend and I almost got us kicked out of here by Keith... I know now that it's all my fault - not Corroded fuckin' Coffin's... I - I guess I just didn't want to admit that I'm not as good as I thought."

"But you are, V," Cherie, who is, as usual, your number one fan even after letting her down.

Both Alyssa and Elektra nod in agreement with Cherie. "Exactly - that's why we're all so confused," Elektra, confesses. "You've never ever let us down in all the years that we've played together - so why are you now?" She pleads for an answer, accentuating her words by pointing the neck of her guitar at you.

You fiddle with your fingers, picking at the already chipped black nail varnish on your left index finger because you hadn't exactly prepared to answer that exact question. "I dunno - but I promise I won't fuck up any more than I already have, okay?" You look at each of your bandmates earnestly.

Elektra shakes her head while looking you dead in the eye, "Why're you avoiding the question?"

"I'm not!" You retort defensively.

"Vamp," Elektra states sternly, raising her thin dark eyebrows at you.

You realise again that you're acting the exact opposite way that you'd promised not to act, "Sorry - sorry - I er - I guess it's the... the competition." You bring a hand up to your forehead and shake your head at yourself, "It got to my head because - we've always been the band of weirdos who play metal music here every night without fail - and then suddenly these even weirder weirdos come into the picture and-," you let your hand fall from your forehead back down to your side, "We're not the only ones anymore and I felt - threatened by 'em because it was always just us... but I should've known that it wouldn't stay that way forever."

Elektra and Cherie nod in unison, but Alyssa stays completely still and silent which attracts your attention.

"Can I talk to you for a second, Al?" You take a step towards her while pointing your thumb over your shoulder towards the door behind you.

Alyssa looks at you, still hurt by what she'd seen you doing with Eddie on Saturday as her eyes are sunken in from not sleeping and her lips are pointing downwards at both corners of her mouth. She shakes her head, "Whatever you've got to say, you can say it here because we're a team - that's what a band is, right?"

You exhale through your nose, nodding at the same time, "Right," you mumble under your breath and fiddle with your fingers, still picking away at the black nail varnish on your nails. "I-."

Am I really going to tell them about what happened between me and Eddie?

Should I?

Yes... no... yes, no more lies, Vamp... no - I can't do it... I have to, to prove to Alyssa that I'm still as serious as I was when we first formed our alliance in school... besides, what happened between me and Eddie - it was nothing, it meant nothing... but if it meant nothing, why would I tell them? As far as Eddie is concerned, it never happened and we're never gonna kiss again, he sure seemed determined about that... I should forget about it all too, and I should definitely forget about how good it felt to kiss his lips...

You realise that your silence is raising suspicion from Elektra and Cherie, who are examining you wearily with crossed arms and expectant looks on their faces now, while Alyssa is nodding for you to just spit your words out... probably urging you to blurt out your undying love for Eddie Munson, to admit that your judgment of him and his band had been entirely wrong - therefore ending the little feud between Stake For My Valentine and Corroded Coffin that you'd caused so that she and Gareth could run into the sunset together finally.

I admit that I'd been wrong to try and stop Alyssa from having feelings for him... even though I still don't understand why of all the weirdos and freaks she fell for Gareth - I mean, I guess he is kinda cute and can play the drums like a champ... plus he's totally her number one fan - I'm sure if I asked him, Alyssa would be his favorite drummer of all time... so who am I to deny a friend her happiness for the sake of Eddie fuckin' Munson?

You look at Alyssa with big, apologetic eyes. She is still silently pleading with you, holding her drumsticks in a vice-like grip while she waits for your words. "I just wanted to-," you shake your head, closing your eyes for a moment before staring at Alyssa again, "I owe you an extra apology, Al - I'm - so - sorry about what happened the other night-."

"Wait - what happened the other night exactly?" Elektra asks with a quizzical look on her face, her petite nose scrunching up slightly as she stares down at Alyssa.

Alyssa sheepishly looks between you and her big sister, clearly feeling guilty for keeping what she had seen occur between you and Eddie a secret from her own flesh and blood... "Al did nothing wrong, El - I'm not gonna let her take the flack when it was all me." Elektra drags her eyes away from Alyssa to you, still with her arms crossed. Her pale face with dark eyeliner around her piercingly light green eyes intimidate you, making you break eye contact and instead you focus on your fingers still chipping away at your nail varnish, "I - I did something really - really - really fuckin' stupid."

Cherie furrows her fair brows, looking at Elektra, who looks back at her, confirming that they are just as confused as the other person.

"What did you do, V?" Cherie asks, tearing her longing eyes away from Elektra to look at you again.

You don't have to lift your head up to know that all six of your bandmate's eyes combined are staring into your soul right now... I need to just spit it out right now. You gulp, struggling to speak because you're too busy trying to relax your heartbeat and choking on your spit that had gathered in your mouth from trying to process words that just refused to leave your mouth, "I - I-."

"Vamp," Elektra interrupts before uncrossing her arms lazily, "If we don't have trust anymore we've got nothing left - so we may as well call it quits-."

Your neck snaps up so quickly to meet eyes with your bandmates that you almost get whiplash from the desperation because you are not ready to give up on this band yet, and definitely not because of a reason that doesn't even exist anymore - I mean nothing to Eddie and he means nothing to me... and Stake For My Valentine mean everything to me. "I-made-out-with-Eddie-after-his-gig-on-saturday-because-he-wrote-the-most-beautiful-song-for-me-and-also-Rodrick-was-making-out-with-some-girl-he-met-that-night-I-think-and-Alyssa-saw-the-entire-thing-oh-and-I-made-our-fifteen-fans-hate-us-because-Rodrick-got-me-drunk-the-night-before-and-I-called-them-all-assholes-for-going-to-Corroded-Coffin's-first-gig-here-."

All three of your bandmates look entirely bewildered by your rambling, with wide eyes and their mouths hung open in shock that your mouth could move so fast.

Cherie's back has thrusted forward away from the couch, leaning closer to you as if it can help her try to understand what you are saying, but she realises that she can't because she uses her hands to motion you to calm down and stop talking, "Woah woah woah, slow down, V!”

Elektra nods in agreement with Cherie. "I think I can vouch for us all by saying that we got none of that," Elektra gestures to Cherie and Alyssa, who nod in agreement, "Could you start again and maybe - step on the break a little for us?"

You nod, staggered breaths leaving your mouth while trying to catch as much air as possible because your rambling has left you pretty light-headed, "Okay - okay." Deep breaths, Vamp - here goes nothing... you bring one of your hands up to scratch the back of your neck, "I sorta made out with Eddie after his gig on Saturday-."

"You sorta what?!" Elektra blurts out before covering her mouth with one of her hands, her silver bangles around her wrist clashing loudly against each other from the speed.

You nervously glance at Cherie, who had loudly gasped at your confession, before acknowledging Alyssa, who also looked shocked that you'd actually told them. You give Alyssa a small nod before audibly inhaling another long breath, "Yeah er - I came onto him after he er - I mean - after I saw Rodrick with another girl-."

"But - I thought you hated Eddie?" Cherie asks, completely gobsmacked.

"So did I," Elektra adds while Alyssa mumbles a sorrowful 'me too' in sync with her sister.

"I do," you gulp, fleetingly looking down at the stained rug underneath your feet, "I do hate him," you repeat with much more assurance, though your face doesn't show it. You blink... if I just keep talking about how much I hate him they've gotta believe me eventually... "I hate him so much, he's so - he's so - ugh, everything he does just infuriates me so much that I just wanna-," kiss him so hard that it bruises his lips? Slap his cute face silly while I give him the ride of his life? Suck his soul out through his dick? Sit on his face? "Die? Yeah - he makes me wanna - die."

Huh - that has an interesting ring to it. I should write it down in my lyric book.

Elektra, Cherie and Alyssa all exchange bewildered looks. Cherie then mouths a shocked 'wow' at Elektra while Alyssa looks up at you, even more confused than she appeared to be before you’d opened your mouth about Eddie.

"I thought-," Alyssa speaks, but before she can reveal that Eddie had written a song about you, or the way that you looked at him like you look at your electric guitar... which is totally not true because I could never spare a spot alongside my Pink Special or Eddie Van Halen in my heart - there is no space for Eddie Munson in there and there never will be... you shake your head frantically.

"I - I did it to get back at Rodrick," you interrupt Alyssa boldly, defensively, lying through your teeth while trying to maintain confident eye contact with her.

"But-."

"There's no other reason, Al," You declare before chuckling nervously, "C'mon - why else would I kiss Eddie Munson?"

Alyssa's face drops a little, her eyes, rather than being wide, they are now sad again, reminding you of the disappointed look that she sent you when she left you alone with Eddie on Saturday, "Cause you like him like I like Gareth?" She suggests with a small, hopeful tone of voice.

You hear Elektra and Cherie giggling to themselves, they fill in the silence after Alyssa's suspicion towards your denial for having feelings for Eddie.

Your head continues to shake frantically in complete denial, "No - no, not like you and Gareth," you tell her with another nervous laugh after, "You and Gareth - you're perfect for each other, I understand that now and I shouldn't have gotten in the way of the two of you just because he's the drummer in a band we're in fierce competition with... but there is no me and Eddie and that's all there is to it."

You spot the glint of happiness in Alyssa's dark green eyes, but it leaves as quickly as it comes when you continue to deny anything more than indifference for Corroded Coffin and hate for Eddie Munson. It frustrates her because she saw how you danced to their music, how you gave the lead singer heart eyes throughout their entire gig and how you genuinely enjoyed yourself in the presence of Corroded Coffin despite the battle between them and Stake For My Valentine to claim the Halloween gig. She thought that you felt it too, a connection between the bands that overpowered the competition... but perhaps you weren't quite as on the same page as she thought you had been.

"So - what about Eddie?" Alyssa asks, her voice almost sounds afraid.

Your head tilts to the side and you shrug your shoulders, trying to act as casually as you can, as if you hadn't been able to get Eddie off of your mind since you cleared the air between your mouth and his… and failed, "What about 'im?"

"How does he feel about what happened?" She asks matter of factly, one of her dark brows raising at you.

It feels like your heart is sinking down your body at the reminder of how yours and Eddie's last bicker battle...

'Don't you dare follow me this time, Munson - because I won't be kissing you again!'

'Good!'

'Fantastic!'

A drawn out, quiet sigh leaves your lips, "Nothing," your shoulders hunch over slightly after you shrug them, "He hates me as much as I hate him-," you take in each of your bandmate's facial expressions and they all look completely unconvinced by your answer, "but we're both on the same page - we're here for the music. We're all here for the music, aren't we?" You question them as a way to divert their attention from you and Eddie.

All three of your bandmates hum in unison, looking amongst each other and you nod in response to their agreement.

"So we're all in this battle to win the Halloween gig back, right?" You speak entirely with confidence now, ignoring the joy that you felt when you were at Corroded Coffin's gig and completely thinking about the joy you'll feel when your fans vote Stake For My Valentine as the winners of the Battle of the Bands... if I win their loyalty back tonight.

"Right," Elektra, Cherie and Alyssa all respond in sync, nodding at the same time.

You nod slowly with a hopeful smile on your face and determination in your eyes, "Exactly, so we've gotta blow our crowd's minds tonight with epic solos and new material," you keep nodding, looking between your bandmates, who are staring at you with intense excitement in their eyes, their postures are gradually lifting from being slouched before, "We can't waste a second today so what'd ya say?" A cheeky grin spreads across your lips.

Cherie mirrors your cheeky grin before nodding eagerly, "Let's fuckin' do this," she jumps off of the couch and hops towards you while lifting her arm up, waiting for everyone else to do the band chant that the four of you usually do before a practice or gig.

Elektra steps forward and stands directly in front of you, a smile spreading across her lips too as she lifts her hand. You give her a small nod before looking down at Alyssa, who looks up at you wearily for a few moments before deciding to join the triangle that you, Elektra and Cherie had made. You all stand in a circle now with your arms lifted, your firsts balled as if you are holding wooden stakes and are about to drive them through a kneeling vampire in the middle of your circle.

"Three - two - one... watch it!" In unison, you all clench your fists, "Look behind you - beside you - inside you - don't underestimate a Vamp's power - it hides in plain sight - it hides before your eyes!" You all move your heads in the directions that you chant before dramatically tearing your eyes away from each other and looking down at the space in front of you within the circle. "Drive a stake through the heart and knock 'em dead!" You throw your arms down together as if you are going in for the killing of an imaginary vampire, a ritual that you'd all created and participated in for good luck since your very first gig at the Hideout.

The four of you cheer as if there hadn't been any tension between them and you, they're all driven by the adrenaline that the chant always gives you that would usually last until the end of a practice or a show, but this time the energy is very short-lived as your cheers fade quickly into an awkward silence.

Elektra clears her throat as realisation spreads across her features, "We don't have any new material."

"Ah ah ah - that's where you're wrong," you bring your hand that's still holding your lyric book up to your face, waving it beside your head while you smile devilishly, "I've got the perfect song for us to play tonight right here."

Elektra wraps her arms around her black and white striped t-shirt, hugging herself and pressing her fingertips into the back hem of her black leather pants, "I'm a little scared," she says with a chuckle.

"You should be," you tell her with a giggle.

⎈ 🎸 ⎈

By the time you're ready to go on stage you're high and drunk, which isn't usually a problem when you haven't been an emotional mess for days. It was what the four of you usually did during practices and before gigs just to take the edge off, to get rid of nerves and any stress or pressure. However, tonight you feel it all and with each pint of beer that you downed and each drag that you took of weed, your emotions seemed to heighten rather than lessen.

With each hour that passed during your practice, you noticed Rodrick's absence from it - he'd usually join your practice by sitting on the couch ogling you or maybe take over on the drums briefly while Alyssa took a small break. There was no sign of him today, but you were sure that he was just hiding away up in his room all day.

The four of you now are sat on the couch, squished together like a bunch of fish in a fishbowl, sharing one last joint before going on stage.

Each time you pass the joint to each other in a line that's going back and forth, you sink more into the couch with your limbs intertwined with Alyssa's and Cherie's, who are sat on either side of you.

Elektra is sat on the other side of Cherie, and has her arm flirtatiously wrapped around her... you'd have been a fool not to notice the massive crush that they had on each other since high school, fleeting looks, touches and blushes at your table in the cafeteria, so you and Alyssa weren't surprised when they announced their 'on the low' relationship when you all left school... they'd blossomed just as you had when the four of you found the Hideout because not only could they play the music they loved, the pair could also love each other and not be afraid of what anybody thought of them in a place where they could be free - you could all be free.

You can hear the bar starting to get rowdy on the other side of the door, muffled chattering, glasses clinking and music playing from the stereo... another ordinary night at the Hideout, you think with a dreamy smile, resting the back of your head on the couch... little do they know, we're about to play the goddamn bar right down.

A small knock interrupts your daydreaming and all four of you sit up in sync, staring at the door like deer in headlights.

When you see Rodrick's face peeking his head through the door and frame you feel the same boiling in your blood that you felt on Saturday when you saw him kissing someone else.

I wonder if she's here tonight?

His brown hair is more wild than usual, he's gelled it into more of a spiky texture, and is wearing what he usually wears, his old 'Löded Dyper' shirt that you woke up in on Saturday afternoon last week, a pair of ripped black jeans and his dirty black converse.

His tired, dull brown eyes flicker at you for not even a second before focusing on your bandmates, "The - stage is ready for you," he mumbles half-heartedly, refusing to even acknowledge your presence in the room before quickly shutting the door and leaving the four of you alone again.

You close your eyes and sink back into the couch while Elektra, Cherie and Alyssa exchange looks between each other, you and the door that Rodrick had disappeared behind.

Don't you dare even think about that asshole - get the fuck up off of this couch and get on that stage.

You monitor your breathing for a moment because seeing Rodrick had instantly brought that night back to you - your heated moment with Eddie. It makes your breath hitch before you take another deep breath, trying desperately to forget the existence of a certain long-haired, doe-eyed, adorable metal head...

I'll show him... I'll show them all.

"Let's fuckin' show them all what we're made of," you state before suddenly springing up off of the couch, almost tripping over the rug and falling face first onto the floor, though you manage to find your balance by taking a few quick steps towards the door.

You throw your arms out towards the door to halt yourself from head butting the wall or floor and close your eyes to brace yourself from the inevitability of falling down, but instead you find yourself hearing the door creak, opening again, and being caught in a pair of arms, "Rodrick I swear to the metal gods above I will swing my fist at your stupid face and shove my guitar up your ass," you ramble angrily, hitting your fists into his chest while your face is also nuzzled into him.

"Woah - Jesus H. - Christ - will you stop - hitting me when - I'm trying to - save you?!" You hear Eddie's voice in between your hits on his chest, but they gradually stop when you realise that it had been him who had caught you before you could fall onto the floor in front of the crowd waiting for you to take the stage.

You relax, hiding against his frame while nuzzling your nose against his chest, now realising that the texture of the shirt he's wearing is completely different to the one Rodrick is wearing... the smell is also different, while Rodrick's smells of weed and cigarettes, Eddie's also smells of weed and cigarettes - but with an added scent of musk that you could easily get used to.

"What are you doing here?" You grumble, gathering the courage to finally look up at him. To your annoyance, he looks as beautiful as ever and it takes everything in you not to wrap your arms around his neck to be even closer to him... but I know I can't... he doesn't want me anymore.

Eddie chuckles, which makes his chest sort of vibrate against your upper half, causing warmth to spread all through you, "I might not want to uh - kiss you - again... but I wasn't gonna miss your show - 'm still Stake's uh - biggest fan y'know," he looks down, huffing a small chuckle whilst blinking his eyes closed so he can avoid eye contact with you.

He can't even look at me now... which feels like a stab to your heart because you realise just now that looking into his pretty brown eyes is a privilege that you took for granted until you no longer had his eyes only on you.

You nod a little, focusing on the silver pendant sat neatly beside his red guitar pick attached to a silver chain around his neck, "No I - I meant - what are you doing here?"

"Oh uh-," his eyes trail from your boots, to your fishnet tights, to your oversized white t-shirt, to your neck, to your eyes, but you could've sworn that for a millisecond he looked at your lips, "I - uh - I wanted to uh - uh-," it's like your eyes have him under a spell because he can't look away now, it takes a massively deep breath for him to get his words out, "'S stupid - but I uh - came to say good luck - so uh - good luck."

"Thank you - I guess?" You mumble nervously, on the brink of crumbling in his arms and telling him that you do, in fact, want to kiss him again.

Eddie hums, tearing his eyes away from you at the same time you awkwardly look away from him, "I should - uh - I should go um - back to - Gareth." He looks over your head, being a head taller than you now means that it doesn't take much effort for him to look behind you, seeing your bandmates watching you both, in shock and holding onto each other for dear life.

You have to stand on your tiptoes to look over his shoulder to see that you have gained some attention from a few familiar faces that you'd see in your usual crowd from the stage - Joan looked shocked, Troy looked a tad more shocked and Victoria looked even more shocked than them combined, probably because you were in talking distance, let alone being enveloped in the arms of your competition... and on top of that, you weren't fighting to get away.

Your bottom lip falls slightly, but you have no words to say as you feel numb... the weed is definitely not helping me right now - I can't move...

Eddie watches you, appearing completely uncomfortable in his arms, horrified by his touch and the audience that you were getting from being close to him. He clears his throat, "Sorry - I uh - I didn't want an - audience either," he sighs, slowly unwrapping his arms from your waist and suddenly you feel so cold... he can't even stand to be seen near me... another stabbing sensation to your heart, you visibly shiver and falter slightly from no longer having him to lean on, which he notices, "you okay?"

So now he cares…

You give him a hard stare while the rest of your body feels numb and warm from the weed and alcohol, "Mhm fine - I'm fine," you slur unconvincingly, causing Eddie to furrow his brows at you and take a step closer only for you to step away, "Go a-away," your voice cracks and you shake your head. Eddie continues to stare at you, his facial features no longer hard or distant, now they are sad and he looks like a lost puppy that has no idea what to do or where to go, whether to help you and stay or do what you say and go... you can see the battle he's fighting in his head so you take a shaky breath, your stare at him turning into a glare, "Go."

Eddie falters, the battle in his head coming to an end as he reaches a decision, he nods and looks down at his fidgeting hands before silently turning himself around and walking away... like I told him to.

You take a harsh breath in through your nose, ignoring the tears that are threatening to spill from your eyes... no no no, Vamp - I’m not gonna cry over Eddie Munson again... you exhale as steadily as you can, successfully stopping a single tear from running down your cheeks, "May the best band win, Munson!" You shout to him as he walks through the small crowd that are now only staring at you. You fight the urge to say something like 'what are you looking at?' to the entire group of onlookers that had just witnessed everything including the scene you created after Stake For My Valentine's gig last Friday...

They must think I've really gone off the rails - I've gotta prove them wrong right now...

You look over your shoulder at your bandmates, who are still sunken into the couch watching your every move, before motioning with your hand for them to join you by the door leading into the bar area. "Let's knock 'em dead," you state, referring to your chant with a forced smile, after picking up your guitar and swinging the strap over your shoulder until your Pink Special hits your lower stomach.

Elektra and Cherie walk together with their instruments in one hand and reaching for each other's spare hands, squeezing tightly while they walk and nod your way. They give each other a kiss before running up the three steps onto the platform side by side, being careful not to hit their instruments against the wall because the steps are pretty narrow for two people to be on them at the same time.

Alyssa walks your way alone, wielding her drum sticks tightly in her left hand, but before she passes you at the door she stops walking and leans her mouth close to your ear, "It's for Eddie, isn't it? Not Rodrick," she whispers before pulling away and searching your eyes for the truth.

Your eyes flicker between hers before your guard breaks at the mention of the 'new material' you'd practiced all day long, a song of the lyrics you hadn't stopped writing since the early hours of Sunday morning, "It's for Eddie," you admit under your breath, but loud enough for Alyssa to hear, with a hasty nod.

Alyssa nods with you before giving you a satisfied, closed mouthed smile, “Knew it.” She brings her right hand up to squeeze your shoulder and tips her cowboy hat to you with her left hand while holding the drumsticks, almost dropping them while doing so, making the two of you giggle together.

"Let's - knock 'em - dead," Alyssa repeats your words from before with an amused grin on her face and small giggles in between them. She then grabs your left hand with her right one, pulling you towards the stage and up the small staircase.

You grasp onto your Pink Special with your right hand, clutching the back of it's body to your hip tightly as you run up the stairs with Alyssa. You can hear claps, cheers, but they're not as loud as they had been before the battle of the bands competition had been thought up by Rodrick.

You're facing your band as you take your pink guitar pick from behind your ear and hold it between your teeth, watching your bandmates as they adjust themselves - you wait for their approval to start the first song.

You bounce on your feet, psyching yourself up physically and mentally for the next hour and fifteen minutes because you know that to gain your great, hard-working, dedicated lead singer and guitarist reputation back… I need to put everything into this.

When all three of your bandmates nod you drop your pick from your teeth and let it land in your hand before spinning on your heel to face the crowd... and it's way bigger than you thought it would be - you've got a crowd bigger than when Stake For My Valentine were the only band playing at the Hideout... granted, it is about ten more people than usual, but that makes ten more than the familiar fifteen faces that you usually see towards the front.

A dreamy smile spreads across your mouth when you strum the first chord of Light Me Up, one of the first songs that you wrote when you were a junior at Hawkins High, before you'd even met your bandmates in Stake For My Valentine... it's a fan favorite that you typically play at the end of your gig, but earlier the four of you, with some convincing on your part, decided to move to the very beginning of the setlist.

So when the fifteen familiar faces hear the A chord that sets a moody, but lively atmosphere which sends everybody into a wild frenzy, you notice them all reliving every moment that they jumped and danced to this very song with you for the last two years.

You take a quick step towards the microphone, your lips brush against it, “Hey lovers,” you mumble with a cheeky grin on your face, sending a wink to one of your most loyal fans, Joan, who is now looking at you in awe rather than in shock, “Did ya miss us?”

‘Fuck yeahs’ and ‘we missed yous’ echo throughout the room, causing you to giggle into the mic, but then you hear a ‘did you miss us?’

“Sure I did - you guys are family,” you answer, flashing Lisa, another familiar face, a toothy grin before focusing on your guitar and the instruments being played behind you, signalling you to start singing. “Does what I’m wearing seem to shock you?” You sing into the mic, widening your eyes and looking down at your outfit as if you can’t believe what you’re wearing.

Your eyes scan the crowd towards the back as you sing, but you’re very quickly distracted with the sight of Stake For My Valentine’s booth being occupied by none other than Rodrick, who isn’t alone… you assume that it’s the same girl that he was kissing before, but as you look closer, you can see that it’s not now because she has much longer black hair, while the girl from before had mid-length chestnut brown hair…

so I really was just another name on his list of sex conquests?

That thought alone makes you stutter your lyrics, which diverts Rodrick’s attention from the girl sat opposite him to you. He’s leaning over the table, his face just inches away from her’s, but he continues to stare at you with a devious grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I’ve got it on my mind to change my ways,” you sing as your stare on Rodrick hardens. You suck in the anger that you feel, expressing it through your strong voice, “But I don’t think I can be anything other than me - No I don’t think I can be anything other than me.”

Rodrick glares back at you, but is forced to drag his eyes away from you because the girl he’s with grabs his shirt by the neckline and pulls him in for a messy kiss… though his eyes are open and looking at you the entire time his tongue is in her mouth.

“Do you think it’s right - when you knock me to the ground,” your eyelids flutter shut and you turn your face away from Rodrick, instead, putting all of your focus into the dancing crowd directly in front of you, “Well - light me up when I’m down!”

A bunch of your dedicated fans and your bandmates start to sing the chorus with you, “Light me up when I’m down!” An unconscious grin forms on your lips while you sing the line, you bob your head which makes your hair fly crazily in every direction possible.

You’re having the time of your life with your bandmates and your fans, all dancing wildly together and you feel as though, through your music, you’ve made up with them all… like everything you ever did to let them down had been erased by how metal your performance was. Like you’d promised yourself earlier today, you put every fibre of your being into throwing yourself around the stage, your singing and guitar solos… so by the time you’ve reached the end of the second to last song on your setlist, sweat is dripping from your forehead, all four of your limbs are numb and you’re completely exhausted.

You breathe heavily before laughing breathlessly into the microphone because as you stagger towards it you almost fall, but catch yourself by grabbing onto the microphone stand, “Woah - that was close, huh?”

The small crowd cheers in agreement, laughing with you.

“Okay,” you sigh, taking another few desperate breaths to try and calm your frantic heartbeat, “We’ve got one last song for you tonight!”

Another loud cheer in response to you.

You grin mischievously, wrapping your left hand, which is clammy with sweat, around the neck of your guitar while your right one keeps a grip on the microphone stand to keep you stable, “Do you dare to hear it?”

A few screams can be heard from the front, while everyone else cheers again (apart from Rodrick and his most recent fuck buddy, but you don’t give a shit about either of them).

“Well you better because it’s a new little treat-,” you state in a playfully stern tone, scanning the many faces in the crowd, but your eyes unexpectedly land on Eddie’s starstruck one towards the back of the cluster of people before you, “From me to you,” you maintain eye contact with Eddie, the adrenaline buzzing through your body stopping you from being too nervous to admit it. Your fans express their excitement through more cheers, but Eddie’s jaw drops a little and is frozen, just like you had been when he sang his song for you, “Here goes - you make me wanna die.”

You look over your shoulder at Alyssa and nod your head before she hits her drumsticks together, “three - two - one!”

You and Alyssa begin the song together, she starts with a steady beat on the bass drum that accompanies your guitar, you strum a strong, quick and melodious chord pattern that you repeat twice, all while banging your head and stomping your boots down onto the platform in time with Alyssa’s beat, before Elektra and Cherie join you and Alyssa’s playing.

“Take me, I’m alive - never was a girl with a wicked mind - but everything looks better when the sun goes down-,” you continue nodding your head in time to Alyssa’s beat while you sing with your eyes shut, “I had everything - opportunities for eternity - and I could belong to niiiiight!” You end the line with a gradual pitch change in your voice that sounds as smooth as velvet. “Then your eyes, your eyes-,” you sing alone during the bridge of the song, grasping the strings of your Pink Special tightly so they don’t make any sound. Your eyes open and you flutter your eyelashes, swiftly accustoming to the dim spotlight facing the stage, “I can see in your eyes, your eyes,” you find yourself singing softly into the microphone while staring into the pair of brown doe eyes that inspired this song, “everything in your eyes, your eyes-.” Eddie’s lips tug upward now while he looks at you like you’re some kind of angel, it causes a cheeky smile to appear on your lips during the pause between your lines because he was looking at you the same exact way when he first saw you on this stage, “You make me wanna die,” the words come out of you dramatically as you continue to cheekily smile at Eddie, who looks completely gobsmacked now.

Now he knows how I felt when he sang about how much he fuckin’ hated me… and called me a bitch.

“I’ll never be good enough - you make me wanna die - and everything you love will burn up in the light - and every time I look inside your eyes-,” you sing as you throw yourself around with your guitar, swinging your head uncontrollably before freezing in front of the microphone with your hair all over your face and noticing Eddie and Gareth jumping wildly and bobbing their heads to your music, “you make me wanna die!”

You go back to stomping your feet, strumming quick chords on your Pink Special while Alyssa goes back to just using the bass drum to create the same steady beat and melody you played for the intro.

You stare intensely at Eddie which immediately grabs his attention as if you’ve put him in a trance-like state, he stops dancing with Gareth and turns his entire body to face you again, “Taste me, drink my soul-,” Eddie’s mouth parts at your words, making you giggle a little while you sing them, “Show me all the things that I shouldn’t know - when there’s a blue moon on the riiiiise!”

You spin yourself around with your guitar in hand before repeating the bridge of your new song and going into the chorus again, just focusing on the singing and screaming coming from in front of you… you’re sure that no other song of yours has gotten this much of a reaction from the crowd - it almost feels like your second big break, the first being getting your first gig at the Hideout.

After that it’s time for your final guitar solo tonight, which you completely make up as you go along by just closing your eyes, feeling the heat of the room and the vibrations of all the instruments playing behind you… the pitched blackness of closing your eyes allows you to completely concentrate on the music, it’s almost as if it’s only you and your Pink Special in the room. Your nimble fingers slide up and down the neck of your guitar with ease and without you having to even peek an eye open at what you’re doing before ending the solo by shrieking out a high note and using the whammy bar to bend the sound, letting it fade with a light vibration that tingles up your hands and arms.

You can’t feel a thing in your body apart from the tingling sensation from your guitar after that… maybe it’s the weed, the beer, or the metal solo that just flew out of me… your hair is wet and sticking to your forehead and you start to feel dizzy from the fire that is burning your insides. You lazily try to shake your head out of this sudden wooziness, which is spreading to each of your limbs, making your sweat fly off of you…

I’ve gotta get through this - just nine more lines - I can do it!

“I - would die for you, my love - my love,” you sing in a slurred way because even your mouth is exhausted. Your voice that is usually strong, but angelic and smooth, is now weak, “I would - lie for you, my love - my - my-,” you blink profusely, suddenly unable to get your words out that you so desperately wanted to say because your heart is pounding and your brain is fuzzy.

All you can remember in that moment is your song coming to a messy stop.

Alyssa, Cherie and Elektra stop playing their instruments and all that can be heard are gasps and static coming from the amps at the back of the stage.

Then Rodrick, he’s suddenly at the side of the stage pulling out each of your bandmate’s instrument cables from their amps… then lastly he pulls your Pink Special’s cable out of your amp while shouting out for everyone to hear, “Stake For My Valentine are disqualified!”

Your face turns from shock, to horror, then to fury at Rodrick, “I’m - gonna fuck-ing get you - asshole!” You stammer weakly before using the last of your energy to stride towards him, ready to punch his lights out, but on your way you trip over the loose cable that’s still connected to your guitar. It all happens so quickly and you’re completely blind with rage that you don’t notice the dark wire as your right foot catches it, making you stumble forward and hit your knee against the corner of one of the amps by the stairs.

Rodrick, whose eyes are wide from the sight before him, still has that evil glint in them that makes you want to hit him even more.

Though your knee is starting to bleed, the pain hasn’t quite made itself known yet… you’re so numb and tired in your body that you can’t even feel it. However, you can feel yourself falling towards Rodrick after ricocheting off of the amps, and your first thought is of your guitar, so you grasp onto it as tightly as you can, hoping that Rodrick would save you, or at least cushion the fall… but he doesn’t, he moves out of the way.

You fall on your own, determined to keep a tight grasp on your beloved Pink Special while you dart past the steps and collide with the wooden floor below. You can hear muffled calls of your name, footsteps running around you. You can’t bring yourself to move from being so tired and every bone in your body is aching from being so active on stage.

“Vamp?!” You hear Eddie’s voice, which sounds like a plea as he kneels beside you and grasps onto your shoulders, he shakes them frantically but very quickly realises that it’s not helping you in the slightest.

He leans further down, placing the side of his face against the floor so that he’s face to face with you. Your eyelids are fluttering and you can just about see him, but even your vision is blurred and your eyes are fatigued so he looks like a wobbly blob with curly brown hair at the moment.

You feel Eddie’s rough fingertips touch your cheekbone and temple, soothingly rubbing your skin, but he pauses his movements when Rodrick speaks, “She’s cool, man - just give her a minute.”

You hear Eddie mumble angrily under his breath before he straightens his back and turns his upper half in the direction of Rodrick, “Does she look like she’s cool to you?!” He shrieks sarcastically.

Rodrick shrugs, awkwardly scratching the top of his head, “I dunno - but I’m not havin’ her in my bed, it’s reserved for - Maisy here,” he admits while gesturing towards his fuck-buddy for the night.

“It’s Daisy!” The girl sassily corrects him, crossing her arms before muttering ‘fuck this’ under her breath and leaving the circle of your friends, fans and Rodrick around you.

“Looks like she just cancelled her reservation for tonight,” Elektra jokingly states, though there is an undertone of hate in her voice.

“Stillllll, it’s a no,” Rodrick responds with a pop of his lips.

“Well she can’t just stay here on the floor all night, Rodrick!” Cherie, who is sat on the floor behind you, shouts worriedly up at Rodrick.

Rodrick shrugs, “I don’t have the time for this, my dad is back in the mornin’ for the gig tomorrow and everything has gotta be in order so I’ve gotta tidy shit up… just - get ‘er outta here,” he speaks like you laying on the floor after everything he’d done to you is not his problem, before turning away from you and proceeding to casually clear some glasses that had been left on the bar.

Despite how exhausted you are, you can just about see all the glares that Rodrick is being given by everyone around you… it is silent, nobody knows how to respond to his cruelty and lack of care towards you.

Eddie’s fingertips feel even hotter against your face from the anger and frustration that is radiating off of him. Your eyes flicker up at his larger frame that’s towering over you comfortingly, but no matter how comforted you are by his touch, or how tired you are, a tear falls from your eye and touches Eddie’s thumb on your cheekbone, which he immediately notices and unclenches his other hand that is balled into a fist and ready to punch Rodrick in the face. His facial features go from being hard with anger at the way that Rodrick had just spoken about you, to going soft at the sight of you so exhausted and hurt below him.

“E-ddie - I - I wanna go - home - please,” you manage to mumble before your glossy eyes slowly close and everything goes quiet, sending you into a deep sleep while you’re in the exact same position that you fell, on top of your Pink Special in the middle of the Hideout.

“As you wish, sweetheart.”

⎈ 🎸 ⎈

The sound of an engine soothes you in your sleep, along with the small bumps that are being driven over that rock you gently… that is until there’s a sudden bump that causes your upper half jolt forward slightly before falling back against the car seat.

“Shit,” you hear Eddie mumble under his breath.

You start to stir in your sleep and your eyelids slowly flutter open.

Your head is bowed down to your left, facing the driver’s seat, where Eddie is sat. He looks extremely concentrated, like he is trying desperately not to wake you by doing something stupid like driving too recklessly… which is entirely not in his nature because it is famously known around the town that he is a dangerous driver and has been issued with many warnings by Hawkins Police since he first got his licence.

The windows had been rolled open to let as much air in as possible, which has calmed your temperature down by a lot and is blowing your now dry hair away from your face. You slowly bring your hand up to your forehead, rubbing it while you watch Eddie drive.

He notices your movement and looks away from a familiar dark lane he’s driving down to get a small glimpse of you, “You had me - us worried y’know?”

You blink your eyes open wider, though they’re still half-closed, “Where - are we going?” You ask in a strained voice, furrowing your brows.

“‘M taking you home,” he answers, looking back at the road, “You fell off the stage, y’remember that right?”

Realisation spreads across your features as you recall your gig, playing your song for Eddie, Rodrick disqualifying Stake For My Valentine, falling off of the stage and asking Eddie to take you home. “Yeah - yeah, I remember,” you sigh, looking directly ahead of you at the road, recognising shops like Family Video and the community pool that you live nearby. He turns his van to the left into the block that you live in, which causes you to look at him quizzically.

Eddie chuckles, knowing exactly what you’re thinking, “Alyssa told me where you live - don’t worry, I’ve not been stalking you or anything.”

You hum in response, too tired to even think of a sassy response.

While Eddie drives somewhat carefully, you take the time to look at your surroundings. You notice empty bags pretzels on the floor, tapes scattered everywhere around the van and a picture stuck to the rear view mirror of a pretty woman with dark curly hair just like Eddie’s, she’s holding a little boy in her arms on her lap… it must be an old photo of him and his mom - cute.

Eddie hits another bump accidentally which makes your knee that hit the amp move slightly, nudging it against the van door and making you wince quietly… now I can feel it - the pain.

“Shit shit shit,” Eddie curses at himself, hitting the steering wheel before glancing at your fishnets which are now ripped at your knee, “Sorry about that.”

You let out a strained huffing noise before examining your knee and the dried blood surrounding the wound right in the middle of your kneecap. You lazily slide your hand down your thigh, unknowing of Eddie’s eyes following it’s every move, to the open gash you’d gained from your fall.

“Don’t touch it!” Eddie squawks suddenly, taking a hand off of the steering wheel and swatting your hand away.

“Jeez,” you giggle uneasily before leaning back into your seat and focusing on Eddie driving again, “If I didn’t know any better I’d think you cared about me or somethin’,” you mumble softly, referring to his words from the other night with a small smug smile.

He looks at you knowingly as he brings his hand back to the steering wheel before shaking his head, exhaling and looking ahead of him, “I do actually - ‘s kinda annoying how much,” he mumbles under his breath.

“What did you say?” You ask, dumbfounded, because you were still slow and tired from the eventful night you’d had.

“Oh - nothin’,” he answers quickly, he takes another glance at your knee and gestures with his thumb over his seat to the back of his van, “I’ve got a first aid kit handy at the back we can use to clear your knee up when we get to your place so - just leave it alone for now, m’kay?”

You nod a little, “Okay,” you answer softly.

Watching Eddie drive, to your surprise, is so calming. You admire the way that his tongue is peeking past his lips in concentration, the way his hair blows in the wind and how he grips onto the steering wheel, his fingers overlapping his thumb because his hands are pretty big… they’d also look pretty nice wrapped around my ne- you notice him smiling at you finally answering him without you backchatting or making a sarcastic comment.

He senses your eyes on him, which makes his heart pound, so he takes a deep breath and is in the midst of turning his head to take another glance at the beautiful sight of you in his van again, causing you to quickly look away from him. Your sudden movement scares him and instinctively he looks back at the road, settling to just enjoying the feeling of you being beside him and maybe stealing a couple of glances at you as you continue to look around his van curiously.

He tries not to hyperventilate about the fact that you are beside him… in his van - alone. He’d not stopped thinking about you or your hands touching him since the moment you left him alone outside the Hideout… you’d been the one in his head, in his thoughts, in his dreams whenever he slept, ate, walked, worked - all the damn time. It was worse enough before he’d found out how it felt to kiss you, but now that he knew he was going crazy, so crazy that he found himself wrapping his hand around his cock every night to the thought of you… even thinking about what it would be like if you would just let him love you.

His thoughts are interrupted when he notices you turning your upper half to take a peek at the back of his van, which causes his eyes to widen, “Wait - wait, Vamp - I wouldn’t look back there if I were you-.”

You furrow your brows at him, looking at him being so incredibly suspicious right now, sweat is practically forming under his eyebrows, “Why not? You got a secret porn stash back there or somethin’?”

“No - j-just - don’t move your head too much, you’ll hurt it,” he stutters nervously.

“My head is already hurt,” you remind him with a hint of sass in your voice.

“Right,” Eddie sighs at himself before looking around the front of his van for anything to distract you with, “Oh - hey, I’ve got these cool stickers over here,” he points at his dashboard, where he’s messily stuck them by his radio, “The bat sticker is lucky,” he emphasises excitedly before his face falls when he notices you giving him a deadpan look. “Totally not interesting - uh - oh - what about some radio?”

“I’m looking, Eddie,” you state with a determined expression on your face.

Eddie’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down, coming to the realisation that you are not going to be distracted, “Okay, okay - just - don’t freak out.”

You smile at him, amused, as he focuses back on the road, staying awfully silent and keeping his mouth tightly shut… surely it can’t be that bad- you think as you turn your head, ignoring the pain that it causes you. Your eyes widen as you see it as clear as day, suddenly your knee and head is no longer the source of your hurt… it’s your Pink Special, placed gently on the navy backseat of Eddie’s van. It’s neck has been snapped away from it’s body and two of the strings are curled, no longer attached to their tuning pegs… your jaw falls open at the murder scene before you, “She’s- she’s-.”

“She’ll be fine,” Eddie interrupts you reassuringly, concern clear in his eyes - it’s such a genuine reaction that you believe that he understands your heartbreak for your guitar.

“Fine?” You retort, sarcasm oozing from your voice, “She’s been snapped in half!”

Eddie keeps his eyes on the road, turning right onto the road you live on which is just opposite of Lover’s Lake. “Yeah, you kinda - fell on her,” he informs you.

Your heart sinks, thinking about how you’d tried so hard to save her from the fall which makes tears start to well up in your eyes again, “Y-you mean - I - killed - her?” You tear your glassy eyes away from your guitar to look at Eddie…

How the hell is she gonna be fixed?

How the hell am I gonna play without her?

What the hell am I gonna do without her?

I can’t be a lead guitarist without a guitar.

Eddie gives you a reassuring smile, “Your Pink Special is gonna be rockin’ out with you again soon - trust me,” he tells you confidently, giving you eye contact that makes you want to take him for his word instantly.

You blink at him, your face blank with tears running down it and dropping onto your oversized t-shirt that’s now stained with your makeup mixed with your tear drops.

“You do trust me, right?” He asks, curiosity laced within his words.

You continue to blink at him as he drives around to your side of Lover’s Lake, near the woods. He doesn’t look at you so that he can concentrate on finding your home, and so that he can hide the disappointment in his face if you say no, “Yes - I think I do.”

After the shock of initially getting over the fact that you admitted that you do in fact trust him, a chuckle leaves his lips and he grins smugly at the road, “So close your eyes and trust me to get you home safe. Does that sounds good?”

Sounds perfect.

Without saying a word, you answer his question by shutting your eyes and relaxing into your seat by pressing your back right against it and nuzzling the side of your face against the fabric of the top of it.

After a few minutes pass, Eddie takes a sneaky glimpse of you, so relaxed that you’ve almost melted into the seat, a little smile spreads across his features, but he finds himself shaking his head, trying not to think about other circumstances where you could be sat beside him like this right now… like driving you home after a romantic diner and cinema date which would be topped off with a quickie at the back of his van… or taking you on a permanent roadtrip outta Hawkins and never looking back… just you, him and your guitars.

He takes a deep, sharp breath while forcing himself to drag his eyes away from you, which you can hear clearly - you steal a glimpse of him too with a timid smile on your lips before scrunching your eyes shut again.

“Home sweet home, sweetheart.”

That’s the second time he’s called me sweetheart… and I’ve not stopped him.

⇝ 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐒𝐢𝐱

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠! 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆!!!!! 𝐈𝐭'𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐲 <𝟑

𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 '𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒' 𝐨𝐫 '𝐄𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐌𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧' 𝐭𝐚𝐠-𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰!

𝐓𝐞𝐞𝐡𝐞𝐞 𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 👌👌

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ↯

𝑩𝑨𝑻𝑻𝑳𝑬 𝑶𝑭 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑩𝑨𝑵𝑫𝑺

@big-ope-vibes @majesticjellyfishzombie @b-ritney @joyfulcandyrunaway @sidthedollface2 @sillypurplemurple @aysheashea @spookycreepycookie @bookobsessedfreak @lefdepard @rottinglexi @aol19 @loki-loves-cats @eddieslooneymoonie @hllfrclb @weirdkidfromtheupsidedown @bonehead-playz @euphoric-rush

𝑬𝒅𝒅𝒊𝒆 𝑴𝒖𝒏𝒔𝒐𝒏

@introvertedmouse @munsonology @fastnights @kathieycarrerarosshley @marjoriea13 @goldengunspinkrosses-blog @lolalanaie @neteyamsluvts @sadbitchfangirl @emma77645 @seatbacksandtraytables

🜸

[oddussy420]

[lavendermunson]

songs about you | rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary eddie left town to chase his dreams, writing songs about you is killing him so he goes back to Hawkins to get you back.

warning break up mentioned (not with eddie), no use of y/n. just pure fluff so so fluffy.

a/n first fic after my break, sorry if it's messy. got the inspo from a scene from empire records ? kind of.

wc 1.5k

inspired on this moodboard i made

Eddie left town after he met Chase, a guy who worked at a recording studio in LA. When Chase met Eddie and his band Corroded Coffin he promised they had potential, since then they’ve been making songs and becoming a bigger band. You on the other hand, decided to go to the community college and started to teach music to children, it was a good job and not so tiring and left plenty of space to do homework and have a lot of fun with your friends.

When Eddie came back to Hawkins last week for a break, he promised to spend time with you and your friends. Movie nights with Robin, Steve, Nancy, and Jonathan, playing d&d with the kids and teaching Max and Mike how to play guitar.

It has been a couple of fun days until yesterday, your relationship with your boyfriend has been a nightmare since he cheated on you, and you decided to forgive him and give him a second chance but after the fight last night you wanted to be as far away from him as possible and luckily for you, Eddie accepted you to stay in his trailer, just like in the old days. You had plenty of sleep, and Eddie kept his distance from you not knowing you had broken up with your ex-boyfriend, still the bed was warm and you didn't feel alone anymore.

Eddie missed you like crazy, writing and singing songs about you was ripping his heart apart. He wanted to stay back in Hawkins with you but he had to take your advice "go, be a rock star. iʼll be here supporting you as always" After you slept in his bed last night, he had a feeling that he could win you back, he hated your boyfriend for keeping you apart from him but it was a sacrifice he had to make.

—

You wake up late in the morning, patting down the space beside you, it was empty. Eddie woke up earlier but he left a note.

"Hey sweetheart, I have practice and soundcheck all day but I hope you can come and watch us at 8:00. Here's your ticket, please eat well… you can stay here as long as you want. — Eddie"

You sigh leaving the note in its place after tracing the words with your fingers, knowing there is not much to do on a free Saturday. You decided to go home after picking your breakfast from a cafeteria nearby, take a shower, relax and get ready for Eddieʼs concert.

—

It was 8:00 pm, the hideout was full of people who loved Corroded Coffin. The show was starting, you found a place close to Robin and Steve keeping your eyes glued to Eddie and the way he performed every song. It was hypnotizing, the way the blue glow of the lights made his face look angelic, the shiny rings on his fingers while he played guitar, and the emotion in his voice from every lyric of his songs. He was a very talented songwriter, the way he played the guitar so easily and the way his jaw moved as he sang and his curls moved as he was shaking his head at the rhythm.

Your heart couldn't resist it anymore, all the feelings from the start flowered up, you loved Eddie, and you have always been in love with him. Every night you wondered what he was doing, writing, performing, recording, signing autographs. You were beyond proud of him for chasing his dreams and he was absolutely crushing it.

The set ended after a few songs, it was an awesome show, mostly when Eddie looked right at you as he pronounced some of the most heart-wrenching lyrics. You didn't know those songs were for you, but he made your heart race anyway.

Robin and Steve made their way to the bar, they asked you to come with them but you just wanted to see Eddie. Pushing some bodies away from you as you made your way to the side of the stage, Eddie followed you with his eyes to catch up with you at the top of the stairs.

"Hey, you" he reached out for your hand, helping you get on stage and walking you backstage where the rest of the band relaxed "Did you like the show?"

"Like it? I loved it, Eds" your smile got bigger as you locked eyes with him "you are so talented, you all are"

He laughed at your words, Gareth screamed a ‘thank you’ and the rest of the band laughed too.

"C’mon there is something I have to show you" he squeezed your hand, and you followed him to a couple of stairs and walked with him. The stairs lead you to a rooftop, the neon sign of the hideout was the only source of light aside from the moon.

"Wow, this is awesome" The view from the rooftop was breathtaking, you were able to see some of the houses from the town, and the other side filled up with trees, the night was cold and you shivered. Eddie noticed, he placed his hands on your biceps in an attempt to warm you up.

"I- I hope you noticed that... When I looked at you, I sang those words to you. I guess I wasnʼt performing for everyone but you, I wrote them for you I, I feel that way I really do"

His bottom lip quivered, not much but you noticed. You took a deep breath parting your lips to talk, but he interrupted.

"I know you have a relationship, I get it if you donʼt want to go back in time to when we were so close but god, do I miss you" he rubbed your arms, his hands tightening up on them so they stopped shaking.

"I broke up with him," you said, in a whisper "he cheated on me, we got into a fight... Itʼs over"

"He is an idiot, you know?" he sighs.

"yeah, believe me, I know" You close your eyes for a moment, trying to process everything that was happening "but it also felt like I was cheating on hi, if someone gave me a penny anytime you crossed my mind iʼd be a millionaire by now" you giggled, Eddie did too.

You looked at him, he looked at you. Both of you had a warm pink tint on your cheeks, your heart was pounding and so was his. His hands slid down from your arms to your hands, he gave them a gentle squeeze before letting them go. He placed his hands on your waist, pushing your body towards his and making your chest bump with his. One of his hands rested on your back, the other traveled all the way up to your chin, lifting your face up.

"Now that I have you in my arms, I don't want you to go anywhere else" his soft puppy eyes were glossy as he got closer to your face.

"I only want to be with you, you have me now Iʼm all yours"

Before you could say another word, he leaned in to kiss your lips. You curled your arms around him as he pressed your back with his hand trying to pull you closer, the blood rushed through his veins like ocean waves as his heart beat with so much intensity he was scared you could hear it.

Your stomach filled up with a warm sensation, there weren't any butterflies or an anxious feeling, instead, it was peaceful and safe. You felt safe around him.

It was a tender kiss, gentle, delicate, and filled with love, the love you had for each other bottled up in your bodies was finally put to good use. Your lips melted with his, he moved his head to the side and slides his tongue into your mouth, exploring, tasting, enjoying it. After a few minutes, both of you pulled your heads back, catching the air you needed and giggling.

He took a look at you, your glossy eyes, your puffy lips, your body. "Shit, you are perfect" he muttered, making you blush.

"You are too, come back here" You push him back to you, tangling your arms around his neck. He does the same gripping your waist and lifting you up, he leaves a few pecks on your neck making you giggle.

"You just broke up with that asshole, I feel like I need to give you time or space to mourn but know that after you feel okay again iʼm going to be glued to you"

"I donʼt need time, I want you." You shake your head slightly, wrapping his waist with your legs. "You were gone for a long time, I will follow you everywhere from now on"

“I’m so writing a song about this moment” he says, earning a giggle from you.

He smiled at you, and you imitated his actions. He feels like a new man, a happy man and you feel comfortable, happy, secure. The love you deserve has finally been given to you.

i hey im back guys ♡ sorry for the inactivity, i’ve had this scenario in my mind for so long i had to write it. reblog & comment if you like it, im open to more requests about rockstar Eddie!!!!!

[exilynn]

Pov: Edds manda foto* tentando seduzir*

Você pode ler este capítulo no meu Wattpad

[eashmo]

-Welcome Home-

Warnings: SMUT and small fluff

A/N: I seriously have so many short stories that I need to finish for Eddie, Billy, and Steve.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It has been 3 months since I last saw my precious boyfriend. Eddie was on tour with his band Corroded Coffin. After so long,  the phone calls just didn't even begin to cut it anymore. I needed him, I craved his kisses and cuddles. He was coming home today, so I decided to give him a surprise welcome home. 

I grinned at Eddie as he entered our bedroom, watching him closely as he stood there smirking as i fucked myself with a dildo, and his eyes didn’t move away from it. I brought my other hand down to rub my clit, my fingers gliding over it easily. 

“Welcome home, rockstar.” I moaned out. 

“You couldn’t have just waited until I got here?” He asked, but he couldn’t even pretend to look disappointed.

“I figured you’d enjoy a surprise,” I breathed heavily. The dildo was a perfect shape and size, hitting my G spot perfectly. It was the same size as him. Which was perfect when we had phone sex. It felt like he was there when he was miles away from me. But I craved the real thing every day.

“Oh trust me, babygirl, I’m enjoying it,” he smirked. He ran a hand over the bulge in his boxers, hearing the pet name made me wetter, biting my lip as I rubbed my clit faster as I pumped the dildo in and out of me. Eddie watched intently, his eyes going darker by the second.

“Feels so good, Eds,” I whimpered. 

“I’ll bet it does,” he groaned, taking out his cock from his boxers, jacking himself off to the sight of me “keep going, babygirl”

I did as he told me, and I began to move my wrist fast and bring myself close to the edge. I stopped before I came, not wanting to let go before Eddie got his hands on me. I pulled it out of me slowly, his eyes completely dark when he saw how much it stretched me out as it popped out “I need you baby” I breathed. 

He startled me when he roughly grabbed my ankles and pulled me closer to him, 

He kisses my lips, moving down to my neck, making me moan. He circles my sensitive clit with his thumb, making me cry out more. I bite his neck firmly, which always drove him crazy. I rake my nails roughly down his back.

“Eddie please” I gasp into his shoulder. 

He grabs my hips, and runs the tip of his cock over my soaking core before he roughly shoves himself inside of me, making me cry out loudly. I need him in me. Now. He gives me a second to adjust to his thick member before pulling out and slamming back into me over and over and over. He picks up his pace, leaning over me to rest one hand on the headboard, to use it as leverage. I was not going to last long like this. This man knows exactly how to please me. He knows I love it rough.

“Fuck i’ve missed this pussy…” He growls into my neck. My hands grab a fistful of his hair, making him groan again.

“Eddie…” I whine. I was getting dangerously close, and he knew it.

“Don't you dare...cum…” he warns me. He began thrusting harder, driving me even closer to the edge. I try my best to hold back my quickly approaching orgasm.

“baby...please…”

“Please what?” He says in a low voice, beginning to lose control of his rhythm. He is close, too.

“Please let me cum…” I whine.

He continues his now erratic thrusting, and relentless playing with my oversensitive clit for a moment. “Cum with me, babygirl” He whispers in my ear. I shout his name as I am consumed with wave after wave of pleasure.

 “y/n” I hear him groan, finding his own release. His fingers on my hip dig into my flesh, definitely leaving his mark. He collapses on top of me, breathing heavily. He slowly drags himself to lay next to me, pulling me with him. I turn to face him and snuggle up to him.

“God, I've missed you y/n…” He says; his voice deep and gravelly.

“I missed you too.” I say, running my hand up, resting it over his heart. “I love you, eds”

“I love you too, baby girl. Also, thank you for the welcome home sex” 

“Anytime, baby”

 We both laughed as we savored the moment of him finally being back home. Back into my arms.

masterlist

2023

[earthlyangelbby]

Meeting Rockstar! Eddie sfw (flirty)

Hes kinda flirty omg

Minors dni 18+

All photo credit to @themunsonator5000

Here is the same audio just on my soundgasm if audio above isnt working:

[final-girl96]

STOLEN HEARTS: CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

SIX MONTHS LATER

EDDIE

All I have been doing is writing songs. All songs about broken fucking hearts. Yes my heart was broken, but it was more about the heart I had broken by my stupidity. I felt like I came in the dark of night and stole something that wasn't mine. I had Stolen her heart but she had stolen mine as well. That's all it was just two stolen hearts.

Midnight Thief

(Verse 1)

Sneaking through the shadows, in the dead of night

A heartbreaker on the loose, stealing love at first sight

With a glint in their eye, they strike without a sound

Leaving broken hearts scattered all around

(Chorus)

Midnight thief, stealing hearts with ease

Leaving a trail of shattered dreams and memories

No one can resist the pull of your dark art

Midnight thief, tearing love apart

(Verse 2)

Whispers in the alleys, tales of love gone wrong

The midnight thief dances to their tragic song

They move through the night like a ghostly wraith

Leaving behind a trail of heartbroken faith

(Chorus)

Midnight thief, stealing hearts with ease

Leaving a trail of shattered dreams and memories

No one can resist the pull of your dark art

Midnight thief, tearing love apart

(Bridge)

But one day the tables will turn, the thief will fall

Their stolen treasures will mean nothing at all

For in the end, love will conquer all

And the midnight thief will meet their final call

(Chorus)

Midnight thief, stealing hearts with ease

Leaving a trail of shattered dreams and memories

No one can resist the pull of your dark art

Midnight thief, tearing love apart

(Outro)

So beware the midnight thief, with their dark allure

Their reign of heartache will not long endure

For true love will rise, strong and unbroken

And the stolen hearts will be awoken

I couldn't stop. It's the only way I could keep myself sober. I got help. I went to rehab. While in rehab I started to write. Maybe all these songs are all the same. I don't know. I also don't care. It was a way to get it out and to help keep me sober. I wanted to apologize but I didn't know how. I didn't know if she would accept my apology. I had a good feeling she wouldn't. I sent her flowers every week for the past six months. I didn't expect her to call or write. I don't expect her to forgive me. I just want to show her that I'm working on myself. I'm working to clean myself up and keep it that way. Or at least I'm trying to.

Bloodstained Souls

(Verse 1)

In the shadows of the night

Where the demons take their flight

Whispers of love turn to spite

Stolen hearts in the pale moonlight

(Chorus)

Bloodstained souls in the dark

Torn apart, leaving their mark

Forgotten love, a broken heart

In the symphony of metal sparks

(Verse 2)

Crimson tears fall like rain

As the echoes of pain sustain

A metal heart, a soul in chains

Forever haunted by love's disdain

(Chorus)

Bloodstained souls in the dark

Torn apart, leaving their mark

Forgotten love, a broken heart

In the symphony of metal sparks

(Bridge)

Rage and sorrow intertwine

In the power of a screaming mind

Lost in a world so unkind

Stolen hearts left behind

(Chorus)

Bloodstained souls in the dark

Torn apart, leaving their mark

Forgotten love, a broken heart

In the symphony of metal sparks

(Outro)

In the echoes of the night

Where the darkness takes its flight

Stolen hearts forever ignite

In the flames of metal might.

I saw her the other day, walking in town. She was so fucking beautiful, it took my breath away. She always took my breath away. I realized that I haven't felt that in a long time though. I haven't felt that feeling she always gives me. That feeling where your heart skips a beat or two or five. It feels like it stops completely. I feel like I'm floating on air and time feels like it stops completely. I look at her and everything disappears.

I fucked that all up though. I was also high or drunk or both. I was also too fucked up that it started to disappear because the drugs and alcohol numbed everything. She's the only thing in my life besides my music that makes me feel anything. I always said that if I made it big that I would never end up like every other rockstar out there. I said I would never let fame get to me. I wouldn't get caught up in drugs, not with how easy it would be to get them whenever I wanted them. That didn't turn out well for me. It didn't go well for any of us.

Eternal Betrayal

(Verse 1)

In the shadows of the night, a darkness creeps

A sinister plot from within, a love asleep

Promises broken, lies spoken, hearts torn apart

Betrayal's curse, a venomous dart

(Chorus)

Stolen hearts, bleeding in the night

Echoes of deceit, screams out of sight

Eternal betrayal, chains that bind

Lost in a maze of anguish, losing our minds

(Verse 2)

Whispers of treachery, a silent storm

Betrayed by an angel, once thought to be warm

The fire in our souls now turns to ice

A shattered dream, a twisted device

(Chorus)

Stolen hearts, bleeding in the night

Echoes of deceit, screams out of sight

Eternal betrayal, chains that bind

Lost in a maze of anguish, losing our minds

(Bridge)

Beneath the veil of shadows, we search for light

But the darkness consumes us, the end in sight

A symphony of sorrow, a dirge of pain

Our stolen hearts, forever stained

(Chorus)

Stolen hearts, bleeding in the night

Echoes of deceit, screams out of sight

Eternal betrayal, chains that bind

Lost in a maze of anguish, losing our minds

(Outro)

In the realm of broken dreams, we stand alone

Haunted by the echoes of a love now gone

Stolen hearts, forever entwined

In the cruel embrace of eternal betrayal's bind

One day I will get her back. I will show her that I can change; that I have changed. I will prove to her that I can stay clean. That I can turn my life around. That I can be good for her and take care of her. Treat her the way she deserves to be treated. I took advantage of her love; of her heart.

Forged in Regret

(Verse 1)

Darkness surrounds me

My sins weigh heavy on my soul

I've broken promises

And taken a heavy toll

(Pre-Chorus)

I kneel before the gods

Begging for forgiveness

But the echo of my apologies

Falls upon deaf ears

(Chorus)

I'm sorry, for all that I've done

Regret consumes me, I can't outrun

Forgive me, for my transgressions

In the shadows of my confessions

(Verse 2)

Blackened hearts, scars that won't heal

A broken mirror reflects my pain

I'm haunted by my mistakes

Forever chained in shame

(Pre-Chorus)

I scream into the void

But redemption seems far

My heart is heavy with sorrow

As I face my inner war

(Chorus)

I'm sorry, for all that I've done

Regret consumes me, I can't outrun

Forgive me, for my transgressions

In the shadows of my confessions

(Bridge)

In the flames of my remorse

I'll burn away my pride

A phoenix rising from ashes

I'll cast regret aside

(Chorus)

I'm sorry, for all that I've done

Regret consumes me, I can't outrun

Forgive me, for my transgressions

In the shadows of my confessions

(Outro)

Forged in regret, I'll rise again

My sins will be my strength

I'll wear my scars with defiance

And face my demons at arm's length

[bruisedboys]

MAL !! omg congrats on the milestone i adore u

mona lisa

anddd rockstar! eddie munson on tour with a shy! reader if u haven’t already ? <3

— @inkluvs (ivy)

♡ rockstar!eddie on tour with shy!reader

tap for better quality!

[abibliophobiaa]

Chapter Two of I Will Wait will be released Friday, 3/17 at 5:30pm EST on @abibliophobiaa’s blog

a soulmate!fakemarriage!au with rockstar!eddie and personalassistant!reader (also featuring ronance)

one | masterlist | ao3 | shmackin’ tunes

cowritten by: @abibliophobiaa @blue-mossbird @breddiemunson @fracturedarkness @myosotisa

here’s a little preview to hold you over until then...

Eddie is staring at you.

As soon as you register it— the split second you catch him watching you— Eddie’s eyes widen and dart away, expression flashing with an emotion that looks out of place on his typically-assured face. And then it’s gone. Just as quickly, as though it had never existed, that vulnerable expression is replaced by a quirked eyebrow, smugly narrowed lips, and an even, penetrating stare as his eyes return to yours. Before you can even think about it, he’s beckoning you toward him with a crooked finger.

Obligingly— it is your job, after all— you leave Argyle’s side and pull open the heavy glass door to the recording room.

The space is not overly generous, but it is large enough to give each band member a comfortable buffer of space with his instrument. The drums are set up near the back, with Harry on the left and Jeff on the right, a guitar strapped against his chest but flipped around to the back as he stands in front of the keyboard. There’s a boxy amp covered by a shield to dampen the sound in the corner opposite the door, and Eddie is standing beside it, dark-clad legs spread wide as he hooks a forearm casually against his red electric guitar.

“Yes?” you ask him neutrally, though it’s difficult to hold back the roll of your eyes when he doesn’t reply, merely beckoning you with that same finger again. You breathe slowly through your nose as you walk over to him, planting your feet right before him though your heels wobble slightly on the springy carpet. Your pleasant face grows a touch flatter as he regards you silently, blinking slowly— clearly wanting to keep you waiting, to make you pay for the split-second of whatever he’d felt when you caught him staring.

Eventually, a crooked grin spreads on Eddie’s lips as he looks at you, and your brow twitches in alarm as Eddie abruptly lifts one heavy booted foot and thumps it down on top of the amp. The move stretches his tight pants even tighter, pulling the rips at his knees to reveal pale skin underneath. It draws your eye, tempting it to run over the angular bones; they’re strong and dense, substantial beneath string that cuts shallow indents into his skin.

“Tie my boot.”

[mmunson86]

@purplehazed-h @munsonology @chrrymunson i am not OKAY lord have mercy!✨

[meet-me-backstage]

🜸

𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 🎸 Virgin!Eddie Munson x Fem!reader

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 🎸 You play at the Hideout with your band, Stake For My Valentine, every night - you’re considered the metal queen of the bar and your band are the rulers of the roost, famously loved by the Hideout’s local drunks. However, when a band named Corroded Coffin land their first gig there the sparse crowd warm quickly to the unique and awkward charm of the leading metal head, Eddie Munson.

However, you don’t warm to him so easily - in fact, you don’t warm to him at all. Eddie, on the other hand, worships the ground you walk on and doesn’t hesitate to make it known and leads to a cold rejection from you.

Band rivalry occurs - you vs. Eddie, Stake For My Valentine vs Corroded Coffin.

You hate each other… but one night everything changes when a plan is created and executed by yours and Eddie’s bandmates with the intention of bring you two together and harmony between your bands.

𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒏 𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒊-𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒍𝒐𝒕𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕, 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈!

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 🎸 bad language, angst, mention and consumption of drugs, mention and consumption of alcohol, some perv!eddie, blood, mention of blood, sexual innuendos, Eddie wearing eyeliner bcuz damn😍, some typical bar fight drunkard violence and SMUT so you must be 18+ to read this mini series‼️

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫 🎸 10.4K words 🫢

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫 🎸 bad language, mention of and consumption of alcohol, mention of drugs, mention of smut, Eddie being a perv teehee and finally some smut between Eddie and reader guys (they kinda give exhibitionist vibes in this part) 👀🤭🤯

𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 - 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠!

𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲, 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝! <𝟑

⇜ 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐚𝐲 • 𝟐𝟖𝐭𝐡 𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 • 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟓

Daggers, pins, needles - the painful sensation of their sharp, pointed edges is exactly what you feel right now.

Small stabbing and repeated pokes is what wakes you up from your deep and dreamless slumber.

Your nose twitches at an unfamiliar smell. The smell of your favorite rose scented perfume mixed with the polish that you use to clean your electric guitar is absent from your nostrils. What you could smell was an overwhelming odour of sweat and dirty laundry. Your eyes flicker open and for a few seconds your vision is blurry, blinded by the light shining through a window.

Rocket curtains?

This isn’t my room.

Where am I?

What happened last night?

Your eyes continue to wander the room. Drum sticks and manuscript papers are scattered around and there is a ridiculous amount of drum kit paraphernalia on the walls, on top of the closet, on a desk. Piles of clothes were spread across the black carpeted floor… that explains the smell.

‘Löded Diper’ is messily written in black paint on a mirror that is hung up on the wall opposite the bed you’re laying in. You also recognise the rocket patterned wallpaper and realise that there is only one person that this room could belong to.

You groan at the realisation that you’re in the armpit that is Rodrick’s bedroom… again.

A loud snore takes you aback and you abruptly turn to face the noise.

Rodrick. His mouth is hung open, bottom lip drooping down to the slide closest to his pillow and his head is leaning backwards slightly, emphasising his Adam’s apple.

You quickly lift up the duvet and let out a dramatic, relieved sigh because - whew, thank god I’m not naked. But you’re only wearing an oversized black shirt that you do not recognise and definitely does not belong to you, and your underwear. The shirt has ‘Löded Diper’ roughly written on it, Rodrick’s band name, with what looks like white chalk that Rodrick probably took from the dart scoreboard beside the bar downstairs.

“Whuh a-re - you doooing?” You hear Rodrick mumble into his pillow, he yawns immediately after and opens his eyes once before scrunching them shut again because he hasn’t quite adjusted to the light just yet.

“What am I wearing?” You ask bluntly, pushing the duvet off of your top half completely.

Rodrick’s eyes blink open, still strained, they wander down your face, to your neck and then to your chest, “The hottest shirt in Hawkins,” A smug smile tugs at his lips while he speaks in a morning grumble.

You shoot him a piercing glare.

“What?” He mumbles, closing his eyes and nuzzling his face back into his pillow.

“I think I’d remember if I was wearing this piece of crap last night,” you state with sarcasm, knowing that your criticism of his handmade band merchandise would wake him up in an instant.

He shoots you a playful glare now, though it is half as effective as yours because one of his eyes is hidden into his pillow, “Someone woke up on the wrong side of bed this mornin-.”

“Afternoon,” you cross your arms, nodding at the alarm clock on his bedside table.

His slants his neck upwards, revealing his other eye and some small stains on his pillow from the smudged remnants of his eyeliner. He takes a sheepish glance at the same alarm clock, “Afternoon,” he sighs, rubbing his eyes.

You cross your arms, raising your brows while looking down on him, “How did I get here? How did this-,” you pinch some of the fabric of the shirt between your fingers, “get on me? And where are my clothes?”

Rodrick audaciously responds with a ballsy and tired grin. He takes another look at his shirt that you donned, “I can’t believe you’ve reached your age and don’t know how a shirt works, Vamp. ‘S pretty easy, you lift your arms and put them through the two holes on the side, then you put your head through the bigger hol-.”

“Say one more word, Rodrick - I double fuckin’ dare you,” you state sassily, leaning yourself downward and over his top half, your face is aligned with his.

His eyes gleam up at you, “So you don’t want to know what happened last night?” He bites his lips together.

You grunt, rolling your eyes at his question, “I do, but I want a clear explanation - cut the fuckin’ riddles and avoiding my questions with lousy comebacks. What - happened - after - my - gig?”

“You really wanna know?” He asks, amused, but with an undertone of wariness that makes you even more intrigued… and your brows to sweat because- what the hell did I do?

You gulp, “Y-yes.”

Rodrick brings a hand up to his forehead, pinching his skin between his fingers while in deep thought. He bites his lips together to hold in a laugh before taking a deep breath and revealing his tired face to you, “Let’s just say that it was - bad for you, good for the Battle of The Bands competition.” You glare at him. “Okay, okay. You kinda jumped off of the stage after your gig, I got you a couple‘a drinks and you spent the entire evening telling everyone how you ‘need’ Eddie Munson.”

You look at him questioningly, “What?”

Rodrick chuckles nervously. You tilt your head to the side in response to him. “You got on the bar and declared your title of ‘Queen Vamp of the Hideout’ to everyone. Everything was ‘bullshit’, ‘bullshit’, ‘bullshit’. Corroded Coffin - ‘bullshit’, Eddie Munson - ‘bullshit’. You called your fans assholes if they even think about going to Corroded Coffin’s gig tonight and then a minute later you just broke down - ‘I need Eddie Munson’ - ‘I need him’!” Rodrick mimics your voice.

You grind your teeth together while also furrowing you’re brows, desperately trying to recall any of what Rodrick had just told you, but all you could remember was swinging your Pink Special over your shoulder, hugging a few of your fans, stumbling towards the booth that Rodrick was sat in and then… blank.

“I don’t remember any of that.” He raises his brows at you while you ramble passionately. He has an amused expression on his face that makes you stop and question your entire existence. You bring your hands to your face and try to cover every one of your features while you writhe with embarrassment. There’s a few moments of silence before you bring your fingers down, uncovering your eyes, “What happened after that?”

Rodrick continues to stare at you with a questioning look in his dark under-circled eyes, “Er - well - they looked pretty shocked - and then they sorta-,” he scratches his forehead, “laughed.”

Your face falls with astonishment, “They - laughed - at me?” You can’t believe it. To hear that the dedicated followers of your music, people that had been so loyal to you since the very first step you took on the stage downstairs, had betrayed you - it hurt like stabs to the back.

“Pfft, not like that, Vamp - it’s just - I think they were shocked because you’re always so cool around them, y’know?” He reasons with you in an unusually high pitched voice, “If anything I think they appreciated seeing you let your guard down for once.”

You shake your head with a sigh, bringing a hand to your forehead and rubbing at your skin with force, “This is all your fault - now Corroded Coffin really are just gonna get the Halloween gig without any scheme or competition because I called all my fans assholes!”

“Er - I’m not the one that went batshit last night, Vamp - that was all you.”

Your glare at Rodrick gets harder and harsher, “Oh yeah? How much drink did you give me?”

“I can’t remember - quite a lot, but you seemed sorta pissed off about something so I thought that it might… help.”

“Help? Help me what? Make a damn fool of myself?” You scoff, chuckling sarcastically.

“No, no - I thought it might - I dunno - calm you down or - unleash - you looked so tense after the gig - so I let you drink? So what? We smoke weed at every soundcheck so what’s the big deal?”

“You think shoving a swimming pool’s worth of vodka down my throat until I black out is the answer to all my problems, huh?” You spit with attitude while he stares back at you with big eyes because he’d never seen you this angry. Yes, he’d pissed you off before, but you often brushed him off or sent him a playful glare because nothing he’d done previously had damaged your reputation or caused you to lose control like he had let happen last night.

“You wouldn’t even talk to me,” he mutters lowly with frustration clear in his voice.

“Boo-fuckin’-hoo, Rodrick - what has that got anything to do with you?”

Rodrick shrugs, seemingly unable to speak for himself or his lack of action last night to save you from public humiliation. “It worked, didn’t it?” he mutters under his breath, shrugging after and pursing his lips as if you meant nothing to him.

Your mouth falls open at his words, the selfishness of them, “So you actually think that - what? Just because you’re fucking me you have a free pass to all my thoughts and feelings? You have an automatic right to see everything going on in my head? I’m fine, Rodrick - see? You could’ve just asked.”

“You clearly weren’t fine last night, Vamp,” Rodrick states with a hint of sarcasm in his voice, but his stare on you gets more intense with each word.

You stare back at him, matching his intensity, “Welllllll, if you were so worried about me, what exactly did you do to stop any of this from happening?”

A few seconds of silence pass while you both glare at each other harshly, “I figured that if anyone should be helping you, it should be your other boyfriend, Eddie - y’know, since you need him so much.”

You struggle to hold in the groan that was aching to leave your mouth. Instead, you bring your hands up to your face, your fingers pressing just slightly into your eyes to relieve the urge to punch him, “You’re not my boyfriend, Rodrick - and Eddie sure as hell isn’t my boyfriend either,” your hands drop down to your lap with a pillowy thud, “I hate him.”

“That’s not what you were saying last night,” Rodrick responds with doubt and sarcasm towards you.

You roll your eyes while letting out a frustrated exhale before opening your mouth to defend yourself, but the sound of a cymbal crashing downstairs interrupts you.

The sound is close to deafening and lasts for five seconds before you are met with silence, which you take as an opportunity to try getting your words, but again, you are silenced by a loud drum roll.

“What’s going on?!” You do your best to shout over the noise.

Rodrick shrugs before shouting lazily, “I dunno - practicing probably!”

You grunt loudly before abruptly jumping off of the bed. You spot your clothes from last night laid messily on a random chair opposite the bed and grab them, followed by leaving Rodrick’s room with heavy stomping sounds each time your bare feet collide with the floor.

“Where are you going, V? We need to talk!” Rodrick calls after you, desperation clear in his voice.

“Later!” You shout back nonchalantly before soldiering on through your mission to put a stop to Corroded Coffin’s band practice, completely disregarding the fact that the shirt you’re wearing barely covers your underwear.

You mutter angrily under your breath as you sprint down the stairs, missing a few steps on your way which makes you slam into the wall a few times, but the frustration completely overrides the pain that you feel, especially after learning about what had apparently happened last night.

Maybe I do need the competition… but I certainly never intended to tell anybody, let alone an entire bar of people who worship me and my music, people who I have to keep up a reputation for… I’m supposed to be their queen of metal and I let them all down last night, and it all started when Eddie Munson and his band of nobodies decided to wander into the Hideout on a random, cold Friday night.

I hate him.

I hate him.

I hate hi-

Eddie’s voice is clear once you reach the door leading to the bar at the bottom of the staircase so you hastily decide to hide behind it and listen.

“Let’s start from the chorus,” Gareth suggests.

“Sure thing!” Eddie chirps eagerly in response, his enthusiasm briefly reminding you of when you first formed Stake For My Valentine.

You peek between the door and doorframe, seeing Eddie excitedly fiddling with some wires and his guitar. His tongue is tensed and gently rested on his bottom lip and his eyes are extremely focused, zeroed in on his microphone - he looks kinda sweet, you think, but that thought is quickly shaken away with a small shake of your head.

“You ready, Eddie?” Jeff asks.

“Yup, ready - ready,” Eddie nods for a few seconds before throwing his head forward and strumming an angelic sounding E major chord, which you assume is a signal for Gareth because he starts to count by hitting his drum sticks together before hitting a rhythm on the snare and crashing both sticks onto the cymbals. Eddie throws his head back up, making his long hair flow elegantly in the air and his bangs to fall over his forehead and eyes messily, “I fuckin’ hate that bitch!”

Your face falls and your jaw drops as he sings into the microphone, holding it gently between both his hands.

“Cause she takes and she takes - she won’t give in - and they love and they love but - I - I-,” the lyrics are sung by Eddie in a sort of slurred and smooth way, rolling off of his tongue almost seductively… almost. He shakes his head as he plucks the wrong string, “This is so - stupid - I can’t do it. She’ll kill me if she hears this tonight, can we just scratch it from the setlist completely?”

What makes him so sure that I’ll be at his gig tonight?

Gareth let’s his hands fall with the drumsticks still grasping them in defeat, the tips of the sticks hit the snare and ride cymbal on their way down, “‘He’s just a loser with a guitar’… do you really think that that’s not about you?”

Eddie shakes his head, his face scrunching up in confusion, “I know, I know it is-,” he turns himself around to face away from you to be face to face with the rest of his band.

“And she didn’t give a shit that you heard her lyrics about you,” Gareth argues.

Eddie lifts the hand that had been wrapped around the neck of his guitar and raises his pointy finger by his face, “But it was Rodrick who read them out for everyone to hear, not Vamp.”

“So what?” Gareth asks with furrowed brows and a shrug of his shoulders.

Eddie mirrors Gareth’s actions by shrugging his shoulders too, “I dunno, man-.”

Gareth rolls his eyes at the conflict that Eddie was fighting in his head about whether or not to add the song he’d written about you to Corroded Coffin’s setlist to play in front of an entire audience to hear, “Oh c’mon, Eddie - you have to agree that she needs to be taken down a peg or twenty-five… she walks all over you like you’re a dirty rug or somethin’ and you’ve gotta do something about it.”

You squint your eyes at Gareth through the crack that you’ve been peeking through and quietly scoff at his harsh words.

Eddie stays silent, he’s clearly still fighting himself, judging by his fidgeting, but you still can’t see his face.

“I say we take a vote,” Gareth suggests, now looking between Jeff and Travis, who look just as bewildered as you imagine Eddie is looking right now. They eventually nod, apart from Eddie, who stays frozen on the spot, “Okay, hands up for Bitch in Boots and Fishnets to not be played at the show tonight,” Gareth speaks, keeping his hands firmly glued to his lap.

Eddie thrusts his arm up in the air enthusiastically, but the rest of his body is slouched in defeat.

Jeff and Travis exchange nervous looks at each other, like they are debating through eye contact, or urging the other to make the first move.

Jeff slowly raises his hand, only for Gareth to shoot him a glare, “Sorry, G. I’m all for knocking Vamp down a peg, but this just feels a little too harsh.”

Gareth avoids eye contact with Jeff, “Whatever, dude.”

“Sorry,” Jeff apologises again in a mumble, lowering his head for a moment of thought before lifting it again, “I just have a feeling that it’ll cause more harm than good when I only want for all members of Corroded Coffin and Stake For My Valentine to get along - surely there’s another way to get Vamp on board with us without adding fuel to the fire.”

Eddie slides his hand behind his neck, scratching it, which causes his head to turn so that you can momentarily see his face. He looks entirely skeptical and so does Gareth, who chooses to completely ignore Jeff’s advice.

“We’ve tried to be nice - Eddie has tried to be nice… I think it’s time to give her a taste of her own medicine - see how she likes being messed with… it’ll also give us an advantage in this Battle of The Bands thing,” Gareth states matter of factly with a hint of excitement in his voice before sighing, then nodding, “Those in favor of playing Bitch in Boots and Fishnets tonight, raise a hand,” Gareth has his arm raised while he speaks, and, like a puppy, Travis follows and lifts his arm too. Gareth then looks between Jeff and Eddie, hoping that they’d changed their minds, only for them to keep their hands at their sides.

Eddie looks entirely relieved, his body visibly relaxes. “I guess we’re even then, which is probably for the best because the song isn’t even finished yet and - I - I don’t think I can do it… especially if Vamp is here tonight,” he rambles, avoiding eye contact with all of his band-mates and staring down at his guitar instead.

A dumbfounded Gareth blinks at Eddie, “Bullshit. We all saw your lyric book this morning - we only saw the title but you always fold the pages of songs that are finished.”

Eddie brings a hand to his face, caressing his cheekbones with his thumb and index finger, “I know I know I know - Jesus H. Christ - I was writing all night and I must’ve just mistakenly left it out… and yeah - I was - angry - yesterday-.”

“You don’t say,” Gareth interjects.

“I was angry-,” Eddie repeats, looking at Gareth over his hand that stretched across his face above his nose, “after finding out that Vamp had written shitty things about me, and maybe I started writing it because I wanted to get back at her for that and for practically fucking Rodrick in my face, but then I - I started-bringing-other-sorta-resurfaced-feelings-into-it-that-I-don’t-want-her-knowing-about, m’kay?” Eddie stares intensely between the three boys stood with him, he spoke the words so fast that they practically had no gap between them and you could hardly pick up on what he had said.

Whatever Eddie had said, Jeff, Gareth and Travis’ mouths had fallen agape in response.

“You still- after the way that she’s treated you in the last week?” Gareth asks in disbelief with a hushed voice so that all you can hear are mumbles.

Eddie lifts his shoulders up, making his neck completely disappear, “I know I shouldn’t, but I guess crushes as big as the one I had on her don’t just go away - even after she calls you a loser,” he mutters loud enough for his friends to hear, but not you.

All of his friends are silent around Eddie, digesting more incoherent words from where you are hidden.

Jeff, Gareth and Travis exchange looks between each other, it’s hard to tell what they are thinking, but it visibly puts Eddie on edge, because he shakes his head and nervous laughter leaves his lips.

Your hand starts to ache from holding your body weight up against the door, your eyes are hurting from having to squint so hard to catch a glimpse of the band on the other side of the door and, quite frankly, you are getting bored of not being able to hear what they are talking about… you can only guess that they are talking about Rodrick because they don’t know that you’re only a few metres away, let alone that you’re in the building.

“We’re not, I repeat, we’re not playing my song tonight and nothing - nothing you do or say will change my mind about it,” Eddie, very seriously declares, his voice returning to the volume it had been before he started whispering, enabling you to hear.

You take a deep breath, straighten your back and grip onto the door handle before putting on your best smirk.

The latch of the door clicks as you press downward onto the handle and swiftly open the creaky door, immediately gaining the attention of all four of the Corroded Coffin boys. You fight the urge not to hysterically laugh because all of their faces are priceless at your very sudden, very unexpected reveal.

You walk in, still smugly smirking with your hand raised and your eyes honed in on Eddie, whose jaw has dropped so much that, if he wasn’t careful, could catch a bunch of flies. His chocolaty brown eyes are almost as wide as his mouth is open and, just like his entire body that is facing you now, they are completely focused on you.

You’re so focused on him that you notice the way his pupils dilate when he breaks eye contact and trail down to your red panties that peek a little from underneath Rodrick’s shirt while you walk towards him. Eddie’s gaze is so intense, almost predatory, that you can’t help but feel vulnerable under it, especially as his eyes trail further down to your bare thighs - you’d never been so scrutinised before, it causes goosebumps to form all over you and you feel your breath catch in your throat.

Not even Rodrick has looked at you the way Eddie is looking at you now - and Rodrick has seen you naked… but something tells you that you wouldn’t have been as affected anyway if it had been Rodrick stood in Eddie’s place right now.

It takes you a few moments to regain your composure, though your legs still feel like jelly because he continues to ravenously gaze at you like you’re his last meal.

It’s not until you clear your throat that he seems to snap out of the trance he’s under, his eyes travel back up your body and land on the ‘Löded Diper’ logo written across your chest - you notice him exhale through his nose at the sight of it.

The excitement in his eyes leaves in the moment that he realises exactly where you’d been the entire night… and doing god knows what with Rodrick. He pictures all of the positions that he could only dream of having you in and feels his hands start to get so clammy with sweat that he wipes his palms aggressively on the thighs of his black ripped jeans.

You keep your hand raised as you come to a stop about a metre away from the raised platform that all four of the Corroded Coffin boys are stood on. The smug smirk is still evident on your lips, “Doesn’t my vote count? Y’know, since the song is about me.”

Eddie freezes, his hands glued to his thighs. The only part of him that moves are his eyes, which look down at you through his long and dark lashes, “N-no?” He stutters questioningly, it’s as if he can’t believe that you’re here, like you’re a ghost or a figment of his imagination. He suddenly stands up straight, wipes his forehead with his wrist and undoes his blue denim jacket, which you can tell has seen better days, and chucks it to the side.

You drag your eyes away from his, looking him up and down before catching a glimpse of the ‘Black Sabbath’ t-shirt he had been hiding under the jacket.

Fine - maybe he really was the boy that approached me at the lockers back in 7th grade… just with way more hair and a lot taller. Maybe he was being nice that day and maybe he was really just looking for a friend and happened to see the magazine cut out of Black Sabbath in my locker… but so what? It doesn’t mean that I have an obligation to like him now.

We’ve changed.

If we couldn’t see eye to eye then, then we most definitely cannot see eye to eye now… right? Right. I mean, for the love of Ozzy Osbourne, we’ve written songs about how much we hate each other… we can’t undo that… but I might as well hear it and maybe… just maybe - really listen to his words… perhaps I could - I dunno - take on board a few of ‘em… if he makes any good points that is.

You pout, blinking up at him, trying to ignore the fact that he’s towering over you by a foot because of the platform he’s stood on and you are face to face with his crotch. You notice the slight tent in his jeans by the fly - lucky me, you think sarcastically, but you can’t help but look for a second longer than you should because - hey, it’s right there. “That’s such a shame, Munson - I was so hoping to hear it tonight,” the hand that you had raised drops with a thud to your side and you stare up into his eyes again.

Eddie squints his very round eyes at you, his head tilting slightly in confusion while the other boys also exchange perplexed looks behind him… they all can’t seem to tell if you are being nice, or whether you’re tricking them into thinking you are.

“R-really?” Eddie stutters doubtfully, though there is still hope evident in his voice.

A small, genuine giggle leaves your lips, “Really.”

“R-right.” Eddie’s brows furrow while he continues to look at you with a mix of horror and confusion, “How long were you listening in on us exactly?”

“Oh - just the entire time,” you lie, well - half lie, but you aren’t going to tell him that you missed a tiny snippet of their discussion because of their whispering.

A staring contest between you and Eddie commences after that, you take a small step closer to him so that you’re just a foot away from him and he exhales shakily at your close proximity. You win very quickly because he shakes his head, scrunching up his nose and squinting his eyes shut, “I know what you’re doing.”

“What?” You ask, confused. Eddie continues to scrutinise you with his eyes, you tilt your head and furrow your brows at him, “What exactly do you think I’m doing?”

“I dunno, Vamp - but I have no doubt that you’ve probably got a little trick up your sleeve to try and humiliate me tonight - and I’m not gonna fall for it only to be shot down by you again.” Eddie’s voice exudes sarcasm and frustration and he has a strained smile on his lips while he speaks, his arms flail about everywhere until he stops suddenly and grips tightly onto his guitar with both his hands.

You start to feel warm with bubbling anger from being so confused, you try to mask it with self-defence, “That’s not true, I really want to hear what you have to say-.”

“Don’t make me laugh,” Eddie snorts, as do the boys behind him.

You place both your hands on your hips, your clothes still tucked between your left arm and your side, “Is it really that hard to believe?”

Eddie gulps, sheepishly looking you up and down before sternly and deeply staring into your eyes, “Yeah, it is actually.”

Your features harden just as his seem to soften when he realises how harsh he’d just sounded.

I can’t believe I even tried to give him a chance to impress me. “Oh yeah?” you retort with sarcasm.

Eddie hums while giving you one nod of his head.

You can feel adrenaline pumping through your veins now in response to his nonchalance towards you - he cares so little that I can’t even get one word out of him? “Well in that case…” you drop your skirt and t-shirt that you had been wearing last night, then you pick up your skirt and step into it one leg at a time before shimmying it all the way up your legs, letting out small grunts as you pull the garment over your hips, “Fuck your gig-,” you lift Rodrick’s shirt up and over your head, revealing your black lace bra underneath, chucking it onto the floor beside you, “fuck your song-,” your lips tug up into a side smirk at Eddie, who is not so discreetly staring at your bra-clad breasts with wide eyes. You pick up your shirt, very quickly realising that you had been wearing your favorite Ozzy Osbourne shirt last night, and close your eyes as you swiftly pull it over your face, “and fuck - you.” Eddie is still looking at you with blown out, lusting eyes even when your shirt is completely covering you - you ignore the warmth that you feel in the pit of your stomach, but you try to ignore it by chuckling it away… and insulting him on your way out of the Hideout… “Perv!”

“Get Rodrick down here - his vote counts!” You hear Gareth’s voice a few seconds after your exit before you proceed to walk home, “What? You can play it now if she’s not coming!”

⎈ 🎸⎈

You spend the rest of the day with conflicting thoughts about whether you should show your face at Corroded Coffin’s gig tonight.

One moment you’re laying on your back in your bed, muttering ‘fuck ‘em - fuck it - why should I go? I can’t go - I can’t face that asshole again’ to yourself, then a minute later you’ve rolled onto your stomach and are telling yourself that you ‘have to go - I have to be there just in case they do play his goddamn song - I can’t miss it - I’m not scared of Eddie Munson - I’m going.’

Then suddenly you find yourself stood outside of the Hideout in your trusty fishnets and boots at 11:55pm, staring at the building in anticipation. It’s the first time your heart is beating so fast because you have no idea what is to come, usually every time you walk into the bar it’s the same, like deja vu, your fans running to greet you, Rodrick shamelessly flirting with you, your band sat in your designated booth already with a drink in hand, the local man sitting at the bar drinking away after a long day at work and maybe even a bar fight between two men who’d had one drink too many.

You try to ignore the voice in your head telling you to ‘turn back and go home… it’s not too late to get outta this… what am I even doing here? They’re probably on their last song anyway’ You give in, turning around and doing exactly what your thoughts tell you to, you walk away.

“How about we end tonight’s gig with a new one?” You hear muffled cheers and ‘hell yeahs’ in response.

“How many times do I have to love you, baby? Touch the ground when you’re feeling down-,” you stop walking at the sound of Eddie’s muffled voice from inside the bar.

You recognise the tune of the first verse to be the first part of the supposed revenge song that Eddie had written for you… but didn’t he just sing - love - in what is supposed to be a hate song about me? You’re too curious to walk away any further. Instead, you resume your way towards the door leading into the Hideout.

“You walk around like you own this town” - huh, he’s not entirely wrong about that.

“Vamp, is that you?” You hear a familiar voice behind you, making you jump before looking over your shoulder, “What are you doing lurking out here in the rain?”

Alyssa…

You hadn’t even noticed the rain until she mentioned it, “Oh nothin’, just hangin’ around,” you say overly casually with a shrug of your shoulders, which Alyssa responds with an amused look and a giggle, “What?”

Alyssa looks at you with a playful, knowing look, “You’re here to see Rodrick, amiriiiggght?”

So she didn’t see your drunk commotion last night - she must’ve left early with Elektra.

You decide to play dumb because you don’t want her knowing that you’re actually here for Eddie. Your face contorts into one of over-the-top confusion, “What? Noooooo,” you giggle shyly.

“C’monnnn, Vamp - don’t think we didn’t see you cosying up with him in our booth last night,” she playfully nudges your shoulder and winks at you with her tongue cheekily sneaking past her teeth.

“Is that why you left early - because me and Rodrick were in the Vampire’s lair?” You ask, referring to the booth that you’d had many after-show discussions, weed and drinks in, and had given it a name because you, Alyssa, Elektra and Cherie used it so much.

Alyssa shakes her head, “We all just figured that you and Rodrick would want some - privacy - so we all-just-went-home - anyway-,” she tiptoes closer to you with excitement clear on her face, “Is it official now - you and Rodrick?” She whispers.

Fuck no! “Toootally,” you drag it out with a forced, swooning smile on your face. I can’t dig myself any deeper than this… you have to stop yourself from facepalming your forehead. “And what about you and Gareth?” You ask purely to change the subject, your tone overly normal as if you hadn’t been scowling at the pair whenever you caught them together.

Alyssa’s cheeks go red and she tries to hide it by looking down, her infamous cowboy hat helps hide her blushing, “We - er - we’re just frien- I mean - I totally hate him - fuck Corroded Coffin!” She states way too enthusiastically before her ears perk up like a dog towards the sound of Corroded Coffin playing inside, “Huh - I’ve not heard this one before! C’mon - let’s go let’s go!” She shakes your shoulders excitedly, guiding you with nudges towards the door and inside the bar.

You catch yourself grinning at Alyssa’s excitement because it is contagious, it always has been.

The first thing that catches your eye, to your surprise, is Eddie, whose face is scrunched up from singing so passionately. You don’t even notice the crowd of familiar faces dancing and singing in front of you, but you do notice Alyssa squeezing your shoulders - it’s the only thing that you do notice that isn’t Eddie related right now.

“Do you think of me as I’m thinking of you?”

A similar warmth that you felt before comes back at his words and you don’t expect it. Your mouth drops open as you focus on a stray strand of hair that has elegantly and messily fallen over his right eye and then a droplet of sweat that is running down his cheek.

“Have you lost your mind? ‘Cause I’ve lost mine.”

You can’t help but think that you have lost your mind when thoughts of how pretty Eddie Munson looks when he’s singing about you, wielding his guitar with sweat all over him linger in your head.

“This is the most romantic song I’ve ever heard in my entire life!” Alyssa shouts in your ear with a massive grin on her face.

Just you wait until you hear the part where he screams about how much he hates me-

“She says that I’m a loser - I fuckin’ hate that bitch!”

There it is… right on cue.

Your eyes are wide as you continue to watch Eddie, but they are not wide with hate… more - in wonder at the way he sings his lyrics. Though they are words of hate, he delivers them in such a vulnerable and heartbroken way that causes you to be filled with admiration for him… especially after you’d deemed him to be a weak novice at most during his first gig here.

A genuine smile slowly starts to spread from your lips, to your rosy cheeks, to your bright eyes and to the lines between your brows when you realise that this is the most romantic thing that anybody has ever done for you… and of all people, it’s Eddie Munson who has swooned you into a frozen, wordless statue.

“‘Cause she takes and she takes - she won’t give in -,” Eddie’s eyelashes flutter as he sings. He looks so angelic that you don’t notice the stares from your fans who had witnessed the ruckus you’d caused last night, “And they love and they love but I don’t fit in!”

Eddie is completely focused on his guitar and the solo that he shreds from the instrument, like he’s making love to it… it’s intimate, watching his fingers pluck the strings like it’s just him and his guitar in the foggy room, you’re almost jealous (highlight on almost), but you’re the one he’s singing about so you guess it’s a win-win for both you and the guitar…

That is until you feel a tap on your shoulder that breaks your gaze from Corroded Coffin’s frontman. “Why is everybody glaring at you?!” Alyssa whisper-shouts in your ear.

You avoid looking at all of your glaring fans because you can already feel them on you, “I don’t know!” You lie… they’ll come around when they see me back on stage on Monday - it’s just a temporary glitch, you convince yourself, “- But it’s nothing I can’t handle, Al - trust me!”

“She says that I’m a loser - I fuckin’ hate that bitch - ‘cause she takes and she takes - she won’t give in - and they love and they love but I don’t fit in!”

You feel Alyssa squeeze your shoulder in response, her way of saying ‘I trust you’ through physical touch.

The sound of Eddie’s guitar sounds again, drawing you in like it’s calling for you. Eddie then moves closer to the microphone again, his pink and plump lips brushing up against the metal of it, breathing into it before starts to vocalise with the melody he is playing on his guitar. His voice and guitar harmonise together beautifully, especially inside the Hideout where it creates an echoey effect - it sounds like a siren calling to put a spell on everyone in the room… and it’s working.

Then Gareth’s drums then take over Eddie’s guitar and vocals, causing Alyssa to blurt out an excited scream, but you’re still longingly staring at Eddie with a dreamy smile plastered on your lips.

“And they love and they love but I don’t fit in - I’ve lost my mind - but-,” Eddie’s eyes open, not completely as his lids still are half covering his blown-out pupils, and they happen to land dead on you, “m-my - queen will be kind,” he stutters, but quickly gains control over his vocals when he further examines your face, the small smile on it… like you’re actually enjoying yourself… and your eyes… you’re looking at him the way he’s been dreaming for you to look at him for years… it fills him with so much confidence that he doesn’t dare tear his dark eyes away from you.

You ignore Alyssa’s desperate taps on your shoulder and her looming over your shoulder to try and grab your attention, which is showing no sign of budging away from Corroded Coffin’s frontman.

“I’ve lost my mind - I know my queen will be kind,” he doesn’t even blink away from you at the back of the small crowd before him, not even once. “My queen will be kind,” he slurs out the last verse with a smug smile on his face, like the cat who got the cream, and sweat continuously dripping down his face from the exhaustion of his entire set… it only makes you feel more turned on - infatuated, confused, horny - can I be all three of those things at once? I don’t know - I’ve never felt all three so intensely before.

“Why’re you looking at Eddie like that?!” You feel another tap on the shoulder from Alyssa. “Was it about you - the song?!” Yet another tap.

“Maybe it was - who cares?!” You respond, trying to sound as detached as your words, but your eyes still don’t leave Eddie’s while he starts to play the song’s gradual end.

Alyssa looms over your shoulder, no longer staring at you or the stage. Her taps on your shoulder falter, “And if you and Rodrick are official, why is he shoving his tongue down another girl’s throat?!” Her words certainly do grab your attention now, they make your blood run cold after it had been so warm, and cause your head to whip in the direction that Alyssa is looking.

And sure enough, Alyssa hadn’t mistaken Rodrick for somebody else. He is stood at the bar, pulling on another girl’s locks like his life depended on it, his leg tucked between her thighs and the kissing is so messy that you can even see saliva shining around their mouths from where you are.

Your nose twitches, your lips tremble and your entire body temperature is frozen to the point that it feels like a horrible burning sensation when you move even an inch.

I can’t believe him.

It’s not like you are, or ever had been in love with Rodrick - but you assumed that he had enough respect for you not to be doing what he is doing right now… in front of you, your fans, your friends, people that you love - and in the place that you love so dearly.

You become hyper sensitive and aware of your surroundings, unlike before, where you had been focused on none other than Eddie. You are met with glares upon glares while there’s mumbling and whispering all around you now that Corroded Coffin have stopped playing - you no longer feel welcome in a place you call home more than your actual home that you eat and sleep in.

Your heart is pounding twice as fast as when you were stood outside, and your eyes are threatening to spill tears.

This is not how I planned for tonight to go… sneak into the Hideout undetected, listen to Eddie’s song and leave just as undetected as I came… not get caught by Alyssa, develop a crush on Eddie, be detected, see Rodrick making out with another girl, cry on the dance floor.

You can no longer stall the tears, they start to fall in gallons upon gallons and you can’t do anything to hide them, no matter how much you try to wipe them all away with your wrist that is now covered with eyeliner and mascara.

As you furiously keep wiping your tears away, you unintentionally catch a glimpse of Eddie, who is looking back at you with an extremely concerned expression on his face. He’s no longer smiling sweetly, his eyes are no longer bright or full of want, no, need for you, but there’s still yearning in them that is still tempting you.

No, you shake your head, looking down. Tonight was important for him and I want my smiling face, enjoying his song, to be how he remembers tonight… and how his face lit up when he saw me to be how I remember tonight. You stare straight at the exit of the Hideout - I need to get out of here fast - and make a beeline for it, wiggling yourself out of Alyssa’s embrace and pushing past people, hearing them booing you and saying things like: ‘I can’t believe I ever was a fan - Corroded Coffin are where it’s at!’

When you reach the door you take a deep breath, preparing yourself for the bliss of fresh, cold air and silence.

It’s still raining outside, maybe even more heavily than before you set foot in the Hideout, but you don’t care. You face the sky, scrunching you’re eyes shut and let the rain fall onto your skin and drench your clothes. The loud sounds of rain droplets continuously falling around you and the sensation of water on your skin nearly makes you forget about what just happened.

That’s the second commotion you’ve caused in two nights, Vamp - I don’t know whether to congratulate you or pity you. You force out a laugh that comes out in small chokes.

The door to the Hideout opens and shuts, the creak that it makes is quieter than you expect, but the rain is just that loud.

“Vamp?” Eddie. You refuse to look at him directly, but you can make out his frame in the corner of your eye, “Vamp - hey,” he jogs towards you and stops when he’s stood right in front of you, you stare at his sneaker-clad feet.

“Hey, Eddie,” you pause before saying his name in a small voice that makes him visibly deflate, you suppose he was expecting a sassy response like ‘what the hell are you looking at, Munson?’, but you don’t give him that - you don’t give him anything.

Eddie roughly pulls his bandana off of his head, “If it’s about the song, ‘m sorry… but I didn’t think you’d be here after the whole ‘fuck you, fuck this, fuck that’ ordeal earlier,” he rambles, which makes you giggle through a few more tears.

You suck in all of your pride and drag your eyes from his sneakers to meet his own eyes, that are full of concern for you, “I’m - not upset because of t-the song,” you mumble softly, but loud enough for him to hear. Your eyes flicker between both of his eyes and you notice small droplets of water gathering on his eyelashes, “I - I loved it, Eddie.”

He blinks, “Y-you - did?”

A weak giggle leaves your lips, “Mhm - I did. I know - I’m shocked too.” You wipe your eyes again, but with your other wrist now, “You should go - back inside, Eddie - you’ll catch a cold - I’m fine,” you state, surprising concern for him showing in your voice.

“I’m not leaving you out here alone,” Eddie shakes his head firmly, his hair now clinging to his shoulders from how soaked its getting due to the rain, he’d stay outside and happily drown in the rain if he got to hear you say his name once more - it sounds angelic coming from your lips.

“But-.”

“No, I’m not going anywhere-,” he boldly states before his eyes soften under your gaze, “M-kay?”

You look up at him with half-lidded eyes… it’s kinda funny how the person who cares the most is the person who I’ve spent so much time hating. “Okay,” you whisper with a little, shy smile on your face.

Eddie’s lips tug up into a smug smile that you would’ve punched off if he hadn’t have written such a beautiful song for you, or cared for you more than anyone else you know. He slowly brings his bandana towards your face, cautiously dabbing and wiping away your smudged and runny make-up from your eyes. His tongue is peeking past his lips and his eyes are furrowed in pure concentration, but his hands are shaking from nerves - he’s never seen you this close-up before and he doesn’t know what to say, or think, so he decides to just enjoy this moment.

You examine each other’s features so closely that you become dizzy. Eddie brings his spare hand up to your shoulder, steadying you gently when he realises that you’re leaning closer - you forget that Rodrick even exists until you find yourself gazing at Eddie’s lips.

Fuck it - if he can move on that quickly then so can I.

“Did you mean them?” You find yourself asking timidly while he’s still carefully wiping your make-up away.

He pauses his small movements around your eyes to focus on your question, “Mean them - as innn? My totally metal moves on that stage tonight?” He jokes nervously, making his dimples stand out.

You giggle with a roll of your eyes before punching his chest gently with your fist, “N-no, dummy,” you cringe at yourself for being so soft, but you can’t help it because he’s being so soft and gentle with you. He’s chuckling at being called a ‘dummy’ by you, resuming cleaning your face with his bandana, which you take the opportunity to calm your nerves by deeply exhaling and closing your eyes, “I meant your words - about me,” your words come out so softly that for a moment you wonder if he has heard you, but him halting his movements again and hearing him taking a deep breath confirms to you that he has - you open your eyes.

I must look like a complete mess right now, you realise, with your hair soaked and your eyes heavy and dark with patches of eyeshadow that Eddie hadn’t wiped away yet… but he is looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

His Adam’s apple bobs up and down before he nods shyly, his eyes wavering from yours for a brief second, “Y-yeah, every word.”

There’s a hint of fear and guilt in his eyes, but you can’t bring yourself to be angry at him for essentially calling you an egotistical ‘bitch’ right now when you are feeling so many other intense feelings that are urging you to just bite the bullet and kiss him… before you think too hard about it, you reach for his shoulders and quickly close the distance between you, capturing his plump pink lips with your own.

He falls backward slightly at your momentum and the way that you practically throw your body at his. He’s completely frozen against you with his eyes wide open while you eagerly move your lips on his… shit - did I just make a massive mista- to your surprise, the moment that you start to think about pulling away to apologise, he kisses you back.

His lips taste like the beer he probably downed before his show, and with every second that you kiss them, you’re hungry for more of him so you satisfy your need for him by sliding your hands from his shoulders to behind his neck for more skin to skin contact. You press your fingers into the back of his neck, which makes him grunt against you and the kiss becomes even more desperate.

His technique is kinda sloppy, literally, but you’re already so wet from the rain that a little more isn’t going to hurt.

As you slip your tongue into his mouth his hands dive for your soaked hair and pull, making you moan into the kiss and he takes the opportunity to explore your mouth with his tongue now.

Your nose bumps against his larger one as you fight for dominance, which isn’t hard because when you slide your hands into his damp curly hair he is putty in your arms. He falls backward slightly as you press him against the exterior wall of the front of the Hideout, making him hold onto you even tighter, pulling your entire body against him so that there is not a single gap between your bodies… you can feel his erection through his jeans, pressing against your stomach, which causes him to whine, and you to smirk into the kiss… already? I know I’m good but I didn’t know I was that good.

“Vamp-,” he mumbles dreamily, breathlessly before taking a millisecond to gather some more breath. “I- my pants-,” his face is completely pink, except for his cheeks which are cherry red, “it - it hurts.”

You pull away from the kiss for a brief moment, leaning your upper half back to look down at where your hips meet, “You mean your-” You whisper with an amused look on your face.

He looks down too at where you both are connected, nodding after, “Y-yeah, in case you haven’t noticed - ‘m kinda - hard,” he mumbles quickly in a sarcastic tone.

You bite your bottom lip to stop yourself from giggling, “Jeez, Eddie - we’ve been making out for three minutes tops.”

Eddie keeps his head low, sliding one of his hands down from your hair to your cheek, using his fingertips to drag along your skin, “I know I know, it’s not like I’ve been dreaming about this for years or anything like some freak.” He finally decides to look up at you, and as if he is checking that you are real, he swipes his thumb over your cheekbone, “Besides, it’s not like I’m a Casanova or anything. This-,” he gestures between the two of you with his other hand, “happens to me… never,” he admits.

“Never?” You ask in a hushed, high pitched voice, gazing at him so intensely while you wait for an answer.

You know that he knows what you’re asking exactly because his face gets even redder, embarrassed. He shakes his head, “Never.” His eyes try to read your facial expression in response to him revealing that he is, in fact, a virgin - he wonders if he has scared you away for a second, but you stay firmly in his arms, which is good enough of an answer for him.

The thought of nobody else having touched him actually turns you on even more… if he had told you a few days ago you might’ve called him ‘lame’ just to get a rise out of him, but it wouldn’t have been the truth - you admire him for waiting.

“Can I - touch you?” You ask cautiously, resting your hand on his shoulder while your other one stays tangled in his wet hair, “It’s totally okay if you don’t want me to.”

Eddie’s eyes widen, “Fuck - yes, of course I want you to touch me, Vamp - it’s just-,” he examines your surroundings, suspiciously staring at some drunk people who stagger out of the Hideout without noticing either of you just metres away from the door. “Out here?” He asks in a small voice, locking eyes with you again. His pupils are blown out with excitement, adrenaline and nerves that you can tell he’s trying to fight off… because the thought of being jacked off by you with the risk of getting caught is intriguing him - and making him even more hard, which he didn’t think could be possible considering his cock is already straining his jeans.

“You - think I’m being crazy right?” Your lips tug up to the side before you let out a small giggle.

Eddie giggles with you, “Crazy hot.”

You shake your head, giggling even more, “Dork.”

I can’t believe I’m flirting with Eddie Munson right now.

You can tell that everything you’re doing is turning him on even more, even calling him a dork, “D-do it - touch me, Vamp,” he whispers with a scrunched up face.

You hum in response, staring at him for a few seconds before capturing his lips into a second kiss that is so full of anticipation and heavy breathing. You slide your hand down the outfit that he had been wearing all day, over his Black Sabbath t-shirt and jeans - once your fingertips touch the small area of his belly that is peeking between the hem of his shirt and jeans his breath hitches.

“F-fuck - I - can’t believe - we’re doing this,” he admits breathlessly with a little chuckle into the kiss while your hand dares to go even lower.

Your hand gently cups his erection over his jeans, “Y-you - mean - out here?” You say between more kisses.

“Well - yeah - that too, but I meant - you and me,” he mumbles against your mouth dreamily while you give him a light squeeze, which makes him moan into your mouth, “We - hated - each other this - morning- ah!” He whines when you give him a harder squeeze to stop him from rambling desperately against your mouth.

“Oh - I still - hate you, Munson,” You unconvincingly say between kisses.

Eddie chuckles lowly, “Then - I - hate - you - more… I - hate - you - so - much,” his words sound just as unconvincing as yours.

You smile against his lips, thinking about how cute it is that he can’t keep his mouth shut, but he has to keep quiet if he doesn’t want any of the drunk staggerers coming out of the Hideout to notice the both of you together. “Just shut - up and let me - help you,” you mumble into more kisses, to which he responds with a hum and a gyrate of his hips.

He keeps rolling his hips into yours while your hand keeps palming him, making himself whimper and hungry for you to actually stick your hand down his pants and touch him.

You fiddle with the hem of his jeans while you kiss messily, the rest of your arms all over each other, and just as you’re about to stick your hand down his pants you hear your name being called… but it’s not Eddie’s voice - it’s Rodrick’s.

Hearing his voice makes your blood bubble with anger again, and your heart to sink down to your feet upon realisation that another moment had been ruined for you tonight by Rodrick.

You push Eddie away, which makes him ricochet back off of the wall and towards you, but you’re already facing Rodrick with a scowl on your face, “Rodrick.”

His face looks heartbroken, disappointed, angry, but you don’t feel a thing or a morsel of regret for kissing Eddie, “One minute you guys hate the shit outta each other and now you’re gettin’ it on outside my home… the fuck have I just walked into, Vamp?”

You open your mouth to speak, but Alyssa appears behind Rodrick, looking between you and Eddie with confusion written all over her face, “I can explain, Al,” you tell her with a pleading look.

Rodrick let’s out a sarcastic chuckle, “So she gets an explanation but I don’t?” He points at Alyssa with a thumb over his shoulder and speaks in a tone of disbelief.

“You think you deserve one?” You ask, your voice laced with distrust. Rodrick raises a brow, trying his hardest to look confused. “I saw you in there, Rodrick - playing tonsil tennis with that girl.”

Rodrick shakes his head before bringing a hand up to his chin, squeezing it between his thumb and index finger, “What was it that you said earlier? Oh yeah - ‘you’re not my boyfriend, Rodrick’ - and what was the other bit?” He thinks again for a second before a lightbulb switches on inside his head, “‘Eddie sure as hell isn’t my boyfriend either.’”

You can feel Eddie’s piercing stare on you at the mention of his name, the rest of his face is sort of dumbfounded, blank, and he visibly deflates with a long exhale, letting himself fall back against the wall.

“Oh fuck you, Rodrick!” You burst, feeling your eyes tear up from the anger boiling so hot inside you.

Rodrick smirks, pouting his bottom lip, “You won’t be, but she will,” he nods in the direction of the Hideout before turning himself back to the entrance, “See you Monday,” he mumbles before letting himself back into the bar, where muffled music can be heard from the stereo on the bar inside.

Your breathing is rapid and hot as you watch him, but your eyes sadden when they avert to Alyssa, who looks so downtrodden and disappointed in you, and you can’t be angry at her after you’d mocked and teased her for wanting to date Gareth, practically forbidding her from going anywhere near him… and here you are, kissing his best friend after swearing to her and the rest of your band that you loathed him.

Alyssa looks down at her fiddling fingers, “I - need to go home and - think about - stuff,” she mumbles, starting to turn away from you.

“Alyssa,” you call softly, watching her stop at the sound of your voice.

“I won’t tell Elektra and Cherie if that’s what you’re worried about,” she tells you softly, looking over her shoulder to give you a sad, closed mouth smile before taking her cowboy hat off and walking in the direction of her home.

A few minutes of silence pass and Eddie is still stood against the wall, watching you, but you’re too angry at yourself to speak… what was I even thinking? Making out with Eddie Munson out here - no, scratch that, making out with Eddie Munson full stop. It felt good to be in his arms - too good.

“Vamp,” you hear him mumble, causing you to catch a glance of him, his eyes still express deep concern and care for you which confuses your anger even more.

“I’m gonna go,” you say under your breath, glimpsing at his lips and turning yourself away before you attempt to kiss him again and fall in love even more.

“Vamp-,” he repeats as he takes a step towards you, ignoring the pain in his pants when he moves his legs.

You abruptly turn yourself around to face Eddie again and though you swore to yourself that you wouldn’t kiss him again a second ago… you find yourself leaning into him, crashing your lips against his roughly for a few seconds before pushing him away from you - no no no, what am I doing? “Leave me alone, Eddie,” you turn yourself away from him and start walking again.

“No - wait,” He catches your hand in his and gently tugs at it, his touch sending shivers through you, making you spin to face him once more. He’s looking down at your hand that is barely visible in his larger, veinier one that has little doodles on it that he probably drew during class yesterday. His eyes flicker up at your face, watching you react to the exact same tingles that he felt where your skin is touching his, “You - you feel that too, right? The electricity?”

Yes, everywhere - and I’m scared because I’ve never felt it before other than when I’m with you… and maybe that’s why I hated you, because I’m just a stupid scaredy cat about anything more than just a quick fuck before and after a gig with Rodrick… is what you want to say, but are too scared to actually voice it… maybe I can show it, that I do feel it too. You look at his lips for what feels like the thousandth time today, yet you aren’t tired of the sight of them, then you pull him towards you with your connected hands, kissing him. He loses himself in your kiss for a few seconds before his eyes open and he nudges you away, cutting the kiss short.

Eddie shakes his head, flustered, “No - no, I want to hear you say it,” he pleads breathlessly, watching your face contort into one of bewilderment at his sudden rejection for your kiss, “Please.”

You bite your lips together, thinking about it, but your brain can hardly come to any kind of conclusion because too much has happened… my mind is a mess, I just can’t think - I need some time alone to try and fix the mess that I’ve made over the last few days… my band, Alyssa - poor Alyssa.

Eddie looks up at the sky as if he’s praying for help from above before looking down at you and squeezing your hand that’s still encased by his, “C’mon, Vamp - you’re killing me here-.”

You scoff, “Me? Killing you?”

“Uh huh-.”

“You say that as if you haven’t destroyed my reputation at the Hideout, as if you haven’t taken away what was supposed to be Stake’s Halloween gig, as if I didn’t just lose a friend and - potentially my band just for kissing you,” you ramble, not realising that you’re squeezing Eddie’s hand for reassurance, like it’s a stress ball.

Eddie, however, does notice your lethal grip and looks down at your hands, choking out a little chuckle, “And yet you’re still holding my hand like a vice - gee, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you have feelings for me.”

Your face drops as you reach boiling point at yourself for giving your feelings away so easily. You snatch your hand out of Eddie’s immediately, dropping it back to your side with brute force, “Now I hate you,” you grumble. You both try to give each other hard eyes to try and express hate, but you both land up giving each other a soft, smouldering look that you just can’t fall for again, so you groan and turn on your heel, “Don’t you dare follow me this time, Munson - because I won’t be kissing you again!” You yell as you cross the quiet road to get to the woods.

“Good!” He yells back, watching your frame longingly as you walk away.

“Fantastic!” You shout, now letting your tears of want for him fall down your cheeks and onto the mud and leaves that crunch under your feet. You half expect him to shout back another word like ‘brilliant’ or ‘great’ that you’re sure will send another jab to your heart, but there’s only silence after that and you don’t know what’s worse - him giving up, or hearing another word that expresses how happy he is to know that you won’t be kissing him again.

This is the first and last time that Eddie Munson makes me cry.

⇝ 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐅𝐢𝐯𝐞

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠! 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆!!!!! 𝐈𝐭'𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐲 <𝟑

𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 ’𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒’ 𝐨𝐫 ’𝐄𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐌𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧’ 𝐭𝐚𝐠-𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰!

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ↯

𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒

@big-ope-vibes @majesticjellyfishzombie @b-ritney @joyfulcandyrunaway @sidthedollface2 @aysheashea @spookycreepycookie @bookobsessedfreak @lefdepard @rottinglexi @aol19 @loki-loves-cats @eddieslooneymoonie @sillypurplemurple @hllfrclb @weirdkidfromtheupsidedown

𝐄𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐌𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

@introvertedmouse @munsonology @fastnights @kathieycarrerarosshley @marjoriea13 @goldengunspinkrosses-blog @lolalanaie @neteyamsluvts @sadbitchfangirl

🜸

[harrywavycurly]

Y’all…imagine it’s present time but Wayne is still the same age he was in the show and Eddie is in his late twenties. But now imagine if Wayne was a rockstar in the 80’s like full on lead guitarist for someone like Ted Nugent(that’s super random but like fits Wayne’s ascetic) but then he decided he didn’t really want to be on the road anymore so he hung up his guitar and moved to the middle of no where Hawkins, Indiana. He picked the quiet life where no one knows him or his past and honestly he likes it that way but then one day he gets a knock on his door and there stands his ten year old nephew Eddie.

Now imagine if you’re around thirteen or so and new to town and move a few trailers down from Eddie and Wayne, you see them for the first time on their front porch and you instantly recognize Wayne. You don’t say anything just smile and wave but then you rush home and find one of his old records and go “i knew it!” when you see Wayne on the cover. You make a mental note to ask Eddie about his uncle sometime after you’ve properly introduced yourself. But you meet Wayne first and he can tell by the way your eyes go all big that you know who he is so be quietly asks you not to mention it to anyone. So naturally you don’t tell anyone, you do however from time to time get him to tell you stories about what his old life was like.

It’s not until Eddie is a teenager that he picks up the guitar for the first time, now even Eddie has no idea who his uncle was so when Wayne takes notice he just assumes it’s because he’s his uncle and is supposed to take an interest in his hobbies. Wayne knows how finicky the music business is and he isn’t going to risk using his old connections unless he knows for a fact Eddie has the talent and he drive to take this seriously. But then that would mean he has to tell Eddie all about his 80’s rocker days.

Eddie when Wayne tells him he was a rockstar in the 80’s:

[lavendermunson]

rockstar!eddie munson x best friend fem!reader

Eddie left a note before leaving, his band has been getting bigger and now that you are both in Hawkins, he's not going to waste any more time.

"Hey sweetheart, i have practice and soundcheck all day but i hope you can come and watch us at 8:00. Here's your ticket, please eat well… you can stay here as long as you want. — Eddie"

full fic here!!