#modernrockstar

[undead-supernova]

Right Here, Right Now / Masterlist

Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11

plot: corroded coffin's eddie munson agrees to an interview for the first time in three years, alongside a new album that is most definitely about you.

Pairings: modernrockstar!Eddie x fem!popstar!Reader (curvy!reader, bisexual!reader)

Warnings: talks of familial death, depressing lyricism, angst

wc: 4.1k

note: I also wrote all of the lyrics in this chapter and made the images above of the album's cover and tracklist. I feel so proud of how much my hard work is paying off. DON'T USE THESE LYRICS ANYWHERE ELSE THANK YEW

Just one more mile.

You could do it. No, really, you could.

Tour really was coming up in the next six months and you had to build up your stamina now or else you weren’t going to survive. Things really were better now, though. You’d gotten rid of your personal trainer and switched to someone who did not suggest that you stop eating. It seemed like Sophia was a better fit anyways. If anything, she told you to eat more.

So here you were, on your poor attempt at a night run.

And you promised yourself that you wouldn’t think about him and how his album was dropping any day now.

Definitely, definitely not.

It was nearly midnight anyways, a few out from the witching hour but that’s not how it went for you. If anything, you were cursed with the threat of midnight being the worst hour of each day. It was like some switch flicked on and you were a mess of a woman, splayed out in bed and thinking. Furiously scribbling in a notebook as you lost to the thoughts in your head. Curled up in a ball in the shower, the white noise perfect for your never-ending thinking.

And who could forget sitting in your kitchen with a bowl of Kraft mac and cheese. Don’t forget the thinking.

Thinking about Eddie. His voice. The way he was willing to give you more than you deserved without any rhyme or reason. How desperate you felt to reconnect, to apologize profusely and beg for some semblance of forgiveness.

And now you were here, trying to outrun your problems while watching the headlights passing the windowpane.

Tried to stop thinking about how at any moment, Eddie could show up and you’d fall into his arms without any question. You’d tell him it didn’t matter. None of it did. And he’d say he wasn’t mad anymore and that he missed you and then you’d go on living like you once did.

Before you could lose yourself to wishing on headlights, a notification popped up on your phone.

         Spotify exclusive: Listen to Corroded Coffin’s new album now!

Without any warning, you lost your footing on the treadmill and fell backwards. Hit your head on the floor, stunned. Let the pain throb in your head for only a few seconds before you dragged your body upright and clicked on the album.

Your eyes scanned the track list, heart pumping incessantly as a bead of blood rushed down your forehead. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Quickly, you threw yourself into the shower to wash off before grabbing headphones and padding into your walk-in closet. Situated yourself in the back corner, your body fitting snuggly in isolation. 

And as you pressed that green play button, your grief washed over you at every line you called your favorite.

Welcome Home

         “Dad’s disappearing acts and the award-winning smile 

         saying ‘sure, I’ll be comin’ back’

         Well, I guess we’re both suckers for a little hope every once in a while

         And, mom, is that why you stayed? Waited up praying, decaying all alone

         Just so one day, you’d be able to say, ‘Welcome home’.”

Fever

         “How could you ever fight a fever? God dammit, she’s more than a flame

         Got her pinning me down, locked inside her heat wave

         Sweat dripping, flesh gripping, I melt from her gaze

         Just one more round, promise I’ll behave

         Come on, darling, why don’t you set me ablaze?”

The Cost

         “I ruined all the plans that hadn’t been made

         Loving you as the bellbirds erupted in a haunted chorus

         Rosy pink clouds turned into showers of blood and hate

         I’m trying, baby, I’m trying to find a way out for us

         But isn’t that the cost, darling? 

         Isn’t that the price of being with me?”

Tailor-Made

         “We’re the only ones walking through the neighborhood

         Sweetheart, don’t you think I know how to hide?

         I’d never speak it, but I’d buy every house if I could

         Marry you in secret, raise our kids benevolent and kind.”

Rose Petals (Interlude)

         “Take a boy-turned-man, crucifying himself at your altar

         Convince him your devoted infatuation will never falter

         Paint his skies a vibrant pink then turn him into sheet metal

         Leave him bleeding out, fractured, scattered like rose petals.”

As Good As Dead

         “What’s more cliché than a man saying he’d die without your love

         At least if I had an open vein, I’d feel something better than being numb

         ‘There’s no such thing as fate’ my thoughts screamed so fucking loud

         But there was comfort in blind faith, that ill-fated crowd

         Had a grip on your throat. Shit, maybe it always has

         But now that I’m as good as dead, I can’t help my bitter laugh.”

A Mirage of Lovers

         “There sat Elizabeth and Al,

         on the front porch of their first house

         Blind with momentary affection

         And I swear when I looked at you,

         I thought you were a lasting confection

         But I swear there’s a mirage of lovers

         Blurring in its reflection.”

Deluge

         “It’s all there in my head, all in disarray

         A cesspool of memories, a desperation for change

         Fought for my life, thought it was so I could see you

         Mother, I know that you’re not here, I’m still trying to heal

         But please tell me now that love has always been real

         Yet I wonder if you ever believed it yourself."

Hotwire

         “Al loved a nice Hotwire

         Pull ‘em apart, let them fray, twist ‘em till they go insane

         And, yeah, I guess everyone I love is the same.”

Fallen Hero (Interlude)

         “Every time I pick up a pen

         It’s destined to dry out

         And I refuse to go outside, refuse to call my friends

         What’s the point when they’ll never understand?

         I’ll leave myself behind just to have a pinch of hope

         But I come back down from daydreams covered in blood

         Just gotta learn to change, learn to change

         Learn to accept being the fallen hero."

Intangible

         “There’s beauty in the ways of intangibility 

         Like the touch of a woman in blushing gardens far away

         The curve of her hips blooming in shades of futility

         Laughter billowing like smoke lingering in the archway

         And there’s places she will never be able to evade

         A bouquet, a veil, a lover lying await in the shade.”

Out of My Hands

         “If I could hear your knock, brought back by my revery

         Each rap, each tap still committed to my memory

         But that’s up to you, darling, it’s all up to you

         And it’s the end I’m stalling, just for you

         And I love you, baby. I love you

         I hope you know I always will

         Even if it’s out of my hands.”

Wayne

         “There’s a new family in the trailer, I really wish I could believe it

         'Cause once I thought we'd buckle under the weight of all that labor

         No more scrounging up pennies for another first-aid kit

         And you’re not here, Wayne. No, you’re not here.”

Lighter

         “Give me back my lighter, any excuse to see you

         Let it flicker, sit by the flame from sunrise ’til noon

         Come running back, consider your exile foregone

         I choose you in the low glow of dusk, love you ‘til dawn.”

Makeup starting to smudge, an outrageously expensive crop top and skirt still on, you threw off your pumps and let your aching feet lead you to the kitchen. Your black, white, and neon orange plaid outfit reflected vibrantly off the refrigerator light as you decided instead to make crescent rolls. Why the fuck not? 

You were absolutely exhausted. Sleep hadn’t been an option for you in the last twenty-four hours, what with Corroded Coffin’s album keeping you awake and the promo you’d done all day. When you’d finally arrived back to your small California home, you were irritated and in desperate need of some food.

However, as the oven began to preheat, your jumbled thoughts kept piling on top of one another. The fog was too loud for you, having to rush to your living room to grab one of your many notebooks and pens. Sat at the island and just journaled.

It was hard enough knowing that Eddie had written all of that for you. About you. The disappointment, the self-loathing. The guilt of not feeling good enough. Searching through the past mistakes of his parents to make sense of the way you fell apart. As if that was the inevitable ending to any story he was destined to begin.

You felt sick.

And even though you ate every single crescent roll, your words just sunk into the page. You could’ve sworn a third of the notebook itself was smeared in grease and flakes and the intense shame rising in your chest. It was everything you’d hated about the last six months and more, all the goddamn childish emotions and wails of what was fair and what wasn’t. As if this hadn’t been your decision in the first place.

Enough was enough when you finished your plate.

“Okay,” you mumbled to yourself before letting out a sound of frustration. “Distraction. Now.”

Grabbing your laptop, you threw yourself on your couch and logged onto YouTube. Maybe you’d watch a deep dive on an amusement park. Catch up on some commentary. Look up that one video of baby sloths talking that usually had you crying from affection.

But there on the front page was an interview with Corroded Coffin on the new album. There’d already been over a million views despite being posted that morning. Something pooled in your abdomen as you saw the thumbnail, all the members posing together.

And you knew you shouldn’t.

But fuck it, what’s a little more salt to your never-ending wounds?

As you clicked on the video, some interviewer you hadn’t heard of popped up smiling before he spoke.

“Hi, my name is Marcus Sanderson and today I’m interviewing one of the most successful metal bands in recent history, Corroded Coffin. They have been hitting commercial success lately, after their incredible album, Fire Shroud, held electronic influences which have begun to redefine and evolve the genre for the modern age.

"Their most recent album, Elizabeth & Al, has only propelled them forward. I was given the rare opportunity to talk to Eddie, Jeff, Gareth, Grant, and Ronnie about not only their writing and producing process, but their personal lives. 

“First, we’ll open up with a cover of one of the band’s favorite songs of all time, ‘Solitude’ by Black Sabbath.”

It cut to the band and you couldn’t help a frustrated whine leaving your mouth at seeing him again. And, Jesus Christ, Eddie was fit like a daydream, donning a black Guns N’ Roses t-shirt with dark jeans and a long-sleeved plaid shirt tied at the waist. A shiny leather jacket, some custom-made Converse with Corroded Coffin across the bottom. Rings and bracelets galore, an obsidian choker hanging low on his neck. Black eyeliner that had wings along his lower lash line. 

You didn’t think you’d ever felt so fucking weak for him.

He stood without his guitar for once, his full attention on his singing. Jeff, Gareth, Grant, and Ronnie were all decked out too, makeup mirroring Eddie’s. All looking refreshed and well-rested. You noticed there was someone else there in the background playing the flute and as they started the song with a gentle solo, it sounded ethereal.

         “My name, it means nothing. My fortune is less

         My future is shrouded in dark wilderness.”

Eddie avoided the camera, eyes darting around the room. You could see his fingers shaking, white-knuckled around the microphone despite the stability of the stand. 

         “Sunshine is far away, clouds linger on

         Everything I possessed, now they are gone

         They are gone.”

Absentmindedly chewing on your lip, you couldn't help but let it sink in. This wasn't just the band's favorite Black Sabbath song—this was Eddie's. He'd told you how the song ripped him apart. How he'd rather die than to ever relate to it personally.

         “Oh, where can I go to and what can I do?

         Nothing can please me, only thoughts are of you

         You just left when I begged you to stay.”

He leaned back as he began to change the notes of the lyrics, his voice building into a belt. Like it was a wail, like he was the most furious man alive.

         “I’ve not stopped crying since you went away

         You went away…” 

The instrumental sounded, the flute having its own solo. Extending the moment, extending the devastation that was demolishing your soul.

Eddie was crying now, wiping the corners of his eyes in the background. Smearing his eyeliner like he didn't care, nose tinged pink through the makeup. And when he came back to the mic, you could see the pain sitting in his eyes. All glassy, all excruciatingly fragile.

         “The world is a lonely place, you’re on your own

         Guess I will go home, sit down and mourn

         Crying and thinking is all that I do

         Memories I have remind me of you

         Of you.”

The footage blurred, fading before cutting to Eddie sitting alone in a chair with the interviewer opposite him. Like they were in a house, all casual and at ease.

“We’re starting off by talking to the front man, Eddie Munson,” Marcus said to the camera, smiling before turning his attention back to Eddie. “It’s nice to see you, man. You look great.”

Eddie chuckled. “Great to be back.”

Marcus nodded. “That cover of ‘Solitude’ was incredible, by the way.”

You could see some color flood into Eddie’s cheeks. “Ah, thanks. Thank you.”

“Do you feel like you’ve been in a period of solitude?”

“Uh, to be honest, kinda. I know people are, like, freaking out just ‘cause I haven’t been in public.”

“Where’ve you been?”

“Just making sure I’m focused on the work,” He gestured to himself before mimicking a pushing motion “and not on the external stuff, you know?”

“As we all should. Would you tell me a bit about your new album? Personally, I’m curious as to why you specifically named it Elizabeth & Al.”

“Yeah, uh, those are my parents’ names. My mom passed away when I was a kid and my dad…well, he wasn’t the best. But I just couldn’t stop thinking about what happens when two people who love each other just end up falling apart. Like, you just feel like you’re as good as dead, you know? And I wondered if my parents had that sort of crash and burn before she died.

“I don’t talk about it much, but my dad had a lot of issues with addiction and gambling and crime after my mom died. I didn’t grow up with the generic parent bleep. It was more like I was his friend than a son and sometimes I was a business partner. And, I don’t know, I grew up thinking that love could’ve been so simple if he gave just a little bit of effort. But I still thought he and my mom had a simple love.”

“I’m guessing they didn’t.”

Eddie let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah, no. My dad was never really good at maintaining, like, any kind of control. And it’s so weird ‘cause all he ever did was try to have control over things. But it was self-sabotage, I think. He was never in control over his life. It felt so predestined.”

“What about your mom?”

He shrugged. “I’m not really sure. I think she just wanted love. Like, grasping for that shred of love that he provided every once in a while. ‘Cause it’s not like my dad was incapable of love. Just incapable of giving her everything. Maybe I’m projecting now, but you know what I mean.”

“So, is this album from the perspective of your parents?”

“Not exactly,” Eddie said, shaking his head. “They’re kinda just the reflection, you know? Like what I say on ‘A Mirage of Lovers’. Our parents end up being a kind of mirror we hold up to ourselves. And I think it’s up to us to decide if we’ll continue that cycle or not—especially in the face of heartbreak and loss. ‘Cause you can easily sit there and accuse yourself of being like your father or your mother. But ultimately, you’re just you. You’re not your parents.”

“And you wrote all of this within the last six months, correct?”

“Yeah, it was weird. Like, I just couldn’t stop writing. I was in such a dark place and the only thing I did was sit and write. And the band is so bleeping incredible. I showed them what I was thinking, and they were super, super receptive to it. And we got to work and got it done faster than anything else we’ve made.”

Marcus smiled, something genuine and real, shaking his head in disbelief. “That timeline really does shock me, just because it’s so seamless. There’s all these tiny details and every song just flows into one another.”

“Thanks, man. That means a lot. We kinda thought that having all the songs connect was sorta like, um, a stream of consciousness, essentially.” He started gesturing with his hands and you knew he was getting more comfortable. It almost made you smile. “Like, these thoughts all run together in a big loop. Like having one of those corkboards with all the evidence and red strings, you know? All of it just ends up running together and there’s no concrete answer. It just is.

“And, man. Jeff, Gareth, Grant, and Ronnie are just the best. They know me better than almost anyone and they seemed to automatically get what they needed to do. Just, like, boom, boom, boom. One after the other, we just got everything right. No one else helped produce this album and I think it shows just how much we’ve learned and evolved over our careers.” 

You felt something freeze inside you when the interviewer mentioned your name.

Eddie tried his best to seem unaffected, but you knew he was starting to squirm. You could see the top of his knee as it bounced.

“Are you two still together?” Marcus asked. “What’s the story there?”

Eddie’s eyes wandered the room, probably trying to calculate the best way to go. You selfishly wanted him to say nothing about the breakup, to refuse to confirm that it was truly over. 

He cleared his throat before scratching his temple. 

“My relationship with her is private and just between us. It always has. But I guess since I finally have a chance to say whatever I want to say, I want to make it very clear that the way the media has treated her has been just disgusting and unwarranted. She is not some plastic, shiny doll for everyone to point and laugh at."

Eddie then straightened his posture as he looked straight into the camera. "Oh, and let me be clear. If you’re sitting there talking about her bleeping body, then you are a piece of bleeping bleep and I hope you burn in hell.”  

Just like that, Marcus Sanderson moved on, the shot cutting away to a shot of the rest of the band sitting on a couch. But you weren’t listening anymore. Your head was swirling with a concoction of disbelief and epiphanies. Something…clicked.

Because you’d never had a partner mention you on a public scale. Never had a partner willing to scream your love from the top of the world and still retain privacy. Never had someone so willing to defend you despite your faults. Despite your arguments and downfalls.

And you were realizing that you…had done none of that for Eddie.

You’d sat there, in a dreamy haze because Eddie gave you everything he had. But had you really done any of those things back? Had you given him an ounce of what he gave you? 

You thought back to the AMAs, when you walked around your answers. Nearly yelled at him for standing up for you. Dropped his hand when he wanted to tell you how proud he was. Hell, you even broke up with him because of what other people said. He thought you wanted nothing from him, that you weren’t interested anymore. 

You never even said you loved him to his face.

You treated him exactly the way all your past partners treated you.

Eddie Munson had given you his world and you’d given him a fraction.

“I fucked up,” you whispered before you really processed what was happening. “I FUCKED UP!” you screeched, scrambling to stand up and check your phone. 

1:13am.

Immediately dropped it, watching it slide under the couch.

“FUCK!” you screamed again.

Dropping to your knees and enduring the carpet burn, you reached down and felt around for your phone. But you froze as you felt something else, something smaller in size. Pulled it out, recognizing Eddie’s lighter immediately. 

You flicked the lighter on, only encountering sparks the first two times. But when you watched it transform into a flame, something in your chest began to ache. It was the kindling of a once-wet fireplace, the first stroke of fire you’d felt in months. Teardrops fell freely down your chest as you found the will to fight.

Fight for what you knew you could never live without.

Fight for Eddie.

Give me back my lighter, any excuse to see you

Come running back, consider your exile foregone

Without any thought, you stuffed it into your top, found your phone, and popped up to search for some socks. Barely registered the color before yanking them on. You didn’t care how dressed up you were or how oily your face felt. How exhausted your body was or the residue of a crescent roll sticking to the side of your mouth.

You had to get to wherever Eddie was, and you had to get there now. If you didn’t talk to him tonight, you didn’t know if you’d make it to daylight.

But where was he?

The thought made you pause, hands shaking as you thought.

And before the panic could completely consume you, you called the one person who seemed to know everything.

“Woah, hello there.”

“Jeff.” 

“Hey, long time no see. Where you been?”

“Jeff, I’m sorry, but I really need you to tell me if Eddie is in California right now.”

“Uh, yeah, he is.” You tugged your white Keds on, breathing a sigh of relief. “He’s been holed up in his place for the last few days. Why?”

“I just need to talk to him,” you said, nearly out of breath as you started sprinting to the garage. “I need to talk to him.”

“Ever thought about calling?”

“Nope.”

Jeff’s laughter rang through the receiver. “You’re crazy, girl. I’ll give you that one.” A huff left your nose as you climbed into your car. “You gonna tell him you’re in love with him?”

“Yeah, yeah I am.”

“Finally.”

“Are you mad at me?” you asked, dreading any answer he’d give.

“Not at all. Just don’t leave him hanging this time, okay? He hasn’t been okay in a really long time.”

“Neither have I. I’m hoping to fix this and let it stay fixed.”

“Go get your man.”

As the garage door lifted, you noticed the pouring rain.

Of course it started fucking storming within the last hour and a half you’d been home. Of fucking course.

“Bye, Jeff,” you said quickly.

“Bye, girl!”

As you filed out of your driveway, a black SUV was already pulling out behind you. The protection was part of the job. You knew this. But sometimes, you just wanted to tell Scott that you had shit to do on your own.

But there was no time for this.

You just continued to drive, letting the soft hum of “The Long And Winding Road” by The Beatles lead you right back to the very place you knew you belonged.

“Scott,” James acknowledged.

“James.”

It felt like a showdown, Scott stepping in front of you at the gates. As soon as you’d arrived, you’d been prevented from pulling into the driveway. And it was James who’d crossed his arms over his dauntingly ripped chest, staring you down like you’d committed a crime.

You couldn’t blame him.

“What’s the situation?”

You tried not to roll your eyes. “I need to talk to Eddie.”

“It’s two in the morning. Kid finally fell asleep for once.”

“Let her in, James,” Scott said. “They’re people. Just let them figure it out on their own without us.”

“I really want to fix this,” you explained, earning a lifted eyebrow from James. “He’s everything to me and I know I screwed up. I know that. But I want to at least try to mend this. I’m a fucking idiot. Just…please.” Your eyes began to water. “Please let me try.”

James gave you a hard stare for what felt like ten minutes. Like he was assessing the risk. 

But then he opened the gate, stepping to the side. 

“Thank you,” you breathed, rushing past him to the door.

You knocked quite rapidly, your heartbeat matching the pace. Heard it pulse in your ears. Teetered on each foot as the adrenaline continued to catapult you further into madness. Waiting and waiting and waiting until— 

There he was, barely visible in the glow of the front porch light, eyes squinting. Messy curls frizzing, wearing a white t-shirt and gray sweatpants. No accessories, no socks on his feet.

It seemed like he finally registered it was you when he straightened his posture. Eddie gazed down at your body and back up again, eyes widening with every passing second. 

“Hey,” you finally whispered.

“Hey.”

bless @strangergraphics for always having the sickest dividers.

[tiannasfanfic]

ModernRockstar!Eddie surprises his daughters at a concert by performing a cover of “Let It Go” since Frozen is their favorite movie. They even came to the show dressed as Elsa and Anna.

It’s been nothing but Frozen for over a year now and both you and Eddie were long sick of it, but, once he had the idea, he knew they would love it.

[gunnyg1976]

This is the fuel that the machine called #bigdad runs on! #millerhighlifebeer and #fireballwhiskey . #thebigdadshow is on #Twitch tonight at 8:30 cst. #nerdnewsandtalk and opinion for the Thursday night! #getinletsride #ivealreadygotabuzz #news #nerd #polishedmale #modernrockstar #whythefuckarentyouwatching https://www.instagram.com/p/BqyN3Jfl3i3/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=m1udy90129ha

[kaybangaa-blog]

[undead-supernova]

For Worse or For Better / Masterlist

Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 (TBC)

plot: it's time to face the music. remind him how it used to be. and finally say you want him. for ever and ever.

Pairings: modernrockstar!Eddie x fem!popstar!Reader (curvy!reader, bisexual!reader)

Warnings: none I can think of!

wc: 3k

Eddie had always been a sight to see.  

His beauty, the kind others would die to witness up close, had once belonged to you. Since the night you met, standing next to the bar in that neon glow, every passing day had been another image, another secret desire to see him again. 

But you were no longer his.

And now here you were, staring at each other at the threshold of a castle you once had permission to roam. 

You must’ve been a sight to see, makeup dripping down your face and hair completely soaked. Shaking from the rain, feeling it seep into your skin. Not the perfect image that graced magazine covers and sashayed across stages. No, you were human for once.

No longer a machine.

“It’s been a long fucking six months,” Eddie said finally.

God, his voice. That hint of gravel, exhaustion weighing on him in the dead of night. The way it still caressed your heart that you were convinced wasn’t beating anymore. You wanted to reach out, to pull him into your arms and weep.

But all you could say was, “I know.”

“And, what,” he continued, as if you’d said nothing. “You just show up out of thin air?”

“I know.”

“Are you insane? What are you doing here?”

I miss you. I love you. I never should’ve walked away. We’re both in too much pain to keep doing this to ourselves. I miss you. I love you. I’m sorry.

But it just sat there, heavy in your throat as it tried to make its way into your mouth. It was no use. There were too many words, too many speeches you could throw out to try and convince him that you were telling the truth.

And none of it slipped past your lips.

At the sound of cracked lightning, Eddie seemed to finally register the storm and shook his head. “Ah, shit. Come in, you’re soaked.” He moved away from the door, allowing you to tiptoe into the foyer of a house that felt so foreign to you now. “I’ll, uh, get you a towel.”

Eddie slammed the door before walking right past you. Not sparing you a glance, but still venturing down the hallway and out of sight.

Immediately, you crouched down and tried to remove your soaked Keds, unable to stop yourself from cringing at how heavy your socks even felt. Soaked through, dripping onto the tile the moment they were off. 

You kicked them next to the door before you let your eyes wander around the space, absorbing the fact that nothing had been moved. Nothing had changed. It was as if it was stuck in your time of wild, of oasis. That smell, his smell, invaded any and every thought you had. The one that still left you breathless, tinged with romanticism, having to hold onto the nearest doorframe to keep yourself from falling over.

And in the quick flash of lightning rippling across the walls, you saw a little black cat scurrying towards you. 

“Hey, Oz,” you mumbled, crouching down to scratch his head. Watched his mouth open in a silent coo, totally oblivious to state of your relationship with his dad. If there was one at all.

There was a flashback that you couldn’t stop, that moment Oz scratched at that back door. Waiting for you and Eddie to get out of the pool, that beautiful summer night laced with something resembling forever. You had no idea back then. And there was nothing you could’ve done to change the course of your future.

When Eddie slowly made his way back, he held the towel out for you. Slowly, you rose back up, all the while staring at the object in his hand. The same towel you always grabbed whenever you’d stayed over. The same one he swaddled you in that night. God, you felt sick.

“Thanks,” you said anyways, taking the time to wipe off.

“James let you in, huh?” he asked, turning back around and walking towards the living room. You took it as a sign to follow, your feet on the freezing floor making you shiver. 

“Yeah, Scott helped.”

“Awesome,” he said sarcastically before sighing. “Well, uh, why’re you here then?”

Before you could get the courage to answer him, you glanced over at his couch. And you felt silly. It was just a couch, after all. But there were so many nights attached to it, each cushion committed to your memory. You knew where it dipped the best and where you sank like quicksand. There was even an ice cream stain, curtesy of you, still visible from where you stood.

And you could’ve sworn you heard your mingled laughter in the quiet.

Wiggling your toes on the tile, you stared down at your feet. “I wanted to talk.”

“About what?”

Your eyes snapped back up to meet his, frustration flaring at the absurdity of that question. “About what? Really? What do you think I wanted to talk about?”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Jesus, of course I know what you wanna talk about. I just thought you could, you know, say it yourself?”

“I’m sorry!” you yelled. “Okay? I’m fucking sorry.”

“Oh, yeah?” he challenged, crossing his arms over his chest. “Really?”

“Yes!”

He leaned in, toward you. “What are you sorry for, hm?” he mocked.

“I’m a fucking idiot, Eddie,” you stated, dropping the towel to the ground. “A goddamn idiot. I screwed up and I’m sorry.”

“That all you’re sorry for?”

“Eddie, no. Jesus Christ. I just…” You shook your head, placing your hands on your opposite shoulders. Tried to let the pressure calm your mind, ease the flood. But the tide was already taking your thoughts back to the ocean. You were already turning back into sea foam. “I don’t know where to even start, but… I shouldn’t have left. I shouldn’t have walked away. And I should’ve said this stuff a long time ago.”

“You have a phone,” he said with an edge to his tone. “You could’ve called.” He looked up before he sniffled. “I don’t get it. Sometimes, I sit in bed and I just…don’t get it. Like, at all. You liked that I didn’t listen to the world. You liked that I wanted to be with you. You liked that I stayed when it got bad. When did all of that shit stop being enough?”

“Eddie…”

“When did I stop being enough?”

“That’s not it—”

Eddie interrupted, saying your name with a sigh. “Like, you made me more of a secret. Kept me from being able to support you. And I get that you wanted privacy, but that doesn’t mean you can just treat me like that when everyone already fucking knows. Like, why bother?” His head shook as he sighed again. “Not to mention, you did all the shit your exes did to you. Like, what kind of game is that? What makes you think that it’s okay?”

“I know,” you agreed. “And I don’t think it’s okay. I didn’t even realize all of that until tonight and that’s exactly why I’m here.”

“But you don’t get to just…walk back in here at two in the morning and say you want me back.”

“Yeah, I…” You looked down, absentmindedly picking your nails. “I know that. I do. It’s just…your songs. What you said. If I could, um, hear your knock, brought back by my revery. Each tap, each rap still committed to my memory. But that’s—”

“Up to you, darling,” he continued. You lifted your gaze to his face, to the tears welling in his eyes. “It’s all up to you.”

You took a step forward, feeling your eyes spill with running water.  “And…and you said…” Without explanation, you reached into your crop top and pulled out the lighter. 

“The lighter,” he whispered. Eddie seemed as transfixed by the discovery as you were, eyes trained on the small object. Because it wasn’t just a lighter. It wasn’t something just left in your house, forgotten the moment it went missing. 

It was more than that. A symbol—Eddie’s devotion personified. Something so personal, given to him in a time of despair and deflation, left in your possession. Only asked for once your memory was the only thing left to cling to. Once your memory was the only association left to give it.

“I found it tonight, randomly. It was under the couch.” You tried to look away from his intensifying gaze, but you couldn’t. You just couldn’t. “It just…it felt like a sign.”

Eddie whispered your name, pausing for only a moment longer before he straightened. Shook his head, ridding whatever thoughts remained.

“No—Fuck!” He scoffed, rubbing his eyes. “No, you can’t just fucking do this. Fuck, you just…you make me fucking crazy.”

Now you were stepping closer, compelled by his denial. How could you make him understand? How could you convince him that you were telling the truth?

“Eddie, I promise. I promise I mean it.”

“But you left!” he exclaimed. 

His fingers still rested over his eyes, like he was terrified to look at you. Like he was terrified by his reality.

“I know, but—”

“And I’ve sat here and fucking cried my stupid fucking eyes out every night because all I see—all I ever fucking see at night is you leaving. Just walking out and acting like none of this mattered.”

“Eddie, I’ve felt the same—”

“No,” he shouted, hands immediately coming down and fisting at his sides. His glare made you nauseous, eyebrows sinking lower and lower into his face as his lip quivered. “No, you do not get to say that to me. Not now. Not when you made that choice. You can’t try to fucking empathize with me when this is your fault.”

“And I regret it every second of every day!” you shouted back, taking another step forward. “You heard my album! You know what this has done to me. I feel like I’m dying inside every single fucking night. I get no sleep because I just think about you and how much I fucked up. I did it because I thought I was protecting you. And you know me. You know I’m a people pleas—"

“Nah, man,” he interrupted, shaking his head as he let out a breathy chuckle. The bitter smile on his face made you shudder. “I thought I knew you. For just a second. Just a fucking, shit, I don’t know, a miniscule second, I thought I knew you. But that’s not true, is it? Hm?”

Speechless. That’s the only way to describe how you felt in that moment, staring at the man you knew was the love of your life and hearing him question your character. Like he’d already made up his mind about you. Like his album was the bargaining and the depression—and now he was in a state of rage, finally seeing you as the villain of his story.

“You—"

“Oh, and by the way,” he interrupted again, shaking his head at you. Like he knew what you were going to say. Maybe he really did. “You said you were doing it for me, but you didn’t.” You watched his tears start to fall. “You did it for you. Or to hurt yourself or whatever. I don’t know. Point is, it just wasn’t for me.”

At last, the silence fell. 

Two sets of eyes continued to meet again. Not in the way old friends do, but in the way severed lovers do. A stare laced with the kind of pain that lingered in the tissue of muscles, racing through veins like second nature. And just like wounded animals, you could both see the other was injured.

You probably should’ve just walked away. Was there a point to any of this? You were led by blind faith, by this notion that he’d swaddle you into his grasp and kiss you and ask for your hand in marriage. That all could be forgiven if you just locked eyes. If you just told him…

If you just…

Told him…

“I was afraid to tell you what I want,” you admitted. 

Eddie’s breath seemed to even out, exasperation starting to seep in. He threw up his hands and asked, “What’s that, then?”

“I want you.”

Immediately, his mouth fell open. 

But you put up a hand.

“No, Eddie. Listen to me. I want you. Maybe forever. No, you know what? Not maybe. I want you forever and fucking ever. I want to spend the next however many years navigating this shithole and make music and travel and be there for each other. Go to award shows and congratulate each other. I want to touch you in fucking public and not give a shit about what anyone says. I want to move in with you and drive each other crazy.”

You stopped trembling, shoulders back as you finally reached him. Like you were only now greeting him, finally gazing into those beautiful brown eyes of his. Though they were still glassy, you didn’t cower away. Instead, you took a deep breath and continued. 

“And then I want you to get on one knee and ask me to marry you. A bouquet, a veil, a lover lying await in the shade. You wrote that. You fucking wrote that. And, you know what? Yeah. I want that. I want it more than anything in the world. Let’s get a few more cats. Let’s get married somewhere with our friends and just get high and dance and laugh. And I want to, no I will write you love poems and songs and show you first and then show the whole fucking world…”

You paused, taking a deep breath as you made sure he heard every word. “How much I love you.” 

Eddie instantly caved, his shoulders hunching as his eyes flickered between yours. 

“I will spend every miniscule second of every day making sure you never doubt how in love with you I really am.”

He exhaled, arms slightly extending. As if he was about to reach for you. And you wanted to reach back, wanted to watch the sparks flicker as your fingertips met one another. But you had to keep going. You had to make him understand.

“You know exactly who I am, Eddie,” you stated. “You always have. I should’ve never, ever made you question that.”

His silence made you want to drop to the ground, to beg him to believe you. Because you couldn’t decipher his expression, couldn’t decode the words circulating around that beautiful fucking brain of his. He didn’t make it any better, eyes searching your face over and over again. Like he was assessing the evidence. Reading back the notes. 

But after what felt like hours, Eddie sighed.

“You’re crazy, you know that?”

You exhaled, all breathy and relieved. “I know. Jeff said the same thing on the phone earlier.” 

“Should’ve known that bastard would’ve ratted me out.”

“He said you’ve been holed up here for a while.”

“Yeah.”

“I understand why.” You tried to lower your heart rate as you said, “I’m sorry I didn’t say I love you back. I didn’t want to say it and then just walk away.”

“I thought you did, but then…I just…didn’t.”

“I’ve been wanting to tell you I’m in love with you since I went to Pittsburg to see Mary, Este, and Becky after my tour.”

“But that was only, like, a month after we started seeing each other.”

“Mhm. It was a Saturday.”

“Funny, ‘cause I’d been wanting to tell you I love you since the very first night we met.”

The first smile you’d been able to manage today broke across your lips. Slowly. Gently. “But we didn’t even know each other.”

“I didn’t care. I was already fucking crazy about you.” Heat rose on your cheeks the second you saw the corners of his mouth begin to lift. “And I wanted to tell you I was in love with you about, uh, two weeks in. Right after you came and surprised me at my show. When I crashed backstage at your show—”

“In Seattle?”

“Yeah. I thought about telling you then, but I didn’t.”

“That was only a week later.” Eddie nodded. You let out a groan, slapping your hand over your face. “I’m so stupid.”

“Far from it,” he whispered, fingers reaching up to move your hand away. Your eyes connected once again. But you were weak at his touch, the first in six months, the word kryptonite flooding your thoughts. “But you did make a stupid mistake. There’s a difference.”

“One more chance,” you said. “Just give me one more chance. If I fuck up again, you never have to see me again. I promise.”

Eddie’s grasp on your hand tightened, nearly red hot against yours. He hadn’t let go. He hadn’t lost contact, still anchoring himself to you even as the air grew thick with uncertainty. 

But the most peculiar thing happened. He raised his right hand, crossing the barriers between you and caressing your cheek. A whimper left your lips at the tender touch, feeling absolutely weightless as he smiled at you again.

“Come running back, consider your exile foregone,” Eddie whispered, tightening his grasp on your cheek. Thumbing your lower lip, eyes flickering from your mouth to your gaze, he finished. “I choose you in the low glow of dusk, love you ‘til dawn.”

He kissed you then, his forgiveness dripping into you like honey. Saltwater-stained lips added to the familiar flavor, taking broken halves and molding them back together. Your hearts didn’t mold the same way, but they did shift into something new. Something beautiful. Something golden. 

That night, Eddie made love to you with your hand always twined with his. A welder with the scorching stroke of a furnace, binding himself to you in every way humanly possible. Pouring apologies and promises into one another, letting the scars scab over while new skin grafted over the wounds—saliva being the cure. Touch being the remedy.

There was nothing “resembling” forever anymore.

It was only that. It had only ever been that.

Forever.

thank you @strangergraphics, my beloved, for your endless stream of dividers for yours truly <3

[undead-supernova]

I'll Pay the Price, You Won't.

I'll Pay the Price, You Won't. / Masterlist

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2

plot: aquamarine, moonlit swimming pool...what if........all I need is you?

Pairings: modernrockstar!Eddie x bisexualfem!popstar!Reader (curvy!reader, bisexual!reader)

Warnings: slut shaming, body image insecurities, Eddie being too precious for this world, soft, comfort, reader is pretty girly and femme, so yeah

wc: 1.6k

“You know I want to be with you.”

“Oh yeah?” he said back, voice light and playful. His smirk was flooding his face, all well-intentioned and sugary sweet. 

“Mhm.”

The pool water lapped around you while he laid on his stomach, black towel underneath his shirtless figure. His fingers fiddled with yours to keep pulling you close to the edge. As you looked up at him, illuminated by the hot pink neon glow from your inner tube, you couldn’t help but swoon like a teenage girl. His hair appeared nearly fuschia, darkened by the shadows of the night and the reflection of the porch light behind him.

With a smug yet playful smile, he let out a hum before asking, “And why’s that, sweetheart?”

“Maybe I have a crush on you,” you said softly.

That smile turned into a smirk, his thumb running over your knuckles. You nearly blended in with the water, your turquoise bikini matching the color exactly. 

Usually, you wore a one piece to keep the world from commenting on whether your body looked good enough. It was hard enough to love your skin as it was—natural, textured. Stretch marks and cellulite. Scars from childhood mistakes. The exact opposite of whatever airbrushed magazine cover you or any of your peers were on, dolled up like plastic Barbies and whatnot. 

But he had gotten you this bikini. Stood you in front of a mirror and traced the outline of your waist and your tummy, chuckling whenever you quivered from his touch. Whispered how gorgeous you were in your ear. Reminded you that no one else was around. You were safe. 

(Even if his closest bodyguard, James, was standing outside his front door.)

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Mhm,” you mumbled, nodding.

“Had no idea,” he nearly whispered. 

It felt right to be quiet. The hot California air had finally cooled for the night, the neighborhood surrounding Eddie’s house seemingly devoid of human existence. The Los Angeles skyline skimmed the horizon only when you chose to peek above his fence. The illusion of seclusion when you pretend this was a guarded castle.

“I know. I hid it so well.”

“Exceptionally. You’re a master of deception.”

“Mm, thank you.” The two of you chuckled softly before you tried to gently clear your throat. “So are you going to keep teasing me or are you going to tell me how you feel?”

His eyes searched yours, as if he was trying to find something but couldn’t quite remember what it was. “You already know what I want,” he said.

“Yeah, I do,” you lied, praying your insecurity wouldn’t bleed through. “Which is why I want to hear it out loud.”

Scooting closer to the edge of the pool, he began to kiss your hands. 

“I.” Kiss. “Want.” Kiss. “To.” Kiss. “Be.” Kiss. “With.” Kiss. “You.”

You couldn’t help but smile. It felt like bliss, knowing that you weren’t the only one feeling this way. All the others were a jumbled mess of Maybe Later and Just Not Looking For A Serious Relationship Right Now. The girls wanted to play the field. The boys wanted something almost too casual. Those outside the gender binary would kiss and flirt at the bar and then ghost you on the dance floor. 

But he…oh, he was something else entirely.

“Do we go out on a real date now?” you asked. “Or do we just skip to the sickly sweet, hot and raunchy sex?”

“‘Hot and raunchy’?” he questioned, laughing at your word choice.

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “Sorry, was I not sexy enough for you the first six times?”

“Never said that, darling.” The nickname had you nearly kicking your feet with schoolgirl affection. “And to answer your question, I think I should take you on at least one proper date before I blow your back out again.”

You couldn’t help but snort. “After three and a half months?”

“As if we were honest about being official until a few weeks ago.” You couldn’t disagree with him on that. “Besides, it’s better late than never.”

“What a gentleman.”

And he was. 

Eddie Munson was nothing short of the nicest guy you’d ever liked. Maybe the nicest guy you’d ever met. He opened every door, from cars to hotels to bedrooms to the cages you'd thrown your heart into. When you left with him after your concert in Seattle, he sheltered you from the rain with his beloved leather jacket. He made you cum twice before he even dared to touch himself, worshiping your body like it was sculpted by the gods. Not to mention the homemade meals and the constant protection from the paparazzi whenever possible. He knew what the media had been doing to you. He hated it. Despised it.

And amidst it all, he still wanted you.

Even the mere thought of it still made you weep sometimes.

But Eddie’s smile began to falter. “What do you reckon the verdict will be when they see us?”

You knew what that forlorn smile meant. You knew what this was doing to him, but it felt like nothing compared to what the outside world thought. It had been done to Whitney. Amy. Rihanna. Britney. Miley. Lindsay. Megan. Lizzo. Taylor. Hell, even Olivia, Sabrina, and Billie were being given hell now that they were emerging into adulthood.

And now it was down to you. Another female popstar thrown to the goddamn wolves. 

Before you could think about how pessimistic it sounded, you said, “I’ll be labeled a slut and you’ll be considered a king. The cycle will only continue.”

The media were vipers. Predators. They wanted to hunt you down with cameras and watch you and Eddie Munson do something obscene. Vulgar. Just as his reputation had forewarned. The lead of a metal band (god forbid), along with the residual damage of “devil worshipping music” despite it not being the fucking Eighties anymore. However, in their storybook you were just the right kind of girl for him to corrupt.

He did anything but that.

“I don’t want it to be like that,” Eddie whispered, his eyes shining with the threat of tears. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I do.” You shook your head, trying to clear all of the voices and camera flashes out of your head. “I don’t know. I just don’t want this to blow up in our faces.”

At first, the label was furious.

You were a cutesy role model for a demographic that you were not originally catering to. But the magnetic pull of a synthesizer flowed through you with the frizz of the vocoder and the glitter and the bright colors and advocacy and passion and the people— 

You were helping people. Especially the teenage girls. You were giving hope and guidance to them. Reminding them that they could achieve dreams far beyond their wildest dreams. Even if they were queer. Even if they weren’t thin. 

You were becoming an inspiration.

But after a while, you were seen as merely a PG-13 performer with all of the downfalls of being a woman, a popstar in her early twenties. Your life stopped being about you and started being about the narrative storyline of some fucking fairytale that you had no ability to write yourself, even if it was written in every song you released. 

It was sick enough knowing that people who didn’t know you would write books about you some day. 

But then you were seen at one of Corroded Coffin’s shows. Your music spiked on the charts despite the bizarre outrage at how different you were. The demographic your label originally wanted began to seep back in all in a matter of a few weeks. Back before you asked him about his feelings. Back before your confessions were frozen in the steam between you.

After that, the label wanted you and Eddie to play it up for the cameras. Stir up attention. Enjoy the ride, write the music, and then profit from the gossip columns and clout. Get more followers, more likes. Be endorsed by another fragrance subscription service or wireless headphones. 

Make them money. Risk your heart in the meantime.

It was a gamble, but why wouldn’t someone bet on a losing dog?

“Favorite Beatles song right now?” he asked, drawing your attention away from the world outside.

You grinned. “‘A Taste of Honey’.”

“Ah, from Please Please Me." You nodded. "Sometimes I forget how good their first album was.”

“You know, it’s incredible to me that you know their entire discography and yet I’ve never once heard you listening to them,” you observed.

Eddie winked at you, opening his mouth to say something but was interrupted by the meow of a cat. Both of you turned your heads to see his black cat, Oz, pawing at the back door.

“Someone wants a treat, the spoiled bastard. At least Puppet has manners," Eddie said with a sigh before looking back at you. "Why don’t you come back in with me, hm?” he asked, lightly stroking your cheek. "Throw a movie on and cuddle or something?”

“Can we?” you pleaded. “Please?”

“Anything for you, sweetheart. Anything.”

He helped you out of the pool, grabbing a towel and drying you off. He finished up with a gentle kiss to your forehead, the inner tube left forgotten and floating in the water.

“Hey, Eddie?”

His eyebrows knit together. “Yeah? What’s up?” 

You could only wonder what it would be like if this didn’t end up in some fit of flames along the length of your graves. Caskets lying side-by-side, big fat crosses sitting on top like a pointed threat. His headstone littered with roses while yours drowned in spray paint. Eulogies and hymns crescendoing into a wave of madness as they repeated your fears back to you: Nothing lasts forever.

Or maybe you’d end up in a small house somewhere, making music together while you drowned out the rest of the world. One day where the chatter would flutter into a whisper and you could walk down the street of some coastal town and not get ogled at. The stars would align and you could say to yourself, It was worth it.

But it was only August, nearly swallowing you whole with the heat threatening to scorch your skin. Maybe yours more than his, but nevertheless there were going to be scars—  

You knew to love him was to lose your mind.

And maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

“For once, I think…” A smile met your lips. “Well, maybe it’s worth it."

[undead-supernova]

It's a Delicate Need / Masterlist

Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5

18+ minors DNI

plot: you've never met eddie munson before...and even if your reputation's never been worse, desire is the sound of the whiskey and you're prepared for the risk. but are you willing to let it go to waste?

Pairings: modernrockstar!Eddie x fem!popstar!Reader (curvy!reader, bisexual!reader)

Warnings: drinking, mention of weed, there's genuine smut in here so sorry for the length, mention of body shaming

wc: 6.9k

This chapter is inspired by the sound and lyrics of “Delicate” and her unreleased Lover track “Need” that I haven’t stopped thinking about since it leaked. This is one of my favorite things I've ever written and I can't believe I get to share it! Okay, have fun! (special thanks to @littlexdeaths for helping chill out my frantic screaming about writing smut)

Late April, 2024

You met him in those weird ways celebrities do. Usually, it’s an award show or some house party thrown by mutual famous friends. For you, it was the Grammy after party.

Corroded Coffin won Best Rock Album for “Fire Shroud” and Best Metal Performance for the title track. (Ozzy Osborne presented their award and you couldn’t believe how jealous you were.) 

You’d won Song of the Year for “Cradle Me”. The night was electric, one that would go down in history for you and your ever-growing career. 

Because you’d done it. You won a Grammy. 

And that was the only reason you decided to even go to the after party, really. You rode the high of your adrenaline, your tears. The squealing and stomping of victory as you basked in a kind of pride you’d never felt before. A kind of pride that you didn’t even know existed.

The room boomed with music, everyone seemingly on the same wave as you. You’d been practically shredding up the dance floor all on your own, taking time to close your eyes and feel a release for what seemed like the first time since you’d started your career. You were on top of your game, on top of the world. Nothing could derail you now. 

As a remix of Miley Cyrus’ “Flowers” came to a close, you remembered where you were. Opened your eyes to look around you as another song sounded, the bass pulsating in your ears.

And despite the noise, everyone noticed when Corroded Coffin walked in.

Even you.

Here they were, all five members decked out in lavish outfits, all five shimmying their way through the parting crowd with drinks held high in the air. If it was anyone else, they’d look obnoxious and lame. But each one of the members of Corroded Coffin acted like real people. They were in sequins, dark makeup, designer suits and dresses…and they were normal. Just laughing their way through the crowd and dancing like idiots.

And that’s when you saw him.

About an hour after their arrival, Eddie Munson snuck away from the rest of the group. He was at the bar, nursing some whiskey, a smile on his face as he chatted with the bartender. Leaning sideways against the counter with his legs crossed, just lounging as he socialized.

And maybe it kind of seemed a little stalkerish that you were watching him across the room, sipping on your third Shirley Temple—with, yes, copious amounts of vodka—but you were merely observing. 

You weren’t his biggest fan or anything, but you were still fascinated by him. By his effortless charm, the sheer effect he seemed to have on everyone. Some had called him the New It Guy, others had called him a Soon To Be Has Been. But, for the most part, he was considered the man of everyone’s dreams. 

Not only that, but he was genuinely talented. Corroded Coffin was killing it, having reached newer heights. Those Grammys they won? Yeah, they’d already received two the year prior. In the last two years, they’d collaborated with Post Malone, Joan Jett, Bring Me The Horizon, Nova Twins, Amy Lee, Poppy… The list was starting to get rather full from how desirable it was to work with them, especially smaller artists they’d been bringing into the limelight. 

Plus, they were bringing metal to new heights. Tearing down the walls of what it meant to listen to metal and defying how it was “supposed” to sound. And you could go on and on about their lyricism, the way that they wrote about more than just testosterone-driven rage. They talked about mental health, about heartache. Addiction. Loneliness and the way isolation stung. Even the intense weight of fear that comes with falling in love.

They were raw. They were real.

And you kinda wanted to talk to Eddie Munson.

He was alone, for God’s sake. Just a sitting duck by himself, clad in that outfit. The sequins on his blazer casted light over his cheek, reflecting off of the LED lights. His blazer was a deep eggplant, all velvet and cool and fitting perfectly tight against his toned muscles. There were patterns of small black roses strategically placed throughout. Not enough to be overwhelming, but enough to give the drama. 

Oh, yeah. One more thing.

No. Shirt. 

Just his lean stomach with an attention-grabbing happy trail that led to his incredibly tight leather pants. The color even matched his blazer. Combat boots. Rings adorning his fingers and some black nail polish. Layers of diamond bracelets and chains resting against the dark ink of his tattoos. A guitar pick at the center of a black velvet choker around his neck.

Yeah, you really wanted to talk to Eddie Munson.

For a second, you stared down at yourself. You had a momentary lapse in confidence, wondering if what you were wearing was acceptable for a metal lead. Because you were clad in a silk knee-length dress, blush pink. One that hugged your curves and twirled around you wherever you moved. It was Old Hollywood. It was graceful. It was you.

Fuck it.

You approached, handing the bartender your empty glass and kindly asking for a refill. When you glanced over at Eddie in your peripheral, you knew he was being respectful, looking down at his drink rather than you.

It was up to you to deliver the opening line.

“You know,” you started, catching his attention immediately. “you’d kinda look like Lord Farquad if you got a bob.”

Eddie’s eyebrows lifted, trying to stifle a chuckle. “Yeah? You think so?” You nodded and watched as he tried to tuck in the bottom half of his hair to create the illusion of a bob. “‘Run, run, run as fast as you can. You can’t catch me, I’m the Gingerbread Man!’”

You were right. He kinda looked like Lord Farquad’s taller, hotter, more glamorous brother. 

“That is perfect,” you said, slow clapping. “Brilliant.”

He laughed, moving his whisky as a subtle invite to stand next to him. “I’m glad you think so. I’m Eddie, by the way.”

You smiled, telling him your name, watching as he nodded. He was wearing some eye shadow, all deep purple and bruise-y. He seemed to have had a coat of lipgloss on that was now lining the rim of his glass, with only a slight residue remaining. It was still effortlessly beautiful. He was effortlessly beautiful.

“Yeah, I actually know who you are.”

Your eyes widened. He knew you? 

“I didn’t think it was your genre,” you said honestly.

Eddie shook his head. “Nah. Come on, give yourself a little credit. ‘Tetris’ had a bit of a rock vibe to it.”

“Yeah, true,” you agreed, rolling your eyes. That was a single from your last album, one that hadn’t even gotten much traction from audiences. “But it’s nothing like A Rush of Hellfire.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shot up again. “You heard our first album?”

Confusion flooded your features. “Well, yeah. Hasn’t everyone?”

“No one talks about it anymore,” he responded, shrugging as he scratched the top of his head. “You a fan?”

“Not, like, a diehard fan or anything, you know? It’s fun to work out to. Or scream in the car. You did that remix with Post Malone. ‘Something Real’, right?” He smiled, nodding. “Yeah, I can’t get enough of it. The original is heavenly, but you guys put a spin on it that made it transcend the meaning and give it an extra boost of emotion that didn’t even seem possible. And your added verse? I mean, it was just so raw and…” 

You stopped yourself, starting to feel embarrassed from practically fangirling about this guy’s music to his face. He may have been actively listening, or was pretending to, but you had to stop before it got to be too much.

“Anyways,” you finished. “I really like it.”

His smile grew and it was like something flutter-y-ish was rushing to your heart. What was that about? 

“I’m flattered,” he said. “Unexpected, but flattered nonetheless.”

“Why unexpected?”

“Well, I mean. Well, your music—I just assumed—”

You laughed at that. “I like way more than just pop. That’s just the music I make, you know?” He gave you another silent nod, making you feel a little self-conscious. “So, I’m guessing you’re not really into my stuff?”

“No, I really like it. I just don’t want you to think I’m a diehard fan or anything. Actually, it’s kinda funny. I saw your cover of ‘Lolita’ by…” he trailed, waving his fingers around in thought until he pointed at you with a smirk. “Lana Del Rey, that’s it. Saw it a few weeks ago. Very cool. I liked the way you changed the sound. It seemed a little sadder than the OG, even with the synth.”

You smiled. You’d done that cover in the BBC Live Lounge to make fun of the way the media portrayed you. A player on both sides, leading everyone on and leaving them high and dry. Being a temptress of some sort, always on your best misbehavior. It was a common story, something that was far from realistic. But the media circus wasn’t about reality. It was about the fantasy.

And a lot of people misinterpreted the song choice as a confirmation of your reputation. It was mortifying. And annoying. Mostly fucking annoying.

And as the bartender handed you your drink, you prayed to whatever God was out there that Eddie didn’t think the same about you.

“I did it as a joke,” you defended sheepishly. “You’ve probably heard about me, but I’m not actually like that.”

And you knew that there was no reason for you to justify yourself to him, especially someone rumored to be a player himself. Eddie was known to the public as someone who collected  groupies like a goddamn claw machine, but it was seen as something desirable. He was hailed as some kind of Metal Prince of Darkness. (Though, you’d never come into contact with anyone who’d actually been involved with him…)

So why were you nervous all of a sudden?

You studied his reaction, the way he barely had one. He just kept smiling like that, this kind of half-smile as if you were the most interesting person he’d ever met. You were sure he smiled at everyone like that.

And if it was a trick, well fuck, it was working.

“I definitely got the joke,” he said, chuckling as your eyes widened. “What, did no one else?”

You shrugged. “Not a lot of them, no.”

“Well, I guess the world is as dense as I thought.” 

You couldn’t stifle your giggle as you lifted your drink to your lips, nearly spilling it on yourself. 

And maybe Eddie thought he was being smooth, but he took a small step forward, closer than he’d been before. “Just letting you know,” he said. “as someone who is also not like that, I thought it was amazing.”

You could smell the tobacco wafting off of his jacket, mixed with something like amber or bergamot. His pinky finger was dangerously close to yours, seemingly inching forward. The closer he got, the easier it was to decode the exact shade of his eyes. Brown had been wrong. No, they were hickory. They were umber. And these hickory, umber eyes were looking at you.

It wasn’t fair in the slightest.

Something in you wanted to call him out because there was something definitely happening between you. Maybe it was a game he was playing, taking shots at your weak spots to lower your defenses. Or maybe it was genuine chemistry, luring you in with a dangerous kind of desire that you’d never felt before. 

It was something you couldn’t even explain to yourself. 

Out of seemingly nowhere, Eddie asked, “Beatles or Stones?”

You snorted. “Easy. Beatles. You clearly haven’t listened to my album.”

“Oh, I’ve heard Acacia My Dear. How could I not?” Your eyes widened. “But I thought you were sane. Guess I was wrong.” He sighed, waving you away. “This has been fun but get out of my sight.”

“Okay, wow. How does it feel to be a loser?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“How does it feel to be wrong?”

“The Stones do not have half of the amount of hits that The Beatles had. Name any Beatles album, which I bet you can’t, and I can tell you the plethora of well-known songs from each one. You can’t fight me on the factual evidence—”

“Do you wanna dance?” he asked suddenly, cutting you off.

You froze, confusion and intrigue colliding inside you. 

“Didn’t you just tell me to go away?”

“As a joke.”

“Are you going to continue to insult my preferences?”

He leaned in just a bit further. “Is that something you’d want?”

“Maybe a little,” you admitted, trying to catch your breath as he took it. “As a treat.”

“I’d be honored.”

Eddie took you to the floor like a gentleman in a ballroom, one arm pressed against his back with the other holding your hand up. As if he was wearing a luxurious tux and you were in a ballgown. As if this was something serious, something more than it should’ve been.

And, god, whatever he was doing was fucking with your head.

Because the two of you started dancing to one of the popular hits of the year, a song you hadn’t cared to listen to. But it didn’t seem to matter to either of you, going back and forth with each other as you moved through the dance floor. Eddie shimmied his shoulders and rolled his hips. You gladly followed his lead.

As the song hit its bridge, he leaned in. “By the way, I don’t know this song.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, I don’t either. I’ve been religiously listening to Maisie Peters for the last year.”

He nodded before looking at you with a bit of a sheepish expression. “I don’t know who that is either, I’m afraid.”

“That’s more offensive than your Beatles comments,” you teased.

He rolled his eyes before taking your hands and spinning you around. Laughter fell from your lips easily, finding the sensation quite dizzying.

God, how was his energy so infectious?

He tried to bring you back up, to let go. But you were done for, wobbling in his arms from the dizzy spell coming over you. One of your held hands was placed against his chest, the drumming of his heart nearly matching the beat of the song.

“Woah there,” he teased.

You sighed, your grasp on his hand tightening. “Don’t blame me,” you said. “That was all you.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, you’re right.” When you were stable enough to stand properly and the room stopped spinning, he asked, “Favorite Beatles song?”

You scoffed. “Why should I tell you if you’re just going to make fun of it?”

“You wound me.”

“I have evidence. Exhibit A, five minutes ago you told me my opinion was wrong. Twice.”

“I’ll behave myself.” You raised an eyebrow. “Scout’s honor.”

You decided to answer truthfully. “It changes every day, I think.”

“So, what’s todays?” he pressed. When you gave him a quizzical look, he shook his head. “Don’t leave me hanging over here.”

Your smile returned. “Today, it’s ‘Sun King’.”

“Ah, a highly underrated track from Abbey Road. Mine’s either ‘I Want You (She’s So Heavy)’ or ‘Why Don’t We Do It In The Road?’ from the White Album.”

You couldn’t believe your ears. “You know their discography and yet you disrespect them.”

He wagged a finger at you. “You’re mistaken, young maiden. I never said The Beatles were bad. I said they weren’t as good as The Rolling Stones.”

“I think I hate you,” you said without thinking. Without even knowing how he was going to take that.

But then Eddie’s small smile grew into a grin. “Oh, yeah?”

You couldn’t help but smile back. “Mhm.”

“Does that mean we’ll never speak again?”

“No,” you admitted, showing him your cards. 

Eddie smirked. “Good.”

Apparently, he was showing his, too.

Another drink and a round of bickering later, you and Eddie were promptly interrupted by a rumbling of voices calling out to you.

Well, not you.

“Ed!”

The two of you turned and watched as the rest of Corroded Coffin rushed over. Well, Ronnie was trailing behind, still in her heels. And you commended her for not running like the rest.

Eddie let out a chuckle and you watched a grin stretch across his face, lighting him up more than anything else seemingly did tonight. It was a look of love, of appreciation. Friendship.

And when he looked at you, you swore that it intensified.

God, he was something else.

“This is Grant, Gareth, Ronnie, and Jeff,” he introduced, gesturing to the group.

As if you didn’t already know.

“Nice to meet you all,” you said, giving each one a handshake and a smile.

“Jesus, you’re prettier in person,” Ronnie said, giving you a look over. “Love the dress.”

You could help but smile, especially with how beautiful she was. Ronnie Ecker. A legendary fucking female drummer standing in front of you. Her satin dress hugged her hips, a slit running up her thigh as the tips of her fingers rested against the opening. And, sure, Eddie was standing next to you, and you were extremely interested in him. But you’d be lying if you didn’t feel heat rising to your cheeks at the sight of one of the hottest women alive.

“Right back at you,” you replied, trying to stop sounding so nervous. “You’re incredible at the drums. It’s such an honor—"

“We’re heading out, actually,” Gareth said loudly, catching your attention.

“To do what? Go to bed?” Eddie asked, snorting. “Did you grind the indica by mistake?”

Grant shrugged. “We came to see if you wanted to go back and do a one-shot…” he trailed, eyes flickering over to you. “But then we saw you over here and, well…”

Jeff pointed at you. “We decided we wanted to meet you,” he said plainly.

“Yeah, exactly,” Gareth confirmed.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “Oh, please. I’m really not that interesting.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Eddie said, catching your gaze. “Not to us or anyone else.”

There was something about the way he said it that made you wonder exactly what he was thinking about you. Because there was that hint of a smirk again, one that you couldn’t help but interpret as: You should see yourself the way I do in this moment.

And even though the others fell headfirst into their own tangent, you decided to lean over to Jeff. 

“A one-shot, you say?” you asked. “Like for D and D?”

A grin spread across his face. “Precisely.”

“You guys play a lot?”

Jeff nodded. “Yeah, Eddie’s, like, the best DM I’ve ever seen.”

“Better than Brennan Lee Mulligan?” you questioned.

“Close enough,” he admitted.

Eddie tapped Jeff on the shoulder. “Did someone just mention Brennan?”

“She did,” Jeff said as he patted your shoulder. “Wanna get super jealous?”

You raised an eyebrow as Eddie gave you a shit-eating grin. “I’m guest starring in his upcoming campaign.”

“Oh, fuck off!” you exclaimed. Stomping your foot, you shook your head. Your lips twisted into a smile, all jealous and playful. Because you were extremely envious, having watched D&D for years but never playing it yourself. And here Eddie was, getting the opportunity to work with one of the best DMs there were. What a cool fucking asshole.

“Well, if you ever wanted to plaaaaaay,” Gareth exaggerated, clasping his hands together and grinning. “We could always head back and get you a character sheet.”

Eddie flicked his forehead, giving him a hard stare that you couldn’t understand. “Gareth, we are not doing a one-shot tonight.” When both men’s eyes flickered over to you for a moment, you began to pick up the meaning. “So you better scram.”

And then it was its own conversation, one that started with goodbyes but led into another whirlwind of comments. You tried to follow along, tried to understand what they were even talking about in their shared campaign. There was something about a powerful wizard, another realm underneath the one you called your own. A world that seemed upside down, a world that you were glad you didn’t live in.

And as soon as it began to descend into chaos, Eddie sighed and held up his hand. “Alright, I’m cutting us off. Go to bed, you lovely dumbasses.”

“I like you,” Jeff said as the others hugged and bumped fists. Your eyes widened. “I like you a lot.”

Without a chance to ask him what he meant by that, Jeff was filing behind Grant and Gareth, all three sneaking glances back at you as they walked away.

Ronnie gave you another look over before leaning in. “Some advice? Don’t break his heart,” she said, patting your shoulder before she hustled to catch up with the others.

Shock ran through you at the sheer idea of feelings being involved between you and Eddie Munson of all people. As if he would ever actually want something like that. The idea was so absurd that you almost had to scoff.

“Did you want to keep talking?”

You turned to Eddie whose stare was becoming almost too magnetic, having to look away every few seconds. If you didn’t, the eye contact was going to send you into cardiac arrest. 

“Talking?” you asked, lifting an eyebrow. 

He played innocent, shrugging. “Well, we could always talk. We could do other things, too. If you’d like.”

“You want me to go home with you?”

“To my hotel room, maybe?” Eddie paused, clearly trying to interpret your expression and failing. “Uh, unless I’m reading this all wrong.”

“You’re not,” you said.

Without breaking eye contact, his fingers found your palm before lifting it and pressing his lips against the back of your hand. You could only hope the music would mask your sharp breath. 

“I have fewer scarlet letters than people think.” 

Another kiss. Another lodge in your throat.

“So, don’t think I’m doing this because I’m a whore.”

You could only nod. “Likewise.”

“I just…” he paused, a hint of something covering his features. “I think you’re really cool.”

“Likewise,” you concluded, disconnecting your hands before his touch could electrocute you further. “See you at the hotel.”

“How many scarlet letters do you have?” you asked Eddie.

How the hell you’d managed to be alone in the elevator was beyond you. In fact, it was a miracle on its own that the two of you were able to leave separately, arrive at the hotel without paparazzi standing out front, and casually make it to the elevator without anyone taking notice. It was a rather close call.

Or maybe it was a sign.

You nearly rolled your eyes at the thought before Eddie’s laugh brought your attention back. 

“Ah, man,” he said. “Three, the first two being in high school. What about you?”

“Four,” you said plainly. “All post high school. I wasn’t very popular back then.”

“Neither was I.”

You looked over at him, curious about what else was there.

“Really?”

Eddie snorted. “Are you kidding me? Of course not. Look at me.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”  

He shook his head. “Uh-uh. Those first two? They used me to get back at their boyfriends. Thought the local freak would, I don’t know, make them jealous?”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “I was also the freak.”

“Really?” You nodded. “Could’ve fooled me.”

And there that stare was again, burning a hole in your chest that you weren’t sure how to make go away. But did you really even want it to?

No words were exchanged as you made your way down the hallway. You looked back, always alert at the potential of a camera or wandering eyes. And when you made your way inside his hotel room, thick with the scent of him, you felt the prickles on your neck that always came when you feared danger.

For some reason, you couldn’t help but look at the door, making sure it was locked. Making sure that the shadows underneath the door were passing by quickly. Muffled voices came and went, but your guard never wavered.

“You don’t have to worry about anyone seeing us,” Eddie said. You turned slowly, watching him unlace his boots. “This floor is all booked for the band. No need to risk anything. That’s probably just my guy, James. He’s a hardass, but he loves a good party.”

A small chuckle left your lips. “It’s not that I’m scared to be seen with you,” you explained. “It’s just a nasty habit.”

“I don’t blame you. Las Vegas can drive people crazy.”

You took the moment to undo your heels, finally able to let your feet breathe after a long, long night of discomfort. There was a stinging pain the moment your bare feet hit the carpet.

But you couldn’t wait, taking tentative steps towards him. Like you were assessing him, assessing the risk. Watching as he watched you, standing like you’d made a silent request that he couldn’t say no to.

“I won’t bite,” he said, hands reaching out to yours. Taking your fingertips and pulling you towards him. Like you were still on that dance floor, like he was as lost in the moment as you were. 

As you drew near, you caught a glimpse of his smudged eye shadow, the way it was starting to smear. His eyes, darker than before in the low light of the lamp, only on you.

Yeah, you weren’t thinking about consequences anymore.

“I have to be up early in the morning,” you whispered, nearly chasing his lips with yours.

He nodded. “You can leave whenever you want,” he said softly, thumb brushing your lower lip. “I do want you to know that I want to kiss you so bad it’s going to kill me.”

“Well, why didn’t you just say—”

Eddie kissed you fiercely, nearly knocking you over. 

It was like he was chasing after you. Wherever you moved, he moved. Whenever you gasped, he gasped. Your hand met the back of his neck, so his moved to yours. 

It was the kindling of a fire.

If you dared to utter it, you would call it passion. 

You slowly made your way to his neck, scratching against the choker as you went. Eddie inhaled sharply, trembling as you made your way down his chest. Desperate to feel all of it. Desperate to understand where he started and where he ended. Wondering if you’d truly be granted full access.

But it was his fingers that flipped a switch. Eddie carefully moved the tips along your jaw—gently, like he was trying to learn exactly what you felt like. And before you could register it, Eddie pulled your head to the side and latched his lips to your throat. 

There was a release of a moan, the high pitch shocking you. 

Because here you were, feeling a lightning strike against your neck, rumbling like chills down your back. Before you knew it, you were limp in his arms.

You were giving in.

Slowly, Eddie helped you out of your dress, trying to take his time. But you were a little more fast-paced, nearly ripping off your own underwear before reaching towards him. Mainly because he only had a jacket on, but you were also extremely close to losing your mind if you didn’t have him inside you in the next ten minutes.

“Now, why’re you going so fast?” Eddie asked, voice hushed in the silent room. His lips met yours again, leaning back just enough to look into your eyes. “Shouldn’t you give yourself some time to enjoy it?”

Dumbfounded. That’s the only way you could describe yourself. Eddie was standing in front of you, offering you the chance to experience not just sex, but pleasure.

“Can I?” you asked him, desperate to be told again. 

He kissed your forehead.

“Yes.”

Eddie gently lowered you to the bed, helping you scoot up to rest your head on the pillow. He paused, peering down at you as he unhooked his choker. It was the tucking of his lip into his mouth that captivated you, beckoned you to reach up to his lips.

You couldn’t remember wanting anyone else’s mouth this much.

And amongst the kissing and the harsh breaths, Eddie had his pants off, quickly kicking them aside to focus on you. You immediately clocked how he had not worn any underwear.

Fuck.

You had no time to look down at his length, instead feeling it as he rocked his hips against your mound. With lips against skin and a fever building, you hardly formed a thought as you tried to push his hand towards your pussy.

“Eddie,” you whined. “Please.”

“Whatever you want,” he murmured. “Promise.”

His fingers danced around your entrance, the calloused tips stroking your clit as he went along. Your hips bucked, but it was nothing against his grip on you. Instinctively, you moved your face to the side, wanting to hide your face in the pillow. 

“Shh, it’s alright,” he whispered, placing a small kiss to your nose. “Let yourself go.”

Before you had any time to respond, Eddie was inside you. His fingers pumped in and out, the squelching sound of your wetness filling the near silence.

Eddie wasn’t done annihilating your neck, leaving more and more marks as he went. There your sounds returned, nearly choking on your breath as you whimpered. 

It went on like this for a while, Eddie taking his time to bring you to the brink of an orgasm. Once. Twice. Unable to edge you a third time when you came uncontrollably and suddenly. You’d come down only to find his fingers on your clit again, beckoning you.

“Can you do it for me again?” he asked.

Feverish nods, hushed confirmations.

Another orgasm. Another bout of emotions that were ripping through you.

When you finally came down from your third orgasm, you knew you needed more. It wasn’t a want. It was a need. Eddie hadn’t touched himself, hadn’t given in to his own pleasure. It was all you.

All you.

“Can you, um,” you tried to start, breath still heavy. 

“What is it?” he asked.

With shaky fingers, you reached down between you, lightly stroking his cock. Eddie let out a hiss, arms struggling to hold him up. It was his turn to quiver.

“Ah,” he finally said, a nervous chuckle eliciting from him. “I, uh, would really like that.”

Without another word, he ran his tip over your clit, a groan leaving your lips before you came back to reality.

“Wait," you sighed, pausing. "What about you?” Gently, you pressed a hand against his chest. “Don’t you want me to, uh…”

You were too embarrassed to ask him point blank if he wanted his dick (cock? Big Ben? Woodpecker?) sucked. Because you knew that if you were to say it out loud, you would be a fumbling mess of Do you want me to suck your cockbenpecker? And then you’d have to leave and kill yourself out of sheer embarrassment.

But Eddie didn’t laugh at you. Instead, his lips found your shoulder. “No, I’m alright. Thank you for the offer, though.” He slowly trailed his tongue to the other side. “Rain check for that?”

You nodded. “Y-yeah, absolutely.”

He carefully slid in, eliciting strained moans from both of you. You watched his eyes widen; mouth agape as he looked at you. Took your silent nod as confirmation to rock into you. He didn’t go too quick, seemingly taking his time to feel you. 

And as he built his momentum, you couldn’t help but find yourself becoming a a mumbling mess.

His cock was filling you, completing you. Aching as though you’d been missing each other your entire lives and you were finally colliding.

He lifted your leg over his shoulder, seemingly desperate to go deeper. You felt as he shivered, like he was unable to control himself while trying to maintain the control he already had. It drove you wild, moving with him to get him to keep going. Getting as close to him as you could to keep him vibrating above you. 

It was addicting, keeping your eyes connected as you tried to give back what he was giving to you. There was a silent connection forming, one where you were desperate to make him feel the way you did. Craved the ability to make him bend at your will, a carnal desire to make him fall apart at your hands.

Eddie smiled, nearly laughing as you grabbed his ass and pushed him deeper into you. And even though you were close to cracking a smile, it was quickly taken away. He thrusted again, harder, intensifying the wave of ecstasy washing over you. You cried out, unable to hold it in anymore. 

“That’s it,” he said. “You sound so pretty, you know that?”

A fourth orgasm ripped through you at his praise, cum coating his cock as he continued to rock into you. He slowed, only for a moment, just enough to help you down before he picked you right back up again. Cradled your face in one hand, his other lightly running up and down your calf. For the first time, you weren’t thrown into overstimulation.

For the first time, you experienced true pleasure from sex.

As you continued to writhe in his arms, trembling as he left you in wave after wave of euphoria, you felt something shift in your chest. You couldn’t see it then, but there was a part of you that would want him the moment he was gone. Because when he finally came, pulling out and spilling onto your stomach, you were disappointed that he hadn’t cum inside you.

It was in the way he took his time with you, treating you like a lady, praising you with each orgasm. Instead of whatever you imagined, something fast and filthy and rough, you were… Well, you were worshiped.

It was much more than whatever a one-night stand between strangers was supposed to look like. And you’d never had a one-night stand, but you were ninety-nine percent sure it was not this. Strangely, you were very, very okay with that.

When you two were officially finished, he pulled you into his chest, your head resting above his thrumming heart. And you stayed there. Without any thought of the future, without any thought of your hotel room or your manager or the flight you had to take tomorrow. No, you were somewhere else. Somewhere lovely. Somewhere safe.

“Tell me something true,” you whispered in the dark.

“What do you mean?”

“Something you probably haven’t talked about to the press or whatever. However personal you’d like to get.”

“I have two cats,” he said. “And I’m actually considering getting a third.”

“That’s really cool,” you responded. “But I’m curious.”

“Hm?”

“How do you have cats when you’re always away from home? I’ve always wanted to adopt one, but I’m scared we’ll have separation anxiety.”

“Easy. I bring them with me.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, I have special bags for them and everything. They fucking love traveling if you can believe it. Goddamn angels on airplanes.”

You couldn’t help your jealousy. It had always been a dream to have a cat. A companion, a friend to curl up next to at night. But your parents despised animals and then, well, you were suddenly never home. You wondered what it would feel like to be able to bring a piece of home with you wherever you went.

“What about you?’

You peered up at him. “Me?”

“Yeah, you,” he said with a smile. “Tell me something true.”

“It’s so stereotypical, but…” You took a deep breath, contemplating if it was okay to be so vulnerable so soon after meeting him. “I get really sad when people talk about my body.” You watched his eyebrows furrow. “I like myself, but it’s hard to be, like, not skinny and still be the artist I am as if my body determines whether I’m good enough at my job.

“Sometimes I wish I could just be a person who happens to have this body and that was that. I’m healthy…what more do people want out of me?”

Eddie’s arms tightened around your waist, fingers brushing against your tummy. “People are fucked up. Genuinely.” 

“I agree. It’s like… Either I’m too big for someone to love me but my reputation is that I’m fucking everyone within a ten mile radius at any given time. Like a fucking fuck radar.” Eddie laughed. “Like which is it? ‘Cause I clearly can’t be both and I can’t be neither.”

“You know what I say to that?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Hm?”

He raised his fist. “Fuck ‘em.”

You gave him a fist bump, nodding. “Yeah, fuck ‘em.”

“Also, if I may add, you’re fucking beautiful.” You shook your head. “No, I’m serious. I saw you walk up to accept your award tonight, which you totally had in the bag by the way, and I couldn’t help but think, ‘Wow, she’s more stunning in person.’ And I was at one of the tables in the back.”

 “You really thought that?”

“Please, I think Jeff was getting annoyed at how much I was staring. Said Radiohead wrote ‘Creep’ about me.”

A laugh fell from your lips but you still shook your head.

“I genuinely like you for you,” he whispered, lightly lifting your chin up. “It’s something true.”

“I think…I believe you.”

“Please do.”

But when you finally fell asleep, you were thrown into something ferocious. The sky turned black, with crows and ravens circling the trees. You ran along a path, trying desperately to find shelter. In the distance, you saw Eddie, walking with some other girl. One arm behind his back, his other hand holding hers. Just like he did with you.

And then it occurred to you: Now that you’d gotten a taste of Eddie Munson, you didn’t want to share.

It was supposed to be a random hookup. Just a fleeting glance at the unusual mixture of metal and pop, leather and lace. But when you woke up to the sound of your alarm, having to get on a plane as soon as possible to do promo in Chicago, you decided to wake him up.

“Hey,” you said. “Wake up, sleepy.”

He opened his eyes slightly, taking in your already dressed appearance. “Where are you going?”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you shrugged. “Chicago. I have a podcast to go on to talk about the Grammys and bullshit about having anything written for the next album and do promo and all that.” You looked down at the white duvet, all wrinkly from the long night (with a hint of his smeared eye shadow.) “I just wanted to thank you for last night and tell you that I had fun.”

“Yeah?” You nodded. “I did, too.” 

For a moment, you were quiet. Watching as he bit his lip, noticing how you were chewing on yours. Wondered what to say. What to think. How to end an interaction you really didn’t want to end.

“Favorite Beatles song this morning?” he asked.

You tried not to smile, but you couldn’t help it as you looked up at his cheeky expression. 

“‘I’ve Just Seen A Face’.”

“Help!” he nearly shouted in a fake scared voice, clasping onto his face. 

Rolling your eyes at his antics, you said, “If I didn’t know better, you know every album they’ve ever done.”

“Maybe I’ll tell you the answer next time I see you.”

You chuckled, telling yourself that this was just something people say. Next time this. Next time that. And there’s no follow up. Just a glance here and there at events. No one calls. No one cares.

You tried to get up, but Eddie gently grabbed your hand, rubbing his fingers along your knuckles. “Actually, in all seriousness…I wouldn’t mind seeing you again sometime.”

“Do you really mean that?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

Without a word, you disconnected your hand from his and started towards the door. Started towards what was ultimately going to be a long day with endless naps and replacing the water in your body with coffee. 

And as you placed your hand on the cold doorknob, Eddie said his last words.

“I’m going to miss you.”

You glanced over at him, your armor starting to come loose. 

But it tightened as soon as the weakness was identified. Because there was no way to make any promises, no way to guarantee anything more than what this moment in time had provided. 

“I’ll see you soon, Eddie. I’ll make sure of it.”

After that, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. The way he was just so honest. Upfront. Wanting you close.

He told you he was going to miss you. He told you that he liked you for the person you were, not the person that everyone expected you to be. And he was the same, his reputation being nothing more than a façade for the lovely human being underneath.

The rest of that day, that week, you could only think of him.

Shouldn’t you give yourself some time to enjoy it? his voice echoed. 

It’s alright. 

Just let go.

Early October, 2024

His makeup smeared down his face as he held your eyes. You’d never seen him so soft, so gentle. Full of emotions reserved just for you. Desperate for the one thing he ever wanted. 

You.

And in that moment, it all froze mid-air. The laughter and gasps of the crowd. The sound of the photographers shouting his name, shouting yours. The videos and the comments that felt like sticks and stones. Ronnie’s hurling words that felt like daggers.

It dissipates as you remember the start, as you remember why you were there in the first place. Why it mattered.

“Okay,” you murmured.

Eddie's eyes widened.

“I’ll stay.”

[undead-supernova]

I'll Pay the Price, You Won't.

And All at Once / Masterlist

Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6

plot: your first song about Eddie is about to drop, leaving you nervous about how he'll react

Pairings: modernrockstar!Eddie x fem!popstar!Reader (curvy!reader, bisexual!reader)

Warnings: a very real conversation about drug addiction and familial death, smoking

wc: 5k

The guy on the screen was uncanny.

         “It's very, very special. Because if you can see, the numbers all go to 11. Look, right across the board. 11, 11, 11, 11."

         "And most of these amps go up to 10."

It was one of the band members of the fake band Spinal Tap, clad in a black cut-off tee with a neon green print of a ribcage. Black jeans. Shaggy brown hair with bangs. A cigarette hanging from his mouth. Surrounded by a dozen guitars.

It was as if Eddie had been cloned with a hair straightener.

“You look just like that,” you murmured, glancing over at him.

He rolled his eyes, not even bothering to look at you. “I do not.”

“Yes, you do,” you argued. “You wear the tightest leather pants I’ve ever seen. And that shirt? The cig?”

         "...you're on 10 on your guitar. Where can you go from there? Where?"

         "I don't know."

         "Nowhere. Exactly."

“Yeah, but I don’t think I look like that.”

“Maybe not, but you do look like that. And you act like them, too. Don’t make me pull up Wayne’s World either.”

         “Why don't you just make 10 louder, and make 10 be the top number, and make that a little louder."

         "These go to 11."

He burst into laughter. Whether it was at you or the joke on the screen, you couldn’t tell. But it didn’t matter to you. His wild laugh was, to put it simply, everything.

“Okay, maybe I do.”

You loved him.

God, you loved him so damn much and you wanted to tell him over and over again. Drown him in your love and affection, get your sticky, glittery goo smeared all over his tattooed arms. Spread it all over him so that he never went a day without it.

But you stayed quiet in loving him despite being on his arm. Despite the photos and the TikTok stitches and the Instagram reels. The Tumblr communities that speculated what you talked about and how you would navigate arguments based off your respective star signs. But never once did you tell him that you loved him. 

It was obvious. Maybe it didn’t need to be said.        

Even if your new single was going to drop in the next few weeks and it was absolutely, positively about how much you fucking loved him.

Eddie had begged you to let him listen to it, but you were too scared. It was a pop song for Christ’s sake, and you didn’t want him to think it was cheesy or stupid or, you know, not good. You’d caught him listening to your music sometimes, so you knew he didn’t hate your sound. But there was always that possibility…

It was on your mind tonight while watching This Is…Spinal Tap on his couch, Oz and Puppet curled into each other on the other side. You leaned further into his side; legs pressed up to your chest. A fuzzy black blanket draped over you. 

“Tell me something true?”

Eyebrows furrowing, you looked at Eddie. “Yeah, what is it?”

“Why are you so scared about me hearing your song?”

You grew bashful. “Well, I mean… It’s about you.”

“And?”

“Well, what if you don’t think the lyrics are good? Or, like, you hate the music? Or you get embarrassed because of how bad it is?”

Eddie snorted. “Are you really that worried?”

“It’s not like it’s a ballad,” you explained, picking your nails under the blanket. “It’s like a fast-paced pop song. I mean, it’s literally called ‘Okay, Now Stop!’ It has an exclamation point at the end.” He chuckled. “The lyrics are very pointed but also vague, and I didn’t know if that would be okay, but now I can’t really change it. And I know it’s not the most poetic thing I’ve ever written. The label really wanted it to be the first single, but I’m nowhere near being done with the album—" 

Eddie interrupted you with a kiss, pulling your chin towards him with his pointer finger and thumb. You lost all sense of insecurity as he deepened it gently, basically swapping saliva as he nearly devoured your mouth.

When he finally pulled back, he gave you a swift peck. “I honestly don’t mind. I know you’re worried that we’ll cause more commotion, but this is your art, you know? You get to say what you want to say and it’s not your responsibility to tell people to butt the hell out and just enjoy the song. And if it’s fun, the lyrics don’t need to be poetic. Cut yourself some slack, sweetheart.” You nodded, knowing he was right. “When did you write it?”

“I wrote it around the time we first started running around.”

You weren’t expecting to see him smirk. “Oh, really?”

“It’s fun,” you said, more confident now. “I like dancing to it.”

“Then I’ll be there dancing with you.”

“I think I’d like that,” you said.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

Eddie chased your lips again, hands moving of their own volition. And though the night was spent in pleasure, you were still stuck on this idea of failure. Not just from the fear of Eddie’s opinion, but the opinion of the world. And you knew, knew that you weren’t supposed to care. You weren’t supposed to let this stuff get to you anymore after almost losing him. 

And that’s how the guilt settled in your stomach at three in the morning. Because you knew that you still cared. Maybe you would always care.

It was strange, having everyone over at your hidden house.

Usually, it was empty, save for Eddie and Scott. An oasis to escape to whenever there was too much noise. However, tonight was too special, with your entire team and Corroded Coffin there. Even Becky, Este, and Mary had flown in for the special occasion despite finals coming up in the next few weeks. And they didn’t complain about it once, just excited that they got to see you. You could reciprocate the sentiment ten times over. 

Your lavish living room was decked out in decorations, pink and holographic silver streamers galore. Balloons getting tossed around and popped every so often. Grant and Jeff had provided the refreshments, supplying any empty space in the kitchen with liquor, beer, and mixers. Clara had gotten your favorite local restaurant in the city to cater for the evening, even going so far as to bring it all herself to uphold your privacy.  

Your last two albums played over the speakers despite your protests. Eddie had egged it on, poking your sides and telling you how much he loved everything you made. How you deserved to be celebrated, no matter how cliché it was. How you should be proud of your past as it was a part of your future. In the end, you knew he was right.

Everyone was dressed casually, your boyfriend wearing a beat-up Iron Maiden t-shirt with dark jeans and mismatched socks. Everyone’s heavy jackets sat near the back door just in case the party moved. It was November, after all. You’d tried to be just as casual, with a white long-sleeved crop top and jeans. For the first time in a while, you weren’t self-conscious about how different you both looked. If anything, it made you smile that much more.

And Eddie made it a point to move the furniture so the room could turn into a big dance floor, spinning you around to your own music as the night continued. “I’ll take that,” he’d say randomly, taking your drink and placing it on any stable surface before dragging you to dance.

“This is one of my favorites,” he’d add, but you couldn’t help but think he was lying after the third time. 

You were a chaotic pair, bumping hips and swing dancing as awfully as you could at the groans and protests of Jeff, Grant, Gareth, and Ronnie. In the end, they all joined in—Eddie just had to threaten demolish them in their campaign first. Then they suddenly had the urge to congregate and make fools of themselves. 

When you weren’t dancing, Eddie was still all over you, always touching you in some way. Stroking your back, wrapping his arms around you from behind as you spoke to his band. Your friends. Your entire team. Even Scott, which you thought was brave. 

He did it all and whenever you had a pause, his lips littered kisses on your cheeks.

It was still something to get used to. Because though the past stayed in the past, it was a rather usual feeling to be left to your own devices without your partner. Only a hidden shadow in the dark. They came to your events, sure. But they never came close for too long, always aware of pictures and gossip. You were the secret they were too ashamed to keep.

Eddie wanted nothing from you except to be yours.

And you couldn’t thank him enough for it.

“I think you should put it on now,” Este suggested, thirty minutes from the release. You tried to hide your smile. “It’s only fair.”

Clara shook her head. “Nope. No way.”

“Ah, come on,” Eddie said with a playful grin. “Don’t be a grinch! Especially this close to December.”

You giggled, detangling yourself from Eddie to approach her. Clasping your hands together, you mustered up the softest pout that you could. “Let me give everyone an exclusive.” Batting your eyes, you added, “Pretty please?”

Clara gave you a hard stare, clearly calculating whatever risk she saw before sighing. “Fine, but if something goes wrong, you’re to blame!”

Everyone cheered as you skipped over to your phone sitting on your bookshelf, still connected up to the speaker. Pausing the current song, you turned to face everyone.

“Okay! So, before I start this, I want to thank everyone for being here. It’s really lovely to see all the people I adore in one room. It’s an early Christmas miracle.” Your friends giggled. “And I know this is just the first single and we still have an album to finish, but the music I’m writing now,” your eyes flickered to Eddie before looking away, “is maybe the most important writing I’ve ever done. And I can’t wait for what comes next.” 

“A toast,” Eddie called out, causing all eyes to fall on him. “to one of the most talented women to ever walk the earth.” 

Murmurs of agreement sounded from the rest of the party. You bit your lip, trying not to let those flutters in your stomach overwhelm you. And as everyone took a sip, your eyes met Eddie’s, watching as he nodded at you. His smile emitted pride, raising his glass to you before sending a quick wink.

You nodded before pressing play and skipping back over to Eddie’s side.

The song started with you clearing your throat and saying, 

         “Okay, my pretty boy...now move!"

A trumpet wailed before the drums kicked in and the electronics filled the soundscape, an Eighties-inspired beat enveloping the room. Becky, Este, and Mary squealed and started dancing. You couldn’t help but giggle and move your shoulders to the beat.

You deliberately avoided Eddie’s gaze on you at the sound of you calling him a pretty boy. You knew you’d be too embarrassed. And though he didn’t try to directly catch your attention, you could tell he liked it by the way he squeezed your hand. Hopefully he’d keep that sentiment.

         “Would it be crazy to say how deeply I'm into you?

         Would you promise no games, 'cause I always lose."

You continued to feel Eddie’s stare, finally turning your head to find him raising his eyebrows at you. With a quick shrug, feigning nonchalance and secrecy, you decided to sway your hips along to the beat. You hadn’t been kidding when you said you loved dancing to it. 

         “Every day looked the same as the ones before.

         But you nursed your whiskey and said you wanted more."

As the beat built up and dropped into the chorus, you saw smiles on every face. Eddie was even tapping his foot along to the beat, every so often bumping into you on purpose. You held back your laughter.

         “Okay, now stop! Hear me knock!

         There's no hotel room I couldn't find my way into.

         Okay, now stop! Hear the clock!

         We're wasting time, here's to another long goodbye."

When you looked behind you, you noticed Gareth starting to head bang, giving you a thumbs up as the song hit a small instrumental. Ronnie was nodding along, something you didn’t expect. Past him, you noticed Scott watching you with a fond smile on his face. You returned it, sending him an air kiss. 

         “If this is fate, I confess to you that I don't mind.

         And if I ask for something true then please don't lie.

         Can you tell that I miss you whenever I'm away?

         There's only so much time, who knows what can change."

By the time the bridge came, some had latched onto singing along with the lyrics. You’d even caught Eddie trying to learn the melody immediately. It felt good, like all the worry you’d had before was washing away. You’d made this, confident in its production. You never needed to worry because you were proud of it. Sometimes you just forgot where you put your confidence.

“This is my favorite part,” you said quietly to Eddie, nudging him as it began.

         “Hey there! I confess! That there is now an Angel in my bed.

         Hey there! I confess! That I'm the Devil waiting in our bed.

         Okay, now stop!

         We're dancing dirty to The Beatles and the Stones.

         Okay, now stop!

         You're dancing pretty asking me to lead you home."

You put your fingers up, turning to Eddie and pointing to him. There’s a pause in the song before you scream,

         "And I DO!"

Everyone started whooping, the entire house shaking with the bass and the many bodies now dancing along to something you created. You got the same feeling as you did when you toured, always able to feed off the excitement of the audience. The energy, the rush of adrenaline.

It was as electric as Eddie’s touch on your waistline, aggressively nuzzling his face into your neck. It was as addicting as his presence, breath continuing to wash over your skin and into your lungs. 

It felt like magic.

“Baby,” Eddie whispered in your ear as you continued to sway. “I like it.”

You stopped, softening at his statement. “Yeah?”

“Absolutely. It’s cute and fun.” He kissed your ear. “I know every little thing you’re talking about. It’s actually kinda hot.”

“Even if it sounds desperate?” you wondered.

He shook his head into your neck once more before pulling back. “As if I wasn’t.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “You sure never acted like it.”

He shrugged, taking a step back before he moved some of his hair behind his ear. “Well, I had to keep my rizz intact.”

You couldn’t help but lightly smack his stomach, watching as he pretended to take a blow and almost fall over.

“I hate that you said that.”

“You love it,” he whispered, grabbing and pulling you back into his arms. You couldn’t help but laugh when he pretended to bite your neck.

“This is so good!” Jeff exclaimed as the song ended, interrupting your light bickering. You freed yourself from Eddie before hugging Jeff. “I just know the rest of the album is gonna go hard.”

“You think?”

Before he could respond, Scott was approaching you, a grin on his lips. He looked slightly cartoonish, his mustache lifting with his smile.

“Doin’ great, kiddo,” he said, patting your shoulder. “Doin’ great.”

Tears collected in your eyes at his words. Sniffling, you shook your head. “I bet you say that to everyone.”

“Not even close. You deserve it all,” he replied. “And I’m so proud of you for getting this far.”

In Scott’s face, you saw the beginning. When your father decided to treat you like a cash cow, Scott was there to treat you like a daughter. He kept you safe. But more than that, he was there when you needed him. He listened when you had to speak. Was there to cheer you on whenever you doubted yourself. Spoke up for you whenever anyone else doubted you. Made sure that no matter what, you had someone in your corner.

So, you pulled him into a tight hug. Buried your face into his shoulder as the world around you became a source of ease. There was nothing outside of this house tonight. No pictures. No receipts. No accusations. No need for armor. 

No, the rest of the world no longer existed. Not when everyone you held close was right there, living in this moment with you. 

“Why don’t we go out on the balcony?” Eddie asked, grabbing his jacket and your cardigan from the coat hanger.

You raised an eyebrow, eyes flickering around the room at everyone still dancing and drinking. It was midnight, but no one seemed to care. Least of all you and Eddie. 

“And leave the party?” you questioned.

“Yeah, come on,” he said, already starting to pull you towards the door. “I got a present for you.”

Something in you softened. “For me?”

And Eddie was damn near smirking as you pushed through the doors.

“Mhm. Come on, sweetheart.”

And so you did, draping the cardigan over your shoulders and slipping out the French doors. 

The balcony was something you’d spent real money on, always wanting something like it since you were a kid. There was the railing, all while Roman columns. The plotted flowers adorning every lining and every corner. The few benches overlooking the backyard. Land, with woods and everything, for as far as the eye could see. 

It was like your own little Victorian dream. 

Then there was the moon, waxing gibbous, high in the air and brighter here than anywhere else you’d ever been. Sometimes it reminded you of those trips you’d take to your grandparents’ house as a kid, far out in Nowhere, Tennessee. The extensive farmland, with lightning bugs and the low hum of crickets. The stars, the moon—so much closer and more tangible than you could ever fathom.

Though you couldn’t hear or really see anything like that here, it still felt like home to you. You made it feel like home.

“I know you don’t smoke as often as I do, but…” Eddie trailed, breaking the silence. He dipped into the front pocket of his jacket. “I made you something.”

You looked at him curiously as he placed something in your hand. It was a joint, but it wasn’t wrapped in normal paper. Was it even paper at all? In the low light, you noticed its maroon hue, the uneven texture.

“They’re rose petals,” he explained. “I actually made it myself. Pressed it and all that shit.”

You twirled it around in awe. The precision at which Eddie was able to roll a joint was astounding. Sure, it was due to years of practice, but it looked as clean as what you could find at any dispensary near your apartment in the city.

“I love it,” you said, biting your lip to hide your smile. Looking back into his eyes, you suppressed the urge to tell him just what else you loved.

And your pause did something to him, his eyebrow lifting as he waited for you to say something else. 

But you didn’t, the words lodging in your throat.

“Want me to light it?” he asked suddenly, shaking his head.

You peered at him curiously, wondering what he was thinking.

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

Once you’d gotten the smoke into your mouth, you could taste a slight tinge of something floral. It didn’t taste all that bad. Actually, it was nice. As you exhaled, you noticed the lack of a strong burn in your throat.

“That’s smooth,” you commented. “Did you use a fancy filter?”

“The fanciest.”

As you smoked, you leaned your head on his shoulder, breathing him in as much as you could. The high settled in soft and sweet, taking that high energy and molding it into something peaceful.

“Can I tell you something true?”

You nodded, leaning back. “Yeah, what is it?”

Eddie’s eyes met yours, all signs of humor fading from his face. “I’m really glad to have you in my life,” he said. His voice was lower now, more serious. Deliberate. “Everything is so shitty sometimes and having you through it all has been really…” he trailed, trying to find the right word before shrugging. “I don’t know. Just really something.”

“Me, too,” you said, your smile widening. “Sometimes I can’t believe that you’re not even listening to the world. And when you can’t avoid it, you’re able to just laugh at it. I haven’t seen someone do that before.”

“I just try not to take it all so seriously. If there’s three million people saying one thing but we're still living our lives, then eventually the joke is on them. Not us.” His smile returned then, just for you. “Plus, your laugh is just heavenly.”

“You really think so?” you asked, voice growing small.

“Yeah, sweetheart. I really do.” Eddie’s fingers cupped your jaw, thumb brushing over your cheek. “With everything that I went through, with the drugs and Wayne and everything… I don’t know. It’s nice, not just to have a friend, but someone I can come home to and, like, cherish. You know?”

You nodded, leaning into his touch. “You never exactly told me how all of that happened.” Eddie’s eyebrows shot up. “The drugs, I mean.”

He looked surprise, dropping his hand to take the joint from you. “Uh, shit. Well. Do you want me to tell you?”

“I do,” you said with a nod. “but only if you want to.”

“Are you sure? Tonight’s, like, your night.”

“And because it’s my night, I wanna hear about it.”

“Here, let me get another hit in before it gets all sad and shit.”

You rolled your eyes. “We’re artists. We’re always sad.”

Eddie started laughing which resulted in him coughing out the smoke. You rubbed his back as he caught his breath again. “Yeah. Shit. Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“Satisfied?”

He nodded, taking another hit before he started. “I knew it was a fucking mistake when I did it. I really knew better. Gesturing towards the bench, you sat down next to one another. “Here, let’s sit down.”

Eddie handed you the joint before he kept going. “I didn’t have anyone there to tell me not to. I don’t blame the guys for using it recreationally. Once, twice—sure. Go ahead. But it’s when you start doing it a loooot more that gets a little tricky. 

“I thought I was smarter than addiction the second I caught my dad’s stash that first time after Mom passed,” he explained. “And, sure, I was smoking weed but that wasn’t a big deal. Weed’s great. Tried mushrooms and acid, sure. Molly once. What can I say? I have an open mind.” He gave you a small smile as you chuckled. “But then Grant said something at a party about trying coke together and I was like, ‘Sweet, let’s just try it once.’ And for Grant, that was true. But not me.

“Narrowly avoided it but, fuck. People just have it all the time.”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “I haven’t tried it, but it’s been offered to me more times than I can count.”

“Bingo. Exactly.” He tapped your knee with his. It was only then that you noticed the other was bouncing. You couldn’t decipher whether it was from the cold or nerves. 

“I convinced Ronnie to have more parties so Grant could get us some more. But none of them wanted it, so I always took all of it. And I just convinced him that we needed it as a just in case thing.” A sigh left his lips. “That, uh, lasted for two years.”

Your eyes widened, watching as he grew crestfallen.

“Eddie…” you whispered. “That was after your uncle…”

“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “Yeah, it stayed after Wayne passed. But, like, five months after coke made it worse, Grant and the others sat me down and told me that they were worried about me. Ronnie hit me in the face which was, yeah, deserved to say the least. I was acting like a prick, spinning lies about how Wayne passing couldn’t be related. That I was fine when I really wasn’t. Like, clearly I wasn’t, you know? I was using.” You nodded. “Anyways, they convinced me to try and get help.”

“What did they say?” you asked.

“Jeff told me that they decided to stop partying, or at least stop doing it almost every weekend. That from now on we take alone time or find something to do together and just chill. Turn off for a while. See if it helped. Solidarity.” He grinned, something you weren’t expecting, his eyes glazed over in a memory. “Gareth asked me if I still had any of my old D and D campaign notes. I did, do, in a very protected place. Laminated it myself when I got the funds. And Ronnie, well, she told me that they wanted to play again and that if I was coked up, I couldn’t DM. And no one questions if I should be a player or the DM.”

A smirk formed on his lips. “And you know that it meant something to me. Still does. And she told me that once I got out of rehab, I better have a killer campaign to play.” Growing somber again, he took your hand in his. “You know, James Hetfield struggled with a drinking problem for a long time. They called Metallica ‘Alcoholia’ instead ‘cause they got so fucked up on tour.” 

“I didn’t know that,” you admitted. “That’s awful.”

Eddie let out a laugh, but it wasn’t really a laugh. More like a scoff he was trying to cough out. “Sometimes,” he said. “I feel like such a fucking idiot, you know? The signs were there. The warnings. Everyone said it and I just…did it anyways. And I don’t wanna touch that shit again but, fuck.”

You thought back to your cousins, the twins who couldn’t make ends meet after your aunt passed away. They resorted to selling, nearly embarrassed to admit how much it helped them pay their bills. If they were eating, that was all that mattered. It was only when they started using the product that it became something else. When you’d gotten the money to do so, you made sure they each had their own house and paid any expenses for rehab. You couldn’t stand watching them go through something like that anymore. 

“Addiction is handed to people on a silver platter sometimes,” you said. “And you didn’t think doing it once would turn into a problem. I don’t think anyone does.” Lightly squeezing his hand, you added, “I think what the guys did was really awesome. They’re good for you.”

“Yeah, they’re amazing. Saved my life more than once, that’s for sure.”

Eddie grew quiet then, staring back out at the moonlight. The faint sound of “because i liked a boy” by Sabrina Carpenter could be heard beneath a high-pitched laugh, belonging to Mary no doubt. You and Eddie were somewhere else, blanketed by the promise of the truth. Freezing in the mid-November air, particularly brutal this year. But you two stayed there, too wrapped up in your shared words. Some part of you knew it was crazy, but you’d stay out there all night if he asked you to. 

“And, uh,” he started after a few minutes of silence. “I feel very grateful that I found you,” You tried to hide your smile but couldn’t. “Not to sound like I’m high while I’m high, but it just, like.” He shrugged. “Sometimes it feels like the planets and the fates and the stars just kinda align and suddenly you’re somewhere you never thought you’d be. For better or for worse. And I know that with you, it’s for better.”

Tears welled in your eyes, the weight of his words piercing your chest. “You just had to go and make me cry, didn’t you?”

“Crying’s good,” he said, planting a kiss on your forehead. “Enough with the sappy shit. Well, maybe there’s more.”

“What else could you possibly say that isn’t going to wreck me?”

“Well,” he started. “I wanted to invite you on a little trip.”

“Where?”

“Some island off the British Virgin Islands. The details are kinda hazy since Gareth sprung it on us, but we’ll be warm…” He pulled you closer. “We can go snorkeling or jet skiing or whale watching.” A kiss to your neck. “And we’ll have a lot of privacy to do whatever we want.”

“Are you trying to take me on a…ah, fuck…a fuck-cation?” you wondered, trying to keep your voice level. There were people just beyond the door after all. 

“It’s more than just that, sweetheart,” he said, pulling his head away. “I just want to spend some time with you outside of all these cities is all. We don’t have to run around or worry about any cameras. I made sure of that.”

“Did you drop money on something for once?” you asked.

Since getting to know Eddie, you found that he didn’t spend a ton of money all the time. Like you, he donated a lot of it and only spent real money on himself when it came to guitars and jewelry. Maybe a nice meal here and there. But besides that, he still frequented thrift stores and cooked his own food. Still kept a budget for expenses despite practically never needing one again. He’d told you that old habits die hard, and you couldn’t agree more.

A blush tinged his cheeks. “I might’ve.”

“When do we leave?” you asked.

Eddie’s eyes lit up, a smile already growing. “We leave in three days.”

“I think I could do that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The two of you stayed out there for another hour, quiet in your contentment. It was like you’d waited for something like this your entire life, always reaching towards something so pure. Your life felt like a series of endings, all hushed demolitions and bitterness tinging your skies. Now it felt as though this was the end to all the endings, a kingdom being rebuilt. And you didn’t mind to declare the man beside you the king.

I am including this amazing image that @strangergraphics designed for my fic (and she made the divider so full credit to her) of what the single would look like! Ugh, I love her. Anyways, here you go!

[undead-supernova]

The Room Burned Down / Masterlist

Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4

plot: maybe going to award shows together isn't as fun as you think it's gonna be...so, baby, can we dance through an avalanche?...I'd hold you as the water rushes in...

Pairings: modernrockstar!Eddie x fem!popstar!Reader (curvy!reader, bisexual!reader)

Warnings: public shaming, some fluff, a hint of spice, arguments, smoking, mentions of addiction, mentions of abuse, mentions of fatphobia

wc: 5.8k

“Do I have to talk to the press?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” your manager, Clara, said, typing away on her phone.

“They’re going to rake me across the coals.”

It had been nearly a month since your first date with him. Despite his hope that the noise would die down, it was only exasperated by the fact that you two hadn’t been seen out in public, sparking breakup rumors. But it was only that he had his promo and you had yours, traveling round and round with no time to rest. You even had outfit fittings for this very event that kept you in two different cities. It hadn’t put any strain on your relationship. If anything, it did the opposite. You lived your own lives, calling when possible. Texting nonstop once you caught a break at the same time. It was all so new for you. 

Clara looked at you through the reflection of the mirror, her professional face on. “If they do, just smile and walk away. Thank them for their time. Just try to stay neutral like you always do. You’ll be perfect, I promise.”

            Knock.

You peered over at the wall, a smile forming on your lips.

You knew exactly who would pull that move.

Knock, knock, you sent back.

            Knock, knock, knock.

            Knock, knock, knock, knock.

“Stop it, oh my god.”

A giggle left your lips. “Sorry.”

It was merely a coincidence that Corroded Coffin was getting ready for the American Music Awards on the same floor as you…directly next to you, that is. All by happenstance and absolutely nothing else. There was no coordination whatsoever and if anyone accused you of such a thing, you’d deny it. 

But here you were, causing mischief within the first hour of being situated. To be fair, you hadn’t seen Eddie yet, rushed off before Corroded Coffin even showed up. It was whiplash, Clara already spouting off the plans for the night. The time you’d get into the car. When you’d get out. The red carpet. Reminding you how to pose, how to smile. All the while, people floated around you with makeup brushes and endless cups of coffee. Hushed whispers and sighs.

Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock.

When you didn’t respond, you watched your door open in the reflection with Eddie stepping in, dodging the assistants and the assistant’s assistant running around. You smiled as you took in his appearance. Loose t-shirt and sweatpants, all cozy and soft. Hair damp, bangs pulled back. You noticed he’d been sat down for makeup, only one of his eyelids dusted in navy eye shadow. 

God, you’d missed him.

“What’re you doing in here?” you asked, nearly jumping up to give him the biggest kiss he’d ever received. But when your knees jerked, Clara placed a hand on your shoulder to keep you down. The pout on your lips wouldn’t even sway her.

“You didn’t answer my knock,” Eddie said, trying to sound innocent, placing a hand over his chest. “I thought you were dead.”

You giggled, but Clara only sighed, shaking her head as she fought a smile. “I can’t believe you both. Like toddlers, I swear.” She turned to Eddie. “Get out of here. We leave in two hours, and I know that hair takes at least one. Don’t make me call Paige.”

Eddie sent you a wink from the shadowed eye. “See you later, babe.”

You chuckled. “Bye, Eddie.”

Today was big for the two of you. Big big. You were sitting at a reserved table with Corroded Coffin. Just you, Eddie, Grant, Gareth, Jeff, and Ronnie. All together. In public. On TV. 

Your boyfriend would be with you unlike the last few wanting nothing to do with the exposure, usually hiding across the room. But Eddie insisted, only wanting to be near you all night. There for you, rooting for you as you were there for him, rooting for him. Getting to spend time with his close friends and his girlfriend.

Everything was starting to fall into place. The noise was becoming more bearable the more they stayed out of earshot. The world was unable to penetrate the magnificent walls you’d built around your hearts. And if you could just get through tonight without a fuck up or a bout of controversy, everything would be okay.

When you emerged from your hotel room, nearly ten minutes late, you found Eddie waiting for you, dark eyes widened as he looked over your outfit. You were in a Sixties Go-go dancer fantasy with a sparkly pink romper, the straps wrapped around your neck. Tall block-heeled boots reaching your knees. A thick pink boa to drape over your elbows. Dripping in jewels. 

An absolute daydream.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” Eddie exclaimed, picking you up and spinning you around, the boa floating to the floor. You took in his scent, that beautiful mixture of nicotine and bergamot from whatever cologne he’d started wearing lately. His breath was fresh against your neck, your ear, your jaw. His warmth bleeding through his double-breasted navy suit, textured from the polyester and cherry blossom pattern. 

When a nearly silent gasp left your lips, Eddie wasted no time with hiding himself with his hair and nipping at your neck. Your grasp on his shoulders tightened as his fingers dug into your sides. Feeling his tongue lightly flick over the mark made you feel, well, insane. Had it really been an entire month without his breath? Had you really spent an entire mouth with his voice over the phone, guiding you through your orgasms as you whined and begged for him? Had you really gone this long without him?

Despite wanting to pull him back into the room and rip off his ridiculously expensive clothes, you grabbed your boa and his hand before jogging towards the elevator.

Jeff, Grant, Gareth, and Ronnie were already down at the car, probably drinking complimentary champagne and getting ready to sit in the audience for four hours, waiting for their names to be called. You couldn’t blame them. It did get rather boring after a while of the cameras and commercial breaks and announcers and performances. You’d almost been asked to perform, but before you could say yes, they asked Olivia to do it instead. It wasn’t something you minded, but there was a little part of you had felt sad at the loss.

But you were here to have fun, not worrying about who was who or what people had to say about you. Just have fun with the people who knew what real fun was. Be able to survive the night. 

Survive. Endure. Have fun.

As you made your way through to the lobby, hand in hand, you glanced over at Eddie again. You couldn’t believe how beautiful he was, always seeming to take your breath away. It was an accurate cliché, but one that couldn’t fully encompass how you felt. Hell, the English language wasn’t even enough.

“You’re a vision in navy,” you complimented, taking him in once again.

“Apparently, it’s a deep Prussian,” he corrected before rolling his eyes.

“Oh, my bad,” you replied sarcastically. 

“Hey!”

Paige was storming towards you, scowling. 

When you looked at Eddie, he just smiled at her and waved. “Paige, how lovely to see you tonight.”

But Paige merely groaned. “Get your asses to the car.”

“Look how beautiful my girlfriend is.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh my god, Eddie—”

“Cut it, Romeo,” Paige interrupted, shoving you through the door and into the limo with the rest of the band. Everyone cheered, handing you both champagne before clinking your glasses together.

You couldn’t help but look over at Eddie, his grin just as wide as yours.

I’m so in love with you, you thought, so close to letting it fall out. I’m so, so in love with you.

“Come on,” Paige shouted, making you flinch as you watched her signal to the driver. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

As soon as you were let out of the car, Clara led you away from the group, ushering you towards the photo ops and interviews. Men behind cameras called your name, begged for your attention. This was still something you found strange, like being held in a cage. You were to be spectated, gawked at by the public as nothing more than a show. A source of entertainment that extended far beyond your comprehension.

But Clara had trained you for this since the first time you ever stepped out on one of these carpets. You knew how to give them what they wanted. So, you put your hand on your hip. Pivoted every few seconds for different angles. Let the light hit your highlighter at just the right moment. A smirk. A laugh. Shiny smile. Shiny eyes.

It killed you the moment you heard your boyfriend’s name being called from behind you, harmonious with the sound of the rest of their names being shouted out. The photographers were going nuts as they found their way onto the carpet. You wanted to look back at him, wanted to admire how he shone. 

Because he did. He always did.

Eddie Munson knew how to shine without even breathing. Without talking. Without smiling. He could part a crowd like it was nothing, could bring everyone to their knees if he merely snapped his fingers. It was undeniable.

Everyone wanted him.

And, dangerously, he was all yours.

“You’ve been busy!”

You chuckled, trying to keep your eyes from flickering over at the camera being shoved in your face. This was the first interview of the night, the first of five. Five. It was something you’d agreed to months ago, but you didn’t realize just how taxing it would feel until the blonde woman in front of you stuck her microphone up to your lips.

“Oh, yeah!” you responded. “With writing the new album and thinking about the next tour and stuff, I’ve just been running around and trying to keep everything in check. Plus, Acacia My Dear means so much to me, I don’t want another album to overshadow that hard work.”

“And I’m sure you get a lot of support from your new boyfriend, Eddie Munson.”

You’d anticipated the mention, mulled it over and let yourself spiral late at night. But nothing prepared you for your dry mouth, for the lump in your throat as you began to scramble for an answer.

“Well, I’ve been really focused on my music,” you responded.

But she wasn’t letting up. “Will there be any songs about him on the new album?”

“I think art is always up for interpretation.” You smiled bigger despite your frustration, looking over her shoulder and pretending to notice someone. “I have to go, thank you.”

But you weren’t out of the woods yet.

            “Have you collaborated with your boyfriend on anything?”

            “I really like to write by myself. The songwriting and the music are so important to me. Obviously, it’s important to the people who are so talented in different ways. I’m just grateful that people seem to care about it as much as I do.”

            “You and Eddie are so different. How does that translate at shows like this?”

            “I think everyone is here because they’re successful and talented at what they do. I can only hope that I measure up tonight.”

            “Do you think Corroded Coffin has a chance tonight?”

            “Everyone here is so talented. I hope that everyone gets a chance to shine as much as they do. I know that winning isn’t everything, but I hope I have a good shot.”

            “Is your new album influenced by Eddie’s sound at all?”

            “I’m talented and successful because of the sound I’ve cultivated and what I do. I think that I will continue to evolve as an artist and as a songwriter and, for me, I believe that I have been doing just that.” 

Four more interviews and each one talked about Eddie and not your music. Not your success. You hissed to your publicist that no one was allowed to even mutter Eddie’s name in an interview again and she furiously nodded and apologized. Clara nearly told you to cool it, but you stormed off into the venue. You didn’t want to hear from her. You’d done your fucking job.

When you spotted Eddie inside talking to Grant, you immediately found yourself in his arms. Away from the cameras. Away from the vultures. 

“Eddie.”

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said softly, rubbing your back. 

“I think I’m gonna cry,” you gasped, anxiety flooding your system. Your hands were shaking, mind frenzied by the noise and the people and the fucking embarrassment.

“No, hey. It’s alright. Tell me what happened.”

You pulled back, but Eddie kept his hands on your waistline. Kept you close.

“They just kept bringing you up. I tried to steer it all away back to my music, but they just kept going.”

“Hey, they asked me that shit, too.”

“What did you say?”

“I said that my relationship is private, but I’m proud of all your hard work right now. ‘Cause I am.”

Immediately, you felt like a shitty girlfriend. “I should’ve said that. I’m sor—"

“Look at me, baby,” he interrupted, searching your eyes. “Tell me your favorite Beatles song right now. Hm?”

Searching your mind, you were caught on the only lyrics that came to mind.

            “Life is very short and there’s no time for fussing and fighting, my friend.”

“‘We Can Work It Out’.”

“And we can,” he replied with a small smile, tapping your chin. You nodded. “Let’s just go sit down with everyone and try to bring the energy back, alright? I’m right here with you, baby. Always.”

But there were other lyrics to that song, ones that echoed even louder.

            “Try to see it my way

            Only time will tell if I am right or I am wrong

            While you see it your way

            There’s a chance that we may fall apart before too long.”

Everything was turned around, the smiles and the laughter returning you to your senses. Corroded Coffin won the only award they were up for tonight. Naturally. After that, Jeff had pulled out a hidden deck of cards. You, him, Eddie, and Gareth were in a mean game of Go Fish, giggling your way through Gareth trying to cheat.

You were hardly listening when someone said your name onstage. Looking up from your cards, you heard the tail end of it. 

“…is about to switch genres, sitting over there with her new boyfriend.” The crowd around you laughed. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?”

You saw Eddie’s hand in your peripheral vision, saw the middle finger starting to lift, and pushed his hand down. No need to make a scene.

“Quick, Eddie. Don’t get too close!”

Without hesitation, Gareth, Grant, Jeff, and Ronnie all stood up and flipped him off. Ronnie even pointed hers directly at the camera filming your reaction.

The audience gasped while other celebs at tables cheered them on.

What the fuck was happening?

Eddie glanced at you before getting up and stepping onto his chair. Slowly, he raised his middle finger.

The crowds roared, the presenter starting to look embarrassed as the whole room turned into chaos. Dozens of pictures captured their defiance, their retaliation.

And you?

Well, you sat there with a neutral expression, already trained in the art of disguising your emotions. Your lips didn’t hold a smile or a frown, something set in the middle. You controlled your eyes to stay in position, refusing to widen or fall half-lidded. Refusing to look up at your boyfriend.

But inside, you were something else entirely.

Full of rage at the jokes, full of fear at the way Eddie’s whole band went to bat for you. Furious at yourself for being unable to find the will to stand up with them. Terrified at what the world was about to say about it. Humiliated that they felt the need to pull a stunt to a stupid joke you’d heard a million times.

“Woah, woah, guys! Calm down!” the presenter said with a shaky laugh. He was clearly not anticipating what was happening. “It’s all jokes, promise. All jokes. Nice organization, though, truly. Anyways, moving on to the next category. Here presenting the award—”

As everyone sat back down, Jeff and Gareth went back to their game like it was nothing. 

You turned to your boyfriend. “Eddie—”

“No,” he said simply, his eyes meeting yours. “I can’t just let them do that. People have to know that it’s not okay.”

“Eddie, they’re gonna talk about us,” you said, noticing your southern accent bleeding through. Fuck. “Y’all can’t just do that. Think of tomorrow, think of—”

“And the nominees are for Best Pop Album are…”

You had to look away, remember where you were. Because that was your name they were saying up there, yourface they were zoning in on. 

And it was you that everyone was looking at as you were declared the winner.

You began standing, Eddie helping to pull out your chair. Turning to him, you thought about kissing him, thought about hugging him. Thought about giving him any sliver of physical affection while the world was watching. 

His hand reached out for yours, but you gave him a small smile before dipping your head and walking toward that stage. Alone. Without anyone by your side to help you up the steps. The applause was nearly deafening, the support seemingly louder than before. 

But you had to focus, clearing your throat as you took the shiny award, resembling a shard of glass ready to pierce your skin at a moment’s notice. You reminded yourself of where you were, what you were doing. What you had to do. Face the world yet again. 

Leaning into the microphone, you began.

“I’d really like to thank my record label for giving me the opportunity to explore new sounds and trusting me with the writing and producing process. Acacia My Dear is obviously a play on the Beatles song and I was so inspired to create an album centered around a fictional version of myself that I created. To tell that story was so euphoric and beautiful.” A few cheers sounded. “My art is what keeps me going and I’ll never stop loving it. Never. Um,” you stumbled, looking back out at the crowd before back at your award. 

There were words on your togue.

I’d like to thank Eddie for being so supportive these last five months. 

But you only shook your head. 

“So, yeah, this is for the fans and the many, many young queer women out there who want to make music. Y’all—” you paused, careful to switch your accent back. “You all can do it and you can be successful.” You lifted the award high into the air. “If I can, you can, too. Thank you.”

You’d made it to the vacant bathroom, made it to the sink in time to feel yourself start to lose it. 

This wasn’t the time to lose it.

You couldn’t.

But you were.

Being an outcast in high school was something you had in common with Eddie. While your circumstances differed and you didn’t know much about his past, you knew that you were both given the same nickname. Freak. You weren’t too sure exactly how you were supposed to be much of a freak, but you’d been labeled as such since grade school. It was always something new, from your interests to your appearance to whatever you said or did in class. The punchline to bets made by boys in the name of sheer boredom.

But girls and boys are both cruel. And whoever said boys shouldn’t hit girls never went to your schools. You were pushed into walls. Punched. Called names. Cyberbullied once emailing became a thing. Humiliated on social media once that came around. You were ugly, fat. Freak. A wannabe musician who had no talent. Freak. A loner who sat by herself and wrote during recess because nobody liked you enough to let you to play with them. Freak. Booed when you sang at your talent shows, left uninvited to sleepovers and birthday parties.

Freak.

The only thing you held sacred was your music that you recorded on GarageBand and uploaded to YouTube and Soundcloud, back when all of that was way more popular. It gained traction somehow, your song “High Walls” getting thousands upon thousands of views and praise. A record label saw the spike and took a chance on you, thinking you were talented enough at eighteen to make it big.

And you did. 

But you still had nightmares about those days. Spent time in therapy talking about how ridiculous you felt that you were still haunted by teenage girls and boys, all surrounding you with hollering laughter and pointed fingers. How you still heard their words echo in your mind whenever you looked online and saw the vile things being said about you. Still felt the sting of salt in your wounds whenever friends you’d made would stab you in the back.

The sound of heels brought you back to your reality, brought you back to the faint hum of the performance on the other side of the theater. For a moment, you thought that maybe Ronnie or Clara decided to see if you were okay. 

But you were disappointed to find some actress you forgot the name of. You recognized her face and nothing more. Her dark hair curled down to her shoulders, showered in golden eyeshadow and body glitter. She recognized you immediately, eyebrows shooting up at the mere sight of you.  

But she kept moving to the other side, holding her words back. You knew they were coming, anticipated them as she got settled. Her lips wrapped around a vape, her back and one red pump pressed against the wall. 

Crossing her arms, she began her prodding. “Some show, huh?”

You only shrugged.

“Want a hit?”

You looked at her, seeing that the offer was coming from a place of understanding rather than passing judgment or niceties. Because her mouth was scrunched up to the side, like she felt bad for you. Like she was genuinely just trying to figure out how to help.

And though you never really smoked cigarettes all that often, you took it from her and pulled a long drag. Well, maybe too long. The rush of nicotine hit you hard, dizzying before you felt the release. Like you were flying, like you were escaping from whatever hell you were being trapped in. And it was fleeting, the moment ending as soon as the cloud of smoke left your lips.

You handed it back to her. “Thanks,” you said with a breathy laugh. The familiar taste of MAC lipstick lingered on your tongue. 

“Yeah, no problem.”

Thinking the interaction was over with, you went back to looking at yourself. Your mind was close to clearing, was so close to being brought back from the brink of madness. If you could just get through the night without another hiccup or mistake, maybe everything would be okay. Maybe if you stayed perfectly calm—  

“Eddie Munson, huh?”

You refrained from letting out a scoff, your impulse control not strong enough to keep you from throwing up your hand before it slapped against the counter.

“Yeah. Eddie Munson.”

She noticed your irritation but didn’t get upset. She only watched you, tilting her head as she took another drag.

“What’s he like?”

The question rang in your head, echoing around you like there were a million voices asking at once. Because he was the one that everyone wanted, the one everyone gravitated towards. He was yours but he was also everyone else’s. Even if you could separate the two, could extract him from their narratives and stories, they would still be there. All rallied behind him like an army following blindly in his honor. 

But it wasn’t like they would do the same for you, was it? No, you were an outsider to the genre, to the subculture that he was in. You were just some popstar who didn’t get it, didn’t get him. Chasing a momentary high like that drag you took. Here one second, gone the next. Lulling him into the haze before fading into the gray. And you realized that even if you were given the chance to be with him forever, a chance that now seemed extremely slim, you would never truly be the sole person who got to keep him. 

Loving him forever comes with a cost. 

Looking back at your reflection, you sighed.

“A dream.”

Before you gave her any time to respond, you left.

Your ride back to the hotel was quiet, Eddie’s breathing becoming ragged with every red light they endured. He was worrying you, not even looking you in the eye when you got back to your seat. For the rest of the night. When you got a car together. When you stepped into the lobby. The elevator.

But then Eddie was taking off his blazer, trudging down the hallway, the boom of his combat boots bouncing off the walls.

“Eddie, what’s wrong?” you asked, trying to keep up.

“You barely even touched me the whole night.”

“Y’all stood up and made a scene!”

“Because he was being a goddamn prick.”

“I know, but that’s why you just don’t give them a reaction! It just causes more attention and then people think you do it because you want attention and then it just gets spun into something it’s not because people love drama—"

“No,” Eddie said harshly, turning around to face you. “I don’t care about that. I don’t care about the fucking internet. I wanted to congratulate you on your win and yet you just walked away. It hurt.”

“What you guys did hurt me. It was unprofessional.”

Eddie stopped then, pausing to really look at you for what felt like the first time since the band stood up. 

But he had no time to respond.

“Hey, what the fuck are you yelling at him for?!” Ronnie shouted down the hall, her boots just as loud as his.

She really did look a lot like Eddie, with the same curly hair and hardened stare. The same protective nature, the same wild heart. But her eyes were void of any compassion, any sympathy. She was fucking pissed, and it was only directed at you.

You narrowed your eyes. “Did y’all ever think about how I’d feel about it? It was tough enough to publicly sit—”

“I’m so sorry that sitting at a table with your boyfriend and his friends is such a chore for you.”

Behind her, Gareth, Grant, and Jeff approached, their laughter cut short at the intensity of her words. Eyes trained on the scene in front of them. All three men silent, all three men watching the showdown that you didn’t ask to be a part of.

“Ronnie,” Eddie said. It sounded more like a warning, but she was still looking at you, still ready to pounce.

And so, she did.

“You’re a coward,” Ronnie seethed. “You’re lucky to have someone like him and I know you’ll gladly throw it away just because it isn’t the fucking fairytale you imagined. This is real life, sweetie. I know you sit there in your fantasy world with your sugarcoated lyrics and your fake smile. Too afraid to let anyone know how you really feel. Too afraid to hold your boyfriend’s fucking hand. A goody two-shoes who does nothing but cry about how unfair her life is even though you have everything you could ever need.

“You think you’re risking everything for him? For us? No. You’re not risking a goddamn thing if you just sit there and take it. Avoid it. Act like it’s not happening. We stood up for you because we fucking care about Eddie and Eddie cares about you. We didn’t have to do that. We could’ve just let him make fun of you for three more hours and let you get humiliated. But we did that, and I don’t care if you didn’t like it. You needed help. And you’re an idiot for acting like this has anything to do with professionalism. 

“You’re nothing but a coward. I can only hope you’ll change your fucking attitude for Eddie’s sake. But if you’re going to keep acting like this, you need to leave him and us the hell alone. Don’t drag someone into your fucking mess if you can’t clean it up.”

You tried not to cry in front of her, tried not to give in to bending and breaking of your soul. Her speech was loud, deafening, ringing in your ears like waves crashing into each other. Instead of replying, you turned and ran into your hotel room and slammed the door behind you. Sobs escaped your lips as you did everything you could to take all that shit off. Threw the boa on the floor. Threw your shoes at the headboard. Let your jewelry land wherever the fuck it wanted. 

But your romper was harder, sticking to your skin with the sweat and nerves and— 

The door opened, Eddie rushing into the room like it was burning down. And in some ways, it really felt like it. The heat and the sweat and the nerves and the way Ronnie shot those flaming arrows, the way it set your brain afire. The way it was starting to spread.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry about Ronnie. She gets really protective of me; it’s been a thing since we were kids—"

“Maybe this is too much,” you interrupted, “Maybe she’s right. Maybe you’d be better off with someone less messy. Less cowardly.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Are you suggesting we break up?”

“I just,” you started, watching his eyes start to widen. “I don’t know. I feel like your whole life is being thrown into chaos because of me and I don’t want you having to change your whole life or fuckin’ feel the need to defend me on national television. It’s not fair to you and it’s not fair to Grant and Gareth and Jeff and Ronnie.”

“Baby, I want you, okay? I’m willing to push through the bullshit if it means that I’ll get to fucking see you at the end of the day or week or even month. You’ve changed my life.”

You shook your head. He was lying, he had to be. Or he was living in delusion, riding on that fucking fairytale that Ronnie claimed you’d created. That wasn’t his reality, wasn’t yours.

“You just don’t understand, Eddie!”

Eddie’s jaw clenched. “I know this is hard on you. I know. But you’re not the only one hurting, okay? I don’t like this any more than you do, and I don’t think it’s fair that you’re acting like I don’t get it. People call me a man whore or a player or whatever. And even though I recovered, people still think I’m a fucking cokehead. That shit is brutal. I’m not this crazy person who does what all the bands did in the Sixties or Seventies. Hell, even the Eighties and Nineties.”

Your eyebrows pulled in tight at his admittance. 

“It sickens me,” he continued, his stare intensifying. “I’m just a loser who got lucky and got out of a shitty small town.” He gestured away from himself. “I’m still that loser. That freak. And I was never given a chance by girls after we blew up—hell, most guys laughed at me. I had to just figure this out for myself, and I,” he gestured back to himself, “have chosen to remove myself from it. Remove myself from that picture they’ve painted for me. And then I found someone who fucking understands.”

As you listened, Eddie’s hand came back down, brushing against yours before weaving your fingers together.

“Someone who sees the world like I do and chooses me despite it being so…so loud. And you have spent your life thinking you have to do this alone. I get it. So did I. But one thing I’ve learned that you haven’t is that you don’t have to do this alone. We got you. I got you.”

“This is going to look so bad for you,” you whispered, tears running down your cheeks.

Eddie shook his head. “I don’t care.”

Your head shook for you, rapidly denying his words. 

“And the rest of the band.”

His fingers met the back of your head, trying to soothe you as he rubbed circles into the muscles.

“I don’t care.”

Your eyes searched his as you tried to make sense of it all, make sense of the fact that he was still here. He hadn’t left. He’s saying things that no one, no one, had said to you before and meant so fervently. 

“And me,” you finished, barely above a whisper.

He paused for a split second, long enough for you to catch it before he finally looked away, tucking his lip into his mouth.

His forehead bumped against yours, taking a deep breath. You did the same, breathing him in as you tried to find the will to stay.

To fight.

To keep whatever the hell it was that you had.

“Baby, I want to be with you.” His eyes shot back up to yours, tears collecting in his eyes.

“And I want our privacy. Trust me, I understand how you feel. But I still want to go outside and be as normal as we can. I wanna go get dinner and coffee and do whatever the fuck we want. I want to post a picture of you and dedicate my songs to you and be open and whatever the fuck else I want.”

“I feel the same way.”

“I know you do, baby. That’s why I want you to understand me. I want the same things you do, and I want us to figure out a solution together. I know we can do it. I just know. So don’t…don’t go.”

You closed your eyes, choking on a sob as you tried to make sense of it all. How he could still be here, fighting for you to keep going. 

“Eddie…”

His hands clutched onto yours as he sniffled. You felt his tears landing on your skin.

“Stay.”

This was messy. You were messy. A big, huge, ginormous mess that was getting in the way of everyone else’s happiness. Being everyone else’s disappointment. It was only a matter of time before you fucked up and ruined this. Ruined him.

But he’s still there, asking you not to leave.

“Is it really that simple?” you asked.

“Look at me.” 

And you did, watching his tears cascade down his cheeks. Watching as his face grew desperate, watching as his lip quivered.

“Please, don’t go. Stay.”

[undead-supernova]

This Love is a Shrouded Mystery / Masterlist

Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10

plot: welcome to your well-anticipated album release party! you couldn't be happier...right?

Pairings: modernrockstar!Eddie x fem!popstar!Reader (curvy!reader, bisexual!reader)

Warnings: bro there's so much angst I'm sorry, mention of smoking & alcohol

wc: 5k

note: I made the album cover/tracklist and wrote all of the lyrics mentioned in this chapter and I'm super proud of it! Thank you for reading my hard work hehhehehehee

ALSO DO NOT REPOST THESE LYRICS ANYWHERE ! Thank yew

He hated all the tiny things.

The way you crinkled your nose every time The Beatles came on. How you held your acoustic guitar like it was a delicate creature. The nights he would be up late practicing, only to find you passed out with your mouth slightly ajar and snoring. The mornings he spent listening to you making little sounds in your sleep, as if you were so close to saying something but didn’t know how. Your poetry and your music and your scent and your stupid smile you got whenever you looked at him and how grateful he’d been when he first noticed. 

And he really didn’t hate it at all.

He just missed you.

It was fucking torture, being away from you. He sat up, night after night, wondering what you were doing. How you felt now. If you wanted him back. If he was better off without you. If you could ever speak cordially and what that would cost.

As if he truly cared about the answer or the consequences.

Eddie just missed you.

You stared at yourself in the floor-length mirror, looking over your outfit for tonight. Trying not to suck in your stomach, trying to let yourself be the person that you wanted to be. 

A spaghetti-strapped crop top with Madonna-Whore Complex stitched in white across the breasts. Short shorts just to say Fuck You. Block-heeled boots laced up to your knees. All dolled up with a diamond necklace and thin rings. A velvet choker with a broken heart pendant in the middle.

There you were, a vision in pink. 

There you were, a shell of the person you used to be.

Maybe it would be better to play a role tonight.

But nothing was able to halt the worry, halt the anxiety that coursed through your veins. 

That last night, with your eyes glistening with grief, you’d told him you had to go into hiding. That you needed to get away from the public eye. That he couldn’t come with you. But he’d seen pictures of you since, albeit a bit blurry, running in and out of the recording studio in New York City.

There was an edge to your outfits now, with a touch more lipstick and heavier eye shadow. Changed your hair and painted your nails anything but your usual pink. Your face, the one that once held a permanent smile for the press, now hardened. Blank expressions. No smile, no feigned light in your eyes.

It was like you were wearing some kind of armor.

It was like watching someone trying to adapt to their surroundings.

Flailing, slipping.

Trying to prove to everyone else they can do it without thinking about the consequences of their actions.

Eddie could only hope you wouldn’t let yourself drown in the process.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you said for the third time in the last ten minutes.

If anyone had a goddamn braincell, they could see that you weren’t good. But this had been the last few months for you. Doing whatever anyone asked. Staying busy. In and out of the studio so often that it became your second home. You honestly couldn’t count how many times you’d fallen asleep—you got more there than when you were home anyways.

How could you when the only thing you saw behind your eyes were crashing waves, the roar of the boat as it pulled you further and further away from the life you desperately wished you were still living? You wrote and wrote and wrote, trying to make sense of it all. Trying to figure out how to apologize. How to profess your love. How to feel any semblance of desire to say goodbye.

Your label had been shocked when you’d gotten the album done so quickly after months of producing nothing—especially calling around and getting Halsey, Lucy Dacus, and Janelle Monaé to feature. Not to mention Maisie Peters who’d actually reached out to you. It was a match made in heaven, an album stitched and woven together by the bitterest fate. 

The label gladly rolled everything into production, insisting that you do as much promotion as you could. So, you were a little money machine, doing bland Instagram reels and Tiktoks, practicing your smile in between takes. You were fine to be a puppet. You’d done everything they wanted you to, right? What’s a little bit more?

What’s better than tightening the collar on your losing dog?

            “Can you get that done for me, sweetie?”

            “It would be so nice if you could just do this one thing.”

            “You know, the fans would love it if…”

            “We’d be grateful if you just…”

“You look tired.”

You turned to Este, noticing her raised eyebrow and crossed arms. The past few minutes had been spent zoning out, trying to keep yourself from thinking too hard. But it only made things worse because all you could do was remember why you were trying so hard not to think. Your friends knew better, but you hated admitting to it. 

“Just trying to wake up the excitement,” you lied.

“For yourself or for the label?” Becky asked.

You glanced over at the door before back at her. “Yes.”

“You got this, okay?” Mary encouraged, rubbing your back. “You’ll feel better once you get there. You know you will.”

“Yeah, you’re right. At least you guys are here.”

“We’d never miss it.”

A pang of grief washed through you at the reminder of someone who would most definitely miss tonight.

Eddie knew what tonight was—and he could’ve sworn it was going to kill him. Nothing hurt him more than not celebrating your album release with you. He was planning to show up and support you the best he could. Show you off. Make sure you felt as celebrated as you could be because you were so amazing.

But here he was, back in Wayne’s house for the weekend. Laying low, talking to the walls as if Wayne could hear him. Screaming at the ceiling for someone to give him a reason to make sense as to why his wounds were still bleeding. Even after five months.

Bouncing his knees on the edge of the guest bed, growing more and more anxious as the night fell. Going in and out of the back porch, cigarette after cigarette. Hoping and praying that Wayne was a ghost and was able to talk to him through the windchimes hanging by the front door. Feeling sick when they hadn’t moved. Not even once.

Fuck, Eddie should be there with you. He should be by your side.

Instead, he was ashing another cigarette and reaching for the Garfield mug hanging on the wall. Poured the last few sips of Jack Daniels left on the kitchen counter. Trudged back into the guest room.

Tried not to cry.

You were trying not to cry.

The party was spectacular, with all your favorite foods laid out and cake and your favorite music and your friends and, and, and…

It was everything you could ask for from tonight, but nothing you’d actually asked for. Clara had been sneaky, making sure that you assumed the livestream started two hours before it actually did. Brought you to this fancy restaurant, all decked out in themed balloons and pictures of you. A Congratulations banner and a big bottle of champagne for you to pop.

And you were happy, you really were. But there was just something that overwhelmed you about it all, something weighing on you. Something eating at your stomach, making it nearly impossible to eat or even talk correctly.

Scott kept you grounded the most, always giving you a word or two of encouragement. For the last five months, he’d been cautious of you. You knew it even if he never said it. Him and his wife, Rebecca, made sure to offer you a place to stay when New York started to feel like a stranger. And hiding out in Tennessee was never a bad idea, ending up getting a third home near him, just outside of Nashville.�� 

Tonight was no different. It was in the way he offered you food, asked if you needed some more water. If you looked even remotely uncomfortable, Scott was there to direct you somewhere else. Kept whispering that you were doing great. Kept reassuring you that your album was amazing. That you were amazing. That it was all going to be okay.

And it was a daydream, a surreal experience you were still getting used to after five years slowly rising into the public eye. Now here you were releasing your third album, knowing in your bones that this was your best work yet. 

And everyone was being so nice.

And the party was beautiful.

And you looked beautiful.

And…

And Eddie wasn’t there. 

He wasn’t anywhere these days, actually. It was like he had vanished entirely. There were no paparazzi pictures, no fan sightings. Even People Magazine had him on the front cover literally saying, “Bad Boy Eddie Munson Mysteriously Disappears from Public Eye.” You were uncertain if he’d ever be seen again. And you knew it was your fault. All of it was.

What felt the strangest was how the internet was still speculating whether or not you and Eddie broke up. It had been five months and you hadn’t told your publicist to confirm it. Didn’t even speak of it. 

The most peculiar thing was…neither had Eddie. There was nothing for anyone to do but question why the two of you hadn’t been spotted in public together even once.

Maybe one day you’d feel strong enough to bury this relationship.

Today definitely wasn’t that day.

And tonight definitely wasn’t it either.

But your album was all was about Eddie.

Everyone would know it.

And you just had to hope that one person out there would listen to it for the music and not for your real-life experiences.

But you guessed that was just how things would have to be.

So, you put on a smile and told yourself to get over it.

Smile for the cameras.

Come up with every way to deflect.

Since you’d broken up, it seemed that your label had set up a livestream for the fans to listen to the album with you at the same time. Experience it together. Get to send in questions. Get to connect. Eddie thought that was sweet, knowing how much you enjoyed talking to your fans. 

And he knew he shouldn’t, but he really considered hopping on.

Was it a little weird for him to tune into the listening party? 

Maybe.

But he wanted to hear the album, wanted to hear the songs you’d barely shown him when you were together. You were always so shy with your music you wrote for him—which was fair. He did the same thing, keeping any and all projects about you a secret. Hell, the new record set to drop next month was done in the last five, his fingers unable to do anything other than race up and down the neck. Stuffing his pick between his lips as he wrote and wrote and wrote. Tried to write himself out of whatever this black hole was that was starting to swallow him. 

And now here he was, ready to hear what you had to say.

Sighing, he grabbed his laptop.

But maybe you were better off without him.

Maybe this was all for a reason and everything just had to happen this way. It would be a nice thought, right? A nice explanation for the twisting of your gut as you set up for the livestream. Standing on a pink stage, practicing your smile one last time before the cameras got the shot juuust right. Took a step to the right to show off a poster with the album cover on it.

All you could think as they counted down from five was, I hope Eddie is watching.

When Eddie saw you, he knew he’d fucked up already.

You were radiant, always a vision in pink. Always a vision, period.

The album cover had the name “Madonna-Whore Complex” with a picture in the center of bunched up silk—pink, of course. The same color you were wearing. The same color Eddie had yearned to wrap in his arms and make breakfast for. 

And when Eddie heard your voice, his stomach flipped.

“So,” you started. “Before we even get to the tracks, I wanted to kinda explain the album title. I know people got a little weird about it, which is fair.”

Eddie could tell that you absolutely did not find that fair.

“But I think that we live in a society that is so obsessed with a woman’s place. If she’s happy with herself and comfortable with her sexuality, she must be seen as a villain or a whore. There’s no room for her to be a good person or even able to truly be in love.”

Something tugged at Eddie’s chest at the sound of you mentioning being in love. If only you’d said that to him five months ago. If only those words had left your lips, he’d have gotten on his hands and knees to make you stay.

But you hadn’t.

“It seems that you cannot be one or the other. Either you’re this harlot who runs through people like it’s nothing or you must be this chaste woman who is only allowed to be idle in the corner. I think that I’ve always been put in this position, and, with the content of this album, I feel like I’m able to both be satirical about those accusations and show the vulnerability of, um.” He watched your eyes dart away nervously before coming back. “The vulnerability of how that has affected my personal life and my personal relationships.”

“Oh, and I really love the back cover,” you said with a wide grin, shifting the subject. “Especially the track list and the font and, oh my god, the people I collaborated with? Incredible artists, right? I just feel really excited for you guys to hear it in a few minutes.”

It was then that he remembered he hadn’t looked at the track list, too anxious at the thought of you referencing anything about him on there. But of course, you did. What else would this album be about? Some other guy? He knew better than to speculate anything like that.

His heart began to race as he found it all laid out for him already, his words being spat back out at him. Something True. Could You Say the Same? Acceptance Speech. Trade You for the World. Could’ve Fooled Me.

Eddie’s stomach twisted, queasy with the exact anxiety that he’d spent the last few months trying to prevent. But he couldn’t run away from this. He was already here, watching you nearly trip over your heels in real time. Reading the titles out, each one feeling like a prison cell built just for him.

Shakily, you stated, “Okay, everyone. Let’s start the album.”

Took a deep breath.

Closed your eyes.

Eddie took a deep breath.

Closed his eyes.

And listened.

         “Okay, my pretty boy…now move!”

Eddie felt like he was losing his ability to breathe. Track after track, jumbled with lyrics all meant for him. All written for him. Words upon words of poetry that told him how much you missed him and how guilty you fucking felt and how you just went ahead and chose the world over him and, dear god, it was all too much for him.

Grief settled in his chest at every line that he called his favorite.

Okay, Now Stop!

          “Okay, now stop!

         We're dancing dirty to The Beatles and the Stones.

         Okay, now stop!

         You're dancing pretty asking me to lead you home."

The Bisexual Slut (featuring Halsey)

         “This one boy whimpers on his knees

         Twenty girls beg to finally taste me 

         If I’m so greedy, so damn needy

         Then why does their love come so easy?”

My Body, Your Choice

         “Should I base my worth off your fickle insecurities?

         Take a scalpel to my skin to justify your animosity? 

         If I’d known my body was stained with impurity

          I would’ve begged my mother to deliver me with modesty

         But I wouldn’t change a goddamn thing

         Fuck you, I’ll never change a thing.”

Something True

         “Tell me a story, one where love always dies

         Say it with finality in your glassy brown eyes

         Thread the needle to weave through our fate

         Knowing the outcome, you still beg me to stay.”

Madonna-Whore Complex

         “My halo slipped, and my limbs are sore

         But his head seems to stay in between my legs

         I’m wrapped around his fingers as they choke my neck

         I’m his sweetheart, his princess, his saccharine whore.”

The Mess (You Once Called Yours)

         “And your fingerprints stain this house

         Baby, I’m haunted by your phantom touch

         Oh, now I’m screaming and pleading, growling and howling,

         ‘Please end this agony, my love, it’s all too much.’”

Your Residential Coward

         “Guess she’ll never really let me live that down

         Throwing daggers at my portrait now that I’m gone 

         And now that I finally see my tilted crown 

         It turns out I was the jester all along.”

Could You Say the Same?

         “Simple questions come with simple answers

         That’s why I sew my mouth shut

         The moment I saw you, wild necromancer

         Devotion gnawed at my gut.”

Synonymous (featuring Lucy Dacus)

         “Sucking in my stomach in attempt to survive

         It’s like I’m fifteen again

         All crooked teeth, low self-esteem, and love-deprived

         Only coping with a wilted pen.”

My Gentleman

         “You’ll never let me look away, that is the cerulean dream

         Could be your future wife if we let our consciousness stream

         And I confess I don’t think that would be too much to hope for

         So keep talking like that, let the wine pour, pour, pour.”

Acceptance Speech (featuring Janelle Monáe)

         “In the modern age, a sacrifice is already made

         The moment that you’ve made a choice

         But, baby, the problem always chooses herself

         And suddenly she has lost her voice.”

Trade You for the World

         “I stood in sepia tones while you bled electric crimson 

         Built the motivation before I built the scene

         Led the poets astray, bathed them in patient indecision

         Now I sit in vignettes of truth, desire what was in between.”

Back to the Beginning

         “City after city, glazed in momentary dignity, 

         I chased the prophecy of my becoming

         And, dear god, if I could tuck my tail between my legs

         I’d run us right back to the beginning.”

Could’ve Fooled Me (featuring Maisie Peters)

         “And we’re dancing around each other tonight

         Elevators built like confessionals

         Desperate to blanket myself in transparency

         I wanna say, ‘Pretty boy, you’re sensational.

         We weren’t the only freaks anyhow

         But how could anyone not love you then?

         And how could they not love you now?’”

Eddie watched you dance and party. Vaguely answer the questions about what certain lyrics meant. Focused on the sound more than the overall meanings. Thanked everyone for giving you this celebration and how you were very grateful for this opportunity.

And, peculiarly, you were handed a new acoustic guitar, soft pink and sparkling. Your name written in calligraphy down the neck.

“Um, so since this is a special night,” you said while trying to move your white capo down to the third fret. “I wanted to play a special song that didn’t make the album. It just didn’t fit the rest of the album’s vibe, so I cut it.” 

You laughed and Eddie knew he was the only one who could notice it was out of nerves. You tested the strings, making sure everything was in tune. 

“But I wanted to play it for you guys if that’s okay?” Laughing again, you shook your head. “I hope everyone said yes, otherwise this would be so embarrassing.”

You leaned into the microphone, glancing up at the camera as if you were making direct eye contact with Eddie and Eddie alone.

“It’s called Questionnaire.”

The chords were simple. 

C, Em, Am.

F, G, C.

It rang out soft, sweet. Albeit a bit sad.

         He noticed the way you chewed on your lip before you started, finding your groove.

         “Do you think about the way we live without sanctuary?

         How the fates wrap their hands around our throats, cutting off our breath?

         Do you think about the way we live without sanctuary?

         How there’s no guarantee when it’s over there’ll be anything left?”

Eddie felt a sickness wash over him as he heard you sing directly to him. You were right. It was different from the rest of the album.

He tried to gauge how you were feeling, knowing damn well the only way he could was through the music itself. How the change in chords matched the change in your emotions. 

G, Am, F.

         “Oh, oh, oh.”

Am, G, F.

         “Oh, oh, oh.”

The camera pulled in closer to your face, as if they knew that Eddie was watching. Waiting. Pathetically desperate to hear what you had to say to him. 

         “Do you wonder if there’s any chance that this was all just a dream?

         But there’s no fucking way you can’t hear me calling your name.

         Do you wonder if there’s any chance we could wipe ourselves clean?

         But there’s no fucking way to explain the way I’ve been claimed.”

You repeated the Ohs, belting out the last set before you changed the sound completely. 

New chord patterns. New set of emotions. Harsh strumming, the sound growing louder and louder as frustration filled your voice.

         “Do you know the clouds darken whenever you’re away?

         Convinced myself that my storm would worsen if I’d stayed.

         God, I need you now to answer my revelation.

         Is there any dignity in self-preservation?”

You repeated the line again, sounding angrier than before.

         “Is there any dignity in self-preservation?”

The buildup faded away, the rough strumming turning light again as the chords of the verses returned. There was a small instrumental as the camera pulled out to show you on your pink throne, surrounded by the pink balloons and holographic streamers.

You were alone.

Eddie could just barely make out the tears trickling down your face as you began to strum each chord once.

         “Do you think about the way we lived without sanctuary?

         How we fought and you fought for me until I gave it all up?

         I think about the way I live without your sanctuary.

         How there’s no guarantee I’ll ever fall in love again.”

You sighed and sniffled softly before repeating it. 

         “How there’s no guarantee I’ll ever fall in love again.”

Despite no one being in the shot, he could hear applause coming from around the room. He could even hear Becky, Este, and Mary individually, all cheering you on.

He watched you stand, laughing off the emotions as you blotted the wetness around your eyes. “Okay, Now Stop!” started playing over the screen as people scrambled to disassemble the makeshift stage. 

It occurred to Eddie then that there…had been no chorus. No hook. It was just a list of questions for him and statements for yourself. A bout of self-loathing and the guilt that he was only now starting to grasp.

And he realized that he too was crying, trying desperately to cease them with the back of his hand. And then his sleeve. And then the tissues he scrambled around the bedroom to find. 

As soon as the livestream ended, Eddie pulled out his phone.

“You’re so brave for doing that,” Becky said, crushing you in a hug. “I’m so proud of you.”

A broken smile met your lips. “God, everyone’s going to talk about it.”

“Let them,” Mary said with a scoff. “Who cares?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, knowing full well who you really wanted to talk about it. To hear it. To think about it.

Your phone began to vibrate in your pocket. As you pulled it out, something resembling belief in fate rushed through you.

Eddie.

You couldn’t suppress an audible gasp, taking a step back from the conversation.

“I’m sorry, I have to take this,” you mumbled before walking away quickly. Pressed that green button. Whispered, “Hello?”

“Oh, hey.”

His voice crawled over you in a rush of relief, an ease that had been missing for so fucking long. “Eddie, hey,” you said nervously, shocked by your own ability to say his name out loud.

“Hey, is this an okay time?”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re good. What’s up?”

“Nothing,” he lied, fiddling with blanket. “I just wanted to congratulate you on the album. It’s really incredible. Your best work yet.”

“Oh, thank you, Eddie. Um, you think?”

“Hm?”

“That it’s my best work?”

“Of course it is,” he answered with a breathy chuckle. “Are you kidding me? You took your individual sound and expanded on it and made it into a high-quality concept album. And the lyrics are incredible. It’s beautiful.”

“That’s really kind of you to say. I’m really proud of it.”

“You should be.”

“Are you working on anything new?”

“Yeah, we’re actually finishing up the album now. Should be out next month if everything goes right.”

“I bet, um. I bet it’s incredible.”

Eddie’s chest tightened at your hesitation. “Each song transitions into one another. You’d think it was cool.”

“I’ll have to listen to it. If, um, if you think I should.”

Swallowing a sigh, Eddie closed his eyes and tried to focus on keeping his voice level. Keep from cracking. Keep from begging for you to come back.

“It’s only if you want to,” he replied, trying to stay neutral before moving on. “Are you doing okay? I know you get really anxious after being, like, out in the open for a while.”

“Yeah, sure I am.” He knew you were lying. “It’s just work.”

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay in case you weren’t,” he admitted.

“You know…” you trailed, pausing.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. “You didn’t have to call if you didn’t want to…”

“Ah, come on,” he said with a chuckle. “I wanted to call you, so I called. Promise.”

Anxiety began to wash over you as you bit the bullet. 

“Is that everything you wanted to say?”

Why hasn’t your publicist confirmed the breakup?

Is this killing you like it’s killing me?

“Well, uh, I don’t know.”

Did you really mean what you said about never falling in love again?

Does that mean there’s a chance?

“What does that mean?” you asked. “I’m confused.”

Is this over?

Are we over?

“I think… I think that’s all I had to say.”

And there was the disappointment.

“Oh, okay.”

“Yeah, I hope you have a good night.”

“Yeah, you too.”

“Oh, hey, one last thing.”

You couldn’t help that ugly surge of hope. “Yeah?” 

“Remember to take care of yourself. You matter more than anyone else does.”

“Oh,” you responded, deflating. “Yeah, I’ll try, Eddie. Take care.”

“Bye.”

“Bye,” you whispered before ending the call.

There’s nothing to say once the phone call ends. No one mentioned the breakup. No one mentioned how the album he called incredible was about him. About the love. The crash and burn. How your love still glowed inside you, bright enough for him to touch if he’d just stretch his fingertips a little further.

And yet, neither of you said a thing.

And neither of you admitted to what you knew was coming in his own album.

You found yourself mute as you shuffled into the back of the black SUV and got out of the city. Left your buzzing phone next to you, knowing that Eddie wouldn’t call you again. Knowing that everything must be over now.

If this was closure, it sure didn’t feel like it.

When you walked into your house, still empty and swirling with dust, you let the grating silence whisk you towards the wine cabinet. Got yourself the shiniest glass you had, poured the cheapest bottle you found. Sat on the back porch and looked out at the moon. 

If things were different, Eddie would be here right now instead of a voice in a fucking phone. His voice, a tiny shard of glass that was surely going to rip you open and never mend itself again. 

He’d sit next to you with his own glass. Comment on how nice it was to just drink the cheap stuff. Roll you a celebratory joint with dried rose petals, the way you liked it. Ask if it was okay if you spent the night out here, just looking up at the moon together.

It’d been a full year since you’d met. Five months since you last spoke. And now you were starting to fold, starting to maneuver yourselves into strangers. Even if that was the last thing Eddie wanted. Even if the mere thought of never talking again made nausea pool in his stomach.

Eddie desperately wished you were looking at the moon together.

And maybe you would feel different than you did tonight. Maybe you would’ve had a perfect night with all your accomplishments and the perfect man beside you to experience it all with.

But he wasn’t there. 

And you felt so alone.

So fucking alone.

Tears streamed down your face, a burning in your chest growing with each What If that you conjured. 

You were not better off without him. 

He knew it the moment you told him goodbye on the island. He knew it the moment he returned to California, shutting himself off from the world. He knew it the second he called you and the second he heard you say goodbye one last time.

Eddie was not better off without you.

once again thanks to the lovely @strangergraphics for making beautiful dividers for me. it is an honor!

[undead-supernova]

I'll Pay the Price, You Won't.

Monsters in the Darkest Dark / Masterlist

Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8

plot: "I broke my own heart 'cause you were too polite to do it."

Pairings: modernrockstar!Eddie x fem!popstar!Reader (curvy!reader, bisexual!reader)

Warnings: media/public scrutiny of reader's body, hurt/no comfort, fighting, mention of smoking, my apologies

wc: 3k

You didn’t mean for any of this to happen.

Honest to God, your intentions were nothing but pure.

And yet, against all odds, your fate was sealed the moment madness broke loose.

The morning had been gentle, awoken by the smell of burnt toast and melted butter. Eyes opening to the sight of Eddie handing you a plate and a cup of coffee. It was simple. Effortless.

He greeted you with a slow kiss, leaving behind the drag of your teeth against his lips. Toast left to grow cold on the nightstand as you dragged Eddie back into bed.

Most of the morning and afternoon seemed to slip away seamlessly, with gentle kisses and sunscreen and the promise of Jeff’s cooking. And it was all fine and good that evening, laughter pouring from your lips as you sat with Eddie. With Jeff, Gareth, Grant, and Ronnie. Playing an awful round of drunken charades and talking about what was next for the band. Wondering what the next album would sound like. Ultimately, Jeff was the one to shut it down, walking into the room with ice cream and a promise to watch Taskmaster.

But Eddie wanted to head to the beach alone, saying he wanted a moment to himself. You couldn’t blame him. This night was especially beautiful, the stars sprinkled against the obsidian of the sky. The air was just right, blowing a cool breeze through your overheated bodies and leaving behind warmth.

You paused at the halfway point between the beach and your shared house, watching him tuck a cigarette between his lips. Told him you’d see him soon. You let him go, disconnecting your matching calloused fingertips before heading back to your room.

Downed a few glasses of water. Laid back on your bed. Grabbed your phone for quite literally the first time since you’d called Este the previous morning. It’d been left idle on the nightstand, finding the lack of connection quite freeing.

But there you were, ready to venture back on. 

So, you opened Instagram.

It was supposed to be a silly little post. Really, that was all it was supposed to be. A moment of nonchalance. Nothing too big. Just a wish for Mary to have a happy birthday tomorrow when you couldn’t be there yourself. A small gesture of appreciation during the stress of finals.

But as soon as it was posted, you saw the comments grow.

And grow.

And grow.

And you knew you shouldn’t have looked.

You knew.

But you did it anyways.

You pressed on that stupid little comment icon.

And you found exactly what you shouldn’t have.

“What?” you whispered to yourself before going to Google and searching your name.

And within seconds, it was there in front of you. Articles splattered with pictures of you and Eddie on the beach. Specifically zoomed in on your stomach from the side. There was one of you and Eddie sleeping, as if that wasn’t creepy enough. Three showed a red circle drawn around your tummy and the appearance of a double chin. And then there was a video of you making out from across the street, laughing and all over each other. One or two pictures of you in the club, dancing in the mosh pit.

Of course, all the pictures made Eddie look good. A fucking dreamboat. But you? Not a chance.

The articles said nothing about Eddie other than feeling bad for him. But for you, they spoke about how you “gained weight.” How you were “unhealthy.” How you looked “horrible” compared to him. That you were letting yourself go, standing next to the Rockstar who’d only “dated” thin girls; healthy girls—trying to make the words synonymous with one another. Trying to tell the public that your normal body was the problem.

And by association, you. You were the problem.

Eddie had promised privacy, safety. That this was an island of seclusion. And here the internet was, laughing at you. Laughing at Eddie for being dumb enough to be with you. Laughing at your relationship. Despite your heated kisses. Despite the grin on his face and his arms around you. Despite every pretty word that left his lips when he was given the chance.

And, yeah, maybe his words should’ve mattered more.

But you couldn’t help but consider it.

Maybe they were right. Maybe you didn’t fit.

And it was only a matter time before Eddie saw it.

You didn’t know what the breaking point was, couldn’t pinpoint the exact cause of the shift. Maybe it was one of the comments, one of the pictures. Maybe it was the metallic taste in your mouth that began to turn sour with nausea. It could’ve been the girl from last night or the way Ronnie never stopped looked at you like you were running out of time.

Regardless, you snapped.

And you knew you had to leave before Eddie had the chance. Find a way to break him gently so he didn’t feel obligated to keep dating you. Out of pity, out of politeness. 

If you left in the night, left in the shadow of the moonlight, maybe it could soften the blow. 

A swift, clean break. 

But as you started packing, you couldn’t help the tears gushing down your cheeks. Voices came at you from every part of your brain, screaming each vile word spoken about you in the last few years. 

It was too much now, the internet doing exactly what it wanted to do. You’d tried not caring. You’d tried to block out the noise and focus on the life you desperately wanted to live. Tried to let the love you and Eddie shared be the only sight, the only sound that mattered. But you just couldn’t take it anymore.

And maybe you needed to leave it all behind. Give the world what they wanted and go dark. Erase yourself from the public, from the narrative, and find a way to fade from view. Vanish into the shadows and let yourself become merely an echo in the ever-flowing chamber of public consumption. 

But where would Eddie be in all of this? What would you do with the silence, with the echoes of him drifting down your hallways? How would you be able to willingly follow that treacherous quiet? And was there any chance of survival?

It all ripped through you, your sobs ricocheting off the walls. 

And it was then that you heard his voice.

“Hey, sweetheart, what’s going on?” he asked, rushing over to you. “Are you leaving? Hey, talk to me. What happened?”

He was so beautiful in his black tank top, hair finally resting over his shoulders for the first time in days. A pretty reminder of just how much this was going to sting.

“I can’t keep dealing with this stuff,” you muttered, zipping up your suitcase. “I need to go.”

“Dealing with what?”

You couldn’t help the bitter chuckle that left your lips as you opened up your phone, still honed in on a TMZ article. He took your phone, eyebrows furrowing as he scanned the pictures. Read the accompanying sentences. 

But then he paused, avoiding your gaze. Voice growing quiet as he said, “I thought you stopped looking at social media.”

“I just wanted to post something for Mary’s birthday,” you explained. “And then…” 

“Sweetheart,” he said gently as he put the phone on the bed. “You’re so beautiful—"

“I don’t believe what they say about me,” you stated, watching his eyes widen as they finally met yours. “I’ll make that clear. I know my body is beautiful the way it is. I know that it’s my body and it doesn’t need to look the way that I’ve been told it needs to. I don’t feel bad about my body.”

“Then why…”

“Because it’s invasive,” you said. “Because I have become a target and I’ve got a lot of easy shots to take. My dating history, my weight. The validity of my bisexuality when I write about men. All of it. 

“Eddie, I am tired of being a joke. I am tired of being seen as some fictional character to write think pieces about and scrutinize and everything else. Maybe I should go into hiding for a while or something.” You shook your head, trying to go back to your frantic packing. “I don’t know. I just can’t be here.”

“I’ll come with you,” he said, pointing at his pile of clothes in the corner. “We can go back to New York and—"

“No,” you said harshly, looking at him. “I don’t want you to come with me.”

Slowly, he lowered his arm. “Uh, why not?”

You paused, knowing you had to deal the blow. Even if it was the last thing you ever wanted to do. “Because I don’t know if we should keep going. I don’t know if this is good for us. For you.”

He flinched away from you; eyes still boring into yours. “What the fuck are you even saying? That you’re just giving up on us because of strangers on the internet?” He scoffed. “Like they matter? I mean, what do they have to do with our relationship?”

His eyes widened, the reality of the situation washing over him. “If their dumb opinions win right now, what does that make me? Collateral damage? Or does that… Does that mean that I’m the problem?”

“Eddie, you’re not a problem at all—"

“It sure sounds like it,” he interrupted. “What’s the common denominator in all this? I asked you to be mine. I’m the one who got you the bikini. I’m the one who asked you to come. I’m the reason you’re given this shit.” He let out a short laugh. “I guess I’m the problem in this equation, huh? Gotta cut me out.”

“No!” you exclaimed before pointing at your chest. “I’m the problem, Eddie! It’s me!”

“Bullshit.”

“Eddie…”

“You act like you’re some problem for everyone,” he started. “With all these fucking people that love you, that see that goodness in you—see the real you. Like…you don’t even realize how much you actually shine.” He sighed, shaking his head. “And yet, you chose to be with me. I didn’t even really understand why, but I was just fucking happy to be yours.”

“Eddie, please,” you whispered. You didn’t know what you were asking. For him to stop saying these things? To stop fighting for you? To give up when you wanted nothing but to stop hurting him? 

Eddie took a step forward, eyes never leaving yours. “And I was so fucking happy because I’m crazy about you. And I thought you were, too.” He paused before his face drew closer. “Are you?”

You sniffled, no longer trying to wipe away your tears. And you cracked, unable to stop yourself from nodding. Because Eddie was what made you weak, made you bend. 

His face was so close, and his cheeks were flushed. You could smell the ocean and the faint hint of nicotine wafting off him. Could feel your callouses brush up against one another. And you were curling into yourself, daunted by the weight of his presence. By his stare.  

How could someone like Eddie still want you through all of this?

“Y-yeah,” you uttered. “Yeah, I am.”

Closer now, his forehead met yours. But your eyes still held each other, neither one of you able to look away.

“Then why can’t that be enough?”

A ragged breath left your lips. “We know why.”

“They don’t matter.”

“Maybe they’re right,” you whispered. “Maybe they see what we can’t.”

His features softened, his lower lip beginning to tremble. “Am I not worth it?”

You shook your head. “Don’t say that about yourself. Please.”

“You told me last night that you never wanted to be with anyone else,” he said, jaw tightening as his eyes glassed over. “And now you’re breaking up with me? Did you really just lead me on for six months? ‘Cause I thought you wanted to stay. That…that, I don’t know, you trusted me. Trusted what we have. Because it’s real. It’s all real. At least…at least it is for me.”

He took a step back, shaking his head. Emotions darted across his face, seeming to change every few seconds.

Frustration, anger. 

Sorrow, grief.

And then he sniffled. Tears spilled over. His face fell into a scarlet flush, lips curling open as a sob left his mouth. 

Every little detail that was surely going to haunt you for the rest of your life. 

“I just don’t fit in your world,” you whispered.

“That’s fucking horse shit,” he cried, furiously wiping the tears from his eyes. “You fit in so perfectly to my life. Can you not fucking see that?”

You could only reflect him, trying to cease your tears as you watched your hearts break in real time.

“I don’t,” you whispered. “You just don’t see that yet. I’m doing this for you.”

“No, you’re doing this for you.”

“This is the right thing to do!” you exclaimed, a hiccup escaping your lips. “This is how I protect you!”

“This is how you protect yourself.”

“Eddie, please. You can’t see it yet, but I promise I’m not good for you.”

Everyone knows it, you wanted to say. They see right through me.

And in due time, he would, too.

Eddie stepped towards you, lifting his hand to your face as if he was going to caress your cheek. But he stopped, curling his fist before bringing it to his lips to try and suppress a hiccup. Shook his head. As if he knew he had lost. As if this battle was already over and he was collecting his participation trophy.

“If you do this, you’re hurting me!” he exclaimed, gasping. “And if you sit there and act like you’re not good enough for me? You’re not just wasting that shit on yourself. You’re losing me in the process.”

“Eddie, I…” You couldn’t even finish your sentence. It was all there, lodged in your throat, unable to escape.

“Do you want to lose me?” he asked, tugging at his hair. “Do you care?”

“You know I care,” you said harshly. “That’s why I have to do this.”

“No, no, no. I’m showing my cards, okay?” he croaked, pressing his hand against his heart. “I don’t want to be with anyone else. I want you. I want a life with you, and I don’t want to sit here and have to wonder what anyone else thinks about it. I meant it when I said I wouldn’t trade you for the world.

“Could you say the same?”

Your eyes darted between his, soaking in his words as they spilled from his lips. He was saying all of the right things, all of the tiny things that made you want to cave. Made you want to call this off and get into bed. Forget that you ever made a decision. But you knew that you had to do this. If it wasn’t now, it would happened eventually.

And your silence was enough for him.

 “I just,” he sighed. “I love you.”

A short gasp left your lips.

He’d said it. He actually said it.

And you were still standing there, saying nothing.

Doing nothing.

Eddie crossed his arms over his stomach, digging his fingernails into his elbows. You could see him pushing into his stomach. 

“Say something,” he pleaded.

“I’m setting you free, Eddie,” you replied, barely above a whisper. “Goodbye.”

Grabbing your suitcase, you reluctantly took a few steps towards the door.

“Why do you have to do this?” you heard him whisper, voice cracking. Like he was saying it to himself. Like he knew that this was done. 

You turned back.

“I’m here fighting for you. And you’re just…walking away.”

And though you watched him fall to his knees, cries getting louder, you didn’t help him up.

You wanted to. Oh, how you wanted to fall back into him and explain that you wanted him so badly that it was tearing you apart. That you also wanted to fall to the floor, contort yourself into a fetal position and hyperventilate. That you understood. 

But you didn’t.

Like a coward, you walked away. 

You sat on a bench by the pier for a while, sobbing into your hands, drenching your skin in salty tears. Listened to the crashing of the ocean, the white noise driving you to the brink of insanity. You stayed there until the sun came up, regretting everything you’d said. Everything you did. 

But it was already too late, catching the first boat back to the mainland.

So now you were sitting on the back of a boat, staring at the empty dock as you waited to pull away.

And in the distance, you thought you saw Eddie standing there.

But it wasn’t him.

It was Ronnie, with her arms crossed over her chest, giving you a scowl. Body rigid as she watched you go.

“You’re nothing but a coward.”

“I know you’ll gladly throw it away just because it isn’t the fucking fairytale you imagined.”

But there was one other thing Ronnie had said to you, the one that stayed stuck in your mind the entire way back.

“Don’t drag someone into your fucking mess if you can’t clean it up.”

And that’s exactly what you were. A godforsaken mess that had to be removed before you could ruin Eddie’s life any further. And if it cut you to the core, sobs wracking your body the moment you fell into Scott’s arms at the airport, then so be it. 

“What did he do?” he asked, pulling you further into the private lounge.

You merely shook your head, clutching your fifth tissue smattered in tears and snot. “It was me. I’m just a fucking mess. A stupid, idiotic fool. A coward. A fucking idiot. I—” 

You choked on another sob, curling further into his chest.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay,” he whispered. “You’re not any of those things, okay? You’re only human.”

Not to anyone else, you wanted to say. I’m not a human being. I’m just a machine for others to gawk at. 

“I wish I could go back to the beginning.”

“As much as I wish I could take you back…” Scott sighed. “Darlin’, none of us can go back.”

Seven hours later, you ended up back at your New York house without paparazzi sneaking into the airport. Sat in the deafening silence, all alone. Went to your bed, alone, staring at the made bed. Shook your head. Decided to go back downstairs. Laid on the couch, curling into a fetal position.

You didn’t know how long you stayed there, making yourself as small as you could. But you watched dusk turn into dawn. And as the cold light of morning washed over you, you realized that your life was never going to be the same. Eddie Munson was gone.

And as far as anyone knew, so were you.

as always, a big thanks to @strangergraphics for her lovely dividers. sorry to *gunshot* you all in the process of releasing this!

[undead-supernova]

I'll Pay the Price, You Won't.

Follow the Fever Dream / Masterlist

Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9

plot: let's go back to the beginning again, where promises can't be made but are waiting to be kept

Pairings: modernrockstar!Eddie x fem!popstar!Reader (curvy!reader, bisexual!reader)

Warnings: family death mention, "diet" mention, failed relationships, smoking

wc: 7.1k

Early May, 2024

There was always something so comforting about the sound of a stadium filling with people. The excited squeals, the chants. The hum of thousands of people all trying to get to their seats. It was something that lured you into the world of performance. It was like church, the way that strangers came together for this very special moment in time. Even if the setlist stayed the same, each concert was unique.

And you were running late.

In your humble defense, you had tried to catch an earlier flight to Indianapolis. But when you magically received a text from Jeff with a link to two backstage passes to see them perform, it had been nearly midnight. Two days before. You had to beg Clara to let you go, promising you’d get back on a plane the next afternoon to make it to the next stop of your tour in Arizona.

You knew it was risky, showing up here.

Corroded Coffin seemed so far from your wheelhouse, a departure from the box the world put you in. Any passing glance at the certified “Pop Princess” could wind up with you on E! News’ stupid fucking Instagram page.  

And, for the life of you, you were not dressed like everyone else. 

You’d opted for a cream-colored graphic tee with The Beatles on it (just to mildly piss Eddie off) paired with dark jeans and a pair of platform heels. It wasn’t much, but then again you didn’t really have much on you in terms of nice outfits outside of your stage costumes. Your main goal on tour was to be as lazy as possible in between shows. And, well, now that had flown out the window.

Scott had helped you navigate the back hallways of Lucas Oil Stadium. He usually never asked questions about the decisions you made. Rarely questioned your judgment on anything. He was good like that, trusting that you always made the right choices for yourself. And though he said nothing now, you could tell he was curious. 

In the last, what, five years, you’d never once strayed from the schedule. You were on the bus, on the plane, hours before anyone showed up. Before shows, you were reading a book an hour before your opening act went on. 

Makeup? Done. Hair? Done. Costume? Done.

But here you were, steering off course to attend a concert based off the text of someone you met once. So you could go see the guy you slept with. Once. Who you hadn’t spoken to at all in the last two weeks. Because you hadn’t thought to exchange numbers.

You were surprised not to find the band backstage, instead being surrounded by busy crew members making sure everything was running smoothly. None of them even gave you a second glance. Guess no one here was phased by a celebrity. Thank God.

But there, inching towards the curtain, were four people. Three guys and one girl. You didn’t realize you were walking up to a crowd of…high schoolers? Fans, perhaps? On the bright side, at least you weren’t sticking out like a sore thumb. None of them were dressed like the people in the crowd.

But there you were, too terrified to approach, nearly overwhelmed with anxiety as you awkwardly stood next to Scott. It didn’t help that you’d missed the entire opening act.

Attempting to glance out at the stage, you watched a few crew members finishing up with markers and mic stand heights. Fine tuning the drums one last time.

“Move over, Dustin,” the redhead huffed, bringing your attention back.

“Jesus Christ!” Dustin responded, shaking out his soft brown curls that suspiciously looked a lot like a certain man you knew. “I want to actually be able to see him.” 

“Don’t be a baby.”

He huffed. “I’m not a baby, Max! Where’s Steve anyways?”

A kid standing next to Max smiled. “Probably making out with Nancy.” Him and Max immediately started making kissing noises.

“Gross!” Dustin exclaimed. “Cut it out. You’re as bad as Mike and El.”

“Shut up, Dustin,” the one you presumed to be Mike said. “You’re just jealous ‘cause you don’t get to see Suzie for another three months.” 

“Oh, hello,” another voice said behind you, startling you beyond belief.

You turned, confused when you saw a very attractive guy much closer to your age approaching with two girls in tow.

And it took less than five seconds for the chaos to ensue.

“Holy shit, you’re—”

You whipped your head around to stare at the kids who were coming closer. On instinct, Scott stepped toward you. 

“What the hell are you doing at a Corroded Coffin concert?” Mike asked.  

The boy next to Max pointed at you. “No, seriously, you’re—”

“Shut up, Lucas,” she scolded, pulling his hand down. “She’s just a person. You are ridiculous.”

“Uh, hi,” you said finally, feeling your face grow hot. “Yeah, hi.”

The guy behind you got closer, holding his hands up in caution. “Sorry, none of these idiots know what manners look like.”

You took in his appearance, a yellow sweatshirt thrown over a pair of jeans. A particularly nice watch on his wrist. Voluminous honey hair and dark eyes that seemed to soften in the bright stage lights.

The girl next to him extended her hand, all pretty in light blue and white. “We’re friends of Eddie’s,” she explained. You shook her hand. “I’m Nancy. This is my boyfriend, Steve. And this is Robin, she’s a close friend.”

“Nice to meet you all,” you replied. “Wait, Eddie’s friends?”

Robin nodded, shoving her hands into the back pockets of her jean shorts. “Yep, have been since right before we graduated high school. Love your music, by the way.”

Before you could respond, Nancy asked, “How do you know Eddie?”

You couldn’t help but cross your hands over your chest, hands resting on your elbows. Everyone was still gawking at you. Well, except for Max who was doing her best to keep the other kids from staring. You appreciated it even if it wasn’t working.

“Um,” you attempted before clearing your throat. “Yeah, we met back at the Grammy’s a few weeks ago. Jeff invited me, actually. But, yeah. Eddie and I are friends.” 

Each person held different expressions, mostly dumbfounded. Was it really that weird for two celebrities to get to know each other? Even if you were in separate genres? Did you really not fit in?

But Max merely nodded at you, taking your arm while saying, “Here, come up here. You can see the stage better from here.”

Face growing hot again, you nodded back and situated yourself (and Scott) between her and Mike.

“So you’re not together?” Max asked, looking up at you.

“Um, I don’t think so,” you said truthfully. 

She raised an eyebrow. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Before you could say anything, the lights dimmed. The crowd started going absolutely haywire, and you couldn’t stop yourself from clapping. (Oh and shoving some earplugs in to save yourself some hearing damage.)

A hum sounded as a smoke machine began to kick up. The screens surrounding the stage started showing images, flashing over one another as a voice that sounded suspiciously like Eddie Munson started whispering in Latin.

From the opposite wing, you saw Ronnie, Jeff, Gareth, and Grant head to their places, fixing their ear-ins. It was clear the crowd hadn’t seen them yet, as entranced by the opening sequence as you were.

“You try to run, but they’re catching up.”

The video glitched, showing all the members running through a forest. They were clothed in medieval clothing, all dark and stormy. Intense makeup and headpieces. 

“What will you do?”

Behind them, you could see dark figures sprinting, catching up before a horde barreled towards them from the front.

“Do you believe you have a chance?”

All four of them looked scared, surrounded in a circle as the camera panned around each face. One by one, they pulled out weapons and shields.

“They’re trying to control you!” the voice screeched. “They are corruption. They are filth.”

The camera panned up, showing an animated drawing of Eddie as a red demon from above the clouds layered on top of the real footage of the sky. His mouth moved along to the words, his face contorting into an evil grin.

“Only I can lead you to victory.”

And then you saw Eddie slowly rising from underneath the stage. Your heart started hammering in your chest. 

“And who am I?” the voice concluded. “Your humble dungeon master.”

The crowd went berserk as the lights illuminated the five figures. Eddie jumped up, laughing as he headed straight into the opening solo for “Humble Dungeon Master.”

“Ah!” Dustin yelped. “Shit, this is my favorite song!”

Eddie was in a beat-up baseball tee with a faded image of a devil and some other objects around it. You barely made out the name Hellfire Club before he was moving further away, getting as close as he could to the crowd. 

There’s something about watching Eddie move, swinging his guitar around and falling to his knees on the stage as he played. And you’d be lying if you didn’t find it extremely, extremely hot.

As the final chords sounded, you watched in amazement as everyone in the stands lost their shit. And they weren’t the only ones. Every single person standing with you was going just as wild.

Eddie, with his bangs already drenched in sweat, paused to grab a swig of water before he shouted, “GOOD EVENING!” A roar of applause and hollering ensued. “Tonight is a very special night, Indianapolis,” Eddie added, dramatically lowering his voice. “Do you know why?”

The entire stadium lost their shit again, causing Eddie to look back at the rest of the band. They were just as happy as him, beaming with pride and laughter.

“That’s fucking right! This is our home state, and, by proxy, you are our home. I don’t want to see a single fucking person not having a good time, alright? Jump in the pit, shred your vocal cords, whatever the fuck you need to do. Just promise us you’ll go as hard as you possibly can. And stay safe, of course. Can you do that, Indianapolis?”

The crowd’s reaction was deafening, even with your earplugs. You still heard every note, every breath.

“Let’s go!” Eddie yelled before starting the opening riff to “Fire Shroud”.

You mouthed along to the words, bopping your head along. It seemed comical, the way all eight of you were moving the same way to the beat. For a moment, you forgot your fame. You forgot that you were a well-known stranger to these people. You forgot your place in this world.

And it was then that you caught Jeff’s eyes, watching a grin spread on his face. You returned it with a thumbs-up and watched as he got Grant and Gareth’s attention before nodding over at you.

For a moment, you really felt part of something special.

Before you could process what was happening, Ronnie delved into a solo of her own. She earned a reaction unlike any other, the stadium booming with something resembling electricity. Eddie then came in, his picking following her beat perfectly. And then Jeff and Gareth came in, followed by Grant.

“Challenger” was one of your favorites. You couldn’t help but take a few steps forward, past the kids. Clasping your hands, you rested them against your chest. 

Because the realization had hit you. They hadn’t stopped playing. They had just transitioned into the next song.

And it was incredible, the way the mosh pit opened wider than you’d ever seen before. A hurricane created by hordes of people, all stomping. All singing. All laughing. Helping people up, keeping everyone safe. You saw nothing but happy faces. Happy people.

You were hypnotized.

Well, until your trance was broken by a crew member telling you to stay back. You quickly complied, ending up between Max and Lucas. Scott was already right there next to you, shoulder to shoulder.

After another song, Eddie gestured for everyone to settle down before clearing his throat.

“Hey, I really wanna thank all our friends from our shitty little hometown who came out tonight,” he said, nearly out of breath. He turned to look at the group, waving. “Hey guys! Yeah, it’s really kind of them to come support—” He paused as his eyes finally found you there. 

Time seemingly stopped existing.

It was the way you connected then, the world disappearing. The stage, the people. There was only you, him, and the harsh breaths leaving both of your mouths. A gleam sitting right there in his eyes, mirroring yours.

You found yourself grinning as you noticed his eyes widen. 

“Um,” he tried to continue. “That-that they came to support me and the rest of our incredible band.”

You gave him a quick wave.

He waved back at you dumbly, a nervous laugh leaving his lips. The crowd continued to applaud, blissfully unaware of what was happening.

But you did.

And he was standing there in front of nearly seventy-thousand people, tongue-tied beyond belief because of you. Jesus Christ, he was making you dizzier by the minute.

 “This next one’s for you guys.”

Quickly, Eddie collected himself, giving you a smirk before he took the neck of his guitar and looked back at the crowd.

“You sure you ain’t dating?” 

You turned to look at Scott, a bewildered expression on your face. He only chuckled at you, nearly giggling before shaking his head and turning his attention back to the performance. 

He was only teasing you. And yet, it started a fire in your mind. No, it set you on fire. Who was this man to affect you the way he did? What business did he have to pull you towards him, an invisible string of rope tethering you together?

And why was it working?         

Slowly, you turned your head back to watch Eddie.

As they ran offstage (after a stellar encore), you watched Eddie greet his friends, all sweaty and giddy. Play-wrestled with Dustin and roughhoused both Mike and Lucas. Exchanged a special handshake with Max. Steve, Nancy, and Robin were next, earning the highest of praises and chuckling at some joke Robin made.

You hung back, not wanting to get in anyone’s way. After all, you were just a guest. Practically a stranger to Eddie and the rest of Corroded Coffin. And you never felt it more than when you watched Ronnie Ecker walk right past you, even when you’d offered a greeting. 

Drenched in sweat with dark clothes and an even darker expression on her face. Despite the overwhelming excitement Jeff, Grant, and Gareth had shown you, Ronnie seemed far from it. It was as if you were invisible to her despite meeting her two weeks ago. She’d even complimented you. Made you feel elated. Nearly gave her stamp of approval.

Yet there she was, just walking away. Like you were just a ghost, a transparent figure that was too inconvenient for her to acknowledge.

But when you turned back to the group, you noticed Eddie’s eyes shift to you.

And the fear was swept away.

He skipped, literally skipped, over to you, grabbing onto your elbows and shaking you.

“What the hell are you doing here!” he exclaimed. You giggled as he jostled you around. “I didn’t know you were in town. How’d you even get back here?”

“I have my ways,” you replied with a smirk, not-so-subtly looking over at Jeff. 

Eddie followed your eyes, nearly gawking at the man. But Jeff said nothing, chuckling to himself as he handed Eddie a towel and walked off.

When Eddie turned his attention back to you, his excitement bubbled over, tilting his head towards the ceiling. “Aghhhh!” 

And his energy was rubbing off on you, a permanent smile on your face. He was genuinely happy to see you, wasn’t he?

You laughed before mimicking him. “Aghhhh!”

You stared at each other, faces lit up like goddamn Christmas lights. 

“But seriously! Why’re you here?”

“Just seeing you, actually,” you admitted. “I guess I didn’t mention that I’m also on tour right now.”

“Oh, fuck, that’s right. Uh, how long are you here?” he asked, suddenly shy as he came down from his high. He removed his hands as he continued to blot himself with his towel. “‘Cause I’m, like, hanging out with my friends for the next few days and if you wanted, you could come along.”

The mere idea of Eddie wanting you to hang out with him and his friends after only seeing each other once was making your head spin. He really meant that?

“I would love to, but I’m only here until tomorrow afternoon.”

His face fell. “Oh, fuck. Okay. Are you, uh, staying anywhere? ‘Cause, you know, if you wanted. Um. I, uh,” he stumbled, continuing to wipe sweat off his neck as if his hair wouldn’t just drench it again. “You know, I’ve got the bus, but I share it with the guys and Ronnie. And, well, we could hang with them. If you wanted. But only if you—”

“You can come stay with me,” you interrupted, stifling a giggle at his flustered ramblings. “I’ve got a hotel room a couple blocks over.”

“Just us?” he questioned, a goofy grin reaching his lips.

Nodding, you felt your heart stammering in your chest. You were really doing this, weren't you?

“Yeah, just us.”

When you entered the hotel lobby, Eddie headed straight down the hall towards the vending machines. With you in tow, he kept a hand on your back as if he didn’t want you to feel left out of his plans. As if he wanted you there. As if he cared.

One after the other, he swiped his card as the machine buzzed and whined. The candy and bags of chips fell slowly, giving you a chance to stare at him. He was a vision to behold in the glow of the vending machines, his bangs nearly dry from his post-stage shower and dark eyes more concentrated than you’d seen them before.

“You could’ve ordered room service, you know,” you said, finally breaking the silence.

“I like to get my own,” he explained. “Makes me feel more like a person.” You nodded, unable to judge. Sometimes you felt the same way. “Want anything?”

You couldn’t help but nod, reaching for your wallet in your purse. “Yeah, I can get my own, though—”

Eddie placed his hand over yours. “No, sweetheart, it’s alright. You came all the way out here. Least I can do is buy you a candy bar.” As the words left his lips, your stomach growled. “Have you eaten anything?”

You shook your head, feeling sheepish. “Uh, no. I’m, like, on this diet for tour. I think I’d be nearly eviscerated if my personal trainer knew I was about to eat junk food.”

“What diet?” he asked.

Your eyes tried to find anywhere else to look, but you were trapped under his gaze. God, how the fuck did he do this to you?

“I basically don’t have any sugar which is the absolute worst. Berries, vegetables. Nuts even though I fucking hate it. Egg whites, never just eggs. Salads. And I, like, load up on protein before a show but she kinda encouraged me to do intermittent fasting when I can. So, I do that whenever I’m not performing.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Inter-what fasting?”

You could feel the heat reaching your face, embarrassment flooding your system. Crossing your arms over your chest, you tried to hide your stomach. “Intermittent fasting. It’s, like, fasting off and on between meals or days. Like, go one day where you’re not eating much while the next day you load up on food.”

Eddie looked away for a moment, as if he was trying to process the information before cocking an eyebrow at you. “So that’s just, like, starving yourself with a fancier name.”

That caused you to let out a nervous laugh, feeling the desire to hide from him. It wasn’t like he was wrong, and that’s what made it worse. 

“Sorry but fuck that.”

Shrugging, you stated, “Just the life of a female popstar. What can I say?”

Eddie gave you a glance, one that felt like exposure. Felt like he knew exactly what you were saying. Felt like he was seeing through the barriers you were trying to put up. But he immediately replaced it with a slight smile and a bump to your shoulder. 

“Well, I won’t tell if you don’t.”

You couldn’t help but smile.

After you told him what you wanted, you stated, “You’re friends with a bunch of high schoolers.”

His eyes flickered over at you, leaned up against the wall with your arms still crossed. 

“Does it help that they graduate in t-minus two days?”

“Maybe,” you said, all amused and teasing.

“Dustin, Lucas, and Mike were in my Dungeons and Dragons club,” he explained. “Max just kinda fell in there. So did Lucas’ sister, Erica, but she still has an early curfew, so.”

“So, you’re like a big brother?” you assumed.

“Something like that.” Eddie shrugged before straightening up. Definitely tried not to seem insecure as he moved his foot back and forth. “Why? Is that a turn off?”

You kicked his foot with yours. “No, I think it’s cute.”

And he was right back to himself, relaxing. “Cute, huh?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, biting your lip.

As he started handing you your half of the junk food, he asked, “Wanna see how cute I can be?”

Just like that, your heart was speeding again. 

Nearly squirming in your jeans, you nodded. “Yeah.”

Eddie stepped a little closer, nose brushing your forehead as he gave a swift kiss. You couldn’t help but shiver, feeling his lips move down towards your ear.

“I gotta get you out of that Beatles shirt first,” he teased.

It only made the wetness pooling in your underwear even worse. You backed away from him, shaking your head at the devilish grin forming on his face.

“I’ll lead the way.”

“Tell me something true,” Eddie whispered, pulling the white duvet further up his chest.

You instinctively did the same, readjusting your head on the pillow. After having sex with Eddie that was more than just cute, you’d resigned to lying in the dark. Heads resting on pillows, facing each other. Finally bitten by the chill of the A/C after the overwhelming heat had consumed your flesh. 

And there was just something about making eye contact with him that kept you there. Unable to move. Unable to run away. Unable to remove the mark he was ultimately starting to make on you.

Because you thought about his question, the way it drew you closer to revealing secrets that no one else knew. Not even your previous exes. There was just something about him, something about how you felt.

“I had someone coach my Southern accent out of me,” you admitted.

“Why?”

“So people would take me seriously. People think that if you’re from the South, you’re an idiot.” Eddie looked a little sad, but you tried to shrug it off. “I have one sometimes, but that’s usually when I’m really, really upset and can’t, like, turn it off.”

“There goes my next question.”

You couldn’t help but giggle, reaching over to brush his curls behind his ear. “Trust me, it’s embarrassing. You’d cringe immediately.”

“I highly doubt that,” he whispered, taking your wandering fingers in his and squeezing slightly. “I think all of you is amazing.”

His words melted you instantly, having to close your eyes for a moment to really take it in. Were you really this smitten?

“What about you?” you asked. “Something true.”

“My mom died when I was young,” he said without hesitation. Your eyes widened. “And then my dad went to jail for some bullshit. Got killed after he got out.”

His words struck you somewhere deep inside, in a cavern that you didn’t realize existed. It was like you felt the weight of his grief radiating off him. It was a kind of heaviness that you weren’t sure you’d experienced before.

“Do you have any siblings?”

“No, I, uh.” He shook his head. “My uncle, Wayne, was the only one who stepped in to help me. We lived in a trailer park and everything.”

“Why wasn’t he here tonight?”

“He passed away about a year and a half after we got big.” The ache only got worse. “I’d finally got him away from working his ass off and bought him a house. He was so excited about living in a house, you know? Not so close to other people. A stocked fridge. But he started getting sick, like really sick, and he just…didn’t wake up one day.”

“Eddie,” you whispered.

But he just gave you a sad smile. “I kept the house I bought him, you know. I keep it exactly how it was when he was alive. Makes it a little easier sometimes.”

“That’s awful,” you said, wiping a tear rushing down his nose and over his trembling lips. “Thank you for telling me that.”

“Yeah,” he replied, sniffling before he laughed at himself. “I guess you’re not getting the best me, huh?”

You ignored the self-inflicted jab. “What is something you loved about Wayne?”

His eyes widened for a moment before they softened. “Oh, uh.” Eyes began to glaze over, clearly lost in some memory. “He had this mug collection. So ridiculous. Every time he made it to a show, he got a new one at the airport. Eventually, I just started adding mugs to our merch line to keep him from going crazy. But he had this Garfield mug that was my favorite.”

“Garfield?” you questioned, chuckling.

A hearty laugh left his lips, the sound sending your heart into a flurry. 

“The one and only.” His smile brought yours back. “Pretty awesome, right?”

“I love it,” you whispered, moving your hand back to his hair. Taking him in. Drawing him back into you as if you’d lose him the moment the morning came. But for now, he was all yours. You were all his. And as much as it was starting to unnerve you, you knew that there was still an unspoken acknowledgement about what this was.

It wasn’t a promise. 

Just a mere possibility of one.

And you’d never admit it, but a part of you hoped he’d never leave.

Mid May, 2024

Knock, knock.

“Yeah?” you asked, adding one last swipe of red lipstick.

It was Scott who opened the door, already fit with a hesitant expression. “Hey, hun,” he started. “You’ve got a visitor outside.”

“Who?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Corroded Coffin himself.”

This struck you as odd. It’d only been, what, five days since you saw him in Indiana? And now he was miraculously here, trying to see you before your set started?

“He’s here?”

“Mhm.”

“Right now?”

“Yep, and he wants to come in.”

“Okay, yeah,” you said, a nervous laugh bubbling up. “Let him in.”

Scott gave you a glance, his lips seemingly vanishing underneath his mustache. It was a look of caution, of protection. “You sure, honey?”

You rapidly nodded. “Scout’s honor!”

After a quick nod, he disappeared.

And without a beat, Eddie was taking a comical side-step, standing straight and tall at the frame of the door. He was clad in a Rolling Stones t-shirt covered with his signature leather jacket and black jeans. All chains and boots and Eddie.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he said before pulling a bouquet of pink roses from behind his back. 

You looked down at the beautiful floral arrangement, heat flooding your cheeks. He’d gotten you flowers?

“My god,” he added. Your eyes went back up to his face, watching his dark irises wandering down your body. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”

You looked down at your baby blue bodysuit, dripping in glitter and sequins. A sweetheart bust, sinching at your waist. A set of tights underneath white thigh-high socks held up by a garter belt. A pair of white block heels. 

“Oh, thanks,” you whispered.

And, yeah, you already knew you looked fucking fantastic. You chose the outfit. But the way Eddie was looking at you now, marveling you, it filled you with an emotion you couldn’t quite place.

Clearing your throat, you took the flowers from him. “What’re you doing here?”

He moved past you into the room, taking in the space as he turned back to meet your eyes. “Embarrassing myself to try and see you,” he said, giving you a sheepish expression. “Have you ever tried the whole ‘Do you know who I am’ thing on people? Trust me, it’s as humiliating as it sounds.”

A chuckle left your lips. “You could’ve told me! I would’ve gotten you a pass.”

“But it wouldn’t have been a surprise, would it?”

You rolled your eyes, going back to your chair by the vanity. Eddie sat down on the edge of the dirty green couch across from you. Laid his head on the armrest like a dog, looking up at you from under those pretty bangs and even prettier lashes of his.

“Is this some kind of Romeo complex?” you teased.

Eddie took the bait, his dimples deepening as he leaned in further. Batting his eyes, he asked, “Does that make you my Juliet?”

“Did you really come here just to flirt with me?”

He sat up, twisting himself around to actually sit on the armrest. Fiddled with his fingers. 

“Well, my tour ended.”

“It did, did it?” you questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, yeah,” he responded, quirking up his eyebrows. “And I find it peculiar that your tour ends in two weeks, butyou have next week off.” Your head tilted in confusion. “And I was thinking that, uh, if you’re in California, we could hang out. If you’d like.”

Biting back a grin, you asked, “You want to spend more time with me?”

Eddie leaned in closer to you, nearly beckoning you towards him. 

Voice all hushed, saying, “Yeah, why wouldn’t I?”

“I think I’d like that,” you whispered, drawing closer.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Knock, knock.

“It’s time to go!” Scott exclaimed from behind the door.

Both of you stood, but not before you caved and gave his cheek a quick peck. And before you could give him a chance to respond, you were skipping out of the door.  

You performed the best you ever had that night.

It was strange, the way every smile you bore was genuine. There was no true performance added that night. No, you were running on a high that seemed far beyond your comprehension. And it gave you a feeling that maybe that’s what Eddie had felt the other night.

But you had next to no time to think about it when you were rushed offstage and immediately found him in the wings. It surprised you, truly. Unlike Eddie’s stage, yours was more theatrical, with dancers and props and platforms and guitars and pianos and ukuleles—  

Essentially, you were not near him at all during your set.

So, when you saw him standing there, hands shoved into his pockets, you couldn’t help but grin and approach him. You thought about hugging him, but restrained yourself. This was a guy you still barely knew. Even Scott seemed to find the whole thing a little odd. And, sure, maybe it was on the outside.

But to you, it just made perfect sense.

God, you felt like a goddamn teenager. A damn child on the playground, running around in a bashful haze. A chase that wasn’t really a chase. If anything, Eddie was giving in to whatever this was. Spending the whole night in his arms, whispering about your lives and the plans you’d made for the upcoming week.

And when you woke up before him, you leaned over to apply your travel-sized Miss Dior perfume. You rearranged your hair, your wrinkled nightgown. Situated yourself back next to him and closed your eyes.

“Did you just…put on perfume?” No response. “I just saw you, you know. Saw the whole fucking thing.” Eddie leaned over, nuzzling his head in your neck. Moaned. “You do smell ravishing, though. Is that Dior?”

Your eyes flew open. “How the fuck do you know that?”

“Ah, look, I caught ya,” he said, causing you to groan and throw your hands over your face. “I like to smell the little perfume and cologne samplers in the magazines, you know?”

You finally looked at him, all droopy-eyed and goofy smile.

“Oh, you’re smart.”

“It’s interactive,” he responded with a shrug. “Can’t pass it up.” 

You dressed in silence, making sure his wet jacket had dried without any damage. But before he left, he had the fucking nerve to give your neck one last kiss. 

“Don’t try to make yourself something else in the morning.” One last inhale of your scent. “All I want is you, sweetheart. And I want it all.” One last graze of his teeth against your skin. “Don’t hide from me next week, alright?”

One last nod.

One last embrace.

One more moment leaving you in disarray. 

You spent the entire week the two of you had off together. And it wasn’t just “hanging out.” No, it was playing card games. Sitting on your balcony with glasses of wine. Watching movies. Making breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. Shared baths and poolside kisses at his house. Meeting his cats and hanging out with Jeff who lived nearby. Sunrises and sunsets.

And in that time, you tried to find things about him that were cringey. Gross. Unsettling. 

But it was…impossible.

And on that Friday, you thought you had it. Eddie had ended up back in your California home, tangled beneath the sheets for three hours before you officially tapped out. 

He’d turned to you, holding up a joint and his lighter.

“Do you wanna smoke?” he asked.

You grinned. “Absolutely.”

As you threw on a tank top and shorts, you glanced over at his phone resting on the bedside table. You noticed that his phone case was deep charcoal, smattered with tiny red dice, a throne, and a crown. Right there in the center was his band’s name.

That’s it, you told yourself. He’s secretly self-absorbed and thinks too highly of himself. Massive ego. Absolutely insufferable behind closed doors.

But when you turned and asked, he looked…slightly embarrassed?

“It must seem so pretentious, right?” he said, pulling up his gray sweatpants. “I know. But really, I just like the cool art. I worked with the artist about a year ago and, I don’t know, I think it’s fucking awesome. And I got the whole band matching ones with little individual stuff to match their D&D characters.” He smiled as he spoke. “The guys got so excited. They’ve all got ‘em still.”

He shrugged, plugging it into the charger.

“That’s…actually really cool,” you said truthfully. 

“Yeah?” He turned back. “You don’t think it’s weird?”

“Not when it means something to you,” you replied. “I just wish you’d be a little bit awful.”

That’s when you saw him smile, taking a step forward. “Why’s that?”

“So I have a reason not to like you as much as I do,” you said.

And you hated yourself for saying it. But there was just this thing he did where he made you tell the truth. It wasn’t even an impulse; it was as if it was instinct. Like your body didn’t have a choice. It just knew.

“I can be gross if you need a reason to go,” he suggested. “But just so you know, I’d prefer you didn’t.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What’s so gross about you?”

“Uh, I pick my nose.”

“Like everyone else.”

“I have the most iconic burps but the deadliest farts.” You couldn’t help the giggle that left your lips. “I’m awful about doing my own laundry. I have a lot of ass hair. Like, it’s almost a problem. My nails are wrecked from all the guitar playing.” He lifted his fingers, showing off his chipped polish and crooked fingernails. “Oh, and if I eat even, like, a bite of a burrito, I’m in the bathroom for an hour.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again. He really was just a normal person. 

“Let’s go outside,” he suggested. “If I don’t have a joint and a cigarette, I think I might fall over and die.”

You followed him, heading down the wooden stairs, all the while saying, “You shouldn’t smoke cigarettes. Your poor little metal vocal cords must be suffering.”

Eddie threw up his hands. “Hey, I went down from five a day to one. Doesn’t that count for literally anything?”

“The jury’s still out,” you teased. “Also, for the record, I don’t think your ass is too hairy.”

“That’s because you haven’t seen it unwaxed, sweetheart.”

You opened the French doors. “I shiver at the thought of that being someone’s job.”

“Oh no?” he asked from behind you, grabbing your ass. You yelped as he added, “You don’t wanna do it next time?”

“Absolutely not.”

You grew quiet as you lit up, Eddie showing off his special lighter. It was a different look for him, some kind of flower sprouting from an orange liquid. Tangerine bulbs. A sage green top with a golden rim. A gift from his uncle, he told you. Given to him after his father died. 

“Can I ask something true?” you asked as soon as he was done explaining.

You couldn’t understand why you felt so nervous to have questions. It was all you ever did these days, in between kisses and meals. During cheesy rom-coms and horror films. In the shower, over text. Anything and everything seemed to be laid out in front of you, no matter what. Eddie was an open book.

“Always,” he answered.

“Do you think about your parents a lot?” you asked.

“Not always,” he responded. “I mainly just wonder what their relationship was like.”

“What do you mean?”

“We kinda fall in line with what our parents lay out for us, don’t we?” he questioned, taking another hit. “Like, I’ve never had a relationship last or really had something special. And my parents had to be happy some of the time at least. Right?”

You didn’t say anything, still trying to follow his train of thought.

“I have to wonder if, like, we just end up as unhappy as them. Like, in the end, we really do die all alone. We’re not built to stay happy.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “You don’t think you could be happy with someone long-term?” 

The pit in your stomach worsened as you realized you were really asking, You don’t think you could be happy long-term with me?

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I guess I just have always felt like, when I die, I’ll look back and realize that I never got the chance to be someone’s first choice.”

Before you could think, you said, “Maybe you just haven’t been given the chance.”

He looked at you.

And there was that spark, crackling in your abdomen. In your fingers. In your head. That moment when you knew that this had become something more. You’d gone on and on, day after day with his body here, his hands and fingertips lingering on every surface. Sitting at your kitchen table. Fingers pressed against buttons on remotes. Another set of hands to help you make the bed.

This man who you couldn’t help but feel a certain word towards.

That dangerous fucking word you’d never utter to yourself. 

Eddie blinked several times before he became very interested in his socked feet. So you looked down, watching him fidget by wiggling his toes.

“You doing anything fun after tour?”

“I’m going to Pittsburg to see a few of my friends,” you explained. “We’ll probably go to some frat party.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “A college party?”

You shrugged, taking the joint. “They all go there. It’s actually fun to pretend I actually went.”

“Can’t blame you,” he said with a nod. “I didn’t get my GED until, like, a year after we really got big.”

Eyes widening, you nearly coughed out your hit. “Really?”

“Yeah. Fuck high school.”

You nodded. “Fuck high school indeed.”

“Don’t miss me too much while you’re out being a cool college kid.”

You snorted. “Oh, wow. Playing the missing game?"

“Why, you scared you’ll lose?” 

You shrugged, shying away from him. But he had other plans, resting his hands on your hips before bringing you closer. Lips meeting the shell of your ear as he whispered, “I have a feeling you’ll never say it, but I will. I think you’re gonna win.”

“What makes you so sure?” you whispered back, breath hitching in your throat as he left a trail of kisses down your neck. The high was intensifying the sensation, each touch more sensitive than the last. You didn’t last long, mewling in his arms as you felt yourself go limp.

“Trust me, sweetheart,” he murmured, tightening his grasp on you. “You don’t even have to tell me. I just know.”

Eddie had to leave soon after that, needing to feed his cats.

You didn't mind, still out on the balcony. Deep in thought as the world hazed around you. And as soon as you were left to your own devices to parse your emotions, they began to swallow you.

See, you wouldn’t consider yourself a train wreck. No, you’d already been around too many. Something in you considered yourself the wreckage, the carnage in the aftermath. A burning storm, a flurry of ash. Standing in the center, surrounded by the flames. Who would come back to you after all that? Who would stand by you while you put yourself back together again? And who would stay?

There was no dark side to Eddie, no indication that there was something wrong with him. He had his moments, sure, but he was human. He was bound to have things that faltered. It never made you feel like there was something to send you running. And maybe that’s what was starting to hurt the most. Because what if someone caught you? What if someone had seen you in Vegas? Indianapolis? Seattle?

And it was in that moment, as you stared up at the moonlight, that you realized that this secret was the only thing keeping you together. What happened next if the press found you out? If the world looked at you, the woman who dated everyone, standing hand-in-hand with him, the man who dated everyone. Where would you be able to stand? Would it be a foundation you could build together? Or would one of you eventually find it too hard to cope with?

Would Eddie still stay?

You sighed, shoving your hands into your pockets. But your fingers wrapped around something lightweight, pulling it out to find Eddie’s lighter.

You grabbed your phone and texted him.

You left your lighter!

His response was immediate.         

keep it safe for me, sweetheart. i’ll come back for it. and you. promise.

credit to @strangergraphics for this divider because it inspired me so heavily :')

[undead-supernova]

Island Breeze in the Dead of Night / Masterlist

Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7

plot: you're on vacation and you desperately want to tell Eddie you love him…and how much fear can you swallow before it overflows?

Pairings: modernrockstar!Eddie x fem!popstar!Reader (curvy!reader, bisexual!reader)

Warnings: brief discussion about eating/media body shaming, drinking, Eddie saying some spicy words

wc: 4.3k

“How’s it going over there on fuck island?”

You snorted at Este’s words, trying to pick up some speed on the treadmill. Luckily there’d been a gym on the island, a must for the tour you’d be preparing for in the next year. You’d been trying to build stamina, tired of wanting to drop dead while onstage. 

Not that there was an album to be toured. You had a few songs, sure. But how the fuck were you supposed to keep writing happy songs? And how were you supposed to do that within the next six months?

Nonetheless, you hated the treadmill. So you called Este. 

“It’s not fuck island,” you corrected. “But, to answer your question, it’s going great.”

It’d only been two days, but it had been blissful. You and Eddie spent most of the days together, lounging by the beach or sleeping. Eating whenever you wanted to. Meeting the rest of the band at the end of the night, one person assigned to cook for every day that you were there. Play board games. Make some drinks. 

And, yes, a lot of fucking. A lot.

Regardless, it was a very laid-back vacation.  

“I’m sure you’re all over each other like sick puppies being like, ‘I love you.’ ‘No, I love you more.’”

You kept quiet.

“You have said I love you, right?” Este asked, her voice slow and deliberate.

“I mean,” you started, trying to think of what to say. “He hasn’t said anything, so I haven’t.”

“You know that someone has to say it first, right? Like, you can just say it and see what he says.”

“I don’t know…”

“You are in love!” she exclaimed. “What else is there to know! If you don’t tell him six months in, then what are you doing?”

There were some things you didn’t like to think about. Especially on vacation in the British Virgin Islands where you spent most of your time sitting in the shade on top of your boyfriend. Why ruin a perfectly good time with talks of those kind of feelings? Why ruin the restoration of your bodies that never seemed to slow down? Why not allow everything to freeze in time for a little bit?

“You’re literally on an island right now,” Este huffed, as if she could read your mind. “How is that not the perfect time to say I love you while snorkeling with dolphins?”

“Under the water?”

“Okay, but what if you end up stepping on a sea urchin and it gets infected and then you die?”

You laughed but had to catch your breath as you sped up again. Beads of sweat dripped down your neck and disappeared into the fabric of your t-shirt. But you could tell some of that sweat was from something else entirely.

“Couldn’t he just pee on it?” you teased.

“Tell him you love him while he pees on your foot."

“Why am I friends with you again?”

“Because you loooove me.”

Before you could respond, there was a knock on the wall. Eddie walked in, startling you. You almost tripped but caught yourself, turning down the speed immediately. 

“Hey, how’s it going in here?” he asked.

“Is that him now?” Este teased.

“Uh, hey, Este, I gotta go,” you said quickly.

“Don’t let me stand in the way of true—”

You ended the call before giving him a nervous smile. 

Eddie was looking…well, he was looking good. He was in a Metallica tank top (a t-shirt he tore to shreds no doubt), black swim trunks, and, shockingly, black flipflops. His tattoos were littered over his arms and legs, the hint of one on his chest popping out. A wild bun thrown to hold his hair back, sunglasses perched on his head.

“Hey.”

“Hey, sweetheart,” he replied, walking over to give you a soft kiss.

You wanted to jump back, to keep him away from how bad you probably smelled but Eddie didn’t seem to mind. Though, he did pat your back instead of giving you a hug. You couldn’t blame him.  

“Wanna get some lunch before we hit the sand?” he asked, holding out his hand.

You nodded, maybe a little enthusiastically, happy to press your palm against his.

“Are you gonna let me shower first?”

“Maybe,” he whispered, leaning into your neck to lick up some of your sweat. “Stinky.”

Despite the small whimper that left your lips at the stimulation, you murmured, “You’re so gross.”

“Didn’t sound like you found it gross,” he teased, already tugging you towards the door.

You rolled your eyes, unable to deny the accusation. 

“Shut up.”

Lunch was peaceful, with Eddie ordering you whatever you desired. He told you to enjoy yourself, enjoy your time on the island. He was sweet like that, always encouraging you to eat what you wanted, whenever you wanted. It was something he never shied away from being made known.

“Why do you do that?” you asked him when a second piña colada was placed in front of you.

He gave you a grin, slipping another French fry between his teeth before responding. 

“I just like seeing you do what you want to do.” He leaned in further. “And, if I’m being honest, you always do what everyone else wants you to. ‘Oh, do this. Do that. Eat this. Don’t eat that!’ Fuck that. I hate that shit. You're not some clay pot they can mold or whatever. It's ridiculous.”

You couldn’t disagree. “And you think me eating all this food will change that?” you half-joked.

“I think you eating whatever the fuck you want and not worrying about what anyone else thinks is a good start.” He took a sip of his frozen margarita, one with a little umbrella, before adding, “And when you’re with me, sweetheart, you don’t have to compromise a damn thing. I’ll make sure of that.”

His words affected you more than you wanted them to. It wasn’t like he was wrong. Months and months ago, you’d let it slip that you ate extra healthy in public so tabloids couldn’t have “evidence” to slam you for your looks. That the sheer idea of eating bread or pasta was unheard of if anyone could see. (Not to mention having to order dessert to go, in secret in order to throw off the scent of fatphobic headlines.) You never won when it came to the media, even if you were content with how you looked.

By the time you and Eddie left the restaurant, well-fed and slightly tipsy, Eddie had you pinned up against any wall he could, lips attached to yours. Whispers of how pretty you looked, murmurs of things he wanted to do to you later. It left you in a fit of giggles that were quickly swallowed by his mouth.

It was a scene to behold, out in plain sight, but it was addictive. It was exactly what you’d wanted as a teenager who dreamed of true love. A love to call yours without hindrance from the opinions of others. 

You would stay forever if this was what the rest of your life looked like. Just the two of you, lovestruck on an island that seemed to leave you alone. 

When you set your stuff down at the beach, you couldn’t help but stare at Eddie removing his top. It was something else to see Eddie nearly undressed in public, sprinkled with dappled sunlight. Face risking the promise of sunburn, all rosy-cheeked and red-nosed. The scent of sunscreen wafting off him, sand somehow littering his hair. It was everything.

Under your sundress was that turquoise bikini Eddie had gotten you months before. You’d been wary about wearing it in public for the first time, but he promised you that people weren’t privy to taking photos here. That you were just as safe as you’d been in his pool. That you deserved to feel good.

And when you took the dress off, you could feel Eddie’s eyes raking over you. Because you turned, watching him stare at you through his sunglasses. He did that thing from the movies, pulling them down to the bridge of his nose, brown eyes dilating.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” you chided.

“Mm, I’d rather take a Polaroid,” he said, making grabbing motions with his hands so you’d come closer. His hands found your hips before giving them a light squeeze. “And then, you know, cum all over it later.”

His words had you flustered, looking around as you hoped no one else could hear him. The others on the beach were too far away, but you couldn’t help but feel exposed. Some part of you knew it was because of your swimsuit, but you tried not to let it eat at your brain.

“I’d like that,” you said back, quieter than before. “But you better shut that pretty mouth of yours before I drag you back to our place.”

“Our place?” he questioned, a cheeky grin popping out. You rolled your eyes as his face got closer. “You wanna call it ours?”

Too bashful to respond, you kissed his shoulder before stepping back and walking towards the water. He was right behind you, hands finding purchase on your waist. It was as if he was stuck to you, making sure he followed wherever you strayed. 

You couldn’t cope with how much you liked it.

You couldn’t cope with how much you loved him.

“Don’t like my teasing?” he asked as your feet touched the water. 

Shaking your head, you took a tentative step forward. It was hard to tell the full truth, no matter how much you’d already shared. For some reason, everything still felt so delicate. Even six months in, it felt like it could all slip from your fingers at any moment. Why call something “ours” when there was no promise that it would be there tomorrow?

And why the hell were you thinking like that right now?         

“I like it a little too much,” you admitted despite your reluctancy. Forcing yourself to make eye contact, you added, “The idea of something being ours.”

“Does it now?” he asked. His voice was playful, but you could see that it made him feel soft when he pursed his lips, dimples deepening. 

“Mhm,” you responded, feeling a bit more confident.

Eddie kissed your cheek. “I’ll keep that in mind, fair maiden.”

The squeal of a child is what awoke you. Eyes fluttering open, your eyes adjusted to the light behind your sunglasses. And the ache of them sitting on the bridge of your nose had you tearing them off. Which, yeah, was a mistake. 

The umbrella seemed larger than before, cocooning you from the rest of the beach. A little paradise in public, all warm and cozy. It wasn’t shocking to find that you’d fallen asleep. 

“What time is it?” Eddie asked from under you.

“We fell asleep. Again,” you said with a yawn, sitting up. “I think it’s two? Maybe?”

Eddie was already wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you back on top of him. Nuzzling himself back into you. Keeping you hostage.

“Good thing we napped, ‘cause we’re partying tonight,” he said with a mischievous grin. “It’s Emo Night over at one of the clubs.”

Raising an eyebrow, you looked down at him. “Thought you guys didn’t party anymore, old man.”

Throwing his free hand over his chest, he said, “We’re on vacation and you wound me.” Your shared laughter mixed seamlessly before he planted a kiss on your collarbone. “Come on, what do you say?”

You let out a huff. “I already said yes two minutes ago in my mind.”

Eddie looked up, grinning like a devil before pulling you down to connect your lips. 

You really could just stay there forever. 

You really, really could.

When you went to get ready for the night, your embarrassment set in as you stared down at your suitcase. You hadn’t brought anything black because you never really wore anything black. But you refused to say anything to Eddie or the others, too nervous you’d sound insecure. 

But the thing was that you were insecure. And if you did say something, Eddie would offer his clothes that you couldn’t fit into. So, instead, you sucked it up and made yourself look damn good in what you already had: a tight baby pink tank top and a short white pleated skirt with some wedges. The outfit complemented your curves, hitting your waistline just right. You were a beauty queen to behold, no matter how out of place you’d look tonight. 

When he got out of the bath, Eddie was there to shower you in compliments as he ate you out, skyrocketing your confidence like never before. And if you so happened to give him head before having to redo your makeup, well, it was worth it.

The two of you were rushing out the door, trying desperately to make it to the others in time before you had to leave. As you sped walked through the winding streets, you couldn’t help but look over at Eddie. He’d stayed in a black wife-beater and a pair of fitted black shorts. Kept his signature rings and beat-up black Converse. Hair in a low bun, eyes shadowed in sparkly charcoal, and his guitar pick choker. Your pretty boy, your gorgeous boyfriend. 

A chorus of greetings sounded the moment Grant opened the door. Everyone was decked in their usual ensembles, only altered slightly to accommodate the weather. Gareth, Jeff, and Grant even complimented you on your outfit, lowering your insecurities just enough to breathe momentarily.

But something you noticed was Ronnie eyeing you. It wasn’t obvious at first, just catching her gaze every now and then. By the sixth time you caught her looking you up and down, you were fully aware. Not to mention extremely confused by the behavior.

And it wasn’t something neutral. No, her eyes seemed to narrow bit by bit as Eddie held onto you. As he laughed with Grant over an inside joke. As he handed you another shot with a kiss.

Giving you this look that bordered on a warning. Like you were doing something wrong. Or, rather, she still expected you to make a mistake. Trip up and prove her right.

All you wanted to ask her was what could prove her wrong. What could you do to possibly give her the impression that you were worthy of Eddie’s affections?

But that was something you still wondered for yourself.

It was a chilling thought that you held the same questions. 

After pre-gaming with a round of shots and a shared joint, the six of you headed out to the club. Slightly cross-faded, the journey into the club was a little hazy. Because there were bodies upon bodies, all dressed like your boyfriend and the four others in your group. And you stood out for the most part, noticing glances from strangers.

But there was Eddie, arm snug around your waist as you made your way over to what seemed to be a private area overlooking the rest of the crowd on the dance floor. A shot was put in your hand and before you could think, the six of you were throwing them back like it was nothing. And judging by how drunk you already were, it sure tasted like nothing.

Right after slamming the glasses on the table, “If You Can’t Hang” by Sleeping With Sirens started, causing the crowd to cheer. You were one of them, looking at Eddie with a wide grin as he smiled at you.

“Ready to dance, pretty girl?” he asked.

You giggled. “Oh, I was born ready, pretty boy.”

The entire group moved to the dance floor, dangerously close to the growing pit. But you felt a surge of impulse, winking at Eddie and nodding over at the circle. A grin stretched across his face before you pulled him into the whirlpool. He howled in hysterical laughter as you went round and round, arms locked together as you moved around the pit. 

You yelled the lyrics with him, giggling at the way Eddie was straining to sound just like Kellin Quinn. Stomping your aching feet through a circle, stabilized by the people on the outside. Round and round you went, a carousel of sweaty bodies colliding, all blissful in the shared comradery. An adoration for music and human connection.

This was better than any after party you’d been to.

         “I met a girl talking away!

         She found a boy she knew she’d change!

         I changed my hair, my clothes, my face

         To watch us go our separate ways!”

What a gorgeous rush it was to be there with him. To be people for once, not just celebrities. It was just you and those around you, all able to enjoy this moment together. You were normal. You were human. 

And when Eddie grabbed you and swung you both out of the pit, he kept a grip on you. Kissed your temple before pulling you back towards the others. Swayed and let the people around you move you towards your destination.

“You’re fucking crazy for going in blind!” Jeff screamed as you neared, stabling you when the crowd jostled again. “Fucking crazy.”

You merely laughed, shrugging at him. “What can I say? I’m having a good time.”

“Have you ever been in a pit before?”

You turned at the sound of Ronnie’s voice, your smile starting to falter just a little bit. Just enough for her to catch.

Because no. No, you hadn’t. And you didn’t realize that that mattered to her. Or to anyone for that matter.

“Uh, no,” you responded.

“I think it’s hot,” Eddie said into your ear before looking over your shoulder. “She was great for her first time, right?”

You turned back around to meet his wild eyes, more interested in him than whatever the fuck Ronnie had to say about your behavior. He started singing again, attention now on you and only you.

It was addicting, gesturing with your hands as you screamed with your boyfriend at the top of your lungs. There was a certain form of catharsis that came from moments like these, fueled with the release of every negative emotion once associated with the lyrics. Now they were transformed into joy, a shred of light at the end of whatever tunnel that song had once held you in.

As the final verse kicked in, you pulled Eddie’s mouth to yours. Gasped at the way his fingers dug into your waist. Basked in the love that was overflowing from your heart. Your fingertips. Your eyes. Your mouth. Every piece of you was mesmerized by this moment, this little pocket of perfection that couldn’t be replaced. And, God, you truly believed for a moment that it was going to last forever.

         “Would you please stay and come inside, baby?

         Would you please stay and please be mine?”

To say that you were drunker than you’d been in months was an understatement. 

Shot after shot, one drink after another, you were filling up with a bubbly kind of adrenaline. You rotated in jumping into the pit, all of you ending up there at some point. What was left of a voice in your head kept you out of Ronnie’s way, her cold shoulder always too close for comfort. 

But Eddie suggested you get a final round. And who were you to pass up on that offer?

As you and Eddie headed towards the bar, you could hear the faint sound of someone calling both of your names. You didn’t want to turn, didn’t want to give attention to a stranger, but you couldn’t help it. And when you did turn, you saw a woman make direct eye contact with you.

All green eyes and wavy blonde hair, looking like a rock star’s girlfriend. Short denim skirt and even shorter crop top, smiling with mauve lipstick. She was really pretty. And then she looked at you, practically scoffing at your appearance. 

“Oh my god, Eddie?” the girl squealed, turning her face into something more innocent. “I’m a huge C-C fan.”

C-C?

And Eddie being cross-faded, all open and smiley, gave her a high five. 

“Hell yeah!” he exclaimed, chuckling.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked.

“A quick getaway with the band and my pretty girl over here.”

That’s when she finally acknowledged you. “Nice to meet you… You are?”

There was that little cut in your chest. You’d heard her say your name. She knew who you were. And she was making it very clear what your place was.

“Can I get a selfie with you?” she asked Eddie when you didn’t respond.

Here was a stranger. A fucking stranger trying to put you in your place.

Eddie nodded. “Fuck yeah, no problem.”

And Eddie wasn’t even aware. He couldn’t understand.

The girl turned to you, giving you a once over like Ronnie had earlier. “Actually, would you take the picture?”

And it was like a punch in the gut, her tight-lipped smile so different than the one given to your boyfriend. She was playing a game behind Eddie’s back, making her disdain for your presence known.

As you took the photo, some part of you couldn’t help but agree with her. Maybe your presence wasn’t as welcome as you once thought. Maybe you didn’t have a place here. Eddie just might not have seen it yet. Maybe he would soon.

When the girl walked away, bumping your shoulder on her way out, Eddie planted a sloppy kiss to your cheek and wiggled his fingers under yours before tugging slightly.

“C’mere,” he said, voice nearly overshadowed by the music. “Screw the next round. Lemme dance with my gorgeous girl. Hm?” You merely shrugged. “This reminds me of the night we met. Remember?”

That brought a smile back to your face. “How could I forget?”

He grinned, kissing your forehead. “Favorite Beatles song?”

“’Ticket To Ride’.”

“Excellent choice off of Help!”

You rolled your eyes. “Why thank you.”

“Just come here, baby.” How he was able to pull you closer was beyond you. “I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

You sighed and nodded, letting him turn you around before heading back to the pit for another round of revelry and chaos.

“Did I stand out tonight?” you asked, the last of the alcohol turning you into a secret sharer. “Like, did I embarrass you?”

“What? No, baby. Never. Why would you think that?”

You and Eddie had sobered up by the time you fell into bed. But neither of you were quite tired yet, still buzzing off the energy of the nightlife. You caught each other’s eyes, heads on pillows turned towards one another. Moonlight dripping through the curtains. Eddie there, all porcelain and blue. All beauty and grace.

“’Cause I wasn’t dressed like you and Gareth and Grant and Jeff and Ronnie and—”

Eddie’s lips cut you off, all gentle and lovely.

“I like you just the way you are,” he said. “Would you want me to be someone else?”

You shook your head. “Never.”

 “Exactly.” Huffing, his eyelids drooped before they fluttered back open. A soft smile adorned his lips. “You called me a pretty boy in your song.”

You chuckled. “Yes, Eddie. Yes, I did.”

“You think I’m a pretty boy?”

“The prettiest.”

“I like that. Pretty boy. People think I’m all mean and scary.”

“In reality, you’re just a soft, pretty boy.”

“The softest,” he agreed. “And the prettiest.”

“I won’t tell anyone, don’t worry.”

“You already did, silly girl.”

You said nothing.

Eddie took your hand, holding it against his chest. 

“Wanna ask you something true.”

“Yeah, what is it?”

“What do you miss the most from before?”

You thought about it, fiddling with his tank top all the while. 

There was a lot about life before fame that still held value to you. The simplicity of going grocery shopping or to the farmer’s market. Writing in a coffee shop for hours while strangers flitted around you. Walking around thrift shops. Taking your time doing literally anything. 

But there was one place you could always stay invisible. A place that transported you to a different time, a different dimension. Come out a different person than before. You could almost taste the buttered popcorn and your favorite soft drink combo. You could almost taste that kind of anonymity again.

You smiled. “Probably going to the movies.”

“You could probably rent out a theater for a matinee showing. No one goes to those.”

“I did,” you said, smiling. “It was my favorite thing to do. Get a few dollars off, have the theater with one or two people who also had a day off. It was fun. I’d save up just to go see a movie.”

Eddie’s grasp on your hand tightened. “I think that’s cool. I always went to the movies and now I just pay for streaming. It’s actually pretty shit.”

“It sucks,” you agreed.

He let out a hum. “You’re making me miss it. Fuck.”

“Do you ever want to go back to that?” you asked softly. “You know, just being a person and not a celebrity.”

“If you asked me six months ago, I might’ve said yes.” The smallest smile reached his tired face. “But I never would’ve met you if I hadn’t gotten famous.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” you breathed.

“I wouldn’t trade you for the world.”

“I never want to be with anyone else ever again,” you confessed, closing your eyes. “I think you’re the best thing to ever happen to me. It’s just scary.”

“Don’t be scared, sweetheart,” he said, voice seemingly farther away than before. “You have me.”

And as sleep began to wash over you, you were left with one last sentence.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

A special thank you to @strangergraphics for her help with these cool dividers!!! Always in love with what you come up with.

[undead-supernova]

I'll Pay the Price, You Won't.

Miss Heartbreak / Masterlist

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3

plot: no cameras catch my muffled cries...you are the only one who seems to care...this is a fight that some day we're gonna win

Pairings: modernrockstar!Eddie x fem!popstar!Reader (curvy!reader, bisexual!reader)

Warnings: slut shaming, body image insecurities, public shaming, crying

wc: 5.3k

When you first realized you were in love with him, it was a Saturday night. You weren’t even with him. In fact, you were at a house party with some of your best friends. They weren’t famous—these three girls were in college, just the way you should’ve been. You’d met them at a dive bar in Pittsburg while touring. 

There was a distinct memory of watching these girls walk in, talking about their English courses and the ten-page research papers on the feminist lens of the works of Octavia Butler, rape culture in a novel called Waiting for the Barbarians, and how the third girl was doing some deep dive into the coded lesbianism in Gertrude Stein’s Tender Buttons. You approached them, desperate to know more about their class. Their studies. Their college experiences. 

Desperate to know more about the life you gave away when your career blew up three days before moving into your dorm room. 

They knew who you were, but they didn’t care to squeal or ask for pictures. Instead, they motioned for you to join them and started to complain about their shared Rhetorical Analysis class. And after a few Fireball shots, some poor attempts at karaoke, and loud debates about Jane Austen and Emily Brontë that nearly got you kicked out, you were solidified. 

But there you were, at a college house party after flying out just to see them. You were in drastically different makeup than you were used to. In short, you were basically in Eddie Munson cosplay. Your friends had dressed you up, giggling and adding more charcoal eye shadow than you desired. Becky, Mary, and Este swore it would make you feel better. That you’d dance the night away without a care in the world.

But the couch was where you stayed the whole night, a mimosa (filled with more prosecco than orange juice) in your hands as you watched life exist around you. You were pretending to be a normal twenty-two year old girl. You were pretending that you could have love affairs with anyone you wanted to and if your heart got broken every single time, it wouldn’t be such a big deal to anyone outside of your friends that loved you.

And he would be there, too. 

With your head to rest on his shoulder, listening to him talk about his Dungeons and Dragons game he hosted with the rest of the band when they were tucked away in hotel rooms. They were too big to go out without everyone and their mother following them, so they found a way to escape. 

(People thought they did drugs and partied. And, at the start of the band, they did. Eddie had told you about having a coke problem in the beginning and Gareth, Jeff, and Grant trashing hotel rooms. Ronnie getting the cops called on her house regularly for the outrageous parties she hosted. But it died out after about a year when they realized how tiring it was to just be on all the time. They went to parties sometimes, but now they really looked forward to smoking a few joints and playing a fantasy game.)

In this fictional scenario, they’d congregate in the communal rooms at their dorm. They’d buy a few pizzas and beer, remembering to get the garlic twists of course, and play for six hours.

And you would lean over to his ear, brushing your lips against his ear and say, “I’m in love with you.”

As soon as it fell into your imagination, you were startled to the point of springing up and running to the bathroom, hyperventilating in the mirror. The rest of your night had been spent with your friends cuddling you in their shared apartment until you could calm down.

“It’s too soon for this!” you exclaimed. “It’s too soon for me to fall in love.”

They said that it was fine. That you were allowed to love him. That the chance at love was worth the bullshit. You could survive this, even if he didn’t feel the same. Maybe you would be able to connect better if you just told him how you felt.

But this was only a month after you started seeing each other.

Only a week before you two were caught in public together.

Only a week before the whole world had an opinion.

“I can’t believe we’re out at a restaurant in Manhattan of all places.”

“On a date,” he noted.

“On a date.”

“Oh, and happy four-month anniversary,” he said while holding up his piece of bread, leaning over to tap yours with it.

“Ah, yes. How could I forget?” you teased before stuffing the slice in your mouth, closing your eyes as you became overwhelmingly calmed by the taste of butter melting on your tongue.

It was super late on a Saturday, one of the only times you could get away with having a private dinner without the threat of paparazzi and lingering glances. You felt fancy, with a sparkly silver dress on, all short with thin straps and a small slit at the thigh. Tall, sparkly silver heels that made you nearly the same height as him. A fluffy pink faux fur coat sitting on the back of the chair (that Eddie had spent the whole drive here running his hands through). Pink nails to match, already chipped from your nervous picking.

Eddie was dressed beautifully, wearing a silk white button down. Simple black blazer and slacks. His signature boots. Those rings. That necklace. Hair up in a bun with bangs and stray hairs framing his face. The only real nontraditional part of his ensemble was a thin layer of black eyeliner adorning his eyelids and waterline, with mascara to match. 

Oh, and a coat of lipgloss, lipgloss that he borrowed from you, that was now lining the rim of his wine glass.

“Do you like it?” he asked. “The wine, I mean.”

You looked down at the burgundy liquid you were absentmindedly swirling. You had no clue what that did for the drink or if it was just to look fancy, but it was something you saw your parents do growing up. You decided to take a crack at being an adult tonight, just to see how it felt.

“Yeah, it’s nice. Thank you.” 

He nodded, but you could tell that he was still nervous about the whole thing. You couldn’t blame him. Being out for an official date together in the heart of a city with nearly nine million people who could ruin it at any second was quite a heavy burden. There was a part of you that feared that you had become a burden in the last four months. 

Enough of that, you tried to tell yourself.

“However,” you added. “I do have to confess that I have absolutely no clue what the difference is between this and the stuff I get at the grocery store.”

Eddie let out a sigh and a breathy laugh. You wondered how long he’d been holding it in. “Well, that’s a relief because I was literally sitting here thinking the exact same thing.”

You couldn’t help but giggle. “Are you serious?”

He kept laughing. “Yes! I thought I was the only one!”

“No, this is literally exactly how I feel whenever I have dinner with some of the label execs,” you exclaimed. “They order all this like crazy expensive wine, and I have to just sit there and be like,” you raised the pitch of your voice, “Oh, wow. This is sooo cool. So good. What year is it? That must cost a fortune.”

Eddie nodded. “Me, too! And it’s like: Dude, seriously? I could get shit I like better than this at, like, Trader Joe’s or Target. Fuck, even Walmart.”

You giggled as you continued to nod with him. “Yes, yes, yes! I genuinely don’t get it. Everyone is so pretentious, I swear.”

“I wholeheartedly agree.” Eddie raised his glass. “Fuck ‘em.”

You grinned. “Fuck ‘em!” you agreed, clinking your glass with his before you took a hearty sip. Finally took a second glance around the room. 

“I really thought there’d be more people here,” you observed. “Isn’t this, like, a popular restaurant? I hear celebs love this place.”

“I maaaay have bought out the empty tables,” Eddie admitted, looking sheepish. “I didn’t want our first official date to be bombarded with people we know or even ones we don’t. I wanted to make sure I could focus.”

A grin met your lips. “You’re a sweetheart, you know that?”

“That’s you, baby. That’s all you.”

The playful dinner conversation continued with a whole three course meal plus dessert. You came alive in public for once, talking in silly voices and laughing as loud as you wanted. Like you were best friends. Like you were lovers. Holding Eddie’s hand at the table without having to worry about cell phones. No one here was able to take away what was yours.

Despite feeling full, you couldn’t help but nibble on some more of the bread. Your personal trainer, Mary, forbid you from eating any while you were gearing up for another album release and tour. But you were starting to care a little bit less. And she wasn’t here. Eddie was, pushing the basket towards you. 

But then the strangest thing happened as the waiter took your dinner plate.

As he turned to leave, you looked past him and saw that the other five occupied tables in the restaurant were…staring. And…so were their waiters? Had everyone finally started staring or were you only now noticing? But you would’ve noticed before…

They were all looking from their phones to you and then back again. The hushed whispers were getting a bit louder, even catching Eddie’s ears. He turned his head to look but was distracted when his phone started ringing.

Gareth.

“Take it,” you encouraged. Eddie raised an eyebrow. “It’s probably important.”

He nodded. “Hey,” he said as he answered.  “No, I’m on an incredibly important date, remember?”

As you spread butter over the last slice, you couldn’t help but giggle when Eddie looked up at you with a quick wink and a smile meant only for you.

But then his eyebrows narrowed.

“What’re you doing watching cable?”

And a part of you wished you could hear the other side of the conversation when you watched Eddie’s neutral expression falling into anger.

“They what?”

“It’s fucking SNL. They haven’t had a good run in years. I don’t think anyone even watches—” 

You noticed him get cut off before shaking his head. 

“What? Why the fuck do people care?”

“Fuck…yeah, okay… Sure, whatever…” He sighed, pinching his nose in frustration. “No, I’m not mad at you. Promise… I’m sorry for being a dick. I just hate people, I swear…” A quick nod. “Thanks for understanding and letting me know. Love you, dude. Okay, talk later.”

“What’s wrong?” you asked as he immediately started searching for something on his phone. “Is everything okay?”

Eddie paused, looking away from his phone to bring his attention back to you. 

His expression held something resembling an apology. 

“The guys are watching TV back at the hotel and, uh, they were watching SNL…”

“Okay?”

“Apparently they did a skit about you.”

Your stomach dropped as you let his words sink in. 

It was one thing to have random people on the internet give you shit. It was another thing entirely for a long-running, highly known television show to have grown adults portray you and spend four to six minutes making fun of you. Especially when you’d performed there merely two months ago.

“Is it…” you trailed, almost unable to speak.

“Yeah,” Eddie said. “Yeah, it’s bad.” 

“It’s on YouTube already?” He nodded. “Let me see.”

“Are you sure you want to watch it?”

You nodded. “I should know what’s going on. Everyone’s already staring at us,” you stated, gesturing behind him.

When Eddie looked back at every nameless face watching you, every single person looked away. Like he commanded the room with his presence. Like he had the power to change the world with just one stare. 

He had changed your world with just one glance.

Sighing, Eddie clicked on the video, holding it between you two on the table.

“I decided to go on The Bachelorette to prove that I haven't dated everyone,” a woman said with a huge grin, mimicking the way you smiled. "And to get new inspiration because I need to sell my next album. I'm sure this will be fun."

Some new addition to the cast tried to imitate your posture. Your voice. Your everything. She was acting like you were some ditsy girl. Did people really think of you like this? Is this how the cast and crew saw you when you were there?

A fake announcer's voice said, “Here are the men and women chosen for tonight.”

The woman impersonating you smiled even wider in a comedic fashion, making fun of the way you, what, didn't ever give a negative reaction? The camera turned to watch everyone file in.

The different men and women of the SNL cast rotated, pretending to be people you’d allegedly been with. But most of them were wrong. When you were rumored to be dating these people, friend or not, they left, either from wanting that clout or being unable to handle the noise. All you had wanted were real friendships, real relationships. But being burnt at the stake came with the possibility of flammable embers. 

One after the other, impression after impression, they were reminding you of everyone you’d lost. 

And was that Jacob Elordi pretending to be…Christopher Briney?

(You met Christopher once at the Emmy’s, having taken one fucking photo together before he was whisked away by his team. At the time, you had only wished he would notice you before he got a girlfriend…)

“We're missing one guy...where is he?” the announcer said.

Mikey Day popped in with a smoke machine behind him and some copyright free rock music playing, wearing a curly wig and pretending to be Eddie. The audience lost their minds, erupting in applause and laughter at the sheer mention of him. He was immediately stereotyped as a punk stoner who only pretended to listen to you talk while playing his guitar.

“Hey, babe,” he said, trying to mimic Eddie’s voice. “What’s up?”

You looked over at the real Eddie who looked less than impressed. Less than affected by someone trying to make fun of him. You wished you could say the same for yourself.

“I CHOOSE HIM FOR MY NEXT ALBUM!” the woman shouted before ripping up the roses and walking over. However, she turned and pointed at the others. "Save them for me in case I get bored.”

As she grabbed onto "Eddie's" arm and professed her love, it was clear that he wasn't paying attention. "Are you even listening to me?" she shouted.

“Nah, baaabe,” he said and then realized his “mistake”. Cue laughter. “I’m totes paying attention.” Laughter. “Just practicing this sick riff for the band.” He raised his guitar before turning it the other way. “Does it look cool this way, babe?” Laughter ensued as he pretended to play his guitar right-handed. “Do I look metal as hell?”

“Totally, babe,” the woman said, giggling. “You’re so hot.”

“Ah, babe, thanks. I know it’s been three minutes but this is forever, babe.”

When the skit ended, Eddie turned it off and shoved his phone in his pocket.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry—”

“It’s okay,” you said, trying to tell yourself more than him. “It’s okay. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Did anyone see what was happening? That this was starting to get out of hand? It was like nobody gave a shit, nobody cared that you were human. Yes, you were privileged and had money, you knew that. You grew up fucking poor, hit even worse with the 2008 recession, hardly ever recovering.

You always acknowledged your privilege, always made it a point to give it away to people who needed it more than you. Provided for your family so your parents didn’t have to go back to working at the sawmill and being fucking tour guides for next to nothing at Graceland. (The fucking irony.) Donated constantly to animal shelters, women’s shelters, LGBTQIA+ youth organizations, etc. etc. 

But no one would know any of that because you kept that secret. Kept it hidden to be the face of your label, with a shiny pageant smile. You were now the punching bag, the reflection of society that every YouTuber did deep dives on and now SNL was taking a shot at. 

When would it end?

“Are you?” Eddie asked, causing you to come out of the fog. “‘Cause your hands are shaking.”

You looked down, realizing he was right. “I—”

Before you could say anything, your own phone buzzed. Looking down, you noticed a text from Becky. It was a link to a video on Twitter or X or whatever the fuck it was called now. Her text read, 

Look how delusional the internet is. I don’t care about this crap but I wanted to make sure you knew what was going on before you got bamboozled or something. Also, fuck that SNL skit. Love you.

“There’s more,” you murmured, looking up at Eddie’s concerned expression.

“Fuck.”

He stood up immediately and pulled over the chair next to you. He sat and leaned in, just as deep into this as you were. You didn’t hesitate to click on the link. It was just another band-aid to rip off anyways. 

The caption said:

are gareth ronnie and grant next? lmao eddie shouldn’t have gone anywhere near her. the vibes are soooo off

You heard Eddie scoff as he read it.       

The video attached was of you and Jeff walking around New York City that very morning, laughing together. You nudged his arm, animatedly talking. 

You knew what had happened, distinctly remembering that the conversation was about Eddie. Jeff had been teasing you, telling you that he knew you were disgustingly in love with him and that you needed to just say it before you lost your minds. You thought it was funny, so you jokingly nudged his arm and pretended to threaten violence. That was it. Nothing else happened.

“No!” you exclaimed, wild-eyed as you turned to Eddie. “No, Jeff and I went to get this chocolate mousse at this little bistro we both like. We told you before we left, remember? I swear it was the truth. We were literally talking about you. Eddie, I—”

“It’s all good, sweetheart,” Eddie interrupted, kissing your temple four times. “Don’t worry about it, okay? It’s okay. I believe you. I know you’d never do anything like that.” You felt yourself breathe again. “Besides, Jeff has a crush on our tech manager anyways.”

That made you chuckle for a second, but you felt yourself deflate, putting a hand on your forehead as tears trickled down your cheeks. “I’m scared. I don’t like this, Eddie.”

“Me neither.” 

Before you could say anything else, your waiter was approaching the table.

“Is there anything else I can get for you?” the waiter asked, hands politely clasped in front of him. You avoided his gaze, embarrassment flooding your system. There was something irrational telling you that he would tell the internet about your breakdown, expose you for your reaction.

But when you glanced at him, he actually looked…concerned.

“Yeah, could we get the check, please?” Eddie asked in a hushed voice, running his fingers down your back. “We’re gonna need a minute, but I just wanna get that out of the way.”

“Of course, Mr. Munson.” he responded before turning to you. “I can take that plate for you if you’d like?”

“Oh, yes, sorry,” you said, sniffling. 

Without thinking, you moved your hand to grab your bread plate, accidentally knocking your glass on the table. You watched as the wine seeped into the white cloth, staining the fabric.

Eddie was quick to grab the glass before it shattered on the floor.

“Oh, shit,” you muttered, taking your napkin and trying to blot the stain. You kept glancing up at the waiter through your tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. That’s so rude of me. I’m so sorry.”

The waiter shook his head. “It’s okay, ma’am. We have a hundred more in the back. This happens all the time.”

“Here,” you said, shaking your head as you rummaged through your purse. When you found your wad of cash, you handed him a one-hundred-dollar bill. “Take this. For you, not the restaurant. I’m so sorry.”

He gaped at you, looking down at the bill before looking back up. “Um, thank you,” he said, breaking his customer service voice before taking the cash from you. “I’ll get everything sorted for you right away.”

“Sweetheart.”

“I want to leave,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Can we leave?”

You looked over at Eddie who was already standing and grabbing your coat. 

“Yeah, baby,” he said softly. “I’ll pay up front. Come on, let’s go.”

But it wasn’t really going to be that simple, was it?

As soon as you reached the front doors, James and Scott, your personal bodyguard, were stopping you.

“Guys, uh, we got a situation,” Scott said, mainly looking at you.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

“There’s a fuck ton of paparazzi out there.”

“And that’s the only way we can get to the car,” James added.

You wanted to look at Eddie, but you didn’t want him knowing just how scared you were. He was so stoic and strong, always being able to shrug everything off. It was like he was born for this. 

Maybe you weren’t.

“Okay,” Eddie said, putting his shoulders back before grabbing your hand. His grasp was firm with a gentle squeeze that left your heart soaring despite the fear. He nudged your arm, causing you to look up. “Ready, sweetheart?”

You nodded, looking back at James and Scott, tear stains still adorning your cheeks. “I’m ready. Let’s do this.”

A gasp left your mouth as the doors opened and a swarm of people with cameras crowded around you. Flashes and red recording lights and cell phones. Screams, gasps. Some fans tried to catch your attention the best they could, but their voices were drowned out by the incessant vultures. James and Scott were on either side of you, pushing people out of the way. 

But it did nothing. It only sprung more tears.

Paparazzi shouted your name. Shouted Eddie’s.

         “What did you think of the SNL skit?”

         “Any comment on the cheating allegations?”

         “Is this thing between you serious?”

They were all variations of the same thing.

Except for one voice that stood out from the rest.

“Hey, why are you crying?”

You turned, seeing a teenage girl who looked barely fourteen, maybe fifteen, with rainbow braces and friendship bracelets in her hand. She stood next to who you presumed to be her mother, over by the curb. Set apart from the hive.

Despite your better judgment, you nudged Scott and walked over to her quickly. 

“I want to talk to her,” you told him loudly, disconnecting your hand from Eddie’s.

Scott nodded. “You got maybe a minute and a half before things get buckwild.”

“She’s got this,” Eddie said. You looked at him and smiled.

Thank you, you mouthed before rushing over to the girl.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Just got a lot going on, hun,” you said softly, trying to smile but your tears clouded your vision. Your only hope was that the sight wouldn’t scar her for the rest of her life. “What’s your name?”

“Caroline,” she said before handing you the bracelets. “I made these for you.”

Her mom placed a hand on your shoulder, causing you to look up. “She’s been keeping them with her just in case she ever saw you in the city. She’s a big, big fan.”

You could only try to smile again, studying the colors Caroline chose to represent your last few albums. Light blue to represent your self-titled album. A soft sage for your second, “Tetris”. Sparkling gold for your last album, “Acacia My Dear”. There were even one or two that had references to inside jokes shared between you and the fans.

“These are beautiful,” you told her, immediately rolling them onto your wrist. “Thank you so much, Caroline.”

“Could I get a picture of you two?” her mom asked.

“Hey,” Scott interrupted. “Sorry, we gotta cut this short. They’re pressin’ in on us.”

You nodded, looking back at Caroline. “Thank you so much, Caroline. This means everything to me,” you said honestly. Without thought, you gave her a tight hug. “You just made everything better,” you whispered in her ear.

When you pulled back, her mom grabbed your hand. “You’re doing great things,” she said, softly squeezing your hand. “Don’t let those bastards win.”

Before you could even process her words or thank her, Scott was pulling you back to Eddie. Scott seemed a little softer, blonde hair still peppering with gray. He was from Tennessee, like you, his accent just noticeable enough to give him away. James seemed to contrast him, with thick muscles, frown lines across his forehead, and a bald head. Oh, and did you mention that he was a hardass from Ireland?

Your grasp on Eddie’s hand tightened with every passing second before you were finally enclosed in the confines of the black van. 

The walk to the car was only, what, two minutes? Three?

But it felt like forever.

The waterworks continued, wracking your body with sobs you didn’t realize were just brewing behind the façade you were able to put up on any given occasion. 

Scott took the driver’s seat while James took shotgun. You could just barely make out what they were whispering.

“Fucking vampires, the lot of ‘em,” James said, shaking his head.

“Them two deserve better,” Scott replied. “They’re just fucking kids.”

Eddie pulled you into his side, making sure you were hidden from any and all intrusion even if the windows were severely tinted.

You had an urge, however miniscule it felt, to go on your Instagram story and be bitter about it. Tell SNL to fuck off and remind them how sexist and gross it was to put you in a sketch just to make fun of your dating history when there were men around you who ran through women like sport and talked about them like each one was a momentary fad. 

But you knew what would happen. You would be considered overreacting. You’d be a woman scorned and laughed at for caring so much despite the rest of the fucking internet seeming to care more.

So, you did nothing. Said nothing.

You merely curled yourself further into Eddie and fought the urge to have a mental breakdown.

“We’re getting out of the city,” he whispered. “Back to your place.”

“It’s a long drive,” you mumbled. 

“I don’t mind. Really. We made the drive out here, remember?” Eddie shook his head. “Speaking of, I’m sorry. I should’ve chosen somewhere more secluded.”

“You shouldn’t have to. We shouldn’t have to.”

He leaned back, tilting your chin up to make eye contact with you. “I want you to feel safe.”

“But I want us to be normal people going to a normal restaurant and have a normal date.”

“We’ll win this fight, okay?” he said, tracing his thumb along your cheeks as the tears came and went. “They have to get bored soon enough, yeah? TikTok will move on to its next viral bullshit anytime now. We just have to wait it out.”

“It’ll just go away?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.” Both you and Eddie let out a sigh. “Listen, okay? Just listen to me. We’ll figure this out. I’ll tell the world to fuck off. Just give me the word and I’ll do it.”

“That’ll just egg them on.”

He kissed your wet cheek. Pulling back, you could see the color return to his face as he smiled. “I could always pull an Ozzy.”

That got a giggle out of you, a few snot bubbles awkwardly falling down your lips. Eddie didn’t mind, simply grabbing a tissue to help wipe it away.

“Absolutely do not do that,” you said with a sigh, grabbing another one.

“Then I won’t. But I’m here in front of you. I want you. I need you.”

You nodded, your eyes glassy and wild as you tried to stop crying.

“Alright, babe?” he exaggerated, imitating Mikey Day. “I’m metal as hell, babe.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. It was ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. You looked up at him, watching a playful grin meet his lips.

“Oh, yeah, babe,” you played along, still wiping your tears. “You’re sooooo hot, babe.”

Eddie nearly suffocated you with another hug, rapidly kissing the top of your head. You couldn’t help but giggle again, feeling some weight lifting off of you. For the first time, you had someone in your life who was blocking out the noise. 

“You know, the jokes aren’t even funny,” he said. “I don’t know why they’re making fun of a right-handed guitar. Jimi Hendrix had one and that guy’s a legend.”

“I think the point was to make you look dumb by playing it upside down.”

“Mmmm, I don’t think so, babe,” he teased. “I’m, like, sooooo smart.”

“You’re soooo right, babe.” “Okay, I’m cutting us off. I just know we won’t stop talking like this.”

The laughter died out, silence ensuing. Eddie was fiddling with your bracelets, his touch settling the storm in your stomach.

“Why did you walk over to that girl?”

You thought about her, Caroline, and how she was the only one outside to ask if you were okay. All she wanted was to give you bracelets. Had been keeping them with her just in case she ever saw you. Fuck, if that wasn’t one of the most shocking things you’d ever heard from a fan. It was kind. And when she did see you, she cared more about how you were feeling. 

“She asked me why I was crying,” you said. “She actually cared. It meant something to me.”

“You really love the fans, don’t you?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

The night seemed to settle into comfortable silliness, ending with pints of Ben & Jerry’s and the start of another TV show for you two to binge. You settled into his side with fuzzy socks and old pajamas from before all of the bullshit ensued. They were probably ten years old, from the thrift store down the street from your childhood home. The hand-me-downs that never seemed to get holes, the ones that always seemed to save you from the brink of madness.

Eddie was donning a similar outfit, just with a few holes here and there. Baseball tee with a logo for his old D&D group, Hellfire Club, back in high school. Some of the lines were starting to crack, the red fading into something nearly blood orange.

It was comforting to know that Eddie was able to shrug it all off. That he was able to guide you through this fear and loathing. But some part of you wondered how long that could last. All the heat and dismissal and scrutiny and humiliation. All the assumptions and poking. 

Because if he wanted to do this, if he was in it for the long haul, this was going to be how it was for the rest of your careers, for the rest of your lives. He wasn’t going to be able to shrug everything off. What happens when he’s poked at? When he’s the one in your shoes?

And as you laid there at 2am with Eddie fast asleep next to you, you were starting to wonder about yourself. Because if you wanted to do this, if you wanted to follow wherever he led, you were going to have to endure. Watching him sleeping soundly, you couldn’t help but wonder how long you could last.