#rockstar OR bodyguard? NO!

[ghost-proofbaby]

this or that - au edition

thank you for the tag @emma-munson <3

bookstore au or fisherman au ⋆ bartender au or spy au ⋆ neighbour au or farm au ⋆ wedding planner au or roommate au ⋆ billionaire au or mob au ⋆ western au or hospital au ⋆ rockstar au or bodyguard au ⋆ office/coworker au or firefighter au ⋆ lumberjack au or deserted island au ⋆ fantasy au or soulmates au ⋆ modern au or historical au ⋆ sex worker au or a/b/o au ⋆ bakery au or academic au ⋆ pirate au or babysitter au ⋆ camp counselor au or werewolf au ⋆ coffee shop au or flower shop au ⋆ apocalypse au or treasure hunter au ⋆ tattoo artist au or single parent au ⋆ royalty au or vampire au

some of these i simply refuse to choose. better yet, let's just combine them. fuck it.

no pressure tags: @hellfire--cult @br0ck-eddie @pastel-pillows @munson-mjstan @munson-blurbs @corroded-hellfire

(idk who's been tagged or already done it shocker i know so apologies if i tag and you already have!!)

[cyanityy]

Bully sketch dump 3 + crops

I'm flying out so since I can't take my tablet with me I'm releasing all my captive sketches into the wild *magic hand gesturing*

(Thanks to @/bidisaster-peanut-romano for instigating Tad & Parker besties hc with me. I sob every time)

[curiositydooropened]

Hell Hound • Part One

Being FWBs with metal rockstar, Eddie Munson, is all fun and games until a dozen red roses show up at your door with a warning: Stay Away from The Devil or you will die. Despite your protests, Eddie appoints his personal bodyguard to keep an eye out for you.

Pairing: bodyguard!Steve Harrington x photographer!Reader, rockstar!Eddie x Reader

Wordcount: 10, 712

Warnings: unrequited love, slowburn, jealousy, angst, hurt/comfort, violence, gore, weapons, fighting, death threats, stalker *This chapter also contains allusions of voyeurism, sex, drinking, recreational drug use, religious elements

This blog is 18+ only. I do not give permission for any of my fics to be duplicated, reposted, or put into AI. Thank you!

Navigation • Masterlist

---

Moodboard • Fic Masterlist • Part Two

The interior of the L never looked that beautiful, at least not through Steve’s eyes. Every experience he’d had was tainted by Bears fans or teenagers filming videos on their phone, or God, don’t remind him about St. Patty’s Day. No, the seats were too small for his shoulders, the windows too short, and the whole thing smelled like plastic bags.

Your perspective was vastly different. You were just the right height to catch the sunlight as it filled the train car with that golden glow. The city whirred by, a kaleidoscope of bright lights and reflections off the glass. You positioned poles and handholds just so with satisfying symmetry.

No, the city had never looked as beautiful to him as it had through your lens. 

Steve said that to Robin once, and she wretched over the line and made him promise he’d never repeat it to you. He hadn’t, but he’d also never let one of your photos go un-complimented.

He enjoyed the roll of your eyes, the sink of your teeth into your bottom lip as you soaked in the praise and pretended to be shy, to be embarrassed, that you hated your craft. 

He’d seen that look dozens of times tonight, timid gratitude that poured out of you and onto every surface in this little gallery space. You’d caught his gaze a handful of times, reassured him with a smile that you were okay, great even, oozing with sheepish pride. He’d just nod and go back to admiring another of your photos.

“You know, we used to live in that apartment…” An elderly woman told you, bony hand clung to your forearm. 

“Really? Which one?” You humored her.

“That one, just there, our first year of marriage,” the woman nodded. “Fifth floor.” 

“Fourth floor!” Her husband corrected from your other side.

“It was the fifth floor, now don’t argue with me.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” the man winked at you, and your eyes lit with mischievous delight. You nodded along, conspiratorially while the woman rambled on about the neighbors’ cat meowing and another neighbor practicing saxophone into the wee hours. 

“It was so romantic,” she clutched your hand to her chest.

“It was so annoying,” the husband grinned back at you.

Fed up with her husband’s antics, the woman shot him a rueful look. Then, she patted your hand and told you how lovely your work was before asking for the powder room. 

When she’d been properly directed, her husband leaned to your ear and asked how much for the photo. 

Steve lingered nearby, waiting for the transactional handshake before he stepped in. “Mind if I inquire about this piece?” 

You sucked your cheeks between your teeth and sidled up beside him. His bicep tingled where your skin brushed. “What questions do you have about this one?” 

“Where was it taken?”

You shot him a look, and he tried not to let the smile split his face. The photo you were currently staring at was a portrait of a mom and daughter looking at their reflection in The Bean.

“How’s it going?” He elbowed you, glancing once more around the room at the patrons to your first gallery showing. He’d agreed to come run point for your opening, soft-pitching the idea for Munson to hit out of the park.

“Amazing,” you sighed, the delight on your face swooping at his stomach. 

“Told you.” He grinned, and you swatted his arm and told him to shut up. He really could watch you for hours, the micro-expressions on your face prettier than any photo you could take, though your talent came up a close second. 

“I thought he couldn’t make it,” you gasped, staring just past Steve’s shoulder and out the gallery’s front window.

Steve blinked once, twice. The rapid flash of headlights cast your cheekbones in shadow. He spun on his heel to find his employer and friend, Eddie Munson, slipping out of the backseat of a tinted-windowed SUV. He cursed under his breath and excused himself, shouldering through a confused crowd to meet the rockstar at the door. 

“Harrington,” Eddie pushed his sunglasses through his curls, pupils blown, and flashed a wolfish grin.

“Thought you couldn’t make it.” Steve responded, glancing down alleyways for any paparazzi. He knew once Eddie was spotted in public, they’d come in droves. 

“And miss this? Nah, wouldn’t dream of it, Sugar.” 

You’d followed Steve out into the rain, slipping through party guests to greet Eddie. The rockstar wrapped studded-leather arms around your slender waist and greeted you with something salacious whispered into your ear. Steve knew because of the shocked look stretched over beautiful features, and the way you’d swatted at Eddie’s shoulder as if he’d said something bad enough to curl your toes. 

“We should get inside,” Steve grit his teeth. “Don’t want to alert the paps.” 

“Come on, Sugar,” Eddie dipped into a low bow to let you enter first. “Give me the grand tour.” 

—

“I think I’ll buy all the ones left,” Munson quipped with a lazy arm tugging you back into his chest. 

You snorted, and shook your head. “Then no one else will be able to buy them, which is kind of the point of a gallery.” You gestured around at the carefully placed frames on carefully designed walls. 

“Well, good. Maybe I want you all to myself.” 

Steve’s eyes ached to roll. He collected plastic flutes and discarded trays of half-eaten vegetables and tossed them into large, black garbage sacks. 

“Are you coming over tonight?” 

“I just had my gallery opening,” you barked a laugh, pulling away to help Steve with the table you were leaning on. “I need to sleep.”

“You need to celebrate,” Eddie rationed, tugging you back into him. You yelped, your thumb going into a rogue slice of cake. With waggled brows, Eddie pulled your thumb into his mouth, licking it clean.

Steve thought he might be sick. He turned his back and held open the bag in front of him, just in case. Unfortunately, he could still make out your reflection in the windows out front. Your meticulously picked-out slacks hugged your curves, and Munson’s ringed fingers slipped over the breadth of your backside to squeeze you closer to him. 

“Anything else you need help with?” Steve’s voice tasted awkward, a little too loud, too scratchy. 

You separated from Eddie and dumped your haul into Steve’s bag. “I think that’s it. Thank you for everything, Steve. Really. And I’m serious about paying you.” 

“Yeah, that’s not happening.” He said, twisting the bag closed with a knot. 

You shot him another look and said, “Eddie, tell Steve to let me pay him.” 

“You don’t take money from her, you don’t take money from me, pal.” 

Steve did roll his eyes this time, and glared over your shoulder at the rockstar zipping and unzipping his leather jacket. “Yeah, we have a contract, dumb ass.” 

“I’ll have my lawyer sue your lawyer.” 

“Your lawyer is my lawyer.” 

Eddie grinned. “He’s got me there, Sug.” 

You scoffed and snatched the bag from Steve’s hand. “Fine, I’ll have to come up with some other way to repay you.” 

Steve was thankful for mood lighting and the late hour. His face heated another twenty or so degrees, and he scratched at the hairs prickling on the back of his neck. “Eds, you need me to call you a car?” 

“Would you mind, Stevie-dearest? Sugar, I gotta take a piss. Care to show me the can in this place?” Eddie stood up and adjusted the crotch of his tight jeans for show. 

“You’re a class act, Eddie Munson. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” You gripped the hefty garbage bag in one hand and took Eddie’s hand in your other as you led him back into the office space of the warehouse. Before the heavy door closed, both of you made eyes at Steve, one friendly, the other randy.

Steve’s stomach churned, and he pulled out his phone to call a car. 

Working with Eddie had been tedious, but simple. Call him a car, shield him from paparazzi and groping fans alike, bring him his hangover cure breakfast, ask beautiful women to sign a Non-Disclosure Agreement before his plethora of one-night stands. 

You were the toughest pill to swallow, a beautiful girl at a hometown gig. 

Hometown gigs meant rowdy afterparties, venue-catered alcohol and executive-catered drugs. It meant too-lax security checkpoints and easily-bribed security detail, and after months on the road, Steve wasn’t in the mood for anyone’s bullshit. So he posted himself at the Green Room door, one eye on the metal detector, one eye on the front man who’d hired him, and prayed the ache between his shoulders would go away soon. Eight more hours and he’d be at home in bed for a long awaited and much needed vacation.

Eddie was two water bottles in, and his hand still trembled when he introduced himself to some recording mogul.

Steve snapped his fingers at some kid and told him quickly to hand Munson another bottle of water and get him a towel. 

When the items had been delivered to a thankful rockstar, Steve turned back to the collection of items being tossed into plastic trays on the outside of the metal detector: a cell phone, keys with a neon carabiner, a leather wallet, a DSLR.

“Whoa, whoa,” he stopped the attendant from picking up the camera. “There’s no press on the guest list.” 

“No press, just freelance,” you said from across the metal threshold. You wore a well-loved leather jacket, softened and faded with time and an expression that toed the line between compliance and try me.

Steve swallowed, shook the stars from his eyes, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Sorry, this is a camera-free zone.”

You narrowed your eyes for a moment before stepping back over the threshold and against the current of waiting party-goers to fiddle with the camera.

“Here,” you cupped something in an outstretched hand, waiting patiently for Steve to accept whatever gift you had to offer.

With caution, he accepted the tiniest of SD cards, bright blue.

“Call it insurance?” You smiled, tongue behind your canine in a way that made him itch under the collar. “Find me before I leave and give it back?”

Munson had found you first, dragging Steve with clammy hands to meet his “dream girl”. He gave the signal for Steve to start pulling up the contract on his phone as he made his way down a long, concrete hallway.

You hadn’t flinched, just cocked a brow and signed your name on the dotted line with a, “Thanks, Steve. Have a great night.”

He kept your SD card. He didn’t even tell Robin that it rested on the corner of his dresser next to a picture of Dustin on his graduation day. 

He assumed he’d never see you again, but Munson had grown a fondness for you, and soon you were a regular part of Chicago meet-ups. Every hometown gig became a room full of you. 

Steve heard giggling from the office, that soft melodic bounce of your laugh against the bass of Eddie’s voice. This was the worst of it, catching you two in compromising positions around parties or Eddie’s ornate penthouse, and pretending like it didn’t kill him inside that it wasn’t him with his hands on you, making you laugh, smelling the warmth of your throat.

His phone buzzed in his hand. 

Robin: How was the gallery opening? Did you tell her you’re in love with her yet? We on for our FaceTime date tonight?

Steve: Eddie showed up. Yup. See you in 10 hours.

Robin: Shit. I just sent you money. Buy yourself a fifth and we’ll drink it together.

A car rolled up outside, blinding him with strong headlights.

“Munson, car’s here!” He called, praying you could both hear him.

There was the shuffle of a few things in the back, and with the clack of Eddie’s boots, you both returned. You looked a little more windswept than before, and Eddie’s sunglasses has been pulled back over his eyes, despite it being nearly midnight. 

“Steve,” you breathed, approaching him with arms outstretched for a friendly embrace. “Thanks again for all of your help tonight. You have no idea how much it means to me.” 

He gave the tightest squeeze he could under supervision and let your hand fall into his to give you one more gentle squeeze. “Anytime. It was really no problem. Do you need a ride home?” 

You shook your head, smile wedged between your teeth. “I guess Eddie wore me down.” 

“Yeah I will.” He snorted, and you shushed him. 

Steve nodded and started for the door. “Cool. Well, have fun, you two. Be safe.” 

“Thanks, man,” Eddie knocked knuckles with his friend, rings sharp against Steve’s scarred fists. “I’ll call tomorrow.” 

Steve swallowed and glanced over his shoulder to bid you one last, weak smile. 

You waggled you fingers, and he stepped out into the cool night air. 

—

“You are the most embarrassing person I know in real life.” Even Robin in lag was brutal. 

Steve sipped his coffee and rubbed at tired eyes. He hadn’t slept much. Mostly, he scrolled and wondered exactly what you and Eddie were getting up to, wondered why it wasn’t him. 

“You asked if she needed a ride home?” 

“I was being polite,” he grumbled. He took a banana off its tree and began to peel. They had all begun to brown. 

“You’re so sweet, Stevie. Like a little lost puppy dog.” 

“Oh fuck off, Robin. Remember you and that girl in Buchapest?” 

“Bucharest,” she corrected his pronunciation. “And she was merely a fleeting crush.” 

“You cried over her for like three weeks.” He shot his best friend a look over the screen. 

The lighting was horrible in her Istanbul flat, internet connection worse. Steve told her he’d pay for anything better, but she argued that he needed to quit babying her and let her live the nomadic experienced she’d always dreamed of. 

“Okay, okay,” her connection stuttered in and out, face pixelated as she ducked out of frame and back. “So you’re going to be alone forever. That’s not so bad.” 

“At least I have you.” Steve nodded, mouth full of squishy sweet banana. 

He nearly choked when his phone began to ring in his hand, your name and photo popping up on the display screen. “Robin, it’s her.” 

“What?” 

“She’s calling me.” He held his phone to the camera on his laptop to prove a point. 

“Speaker phone!” Robin squeaked. 

With a sigh, he answered, phone pressed to his ear to respect your privacy. Robin glared. 

“Hello?”

“Steve?” The worry in your voice had his heart kicking up in his throat. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Robin echoed his sentiments until he snapped his fingers and put his finger to his lips to quiet her.

“Nothing, it’s um… could you… are you busy?” 

“Nope. Not busy at all,” he said. Robin threw a silent fit on her end. “What’s going on?”

“Could you just… come down to the gallery? I need your help with something.”

“Yeah,” he frowned, walked the rest of his banana to the garbage can. “Like, later today?”

“Or right now. Could you come right now? As soon as possible?”

His stomach dropped to his feet. “Yes. Yes, I will be right there. Keep the door locked until I get there.”

“Okay. Thank you.” 

He hung up and rushed to the door to get his shoes on. His keys and wallet were in his pocket before he heard another voice echo throughout his kitchen. 

“Harrington!? Hello!? Earth to Dingus!”

“Shit,” he sidled up to his laptop. “Robin, I am so sorry.” 

She managed a knowing smirk and a laggy nod. “Yeah, you owe me, big time Harrington. Text me everything that happens.”

“I love you,” he agreed. 

“See you next week!” 

“In real life!” He hung up before she had a chance to blabber on, and he was out the door.

—

The worry etched across your beautiful features was devastating. 

Steve yearned to wrap you into his arms and promise he’d protect you, to kiss the frown lines from between your brows, to tickle at your ribs until you smiled again. 

Instead, he stood three feet away, inspecting a bouquet of three dozen red roses that had been delivered to the gallery that morning with a note attached.

Roses are Red

Beauty is You

Stay away from the Devil

Before he kills you

A printed photograph was pinned to the card, a pap photo from a gala you and Eddie had attended together a few weeks ago. Eddie’s shoulders were squeezed into a rhinestoned blazer, flash reflecting off his sunglasses. Devil horns and a tale had been crudely drawn over his features in red ball point pen. You stood beside him, hand-in-hand, curves standing out in a black silk dress. One small strap was dangling off your shoulder. The same pen was used to etch slash marks through your exposed throat, so hard it had ripped through the page.

“Is this… like Eddie wouldn’t do this, right?” Your voice shook, hand trembling against your cheekbone. You balled a tissue into your fist.

“No! God no,” Steve ran a hand through his hair. “I mean, Jesus, I hope not.” He muttered under his breath. “Have you called him?”

You shrugged, nodded. “I tried, and texted. He was still asleep when I left.”

Steve cleared his throat with a nod, remembering you’d gone home with the rockstar. You probably slipped out of black silk sheets and into the black and grey marbled shower. You probably toed around in front of the massive high-rise window, searching for various garments that had been removed on every inch of the house. Maybe you’d made yourself a latte, with a splash of lavender like you like it, wearing an oversized black hoodie that smelled of weed and cigarettes and some cologne Steve couldn’t afford.

“I can try again,” you fished your phone from your back pocket and dialed.

Steve plucked the card from the roses for any indication of a delivery service or floral company, but the card was blank, ivory, high-quality. “Who delivered these?”

“Old guy, balding, green vest,” you shrugged. 

Steve nodded.

“Hey, Sugar,” Eddie’s voice rasped over speaker. “S’matter. Did you leave something here, or d’you just miss me?”

“No, um…” You changed your balance from one foot to the other. “Eds, did you send me roses?”

“Fuck, you want me to eat you out and send you roses?” The rockstar chuckled.

Steve swallowed and didn’t dare look at you directly. He felt the heat radiating off of you as you frantically turned off speaker-phone and held the device to your ear, covering your face with a hand.

“No, babe, Jesus. I got a delivery of roses today with a um…” Your voice trembled again.

Steve brushed delicate fingers to your arm and held out his hand to take the phone.

You gave it willingly.

“Eddie, hey,” Steve sighed. 

“Harrington? What is going on? Am I still asleep?”

“No, dude, she called me when she couldn’t get ahold of you. Listen, there’s this big bouquet of roses here with a death threat attached. You didn’t have anything to do with this, right? It’s not some kind of prank?”

“A death threat? What do you mean? A prank? Jesus, how shitty of a person do you think I am? Is she okay? I’m coming down there.”

Steve winced around the shuffle of bedsheets and the sound of Eddie clomping around his bedroom.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, dude. Here, let me send you a picture.”

Steve took his own phone out to take and send a photo, rifling past a barrage of text messages from Robin. 

You’d propped yourself on the reception desk, eyes darting between the flowers and outside. The morning light poured in, hollowing your cheekbones and painting your walls pink. 

Steve reached for your elbow, running his thumb over the bit of skin there to pull your focus back.

You offered a sheepish smile and squeezed his wrist.

“Oh what the fuck?” Eddie yelled through the phone, startling you both. 

“Yeah, it’s bad,” Steve agreed, rubbing at tired eyes.

“Is she okay? Let me talk to her. Wait, Harrington, do you think it’s Carver?”

Steve’s blood ran cold. 

Jason Carver was a religious zealot from a small town with a vendetta for Eddie Munson and “demons like him”. Two years ago, his army of his cronies marched to a Corroded Coffin show in Milwaukee and set the place on fire. They managed to get everyone out of the bar before the roof collapsed. More Molotovs were thrown before the cops arrived.

Since Carver wasn’t in attendance and denied any involvement in inciting the riot, he received a slap on the wrist and no jail time. The band did manage an airtight restraining order, but Steve doubted that looped in contact with Munson’s hook-ups.

He cursed under his breath.

“Yeah, fuck is right. Let me talk to her. Don’t let her leave your sight. I’ll pay you triple if I have to. Twenty-four hour surveillance. You hear me?”

“Don’t worry about the cash, man,” Steve shook his head. “I won’t leave her. I’m going to call the delivery company and see if they can give me any more information on the purchase, and then I’ll call Joyce and see if she can’t get her written into the restraining order.” 

“Thank you, man. I want you to take her home to get her stuff and then bring her over here. If it is him, he can’t get to her here.”

Steve hated that he was right.

“Put her on for me. Thanks again, bro.”

With a resigned sigh, Steve slipped the phone back into your trembling hands.

He overheard Eddie’s tone slip into something softer, “Sugar, how’re you doing? Are you alright? I’m so so sorry this happened to you, my sweet girl.”

You gave Steve’s hand one more squeeze before you wandered off across the gallery for some privacy in your phone call. 

Steve opened his browser to began searching for the delivery company’s number with a pit in his stomach and an unfillable ache in his chest.

—

Robin: OMFG that’s so scary. Is she ok? Are you ok? Is Eddie ok? I’m going to be there in a week, plz don’t get murdered.

—

Your keys clicked in the lock, and you toed open the door to your little apartment. Light poured in through large windows, casting warmth on the small space that the dark hallway hid. You stepped in first, and Steve followed with trepidation. 

He’d never been to your house, and when he walked over the threshold, he was overpowered by how you it felt. The whole place smelled of you, of your shampoo and the perfume you spritz on special nights. Your little kitchen table was scattered with stacks of old mail and rolls of film. A laptop sat open on a squishy futon sofa. Beneath your television were a handful of films he knew you loved. 

“How long um… how much should I pack?” You squinted, pinching at the bridge of your nose. “I’m sorry,” you sighed. “This is a lot, and I don’t know how to handle it.” 

Once again, he felt the ache to pull you into him, to whisper sweet words into your hair. Instead he gestured to a bar stool. “Take a seat. Take a breath. I’m going to check the house, if that’s alright.” 

He winced as your face flooded with realization, and fear. 

“It’s probably fine. I just want to be safe.” He tried to sound nonchalant, shoving his hands into his pockets.

You swallowed, nodded, gestured for him to go ahead. “Sorry it’s a mess.” 

He waved you off with a knowing smile and started down the hallway, relieved when he turned to see you sitting as instructed. You’d been on your feet all day, making arrangements with the gallery owners to have someone take your shift for the evening and tomorrow. When you weren’t on the phone or emailing buyers, you were staring out the windows, a far-off gaze in your eye. You held that now, looking down your living room windows at the busy downtown street below.

Steve took the first door to the left and found a small bathroom. Some tiles in the corner were cracked, and the sink was scattered with the remnants of a makeup bag, a toothbrush. The bathtub’s curtain was pulled back to reveal a loofah dangling from the faucet. 

Your bedroom waited at the end of the hall. His fingertips pushed the door open, breath shallow, face warm.

Sage green linens were crumpled on your bed with three overstuffed pillows. Dirty clothes littered your floor in piles leading to and from the closet. That black satin dress topped an armchair, the strap snapped.

Steve swallowed.

A hefty dresser sat to the right of the door, the top scattered with trinkets and photographs. He was surprised to find his own image scowling back at him, arms crossed, black t-shirt on, leaning against a concrete wall. The sun hit him just so, framing his eyes like a superhero mask, the rest of him cast in shadow. God, all of the world really was better through your lens.

“All clear?” Your soft voice startled him.

He cleared his throat, cheeks warm, to find you at the doorway, hugging your arms to yourself. He smiled. “Clear. I’ll just wait in the front room.” He gestured to slip past you.

“Actually, do you mind hanging out? It’ll only take a second.” You gestured for him to sit on the bed before you scampered about your room, picking up the dirty clothes and depositing them into the hamper.

He remained standing in the doorway, arms crossed like they were in the photo. “Get enough for a couple of days if you want, but we’re going to get this figured out.”

You wore your anxiety like a jacket, hunched shoulders and furrowed brow, a shell of the vibrant woman he knew. 

He took a few steps forward, halting your frantic shoving of clothes in a backpack.

You blinked back up at him, eyes wide, hands trembling.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

You laughed then, a manically sound that didn’t meet your eyes. “Steve, am I just insane? Or stupid? Am I the dumbest person in the entire world?” 

“What?” He tried not to focus on the way your hair haloed around your face, light pouring in through gossamer curtains.

“I knew the novelty of sleeping with a rockstar would wear off eventually, but I was thinking like he’d cheat on me with a super model or maybe I’d get a curable STD, but not this.” It was the most you’d spoken all day, your old self sinking back into your voice.

Steve smiled, itched at the back of his neck, shrugged. “Eddie’s a very charming man.” 

You rolled your eyes. “I mean, okay, Eddie’s good, but he’s not death-threats good.”

Steve felt a little surge of excitement at this knowledge, maybe a bit of competition sparking in him again. “Sure, but he’s a good guy. He really likes you.”

“I think he calls me ‘Sugar’ because he forgot my real name and got too embarrassed to ask.” 

Your confession had Steve’s jaw on the floor, and when you laughed, he felt light as air. This time your laugh met your eyes, met your mouth, your cheeks. You swatted at his chest.

“Steve, you were supposed to tell me that’s not true.” 

Steve snickered and merely shrugged.

“Ugh, I’m so stupid.” You pushed past him and to the bathroom to start collecting your toiletries. The anxiety was temporarily snuffed and replaced with the ease of routine, of being in your space surrounded by your things, and Steve felt himself relax a bit knowing you were comfortable.

—

Joyce: Got it taken care of, sweetheart. Hop says he’ll file a report and to let him know if you need an extra hand. Dinner next weekend? Steak and potatoes? Take care of yourself.

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—

Munson pulled his ragged hair up into a bun with a hair tie he kept around his wrist. Steve often wondered if it was yours, or if the rockstar pulled it from the locks of some groupie on the road, long nights spent in truck stops and blues houses. The tie had lost some elasticity over the years, and tendrils managed to fall into the man’s eyes, and even still, he looked cool, casual, calm.

He was anything but calm. His knee bounced as he took a glass of water from Steve filled for him. “What did I do wrong, man?” 

Steve sighed and sat across from him, back to massive windows overlooking the city lights. He kept his mouth shut, not wanting to be caught in the middle of this tiff you were having. 

“I mean, I just want to keep her safe. I’m the one that got her in this mess in the first place.” Eddie extended an inked arm toward his bedroom door. You’d been in there for over an hour now, having excused yourself to bed for the night. 

You’d made a point that you were going to bed alone.

“Should I not have told her how I feel?”

Steve pinched at this bridge of his nose, eyes tired and struggling to focus in a room of black velour upholstery and gold trim. 

The spat started when Eddie informed you he’d booked your ticket to join him in England for the next few months while Corroded Coffin records their next album. It ended when Eddie, on bended knees, hands gripping your ribcage, told you he loved you.

Steve watched the entire exchange awkwardly from the kitchen, trying to blend in with white marble countertops.

Apparently, today was a day for firsts. He’d never seen you as nervous as he had in the gallery that morning, and he’d never seen you as angry. You were the silent type, but he felt the rage radiating off of your frame, the clench of your jaw, the subtle brush of Eddie’s hands from your waist.

He caught your gaze when you exited the room, and your demeanor shifted to apologetic, embarrassed maybe. He managed a tight-lipped smile and a wave. 

“Harrington,” Eddie snapped his fingers. “Come on, you’re good with women, right? Help me out.” 

Steve snorted. He’d been good with women, sure, but not since you waltzed into his life with your SD card and that smirk.

“How do we make up?” Munson’s shoulders were hunched, face fraught with worry.

With another drawn out sigh, Steve shrugged. “Give her space, man. She had a really scary day. You remember your first death threat, right? She needs time to process and not for you to demand she be shipped off to another country for two months.” 

Eddie nodded, too much, too exuberantly. “Okay, okay. You’re right. That makes sense. I just…” He lowered his voice. “I just don’t want to lose her.” 

That emotion, Steve understood. It was a fear that prickled at the base of his neck anytime Eddie winked at another girl in the front row, anytime he had his arms looped over two women backstage, anytime his phone sat on the coffee table between them with Sugar blowing up the notifications, neglected. Didn’t Eddie know what he had in you?

“We won’t.” He shook his head. 

Eddie nodded. “You’re a good man, Steve Harrington. I’m sure going to miss you.” 

Steve frowned at that, arms crossed over his chest. “Miss me? The hell are you talking about?” 

“When I’m in England,” Eddie explained, reaching forward for the tin lunch box he kept tucked under the coffee table. The lid hid the glass with a clang, and he reached in for rolling papers, a lighter, and a ziplock bag full of weed.

“Are you firing me?” Steve wasn’t following.

Munson snorted, rolled a neat joint, licked it closed. “Harrington, it’s a good thing you’re pretty.” 

Steve warmed, as he often did when someone complimented him, and frowned. “Cut the crap. What’re you talking about?”

“You’re going to stay here, with her.” He nodded your direction and lit up, flame glowing in big, brown eyes while he took a drag. He held onto it for a minute, shoulders going slack, knee stopping its bounce. He tilted his head against the back of the couch and released a large billow of smoke skyward, casting the room in a sickly sweet haze.

“She’s right, man,” he continued. “It’s not fair of me to take her from her gallery. She worked too hard for this.”

He sat up, offered the joint to his friend. Steve declined, head already starting to spin.

Eddie shrugged and took another hit. “I need you to protect her.” 

Steve nodded. That was the easiest thing his friend had ever asked him to do.

“While I’m away, think you could do me another favor?

More smoke billowed from the man’s pink lips, that familiar Munson charm tugging at the corners of his mouth until his teeth were bared in that irresistible grin he was so famous for. He leaned forward then, gesturing for Steve to meet him at the center of the coffee table.

Steve leaned forward, and then a little more when the gesturing didn’t stop, rolling his eyes. “What now?”

Eddie’s smile fell to something far more serious, concern etched in his features, Adam’s apple bobbing, eyes big like a baby deer in the headlights. Steve had only seen him this scared a handful of times. “I need you to use those killer wingman skills of yours to make her fall in love with me.” 

Steve’s mouth almost fell open. He had to clench his jaw to keep from doing so, blinking across the six-inch gap at his friend. He could taste the weed on the other boy’s lips, the sweat off his brow. 

“Please, man. I can’t lose her.” 

—

Robin: You said yes!? How much do you actually hate yourself, Harrington?

Steve: You don’t want me to answer that, do you?

Robin: Was it the baby deer eyes?

Steve: Obviously.

Steve thanked Becky at the front desk with a wink, desperate the ego stroke he got every time she smiled at him like he hung the moon on a string. 

Mood boosted, he balanced the coffee order in one hand and his phone in the other and ducked into the nearest elevator that would take him to the penthouse. 

Steve: What do we think of Front Desk Becky?

Robin: You leave that sweet girl out of this. 

Sufficiently deflated by his wise best friend, Steve keyed in the code to Eddie’s penthouse and let himself back in. Your sneakers remained on the entry rug, camera bag discarded on a nearby table. 

Eddie’s bedroom door was open, satin sheets crumpled and pillows stacked to accommodate one. Upon quick glance, the ceiling mirror reveled the room to be empty. 

Steve frowned. He hoped he hadn’t woken you. 

He pressed forward down the hall and into the open living space, setting the cardboard coffee carrier on the kitchen island before turning to find you pressed against the glass, silhouetted in pink morning sunlight. Eddie’s face was buried into your neck, hands unseen, and your eyelids were heavy, pink lips bowed in ecstasy.

Steve froze. He knew he should look away, leave the room, make a noise, but his gaze lingered on the soft skin of your thigh hitched up Eddie’s leg, the curve of your calf, the point of your toe. 

He could hear his heartbeat thundering, breath held, desperate not to make a sound or to scream and run. 

Eddie dipped to his knees, mouth finding purchase lower on your chest.

Steve caught your gaze. Your eyes widened, and you shoved Eddie away from you and scrambled to cover bare skin with an oversized black hoodie. 

“Steve,” you breathed, and Jesus it was dizzying. “I’m so sorry. I thought you left.” You pulled the hoodie down in a vain attempt at covering your thighs, looking everywhere but at the bodyguard in the kitchen.

He felt his own face warm, tapping fingertips to the countertops. His throat felt tight, a loss for words. His pants felt tighter.

“I ordered us coffee, Sugar,” Munson recovered the quickest, taking your hand to help himself off the floor and lead you into the kitchen.

You resisted his pull, taking a few steps back to say, “I’m going to get ready.”

“Need help?” Eddie waggled his eyebrows, grinning like a dog. Steve tried to ignore how wet the man’s lips looked.

You shook your head, venturing a glance Steve’s direction and looking immediately away when you were caught. Then you slunk off back to the bedroom from whence you came.

When he finally heard the click of the door, Steve frowned at his employer. “Guess I should’ve knocked.” 

Eddie waggled his brows at Steve, too, taking his cup from the carrier and managing a sip. 

Steve was ready with an ice water to cool the man’s burned tongue. “Does this mean you made up?”

Eddie shook his head fervently, tonguing at his water like a dog. “Hell no. She told me she’s going to the gallery today because, and I quote, she ‘can’t be held hostage in this velvet prison forever’.”

Steve grinned over his own steaming coffee and shrugged in commiseration to his friend.

Eddie nodded, took a gentler sip of his own coffee this time. “Had to shut her up when she started telling me to ‘have fun in the UK’ and maybe I should look up some old friends while I’m there.” 

Steve swallowed and nodded. “I mean, Lizzie.” 

“Don’t make me pin you to that window, Harrington,” the rockstar warned, inked finger extended with a scowl. 

Steve followed his point to the window, wherein he could just make out the smudges of four distinct handprints, two much smaller than the others. There was also the faintest of smudges where your ass had been pressed against the glass. Steve coughed at the saliva gathering in his mouth.

“Eds?” You called upon reentry, voice echoing off concrete floors. “I’m leaving. I’ll… call you or something.” You were dressed and you had a tube of lipgloss in your hand, uncorked. 

Eddie scrambled for you, scooping you up in his arms. 

You stiffened, glancing up at the bodyguard keeping watch in the corner. 

Steve swallowed, made himself look busy. 

“Sugar, Steve’s going to keep an eye on you, just until we figure this death threat thing out, okay?” Eddie cleared the hair from your face.

Steve glanced back up to see you roll your eyes.

“I don’t need a babysitter. No offense, Steve.” You held a hand up to him. 

“He’s not a babysitter,” Eddie snapped, “and he’s going to keep you safe. I can’t lose you. You hear me?” He pulled your gaze back to him, cupping your small jaw in large hands. “I love you.” 

“Eddie,” you winced, tugging at his wrists.

The rockstar dropped his hands, shoulders hunched in defeat, and he turned to give Steve a pleading look before he turned back to you. “Alright, Sug. I’ll see you in two months. I’ll call as often as I can.” 

“Okay,” you nodded and allowed him to press a sweet kiss to your lips.

—

Your lipstick stained the lid of your lavender latte, peachy pink. Your nails were freshly manicured for the gallery opening, and you always wore that delicate gold ring on your middle finger. 

You set your cup on the countertop and didn’t look up from your laptop to say, “If you’re bored, you don’t have to stay here. I promise I’ll tell Eddie I never left your sight.” 

Steve smiled over his own cup. “I’m not bored.” To appear occupied, he settled onto the desk behind yours and pulled out his phone.

The first image on his feed was yours, something you’d managed to snap of the old woman and her husband from the opening. They stared at the portrait of their apartment building, hand-in-hand, and you’d taken it at just the right instant, when the husband was smiling down at his wife.

Mr. and Mrs. Edgar Jones • Chicago

The gallery opening was everything I’d ever hoped for. Thank you to all sponsors and patrons who attended and to everyone who helped pull this together. If you’d like to check out my work, please drop by the gallery and say hello.

Steve hummed to himself, double-tapping, and typed a comment.

sharrington: Best gallery opening I’ve been to.

“Steve,” you scolded, “quit commenting on my shit. I’m standing right here.” It was the first smile he’d seen since yesterday. 

“Oh, sorry,” he grinned, crossing his arms over his chest again to say, “Yours was the best gallery opening I’ve been to.”

That beautiful smile tugged even higher on your cheeks, despite your eye roll. “It was the only gallery opening you’ve been to.”

“You don’t know that,” he feigned offense.

You cocked a brow, bursting his facade until you were both snickering a laugh.

“Okay, but come on,” he pushed himself off the desk and strolled out into the open gallery. Egg shell white walls were naturally lit by skylights and the fourth glass wall of the small space. “This place was packed with people obsessed with your work, myself included.”

“Yeah?” You smiled, but remained behind the shelter of your desk. “Which one’s your favorite?”

A bubble of giddy excitement kicked in his chest, and he turned to face your artwork. The sunlight reflecting off the lake was good, the streak of streetlights in the rain, a collection of big, red brick buildings: all of these were his favorite. You’d managed to capture his city in unique and beautiful ways.

He pointed at each one and glanced back to see you shaking your head, eyes brightening and mouth failing to hide that smile.

Finally, he found that photo of the L he was admiring that night and wrapped his knuckles near it. “This one. You managed to capture no plastic bags.”

You rolled your eyes, but let his gesture pull you from your desk. “You can’t see it, but there was one caught around my ankle when I took the shot.”

Steve laughed. “Now that’s something I’d pay to see.” 

You sucked your cheeks in a pout and glanced down the row at all of your photos, your accomplishments on display. “Steve,” you muttered. “Can I… vent for a second?”

“Of course,” he nodded, turning to face you, giving you his undivided attention.

You turned your body toward him as well, hands tucked under your arms. “It’s about Eddie.”

Steve felt his brow raise, but he nodded, miming the zip of his lips and extending you the key.

You chewed around another smile and extended your hand for him to place the invisible key into and wrapped your beautiful fingers around it. Then, you looked back at your photograph and chewed on your words.

Steve leaned forward to catch your gaze, pull your focus back on him.

You sighed, shrugged. “It’s just… Eddie’s used to having women fall at his feet and do whatever he says, isn’t he?”

Steve tried to keep his expression stoic, but it was hard when he thought of all the bras he’d kicked off of a stage, all of the groupies Eddie fingered in the wings, all of the women he’d had to call a ride share for to ensure they got home safely, too wobbly on their legs to drive.

You barked a laugh. “I know he is because I’m one of them.” You didn’t seem amused.

Steve frowned, shook his head. You deserve more credit than that. You weren’t like the others, not by a long shot.

“He came to my opening, right? He saw how important this was to me. Hell, he told you to help me run it because he had faith in me that it was going to be big.” You gestured around wildly as you spoke, frustration building in your tone. “And yet, he expects me to just pack up everything and fly to England for two months?”

Steve swallowed, chewing on his own words now.

“I know, it’s because he’s worried about me, and I do appreciate that, but it’s also like… I feel like he didn’t know what he had in me until he saw me get spooked, and now he’s trying to lock me down.” You frowned. “I can’t be broken. I’m not a horse.”

Steve nodded.

You paused a moment longer before looking into his eyes again. “If I ask you something, you promise to be honest with me?”

He nodded again, slowly. He’d do anything for you.

“Do you think he’s really in love with me?”

Steve’s heart shattered at the hope that lingered in your voice. He swallowed, remembered his promise to Eddie, and nodded.

You let out another strained laugh, as though you couldn’t believe it, and centered yourself before asking another. “Do you think he’s going to sleep with other women while he’s away?”

Again, Steve steeled himself with a deep breath, and shook his head. Eddie wouldn’t if he knew what was good for him, and what was good for him was you.

You cocked a brow, unbelieving of this answer, and toyed with another question in your mind for a moment. “Do you think I should go with him to England?”

Steve furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head, gesturing around at your beautiful gallery. Two months with Eddie Munson wasn’t worth giving all of this up. If he was serious, and he really did love you, he’d prove it to you when he got back. 

Your lips ticked upwards at that answer. “Hey, this zipped-lip Steve thing is kind of fun. I should have made you shut up a long time ago.” 

Steve rolled his eyes and snorted at your delight.

You reached your hands out to grab his, swinging them back and forth between the two of you. Your hands were warm and and small and soft. “Hey, Steve, is there something you really, really want to tell me, but can’t? Because you can, you know.” You smirked. “This is a safe space. We’re all friends here.”

Sunlight poured in through the windows, casting your face in a golden glow. Your eyes sparkled, cheeks round, lips that soft, peachy pink.

There were so many things he wanted to say to you, he didn’t know where to start. So he caressed the backs of your hands with his thumbs and nudged you ever-closer.

The toes of your sneakers touched. Your eyelashes batted. You tilted your face skyward to look up at him. You licked your lips.

God, he wished he could kiss you. He wished he could taste the lavender of your latte and the length of your throat. He wished he could press you to the glass and let the world know you were his. He wished he could tell you every day for the rest of his life how beautiful you are, how talented you are, how perfect you are. 

The smile fell from your face. You released one of his hands to brush hair from his forehead. 

He held his breath. 

You searched his gaze for something, your own features filled with worry, and you nodded. “You’re really scared about this Jason Carver guy, huh?”

Steve blinked. He’d forgotten entirely about the roses, the death threat, the reason he’d been paid to spend time with you, to watch over you, to protect you. 

He cleared his throat and looked down at your hand in his. He brushed the back of it again with his thumb. His throat was tight, voice raw. “I just want to keep you safe.”

A bell rang, putting a few feet between you. You adjusted your hair and straightened your top before shooting him a ‘wish me luck’ look and stepping away to greet your newest buyer.

—

Hopper: No leads on that delivery. I’ve got Callahan asking around. Powell’s looking into Carver. Keep me posted on other developments.

Steve tapped nervous fingers to the deli’s glass countertops, craning his neck for a vantage on your gallery windows. 

You’d practically forced him out, insisting this was your favorite sandwich place in town and nothing else would suffice. When he offered to pay for delivery, you reminded him how uncomfortable you felt with deliverers right now and promised you’d lock the door behind him. He wished he could have convinced you to join him.

“Dude, we’re going as fast as we can,” the sandwich artist snapped, cutting pastrami into thin slices. 

Steve frowned back at him, confused for a moment, before taking his hand from the glass and shoving it into his jeans pocket. “Oh, sorry.” His foot tapped instead.

An 80s love ballad played over the speakers, and the whole place smelled of cold cuts. A small line had formed behind the counter of people going about their day-to-day. 

Steve looked at each one of them as a suspect. Though, he was pretty sure Babushka in the headscarf wasn’t eliciting death threats to beautiful girls via three dozen red roses. She felt more like the cast-a-spell type. 

He snorted and glanced back out the window just in time to see a black car pull up to the gallery. A man stepped out. 

“Forty-five?” The deli employee called out.

Steve took a few steps toward the window, squinting against the glare to see a tall man with white hair approach the glass. He wrapped two knuckles on the front door. You met him there.

“Dude, your sandwiches!” The guy behind the counter called, and Steve cursed, grabbing them with a thanks and a nod.

He glanced up just in time to see you unlocking and opening the gallery door, and he began to run your direction.

“Hey, man! You forgot your pickles! Asshole…” 

The wind whipped at his ears, and he nearly ran out in front of a moving vehicle. The driver honked and flipped him off, and Steve waited for him to pass before checking both ways and crossing to get to you again. 

He made a mental note of the black car’s license plate: GCCF and swung open the gallery door with a ring of the bell. 

The man stood beside you, tall and lanky, with broad shoulders and a haircut that hadn’t changed since the early 70s. He wore a grey suit, and a black tie, and a smile as he admired your photos.

You smiled at Steve from across the space and waved.

Relief warmed Steve’s spine, and he toed to the desktop to place the sandwich bag, careful not to make any noise so he could overhear bits of your conversation.

“That sounds like an amazing opportunity,” you said, even-keeled, though Steve knew you were bursting inside. “I’m honored for the invitation.” 

“I’m glad you agree,” the man chuckled. “Your talent really is a gift to this city, and we’ll be proud to display your work in our halls.” 

You were beaming. Steve’s stomach flipped.

“Now, our guests usually love to speak with the artists featured in the auction. Are you free Friday evening? Could I coax you to attend?” The man turned to face you now, reaching into his inside pocket for something.

Steve took two steps forward. 

The man extended you a small, white slip of paper. 

You read it over with a tight-lipped nod. Then you smiled. “I would love to go.” 

“Excellent,” the man nodded. “It is black tie. Could I give my assistant the name of a plus-one?” 

You swallowed before answering. “Sure, Steve Harrington.” 

Steve felt his face warm, and he nearly tripped over a power cord stepping back behind the desk. 

The man you were speaking to nodded with a knowing smile and glanced down at his watch. “Well, unfortunately I must be going. I have a lunch meeting to attend. Good timing too, it seems as if your lunch has arrived, and it smells delicious.” He ventured a glance Steve’s direction, and the bodyguard squared his shoulders. 

“Thank you so much for dropping by, and for your business. I look forward to the event.” You smiled, extending a hand for the stranger to shake.

He reciprocated your gesture. “Thank you for your work, my dear. It is breathtaking. Expect that deposit by end of day, and we’ll see you Friday evening. Have a great day.” 

“You too.” 

Steve watched you watch the man walk to the door and get into his car. Your chest was still, breath held until the black car was started and began to drive. 

Then, you began to jump up and down, screaming, like a teenaged girl who had just been asked to prom. 

Steve frowned, shaking his t-shirt to dry the sweat that clung to his back. “What’s going on?”

You grinned and did an adorable little skip and hop back to your desk, sliding two pieces of paper across for him to read. Then, you broke into the sandwich bag.

Steve peered down at a stark white business card with grey lettering, and a matching invitation. 

Martin Brenner

Founder and CEO

Gifted Children of Chicago Foundation

Gifted Children of Chicago Foundation

Annual Gala and Live Auction

“So, this guy, Brenner or whatever,” you explained, peeling the parchment paper from your bread, “just came in and bought my entire playground collection. Can you believe it? All nine photos. He said he’s going to hang them in the halls of his school.” The sound that came from your lips exceeded dogs’ hearing in pitch.

Steve bit back a smile to let you continue.

You took a huge bite of your sandwich first, olive oil clinging to the corner of your lips and dripping down the back of your hand. 

Steve shook a napkin from the paper bag and handed it to you.

You thanked him, mouth full, and swallowed before mopping your face. “Then he says he wants to offer up another one of my pieces in their annual live auction.”

Steve snapped a photo of the two cards and sent them to his contacts in the police force for some background information, nodding to let you know he was listening.

“Do you own a tuxedo, by the way?” You asked, cheek chipmunked.

Steve frowned back at you. He’d been head of security for Corroded Coffin for upwards of six years. He’d been to more award shows than he could count. Of course he had a tuxedo. 

“What?” You feigned innocence, cracking into one of the sodas you’d pulled from the vending machine while you waited for Steve to return. “If you have to be my new bodyguard, I can’t go to this gala alone.”

He sighed and began to neatly unfold his own sandwich, lettuce falling every which way. “Yes, I have a tuxedo.” 

“Really?” You grinned. “I should bring my camera.” 

He shot you a look. “You going to tell me why you unlocked the door for a random stranger while I was picking up your lunch?” 

You swallowed. “He sent me an email?”

Steve maintained eye contact while he popped the tab on his own soda, shoulders squared. He felt like a dad every time he interrogated Eddie for late nights out with no correspondence. The stance didn’t translate well to Robin over text. 

“I figured I could take an old man,” you shrugged.

Steve cocked an eyebrow.

You sighed. “Okay, I’m sorry. Won’t happen again.”

Satisfied, for now, Steve took a bite into his sandwich and stared back down at the business card on the tabletop, hoping this guy didn’t have any ties to Carver or whoever it was that sent you that note.

“No pickles?” You frowned, peeking into the mostly empty paper sack.

—

1 Voicemail

Hey, kid. It’s Hopper. Brenner’s one of Chicago elites, but as far as we know he’s harmless. He runs that school for gifted kids. Real pillar of the community type. Could be mob ties, but who the hell in this city doesn’t have mob ties? 

Couldn’t find anything on the delivery company, and no florists in town filled orders that big. Something’s definitely off. Powell spoke to Carver’s assistant, but he was out of the office. Keep an eye out.

Joyce wanted me to invite you and the girl to dinner. Stay safe, kid. Let me know if anything else comes up.

Lucas: All safely on the plane and ready for take off. England won’t be the same without you, man. Take care.

Eddie: Ready for take off. Thanks for taking care of my girl, big man. See you in two months.

Robin: You’re sitting in your car watching her apartment? You’re a creep, Harrington. Please tell me you don’t know the color of her bra tonight.

Steve groaned and rubbed at tired eyes.

He hated that he knew your bra was a soft, stone grey. He’d seen the strap slip down your arm. You’d caught it and pushed it back up, mid-conversation with a browser this afternoon. 

He glanced up from the glare of his phone at your open front window. He couldn’t see anything substantial from this vantage, just the shadows cast on dimly lit ceilings as you moved around your home. 

Maybe Robin was right, maybe he should go home and rest. No more threats had been issued today, that he knew of. You seemed to be less afraid than you were the day before, and with Eddie gone, maybe you weren’t in as much harm as you had been. Still, something gnawed at him. 

Steve startled when his phone began vibrating in his hand. Your name, and a photo of you grinning back at him, filled his little car with light. He answered. “Hello?”

“I can see you.”

Steve gulped and shifted to look back up at your window. You stood there in an oversized sweatshirt, waggling your fingers.

“Come inside, please.”

“What?”

“Bring your fedora and binoculars and come on up. I’ll buzz you in.”

You met him at the door in baggy clothes with two glasses of wine in your hand. You waited for him to step out of his shoes and shrug off his jacket before handing him one glass, and then you led him to the little futon propped up into a sofa near a loved coffee table.

A few candles burned, casting everything in flickered shadows. The place smelled of lavender and honey and smoky amber. 

“So,” you raised an eyebrow, sipping from your glass. You pulled your legs up to be crossed and tilted yourself to face him. “Tell me about this Carver guy.” 

Steve frowned, stretching an arm across the back of the couch to appear comfortable.

“Well, if it’s serious enough that Eddie’s got you staking out my apartment, I need to know who I’m up against.” You frowned, taking another sip from your glass, the legs spilling from your sweet lips and back into the liquid. 

Charity events attracted a diverse crowd, metal bands and church groups converging for the greater cause, their own positive PR. Knocked elbows at the start of the night often led to knockouts once the open bar started flowing. The mob made connections and burned bridges and somehow, the world kept turning.

One such event, Steve had eyes on Munson from across the room. The rockstar was flirting with some senator-to-be or another, a good friend of the Obamas, if he remembered correctly. Sinclair had eyes on the other band members at other tables. They all seemed happy, buzzed, low-key despite studded tuxedos.

Steve clocked the approach before Eddie had. A blonde man in a white suit caught sight and B-lined from near the stage.

Steve crossed to intercept him, stopping the young man with two fingers to his chest before he could get around the final linen-covered table. “Can I help you?”

The stranger’s face split in a menacing grin that sent chills down his spine. Never in his life had Steve felt something so cold. All his instincts went on high alert, fight or flight. One fist clenched at his side.

“I was just hoping for a little tête-á-tête with Mr. Munson,” the man gestured a hand out.

Steve dropped his hand, noticing the steel tie pin in the shape of a cross. “He’s busy at the moment, but let me take down your information, and we’ll see if we could find time for you at a later function.” 

“Are you his secretary or his babysitter?” Still with the grin, dead between the eyes.

“Why? You looking for a playdate?” Steve squared his shoulders, inches taller than the other man. 

“I’m just looking to ask one question.” 

“Shoot,” Eddie approached from behind Steve, shoulders squared in the same manner as his bodyguard. 

The other man tucked his hand into white jacket, and Steve stuck his hand in front of Eddie, just in case, until Carver retrieved his business card and handed it over. Sleek, white, with grey lettering.

Reverend Jason Carver

Faithful Servant of Christ

“Do you, Mr. Munson, take responsibility for casting yourself and all of your followers to the very depths of Hell to burn for an eternity?” 

Steve didn’t take his eyes off of Carver, but he could feel Eddie’s grin growing beside him. 

“You’re damn right I do.”

Carver seemed just as pleased with this answer as the rockstar had been. He nodded, an odd twinkle in his eye, and said, “Thank you so much, Mr. Munson. I hope you and your hell hound have a lovely evening.” 

That was the one and only time Steve had met the man, and he’ll never forget the weight of his presence. 

You’d set your wine glass on the coffee table beside his, and you were curled closer now, frown creasing your sweet brow. “And then he burned that place down in Milwaukee?” 

Steve sighed, playing with a loose thread on the futon, fingertips dangerously close to your shoulder. He wished he could sweep your hair back, kiss the crease from your forehead, reassure you he wouldn’t let anything happen to you. 

“Well, first, he had all of the funding pulled from that almost-senator, set her up for public exposure, basically ruined her entire life. When asked to comment, he said ‘jezebels and harlots get what they deserve’. Fucking asshole.” Steve scoffed.

There was a far-off look in your eye, like you were considering the weight of those words when compared to you.

Without a second thought, Steve brushed his knuckles against your cheek, pulling your focus back to him. “Hey, you know I’ll never let anyone hurt you, right?”

You surprised him by leaning into his touch, nodding. You released a shaky laugh, your voice caught in your throat. “I was really trying to be brave.”

Steve smiled, and opened his mouth to tell you you were, to tell you you were beautiful, to tell you he’s been in love with you from the moment he met you because you were all of those things.

Your phone began ringing, loud and incessant, a vibration from the coffee table that lit up the room with a photo of Eddie’s face. 

You ducked away from Steve’s touch and patted at warmed cheeks, reaching for your phone. “I should probably get this.”

Steve nodded, cleared his throat, reached forward to take a long swig of alcohol. It went down dry. 

“I actually think I’ll go to bed.” You silenced your phone and stood up, backing slowly from the living room. “You don’t mind the futon, right? Here are some extra blankets and a pillow.” You gestured toward a little wicker basket beside the sofa. “Use whatever you’d like in the bathroom.”

Steve stood to mirror you, hoping his smile seemed more reassuring than he felt. “Sleep tight. If you need anything…”

You nodded, smiled. “Thank you. Goodnight, Steve.”

“Night.” 

Halfway down the hallway, you answered your phone, sweet nothings murmured for someone else.

---

Moodboard • Fic Masterlist • Part Two

[A/N: So yeah, this just kind of... came out of me. It's been cooking since February, but I've sat down like three times over the last week and spewed out 10k. And I got too excited to wait to post it, so here you are. Please give me all your thoughts and feelings. Is bodyguard!Steve my new favorite Steve? Is rockstar!Eddie my new favorite Eddie? Maybe so. xoxoxo]

[daenysx]

hii, rockstar!reader here, i just love the way you wrote them!!! can i request more pretty please? maybe reader is too sick to perform and has to postpone a show she was really looking foward to? and james tries to cheer her up?

thank you for requesting, i hope you like this one too!! (if you wanna check the first fic i wrote for bodyguard!james x rockstar!reader, it's here, but this is not really a second part so you can read them separately)

bodyguard!james potter x rockstar!reader ♡

"james, i have to."

"tell me your reasons without coughing and i will accept, sweetheart."

this is the third time you try to leave your bed. james disagrees, you act like you can run to the stage and sing your songs like you always do, but well- you can't. you can't even form two sentences without your throat bothering you, endless coughs and teardrops complete the sickness trio.

you are sad, your body hurts and not being on the same side with james doesn't help. you put your head back to your pillow, your eyes are begging to be closed. it's so hard, being betrayed by your own body when you have somewhere else to be.

james stands next to your bed, he has his usual attire. he bends down, reaches the same level as your face. you look at him with sad eyes, hoping he'll do something. he takes your hand in his hand, gives your fingers a comforting squeeze.

"i'm really sorry." james says. "i know how much you wanted to play here."

you can't help a tear rolling down on your cheek. it makes your breathing even harder, you sit up to get some air in your lungs. james is on his knees next to your bed, he wanders a soft hand on your back.

"please, don't cry." he says, he sounds really really upset. "you'll make yourself worse, calm down, angel."

"i hate being sick." you say. he gives you a smile that says he knows. he's your bodyguard, he is always ready to protect you. it's difficult for him to see you unwell when he can't do anything about it.

"okay." james starts, voice determined. he rubs a gentle thumb on your tears to dry them. you are focused on his touch and for a moment you forget what you are doing. "we both should be calm if we want you better as soon as possible."

you nod. he's helping, you should do your part. you can't lift your body from bed but you can at least show him you care about his words.

"you need to eat something before taking your medications." he says as he helps you lie down. "anything you want? we can order soup."

he walks through the room to get the meds doctor gave you. he is moving quickly, thinking quickly like it's an operation for saving you from bad guys. he brings you a clean, thin tank top to change into, you manage to wear it without making it hard for james. he opens the window only for a few minutes to get you some fresh air, fixes your sheets without moving you too much. in these 5 minutes after he offers you food, he fixes the entire room for you without even trying too hard.

when he finally finishes the little things on the list he has on his mind, he finally comes next to you. you motion for him to sit, sadness lingers in your eyes but you do feel better. "thank you, james." you say quietly. "you don't have to-"

"come on, sweetheart." he cuts your sentence with a small smile. "you know i'm not doing all of these only because i'm your bodyguard."

you nod, he holds your hand. he looks at you like you're gonna break, like you are someone precious. he pushes your hair back with his free hand, you can see his gentle eyes through his glasses.

"my voice is terrible." you say, just to change the topic. "it doesn't even feel like my voice."

"there's no way i'd ever think your voice is terrible. you'll be better soon, i promise." he says, he means every word. "you'll have a show here one day."

you try to stay strong. you can handle it. if james says you'll be better, then you have to believe him. you give his fingers a weak squeeze. "so you think my voice is cool?" you ask, james relaxes finally when he hears the teasing tone.

"you now have the deep, scratchy voice of a rockstar, angel. you can give me a little concert after you finish your soup, if you want."

you nod, your mind is too tired and foggy from sickness. james tells you a few soup options after that, and you go with your usual choice. he orders it for you, gives you a cool glass of water when you wait for the food.

your throat finally feels a bit better, you realize it when you wake up from the nap you took after your soup and medications. you can at least swallow without hurting. james is fast asleep on the chair he carried next to your bed, his hand still holds yours. you don't move to let him sleep more, it's uncomfortable for him but he once told you he can sleep at anywhere in any position so you trust his word.

you try to go back to sleep, looking at your hero. you can't help but stroking the back of his hand with you thumb. "do you feel better?" james whispers, already awake but still in his sleeping position.

"yes." you whisper back. "you can sleep next to me if you want. i promise i won't cough on you."

he moves under the darkness of your room. he got rid of his jacket hours ago and he quickly settles down on your bed after he puts his glasses on your nightstand. he's more brave when it's dark, you realize. you like this new progress.

he pulls you to his arms, his chest becomes your new pillow. he holds you closer, until your breathing goes normal. "you can cough anytime you want, angel. i have a good immune system."

you smile against his chest. it's the best sleep you had in weeks when you finally close your eyes.

[inthedarknessofnight]

Okay, okay, but hear me out.

Rockstar Eddie Munson’s old bodyguard has just retired. The agency’s decided to send in a replacement - a very attractive newbie by the name of Steve Harrington.

Unfortunately, he’s everything Eddie despises. Prim and proper, overeager to do his job right, a real stickler for the rules. Eddie’s pretty sure the guy’s eyes nearly pop out of their sockets the first time he sees Eddie do a line. Or down a bunch of pills with a glass of bourbon. Or bring a man into his dressing room backstage. Still, Harrington doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t break. So, of course, Eddie takes it as a personal challenge to traumatize the poor guy, going to extremes just to get a rise out of him.

That’s how he finds himself toeing the ledge on the terrace of his penthouse hotel suite, casually toying with his half-empty glass of neat whiskey. He knows Steve will come looking for him sooner or later, giving the room a once-over before they call it a night. And just like clockwork, Steve does.

“Wha-,” Steve starts, his voice slightly shaky, then checks himself. “Mr. Munson, what are you doing? This is dangerous. Please, step down,” he says, a sense of newfound authority in his voice. Eddie finds this new tone to be working a little too well on him, so he doubles down on his performance, mindlessly twirling around to face Steve, turning his back on the city below.

“Hey, come on. I’m not screwing around. You seriously need to get down.”

Steve takes a few steps forward, extending his hand towards him, never taking his eyes off Eddie’s. Instead of accepting the offered hand, Eddie settles for a scoff.

“No. No, I don’t think I will. Thanks, though.”

He downs his drink, careful not to lean too far as he tips his head back.

“Come on. Please,” Steve says, his tone slowly turning into something like a plea. Something raw. It triggers something inside Eddie, as he levels the man with a pointed look. He takes a deep breath.

“Give me a reason,” Eddie spits out, devoid of any edge. He watches the expression on Steve’s face falter.

“Because,” he swallows, his eyes seemingly searching for something on the ground, before lining back up to Eddie’s, “I was hired to protect your life. And I’m not going to fail. I can’t fail.” Steve’s gaze is stern now, but for some reason, Eddie feels like he’s witnessing the swan song of a stone exterior about to break. “Please. Don’t let me fail.”

Steve’s standing by the ledge now, his hands resting gently around Eddie’s ankles, as if to assure a solid hold in case Eddie decided to move. The way he’s looking up at Eddie, though, so vulnerable, so innocent… That’s going to leave a permanent mark on his brain. Eddie knows it.

“Eddie,” Steve breathes.

Eddie thinks he can almost see the breath being punched out of him, causing him to tip back, setting off his balance. This is it, he thinks, as his life flashes before his eyes in anticipation of the fall. His mind hasn’t yet caught up to the moment in which he’s being yanked forward by the front of his shirt, and hauled bodily onto the ground. It’s only when he feels the grounding pressure of another body on top of his that he comes to again, registering Steve’s face sporting a panicked expression almost too close for comfort. And for a moment that’s all there is. Sharing panicked breaths, sharing air. A hand comes up to cradle his face, then swipes over his forehead before traveling to other parts of his face in a series of hurried motions, checking for any signs of an injury. Making sure he’s not hurt. Making sure he’s okay. He brings his own shaky hand up, drawing Steve’s hand back to cradle his cheek.

“It’s okay. I’m okay,” he manages to get out between breaths, trying his best to catch Steve’s erratic gaze.

Then he notices. Steve is crying. It’s the moment Eddie sees Steve’s façade break for the first time. It sends him over the edge, warm tears silently spilling down his cheeks, as he presses Steve’s hand firmly into his face.

“Never again,” Steve says barely above a whisper, his breath ghosting over Eddie lips, his tears falling onto Eddie’s face.

“Never again,” Eddie repeats with such conviction it sends a chill down his own spine, before gripping the back of Steve’s head and closing the distance between them.

[melodymunson]

older! Rockstar Eddie Munson x fem! reader x eventual older Steve x fem!reader.

(Eddie is 38 and the reader is 25.) The year is 2008. All 21 chapters are on ao3. Only chapter 1 will be on tumblr.

series title: Love Buzz

chapters 1 and preview of chapter 2 (5K words)

chapter 1: like a dream come true

series summary: Corroded Coffin have a reunion tour with none other than doom/gothic metal legends Type O' Negative. Reader recently finished college with a bachelor's degree in the music business. After being interviewed by none other than Eddie Munson himself, you get the job as their touring band manager. What starts as a business relationship grows into friendship and eventually an epic romance. Steve Harrington is CC's bodyguard. Eventual Steddie x fem! reader. Multi-series.

Ao3 link

The sound of your alarm clock blared in your ears as you removed your eye mask and stretched. You turned it off, then got up and put on your house slippers, then made your way to your shower to get ready for the day. Gone were the days of doing pole dancing and burlesque for money to pay for college. Your college debt was all paid for and you had a temporary, yet steady job working at your best friend's family-owned restaurant. Pay and tips were good, but today you were interviewing for your dream job. You couldn't wait to meet the frontman and lead guitarist of the legendary 80s metal band Corroded Coffin- Eddie Munson. They toured with so many amazing bands back in the day before they reunited, such as Carnivore, Cinderella, Whitesnake, The Scorpions, Bon Jovi, W.A.S.P., and even the Prince of Darkness himself- Ozzy Osbourne. The 80s were a bit of an obsession to you, even though you only grew up late in the decade and were just a kid when the 80s were about to end. The 90s were just fine, but you had the fondest memories of your childhood in the 80s. Once you washed your hair and used your favorite body wash, you shave your legs and blow dry your hair before applying your favorite scent of perfume and lotion. The interview flyer said to dress casually, so you dressed in your favorite pair of black leather pants and a Black Sabbath tour shirt. You paired it with your most worn and metal pin-decorated black leather jacket. Although you were a bit apprehensive about anything that could go wrong, you instead decided to focus on all the good. After getting some breakfast, you headed out to go to the drive-thru and pick up your favorite coffee order then go to Eddie's studio for the interview. Corroded Coffin was recording a brand new EP and it was the first music they would release in over 10 years, since their last show and album was back in 1995. The original lineup was back together, though and they needed a new manager- someone reliable. With your degree and experience working a little in the music industry throughout college and in your 2-year internship.

When you arrived at their studio, Eddie's uncle Wayne led you into the recording studio and told you to make yourself comfortable. You had a short phone interview with Eddie but this second interview would be the last one to see if you would get the position. That summer Corroded Coffin had a 30-date North American tour that was sold out, including 4 dates in Canada. Traveling was something you wanted to do much more of and this would be the perfect opportunity for that. Your last relationship ended only two months ago and you couldn't wait to find more things to do to keep yourself busy. This dream job would hopefully be the best distraction. As you walked into the studio, Eddie saw smiled at you as he looked you up and down. He was quite impressed with what he was seeing. When you sat down in the room opposite the recording booth, Eddie put his guitar down and made his way over to the room you were in. You stood up as soon as he entered and Wayne left. Eddie looked even more attractive in person. He had the most stunning tattoos and his curly locks of hair were something else. When you were younger, you had a big crush on him, but now you felt like you were smitten. Seeing him in magazines, on posters, in interviews, and even in music videos didn't do him enough justice. He was not just hot and sexy he was a very handsome man and his stubble only added to the allure. His ripped Ozzy shirt complimented his pair of spandex jeans quite well.

"Sit down, please. I'd like to get this interview started and after you can stay if you'd like and hear us record a new song. How does that sound?" He asked as he sits down in a chair opposite from yours.

"Yes, sir. I mean Mr. Munson. I would like that very much."

"No, no, don't call me sir, or Mr. Munson. That's my father and sir just makes me feel like an old man," he admitted, trying to hold back a slight chuckle.

You sat back down and nodded your agreement, waiting pensively for the interview to start. Even though no one else was around or super close by, you couldn't help but feel your nerves get the better of you. Here this beautiful rockstar and guitar Adonis was sitting right in front of you, and it was making you nervous. It was a good thing you had some time before the studio to do your makeup- some black eyeshadow, lipstick, and foundation.

"Well, to be quite honest with you, judging from your resume, you are one of the two most qualified so this interview will be the last one before I make my final decision. I will call you with the news by tonight after talking it over with the rest of the guys. Now my first question is, are you completely dedicated to being on a full-length all-summer tour across North America with Canada included?" He asked with a raise of his brows.

His brown button eyes were so gorgeous. You couldn't fall for him though. He was your potential boss after all. If you didn't end up getting the job, then you probably wouldn't hear from him again unless you went to one of their shows.

"I know I am qualified for this job and I am very dedicated to my job. At the moment, I work at a restaurant, but I can give my week's notice and be there for you at the start of the tour and throughout the summer, Eddie. I also have my passport renewed and ready at my disposal now if you'd like to check it out."

"That won't be necessary." He clears his throat, then eyes you up and down again with a small smirk on his lips. "I need to have you sign an NDA otherwise known as a nondisclosure agreement. What happens and what is said on tour and in the studio stays on tour and in the studio. Are we clear?"

"Yes, Eddie. I understand that fully. I am familiar with NDA and I could sign one."

"Good, because we wouldn't want my band's new songs to be leaked, now would we? The album isn't being released until the very end of the summer after all. Not even the song track titles," he explains to you as he gestures with his hands for emphasis. His metal and sterling silver rings were a sight to see and you liked his style.

"I completely understand. I can keep it a secret."

"Now there's no set uniform for this job, but just to let you know I like your style and would like to see you wear similar outfits on the tour. Just throwing that out there. I've seen your references, resume, as well as your degree in music and your GPA, and I am highly impressed. I just have one last question for you. Are you prepared for long days and some grueling nights? Can you keep up with that sort of lifestyle with little sleep some nights, well most nights actually, and being around as well as managing 4 crazy old dude rockers?"

He didn't want to scare you off or make you nervous. Those things were far from his true intentions, but he wanted to know that he had someone reliable for him. Someone who truly was a person he could count on, because there were so many people he couldn't even trust.

"Yes, Eddie. I can be the manager that you and Corroded Coffin need."

He got up and put out his hand for you to shake. You took it and shook his hand.

"I'll be in touch. We are about to record our guitar and drum solos for the new track and I think you should stay."

"I will. Thank you."

He nodded and left the room, closing the door gently behind him. As they recorded, you watched in amazement and fascination, as you banged your head along to the music. His eyes met yours as he played his solo, and a wicked grin was on his face whenever he made eye contact with you. Later on, he talked to his bandmates and they decided on the new band touring manager.

Eddie's POV:

I like her already. She has a good personality, likes great music, she seems reliable and trustworthy, and even better she certainly has the look to be my band manager. I just wonder if she will have what it takes to survive out on the road with the 4 of us crazy rockers. The relationship is going to be professional and I won't let myself stray from my music and my job but God if I said I didn't want to take her out I would be lying. She is drop-dead gorgeous and I feel like she is the perfect fit for our band. Once I call Miranda and let her know the job position has been filled, I will call her to let her know she has the gig.

Your phone rang almost right after you had finished up your dinner and watched one of your favorite movies on DVD. You picked it up almost instantly once Eddie's name showed up on the caller ID.

"Hello?" You asked.

"It's me, Eddie. I just got off the phone with the other interviewee and I had to let her down easily. You got the job."

You muted your mic for a few seconds to do a happy dance and scream before unmuting him.

"Great. When do I start?"

"I'm glad you still want the job. Two weeks from tomorrow, we start tour prep, and two days after that we are off on the road. Are you sure you're ready for this and fully committed to it?"

"I am. I swear."

"Good now get some rest and I will call you in about a few with some more details."

"Thanks, Eddie."

"Good night. Take care of yourself."

"You too, Eddie."

You hung up and danced all around your house before you called your best friend to celebrate. She came over for celebratory drinks and hugged you before she left. She more than understood you calling it quits with your job at her family's restaurant and things were great between the two of you. You slept well that night.

Your best friend couldn't help but gush about it with you when you revealed you had gotten the job, and that you were now officially the touring band manager of Corroded Coffin. She was so happy for you and it was going to be the best thing ever to go out on tour with one of your favorite bands. The summer tour started in Los Angeles, California, and ended in Brooklyn, New York, with some other dates. Of course, there would be a stop in Hawkins, Indiana, the band's hometown. Your friend couldn't help but talk about just how hot she thought Eddie was, especially in recent interviews and magazine print photos. She was so jealous of you and you promised her a backstage pass in New York. Eddie and his fellow bandmates had moved to Brooklyn in the early 2000s because of the great music scene there. The tour with Type O' Negative was a co-headliner with the bands switching stage times each night of the tour. Of course, you thought Eddie was great looking and getting to know him better throughout the tour, which you imagined would happen, was going to be pretty great. According to the tabloids, he was recently single but of course, your relationship with him was going to be professional. You didn't dare ask an almost stranger about his relationship status. Eddie was formerly married with no children. His ex-wife, Hailey, supposedly could be a real bitch, and you hoped you would never have to cross paths with her. It was going to be the summer of a lifetime guaranteed and as you packed for your trip, you listened to Corroded Coffin as your bestie and roommate helped you get ready for the tour. The way he smelled at the interview was a mixture of nicotine and a nice spicy cologne and aftershave. His hands were calloused from playing the guitar, but it seemed like he had the tried and true hands of a real guitarist. What you wouldn't give to have his hands in yours. You fantasized about him at night and thought about his big and strong arms wrapped around you, but of course, that couldn't be possible, right? He was your boss and good-looking, but still, you didn't want to jeopardize your dream job. You would keep your hands to yourself. For all you knew, he probably had a girlfriend, and in a low-key relationship, he hid from the public's view. Either way, there would probably still be groupies on tour.

A few nights later, just days before the tour, Eddie called you post-band rehearsal.

"Hi, Eddie. I hope you are doing well."

"Thank you, and I am. I just wanted to get in touch to talk to you about a few things. The plane and itinerary that you have received in the mail are all paid for up-front and included in your salary. Is now a good time to talk?"

"Definitely. I wasn't busy doing anything."

"Good. I assume you also got the checklist for what you need to bring on tour and what's suggested, what you should probably leave behind?"

"I did. I received it in the mail today," you told him sounding eager in your tone as you lay on your bed.

You took another sip of your glass of red wine, as Eddie took another puff of his joint.

"Well, great then. Now on this tour, family and friends can be invited backstage, and on the tour bus, but we have a strict schedule, with a limited number of days off. I was just making sure it's understood that you run it by me first before any family or friends come backstage?"

Secretly, you wondered if Eddie liked younger women but quickly dismissed this thought.

"That's perfectly understandable and I will let you know in advance. My best friend wants to come to the New York show. Is that alright?"

"In Brooklyn? Definitely. I just have one more question for you." He paused for a few brief moments, and took another drag, before placing the joint down on his ashtray and continuing. The suspense was killing you. It sounded like he was smoking, and his voice was smoky, but in a good way. "Well, since all the technicalities are already taken care of, and the traveling logistics, as well as the food budget, I was just wondering if you would be interested in directing and being in our next music video?"

At that moment, you wanted so badly to jump up and down in excitement- and to scream, but contained yourself, and calmed down before you responded to him.

"That sounds pretty amazing. I'd love to direct and star in your new music video," you told him, sounding very intrigued.

"Great and finally, I just wanted to make sure you don't have any further questions for me."

"Not at the moment. My best friend will take care of my dog and I will be there for the full duration of the job. No one will come in between my job or be in the way."

"Well, you are still pretty young. You'll be pretty great for the job then. I have one more thing to say. You'll be one of the very first people to hear the new album in its entirety, including bonus tracks and all. Also, I wanted to tell you about one of my good friends. Steve. Steve Harrington. He's going to be our merch guy. Just letting you know."

"Great. I can't wait to meet him."

"Me too. Take care and I'll see you at the airport on Saturday?"

"Definitely. See you then. Good night Eddie."

"Good night, Y/N."

As you counted down the days on your calendar until the next time you would see Eddie again, you made the most of it. You spent each day with your best friend, until the day of the flight. After a nice shopping trip together and buying some new clothes, as well as shoes for your trip, you had a sleepover and reminisced about old times. When the day finally came to see Corroded Coffin and meet up with the band at the airport, you put on your best perfume after your shower. You changed into your favorite band tee, along with ripped jeans, your best black leather jacket, and platform boots. You took a taxi to the airport, and when you arrived at JFK international airport, you checked in through security and met Eddie, Jeff their guitarist, Gareth their drummer, and their bassist, Grant, by the gates.

Everyone ended up being nice in the band, and as a late arrival, Steve showed up.

"Hi, I'm Steve. You must be the new band manager, Y/N."

He extended his hand for you to shake, which you accepted.

"Eddie mentioned you. Nice to meet you."

As everyone sat around waiting for the plane to board, Eddie went to the nearest snack machine and brought bag packs of chips and bottles of water for everyone. You thanked him, glad to have a snack. Soon the plane was called to board and you got on soon finding your seat in first class. It was amazing to be sitting next to Eddie, and you felt like rock royalty, as you were in that section with the band. You didn't quite feel worthy, but you felt so at ease around him and near him. The faint smells of both tobacco and a nice cologne were coming off of Eddie. It was so comforting to you and as the plane took off and emerged into the air, you felt more calm than ever before. Soon you had champagne, and after your first big swig of it, you could feel the alcohol hit you. It was a nice feeling to have. The movie Playing on the flight was a horror film called The Devil's Rejects, and it was pretty enjoyable so far. You wanted to pace yourself and had just one glass as opposed to the other guys having between 1-3. Soon it was lunchtime, and after you ate you fell asleep and napped for the next few hours. The total flight time was about 6 hours. When you woke up close to the time of the plane landing, you were resting against Eddie's shoulder. Startled a little bit by your position, you looked up into his chocolate-brown eyes.

"Did you sleep well?" He asked with a smile on his face.

"I slept well," you replied, trying your best to not make anything seem awkward as you smiled back at him.

Eddie said nothing about the way you were sleeping and instead looked out of the window. Soon the plane made its descent, and you felt a mixture of emotions, including apprehension and happiness, but also a feeling of euphoria. After all, you were in the city of Angels and you felt like anything was possible. The following night was the first day of the tour at The Mayan. It was a sold-out show and would have close to 2000 attendees. The night after was Vegas, and you were looking forward to seeing some of the West Coast.

"So, are you ready to hit up the hotel and then maybe go out after for some drinks?" Eddie asked you.

"Oh, that would be great."

"Good. You have your room at the hotel, of course, and with the best view."

"Thanks, Eddie." You wondered if the bar meet-up would be with just Eddie or some of the other guys as well.

As you got off the plane and went to collect your luggage at the airport, Eddie stayed close to your side. He couldn't wait to take a smoke break, but right now, his priority was getting everyone safely to the hotel. He hailed a cab for you and him, along with Jeff. Gareth and Grant would take the next one though. L.A. was so busy and crowded, but as the traffic lightened up a little bit, you soon found yourself at the entrance to the Sheraton Hotel. The place was very nice, and after checking in with the hotel staff at the front desk, you took the elevator with Eddie to your rooms on the fourth floor. Once you parted ways with him, you explored your room and unpacked, before freshening up just a little bit. He texted you he would be at the local bar at the Virgil in downtown L.A. around 630 p.m. You texted back you would be there. Soon you left for the club and when you arrived, you found Eddie outside smoking. As you walked up to him you noticed the song playing in the bar was a Corroded Coffin song.

"Sounds like they are playing your song."

"Yep, they sure are. Shall we go in?"

You nodded your approval and walk with him into the bar. Soon you sat down, and the bartender came over to ask for your drink orders and ids. You showed her your ID, and she took your order of a mojito and Eddie's order of a triple shot of bourbon.

"So, what do you like to do for fun?"

"I'm very into art, cinema, photography, makeup, concerts, and shopping. That sort of stuff."

"Nice. Pretty much the same for me except makeup and shopping aren't all that bad. It just depends on what you are shopping for I guess. I love record stores."

"Me too. Swap meets, garage sales, and vinyl record shows can be pretty fun too."

"I agree. Great minds think alike."

With drinks in hand now, he gave you a toast.

"To us."

"To us," you repeated after him right before clinking your glasses together, then taking a big sip of your mojito. It was delicious, and most importantly, refreshing.

He loved how his bourbon tasted on his tongue, and he loved the feeling of the liquor in his system. A good drink after a nice smoke was just what he needed.

After a long silent pause, the song Master of Puppets began playing in the club. Eddie's head banged along to it and you smiled at him warmly, feeling a slight buzz from the liquor as you took another big sip of it and so did Eddie.

"This is my favorite to cover live especially," he mentioned with a slight hum, as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I love this song and I'm sure the cover live is great. Hopefully, I will hear it on this tour."

He nodded in agreement as a big smirk formed on his face.

"Definitely. You sure will," he told you as he lifted his glass again to clink against yours.

He drank and leaned his head against his hand as he looked at you with his beautiful chocolate-brown eyes.

"What's on your mind?" He asked, sounding genuinely curious as he stared at you.

You took a big gulp of your drink, practically finishing it now, then set it down on the counter.

"I'm thinking about dancing. Head banging. I mean Metallica is awesome and makes me want to move. Know what I mean?"

"Sure. Why not?"

He got up and offered his hand for you to take. As soon as your hand met his and you made contact, you let him escort you to the dance floor.

As you moved in time to the music and danced close to him, you spun around, then bravely bumped and ground against him, with your back facing towards his chest. You boldly moved against him and leaned your head back. He enjoyed the close contact as the song's second verse wrapped up and the chorus kicked in again. He sang along to the music, and his head banged as you continued to move against him, but almost lost your balance. Catching you instantly, Eddie whispered in your ear.

"Are you ok?"

"Yeah, fine."

"I think we should dance a bit more, then head back to the hotel," he suggested.

You nodded in agreement, then continued dancing as he held onto your hips so you wouldn't fall. Eddie was all smiles as you danced for him. He was just so happy. You felt so excited and felt that at that moment, anything was possible. It was getting late and the tour was starting tomorrow. Right now you were going to live it up.

More songs came on, and with each one, you danced close to him, getting so close that your lips almost brushed against his. The way he smiled at you made you smile. He made you feel so safe with him. It was getting late, and soon you said goodbye and parted ways. The next day would be the first day of the tour and it would hopefully be amazing.

You slept well that night. Morning light soon came into your window and without hesitation, you turned off your alarm clock, eager to start the day. You checked your phone- finding a text from Eddie.

It was great to spend time with you last night. Eager for tonight. Let's rock!

His text made you smile, and you texted him back.

Can't wait for tonight. It's going to be the most metal show ever! :)

Eddie soon read your text, eager to see you again. Getting a good morning text from you was the best way to start his day, and you felt the same way about him.

After the concert, there would be a meet and greet. As the manager, you had to run that, but hopefully, it would go by well without a hitch. Beautiful women who were around were sure to be throwing themselves at Eddie. At least those that would give him their numbers. He was your coworker though. You had no right to get worked up about this. You wanted to look out for Eddie. You didn't want him to get used by any woman. Spending more time with him was all you wanted, and if anything more happened between the two of you, then so be it. Everything was going to work out and your dream job was starting today. You needed to be focused, but hopefully, later there would be time for some fun and getting to know Ed's better. As for Eddie, he was glad to have a dedicated person to be Corroded Coffin's tour manager. With you, he had just that.

chapter 2 title and preview: rock n roll all nite

Summary- Corroded Coffin put on their first concert of the tour. After Eddie has a fun night at the show he seeks comfort in someone else but realizes he needs you.

The club was one of the nicest you had ever seen. Everything about being there felt like home to Eddie. Playing gigs and living it up every night as a rockstar was his calling. His life revolved around Corroded Coffin, and his band meant everything to him. Without his bandmates, he wouldn't be where he was after so many years of putting both his heart and soul into his music. The hard work paid off, and he could launch a successful musical project even with all the turmoil of his past and being the town freak. Saving Hawkins from the likes of Vecna, and all the destruction that came from Hawkins' lab- he still had received no acknowledgment for any of it. Left for dead in the upside down, he eventually made his way out of the other side alive by some miracle. After extensive healing, he made a full recovery and healed. Music kept him going. Tonight was special. Type O Negative was one of the most respected bands from the east coast and Brooklyn. Being around the band and finally meeting them was one of Eddie's best experiences. Peter Steele was an influence of his. Doom Metal meant a lot to Eddie, with his favorite band being Black Sabbath. They were also the biggest influence on Peter and Type O Negative. The day had finally come that they would play a show- a co-headliner no less with these doom metal legends. The soundcheck went by without a hitch and everyone had a good time. You had the best view and once they had played through a few of their big hits; they took a short break before the VIP guests would arrive. Most of the tour had been a sell-out already, with the meet and greets sold out.

The meet and greets were very exclusive, but Eddie was going to meet every fan individually, along with Jeff, Gareth, and Grant. Everyone arrived in a timely fashion. To no one's surprise, at least half of the guests were women. All of them were so pretty. No doubt Eddie would have a groupie or two, maybe even more tonight. As a manager of the band, you had to be professional. Some girls had him sign their boobs, which was nothing new for him as to be expected. Many had magazines and posters to sign and when you took their group pictures, some women hugged him. The women were at least classy enough to not flash anyone.

One woman had fan art for Eddie and she got a backstage pass from him. Everything about Eddie was charming, so it was no surprise this was happening. Once the meet and greet ended, you accommodated all the guests back outside and assured them they would have an early entry. Eddie was too old for all the groupie stuff, but he wanted to meet every fan that wanted to meet him.

the rest of this chapter and the full 21 chapter series can all be found on ao3

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[jqmunson]

This is what bodyguard boyfriend Steve has to deal with... Rockstar Eddie's antics. 😛

Ever read Flight Risk by Ayes?

[onii-pamn]

THE DNNZ IN THE REAL????

[ratatatastic]

truly the most "is he bothering you queen" moment i have seen ever in my life but saying that i do have to bring this up

florida panthers @ la kings (quebec city) | 10.5.24 (x)

bonus appreciative butt tappy despite the fact his d are guarddog-ing against a friend XD

[discocandles]

Anytime I think about Steve, Eddie, Chrissy or Robin as famous musicians, I have to hold myself back from adding a shit ton of Lady Gaga references.

Like in the 2010s Lady Gaga appeared for an mtv music award show as this rugged, unkept greaser type character she made up named jo calderone. He's kinda known as "Lady Gaga's boyfriend that is also lady Gaga in drag". Steve Harrington, teen popstar trying to get away from his overbearing label would show up to the red carpet in drag as Amanda Miller, the girlfriend his label chose for him. She is dressed how they have their other popstar darling, Chrissy Cunningham dress. Amanda Miller later shows up in one of his music videos after he leaves the label. Both appearances of Amanda Miller cause mass bi panic online.

Speaking of fellow teen popstar Chrissy Cunningham, she starts openly thanking God and the Gays for the successes in her career. The label hates it, but they deal or else she's not gonna thank God either, causing problems with her religious fanbase(the impact of only letting her make ultra clean love songs for years). Also the idea of Chrissy disrespecting the interviewers who disrespect her is so healing. Think about it. Like yeah she ate that guy's script, and she'd do it again if he asks about her diet.

For rockstar eddie? So in Lady Gaga's song government hooker there's a spoken bit(not the jfk line the "back up and turn around" one). Those lines are spoken by Gaga's bodyguard Pete, who has a very thick Dutch accent after Lady gaga suddenly brought the idea that he be the "pervy robot voice" up during production.

Like Eddie would so do this, as I think creating songs gives him a lot of almost maniacal energy. Also for this one, the bodyguard is Italian Steve, but he's Jeff's bodyguard who Eddie's been constantly flirting with. That's perfectly fine by Eddie's actual bodyguard, who needs "a damn second to fucking breathe, you hyperactive bastard".

Indie rock vocalist Robin Buckley would have an album where she sings in like four different languages outside of English like lady Gaga did in born this way. And also sing in other languages fairly often. It's most often in French(like lady Gaga does), but every time Robin starts singing in a language that isn't English, the fans will scramble to figure out what tongue she's singing/speaking in now and what is she saying? What does google translate say she's saying?

There's paparazzi photos of vocalist Robin standing next to Jeff from Corroded Coffin but she's chatting in Italian with... his body guard? Apparently they met as teenagers on a trip abroad and became best friends then pen pals after. But we guess it evens out as robin's makeup artist/one woman glam team was best friends with Eddie in high school? And she won the prom queen tiara that CC wears in their iconic album cover. I dunno, just something that's been haunting my brain.

[thev01dd]

"Unholy Priests, a band that took the country by a storm, just had to strengthen their security detail team after a stalker incident involving one of their members (...) the police arrested the culprit but the band's record stated that they won't risk another incident and that the safety of their artists are a priority (...)"

au!moodboard (24/?)

[miidnightpoet]

art wip dump

[shieldofiron]

I'm so sorry for all of the requests. One of my biggest headcanons for Jason is that he wants that stereotypical white fence with two kids family so I was wondering, if it's okay with you, if you could write Jason explaining to Eddie that he wants a family? If not that's perfectly okay!

Jason's eyes catch the flare of a paparazzi's flash just right as they step into the limo, Eddie's hand at the small of his back. Eddie rubs just a little, pressing the fine fabric of Jason's silky shirt into his skin with just enough pressure to make him shiver.

"How do you feel?" Eddie asks when the doors close, "No going back now."

Jason smiles, tucking his jacket closer around him, "How do you feel? Not ashamed to admit you're a rockstar who fell for his bodyguard?"

Eddie shakes his head vehemently, "Never."

He tugs Jason by his suit jacket, little by little until Jason's nestled up next to him on the plush leather seat.

"I'm very," Eddie kisses the tip of Jason's ear. "Very happy to be a cliche in this instance."

Jason can't help but squirm, digging his hands into Eddie's jacket, "Okay, because breaking up with me won't be so easy n-now."

Eddie presses a kiss to Jason's pulse at his throat, "Now why would I want to do that. When I finally caught you..."

Jason sighs, melting into the seat.

"My cute little," Eddie sucks a little, not hard enough to leave a mark. "Bodyguard. Boyfriend. Boytoy. Whatever you want to be tonight, it's entirely your choice."

Jason shivered, "I'm not a boytoy."

"Sure you are," Eddie kisses down his neck, "You're just the right size for it. Fun size."

"Fuck off," Jason shoves at him, weakly. He doesn't want this to end. Eddie'd been so sweet during the press conference, not speaking over him nor letting him hang out there all by himself.

"Hmmm... Boytoy. Baby. Brat," Eddie's voice goes soft and pretty, "Maybe fiance soon."

Jason stutters out a sigh as Eddie unbuttons his shirt.

"You like that, huh? Wanna marry me in a church or something?"

Jason's cheeks go pink, and he bites his lips.

Eddie freezes, "Wait. Do you want that?"

It takes a second for Jason to actually hear what he asked.

Jason swipes at his bangs, trying to compose himself, "It's not a big deal."

Eddie just watches him, brown eyes wide.

"I'm not... I mean, I wouldn't..." Jason shrinks back into the seat. "I do. Want that. I want to get married. Or as married as we can. And I want kids. Two kids, at least. Because I... whatever. It's not important."

"You want kids with me?" Eddie's voice is so soft, Jason can barely hear it.

"I said... I mean... yes. Fuck it. Yes. I've thought about it," Jason bites his lip, "And I still want it. With you. If you want."

He's almost kicking himself for ruining it when they've only just begun. It was Eddie's idea to take them public after a year of secretly dating.

And now he finally has Eddie, and he's gonna lose him because he's too square and normal and boring.Because he wants the kids and the house and the partner too, and he's dreamed of it his whole life, so he can't pretend he doesn't. He left pretending behind when he came out and he's not going back in the closet for anything.

Jason swipes at his hair again, trying to calm the rising panic in his stomach.

Eddie leaps on him, a laugh bubbling up from somewhere near Jason's earlobe as he presses sloppy kisses all over Jason's face.

"Fucking.... can't wait to be a cliche with you, I'm not fucking joking," Eddie kisses Jason's jaw, his chin, and then finally they sink into a burning kiss.

"Can't wait," Eddie murmurs in between every kiss, "I can't wait."

[curiositydooropened]

Hell Hound • Teaser

Being FWBs with metal rockstar, Eddie Munson, is all fun and games until a dozen red roses show up at your door with a warning: Stay Away from The Devil or you will die. Despite your protests, Eddie appoints his personal bodyguard to keep an eye out for you.

Pairing: bodyguard!Steve Harrington x photographer!Reader, rockstar!Eddie x Reader

Wordcount: 824

Warnings: unrequited love, slowburn, jealousy, angst, hurt/comfort, violence, gore, weapons, fighting, death threats, stalker *See individual chapters for warnings.

This blog is 18+ only. I do not give permission for any of my fics to be duplicated, reposted, or put into AI. Thank you!

Navigation • Masterlist • Fic Masterlist

---

Moodboard • Chapter One [Coming Soon]

The interior of the L never looked that beautiful, at least not through Steve’s eyes. Every experience he’d had was tainted by Bears fans or teenagers filming videos on their phone, or God, don’t remind him about St. Patty’s Day. No, the seats were too small for his shoulders, the windows too short, and the whole thing smelled like plastic bags.

Your perspective was vastly different. You were just the right height to catch the sunlight as it filled the train car with that golden glow. The city whirred by, a kaleidoscope of bright lights and reflections off the glass. You positioned poles and handholds just so with satisfying symmetry.

No, the city had never looked as beautiful to him as it had through your lens. 

Steve said that to Robin once, and she wretched over the line and made him promise he’d never repeat it to you. He hadn’t, but he’d also never let one of your photos go un-complimented.

He enjoyed the roll of your eyes, the sink of your teeth into your bottom lip as you soaked in the praise and pretended to be shy, to be embarrassed, that you hated your craft. 

He’d seen that look dozens of times tonight, timid gratitude that poured out of you and onto every surface in this little gallery space. You’d caught his gaze a handful of times, reassured him with a smile that you were okay, great even, oozing with sheepish pride. He’d just nod and go back to admiring another of your photos.

“You know, we used to live in that apartment…” An elderly woman told you, bony hand clung to your forearm. 

“Really? Which one?” You humored her.

“That one, just there, our first year of marriage,” the woman nodded. “Fifth floor.” 

“Fourth floor!” Her husband corrected from your other side.

“It was the fifth floor, now don’t argue with me.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” the man winked at you, and your eyes lit with mischievous delight. You nodded along, conspiratorially while the woman rambled on about the neighbors’ cat meowing and another neighbor practicing saxophone into the wee hours. 

“It was so romantic,” she clutched your hand to her chest.

“It was so annoying,” the husband grinned back at you.

Fed up with her husband’s antics, the woman shot him a rueful look. Then, she patted your hand and told you how lovely your work was before asking for the powder room. 

When she’d been properly directed, her husband leaned to your ear and asked how much for the photo. 

Steve lingered nearby, waiting for the transactional handshake before he stepped in. “Mind if I inquire about this piece?” 

You sucked your cheeks between your teeth and sidled up beside him. His bicep tingled where your skin brushed. “What questions do you have about this one?” 

“Where was it taken?”

You shot him a look, and he tried not to let the smile split his face. The photo you were currently staring at was a portrait of a mom and daughter looking at their reflection in The Bean.

“How’s it going?” He elbowed you, glancing once more around the room at the patrons to your first gallery showing. He’d agreed to come run point for your opening, soft-pitching the idea for Munson to hit out of the park.

“Amazing,” you sighed, the delight on your face swooping at his stomach. 

“Told you.” He grinned, and you swatted his arm and told him to shut up. He really could watch you for hours, the micro-expressions on your face prettier than any photo you could take, though your talent came up a close second. 

“I thought he couldn’t make it,” you gasped, staring just past Steve’s shoulder and out the gallery’s front window.

Steve blinked once, twice. The rapid flash of headlights cast your cheekbones in shadow. He spun on his heel to find his employer and friend, Eddie Munson, slipping out of the backseat of a tinted-windowed SUV. He cursed under his breath and excused himself, shouldering through a confused crowd to meet the rockstar at the door. 

“Harrington,” Eddie pushed his sunglasses through his curls, pupils blown, and flashed a wolfish grin.

“Thought you couldn’t make it.” Steve responded, glancing down alleyways for any paparazzi. He knew once Eddie was spotted in public, they’d come in droves. 

“And miss this? Nah, wouldn’t dream of it, Sugar.” 

You’d followed Steve out into the rain, slipping through party guests to greet Eddie. The rockstar wrapped studded-leather arms around your slender waist and greeted you with something salacious whispered into your ear. Steve knew because of the shocked look stretched over beautiful features, and the way you’d swatted at Eddie’s shoulder as if he’d said something bad enough to curl your toes. 

“We should get inside,” Steve grit his teeth. “Don’t want to alert the paps.” 

“Come on, Sugar,” Eddie dipped into a low bow to let you enter first. “Give me the grand tour.” 

---

[A/N: Yeah, I love him. I wrote this ages ago and I thought I hated it, turns out I love it and wrote like 5k yesterday and it's still going. So this is going to be another long one. I couldn't resist writing it though. Oh! And quick disclaimer: I've never been to Chicago. I'll try to be as non-specific about the city as possible, as to not get on anyone's nerves. It's really just about vibes, you know? Anyway thanks love you bye. xoxo]

[daenysx]

requesting for one 1k celebration (ik it's late and it's totally okay if you decide not to write it, congratulations on it anyway!!) but rockstar!reader with either fan or bodyguard!james??? idk, take this any way you want, i'm giving you the wheel

i loved this request so much and i tried my best so hopefully you'll enjoy!! thank you for requesting, love u♡ you can send james potter requests if you have one!

bodyguard!james potter x rockstar!reader, you and james can't keep your feelings secret anymore

brave enough

you like the hotel room but it's boring to spend all night in.

the concert was quite satisfying and it went smoothly. you know you're getting more and more popular each day; followed by paparazzi almost everywhere, interviewed by important channels that people talk about on twitter, having fan accounts on instagram. you feel a sense of joy and fear at the same time. it's scary to be famous but you enjoy sharing your songs with people, you like the way their eyes shine when you start singing. most of the time you think it's worth being a bit scared.

this is where your security team joins the picture. you are being protected by a team of bodyguards, they are silent but effective. sometimes you feel too important when you walk into a crowded space with the team covering everywhere but most of the time it doesn't feel normal. it feels so silly to be needing protection unlike a normal person. you should be past that. you should realize your position in this world as a famous rockstar and probably should be grateful to these people who never let anything bad happen to you.

shaking redundant thoughts away, you put on some comfy clothes, a pair of shorts and an oversized shirt. you only take your wallet and your phone before leaving the room, airpods tucked nicely in your pocket just in case. you check how you look on the mirror at the bathroom and the sight is just like you imagined, exhaustedly happy with a crooked smile and tired eyes.

you knock on the door across yours. you are sure james will open it in two seconds. he does that exactly but the sight in front of you makes you look at your shoes shyly without thinking- he's shirtless.

"hey." james says, casually. "something wrong?"

he's always asking that firstly, the head of your security team. he's huge, all muscles and tall, you have seen too many comments on instagram saying how hot he looks. well, he does. he really is good looking, you'd have to be blind to not realize it. he has lovely eyes and a big smile when he tries to be comforting, huge hands and a perfect chest. james potter is someone's dream guy, you are sure of it.

"no." you say, eyes still looking anywhere but him. "nothing, i just- i got bored, thought maybe we could go out. you can put on your shirt- if you want, i can wait."

james takes a step back to let you in. you follow his lead, the room smells like his cologne and hints of aftershave. it's making your legs shaky, you sit on the couch as he takes his shirt from the bed and puts it on.

"you wanna go out?" he asks with a gentle voice. things with him has always been this sweet, not like a regular boss-employee relationship. you know he cares about you, he's like a friend who's always been around, who you can always fall in love with if you ever take that dangerous step.

you nod at his question. he puts on his glasses and looks like himself again. "i wanted some fresh air, and i'm a bit hungry. maybe we can get chicken nuggets from the place in the corner?"

james thinks about it for a moment. it feels weird, like you're asking for his permission to go out but it's far from the truth. you need james's opinion before leaving a secure place because he knows the best. he knows the danger, the press, the paparazzi. if he says you should stay in, you probably should listen. still, you're hoping he'll say yes to going out with you.

"i'm sorry, sweetheart." he says. "i think we should stay at the hotel tonight."

"yeah?" you ask. you can't help but feel a bit upset, you are tired because of your busy schedule but you want to hang out sometimes. you want to be anywhere you want any time without worrying. it would be so nice, to be out with james, just eating and drinking. you could tell him all about your new album. you could tell stupid jokes to him, you could make him smile. now that your voice sounds sad, james flinches just a little bit. he comes to your side with a few short steps.

"i'm really sorry." he says. he kneels in front of you to make an eye contact. "you just had a show and i think it's better if we stay out of sight for now."

you nod, give him a smile to let him know it's okay. "i'll go back to my room then. you should get some rest, you've been working all night long."

you stand up to go but james is quicker. he holds your hand, your fingers go lax in his palm. he is on his feet again, looking at you with a promising pair of eyes.

"do you want to stay here? we can order chicken nuggets and sit in the balcony."

the idea is tempting but you really don't want to waste james's resting time. "it's okay, james. you probably should get some sleep before we leave tomorrow morning."

"sweetheart." he says, his voice is so soft you could crumble under it. "please. would you like to spend some time with me?"

you nod this time, how could you resist his sweet voice? james orders take out as you go sit in the balcony, the night air is chill and you can see a few stars. it's quiet and nice, you close your eyes to the breeze you feel on your skin.

james comes in, wearing a hoodie. he has one in his hand too, he gives you the hoodie, hoping you'll accept. you take it, thanking him silently before wearing it. he sits next to you, comfortable silence fills the air as you wait for food. you look so pretty in the hoodie, james almost doesn't hear the knock on the door. he is quick to leave the balcony, shaking his head as if he's trying to stop thinking something he shouldn't.

he comes back with the food and two huge paper cups of iced tea. you help him settle the paper bags down on the little table, he ordered nuggets and different kinds of sauces he's sure you like. you take a sip from your drink, coldness of it gives a relief to your throat. james does the same, you both start eating silently.

maybe it'd be uncomfortable if it were someone else, just sitting and eating without saying much but this is james you are here with. no matter what the situation is his presence is always comforting and warm. you adore how cool he is, how kind.

"so," you start, breaking the silence. "did you enjoy the show tonight?"

james smiles. "of course i did. you know your way around that stage, you know? i always enjoy seeing you sing."

"thank you, james." you say with a soft voice.

"you are-" he starts, "you really are something else."

you stop drinking for a second to see his eyes. he sounds like he's confessing a big secret but it's not the first time james has complimented you, so you are not sure why his voice comes out like that.

"jamie?"

"everything stops when you sing, when you dance on the stage like you always do. i see people's faces, how they admire you, how they follow your every step. my face must look like theirs i believe, just- like your biggest fan."

you give him the loveliest smile you can manage, how dare he says such a beautiful thing? he smiles back, it's full of admiration and pride. he's proud of you, you realize. he's always been around, always been there for you. he's been fierce and brave, faced every little thing that bothered you like the strong man he is. your chest fills with something you can't identify.

"well," you wander around the words. "you're my favorite fan and that puts you in the most special place."

james chuckles, you are losing your mind. you forget everything for a second, who you are and who he is.

"james, i-"

"angel." he says. "it's okay."

he has no right to do that. he has no right to make your heart beat faster and say that it's okay. you feel like you should do something, say something to end this misery. you both stop eating, the wind passes through your hair. james still looks at you with an undeniable affection.

"i'm not trying to mess with your mind, i promise." he says quietly. "but i'm not strong enough to keep everything in me, i just- i'm sorry if i'm making you uncomfortable."

"no, no, of course you're not." you say quickly. "it's just- i don't want to be delusional, james. i don't want to imagine things."

james reaches for your hand. the short distance between you disappears as he leans for your cheek. he gives you the softest kiss, you can't breathe when he does that. he leans back into his chair, your hand still in his hand.

"you're not imagining things." he says. "i don't know if i should be brave enough to tell you something i can't take back."

your fingers move a bit, but james doesn't let go. "you should." you say, firmer than ever. "you should be brave. i believe it's in the job description."

he pulls your hand to himself, makes you stand up and fall back to his lap. your heartbeat goes faster, he holds you gently.

"i'm mad for you." he says, looking deep into your eyes. "i'm willing to take any risk if you want me to. i'd do anything to protect you, and it's not only because i'm your bodyguard."

you settle down on his lap, holding one of his hands and stroking his knuckles. "can i kiss you?" you ask, not too shy but a bit hesitant.

james nods, and he cups your cheek. his thumb rubs your jawline, you cover his lips with yours. the kiss is better than you imagine, he is the only thing in your mind. suddenly, you feel how dangerous he is; you can write hundreds of songs about this kiss, about james. he has the power to invade your mind and he isn't shy about it. he is a fierce kisser, uses his hands and lips in a way that makes you melt.

his tongue meets yours and it's the best thing at that moment. james sucks your bottom lip, he doesn't break the kiss until you pull yourself back. you press small kisses on his cheeks, his sharp jaw is prominent under your mouth. he breathes faster, the tip of his nose rubbing on your cheek.

"what if someone sees us here?" you ask, playfully. his hand around your thigh tightens.

he pushes your hair back. "it's too dark here for anyone to recognize us. do you think i'd put you in that kind of situation?"

his tone matches yours. "i think you'll have to put me in that kind of situation eventually." you say, kissing his lips again. "i'm not worried, james. i like you too much to be worried."

"i'll protect you." he says, so serious and so lovely. "i won't let anybody hurt you."

"i know, baby." you say, and james visibly loves the word baby coming out of your lips.

he can only kiss you more after that. the night is long and it's full of promises, you are both so tired to think. it will be okay, you know that. it should be okay when he kisses you like this, like you are the most precious thing in the world. you kiss him back, trying to be brave enough for his heart. for now, it's good. james will make sure it'll be better.

[dominimoonbeam]

Holding Out for a Hero - 8

The rockstar bodyguard au continues!

Holding Out for a Hero from the start over on ao3. <3

tags: angst, idiots in love, getting together, blood, scar, past abuse, divorced darlin, david/asher/darlin aka DASHLIN, forced proximity

Holding Out for a Hero - 8

Darlin’s whole mind froze when he kissed them. It felt like their world was doing cartwheels this week. Too quickly, the kiss was breaking. Darlin reached up, curling a hand behind his neck and tugging him into them again. How long had they wanted to kiss David? How long had they thought about this? How long had they been certain it would never happen?

His big hand grabbed their side, heat pressing through their t-shirt into their skin.

Their lip hurt but they didn’t care. David was kissing them. They were kissing David.

When it finally did end, they touched their foreheads together and sighed.

“I think we need to talk…” David said, voice even deeper than usual.

Darlin nodded. “About the kiss?”

“Yes.”

“And about your kiss with Asher?”

David sighed. “Yeah…”

It was hard to unravel from him. Now that they were finally grabbing, finally pressed against him, they didn’t want to give it up. But he was right. Whatever they were doing, they needed to talk about it. Asher had kissed David. He liked Asher. What did that mean?

Darlin let him go and they both settled in at the table, across from each other, knees bumping underneath but not pulling away. Darlin took another drink of a water bottle and then passed it to David. He finished it and passed them his wrap. “We probably should have tackled all of this when we weren’t all dead-tired and half-starved…”

David huffed something close to a laugh. “Might not have admitted any of it if we weren’t.”

Darlin couldn’t argue that. He had a point. “So…”

“So,” David sighed, pulling another wrap from the box of food. “What are we doing, Darlin?”

Darlin laughed. “Oh, fuck no. I’m not deciding things.”

David rolled his eyes. “You’re such a shit.”

Darlin shrugged. They fell into quiet again, eating, together, but not saying anything. Darlin sighed. “I’ve always wanted you,” they admitted in a whisper, plenty loud enough to be heard in their silence.

David stared at them. “Always?”

Darlin nodded.

He frowned and they knew what he was thinking—all the time they’d spent so close but not quite more than friends. Quinn. “Why didn’t you do anything?”

Darlin deflated, glaring at the table between them. “You can do better, David. I want better for you. I’m… I don’t know.” It wasn’t good enough of an explanation. It was nothing.

“I know you,” he said in a low grumble. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Darlin snorted.

“Nothing that would drive me off or be bad for me. We already share everything else.”

Darlin felt the heat rising to their face, and the pound of their heart under their ribs. He really meant it. Of course, he did. Hadn’t they always known he’d say something like this? He’d make them believe it was okay to have him. But what if they were taking advantage? They were already practically codependent.

David touched their hand on the table, not passing them something like they usually did, just touching it. “We don’t have to change anything if you really don’t want to but…”

“But?”

David raised an eyebrow. “No wonder we never got together. We’re fucking awful at this…”

Darlin laughed but squeezed his hand, not ready to let go. “Okay. So, we’re more than friends.”

David sighed like he’d been afraid they would reject him. He lifted their hand and pressed their knuckles against his lips. Darlin instantly decided to do their best not to listen to that shitty voice in their heart that said they weren’t good enough, because they realized now that that voice hadn’t just been hurting them.

-

David leaned back, still holding Darlin’s hand on the table. He was so tired but at the same time, he wanted to jump up and scream with relief and joy. Darlin felt the same way about him that he had about them. They were more than friends, just like they had always been but… more.

Darlin squeezed his hand, their legs slotted together under the table. “What about Asher?”

David’s heart squeezed and he looked at them. Asher. Did having Darlin mean he couldn’t have Asher? Of course, it did. That was how things worked, wasn’t it? But did it have to? He liked Asher and he knew Darlin liked Asher… “I like him,” he said, before it could get lost in anything else. Asher made him excited and happy. He made his chest swell and his heart pound. He was good in a way that David had found very few people to be, and it felt like he’d been with him his whole life—like he was meant to be with him.

Darlin thought about it, their thumb sliding back and forth across his fingers.

David watched them. What if they wanted to be just the two of them? How could he ever deny Darlin anything, let alone something so reasonable? And a month ago, wouldn’t that have been exactly what he wanted? His heart ached with a note of betrayal, only he wasn’t sure who he was betraying with his feelings. Darlin or Asher?

“So, like an open relationship,” Darlin said.

David chest felt tight. “No. I mean, sort of? I want this with you and I want to be able to explore whatever is happening with Asher…”

Darlin nodded, giving his hand a squeeze as if to assure him that made sense. “So, no one else.”

David nodded, watching them. “What do you want?”

Darlin laughed a little, exhaustion for the long day as clear on their face as it probably was on his and he half-expected them to just say, “sleep.” “The same?”

David relaxed, smiling slowly. “Has Ash kissed you too?”

Darlin snorted. “Not yet. But… I like him. I don’t know. I want the same room to explore? It’s you and me, and Asher if he wants?”

David nodded. Fuck he was tired. He was on cloud nine and his mind was racing but he was so tired.

The shower stopped. David realized he’d been in there longer than usual. Asher was usually really quick. Had he been intentionally giving them time? When the door finally opened he was in sweats and pulling on a shirt, hair still wet. He glanced toward them but didn’t seem at all surprised to see them holding hands. He smiled, exhausted but joyful. “Okay, lovebirds, I’m going to sleep. Try not to wake me up if you start fucking.”

Darlin rolled their eyes and David huffed, getting up from the table. He wanted to say something, to assure Asher of something, but he was already climbing into his bunk and pulling that privacy curtain. He had barely even eaten anything…

Darlin gave his hand another reassuring squeeze, as if to remind him there was always tomorrow, and got up. They shuffled about brushing their teeth and turning out the lights before exchanging almost shy smiles and climbing into their own bunks for the night. It was going to be a long ride and he was starting to look forward to it.

-

Asher had never felt so mixed up in his life, and he really didn’t have anyone to blame but himself.

He’d known David and Darlin were head over heels for each other and just needed a push. He’d pushed. So why did it feel like he was the one who fell?

He twisted a hand in his shirt over his heart, trying not to listen to the two of them out there, shuffling around together and whispering as they got ready for bed.

On one hand, he was happy for them. He really was. They were good people and there was obviously so much love between them. He was glad they were together. He wouldn’t take back anything if it led to that. But he wished his own heart didn’t hurt.

It was going to be a long tour… If he thought Sweets and Milo’s bus would be any less tense, he’d try moving over there. Maybe he could ride with some of the crew? Did David really need a guard in his tour bus? As long as Ash was there whenever they stopped…

He went to sleep wincing and wondering how exactly he’d been so naïve about his own feelings.