#mean rockstar!eddie munson

[urdreamgirls-dreamgirl]

part one part two

there’s an incessant & incredibly annoying sound coming from the kitchen when eddie finally drags himself out of his massive bed & down the stairs the next morning. he’d just gotten off a long phone call with chrissy that should have taken ten minutes & ended up taking a full hour, only for her to come to the conclusion that he needed to be there when both teams met this afternoon to discuss the logistics of the joint public appearance she had finally talked him in to over the course of two very late-night phone calls the night before and dozens of increasingly desperate text messages. eddie was an asshole, but he wasn't about to ruin everything that he and the band had been working toward for years. so he’s already deeply annoyed & a little pissed off as he makes his way to breakfast & it takes him a moment of standing in the hallway, face scrunched up in confusion, but it almost sounds like… jingling.

he sets his mouth in a straight line, takes a deep breath, & drags his still-tired body through the doorway into the kitchen for breakfast.

a breakfast that’s being made by assistant steve, who’s wearing… the most hideous sweater vest known to man.

“what the fuck are you wearing?��� eddie blurts out before he can even think twice about it. not that he would’ve, anyway.

steve looks up from where he’s cooking at the stove to glance at eddie before looking down at his own torso. “you don’t like it?” steve frowns, as if he actually cares about eddie’s opinion. “i know it’s a few months early, but it’s one of my favorites. i found it at a goodwill a couple of years ago, can you believe it? someone just gave this away?”

“uh, yeah,” eddie rolls his eyes dramatically to make sure that steve can see. “i can definitely fucking believe it.”

because steve is wearing the most disgusting christmas sweater vest eddie has ever seen. hand-knit, if the crooked & misshapen santa head is anything to go by, & absolutely covered in… jingle bells.

“come on,” steve says, returning to his task of cooking eddie’s breakfast. “surely even you don’t hate christmas.”

“i do,” eddie lies. “and this is a strictly non-religious household. it’s against company policy to bring christmas into the building.”

“what company is that?” steve asks, not even looking at him.

eddie scowls but doesn’t respond, noticing a green gift bag on the counter. “what’s this?”

steve turns. “what’s what?”

“this,” eddie gestures toward the bag.

“oh,” steve smiles. “well, since you gave me such a great ‘welcome to the team’ gift yesterday,” steve gestures to the pink cat collar eddie hadn’t noticed that he’d looped through one of his belt loops, “i figured i should get you something too.” eddie makes no move toward the bag on the counter. “go ahead,” steve goads, still smiling. “everyone loves presents, right?”

eddie, not one to back down when challenged, pulls the bag toward himself & stares at it for a moment, as if it might bite him. steve has gone back to plating eddie’s morning omelet for him, like he doesn’t even care if eddie opens the gift or not. eddie discards the green tissue paper & pulls out… a set of black plastic tongs. the cheap kind you get at ikea for 39 cents when you finally move out of your parents house & have your first ever apartment. clearly used, if the melting on one side is anything to go by, like whoever owned them had left them resting on top of a hot toaster for too long.

“what the fuck?”

steve brings eddie’s breakfast plate over to where he’s standing at the massive kitchen island. “i thought they’d be helpful.” he’s still, infuriatingly, smiling.

“helpful for what?” eddie demands.

“to pull the stick out of your ass.”

~*~

eddie had fired vickie for less. he’s still stewing on it, the insufferable way steve had grinned at him as he’d thrown the tongs across the room & stormed from the kitchen, leaving behind the omelet he’d actually been looking forward to. he’d retreated to his basement studio without a word, pretending as if he’d try writing or even just playing mindlessly in the hopes he’d strike gold, but so far he’s just been sitting in silence with his guitar in his hands, replaying the events from the kitchen in his mind.

the thing is, eddie knows he’s an asshole. and he knows it’s gotten worse since… well, he knows he’s gotten worse in the last year. since everything happened. since wayne.

he knows it & he can’t stop it, even if he really wanted to, which he doesn’t. he likes the power rush, the adrenaline, the superiority he feels when he’s nasty to someone & they just have to take it. it feels good, after so much bad. as long as he doesn’t really consider the feelings of the person on the receiving end of his ire. as long as wayne isn’t there to give him that disappointed sigh & those sad hangdog eyes of his.

because wayne had been his moral compass. wayne had been everything. and now that he’s gone, eddie has no way to check himself. no reason to. it just doesn’t matter anymore.

so he’s mean & he knows it. likes it. won’t stop for anything.

he startles when there’s a knock on the glass that separates the booth from the control room & looks up to see steve waving at him & then point down at his watch.

eddie waits until steve retreats back upstairs before following.

~*~

the car ride to nancy’s office is silent. eddie wears his noise canceling headphones & sits in the back seat, doesn’t even acknowledge steve when he jumps out of the car at the valet stand, just shoves past the security guard at the door & makes his way toward the elevator where chrissy’s waiting for him.

“hey,” she greets him, sunny smile on her face. eddie wants to say something biting, wants to hurt her because he knows he can, but he doesn’t.

“hi,” he grumbles instead & follows her into the elevator where she hits the button for nancy’s floor. he leans against the back wall, folds his arms over his chest & stares down at his boots.

“so like we talked about, his team it here. doesn’t look like he’s with them,” she tells him. eddie looks up at that.

“then why the fuck do i have to be here?”

chrissy sighs. “he was supposed to show. that was part of the deal. that you’d both be here to work out the details of the appearance.”

“if he’s just gonna make this a joke—" eddie can feel the anger rising in him.

“i don’t think that’s what this is, eddie,” chrissy levels him with a look. “i think he’s in real trouble with his label.”

“chris, i don’t need this. i didn’t do anything wrong,” eddie tells her, anger flaring.

“you started a brawl at a club that damaged twenty thousand dollars worth of property, eddie.”

eddie rolls his eyes. “there’s no way anything in the hideout is worth twenty thousand dollars. the land it sits on isn’t even worth that much.”

chrissy sighs again. “what’s the issue? seriously. i thought you guys hadn't even seen each other in over a year. i know he was shitty back then, but i thought everything was fine. how did this even start?”

if it were anyone else, eddie would just ignore the question. but since it’s chrissy, he takes a deep breath and says, “he talked about wayne. said shit that was private, between us. stuff that was said behind closed doors. stuff that shouldn’t have been brought into a fucking club in front of a bunch of drunk strangers doing coke, for fucks sake.” he slams his fist into the elevator wall, too angry to stop himself. chrissy doesn’t even flinch, too used to his outbursts at this point.

chrissy just looks at him & he can feel himself squirm under her gaze. “okay,” she says, like that’s all there is to it. and maybe it is, because she loved wayne too & she was there for it all. wayne’s illness, the funeral, the fallout. she saw it all. “why don’t you go home? he’s not here. we can do this without you.” eddie tries to interrupt but she cuts him off. “we won’t agree to anything without talking to you first. i promise.”

the elevator dings. they’re finally at nancy’s floor.

“fine,” eddie says, leaning back against the elevator wall & crossing his arms again as chrissy moves to hit the button for the lobby before getting off.

“i’ll call you, okay? and we’ll talk about it,” she says, before walking down the hall to the conference room.

~*~

the elevator ride seems to take forever & by the time eddie makes it back down to the lobby, steve has somehow managed to park the car and find another smoothie, the same purple as yesterday’s.

“let’s go,” eddie grumbles as he passes where steve is sitting. steve looks up in surprise.

“that’s it?” steve asks, getting up from the bench he’s sitting on. “i thought you had a meeting?”

“canceled. i wanna go home,” eddie pushes through the glass doors out into the LA sunshine.

steve doesn’t say anything, just hands the valet their ticket & they wait several minutes before the car is brought back around.

eddie knows he shouldn’t. knows it’s mean. but he can’t help himself. as he brushes past steve to climb into the backseat, he knocks the smoothie straight from steve’s hand, where it falls to the sidewalk, sending splatters of purple all across steve’s clean sneakers & the bottoms of his light wash jeans.

“oops, sorry. no liquids in the car,” eddie says, shrugging in mock remorse as he slides into his seat.

eddie watches from inside the car as steve stands on the sidewalk motionless in surprise as the valet scrambles for tissues. and honestly, eddie feels better than he has in days. he almost smiles.

[2jihiir0]

I love the way you wear that dress

Making everyone upset

Burning that cigarette, boy

Swear to god I'll confess, boy

Inspired by the song Dress by Charlotte Sands

Commission for @elishevayo

[eddiesghxst]

rockstar!eddie who only sees you when he’s in your city. doesn’t tell you when, doesn’t hit you up or anything— you really only know he’s coming because of the plethora of billboards and ads that pop up around the time of the performance.

and he doesn’t even really have to call you to let you know he’ll be coming over, you just know— as soon as eddie lands in your city, you’re his.

that’s how it is, that’s how it’s always been.

and you don’t exactly think you’re the only girl. the only one he flees to when he touches down in a new city— but you’re glad you’re his girl for this city. out of the millions of people he could’ve chose in your town, he chose you and that’s enough to get you to open your door for him post show, let him smoke all your shit and spend hours fucking you.

you don’t bother going to the shows— you did once, hated the scene of bitchy groupies that throw themselves at him and you never went again.

so he just comes to you.

probably doesn’t even bother taking a shower or wiping off all that sweat and liquor from another hectic show, just books it straight to you.

plays house with you for a day or two. calls you his girl, fucks you hard and rough and then slow and soft and then rough again. he says he missed you, doesn’t know how he lasted a year without your pussy, swears he’ll lose his mind if he goes that long without seeing you again. snaps a few photos of you. some cute and wholesome, naked and shying away from the lens with the sun beaming through your window. and the others are raunchy, dirty and gross. you split open on his cock, spread open for him. you on your knees for him, worshiping his cock. you cumming on his tongue. you with his necklace swaying between your tits, sweaty and bruised up neck on display.

he keeps them. tucks them in his pants. probably forgets they’re even there, honestly, only remembers them when they fall out in the next city as he’s pulling his pants back up after fucking some random girl.

feels his chest twist up, thinks about booking a flight to you because despite the fact that he’s a fucking player to his core, he really does have a soft spot for you. you really are his girl. his number one girl, best of them all.

doesn’t matter though. because even though you’re eddie’s girl, he still leaves you for another year. it’s just easier this way, really.

[chaptersleftunwritten]

Cue the beat drop

Blurb: After Eddie goes missing, assumed dead, you replace him as lead guitarist and singer of Corroded Coffin.

Pairing: Vampire!Eddie Munson x Stranger!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of grief and death, mentions of trauma, mean-ish!Eddie, blood(?), possibly an inaccurate attempt at description of Kas from D&D. Fictional Corroded Coffin songs.

-

Trauma permanently alters the brain, and whether or not we are willing to admit it, it changes our lives and who we are. We never really get over it, at best we can make peace with it- grieve with it and try to put it to rest. But a large life disruption leaves a new normal behind and there is no returning to who we were before. Before this.

It had taken Gareth and Jeff two and a half years to muster up enough courage to paper up flyers all over town- every window, sign post and street lamp had one stuck and stapled to it. They were looking for their new lead guitarist and vocalist for Corroded Coffin- a legacy that Eddie Munson had left behind.

Being new to Hawkin’s came with a profound sense of oblivion. You were unaware of the history and all you knew were the rumours of what had happened a few years prior to your arrival in the cursed town. Words twisted and whispered from ear to ear. Elderly ladies clutching their Holy jewellery as they walk through the streets, mumbling prayers beneath their breaths. It was unsettling, to say the least. Oddly, though, there was something about Hawkin’s that called to you. A dark beckoning leading you from one place to here. Where you’ll remain.

-

‘Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster... for when you gaze long into the abyss. The abyss gazes also into you.’ Friedrich W. Nietzsche

When you first read that quote, you never understood it. Not then. Not until you actually saw him. The abyss… staring back at you.

Corroded Coffin had soared in popularity. One of their singles, It Only Takes Six Feet, ended up on the Hot Top 100 billboard in the whole of America, sitting at #86 on the list. It was a song dedicated to Eddie, written by all of the members of the band. Of course you did most of the edits and redrafts but it was made by you all. For him. For the man who started it all.

After the stats came in, and the fans followed like metal headed soldiers, the rest was history. Corroded Coffin had its own army of ‘devil worshippers’ and their songs were playing across America on radios, stereos and TV’s alike.

It led you to here. Centre stage with blinding lights blurring your vision. Your lilac guitar slung over your shoulders securely, your hands supporting the weight. The audience is a single organism of moving, reeling silhouettes, who are screaming lyrics wildly back at you. The feeling is intoxicating. The way your voice echoes on the speakers, or how your body glistens and glitters with sweat and even the confidence radiating from your choice in outfit. Tonight felt electric. Everyone was paying attention to you…

You narrowed it down to it just being a really great gig, but things hadn’t been this good since you left Hawkin’s for a small out of state tour. Being back in the bands origin town created an atmosphere that was.. unearthly. Something darker and deeper than you could never comprehend.

Eddie really just couldn’t believe it. Hearing his own lyrics leave your precious little mouth. It seemed wrong- it was wrong.

He watched you with intent from the back of the concert hall, blending in with the shadows cast upon him as he hugged the walls.

No one paid him any mind, he was purposely invisible- seeking out your attention and yours alone. His eyes glow, flickering like a faulty light bulb between a thrilling onyx and a fierce maroon. He wanted you to clock him. To seek him out in the crowd. You and Eddie had never had the pleasure of meeting and Eddie planned to change that. After all, you deserved to know who you were singing about, right?

The fans adored you, and because of your reputation, your angelic voice and your looks- you invited in a wider spread of demographic. You expanded the band without changing a thing and it made you feel accomplished. You were proud of what you contributed and so was Gareth and Jeff.

It made Eddie giggle demonically to himself so see a photograph of him taped to Gareth's drum set. It was a decent picture to say the least, however he couldn't help but wonder why they were paying him so much tribute. Was it some sick and twisted way to promote the band and get more media coverage? Or were they really just as pathetic as he thought and still missed him.

Eddie preferred the 'sick and twisted.'

The hall falls eerily dormant to you as there is a brief pause between songs. The audience remain enthralled but their screams are drowned out but a high pitched ring in your ear. At first, you thought it was mic interference. You never understood it. Not until you actually saw him. The abyss... staring back at you.

Staring into you.

Despite being beneath the sweltering stage lights, your skin coats in an unavoidable freezing spread of goosebumps. Your breathing staggers outwith your control and your head blazes with fog. You can hear Gareth trying to speak to you from behind but you're bolted to the spot, your eyelids fluttering in sync with your heart which you are now suddenly over aware of thundering inside of your chest.

You move a hand to where it beats beneath the skin, clutching at the fabric of your sheer pink blouse as you fight the urge to collapse- but unfortunately for you, your efforts go to waste. Eddie made sure of that.

-

You come to a small flashlight being shone in your eyes and a worried paramedic frowning at you.

“She’s awake!” Gareth yells over to Jeff and both of them appear in your line of vision, they are a bit distorted figure wise but you recognise them nonetheless.

“You’re backstage. You’re in your dressing room, can you tell me which town you are in?” The paramedics voice feels like it is a thumping base inside of your head and you wince inwardly to yourself. Gulping thickly before you reply.

“Hawkins.” You bark rather harshly, your throat dry, “Water? Please?” Gareth nods and both him and Jeff leave the room to go grab you a refreshment. Trust those two to make a one person job into a two person job.

“You’ll be alright, it was probably dehydration.” With a click of a button the flashlight turns off and it is placed back in the medics equipment bag, “I’d recommend taking it easy for the rest of the night- but I know you young ones don’t really listen to anyone these days… so take some pain medication and drink some bloody water, please.” With a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders he exits the room, heaving a sigh and leaving you to recollect your fractured thoughts.

What the Hell happened?

“You collapsed. Is what happened, love.” His voice comes from behind you, a hissing in your ear like a serpents tongue. Which seems impossible because you are situated on a sofa which is pressed against a wall. Logically, no one should be able to get behind you.

Whipping your head over your shoulders frantically, your eyes shot wide with terror as you search the room, only for your gaze to land on him cackling in front of you evilly. The tiredness has been shaken from your bones and the adrenaline flooding your bloodstream is enough for you to jump and go straight through the ceiling.

You know him. You know this man.

“Boo?” He remarks with a sinister grin.

You always thought, when put in these situations, that your trigger response would be fight or flight.. but you are frozen as cold as ice, to the spot.

“This is the part where you try to run away but I ultimately catch you.” His voice is strained, like he is longing for a drink of water, “Cat and mouse, my favourite game.” His large hand finds his chest in a sentimental gesture, “Usually it would warm my heart- but I don’t have one anymore.”

Not anymore? Confusion wraps a noose around your mind. What is he talking about? And why does he look so familiar and yet so alien?

Noticing your rigid unmoving frame Eddie frowns mockingly, “Awh,” He starts with a coo, “You’re no fun.” His bottom lip pokes out before he is biting back a smile. Flashing what you can almost pinpoint as fangs…

“I recognise you…” Your weak voice sounds pathetic as it leaves your throat in the form of a gulp- starting strong and then fizzling out into a whisper. Eddie cocks a brow, his hawk like eyes narrowing in on you.

“I’d like to hope so, sweetheart, considering you were just singing my lyrics.” He leans against your vanity mirror, crossing his strong arms against his chest, not having a single care for any of the products he has just swiped off of the desk.

“Eddie?” Your eyebrows knit together tightly on your face, eyes pinching as you shake your head, “I must be hallucinating. This isn’t real.” You let out a breathy laugh, bringing your palm to your face where you run it down your skin semi-aggressively.

“I must’ve hit my head hard!” You continue to laugh, your mind reeling. Eddie stares at you- a mix of amusement and impatience dominating his features.

“That’s adorable.” He pushes himself from the vanity mirror and within seconds he is in front of you, pinning you down onto the worn leather of the decades old sofa, “I don’t know if I should find you cute or annoying.” His fingers grip your face with a punishingly tight force and you squirm beneath him, fear replacing every one of your comedic thoughts.

“Please,” you squeak out, hoping there is some humanity left inside of him. But you would be wrong to assume, “Eddie, please…”

Your feeble attempts make him snicker beneath his breath, his grip only worsening on your cheeks, “This isn’t a dream, baby. I’m real, I’m here- I may not be alive… but I bet this pain feels pretty human to you, doesn’t it?” He quirks his head slightly, like a psychotic interested dog and you wince, your fingers clawing desperately at his wrist to try and get him to ease up, “It’s a shame that you might have bruises left on this pretty face of yours. I can see why Gareth chose you.” His chest rises and falls with more distorted laughter, “Poor lad, he so clearly wants to fuck you… but you don’t want him, do you?”

The dark sounds of his strangled cackle fills the room, you can hardly breathe with his weight on top of you. He is too strong, so unwavering. It makes you question..

What is he?

“You’ve replaced me.” He clicks his tongue, evidentially displeased, “You replaced me- and you hadn’t even met me.” He brings his face dangerously close to yours, your breathing is erratic and uncontrollable and only now are you able to really hone in on his appearance.

His eyes are blown to an impure murky shade of black and his lips are crusted ever so slightly with a tinged shade of red. Spider web like veins have crept themselves up his neck and arms- the hue of them being a deep purple… almost like the veins are dead- void of any blood at all.

“That’s it, baby, take it all in.” His pointed tongue sticks out, the muscle meets your face as he licks a long strip from your cheek to the corner of your eyes. You hadn’t noticed the tears streaming down your face, but Eddie was relishing in the saltiness of the liquid, “Tastes good, but not really what I’m gunning for.”

His obsidian eyes settle on your neck and you can feel your pulse quickening. Your legs have entered the equation as you start to thrash more violently against him, coming up short.

“Eddie stop! Please! Please!” You’re wailing now, screaming for your life and it irks Eddie beyond description. Violently he lets go of your face, only to clamp his hand steadily across your mouth.

“Those aren’t the type of begs I want to hear, gorgeous.” Your fists pound against his hollow chest and he brushes your attempts at self defence off like it is nothing. He even fake yawns at your bratty behaviour.

“You sounded so pretty up there on stage, I just had to meet you. That’s why you had that little dizzy spell.. that was me, you following along?” He sniffs at your hair, his nose tickling down to the shell of your ear, “Call me obsessed- but I might be your biggest fan.”

Heaven opens the floodgates to your eyes and you are a quivering, sobbing mess beneath Eddie. Your limbs are much too tired to fight against him and you can see your demise approaching.

“I’m not going to kill you,” He answers your thoughts, almost like he can hear you think, “I’m just so fucking hungry.” Craning your neck off to one side Eddie nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, his nose poking and prodding at your skin- right above your main artery, “I also want my position back as lead guitarist.” His voice is much gentler now, a breathy whisper against your flesh, “I’m sure we can find room for you somewhere though, hmm?” You can tell that his words have a demented double meaning and you muster up enough energy to try and push him off again.

Your limbs feel like jello, weak and boneless. Eddie feels as though he is made of steel. Weighty with effortless leverage against you. Your eyelids feel fluttery as you look at the dressing room door- hoping Gareth and Jeff are just outside.

You can see shadowy figures dancing beneath the crack in the door and you mumble out a cry from beneath Eddie’s palm, “They won’t be able to help you.” His words are punctured by his teeth piercing your skin- harshly but with surgeon like precision.

Fire scorches your blood at the contact and your eyes shoot open with furious panic. You can’t scream against his hand, but you try. Choking out sobs and knocking at Eddie’s body. He doesn’t give, if anything he sucks at your neck harder, growling lowly into your ear. All you know is pain, it’s all you know- no more fear, no more terror. Just pain. Agonising. Paralysing… and then..

Nothing. You go numb. Your body falls limp against the cushions, the hard wooden beam running through the sofa presses against your spine in an almost relieving way and you let out a large sigh through flared nostrils.

Eddie finishes with you, unhooking his talon like teeth from your veins and studying your expression closely, “You might feel a bit lightheaded, but you’ll be okay.” His fingers stroke against your cheek which is aching from his previous grasp, “You look so pretty… so exhausted.” With a clasped hand he strokes your hair back and away from your face, only to grasp it roughly and pull you up from the leather material which now has a very prominent outline of your body wedged into. You yelp out, your hands flying to the back of your head where you grab his wrist.

“Now go and open that door, and tell them we were having a quickie… maybe I’ll reward you later if you’re good.” With a knowing wink he pushes you away from him brutishly, slapping your ass and laughing as he watches you move on wobbly legs toward the dressing room door. You don’t understand why, but you listen to him. His voice is like music to your ears- and you’d do anything to hear him speak to you again.

And being the good, obedient, brainwashed girl that you are- you open the door to Jeff and Gareth, looking like your world just got rocked.

-

taglist: @colorful-white-ideas @littlered0000 @ali-r3n @daisy-munson @serenadingtigers

[digwhatudug]

took a whiskey shot at hozier tonight, half of it ended up on my chest and i was immediately brought back to this

𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

rockstar!eddie x assistant!fem!reader

✶Tossed to the wolves of touring lifestyle, you'd had enough of Corroded Coffin's backstage antics one night after a show, and try to escape to the bus for fresh air. Eddie follows.✶

NSFW — 18+ drug/alcohol mention/use, eddie spits whiskey in reader's mouth, sexual themes, crude jokes, enemies to lovers vibes, secret soulmates au

[wc: 8.8k]

↳ standalone gift oneshot for the i will wait series written by @abibliophobiaa, @blueywrites, @breddiemunson, @myosotisa, @fracturedarkness

The methodical chaos—the mechanical creep of soundscape under the drums punching through your body, building to something bigger—ended forty-nine minutes and twelve seconds ago, and like the suspended chords he loved so dearly, you were left with a sense of foreboding.

Stage lights dimmed off. You were on the clock. Showtime.

Babysitter. Handler. Assistant who knew better than to offer him water.

Nerves holstered your shoulders. Unease twisted your stomach. Your ears rang, your teeth ached. Your jaw clenched in throbs off tempo from your heartbeat running wild on the adrenaline feeding the racing pulse hammering in your chest.

The concert was over, but the noise never stopped.

Inside the venue’s backstage room, abrasive bursts of laughter collapsed in excited chatter after an individual cocked back an object, and threw it.

The true night began.

A mostly empty beer bottle smacked its intended target in an echoey clang, and fell in a spray of foam. Fine. You could handle that. Then someone grabbed a plastic chair with metal legs, hoisted it over their shoulder, and chucked it, stumbling after the trajectory in the sloppy way drug-encouraged drunkenness would imply. A cacophony of too-loud cheering was caught on tape by a sound engineer’s personal Sony camcorder, flattening himself against the wall to capture the reaction to the CRT TV dropping from its shelf in the corner, stage live feed long since dead. On its fateful descent, it clipped the edge of an EXIT sign, which now dangled by its chord like a pinata, becoming the next target.

The beige brick room dampened outside interference and amplified the rest, living between yours ears alongside the snappy demands, rude remarks, and crude jokes. Spoken down to, disregarded like caked dirt between boot treads. Anxieties buzzing, looming a presence at the back of your mind, always. On edge.

Shouts, thuds, broken glass. People had the sense to duck, and cower. A side table was lifted, and heaved in a barbaric yell. Beer bottle after beer bottle after beer bottle. Chair legs ripped off, slick from the boozy bubbles coating the floor, and hurled at the red blinking sign. A lamp from another room. An ugly trash can. A hairdryer. The telephone you used to make a phone call thirty-two minutes and forty-three seconds ago; ripped from the wall with its receiver, and added to the clutter of projectiles. A bucket of melted ice, nailed head-on, splashing two dots of cold water on your cheek.

Expendable bottles were gone, but the riot didn’t stop. Another case was ripped into. Hard liquor traded hands. White powder stung noses, earning bloodshot eyes. Rewards. Rowdy shoving. Boys will be boys behavior.

An unopened Pabst whizzed past your head, slammed like a bullet into the mirror on the opposite wall, launching itself in a jet of built-up pressure across the room, ending its route at the toe of your heeled shoes seemingly just to ruin your wool-blend Express pencil skirt with hoppy liquid.

Eddie kicked the can away.

He circled his thumb and forefinger up the sides of his nose, and sniffed hard. “Want some?” he asked as he leaned on the wall with you, posture lax and open in all the ways your crossed arms weren’t. You cut your glare to the clear bottle he offered you. His grip obscured most of it, but you could see a worrying amount of whiskey had already been drunk when it crested the sides between his middle and ring finger.

Remembering to answer, you shook your head. The amber liquid sloshed with his tut, “Suit yourself,” and two deep gulps bobbed his throat.

You weren’t opposed to drinking when around him, but you learned your inebriated lesson four stops ago when the bill from the hotel totaled a stomach dropping amount, and as much as alcohol made it easier to tolerate Eddie in particular, your sluggish tongue slurring over an authoritative reminder of the early start to the morning to make it to the next city on time only fueled his defiant attitude. Pink puckered skin marked the stitches he snipped out of his upper arm with a pair of nail scissors after he and Gareth decided to smash the Hilton’s wine glasses for fun, and was surprised when a sliver of glass bit him back. Under his stringy bangs was an angry red scab from yesterday’s mic throttle to his forehead at the end of a verse, screaming his voice to the point of cracking with emotion. Other self-destructive tendencies coated his knuckles in dried blood.

It was a lot to deal with.

Today’s toll was one ruined guitar, a broken bass after the fretboard was stabbed into an amp, a bent hi-hat stand, and a completely deboned keyboard; keys removed thoroughly by the sole of someone’s boot scraping them clean off in the midst of performance. Blowing off steam, Eddie called it. Boys will be boys, one of the returning tour managers shrugged at you.

So far, it was one of the lighter days of tour—

You flinched.

A loud pop flickered through the room. One of two fluorescent lights shattered, and the tube swung down from the ceiling, becoming the next victim to a corner store ham sandwich being thrown at it.

Staying as small as possible, the emotional support water bottle in your hand crinkled as you hiked your fists further up your biceps, eyeing the camera man in the corner. Your employer tilted his head at the sight too, admiring, perhaps, the scene of two guys puffing on cigars. They stood behind two young women dressed in short jean skirts and hot pink tops, leering over their shoulders as the camcorder zoomed in on the obvious body parts a crowd of men would be interested in. The cigars bounced in their mouths as they spoke an unheard instruction in the chaos surrounding you, and the halter tops came off, breasts dropping to the tune of their girlish giggles. The men cupped their palms around the assets, and bounced them as if they were weighing fruit. From their gross laughs, it appeared they were rating the groupies, and the ladies were just happy to be on camera, pouting their lips and arching their backs.

You drew a line from their tits to Eddie’s gaze, hating the sick kick of anticipation knotting your stomach, aware you shouldn’t care for an entire phonebook’s list of reasons if he was watching them with interest. But with clarity, you realized he wasn’t paying them attention at all. His lazy smile was aimed over the rim of his bottle, full lips moving in a goad to the mass of crew members clogging the doorway.

More property ready to be damaged entered over their heads. A couch. An entire fucking couch was carried, stood on its end, and lobbed at the sign, breaking loose a length of red and yellow wires. But it still held strong. Tenacious thing.

Two grown men wrestled beside you. Their sleeveless shirts tangled, riding up to show purpled bruises on their backs—one from a mic stand thrown at him, the other from who fucking knows what. At least Gareth’s was in the shape of a crescent moon.

You shifted closer to Eddie to get away from their kicking feet, and relaxed the frustration from your brows before he commented on it. He, likewise, was bumped into by his friends, but his stature didn’t waver. That’s just how it was. Your bodies were near enough for you to feel the heat radiating off his hot skin, but the moment his sticky elbow made contact with your nice blouse—forever marking it with oily sweat—he earned an apology from Jeff who fell into him, meanwhile you were increasingly worried about receiving a tennis shoe to the ankle.

Exhaling an overdue sigh, you glanced sideways at Eddie to gauge if this was an appropriate time to remind him he should shower and get ready to greet the fans waiting outside the venue, but your breath crumbled to a groan. An eager grin cracked his face, almost manic if it weren’t for his heavy-lidded brown eyes. An idea.

He stepped forward. Everything that wasn’t his tight lips on the bottle of whiskey was ignored; downing what he could in a long swallow, and shaking off his pinched features as it burned past his gritted teeth. He raised the rest over his head, and aimed. Perfectly. The sign smacked the wall from the force behind his pitch, spinning wildly on its cord, slinging the front EXIT display clean off, and dropping lower from the ceiling, ready to sever ties. Shouts for its demise pounded your headache. Many palms clapped the back of Corroded Coffin’s frontman. He held out his hand to his audience, and a fresh bottle of whiskey was produced into his grasp.

Intuitively, employees shuffled to avoid his uncoordinated steps backwards, but you didn’t have the luxury of options, thus he misjudged the distance to the wall and ran into it, and you.

Your poor toes were the first to scream out, stuck under his heavy heel. His elbow jutted into your stomach, digging the sharp corner of your laminated backstage pass into your sternum. Even better, his shoulder mashed your nose, and you didn’t twist your head in time to keep your mouth from coming in contact with his bare tricep, getting a lick of stale salt on your inner lip, and a whiff of boy scent assaulting your nose after his deodorant stopped working hours ago. Too much of his weight depended on you to keep him upright, so you grunted out, “Fucking—Eddie,” and pushed him when others wouldn’t. Laying your hands on him in annoyance when no one else dared. He wouldn’t remember it in the morning, anyway.

Eddie followed his stumble through, and spun around. “Whoops!” he said to you in a smile—a viciously sincere thing, betraying his status over you with a genuine shine to his heavy eyes. So innocent behind his sleepy blink, long lashes fluttering, fine lines creasing at the droopy corners from the happy grin teasing his dimple into coming out, freckled nose bathed in hues of pinky red darker than the places he chewed on his bottom lip. He appeared so earnest, so charming despite his current condition, that when his dilated pupils swallowed the rim of bitter coffee brown, you lapsed in staying alert, becoming enamored by his ability to steal the noise from the room when his gaze swept your expression in a slow study. Tender, almost. If he were anyone else.

That’s why it hurt more when the comradery in his features were a trick of the light, and you were reminded of your position as his paid bitch killjoy.

The uncorked bottle of whiskey made itself known under your nose. “Want some?” he asked with kindness he did not possess, easing into a higher register to lift the question to you. Knowing. Mocking.

You swatted his hand away, and answered flatly, “No.”

It was coming. You didn’t have to be looking at him to see his face slide into dull neutrality, dry mouth and wicked tip of his tongue swiping over the back of his teeth. The displeasure was felt. Living, breathing. Fracturing your resolve like the second lamp thrown against the wall.

“Y’sure? You look like you could use a drink to loosen that stick up your ass, and have a little fun.”

Maybe it was the fact Eddie’s day started with him bitching at you for waking him up, when yours started hours earlier, rebooking his hotel rooms after being banned from the chain after last week’s incident. Maybe it was his snide tone when he demanded coffee, and you glanced at the lobby’s carafe on instinct, only to be immediately humiliated in front of the interviewer who was sitting opposite him, festering an indignant response under your skin all day. You weren’t even intending it to be for him, you weren’t stupid enough to serve him such pedestrian coffee, you were thinking about getting it for yourself. Stupid fuckhead. Maybe it was the hours you spent oscillating between enjoying the travel to new places you’d never been, and wondering if the price of him getting this riled up whenever he pleases was worth it. Maybe it was the nauseous haze flogging the room from the cigars. Maybe it was the channeled aggression from the three guys who flipped over the fold out tables for no reason, sending plastic cups of backwash tequila across the floor. Maybe it was the collateral damage the venue was going to seek. Maybe it was the three days of disaster challenging your professionalism. Or maybe it was Eddie’s next comment which pushed you over the edge.

“If alcohol doesn’t do it for you, there’s prob’ly some guy who hasn’t left the parking lot yet, maybe he can loosen you up.” And to further imbue disrespect behind his comment, he leaned in and feathered the low dip of his raspy voice over the shell of your ear, speaking so quietly the syllables had trouble catching, “But if you fuck ‘im on the bus, I wanna watch.”

The sign snapped and crashed onto the heap of damp valuables, inciting a louder celebration from those participating.

You dropped your water bottle where you stood, and skimmed past Eddie on your way out. A firm departure with seething eyes aimed straight ahead. Chin strong, moving past him with a message. “Go to hell.”

And your backbone faltered when the mass of roadies blocked your exit. Security guards with big bodies jumped, rejoicing. Lanky lighting techs downed their beers and threw them over the small crowd with no aim. Your shoulders collapsed, tucking your arms to yourself. Avoiding elbows, meaty arms with enough muscle to floor you, testosterone laced boys will be boys behavior with a heavy dose of uppers. A wall of men who ignored your plea spoken so loud in your voice which did not carry.

But they obeyed the tattooed arm beside you. Minded the obnoxious rings when rapping on a man’s arm. Heard the hoarse voice commanding them all into a single file line for you to squeeze by, “Give her some room,” and their big bodies were already hugging the other side of the hallway with a laughed apology—to him, not you.

You shuffled out as dignified as possible, knees stiff and weight focused on the balls of your feet to avoid slipping on the tile. It was embarrassing enough as is being trailed with a bottle at your back—a far cry from a heroic palm guiding you forward—and his need to overtake you in a single stride. Eddie shot his other hand out and pointed down an unoccupied corridor, in essence blocking you from leaving. Not that you had much fight left in you to argue after being awake for twenty-one hours, thirteen minutes, and fifty-two seconds. You followed the lead he set for you.

Scarce lighting shone down on the two double doors leading outside, leaving the alcove he chose cast in a darkness your eyes had to adjust to. Musty warm air from the arena swept your face. A cleaning crew attacked the stands, creaking along the seating tiers. Sweeping, chucking empty cups. The pressure on the small of your back drove you to an open area near the instact and working EXIT sign allowing you to discern the back of the stadium, and his face.

Eddie’s features were glazed in a gentle omen of red.

There were thousands of scenarios churning in your mind at the situation of being stuck alone in a dark corner with a drunken man, but his slight smirk put you at ease, ironically.

The source of the painful knots between your shoulders spoke, “Aren’t you forgetting something?” He then had the gall to crowd you to the dusty drywall, and rest his arm atop your head, caging you there. Treating you as a nuisance. An insect. A little bee. A bug caught in his sticky trap. Gazing down at you with reptilian cold pupils behind his happily hooded eyes, substances battling in his body. Dangerous to no one but himself.

You squinted. “No?” The questioning lilt wasn’t intentional, but you had no idea what he was getting at.

He cocked his hip out with a dramatic sigh, and dropped his head forward to stare at you through his lashes, mouth hung loose. Waiting, waiting, waiting; acting as if he were the pinnacle of patience when you refused to play into his game, making you the bad guy. But worry not, he upheld the onus to inform you, his assistant, in a tone wallowing from the dregs of flat boredom with an edge of irritation and touch of patronization for having to spell it out for you, “I’m hungry.”

A polite, professional sneer lifted your upper lip. “Okay? Food should be here soon. I called it in a half hour ago.” About when the band came off stage, and Harry gave his honest opinion on their sloppy performance, while Eddie gave notes to the sound tech about Jeff’s mic not picking him up during Down In It. “Should be here in a few minutes.”

“What’d you order?”

Apprehension tensed through your back, perceived by his forearm mussing up your hair as the instinctual emotion stood you taller, defiant; knowing why his glinty grin taunted a show of teeth.

Pizza on Fridays. Texmex on Saturdays. Chinese on Sundays. That’s how it was every weekend. The consistency ensured you didn’t mishear him earlier when he requested his usual lo mein. “You asked for Chinese food,” you stated evenly, strongly. One step ahead of him.

“Mm.” Eddie scrunched his nose as he pretended to think it over. “Not feeling it today. I want pizza,” he said, the last word suffocated inside the bottle lifted to his lips, taking a long draw as your exhausted brain snapped to condescending him.

“So eat a cheese wonton and use your imagination.”

Utter elation gleamed in the steady eye pinning you in the crimson gloom, head tipped back to drink and drink and drink, cheeks sunken from sucking in liquor, pursing his lips around the glass rim from the smile he tried to suppress after succeeding in getting a rise out of you.

Your blood could only simmer for so long. Rolls of pent up anger, of festering disdain at his ability to find any opportunity to get under your skin, of fatigue from being ‘on’ for nearly twenty-four hours, stone in your gut from the constant passing glances when you were seen with Eddie; it all met its limit. You just wanted to leave. Your path to the hallway was blocked by the smooth contour of his bicep. Ducking under would mean an introduction to his armpit, and you weren’t thrilled by the idea of flattening yourself to the wall to slip by the untamed forest of black wiry hair. It would also be an admission of defeat, even further affirming your role as his spineless assistant to boss around. You could choose the other way and go around him, avoiding him all together, but there was no pride in that, either.

“Can you move your arm?” you asked, giving him the option despite better judgment when sudden pin pricks of uh-oh spiked your senses when he lowered the bottle.

A glistening line of whiskey traced his puckish smirk. Never menacing, but never a good sign. For a long moment the ghosts of the arena haunted the space in distant noises. Caresses of other humans around. Feedback other than the clutch on your heartbeat, and his troubled exhale into a strong inhale through his nose. Big breath filling his chest. Held. You took note of Eddie’s dimpled chin and the beads of water building at his lash line, and finally, he moved.

A sticky circle stamped the soft underside of your jaw, sliding his spit along your skin as he used the rim of the glass bottle of whiskey to lift your chin up, up. Stretching your neck, tipping your head back to the relaxed length of muscle along his forearm. Barely time to register the cherry-red halo striking the ends of his frizzy curls, or the ramping excitement overriding his already ruined impulse control.

Shy, you severed the intense eye contact when his face drew near.

Blank black soundless vortex rushing in your ears.

Drip, drip, drop.

Tiny splashes, one after the other, thumped on the locket of your lips. Mouth softly shut from the pressure under your chin. Tapping, tapping. Beat, by beat. Two, three, four, before your confusion determined what the sensation was, and the astringent scent cut its way to your sensitive nose.

You froze. Body clenching tight, fists sweating, nervous saliva pooling under your tongue too difficult to swallow. Jaw clamped shut and rejecting the liquid pooling at your lips, flooding it to the corners of your mouth, tickling the peach fuzz at the edges in tall walls of surface tension until, at last, they swelled, broke, and crashed. Thin streams flowed down either side of your neck, absorbed by your white blouse’s collar and trickling to the top of your bra cups, skirting to your cleavage. Brain overloaded. Clocked out. Warring with disgust, shock, and disappointment at the pathetic way you curled your fingers in some frustrated gesture at his actions, but ultimately, wrenched his tank top into your grip, and submitted.

You parted your lips, and Eddie poured.

Liquor, warmed from his mouth, filled yours. Burning, burning; drowning under the surge of spirits setting a blazing trail to your stomach, piquing a noise from you which would only draw the attention from those curious as to who the couple was fucking in the dark corner of the arena. You blocked the deluge from choking you with your fat tongue; rising onto your tiptoes while bending at your weak knees in the same involuntary whine as you tensed and squirmed—conflicted. Twisted your hands into the top of his shirt where the ribbed knit stuck to his chest, fabric damp with sweat and cool to the touch. You lurched him forward without thinking, locked in a panic. He complied. Easily.

Body to body, lazy weight on composed. Rubber soled boots dragging along the outside of your simple heels in a stuttered slide. Nudging the introduction of his bare legs against your skin; his hairy shins and the scraggly strings from the ripped hem of his shorts brushing the sides of your knees. Feeling his heavy arm flex as the front of his hips met you in the same stunted bursts as his steps, going from the man who frowned when you approached him, to the one who pressed himself between your thighs, causing the bulk behind his zipper to rock against you as he found his footing and stood tall, keeping his mouth aimed above yours, forgiving what spilt over your cheek in his stupor.

Dried salt and earthen dirt, embroidered texture of the fabric scraps he sewed onto his tank top rubbed your knuckles. The smooth pads of your thumbs landed above the neck hole as you centered yourself, tracing the duality of chilly perspiration on the heated skin of his sleek pecs, feeling the layer of muscle shifting underneath. Notes of oakwood barrels stroked your tongue before the sour punch of rye stung water to your shut eyes. You peeked through the wetness. Just to see.

His powerful lungs exhaled at a trained rate he could sustain in time with the runnel leaving his gently puckered lips paused above your own. Bangs stuck to his forehead. Sleepy faraway gaze. Calm, serene against the circumstances which had you questioning why you weren’t spitting the liquor back in his face. The scrunch of concentration between his brows was your last blurry sight before you were desperate for darkness again, letting your eyelids fall closed, lashes marrying.

Toofulltoofulltoofull.

The difference in your mouth size was apparent. Whiskey primed the inside of your cheeks, filling their fleshy stretch, stressing the brim of what you could hold. He’d only begun to dribble what had run hot and thick over his tongue when you untwisted your achy fingers from his shirt and served three warning taps in the vicinity of his heart. Feathery prods, like silk over the sparse hair growing in the valley between his pecs.

But, due to unforeseen circumstances, he forgot to stop.

Either you wormed yourself into stretching taller against the wall, or he leaned down. Perhaps both were true. Maybe you went rigid from the impending threat of irreversible stains on your new Liz Claiborne blouse, and maybe he shifted when the nuances of your hips slid against his own, dragging upward and reminding him of the cradle he had you in.

Richly flushed from booze, the tip of his nose thawed your thoughts as it grazed past your own, mashing a hint of tenderness you rarely witnessed from him to your cheek. By accident, of course, like the wet mid of his hair skimming the edge of your jaw where the bottle remained notched to your chin; amber glass a stark contrast from the plush give of his bottom lip flirting across yours.

Dry chapped against chapsticked satin.

The unintentional touch happened so fast, too quick to explore.

Mmm! Another antsy noise from you which rang sweet when amplified by the empty pit of coiled wires in the stadium. Mouth overfull. Stomach gripped, lungs clenching for unhindered breath. Realty checking in.

You put strength behind your forearms on his chest, shoving him and whirling your face away, keeling over what room he gave you to struggle through the largest gulp of your life, losing some of the liquor in the process, as evident by the splash on the concrete floor. Beyond brave, you drank it down, coughing, sputtering, and shuddering through the aftertaste for what felt like minutes. Huffing. Heaving. Working through the flood of drool coating your tongue, momentarily resting your dewy forehead on the thick vein drawn down his bicep by the red light, trying not to puke. Your shoulder pressed to his sternum. His heart beat, loud.

You used your sleeve to attack the wet streaks on your chin and cheeks, mopping up your pinched expression as the nausea of chugging his disgusting rye whiskey churned what patience you had for him. “What the—?”

“Hey, try not to waste any,” he commented dryly.

Voice raising, “What the actual hell is wrong with you?” You picked your head up from the crook of his elbow to pin him with your vehement glare. But the flash of temper at his drunken antics faded to the messy background of emotions when you remained in his pinion. Slotted between him, the wall, and the bottle.

Eddie’s nose bumped the bridge of yours. He pulled back slightly, and lowered the bottle. Still, his voice was one half of a sigh seeking its counterpart over your lax jaw and weak scowl. “Lotta stuff,” he answered. Still, your hands remained bound in his shirt. You couldn’t let go. Why couldn’t you let go? You couldn’t let go as the center of your bottom lip tingled like the buzzing wings of a bumble bee. Why didn’t you spit out the whiskey in his face? It was gross, revolting. Why did you swallow it?

Licks of black pepper and clove stayed on your tongue. Inhales went stale with his tangy scent, acrid and musky after giving his all on stage. His sweat clung to your fingers, mixed with the sheen on your forehead. When he breathed, his belly fought for the space between you, pressing into your stomach. Existing in the proximity you’d never seen the other in before; enabling you to hear the intimate loll of his tongue moving the spit in his mouth before he spoke.

Appearing more sober than before, with a strange amount of alertness in his glassy gaze trained on the minute changes of your features, he said, “You’re going to have a miserable time on tour if you keep being this up tight.” He angled away to sip from the bottle held by its long neck in three of his thick fingers. Rolling his lips inward, his throat bobbed a fierce line in the EXIT sign glow. “I was trying to work that permanent twist out of your panties. Get you to loosen up, have some fun.”

Just like that, the frustration was back. His words, his tone, his lack of apology for being a royal pain in the ass.

“You make me miserable,” you told him. For good measure, you pinched the sensitive underbelly of his tricep in case your voice didn’t carry the anger from the last hour of putting up with his shit.

He mumbled, “Ow,” probably not feeling the pain with how much alcohol was in his system.

Restraining yourself from reacting bigger, you tightened your fists and tried not to shake him. “I can’t relax, because the second I do Corroded Coffin gets stacks of lawsuits rammed up it’s ass, and you and I both know I’m hired damage control,” for you, you didn’t finish, getting too hot in the face to want to stand in your sticky clothes any longer, squishy inner thighs humid from being pressed together by his legs, shoes numbing your ability to feel the floor. “Would it kill you to stick to a schedule? Get cleaned up, meet some fans? Do the normal thing?”

The weight of his body returned, dropping the tension from his shoulders to curve them towards you, forcing your palms flat to his ribs. Another cage.

Unfortunately, his answer was a slow smirk. The bad kind. Sultry, and saccharine; dark like his purposefully narrowed coy eyes. “Kinda like it when you’re angry,” back to mushing his words together. “Lemme guess, you’re not even wearing panties to be twisted. You’re just naturally this…” Bitchy. “Pleasant.”

You pinched his tricep until you knew it hurt, until the roots of your hair tugged at your scalp from his forearm slipping away, and you used the space created to wedge past the areas of him which tempted a flicker of want in your core after a noticeable drag against your hip. “Don’t follow me.”

“C’mon, are you really..?” A pause. “Wait—!”

A productive conversation was a fruitless, futile thing.

You silenced the voice in your head telling you there was genuine remorse in his innate reaction to call for you. As if he were done pretending to be drunker than he was just to push things too far. Like he really cared you were walking away, in essence giving him permission to continue his night how he wanted.

No heavy thudded steps chased after you. The double doors were up ahead. You leaned into opening them past the heavy gust of hot air pushing back, and you stepped out to excited faces falling flat in disappointment when it was just a lady in a blouse and skirt reeking of booze, not a member of their favorite band printed on their bleach-dyed Corroded Coffin t-shirts.

~~~

When the tour bus doors next hissed, it wasn’t a single body stomping vibrations through the overly large vehicle on their way to pore over the details for the next show, it was a steady flow of those who called the beast their home. Most slung themselves in the couches at the front, talking shop around the kitchen table. Some infiltrated the fridge for beer. Another used the bathroom which was too close for comfort, especially in the recycled air blowing through the vents.

A body approached, and you curled your toes in as he passed.

Eddie’s heavy black boots stopped in the aisle of bunks. The soles squeaked as he turned, creaking leather as he sank his weight to one side. Stalling, facing you before he sat heavily on his bed. As he did so, two sharp pops drew his attention. Checking behind him, the privacy curtain was stuck under his ass, and the plastic rings meant to hold it up were snapped into pieces. You avoided putting your gaze on his person as you watched him solve this mystery, and returned to the paragraph you were scrawling in your notebook, moving your pen across the lined page.

Two of the last three days were journaled down, catching up from the hectic weekend, and venting through your emotions by reliving them. Darker ink bloomed where you carved the tip of your pen through your explanation of your hurt feelings and the general flippancy you were subjected to by one person in particular. The roadies and other members of the band got less screen time than the star of the show in your tirades. He knew this, too, looking from across the aisle at your clumped lashes, spying the water spots on the pages when he was standing. He sat forward, much like you, but his thighs were spread with his hands in between them, palm open to whittle a nervous thumb in the cupped center, having the decency to appear ashamed.

Your clothes were folded beside you, undecided if you wanted to trash them or wear them in defiance.

“Do you want me to apologize?” he asked, not quite enunciating due to his uncomfortableness.

Unable to mask it, you blinked rapidly before opening your eyes wide, not withholding the contemptuous sigh released from deep within. You gripped your notebook harder, bending it, rumpling the pages to hide what you etched behind your tight hands. Who the fuck asks if they need to apologize?

Eddie’s washed curls fell forward with his hung head, nodding to himself.

He got up, and left.

Anger scored your face. Draped by your headache was your furrowed brows, flared nostrils, twisted pursed lips zipped up tight from saying anything you’d regret—a lesson he could do with. Your pajamas were the makings of nine heavenly clouds after being dressed in stiff business attire all day, but the blisters on your ankles stung. Your joints throbbed. Your muscles wore sore. Your spine cried every time you moved.

Tomorrow you’d start doing the stretches the stageside crew showed you that kept them limber. You made a note to fit this in your schedule, bypassing the silly daydream of stopping at a bookstore in the next city and reading up on a yoga guide for more pose ideas than what the guitar techs could teach you, aware the chance you’d find time away from your boss to pursue your own self-interests was slim.

Flipping a new page, you dated it in the corner, began your introduction, and started on the third day of spilling your heart out.

Your pen was mighty interrupted.

It’s difficult to say what came first: the mouth watering rush of saliva, or the passionate rumble of your empty stomach yearning for the white takeout box placed in your lap by the bruised hand sporting cuts from punching Gareth’s drum platform during the one of the more self-loathing songs.

A pang of humility gentled his nature.

The four-fold top was open, revealing your favorite noodle dish with extra green onion and sesame seeds sprinkled on top, plastic fork stabbed through the middle. You lifted the container to swipe the oil stains off your mid-sentence rant, shaking free the beads of condensation collecting on the sides. The cardboard had gone soggy after being nuked in the microwave, burning through to your fingertips, but you held your dinner nestled in your palms, regardless.

It didn’t come with extra green onions or sesame seeds, those would have to be found on the side and added, along with the sauce to keep it from drying out.

Eddie made it exactly how you liked.

Hunched in the minimal space between bunks, you stared at the long stem of a bean sprout sticking out from the swirls of noodles, processing his gesture. Beneath that, your journal was splayed open to a slew of harsh sentences. Lower, directly across from your bare toes was Eddie’s boots. Higher, one of the metal aglets of his laces was stuck behind the leather tongue. Fresh socks clung the bottom of his calves. You listened to him peel back the curtain before sinking to his bunk, and trailed your study over the silvery scars on his knees. Moving up, you spotted a fresh beer in his hand, maybe one or two swigs taken. His elbows rested on his thighs, body folded over, leaning in, mirroring you to some degree.

The harsh overhead lighting brought luster to the bright golds, rich reds, and deep strands of chestnut through his dark hair brushing the shadow of his clavicle over the black shirt clinging to him, hugging the slope of his stooped shoulders.

Finally, you met the depth behind his eyes communicating what he couldn’t.

The apology lasted just long enough for your consideration, and then he lifted the crinkly wrapper tucked between two of his fingers. “You want this?”

You shook your head at the fortune cookie. “You can have it.”

“Nice,” he whispered. The unassuming planes of his cheeks lifted enough to allude to the dimple on his left side, and bracket his mouth in smile lines. He was still drunk, you assumed. A merry blush persisted across his nose, and his eyelids were as sleepy as the bags beneath them. But there was a youthful glee under it all as he tore into the cellophane. A glimpse at someone from long ago; not the rockstar before the start of touring who would pull laughs from you, but further, before the conditions of fame chewed him up, spit him out.

You wondered if Chinese takeout was a rarity in his boyhood, a special treat saved for when he left his hometown on trips to the city.

Eddie flicked the wrapper to the floor—annoyingly—and ducked at an odd angle to lay his upper half into the cozy nook of extra pillows he made you buy on the first night of being on the road. He stowed his beer at the apex of his clenched thighs, fitting the cold bottle snug against the packed seam guiding your eyes to the hill of his zipper, provoking hot blooded thoughts. His shirt rode up as he brought his arms above him, fanning the thick trail of hair out from under the hem, impossibly soft in appearance, auburn tinted, growing less dense on the sides of his belly. He cracked the crisp wafer in half, and you watched his stomach tense on the snap.

Squinting in the dark, Eddie depressed the button on the tiny reading light with his knuckle, and unfurled the paper from half the cookie, scanning the faded red text.

He snorted.

Choosing a mystical-sounding rasp not far from his real one to invoke the guise of a palm reader in a smoky lounge reeking of incense sticks, he read the fortune aloud while waving his other hand about, “You will be successful in love,” he said. His wrist went limp, and he tucked his chin to congratulate you. “Lucky you.”

No amount of plastic forks shoved in your mouth would rid you of the smile tightening your eyes. “Lucky me,” you echoed, full of wryness. The food, amongst other things, worked wonders to lift your mood. You weren’t as much buzzed from the shots sloshing in your stomach as you were queasy, and greasy noodles filled the tumultuous void stupendously.

He stuffed the crunchy cookie in his mouth, and turned the fortune paper over, speaking through the gnash of crumbs, “Your lucky numbers are 35, 26, 56, 10, 32, 52,” he continued.

“Uh-huh.”

The noise across the rest of the bus was at a level you could endure. Shooting the shit at an appropriate volume, or nodding along to the conversation. The driver would give the signal soon, and the boys would, or should, go to their bunks.

While you ate, Eddie stayed laying with his legs off the bed, head crooked against the wall due to the narrow space. He held the fortune above him. Reading it, sometimes. Thumbing the edge other times, or rubbing the texture of the stiff paper across itself. Staring, staring, unblinking from whatever he was thinking as he wrung a hand around his face; eliciting a sense of comfort from the audible stroke of his knuckles scratching over his stubble.

You scraped the bottom of your container, and put aside your notebook to gather your trash, two feet planted to make your way to the kitchen. At the last second, a glint caught your eye, and you bent over to pick up the wrapper Eddie dropped, tossing it in the takeout box, too.

“While you’re down there, be a doll and take off my boots.”

“No.”

His disgruntled groan followed you to the front of the bus.

The guys gave you a mixed reaction of curious glances and uninvolved nods as you stuffed your garbage in the overpacked bin. Jeff in particular made a point to look from you to his best friend’s legs, though you didn’t have much of an answer to whatever he was searching for.

A goodnight wave would have to do, and you were back at your bunk, folding the sheets down in preparation for the dreamless state you wished to be in. You sat on the mattress, eyes closed and spine somewhat neutral. The structure of the bunks were unforgiving, but the small crawl space could feel cozy at times, like a blanket fort made from couch cushions. Except, the house moved throughout the night, and angry honks woke you up on occasion. Not to mention you were a light sleeper from the stress of a car crash, or being dumped onto the floor.

The fortune paper flitted. Regarding you over the imposed suggestion between his legs, he informed you, “It says here the best way to relieve some of that tension you’re always carrying around is by taking a ride on a nice, fat—”

You snatched the beer bottle from between his thighs, big fake hard-on standing tall. He startled from the sensation, darting his eyes from the phantom trace against himself, and hailing you with a sputtered laugh through his cheek-aching smile, denying you the reward of taking him off guard by covering his mouth with his hand.

“I earned this,” you said about the drink.

“Yeah?” he goaded, pleased at your forwardness.

In a valiant attempt to show off, you tipped the mildly hoppy bitter back. Two pulls in, you thought better of it. Not quite a chug, but he lost the war with his grin, pearly teeth shining behind the thumbnail he strummed over the center of his bottom lip, eyes almost closed entirely in a bout of crinkles.

You pulled your lips off the bottle; off his spit and off his drink, off his glass cock, and were emboldened by the confidence of his playful disposition to rib on him openly, like the guys would when his pendulum mood swung to the good side. You lamented in a dramatic sigh,”Maybe my love life will be so successful, I'll get swept off my feet, and be free from the burden of listening to your sloppy guitar plucking all night.”

His expression lurched towards impressed. Overacting with his mouth agape in surprise, lips curled over his teeth, and splaying his hand on his chest. With how he propped himself up on one elbow, his shirt stretched flush against his pecs, accentuating the two round shadows at the ends of the metal bars through his nipples.

Right, you remind yourself, able to forget their existence through most of his wardrobe choices, he has pierced nipples.

Your body ran hot at the memory from two short hours ago where you were inexplicably thrusted into a situation where you could’ve felt the jewelry by accident, pressed against a wall. Now you were able to think through the adrenaline, and acknowledge having another person’s touch on your skin did more harm than good for the loneliness lurking within, calling it to the surface.

The notebook beside your pillow drew your glance.

Eddie stabilized your position in the conversation, not letting your sudden reservation deter him from seeking retribution for your insult. “Think y’drank too much honey, there, Bee. That one stung below the belt.”

The moment it took for you to register the low leech of a tease sneaking its way through his croaky, whiskey-hoarse words was a long one. Longer was his heavy palm falling to demonstrate where exactly your insult hurt him, cupping and grabbing the afflicted area. “You wound me!” he dramatized, demonstrating the limits his fatigue green shorts flattered, cotton fabric scrunching under his grip, then slouching flat on the release. Longer, still, was the distance between the gaudy ring on his middle finger and the tip of his short nails, thick digit landing on the tattered seam splitting him down the middle. Letting go, he rested his hand above his belt.

Everything about him was victorious. Champion eyes glinting rum colored; a shade you’d never seen on him, and almost missed with your observance stuck lower, trapped by his overt flirtations.

His belly rose and fell with a sympathetic hum devised to rattle you.

When sober, the invitation to crude insinuations began and ended with intangibility. A calculated smile to fluster you when caught admiring how his tattoos twisted over the muscles in his upper arms when he leaned on his keyboard, a sentence spoken in the morning before his voice warmed to its comfortable register, a tossed comment in the midst of conversation with his band mates and the effect it had on you shifting uncomfortably just outside the ring of amity—quarantined behind the scope of his single-handed gesture pumping an obvious motion, pretending you were absorbed by the timetable schedule for the band inside your folder, appearing busy and decidedly not desperate to either be included or released from the task of being present, even when hot needles of sweat stressed the lack of consideration for your feelings with each sorry expression cast in your direction. You were his worker bee, paid to wait on him, and his teasing was rarely physical beyond an appropriate knock on your bicep for your attention in the off chance he didn’t snap his fingers at you like a dog. Or a tap on your knee under the kitchen table to get you to stand so he could leave; a light pressure which you could replicate days later with your own knuckles. His daily indifference was born of spite, and his drunken actions were bred of the same annoyance, bottle-deep perspective viewing you as the one who was ruining his night. Assuming he continued to push his tolerance with more drinks after you left the green room, his bold teasing made sense, you supposed, too unrestricted to deny himself the fun of riling you up.

The right thing to do would entail divorcing yourself from this conversation, and bringing up his conduct tomorrow. The wrong thing to do would involve taking another swig of his beer. The right thing to do would require reminding him of his meeting with Murray in the morning, who had a shorter fuse than anyone in the music industry. The wrong thing to do would include lobbing the bottle in his bed. The right thing to do would demand not giggling at Eddie’s poor reflexes when he made a bigger mess of the ale spilling on his blanket.

Eddie seized to catch it, but his hand-eye coordination was not up to par. He scrunched his eyes closed at the last second, jolting into a crunch with his chin tucked in an inordinate amount of wrinkles, and hands turned with his palms out, more keen on keeping the bottle from hitting his face than truly catching it. Which was a plausible excuse for his boot kicking your bunk in the process, and overall lack of poise as he brought his hands together after the beer had already bounced off his belly, and rolled where the bed dipped around him.

The wrong thing to do would consist of you running your knuckle along your shameless grin, prodding the flesh against your teeth as he dropped his head back and emptied the bottle onto his softly cradled pink tongue, thank you for sharing the drink, every last boozy drop.

Recognition curved the groove of his mouth.

Boys will be boys behavior.

“Here,” he said, rolling forward with his arm extended. The glass bottle in his hand drew your immediate wilt, but before you advanced too far into your frown, he alleviated your ire with the two fingers pointing at you, fluttering the damp paper between them. “You believe in this sorta shit, don’t you?” Despite the mock, you knew better than to refute his claim, not having the chops to sound convincing. Not that you really had faith in the mass produced slip of paper, but the affirmation that you’d find your soulmate one day produced a sense of ease before bed. Even when the word ‘successful’ was blurred from a drop of beer.

You placed the fortune in your notebook, feeling the ache of an unfinished entry.

At the front of the bus, the driver stamped up the stairs and gave the signal he was going to start moving soon, cuing the subliminal bedtime. The unbelonging technicians left, and the rest of Corroded Coffin stretched from the stiff cushions lining the booth seats around the table. As they picked up after themselves, Eddie untied the top set of his laces, and kicked his boots off, leaving them in the aisle along with the empty beer bottle.

He rolled onto the edge of the mattress to rip back his sheets and shoved his legs under, hesitating from drawing the curtain when he browsed the end of your bunk, where your feet moved under a pile of belongings placed atop your covers. “I’ll send your clothes to the dry cleaners tomorrow.”

Not an apology.

“You mean you’ll send me to the dry cleaners tomorrow,” you corrected, and his face smoothed flat from the accidental snub.

Harry moved between you two. Jeff divided the conversation further. Gareth cleaved whatever rapport you had with Eddie when he snorted at the two of you facing each other in your bunks, cuddled up like a sleepover.

Thinking harder as his peers climbed into their beds, Eddie relaxed onto his forearm supporting his upright posture, and sank into the jut of his shoulder, spinning his hand in the same flippant way the scrunch between his brows appealed to the snark loading in his throat. “I’ll just give you my wallet then, mm?” he offered, gravelly voice dusted with insincerity. “Then you can buy all the white blouses, and black skirts your pretty heart desires.”

Someone snorted again. It sounded like Gareth.

“And, uh,” Eddie endured as the plastic rings tinked across the metal bar, leaving a generous window visible from the top of his shoulders to his wild hair spread about his pillow palace, limp curtain hanging pitifully, “if you’d be so kind, don’t watch me sleep.”

“I won’t,” you said, and it sounded so sad. So soft, and faint, no bite behind it. No zest, no strength. Just confusion, though you understood the events leading to the pendulum swinging the other direction.

You closed your curtain, too.

The tour bus rumbled before sighing its characteristic hiss and chugging forward, pitching its cargo inside. You swayed in your nook. Laying on your back meant you experienced every roll of the tires cutting corners in the parking lot, but you weren’t ready to turn over yet. Your mind was swarming with cluttered thoughts. There were things you could be doing other than peering out at the depressing darkness where the dim ambient light didn’t pierce. You could brush your teeth, stow away your pocketbook before the pens rolled out, pick up the bottle before it tipped over and played pinball down the aisle all night. Your journal entry could be finished, you could sit up and read a book like Eddie, you could do some of those stretches for your hips and back. You could cry, you could count sheep for the next four hours and forty-seven minutes, you could cry some more; wet face wiped raw by the stiff sheets, and mouth buried in the unfeeling comforter to muffle the squeak of air leaving your lungs when you couldn’t suppress the emotions lodged in your throat any longer.

You could do many therapeutic things.

Instead, you pressed your knuckle over the center of your lower lip, replicating the pressure, and thought about the fortune.

[fairylights-throughthemist]

Recommended fics (still updating <3)

basically just me tracking what i’ve read and what i loved

Eddie Munson

by @elegantpaperoperatormaker

Fucking Bitch

Eddie and his unintentional boners

Eddie is a stage 5 clinger

Are You Now or Have You Ever Been

Glitter Girl

Whatever You Want

That’s Just My Babydaddy

by @keeryhours

this fic

do you wanna come over?

obey your (dungeon) master

Pussydrunk Eddie

by @wheels-of-despair

Evil Woman, Don’t You Play Your Games With Me

The Proposal

Knock

Moment of Truth

Insatiable

by @eddiesghxst

Are You Bored Yet?

this fic

by @roanniom

On the Line

Compliments

by @georgeweasleyslostearhq

HC’s

ALIBI

by @lovebugism

Eddie x Cheerleader!Reader

”I was expecting a written apology but this is so much better.”

this fic

this fic

by @munsonsmixtapes

Rockstar!Eddie x Reader

Billy still doesn’t know

by @oneforthemunny

hold my heart and watch it burn

Boxer!Eddie x Reader

by @creeksandsocks

Boyfriend Eddie HC’s

Splash

by @punkrockmlchael

Alcohol, Beer and Pool

Enemies with Benefits

Caught by @ashwhowrites

crazy-mad for you by @bangaveragewhitewine

hot n’ heavy by @chelseeebe

Say Anything by @earthlyangelbby

Happy Birthday by @eddiesvixen

asking dealer!Eddie to take your virginity by @electrosuite

the hat rule. by @ghost-proofbaby

snoop by @heart-eyed-love

Tender Lover by @i-hate-people-1

Sugar by @losingmygrasponreality

captured moments by @loveletterlore

Modern!Eddie by @munscavi

ice cold by @munsonify

tickle by @mylliy

“Do The Things You Said You’d Do To Me” by @scarlet-bitch

Possessive!Eddie x Reader by @scoopsahoy

Jerk Off by @spookyscarydemonbabe

All revved up and ready to go by @strangerstilinski

Tangled by @taintandviolent

mean mouth by @urhoneycombwitch

Full of Surprises by @vampireimiko

brothers best friend!Eddie reading your diary while he's balls deep inside of you. by @whoahoney

(i had to divide these into writers because i can’t tag more than 50 people 🥹)

[419jhat]

I've had this plot bunny for a while. I love the idea of a fic where Eddie is super famous and Steve has no idea who he is, but they meet and fall in love.

Like, Steve's just walking down the street, super sick, trying to find a convenience store so he can find anything to save his drippy nose and stop his cough, when he gets accosted by some dude on the sidewalk with his phone out. The guy and his friend are rambling about the latest Spotify hits and Steve notices a second too late that he's being recorded and that there's a microphone in his face, so he kind of shakes himself awake and adjusts his glasses so he can see the phone.

The guy's all decked out like a rockstar with tattoos and piercings and tight leather everything, and he wants Steve's opinion. But the problem is that Steve doesn't listen to music or pay attention to famous anything, so he kind of recoils, because he realizes this random guy is trying to make him listen to his mixtape.

“Is it good?” Steve asks.

The guy’s friend kind of blinks at him and says, “I mean, it's Eddie Munson,” like that's supposed to mean something.

“Never heard of it,” Steve says with a shrug, and the rockstar starts laughing like a lunatic.

“Well, can you just listen? We're getting street reactions to the new album,” the guy says, offering him an airpod.

Steve sighs and sticks the thing in his ear and rolls his eyes when he instantly recognizes the whiney guitar solo Dustin won't stop playing every hour of the day.

He shrugs and says, “I've heard better.”

This completely shocks the guy. The rockstar takes it as a challenge to try and flirt, but Steve's too sick to catch on so he sits there bitching about Corroded Coffin on camera until he gets bored and ditches the interview halfway to go get his meds. Meanwhile, Eddie's ego is bruised but he's kind of in love. This sparks an internet manhunt desperately trying to find the handsome mystery man who caught the lead guitarist of Corroded Coffin's eye, and Steve being harassed by his friends when the interview goes viral.

[lovebugism]

Kissing eddie just as you’re both about to get out of the car and now he’s got a problem cause he’s hard, and all your friends are waiting for you and you’re both a little late and Eddie we really gotta hurry up! what’s the issue? and the poor boy is bright red to his neck over how gone he is on you

ty for requesting :D ps: i'm gnawing at the bars of my enclosure over this prompt –– when eddie's about to leave for a show, you make sure he knows exactly what he's missing out on (established relationship, st4 canon divergence, allusions to smut 18+ | 1k)

“How do I look?” Eddie wonders aloud as you trail down the creaking porch steps behind him. He plants his feet on the gravel driveway and spins on the heel of his sneaker to face you –– already bare-faced and clad in your pretty PJs for the night, a striking contrast to the lead guitarist of Corroded Coffin standing before you.

You pause on the second-to-last step and reach for his face. Eddie leans instinctively into your warm touch as you swipe your thumbs under his eyes, gently smudging his dark liner a bit more. 

“Like a rockstar,” you answer with a proud smile.

Eddie scrunches his nose sheepishly in response, ‘cause he has nowhere to hide with you cradling his blushing face like this. He’s still not immune to the way you look at him, even after all this time. “You’re just sayin’ that,” he mumbles, kicking a lone rock with the toe of his show.

You hum in agreement as your hands fall from his face. “Yeah. ‘Cause it’s true.”

“To you, maybe,” Eddie scoffs, trying hard to ignore the pang of anxiety in his chest. “No one else seems to think so.”

He never used to be nervous performing before Vecna tried to kill him. It was the world that was scared of Eddie Munson, not the other way around –– until it nearly ended, anyway. Now, just leaving the house is enough to induce a panic attack. A part of him is always distantly fearful that a stranger’s face will turn out to be the dark wizard’s, back to life and hiding in plain sight again.

“Hey,” you scold, only partially playful. “I think the crowd of five drunks who watch you perform every Tuesday would agree with me.”

Despite the ice-cold apprehension making his limbs feel numb, Eddie manages a breathy chuckle. “You’re right. We could bomb, and they’d still act like we were playing Madison Square Garden or something.”

You soften then, as though sensing his worry. “You’re not gonna bomb, Eds. You guys are gonna do great. Just like always.”

“Sure you can’t come?” Eddie wonders quietly, blinking up at you with a pair of chocolate button eyes that are hard to say no to.

“You know I can’t… I have an early morning tomorrow,” you coo sympathetically, fighting back a smile when the boy’s rosy bottom lip juts in a pout. “But I’ll be right here when you get back, okay? And I’ll make sure to heat up dinner when you’re on your way. So you have something to soak up the alcohol and adrenaline with.”

You tilt your cheek to your shoulder, squinting suspiciously when Eddie’s frown curls into a cheeky grin. He reaches for you with a pair of ringed hangs and squeezes at your clothed hips. “Just like a good little housewife, huh?” he croons mischievously.

You roll your eyes at him ‘cause you’re not a housewife by any means. 

You live in a trailer with his uncle, for one. And you work five days a week, for another. Besides, you’re not even his wife, which you think is usually the first step. (You have no idea Eddie’s already picked a ring out for you. Or that he plans on keeping that a secret until he plays enough shows to afford a house). 

You decide to humor him, anyway. 

“Sure,” you monotone with a slow nod.

Eddie’s grin widens.

“C’mon on, Munson! We’re gonna be late!” Jeff lisps from the passenger side window of the van. The rusted tin can is parked a ways down the drive, packed to the brim with all their band equipment like a perfect game of Tetris.

You lean forward to press a chaste kiss to his mouth.

“Wear that dress I like when I get back?” Eddie murmurs lowly.

You hum with your lips pursed to the side of your mouth, pretending to be deep in thought. “Hmm… I was kinda thinkin’ about wearing nothing, actually,” you answer, shrugging innocently. “You know, for easy access and whatnot.”

Eddie warms all over. His wild head starts to swim at the visual –– one he’s seen a hundred times before that he’s not quiet sure he’ll ever get over. “Have mercy…” the boy mumbles under his breath.

“Just try not to think about it too much while you’re gone…” you lilt knowingly, smoothing both your hands up and over the lapels of his leather jacket. “All alone… Naked in our bed… Trying to get myself off while I wait for you…”

Eddie stares at you with heavy, lidded eyes. He can’t take the chocolates of them off your lips as they curl into a mischievous, tightlipped smile. “How ‘bout I just stay home?” he offers lowly.

A resounding honk blares from the van in a wordless answer. 

Gareth leans out the driver’s side window, face screwed and sandy curls wild. “C’mon, Eddie!” the boy yells like an impatient younger brother. “Put your dick in your pants already so we can go!” 

Eddie’s head swivels back to face you again, chest deflating with a grieving sigh. 

“You have to go,” you tell him, soft and sympathetic, as you press another kiss to his pout. “Have fun, honey,” you croon and step back from him –– knowing exactly what you’re doing as you trek back up the wobbly wooden porch steps.

Before you shut the front door behind you, you flash the boy a curt wave and a pretty smile. It takes a world of strength to keep from following behind you. 

In a perfect world, Eddie would already have the door bolted shut with you pressed against it by now. He’d have your oversized shirt balled up at your ribs and your shorts pulled down to your ankles and his mouth licking over your pretty cotton panties.

He shakes his head in a physical attempt to remove the sinful thoughts from his brain as he stalks back to the van. He keeps his head bowed as he goes, trying to hide his reddened cheeks behind his wild curls. Gareth watches from the window as Eddie tugs at the crotch of his jeans, trying to un-strangle his hard cock like a teenager.

The boy leans between the front seats as Eddie climbs into the driver’s side, slamming the screeching door shut behind him. “You’re pathetic,” Gareth teases through a fit of boyish laughter.

“Shut up,” Eddie grumbles.

[lucydixon]

Bad Idea

Eddie Munson Masterlist 𐴱 Main Masterlist 𐴱 Taglist 𐴱 Reading List 𐴱 Pinned Post 𐴱 Moodboard side-Blog

A/N: For some Bestfriend!Eddie backstory, you can check out Two Hearts, One Home, which goes more in-depth on Eddie and the Reader's relationship. Eddie's a liiitle bit of a perv in this one

Summary: You decide that you're tired of being a virgin, and your best friend of ten years jumps at the chance to make your first time a good experience, consequences be damned.

You and Eddie were in his bedroom, doing what the two of you did most days after school. 

He was trying to nail a guitar solo, his sweetheart unplugged from the amp to spare your ears, while you sat on the ground reading magazines. 

You’d flipped through the hundredth ‘how to drive your man wild’ article and sighed heavily. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Eddie asked without looking up from his guitar. 

“I’m tired of being a virgin,” you huffed, not meaning anything by it. You really were just vocalising your frustration.

His head snapped up to stare at you. 

“Huh?”  

“I think you heard me,” you groaned, letting your head fall back against his dresser. “I haven’t even kissed a boy, and everyone at school is either lame or mean.” 

“Which one am I?” The words were tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them, but you were too busy wallowing to notice the blush creeping its way up his neck. 

“You’re fine.” You rolled your eyes. “If you weren’t my best friend, I’d totally fuck you.” 

His entire body went rigid. 

“What?” he breathed, eyes wide in disbelief. 

For the first time since he’d known you, he regretted ever agreeing to play with you the day you’d met. 

What if he wasn’t your friend? 

Would you seriously fuck him? 

Had he spent all this time secretly dying to touch you, only for it to come back and bite him in the ass?

“Oh, what do you mean what?” You groaned, letting your head fall to the side so you could look at the baffled look on his face. “Don’t look so surprised. I’m not blind, Munson. I get why all those girls crawl into the back of your van after gigs. You’ve got your bad boy rockstar thing going.” 

He could not believe you were being so casual about this. 

You’d never been shy, the two of you joked around and teased eachother, flirting sometimes like it was a game. You were never the one blushing by the end of it. It was always him. 

“Okay.” he set down his guitar as carefully as he possibly could while still flailing his arms. “Hold the fuck on for a minute.” 

You scoffed out a laugh at his theatrics. 

“Why haven’t you ever said anything?” He exclaimed. 

“'Cause it doesn’t matter.” You shrugged. “We’re friends, we don’t do that kind of thing.” 

“Says who?” 

Your brows furrowed, and you sat up to cock your head to the side. 

“Show me the rule book where it says we can’t do that kind of thing.” He urged, gesturing around the room wildly. 

“I didn’t say there’s some rule that we can’t.” You frowned. “It’s just not something we do.” 

“Some friends do that kind of thing!” He pointed out, knowing full well that he couldn’t just be your friend if you so much as pecked him on the lips.

He’d want more. 

He did want more. 

But he was too wrapped up in the idea that you might let him fuck you.  

“What is this?” You squinted at him. 

“I’m just saying!” He held his hands up like it was no big deal. As if he wasn’t about to risk the ruin of a decade of friendship, “Think about it! You don’t want to be a virgin, I don’t want my best friend to suffer through having her first time with some idiot who doesn’t know what he’s doing.” 

“Oh, and you do?” You raised a brow, a little intrigued. 

It wasn’t a blatant rejection. 

You weren’t entirely convinced, but he could work with this. 

“Yeah.” He scoffed, smirking smugly, “I do.” 

“And you think it’s not gonna be weird after?” 

“Doesn’t have to be.” Eddie gave the least convincing shrug you’d ever seen in your life. 

“Prove it then,” you challenged, pulling yourself to kneel. 

If he’d been standing, his knees would’ve buckled, and he didn’t even know where you were going with this yet. 

“C’mere.” You patted the carpet next to you and stifled a laugh when he tripped over himself, scrambling out of his bed to join you. 

You were being way too normal about this. 

“Kiss me for a bit.” You proposed, and Eddie couldn’t suppress the dumbfounded look on his face. “Then we stop and see how we feel tomorrow.” 

“Okay.” He answered far too quickly, overeager and obvious. 

“If it’s weird after, no more.” You warned, “We just pretend it never happened.”

He swallowed thickly and nodded, but knew that he couldn’t do that. 

If he got to kiss you right then, he’d never stop thinking about it for as long as he lived. 

He just had to stop himself from doing something stupid, like professing his love for you. 

But Christ. The second you started leaning in, he knew that he was about to be in for a world of hurt because you hadn’t even touched him yet, and he was crumbling. Falling apart at the seams. 

Your lips brushed against his softly at first. Barely even a peck. 

Any and all sense of self-control went out the window when Eddie pulled you back in and kissed you harder. One hand wrapped around the back of your neck, pulling you towards him while the other rested on your waist. 

You gasped into the kiss, steadying yourself with a hand on his thigh, gripping his flesh just above his thigh through the ripped denim. 

A groan tore its way out of his throat, desperate and hungry and- 

Fuck. he was going to lose his mind just kissing you. 

When he ran his tongue along your bottom lip, Eddie half-expected it to be the moment where you cut him off for the day, but you didn’t. 

Instead, your lips parted and you let his tongue snake into your mouth, trying to keep up with the intensity of the kiss despite the shudder rolling through your body. 

You moaned into his mouth, and he thought he might die. 

You had to force yourself to pull away after a couple of minutes, bleary-eyed with swollen lips, blinking at your best friend, who was in no better shape. 

You’d hoped that you wouldn’t like it. 

That maybe the two of you would laugh it off and never speak of it again. 

But no. 

Of course, it had to be the most devastating first kiss, and of course, it had to be with Eddie, of all people. 

Eddie, whom you’d loved since you were a girl, but spent years convincing yourself was nothing more than your friend. 

Your best friend. 

You wouldn’t survive losing him. 

But, fuck. 

Why’d he have to offer to fuck you with so much enthusiasm? 

To slip his tongue into your mouth? 

Grip the back of your neck as if he couldn’t bear to pull away? 

You’d been the one to bring it up and could only blame yourself for the suffering you were sure that you were about to endure when this inevitably blew up in your face and ruined things with the most important person in your life. 

I’m screwed, Eddie thought to himself. 

That felt way too good.

Criminally good. 

It didn’t help that you looked like you’d enjoyed it. He could tell that you were overthinking, but you weren’t upset, which was a good sign. 

“So,” He cleared his throat a little awkwardly, “Weird?” 

“No,” You smiled softly, despite screaming internally, “It was kind of nice actually.” 

“Yeah,” he bobbed his head, trying to be as cool about it as possible, “You sure that was your first kiss?” 

“You trying to say I’m a natural, Munson?” You leaned back against the dresser with a little smirk. 

“I’m not, not saying it.” He shrugged, wondering how long it would be before he could kiss you again, “You’re just a good kisser, is all.” 

“I’d tell you the same, but I don’t have anything to compare it to, and I don’t think your ego needs it.” You chuckled.

It was quiet for a whole minute before either of you spoke. 

“So,” It was Eddie who broke the silence, “Now what?” 

“Now, we go on with our day and see if it gets weird.” 

“Okay.” 

It didn't.

Sure, you were both thinking about that kiss relentlessly, but it wasn’t awkward or anything.

The two of you still went to Hellfire and sat in your normal seats, directly across from one another. The looks you gave eachother weren’t abnormal. Eddie was in full DM character and still tried to kill you off just like he usually did. 

Afterwards, he walked you to your trailer and then called you when he got back to his less than two minutes later, as if you didn’t watch him walk all the way to his front door from your window. You laughed and told him goodnight, same as you did every night.

You spent a little extra time staring at your ceiling before falling asleep, but it didn’t feel bad. 

If anything, you were excited to kiss Eddie again tomorrow. 

Meanwhile, across the lot, Eddie Munson was dreaming up all the things he could ‘teach’ you if you’d let him while fucking his fist in the shower. 

He went to bed feeling a whole lot less guilty than he thought he might, knowing that in the morning, you might let him kiss you again and maybe even do more.

At eight in the morning the next day, Eddie was knocking on your door loud enough to tear you from sleep. 

It took a full two minutes for you to answer the door with messy hair and tired eyes. 

You were wearing a matching shorts and tank top set of pyjamas, and he couldn’t help but stare. 

You weren’t wearing a bra, and it was painfully obvious. 

“What the fuck, Eds?” You grumbled, annoyed that he’d woken you up. “Do you know what time it is?” 

“It's tomorrow.” He rocked on the balls of his feet, acutely aware of how desperate and pathetic he was acting. 

“And?” You huffed, still half asleep, not picking up on what he was saying.

“And it's not weird.” 

“What?” you frowned. “Eddie, I’m too tired for whatever the fuck is going on right now.” 

Eddie sighed dramatically, ushering you back inside and following along behind you. 

He knew better than to wake you up. 

You’d never been a morning person. Always cranky and whiny before 10 am, even at school. 

He knew, but he’d done it anyway because he just couldn’t wait. 

You seemed to clue in halfway down the hallway to your bedroom and froze. 

Eddie stopped himself just short of running right into you, distracted by your bare legs.

“Edward Munson,” your voice was sharp and annoyed. The tone reserved solely for lectures.

He grimaced at the sound of his full name. 

“Did you wake me up early as fuck on a Sunday morning, to make out?” Slowly, you turned to look at him, eyes narrowing as they landed on his. 

“No.” He lied. 

“Liar.” 

“Okay fine!” he conceded, throwing his arms out at his sides. He’d never been able to lie to you and get away with it. You saw through him every single time, so he might as well be honest. “Maybe.” 

“There’s something wrong with you.” You jabbed a finger into his chest, and Eddie felt panic building inside his chest. 

He’d blown it. 

Already. 

“Let me brush my teeth first.” You veered off to the right suddenly, into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind you, leaving him standing frozen in the hallway. 

He was 99% sure that was a yes and scrambled down the hall into your room to check his hair in the mirror. 

When you emerged from the bathroom with brushed teeth and hair, you weren’t sure what to do with yourself. 

Eddie was sitting at the end of your bed, playing with his rings.

“So what?” You crossed your arms over your chest, suddenly very much aware of how little you were wearing in terms of clothing. “We’re just gonna make out in my bed all day?” 

“If you want, yeah.” he was struggling to keep his cool. 

“Well, what do you want?” you urged, a little worried that this was only happening because he thought you wanted to, which was ridiculous considering this whole thing was his idea and he’d pulled himself out of bed at an ungodly hour just to come kiss you. 

“To make out in your bed all day.” Eddie leaned back on his elbows, smirking at you slyly. 

“Okay, good,” you sighed cutely, crawling into bed with him. 

Your hands caught the collar of his shirt and tugged him gently towards you, lying back against the pillows at the top of your mattress. 

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. 

Eddie’s brain was going haywire when your lips met. 

You were kissing him and lying down. 

He was kissing you horizontally. 

In your bed. 

He knew he’d get himself too worked up if he settled in between your thighs, pressed up against you like that, knowing full well that you didn’t wear panties to bed. 

One layer for you, two for him. 

That would be all that was separating your warmth from the bulge in his jeans, and he couldn’t risk scaring you off before he’d even gotten started. 

So, instead, Eddie grabbed your hip and rolled you onto your side, mirroring your position, close enough that he managed it without breaking the kiss. 

His other hand cupped your cheek, and it was such a tender action that it made you shudder. 

You hadn’t expected it to feel so intimate. 

So loving.  

Could you really have sex with Eddie and not let it ruin you? 

Your heart already ached for when the time to stop fooling around eventually came. 

You’d sleep together and then what? 

Pretend it hadn’t happened? 

Just stop kissing each other and go back to normal? 

Get on with your lives as if you weren’t completely, painfully in love with your best friend?

God, could you stand to watch him go out with other girls after? 

It physically pained you just to think about it. 

So badly, in fact, that your breath hitched in your throat while you were kissing, and Eddie pulled back to look at you with a concerned, but soft look. 

“You alright, Sweetheart?” He brushed your hair out of your face gently. 

“Is this a horrible, terrible, very bad idea?” Your words came out rushed and breathy. 

“Whoa,” He frowned, not used to you being the one to freak out, “what’s wrong?” 

“We’re gonna fuck this up.” Your eyes were wide, almost panicked. “It's gonna get weird and we won't be friends anymore, and I cannot take that.” 

“Hey,” Eddie found your hand and gave it a squeeze, “stop freaking out and take a breather.” 

You rolled onto your back and stared at the ceiling, taking a deep breath.

After a few more, you squeezed his hand back, keeping your gaze fixated on the glow-in-the-dark stars you and Eddie had stuck up there years before. 

“Now tell me what happened in there a minute ago.” He tapped your temple lightly with his pointer finger. “What’s got you so freaked out?” 

You’d never been any better than Eddie at lying. You knew you had to give him something. It just couldn’t be the whole truth. 

“I’m gonna get too wrapped up in this and it’s gonna get messy.” You sighed, draping your free arm over your face to hide it from view. “I’m gonna hurt my own feelings.” 

Eddie felt his heart rate pick up. 

What were you saying? 

“Maybe I’ll get wrapped up too,” he muttered. “Why does it have to be messy?” 

“Because we're friends,” You groaned. 

“And?” He was confused. 

“I don't want to fuck you, then watch you fuck other girls.” You admitted stiffly, still hiding behind your arm. 

“Okay, I won’t then,” Eddie said it without even having to think. “No fucking other girls. Got it. Done.” 

Your arm fell to the side as your head snapped over to look at him questioningly. 

“The reasonable thing to do would just be to not fuck eachother.” You pointed out. 

“When have we ever done the reasonable thing?” he scoffed, trying not to look too hopeful. “I wouldn’t want you being with any other guys either.” 

“There are no other guys!” You groaned, rubbing your face. “That’s how we ended up here in the first place.” 

“Yeah, well, maybe I just don’t want you using my moves on other dudes.” There was a slight teasing undertone, but his eyes were dead serious. 

“So, you’re not fucking other girls, I’m not fucking other guys.” You raised a brow. “That sounds an awful lot like dating."

"Why don't we just agree to not think too hard about it?" Eddie proposed, desperate to keep you both from overthinking it, especially while you were lying in bed together with swollen lips. "It doesn't have to be weird. We're just friends who do this kind of stuff now, and that's fine!"

You were quiet for a long time, not even thinking, really. Just sitting with it.

"fuck it," you muttered, leaning back in.

Eddie sighed in relief and caught you by the back of the neck, smashing his lips into yours.

Dividers and Banners by me on my side-blog @dividers-are-us

Taglist:@justalotoffanfiction@s1mp-4-ga11y@farrowroyale@awkward00noodle@shokihomin@jjmaybankswifes-blog@mdurdenpitt@buckyswife108 @walleloveseve @zroberts13@gxpsywitch19@monkeylaura627

[supernovafics]

𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐀

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x actress!reader

word count: 5.9k words

summary: in which, after knowing of him for a while, you finally meet eddie munson at a movie premiere

warnings: explicit language, some fluff, smut (18+), fingering (f!receiving)

author’s note: yes this is very much inspired by the harry styles song. i had this idea like a year ago and then i left it unfinished for months upon months but it’s finally finally done now so enjoy<333

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Aside from Steve, is there anyone else I’m going to know at this premiere?”  

Maybe you should’ve asked Melissa that question before you were on your way to the theater in West Hollywood where the movie premiere was taking place. That would’ve given you more time to mentally prepare if your publicist’s answer was no; which would mean that you’d have to have a fake smile plastered on your face during most of the night. 

You slightly shifted in the backseat of the car you sat in with Melissa on your left. You were trying not to move too much or even get comfortable in your seat during the drive for fear of somehow messing up the simple black dress you were wearing. Tonight didn’t even really matter for you, you knew that. You were only going to this premiere to support a friend, and the red carpet walk you’d have to do would be a quick and very unimportant one, but you still felt the need to make sure that you were perfect.

Melissa started listing names you quickly recognized, people you’d worked with before or had a handful of passing conversations with. “Oh, and Eddie Munson is gonna be there as well.” 

“Oh,” You said, looking down at your dress and smoothing out a non-existent wrinkle. You cleared your throat and attempted to act as nonchalant about it as possible. “Oh, cool. Why is he going to a movie premiere?” 

“His band worked on the soundtrack for the movie.”

You nodded at that. “Oh, okay.” 

“You two should try to get a picture together. That would be really great,” She said, taking a quick glance at you before going back to look at her phone. “After the interview thing, people would love seeing this.” 

You more so saw that whole situation as “the interview incident” instead of simply “the interview thing.” It was only a few months ago when you had to do some promotional interviews for a movie you filmed earlier in the year, and you had been randomly asked about your favorite music. You talked about Corroded Coffin’s latest album and you specifically mentioned Eddie’s great songwriting and voice. You went on something close to a ramble about him and his band and then regretted it immediately when you were done because you knew that you probably sounded something equivalent to an obsessed fangirl. And, of course, none of it got cut out of the video. 

And then, about a month later, Melissa sent you an article about an interview Eddie did where he mentioned one of your movies and also said that you were one of his favorite actresses. You felt entirely indifferent about the article because it just seemed way too coincidental to you. You knew that his publicist and Melissa were a part of the same firm, so it made sense that they would wanna do something to potentially “stir” something up. 

You let out a sigh. “I know that you told his publicist to have him mention me in his next interview.” 

Melissa only shrugged in response. “He and his band have gotten so big in the last year, and you’re getting really big right now too. This could be a great moment.” She took another look at you and smiled. “Just saying.”

You knew that in the grand scheme of things, she only wanted what was best for you, and you appreciated that; it was why she’d been your publicist since you had started your career in your teens. But, that didn’t mean that you liked these kinds of curated moments, pretending and staging friendships or even relationships— it all just felt so dumb to you, and it was your least favorite part of your job. But, you still always found yourself listening. 

“I’ll try,” You ultimately told her. “No promises, though.”

When you made it to the theater, it was a sea of people and cameras, loud voices and bright flashes; none of which necessarily fazed you anymore. In the beginning, you had loved this kind of thing because it all just felt so magical and surreal. You’d get excited and nervous jitters at the “glamour” of it all. Now going to any event only felt like putting on a show; it somehow felt like more of a performance than actually doing a scene in front of a whole production crew of people. 

You followed Melissa and listened to her tell you what the plan of action would be for the next half an hour until the actual premiere started— you’d take some quick pictures, and then she’d introduce you to “a few very important people that you should build some sort of a rapport with;” the director of the movie and a few of the executive producers. You nodded along to her words, understanding that you’d need to turn on your charm during those brief introductions, while your eyes were focused on the red carpet just like almost everyone else’s was— looking at Steve and the female lead of the movie, walking the carpet separately and then also taking a few pictures together.  

You smiled a bit at seeing Steve because, more often than not, it was nice to see him. The first big movie you did was with him; a romantic comedy that you now saw as way too cheesy, but you still had the fondest memories of it. The two of you didn’t talk or see each other as often as you did back then during filming and during all of the press that was done for the movie, but you’d still always consider him a good friend. One of your first real friends in the industry, even though everyone had always tried to say that it was more.  

You then noticed Eddie and his bandmates. He looked nice— a simple black suit with a white button-up underneath, a bowtie that you couldn’t help but think was insanely cute, and his long curly hair mildly tamed in a way that looked effortless. 

Almost too abruptly his eyes met yours. Instead of immediately looking away and avoiding his gaze, you gave him a small smile and nod, and he did the same; that was the extent of the nonverbal interaction. Seconds later, you were being ushered along by Melissa and you pulled your eyes away from Eddie and focused on what she was telling you. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

In your mind, an entire hour was more than enough time spent at the after-party. 

You’d been in enough conversations with unfamiliar faces, introducing yourself and attempting to make new “connections” with people, as per Melissa’s request. And you also talked to a few old friends, accepting invitations to get lunch sometime soon and “catch up about life.”

You were ready to finally head home for the night, and you tried to spot Melissa among the small crowd of people to tell her just that. Maybe you’d even say a quick goodbye to Steve and congratulate him one more time on the movie; which you had actually really enjoyed. 

A tap on your shoulder grabbed your attention and you turned your head. You weren’t entirely sure who you were expecting to see, but it definitely wasn’t Eddie Munson. 

“Hey, I’m Eddie,” He said and extended his hand toward you, which you took after only a millisecond of awkward hesitation. 

“Hi,” You responded softly, suddenly feeling so nervous for some reason, and then said your name as well. 

You had come to the conclusion early on in your career that you shouldn’t meet people that you admired or were fond of because nine times out of ten they actually turned out to be assholes. You only knew about Eddie from afar and you honestly wouldn’t have minded keeping it that way. But, that wasn’t the current set of circumstances you were in, so you had to completely throw that mindset away.  

“I didn’t know your band worked on the soundtrack until tonight. The songs you guys had in the movie were great,” You told him, voice coming back to life. “I really love all of your music, honestly.”

“Thanks,” He smiled at you. “I love your stuff too.”

You gave him a small shy smile as you shook your head. “It’s okay, you don’t have to do that.”

“No, I’m serious,” He told you, and he actually sounded like he was being honest. “That Indie film you did last year was really great.”

It was hard to hide the immediate shock you felt at his words. “Oh, okay, wow, thank you…” You shook your head again. “Sorry, I was just so sure that your publicist told you to say that in your next interview or something after the interview I did came out.”  

“Oh, yeah, she did, but it didn’t feel right saying that without seeing anything of yours, so I watched a bunch of your stuff.”

Hearing him say that warmed your heart a bit and you had to pull your eyes away from his in response at first— he saw your movies and actually liked them. And then you thought about something. 

“Oh god, I hope you didn’t go too far back in my filmography.”

He smirked at your sudden shyness. “Don’t worry, I didn’t watch that Disney Channel Halloween movie you did when you were, like, seventeen.”

“Good,” You told him, laughing a bit. 

Before either of you could say anything else, a photographer was walking up and grabbing your attention. 

“Hi, can I get a quick picture of you two?”

You both nodded and stepped closer to one another; Eddie placed an arm around your waist and you did the same to him. You told yourself that everything about this moment was completely and utterly innocent and friendly, even though having him this close to you felt too nice. 

When the photographer walked away after saying a quick “Thanks,” you pulled away from each other and you pretended that you didn’t immediately miss his warmth. 

“Can’t wait to see that circulating everywhere tomorrow,” You said. 

Eddie laughed a bit. “Our publicists would be very proud.” 

“This just might be able to get me out of going to this annoying event tomorrow,” You responded and then noticed his eyes becoming fixated on something behind you. You tilted your head at him. “What’s wrong?”

His gaze met yours again. “Do you wanna meet the other guys? They keep gesturing to me.”

You glanced behind you and noticed his two bandmates standing maybe fifteen feet away from you both. They were waving wildly at Eddie and then immediately stopped and attempted to look as normal as possible when you looked at them. You laughed as you turned back to Eddie. “Yeah, sure, I’d love to meet them.”

He waved them over and then looked at you. “I should probably warn you that they still get starstruck over almost any celebrity they see, so yeah… They might be a little intense, at first.”

“That’s how I was in the beginning too. Until I realized that most people you meet suck anyway,” You said with a shrug, and then realized your words and immediately felt like an idiot. “Oh, um, not you, though, you’re cool.”

He let out a quiet laugh at how flustered you became. “You’re cool too.”  

Instead of responding with an awkward “Thank you,” you turned your attention to the pair now walking over to you both. 

“This is Gareth and Jeff,” Eddie said, pointing out each of them, but you already knew who was who. That was probably the funniest part about meeting other “celebrities;” introductions felt unnecessary but they still always just seemed like the normal thing to do. 

You smiled. “Hi, I’m–”

“Oh, we definitely know who you are,” Jeff interrupted, which made you laugh a little. “That movie you did last year was so good. We watched it a bunch of times when we were on tour a couple of months ago. It’s awesome to meet you.”

“Thanks so much,” You said. “It’s great to meet you guys too. I love your guys’ band.” 

“My personal favorite of yours is that romcom you did with Steve Harrington. I forced them to watch it at least three times,” Gareth jumped in. “Oh, we also just met him too. He invited us to his house for the after-party he’s having. You’re coming, right, Eds?”

He nodded at the question. “Yeah, sure.” You then felt his eyes land on you. “Are you going?”  

If it had been anyone else asking you that, it would’ve probably felt easier to say your initially honest answer of “No.” 

Steve found any and every reason to have a party, but you had to admit, at least tonight’s made sense. When you talked to him earlier in the night, he mentioned it to you, like he always did— invitations were always extended to you when he saw you or knew you were in town— but you hadn’t actually been to one of his parties in what felt like forever. It just had never truly been your thing. 

Now that you knew Eddie was going, though, you actually wanted to say yes to the invitation for the first time in a long time. And right then you decided not to think about what exactly that meant. 

Ultimately, you nodded. “Yeah, I was planning on going to it. At least, for a little bit.” 

It almost felt funny how much things had shifted in the past ten minutes. You had been so ready to leave and head home for the night, and in a way you still were, but now you also wanted to do something different— something you hadn’t done in a while.  

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“You actually came for once,” Steve said in your ear when he pulled you in for a hug; it was the only way to be heard over the loud music. He squeezed you tight and you could practically hear the smile in his voice. “See, and this is why I always invite you to everything, because I knew you’d eventually say yes again.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s how probability works,” You told him with a laugh before pulling away and moving to the side a bit so that he could greet Gareth, Jeff, and Eddie. 

Everything moved quickly after it was decided that you’d be going to the party too. You finally found Melissa because she had your phone and small purse that couldn’t hold anything more than just your wallet. She didn’t question you on the fact that you were going with Eddie and his band, but you could tell that she knew that you were going because of him; she had known you long enough to read you pretty well. You had a feeling that you’d get a phone call from her in the morning, asking all of the questions that she couldn’t right then. 

The four of you left the party together and made the near-hour-long Uber ride to Steve’s huge home in Malibu. In your eyes, it was a classic celebrity house party— loud music, varying degrees of famous people, and the faint smell of weed. You were almost too easily reminded of the last time you’d gone to one of his parties; the abrupt offer of something much stronger than weed from a random guy and your immediate no, and you left after saying quick “Hi’s” and having brief conversations with a few people you knew. 

This was not at all your scene and it never entirely had been; not even when you had been a teenager that was abruptly thrust into this world. You were scared of doing something to ruin everything that you’d worked so hard to have. Everything you did was judged, no matter what, so you always felt that there was no room for you to not be perfect.

This moment was different, though. You were pushing yourself out of your typical comfort zone, and right then you didn’t want to even inwardly admit why you were doing it.

“So, what are you like at this kind of thing?” You asked Eddie as you both watched Gareth and Jeff immediately join the hordes of people in the living room. 

“Depends on the party,” He answered. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to ‘Hollywood parties,’ but the guys love dragging me to them.”

“All of these parties are basically the same; equal parts mundane and very ridiculous,” You shrugged, and then realizing he was like you when it came to parties made you think of something. “Is it okay if I show you something that’s away from all of this?”

Eddie nodded. “I’d love that, actually.”

Without thinking too much, you grabbed one of his hands and led him away from the living room. 

You knew Steve’s house pretty much like the back of your hand; it was too nice not to. One of the first few times you’d been there— at a different party of his that you had forced yourself to go to before you realized that he wouldn’t feel offended if you said no— you walked around for an hour simply exploring all of the spots you hadn’t been to before. 

There were a few guest rooms that had balconies with such nice views of the ocean in the distance and a game room that had a pool table in the center and some vintage arcade-type games tucked into the corner. 

And then there was your favorite spot in the house; the theater room, where a few sets of couches faced a huge projector screen that at most times was playing random cartoons instead of movies. 

When you found the remote hidden within a heap of blankets, you turned on the projector, which brought some light to the room. A random episode of Tom & Jerry started playing, and you decided to leave it going, but just turned down the volume a bit. You offered one of the blankets to Eddie, which he accepted, and then you grabbed another and wrapped it around your shoulders. You two made the silent decision to sit on the couch all the way in the back. 

It was quiet for a moment and then Eddie was saying, “So, you and Steve dated, right?”

That question didn’t necessarily surprise you, but it still made you a little annoyed; more so at yourself than at Eddie. 

This wouldn’t even be a question on anyone’s mind if you had done things a little differently five years ago when you and Steve did that infamous romcom. Pretty much everyone thought that you and him were dating during that time and rumors circulated because of that. And since they were never outwardly denied— a decision that Melissa and Steve’s publicist thought was the best— they continued to circulate until a year later when Steve actually did get a girlfriend. 

You shook your head at his question. “No, we’ve always just been good friends.”

Eddie nodded understandingly and a silence lingered between you two for a moment, and then you felt the need to explain further. 

“He was kinda my first friend in this ‘world,’ actually,” You continued. “Before the movie I did with him, I had just been in a bunch of small things that didn’t really matter. But, after that romcom came out, that was what kinda really pushed me into all of this. There were so many more eyes on me so suddenly, and it was really fucking weird at first. He grew up in all of this, so he knows ‘how it works,’ I guess, and aside from Melissa, he was the only person that checked in about how all of this fame shit was treating me.”

“That’s really nice,” Eddie said softly. “I couldn’t imagine going into all of this alone. I don’t think I’d be able to do any of this shit without Gareth and Jeff. Don’t tell them I said that, though.”

You laughed a little. “Your secret’s safe with me. You guys grew up together, right?”

“Yeah, this small town in Indiana,” He answered. “We met in middle school.”

“That’s really nice too. I wish I still had friends from that long ago,” You told him. At this point, it was even hard to remember the friends you had in middle school and high school before you moved to California in the middle of your Sophomore year with your parents. It honestly felt like an entirely different life you had lived. 

“When did you move here?”

“When I was sixteen. It was kinda my birthday present actually. I had been begging and pleading to do this since I was thirteen, but my parents weren’t fully on board until I got a little older,” You answered, shifting slightly and adjusting your blanket. “It was kinda like how a kid begs for a puppy for Christmas.”

“Your puppy was Hollywood,” Eddie concluded, giving you a small smile. 

“Exactly,” You nodded and then stopped abruptly. “That probably sounds stupid.”

He shook his head. “No, it doesn’t. You knew what you wanted. I think that’s pretty fucking cool.”

“A lot of people thought it was the opposite of cool,” You said, thinking about the things that the kids in your grade and old friends had said to you. “I was always so quiet and kinda shy, still am sometimes, so nobody understood why I wanted to get into acting.”

“Why did you?”

There was a long-winded explanation you could’ve given him, but it felt like too much for this moment. 

“I could just see it,” You ultimately answered with a brief upturn of your shoulders. “Weirdly enough, the thought of acting never once scared me. It always just made sense.”

You wondered if you were being too vague, if you should’ve just told him about those times in the mirror where you would recite monologues from your favorite movies and then eventually ventured out to random ones that you found online. 

You didn’t need to explain further, though, because Eddie nodded. “I get that. There was this moment when me and the guys performed at our eighth-grade talent show. It was terrible, I’m honestly glad there’s no video proof of it circling the internet right now. But still, after that night, I just knew that that was where I always wanted to be. Onstage. Performing. I felt it.” 

“Exactly,” You said as you nodded at his words. “It’s a feeling. And I have no idea how to fully explain it because it feels so hard to put it all into actual words, but yeah, it’s a feeling.” 

It felt so refreshing having this conversation with him. You couldn’t remember the last time you had talked so easily with someone you just met— you’d had conversations like this with Steve before, even though he couldn’t fully get it because he was quite literally born into this industry, and you’d even had this kind of conversation with Melissa, but she could never fully understand what you meant either. 

Eddie was different, though, obviously so, and it didn’t even matter that you two were in different parts of this fast-paced industry— music on one side and acting on the other. It felt like two sides of the same coin; different, but somehow you two could so easily relate to one another. Any and all initial awkwardness you had felt when you first talked to him back at the after-party had so effortlessly faded away as you learned just how similar you two were. 

“Okay, I have a stupid question,” Eddie said after a moment. 

You had no idea what he was about to ask, but you couldn’t help but smile anyway. “I love those.”

“Feel free not to answer and tell me how much of an idiot I am for asking this,” He started and even in the semi-darkness you could see the redness starting to tint his cheeks, which only further intrigued you about what he was going to say. “Are, um, doing sex scenes weird?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at first; a soft one that surprised you as much as it made Eddie’s cheek turn an even deeper shade of red. 

“Nevermind, nevermind.”

“No, no, it’s okay. Honestly, that’s not a stupid question,” You told him and then thought about how to answer it. “They definitely intimidated me at first. The first time I had to just kiss someone I thought I would immediately fall in love with them on the spot.” You remembered the first on-camera kiss you ever had to do. It was for a stupidly bad teen movie and kissing the guy felt awkward until it didn’t, and then it simply felt like what it was— acting. “But, it’s really not like that at all. Everything just feels so fake and staged and you do so many takes of that one thing from a bunch of different angles, usually, that it all really seems like nothing after a while. And it’s pretty much the same way with sex scenes.”

Eddie nodded. “Okay. That makes sense.”

“Sorry, am I ruining movies for you?” You asked, mainly joking with your words. Once you had learned the logistics behind everything, it did slightly make things feel less “magical” to you. It was hard to watch movies now and not think about how certain shots were set up and what specific angles meant.  

“No, I’m loving this peek behind the curtain,” Eddie said, playfully smiling at you, and that made you want to tell him more. 

“Okay, so it’s all just so mechanical. Like, choreography pretty much.” You shifted so that you were a lot closer to him. You let your blanket fall off your shoulders as you reached out to grab Eddie’s hand and place it on your waist. “So, they’d tell you to put your hand there and I’d put my hand on your cheek.” You moved to do exactly that. “But not too high because then the camera wouldn’t be able to catch your expression. And then I’d lean in, tilting my head in a slightly awkward position, and we’d kiss.” You didn’t move to do that, even though you were surprised by how much you found yourself suddenly wanting to. “It, um, feels so unnatural, but it looks great on camera. And then with a sex scene, it’s kind of the same thing, except more… movement, obviously. And more directions to make sure everything looks okay on camera too.” 

Eddie nodded understandingly again as his hand on your waist mindlessly moved down and settled in a much more comfortable position on your hip. In turn, your hand dropped from his cheek to the curve where his neck met his shoulder, pressing softly into the collar of his white shirt. You didn’t realize it at first, but you were practically in his lap now, and surprisingly enough, it didn’t feel weird or awkward; it felt okay, comfortable even. 

With your explanation over, it would’ve made sense for you and Eddie to pull away from each other, but something had silently shifted in the past minute. For some reason, it didn’t feel right to go back to sitting on your different parts of the couch, wrapped up in separate blankets, after being this close to one another. 

The warmth radiating from the hand on your hip and the rest of his body felt a thousand times more comforting than the blanket had. You pushed yourself closer to Eddie, settling in his lap completely, straddling his waist, and smiling at the soft sound he let out as you did so. Both of his hands took hold of your hips and gave a light squeeze that made a warm feeling settle in the pit of your stomach. 

A part of you could recognize that this entire moment, this entire night, didn’t make sense. But then, at the same time, it definitely did— all of this simply felt inevitable. Something equivalent to this moment had been building from the moment you mentioned him and his band in that stupid interview all those months ago and when he then returned the compliment weeks later in his own interview.  

So what was there really to do aside from lean into the inevitable? 

And you also didn’t want to think too much at all. 

What you wanted to do was kiss him. Honestly, you found yourself wanting to be as close as you possibly could be to him in this huge but quiet room. 

Instead, though, for the time being, you softly said, “I have a stupid question too.”

Your hands resting on his shoulders moved to the nape of his neck. The thought of his music was suddenly on your mind too and it was the one thought that you didn’t want to push away. 

Eddie smiled a little. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “That one song you have.” You didn’t even have to say the name for him to know which one you were talking about. “Is it really about…”

You trailed off with your question and Eddie finished it for you. “Cumming?”

You gave him another quick nod. “Yeah.”

If he could ask you about sex scenes, then you could ask about something somewhat equivalent. 

The speculations about what the song was about were there the second it came out, but like most musicians, Eddie never outwardly confirmed nor denied song theories to pretty much any of his songs. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” He said, another teasing smile tugging at his lips. “Anyone can see it how they want to. Everything’s up for interpretation.”

You playfully rolled your eyes at him. “Thank you for that interview answer.”

Your gaze settled back on him and you got the sudden urge to run your fingers through his hair, his mop of curls that still looked so effortlessly perfect, so you did. His sigh in contentment was immediate as your fingers twisted in his curls, not at all tugging or pulling, although you were fairly certain he wouldn’t have minded that either. 

“Can I please get a real answer now?” You asked softly and Eddie didn’t hesitate to nod. 

“Yes, it’s about that. But, more specifically it’s about the girl. Making her come,” He told you as a hand pulled away from your hip and instead slipped beneath your dress, traveling upward along the outer part of your thigh. 

“Oh, really?” You said, trying your hardest to feign innocence and nonchalance, even though his words made you want to explode and you could feel something stir deep inside your stomach. You slowly shifted in his lap, spreading your legs a little further and silently telling him where you really wanted his hand to be.  

Eddie picked up on your not-so-subtle hint and his hand finished its journey up your thigh and settled at the waistband of your underwear. “Mhm.”

Silently, he slipped past the thin barrier and you sucked in a quick breath when his middle finger started teasing your already slick folds. 

“Shit, you’re soaked,” He whispered, and all you could do was hum in response. 

One of his fingers slipped inside of you and your eyes squeezed shut and then you couldn’t hold back your loud moan when he immediately added another.

“Eddie…” Was all you could manage to say in the quietest voice as your eyes slipped shut and you focused on the feeling of his fingers inside of you, somehow quickly finding and hitting the most perfect spots. 

“God, you feel so good. You’re squeezing my fingers so tight,” He said, voice low as his thumb found your clit. 

Your head tipped back as another soft moan fell from your lips and Eddie’s mouth immediately went to your now-exposed neck. He nipped and pecked at the soft skin, leaving marks that you were certain would be there later and would be a bitch to cover up, but in that moment you couldn’t find it in you to care in the slightest. 

You couldn’t even find it in you to feel embarrassed about how quickly and easily he was able to bring you so close to coming on his fingers. Your heart hammered in your chest and your stomach twisted up in knots as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. 

Slowly, you grinded down against him so that you could meet every thrust of his fingers. You started practically riding his hand and the low sound Eddie let out as he watched you made a small smile tug at your lips. 

“Fuck,” He groaned, his other hand squeezing your hip and slightly guiding you. “You’re so perfect.” 

You let out the softest sound. “I'm so close.”

“Yeah, you’re doing so well for me, sweetheart. Come on. Come for me,” Eddie whispered, pulling away from your neck because he wanted to watch you come undone on his fingers. 

And you did. With his thumb expertly circling your clit along with one particularly rough thrust of his fingers, hitting a spot that made you see stars, you were pushed over the edge. Your eyes screwed shut and you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from screaming. 

Eddie continued fingering you through your orgasm, waiting until your soft moans faded out and your quick breathing became a little more steady before slowly pulling his fingers out. It was hard not to whimper at the loss of contact as your eyes opened again and you looked at him. 

“Yeah, that’s exactly what the song’s about,” He said with a teasing smile on his face as he licked his fingers clean, which was quite literally the hottest thing you’d ever seen.

And it was then that you realized that you hadn’t even kissed him yet, and you further realized that you needed to change that immediately. 

You leaned in and met his lips in the messiest kiss. Tongues clashed and when you tasted yourself on his mouth, you couldn’t bite back your moan. 

Eddie’s hands went to your hips and then circled your back to pull you impossibly closer to him. You wished there were no layers separating the two of you; not your dress and not his suit, nothing. 

“I need you,” You said the three words in between quick kisses. 

“Here?” Eddie whispered against your lips, which made you remember exactly where you two were and pulled you out of the lust-driven haze you were in. 

You parted from Eddie, leaning back a bit and meeting his eyes. “I’m friends with Steve, but I don’t know if our friendship is on that kind of level, so no definitely not here.”

He laughed a little at the playfulness in your tone. “We can go to my place. I’m only like thirty minutes from here.”

“That sounds perfect,” You smiled at him and then kissed him one more time before shifting off of his lap and then standing up to readjust your dress on slightly wobbly legs.

The party was still in full swing when you and Eddie emerged from the theater room and headed back into the living room, so no one took notice of you and him slipping out the front door.  

Eddie’s hand found yours as you two waited for the car to come and he didn’t drop it once you two were settled in the backseat, sitting as close as you possibly could be.  

The smallest part of you wondered when some sort of logical thinking was going to settle in. You never did things like this; it was rare that you simply even kissed someone that you just met, let alone did anything more. However, you realized that you couldn’t remember the last time you felt this comfortable and okay with someone new either, and that made you understand that this was the logical thing to do. Everything about this moment simply felt right. 

“What are you thinking about?” Eddie whispered to you, mouth right at your ear. 

“You,” You answered, voice matching his soft tone, and the smile he gave you in response was probably the sweetest thing you’d ever seen. 

[asoftsighh]

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ rockstar!eddie munson x reader ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

eddie reassures you that you’re the only one for him

1.5k words - cw: mention of groupies and cheating (neither in detail)

You don’t usually travel with them. 

It’s not like you don’t want to, but being an adult is hard. You have bills to pay and a job to go to; you don’t have the time or funds to travel coast to coast with Eddie and the boys. Tonight is different. The tour has brought Corroded Coffin close to home, and Eddie had asked you to come with a wide smile and a kiss. It would’ve been hard to say no even if you wanted to. 

So here you are, tucked backstage while the boys finish their set, adrenaline pumping through the venue. You can hear the last song wrapping up Eddie’s guitar loud over the crowd. You’re wondering whether that's because he is loud or if your ears are just attuned to him when a girl comes up to your side.

She’s already looking at you when you turn. She's pretty. Tall and blonde. Looks like she could be a model if she wanted to, but she’s more likely one of the college students that stick with the band, hoping for one of the boys to notice her. 

“You with the band?” Her voice competes with the loud music as she perches on the arm of the chair beside yours.

You nod and smile politely. “Yeah. I’m Eddie’s girlfriend.”

She looks you up and down, eyes lingering on your clothes. Shifting uncomfortably, you watch the door, waiting for Eddie’s entrance to come and save you. 

“You go on tour with them?”

Your eyes are still on the door as you listen to the outro to their last song. Tonight’s crowd is loud and rowdy; you had seen as much when you peeked out to look. Shaking your head, you say, “No, I have a job.”

The girl lets out a low whistle, raising her brows in surprise. “That’s brave.”

Your own brows go up in confusion, turning your head to look back at her. “What do you mean?” 

She sips a beer that she must’ve grabbed from the cases stacked behind her. “It’s no offense, I just don’t see that many girlfriends letting their men go off on tour without them,” she says, twirling a long piece of her light hair. Her eyes roam around casually, as if what she’s saying isn’t causing beads of sweat to form on the back of your neck. “Y’know, the whole rockstars and groupies stuff. Can’t have one without the other.”

You’re saved from responding when cheers leak through the now open door, the band members coming in one by one. They all buzz with that post-performance energy, bounding across the room. Eddie is full of the same, eyes searching for something. You, if you had to guess. 

When his eyes do find you, he lights up like a damn match. You’re already standing when he makes his way over to you, wrapping his sweaty arms around you, pulling you against his lean body. 

“Did you hear the crowd?” He asks, astonished, against the warm skin of your neck. You feel and hear his smile rather than see it. His hands squeeze your hips, palms warm enough to seep through your shirt. 

His excitement is enough to rid your mind of the girl from before temporarily. Your fingers curl into the damp fabric of his shirt. 

“You were amazing,” you say, and you mean it. The crowd must agree with you, their energy still ringing through the walls and along your bones. 

Eddie comes out of your neck to look at you, eyes sparking with adrenaline and affection blended together. “I had to play my best, my girl is here.” He pushes your hair back as he says this, following it with a quick kiss to your lips. You hum, but the feeling starts to fade, the love swelling in your chest turning into dread when you think of her words. 

Rockstars and groupies. Can’t have one without the other.

You trust Eddie, you really do, but now the thought is there, lingering like the smoke from a blown-out candle. 

He hasn’t seemed to notice, though, too busy with saying goodnight to the boys. They peel off in different directions, some for a drink and others for their dressing rooms. Eddie comes back to your side, fingers loosely holding onto the back loop of your jean shorts. 

He kisses the side of your head. “C’mon,” he says. “Let’s get out of here.”

You allow him to guide you to his dressing room. As you walk, he talks animatedly, most likely retelling something that happened on stage. You struggle to pay attention though, replaying every phone call and visit between you and Eddie the last few months. No way, you tell yourself. This is Eddie. 

He tells you everything. He calls you every night. He sends you postcards from truck stops and brings you little trinkets from cities you’ve never even heard of. He writes songs about you. He cries over you. He carries a photo of you in his wallet like you’re some kind of lucky charm.

Inside his dressing room is quieter. Dim lighting hums overhead, casting a soft glow over the limited furniture and clothes spread sporadically throughout. You sink into the couch, ignoring the spring you feel beneath your thigh. 

“You okay?” He asks, grabbing a towel from its hanger to pat himself dry of sweat. 

You force a small smile. “Yeah. Just a long day.”

Forgetting about the towel, he comes over to kneel in front of you, loose strands of his hair tickling your bare thighs. Reluctantly meeting his eyes, you read his face immediately. The look of concern mixed with I can read right through your lies, sweetheart. 

His hand finds your knee, giving it a squeeze. “You sure? You’re quiet.”

You hesitate, opening and then closing your mouth. You could tell him. Let it out, let it ruin nothing or everything. Would it be better to know, to rip the band-aid off and get it over with? 

“There was this girl…” you start slowly, watching as worried creases start to appear on his face: between his brows, at the corners of his lips as they tug downwards into a frown. “She just started talking to me about how rockstars and girlfriends don’t really mix well. Because of… well, groupies.”

Eddie’s expression turns cold and hard. “Who?” He asks, his voice low. “What girl?”

You shake your head quickly, letting out a small sigh as you cover his hand with yours. “It doesn’t matter. Really. It just stuck in my head.”

He doesn’t look mollified. He’s still staring at you, brows drawn, like he’s trying to read between every word you’re saying. Eventually, he exhales, shoulders relaxing. 

“Baby,” he murmurs, both hands now sliding up your thighs. “You know I’m yours, right?”

You don’t say anything yet, assuming that he isn’t done. You’re right.

He rises from the floor to sit beside you on the couch, facing you completely. “I know that I’ve been on tour for a couple months, and being away from you sucks ass, but it has always been just you.” He huffs out a breath, searching for the words. “And I’m not stupid. I know where I belong.”

You look down, eyes burning as you blink quickly. He leans over to kiss your brow softly. 

“I don’t care if hundreds of girls throw themselves at me after every show,” he continues. “Because none of them know me like you do. They don’t know how I like my coffee, or that I cry during that one Pink Floyd song you love. But you do, sweetheart. It’s only you.”

You inhale a shaky breath, raising your head to look at him. Reaching out to stroke his cheek, you say, “I know. I trust you Eddie. I really do. She just… got in my head.”

He holds onto your wrist so he can kiss the center of your palm. “I get it, baby,” he says softly. And it hits you now, how you get a version of Eddie that the rest of the world doesn’t. They get the loud guitarist, while you get the boy who paints your nails and kisses your tears away. 

You don’t say anything for a second. Just let your hands rest on his cheek as he kisses it again. 

“I missed you,” You whisper. 

He exhales like he’s been meaning to say the same thing. “Missed you so much that I was going crazy. Told Gareth I was gonna tattoo your name on my ass if I didn’t see you soon.”

A laugh sneaks out of your throat, watery but real. “Please don’t.”

His grin is boyish, all dimples and relief, nose brushing against yours. “Fine. I’ll just write more songs about you, then.”

You shake your head, smile pulling wider as you ask, “Don’t you have enough?”

His face looks like you’ve hit him and then said some outlandish statement. Before he can go on a rant about how you are forever his muse and that you inspire him everyday, you kiss him. To shut him up, yes, but also because he is yours. 

criticism is welcome as long as it’s kind ✮⋆˙

i’m very new to writing ✮⋆˙

[undreaming-fanfiction]

What if Steve is a famous model and Eddie is a rockstar, both still pretty down to earth that they move around without bodyguards...

They bump into each other at a corner, and literally bump into each other - Steve somehow lost his contact lenses and he's half-blind without them, his agent Robin is traveling, he'd rather lose both of his eyes than to call his parents, and so he's trying to get to a pharmacy/optometrist/somewhere else just based on memory and touch.

Eddie is walking, not paying much attention and listening to music, when he's knocked back by a very apologetic squinting guy who might as well be very pretty, if he looked straight at Eddie - which is very much not possible, as Steve later explains, Eddie is a very blurry blob to him, although a very kind blob. Also a really nice sounding blob.

When Eddie collects his things and his heart off the streetwalk, he offers to walk Steve to the pharmacy. After asking if it's okay, he offers Steve his arm and leads him carefully to his destination. Steve is still mostly staring at the ground, trying to fight blurry nausea, so Eddie doesn't really know what he looks like, except that his hair is magnificent.

They reach the pharmacy, Steve is so thankful that he wants to invite Eddie for coffee, but before he can do that, Eddie receives an urgent call from his agent and needs to leave.

They both - not without a tinge sadness - think they won't see each other again.

Except the next day there's a wave of tabloid headlines: "CORRODED COFFIN'S EDDIE MUNSON FINALLY SETTLES DOWN?! THE ROCKSTAR SEEN WITH REDKEN'S MODEL STEVE HARRINGTON!" and there are pictures of Steve and Eddie, side by side, and it really looks like a romantic walk rather than what it was.

When Eddie's agent Chrissy calls, half-amused, half-concerned, Eddie stops her with a single sentence: "Can you get me his number?!"

Chrissy snorts in the phone. "Give me an hour."

It takes her 33 minutes in total, and she secures a date with Robin for herself as a bonus.

And as for Eddie? He opens his message with "Hey Steve, how come you never told me it was a date? I would have brought flowers!" and gets an immediate response of "You would have, huh? Then bring some today at seven, the pizzeria next to the pharmacy. I like sunflowers. See you there, Eddie. And this time, I mean really see you."

The "see you" jokes stay with them for the rest of their lives.

[hellfire--cult]

Rockstar!Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

wc: 10k

+18 enemies to lovers, rockstar!steve, reader is a bit mean, a bit of fluff, a sprinkle of angst, drinking, smut, p in v (protected), oral (f receiving), fingering, lots of sexual tension, elevator kissing ftw, kinda hate fucking

summary: You started a 'hate' blog out of your irritation towards a certain rockstar, criticizing everything he got out, giving your personal opinion on how it could be better, not thinking that would land you a spot in his actual PR team. He hated you were always right, you hated he was cocky... or, that's what you both thought.

A/N: Joe Keery doing a tour altered my brain chemistry, so here you guys go. Thank you @andvys for proofreading this and telling me if it made sense LMAO I barely proofread this myself, so yeah. I also wrote this all in a single night, so don't mind it if it's... too stupid.

please reblog, don't be lazy.

YOUR BIGGEST FAN HATER

“It’s fucking horse shit, Steve.”

You let go of the talking button from the mixer, and you heard Steve groan from inside the recording booth. Eddie was holding back a laugh from the couch as Joyce snickered on your side. You saw how Steve raised his arms in defeat, staring at you with eyes that were filled with anger.

“What the fuck do you want from me?” You leaned over to press the button again, speaking into the mic.

“I know this isn’t what you want to play, and I know this isn’t what your fans want. Stop trying to be mainstream.” You let go of the button again and inhaled deeply, when you saw him angrily putting the guitar away on its stand, and Joyce sighed heavily as Steve opened the door of the booth, walking towards you.

“We’ve been working on this song for a month already, I tried every fucking version of it, and you are still not happy.” 

“I’m in your PR team. I know what will look and sound best for you.” Your reply was cold, and it made Eddie whistle from the couch.

“Let’s not get into an argument today–” But he got cut off by Steve, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Too fucking late, stay out of it Munson.” Eddie sighed, and you crossed your arms over your chest, facing your client. “What if you are cutting my wings off, huh!? Maybe this is the music I want to make, and you are not letting me.”

“Oh no, you are completely free to do whatever you want. But I studied you, Steve, and punk is not your style, nor what you really want to do. Redo it.” Your voice was sharp as you stared into those hazel orbs of his. Joyce stood behind you, and you were either the best decision ever or the worst.

Because you were Steve’s number one critic. Number one hater.

It started as a joke months ago. You were bored, sitting in your bed while watching TikToks, where you slowly but surely started getting angrier and angrier because every two videos you scrolled, Steve Harrington’s song was used. Over. And over. And over. And it wouldn’t fucking stop.

So you decided to Google the bastard. He filled your TikTok, Instagram, car radio, and weekly top song playlists. His song stayed for weeks and weeks, and you were sick of him. When you looked at his photoshoots, you saw the attraction—you really did… until you saw red carpet looks… listened to his album, and—he was fucking overrated. 

His songs had different vibes, some lyrics didn’t make sense or didn’t match the tunes, then in the red carpet he was dressed horribly sometimes, and then at concerts he didn’t know how to properly interact with fans, and also how to fucking dress. Who the hell wears a basketball getup singing a ballad?

He almost looked like he didn’t have a PR team at all to advise him.

But you were pissed. It was going to be a small joke. A small blog post giving a detailed critique of his outfit on the red carpet. You were anonymous, so you weren’t worried about that part, but you were surprised when people started agreeing with you, as well as those crazed fans you hated who tried defending his every move. He could have made a lady trip on purpose, and the fans would defend him and say he has a condition that makes his body spasm and do things against his will.

For some reason, seeing people agreeing with you filled you with relief. You got the anger out. Only for it to come back the next day when your little cousin would not stop playing the damn fucking song at a family gathering. You watched an interview of his that night, the latest one he had. You were surprised he was quite charming, but there was still a tone in his voice that made your insides fire up with rage.

And then it was post after post after post. You had a following; some agreed completely with you, some found your content funny, and some followed you only to try to tear you down every time you posted. You didn’t care. You were right in what you were saying, in every little detail you pointed out. You did, though, delete all harsh insults against him. You disliked Steve Harrington but not to the point of being evil and a piece of shit about it.

He had his good points too, which you couldn’t deny. He was pretty, very much so. He had a good voice. He had good hair. He was very nice to people in interviews, and whenever he met fans outside. Still, the dislike won over those points each time he did something unnerving or his only two hit songs played over the most random shit. Like your elevator in your apartment.

You were venting out your anger towards this guy with no other thought than to relieve yourself from how annoying everything felt, only for that venting to be read by someone. The star himself.

Now Steve first laughed it off. He was a bit taken aback by people agreeing on some of the stuff you said, but he rolled his eyes each time, saying you didn’t know what you were talking about. He showed the blog to Eddie, and unbeknownst to Steve, Eddie showed it to Joyce, his manager. Without Steve’s knowledge, Joyce started taking some of your suggestions at hand, be it for his clothes, his getup, his topics of conversation in interviews or podcasts, and you nailed it each time.

His views went up. His following went up. His hashtags trended each time, unlike before. You were good, really good. And Joyce didn’t want you to go unpaid for it.

Two months have passed since Joyce contacted you. At first you thought it was fake, a bullshit account or them trying to dox you, only to find a legitimate contract, and you were in desperate need for cash. This paid well. Very well. The plus? You got to tour around the country and see many states, all paid for.

Steve had tried to fire you on the spot when he met you, but Joyce forbade it. You were under her agency’s contract, not Steve’s. He could complain, but unless you did a bad job, there was no need to fire you. And you hadn’t done a bad job. It was excellent each time. Thanks to you, Steve had risen in popularity as one of the hottest men of the day. You had advised him to be more carefree in interviews and give people a chance to make memes out of him, out of his faces, and out of his gestures.

He didn’t understand it at first until he started seeing a cropped part of an interview of his being used as a reaction. The comments were from ‘Who is this?’ ‘Oh, he is cute!’ ‘Damn he fine.’ He didn’t want to admit it. He wasn’t going to admit you were right. 

But now with his music, he didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of being right. Not with the one thing he wanted to do since forever, even when he was still following Daddy’s command. You didn’t know anything about him, so what could you know about his music? 

“You are fucking insufferable, I have promised my fans I would give them a sneak peek of my new song weeks ago, and I have till tomorrow!” His next concert was in Philadelphia. He suggested premiering a song he had been working on for a while, and you were skeptical. You started asking him for demos, and each time, you were never happy. 

“Then you won’t sing it!” Your voice was sharp as you delivered the order. Your body was tense, sweat pooling at the tips of your fingers, the more you stared at the man before you. There was fire in the room, that is something you could feel on your skin right now. 

“I will sing it! I promised that–”

“You are not even sure of your own song, so why sing it? People will not like it if you do not like it.” Steve’s jaw fell at your words, the anger rising up in him more and more. He couldn’t fucking stand you. He couldn’t fucking stand you were good at your work. He couldn’t fucking stand that you couldn’t stand him either.

“And what do you know what is in my mind?” He spat back, and Joyce finally got in between, separating the two of you. You hadn’t noticed just how close you stepped towards him. How his breath fanned over your face. Only when the warmth of it was gone from your nose did you realize the closeness. 

“Okay, let’s settle. Steve, I think she is right. You are not even sure of this song…” Joyce tried to explain calmly, unlike you did to him. You could see Steve’s vein popping on the side of his neck as he clenched his jaw. Eddie cleared his throat as he got up from the couch, putting a hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“Let’s go cool off, big boy.” Eddie winked your way, always telling you he would somehow make the waters grow calm again. You wondered if that was going to be the case this time. Steve’s eyes never left your face, and yours never left his. 

Finally, he turned around without saying anything else and left the room. Eddie turned to look at Joyce with a wince, only for her to wave at him as thanks. Once the door closed, she turned to you, crossing her arms over her chest. You frowned, confused, shrugging your shoulders in question.

“What?”

“A little more tact, next time?” You rolled your eyes at her request, shaking your head.

“Tact? Tact is what led him to make all the mistakes he did before. No one was telling him what was right and what looked awful.” Joyce sighed, rubbing her temple in annoyance. 

“You two…” 

“Us two, what?” And it seemed as if Joyce bit her tongue. She shook her head to dismiss what she was about to say.

“Let’s hope tomorrow he doesn’t… do something reckless.”

You doubted it.

It sucked.

People didn’t like it.

Just like you said.

Just like you had fucking said. 

He had tried the version of the song he liked best, and people clapped at the end of it, but it wasn’t massive cheering. He went against your order of not singing the song, but he had convinced himself he liked it, and honestly, he couldn’t even blame it entirely on the people. He hated every single version he made of this song.

The lyrics looked good, but the tune of it was what sucked. It didn’t fit. The lyrics didn’t fit any of those beats or genres he played around with. He really wanted this song, but he hated every version he wrote. What was his own version? He thought he had himself figured out, but now? Now it was all a blur.

It was 2 am, and he went down to the hotel bar for a drink because he needed a distraction from looking at his phone and read what people had to say. He sat down at a booth, drinking his negroni, and pulled out his notebook for his songs. He flipped through the pages and found the lyrics of this particular song, and he frowned as he remembered the lack of enthusiasm from the crowd. 

He put on his reading glasses and he was scanning it, over and over again, so focused he missed the part where you had sat down in front of him with a beer in hand.

“Told you.”

His head snapped up to look at you. There was no smirk, no smug grin, no ego being shown. You were being professional, but he still hated it. He hated you for being right. For having been the reason his career had been going up instead of plummeting to the ground. 

“No need for those remarks right now.”

You studied his face. It was one of those you particularly enjoyed. When he looked concentrated, and that little piece of hair fell on the side of his face, over those glasses, that's when you thought he looked best. Your breathing hitched at the intrusive thought, one of the many you had about the man in front of you, and even more since you started working with him. 

“You know, we could try to figure it out together.”

He was surprised at your response, making him look up from his notebook with a skeptical look. He studied your face, waiting to see a flinch that would give away you were joking, or a little tug at the corner of your lips trying to cover up your laughter, but he found none.

“Are you serious?” You shrugged, taking a sip of your beer before looking down at his hand that was holding a pen.

“When I tell you I didn’t find it nice, it didn’t mean I didn’t have ideas.” You confessed to him, and he tilted his head your way, still squinting with skepticism.

“Why didn’t you?”

“It wasn’t my place. Like you said, you know yourself better than anyone else, so I wasn’t going to let my ideas maybe… influence you.” You looked down, a little bit embarrassed because it was the first time you and Steve had a civil talk for once. You were also a little angry for wanting to talk to him like this, but he never gave you such a chance… or maybe you hadn’t.

He blinked a few times in surprise, looking down at his notes for a second. He gulped once, and he cleared his throat.

“You think your ideas are so good that they would influence me? Wow, a bit of an ego there.” You couldn’t help but chuckle because it was just a matter of minutes before he made it a fight, but you were surprised when he laughed along. He didn’t mean what he just said. He hesitated for a few seconds before sliding the notebook your way.

“Collaborative.” You said, and he rolled his eyes, handing the pen to you. You took it, your fingers grazing his for a second, sending chills all over your body. Chills, you were going to pretend did not happen at all. 

“C’mon, let me see what your ideas are.” He took a sip of his drink as he watched you study the lyrics. Instead of scribbling on top of his original ones, you were respectful and wrote it all over on a new page. He, of course, noticed it, and it made him move in his seat in which he thought was because he was uncomfortable, but in all honesty, he felt… delighted.

“I think that if you change some adjectives here, or even elongate some phrases, you can make this song like… Slow, but with a slight upturn in the bridge.” You explained as you scribbled a few more seconds before giving the notebook back to him.

He studied it with a frown and–

“God, can you stop being right for two seconds?” Your eyes widened at his outburst, but before you could mention anything of it, he called for a waiter and ordered another negroni and a beer for you. You hadn’t noticed you had drank the entire bottle while writing down notes. 

“I didn’t even say I wanted another beer!” You complained, and he glared at you, but there was a hint of something else behind it. Respect, and also, the need for you to stay.

“Well, we’re gonna work on this, so you have to be fueled up.”

And for some reason, that made you happy. It made you feel useful in another kind of way. Instead of clashing all the time, the two of you spent an hour working on that notebook while drinking and letting the alcohol relax you both. You did not fight. You did not clash against each other. You were hearing one another out and that’s– Fuck, that’s all you’ve ever wanted.

When you first met Steve, you tried to introduce yourself nicely; he was a client after all. He obviously had his ego busted thanks to you, so he didn’t want you near him at all. At first, you didn’t care, but then, when you saw him interact with his best friends, or with Joyce, even with random girls, you couldn’t help but feel jealous that you were never going to have that kind of Steve for you. You were never going to have one of his smiles directed your way, or you would never hear his laughter thanks to you.

And that’s because you liked it. You liked that side of him, and you have always loved what you shouldn’t have.

An hour passed, the three beers now kicking in, but just making you tipsy, bold, and to Steve’s surprise, giggly. You laughed at certain things he pointed out, and just like you, he hated that you never smiled for him. He hated that all he got from you were snarky remarks or orders. It intrigued him, which only added to the fuel of despising you. Why would he want a mean girl like you? Why would he want someone who criticized him out of fun? That’s fucked up. He clearly had something wrong going on in his head.

But he couldn’t deny how pretty you looked. There were times he remained silent while you said something because, even when angry because of something he said, you looked pretty. You looked pretty while frowning, glaring at him. Eddie had joked around with him, telling him you two needed to fuck it out and get it over with. Steve didn’t know what Eddie was on about because, why the hell would he want to fuck you?

And now, with four drinks in, he can answer that fucking question with no shame.

It was always a tug-of-war game, see who caved in first. There were times, little ones, when he would be having a hard time with a fan interaction, and you would step up to cover for him. You were in charge of making sure no interviewers asked out of line questions to him. 

And on your side, you noticed how Steve would order either coffee or ask Joyce if she could give you a day off. There were times when you didn’t sleep because it was an event, an interview, and a concert, back to back to back, so the content was fresh. You had to do your investigation and see what the people were talking about, and not miss a single hour. Joyce told you that Steve demanded you back off for a while.

You were mad at first, only to realize after sleeping for twelve hours straight just how badly you needed to rest. You tried thanking him after that, but it ended with you two staring at each other before he got called into the recording booth. You never got to thank him for those times when, even if your job was to basically shut him down, he cared for your health.

The two of you weren’t blind to each other, you were just idiots.

“Okay, hang on, so, you and Eddie never banged?” Steve almost spat his negroni, a laugh escaping his lips, shaking his head. 

“Why the fuck would you even think that!?”

“He is very touchy!” Steve smirked, tilting his head to the side, making that curl of his hair fall a little bit as well. Damn him.

“You jealous that he is touchy with me?” You gasped, feeling your stomach do a twirl at the accusation, but you shook your head aggressively.

“No! But come on, the girls online also think you two are dating! There’s even fucking fanfictions about you two!” He squinted slightly, now confused.

“What are fanfictions?” Your eyes widened in surprise, a smile of mischief appearing on your lips. You hummed as you grabbed your phone and tapped on the screen. He took this time to scan your features. You looked relaxed, as if you were treating him like a person and not the celebrity you have to keep in check. Then his eyes moved downwards, and– that damn neck of yours. Fuck–

“Here.” You handed him your phone with a smirk on your face. He took it without question, seeing it was text, and he took a sip of his drink as he read, adjusting the glasses over his face. For some reason, he decided to read it out loud, which only made you cover your mouth in anticipation–

“Steve could only look Eddie into his eyes for a few seconds, before his hands started making their way to the belt of his best friend’s pAAAHNT–” He dropped the phone on the table with disgust and a yelp, and you burst out laughing, throwing yourself back onto the booth, holding your belly. “What the hell!”

You couldn’t help but feel the tears building up from laughing so hard, and soon enough he started laughing too, taking his glasses off to cover his eyes as if he were in pain. The song was forgotten, the work, the fans, the blog, everything. You were just in a bar booth, laughing your ass off with a cute boy. That’s what it felt like.

“And you’re always the passive.” Steve choked on his saliva as he leaned down to rest his head into his arms, cradling it while laughing hysterically into them. You wiped your eyes, trying to cease your laughter, but having a hard time doing so. 

“I’m gonna kill myself.” He said jokingly, which prompted you to laugh again. After a minute, he finally came back up, his eyes teary from the laughter, and he was taking deep breaths in to calm himself down. “Also, the passive!?” 

“Yeah, the one who takes it.” He rolled his eyes and chuckled, leaning back with his arms crossed over his chest, which only made your eyes fall to the extent of his biceps getting slightly bigger because of the flex. You gulped as you were finally left with small giggles, putting your phone away.

“If only my fans knew.” He mumbled, but you caught on to it. You frowned in question, a cheeky smile on your lips as you rested your elbows on the table and your chin at the top of your joined hands. 

“Knew what, Harrington?” His eyebrow twitched for just a second in thought before he finally caught sight of you. His body tensed, and the air around you both did as well. You two were lucky no one else was down there at the bar at that time. 

So, as his tongue and muscles got a bit loose thanks to the alcohol, his crossed arms came to rest on the table as well, leaning forward, your way.

“If they knew how I really was in bed, I would not be considered the bottom.” Your legs clenched together at those words because– Fuck, it’s been a while since you had sex and, you had been interested in Steve despite hating him, but it shouldn’t be. It shouldn’t happen, and now he is letting your imagination go wild.

“Oh? And how is the nice, charming, gentlemanly Steve Harrington in bed, huh?” You tried to sound as teasing as possible, using the names people called him online, but all you got from him was a cheeky grin, one that was making your entire body turn on like a wildfire.

“That, I keep to myself and whoever I have sex with, honey.” The pet name. The pet name came out by itself and with no restraint. He was staring at your reactions, and– Was he causing any? He noticed how you looked away, taking the last sip of your beer and, fuck, he did. He did cause a reaction, and you looked good like this. You looked good when you were speechless.

And he can think of a way or two to provoke that again.

“As long as there’s an NDA afterwards.” You joked a bit, trying to hide how much you have reacted to his words because the images in your head kept popping up. You have seen him shirtless thanks to photoshoot campaigns, and, thanks to the girls online pointing it out, you obviously stumbled over thirst posts… some were of his bulge thanks to his tight pants. 

He huffed a bit as his eyes never left your figure, his tongue licking the inside of the bottom of his lip in thought, trying to gather up even more courage than what the liquid had given him. It was starting to wear off, so he had to use it quickly.

“And what about you?”

“Mmm?”

“How are you in bed? You think that in a so-called fanfiction of this, would you be the bottom?” Your eyebrows went up, stunned at the bold question. You leaned back, putting your hands to your sides, grabbing onto the seat, and popping your chest up as if you were lying back on the seat. His eyes drifted to your cleavage, and fuck, did that dress look good on you.

“Well… If it were a fanfiction of me and you… I would definitely be pegging you.” His eyes widened, his arms still crossed as he leaned back. His pants started to tighten up more and more, and if your teasing before made him hard a few times, the sexual teasing was going to be the death of him.

“Is that right?” He challenged, and the fire just kept spreading more and more, and this was not supposed to happen, because it shouldn’t. You really should get up, say goodbye, and go away. Yet, you stayed put.

“What? You think you could dominate the situation? I hardly believe it, you can barely fight me when I suggest something for your image.” You scoffed to emphasize your mockery, but he didn’t even smile. Instead, his pupils were dilated, looking your way. It only made your limbs grow limp. It was as if he just made your entire self feel like something you could squish with just a hard grip. 

“Hmm…” He hummed, his eyes still racking all over your body, and he wanted you to feel it. He wanted you to feel observed, he wanted you to feel like fucking prey for him, because he knew he was good. He knew it, and that is the one thing he won’t tolerate you criticizing.

He really wants to shut you the fuck up.

“I’m sorry. We need to do a clean-up before the morning shift starts?” The waiter came over as politely as possible, and your eyes noticed the discomfort on his face. He was obviously uncomfortable because he knew he had interrupted, but maybe it was for the better. You took a deep breath before standing up. Steve gave a generous tip to the waiter, getting up and putting the small notebook in his back pocket while he hung his reading glasses on the collar of his button-up shirt. 

“Thank you.” You mumbled to the waiter before you headed out of the bar, Steve following right behind. Every step felt heavy with tension as you two walked towards the elevators. He stood next to you with his hands in his front pockets, and you were trying not to glance, but the stickiness between your legs was bringing you back to the real world, in which you were wet for the man you ‘hated’, making you move in your place.

“You gotta pee?” He asked as the elevator dinged and the doors opened. Spacious and empty. Your belly flipped, and you noticed how his hand pressed against the frame so the doors wouldn’t close, so you could step in first. You gulped, walking into the elevator, shaking your head.

“No. These heels are just killing me.” He chuckled, stepping inside and pressing your room’s floor first. You were surprised he remembered it. 14.

“Really? You’ve been sitting all night, though.” He reminded you, and you felt yourself flushing over at being caught. You shrugged, trying not to let the nerves, or rather, the need to jump on him, consume you as the doors closed, leaving you two alone.

“They can still hurt. You’ve never worn heels, you have no say.” He chuckled at your response, and then it was silent.

The air was tense, just the sound of the elevator slowly moving as it went up. You scratched the side of your face, trying to distract yourself from the events of the night. He then leaned against the mirror behind him, his arms crossed as his eyes ran all over your body, which only made you scoff a bit.

“What?”

“Why are you acting like you’re the main character of a music video?” You asked, kind of irritated. He chuckled, tilting his head.

“Jealous?” 

“Of your ego? Never.” 

Then the floor kept clicking upward, and his hand raked over his hair, as if nervously, or maybe fed up.

“You know, for someone who claims to hate me, you have a knack of finding me in every single room we're in.”

Your eyes widened at his words, making your head turn to look at him. He was grinning your way, knowing he was getting under your skin. You level him with one look, shaking your head.

“Please, you orbit me, Harrington.” Then it was silent as you two stared at one another. The air was thick with tension, and you could hear your heartbeat in your ear, a loud ringing that was making you almost lose your balance.

Steve was feeling the pulse in his neck quicken by the second, and it almost felt as if it were about to pop his vein off. He uncrossed his arms, and he took a step closer your way, tentatively.

“Do you still hate me?” His question made your stomach flip, when it fucking shouldn’t. You lifted your chin, trying to make it look like you were unfazed.

“Shouldn’t I?”

That only prompted him to take one more step, and you would only have to raise your hand to touch his chest from how close he got to you. You could feel the heat on your ears, on the tips of your fingertips, in your belly. 

“You didn’t look like you hated me when you were laughing down at the bar with me.” 

Your breathing skipped as his eyes went down to your lips, and your knees trembled slightly at how good he was with physical teasing. He knew what to do to make you crumble, and you hated him a little more because of that. 

“Maybe you just didn’t look like a jerk then.”

“Do I look like one now?” His response was fast, ready to counterattack you. You stayed silent, and that was the answer he needed. He licked his lips, studying your face as his hand itched with the need to touch you. The need to grab you, anywhere. “You’re really… insufferable, honey.”

Your mouth opened in disbelief at his words, only for the elevator doors to open on your floor. Maybe he was only mocking you for the night. Maybe it was his goal to know if you fancied him or not, and he might have gotten his answer, and that made you mad. You scoffed and stepped out of the elevator, ready to go to your room and write a long fucking post on how he sucked ass tonight–

But his hand gripped your arm, pulling you back in as his other hand pressed against another button aggressively, his floor, just four more floors up. You managed to let a small gasp leave you before his lips clashed against yours, the elevator doors closing behind you.

Your body moved instinctively, your arms wrapping desperately around his shoulders as his arms wrapped around your body, his hands on your back, pressing you close to him. It felt desperate, rough, filled with pent-up feelings that both of you were never going to admit. 

He backed the two of you against a wall, his hand stopping the impact for a second so you wouldn’t hit it hard, before wrapping it back around your body. You could feel your center throbbing for him, and this was just a kiss. Not even with tongue. His hand glided down to your right thigh, making you wrap your leg around his hip, and then, you moaned into his mouth.

His hard on was tight against his pants, pressing it against you and creating friction on your clothed clit. He took the advantage of pushing his tongue inside your mouth, finally having a proper taste of you, making his stomach flip over. His hips rolled instinctively once, making you groan into the kiss as your nails ran all over his hair, scratching at his scalp.

You heard him groan and grip onto your thigh even tighter, his hand underneath your dress, and someone could walk into the elevator at any moment and see you two together, but you couldn’t care less. Not now. He didn’t care either, even when he should, because he was a rockstar, and this could make it in a post anytime soon. 

Your tongue was exquisite against his, and again, his hatred for you only grew. Why were you so fucking perfect? It wasn’t fair. He pulled away after a second, panting heavily against your lips. 

“Still hate me?” He mumbled desperately, and you nodded, your hips rubbing against his, earning a moan from both of you.

“So much…”

“Then get off on my floor.”

The elevator bounced a bit as it dinged. He pulled away from you as the doors opened, and you didn’t even hesitate to follow him, like a magnet. He smirked breathlessly as he grabbed your hand, pulling you out of the elevator and walking down the hallway. His hand went into the left back pocket of his jeans, and he got his card out, stopping in front of his door. 

You were looking around, making sure you were not being seen, but, in all honesty, some part of you wanted to. Some part wanted people, the girls who thirsted for him, to know he was taking you to his room. Maybe it was your ego talking. Maybe it was just some proud moment of fucking a celebrity… You weren’t going to admit the other possibility of why you wanted everyone to know you were about to fuck Steve.

He passed the card against the lock of the door, and it opened, letting you in first. Once he closed it behind him, he didn’t give you a single chance to look around, to look at the much fancier room he had rented for the night, because he was back on you in an instant. His hands cradled your face as he kissed you roughly, passionately, and fuck you were growing addicted to them. You had never been kissed in such a way, you felt completely and utterly wanted, desired. 

The kiss was greedy, desperate, and then he pulled away from you to kiss down your jaw, then your neck, grazing his teeth against the skin of your pulse point. Your hands were dragging against his biceps, trying to center yourself back to earth, a hoarse chuckle escaping you.

“You kiss like you’ve been waiting to do it since the moment I called you overrated in your face.” Your eyes fluttered shut at a particular suck on your neck, making you sigh.

“I have.” He growled against you, “you piss me off so much, I get hard by thinking about shutting you up.”

“Oh, fuck off–” You were cut off as his hand started moving up on your thigh, under your dress. His fingertips dragging against the elastic of your underwear. His hips pressed against you, making you feel his bulge against your belly, his leg sliding between yours, thigh pressing against your cunt. You moaned against your will, feeling that sweet friction on you again. He pulled away from your neck, his nose brushing against yours.

“This what you imagined?” He murmured, and his mouth brushed against yours, making you sigh. “Me, pinning you like this? Getting you wet after talking shit the way you did?”

“I imagined punching you–” You gasped as his fingers ghosted over your clothed pussy, a soft huff escaping him as he pressed even harder, feeling your wetness.

“And yet you are soaked.”

You were going to retort, if it weren’t for the fact that he got down on his knees, right before you. He hooked your leg over his shoulder, his eyes locked in your panties with hunger in them. You were shocked, looking down at him, and his lips found your inner thigh, kissing it softly before giving it a soft nibble.

“Still want to hit me?” You whined as your hips moved a bit towards him, and his mouth was on the wet lace in a second. You gasped, throwing your head back against the wall as your hands went to grab onto his head. 

“Fuck–” You moaned out as he sucked on your clothed clit. If this is how it felt with your panties on, you were desperate to know how it felt without them. He moaned at your scent, at your taste, and he got his other hand to move between your legs, while the other gripped onto your ass, and he hooked his fingers on the center of your panties to move them to the side.

You clenched at nothing when the cold air hit your pussy, only for that to be replaced by the warmth of his tongue, making you sigh with delight. He swirled it around your clit, making moans escaping you as he groaned into your cunt, before sliding his tongue between your folds, tasting you completely.

“You taste so fucking good…” He moaned into you as he fondled your ass, making you grip his hair even tighter. He lapped at you like a man starved, as if you were the most delectable thing he ever tasted. 

“Fuck, don’t stop… Steve–” You whimpered as your back arched off the wall when he dipped his tongue inside of you. This was the living proof this fucker was a singer. He knew how to move his lips, his tongue, going from licking to sucking and it was driving you wild. 

“Never.” You heard him mumble against you, and then his hand left your ass, and you felt the tip of his fingers gliding against your entrance, making you gasp. “Beg for them.” 

Your mouth fell open at the request, but he sucked on your clit again and your walls clenched around nothing, when they wanted to clench around something. Your body was flushed all over, hating him just a little more.

“Please…”

“Please, what? Come on, you are super clear when you order me around, you can be clear in your begging too.” You fucking hated him. Your belly turned desperately, feeling even more aroused than before, and your dominating side was slowly slipping away from you. 

“Please, use your fingers… Please–”

“Good girl.” Your eyes widened when you felt two of his fingers going inside of you slowly, his ring and middle finger, and– You couldn’t deny it. You had seen his hands before, way too fucking big, and maybe you had fantasized a bit once or twice about them. 

Those fantasies did his fingers no justice as he started pumping them in and out of you mercilessly. The squelching of your pussy echoing in the room as well as your moans and his. He was flickering your clit with the tip of his tongue, curling his fingers towards him to try to find that special spot inside of you.

You moaned his name when you felt your belly start to coil, and you realized you were getting close. Embarrassingly fast. This is what you get for not having a moment’s peace to take care of yourself for weeks.

“Steve– Oh–” He could feel your walls fluttering against his fingers and he groaned as he pulled away from your clit, looking up at you.

“Tell me how much you hate me.” And you felt your body growing a sweat as your legs started to shake, the one over his shoulder twitching as your climax built and built.

“I fucking hate–” You gasped at a particular movement of his fingers, making you jerk against him, the first warning you were going to cum making itself present. Your hands gripped his hair tightly, desperately. “-- that you’re so good at this–”

He chuckled and he sucked hard against your clit, his fingers dragging in and out of you. You were breathing heavily, and then, you came undone. You saw stars behind your eyelids as your back arched off the wall. Your leg over his shoulder hooked towards his back, pushing him into you desperately as you moaned loudly, and he had to concentrate on not cumming right then and there because you just sounded incredible.

He slowed his pace as he helped you ride your orgasm out, licking, taking your slick into his mouth to taste your climax. Once he felt you unclench, and your leg relaxed against him as well as your hands letting go of his hair, he pulled away from you. He breathed in deeply as he tried to catch his breath. 

He patted your leg, silently telling you to move from him, and you followed the instructions, trying to stabilize your breathing as you put your leg down. He gave one last kiss to your clit, making you groan and jerk in your place at the overstimulation. He chuckled, grabbing the edges of your panties to finally pull them down from you. You stepped out of them, and he finally stood back up, towering over you. He threw your panties onto the small table next to the door.

His eyes found yours, and you saw the darkness in them, the lust, and you trembled once again as you felt him grab onto your waist. His lips clashed against yours, and you could taste yourself, making you a little dizzy as your arms wrapped around his shoulders. His tongue instantly connected with yours as he pressed himself against you. Your hand glided downwards in between your bodies, finally touching the big bulge in his pants.

He groaned into the kiss as he felt you palming him, then pressing your palm against him. He needed more. He wanted more. He pulled away from you, breathing heavily into your lips. 

“Bed, now.” You nodded at his request, kissing him desperately again as he pulled the two of you off from the wall, walking you backwards and towards the bed. You jumped a bit when you felt the edge of it on the back of your knees, pulling away from him. His hands gripped the hem of your dress, pulling it over your head. “Oh, fuck–”

You didn’t let him touch you, moving to sit on the bed, getting out of your heels before you moved back onto it, setting yourself in the middle, completely naked. You saw how flushed he was, gripping onto his shirt, ripping it off his body, and then quickly moving to his belt. His movements were rushed as you stared at his stripping. You saw that chest hair you’ve thought of brushing your fingers over a few times before, then the freckles in places you’ve always wondered if they even had them. 

Then he got out of his shoes and jeans, and all was left were those blue tight boxers on him and– Fuck. He looked big. He looked so big. He noticed your eyes on him, making him smirk, but also shiver from the attention you were giving him. He grabbed the hem of them and pulled them down finally, his cock springing up and hitting against his belly and your eyes widened.

You didn’t know if in all your life you had slept with smaller than average dicks or if Steve was just… huge. You noticed the smug look on his face, and you wanted to wipe it off, so you stared at him as you were propped on your elbows, slowly spreading your bent legs for him. His eyes fell back to your cunt and he had to take a sharp intake of breath in, his dick twitching for attention. 

He got on the bed, crawling your way, but before he completely covered you, he leaned to the side, towards the bedside table. You saw him grab his wallet, opening it to get a condom out, making you roll your eyes. He noticed, straightening up after tossing his wallet back on the table.

“Anything you want to say?”

“Nope.” 

“I can absolutely get off of you, if you so want me to–”

“I swear if you don’t fuck me in the next five seconds, I’m walking out of here.” He chuckled at your whiplash of emotions. You saw him rip the foil with his teeth, and that shouldn’t have been as hot as it had been, but here you were. He rolled the condom on himself, and you took a sharp intake of breath as you lay down when he crawled a little closer, getting on top of you. 

“Anything your snarky mouth wants to add?” He asked and you were getting pissed, frustrated as you grabbed onto his shoulders, glaring at him.

“Why are you still fucking talking–” Your words were cut off with a gasp when you felt him pushing in. His eyes were on how your face contorted into a silent moan, a satisfying groan vibrating in his throat as he gave a nibble to your jaw.

“Yeah, there you go, shut the fuck up–” You wanted to punch him, but the more he filled you, the more you couldn’t come up with any words in your head. Your mouth was open, choking on your spit at every inch. “Fuck–”

He cursed as he felt your warmth all around him, and maybe Eddie was right. You two needed to fuck it out. He couldn’t believe how good you felt, and he could have had you all these months if he hadn’t been so stubborn. If you hadn’t been one too. If you two had stopped for a second and just talked with each other the way you did today.

But then, this sex wouldn’t have been as delicious as it was going to be.

He growled into your ear as he thrusted inside of you in one sharp movedent, hilting himself into your cunt, bottoming out completely, and you could barely breathe. It was a sudden stretch. It was big, suffocating even, knocking all the air that was held in your lungs. His hands were on each side of your head, but his lips were on your ear, breathing into it.

He waited for a few seconds for you to adjust to him, but also to calm himself down because he was sure he was going to cum two strokes in. He took deep breaths in as he concentrated on anything else but your soft little whimpers. He felt you roll your hips against him, and he cursed under his breath, his hands gripping the sheets beneath you.

His hips started to slowly roll, in and out, soft movements to get you used to the friction, and you were already going insane for it. You felt so full, each drag against you was incredible, making you tremble underneath him. Your nails were scratching on his back, legs spreading even more.

“Steve– More…” You gulped, not even believing the soft whimper, the soft plea that tumbled out of your lips. He hummed into your ear, and his hips started picking up a pace, and your moans finally started leaving your mouth. He felt a wave of heat all over his body the moment his name was called, breathlessly, and he had to see your face.

He leaned up, holding himself up by his hands as his hips snapped into yours. Your face was contorted in pleasure. Your eyebrows were downwards, your mouth was open, and your eyes were half lidded as you stared at the ceiling. You looked marvelous, and fuck he wanted to see more. He wanted to see you choke on your words.

He sat back on his legs, his hands coming to grip the back of your knees to keep you spread for him, and he started moving in fast thrusts, deep, making the bed creak and the headboard hit the wall behind it, over and over again. Your moans became louder, your hands coming to grip the pillow beneath you. Your eyes found his face. He was frowning, the hair now almost sticking to his forehead, his body was flushed red, and you noticed how the veins on his biceps were pronounced, as well as the one on his neck.

He rolled his head over his shoulders at a particular drag of his cock, making you clench around him. Then again, this time, making him moan your name, which made your brain short-circuit.

“You feel so fucking good…” He felt his belly burning, and he knew he had to be quick in making you cum again because he was going to anytime soon. It was embarrassing, but he wasn’t a man of taking groupies, or fucking his fans. He also barely had time to jerk himself off, because he was barely alone. 

You whimpered at his words, your back arching off the bed as your body bounced back and forth thanks to his thrusts. His eyes were fixed on your breasts, watching them, and he growled as he moved downwards once again, his lips closing on your left nipple and softly tugging on it.

“Steve!” You gasped and he gave the same treatment to the right one, making you clench around his cock. He growled into your breast, his thrusts becoming slow, shallow, and deep. Each time he pulled out, he kept the tip in, only to thrust back in roughly, rolling his hips inside of you at the end of it. 

At each snap, you both heard the loud thump of the headboard, but it only heightened the experience. Whoever was next to him, if they saw you the next day walking out of his room, they would know what happened. He couldn’t care less; in fact, he hoped someone would see you. Someone would see you walking out, with wobbly legs, with his marks all over your neck.

He continues that pace, getting his hand between your bodies, his fingers finding your sensitive clit which made you jerk your hips towards him. You were breathless as tears pooled in your eyes from how good it felt. How amazing he was making you feel, and you wanted to punch him for that. His breath was in your ear as his fingers picked up a pace, making you mewl underneath him.

“Say it.” You frowned in confusion, only for his teeth to bite your earlobe, making you gasp.

“Say what?” He rolled his hips inside of you, making your hands snap towards his biceps, gripping him tightly as you moaned out his name.

“That you don’t hate me.” Another roll that had you biting on his shoulder, a moan escaping his lips, and into your ear. 

“I don’t hate you…” You answered and he moaned your name, sweetly, this time, and you felt your body light up at his tone. Your belly started to burn up again, twirling inside out, and his fingers were working overtime now to get you to cum for a second time.

“Louder, baby. Say it louder.” His hips started moving faster, your walls fluttering around him as your hands ran through his hair, pushing his mouth into your neck. You could feel him biting down on your skin, making you whimper and shiver underneath him.

“I don’t hate you, Steve! Please– Don’t stop–” And he doesn’t. He kept the pace, his fingers on your sensitive clit, swirling around as his cock kept punishing your insides. Your g-spot was grazed at each stroke, and your eyes started to roll to the back of your head.

“I’m about to cum– Fuck–” He cursed your name, and you started panting before your second orgasm crashed into you like a tidal wave, stronger than the first one. Your walls clenched tightly around him, your eyes shutting tightly, and your nails digging into his shoulders.

His name came out of your lips with a cry, your cunt trying to push him out of you from how much you were clenching. He huffed a few breaths, choking on his moans from how tight you felt, to the point it was almost painful. He watched you contort underneath him, and you never looked more amazing than right now.

And at your sight, he came. He groaned your name as he spilled inside the condom, his hands coming to grip the pillow underneath your head as he snapped his hips into you at each spurt. His face almost looked pained, but it was the complete opposite. He could barely handle the pleasure he felt, and he was sure he came way too hard into the condom.

You managed to open your eyes to see his reaction, and fuck– He looked so good like that. Definitely another look you liked on him. Then he finally stilled, and that left the two of you breathing heavily, looking at each other with half-lidded eyes. 

You two crossed a line that should not have been crossed. You couldn’t blame the alcohol because that just made you both brave—brave to do something you were scared of doing before. It didn’t make you do something you two didn’t want; it urged and encouraged you to do it.

Then, he winced when he slowly pulled out of you, looking down at the mess he had made and– he did cum a lot. You groaned at the feeling, and then his eyes found yours again. Should you leave? Should you just… bid goodbye to him now? You didn’t know what any of this really meant, so you needed some guidance over here. You didn’t want to leave, but didn’t know where Steve stood. 

“Well… that happened…” You softly spoke, and Steve huffed, nodding and plopping next to you, staring at the ceiling, same as you. He took the condom off and tied it up, throwing it on the floor, something he could take care of later, because right now, he couldn’t concentrate on that.

“Yeah. That happened.” He was also thinking the same things you were. Should he let you sleep in his room if he leaves? Should he just let himself fall asleep? But fuck, he didn’t want to just pretend that didn’t happen.

So, fuck it.

You were surprised when you felt arms engulf you, pulling you towards a chest as you both now lay on your sides. Your eyes were fixed on his chest hair, feeling your cheeks burning like crazy because you weren’t prepared for him to cuddle you. Not that you were complaining. 

His hands rubbed against your back, his thoughts running. He wasn’t going to let this happen just once. Hell, he wanted what happened back down in the bar. He wanted to kiss you whenever you frowned at him. He wanted to make you proud as well, following your instructions, letting you know he heard. Letting you know he took your words into account.

“Still think I’m overrated?” You couldn’t help but chuckle, your arms wrapping around him.

“Absolutely…” 

But maybe you weren’t so sure you meant it now. His fingertips were softly grazing your skin, giving you soft caresses that made you melt more and more into him. You hummed appreciatively against him, nuzzling against his chest. Then, you started laughing, pulling back a bit from him. He frowned, a smile creeping on his lips.

“What?”

“I just remembered– So many of the comments I get, say that I secretly want to fuck you. That, that’s the reason why I do the blog.” His eyebrows raised in surprise, then a squint with a cheeky glint.

“Secretly? If only they knew we might have to pay the safety deposit of this hotel room because, pretty sure, we made a hole in the wall with the headboard.” You giggled, covering your face in shame, and he could not stop himself from being amused by this new side of you. “You gonna tell your loyal followers the truth?”

“That I got railed by the rockstar I roast for fun?” You hummed a bit, looking up at him. “Tempting.”

“Only if you include the part where you begged.” He smirked and you scoffed, shaking your head, but your heart was filling up with small little butterflies.

“I did not beg.”

“Oh, honey…” He bit his lip, loving this little banter with you as he rolled on top of you again, holding one of your hands against the pillow. “You absolutely begged.”

Before, you would have wanted to punch the smug grin on his face, but right now, you wanted to kiss it. His hair was all messy, and his skin was all flushed. He just looked too pretty, irking you just a little bit.

“You are more tolerable when you don’t talk.” You snarkily replied, and he coughed a chuckle, giving you a small nod.

“And you’re pretty when you’re helping me, instead of being a bit of a bitch.” Your eyebrows raised up in surprise, your mouth falling open. Your heart skipped a bit, tilting your head at him.

“Is this admitting you like me, rockstar?” He hummed, putting his lips on your shoulder to lay a soft, lazy kiss there. You sighed, your eyes fluttering closed for a second.

“Let’s say, I didn’t hate fucking you stupid.”

“Wow, romance isn’t dead.” You replied dryly, not really liking that answer, not noting the sarcasm and humor behind his tone. He noticed, chuckling and pulling his head back up to look down at your angry face.

“Let me take you out.” And you weren’t expecting that, your breathing catching in your throat as you tried to swallow from the sudden nerves that invaded you.

“Like a date?” He gulped, finally feeling his stomach turning at the fear of your answer. He slowly nodded, finally admitting to wanting more than to share some sheets with you.

“What do you say?”

You couldn’t help but ponder. This was probably a bad idea, wasn’t it? No matter how you looked at it, this would end up in shambles, wouldn’t it? He was someone famous, you were just a person in his team. That’s all. He noticed you were hesitating, making him grow a little anxious and a bit desperate, so he tried talking again–

“You can still make fun of me, my music, my lyrics, and what I wear. I will even let you write a scathing review of my bedroom performance…” He gulped, knowing he was begging at this point, but something about you was driving him insane. Something was telling him to risk it. To dive in. 

And you found it endearing. You couldn’t help but find him extremely charming, making you bite your bottom lip as your eyes went back and forth with his. You leaned up and gave him a soft kiss on the lips, pulling away with a small nod.

“Okay… Just one.” He smiled at your response, wanting to fist pump the air.

“That’s all I need.” You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. You weren’t going to show him how happy you were, at least not yet. You poked his chest jokingly, raising an eyebrow at him.

“You’re still not that great, you know?” You fought, and he smirked, his mouth leaning close to yours, his voice low and a bit wicked, which made chills run down your spine. 

“Then, let me prove you wrong, again.”

end

a/n: long live joe keery's hands

[belokhvostikova]

𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐒𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | Halloween had stamped itself as Hawkins' favorite time of the year, where teenager party and murderers prow. And you come face-to-face with that, when a particular masked man takes a special interest in you.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, crying, alcohol consumption, minor sexual harassment, stalking, mention/allusions to murder, and explicit sexual content: groping, degradation, choking, role play (serial killer), mask kink, knife play, oral (male and female receiving), rimming (male and female receiving), squirting, cum eating, squirt make out…?, semi-public sex, dubcon (part of the role play), non con, and unprotected vaginal sex.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | What do you mean it's not Halloween? It's always Halloween. Especially when it involves Ghostface!Eddie. Oh, and this is also a Modern!Eddie story. But wait, can you image Rockstar!Eddie singing "In the Room Where You Sleep" as, like, a Halloween special- I'd have an aneurysm. Sorry, that was a lot of Eddies.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 12.8K

𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐃𝐨 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭.

“Hey, it’s Eddie… or is it? Ha! No, it’s totally Eddie. I’m busy ignoring your calls, so leave a message or finally take a hin-”

The harsh smudge of your fingertip against your phone screen discerned your frustration, as you hung up with a huff, pacing your clacking footsteps a second faster than before. 

But it all fell short, when the heavy set of footsteps that trailed behind you only quickened to keep up.

Faster. Aggressively. Shit.

For the third time in a row on that brisky night, your call had went straight to voicemail. And you were ready to kill Eddie Munson. In retrospect, castigating your boyfriend for merely doing the very thing you criticized him about on a near daily basis—the whole “stop answering your phone while you’re driving” debacle that took place every time Eddie picked up one of your calls while heading somewhere, then rebutting you with a “but I love hearing your voice, it relaxes me” that he always whined out—was hypocritical, at best, but given the circumstance, you were exhorting to have your boyfriend disobey your word of safety for your safety. 

And the desperation that palpitated from the fervent clicking of your heels hitting against the rough pavement of the sidewalk to speed up your steps was starting to become humiliating. Because one step away brought them one step closer. By the nose, you narrowly glanced back. 

The same mask. The same hood. The same heavy boots. The same entity that followed you through the hallways of Steve Harrington’s wooded, stately home on the night of Halloween. 

Only the clock had struck a quarter past midnight. Halloween was over. The month of November had come. And yet, the figure behind you kept the mask on. Despite the lengthy walk from Harrington’s back patio to the intersection where Mirkwood and Cornwallis met, the mask stayed on. And your heart was beginning to race. You finally faced it. “God, you freak, stop following me!” Their steps halted. Gloved hand clenching around the handle of a knife that you wished to be of plastic. “My boyfriend’s on his way, so fuck off before he gets here!” God, you really hope he was. 

Turning around in a huff, your eyes constricted with frustration, as the steps behind you continued, in sync with yours. Coming closer. And closer. 

It’s just some stupid prank, you rationalized. It was one of the Stafford kids. Probably Declan Stafford. He was alway the worst out of the pair. It was best for your sanity to repeat that mantra over and over until Declan Stafford finally gave in and took off the mask. Only Declan Stafford was a fifteen-year-old sophomore. And you were desperately enforcing the incredulous lie that the possibility of Declan Stafford suddenly gaining muscle and height in the course of a single day was plausible. It wasn’t. But admitting that would be admitting that this wasn’t some immature teenager’s prank. 

And you were actually being preyed upon. 

“Hey, it’s Eddie… or is it? Ha-”

Why?! Why out of all the times Eddie blatantly ignored your concerns of picking up the phone while driving, did he actually decide to listen to you on the one night you needed him not to?! Straight to voicemail. Again. But when you angrily hung up on Eddie’s pre-recorded tone—the one you couldn’t find endearing at this given moment—you heard it- or rather, didn’t hear it. The quietness. The crunching of fall leaves being flattened under heavy boots was no longer lingering. A biting breeze howled, and a hunting owl hooted. But no footsteps. 

You hesitantly turned around…

He was gone. 

Your shoulders fell with the relief of your untightening chest, as your joints unlocked from tension, a foggy breath escaping in solace. For a moment, you relished in the quietness of the night with closed eyes. Something you hadn’t realized you missed so deeply until you had it back in your possession.

With a dissipating heartbeat, you ran a hand over your perspiring face that felt ablaze with terror. But Declan Stafford, or his other half, or whatever other delinquent freak that it was was finally out of sight, and you cursed the juvenility of boys during the night of Halloween. 

Fighting the liquor that buzzed your body with heightened emotions, you blinked the dryness of your eyes to steady the blurred disfigurement of your phone screen. Your thumb smashed against Eddie’s contact once more, a last resort to finally chew him out, as you teetered on high heels to turn back on your trek. 

Only, your steps halted at a sudden obstruction, and you watched the tempered glass of your screen protector crack against the pavement at your feet, as your heels stood toe-to-toe with the boots that plagued you. 

“Hey, it’s Eddie…” Your head slowly followed up the broad, black figure, “…or is it? Ha! No, it’s totally Eddie.” Your stomach sank to the stagger stature that overpowered you. “I’m busy ignoring your calls.” His mask, deprived of anything holy, stalked down your trembling frame, mocking you with the tilt of his head.

Your breath became lodged in your throat.

“So leave a message or finally take a hint.” Your mouth dropped with the words you couldn’t find. And he allowed you the grace of one step back, before…

“AH- mmm!”

The leather of his glove smeared your lipgloss with the tightness of his grasp, as your screams diffused into a muffle of wails. With much resistance, your nails bit through the sleeved fabric of his clothes, but nothing was penetrative enough to deter his strength, merely constricting your flailing body more with a muscled arm. Your enveloped screams cried of defeated desperation, as you lost your footing to the strength of his embrace, now at his mercy.

In the distance, a meandering stray may have startled at the abruption of your stifled pleas. But in the beat of a second, they’d continue their hungry journey for a helpless mouse or scraps, as your screeches would succumb to the darkness of night.

No longer salvageable.

-

SEVEN HOURS EARLIER 

“Mm… saw something touching your head, in the room where you sleep, mm…” You thrummed to the buzzing tunes, scrunching your face as an averse to the tickle of your makeup brush, against your greatest efforts of trying to stay still. 

But with a little black there, and some pink here, you squealed with anticipation of the night to come. 

Autumn had brought a chilling front to Hawkins, Indiana, and the small town of suburbia had never looked so good with a flood of orange and red crunching beneath the tiny feet of early trick-or-treaters. Credits to the Yankee Candle that burned its essence in the corner of your bedroom, the fall season felt at ease with the cinnamon apple that warmed your being. 

“You better run, mm, you better hide…” Should the day ever come that you discover that you were actually singing along to the voice of Ryan Gosling, you’d flip your shit to your boyfriend on an endless ramble, but until then, you’d cluelessly enjoy the ominous tune of Dead Man’s Bones in the name of Halloween.

In the reflection of your vanity, you shifted in the various angles of the beaming sunset until you were fully satisfied with the face paint that decorated your features.

You stood from your place, prancing about to the beat of the music, as you swayed your way to your bed, where your purchased costume displayed itself, awaiting you. While your boyfriend appreciated the art of Halloween, and had much interest in the horrors behind it, the anticipated “costume talk” fell on deaf ears- or, at least, defensive ones. Something about looking stupid, you weren’t entirely sure. Though, what you did know was pointing out the irony of not wanting to look “ridiculous” whilst sporting a mane like his in retaliation was not at all a good idea, as his response came in the form of torturing you in the dramatics of wrestling on his frumpy mattress. 

Touché, to Eddie Munson. It came as a good deterrence away from the conversation that would inevitably lead to him wearing something you sparked from Pinterest. Because in the end, Eddie Munson could never say no to you. 

No matter how stupid he’d look. 

But, as any reputable couple therapist would advise, compromise is key. And where you insisted on a cute couples costume, Eddie met you with the request to, at least, get to choose what that may be. And much props to him, you swooned at the adorable idea of being the abducted cow to his alien. 

Only, Eddie didn’t allow you to celebrate too soon, as he vowed to go the whole nine yards. Devoid, black contacts; gargantuan, bald head; pale, soulless skin; creepy, gross tentacles. “I’m Heidi Klum-ing this bitch, sweetheart.” That night, you regretted ever showing him the moment a 5’9 worm walked the carpet. Something Eddie Munson severely got a kick out of. 

You straightened out your patterned skirt, smiling for the night that was about to come. With shoes needed for completion, you turned to retrieve your platform pumps, only… your peripheral had caught the silhouette of something- someone… staring… watching… stalking. 

Claiming the once calm view of your bedroom window. 

The October chill brought a draft against your mother’s clothesline, where her linens flowed in the evening setting, and there it was. Peaking through sheets, masked, and dark. 

Your eyes squinted to confirm the sight, as you hid behind your curtains, feeling your stomach plummet. What a psycho. Understandably, Halloween had declared itself around the idea of fright, but that came with the common consensus of harmless jumpscares and innocent pranks, not trespassing. “Stupid teenagers.” You mumbled to yourself. 

But a sudden bang from inside your house had you gasping, petrified. “Dad?” The hairs on the back of your neck stood with alarm. “Mom?” Footsteps rang closer.

And closer.

“Hey- woah.” Eddie Munson, himself, flinched at the sudden shriek that left your mouth at the abrupt opening of your bedroom door. His brow cocked at the heaving of your breath, your hand clutching to your chest. “Hey, sorry, it’s just me, baby, you alright?” He eyed you.

“Shit…” You huffed out. “You scared me!” Your mouth pouted at the chuckles he teased you with. 

Eddie smiled, mimicking your pout in faux sympathy. “Why? Thought you heard me comin’ in.”

“Ugh, well, yeah, but some immature kid is-” You turned back to your window, where suddenly nothing but your mother’s laundry hung to dry in the emptiness of your yard. They were gone. “I- what?” You inspected closer, your breath humidifying the glass. 

Eddie questioned your strange behavior. “What?”

You rotated in his direction. “N-Nothing. It was nothing- anyway, what are you doing here?” In an attempt to recover your uncanny nature, Eddie scoffed at the hasty rudeness your tone snapped towards him. 

“Well, for one, your dad let me in.” He stated matter-of-factly. “Y’know, I think he’s really starting to warm up to me.” His eyebrows jumped with cockiness.

And it became your turn to scoff at his presumptuousness. “If anything, he hates you a little bit more this time of year.” Because Halloween of 1984 became the year Hawkins, Indiana was terrorized by the vandalism of hoodlums, coined the “Toilet Paper Bandits.” Plastered on every front page of the Hawkins Post, the column followed the story of homes that became a victim of delinquency. Yours being one. Where you could find a little humor in your house, amongst others, being TPed, your father, as a mortgage-paying homeowner, became quite livid. In fact, you could vividly remember the rage of, “of course, it was that Munson boy,” when surveillance caught your soon-to-be boyfriend smiling sadistically with a roll of toilet paper in hand amongst his friends. “You gave him PTSD. He’s vowed to stay up all night to catch any ‘Munson wannabes.’”

Eddie barked out a laugh. “Hey, now, if it wasn’t for that night, his beautiful daughter wouldn’t be getting treated right by her strong, sexy boyfriend.” He smoldered in pride. And, as much as you could roll your eyes at Eddie Munson, he was far from fibery, as the night that followed Halloween of 1984 was filled with the sincerest apologies to all sufferers of his actions (not really, just you, as he always thought you were cute).

“Whatever, but seriously, though, Eddie, you’re not supposed to be here ‘til later, why are you here?” You interrogated. “I still have to finish getting ready, you do, as well.” You emphasized. 

With calloused hands delicately caressing your face, Eddie thought of his next move. “Aw, look at you, my cute, little heifer.” Because if not buttered up with affection, he knew you’d be devastated at the news to come. 

Your mouth fell agape. “Don’t say heifer!” Your hand collided with his chest. “Say cow! Cow is much cuter than heifer!” 

And he chuckled at your annoyance, always proud of his accomplishments that left you feisty. “You’re right, I’m sorry, baby. You are a very gorgeous cow! Best out of stock! You’d be, like, the one the farmer doesn’t slaughter for a burger.”

“Right, just kept to be bred for the entirety of my life.” While only a joke, you knew his sick mind would run miles with it, as the inevitable lip bite came to play. 

“Ooh, now that you mention it-”

“Don’t even start, you freak!” Your hand brandished over his mouth, only for you to shriek at the contact his wet tongue made with your palm, before taking a playful bite of your skin.  

But with the bite came an abundance of kisses to your fingers and knuckles, as Eddie held your hand close to his lips, eyes peering down at you with caution. “Please don’t be mad at me.” His words mumbled against your skin. 

Your brows furrowed with confusion. “What?”

Eddie sighed. “Boomer called me.”

You knew what entailed when Boomer called. “No!” You couldn’t help the petulant whine in your voice. 

“He wants me at the shop tonight.” Eddie kissed his teeth with a groan. And before your mouth could even form the hurdling question as to why, Eddie was there to clear it up with a sweet kiss to appease the disappointment. “We got a couple’a cars Boomer’s been hounding on us to get finished. ‘Specially, since Rick just had his baby, n’ all, we’re down a man. And y’know, honey, all the guys got wives and kids and shit, it was easier for me to stay overnight, and get as much done as possible.”

“But Steve’s party!” You huffed. “We were supposed to go tonight. We were supposed to do the Monster Mash!” Eddie’s heart sunk at the misery of your face. Where something as silly dancing may have landed insignificant in the grand scheme of life, you were the first person to cement the fact that with Eddie Munson nothing was trivial. 

You cared for the little things with him. 

Your head dropped with defeat. “Aw, I’m really sorry, sweetheart.” He ventured to meet your eyes. “Look, it’s a little extra money, I’ll take you out on a real nice date-”

“No, it’s not even- ugh, I just spent so much time on the costume.” Granted, it was nothing but ordering overly priced cow printed clothes from various websites, but it really did hurt when the hot glue gun came in contact with your finger, as you strived to glue a mini UFO toy to your headband. “I really wanted to go-”

“Sweetheart, please go.” He encouraged. While not the usual rhetoric, as Eddie Munson always prided himself in being by your side, especially with events such as an infamous Steve Harrington Halloween party, he could put it aside if it meant you’d enjoy your night rather than sulking alone on Halloween.

In retrospect, should you have done so, maybe you still would have been alive today…

“Just promise me you’ll stick by Harrington and Rob, okay?” Despite the slumped shoulders of disappointment, you nodded to his request, and pecked his chin to pacify any guilt he may have been harboring for the turn of events. “Or hell, even Wheeler, saw her bitch out Carver for accidentally knocking over the newspaper stand, and with the look on his face, I trust her to do more harm than Stevie and his Farrah Fawcett hairspray.”

“I’m gonna look stupid just being an abducted cow.” You huffed, as you examined your DIY alien spacecraft headband, puffing out a giggle at the extensive amount of hot glue it took to secure the toy to the hair piece.

And Eddie Munson was right there to laugh along with you. “Believe me, baby, with what I had planned, you would’ve looked more stupid with me.” With a pout still distinguishable through your pitiful giggles, Eddie gently kissed your forehead, careful to not smudge the black spots that adorably littered your face. “I’ll try to finish up as fast as I can, and make it before the cops turn up, okay?”

“You sure you won’t be too exhausted?”

“To do the Monster Mash with you?” Eddie scoffed. “Hell no!” And he smiled, as your chest erupted in a bubble of laughter. “Might smell a little like grease, but so be it. Hell, I’ll even stop by the trailer, and come as an alien mechanic. Probe you with my wrench if you’ll let me.” 

Eddie flicked out his tongue, and you squealed, as he attempted to smother you in his perverted ways. “Get off of me, you freak!”

“Alright, alright.” He calmed you through your fit of chuckles. “How ‘bout,” he quickly kicked closed the door of your bedroom, “you show that little number you’re wearing tonight, so I can know what’s waiting for me? Little motivation, if you will.” He winked. 

“Ugh, my dad really does hate you, y’know?” Your arms instinctively caught around his neck, as his veiny hands gravitated to your ass. 

Eddie derided. “Ha, just ‘cause I love eating my raw, juicy steak.”

“Ew, you perv!” Your laughter was concealed by the capturing of his lips.

By the grace of your closed bedroom door, your parents were spared from the spank of Eddie’s hand against the meat of your ass that rippled with a stinging clash.

Eddie moaned. “You love it. You so fucking love it.”

You did. You so fucking did.

-

In the lonesome of the darkness, Eddie smiled to himself. The heat of his phone radiated against his skin, warming his cheek, as your squeals brought a joy to him like no other. “Oh, my god! You guys look so cute!” Even through the static of distance that blurred with the background of house music, your voice still lit a desire in him that could never be extinguished. “You’re- Eddie, they’re so cute!” Sandwiched between your shoulder and head, you played around with Robin’s tie, as she—among Nancy and Chrissy—geeked at the enthusiasm of your compliments. 

Despite his absence, your refusal to his exclusion left you detailing the present moments of Steve Harrington’s party over a call that surely overheated the phone. And what Eddie figured was the greeting of your friends may have left you a bit distracted from him, your distant conversation was enough to have him chuckling to himself, relishing in the moment that made it feel as though he was actually there.

“Ah, you even added the tattoos on your hand!” You screeched. “Oh, and your hair-” You moved onto Chrissy.

“It’s a wig! I couldn’t commit, ugh!” She clarified with a drunken slur that confirmed the group was well acclimated to the party, before you had arrived. 

“Eddie! Eds!” 

Eddie huffed a laugh through his nose. “Yeah, baby, I’m here.”

“Chrissy’s Phoebe! A-And Nance is Lucy! And, of course, Robin is Julien!” You shouted over the thrum of the music. “And they’re all wearing their matching suits! Boygenius! You remember? T-The songs I showed you?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I remember, sweetheart.” Eddie smiled, a wish so vastly that he could experience your face of pure zeal. “Take pictures, baby, I wanna see it all.”

“Aye, where’s your other half?” Breaking through the static, that frat voice was far too familiar for Eddie to ignore.

“Oh, baby, please tell me if Stevie’s wearing something stupid!” He begged. If it wasn’t for the things Eddie Munson could hold over Steve Harrington’s head, their friendship would’ve succumbed to the awkward tension that came from being polar opposites in the hierarchy of high school. Call it karma for all the comments from The King’s friends that irritated The Freak’s life. But it was the teasing that allowed their “hatred” to manifest nicely. A genuine development into frenemies. And given that Halloween of last year was spent with Eddie Munson berating Steve Harrington on his “lazy” choice of a costume—nothing but pants with tiny, red flags held within his waistband; i.e., a walking red flag, i.e., Steve Harrington’s excuse to walk around shirtless—The Hair, himself, vowed to come up with something more… creative.

Your laugh vibrated through the speaker. “Oh, Steve, what are you wearing?” Your hand clasped over the shock of your gaping mouth. 

Eddie practically lunged through the phone. “What?! What is it?!”

“Your boyfriend isn’t the only one who can rock a vest.” Steve’s cockiness garbled through the heavy gulp he downed of whatever tainted his red solo cup. And with the vest, accompanied the tightest jorts you’d ever witness. Something old, like the Levi’s of his sophomore year, found in the ensemble of polos and sweaters of his closet that he could commit to destroying. And that he did, with the kitchen scissors of his mother, those pants turned into shorts, that then paired with knee pads and boots. “I’m Steve!” He spat into the mic of your phone, after drunkenly stealing it from your hands. “‘Stone Cold’ Steve Austin!” That Farrah Facett hair spray wasted to good use to slick back his mane.  

Leave it to Steve Harrington to find a more creative way to be shirtless on Halloween night. 

Despite now being pressed against the warmth of Steve’s ear, you could hear the guttural laughter of your boyfriend echo through. “Steve, give me my boyfriend!” You whined. 

But your pleas went unheard. “Oh, man, I told you I was going all in!” These were the guys that claimed to hate each other? Yeah, right. “Nah, the girls are lovin’ it! Got the abs out n’ everything! All I gotta do is ask ‘em to wrestle, and they’re gigglin’ their shit off! I’m so getting laid!”

“Give me my phone back!” Your efforts fell unaccomplished, though. 

“And where’re you at, man? I’ve got people asking for your supply! Thought you were comin’.” You rolled your eyes at the lost cause repossessing your phone became. 

But you allowed your boyfriend to be virtually stolen, as the entourage of lesbians had plans to whisk you away to get something in your system for the night. Though, without his presence for reassurance, you were conscious of what you could manage, and kept it light enough for your body to buzz with relaxation. Eventually, your strength was able to pry away your phone from the sweaty hands of Steve Harrington, but not before his booze breath pervaded you with the stern information that he was in charge of you for the night, as per request of Eddie Munson. But, with pupils dilated like his, distractions being as easy as beautiful ladies walking by, and the atrocity of his outfit that left no room for seriousness (or the imagination, for that matter), Nancy Wheeler threw you the responsible look of understanding that she’d cover that shift. 

By the dead of night, you’d succumb to the rhythm of the music, and let your body fall to the beats that vibrated your soul with liberation. With bodies decorated in costumes swaying against you from every direction, you never minded the tease of a hand brushing your skin. Packed like sardines in the humidity of an October party, accidents were bound to occur. 

But accidents don’t repeat.

And when fingers started squeezing, your head whipped around, only to catch what was a glimpse of a masked man slipping away. Through the beer goggles you harbored, you blinked at what looked far too familiar for your liking, but between dancing silhouettes and blinding strobe lights, your drunken mind couldn’t confirm what you didn’t want to know.

“Hey, you alright?” Robin’s breath fanned against your cheek, as she pulled your attention from the blank directions you were staring into.

You dryly swallowed. “Um, yeah…” Spoken far too unconvincing for your friend. “Just, uh, Steve wouldn’t let, like, um, underclassmen in, right?” 

“What, no, why?” She invited. “Shit, don’t tell me Dustin and the little rugrats are here!” Her sporadic eyes started bouncing from corner to corner. 

“No, no.” You brushed off her concerns, before they amplified to the degree of telling Nancy Wheeler. “Just thought I saw another freshman or sophomore, like, one of the Stafford twins.”

At the mention of the name, her eyes rolled on cue. “Those little shits? Yeah, wouldn’t put it past them to try to crash.”

Robin Buckley hadn’t known just how relieving those words were to you. With a solidified threat entailing your boyfriend, you could control the tiresome plague of teenage boys. But a pit in your stomach lingered where you didn’t like, as you briefly looked over your shoulder, but nothing but blended bodies blurred your vision in a haze. You took a deep breath, swiping the sweat that beaded along your hairline.

Clinging to her tie, you pulled Robin close to tell her of your departure for another drink. While allowing you to do so, her instructions of “not too much” trailed behind, landing on defiant ears. Your thrown thumbs-up was a lie, as more booze was felt necessary to rid that precedent feeling that still stiffened your hairs in apprehension. Because the what if's were beginning to outweigh the most likely occurrence; that it was someone dangerous stalking you, not one of the Staffords or their peers.

Navigating passed figures, your heels clicked against the kitchen tiles of the Harrington household, where sparse bodies littered about; a pause to the intensity of the late Halloween hour. 9:57 P.M, blinding you against the photo of your boyfriend, as your eyes blinked to adjust to the harshness of your phone screen. 

Holding up ok baby

Awaiting you for the past seventeen minutes, you clicked his message, and scrambled to respond, before any concerns were drawn from your stagnation. 

Yup, yup! Pretty packed, so I’ma getting a drink.

Your buzzing, inebriated mind conjured back. And within the pause of a couple seconds, the bubbles of his response appeared. You frowned. The image of Eddie bored out of his mind, surrounded by the cold metal of the mechanic shop, with nothing but fumes and grease tormenting his body had pestered your mind with guilt. 

Are you okay? 

Bored?

Would you bea ble to come? Now!

Leave it to your intoxication to interrupt his pending bubble. Though, there was never a care on his end. A smile always invaded his face when you were on the other line.

I’m ok sweetheart 

Not too much to drink ok

Not yet baby got some cars still needing a fix but I’ll try to make it as soon as possible

I love you

Your shoulders slumped with the huff that exasperated from you. You shoved your way past the drunks that habited the cooler, as you pried a beer bottle from the ice. Too annoyed to deal with the water droplets that froze your hand against the glass, you settled on plucking a cup from the stack.

 😡

I love you, TOO!

With a groan of all your strength, you popped the cap against the counter, letting the metal clink against the floor. You watched with blank eyes, as the amber liquid aggressively swished within the plastic, hearing the echo of your breath pounding against your ear. But, in the matter of a second, the hairs of your neck shot with heightened alarm, your heart following soon after with a beat anxiously faster than before. 

You stood frozen, your eyes darting, but ultimately losing to the depth of blackness surrounding you. Nothing. It had to be nothing. 

Until the air from your nose fell motionless, and your chest became inert. 

The breathing… continued. It was never yours to begin with. 

You swallowed thickly, before whipping behind you, flinching back at the staunch build of the man in black. In an eerie contrast, his blindingly white mask scrutinizes your wavering frame. 

Your mouth fell open to his arm that shamelessly came around your waist, and suddenly your hands were shoving against the density of his chest to pry him off. “You pig!” The words involuntarily flew from your mouth to spite him. In retrospect, seeing the broadness of his shoulders run along the towering height of his stature should have been enough confirmation that what you were dealing with was far beyond the likes of a juvenile teenager, but with a drunken mind fueled with vexation, you lost the necessity to see clearly. “Touch me again, and I’ll have you thrown out, asshole!” You spat back.

In an attempt to put an end to all of this, your hand gravitated towards his mask, hoping to peel off the confidence that cloaked his cowardness. But as your fingertips grazed the plastic, his gloved hands snatched a harsh hold of your wrist, forcing a gasp to be caught within your throat, as you flinched back. 

Nothing but the black eyes of his mask pierced your soul, as he stood silent, his hand flexing cruelly against your skin. 

Your chest heaved with the rapid beat of your heart, as it took all your strength to release yourself from his restraints. You quickly grabbed your drink and phone, not wasting a second to run away from the man, who did nothing but watch you run off in the blur of the crowd. 

Much to his dismay, it was you dragging Steve Harrington away from the pretty lady that was giggling her way into his bedroom later tonight. “W…What the h-hell?” He hiccupped. 

“Can you kick that person out?!” Your urgency came with your aggressive finger pointing towards his kitchen. “God, they’re being creepy and weird, a-and they were, uh, they were touching me-”

“Okay, okay, just take a breath.” Steve calmed you through your inebriated panic. “What guy? What person?”

Because when Steve Harrington followed the trail of your finger, it all led to the emptiness of his kitchen. Nothing but the casual partygoers, who did nothing but huddle in the corner, nursing their drinks. “Him… uh, h-” You squinted the hazy booze from your vision, but no matter how harsh the blinks were, he was gone. “H-He was just there. The, um, the Scream mask guy, y’know? Him?!”

“I- Y/N,” he really tried to give you the grace of understanding, but with liquor coursing through his body, and the clash of your consternation with the thudding of the booming music, Steve Harrington could hardly process the events unfolding before him, “the Scream mask guy?”

“Yes!” You forced out with frustration. 

Steve blinked. “There’s, like, fifteen people wearing Scream masks, Y/N.” Your eyes fluttered to your surroundings, hitting every corner of the Harrington residence, where Halloween truly brought out the most lethargic efforts of a costume: Scream masks. Steve watched your face fall in defeat, as his hand ran over his face in guilt. “Hey, look, just stick with us, okay? No more walking on your own. If they come back, you get me, o-or Nance, Robin, okay? Anyone.”

Steve’s eyes didn’t let up, until your head slowly nodded to his words. 

“And tell Eddie, before he fucking kills me.” Steve sighed, fanning his breath out. While you could appreciate his concern, you weren’t so keen on the babysitting nature of Steve Harrington’s efforts that he just couldn’t resist, as he guided you to the corner of the couch, and told you to stay put.

Effortlessly, Steve was able to maneuver his way back into the ropes of his rendezvous, all while a pout brandished your face, as you watched the rest of your friends unreservedly lose themselves to the night. 

Your thumb hovered over Eddie’s contact. 

Surely, the news would be broken to him, regardless, yet the dread of doing so still came with some hesitation, as you knew your boyfriend would be fuming in the lonesome of a garage, forcibly unable to focus on the work at hand, as he worried about you. And with the distance at play, it’d anger him beyond recognition, and despite not being his faults, he’d take it as so; not being there when needed, that is. 

Please don’t ger all weird and mad…!

You’d imagine that incoming pang of your message alarmed him, given how quickly those bubbles were to appear. His messages hurdling even faster. 

What the hell happened

Are you ok

weird? What weird? I don’t get weird

HELLO? 

Baby you have 5 seconds to respond

Your thumbs twiddled quickly to appease his inevitable worrisomeness. 

Someones being creepy at Steve's. 

Like, bothering me and trying to touch.

Me

And it’s really pissing me off. I had to tell them off just so they could back off. I’m sitting on Steve’s couch now.

And you could read his impending responses from a mile away. Because when it came to you, it was inescapable. 

I’ll be there

And that’s all it took for you to lurch forward in your seat, and risk the opportunity of catching a cramp in your hands, as your fingers took a tight clutch to your brightening phone screen. If it wasn’t for the music, nothing but the clacking of the digital keyboard would have infested your ears. 

No! 

No, Eddie, really, it’s okay!

I already got it handled. I told Steve, and he said he’d kick them out if they tried it again. I’m okay, really.

Don’t leave, Boomer will be angry with you. I don’t wan you to get in trouble because of me :(

Christ, you had just wanted to Monster Mash. But with hot bodies having no regard for your space, as harassment entailed you throughout night, and now the potential of a heavy admonishment waiting for Eddie from Boomer should he leave, nothing but a disappointed scowl danced across your face. And while you could appreciate the kindness of your boyfriend’s heart- really, you could, you could also find frustration in your boyfriend’s lack of awareness for consequences. Because, yes, it was unfathomably sweet when Eddie rushed to your side, when you simply texted him about the pains of your period. Though, what followed was an angry boss, who chastised Eddie for leaving in the middle of his job, only to punish him with a closing shift on your anniversary date.

Not fun. 

And with Cedars Evergreen Farm opening itself from the daily pumpkin patch to a nightly movie drive-in, Eddie had promised you an intimate date in the back space of his van, and you’d be damned if you lost your date night to the consequences of his actions. Eddie Munson had to stay.

The bubbles appeared. 

Stay with Nancy.

A period. Eddie Munson never punctuated. In fact, run-on sentences were his specialty. 

I mean it Y/N.

But, at the very least, you could relax—somewhat—with the knowledge that his profession and your date weren’t compromised on the night of Halloween. Your fingers typed away.

I won’t! Swears! <333333

I love you so much!!!

Ransacking through tubes of lip gloss and a tin of Altoids, your compact was pulled from the clutter of your purse, before it flipped to showcase your tipsy reflection. Aside from the minimal perspiration that smudged the edges of the patterned spots, you looked the cutest you could despite the night you endured, and some handsy delinquent with no manners wasn’t going to ruin that for you. 

Call me if something happens I’ll be there eventually stay safe and kick his ass if he does something else

Just kill him baby. 

Honestly.

I will eventually so what does it matter if you get to him first :)

As he always managed to do, even when not present, you giggled at the vulgarity of his words. With the tip of your finger, you cleaned up the imperfect smears of your makeup, before smacking your lips together with a lather of your seductive plum gloss. With a zhuzh of your hair here and there, you stood from your miserable place on the couch, choosing to ignore the chastising gasp from Steve Harrington, as you made your way to the girls. 

The audacious woman she was, Nancy Wheeler had wasted no time securing her hand around your wrist. “Hey, is everything alright?” Her voice amplified over the music. “Steve told me what happened.”

Though her stern eye was cold, you eased her worries with a flail of your hand, throwing something along the lines of “Eddie knows,” because if Eddie Munson knows, it’s taken care of.

Shoving the bothersomes of the night to the back of your mind, you graced the buzzing music with a warm welcome, as your body danced with the likes of Boygenius, and their carefree moves that came about with a burning cup of booze.

If Eddie Munson couldn’t be there to experience the thrills of Halloween—perhaps, being punished by running off kids who attempted to vandalize the garage; true karma—then, at the very least, you could retell the events with the blur of photos that claimed your photo album for the night. 

-

As the hours passed, your vision succumbed to the haze of alcohol that electrified your body. Strobe colors blended with the movement of strangers’ figures, and time seemed to slow, leaving you vulnerable to the predators that preyed upon you.

You saw him. Or maybe him. Every turn of your head, your eyes gazed upon the white mask that haunted your vision. In every corner. In every direction. But the liquor on your lips left your mouth numb and impuissant to the party your body craved, entrapping you in a defenseless state against his terror. 

You watched from outside of your body, as your limbs betrayed you to the laxness of your inhibitions. 

And through the darkness of your surroundings, you watched that taunting face creep closer and closer with every dragging blink of your eyes.

Robin Buckley twisted to the heavy hand on her shoulder.

Your pupils were blown out. “I-I need to use the bathroom.” Your tongue lapped at the dryness of your lips that cracked under your heavy breathing. 

“Okay, I’ll go with you.” She shouted over the music, but your head insisted otherwise with drunken fervency. 

“I’m j-just” hiccup “gonna call Eddie.” You steadied yourself on wobbly ankles. “Had too much to drink, I-I’ll call him to pick,” hiccup “pick me up.” To hell with Boomer.

Robin’s warm thumbs swept under the smudged eyeliner that rimmed your eyes, with sparkles that once was packed onto your lid now dancing along the highlights of your cheek. She regulated you with a small smile. “Don’t wait alone, okay? Come back here when you’re done.”

You nodded slowly to appease your gnawing headache. 

One step at a time, your surroundings seemed to slow, as your vision tunneled to the bathroom at the end of the hall. Feeling like a mile away, your fingernails grazed the smooth surface of the floral wallpaper that clung to the Harrington abode to anchor you for the trek, as drunk bodies alike shoulder checked you with no regard. 

When you felt the clank of your heels against the linoleum, your breath released with all tension, as the door slammed behind you shut, and you relished in the warped quietness the secluded bathroom was able to proffer you.

Flicking the light switch on had your head pounding and eyes harshly binding closed. 

The toilet creaked under the weight of your slumped body, as you blinked your vision straight to find an array of messages awaiting you. 

Feeling okay baby? I’m lonely without you sweetheart these cars are boring me half to death need to see you soon or I’ll die

Finishing up soon, you doing alright baby

Heading out sweetheart

I’ll be there in a couple minutes

You sighed in relief, fumbling to click his contact, and letting the ringing line massage your head. “Hey, princess.”

The static of his grumbly voice pacified your racing heart from an alcoholic adrenaline rush. “Eds.” You exhaled in peace. 

“Y/N.” You could make out the smile that lingered on his lips, as his tongue spoke your name. “Get my message? I’m heading over as soon as I get changed- and don’t get on me just yet, I haven’t started driving, so I’m not putting myself in danger.” He laughed. You always were quite serious with that ‘One Text or Call Could Wreck it All’ motto- well, at least, with Eddie Munson you were. He didn’t have an extensive relationship with the Hawkins PD for no reason.  

“No!” You whined into the call, lips pouting to their fullest extent. 

“No?”

Composing yourself, you settled into a deep breath. “Don’t change. J-Just come get me.” Your voice managed to mumble a response. 

“What’s the matter? Something happen? Are you okay?” His voice swore into your ear, the vigilance of it so prudent with protectiveness. 

Your hot palm smashed against your cheek in exhaustion. “Just drank too much. Got caught up, and now I’m too- I don’t wanna be here without you. Wanna go home.” Your slurred words bleated. The staticness of his sigh rang out in a heavy breath, and you knew an upbraid was to be waiting for you the next morning, after he kissed you okay with Tylenol and a hearty breakfast. Eddie Munson always did have a knack for setting you up for the keelhaul that disguised itself in affection. Really, the only time the adult man showed responsibility. “No mean words.” You fussed. “Not now, at least.”

“No mean words, baby.” Eddie soothed. “Okay, just give me a few minutes, alright? I’m leavin’ as we speak. Harrington’s house is not too far, should be around Mirkwood in five.” You nodded, despite the on call conversation. “You hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah, Eds, five minutes.” You ignored the dull ache of your toes, as you conquered standing on straight feet. “Thank you, baby.”

A chuckle huffed through his nose. “No need, sweetheart, just no more drinking, okay? No goodbye shot with Robin or Stone Cold.”

You absentmindedly giggled at the image of Steve Harrington. “Okay.” You sighed. “No shots with Stone Cold.”

“Atta girl.” He smiled. “Alright, just hang tight for me, shouldn’t be long.”

“I love you.” Your breath dragged on.

“I love you way more, so you lose.” Eddie could vividly picture the pout that etched itself onto your mouth. 

And it was his laughter that you last heard, as your jutted lips grumbled a “meanie,” before hanging up, because in your drunken stupor, that competition felt like a real loss. 

Turning to the mirror, you flinched at the state of your look. Luckily, Steve Harrington had no plans of having a lights-on party. Rummaging through his family’s unmentionables, you pummeled a fistful of cotton swabs onto the counter, drenching each end with the sink’s faucet of water. 

A bit of coldness brought some release to your hot face, as you followed the edges of the painted black spots that smudged with the perspiration of your skin. But in a blink of a second, the bathroom door rattled with a single bang. 

Your face twisted in confusion, your body stopping as you waited.

But silence was all that met you, and you blinked your eyes close to think straight. 

Steve Harrington’s house was packed with fifty plus strangers and acquaintances, all who whooped and hollered with an all you can drink display. It wasn’t irrational for a drunken body to collide against a door or wall in an attempt to seek a bedroom.

You sighed, continuing your task of trying to look slightly presentable. But Steve Harrington’s bathroom door didn’t hold up to another aggressive knock that left its hinges vibrating with the harsh hit. 

You swallowed thickly, aiming to ignore the hairs that stood across your body.

“S-Someone’s in here.” But a suffocating atmosphere of pure quietude was all that came in response.

Goosebumps terrorized your skin, as your chest heaved with the heavy seconds it took to wait for something- anything to occur. You quickly discarded the stained cotton swabs, before slowly approaching the door. 

Your trembling hand gently caressed the brass of the golden door knob, and with a swift swing…

Nobody.

To the right of the hall, the blackness led to the shed of light, where all party goers gathered in the setting of the living room. Your shoulders slumped with relief. 

And to the left-

Your heart plummeted. Heavy breathing echoed from his mask, as his built towered over your stature. The grotesque intimidation shot your eyes sober, as your stomach heaved with the terrifying sensation that consumed you. 

Pathetic whimpers poured from your mouth, as you took caution steps back, only for him to follow with each movement. 

Screw waiting. 

The epinephrine from his bone-chilling presence detoxed your body dispassionately, as your legs found the momentum to run away into the crowd. 

Yet, as you looked back, he all but laid back and watched, as he stood in place, taunting you with no effort. Almost getting off on how easily you scared.

But you weren’t going to be a part of his game anymore. Halloween was over as of 12:14 A.M. You were going home.

Shoving past interlopers, you scoured your way to the less densely populated area of the back patio. Stragglers were all that occupied the darkened backyard, lingering on outdoor loungers, surely tainting Mrs. Harrington’s cushions with cigarette smoke and beer stains alike. 

“Hey! Where’s your boy toy tonight? Been wanting to buy!” You barely acknowledged the slurred voice of a prospective customer, as your attention became engrossed with watching the dancing bodies through the glass door. 

For a mask. 

You barely spared him. “Not here.”

But not a flash of white in sight. 

The grumble of his buddies reverberated, as maybe for once, you’d be left alone for the night. 

“Well, then, can I get something from you?” The crudeness of his smirk was palpable without you needing to turn around. The whistling of his friends only fueled the anger more. “How ‘bout just a handy for double of what your boyfriend offers for a half ounce?”

You rolled your eyes. Yeah, screw waiting. “Fuck off.” 

Taking the graveled path by the gardens to reach the sidewalk, you shook off the residing anger of perverted boys and creepy stalkers, and sucked in the chilled air that the night brought forth.  

“Ugh, stupid people, stupid party,” and as the universe would have it, your ankle bent against the icing on the cake—a pebble, “ah, and these stupid fucking shoes!” You exasperated with a juvenile stomp to your foot. 

Luckily, the Harrington manor had the luxury of wooded solitude, where bystanders lacked, giving you the freedom of unleashing your annoyances with grumbles that would have had late night joggers crossing the street to avoid your strangeness. 

“This party sucks.” Your mouth groused, fingers typing fervently. “Couldn’t stand to wait, I had to leave.” The owl hooted, and crickets chirped. Nothing but the point of your heel scraping against the concrete sidewalk to accompany the midnight songs. “How far are you? I’m walking, you’ll probably see me.”

This party sucks! 😠

Couldn’t stand to wait, I HAD to leave!

How far are you?

I’m walking, you’ll probably see me.

In the year and some months change spent as Eddie Munson’s special lady friend—as he loved to say—you’d never once had to grapple with the nonchalant facade boys your age seemed infected with. No, your Eddie was never one to shy away from fast texting, hell, even double- no triple- no quadruple texting. He liked you, very much so, of course, he was going to show it. Even if it came in his uniquely Eddie ways. How the hell was waiting four hours to respond under the guise of being “busy” supposed to turn you on?! Eddie Munson had one goal, and it was to make you his girlfriend. To hell with slow texters! 

And yet… the bubbles never appeared. 

But with how clouded your mind had become with the turn of events the night took, you carped to yourself, clicking your phone off with an agitated slam of your finger, and continued your trek with hunched shoulders and a down spirit. 

Crushing leaves and kicking rocks was all you could succumb to in the face of boredom, as the hope of hearing that god awful exhaust with its metal music to pair driving down the street only grew stronger with every ache of your toes. 

“Of course, of course! All this would happen to me.” Contrary, conversing with yourself seemed to be the only semblance of sanity for you at the moment. “Should’ve just gone trick-or-treating. Should’ve just staked out with my dad.” Ah, yes, who was still, in fact, located behind your mother’s shrubbery, cocking his head at every giggle a passing teenager made. “Ugh, stupid boys!” The bane of your existence. You stomped with anger, “Hate everything,” you huffed. “Hate these shoes,” oh, how you would apologize to them when the time was right, “hate these clothes, hate my life-”

You slowed your steps. Confused.

The ribbit of a frog leaping from lily pad to lily pad was all too familiar with the great puddles that dampened the forest environment. The pine trees, too, did their usual of entangling their branches in hugs with one another, as the midnight draft brought them closer. 

Normal. Everything was sounded normal… except… the whistling. 

No, not the rustle of wind, or the buzz of cicadas, but the sinister taunt of his hunt.

Your head whipped behind you, where your eyes rounded at his silhouette that drowned under the single flickering street lamp. 

Whistling. Preying. 

Your legs started without a moment’s notice. Though, your platforms only allowed for such limited speed, as you hastily dialed Eddie’s contact. Every impending ring sank your heart deeper and deeper, as the pit of your stomach felt as though it was going to collapse in on itself. His whistling only a few feet away. “Hey, it’s Eddie-”

“Eddie?!”

“Or is it? Ha! No, it’s totally Eddie. I’m busy ignoring your calls, so leave a message or finally take a hint.” 

“Ugh!” Frustration hung up the phone, as you no longer found the charm in his childish voicemail greeting. “God, just pick up.” Your steps quickened to a slow jog. “Pick up, pick up.”

The ringing had simply become torment to you now. “Hey, it’s Eddie… Or is i-”

You whined in exasperated disbelief. 

“Fuck.” The whispers of your dread passed through your lips, as a stolen glance back only confirmed the proximity of which he managed with ease. Two jogs forward was a simple step for him.

Your chest heaved under the mounting pressure and the fear that tore your stomach to shreds. Your legs felt numb against the terror, and suddenly, your eyes were clamping shut with wishful thinking that all of this was just an unbearable nightmare, because through your quickening breaths, the heavy steps of his boots sounded closer… and closer…

-

Nothing but a flood of trees swallowed your surroundings, as his taut grasp of your body forced you into the dark abyss of a desolate forest.

Your throat ached at the screams that ultimately surrendered to a deadened buzz against his hand, as nothing but the crunch of leaves that snapped under his weight was all that could be heard in a miles radius. 

With an elbow to his ribs and a kick to his shin, you gave it all your might to escape from his clutches, but your efforts never came to fruition, as the skin of your body became pinned to the scraping bark of a tree. 

His heavy breathing rang against his mask, as his face taunted yours, watching the tears stream down your cheeks, as snot congested your wails. “Aw, don’t cry, my little… heifer.”

Slowly, your nails relented from his arm, and your eyes turned to bore into the black ones that adorned his mask. “Eds…?” His loosening fingers around your mouth allowed your whisper to speak. In a moment of clarity, his smell became all too dear of cigarettes and cedar spice. Your Eddie. “W-Wha… Eddie, wait, what’s g-”

Though, as your body began to fall slack under the ease of his familiarity, his sinister laugh only mocked your moment of vulnerability, as he exploited your weakness to have his heavy body pressed against your backside.  

“Oh, what a sweet body to slaughter.” The depth of his voice had your heart now beating with something more than fright. “You wanna make it to the sequel, baby?”

Because suddenly, the night of September 4th came to memory. 

Nana Munson’s—may her soul rest in misery (an avid believer of corporal punishment against a rowdy seven-year-old Eddie Munson)—couch had fallen to the impressions of both yours and Eddie’s body, as the Saturday evening brought laziness against your energy. Secured between his legs with your back falling lax against his chest, your eyes lulled to the scratches Eddie provided to your underboob against the imprints of your now discarded bra.

But the cries of Tatum Riley, as she capitulated to her death by garage door, had blinked your eyes awake. “Think it was Stu?” Your face scrunched under the sudden loudness of his voice. Much to his credit, though, Eddie hadn’t been aware of your drowsiness. 

“Huh?”

“Y’think Stu killed Tatum?” He reiterated. 

Your brows furrowed. “No way, that was his girlfriend.”

His chuckle reverberated from his chest. “Clearly, that didn’t mean shit.” Spoken truthfully, as her lifeless body dangled above. “But surely he had to be the one takin’ the reins on that one, he set her up.”

“Set it up, sure. But killing her? Nuh-uh.” Eddie laughed at your definitive state. “He had the whole party to host, someone would’ve noticed him missing. Plus, no one was expecting Billy to even be there, giving him the most perfect opportunity to do it.” You disseminated factually.

“Okay, okay, so wait.” Eddie cleared his throat. “You’re saying Billy snuck inside the house, then back outside, and just went all the way around like that, hiding the costume n’ all, to kill her? Someone totally would’ve seen him.”

With a debate at hand, you attempted to sit up, but his greedy hands held you back, wanting to continue to seek solace in the body heat your boobs generated. “Okay, it’s odd-”

“Really odd.”

“But, Billy’s calculated, y’know.” You retaliated. “If either of them are going to pull it off, it’s going to be Billy. You know how, like, clumsy Stu is. He couldn’t have done it.”

Eddie dramatically brushed you off with a pestering psh. “You’re just sayin’ all that, ‘cause you like Matthew Lillard.”

“Please, everyone knows Billy killed Tatum.” You laughed. “This has nothing to do with Matthew Lillard being hot- ow!”

His nimble fingers squeezed at your pebbling nipples, as he menacingly chuckled in your ear. “Swear, I’ll put on that fucking mask and have my way with you if I hear you call another dude hot.” But oh, how that thought, itself, was already having its way with you. Wriggling in his embrace, your actions did not go unnoticed by your boyfriend, as he eyed the rub of your thighs. “Oh, you like that!” He smirked.

“What?” You squeaked, fighting through the endeavor of avoiding the eyes that tried so hard to look into yours. “No, I don’t. Y-You freak.” But the heat of your face was palpable, and Eddie reveled in the bashful embarrassment that he could elicit within you.

“Oh, you so do, baby.” He sneered in your face, the silver of his rings stimulating goosebumps on the canvas of your skin, as his hands cupped your fullness. “Hm, want me to fuck you with that mask?”

You whined at his words. “Eddie.” 

“That’s honestly hot as fuck, y’know?” His voice dripped with arousal, as his hands roamed your belly. “Letting me fuck you to spare you, fuck, throw in that knife you like. Begging for you life, shit.”

And with that hand of his sneaking between your legs, who were you to remember a one-off conversation from over a month ago?

The trunk of the tree bit at your cheek, as he forcefully affixed your body to the rough surface. Cold metal clashed against your thigh, and suddenly the scrape of a blade was shooting chills through your body; his pocket knife. “Ugh,” his groans intensified, as his hand got lost under the ruffle of your skirt, letting your clothed cunt be teased by the sharp edge, “the things I could do to you. And not a single soul would hear. Not your screams. Not your cries. Just completely at my mercy.”

You gasped at the unforeseen slice that ripped your panties in two, forcing the ruined lace to be soiled in the ground below you; the night’s draft now blowing against the flooding wetness of your exposed folds. “Please.” His laughs were all that met your pleas. “D-Don’t hurt me.”

Oh, what a fantasy come true. 

Your teeth pierced into your swollen lip, as the flat edge of Eddie’s knife abruptly pressed into your clit, its coldness sending shockwaves to the hot bundle of nerves that had your hips driving back onto his pulsating bulge. 

“Don’t hurt you?” He mocked. “Oh, but how fun would it be if I did. Huh, my little calf?” The fear that stirred in your belly was only able to ease for a second, as his sharp blade finally left your core, but only to trace the skin of your naval. “To bruise your skin, break your morale, violate your body- ugh, this pretty, little body.” His knife severed your tiny shirt in two, expelling your breasts. Eddie’s gloved hand then bunched your skirt at the hip, letting the cool zephyr nip at your naked body. “God, look at that.” His harsh hand groped your ass, pulling your cheeks from one another to see the glistening of your pussy under the moonlight. “And I can just do anything with it, huh?”

“I’ll do a-anything, I-I- just please, I’ll let you do anything, just let me go-”

“Oh, no, baby, look at you.” Eddie’s stature followed down your squirming figure. “You’re never leaving me.” Before you could get a word in, his strength brought you to your knees, your skin digging into the dirt and discarded panties of the ground. In a flash, his knife pressed to your tensing neck, as his mask stared you down from his height. “You better fucking show me how much you think your life is worth.”

Your manicured hand wasted no time to undo the metal clasp of his belt, as Eddie sighed at the relief his throbbing cock felt from the confined restraints of his jeans. Precum drenched his boxers wet, and behind that mask, your boyfriend smiled at the delicate kisses you offered to his body, despite the debauched scene at hand. 

His cock sprung with an angry tip targeting your face, and your graceful fingers found themselves scratching at the unruly curls of his pubs, before wrapping around his girth to pull back to the sticky skin of his cock. 

“Mm!” You moaned, as you tongued at his head, collecting the budding seed that oozed from his hole. 

His hands didn’t hesitate to grapple onto your scalp, bringing you forth with dramatic moans, as his pocket knife rested against the plumpness of your cheek. “Ooh, fuck, yes.” His teeth clenched tightly. “Shove it down your fucking throat like your life depends on it.”

Your tongue salivated along the underside of his dick, as your lips latched onto his length, constraining you to take all you could of him. Drool pooled at the corners of your mouth, coating him in your spit that allowed your slick hands to jerk him with burning friction. His hips couldn’t help but drive forward, and he selfishly ignored the chokes that restricted your throat taunt, merely giving him something tighter to fuck. 

“God, let me trash that pretty fucking mouth of yours.” His hairs tickled your nose, as a mess of spit and precum slung from his cock to your chin. Hollowing your cheeks had Eddie’s mewls echoing from his mask, as your eyes peered up lovesick at the sight of his bruteness taking all he felt was his.

He tapped your cheek disrespectfully, forcing you off his cock, only for his heavy hand to shove your head lower. “C’mon, you know what to fucking do, you fucking slut. You wanna live? You wanna go back to your boyfriend?” He laughed, playing his part menacingly. “You wanna be able to suck him off with that same fucking mouth you sucked mine with, you better make me fucking feel good, or you’ll be no use dead in the woods.” 

Your mouth locked onto his heavy set balls that shoved itself in your face, and you suckled at the velvet skin, pulling it from his body, and feeding it into your mouth with whines of satisfaction. Your wet muscle tickled his legs numb, with his knees buckling at the massage he forced out of you. 

And inch by inch, your tongue teased the expanse of his taint, until he felt it prod at his pulsating hole, and he forced your face deeper between his thighs, as nothing but his cock and balls swallowed your face. “You dirty fucking whore, ugh!”

Such an intimate spot, his musk invaded your senses with nothing but Eddie, Eddie, Eddie flooding your surroundings. His thick thighs suffocating your face; his leg hairs nipping at your cheeks; his balls smashing against your nose; his cock leaking on your forehead. There was no leaving Eddie Munson. 

He consumed you. 

“Dirty that fucking face, shit, m’gonna make that pretty fucking face filthy!” Eddie rode your face, forcing your tongue to plunge into your tight asshole, as you tried to keep up with his rough movements. “Eat my fucking ass, all your worth doing—shit, shit, fuck, I’m gonna—shove your fucking tongue in there!” 

Your nails clawed at his thighs, branding red streaks to bleed against his pale skin. 

But unexpectedly, you were rammed onto the dirt with a gasp of surprise leaving your mouth, as his barbaric strength manhandled you onto your tummy, blatantly ignoring your struggles.

His heavy weight suppressed your body to your ground, as his merciless hand came around your jaw, squeezing your face. “Smile, baby, big fucking smiles.” Eddie forced your lips to pucker. “Want nothing but smiles outta you while everything is happening. Show me how pretty you are- how happy you are to have me violate you, how much you love this.”

You felt his dense cock poke at the globes of your ass. “You gonna be a good fucktoy, and let me ruin these holes, huh? Not going to make a noise? Not going to tell anyone? Yeah?” You whimpered at the thick head to pried your sticky lips apart, catching your clit, only to glide back to your sopping entrance that clenched with need. “And I’ll let you live, I’ll let this pretty body live. Yeah? Go back to your boyfriend, but you’ll still be mine, no? When you’re leaving his, I’ll take you on the street. In the middle of night, when your clueless parents are asleep. When you just want to live in peace, but I’ll be there to wreck it, because this body’s mine. It’s all mine.” 

His cock intruded your pussy. “Ah! Yes, yes! Make me take it!” Dirt stuck beneath your nails, as you attempted to cling onto the ground. 

“Fuck!” Eddie bleated, as he fell balls deep, flushed to your back. “My fucking play thing.” He punctuated with a rough thrust. “My fucking pussy to use.” 

With seven inches pumping deep, the ridges of his cock rubbed against your sensitive g-spot, as your cunt stroked him of his precum; a ring of your mixing cream flooded at his base to splash his naval dirty. Your arm managed to snake back, pushing the endeavor to slow his hips from the rapid pace he was fucking at, but his hands shut down your futile attempts.

“Nuh-uh!” He masked pressed to your face, your arm now pinned to your ground. “You said make you take it, you’re gonna fucking take it!” Eddie’s guttural voice vibrated against your ear. 

“Y-Yes! Whatever you say! Please!” Your neck ached with the stretch Eddie was forcing to keep your head up. “Use me! Need you to use me!”

The veins of his cock were hammering with desire, as all his blood pumped to his groin to keep it hard until it got the release it was begging for. And he did all to get you there, as your walls were quivering around his length, your cries bleeding through the tight hold his hand kept to your jaw. The woodland creatures of Hawkins, Indiana were perking their ears at the wails of what they could only infer was an innocent critter being preyed upon; not too far from truth. 

Your soft walls kept him warm against the biting chill of the night, and by the way your back was arching to shove your ass deeper into his pelvis could only mean you, too, were selfishly begging to satiate that aching need.

“Mm, fuck! Look at that ass.” He peered to see the fat of your cheeks recoiling against the snap of his hips. “This fucking ass and cunt- such a dirty, little fucking cunt.” His chest peeled from you, as cold wind satisfyingly blew against the sweat that marinated between your hot bodies.

The leather of his gloves stung against your cheek, as his heavy hand came to spank your jiggling roundness, while he moaned at witnessing the length of his cock get lost in the crevice of your ass. Peeling them apart, he eyed your winking hole, and propelled his hips forward, so your neglected asshole could get a tickle of his pubic hair, as he ground himself against you. 

Your skin slapped together so violently in the waking hour of early November. Writhing beneath his body weight, your body could only hold back for so long, before you succumbed to your needs. 

“So fucking sick in the head, y’know that? Such a pretty face with such a sick head.” Eddie’s hand came to constrict your throat, thumbs digging into your pulse points. “You love this, love me abusing you, abusing this filthy fucking pussy—augh, shit, shit!” His cock twitched under the clenching of your cunt that fluttered from his degradation. “I’ll defile it until no one wants you- no one but me! But fucking me!”

He jackhammered in dick mercilessly, until your hole clamped shut around him; your nipples scraping against the dirt with every drill of his hips. “C-Can’t—ahh—take it anymore! Too much! Stop!”

“Mm! You can hate this as much as you want, but your slutty body fucking loves it.” His fingers found themselves on your thudding clit, harshly circling it with the soft material of his gloves. “Cum for me, baby, cum on fucking cock!”

The muscles in your stomach were cramping, as the pressure was mounting against your core. Eddie’s muffled moans were proliferating by the seconds, and his wet balls were seizing against your pussy, nearing the end of self-control. 

“I-I won't tell anybody, just let me cum! Please, please, please! No one, just between you and me!” Your pathetic blabbings had him laughing through the pain of his straining, aching cock.

Without a care for the tiny bugs that swarmed the dirt beneath you, your head dropped with the wails of your orgasm, as your body trembled with the overpowering sensations that wrecked your body lifeless. Your vision fell black, and all that could be heard was Eddie Munson’s fuzzy voice screaming with the release of ropes of cum that flooded your pussy full. 

Unable to kiss you with the barrier of a mask, Eddie did all but purr and meow, as he displayed his affection with clumsy headbutts, as your bodies fell slack in the middle of the woods. 

Slowly, as your vision came to be, and the blur was gone, your peripheral catched Eddie’s head menacingly turn, as he examined your lax state. And that laugh- that sinister laugh pooled your stomach with fear. “I’ll never be done breaking you.” 

Before you could protest, Eddie manipulated your lenient limbs, and knocked you onto your back with your heavy legs falling entrapped in his strong grip. Hoisted in the air, your oozing pussy opened up to him with your thighs pinned to your dirty chest. But you knew your body, sensitivity was buzzing deep within, and you wouldn’t be able to handle anymore.

Your weak hands ventured to slap his head away, but his strength overpowered you, and for the first time tonight, the mask came off. You bawled at the attachment of his full lips eating at your clit. “I’d love to send you back to your boyfriend with my babies stuffing you,” the vibrations rippled inside you, “but he’d know too much.”

Back and forth, his tongue trekked from flicking your bud, splitting you in half, and prodding at your tight asshole, where sticky arousal seeped into. “Augh! S-Sensitive, Eds!”

Eddie merely chuckled into your cunt, breaching it with the point of his tongue to lap all that flooding inside you. The tang of your pussy never tasted so good with his piquant cum, as his mouth ravished your opening, pulling and sucking your folds with the fervent shake of his head. Gluttony was committed with how unforgiving he was with gorging your wetness into his mouth, proceeding back to bully your bundle of nerves, until your body was jerking with trying to flee his inescapable hold.

“Stop! Eddie, I’m gonna- f-fuck, really, Eds, I can’t!” You tried to desperately plead, but if there was anything Eddie Munson loved more than you, it was actually just you completely at his mercy.

Consuming the cum from your pussy, your legs locked and trembled around his head, and instantly, warm liquid was inundating his mouth. Your cries from the aching release of your squirt bled sinfully with his moans from your taste, creating the most depraved music of your intimacy, as your eyes lost the will to focus on anything else, but the glowing moon against the night’s blackness. 

But in the haze of your inebriated mind, your boyfriend had crawled his body over yours, where mouths quickly connected. Only, the opening of his lips invited your squirt to soak onto your tongue. And it stayed there, swapping between your jaws, as both of you made fleeting attempts to consume each other with loving desire, until everything was swallowed from the intensity.

And all that was left was Eddie Munson smiling down at your blissed out face, his chin scintillating under the moon.

“You okay, sweetheart?” He caressed your face. “Would’ve just abducted you, but probing you felt more fun.” He teased at the irreparable damage done on your innocent cow costume.

You breathlessly laughed, refuting his words with an incredulous shake of your head. “Whatever happened to just asking me to take you to my leader?”

Eddie giggled, kissing you okay with delicate pecks that greatly contrasted from the lascivious events he put you through. He had sat up, degloving his hands—now drenched in perspiration from the confining heat—to brush away the specks of dirt that clung to your breasts. “Here, lift up for a second.” His now gentle hands helped guide the torn piece of clothing from your upper body, where the soft fabric now became a clean-up cloth for both your bodies. “I’ll get you new clothes,” Eddie groaned, seeking to squeeze his head from the hoodie that he took off, now proffering to you, “promise, sweets.”

“Help me up, don’t want a worm near my vagina.” He laughed at your whines, hands coming to entangle with yours, as a firm arm around your waist helped leverage you on wobbly legs. 

“Yeah, sorry for the lack of set up.” Eddie swiped the dirt off your bare butt. “Though, don’t think a nicely laid blanket and candles would have really fit the whole horny-violent-serial-killer vibe, y’know?”

“Well, duh. You can’t light candles in the woods, that’s dangerous.” Christ, you really were something to appreciate. “But, no, seriously, that was-” you eyed him excitedly with precious giggles, “that was really good. Like, better than anything I could have fantasized Stu Macher doing.” And felt the consequences of that joke with a sharp pinch to your ass. “Ah! Okay, okay!”

Eddie guffawed in your face, planting a searing kiss onto your hairline. “You’re insufferable, y’know that?” He hugged you tightly. “But you liked it? Not too much- hell, too little, you freak?”

“Nuh-huh, perfect!” You sweetly piqued, until you diverted with a swat to his chest. “But, Christ, Eddie, you really scared me! And lied to me! I thought some lunatic was following me!”

“Oh, come on, when have I ever let you go to some rager alone? A Halloween one, at that?” 

You pouted. “You made me hate Boomer just a little.” A guttural howl bubbled from him, as he went to pick up the discarded mask and pocket knife that was strewn about, your shirt and panties followed, gathered in his other hand. “And I have to throw these away.”

“Throw away?” His brow cocked, evidently in disbelief, as he examined your underwear. “Just because they’re sliced doesn’t mean they can’t be shown any love. Nothing I can’t add to the collection.” He smirked with a wink. 

“Damn it, Eddie, give me back my seamless ones, they’re the only ones I can wear with leggings without getting lines.” You remembered.

And his eyes couldn’t help but teasingly roll back. “Alright, alright, careful with the branches, baby.” Side by side, Eddie guided you through the wooded area, until the quiet sidewalk he once kidnapped you from came in sight under the yellow streetlights.

Though, while you two had your fun of kink exploration, unfortunately, your dear friends were nearly killing themselves over trying to find you three blocks away, plotting operation plans as to what may have occurred. Lying where it was once dropped, you grimaced at the piling text that bombarded you, when you picked your discarded phone.

Hey, I’m okay! Swear it, Eddie picked me up! So sorry! Was too drunk to stay and tell you! 😖

Hopefully, the off brand Lucy Dacus would be lenient enough to spare you for the night. You could face their wrath tomorrow.

“Oof, gotta spend the night with me, before Wheeler kills you.” Eddie’s nosy trait had him reading your messages over your shoulder. 

“It’s your fault! Ugh, you’re actually going to get me murdered!” You groaned, while all he could do was arrogantly smile at his work, until you abruptly stopped with a gasp. “You decided to sexually harass me all night instead of doing the Monster Mash with me?!” Christ, that pointed finger was so accusatory. 

Eddie’s hand flew up in defense. “Sweetheart, I swear I’ll give you all the Monster Mashing until Thanksgiving.”

“Y’know, I think this was all just your way of getting out of dressing up.” Your eyes squinted with the interrogation.

Oh, how you wanted to eat that sly grin away. “And fucking you? Yeah.”

“Ugh, you perv!” Eddie caught your hand before it could swat him, giving him the leverage to torpedo a swarm of open-mouth kisses to your face. “Okay, okay! Truce!” He combed your hair straight, chuckling at your disheveled state. “So, that was really you stalking me?”

“Yup.”

“At the bathroom?”

“Uh-huh.”

“In the kitchen?”

“Totally me, baby.”

“Outside my window?”

“Yea- wait, what?” Eddie flinched back in confusion. 

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Earlier today, when you came by. Y’know, watching me from my window?”

Eddie’s steps immediately came to a halt, as his face blended into concern. “Sweetheart, I never stood outside your window.” He declared. “Yeah, I came by, but seriously, your dad had just let me in. Who the fuck was at your window?”

You rejected the conversation, choosing to continue to walk. “Stop, Eddie, don’t scare me. You already have enough.”

“Y/N, I’m serious. I never stood outside your window.” Eddie Munson’s eyes were never one to genuinely lie. 

“M-Maybe it really was just some kid, then.” You rationalized. 

“Alright, look, let’s just really call it a night, and get home.” A protective arm secured you to his body. 

Because perhaps in the night, your drunken mind did notice two figures watching you that were simply chalked up to one. Maybe, the second one was the one watching from the corner, then from behind a tree. Maybe, it was the one that quietly stalked twenty feet behind with a knife that shined too brightly under the moonlight to ever be plastic.

Don’t you know couples who have sex on Halloween night are the first to die?

[hairmetal666]

Scandal follows Eddie Munson wherever he goes. He doesn't mean for it to, it just does. And, like, sure, he should've known that cavorting with a bunch of topless models in a hot tub in a chalet in the Swiss Alps was a bad idea, but 1) he's gay and 2) even if he wasn't, does anyone really care if a rockstar has an orgy these days?

Well, it turns out that they do. They do so much, in fact, that he hasn't known a moment's peace since the photos leaked. Every time they go outside, they're mobbed. Their socials are a disaster zone.

Chrissy, Jeff, Gareth, and Freak are sick of his shit, worried that this will ruin the world tour, which doesn't make any sense. All publicity is good publicity, right?

Anyway, he's not surprised when he, Chrissy, and the rest of the band are whisked away in a fancy car with dark-tinted windows, thinks they're about to fly home for a break. And honestly? Good riddance to Europe.

Imagine his surprise when he exits the car mere feet away from the sun soaked Mediterranean.

"Oh no. No, no, no." He says, trying to force his way back into the sedan.

"Oh, yes." Chrissy links her arm with his. "You need to lay low for a few days and this was the best I could manage on short notice."

He glares. "You know I hate boats."

"You do not," Gareth accuses.

"You're just mad at facing consequences for your actions," Jeff adds.

"I didn't do anything!" He wails.

Freak pulls out his phone, reads, "Munson, 26, has always been open about being gay, out of the closet since Corroded Coffin's first gig. Now, though, his sexuality is in question. Multiple women have come forward to claim they slept with the rockstar. And, while many of the women in the photo have said that Munson was 'deeply uninterested' in them, the fact remains that his antics are more Motley Crue than Troye Sivan."

Eddie groans up at the sky. "Why would I be anything like Troye Sivan!? I'm in a heavy metal band! And he's around boobies all the time! Honestly, has no one been to a rave?"

"Not since the 90's." Chrissy smiles brightly, continues up the dock.

"I'm never forgiving any of you for this."

"It's a luxury yacht, Eddie. You'll survive," Gareth says.

He very bravely does not point out that he's wearing black jeans and an over-sized black hoodie and black platform Doc Martens, so obviously he's not the type of person equipped for any kind of boat.

The conversation ends but only because, when they get up to the main deck and the crew waiting for them, he sees the most beautiful man in the world. Artfully messy sun-bronzed hair, strong jaw, classic nose, skin dotted with freckles. Aviators hide his eyes, but even the sunglasses look good on him. Not to mention the little white uniform that shows off all of his many many muscles.

Eddie stares at him, blatantly, unabashedly, totally missing the introduction to the rest of the crew.

As soon as he's left to his own devices, he locks himself in his cabin. Not even the chance to gawk at that hot guy can draw him out of his pout. They can force him onto a boat, but they can't make him enjoy it.

He lasts until afternoon the next day, when Jeff barges in, surprising him enough that the throws his phone with a very un-rockstar yelp.

"You have to come out." Jeff's arms are crossed over his chest.

"Nope." Eddie relaxes back into his pillows. "Not until this is over."

"So, you're going to stay in your room for a week?"

"Guess so."

"Orr, you could come out and enjoy yourself instead of pouting over what your own actions caused."

"My actions!" He shrieks. "My actions! I stumbled on a bunch of topless French models in a hot tub, and I'm at fault?"

"No, you being drunk enough to get in with them was the problem."

"I wasn't even that drunk! I just thought it was funny. They did too!"

Jeff sighs. "You get yourself into a situation more than any person I've ever met."

"See? It's not my fault."

"I mean. It kind of is. I suspect any other guy would learn how to avoid this."

"I'm not leaving."

"Man, Chrissy isn't going to let you stay in here."

"Too bad."

"She told me to carry you out, if I had to."

"You wouldn't."

"If you come out, you can chat up the cute bosun."

"The bos-what?"

"Bosun. The guy you were ogling when we boarded. His name is Steve. He's really nice. He--"

"I was not ogling him."

"Eddie. You looked like you wanted to eat him for dinner."

"I'm not leaving the room." He sing-songs.

Look, would he have fought so hard if he'd known that Jeff was strong enough to toss him over his shoulders and fireman-carry him out of the room and up the stairs? He would not.

Instead, he screams the whole way from his cabin to the deck, where he's unceremoniously deposited into a lounge chair next to Chrissy. She's in a hot pink bikini, sipping a cocktail.

"Good to see you." She deadpans.

He glares. "Et tu, Chrissy?"

From behind him, a rich voice calls out, "Glad you could join us." It is, of course, the hot bosun. He waves when he catches Eddie looking in his direction.

Eddie sinks down in the lounger, Chrissy stifling giggles against her elbow.

---

The thing is, Steve is nice. He's nice and he's funny and he's hardworking. He's good with the other deckhands, Dustin, Max, and Lucas; strict but fair and good at keeping everyone on task. The stewards, Nancy, Robin, and El, all love him. Sometimes, he'll be down on all fours scrubbing the deck, and his t-shirt will bunch up, reveal a tantalizing glimpse of his taunt stomach that makes Eddie feel like a feral dog.

He's out on the top deck reading a copy of The Hobbit that Dustin loaned him, when Steve comes around the corner.

"Oh! Eddie, hey." Steve smiles. "Didn't realize there were any guests still up here."

"Do you need me to move?" He asks. He swings his feet over the side of the lounger.

"Not at all. Just wasn't expecting you." Steve's puttering around, picking up the detritus of the day. "I'm glad we've been able to overcome your expectations of boats."

His squeak is indignant. "It wasn't about the boat! I was brought here against my will!"

Steve smiles at him, eyes glittering. "Yeah, what a horrible punishment, boarding a luxury yacht for a Mediterranean cruise."

Eddie grabs at his chest, mimes being shot in the heart. "Stevie, how could you? All this time I thought you were on my side."

"Eh," he shrugs. "You were kind of being a baby."

He falls off the lounger at this. "The killing blow," he wails.

Laughing, Steve extends a hand, helps him to his feet. Their eyes meet and Eddie's struck, once again, by the way the hazel shines so gold, even at twilight.

"I'm being punished," he says, looking away.

"Again, getting on a chartered yacht for a week is not much of a punishment."

"I have a tendency to find myself involved in shenanigans."

"The topless women," Steve says.

Eddie groans. "You know about that?"

Steve does a real bitchy thing with his eyebrows that makes Eddie very warm in places it shouldn't. "Everyone knows about it."

"Okay. I'll have you know those boobs meant nothing to me, which is why it was fine! We had fun! Also, I am very, very gay. Like. The gayest."

"Oh, I know." Steve grins.

He doesn't know what to do with that. Changes the subject instead. "I hadn't clocked you for someone who listened to our stuff."

"I don't. Or well. Not really. No offense. The kids love you guys. And Robin. It's just--it's really loud? Not really my thing. Some good lyrics, though."

"No, I get it." He nods, licks his lips. "I write most of our songs." He's not sure why he says it, what he hopes to get from it.

"I know," Steve says.

"Oh." Eddie smiles down at his hands, The Hobbit. Before he can say more, Chrissy calls him down for dinner.

---

It's no secret that the Corroded Coffin boys are diehard dnd fans. They've done interviews about it, posted video of their sessions on YouTube and TikTok. Everyone knows they play, everyone knows Eddie DMs, so, he supposes, it's only a matter of time before Dustin and Lucas asks if he would DM for them.

The band, Chrissy, Lucas, Dustin, Max, Nancy, El, and Robin all agree to play. When asked, Captain Hopper snorts, doesn't take his eyes off the horizon, and Steve tells Dustin, "You know nothing in the world will make me play that game, kid. I'll try to stop by, though."

Eddie is totally in his element, everyone is having a blast, even Captain Hopper stops by. And Steve--he shows up after fifteen minutes, stays the whole time, can't keep his eyes off Eddie. He's not sure if it spurs him on, makes him more wild and dramatic, but the game is electric, the mood high.

It's an amazing night, one of the best of Eddie's life, and that's really saying something. They go late, well into the morning, but he's too hyped to sleep. He's pacing across the deck when Steve appears.

"You were great tonight." He says.

Eddie feels like he's effervescing. "You should think about playing sometime."

"Nah." Steve ducks his head a little. "Wouldn't be the same without you leading."

There's not a ton of space separating them, but he closes the distance anyway. "That could be arranged," he says, voice low.

"Yeah?" Steve meets his eyes, doesn't look away.

"If you want."

The air between them goes heavy, tightens, the silence lengthens.

"I can't," Steve breathes. "I'm working."

"No, yeah," Eddie nods. He steps back, runs his hand through his hair. He's never said no to something like this, never to someone like Steve. "I'm avoiding--"

"Situations." Steve finishes.

"Oh, but, Stevie, you're a situation I want very much."

"Take me on a date tomorrow."

"It would be my pleasure," he says.

He should leave but--he does love an occurrence, so he lets the impulsivity fly-- leans forward, places a soft kiss at the corner of Steve's mouth.

"Tomorrow, sweetheart."

[munsonstorm]

Miss Possessive

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x fem! reader x rockstar!gareth emerson

part 1 (if you want context)

word count: 5.4k words

description: you cannot help but be possessive over your boyfriends... wait no, boyfriend. just your boyfriend. not his best friend.

warnings: 18+ content, MDNI, no use of y/n, rockstar au, all participates are 18+, mentions of alcohol and substances, reader is established as eddie's girlfriend, gareth has crush on reader, reader is jealous of every girl and pretty damn mean, voyeurism, drunk sex, gareth is really there just to watch, public sex, dry humping, tons of dirty talk, spanking, fingering, rough unprotected sex, name calling, face grabbing, multiple orgasms, light choking, possessive eddie, creampie, angst at the end

authors note: i listened to miss possessive by tate mcrae too many times. sorry.

how to help palestine ~ dividers by @cafekitsune

“Another tequila soda, sweetheart?”

Your eyes trail up Eddie’s form, your slightly tipsy mind taking in every inch of his outfit. It is not clubbing attire in the slightest, but rockstars did not need to fit into the crowd of half-naked dancing drunks. A small smile creeps across his knowing face as he leans over the table, his face inches from yours. 

Eddie could read you in every situation, and he knows what’s playing in your brain at this very moment. 

You want him so bad. 

The insatiable desire you have felt with him since joining him and Corroded Coffin on tour has taken over your entire being. You can not keep your hands off him. When he’s near, you have to have your hands somewhere on him. Wrapped around his waist, gripping onto his hands and arms as you walked into venues, and even when he was sitting and talking to people, you would lazily wrap your arms around his neck and shoulders from behind. 

You wanted his attention and he did a very good job of indulging. 

And then there was Gareth. 

Him joining the mix was unexpected and you anticipated it to be awkward the next day, but he treated you the same way he always did. Sweet, polite, and always looking out for you in some way. 

There had been times that you could count on one hand when he would eye you a certain way when you wore a tight skirt. Or a slight touch he would press on your lower back when trying to shimmy by you on the tour bus. But nothing ever crossed that strict line in the sand that Eddie drew out for him. 

Eddie did not say anything else about it after that night, simply putting it behind him like it never even happened. You sometimes believe you mocked it up, and it was all just a dream. 

A very hot dream.

“See somethin’ you like?” He asks teasingly as you rub your glossed lips together, distracted by your own thoughts. 

You brush your nose across his, humming your response. “Mhm…”

He presses a kiss to your lips, his tongue swiping across your upper lip to taste your cherry-flavored gloss. You push onto his collarbones, pulling away. He furrows his brows under his swept bangs. “What?”

“Best behavior tonight, remember? We were advised by your manager to not draw too much attention…”

The mid-week meeting consisted of Corroded Coffin’s management targeting public displays of affection that were a bit too graphic to be on the front page of tabloids. So what if Eddie wanted to squish your ass when you two walked around LA, shopping for lingerie? He is not supposed to have a pristine record, he’s a fucking guitarist in a heavy metal band.

As aggravated as you were about it all, you did not want to step on toes. You told them you two would scale it back, much to Eddie’s chagrin. He wanted to tell them to piss off, but ruffling feathers when they were about to drop their sophomore album was not a great idea. 

Eddie nods, pressing a quick kiss to your lips again. “Lemme get us a refill.”

The moment he leaves, Gareth returns to the booth, a pretty blonde thing in tow. You had been watching him make his way through the dance floor all night with Grant. He stood out like a sore thumb, just like Eddie. His raggedy t-shirt and black jeans did not scream lady killer, but you spotted him touching on plenty of girls as he danced with them to sped-up pop songs. 

His girl’s dress was much tighter than yours, her makeup exaggerated, but her hair was perfectly placed on her head, almost like it was a wig. It never moved, even when Gareth slung his arm over her shoulders. 

You sucked up the last bit of your drink, your gaze wandering to the way Gareth rubs small circles into her bare shoulder. A pang of something rushes over your body, and you suddenly feel repulsed by the view of them. 

She must feel your eyes burning into her because she finally flicks her bright blue eyes at you. 

“You are Eddie’s girl, aren’t you?”

Her voice immediately pisses you off. You straighten your spine, leaning over the booth. The dress you decided to wear tonight was a bit too short so the moment you extend your body, you feel the back side of it rise to your mid-buttcheek. 

“The one and only.”

Gareth chuckles at your dryness, turning his gaze towards the bar where Eddie is grabbing your refill and another whiskey straight for himself. You bite the inside of your cheek as the girl’s face lights up at your response. 

“He’s a pretty boy, ain’t he?” She almost questions, even though she knows the answer. From what you can read about this girl from the two shared sentences, she seems to think she’s untouchable. She’s seated next to the drummer of the most popular metal band in the world, she must be the most divine being in the seedy club the boys were insistent on coming to. From her dress, you can tell she spends a pretty penny on her nightclub looks. She thinks she’s hot shit, just by the way she’s leaning back over the table to talk to you. 

She is only asking the question because she wants to test you. See if she can get under your skin. 

You cock your head to the side, condescendingly. “Who are you again?”

“Mad-”

“Right, whatever your name is, I suggest you don’t talk to me like we are friends.”

Gareth is taken aback immediately, and suddenly, you both start speaking your own language with glances. You tap your nails, waiting for Gareth’s friend to respond to you, but she’s rendered speechless. You watch as her hand crosses her own lap and goes to Gareth’s, almost like she’s waiting for him to reprimand you. 

He doesn’t. His eyes are trained on the way your face twinges. He knows you can handle yourself.

Her touches are so aggressive, it sends your head spinning. You had been watching Gareth dance on other girls all night, but when it is the girl initiating the behavior, the jealousy creeps across your skin. You cannot pull your gaze away from where her hand rests on him. 

“I don’t wanna step on any toes-” Her voice is unsteady, trying to remain calm under your deadly glare. You tap your long nails on the marble table top before you bring your hand up in a stop gesture. 

“Then don’t. Keep your eyes off of him.”

Gareth cannot help the smirk that spreads across his face the moment you hush her. He was not expecting you to be so brutal to the girl, but it is very reminiscent of when you took control of his sexual encounter with that groupie on the tour bus. 

You had a dominant streak. Which was so hot.

Eddie places your glass directly in front of you, sliding next to you in the booth. Perfect timing.

The girl’s pupils dilate the moment she looks at him, causing that pit in your stomach to grow and spread through your body. 

If looks could kill, you would be wanted for the murder of some random Valley Girl. 

Eddie looks at Gareth questioningly, but he just shrugs in response. 

You reel in your resting face, finally smiling and straightening your head towards the girl. “Where did I say to keep those eyes, hun?”

Her face drops the moment you yell over the music, “I’m sorry?”

“Where did I tell you to keep your eyes?” You hassle her with the smile painted on your face, which only adds to the fear spreading across her face. The sudden uncertainty and lack of confidence spilling out of her fills your chest with unbridled joy. “My boyfriend. Are you looking at him?”

She tries to scrape together a sentence, but her bright pink pout spills out jumbled words. “I-I have e-eyes.”

“I-I,” You mock, “Yeah, you should use them and look somewhere else. Maybe the floor, or the ceiling, or anywhere but the people at this booth.”

Eddie’s eyes widen, his hand gripping your thigh under the table. At the same time, his elbow nudges your side, trying to grab your attention. But you are lasered in on her, and in a beat, on Gareth. 

He looks mystified by your words, his bottom lip slightly parted from his upper. 

It’s the same expression he gave you when he told you to keep your eyes open when was making that groupie cum on his cock weeks ago. 

You had to admit, the alcohol was making you bold, but the moment he made eyes at you, something switched inside you. You realize you needed his attention, too. He was yours for the taking.

The girl glances over at Gareth the moment he licks his lips at you. 

You finally look away while he deals with the girl’s inquiries, your eyes finally looking up at your boyfriend. His jaw is slack, his hand still tightened on your bare thigh. The brown in his eyes looks so dark, even when the flashing lights swoop over his face. You could tell he was not happy with the exchange with Gareth just moments before. 

You grab your drink, squeezing the lime into the clear cocktail, trying to distract yourself from looking at Gareth across the booth. Eddie’s eyes are locked on the side of your face; you can sense him. 

His breath fans your neck and earlobe out of nowhere. “Are you insane?”

The lime juice drops down your fingers as you clench it between your pointer and thumb. Your face twitches at his question, unsure if a response would get you in more trouble. 

You drop the lime in the drink and use the straw to swirl it around. You lick your fingers clean, letting the sourness of the lime settle on your taste buds.

You were usually pretty possessive of Eddie, especially with random girls backstage at shows. You were never fond of watching them touch him, flirt with him, and in some cases, just look at him in certain ways. But it was a part of the job, so you would suck it up and hours later make him fuck you while he repeated that he was all yours and no one else’s. 

The girl started talking about Eddie first, which already did not sit right with you. When the excitement spread across her face when he sat back down, you physically could not help yourself.

But Gareth? 

Why were you making eyes at him? Why were you disgusted watching him cuddled up with this girl? Was it just because it was her, or was it something else entirely?

You bring the straw to your lips and take a sip before finally replying to Eddie. 

“I don’t like the way she talks about you.” You peer at her now practically hidden face as you say it. She is positioning her face in Gareth’s curls, whispering something in his ear. His arm is no longer behind her shoulders as his hands are now folded over the table in contemplation. Eddie’s palm rubs up your thigh, dangerously high. 

Your face twitches when his fingers grope your inner thigh, the coldness of his rings sending goosebumps across your skin. You take another sip of your drink, slurping it a bit, which catches Gareth’s attention. 

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Gareth’s voice is crackling a bit; not sure if he can get away with calling you by a nickname. Eddie’s motions completely halt when he hears his bandmate’s question. 

It must have been the girl’s tipping point because her eyes roll to the back of her head. She grips the edge of the table and slides away from Gareth, her high heels clacking against the concrete floors of the club as she practically runs from the table. 

“What the fuck is going on? What did I just walk into?” Eddie interrogates, his eyes flickering between you and Gareth. You start to bounce your leg and take your bottom lip between your teeth. 

Eddie knows when you are lying, so that was out of the question. 

“Your girl likes to drive other girls away from me, it seems,” Gareth states, flicking his curls a bit out of his face.

He leans over the table, his long silver chain dragging across the table. Your mind instantly starts to imagine it dangling above you-

Eddie slaps your thigh, demanding your attention. “Why?”

You do not have an actual reasonable explanation for him, so you put your drink down on the table and shrug. 

“Just looking out for my boys.”

You shift yourself in the booth to face Eddie. His hand slips off your thigh and your dress rides up completely over your ass, onto your hips. You can hear Gareth scoff across the table, his presence pulling back to lean against the cushion of the booth. Eddie’s eyes widen at your response and you can tell you did not answer correctly. You were testing boundaries with Eddie, but your drunk self did not quite grasp that and the possible consequences. You were honest, at least. 

“Your boys?”

The suddenness of Eddie’s next movements makes you yelp. He manhandles you onto his lap, wedging you between his chest and the large sprawling table. You are still facing Gareth, but your arms are locked behind your back. Eddie’s dark chuckle behind you sends chills up your spine. 

“You need to remember who you belong to, princess. And it’s not him.”

You gulp, feeling the wetness pooling between your thighs already. You were already expecting to be in his lap like this tonight, but not in the middle of the club, right in front of Gareth. 

His warm hands release your arms, now creeping to your front. They trace up your body, creeping up your sides all the way to your chest. When they fondle your tits, your head falls back onto his shoulder and your hips shift in place. 

“Say it,” He whispers into your neck, his hair tickling your collarbones, “Tell Gare that you’re mine and only mine.”

You just moan, trying to gain any sort of friction on his lap. 

Gareth is hypnotized by you two. It should be something he looks away from, but watching you two mess around is better than any porn he’s ever watched. 

You tilt your head forward in defiance, not indulging Eddie in the words he wants you to say out loud. You tighten your lips together, pursing them a bit as you focus on Gareth. The shifting lights beam through the curtains and spread across his face, highlighting the sly tipping of his head. 

Eddie’s right hand continues to grapple at your boob as the other one travels between your legs. Your bottom half is covered by the table so Gareth cannot see where his hand lands, but he has a very good idea where his fingers are. 

Eddie finally looks towards Gareth’s ravenous eyes, not catching the man’s eyes because they are locked on yours. 

He could not stand it anymore. 

Never happening again. He told Gareth that. And now he is looking at you like you are his next meal. And you? You have been nothing but stubborn lately. Usually, you are a puddle in his hands, but you have been extra greedy lately. Deep down, he knew he spoiled you a bit too much with the threesome and now was reaping the consequences. It irked him but he knew he had to put you both in your respective places. 

He would show you both who’s in control here.

Eddie’s groping is no longer hidden the moment he scoots you around the crescent-shaped booth. Gareth’s body is cemented to the same spot as Eddie’s hands slide between your thighs, spreading your knees apart. Your panties are soaked through, and you can tell by the look on Gareth’s face that it’s taking everything within him not to reach out and touch you. 

You place one foot up on the booth, your toes almost touching Gareth’s thigh, while your other leg is held in place between Eddie’s spread lap. 

“Soaked through your panties, hm?” Eddie’s fingers trace the hem of your underwear before sliding through the fabric with his pointer and middle finger. Him gathering the slick through your panties is enough stimulation to have you throwing your head back in pleasure. 

When his digits hook around the material, revealing your glistening cunt to Gareth, you cannot help but moan at his reaction. He takes the panties, tucking them in his pocket as your hips rock back and forth. 

You swear you see drool dribble down his bottom lip the moment Eddie’s fingers plunge into your sopping cunt. You can hear how wet you are over the music, your hips jerking forward to get Eddie to move inside you. 

He’s taking his time, dragging his digits in and out of you teasingly. You increase your movements forward, which leads Eddie to pulling his fingers out of you completely and slapping your inner thigh hard.

“Stop being greedy, princess,” He warns, his voice husky and rough, “When has that ever gotten you anywhere?”

He clamps his arm down over your leg, barring you from moving that leg as he brings his attention back to your pussy. He drags his fingers in and out of you, spreading around your juices like he’s finger painting through your slit. 

Gareth refuses to look away, grabbing his drink from the table and slamming it down. The burn he feels is suddenly replaced with pure ice the moment Eddie starts slapping your cunt, looking down your body as he does. 

“You know, you,” Eddie says, increasing in the pace of his swats at your cunt, “You never did what I asked you to do, princess.”

You bite your lip, knowing exactly what he wants from you. 

“Make me cum, please-” He presses his nose against the side of your head, his mouth right above your ear. “Tell drummer boy you’re fucking mine. I won’t ask you again.”

You let out a long sigh. You are all Eddie’s, there’s no doubt about that. But you craved what he would give you if you were defiant. Lately, his adamance and pure dominance over you has been the adding fuel to the hottest sex you two have ever had. You loved being a brat and having him set you straight. 

But this act was all being done in front of his friend. You knew you had some power imbalances with this situation and it could get hairy very quickly. 

So you submit. 

You turn to Gareth, eyes boring into his dark blue eyes. “I’m Eddie’s. Only his.”

Eddie’s groan kickstarts the quickest orgasm you have ever had from his fingers. He sinks into you, hooking his pointer and middle finger inside your dripping hole. His fingers instantly begin the ‘come hither’ motion as his thumb swipes across your swollen clit. You are holding onto whatever can keep you from sliding out of the booth seat, and somehow, Gareth’s body has moved close enough for you to hold onto his knee. 

The fire within you erupts the moment Eddie moves his fingers in the perfect tandem, touching you right there. 

Your chest heaves, your mind goes blank, and your breath leaves your body. Your nails dig into Gareth’s kneecap as your body practically goes limp and falls forward. Eddie’s arm wraps around your midsection, chuckling darkly to himself.

He does not let you recover from your insane high before he’s repositioning you up on his lap again. Your legs get locked between his thighs, closing them together tightly. In the time your eyes were screwed shut in pleasure just moments before, Eddie had already pulled his hard cock out of his skinny jeans. 

“He’s gonna watch. And only watch. He’s not touching my girl,” Eddie says with gritted teeth.

The moment your ass brushes across it, your hazy mind makes the connection that you are about to fuck him in a public club while his bandmate watches. 

The riskiness of it gets your adrenaline pumping. If anyone were to peek into the VIP area, they would see you placed on Eddie’s lap, dress over your hips as both your faces are twisted in pleasure. 

What a headline that would make! 

He readies his cock by spitting in his hand and stroking it for a moment. You shake your ass over his lap, your eyes locked on Gareth’s completely spent appearance. His hands are practically twitching, itching to touch you somehow. 

But you were not the only possessive one. 

Gareth wanted you bad and he has since the moment he sunk into you. But you were obviously off-limits and Eddie made that very clear. Hell, he was making it so abundantly clear now, he would fuck you in front of him just to prove so. 

So instead, Gareth was always subtle with his passes towards you. The moment you were around, he usually cleared the area of women because you were the only one he found himself fixated on. He knew he could not give those women the same attention when you were in his presence. 

He so badly wanted tonight to be different. Distract himself with tons of alcohol, dancing, and women. But there you were, sitting all lonesome waiting for your knight and shining armor to return. He would be lying if he did not notice the way you looked at him the moment he sat down with, Maria? Maddie?

It was the alcohol, you told yourself. It was Eddie touching you. It was the pulse of the club and bass drops in the music. 

It was not your feral desire to fuck Gareth again.

Eddie being adamant about Gareth only being allowed to watch was maddening. You wanted more hands. More kisses. More stimulation. And Gareth was a good provider of all those things. 

Eddie grasps at your waist, slowly easing you down onto his cock. You cannot help but grip the edge of the table, tilting your body towards Gareth’s frame. 

You hover over Eddie enough that he can shift his hips upward and shallowly fuck into your soaked cunt. The stretch is always delicious, the feeling even better than you remember. Even if you two fucked a couple hours before, it still felt like the first time. His cock just fits so snugly inside you, you sometimes pray he could stay there all the time. 

While Eddie focuses on thrusting up into you, you slap the table in front of Gareth, shaking the drinks in front of him.

“Talk to me,” You plea, your fingers spreading out towards him. If he can not touch you, he can at least talk you through it.

The sinful smile that spreads across his face almost makes you clench around Eddie’s length. 

“Such a dirty girl,” He practically shouts. It’s almost as if the music is getting louder to prevent people from hearing the pornographic scene happening behind some sheer curtains. “You want me to talk to you while Eddie fucks that pussy, hm?”

His condescending tone is enough to make your head spin. He slides a bit closer to you two, his eyes flickering down to how Eddie is snapping his hips up into your squelching cunt. 

The plea you make towards him turns his attention back to your twisted expression. “Please, please just talk.”

Eddie’s pace quickens, his grip on you becoming tighter. He grumbles something like while he swats your bare ass, “Such a slut.”

Gareth chuckles dryly, “Isn’t she, Eds? Just a dirty little slut that loves her hole stuffed, hm? Doesn’t matter when or where.”

You cannot help the sounds that escape you. The moans grow louder and louder, especially when Eddie stops to lift your leg back up onto the booth. The position allows him to slip his hand right between your folds, toying with your swollen clit. 

It’s not lost on Gareth how overstimulated you are, he can see directly into your soul with those steely blue eyes.

“Just fucked out on Eddie’s cock, huh, sweetheart?”

You nod quickly in tandem with Eddie’s fingers swiping across your folds as his pace increases, “Yes, oh my god, yes.”

“You just can’t help yourself, can you? I can hear you moaning almost every night on the bus, begging to cum. Poor baby has to beg.” 

The way he’s mocking you makes the coil inside your stomach pulsate for a moment. You cannot help yourself, springing into an action you may regret later. You grab onto Gareth’s arm, pulling it forward and up to your throat. 

Eddie wants to stop it, but he can feel your pussy clenching around him and he wants to make you cum over and over, all in front of his stupid fucking friend. The point he needs to prove, for some reason, is taking priority over his rules of Gareth not touching you. 

While Gareth laughs at your desperation, his fingers tighten around your windpipe. 

“I just know that cunt of yours is milking Eddie’s cock, just like it did mine,” Gareth whispers as your face tilts away from him. He tugs on your throat, snapping your eyes back onto his. You are right on the edge, the teetering now turning into falling. “Make a mess on his lap, sweetheart. Look at me as you cum. Go on.”

The pressure Eddie puts on your clit throws you into overdrive. You instinctively want to close your legs, but Eddie has a strong hold on your left thigh, opening you up. The hold Gareth has on your throat only intensifies, his rings indented on the edges of your neck. As much as you want to keep your eyes on Gareth, the pleasure makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. Your mouth hangs wide as shaky moans pour out of you like a gushing fountain. Eddie does not stop his assault on your cunt as your white hot climax settles in your stomach. 

When your vision returns, Gareth has the most twisted look on his face. His hand slowly creeps up your throat, resting on your chin. You are finally able to inhale a big breath as Eddie holds you still on his lap while he catches his breath for a moment. 

Eddie lifts you off his lap, tearing you away from Gareth’s grasp. You have never been so forcibly pushed onto a tabletop, but somehow Eddie flops you onto your back, making almost every drink spill onto the floor or marble. It wobbles a bit as you stare up at Eddie, propping yourself onto your elbows. 

“Dude, what the f-”

Gareth cannot even finish his sentence before Eddie shoots daggers at him. “Shut the fuck up.”

He wants Gareth to watch him fuck you intimately. Eye contact. Hands everywhere. Him being the only one talking you through it. He wants Gareth to see you cum by his hand and only his hand. He wants Gareth to realize that he in no way has any ownership of you. You were his. And only his.

Just because Gareth got a taste of you before, does not give him any upper hand now.

Eddie’s grip has you shimmying your hips to the edge of the table as his left-hand pumps his cum covered shaft. He stands up, pushing the table back a couple of inches, making sure he had enough room to stand and fuck you. 

You grab at his shirt, trying to gain his focus but he slips his cock back inside you without even looking at you and suddenly your stomach is twisting. You're still sensitive from the previous orgasm, but Eddie does not care. He sets a sudden and brutal pace, grabbing the hem of his shirt from you so it does not cover up the view of you all sprawled out in front of him. He smiles watching himself disappear inside you, it seems so picturesque. 

His eyes finally seek out yours and a smirk creeps across your lips. “God, you feel so good.”

The hand that is not hooked on your hips, trails to your lower pelvis. He applies some subtle pressure to that spot as he grinds into you, “Yeah? You feel me there, baby?”

You almost forgot Gareth is still seated right beside you until you hear him croak out, “Jesus.”

You do not dare break eye contact with Eddie as he brings the bottom of his shirt up to his teeth, bearing down on the fabric. You drop down onto your shoulders, your arms reaching the edge of the table. 

“Are you gonna answer me, sweetheart? Or do you only answer to Gareth?”

The bite in Eddie’s tone makes you shudder. “Yes, baby. I feel you right there.”

You hold his palm down on your stomach, which only encourages him to go faster and feel his cockhead push against you from the inside. 

“I’m gonna fill that pussy up,” Eddie rambles, throwing his head back to regain some sort of composure as he dirty talks to you, “You like that, huh? You like walking around with my cum dripping down your leg?”

Gareth’s breathing hitches and you can hear it the moment Eddie’s groans turn into grunts, chasing his own high. Your eyes trail over to Gareth as you feel Eddie’s cock twitch inside you after one particularly sharp thrust. You just lie there, completely fucked out of your mind. The moment Eddie’s hips slow down, you peer back over at him. 

The way his shirt is tucked up, revealing his toned pale tummy. The sweat is dripping down his forehead from the curls that are usually brushed across his forehead. His jaw is slightly unhinged as he empties himself inside you. The lighting of the venue only adds to the sensuality of it all. You would love to see him like this every day for the rest of your life. 

But the moment he finishes, he abruptly pulls out of you, cum instantly dribbling on the table. 

You are taken aback. Your body still feels like jello as you manage to push yourself up onto the balls of your hands. Eddie wastes no time at all, tucking is dick back into his jeans and stepping away from in between your legs. You tilt your head towards him, trying to catch his eyes, but he will not even look in your direction.

“What’s wrong-”

“Can’t even fuckin’ look at me when I finish inside you. Fuckin’ insane.”

You shake your head, your brain almost malfunctioning from being completely dazed by your multiple orgasms, on top of the alcohol you slammed down not too long ago. You do not understand what he is talking about besides the brief glance you shot over at Gareth when he made a noise. 

Before you can even respond to him, Gareth is standing up and coming to your defense. 

“Bro, it wasn’t like that-” “Shut the fuck up,” He puts his hand up at Gareth, completely disregarding the beginning of his sentence, “I need to go have a cigarette. Please don’t follow me.”

You sit up completely, your bare ass touching the table top as you slide down onto your feet. 

“Baby, you know it wasn’t like that.”

He is already half out of the booth as his body fully turns towards you, “Bullshit.”

And he walks away, pushing the curtain completely away from disguising the booth from the outside crowd. You feel sick to your stomach, a wave of guilt and nauseating self-pity washing over you. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. 

“This cannot happen again,” Gareth remarks, making his way to the edge of the booth, “Better yet… I don’t think I should talk to you anymore.”

Your heart sinks to your ass, sobering up completely due to the situation that’s unfolding all around you. 

“Gareth, don’t be ridiculous.”

He stops you, standing up and shaking his head dramatically, “No, what’s ridiculous is that we let this happen again. I’m not… I’m not disrespecting Eddie again. So whatever… things you felt about me. Or us. It’s not real and it’s not happening again.”

“Gare-”

“Have a good rest of your night, sweetheart."