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cacoetheswriting · 4 months

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celebrity skin. (part seven)

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x popstar!fem!reader word count: 6.7k summary: due to an unexpected visit, you're forced to tackle a certain situation head on. maybe now you can get some answers from the rockstar that broke your heart — or maybe your family will just annoy you about it.

content warnings: 18+, minors dni: suggestive & mature themes, adult language, post-breakup emotional hurt / a little comfort, minor use of pet names, tiny bit of fluff, familial drama — if i missed anything in this chapter, pls let me know!

& psa: images used in the header don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also described vaguely in the story, only that she’s a little shorter than eddie.

celebrity skin. masterlist

There is an infamous estate in East Hampton that’s been key to many conversations between your family members.

Grey Gardens was four acres of oceanfront land.

The prime location had been prone to controversy right from the very beginning, or more accurately, since 1901. Controversies involving the women that owned the estate. Women not so dissimilar to your own grandmother, such as Margaret Bagg Phillips who was challenged for ownership of the land after the passing of her husband — (his brother suspected that she cremated him so that an autopsy couldn’t be performed).

More notably though, Grey Gardens had at one point been home to Edith Ewing Bouvier Beale, and her daughter, Little Edie.

Your Nana would often use Big Edie’s martial fall out as an example to never trust a man’s intentions. She’d also use the Beale’s widely publicised story as a warning. People will judge you, especially if your name is already known to some.

Despite the gossip associated with Grey Gardens, the reason for its frequent mention at your family’s dinner table wasn’t because of the vast size of the property, its architectural style, or design. And it wasn’t the scandalous story, or the association with being a recluse. No. For your family, the name signalled an escape. A white flag, of sorts, to end the standoff between two or more people because the talks were going in circles. The mention of Grey Gardens was to allow for reflection since seeing someone else’s point of view, in the heat of the moment, was not easy.

A white flag you were now waving.

“Eddie came to see you?” Val asks in disbelief while she carefully sets a bowl of mashed potatoes down on its designated spot at the family dinner table.

“Grey Gardens,” you mutter, not interested in getting into this conversation.

Unfortunately, your younger sister ignores you, along with the meaning that your family has given to the East Hampton acres of land. She proceeds to press on the matter, rather indelicately, because she’s always been nosy when it comes to your celebrity skin — not out of jealousy, you knew that much, just morbid curiosity, as she’d always say. Normally you don’t mind it. Hers is the only attention you give into because she’s always been your number one fan. This whole situation with Eddie however, well, that you didn’t want to get into. It’s the reason you stayed hidden in your apartment for all those weeks following the breakup.

So you made a promise with yourself: no one has to know that the Corroded Coffin frontman showed up at your door the other night. And by no one, you meant your own family and close circle, since you already told Steve and Eddie’s undoubtedly gone to visit his sister. Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, three days with no hitch. Saturday… Well, the tabloids had to go and ruin that day for you and put a hink in your plan to keep this situation underwraps. EDDIE MUNSON SPOTTED IN NEW YORK: the Rockstar plus the Big Apple, it can only mean one thing.

People aren’t stupid. They picked up on the hidden meaning immediately. Understood the illusion presented to them by second-rate journalists who were dreaming of writing about things that matter, but are instead stuck working on puff pieces about people five-times more famous than they’ll ever be. So the gossip train took off. Eddie Munson was in New York City to see you. This time, of course, that was true, but you hated that other people knew about it. Most importantly, you hated that your family knew.

“Did he say why he came?” Val is relentless.

Tension is building up your back, to your shoulder blades. You crack your neck. You’ve never been one to go against family, but you’re maybe about one question away from telling Val to fuck off. Jesus. The intention behind the thought disappears from your mind just as fast as it initially crept up. It would be redundant. She’d just call for mom, the peacemaker.

And speaking of mom…

“Valentine, can you please gather your siblings? Dinner will be ready in five minutes and I’m pretty sure Jonah is knee-deep in Play-Doh, while Amelia will take about twenty to put down the phone.”

She always walks into the room like she’s in a rush for something, despite never having anywhere to go outside of school pickups and grocery runs. Yet there’s an elegance there, thought by your Nana, and an aura of warmth and a certain poise that you’ve envied since you were a little girl. An aura that can’t be mimicked or copied. You’ve tried.

“Your sister is going to help me out here,” your mom adds before Val can argue, “The green beans need to be finished, and I need someone to check on the pie because I have to handle the steaks.”

You’re grateful for the distraction, following your mom into the kitchen. The sizzle coming from the oil is soothing, like white noise. You stand in the doorway for a moment, allowing yourself to close your eyes, listening to the hissing as you take in the surrounding smells. Solace. Although it’s brief because your mom is calling your name and she’s again in a rush, opening the oven quite harshly and telling you to look at the pie.

“Where’s dad?” You wonder while doing what she’s requested you to do. The pie is burned at the top, but you don’t tell her, taking it out instead and setting it aside to cool. The oven is off before she even gets a chance to ask what it looks like.

“He’ll be back soon,” she answers simply, “Went to pick up Caroline and your Nana.”

You nod and move onto finishing the green beans before your mom can implore you to do so. She starts whistling. The same tune she always does when cooking — your first number one song. It makes you smile. She’s always told you how proud she was, both of your parents did. Their beautiful girl, their second daughter, grew up to become bigger than the world. That’s plenty of reason for pride. You start to hum along.

For the next ten minutes, five longer than what your mom said dinner would take, you forget all about Eddie Munson showing up at your apartment door.

The banging continues. Eddie's calling your name through the wood that’s separating your two bodies, desperate for your attention. It’s almost like a plea, but that would mean he’s remorseful of something, and if you know Eddie at all — which you think you do — he’s not the remorseful type, considering how often he fucks up.

With a trembling hand, you slide the chain onto the lock and slowly open the door, peeking at the rockstar from between the created gap. Eddie is quick to readjust his position, leaning forward against the frame, so that he can see you better in the dim light of your apartment.

“How did you get past the doorman?”

“I uh… I told him I was your boyfriend.”

You can’t help but scoff. His answer angers you. Enough to want to shut the door back in his face, which you’re about to do when Eddie places his hand between the crack, preventing you from doing anything.

“Just hear me out.”

“Please leave.”

“Sweetheart—”

“No,” you snap, “You… you don’t get to call me that.”

Eddie sighs while dropping his hand, though he doesn’t move much further and his persistence makes it hard for you to just leave him there, sulking in your hallway.

Motherfucker.

Despite the resentment you currently feel, and despite not really wanting to talk to him, you briefly close the door to unlatch the chain, then open it again before stepping to the side, allowing him to enter the confines of your apartment because a) you’re an idiot, and b) you’re a stupid fucking idiot.

The rockstar lingers for a moment, glancing between you and the inside of your home, and you think he must be unsure about your sudden change of heart. Frankly, you’re unsure too since you did your best to get over him — a lot of that effort to no avail. You’re mainly unsure though, ‘cause once he steps through the threshold, it will be a lot harder to kick him out.

“Do you want something to drink?” You ask, breaking the rather heavy silence, but you don’t wait for him to answer. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll get us some water.”

Eddie nods at your words, slowly, and you leave him there, lingering by the open door before he finally takes that step forward. You disappear into the kitchen under the pretext of hydration, when you’re alone, however, instead of reaching for two glasses, you lean against your fridge as the tears breach through the corners of your eyes. The stone-like facade you put up just moments prior has disappeared the second you allowed yourself to breathe.

Every inch of you is against indulging the Corroded Coffin frontman in whatever conversation he hopes to have with you, hence why you shut the door in his face in the first place. He broke you, a sentence you repeated to yourself like a mantra while spending hours on end in bed instead of living your luxurious life. You’re dreaming of Grey Gardens. The escape that it provides. The white flag you wish to wave in means of avoidance because avoidance is always easier than working through feelings, especially since you’ve been down this road before with Eddie and he just doesn’t seem to change.

Then there’s that voice of reason, closely resembling your mom, telling you that Eddie did come to New York and of all people, he chose to see you. Despite everything that’s happened, despite knowing he most likely wouldn’t be greeted kindly, he still came to see you. That’s gotta count for something, right?

Wrong, considering the timing of his arrival is shortly after your not-so-fake date with one of his closest friends as so carefully planned by Max; who was counting on this very reaction from her brother. She prepared you for it, so you knew damn well that whatever conversation you’re about to have would be far from productive, since, you suspect, this is the reason he’s in the Big Apple to begin with.

And while you’re in the kitchen trying to regain control of your nerves, Eddie is also going crazy.

He didn’t really come here with a clear mission. Honestly, calling Marianne to charter a jet last minute was a pure knee jerk reaction after reading that spread on you and his so called friend, Steve. A night out on the town, featuring his best girl and someone he thought was a best friend. The photo of the two of you was cosy, too close for comfort and too much for poor ol’ Eddie. He wondered how the two of you met. He wondered what you talked about on this date. Did either of you mention his name?

Then the questions took a turn for slightly more perverse considering your history.

Did you do more than just hold hands, as depicted in the photo? He wondered if you, as the tens of girls in Hawkins, also thought Harrington was a good kisser. Was he better than Eddie? Did you enjoy kissing him? Fuck— Jealousy, jealousy, jealousy. The feeling made him sick.

That’s when Eddie knew, despite all perceived consequences, he needed to see you.

Your apartment was exactly like he imagined it to be. Big and bright. Eclectic, but with classy furniture that unsurprisingly looked more expensive than anything he’s ever owned. It was carefully arranged to maximise the space and make it look more inviting.

There was a display of various awards on top of the marble fireplace, most notably a Grammy. Eddie smiles at the statue, then continues to glance around your living room. A gallery wall catches his attention, so he stops his small, self-guided tour in front of it. The photos vary from your magazine covers, to childhood memories. In the middle, there’s a picture of your family and although Eddie’s never met anyone aside from your evil grandmother, from your stories, he knows exactly who everyone is — your parents, Alicia and Brad, with their four daughters, Caroline, Valentine, Amelia, and you, plus the youngest boy, Jonah — and he can’t help but wonder if you told them anything about him.

He suspects the answer is yes, since why else would you disappear for a few months to Los Angeles, only to come back heartbroken. So the brunette rockstar hates himself even more for putting you in that situation in the first place. He wishes more than anything that he could explain, but the grisly threats made by the very person that’s sitting right in the middle of the family picture, ring in his ears.

That’s how you find him. Staring blankly at the photo frames ahead.

Everyone settles at the table, taking their assigned seats, like it’s always been. Mom on one end of the wooden piece of furniture, your dad on the other. The sides see your Nana sitting in between you and your older sister Caroline who’s partner, Jackie, usually takes today’s empty spot. Across sits Valentine, Amelia, and little boy Jonah, who’s always closest to your mom, otherwise he throws a fit.

Nana initiates prayer. Your family has never been overly religious, if at all, but you do believe in thanking whatever higher power may exist for the blessings you’ve each encountered in life: your parents meeting each other when they did and starting the beautiful family your Nana is constantly praying for, Caroline for graduating at the top of her class in medical school and most recently starting her surgical residency at John Hopkins Hospital, Val for her spot at NYU and Amelia for her spot at the top of the cheer pyramid (a sure scholarship ride, when the time comes), and lastly you, for everything that made you. Jonah is the only one that has no idea what’s going on. He’s just happy to see food.

The potatoes are passed clockwise. That’s when the chaos slowly begins to unfold.

“Guess who came to see our star,” Val teases. She means no harm, but you just have this feeling that there’s no way this could end well.

“Who?” Caroline asks, focused more on plating her dinner than on actually getting an answer. She’s just being polite, as always. Unwilling to leave her sister hanging.

“A certain dark-haired rockstar.”

“Val—”

But your attempt at a protest is quickly interrupted.

“Oh for the love of everything good,” your Nana exhales rather loudly, “What does that boy want with you now? I thought you left that fiasco behind in Los Angeles, where it belongs.”

“It’s not like I invited him over,” you state, “He just… appeared.” Not entirely a lie because they don’t have to know that the last date you were seen on was carefully orchestrated to get under the rockstar's skin, which is why he came.

“I for one like the thought of you and that boy together,” your mom says, knife cutting into her piece of steak, “There’s something very kind about his face, and you know what I always say about kindness.”

“At the end of the day, that’s all that really matters when it comes to love,” you chime in unison with each of your sisters.

“Exactly.”

“This isn’t about love.” The tone of your Nana’s voice is urging close to displeasement. You look at her, but she’s focused on her plate. If you knew any better, you’d say she was avoiding your gaze. Almost as if she was hiding something.

But you quickly brush the thought away before it can grow into something more. Whatever her stance on the rockstar, and she’s made it very clear on numerous occasions that she wasn’t Eddie’s biggest fan, your Nana was often a lot of talk and little follow through. She didn’t like to get her hands dirty, unless there was a clear benefit to her, or someone in the family. And there was no winning for anyone when it came to the whole situation with Eddie.

“Eddie’s cute,” Amelia says sweetly, taking a forkful of green beans into her mouth. “Like a sexy sort of cute. That bad boy look is definitely working for him.”

“I don’t see it.” Caroline shrugs.

“That’s ‘cause you’re into chicks, not dicks.” Val points out.

“Valentine.” Your dad’s first words around the dinner table are always spoken to reprimand someone else. A man of a few expressions, is what you often described him as. Holly thought it was insanely hot which always grossed you out.

Val clears her throat, understanding that she’s crossed a line with that rather cheeky comment, but she doesn’t apologise. Instead she continues with questions to the initial subject she raised — Eddie coming to see you.

“Did you let him in?” She probes, “Did you guys talk?”

Eddie does turn his head as soon as you walk back into the room, sensing your presence like he usually does. He tries to smile, though his mouth refuses cooperation with his brain and instead pursues his lips into a lopsided line, somewhat reminiscent of what he was trying to achieve, but not quite. Not really.

Avoiding more eye contact than absolutely necessary, you place the two glasses of water on the coffee table before standing on the other side of it. Ensuring ample space between you and the Corroded Coffin frontman. A necessary precaution considering how fast you tend to give into his mahogany-coloured eyes.

“Talk.”

It’s simple. Right now, that’s all you can muster.

Eddie clears his throat. Right now, that’s all he can muster.

In the few minutes of rather unbearable silence that follow, you’re forced to come to terms with the fact that Grey Gardens is most definitely not an option. Eddie is actually here, in your living room, for one reason or another, which is another reminder of how the two of you ended up like this in the first place: “I think we made a mistake,” he says a little too bluntly. “I-I don’t think we should have labelled this so soon, and ehm… This is nothing on you, sweetheart. I’m just not the relationship type.”

“Eddie, talk.” You say with a little more conviction. “Because you begged me for a chance to hear you out just mere minutes ago, and now you’re as silent as the dead, so I’m a little confused and getting even more peeved off.”

“Okay,” he breathes finally, “Okay, uhm.”

Running a hand through his crazy locks, Eddie glances briefly at the golden award on your chimney, before settling his gaze on you.

“I-I saw the pictures of you and Steve.” A statement that surprisingly isn’t fueled by anger, or the jealousy he was for sure feeling, but rather by a sadness that he only blamed himself for.

“Right…”

“How did you two meet?”

“At Saks,” you answer, intentionally leaving out the young redhead that was also present, “We bumped into each other and kind of hit it off.”

“Did he say he knew me?”

“Shouldn’t you be asking him all those questions, Eddie? I’ve got nothing to explain to you since we’re no longer together, you made that very clear,” you state. “If it bothers you so much that I was seen out with Steve, then ask the guy that’s supposedly your friend.”

There’s a twinge of guilt that oozes through your veins because if it wasn’t for your agreement to Max’s little plan, you wouldn’t have to witness Eddie’s desperation. And even though you try to remind yourself how hurting the brunette man back is exactly why you agreed to the stupid date in the first place, seeing Eddie’s melancholy expression makes you think it wasn’t really worth it.

“Look, I-I—” You’re about to give in, explain the situation in hopes he’d simply let it go and leave you be. Leave you to finally move on since, at the end of the day, that’s what you really wanted, no, needed to do.

The phone rings. Interrupting your train of thought along with the conversation. When you answer and it’s Steve, calling to check in since you never called him back, like you promised you would, the guilt bubble bursts and bleeds.

“Eddie’s here,” you simply state into the receiver, your back now to the Corroded Coffin frontman as he continues to stare at your frame.

“Oh,” Steve sighs, “Do you need me to come over? Diffuse the situation?”

Even though Harrington can’t see you, you shake your head. “No, that’s okay. I’m okay,” you affirm and for the first time that night, smile. Albeit slightly. “Thank you anyway, and ehm, I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Deal.”

“Goodnight, Steve.”

“Goodnight, darlin’.”

When you shift in your spot to once again look at Eddie, his expression is no longer one of dejection. Instead it’s replaced by the look you knew you were bound to be at the receiving end of at some point during this night — resentment.

“So you call each other goodnight after just one date, huh?”

Bitter, the tone of his voice. Like a child at a playground who was forced to share his favourite toy. It causes you to roll your eyes ‘cause you’re once again reminded of the person everyone warned you Eddie is: a self-serving asshole. And to say you weren’t expecting a drop of the broken facade at some point would be a lie.

“It’s really nothing to you,” you state back, crossing your arms under your bust, no longer wanting to explain how this all came about. “Now, if all you came here for is to question me about my date, I guess you can leave ‘cause I’ve got nothing else to tell you, Eddie. It’s frankly none of your business and I once again remind, that you made sure of that.”

Eddie scoffs, but doesn’t say anything else, not even a stupid goodbye, or see you around. He simply brushes past you and slams the front door shut. Leaving you all alone with your thoughts, yet again.

The sudden silence is overbearing.

You think of Grey Gardens. Inside, a dust-covered grand piano. Untouched and unplayed for many years. You think of the songs that never made it past the first key, wasted because of the hosts decision to lock all doors. Self-preservation. Recluse, like Val recently called you.

And a recluse is the last thing you want to be again.

Jonah is making a mess. He’s playing with his dinner, potatoes everywhere but the places they’re supposed to be. Your mom is trying to calm him down. Unfortunately the further she bargains for peace, the more excited he gets. He’s laughing now. Clearly enjoying himself, along with the attention he’s getting.

Mom’s voice is calm while she repeats his name. Amelia can be heard from the kitchen, screeching that your brother got his dinner all over her new jeans and the stain won’t come out. Caroline is shouting back from her seat, giving your youngest sister cleaning tips she’s picked up at the hospital. Your Nana and Val have gotten into an argument over the parenting style you were all raised with (Valentine protecting your mom, while your Nana remains ever the scrutinizer).

You’re grateful that for a few minutes, everyone is focused on your brother.

Then Jonah starts crying. It’s gotten too loud for his tiny ears. He’s no longer enjoying the minor disruption he’s caused, he just doesn’t know how to apologise for it, so he opts to let the floodgates open. Watching him, you think how lucky it must be to just cry when things get tough. How freeing it must be to not keep shit in until it gets too much.

When his screams get louder, your mom glances at your dad, who understands without a single spoken word that he can no longer just observe. So your dad stands. He walks around the table until he’s by Jonah’s chair, lifting him up in one swift movement.

“It’s alright, my man.”

With that, they’re gone. The cries soon fade. When Amelia sits back down, a wet patch on her jeans, it’s quiet around the table again. Your mom asks for the empty plates, a smile on her face as if the last ten minutes didn’t just flutter her completely. One by one they’re passed to her without a word. When she stands, Caroline follows by picking up the bowls with leftover mash and beans.

“So are you gonna see him again?” Amelia asks. Continuing the previous topic because if she’s engaged in conversation, then mom won’t ask for her help.

“Who?”

“Eddie, you dingus.”

You grimace. “I don’t know.”

That apparently was not the right answer because your Nana jumps back in with nothing but judgement in her tone of voice.

“Honey, do you really want to put yourself through more heartbreak?” She queries, “Because I’ve told you before that boys like that don’t change their ways.”

“Well, I wouldn’t really know if they change or not, since I wasn’t exactly privy to the circumstances surrounding the demise of my and Eddie’s relationship in the first place.” You don’t mean to snap, but that’s exactly what happens. “Now, does the concept of Grey Gardens not apply anymore, because if so, I must’ve missed that family meeting.”

You walk away from the table next. Sick of answering questions. Sick of this conversation. Sure, this was your family, but there were things you wanted to keep private. Especially things relating to Eddie since you were still only trying to figure everything out yourself.

The conversation with Eddie didn’t amount to much. Without allowing yourself to second guess the feeling in your gut, you rushed after the rockstar the night he walked out of your apartment. There was a lot going through your mind, but one thing was a little more clear, he wasn’t going to win. Eddie Munson was not going to be the one to play victim in this situation since he’s the person that’s caused this crazy domino effect. He won’t turn you into a fucking recluse again.

Unfortunately he’s gone by the time you make it to the lobby. You don’t get a chance to confront him then and you haven’t heard from him since. You’re not even sure if he’s still in New York — a feeling creeping through you screams that he is, but you can’t be sure.

The line rings once, twice. Then a jovial voice picks up.

“Mayfield residence.”

You clear your throat. “Hey, Max, it’s uh… it’s me.”

“My favourite popstar,” Red cheers, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Is Eddie there? Or do you maybe know what hotel he’s staying at?”

When Max doesn’t immediately answer, you think you fucked up by calling. Dumb idea, dumb idea, dumb, dumb, dumb. Sucking your bottom lip in between your teeth, you proceed to chew on it nervously, about to tell her to forget you asked, forget you called. But then a voice flows through the receiver and it doesn’t belong to Max.

“Heard you’re looking for me, sweetheart.”

Eddie.

“Have you ever been to Coney Island?”

The Wonder Wheel was an attraction to hundreds, if not thousands, locals and tourists. A glistening staple of the peninsular neighbourhood. You could never hope to see it during the day anymore. Not since your fame skyrocketed, now on par with the amusement park. At night however, when the sun went down and the workers finished their shifts, well, that was a different story.

The watch strapped to your wrist displayed two in the morning as you walked towards the metal gate with a rather hesitant Eddie by your side. He’s unsure why you called, unsure of why you invited him out here after making it pretty clear the other night that you didn’t want to talk to him. What changed?

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Tony was the security guard, about four years shy of retirement. Working the Wheel grounds since he was a kid, following his dad who’d done the job before. A true New York family affair. You befriended him a long time ago now.

“I thought I’d seen the last of you, kid.”

“Back to my roots now. It’s nice to hear I’ve been missed,” you say as Tony opens the gate for you without question.

“One hour,” the older man states, like he’s done many times before, only briefly glancing back at the rockstar that’s accompanying you. Thankfully, he chooses not to comment.

“One hour,” you repeat with a nod and a smile.

Underneath the Wonder Wheel is where you hope to find some peace in this whole situation. Eddie’s still hesitant, and a little confused, especially when you lay flat on your back on the dirty ground to stare upon the metalworks of the world famous attraction. He doesn’t question you though, just accepts that to continue any sort of conversation, he’s going to have to join you.

There’s a half-a-beat of silence. Just the wind, the water, and some crickets. You exhale slowly, eyes closed momentarily because this was one of your safe spaces and now you might’ve ruined it by bringing your ex.

A sigh escapes your lips.

“Eddie, why did you really come to New York?” You ask without looking at him.

When the rockstar doesn’t immediately answer, a glimmer of hope for what you two lost, oozes through you. It’s foolish, yes, you know that. Your Nana would even call you stupid for holding onto something — someone — that has hurt you repeatedly. Matter of fact, she damn nearly has earlier this evening. But it’s Eddie, you tell yourself. He’s charming, but not in a try-hard way. The charm comes naturally to him. He’s funny. He’s wicked smart. And underneath that cold-ish exterior, he’s unbelievably kind (as your mom suspected). You learned this about him. Which is why it hurt so much when he ended things so casually. It seemed uncharacteristic to the Eddie Munson you’ve gotten to know, and possibly even love.

He seemingly came to ask about your date with Steve, as his little sister predicted he would. Just like she planned for. At first, you thought that too ‘cause what other reason would there be to bring him all the way out here after months of no contact. What other reason, except for just seeing you.

“I think I told you once that wherever I go, solo or with the band, I never really set foot outside of whatever hotel they have me staying in, or whatever studio I have scheduled interviews and press in, venture from whatever show I have.”

“Your exact words were: they keep me prisoner,” you say through a smile.

Eddie laughs briefly at the memory. “Well, sweetheart, it’s true. Fame overall in a way is like a prison. Do you ever feel that way?”

“That’s one way to not answer my question,” you tease, nudging his side slightly. “But I guess, yeah. Can’t go anywhere without Hank out of fear some randomer will come up to me with ill intentions, or I’ll end up in the papers again and my ex-whatever will fly across the country to confront me about it.”

You look at him then, a smile circling your lips. Eddie does the same. His brown eyes scan your own for a moment, contemplating the comment you just made.

“We kinda get what we signed up for though, no?” You add. “Seems ungrateful to complain.”

Eddie nods. He licks his lips before looking back up at the sky above, spotty between the metal of the wheel, but beautiful nonetheless. Different from Los Angeles. Different from Hawkins. Reminiscent of the people he’s met here. Reminiscent of you which makes it perhaps the most perfect night sky he’s ever seen.

“I came ‘cause I wanted to see you.”

He exhales.

“When everything went down… I thought I was doing the right thing, sweetheart. I thought I was protecting you from the hell I know dating me can become,” Eddie explains, “I know that’s not an excuse and if it was, it’d be a fucking lame one, but people that are close to me get hurt. That’s just the honest truth.”

“People like Chrissy Cunningham.”

Eddie’s head snaps back in your direction. He’s shocked, that’s for sure. How do you know that name? Did Steve tell you? Surely not without giving Eddie a heads up first. That’s the least Harrington could do after going on a very public date with his ex-girlfriend.

Quick to notice his surprise at the mention of Chrissy’s name, you realise the only way to get the truth, is to be honest yourself.

“Eddie, there’s something you should know about my first run-in with Steve.”

“Did he tell you about Chrissy?” The question is quiet, almost as if the rockstar is afraid to ask it. He’s clearly nervous and it goes well beyond you just knowing about Chrissy.

“Max told me.”

“What?”

You sigh, glancing back up at the metal and sky above.

“She was with Steve that day at Saks. We, uh, we didn’t really talk then. We didn’t even introduce ourselves ‘cause I was with Val who was trying on dresses for this event,” you tell him, then quickly look at him again.

“Max left a note with Hank. It was her address, she wanted to meet me.”

“You met with my sister? I was just with her. Why didn’t she tell me that?”

“I guess maybe she wanted me to be the one to tell you, I don’t know.” You shrug before continuing, “Eddie, she told me how you were seemingly crazy about me, so to her, it didn’t make sense that you suddenly weren’t. All she really wanted was to get your attention, get you to talk to her at least.”

You pause. “Don’t be mad at her please.”

“Why would I be mad at her?”

“Because she’s the one who organised that date with Steve,” you answer. “It was fake, Eds. All for show, to get under your skin.”

He stares at you. Blinking as the information settles. Betrayal isn’t exactly the word he’d use to describe what he was now feeling. Lord knows he deserved it ‘cause there’s no denying he’d been acting like a complete prick towards everyone around him, including little Red who he’s supposed to always be honest with.

So the date was fake. That gave Eddie some solace. You weren’t really going to start dating one of his closest friends, even if the friend in question is calling you goodnight after said fake date. Then again, that’s just Steve the King Harrington, always the gentleman.

One thing remained unanswered, however. How much do you know of Chrissy?

“I’m not mad,” Eddie says eventually. “It actually makes a lot more sense now. Steve’s a good guy.”

“Not the type of guy to go out with his friends' ex,” you tease lightly.

The brunette smirks. “Still a dickhead.”

That makes you laugh. And as the sound settles, a sound Eddie would only describe as angelic, it makes the brunette rockstar smile a little wider. He didn’t think he’d ever be so lucky to hear your laughter again. He especially didn’t think he'd be the one to make you spur the emotion, not after what he’s done and how he’s treated you. But here the two of you are. Your laughter has faded, but the smile on your face remains.

“Well, I’m glad you’re not mad I went on a date with that dickhead,” you say honestly.

“Tsk. I’m not mad at Red,” he clarifies with a smug smile, “Never said anything about you, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes. “May I remind you that you have lost all right to be mad at me for seeing other people when you’re the one that ended things?”

It’s meant to come off lighthearted, but you can’t hide the hurt behind your words. There’s a pain there. One that you’ve forgotten about for the last twenty-or-so minutes because things are easy with Eddie. They align. The imperfect dots that represent your life are pulled together by an invisible string when the rockstar’s around. He somehow manages to make you feel normal and you live to experience a level of normalcy. Even if he hurt you. Twice.

“Tell me about Chrissy,” you change the subject. Steer your thoughts in a different direction.

Eddie avoids eye contact. He lifts one of his arms, flicking the piece of metal and listening to it echo in the night. A lame effort to buy some time before answering you because now that his initial fear of someone else telling you about Chrissy has been squashed by your not-so-simple request, he needs to figure out a way to avoid answering. The threat your grandmother has made at that godforsaken party remains fresh in the rockstars mind: “And Eddie,” she continues, “I wouldn’t tell her about this conversation, and I also wouldn’t be so brave to tell her about Chrissy yourself, because with a snap of my finger, the whole world will know. Then you gotta ask yourself, what’s more important? Your happiness, her happiness, or the careers you both worked extremely hard for.”

He swallows his breath before glancing back at you once again.

“There’s nothing to say.”

It’s simple. Can be perceived as vague ‘cause someone is avoiding the answer, but Eddie hopes you’ll just take it as him not wanting to talk about an ex-girlfriend. Not that Chrissy was his ex, but you didn’t really know that.

“Nothing at all?”

“Nothing at all,” he lies.

There are clear moments that define a person's life and they’re not as basic as one would believe: first words, steps, tantrums, day of school, first friends, first fallouts, fight, crush, kiss, first anything — the list goes on, and on, and on. No. These definitive moments are a lot more hazy. Often remain unclear until you find yourself in therapy, spewing your feelings to someone who’s paid to listen, or when you’re black-out drunk and what’s bothering you deep inside is now between you and some stranger you just met in a nightclub bathroom.

Your list of moments is short and yet, somehow, it features Eddie’s name multiple times. In any other reality, that would be almost poetic. As if some higher power considered the two of you to be bound together. In this reality however, it was almost cruel. You had built a life bigger than you ever dreamed possible, and yet your existence is defined by the rockstar.

Almost cruel.

“There’s a place in the Hamptons. Grey Gardens it’s called. I like to walk by it whenever I’m in the area, which in recent years obviously isn’t often, but still… There’s a certain solace about the property and despite its rather barmy history, my family uses Grey Gardens as a way to move past certain topics without a larger fight.”

The sand beneath you is coarse yet soft at the same time. You run your fingers through it, feeling every individual granule, while your gaze is fixated on the dark waters ahead. Eddie watches you. His arm is pressed against yours. He’s got no idea what you’re talking about, but he’s hooked on every word. As always.

“When you showed up at my door the other night, Grey Gardens is what I thought of,” you admit, “Truth be told, as angry as I was at you for breaking up with me like that, when I saw you, the last thing I wanted was any sort of confrontation.”

“I didn’t come here to argue,” Eddie clarifies.

“I know, Eds.”

There’s a brief moment of silence during which you wrap your arms around your knees and tilt your head to look at him, offering the rockstar a small smile.

“I believe you came ‘cause you regret your decision.”

Eddie looks away, bottom lip now between his teeth. He does so because you’re right, but unfortunately he can’t admit that out loud. He can’t say anything that’s on his mind because he’s aware of the wider implications to both of your careers.

“So, what happens now?” The rockstar asks, only slightly afraid of the answer.

thank you for reading! really appreciate the endless & continuous support!

celebrity skin. masterlist

& tagging some cool ppl that expressed interest: @eviethetheatrefreak , @thirddeadlysin , @haylaansmi , @nope-thanks , @tlclick73 , @vintagehellfire , @ashlynnkennedy , @avalon-wolf , @sidthedollface2 , @astheni-a , @bebe07011 , @aysheashea , @papillonoirsworld , @vol2eddie, @spideyanakin-interacts , @rogers-sweatbands , @mimsie95 , @mmunson86

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie x reader #rockstar!eddie smut #celebrity skin.

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deadgirlkisses · 6 months

Text

a.n: guess who's back! yup, it's me, hehehe! didn't mean to run off for a while guys, i've just been extremely busy :( bare with me guys! anyways, i love nerdy! ellie williams so this is for the sweet girls who love her too!

c.w: modern!ellie williams, college/university AU, fem! reader, socially awkward ellie (hhehe), kinda dom!reader and sub!ellie (idfk), TONS of blabbering, didn't really read proofread, in lowercase on purpose

♡

currently thinking about ellie williams, a stoic & quiet woman that 9 times out of 10, is questioning how she got into a relationship with YOU, the sweetest girl on the block. the girl who always had every shade of pink in her closet. the girl who always made sure her outfits were as cute as ever. the girl that was the living, breathing definition of "doll". the girl known for all the pink throughout campus, "mrs. always in pink" they would say. it was quite simply anyways,

ellie had been looking for a new guitar as hers had broken due to unfortunate circumstances (she was trying too hard to be a rockstar and smashed it CONTINUOUSLY not thinking about the after effects of the guitar) when someone with the sweetest scent of vanilla and strawberry had suddenly swished past her paired with a simple "excuse me" causing her to nearly get whiplash to look at who that may have been as they made their way past.

she recognised the scent, she had smelt it almost all the time when she was in her lectures that she only attended when she felt like, she recognised that voice too, the one she heard when asking and answering questions to her other peers around the room and with dina, jesse and (unfortunately) abby, your friends. upon turning around, she could tell who you were just from the bright baby pink skims dress you had on, your matching pink kate spade bag adorned with a hello kitty charm, she knew it was you.

she couldn't understand what was going on with her, her hands started to become sweaty as she held the guitar, her fingers kept on missing the right strings to strum as she watched you diligently, picking up the pink electric guitar you found. her hair, up in her usual half bun admiring the way you tuned the guitar with your acrylic nails with different assortments of charms and hand drawn images of designs on them that she thought made your hands look so delicate.

it's not like she hadn't stared at you like this before. as stated before, she would attend lectures when she felt like, and when she did feel like attending, it was because she knew you would be there. you two shared a course together and had a class at the same time which gave her countless opportunities to admire you and even talk to you but sadly, her dorkiness over came her and never let her try.

you on the other hand were open to speaking to her, you did know her from your lectures together though you never truly had a good one on one conversation which left you in suspicion of her. who was she truly? why was she constantly looking at you? why was she kind of cute? why did you want her to do you dirty and rough in this very guitar store? let's face it, you weren't oblivious to her constant glances at you. in fact, you thrived on it. you in turn though did act like you wouldn't notice only to allow yourself to take in her.

she didn't have much muscle and she was constantly rumbling about space but you thought it was cute. her front strands of hair falling to cover parts of her face as she looked away from you as you silently strummed away to your favourite song, you felt the intense glare pointed to your fingers. you never thought anything about your fingers except for your nails, always perfectly done in a specific pattern or colour. you can't lie, the way she was looking at your fingers did quite literally make you feel some way...

ellie could never think she would find you here, she never thought that a pretty girl like you could even be around her. but, with the way you two were at the same place and knew of each other, she might as well pluck up the courage and actually talk to you. swiftly, she walked up to you and, with all the confidence she mustered up, finally muttered a small "hey there" to which she made a mental note to never start with a conversation with that.

turning around, you stopped playing your tune and went on with a "oh ellie, didn't see you there!" although you knew she was always there. this did make ellie feel quite bad but at least you "never noticed" her constant ogling at you. after a skip of atleast 4 heart beats, ellie realised who she was talking to and came back to her senses to actually carry the conversation "yeah, i was checking out for guitars. i didn't know you played it...".

you could tell she was trying to be slick, but with the way she constantly glanced at your fingers did make you want her a bit more than usual today. "i've been playing for 7 years now, and i thought i should try electric guitars since i mostly play bass," and now she was completely immersed in your full, glossed lips as you spoke. you didn't know whether to keep going or just leave her be but something made you say "ellie, my eyes are up here."

ellie felt a wave of embarrassment pool up her stomach as she started to blabber out quick apologies here and there. as she struggled to look into your eyes, you could see her tense up much at he way you kept the conversation while attentively keeping up with her body language "the Eastcoast ST1 in pink... you like pink a lot don't you? i mean i can tell with the way you always wear pink and have almost everything of yours in pink and the way you look like the embodiment of pink, it suits you since you're pretty and sweet and so attractive and- i'm sorry, i'm saying way too much aren't i?"

the amount of words spewing out of her mouth caught you off guard but the way she had to stop herself from complimenting you more was what made you utter out words she never thought you would say to her:

" i could kiss you right now, thank you sweetie! "

ellie didn't know if that was a just a statement or a demand but she really wouldn't mind if you did anyways. heat rushed through out leaving her with the colour of strawberries imprinted on her cheeks. "i wouldn't really mind getting a kiss from you anyways but i don't think you actually would" in which she never expected to happen, in a flash of moments,

" who said i wouldn't, hm?"

to which you placed two kisses on each of her cheeks and walked off. no words. no words but baffled was what ellie was. she truly didn't believe in manifestation but having a pretty girl like you kiss her RIGHT AFTER telling her that you would never kiss her and dreaming of those lips on her was absolutely baffling. maybe she did believe in all of that manifestation, "law of attraction" or whatever. as she watched you leave, you abruptly made a stop, causing her to wonder why you would have stopped till you looked directly at her and told her,

" and my fingers could do way more than strumming guitar strings, you know? "

and with that, you left, without a guitar in hand and with a flustered ellie williams wondering how she even got there. manifestation, she'll definitely look into it...

-xoxo, rue

♡

#rue rantz #black girl blogger #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #ellie the last of us #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie x blk!reader #nerd!ellie #ellie tlou #ellie williams smut #the last of us #the last of us 2

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hitlikehammers · 4 months

Text

feel the bigger thing

rating: t ♥️ cw: criminal-levels of softness, rockstar!Eddie, domestic husbands are domestic ♥️ tags: established relationship, rockstar!eddie, rockstar husbands, love is lying on top of each other on the sofa discussing buying a new house with a pool, soul-deep love, slice of life, softness

for @steddielovemonth day twelve: Love is having hope for the future together (@acasualcrossfade)

you know how the rockstar husbands talked about lights for their pool in the original fic, je ne regrette rien? well GUESS WHAT FEATURES HERE

“These numbers,” Eddie’s reading over the printouts from their manager, sales projections and preliminary tour dates and all the rest: “baby, we can get the new house, hell, we can keep this one and have a second house if we want it,” Eddie kisses the top of Steve’s head where he’s got him bundled up on his chest, tucked under his chin where they’re currently both sprawled on the couch; Eddie says he likes to think like that—likes to know Steve’s there by design, no question, the weight of him evident every time he breathes, he says; held close to my heart, baby, in fact, is what he also says.

Hopeless goddamn romantic, his husband. But he wouldn’t have him any other way.

“We don’t need a second house,” Steve points out, smooshed against Eddie’s sternum.

“We can get the pool,” Eddie added with the audible equivalent of his brow-wiggle and okay, fine, that’s a good point, because Steve may not have really used the one at his parents’ after, well, everything, but he…does kinda miss having one. Now that the memories are distant enough in both time and miles that he doesn’t see standing water deeper than four feet and start fucking hyperventilating anymore.

So…yeah. Compelling argument regarding a pool.

“This record,” Eddie blows out a long breath, slow and even as Steve rides it where he’s braced atop his chest, lifted with his lungs: “this record’s gonna change everything.”

Steve turns his opposite cheek against Eddie’s heartbeat, huffs a little as he gets comfortable again before he asks:

“You think so?”

Eddie doesn’t move, but the fact that he stills so completely is kinda like a motion in itself.

“You don’t?”

He doesn’t sound angry or anything, or even upset. Not disappointed. Maybe just…surprised.

And Steve gets that. The numbers attached to this album are…if they’re right?

This is going to be huge.

But.

“I mean,” Steve shrugs, which is kinda useless given his position, so he sorts of ends up nosing at Eddie’s shirt instead as a byproduct of the hushing of his shoulders: he’s not mad at that, as the outcome:

“I guess, not really,” Steve finally settles on because it’s really not any more complicated than that.

Then Eddie’s got his fingertips at Steve’s nape and he’s spreading them through Steve’s hair and oh.

Oh, that’s so fucking nice.

Which is probably why he pairs the sensation with the question he follows with:

“It’s not good?”

And Steve almost doesn’t hear it, and he wouldn’t even fucking feel bad for not hearing it or not processing it when Eddie’s hands are in his hairlike that because fucking hell, Eddie knows what that goddamn does to him; but Steve does hear it. And again: it’s not angry, or upset. It’s maybe a little surprised. It’s not even quite…hurt, or disappointed, but it’s far closer to either or both than Steve’s comfortable with, than Steve ever wants to hear in that voice, so:

“God no,” he answers with real feeling, shaking his head to back it up and also to—mournfully—dislodge Eddie’s distracting fucking hands; “it’s spectacular,” Steve tells him, plain and honest because it’s the fucking truth: “definitely your best yet.” Also true.

Eddie goes still again, and Steve tips his head up and back at the most uncomfortable possible angle to catch Eddie expression, to read its clues: he’s watching Steve so intently, like he’s something unfathomable and dear enough to spend eternity decoding—but that’s strange in itself. They kind of know each other inside-and-out by now.

So Steve rolls back the words exchanged, looks for the catch, the dropped stitch, the record-scratch.

Gonna change everything—

Ah. Steve’s breath hitches a little, but: he thinks he’s found it. Right.

He makes himself breath in deep but slow, gentle and calm as he can, and Eddie’ll pick up the tension he can’t wholly wash out just yet, and Eddie’ll feel the uptick of his pulse where his one hand holds Steve still around the ribs. But it’s fine. Because they’re fine.

Okay.

“I just,” Steve exhales long; “you said everything,” and Steve tries to make his tone hold the word itself to account, to fill it up with all of the things that came to Steve’s mind and made him denounce the possibility on sight—change everything? But there’s so very little about Steve’s life, about this life together, about their life that they’ve clawed and fought for and now get to relish and bask in: Steve doesn’t want that changed.

And to think a fucking album release could change what they have, that was just, insanity.

…right?

“You said that, and I—“ and that’s as far as Steve gets before Eddie’s dragging him up, firm but so tender, and so full of love in just the touch that any misgivings—and they weren’t even that, that were just…just little off feelings that Steve knew weren’t of real consequence, because he knowswhat they are and what they have and his first instinct was right damnit, and he knew that like he knows the sky is blue and Eddie curls frizz no matter what you fucking do to them: they won’t change in the ways that matter, because they’re…unshakable.

So Steve knew that already, and he knows it now in just Eddie’s touch drawing up upward and closer, but if somehow he’d managed to miss both of those points?

The way he kisses Steve is…fuck, it’s like sucking his soul to consume.

“Oh, oh baby,” Eddie speaks so that they’re lips aren’t ever anything but locked tight, but touching close and with feeling; “not everything, no,” he promises, seals it, vows it straight into Steve’s open mouth so it’ll slip safe down to his heart and soul:

“Not everything,” he whispers, still close enough they can’t breathe without the other there, too, and: that’s heady. That’s real.

“Good,” Steve exhales but with a weight to it, a finality: a seal and vow of his own as he nips Eddie’s swollen lips once, twice, and then tucks himself under Eddie’s chin again, where Eddie’s arms are waiting to envelop him even closer, now; tighter still somehow.

“You’re the center of my world, you know that?” Eddie finally murmurs into Steve’s hair once their breaths have calmed a little, and he can say it steady and sure like he means to, and Steve really just smiles, and burrows that half-an-inch closer, where he compresses Eddie’s flesh to the bone so he can feel the nearest a person can be.

“I do know that,” and it’s not even a fib, or a half-truth: and Eddie already knows the understood ‘you’ of the sentiment clear and well-established—Steve knows Eddie’s love in all sorts of ways, big and small and in between but the first way he probably believed it best was coming to grips with the fact, the unwavering law-of-the-universe fact, that Eddie Munson’s heart beats for Steve the very same Steve’s beats for him. No difference. No more or less. Perfect concert, exact same time signature: precisely shock-start to pump in the first place, like the same spark keeps time in both their chests.

Steve knows he’s loved in ways that don’t have words. Because he loves the very same, and so he knows them intimately, no labels required.

“I already told the promo team we work around your schedule or I’m gonna have to by inconveniently down with the flu for appearances,” Eddie adds as Steve settles back on his chest, soft again and languid: he wasn’t fearful, or even truly hesitant, but—it’s nice. To lean back in and cuddle close.

“You know you don’t have to—“ Steve starts but Eddie tuts him quiet in a flash.

“I do have to. Save my heart the aching, baby,” he presses lips to Steve’s temple and speaks there, drags his mouth wet to the skinL “more important, save yours the same.”

And Steve maybe can’t help but press his own lips first through the cotton of Eddie’s shirt straight to the center of his chest, and then leaning up a little, to the stretched-out collar sneaking the lowest peek of flesh beneath his clavicle: kisses there too, a little sloppy and a lot overfull of feeling as he breathes:

“I love you something wild, Eddie Munson,” and his pulse skips happily, a little dance under Steve’s mouth as he smiles before propping his chin on Eddie’s chest and looking up, meeting the eyes he knows are waiting for him, waiting to lock with his.

And when they do—even after all these years, and Steve has no expectation of it ever change with more to come—but when their eyes meet it’s Steve’s heart that goes giddy, a little off-kilter for joy, and it fucking is that, isn’t it.

It’s wild.

“I love metal, baby,” Eddie answers, and Steve tips his head a little; an odd direction, but he’s intrigued: “music and D&D and meeting the fans,” and Eddie’s playing with his hair again, and he knows what that does, but—

“I feel something so much bigger, for you,” and Jesus, Steve’s in love with maybe the only person in the world who can match him for romance; sometimes outstrips him, even. His heart goes back to dancing chaotic and he couldn’t fucking stifle the grin if he tried, and fuck if he’s ever planning to try.

“Fucking sap,” Steve mouths tight against Eddie’s chest, damp through his shirt for the chuckle he breathes there, weightless and marveling because he gets to have this; they get to have this: they’ve had this for so long and they get to keep it.

“You love it though,” Eddie runs his cheek back and forth across the top of Steve head, and Steve just hums:

“I don’t love it,” he insists with intent in it: “the bigger thing,” he corrects, makes clear: “I feel the bigger thing.”

And Eddie just ducks a smile against Steve’s hair, warm where as it spreads, and Steve can feel it; can’t help him mirror it full as he sighs:

“So tell me more about this pool.”

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson

♥️

divider credit here

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #fluff #established relationship #established steddie #rockstar eddie munson #domestic fluff #or rather more: domestic LOVE #idiots in love #slice of life #rockstar husbands #they might have enough money for the POOL #criminal levels of softness #steddielovemonth #love is having hope for the future together #these two boys have probably been together around a decade at this point and it FUCKING SHOWS #old married couple!steddie #stranger things

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folklorebae · 1 year

Text

𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦 𝐀𝐔 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐮𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐬

Spin-off of my rockstar's girlfriend

Cast(s): Rockstar!Eren & Model!Reader

Cw: swearing, reader using she/her pronouns, slight hange x reader, food

A/n: haven't posted anything for months! hope you guys love this one<33

Liked by sashablouse and 4,715,937 others

yourinstagram life recently...

View all 15,725 comments

angelicyn WE MISSED YOUUUU

ynfan23 glad you post this when im still awake

yndaily OMG YOUR PUPPY ISNT A PUPPY ANYMORE. ITS BEEN A LONG TIME SINCE WE SAW HER ON YOUR/EREN'S STORY😭

↳yourinstagram i know! but she's getting smarter and cuter. i love her so much, she's my girl:)

erenfan19 i dont see eren... soo the rumors are true?? :((

↳ynfan24 girl, she's her own person and this is her insta. besides, that man is childish lmao. imagine unfollowing THE Y/N L/N just because she doesn't attend his concert in europe...

14,937 likes

justjared After getting unfollowed by her long-time boyfriend last week, Y/N L/N was spotted walking out of Oscar-winning costume designer Hange Zoe's apartment building this morning. New couple alert?

View all 3,714 comments

ereyn.daily i'm happy if y/n's happy🥲

goddessyn cmon, we all know they've been friends for ages. stop spreading stupid rumor like this

erenfan20 not gonna believe anything till one of them confirm it in front of my face

26,638 likes

paradis.memes Thoughts?

View all 3,926 comments

paradisfan7 Im not believing this shit

erenfan21 she doesnt wanna marry him, im crying😭

↳paradisfan8 she once said she's jo march kinnie😭

↳ynfan25 How do you know she doesn’t wanna marry him? Maybe he doesn't wanna marry her? We don’t know what happened behind the curtain unless Y/N and Eren themselves actually comment on it .

erenfan22 guys, if you read the article that @people posted, at the end they said “Reps for Jaeger and L/N have not commented on the breakup.”

Liked by arminarlert and 3,916,939 others

paradisofficial Paradis World Tour. Antwerp. May, 2023.

View all 9,826 comments

paradisfan9 YOU GUYS WERE SO AWESOME😭❤️

paradisfan10 PLS PLS COME BACK TO ANTWERP ASAP. ALSO THE SURPRISE SONG?!? BED OF ROSES?!?

paradisfan11 so sad cant see you guys perform last night🥲💔

paradisfan12 if you guys dont cover “bed of roses” on your Asia Tour, you're racist.

↳paradisofficial We've agreed that every region will have different song to cover. Thank you for your support😊

↳paradisfan12 OMG I WAS JOKING LMAO (i mean, not really)

Liked by annieleonhart and 2,916,820 others

sashablouse unseen🤓

tagged: @yourinstagram @nicolo

View all 5,919 comments

nicolo 🤍

Liked by sashablouse

conniespringer dude, what were you doing in the first pic

↳sashablouse cause you're just a man 🙄

yourinstagram dont wanna be a third wheel anymore...

11,726 likes

paradisupdatee New Setlist For Europe Tour! I've upgraded the playlist, link in bio.

View all 1,826 comments

paradis.devil see you at accor arena tmrw!!

↳paradisupdatee See you, bby<3

paradisfan13 the fact they didnt cover any song in northern europe countries😀

paradisfan14 I literally flew from brussels to london last month to see them perform AND THEY DIDNT SING BED OF ROSES?!? I WAS ROBBED!!

↳paradisfan15 sameeee i attended some of their shows in us last year and they didn't cover any song 😭

paradisfan16 is this eren's way to confirm the breakup rumors?😭

Liked by carlajaeger and 5,916,028 others

yourinstagram the rumors are terrible and cruel...

View all 29,317 comments

ynln.jpg dont tell me you're in paris...

taylorswift but honey, most of them are true🤭

Liked by yourinstagram

↳yourinstagram patiently waiting for 1989 (Taylor's Version)😊🙏

↳ynfan25 soo the rumors are true?🥲

↳ereyn.daily i'm in spain without s

ereyn.exposing Whatever ereyn does is only for promo. It's a fact that eren is not going to follow y/n or ever going to post her picture on his Instagram again.

↳yourinstagram seems like you guys have been talking about this and tag me in a few posts everyday. but now please, i beg you to stop. it's just negative, i really have no hard feelings towards you. i just know what a beautiful world there is to go out and live in instead of trying to dissect a relationship between two people that you don't even know. i don't need his follow, my name is permanently tattooed to his arm. This is my final comment on this, but i want you to know that it's not meant to offend you. just hoping you can find something else in life to be inspired by xx

↳erenfan23 OMG OMG OMG YESS YOU TELL THEM QUEEN

↳ynfan26 FINALLY PEOPLE COULD SHUT THEIR MOUTH NOW. THESE "EXPOSING" ACCOUNTS ARE ANNOYING AF

↳erenfan24 I think you should've messaged them, instead of calling them out publicly like this. no offense, still love you tho

↳yourinstagram i see why you think that ought to have been a direct message, and i agree. i just didn't considered it. it's all really frustrating, and i'm only human... you guys understand how hurtful assumptions like this can be, especially when they are made about someone i care about a lot. if you guys care about him too, you'll eventually realize that we are on the same team. i apologize if it came off as impolite or rude. i was simply attempting to start a conversation so people would realize that their statements were painful rather than just an "anonymous confession." this cruel internet culture has no benefit for society as a whole.

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ereynpost “You guys are crazy, you know that? No... I don’t think my girlfriend and I need another dog for now. What about you, Jean?” — Eren laughs as he answers a fan's sign.

USHSSUDSHDUAJSYSHS GUYSSS THE RUMORS ARENT TRUEEEE THEY'RE STILL TOGETHER OMFG!!!!

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its.ereyn Girl, I almost deactivate this account

↳ereynpost PLS, SAME😀

ynfan27 OMG MY EREYN HEARTTT

erenfan25 PARENTS OMG😭😭😭

ynfan28 I can die in peace now, thanks

Liked by mikasackerman and 6,948,163 others

erenjaeger My love, my lady, the most precious human on this earth. I'm really grateful because we have an incredibly meaningful, loving, and fun relationship. As you guys know, this world is cruel and I'd do anything to make her the happiest, but I've failed to do it. I personally love it when people make assumptions or speculations about me, because I know they all wrong. But when people start to say something hurtful to my woman, I can't tolerate it.

Six years of relationship and we have never ever broken up, not even once, if that's what you all really want to know. She's my present and future, she's the one who teaches me how forever feels. The love I have for her only gets stronger and bigger, it's crazy to think about it. Thank you for all the love and support, we really appreciate it.

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erenfan26 I TOLD YOU ALL THEY'RE ENDGAME

ynfan29 how to find myself a man like you😭

erenfan27 oh he is, he really is in love🥹❤️

yndaily the fact that i'll never experience this type of love hurts a lot. but i couldnt be more happier for you two💓

jeankirschtein ngl, at first i did believe you two broke up

↳erenjaeger bro, fuck off

↳erenfan28 LMAO JEANNNN, IM CRYINGG😭😭😭

ereyn.daily As iconic as David Bowie and Iman❤️

↳yourinstagram thank you, but I don't deserve this compliment. also, your comment will boost eren's ego, he'll think he's as good as him

↳erenjaeger why would you say that:(

(+bonus on what really happened lol)

#the fact that this insta au inspired by taylor and joe's break up news lol #im sad...#aot x reader #aot x female reader #aot x you #aot x y/n #aot smau #snk x reader #snk x female reader #snk x y/n #snk smau #eren x reader #eren x fem!reader #eren x y/n #eren x you #eren smau

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oneforthemunny · 6 days

Note

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGeXn8V2m/

Which Eddie is this

i'm actually laughing so hard bc i fear that it's rockstar!eddie lmaooo.

his biggest shock with fatherhood is he is the designated wasp killer, and he hates wasps. genuinely is so scared of them and despises them. every other bug he's good with. spiders? no biggie, he'll get them out. centipedes? are you seriously scared of those? they're just weird they won't hurt you. lizards? loves grabbing them and setting them out. even bees, no big deal to him.

but wasps?? his enemy.

so when he hears nb screeching one day. "eddie! there's a wasp in persephone's play room." he has a damning realization that he is responsible for it.

he's got to be a man. he's got to protect his family. he's got to kill the wasp.

nb strikes down his hairspray and lighter for a makeshift torch idea, so he's forced to try and smash it.

nb and persephone are watching as eddie's slow and calculated, trying to smack it with nb's vogue issue. he finally gets close, slams the vogue cover down before running away in case he missed.

"eddie!" nb squeals, cradling persephone away in case it swarms.

he looks back, peeking into the room, approaching the magazine with the suspense of a horror movie. "it's dead." eddie nods, looking around to make sure there's no nest.

"alright, call the exterminator. no more playroom for now until they figure out where the fuck-"

"-eddie-"

"-sorry. where the hell those things came from." he's shoving shirts and sealing the cracks of the door just in case, until the exterminator comes.

#oneforthemunny #munnytalks #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie munson x nepo baby!reader #dad!rockstar!eddie munson

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shybunnie20 · 9 months

Text

Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

��My Masterlist

Summary: After some time in the spotlight, Eddie returns to Hawkins and finds that his unfinished confession to his best friend awaits him.

Author's Note: Here's a little something I wrote while I've been chipping away at my other WIPs. It’s way longer than I expected but I'm happy with how it turned out. The angst is very mild and it has a happy ending!

AU with no Upside Down, no use of y/n, established past friendship, Eddie and reader graduated the same year but ages aren't specified, focuses on Eddie's POV, proofread to an extent.

Word Count: 8.3k

Warnings: MDNI, mentions of sex, includes swearing

After posing for the cover of the latest Metal Edge magazine, Eddie was eager to head back home ASAP. While he enjoys his time on the East Coast, he was really looking forward to some much-needed downtime. As he boarded his private jet and set off, everything was going according to plan. However, the weather decided that he was going to make a pit stop. Rather, an emergency landing.

Plans get derailed and unpredictability is a part of the lifestyle. When your private jet is just about plucked from the sky during a lightning storm, finding a place to land is imperative, no matter the location. In this instance, his jet touched down in Indianapolis. Hopes of catching a taxi to Hawkins were dashed. No taxi driver in their right mind would willingly brave the distance from the city to the suburb in that weather. Eddie was left with one person to call upon—the man whom Eddie had been considering visiting for quite some time.

Wayne was surprised to receive the phone call but he agreed to pick Eddie up from the airport without hesitation. They haven’t been staying in touch as of late; Eddie’s life is nothing short of a whirlwind consisting of sold-out arenas and constant travel. Getting a hold of his nephew became a challenging feat. Wayne rarely got past speaking to Eddie’s assistants.

It was his uncle’s rare day off and calls at that time of night were few and far between. So, when Wayne’s canary yellow phone practically leaped off of the hook, he was astonished. After making the drive through the pattering rain, Wayne retrieved a sulking Eddie from Concourse B. As Eddie settled into the passenger seat of the fixer-upper, exhaustion from his turbulent journey was evident.

The next morning, Eddie wakes up with a protesting ache in his lower back, the result of a night spent on the pull-out couch. As he sits up straight, he lets out a low groan, vocalizing how his body yearns for the luxurious embrace of the Egyptian cotton sheets that are fitted around his California king mattress. They lay chilled without him, thousands of miles away in his opulent hillside mansion in Beverly Hills.

As he stretches in an attempt to unknot the tension between his shoulder blades, Eddie takes in his surroundings. He stumbled through the front door so late last night that he had no energy left to get reacquainted with his childhood home. He even wound up sleeping in his designer jeans, the coarse denim a far cry from the plush pajamas he would normally change into before bed.

A gentle grin forms on Eddie’s lips upon feeling comforted by the familiarity of the room. He hadn’t realized how much he missed the simple life that Wayne brought him up in. Eddie gazes around, noticing the subtle changes such as the addition of new mugs and hats to their respective displays. One particular change catches his attention and draws a fond exhale from his stale lungs. The worn-out doormat, which was torn to hell when he was a teenager, was finally replaced.

Despite his internal clock being out of whack, Eddie’s brain knows when it’s time for a cup of jitter juice. He rises from the rickety mattress, his back cracking loudly at the extension. A moan of discomfort slips out as he winces at the pinch at the base of his neck. “Jesus, fuck,” he mutters aloud. Eddie makes a mental note to buy Wayne a new sofa.

His socked feet slide across the linoleum as he steps into the kitchen. He notices that the bedroom door is closed, though it’s doing very little to dampen the loud snoring emitting behind it. Eddie yawns as he grinds his fists into his eyes, causing a splash of tingling colors across the darkness of his lids. He approaches the corner cupboard, knowing that what he’s looking for will be in the same place it always has been. The cabinet door greets him with a squeak and he’s met with a single dented can of Folgers. That shit is practically varnish remover, it simply won’t do.

Eddie sighs as the craving for his favorite Italian coffee intensifies. It’s so rich, flavorful, smooth, and yet, it packs a punch. Just the thought of the hazelnut dark roast takes him back to the first time he ever tried it in Trieste. From that moment on, he needed it imported back home.

Well, the java situation is a bust. For the time being, Eddie has a choice. Either charred slices of Wonderbread or plain cornflakes. AKA, buttered plywood or a bowl of sawdust. Ew and ew. Settling for the arguably more exciting option, Eddie decides on toast. Each bite into the brittle slice causes dark crumbs to scatter into his open palm that he holds beneath his chin. He can’t be bothered to get a plate, even as an adult. The burnt bits accumulate in his hand as he continues to nibble. While Eddie brushes his palms over the sink to rid himself of crumbs, he catches sight of the magazine clipping held to the fridge door by a Tweety Bird magnet. Frozen in time on glossy paper is a photo of him at the American Music Awards last year. “Damn, I looked good.” He smirks as he recalls the tailored suit, the lapels encrusted with dazzling gems, and his pale bare chest blinding the paparazzi from beneath it. The memories of that night come rushing, the flashing cameras and the cheers of his fans.

With his tummy partially pleased but the craving for quality coffee intensifying, Eddie recalls that there’s only one good place around here to get a quality cup of Joe. Eddie takes a brisk shower to wash away the residual stickiness that clings to his skin from a night spent fully clothed in the stuffy trailer. He dresses in the most pedestrian outfit that’s in his suitcase, hoping to blend in as much as possible, and heads out.

Eddie’s stride carries him through the glass door of Morningside Café, the cheerful bell above it announces his arrival. The café is bustling, as one would expect on a Saturday morning. The patrons have come for their morning pick-me-up, much like Eddie.

Initially, he considers keeping his onyx-lensed sunglasses on, a barrier that would shield him from potential recognition and the commotion that would ensue. But he decides to take them off, knowing that he might stick out if he’s wearing sunglasses indoors. Eddie tucks one of the folded arms of the frame into the collar of his t-shirt. To his surprise, nobody reacts. No one gasps or falls to their knees at his feet. The world around him continues to turn. Part of him yearns for the ego boost that comes with being recognized but, all in all, he’s relieved to experience a semblance of normalcy for the first time in what feels like an eternity.

Taking a moment to soak in his surroundings, Eddie’s gaze sweeps across the interior of the shop. His eyes linger on the display case where flaky pastries drizzled with chocolate and caramel sauces are housed. The cabin-esque aesthetic warms the soul with rich wood tones and a brick fireplace. It stands dormant, flameless, because it’s too warm out for a fire this time of year.

Beside the fireplace sit two figures that catch his attention. Even from a short distance, Eddie recognizes the mane of luscious locks, a signature feature that only belongs to one person. He strolls over with excitement tugging at his chest.

“Excuse me,” Eddie’s voice is hushed as he addresses the two figures engrossed in conversation. “Do you happen to know if the creamer here is fat-free?”

Steve and Robin’s dialogue comes to an abrupt halt, their voices silenced by the unexpected interruption. They exchange a glance, their eyebrows raising in unison. Simultaneously, their heads turn to peer over their shoulders. And there he stands, Eddie, someone they never thought they’d see again.

Steve gets to his feet a beat faster than Robin and he’s all smiles. “Look what the cat dragged in!”

“Must be an expensive cat,” Robin quips while she eyes Eddie, a quick assessment that catches details he overlooked in his haste to blend in. Her comment refers to the flashy jewelry he neglected to take off. “Persian, right? Those are the goblin-looking ones that rich people like? Ugly little fluff balls, if you ask me.”

Eddie’s sigh carries relief, expressing his genuine pleasure in knowing that Robin remains candid and unfiltered, just as he remembers her. As he extends his hand, Steve meets him with a firm handshake.

A friendly slap on the shoulder from Steve follows. “What brings you to this god-forsaken town?” His question is punctuated by true curiosity and a hint of humor, alluding to Eddie’s past that has kept him from ever returning up until now.

“I was in the area,” Eddie replies with a sense of restraint, deliberately avoiding the true source of his change in plans. “Figured I'd swing by to see what’s what.”

Robin gestures for Eddie to take the seat opposite of them. They all settle into their mahogany-colored chairs. Eddie shifts awkwardly, the denim of his jeans dragging on the leather noisily.

With her elbows digging into her knees, Robin leans forward and supports her chin with her balled fists, positioned to hear the greatest story in her life. “So?”

Eddie blinks dumbly, bemusement evident on his face. “What?”

Reclined deeply into his chair, Steve rests his hands on his belly with interlocked fingers. “Enlighten us. Where the hell did ya go?”

“Oh,” Eddie breathes, “Well, uh, I migrated west and lived in my van for a while. Then I found an ad in the paper for a spare bedroom in a janky apartment. I did the roommate thing for a bit and then- I dunno,” He twists the grim reaper-shaped ring around the base of his middle finger. “Things just worked out, I guess.”

Robin blows a raspberry and sits back into a less anticipatory position. “Long story short, huh? The last I saw, you were on the red carpet escorting Heather Locklear.”

Her reference to Eddie’s past event appearance draws a smirk from him, feeling a sense of satisfaction in knowing that his old friends have been keeping up with the big things he’s been doing. While she encourages Eddie to delve into the details of his daily life, Steve looks across the room at you. Your nose is to the grindstone, your hands working deftly to maintain the rhythm that ensures that the orders are being fulfilled in a timely manner.

Opening shifts are the worst, for the customers and the employees alike. Nobody is at their friendliest due to the dark clouds of exhaustion hanging over everyone’s heads. Not to mention, regulars have their quirks. Some are particularly anal—specifying exact temperatures for their flavored fuel. They scrutinize your every move, even going as far as monitoring the thermometer to ensure that their demands are met.

The grind of the morning rush is draining, yet, you soldier on. You wipe away spilled coffee grounds from the countertop and amidst the clatter and constant flow of orders, you catch Steve staring right at you. His expression is peculiar, his arched brows paired with a subtle curve to his lips. You tilt your head inquisitively at him. What?

Steve subtly points across from him and mouths, Eddie Munson.

Your hand freezes mid-motion, the damp rag caught between your palm and the solution-streaked surface. Instinct takes over as you lean onto your tiptoes, straining to catch a glimpse over the top of the coffee machine. And no shit, there’s that head of chocolate curls. Your pulse spikes as apprehension floods your belly. Returning your gaze to Steve, you mouth back to him, oh my god.

Steve’s frantic wave beckons you over, his urgency not leaving room for subtlety. Eddie takes notice of Steve and he looks to see who he’s motioning to. Your eyes meet and for a split second, utter disbelief is mirrored on both of your faces.

You panic and duck out of sight, retreating to the relative cover near the floor. Your thoughts race, your heartbeat pounding twice that. “What the actual fuck is he doing here?” you ask yourself, unable to grapple with the overwhelming emotions.

Eddie’s heavy-footed steps carry him up to the counter, the air around him feeling electrically charged, making his arm hair stand up straight. His chest constricts as he approaches the ledge and looks behind it. There you are, sitting on the floor with your legs pulled close to your chest and your forehead against your knees.

“Sweetheart,” he chuckles airily, though his brows are pulled together as to why you’re down there.

Reluctantly, you lift your head and meet his eyes. A sheepish grin tugs at your lips and you can’t help but scrunch your nose. “Eddie, hi!”

“Whatcha doin’ down there?” he asks playfully, then catching his bottom lip between his teeth in an attempt to suppress the smile that threatens to form. “Almost looks like you’re tryin’ to hide from me.”

You shake your head, only slightly annoyed at his amusement. “I’m just busted, aren’t I?” As you get to your feet, you wipe your palms on your apron before rounding the corner of the counter.

Eddie’s arms are already outstretched before you’re even in full view. You find yourself stepping forward to meet his embrace. The hug is brief, not quite as long as Eddie would’ve liked it to be. His beaming smile accompanies his glittering stare as it follows your features, studying the subtle changes since he saw you last. “Long time no see,” he teases with the lick of his lip.

You’ve already taken a step back, creating a bit of space between the two of you. With a deep breath, you nod. “Tell me about it, it’s been like what, six years?” It’s your turn to trace the contours of his face.

You’ve seen the tabloids on the racks in the supermarket, the pages that showcase his exhilarating career. You’ve seen his music videos on MTV. Regardless of the set design and general concept, there’s a constant—Eddie, partially naked with jeans slung low on his hips, surrounded by bleach-blonde stunners hanging off of him one way or another. He always stood tall, an embodiment of untouchability despite being touched just about everywhere by sets of cherry-painted fingernails. His image has become synonymous with charismatic magnetism and sex appeal.

And now, he’s standing right in front of you. Eddie’s silver nose ring catches the overhead lighting, a rebellious contrast to the well-groomed beard that frames his jaw. He has far more tattoos than he had when you were friends.

The dangling layers of necklaces twinkle like constellations. While you hugged him, you recognized his natural scent which was mostly the same, but with a faint woody undertone. The cologne he wears seems to have become one with his clothes, the scent being inseparable from him no matter how many times the article is washed.

Eddie also looks stronger and his physical presence is more defined. His slim frame matured into something more substantial, and his muscles are built and bound with raw talent.

It’s a curious juxtaposition to see him in such plain clothes. He almost resembles the Eddie that you knew, feeling both familiar and transformed, an evolution you’re struggling to take in all at once.

“Yeah, coming up on six. Feels like it’s been longer than that,” Eddie replies, the joy in his voice unconcealed. He shamelessly looks over your uniform, the baby blue polo shirt beneath the navy apron, with his interest plain for anyone to see. He took in your scent too. Your natural smell blended with coffee, and it struck a chord within him. The combination of the two is better than his beloved Italian coffee beans alone.

“How long are you in town for?” You inquire while playing with the hem of your apron. Meanwhile, you shift your weight on the balls of your feet, attempting to soothe yourself with the rocking motion.

Eddie sucks air through his teeth with resignation. “Just today, actually.”

“Oh,” you mumble, your expression subtly crestfallen at the news of his limited stay. “That’s too bad. You really can’t stay any longer?”

“I wish I could but stopping by wasn’t exactly on my to-do list. I was flying home from New York and then my jet-”

You’re startled as your supervisor’s voice booms from behind you, yanking you back to reality. Her words are stern, reprimanding you for being distracted. She scolds, saying that the line is twice as long as it should be. A quick glance at your coworker makes you feel guilty, seeing as he’s struggling to keep up with taking and filling orders by himself.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, “Coming!” With a final moment of eye contact with Eddie, you offer him a rueful smile. “Sorry, duty calls,” As you turn and make your way back to your station, you call out to Eddie over your shoulder. “It was great to see you.”

The sentiment hangs in the air, one that Eddie wishes you had a chance to elaborate on. But, time is of the essence and you’re already back to filling cups without waiting for his response. For a few seconds, Eddie watches you seamlessly shift back into work mode as if he isn’t there anymore. Returning to Steve and Robin, he’s met with pointed looks that are laden with interest. The weight of the encounter, the unexpected vulnerability he felt looking into your eyes, settles on his shoulders. As Eddie returns to the seat across from them, he slumps down with a pout.

Robin’s brows furrow at his sudden change in demeanor. “Why the long face? Didn’t you ask her out?”

Eddie’s response is a sullen half-note while he stares fixedly at a speck of mud on Steve’s shoe. “No,” he says, “I didn’t, and quite frankly, I don’t think she’d even want to.” In the way that Eddie is carrying himself, it’s obvious that his insecurities have been stirred up. “You should’ve seen the way she looked at me. It was like she hardly recognized me.”

Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes. “I dunno, man. Kinda hard to believe a hot shot like you can’t get whatever girl he sets his sights on.”

That remark sparks something within Eddie, a realization that switches his perspective. Steve’s words hit home—he’s Eddie fucking Munson. A Grammy award-winning recording artist for Christ’s sake. Casanova, heavy hitter, ladies’ man. His confidence resurfaces, becoming acutely aware of the charm he can whip out whenever he needs it; he’s well equipped for this moment.

Summoning the deepest breath he’s ever taken, Eddie rises to his feet once again, feeling sure of himself this time. His hands smooth down his shirt and he clears his throat. When Eddie chances a look behind him, Steve and Robin are giving him two, technically four, thumbs up as a means of encouragement.

With newfound resolve, Eddie approaches the counter once again. You’re a flurry of motion, caught up in the demands of your job. A bead of sweat threatens to drip from your brow as you ensure that the whipped cream on top of the ice-cold beverage is the perfect amount.

“Hey,” Eddie’s voice cuts through the ambient noise, a little louder than necessary to ensure that you’ve heard him.

You peek up at him with a grin in acknowledgment. “Hi,” Though his presence is noted, your focus is unwavering, determined not to let any more interruptions affect your efficiency.

Eddie’s knuckles wrap against the counter, a drumming that underscores his everlasting nerves when it comes to you. “What are you doing tonight?”

Powdered cinnamon dusts the air as you gently tap the kitchen dredger over the tower of whipped cream. The finely ground burnt umber falls where it’s meant to, rather than onto your apron. “I don’t have any plans, why?” You hand the completed drink to the awaiting customer beside Eddie, giving them a polite smile that’s a testament to your professionalism.

The act of biting the inside of his cheek does little to help Eddie relax. “Would you maybe wanna grab a bite to eat?” he hesitates for a beat, the thudding of his heart is on the verge of drowning out his voice. “I’ll bet you’ll have worked up quite the appetite by the time you’re shift is done.”

You sigh softly, mulling over Eddie’s offer. “I don’t know…” You say contemplatively while flipping the switches on the machine, causing it to roar to life.

Eddie holds his breath, every passing second heightening his senses.

“Okay, I suppose I will be pretty hungry,” you concede, your eyes nearly forming tears of stress as you accept the ever-present line of customers. “Early dinner at Benny’s?” You suggest with an inviting tone.

“Just like old times,” Eddie smiles so wide that it feels like the corners of his lips might split and bleed. “Yeah, that sounds perfect.” He offers to pick you up, which he’d truly rather not. That would mean that he’d be taking you out in his uncle’s jalopy. In Eddie’s mind's eye, he would pick you up in a sports car and rev the engine to the point where you’re pressing your thighs together to stave off the vibrations coursing through you. A man can dream.

“No, I’ll meet you there,” you assert, your voice firm with certainty. The authenticity of your smile bridges the previously placed distance between you. “Thank you, though.”

His knuckles leave one last sequence of knocks on the marble surface, a rhythm of pride and assurance. “See you later, then,” Eddie confirms, his tone dancing on the edge of excitement.

You nod. “Later,”

Eddie turns away and finds his friends with expectant gazes plastered on their faces, awaiting the verdict of the exchange. His smile hasn’t fallen in the slightest, his dazzling white teeth and flushed cheeks don’t go unnoticed. Eddie’s enthusiasm is palpable, his words coming out in a hushed rush. “She said yes!” he exclaims, trying to shake the blood back into his fingers as the tingling sensation bites at him. “It’s a date,” He adds in triumph.

Sitting at the mini kitchen table in Wayne’s trailer, the rusty metal chair squeaks under his weight anytime he shifts. He can’t even sit still, despite there being plentiful hours between now and when he’ll see you again. Eddie finds himself flipping through the scrapbook you put so much time into making the summer before your senior year. That particular summer holds such significance to him, a time when the days were endless, and the bond between you felt unshakeable.

Each photograph feels as warm and breezy as the one before it. Sunbathing on the shore of Lover’s Lake, your toes dipping into the water as you prepared to leap off of the dock. The memory is vivid—your skin glistening and energy positively radiant with innocence and naivety. One of the snapshots of Eddie is far less flattering. He’s captured with sharp tan lines, the contrast in tones creating the illusion of him wearing a white shirt, despite being topless.

Eddie bites down on his lip as he studies the photograph of you riding your bike in cutoff shorts, your t-shirt having met an equal fate. The wind tangled through your hair in a way that he wished he could with his fingers.

The picture beside it features the two of you together. Obviously, Wayne had taken on the role of photographer. You’re both posed proudly beside a tower of playing cards that you spent 45 minutes building card by card, on the very table that Eddie is sitting at. Both of you held your breath and didn’t speak a word to avoid knocking it down. Taped across the same page are watermelon and grape-flavored blow pop wrappers, unredeemed arcade tickets, movie stubs, and receipts saved from snack runs made on days that you were craving specific treats.

With the turn of a page, Eddie melts a little as he comes across the photobooth strips. It was necessary for you to sit on his lap in order for both of you to fit within the frame. He was able to wrap his arms around your waist and hold you close as if there was anywhere for you to go inside the cramped box. Your arms encircled his neck and rested on his shoulders while you made silly faces at the camera, and even better, at each other.

Eddie recoils at the picture of him with red-stained popsicle sticks protruding from his mouth, immaturely imitating a walrus, of all things. You laughed so hard that you insisted on taking a photo, and as much as dislikes the image itself, he’s still eating up how delighted you were by his antics.

The moments that weren’t captured on film come flooding back just as vividly as if they’re pasted to the paper before him. Inhaling helium from balloons and laughing hysterically at one another is a night that comes to mind. He knew he’d never get sick of making you laugh. And that time when playfully tossing popcorn into each other's mouths evolved from being a fun game to a skill. Last but not least, Eddie reminisces about sitting in his van together with the windows down, sharing cigarettes and music as the cool evening air enveloped you both. The quieter memories are just as deafening as the amusing ones.

His life had its fair share of upheaval and dysfunction that seemed to pull him in all directions. Amidst the chaos, one constant remained. You. Eddie didn’t need more than that, you already made life worth living.

But, as life often goes, the sweet moments can become bitter in the blink of an eye.

It was the night of your graduation party, a celebration meant to be an intimate gathering among close friends—you, Eddie, Robin, and Steve. But when Eddie pulled up to your parent’s house, a scene was unfolding before him that he hadn’t anticipated. The yard was dotted with clusters of students while the front door was revolving with people drunkenly coming and going. Inside the belly of the beast was even more lively.

Eddie hesitantly navigated the throngs of teens in the hallway, people he was sure that you weren’t even on a first-name basis with. He knew your house like the back of his hand but it felt foreign due to the sheer number of bodies dancing, running, and tumbling over.

He was going to finally tell you how he felt, a declaration that had been building within him for some time. Eddie understood that you were out of his league, the unspoken boundaries dictating that best friends aren’t supposed to fall in love, yet he found himself helplessly ensnared by his adoration for you. For so long, Eddie was afraid of pressing his luck, and even more so, was in a state of constant disbelief that he was lucky enough to call you the most important person in his life.

Graduation marks a turning point in a young person’s life, a juncture where change is inevitable. Eddie was ready for change and he wanted his dreams to bleed into reality. He yearned to hold you without any limitations, to kiss you like he needed to in order to survive. It was time for a new chapter and Eddie hoped that when he turned the page, he’d get the girl he wanted more than anything in the world.

You were in the kitchen. Typically, he gets a kick out of the way you act when you’re that buzzed. Your joyful disposition under the influence of celebration and booze led to you being the most laid-back version of yourself. However, he was facing an unanticipated predicament. Eddie was trying to have a serious conversation with you at a rowdy party. His hands were trembling, and luckily, his leather jacket concealed the fact that he’d soaked the pits of his t-shirt.

“There you are,” Eddie hummed and stepped closer to make sure that you could hear him over the music and chatter.

“Here I am!” you giggled, your cheeks flushed and energy unreserved. “Isn’t this wild?” You motioned to the piles of assorted cups and bags of snacks scattered haphazardly.

“Yeah,” Eddie responded, glancing over his shoulder as he was jolted by a stranger bumping into him. “What happened to watching movies and ordering pizza?”

The trace of disappointment in Eddie’s tone might have been discernable to a sober individual, but in your inebriated state, it slipped under your radar. Your smile remained and you swayed. The movement was more so a result of your jelly legs than unenthusiastic dancing. “I know, but my parents went all out and invited our entire class! I guess they figured that throwing a rager was a good way to congratulate me,” You chuckled and took another burning sip from your cup.

Eddie leaned in, his voice carrying a sense of urgency. “Can we go somewhere and talk?” he pleaded. “There’s something I need to tell you.” The weight of his unspoken feelings was on the verge of suffocating him and the heat of the room paled in comparison to the fire in his belly.

You tilted your head slightly, your eyes ever so bright. “What is it?”

Given that you hadn’t budged an inch, that meant that the conversation was gonna happen right where you stood. Eddie tried to breathe steadily, knowing that he’d rehearsed this and he knew what he wanted to say. Unfortunately, the words had startled to scramble in his head. “You, uh- you know that you’re my favorite person in the whole world, right?”

“Of course, you’re mine too,” you agreed as you pawed at his shoulder before leaning back against the counter to make up for your lessening ability to stand up straight.

“I couldn’t ask for a better best friend-” Unfortunately for him, the timing couldn’t have been worse. The song that had been playing ended abruptly. “But I wanna be more than that.”

Eddie’s heart sank as his words hung in the air. The confession that was meant for your ears only was now released into the open, leaving Eddie exposed. A mocking laughter filled the air that the music once inhabited; Jack Carver, the asshole who’s had it out for Eddie since the fifth grade, was locked and loaded.

Eddie’s blood ran cold at the sound as it collided with his ears. His fight-or-flight instincts kicked in, his body tensing as he struggled to prepare himself for what was about to happen.

Jack Carver’s taunting cut like a sharp blade, drawing a wave of laughter from the surrounding students with it. “Did everybody hear that?” he shouted with derision, “The freak wants himself a little girlfriend.”

Defenseless, Eddie clenched his knuckles as the walls began to close in on him. He knew it wasn’t over yet.

“There’s a reason you’re still a virgin, and you’ll die one, too.” Jack sneered.

Prior to that evening, Eddie had steeled himself for the possibility of rejection from you. He‘d surrender to the emotional blow to keep you as his best friend. But he wasn’t armed for the level of humiliation that Jack’s provocation brought down on him. It was the wounds of his childhood, the physical and emotional scars from years of being picked on, that were torn open. Jack always knew how to hit him where it hurt.

The tears that blurred Eddie’s vision shielded him from your pitying and startled expression. It all felt like a cruel twist of fate, a reminder that he was meant to be the outsider, forever on the fringes without someone to hold him close at night. As the laughter continued to echo around him, Eddie fled before the atmosphere could swallow him whole. Without a second thought, he shoved his way through the crowd and bolted out of your front door.

The night air hit him like a wall, cooling the hot tears that streamed down his scorched cheeks. Eddie stumbled to his van and slammed the door shut behind him. He leaned his forehead against the steering wheel and let out a shuddering breath, feeling like everything inside of him was coming apart at the seams. Eddie squeezed his eyes shut to clear his vision by forcing the pooled tears to flow and he raised his head back up. He saw you stepping off of your front porch, a concerned look branded on your features while you called out to him, searching.

At that moment, he decided that he was gonna show every single person who thought so little of him that he could be somebody. Eddie was going to outdo all of them and kick the expectation that he was going to end up in prison like his father, that he was going to be dealing drugs for the rest of his life, and that he’d always be trailer trash.

If Eddie could go back in time, things would have gone differently. But after chasing the California sunrise, he’d mastered the world of glamorous parties, adoring fans, and beautiful women. They threw themselves at him. He didn’t have to worry about rejection because he could have his pick, he had whatever flavor he wanted for the night. But no one satiated the craving he continued to have for you. No one laughed the way you did, no one understood him the way you always had.

You’d never have another moment together, he accepted that. And it didn’t matter anymore because he became the man. He didn’t have time to sit around and sulk about a small-town girl who wouldn’t give him the time of day. But despite putting his feelings in the rearview mirror, he daydreamed nonetheless. Eddie wondered what it would be like to show you the new and improved version of himself. He hoped that you’d be impressed. More importantly, did you listen to his music? Or read about his scandalous escapades in the gossip magazines that wove lies into the truth?

Even so, that night set him straight. It wasn’t going to happen for you and him. His only star had fallen, so he put all of his time and energy into making a name for himself. The songs on his albums are about living life in the fast lane and the thrill of the night. They’re about trashing hotel rooms and experiencing things he never dreamed he would because that’s what sells records.

But at home in his lyric notepad lays the songs of unpursued love, melodies about chances taken and lost. There’s one ballad in particular, its verses tell the story of him introducing you to his newfound confidence, something that you never knew him to have. It speaks of how he’s seen the world twice over, and yet, his favorite place to be is tucked away in the memories where things hadn’t changed yet.

Those heartfelt lyrics remain buried, never to be shared with the world. They’re a tribute to you, the unsung song in his life.

Eddie’s experience when it comes to the attention of women should, theoretically, render him immune to being nervous. Yet, he finds himself impossibly so. The source of his unease? You. This isn’t just anyone, you’re not just some chick. The late afternoon swings around and Eddie’s nerves are in full swing. He’s feeling just as anxious as he did the night of that party because second chances are rare for him. Eddie is acutely aware that this is very likely to be his last shot with you. This isn’t just any date—it’s your first date. The significance isn’t lost on him, and he’s determined to make it count.

Standing in front of Wayne’s bathroom mirror, Eddie attempts to wield the cheap razor to trim the edges of his beard. His curls, normally styled to perfection, look deflated and lackluster without his fancy shampoo and hair products to nourish them. The trailer park’s hard water isn’t doing his hair any favors when it comes to frizz either. As Eddie rinses away his beard trimmings from the basin, he exhales dramatically, watching his self-esteem swirling down the drain. He tries to remind himself of his good looks by reciting a silent pep talk. The thought of disappointing you, or not meeting your expectations, is something he can’t bear.

Eddie parks Wayne’s car outside of Benny’s Burgers and takes a moment to double-check his appearance in the visor mirror. He wants to make certain that he looks as decent as he can. This is the chance he’s been waiting for, this is for all the marbles. Unlike his usual casual encounters, where names and personalities go unlearned, this is different. Eddie has to earn your affection back.

He peers down at his fingernails, thankful that they’re still in good shape from his last manicure. Eddie mutters to himself, trying to get a feel for an appropriate greeting. “Hi, you look… pretty,” Lame. Frustrated, he twists the skull ring on his finger, adjusting it from its sideways position to face the right way up. “It’s so nice out tonight, but you look even nicer.” Eddie groans, banging his head back against the headrest. “Jesus Christ, Munson. Get your fucking shit together.”

With a thick swallow, Eddie steps out of the car and makes his way across the parking lot that crunches beneath his sneakers. As he enters the restaurant, he’s happy to see that this place hasn’t changed one bit. Eddie debates waiting by the door for you or to sit down for the time being. Anxiety wins, and he chooses the latter. As he strides across the room, he tries to keep his easily recognizable face relatively hidden. Eddie slides into the booth that the two of you always sat in. You spent innumerable Saturday nights sitting here, laughing and teasing, talking shit and venting about how high school felt so life or death at the time.

A soft chuckle slips out as he traces the initials that he carved into the table all those years ago. He grins, recalling how much you scolded him while he chipped EM into the wood with his pocket knife. Eddie absentmindedly fiddles with the lid on the ketchup bottle from the condiment caddy, lost in his own thoughts, until the restaurant’s door opens. His heart thumps madly as he watches you stroll in and scan the room until your gaze lands on him. Beyond his control, Eddie’s eyes are gleaming, overwhelmed with the privilege of being in the same room as you once more.

He stands from the booth as you approach, his legs acting with a mind of their own. Once you reach him, he’s not exactly sure what to do with his hands. He decides against offering a hug since you don’t initiate one. Eddie returns to his seat as you settle into the one opposite of him.

“Hey,” you greet him warmly, placing your purse beside you on the seat.

“Hi, there,” he replies, the red of his cheeks deepening as his hands go right back to fidgeting. Eddie clears his throat. “How was the rest of your day?”

“It was okay, nothing special,” you reply vaguely, your voice dripping with fatigue.

Eddie takes note of and appreciates the slightest bit of makeup you’ve applied since he saw you this morning, simply because it accentuates your natural beauty. It’s a small detail, but it doesn’t go unnoticed, and it warms his heart to think that you might have put some effort into your appearance to meet up with him. Or maybe he’s getting ahead of himself and you just don’t like wearing makeup at work. Regardless, just as a complement is about to roll off of his tongue, the table is approached by an old woman.

“My goodness, I remember you too!” She beams, clutching her miniature notepad tightly. “You’re all grown up now.”

You nod respectfully, clearly remembering her. Eddie, on the other hand, does not recognize her as quickly. It’s like he’s buffering as he thinks, and then his eyes widen, suddenly remembering that the woman is the waitress who always served the two of you every weekend. Holy shit, he thought she looked old back then but now she looks ancient. “It’s nice to see you,” He performs, trying his best to be a gentleman and show you that he’s good-natured.

“I’ll be right back, I know just what to get you,” She says sing-songy manner and bounces away into the back kitchen. Even after all this time, she still knows your orders by heart.

Despite the breath that you release, the hurt isn’t evident on your face. “Why’d you disappear on me that night?”

Your straightforwardness catches Eddie off guard, and he struggles to find the right words to respond. “Doesn’t matter why,” he begins, trying to deflect from the topic. He’d much rather you ask him if he has any pets or if he’s read any good books lately. “That was ages ago, what matters is that I’m not a pathetic loser anymore.”

“You were never a loser, Eddie.” You say looking into his eyes, reminding every fiber of his being that you always liked him for who he was. But just as quickly, your gaze drops. You always hated when he talked about himself that way because you thought he was a total catch.

Eddie’s gaze lingers on you, studying the shift. Slowly, the realization dawns on him that your hurt runs deep, possibly deeper than his own. Coming to terms with his self-centered perspective makes his chest ache. He was so consumed by his own insecurities that he never spared a thought for how his sudden departure wounded you.

You change gears with an almost perfected ease, smoothly transitioning from the heaviness of the subject. “So, Mr. Super Star, what’s it like being you?”

A chill is sent up his spine, uneasiness caused by how swiftly you just rebuilt your walls before his eyes. He bites anyway, hoping that your interest in his stories is genuine. “From the outside, it looks like fun but it’s nothing short of chaos. When you’ve got a show every other night, and a band wants you on their new album, and then someone’s throwing a massive party...” Eddie trails off, afraid that his rambling is coming off as braggery. “Anyway, enough about all that. How ‘bout you? How’d you end up working at Morningside?”

There’s a flicker of joy on your face that shows your appreciation for his desire to hear you talk about yourself. “I needed something part-time, I’m actually studying to be a-”

EEK! You both startle at the ear-shattering squeals of three middle school-aged school girls. They’re gathered around Eddie, borderline frothing at the mouth to be looking at and breathing the same air as him. They’re all talking a mile a minute over one another, asking for autographs, wanting hugs, and gushing about his music.

Eddie looks at you and he can’t quite gauge your reaction, your expression is practically unreadable. “One second, I’m sorry,” he sincerely apologizes, scooting out of the booth to greet the rabid girls. He figures that if he handles this interaction skillfully, they’ll likely leave both of you alone afterward.

As you watch him engage, you’re beyond disappointed. It seems like he’s more interested in the attention and adoration of his fans than he is in spending time with you. He should’ve just told them to go away. Now you’re certain of where his priorities lie and you should’ve known from the moment you saw his face this morning. He isn’t here to mend things, Eddie has less than pure intentions and you’re not going to wait to find out what they are.

While Eddie is busy giving the girls his full attention with his back turned to you, you seize the moment to slip out of the booth and quietly exit the restaurant. One of the girls is clinging onto him after a hug and he has to pry her off of himself. In doing so, he sees your hurried movement out of the corner of his eye. He half-heartedly thanks his fans and rushes after you, his mouth going dry as reality hits him like a freight train; he’s getting a taste of his own medicine.

“Wait up,” Eddie calls out to you, his chest heaving.

You stop in your tracks and turn to him with a hardened look on your face. “Why did you come here? Was it so you could show off how untouchable you are now?”

Eddie’s mouth falls open. “No,” he steps forward but you inch away. “Of course not.”

“Then what? Because I don’t even know why I agreed to come here. You’ve obviously outgrown Hawkins and everyone in it. I wasn’t good enough for you to stick around for, much less stay in touch with.”

Eddie’s heart breaks in two at the sunset reflecting in the glossy pools that have formed along your lower lash line. “You were always enough for me,” he says weakly.

You roll your eyes and your car keys jingle in your hand as you cross your arms over your chest. “Do you really expect me to believe that when it’s been nothing but radio silence for six years?”

“Yeah, kinda,” he snaps, suddenly feeling defensive. Memories of the night he left come flooding back and he’s transported to that place of feeling unworthy and inadequate. His chest puffs up and his shoulders tense. “At least I made something of myself. Can’t you at least be a little bit happy for me?

He immediately realizes that was a low blow, evident in the way the tears start pouring from your eyes. The hurt on your face cuts a deep pang in Eddie’s chest for his thoughtless comment. You’ve always been there for him, you were always in his corner for as long as you’d known each other.

You shrink into yourself, avoiding his intense stare as you crumble. “I am happy for you. It just sucks that I had to be forgotten about for you to get there. But I understand, I really do. You had to ditch this town to chase after what you wanted for your life, and that included leaving me behind too.” You wipe your nose with the back of your hand and sniffle.

Eddie’s tense posture relaxes and his expression turns sorrowful as he watches you fall apart from his wrongdoings. It hurts to watch you run a hand through your hair and wipe the mascara from below your eyes in an attempt to compose yourself. The sound of your fumbling car keys is like a thundering countdown in his ears, urging him that his time is running out before he’s lost you entirely. Eddie’s mind races as he fights the impulse to do something, anything, to make amends. “Don’t go,” he begs. “I’m sorry.”

You respond with your eyes fixed on inserting your key into the lock of the car door, your trembling hands making it difficult to do so. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Yes I do,” he insists, getting as physically close as possible without crossing any boundaries.

The piercing glare that was previously on his face has found its way onto yours. “I disagree. You got everything you could’ve ever wanted.”

When your eyes meet, he can feel it in his toes. “I didn’t, though.” Eddie notices the inflamed veins in your eyes, hating himself for being the reason you’re crying. It’s an odd feeling, but a small, sad smile tugs at his lips.

The scoff from you hits like a slap to his cheek. “Let’s see,” you hold out your hand and begin counting on your fingers. “Expensive clothes, a massive house, I’m sure you have multiple cars. You probably have a personal chef-” All true. “For fuck’s sake, you have a private jet. What more could you possibly want?”

Eddie is terrified of making a move that might push you further away, yet he musters the courage to try to ground you with his touch. His fingers gently wrap around your wrist and both of you watch as he brushes his thumb over your veins. “I never got to have you,” Eddie’s voice cracks ever so slightly as he lays all of his cards on the table. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

A tear dribbles off of your cheek and splashes onto the pavement as your hands begin to interact with his.

You contemplate pulling your hand away, the heartache inching back into the forefront of your mind. “If you wanted me you would’ve been here all along.”

Eddie holds his breath as your fingers intertwine and your palms press together. “I’m here now, and I want you just as badly as I did back then.” His lips press a soft kiss to the tops of your knuckles and his teary eyes meet yours. “I was just a stupid kid who turned heel and ran when things didn’t go the way I wanted them to.”

“Yeah, you were,” you agree with a bite of your lip. “You didn’t even give me the chance to tell you that I felt the same way.”

Eddie grins, giving your hand a squeeze and another kiss. “Is there any chance that you still feel that way? Because I’m still stupidly in love with you.”

“I do,” you breathe with relief, swallowing the pressure in your throat. “I’m in love with you too.”

“Wanna be stupid together?” Eddie tilts his head at you, continuing to hold your hand to his plush lips.

“Yeah,” you giggle wetly, “I’d really like that.”

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roguehongsami · 6 months

Text

Velvet Crowbar | Pt. 3

pairing/s: rockstar!wooyoung x fem!couturier

genre/s: smut, fluff, au

synopsis: 1995. it's been 12 years since you left kialecombe. wooyoung tracks you down, desperate to get you back before your wedding.

content: cheating, unprotected sex (condomize), fingering, oral sex, creampie, (sprinkled)nostalgia.

word count: 3.5k

navigation: part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

masterlist here

"Hey, we're Bloodhound and you're not." the man spoke arrogantly, a shit-eating grin on his face.

Y/N switched off the television. Her focus was on the rough sketch she had been working on for a week. The deadline was approaching and she couldn't afford to miss it. It was slowly coming together but still didn't feel right. She let out an exasperated sigh and dropped her pencil on the table. She pushed away from the desk and spun around in her chair, taking in the view of the city skyline. She needed inspiration.

And inspiration she was going to get.

[ . . . ]

"These are the newest addition to the brand." the saleswoman gestured enthusiastically with her hands as she held the shoe. "A suede finish with the brand initials in gold as the heels. It comes in five different colours. What makes this heel special, is that it is the first shoe the CEO has ever designed in her entire career. She primarily focuses on clothing."

Yeosang nodded, having found the perfect gift for his wife. "I'd like them in a size four."

The saleswoman smiled. She instructed Yeosang to wait by the counter, as she went into the storage room to get a box of size four's. She returned with a black box, gold 'Archibald Scott' lettering on top.

Yeosang turned around and called. "Wooyoung, come on."

Wooyoung, who sat on the couch while Yeosang was shopping, walked over and stood beside him. His eye caught the miniature display on the counter. The woman in the picture posing with a bottle of perfume. Her face painted with a nude makeup look, and her nails manicured and decorated with red nail polish. He took the display into his hand, studying the woman's face.

It was now or never.

[ . . . ]

Y/N stepped out of the elevator, heels clinking against the floor tiles as she descended down the steps and marched to her office. No inspiration acquired but only a handbag in hand. Eyes focused on the door that created a buffer between her and the employees, behind came her assistant trying to match her pace.

"There's someone in your office. I told them you're not to be disturbed but they wouldn't–"

Y/N interrupted Cassidy. "That's okay, Cass. You can take the rest of the day off, I think I'm gonna clock off early."

Cassidy stopped in her tracks and returned to her desk. Y/N stood in front of her office door, opening it as her feet led her in. Behind her desk stood a man with black hair, held back by sunglasses. He sported a black leather jacket, black denim jeans and Nike Jordan's. Hands pocketed in his jacket. As she was about to speak, closing the door behind her, he turned around.

The air in the room suddenly became thin, almost losing her breath. "Woo?"

Wooyoung gave her a meek smile. "You are not the same girl I met in '83." he chuckled to himself. "Got time to catch up?"

She stood silently in the middle of the room, unable to move. Unable to find the words to speak. Something in her head suddenly clicked, as if she found the answer to a big question she had been asking herself. Wooyoung moved away from the desk and inched closer to her. As she came out of her trance, she instructed him to sit.

"How have you been doing? It's been a while."

"Twelve years." she whispered, unable to look him in the eye. "I've been doing okay. Just working. What about you? I see things worked out after Velvet Crowbar."

He bowed his head. "I went over to your house after I woke up from my OD. Nurses told me you were the one who found me. When I got there, your mom said you left Kialecombe for good. No matter how much I begged her to, she wouldn't tell me where you moved to. I just wanted to thank you." he looked her in eye. "You gave me a second chance."

"I'm sure anybody would've done the same if they found you." she spoke modestly.

"Yeah, I had nobody after I got kicked out of VC." he let out a shaky breath. "A second too late, I would've died in that room."

She dropped her head, a frown materializing across her face. The image of his unconscious body was still fresh in her memory. The relief she felt when her mother notified her of his condition. Since then, she had solely focused on school and work. Over the years, she saw him on TV. She knew their separation was for the best, she just needed the reassurance that he was doing fine.

He lifted her chin up. "I'm here now, thanks to you." he smiled boyishly. "I couldn't see myself stuck in Kialecombe forever, so I got clean and stayed clean. You remember Yeosang?"

"Dude with the lisp? Always bothered me how he'd say my surname." her eyebrows creased. "He plays drums in your band, right?"

"Yeah, he dropped his nine-to-five when the band finally took off. How'd you know that?"

She gave him a small smile. "I saw you on Headbangers Ball and Unplugged. Bloodhound really gives a good show."

"You listen to my band?" with genuine surprise in his tone.

She playfully shoved his shoulder. "Shut up, Woo. You always knew I was your biggest fan. How'd you even find me?"

"We came to Blue Coast for a break before we resume our tour. I was at one of your stores with a friend– I don't get why you didn't name the brand after yourself." he arched his eyebrows.

"My dad's name has an old money flair to it." she shrugged.

"I found the headquarters' number in the yellow pages, they told me where the big boss can be found."

The tension in the atmosphere eased. His eye caught the white diamond ring on her finger. His heart sank, afraid that he had actually lost her for good. All the work he had put into bettering himself was partially for his own benefit, but mostly so he could be the man Y/N deserved.

He pointed at the rock. "So, who's the lucky guy?"

She looked at the ring and as she was about to speak, her door opened. Her attention now directed to the man entering her office. Wooyoung turned his head, and the look on the man's face replaced with a distasteful one. Wooyoung and Y/N both stood from the couch. Instead of jealousy, Wooyoung was confused. It seems his words never stuck with Y/N as much as he thought they would.

"Wooyoung?" he spoke with an exasperated tone.

"Bradford." Wooyoung deigned, visibly unimpressed.

Y/N walked over to Brady's side and held onto his arm. "Brady and I are getting married in three weeks." she spoke hesitantly.

“I see…” Wooyoung sighed as he shook his head disapprovingly. “It was nice seeing you again, Y/N. I’ll make sure to say goodbye before going back on tour. Also, congratulations.”

Wooyoung strutted past Brady, bumping into his shoulder. He exited the office and once out of earshot, Brady casted Y/N a cold look. She merely rolled her eyes, aware of exactly what he was thinking. Her hands fell from his arm as she walked to her desk. She packed her designs into a cylindrical drawing holder. Handbag in hand and drawing holder nestled under her arm, she beelined to the door.

Brady blocked her path and looked down on her. “What was he doing here?”

“He found my office. Apparently, he was at one of my stores.” she pointed at the door. “Can we go home?”

He made way for her and as she continued her path, he reached for her wrist. “Don’t lie to me.”

Her eyes glanced at his hand then his face. “There’s nothing going on between me and Woo.”

Another late night spent in the office. Lights at every floor were off. From the street, the only lights that shone were on her floor. Office quiet as a grave, all that could be heard was the sound of birds squawking and the occasional helicopter making its nightly rounds around the city.

Slumped back in her chair, head rested against the back and arms laid on the armrest, she felt defeated. Her deadline was fast–approaching and she still had no designs to submit for the next season's line. The sound of nothing was slowly driving her mad. Her frustration worsening, wondering why she did not stick with handling office affairs.

A knock on the door startled her. She sat upright, waiting to hear if there would be another. A slightly more forceful knock followed. She got up from her desk and as she approached the door, she took the baseball bat by the couch. Another knock. As she unlocked the door, turning the knob, she brought the bat over her shoulder.

When she opened the door, there stood Wooyoung holding a paper bag full of takeaways. "I didn't know what you'd want, so I got everything..." he said with bewilderment written all over his face.

Y/N sighed a breath of relief as she stepped away from the door.

"Were you gonna use that on me?" he asked.

She locked the door and followed him to her desk. "You said you had late rehearsals."

He sat in her chair, setting aside her drawings and unpacking the food. "I finished at seven and came by. Saw your lights were on, so I left to go get food." he shrugged. "You had dinner yet?"

She tossed the bat on the couch and sat on the desk, beside Wooyoung. "I haven't eaten since morning."

After getting cornered by Brady, Wooyoung knew he could not see Y/N without her fiancé intercepting every meeting. He acquired her personal number from Cassidy, the assistant. It took a lot of convincing before she gave in. Since then, they had been meeting only when she worked late nights. Brady was completely in the dark.

Oblivious, Y/N was under the impression that he just wanted to catch up. They only had regular conversations about normal things, with Wooyoung occasionally asking about her future with Brady. An unintentional slip of the tongue informed Wooyoung that her relationship wasn't as exciting as it was in the beginning, and that she hoped that getting married would liven things up.

Her mishap was his ticket back in.

"Any luck with your designs?" he said, rubbing her bare knee.

She shook her head.

He planted his hands on her thighs, his head bowed down. "Most people revisit their past when they need inspiration."

He looked up to meet her eyes. She took in a deep breath and released a shaky one. Something about that statement did not sit well with her. It wasn't the literal sentence, but its insinuation. He inched closer to her face, standing between her legs. She leaned back a bit to create distance. His hands on her lower back, he reeled her back in.

Trailing kisses along her jaw to her neck, her body stiffened. Too conflicted to make a decision. What she wants or what she deserves? He was pushing her to choose the former. Slow steady breaths to calm her nerves. She needed to bring herself back down to earth and buck up. She grabbed his arms and as she began pushing him, his grip around her waist tightened.

He leaned into her ear and chimed, "When was the last time you and Brady had sex?" he pulled back to see her face. "Don't be shy, tell me."

Flustered, her hands fell to the table. In a whisper, she said, "Two months ago."

It wasn't the wedding planning. It wasn't her job. She had not been in the mood for a while. Aphrodisia was second nature to her and its absence was dispiriting. Unable to pinpoint the source of her sexual stupor, she just chalked it up to age. She just didn't have it like she used to, maybe.

He glanced down at her engagement ring. His hand stroked her arm, eventually sliding the ring off and tucking it away in her desk drawer. Lips locked with one another and inhibitions cast away, she gave in. She knew it was wrong but it's easier to beg for forgiveness than to actually dig for the actual problem and abate it. His hands slid under her skirt and tugged at the hems of her underwear.

Breaking the kiss, he said, "You know I still-"

"Don't." she cut him off. "I'm getting married in two weeks, don't make this any more complicated than it already is."

Reluctantly, he obliged, seizing the conversation. He pulled off her underwear. Separating her folds, he slid one finger in. Thrusting in and out. She wrapped her legs around his waist and threw her head back. He went down on his knees, her legs thrown over his shoulders and hands gripping her thighs, he lapped her up and tickled her bud with his tongue. A breathy moan filled the room.

As his pace increased, he stretched her out to get her ready. Three fingers and ten minutes later, the sound of Wooyoung slurping and Y/N cursing between moans was all that could be heard. He stood up and brought her into a kiss. Her hands were fumbling with his belt but she eventually undid it. He unbuttoned her blouse and unclasped the front of her bra, freeing her breasts.

She pulled his jacket and shirt off, throwing them on the ground. Her lips left trails of wet kisses all over his chest, suckling and nibbling at the skin on his neck. Rouge materialising. He dropped his pants as they pooled around his legs. She went in for a kiss. As he slid into her, she moaned into his mouth. A proud grin forming on his lips. He started with soft, slow thrusts. Easing her into the moment. As he picked up speed and force, he laid her on her back.

His fingers toying with her bud, her brain was fogging. She could not recall the last time she enjoyed sex this much. It had become a chore. Her hands toyed with her breasts, Wooyoung removing her hands from her chest.

"Let me watch..." he spoke, breathlesly.

Sweat beads were forming on his forehead, a combination of their bodies radiating and the raised summer temperatures. One leg over his shoulder and another around his waist, he reached in to grab the back of her neck.

"He doesn't fuck you this good, does he?" he grunted, smacking the side of her thigh.

"Brady could never." she lambasted in a moan.

Wooyoung suddenly stopped. He brought her to her feet then bent her over the desk. With one leg on the desk, he went back in. At this angle, silence was not a given. Moans mixed with cries, and grunts mixed with groans. They could only wish for this to go on forever. Consistent with the pace, he pulled off her blouse and bra. Her hands pressed firm against the desk surface for balance, he toyed with her nipples as he nipped the skin on her shoulder.

She clamped around him, feeling pressure build up in her stomach. How she missed that knotting sensation. He felt the squeeze of his cock, making him move erratically inside her. The warmth and friction of it all drove him to unadulterated insanity. He held her bare back flush against his chest, needing every bit of skin contact he could acquire.

"Woo, faster." she moaned, one hand on the desk and the other holding on to his neck.

Not a second later, he was thrusting as fast as he could. They braced themselves for a simultaneous release, it was fast-approaching. Both came undone. Wooyoung was thrusting all the discharge deep inside her until he stilled. His head rested on her shoulder, catching a breath, and her head hung. He slowly pulled out of her, bits of cum sliding down her thigh. He grabbed a tissue from her desk, and wiped her down.

They got dressed in silence. Not an awkward one. They were reflecting on where their relationship went wrong, and how they got to that point. The chemistry was still there, but so were obstacles. Y/N felt as if she had a promise to fulfill with her engagement. She couldn't turn back now. And Wooyoung, nothing he could say would change her mind. She was determined to walk down that aisle.

What she deserved outweighed what she desired.

Yet she expressed no remorse for what she had just done.

"Just think about what I said, okay?" he pecked her on the lips. "Revisit the past."

[ . . . ]

After spending the whole night in the office, no ideas coming to light, she stepped into her penthouse. She put her handbag down on the kitchen island. Brady's gym bag was still in the kitchen. She went on a path to her bedroom. In her walk-in closet, she found an old miniature chest with memorabilia. She sat on the bed as she went through some of the artifacts.

Her late father's watch.

Her mother's locket, which was passed down to her by her mother, Mrs. Rhodes.

Polaroids of her adolescent days. At the country club with her parents. Making clothes in the atelier. Moments of her dancing on tables and headbanging. Sitting on the roof of an abandoned bus with Murphy and Seonghwa. Her and Wooyoung wearing battle vests and matching Judas Priest tees at a show, their first date. She took a few more moments looking.

Truly the happiest time of her life.

She left the open chest and polaroids on the bed, stepping into the bathroom for a shower. As the water ran, Brady came in and took note of the items on the bed. He picked up the polaroids and studied the one with Wooyoung. Aggravated that she would keep it, he counted to a hundred in his head to calm himself.

Freshly cleaned, she returned and saw Brady holding her belongings. "Morning sweetie. How'd you sleep?"

He mustered up a halfhearted smile. "Just fine but the bed felt empty without you." he leaned in for a kiss. "What are these?"

"Stuff from high school. I think I know what my next line is gonna be."

She went to bed after chitchatting with Brady, getting some shut-eye before resuming her work. She spent the day at home, drawing multiple designs. They all came so easy. Late afternoon and already down to seven designs. She stopped once she felt she had enough ideas and packed her drawings into the holder.

At any moment, Brady was going to step into their home. Dinner was prepared and the table was set. She changed into a loose sweatshirt and sweatpants. Watching the television, the elevator announced Brady's arrival as he stepped out. Sauntering to the couch and pecking her on the forehead, he greeted her and went off to change.

At the dinner table, Brady put forward, "So, where's your ring?"

Y/N choked on her broth. "Oh..." she wiped her mouth with a napkin and looked down at her hand. "It kept getting caught in my blouse so I put it in my drawer." she looked him in the eye. "It's at work."

Her heart was thumping violently against her chest. A momentary lapsus memoriae, nearly outing her. She was lucky to be able to come up with an excuse so fast. The last time she was cornered, the lie got caught in her throat and found herself stuttering a single letter.

Brady nodded and continued eating his food. Eventually, they cleared the dinner table. Cuddled on the couch watching Universal Soldier. Y/N drifted off to sleep on Brady's chest. The phone on the coffee table rang. He picked it up and put it to his ear.

"Yes?" he spoke.

"Hey Bradford, are you busy, like right now?" the woman on the other end said.

"Hey Pari, what's up?"

"I have something you need to see. Come to my office, immediately." the line died.

Brady was careful not to wake her, laying her down on the couch and propping her head up with pillows. He got dressed and rushed out of the penthouse. His car was parked outside the Blue Coast Times office. He signed in at reception and stood in the elevator, waiting to reach the top floor. He reached Pari's door. A silver plate me this eyes; Pari Yadav – Editor In Chief.

He knocked on the door twice before Pari opened. She instructed him to sit as she sat across from him. On her desk was a brown envelope. She slid it over to him. His eyebrows creased down the middle, glancing at the envelope then at Pari.

"What is this?" he spelled out as he opened the envelope.

Inside, there were multiple pictures. His eyes studied every picture intently, soaking up the events captured. He sighed, disappointed but not surprised. It was the most defeated he had ever felt. Quick to wipe away the tears that had fallen on his cheeks, he put the pictures back in the envelope. He knew if he went ahead with their pending marriage, he'd always be second priority.

Pari leaned forward in her chair. "I won't run the story. Nobody needs to know about this, I'll tell my journalists to back off."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Thank you, Pari. But I think I have a better idea." he released a deep breath. "What are you doing on the eighteenth?"

taglist (green highlight = can't tag):

@tinybada @yeosangsbbg @staytiny816

PART 4, READ HERE.

#ateez #jung wooyoung #wooyoung smut #wooyoung fluff #roguehongsami

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