#rockstar!eddie munson x reader

[sunflowerxthoughts]

Eddie Munson making it big and making like a concert in Hawkings as a fuck you to everyone at The Hideout and then!!!! He meets you, doing the whole techie thingy in there and he is so surprised because he doesn’t know you and he would remember your face.

You have just moved to Hawkins to run away from your shitty life elsewhere and as soon as the bartender tells him is like???? You moved from hell, to literal hell?

So he spends the night trying to get to know you, and he thinks he might fall in love right then and there. You are interesting and pretty and talented. Like really really talented. So he decides to take you under his wing and on tour as an opening act. Still he doesn’t really make a move because well, he doesn’t want to give you the impression that he did all of this to get sex out of it.

But you are getting so tired of the cat and mouse game, you drop hints left and right that you know he isn’t like that and that you just want to kiss him silly. But he is blind as but, as always.

So the guys devise a plan and oh no, the tires on your tour bus have been slashed, you’ll have to sleep in their tour bus. Oh would you look at that, the bunks are full and the only bigger bed is Eddie’s, and he won’t let you sleep on the floor so you have to compromise.

So that night you are both with their backs facing eachother, and Eddie feels like he is going to combust. So he just rambles and rambles and rambles about you. Safe to say, there’s no longer any space left between you two that night.

[themunsonator5000]

Baby Eddie after his first ever gig at the hideout - 1983

Please credit if you use

[eiightysixbaby]

i love it loud

word count: 6.5k+

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: you get invited to corroded coffin’s halloween party with your best friend chrissy. you don’t anticipate on having much fun, but that changes when you meet eddie…

cw: 18+ ONLY - SMUT. alcohol consumption, a rogue billy tries to hit on reader, use of petnames, use of y/n (like maybe a few times), oral (f receiving), fingering (f), unprotected p in v - he pulls out tho!, brief description of reader’s costume but no mention of body type/etc.

You didn’t want to go to this party. Not really. Your best friend had insisted you come with her, because arriving alone would, in her words, be social suicide. Being invited to Corroded Coffin’s Halloween party was a big deal, she’d said, even though you know she was only invited because she’s been going out with the drummer. Of course he’s going to invite his girlfriend.

You hadn’t even had a plan for a costume, and with only a couple day’s notice you didn’t have the time to prepare something good. The stores were all picked over as far as Halloween costumes go, and so you went with the most basic, half-assed option you could’ve possibly selected.

You’re dressed as a cat.

It feels silly, it feels low-effort and stupid and basic, but here you are with your fluffy tail and soft felt ears, black high heels and whiskers painted on your face. A pink nose to top it all off. You did think you looked good, you had to admit, but it definitely wasn’t the costume you would’ve preferred. You awkwardly adjust your stockings as you step up to the front door of the large house, feeling horrendously out of place.

You glance at Chrissy beside you, her hippie costume bright and colorful - an extreme contrast to your all black attire.

“Okay, just texted Gareth that we’re here,” she says, slipping her phone into her bag. “Don’t look so thrilled,” she says sarcastically, pouting at you.

“Sorry I’m not exactly excited to be at a party where I know no one,” you say.

“You know me and Gareth,” she replies, looking at you like she’s confused.

“I barely know Gareth. And don’t act like the two of you won’t be running off to bang the second you get a chance,” you smile at her, knocking shoulders playfully.

“Listen… his friend Eddie, the lead singer, is super hot. Maybe you’ll get more than you bargained for tonight.”

“I don’t know, Chris. There’s going to be a million girls at this party, do I really want to be another notch on some rockstar’s belt?” you ponder.

She doesn’t get the chance to respond before the front door is swinging open in front of you. The figure on the other side is… Peter Criss. More like, Gareth dressed as Peter Criss. Fully outfitted in leather and silver studs, hair spray painted black with white and black cat makeup on his face. You laugh a little as you take him in, and he shoots you a teasing glare.

“Hey ladies,” he greets, pulling Chrissy in for a quick kiss. “Y/N, I’m so glad you decided to come.”

“You know Chris always gets what she wants,” you reply with a laugh, and he laughs with you, agreeing.

He steps to the side, ushering you both into the large foyer of the house. It’s decked out in Halloween decor; bats on the walls, fake cobwebs, hairy toy spiders with light-up red eyes. There’s orange and purple string lights hung about, and you’re honestly impressed with the detail. The house is clean, aside from the stray cup or plate left behind from the current party guests, and the decorations are carefully placed.

“Holy shit, you guys really did it up for the party,” you say, eyes wandering to every corner.

“Oh yeah, that’s all Eddie. He loves Halloween. It was his idea for us to dress like KISS,” Gareth says with a playful eye roll.

“Don’t complain, you look so good in that outfit…” Chrissy says, trailing a finger down his chest.

“I’ll have to give you the official house tour,” he says to your friend. “You coming too?” he asks you, but you shake your head.

“Think I’ll get myself a drink,” you say, sticking out your thumb in the direction of the kitchen.

“Sounds good. There’s stuff on the counter and a bar out back by the pool, you can go wherever you’d like,” Gareth says with a smile, and it’s genuine. “Make yourself at home, say hey if you see the other guys around! You can’t miss ‘em, they’ll be dressed like me,” he adds, and you laugh, waving them off as Chrissy tells you to text her if you need anything at all.

You wander into the open kitchen, pleased with the selection of liquor that awaits you. If you’re going to be spending the night alone, you might as well get pleasantly drunk, you think to yourself. People are scattered throughout the room, talking with their circles of friends and acquaintances. There’s a couple different punch bowls filled with various concoctions, each one labeled with the contents. You take your pick of the poison, scooping the liquid up with a ladle and filling your cup.

You scrunch your face as you take the first sip, lips pursing as you adjust to the bite of the alcohol. You glance around the kitchen, taking note of even more decorations as you slink into a corner alone. They seem to fill the whole house, seeping into the living room and the dining room, any area that you can see. Gareth had said it was all Eddie’s doing, and you find yourself growing more curious about the man in question. You really didn’t know anything about Corroded Coffin, didn’t care much to do any research, you only knew what Chrissy told you.

You know that Grant, the rhythm guitarist, has rich parents, and that his dad bought the house for the band to live in while they’re recording their album. Chrissy always says Grant’s the nerdiest of the bunch, insanely smart and very friendly. You know that Jeff, the bassist, is apparently a sweetheart, a bit shy but would give you the shirt off of his back, and you know that Eddie…. well, you know that he’s supposedly “super hot”. Other than that, you’re drawing a blank. Chrissy hasn’t said much about him at all, now that you really consider it. Maybe he’s an introvert and doesn’t come around often, or maybe he’s a complete dick. He is a rockstar, after all. And there’s plenty of pretty women in his house right now, so… you can gather a few assumptions, to say the least.

You don’t get much more time to ponder the subject before you hear loud, raucous laughter coming in through the sliding doors to the backyard. Two figures stumble in, but in the dim light you can’t get a good look right away.

“I was made for lovin’ you baaaabyyyyyy!” a voice booms, and you don’t need more confirmation that it comes from another member of the band.

“How many times are you gonna sing that tonight?” the other voice counters, and you finally see two unfamiliar men walking towards the kitchen, dressed like other members of KISS.

The annoyed voice comes from the stand-in Gene Simmons of the evening, a frizzy black wig on his head and the signature makeup on his face, making him stand out. He sticks his tongue out obnoxiously at the other man, eliciting a laugh from him. Your eyes flit over, then, to the taller figure. Your attention is immediately grabbed — he’s intriguing right away and you aren’t quite sure why. Tall, slim, with a head of shaggy hair that diminishes his need for a wig for the costume. He’s dressed like Paul Stanley, a black star around his eye, surrounded by a face otherwise full of white makeup. He’s not wearing a shirt, at all, just a thick black studded collar around his neck and leather pants. Chunky heeled boots are on his feet, making him appear taller than just about everyone else in the room.

And if he’s dressed like the singer of KISS, then you can only assume this is Eddie. The singer of Corroded Coffin.

“Oh fuck off, Jeff. Have a little fun! It’s Hallo-fucking-ween, dude,” presumably-Eddie says, leaning into Jeff’s space.

“Sorry my idea of fun isn’t listening to your drunk ass sing KISS songs, Ed,” Jeff says, and the nickname gives you confirmation that this is, in fact, your guy.

Eddie just so happens to look up in that moment, his eyes falling upon yours unintentionally. He smiles at you, genuinely smiles at you, all while playfully rolling his eyes at Jeff’s comment. You giggle into your plastic cup, feeling like the two of you are the only people in the room for a moment. He gives you a teeny little wave, the slightest wiggle of his fingers, and you feel your heart rate increase as you return it. What is wrong with you? You were going to blame the alcohol, for the time being.

The moment is gone as soon as it came, Eddie’s attention getting redirected. You watch in fascination as they pour drinks for themselves, easily greeting the other partygoers who come up to them, eager to talk to the hosts. There’s a swarm of girls around Eddie in thirty seconds flat, and your heart deflates, much to your own dismay. Why should it bother you? He doesn’t even know you, and you don’t know him. Chrissy’s implication that you might hit it off with Eddie tonight is letting you get too in your own head, you decide, trying to shake it off.

You scoff, watching as a girl dressed like a devil leans on the counter into Eddie’s space, pressing her breasts together as much as she can. Her fake fangs are exposed as she laughs too loud at something he says, her bright red lipstick accentuating her mouth. You want to internally criticize her and her basic costume, before you’re reminded of your imitation of the most basic furry friend to ever grace Halloween.

As if on cue, someone comes up behind you and yanks on your tail, making you jump. Your drink sloshes over the rim of the cup at the sudden motion, splashing against the front of your outfit. You spin on your heel, met with the face of an unfamiliar man, which really isn’t saying much since almost every face here is unfamiliar.

“Can I help you?” you snark, flattening your lips in a straight line.

“Woah, calm down, pussy cat. Don’t have to bring the claws out,” the man says, smirking at you as if he has genuinely no clue why you’re bothered.

He reaches one arm out, flattening his palm against the wall behind you and leaning his weight on it, towering over you. He smells like cigarettes and booze, and you watch as his tongue pokes out to wet his lips.

“If you don’t mind,” you snap. “I really need to go wash the liquor out of my costume. Asshole,” you mutter the last part, ready to make your exit when the stranger grabs your arm.

“Going so soon? I thought we’d make friends,” he smiles at you, blue eyes piercing down at you as you grow wildly more uncomfortable.

“I’ll pass,” you emphasize, stomping the heel of your boot down onto his foot.

He yelps in pain, releasing your arm and allowing you to speed-walk out of the crowded kitchen. You can see various pairs of eyes on you as you scurry out, and you can hear your victim cursing you out through the bass coming through the stereo.

You high-tail it out the back door, heels clicking aggressively on pavement as you push through more people surrounding the pool. You finally stop to calm yourself down when you find a lull in the crowds, a spot where you can be relatively alone. You silently thank yourself that the stranger didn’t follow you, but what you didn’t realize is that someone else had.

You exhale, bringing your drink to your lips and taking a swig. Your now-wet top clings to your skin, aggravating you, but the last thing you want to do is wander back into the house in search of the bathroom.

“H-hey, um, are you alright?” a voice rings out directly behind you.

You jolt just slightly, not expecting company. Turning to face the other person, your eyes first land on those big, black platform boots. Eddie had followed you. Your gaze trails up his figure, leather pants and studded belt and bare torso, until you meet his eyes for the second time this evening.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he says, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I saw what happened in there and, uh, to be honest I don’t even know why we keep inviting Hargrove to these things—” Eddie rambles, as if Hargrove is a familiar name to you, as if he’s nervous to be around you — like he isn’t the star-studded host of this party.

“I’m okay,” you reply, cutting off his sentence, smirking a little. “Thanks for checking on me.”

“Oh, yeah, of course. I know these parties can get crazy, but… I always want to make sure everyone’s safe,” he says, his gaze softening as he says the last part. “I’m Eddie, by the way,” he introduces, holding out a hand for you to shake.

You immediately notice the big, silver rings adorning many of his fingers, your eyes lingering on them for maybe a second too long before you remember he’s waiting for you. You extend a hand, grasping his and shaking it.

“Y/N,” you reply. “I, uh, I’m here with Chrissy.”

“Oh, you’re Cunningham’s friend!?” he asks, lighting up at that. Excited as he says it as if you’re the celebrity here, not him.

You nod, smiling at him now.

“Damn, and she already ditched you to go screw Gareth, I’m assuming?” he jokes, and you laugh, feeling lighter by the second. Forgetting your less-than-pleasant encounter from moments ago.

“Yeah, how’d you know?” you say sarcastically, smiling wider when he snorts.

There’s a pause, you can feel him staring at you as you take another sip of alcohol. “Well, I’m a little offended she didn’t tell me that she had such a beautiful friend,” he says, and you feel your cheeks grow warm at his forwardness.

You duck your head, avoiding his eyes as your face scrunches in a shy smile. “Ah, there’s the rockstar charm,” you say, loving the sound of his laugh that comes in response.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he playfully asks, cocking his head as he leans forward to meet your gaze.

“How many other girls have you used that line on tonight?” you counter, playful but keeping a safe distance.

“Ouch, sweetheart. You really take me for that much of a player?” he stumbles back, clutching his chest as if he’s been wounded. Your eyes linger maybe too long on the tattoos littering his torso, the slight smattering of hair on his pale skin.

“Well, you are parading around your own party shirtless. Seems like a tool move to me,” you smirk, finishing off your drink with one last sip.

“Darling, you’re dressed like a cat. I don’t think you can come for my costume right now,” he flashes his perfect teeth at you, unable to contain his smile at your banter.

There’s a moment of silence, you staring out across the yard at the bright lights of the city down below, stretching vast and far. Then he speaks up again.

“I mean it. I think you’re really beautiful.”

“Thank you. You’re very pretty,” you say honestly, letting yourself give in to his flirtations.

“Is it the makeup? Am I gonna have to wear this every time I see you now?”

You giggle. “Every time? Are there going to be more times, mister rockstar?”

“I mean, I’d love to take the time to get to know you outside of a party setting, if that’s okay with you,” he smiles bashfully, and you can only assume he’s blushing under all of that makeup.

“Yeah. I think that’s okay with me,” you reply.

Conversation flows easily with Eddie, the less-than- pleasant encounter with the stranger and the spilled alcohol on your shirt long forgotten. He tells you about his life before the band started to make it big, how he always dreamed of being a rockstar. He shyly told you about how he used to parade around his home as a kid, playing his little guitar and singing songs he made up until his uncle was begging him to quiet down and go to bed.

You confess that you really didn’t know much about the band, other than things Chrissy had told you, and you apologize although he tells you it’s absolutely not necessary.

You both end up sitting in the grass side-by-side, talking so much you don’t even remember making the choice to sit, it just happened. There’s a lull in the conversation, his eyes searching yours before glancing down to your lips. He moves just slightly closer, his breath hitting your face with each exhale. You feel yours catch in your throat, anticipating his next move.

You don’t get the chance to see what that move is before the girl in the devil costume from the kitchen approaches. She instantly has her hands on Eddie, grabbing his arm with a red-gloved hand and pulling him to stand. “Eddieeee, come on! You have to come play spin the bottle with us!” she pleads, her voice too whiny to not be part of an act.

“I- uh,” he stumbles, looking at you with an emotion you can’t place.

The girl moves to stand in front of him, putting her hands on his chest now, starting to push him backwards. “Come on, it’s no fun if you don’t play,” she continues, her shrill voice grating in your ears.

You don’t like how close she’s getting, how unafraid she is to be touchy with him. Who even is she? Are they friends? Are they more than friends? She’s pushing him further away from you by the second, not once acknowledging your presence. You scoff, looking to the side, avoiding Eddie’s gaze.

Before Eddie can really do anything, he’s being shoved fully away from you. You don’t see the way he desperately looks to you for an out, simply bothered by the fact that this girl won’t leave him alone.

You wonder if you were right, if he called you beautiful just like he calls every other girl beautiful. You didn’t want to believe it, but, he’s about to go play a game with a bunch of drunk people where the whole point is to kiss each other, so. It’s not looking great for you.

You’d be lying, though, if you said your curiosity wasn’t peaked. You find yourself bored watching partygoers splash around in the pool, and you can’t shove down your internal need to find out what mister rockstar and the devil girl are up to inside. Your feet are carrying you before you can decide against it, leading you back inside, back through the kitchen where you pour yourself another drink, and then to the living room where you find a large group sat in a circle.

You hang back, just slightly, not wanting to make it too obvious that you’re watching the game, even though you aren’t the only one who came to spectate. To be completely honest, the first few spins you witness aren’t very exciting. You don’t know any of these people, so what should it matter to you if they kiss? You’re about to step away when the circle erupts with various ‘Ooooh’s and whistles.

“Come on, Eddie! You gotta do it!” a now very drunk Jeff screams.

To your absolute horror, Eddie had spun the bottle, only for it to land on the little bitch whose name you still don’t know in the devil costume. Eddie looks at the girl, who is very clearly eagerly awaiting a kiss from the singer of Corroded Coffin, but then he looks up at you.

You didn’t think he’d realized you were there, didn’t think he saw you lurking, but he looked at you too pointedly for it to have been an accident.

You swallow, suddenly feeling awkward amongst the silence of the room. Everyone’s watching Eddie, expecting him to get his kiss over with and move on. He stands finally, stepping forward. You almost want to look away, not interested in watching him lock lips with someone that isn’t you. But you can’t look away, not when he bypasses the anonymous girl and heads right for you.

“Um, I’m right here!” she says, her tone snarky and honestly annoying enough to make you want to slap her.

“Yeah, well I’m not kissing you, Tina,” Eddie says. “Spin the bottle. What are we, fourteen?” he asks, eyes still locked on you as he stands merely a step away now.

Your heart thumps in your chest, every bit of your nervous system attuned to him. Your mouth hangs slightly open, not knowing what to do or what to say.

He steps even closer, closing the distance between you. “I want to kiss you, that okay?” he murmurs, letting one hand rest so gently on your waist.

You want to laugh in Tina’s face. You want to point and laugh and rub it in, but that wouldn’t be the appropriate response here. You need to kiss Eddie, sooner rather than later.

You just nod, a smile playing on your lips. He leans his face closer to yours, hovering by your ear to whisper, “I’m sorry, about her. She’s… a friend of a friend who always ends up at our parties. Trust me, I have no interest there.”

The reassurance really isn’t necessary, you barely know Eddie after all, but it’s extremely appreciated. You feel your heart flutter a little, smug and satisfied all in one. And then his lips are on yours, not giving a damn who’s watching, not a care in the world for what anyone might say.

His lips are soft, warm against yours and the way he cradles the back of your head in his hands makes you weak at the knees. Your noses brush before you pull away, and the two of you giggle in unison like you just shared some exciting secret with each other.

Tina is dumbfounded where she sits on the carpet, watching you. You swear steam would be coming out of her ears if this was a cartoon. You give her a little wave and an all-too-fake smile before Eddie grabs your hand to lead you away.

Not a single word is spoken as he pulls you out of the living room, you’re silent until you reach the stairs to go up to the second floor.

“So you really don’t have history with Tina?” you playfully ask, pressing the issue just to be a pain, and he groans.

“Ugh, god, no. Like I said, she always ends up at these things and she’s all over me. But the funny part is, we went to high school together. She bullied the crap outta me,” he explains, and you can’t help but laugh. “Spread some nasty rumors on social media…” he shakes his head, smirking at the thought now.

“Of course,” you roll your eyes, “Now where are you taking me, rockstar?” you grab his waist once you’ve reached the top of the stairs, pulling him closer to you.

“To my room, because there’s no way I can handle any more interruptions tonight,” he says, his hands finding your hips, pressing his forehead to yours for a moment.

Another kiss is ghosted over your lips, open-mouthed and teasing, leaving you chasing after him when he pulls away and starts to walk down the hallway. He opens the dark wood door, gesturing for you to enter first.

The second he’s inside with you, his mouth is on yours, your back pressed to the wall as his hands grip your waist. He fumbles with the light switch behind you, providing a dim glow throughout the room. He wastes no time slipping his tongue past your lips, licking inside of your mouth and groaning when your tongue meets his. Your noses brush and you’re sure his makeup is getting smeared on your face, or vice-versa, and the thought makes you smile into the kiss. His lips work their way down to your jaw, nipping and mouthing at the skin before residing on your neck, sucking till it stings.

You hiss, arching your back into him, hands grabbing at his bare shoulders as your nails dig into the skin.

“Shit, sweetheart,” Eddie breathes, hands grabbing your face as he brings you in for another heated kiss.

He starts to walk backwards, guiding you with him towards his bed. His boots are kicked off of his feet carelessly, and you toe off your heels in tandem. He reaches the mattress, falling back onto it and scooting backwards until he’s fully on the bed. You follow his lead, straddling his lap and letting your hands roam his bare chest. He watches you like you’re an ethereal being, eyes big and round and completely full of desire. His hands wrap around to grab your ass beneath the fabric of your skirt, filling his open palms with the soft flesh and squeezing.

Your hands waste no time in finding their way to the zipper of his pants, tugging it down after undoing the button.

“Need these off, Ed,” you say, sounding more whiny than you’d wanted. Your face gets hot at the smirk he gives you in return.

“Oh, so we’re desperate now, huh?” he says, the cocky rockstar demeanor coming out in full-swing. It makes you embarrassingly flustered, your cunt throbbing for him.

All you can do is nod, your hand trailing over the bulge that waits for you beneath fabric.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, starting to shimmy his pants down his thighs.

You remove yourself from his lap, letting him undress — your mouth practically watering when his cock springs free and smacks against his stomach. He’s fully naked for you now, given that he already wasn’t wearing a shirt. All that’s left is the studded choker around his neck, and it makes you drool.

“Like what you see, baby?” he asks, a smug little grin on his face as he watches the way you take in his entire body.

You already noticed the tattoos on his chest and arms, but now you’re noticing the ones on his thighs. He’s unreal, so unfairly gorgeous and captivating. He’s perfectly sculpted, a sharp V carved into his pelvis that simply leads your eyes down a path to his perfect cock. It’s big — long and not too thick, veiny with a pink, leaking tip. He must catch your intrigued expression, because he laughs, a devious little sound that tells you he can’t have any pure intentions.

“Why don’t you lay down so I can get you ready to take this cock?” he purrs, slender fingers stroking up and down one side of your body.

You shudder at his touch, moving to lay down on his bed. You pull your shirt off before you do, leaving your black, lacy bra on display for the man beside you. Your tits rest perfectly in it, and Eddie’s sure to get an eyeful. His hands gently hold your hips once you’re situated comfortably, partially laying down with your back propped against his many fluffy pillows. He leans down, letting his lips graze over your jaw, your cheek, your nose, before finally pressing to your mouth. He brings one hand up, pulling your cat-ear headband off of your head, deciding it can’t be very comfortable to have on for hours at a time. It makes you breathe a little laugh into the kiss, remembering how silly you must look with your painted on whiskers and nose.

He doesn’t give you much time to dwell on it, his mouth pulling off of yours and starting to travel down your neck. He kisses your shoulders, your collarbone, sucking on the most sensitive bits of skin and making you whine as you wriggle beneath him. He finds his way down to your breasts, hands sliding your bra straps down your shoulders as you arch your back for him, giving him room to unhook the clasp that sits at your spine. His lips immediately attach to one of your pert nipples, sucking and swirling his tongue around the small bud. One of his large hands cups your other breast, the cold silver of the rings on his fingers a sharp contrast to your searing skin.

He switches after a moment, sucking the opposite nipple into his warm, wet mouth. Something akin to a growl leaves his mouth when your fingers tangle in his hair and tug, and it spurs you on to keep going. His lips unlatch themselves from your breast, his mouth moving down down down, trailing kisses everywhere it goes. Your cunt throbs when his mouth approaches the waistband of your tight little skirt, his eager hands hooking beneath the fabric and beginning to yank it down, along with your underwear.

He peppers kisses lower and lower on your body, his mouth following close behind the clothes that he pulls off of you, covering every inch of skin as it’s exposed to him. He discards everything onto the floor, definitely tearing your stockings in the process of ripping them off of you. Your mind is a blur as he hastily attaches his lips to your clit, slipping one finger inside of you with complete ease. You weren’t expecting all of the stimulation so suddenly, your body writhing on the mattress as he sucks your sensitive clit into his mouth.

“More, Eddie, need more,” you pant, knowing you’re probably being greedy but knowing all the same that he won’t deny you what you want.

He hums against your cunt, immediately adding a second finger inside of you. He curls the digits, collecting your sticky wetness and groaning at the filthy noises that his movements make. Your hands tug harder on his hair as you throw your head back onto the pillows, cursing at how good he feels. Going in, you had no idea how tonight would play out, but you certainly didn’t expect to be hooking up with the frontman of Corroded Coffin. Your head spins at the thought of how many other people would probably die to be in your position right now, and it only makes you more turned on.

“Want one more, baby? Need to make sure you can take my fingers before you take my cock,” he purrs, smirking up at you.

“Yeah, please, I can take it,” you reassure him, and he slips a third finger in.

His fingers are thick, no doubt about it, and they stretch you so deliciously you feel like you could cry. The silk sheets beneath you feel cold against your skin, easing the heat that floods your entire body. You grip them with one hand, the other still in Eddie’s hair as he flicks his tongue back and forth over your clit in the perfect rhythm. He doesn’t dare change his pace, not with the way you’re moaning his name like a siren song, drawing him more and more into you.

You’re rapidly approaching your release, that much he knows, and he wants to send you free-falling over that edge. The way you suck his fingers right in practically makes him drool, he can’t get enough. Loud, shrill moans of his name leave your mouth as he curls his fingers into that perfect soft spot inside of you, and Eddie couldn’t care less if the whole damn house can hear you.

“Gonna cum, Eddie, ohmygod—” you’re cut off mid-sentence, the air stolen from your lungs as you come undone for him.

You squeeze around his fingers, soaking him as your body trembles. He pulls them out of you, slowly bringing them to his lips, making sure your eyes are on him. He sucks the digits clean of your juices, humming contently around them. You ache for him, your body desperate to have him even though it’s only been seconds since he’d been pleasuring you.

He moves to hover over you, reattaching his lips to yours in a heated kiss. It’s somehow gentle and rough at the same time, a weird but enticing juxtaposition. He tastes like you and it drives you crazy as your mouths clash together, all teeth and tongues.

“Fuck, baby, hold on. Let me get a condom,” Eddie says, nearly breathless as he pulls away.

“No— want you to fuck me raw,” you mewl, reaching out to stop him as he goes to stand.

“Baby…” he says, looking at you with uncertainty. He never goes without a condom, and certainly doesn’t want you to feel pressured to forgo one.

“Please, Eddie. Just pull out,” you plead with him, and you honestly can’t believe your nerve right now. Begging the famous rockstar you just met to fuck you raw, as if you have all of this power over him. What you don’t know is that Eddie already wants to give you anything you ask for.

“Okay, alright, sweetheart. Whatever you want,” he says, leaning down to kiss your forehead before positioning himself on top of you.

He lines his cock up with your entrance, and you can feel the way you throb for him. You know you’re even more soaked than before, and you hardly worry about whether or not he’ll fit.

“You ready?” he asks sincerely. Big brown eyes searching yours for your approval.

“Mhm,” you hum, letting your eyes flutter closed when you feel him start to press in.

Moans leave each of your mouths in unison as he sinks inside inch by inch. Your nails dig in to the skin on his back, dragging down when he bottoms out inside of you. He hisses, breathing heavy as he tries to gain some composure. You feel so good around him, too good, and it takes all of his focus to not bust immediately.

“Please move, need you to move,” you whine, looking up at him with your big, pleading eyes.

He nods, “Okay, baby. Gonna give it to you so good, yeah?”

He starts thrusting, slowly at first, dragging his cock almost fully out of you before rutting back in. The air is forced from your lungs, your mouth open in a silent moan. His movements stay slow like that for a little while, giving you the friction you need but still teasing. Moans leave your lips as he slowly pushes himself all the way in, letting you fully feel the way he stretches your walls to fit him.

He starts to speed up then, setting a steady pace as he fucks into you harder. He does it so well, filling you to the brim and making you clench around him. You can feel every vein and ridge on his cock, the pleasure making your body erupt in goosebumps.

“Shit, feel so fucking good, sweetheart,” Eddie pants, his hips smacking against yours roughly. “Wanna try something different?” he asks, waiting for your approval which comes without hesitation.

He pulls out of you, making you wince slightly. He stands at the side of the bed, coaxing you to move towards him. You oblige, scooting right to the edge of the mattress. Strong hands grip your legs, hoisting your feet up onto his shoulders, exposing you perfectly to him. You feel more vulnerable like this, and it makes you antsy as you wait for him to slide back in. When he does, you see stars. The angle is perfect, his cock hitting spots it couldn’t before. You watch as he throws his head back, the muscles in his neck prominent as he clenches his jaw, a guttural groan escaping him.

“You’re so damn beautiful, so fucking gorgeous,” he says, looking back down at you with sincere eyes. “How’d I get the most perfect girl on the planet?”

And then he bends down, your legs still hooked over his shoulders, your body practically folded in half now. You nearly scream out his name, the lewd sounds of his balls slapping against your skin filling the space. He leans down to kiss you, his lips and firm against yours, muffling your pretty noises. He pulls away, letting out a smug little chuckle at the way you instantly moan for him, noticing the tears pricking in the corner of your eyes.

“Gonna cry for me, baby? My cock feels so good you’re gonna cry about it?” he teases, watching your brow furrow in concentration as you get closer and closer to release.

“You’re very — fuck — very fucking modest,” you choke out, trying and failing to bite back your whimpers.

He laughs again, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “You know you fucking love it,” he murmurs, teeth biting at your earlobe before he pulls away. “I can tell you love it, cause you’re suckin’ me in like you were made for me.”

You let out a whine at his words, pinching your eyes shut in pure ecstasy as he continues to split you open. “Fuck, Eddie, don’t stop,” you plead, your body jolting with every harsh thrust he gives you.

He grunts as he fucks you faster, watching in awe as your tits bounce on your chest. He can feel how soaked you are for him, can see your cream pooling around the base of him when he sheathes himself fully inside.

“You gonna cum for me again, sweetheart?” he rasps, leaning down to kiss along your jawline.

All you can get out is a wobbly “Uh-huh,” nodding your head to the best of your ability. His fingers dig in to the meat of your thighs, a dull ache from his harsh grip barely noticeable in the back of your mind. One hand moves from its spot on your leg to reach down and play with your clit, the pad of his thumb rubbing quick circles over it.

Your back arches off the mattress, your legs shaking as you cry out his name. A few more deep thrusts and you’re plummeting over the edge for the second time tonight, your cunt tensing up around him over and over. The way your walls flutter around his cock brings him dangerously close to release, and he pulls his cock out quickly before he’s pumping it in his fist. All it takes is a few strokes before ropes of his cum are covering your body, splattering over your bare chest and stomach.

You let your legs drop from his shoulders, aching as you stretch them out. You feel like you’re made of rubber, limbs wobbly as your feet drop to the floor.

“Holy shit,” is all you can say, staring up at his ceiling as he chuckles at you from the side of the bed.

“You’re so damn perfect,” he says, shaking his head with a sweet little smile. He stretches, muscles flexing as he raises his arms to the ceiling, cocking an eyebrow at you when he catches you staring.

“Says you…” you reply, pulling the sheets up to hide your face, suddenly shy.

“Let me get you cleaned up, yeah?” he asks, holding out his arm for you, pulling you up when you take his hand.

When you step out of the shower with him, after your body has been cleaned and every inch of your skin has been kissed by his soft mouth, he gives you his big clothes to put on. You change and brush your hair, letting his hands hold your waist as he tries to invade your space to kiss you even more. You can’t help but admire his face, even more gorgeous now that his Halloween makeup is washed down the drain.

You both shuffle out of the bedroom carefully afterwards, trying to gauge how much the party has died down, only to be met with a laugh from the opposite end of the hallway.

Your head shoots up, seeing Gareth and Chrissy stepping out of his room, looking wildly similar to you and Eddie; costumes off, makeup off, a few extra hickeys on Gareth’s neck. Chrissy’s mouth hangs open, her eyes flitting from you to Eddie and back again.

“I told you!!” she shouts, giggling before Gareth takes her hand, pulling her down the stairs with him.

You try to bite back a smile, heat creeping up to your face.

“What exactly did she tell you, sweetheart?” Eddie smirks down at you, pulling your body to his. His cocky expression gives you the hint that he already has an idea.

“Shut up, rockstar.”

[taintedcigs]

GETAWAY CAR — rockstar!e.m. x f!reader

♬ I'm in a getaway car, I left you in a motel bar, put the money in a bag and I stole the keys, that was the last time you ever saw me. ♬

summary: in which you return to hawkins to attend your best friend nancy's wedding, facing the problems you left behind, and the one person you abandoned; eddie munson. — inspired by getaway car by t.s.

spotify playlist.

warnings — ANGST, pining and slowburn, two idiots in love!!, second chance at romance, kinda friends to hating each other to lovers, strong language!, smut (eventually, minors dni), portrayal of a toxic, emotionally/physically absive relationship (not the main ship ofc), mentions of alc*hol and drg use.

pairings — rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader, past billy hargrove x fem!reader

authors note — okay i sweeearr this is the last time. i made myself a cover and im sooo excited to share this series with yall again, this was one of the first series i posted but i rlly hated how i wrote that so this is almost like an entirely new version of it ! im so proud and so excited for you guys to read it ❥

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ- CHAPTERS

chapter one: best of times, the worst of crimes

chapter two: where i end you begin.

chapter three: i’ll swim down, would you?

chapter four: two notes and a heart down

chapter five: struck a match & blew your mind

chapter six: all tomorrow's parties

chapter seven: she’s thunderstorms

chapter eight: made your mark on me

chapter nine: multitude of casualties (coming soon ♡)

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ- BLURBS

flashback when you met me (coming soon ♡)

[neonghostlights]

The Three Exes Of Eddie Munson

Series summary: Eddie broke your heart and left you in Hawkins six years ago. After years of avoiding everything to do with your famous rockstar ex, you’re forced to face him after your face ends up in a magazine along with his other beautiful exes. Will the crazy turn of events bring you back together or force you further apart?

Part one

Part two

Part three

Part four

Part five

Interlude: Rosie

Interlude: Jennifer

Part six

Part seven

Part eight

Part nine

Part ten

[carolmunson]

i'm the best thing at this party | e.m.

up and coming rockstar!eddie munson x girlfriend!reader (is that a picture of slash? sure, but we can pretend it isn't.) aka the first time carol ever wrote a fic based off a taylor song. but in my defense, it was a chase petra cover of 'you're losing me' that inspired it. this is not connected to my rockstar!eddie x actress!reader storyline, this is it's own oneshot in a separate story.

in the early 90s, when your boyfriend's band starts to make it in the big leagues, you start to come to terms with the fact that he might not want or need a small town player anymore. eighteen plus. established relationship. angst. hurt/no comfort-ish. open ending.

"and i'm fading, thinkin': 'do something, babe. say somethin'. lose somethin' babe, risk something. choose somethin' babe. i got nothin' to believe, unless you're choosing me.'"

The Hideout was hot with all the bodies packed in like sardines; stark contrast to the icy chill of winter outside. Glowing on the screen was The Tonight Show, everyone’s eyes glued to it while Corroded Coffin made their first national televised debut. 

No one’s totally sure how their manager Richie was able to finesse this slot – but they went to New York to film earlier in the week and didn’t ask any questions. With Richie, it's better to not ask questions and just let it happen. Eddie came home with an adrenaline rush so intense that he barely slept for three days. No matter how much you tried to keep him in bed and tire him out. 

And sure, it was hard to have him be gone while you drove out to Indy and took a friend to see the new graffiti art exhibit that came in from LA when it was supposed to be with him. It was hard to have him miss a lot of things. His return from the city only started another big talk about it, one you've been having every few months the last two years. Even so, you couldn’t help but be proud of him, proud of all of them. Remembering that just four years ago they were barely getting fifteen people in here to see them play when you first started dating. 

The crowd erupts when the camera comes off of the band on the stage and back to Leno at his desk, the boys in real life all standing on the bar. You look up at Ed and smile, he finally did it, he’s doing it. The contracts are signed, the people saw him, he’s gonna make it. He’s making it. 

You duck out of the way when they start to spray champagne over everyone by the bar, “Not my hair, babe!” 

The two  bartenders pour shots of Jameson and flutes of Prosecco while the show cuts to commercial and it’s not long before you feel the sticky chest of your boyfriend up against your shoulder, “It was good? I did good?” 

“Ed you’re…you’re fuckin’ famous,” you grin, “You’re fuckin’ famous!”

You follow while he leads you through the crowd, settled in near the back where the stage doors lead to the dressing room and out into the parking lot. He looks over his shoulder twice before he sneaks you both behind the amps; heart pounding when he leans you up against the painted cinder block walls, noses mashing when he takes your lips in his. It’s feverish, desperate when he pulls at your hips, one arm wrapped around your mid back to keep you steady up against him.

“Lemme – mmm – lemme take you to the green room,” he breathes between kisses, moving your hand toward the bulge in his jeans, “C’mon I wan–” 

“The interview’s up!” Jeff calls from on top of the bar. 

“Where’s Ed? ED? Come on! The interview’s up!” Gareth calls, the crowd erupting in a cheer of ‘Edd-ie, Edd-ie, Edd-ie!’

“Come on, come on!” you squeal, pulling away to pull him toward the front of the bar again, “You said they were gonna cut it!”  

“It’s stupid, babe,” he assures, “It’s so dumb.” 

“Ed, you’re being interviewed by Leno, this isn’t stupid,” you urge, “This is like – this is it.” 

“It’s literally like two minutes, it’s not special,” he doesn’t move when you pull him along with you, a frown pulling on your lips. 

“Eddie,” your voice raises an octave, tugging on his hand – he lets go. 

“I’m gonna take a leak,” he shrugs, heading toward the green room while you watch him disappear behind the door. Your brows furrow slightly, but it doesn’t stop you from making your way back to the edge of the bar where everyone’s eyes are glued to the medium sized screen in the corner. 

The crowd cheers again while the band is re-introduced, Eddie and Jeff sitting on the chairs with Gareth and Grant standing behind them. You admire the way your boyfriend looks post performance, nearly glittering with sweat but glowing with pride – with accomplishment. You look over your shoulder to see if he’s back from the bathroom yet, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

“So we got a group of some – what looks like – nice, respectable hard core guys,” Jay smiles. 

“I don’t know about respectable,” Eddie scrunches his nose back at the host. 

“I don’t know about nice, either,” Jeff jokes. You marvel at how relaxed and natural they all look on camera, cracking wise and getting laughs from the audience. They talk about the album briefly, and the front cover which has all four boys in caskets with a red kiss print on their cheeks. 

“So, the debut is self titled, Corroded Coffin – but it looks like you all got a coffin kiss here,” he points out, “These from anyone special? You got the girls going crazy.” The audience erupts in cheers and screams, a bra finding its way flung into the sound stage. You giggle when Gareth and Grant  hold it up, making them both blush pink on the screen. 

“Well I got a girl at home, so, I don’t hear any screamin’ if it’s not her cheering for me,” Jeff’s smile is bright when the camera focuses on him and he winks into the lens. Sasha, Jeff’s girlfriend, screeches in the crowd of The Hideout. 

“You didn’t tell me you were gonna do that!” she beams, and your heart thunders while you watch them kiss on the bar. The promise ring that he gave her back in ‘88 shines on her ring finger, awaiting something much more flashy when that first big rockstar payday hits.

“It’s definitely a change of pace,” Grant nods on the screen, “Definitely wasn’t getting a lot of girls in high school.” 

“It’s wild,” Gare laughs. 

“And what about you, Munson,” Jay asks, “Frontman like you’s gotta be beating them off with a stick.” 

The camera focuses on him, his pink lips and smart grin, a flash of teeth before he starts talking. He’s so handsome, you feel your fingers and toes start to tingle when he opens his mouth.You weren’t expecting to hear your name on national television, or be alluded to. You’d never really prepared yourself for something like this. To be declared to thousands, maybe millions, as a rockstar girlfriend.

You swallow the nervous spit pooling in your mouth, heart pattering while you run through all of the scenarios of the outcome of being ‘announced’ in your head.  

“I don’t kiss and tell, Jay,” he smirks.

Oh.

Your hearing clouds and your vision blurs – unsure of what you just heard. If maybe you imagined it, but that proves to be untrue when you feel a few sets of eyes on you. A moment of silent confusion lulls on the crowd at the bar.

You swallow the lump in your throat, fingers and toes cold now while the blood rushes to your heart and head, to your lungs which suddenly forgot how to work. Through teary eyes you look around, drowned out by the cheers of the bar when Jay announces when the album will release. You sniffle, trying to hold it back – but there he is in the back of the crowd now, eyes rounded; pleading, looking straight at you. 

The tears spill over and you try to catch your breath as you make your way through the bodies on your way to the front door. You hear Gareth call after you, hearing him stumble over the barstools while he hops off the counter. Another ragged intake of breath shakes through you while you get closer to the sticker covered door, pushing through the first set and then the other into the dark blue night. Your breath puffs white in front of you, coat abandoned somewhere back inside The Hideout while you walk across the street to your car. 

You fumble with the keys, blubbering while you get the engine started and the radio blares Al Green’s Let’s Stay Together part way through the song. In the rear view you see him hustle out of the bar to search for you, catching the start of your car and getting to the passenger window before you can pull away. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” he strains, his fingers hanging on the edge of the half open glass, “I promise it’s not what you think. Richie asked me to answer like that, it wasn’t on purpose.” 

You press slightly on the gas, making the car lurch forward and inch.

“Wait! Please don’t – don’t just go,” he begs, voice breaking with desperation, “We can talk about it.” 

You look at him through wet eyes, the street lights haloing behind his head to feign his innocence. He can talk himself out of anything.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you rasp out quietly, “We’ve done enough talking.” 

“I can…please don’t go,” he says again, “Not with you crying like this, c’mon. Don’t leave.” 

“I’m gonna go home, Ed,” you sniffle, “J-just go h-have fun inside. S’too cold to be out here.” 

“You don’t have your coat,” he states, “Come back in and get it. We can talk in the back, please.” 

“I don’t need my coat,” you garble out, “I’m going h-home.” 

“Well I’ll – I’ll bring it to you tomorrow morning,” he nods needily, “Okay? Is that okay?” 

You let out a shaky breath, fogging again against your windshield, “F-fine.” 

Eddie cracks a weak but winning smile, “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” 

“I love you,” he adds. It tastes like ash in your mouth. You pull away before you feel compelled to say it back. 

Eddie show’s up in the morning with coffee and your coat, a small carton of donut holes for you both to share. He’s all smiles, seeing you in the kitchenette cleaning out the coffee pot that you now no longer have to fill. 

“Morning, baby,” he grins, “I brought your coat.” 

“Thanks,” you mutter, keeping your eyes on the droplets of water that race down the side of the glass pout, “You can just hang it on the hook.” 

“Are you…are you still upset with me?” his voice is airy, surprised while he makes his way behind you. Calloused hands reach around to pull your back in his chest, nose nuzzling against your cheek. Your stomach rolls, bile inching up the base of your throat. 

“Enough, Ed,” you sigh, pulling out of his hold. 

“Sweetheart, c’mon,” he huffs, “I told you already. I didn’t want to say that. But you know how Richie is! He just wants what’s best for the band and so do I! Don’t you? I thought you’d understand.” 

“Jeff had no problem talking about Sasha,” you do your best to measure your tone, too early to start yelling. 

“Jeff has the wholesome thing going for him; plus – you know his family isn’t for him being considered like, a rogue or whatever. He’s already in a metal band,” Eddie explains, like this is a totally normal conversation, “Richie even said this morning that he was getting a lot of calls.” “Okay,” you nod, sitting down at the small table in your kitchen where your coffee sits. 

“And like, a lot of people wanna do interviews with us and get hype up for the release,” he half smiles, sitting down across from you, “I told you, it was…it was a good thing. They were saying y’know like, mysterious bad boy front man is a good angle.” 

“Great.” 

“It doesn’t…babe, it doesn’t mean we can’t be together,” he leans forward, hand reaching out to touch yours. His shoulders sulk when you put them both under the table. 

“Ed I –” you let out a breath, eyes tracing a pattern on the waxed canvas tablecloth, “I can’t even look at you right now. And you wanna tell me we can still be together?” 

“What like it’s…some consolation prize?” you choke out, “You made a fool out of me. The looks I got?”   

“I know, I know, but it was for the band. You know how I feel abo—“ 

“How you feel about me?” you hold back a bitter laugh. 

“Ed, the last year or so we have kept having the same conversation over and over again. You are so, so caught up in Corroded and making it and getting there and trust me I am so proud of you. If there is anyone on the planet who is more proud than me maybe it’s Wayne, but – this is just like, this is kind of it. We have nowhere to go from here.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, his brown eyes rounding and brows tilting slightly when he realizes what you’re really saying, “What do you mean no where to go? Are you not listening? I said we can still be together, just like befo–” 

“Before? Before when?” you get up and pace back to the kitchen where he can still see you, “Before when you would cancel dates to go practice? When you missed my awards night for work  because you wanted to fill in guitar for a gig in Ohio? When you didn’t come to my poetry reading with the guys like you said you would and instead got plastered at The Hideout after rehearsal?” 

“Well I apologized for all that, that was all in the past couple years and I – look, I said I was sorry and you accepted that,” his voice raises slightly, he stands up to full height with defense evident in his stance, “You can’t just throw it back in my face.” 

“When you were gone weeks at a time for mini tours, for opening for bands on the East Coast – god, all the work I took off to make sure I was there for you? When you canceled our three year anniversary dinner, without my knowledge, because you got a call for discounted studio time on the same night,” you manage to get out, the tears inching toward the edge of your lash line, “And I sat there at the table in my new dress and everyone looked at me the same way they looked at me last night. Poor girl. Must’ve got stood up. What an idiot.” 

“Yeah well that studio time is why we were on fuckin’ LENO, babe!” he pleads, “Don’t you get that? It’s for us!” 

“It’s for you!” you break, the shrill frustration coming out with your voice, “It’s always just been for you. It’s always about Eddie and the guys. I have done nothing but make sacrifice after sacrifice, excuse after excuse to play the part of perfect, understanding, cool, laidback girlfriend but like fuck Ed, when is it gonna be about me, huh?” He stands there, unsure, cheeks sucking in between his teeth.

“And what’s on the docket for you on Friday? Have any plans?” you ask, your voice softening while you cross your arms over your chest. You lean the small of your back against the counter while you watch him. He clears his throat, hands finding their way into the back pockets of his jeans. 

“Um, we have some meetings in the morning in Indy. And then um, we’re gonna take a late flight out to LA. The label’s excited – they’re really excited,” he breathes out, eyes finding the floor and your sock covered feet.

“Oh, that’s interesting,” you nod, voice still measured, “Since we’ve had the tickets for my niece’s winter school concert on the fridge for over a month. I guess I’ll have to tell her that her favorite bonus teacher couldn’t make it.” 

“Fuck,” Eddie’s eyes shut, pulling his lips in to run his tongue across them while he thinks of what to say next. Your heart thrums in your chest, throat getting tighter and tighter while you hold back a cry – this was just another thing to add to the list.

“I can make it up to her, I promise,” his raspy nicotine voice becoming garbled with desperation, “I can make this all up to you, too. I swear. I wish you had just told me about all of this.” 

“I have, Ed. We are always having the same conversation. I’m tired of having it. I’m so tired of this. Make it up to me? How do you make up for it?” 

“I…” he chokes on his words, ringed fingers running over his face and reaching to pull his hair back off his neck. 

“Go ahead,” you encourage angrily, “What’re you gonna do? Say something. Fucking, do something, Ed!” 

“Baby, I don’t know what to…” he swallows, tears pooling in shiny wells over his eyes, “What do you want me to do? I’ll do it. I’ll do anything.” 

You take a breath through your nose and let it out through your mouth, taking the three steps it takes to get to him. Your hands fall from being crossed, reaching up to cup each of his cheeks. Your thumbs run over the apples and drag softly over the stubble left over from the night before. 

His eyes shut while he keens into your touch, his rough hands covering yours. Calloused fingertips coasting delicately over your knuckles. You know what you have to do, even if his touch makes you want to do the opposite. 

“Go be famous,” you shrug, smiling weakly, “Go be the big rockstar I know you are. Like how you wanted. Go play The Garden and live in LA.” 

Your hands slide down his face, tears falling after them, “Go do all that, and just, um – just leave me alone. Please.” 

“But I don’t–” he starts, pulling in a sharp breath while a cry leaks out of him, “I don’t wanna lose you.” 

“Oh, Ed,” you shake your head while the ache spills over into your own leveled sob, “I’m already lost.” 

“No, please,” he begs, trying to catch your hands as they make it back to your sides, “Please, baby, I’ll fix it. I pro-promise.” 

“There’s nothing left to fix,” you whisper in finality, “You should go.” 

“I don’t want to,” Eddie’s soft pink lips quiver while he speaks, “Please. Please. I can fix it, the next interview, anything, it’ll be all you. I swear I can…I can…” 

When your face doesn’t change he knows there’s no way to pull you from your stance, voice trailing off in defeat. You watch as he rips open your storm door and goes to his van, his chest and back shaking with sobs that make the hardware on his jacket cry with him.

A year passes and you are not surprised when you find out that Corroded Coffin has made the cover of Rolling Stone. Wayne bought every copy from the gas station at the end of the road and put them in every mailbox early that morning. You don’t think there’s been a day in the last year that Wayne wasn’t seen beaming ear to ear; his boy finally getting everything he wanted. 

Life had gotten easier now that you weren’t regularly expecting disappointment. You went on few dates here and there, just trying to navigate your life after spending four years sharing it with someone else. Some nights were colder than others, but it was better than the frigidness you felt that night at the bar.

You did your best to avoid the tabloids – Eddie was certainly doing just fine navigating his life as a bachelor; some new model or actress on his arm every other month it seemed. Hardrock’s Resident Playboy. It stung the first time you saw it, and a little less each time after – heart breaker to the core; you would know, you were the blueprint.

In the same cold that matched the night at The Hideout a year prior; you sat on your steps wrapped in a robe – morning cigarette between your fingers. 

“Morning,” Wayne’s voice is gravelly when it sounds over you, still soaked with left over sleep. 

“Mornin’ Wayne,” you smile, taking a sip of the steaming cup of coffee in your other hand. 

“Wanted to uh, to let you know that the guys are playin’ a show in the city tonight. I could uh – I could get you a ticket if y–” 

“That’s sweet of you Wayne,” you smile tightly, “But I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

“He might like to see you,” he shrugs. He hadn’t quite gotten over the break up the way you and Eddie had, convinced that this was the real deal – that he was watching young love flourish into something bigger. 

“He’s seeing someone, Wayne,” you take a drag of your cigarette, “Why would he want to see his ex-girlfriend who still lives in Hawkins? He’s got some actress girl now, right?” 

Wayne shrugs again, scratching at the back of his neck, “I never know what that boy’s got goin’ on in California outside of shows and gettin’ into trouble. Maybe he is seeing some girl but, y’know, seein’ an old friend could be good for him.” 

“He’s still got plenty of friends here he can see,” you let the smoke out to drift off in the gentle wind rustling through the line of trailers and mobile homes, “I don’t think I need to be one of them.” 

“Well, they’re gonna have a small after party at The Hideout tomorrow,” he offers, “Even if you just wanna do somethin’ fun. I never see you goin’ out anymore.” 

You laugh, “You work at night, what do you mean you don’t see me goin’ out anymore? I go out plenty.” 

His eyes linger on you, enough to encourage a thoughtful sigh – you might as well humor him. 

“I’ll think about it, okay?” you toss your half finished cigarette onto the browned grass before looking back up at him.

“Okay,” he smiles, eyes sparkling as he makes his way back inside. 

You spend the next day deliberating between making it to the bar or not, putting in the effort to get ready and showing up. Why bother? Just to sit awkwardly in the corner while everyone flocks to the boys and tells them how great they are? They already know they’re great, they’re crawling higher and higher up the ladder. 

You haven’t even talked to Eddie since the morning he left your trailer, and Wayne knows that. He knows how bad you hurt his nephew because he came over to talk to you a week after Eddie went to California and stayed for good. ‘So why should I show my face there? So I can relive the moment he made a fool of me over again?’ You think while the hot water of the shower glides over your shoulders and down your chest. 

‘Maybe it’ll be good to make amends or something, I at least owe it to the guys,’ you figure silently while you slather on some moisturizer at the bathroom sink. And you did – not seeing Eddie meant not seeing the rest of the band. Gareth, Jeff, and Grant were your friends too, and you sort of broke up with them in the same instance. Sasha moved out to California with them soon after – it would be nice to catch up at least. You hadn’t seen her since that night. 

‘But why would I want to bother? So I can see that engagement ring on her finger and hear her talk about her wedding plans?’ you swallow sourly while you use a touch of your lipstick as blush on the apples of your cheeks. ‘Remember all the times you thought you and Ed were gonna get married? Hilarious.’ 

Before you know it, it’s 11:30 and you’re standing outside of the sticky and stickered covered door of The Hideout. Even from where you’re standing the bar is a buzz like a hive, energy inside like a livewire when you get into the entryway, showing your ID to the bouncer at the inside door. 

‘Small after party my ass, Wayne,’ you think to yourself when you get in, shrugging off your coat. There was barely room to move and most of the lights were off or dimmed aside from the small stage in the back. By the looks of it, they must’ve played a small set – an intimate ‘home base’ concert for the real hometown fans. You push through some of the crowd, acrid smoke haze hovering over the room. A single bar stool sits empty at the end of the counter close to the wall and before you can think about it, you beeline straight there before someone else can grab it. Not that anyone would be able to see it through the six couples making out to Slayer blasting through the speakers. 

The bar tender notices you soon after, coming over to get your order while his two cohorts speedily pour shots and mix drinks. You almost don’t want to get anything just to make the night easier, but opt for a beer instead. 

“How much?” you ask over the music. 

“WHAT?” the bartender shouts, holding a hand to his ear. 

“HOW MUCH?” you yell back. 

“ON THE HOUSE. BAND IS COVERING DRINKS,” he shouts back. You take a few dollars out while he pours your beer anyway, sliding it across the bar with a smile. He smiles back, pocketing the ones with a wink before helping another person leaning over the bar. 

The TV takes your attention, a tape of their recent interviews and music videos playing on a loop with no sound. The beer is almost comforting as it passes over your tongue, it’s been some time since you just sat in a busy bar – and for the most part, no one here even knows you. For the most part. 

A call of your name snaps you back to reality, looking around to see exactly who you thought you would. Sasha. And low and behold a ring sparkles bright on her finger, a breathtakingly big diamond glittering in the neon lights behind the bar. 

“Hey!” you call back with a smile, sick crawling up your throat. You watch as she fights the crowd to get over to you, wrapping you in a tight hug while you stay seated on the stool. 

“How have you been? You look gorgeous,” Sasha’s tan skin glows back orange in green while the lights change, tight dark curls bouncing prettily around her face. 

“I’ve been good!” you nod, your voice hardly sounds like your own, “Y’know just – hanging around Hawkins. How’s LA? How’ that ring?!” 

She holds her hand out so you can really see it, her skin is warm in yours while you take her fingers. It’s more beautiful up close, the marquise diamond flanked by two smaller triangles in perfect harmony. 

“He did so good, Sash,” you giggle. 

“I slapped his arm so hard when I saw it,” she laughs, “I said, ‘Jeff we could’ve bought a freakin’ house!’ but you know how he is.” 

“I do, I do,” you nod, “Did you set a date?” 

“Probably not for another year or so if we do a big wedding,” she shrugs, “Maybe a little longer? We think it’s smart to actually buy a house first – with this kind of money coming in. And y’know, the industry is, uh, well, it can be wishy washy. What’s in today could be out tomorrow. We wanna be smart.” 

“Well thank god he’s marrying someone like you then,” you tease. 

“That’s true,” she beams, “Do the guys know you’re here? I can go grab J–”

“No, no, they don’t,” you interrupt, taking her arm gently while she turns to leave, “You don’t have to tell them I’m here. I’ll go find them, I promise.” 

Sasha gives you a half hearted smile, “Okay. Well – We’re sitting over by the stage if you wanna come say hi to the guys. Gareth would lose his mind, and Grant brought his new girl with him, she’s so cool. They met in LA and she’s like, got the sickest punky-goth type of thing about her.” 

“I love that he’s in love,” you gush. 

“Me too,” she nods, “The girls are obsessed with him out there.” 

There’s a silence, but it’s knowing – still one person yet to have been mentioned but you both seem to understand it’s not worth bringing it up. Sasha reminds you that they’re by the stage, giving her a wave while she disappears in the throngs of people in the crowd. 

Half way through your second beer and a couple of random conversations with people later, you see him in glimpses while people pass by. You can tell by the smirk on his face that he’s flirting, and when more people move and re-disperse, settling, you see glimpses of her, too. Some cute young looking thing, you wouldn’t be surprised if it was her twenty-first birthday. All doe eyed and giggly while he leans over her against the wall near the booths. I guess whoever he’s seeing in California isn’t too important.

He looks good, healthy, you can tell his clothes are tailored now – sort of comical that a tailor would fit and adjust ripped jeans and an old leather jacket. Not that he has to know you think it’s funny. 

Eddie leans forward and lets his finger tap her on the nose, a tell-tale sign of his that they’ll kiss later. He’s used that move on you more times than you can count. He did it the night you met, tipsy at a party at Gareth’s – tapped you on the nose, making you scrunch it. 

‘Aw, if I knew you’d make a face like that I would’ve booped you way earlier.’ 

‘What do you mean? What face?’ You scrunch again. 

‘That face,’ he bites his lower lip, blush on his cheeks, ‘It’s a cute face.’

You expected it to hurt more, to watch him active in his element; but it doesn’t. You know the motions, you know his tells, he next move. You can see it in the way he leans into her and then leans away – almost kissing her, but leaving her wanting more. You smirk into your next sip, counting down the moments until he puts their conversation on pause to do their rounds and finding her again later. Gotta keep her yearning, you guess. He certainly was always good at things like that. 

You don’t see their reunion, you assume it was somewhere near the stage where the band and Sasha were. At the end of the night, the boys play a goodnight mini-set, just three songs. You’d never seen Ed so in his zone in your life, fully basking in the glow of upcoming stardom. Every chord and every lyric punching out of him like the sweat pouring from his hairline and chest. This was what you wanted, what you told him to do. 

Go be famous. And here he was. Famous. Just like you said he would be. 

Water takes the place of your beer while they play; and you know better than to get up and join the crowd. Much happier sitting at the end of the now more empty bar just listening instead of getting potentially punched or tussled with amongst the bodies. 

People take their time leaving when the set is over, shrugging on their coats to brave the cold weather. 

‘Thanks for comin’ out to celebrate with us – now get the fuck out so our buddies at the bar can go home before four!’ 

You savor the conversations and music settling down to a much quieter murmur while you sketch on a napkin. A few people you shared niceties with tap your shoulder to say goodbye, new friends you’ll never see again. On the other end of the bar you hear Grant and his girl order a round of shots. Your head almost pops up at the sound of his voice, but that might bring attention to you that you don’t think you really want. Now that the night is over, you’re glad you came. If anything, just to see that they were making it just fine – and they would have with or without you. 

With less people in the bar you can hear Sasha’s laugh in the back where the stage is, and you laugh into your napkin turned sketchpad. Her laugh was always infectious, enough to make the crowd follow suit. You grab a fresh napkin from the pile next to you and start to doodle again while you figure out how to best leave without anyone catching wise that you’re here. Out of the last twenty people left at the bar, a little more than half knew who you were.

The tap of the pen on the bar top while you think blends in with the tinkling of hardware that gets a little louder the closer it gets to you. A squish of leather and drag of a barstool later makes you privy that someone’s next to you. Spiced cologne and sweat sheened skin. 

“You come here often?” 

Slowly, you turn your head – level with brown eyes you haven’t looked in for a year, just in the glossy pages of magazines you’d leave behind at the grocery store or Melvald’s. 

“I used to,” you offer a quiet tired smile, leaning your chin on your hand on the bar, “It’s been a while.” 

Eddie smiles back, soft, cautious, “Yeah, same for me.” 

You both don’t speak for a moment, adjusting yourselves on the barstools while a few more people head out to leave. The jingle of the door fades out, crunches of the parting patrons’ sneakers and boots in the snow sound outside.

He clears his throat, bringing your attention back to him – the curls of his hair, the slight stubble on his jaw and cheeks. His bottom lip tucks between his teeth for a moment before he turns his chest toward you. 

“Can I uh, can I get you a drink?” 

[eddiesxangel]

Driver Roll Up The Partition, Please | Rockstar!Eddie x Reader

Anonymous asked: rockstar!Eddie fingering you in a cab or a limo or something like that… Oh my god.

Cw: rockstar!eddie x f!reader, fingering, oral (f receiving)

“Eddie, please… the driver” you moaned. Eddie couldn’t keep your hands off of you the second you sat in the limo.

“Driver the partition!” Eddie barked not caring how crass he sounded. He would apologize with a fat tip at the end of the night to make up for it.

Thank god, for the partition because the way Eddie’s hands were roaming your body wasn’t exactly rated PG.

You had been unintentionally teasing Eddie the entire time you were getting ready. You had been frantically walking around in your undergarments until the very last minute. Forty five minutes…that’s how long he gave you to get ready before heading to the club, but that didn’t stop the fact that Eddie was sitting there ready to go within fifteen minutes. Giving him a glorious half hour to eye your body like you were a piece of meat. Thinking of all the places he can grab and graze your soft supple flesh.

Now, here you were, bending in front of him to get inside the limo. Your short body con dress was hugging all of your curves. Your ass hardly covered as you sat. Eddie having the knowledge of what was underneath that dress wasn’t helping his boner go away either.

“Baby” your breath hitches and his hand grazed up your body to your breast while his lips here on your neck, nipping and licking at you like he was to devour you.

“You think I can sit by watching you get ready not to just get you unready as fast as possible? Such’a tease, Peaches.”

Your core was set ablaze as the nickname he uses for you in only intimate moments such as this leaves his lips.

“Eddie we don’t have time.”

“Shhhhh we have plenty of time.” You know Parisian traffic is awful but having sex in the limo? It was so scandalous.

“Oh-okay,” you nodded your head frantically in agreement. The way his hands were trailing lower from the grip on your breast down to your soft waist. He hiked you up so you were straddling him. Your dress hiked up, exposing your ass. The black lacy thong didn’t provide much coverage. Thank go for partitions.

Eddie guided your hips back and fourth across his hard crotch, forcing you to feel how hard he was for you. You let out another moan of pleasure as your clit grazed against his leather pants.

The driver caught a pot hole and you and Eddie bounced only aiding in both of your pleasure. You both let out breathy moans as the bumpy cobble streets made the vehicle bump up and down. Vibrations ran through your body as Eddie’s tongue explored your skin, while his hands gripped your ass so hard you’re sure there will be finger print shaped bruises tomorrow morning, only making you more feral for him. You loved when he marked you. Claimed you as his own, but only in places no one else could see.

“No hickeys baby, the paps will eat that up when we get out” your voice was breathy.

“Can’t help myself Peaches, you’re addictive.” He only sucked harder on your neck. “Mmmm you smell so good, I could devour you”

Your hands ran up his exposed chest, catching his nipple ring. He left his his mesh button up undone just under his chest. Detaching your self from Eddie’s mouth as you looked down at him.

“Than why don’t you, Mr. Rockstar?”

Eddie kissed you so hard your breath gets left behind. You find it again when he flips you off him replacing your body where his once was. The leather of his pants squeaks against the leather of the seats as you watch as Eddie gets up to crouch in front of you on the floor. He then parts your legs so you’re spread out for him.

“Please” you sighed as his ring clad fingers grazed your inner thighs, creeping closer and closer agonizingly slow.

He was soaking in the moment, watching as the street lights catching the glitter on your face with every passing car. He watches your eyes look down at him, glazed with lust.

“Please” you sigh again, your nails running through his scalp, only making Eddie groan in return.

Eddie listened to your plea. He hooked a finger under the gusset of your panties moving them to the side, exposing your wet lower lips. The pad of his index finger grazed down your slit collecting your slick before pushing it up inside.

“Oh Eddie!”

“Yes Peaches?” He smirks up at you. You grip his hair tighter as his fingers brush on your inner walls.

“Oh right there!”

“Shhhh or else you’re going to give the driver a show” Eddie smirked before dipping his head down to your clit.

“Eddie!!” Obviously your need for not having the driver here was out the window.

“That’s it Peaches, scream my name” he only let go of your clit for a moment and he was back on your wet lips. His mouth was like magic it made you arch your back into him. His hand that wasn’t working your pussy was gripping your hip pushing your body further into him.

He grazes your velvety walls as his mouth devours your pussy. Eddie continuously pumps his fingers in and out, making your eyes roll back into your head. You feel Eddie moan into your pussy. The vibrations from his mouth on your clit send you over the edge, your walls clench around his fingers, and the rush in your pussy consumes your body as all your muscles tense.

“Fuuuuuuuuuck” your body levitates or at least it feels that way.

You look down at Eddie and he is grinning from ear to ear, chin glistening from your cum.

The car suddenly comes to a stop and you scramble to fix your outfit.

“Nous sommes arrivés” the muffled sounds from the driver comes through the partition.

“But we didn’t get to you” you look down at Eddie’s tented pants.

“It’s okay baby. We have a private table, in the back” he winks before helping you out and pulls you inside of the club.

[luveline]

𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

You don’t mean to make an enemy of Eddie Munson — he’s handsome, and talented, but he’s the biggest jerk you’ve ever met. Eddie thinks you’re infuriatingly pretty, emphasis on the infuriating. Too bad you just can’t seem to leave each other alone. [13k]

fem!reader, enemies-to-lovers, rival rockstars, mutual pining (and hatred), slight miscommunication, angst, hurt-comfort, eddie has mixed intentions, kissing / heavy petting, hickeys, sexual tension, eventual hate-fucking, some misogyny (not eddie), TW readers bandmate is a bully, TW drugs/alc/smoking, disclaimer: I can’t play an instrument

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Indianapolis International Airport, Indiana, Late 1988.

There's a really sweet-looking boy sitting in the chair across from you. The airport is blotted out by both your headphones —huge chunky cans, the best you could afford— and your sunglasses. He's a shade of sepia from the lenses, dark hair darker still where it's tucked into the hood of his hoodie. 

There's no way he could possibly know you're staring at him while you're facing your lap, scribbling lyrics for a song that'll never get made with your body curled inwards, and yet he looks up from the novel in his. He smiles, his cheeks pulled up, and he looks younger. He isn't old by any means but something about his smile is transformative. 

You don't mean to give yourself away. You smile back just a little. 

He says something. You push your headphones around your neck and break the seal, soft 70's rock replaced by the sounds of the airport, footsteps and clicking and children laughing somewhere behind you. 

"I'm sorry," you say, covering the cans of your headphones to cut their weak buzzing, "what did you say?" 

"I said you have good taste."

He nods toward your guitar case patterned in overlapping band stickers. 

You notice his own case on the seat next to him. It's more conspicuous than your own with only one sticker, a band you've never heard of. 

"I wish I could say the same, but I don't know who that is, 'Corroded Coffin'?" you ask, purely curious. 

He sits forward, a picture of casual confidence as he drops his face into his palm, elbow digging into the ripped jeans covering his knee. "I'm offended, sweetheart. They're only the best sound to come out of Indiana in the last ten years." 

"The Stacey's?" you offer, scandalised by his suggestion. "Doorway to Cooperstown? The Cats?" 

He blinks at you. "You know the scene." 

"It's my scene," you say.

You don't mean to sound pretentious, and hopefully you don't, but music is your life. 

"It's mine, too," he says. He leans forward and scrubs a hand through his hair, scratching absentmindedly. "Where are you going? Must be pretty important to tear you away." 

"New York. I'm– I'm a techie for Godless. I will be, once I get there." You sound smug and nervous at the same time.

"Holy shit," he says. He smiles a gorgeous, awful kind of smile, like you've been friends for years, and your good news is his. "No fucking way. Go you." 

Godless have been compared to loads of bands but the one you favour is a heavier, feminine The Clash. It's an emerging sound, punk rock stolen, repurposed, and remade. Reborn by girlhood rage. You love their sound (though you have some notes), you love their statement, and you're probably the happiest you've ever been knowing you'll be behind the scenes of a new era of music. 

"And you're taking her?" he asks, gesturing to your guitar case. 

Inside is a beat up old bass guitar you got for nothing. You're self-taught, you're good, but you don't have any disillusions on what you'll be doing on tour. 

"She's worthless," you say, "mostly taking her for company." You reuse his pronouns, though you aren't the type to assign personality to your instruments. "What about you, uh–" 

"Eddie," he says, taking his guitar case into two fine hands. Your eyes snag on his ragtag assortment of rings, and he leans over the neck of the case to retake your gaze. "This… is Sweetheart." 

— 

Hotel Edison, New York, Early 1990.

"We have to go. Why are you guys never ready when I tell you to be?"

You panic slightly. "I need a minute." 

"Ananya, could you find, like, a modicum of patience? Fucking annoying." 

Sharp, Morgan's unhappiness sounds over the droning drill of your shitty hair dryer. You shift where you're kneeling in front of the floor length mirror to check she isn't talking to you — unusual, but not impossible that her hostility would be aimed at someone who isn't Ananya. 

Ananya stands in the middle of the hotel room, thick eyebrows pulled into a familiar scowl.

"Get it together," she says disdainfully, like Morgan's nothing more than a mild inconvenience. 

You wish you had her confidence when it comes to Morgan's tantrums. You stand up, clad in nothing more than underwear and a pair of black stockings, your t-shirt in one hand and the hairdryer still humming in the other. You turn it off and let it drop to the floor, worried you're just another rockstar cliche as you take in the state of your room. Your suitcase is open and your clothes are all over the place, laid flat in an attempt to dry your rain-soaked clothes. Your underwear dangle from the lampshade, a mix of pretty lingerie you've yet to wear and full-shaped panties that had made Morgan laugh for a minute, no pauses. 

"I can see why you're so desperate," she'd barbed. 

You slip your shirt over your head in case you have to act as a human shield. It's honestly not the worst thing they've had you involved in this year. 

"You're not wearing that, are you?" Morgan asks. 

She's a fascinating creature in that she isn't always talking with thinly veiled passive aggression. You genuinely believe she's looking out for you sometimes, or believe that she believes it, at least. She doesn't say it with malice, simply asks. 

She's multi-faceted. 

"No," you say, though you'd been meaning to. 

"Good, skirts really aren't your thing. You look blocky. I have a pair of flares in my bag, wear them." 

And Morgan — Morgan's the lead singer of Godless. You don't really have a choice. 

You find the pants she'd instructed you to wear and half tuck your shirt, scrabbling for your shoes as Ananya starts lamenting the time, sat on the small table by the TV.

"They have to wait for us, babe, that's the whole point," Morgan says, fussing over her eye make-up. 

"No, they don't. And we really don't need the attention right now." 

"That's dramatic." 

Ananya leans forward and clicks on the TV with a perfect finger. The screen buzzes to life. She clicks through the channels until she gets to the local news station, and then she slumps over the frame on her elbow. 

You giggle behind your hand. Onscreen, images of Morgan are blown up and slated, your bandmate sloppy drunk on the steps of Covey Gold. They've caught you red-handed in the background pretending you aren't with her, but luckily Morgan's too obsessed with herself to notice. 

"I really don't see the issue," she says breezily, slipping into her tiny heels one foot at a time. "I look sick." 

She looks stunning, easily, but that's not the problem. 

"You have a fucking snow trail," Ananya says. 

Unfortunately, Morgan's left nostril is crusted with coke. 

"It's punk rock!" Morgan's moved onto earrings now, and she's jutting her tiny pointed chin toward the door. "Hello? We're late." 

You don't roll your eyes, but you could. You slip your shoes onto your feet and tuck the laces inside without tying them while the news anchor on TV continues to relay current events. 

"Fletcher isn't the only rockstar making a mess in New York City this week. Members of up and coming heavy metal band Corroded Coffin were sanctioned by Flume Venues Tuesday night for damaging twenty six thousand dollars worth of equipment when their lead guitarist kicked over an amp and caused a quote unquote 'domino effect.'" The anchor laughs. "Their PR has certainly felt some corrosion." 

You look up at the joke and are just in time to catch a picture splayed across the screen of the band. You're so close that their faces are made up of red, blue, and green, more colour than photo. Your skin glows with the image. Your eyes widen, perplexed. 

"Do we know those guys?" you ask. 

Morgan grabs your hand and drags you up. "They know us," she says. "That's what matters." 

Ananya turns off the TV. 

You're thrilled at being included in the 'us'. You've been an unofficial official member of Godless for four months now. Each one feels more unreal than the first, and each one brings a solidity. In Ananya's words, you're on 'probation, given you can keep up', but you look at her now, her hopeless expression as she closes your room door behind you, and know she's not hoisting you off the stage anytime soon. She'd have to deal with the world's tallest toddler alone. 

Your tour manager and assorted personnel meet you in the hotel's lobby, furious and panicky at your being late. Morgan spouts the same spiel as you get shepherded into cars idling outside of the hotel.

"We're the talent. What were you gonna do, throw the gig without us?"

You're both embarrassed by her and impressed. Morgan is pretty and talented and extremely loud — she's not afraid to stick up for herself, even when she's (nearly always) wrong. She sees each hurdle in her life as an unfair disadvantage. Insanity, in your opinion, considering nearly all of those hurdles have been jumped by means of a favour, rather than any expended effort on her part. 

Her bad attitude aside, she's a good singer. She's gorgeous, exactly the kind of face that obliterates mainstream reluctance. 

She sits between you and Ananya and kicks her feet out over the console, boots between your driver and your tour manager, Angel.

"You guys can't be late like this. You have half the time you need for sound check now, you realise?" 

"I don't need practice," Morgan says. 

"It's not practice, Morgan, it's–" 

Morgan laughs and bursts into song. She does it whenever she doesn't want to listen to Angel, and she sings an apt tune: Angel by Aerosmith. You look out the window rather than watch, eyes snagging on the wet New York streets and taxis and people, so many people despite the weather, black umbrellas like inverse stars lining the sidewalks. 

Morgan has a great voice, raw when she wants it to be and full of life when she doesn't. You can't hear Angel's venue instructions under it and are barely paying attention as a lanyard gets tossed into your lap. It sounds stupid, and a few months ago you wouldn't believe it, but you get used to the motions. Ferried from one place to another, all anybody cares about is technicalities, politics, public image, and how you look on stage. All you care about is the music. Your bass guitar in your hands, that familiar weight, the strings as your pick slides across them, and the sea of the crowd. Its waves and ripples, hands and eyes and mouths like poppies, red-pink tongues and black throats at the centre as they scream. When you throw your pick people want to catch it. They fight over it. You throw a few. There's always more in a box in some poor techies bag.

The cushy car you're in pulls up and parks outside of the venue's main entrance. You climb onto a wet curb and shield the top of your hand with your head, dirty rain splashing down in fat, sparse drops that chill your scalp. Morgan blitzes inside and Ananya tags behind her. You go slower, eyes following down the sidewalk where, in a couple of hours, fans will wait to see you, shivering in the cold. 

— 

Every breath Gareth takes sucks in Eddie's short sleeved t-shirt. Eddie scowls at the top of his bandmate's head and tries to shift away. 

"Seriously, man? There's a whole fucking couch," Eddie grouches. 

Gareth sits up with bleary eyes furrowed into a scowl of his own. He's pale and missing his glasses, giving him the appearance of a concerned zombie.

"Shithead." 

Eddie has a lot of emotions he wants to express and none he feels he can properly articulate. The injustice of his current situation, for one, is a burning irritant. How the fuck can you get grounded by your manager? And why did his warden have to be the most boring member of the band? Sorry Gareth. 

"Can't you sleep in your bed?" Eddie asks. 

"You'll sneak out." 

Eddie will sneak out. He's a fledgling rockstar in New York. Suddenly, there are a hundred colourful boozy doors wide open to him, and he intends on haunting the threshold of each one accordingly. 

But you kick one amp and boom, you're the antichrist. 

"You know this is stupid." 

Gareth rubs his eyes. "I mean, do I know that?" He reaches behind the couch armrest for the two-litre bottle of soda stashed there, and he talks as he brings the lip to his mouth. "You've been a real pissant lately, Munson." 

"You're a pissant, pissant," Eddie says, really scowling now. 

Gareth kicks him across the sofa. Eddie kicks back, foot jamming into the side of Gareth's knees. Soda spills in a shoot over the carpet. Gareth is a know-it-all with a predisposition for being as unpleasant as he can possibly be at all times, in Eddie's opinion, and Eddie knows the second the soda lands what he's going to say. 

"Nice going, hotshot. This is why you're fucking grounded." 

Eddie's halfway across the sofa when the door opens, an unimpressed Jamison standing with the light behind him. He flicks on the main switch and glares, brown skin golden in the resulting yellow light. 

"What are you losers doing?" 

"I prefer the term 'freak'," Gareth says, glare softening. "I'm fending off Munson's advances, what does it look like? No means no, asshole." 

"You're disgusting," Eddie says. 

"You look disgusting," Jamison echoes. "I don't know who forgot to tell you, but they invented running water a century ago. Go shower. I'll watch baby boy." 

Eddie thinks Jamison is hot in the freaky way — Jamison is conventionally attractive, and Eddie would let him get freaky if he asked. He has a perfect complexion, the most attractive of the band by far, medium brown skin and a broad-shouldered frame. He's the eye-candy, literally; they'd admitted him into the fold based one parts on his talent, two parts his image. 

He can play piano, guitar, bass guitar, violin, all that shit. He's a musician, and he's better than Eddie at everything but the guitar. 

Nobody's better than Eddie on guitar. At least, not anybody running in his circles. 

"I can't shower, I'm watching him." 

"I'll watch him," Jamison says, like this is extremely obvious and Gareth is an idiot. 

Eddie pulls a couch cushion over his face and drags himself onto his back, whining into the fabric unhappily. "This is fucking bullshit," he mutters

"This is due diligence," Gareth says. Eddie feels his weight lift off the couch and lets his legs slide into the empty space. 

"This is fucking bullshit," he repeats. 

There's a silence. He sulks. Gareth collects toiletries and the bathroom door clicks open and closed. The shower spray begins to sputter, and then the pillow is being tugged out of Eddie's hands and tossed aside. 

"Jame," he protests. 

"Shut up." Jamison stares down at Eddie. "Are you done being a child?" 

"I already told you, it was an accident. Yeah, I kicked the amp, because my fucking string snapped and nobody would listen to me. I didn't know it was gonna actually move." 

"If we go out, can you behave?" Jamison asks quietly. 

Eddie sits up ramrod straight. "Absolutely… Why? What's so important?" 

"Jeff's asleep, I'm bored, and-" He shrugs offhandedly. "If you got 'em, flaunt 'em?" 

Jamison holds up a silver pair of car keys. They clink together, the sound music to Eddie's ears. 

—

So you and Eddie meet for the second time like this. 

“Does it have to be this loud?” you shout over the music, pleading gaze on Ananya, who shrugs. 

She looks better after a show, even drunk. Her lipstick is a pink-red with a darker but incomprehensible outline, leaving her looking kissed sick. Her dark eyebrows are ruffled and thick, their minimal gel sweated off. She has the most heartbreaking expression about her, and you think it isn’t truly fair, how she can look so pretty and be so talented at the same time. A tragedy that other people have time for both. You feel as though you barely have the time for one.

Despite the volume, you love the sound. This is your sound. Small town hatred in a big room — begging to get out and the music proof enough that you did. It’s passionate and anxious, a two-chord progression that’s boggling simplistic but drawing you in anyhow. Wrinkled noses and bored eyes say it’s not to everyone’s taste, but you’d hazard a guess that whoever plugged it into the stereo isn’t the kind of person who worries about public opinion. If Godless worked more on your choices, this is how you’d sound.  

“Whose house are we in?” you ask. 

“Babe,” Ananya says, “seriously, there’s a whole room of people who want to answer you. Go bother someone.” Else. Go bother someone else. 

She dismisses you with little more than that, slinking into the kitchen with a toss of her thick hair. The red of her corset top darkens to a bloodier shade in the mood lighting. She looks as though she’s bleeding out from the back. 

You aren’t sure Ananya’s right. You aren’t, in the eyes of the people here, anything impressive. A techie who’s been filling in isn’t anything new, no, you’re only impressive if you get to stay, if you play better than anybody else. You’re never gonna prove that under Morgan’s thumb, and you’ll never prove it without her. 

I need a bump, you think. Morgan’s coke nose flashes in your mind and you change your mind. I need something to drink. Something fucking cold, but if Ananya thinks you’ve followed her into the kitchen she’ll throw a pissy fit in front of everybody. 

The room is a gaudy yellow, a tobacco stained fingerprint over the lampshade with whorls of dirt in lines, darker patches where shadier reconciliation plays; in one corner, a bag of coke, another something worse. This had been a surprise with age rather than location, the commonplace of cocaine and the bravado of its sufferers from high school and up. You’d die for some of that cocky confidence now, numb gums and a sullen credit card. 

I need to get paid. 

The heat of a cigarette tip kisses your shoulder. In your ear, the sound of someone taking a long, slow drag, crackling paper. You turn into it slowly, looking up slower, right into the skinny face of your missing-in-action bandmate. 

“What’s up?” Morgan asks, blowing her smoke in your face. Your eyes burn. 

She’s placing the cigarette between your lips before you can answer. Whether she believes she’s tormenting you or throwing you a life raft, you’re grateful for it, sucking in a blistering breath and wincing as it floods your nose. 

You blow it away from her. 

“Ashtray?” you ask, pinching the cig between two fingers. 

“The floor’s fine.”

You raise your eyebrows, unsurprised at her cavalier suggestion and flick it still smouldering into your cupped palm. The door is perpetually open, guests flicking in and out like the froth of a cresting wave, a rushing entrance and a sluggish recession. 

“Can you get me a bag?” you ask her. 

“I’m not your daddy,” she murmurs.

“Bored already?”

“I have to be bored?”

To bother bothering you? Yes, Morgan would have to be bored. Bored or wasted, and she doesn’t seem inebriated. You place the cig between your teeth and lean your head back to look at the ceiling rather than give her the attentive watching she desires, the roof of your mouth an uncomfortable heat.

You remove it, blow all your smoke skyward, and drop your head. “How are you gonna fuck with me tonight?” you ask plainly. 

You find you aren’t asking Morgan. 

In her place stands a much taller, much more handsome face, big eyes set into pale skin. You don't recognise him at first. He wears the uniform well, in company with every other guy in the room, a crumpled shirt you imagine discarded and re-discarded on different floors. Ripped, dark jeans. He could be wearing nothing at all and the air of intimidation surrounding him would survive — there's something behind his eyes that alarms you, a knife's edge. Sweetness bordering cruelty. 

"I don't know yet," he says. An insipid smile takes his lips from corner to corner as he eases the cig from your hand. "I'm sure we can think of something… together. Sweetheart." 

Boys don't always give you the time of day, not the nice ones, and he doesn't look very nice. He looks like he's trying to calculate what he can get out of you. You're thinking you'll pay just about anything if he can get you a bump of something fun. 

He sees your look too, his lips poised to mention it, but you've just realised where you know him from. 

"I saw you on TV."

"Yeah? In Madison Square Garden?" 

"In court." You give him your best doe eyes, a soft, sweet look, far from mastered and yet effective where it counts. "How much did you have to pay for all the stuff you broke?" 

His smile shutters, realigns. A split-second and enough to let you know his cool gaze is nothing more than a parlour trick.

"You look familiar," he says. 

You hum. "Rollerboy paid, huh?" 

He glares, the idea that his record label might pay for the damages he'd caused laughable and undoubtedly correct. You aren't trying to make enemies, aren't attempting to play someone you're not — you're meek mannered, mollycoddled, too naive to be in the industry for very long. You can see it on his face, exactly what he's thinking, and it's easy to see because everybody else is thinking it too. Even you. 

Before you can repair the offence you've caused, he's dropping your stolen cigarette on the ground and grinding out the flame. 

"Nice to meet you," he says slowly. 

You stare straight ahead and listen to him leave. Smoke tickles your nose. When you look down, the cigarette is smouldering. You squat down, pick up the flattened bud, and drive it into the floor until your fingers are black with soot. 

You wrap those same ashy fingers around the neck of a bottle of coke and try not to be too pissy about it. Fucking rockstars and their fucking egos. He did something embarrassing, and you're the villain? 

You feel bad halfway through your coke. Maybe he'd had nice intentions, but how could you know? You'd talked for all of two minutes. And even if he was bad news, he likely wouldn't have been any worse than half the jerks here. 

He'd have had a handsome face to look up into while said intentions were being acted out, at least.

You frown more. Wishing you'd been nicer to him because you're bored enough to want to get laid isn't strictly kind. Human, maybe. 

The feeling worsens when his appearance garners a small crowd. He sits in a nest of dirty couch cushions and a cloud of smoke, the smell of green strong enough to irritate you from here, telling a story with frenetic hands, and despite the cool look he'd given you earlier, he's making a show of it. Cussing, giggling, blunt between his lips as he ushers for a zippo. A pretty girl with surfer curls relights it, an act of flirting in the way she pulls her shoulders in. 

He takes the blunt from between his lips and blows the smoke so it misses her completely. 

"Thanks, sweetheart," he says, voice rough as hewn stone. 

You kick one shoe behind the other and squeeze your tired thighs together. You get this feeling like a matchstick, red powdered head flicking against gritty scratchpad but failing to strike. Something is familiar about the way he speaks, his sticky inflection. 

Or you're lying to yourself, and you just like the way he talks 

The way he would've spoken, thick fingers braceleting your wrists as he forces your hands into the pillow behind your head, the weight of his body on top of yours, the snugness of a knee between your soft thighs. Your hotel light would've kissed his left side, dividing his curls into strands, the individuals glowing like silver thread as they danced over your cheek and temple, as his breath warmed your lips, as he closed the distance. 

Joan, you could hit him.

"That's an unfortunate hand. Are you sober?"

Cheeks full of heat at being caught in a fantasy, you lift your eyes and meet light, almond brown eyes almost entirely shielded by darker eyebrows. A man stands in front of you, a comfortable gap between his nondescript skate shoes and your worn boots. He's tall and pretty and surprising: he's smiling at you like you're something worth smiling at. 

"I'm–" You brandish the bottle as if that might explain it but harshly set it aside. "No, not sober. I mean, not willingly. Coke's were out here, so…" 

"Oh, right," he says, nodding knowledgeably. "Right, I was sorry to hear about that." 

You lick your lips. "'Bout what?" 

"They banned beautiful women from the kitchen," he says. "Hadn't you heard?" 

"No, that one passed me by." 

"I'm Jamison," he says, holding out his free hand. 

You take it. You tell him your name. 

—

Morgan is crying. Big heaping sobs that she attempts to talk through, creating this ringing whining sound that fills you top to toe with anxiety. You lean back in your hotel bed, wondering what it is in the world that could've happened to her as a kid to make her this unsatisfied now. Ananya blows on her freshly painted nails though they've been dry for hours, knee to knee with you atop the squishy hotel sheets. 

"I can't fucking do this," Morgan cries, tears dripping down her bare skinned cheeks. 

The three of you have been sworn off of makeup, junk food, and unapproved wash products for the next four to five hours. You're happy for this to continue until the end of time. Morgan, less so. 

You're trying to decipher exactly why she's crying, feeling a confusion you'd liken to the first modern day archaeologist that laid eyes on ancient hieroglyphics. All these symbols and colours and stories. No clear translation. 

If Ananya were an archaeologist, she's the kind who got to see the Rosetta stone. Morgan's moods make sense to her, and while she often doesn't empathise with her, she at least knows what to say to appease the worst of it. 

"It'll be alright, Morgs," she says, her faux sympathy unconvincing.

You feel a little sorry for Morgan and clear your throat. "And you're not by yourself. We're here." 

"Fucking amazing help you've been," Morgan says. Her voice does a theatrical peak, pure hysterics. 

It irks you how good she looks. You think that, maybe, if you could make your problems pretty the way that she does, you'd be a lot happier overall. You've often lamented that you suffer the kind of unhappiness that makes people uncomfortable and unwilling. You cry ugly, and always alone, hands over your mouth to smother the sounds, and that's when you do cry. Mostly, you bounce around inside yourself and feel very afraid that this feeling is forever. 

But, you think presently, that isn't Morgan's fault. Not all of it. 

Morgan throws her hands out at you and Ananya and spins on her heel, through the bathroom and into her own separate room. 

"At least the backdrop of her breakdown is nice," you murmur, hugging the pillow against your stomach, heels digging into the mattress to keep your knees up. 

Ananya snorts and flicks to the next page of her magazine. "Right?" She stretches her naked legs out over your sheets. You know she's decided to ruin your bed with her after-waxing oils rather than her own. "Better here than back home." 

"Why's she so upset?" you ask. 

Already, your thoughts are starting to drift. You take another peek at the phone across the room and will it into ringing. 

"She draws them on everyday anyway," Ananya says agreeably. 

You summarise that Morgan's eyebrows are the root of the problem. You don't blame her for wanting to look perfect tomorrow night. Your stomach is a weight every time you think about it, solid as petrified wood. This will be your first TV appearance that isn't a recorded concert, a mid-show performance for the Prover Music Awards, and it should further cement your place in the band. If you look good and people like you, public favour might be enough to keep you around. If they don't, there'll be a couple hundred different audience members with industry links. If you play well, and you're certain you will, you might finally prove to Morgan, Ananya, and the rest of the management team that you're worth choosing. 

You want it badly. You want lots of things, and being a real part of Godless could hand them all to you on a studded platter. Recognition of your talent, further experience, the chance to perform and be supported, to be adored, and the money isn't something you'll pretend you don't think about. A rockstar's salary is hardly stable, but a lack of stability is almost always supplemented by the amount. Wouldn't that be nice? To buy your own bass, to buy whatever you liked. To go out and have spa treatments like the one you'd had just this morning whenever you please. To get to feel beautiful and limp as this all the time. More than anything, you want the validation, the poster that comes with it. 

If Godless decides to keep you, it's a huge, blinking, neon-lit sign that says you're good enough. 

They chose me, and you're stupid for letting me go. 

They chose me. I'm something worth something. You didn't see it, but it's there in me. 

The subtext isn't important. 

You're scared shitless at the reality of performing tonight, knowing any fuck up could follow you, or worse ruin your hopefully budding career in rock for the rest of time. You have this body and this name, and if you want to keep your life you have to be good. It has your fingers itching for your piece-of-shit bass guitar where you know she's hiding under the bed. You should be practising, but this entire week has been practising. The dress rehearsal went well, and you'll give yourself a pass for having certain distractions. 

Morgan warbles. You glance at the phone. 

"Waiting for someone?" Ananya asks. She misses nothing. 

You both wince as Morgan screams and throws something across her bedroom, the eventual clattering smash indicative of a fragile target. 

"Think room service will send up a sedative?" she asks. 

Room service won't send a sedative, nor will they send the single hashbrown Morgan is apparently craving. You're starting to panic when the solution practically jumps at you. 

"Morgan," you say gently, standing in the doorway of her room with a tentative smile, "can't offer you something, can I?" 

You hold up your little pouch. Morgan doesn't know you well, but she knows it's where you keep anything interesting. She should know, she pilfers it of anything truly exciting within the day. 

"Don't be stupid," she scathes. "My eyes will be bloodshot. You know smoking doesn't agree with me." 

You hold in a comment on how she'd literally been smoking out of the window last night. 

"It's a brownie. It's a couple days old, but… perfectly edible." You offer her the pouch, dropping it at the end of the bed among her things. 

She picks at the brownie, timid princess bites that make you want to roll your eyes. You often think the worst thing about Morgan is that you love her, or you could love her more, if only she felt the same way. She isn't all evil and she never will be, she's just a person. But she takes shit out on you and makes your life harder than it needs to be, so even her most endearing moments fall short. 

"This tastes awful." 

You laugh and kneel down at her dresser to start putting her thrown jewellery box back together. "It wasn't that nice when I got it," you lie. 

You clean her room. Morgan never wants to do anything she knows can be done for her, and you know she won't bother here, not when room service will spend the hour it takes themselves. You think of some poor service worker squaring away the impossible amount of stockings and garters for a sad $3.45 an hour and the task suddenly becomes much more enjoyable. 

Morgan doesn't say thank you. You don't insult her intelligence by thinking she isn't aware of what you're doing. She sniffles and blows her nose daintily with a balsam tissue. 

"I saw you talking to that guy from Corroded Coffin." 

You brush off your knees as you stand. "Which one?" 

"Eddie. The rhythm guitarist." 

"The loud one." 

"He's kind of hot. If he calls, you should go out with him." 

"That's not–" who I'm waiting for. You squint at her. "Morgan, that would be terrible." 

"Can you get me something from the minibar?" 

You kick open her minibar and grab a cold can of seltzer. She slides onto her back and accepts it, pressing it to her eyes with a relaxed smile. Eyebrows forgotten, it seems. 

"That would be perfect. He can be the cat to your mouse." 

"Your definition of perfect–" You cut yourself off again when she starts to laugh. You don't believe it to be genuine. 

She lounges in bed for an hour until she's high, reappearing in you and Ananya's suite with a dizzying smile. You don't mind high Morgan. She's smoked enough in her time to bypass the dizzying, giggly kind of stoner. This Morgan is relaxed, almost easygoing. She sits at the end of your bed and watches you pluck out a bass line proposal for one of their current works in progress, head bobbing. 

An hour again and the stylists appear to spray you down with smells and oils and make up, and soon you've been strapped into a short shining dress with a cowl neck, dark black stockings that shine like oil, and heels you can't really walk in. You complain about them politely enough that Mel, the man in charge of your 'costuming', swaps them out for shorter ones. 

"This fucking corset is a nightmare," Morgan grumbles. 

"Sorry, love, that's all we've got." 

The commute is over in a blink. You arrive outside of the venue for the Awards, staring up at its imposing silhouette against the skyline, a dark building in the strange blue night. The sun is unseen but light illuminates the wet streets in blinding patches, so white they glow violet behind your eyes. 

There's a modest red carpet where you thankfully don't have to pose for many photos. After all, besides being a temporary member of the stage, you aren't truly in Godless. Most casual fans (the majority of their fan base) only know the faces in the magazines and on TV, and you have yet to be in either until tonight. 

After a bundle of shy and regretfully nerve-wracking photos, you're drawn inside the building and away from all the flashing hubbub. You sit in your seats, short rows divided by the occasional table for drinks, and you try not to sink into the carpeted floor. It smells insanely like nothing at all. No bleach, no air conditioning cleanliness. Every now and then another guest walks past your row and you get a whiff of perfume. 

A familiar scent pricks your attention. 

You look up, slightly over your shoulder, and your eyes meet familiar sticky brown. 

He drops down in the seat next to you, and you think, No way. 

He holds up the placard that had been under his thigh. His name is typed in clear blocked letters. 

It's a strange humiliation to have been read for filth like that. You're you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me expression can be pretty telling, evidently. 

"Hey, sweetheart." 

Matchstick against the box. You tilt your head and try to place him for the tenth time. 

"Have we met before?" you ask. 

He actually grins like this is the best thing you could've said. "You met my friend," he says, pointing down the aisle. 

Jamison stands talking to a woman who is admittedly gorgeous, and, to your sinking horror, much prettier than you. They kiss each other on the cheek and it's the kind of over friendly to make you sick. 

Eddie pouts at you. "Better luck next time, sweet thing." He throws one leg over another. "You look different. New haircut?" 

"You look exactly the same," you say. 

It's surprising how untouched he is. Sure, he's had some makeup applied and his hairs been tousled into life, but his outfit is remarkable in its simplicity. Surely rockstars can wear suits too? He looks neat and dark and tidy, but he also looks effortless. It's irritating.

This phenomena is not self contained, you find, as his bandmates sit down the row with their managerial chaperones and one date. Jamison sits right at the very end. He doesn't look at you. 

You avert your eyes and wonder if it's possible to die from embarrassment. 

The venue gets increasingly busy as the bigger names and bands flood inside. Soon, you're sitting amongst legends, people who pretty much spearheaded late 80s glam rock, punk, grunge. People you've only ever seen on TV. And it isn't restricted to alternative sound, there are pop stars and their supermodel girlfriends shaking hands and kissing cheeks in the row behind, while producers with names big enough to make your mouth dry up clap each other on the shoulders in front. 

"You'll catch flies." 

You turn to Eddie. He doesn't sound entirely cruel. He doesn't sound like much of anything. You could almost believe him to be a friend. 

There's a smudge of eyeliner on his cheek. 

"You have–" You point at your own cheek, a mirror. 

His lightness fades. "Nice." 

"No, seriously, you have something. Make up, on your cheek. I have a wipe if you want it." 

He scrubs at his cheek ineffectually. 

You're reaching out to help before you can stop yourself, witnessing your own actions with a strange out-of-body horror as you wipe the small black line gently. It spreads, and you panic and dab at it until it's an unfortunate grey shadow. 

"Let me get the wet wipe," you say. You'd been holding your breath, awkwardness stiff between you, and it sounds too much like a laugh. 

Eddie flinches away from your touch and covers his cheek. "I got it," he says stonily. 

He leaves, stepping over his bandmates feet like stepping stones, earning a cacophony of protests and disparagments. 

Dick, you think. Again, that had been a little bit your fault. Not all of it, he seems to be in a perpetual bad mood that can't be your doing, but you can understand why he might think you were laughing at him, and the defensiveness that comes with it. When he comes back you'll apologise. 

Or that's what you tell yourself. The lights go down, the curtains open, and the venue erupts with applause. By the time Eddie takes his seat again you're too afraid of disturbing the quiet. 

After half an hour you're ushered backstage. You have to move in front of Eddie and the rest of Corroded Coffin as you go. 

He looks up at you in silence. Head tipped back, face barely lit by the lights while you stand in between his legs. His lips part and he's all rockstar, his brown eyes and their edging of straight dark lashes, his pink, pretty lips. He has a distinct line to his nose, a cupid's bow perfectly shaped. His maker must have looked at him and known somebody, somewhere, would want to kiss him right there. His lips twitch. 

"Can I help you?" he whispers. 

You stammer a response that won't form and Morgan shoves you. 

"Fucking move," she says. 

His expression flickers. 

"Sorry," you say, unsure of who you're talking to. "Sorry." You sound pathetic. A kicked puppy. 

You keep your eyes on the floor until you're in the aisle, where a new set of nerves tries to swallow you whole.

—

Eddie knows exactly who you are, and he hates himself for it. He remembers you, the first you, shy and sweet and so excited, sitting pretty in Indianapolis International Airport with your guitar and your huge leaky headphones pounding death metal. While fame has broadened the amount of people who want to sleep with him, it hasn't changed his type, and you'd been a ringer, right there in the middle. 

You'd been pretty and maybe you knew it, maybe you didn't, it didn't matter — what he liked most was the way your hands had moved as you spoke, hummingbird thrumming, an energy he'd seen in himself and every other musician desperate for a chance. He loved the passion and your eyelashes and the way you'd smiled as you'd waited for your plane, the two of you destined for New York, where you both seem to have looped back now. Only, he'd been cursed with remembering your every detail, and you either didn't remember him or don't care. Both sting, but he likes the second better. He'll take purposeful cruelty over the casual any day. 

Like your thumb pressed to his cheek. The heat, and then your laugh. 

"The fuck is this?" Gareth asks, leaning over the space between their two chairs. 

Eddie looks up at you on stage and shrugs. While bands made up completely of women aren't new, they aren't as common as bands made up of men, obviously. He likes it, likes your sound, though it's not the kind of thing Corroded Coffin would ever play, and he won't join in on Gareth's doubt. Even if you are, like, a magnanimous shithead. You're good. 

"She's hot," he furthers. 

"Jesus, Gareth." 

"What? She's fucking hot." 

He has to squint to see you from this distance, and he can't truly make out many details. Gareth's not wrong. You're pretty, and out of the three members of the band you're the only one who actually looks like they're having a good time. 

The lead singer trails around the stage pulling Blond Ambition poses. She can sing well, she has a strong voice that does whatever it is she bends it into, but her propensity to drop the guitar slung around her neck to grab at the microphone stand like it's escaping isn't helping anything. 

The girl on drums is arguably given a pass, fighting to keep up with the pace, sweat sticking her thick hair to her neck in glossy spirals and her huge eyes set in concentration. Her messy lipstick sparkles under the stage lights, a party pink that pops against her brown skin. 

He thinks you might be trying to cover up the lead singer's sloppy playing. You're good, sure, but it's not the easiest to tell when it's ragtag and rough like this. Only because he's watching does he notice your pick slipping between strings to the floor, and your willingness to strum with the sides of your fingertips. He likes that. The dedication is hot. 

"I've never seen a girl on drums who didn't look like a guy," Gareth says. "She's killer. Think I can get her number?" 

Eddie groans. "No, you fucking loser." 

"I was just asking." 

You bounce around and Eddie shifts in his seat, annoyed that he'd assumed you were the one Gareth was talking about. 

He claps for you when the song is over and hates how you return to your seat during the break, back in your cute dress and beaming, practically dripping in deodorant and post-show adrenaline. 

You apologise again as you step over him, and if there's one thing he doesn't want from you it's a sorry. Twice now you've spoken to him in the last week and twice you've made fun of him like some plaything under your thumb. Eddie isn't in the habit of being under anyone's anything. Apologies feel like salt in the wound, even though he knows you aren't saying sorry for the stuff that's pissing him off.

"What the fuck was that?" Lead girl asks you, sounding about as uptight as she looks as she climbs over your leg. "What were you doing?" 

"Morgan, I don't know if you noticed, but you didn't play half of the song," you say defensively, the skirt of your gem-encrusted dress glancing off of his thigh. The gems are tiny, like pinprick stars in country night skies. They shine purple, green, orange. 

Morgan holds her hand up for an attendant. When one approaches, she says, "Appletini," and nothing else, waving dismissively. She pulls at her stockings and doesn't notice the ladder she makes near the calf. "You're here to play what you're given." 

"I did." 

"And only that." 

Your silence speaks volumes. What he'd thought to be an edge in Godless' sound may have been an improvisation, something Eddie personally applauds. 

"Christ," Morgan says, "you're more trouble than you're worth. I hope you know that." 

Eddie believes the sting of her barb to be in the presentation rather than the words themselves, though what she'd said is hardly kind. She looks away from you as she says it, like she's giving instruction far below her station. Factual, concise. 

You barely wince. The lights dim, and he watches you contend with how you're feeling from the corner of his eye.

Eddie isn't evil. You may have gotten off on the wrong foot, and he's definitely holding his resentment at being forgotten tight to his chest, but nobody deserves to get shit on like that. You'd played well, you'd had a great time, and that should be commended. What's worse, your lack of a reaction tells him this is a common occurrence. 

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom," you say. 

Morgan waves you away like she had the waitress. You stand, and you say, "Excuse me," to every person you pass. Eddie put his hand on the back of his chair to follow you up toward the back of the room where the sign for the bathrooms glows green. 

He sets his eyes back on the stage and begs himself to stay sitting. Corroded Coffin's nomination for best up and comer has already passed, a loss, and there's no reason he can't nip to the bathroom himself. There's also no reason he should go after you. 

Fuck it, he thinks. 

What could go wrong? What could go wrong, outside of the women's bathroom, where he has so obviously followed you, where he waits for you like some creeper trying to paw one off on you. He can't hear anything but the running tap. For a moment he thinks you haven't come here to collect yourself after all, you'd needed to pee, which makes his situation that much awkwarder. 

Stuck between indecision, he leans against the wall between the women's and men's and digs for a cigarette. His pockets are empty, a precaution for exactly this moment. You can't smoke in the Prover Theatre, pissant.

You appear and blitz past him. 

"Hey," he says before you can go too far, "d'you have a card?"

You turn on your heel. Hands already in your purse, you dig out an unopened box of cigarettes and offer it to him. You don't look as though you've been crying or anything like it, but you don't look him head on, so he keeps his theory. 

Eddie peels the plastic off of your box and slaps the end against his chest for good measure. 

"I don't think you can smoke in here," you say finally. Your voice is tired. 

He raises his eyebrows and peers down into the box, pulling a cigarette free and sliding it between his lips. He holds out his hand for a lighter and you give it to him, already waiting with it between two fingers. 

He lights it, inhales sharply, and passes you back your carton and lighter with a clouded, "Thanks." 

"Yeah." 

He's surprised when you don't move. You stand there and watch him smoke, whorls of pearly smoke dissecting the air between you, spider-webs over your pert face. You're waiting for what he doesn't know, so he'll give you something. He's nice. 

"She's a piece of work." 

You shift uneasily. 

"I'm not the feds," he says, pulling the cig from his lips to talk unfettered.

"Forgive me for wondering if you have my best interests at heart." 

He beams at you, really smiles, startled and enamoured by your sharp tongue. "Now why wouldn't I?" 

You don't say anything, only pull at the neckline of your dress in what's likely a nervous habit. He gets a flash of the top of your chest and looks away. He thinks you're beautiful in a rather understated way, and he doesn't not want to see what it is you're showing, but he knows you don't actually mean to be so forward. He might be an asshole, but he's not like that. 

It's quiet here in the foyer, like standing outside the doors of the movie theatre. You can hear the announcement of a new category, the roaring applause. The hallway and the bathrooms feel cordoned off from it in a strange way, an uncanny energy that has him on internal tenterhooks. 

"You always let her treat you like that?"

"Like what?" 

He steps toward you because the distance feels unnecessary. "Like that. Like you're a dog." 

"Fuck you, I do not." 

He pouts, the taste of smoke thick on his tongue. 

"What would you know?" you ask.

"Besides hearing it all fucking night, nothing. You must like that shit." 

Your eyes go wide. He hadn't meant to say it. There's a light behind them now, some life, something to cover up that shitty wounded despondency you'd been wearing. Your hands bunch in the soft skirt of your dress, shaking. He's touched a nerve. 

"I must like it," you quote, strained.

"Woof. Do you do any tricks, or is it just the one?" 

He doesn't mean for it to happen this way, he wants it on the record. He's a dick, he's a loser, whatever, he hadn't meant to argue but he will. And, you know, there may be a slight possibility that he isn't as sure in himself as he appears, and that there are nerves he keeps too close to the surface, too. 

"You can teach me one of yours, if you want," you offer, voice tight with annoyance, "I'm thinking smug asshole picks easy target, but I'm open to other options." 

That's funny. He takes another step toward you, another, your cigarette between his lips smouldering at the tip as he inhales through his smirk. 

"Yeah, like what?" he asks, smoke licking your cheeks as he breathes out. 

"How you get your head through the door might be a good place to start." 

He waits for you to explain, knowing the silence will force you to fill it. 

"You know, considering you're in the exact same place as me, only one of us performed tonight and it isn't the one acting like God's gift." 

"You think they invited you to play because you're good?" he asks, feigning an earnest tone.

"I know exactly why they didn't ask you." You hike the strap of your purse higher up your shoulder, chin lifted in a snooty superiority that makes his heart pound. "Wannabe rookie who had too much smoke blown up his ass and thinks he's somebody. But you're not," you say. "You're a child. They've seen a hundred guys just like you in the Indiana circuit."

"You're a jumped up fucking groupie that got lucky," he says.

The light behind your eyes dims. He takes that last step, the step that's gonna put you shoe to shoe. 

He should stop now, he would, but suddenly his anger is real, this isn't strictly fun anymore. He says what he knows is gonna hurt you. 

"You're a stand-in, a temp who's already overstayed her welcome." He flicks the tower of ash between your heels. You follow it down, watch as it settles into the fibres of the carpeting. "You're a burnout waiting to happen." 

Your breathing is loud in his ears. Slightly too fast. 

"You don't know anything," you murmur. 

"If it barks like a dog, and it heels like a dog," he says, pausing, words coming out thick and slow, "it's a dog."

Your face flares with hurt. You're gone before he can say anything else. 

He's glad for it. Honestly, he's not sure what else he would've said, and later, he'll regret this, regret blowing up at you, regret following you out here and making you feel worse when he'd wanted the opposite. But tonight he's lit up from the inside out, your words a reverberation. A hundred guys just like you.

"Yeah, right," he says to himself, scoffing with a surety he doesn't feel. 

—

Donington Park, England, August 1990

"I'd be a little more excited if I knew they weren't desperate this year," Jamison's saying, "that's all." 

"They're hardly desperate." 

"Last time they had KISS, Iron Maiden, Megadeth." Jamison sighs and falls back into the couch, muttering about the stale smell before continuing, "and this year, what do they have? Poison? Thunder? Who cares." 

Eddie thinks he might actually have an opponent for biggest ego right now. 

"You know they put Godless bigger on the poster," Jeff says with a bright smile. 

"Can we not talk about them for one fucking day?" Eddie pleads. 

He's a little disappointed at the lineup too, but that doesn't make this entire festival a bust. Monster of Rock may not be the most prestigious event they've ever attended but it's still impressive to be asked to play here, and this is only Corroded Coffin's third festival. Eddie's a smug bastard and even he knows Jamison sounds like a bitch. Besides that, he's so, so tired of talking about Godless. 

"They finally stopped stringing that poor girl along. What was her name?" Jeff asks, clicking his fingers. "Eddie, you know, the one who said she didn't know you in the magazines?"

"What?" Eddie asked. "They cut her?" 

Jamison sits up, eyes lit with mirth. "What's it matter to you, heartthrob?" 

"It doesn't." 

He's not being truthful. His bandmates are all unkind, and none extend the generosity of pretending they believe him. 

"Nah, she's not cut, she's official. Writing credits on the new album and everything, 'cordin to Rolling Stone." 

"You have it?" Eddie asks.

Jeff laughs at him but digs it out of his suitcase, brandishing it all rolled up. 

"Shit better not be sticky," Eddie mutters under his breath. 

"... Skip the interview with Kim Gordon." 

Eddie gags and flicks through the pages until he finds the article on you, or rather the column. 

"All female rock band Godless finally welcomed a new bass player this month after the departure of Millyanna Richardson in '89. Y/N L/N, 24, had been with the band for almost a year under a 'touring only' basis, though she performed live with remaining members Morgan Fletcher and Ananya Roy at the Prover Music Awards in early June. Fans have praised her talent and finesse, and are looking forward to her contributions to the band's next album expected this December. Hopefully she has thicker skin than her predecessor, who branded the band's inner politics as 'gruesome' and 'unlivable'."

There's a grainy photograph of you and your bandmates at the Prover Theatre overtop. You look exactly as you had that night, pretty and glitzy. He scowls at your printed face.

He can't fucking stand you, let it be known, and he thinks your frontman is the most spoilt brat he's ever seen. He hadn't seen the article, but he'd heard via word of mouth that you'd both had something to say about him. His approximation goes as follows: 

Interviewer: …and you guys will be performing at the Monster of Rock music festival in England this August, right? Any faces you're excited to see? 

Morgan: I think I'm better than everyone despite being in a mildly popular band that didn't qualify as hard rock until, like, three months ago, and I totally shit on our bass player for trying to make the change by the way, so I'm not excited to see anyone besides myself in the mirror. 

Interviewer: How sophisticated and mature of you. And you, Y/N, are you excited to see anyone? Photos from the Prover Music Awards show you were sitting beside Corroded Coffin's Eddie Munson, did you two hit it off? 

Y/N: Who was that, the guitarist? I'm so sorry, I don't really remember getting a chance to talk to him, but I'm excited for the opportunity to meet more people in the scene right now and to get to play for a new audience. Also I suck and I want Eddie sooooo bad. 

"I wish I were asleep." Gareth squints at the ceiling. "Asleep or back home."

"Miss mommy?" Jamison asks him. 

"And Cindy." 

"Oh, god," Eddie groans, "I don't want to hear it, seriously." 

"She always had smooth legs, you know?" Gareth says. "Always shiny, soft. Fuck, I miss her legs. Girls on the road never shave their legs." 

"Do you shave your legs?" Eddie asks. 

"Fuck off, Teddy, you know you like it better when they shave." 

"Do I know that?" Eddie asks. 

He turns to Jamison, giving him a much-used 'make him stop' expression. Eyebrows raised, lips parted. When Jamison says nothing, and Gareth starts to talk about hair removal in other places, Eddie scrubs his eyes with both hands and stands up. 

He's a guy. He has guy thoughts. Yeah, he thinks about girls, and their legs, and everything else, but he also thinks about them as actual people, something Gareth hasn't quite grasped yet. 

"Remember why Cindy said she didn't wanna come with you?" Eddie asks. 

"Because she was jealous of my success." 

Eddie snorts and shrugs on his jacket where he'd left it thrown over the ratty couch. "Because she was going to beauty school," Eddie corrects. "I'm going out." 

"We're miles away from anything interesting," Jeff says, magazine crinkling in his hands. 

"I'm sure I'll find something," he says, and doesn't add that it should be easy. 

What counts as interesting has taken a sharp turn since arriving in Donington. Which isn't to say it's boring, exactly, there's a rich culture Eddie isn't familiar with, and a fucking castle, but he's so used to loud dives and backroom parties that this has been a stark change. Wending had said to think of it like a vacation to get his head screwed on tight. Paula had said to think of it like a punishment, which had been funny at the time. Now he's wondering if she was serious. 

He knows there'd been a convenience store somewhere down the road from the hotel. Or rather, the bed and breakfast, a strange cottage situation where the hosts keep an eye on you under the guise of making your dinner. Eddie's first world problems continue. 

He could get weed, possibly. He doesn't know where from, but he knows someone who knows someone who must know someone, right? 

Then he starts debating with himself about if he should smoke just to escape boredom. That sounds like a terrible idea, life isn't even bad right now, he's just hungry, and— 

Eddie turns the corner, wet sidewalk dark as pitch under his feet, and spots the back of your head as you disappear inside of the convenience store. The corner shop, as Wending had informed. Eddie doesn't understand because it isn't on a corner, but he has bigger fish to fry. He considers waiting for you to leave. What are the chances you'll walk back this way? Pretty likely. 

Don't be a bitch, he tells himself. 

Light rain spots his neck as he hurries inside, the bell above the door ringing to announce his entrance. He's confused as soon as he looks up, because in front of him is an aisle, and to either side is an aisle, and he can't make out where the cashier is. He takes a tentative step in, eyes tracking muddy footprints down the way to the drinks fridge humming loudly at the back of the room. 

Claustrophobic, he makes his way through the aisle and stops in front of the drinks. Because luck isn't ever his friend, you're standing toward the leftmost part, where a second fridge hums, filled to bursting with canned beer and litre bottles of cider. Eddie isn't sure it's really you until you turn to the left slightly and reach out for a colourful glass bottle. He should walk away. He doesn't like you, he has no business watching you, but there's something so sweet about it. 

You in the humming chill, a coat pulled tightly around you, your chin hidden by the multicolour of a yarn scarf. You turn the bottle in your hand delicately and blink slow as you read the ingredients. Your hair is frizzy from the wind, flyaways surrounding your face in a little wave. His fingers twitch. 

You keep the bottle and pick up a second, nails clinking against glass. Your movement pulls like you're moving through jello, and Eddie turns to the fridge in front of him hurriedly. 

He can feel your gaze on the side of his face. 

He picks up a couple of drinks without thinking, his face burning with heat. When he chances a glance your way, you've moved. He stares at the rainbow of drinks and the gaps where you've taken what you wanted. 

He leaves some time between your departure and follows the way you must've gone down an aisle of more alcohol that's unrefrigerated and pet food, wondering how they organise here, and is confronted with you again at the end. 

It's a snug building. You're blocking the way past where you're standing in front of the cashier's desk, a plexiglass shielded cube decked out in hanging sweets and cigarettes. 

"Do you have Newports?" you ask mildly. 

"Sorry." 

"That's okay, uh, I'll just take a carton of whatever you think is best?" 

The cashier retrieves a light blue box of cigarettes. "Lambert and Butler blues," he says. "Total, sixteen fifty six, and I'll need to see some ID." 

You pull your passport from an already opened purse and offer it to him. While the cashier's checking it over, you peek at Eddie, and you don't smile but you don't not smile, a formal quirk of the lips. 

"You're American?" the cashier asks. 

"I'm visiting for the festival," you say. 

Apparently having passed his test, the cashier hands your passport back and accepts your card. 

"Are you paying together?" he asks, nodding at Eddie. 

Eddie grins unconsciously, worse when you say quickly, "Oh, no, we're not together." 

"Your brevity wounds me," Eddie says.

You snort with a similar geniality. "You don't need me to pay for you, do you? I heard you're rich now." 

There has been an improvement in Eddie's finances lately. Your album breaking into the Billboard top 100 does that. 

"I thought you didn't know who I was?" 

"I thought that was kinder than what I really would've said." 

He hates how your snark makes him smile. You're not looking at him, waiting for your change with your eyes forward as the cashier clicks a couple of buttons on the till. 

"What were you really gonna say?" 

The cashier hands over your change. You slip it into your purse, put your purse in the pocket of your coat, and slide your hand through the weak blue handles of your plastic bag.

"Thank you," you say sincerely. You take a step like you're going to leave, but you pause, and you look Eddie in the eye and say, "I would've said you were mean." 

His jaw drops. You look hurt, and you leave with a discomforting frown. 

He puts the drinks he's carrying down on the cashier's desk and says, "I'll be right back," before following you out.

You've pulled your hood up to defend against the thickening rain, walking with your face angled down. Eddie beats along the wet pathway. 

"Hey! Hey, wait, wait a second, princess." 

"You can't be serious." 

"I'm so serious," he says. 

He weaves in front of you and stops. You look cold as he feels with his red-tipped nose and stiff fingers, your arms drawn together over your chest. You look pretty and he's so sick of thinking it and not saying it. 

"You're hot when you're mad." 

You glare at him. "I wish I could say the same." 

"Hey, hey, okay, we had a spat, but we got off on the wrong foot, you know?" 

"I thought that too," you say. 

He smiles. "See, we're– you're fucking with me. Nice." 

You start laughing, edging around him. He moves in front and you shrug, stepping off of the sidewalk and into the leaf litter clogging the gutter. 

"Don't be stupid," he says, hands held up in surrender "get back on the sidewalk." You keep walking. "Come on, don't get hit by a car. That would really put a damper on the festival." 

You take a step further into the road, the kind that would make a collision unavoidable. He checks both ways for cars and sees none, knowing you're fucking with him and hating it anyway. The two of you are locked into a stand off, grey skies above you and wet ground underneath, your face partially occluded by your scarf and your hood and the dribbling rain. If he listens, he can hear the small sounds of the festival preparations a half a mile away, guitars hooked up up an insane array of speakers and the pounding of a beat through the floor. 

You start walking again. He follows, treading backwards to keep your attention. 

"Seriously, come on." 

"No." 

"No?" he asks. 

"No. I don't have to listen to you." 

"You're being stupid." 

"Eddie, I truly, honestly, don't care." 

"Sure." The sound of tires on the road draws his eye. A car appears behind you, approaching fast. "It's your funeral."

"What do you get out of this?" 

He bites his top lip, shaking his head from one side to the other. "Out of what?" 

"Tormenting me." 

"Tormenting you? Sweetheart, we hardly know each other." 

"Exactly!" You almost trip over your own shoes. "Exactly, you don't know me, but you thought you could say all those things–" 

"You started it." 

You laugh again and Eddie would be pissed but the car is still coming, headlights beaming through the light downpour. He huffs and grabs your wrist, tugging you up onto the sidewalk with his second hand on your waist. He doesn't mean to rag you about, feeling especially apologetic when your face knocks into his chin. The car spins close and validates his concern. You have enough sense to realise what's happened, watching over your shoulder as the car beeps and whizzes past. Still, you yank your arm out of his. 

"Don't touch me," you say quietly. 

He dips his head to force you to meet his eyes. "Next time I'll let you get hit by a car. Great idea." 

"I wasn't going to get hit by the fucking car." 

You're infuriating. 

Infuriating, and yet he feels bad for pulling you around. He lowers his voice, softens his tone. "Sorry," he says. "I don't know why this happens, everytime I see you, I…" 

You look intensely uncomfortable. "I have one of those faces, I guess." You shrug away from his reach. "Try to play well tomorrow? I don't want to go on to a dead crowd." 

His mouth snaps closed. "If you need me to warm them up for you, just say that." 

—

You go to watch Eddie's set because you're awful. You want it to suck. You want Corroded Coffin to bomb it and you want it to be his fault, anything to wipe that pretty smile off of his face, smother the electricity of his bouncing steps as he bounds from one side of the stage to the other. He's entranced by the crowd — it's hard not to be. Ananya had told you on the plane that UK festival audiences are a different kind of enthusiastic, eager and loud, and it's obvious now that she was right, and that Corroded Coffin had more than a few loyalists in the sea of people. 

The barrier bends under the force of it, thousands of warm bodies throwing themselves against one another despite the terrible weather, mud to the shins and sliding. You've never seen so many people happy to be covered in dirt. 

Neither Morgan nor Ananya had wanted to join you so you stick to the shadows with your lanyard pass. You refuse to think about why you've dressed the way you have, a black, stiff corset type top to cinch your chest, exposing the soft hills of your breasts, and the flare pants Morgan had insisted make your thighs acceptable. You're bedecked in pretty jewellery and your hair looks perfect, and it's all for your show, you swear, all for your set straight after his. 

Eddie's dripping with sweat and rain at this point, darker curls wet and slick and sweet around his face. His brows are furrowed like he's in pain, and his thumb has split on the strings, blood like cherry juice running down the body of his guitar, a Warlock NJ Series electric with a red and black tortoise shell design. It shines like mother-of-pearl. 

You're impressed by him, and worse, there's a heat stirring in your abdomen you despise. He's attractive, you've always thought him pretty, but on stage he's something else entirely. The passion transforms him, makes him a different person. No trace of agitating smugness about him. 

And he's good. You're not a critic, an expert, and your opinion hardly matters, but if he's this good now you'd love to see him at Hammet's age, at Hanneman's. He could be one of the greats. 

You're riddled with jealousy. Bass and rhythm guitar are not the same, and they're comparable in some ways, incomparable in others, but you know you're not like he is. You want to be the next Entwistle, the next Ian Hill, but practising You've Got Another Thing Comin' until your fingers bleed is never going to give you what Eddie plainly has. 

You hide your bandaid covered fingers in your back pockets and shake your head. You can pinpoint the moment Eddie notices you on the side stage despite the small audience they've attained. His neck snaps to the side, and his eyes bore into yours for a split-second. 

You could pretend you aren't here. If he ever calls you out on it, you could lie. You want me so bad you're seeing me places, Munson. 

You don't do that. 

You wave. 

You've never been the prettiest girl. You know you aren't model material, people aren't shy about letting you know that, and so, you're practised in the art of quiet flirtation. Your wrist straight, you wiggle your fingers sweetly, a face of fresh make up and your sweetest smile, like he's a guy across the bar and you're trying to get a ride in his passenger seat. 

For a split-second you adore him. It's the meanest thing you can do. 

You aren't expecting him to fuck up. His hand slips down the neck and that's it, one missed second of sound. He throws himself back into it and doesn't look your way again, a storm of emotions clouding his handsome face. 

Not what you'd meant to do, and yet. There's a cruel satisfaction in knowing you'd had any sort of power over him.

There's a ten minute gap between sets, twenty because of the shitty weather. Morgan and Ananya are nowhere to be seen as Corroded Coffin pour off of the stage and down the short stairwell where you're waiting, picking at your clear nail polish absentminded. You don't look up, and the resulting quiet makes you think they've all left. 

A wooden board creaks. 

You look up. 

"Hey, you–" 

Eddie takes your shoulder into his warm, big hand and pushes you back. You wobble and rush to correct your posture, hand clamping around the crook of his elbow. Even though he's soaked through, wet to the skin, his hand is a blistering heat. 

Your shoulders collide with the wall under the stairwell. It's a snug fit, dark and out of view. 

"What gives?" you seethe, pushing at his chest. 

"You fucking–" Eddie tucks a lock of wet hair behind his ear, and his hand stays at that height, hovering between you. "What's wrong with you?" 

"What's wrong with me?" 

"You want to mess with me, is that it?" 

His hand takes to your face, index finger following the line of your cheek, his thumb along your jaw. He isn't kind. He isn't cruel. He's touching you, just touching you, and your mouth is bone dry at the sensation, the stuttering beat of your heart. 

"I don't want to do anything to you, Munson." 

"We both know that's not true." You've never heard his voice like this. It's scratchy– pleading. It's a desperation. 

He's breathing hard. Your proximity means you feel each one as it comes, heat fanning over your lips. You look to his, find them parted, the barest hint of pearly teeth between pink dewy skin. They look soft. 

You lift your chin. 

I dare you. 

His hand slides down. He presses his thumb into your bottom lip and inclines his head. You close your eyes, fine stands of his hair drawing lines of wetness against your face as he boxes you in. 

"Are you going to–" 

"Shut up," he says, crushing his lips to yours. 

It his nose you feel more than anything, the force of it as he moves in, bridge sliding down your own. His hands, and how they tighten, fisted in the slope of your shoulder and clutching at the underside of your jaw like you might slip away. His touch brings you in, his hips force you back, wedging your spine tight to the panelled wall behind you. 

You let him kiss you, let his lips work over yours, let him take what it is he wants. Your fingers slide softly up the chilled leather of his jacket, coveting the wet mess of his hair. You weave your fingers into it, their tips pressed to his roots, and pull him away. 

You steal the gap between you and try to take control. You don't know how to kiss like he is, you don't know where all that meanness comes from. You force his hand from your face and nip at his bottom lip, imprecise, stammering pecks that reveal too much. 

Eddie inhales hard, pulls the breath from your mouth. 

"Don't play games," he says. 

He presses a firm, hard kiss all lopsided into your lips and pulls away, yanking your hand from his hair and setting it against the line of his waist. 

"You like games," you argue. 

He tilts your head to one side a millimetre at a time, tilting his own to follow you. A teasing light burns behind his eyes, a playful flare of his lashes that worries and excites at once. 

His thumb haunts the column of your throat, pressing, releasing, pressing again. Never enough to hurt. 

"Stay still." 

You stay still. You aren't expecting him to weave the other way, the hot and unapologetic scratch of his teeth against your pulse. You laugh at the feeling, find it gets all clogged up when he starts to bite. The hand that isn't anchoring your head roams down your shoulder, your back, falling into the small of it as though it were made to be there. His fingers spread and pull and your pelvis pushes hard into his own. 

"Is that a–" You cough on your murmuring, chastened by his thumb outside your windpipe. "S'that a micronta quartz in your pocket, or are you just," —you hiss as his hickeying turns brutal, hand pawing ar his waist uselessly— "happy– Happy to see me?" 

Your shuddering makes him smile. He lets your bruised skin slip from between his lips only to scandalise you further, kissing and nipping, licking a humiliating stretch until he's under your ear, speaking into it. 

"I'm never happy to see you," he murmurs, hand turned, the back of his index knuckle stroking a tender back and forth. His forehead kisses your temple. "You should know that by now." 

A picture of composure but you know what you feel. You roll your hips to revel in his subtle groan. 

"You want me to mark up the other side?" he asks. 

His question sounds so genuine, you almost say yes. He laughs at your silence and kisses wherever he can reach, crescent moons, spit-damp and branding. 

He pauses to speak into the corner of your mouth. "Mess me up again during a set and I won't be this nice." 

"You're not nice," you say, lashes skimming the skin under your brows as he stands at full height, widening the gap between you to a safe distance again. 

"Exactly…" Eddie squeezes your cheek until it aches. His eyes are unreadable. "Have a good set, sweetheart." 

Unreadable turns smug. He pats your panging cheek, gaze dancing over the sore stretch of your neck, and turns without a second glance. 

You press the heel of your palm to the cold wall behind you and blink. Once. Twice. In that moment you hate him more than you've ever hated him, hate him like you've never hated anyone, because his retreating figure is unaffected, and you're dizzy with the lingering press of his lips.

You have to hand it to him. He's good at the game. 

You'll have to be better. 

𓆩❤︎𓆪

I wrote the bulk of this really quickly so please forgive any major errors I missed during editing, I’ll go back again in future and make more corrections! Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed, and if you did please consider reblogging or telling me what you thought, I promise it makes a big difference <3 I was super nervous about this one and I still am lol

[bruisedboys]

ok but like rockstar!eddie with shy reader 🤭

I lovveee this concept tysm soph!! best ask ever fr <3 also I only proofread this once oops

summary: rockstar!eddie is totally soft with shy!you. fluff, established relationship, rockstar au

fem!reader 800 words

Watching Eddie perform was one of your favourite things in the world. However, it came with the unfortunate addition of braving crowds of loud and usually intoxicated people. However fond you were of your boyfriend, you were equally un-fond of the audience at most of his shows.

Tonight, you’d met your fear head-on, and made it through Eddie’s show with minimal damage to your emotions. It was with a big grin, though a tired one, that you navigated your way through the backstage area. Luckily, Eddie had bought you here earlier, when it was completely empty. He thought it’d help if you already knew the way to his band’s room. He was right.

When you finally made it to said room, you instantly heard voices behind the door, the loudest being that of your boyfriend. His boyish laughter at a bandmates joke made you feel giddy. You were just lifting your fist to knock when the door flew open.

“Sweetheart!” It was Eddie, sweaty and disheveled, his eyeliner smudged something awful, but Eddie all the same. “You made it!”

You smiled shyly. “Hi, Eds. You were awesome.”

His grin was blinding. “Thanks, sweet thing,” he doted, tone smooth with fondness. He leaned down to press a chaste kiss to your lips, his own lips sticky with gloss. Your mouth buzzed with electricity as he pulled away. “I saw you in the crowd, you know.”

You were still half-dazed from his kiss, so it took you a little while to answer. “You did?”

Eddie nodded, graciously ignoring your flushed cheeks. “Sure did,” he said jovially. “Couldn’t keep my eyes off you, babe. You look stunning tonight.”

You rolled your eyes at his familiar flirting, though your face was hot as an oven. There was a shout behind Eddie, one of his bandmates calling his name.

Eddie gave a wave to them without looking, and then bent his head so his mouth was next to your ear, his long hair tickling your jaw. “You okay to meet everyone?”

You felt your heart twang, totally softened that he’d thought to ask. You nodded, “Yeah.”

Eddie grinned proudly, tossed an arm over your shoulder and pulled you in through the doorway. He smelled like sweat. You probably should’ve found it gross.

“Everyone! This is my girl, Y/N,” he announced.

The room was full of his bandmates, drinking and laughing and all looking just as stunning as your boyfriend. Well, almost as stunning. Everyone smiled as you entered, offered friendly waves, raising their drinks with a chorus of ‘hi’s and ‘we’ve heard so much about you’s. A girl with choppy pink hair, the band’s bassist, was closest. Eddie addressed her.

“She’s pretty, isn’t she?” He said proudly, giving you a shake. “Prettier than you, Beth.”

Your jaw dropped as Eddie burst into laughter. “Eddie!” You hissed, cheeks burning.

You turned to Beth, ready to apologise profusely but she was just grinning, shaking her head like she was used to it. You supposed she was.

“You’re very pretty,” you told her shyly, a bit breathless. You elbowed a chortling Eddie in the ribs. “Sorry about him.”

Beth shrugged good-naturedly. “Don’t worry about it, dove.” She turned to Eddie and gave him a look. “She’s sweet, Eds. Try not to corrupt her.”

With that she walked off. Eddie tightened his arm around your shoulders, chuckling lowly.

“You hungry, angel?” He asked, apparently unfazed from the conversation with Beth. You, on the other hand, were still hot in the face. Eddie must’ve noticed, because he led you over to a table laden with junk food and soda cans, in the corner of the room where it was quieter.

Once out of earshot he slid his arm from around you and slotted his hand into yours. He turned on his heel to face you, lifting his free hand to brush a strand of hair from your face.

“You doing okay?” He asked quietly, dark eyes boring into yours. “‘Cos we can leave, if you’re not. I don’t mind.”

You shook your head as Eddie cupped your cheek with his jewellery-heavy hand. The metal of his many rings was warm against your face and his skin warmer.

“I’m okay,” you told him honestly. Sure, you were shy and dead tired, but Eddie treating you like this was making you feel the opposite. “We can hang around for a bit longer.”

“Cool,” he beamed, eyes bright. His voice got soft as he added, “Just let me know when you want to go, okay?”

You nodded, feeling like you’d melt any second now. Eddie bought his other hand up to cup your face and held you there, leaning in to kiss you sweetly.

You felt his adoration like wildfire in your chest.

[abibliophobiaa]

The Writers: @abibliophobiaa, @blueywrites, @breddiemunson & @myosotisa.

Collaborators: @fracturedarkness, @myosotisa, @blue-mossbird, @breddiemunson & @abibliophobiaa.

(Make sure to follow along with all writers and collaborators, because you never know who might be posting blurbs for upcoming chapters...)

-

Soulmate!FakeMarriage!AU with Rockstar!Fboy!Eddie and Personal Assistant!Reader

Also Featuring Ronance

Eddie Munson has always cursed fate. Fuck you, fate, he says. I built my own success. You don’t dictate my life. And with dark flashing eyes and a manic smile, he proves his defiance.

Fuck you, fate, he says when the crowd is nothing but five drunks, so he toils and sweats until everyone knows his name.

Fuck you, fate, he says when the ink doesn’t take to his soulmark, so he buries it in black and red til it can’t be seen.

Fuck you, fate, he says when his publicist makes him marry an actress, so his hotel room becomes a revolving door of one night stands.

Fuck you, fate, he says, and Eddie Munson becomes someone who can’t be tamed.

But then you become his assistant. He kicks and claws, spits and sneers, fights til his knuckles go bloody and his nose stings with coke and tears.

In the end, he stops saying it.

18+ only for mature themes and eventual sexual content. Fem!reader, Fake marriage, Period-Typical Homophobia, Soulmate AU, Drug Use, Eventual Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Angst (with a happy ending)

-

Shmackin’ Tunes (Playlist)

Hot off the Press! (Prequel Material):

01/ 02/ 03/ 04/ 05/ 06/ 07/

Masterlist: (tag list open) 🏷️

Chapter One: NOW POSTED @blueywrites (9.9k)

Chapter Two: NOW POSTED @abibliophobiaa (9.1k)

Chapter Three: NOW POSTED @blueywrites (15K)

[joekeeryswife]

Deadbeat dad - e.m

hello angels! i hope you’re all okay. i am not after writing this, i’m legit in floods of tears. it is a sad dad/rockstar!eddie. i am legit heartbroken at this omfg. anyway, enjoy reading🩷 eddie’s part two x steve’s part two x

taglist (add yourselves 🩷) @eddieamoremio @theshireisonfire @thankingjoe @livsters @sadbitchfangirl @hellfire1986baby @ladyapplejackdnd @alexxavicry @juleshadalittlelamb @hollandweather @lovurry @bibieddiesgf @plk-18 @Heyyimmissunderstood @m-rae23 @sheisjoeschateau @hargrovesswifee @shiftingmack @chxrrysprxut @Idkjoequinn (if there’s a line through your @ i can’t tag you, lmk if you’ve changed your name🩷)

"i can't make it today, i'm really really busy" you sighed, rubbing your forehead with your free hand as you held the phone to your ear with your other. "this can't keep happening Eddie, she has been wanting to see you for weeks now" this was the third time this month Eddie had cancelled.

your sweet girl Penny had been ecstatic when Eddie spoke to her last week to say that he would be here this weekend and he wasn't. "well i'm sorry y/n but i have things to do. this band is really important to me" you weren't shocked. Eddie had always put the band before his family, that was why you and Eddie split up.

"she's your daughter, she can't fit her life around you anymore. she should be more important then that stupid band you have" you could hear Penny's footsteps upstairs meaning she was now awake. "you know what fuck you. i'm busy all the time and i've only cancelled once, get over yourself" you scoffed, not wanting to argue over the phone you asked one simple question.

"are you going to be here for her birthday next Saturday?" you just hoped for once that he would put his daughter first, she loved him but he just left her hanging all the time. "yes y/n i'll be there. what time" he sounded uninterested, like he didn't really care for the party but it was important to her that he was there.

you felt a little glimmer of hope that maybe he would change and make an effort for one day "be here by three, let me know before if you can't come because i'll have to tell her-" he cut you off "i got it bye" with that he ended the phone slamming it down harshly. you put the phone down and heard Penny quickly approaching the living room.

"mama i need to get ready for daddy" you looked at her with a sympathetic smile. her curls were all over the place but she looked so adorable, holding the small bear she had gotten for her first birthday. you opened your arms for her and she climbed into your lap allowing you to wrap your arms around her, you kissed her forehead a couple of times and sighed.

"daddy can't make it today sweetheart" you felt her shoulders drop. "but why?" her voice was quiet and filled with sadness making your heart break. you brushed her curls out of her face and stroked her cheek "i don't know baby". you saw her cuddle her teddy bear closer and felt her sigh deeply.

"it's okay mama we can do something together right?" she looked up at you as you looked down at her. her eyes were exactly like her dads, it was like looking at a mini Eddie was staring up at you. she only got a few features from you but she was beautiful, the prettiest little girl.

you smiled and nodded your hand running through her hair "of course we can, you pick" she smiled at you and thought about what she would like to do that day and you just prayed that Eddie made it to her party. it was one day, would he really miss his daughters birthday?

-

"is daddy coming today mama?" you heard Penny say as you set up the snack table in your spacious living room ready for the party which was in a few hours. you turned to look at her, she was dressed in a white dress with her curls laying perfectly in a ponytail. "i think so honey, he told me he was coming so i don't see why not"

today was the day you would see if Eddie would show up for his daughter. one day that was so special to her and you were still hoping that he would show up and surprise you all. Steve and Robin had come over to help with everything around the house and you were so grateful to have friends like them, who were willing to take the time to come to your house and help you.

"come on birthday girl, why don't we go upstairs and play with your toys" Robin said as she left you to finish up the snack table. once you heard her bedroom door close you sighed, you knew the chances were very slim that Eddie would show up and you just hoped that he would prove you wrong.

Steve was on a step ladder hanging up a huge banner when he turned to look at you, being careful he wouldn't fall off. "do you think he will turn up?" everyone who knew the situation with you and Eddie knew it was very unlikely that he would turn up.

"i don't think so but i can't say that to her today, i'm just hoping that he does. not for me but for her she deserves it" it had been three years since you and Eddie split up and he had seen Penny maybe 20 times. it went from him seeing her every time he came back here from work to him not making the effort in showing up for her.

"he is being stupid. if he doesn't show up he it's unforgivable. i'll punch him if you need me too" you laughed loudly. it was well known that Steve was not a good fighter but you appreciated the thought. "with your track record i think we should leave the fighting" you smiled at him and looked up at the clock on the wall.

three o'clock had been and gone meaning the party would start soon. "i think Wayne has taken the day off to see her though so that's nice. all her friends are coming so if he doesn't she might be distracted enough to not notice" Steve felt sad for you but especially Penny.

he knew what it was like to have parents that didn't care, didn't bother showing up and he was happy that Penny had you. you always went above and beyond for her and he always admired it. you heard the doorbell ring making you smooth out your dress "it looks perfect okay? i'll go get Penny you open the door" Steve stepped down from the ladder and took it with him as he left you.

you walked to the front door and looked through the peephole to see Wayne standing there with a small, neatly wrapped gift in his hand. "hi Wayne" you said as you opened the door with a smile on your face. Wayne smiled and opened his arms to greet you, you were lucky you always had an amazing relationship with Wayne.

he was always here when you needed him, he helped loads when you and Eddie split up and he always made time for Penny which was the most important thing. "how you doing?" you pulled away from the hug and moved to the side so he could come in.

"i'm okay, very emotional. i can't believe she's five, she's growing up" you followed him into the living room and sat down next to him on the sofa. "i know, seems like only yesterday i got the call from ed's that she'd been born" he instantly realised what he had said and stuttered out an apology which you dismissed "it's okay really, it's a happy memory" it was a touchy subject and you knew Wayne had no ill intentions saying that.

"grandpa Wayne" you heard Penny scream as she saw her grandad was here. "hi princess" he smiled as she ran to him and squealed when he picked her up and placed her on his lap so he could cuddle her. "happy birthday" he kissed her forehead and you smiled at the interaction.

even though bad things happened between you and Eddie, Wayne was always there to tell him that what he did was stupid and that he'd let go of the best thing that would ever happen to him, he was also there for you when you and for that you were forever grateful. Wayne never left.

"did you get everything you wanted" he asked as the two pulled away. you wanted to stay and watch the two of them but another knock at the door pulled you away from the small group.

the next people to arrive were Nancy, Jonathan, Dustin, Will and Mike. you could see a few cars pulling up outside your house so after you greeted them you kept the door open and waiting for them. you could hear Penny giggling in the living room which meant she was happy and that was all that mattered to you today.

once everyone was in the party the kids were dancing and singing whilst the adults lingered around the living room and kitchen talking to one another. you saw Penny and Lottie, one of her school friends dancing with one another making your heart swell with adoration. she looked just looked so happy.

you were standing with Dustin and Steve, watching the kids closely just incase something was to happen. "so, where's Eddie?" Dustin asked as he looked around the room you only sighed and shook your head. "i don't know, i told him to be here at three and it's now four thirty"

you knew something like this would happen just like your gut feeling was telling you it would. "maybe he's just running a little late? i mean it's his daughters birthday for gods sake he needs to be here for her" Dustin rolled his eyes and Steve felt anger filling his body. how could someone do something like this to Penny? the sweetest little girl didn't deserve this.

"i doubt it Dustin. its been almost a month since he last saw her and every weekend he tells her he's gonna be here and then that day rolls around and he isn't. she is heartbroken every time and i'm honestly so close to just cutting off visitation, it's not like he sees her anyway" Dustin nodded and scratched the back of his neck, Eddie was his friend but it was getting harder and harder to defend him.

"he's unfortunately going to find out the hard way, have you told him how this is making her feel?" you nodded and looked at Penny again who had the biggest smile on her face as she danced with more of her friends. "of course i have, every time i get hit with the 'this band is so important to me' but i just keep remembering what it was like before Corroded Coffin took off you know?"

before the band got recognition he worked as a mechanic with Wayne, he made time for you and Penny but it was like as soon as they got the fame he didn't care. his priority changed. "he used to care, he was an amazing dad and i loved him but now i'm stuck wondering how can one person change so quickly. she loves her dad and it breaks my heart seeing her excitement fade as soon as i tell her he isn't coming. it's just too much for her, it's too much for me"

you looked up at the ceiling as you felt tears fill your eyes, you could feel your lip tremble as you tried to keep them in. of course when you and Eddie broke up it broke you, you thought the two of you would be together forever and just seeing the man you love change within a few weeks hurt you badly.

"hey no no don't cry, he isn't worth your tears honey. you're doing an incredible job and he's an asshole" you felt Steve's arm wrap around your shoulders as he pulled you in for a hug. you took a deep breath shocked that you were managing to keep these tears at bay. "it's just one day that i wish he tried, i can manage the other times but it's her birthday and he can't even show up" both boys nodded and you felt Steve's hand stroke your arm.

"he's a dick, but i promise you have all of us and i know it's not how you envisioned your family but you make that little girl so happy and you've done it all on your own. let's try forget about him and enjoy it yeah?" you nodded and kissed Steve’s cheek.

it was now nearing the end of Penny’s party and she was sat on the small sofa which was by the window overlooking the front garden watching as each car drove by the house. she was hoping that one of them would stop and her dad would be there to surprise her but every time the car didn’t stop she felt sadness fill her body.

“sweetheart, everyone’s in the kitchen ready to do your birthday cake” you said as you walked into the living room. “daddy’s not coming is he” you could hear the upset in her voice and it just broke you. you sighed and walked to her and sat down next to her, it was just big enough to fit the two of you.

you stroked her cheek softly and nodded “i don’t think so baby, i’m so sorry” you just watched as she nodded, she wasn’t sulking but you could tell she was really upset. “do you think we could call him maybe? maybe he’s stuck in a jam” you knew what she meant, a traffic jam was a common excuse that you had used for Eddie not turning up.

“of course we can” you got up and walked to the phone which was by the tv and dialled Eddie’s number. the phone rang but of course there was no answer and you watched as she got up from the sofa a frown on her face. she walked to you and held out her hand so she could take the phone as she heard the voicemail beep meaning she could leave a message.

“daddy. are you coming to my party, i miss you” with no response she placed the phone back down on the holder and you kneeled down. she grabbed your hand tightly “it’s okay sweet girl, we will sort it i promise. come on everyone’s waiting for you” you kissed her cheek and stood up so the two of you could walk to the kitchen.

it was evident that she was sad as she listened to everyone sing happy birthday to her and when she blew out her candles, she wished that her dad would turn to her party and surprise her. but her wish unfortunately never came true.

-

it had been a week since Penny’s birthday party and you hadn’t heard from Eddie at all, he never returned the voice message Penny left and you couldn’t help but cry once Penny was in bed and everyone except Steve and Robin had left. you couldn’t get that sad look on her face out of your mind.

today Steve was round and had decided he was going to take you and Penny out to the mall for some shopping and some ice cream, he had promised Penny last week when she was sat on his lap crying into his neck that Eddie didn’t turn up.

it was four o’clock and all three of you were finally ready to go to the mall, Steve and Penny were in her room finishing up a puzzle they had started that morning. it was an easy one but Steve had acted like he didn’t understand it which made Penny explain it in what he described as the most perfect explanation he had ever heard.

you were putting on your shoes and waiting for them to finish up when a knock at your door pulled you out of your thoughts. you opened the door and was shocked to see Eddie standing there with a gift in his hands. “hey y/n, where is everyone. the party started an hour ago” he tried to brush past you but your hand stopped him from coming in.

“the party you’re talking about was last week Eddie, you knew that” you were furious, he’d turned up a week late. “no it’s not it’s today” you shook your head. “it wasn’t Eddie and if you answered your phone you would know that it was last week. did you not listen to the voicemail Penny left you?”

he shook his head and ran a hand through his hair “look i thought it was this weekend, it’s only a week why does it matter. i’ve come to spend the day with her” you scoffed and shook you head again, it was almost laughable.

“you’re joking with me right? you think that you can just turn up here a week late and act like that’s not okay? it was one day where i had begged you to come and you couldn’t even make the effort to show up. she’s devastated Eddie, you promised her” you almost shouted but you didn’t want to alert Penny and Steve that Eddie was here, you wanted him to leave.

“she’s busy today, like i said she doesn’t fit around your schedule anymore” Eddie rolled his eyes “i’m her dad, you can’t just stop me from seeing her” you looked him up and down, you hadn’t even realised how terrible he looked. pale, lifeless.

“you are no father Eddie, you stopped being her dad the minute your band got fame. you have no idea what it’s like to see her get hurt over and over again when you decide to not show up. maybe it’s because you’re with one of your groupies or maybe you’re too busy that day getting high with your friends i don’t care, i asked for one day. one day where you’d prove me wrong and you couldn’t even make the effort to see her on her birthday”

you just felt sad, he was nothing like the Eddie you had fallen in love with all those years ago but now when you see him you just feel angry, hurt and disgusted. “i’m sorry okay? i’ve come here to see her and i’d like to if you’d let me. i am her dad y/n and we can’t change that”

you head heavy footsteps walking down the stairs and footsteps approaching the door. you turned your head as you heard Penny laugh loudly at something Steve had said to her making Eddies focus change from you to her. she was in Steve’s arms hugging him exactly like she used to hug him and that hurt.

it took Steve a minute but he finally noticed Eddie standing there with a small gift in his hands. “oh shit” he whispered, his smile falling as he noticed yours and his hurt expression on your faces, both for completely different reasons. “hi Penny” she looked at the voice and saw Eddie standing there.

he had a small smile on his face as he took in her features. big brown eyes, curly hair which was exactly like his and lips, it was all him except for the small button nose she had obviously gotten from you. she looked at him with no expression, still hurt from what happened last weekend.

she turned away from him and dug her face into Steve’s neck. he took that as an indication that she didn’t want to see him so he walked away to the living room. Eddies smile dropped as he watched her and Steve walk away.

“he can’t just walk away with her, i wanted to see her. im her dad y/n, you can’t just take her away from me” he wasn’t angry, he was hurt that she’d turned away from him like that. “she doesn't see you as a dad anymore Eddie because you're never here” it hurt to tell him that but it was the truth.

his breathing stuttered as he heard that. yes he hadn’t been the perfect dad but he loved that little girl even if he didn’t show it. his eyes filled with tears, he wanted to say more, he wanted to stand there and fight but he didn’t want to cry in front of you so all he did was nod and hand the gift over to you. he bowed his head “i’m gonna uhh, try and change. i’m sorry y/n i really am” with that he walked away.

“i hope so Eddie” you whispered as you watched him walk to his car. you really did hope so.

[themunsonator5000]

Corroded Coffin front man, Eddie Munson, papped leaving Madison Square Garden after headlining the ‘World gone Upside-down’ tour - 1989

Please credit if you use

[joshlmbrt]

NOW PLAYING;

I’d Rather Go Blind. - e. munson thought

‘SOMETHING DEEP DOWN IN MY SOUL SAID, ‘CRY GIRL’.

w; hurt/no comfort, eddie having the stereotypical rockstar tendencies, lower case intended

an; sorry for this one YIKES

-> VALENTINES PLAYLIST HERE.

it started during February.

the moment you knew you’d lost Eddie.

he never seen it, you never told him. he probably would’ve done something - tried to change for the better.

but it wouldn’t have been the same you don’t think.

the version of eddie that you longed for was one you still believed was there, still lingering in the little things he does for you when you both have little time to spend together.

but you knew it was fully over when you watched him waltz into the room with two girls after the show.

gareth watches sadly, apologetic eyes shooting over to you on the plush couch.

eddie pulls away from them, walking towards you. “baby. hi.” he presses a messy kiss - more slobber than anything - to your lips.

“hi,” you mutter weakly. your hand twitches at the side - you wanted to wipe the slobber from your skin, but you’re scared that’s the last time you’ll feel anything kin to a kiss from eddie munson.

you glance over his bare sweaty shoulder, watching as red and pink lips tug into a smirk before whispering something indistinguishable, smudged eyeliner eyes cutting back to you every so often. you gulp.

“i-im not feeling to well,” you look back over at him. “i’m gonna go home.”

he hums, ringed fingers trying - and failing - to tap your thigh. “sounds good, sweetheart,” his speech was slurred, your heart breaks and eyes sting. “don’t wait up on me.”

you nod - though you would do the exact opposite - and stand from the couch, hurrying out of the room.

the tears spill out when you step out into the bitter wind, your hand coming up and furiously wiping at the ones that fall a little to quick.

you did exactly the opposite of what he told you to do - you waited up.

you did exactly the opposite when you should’ve left - you regretted it when you smelt the new perfume of the month.

now, a year later, eddie realizes when he lost you.

his stumbling and catching himself with his hands on the wall causes a loud ruckus making him wince and glance over to the bed.

his blinking was slow, delayed. head tilting when he sees you side made up and your book from the nightstand missing and replaced with a note.

suddenly he felt sober.

he steps further into the room, knee hitting the bed when he comes around to your side and pulls the note from the nightstand.

‘eddie,

i can’t do this anymore. i’m tired of worrying for you and wondering when you’re going to come back - i’m tired of smelling new perfume and cleaning off the different lipstick stains from your shirt.

i don’t love you anymore. good luck with everything.’

the world stops spinning under his boots and he suddenly falls to the bed.

his eyes stare down at the words.

i don’t love you anymore.

i don’t love you anymore.

i don’t love you anymore.

he doesn’t notice that he’s crying until some tears hit the paper, standing over the words. his breath shudders when he places the paper down, fingers gripping the pillow next to him.

he slowly puts it over his face, sobbing when he inhales your scent that hadn’t faded yet.

a scream leaves his throat, muffled against the pillow, his body keeling over as his shoulders shake.

he didn’t think he would lose you.

he didn’t want to lose you.

i don’t love you anymore.

💌 eddie tags; @officerrrfriendly, @queercodedcharacter, @lavendermunson, @whisperingwillowxox, @hazydespair

some moots that might enjoy! if you’d like to be untagged - let me know! ; @s6raphic, @xxhellfirebunnyxx, @meet-me-backstage, @readbydayana

thank you for reading! comments, reblogs, requests, likes, & feedback is encouraged, welcomed, & deeply appreciated! 🧸

[taintedcigs]

GETAWAY CAR — rockstar!e.m. x f!reader

CHAPTER TWO: WHERE I END YOU BEGIN

← prev chapter // next chapter →

✦ summary: in which reader is upset with eddie for kissing chrissy and more about reader's relationship with billy is revealed. (wc: 5.2k+)

✦ warnings — ANGSTANGSTANGST, pining and slowburn, arguments!!!, strong language!, mentions of alc*hol and smoking , eddie is a bit mean, toxic billy!! he's emotionally ab*sive, kinda car accident? but not rlly

✦ pairings — rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader, past billy hargrove x fem!reader

series masterlist | series playlist

You were sure your entire world had shattered around you. If only you were as cool and collected as you painted yourself out to be, maybe you could get over it. 

Maybe you could get over the fact that Eddie was locking lips with fucking Chrissy. 

You could feel your eyes water, you don’t even know what you mumbled to the two of them before you disappeared off to the backyard.

Nancy, Max and Dustin were too busy in the kitchen to notice anything, but Jonathan had witnessed it all, he wasn’t too far behind you. 

Your hands were clammy as they dug into the back pocket of your jeans, shaking from the anger radiating off your body. It didn’t help when the lighter in your hands caught your attention.

That stupid pink dragon lighter.

The one Eddie specifically painted hot pink right after you told him to do so. And before you knew it, the seething rage consumed you, blood boiling as you threw the lighter in the ground, along with the cigarette on your hand, squishing it with your shoe until it broke apart, tobacco spilling out from the crevices, “Shitshitshit—” you cursed as you stared at the mess you made on the ground.

“Uh-uhm…” Jonathan spoke up, approaching you with caution when you turned around to face him. You slightly huffed as you took another cigarette from your pack, putting it between your lips before Jonathan started speaking.

“You okay?” He asked, the cold look you gave him with the cigarette sitting on your lips was enough for him to throw his hands up in defeat, “Here,” He offered when he reached for his back pocket, offering you a lighter. Murmuring a quick ‘Thank you’ you took it without hesitation, the flame briefly illuminating your face as you lit the cigarette. You knew you were being a bit of a bitch, but you were spiraling, mind fizzling with the thoughts of her all over him. 

“I-I’m fine.” You struggled to get that sentence out, tone betraying you and your eyes were looking anywhere but at Jonathan. You took a deep breath, mind filled with everything that transpired in the last hour, and he eyed you with pity.

“’M sorry, Jon,” You muttered, “I know this is your big weekend and I’m already bringing it down with my stupid drama.” He was quick to shake his head, “Don’t be ridiculous,” He reassured you.

“We’re both really glad you’re here, okay? I know Nance could never get through this weekend without you.” He gave you a slight pat on your back, comforting you further. 

“But what the hell is she even doing here?” You asked, eyes trained toward the sliding door that had the view of Chrissy still giggling at Eddie.

Jonathan swallowed, physically,  “Shit...” He scratched the back of his neck nervously, knowing he was treading on thin ice. “Look, before I tell you this, I should let you know that I don’t think Eddie has any idea of all the shit she said to you during our senior year.” He breathed. 

“So don’t go all you on him yet, yea?” You shrugged, face still sour, you couldn’t promise him anything. It didn’t matter if Eddie didn’t know the whole story; he still knew some of the things she did, and it infuriated you that he still dared to have whatever the fuck they had. Your logic went out the window the second you saw the two of them together; it didn’t matter what Eddie actually knew because it fucking hurt. It hurt to see him be so cold toward you and then snuggle up to Chrissy. 

“You know that gig Eddie’s band had last week?” You nodded curtly, Eddie told you about the gig approximately ten minutes before locking lips with that little traitor.

"Well... Chrissy was at the gig," Jonathan admitted, a heavy sigh escaping him as he braced himself for your reaction. "And they met there, and they've been kinda hanging out since then..." You had never seen Jonathan this nervous, maybe it was the way your gaze turned so icy and intense, or the way your jaw clenched, or your unhinged behavior for the last five minutes.

“Real cute,” You murmured, chuckling dryly, you took another drag from the cigarette sitting between your index fingers as if it were a lifeline.

Jonathan rubbed his forehead stressfully, “Just talk to him…” Your head snapped at him. “I don’t want to,” You replied childishly, earning a scoff from him. 

“Well, I think you’re gonna have to,” He said with a slight snort, causing your attention to divert to where his gaze fell, Eddie was eyeing the two of you as he opened the sliding door, making his way over to you. 

“Fuck off,” You muttered.

“Be nice,” Jonathan warned, brows raising as he brushed past you. He greeted Eddie with a slight pat on the back before he rushed inside, leaving the two of you alone. 

Your eyes rolled unintentionally when Eddie approached your side. You wanted to tell him to fuck off and go find his girlfriend, but you decided to save your petty remarks for later. 

“Got a lighter?” He asked, voice muffled by the cigarette sitting between his lips. You nodded without looking in his direction and pointed toward the ground where you had previously chucked the lighter in a fit. 

Eddie chuckled before he reached down to grab it, freezing the moment he did so. 

Shit shit shit shit.

Was that?

You actually kept it?

"Uh..." he stammered, still caught off guard by the sight of the lighter. "Pink dragon, huh?"

“Hmm?” You hummed, head popping up in his direction to see Eddie holding your lighter, the one he made for you. 

“Oh…yeah.” You replied awkwardly, still unable to meet his gaze fully. 

With the flick of his thumb, Eddie lit his cigarette before handing the lighter back over to you. "You—uh... dropped this," he said, a hopeful smile on his face.

You accepted the lighter but promptly chucked it from his hands with an annoyed 'Thanks,' not in the mood for his nice gesture.

“You were right… Pink dragons are cool.” He tried to gain your attention, but you just hummed again.

“Jesus…” He sighed. “Did I do something wrong?” He asked cluelessly.

Was he joking? Or was he just trying to get back at you?

You chuckled dryly. “No… no… You just kissed my sworn enemy, is all.” You narrowed your eyes childishly.

“Sworn enemy?” He quirked a brow. “What are you, five?”

“Yeah.” 

“She tried to hook up with your boyfriend five years ago, Pinky… Are you really holding a grudge for some shitty mistake she made when she was a teenager?”

Oh.

Jonathan was right; he thought this was just about Billy. So he didn’t know a fucking thing. But that excuse wasn’t enough to quell the seething rage fueling inside of you. 

“You don’t know what you are talking about—” 

“If you’re still holding onto things that happened five years ago, then what about me?” He threw his hands up angrily, interrupting you. 

Jesus fucking Christ. It boggled your mind how quickly your conversations went from calm to angry now, and it made you realize how bitter both of you have become. How unrecognizable he was to you now because you had made him this way. It was all your fucking fault, and those anxious voices in your head echoed the same sentiment, making you feel smaller with each passing moment. 

“What should I fuckin’ do?” He spat.

You weren’t emotionally or physically ready to delve into this now, especially not after seeing him kiss Chrissy. You did want to talk to him eventually, but not like this; there had to be a way to talk about you leaving him without reopening your own wounds. You couldn’t handle that.  

“Should I tear you a new one for leaving me all alone in LA?” 

“Don’t…” You warned, eyes getting glossy just at the mention.

“Don’t what? Tell the fuckin’ truth." He shot back, frustration and resentment coursing through his words.

“Why do I have to protect your feelings when you were so fucking careless about mine?” He was supposed to sound angry, but you could hear the emotion in his tone, his voice slightly cracking as you avoided his gaze.

“You don’t have any fucking idea what you’re talking about, Eddie—” You yelled back.

Eddie wasn't willing to let it go, “Then tell me!” He demanded, a note of desperation in his voice.

“I didn’t come here to do this! To talk about… Jesus.” You sighed, fingers rubbing your temples to relieve the headache this day was giving you.

"Look, Eddie," you began, your tone softening slightly, "I'm here for Nancy and Jonathan, and them only. I know that's why you're here too. I don't want to cause them any more drama than I already have, okay?" Your voice was calm, but the frustration still simmered beneath the surface.

“You—you’re so frustrating.” Eddie breathed.

“You do realize that the whole fucking world doesn’t revolve around you, right?” He added.

With a heavy sigh, you gathered your belongings and stood up abruptly. “Fine!” You exclaimed.

“I’ll be the mature one.” You heaved a sigh, leaving without turning to look back at him, mind tuning out whatever he was saying to you.

When you returned back inside, you could feel Max and Nancy’s curious gaze on you, and you could practically feel Jonathan's stolen glances as he conversed with the rest of Eddie's band and Chrissy.

Her obnoxious laugh was grating on your last nerve; you were being bitter and jealous, and it certainly was not a good look on you. You bit the inside of your cheek when you threw her a glance, the metallic taste of blood flooding your senses, and before you knew it, her annoying cackle came to an abrupt halt as she sensed your gaze, swallowing physically before she followed you. 

Your eyes involuntarily rolled when you felt Chrissy's fingers gently tapping your shoulder. Slowly, you turned to face her. "Hey," she murmured, her eyes avoiding yours as if she couldn't bear to meet your gaze.

“Hey,” You bit back on your tongue; if you didn’t, you’d say a whole lot of things you were sure you’d regret.

“Can—can we talk? In private?” Her eyes met yours now; you could see the emotions they held, but you couldn’t care now.

Why did you always have to care about how other people felt? They’d hurt you just fine; why couldn’t you even do one ounce of the same thing to them? Why was it always you who had to embrace the pain and guilt, while everyone else was absolved of them?

“I—I can’t,” You didn’t mean to stutter, but it was so hard to lie when she was this close to your face that you hurried off to Nancy and Max’s side without another word. 

“You okay?” Nancy asked in a concerned tone. 

“I’m fine!” You waved her off, the crack in your voice and your glossy eyes were enough proof of that being a lie, but they left it alone, nodding understandingly as Nancy gave you a gentle squeeze on your shoulder. 

“I—I think I just need to go home and rest for a bit… That okay with you?” The gentleness of your voice was aching both of them; it had barely been a few hours since you got to Hawkins, and all you had was that pout on your face. 

“Of course!” Nancy replied without hesitation. 

“You need a ride?” You asked, turning to Max.

She shook her head quickly. “I’ve got a car.” She pointed toward the Camaro sitting in the garage. You clearly missed it for some reason. 

“Oh.” You accidentally blurted out, that Camaro was just nightmare fuel for you now, and you wished you had never seen it again. “Right—uh… I forgot you have a license now.” You added with a silly smile stuck to your lips, wanting to change the topic.

“Do you need anything else?” You asked, your tone shifting back to one of genuine care as you turned to face Nancy. She shook her head, a warm smile gracing her lips.

“You sure?” You raised your brows.

“Stop worrying about me!” Nancy playfully exclaimed.

“I’m fine, I swear I’m fine. Mom’s calling me every few minutes to make sure everything is perfect, trust me, she’s taking care of everything.” You nod silently, a smile almost gracing your lips, when she chides you, god, you had missed this small idiotic town. 

“Pinky, when I made you my maid of honor... I didn’t do it because I wanted you to handle the wedding plans. I honestly would actually rather you stay out of it, you’re pretty bad at planning.” You let out a slight dramatic gasp at her words, causing her to huff. 

“Let me get to my point!” She gave you a knowing look. 

“I did it because you are the closest person to me, because I don’t want someone who’s good at planning with me at the wedding, I can do that myself. I want my person by my side. I want you. You’re my family… like a half-Wheeler.” You chuckle, accepting the reassuring grip she has on your hand. 

You give her a nod, silently returning the things she said to you, thanking her and telling her you love her, and she understands, accepts it, and translates your emotions without you opening your mouth. 

“So, I’m assuming you don’t need anything?” You asked with a sheepish smile, causing Nancy to narrow her eyes. 

“Just go!” She orders. “Okay, okay!” 

“I’m going.” You huffed, not realizing Chrissy was behind you again. 

“Can we please just talk?” She was begging at this point, but the last thing you wanted to do was be in close proximity to her. You sighed deeply, your patience running thin. “I have to go, Chrissy.”

“Wait—just five minutes, please,” Chrissy breathed, the desperation in her voice making you huff and turn around to face her. Your mouth slightly opened as if you were about to cuss her out, and if you didn’t shut it tight, something about Eddie was going to slip out.

But right then, of course, Eddie fucking Munson stepped into the picture, slinging an arm over Chrissy’s shoulder before throwing you a daggering look.

You couldn’t tell if Eddie was doing this to piss you off or that he had genuinely started caring about Chrissy in what? A fucking week?

Your guilt against him was turning into rage, and you didn’t know how to handle it. Each of your hands itched to separate them, make sure he didn’t touch her, and make sure they stayed the fuck away from each other.

But this was about Nancy and Jonathan; you weren’t going to cause a scene, and you were going to play nice, at least until you couldn’t handle it.

“I think you’re fine,” You said bitterly, trying to ignore the jealousy burning your insides, and your insecurities were quick to seep into your skin, making you feel worthless.

“No… wait,” Chrissy called out, but you didn’t give them another look.

“See you at Steve’s tomorrow,” You muttered to Nancy as you passed by her, your tears were burning at this point; if you didn’t go home soon, you were going to explode.

As soon as you ran to your car, of course only one thing had your attention. 

The Camaro. 

FIVE YEARS AGO.

The sound coming from the engine was loud—so loud that over Billy’s screams, you could hear it roaring, terrifying you further. Max was in the back, holding on for dear life, when you were gripping your seat, attempting to stay calm to avoid scaring her further. Billy’s screams filled the silence of the car, and his thumbs tapped along to the song ‘Wango Tango’ as he hummed to it. He had been angry ever since the two of you had a fight during lunch break. 

You thought he would’ve calmed down by now, but the way he was driving told you otherwise. You wanted to scream, yell, and tell him to slow down, but no words dared to come out of your mouth when the speed of the car was still rising. Your grip on the car seat was so tight that you could feel your nails painfully digging through it. You always seemed to freeze when Billy got angry, feeling helpless, as did Max.

“Would you look at that?” He hummed excitedly, pointing towards a van, and your head was quick to cock in the direction he pointed, eyes squinting before you realized who the car belonged to.

You could recognize that set of curly hair and that messy van from anywhere, and your eyes widened. Eddie was standing two cars ahead of you. “Billy…” You called out his name as Max’s head popped up at your shaky voice. Realizing what was going to happen, you stood frozen.

“Isn’t that the freak of Hawkins, huh?” Billy smirked, nudging your shoulder. Your eyes were focused on the road, and as Billy was pushing the gas with all the force he had, you bit the inside of your cheek.

“You always hang out with that asshole at school, yea? Let’s see if he wants to see you after too, huh?” He smirked, with a harsh steer of the wheel, he passed the car in front of him, shaking the three of you. 

Your nails dug further into your seat. “Billy, this is not funny.” You screeched while Billy gave you another chuckle, almost as if he was enjoying it.

“Billy.” You spoke up again to get his attention, but he just faked a pout at your terrified face as he kept tapping his fingers to the rhythm of Wango Tango.

“Stop it, Billy!” You yelled this time; your heart was pounding in your ears, and your hands were shaking with fear as you attempted to gain his attention.

The loud noises Billy provided and the roaring engine of the car caused Max to sink into her seat, covering her ears in an attempt to drown out all the voices. 

That sight of her alone made your blood boil. You turned to Billy with a roll of your eyes. “Will you stop?” You asked, eyes fiery, but your voice remained calm; you were still afraid of aggravating him further. 

“Stop what, baby?” Billy said in a mocking tone, his feet further digging into the gas as the speed of the car rose again. He gave you another playful smirk. 

Your eyes squinted in fury; the anger bubbling inside of you was getting harder to ignore, and with just one car ahead you knew he was getting closer to Eddie. 

“Stop it,” you said with a stern voice this time, fingers still shakily holding onto your seat. But he ignored you once again.

“Billy fucking stop it.” You warned with your raised voice, heartbeat picking up when he steered the wheel harshly to pass the other car standing between him and Eddie. 

This was like some fucked up dick measuring contest to him; he didn’t even fucking care that Max was in the car, possibly having a panic attack in the back.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Your clammy hands pounded against his shoulders in an attempt to get his attention, but he was still mocking you, singing along to the song loudly.

All of it made a buzzing sound to Max; she was used to this by now, from her parents and from the two of you. So she shut all of it off, covering her ears, watching almost in slow motion as you kept on hitting Billy, pleading with him to stop.

He was getting closer and closer, and you nervously bit your lips, legs bouncing up and down since you knew Eddie probably had no fucking idea because of how careless he was when he drove with that metal music blasting through his speakers. 

“I told you to fucking stop!” You screeched again, face feeling hot as you repeated it like a mantra. Your whole body tensed as you looked back on the road and saw how close he had gotten to Eddie’s car. He was probably still oblivious, and anxiety gnawed at your insides. You needed to do something, and you needed to do it now.

Your head turned to the side of the road, gaze stuck on how it was mainly grass. Maybe if you could turn the car off the road...

You looked back at Max to make sure she had her seatbelt on and was safe in her seat. You didn’t care if your idea was stupid or careless; your logic went out the window the second you saw how willing Billy was to hurt Eddie in any fucking way. 

With a deep breath, you quickly grabbed a hold of the wheel. With no other idea in mind, you forcefully turned it off the road, shaking the three of you in an instant. Your head hit the back of your seat, but you didn’t care. Eddie was safe.

Billy cursed you out and stepped on the pedal with force. The impact was hard on you, but again, you didn’t care; he couldn’t possibly hurt Eddie now.

Billy’s stupid song on the radio was all that filled the car now, and all you could do was groan. Your head was pounding when you tried to face Max, she was curled up in a ball, shaking like a leaf, and that sight alone was enough for the fear jolting through your entire body to turn into rage.

What the actual fuck was wrong with him?

Feeling suffocated, you quickly opened the door. With a quick struggle, you managed to get out, inhaling a deep breath as the fresh air around you provided you with a little sense of comfort.

But it didn’t matter. You were out of his car, and Eddie was safe.

You dropped your hands to your knees, breathing raggedly as you attempted to calm yourself, ignoring the sound of Billy exiting the car and slamming the door shut rather loudly, cursing you out.  

Your head perked up in anger, and your eyes were livid as you rushed to his side. He was still in shock when you pushed him by his shoulders harshly. Your tears were now escaping freely when the realization of what happened hit you.

“What is wrong with you?” Your voice was loud, and you were a babbling mess with how much you were sobbing. Billy stood still while he hollowed his cheeks in anger, waiting for your tantrum to be over.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You repeated, and your hands were quick to pound against his chest again, but before you could make any contact, he grabbed both of your wrists in an instant, causing you to look up at him with glossy eyes.

“Me?” Billy asked, chuckling ironically. “You drove the fucking car out of the road! And you’re fucking asking me what is wrong?” He let go of your wrists harshly as he rubbed his hands against his cheek. A humorless smile played on his lips as he let out a short chuckle that burned with anger and resentment.

“Are you insane, Billy?” You asked; you were still yelling, but now your tone was more composed, and your tears were drying out. “Are you fucking crazy?” You asked, not expecting an answer.

“You were going to get us killed! You… you were going to get him killed!” Your muscles tensed.

He laughed sarcastically, shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s about him, isn’t it?” He pinched his brows together, taking a step closer toward you. “You got mad because it was that asshole Munson kid, wasn’t it?” His jaw was clenched, but this time it felt like his anger had turned to hurt.

“Oh, my god.” You chuckled ironically, your hands hitting your forehead in disbelief. “Are you kidding me, are you fucking kidding me, Billy?” You asked, genuinely this time.

“Billy, you could have hurt us! You could have hurt Max! You scared the shit out of her!” You yelled, and Max’s head perked up.

“This isn’t about Eddie, Billy. This is about you acting like a fucking maniac!” You were shaking with anger.

His voice, once filled with anger, softened into a gentle tone as he realized the impact he had on you.

You were afraid of him.

And a wave of guilt washed over him, the familiar wobble of your lips reminding him of his mom, a sense of déjà vu overwhelming him completely and leaving him feeling small and ashamed. “Are you okay?” His anger had disappeared on a whim now.

Your eyes were fixated on the ground now, lips pursed as you were unable to give him an answer. Billy heaved a sigh, ignoring all of what you had said. “Let’s just… let’s get going.” He murmured; his anger was now washed away with sadness, something you rarely saw Billy in. The realization that you were afraid of him tore at his conscience and ate away at him.

He attempted to softly grab your arm, but you withheld, “No! I’m not getting in that car with you.” You yelled, face souring.

“Baby, just... please.” His voice was soft, it was boggling how fast he could go from scaring the shit out of you to being soft all over again.

The nickname further angered you; he didn’t get to use it to soften you after what he did. “No, Billy, you almost fucking hurt us!” You exclaimed.

You breathed before you continued your rant, “I’m done trying to help you, trying to help you do better, because you’re a selfish fuck who does whatever he wants!” You screeched. “You don’t even care who you hurt in the process, Billy! Look at Max, fucking look at her!” You were screaming the last words, and your sobs had returned, Billy was stunned in front of you.

He took a step back, his eyes filled with regret, and he reached out to gently hold your trembling hands, but you flinched.

He swallowed hard; the weight of his guilt threatened to crush him. He finally saw that familiar mix of fear and vulnerability in your eyes, you always looked at him like that after an argument. 

He squeezed his eyes shut to avoid any tears, and to escape the guilt, he couldn’t cry—no, not in front of you. “Just leave me the fuck alone, Billy.” You spat out while Max was still watching from afar.

“I’m… sorry.” Billy let out weakly and you scoffed at him, knowing that sorry would not fix anything that he just did, you turned your back around to start walking away from him. “Please… just come with me, I can’t leave you here.” He pleaded desperately; you had never heard him like this before, and you were doing everything in your willpower to not turn around.

“I’ll… Fuck—I’ll drive slow, okay?” His voice rang in your ears, but you didn’t care; you were going to keep walking away from him and his anger.

At least that was your plan, until Max finally opened her car door.

“Please, just come with us…” She murmured, her tone so meek and afraid that you couldn’t bear to say no to her. 

You didn’t want to leave her alone with Billy. You heaved a sigh of breath, her second ‘Please’ stopping you dead in your tracks before you turned around to meet her fearful eyes. 

You looked back at Billy with a spiteful look, almost to let him know that this was only for her, then you walked back to the car.

The ride home was filled with a dreadful silence, Billy stole a few glances at you to make sure you were okay, your eyes remained on the road, and Max fiddled with her fingers as she pretended to listen to her Walkman.

When he dropped you off that day, you were sure that was the last time you were going to be with Billy.

But as usual, your promises to yourself meant nothing; you couldn’t help but soften immediately when Billy held you as you sobbed in his arms, his fingertips gently caressing your face as he kissed away your sadness, tasting your salty tears on his tongue.

It was always messy. But everything with him was messy. His calloused hands wrapped around your frame tightly, but still, his kisses were gentle.

The fights always ended with you in his arms, bodies wrapped around each other, as he murmured compliments in your ear, affirming how much he loved you and how afraid he was of losing you.

This was the Billy that only you get to see, and it was different compared to the Billy he portrayed himself to be in public; he was still filled with anger, and he was still an asshole, but he always knew what to say to get you hooked on him, and he treated you with kid gloves whenever he noticed how he had fully broken you.

It was a cycle at this point, each time getting worse as Billy’s anger got more uncontrollable. He would get mad at you, it would turn into a full blown argument, and you would be a sobbing, blabbering mess. When he realized how much he had fucked up, he would finally soften, trying to mend what he had ruined. It was a cycle you didn’t dare get out of, suffocating you further.

NOW.

 He would always talk about how afraid he was that he would turn into his father. What a fucking joke, you thought to yourself, wanting to laugh at the irony of that asshole. That haunting memory replayed in your head like some kind of a never-ending nightmare. Your mind was playing tricks on you, and you couldn’t help it. By the time you got home, the only thing you could do was plop yourself on your bed.

Tears streaming down your cheeks weren’t any of your concern; the dusty and mess filled house should’ve been, but all you could do was lay down and let it all out. 

You fell asleep like that, laying in a fetal position, sobbing until your tears dried out. And that’s the last thing you remembered before you heard a faint thud. 

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Your head snapped up quickly at the sound, groaning as you curiously headed to the source of the annoying tapping noise.

Something—or rather, someone was tapping something against your window and you were going to give them a piece of your fucking mind—

You approached the window furiously, almost yanking the sheer curtains as you saw that curly head, and you knew instantly. 

Eddie?

You opened the window with a roll of your eyes. “Are you insane?!?” You yelled, getting his attention before he threw another rock.

“Thank fucking god! I thought you were dead!” He yelled back, huffing as your face appeared in the window.

“What?” 

“I called your landline like a thousand times!” He breathed; He was wearing one of his own band tees, a guitar pick was adorning his neck, and his curls were more defined now. And you hated how the first thing you thought was how good he looked.

“I haven’t been here in five years, you doofus! I don’t think it even works.” You shook your head, and even though the two of you were supposed to be mad at each other, you couldn’t help it when your lips etched into a smile.

You ruffled your hands through your hair, he threw the pebbles he had in his hand to the ground, dusting them off before he turned his attention to you. “C’mon, let’s go.” His voice lowered this time, eyes hopeful and so beautifully brown that you wanted to drown in their warmth.

“What?” You asked, a baffled look overtaking your features.

“I want to take you somewhere.” He shrugged, head hanging high to keep your gaze.

You sighed. “Eddie, what are you–”

He groaned. “Just get in.” He almost sounded demanding, and your brows pinched together before he muttered out a “Please.”

He could hear your grunts before you closed the window, cursing him out as you hurried off for a change of clothes.

You didn’t know what the fuck the two of you were going to do, but it didn’t matter.

Eddie wanted to take you somewhere, and now you couldn’t help the way your heart fluttered. Because it meant something, it meant that this could be fixed. That there was still some hope. 

[neonghostlights]

Part two to this

You wrapped your arms around yourself as you sat on the carpet in front of Robins coffee table.

Vickie had made you some tea to help the nerves but it did nothing to calm the storm brewing in your stomach.

You stared at the photo of yourself as you walked out of the emergency room doors, still in your light blue scrubs. You had your work bag slung over your shoulders and you looked completely and utterly exhausted as you walked out of your nightshift.

You flipped back through the pages, seeing how beautiful the other women associated with Eddie were, it was a punch straight into your chest to see your photo compared to theirs.

“You’re torturing yourself,” Robin called from where she stood with the phone pressed against her ear. She had immediately called Steve who was currently on the other side of the country on a business trip. “Steve wants to know if you need him to come home?”

You sighed before shutting the magazine. You knew you would just end up opening it again like you had at least ten times since Vickie spotted it in the checkout line at the grocery store earlier that day.

“No. Tell him I said to have fun in New York,” you said as cheerful as you could manage.

Robin frowned and went back to muttering to Steve.

You avoided every mention of Eddie Munson at all costs for the past six years. Of course, with as famous as he was it was hard to always avoid.

You didn’t want to get dragged into whatever it was he had going on.

You had done nothing wrong, just living your life and working as a very tired resident in the hospital.

You closed your eyes, the image of that day engrained in your memory, the day that Eddie called your relationship off in favor to have some freedom on the west coast while playing his music.

You knew you two had been growing more and more distant you with being busy in college and him trying to get his music career off the ground.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Vickie said softly as she sat on the couch behind you. “Why take pictures of you? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Steve said he’s getting a lawyer,” Robin chirped as she threw herself down on the couch beside her girlfriend.

“No. No lawyer. It’s just going to make it worst,” you groaned.

“You know how crazy Eddie-shit, sorry, assholes fans can get. It’s not great that your name is associated with him,” Robin argued.

“It’s also not great to draw anymore attention to it. I think that this will all blow over and no one will even care by next week,” you said, pushing yourself up off the floor and walking to the window.

The phone rang and Robin hopped up, muttering my about how Steve can’t go more than five seconds without hearing her voice.

Vickie rolled her eyes at you with a smile at Robins antics.

“Wait, wait, wait, slow down. Let me see what she says,” Robin said loudly to the person on the other end of the phone.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, whatever it was, it couldn’t be worst than your picture and name making national headlines.

“It’s Dustin. Eddie called him and he wants to talk to you.”

[strangemagicc]

Lucky You

pairings: vampire!rockstar!Eddie x fem!Reader, sort of set in the world of True Blood (but not really)

warnings: smut, smut, smut (again I say 18+ ONLY!), p in v, oral (reader receiving), slight dom!Eddie, unprotected sex, creampie, mentions of blood/blood drinking, biting(???), cursing, alcohol

w/c: 4.5k

author’s note: I had a very vivid dream of Eddie as Lestat from Queen of the Damned…it just needed to happen.

The October air blew cold against your bare legs sending a chill down your spine. The streets of Chicago were full, the sounds of the city and the muffled music from inside the club filling the air around you. You and your friend Toby had been standing in line for nearly an hour trying to get into Fangtasia.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” He leaned in and whispered to you. You looked to him with a purse of your lips, eyes narrowed as you watched him scan the crowd that stood behind you. Toby wasn’t exactly keen on being in a room full of vampires.

“Will you relax? I’ve been here a million times. They’re just like you and I. Harmless.” He rolled his eyes and looked at you incredulously.

“You mean to tell me that these walking corpses are harmless?”

“They’re not corpses,” you rolled your eyes and stepped forward as the line continued to move.

“Are they dead?” He asked, folding his arms as he waited for your response.

“Technically speaking,” you smirked knowing exactly where he was going with this.

“Walking corpses, there is no argument,” he waved his hands as though his point was proven.

“Toby, it’s going to be fine. It’s all about consensual fun, they don’t bite unless you want them to,” you grabbed his hands and gave them a squeeze.

“Why would anyone want that?” He asked as you dropped his hands and reached for your ID. You smiled as you approached your favorite bouncer, Frank. He was a tall man with broad shoulders and biceps bigger than your head.

“Hi, Frankie,” you winked and handed him your ID.

“You know I don’t need to see that,” he scoffed playfully and pushed your license away. You had been a frequent flyer as of late.

“How did I know I was going to see you tonight?” He teased as Toby handed the bouncer his ID.

“Must have magical foresight,” you played along and the man handed Toby back his card.

“Nothing to do with Corroded Coffin playing a not so secret show?” He removed the velvet rope to let the two of you through.

“They are?” You stated with faux surprise.

“Uh-huh, that’s what I thought,” Frank laughed, “Enjoy the show, Hubble.”

You walked through the double doors of the club, the muffled music becoming louder as the two of you walked down the hall leading to the dance floor.

“Why does he call you Hubble?” Toby asked as he walked in step with you.

“I don’t know, something about how I always look like I’m lost in space or whatever,” you waved it off, adjusting the hem of your skirt before pushing at your cleavage.

“How do I look?” Toby looked you up and down, mouth dropping as he noticed the length of your skirt…or lack thereof.

“Like vamp bait.”

“Great.” You continued down the hall and Toby followed a step behind you.

“What do you mean ���great’? Are you nuts?”

“Tobs, I love you, but you need to chill. I just want to have a little fun.” You wanted to fuck the lead singer of your favorite band but he didn’t need to know your every thought.

“Let’s go dance,” he stared at you with his jaw agape as you grabbed his hand and led him to the dance floor.

Fangtasia was packed, a mass of people crowding in front of the stage as the opening act played their set. The sound of the instruments and the singer’s voice reverberated off the walls. The room was cast in shades of blue, glimmers of candlelight came from various spots throughout. Couples were in different stages of embrace, canoodling and groping each other on the leather sofas that were scattered throughout. Bodies swayed to the music, sweat glistening under the colorful lights. You took it in, basking in the ambiance as Toby stood next to you unsure.

“What the,” he started.

“Isn’t it great?” You mused before pulling him towards the edge of the stage.

“Do we have to be this close?” He leaned into you and you turned toward him, eyebrow raised in a question that you didn’t need to voice out loud. If you were going to a Corroded Coffin show you were going to be at the front of the pit, practically sitting in Eddie’s lap.

The crowd erupted in scattered cheers as the opening act finished their set.

“Thank you, Fangtasia! You’re always a great crowd. Who’s excited to see Corroded Coffin tonight?” The audience grew louder.

“Yeah, we’re pretty excited too,” the lead singer laughed.

“Thanks again! We’re Hell Hath No Fury and we hope to see you next time we blow through Chicago. Give it up for Corroded Coffin.” The crowd cheered as the lights faded to black, you watched as the opening band exited the stage and the stage hands set up for the main show. Excitement coursed through you like a live wire as you waited for them to start. Toby continued to stand stoic and unimpressed by his surroundings. When Eddie took the stage you could almost feel it, an electricity buzzing in the air. You grabbed onto Toby as you jumped in elation.

The strum of the guitar introduced them, mellow and intoxicating. The room was illuminated in red as Eddie began to sing and it was as if the rest of the room faded away. Your focus was on him, body swaying to the instrumentals as you got lost in the sound. From the corner of your eye you could see Toby bobbing his head, enjoying the music whether he wanted to admit it or not.

The sound of the waves collide

It was as though his vocals were vibrating through you and straight to your sensitive core. You clenched your thighs together as the song continued, head lost in a trance. Eddie’s eyes scanned the crowd, engaging and then they landed on you. It was almost hypnotic the way they pulled you in, piercing brown boring into your gaze. He didn’t pull away and your heart began beating loudly as heat rushed to your cheeks.

Take me one more wave

Take me for one last ride

You swallowed hard and averted your gaze, unable to handle the intensity. It felt like your veins were on fire and sweat beaded at your temples. When you looked back Eddie was smirking, dimples appearing as he continued his set.

“I need water,” you pulled Toby with you to the bar, sweaty palms clasped together. You waved over the bartender when you reached the wooden bar. The brunette nodded an acknowledgment and you reached for your purse.

“That was actually pretty good,” Toby admitted as you dug for your wallet.

“I’ve been telling you that the shows are pretty killer.”

“Yeah but you also like Dido so forgive me for being apprehensive.”

“You just don’t appreciate good music, Tobs.” You poked his side and he winced at the contact. He did not like to be tickled.

“What can I get the two of you?” The bartender asked as she placed napkins in front of you.

“I’ll just take a water and he’ll have,” you turned to Toby.

“I’ll take a rum and coke,” he nodded.

“Got a preference on the rum?” She asked him as she filled a glass with ice water for you.

“Whatever you have that isn’t expensive,” he laughed and she smiled at him.

“Coming right up,” she slid the glass of water towards you and you gulped it down in relief.

“Think she was checking you out, Tobs,” you giggled as you continued to sip.

“Shut up,” he nudged you with his shoulder but looked back in her direction.

“She is pretty cute, huh?”

“A smoke show,” you agreed, “you should get her number.”

“Oh that’s exactly what she wants, another random guy hitting on her while she tries to work,” he rested his hands on the bar and you shrugged.

“Just don’t be a creep about it,” you placed your empty glass down along with a twenty.

“I’m going to the restroom, can you order me the same as you?”

“Sure thing,” he nodded and slid onto one of the barstools.

You navigated through the crowd that remained, the bass of the music slightly lower than it was earlier. The hallway leading to the bathroom was dimly lit by intricate candelabras and the walls were lined with black curtains. The music disappeared into the distance as you continued down the hall passing closed doors for feedings or more private sessions. You could hear faint moans as you leaned closer to the door before you continued on.

“Do you always eavesdrop?” The voice startled you and you looked around unable to place where it came from. Eddie moved from the shadows, eyes glimmering in the light as he did. He was still wearing the outfit he’d worn during his set. The mesh shirt revealed a strong chest and pierced nipples. You could scarcely see the black ink that lined his alabaster skin, tattoos that led to the top of his leather jeans that hugged him snuggly. He moved toward you, gaze taking in your curves. His scent filled the space as he approached, amber and citrus. It was almost intoxicating, making your mouth water the closer he stood.

“Well?” He was waiting for your response.

“Not typically,” you breathed and suddenly he was behind you, nose hovering close as he inhaled your scent.

“Do you know what happens behind those doors?” You’d heard the noises, imagined what caused the sounds but had never stepped foot into one of the private rooms.

“I can imagine,” his hands inched up the bare skin of your arms leaving a trail of goose flesh in its path. His palms were like ice against you and you tried to hide the shiver he elicited.

“Do you want to see?” His mouth was hovering over your ear and you could feel the warmth of his breath as you nodded. He grabbed your hand and you followed him in a daze, feeling as if you were in a dream as he walked you through the door furthest down the hall. He closed and locked it behind him as you turned to take in your surroundings. It must’ve been his dressing room, clothes were scattered across one loveseat and throw pillows decorated the other. It was only illuminated by candlelight, embers flickered as you stepped further into the space. The room smelled like him with a hint of copper. Blood. You turned as he approached, his eyes on your lips. He was even prettier up close.

“I’ve seen you here before,” it wasn’t a question and you nodded.

“What’s your name?” You whispered an introduction and he repeated it back, your name sounding sweeter on his lips.

“Are you one of those fang bangers?” A derogatory term for those who sought out vampires just to sleep with them to say they had. You shook your head but couldn’t find your words.

“That’s too bad,” he chuckled and ran his thumb against your jaw, “I’ve had my eye on you.” His thumb ran across your lip, pulling it down before he lifted his eyebrows in a silent command. You opened your mouth slightly making room for his thumb, lips wrapping around it as it pressed into your tongue. You flicked your tongue slightly eliciting a small groan from him as he watched you. He removed his finger with a loud pop from your lips and he rubbed his thumb along your cheek, watching your eyes flutter close as his face inched closer. His tongue swiped lightly at your bottom lip before he pressed the soft flesh of his to yours. The kiss was surprisingly soft and he took his time as he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around your waist. Your hands tangled in his curls as you pulled him to you. The moments passed, the kiss growing hungrier and you nipped at his bottom lip, sucking the flesh as he kneaded the dough of your ass through your leather skirt. The hem of it continued to rise until you felt the chill of the room, only the sliver of your thong kept you decent. Eddie pulled your ass cheeks apart, and the air met the warmth of your arousal between your thighs. He inhaled deeply, a groan coming from deep within him and he pulled you up, wrapping your legs around his waist carrying you to the sofa. He laid you down gently, lips only pulling away from you momentarily as he took his shirt off. You marveled at him, hands reaching out to trace his tattoos and rub against the exposed flesh. Eddie bent back down, eager lips meeting yours before he trailed kisses down your neck and to your cleavage.

“Is this okay?” He asked and you nodded as he pulled the straps of your lace camisole down to expose your naked breasts. Your nipples pebbled as they met the cold hair and he hummed, tongue swiping against one as his hand pinched the other. You moaned and began grinding against his growing arousal as you caged him between your legs. Eddie continued to work your nipple, sucking and biting the flesh as his hand wandered down to your center. You whined in anticipation, wanting his fingers on your sensitive bud. He inhaled deeply as his fingers traced over your wet flesh, teasing your clit before he removed his hand entirely and broke apart from the kiss. You watched as he brought his fingers to his lips, they glistened with your arousal and he flicked his tongue across one letting out a low groan.

“You taste as sweet as you smell,” he brought his fingers to your mouth inserting them gently to give you a taste and you began grinding your hips against him as you sucked them dry.

“Jesus fuck,” he muttered watching as your eyes rolled back and you played with your nipples. He began kissing down your chest, across the flesh of your stomach and past your hips. You were spread before him and he took his time with your thighs, leaving hickeys as he inched closer to where you needed him most. You arched your back in anticipation watching as he moved to the other thigh and sucked a bruise into your flesh. The tip of his canine grazed against your skin and you inhaled sharply.

“Can I?” He asked and you nodded, front teeth digging into your lower lip as you chewed on it anticipating the sting of the puncture. Your hand trailed down your stomach and under your panties rubbing your bud in soft circles as his fangs dug into your thigh. You whimpered in pleasure watching as he fed. Blood trickled from your femoral artery and he lapped it up. His eyes were dark and trained on you as you curled your other fingers into his hair. He used the sharp edge of his canine to prick his finger and used his blood to heal your wound. He licked the rest of your blood away from his lips before pulling your panties down. You continued to rub circles into your clit, your arousal pooling beneath you as you edged closer to climax. He removed your hand licking your fingers clean before raking his tongue across your sensitive flesh. It was soft and flat as he dragged it through your folds. You bucked underneath his touch and his nose nudged your bundle of nerves causing you to moan. He prodded your seeping entrance with his finger and you clenched as you thought of how you’d feel if he stretched you open. He continued to work your clit with his tongue as he teased your cunt.

“Please!” You begged, voice going up an octave before he obliged and worked his finger into you. Your hips bucked underneath him, moving with the motion of his finger as he moved it in a come hither motion. You needed more and you keened, voicelessly begging to be stretched more. Eddie began rutting his hips into the couch as you continued to ride his fingers, sucking and flicking his tongue against your clit. You were going to come undone, the rubber band at your center about to snap when he removed his fingers from your cunt and you whined.

“You don’t come until I say, sweetheart,” he commanded and you nodded, watching as he removed his leather pants. His length sprang forward and he gripped the hard flesh, stroking as he took in the sight of you.

“Take off the rest of your clothes,” he continued to pump his cock and watched as you removed your skirt before taking off your blouse. He laid you on the couch and pulled you to the edge, eyeing your tits as they jiggled with the movement. He slapped them, gripped them roughly before squeezing at your pebbled nipple. You moaned, pussy gripping around nothing as you waited for him to stop teasing you. Eddie rubbed the tip of his dick along your folds, continuing to tease you as the sound of your wet slick filled the room. You needed a release and reached your hand down to rub your clit.

“Stop that,” he demanded and you did as you were told but continued to whimper as he continued to tease. Finally, his tip poked your entrance and he inched into you. He held his breath as your sticky flesh wrapped around his length. You gripped his arms, nails digging into his pale skin as you took him in. He was big, the girth of his cock stretching you until he bottomed out. His breath was heavy against your lips as his nose nudged yours. Your hands grazed over his pale flesh and he flexed under your touch. There was electricity in the air again, the kind that was only present when he was and you were buzzing with the thrill of it as he began to thrust his hips lazily, enjoying the way you felt as he pulled and pushed back into you. Your head rutted against the pillows with each movement, boobs jiggling as he picked up the pace and gripped your hips. You knew you’d have bruises from where they dug. A strangled sound came from his lips as he rutted into you, your pussy making filthy, pretty noises as his hips met yours. Your cunt fluttered around his length and he groaned obscenities at the way you felt.

“Fucking Christ,” he pulled back from you, watching as your pussy swallowed every inch of him. He placed a soft peck to your temple before pulling your wrists above your head holding them there as he continued to slam his cock into you. The room was filled with the lewd noises the two of you created and the moans that couldn’t be choked back. White hot pleasure coursed through you as you tightened around him. You snagged your hips up, rubber band winding back as you arched off the couch. Eddie’s eyes drooped with pleasure as he neared his climax and gripped you tightly, hastily unwrapping your cunt from around him. He wasn’t going to let you come, not yet. He flipped you onto your stomach and you arched your back, wiggling your hips at him. Eddie took his time, trailing kisses up your spine and up to your jaw. He bit at your bottom lip and you tasted copper as you bled into his mouth. He kissed you deep as he rubbed his length between your folds.

“You can’t wait for me to stretch you out again, can you?” He pulled away and watched as your eyebrows met as he continued to tease you. You shook your head, eyelashes fluttering shut as you pushed your hips against him and tried to inch him into you. He slapped your ass and you yelped at the sensation.

“I need to hear your answer,” he spread you apart and you keened, nodding at him. He swatted at your ass cheek again, the contact stinging with pleasure and you moaned.

“N-no, I can’t wait,” you stammered and he smirked, already knowing. He knelt down behind you and lapped at your glistening flesh, moaning as his mouth became covered in your arousal. You bucked frantically against him as he teased your cunt with his index finger, moaning as you sucked him in. Your head was in the clouds, fucked out and ready to come if only he’d let you.

Eddie lined his cock at your entrance inching into you slowly stopping to squeeze your hips as you took every inch of him.

“Such a pretty fucking pussy,” he panted and began jerking his hips forward. Your eyes were glassy, a high keen escaping your lips as he quickened his pace. He spread your cheeks more and tested the tightness of your other hole with his thumb, massaging the tight entrance as he continued slamming his hips into yours. The new sensation had you squeezing around him, the tightness making him groan at the feeling. Your legs began to shake, pleasure taking over you and your moans turned to loud whines as the rubber band at your center threatened to snap.

“Your pussy feels so fucking good,” he stated between thrusts and you pushed back to take him deeper. He slapped your ass once more, gripping at the dough of it.

“Do you want to come, baby?” You nodded, his name on your tongue as you get closer to coming undone.

“Please, please, please, let me come Eddie,” he grabbed your wrists and pulled them behind you. His thrusts becoming more aggressive as he edged closer to his own release.

“Shit, right there Eddie oh please right there.” You keened, cries coming from you in wet sobs as you closed your eyes tight and let the pleasure take over. Your jaw went slack, goosebumps spread across your supple skin when as you came. It was ecstasy, a new kind of orgasm that you hadn’t felt before. Eddie tilted his head to the side and he watched you come undone, his nails digging crescent moons into your skin. His moan echoed through the room as he painted your walls with his come. You felt his warmth flood you and he collapsed against your back in a huff.

“Holy fucking shit,” he breathed. Both of you were spent, breaths coming in quick succession as you came back down to earth, hearing the sounds of the club just outside the door for the first time since you entered. Eddie laid ginger kisses up your spine, his touch softer than just a moment ago. He pulled himself out of you and you winced at the loss.

“Afraid I made a mess out of you baby,” he stated and slapped your ass more playfully.

“Stay there, I’ll get a rag to clean you up,” he went over to the adjoining restroom and you listened as he turned on the faucet before quickly returning with a washcloth. He wiped the warmth over your sensitive skin and kissed your shoulder as he finished. You turn onto your side, watching as he tossed the cloth to the side and pulled on his boxers before handing you your clothes. You suddenly felt awkward, like you should’ve left right after he finished and you began to hastily pull your clothes on.

“Having second thoughts?” He asked as he watched you.

“No, no,” you shook your head, “just don’t want to overstay my welcome.” You gave a small smile, buttoning your skirt as you did. His hand stopped yours and he pulled you up from your place on the couch. He kissed you softer than before, his lips lingering on your bottom one.

“Don’t feel like that, sweetheart,” he whispered and nudged his nose against yours.

“I had fun,” he mused and you nodded in agreement.

“We should do it again,” he stated, looking at you to measure your response.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he pulled away and went to grab a pen before scribbling his number onto your arm.

“Call me, we can have more fun or I can take you on an actual date,” he shrugged his shoulder as if it were nothing but you beamed at him.

“I’ll do that,” he kissed you sweetly, and placed another on your forehead. A bang at the door startled you and Eddie shot a glare to whoever is on the other side.

“One second,” he shouted before giving you a quick peck on the cheek and answering.

“What is it?” He blocked whoever was there from your view and you stood there staring at his back curiously.

“I’ll be out in a second, go ahead and start the bus.” He closed the door and turned back to you, wringing his neck uncomfortably before pointing his thumb to the door.

“That was my band manager, we’ve got to head out. We have an early show in Milwaukee tomorrow and we’ve got to hit the road.” You nodded and gathered the rest of your things, heading towards the door. You knew what this was, knew that even if you called that your fling wouldn’t go past that conversation or past this room but you weren’t hurt by his abrupt departure.

“Maybe I’ll see you again,” you shrugged as you left the room not waiting for his response. As you walked back down the dark hallway you remembered. Toby. You quickened your pace, straightening out your appearance and hoped to whatever deity that he hadn’t already reported you a missing person. As you approached the bar you noticed his lips locked with the bartender, her hands curled into the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Go Toby,” you chuckled to yourself and discreetly grabbed your drink from beside him. He felt your presence and broke the kiss, eyeing you sheepishly. You raised your hand in a teasing wave, straw caught between your teeth as you held back a laugh at the state of him. His red hair was in disarray, glasses hanging on his freckled face crookedly and bruised lips.

“Sorry,” he whispered to the girl.

“Uh, you know Jade right?” He asked you, his eyes darting between you and the brunette.

“Not as well as you do,” you laughed and he turned a deep shade of red.

“I’ll wait for you outside,” you shrugged and moved away from the bar into the frigid fall night. Toby joined you shortly after, hands coming up to his mouth and he tried to warm himself.

“Did you get her number?” You asked as the two of you walked in step towards your apartment a few blocks away.

“Of course I did,” he rolled his eyes as if it were obvious.

“By the way where the fuck did you disappear to? I almost called in search and rescue.”

“Just out back fucking the lead singer of corroded coffin,” and he laughed at you disbelieving.

“Yeah, okay. Don’t tell me then.” He nudged you slightly and the two of you continued on into the night.