#rockstar prequel

[lifeofkaze]

Before the Spark

CHAPTER 5: SHOOTING FOR THE STARS

Find the masterpost here, the previous chapter here, and the next one here.

General Warning: This story is part of the HPHM Rockstar AU. As such, there is a general warning of the possible occurrence of NSFW / mature topics. These can include sexual depictions or references, inappropriate language, (ab)use of alcohol, drug abuse, and smoking. Specific warnings for each particular chapter will be given in advance.

Warning: Alcohol, mentions of drug consumption. Reid van de Lune (in mention) belongs to @kc-and-co

Had to have high, high hopes for a living

Shooting for the stars when I couldn’t make a killing

Didn’t have a dime but I always had a vision

Always had high, high hopes

~ Panic! At The Disco - High Hopes ~

On the evening of the MMU open-stage night, the club the committee had selected was crowded, much more so than Orion had expected. Keeping to the side of the packed dance floor, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes wandering to the small stage at the far side of the room. It was average in size, but the equipment provided for the attending artists looked surprisingly decent. A fresh set had just started; after that, it would be his and Merula’s turn. 

A flutter of nerves rose in his chest, much stronger than usual before a gig. Maybe it was the low level of oxygen, or the faint smell of weed in the air, or something else entirely, but Orion felt different. There was a restlessness in him that made it hard for him to stay still. He breathed in the stuffy air, holding it in his lungs for a moment before exhaling again; it didn’t help. 

“Here,” said Merula, who had been pushing through the crowd with two small glasses in hand, one of which she now held out to him. “What’s the matter? You look like you’re about to shit yourself.”

Orion’s eyebrows rose, but he took the shot anyway. “Your choice of words is distinguished as always.”

“Can’t say it’s not true.” Her face softened. “Relax. It’s just a stupid little gig in a stupid little club. We’ve done about a million of these.” 

Thoughtfully, Orion turned the glass in his hands, watching the colourful lights reflecting in the alcohol inside as it moved. “I am aware. Yet is it wise to fight what’s rising to the surface from the depths of our hearts? Shouldn’t we embrace whichever state our spirits are in to reach a balanced state of mind?” 

Merula snorted. “Stop waffling. Drink.”

Shrugging to himself, Orion brought the shot glass to his lips and drank. The tequila inside was sharp, burning down his mouth and throat. He fought the urge to grimace at the feeling of it, but it had the intended effect; the flutter in his stomach had ceased. 

“They’re shit, aren’t they?” Merula said after she had drank as well, her violet-coloured eyes watching the band currently on stage.

“They’re not,” Orion shook his head, nodding at the dancing crowd. “Their music has channelled the exuberance of so many into a shared notion of joy. What more could you want as an artist?” 

“How about some quality?”

The corners of Orion’s mouth twitched, but his smile flickered out again quickly. He watched the singer moving about the stage and firing up the crowd, his stage fright flaring up again, stronger than before. All the artists had been well received, which was precisely what concerned him. The songs he had selected to play tonight were different from the rest, and very much so. Looking at the ecstatic crowd, Orion worried that he had misjudged his hand; suddenly, he wished Merula had brought a second shot. 

When it was time for them to enter the stage, Orion’s heartbeat increased with every step he took towards it, but once he picked up his guitar, the trembling of his hands suddenly stopped. Calm descended on him as he stepped towards the microphone at the stage’s edge.

“Good evening, friends,” he said, his amplified voice carrying through the room. “What better than music and good company to celebrate the end of the year, another step completed on our journeys toward the future.” 

From down below, Orion’s friend Reid van de Lune looked up at him, raising his drink in an encouraging gesture. Orion took a deep breath and forced the last remnants of stage fright from his mind. 

“From what I can see, good company we have in abundance. Now, let us see if our music will help your spirits soar tonight.” 

As Orion stepped back to let Merula take the microphone, he caught her somewhat bewildered glance. He sighed inwardly; that hadn’t been one of his better stage announcements. 

When the first notes of Merula’s electric piano began to sound, however, all his self-doubt was forgotten. The crowd had become quiet, and few people were dancing anymore; they were listening. From what Orion could see through the stage lights, people were nodding their heads, smiling, clapping, and cheering them on. He was acting on instinct now, engaging with them without really thinking about it. As always when he was on stage, he was in a world of his own, the one place where he felt truly and entirely in tune with all of himself.

After their set was done and they had taken their bows, there was a broad smile on Orion’s face as they left the stage. A couple of people - some of whom he knew and more of whom he didn’t - came to congratulate them or give them an appreciative clap on the back. Orion soaked it up, feeling as if walking on clouds, and even on Merula’s face, the barest hint of a smile was to be found. 

Having gotten themselves a celebratory round of drinks, Orion looked around the club.

“Do you know where Reid has gone?”

Merula rolled her eyes. “Bet you a fiver he’s lying in some corner high as fuck.”

Nonetheless, she scanned the crowd until nodding in the direction of the bathrooms. Following her gaze, Orion could spot Reid as well, closely intertwined with a girl with flaming red hair.

“Looks like your mate’s luckier than you tonight,” Merula sneered. Suddenly she tensed, her features turning from amused to a mixture of annoyed and wary. “Fuck that. Cheered too soon, I guess.”

Two people had broken from the mass of the crowd and were now headed directly towards Orion’s and Merula’s table. Orion was surprised to recognise the girl with the blue hair who had invited them. Her friend - the girl with the ponytail - was walking closely behind her. 

“The fates seem to be kind after all,” Orion greeted them with a smile as they approached them. 

“Sure mate, if you say so,” the blue-haired girl shrugged, exchanging a glance with her friend Orion couldn’t quite read. “You sure were smashing up there.” 

“Your praise is received with humble gratitude.”

There it was again, the quick glance between the two women. The blue-haired one drew her brows together in a frown. “Do you always waffle like that?”

“No, only on Saturdays,” Merula suddenly butted in. Her eyes flicked between the two newcomers. “What do you want?” 

“Just a chat, mate. Relax.”

“You’ve had one. Now buzz off.” 

Visibly bristling, the blue-haired girl opened her mouth to speak but was silenced by a warning look from her friend. 

“How about we all take a breather and calm down,” the girl with the ponytail suggested. “Hi, I’m Lizzie.” 

She extended her hand, and Orion shook it. He was surprised at how calloused it felt, especially around the heels. He didn’t fight the smile forming on his face.

“I’m Orion. And this here is my sister, Merula.” 

“Your sister?” Lizzie asked, a surprised look crossing her face. She looked like she wanted to say more but thought better of it upon seeing the dark look on Merula’s face. Trying to steer Lizzie’s attention elsewhere, Orion nodded at the blue-haired girl. 

“And who is your friend?”

Lizzie blinked, as if broken from her thoughts. “Oh, sorry. This is Skye. Skye Parkin.”

“Parkin?” Merula frowned. “As in, Ethan Parkin? Ex-member of The Wanderers and now manager and producer Ethan Parkin?” 

Skye nodded, looking somewhat satisfied. “That’s me dad.” 

Orion looked at Skye, suddenly intrigued. He had heard that the youngest daughter of rock legend Ethan Parkin was attending MMU but hadn’t thought the universe would be gracious enough to make her cross paths with him. 

“What are names but smoke and mirrors?” he said regardless, offering Skye his hand as well. “No matter who you are, it is nice to meet you, Skye.” 

Skye grunted in agreement, shaking his hand more forcefully than Lizzie had. “You really do like talking, don’t you? Anyway,” she went on without waiting for Orion to reply, “what you’re doing there - on stage, that is - that’s some impressive shit. You’re composing yourself, right?” 

Orion nodded. “Every note is a piece of me, and I’m glad to share it with whoever cares to listen.”

“That’s smashing because I like listening. A lot, actually. And that’s why there’s something we need to talk about.”

Orion listened to Skye Parkin telling them of her plan of forming a band with them, his eyebrows rising at the rate Merula’s were drawing together. Clearly, she wasn’t fond of the idea, and Orion could see why. Skye - however big her name - was a stranger to them, and there already was a bristling tension between her and Merula that could turn out to be trouble. It was crazy to even consider accepting Skye’s proposition - crazy and thoroughly tempting. There was a feeling in the back of Orion’s mind that this was exactly where the universe had wanted him to be, a feeling that increased with every one of Skye’s words.

Sometimes, it took courage to explore what lay beyond the beaten path. To those who had no trust, courage always looked like foolishness.

“What instruments do you even play?” Merula snorted, not half as enticed by the prospect of working with Skye as Orion was. “You say you need us, but I don’t see us needing you.” 

“I play the drums,” Lizzie tentatively answered, prompting Merula to snort. 

“Sure you do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you look more like a groupie than a drummer to me.”

“Funny, you look more like a bitch than a nice person to me,” Lizzie snapped back, receiving an elbow to the side from Skye a moment later. 

“Shut up, Jameson. She doesn’t mean that,” she added, directed at Merula, but judging by Lizzie’s pressed-together lips, Orion had the notion that she very much had.

“What about you, Skye?” he quickly asked to dissolve the tension. “What sets your heart aflame?” 

“Oh, what I play, you mean,” Skye said after blankly staring at him for a moment. “Loads of things, actually. Mostly bass, though.” 

“An interesting choice. Not many people favour the bass over the guitar.”

“Well, I do.”

“And I’m certain you excel. The bass is an admirable instrument, I think. To the ignorant eye, it often falls short compared to its sister, but without the sturdy foundation of the bass, every song is bound to ring hollow in the end.”

“Yeah,” Skye said slowly. “My brothers play the guitar, and me dad did, too. Gotta stick out somewhat, right?”

“Would you look at that?” Merula muttered. “Daddy’s girl, trying to be a rebel.”

“You need a bass, don’t you?” Skye replied with flashing eyes. “Pressing some keys and sighing into a mic all the while? Screams ‘come and look at me’ if I’ve ever seen it.”

“Maybe we should go and get new drinks,” Lizzie chimed in, moving slightly to stand in the line of sight between the two glowering women. Giving Merula a dark look, Skye shrugged and turned away.

“Sure thing, Jameson. You pay.”

“Whatever.” Lizzie looked at Orion and Merula questioningly. “What do you want?”

“I’d be fine with whatever you decide is adequate for the moment,” Orion said, then added, “You really don’t need to do this, though.” 

A captivating smile showed on Lizzie’s face. “But I want to.”

“What did you have?” Merula wanted to know, eyeing the remnants of bright red liquid in Lizzie’s glass.

“Cherry margarita.”

“Fancy shit. Didn’t know they had it here.” 

“They don’t. I just happened to know the barkeep. What?” Lizzie asked, frowning at Orion, whose face had split into a smile, with a frown.

“Your choice of drink is not surprising,” he explained, chuckling to himself. “If anything, it’s steadiness that makes for the reliable.” When Lizzie’s frown deepened, he clarified, “You do like your cherry-flavoured drinks, don’t you?”

“Is there a problem with that? Cherries are the most… oh!” Lizzie’s eyes widened before she dipped her head back, laughing. “The cherry iced tea, of course! I did have a feeling my generous donor wasn’t your sister here. Tell you what, I think it’s only fair to pay you in kind - one round of super sneaky cherry margaritas coming your way!”

Skye made a face at that. “I hate that sweet stuff, and you know it.”

“Tough luck, Parkin. Take what’s offered or pay for it yourself.” 

Still arguing, Lizzie and Skye took off to the bar, leaving Orion and Merula to themselves. 

“Of course she knows the fucking barkeep,” Merula muttered as she turned to Orion. “What the fuck was that?”

“That,” Orion replied, “was the most unexpected of encounters, I’d wager. What do you think?”

Merula huffed and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Don’t know, honestly. That Parkin has a big mouth, talks shit if I’ve ever seen it, but at least she doesn’t back down. The other, though…” She shook her head, short, curly hair flying. “Not sure about that one, not gonna lie.”

Orion had expected as much. Lizzie seemed like the type of person who was quick to make friends and comfortable with the attention she attracted - the epitome of everything Merula despised. 

His eyes wandered to the bar, where Lizzie was talking with a young barkeep dressed in an outrageously bright, patterned shirt. Wearing worn-looking sneakers instead of heels, she had to stand on her tiptoes to shout into the young man’s ear. There was something about her that seemed effortless and fun, and - contrary to Merula - Orion was sure that she wasn’t putting on an act. 

He was abruptly brought out of his musings by Merula snapping her fingers in front of his eyes. 

“Stop staring like a fucking creep,” she told him with a snort. “Trust me, girls like her bring nothing but trouble.” 

“Don’t burden yourself with pointless worry. What you deem staring was nothing but a coincidence. I was merely following a train of thought.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“What trouble would there lie in connecting with a like-minded spirit like Lizzie anyway?” He laughed quietly. “You act like I want to go and marry her.”

“Sure, that is absolutely what I thought you wanted to do with her.”

Orion’s somewhat guilty reply was interrupted by Lizzie’s and Skye’s return, each carrying two glasses of a sweetly-smelling, bright red drink. Having taken her first sip and pulled a face at it, Skye turned to Orion and Merula. 

“How is it, now? Interested in teaming up?” 

“From what I can see, the prospects of your proposition are certainly alluring.” Orion turned to Lizzie, who had remained quietly focused on stirring her drink. So far, Skye had only been speaking for herself, and Orion wanted to know more. 

“What about you, Lizzie? Will you be part of this journey as well?”

Lizzie hesitated, sharing a brief glance with Skye before she nodded. “I guess so.”

“It is settled then,” Orion smiled and raised his glass. “Let us walk this new path together and see where it will take us.” 

Next to him, Merula rolled her eyes and mumbled something as they all touched glasses, but Orion didn’t care. Skye had leaned over to Lizzie, saying something into her ear, to which Lizzie only shrugged. A small smile appeared on her face as she locked eyes with him. After a moment, Orion looked away.

The prospect of having her - having both of them - on board with this new project was intriguing, but he had to call himself to order. Merula had a point about what she had said about Lizzie earlier; people like her had the habit of bringing trouble in their wake if he let them get too close. If Lizzie was to be a part of his future - for however long it may be - he knew better than to tamper with fate in favour of a moment of fancy. This was the chance he had been waiting for, and Orion was determined not to let himself be distracted by a sideshow. 

A commotion went through the club, excited murmurs rising around them as head after head turned toward the door. A man with a receding, dark brown hairline and a slightly grizzled beard had entered the room. He looked out of place with his fancy glasses, not-so-fancy jeans, and a faded The Who shirt, yet if he felt uncomfortable with so many people staring at him, he didn’t show it. Ethan Parkin had never been one to mind the spotlight.

Upon seeing her father, Skye took a deep breath and downed the rest of her still half-full drink. 

“Well, here goes nothing. Let’s get this party started.” 

She indicated for them to follow her and pushed through the crowd towards the exit. Giving Orion a reassuring smile, Lizzie turned and walked after her friend. Orion watched her go, his mouth suddenly dry, his heart beating in his ears. It took him what felt like an eternity to set his feet into motion, but a sense of determination overcame him as he finally did. 

This was it, he was sure of it - the first steps on his path toward the future. 

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #orion amari #merula snyde #quidditch #skye parkin #lizzie jameson #rockstar au #rockstar prequel #before the spark

[granatkoroleva]

Starstruck

{𝑹𝒆𝒅,𝑾𝒉𝒊𝒕𝒆,𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑾𝒐𝒐!‘𝑽𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆}

Pairing ⍟ Rockstar!Bucky Barnes x Captain America!Steve Rogers [Shrunkyclunks]

Rating ⍟ E

Word Count ⍟ 6.6k

Major Tags ⍟ Shrunkyclunks, Modern AU, Prequel Fic, Bucky's Birthday, Rockstar!Bucky, Charity Auctions, PWP, Explicit Content, Strangers To Lovers, Getting To Know Each Other, Original Songs, Serenading, Everything Is Beautiful & Nothing Hurts, Happy Ending

Summary ⍟ Bucky's evening cannot get any worse.

“Our next bachelor up for bid tonight is a wild card.” The crowd chuckles, but a few at the front tables stay mum at the glare he sends the group. This is the last fucking place he wants to be. “Grammy award-winning musician and songwriter. He’s the frontman of Winter Star, branded by Rolling Stone as the “it” sound to hear. His passions include reading by the fire, romantic cooking, and long walks in the…snow?” The crowd laughs again, and he, despite his scantily clad concert attire, starts to sweat under the gaze and heated lights. “Bucky Barnes!” The MC announces too loudly, the mic cracking.

“Fuck me.” He hisses under his breath, clenching down on his teeth.

-

He closes his eyes attempting to starve away from the humiliation and tries to think of a happy place. He gets as far as his own apartment, in the bathtub before a deep voice has him jerking back with surprise.

“I’m sorry sir, please correct me if I misheard. But did you say—“

“I said.” The tall blond steps out from the shadows and into the spotlight in the center of the dance floor— holy fucking shit, that’s Steve Rogers, Captain America. “Five hundred thousand dollars.” Dark eyes lock on him, and Bucky bites back the squeal trying to leave his throat.

You know what they don't tell you when you pursing your dreams and shoot to fame? That it doesn’t make you any less of a fan yourself. That it does not diminish your own personal fandom in any way. His childhood hero, the man who inspired his gay awakening—just paid half a million dollars for a date with him. Okay, so it's for a good cause.

Square + Prompt ⍟

Ⓘ ⓸ + March Monthy Mission: Happy Birthday Bucky! | AllCapsBingo | Card # AC 1094 | @allcapsbingo

Ⓑ ⓶ + Music | Stucky Bingo | Card # R40101 | @stuckybingo

Read on Ao3

Author's Note ⍟

Happy Birthday Bucky!

@buckybarnesevents

AO3 | Masterlist | ACB ML | SB4 ML | Playlist for R,W&W |

#stucky #smutconnoisseur #shrinkyclunks #steve rogers #bucky barnes #rockstar bucky #RW&W Verse #Prequel fic #Stucky fan fic #allcapsbingo2023 #stucky bingo round 4 #steve x bucky #ao3 #bbbdaybash2023 #Happy Birthday Bucky #birthday fic #fic moodboard

[i-am-no-jedi-nor-muggle]

Yup!

#star wars #kelleran beq #jedi master #jedi order #ahmed best #jar jar binks #star wars prequels #star wars prequels supremacy #the mandalorian #new rockstars

[masterofmunson]

no thoughts head empty just thinking about the scene in the woods with eddie and chrissy and how he invites her to one of his gigs. chrissy begs you to come with so she isn’t alone and when you’re at the bar, she gets pulled away for some reason just as corroded coffin goes on stage and eddie watches you watch her leave and he’s DEVASTATED that she left because he’s had a crush on her since forever.

but he can’t go off stage and run after her so he just starts the set, and to Eddie’s surprise, you’re incredibly into the music. You nod along to the beats of the songs and bang your head back and forth when the drums and guitar solos roar through the bar. You even sing along to a few of the songs and eddie just can’t take his eyes off you. You’ve met a few times and you’ve always been nice to him, but eddie knows next to nothing about you other than the fact that you’re nice (like chrissy) and he thinks you’re BEAUTIFUL.

so when the set ends and Eddie’s off stage he builds up the courage to approach you and when he reaches your table, you can’t help but compliment him and gush about how talented he is. It makes eddie SO shy and embarrassed and his cheeks are so red. He fumbled out a cheesy excuse to get your number and you’re more than happy to oblige.

#Did I just give you the premise of a prequel fic to sthf……. MAYBE #eddie munson x reader #rockstar!eddie #amanda howls into the abyss

[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)

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x afab!reader #eddie munson angst #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson soulmate au #rockstar!eddie munson smut #rockstar!eddie munson x reader #rockstar!eddie munson x f!reader #rockstar!eddie munson fanfic #rockstar!eddie munson x you #rockstar eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #IWillWait

[xxbimbobunnyxx]

See you again

(Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader x Fem!OC)

Summary: Your girlfriend surprises you with tickets to see your favorite band, Corroded Coffin for your birthday. You and her spent one magical night with the lead singer over a year ago before they made it big. Will he remember you? (He definitely will.)

Warnings: 18+MDNI M/F/F threesome, OC and reader are in an established queer relationship, spit kink, choking, Dom!OC, Switch!Eddie, Sub!reader, nipple play, unprotected sex, G/G, reader is described to be a bit more shy and has a few moments of self doubt, Oral (F & M receiving) and I think that’s it? If I missed any please let me know! WK: 6.2k

A/N: Okay this was based on a request by @melodymunson for a rockstar!eddie threesome, I know you said you wanted them to be besties but I kind of took some liberties and then it just got away from me and I made lore lol. Potentially might write a prequel about their first night together if anyone is interested in that! Also the top right photo is supposed to depict my OC. Reader has no descriptions besides the outfit she is wearing. Feedback is greatly appreciated!🖤 Read the prequel here.

You eagerly waited in the line to the venue to see your favorite band. You have been a fan since they were still pretty underground, only playing in small bars for a few 100 people and haven’t gotten the chance to see them…see him since they got a record deal and made it big. The first time you saw them the lead singer and guitarist had you transfixed. You felt like a creep because you only knew his name since he said it on stage and yet you couldn’t stop thinking about him when you had your hand between your thighs at night. You went to several shows after that, never having the nerve to talk to him but always making lingering eye contact that you couldn’t tell if you were imaging or not.

Eventually you met your girlfriend Chloe at one of their shows and you and her immediately bonded over your mutual crush on the frontman. It didn’t take you long to realize you also had massive crushes on each other and the rest was history. You weren’t like Chloe, you never would have talked to her if she hadn’t approached you first. She was bold and confident and you were more shy and reserved despite the way you dressed insinuating otherwise. So when she told you at the last show you guys had gone to that she was going to just walk up to Eddie and ask him if he wanted to fool around with you guys you felt like you were going to pass out.

“Come on baby, we have talked about and fantasized about this so much. You might not want to believe it but I see the way he looks at us, I don’t think he would turn us down and even if he did that’s the worst that could happen.”

But he didn’t turn you down, his voice squeaked when he answered her and it made you feel a little better knowing he was nervous too. The three of you spent what was one of the best nights of your life together in the back of his van right outside the bar. Afterwards he told you over breakfast at a local diner that they had gotten signed very recently and would be moving out to California in the next week. You congratulated him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek before you parted ways and you haven’t seen him since.

So when Chloe surprised you with the tickets for your birthday, making a whole big thing of it, driving to the city and going shopping for new outfits. You were both equally nervous as you were excited. It’s not like there was even a guarantee he would see you or even recognize you but the possibility had you clenching your thighs thinking back to that night.

You made sure to get there early so when the doors opened you were able to rush to be directly up front against the bar. As people flooded in, you really looked around and realized how big the place truly was.

“This is crazy, I can’t believe how popular they are now. It was only a year ago when we saw them in that tiny bar in town.”

Chloe looked over at you and smiled “I know, it’s like they blew up over night! I’m excited to hear them play some of their new shit live!” She put her hands on your hips and got close to whisper in your ear.

“Plus… I don’t hate the idea of seeing Eddie again…”

You put your arms around her neck and bit your lip, looking into her pretty crystal blue eyes “I know, I don’t either”

You giggled, twisting some strands of her dyed cherry red hair at the back of her neck around your fingers before your face fell. “He probably won’t even see us though, even if he did, who knows if he would even recognize us at this point? I’ve heard his songs on the radio and seen his pictures in magazines. He's probably been with tons of girls since then.”

•

Little did you know Eddie had already noticed you. He was standing off to the side of the stage absentmindedly watching the local band that was opening for them tonight when saw you standing right in front with your girlfriend's arms wrapped around your shoulders. He felt his pants getting tighter just knowing he was in the same room as you. With the venues and crowds getting bigger and bigger he wasn’t sure he would ever see you again. But there you were looking pretty as ever in a tiny little leopard print top and a tight leather skirt with studded belts layered on it and he suddenly felt extremely nervous to go on stage for the first time in a while.

He thought about you as much as you thought about him. He thought about Chloe too, but he thought about you just a tiny bit more. He had seen you at his shows several times, way before he ever saw her. But he was always too nervous to talk to you. You truly intimidated him with your sexy little outfits, the way the black make-up was always perfectly smoked around your eyes making them pop, those glossy lips he wanted so badly to feel on his skin. You always came alone until one day you didn’t, you showed up with this gorgeous girl that was almost as tall as him, with cherry red hair and beautiful blue eyes that sparkled as she looked down at you. When he saw her wrap his arms around you and kiss you he was so disappointed he felt like his heart was going to fall out of his ass.

But then your girlfriend started making eye contact with him when he was on stage, looking him dead in the eyes as you swayed your hips against hers and she placed innocent seeming kisses on your neck when the look in her eyes was anything but. She would wink at him over your shoulder while she grabbed your ass and at that point he knew she was definitely teasing him. Even though he was pretty much positive that was the case, the small chance that it wasn’t was enough to deter him from approaching you in fear of coming off as a creep.

That night when you both walked up to him and pretty much straight up asked him if he wanted to fuck even with all of the crazy new experiences he’s had in the last year that was still the best night of his life. It played on a loop in his mind more often than he’d like to admit so the fact that you were standing there front and center at his show felt like the universe was blessing him and there was no way he was going to pass that up.

•

After the opening band finished there were people all over the stage, switching out instruments and equipment to get ready for CC to come on. The lights lowered and you felt butterflies in your tummy at the prospect of seeing Eddie again. When he came out you felt like you would’ve dropped to the ground if Chloe didn’t have her arms around you. He was always beautiful but now? He was otherworldly. If the fact that he wasn’t wearing a shirt and had added several tattoos to his chest since you saw him last wasn’t enough already he was wearing fucking leather pants that looked like they were painted on his body, a bit of eyeliner smudged around his eyes and his hair was styled to perfection.

As soon as he stood center stage, directly in front of you he made eye contact with you and smiled a big goofy smile at you. You felt like the butterflies in your stomach were going to explode. You looked back at Chloe with a flustered look on your face.

“You saw that.. right?” You gulped.

“Oh yeah, I saw that. I knew he would remember us, how could he forget? Especially you baby, you’re just so pretty.”

She smoothed some of your hair that was out of place and cupped your jaw. You leaned into her hand, she had this way of making you feel all fuzzy and warm with just her words and a simple touch and you felt your nerves calm slightly. It was short lived though, Eddie’s voice came through the speakers and flooded your senses.

“Hey everyone! You ready to fucking rock this bitch?!” As he played the first few chords of the first song everyone cheered, including you. As he played through the first songs of the set you were in absolute awe of him. You felt so proud of him, of all of them, seeing them in this environment. The way he worked the crowd, looking so natural up there, dominating the room with his presence. You couldn’t keep your eyes off him, bouncing between the way his fingers were working the guitar to the way his lips looked when he sang, wet with a mixture of spit and sweat. It made you think about how his hands and mouth felt in other places.

It didn’t help that he couldn’t keep his eyes off you either. He kept making eye contact with you and winking, standing directly in front of you with those fucking leather pants that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. His cock looked so big you literally wanted to pull his pants down right there and suck him off in front of everyone.

“He looks so fucking hot” Chloe whispered in your ear while leaving a few warm wet kisses along your pulse point causing you to subconsciously lean your head back on her shoulder grinding back against her and letting out a little whimper.

“Yeah…” you sighed “He fucking does” you looked back up at him and he was looking directly at you with a lust filled gaze as he sang. Chloe was still kissing your neck and knowing her she was staring back at him with the same intensity.

She was whispering dirty things in your ear while her hands roamed your body, leaving small wet kisses on your cheek and jaw. Eddie was up there, unable to take his eyes off the two of you, thrusting into his guitar and practically making out with the microphone. All through the show they continued their back and forth teasing, with you caught in the middle of it, just trying to stay standing upright at this point.

After the current song ended he bent down to whisper to one of the security guards, you watched him tilt his head towards you, and he sent you a wink before standing back at the center of the stage.

“Alright guys, this is gonna be our last song of the night!! You guys have been so awesome, thank you for coming out!!”

Halfway through the song the security guard Eddie whispered to approached you. “He wants to see you backstage.”

He opened the gate just enough for you both to slip through it. You heard a few girls making jealous comments and throwing insults your way but you genuinely couldn't care less at this moment.

You followed the guard backstage, with Chloe behind you as they finished up their final song. You stood off to the side as he thanked everyone and wished them a good night when he noticed you. He immediately started walking towards you, time felt like it was going in slow motion and your head was spinning the closer he got.

He walked right up to you, placing his hands on your shoulders and beaming at you.

“Hi princess” He pulled you into his arms and enveloped you in everything Eddie. His sweaty bare chest was pressed up against your cheek and he smelled so fucking good. Like sweat, cigarettes, a hint of weed, and a cologne that smells more expensive than the one he wore last time you saw him.

“Hi Eddie” you wrapped your arms around his waist and sighed, slightly muffled by the way your face was shoved into him. Wrapping his arms around your shoulders and locking you close to him, he rests his chin on your head so he can look past you at Chloe.

“Hey pretty boy” you heard her say as you felt her come up behind you and reach past you to run a finger along Eddie’s jaw before cupping it in her hand. “Did you miss us?”

He bit his lip and nodded, but Chloe wasn’t having any of that. She shoved her hand into his hair and pulled hard, causing him to let out a sexy groan that made you have to hold back a whimper of your own.

“Words babe, I wanna hear you say it” The way she was talking to him had you already feeling fuzzy and you knew it wasn’t going to take much for you to be in that fucked out headspace she always puts you in.

“Y-yeah I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you after last time… we didn’t exchange numbers or anything so when I saw you two standing out there I thought I was dreaming again.”

“Again?” She cocked her eyebrow at him “Have you been dreaming of us honey?” She was fully pressed up against your backside now, with Eddie still caging you in from the front.

“Fuck yes I have” He groaned “How could I not?” He tilted his head so he was looking down at you “You’re the prettiest girls I’ve ever seen…”

You looked up at him through your lashes and brought your bottom lip between your teeth, feeling a lot less nervous now that you know he’s been thinking of you.

You got up on your tiptoes so you could whisper directly in his ear.

“We want you Eddie… take us to your dressing room, please?” You flicked your tongue out and licked behind his ear, sucking a little while you rubbed your hands down his chest.

“Fuck. You guys are going to kill me. I’ll do you one better though, take you to my way too fancy for me to comprehend hotel room and fuck you on the big king sized bed… All. Night. Long.” His hand came up to the nape of your neck and squeezed, this time you couldn’t hold it back, you let out a little whimper.

“Oh yeah? All night pretty boy? You think you can keep up with us?” She grabbed his chin, squishing his cheeks together and shaking his head from side to side a little. Seeing the way Eddie submitted to her was driving you insane, thinking back to how dominant he was with YOU it was so sexy how easily she could turn him into putty in her hands.

She brought her lips back to your neck, kissing and licking while she looked over you into Eddie’s eyes in that way that drove him absolutely crazy.

“Fuck. Alright. Let’s fucking go before I lose my mind start fucking you right here.” He let go of you and you immediately missed his embrace, but he grabbed your hand, dragging toward the back exit and to the car he had waiting, pulling Chloe along behind you. 

The short drive to his hotel was a blur, you were sandwiched between them in the backseat, two sets of hands and lips roaming your body. They were grabbing at your chest, your thighs, kissing and licking on your neck leaving marks and love bites, you were completely at their mercy. When the car started coming to a stop you all practically jumped out, giggling and smiling at each other as you started running hand in hand towards his room.

•

As soon as the door was shut Eddie was on you, he grabbed your face in his big hands and ran his thumbs over your cheeks, his rings were cool and it felt nice on your heated skin “You are so beautiful.” He smiled down at you and then kissed you way more gently than he had in the car, he kissed you like you meant something to him and it was confusing and a little scary but it made your insides feel like they were on fire.

“Okay I get it, you guys are obsessed with each other and that’s very cute and all but I want you both on your fucking knees. Now.” Chloe was standing a few feet away from you, with her hands on her hips and a fire in her eyes that went straight to your core. You kicked off your boots and slid down to your knees without hesitation. It took Eddie’s brain a second to compute not only that this was actually happening right now but how hot your dynamic was. The way you immediately submitted to your girlfriend made his cock even harder than it already was and he wasn’t even sure how that was possible at this point.

He stood there dumbfounded for a second before she walked over to him and grabbed his jaw in her hand, pulling his face close to hers. “I told you to Get. On. Your. Fucking. Knees.”

He stared at her with wide brown eyes before kneeling down next to you.

“Good. You gonna be a good boy for me? I’ll only let you touch my girl if you’re good.” She was bent down to look him directly in the eyes, seeming even taller than she already was and he kind of felt like he was going to bust in his pants right now.

“Yes, I’ll be good. Promise.” He was looking up at her with those pretty doe eyes, driving her crazy.

“Good boy.” She ran her thumb over his bottom lip and he lapped his tongue over it before taking it into his mouth. “Very good boy.”

You squirmed in place, shoving your hands between your legs and squeezing as you watched them. You were honestly so horny at this point you needed one of them to touch you before you exploded. The way Chloe was talking to him was so fucking hot.

“Mmm and we have my good girl too” she said as she looked over at you. “Are you gonna be a good girl for me and Eddie tonight honey?”

“Yes I wanna be good” you bit your lip and nodded eagerly.

“Good. You can start by getting those hands from between your thighs, I didn’t give you permission to do that.” You stuttered out an apology and rested your hands on your lap.

“I’ll let it slide just this once, because my baby is just so eager huh? Want us both to fuck you so bad don’t you?”

“Yes, I want it so bad, been wanting it so bad. I need it.”

“Look how pretty you both look on your knees for me.” She brought a hand to each of your throats and applied just the right amount of pressure. “Take each other's clothes off.”

She didn’t have to tell Eddie twice he practically ripped off the leather jacket he put on in the car and then turned to you and undid the tie at the front of your top.

“Fuck, no bra sweetheart? Are you trying to kill me?”

You bit your lip and nodded “I was hoping that maaaaybe we might see you, I didn’t see any point in wearing it if you were just going to take it off.”

He groaned as he pushed your shirt off your shoulders before leaning in to kiss your neck, making his way down to your chest. But before he can get very far he’s yanked back abruptly by hair.

Chloe towered over him, blue eyes boring down into his.

“I said to undress her, I didn’t give you permission to kiss her, did I?” She gave his hair another tug, causing him to let out a pornographic sounding moan.

“Naughty boy. Open.” He obeyed immediately, sticking out his tongue and looking up at her through his lashes. She let some drool slide off her tongue and onto his and he swallowed without hesitation.

“Now stop being a brat and take her clothes off like I fucking told you to. You can play with her when I say you can.”

“Shit, fuck, yeah okay.” Eddie felt like he died and went to heaven and even more so when his eyes wandered back to you. Your bare chest rising up and down with every breath you take, leaning back on your hands and stretching your legs out in front of you, you bend your knees slightly so he could see up your skirt. There was a little wet patch on your red lace thong and he wanted nothing more than to just bury his face there. You could see the look in his eyes shift then, the entire night he’s looked at you in awe but now he’s looking at you like he wants to destroy you and you want nothing more.

He leans forward, not taking his eyes off yours and starts unbuckling the belts layered on top of your skirt. He’s doing it slowly, like he’s playing with you already despite Chloe’s protests. When the final belt comes off he pulls down the zipper on your skirt before taking it off entirely, leaving you in just your thong.

“God damn baby, look at you.” He smirked at you, running his hands down your calves, the touch sending electric shockwaves up your legs and straight to your pussy. He brought his hands all the way up your legs before looping his fingers in the band of your underwear and pulling them down your ankles.

“Fuck. Look at that pretty pussy, I can see how wet you are from here.”

You couldn’t take it anymore. “Your turn, lean back.”

He assumes your previous position, legs outstretched, weight supported on the palms of his hands as he leans back. You don’t waste any time leaning forward and undoing his belt before hastily undoing his pants and pulling them down his legs. You could see the outline of his cock in his boxers, leaving nothing to the imagination. Long and thick and so fucking hard, a little wet patch forming on the gray fabric. Your mouth watered at the sight. You ran your hands down his chest to his hips before pulling his boxers off. His dick bouncing out and landing on his stomach.

“Fuck. God.” You groaned. “I want you in my mouth so bad.” You looked over to Chloe with pleading eyes, who was now sitting on the edge of the bed completely naked, legs spread.

“You wanna suck him off baby? How about this, since you’ve been such a good obedient little girl for me tonight you can suck his dick while I eat your pussy. How’s that sound?”

“Yes. Please.” You whimpered, she knew exactly how that sounded to you, fucking amazing.

“Okay baby girl, get on the bed, hands and knees.”

You stood immediately, walking over to the bed and getting into the position she asked. You faced them with your back arched so your ass was in the air and stuck your tongue out. A little bit of drool dripping onto the bed. Like a toy, waiting and ready to be played with. Eddie was the first to approach you, cupping your face in his hand gently before grabbing your chin roughly between his pointer finger and thumb and squishing your lips together.

“Look at you, such a good girl, you just want us to treat you like a little fuck doll, huh?” Your eyes rolled back and you moaned, this is what you fucking wanted.

“Yes, please please.” You weren’t above begging at this point. The tension has been building since you saw him on stage and you can’t take much more of them not touching you in some capacity.

“No need to beg doll, I’m gonna give you exactly what you want.” He let go of your chin and held his palm out in front of your mouth. “Spit.”

You grab his hand in both of yours, looking him straight in the eyes as you lick across his palm before spitting on it. He groans, bringing his hand to his cock and stroking it a few times. You felt the bed dip behind you, familiar hands running along your ass before placing a rough smack there causing you to yelp. You looked over your shoulder to see your girlfriend sucking her fingers into her mouth. Her tits on full display, big and full with the prettiest pink nipples you loved to suck.

She brought the fingers in her mouth to your dripping folds, running them up and down your slit. You sighed in relief at the feeling of finally being touched. She inserted two fingers deep into you while making eye contact with you in that way she did that made you feel like you were going to melt. You felt a large hand grab onto your hair, pulling it to turn your head. Eddie was looking down at you with equal intensity, still lazily stroking his cock.

“Eyes on me baby. Stick your tongue out.”

You stuck your tongue out and he slapped his cock against it a few times, but it wasn’t enough, you were tired of the teasing so you took matters into your own hands and wrapped your lips around his head. You swirl your tongue around it a few times before taking as much as him as you could down your throat.

“Holy fuck! O-oh my god, your mouth is so fucking good.” He grabbed onto your hair and tugged, looking down at you with hungry eyes as you began to bob your head up and down on his cock. Chloe continued to move her fingers in and out of you, bringing her thumb to your clit causing you to moan around Eddie.

She suddenly removed her fingers and you whined in protest but you didn’t have to feel the loss of her touch for long because suddenly her tongue was licking a stripe from your hole to your clit before circling it with her tongue and sucking it into her mouth. You pulled off Eddie’s cock to moan loudly at the feeling.

You looked back at her for a moment, she was on her back, one arm wrapped around your thigh, her other arm is out of sight but you can tell by the way it’s moving that she’s touching herself. Fucking god, they’re going to be the death of you.

You turned back to the naked metal head standing over you and looked up at him through your lashes. “Fuck my mouth Eddie, use me.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He mumbled before grabbing back onto your hair, shoving his cock all the way down your throat. He pulled back almost all the way then repeated the action before he started thrusting in and out of your mouth, using your throat just like you asked.

Chloe was still devouring you from behind, circling two fingers around your hole before inserting them, curling them and hitting that perfect spongy spot inside you. Between that and the way Eddie was looking at you while he abused your throat you felt yourself getting close already.

“You gonna cum already baby?” She mumbled against your pussy. “I can feel you tightening around my fingers.”

“You’re already gonna cum? You like us using you like this huh? Getting your pussy eaten while I abuse this little throat of yours.” Eddie started thrusting faster and Chloe sucked harder on your clit and that’s all it took. His words and the feeling of them all over you sent you over the edge. Rubbing back against Chloe’s mouth and moaning loudly around Eddie’s cock you felt white hot pleasure run through your entire body.

He releases his grip on your hair, letting his cock slip out of your mouth while Chloe kisses up your spine before flipping you over onto your back, straddling you and kissing you roughly. She tasted like you, the cinnamon gum she always chews, and you could slightly taste the strawberry chapstick she put on earlier that night. It was intoxicating. She lifted one of your legs and sat between them so she could rub her pussy against yours. She started slowly grinding on you but quickly picked up the pace, humping against you hard and fast. Both of your tits bounced with each thrust and you reached up to grab onto hers, squeezing her nipples between your fingers. The room was filled with the sound of your moans and the slick noises of you rubbing against each other.

“God damn, you guys are so fucking sexy.” You tilt your head to look over at Eddie, he’s standing there naked and tattooed, his dick hard and throbbing while he strokes it.

“Get over here pretty boy, come fuck our girl while I sit on her face” our girl, you liked the sound of that.

She rolled off of you and pulled your head into her naked lap, reaching down to take both your tits in her hands before roughly pinching your nipples.

Eddie came over and got on the bed between your legs, looking down at you like prey. “I’m going to fucking destroy this pussy princess.”

He leaned down and kissed you rough and hard before sitting up and grabbing his cock to position it at your entrance. The stretch of him pushing inside you was delicious, he thrust in and out a few times before pushing himself all the way in, his hips against yours and his balls touching your ass.

“God damn you are so fucking tight.” He started fucking into you hard and fast, unable to pace himself. “You feel s-so fucking good, being such a good girl for us.”

Chloe positions herself so her legs are on either side of your head and her pussy is directly above your mouth and you take the hint right away. Grabbing onto her thighs to pull her to your mouth and licking a stripe up her pussy before shoving your tongue inside her, fucking her with it.

“Mmm fuck baby, your mouth always feels so good.” She moaned as you wrapped your lips around her clit. Leaning forward she resumed playing with your boobs, tweaking and pinching your nipples, landing a slap on them here in there causing you to yelp and moan into her each time. She started riding your face, and you let her decide the pace, just holding onto her thighs while you let her use your tongue.

Eddie brought his thumb to your clit and started rubbing circles on it while he continued to pound into you, letting out moans that you wanted to record and listen to over and over again like your favorite song. You felt him lean forward and you couldn’t see but you could hear them making out above you. Chloe’s pace picked up and so did Eddie’s. The circles on your clit got faster and you could hear them moaning against each other's mouths. You were close. So so close.

“Oh god baby, I’m gonna need you to come soon because I’m not going to last much longer between how tight you’re squeezing me and the view I’m looking at I’m going to fucking explode any second.” He grabbed your legs and held onto them by your thighs so he could change his rhythm and hit the exact right spot that had you seeing stars. You writhed underneath them both, moaning and meeting Eddie’s thrusts best you could with your limited movement. Seconds later you felt him spilling inside of you just as Chloe’s movements in your tongue increased in speed. You leaned up slightly to wrap your lips around her clit, sending her over the edge. She moaned loudly, throwing her head back, as she continued to rub against your mouth while she rode out her high.

Eddie was completely fucked out, he pulled out of you and watched his cum drip out of your pussy down your ass and when he looked up he felt like he was about to get hard again already. Chloe was riding your face, her head thrown back, hand in her hair, skin flushed. She looked absolutely mesmerizing.

Once she came down scooted off your face to come lay down beside you. “Fuck. That was so hot.” She was panting as she wrapped her arm around your shoulders and placed a kiss on your cheek. “You are such a good girl.”

Eddie came and laid on the opposite side of you and wrapped his arm around your waist nuzzling his face into your neck. “The best girl.” He said.

You sighed in content and giggled at the praise.

“Happy Birthday, sweet girl.” Chloe leaned over and kissed you softly.

Eddie sat up abruptly next to you. “WHAT!? It’s your birthday!? Why didn’t you tell me!? We could’ve done something to celebrate!”

You looked over at the clock, it read 2:37AM “I mean it’s not my birthday anymore, and I’m pretty sure we just celebrated, several times.” You laughed.

“Okay technically we kinda celebrated. But you know that’s not what I meant, I meant actual birthday stuff. Like cake and singing happy birthday and all that. You deserve that.” He pouted.

“Eddie! It’s fine, this is all I wanted. Chloe surprised me with this trip and this is more than I could’ve ever asked for on my birthday.” You smiled at him and ran a reassuring hand down his arm. “Plus you didn’t even know it was my birthday, how could you? Don’t feel bad silly.”

“Okay well still!! I want to do something for you. This is the last stop on tour and we are playing two more shows here in town. Let me take you to dinner tomorrow.” He put his hand over yours, smiling hopefully at you.

“Eddie… I- We-“ you struggled to find what to say.

“Eddie, baby, we would love that. But, we spent all of our cash on this trip and we only have money for gas and food on the way home. We weren’t even going to stay tonight since we couldn’t afford a hotel and you so graciously let us stay here. But we really can’t afford to stay here another night. I’m sorry.” Chloe spoke up for you, not in a controlling way, she just knows sometimes you have a hard time telling people no. Especially when you don’t want to.

“No, I mean stay here with me in my hotel. We can do whatever you want tomorrow, and then I’ll take you out to a nice fancy dinner.” Fuck, did he really want that? It honestly sounded amazing, but you didn’t even have extra clothes. There was no way you were going to go to a nice dinner with a newly famous rockstar in the clothes you wore all night.

“Eddie I’d really love that, and it’s so sweet that you want to do that for me but we don’t have extra clothes, and I’d feel bad just imposing on your space and having you spend your money on us.” It hurts you to say no to him, you can see his face fall a bit before it lights back up in a smile.

“Sweetheart, listen… I have so much money now I don’t know what to do with it. I’ll take you guys shopping, you can get clothes for the next few days and something pretty to wear to dinner. Pleeeeease??” He sticks his lip out and puts his hands together like a kid on Halloween begging for one more piece of candy.

“That sounds fucking amazing honestly, I’m in. Let him do this for you baby, he wants to and you deserve it.” Chloe looked over at you both with a Cheshire Cat smile before placing a kiss on your forehead. “I know it’s hard for you to let people do things for you, but if you can’t do it for you, do it for me? Because I really fucking want the rockstar Eddie treatment for a day.”

She wasn’t wrong, he’s practically begging to spoil you, it wouldn’t hurt to let him, would it?

“Fuck it. Okay. You can take us shopping and to dinner but I’m going to suck your dick so good and fuck your brains out after. As a thank you.”

His dick twitched at the thought. “Fuck princess, you can’t talk like that you’re going fo get me going again.”

“Who said I wasn’t trying to do exactly that?” You bit your lip and moved your hand to palm his now semi hard cock.

“Yeah? You wanna go again?” He looked like he just won the lottery.

“Hell yeah we do pretty boy, I specifically remember you saying something about ‘fucking us all night long’” Chloe was climbing over you, straddling your lap as she reached out to grab Eddie’s throat. “Did you not?”

“Fuck yeah I did.” He grabbed her face and pulled her into a rough kiss.

Yeah, this was definitely the best birthday of your life, the best day of your life in general honestly and tomorrow was probably going to be even better.

Tagging the bbs who seemed like they wanted to read this: @eddiemunson95 @rip-quizilla @the-unforgivenn 🤭🖤

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x OC

[blueywrites]

I Will Wait

a soulmate!fakemarriage!au with rockstar!eddie and personalassistant!reader (also featuring ronance)

cowritten by @abibliophobiaa, @blue-mossbird, @breddiemunson, @myosotisa, and @fracturedarkness

18+ only for mature themes and eventual sexual content. fem!reader

one (9.9k) | next | masterlist | AO3 | 🎵 shmackin' tunes

in this universe, there is no upside down, the year is 1995, and corroded coffin = nine inch nails. if you didn't check out the prequel publications (hot off the press on our series masterlist), make sure you do, since they provide important backstory for the IWW universe! read them carefully; there are secrets. 😉

Your mind is a buzzing whirl, just like that of the streets of New York City below, visible through the thick glass of your apartment window. Below, where you can hear the blare of honking horns, can see people loitering on the side of the road, hands waving high in an attempt to hail one of the taxis rushing past. You watch as people dart across busy intersections, dodging oncoming cars, scattering like ants across criss-crossed streets that teem with activity even in the dead of night.

It’s a constant, a comfort, something you can cling to as anticipation bubbles and wells in your gut. 

Outside, the sun is beginning its slow descent; glowing bright skies begin to deepen into a powdery orange, hinting at a day starting to close. Your fingers press against the window, a mental note already forming to clean it once you step away, eyes peering out into the bustling city streets. You work your way down the mental list once more: dishes washed, already set aside in the drying rack; laundry ironed and folded, pressed neatly into your drawers in categorical order; counters wiped down, shades dusted, furniture polished; dishwasher emptied, cups, plates, bowls and utensils placed in proper cabinets; AOL inbox checked, your confirmation for the time you would be meeting your new boss responded to, while the rest of the emails were placed into proper folders or deleted completely.

You’ve already changed your outfit three times. Laid multiple options out on your bed and ironed them all. You had held them to your body in the reflection of your bedroom mirror and tossed them into a heap at the foot of your bed. This wasn’t just any day, after all. The importance isn’t lost on you. This isn’t like any of your temp jobs that came before it. This is the first you’ll be working alongside someone with undeniable notoriety in the music space. 

A celebrity, really. 

“I can see your mind working, you know?” Angela, your roommate, glances up from where she sits at your kitchen island. There’s a magazine in front of her with some likely-falsified article about the newest Hollywood “IT” couple on display, dressed to the nines with glowing, airbrushed features. Her nails tap along the countertop, stark red against pale cream, as she arches a brow in your direction.

You’re already walking into the kitchen to join her, skirt sliding against your tight-clad thighs as you reach down beneath the sink to grab a bottle of windex, sights set on the fingerprints on your floor-to-ceiling windows. She twists in the chair while you rustle about, ignoring her as you grasp paper towels from the rack.

“This is a good thing,” she says, sighing with an exasperated shake of the head. Your reflection obscures for a brief moment, replaced by blue spray, before you wipe your lingering prints away. “You’ve wanted to travel for so long. You know, see the world and all of that. This is your opportunity to do it. And shit, it beats working for that asshat you used to deal with. What was his name again?” 

You slip back into the kitchen to throw the towel away, heels clacking against tile. “Carver,” you reply, just as the lid to the garbage falls closed. You lean back against the countertop, smoothing your sweaty palms along the sides of your skirt. “Pretty sure anyone would be better than him. I still can’t believe that Mr. Harrington came to the office looking to mitigate all that tension between Mr. Munson and Jason by trying to partner up Carver Distilleries and Corroded Coffin for a commercial, and Jason went and ruined it by running his mouth. I wish you could have seen it, Ange. Mr. Harrington was so disgusted with how he behaved, he extinguished the deal completely right there in his office.”

“Exactly, because even he knows that man is vile,” she sighs with a pout, her form slipping down from off of one of your shoddy barstools, curly blonde hair swaying around her shoulders as she walks. You snort when her hands curl around your forearms, shaking you lightly. “What did your new boss say? Something about you being more than equipped to handle this position? Didn’t he, oh I don’t know, request you specifically for his client? You’re going to be fine; in fact, you’re going to be wonderful. If there’s anyone in this world who can handle the notorious Eddie Munson, I think it’s you.”

With a newly restored confidence, you set to the bustling streets of Manhattan, sights poised on the recording studio address you were given. You thought your first day might start with something akin to an office introduction. Something, at the very least, a little less imposing than this. But you double checked your email from Mr. Harrington before you left and printed the directions that now sat clutched tight within your hands. 

The building that stands before you at the end of your trek looms arresting and proud in the midst of the bodies swarming around you. Your eyes lift hesitantly to the glass door, your mirrored reflection leaping back at you. Angela’s words ring true in your ears; you are more than adequately equipped. You wouldn’t be invited here if it were not fate itself beckoning at your door. With a resigned exhale, your fingers twine around the cool, metal handle and step inside. 

Schmackin’ Records is a world unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. From the moment your feet hit the mat at the front door, company logo etched into it, you know you’re no longer sitting at the front desk of Carver Distilleries. Your head tilts upward to the records dangling from the ceiling, then lower to the endless sprawling walls littered with posters boasting of accolades achieved by the success of the artists that have roamed these halls. You’re struck with the realization that you’re standing in the shadows of legends that have also trailed this path before you. 

This— this place and this moment, are your current reality. 

“You wouldn’t happen to be the new assistant, would you?” The woman at the front desk catches your attention. Your head whirls, fingers slipping from where they rest along a glass case affixed to the wall, proclaiming a recently obtained platinum record. Her face softens at your visible nervousness. “Sorry to scare you, dear.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine! I’m… ah, I’m actually here to meet with Mr. Steve Harrington. He gave me this address….” You hold aloft the directions in your hand, heart dancing in your chest as your heeled shoes propel you over to where she sits behind a glass panel. The woman before you glimpses down at your directions printed from MapQuest with a pitying grin, her head bobbing before her fingers clack away on her keyboard. 

“That’s right! Hold on one moment, sweetie.” You open your mouth to speak as she lifts a phone from its receiver and dials a number quickly. You can faintly hear a voice on the other end. “Mr. Harrington? Yes, this is Joyce speaking. Mr. Munson’s new assistant is here looking for you… okay— yes, that’s fine. Thank you, yes— I’ll let her know. Goodbye.” 

Your legs plant beneath you firmly, shoulders ramrod straight, head tilted up in anticipation of your new role. Joyce only resumes in her typing, head tilted down toward her computer screen, leaving you to simmer alone in the tense silence. 

“Mr. Harrington will meet you on floor five. Just take that elevator down this hall on your left,” she says, head lifting abruptly from her work. 

“Thank you!” 

Somehow, the directions only bring you more nervousness. The knowledge that all that stands before you and your new role is five floors. A short elevator ride. Merely a few moments in time remain stretched between you and the catapult into a lifestyle you’ve only seen on television prior to this opportunity. 

Your shoes clack against the laminate flooring, a foreboding tap tap tap as you shuffle your way down the short hallway and press the call button for your elevator. The doors open with a soft ping, heart ricocheting against your ribcage as you step inside and the silver metal closes behind you. Hesitant fingers raise to press the number five, the circle bursting to life and illuminating your selection. You step into the center of the room, hands clasped at your side, eyes ahead of you on your distorted reflection upon the surface. 

You settled on a simple outfit for the day. Something pristine and professional. A thin black long-sleeved shirt, pale gray tweed skirt, black tights, and dark heels. Simple and understated, though still maintaining your own preferences for stylistic choices. Those same clothes cling to you now. Your tights suddenly seem too tight, heels increasingly pinchy around the back of your heel, skirt prickly and coarse against your thighs, the neck of your sweater digging into your throat. You’re parched, though you doubt any amount of water would assist you now. 

The door opens to reveal sprawling wooden walls, as well as the figure of Steve Harrington standing before you in a pair of slacks and a simple button up. He looks exceedingly kind just as he did the first time you met him. Dark, depthless eyes with a wide grin spread across finely hewn features. His fingers card through his hair as you step out to greet him, hand coming to extend before you at the ready. 

“You’re here! Oh, thank god.” He shakes your hand briefly and nudges you toward the opening of a hallway, those endless panels of wooden walls surrounding you on either side. The voice that spills from him in a rush is a frantic murmur of, “I’m sorry to have contacted you on such notice. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble—”

“Oh, not at all, Mr. Harrington,” you interrupt, swallowing thickly as he pauses in stride. “Sorry.”

“No, no. Please, call me Steve. Mr. Harrington is what people call my father,” he says, smiling softly. There’s a comfort in his gaze, a warmth that oozes from him. The tightness in your chest loosens, a deep breath pouring out. “We’ve… well, his last assistant quit abruptly, you see, and therefore we were obviously left with no notice. So when you said you could start as soon as possible, it was almost a godsend.”

Your hands grip tighter to the band of your pocketbook draped over your shoulder, leather still cool from the afternoon air. “I’m here for whatever you need, Mr. Ha— Steve.”

The hallway leads to a door, dark and imposing, with a wide silver handle. His fingers curl around it and hesitate, head turning over his shoulder to gauge your expression. The worrying of your lip pauses, teeth releasing from their tense position against your skin. Your mouth quirks upward into a hopeful smile, willing those nerves bubbling to subside. 

“What exactly have you heard about Eddie Munson?” he asks you. 

You know he’s not expecting a true answer. Not really. You’ve done minimal research. A quick Yahoo search brings up more articles than you know what to do with in reference to the infamous Eddie Munson. Most of which had brought you to pages detailing his altercation at the Grammy Awards in 1994 and the numerous escapades he’s gotten himself into in the course of his still newly established stardom, as well as his whirlwind romance with his wife. 

“Not much,” you admit, and while it is the truth, Steve seems to deflate a bit. 

His shoulders drop, hand coming to run through that full head of dark hair on him once more. That easy demeanor shifts, mouth turning southward. “Eddie is… he means well. He’s just— well, he’s gone through a few assistants in the past few months, as you know. In the few years I’ve known him, I can tell you with certainty he is dedicated to his craft, but he tends to veer into the wilder aspects of life. What he needs right now is someone who can handle him, and I truly believe that person is you.”

You feel your stomach drop. Initially, when Steve had offered you the position, he boasted of a fast-paced role that required adaptability. Your previous job had been nothing but back to back phone calls, fielding all the incoming clients and their questions, managing the schedules of your manager, and ensuring all issues were handled accordingly. 

Babysitting a rockstar hadn’t exactly been on your agenda; yet even despite all of that, you couldn’t pass up the opportunity and had accepted the job offer. 

“And the others?” you question, hand coming to rub along your bicep.

“I wouldn’t worry about it so much,” Steve says with a shake of his head. “You handled Carver. Eddie should be a breeze.”

Carver Distilleries was not your ideal job, but it was the job you acquired shortly after a brief stint as an administrative assistant for a local community college. The company touted a prolific background of over thirty years in business and you jumped at the prospect. It had been straightforward enough most days. The phones rang around the clock and you handled the calls as expected, passed them off to their proper channels, and made sure the son of the CEO was happy at all times. 

Jason Carver was, to put it lightly, the devil’s incarnate. Most days you wondered if he’d been placed in this life for the sole purpose of bringing suffering to all those around him, with a pitchfork in one hand and tail swishing behind him as he stomped through the halls of the building. 

You couldn’t recall off the top of your head a day wherein he had ever been happy. Shockingly so for someone born from wealth and thrusted into the limelight, silver spoon in mouth at birth. Jason was proof that money hardly ever solved all problems.

He reigned as the crowned Prince of the company, his father’s shining star, who never raised his finger to do anything. For years, he rode on the back of his father’s coattails and treated those around them like they were beneath him, nose always upturned, sneer firmly planted on his face. 

That evening you were already overwhelmed. There was an issue down in the marketing department regarding a mixup in schedules, leaving the Carver’s seated next to a family they didn’t particularly have positive dealings with at an upcoming gala. To add to the rising tension, Jason sent you on an errand to retrieve his requested cappuccino. Light foam, two sugars, extra hot. When you’d returned, he was still in a meeting with some of his fathers business executives, hidden behind a glass door. You left the cup for him there, as requested of you, and rushed back to the front desk just as Mr. Steve Harrington walked into the building. 

He’d come in looking like any other businessman you’d seen grace the building in the past. Perfectly tailored suit and tie, briefcase in hand, hair coiffed neatly atop his head. Steve Harrington, though young, harnessed a professionalism about him that Jason Carver lacked. There were no sneers aimed your way as he approached the desk and greeted you pleasantly, nor did he scoff at the hand you’d extended in greeting, welcoming him with a soft thanks. 

“Mr. Carver is just finishing up another meeting and will be out to retrieve you,” you advise him, walking out from behind your desk. “Would you like coffee, water… tea?”

“I’m okay, thank you,” he says, holding his briefcase tighter within his palm as he made his way over to the small couch positioned across from you, nestled beside a potted plant. You retreated back to your desk as he pulled a phone from his pocket, voice rising just enough to ask, “Do you happen to have—”

“What is this?!” Jason’s voice boomed from down the hall. 

A loud thump echoed from his office, likely from something he’d tossed off his desk in frustration, and you knew well enough to duck behind the covering of your work space. You frantically thumbed the spacebar on your computer to bring it back to life, assuring everyone in your vicinity that you appeared occupied as a shock of blonde hair filled your peripheral. He’d bursted into the room with the dejected coffee in hand, hair strewn about messily atop, eyes narrowed in heedless anger. 

Your eyes flickered to the cup, then settled back on the opened email on your desktop computer. The subject line held a request for a flower arrangement you were set to purchase for Jason’s wife, Chrissy, because he couldn’t be bothered to do it himself. 

You let out a soft sigh and explained, “It’s the coffee you asked for.”

His nostrils flared like a bull, the embers burning behind his eyes glowing brighter. “I know it’s the coffee I asked for. I don't pay you to answer me with that sarcastic bullshit—”

“Mr. Carver—” The rise of your voice caught you both off guard, only further angering him. 

His eyes narrowed, brows knitted tight across the middle of his forehead, vein pulsing against taut skin growing redder by the second. “I asked for a cappuccino with light foam, two sugars, and asked that you make sure it’s extra hot. This isn’t extra hot. This isn’t even warm. It’s cold.”

“Yes, Mr. Carver. It was hot when I left it on your desk two hours ago. Would you like me to go and get you another one?” You try your best to retain a neutral tone. You’re aware of Steve’s eyes trailing along both your forms, interrupted from his own work by your increasingly heated argument. 

He barked out an incredulous laugh, head shaking. “No, I don't want you to get me another coffee. You should have known my meeting would run long and planned accordingly. I don’t know where you get the nerve to talk to me like you are when you seem to have forgotten you are no more than a rece—”

“Mr. Carver.” You both paused at the finality of your tone, throat filled with the bitter taste of the degradation he attempted to throw your way. “Your two thirty meeting for the Tennessee Maple Whiskey commercial is here.”

He clicked his tongue, shooting a glower your way. You already anticipated a meeting in his office later wherein he reminded you of all the reasons why your behavior was unacceptable and why you were lucky to still have a position at Carver Distilleries. 

“Fine. Mr. Harrington, give me one moment and I will call you back into my office. I just need to finish running something by my father. As for you—” His eyes darted back to your form. “—I will deal with you later.”

You exhaled a heavy sigh of relief as the blonde haired man sauntered back down the hall, leaving you to the comfort of your generally quiet front desk. Steve still lingered there, one hand curled around his phone, the other lifting the briefcase he held off his lap to set it in the seat beside him. You watched as he rose to his feet and dropped his phone within his pocket, gliding over to your desk with a small white card in hand. 

You didn’t need to read the words there to know what he’d slid across your desk. It was an instantaneous understanding, the knowledge of a new opportunity, of a way out from beneath the weight of the man who wanted nothing more than to rule with an iron fist and remind others that they were all beneath him. 

He glanced briefly down the hall to ensure no one was listening and leveled his gaze with yours, voice a quieted whisper as he said, “You work well under pressure. Carver is… well, Carver’s an ass. I can offer you more money, if you happen to be looking for another job. You could travel the world working for me instead of sitting behind this desk. Let me know.” 

Standing before Steve, you feel the questions swirling of the validity of the hope he’d placed inside of you. Had it been premature? He’d only seen one encounter between your prior manager and yourself. That was hardly enough to base a whole career off of, and yet his fingers tighten around the door handle all the same, ready to pull it forward and open you up to a world of newness beckoning you. 

Your sweaty palms slide down the sides of your tweed skirt, fabric rustling about your thighs as you step nearer to the door, hardening your resolve. 

It’s now or never, you suppose. 

“Remember,” Steve warns, just as you move to step inside the recording studio. “He means well. I should also warn that he can tend to be a little… flirtatious. But I would try and pay it no mind. You’re going to be great.”

The room inside is grandiose. Roof to floor wooden paneling shrouds everything in a honey warmth. There are a couple of couches near the far wall, one of which seemingly occupied, and a coffee table that sits in front of it. You catch the slow glug of a water dispenser in the distance, nearest to a coffee station in preparation of the long night that lies ahead of you all. To your right is an open closet, then further still a bathroom. The room itself is dim, lights adjusted for a cozier feel. Intimate and fitting for the tracks that are to be laid today. 

The same room, previously full of echoing laughter and vibrant conversation, fizzles into deafening silence as Steve leads you into the room, calling out, “Guys, there’s someone I'd like you to meet!” The announcement has every eye in the room darting your way, faces drawn tight to get a sight of the newest visitor. Only you’re not a visitor, because one of these men is about to be your new client. Steve turns to you then, hand lightly brushing your shoulder to nudge you forward as he says, “This right here is the new assistant, Y/N.”

A round of introductory greetings reach your ears, your voice full of certainty as you return them. “It’s great to finally meet you all.” However, you’ve yet to capture the elusive image of your client, as two of the band members stand closely together, obscuring him from your direct field of view.

Steve continues, “This is Gareth Parsons, drummer of Corroded Coffin.”

The first of the group steps forward. His shaggy head of brown hair flops as he moves, reaching forward with an extended hand in greeting. The warmth of his palm fills the space within your own, squeezing lightly. You feel a little bit of that boiling tension dissipate, the weight on your chest at the notion of a room full of new people unintentionally judging you lightening. 

His voice is kind, edged with humor as he says teasingly, “Nice to finally meet Eddie’s new babysitter.”

The next band member makes himself known. He has dark skin, dark hair and lovely brown eyes, full of a kindness that has your mind easing further. Those same comforting eyes flash quickly to his bandmate, a stern flicker of his warm gaze resting on Gareth’s, the latter of the two huffing from his nose.  

“Behave,” Jeff warns, voice a low murmur that has Gareth resigning to his defeat. That warm hand releases from your own and he steps back enough into the fold of the remaining members to allow Jeff to step forward. “The name’s Jeff. I’m on rhythm guitar and synth. It’s so nice to meet you.” He flashes you a white smile, and you can’t help the grin that blooms across your features at his easy acceptance of your presence. 

“Thank you,” you say, truly grateful that the first two introductions have thus far proceeded smoothly. “Both of you.”

Seemingly pleased with how things are processing, Steve clears his throat. “So that’s Jeff, who you’ve now met. And then you’ve got Harry, who would be the bassist of Corroded Coffin.”

Harry steps forward, his hulking frame shadowing your own, to shake your hand. You lock your hand within his and he opens his mouth to work over the words he’s going to say when a voice cuts through the silence. 

“The name is Harry Cox. And if you’re nice to him, maybe he’ll show it to you.”

“Eddie, fuckin’ really?” Jeff asks brusquely, whirling around in the Eddie Munson’s direction.

You’re not sure what to expect as the men shift and separate, bodies moving one by one to reveal the figure that’s so far remained hidden from your view. In theory, you’ve seen pictures of him. One would have to be living under a rock to not have come across a photograph of Eddie Munson somewhere. The infamous photo of the men standing around you, dated back to when they were teenagers, boyish frames huddled together in the halls of their high school before they had skyrocketed to fame at a trajectory no one ever anticipated; the clippings from not so flattering headlines showing his swift rise and downfall, leaving him on thin ice; the photos documenting his hasty nuptials to his actress wife. However, none of those compare to the intimidating figure that commands the presence of everyone around him as your hesitant eyes clash with his beneath the dark shroud of his sunglasses. 

Your eyes settle on the dark swath of ripped jeans over coltish limbs. Black material stretches tight over sinewy muscle, thighs splayed out in front of him, scuffed Doc Martens thrown carelessly against the cherry wood of the coffee table. Your eyes start the slow crawl upward, tracking along black shirt stretched over his broad chest, with an equally dark leather jacket hugging his biceps. His arms rest over the top of the couch, a confident sprawl of elongated limbs against plush cushions. His face is almost feline, predatory and intimidating, most of the upper portion of his face obscured by those aviator sunglasses. The parts you can see are striking: lengthy, wavy hair that falls to his shoulders, soft and feathery against the leather jacket; those long fingers adorned with silver rings pushed flush against knuckles, broad hands covered in intricate tattoos; the pale skin over high cheekbones, an indent on his cheek that hints at a dimple if he weren't looking your way in disdain; full lips, soft nose, and the slightest hint of shadow along his jaw. 

The Eddie Munson portrayed in the tabloids Angela had showed you over the years pales in comparison to the man that sits before you. This man oozes presence— owns this sort of magnetism that pulls the attention onto him in the center of the room with the mere sound of his voice. 

“And that would be Eddie Munson, lead singer and guitarist for Corroded Coffin,” Steve explains, the arresting presence of the man sitting on the couch in front of you rooting you in place. 

Gareth coughs out a quiet, “Resident douche.” 

Jeff shoots him another scathing look. It’s enough of a distraction to draw your attention away from your new client, uneasy laughter welling up from you. Your stare drifts momentarily to Steve, his warm smile easing your tension, hand unfurling in front of him. The gesture has you faltering, understanding his intent is for you to make a proper introduction. 

You shuffle your way toward the man, disregarding the way he barely even acknowledges your presence within the room. He’s not once moved, back pressing further into the curve of couch cushions, eyes peering up over at you through the top of his sunglasses. Dark and depthless, an endless swirl of ink, devoid of any emotion that might give you insight into how he thinks this initial meeting is going. You hear it then in the vestiges of your mind. A soft howl, nearly imperceptible—the whisper of wind in the distance, echoing in your ears. A warning, an insinuation of something to come. Still, your hand stretches into the spaces between you, left to linger in the open air.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Munson.” Your voice remains firm— unwavering, despite the fact that he dismisses your hand.

Jeff scoffs from beside you, head shaking slightly as his foot comes to shove Eddie’s off of where they rest against the wooden surface. They hit the ground with a dull thud, though Eddie’s posture remains lax, facade unwavering. “She’s talking to you.”  

Eddie remains silent for a time, those dark eyes sliding up over the top of his sunglasses, voice hollow as he mutters, “You can call me ‘Sir.’” It’s innocent enough until the corners of his lips tug into a salacious smirk, fingers moving to push his sunglasses further up onto the bridge of his nose, head tipping upward a bit so he’s now level with your unrelenting stare. You worked with Jason long enough to understand this game, the ploy to see if you’ll break at the first sight of tension, and you’re not falling into that trap now. 

You take a step closer, hand hovering in air untouched, voice unyielding. “I’ll call you Mr. Munson, or Eddie. Take your pick.” 

Gareth chuckles at your left, but your eyes remain focused on Eddie in your battle of stares. Him, veiled through darkened lenses, and you in your refusal to grant him the satisfaction of looking away for even one moment and admitting defeat. You hear that soft howling again, a quiet whir in your ears, just as Steve claps his hands and a new man enters from the recording room, voice slicing the strained silence. “This right here is Argyle. He’s the producer and sound engineer working on this project. Today, the guys will be laying down the tracks for their latest album, so you’ll be here to take care of anything Eddie might need in the interim.” 

Your head turns, breath catching at the unexpected arms that loop around your shoulder, fingers reaching up to press against the hawaiian print on his shirt, those long strands of his dark hair smooth beneath your fingertips. He steps back to take you in, head bobbing animatedly as he says, “Nice to meet you, my dude—dudette. I’m the king of this music castle here. Can’t say I’ll be of much assistance, but if you need anything, don’t be afraid to ask.” His greeting concluded, Argyle meanders back over to his seat again, contentedly rocking the swivel chair back and forth with his feet.

There’s a sudden creak of leather that draws your attention; Steve runs a hand through his hair, pushing back the waves as his gaze darts from you to Eddie, who’s now rising from the couch. Eddie cracks his neck to the side, finally pulling off the aviators and dropping them haphazardly to the coffee table, where they skitter before meeting the magazine stack beside you. You push the top one back into place with the tip of your finger.

“Call me if you need me,” your boss says, one broad hand landing on Argyle’s shoulder, crinkling the Hawaiian print. “Good luck,” he mutters, patting him twice before moving toward the studio door.

You aren’t sure who Steve had been wishing luck to, but since his parting words don’t seem to phase the producer, you figure they must have been meant for you. 

The heavy door thumps closed after him, echoing through the silent room. You can feel almost everyone's eyes on you— the outlier, the new variable in this equation, the only one here who doesn't have a pre-existing role in the narrative. As your gaze darts from one man to another in the span of that brief silence, you see a variety of expressions: curiosity, pleasantness, neutrality. But only one expression truly matters, and of course, unfortunately, it’s the expression of the only man whose gaze is averted as if reluctant to acknowledge you.

You take a moment to study your client now that you can clearly see his face, and what you see does not fill you with confidence. Eddie Munson's eyes are large and brown and framed by long, soft lashes, but there is only hardness in his dark stare. The crinkled lines at their corners would be charming, but they're wrinkled in a critical squint, not with a smile. Instead, though his lips are plush and pink, they're twisted in a faint sneer as he gazes at the plexiglass of the recording room, decidedly away from you.

He means well, Steve had said. But you can't help but think that this man doesn't look like he means anything but ill will towards you, his new assistant. Despite the welcome from others around you, it's making those new-job jitters deepen.

In the middle of your examination, those dark eyes—very suddenly and unexpectedly— flick to yours.

It's an impact you couldn't have braced for. Instantly, a rush of prickling heat crawls up your spine as if Eddie is looking through you, past skin and bone and muscle, straight to your very center. It’s a look that pins you down, flays you open, leaving you entirely exposed in its disapproval.

Blessedly, because of the time you'd worked with Jason Carver, you have perfected your customer service poker face. There is no outward appearance of your inward reaction, aside from the dampening of your palms; smoothly, you run them down textured tweed in the guise of fixing wrinkles before clearing your throat lightly.

It does the trick. The room, which had been suspended in silence following Steve's departure, suddenly stirs as Argyle spins in the chair to face you all fully, folding his hands over his belly. “Well, all right, brochachos,” he says, nodding slowly, his long curtain of black hair swaying as he does. “You ready to record some shit?”

"Fuck yeah, dude," Gareth answers immediately, pushing up from his knees, an enthusiastic smirk splitting his face as he leads the way to the recording room. Harry follows next, his hulking form shuffling from behind the coffee table. He pauses before reaching you as if he's afraid to enter your space; you shift quickly, moving closer to the coffee table to make more room as he fits himself around you. 

"'Scuse me," he mumbles, and the gentle baritone of his voice coupled with the tiny tinge of pink on his cheeks makes you smile. 

"No, I'm sorry," you're quick to assure him, "I was in the way." 

He smiles shyly back as he passes by you, pausing by the recording room door to let Jeff enter first.

Distracted as you were by the exchange, you’re hit with a tiny spike of panic when you realize Eddie has begun to follow them, seemingly with no intention to address you again. It would leave you adrift with no direction— no inkling at all of what you can do to assist him, especially as Argyle already said he won't be much help— and that makes you act hastily. Impulsively.

Your body tilts forward, jerking after him, and your hand flutters out of its own accord, stopping just shy from making contact with his jacketed elbow. Eddie stops abruptly as his eyes dart to you; he squints as his gaze flicks down to your outstretched fingers. Your cheeks heat as you feel almost chastised, but you don’t let your embarrassment show. Instead, you let your hand drop, looking evenly into his dark brown eyes as you ask, “How can I best assist you right now, Mr. Munson? Is there anything in particular you'd like me to do?”

His stare sharpens, plush lips curving in the whisper of a smirk. “You a fan, sweetheart?” He asks, voice gritty with smoke and a quiet smugness as if he already knows the answer. 

You keep Steve’s words in your mind, his warning about Eddie’s potential flirtatiousness. The shift— from thinly-veiled disdain to this— is jarring, but you figure it's probably meant to throw you off. “Of you or of Corroded Coffin?” you ask, expression carefully schooled to neutrality. Eddie's smirk tightens at the corners, grows a little more defined, but you continue before he can respond. “If I’m honest,” you tell him, “I’m not really well-acquainted with your music.”

His brows jerk, and when his eyes scan down your body before returning to yours, they’re narrowed again. “Let me guess. You’re a TLC girl? A little Backstreet Boys groupie?” 

There’s a heavy shade of judgment in his voice that tells you he isn’t really interested in learning the answer, only in confirming for himself that your musical taste leaves much to be desired. You can't deny that the implication rankles you. You bristle at the thought that he presumes to know you when you've only just met, that he considers you lacking before you've given any reason for him to. The injustice of it makes you rush hot again, but not with nerves— with irritation. 

Still, you maintain that mask of professionalism. You don’t let it show. “No,” you reply evenly, meeting his gaze dead-on, unhesitant and unashamed to share your preferences. “More like Smashing Pumpkins. Hole, too.” You ignore how his expression suddenly glints with salaciousness. “Though I do also appreciate harder stuff. Like Alice in Chains, for example,” you add, following it up with a small, polite smile. And it's true— you do appreciate some metal, despite it not being your go-to. It's not as though you don't like Corroded Coffin's music on principle.

But this answer doesn’t seem to excite him. Instead, Eddie’s sharp gaze dulls slightly as you refuse to play into his game. “Right,” he says, expression easing for the first time. “Well then, I do have something you can do for me, sweetheart.”

Pet name aside, it's the most pleasant he's sounded so far, and you brighten, having expected him to put up more resistance. Maybe all you needed to do was show that you were truly here to help him. 

"Okay," you say, face expectant as you await his instruction.

Eddie’s lips twitch up into a tiny, crooked smile. “You see that door over there?” He flicks his finger lazily toward one of two narrow doors on the far wall, set into the wood paneling. You nod obediently, and he leans in, eyes wide and brows tugged up, pitching his voice low and soft like he’s coaching you through something secretive. “Well, inside, there’s a box. A box of all our recordings. Yeah?” 

He waits until you nod again, a little more hesitantly this time. “What you can do for me is go in that box and listen to everything inside. Every album, every EP, every demo. Even the shitty garage recordings. Even the b-sides.” He pauses, tipping his chin down. And though he doesn't raise his voice, its softness sharpens to granite. “Because I’ll be goddamned if my personal assistant doesn’t even know my music.” 

Your face was too eager for him not to notice the way it falls, and Eddie straightens, putting distance between you as he stuffs his hands in his back pockets, elbows jutting in satisfaction. That ghost of a smirk returns as he pokes his tongue against the inside of his cheek, raising his chin and leveling you with one last look through his long, feathered lashes before he turns away.

His clear dismissal sinks into your chest, and you huff lightly through your nose, rushing with disappointment. Almost as if he can sense the crack in you, he whips back around abruptly; it startles you, and your spine straightens as you jerk to attention. “When we’re done recording, there’ll be a quiz,” he says, and the sharp smile on his face becomes a threat.

You can't help it— a bit of nervousness leaks through your expression then. That seems to finally please him, and Eddie releases you from his dark gaze as he, at last, joins his bandmates in the recording room. The sound of instruments tuning surges before the glass door thumps closed behind him, muffling to silence again.

Now left alone with your task assigned, you turn toward Argyle a little helplessly. He’s gazing at you with an absent smile on his face, still in the same position with his hands folded on his belly, seeming entirely unphased by the contentiousness of your new client. You exhale a quick breath, using it as a reset before asking him, “Can I get a pair of headphones and a Walkman or something?"

"Certainly, my little dudette." He points toward the same door Eddie had indicated. “There’s bound to be some somewhere in that closet.”

Lovely. You nod slowly, flashing a quick smile through pursed lips. “Thank you,” you say before turning and making your way over to help yourself.

The interior of the closet is lit by a single dangling lightbulb, and despite the polished fixings and thorough decor of the recording studio itself, this room is bare-bones in its furnishings. Metal shelving crowds the narrow walls, and the floor is plain poured concrete, barren compared to the plush rug in the lounge area. Your heels clack hollowly as you edge tentatively into the space, avoiding loose cords until you’re standing in the center of the tiny room, directly under the lightbulb. Your hands plant on your hips as you survey your surroundings: shelves and shelves of identical cardboard boxes, all unlabeled aside from an occasional errant number or acronym that means nothing to you, some stacked three high.

Of course.

It takes a good half an hour to finally uncover the correct box. Thankfully, though the labels on the outside are useless, the contents within are masking-taped with far more descriptive labels, written in a messy but still legible scrawl. When you open the box, seeing ‘CC’ on the top CD case feels promising, and a little shuffling reveals some hand-drawn album artwork complete with a coffin and bats that can't be for anyone other than Corroded Coffin. With the correct box secured, you pick your way back to the closet door, setting it down to begin your search for a Walkman, some headphones, and a tape player, since you’d seen a couple of loose cassettes in there, too.

You’re nothing if not thorough. No one can ever accuse you of not doing your job.

When you re-emerge from the closet, the recording room behind the plexiglass is not peaceful like you’d left it. It looks like a television set put on mute as you see Gareth’s hair whipping, Jeff’s shoulders swaying, Harry’s nose scrunched in a concentrated grimace, and Eddie’s lips hugging the mic, pink crawling up the base of his neck, its cords stretched tight with effort. You avert your eyes to Argyle, whose long straight curtain of ink-black hair sways with each bob of his head, his ears enveloped by an oversized pair of fancy headphones. Everyone seems to be moving in time with one another, rocking to a rhythm you can’t hear, and the utter silence in the room combined with those frenetic movements strikes you as comical as you carry your box and its contents over to the smaller couch, placing it on the cushion beside you.

As instructed, you dig out each CD and cassette, organizing them methodically in chronological order and choosing to begin with the oldest one. The faded marker on the front tells you it’s from 1986, and the marker’s haphazard scrawl matches the scrawl of sound that blares from the tape deck when you slip the headphones over your ears and depress the play button. The sound is tinny, echo-y as if it’d been recorded in someone’s garage. And you suppose it probably was. Judging by the year, you figure they were probably still in high school or not far from it when they recorded this.

The Corroded Coffin of 1986 is not particularly remarkable. The kick drum holding the beat isn’t quite precise enough, and the bass is somewhat sloppy. Not every transition is tight; sometimes a beat that should be synchronized is just a split second too soon or late, whether guitar-strum or cymbal-strike. But there’s an unmistakable energy to the sound— a fervor, an insistence that demands you pay attention. You can feel that pouring-out of teenage aggression through the growls and licks and chugging of the guitars, through the lyrics sung in that voice that, though it sounds higher and less smoky than the voice you’d heard from your client today, is still unmistakable Eddie. Corroded Coffin has something to say, and you can’t help but listen.

Your gaze drifts up to the plexiglass of the recording room. Your eyes see them as men, but your ears hear them as boys. And you can almost picture them in that garage, surrounded by brightly-striped lawn chairs and deflated pool floaties, youthful bodies jerking and swaying with no less enthusiasm than what you see before you now. When you think about it, it’s kind of touching to imagine them as young boys with nothing but a dream. Clearly, it took years of effort to become what they are now. You watch Eddie’s long-lashed eyes scrunch closed and his dark curls cling to the sides of his jaw with sweat, and a sense of wistfulness wells up inside you as you think of your client as that boy in the garage, a boy who didn’t know what he’d eventually make of himself.

You’ve only heard three songs before the play button pops up, signaling the end of the tape. Quickly, you move to the next two— more garage recordings, all short and sounding similar— before you’ve exhausted the cassettes and are ready to begin on the CDs. The first is marked as a demo from 1988, so you know it’ll likely be longer than what you’ve listened to thus far. You slip it into the player, settling back against the cushions as you begin, eyes wandering over the wood-paneled walls as you imagine Corroded Coffin recording it right here seven years ago.

It begins with the ticking of cymbals, the clatter of the snare, and the whine of a guitar. Much more polished than the garage recordings but so unmistakably eighties in its sound that you can’t help but feel your lips curl up in a little deprecating grin. Still, your foot bobs along, and you end up listening to half of it before your curiosity for more overwhelms you. You switch to their debut studio album, which is what that demo eventually became, and that same song— now track  begins the same way— the ticking of cymbals mixed with a snare’s clatter, but you recognize the difference immediately.

This— this— is Corroded Coffin.

Eddie’s voice is grittier and deeper, and the band is tighter, and the addition of those grinding metallic sounds and the electronic synth parts, which have clearly evolved past that stereotypical pop-eighties style, create something truly special. You’d been truthful before when you told Eddie that you hadn’t listened to much of his music, but now that you are, you find it genuinely enjoyable. 

Time passes. Argyle’s head bobs, the guys grow sweatier, and your foot steadily bobs until Pretty Hate Machine concludes. And you should move on to the next EP, but you instead find yourself skipping back, back, back until the disc whirls in a blur of muted blue and pink and the first track starts again. You close your eyes and allow yourself to get lost in it until a muffled commotion of voices and thumps rouses you. It’s the guys exiting the recording room, chests heaving, shirts tacky against their chests, looking tired but pleased as they converge on Argyle in a tight circle. You watch their faces light up with smiles and eager chatter, smiling yourself as they seem all of a sudden more boyish for it. Even Eddie, whose visage was once marred with disdain for you, is grinning toothily; as the joy turns his dark eyes amber, you feel a tiny pang low in your stomach at the sight. 

Nuh-uh. None of that. 

It fades quickly under your quick dismissal, smothered by a reminder of the pride you take in your professionalism. He’s objectively attractive, sure. But he’s still your client, and nothing would change that.

Before long, the group around Argyle disperses. Gareth and Jeff wander towards the couches while Harry stops at the water cooler, gulping down two fills of the plastic cup dwarfed by his meaty hands. You quickly move the cardboard box beside you to the floor and pull the headphones from your ears as you watch Eddie divert from the path, heading back into the recording room without his bandmates.

“What’s he doing?” you ask Gareth as he flops down, sagging against the arm of the large couch across from you. He shakes his damp bangs out of his eyes, flicking sweat that narrowly misses you before he replies.

“He’s laying down the rest of the synth parts for the most recent track. We have to record it separately.” His lips tilt in a grin as he adds playfully, “Ed might be talented, but even he can’t sing and strum and play keys at the same time.”

You find your interest piqued as Eddie folds himself onto the bench behind the keyboard. “He doesn’t need a break?” You watch as he stretches his back with a grimace before shaking out his hands, ruddy fingers turning to a blur. 

Jeff just huffs out of his nose, drawing your gaze. His dark skin is shiny with the evidence of his exertion. “Oh, he needs a break,” he says, exasperated though his eyes are fond. “He just won’t take one.” 

“Yep,” Gareth adds, “He’s a stubborn bastard. Won’t stop ‘til it’s done.” Gareth and Jeff each accept a tiny plastic cup from Harry gratefully, and you shuffle closer to the couche’s arm to make room for him next to you. You tilt toward him as he sinks down carefully beside you, but it doesn’t draw your eyes. They’re stuck on Eddie, on the look on his face as he nods at Argyle: focused, as if his fatigue is nothing to him but an insect to be flicked away. Argyle nods back, tapping a button on the complex board of switches and sliders in front of him. As Eddie’s head begins to bob, you realize what they just recorded must be playing in that plexiglass box, silenced from your ears.

Before you can overthink it, you rise from the couch, the muffled thumps of your heels shifting from thick, plush rug to clack against wood. As you come up next to Argyle, he remains gazing evenly ahead, eyes never wavering as his head bobs in time with Eddie’s. You’re considering whether or not to interrupt him when, without looking at you, he asks mildly, “What can I do for you, brochacha?”

“Are you able to play it out loud?” 

Argyle glances at you then. “Alright,” he drawls, stretching out the word as if impressed. “You wanna hear the bitchin’ beats? Certainly.” 

And with the push of a button, the once-silent studio fills with sound. 

It’s a perfect marriage of grit and polish, evoking both the garage recordings and their first album in the best way. The distortion on the vocals makes Eddie’s voice sound even more imposing than it was in person when you first met him, and you watch his shoulders rock, brow scrunched tight. “This world rejects me. This world threw me away. This world never gave me a chance; this world’s gonna have to pay.” Eddie’s voice projects over the speakers, though his plush lips are motionless now. With such ease you almost don’t notice them, his fingers begin to dance over the keys, adding a subtle electronic melody beneath the drums and grating synth. 

You can feel the tension of the song— the building of something carnal, something furious brewing beneath the surface, threatening to whip your hair back from your cheeks. Its energy builds and builds as Eddie’s voice goes almost breathy underneath the effects, singing, “Something inside of me. It screams the loudest sound. Sometimes I think I could…”

You sense it’s coming, and yet you’re not prepared for it when Eddie’s voice becomes practically a howl: “I’m gonna burn this whole world down!”

The guitars, the drums, the bass and synth— they all explode out in a whirlwind of thrashing sound and driving noise as Eddie’s body rocks, fingertips turning white as he forces sound from the keys. His teeth are grit, his face is pouring sweat, and the sight of it speaks to one thing: determination. 

You can’t help but admire that.

You don’t even notice that your head’s been bobbing along to the beat until it ceases, and as you grow still, it whips to the guys at the couch. This song is better than almost all their others. If the rest of the album is like this… Your eyes sparkle with the force of your excitement as you beam at them, and in their pleased smiles and behind their eyes, you can see it: pride and confidence, knowledge that this album they’re creating is going to become something big.

That feeling is effusive, bubbling in your blood as the door to the recording room opens and Eddie emerges. His curly bangs are plastered to his forehead, his eyes are ringed by dark circles and his lips sag in fatigue. Yet despite it, from within, he’s positively glowing.  

Caught up in the moment, all you can do is blurt, “Holy shit.” You blink dazedly at Eddie for a moment as his face goes slack, and then he tosses his head back and laughs. 

Eddie’s laugh is husky and wild, unrestrained in his amusement. Utterly unfiltered. He laughs as if you’ve told the funniest joke he’s ever heard, and it’s then you realize this is your first day on the job, and you’ve just cursed in front of your client. 

Your face fills with heat, cheeks burning as you stutter, “Mr. Munson, I’m so sorry, that was entirely inappropriate—”

Eddie snorts, waving you off, looking not only unbothered but positively tickled that you’d cursed in front of him. To give yourself a moment to recover, you spin, clacking toward the water cooler to fill up one of those little plastic cups like you’d seen Harry doing earlier. You stammer past your indiscretion, and as you focus on expressing yourself, you feel the burn in your cheeks begin to recede. “I shouldn’t have forgotten myself like that. But that song was just… I mean, seriously. It was like… like a return to your roots or something, but not just that.” You pass him the cup carefully, falling back onto your hip as you cross your arms and your eyes dart to the ceiling. You’re trying to put it into words, and you feel frustrated that you’re struggling to. “Okay. It sounded like those early garage recordings where everything was just raw. It’s gritty and angry and cathartic. But it also feels so… new. Like compared to your last album, but also compared to what other bands are doing right now. You know?”

It doesn’t seem entirely adequate, but that’s all you’ve got— all you can do to express that almost intangible quality that you felt but can’t describe. You finally let your chin drop to meet Eddie’s eyes and are surprised to see them no longer dark and shuttered or squinty with mirth. Eddie’s eyes are wide and bright, amber like sun shining through whiskey as they stare unwaveringly into yours.

"Yeah, you picked up on that?” For once, there isn’t a sharp edge to his voice; in fact, he sounds almost pleased. “With this album we're experimenting with something a little different, really trying to focus on the textures and moods. Trying to find ways to create sound that’s not music. Not in a traditional sense, at least.” 

You nod eagerly, caught up by the enthusiasm in his voice. “Yeah! That’s it. I don’t listen to metal much, but it just doesn’t sound like what you typically hear nowadays.”

Eddie crosses his arms, holding his elbows as his tongue plays against the inside of his cheek. “You’re right,” he concedes, so easily that it comes as a surprise. “In a way, we are going back to our roots; all the way back to being the freaks who don’t want to be packaged up in some neat box. Especially seeing where this industry is going. Like, I’m watching bands that got me through the hellscape of high school crumbling and folding to the pressure. I mean, fuck.” A whip of sweat-damp curls as he shakes his head, his gaze heating with molten passion, pinning you so intently that you couldn’t look away if you tried. “Do you realize the irony of a genre that prides itself on being anti-establishment becoming part of the establishment?”

“Fuckin’ bullshit, man,” Gareth pipes up from the couch, and Eddie’s arm flies out, an eager finger shaking in his direction as his eyes go wide and almost wild.

“Fuck-ing bullshit,” Eddie enunciates, and as his voice roughens, he almost seems to puff up with the strength of his ranting. “Look, I do get it. They’re not the first to end up caught in the wheel; happens before you even realize it. But you know what you’re left with at the end of the day? Jack fucking squat. And we’re just as angry and powerless as we were as kids.” He jams two ruddy fingertips against his open palm, brows raised in emphasis as if willing you to understand. “This— this music was our escape back then. And it’s going to be our escape now. And I don’t give a fuck what anyone says about it.” 

He’s nearly craning over you now, breath hot as it puffs against your face, face drawn tight with his fervor. But you aren’t afraid. Because though he’s nearly yelling, Eddie’s ire isn’t directed at you. Your expression doesn’t harden up or crumble under the weight of his passion; instead, you accept it, letting it whip against you without faltering. 

Your steadfastness seems to temper him as the tension in his face eases slightly, though he doesn’t back away. More quietly, he says, “All they want is the next sound-bite, the next commercial success. Sorry, Arg,” he throws a glance toward his producer, “but I honestly don’t give a shit whether there’s even one song on this album that would be a successful single. It’s not meant to be consumed that way— picked apart like fuckin’ buzzards on a corpse.” 

Eddie’s amber eyes hold you as he breathes, “This album is raw. It’s ugly, and it’s personal—”

His words choke in his throat, and for a moment, there’s something tentative connecting you, drawn thin between your gazes. Something fragile but nearly tangible, like the foam of the sea that bubbles against sand but melts to nothing if you reach for it.

But then Eddie blinks, and the connection is severed as he seems to realize he’s talking to you: his personal assistant. 

His glorified babysitter. 

All at once, the passion is gone. He flattens, taking a step back. And there is no preamble to the sudden switch in his demeanor as he demands, “Where’s our dinner?”

the next chapter will be released on @abibliophobiaa's blog!

🌿bluey's masterlist | 🌙luna's masterlist | 💌myo's masterlist

#blueywrites #i will wait #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #rockstar eddie munson #eddie munson rockstar au #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x fem!reader #corroded coffin #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson smut #eddie munson soulmate au #eddie munson fake marriage #myos ideas

[oneforthemunny]

rockstar!eddie munson x nepobaby!reader's timeline

i'm finally doing it, putting all the rockstar!eddie and nb!reader works in order on this. i'm going to include the blurbs too bc why not lol. so here it is for anyone wanting a timeline or to read in order. from earliest to latest:

groupie love was a prequel to rockstar!eddie. initially i wasn't going to do much with him but make him nasty and leave it, but you guys loved him so much he blossomed into what he is today haha. this is one of many encounters he had before nb, kinda to establish his relationship, and it's mentioned in the future works too.

sinister play this is the meeting. this is where it all begins. where you meet eddie, how you meet eddie, and more importantly where all this fuck buddy stuff starts.

dark shadows is next. this is the start of the two of them not hate-fucking anymore and it turning into a real relationship. nb shares a secret and so does eddie, and they kinda start to realize the other isn't so bad and they're not so different.

this angsty blurb was requested and written for vivi's blurb game (a blurb game that we play on here sometimes, created by the wonderful @queenimmadolla) focuses on a fight they have kinda following this. it sorta highlights the shift in the relationship now that they know more about each other and have more feelings.

linger is like a long blurb but it's one of the first ones where they're in a real relationship, and they're not fucking mean??? if that makes sense. just a sweet smut piece. they're still in a secretive relationship, the world doesn't know, but they're together.

lowe's blurb was written for vivi's blurb game and follows them as they try to keep their relationship a secret, while being a little horny lol. short and sweet and fluffy.

girls on film is where they've announced their engagement and relationship to the world, it's mentioned in here. sorta shows the shock value they had and how they wanted to keep it going??? that raunchy type rock and roll couple that's shocking to the world vibe.

awards ceremony blurb was requested for vivi's blurb game. it's right after they went public to the world and shows their relationship. highlights eddie winning an award and shouting nb out. very fluffy.

light my morning sky the vegas wedding fic. smutty but takes place on 2/3 wedding ceremonies they had. because they're obnoxious and in love and want as many weddings as possible lol.

pool blurb is a requested blurb from vivi's blurb game. nb and rockstar!ed have just moved into their forever home. they're talking plans for the future, and it's silly and fluffy.

jealousy blurb was requested for vivi's blurb game, and is after the wedding, one of eddie's 'ex-groupies' shows up where they're at and nb get's jealous. angsty.

pieces of you and me is kinda weird in the timeline because it shows 1) where nb gets pregnant and how but also 2) why they named their girls what they did. the intro to parenthood fic. its's got time jumps but kinda through the years.

treat me rough is technically next??? it's a pregnancy fic about nb pregnant with their first child.

build me up buttercup- a fluffy work that's about planning nb's baby shower with persephone. kinda dives into the origin of her name. pregnant!reader and super fluffy sweet <3

persephone's first vacation is a blurb from vivi's blurb game that was requested. it follows rockstar!ed, nb, and wayne with baby sephy only a few months old on their first mini vacation. super fluffy.

this sunscreen blurb is short and was apart of vivi's blurb game. it's rockstar!eddie and baby sephy.

persephone's first birthday blurb was requested for vivi's blurb game and is a short and sweet blurb that shows their change in dynamic because of parenthood. super fluffy.

the time warp is a halloween special work i did to show rockstar!eddie and nb's relationship throughout the year with a halloween tradition. it's a time jump but it has them as newly weds, pregnant, and with the kids.

the fourth of july blurb was requested as a part of vivi's blurb game. it's a silly blurb with rockstar!ed and nb's domestic life and is centered around one forth of july holiday.

it's tricky is also a halloween fic where they take the girls to hawkins to trick-or-treat for a 'real halloween' experience. another work from the halloween special i did, but fluffy.

the father's day blurb is another requested blurb from vivi's blurb game, and follows a father's day with the girls and rockstar!ed. super fluffy.

paparazzi blurb was a requested blurb from vivi's blurb game, with the twins and nb where they get followed by paparazzi while they're out.

super trouper is more in the future. shows eddie's relationship with his kids but also nb's parents. follows zahra's birthday and is super fluffy and sweet.

gone fishin' is last on the list, and is way in the future. follows grandpa wayne and little vega and their fishing adventure while visiting hawkins for the summer. super fluffy and domestic and cute!

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

[lottiecrabie]

crablurb masterlist

matty healy

eat me like a good boy – request

go back to sleep – request

call me when you’re bored – request

bi threesome and continuation (w other girl)

cheating

halloween

ghostface

studio (w george)

pray for my soul

cockwarming

morning sex

sex toy

fight

cross

drunk and morning after

matty’s parents

defending

boyfriend

sore

vacation

girlfriend and its twin

first date

proud

trick or treat

winter

don’t fuck the line cooks

cockwarming

threesome (w bartender!george)

fire escape

caught in the act

cat

virginity

socmed

to dust and bones

cockwarming

prequel

jealousy

stars

handcuffs

rockstar girlfriend

studio eating out

brits

professor!matty

cockwarming

raspberry

cyosa!matty

cuddle

galatea!matty

concert

ross macdonald

play me a song – request

george daniel

how’s your itch – request

thigh riding

studio (w matty)

bartender!george

threesome (w linecook!matty)

intense

lottiecrabie deep cuts, as a birthday treat

crabie quiz

how well do you know lottiecrabie fics

which lottiecrabie fic are you

#masterlist #writing #imagine #smut #angst #fluff #blurb #requests #the 1975 #matty healy #george daniel #ross macdonald #crabie #crablurb

[neochan]

before i leave this site completely, i want us to have one more year of nct fics & filth. if my happiness for writing returns while doing this, i may keep my presence on here longer.

regardless, below are the fics that i have planned / half written / outlined / thought up. over the course of the next year, i will be posting the ones you vote on.

once you read over the fics, please use the link at the bottom of this post to vote for your favorites.

THE PICK ME CHRONICLES WILL BE FINISHED IN FULL REGARDLESS!

(STANDALONE FICS)

no synopsis, but i can offer: toxic exes au, street racing, using his rival as a means to make him jealous, he is insanely possessive.

okay, so maybe hooking up with a masked stranger wasn't the brightest idea. but you didn't expect him to actually blow your mind. unfortunately, the only clue as to who he is lies in the jacket he left behind. now, with the worn leather that still faintly smelled liked him in tow, you're on the hunt to find your prince charming...but you know what they say: if the jacket fits.

no synopsis, but i can offer: christmas au! flirty hyuck, friends to lovers, comedy(?)

after seven years, haechan still has a crush on you, but you seem to only have eyes for jeno, and haechan isn’t good at controlling his jealousy. (harry potter au)

no synopsis, but i can offer: incubus!jaemin

(SERIES)

according to your parents, it's all for the business. get married to the competitions son so the companies can merge, and business will be fruitful, and you'll be rich. easy, right? wrong. it'd be easier if the person you were marrying was someone you didn't know, but you knew jung jaehyun, in fact, you knew him a little too well, and you didn't particularly like him. though his bestfriend peaked your interest the first time you met... and the second time... and the third. (can change the pairing to dream members)

spend a summer at camp with nct dream as demigods, captured within five different stories

son of hermes!hyuck x daughter of athena!reader

son of ares!jeno x daughter of eros!reader

son of posiedon!renjun x daughter of aphrodite!reader

son of aphrodite!jaemin x daughter of hermes!reader

son of apollo!mark x daughter of hades!reader

THIS IS MY FAVORITE WIP!! after the tragic death of punk rock band PARASOCIALs leader, lee minhyung, the label is desperate to piece the teenage dream back together again. in an attempt to revive their chart breaking success, they've reached out to you - a rising star already signed to their sister label. but what happens when you realize they're nothing like the press paints them to be? has the band slipped too far out of the limelight for you to save them? GENRE ▸ angst, smut, rockstar!nct dream, band au, vocalist!renjun, guitarist!jeno, drummer!jaemin, vocalist & bassist!haechan

my one shot 'rule breaker' is a prequel to this series.

no synopsis, but i can offer: dysfunctional family vibes.

illegal street fighter jeno

graffiti artist renjun

street racer & addict haechan

thief mark

drug dealer jaemin

!!!!! VOTE HERE !!!!!

#nct smut #nct dream smut

[lifeofkaze]

Before the Spark

CHAPTER 6: IN A SPIN

Find the masterpost here, and the previous chapter here.

General Warning: This story is part of the HPHM Rockstar AU. As such, there is a general warning of the possible occurrence of NSFW / mature topics. These can include sexual depictions or references, inappropriate language, (ab)use of alcohol, drug abuse, and smoking. Specific warnings for each particular chapter will be given in advance.

A/N: David Willows (in mention) belongs to @that-scouse-wizard Warning: alcohol

The world’s in a spin now

It’s time for a change

We know we can win now

~ The Who - Detour ~

Since moving from her parents’ home in Dorset to Manchester, Lizzie hadn’t skipped a lot of university events. The student union parties usually were among her favourites, but - much to her dismay - the open stage night was shaping up to be a rather dull affair. 

She and Skye had come to the club at the beginning of the evening, helping with the stage set-up and the decorations. The equipment Skye had organised was good, but so far, the bands had yet to make much use of it. The music blasting from the speakers was danceable, and the people seemed to enjoy themselves, but to Lizzie, all of it sounded like she had heard it a million times before. 

The crowd filling the small club wasn’t her cup of tea, either. Lizzie had spotted a couple of her friends but didn’t feel the urge to join them. There had been the odd bloke trying to chat her up, too, but she had turned all of them down as well.

Skye, who was loitering about the bar, seemed to share Lizzie’s notion about how their evening was going, watching the band on stage with a mixture of boredom and dismissiveness. She rolled her eyes at Lizzie.

“Quite the shitshow, ain’t it?”

Lizzie shrugged. “Could be worse.” 

“If Simon Cowell showed his arse on stage, maybe,” Skye snorted in return. “Last time I was that bored was watching the Eurovision.”

“Weren’t you piss drunk then?”

“Only way to survive that bloody thing, if you ask me.”

“Well, I thought it was fun.”

“Course you did. Got busy with that guy from law school, didn’t you?” Not waiting for a reply, Skye looked her up and down critically. “Don’t seem much in the mood for fun tonight, though. What’s the matter?” 

“Nothing,” Lizzie mumbled, pointedly stirring her drink with her straw. “Just not my night tonight, is it?”

Skye rolled her eyes once more. “Is this about Willows again?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Lizzie sighed. “Can’t we just enjoy the music in peace?”

“If that’s what you call music,” Skye muttered but let the topic rest. Lizzie was glad for it; she was too restless to argue tonight. 

Her eyes wandering over the crowd, Lizzie told herself she wasn’t looking for anyone in particular, even though she knew it wasn’t true. She hoped the two musicians from the canal Skye had invited - the ones working at the uni café - had decided to come after all. Lizzie was excited at the prospect of getting another chance at listening to them but also felt guilty at being more than a little intrigued by Skye’s idea to make them join her new band when her loyalty should lie with David and the rest of their group. 

After the day Skye had taken her running by the canal, her conflicting thoughts on the matter had become so overwhelming that Lizzie had opted out of band rehearsal. As a result, she was abuzz with unspent energy now, with no idea where to effectively put it. She thought about how nice it would be to jump onto the stage and forget everything over the beat reverberating through her body. When playing the drums, Lizzie was in control, the energy she put into her play reflected back at her a hundred times over. The connection between her and the people willing to listen was a magic of its own, the most addictive thing she had ever known. 

“You want to be up there, right?” Skye asked, breaking Lizzie from her thoughts. She answered with a shrug.

“Don’t you?”

“Sure thing. There’s a stage, I want to be on it.” Skye flashed her a grin. “Wouldn’t be a proper Parkin if I didn’t.”

Lizzie hummed in response, clapping politely as the band finished their set and left the stage. She recognised the pair stepping into the spotlight next immediately - the couple from the coffee shop. 

“Good evening, friends,” the guy with the guitar said into the microphone. “What better than music and good company to celebrate the end of the year, another step completed on our journeys toward the future.”

Lizzie and Skye exchanged glances, Skye rolling her eyes but grinning as she did so. For the first time that night, Lizzie felt a smile forming on her face; she was excited to hear what the two of them had in store.

“From what I can see, good company we have in abundance. Now, let us see if our music will help your spirits soar tonight.”

He stepped away from the microphone to make room for his friend, and Skye leaned over to say into Lizzie’s ear, “Let me tell you this - should this shit work out, he���s gonna let me do the talking.” 

“Sure, because you’re such a charmer.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Case in point.”

“Fine, you can do it, then.”

At that, Lizzie rolled her eyes. “Nice try.”

Grinning to herself, Skye turned her attention to the stage where the first song had just begun. It was quick in pace and quite upbeat, but since it was only an acoustic guitar and a keyboard playing, it wasn’t a song fit for dancing. Lizzie watched the crowd, curious how the people would take such a drastic change in style, and was pleasantly surprised to see how more and more people stopped their whispering to get fully immersed in the melodies drifting down from the stage. 

When the last song was over, and the two musicians had taken their bow, Skye pushed herself off the bar with a determined motion. 

“What’s your final verdict, Jameson?”

Lizzie hesitated. “I still think they’re brilliant, but… Skye, really, I don’t know about this.”

“There’s nothing to not know,” Skye shook her head. “We both like them, and they’re bloody good at what they’re doing. We’re gonna do this. Come on.”

Bewildered, Lizzie watched Skye grab her drink and turn to go. “What, right now?”

Skye cast an impatient look across her shoulder. “Want to wait for The Beatles to come again? Move your butt.”

It was all Lizzie could do to keep up with Skye as she manoeuvred through the throng. A fluttery sensation spread through her stomach as she spotted the guy with the black hair and his friend, who had played the piano, by the bar’s backstage area. Suddenly, she thought about just turning around and leaving again, but Skye had already pushed through the last barrier of people and planted herself in front of them. 

“The fates seem to be kind after all,” the black-haired man smiled, casting a curious look between Lizzie and Skye.

“Sure mate, if you say so,” Skye shrugged, giving Lizzie a quick but meaningful look. “You sure were smashing up there.”

“Your praise is received with humble gratitude,” the man replied. Lizzie blinked. She had put off Skye’s remark about his strange way of talking as her usual exaggeration, but for once, it looked like she had been right. 

“Do you always waffle like that?” Skye wanted to know, voicing Lizzie’s exact thoughts. It was the girl with the violet eyes, however, who spoke up.

“No, only on Saturdays. What do you want?”

“Just a chat, mate. Relax.”

“You’ve had one. Now buzz off.”

Lizzie could feel Skye’s temper rising at an alarming rate. Not wanting things to go wrong before they had so much as introduced themselves, she decided to step in. 

“How about we all take a breather and calm down,” she suggested, extending her hand. “Hi, I’m Lizzie.”

She shook hands with the guy with the long black hair, who introduced himself as Orion. He had a warm smile matching the tone of his voice, and which Lizzie found herself returning. He introduced the surly girl with the violet eyes as his sister Merula. Upon hearing this, Lizzie’s eyebrows shot up.

“Your sister?” she blurted out, biting the insides of her cheek a moment later. The look on Merula’s face was defensive, almost hostile, even. Lizzie knew better than to ask any further; it wasn’t any of her business, after all. 

“And who is your friend?” Orion asked, drawing Lizzie’s attention away from Merula. 

“Oh, sorry,” Lizzie said, heat rising to her cheeks. “This is Skye. Skye Parkin.” 

She listened silently as Skye presented her plan to Merula and Orion but soon stopped paying proper attention and watched their new friends instead. Orion did have a strange way of speaking, but she had quickly gotten the hang of it; beneath the complicated metaphors and long-windedness, Orion sounded like a really decent guy. He wasn’t too bad to look at either, but it was his smile, warm and infectious, that almost had her staring. 

As Orion’s eyes flickered to her momentarily, Lizzie startled, immediately dropping her gaze. This was pointless; if they wanted to get this to work, she would have put him out of her mind, right here and now. If she was going to take a detour from her plans to try for the music road instead, Lizzie was determined to take things seriously. 

“What instruments do you even play?” Merula suddenly asked. Almost grateful to be broken from her musings, Lizzie turned to her.

“I play the drums,” she said, hesitating upon seeing a dismissive expression forming on Merula’s face.

“Sure you do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you look more like a groupie than a drummer to me.”

Lizzie crossed her arms in front of her chest. She was used to getting sceptical reactions about her hobby at best, but something about Merula’s tone - and the fact that she was a woman herself - made her bristle more than she had expected. Her voice was sharp when she replied,

“Funny, you look more like a bitch than a nice person to me.” 

“Shut it, Jameson,” Skye butted in a moment later, giving Lizzie an elbow to the side. “She doesn’t mean that. 

Lizzie very much wanted to tell her that she did, indeed, mean it but - for the sake of peace - stopped herself in time. The effort on her part was futile, however, when it took Merula only a few moments before she began dealing out jibes again. To not let things escalate any further, Lizzie offered to get a fresh round of drinks, dragging Skye away with her toward the bustling bar. Pushing through the people waiting for their drinks, she waved to a young man with an outrageously bright, patterned shirt working behind the counter.

“What can I do for my favourite customers?” he asked, smiling broadly as he tossed his cocktail shaker in the air and caught it with his other hand. “A minty mojito? Strawberry daiquiri? Or a classic caipirinha?”

“Could I maybe get another four of these?” Lizzie asked, pushing her empty glass toward him. The barkeep’s brows shot upwards.

“These were supposed to be our secret, you know?”

Lizzie put on her best smile. “Come on, for me.”

Acting like he had to consider her request, the barkeep eventually winked at her. “Fine, but only because it’s you. Who are they for, even?” he asked as he proceeded to pour tequila and cherry liquor into a fresh cocktail shaker. “Those guys who were playing earlier? They were quite good, don’t you think? I saw you hitting them up.” 

“They were, but we haven’t hit them up.”

“Haven’t you now?”

“Not in the way you think,” Lizzie conceded. She cast a quick look over her shoulder to where Merula and Orion were waiting. They were talking among themselves, Orion listening to what Merula was saying. For a moment, their eyes met, and Lizzie felt the heat creep up her neck. She turned away, only to be met with Skye’s impatient-looking face. 

“Cross your legs, will you? We ain’t doing this for fun.”

“I wasn’t -,” Lizzie began to protest, but Skye silenced her by holding up her hand.

“Yes. You were. Now get yourself together, I need this thing to work.” 

“I know,” Lizzie sighed. “Me, too. I feel like there’s some real potential in this. But do you think it might actually work out? Orion seems like a nice enough guy, but this Merula… I don’t know about her.”

“She may have a stick up her bum, but she’s too good to write her off just like that,” Skye shrugged. “She’ll loosen up in no time, you’ll see. Has anyone ever escaped your bloody awful charm?”

Lizzie made a thoughtful noise. “If you put it that way…”

Skye suddenly looked serious. “Does that mean it’s a deal, then? You’re definitely in?”

Lizzie hesitated. Deep down, she knew what she wanted, and it was to join Skye and their new friends. The prospects were too tempting. She had to think of David and their band again; if she agreed to Skye’s offer and left him hanging, it would be a massive blow to him. He would probably be mad at her, rightly and justifiably so; knowing this didn’t make accepting the fact any easier, though. 

“Just bite the bullet and say yes already,” Skye shook her head at Lizzie’s prolonged silence. “You want this, too, and you and I both know it.”

Sighing deeply, Lizzie nodded her consent. “Okay, fine. Fine. I’m in.”

“Smashing! Let’s break the good news, shall we?” 

With a broad grin on her face, Skye picked up two of the four glasses standing in front of them. When they had returned and handed over the drinks, she looked at Merula and Orion expectantly. 

“How is it, now? Interested in teaming up?”

The unlikely pair exchanged a glance, then nodded their hands. A triumphant grin spread on Skye’s face, a feeling Lizzie herself couldn’t quite match; knowing that she had to break the news to David as soon as possible was already dampening her mood considerably. 

“What about you, Lizzie?” Orion suddenly asked her. “Will you be part of this journey as well?” 

Feeling Skye’s encouraging look on her, Lizzie nodded tentatively. “I guess so.” 

“It is settled then,” Orion smiled, raising his glass toward her and Skye. The calm confidence on his face was infectious, making Lizzie smile along. “Let us walk this new path together and see where it will take us.”

They had just touched glasses on their new endeavour when a sudden noise went through the club, and more and more people turned their heads towards the entrance. As Lizzie did so, too, she could spy the figure of Ethan Parkin - living rock legend and father of Skye’s - standing by the door. He looked around the room, nodding expectantly when his eyes fell on his daughter. Looking suddenly tense, Skye took a deep breath and chucked down the remainders of her drink in one go.

“Well, here goes nothing. Let’s get this party started.”

She pushed through the crowd in the direction of her father, Lizzie, Orion, and Merula following behind. Lizzie had met Ethan Parkin before, but there was still a pang of nerves fluttering in her chest. When Orion caught up with her, she could make out the same tension on his face, so she gave him an encouraging smile.

“Don’t worry. He’s not half as bad as people make him out to be.”

Orion looked surprised. “You know him?”

“Skye introduced us, yeah. They’re quite alike, Skye and her dad. If you know how to handle the one, you’ll only have little trouble dealing with the other.” 

“Like father, like daughter, I supposed,” Orion mumbled, brushing his hair from his eyes with a quick gesture of his hand. “It’s just… talking with someone who has achieved things I couldn’t imagine in my boldest dreams about my music…” He laughed weakly. “I’ll admit, the prospect is a little daunting.”

“I’d be bloody terrified,” Lizzie said, earning herself a grateful, if somewhat shaky, smile from Orion. “You don’t have to worry, though. Trust me. Ethan really knows his stuff. You’ll blow him away with your songs.”

Orion’s eyes met Lizzie’s. “You think so?”

“I know so,” she smiled back at him. “Wait and see. What comes now is going to be legendary.”

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #orion amari #merula snyde #quidditch #skye parkin #lizzie jameson #rockstar au #rockstar prequel #before the spark

[scarfacemarston]

WhatCulture Gaming is a reputable source. Not sure how I feel about this since Rockstar has been effing up pretty badly the past few years. So, I think 1 of 3 things will happen: 1. The story is about Jack 2. It is a prequel to RDR 2 with a young Dutch and Hosea and the gang's creation ending in Blackwater (Best idea) 3. It's an entirely new story. (Not bad, either.)

#rdr 2 #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #john marston #van der linde gang #dutch van der linde #abigail marston #hosea matthews #javier escuella #charles smith #sean macguire #lenny summers

[cowgurrrl]

Masterlist

Hi, my name is June (she/her) and I’m a writer! This blog is an 18+ space and minors will be blocked. All works are original and written by me and I do not give my consent for my work to be copied and shared elsewhere or being fed to AI or used to make AI chat bots. Enjoy 🫶

Requests: Open! 📥

What is June writing?

🍓= fluff/comfort

🥀= angst

🎸= rockstar!joel

🪩 = more than 1k notes

❤️‍🩹= personal favorites

Joel Miller:

Series:

When You’re Lost in the Darkness: Look for the Light prequel

Look For the Light: fix-it happy ending with a family :-)

One for the Money, Two for the Show: rockstar!joel miller x actress!reader 🎸

Hippies & Cowboys: no outbreak! au

Drabbles:

Everything Leads to You: Who says grief and braiding hair can’t go hand-in-hand? [2.1k] 🍓

Crazy Love: Ellie wakes up from a nightmare and you and Joel help calm her down [1.3k]🍓🪩❤️‍🩹

Joel as your study buddy head canon 🍓

Joel as a girl dad headcanons 1 & 2 & 3 🍓🪩

NFWMB: What was it Bill said about protecting the ones we love? [1.5k] 🍓❤️‍🩹

Dramatic (request) 🍓

Eat Your Young: You and Ellie work together to get away from David [4.1k] 🥀

She’s A Gun: Someone didn’t give the new guy a warning about not talking about Joel Miller’s family [1.6k] 🍓👑❤️‍🩹

Going to The Chapel: Joel proposes [2.2k] 🍓

And We’re Gonna Get Married: You and Joel get married [4.4k] 🍓

Snowqueen of Texas (Request) 🍓

Everyone I’ve Never Met: You tell Ellie the truth [2k]🥀

If I Ever Were to Lose You: Joel Miller comes home for the last time [1.1k] 🥀

To Be Alone: You and Joel realize how different your lives are in Jackson [1.1k] 🍓🪩

Good Heart: Joel patches you up even though you’re trying to push him away [1.9k] 🥀❤️‍🩹

Alone and Forsaken: You and Joel meet for the first time [3.0k] 🥀❤️‍🩹 pt. 2 coming soon!!

Ladybird [1.2k]: (request) 🍓🎸❤️‍🩹

Rockstar!joel headcanons 🍓

Like Real People Do: movie night doesn’t go to plan [~800] ❤️‍🩹

Name of the Game: When work separates you and Joel to opposite coasts, it’s nice to know that nothing’s changed 🍓🎸❤️‍🩹

Sunset Canyon: Date night with pre-outbreak!joel 🍓

cardigan: You and Joel talk about scars [1.6k] 🥀❤️‍🩹

Piano Man: college!joel does karaoke 🍓

She’s got a book for every situation: helping college!joel with an essay 🍓

Surprise (Request)*

Getting Older: Tommy and Joel have a talk [1.5k] 🥀🍓

Sam: Joel and Ellie adopt a dog [1.2k] 🍓

You’re So Good When You’re Bad: Date night with cowboy!Joel [1.8k] 🍓

Don’t Let This Darkness Fool You: Joel’s journey to sobriety [1.1k] 🥀

I’m Still Glad I Met You: Ellie and her ghosts 🥀

Roll The Bones: A bad pain day with Joel [1.5k] ❤️‍🩹

Javier Peña

Series:

Wanted: Javier Peña x CIA!agent

Drabbles:

Strangers: Javi struggles to assimilate back into civilian life in Texas until an old friend returns [1.5k] 🍓

#june screams on the internet #i wrote this for me but you can read it too i guess #masterlist

[enam3l]

some fic writers to read who aren't me

there's so many amazing writers on here who ultimately made me want to contribute to the eddie thirst and it's just nice to have more series to follow and binge so these are all my absolute faves and you should follow and read and drown the writers in praise!

these are just my all time faves but i always reblog what i like so check that out too!

ps: I will make another list of this but exclusively just slutty eddie reads, pure filth

✹ @andvys love will tear us apart series this is absolutely phenomenal, i am addicted! i honestly check multiple times a day for new parts. there's prequels as well to feed my cravings as well

✹ @pxrxcxa opposite ends top tier enemies to lovers fic! dustin's sister is one of my favourite tropes and they do it so well. perfect slow burn

✹ @thefreakymunson anywhere but here i couldn't not give you a rockstar eddie fic and this is one of the best! it's a really unique take on it and just fun, hot and angsty

✹ @nyxoz follow the oz writes eddie munson tag my go to for eddie smut because it's always so fucking hot but there's also some gorgeous fluff bits like i just love their eddie! just check the tag there's so much

✹ @kissitbttr eddie x mean cheerleader but also all the other eddie fics because their fem readers are all loud mouth slightly terrifying girls and i am a true believer that this is eddie's type to the core, they're the perfect match. as a scary loud girl, her characters speak to me

✹ @chaseadrian live wire another novel worthy series that's so original and just stunning! angsty and sexy as hell

✹ @ambrossart dancing with myself this one i hold dear to my heart. i love the concept so much and so much work went into it. i love love the backstory of eddie and reader and the way the characters are portrayed is amazing. a 10/10 chrissy portrayal

✹ @munsonquinns forbidden fruit total unapologetic delicious filth. this is so sexy but also a really sweet storyline and take on eddie?

✹ @inknopewetrust hoping i'll find (a glimpse of us) if you want a one shot, this is it. wanna cry? this is it. it's like a whole short story. i have reread this multiple times and each time i do it's all i think about for the rest of the day

✹ @riotkayla finding the truth this was the first eddie series i read and i adore it. it's just such a good concept and got me hooked on dad eddie

✹ @luveline june baby and eddie and roan (single dad eddie) i feel like if you on stranger things fanfic tumblr then you know them, they've never made a bad fic but these are my favourites. june baby is like a novel, so carefully considered and written. prepare for your heart to swell twice its size

#enam3l x eddie #Eddie munson #Eddie munson fanfic #fic rec #eddie munson smut #Eddie munson fluff #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson x y/n #Eddie munson x reader

[abibliophobiaa]

I Will Wait

Chapter Two (9k)

a soulmate!fakemarriage!au with rockstar!eddie and personalassistant!reader (also featuring ronance)

cowritten by @abibliophobiaa, @blue-mossbird, @breddiemunson, @myosotisa, and @fracturedarkness​ 

18+ only for mature themes, alcohol consumption, and eventual sexual content. fem!reader

one (9.9k) | next (15k) | masterlist  |  AO3  |  🎵 shmackin' tunes

in this universe, there is no upside down, the year is 1995, and corroded coffin = nine inch nails. if you didn't check out the prequel publications (hot off the press on our series masterlist), make sure you do, since they provide important backstory for the IWW universe! read them carefully; there are secrets. 😉

Eddie’s passion didn’t scare you, but anxiety now crawls up your throat as your eyes dart to the clock on the wall, which reads just after eleven. Frozen in sudden indecision, you just stare at him with surprised eyes.

“What?” Eddie scoffs, “Did you think we wouldn’t need to eat? What kind of assistant are you?” He crosses his arms, arching a critical brow, nose wrinkled in a scowl as your mouth falls open. For a moment, you’re at a loss. 

An unexpected voice interjects, smooth and calm. “My dude,” Argyle drawls, “to be fair to the little lady, she did ask you if you wanted her to do anything. And she did exactly what you told her to do.” Faced with Argyle’s defense of you, Eddie’s scowl deepens and the tension in the room rises.

You swallow down your panic, squaring your shoulders and standing tall under his disapproval. “I apologize for the oversight, Mr. Munson. I’ll take care of it right now.”

“Seriously, Ed?” Jeff cuts in, pushing off the sunken couch with his hands on his knees, eyebrows drawn together in frustration. “Was she just supposed to—”

“No, no. It’s my fault,” you assure the group with a smile, stepping in the line of fire to calm the sudden unease and keep the situation from escalating. “I’ll run and grab food for everyone and be back in no time.”

The other men mumble an agreement, seemingly happy that it didn’t become a larger issue. You attempt to make eye contact with Eddie as you prepare to leave in a hurry but he pays you no mind, bending at the waist to confer with Argyle. Deciding it would be better not to ask additional questions and potentially cause your new client more displeasure, you loop your pocketbook over your shoulder and push out into the hallway— leaving the pressure of the confrontation behind.

As soon as you reach the elevator again, the mirrored doors sliding closed behind you to grant a moment of privacy, you allow your shoulders to deflate. While you are no stranger to dealing with unearned irritation directed your way, the speed with which Eddie seems to ricochet between moods is staggering. It leaves behind a sense of instability that threatens to shake the very foundations of what rests upon it, as though even a single moment of vulnerability could send you flying off your feet.

With each passing hour, you understand more and more clearly what Steve was referring to when he insisted that Eddie ‘needed someone who could handle him.’ And, despite the subtle missteps so far, you find yourself ever more determined to make sure that person is you.

The doors slide open to the bottom floor and you exit with a renewed vigor, setting your attention to completing the task at hand. Your shoes echo even louder across the tile now that the building is seemingly devoid of life— the front desk and lobby beyond are entirely empty. With that sight comes the startling realization that you are in an unfamiliar part of the city in the middle of the night, and you have to find something quick to bring the boys to eat. A slight hesitation as you rack your brain for the best way forward ends up being your salvation: your savior coming in the form of an older man making his way out of one of the double doors across from the entrance. He pushes along a bright yellow bucket by the handle of his mop, water sloshing loudly as he inches forward, head bopping to the beat of whatever plays from the headphones settled on his ears. You immediately power walk over to him, the movement catching his eye as he rears back in near alarm and slides one of the cups off his ear to face you.

“Hi, sorry to bother you,” you greet with a smile, “I was wondering if you might be able to help me?”

Wrinkled, deep set green eyes blink back at you, surprised and unsure, as he drawls out, “What can I do ya for?”

“I’m not from around this side of town and I need to grab some food quickly. Do you have any recommendations for something that would be open around this time?”

He visibly relaxes, eyebrows raising in pleased surprise as he offers a grin that lacks a few of his teeth, the others yellowed from nicotine. “Boy, are you a fan of chopped cheese?”

In another strike of what feels like fate, you find yourself eternally grateful for the city that never sleeps.

Following the janitor’s vague directions, you cross the threshold into a brightly lit sandwich shop that is bustling with energy despite the hour. Blue collar workers of all kinds fill the space, conversing happily and giving each other a hard time between bites of greasy food. And, to your relief, none of them seem to pay you any mind as you make your way to the counter and pick out a variety of food from the handwritten board that hangs above the cash register. The man taking your order doesn’t say a word other than to tell you the total, which alerts you to the fact that you weren’t given a way to pay for this. Gritting your teeth, you offer up the cash from your own pocketbook, nearly emptying it completely, and watch with a sense of dread as he gets you your change and huffs that it should only be a few minutes before it’s ready. You make a mental note to reach out to Steve about how situations like this should be handled in the future and to get reimbursed for what you just paid.

Stuck with nothing to do but wait, your attention wanders across the room. There are many different types of men here – some young, some old, some dirty and tired, some fresh-faced and ready to conquer the day. Converging between the swap of shifts, sharing stories and shooting the shit. No one table is excluded from the revelry, each group interacting with what seems like everyone in the room. A contained ecosystem of hard earned repose and comradery between people who may not know each other by name, but by the hardships and struggles they each experience day by day. Forged in the dark of night and the effort of refueling around a hard day's work – both in body and soul.

A bark of your name rockets you back into reality and across the slightly sticky floor to receive what you’d ordered, throwing out thank you’s and other platitudes as you grip the plastic bags in your fists and push back out into the night in a hurry.

You’re borderline out of breath by the time you’re yanking at the cold metal handles of the studio’s heavy doors, a stark contrast to how you had crossed the threshold just a few hours ago. You shuffle across the tile as fast as your heels will allow; once safely in the elevator again, you take the time to catch your breath and return to some semblance of order, preparing to face what the rest of the night holds for you.

There’s a rush of air as you shoulder your way back into the studio, feeling eyes on you immediately. “Food’s here,” you offer, lifting the bags with a smile. Gareth and Harry sigh in what looks like relief, the former immediately hopping over to you as if he can not wait another second to get his hands on whatever you had brought. You shoo him over to the coffee table between the couches, sparing a glance through the glass as you pass. Jeff and Eddie face each other with warring grins, appearances almost taunting, fingers flying across strings as they play a duet that only Argyle can hear. Ripping your attention from the booth, it takes mere moments for you to spread your bounty across the wood, a huge pile of hot fries in the middle and a selection of sandwiches with vague lettering sharpied on their paper wrappers. Gareth and Harry both grab for one, seeming not to care exactly what’s on it, as you also grab one of the greasy sachets and slip it to Argyle. He looks surprised for a moment but then offers you a leant back nod, a lazy smile, and a thumbs up before returning his attention to the mixing board before him.

It doesn’t take long for Eddie and Jeff to realize the food is here. They tumble out of the recording room, exchanging friendly jabs as you sit down on the couch beside Harry, carefully unwrapping your own sandwich. Caught up in the whirlwind of your new job, you hadn’t noticed just how hungry you’ve become until the soft hero roll emerges from greasy parchment. The sandwich is split in the middle, and as you pull apart the halves, putting one on the coffee table so you can dig into the other, Jeff and Eddie stagger their way over to the couches, pushing one another as they go; Jeff makes it to the table first, flopping down beside Gareth on the opposite couch. You’re distracted from their bantering by a groan of deep contentment.

“Oh, my God,” Gareth moans around a mouthful, tilting against an unphased Argyle. “This is so good.”

Harry nods his eager agreement. “I love chopped cheese,” he says, his voice a quiet rumble beside you, and you smile at him. He glances at you shyly before returning to his meal with a pleased curve to his lips.

You’re about to take a bite when the couch dips down on your other side; it draws your eyes to wild curls and stiff limbs as Eddie snatches the final sandwich from the table. He unwraps it hastily, widening his knees and slouching against the creaky leather of the couch, eyes locked on his dinner. He looks largely neutral, but there is a vague tightness to his brow, a pinch to his mouth that implies he’s annoyed by something. And when his knee nudges even further into your space, nearly brushing against yours, it becomes clear what that is.

He doesn’t seem to like that you’re taking up space beside him, that he has to accommodate you in any way, even in something as simple as sharing a couch. Whereas Harry is sitting normally at your side, and on the other couch, Jeff, Gareth, and Argyle are happily fitted together, you are forced to shift over in order to avoid his aggressive elbow as Eddie tears at the paper of his wrapped sandwich. He slouches even lower into the couch, as if to insist on his own comfort at the expense of yours.

You scoot closer to Harry and return your gaze to your sandwich, trying not to let Eddie’s behavior affect you as you take the first bite. Savory meat, melty cheese, crisp lettuce and sweet tomato act as an adequate distraction, and all that fills the recording room are the crinkling of parchment and the muffled sounds of food being enjoyed until you ask, “So, what’s the new album going to be called?”

It opens the floodgates. The guys are more than happy to inform you of their creative decisions over greasy chopped cheese. They talk over one another as they gesture wildly, threatening to fling loose lettuce and bits of steak all over the leather couches and the cherry-wood coffee table as they recount the story of their latest album’s conception. The only one who stays quiet is Eddie— though, as you sneak peeks at him from the corner of your eye while you eat your sandwich as daintily as you can, he doesn’t seem to be sullen anymore. Instead, a faint smile plays on his lips in-between giant messy bites of beef and cheese as he lets his bandmates enthuse over their latest creation. Even when they mention him specifically, like when Harry remarks, “It was Ed’s idea to have the whole thing represent someone’s life going down the shitter,” Eddie merely nods, his cheek dimpling as he sucks grease from the pad of his thumb.

By the time empty crumpled paper hits the coffee table, the guys are ready to return to recording with a sense of renewed vigor. They lurch up from the couch, bellies full and fingers itching for their instruments as they file back into the recording studio. Argyle mosies his way to the soundboard and you follow him, surveying the different lights, switches and sliders with curiosity; you watch his hands flit around the complex board with practiced ease, tapping and nudging things so quickly it’s hard to follow.

Argyle angles the mounted microphone closer to his lips to drawl, “Alright, ah… Jeff—” He snaps his fingers, shooting a finger gun towards the plexiglass. “What’re we starting with?”

You look up towards Jeff to see him flash an open palm and a peace sign, which seems incomprehensible until Argyle confirms. “Track seven. Sweet.”

Jeff shoots him a smile and a thumbs up, and as you look away, your gaze catches deep brown.

Eddie is staring at you.

As soon as you register it— the split second you catch him watching you— Eddie’s eyes widen and dart away, expression flashing with an emotion that looks out of place on his typically-assured face. And then it’s gone. Just as quickly, as though it had never existed, that vulnerable expression is replaced by a quirked eyebrow, smugly narrowed lips, and an even, penetrating stare as his eyes return to yours. Before you can even think about it, he’s beckoning you toward him with a crooked finger.

Obligingly— it is your job, after all— you leave Argyle’s side and pull open the heavy glass door to the recording room.

The space is not overly generous, but it is large enough to give each band member a comfortable buffer of space with his instrument. The drums are set up near the back, with Harry on the left and Jeff on the right, a guitar strapped against his chest but flipped around to the back as he stands in front of the keyboard. There’s a boxy amp covered by a shield to dampen the sound in the corner opposite the door, and Eddie is standing beside it, dark-clad legs spread wide as he hooks a forearm casually against his red electric guitar.

“Yes?” you ask him neutrally, though it’s difficult to hold back the roll of your eyes when he doesn’t reply, merely beckoning you with that same finger again. You breathe slowly through your nose as you walk over to him, planting your feet right before him though your heels wobble slightly on the springy carpet. Your pleasant face grows a touch flatter as he regards you silently, blinking slowly— clearly wanting to keep you waiting, to make you pay for the split-second of whatever he’d felt when you caught him staring.

Eventually, a crooked grin spreads on Eddie’s lips as he looks at you, and your brow twitches in alarm as Eddie abruptly lifts one heavy booted foot and thumps it down on top of the amp. The move stretches his tight pants even tighter, pulling the rips at his knees to reveal pale skin underneath. It draws your eye, tempting it to run over the angular bones; they’re strong and dense, substantial beneath string that cuts shallow indents into his skin.

“Tie my boot.”

Your gaze shoots straight to his face. “Excuse me?” you ask, neutral mask slipping as some incredulousness leaks through. 

Eddie’s expression doesn’t waver as he nods his head towards his foot in a flippant little jerk. “Laces are loose, and I don’t wanna take Sweetheart off.” When he pats the guitar fondly, you realize he’s referring to his instrument. “Such a pain. So be a good little assistant and tie my shoe for me.”

You look at the scuffed Doc Marten propped against the top of the amp’s shield near your upper thigh. Indeed, the laces on Eddie’s boot are untied, dangling loosely, but you also notice that they’d clearly been tied very sloppily— they aren’t even laced all the way up to the top. Sucking your teeth and resisting a grumble, you comply with your client’s demand, bending slightly at the waist to tighten the laces before you tie them. But the thought of doing this again— ever, really— causes irritation to pang deep in your stomach. If he’d just tie his shoes properly, I wouldn’t need to do this. 

Rather than just knotting the laces, you take a moment to thread them deftly through each hole, tugging extra tight between each row until you reach the top where his pants are stuffed into them. With a quick pair of bunny ears and a double-knot, you’re done, straightening at the waist and staring again into Eddie’s face, unable to keep the defiant spark from your eye.

You find Eddie with his lips twisted smugly, tongue bulging against one cheek, dark eyes glittering with amusement. “Well,” he says, his voice deep and musical, “now you’ve gotta do the other one up to the top, too. A rockstar can’t have two mismatched boots. What will my fans think?”

“Fine,” you say, a little tightly, waiting for him to switch that foot to the amp. But he doesn’t; instead, Eddie just stares at you expectantly until you huff a tiny indignant breath and crouch down to retie his boot on the floor.

You know, then, that the entire thing has been meant to humiliate you, to remind you of your place— squarely below him, looking up at him as he towers over you, curls a wild cyclone around his pale, angular face. The fact isn’t lost on the others. “Really?” Harry’s typically quiet voice is a scoff, and you yank extra hard on Eddie’s laces as you hear his defense of you, feeling vindicated. I hope I cut his circulation off. He’ll never ask me to tie his shoes again, you think sourly, flexing your calves as you tug the double-knot tight and begin to rise.

Though the plush carpet in the recording room is good for sound absorption, it’s not so good for balance when one is wearing heels; you find your left foot wobbling as you try to straighten so hastily, and a spike of adrenaline bursts inside you as you feel your ankle weaken.

Two things happen.

One: your hand darts out, automatically seeking stability from the closest object, which just so happens to be Eddie. Your fingers clutch the bony knob of his knee, pressing desperately to threads and the hot skin exposed between them.

Two: as you waver, Eddie sways forward and his hand jerks out to catch your opposite elbow in a firm, broad palm, applying pressure to keep you stable.

Instantly, you burst with feeling. 

Sparks bloom from each point of contact, racing up your arms and trailing goosebumps in their wake until they meet in the middle behind your ribs. They pop and fizzle, colliding as tingling waves that reverberate outward from your center. The feeling overwhelms you, making your breath catch in your chest and your spine jerk ramrod straight as you push up from Eddie’s knee. The cold solidity of his guitar brushes against your front as he straightens with you; his head jerks back so you don’t collide with his chin.

Just as quickly as it happened, in the matter of a second, Eddie’s hand drops from your elbow and you step back from him, crossing your arms beneath your breasts. That same uncanny feeling from earlier— that low pang in your stomach, not altogether unpleasant— returns, reignited by the feeling of his hot skin under your fingers and the firmness of his grip on your arm.

“T-thank you,” you start to say, voice wavering slightly as you try to recover from the sudden unexpected intensity of your feeling. But then Eddie rubs the side of his neck with the same hand that caught your elbow. When his chunky rings glint in the light of the room, demanding your attention, it lingers on one in particular.

It’s a heavy dose of reality when you see the platinum band on his ring finger, more elegant and polished than the chunky aggressive rings adorning his other fingers. He’s my client. And he’s married. 

It’s all that’s needed to have you stamping insistently down on that feeling again. When you glance at Eddie’s face, the wideness of his eyes and the downturn of his mouth belies the same tension you suddenly feel. Desperate to cut through what suddenly envelops the room, you blurt a lightly teasing remark. “Next time, Mr. Munson,” you say, “wear velcro shoes if you don’t know how to tie your boots.”

Thankfully, your voice doesn’t waver this time, and your lips even curl in a small smirk when you hear the strength of Gareth’s sudden barking laughter. You don’t wait around for Eddie to offer a response; with Gareth’s mirth accompanying you, you stride from the room, letting the thick glass door mute the sound of his amusement as it thumps closed behind you. You’re grateful for the privacy that the distance affords you; you have no interest in letting Eddie see how his proximity affected you in the booth. You won’t let him see the momentary chink in your tweed armor, the effect just a knick of his touch has had on your composure.  

The cold glass door provides respite for your heated body as you lean against it. You take a moment to collect yourself, to rescue your composure from the pull of Eddie’s rip current before it can be swept further out into turbulent waters. Your hand settles over your heart, feeling it thud wildly against your palm as you wait, reminding yourself of the need for patience. You’re no stranger to feeling this pressure of restraint. Breathe in. Breathe out. Eventually, your goosebumps settle, your blood stops burning, and your lungs fill with air once more. 

Once you feel a little more composed, you retreat to the soundboard to keep Argyle company, hoping that his mellow presence can imbue in you the tranquility needed to survive the night. Gathering every remaining ounce of poise you possess, you lift your chin and look through the glass to see the band preparing for their next take. Gareth makes himself more comfortable on his stool. Harry and Jeff check the tuning of their instruments. And then there’s Eddie, who appears to be more interested in staring you down with those dark eyes instead of preparing to play. He folds his arms over his chest, and his sharp gaze sizes you up in a clear response to your earlier sass. You stare back, eyes unblinking and face impassive. Though the prickling heat threatens again, you don’t let it show, thinking of Jason and all of his attempts to intimidate you into submission. Don’t let him. I never gave Jason the satisfaction, and he won’t get it either.

“Alright, my talented amigos. Show me just how rad you can be.” When your staring contest with Eddie is broken by Argyle’s fried drawl, you’re not entirely sure who is the victor.

Argyle leans back in his swivel chair, lacing his fingers behind his head, his giant headphones hung abandoned on the hook mounted beneath the soundboard as the studio blares with sound. You stand at his side for some time, watching the guys perform. And as the music picks up, you find yourself hypnotized by their talent once again. The familiarity of lifelong friendship makes the band’s coordination appear seamless, almost second nature as Eddie and Harry catch eyes across the room, nodding together when guitar and bass fall into sync. Eddie leans back, lifting his angular guitar as he flourishes at the end of his next lick, and you watch the bobbing of Jeff’s head deepen as he shoots his friend a broad grin.

Time passes, enough time for you to retire to the couch, though you choose the one that still affords you a view into the recording room. There’s no less wanting from the men— no less striving for their product—  but as the night goes on, the process seems to begin taking a physical toll on them. You’d watched the growing consternation as Argyle asked Eddie to re-record a verse several times; his voice is straining, fatigued from the hours of singing, and you can hear the difference. When it cracks again not even two lines in, resulting in another failed attempt, instruments squeal to a halt as Eddie shakes the dented microphone by its stand, soft nose wrinkled up and teeth bared in frustration.

“C’mon—!” he grinds out, and you’re half up off the couch before Argyle takes over, interjecting with his calm drawl.

“Bro, maybe you should think about resting those bodacious vocal chords,” he suggests. “Give those puppies a break.” 

 Eddie snorts in stubborn refusal, his damp curls shaking until his head abruptly stills. His face lights up as though he has had a groundbreaking revelation; a playful smile slides across his plush lips. 

“I know just the cure,” he sing-songs dramatically, pursing his lips as, with a jerk of his arm, he snaps his fingers in your direction. You can hear the sharp sound vaguely echoing through the microphone inside the recording room.

Within a moment, you’re at the glass door; despite the earlier tension, it’s all water under the bridge now that it’s time to do your job. You dutifully pull it open to poke your head inside. “You summoned me?”

“Yes,” Eddie says, brows flashing and voice utterly serious. “Listen carefully, now. I have an incredibly urgent task for you.” He pauses dramatically, brown eyes wide in an attempt at earnestness. “It is of the utmost importance.” 

Internally, you brace yourself, knowing that whatever he says next will be anything but important. You feel the impulse rise up your throat, sarcastic words dancing on the tip of your tongue. Maybe you should take acting lessons from your wife. It takes considerably too much effort to resist it, but you do; instead, you raise your eyebrows and incline your head towards him in a nonverbal prompt— Go on. 

“I need you,” he claps his hands together, folding his fingers until just his indexes are pointed at you, “to go get me some whiskey.” 

The recording room hums with reactions from the rest of his bandmates: a groan from Jeff, a delighted guffaw from Gareth, and an uneasy sway from Harry, accompanied by a little uncomfortable chuckle.

Exasperated disbelief creases your brow. “...Whiskey?” you question once you’ve recovered from the initial shock of the request. You’d known what Eddie would ask wouldn’t be serious, but you didn’t expect it to be this absurd.

Eddie’s voice, even croakier than usual thanks to his fatigued vocal chords, is full of condescension. “What’s wrong, sweetie? Don’tcha know that whiskey can soothe a sore throat?” His tone sharpens, a victorious smile curling on his lips as he eyes you. “You wouldn’t want me to delay this album now, would you? This voice is our money maker.”

“More like his voice drives us up the wall,” Gareth wisecracks. Eddie swiftly knocks him upside the head, hushing the drummer immediately, though the younger man’s eyes glitter in amusement as he rubs the back of his head. 

When you continue to hesitate, any last vestiges of playfulness slide from Eddie’s face. “Listen.” There’s that hardness you’d been confronted with at the beginning of the night; his tone brokers no argument. It’s the tone of a man who’s driven countless personal assistants toward the door with their tails between their legs. “You’re my PA. Doing what I say is your job. So if I ask you to get me a bottle of fuckin’ whiskey, you do it. Do you understand?”

You swallow. He is right; it is your job. “Of course, Mr. Munson,” you reply, face carefully impassive as his eyes search yours. When he leans back and huffs through his nose, your shoulders relax fractionally.

“Alright, guys, let’s take a break ‘til the good stuff gets here,” he says, pulling Sweetheart over his neck and setting the guitar on the stand beside him. “Run along, now,” he says mockingly, flicking his fingers in your direction.

As they all start to drift towards where you stand, your mind races; automatically, you move out of the way for them to exit the recording room, holding the door as you think. Yes, it is your job to do what he asks, and it would also give you a chance to escape the studio for some time to be away from his taunting. But something makes you pause. You’ve already depleted your cash source from buying the men dinner. How were you going to pay for a bottle of whiskey, too? You’re not their ATM. And while you aren’t typically in the habit of pressing the issue, as the men take their seats on the couches to wait for you, you decide you will not be jeopardizing your financial stability for the sake of buying this man booze.

You let the glass door thump closed, mentally steeling yourself as you pull your pocketbook over your head. “And how would you like to pay for your whiskey?” you ask Eddie. “I can take your card, or you can give me cash.” 

He casts a glance of disbelief around the couch he’s sprawled on, catching his bandmates’ eyes. They’re quiet, attention bouncing between you both as Eddie scoffs, “I’m not giving you shit. Just pay for it yourself and get Harrington to reimburse you.”

“Well, seeing as how I already paid for your dinner, I’m a little low on funds,” you explain, careful to remain firm but not contentious, standing tall against his onslaught. “So, it’s either you give me a way to pay or you don’t get your whiskey. The choice is yours.”

 The silence in the room after you deliver your ultimatum seems heavier, more oppressive than a moment ago. It’s a tense standoff: you in your heels and tweed, standing calmly at the edge of the coffee table, and Eddie in his leather and chains, staring up at you through the wild curls of his disheveled bangs. Everyone else in the room is looking between you and Eddie as if they’re eager to see the next serve in a verbal tennis match. The silence extends for an uncomfortable duration, but you refuse to break under the heaviness of his stare. You know your request is more than reasonable, and the justice of it keeps you from backing down.

Eddie Munson may be stubborn, but so are you.

With a huff, Eddie shifts his hips, tilting so he can reach into his back pocket to retrieve his wallet. With a sneer, he digs limber fingers in the envelope and pulls out a hundred-dollar bill, holding it between two fingers and extending his hand with a dramatic, resigned flop. You smile politely in thanks, but when you attempt to take it from him, his fingers tighten on the paper. 

“Don’t get any of that cheap shit,” he orders, eyeing you as he keeps a firm hold on the bill. You two are tethered by the thin, green paper, which would tear if one of you applied more force. But you don’t; instead, you reply, “I understand, Mr. Munson.” When he still doesn’t let go, you add, “Is there a brand you prefer?”

Eddie grunts, finally releasing the bill, effectively freeing you from his hold. “Just none of that Carver piss-water,” he mutters. “Top-shelf, or as close as you can get with this. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.” The word slips out automatically, like it would for Steve Harrington, or Jason Carver, or your boss at the community college you worked at prior to Carver Distilleries. Eddie doesn’t comment, but the sudden gleam in his eye— amber brown, like sun through whiskey— follows you onto the elevator and onto the sidewalk as you burst out onto the city streets.

The hustle and bustle of New York city has noticeably waned now, and it has you hastily pushing up your sleeve to check the dainty watch strapped on your wrist. The time is late— later than you are typically awake, nearly too late, in fact— and it dawns on you that you’ll need to find an option soon since closing time for most places is rapidly approaching. Your eyes dart across the buildings on the block, searching for the word ‘liquor,’ but a quick survey yields no results. Picking a random direction and hoping for the best goes against everything inside you, but in your desperation, you realize you have no choice. 

A glance to the right yields nothing but darkened windows and silence, so left it is.

You hasten your pace, walking one block and then another. And when the neon sign flickers the words ‘Starcourt Liquor’ above your head, managing to find a liquor store with ten minutes to spare before closing feels like a miracle. 

The shop owner seems less than thrilled to have you entering his business so late, so you toss an apologetic grimace in his direction before rushing to the whiskey section, eyes scanning for nothing but price— as close to a hundred bucks as possible to follow Eddie’s instruction. Being so unthorough makes your stomach squirm as you rush back to the front and thump the thick glass bottle on the countertop, but you don’t have even a moment to second-guess yourself. You always ruminate on your options, assessing the choices carefully before selecting the best one. This— plunking down a pricy purchase without even examining the label— is enough to have panic biting at the back of your throat.

Nevertheless, the purchase is quickly made, and you jingle out the shop door with Eddie’s whiskey bottle wrapped in paper. As you make your way back to the studio, you try to shake away your negative thoughts. Clearly, if I want to survive being Eddie Munson’s PA, I’m going to have to stop overanalyzing everything and go with my gut sometimes. 

More than anything else tonight— Eddie’s taunts, his cold demeanor, the nerves that accompany a new situation— this thought is what rattles you the most. It’s something you’ve always struggled with; the pressure to be the best version of yourself has led you to dissect every decision that is presented to you. Every choice, no matter how seemingly small, feels significant when you consider the implications of what’s awaiting you. There’s always this little voice in your ear whispering insidiously: 

Choose right, and you’ll find what you’ve always been searching for. All that you want will be yours. 

Choose, y/n. 

Just choose, but you’d better not be wrong.

When your heel nearly gets stuck in a crack on the sidewalk and you stumble to keep your balance, you realize you need to snap out of it. This is just a bottle of whiskey, you remind yourself. Eddie will have to take what I give him. Finally, you’re back inside; the records line the walls, the elevator dings, and before long. you’re faced with that heavy metal door again, the one that separates you from your client beyond. 

You pause before opening it. You think of all the tasks you’ve accomplished today; you think of how you’ve prevailed against all of Eddie’s little tests.  

“I can do this,” you remind yourself in a whisper. “I can do tough things.” And you know it’s true. It just takes your own voice sometimes to drown those sibilant whispers out, to remind you of the light inside, standing strong and tall and steadfast against the waves.

Confidence renewed, you open the door to find the band deep in discussion with Argyle. Their heads turn at your entrance, and the conversation pauses. But unlike earlier this evening, when the pressure of their stares felt oppressive, they glance off you now. Your light swings in their direction, washing them with a glow that chases the threat of shadows away.

“Will this suffice, Mr. Munson?” you ask, handing the bottle over to Eddie. He takes your offering from your outstretched hand, leaving it empty. You fold your hands in front of you, waiting as he silently turns the bottle over in his broad grasp, assessing the label carefully. After a moment of extended silence, Eddie finally looks up at you. A dimple emerges with the stretch of his smirk; ruddy ringed fingers close firmly around the neck as he wrenches the cork off with a pop and takes an unceremonious swig.

The whiskey must be strong, because his adam’s apple only bobs twice before he’s lowering the bottle from his now-slick lips. And you were right; when he isn’t glowering at you, the amber of Eddie’s eyes looks just like warm light shining through a whisky glass.

“Just what the doctor ordered,” Eddie quips, swiping the back of his tattooed hand across his plush lips. They drag with his fingers before pulling into a grin. “Now buzz off, you little insect. We’re busy here.” 

Eddie waves you off as if you actually are an insect, and the sting of his blatant dismissal is only soothed by the sympathetic looks Harry and Jeff dart your way as he continues planning with his fellow band members. It’s rude, certainly, but at least it releases you to your own devices.

Still, when the men shuffle back into the recording room, your hands begin to fidget with the anxious desire to feel productive; you’re caught between aiming to make a good impression but not wanting to disrupt the band’s creative process, especially as Eddie has made it clear that he doesn’t need anything from you. If they don’t need me right now, then I’ll just have to make myself busy.

An idea comes to mind. You think back to how your first task of the day brought you to the mess that is Schmackin’ Records’ studio closet. The small space is overflowing with cardboard boxes affixed with nonsensical labels, which only makes everyone’s job harder— yours and Argyle’s, in particular. Revisiting the closet would allow you to continue familiarizing yourself with Corroded Coffin’s discography while helping to make things more organized— two birds, one stone. 

You search the studio for supplies; masking tape, a marker, and other items useful to you are all, ironically enough, found buried within the very place you’re looking to organize. With a quick roll of your sleeves and accompanied by the gravelly voice of Eddie in your headphones, you get to work. You methodically relabel each box by artist and organize each item within in meticulous chronological order. You’re careful to store away any loose cords and equipment scattered on the floor, winding each coil in a perfected loop before tucking them away in appropriate storage spaces. It’s soothing to make sense of the chaos, to bring peace to disquiet, to bring order to the disorderly. You’ve always found comfort working like this, left to your own devices within your element, thriving in the peace of solitude.

Nearly three hours later, you’ve rearranged the collection in its entirety. The closet looks neat and tidy, vastly improved from what you initially stumbled upon hours ago. You return to the lounge area feeling accomplished, heels thumping against floors, head tipped up high as you move to rejoin the main room. The band is situated around the soundboard, listening to a playback from one of the tracks they just recorded while Argyle offers feedback. Upon seeing you reappear, Argyle pauses his commentary, wheeling chair twirling enough until he’s facing you, eyes darting up to yours.

“Hey there, dudette! Where have you been hiding?” he asks, head bobbing with his words. That dark, shiny raven hair dances in the dim light, casting it in a honey glow, those soft eyes of his kind and comforting—enough so to quell the rapid thrum of your heart as the others shift to gaze your way.

“Ah, I noticed that some of the items in the storage closet were in need of organization,” you reply sheepishly, awkwardly throwing a thumb over one shoulder, indicating the closet you’ve since reorganized. “I fixed some of the labels and cleared off the floor. I hope that isn’t a problem.” 

“Well that is mighty nice of you,” Argyle compliments, reaching his hand up to give you a high five. Your hand claps against his, warmth curling around your palm, lips tugging into a soft smile at the man lounging before you.

Your actions seem to intrigue Eddie, those liquid amber eyes of his darting in your vicinity. He peers around you towards the newly-organized space, brows climbing high against his forehead. When his gaze returns to yours, his face is masked in an unreadable expression. He looks as though he is trying desperately to hide that he is impressed. 

“Maybe I should tell you to buzz off more often,” he comments, and only then does he allow it: the slightest dimple of his cheek as he smirks. And yes, it’s still a smirk, but it’s significantly less sharp and cutting than the ones he’d aimed at you earlier tonight. 

The observation isn’t a compliment, but you suppose it’s the closest thing to one you can expect from Eddie. Despite the urge to rise to challenge those words, his manner makes you pause; you’re still trying to think of how to respond when he turns away from you, seemingly already exhausted by showing you a scrap of kindness. 

As the boys file back into the recording room and the night continues to stretch on, you feel a palpable shift in energy within the studio. Their playful nature has transitioned to something less enthusiastic and more irritable. They reach a point where they’re spinning in circles – stuck on a track that isn’t quite ready yet. You listen to them debate over stylistic differences, hung up on the minute details embedded in the sound. As an observer, you clearly recognize that exhaustion has clouded their creative flow and left them feeling drained, each quick to argue and reluctant to concede to the others. 

You’re empathetic to it, really. Your feet are screaming for solace after spending hours confined in heels. Your head is pounding from the constant barrage of sound and pressure to problem-solve. You check your watch – 4:37 am. Your new schedule is so out of sync with your normal circadian rhythm, and your body is paying the price for it. 

The boys continue to bicker, too engrossed in perfecting the song to recognize the need for a break. You are not alone in your observations, as Argyle suddenly leans forward on his chair, pensive and serious as he regards the room.

“Alright, my dudes. I think we’ve made some gnarly progress. How about we pick up with these shmackin’ tunes tomorrow. Same time?” Argyle’s suggestion sends relief through your exhausted body, knowing that you may soon be graced with some respite. 

A silence befalls the group as they weigh Argyle’s counsel. Gareth, Harry, and Jeff remain silent, looking to Eddie for a decision. You find this odd. Is it because Eddie is the front man, or because they believe he is most likely to be defiant? After a moment of consideration, Eddie acquiesces to Argyle’s suggestion. You take this as your cue to call a private driver on Eddie’s behalf. 

You watch the men as they gather their belongings and prepare to leave. The impending rest lifts their spirits, and their banter returns in full swing. Gareth and Harry playfully nag Jeff about ‘getting home to the Mrs.’ while making kissing noises. The loving undertone in their teasing is indisputable, and Jeff waves them off goodnaturedly. As the three continue exchanging quips, you notice that Eddie remains uncharacteristically quiet, his lips downturned as he watches them joke around. Chin tipped down, dark eyes not quite caught in a glower, but he’s certainly no ray of sunshine. He turns away from them, choosing instead to hang back with Argyle as he prepares to close up the studio. 

“You did good, newbie. See you around!” Gareth playfully calls out as he leaves. Harry opts for a simple, shy wave as he follows Gareth’s lead. 

“Hey, uh… can I talk to you for a minute?” Jeff’s quiet request feels gentle, so unlike the orders Eddie has sent your way today, the latter’s requests feeling more like demands. The two of you make your way to the corner of the studio to speak privately. 

“Yes, of course. Is there something I can help you with?”

“No, nothing like that. You don’t have to be in PA mode with me, okay? I just wanted to tell you that you did a great job today.” Jeff offers, smiling kindly. His words bring warmth to your cheeks. 

“That’s very kind of you,” you answer, grateful for the small reassurance. 

“Listen, I understand that Eddie isn’t the… easiest person to work with.” His whole body stiffens with a sympathetic wince. “I’ve known him since we were kids. Trust me, his bark is worse than his bite.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.” The defense falls from your lips instinctually, ingrained in you from your days at Carver Distillery. 

Jeff is quick to reassure you, “I’ve seen you handle it all day. I wasn’t lying when I said you did a great job. Just remember that the first day is always the hardest. Hang in there, okay?” 

The two of you watch as Argyle and Eddie head in your direction, encroaching on the privacy of your conversation. With a gentle pat to your shoulder, Jeff leaves your side before making his way to the door. On his way out, you catch Jeff giving Eddie a hard stare. His eyes convey a clear message: play nice. 

“Really rad to meet you today, dudette. Catch you later!” Argyle sees you and Eddie out, offering a friendly wave as he closes the door. 

As you stand in the hallway with Eddie, you realize that this is the first moment you’ve been alone with the rockstar since meeting him. The entire night, you’ve watched him parade around the studio - soaking up the attention that his skills and antics attract. As quickly as the realization hits you, it’s replaced by shock. Eddie is making his way down the hall without so much as a glance in your direction. By the time you realize what’s going on, he’s halfway to the elevator. 

You quicken your step, heels clacking loudly against the tile as you increase your pace. Eddie enters the elevator, and hits the button for the ground level. Without hesitating, you wedge your arms between the doors to halt their closing. 

“Thought you could escape?” Your tone is light as you attempt to break the tension of being stuck with someone who clearly does not want you around. Eddie stares firmly ahead at his distorted reflection stark against those silver walls, seemingly too indifferent to look your way. 

“More like you need to learn how to keep up,” he snorts as he rolls his eyes. Perhaps it’s the exhaustion. Perhaps it’s Eddie’s endlessly mocking tone. Either way, his unfair dismissal irks you in a way that has sarcasm rising to your tongue.

 “Are you sure you can fit in this elevator with the size of that head?" You retort. With that, he turns his gaze toward you. The weight of his stare feels imposing in the small elevator, amber eyes practically molten as they dart upward and greet yours.

A smirk plays on his lips, the sight of it curling deep within your gut. "And which head are you referring to, doll?" Steve warned you this would happen, but Eddie’s audacious flirting still bewilders you. Your surprise is interrupted by the ding of the elevator signaling your arrival. Unsurprisingly, Eddie does not wait for you. You follow after him, quick behind his step having anticipated his rush. 

“You're not going to tell me how I did on my first day?"

“You survived, didn’t you?” he offers, sounding wholly bored with the question.

Undeterred, you press on, “Is there anything I could have done better today?”

“Are you always this needy?” He doesn’t even look your way, voice dripping in disdain.  His brusque tone further stokes the flames of indignation you felt spark to life in the elevator. 

“Says the man who asked me to tie his shoes,” you retort. You’re too caught up in your annoyance to notice Eddie has stopped walking. You collide with his back, feeling his hard muscles tense from the unexpected force. Slowly, Eddie turns to loom over you. Your breath catches in your throat, panic starting to build. You took things too far, and he’s going to fire you on the spot. You’re sure of it. 

To your surprise, you find mirth dancing in his eyes. A smile tugs at his lips. 

“Keep that up, and I might have to keep you,” he chuckles. With a wink in your direction, Eddie exits the building and swiftly slides into the awaiting vehicle. 

I might have to keep you.

I might have to keep you.

I might have to keep you. 

His words haunt you on your commute. They keep you company like a phantom friend on the subway. They trail beside you with every step closer to home.  

The sky awakens with hues of pink and orange, ready to welcome the sun in a new beginning. You pass strangers on the sidewalk, and you note the contrasting personalities present at this time of day. People on the still crowded streets of New York City stumble home after the last call. Runners rise to hit the pavement to chip away at their morning mileage. Twilight offers these night owls and morning birds the chance to cross paths in the painted sky, a contained ecosystem of push and pull that circles around itself with the same ease as the moon and the sun. A stark reminder that sometimes, that’s all you need for opposites to flourish together – the right circumstances. 

You stand in front of your apartment door, and you make a promise to yourself. Once you cross that threshold, you will take care of yourself. You’ve spent hours sprinting to accommodate the needs of others today. From now until your next shift, you will be unhurried in your self care. 

You savor the warmth of the shower soothing your aching muscles. You relish the softness of pajamas against your skin. You enjoy the cleansing feeling of your skincare routine.  

You run your fingers through your hair, and you stop at that cherished spot behind your right ear. You can’t see it, can’t see the swirling patterns you’ve only seen captured in pictures throughout the years, but you know it’s there. You press your fingertips to your soulmark with the gentleness owed to such a sacred gift. You briefly allow your mind to wander, to wonder if somewhere out there your soulmate does the same, gentle brushes of fingers against the mark that signifies an eternal bond with a person you haven’t met, yet feel you’ve known your whole life.

Turning to your towel rack, you gently pat your face dry of any remaining droplets of water, slipper-covered feet careful as they meander down the small hallway so as to not wake a sleeping Angela within her own bedroom. Once inside, your fingers curl gently around the golden door handle and slowly push it shut, flicking on your bedside lamp as you lower yourself down into your bed. You root around in the top bedside drawer for a familiar notebook and pen, stickers scattering onto the floor from where they’re tucked into the front page of the well-loved spine, little hearts and smiling faces, flowers that you’ve previously decorated pages with. You bend to retrieve them, clicking the top of your pen and pressing it thoughtfully against your chin once settled back on your pile of pillows. You open to a new, unadorned page. The blank sheet stares up at you, lines stark against pages, full of space for your thoughts to be written. The tip brushes the page, etching the present date into the top left corner, and you begin. 

Dear Soulmate, 

I started a new job today. It’s…definitely different. I’m working for Eddie Munson. Yeah, Eddie Munson from Corroded Coffin. He’s…well, he’s not Jason Carver, that’s for sure. He’s rough around the edges, but I don't think he’s particularly cruel. Sure, he made me run around doing errands for him, and I wasn't particularly fond of having to tie his boots, but it’s not like the blatant disrespect Jason would casually throw my way.

If anything, he’s a little confusing. And yet there’s something in him. I don’t know what it is yet, but it seems like he’s…searching for something, almost. Does that even make sense? I mean, what could he be looking for? He’s a rockstar. But there were just moments sometimes where I felt this… restlessness inside him or something. I don’t know. It makes me wonder who Eddie Munson is. Who he is really, at least. Not the Eddie Munson from all the news articles and bad publicity, or the Eddie Munson he tries to portray himself as in front of others, but the real man beneath. 

Anyway, enough about me. What was your day like? I hope it was better than mine, at least. I’m just getting home and the sun is coming up, but there’s this new excitement I feel growing. This could be really life changing. I hope one day soon I can tell you all about it. Who knows? Maybe it’ll bring me closer to you. I should probably head to bed. Not sure when I’ll be needed come tomorrow, but I’ll write to you soon and tell you everything. 

Giving the ink on the page a chance to dry, you reflect on the wild nature of your first day. It proved to be challenging, and it tested the strength of your resolve. You think back to Eddie’s simple assessment – “You survived, didn’t you?” He was right. You did survive. In fact, you might even argue that you had thrived under the watchful gaze of Eddie Munson.  

You are smart. You are capable. You are resilient.

You repeat these affirmations to yourself like a promise, as you shut the notebook and settle down to go to sleep. They’re a reminder of your inner flame, which flickered today under Eddie’s scrutiny. Yet, you know this to be true - Eddie Munson will not be the one to extinguish your light.

the next chapter will be released on @blue-mossbird​’s blog!

🌿bluey's masterlist | 🌙luna's masterlist | 💌myo's masterlist

#eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson au #eddie munson rockstar au #eddie munson soulmate au #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie munson x reader #rockstar!eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #rockstar!eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #iwillwait

[rachalixie]

anny’s masterlist

❥ denotes a personal favorite

「☆ bang chan ☆」

↳ what’s yours is mine (gn!reader, fluff, 0.7k) ★

a self indulgent chan fluff where you can’t stop taking his things

↳ knight in a shining business suit (gn!reader, fluff, 1.7k)

getting hit on by a creep is never a pleasant experience. the aftermath, though, may be.

↳ red (gn!reader, angst with a happy ending)

songfic for taylor swift’s red

↳ can't get you off my mind (fem!reader, fluff, 4k)

you meet chan at a bar and he promises to marry you someday

「☆ lee minho ☆」

↳ can’t get you off my mind (gn!reader, first meeting, 0.7k) ❥

classic you-meet-minho-at-a-party-and-he-takes-your-breath-away trope

↳ happy mistake (gn!reader, coworkers to lovers 1.1k)

who would have thought that sending the wrong text would lead here?

↳ the best man (she/her!reader, friends to lovers, 1.4k) ★

your best friend's getting married, and you're the maid of honor. minho is the best man. you're just trying your best to not let him get under your skin. pt II

「☆ seo changbin ☆」

↳ please don’t go (gn!reader, angst, 1.1k)

you’re shocked when changbin suddenly decided to cut things off with you (or alternatively, you’re both dumb and bad at communication)

「☆ hwang hyunjin ☆」

↳ slipped my mind (gn!reader, fluff, 1k) ❥ ★

you and hyunjin are happily together. too bad you forgot to tell anyone that.

↳ mind your business (gn!reader, fluff, 1.2k) (sequel to slipped my mind) ★

the aftermath of the crew finding out about yours and hyunjin’s unintentional secret relationship, complete with domestic fluff at the end.

↳ 3 times you're awkward with hyunjin (and 1 time you're not) (gn!reader, fluff, 1.3k)

my love, mine all mine (fem!reader, fluff, 2.3k)

hyunjin sets up the perfect valentine’s day for you

「☆ han jisung ☆」

↳ bandaids don’t fix bulletholes (gn!reader, angst/fluff, 0.7k)

sometimes your possessiveness over jisung rears it’s head at the worst moments

「☆ lee felix ☆」

↳ forgive me for what i haven’t done (she/her!reader, fluff, h/c, 17.5k)

you arrive at your enemy's kingdom under the guise of making peace. the prince being nice to you wasn't part of the plan.

「☆ kim seungmin ☆」

↳ a dose of you (is all i need) (gn!reader, fluff, 0.7k) (sequel to cat and mouse) ❥

you’re cramming for your final and what’s a better distraction than kim seungmin?

↳ cat and mouse (for a month or two or three) (gn!reader, enemies to lovers, 2.2k) (prequel to a dose of you) ❥

enemies to lovers with kim seungmin but make it ~university flavored~

↳ what i’m looking for (she/her!reader, strangers to lovers, 3.4k)

you, quite literally, run into kim seungmin on your escape from an arranged marriage

「☆ yang jeongin ☆」

↳ a smile worth a thousand words (gn!reader, fluff, 0.9k)

you can tell the story of falling in love with jeongin through his smiles

↳ 24 to 25 (to 26) (gn!reader, fluff, 3k)

you can’t pinpoint the moment when you started seeing jeongin as more than the annoying kid next door turned best friend, but you don’t know what to do with yourself now that you do.

「☆ 3racha ☆」

↳ high (all the time) (gn!reader, fluff, 0.6k)

jisung always says they do their best work when high. you just didn’t believe them. (est. chan x reader)

↳ 3racha reactions | post panic attack (est. 3racha x gn!reader, hurt/comfort)

↳ 3racha as rockstars (3racha x gn!reader, fluff, <2k)

「☆ ot8 ☆」

↳ post concert stray kids series (est. skz x gn!reader, fluff) ★

↳ skz reactions | post argument (est. skz x gn!reader, fluff/angst) ★

↳ skz reactions | to you crying (est. skz x gn!reader, fluff) ★

↳ skz reactions | when you’re sad (est. skz x gn!reader, hurt/comfort) ★

↳ skz reactions | autumn dates (est. skz x gn!reader, fluff)

↳ christmas carols advent (est. skz x gn!reader)

↳ kisses with stray kids

chan / minho / changbin / hyunjin / jisung / felix / seungmin / jeongin

↳ stray kids love languages

chan / minho / changbin / hyunjin / jisung / felix / seungmin / jeongin

↳ eight days of christmas carols

soft hours masterlist

my fills

#stray kids imagines #skz imagines #chan #lee know #changbin #hyunjin #han #felix #seungmin #i.n #stray kids fluff #stray kids x stay #stray kids x you #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x reader