20 dollar nosebleed

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You came into his life like a hurricane. A larger than life persona packed into a sexed-up body clad in leather and studs. A chaotic mess of teased up hair, killer legs, and smudged red lipstick. You were a blunt, brash, and unapologetic force. A seductive mega-babe that spoke her mind no matter if people wanted to hear it or not. You were exactly the type of woman that Eddie Munson would bow down to and kiss the ground in which she walked. The only problem is that Eddie Munson fucking hated you- and he hated you passionately.

He hated you with the same intense passion that he loved his vinyl collection, Dungeons and Dragons, and his prized Warlock guitar. Eddie Munson hated you with the burning hot fire of a thousand suns- and if you were to ask him exactly where his hatred for you had started, he would date it back to that one night in 1987 when you walked into The Hideout on Corroded Coffin Tuesday. Hell on heels. An absolute devil woman in a too-short skirt. He remembered that day vividly- and, boy, did he wish that he hadn’t.

You had heard from a friend that the music was good. Your new roommate Ronnie Ecker had raved on and on about her former band that was led by her best friend.

“Corroded Coffin” she said, scribbling down the address for you before she left for work that morning “They’re playing at The Hideout at ten pm. I’ll meet you there as soon as my shift is over.”

So, here you were. At The Hideout.

You arrived fashionably late. It had been a while since you had been out. The move from the city to small town Hawkins had been enough on your plate as you tried to get settled. A new town, a new place, and new roommates to get acquainted with. But, thankfully, Ronnie and Dougie had been nothing but welcoming when you slid into their living space and tried to carve out a place for yourself. So, when Ronnie offered to show you some of her favorite spots in town, you took her up on the offer.

By the time that you arrived, it was already ten-fifteen and halfway through the set. No sign of Ronnie. But it was fine, you thought. There was live music and a bar. You could hang.

You tried to ignore the turning heads of practically every male in the establishment. It wasn’t a new development. You were used to it. You were hot and you knew it. This fact and the attention from men was nothing new. Honestly, you couldn’t blame them. You looked good- real good.

Being new to the area meant making an impression, so you pulled out all the stops. Long black high-heeled boots over fishnet tights, an itty-bitty black leather skirt with silver zipper detailing down the front, and a lacy black bustier top that had your boobs pressed up and on display. Not to mention your hair that was teased up to the heavens. You looked like a sexed-up bombshell.

When Ronnie mentioned boys in a band, you knew you had to put on something good. If you caught one tonight, that would be a very welcome plus to the evening. What you didn’t know, however, was that you would definitely meet a boy. Just not in the way that you had anticipated.

You sidle up to the bar, sliding onto one of the bar stools as you ordered a drink from a maroon-haired woman with an unpleasant scowl on her face. She looked like she would rather be anywhere but here, and as soon as you heard the music that was playing throughout the rundown bar, you could definitely see why.

There they were. The infamous Corroded Coffin.

They didn’t look like much. A three-piece band with a dirty-blonde floppy haired drummer who couldn’t keep himself on beat to save his life, a husky-built bassist that was struggling to hold his instrument comfortably, and an overly exuberant lanky-limbed singer on guitar- hair curly, wild, and unkempt. You didn’t know what he was wailing on more- the mic or his guitar as they performed a rendition of Dream Evil by Dio. A song that you absolutely hated.

After the woman behind the bar placed your drink down in front of you, you swivel your body to face the small makeshift stage that was surely made of cheap plywood and some prayers that it wouldn’t fall through- causing the bar owner a hefty lawsuit. As you sip your drink and zone in on the music, you couldn’t help but pick up on every little thing that was wrong. Which was just about everything.

The drumming was too aggressive and both the bass and lead guitar were just slightly out of tune. Just barely but enough to notice and pick up on if you had a trained ear. But the singing might have been the worst part. You were used to frontmen in thrash metal bands being over exaggerated with the deepness of their voice and how they sang but this one definitely took the cake. It was like a bad Metallica impression on steroids. A car crash that you couldn’t look away from. The way he overextends the last word in each line of the song and the low growling thing that he adopted as he sang was atrocious. It was the exact reason why you despised thrash metal.

Then there were the outfits. Quintessential ‘I’m so tough and brooding and misunderstood’ apparel. Black jeans with slashes in the knees, dirty combat boots, battle vests with no sleeves or thrown over leather jackets. Band t-shirts with the design so heavily worn out from continuous wear. Wild, unkempt hair that looked like they had just rolled out of bed and didn’t bother. The whole dirty, grungy metalhead couture. You didn’t exactly hate their look. It was just kind of…boring. Predictable. Maybe even heavily played-out.

You studied the frontman with intrigue, trying to find the vision. He was easy to look at. Cute. Good bone-structure. Nice build for a rockstar. The long hair definitely did him some good. It was definitely on par with the tresses of all the guys you idolized from your favorite bands. It just needed something extra- some oomph. A little more edge. The boy was cute but, under your eye, he could be so much more. So much better.

Just as you were admiring him, deep in your revelry of just how you would make him over into the rock ‘n roll sex god that he had the potential of becoming- he turns his head, catching you staring at him intently. Looking him up and down in both a slight appreciation and a heavy intrigue.

Your eyes were on him as if you were a predator that was tracking its prey. In a way, maybe you were. Just not in the way that Eddie Munson was expecting. When he looked at you, he saw something completely different. From where Eddie was standing, he saw a girl- a smoking hot girl - staring at him as if she wanted to eat him alive and it sent a shiver down his spine.

Before Eddie realized it, he was extremely self-conscious. Becoming completely worked up with nerves once he realized that he was completely under your intrigue or scrutiny and he didn’t know which.

Suddenly, he was hyper-aware of hitting all of the right notes, remembering the rest of the lyrics to the song that he was currently trying to sing, and somehow trying to multitask doing all of this while also trying to look cool and mysterious. Not like a complete dork that can’t even play his own instrument if he were to mess up in front of you.

Messing up in front of the small handful of drunken regulars at the bar was nothing. Hell, they were barely even conscious enough to notice. But messing up in front of a hot girl? His ego would never be able to bounce back from that.

Suddenly, when it came to his performance, you had unknowingly become Eddie Munson's judge, jury, and executioner. He wanted to impress you- this mysterious girl seated at the bar, sipping her drink slowly through the shitty little straw while eyeing him down. Eddie Munson wasn’t used to being eyed down by girls, especially not ones that looked like you. He realized that he possibly had an in with you. Now all he could focus on was not fucking it up.

He played harder, louder, and more aggressively. He wanted to put himself in the zone. He wanted to impress you. He wanted to seem cool and interesting and maybe even a little mysterious, himself. He wanted you to think that he was fucking worth watching. What he didn’t realize was that he was doing the complete opposite. You could smell his desperation from where you sat and it served nothing but to make you cringe.

He counted down the seconds until their allotted thirty minute slot was up. Never once since he started the band did he want to rush off of a stage. Eddie loved being on stage. He loved playing his music and strumming the shit out of a guitar. It was his favorite pastime. Now, he couldn’t wait for it to end. For once, there was something that caught his attention even more.

He thought he was on the verge of losing his patience altogether by the time that he got to the end of Dream Evil, finishing off the song with a flourish as his fingers plucked out the final notes. His eyes were still on you. Yours were still on him. Eddie had never felt more electrified.

Gareth beats out a quick drum solo as Eddie approaches the mic stand, wrapping his hand around it as the lingering sounds of their instruments die down. He leaned into the mic, his lips brushing up against it as he spoke low.

“Thank you. Once again, in case you forgot, because you probably have- we are Corroded Coffin. That over there is Jeff on bass…”

Jeff raises his hand, waving it to the crowd of you and five other incapacitated drunks.

“Back there is Gareth on drums…”

The floppy-haired Gareth kid smashes his symbols, causing you to wince.

“And I’m Eddie.”

Eddie. Eddie Munson. The guy that Ronnie had told you about. The friend she wanted you to meet. Finally there was a face to the name- and, unfortunately, not a lot of talent.

“We play here at The Hideout on Tuesdays and Thursdays as long as I don’t piss off Bev too much. So yeah…thanks for listening. We hope you, at least, mildly enjoyed us tonight. If not, then I don’t know what to fucking tell ya. Anyways, goodnight.”

He had a little bit of an edge to him. That was something, you thought. Not enough- but something.

He sets his guitar onto its stand, turning to talk to his bandmates. You couldn’t help but notice how his eyes kept flicking over to you. How he struggled to keep his eyes off of you. You would almost say that it was flattering if you weren’t completely disinterested. If there was one thing about you, nothing turned you off more than a guy that tried far too hard to impress you. Eddie seemed to be one of those types.

He hops off the stage, combat boots hitting the ground as he begins to saunter over- his body hot and sweaty as his t-shirt sticks to his torso. He runs his hands through his wild locks, his bangs sticking to his forehead. He looked nervous. You, on the other hand, were cool. Totally and completely cool.

Your drink was almost empty by the time he reached you, sidling up beside you as he leaned against the bar. He smelled like sweat, leather, and Camel cigarettes. His eyes were a warm shade of brown, large and doe-like as he stared at you. He looked even cuter up close, you would at least give him that much.

“Hi.” He speaks, his eyes boring into you as you sipped the rest of your drink- an air of indifference surrounding you. Eddie tries not to overthink it. Maybe you were just as nervous as he was? You were practically eye-fucking him up there onstage.

“Hi.” You answer, setting down your empty glass on the bar.

Eddie then freezes, feeling the weight of your expectant stare as you watch him. Waiting for something else. However, Eddie didn’t really have anything else. He didn’t think this far ahead. He just saw you looking at him and realized that he needed to do something about it. Even if he didn’t even know what that something is.

“I….uh…” He stammers, melting under your gaze.

“Can I help you with something?” You ask, arching an eyebrow.

“You…uh…you were looking at me.” Eddie states, as if it were obvious “While I was onstage.”

“Yeah.” You answer, your tone blunt and matter-of-fact “I look at a lot of people sometimes.”

“Right.” Eddie answers, shaking his head “Right, yeah. So…did you get to see much?”

You just stared at him as if he were dense. Like you were trying to decipher what he was saying as if he were speaking a different language.

“See much of what?” You question.

“Of my set.” He answers, making himself be more specific “While I was playing.”

“Yeah.” You reply coolly “I’ve seen enough, I guess.”

And that took Eddie aback. Just a little. He didn’t know how you meant it. He didn’t know if you meant it as you’ve seen enough to be impressed or you’ve seen enough and never wanted to experience it again.

“So…uh…what did you think?” He asks, his heart pounding in his chest. He suddenly realized just how much he cared to hear what you had to say. You were so hard to read that he couldn’t tell if you enjoyed it or hated it. He was both completely intrigued and extremely scared to find out which.

“It was alright.” You deadpan. It was all you offered up, leaving Eddie even more confused.

Really? He thought. That’s it?

“Just alright?” He asks, a little offended “That’s all I get?”

“I mean, is ‘just alright’ good enough for you? Or were you expecting an honest, scathing review?” You ask dryly, your eyes sweeping over his face.

“Scathing, huh?” He asks, raising his eyebrows “Were you….not a fan?”

“You want my real opinion?” You question.

Before Eddie could really think about the repercussions of what he was asking for, he goaded you on.

“Yeah.” He nods “Hit me with it. I’ve got thick skin. I’m sure it’s not anything that we haven’t heard before.”

And with his permission, you didn’t hold back. You tore into him- harshly.

“If you want my honest review, I think you suck.”

The blunt harshness of your voice felt like a hard slap across the face. Eddie blinked. Confused. Did you just say what he thinks you said?

“Your guitar was slightly out of tune and it was driving me crazy the entire time. You need to stop clamping your hands down onto the fretboard like a neanderthal. Loosen up your grip and you’ll sound way better. Your bass player is okay but he needs a proper bass strap. He looks like he’s constantly trying not to fumble his guitar while he’s playing it. Your drummer is bashing his symbols like they owe him money. Tell him to tone it down. He wants his sticks to bounce off of the drums and not punch a hole in them. As for your singing….just don’t. Also, your lyrics are too dark and brooding and you’re trying too hard to be James Hetfield. Which, you are not. Is that constructive enough criticism for you?”

For once in Eddie Munson’s life, he was speechless. Completely fucking dumbfounded and speechless. His brain went a mile a minute while he just continued staring at you, trying to find something to say. Anything really. What Eddie didn’t realize was that this would be the first time of many where your brutal, sharp tongue had him at a loss for words.

“Wow.” He chokes out “Tough crowd”

“Me? Or the drunks who fell asleep during your set? Look, I only sat through a little bit of your performance but I definitely think that you should hang up the whole ‘I’m so tough and angsty’ thing you’ve got going on. It doesn’t make you seem as interesting as you think it does. To be honest, thrash metal isn’t hot. People don’t care about the tough guy shit and sad lyrics.”

“Huh.” Eddie replies, his jaw clenching a bit as he stares at you. Suddenly, you didn’t seem as hot as he had thought you were. “So what do you listen to then? Since my shit doesn’t seem to do it for you.”

There was a bite to his words that amused you. He was offended, pissed off, and trying so hard to keep it to himself. But he was easier to read than an Archie comic. He was intimidated.

“Well, if you must know, I’m into the good shit.” You drop.

“Which is?” Eddie replies, trying to keep his attitude in check but he could hear it leaking through in his voice.

“Take your pick.” You say “Mötley Crüe….Poison…Ratt….Whitesnake. Jon Bon Jovi is a literal God. Def Leppard….Skid Row. Any of these familiar to you?”

Eddie just stares at you as if you have three heads. Then he finally loses his composure that he was trying so hard to keep in check.

“You’re fucking joking, right?” He replies, huffing out an incredulous laugh “Please tell me you’re fucking with me.”

“No.” You deadpan “Why would I be?”

“Okay….Let me get this straight….You come into my bar to watch my gig to shit all over my band when you listen to literal fucking garbage and have the nerve to judge me?” He replies, his eyes silently wide with every word that he was saying “You’ve got to be out of your fucking mind, sweetheart.”

“Actually, babe,” You retort “I’m not. I consider myself to have great taste in music.”

“Oh really?” Eddie snorts “That’s what you’re calling it? Your weird little delusion that fucking Poison is real music? Honeybun, you wouldn’t know what real music is if it bit you in the ass. The shit that you think is music is nothing but a bunch of bullshit.”

“Bullshit?” You laugh, pressing your plump lips together in a smirk that only drove Eddie to want to completely wipe it off your face. “Sounds like someone’s jealous.”

“Jealous?” Eddie guffaws “Jealous of what, exactly? A bunch of made-up pretty boys in fucking heels and spandex that can’t play their fucking gear to save their goddamn lives? Sure, yeah, keep telling yourself that, Princess.”

He was pissed. Angry. Absolutely furious.

“Yeah?” You continue “Cause, to me, you seem pretty fucked up over the fact that a bunch of ‘made-up pretty boys in spandex’ made it big while you’re stuck here in bum-fuck Indiana strumming your cheap ass guitar at some hole-in the-wall dive while you pretend that you’re the real fucking deal. Well, hang it up, Rockstar. You’re not as hot as you think you are and the faster you learn that, the better off you are.”

“And who the fuck are you?” Eddie spits “Rolling fucking Stone? Give it up, Princess. Your taste in music is garbage. Do you actually even like the bands that you’re hyping up? Or do you just like the way that they look in a pair of leather pants?”

“Well, since you asked, the leather pants definitely don’t hurt.” You sass “And, if I was Rolling Stone, I wouldn’t even publish my review of your Thrash Trash in the back of the issue by the ads for Viagra and hair transplants.”

“Dollface, as if I give a fuck about what you think about me and my band. You’re clearly brain-dead if you think anything that fucking Twisted Sister put out could even come close to rivaling the shit I rep.”

“Really? Because you seemed to care a lot about what I thought five minutes ago.”

“That’s before I found out that you’re a glam rock groupie that probably hops on musicians' dicks for even just a shred of attention.”

“Oh really?” You snort “That’s quite the big assumption from someone who can’t even tune their shit correctly but wants to pretend to be Ronnie James Dio so bad. I’ve met a million posers just like you, Playboy, and you’re not even the best of them.”

“Poser? That’s fucking rich coming from a snob with so much Aqua Net in her hair that I’d be scared to light up a fucking cigarette around you.” Eddie quips “You look fucking ridiculous.”

“I happen to think I look pretty damn good and, judging by the way your boys over there are looking at me, I’d bet they think so too.”

As soon as you say it, Eddie whips his head around towards the stage where he catches Gareth and Jeff looking you up and down as they pretend to pack up their gear. They both hastily turn away as they suddenly act interested in a particular amp cord. Eddie would certainly be chewing them out later for this.

“As if either of my boys would be interested in a shallow piece of ass.” Eddie rolls his eyes.

“No?” You ask, tilting your head “Why don’t we ask them then?”

“You know, I’m starting to think you’re pretty fucking full of yourself.”

“Me?” You laugh “Do yourself a goddamn favor and take a look in the mirror. You go up there and sound like shit then hop off the stage thinking that you’d impress me enough to get in my pants? Please!”

“Judging by the way you’re dressed, I figured it wouldn’t be very hard.” Eddie drops, causing your mouth to drop open.

“Excuse me?” You retort. You couldn’t believe it.

“You heard me.” Eddie doubles down.

“Sounds real big coming from someone that looks like he probably hasn’t gotten any action since before the fucking Stone Age.” You insult, looking him up and down. “As if you’d even know what to do with it anyway. You clearly can’t handle a woman who’s even just a little bit opinionated.”

“Opinionated?” Eddie scoffs “That’s what you’re calling it instead of admitting that you’re being a total bitch?”

“Fuck you!” You spit out, giving him a hard look that he returned without hesitation.

“Sweetheart, I wouldn’t even touch you with a ten foot pole.”

“You know what? Why don’t you take your shitty fucking guitar and your entitled ass attitude and shove it up your-“

“Oh, hey guys!”

Both of your heads whip around, prompting landing on Ronnie Ecker who had just walked into The Hideout.

“Sorry I’m late. Work held me back later than I expected. But I see you guys have met!”

Ronnie was smiling. Completely oblivious to the complete train wreck that she was stepping into. It didn’t take long for her to read the room and pick up on the palpable and very uncomfortable tension.

“Yeah.” You reply sarcastically, your jaw clenched “Seems I’m lucky to have the displeasure.”

“Displeasure?” Ronnie questions, her stomach dropping “Wait. What did I miss?”

“Oh, you know, not much.” Eddie replies facetiously “Your friend here’s a real peach, Ron.”

“Hold on.” Ronnie asks, holding up her hands in surrender “What did I miss? Guys?”

But neither of you spoke. Neither of you looked at Ronnie- too busy giving each other hard, hot stares that conveyed so much without having to say anything at all. You and Eddie Munson clearly weren’t going to get along. Not even close.

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That night should’ve been the first and last time he would ever see you. To Eddie’s dismay, this wasn’t the case. In fact, ever since that night, he began seeing you everywhere.

Ronnie and Dougie’s apartment was no longer a hangout spot for him. It was now a space that you occupied and took claim over since you had moved in. Eddie pretended as if he didn’t mourn the loss of being able to stop by and pay two of his closest friends a visit. As a matter of fact, he tried to make it work.

At first, he tried to ignore you when he would drop by but it was becoming progressively harder to do so when you were always around. Always nagging, bitching, or insulting him. Undermining him and cutting him down. It started with movie night.

Ronnie had promised that you would be out of the apartment for the evening. That you would be doing something else- anything else- and that Eddie would be able to spend time with just Ronnie and Dougie. Two of his favorite people. He had it all planned out- a horror flick movie marathon with all of the good shit.

The Thing, The Shining, A Nightmare On Elm Street, Poltergeist, Evil Dead, and Evil Dead 2. As many as Steve was willing to set aside during his shift at Family Video. Eddie was fucking psyched. He rolled up several joints for the occasion, picked up a case of beer, and planned on ordering more pizza than the three of them could stomach. It was gonna be a great night. At least, it was. Before you showed up.

The trio was completely engrossed in A Nightmare On Elm Street as you burst into the front door, your hair done up more dramatically than it usually was. You were in a tight leopard-print mini dress with a black fringe denim jacket. Thigh-high boots and an itty bitty clutch bag that was dangling from your hand as you stumbled into the apartment. It was barely even ten o’clock and you had already had a night.

“Hey!” Ronnie greets, looking over at you “You’re home early. How was your date?”

As soon as Eddie heard the word ‘date’ he almost choked on his beer. The idea that any guy would even want to go out with you considering how insufferable you are was completely unfathomable to him.

“It was whatever.” You reveal, stepping into the living room area as you plopped down onto the couch- right next to Eddie. “He was cute but we didn’t really have much to talk about. I wasn’t impressed.”

Well, that’s nothing new, Eddie thought.

“What are we watching?” You ask, your eyes landing on the tv as Eddie tenses up beside you. It definitely didn’t go unnoticed.

“A Nightmare On Elm Street.” Dougie replies, taking a sip of his beer.

“Ew.” You scrunch up your nose “Really? I heard that this movie sucked.”

“Have you even seen it?” Eddie huffs, already annoyed with you and it hadn’t even been a full five minutes yet. “Or is this just gonna be another thing you’re fucking snobby about?”

“You guys,” Ronnie groans, throwing her head back “Seriously, let’s not, okay?”

“Whatever.” You sigh, rolling your eyes.

You lean over towards the coffee table, reaching for a can of beer before Eddie stops you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He questions, looking between you and the beer.

“Um…having a beer? What the hell does it look like?”

“I bought those.” Eddie states bluntly “Of course you’d just take shit without even asking.”

You look at Eddie, your expression unblinking.

“Sorry, Munson.” You answer “Here, you want it back?”

You hold up the can of beer as you stare Eddie down, sticking out your tongue as you begin to lick around the lip of the beer can- maintaining eye contact as you do so.

Eddie watches as his face crinkles up into a look of disgust as you hold the can out for him to take.

“Here you go!”

Eddie didn’t even think about touching it.

“Fucking gross.” Eddie mutters, his face twisting into a look of disdain “Keep it. Who knows where the hell your mouth has been.”

You smirk triumphantly as you pop open the can, taking a drink as you watch how hard Eddie is trying to keep cool. How badly he’s trying not to let you have the satisfaction of getting under his skin.

Eddie turns his head back towards the TV, slumping down into the couch as he tries to watch the movie but he can’t help but be distracted by every little thing that you do. How you sitting next to him, even though he hated you, was driving him crazy.

As the movie continued, his head was swimming with thoughts of you. Thoughts that he shouldn’t be thinking. Because he hated you. Because you were rude and annoying and bitchy and completely fucking insufferable. But fuck- it was hard to focus when you smelled so good. Like Love’s Baby Soft and Big Red gum.

He tried not to watch from the corner of his eye when the bottom of your dress rode up your thighs as you reached forward to grab a slice of pizza. He tried not to think about how soft your thighs looked despite the fact that he couldn’t fucking stand you.

He tried not to pay attention when you began to shrug your jacket off, exposing your bare shoulders and your cleavage spilling over the top of your dress. How the skin there looks just as soft as your thighs. So kissable, so touchable. It was a shame that you were such a bitch. It was an even bigger shame that Eddie’s dick couldn’t help but harden beneath his jeans at the thought of you. Not only did he hate you but he hated how hot you were. How he still felt aroused by you despite you being the absolute worst.

“This is so stupid.” You huff, eyes on the television as you watch Nancy Thompson follow the trail of blood in her dream sequence- leading her down into the boiler room of the school.

“Who the hell sees a trail of blood and then follows it? Especially when there’s a man with knife fingers trying to kill you.” You complain “Like, come on. Is she literally brain-dead?”

“If she is, she has something in common with you then.” Eddie snorts, watching the way that your eyes narrow at him.

“Hey, Ronnie, tell me again how many times it took Professor Munson over here to graduate?” You sass.

“Who needs an education when I’m about to be the next James Hetfield? Right, sweetheart?” Eddie teases.

“In your dreams, Munson.” You roll your eyes “Hey, maybe if we’re all lucky, your dreams will end up like everyone else’s in this sorry excuse of a movie.”

“Oh my god, Princess.” Eddie groans “It’s not even that bad. Stop being such a snot.”

“Says the guy too dumb to catch the plot inconsistencies. Didn’t she burn the outside of her arm on that pipe? Why is the burn mark on the inside? The director couldn’t even get the continuity right.”

“Can you just shut up and watch it? Jesus H. Christ. You don’t have to fucking tell everyone how much you hate something every five seconds.” Eddie complains.

“You’re just mad that I have a point.” You reply.

“Whatever.” Eddie huffs “Can you shut the hell up now?”

“Oh, I need to shut up? This coming from the same guy that goes on and on and on about his stupid little mythical creature game and his battle Barbies?” You hit back.

“First of all, Dungeons and Dragons is not stupid.” Eddie states, holding up his ringed pointer finger for emphasis. “Second, they’re not ‘battle Barbie’s’ they’re fucking miniatures and they take an advanced amount of skill and precision to paint.”

“….Yeah, okay. All I got from that is that you’re a pathetic little virgin that frolics around pretending you’re in a make-believe world where you’re greater than you actually are.” You insult “It’s kinda sad, Munson.”

“Please, Sweetheart. How about you just say that you’re not smart enough to understand the complexity of D&D and we’ll just leave it at that? I won’t even laugh at you. Promise.” Eddie quips back.

“You’re an idiot.”

“And you’re fucking irritating.”

“Wow!” You exclaim “That’s a big word for you, Munson. Maybe we should have Ronnie put a sticker on your spelling chart.”

“Okay, airhead.” Eddie replies “Is there even anything in that head of yours besides Whitesnake lyrics? Or has the hairspray fumes already fried the rest of the brain cells you had up there?”

“Can you even spell ‘brain cells’, asshole?” You snap “I’d be surprised if you even knew how to spell your own name.”

“Huh. You know what, you got me there, Sweetheart.” Eddie shrugs “But I can spell yours. Wait, how does it go again? Oh right! B..I..T-“

“Alright! That’s enough!” Ronnie exclaims “It’s too late for this shit. I’m going to bed. Eddie, you know where the spare blankets are. I expect to hear neither of you bickering until after I have my morning coffee tomorrow. Think you both can handle that?”

“No promises.” Eddie smirks facetiously, causing Ronnie to shake her head in annoyance.

She rises from her spot on the couch along with Dougie, both of them retreating into their own respective rooms for the night- leaving just you and Eddie in the living room together.

You didn’t even dare to look at him- instead, scooping your jacket up from where it was draped over the back of the sofa. You stomp off to your room without even saying goodbye, as if you even wanted to- slamming the door to your bedroom closed with a little more force than necessary.

That only left Eddie. Alone on the couch- smirking devilishly to himself. Satisfied that at least he got to have the last jab.

────────

Ronnie and Dougie’s couch was stiff against his back, making it hard for Eddie to get comfortable. He tossed and turned to try and find a position that was decent enough to fall asleep in but it was no use. He stared up at the ceiling, thinking about how much more comfortable he would be on the floor compared to lying against the tough cushions. That’s when he hears it.

It was quiet but not completely undetectable. If the apartment wasn’t as silent as it was, he wouldn’t have heard it. The faint buzzing sound that was coming from behind the door that was only a mere few feet away from where he was lying on the sofa. The door to your bedroom.

At first, he denied it- trying to put the thought out of his mind as he nestled his head against one of the couch’s throw pillows before closing his eyes and hoping for sleep. He tried to chalk up the light buzzing noise to it being something in the apartment. Something completely normal. Like the hum of the kitchen refrigerator when it kicks on. The fan on the inside of the air conditioning unit. He almost believed it until he heard the unmistakable sound of heavy breathing and panting.

No, it was just his imagination- his brain hearing things that weren’t actually there. He actually believes it for a moment before he hears a moan. A low yet desperate moan. His eyes fly open as his mind begins to process what he’s hearing. You on the other side of his bedroom door- moaning. Were you masturbating?

His brain stitches it all together. The buzzing noises, the heavy breathing, the moans, your failed date earlier that evening. You were in there behind that closed door touching yourself- and you knew that he was lying on the couch only a few feet away. What the actual fuck?

He pulls this blanket over his head, turning onto his side as he tries to block out the sounds but the action is futile. He is now hyper-aware of everything.

The small pants and moans you let out while you, as Eddie assumed, were touching yourself. He tried to calm his body as his heart rate jumped, your noises became whinier and more desperate by the second. Suddenly, his body was really starting to betray him. Before he knew it, blood flow began to rapidly travel south- causing him to become hot and stiff beneath his boxers.

Jesus fucking Christ, this could not be happening…

Then the speed of the buzzing began to increase, growing faster and more frantic. You were jacking up the intensity. Eddie felt like he was dying inside. You, however, must have been dying for more friction, because as soon as the vibrators grew louder, so did the unbelievably sweet noises that you were making.

Fucking hold it together, Eddie thought. You can not be hard right now. Not for her.

But it was pointless. His dick was already rock hard and needy as he listened to the way you breathed and moaned. How your breath would catch every so often as if you were surprised that you could make yourself feel that good. Which only made Eddie wonder what you would sound like if he could make you feel that good. His cock was straining hard and practically throbbing.

No. Stop. Absolutely not. He was not going to fucking jerk off to the sounds of you masturbating. No fucking way.

But then you let out a gasp that caused his heart to skip, almost making him whimper.

God, he was fucking pathetic. A horny pathetic fuck that clearly couldn’t keep his dick under control. Not even when the girl he despised more than anything was the one behind all of the provocative and sexy little noises that he was hearing. But they only grew louder and more frequent. Crescendoing higher as you were starting to reach your peak. It was when he heard moan put a breathy “fuck” that he finally lost his composure.

His hand was shoved down into the front of his boxers within seconds, grabbing onto his hot, heavy length as he shamefully began to stroke it. He couldn’t believe that he was fucking doing this.

“Oh fuck..” He whispers, low enough that no one could hear besides himself.

He was warm and aching against his palm, squeezing his fist with just the right amount of pressure that had him biting his lip as he worked his hand up and down his shaft.

“Shit.” He hisses, listening to your hot and heavy breathing as your moans begin to pitch higher.

The sound of your needy voice was so fucking hot as he pulls his hand off of himself, spitting into it for lubrication as he puts his hand right back where he needed it most- jacking it up and down the length of his dick with a faster pace.

The new speed had him throwing his head back into the pillow beneath it, causing his breathing to quicken as he twisted his fist on the upstroke. The flick of his wrist was delicious as he listened to you whimper and gasp underneath your own touch. You sounded so fucking beautiful- arousing sounds tumbling from your mouth that weren’t the snotty, bitchy remarks that you always make towards him. If only you could sound like this every time you opened your mouth. Maybe he wouldn’t fucking hate you.

You were such a mean, angry, bitter little thing. Always complaining, always emasculating him- never having anything nice to say. But, fuck, you were so goddamn hot. So incredibly fucking sexy. Good enough to bend over and fucking eat. But Eddie hated you too much to ever fucking admit it. Too embarrassed by how you would react if he ever revealed that this was how he felt. How badly he wanted you to shut your mouth and let him fucking take you- to pound all of the meanness out of your body until you’d be syrupy sweet for him.

His imagination mixed with your desperate noises of pleasure only spur him on. God, he wanted to fuck you- he wanted to fuck you badly. He was getting so close to cumming just thinking about it. Thinking about what it would be like if he were the one making you moan like that instead of that annoying little vibrator that started this in the first place.

If he were in that bedroom with you right now, would he be fucking you? Balls deep inside of you until you couldn’t even form words? Or would he have you on your knees with his cock between your lips as he fucked your face until you were gagging around him, taking him back as deep as you could go? Would he have you bent over with your face buried in the mattress so that he wouldn’t have to look at you and be reminded of how much he couldn’t stand you? Showing you that you were nothing but a loud-mouthed fuck toy to him. There was so much for him to fantasize about with your sexy little noises as the backing track to his filthy imaginings. So many horny thoughts and he was so close to cumming.

And clearly, so were you.

Your high-pitched moans reach their peak with a sudden gasp followed by a desperate whisper of “oh my god!”

Eddie’s eyes widen, mouth dropping open as he hears your orgasm, bucking into his fist quickly as he pants and whimpers. He was about to cum and he was gonna cum hard.

He let it take over him, his fist squeezing, hips bucking as he milked himself of his orgasm- he started cumming and he couldn’t stop.

The feeling was mind-blowing as his twitching cock began to spill all over his lower stomach- coating it with his own cum as it came out in heavy spurts that he couldn’t control. It felt good, so fucking good, as he unloaded onto himself.

Your sounds had gone silent on the other side of the door as Eddie tried to catch his breath, his hand releasing his softening cock as it flopped lazily off the side of the couch.

Fuck.

Holy fuck.

Then he sat with it. The fact that he had just made himself come hard for his literal fucking enemy begins to settle over him. He had just jerked off and came…to you. He sits in silence. The post-nut clarity taking over as he laid there. On his friend’s couch. In his underwear. Decorated in his own cum.

What the fuck did he just do?

Your drink was almost empty by the time he reached you, sidling up beside you as he leaned against the bar. He smelled like sweat, leather, and Camel cigarettes. His eyes were a warm shade of dark brown, large and doe-like as he stared at you. He looked cuter up close, you would at least give him that much.

“Hi.” He speaks, his eyes boring into you as you sipped the rest of your drink- an air of indifference surrounding you. Eddie tries not to overthink it. Maybe you were just as nervous as he was? You were practically eye-fucking him up there onstage.

“Hi.” You answer, setting down your empty glass on the bar.

Eddie then freezes, feeling the weight of your expectant stare as you watch him. Waiting for something else. However, Eddie didn’t really have anything else. He didn’t think this far ahead. He just saw you looking at him and realized that he needed to do something about it. Even if he didn’t even know what that something is.

“I….uh…” He stammers, melting under your gaze.

“Can I help you with something?” You ask, arching an eyebrow.

“You…uh…you were looking at me.” Eddie states, as if it were obvious “While I was onstage.”

“Yeah.” You answer, your tone blunt and matter-of-fact “I look at a lot of people sometimes.”

“Right.” Eddie answers, shaking his head “Right, yeah. So…did you get to see much?”

You just stared at him as if he were dense. Like you were trying to decipher what he was saying as if he were speaking a different language.

“See much of what?” You question.

“Of my set.” He answers, making himself be more specific “While I was playing.”

“Yeah.” You reply coolly “I’ve seen enough, I guess.”

And that took Eddie aback. Just a little. He didn’t know how you meant it. He didn’t know if you meant it as you’ve seen enough to be impressed or you’ve seen enough and never wanted to experience it again.

“So…uh…what did you think?” He asks, his heart pounding in his chest. He suddenly realized just how much he cared to hear what you had to say. You were so hard to read that he couldn’t tell if you enjoyed it or hated it. He was both completely intrigued and extremely scared to find out which.

“It was alright.” You deadpan. It was all you offered up, leaving Eddie even more confused.

Really? He thought. That’s it?

“Just alright?” He asks, a little offended “That’s all I get?”

“I mean, is ‘just alright’ good enough for you? Or were you expecting an honest, scathing review?” You ask dryly, your eyes sweeping over his face.

“Scathing, huh?” He asks, raising his eyebrows “Were you….not a fan?”

“You want my real opinion?” You question.

Before Eddie could really think about the repercussions of what he was asking for, he goaded you on.

“Yeah.” He nods “Hit me with it. I’ve got thick skin. I’m sure it’s not anything that we haven’t heard before.”

And with his permission, you didn’t hold back. You tore into him- harshly.

“If you want my honest review, I think you suck.”