Eddie Munson x Italian Classical Musician/ Artist Female Reader Headcanons
Content Warnings: Cursing/ swearing, implied sexual content, alcohol, and drug use, traumatic events, emotional distress, and violence.
Masterlist
Credit 4 Dividers: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics
Eddie finds your Italian accent incredibly charming and often asks you to repeat words or phrases just to hear it. Even during sex, you have the habit of using it in his ear,
You started learning the Cello first when you were 4 years old, because your grandfather was a world-renowned cellist, and you wanted to follow in his footsteps.
Your art style is heavily influenced by the Renaissance period, and you often use dark, moody colours that make your work eerie yet beautiful.
You have a secret stash of your favourite Italian wine and snacks, like butterscotch pudding, in your basement that you share with only a few close friends.
You paint, sculpt, sketch and create cosmic, body, surreal and contemporary horror. Most of the time it is either one of them or all of them at once, creating images so grotesque and mesmerising. It looked like it moved the longer someone stared at them. Detailed enough to capture and hold the attention of those who weren’t the intended target audience for her art.
Eddie had the habit of pulling you further into the centre of the bed if you got too far away. He liked having you as close as possible, often with an arm or a leg thrown over you. Sometimes you would roll over and spoon him from behind. Your arms up his black shirt. Eddie in turn would jolt awake because of your cold hands sometimes. He would then wrap his arms around you and pull you closer. Whispering, "You're so cold," with a sleepy smile.
You were determined in keeping your king-sized waterbed because it helped you fall asleep quicker than any mattress with springs ever could. Eddie found out about it when he got into bed first at your place one evening. He didn’t think much of it, assuming that you were much like everyone else, had the same type. The one with springs inside of it.
When he did find out, he said, "How the hell did you get a waterbed up here?" It had become their little secret.
“Down here. Not up here.” You reminded him your bedroom was in the basement in your house. Not in a typical bedroom like his was.
Eddie replied, "Well, I guess that explains the echo."
"Eddie, you complained about it the first time, remember?" you asked him, getting the spare pillow out from your cupboard upstairs.
Eddie's eyes widened as he took in the grandeur of your basement art studio. The walls were adorned with your hauntingly beautiful paintings, their vibrant colours clashing with the shadowy lighting. He couldn't help but feel a sense of awe mixed with a hint of trepidation as he gazed upon the sculptures that seemed to watch him with lifeless eyes. The cobwebs in the corner danced in the flickering candlelight, casting eerie shadows across the floor.
You were in the shower getting ready, as Eddie, still in his pyjamas, ventured downstairs into your basement art studio, curiosity getting the better of him. He heard the faint sound of classical Italian music playing from a radio in the corner, the melody weaving through the air like a ghostly serenade. The scent of paint and turpentine filled his nostrils, a stark contrast to the usual scent of his own room—stale pot and heavy metal. He took a tentative step closer to the waterbed, his eyes widening as he realised it was indeed a king-sized waterbed. The gentle sloshing of the water beneath the mattress made him chuckle to himself, wondering how you managed to keep this a secret from everyone else.
The curtains, which were three black lace curtains sewn together to cover the basement windows. Fairy lights strung along the top of the curtains, creating a soft glow around the room.
The walls were painted an ultraviolet purple that made the green in your art pop out. The concrete floor covered in faux fur rugs in deep shades of black.
The walls were also covered on your vivid horror creations done by either charcoal, water coloured pencils, or acrylics, all framing your monstrous yet oddly fascinating creations. Each piece told a story of its own, a silent scream echoing from the canvas that seemed to resonate with Eddie's own inner turmoil. He felt a strange kinship with your art, as if it understood the chaos in his mind better than he did himself.
The sculptures, made from clay, stone, and sometimes metal, stood sentinel around the room, each one a twisted representation of a creature from a nightmare. Despite the macabre scene, there was a serene quality to the space, a sanctuary where you poured your soul into your craft.
The emerald green velvet couch across from your bookshelf was his first stop, collapsing onto it with a sigh as he looked around the room. His eyes fell on the shelf of your favourite Italian wine bottles, the labels yellowed with age, and the smell of your secret stash of butterscotch pudding wafted through the air. It was a comforting scent, one that reminded him of your late-night art sessions and the sweet treats you'd share with him as he played guitar to drown out the sound of the waterbed's waves.
The rest of your things were upstairs. Ever since your parents moved away when you turned 21. You had the entire house to yourself. Something you told Eddie about at the time. You liked the idea of your bedroom being your sanctuary. A place where you felt most alive. Most creative. It was also the place where Eddie took your virginity.
