I Am Gonna Close My Requests For Rockstar Eddie X Reader So I Can Launch My New Series! It Won't Be Forever

we were robbed.

why is there barely anything of him from this period💔💔

me in a nutshell

Bruce: Stressed.

Dick: Depressed.

Damian: Possessed.

Tim: Obsessed.

Y/N: Impressed.

Jason: Chicken breast.

Everyone: ...What?

Jason: I just wanted to join in.

Long-haired guitarists are the reason I sleep at night.

Judd Nelson in The Breakfast Club walked

So Heath Ledger in 10 Things I Hate About You could run

So Joseph Quinn on Stranger Things could run at the same speed but in a slightly different direction

The Time Before Masterlist

The Time Before (Part 1) here

The Time Before - Wayne's Time in 'Nam (prologue/part 2) here

The Time Before - The Early Days (part 3) here

The Time Before - Vivianne Peretti (part 4) here

The Time Before - Eddie's Movies (part 5) here

All the works can now also be found under the #xxforestfairyxx's The Time Before

And on Wattpad!

'you still listen to music from 10 years ago 🤨?' bitch if prehistoric humans had audio recording technology id be sat up here listening to grog and unga bunga's greatest hits don't play with me

go easy on your fanfic writers.

they’re writing for free. they’re unpublished, untrained, unprofessional. they’re writing between real jobs, having families, kids.

go easy on your fanfic writers.

they’re working to a standard that paid writers rarely are held to. they’re creating fully fleshed out characters on personality alone. they’re doing their best to avoid using descriptions when writing about a person, one thing they were always told to do, the thing they always read about.

they’re trying to ignore their own experiences, their own lives to give you stories about a person without size, colour, weight, height, hair length, eye colour.

go easy on your fanfic writers.

they’re putting their heart into their works just to post it online and hope it’s received well. they’re writing thousands of words, they’re writing chapters and books. they’re nervous.

they’re worried about being called things they aren’t, they’re worried about coming under fire for something they’re not maliciously trying to do. they’re worried about someone accusing them of stealing, of plagiarising, of an anonymous grey box calling them awful things.

they’re trying their best.

this isn’t just self serving. this isn’t just a cathartic release for myself. I’ve spoken to dozens of writers in this fandom who are constantly and consistently getting hate. they’re all talented people doing this for free. for you to read. be kinder or there’s not going to be any writers left.

I know a lot of you feel like Eddie would be automatically attracted to a fellow metal head or even the overly gorgeous cheerleader type… but for some reason, in my mind, I see him drawn to a soft, warm smiled, ultimate girl next door hippie type. A Stevie Nicks type, if you will. Fashion stuck in the 70s, probably hand me downs from her mother and sometimes her father (let’s be honest, men’s fashion back then was amazing). Turquoise jewelry a stark contrast against the metal chains Eddie wears.

Of course, she’d have to be a music lover too. But maybe their taste is different, but still similar enough to have a connection over it. Like maybe her repertoire expanded from Bob Dylan, to Roberta Flack, to Carole King, to Eagles, to Simon & Garfunkel, to Aerosmith, to Skid Row. I see her as an admirer of all music, maybe even a fellow musician herself, wanting to follow in the footsteps of her idol, Stevie Nicks.

Like their entire relationship is a total personification of the song Leather and Lace.

It. Just. Makes. Sense. To. Me.

My heeeaarrtttt <3

eddie’s love letter to reader after leaving her in chicago where he’d followed her after meeting for the first time. (i was in my feels despite not even being in love myself)

masterlist or series tag #enam3ls rockstar eddie

Dear sweetheart,

I’m considering hijacking my own plane and making them turn back to Chicago, back to you. My lips left your skin an hour ago and already they’re itching to be reunited.

Ready to commit felonies in order to feel yours once more. The guys have ditched me, they’re sitting further up the place. Apparently I talk too much as is, now I’m worse than ever and the only topic on my tongue is you. I can’t blame them, I wonder how I’ll ever shut up about you.

The flight attendant brought her little trolley round and all she got from me was a lecture about how you only mix your drinks with lemonade, never soda. I told her my girl has a sweet tooth. I suppose I don’t know for sure if you’re my girl yet. Not even officially my girl and you’ve got me hopping states and writing love letters.

You’ve bewitched me, babe. Appeared out of thin air on a dark stormy night in a small town like Hawkins? It all makes sense. I knew you had to be other worldly. You hexed me that night, turned me into a lovesick teenager. I hope the spell is irreversible if it means I get to be yours.

Shit, this could all be nonsense, I don’t know. I’m so god damn tired. You kept me awake. I’ve not even got my mind in the gutter. Just mean, how could I possibly sleep when I got to have you to myself? There’s only 24 hours in the day and you’ve existed for nearly 24 years. Hard to hear all your stories in that time. I want to hear them all. It feels cruel the universe robbed me of 24 years of you. Think I could listen to you til the oceans ran dry and I wouldn’t get bored.

I took my jacket off once I was seated to get comfy but then I realised it smelt like you. Had this thing since I was 16 and it’s only ever smelt like smoke and cheap beer. You wear it for a weekend and it smells like you. You you you. That pretty perfume and that sweetness natural to your skin. It’s soaked into the leather. Under the fibres. I think you’ve done that to me as well. Seeped under my skin. Running through my system.

Already owe Dustin and Steve my life in ways you don’t even know. I owe them it all once over for introducing you.

You were right when you said this wasn’t normal. People don’t just feel this way with someone they’ve known for a couple of hours. I think my heart was yours from that moment in the Hideout. It’s still with you now in Chicago. I don’t want it back. Keep it in the back pocket of those tight little jeans you wore yesterday. If you gave me yours, it’d be the most precious think I owned.

When you get back home to New York and read this, call me. I’ll be on your doorstep in seconds if I’m not already camped out there. I should’ve stayed in bed with you in that fancy ass hotel in Chicago.

Call me and I’ll crawl back into your sheets and promise to never leave again.

Yours if you wish,

Eddie.

don’t worry i know it’s been a while but i could never forget about my lil star crossed lovers

my taglist angels: @whoahoney @lukewearingbeanies @esme-viridian @elysian-chaos s @munsonology @mseddiemunson @kreepja @midnightsgetawaycar

"You could turn hermit and live under the bed, and Steve would spend half his life on his stomach just looking at you" AHHHHH WTF WHO TOLD HIM HE COULD BE THIS PERFECT????

kisses before dinner — steve comes home to his girls after a long day. 2k, mom!reader

Steve has a back ache twinging between his shoulders that takes his breath away as he takes the step up into the front door. It gets caught on the latch, which is awesome, Steve’s so glad you’re being safe late at night, but deplorable in that he has wood grain etched into his jaw and no way inside. 

“Girls?” He knocks the glass pane. “Anybody home?” 

Everyone should be home. Your car is in the driveway, the girls’ shoes are by the wall. He pushes the door open as far as he can (not far) and weasels his face into the gap to look for you. It’s dark besides the upstairs bathroom light. 

Steve calls your name a few times, but eventually comes to the realisation that you’re all asleep and he’s locked out. He closes the door and heads back to his car to scrounge the spare back door key from under his seat. 

He fights through the garden gate covered in brambles to the backyard. It hasn’t been touched since summer, forgotten things left to the elements. Avery’s bike flakes with copper coloured rust against the wall. The trampoline net is tangled and fallen off of one side. There are plastic cups in the stinging nettles growing back beneath it and gummy bears swollen with water along the paving stones like some poor retelling of Hansel and Gretel. He unlocks the back door and promptly knocks over the trash can he’d left in front of it. His back whines as he cleans it away, but at least it’s warm inside. 

It’s good to be home. 

He shoves the toppled garbage back into the can, washes tomato sauce off of his hands in the sink, and lets himself bask in his own poorly lit company for a moment, rubbing his tired eyes. He was hoping for a welcome party. It took longer to help Robin move than they’d anticipated. 

“I won’t be back for a while,” he’d said apologetically down the phone. 

“Okie dokie,” you’d crooned. He didn’t need to see you to know there was a baby in your lap. “Just come home when you can, babe. And lift with your knees! I’ll put your plate in the fridge, yes? Love you.” Your voice turned to sugar. “Love you, love you, love you, honey.” You definitely weren’t talking to him at that point. Mother of my kids, he’d thought reverently, the strength of a thousand men restored for an hour or two before the fatigue truly set in and he and Robin considered leaving the rest of her furniture on her new front lawn.

He scratches his hair from his eyes with both hands. Mother of my kids, he thinks again. You’ve actually managed to keep the kitchen tidy, the only evidence of a day of play being the grape juice rings on the dining table placemats. How the fuck you’ve done it is a miracle worth marvelling. Three children, one (admittedly smaller) baby bump, and a full eighteen hours by yourself. You’re very impressive. 

He decides to tell you emphatically with his face in your neck. He should shower, and he will apologise to you for subjecting you to his sweaty hair in the morning. You’ll shrug off his apology, say something sweet about for better or worse or maybe wrinkle your nose and kiss him anyways. 

Steve honestly can’t find any shame about how much he likes you. Like and love can begin to diverge in a marriage, especially after kids when your duty as parents is more important than it is as partners, but you’ve yet to let him pull away, and he won’t give you a reason to. He’ll keep trying as hard as possible to be a husband you can adore. And you don’t have to do much, really. Realistically you give the majority of yourself every day to Steve and your kids, but he would cling to you if you got sick of it. He knows he would. You could turn hermit and live under the bed, and Steve would spend half his life on his stomach just looking at you.

Half trying to pull you out again. The other half getting the girls ready for school. He’s so tired he doesn’t realise that this is too many halves. 

When he gets to the top of the stairs he feels like a lifetime has passed since he left that morning, bright and early at 5AM. There’d been driving, car swaps, booing at people from behind the wheel, a hundred boxes, a million trips up and down the stairs, and a suspicious washing machine recalibration. This was without the cold coke drinking, peanuts, popcorn, mistimed movie references, and the obligatory insulting of Robin’s girlfriend’s mauve chaise, of which Robin refused to participate. 

Between all that, there’d been worrying, and a want for more phone calls. Promise me you’ll call me if you need anything at all, he’d said that morning, giving your face a fond caress. There’s a confidence that comes with this much love. Steve can pour every inch of his affection for you into one touch and knows you’ll soak it up like a sponge. Really. Any problems, any stress, any tantrums. Just call me. I’m twenty minutes away. 

You were grateful if amused, telling him he didn’t need to worry so much, and then offering him another slice of toast. 

Is it weird how much I love my wife? he wonders, pushing open the bedroom door gently. 

You’re actually awake! He’s shocked and a little betrayed to find you looking at him, but the betrayal fades when he notices the swelling around your eyes and your trembling arm as you hoist yourself up under Avery’s weight. He’s woken you up coming in. 

“Sorry,” he mouths, frowning at your shakiness. 

You manage a smile and beckon him forward. The problem is the little ladies strewn about in the way. Avery drools on your chest while Dove takes up the entirety of Steve’s side, spread into a star shape, and Bethie snores loudly by your knees. An especially aggressive one makes him laugh as he rounds the bed to your side. 

“Hello,” he whispers, taking your face into a loving hand, “sorry I’m back so late.” 

You smile into his palm but don’t say anything. 

“You okay? Had a good day?” he asks.

You hum something nonsensical. He wipes at your cheek in the rough way you enjoy, your face bumped with every stroke of his thumb.

“Did you…”  Your eyelashes flutter closed. “Did you eat?” 

“Loads. Sorry. I’ll eat my dinner tomorrow.”

You wrinkle your nose. He’s been dying to see it. “Don’t bother, it wasn’t my best.”

“All dinners are your best.” 

You cover his hand with yours, and then you steal it away from your cheek and kiss it all over. Steve bends down to hug you.

“Missed you,” you say at the same time. Steve laughs. “Was it a long day?” you ask. 

“I could ask you the same thing.” 

“It was aeons,” you say. “The girls were good, mostly. Baby not so much.” 

“Aw, no,” he croons softly, “what’s she been doing?” 

“She won’t let me eat.” 

Steve rubs the top of your arm. “I’m sorry, honey. You should’ve called me.” 

“What are you gonna do, H?”

He breathes out into the side of your face. “You’re right, of course. What can I do?” 

He can’t do a thing to ease your morning sickness, so… Steve ends up taking a knee on the bed beside you to hold you for a while, no rush to lay down even though he aches in strings and shouts. “I’m glad I can’t get pregnant. I’d have hundreds of your babies if I could and it would be torture.” 

You laugh at his absurdity in the giggly startled way he’d been hoping for. 

“Did you throw up?” he asks, pulling away enough to see your face while his hand starts the soft journey down your front to your bump. You’re about three months along and the bump came quickly. It’s cute and Steve loves it and he tries not to be weird about it but he’s weird about you. 

“No, just kept churning. I made eggs for breakfast and we can’t eat them anymore.” 

Steve kisses your cheek, the corner of your eye, knowing it’ll make you happy. Your smile follows swiftly after, and he kisses that with gusto. “I don’t even like eggs,” he mumbles.

“You love eggs.” 

“What was it like being the stay at home mom today?” he asks. 

“Hard. But fun. Avery was being really nice to me all day, did you have something to do with that?” 

“Avery’s always nice.” 

Your smile widens impossibly, “Yeah, but she was asking me if I wanted to sit down and if I needed a glass of water all day.” 

Steve shrugs. “Doesn’t sound like something I’d do.” 

“Well don’t do it again, H. She’s just a baby. She doesn’t need to worry about me.” 

Steve strokes your forehead, totally in your orbit. “She’s not worrying. Are you worrying about her when you take care of her? And sometimes you need a reminder.” 

You chew it over. “Okay… you’re right. You win that one, Harrington. Mostly ‘cos I’m too tired.”

Steve always wins when he gets to slide into bed next to you. You push yourself over and bunch the kids up tighter. There’s not quite enough room for him. He feels as though he’s one little legged kick from falling back out, but he doesn’t mind, wrapping an arm around you and Avery where she’s sliding off of you and onto the mattress between you both. The poor girl is in a deep sleep, dribbling from the corner of her mouth. Steve wipes it away. 

“You comfortable enough?” he asks. 

“I’m fine. Thank you for asking.” 

He rests his head against yours on the pillows. “Missed you.” 

“But you had fun, right?” 

“It was great. I feel like I ran a marathon.” 

“Exhausted?” you ask. 

“And accomplished… You sure you’re okay? It was a long day by yourself. That stunt you pulled in the kitchen? Incredible.” 

“I thought you’d like that. I told the girls you’d buy them a pony.” 

“You did not.” 

You laugh into his cheek. “No, I didn't, you caught me… I’m fine, really. I did miss you. It’s not nice, not seeing you. I’m used to a couple of hours, but it started feeling wrong when it was dark out, I… it’s silly but I was thinking about how horrible it would be if you never came back–”

Your pitch lifts up as Steve gasps and slaps a hand over your mouth (doesn’t slap, but covers, big hand on your lips and pressing them shut without sympathy). 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He meets your eyes, smiling hard despite the fatigue clinging to you both, and doesn’t buckle, even as you kiss his palm again. “Pregnancy brain is a scary thing.” 

Your eyes turn to melting. He’s putty immediately, pulling your hand away to caress your cheek. 

“Wanna be crazy in love in the morning?” he asks gently. You put your arm behind Avery’s back and smile as she snuggles into your ribs. Steve kisses your nose. “Go to sleep, honey. I can feel how tired you are. Back to normal in the morning.” 

“Love you, Steve.” 

“Love you, too.”