Eddie Munson OneShots

A Real Crowd Pleaser

Eddie Munson x gn!Reader
summary: you have one idea that might just make the crowd go as wild as you
wc: 2.6k
reader: described as having hair (no determined length or style)
warnings: kissing, brief drinking of beer

Originally posted at https://thisismynerdyself.tumblr.com/post/691328900749524992/a-real-crowd-pleaser

*****
"Please?"
"No."
"...Pleeease?"
"...Noooo."
"Pretty please?"
"Why are you like this, Munson?"
"Because I'm desperate and will do anything. You're my only hope." He batted his unfairly long lashes and you were melted candle wax. "Please?"
You spun around quickly and walked away, leaving Eddie Munson to stand alone on the sidewalk, watching after you, arms thrown out wide in exasperation. Then you called back over your shoulder. "I'll be there. 6:30. And you better have a kickass set or I walk."
And that's how you found yourself nearly exiled from your family for joining Corroded Coffin, a 'sure-fire ticket to hell', according to your mother.
*
"Ladies and Men - I know you're not too gentle out there - please put your sweaty hands together again for Corroded Coffin!"
With a lazy flourish and a flash, the faded lights spin back and illuminate the tiny stage.
The back of the stage is shrouded in shadow and from the darkness a creaking sound echoes. Four doors swing open and from the deep black coffins standing upright along the back, four bodies emerge. It was, admittedly, your only party trick.
You step out and forward, taking your place behind the drumset. Your eyes watch as Jeff finds his placement, Gareth then takes his mark, and finally Eddie Munson steps up to the center microphone, one hand holding his guitar steady while the other grips the mic, pick trapped between pointer finger and thumb.
"Big thanks to you all for coming here every week - I know you don't come for us, you come for the liquor, BUT-" Eddie's voice reverberates through the undersized venue, "we can't seem to chase you away either. So that's something." He shrugs and pulls his hand from the mic, letting it fall to the face of the guitar as it begins to strum its intro to the first ever song the band had written.
As Eddie begins, you take your seat, sticks in hand, poised in waiting over the snare drum, foot at the ready for the first bass kick you so anticipate every night. That bass drum kickoff is one of your favorite moments. Taking your cue, Jeff and Gareth join the fray, the bass and keys filling the empty air with metallic thrums and heart-thumping rhythms.
As was with every performance to date, the night flies by in a whirlwind. You toss your head back and forth in rhythm with your beating and the sweat rolls down your forehead and the back of your neck. The tshirt you wear sticks to your skin and the black jeans you love inhale heat and trap it against your skin.
It's a sweaty existence under the stage lights despite their dilapidated appearance, but the thrill is worth it all. When the crowd of four, or six, or if you're lucky, nine cheers for the finale, you raise up to stand, your sticks in one hand and a water bottle in the other. The final song of the set comes to an epic conclusion with one final double beat, then you turn the bottle upside down and let the water splash down over your face, through your hair, and over the top of your tee. It's an end of show tradition, your attempt at cooling down while disguising the sweat-matted mess you become over the course of the set. You have to look somewhat presentable in case you meet a fan - if there are any.
To the sounds of fading applause, you retreat to the back dressing room - really it's an old storage room your band had demanded be transformed into a dressing room for your now regularly scheduled performances. Eddie gives his post-show high-fives-turned-hugs to Gareth and then Jeff. Then he turns to you.
"Another sick beat, Y/l/n." He repeats his greeting to you and he feels the sticky wet of your shirt and the wet tingle of your hair against his cheek.
"Nothin compared to you, oh fearsome leader." You pull away and feel Eddie's hand at your back, the heat soaking through the already overheated portion of your back.
"Who's down for a little after party at my place?" Eddie asks as he turns to place his beloved ruby toned baby into its case. Post-show rituals are a must, but you're shocked to hear silence meet Eddie's request.
Jeff looks guilty and Gareth is a tangle of nerves. Gareth speaks first. "I would, but I- I can't. I'm on the cusp of being banned from the band for the rest of my life if I don't make it home by curfew." He runs a hand through his hair and turns away to avoid the daggers of disappointment he knows Eddie is throwing at him.
"And you, Jeff? Do you have somewhere to be, too?" Eddie looks to the other boy who can't seem to keep eye contact.
"Sorry, man. I made plans for tonight. First date, gotta make a good impression or it'll be my only date. Can't be late." Jeff checks his wristwatch. "Which I'm almost late for anyway. Lucky she's out there waiting."
Gareth slaps his friend on the back, you give him a smile over your shoulder while you pack your bag and secure your sticks into their holder.
"Okay okay, so I can see this band means NOTHING to you people." Eddie exaggerates his expression and throws his hands up dramatically.
"Eddie," your tone is almost scolding, "you can't be upset that they have lives and you don't."
"Oh I don't have a life?" Eddie steps up closer to you, eyebrows raised in question.
"No, you don't. Other than being here and wasted off your ass at home. Tell me I'm lying." You step up to challenge him, chests inches away.
"You didn't mind being wasted off your ass with me last week." His narrowed eyes and snarkiness is invigorating.
A chorus of "ooooh" sings out from the other boys and they back their way out of the room, letting you and Eddie to have it out.
"Maybe I felt bad for you having to drink alone on a Friday night."
Eddie deflates. "You don't have to make it sound so pathetic."
"If you're pathetic, so am I." You spin and bump his shoulder with yours, reaching down for your bag. "Let's go, loser. I'm not getting any younger."
And with that, you grab Eddie's arm and pull him toward the back door where his van awaits.
Then after loading up all of your equipment - amps, instruments, and a pack of warm beer you found hidden behind a pile of boxes - Eddie drives you both to his trailer in a comfortable silence, a necessary reprieve from the pounding of the previous few hours.
As soon as the van comes to a stop, you hop out and let yourself into the home. You drop your bag by the door and head to the fridge, tossing in the warm pack from the Hideout and cracking open a cold one - the first beer of the night. Eddie reaches past you and grabs one as well, but he drains his immediately and collapses on the sofa, exhausted.
"I forgot a change of clothes, so I'm stealing something of yours. I'll be right back." You set your can on the counter and attempt to shake out the remaining moisture from your hair before heading down the hall toward Eddie's room.
"The wet look is hot, Y/n. I think it's the reason the crowd comes back every week." His sing-songy voice reaches you and you stop in your tracks.
A heat creeps up your cheeks. You should be used to his antics and comments by now, but you can't deny the thrill of chasing your band leader's approval and attention.
You spin to face him, hair still tinged with droplets of water. You walk slowly, almost menacingly, over to him. When you're standing just over where he is slumped on the couch, you lean down and shake your head one more time, laughing as drops go flying in every direction. You were truly well and soaked after the show, and Eddie was feeling first hand how long it takes for you to dry off.
"Ah, what was that for?!" Eddie leans away and half-falls-half-crawls off of the couch, then stands up and makes a show of wiping his face off. You straighten and look at his surprised expression.
"Well if one wet drummer can bring four whole people to the show, imagine what a wet lead guitarist could do." You step closer, a mischievous glint in your eye, and Eddie steps backward. You see your target on the table behind him, and you subtly reach down to retrieve it.
"I'm not sure that's completely necessary actually." There was a nervous quiver to Eddie's retort. His breathing had intensified and his heart's pace picked up at the close proximity. He had meant what he said, you looked great wet. And now, standing so very close to you, each detail of your face a work of art, he was nervous like he had never been nervous before.
You scrunch your face up as if thinking deeply of his rebuttal, but you have something already in mind. "Oh, but I think it is. Here, let's practice." And with a swing of your arm, you bring up the open water glass that had been left on the side table for who knows how long, and pour it atop Eddie's head, snickering as you watch the streaks of water slip through his tangled web of hair and down over his face.
It all happens so fast, Eddie is shocked. But he recovers quickly enough to grab you before you could scamper away. "Oh no you don't." He utters as he wraps his arms around your middle and pulls you back, toward him, your back connecting roughly with his chest. Then he shoves his head into your neck where his hair tickles and the moisture seeps into your skin.
Your laughter rings out in the trailer, filling the trailer and your heart.
After Eddie loosens his grip and you manage to spin to face him, you let out another laugh at the look on his face. His curly hair is now plastered across his forehead, a few strands stuck to his mouth. You reach out without thinking and brush them out of the way, your fingertips sending tingles over his skin at the touch.
"I was right." You grin cloyingly at him, suddenly very aware of how vibrant his eyes were and how warm his body felt so close to yours.
"About what?" His eyebrows furrow in confusion.
"The wet look works on you too. You'll drive the ladies mad."
"I don't care so much about that actually."
Now it's your turn to be confused. "Isn't that every guy's dream for a band?"
"Eh, for some," he shrugs, "probably. But when you already have what you want, those things don't really matter." His eyes grow serious and you are taken by surprise. He's looking at you with such genuine curiosity and intrigue. You have never felt so exposed before, the way he looks at you is so... passionate.
"So you already have what you want? And what is that?" Your voice doesn't feel like your voice. It's softer and more timid.
"I'll give you one guess."
Eddie is impossibly close and his bottom lip nervously tucks itself behind the top, a nervous habit. You find yourself noticing these kinds of details and it sends a fluttering feeling through your stomach.
You tip your head slightly up and down in a subtle nod, your hint to him that if he was going to go for it, you wouldn't object.
So he did. Eddie presses his lips to yours hesitatingly to which you happily reciprocate.
And it was like a switch was flipped, one moment you were almost nervous - quite out of character from your usually boisterous selves - and the next you were hungry and desperate.
You feel Eddie's hands slide around your body, roam across your back and down to your backside.
Your arms loop around his neck and you pull him impossibly closer. Your lips battle for control, feeding a hunger you had both suppressed for weeks, months.
You feel Eddie's tongue swipe against your top lip and you and you eagerly accept, the battle for control now a war.
But the war is short-lived as the ferocity settles and you both sink into a contented waltz, lips dancing in perfect rhythm. His hands still roam your body, finding skin beneath the skin-tight shirt. And your hands slide out from around his shoulders and instead grip onto the curled strands of his still-wet hair. You sink your fingers into his mane and he smiles against your kiss.
"You were right." Eddie mumbles against your lips, the friction of his whisper sending chills along your cheeks.
You smile and pull back just an inch, hating the distance but not being able to miss the opportunity. "Say that again, I like to hear that."
Eddie twists his head to laugh, but turns back to you with a serious look. He nudged your nose with his. "You were right."
"I was... about what, exactly?" You ask, smiling up at him. New admiration for the metalhead shines in your eyes and he relishes in it.
"The wet look. I think we might need to do this again next time." He winks and your heart almost beats out of its chest.

Two weeks later
"Here they are... Corroded Coffin!"
A round of applause precedes the inevitable emergence of the four band members from the signature coffins aligning the back of the stage. As always, you each take your place and ready yourselves for that momentous first downbeat.
You throw your sticks in the air and hit the tom hard, giving your whole self to the performance. You hit each beat with precision and grin madly at the rush it brings you. Then you look up, your hands and feet following instinctive repetition, to watch the back of Eddie's form silhouetted in the dirty yellow lighting beyond.
Eddie throws his head back and you watch in awe as his wild tresses are tossed around.
A few times throughout the night, Eddie turns his back to the crowd, facing you head on, as he shreds his solo and you meet his energy with a tremendous twang of the cymbal and the rumbling power of the bass pedal.
The crowd, having tripled in size in the past two week, cheers unrelentingly for the high energy performance. Then as the ending nears, you revel in the sweet sound of the audience asking for more. So you give the people what they want.
The encore, something you had never actually had to give before, is beyond epic. Jeff is pulling out moves you didn't know he had, Gareth has a wild glint in his eye. And Eddie is absolutely radiant with utter elation. This is a dream coming true one week at a time.
At the final clash of the high-hats, the final beat of the drum, and the final strum of the guitars, the song comes to an epic conclusion.
With one hand holding your water bottle and the other holding your beloved sticks, you raise to your feet and tip the bottle, feeling that cold refreshment wash over you. Looking up just in time, you catch Eddie doing the same, your eyes glued to the way the water droplets shine as they fall over his curly mane and down to his band tee.
It's addicting, the sight he makes. And you know instantly why the crowd had increased since his first attempt at the action last week.
The wet look... yeah, it's a real crowd pleaser.
*****