#here she is !

[ryoshudoodles]

218° Day of waiting for Canto 9

[rin-rin-comics]

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{fic}

[eddiesghxst]

PRICE OF FAME (PART 12/12)

AHHH !! friends, we've come to the end of my first fully done series, and she's not perfect in a lot of ways but she's mine and I'm so happy and thankful to have shared it with you lovely folks

i hope I've done them justice, enjoy <3

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: rockstar!eddie x journalist!reader

summary: you decide to visit eddie for a chat

contains: enemies to lovers trope, drug and alcohol use, smut, oral (m receiving), mentions of anal, mentions of death (readers relative), sexual themes, angst, heavy mutual pining, fluff, and eddie being so head over heels that it's hot <3

word count: 10.6k

| previous part |

| series masterlist | -main masterlist- |

“So, from the new album— Wasting Love.”

Over time, Eddie’s learned that he can’t stand interviews— especially interviews with questions aimed towards nothing but tabloid gossip and headlines. The first big interview that Corroded Coffin booked was exciting because— well, it was their first one! Maybe the questions weren’t as intricate and thought-out as the ones they gave David Bowie on TV, but it was something.

That excitement wore off quickly, though, and unfortunately, interviews are one of the top ways to spread publicity so— “Wasting love,” Eddie huffs, tipping his hips forward as he shifts on the couch. He’s bored out of his mind, aching to leave and be done with the shitty questions about his love life or the people he hangs around or whatever. He taps the heel of his foot into the ground, lips twisting as he chews at the inside of his cheek, “What about it, man?” Eddie asks.

The rest of the band is in the fucking clouds— why would they answer a question about a song entirely unrelated to them? Plus, Eddie’s 99.9% sure they did a few lines without him, which, fucking assholes.

The interviewer shrugs, “Well, why didn’t it make it to the final cut? And what’s it about? Tell us more about that track.”

What a bullshit fucking question. 

Wasting Love is one of the most, if not the most, straightforward songs Eddie’s ever fucking written. The only reason why he’s asking about this is because, well, there’s been rumors of Eddie and his most recent love affair— none of which are true, but Eddie doesn’t bother to come out and tell the truth because what’s the point? What’s the point in telling the truth if it will get twisted anyway?

Either way, Eddie shrugs, blinking behind his dark sunglasses, “I mean…” He purses his lips and tips his head side to side as if thinking, “Kinda self-explanatory with the lyrics, man.” He finally responds.

And in the background, Eddie can see Richie practically constructing his next ‘I know you hate it, but it’s good publicity’ lecture. So, Eddie relents— “It’s about… meaningless sex basically. And it didn’t make the cut because it was a shitty song.”

It wasn’t, actually, Eddie thinks it was a great fucking song, but the intentions behind it— not quite so.

“I think the fans would disagree on that.” The interviewer jokes.

Jeff takes a deep breath and shifts in his seat, “I mean, part of it was because it just didn’t flow with the essence of the album.” He adds, and Eddie mentally thanks him for taking over and so easily diverting the topic to something else. For the rest of the interview, Eddie’s mind is elsewhere, thinking about everything outside of this room, thinking about what he’ll eat later, thinking about the show tonight, thinking about you.

Yeah, you haven’t left his fucking mind in the past six months you’ve been apart from one another. It’s been six months, and Corroded Coffin has released two albums and started their second leg of tour since he last saw you— and you’re still all he thinks about.

You’re still in his dreams, still dancing behind his eyelids when he shuts his eyes, still vomiting all over his fucking journal when he writes. It’s madness, really. Eddie can’t remember the last time he was this hung up on someone— he wasn’t even this distraught when Chrissy left him.

Sure when he and Chrissy ended, he wallowed in it for a month or two, but it wasn’t long before he got fixed on uppers and groupies. Chrissy was heartbreaking in the sense that she was his first love, his first real relationship— but this… this is different. Eddie doesn’t know why it’s different, can’t really pinpoint where the colors change, and the memories start to jab at his chest differently, but he feels it.

He feels it when he’s sitting backstage before a show, feels it when he steps into a new hotel room every night, feels it when he’s ruffling through his suitcase and comes across that journal that’s been haunting him for ages now, and he definitely feels it when he reads the fifth page in the Rolling Stone magazine where the description of Eddie resides, the one where you’d crafted and molded Eddie into a shape he’d never been able to see before, the one where Eddie first came to terms with the true sight of you and your intentions.

Yeah, it’s fucking bullshit, Eddie thinks.

He doesn’t know how he ended up in this predicament, but by god, he would never fucking recommend it because— fuck, you won’t even talk to him!

And sure, you don’t owe Eddie anything, you don’t owe him a call or a chance to visit or anything of the sort, but Eddie was holding onto that sliver of hope you gave him before you left. 

He asks about you when he can, because, unbeknownst to you, Eddie’s quite familiar with your boss, Anna, and she’s like an annoying older sister to him. Anna tells Eddie how much of an idiot he is occasionally, but she always cracks and tells Eddie that you’ve been good and how you sometimes mention him, but it’s always quick, and nobody ever has room to pry about it. And when Anna tells Eddie about how you crossed paths backstage with a certain red-headed girl and read her to filth, Eddie chuckles and mumbles something along the lines of, “That’s my girl.”

Anna nearly gagged then. 

Still, Eddie only catches glimpses and whispers of you, never really getting the full fix to last him a day, but it’s enough to keep him alive and wanting. 

“Maybe she doesn’t get your calls, man.” Gareth shrugs, leaning into the mirror as he ruffles his hair. It’s been hours since the interview now, and showtime is in… Eddie doesn’t know when because he didn’t listen when Richie was rambling on about tonight’s schedule.

“She gets my calls, dude; Anna said she does,” Eddie grumbles.

“Okay, well, then maybe she’s just, like, over it. I don’t blame her; you're a pain in the ass.”

Eddie kicks his boot into Gareth’s shin, and the boy hisses, tossing a red Rillos wrapper at him. “Ow, asshole. It’s not my fault she hates your music.” He snips. Eddie makes a face, “It’s your music too, dumbass.” 

Gareth scoffs, “Yeah, but you wrote an entire fucking album about her. Our album is literally about her, you know that, right?” And Eddie thinks he should just kick Gareth’s teeth in at this point, maybe that’ll get him to shut up. “How would you know it’s about her if I never told you it was?” Eddie prods.

Gareth rolls his eyes, dark eyeliner casting a shadow on his face as he turns to glare at his friend. “Is there another chick you’ve been fucking that’s got you by the balls that we seem to have forgotten about?” Gareth sarcastically asks. Eddie glares at him, reaching for the cigarettes on the vanity table and sparking up.

He speaks around a cloud of smoke when he answers, “No.”

Gareth makes a face, eyebrows raising in an ‘I rest my case' manner. “And she’s not a chick,” Eddie adds.

Gareth hums with a tight grin, reaching out to poke at his friend's face, causing Eddie to grimace and bat him away, “You’re in love, Munson. Fix it or get over it,” He says shortly before making his way toward the door. Eddie can hear the dull scream of fans when Gareth opens the door, and Eddie thinks about the tickets he’s sent you every show— prays to whatever false god there is that you decided tonight is the night before he decides hope is useless and you’ve gotten over him. Gareth cuts through Eddie’s thoughts, “Come on, I can hear Richie’s bitching from here.”

Eddie’s mind is never in the game until he steps onto the stage, with bright lights blinding him, screaming fans, and his adrenaline at an all-time high. He comes back to earth then, comes back, and does the fuck out of his job— because this is the best part. The best fucking part, and it’s always been that way.

And it gets better when Eddie scans the crowd, coming down from the first song of the night and finally taking a look at his audience, and there he sees it— he sees you. There you are under flashing lights, drowning in a sea of people with that glint in your eyes. 

Eddie thinks he’s imagining it because, fuck, he’s been dreaming of this for weeks on end; surely his delusion can reach the heights of hallucinations, right? But no, you’re real.

You’re so fucking real. So fucking insanely real beneath Eddie’s fingertips when he reaches out, ignoring the screams and clawing of fans as his fingers loop around your wrists and he says your name.

God, you’re really fucking here.

Eddie looks prettier than you remember when you first see him— curly mane draped over his shoulders and dark tattoos glistening on a bare torso, white lights framing him like he’s some kind of fucking archangel.

He’s gotten thicker in the few months, beefier around his arms and chest, and the long chains and pendants he wears from his neck rest down the valley of his torso, smeared in sweat and sin. You want to drag your tongue across his chest, taste the salt and his cologne, tug the silver cross between your lips, and suck and make him whimper.

His eyeliner is smudged and dark, and his smile when he gets a moment to take in the crowd makes your chest ache. He’s so pretty it hurts. He’s a dream and a nightmare all at once.

You missed him. God, you missed him so much.

His smile falters when he sees you, and you don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but his eyebrows pinch like he’s in pain, and you only want to wrap yourself around him and breathe in that scent that’s been haunting for nights on end.

He’s insane for jumping down to the barricade, like, completely-lost-his-fucking-mind, down-in-the-gutter, insane. But you can’t find it in you to protest when he steps up to the fence, reaching out and looping his warm finger around your wrist. “What the fuck?”

Your lips twitch into a smile at his words, but the crowd is getting rowdy with their beloved rockstar so up close and an elbow is being shoved into your side and Eddie moves quicker than you can comprehend, tugging you forward to the very front and motioning you to jump over.

“You’re insane!” You yell over the noise of the crowd. Eddie grins, damp curls dangling over his eyes as he peers down at you, “Unless if you wanna get crushed, be my guest.”

It’s slightly difficult, and there are a lot of gangly limbs and yearning hands reaching out everywhere, but Eddie eventually gets you over the barricade, and you’re gazing up at him with a warm grin when you sway on your feet. You wish you and Eddie could just walk away and have each other like you’ve been imagining for months, but Eddie has a job, and he’s working.

His eyes are blown wide, and his lips are so kissable, and his warm hand is squeezing your hip as he nods toward a security guard. “Keep an eye on this one, Rob,” He shouts over the screaming fans. You’re eyeing Eddie as he steps back toward the stage, sinking his in-ear back into place with a sly grin as he winks, “She’s real sneaky.”

The show is great, as it always is, and Eddie tries to be deft about it, but it’s evident to just about everyone how he practically clings to the side of the stage where you’re standing in front of. It’s cute, you’ll admit, but you feel bad for the fans, so you try to move around a bit.

The last song comes, and the show ends with Eddie and Jeff practically climbing over one another as they shred their guitars and the crowd goes insane when Eddie leans forward to drag his tongue up the side of Jeff’s face, grinning when the other boy rolls his eyes and walks off.

You’re being pulled backstage quicker than you know it, just in time to meet the group as they jog off the smokey stage with big grins on their faces.

Jeff is smothering Naomi in a sweaty hug and smattering kisses all over her face, and you’re glad to see they’re still together. Gareth is twirling his drumstick between his fingers and scanning the room for someone, but you don’t have time to try and figure out who because the one person you’ve been waiting for steps out next, and he’s got the biggest grin on his face as he practically jogs up to you.

You’re smiling and giggling out a greeting as he steps up to you and grasps your face between his hands, “No kisses!” You warn before he can lean in, and Eddie’s too excited to even pout about it. “You’re gonna fucking kill me, you know that?”

You reach up to slink your fingers around his wrists as his thumbs caress the soft skin beneath your eyes, “Got enough life left in you to talk?” You ask. Eddie’s eyes dance across your face, taking you in like it’s the last time he’ll ever get the chance to before he nods. “Always.”

The dressing room seems to be the altar of truth for you and Eddie.

It’s dawning on you that most of the pivotal moments between you and Eddie have been in a dressing room, so it’s not irrational for you to feel a bit uneasy when you step in, and Eddie closes the door.

He’s like a kid in a candy store, trying not to touch what he sees. His eyes are so bright, but you can tell he’s holding himself back from doing and saying the things he wants, and you appreciate that he’s giving you the space, waiting for you to give him your yes or no.

Eddie plops onto the couch in the middle of the room and looks at you with a glint in his eyes. You deeply breathe, shifting in your spot before leaning back against the door, tipping your head as you study him; thighs comfortably spread, inked stories fluttering to life with each rise and fall of his bare torso. He’s a dream.

“I thought you’d be way more upset.”

Eddie’s lips tug like he wants to smile at the sound of your voice, or maybe it’s the sight of you, and he shifts in his seat with a shrug, reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a cigarette and sticks it between his lips, and when you see him pat himself down, you’re already moving like it’s muscle memory.

You pick up the lighter on the coffee table and walk over to Eddie, sparking the flame as you speak, “You’re allowed to be upset, you know?” You remind him. Eddie’s gaze flickers in color as he looks up at you, and you try to ignore the goosebumps that rise up on your skin when his hand reaches up to rest on your hip, thumb caressing you over the material of your skintight dress. Streams of fire are licking up your spine as he leans forward to burn the end of the paper stick, and your center aches when he gently squeezes the fat of your hip. All throughout this, Eddie never lets his eyes fall from you.

He mumbles a short thank you once the cigarette lights, leaning back to rest against the seat as he looks up at you. You fight the urge to comb your fingers through his hair or do something dumb like climb into his lap. No doubt talking would fly out the window then.

You gently toss the lighter onto the coffee table and sit on the loveseat across from the pinnacle of your thoughts from the last six months. Eddie speaks around a cloud of smoke, “Do you want me to be upset?” He asks.

You shrug, trying your hardest not to break beneath his unwavering eye. “I don’t know.” 

Eddie smiles then, and the strings of your heart play a symphony to the notes of his voice when he speaks, “I was for a little bit,” He admits, tapping ash onto the carpet, “But then Wayne told me to get my head out of my ass.”

You huff out a laugh at that, and Eddie grins. “How is he?” You ask. Eddie tips his head back and forth like he’s thinking, “Same old man as before. Think he’s got a girlfriend now. He’s being an asshole about the details, though.” He rolls his eyes, and you snort. You’re happy to hear Wayne has a person for himself now; if anyone deserves it, it’s him.

You shift, like you can’t seem to get comfortable enough, and you know you’re stalling, and you can see Eddie fighting to not call you out, so you try to ease into it; “Is that when you stopped calling?” You ask.

Eddie stiffens under the question, and you know the answer. He grimaces and runs a hand over his face with a soft groan, “Fuck,” he curses, “Fuck, yeah, it was.” He answers. “I’m sorry, I’m a fuckin’ hothead. I had made it a goal to call every night and then—” “I upset you.”

Eddie’s eyes are soft, and you have to force yourself to keep your eyes on his, “It wasn’t fair what I did, Eddie; I’m sorry—”

Eddie shakes his head, briefly shutting his eyes as he waves you off, “Nah, fuck that. You don’t need to apologize—” “But I do. I told you I wanted space, and then a week later, I’m plastered on a fucking cover with Baine fucking Carter.” 

Baine Carter is a well-known songwriter within the industry. He’s got tracks spread all over the top charts, and he has a way of talking that can make just about anyone fall into a trance until you realize most of what he’s saying is just made-up bullshit. In hindsight, Baine wasn’t much different than most people in the music industry— it was a moment of weakness and pure vodka-weighted thinking. And, of course, it’s the moment when cameras find you.

“Kinda my fault too,” Eddie shrugs, “Camera’s wouldn’t have found you if I didn’t have press riding me.” And he’s right, but shitty press isn’t his fault, so how much of that can you really blame him for?

Eddie snickers at the memory of you painted on the cover of several magazines, “Think you’ve got a type, sweetheart.” He teases. Your face screws up in defense, and you scoff, “What does that mean?”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, “Come on, you’re gonna tell me you didn’t say my name when he—” “We didn’t do anything— firstly— and even if I did say your name, I would never in a million years admit it.” You point out with a raised eyebrow. 

Eddie smirks with a playful glint in his eye and he deeply breathes as he ashes his cigarette and rises to his feet. “I don’t care that you hooked up with Bain fucking Carter,” Eddie softly admits with a hint of a mocking grin, “Did it deeply wound me to the point where I almost thought I was gonna die? Yes.” He jokingly says, to which you want to roll your eyes at, but he’s stalking over to you like he’s some lion on the prowl, and all you can muster is a small huff with a mumbled, “You’re dramatic.”

Eddie stands in front of you and leans over to press his palms onto each side of your seat, leaning down until his face hovers above yours, “I’m kinda known for it, darling.” He winks.

Your core stirs at the proximity, and you can feel his breath against your top lip. “I will admit, though,” Eddie lets his hand drop to round over your bare knee, callused fingertips caressing your soft skin, “It gave me a huge ego boost seeing you with a literal replica of me.” He snickers, fingers dancing into the inside of your thigh. You huff, a playful glint in your eyes as you run your tongue across your teeth, “Yeah, I imagine your head couldn’t fit through the door for at least a month, huh?”

Eddie shrugs, “Depends. Which head we talking about, honey?”

You huff out a laugh, rolling your eyes when he gently squeezes at the warm skin of your thigh. You tip your head lower, holding your gaze on Eddie as you lowly speak, “I’m not having sex with you tonight, Eddie.”

Brown eyes flash with a familiar look you’d missed before they drop to your lips. “What about a kiss? Just one.” He presses. Your eyes narrow, “I doubt you could ever do just one.” 

“You’ll never know if you never try.” His lips twitch up into a sly grin, taunting you and pushing you until your brain is just a muddled mess of yes, no, yes, no, yes, n— fuck it.

It’s like a sigh of relief to have Eddie’s lips on yours after such a long time. Weeks of nights and days spent trying to remember how it felt having his plump lips pressed onto yours, how he tasted, how warm his tongue was when it slunk into your mouth. None of those times you’d try to remember, none of those phantom feelings that would breeze through your body could ever amount to how it actually feels— it’s as if you’re seeing color for the first time.

It’s a fucking kiss, that’s for sure.

It’s long, and it takes you both a second to relearn the kinks and maneuvers you both favor, but then it’s as if time never passed between your bodies— you’re moving like one unit, like every second of your lives has built up to this moment.

Unfortunately, air is a necessity to living, so you’re pulling away sooner than you’d wanted to. Eddie’s other hand is digging into the cushion beneath you, and you can practically hear his thoughts spinning as he wills himself to pull back. You shiver as his fingers squeeze your thigh one last time before slipping away. 

“How's that for a kiss?”

Brown eyes with pools of liquid gold, you missed the searing pain it gave you each time you reached out and touched. You purse your lips, tasting him on your tongue as you tip your head in thought— menthol and whiskey. “Care to answer a few questions? Pick up on our game?”

Eddie huffs out a laugh, breath tickling your nose as he snickers with a glint in his eyes. He studies you for a moment, like you might pull out and say never mind, but you only raise an eyebrow as you await an answer. “Your place or mine, honey?” He drawls.

You preen at the open door he’s lent you, “It’s your city, isn’t it?”

You don’t take the same car with Eddie to his place.

It’s not that you didn’t want to take the same car, but something about that look in Eddie’s eyes said that he absolutely wouldn’t be behaving on that car ride, and you immediately suggested separate vehicles. You’re unsure if you trust yourself to hold your promise in a confined space with Eddie… or maybe you don’t trust him… or— yeah, it’s both of you. Eddie wasn’t ecstatic about it, but you don’t care because you swear to god you aren’t going to fuck Eddie before you talk— like, really talk.

There are things that you both need to say, uncover, and express feelings about, and god forbid you get dicknotized before the words can come out correctly.

Eddie’s home is everything you thought it would be: chaotic in taste, lively, musical, whimsical, and all things that scream Eddie. The entryway is open and vast, with a clear view into the living room, where you can see a sunken living room build with guitars and papers strewn about. 

Eddie’s ushering you further into his home before you can look deeper into the entrance, but you don’t mind because his living area is like an artist's wet dream. There are comfy couches, red, cream, and colors alike, and there’s a rug in the middle that looks like a psychedelic trip of dark colors, and along one of the walls is a long shelf of endless records.

“I moved in like a year ago, so it’s not perfect, but… this is me,” Eddie says. You hadn’t been paying attention, but now that he walks into your line of vision, you can see his shoes are off, and his loose blouse is fully open. He looks like a fantasy; lean body dripped in expensive clothes and clinking jewelry, shoulders broad and sculpted beneath his wavy hair. Fuck.

You slip your shoes off and let your feet sink into his home's fluffy, deep red carpet, never once dropping your gaze from him as you walk over to the couch. “It’s beautiful, Eddie. It’s very you.”

You sink into his couch, turning so you can face him with your arms crossed over the back of the sofa as you watch him pick a record and set it up. Through the surround system of his home, the familiar riff to Tommy Bolin’s Shake The Devil rings. You watch Eddie sink a hand into his hair, shaking out his messy curls before pausing. The guitar is loud and you’re leaning forward when he snaps his head to dramatically look over his shoulder. You stifle a laugh, intrigued to see where he’s going with this— and you hate to admit that you begin enjoying the show when he turns around, fingers crafted and messily playing an air guitar to the track.

His stomach and chest flex with each of his moves, the buckle and button to his jeans open to flash you a dangerously low view of his happy trail leading to sinful places. He’s walking sex; head tilted back as he shreds the imaginary guitar, hips moving with the song as he walks toward you. He sinks to his knees in front of you, and with his living room being sunken and him still being on the higher level, you’re just in line with the view of his spread legs, crotch on full display. His teeth sink into his bottom lip as he gazes at you, switching to air drums before the words kick in. You can’t hide the smile that graces your lips as he dramatically sings along, leaning forward until his face is just inches in front of yours, ringed fingers reaching to cup your face. Standing face to face with the devil, huh?

Your hands have a mind of their own apparently because they reach out and coast up Eddie’s jean-clad thighs, nails scratching up against the material until your fingers hook into the belt loops of his jeans. You lean forward on your knees, sharing a breath with the pretty boy, and you smile. Eddie groans low in his throat, the breakdown of the song blasting in both your ears and your heart racing. His teeth dig into his lips like he’s trying to physically hold himself back, and you softly laugh. “Laughin’ at my misery?” He asks.

You shrug, “Maybe. You look fuckin’ hot.”

Eddie groans again, eyes rolling back into his head before he dives forward, nuzzling his face into your neck and faking a bite as you squeal. “Can’t say shit like that to me, princess. Wanna fuck the shit out of you.” His teeth drag against your pulse, and you squirm with a louder squeal, causing him to tumble forward, collapsing onto the couch with you, and your limbs mix like one big painting as he dramatically grunts on impact. He shifts until he’s laid on his back, head resting in your lap as he peers up at you.

“You staying the night?” He asks.

You snort, brushing a strand of hair from his face, “Didn’t I tell you we’re not having sex?” You remind him. Eddie huffs and digs his head into your lap as he shuffles in his spot, “Did I ask for sex just now?” He challenges. You raise an unconvinced eyebrow, “So, you want me to spend the night just to spend the night?”

Eddie’s eyes gleam as he looks up at you, “It’s been my dream.”

You roll your eyes, playfully shoving him off you with a huff, “Get me a drink, and I’ll think about it?”

Eddie hops up as if second nature, padding over to the stereo and turning it down just enough to hear you as he talks over his shoulder, “Sure thing, honey; what would you like?”

Honey, honey, honey.

You want to drown in it.

You’re not listening as Eddie lists off the drinks he has, busy swirling in sticky, sweet, golden lakes and admiring the shift of Eddie’s hips and ass beneath his jeans. “Surprise me.” You respond.

“Copy that, madam.”

He doesn’t go far because there’s a built-in bar on the other side of the room, so you have the perfect view of him working his magic, mixing liquor and dropping ice cubes into a crystal glass. When he finishes making your drink, he turns and walks over to you with this glint in his eyes, and you feel your body heat under his gaze. “This one's on the house,” He says with a wink, handing you the drink. You thank him, taking the glass as he sits back onto the couch, sinking into the plush cushions and watching you gently sip before pulling a sour face.

He laughs, “Too strong?” He asks. You grimace with a shake of your head, smacking your lips, “No, no, it’s good. Thank you.”

Your legs are kicked up on the couch, and Eddie finds his fingers slinking around your bare ankle, gently squeezing, “Want something comfy?” He asks.

God, he’s relentless.

You laugh, “You really want me to stay,” You tease. Eddie sinks like he’s letting all inhibitions go as he answers, “Desperately.”

He can tell you’re cracking, and you have to hide your grin behind the glass as you shake your head in disbelief at yourself, “Fine. Go, before I change my mind.”

And Eddie’s sprinting up, holding his jeans up from falling as he jogs up the stairs with a happy cheer.

A half-hour passes, and you find yourself sitting on Eddie’s comfy living room floor, dressed in nothing but an oversized shirt of his because, in Eddie’s words, ‘there’s no need for pants in a home setting, sweetheart.’ You think he just wants easy access and an eyeful of your bare legs.

Eddie’s licking up the crease of a blunt and your body is warm with whiskey and the shrill of a jazzy melody from the radio. He’s so pretty, leaned over the glass coffee table, bare shoulders flexing, curly hair draping as a curtain as he works. He clicks his tongue when he’s done, and you raise an eyebrow, pressing your bare toes into his thigh when he scoots closer. “Up for a smoke?” He asks.

You don’t smoke much, not that you don’t enjoy a nice high, but you find yourself more appreciative of your highs when they’re spaced out and random. You nod, and Eddie grins, “Atta girl. Here, honorary first hit,” He passes the blunt to you, and you snicker, grasping it between two fingers and holding it up to your lips. Eddie helps you with a lighter, leaning forward to burn the end of the paper, and you take one good drag before pulling the bunt away, rolling the smoke into your lungs to settle as best as you can handle before you sputter out in a small coughing fit.

Your eyes water, and Eddie grins as you pass it to him, leaning forward to kiss your temple, “That was good, baby.”

You watch as he takes a hit of his own, huffing out a few coughs of his own, and jesus christ, why do rockstars always smoke devious shit? It’s strong, whatever Eddie has you smoking, and it only takes you three hits before you already feel a buzz coming, and Eddie looks so pretty with low eyes and rosy cheeks.

“Ready to play our game?” He rasps out.

“Mm.” You agree, reaching out to take another hit.

“Did you listen to the albums?”

I can't destroy what isn't there

Deliver me into my fate

If I'm alone I cannot hate

I don't deserve to have you

Oh my smile was taken long ago

If I can change I hope I never know

God, did you listen to the albums? Sure, you have it ingrained into your fucking mind, and it burns.

You smile, slowly blinking because, of course, that’s Eddie’s first question. You breathe out clouds of fairy dust as you speak, “Yes, I did. Did you read the magazine?” You ask.

Eddie nods, leaning back against the couch, extending his legs out as he eyes you, “I did. Which song did you like best?”

“Mm, the one with the drums.” You smile.

Eddie laughs, and you pass the blunt back to him before leaning back on the opposite couch, toes almost touching when you extend your legs across the carpet. “You’re a kiss-up, you know that?” He gestures to you, to which you only shrug.

Eddie crawls across the living room, and you fight the urge to reach out and thread your fingers through his hair as he plops himself right next to you, leaning against the couch as well. Your thighs are touching, and you can feel the warmth of him, and the smell of weed is wafting through the air, and you just want to nuzzle into Eddie’s chest and never leave.

“Miss me?” You teasingly ask. You can hear the slight smile in Eddie’s voice as he responds, “Negative. You?”

You snort, “Negative.”

You shuffle to lean against Eddie, and he can’t seem to help it when he reaches out to push your hair back gently. “What do you wanna be when you grow up?” You ask.

Eddie’s eyebrows pinch in confusion, no doubt lost by what you mean, considering he already has his lifetime job figured out, “What do you mean?”

You sigh, wriggling as you fight the urge to wrap your body around him, “I mean,” You shrug, “Well, you’re not gonna do this forever, right? Like, at some point, you’re going to have to throw in the towel, age, and whatnot,” You dismissively wave, “What will you do then?”

Eddie pauses and thinks for a moment, and if you couldn’t feel the warmth of his skin on yours, you would think he vanished into thin air. “I, uh…. Well, you’ll think it’s stupid.” He mumbles.

You frown, turning your head to look at him, “I won’t. Tell me. Please?”

He looks at you with these soft, fond eyes before nodding, “I wanna start a music school in Hawkins— maybe, like, a creative arts school, you know, something for the weirdos. Not just music geeks.” He admits. His tone is so soft, maybe the softest you’ve ever heard, and he’s fiddling with his rings like he’s nervous, and it’s the cutest sight you’ve ever seen.

“It’s not really celebrated there. Creativity, I mean.” He adds.

You stay quiet, allowing him to speak, “Everybody just lives to work dead-end jobs. Being creative is like… a sin or something, I don’t know. I just want to give the kids somewhere where they’ll feel… safe. Seen. Something I never got for myself.”

It’s… it’s fucking brilliant. It’s so brilliant it makes your chest ache, and you decide that you would do just about anything to make sure Eddie’s dreams of a music school come true.

“I told you it’s stupid. No one ever thinks it’s good.” He mumbles after a moment with your silence. You frown and shake your head, sitting up straight to look at him. “No. No, Eddie, it’s amazing…It’s fucking amazing, and you should do it. You have to do it.”

“You’re just playing nice.”

“No, seriously. Fuck whoever said it wasn’t a good idea, it’s brilliant.” You press on, and you want to lean in and pepper kisses all over his face because— seriously, who the fuck told him it was a shitty idea?

“I grew up in a small town too, and— shit, it was not fun wanting to be something other than a nurse or a teacher. Got a lot of shit trying to ‘reach for the stars’,” You huff out a laugh. Eddie’s eyes are so gentle as they gaze at you that you almost melt. “I would’ve appreciated something like that. Munson’s School of Arts.”

Eddie snorts at that, pink lacing with yours as a smile spreads across your lips, “Not bad actually, I might name it that.”

It’s a back and forth of that for a while, silly questions amongst genuine ones until you find yourselves sat next to each other, arms pressed together, bodies yearning to wrap around each other as you fiddle with the strings of Eddie’s carpet. And there’s something, you know. Eddie feels something that he’s not telling you, and it’s killing you because it’s what you need to hear before you take the plunge. “Are you angry with me?” You softly ask.

Eddie’s quiet for a moment, and the blunt was snuffed out a while ago, so he’s not taking a drag but instead just stalling. “I mean,” he pauses, “I already told you, Birdie. What’s the point in going back on it?”

You frown, glancing at him, “Because I want you to tell me how you feel, Eddie.” You respond.

Eddie’s silent again for a longer moment, and you want to whine when he shifts away to sit in front of you. He folds his legs up, resting his elbows over his knees as he sits face to face with you, “Do you want me to be angry with you?” He steadily asks.

Your blink, “I— no?” 

Eddie raises an eyebrow, and you huff, “Honestly, a little bit, yes. It’s okay to be angry with me, Eddie; that’s what I’m trying to say.”

Eddie’s demeanor is unwavering as he blinks at you, but his tone is accusing, “Do you want me to be angry with you so you can feel justified?”

And, ouch.

That’s not the truth at all. Or maybe it’s some truth, but in your true feelings, that’s not what you mean. It’s only a fleeting thought because you’re human, after all, right?

“That’s not fair,” You frown with a small shake of your head. Eddie raises another eyebrow, and you tilt your head, “I’m only trying to be as transparent as possible, Eddie. That was the main issue.” You remind him.

Eddie turns to the coffee table, grabs your forgotten glass of Jack Daniels, and takes a swig for himself. “You wouldn’t tell me how you felt, and I was always left in the dark.” You say.

“And I’m telling you right now that I’m not angry.” He’s teetering on the edge of irritated now, and you tilt your head. “I listened to the album, Eddie. I listened to the song; you’re seriously gonna tell me you’re not angry?” 

Eddie can only glance at you then, and your frown deepens. “That’s… different.”

“How, Eddie? It’s about me—” “Yeah, because you fucking walked out on me on closing night,” Eddie exclaims. “How was I supposed to feel?”

Your chest tightens as you look into the eyes of your dreams, lyrics swirling in your mind because you’ve fucking memorized every word. You listened to it until you felt sick, dizzy with a whirlwind of regrets and what-ifs.

You sold me out to save yourself

And I won't listen to your shame

You ran away, you're all the same

Angels lie to keep control

Your chest aches when the lyrics echo in your mind.

“I just want you to be honest with me. If I made you feel that way—” “No, that’s not—” Eddie shakes his head, pinches the bridge of his nose, and cringes like it's painful. “That’s not it at all— fuck.” He puts the glass down and scoots back over to you; knees pressed into the fluffy carpet beside your thighs as he leans in and cups your face, eyes darting over your pretty features. “I was angry, and I was a shithead, and I had people talking in my ear and— shit. Please don’t think you ever blame yourself for that, please.”

Your fingers are cold, but Eddie’s wrists are warm beneath your fingertips as you frown up at him, “Just tell me how far out you are, Eds.”

Eddie looks at you with soft eyes, a callused thumb running under the delicate skin beneath your eye. He leans forward, pressing his lips against your forehead, and you preen, nuzzling forward and sinking into his warmth and scent that you’ve missed for so long.

“Not far,” He responds, lips brushing over your skin. “You?”

You hum, body reeling as Eddie slinks his arms around you, “Not far.”

Forty minutes and another blunt later, and Eddie’s floating in the fucking sky.

Eddie can’t believe it really, having you in front of him, next to him, limbs pressed to limbs with your laugh ringing in his ears— Eddie thinks this is some sick, realistic dream.

It’s tender, the space you’ve both created. You’re both fragile and reactive in the best way, like a healing exposed nerve, and Eddie will be forever in your debt for how patient you are with him. He’s not good at talking about real shit, but he’s trying to fix that, and you make it easier because you push him in the way he needs to be— you encourage him to say what he feels even if he’s afraid he might end up shooting himself in the foot and chasing you away again because— ‘It’s the only way things will get better.’

But you’ve always been patient. You were patient six months ago, and you’re patient now. You know exactly what you want, and you’re firm in what you say and feel, and it makes Eddie feel safe.

He’s never had this kind of thing— he’s never had a relationship where someone talks and leaves room for him to speak as well— two-way communication or whatever the fuck Robin says. It’s different, and it’s good, and Eddie thinks he must have shit taste if it’s taken him this long to realize it.

Chrissy never really cared for what Eddie wanted or preferred, or how something she did would make him feel. Eddie, at the time, didn’t think much of it and was more than happy to ride along with her ‘low maintenance’ nature, but it only cut him off from growth more than anything.

Whatever. It doesn’t matter anymore because Chrissy is in the past, and you— you’re so pretty standing on Eddie’s couch in just his shirt with a blunt hanging between your fingers. You’ve just returned from changing the record— Surrealistic Pillow; Eddie knew the second you dropped the needle and watched you spin around with a shit-eating grin. 

“Hippie shit,” Eddie mutters as you hop down from his couch. Your eyes narrow, “Hey,” you nudge your foot against his thigh, “Don’t be an asshole. It was on your shelf anyway.”

Eddie slinks his hand around your calf, blinking up at you as you stand over him. You reach down, the burning blunt standing between your fingers, and Eddie happily parts his lips to let you slip the tip in. Burning sativa licks up the sides of Eddie’s brain, and he melts when your other hand sinks into his hair, gently pressing his bangs back as his eyes flutter. You hum, and Eddie’s lips tip into a smile as the smoke churns in his chest. Your knuckles curl into his roots, and Eddie could fucking cum right now, no questions asked.

He’s harder than a rock, and he’s not ashamed when he sinks his hand down the open fly on his jeans to palm himself, lowly groaning as he tips his head up, playfully blowing clouds of smoke up your shirt and grinning when you squeal. He chuckles, hand slinking further up your leg to grip the fat of your thigh as he tilts his head to nip his teeth at the inside of your knee.

He turns to let his chin rest on your thigh, blinking up at you with hazy eyes, “Let me in, baby.” He pleads.

You sink to your knees until you’re face to face, and Eddie’s hands glide under your shirt, warm and itching to explore as he feels the flutter of your lungs beneath his fingertips. “No funny business, Munson.” You remind him, swatting him away when his fingers prod at the cup of your bra. Eddie grins, brain fuzzy and warm, and he can’t stop himself from leaning forward and planting a quick kiss against your lips.

“I have something for you.” He says. Your eyebrows raise, and Eddie smiles, standing up with a grunt and shaking out his stiff limbs. “Don’t move,” He points to you before padding off.

The gift Eddie has for you has been with him since the fourth week he knew you. He’s been holding onto it for so long because he’s been a coward and didn’t know how to form the words ‘I’m sorry’ with his tongue— but now, Eddie’s riding on a high, and he needs you and wants you all the time and there’s no better time than now, right?

He’s holding the gift behind his back when he steps into the living room, and he smiles at the sight of you laid out on his floor, eyes closed as you sink into the music. You’re on cloud nine, Eddie can tell.

He drops to his knees over you, pressing his free hand into the floor beside your head, and his hair creates a curtain over you when you look up at him. “You look… tempting, to say the least.”

Your eyes playfully narrow at Eddie, and you squirm beneath him, “What’re you hiding behind your back?”

There are tears in your eyes as you blink down at the gift in your hands, and you know Eddie must think you’re insane for crying over a book— a journal at that. It’s a pale yellow colored leather, with two leather straps that are tied into a neat bow, and in the corner, your name is stamped in tiny cursive gold letters— your real name. 

It’s a replica of your old journal, the one that had gotten ruined when you tore the pages out to prove a point. But you don’t understand— “How did you get this?” You ask in a soft voice.

Eddie grins, reaching out to thumb at your bottom lip, eyes soft as he watches your eyes dance over the journal. “Called in a favor from Michigan.” He jokingly says. Your chest aches, and you frown when you look up at him, fingers tight around the binding of your gift, “You talked to him?”

Eddie snickers, “Yeah. Got a lot of shit from him first, I’ll tell you that,” He pauses and scratches at the back of his neck, “He told me he hates my music.”

You laugh at that, body warm with adoration because, yeah, that sounds like your grandfather. You sniffle, wiping under your eyes, “How did you know?” You ask.

Eddie shrugs as he sits next to you, “The cover of your journal had his name on it, so I kind of pieced it together since you share a last name.”

You don’t know what to think, what to say. It’s the kindest thing Eddie (or anyone) has ever done for you. Your grandfather had been in the business of handmaking journals for as long as you can remember; he was part of the reason why you took such a liking to journalism. He had a brief history in journalism himself, and he would sit and go through his best works with you when you struggled to fall asleep— he helped you see the world through the lens of an artist, and you never looked back.

You’re elated as you run your hands over the pages, imagining what the phone call between Eddie and your grandfather was like. You wish you could’ve been there to hear it; you wish you could’ve brought Eddie to meet him in person because even though your grandfather acted tough and mighty, he had the softest heart you’ve ever known, and he would’ve adored Eddie.

You huff out a laugh, shaking your head as you put the journal on the coffee table. You huff, turning to clamber onto Eddie’s lap, glaring at him as your hands dig into his shoulders, “I hate you so much.”

Eddie grins at you, and you drop your head to his chest, snuggling further into him when he wraps his arms around you. You grumble against his chest, turning your head to speak, “You’re making it so hard.” You complain.

You feel the rumble of Eddie’s voice in his chest as he hums, “Hm?”

Eddie shifts beneath you, and you sigh, turning your head up to nuzzle against the base of his throat. Your teeth drag across his skin, red lines left in their wake before you let your tongue coast up his pulsing vein, mouth kissing and suckling at what you can reach— and Eddie whimpers.

“You know…It’s past midnight.”

“Fffuck–”

Eddie’s dead.

He’s gone. Six feet under. In the next life, body turned back to dust, never coming back, dead. This must be the seventh circle of heaven— is that a thing? Or is that only hell?

Either way, Eddie’s on an entirely different plane of heaven as you press your body against his, knees tightening around his waist as he pulls you close and smears his lips against yours. He can feel the heat of your core through his pants, and his hips have a mind of their own when they buck up into you.

Your fingers are blind and eager when they wriggle through the tight space between you and Eddie, but it sends shivers up Eddie’s spine when you drag your nails down the soft skin of his lower pelvis.

Eddie’s lips part against yours, and he’s licking into your mouth, tongue flicking at your top lip as you shakily moan. “What happened to no sex tonight?” He lowly teases. His hands sink beneath your shit, squeezing at your hips and guiding the roll of your hips.

“Shut up, Eddie.” You whine, fingertips digging into his shoulders when he rubs against your covered clit. Eddie smiles, watching as your face twists in pleasure, and his chest nearly bursts because you’re so fucking pretty.

“You want me?” He asks.

Your lips twitch into a smile, and your hands slide down his arms to rest over his wrists that flex as they work you back and forth over his crotch. “Yeah,” You breathe, tipping your head down to hover your lips over Eddie’s, “I do. I want you, Eddie.”

Eddie’s tongue runs over his lips, and he catches your bottom lip, and you lick out to catch his tongue before pressing your lips together. Eddie uses one hand to cup your face, “You’re not curious where my dick’s been while we were apart?” He teases.

And if you weren’t practically humping Eddie right now and thinking straight, you probably would’ve choked Eddie out or something— but you only mewl and grind down harder. “Not funny.”

Eddie hums, fingers dancing across the band of your panties before dipping past the barrier. He feels like a pirate who’s finally found the hidden treasure, eyes squeezing shut as he tries to ground himself because, Jesus Christ, you’re so fucking wet.

His cock feels strangled and achy in his jeans, and he imagines how good it’ll feel to sink his cock into you as he swirls a gentle finger around your entrance. “For the record,” He drawls, watching your lips part when he dips his finger into you, “It’s been nowhere. My dick, I mean.”

You breathlessly laugh, hips wriggling, your pussy eager for more. “Been beating it with my fist for the last six months, so. Just want you to know�� it’s only you, baby.”

You mewl, leaning forward to press your forehead against Eddie’s as you grind against him, shivering when he finally sinks a finger into you, drawing out to circle your clit with sticky arousal before sinking back in with two fingers.

You’re sharing each breath, taking each other in and out; Eddie watches with low eyes as your face twists in pleasure.

“Take it off,” He grumbles, “Take your shirt off.”

You’re moving like it’s second nature. Shaky hands reaching down to loop around the loose shirt, dragging it up and over your body— and Eddie’s head tips back with a groan. “Jesus fuck,” He curses, one hand busy working you as the other reaches down to palm your breast, “When did you take your bra off, you fuckin’ minx?”

You whimper against Eddie’s lips when he kisses you, the force of his eagerness pushing you back. Eddie keeps pressing you back, shuffling and moving around so he can press you down onto your back and hover over you. “Wanna taste you. Let me taste you.” He begs.

You shake your head, lips messily smearing against his, “No. No, you said—” god, Eddie can’t stop fucking kissing you, “You said you’ll let me have you next time, Eds.” You whine.

Fuck, you’re so fucking cute. You’re a goddamn dream pouting up at Eddie, grinding against his fingers as he ticks them up against your walls. “Yeah? You want me?” Eddie breathlessly asks. Your lips are pouty and swollen as you nod, “Already told you I did.” You say.

It takes everything in Eddie to pull away from you, and he thinks he’s gonna marry you when you reach out for him. Thinks he wants to just whisk you away and live on the side of a secluded mountain or some shit. Thinks he wants you to be the mother of his kids when you smile up at him as he rises to his feet, gazing down at you over the apple of his cheeks as he removes his jeans. You’re so pretty, hair spread out beneath you, tits on full display, tummy fluttering with each drag and push of your breaths. You’re lightly dragging the tip of your finger down your stomach, a teasing glint in your eyes as Eddie throws his hair into the shittest bun known to man, and fuck, you’re dipping your hand between your thighs.

Yeah. This is heaven, and you’re god.

Eddie thinks he’ll spend the rest of his life on his knees worshipping you.

Eddie’s body is warm when he crawls back over you, his body now bare, save for the chains that dangle from his neck. One cross, one guitar pick, one pentagram. They’re cold when they drag up the valley of your chest, and your body perks up with chills.

You slink your arms around Eddie’s shoulders, titling your head up to kiss him as your fingers curl into his messily tied hair. “Give me what I want, Eds.” You softly say against his lips. “Fuck my mouth, please.”

Eddie curses, rutting his cock against the inside of your thigh, and he nods, “Yeah. Fuck. Okay, yeah. Just lay here and look pretty, baby.”

The lasting effects of the three blunts you’d shared with Eddie are swirling through your body, and you feel like you’re on cloud nine as Eddie straddles your hips. He’s the prettiest sight to ever reach your eyes, toned arms, and chest working in tandem as he reaches down to wrap a fist around his cock— and god; you forgot how pretty his cock was. The tip is ruddy and flushed, and your core twists when he angles himself up, and you see the piercing beneath his tip. You definitely hadn’t forgotten about that little detail these past months.

Eddie’s chest is rising and falling quickly and stray pieces of hair cling to his lips when he licks them. You watch with wide, eager eyes as Eddie strokes himself, ringed fingers running against the soft skin of his shaft, pretty hisses curling through his teeth when he thumbs the slit of his tip.

“Quit teasing,” You whine, squirming beneath him. Eddie grins, breathlessly panting as he looks at you, “So impatient.” He mumbles, shifting further up your body until the inside of his thighs press against the side of your tits. You can feel the cool drag of his rings against your sternum, and it sends licks of fire through your core. “My baby’s so impatient, hm?” He taps his cock against your chest, and your frown, fingers digging into his thighs.

“Lucky you’re cute.”

Eddie’s then shuffling and moving around so you’re both comfortably positioned as he kneels over your face, pretty cock glistening above your lips. You open your mouth and let your tongue hang out, ready for Eddie to feed his cock to you, and he chuckles, tapping his swollen tip against your tongue before dragging it to tease you. 

It’s good. It’s so good. The taste of him, the feel of him, the pretty noises he makes. You can feel the cold barbell dragging across your tongue with each slow thrust he gives you, and you can’t wait to feel it inside you again. You’ve been dreaming about it for weeks on end now.

He pulls out with a slick pop, tapping his tip against your lips as he hums, “Ready? Gonna give you what you want now.”

You’ve never nodded so fast in your life.

He’s thrusting in and out of your mouth at a mind-numbing and thigh-clenching rate for just under five minutes before he starts to break. You can feel it in the stutter of his hips, the twitch of his cock on your tongue, the shuddered moans and grunts. You reach up to drag your nails down the soft skin of his stomach, and Eddie whimpers for the second time, and you think it might be your favorite sound— you want more.

He’s pulling out with a curse, squeezing at his tip, and you’re such a fucking tease; you lean forward to kitten lick at his aching tip and hum when he hisses. He shuffles back just enough to lean forward and press a messy kiss to your lips, humming at the taste of himself on your tongue.

“Fuck me, Eddie. Please. Want it so bad it hurts.”

“Jesus fuck— turn around.”

You’re shaking, and Eddie’s touch feels like fire as he helps you flip over to lean on all fours. His hands coast up your back and into your hair, and you push your body back into him, ass pressing against his wet cock as you moan when his fingers curl into your hair.

His other hand smooths over your ass, heavily slapping it once before gripping the warm skin as he speaks beside your ear, “Wanna fuck your ass one day, hm? Gonna let me? Say you’ll let me.” “Oh my god,” You roll your eyes with a smile, tipping your head to the side when Eddie kisses your neck before nipping at your ear. You can feel the curve of his smile against your skin, and it makes your chest flutter as he pulls you up to press your back against his chest.

He’s reaching down between you to grasp his cock and paint it against your wet cunt, and you lose your breath. “Come on. Say you’ll let me fuck your pretty ass.” He practically begs.

You moan when he slips his head in, teasing you with what he knows you want. Your head rolls back to rest against his shoulder, and he hums, slinking his other hand up to cup your throat as he continues teasing himself in and out of your pussy.

You smile, lazy and high and blissed out, “No.”

Eddie groans at that, fingers tightening around your throat as he sinks in deeper. “Not even a finger?”

You push your fingers through his hair, his curly strands nothing but a tangled mess within his hair tie. Your legs tremble as you wriggle back into him, but your voice is steady as you speak, “Fuck me first, and maybe I’ll think about it.”

Eddie takes that as a challenge, apparently, because next thing you know, he’s slamming into you and pressing in to the fucking hilt— all big and pierced and toe curling to the point where your moans turn flat, and all you can do is lace your fingers through his that rest on your hip and hold on for dear fucking life.

He’s pressing you face-first into the carpet, making sure your cheek rests against the couch pillow that had been thrown aside earlier. His fingers are clenched around yours, digging into your hip as you whine and moan into his floor, sobbing out his name with each groundbreaking thrust he gives you.

It’s all-consuming; the way Eddie’s fucking you, the filthy words slipping from his mouth, the lingering effects of weed— god, you feel like an exploding star.

Supernova shit or something like that.

Eddie’s cursing and spilling dirty words of encouragement when you come, leaning over to press his chest against your back and coo into your ear.

“Such a good girl for me.”

“Keep squeezing me like that, baby. You’re so good.”

“Y’sound so pretty when you’re coming on my cock.”

You’re breathless and quivering, and a pitiful whine slips from you when Eddie pulls out, but you can feel him as he wraps his hand around his cock and finishes off, pretty moans pressed into the skin on the back of your neck. The feeling of his sticky release dripping onto your ass makes you want to go at it again already.

He’s peppering kisses across your neck and shoulders, and your body slumps onto the ground in exhaustion, but you smile when he presses his lips to yours.

“So, was that good enough? Have I been granted access to the holy grail?”

You glare at Eddie from where his chin is hooked over your shoulder. He raises a suggestive eyebrow, and you huff. “I’ll tell you what,” You start, shifting and purposely rubbing your ass back against his sensitive cock, smiling when he hisses.

“Make up for the last six months first, and I might be able to cut you a deal.”

“Now you’re just stringing me along.”

You hum, “Oh, like you did with me some months ago?”

Eddie pauses at that, eyes narrowing at you, and you think— fuck, maybe that was too soon. But then a smile cracks across his face, “Touché.”

He sighs and sits up, peeling himself from your sticky skin before gently patting your hip. “Ass up, baby. Got a lot of making up to do, and we’re on a tight schedule.”

And you think to yourself, with the scent of Eddie whirling around you and his touch all over you and his pretty voice in your ear, that yeah, you can work through this together. Even if the process will tear you to shreds all over again.

After all, that’s the price of falling for a rockstar, isn’t it?

————

the end.

————

a/n: HOLY SHIT GUYS

if you've made it to the end of this long-winded (and incredibly late, I'm so sorry) ending to this story i can not thank you enough. these two have been so fun to write and i don't plan to leave them completely in the dust so they're not gone forever, but thank you so much to everyone who read and shared and commented. this story has allowed me to meet the most beautiful, kind, funny, and loving people I've ever had the pleasure of talking to and that will be my biggest takeaway from this journey🥹

the biggest thank yous to my pretty mutuals who have been here the whole way, ilysm and want to shrink you guys and put you in my pocket <3

anyway, i'll shut up now, i hope i was able to do these two justice with their ending!! i love and appreciate all kinds of feedback, and as always, thank you for reading, ily <3

————

cutie lil taglist: @mastermindmiko @whataboutbibi @ryanmxrie @ihatepeanutss @tlclick73 @motherfckerrr @emxxblog @ye0nvibezzn @eddiesguitarskills @bibieddiesgf @chloe-6123 @micheledawn1975 @demxnicprxncess @emma77645 @sidthedollface2

@daddyhetfield @s-u-t @hereforshmut @mmunson86 @welcometohellsock @lma1986 @birdsinmywalls @animechick555 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @spideydreams00 @lorosette @prestinalove @sirensleepingsoundly @nabiiturner @catherinnn

@mossiswriting @kellsck @joannamuns9n @siriuslysmoking @mysteris-things @amazingori @honey-eyed-munson @saintlike78 @eddieslooneymoonie @alexa4040 @yujyujj

[cavillscurls]

LOGAN HOWLETT MASTERLIST

⚠️ indicates dark content

➻ ONE SHOTS

be my baby | daddy!dom logan x f!reader — logan fucks you in your sun dress.

of flesh and bone | vampire!mutant logan x f!human reader — logan just can’t bring himself to kill a pretty thing like you, even when he’s starving. ⚠️

woodland | logan howlett x f!mutant reader (in progress)

➻ IMAGINES/BLURBS

[kingscourthouse]

I don't care what people say, plaid is one of the best clothing patterns.

[gerards-little-killj0y]

[ MONITORING ]_

CYBERPUNK KILLJOYS SERIES PART II

art by me :]

[addisonnie]

hinge and uhaul

summary: college!au. when all else fails…one must look for love on hinge!

an: hi! back from hiatus and of course it would be for a clump of pixels because i am down astronomically bad! this is the first part of a possible series! so let me know if a part 2 is warranted.

warnings: cursing, reader has 0 rizz shes literally a mess, reader also rambles and lots of this is just her inner dialogue because why not. also not very edited and possible tense shifts because im the worst!

part 2 ———————————

Tinder is a soul-sucking vortex. 

A nightmarish flurry of shirtless mirror selfies, conservatives, and men that look like they’d hit on your mom after walking you to the door. Switching your profile settings from ‘men’ to ‘everyone’ seemed like the best option; It wasn’t. The best option would’ve been to delete your account and light your phone on fire after receiving the fourth “you send?” message in a row.

Hinge is a smaller soul-sucking vortex. At least you can deny their comments before you embarrass yourself by matching with a douche like that. Your account is set to ‘show me everyone’ and you can only hope that ‘everyone’ includes at least some good ones. Swiping and clicking on dating apps seems to be more of a game than it is actual match-making, a time-passer of sorts. 

Your roommate, Dina, huffs loudly from her lofted bed across the room, “would you get your sorry ass off of that app? It’s sad listening to you moan and groan about all the losers!”

You roll your eyes, “my soulmate could be the next person!”

No. No. No, again. Oooh…yes? 

You swipe through the girl’s page before deciding not to match with her, because who’s Hinge bio states that they’re still in love with their ex? Dina cheers while you huff and slam your phone onto your desk, spinning idly in your chair. The television on top of Dina’s purple mini fridge is playing a random episode of Bob’s Burgers and, for a moment, you forget about your ever-growing dating app addiction.

It’s not that you’re addicted per say. You just spend most of your downtime sitting in your bed and judging people’s profiles, when yours surely isn’t up to par either. Hey, at least you don’t have a picture of you holding a fish.

The rhythmic buzz of your phone quickly draws your eyes away from the cartoon on screen, your hand dramatically reaching for your phone.

Hinge: Ellie liked you! Tap to see the comment she left.

Ellie. That’s a cute name…fairly normal too! Surely she didn’t leave some weirdo comment about how your hair looks like it smells good. Your fingers fumble to tap on the notification and you feel a blush rising to your cheeks as you click on Ellie’s like.

She left her comment under a picture of you taken at a local museum. A big cheesy grin is painted across your face and there’s skeletal remains of some random dinosaur behind you, Dina is crouched under the jaw of the creature pretending to scream while she gets eaten. Hopefully this isn’t one of those situations where Ellie asks ‘if your friend is single.’

Nope. She left a simple comment. I love dinosaurs!!!

You smile as you quickly click on Ellie’s profile to see her. There are a couple pictures of her, and good god is she hot. Flushed, you quickly match with her.

But what do you say? This is life or death. You need this woman. 

Hey!

You’re hot

Do you want to have vicious lesbian sex with me?

Okay. Jesus, you are not good at this. While you mull over the keyboard attempting to decide what to say to the ever-attractive Ellie, another message comes in.

Hey, pretty girl!

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Your fingers are fumbling over the keyboard, your heart is beating, you’re planning you and Ellie’s wedding. You wonder if she likes lace or prefers the classic look?

Hey! What’s up?

Nothing really. Just playing some guitar!

Guitar? She just gets hotter. Did she also save puppies from a burning building? You wonder if she would want roses at the wedding. Hopefully not, too basic.

Ooooh guitar you say? Whatcha playing?

It’s a few moments before she responds and you’re biting the nail on your thumb awaiting her reply.

Whatever your favorite song is.

A heavy sigh escapes your lips as you smile and rest your head in your hand. 

Why don’t I tell you that over dinner?

It takes Ellie a few minutes to respond this time and you’re sure you’ve managed to scare her off at the mention of an actual date. Her reply comes just as you go to turn your phone off,

How about you give me your number and we can talk more about this date?

————

Giving your number to Ellie was perhaps the best decision made in your life thus far. She constantly sends text messages of whatever she’s doing, wearing, eating, or strumming on her guitar. It’s been about a week since you first exchanged information and you’re slightly worried that Ellie no longer wishes to go out on a date. You’ve tried to ‘accidentally’ bump into her on campus multiple times, but she manages to just barely slip away each time. 

You’re sitting at your desk attempting to finish an essay when your phone rings in your lap. Ellie’s contact appears lit up on the screen and you just about scream when you grasp the phone between your fingers.

“Hello?” You’re already blushing.

“Hey, you! What’re you up to?” Ellie’s voice is loud into the microphone and you can make out multiple different voices on her end of the line.

“Nothing important,” you close your computer quickly, “why, what’s up?”

She takes a moment to answer as you hear her yell something to whoever else is in the room with her, “me and some friends are at a bar…will you come? Live music and stuff. Plus, I still haven’t taken you on that date!”

“Yes!” Okay, you probably should’ve tried to sound less excited. “Ehem…yes. Text me the address?”

You hear Ellie laugh before she happily responds, “will do! Text me when you get here and I’ll come out front to meet you.”

—————

Dina and her friends surely shop at Hookers R Us because where else would anybody find a skirt so goddamn short. 

“D. Dina. My cheeks are hanging out the bottom.” Dina rolls her eyes and tugs on the hem of the mini denim skirt.

“Well if you wore it down here,” she tugs the denim again, “instead of up to your tits like a grandma would…maybe it would be longer.”

Several shirts are thrown toward your perch on Dina’s desk chair, “what’s wrong with the shirt I have on?”

Dina’s boyfriend. Jesse, interjects, “because I don’t like it.”

“Okay, fashion police. How about this one?” You hold up a form fitting black top and Dina nods vigorously, “yes. But no bra. Show off them ladies!”

————

The Uber barely comes to a full stop as you clamber out of the backseat. Grasping for your phone, you text Ellie.

Here! :)

Was the smiley face overkill? Too much?

Cominh!!!!!

*Coming. Not drunk, I swear.

You think you’re the one doing the coming as you watch Ellie stroll towards you in the parking lot. If she was hot on Hinge, she’s ten-thousand times hotter in the dingy lighting that casts a magical glow upon her. She’s wearing a pair of baggy jeans and a white wife-beater, an old worn out flannel is unbuttoned over the top and rolled up just above her elbows. Her raggedy jeans are cuffed to the top of her converse and— wow is she a walking wet dream.

“Hey! I’m glad you came.” She doesn’t wait for an answer as she pulls you straight in for a hug, her calloused hands resting on your hips. You feel her finger tips touching the uncovered skin below your top, the contact makes you shiver.

Ellie squeezes you a little tighter before pulling away, leaving her arm draped over your shoulder, “c’mon, warmer inside.”

You let her lead you into the bar and through the slight crowd congregated near the entrance. A small group of people stand huddled next to the bar and Ellie leads you straight to them as she leans down to speak in your ear, “those are my friends.”

You nod and shamelessly nudge your body to be tucked further into her side, blushing profusely when you feel her arm tighten around your shoulders.

“Guys, this is the girl I was telling you about! And these are my friends I mentioned on the phone.” Ellie smiles while she introduces you to everyone and as much as you enjoy the domesticity of hanging out with her friends, you much prefer the nook you’ve found nestled under Ellie’s toned arm.

———

Her face leans down by your ear again, “wanna drink? I’ll get you one.”

You smile up at her, “would you shoot me if I said I want an espresso martini instead of the beer you’ve been nursing all night?”

She giggles into your ear and her breath fans across your face, “one espresso martini, coming up!” 

She pulls away and salutes you before turning around and marching to the other end of the bar, waving her arm to grab the bartender’s attention.

“So you’re the lucky lady? I’m Abby, Ellie’s friend.” Damn, she is buff as hell. Her toned arm stretches across a barstool to shake your hand.

You stare at her open palm, “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I did that. Who still shakes hands? I’m done drinking for the night.”

She cracks a smile when you laugh and shake her hand anyways, “nothing wrong with a good ol’ handshake.”

You speak with Abby while you wait for Ellie to return with your martini. She’s leaning up against the wood and speaking to the bartender as he pours the concoction into a glass. How she manages to look so appealing at all times is an enigma. Her short hair is pulled half-up into a bun while the rest barely skims the top of her shoulders, the botanical tattoo on her forearm sticks out from under her rolled-up sleeve and—fuck. You’re drooling.

Double-fuck. She caught you staring.

You blush when she throws a wink your way, turning back toward the bar to grab your drink. 

And then she’s in front of you once more, “malady.”

She slides in between your legs while you sit atop the cushioned barstool (which you’re pretty sure makes a fart noise any time you move) and rests both of her hands on your hips.

Lifting the drink to your mouth, you hum happily when the flavor covers your tongue, “good?”

“Really good. Superb.” Ellie chuckles and leans in toward you, placing a kiss in the hollow of your collarbone, “c’mon, there’s some more people I want you to meet.”

————

You’re not exactly sure how you ended up in this position but good god do you wish you could die right here and right now. Ellie is leaning up against the poster-covered wall of the bar with you pulled tightly to her chest. Your back is pressed against her front and one of her arms is wrapped around you, long fingers splayed across your lower stomach. She’s talking animatedly to the guy standing in front of you two and in all honestly you can’t focus on what they’re talking about while you feel the tips of Ellie’s fingers rest upon the skin under your skirt. 

It’s innocent. She doesn’t realize her fingers have traveled just south of the top of your skirt, but you’d be lying if you said the feeling of her calloused fingertips below the belt didn’t make you squirm. Her auburn hair tickles the side of your face as your head rests back in the crook between her neck and shoulder. And even better—her cheek presses to the top of your head when there’s a lull in her current conversation.

Hearing the man she was speaking to bid his goodbyes, you turn in her arms. The one that was previously grasping a beer bottle quickly swaps to rest in the back pocket of your skirt instead, her other hand squeezes your hip.

“Hi.” She smiles at you.

“Hi.” You press a kiss to her cheek.

The feeling leaves Ellie warm and she squeezes you a few times before ultimately deciding to cut to the chase and lean in. It’s a sweet peck, a little tipsy kiss that leaves you buzzing and floating outside of your body. The bright, crooked smile she gives you after pulling away punches the air from your lungs and Jesus Christ— now you understand the U-Haul lesbians because in this moment you are well and truly fucked. If this woman, this stranger, asked you to pack your shit and move in, you would.

And the look she gives you as she brushes a stray piece of hair behind your ear tells you she might just feel the same.

[titaniumions]

pioneer but it's tennant??? :0

[newvegascowboy]

food & agriculture in fallout: extrapolation and speculative worldbuilding

Okay, well. This is going to be an extremely long and data heavy post. Bear with me.

I'm going to go into detail about the crops and available food given to us canonically and textually. I'm going to be drawing some real world parallels between the crops we see in Fallout and what we have here. I'll be pulling relevant data from all the games, but the majority focus on this post is going to be about the east coast and Massachusetts in particular because it gives us the opportunity to participate in the agricultural climate of the wasteland.

Is there a point to this? Not really, but I'm pedantic and I take things too seriously.

my sources will be linked in the text throughout. for those of you who want to read about agricultural and growing zones of the continental united states, please follow me under the cut.

Growing zones and real world agriculture

Shown here are the growing zones of the united states, divided into a temperature map of about 19 different regions. It's fairly intuitive to read -- colder temperatures are north and east, while warmer temperatures are south and west. The majority of the Mojave desert sits between 7a to 9a, a temperature range of about 20 degrees. DC and the nearby section of the southeast coast sits between 7a and 8a. The interactive map linked below will tell you where your growing zone sits.

The 2012 USDA Plant Hardiness Zone Map is the standard by which gardeners and growers can determine which plants are most likely to thrive at a location. The map is based on the average annual minimum winter temperature, divided into 10-degree F zones and further divided into 5-degree F half-zones.

For the moment, we are going to focus on Massachusetts.

Using the temperature above, we can see that the growing zone of Massachusetts is 5a (-20f) at it's very coldest, all the way to 7b, (5f) at it's warmest during winter. Most of what we see in fallout 5 sits in the 6a to 6b zone, which is middle ground during the winter, but cold enough to want to warrant crops that can withstand the frost.

There is a solid 5 month window for planting annual crops, like corn, melons, and gourds like pumpkin. Your perennial crops are limited to fruit trees and possibly grains, depending on the variety and whether or not a perennial variety has been bred.

Cold weather crops include beets, carrots, greens like cabbage, collards, kale, and potatoes. These aren't the types of crops that will survive the winter as much as these are foods that can go in the ground as soon as it is unfrozen enough to be workable. Root vegetables and greens can germinate in soil as cold as 40 degrees Fahrenheit, which provides some leeway with unpredictable frosts and late planting times.

Much of the agricultural landscape of Massachusetts is dependent on the dairy industry, farming cattle, and aquaculture -- fishing and catching shellfish. Those with access to the coasts, fish and shellfish ought to provide protein during lean months.

Why are we talking about this? Well, if we're stepping into the shoes of a subsistence farmer in the fallout universe, we're going to have to take into account climate and ideal planting times for certain crops. It's not wholly important in terms of things like fic writing, unless you happen to be writing about the life and times of wasteland agriculture, in which case, I hope this is helpful! Again, I am pedantic, and this section is to provide a template when considering and discussing other parts of the game and what their specific diet and agricultural landscapes might look like.

Something to keep in mind when thinking about how farms might function in the Mojave, for instance, or if you're doing worldbuilding for a different part of the US.

Crops in the fallout universe

Now that we're familiar with growing zones and why certain crops are planted and when, we're going to apply some speculative worldbuilding to fallout itself. We will be revisiting growing zones when we talk about other climates, but for the moment, we're going to focus on fallout 4.

Now to preface -- I don't think that the food that is given to us in game is wholly representative of the plants or animals that survived the apocalypse. If some managed to mutant and survive, I'm willing to bet others did. I certainly won't deduct any points from anyone who wants to talk about growing cotton, or farming peaches or cherries, and I won't raise any eyebrows if someone includes things like spices into their wasteland cuisine.

In the 210+ years since the bombs fell, I do not think that the majority of the US is a desolate wasteland, but this post is not going to be my beef with the devs about how brown everything is. This beef is about food in particular. However, for sake of ease, I'm mostly just going to focus on the food that is presented to us in game.

There will be some extrapolation and speculation later, but if I do that for everything, then we'll be here all day, and we've all got things to do.

I would also be remiss to mention that agriculture in the US is old. It predates colonialism. The Native Americans cultivated the land long before any European settlers. They practiced a type of crop growing referred to as Three Sisters planting, which utilized corn, pole beans, and squash -- all things that exist in the agricultural landscape of Fallout as we know it.

Corn

I'm not going to say much about corn because there's not a lot to say about it. We all know what corn is. Fallout's corn is visually similar to wild violet, a hybrid corn.

But I am not going to say Fallout's corn is one such variety or another. In the 210 years since the bombs dropped, I imagine corn varietals have been bred and interbred a thousand times, and it is probably it's own unique strain. It's kind of a moot point. Corn is corn. You can do with yellow corn what you can do with wild violet, and whatever special breeds that make up Fallout's corn.

Corn is the third largest plant-based food source in the world. Despite its importance as a major food in many parts of the world, corn is inferior to other cereals in nutritional value. Its protein is of poor quality, and it is deficient in niacin. Diets in which it predominates often result in pellagra (niacin-deficiency disease). Corn is high in dietary fibre and rich in antioxidants.

You can do a shit ton with corn. It's a staple grain. It would not be incongruous with the fallout setting to have settlers making tortillas, cornbread, polenta, grits, tamales, etc. Corn can also be used to make corn whiskey. The husks can be spun into yarn and woven into garments similar to cotton, which I thought was interesting and also solves the problem of where the hell wastelanders are getting their clothes. Corn can be used as livestock feed, especially in the winter when cattle can't graze. While corn is a staple grain of the US, the east coast has minor corn production compared to places like the midwest. Corn is a staple, but it does not consist of the entire diet of your average wastelander.

Carrots

Not going to say much about carrots either. They're carrots. They grow well in colder soil and tend to have a lot of natural sugars. The carrots we're shown in FO4 seem to be a mutated variety different than the "fresh carrot" consumable in FNV, but there's virtually no difference, so I'm not counting it. Make some carrot cake.

Razorgrain

"This species appears to be quite promising. It's a toothy grain that we may be able to grind in order to replace wheat, which is untenable in the Wasteland. We are uncertain how to increase crop yields, which are very unpredictable. Will continue to study."

Razorgrain is our first unique mutated crop in the fallout setting. It most closely resembles a barley or a rye. Both are a fairly hardy species and can grow all across the continental united states; rye can germinate in cold weather temperatures. It wouldn't be outrageous to assume that razorgrain is similar too or a crossbred variation of both rye and barley. I have decided to base the majority of my research assuming it is a barley variant. Barley is also a major crop on the east coast near the Commonwealth, so that would explain why razorgrain is present in FO4 and not in the other games.

Barley requires a mild winter climate and can grow in growing zones 3-8, so it would be viable in Massachusetts. Barley can be milled into flour and it contains gluten; the gluten content of North American wheat and barley tends to be higher to survive the colder climates, so razorgrain would likely be very glutenous. It is also less susceptible to ergot than rye, but barley can still become infected -- and, I am assuming, razorgrain could as well.

Razorgrain fills the nutritional niche of carbohydrates and can be used to make breads, cakes, pastas, etc. It produces darker breads that have an earthier flavor than milled white flour. There has to be some method of actually milling the grain, though, which is an intensive process that can often be dangerous. Grain can also be used to make malted candy, which is our first option for wastelanders with a sweet tooth. Obviously, razorgrain can also be used to make malt or grain alcohol and is probably the source of all the beer you find littered around the wasteland.

Gourds and melons

Gourds and melons are actually a part of the same family, Cucurbita. The category of 'gourd' covers several different kinds of vegetables, including ornamental fruits that shouldn't be eaten. We aren't going to spend a whole lot of time on this one, simply because canon doesn't tell us that much and there's a lot of wiggle room in terms of interpretation.

FO4's model looks the most similar to a pumpkin, but it could be some other squash varietal from the Cucurbita family, which includes watermelon, honey melon, cucumber, squash, zucchini and pumpkin.

Melons is another pretty broad category. Melons and squash are part of the same family, as mentioned above. If we're going visuals again, the model is likely intended to resemble a watermelon. Watermelons grow best in humid and semi-arid environments between 70 and 8- degrees Fahrenheit. It's not impossible for wastelanders to be growing watermelons, but considering the humidity and frequent rainfall in Massachusetts, the melons would be vulnerable to fungal infections.

There isn't a lot of information on what specifically gourds and melons are in the fallout universe, so you could get away with writing in a pretty wide variety. Personally, I lean a little bit towards melons being a muskmelon variety, like cantaloupe or honeydew. Squash fills in some vitamin requirements for the human diet, and can be canned and stored for winter. It tends to be high in vitamin C and magnesium.

The limit to this one seems to be your imagination. Go crazy.

Mutfruit

This wiki claims that the mutfruit (it has a scientific name apparently, malus maata) is a mutated species of apple and crabapple. There are two different wikis about the mutfruit, both distinct. The first is linked above. The second is linked here -- I got most of my information from this second wiki.

There is a handful of "canon" information we can take from this set of wikis.

Priscilla Penske in Vault 81 is attempting to create foods that have increased resistance to radiation. She mentions the mutfruit would do well, but isn't certain how the hybridization would affect the flavor and texture.[5]

This claim is taken directly from the second wiki, but in comparison, it makes no sense. If the mutfruit tree is a product of mutation, then radiation shouldn't really affect it at all. It's survived and propagated to this point, hasn't it? I am disregarding this claim on the basis of being stupid.

Farmers in at Warwick homestead will comment on the fruit's characteristics, such as tasting sweet and being versatile in recipes.[1][2] The vault dwellers of Vault 81 trade for mutfruit with the outside world, and use it to make special occasion desserts such as pie.[6][7]

If the mutfruit is an apple variant, then it likely has a high sugar content, and it would have to be harvested in the peak of summer or in early fall.

There are fresh apples the be found across the wasteland, implying the existence of apple trees that have been unaffected by the bombs. Personally, I was assuming that the mutfruit was some kind of blackberry, given its appearance as a clustered fruit, or maybe even a type of plum. Regardless, the mutfruit is a fruit, which means that it would preserve well by being jarred or canned, has a high sugar content, and could likely be reduced to form sugar syrups. Like any fruit, it could be used to make alcohol.

Tatos

I want to stop myself from editorializing too much, but goddamn tatos. The crop that makes the least goddamn sense in the fallout universe. The bane of my existence. Let's get into it.

First off, we're given some pretty damning canon facts about tatos:

Tatos are a mutated hybrid of the cross-pollination of the tomato and potato plants.[1] The new consumable looks like a tomato on the outside, but the inside is brown.[2] Commonly cultivated in the Commonwealth, Appalachia and on the Island, its fruit is easy to grow and can keep one from starving, but their taste is described as "disgusting"[2][3][Non-game 1] and resembling "ketchup-flavored cardboard."[1]

According to some old botany texts we found, this appears to be combination of a now extinct plant called a "potato" and another extinct plant called a "tomato." The outside looks like a tomato, but the inside is brown. Tastes as absolutely disgusting as it looks, but will keep you from starving.

Note: This text was written from the perspective of someone who is unaware that both the tomato and the potato are being cultivated elsewhere. The writer also does not mention any sort of DNA test. However, the potato is also found in the Capital Wasteland, and the writer is a scribe in the Brotherhood of Steel, which originated from that area.

Both potatoes and tomatoes are from the nightshade family. They have the same nutrient requirements, and would compete for resources if planted separately but in the same soil. There is a method for planting them together where you splice a tomato stalk onto a potato root, but this is not the same as cross pollination and will not result in what fallout presents as a tato. What will happen is that the roots will grow potatoes and the fruit of the tomato will branch off the stems.

The potato itself is a stem tuber -- high in starch and calorically dense. A stem tuber is an offshoot of the parent plant that will grow beneath the soil as a type of asexual budding reproduction. We all know what a potato is. The tomato is a berry. It's the ovary of a flowering plant -- again, we all know what a tomato is.

I am going to give Fallout a little bit of grace and not comment on how mind bendingly stupid their description of a tato is. The outer skin is a tomato, but the inside is brown and starchy like the potato? I am not going to comment on how it makes little to no biological sense. The starchy tuber is starchy because it's an energy and nutrient storage device. The tomato is the enlarged ovary of a fruit. Why did those things, which are separately very good, combine into one very terrible thing? I don't know. It doesn't make sense. I don't really want to think about it. But these are the facts as they are given to us in game and I suppose I have to live with that. Obligatory "goddamn you todd howard. a pox on your house."

The tato is probably extremely calorically dense. It's specifically mentioned as being easy to grow and it is a better alternative to starving. It's probably grown as a staple crop throughout the planting season. I'm not entirely sure if the tato can produce glycoalkaloids like the potato does (that is, the green sections of the potato that can become poisonous when exposed to light) but if they can, and if stored improperly, it would negatively impact the health of whoever ate them.

I suppose since the taste is so offensive, tatos are better served as a carrier of some other type of food. Fried, mashed, baked -- the purpose of the tato is simply to get calories into your body. Starch can also be turned into alcohol, which I am going to need a lot of after reading the canonical facts of this stupid fucking plant.

 Fallout: The Roleplaying Game Rulebook p.158: "A mutated hybrid of the pre-War tomato and potato plants, with the stem and reddish skin of the former and the brownish flesh of the latter. Tatos provide decent nutrition, but taste disgusting. However, they’re relatively easy to grow and thus are a staple of wasteland agriculture and is an ingredient in a variety of recipes."

fucker

"non farmable" crops

You can't cultivate these plants, but again - we're taking what's given to us and interpreting it extremely literally. There is no reason that these crops could not be domesticated and farmed.

Siltbean

Siltbean is likely a type of bushbean, rather than a pole bean. It's squat and low to the ground. Bush beans require little care or attention and you can pick them when you're ready to harvest them. Historically in North America, beans and corn were grown side by side (though those beans were pole beans using the stalks as support). Bush beans require successive plantings since harvests are early.

There's no good allegory for what type of bean this might be. The potato bean (Apios americana) is native to North America and also produces edible tubers, but there's no reason this couldn't be just some other type of bean. No beans that I could find had red/orange pods.

Beans are a good source of both proteins and carbohydrates, and another crop that can store well for the winter.

Tarberry

Tarberry is a little iffy, considering it is farmed by the ghouls at The Slog, but they're the only farm shown capable (or willing?) to farm the berries. Originally, I had assumed that tarberries were a type of mutated cranberry, and I thought the wiki was supporting me in that claim by saying this:

Tarberries are small, dusty orange berries of the tarberry plant. It is a water-grown crop similar to cranberries.

But cranberries themselves are also canon in the world of Fallout. So who knows! There's no canon information presented on the tarberry's characteristics, so it can be treated the same as any other fruit or berry.

Fungus variants

Glowing fungus: Glowing fungus is one of the few real world equivalents we have. It is a Japanese mushroom called Enoki. It is also farmable as shown in FNV at Hell's Motel.

Brain fungus: This is harvestable, but there aren't any "crops" shown as we would consider them. Considering it's benefits as a mentat replacement, then it's likely that there could be a dedicated space for growing it.

Food and Plants mentioned in the text

Potato

Thank god almighty, potatoes are canon in the universe of Fallout. Fresh potatoes are found as consumables in FO3 and FNV but potatoes are also mentioned in the text of FO4:

Mentioned in dialogue -- {Angry} Shut up Jake. If I hear anything out of either of you, you'll both be peeling potatoes for the next year.

I'm taking this as word of god. Potatoes are canon and I don't care what anyone says.

Tomato

Tomatoes are mentioned in the text, but are never actually seen in game. The only hint that this plant survived extinction is this excerpt from the wiki.

Note: As fresh tomatoes and potatoes are seen in the Mojave Wasteland as of 2281, with the potato seen in the Capital Wasteland as of 2277, the claim of either's extinction by 2287 in the Commonwealth Plant Database could be taken to mean local extinction in east coast regions, as opposed to global extinction. This entry may also just be in error.

There's potential for leeway here, but take it as you will!

Fresh apple

We discussed this back up in the mutfruit section of the essay, but the existence of fresh apples implies the existence of non mutated apple trees. They're found in both FO3 and FNV as a consumable item, so the apple tress have either proliferated across the continental united states, or multiple varieties survived the bombs.

Fresh pear

See above. Pears are also naturally high in pectin, which makes them useful for making jams and preserves.

Pinto beans

Pinto beans are a consumable in FNV and is another W in the bean category of the agricultural landscape.

Jalepeno

Look, I'm picking out this one specifically because I need to believe that other spices and peppers exist in the world. Where would we be without her? Nowhere good.

Raw sap

I am going to say that sap collecting is probably where most of the sugars and sweeteners in the wasteland come from. It's relatively easy to tap trees and collect sap, and it only takes a few hours to reduce the sap down into useable syrup.

Wild Blackberry, Lime, Cranberries, as well as Watermelon as being distinct from simply 'melon' are all mentioned in the text. The list of fruits mentioned or found in the games can be found here.

Animal husbandry

Fallout doesn't give us a lot of canonical information on the animal side of farming. The biggest real world agricultural export of Massachusetts is dairy and cattle farming. Chickens are canon in the worldbuilding of fallout as of Far Harbor, but canon feels both restrictive and extremely loose with regards to what animals can be cared for and how.

We aren't going to spend a whole lot of time on this one, only because the information is pretty limited.

Brahmin

There are plenty of brahmin found throughout the landscape of the wasteland. We most commonly see them as either livestock or beasts of burden. Things like milk, cheese, and other dairy products would be common if a farm has access to dairy cows. The investment to raise cows would be enormous for a subsistence farmer. Dairy cows would likely be kept for a number of years, where steers would be raised 12 to 24 months before being slaughtered; they'd likely be grass fed in the summer and corn or grain fed in the winter. Leather and beef would be products, of course, and things like soap and candles can be made from the beef tallow.

Chickens

Chickens are largely easy to keep and care for, producing eggs and necessary proteins. Chickens can provide niacin, filling in the nutritional gap that would be left by a heavy corn based diet. The investment for keeping chickens is lower than raising brahmin, but so is the payoff.

Bighorners

Bighorners are mutated bighorn sheep native to the American Southwest.[1] Humans have since domesticated them for their horns, meat, milk, and hides,[2][3]

Granted, bighorners are only seen in FNV, but I don't think there's any reason they couldn't have migrated east. In the text, it says they're kept for meat and milk, but there's no reason that they shouldn't provide a fleece as well. In the colder climate of Massachusetts, they would find value in wool, which can keep its warmth even when wet. They may be sparse across the commonwealth, but that would make wool and fleece all that much more valuable.

Fish

Yeah, I know. Technically we can't fish in Fallout (and depending on the game you play, you might not even know what a fish is). But aquaculture is huge in Boston, and with access to the coasts, it's completely fair to say that fish, shellfish, and hydroponics is a completely viable source of food in the wasteland. We see dead fish washed up on shore all the time, along with whatever the hell those shark things are. There should be fisheries and fishing towns all along the coasts.

New Vegas and Fallout 3

Consulting our growing zone chart, we can see that much of the southwest sits between 7b to 8b. The winters in the southwest are fairly mild, and while you can get seeds in the ground sooner, the majority of the battle is going to be finding a reliable water source.

The farming we see in New Vegas has one distinct notable inclusion: the NCR sharecropper farm.

The sharecroppers are growing a number of crops, including maize, tobacco, pinto beans, and honey mesquite. Corn can handle hot, arid weather, it's just not commercially grown out west. Barley can also handle hot, arid climates, and razorgrain would be suitable for the western front -- maybe we can assume it's made it's way that far west and is being cultivated alongside corn.

Most of the plants we see in FNV aren't the type we would see typically domesticated for agricultural use, but that doesn't mean people haven't adapted to their surroundings. It makes a lot of sense for locals to have domesticated local plants like prickly pear and banana yucca. There are a number of fresh produce items to be found as consumables, alongside local fruits the local fruits.

Heat-loving plants are best suited for summer production in desert climates. The plant families that fit into the heat-loving category are nightshade or Solanaceae (tomatoes, peppers, eggplant) and squash or Cucurbitaceae (cucumbers, melons, summer and winter squash). Corn and beans also perform best in hot climates.

Most plants CAN handle the heat and climate of the southwest, the issue is just finding a reliable source of water. Somewhere close to Lake Mead or the banks of the Virgin River would be prime real estate for farming, since irrigation could be accomplished without the use of pumps, like the sharecroppers use.

If we look back at the history of agriculture, it's developed along established waterways in almost every ancient civilization because that's what's easiest. There should be thriving communities surrounding the lakes and rivers in the southwest.

Comparatively, DC was formerly a swamp. It's hot and humid in the summer, though the winters are fairly mild. It wouldn't be a stretch to say that farming practices in the Commonwealth don't differ all that much from farming in the Capital Wasteland -- you could even posit that food from the Capital is of better quality ever since the successful activation of Project Purity. Fresh and unirradiated food was growing there before, so it's entirely likely that even more is growing now. YMMV!

Other consumables

We would be here all damn day if I did research onto every single consumable item available across all three games, so this mostly just because I'm covering my bases.

I am going to say that sap collecting is probably where most of the sugars and sweeteners in the wasteland come from. It's relatively easy to tap trees and collect sap, and it only takes a few hours to reduce the sap down into useable syrup.

Look, I'm picking out this one specifically because I need to believe that other spices and peppers exist in the world. Where would we be without her? Nowhere good.

Pre War food

Most shelf-stable foods are safe indefinitely. In fact, canned goods will last for years, as long as the can itself is in good condition (no rust, dents, or swelling). Packaged foods (cereal, pasta, cookies) will be safe past the ‘best by’ date, although they may eventually become stale or develop an off flavor. 

The risk with improperly canned good, or damaged canned goods, is botulism. Botulism will straight up kill you. You don't even have to consume that much of it; just a little bit will leave you dead in days. As desperate as I might be for a meal, I'm not going to risk dying because that can of two hundred year old peaches looks really tasty.

If properly sealed and in a dry, ideal environment, I... guess things like cereal and instant food could be okay? But again, with access to fresh grain, sugars, and yes, even potatoes and pasta, why would you want to risk eating InstaMash that's been around since before your great grandmother.

Pre War drinks

Sigh. Okay.

Unless stored extremely, extremely well, most bottled drinks aren't going to last much longer than 9 months. A year, if you're lucky. Exposure to sunlight and improper storage will break down the contents -- the best bottles are brown, then green. Clear glass is the worst because it does nothing to protect the liquid inside.

All the Nuka Cola you find throughout the world is flat, nasty, and will probably make you sick. I don't think that really needs to be pointed out, but there we go. I suppose the soda could probably be reduced to form sugar syrups, but with access to sap syrup and grain malt, I'm not sure why you would be desperate enough to do that.

So what does food look like in Fallout?

If there's one thing I know about humans, it's that humans like to eat. Food is culture, as much as culture and community is built around food. Good food and access to it is paramount to human happiness. All this to say is that food in fallout is whatever you want it to look like.

I can extrapolate and theorize all day long based on what Fallout tells us definitively, but I'm not going to tell you what the culinary landscape in the wasteland looks like. The only point that I will stress is that humans are really, really good at making things appetizing.

The fandom is already so creative when it comes to developing their idea of what food means in the wasteland. It's what's directly inspired me to write up this stupid, long ass post about farming and agriculture.

Obviously this is not a comprehensive list of all the base ingredients you can find in Fallout. I picked the ones I did because of the potential for consistent farming. Wastelanders have had two centuries to develop agricultural practices based around subsistence farming. I am not a subsistence farmer, and I have no idea how wasteland cottagecore would work at the heart of it. Running a farm is extremely labor intensive, and so much of your investment has to be immediately recouped in the form of eating what you harvest.

What a farm is likely to look like will start in the early spring when the ground begins to thaw, and a farmer can plant his cold resistant crops, like green vegetables and razorgrain. Potatos, carrots, and tatos will also weather the spring chill. When it starts to warm up, the more delicate plants like corn, beans, and squash or melons will get planted and tended to.

If your family is lucky enough to have a greenhouse, you can keep crops growing all through the winter and have a surplus for trade and barter, or just to preserve and refill the pantries.

A lot of the investment will have to be immediately recouped. Eggs from the chickens can't be preserved, obviously, but there will be meat from hunted animals, milk from the brahmin, probably an early harvest from the beans and tatos, and whatever else is in the pantry from the previous harvest.

Some of it will be canned or preserved in the forms of jams or jellies (just remember what I said about botulism). Meat from animals that get hunted can be smoked or otherwise preserved. Grain can be milled into flour or eaten whole and unshelled. Even the corn silk can be woven into clothes for the summer.

There really is no limit to what can be done in the end. While a lot of this information was taken from what we're given in the text, there's no rule that says you have to follow it word for word. If you believe something exists out there, then write it! We're all just making shit up as we go along anyway. If you need permission, then here it is. You can do whatever you want. Make up recipes! Go insane. Follow whatever your little foodie heart desires.

[hoejosatoru]

I Choose You

Pairing: Fem! reader x Gabimaru (reader’s skin color/ hair color/texture not specified) (also I'm unclear on Gabi’s age but obviously he’s 18+ here)

Summary: When reader and Gabi’s marriage is arranged, neither are sure what to expect. Overtime, however, they find that their connection goes beyond just duty.

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: both characters are lil shy and awkward at times (but its sweet), arranged marriage, bathing together, fingering, mutual virginity loss, cream pie, not proof read

a/n: I lost the sex scene not once, but TWICE, so I hope you enjoy because I suffered for it. Also I think this is literally the first Gabimaru smut so that’s cool

Your wedding day was something you pictured your entire life. You spent a lot of time thinking about the dress you would wear, the food you’d eat, the people you would celebrate with. Most of your daydreams, though, were spent wondering who your husband would be.

You thought about the ways you’d meet him. Maybe while out on a walk, or when you went to the market in the village. You imagined him being sweet and charming you. Taking you on dates and winning your heart. You pictured him as gentle, but strong, and, of course, handsome.

None of those things happened. There was no romance, just an order from your father. And now you sat next to your husband, a man who’s reputation proceeded him. Gabimaru the Hollow. He was not unhandsome, you noted, but that did not do enough to mitigate your fear of him. He was your father’s most fearsome shinobi, capable of things you couldn’t even imagine.

He was unassuming, despite his reputation. You expected him to be... well meaner. Or louder. Or something. He was oddly quiet, not speaking to you beyond what was necessary for the vows. He barely ate, too, though neither had you. But that was because of your nerves. 

You knew what came after a marriage ceremony. No matter who you had married, you’d be nervous for that. But the fact that you didn’t know this man beyond his reputation made it even scarier. You weren’t ready for it, but if he wanted to have sex with you, you had no choice but to comply. It was what was expected of a good wife and you’d raise to be, above all, a good wife.

You tried watching Gabimaru out of the corner of your eye. He seemed disinterest, bored even. You wished you could read his mind, or that you at least felt brave enough to start conversation. You wondered how he felt about this. Anxiety fluttered through you. What if he was displeased? Your hand almost instinctively went up to the scar down your face, but you resisted. Perhaps he did not think you were beautiful. Though you had no strong feelings for the man, it still poked at your insecurity.

Suddenly, your father was announcing the end of the festivities. Your stomach churned with anxiety as you and Gabimaru were led to your place on the compound. The house was modest, but comfortable. There was even a private bathing area attached to it, which you were excited about. You, however, weren’t in the frame of mind to be all that excited over your living situation.

“Congratulation on your marriage. I hope you will both make our clan proud,” your father said, with very little warmth in his voice. He was never a kind man and you couldn’t imagine having to endure relentless training with him. 

Then the door shut and you were alone with Gabimaru. Your heart was beating so loudly in your ears that you almost didn’t hear him speak. “Do you know where the bedroom is?”

“Oh y-yes,” you replied, glad to have a task. You began walking and he followed behind you. “Since the wedding was announced, I have been preparing the house for us.” It was strange to have an ‘us.’ “I hope you will find it satisfactory.”

“It’s nice,” he noted. 

“Thank you. Oh, here we are.” You stepped into the bedroom, which felt significantly smaller now that both of you were in it. “There’s sleepwear in the dresser.” 

“Thank you,” he replied, pulling out what he needed. You took our your own and slipped behind the changing screen. Maybe it was silly to protect your modesty around your husband, especially when he was most likely about to take it all off, but it made you feel better.

Gabimaru was already on the bed when you stepped out. Your knees were weak, but you pushed yourself forward. You lied down next to him, hoping he couldn't hear your heart pounding. You were still as stone, waiting for him to move, to touch you, to have his way with you. 

But then he surprised you. He softly said goodnight and turned his back to you to sleep. You felt a wave of surprise and relief that he did not intend to have sex with you. Though it did a lot to help your nerves, it did little to improve your insecurities. This time, you allowed your fingers to run over the scar on your face, wondering if you were not enough.

***

Over the next few weeks you got to know Gabimaru, who was nothing like you expected. You were waiting to see anger or cruelty or something to be scared of, but you never saw it. Indeed, he seems the opposite. He was quiet and unassuming, albeit a little strange. He had some odd habits, such as searching every corner of the house twice before bed, and was aloof at times, but never was mean.

It was strange, though, to see how other in the compound treated him. They were certainly afraid of him. Many avoided him altogether, or seemed uneasy when having to speak with him. Even your father’s most skilled and dangerous shinobi seemed on edge around him. If they acted that way, you knew the stories about him had to be true and yet, you had not been able to feel any fear towards him since the night of your wedding passed.

It was still a mystery how he felt about you. The first few nights after your wedding you kept expecting him to reach over and touch you or tell you he wanted you. However, at this point you have fully dropped that expectation. It was still a little odd to sleep next to a relative stranger, but you did feel oddly safe with him around.

Though you appreciated him never forcing himself on you, your fears of him not finding you attractive grew worse and worse. Why else would a man not sleep with his wife? You didn’t blame him, you knew the scar marred your beauty, but it still hurt. You tried not to dwell on it, as it was something you couldn’t change. Instead, you resolved to be the perfect wife in other ways. You were determined to connect with him.

“Gabi - uh do you mind if I eat with you tonight?” you were so nervous to ask that you didn’t even notice the nickname you’d given him. It caught Gabimaru’s attention, though, throwing him off. 

“Oh, um, sure,” he replied, sitting down at the table. You felt a small rush of triumph. Gabi was often out late, eating long after you when he got home. Sometimes he didn’t eat at all. When he was home, he always went off to eat alone. It was one of his odd habits. 

Gabi began to devour his food. And you mean devour. Shoveling it into his mouth so quickly you couldn’t imagine he even tasted it. You couldn’t help but laugh. He paused at the sound, looking up expecting to find you mocking him, but there was not a trace of malice in your laughter or your face. 

“You don’t need to rush!” you said kindly.

Gabi knew the way he ate wasn’t normal. He was taught to eat this way in his training. Eating was a necessary evil, not something you took pleasure in. He was trained to eat his food for sustenance, nothing more. Gabi wasn’t sure what to say, so he just said, “Sorry.”

You smiled fondly at him. It stirred something deep inside him that he couldn't quite place. “No need to apologize. I just want you to enjoy it. After a long day you deserve it.”

You deserve it. Gabi had never been told that before, at least not for something good. No, only punishments were deserved. “I guess I was just taught this way.”

“I can teach you a new way... If you’d like,” you added as to not sound too assertive. 

Gabimaru, in that moment, realized he would like to learn. “Yes... please”

You modeled for him, picking a few noodles up with your chopsticks and slurping them up slowly. He mimicked you, though still went a little too fast, causing the noodles to go a little haywire. They whipped around to hit his cheek and chin. You couldn’t help but giggle.

“That will happen if you go to fast,” you explained. “Try again, just a little slower.” Under you gentle instruction, he was able to slurp the noodles up with out a mess. You then instructed him to take a little sip of the broth and allow it to swirl around on his tongue before swallowing. Gabi’s eyes widened as he truly tasted his food for the first time in years. He couldn’t believe how good it was.

“This is so good,” he said. You beamed at the compliment, which only made him enjoy it more. You both sat together and ate slowly, an activity Gabi never thought could be so... nice.

“Do you have a favorite food? I want to make more things you’ll like.” He didn’t, what with how eating typically went for him. He told you as much. “That’s alright, we’ll just have to find your favorite together. I’ll try a bunch of different recipes and you can tell me which you like best. Would you like that?”

Gabimaru was not often shocked, but you really threw him for a loop. He did not expect much from a marriage. Honestly, he hadn't even really wanted it, but knew he couldn’t refuse the request from your father. Knowing him, he’d assumed you would be the same. Your kindness and gentleness with him was disarming. 

“Yes, thank you y/n,” he replied. He was unnerved. Not in a bad way, like when he faced a strong opponent. He just didn’t know what to make of you. Gabi asked if there was anything he could do. He always felt best when he was given commands. It was comfortable for him to not have to make decisions for himself, rather just do as he was told. 

“Oh, um,” you were surprised he offered to help. You were not used to that from the men you knew. “Some help cleaning the dishes would be great.”

Gabimaru nodded and joined you at the counter. You fell into an easy rhythm of you rinsing and him drying. There was silence between the two of you, but it was comfortable. Pleasant, almost. You almost wished there were more dishes to do just to prolong this time. 

Finally, however, you finished. You didn’t want to push too far, so you just thanked Gabi for his help. Gabimaru nodded and started to exit the kitchen. He paused in the doorway, turning back to you. 

He said what he had been thinking since he first heard you say it. “I… like when you call me Gabi. You can call me that from now on. And thank you again for the food.”

Your heart soared with pride. You were so pleased that your plan was a success. “Of course. I look forward to more meals with you, Gabi.” With that Gabi disappeared into the hallway, leaving you both with the faintest hint of a stirring that you couldn’t quite place. 

***

The evening you shared dinner with Gabi seemed to be the icebreaker you both needed. You noticed that he started coming home earlier and made effort to eat with you. You loved watching him find joy in food and learning all the things he liked. You were slowly spending more time with each other and little by little getting to know each other more. 

Gabi was still very guarded. He seemed nervous in ways or, rather, like a fish out of water. You quickly realized he didn’t know what it meant to live a “normal” life. It was why he ate too quickly, couldn’t do laundry, and struggled to make conversation. You knew it was all because of your father’s cruel training. It made you resent him more. 

The only good thing it provided was more opportunities to connect with Gabi. Each time you taught him something new, you felt yourselves grow closer. It had only been a few weeks since that dinner and you felt yourself growing fond of him. 

Well, more than fond truly. You were nervous around him, but not for the reasons you originally were. Your stomach filled with butterflies. As much as you learned about him, you wished for more. The time spent with him wasn’t enough. 

You wished for a touch, even. Not that you were necessarily ready for sex, but a brush of hands, an embrace, anything to give an indication of how he felt. You felt he was connecting to you, but the lack of intimacy nagged at you. Could he just not be interested?

Little did you know that Gabi was very much interested. He savored the time you spent together, arguably even more than you did. He knew he wasn’t the best at companionship, but just listening to you talk brought up feelings in him he quite honestly didn’t know he had. He always feared he was disappointing you, but was soothed by the smiles you gave and the gentleness you showed him. 

Gabi wanted to touch you, but he didn’t really know how. He was scared of hurting you or making you afraid. You were everything he wasn’t: sweet, kind, a caretaker. He knew you must be aware of his reputation, of who he was, and felt you must think he’s monster like everyone else does, even if you didn’t show it. 

For those reasons, he felt he didn’t even deserve to touch you. There were, however, a few times in the night that your bodies had  drifted together. Gabi was a very light sleeper and woke up the instant your body touched his. You were so warm, your scent so sweet, that he couldn’t pull himself away. It felt wrong, to steal these moments from you, but he couldn’t help himself. He always slipped away before you could wake and realize. It was better that way, he told himself. 

What he felt for you was already dangerous. It went against everything he was trained to become: an unfeeling killing machine. If his judgement were to become clouded with feelings for you, it could put not only him but you in danger. He simply could not have that. Still, it was much easier said than done. 

“Gabi there is something we need to work on,” you said, pulling him from his thoughts. 

“What is that?”

“Bathing.”

“Bathing? What about it?”

“I don’t think you do it… right,” you said politely. 

Gabi didn’t know there was a right and wrong way to bathe. He said as much to you. 

“Well you don’t seem to indulge in it much. And when you do you’re barely in the bath for a few minutes. I don’t see how you can even enjoy it.”

“I was taught that baths are to be completed as quickly as possible. Any lingering could dull the senses,” he replied. He left out the part that those senses were necessary for his job of killing people. He didn’t want to fill your head with that vision of him. You looked at him with such empathy that it made his chest ache strangely. 

“I know you were raised in a … strict environment. I imagine on a mission lingering in the bath is not advisable,” you replied, “but at home with me you are safe. I can promise you that. You deserve to relax. To feel clean.” 

To feel clean. Gabi doesn’t think he’s felt truly clean in a very long time. He sometimes wondered if he was tainted the moment he was born. He wasn’t sure a bath would change that, but he could not resist the sweet smile on your face. 

Gabi followed you to the bathing area, the part of the house he admittedly spent the least amount of time in. “Let me put some essential oils in the water before you get in. It’s good for you skin and smells nice. Would you like rose or lavender?”

You might as well be speaking another language. “Um. Which do you like?”

“Lavender.”

“I’ll take that one then.”

You smiled, which made Gabi’s chest feel lighter. You opened up a small bottle, putting a few drops of liquid in the water. Steam rolled up from the water as your swirled it around with your hand, filling the room with a pleasant scent. “There, that should be good. I’m going to get a few things, you can get in if you’d like.” 

Gabi started to undress, which made your cheeks tint. You turned to gather some bars of soap and towels, but couldn’t help but peak over at him. You almost gasped seeing how his body was littered with scars. You of all people knew what it was like to carry scars; your heart ached for him and the pain he must have endured. You felt like you should look away as he stripped his lower half, but you could make your eyes move. You did not have much to compare to, but he looked large even when soft. Your cheeks had to be flaming red.

“Is everything okay?” Gabi asked as he stepped into the bath, his body disappearing below the water. Gabi wasn’t really uncomfortable with nudity, nor did he ever think his body could have an effect on you. He wasn’t sure what was making you blush, but did think you looked particularly pretty when your cheeks were pink.

“Y-yes, sorry I was just...” you mumbled, fumbling to pivot the conversation, “Wondering if the water is warm enough?” You told yourself to get it together, that there was no need to be bumbling like an idiot over nudity.

“Yes it’s good.” 

You pulled yourself together and brought the soaps over to Gabi. You sat behind him, feeling grateful that the water and candlelight made it difficult to see much. You could see that Gabi still looked tense, though. “You need to relax.”

“I... I don't really know how to do that,” Gabi admitted.

You couldn’t help but giggle, which Gabi delighted in, despite feeling vulnerable. He always felt that way when you were teaching hims something new. “Try closing your eyes.” That went against all of Gabi’s instincts, but he did not want to disappoint you, so he complied. “Now try taking deep, slow breaths.” That Gabi could do fairly easily. You watched his chest rise and fall slowly over his shoulder. “Good Gabi, just like that.” Your praise made his cheeks burn. “May... may I touch you?”

Gabi’s pulse raced. He hoped his voice didn’t shake when he said, “Yes.”

“I’m going to start with your hair.” You collected some water in your hands, gently pouring it over the top of his head. You repeated the actions until his hair was nice and wet. You tried to focus on the task at hand so you did not get too nervous about the fact you were finally touching him. “This soap is specifically for hair. It smells like sandalwood. I think you’ll like it.”

You lathered the soap in your hands, before putting them in Gabi’s snowy hair. You gently rubbed little circles over his head to get it nice and soapy. You then allowed your nails to run over his scalp, getting a deeper clean.

“Wow,” an almost inaudible sigh left Gabi’s mouth. He couldn’t believe how good it felt just to have your hands on his head. Gabi didn’t really know what it meant to relax, but he felt a soothing sort of warmth starting to spread through his body and wondered if that was it.

You smiled at his reaction. “Feels nice, right?” Gabi nodded, letting himself get lost in your touch. You scrubbed at his hair until the bubbles rinsed away all the dirt. You hesitated a little before moving down to his shoulders, feeling little butterflies in your stomach. You ran the bar of soap over his shoulder and upper back, before massaging it in with your hands. 

Gabi’s body tensed at first under your touch. He was not used to anyone touching him, at least not in a gentle way. However, the more your hands work over his body, the more he relaxed. You savored the feeling of his body beneath your hands. You could easily feel the strength of his muscles, thick and firm under his skin. The texture of his scars was a little rougher than the rest of his skin, but you didn’t mind at all. You were extra soft around them.

You were nervous to ask the next question, but you pushed through. “I- I will have to get in with you to do the rest of your body. But if you don’t want me to, that’s okay.”

Gabi almost said no, solely because the thought of you being naked in the bathing pool with him did something to his senses that more than dulled them. But he even with all his training, he could not resist it. “I don’t mind if you don’t.”

Your hands were shaking a little as you stood up and undressed. You left your clothes in a messy pile behind you as you walked to the other side of the bathing pool to climb in. You were so nervous about Gabi seeing you naked that you almost let out a laugh when you saw that he still had his eyes dutifully closed. He really wanted to look, but didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. He kept his eyes screwed shut even as he heard you stepping into the water.

“You can open your eyes now, if you’d like.”

He did, finding you up to your chest in the water. He could see the very top of your breast at the top of the water, but nothing more. You looked so beautiful with your cheeks flushed and shoulders bare that it made him shift nervously. You approached him slowly settling a few inches in front of him. He watched as you continued your work down his body, lathering and massaging the soap down his arms, his chest, his legs. You didn’t touch him between his legs and he was glad for it. He did not trust his bodily control that much.

Though having you so close to him and touching him made him nervous, he could not deny it felt amazing. He never lingered this long in the bath. Between the warmth of the water and the way you scrubbed him clean, he his body felt lighter than it had in a very long time. He was in awe of how you found the easiest ways to change his life.

“All done,” you said finally, “How do you feel?”

Gabi gave you the sweetest smile you’d seen in all the time you've know him. “Clean. Thank you.” You smiled equally as brightly in response. A thought dawned over Gabi that he knew was a bad idea, but he wanted to show you he could learn to be gentle. To be a normal person. “Can I... return the favor? It seems only right. And it would help me practice.” 

The thought of Gabi’s hands on your body elicited a stirring in your lower belly. There was not a single part of you, though, that did not want it. “I would like that, thank you.” 

You turned your back to him, sitting between his legs. Gabi took the soap from side of the pool, which so slick it slipped through his fingers and dropped into the pool. You both laughed lightly, breaking some of the nervous tension.

Gabi mimicked exactly what you did, starting with your hair. His fingers got a little tangled at first, but with some patient instruction he got the hang of it. He had a surprisingly careful touch that soothed you. You waited so long to know what his touch felt like and you were not disappointed. You had to fight the urge to lean into it more, to press your body against his.

Your breath caught in your throat as his hands slid around to your stomach. He did not touch your breasts, nor the space between your legs, but each time he got close you both blushed deeply. Not that you knew given that your back was still to him.

“Was that okay?” Gabi asked when he finished.

“That was perfect,” you replied, turning around to face him. You were so close to each other now, faces just inches a part. You felt drawn to him, like a moth to flame. Your voice was just a whisper when you asked, “May I try something?”

“Anything,” he breathed.

You leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. It was the first kiss either of you ever shared and you both felt it ignite something deeper in you. You pulled away, breathless. Gabi was in stunned silence.

“Was that okay?” You asked nervously.

“Yes of course I- I just…” he trailed off, not sure how to explain it. Not sure how to not expose all his vulnerabilities to you. “I just never thought you would want to do that with… someone like me.”

Your brows furrowed. “Someone like you? What do you mean.”

“I- I’m not a good person,” Gabi admitted, “I don’t deserve you.”

“You’re my husband.”

“But you didn’t choose me.”

“But I am choosing you,” you insisted, “I have chosen you ever say since our wedding. I will continue to choose you for as long as I shall live. I- I don’t care about what you think you are or what people say. I have seen you for who you really are. You are a good man, Gabi.”

You are a good man, Gabi. Your voice echoed in his head. He couldn’t believe that you could think so highly of him. Feel so strongly about him. It loosened something in his chest, filling him with such an aching want he couldn’t speak.

You mistook his silence for disinterest. “I hope I have not overstepped. If you do not feel the same I understand.” You went to turn away, but Gabi grabbed you.

“No, don’t go,” he urged. “I’m sorry, you know I am not good with words. I just never thought you would feel that way about me.”

“You do yourself a disservice, Gabi,” you replied, “truthfully, I thought you wouldn’t feel that way about me.” Your eyes dropped to the water, feel self conscious. “I thought I may not be beautiful enough for you.”

Gabi was astonished that you could think that. He gently cupped your cheek, making your eyes meet. The way he looked at you made your chest squeeze. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” His thumb brushed over your scar. “I hate that you’ve been hurt like this, but I promise it does nothing to mar your beauty.”

You leaned into his touch, feeling all the insecurity and anxiety you’d felt the last few weeks melt away. “Gabi we haven’t made our marriage… official you know,” you blushed as you spoke. Gabis brows wrinkled in confusion, then shot up when he understood.

“Do you want to?”

You nodded. “Yes, I want to be with you like that. I know we didn’t chose each other initially, but we can choose this.”

“I would love to,” Gabi replied, his head spinning at the mere thought. “I’ve just never done that. With anyone.” Now you were surprised; you could believe he was a virgin like you. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“Nothing could be a disappointment with you,” you assured him. You took his hands in yours and squeezed them. “We will get to learn. Together.”

Gabi loved the sound of that. You both wasted no time climbing out of the tub. You didn’t bother covering yourself with clothing or a towel, allowing Gabi see your entire body. You felt a little shy under his gaze but not uncomfortable. He was mesmerized by the droplets of water dripping down your curves.

“So beautiful,” was all he could manage, but you felt the weight of the feelings behind his words. You took his hand in yours, loving its warm roughness. You found yourself in your room quickly. You both laughed with nervous excitement as you climbed on to the bed and settled next to each other. “May I kiss you?”

He was pulling you in the second you nodded. The kiss was deeper than the first. It was a little messy on account of both of yours lack of experience, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. You let your hands trail his body, liking that your got to feel him without the barrier of water. You loved everything you felt, scars and all.

You sensed Gabi was still hesitant to touch you. You took his hands in yours, placing them on your sides. “Go on, Gabi. Touch me,” you urged softly, “I want you to.”

He could not deny you anything. He allowed his hands to explore your body. He couldn’t believe how soft you were. Feeling braver, he brought a hand to your breast and squeezed gently. The little gasp you made made blood rush between his legs.

He felt instinct take over and brought his lips to the sensitive flesh. He kissed it, ran, his tongue over your nipple, then sucked lightly. Your body arched into him, your fingers tangling in his hair. He loves that, how your body reacted to him, as if urging for more, which he was more than happy to give.

As he kissed at your breasts you could feel him growing harder against your thigh. You squirmed with need, thighs pressing together for friction. Gabi could not resist touching you between them any longer.

Though he had no previous partners, he had a general idea of how things worked and how sex was supposed to go. Lord knows he heard men talk enough about it. So he knew women were supposed to get wet, yet he was still shocked by the slickness between your legs. In the best way possible.

“So wet,” he murmured, running his fingers through it. You were practically shaking with anticipation as his fingers ghosted over your clit. He noted how your body twitched and made a mental note to go back to that. He slid a finger inside you savoring the gasped you made. You were so wet and warm and tight around his finger, he couldn’t imagine how you’d feel around his cock.

Gabi never cared that much about getting off; it had always just been a matter of necessity for him. He never really did it out of desire or want, but he wanted you so bad it hurt. He pumped his fingers inside you, watching your face carefully for response. When he found a spot inside you that made you gasp particularly loud, he zeroed in on that. As your breath grew ragged, he remembered the other spot he wanted to try. He slid his fingers out of you and brought them to your clit, rubbing it.

“Feels so good,” you gasped.

“You like that?” he asked.

“Yes,” you replied breathlessly, “Don’t stop.” Gabi continued touching you just you asked. Each little circle he rubbed made the coil of pleasure in your lower stomach feel tighter. Gabi’s fingers felt so much better than your own. He leaned in taking your nipple in his mouth, sucking. The sensation caused the coil to snap, spreading pleasure across every inch of your body. Gabi watched as you came, your face went slack with bliss, your body arched. He wanted to watch you do that over and over.

“You’re good at that,” you said with a shy giggle when you came down from your high. 

“Thank you,” Gabi beamed at the compliment. 

Your eyes traveled down his body, seeing how hard he was with need. Gabi felt a little shy under your gaze, but let you look. You looked up at him. “You’re so handsome,” you said, “And I want all of you.”

Your hands traveled down his body, taking his cock in your hands. You pumped the length a little and Gabi’s hips stuttered. It was such a slight touch, but it drove him wild. You pulled him closer to you, rubbing him against your slick cunt. His head nudged against your hole and you looked to him for more.

“And you’re sure? I don’t want to hurt you.” Gabi heard the first time could be uncomfortable for girls; the last thing he wanted to do was hurt you.

“I trust you,” you replied definitively. That almost meant more to him than everything else you have said to him. 

When he finally pressed into you, you both gasped. It was such a full, foreign feeling, but not unpleasant. Gabi tried to steady himself as he felt your gummy walls squeeze around him. “Are you in any pain?” he asked though gritted teeth. 

You felt very full and a little pressure, but nothing painful. “I’m okay Gabi, keep going.” He did has you bid him, rolling his hips slowly so you could both adjust. Each moment that passed made the pressure melt to pleasure. His cock tip brushed the sweet spot inside you. Each sweet sound that left your mouth urged him to continue. He gripped the bed sheets tightly, trying to not to spill too soon. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. Your bodies completely pressed together as you kissed him. You both loved the connectedness, how you didn’t really know where one started and the other ended. You both didn’t knew sex was supposed to feel good, but you didn’t know it would feel this good.

You hips bucked up to meet Gabi’s, pressing him deeper inside you. Your second orgasm snuck up on you, seizing your body with warm bliss. Gabi got lost in the feeling of squeezing him, moaning his name in his ear. His hips twitched as he came, filling you with his warm release. 

You were both breathlessly and smiling as you came down from you high. You felt so deeply connected to Gabi in that moment that you couldn’t believe there was a time you didn’t know him.

You pushed his hair out of his eyes, smiling up at his face. “I love you, Gabi. And I choose you. Always.”

“Thank you for showing me what love could be,” Gabi replied, kissing your lips. He held you close, glad that finally he would not have to slip away from you. He could hold you, choose you. Forever.

[milligramspoison]

Facts about the two will be below the cut 🫶

Sephiroth

Wields the masamune

Has done numerous of things to Cloud, including making him hallucinate and manipulating him

Burned down an entire village and killed innocent people in a fit of rage upon discovering his origins

Murdered Aerith

Can also use magic

Thinks his mother is a 2,000 year old alien named Jenova (he was lied to about who is mother is but he doesn’t know that)

Mike Milligram

Wields a raygun (two rayguns actually)

His only power is that he’s bulletproof

Is the leader of the Fabulous Killjoys (in the National Anthem universe)

Loves listening to the Ramones (helped him beat Sephiroth’s ass in a fight back in April)

Is a father, has a son named Jaime

[bongwateriero]

smallest little creachure in the world

[eddiesghxst]

PRICE OF FAME (PART 3/12)

ALRIGHTY HERE WE GO !!

————

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: rockstar!eddie x journalist!reader

summary: eddie and gareth don't get along and eddie thinks you look cute when you're sleeping

contains: enemies to lovers trope, smoking, alcohol use, maybe gareth's a bitch lol, scary feelings, a sprinkle of fluff, and eddie being down bad in every way, shape, and form <3

word count: 5.3k

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| series masterlist | -main masterlist- |

Breakfast has been your favorite part of joining Corroded Coffin on tour. Aside from the fluffy, soft, sweet pancakes, grease-dripping bacon, and toe-curling orgasmic coffee, breakfast has always been lighthearted and fun. Richie makes everybody sit at the table together like a family so there can be some sense of normalcy throughout the busy days; it’s nice.

You alternate with your seating, wanting to get to know all of the crew members as best as you can while you have the time, and you’ve had decent conversations amongst some awkward ones. On the first day, you sat next to Mitch, the light coordinator, and listened to his story about how he met his husband. They’re expecting a baby this fall, and you two bounced a few names off each other for him to consider. On the second day, you sat beside Kaylee, the tour stylist, and talked about your college horror stories. On the third day, you sat next to Brandon, a stage manager, and spoke about… well, you don’t really remember because he talked the entire time, and you kind of blanked out. Slowly, you’ve made your way around the table each day, learning little things about the group.

Today, however, there is not the usual lighthearted and familial atmosphere at the table.

You came down to the breakfast hall a bit late from your shower, and the second you stepped into the room, you could sense the tension still hanging from yesterday. You haven’t spoken to or seen Eddie since he confronted Gareth at the studio, and you’re not sure if he’d even want to see you, but you have no choice but to take the only open seat next to him.

You quietly say good morning to everyone, and Richie is the only one who gives you a warm response. “How’d you sleep, birdie?” He questions around a mouthful of eggs. You nod and settle in, “Good, I almost slept through my alarm.” You jokingly admit. Richie chuckles, “1500 thread count sheets will do that to you.” He says, causing the table to erupt in a soft symphony of laughter.

It falls awkwardly silent, and you try your best to avoid glancing at Gareth, but there’s no doubt everybody notices the shiner he’s sporting on his eye. The room is filled with sounds of forks clanking against plates and the quiet mumble of short, faint snippets of conversation until Richie clears his throat, “We’ve got an interview with the press at twelve and rehearsals at three, like always, so do what you need to do before then. We can’t be late for this interview, got it?” He reminds the crew, and everybody’s head nods in understanding, all but one.

“I’m not going.”

All eyes turn to Gareth, a full plate sitting untouched before him as he slumps back in his seat. Beside you, Eddie lights a cigarette, and you opt to busy yourself with taking a bite of your French toast, practically feeling the anger radiating from Eddie as he takes a drag. Richie clears his throat once again, scooting closer to the table and tilting his head with a look of confusion, “Um… why not?” He questions.

Gareth glances at him as best as he can with his black eye, “Because I’ve got an eye the size of a tennis ball on my face, Richie.” Everyone at the table seems to uncomfortably shift now that the elephant in the room has been addressed. Eddie doesn’t waste a second to speak up from beside you, “Nothing you didn’t deserve.” For the first time since yesterday, Eddie looks at Gareth and sees the swollen eye he left from yesterday. Eddie doesn’t show a single hint of regret.

The table returns to quietly eating as Gareth ignores Eddie’s comment, “I’m not going.” He reiterates. Richie sighs and rubs the coarse mustache on his face, “You have to go, Gareth. Just put some shades on.” He suggests, returning to his food as if the conversation finished, but Gareth holds up. “I’m not gonna sit there in shades like a fucking idiot, man.”

“Well, you don’t have a choice, son,” Richie snaps, dropping the fork in his plate to look at Gareth. You wish the floor would open up and swallow you whole, and you’re sure you’re not the only person with that wish when you look at the other crew members at the table. “This band has an album coming soon,” he reminds the group, “We don’t have time for rumors and gossip to start circulating; you need to show up as a unit. This isn’t up for debate.”

The conversation could’ve ended there because, quite frankly, it seemed like Gareth was willing to go with it, but Eddie couldn’t let the moment to say something slip, “Just let him go, Rich.” He shrugs. You glance at Eddie, watching as he taps his cigarette ash into his plate, “It’s not like he brings much to the table anyway.”

Across the table, from the corner of your eye, you see Gareth lean forward to glare at Eddie, “The fuck does that mean?” He snaps.

Eddie looks at Gareth for the second time and shrugs, “Means you’re a shit band member, man. Fuckin’ Mitch has done more for this band than you ever have or could’ve done.” He gestures towards Mitch, ignoring when the man slightly cowers in his seat. Gareth looks at Eddie with a stone-cold glare, saying nothing momentarily and letting the thick blanket of silence curl around everyone's neck. He leans forward and points a finger at Eddie, who’s not even looking at him anymore, “Fuck you. You wonder why Chrissy left you for Jason Carver, it’s because you’re a fucking asshole.”

“Jesus Christ, guys–” Jeff tries to interject, but Gareth continues speaking, “At least Jason acknowledges her. That’s more than you ever did.” He jabs. Eddie chuckles, shaking his head before speaking around a cloud of smoke, “You don’t know shit about me and Chrissy.”

Gareth tauntingly laughs, “Nah, she filled me in quite a fuckin’ bit.”

The invisible ticking time bomb seems to have gone off in Eddie’s mind. He stands up from his chair, a loud screeching noise grating everyone's ears as he flicks his cigarette into his plate, “The fuck did you just say?”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Richie interjects, standing up and raising his hands as a gesture to stop. “Enough. Fucking enough,” he glances between the two heated men in annoyance, “I don’t know what’s gotten into you boys, but you need to figure your shit out on your own time.” He snaps. Your hands rest in your lap, anxiously picking at the seam of your jeans, wanting to shrink into your seat because you can’t help but feel as if this is your fault. It was your journal he read anyway; you play some part in the issue, right?

Richie sits back down with an exhaustive huff, picking up his fork to resume eating, but before he picks up a piece of his food, he gestures at the table, “Either sit down and finish your goddamn meal, or fuck off somewhere. Both of you.”

Eddie stands for a moment before deciding to leave without another word.

By the time the press interview rolls around, you’re more anxious than you thought you’d be. Between the time frame of breakfast and now, you had more than enough time to ponder over the messy situation you’ve accidentally created between Gareth and Eddie.

Truthfully, you had no idea that the Chrissy Gareth had mentioned during your conversation was Eddie’s ex-girlfriend Chrissy; hell, you didn’t even know Eddie had an ex-girlfriend named Chrissy until yesterday!

On one of your few sit-downs with Gareth, you ended up discussing his love life, and you took the leap of faith to ask him if he’d ever been in love.

“…There was one girl. Her name was Chrissy; we went to high school together.” 

“You dated?” “No,” Gareth shakes his head, “No, we never dated. But I always had this weird connection with her… like we understood each other in a deeper way.”

You smile in awe of the sweetness behind his words, jotting down little notes in your journal as he speaks. “I always admired her to an extent, but she, uh,” he clears his throat and scratches at his jaw, “she was in another relationship for most of the time I knew her.”

Gareth silently watches as you continue to write. You look up at him when you realize he’s been silent for a while, and you open your mouth to ask what is wrong, but he speaks before you, “Is this um,” he gestures towards your journal, “this bit isn’t going in the final publish, right?” He asks. You tilt your head, a few questions running through your mind, but you brush them off, “Um… well, I suppose I can leave some of it out, yes.”

Gareth nods, shifting in his chair and clearing his throat. “Okay, good. Um… well, anyways,” he begins, “Me and Chrissy didn’t hook up until I went back to Hawkins during our break off from last year's tour.” 

Ultimately, Gareth had explained that Chrissy had recently left a three-year relationship when they’d hooked up. He explained that they crossed paths at a bar, and things took off from there, but he cut it off with her the following morning. He never told you why he cut it off, but you now understand the guilt of betraying his best friend had forced him to do so.

You had no idea that the entire conversation was pertaining to Eddie’s ex; if you had known, you would’ve never written it down. You wouldn’t have even finished the conversation if Gareth had told the whole truth because, quite honestly, you would rather not be in the mix of this disaster. 

You’re disappointed. Upset that Gareth practically used you to get the guilt off his chest. And the truth is, that conversation did little to nothing for Gareth in the long run; he still felt guilty for never telling Eddie, and it’s only gotten worse with the added tension between them now that the secret is out.

Eddie was cold toward you before, but now he’s thicker than the ice in Antarctica. He’s avoiding you at all costs— and maybe he’s just avoiding everybody. Still, you can’t help but take his avoidance personally, especially when you’d thought you were finally reaching some sort of middle ground with him.

You sit off to the side of the stage with the rest of the band’s crew as you watch them take their seats for the press interview. Eddie sits on one end of the table while Gareth sits at the other end, the other two members filling the two seats in between. Gareth had no choice but to cover his black eye with a dark shade of glasses, and it seemed like nobody paid mind to it— typical rockstar wardrobe and all.

The interview was off to a good start, with reporters asking questions about the upcoming album, life on the road, and relatively anything about the music. Near the end, however, is when things seemed to get rocky. The questions became more of a filler than anything important, and boys were evidently tired of answering. It wasn’t until a journalist asked a specific question that things seemed to reach a tipping point.

“There’s been rumors that this album has more love songs than usual. Could you confirm or deny that?” 

The boys look at each other, and Gareth leans forward to respond, but Eddie beats him to it. “There were a few, yeah, but um… They didn’t make the final cut, so maybe next time.” 

The energy vividly shifts amongst the boys; Gareth looks at Eddie and scoffs before leaning back into his chair, clearly throwing in the towel for the rest of the interview. You don’t understand the apparent dispute just now, but you find out when the boys finish the interview and walk into the green room.

“What the fuck, man?” Gareth spits, walking a few paces behind Eddie. “We’re not cutting the song.” His loud voice booms through the room, not caring if anybody will overhear their dispute. 

“I’m not putting a song out that you wrote about my fucking ex-girlfriend, Gareth. Are you out of your fucking mind?” Eddie snaps. 

Richie turns to the band and crew members and motions for them to leave the room, which nobody even bothers to protest, eager to escape any more awkward conversations for the day. Everybody else makes a beeline for the tour bus, planning to fill in the few hours before rehearsal.

You glance back at the room where Eddie and Gareth are bickering, and you bravely choose to sit in the chair outside the doorway. You try not to stick your nose in their business, but they’re arguing loud enough for you to hear snippets either way. The conversation doesn’t last long before Gareth storms out of the room and down the hall, bursting through the doors and out of sight.

You glance back into the room where Eddie stands, fishing out his pack of cigarettes and sparking up. You figure now is better than ever, so you clench your bag strap and stand up, hesitantly stepping into the room. Clearing your throat once you’re a few steps away from Eddie, you watch as he exhales a cloud of smoke. He glances at you and turns away, “What do you want?”

You take one step closer, “I um… I wanted to apologize.” You begin. He looks at you again, brown eyes tired and riddled with pain— and you can’t imagine how much of a whirlwind the past twenty-four hours have been for him. “For what?” He asks, confusion and annoyance laced within his tone.

He’s turned to face you, shiny chains glistening on his hips beneath the building lights. You shake your head, struggling to find the words, because, was this really even your fault?

You obviously can’t apologize for Gareth fucking his ex-girlfriend— you had no part in that— and it’d seem silly to apologize for accidentally dropping your journal. So, what exactly do you apologize for? How do you let him know that you’re sorry this was how he found out, even if it isn’t entirely your fault?

You decide to try and redirect your wording, “I want you to know that I was never going to put that in the final article.” You say.

Eddie scoffs, taking a drag of his cigarette before responding, “And why would I believe that?” He questions. 

He’s gazing at you like the first night you’d met when he was watching you from across the green room and commanding you to leave. You think he has the same intentions now, but Eddie has yet to learn that you’re stubborn.

“Well, for starters, Gareth asked me not to put it in,” you admit. Eddie’s jaw tenses and part of you feels as if you’ve tossed Gareth under the bus, but you had no choice. This was Gareth’s doing, and if you have to tell the ugly truth to save your image, then so be it. “He didn’t tell me why, but I know now. And now that I know the full truth behind that story, I definitely won’t write it in.”

Eddie watches you momentarily, intense eyes burning holes through you before he turns away. He scratches his jaw for a moment, taking a breath before returning to you. Eddie points to you, the burning cigarette hanging between his fingers as he speaks, “You know,” he begins, “somehow, you’ve managed to persuade everyone that you’re some sweet, innocent small-town journalist that just wants to ‘appreciate the artists,’ but that,” he gestures to your bag where he knows your journal is resting, ashes fluttering to the ground with each wave of his hand.

“That proved everything I believed about you.” He says. “People like you are fucking vampires. You suck the life out of people to keep you alive, and it’s fucked up.” He snaps. 

Your face twists in anger, subtly shaking your head as you subconsciously step closer, “Eddie, I didn’t… I didn’t even know she was your ex, and if I did, I would’ve never written about it.” You exclaim, tossing your hands in exasperation. “And I’m sorry you found out the way you did, but you can’t hate me for something someone else did!”

Eddie frustratedly rubs his face, “That’s not the point!” He exclaims. “I read your journal. I saw everything I needed to see to confirm that I was right about everything with you and this fucking article.” He stresses, his loud voice echoing throughout the empty room.

“I'm not here to destroy your life, Eddie!” You snap, voice raising to match the level of his own. Eddie steps closer, towering over you and glaring so intensely into your eyes that you almost cower, “I don’t fucking believe that for a second.” He snaps back.

His chest rises and sinks like a rocky boat beneath his angry breaths, and he’s so close you can smell the cigarettes and mint on his breath. The scent of his cologne wrapping around you and choking you like a snake.

You don’t know how much more patient you can be with Eddie. You don’t know how much more of this back-and-forth you can take before it drives you insane. You want it to end. You want him to understand that you’re not his enemy; you never were.

You can only think of doing one thing: unzipping your bag and reaching in to grab your journal. Eddie watches with a hint of confusion in his eyes as you crack open the journal and start flipping through the pages. “What are you doing?” He asks in annoyance, patience running thin at your silence.

You flip through nearly half of the book before finding the pages you sought. You don’t think twice before ripping them out, not even caring if it destroys the binds of your precious journal. “The fuck are you doing?” Eddie asks again.

You tear each page out and drop the book to the floor, ignoring Eddie’s questions as you shred each torn-out page to pieces. Eddie watches in silent and hidden shock as each pen-soaked strip flutters to the ground, creating a heap of trash between where you both stand.

You tear the last piece and let it fall before looking at Eddie, watching as he gazes at the torn pages. Nearly five pages worth of writing, gone.

“There. It’s gone. Do you believe me now?” 

Eddie says nothing when he drags his gaze up to look at you, shock-ridden across his face. “I’m not who you say I am, Eddie. I’m not here to ruin your life; that was never my intention.”

Eddie stays silent, seemingly lost for words, and even if you want him to say something, your braveness has begun to falter, and you itch to leave the room. You’re strong-willed, but you’re no fucking superwoman, and Eddie has pulled every exhausting breath out of you, and you can’t seem to get a grip because every time you breathe in, all you smell and feel is Eddie.

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

You grab your destroyed journal from the floor, not bothering to try and fix the binding before you shove it back into your bag, and you don’t say another word as you leave the room.

You’ve been writing for hours when you check the clock— twelve thirty-two. The band played a show tonight, but you decided to stay in your hotel to let your ankle rest— you haven’t been taking all the precautions the medic advised you to, so by the time lunch rolled around, you were in an uncomfortable fit of pain. You used your free time by tweaking the draft of your article— adding in new pieces of information and taking out unnecessary notes. You’re about twenty pages in, but by the end of the month, you’ll have compiled it all into ten; but for now, it seems your brain has become a muddled mess of words and ideas. 

You suppose drinking three glasses of wine didn’t help fix that, either. You’re tipsy, teetering on the edge of drunk, and that’s a dangerous place to be when you’re practically working. You don’t even want to think of the past drunken works you’ve made; they’re worse than you’d like to admit.

You sigh, dropping your pen onto the hotel desk, leaning back in your chair, and rubbing your hand down your face in exhaustion. You glance over to the chair you’ve propped up to rest your injured leg, deciding that you should probably ice it since you’ve neglected to do so all day.

You figure you’re done writing for the day anyway, so you put your things in order before grabbing the ice bucket and making your way out of the room to find the ice machine. 

What you don’t expect to find on your journey is a sleepy Eddie sitting in the hallway just a few doors down from yours. Maybe you drank four glasses of wine.

Out of common, drunk courtesy, you redirect your path and limp over to where he sits, arms folded across his chest and head leaned back against the wall with shut eyes.

You gently say his name to grab his attention, but he doesn’t budge. You shuffle closer, calling his name out again, and when that doesn’t work, you gently nudge him with your non-injured foot. His eyes flutter open, blinking away the light sleep from his eyes as he looks at you.

You tilt your head in question and ask, “What are you doing sleeping in the hallway?” 

Eddie shifts in his spot, grunting and glancing at the bucket in your hands. From the looks of it, Eddie is as sober as can be, so you guess he decided to skip out on the after-show festivities they usually partake in. “I um… I lost the key card to my room.” He explains, gesturing to the door across from where he’s seated.

“The band is out for the night, and the lobby’s closed, so…” 

You nod in understanding, glancing around the empty hallway, catching sight of a cleaning lady entering a room down the corridor. And technically, you don’t owe Eddie anything.

You could leave him here in the hallway to spend the night sleeping on the hard ground, and it probably wouldn’t bother him either way because Eddie clearly doesn’t like you, but fuck you feel bad.

You’re not a terrible person. You wouldn’t kick somebody when they’re already down, and Eddie… Eddie is clearly down.

Before you can thoroughly think it over, your liquor-weighted mouth speaks before you can stop yourself, “You could crash in my room for the night.”

Eddie looks at you with the blankest expression he could ever muster and blinks, “Why would I do that?”

God, he’s such a fucking asshole.

You shrug, gently swinging the bucket in your hand and glancing around again, “I don’t know, unless you'd like to sit here all night like a moron, then be my guest.”

Your ankle hurts as you stand and wait for Eddie to make up his mind, and just when you almost decide to throw in the towel and let him fend for himself, Eddie grumbles a short “Fine,” and gets up.

You watch as he reaches down to grab his leather jacket and turns to you, “You can go ahead; I have to get ice for my foot.” You tell him, pointing to your door so he knows where to go.

Eddie glances down at your injured leg and says nothing before he reaches forward and gently takes the bucket from your hands— cold, jewelry-covered fingers brushing up against your warm knuckles and sending shivers up your spine.

He hands you his jacket, and you stand silently, confused by the exchange. Before you can ask what he’s doing, he answers your question, “I’ll get the ice.” And he doesn’t even bother looking at you before turning around and leaving to find the ice machine.

You’re too drunk to figure out what that was about, and your ankle is starting to throb under the pressure of standing, so you walk back to your room clutching his jacket and trying your hardest not to let the familiar scent of Eddie knock you dead.

You leave the door slightly propped open for Eddie and place his jacket on the chair near the desk. In the meantime, you busy yourself with removing your suitcase and clothes you’d haphazardly tossed around from the extra bed where Eddie will be sleeping. You figure you’ll just head to bed once Eddie gets here, so you exchange your jeans and fitted top for shorts and a ratty old He-Man shirt from high school.

You’re setting your previous clothes aside when Eddie steps into the room, a bucket full of ice in one hand with a Coke and chips in the other. You raise an eyebrow, questioning the extra items, and he shrugs as he shuts the door with his foot, “What? The vending machine was right next to the ice, and I was hungry.” He explains as he places the bucket on the desk, making sure to avoid placing it on your work pages. He tries his best not to look at what you’ve written, and you don’t point it out when he clears his throat and diverts his attention to something else. He grabs the wine bottle and shakes it, raising an eyebrow when he realizes it’s less than halfway full, “I take it someone had a good time?”

You roll your eyes, walking over to take the bottle and put it back on the desk. “Not that it’s any of your business.” You respond, turning to grab a ziplock to fill with ice. Eddie takes the bag from you and shoos you away, “Go sit down, I’ll do it.”

Your face twists in confusion, “You’re starting to scare me. Are you gonna kill me?”

Eddie laughs and busies himself with scooping large chunks of ice and dropping them into the open ziplock. “I will if you don’t sit down.” He responds.

You relent and walk over to your bed, sitting at the head of the mattress to lean against the pillows near the headboard, doing your best to shove a pillow beneath your foot lazily. You sit silently, hands folded against your stomach, watching Eddie work.

He’s wearing his usual black jeans, decorated with hanging chains from his waist, and a plain white shirt, hidden muscles flexing beneath the soft cotton. His shoulders are broad yet hidden beneath the thick, curly mane of hair he has. Tattoos litter his arms, a few trickling down to his fingers, and you catch glimpses of his knuckles dripping with drops of water from the ice and— fuck.

There’s no way you’re checking out Eddie Munson, the asshole who’s made your life a living hell these past few weeks. You really can’t handle your liquor.

You panic and grab the TV remote, quickly turning it on to fill the silence. You distract yourself by watching the random sitcom playing until Eddie steps into your view. You must’ve been focused on the show because Eddie seems to have traveled to the restroom to get a towel to wrap around your makeshift ice pack. Your sheets are pulled back, leaving your bare legs on display, and you can’t help but squirm when Eddie stands at the foot of the bed and takes in the sight of you.

He says nothing as he gently lowers the ice onto your ankle. His inked fingers sink into the plush cotton of the towel, and if Eddie weren’t an artist, you bet he could land a job as a hand model. Or maybe you’ve really lost it.

His gaze flickers to catch your wide eyes, and you hold your breath when he speaks, “Is it too cold? Do you need another towel?” He asks. You stutter to answer him, so you shake your head no, eventually sputtering out a response of, “N-no, it’s fine. Thank you.”

Eddie turns to grab his snacks and falls into the other bed with a sigh, cracking open the bag of chips and popping a few into his mouth. You grimace and pull the sheets over your body as you comment, “If you bring ants to my room, I swear to god, Munson, I’ll hunt you down.” 

Eddie chuckles, glancing at you as you shift around and get comfortable in bed, “Not with that broken foot, you won’t.”

You glare at him over the heap of expensive duvets and pillows, “I wonder whose fault that is?” You respond, falling back into bed when you see him roll his eyes. 

Eddie clears his throat after a moment, “Speaking of that,” he begins; you peek over at him once again to watch as he puts the chips aside and grabs the remote to start flicking through channels. “Since we’re off these next four days, you should keep it light on your feet.”

You sarcastically laugh, “Don’t tell me you’re actually concerned for my well-being. This night keeps getting weirder and weirder.” You joke. Eddie pauses his task to glance at you, “No, I just…” You raise an eyebrow, urging him to continue. He rolls his eyes, “I’m not a complete asshole, you know?” He grumbles, turning back to the TV.

You’re snuggled into your sheets now as you watch Eddie flip through the channels, admiring how different features of his face light up under the different colors from the screen. He’s… pretty.

“What do you have planned for your days off?” You question behind a drawn-out yawn. You think you catch a glimpse of a smile on Eddie’s lips, but you can’t see very well in the dim lighting. “My Uncle Wayne is flying in, so… I’m spending time with him,” Eddie explains. You smile, “Your uncle?” 

Eddie nods, and you hum, “That’s nice… Can I meet him?” 

You’re never drinking wine again.

Eddie looks at you as if you’ve asked him the dumbest question on earth, “Why would… why?”

You shrug, “Maybe he’ll help me figure out why you’re such a grump.” You half-heartedly tease. Eddie scoffs, returning to watch the movie he’s landed on, “If you think I’m grumpy, you’re not equipped to meet Wayne.” He comments. And then something remarkable happens.

Eddie smiles to himself.

It’s small and obviously not meant for your eyes, but you see it either way, and it… fuck, it makes you feel things you would’ve never imagined you could for such an asshole of a man. What is going on?

“He can’t be any worse than you.” You joke. Eddie scoffs, “Nah, Wayne takes the cake for grumpiest man alive,” he bids. 

Eddie tells you about Wayne, little memories he remembers that bleed into more memories until, eventually, he’s practically taking a walk down memory road. You go back and forth with him, commenting when you had a similar situation or when Eddie mentioned the same show you loved in high school.

At some point, Eddie’s stories and the low hum of the TV lull you to sleep, and you find yourself lying in cotton candy clouds, sinking into the softness and letting it surround you. 

Eddie’s not sure when you checked out on him, but he figures he’d been talking to himself for a while because you're fast asleep when he looks over at you.

He watches you for a moment and appreciates the way the blue and white hues of the TV dance across your face. Your skin looks soft under the fluorescent lights, and he thinks the steady rise and fall of your breaths is more entertaining than any movie he could’ve landed on. And you’re so pretty— soft and molded to perfection, and Eddie thinks he might like you more like this; when you’re not talking and being the most obnoxious person he’s ever met. Eddie hates the feeling he gets in his chest from just looking at you. 

You’re cute, he thinks.

He shakes his head to free himself from whatever weird feelings are spiraling through his mind, and he turns off the TV, letting the darkness swallow the room.

He’ll just have to worry about his feelings another time, he thinks.

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part four

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a/n: HII U MADE IT TO THE END, U CAN ALL THANK MY STINK @mmunson86 FOR THE TINY PIECE OF FLUFF, THIS WAS FOR U BAE <3 ANYWAYS, PLS LET ME KNOW HOW U LIKED THIS PART I ALWAYS LOVE TO HEAR UR FEEDBACK, ILY BYE

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cutie lil taglist: @mastermindmiko @whataboutbibi @ryanmxrie @ihatepeanutss @tlclick73 @motherfckerrr @emxxblog @jesssssmaybankk @eddiesguitarskills @bibieddiesgf @chloe-6123 @micheledawn1975 @demxnicprxncess @emma77645 @sidthedollface2 @mvnsonslvt @s-u-t

[oleandy]

mx. pants. or mg. pants? mage pants sounds cool.

[arinmoss]

MIKU MIKU MIKU

prints here