#nice to know he was fucking raw for 8 years. that’s for us cream pie truthers

[strang3lov3]

x

[eddiernunson]

The Taste of You | Modern Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Fem Reader | 18 +

Word Count: 8.1k

Summary: after attending a successful and rather sweaty concert from Corroded Coffin, you send the front man a rather thirsty DM on his instagram. You wake up to his response...and an offer to go backstage to follow through.

Warnings: lowkey unrealistic, alcohol, oral (f + m receiving), marking, begging (both), no protection, cream pie, use of aftercare

MINORS DNI

Based on my friend @bebe07011 going to a concert and DM'ing one of the band members (who looks a lot like Eddie) about how much she was enthralled by his performance and him responding back. This one's for you <3

Thank you so much to @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you again for editing, you're my lifesaver.

-

You lean on the counter at work, distracted by your Instagram feed. Well, not distracted, per se. There are several more productive things you could be doing, but with your manager out on an errand and no customers to serve, there isn’t really anything stopping you. A post from Corroded Coffin comes up, a few images from their latest stop on tour. You can hardly prevent an excited squeal from escaping your lips, scrolling through their images, and rereading the end of the post over and over. ‘See you next, Indiana!’

You’ve been looking forward to this since buying tickets at the announcement of their tour nearly four months ago. It’s been a summer of anticipation; each post a countdown to your own concert date.

You discovered Corroded Coffin through suggestions from Spotify, the algorithm having picked up on your tastes in rock music and suggested a more modern band. Their music is good, you discovered. Their first album Freaks in the Streets came out about two years ago, and it’s raw in its talent but their latest album, Hell’s on Fire (And So Are You) shot them into stardom. You had it on repeat for months, and their lead guitarist being hot as he was had nothing to do with your fixation.

Okay, discovering Eddie Munson, (said lead guitarist) the main lyricist on the album, had everything to do with your fixation. Every late-night TV host offered a slot for them to play their music and Eddie’s charisma as he cheekily answers questions about his off-putting lyrics drove you into over-excitement mode. You can still hardly believe you're going to be able to watch his sweaty chest perform live.

Your concert date is tomorrow, and you have everything set up. You booked it off from work, got the perfect outfit, and the tickets are waiting on your apple wallet. You set your phone down, locking it. As always, the phone lights up when it faces up and you catch the image of the glistening sweat on Eddie’s chest during a performance from a tweet that went viral a few weeks ago, a photo you immediately saved for your phone. God, he’s mouthwatering. There were several hundred women in the retweets praising him as well, so, of course, there’s no chance in hell.

But it’s nice to fantasize.

-

You sit comfortably in the level 100 seats, dressed in a somewhat alternative outfit, high waisted black shorts with a fringe hanging off them, a chain on your belt loops, and a ripped crop top with the bands logo you found in an urban clothing store. You hold a beer in one hand and your phone in the other, recording the opening act as they sing to an audience that is only half paying attention.

Luckily, you know some of their songs on their short 8-song setlist, half-heartedly singing along but saving your voice for the main act. Though, you know your heart isn’t in it when you notice the placement of the jewels you glued to your temple is awkward. When you squint your eyes in a certain way they seem to threaten to fall off. Whatever, they were dollar store jewels, anyway.

The band finishes their less than overwhelming act, thanking the audience, and teasing them with the fact that the main act is backstage and apparently excited to put a show on for their home state. Somehow, it keeps escaping you that you happen to live about 60 miles away from where Eddie Munson grew up, Hawkins, Indiana. That place certainly had a reputation for itself.

You make small talk with your best friend, who is as excited as ever, if anything, to see your face when you melt to the floor. Natalie isn’t into their music like you are, but she can admit that their music is objectively good. Free concert and the power to tease you? Natalie is SO in. “What outfit you think he’s gonna wear tonight?” You shrug, sipping some wheat water. You don’t like beer, but the venue’s options when it comes to alcohol are…limited to say the least. Natalie leans in to you. “You think he’s gonna wear a shirt this time?”

You elbow her, your cheeks heating up. Some places he wears a shirt, and it’s a day of tragedy. Some places he comes out with his chest already bare, and it’s pure heaven. Although, he is known to rip a shirt off occasionally, and you have far too many videos of that saved on your phone. “I don’t know. We’ll find out when he comes out.”

You’re in the middle of a conversation about the politics of the latest show you’re watching together and the lights go down. An electric guitar is heard but out of sight. Subconsciously, you grab your friend’s forearm as your eyes widen in anticipation, your ass literally hovering on your chair as you’re at the edge of your seat. You hear her laugh, but you can’t focus as the lights on stage dramatically light up two at a time, and out of nowhere you can see the four band members, Eddie second to the left. Oh god, he’s wearing an open jacket with a metal chain. Holy shit.

You’re on your feet and screaming lyrics before you even know it.

The night goes by in a blur, and none of the videos you’ve seen online do Corroded Coffin any justice. Their online stage presence is unstoppable. And while Eddie was a large part of the crowd draw in, you watch as he interacts with each band member, using their energy to amplify his own. He really couldn’t do this without them, which is why he’s so insistent in every interview he’s given. Halfway through the show, Eddie does a quick run backstage, claiming his jacket was ‘too fucking hot’ and when he comes out in a fishnet shirt, the crowd goes absolutely nuts.

You sit in the back of a cab, buzzed and rewatching the multiple videos you’ve taken repeatedly, smiling giddily to yourself. “That was such a good show.” You mumble to yourself, sipping from the drink you promised to the cab driver you wouldn’t spill from. You’re so drunk you barely even notice the taste of the beer anymore.

The cab driver pulls up to the hotel and you drunkenly climb out, handing him four 20-dollar bills on the way, making sure he’s tipped well for having to put up with your drunk ass. He doesn’t seem to mind too much, but then again, you’re too busy rewatching your thirst caught in 4K to even notice. God damn, the video really doesn’t put his glistening chest any justice. It was even better in person. If you could just lick up his chest, you knew every problem in your life would be solved.

Your best friend laughs behind you, escorting you to the hotel room. As the hotel room door opens you just want to climb into bed and scroll through your phone, but Natalie makes you wipe off your make up and get dressed into some pajamas. You check your Instagram, Corroded Coffin’s post from tonight at the top of the feed. There were some high-quality shots of him in his fishnet shirt that you immediately save, going over to Eddie Munson’s personal Instagram from where he’s tagged in the post.

God, he must get hundreds of DMs in a day. One raindrop doesn’t affect the ocean. I wanna lick the sweat off your chest so fucking bad just gimme a chance. Your thumb hovers over the send button, but you’ve sent several messages to celebrities before, and they never respond. So, you hit send, and you’re asleep within minutes, your lamp still lit next to you as the water from the shower in the bathroom less than ten feet away from you lulls you into a deep sleep.

-

Your 10AM alarm rings, yanking you out of a deep sleep.  If you could, you’d spend the next ten hours sleeping to shake off the hangover, but you've gotta get up to have time to pack up and get changed before check out. You can shower tonight at home. As you sit up on your bed, dismissing the alarm, the headache kicks in, making you groan. Oh, fuck, are you hungover.

You check your phone quickly, and as you scroll down your notifications, you triple check a notification just to make sure you’re reading it right. At first, you’re confused. Why would he be messaging you? Your eyes widen as you promptly yeet your phone to your friend's bed when you remember what the fuck you sent to him last night. You curl in on yourself with your knees up against your chest and your hands over your mouth in disbelief.

Natalie comes out of the bathroom after hearing your phone bounce off the bed and land on the floor. “Whoa,” Natalie breathes, seeing your stunned stature. “Are you okay?”

You shake your head, shellshocked.

“Okay, can you at least tell me what happened? You’re kind of freaking me out here.”

“I sent a really, really thirsty message to Eddie Munson last night and I saw a notification saying he responded.” You admit, no higher than a whisper.

“What?!” Natalie nearly shouts, a bit loud in the quiet morning of the small hotel. “Well then open it and read it! What did he say?”

“I’m scared too look!” You admit, grabbing a pillow and holding it close to your chest.

Natalie grabs your pillow and tosses it to the side, her wet blonde hair shining prettily in the morning sun. “Get up, you big baby! Open the goddamn message!”

Fuck, Natalie’s right. Doesn’t mean you liked it. You bend to pick your phone up, sitting next to her on the bed as you open your Instagram notification. Fuck, he responded only fifteen minutes after your message. “Oh you sent him a very thirsty message.”

“Look what the fuck he wrote back.” You whisper, eyes wide as your heart pounds out of your chest.

apricothamster147: I wanna lick the sweat off your chest so fucking bad just gimme a chance.

eddiemunson: Well, damn baby, are you still in town for tonight’s show? Come backstage and we’ll see about making that happen. (Send me ur email for tix)

“Holy shit.” Natalie mutters out loud, her eyes bugging to his response as well. “Well? Are you gonna accept?”

You chortle, holding your hand out to her comically. “Do you have enough money for another night?”

Natalie shrugs. “I have my dad’s credit card.”

“Are you allowed to use it?”

“Only when I need it.”

“Shit.”

“Honestly, girl, you need it. Go ahead, send him your email, I’ll get us another night.”

Your thumbs move fast, hoping his offer wasn’t due to a lack of sobriety or a glitch in the Matrix. If you’re still accepting my offer, my email is apricothamster417@gmail.com. You add a heart emoji just to be safe and send off a message to him.

Your best friend is in the middle of a phone call with her father to get him to call the front desk. They would only accept the credit card if they could speak to him. “Thank you!” Natalie hangs the phone up, looking at you. “Hotel is taken care of!”

You’re lying on your bed at this point, still in your pajamas with your palms stacked on your forehead. “What the fuck am I even gonna wear?”

“You brought multiple outfits, right?” Natalie asks you, sitting on her bed and laying down now that she no longer has to get ready to leave.

“Yeah, I brought some back-ups.” You sit up quickly, eyes wide. “I need your expertise in styling it, though. I have to look hot.”  

Natalie sits up as well, serious as she can be. “Oh sweetheart, he won’t know what hit him.”

-

An hour into her crusade, styling your hair, your phone lights up in a notification. Your phone is closer to her, so you ask her to check it, Natalie knows your passcode, anyway. You know what it is immediately based on the expression you see on her face in the mirror. “Did he respond?”

“Yes!” Natalie answers, placing the hot tool down and putting the freed hand over her mouth.

“Oh my god, gimme that!” You respond, too impatient to wait for her to calm down.

eddiemunson: See you tonight (with a winky emoji)

“Oh my fucking god.” You let out, and suddenly it occurs to you that you’re seeing him in concert again. There’s even a slight possibility of you meeting him, however slim that he may remember to even do it.

A notification from your gmail rings, and you see ticketmaster. You hit it hard, seeing First Name, ‘Unknown’ Last Name, ‘Stranger’ has gifted you two VIP Floor Tickets with Back Stage passes, apparently just scanning the barcode will get you backstage. No. It wasn’t…no. This isn’t real. You stared off into the distance, eyes up from your phone. This doesn’t happen…

“Babe!”

You’re snapped out of it, realizing you zoned out in disbelief. “I’m just…a little in shock.”

Natalie smirks at you, tilting your chin on her fingertips gracefully. “Well now we know it’s fucking real, so let’s party hard, babe!”

Your eyes roll at her antics, but you love them. “Thanks for asking your dad.”

“Bitch, what’s a rich daddy good for if not for my friends?” Natalie laughs, starting to use the iron on your hair again.

Your makeup is done, rhinestones on the inner corners of your eyes, and you're wearing fishnet tights under a jean skirt and an oversized Corroded Coffin band tee. You usually used it as a sleep shirt, but Natalie insists it would work its magic.

Butterflies invade your stomach as soon as your black boots hit the pavement outside the hotel, the sunset cascading across the sky in a beautiful haze of orange and pink. As your thighs feel uncomfortable against the fabric of the cab, you hope your insides will feel as nice as the outside looks right now.

You pay your cab, all on the card, and get out, your stomach in knots. Well, it's now or never. Hesitantly, you hold your phone out for your ticket scanner on the main floor and she approves, giving you the thumbs up. “Wait.” the ticket scanner holds her hands out when she notices the big red letters, BACKSTAGE PASSES. You think you’re in trouble when you’re both handed the Backstage Pass Lanyards, decorated with the Corroded Coffin logo.

This is where you start to believe that you might’ve died last night with alcohol poisoning because there’s no way in Gods’ Green Earth is this real.

You both thank the attendant and walk to your seats, front and center, third row back. You could see the scratches on the sticker on the speakers from the inspector in the factory. Damn, were you close. “We’re going to go deaf.” Natalie comments, a half smile on your face. “Need a drink?”

“Please.” You answer, eyes wide. Natalie laughs and gets up to walk towards the bar, which is much less crowded around in the VIP section of the floor. Fucking wild.

You hold your phone and sing along to some more of the opening act's songs tonight, now gaining some familiarity with it. They’re great musicians, but they’re just not on Corroded Coffin’s level yet. They definitely have the potential to get there.

Their set list ends, and you notice that the lead singer is close enough for you to see the beads of sweat on his forehead.

Oh god, you’re going to die.

Natalie tries to keep you entertained by chatting about anything she can, but it does so little to prevent time from crawling by at a snail's pace.

Your phone buzzes in your hand, and it’s a message from him. Wish Me Luck! You swear up and down it’s immediately after when the lights go down and the guitar starts playing off stage. Did he really just text you right before he started his show? Did that really just happen?

If there’s one thing about being in the third row with little to no one to block your view, it’s that no amount of high quality photos on twitter will ever amount to the real thing less than ten feet away. The sweat that drips down his leather vest for the night is mouth watering, the dark eyes in his expression as he performs hypnotizes you. You sing the lyrics, and jump and dance and occasionally drink, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t tear your gaze away from him.

And for a few moments, it’s like he holds your eye contact. No, that’s crazy. Nothing is happening. He has a million other girls to choose from, why would he choose you?

The concert happens in a blur, Eddie flings off the vest about halfway through the show, splashing some of his hair with his sweat. Your friend laughs at the sharp inhale that leaves your chest as you watch it. Man, he really had you in his clutches.

Eddie holds his arms out for his band as they close off the last song, all bowing together. “Thank you, Indiana! You’ve been a fucking fantastic crowd, thank you!”

“You ready?” Natalie asks you, holding out her lanyard cheekily.

“Nope.” You admit, taking a large gulp of the beer you barely touched. “After another beer I might be.”

“You really wanna meet him tipsy?” Natalie asks, raising her eyebrows at you.

“I don’t wanna be afraid to say anything!” You shoot back, leading her to the bar. You buy another one, and it’s down your throat within five minutes. You inhale deeply, wiping your face off from the excess beer around your mouth. “Does my mouth smell like beer?” You ask, suddenly worried.

“If you have to ask, I think you already know.” Natalie tells you, patting your back and leading you to the sign that says BACKSTAGE in all caps with an arrow pointing left.

A big security personnel blocks the big black curtain to the backstage area. You hold out your lanyard to him, and he gruffs as he holds his hand out for it. He takes a scanner to check out its legitimacy, and once both lanyards are in the clear, his face breaks into a smile, stepping aside to allow you through. It's almost comical.

The backstage area is busier than you had expected, arrows pointing you to where the visitors go, narrowly avoiding the crew as they bustle around. You both walk into a large area where several band members talk to friends or family, all sporting towels to dab their sweat away.

“Oh my god thank you for sending that DM.” Natalie whispers to you, looking around while starstruck. “I’m sure half these people aren’t even celebrities, but this is so cool! I’m going to go and mingle, you stick around for—”

You grab her by the collar, “Don’t you dare leave me alone here.”

“Ok, how bout we both grab some food? Maybe sober up?”

“Only because I’m hungry and free food tastes the best.”

You’re slowly picking at the fruit tray when you hear someone near you call out, “Eddie! My man!” You turn around to face him, the half-eaten strawberry you drop landing on the plastic tray loudly. You quickly finish the fruit and watch as he hugs his bandmate. “What, no shower, bro? You stink!”

The room echoes in laughter, and you join them. He does stink, and he stinks marvelously. The very scent makes you salivate. His laughter, it’s even better in person. He’s never laughed like this in any interview, all calm and toned down for the camera. This is genuine, heartfelt laughter.

You turn around to lean on the table, Jesus you need to calm yourself. Seeing him up close is sending a heat to your center that you're going to need to resolve quickly.

“Fancy seeing you, here.” His voice sends a shiver down your spine, barely five feet away. You turn and face him, your breath knocking out of your chest. Words cannot describe how little all of the photos in the world do him any justice. He is the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen.

“Thanks for i-inviting me.” You answer, gulping at the slight shine his sweat still gives him. “You’re a really great performer…” You find yourself distracted by his chest. He’s probably going to get all sticky soon… he smelled even better up close…

“I’m gonna go mingle.” Natalie says, pointing towards a crowd of people talking to the band members. “Text me to let me know if you’re meeting me at the hotel.” Natalie gives a shy smile to Eddie and walks away before you could answer.

“Thank you.” He nods his head, giving you a smirk. Then, the unthinkable happens as he uses his thumb and pointer finger to lift your chin to capture your eyes with his own. How are they so pretty? “Are you going to make do on your promise?”

You gulp, your eyes flickering down to his pink lips. You’ve stared at his lips, how many times now? You nod slowly, peering up at him through your lashes.

“Let’s go somewhere a bit more quiet, then.” He offers, extending his hand for you.

You take it silently, his rough hands feeling warm and rough, but perfect. He leads you about ten steps down the hall, a doorway marked with his name over the words Dressing Room. As the door shuts behind him, he locks it, flinging his towel across the room. “C’mere.” He offers, extending his hand to you. You follow his instructions, sitting next to him on the couch. “You haven’t said a goddamn word, yet your message said fucking everything. Is the pretty girl shy?” He asks, thumb caressing your cheek.

You nod your head, gulping as his touch lights your skin on fire. “I—I was six drinks in when I sent you that message. …I wouldn’t have even remembered unless you replied.” You admit, leaning into his touch.

“C’mon baby, let’s see it.” You raise your eyebrows, inquisitively, wondering what he meant. “Your message! Couldn’t stop thinking about my after-show treat all day, a pretty girl begging to lick up my sweat. Show me.”

You nod to him, your near trembling hands reaching out for his chest. Eddie nods, a wild look in his eyes that nearly has you passing out. A loud exhale leaves your body as your hands reach out and reach contact with his chiseled, tattooed, chest, some sweat beads still lingering. How, you weren’t sure. Your eyes rake across his chest, taking in every tattoo you can, your heartbeat racing faster as you lean in, to finally, finally, rake your tongue up from his stomach to his chest, breathing heavily when the taste of the salt and his pure essence is even better than you imagined.

“Holy shit, she’s a fucking freak.” Eddie mutters, you feel his breath getting shallower under your mouth working on him.

You lean in again, nails digging into his skin as you give another long stripe across his skin, the taste of salt and delicious B.O. on your tongue and you let out a sigh of contentment. You crawl up to his collarbones, having noticed a pool of his sweat there gathered while he was performing.

Your tongue slides into the dip, moaning at the salty taste. Your teeth graze the bone, nibbling a little to leave little tiny bruises. You can’t wait to save the HQ pictures with these marks.

You leave one last long stripe on his treasure trail, having stared at many photos where his pants sit low. You’re nuzzling at it, breathing it in when you can feel him. Holy shit, Eddie Munson’s cock is only inches from your face.

You look up at him, and the back of his palms are connected to his forehead, his cheeks flushed, and his chest heavily breathing. He looks down to meet your gaze, and suddenly he sits up, grabs your face and plants a wet kiss to your lips. Your entire body tenses up, barely able to believe that it's real. Your brain eventually catches up, responding in kind, crawling so your bodies fit closer. Eddie pushes you back lightly before you get too close, having you lie down on his couch.

“Can I, sweetheart?” He asks, moving down to where your cunt has been begging for attention.

“A-are you sure? I don’t mind just sucking you off.”

He chuckles, leaning in for another kiss. “Oh baby, you just earned so much more than that.”

Eddie trails down your body, placing kisses on your exposed neck, lifting your shirt lightly as his hands move to cup your tits. You whimper in kind. “Baby, do you know what it’s like having the most gorgeous woman in the world offer to lick sweat off you? If you just give her a chance? I saw your picture you posted from the concert and fuck, you’re a goddamn smoke show. Those eyes, your gorgeous tits, your thighs, oh my god, baby, your thighs.” He talks through wet kisses trailing down your body until he’s face to face with your jean skirt.

He pulls twice, asking permission. You place your hands on your button to undo it and Eddie playfully swats your hands away. Your skirt is pulled off your body, leaving the fishnet tights and your thoroughly soaked panties. He leans in between your thighs, and your thigh muscles slightly convulse as you feel his hot breath against it. “Shh, haven’t even touched you yet, baby.” He hushes you, his big hands gracing your thighs gently. He leans in and you can’t tell what he’s doing until he starts pulling down, and you notice one of the strings from the tights in his mouth. He can’t seem to pull them off like he wants to, and after a last try he gets frustrated, ripping them off, instead. “There, that’s fucking better.”

You let out a tiny giggle, and then you feel so exposed to him, your lacy panties drenched as he stares between your legs.

If you told yourself this would be happening 24 hours ago you’d call yourself insane…or a silly goose. You were incredibly inebriated.

He flings the fishnets across the room and reaches out to touch your soaked panties, the touch inducing a whimper from you. “You’re soaked, huh, baby?” He murmurs, petting along your panties gingerly. You whimper in response, your hips lifting to meet his delicate touch more firmly. He chuckles, watching your face all scrunched up. “If you want me to touch you, beg for it.”

“Eddie, fucking touch me please, want it so bad.”

“Yeah, you want me to fuck you with my fingers, baby?”

You nod, starting to hopelessly grind your hips up. “So fucking bad, please.”

He smiles, watching the outline of your pussy as you get wetter. Without warning, he hooks his fingers around your waist band and tugs it down, and suddenly you find yourself exposing your pussy to the man who took most of your gallery's storage space on your phone. The way he looks at your pussy is damn divine. His eyes darken with lust, pink lips shine with spit, and his cheeks flush; it makes you want to close your legs in embarrassment.

They stay open, because you’re afraid to move, this must be a dream. This is too fucking good to be real.

“Fuck, I knew your pussy would be pretty, but I didn’t know a pussy could be this fucking gorgeous, look at you.” He rambles, you’re not sure if he’s talking to you or your pussy. He places a thumb gently on your slick, stroking lightly up and down, the sensation sending fire rippling across your skin. He sees your thigh shake the littlest bit. “Feel good?”

It does, but you want so much more from him. “Mmm hmm.” You answer, toes flexing with anticipation.

“Do you need something?” He asks, stroking your lips too lightly, not necessarily getting closer to anything. He just narrowly avoids your clit, watching you squirm as your eyebrows furrow lightly.

“I need more-I need more.” You choke out, your hips desperately rutting against his fingers. “I want you to touch me harder, or move faster, I need more.”

Eddie chuckles, hardly believing how much better you had turned out to be. “You need more? Okay, sure. I can give more.” He leans in to lick a stripe right on your neglected clit, and your hips rut up in surprise, a yelp of pleasure jumping out of your throat. It doesn’t even phase Eddie, now that he's tasted you, he doesn’t want to let go. “How do you taste so fucking good?” He asks, his voice low and husky. “Doesn’t make any fucking sense, this should be a fucking crime.”

You moan, hips grinding up against him, head back in pure ecstasy. “Your sweat shouldn't taste so good. I could bottle it like ketchup and eat it on everything.” You admit, your fingers flexing as a wave of heat runs right through you.

Eddie barely lets up, even as the sentence makes his eyes roll into the back of his head. He pumps one of his digits into you, a ringed finger, no less. Your jaw drops as he fucks into you, the hot pool of pleasure in your stomach starting to form. It's the best this has ever felt by a long shot.

Eddie continues to attack you, adding a second finger as his tongue swirls over your clit repeatedly. “Eddie…fuck…so good.” You can barely talk, your bliss radiating in every extremity. “K…Keep doi’ tha’…”

He stares up at pride at your cocked out expression, panting heavily as you feel yourself on the brink. Out of nowhere Eddie picks up his speed into hyperdrive, and you fucking keel over him, high whines escaping your throat as one hand flies into his hair and the other on the couch’s arm rest to keep you grounded.

The orgasm hits you slowly but leaves your thighs shaking underneath him in its wake. It's the best goddamn orgasm you’ve ever had. Eddie continues to place kisses on your pussy, licking up your cum from your entrance, seemingly quite satisfied with his hard work.

You're breathing heavily, looking up at him desperately through half open eyes. “You have to let me suck your cock, please Ed.”

He gives you a half smirk, you’re barely recovered and you’re begging to suck his dick? Did he win the lottery? “No, I need to feel that perfect pussy wrapped around my cock before I cum from the sounds you’re making, alone.”

You lift your heavy head up in confusion. “Sounds?”

“Have you heard what you sound like when you cum? If I had the patience, I’d be making you cum here, all night, but I fucking don’t. I need to know what the fuck your pussy feels like.” Eddie admits, and his voice sounds desperate.

You let your head fall back down, your legs falling down in unison, spread eagle. You shoot a smirk at him. “What if I told you to beg for it?”

“Hmm?” Eddie asks, and you see a light flicker on in his eyes.

“Beg for my pussy, Eddie. Wanna hear that pretty voice.”

Eddie grins widely, fuck, you just keep getting better. “Please, baby. Please. Let me fuck that tight, perfect pussy of yours. Please let me feel those hot, warm walls fucking pulse around me while I give it to you hard and well, just like she deserves.”

It's more than you could ever hope for, but you find yourself feeling greedy. “Hmm…not desperate enough. You don’t really sound like you want to fuck me all that badly.”

To this Eddie actually whines and groans in frustration. “C’mon, baby, please. Let me fuck you, I will do anything to feel that perfect cunt around my cock.”

Your legs hitch around his hips, pulling him in so his hard on in his jeans meets your bare pussy. You lean into his ear, inhaling his shampoo. “If you let me mark up your neck so I can have all those petty bitches be jealous of me at your next show, then go right ahead.”

“Oh, fuck, deal.” Eddie yanks his belt and his jeans and underwear off in one fell swoop, and the sight of his cock is better than anything you could’ve imagined. He kicks them off smoothly, lining himself up with you again in a matter of minutes. “Shit, you want a condom?” He asks, used to fucking bare back.

“I’m on birth control.” You tell him as he hovers over you.

“Oh that’s a good girl.” He mutters, leaning in to kiss at your neck. “You ready?”

“Fuck me, already, Ed, I’ve been ready since this morning.” Eddie chuckles and he slides himself in, the head of his cock burning only slightly, but feeling fantastic. “Oh, oh my god.”

“Fuck…” He grunts, waiting for your go ahead. “Better than I thought you’d feel. God, is this heaven?”

You giggle in response, your pussy pulsating around him in beat. “Your cock…so fucking full.” Eddie lifts his hips experimentally, and you let out a gasp at the burn and the pure pleasure it sends through you. “More.” You choke out when he doesn’t continue right away.  

Eddie doesn’t hesitate to listen to your request, your arms wrapped around his back as you clutch onto him for dear life. He ruts into you harshly, his hips snapping as it hits your g spot intentionally at every rut.

Your mouth seems like it’s trying to form words, but your head is so foggy by the time you open your mouth, the sentence is nowhere to be found. “Look at this cock drunk little slut.” Eddie laughs, watching your fucked out face.

Your hands tug on him, forcing his chest closer to your mouth. He lets his arms buckle down, slowing his pace down as his face finds refuge in the smell of your hair, while you start sucking lightly on his chest, leaving little bite marks. As you suck on his chest, your pussy sucks him in simultaneously, causing Eddie to moan from both sensations you were giving him.

Eventually, you have purpled your way across his chest, admiring your hard work as he continues moving slowly over you. “Eddie, can you go faster again?”

“Sure, baby. Be a good girl and turn onto your hands and knees.” You listen and turn around, tilting your ass up so it’s easy for him to slide in. “Oh, thank you, baby. Now lift your head up.” You do and he yanks on your hair, pulling a good chunk at the root. “That’s good.” He puts himself back in you, causing a guttural moan to leave your lips.

“Eddie…” You gasp out, the first hit surprisingly harsh against your hips. Not a part of you remotely minds, eyes rolling back in ecstasy as Eddie seemingly fucks you as hard as he can.

“You wanna still blow me, baby? Because I’m about to blow…” Eddie doesn’t have to say another word, you getting up and onto your knees on his animal carpet to wrap your lips around his cock and bob your head. “Use that pretty mouth…”

The feeling of you choking on it, your mouth desperately trying to take his whole length sends him over the edge. Eddie moans loudly, and you do everything you can to memorize this moment for the rest of your life, because nothing will top this.

Your mouth is overloaded with his thick cum, and one last load shoots out of him onto your face as your mouth pops off him, and ok, now nothing will top this.

He’s breathing heavily, staring down at the white shiny substance that made it’s way all over your nose and lips, some dripping down your chin to land on your tits. You start to gather it on your fingers, dipping it onto your tongue like it’s donut frosting. You hum to yourself at the salty taste, looking up at him through your eyelashes for approval.

“Shit, ain’t that a sight.” Eddie mutters, watching as you hopelessly attempt to clean yourself up before his cum goes everywhere. “Here, hold on.” Eddie yanks on a pair of low sweats and grabs something, walking towards the sink in the dressing room. He walks up to you and cleans his mess off your face and your tits, his hands behind the warm cloth gentle. He tosses it to god knows where and grabs one of the waters from his mini fridge.

He hands you the water and watches you as you slowly come back to yourself, the haze in your eyes raising. Your phone buzzes on the table next to the couch, and Eddie picks up the phone to give it to you and you call out to stop him a moment too late.

Eddie raises his eyebrows at your choice of wallpaper, it couldn’t be interpreted as anything other than thirst. The sweat glistening, his hand holding the microphone delicately, his face looking rather passionate about what he was singing about. Damn, that's a good photo, Eddie thinks. “So, did I just check something off your bucket list?” He asks, holding your phone out before tossing it to you.

You get up from your knees on wobbly legs, still needing some water, apparently. “Uh,” you take a sip, wondering how to answer as a wide smile settles on your face. On the one hand, you’re embarrassed. On the other, he had to know how viscerally thirsty you were after him. “No. I just did my bucket list.” You answer, taking another sip of your water as you stand in front of him, still head to toe naked. “Didn’t think I’d get this far.”

Eddie laughs at this, the same genuine laughter you heard from earlier.

You walk around the couch, bending over to locate your skirt.

“Lookin' for something?” Eddie asks, playfully pushing your buttons.

“My skirt…” you answer, peering across the room at this point.

“Can I be honest?” He asks, peering over your shoulder comically as you look around.

“Hmm?”

Eddie’s hands land your bare hips, tugging them backward so his boner hits your ass. “I could go for round 2.”

“Oh, thank fuck.” You whisper, turning around to face him. Eddie guides you, your steps messy as you back up to his vanity, a few brushes and the eyeliner he sports scattered. He lifts you easily onto it, your legs wrapping around his torso, pulling him in. You can’t tell when he removed his sweats, but the head of his cock unexpectedly against your heat already pulls a high whine out of you, sighing in relief. “Put it back in.”

“Fuck, don’t need to ask me twice.” He mumbles, lining himself up.

Your jaw drops as he pushes himself in, watching with a heavy chest as Eddie stares down at the sight of his cock entering your slick, a gulp leaving his mouth. “Holy shit, baby.” He mutters, exhaling as he bottoms out, his eyes closing. “How have I already forgotten how good your pussy is around me?”

Your breathing is shallow, watching with heavy eyelids as Eddie closes his eyes to seemingly gain his composure. “Eddie.” You whimper, your legs around his torso tightening. “You’re the…the hottest person I’ve literally ever seen in my life. Nothing will compare to this.”

You can feel his cock twitch in response, and you flutter around him as if to second it.

“Good.” Eddie grunts out, moving ever so slowly, eliciting a whimper from you. “Nothing better fucking compare, your pussy is too good for that shit.” His tongue sweeps a long lick in the crook of your neck, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as it feels dirty, in the best way. “May I return the favour?”

You’re about to ask when you realize his question is rhetorical, and you feel his teeth start to nibble, bite, and suck hard at your throat. He feels you suck him in as you breathe out little whimpers, the relief of his tongue against your skin followed by more stinging of his teeth working on you was everything, your nails scratching down his back in an involuntary response.

“Eddie…” you moan, head tilted back in ecstasy, nearly colliding with his mirror. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

“Baby, fuck.” He mutters, his breath hot against your neck. “I wanna mark you up everywhere.” You fucking tighten up in response, drawing a nearly cruel laugh from him. “Yeah? You like that?”

“Uh huh…” You admit, the feeling of his hips slowly drawing in and out of you and his hot breath on your chest becoming too much, but perfect at the same time.

His tongue makes its way further down to your tit, one hand rubbing your sternum desperately as his teeth work expertly on your bud. He’s not too harsh with it, knows the exact amount of pressure to make it hurt in the best fucking way. “So fucking pretty, baby.” He mutters, his hips starting at a faster rate. He lets off your tit with a pop after sucking on it gently, admiring the bruising that’s starting to take shape across your sweaty form.

You can do nothing but cling to him, all coherent thoughts gone the moment he started sucking on your collarbone sharply.

“Got any…any summer plans?” Eddie asks, out of breath. He moves a leg over his shoulder to get a better angle, deeper than before.

You let out a gasp of pleasure, the sound nearly feral. “Y-you.”

Eddie laughs, his ringed hand rough as he grabs at your thigh on his chest. “Oh fuck baby, I’m close again, your pussy is so fucking good.”

“Cum in me.” It almost sounds like you're begging. 

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up to his forehead, his jaw dropping comically as he takes in your request. “Fuck, you sure?”

“Want you to fill me up, Eddie. Please.” You plead, and who is he to deny such a pretty girl?

“Gonna cum with me, pretty girl?” He asks, watching in marvel as you look more and more cocked out. You pull on him, yanking his lips to yours. You kiss him wantonly, deeply, all teeth and tongue as you do your best to express what you cannot with words. You don’t have a big enough vocabulary for the moment, anyhow. Eddie takes the lead and tugs on your bottom lip with his teeth, drawing a high whine out of you. “Gonna answer me?”

The edge is so close, an all encompassing heat invading your lower stomach as a palm of his hand toys with one of your nipples. Suddenly you’re aware this could be the last time you ever get the chance, so you sweep one last lick on his chest, lapping at the fresh coat of sweat like it was your first drink of water after a long week in the desert.

“Oh, fuck, I’m gonna—” He doesn’t even finish his sentence, his hips stuttering as you feel his sticky ropes of cum fill you up so deliciously.

In his haze, his fingers latch to your clit, expertly working on it in small circles to send you over your edge as well, your pussy fluttering perfectly around him.

The smell of sex in his dressing room is evident, the air thick as you both catch your breath. Your leg falls down off his shoulder like a weight is stored in it, your foot landing harshly on the linoleum tiles of the stadium. Your head rests against his chest, eyes closed as you breathe in the stench of his sweat. You need to memorize everything you can, sure you’re about to be escorted back to the main party.

Eddie surprises you, his hands soft as they cup your face, pulling you in for a sweet kiss. His mouth is gentle as he works it against yours, the light taste of pre-show alcohol on his breath. He methodically uses the kiss to distract you as he pulls out, but you still whine desperately into his mouth from the loss. A laugh escapes his lips, and you swallow it, still needing his gentle kiss. He finally separates from you, kissing your forehead as his thumb caresses your cheek.

“So…are you?” He asks, taking in your fucked-out face. Maybe you’ll let him take a post sex selfie if you reject him to remember you by.

If. There’s no way on this earth you would ever reject him, but of course, Eddie doesn’t know you’ve been stalking his Instagram.

“Hmm?” You ask, not a thought in your head for the moment.

“Doing anything this summer?”

You shake your head no, gulping. Eddie saunters around his dressing room, grabbing his sweats and another white cloth. He returns to situate himself between your legs, sporting his sweats, the hot cloth causing you to yelp in surprise.

He laughs quietly, a fond smile on his face as he continues to clean up the mess he left in you. At least, you think it’s fond. “You feel like following a ragtag band of misfits around for the summer?” He asks you, voice soft as he holds your eye contact while his hand moves idly.

“Ragtag?” You ask, remembering their electric energy. They’re rockstars, no doubt about it. There’s not one person who can deny that they earned their spot on the stage.

Eddie breathes another laugh, tossing his cloth to the side. “We are as ragtag as it gets, doll.”

You sigh, searching those gorgeous chocolate brown eyes for any signs he was joking. “I-I will quit my job…are you serious?”

He laughs, caressing your forearm. It occurs to him you’re still naked, so he walks to the couch to gather your shirt and skirt. “Dead serious. I can’t let a face like yours and a pussy like that go very easily.”

“Okay…” you answer, your heartbeat loud in your chest. You were so sure this was just a one-time (two rounds) thing that the idea of him wanting more of you never even occurred to you. It’s just too good to be true, no one is this lucky. “If I quit my job, I can’t afford to pay my own way…”

Eddie smiles, handing you your clothes. “If you don’t want to wear that skirt, I can get you some sweats from the merch table.” He offers, before sitting on the chair a few feet down from you. “Baby, I’m on the cover of Rolling Stone. You’ll be fine.”

Your jaw drops open, staring openly at the man as he watches your facial expression. “I’ll need to go and pack up…”

“Babe.” He stops you, getting up to hold your shoulders with his hands. “I don’t even know your name, yet.”

“Y/N”

He lets out an exhale, fuck, that makes sense. “I didn’t even know your name, and all I know is if I let you go then I will never be able to get you out of my mind. Whatever is stopping you, I can throw some money at it or call someone to get it done. Do you want to stay with me?”

“Yes.” It leaves your body in a sigh of relief, like coming home. Eddie presses a kiss to your forehead; you can feel his lips moving upward into a smile. “Also, sweatpants sound really nice.”

Eddie saunters over to a walkie you hadn’t noticed. In fact, you start to look around his dressing room, noticing a duffle bag by a rack with empty hangers, half opened bottles of water, and his phone sitting faced down at a table nearby. When he asks for your size, you provide it, putting the graphic tee over your head. He plops down on the couch, waving you over to sit right next to him. “Need to text your friend?” He asks, teasing you.

“Actually, can I invite her in? Natalie’s my best friend and she won’t let me live this down if I send her back without bringing her in to introduce you.”

Eddie shrugs, starting to pat his pockets for his phone. You grab it on your way to sit next to him, falling easily into his arm. “Yeah, sure, if you’re ready for her to tease the shit out of you.”

“Are you kidding?” You ask, somewhat giddy. “I’m about to go on twitter after your next show and see dozens of people asking where the hell you got your hickeys. Nothing can bring me down from that right now.”

Eddie chuckles, crossing one leg over the other in an L shape. He plants a kiss on your lips, his tongue sweeping against yours delicately. “Fuck, I’m so glad you fucking DM’ed me.” There’s a knock on the door, your sweatpants from the merch stand are delivered.

“You have no idea how much I keep thinking I’m about to wake up.” You confess, your fingers playing with the light stubble on his chin. “Thank god for cheap stadium beer.” The laugh that escapes him is melodic and gorgeous. “Thank god for cheap stadium beer.”

-

Thank you so much for reading! I love to read comments and replies and tags and as always reblogging is the best way to support fic writers on tumblr

Taglist: @pinkcowracing @yourthebrokengirl @skrzydlak @thirddeadlysin @sammararaven @bebe07011 @prettylovley @josephquinncore @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you @names-were-taken

[billydmacklin]

Recipe Time! Green Tomato Crisp!

The other day, as part of my Fall-To-Do-List-I’m-Determined-To-Really-Do-This-Year, I began shutting down the garden for the season. It’s one of those tasks that’s so thoroughly…fall. Cutting back spent perennials, pruning back shrubs, bagging leaves, splitting bulbs…taming all that stuff and taking care of this kind of ordinary business just feels so GOOD. I usually feel like a spectacular failure around this time of year because, inevitably, there’s always way too much renovation work to button up before winter, so tasks like these just fall by the wayside—so it feels like a huge mark of progress to be able to take the afternoon and just…putter around in the vegetables and set myself up for some highly successful spring planting in a few months. Little by little things are starting to feel rather civilized around here, as though the vision of living here that I’ve held onto in my mind is finally starting to align with reality. It doesn’t happen all at once, but it’s moments like this—out there in the crisp autumn air, peacefully yanking the languishing tomato plants from my modest backyard produce farm and wrangling them into a neat row of yard bags—that feel like glimpses into what life might look like someday. It ain’t bad.

Another major development has occurred: after 2+ years of hot plates and a small toaster oven, I have a working stove again! My kitchen itself is still a long ways from completion—almost everything in it is still “temporary,” except for said working stove—but it’s workable. And I am WORKING IT. Over the past week I’ve rediscovered the magic of roasted vegetables (didn’t realize how much I missed those!) and have baked like 7 different things. I don’t think of myself as some kind of great cook but I do enjoy it, and so restoring this basic functionality feels like a big deal.

SO! We’ve all heard of fried green tomatoes, yes? It’s, like, a thing in the South. I also vaguely remember my friend, originally from Tennessee, saying something one time about his mama’s Green Tomato Pie, a “this could come in handy someday” detail I catalogued somewhere in the back of my brain, only to have it reemerge as I looked down at all the green tomatoes still clinging to the plants I was about to rip out of the ground. So instead of just throwing it all in the yard waste bags, I collected all the remaining green tomatoes first and asked my friend for mama’s recipe.

He didn’t know the recipe. GREAT JOB, FRIEND. So I turned to google, looked at a few recipes, and decided I’d just make something up instead. Firstly, I didn’t want to make a pie crust. Secondly, the more traditional recipes I was finding struck me as extremely sweet with way too much sugar for my bland Yankee tastebuds. So instead of a pie I made it a crisp, and instead of the sticky-sweet filling I scaled way back on the sugar, plus I added some things, and then it occurred to me “wait, did I just develop a recipe? DOES THE INTERNET NEED TO KNOW?” so I’m going OFF BRAND to tell you all about it. This is when I take my dramatic turn as a food blogger. I have found my passion. Fuck houses; I’d rather eat.

So anyway. This is a dessert you can make with all those green tomatoes at the end of the season, and I don’t think it’s horrible for you as far as desserts go, and I really like it. The green tomatoes bake much like an apple, and the restrained use of sugar allows the tart green tomato flavor to come through without hitting you over the head with it. It’s a little weird but so far a limited selection of friends have confirmed that it is, in fact, pretty delicious so here we go.

INGREDIENTS:

Filling:

3-4 Cups thinly sliced green tomatoes 4 Tbsp flour (I used an all-purpose Gluten Free flour) 1/4 Cup sugar 1 tsp ground cinnamon 2 Tbsp apple cider vinegar (I like Bragg’s, but any kind should do) 1 tsp vanilla extract Pinch of salt

Crisp Topping:

1/2 Cup ground unsalted raw almonds 1/2 Cup ground unsalted raw cashews 3/4 Cup oats (I used Bob’s Red Mill Gluten Free Old Fashioned Rolled Oats) 2 Tbsp brown sugar 6 Tbsp unsalted butter, melted Pinch of salt

Step 1: Preheat oven to 350. Wash your damn hands.

Step 2: In a large bowl, sprinkle flour over the green tomatoes and toss to combine. Throw in the rest of the filling ingredients and mix until all tomatoes are nicely coated. I used my hands. Transfer the filling to your baking dish in an even-ish layer (I used a 1 1/2-Quart round baking dish, but you do you).

Step 3. Grind your almonds and cashews. I used a coffee grinder, but whatever works (blender, food processor, mortar and pestle, rolling pin, laser eyes). Mostly you want a kind of coarse powder, like the texture of coffee grounds, but it’s good if there are still some larger chunks, like around the size of a…pencil eraser? Do what feels good. Choose your own adventure. Grind enough nuts to measure 1 cup and then transfer to a bowl.

Step 4. Melt the butter. I use the microwave. Mix the melted butter and the brown sugar, and then add the oats.

Step 5. Combine your buttery sugary oats with the ground nuts and mix until well-combined.

Step 6. Top your filling with the crisp topping in an even layer over the whole thing. It should be enough to provide good coverage! Sprinkle a pinch of coarse salt over it all—Maldon if you can; it’s the best! If you’re feeling fancy, distribute a few 1/2 T slices of butter on top before it goes in the oven.

Step 7. Bake at 350 for one hour, remove and let cool a little. You should see some of the filling bubbling up around the edges and the crisp topping starting to brown.

Step 8. Serve warm with ice cream! Or eat it however you want to! You’re a strong independent lady and you don’t need me to tell you how to enjoy dessert!

Recipe Time! Green Tomato Crisp! published first on https://carpetgurus.tumblr.com/

[interiorstarweb]

Recipe Time! Green Tomato Crisp!

The other day, as part of my Fall-To-Do-List-I’m-Determined-To-Really-Do-This-Year, I began shutting down the garden for the season. It’s one of those tasks that’s so thoroughly…fall. Cutting back spent perennials, pruning back shrubs, bagging leaves, splitting bulbs…taming all that stuff and taking care of this kind of ordinary business just feels so GOOD. I usually feel like a spectacular failure around this time of year because, inevitably, there’s always way too much renovation work to button up before winter, so tasks like these just fall by the wayside—so it feels like a huge mark of progress to be able to take the afternoon and just…putter around in the vegetables and set myself up for some highly successful spring planting in a few months. Little by little things are starting to feel rather civilized around here, as though the vision of living here that I’ve held onto in my mind is finally starting to align with reality. It doesn’t happen all at once, but it’s moments like this—out there in the crisp autumn air, peacefully yanking the languishing tomato plants from my modest backyard produce farm and wrangling them into a neat row of yard bags—that feel like glimpses into what life might look like someday. It ain’t bad.

Another major development has occurred: after 2+ years of hot plates and a small toaster oven, I have a working stove again! My kitchen itself is still a long ways from completion—almost everything in it is still “temporary,” except for said working stove—but it’s workable. And I am WORKING IT. Over the past week I’ve rediscovered the magic of roasted vegetables (didn’t realize how much I missed those!) and have baked like 7 different things. I don’t think of myself as some kind of great cook but I do enjoy it, and so restoring this basic functionality feels like a big deal.

SO! We’ve all heard of fried green tomatoes, yes? It’s, like, a thing in the South. I also vaguely remember my friend, originally from Tennessee, saying something one time about his mama’s Green Tomato Pie, a “this could come in handy someday” detail I catalogued somewhere in the back of my brain, only to have it reemerge as I looked down at all the green tomatoes still clinging to the plants I was about to rip out of the ground. So instead of just throwing it all in the yard waste bags, I collected all the remaining green tomatoes first and asked my friend for mama’s recipe.

He didn’t know the recipe. GREAT JOB, FRIEND. So I turned to google, looked at a few recipes, and decided I’d just make something up instead. Firstly, I didn’t want to make a pie crust. Secondly, the more traditional recipes I was finding struck me as extremely sweet with way too much sugar for my bland Yankee tastebuds. So instead of a pie I made it a crisp, and instead of the sticky-sweet filling I scaled way back on the sugar, plus I added some things, and then it occurred to me “wait, did I just develop a recipe? DOES THE INTERNET NEED TO KNOW?” so I’m going OFF BRAND to tell you all about it. This is when I take my dramatic turn as a food blogger. I have found my passion. Fuck houses; I’d rather eat.

So anyway. This is a dessert you can make with all those green tomatoes at the end of the season, and I don’t think it’s horrible for you as far as desserts go, and I really like it. The green tomatoes bake much like an apple, and the restrained use of sugar allows the tart green tomato flavor to come through without hitting you over the head with it. It’s a little weird but so far a limited selection of friends have confirmed that it is, in fact, pretty delicious so here we go.

INGREDIENTS:

Filling:

3-4 Cups thinly sliced green tomatoes 4 Tbsp flour (I used an all-purpose Gluten Free flour) 1/4 Cup sugar 1 tsp ground cinnamon 2 Tbsp apple cider vinegar (I like Bragg’s, but any kind should do) 1 tsp vanilla extract Pinch of salt

Crisp Topping:

1/2 Cup ground unsalted raw almonds 1/2 Cup ground unsalted raw cashews 3/4 Cup oats (I used Bob’s Red Mill Gluten Free Old Fashioned Rolled Oats) 2 Tbsp brown sugar 6 Tbsp unsalted butter, melted Pinch of salt

Step 1: Preheat oven to 350. Wash your damn hands.

Step 2: In a large bowl, sprinkle flour over the green tomatoes and toss to combine. Throw in the rest of the filling ingredients and mix until all tomatoes are nicely coated. I used my hands. Transfer the filling to your baking dish in an even-ish layer (I used a 1 1/2-Quart round baking dish, but you do you).

Step 3. Grind your almonds and cashews. I used a coffee grinder, but whatever works (blender, food processor, mortar and pestle, rolling pin, laser eyes). Mostly you want a kind of coarse powder, like the texture of coffee grounds, but it’s good if there are still some larger chunks, like around the size of a…pencil eraser? Do what feels good. Choose your own adventure. Grind enough nuts to measure 1 cup and then transfer to a bowl.

Step 4. Melt the butter. I use the microwave. Mix the melted butter and the brown sugar, and then add the oats.

Step 5. Combine your buttery sugary oats with the ground nuts and mix until well-combined.

Step 6. Top your filling with the crisp topping in an even layer over the whole thing. It should be enough to provide good coverage! Sprinkle a pinch of coarse salt over it all—Maldon if you can; it’s the best! If you’re feeling fancy, distribute a few 1/2 T slices of butter on top before it goes in the oven.

Step 7. Bake at 350 for one hour, remove and let cool a little. You should see some of the filling bubbling up around the edges and the crisp topping starting to brown.

Step 8. Serve warm with ice cream! Or eat it however you want to! You’re a strong independent lady and you don’t need me to tell you how to enjoy dessert!

Recipe Time! Green Tomato Crisp! published first on https://novaformmattressreview.tumblr.com/

[carygarman980]

Recipe Time! Green Tomato Crisp!

The other day, as part of my Fall-To-Do-List-I’m-Determined-To-Really-Do-This-Year, I began shutting down the garden for the season. It’s one of those tasks that’s so thoroughly…fall. Cutting back spent perennials, pruning back shrubs, bagging leaves, splitting bulbs…taming all that stuff and taking care of this kind of ordinary business just feels so GOOD. I usually feel like a spectacular failure around this time of year because, inevitably, there’s always way too much renovation work to button up before winter, so tasks like these just fall by the wayside—so it feels like a huge mark of progress to be able to take the afternoon and just…putter around in the vegetables and set myself up for some highly successful spring planting in a few months. Little by little things are starting to feel rather civilized around here, as though the vision of living here that I’ve held onto in my mind is finally starting to align with reality. It doesn’t happen all at once, but it’s moments like this—out there in the crisp autumn air, peacefully yanking the languishing tomato plants from my modest backyard produce farm and wrangling them into a neat row of yard bags—that feel like glimpses into what life might look like someday. It ain’t bad.

Another major development has occurred: after 2+ years of hot plates and a small toaster oven, I have a working stove again! My kitchen itself is still a long ways from completion—almost everything in it is still “temporary,” except for said working stove—but it’s workable. And I am WORKING IT. Over the past week I’ve rediscovered the magic of roasted vegetables (didn’t realize how much I missed those!) and have baked like 7 different things. I don’t think of myself as some kind of great cook but I do enjoy it, and so restoring this basic functionality feels like a big deal.

SO! We’ve all heard of fried green tomatoes, yes? It’s, like, a thing in the South. I also vaguely remember my friend, originally from Tennessee, saying something one time about his mama’s Green Tomato Pie, a “this could come in handy someday” detail I catalogued somewhere in the back of my brain, only to have it reemerge as I looked down at all the green tomatoes still clinging to the plants I was about to rip out of the ground. So instead of just throwing it all in the yard waste bags, I collected all the remaining green tomatoes first and asked my friend for mama’s recipe.

He didn’t know the recipe. GREAT JOB, FRIEND. So I turned to google, looked at a few recipes, and decided I’d just make something up instead. Firstly, I didn’t want to make a pie crust. Secondly, the more traditional recipes I was finding struck me as extremely sweet with way too much sugar for my bland Yankee tastebuds. So instead of a pie I made it a crisp, and instead of the sticky-sweet filling I scaled way back on the sugar, plus I added some things, and then it occurred to me “wait, did I just develop a recipe? DOES THE INTERNET NEED TO KNOW?” so I’m going OFF BRAND to tell you all about it. This is when I take my dramatic turn as a food blogger. I have found my passion. Fuck houses; I’d rather eat.

So anyway. This is a dessert you can make with all those green tomatoes at the end of the season, and I don’t think it’s horrible for you as far as desserts go, and I really like it. The green tomatoes bake much like an apple, and the restrained use of sugar allows the tart green tomato flavor to come through without hitting you over the head with it. It’s a little weird but so far a limited selection of friends have confirmed that it is, in fact, pretty delicious so here we go.

INGREDIENTS:

Filling:

3-4 Cups thinly sliced green tomatoes 4 Tbsp flour (I used an all-purpose Gluten Free flour) 1/4 Cup sugar 1 tsp ground cinnamon 2 Tbsp apple cider vinegar (I like Bragg’s, but any kind should do) 1 tsp vanilla extract Pinch of salt

Crisp Topping:

1/2 Cup ground unsalted raw almonds 1/2 Cup ground unsalted raw cashews 3/4 Cup oats (I used Bob’s Red Mill Gluten Free Old Fashioned Rolled Oats) 2 Tbsp brown sugar 6 Tbsp unsalted butter, melted Pinch of salt

Step 1: Preheat oven to 350. Wash your damn hands.

Step 2: In a large bowl, sprinkle flour over the green tomatoes and toss to combine. Throw in the rest of the filling ingredients and mix until all tomatoes are nicely coated. I used my hands. Transfer the filling to your baking dish in an even-ish layer (I used a 1 1/2-Quart round baking dish, but you do you).

Step 3. Grind your almonds and cashews. I used a coffee grinder, but whatever works (blender, food processor, mortar and pestle, rolling pin, laser eyes). Mostly you want a kind of coarse powder, like the texture of coffee grounds, but it’s good if there are still some larger chunks, like around the size of a…pencil eraser? Do what feels good. Choose your own adventure. Grind enough nuts to measure 1 cup and then transfer to a bowl.

Step 4. Melt the butter. I use the microwave. Mix the melted butter and the brown sugar, and then add the oats.

Step 5. Combine your buttery sugary oats with the ground nuts and mix until well-combined.

Step 6. Top your filling with the crisp topping in an even layer over the whole thing. It should be enough to provide good coverage! Sprinkle a pinch of coarse salt over it all—Maldon if you can; it’s the best! If you’re feeling fancy, distribute a few 1/2 T slices of butter on top before it goes in the oven.

Step 7. Bake at 350 for one hour, remove and let cool a little. You should see some of the filling bubbling up around the edges and the crisp topping starting to brown.

Step 8. Serve warm with ice cream! Or eat it however you want to! You’re a strong independent lady and you don’t need me to tell you how to enjoy dessert!

[billydmacklin]

Recipe Time! Green Tomato Crisp!

The other day, as part of my Fall-To-Do-List-I’m-Determined-To-Really-Do-This-Year, I began shutting down the garden for the season. It’s one of those tasks that’s so thoroughly…fall. Cutting back spent perennials, pruning back shrubs, bagging leaves, splitting bulbs…taming all that stuff and taking care of this kind of ordinary business just feels so GOOD. I usually feel like a spectacular failure around this time of year because, inevitably, there’s always way too much renovation work to button up before winter, so tasks like these just fall by the wayside—so it feels like a huge mark of progress to be able to take the afternoon and just…putter around in the vegetables and set myself up for some highly successful spring planting in a few months. Little by little things are starting to feel rather civilized around here, as though the vision of living here that I’ve held onto in my mind is finally starting to align with reality. It doesn’t happen all at once, but it’s moments like this—out there in the crisp autumn air, peacefully yanking the languishing tomato plants from my modest backyard produce farm and wrangling them into a neat row of yard bags—that feel like glimpses into what life might look like someday. It ain’t bad.

Another major development has occurred: after 2+ years of hot plates and a small toaster oven, I have a working stove again! My kitchen itself is still a long ways from completion—almost everything in it is still “temporary,” except for said working stove—but it’s workable. And I am WORKING IT. Over the past week I’ve rediscovered the magic of roasted vegetables (didn’t realize how much I missed those!) and have baked like 7 different things. I don’t think of myself as some kind of great cook but I do enjoy it, and so restoring this basic functionality feels like a big deal.

SO! We’ve all heard of fried green tomatoes, yes? It’s, like, a thing in the South. I also vaguely remember my friend, originally from Tennessee, saying something one time about his mama’s Green Tomato Pie, a “this could come in handy someday” detail I catalogued somewhere in the back of my brain, only to have it reemerge as I looked down at all the green tomatoes still clinging to the plants I was about to rip out of the ground. So instead of just throwing it all in the yard waste bags, I collected all the remaining green tomatoes first and asked my friend for mama’s recipe.

He didn’t know the recipe. GREAT JOB, FRIEND. So I turned to google, looked at a few recipes, and decided I’d just make something up instead. Firstly, I didn’t want to make a pie crust. Secondly, the more traditional recipes I was finding struck me as extremely sweet with way too much sugar for my bland Yankee tastebuds. So instead of a pie I made it a crisp, and instead of the sticky-sweet filling I scaled way back on the sugar, plus I added some things, and then it occurred to me “wait, did I just develop a recipe? DOES THE INTERNET NEED TO KNOW?” so I’m going OFF BRAND to tell you all about it. This is when I take my dramatic turn as a food blogger. I have found my passion. Fuck houses; I’d rather eat.

So anyway. This is a dessert you can make with all those green tomatoes at the end of the season, and I don’t think it’s horrible for you as far as desserts go, and I really like it. The green tomatoes bake much like an apple, and the restrained use of sugar allows the tart green tomato flavor to come through without hitting you over the head with it. It’s a little weird but so far a limited selection of friends have confirmed that it is, in fact, pretty delicious so here we go.

INGREDIENTS:

Filling:

3-4 Cups thinly sliced green tomatoes 4 Tbsp flour (I used an all-purpose Gluten Free flour) 1/4 Cup sugar 1 tsp ground cinnamon 2 Tbsp apple cider vinegar (I like Bragg’s, but any kind should do) 1 tsp vanilla extract Pinch of salt

Crisp Topping:

1/2 Cup ground unsalted raw almonds 1/2 Cup ground unsalted raw cashews 3/4 Cup oats (I used Bob’s Red Mill Gluten Free Old Fashioned Rolled Oats) 2 Tbsp brown sugar 6 Tbsp unsalted butter, melted Pinch of salt

Step 1: Preheat oven to 350. Wash your damn hands.

Step 2: In a large bowl, sprinkle flour over the green tomatoes and toss to combine. Throw in the rest of the filling ingredients and mix until all tomatoes are nicely coated. I used my hands. Transfer the filling to your baking dish in an even-ish layer (I used a 1 1/2-Quart round baking dish, but you do you).

Step 3. Grind your almonds and cashews. I used a coffee grinder, but whatever works (blender, food processor, mortar and pestle, rolling pin, laser eyes). Mostly you want a kind of coarse powder, like the texture of coffee grounds, but it’s good if there are still some larger chunks, like around the size of a…pencil eraser? Do what feels good. Choose your own adventure. Grind enough nuts to measure 1 cup and then transfer to a bowl.

Step 4. Melt the butter. I use the microwave. Mix the melted butter and the brown sugar, and then add the oats.

Step 5. Combine your buttery sugary oats with the ground nuts and mix until well-combined.

Step 6. Top your filling with the crisp topping in an even layer over the whole thing. It should be enough to provide good coverage! Sprinkle a pinch of coarse salt over it all—Maldon if you can; it’s the best! If you’re feeling fancy, distribute a few 1/2 T slices of butter on top before it goes in the oven.

Step 7. Bake at 350 for one hour, remove and let cool a little. You should see some of the filling bubbling up around the edges and the crisp topping starting to brown.

Step 8. Serve warm with ice cream! Or eat it however you want to! You’re a strong independent lady and you don’t need me to tell you how to enjoy dessert!

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