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eddiesghxst · 6 months

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PRICE OF FAME (PART 7/12)

AHHH HERE SHE IS, i hope you enjoyyy hehe <3

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18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: rockstar!eddie x journalist!reader

summary: you and eddie are back to square one...maybe

contains: enemies to lovers trope, themes of sexism/misogyny, smoking, drug and alcohol use, sexual themes, some jealous!eddie, brotherhood, mentions of eddie's dad being shitty, mentions of a sick family member (reader's grandfather), flirting, and eddie being a sorry mf <3

word count: 4.2k

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Eddie very rarely finds the time to go to the studio by himself.

With the busy lifestyle he’s now adopted, he mostly gets his writing done on the road or when he can’t sleep. And Eddie can’t sleep tonight. He doesn’t want to sleep tonight. He can’t seem to find it in himself to give his body and mind the few hours of rest they plead for because Eddie— Eddie fucked up.

The studio is quiet— because nobody in their right mind comes to a recording studio at three in the morning— and Eddie begins to wonder why he even came here if he can’t write a single lyric. Every line that crosses his mind is too little, too much, too mundane— it’s all wrong. Everything is wrong, and Eddie wants to scream.

Eddie takes another hit of the burning cigarette, rubs his eyes in exhaustion, and places his used journal to the side in exchange for his guitar.

He sits on the couch, the quiet room filling out the whirlwind of unsaid words in Eddie’s mind. He strums a soft tune on the wooden instrument, eyes closed and legs propped up on the coffee table. It takes Eddie a few moments to open his eyes when he hears the door open, and he has to blink a few times to clear the fog of fatigue from his eyes.

And Eddie doesn’t even have the energy to roll his eyes and scoff at the sight of Gareth.

He keeps the cigarette between his lips and goes back to plucking his guitar strings, ignoring the shuffling sound of Gareth walking over.

Gareth is quiet for a long time until he clears his throat, “This is good.”

Eddie opens his eyes again and glances over at the brown-haired boy. Eddie’s face pinches in confusion before Gareth raises the journal, and Eddie huffs out a laugh. “No, it’s not.”

Gareth shakes his head, “No, it really is. I like this line,” he points to Eddie’s messy handwriting.

“It’s not going anywhere. I’ve been here for almost two hours.” Eddie brushes it off.

Eddie resumes his peaceful strumming, and Gareth— Gareth just can’t let it go. Because he misses his best friend more than anything in the fucking world, and it hurts. This hurts. The quiet and the unsaid— it hurts.

“I’m sorry.”

And Eddie thinks, fuck, not now.

“Man—” “No, Eddie I… I fucked up.” And Eddie glances at Gareth because Gareth sounds… Gareth sounds like he’s on the verge of something, something that Eddie has rarely seen from his friend.

“I really fucked up, man. And you don’t have to forgive me, but I don’t want you thinking I don’t regret it— because I do.” Gareth looks at Eddie. Clear eyes, so wide and full of what Eddie can only imagine to be sorrow. “I should’ve never done that to you, and I sure as hell shouldn’t have told her— especially because I hadn’t told you.”

And Eddie is so tired of being angry. He’s so tired of feeling the gaping and missing piece of his best friend— and sure, he wishes Gareth never went behind his back and fucked his ex, but he mostly just wishes things would return to normal.

Eddie is silent for a moment, and Gareth almost takes it as an answer, but Eddie finally says, “Did you really love her?”

If Gareth is shocked, he does an excellent job of not showing it. He only swallows and shifts in his seat, “I thought I did… I don’t know, maybe?”

He’s being careful, Eddie knows, and he can’t blame him for it.

“Do you still talk?” Eddie can’t help but ask because he needs to know. He needs to know so he can prepare himself for whatever bullshit he’ll go through later if he ever sees Chrissy again.

To Eddie’s relief, Gareth shakes his head, “No. Not since… no.”

Eddie nods and says nothing else while mindlessly playing his soft tune.

Gareth shifts beside him, glances down at the journal in his hands, and hums, “So… you gonna tell me who this is about?”

Eddie jokingly glares at Gareth and leans forward to set his guitar down. “S’nothing.”

“That’s a lie.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow at his friend, and Gareth takes a deep breath. “Look, man,” he places the journal down, “I’ve seen the way you look at her. And Jeff said he saw you—” “That motherfucker.” Gareth softly laughs but shrugs either way.

Eddie drags a hand over his face and sighs, “I don’t know, it’s… complicated.”

Gareth hums, like he doesn’t believe Eddie, “All I’m saying is if you like her as much as I think you do,” he gestures to the journal, “Then you better act quick.”

And Eddie knows Gareth is right— which is annoying, but he thinks he needs to hear it now more than ever.

Eddie’s not sure when he closed his eyes and dozed off, but by the time he opened them, it was the next day, and Jeff was standing over him with a sly grin. Eddie’s face is twisted in morning confusion and annoyance at Jeff’s proximity, and something heavy is leaning on his side and— “I see you and Gare-bear have made up.” Jeff tips his head to the right of Eddie, and Eddie glances over to where he’s motioned to find Gareth fast asleep with his body leaned against Eddie’s side.

Eddie groans and grimaces as he turns his head, a painful pinch resting at the top of his spine as he shoves his hand against Gareth’s shoulder, voice dry and scratchy from sleep as he speaks, “Shut the fuck up.”

Eddie’s arm tingles under the weight of Gareth, and he grunts, pushing harder at his shoulder, “Gareth, get off me, man; I can’t feel my fucking arm,” Eddie grumbles, shoving the boy off of him, grimacing when Gareth grunts in protest.

Jeff snickers and looks around the room; sheets of paper are scattered across the coffee table, empty beer bottles are strewn on the floor, and a guitar with a busted string lies on the other couch. “Jesus, did I miss the party?” Jeff teases, kicking at an empty beer can as he walks over to the sheet of music on the soundboard, picking it up and glancing over the words.

“What’s this?” Jeff wonders aloud. Gareth opens an eye to see what Jeff is talking about and shifts in his seat as he answers, “Eddie’s apology to the journalist.”

Eddie wipes drool from his mouth as he sits up, leaning over to sift through the rubble for his pack of cigarettes, “Birdie.” He mumbles as he shoves a stick between his lips and lights the end. “Yeah, Birdie.” Gareth sleepily mumbles.

Jeff laughs as he reads over the half-assed written letter. “How drunk were you two shitheads?” He wonders, eyebrows raising at one particular sentence. “And what’d you do that made you finally realize you’re an asshole?”

And Eddie thinks Jeff is asking a lot of questions right now, and Eddie doesn’t have the mental capacity to digest any of them. Gareth snickers beside Eddie, shaking his head with a shrug, moving through Eddie’s cloud of smoke to reach for a beer can, shaking it to see if there’s any drink left before sipping on whatever's there before speaking, “What didn’t he do?” He jokes.

Eddie kicks his heel into the brown-haired boy’s shin, ignoring the spew of curses Gareth sends his way. Jeff tosses the paper back onto the soundboard and turns to the two boys, “Does this have anything to do with her trying to drop the article?”

Gareth shrugs, uninterested in whatever Jeff is insinuating, but the question seems to wake Eddie up quicker than the slow-burning stick between his fingers. “What are you talking about?”

Jeff looks at Eddie as if he’s asked him what two plus two is, “You don’t know?”

Eddie tilts his head, a confused look on his face, irritation lingering on his tone, “Know what, Jeff?”

Jeff’s eyebrows raise, and he lifts his hands in surrender, “Look, Naomi and Birdie were talking at breakfast, and she told Naomi that she’s thinking of dropping the article.” “What do you mean dropping the article, Jeff?”

Jeff gazes at Eddie like he’s lost his mind, “Honestly, man, I don’t know why you’re freaking out when this is literally what you wanted ever since she came along.” He points out, calmly sitting in the desk chair by the soundboard. “I mean, yeah,” Eddie stresses, “But that was before— fuck,” Eddie rubs a hand over his face as he plops back into the plush couch with a heavy sigh. “Before?” Jeff wonders aloud.

“Don’t worry about it.” Eddie snaps.

Gareth snickers again, glancing at Eddie’s depleted state before glaring at Jeff, “Before Eddie fell in love.” He childishly giggles. Eddie glares at his friend, finally finding his shoes and hastily shoving them on, “I’m not in love with her, you fucking idiot,” He swats at Gareth, “I just…” Eddie glances between his two friends before sighing, rubbing his hands over his face again and resting his elbows on his knees. “It’s complicated, okay?”

“Didn’t seem that complicated when I walked in on you two.” Jeff points out, to which Gareth’s jaw drops as he turns to Eddie, “No fucking way. You boned the journalist?—” “Birdie.” “—And Jeff walked in on it? You didn’t tell me that last night!” He exclaims.

Eddie grimaces at Gareth’s words and the fact that he won’t just say your name because, for some weird and obnoxious reason, it pisses Eddie off. “Because it wasn’t like that.” Eddie shakes his head. Jeff makes a face, and Eddie rolls his eyes, “It wasn’t,” Eddie repeats, “Not that it’s any of you fucking losers' business.”

Eddie tries so hard not to seem distracted when they start working on their last song of the album. He tries to put his entire mind, body, and soul into the words and the chorus, but he can’t. Eddie’s mind is somewhere else, wasting away trying to find a way to say sorry and get you to change your mind about abandoning your project because, sure, Eddie’s an asshole when he wants to be, but he has some inkling of remorse and human feelings. He has the ability to feel sorry and know when he’s crossed a line, and clearly, Eddie is far beyond the line.

Eddie’s stomach churns when he thinks about the last night: the look on your face and the tone of your voice, the unmistakable sniffle as you wiped away a stray tear. And Eddie really is a jackass, isn’t he?

Making a kind girl like you cry, telling her she’s ruined everything when all she’s done is stay true to her task. It’s Eddie who’s led you astray, who’s tempted you and poked and prodded until you cracked— and, god, Eddie feels sick to his stomach.

Eddie remembers how that feels. To be pushed and shoved to your breaking point, to where someone breaks you down to the point of giving up. Eddie knows that feeling so well; he dealt with it for so long as a kid before Wayne took him in. Eddie remembers how useless he would feel, how his father would tell him he was stupid and naive for thinking he could be something. And it’s difficult to ignore those harsh words when it’s repeated over and over in your ear, and Eddie can’t believe he let himself do that to you.

Eddie’s kind of frantic when he walks up to you at rehearsals.

He’s fidgety, and he’s aching for a cigarette, and his heart is racing in his chest because Eddie’s not the best at apologies, but he’s also not very fond of the idea of you not being here anymore. As much as Eddie hates to admit it, he likes you being here— because watching you, hearing you, and seeing how you move about a room is addicting. It’s a movie, a show that gets better with every episode, and Eddie has tried so hard to lie and say he can’t stand the show, but fuck, he’s hooked.

You look tired today, uncharacteristically quiet and reserved, making Eddie all the more nervous to break the slight trance you seem to be in. Your lashes flutter as you blink up at him when he approaches you in the backstage hallway, “Can we uh— can we talk?”

You don’t seem eager when he asks, and you don’t sound it either when your eyebrows furrow in distress, and you shake your head, “Honestly, Eddie, I’m not in the mood—” Eddie shakes his head, tone sincere and eyes holding no trace of mischief, “No, I promise it’s not…” Eddie trails off, and you raise your eyebrow, growing impatient with his hesitance.

“It’s about the magazine.” He rushes out. You look confused and unconvinced— and there’s so much going on in the background; staff calling out demands, crew members scrambling to get things done, and Eddie just can’t fucking think. “Well, it’s about you, but it’s also about the magazine— can we step outside?”

Eddie looks away in embarrassment because Eddie doesn’t get flustered very easily these days— there’s not much to get flustered over when you’ve seen it all— but again, Eddie doesn’t do this often— and his neck is heating up, and he knows his cheeks are turning an embarrassing shade of red because you’re looking at him like he’s the biggest idiot known to man.

Eddie drags in a steady breath, teeth digging into his bottom lip, and he grumbles lowly enough for you to hear, thumb brushing the tip of his nose once before speaking, “Come on, don’t make me beg.”

You scoff at that, arms crossing over your chest as you push past him and storm towards the exit, and Eddie follows with a shaky breath.

When Eddie steps out into the alleyway of the venue, you’re leaning against the wall with a deep frown etched across your lips, and Eddie’s fingers twitch for the pack of cigarettes in his pocket. You glare at him, “What’s wrong with you?” You snap. Eddie looks at you silently for a moment, confusion written across his face as he speaks, “Huh?”

You glare as you speak, “You’re being weird.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and clears his throat, shifting on his feet before he starts, “Listen, I uh,” he scratches the back of his neck, “I know we don’t get along and shit but just…” Eddie ignores it when you roll your eyes, “Don’t drop the magazine because of me.”

You’re silent then, for much longer than Eddie would like you to be, and Eddie is thoroughly confused when you scoff, “Excuse me?”

Eddie stuffs his hands in his pockets and glances around the empty alleyway, “Look— believe it or not, we actually kind of need this, and the boys will fucking kill me if I screw it all up, so just… I’m sorry, okay?”

And technically, it’s the truth. It might not be the whole truth as to why Eddie has pulled you aside, but at least there’s some truth to it… right?

You don’t seem too appeased with Eddie’s half-assed apology, considering the way your face doesn't even flinch for what seems like decades. “Well, for starters, I’m not dropping out of the magazine,” and Eddie doesn’t want to unpack the reasoning behind why the tension in his shoulders eased, “And the only reason why I had even debated doing so is because my grandfather is sick, not because some douchebag artist pissed me off.” You snap.

Eddie feels like an ass.

No, he feels worse than an ass, whatever that may be. Eddie feels like he’ll maybe just go back to the hotel and sew his mouth shut because the one time that Eddie tries to fix things, his tongue flaps and spews out bullshit, and then he’s further in the ground than he was, to begin with.

Eddie’s not sure what to do or say because, honestly, he didn’t even think of the possibility that he’s not the reason for you dropping the magazine, and Eddie only then realizes how selfish of a mistake this was. “Can I be honest with you, Eddie?”

Even though you sound and look like you could stab him right now, Eddie thinks you’re absolutely breathtaking. Your eyes are so alive beneath the light of day, and a gentle breeze carries your scent to wrap around Eddie in a dizzying manner. His heart races, and Eddie feels… small.

He hasn’t felt this way in a long time, like he’s damaged things to the point of no return, and it’s all his fault— and usually, it never actually was Eddie’s fault, but this… Eddie can wholeheartedly admit he’s at fault for the agitated look you’re giving him— and Eddie doesn’t know what to do.

Still, Eddie nods— because what else can he do?

“I think we should keep the one-on-ones to a minimum. Better yet, let’s just stop it as a whole.”

“What?”

You take a deep breath, gaze dancing away, seemingly anxious to flee the scene as you speak, “I don’t think this is benefiting either of us— this back and forth. I have work to get done, and honestly, there’s nothing more that I need from you aside from when I interview the band as a group— and seeing as you hate me and I hate you, why don’t we just make our lives easier and stay out of each other's way?”

This isn’t how Eddie imagined things going.

Eddie imagined he would say sorry, and you would give him a pretty smile, and things would go back to… well, not normal, but perhaps something a little better than normal. This is worse than normal. This is so left field of what Eddie had imagined, and Eddie can’t bring himself to say anything.

So, instead, Eddie nods, mumbles a quick agreement, and says nothing more as you leave.

Days pass slower than usual, and you find ways to get busy outside of drafting the magazine. You take frequent walks in Central Park to clear your mind and spend many nights talking to your family over the phone.

Your grandfather is old, and it’s no surprise to the family that he’ll soon see the end of his days, but your mom immediately told you no when you said you would be coming home after getting word of his current state. You weren’t particularly close to your grandfather; you really only saw him once a year around holidays, but you felt the need to be there for your mother, to offer her a shoulder to cry on. However, your mother, ever the sweet lady she is, insisted she would be more than okay with the support of your father and younger sister and demanded that you stay in New York to finish your project.

Still, even though you called home every night, you felt the distance with each goodbye. It ached to be so far from your family at such a time, but the world won’t stop just for you, and time is of the essence in your line of work.

Despite the somewhat gloomy past days you’ve had, each show has given you a moment to breathe and take your mind off the stresses of life. There are two shows of the residency left now, and the boys of Corroded Coffin seem more pumped than ever for the two big nights.

You usually spend time before the show loitering in the green room or waiting out in the crowd, but today, you’ve chosen to have front-row tickets to the chaos that is Corroded Coffin’s dressing room.

There’s a thick fog of smoke dancing through the room; tobacco, weed, and alcohol drenching the walls with their smell as the boys and crew members share drinks and blunts and jokes. You, Jeff, Gareth, and James are gathered in front of the vanity— away from most of the chaos to enjoy light conversation— with Jeff and James sitting in the tall vanity chairs while you and Gareth stand between them both.

“I think we should play something off the new record tonight,” Jeff suggests. Gareth, who’s busy messing with his hair in the mirror, finds the time to respond, “I kind of wanted to do something old. Maybe even a cover?”

James raises an eyebrow, reaching forward onto the vanity desk for a black eyeliner pencil, “You guys are on in like fifteen, man. The stage crew is not gonna be happy about that.” James points out, inspecting the small item before popping the cap off. Gareth snickers as James attempts to apply the eyeliner, “When are they ever happy? Poor guys have to put up with our bullshit every day.”

Naomi comes to stand behind Jeff, draping her arms around his shoulders and resting her chin atop his head. Jeff smirks at her through the mirror, and she smiles, “You agree, right? We should play something new tonight?” Jeff asks his girlfriend, to which she shrugs and glances at both band members, “I don’t see why not. It’s the second to last show, and I’m sure the fans would love it.”

You look over to James as he curses to himself when the pencil tip breaks off. You snicker, not thinking twice, when you step forward to place a hand on his shoulder, “You’re pressing too hard.” You mumble as you gently grab the pencil from him. James watches as you turn to grab the pencil sharpener, shaving off the empty end of the stick until you can see the soft pencil again, “Aw, you’re gonna help me out?” He presses a hand to his chest as you roll your eyes. Whatever conversation Jeff, Gareth, and Naomi are having, you pay no mind to it anymore. “Shut up, take a seat.” You nod to the vanity chair.

James takes a seat, and you shake your head as you step forward, tipping his head back for a good angle as you say, “Remind me again how you’re an artist and still don’t know how to apply eyeliner correctly?” You mumble as you begin softly applying the makeup to his bottom lashline. James smirks, “I can’t be good at everything.” He jokes. You roll your eyes, “Yeah, yeah. Just look up at the ceiling, please.”

And in the corner of your eye, you catch him— Eddie.

He’s watching you and James with the sharpest gaze you’ve ever seen— angry and daring, and it only falters when you turn to look at him. You don’t know why, but your heart seems to rise to your throat, and there is an annoying twist in your stomach when you see how his jaw ticks in anger. You don’t notice it until Eddie’s gaze flickers down, and you suddenly feel the warm heat of James' hand pressed against your waist.

Your body heats at the attention, and you shy away from Eddie’s accusing gaze, returning to your task. Your eyebrows are furrowed in concentration as you apply the makeup, and you try desperately hard to ignore the way James is gazing up at you or the gentle squeezes he gives you when you shift. What’s even harder to ignore is the hole Eddie is burning through your head— and god, why do you feel like this?

Why do you, for some odd reason, wish it was Eddie beneath you? Why do you wish it was Eddie’s hands touching you? Why do you wish Eddie’s brown eyes were gazing at you? Why do you wish it was Eddie’s warm skin beneath your fingertips?

Your body and heart want Eddie for selfish reasons, but deep down, you and Eddie both know it’s best not to venture down the short path you’d started. But that doesn’t mean you don’t think about it. That doesn’t mean you don’t think about what it would be like to have Eddie in all the sinful ways you’d both tasted.

You don’t hear James the first time, but your attention snaps back to him when he gently squeezes your hip, “Huh?” You blink.

James chuckles as you pause your task and gaze down at him. His gaze dances all around your face for a moment, pearly white teeth digging into his smile before he speaks again, “What are you doing tonight after the show?”

And god, why the fuck is James looking at you like that?

You shrug, “Um, I— I don’t know why?” You ask, finishing the last few touches on his makeup. James shrugs, watching as you stand up straight and put the cap back onto the pencil, “I was thinking maybe I can take you out? Like a date?”

You almost choke at that. Your eyes are wide as you blink at James, heart racing and mind a whirlwind of thoughts— and Eddie is still watching you.

You open your mouth to respond, but before you can say anything, Richie bursts through the door with a grin and an exclamation of two words.

Show time.

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part eight

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a/n: ANNNDDD HERE WE ARE, if you've made it to the end and see this, thank you for reading, ilysm and i appreciate any for of feedback, i love to here ur funny, sweet, and smutty thots <3 ALSO A BIG THANK YOU TO @siennamagee FOR THE IDEA OF THE SCENE WITH JAMES, ILY STINK <3 LET THE GROVELING BEGIN !!

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