#first of all doesn’t even name the album
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That evening after I drive home the house is a battlefield. As soon as I let myself into the hallway the sounds of some escalating conflict are sweeping through from the kitchen, but it doesn’t surprise me. It’s been this way for months. I just toss my car keys onto the table and head upstairs.
“Think about the way you make me live!” My mother shrieks as I shuffle through my desk drawer to retrieve my iPod and the noise cancelling headphones I use for my laptop. My dad says something in response, his rumbling tones infuriatingly calm, unfazed. He always speaks to her with such a patronising air of reasonableness, so honestly it’s no wonder she’s going insane.
“Ivy?” I knock on her bedroom door, “I’m back. Can I come in?”
Her voice is quiet within, “Yeah.”
“Hey, what’s up?” The noise from downstairs is louder I come inside, but Ivy’s room is right above the kitchen. I know she has been listening. She is perched on her bed kneading a corner of her blanket in her little hands, body tense and static like a startled cat.
Mom raises her voice even further in shocked outrage, “What are you saying? Do you regret our children?”
“I just bought a cool new album,” I say, “do you want to hear it?”
“What’s it called?”
“Contra. You remember Vampire Weekend, right?”
“Um...”
“You liked their last album.”
“Did I?”
“Here,” I climb to my knees in front of her and plop the headphones onto her head. They’re big on her and want to slip down towards her jaw until i carefully adjust them while she watches me with interest. Everything I do is interesting to Ivy, even my thumb circling the dial on my iPod as I navigate to the first song on the album. I grin into her face, “can you hear me?”
She nods, so I crank it up, “how about now?”
She gasps, “It’s so loud! I can’t hear you!”
“Good,” and I sit right by her, on the floor by her bed while she lays back and tries to hum along to songs she's never heard before. She does it in mom's car every time the radio comes on, which is apparently irritating, but I don't think so. She's a musical kid who is just trying to work something out in her head.
As I listen to her weird little melodies I doodle with a ballpoint pen I found in the pocket of my jacket. I've flipped to the back page of one of her school copy books, and I know she doesn’t mind, she can bring them into school and tell her classmates that she did them if she likes.
Every now and again pieces of the argument are clear enough to understand, mostly mom’s side. “You do nothing around here, what are you talking about?” She screams, “You just sit in your office all night and-” some muffled aggression. Then at one point she brings up Fergal from work, which is a poor choice, because it really sets dad off. I know this because I finally hear a shocked “how dare you!” from him, which seems fair, actually.
Fergal from work is her boyfriend. Or was, maybe, I don’t ask. All I know is that Fergal from work exists and that my mother was having an affair with him for, like, two years or something. I googled him when I first started hearing his name thrown around like daggers through the rooms of this house, and he’s pretty much how you might imagine a Fergal. He’s older, weedier and less good looking than my father, with hair so fine and light that his eyebrows are hardly visible and a hairline like the tide has gone out on it, but his smile is sort of kind. His LinkedIn picture has him smiling broadly and the lines on his face and around his eyes suggest that he’s spent a good chunk of his life doing just that. Smiling. Aside from likely being nice, he’s probably ten times more interesting than Christopher too, which has to be the real selling point. I bet that listens to her when she talks to him and makes her laugh, if she’s still capable of that, so I can’t really be angry with her about Fergal. I might have done the same thing as she did if I ever felt so trapped.
I must be listening too obviously because Ivy slips the headphones off. “What are they saying?”
“Stupid shit, Ives, it’s not interesting.”
She pauses and says in a very small voice, “Do you think they’ll get a divorce?”
I turn to her, “They might. But I don’t think it’d be such a bad idea. Do you?”
She shrugs.
“At least if they divorced they’d stop fighting.” At least eventually.
“They fight a lot,” she whispers, “I hate it.”
“Yeah, same.”
“What will happen to us? What if neither of them wants us?”
This surprises a laugh right out of me, “It's not like they'll have a choice. Did you think we’d get thrown into an orphanage or something?”
“Maybe.”
“I think you’ve been reading too many of those Jacqueline Wilson books about the kids from broken homes. Next time we go to the library we’ll get you something a bit less sad and tragic, do you think?”
She shrugs, but I'll get her into Goosebumps yet. I am determined.
“You want to know what I think?”
A nod.
“I think them being divorced would actually be fine, because at least they wouldn’t be doing this all the time,” I tilt my head toward the floor, shaking with the reverberation of the slamming patio door, “And also we probably wouldn’t have to be around dad half as often.”
Ivy looks conflicted, “Well I don’t not want a dad.”
I almost tell her that Christopher isn’t that interested in his role as her father and the way that he interacts, or more accurately fails to interact with her, is not normal, even if it’s what she’s used to, and that I bet Fergal would be a better dad, but I figure it’s probably not the wisest to mention any of that.
“He’ll still always be your dad, just like how mom will always be your mom and I’ll always be your brother, you know? No matter what happens or how things change. You're made from him, you know? That doesn't just go away.”
“I don’t want change.”
“Everything changes, all of the time.”
“I don’t like it.”
“You don’t have to. Things move on whether you like it or not, and you have to accept it.”
Her eyes fill with tears, “I don’t want you to move away either.”
“No, c’mon,” I scramble onto her bed and pull her into my chest, “I know, but I can’t stay here forever, I’m an adult now, I’m going to have to go, but it’s not right away…”
“Yes, but soon.”
I hesitate, “Oh, Ivy, it’s, like-”
“And then it’ll be just me, and everything will be different,” as tears overflow I understand that it’s not just about this, it’s about everything, all of the chaos and the disruption that I cannot fix. I just shush her and rock her side to side. It’s hard for her, but I refuse to lie to her about what might happen.
“I need to move away, I feel like I don’t have another option.”
“But why?”
“I- I think you’ll get it when you’re older, maybe. It's just very important to me.”
“I won’t see you anymore.”
“Yes you will, maybe not as much, but you’ll get used to it really quickly. And imagine if I went to college somewhere really exciting, you could come and see me and we could do all kinds of fun stuff, yeah? Like if I’m in Paris, imagine, I could take you to Disneyland.”
She sniffles, “Paris?”
“Yeah, you loved Paris a couple of years ago, right?”
She nods and rubs her eyes, “Could we try and go up the Eiffel Tower again?”
“Duh, and you’d be old enough not to be so scared.”
“Maybe-” a thick swallow “maybe even your new house would have a balcony and we could see it from there.”
“Oh, for sure, and we’d get pastries from the bakery downstairs in the mornings, they'd just so happen to be best ones ever, and there’d be a man playing the accordion outside- no, everywhere, like, no matter where we go, he’s there with his swirly little French Guy moustache...”
She giggles, “Is he following us around?”
“Oh, yeah, a total stalker, actually. Maybe we’d have to call the French police on him.”
We both laugh as she dries her face with her sleeves. Coming up with all the very French things we would do in Paris, every detail down to the layout of my beautiful Haussmann style apartment overlooking the Seine is nice.
I'm not stupid, of course, I know perfectly well that the reality of a move to Paris would involve me and Michelle stuffed into a Chambre de Bonne tiny enough to touch both walls at the same time, tripping over half baked art projects and every possession we own, our pent up frustration causing us to have screaming matches that would wake up the whole arrondissement, but it’s nice to be an idealist for a minute or two.
“Where else could you live?” she asks me once we’ve exhausted all of the parisian stereotypes and run out of hypotheticals.
“Hmm, how about Amsterdam?”
“Oh! Anne Frank lived there, we read the book at school last year.”
I tell her that yes, if I lived there I’d take her to see the house with that stairway hidden behind the bookcase, and then we would... cycle around the place and annoy everyone because she’s so unsteady on her bike. I make up a story about how she keeps swerving out of her lane and getting in everybody's way, eventually causing a giant bike pile up along the canal like some sort of rat king of Dutch cyclists.
“Where else!”
“Um, Berlin...” and I purse my lips and try to think of things to do in Berlin that are appropriate for a nine year old, but for some reason all I can think of is a surly line of leather clad druggies in front of a techno club. “They like going to nightclubs, I guess…”
“I can go to a nightclub.”
“Yeah, as if! You’d hate it, it’s just loud music and everyone bumping into you. Hey, you know there’s one nightclub in Berlin that’s so exclusive that they only let the coolest people in Europe inside? You have to wait in line for hours and if they think you’re even a little bit uncool then they send you home.”
Her eyes get wide, “Really? Hm. I think I could get in.”
The idea of Ivy being let into Berghain makes me guffaw, “Oh, you think so, do you?”
“Yeah I’m cool enough!”
“No you aren’t.”
“I am,” she leaps up and pretends to strangle me while I hold her at arm's length, “there’s no such thing as a cool nine year old.”
“There’s no such thing as a cool eighteen year old either.”
“Uh! There is, you're looking at one. I would get into that club, no doubt.”
“No you wouldn’t, they wouldn’t even let you in the line.”
“Nah, they’d beg me to come in because I’d make it cooler.”
“They’d see you coming and pretend to be closed.”
As we laugh and make stupid, childish jokes at one another I’m aware of an acceptance I feel with her that I don’t around other people. I’m never really so blatantly stupid and goofy in public, but Ivy, who has become my favourite person in the world, no matter what I do or say it’s funny, and she never thinks I’m weird, at least not in a bad way. I can fully let my guard down. Even though the fighting has stopped I don't really want to leave, but the moon has risen now, and the grasshoppers are chirping. Ivy has to sleep.
I gather up my headphones and iPod and get up, despite her protests and attempts to come up with more funny things we might do as we galivant through fictional Europe.
“You're stalling,” I say, “you know well you have to go to sleep now.”
“No, no! Just one more thing!”
“Nope! Sorry! And don’t forget to brush your teeth, or I’ll tell dad.”
She pulls her ugliest face. She knows I’d never, but it’s funny, like telling a christian kid that Satan is watching.
I shut the door very gently. It's not particularly late, maybe ten, but the house is morgue quiet, almost eerie, like the aftermath of a hurricane.
Beginning // Prev // Next
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Seeing people genuinely saying that TTPD is her best work lyrically and that it tops Folklore and Evermore is just WILD to me. Like, am I missing something? Are there two different versions of this album out and I’m listening to the bad one? Because???? TTPD is such a let down. It’s not clever, it’s not even catchy. I like one song and the rest are kind of…are forgettable. I heard “like a tattooed golden retriever” and burst out laughing-like there’s no way we went from folklore and evermore to THAT. I had to stop listening because I just don’t like it. I don’t get it and I’m tired of people telling me that I’m too dumb to understand her genius. I don’t think this album is genius by any means-that’s not to say it doesn’t make sense (although it doesn’t make sense to me at times) but mostly I just don’t get it in terms of like why and what happened to the beautiful writing of folklore and evermore to…this. Folklore and evermore actually resonated with me on such an emotional level and it felt very adult and like Taylor was nuanced in her writing and that she moved on from all her problems stemming from men and “jealous women” and now TTPD just feels like I revisited one a conversation I’ve had with my friends in middle school thinking we were so deep and misunderstood.
Yeah, listen... you're not missing anything
I truly think that the people enjoying the album are blinded by the aesthetic of the album. She's obfuscating the poor writing, and basically incoherent imagery, by using the watered-down cottage core/ dark academia aesthetics. It's almost laughable the way she changes everything about herself just to fit the most popular aesthetic of the day.
She hides bad writing by name-dropping great writers and hoping that, through the power of vague allusion, the names alone will make people think she's in the same league.
She was guilty of this back on Folklore, as well. To be honest the first time I heard "tell me what are my Wordsworth" ("The Lakes), I laughed out loud because it's sooooo silly to make a pun out of one of the most important Romantic Poets of all time. I let it slide back then, because I thought it was a one-off. Still, it's really funny that she apparently knows who Wordsworth is, yet the best she can do with that information is make a pun out of his name.
And now I see her name-dropping, lack luster writing is just the best she can do. I hate that she really thinks of herself as a poet....
As someone who has studied poetry, and written literary criticisms about Emily Dickinson's poetry, it actually makes me angry to see she compares herself to Dickinson. I'm gonna write a post about that problem too.
I have a lot more to say about the gross lyricism of this album.
I have several different analyses that I plan to publish soon.... because it makes me so angry the way she is such phony-baloney nonsense.
More to the point, I'm angry I fell for it. All the use of intense aesthetics and the money she pours into promo, and I fell for it. I was a fan.
Not anymore.
#taylor swift#ttpd#the tortured poets department#anti taylor swift#ex swiftie#anti swifties#folklore
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Hmmmm with noah or jolly
alright baby, you’re getting both (and i hope your day has gotten a lil better🫶🏻) and today we’re gonna talk about casual intimacy (and other stuff)
Noah who believes that even if he chooses to be private doesn’t mean he can’t show you off. if he’s not holding your hand in public or having you gripped onto his hoodie sleeve, he feels like he’s not doing a good job and keeping you safe. Noah makes sure that Bryan has photos of the two of you from tour, and ofc a photo gets posted once in a while. just as a reminder to the world you’re his. his love language is probably a mix of gift giving and words of affirmation right? he’s always giving you shit, even if it’s just a hoodie he just bought. he’s always telling you how good you did and how proud of you he is. he needs you to know he needs you just as much as he does. and i feel like a big big way he can show you he loves you and doing things for you. he’s not very big on showing emotions right? but ya know what he will do? write you a song. shower with you and wash your hair. paint your nails. brush your hair. help shave your legs (if you do). send you pictures of things he saw that made him think of you. bring you home your favorite snacks randomly. he’s a big softie, especially when it comes to his baby.
Jolly who isn’t afraid of standing in front of an arena sized room to scream he loves you. he’ll make posts on instagram for every anniversary, birthday, vacation, it doesn’t matter. anyway he can to show he is TAKEN. Jolly will share all his feelings, and he won’t hide them ever. he’s famous for just staring at you with those heart eyes bc he is just SO in love with you. when you’re not around? he’ll find a way to bring you up. he’ll show anyone around him his favorite picture of you. never ever uses your government name. only pet names, he straight up doesn’t care if he’s mad either. he never ever uses your name. buys you flowers weekly (has them delivered when he’s gone). weekly date nights (when he’s gone it’s dinner and facetime). he’ll stop whatever if you’re calling him, anything to hear your voice. he loves braiding your hair and when you braid his. he loves sneaking pictures of you sleeping bc you look so peaceful. in every thanks for rewards, albums whatever you’re the first one he thanks. you’re his emotional support human. if he cant take you, he has your perfume (and he totally buys your shampoo but doesn’t tell anyone), a shirt of yours and a lil stuffed animal so he can cuddle at night when he misses you extra. if he’s touring the states, he falls asleep on the phone with you every night. the guys definitely also text you when he’s being extra emo about missing you.
#noah sebastian fluff#noah sebastian headcanons#noah sebastian blurb#noah sebastian fic#noah sebastian fanfiction#bad omens blurb#bad omens fluff#bad omens headcanons#jolly karlsson headcannon#jolly karlsson fic#jolly karlsson fanfiction#joakim jolly karlsson#jolly karlsson fluff
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#i’ll never understand#how Louis hasn’t fired Simon Jones#number one album in the country#and the Daily Fail article#first of all doesn’t even name the album#comments on how downcast he is#and then is all Frodo my son#shameful
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How JJK Men Eat Pussy 2.0
Satoru, Suguru, Nanami, Toji, Sukuna, Yuta, Itadori, Megumi
Warnings: All characters are 18+, this post is explicit smut. As if you couldn’t tell that from the title
A/N: Funny story, I forgot I already wrote this same concept last year… but since I didn’t realize until I finished writing this… imma post it anyways. But if you’d like to see my original thoughts on this topic, you can see them here with an additional 2 characters lol
Gojo Satoru
He is relentless, especially when he’s in the mood to go down on you. These little moods of his will have him between your legs for hours, multiple times a day. You always like to joke that he knows when you’re ovulating because somehow these little moods seem to fall in sync. If Satoru goes more than three days without you, it’s like he’s going through withdrawals. He’s skilled with his tongue, he’s able to move it in ways and speeds you didn’t know a man could. Typically he’s a tease, he’ll edge you until you have an orgasm so pathetic you can’t even call it one. Ya know, the kinds where you come and don’t feel that satisfaction, just the pulsating ache of needing more. But recently, Satoru discovered how much more fun it is to overstimulate you. He loves the way your finger’s bury in his hair and try to tug him off as he sucks on your clit until you’re sobbing and begging him to ease up. He’ll keep your thighs spread wide, large hands effortlessly keeping them in place while they desperately try and close. He’s also the type to see those “pineapple make’s your cum sweet” articles and come home with enough pineapples to feed a village. He’s not even embarrassed about his reasoning, even if it’s just a myth, his sweet tooth can’t pass up the opportunity. Satoru loves your natural taste, but you surprised him with edible lubes in various fruity and sweet flavors one night… you still recall seeing the sun rise.
Geto Suguru
He’s a god at eating pussy and you can’t convince me otherwise. Suguru has always been about your pleasure over his, not to say he doesn’t have his selfish moments, but your pleasure is just so much fun to him. He loves the noise, the facial expressions, the smell, the taste. The first time he went down on you, you were convinced he was lying about it being his first time. The ability just came naturally to Suguru. Like Satoru, Suguru loves to tease you. He’ll focus all of his attention on your dripping entrance, only stimulating your clit if his nose bumps it. He loves the way you squirm, his nails leaving crescent shaped nail marks in the plump flesh of your thighs as he holds you in place. He loves your breathless gasps, his long hair tickling your thighs as he eats you out, only adding to the stimulation that’s making your toes curl. Suguru loves to make you beg, pulling his mouth away from your cunt to just barely flick his tongue over your clit. He’ll stop all together just to taunt you until you’re sobbing, begging him to do something. He has a whole album on his phone dedicated to you, most of the content being videos of him eating you out, some he even made you take just so he could see the camera shake with your effort to keep it straight and hear your noises better. He puts on a show for you, slurping and sucking and moaning just to feel your thighs tremble as you moan with him.
Nanami Kento
Eating you out is a stress reliever for Nanami… so it happens like very fucking day. Lord help me this man will spend hours edging you, cheek pressed into your thigh as he lazily licks and nips at your cunt. He can’t think about anything but you when he is between our legs, moaning and whining his name like a beautiful lullaby. He’ll let you cum eventually, but for the time being you are completely at his mercy. Nanami is the type to wake you up with his head between your legs, especially on nights where he comes home late and you’re already passed out in bed. He’ll make out with your cunt honestly, licking and sucking and nipping at your folds until he can’t tell if you’re wet from his saliva or your own arousal. The answer is both. He doesn’t care for any of the fancy shit, so don’t bother with flavored lubes or eating particular fruits to try and alter your taste, he just wants you and you alone. I feel like this man has a scent kink so the smell of your arousal honestly gets him going even more. He prefers eating you out in bed, mostly because he’s tired and nothing feels better to him than laying on his plush mattress while using your thighs as his pillow. He’s a whore for face sitting by the way, even less of his energy needs to be put into that, especially when you’re grinding your cunt against his tongue. Nanami’s other favorite thing to do is use his tie to bind your wrists, that way you really can’t interrupt him.
Fushiguro Toji
I had to restart Toji’s so many times because I got too aggressive. Listen, this bummy ass bitch will eat you out till the sunrises and he will make a fucking mess of you while he does it. Toji will eat you out and finger fuck you until you’re screaming. He’ll give you a “break” by stuffing you full with his dick and then get back to work eating you out again after he blew his load in you. Filthy bitch. He’ll eat you out anytime, anywhere, any position. He’ll never turn down the opportunity and depending on your relationship with him, this bitch may even charge you for his services. Which is just another way he likes to tease you, watching you whine and squirm while you cough up the money he wants. He’ll call you pathetic as he gets on his knees and basically rips your underwear off of you, commenting the whole time about how much of a whore you are… like he ain’t selling his body to you rn. This man will somehow make you feel inferior, but you can’t be bothered when his tongue is lapping at your cunt like a starved man. Toji will make sure your thighs and your cunt are swollen, bruised, overstimulated, and sore by the time he’s done with you. Your cunt is puffy from his sucking and biting, thighs littered in dark marks and teeth indents. He'd go as far as to find a marker and write “cum dumpster” on you if he was really in the mood to see you sob.
Ryomen Sukuna
Listen, you thought Toji could be mean? Sukuna is ten times worse. The thing is, the king of curses actually likes to eat pussy but he won’t admit it. But that is not to say he can’t live without it, Sukuna is selfish and really only prefers things that pleasure him in the process. But, when you’re sobbing, pathetically begging him to go down on you, he may just crack. Especially if you’re looking at him with watery eyes, swollen lips from sucking him off, your neck littered with bite marks and bruises. Oh, and, if you’ve made him cum, he’s more likely to agree and indulge you. If you manage to convince the king of curses to go down on you, don’t expect him to be easy on you. His nails are digging into the flesh of your thighs, blood dripping slowly as he eats you out with so much force it’s borderline painful. He’s using his tongue and his teeth, nipping at your folds and even grazing your clit with them until he can tell your sobs are a breathless mix of pleasure and pain. If we’re talking true form Sukuna, I promise you he won’t stop until you’ve blacked out. He’ll use one set of arms to hold your waist while the other set keeps your thighs spread. He’s forcefully dragging your cunt over the long tongue that protrudes from his stomach, occasionally stopping just to hold you still as he spreads you open and stuffs you with the same tongue, watching you yelp and moan as he toys with you.
Okkotsu Yuta
If you look up the definition of “pussy drunk” you’ll see a picture of Yuta. This man cannot go down on you without becoming delirious. Your body puts him in a trance, he can’t even explain the way you make him feel. Yuta is all about body worship and his favorite way to go about it is having his face shoved between your legs for hours. He’s just as vocal as you are while he eats you out, groaning and whining against your cunt until the vibrations are making your eyes roll back as you cum again. He’ll be kneading your thighs as he eats, squeezing them like stress balls and hitting nerves that send sparks of electricity all the way to your toes and all the way up to the base of your neck. Without even trying, Yuta will manage to overstimulate you until you’re unironically going cross-eyed, fingers twitching as they bury in his hair and try to pull him off so you can catch your breath. Yuta is still a bit shy when it comes to being intimate outside of the privacy of your home. But that doesn’t mean he won’t drag you into the nearest bathroom and eat you out against the bathroom stall. In this sense, he’s almost cocky when someone unknowingly enters the bathroom only to see two sets of feet in one of the stalls. Not to mention the noises are echoing. Yuta lives to see your eyes going wide from embarrassment as he doesn’t stop, your noises are uncontrollable as he tongue fucks you. The poor bastard who entered the bathroom with the intention of properly using it just muttered under their breath and walked out.
Itadori Yuji
Yuji is eager, so, so damn eager. He wants to do anything and everything that brings you pleasure so when it comes to eating you out, he’s determined to be great at it. Yuji is the type to ask you for “practice” or “lessons” which is just his way of indirectly asking if he can eat you out. Most of the time, it’s an offer you can’t refuse, because as fate would have it, Yuji isn’t bad at anything. He’s so praise focused, eyes glued to your face as he flicks his tongue along your folds and waits for you to tell him he’s doing good. He’ll slow down when your praise isn’t coming fast enough because he wants you to beg. Yuji is a sucker for adding fingers to the mix, as much as he loves making you cum with just his tongue, he sees no point in limiting your pleasure for his own confidence boost. Kind of contradictory since he likes when you beg. Yuji is also the type to wake you up with his head between your legs, just slowly lapping at your cunt while also rutting his hips into the mattress, trying to not wake you up until you’re coming. He finds it so pretty when you wake up gasping, completely unable to restrict any of your noises as you orgasm. It’s important to mention that Yuji is a sucker for 69-ing and face sitting, he loves, loves, feeling your plush thighs caging in his head. He can’t get enough of the way your body settles so nicely into him, no longer afraid of “suffocating him” by sitting all the way down on him.
Fushiguro Megumi
He won’t admit it but he loves to eat you out. Megumi is shy at heart so even if he’s been with you for years, he can still get embarrassed when telling you how badly he wants to go down on you. He’s focused when he does get between your legs, hands gripping your thighs or hips while his tongue laps greedily at your cunt. Megumi loves to tongue fuck you, just because he knows it’s not enough stimulation to make you cum but enough to make you embarrassingly wet. He’s a bit mean at first, not willing to let you come until he feels you’ve earned it. He’ll stop abruptly just to sink his teeth into your inner thighs, not stopping until you’re gasping as the pain turns bruising. He’ll admire the teeth indents he’s left on your skin while his nails are scratching down your other thigh, tongue moving to wiggle against your clit until your hips are bucking. Megumi finds toys to be very hit or miss, but he’s found a love for stuffing you with a vibrator while putting all of his attention on your clit. Megumi’s preferred method of “torture” depends on his mood, either he’ll edge you until you’re begging or overstimulate you until you’re crying. He’s very private when it comes to these things… unless he’s jealous. Much like Yuta, he will not hesitate to drag you somewhere private while out in public to remind you of who you belong to.
#dividers are from @benkeibear#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen headcanons#jjk headcanons#gojo smut#geto smut#satoru smut#suguru smut#nanami smut#toji smut#sukuna smut#yuta smut#itadori smut#megumi smut#gojo x reader#geto x reader#nanami x reader#toji x reader#sukuna x reader#yuta x reader#itadori x reader#megumi x reader
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what it is: YN is Harry’s personal assistant and she gets sick, but he’s playing Wembley
word count: 4k
The air is crisp and clean as YN steps out of her hotel into the streets of London, hurrying down the sidewalk as she scurries to the first pharmacy she can find.
It’s 7.54 in the morning and she’s been awake for almost twenty-four hours. Not on purpose, obviously. And not on her boss’s orders either, despite having there been nights the team deemed important and she was required to pull an all nighter, but those were usually times of celebrations, either spent at an afterparty or waiting until midnight for Spotify to release the album everyone had been working hard on.
The air hurts her lungs as she stops to catch her breathing, the pounding behind her temples not dimming the slightest as she trespasses the sliding doors of the pharmacy, only intensifying with the bright artificial lights shining down on her from the ceiling.
She pulls her sunglasses out of the pocket of her sweatshirt and slides them over her eyes, relishing in the temporary relief washing over her sensitive eyes.
Her phone vibrates in her pocket and she pulls it out, grimacing at the name on the screen; it’s her boss, Harry, asking her what time she’s ready to leave for the venue.
Once her turn comes, she quickly explains her symptoms to the pharmacist and just as quickly she pays for the medicine the pharmacist has taken out for her.
She walks out of the pharmacy and types back a short response to Harry, telling him she’s on her way to his room.
She hopes the medicine she has stuffed in her pocket will make her feel better, and she thinks as she’s making her way back to the hotel that she’ll ask Harry to stop along the way to grab a coffee, hoping it will soothe the tension behind her temples. There’s no way she can be sick when her boss is playing at Wembley for the first time.
…
Harry isn’t one to comment on other people’s appearances, his mum taught him that and it has stuck with him since he was a little kid, a sort of an unspoken rule out of kindness, and therefore he’s never asked if someone was sick because they weren’t wearing makeup or if someone had eaten a little more over the holidays. He never considered other people’s looks something that concerned his range of business, but once he sees YN, he can’t help but wonder if she’s okay.
Her hair is tied in a messy braid, and there’s some strands falling out of it and in front of her eyes. She’s wearing a big love on tour sweatshirt and a pair of yoga pants, but that isn’t particularly concerning, because he’s used to her comfy articles of clothing.
What’s concerning is her face… and Harry already feels bad for thinking that, but she doesn’t look like herself. And Harry would know. Of course he would know, because he spends a lot of time looking at her face, especially when she’s not looking, most of the times when she’s reading a book next to him in a moment of rest or when she’s answering emails on Monday mornings. So… he knows her. He knows her skin looks paler than normal, and the circles under her eyes aren’t the same as that one time they partied all night after Harry won album of the year at the Grammys.
He wants to ask if she’s okay, because after a year of working together they have that kind of confidence, but he doesn’t want that to be the first thing he says to her, so he just smiles at her and welcomes her with a side hug and a good morning.
“Hi” she’s quick to greet back, and Harry notices even her voice sounds scruffier than usual.
“Are you ready to go?” She asks a second later.
“Yeah, yeah, the car’s down already?” He asks surprised. Sometimes it takes a while before the drivers find the hotel, and YN and Harry spend that time watching videos on youtube or talking about the day’s schedule.
YN shrugs but doesn’t say anything in response, which is weird to Harry because she’s usually really bright and energetic in the morning, and she’s really meticulous on top of everything: she never lets him wait without finding something to pass the time first.
“Let’s just stay until we don’t know for certain” he suggests.
She agrees with a nod of her head and she heads to his bed, sitting down on the end of it. It’s not uncommon for her, because she’s always in his space, and there have been times where they were forced to basically sleep in the same bed (one time YN fell asleep on his bed, and Harry was so in his song-writing-bubble he didn’t even realize until he was so tired he couldn’t keep his eyes open, so he slipped in next to her and literally passed out).
He still needs to tie his shoes, so he sits next to her and ties the laces of his ratted vans.
“How’d yeh sleep, pet?” He asks, because she’s freakishly quiet and it’s making him anxious. She’s never quiet, and with this being a stressful day already for Harry, every little thing that’s different from normal alerts him.
“Fine” she whispers, knuckling at her eyes, his question bringing back the awful memory of the night she spent tossing and turning in the scratchy hotel sheets, praying for a moment of solace every time she tried to breathe through her nose and failing.
“Me too…” he nods.
YN feels bad because she should be more engaging, but she really doesn’t have it in her to make small talk.
Some time passes before the driver calls YN’s phone to tell her the van is here, shaking her awake. She remembers closing her eyes to rest them, and next thing she knows she’s sound asleep on her boss’s bed. She’d be a bit embarrassed if it wasn’t for how awful she feels already.
“Crap! I fell asleep!” She exclaims once she hangs up the call.
“Yeah” Harry says from next to her, still laying on his bed, “just fo’ like… fifteen minutes though” He’s playing on his phone, and YN pushes at his bicep, “we need to go, driver’s here”
She gets up from the bed and slips on her shoes, grabbing her work bag (it’s really a tote bag but she finds calling it work bag makes her waaaay more professional) from the floor next to the door.
“YN” she hears Harry clear his voice, and she turns around to look at him.
He’s still sitting on the bed, and he passes a hand through his hair before saying, “are yeh all right?”
She closes her eyes in a furrow and tries not to wince when a sharp pain shoots behind her eyes with the movement, “yes, yes” she stresses, although not convinced.
“Are you sure? C’mon yeh can tell me!”
“I’m fine, Harry” and despite her words, she sniffles, “maybe I have a cold or something…”
“You can take the day off if you need to, yeh know that”
“No, there’s no way” she shakes her head swiftly, “no”.
“YN…” he trails off.
“Harry, I told you I’m fine. I can work! Let’s just go, okay?”
He sighs but does as she says, following her out of his room.
Harry isn’t a worrier. If someone from his team, or band whatsoever, says they can work, he at least presumes they’re mature enough to know the expanse of their limits.
With YN, it’s different. He worries.
Not because he considers her immature, but she’s just… different. Ever since she started working for him as his assistant, he’s always looked out for her, despite being the one that didn’t want to hire her in the first place.
She’s young, she works a lot to prove herself to him, despite him telling her lots of times she doesn’t need to prove anything and she’s doing a great job as she is.
She does unthinkable working hours, sometimes pulling all nighters, other times hurrying to his house in the middle of the night because he’s a little bit of a hypochondriac and she needs to check immediately what’s that new mole he has on his back (turns out it was a speck of dark chocolate that stuck onto his skin).
She’s soft and she always puts her job (him, actually) first, so he doesn’t really trust her to know her limits. If she’s sick she should rest. She should lay in bed and maybe eat a little soup and watch comfort movies tucked under the sheets, but he knows she won’t. And he knows he’s the reason behind that, because he’s playing at Wembley tonight, and she doesn’t want to cause trouble. Harry thinks she in no way could ever be described as trouble.
And maybe, and he feels a little bit scared to admit this, he could postpone the show just by a couple hours, at least until he knows she’s resting at the hotel. but, she hurries into the van and pretends like she’s just got “a cold or something”, so Harry doesn’t question her further.
He could just order her to take the day off, but he knows that would hurt her feelings, and he can imagine the look on her face, like a puppy being scolded, so he bites his tongue: there’s no way he could ever hurt her feelings.
…
YN has to stop a couple of times when she starts feeling dizzy on her feet. She shouldn’t run this much when she’s probably feverish, but there’s so much to do! She doesn’t trust to delegate, and not because she’s pretentious, but because she’s a control freak that needs to know how things are being handled, so she would only get much more frustrated and it would eventually just end up in her doing all the work anyway, increasing her fever undoubtedly.
So, she chugs downs a lot of water and a lot of ibuprofen, taking deep breaths every time she starts feeling nauseous. She should probably inform Harry at least that she doesn’t feel good, so if anything were to happen he wouldn’t be too surprised, but she knows how he is; he would demand she stop immediately and go back to the hotel to rest, and she can’t allow that to happen.
Wembley is the dream of a lifetime, and Harry sound checks every song two times before passing on to the next one. YN sits quietly in one of the seats, preparing Harry’s next instagram post on her phone. She handles all of his socials, because that’s what she was originally hired for. “A young set of eyes”, Jeff had defined her, and from then, her life had changed completely.
Of course, she wasn’t aware she’d develop a crush on her boss at the time she was hired. She figured she’d be immune to his charm; she’s younger than him, much less experienced (in every aspect of her life), and hasn’t really seen anything yet, so she thought they’d just be too different to get along. Spending each second of the day together didn’t help, though, because it was then she got to know Harry for who he truly was, and with that, came the awareness of how many things he’d lived through and how many things he could teach her. How soft he was with her, how he would always drape a blanket over her when she accidentally fell asleep on his bed, and how he would tell her she looked pretty even after pulling an all nighter and probably looking like a raccoon. That’s just how he was.
And that’s why she values his dreams more than her health. She would never do anything that could harm him, so she shrugs off the dreadful feeling off her back and keeps working.
…
“Hey” Harry plops down on the couch next to her, draping his arm on the backrest of the couch. If he’d stretched his fingers he could touch her shoulder, but he doesn’t just yet. He knows she still doesn’t feel good, he can see it in the way she’s hugging herself in the Love on tour hoodie she has on (probably one of his because their laundry always gets mixed up).
“Hi” she says softly, her voice much lower than it’d been the last time he saw her.
It’s closer to show time now, but he’s still not in his outfit. YN wonders if that’s the reason why he came in the dressing room in the first place.
“What are yeh doin’ hidin’ in here all alone?”
“‘m not hiding!” She pouts, “jus’… resting”
“Mh, yeah?” He hums, turning his head to look at her, “restin’ your ears? Are you tired of my music yet?” He jokes.
“Never!” She beams, swatting at his chest playfully.
He lets his arm fall down on her shoulder, and he tugs at her, squeezing her against his chest.
She breaths him in, and despite her stuffy nose, she can smell the faint scent of his fabric softener. Musk and lavender. It’s the same as hers.
“I’m sorry I’ve been a bit of a pain lately…” he trails off, his mouth buried in her hair, “nothing to do with you… was jus’ nervous is all”
She squeezes his hoodie between her fingers to tug him closer, “I’m really proud of you. You’ll do great.”
“Thanks, pet” he grins, breaking away from the hug.
She sniffles and he looks between her eyes warily, “’s there anything you want to tell me before I go on stage?”
“Jus’ to kick ass” she giggles, aware that wasn’t what he was alluding at.
“Mmmh” he muses, getting up from the couch. He knew she’d be stubborn about this so he doesn’t pressure her.
“Hav’to start gettin’ ready” he clears his throat, heading towards the portable hanger YN set up in his dressing room.
He then proceeds to take off his hoodie and his tank top, leaving him shirtless before her.
She’s seen him in his underwear many times, but maybe it’s the fever, maybe it’s the crush on him that’s growing stronger everyday, but she feels her insides get warm at the sight.
He tugs his sweats down his legs too, kicking them off his feet, and YN pretends to pick up her phone to respond to a message that definitely could have waited.
He picks up the heart printed overalls he’d be wearing and tugs them over his legs, jumping a little in his place so they could fit over his bum.
Once he’s fully dressed, he looks over at YN and finds her looking at him already, her eyes a little droopy. He feels his heart tug in his chest at the sight. He wishes she’d let him help her. If he could he’d send her back to the hotel straight away, but he has to admit he’s selfishly relishing in the idea of having her here, looking at him perform. It makes him want to do even better than he always does.
“All ready then” he smiles, dimples denting both his cheeks.
“Mmhh” she hums, getting up on her feet. She walks towards him and adjusts the neck of his shirt, petting it down.
“Good luck Harry” she smiles. He has to refrain himself from lowering his head down to kiss her, and he’s aware these thoughts are way too unprofessional of him, but he can’t help himself. Not when she’s looking at him like that.
“See ya after the show, pet”
…
“Harry!” Jeff pats down on his shoulders as soon as Harry runs backstage, “you just smashed it! Fuckin’ smashed it mate!”
Harry laughs with him out of politeness, but his mind is really on something else.
“Fuckin’ Wembley, Harry! Wembley’s Harry’s house!” Someone else shouts, and he thinks it’s Lloyd but he doesn’t really pay much attention to him. There’s someone missing from the crowd. YN. She’s nowhere to be found, and he’d really like to celebrate with her. She’s the one that should join in on the fun and get a little bit of praise too, because without her, harry doesn’t think he could’ve played Wembley.
Everything was going fine, and he saw her next to his mother standing in the private part of the pit, but then, when he came back after chatting with a couple of fans, she was gone. He wonders if she’s okay.
“Hey, Jeff” he clears his throat, hoping to be discreet with his tone of voice, “where’s YN?”
“Oh…” he nods, “she wasn’t feeling proper good, so I sent her to your dressing room. I told her to get back to the hotel, but she refused to leave”
Harry nods and after a ‘thanks’ he hurries towards his dressing room, hoping to find her there.
Once he opens the door, the sight of YN sleeping on the couch crouched on herself makes his heart somersault in his chest.
“Hey, pet” he coos softly once he crouches down next to her.
He repeats the endearing greeting, and this time she stirs awake. YN brings one hand to knuckle at her eyes tiredly, and Harry frowns at the sight of her bloodshot eyes. He brings one hand to caress her cheek, but when he realizes how warm she is, he brings it up to her forehead. She’s burning hot.
He immediately feels guilty. He should’ve sent her back to the hotel as soon as he realized she was sick, hell, he shouldn’t have let her leave his room that morning!
“Harry?” She asks timidly, her voice coming out scruffy. She gulps but flinches as the hurt in her throat doesn’t subside.
“Yeah, ’s me” he whispers, moving the hair away from her face, “let’s go back to the hotel, okay?”
“No Harry! The show! You can’t leave… the show! It’s wembley” she stresses, gripping his bicep tightly to refrain him from leaving her.
“Shh, shh” he shushes her, “calm down. ’s okay. The show was great. Everything was great” he coos, pressing his lips down her forehead and flinching from how hot it feels, “you did so great”.
She sniffles and: “great?”
“Yeah” he nods, reassuring her, “let’s go now, okay?”
He helps her get up on her feet, and she stumbles a bit in her place. She grips the fabric of his overalls tightly between her fingers, and he lets her, hoping to be at least a little bit of comfort.
…
“How are you feelin’? What hurts?” He asks her once they reach his hotel room (he wanted to go back to hers, but couldn’t find her key and didn’t want to startle her too much).
“Everything” she pouts.
“I’m so sorry, darling” he sighs, ushering her inside his room.
She’s stable on her feet now, the little nap at the venue kind of helped a bit in soothing her, but still, everything hurts, and the thought of being in a hotel room and not at her own house bothers her.
She also doesn’t want Harry to look at her like this, all sweaty and red in the cheeks. She must look so embarrassing!
“I’ll draw you a bath, how about that?” He proposes, not waiting for her response and heading directly towards the bathroom.
Now that he thinks about it, harry’s glad she’s in his room, because (being the Harry Styles) his room has a bathtub, whereas hers doesn’t. He also has lots of salt baths and bubbles to add to the water, courtesy of the hotel, and he adds everything he can to soothe her stuffed nose and make the bath as pleasing as possible.
She knocks on the door delicately, and he turns his head to look at her.
“Bath’s ready” he smiles gently, and he dips his index finger to test the temperature of the water, careful not to make it too hot to not aggravate her fever any more.
Harry excuses himself from the bathroom, and tells her to give him a shout if she needs anything.
It’s a couple of minutes later when he hears her calling for him, her voice still lower than normal.
He knocks on the door and after he gets her consent he opens it, peeking his head inside. She’s laying in the bathtub, the water submerging her almost to her neck, and he’s aware she’s naked under, but the bubbles cover her body entirely.
“Are yeh all right?” He asks worriedly.
“Mhmh,” she hums, “jus… keep me company?”
He’s happy she’s more responsive now, and he happily sits at her side, plopping down on the toilet seat next to the tub.
They sit in silence for a while, Harry’s aware he’s still in his fancy (and uncomfortable) show clothes, but he doesn’t care. He’s just happy to dote on her now as she’s been doing with him since she’s been hired.
“I can’t believe you played at wembley and I missed half of it” she says after a while, the water sloshing around her as she turns to look at him.
“There’s always next time” he grins at her playfully.
She throws a smile at him, “bet”.
His mouth opens in a sideway smile, his dimple indenting only one of his cheeks, and more seriously than he did before, he says “I wish you’d told me you weren’t feelin’ good”
“Didn’t want to spoil your day” she shrugs.
He wants to tell her she wouldn’t have spoiled it, that if she’d asked he would’ve postponed his show and crawled in bed with her, cuddling her until she felt better, even with the risk of getting himself sick too, he didn’t care. He would have done anything to make her feel good; but how can he tell her? How can he be honest about something like that without revealing another part of himself to her? He’s her boss. He’s older than her. And he doesn’t know if she feels the same way.
So, instead of making a complete fool out of himself, he ushers her out of the tub, passing her a towel without looking at her. He engulfs her in the bathrobe and ties it tight on her stomach, careful to have her bits covered completely by the fabric of the towel.
When he reaches his room, he takes out a t-shirt and a pair of boxers for her to sleep in, and he leave her to change in the bathroom.
While he waits for her to come out, he texts his mum if she could make that delicious soup she always prepared when he was sick, promising he wasn’t sick himself and that he’d explain in the morning. His mum answers a couple of minutes later with a thumbs up and a kissy face.
He locks his phone and plugs it in the charger next to the bed, leaving it on the bedside table.
When YN comes out of the bathroom, she looks better already. Her cheeks aren’t as red and her eyes appear to be more rested, but, she still looks tired, and he smiles at her as he tugs the comforter down for her to slip in.
She curls up under the covers and waits for Harry to tuck her in, “comfortable?” He asks.
She nods with her cheek against the pillow, “just wish I was home” she whispers and the affirmation pains him.
“I’ve been overworking yah, haven’t I?” He sighs deeply, feeling extremely guilty.
She’s quick to shake her head no, flinching when a sting of pain hits her temples with the movement.
“Yes I have… you’ve been s’good” he smiles down at her.
“You’re a Wembley player now” she whispers, her eyes closing on her as she speaks, and Harry chuckles endeared at her.
“Get some rest” he coos, but she’s already fallen in a deep sleep that will probably be tainted with a curly headed guy with green eyes and a pretty smile.
He fishes from inside her bag a tab of ibuprofen and, with a glass of water, he places them on the bedside table closer to her side, so, if she’d ever were to wake up in pain, she could take the medicine immediately.
He takes the shortest shower he’s ever taken, quickly putting on his pajamas and brushing his teeth. Once he’s ready for bed, he slips in next to her, leaning down to press his lips on her forehead to check her temperature. She’s still warm, but the bath seemed to be of help, and probably the much needed sleep, too.
He thinks he’ll give her the rest of the month off. He owes it to her, so she can get back up on her feet and spend some time at home if she’d like. He takes a minute to wonder why hasn’t he ever given her more than a day of rest, and he doesn’t have to wonder too much, because he knows the answer already, one that is overbearing and too deep to even analyze after the day he’s had: he doesn’t want to be away from her that much time. It’s as simple as that. He’s fucked.
Read part 1 to their story here
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not just on christmas
pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader
summary: steve’s parents are coming home for the holidays and he’s in need of a fake date. who better than you, his best friend?
word count: 8.2k
warnings: steve’s parents (derogatory), negative comments about his job, fake dating, friends to lovers, christmas themes, fluff, first kiss!
a/n: i had lots of fun with this one and i hope u guys like it!!! merry christmas and happy holidays i hope they treat u all well <33 consider this my gift to you :D
༄
The phone ringing forces Steve out of bed. Floors cool on his feet, the air a chill on his bare chest, he rubs his eyes lazily and picks it up.
“Hello?” He clears his throat to get rid of the sleep in his voice.
“Steve, why do you sound tired, it’s nearly noon!”
It’s no surprise that the first words aren’t asking him how he is. He’s shocked she cared enough to pick up on the tone of his voice at all. “Hi, mom.”
He doesn’t even know where she’s calling from, doesn’t know what business trip they're on. He can’t remember the last time he got a phone call that wasn’t you, or Robin, or Dustin, or anyone else other than his parents.
Steve’s not even excited to be hearing from them, because it’s a reminder that they’re not around, that they haven’t forgotten about him, they just don’t care.
He wishes you were the one that called.
“Listen, sweetie, your dad and I are coming home for Christmas this year, isn’t that great?”
He deflates, “yeah. Super.”
“There’s a business event he wants to take you to. And we’ll find you a date,” there’s the catch. There’s always a catch. “You can make some connections, maybe get out of your job at that video store soon.”
The thing is, he actually likes working at Family Video, but he knows that doesn’t matter. Then there’s the topic of the girlfriend, or lack thereof. His parents are always nagging him about when he’ll settle down, grow roots, or something.
Maybe that’s why he says, “I can get my own date. I have a girlfriend.”
“Oh! That’s fantastic! She’ll have dinner with us, won’t she? What’s her name?”
Like an idiot, he says your name. The first one that came to his mind.
You’re his best friend, and it’s easy to let his thoughts drift to you. The problem is, he has no idea how he’s going to explain this to you, how he can ask you to fake date him just to satisfy his parents for once.
If he wasn’t still on the phone, Steve would be groaning into a pillow right now.
“Okay, sweetie, your dad has a brunch we have to get to. We’ll see you soon!”
“Bye, mom. See you.”
He hangs up and sighs in relief. That feeling is quick to fade when he remembers that he had just named you his girlfriend in the midst of his phone call. He drops his face into his hands, runs them through his hair, and tries to figure out how the hell to bring up the subject with you.
To go along with that, he has to worry about his parents coming home. Though, can they really call it ‘home’ when they’ve been gone for so long? When they’ll leave again after a few days, a week at most?
Most people would be happy, excited, about their parents being around for the holidays. Steve’s not. He’d rather spend it how he has since the two of you became friends. Breakfast at your house with your family—who have become family for Steve, too—presents opened with scented candles burning and Christmas albums spun on the record player.
You went out of your way to include him, and he’s never felt so welcome in his life as he does when he’s with you.
At least, if you agree, you’ll be with him this year, too.
-
It’s the next day when Steve decides to bring it up. You’re at his house for movie night, which has become a weekly ritual for the two of you. He’s been trying to figure out what exactly to say since he hung up the damn phone. He’s given up and instead hopes it’ll come to him in the moment.
Today, Steve’s quiet, which is unlike him. You know something’s on his mind and you try to avoid asking him about it, trying to let him talk about it on his own time. It’s about halfway through the movie that you change your mind.
He didn’t complain when you showed up with your cheesy Christmas movie choice, he didn’t light-heartedly tease you about your outfit of choice (some festive patterned pajama pants and a sweater that’s so worn there are holes in the neckline), and the most unusual, he didn’t make a single joke or comment as the movie played.
He’s really, really quiet.
You pick up the remote and pause it, “what’s going on with you, Steve?”
He looks at you, catches your eye and sees nothing but genuine concern. Sometimes he hates the way you know him so well. He can never hide anything from you.
“What? Nothing.”
You blink at him, “come on.”
“Fine, okay. Just, don’t say anything until I’m done, please.”
“Okay,” you pretend to zip your mouth shut, ready to listen.
“My mom called yesterday and told me they’re coming home for Christmas, and that there’s this business thing they want me to go to, and that I need a date for it,” he scrubs a hand down his face, trying to hide his embarrassment. “And you know how they’re always on my ass about me being single and stuff so I kind of told her I already had a girlfriend, and maybe I told her that girlfriend is you.”
What?
There’s a lot to process there. Mostly the fact that out of all of the names he could have chosen, he said yours. You wait for him to explain some more, but he’s looking at you like he’s waiting for a reply, so, your mouth is now unzipped.
“So, what exactly does that mean?”
He mutters a curse under his breath. “Um, so, I need you to pretend to be my actual girlfriend while they’re here.”
His use of the word ‘need’ is telling. Steve’s not one to ask for help, not even when he needs it the most but here he is, nervous and a little pink-cheeked, asking for your help.
You let the thought sit in your head for a bit. It’s not hard for you to want to agree. Steve’s your best friend, and you’d do pretty much anything for him. Though, that might also have to do with the fact that you’ve been in love with him for years.
You know more about his relationship with his parents then most do, so if you can make their visit more bearable for him in any way, why wouldn’t you?
“Okay,” you say.
“Okay? Like, you’ll do it?”
“Yeah, sure. I’m happy to help.”
That was a lot easier than Steve thought it’d be. You barely even questioned him before agreeing, and that’s not lost on him.
“Thank you so much, seriously,” he throws his arm over your shoulders, squeezes you to him in a side hug. “It’s only a few days, then we can go back to normal.”
“Easy peasy,” you say, reaching for the remote and hitting play.
Aside from your wanting to help him, to be there for him like you know he would for you, you’re also curious to see what it’s like to be with Steve that way, even if it’s fake. It’s hopeless, the way you love him, like the moon orbiting the earth around and around. Constant.
Sure, those feelings will probably only swell because of the fake relationship, but you’ve been housing them for long enough anyway.
What could go wrong?
-
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Robin says from the other side of a clothing rack, sifting through the pieces.
She’s the first, and only, person you told about the fake dating thing. Naturally, she decided she’d help you shop for a dress to wear to this business thing and talk about it at the same time.
The mall is decorated, garlands and lights strung, a big Christmas tree lit up in the middle of it all.
“It’s only a couple of days. It’ll be fine.”
“I’m talking about you being in love with him,” she deadpans.
“Robin, not so loud.”
“I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
You know she’s being honest, and though the thought has been at the back of your mind, a whisper, you’d like to believe that you can handle a fake relationship without ruining things because of your big, big feelings.
“I spend time with him alone a bunch. It’s not that much different, okay?”
“Besides the fact that you’ll be calling him boyfriend and acting like it, too, you mean.”
Actually, you’ve been trying not to think about what exactly pretending to be his girlfriend entails. You don’t know if he’ll hold your hand, if he’ll hold you closer than he has before, if he’ll kiss you. You think it might be better to wait and see, to not let the possibilities eat at you.
“I know it sounds bad, but it’s Steve. Nothing major will happen. We’re friends and I’m helping him out.”
Robin’s in a tricky spot. She knows how you feel about Steve, obviously, and though he doesn’t see it yet himself, she knows that Steve feels the same, too. It’s taken a lot to hold herself back from speeding things along, and as much as she wishes this fake relationship plan might be a good push, things usually aren’t so easy.
She can also tell that there’s a lot you’re thinking but not saying, but instead of pushing it, she returns to looking at the dresses. It’s not long before she gasps, pulling one of the rack to show you.
“This one,” she says.
“I don’t know. That won’t look good on me.”
It’s pretty, though. You’ll give her that.
“Shut up, everything looks good on you. Will you at least try it on?” She wiggles the hanger in her hand, “for me?”
“Fine.”
You take it from her, walking back towards the fitting rooms with a grinning Robin in tow. She waits outside the door while you change into the dress.
Once it’s on, looking in the mirror, you don’t even know what to think. You’re not one to feel all that confident in what you wear, or in how you look, but this dress makes you feel pretty. Maybe you should make Robin pick out all of your clothes.
“Let me see!” Robin calls.
You step out of the changeroom, doing a shy little spin when she asks. She’s smiling proudly, like she knows she chose well (which she did). She can’t help but think of how Steve will react, because she knows he feels something for you, she can see it on his face everytime he talks about you. He’s just a dork and he doesn’t realize it. Not yet, at least.
“What do you think?” You ask.
“If Steve’s not already in love with you…”
“Don’t finish that sentence.”
If she does, your brain will conjure up way too many ideas of what could possibly happen. If Steve could really feel the same. If maybe he’ll feel those same butterflies in his stomach that you do, if his heart feels bigger when you’re around. In your dreams, he does.
“I’m trying to tell you you look hot!”
-
December twenty-third is the day that Steve’s parents come home as well as the night of the business event. You and Steve have tried to figure out how to act like a couple, quizzing each other on things you already know, setting loose boundaries, but you figure after knowing each other for so long, being so close, it won’t feel much different than now. Besides the extra touching, the possibility of kissing.
You’re already at his house when his parents get home, your makeup and outfit for tonight sitting in Steve’s room. The two of you linger near the front door waiting for their arrival, a nervous and jittery welcoming committee.
The sound of a car pulling into the driveway grabs your attention. It’s a clapperboard snapping shut, marking the scene. Action.
“You ready, babe?” He holds out his arm for you to grab, and you do.
“Time to be the best couple ever,” you reply.
Steve grins at you. He has no idea how to thank you for agreeing to do this, how to even explain to you the relief you’re sure to bring. It’s one less thing for his parents to pick and pry at.
The door opens, and you can already feel a change in Steve’s demeanor. He’s standing straighter, stiffer. You squeeze his arm, a reminder that you’re there.
“Steve, sweetie!” His mother barely greets him before moving onto you, “and this is your girlfriend?”
“Hi, Mrs. Harrington.”
If it were someone else’s mother, you’d be hit with the usual ‘oh please, call me (insert name here).’ However, where the Harringtons are concerned, formality is a must. Besides Steve, of course. From what you know, the apple had fallen very, very far from the tree and you mean that as a compliment.
Even after being friends for so many years, this is the first time you’re actually meeting Steve’s parents. It’s clear that he’s never jumped at the opportunity to have his friends around when they’re home. He’s told you about them, and that’s enough for you.
“Steve! Come help me with the bags, would you?” His dad calls from outside, though he says it as a demand rather than a question.
“Yep, coming,” he replies. He kisses the side of your head before going outside, quick and sure, like he’s done it hundreds of times.
“How was your trip, Mrs. Harrington?” You fill the silence.
“Oh, just lovely, thank you,” she moves to the kitchen, expecting you to follow. “The house looks clean. Do you have something to do with that?”
Despite her trying to sound like she’s joking, you know that she truly doesn’t believe that Steve could be the one keeping the place going. As if he hasn’t been doing just that for ages.
“No, no. It’s really Steve.”
Her eyebrows raise, surprised.
Steve and his father walk in before anything else is said—thank God. You shake hands with Mr. Harrington, saying hello and wearing a tight smile. Steve’s quick to come to your side, an arm over your shoulders like a shield. Your hand moves to hold the one resting on your shoulder.
He’s even more tense when his father’s in the room, you’ve noticed. You hold his hand a bit tighter. You wish you could do something to make him feel better, and you hope that this fake relationship will do that at least a little bit.
Meanwhile Steve’s wondering how your presence could make him feel much better than he usually does with his parents around. You’re a comfort beside him, and when he gets the chance, he kisses your head again, whispering a ‘thank you’ into your hair.
-
The first few hours with Steve’s parents go by dreadfully slow, even with his touch on you most of the time. You’re quickly learning that as a boyfriend—even fake—Steve’s love language is easily physical touch. He has an arm around you, a hand in yours, on your leg, anything.
You’re also learning just how strained his relationship with his parents is. He’d trusted you enough to tell you most of it, but seeing them interact in front of you was different. The backhanded comments, the faces whenever he mentions his job, it makes your heart ache for him.
It’s bad enough that his parents are hardly ever around, but having them act like this when they are? You’re amazed at how good Steve has remained through it all.
When it’s time to get ready for the business party, you’re thankful for the reprieve.
“Think we’re doing a good job?” You ask Steve as he shuts the door to his room.
“They seem to be buying it. Thanks again for doing this.”
“You’ve thanked me like a hundred times, Steve. It’s okay, really.”
You want to tell him that you’re sorry these are the people he has to call family. That he shouldn’t listen to any of the shit they give him about his job or his lack of post-secondary education. That he’s the best boy you’ve ever known.
The problem is, you don’t know how to say all of that without making your feelings for him painfully obvious.
“Just gotta keep it up ‘til Christmas. That’s when they leave.”
“They’re only here for two days?” You knew the trip was going to be short, but forty-eight hours?
“Yeah, something about getting a deal on a cruise. I don’t know.”
He says it so casually, like it’s normal. You guess that for him, it is, but it doesn’t make it any less upsetting.
“Does that mean you’ll come to mine for Christmas day? Like usual?” You ask, hopefully lightening the mood.
“If you’ll have me.”
“Shut up, you’re always welcome. Think my mom likes you more than me anyway,” you nudge his shoulder with yours, then move to bring your stuff into his bathroom to start getting ready.
He leans on the doorframe, watching you set your makeup out on the counter, “she does not.”
“Steve, you have your own stocking hanging on our fireplace. And it’s bigger than mine.”
He smiles genuinely then, the first one since his parents have arrived.
He leaves you to get ready, shutting the bathroom door for when you change. You can still hear him through the door. The opening and closing of his drawers, a curse when he stubs his toe.
So far, pretending to be with Steve has been easy. You’ve acted the same save for the touches or small pecks he’s decided to keep placing on your head or your cheeks. The story you settled on was simple: you met him picking up a movie at Family Video, he asked if you needed company to watch it, the rest is history, blah blah blah.
Steve knocks on the bathroom door when you’re pretty much ready, you glance at yourself one more time in the mirror before opening it.
He stands with his tie in hand, wearing a button up and dress pants. You assume there’s a suit jacket to go along with it, and you think it might kill you. He’s so pretty, and he looks it all of the time but seeing him dressed up is really something.
“You look good, Steve,” you say. Good doesn’t even begin to cover it.
“Thanks. You look- you too.”
Steve’s stunned. He realizes he’s never seen you in anything formal and it’s making him feel all fluttery in his stomach and he doesn’t know what to think of it. He’s always known you’re gorgeous, in an obvious way like how the sky is blue. Now, though, it’s like he can feel it.
He clears his throat quietly and remembers the reason he knocked in the first place, “you don’t happen to know how to tie a tie, do you?”
You’re thankful for the time you decided to learn how when you were bored one day. You take the fabric from his hands, “it’s your lucky day, Steve.”
“Thank you. Didn’t wanna have to go ask my dad.”
He’s almost shy about wanting your help over something so small, his cheeks a little pink, his head bent. You give him a reassuring smile—or what you hope is one—and place the tie around his neck.
His eyes are on you as your hands fiddle with the fabric, doing it up for him. Your eyebrows are slightly scrunched, and he wants to reach out and smooth it out with his thumb. He’s not used to having that urge.
You finish up successfully after having fumbled a little bit, adjusting the tie so it isn’t crooked.
“There you go,” you pat his chest and he hopes you can’t feel his heartbeat, the way it’s quicker than normal.
He has no idea what that’s about.
“Thanks.”
“‘Course.”
He’s still standing close to you, enough that he has to keep his head tilted downwards just a little to be able to look at your face. Your eyes lock onto his, and time seems to slow. You’re so gone for him and you know it, but it almost seems like maybe he’s feeling something too. Just for a moment.
His father calling out that it’s time to go snaps you out of it.
Steve grabs his jacket, shrugging it on then offering you his hand to hold, “let’s do this, girlfriend.”
-
The hall is oozing Christmas when you walk in, Steve’s hand in yours. Ornaments hang down from the ceiling, warm white string lights line the top of the walls, Christmas music hums through the speakers, and an extravagant Christmas tree sits in the middle of the room.
You’ve never been to an event like it, and you have a hard time keeping your nerves at bay.
Pretending in front of Steve’s parents alone was one thing. Now, the stakes are higher. You have to be convincing and though it’s not difficult for you to pretend to be in love with Steve (you don’t have to fake that at all), you worry that you’ll slip up somehow and give yourself away. Both in the sense that the relationship is fake, and that your feelings are anything but.
It’s not long before Steve’s father gets pulled into a conversation, and his mother goes along with him. You’re left standing near the doorway with Steve, biting at the inside of your cheek.
“Relax,” he leans his head close to yours and whispers.
“Sorry. I’m just nervous.”
“We’re fine. You’re fine,” he squeezes your hand, something that’s quickly become a wordless reassurance between you. “We’ve done good so far, right?”
“I guess so.”
“Okay, so there’s nothing to worry about.”
Except for the fact that I love you and that you being a really good fake boyfriend isn’t helping.
“Okay.”
He smiles and leads you further into the room. The smile he gives you is different from the one he gives the people that say hi to him, the people that stop him for a chat. For you, it’s honest. For them, it doesn’t reach his eyes, it doesn’t mean anything.
“About time you tied someone down, Steve,” a man says to him. A coworker of his father’s, just like most men in the room.
“Think she’s the one who got me, but yeah.”
“That’s sweet. Next step is to get you a stable job, huh?”
It seems like all anyone here is concerned about is what people do, who they know. It’s no fun for you and they aren’t even speaking to you directly most of the time.
“Sure. Good to see you,” Steve excuses the both of you from the conversation.
“These people suck,” you say to him, leading him to the bar set up in a corner.
“Tell me about it.”
You order water for the both of you, something to get rid of the dryness in your throat and occupy you for a bit. You drink quietly before Steve speaks up.
“You look beautiful, by the way.”
He doesn’t know why it slips out now, but it does. The thought has been on his mind since he saw you standing there in his bathroom, and it’s getting harder and harder to ignore.
“You don’t have to say that, Steve. Nobody’s listening.”
“I mean it, seriously.”
“Oh,” you look down at your glass, at the condensation running down the side. The corners of your mouth lift, “thank you.”
“I know this isn’t the most fun, but I’m glad you’re here with me,” he admits. He’s always been sweet to you, but this feels different. You don’t know how or why, but it does.
“I am too.”
Steve’s dad interrupts your moment, pulling Steve off to meet some people. Already, there’s a guard being put up by him, a shield he saves for his father.
For those few minutes, where it was just you and Steve, you realized that he’s probably the best date you’ve ever had. He pays attention to you, he’s comforting without even trying, and he compliments you with so much honesty you could melt.
He’s the best date you’ve ever had and it’s fake. It’s becoming a mantra repeated in your head; it’s not real, it’s not real.
Lost in thought, you don’t notice the boy who’s sat next to you now.
“I’ve never seen you before,” he says.
“I’m not usually at these things. I came with my boyfriend,” you tell him, unsettled by his stare.
“And where is this boyfriend now?”
“He’s out there. I just needed some water but he’ll come back soon.”
You’re trying to get him to go away, to take the hint. He won’t.
“Why don’t I keep you company in the meantime?”
You’re about to reply when someone else does it for you, “not necessary. She’s my girl.”
My girl. Steve. He stands behind you, wraps his arms around your waist. It’s like he knew you needed him then, showing up as soon as you felt like you wanted to search for him. He runs his hands over your sides, a possessive touch that has your skin tingling.
“My bad, man. Thought she was lying about the boyfriend,” the guy says.
“She wasn’t. Even if she was, maybe you should learn to tell when someone isn’t interested, yeah?”
The stranger nods and walks off.
You spin in Steve’s hold, facing him. “My hero.”
“You know me,” he shrugs.
What he doesn’t say is that seeing another guy talk to you made his gut churn, bringing something that he didn’t want to admit was jealousy. He also saw the look on your face, the discomfort, and felt his feet carry him over before his mind could think it first.
His hands are still on your waist, even with the stranger gone.
-
It’s not until Steve’s parents are ready that you leave. They’ve taken advantage of the champagne that sat on trays, free for the taking, as well as the opportunity to talk up their son to many, many people. It seems they’re only proud of him when there’s other people around, and even then, the praise doesn’t hold much weight.
He’s trying his best. At least he’s working. He’s got a girlfriend now. No, he doesn’t host backyard parties while we’re gone anymore.
You wish you could speak up, but you know, with this many people around, it’d cause more harm than good. It’s hard to listen to the people that raised Steve talk about him the way they do. You want so badly to shout in their faces how brilliant he is, no thanks to them. How he has the kindest soul and a sort of midas touch that makes everything shine.
At least, you think he does. You promise yourself to love him better than they ever did, even if it’s in secret.
One memory from the night overpowers the rest, luckily. ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’ played, a slower rendition, and a slow dance ensued. You watched couples split off, and when you looked at Steve, he was already looking at you, a question on his face and a hand outstretched.
You fell into step with him quickly. It wasn’t awkward for a second. One of your hands in his, the other on his shoulder, his on your waist. You swayed together, unknowingly moving closer until you were close enough to rest your head on his chest. And you did.
He rested his head atop of yours and hummed the song softly. You’ll dream about that dance, probably.
Now, you sit in the car with Steve, who’s become the driver. He drops his parents off at his house first, leaving the two of you alone for the drive to yours. He sneaks glances at you at stop signs and red lights, turning back to the road when he thinks he’s been caught.
His mind is full because he’s looking at you in a way he hasn’t before. He sees parts of you that he was blind to before. The shape of your lips, for example. The dip of your spine and the way it feels to hold you. It’s dizzying and warm, confusing and sparkling all at once.
Once he’s pulled up to your house, he offers to walk you to the door. Ever the gentleman. A romantic no matter how much he denies it, you think. He gets misty-eyed when you watch rom-coms, opens doors for you, has bought flowers for nearly all of his dates, as far as you know.
What must it be like to receive flowers from Steve Harrington?
He faces you on your front porch, hands in his pockets, “thank you again for doing this.”
“How many times do I have to tell you it’s okay. I’m happy to help you, Steve. You’re my best friend.” Who I love more than anyone.
“You’re mine, too, honey.”
It’s not the first time he’s called you that. Turns out, it was his default to use in your fake relationship. It is, however, the first time he’s said it when it’s just the two of you. It sounds sweet coming from his lips, sticky. Just like honey itself.
“What time should I be over for dinner tomorrow?” You ask. It’s the last hurdle of the fake dating.
“How ‘bout I come pick you up after I finish work?”
“Yeah, okay, that’d be great, thanks.”
You wrap your arms around yourself, the cold of December biting your skin.
“Here,” Steve notices, of course he does, and he reaches out with his hands, rubbing them up and down your arms to warm you.
“How’re your hands still warm?” You ask.
“I'm magic.”
You smile at that. He has no idea.
He reaches up with one hand to cup your cool cheek, and you nudge your face into his touch. For the warmth, you tell yourself. That’s it. His thumb runs over your skin, once, twice.
“Did I ever tell you that you have a pretty smile?” He says it so quietly you almost miss it. You don’t, though, and there’s a swarm of butterflies in your gut because of it.
“Shut up,” you try to mask your bashfulness.
Then, just like that, his face is close to yours. So close that it looks like he might kiss you. His eyes flick from your mouth up to yours, like he’s unsure of what’s happening while he’s doing it.
You can feel his breath tickling your lips, the ghost of his mouth on yours. Before that can happen, he’s swerving away quickly, planting a kiss on your cheek instead. The one he isn’t holding. His mouth lingers for a second.
“Goodnight,” he whispers against your skin.
“Night,” you say, dazed. And he’s walking away.
Steve’s not at all sure what’s come over him. He wanted to kiss you just then, to tangle his fingers in your hair and kiss you stupid. What the fuck was happening to him?
When you let your eyes flutter shut, your mouth parted slightly, like you’d let him kiss you, like you wanted it, too, he panicked. Couldn't do it.
No, he doesn’t know what just happened, why it did, or why he’s resisting the urge to go back and knock on your door and actually kiss you when you open it. What he does know is that his heart seems to be doing something funny when you’re around, and that your fake relationship has been better than any of his real ones.
He knows he needs to talk to Robin about this.
-
Steve had to work the next morning—Christmas Eve—which he was actually thankful for. Thankful to get away from his parents, though the comments about his job followed him out the door this morning. Especially thankful because he needs to talk to Robin and sort out the mess of his feelings that has occurred in the last twenty four hours.
He couldn’t stop thinking about how much he wanted to kiss you. About how his stomach was all twisty when you slow danced with him. There are so many moments playing over in his memory. Not just from yesterday, either.
He remembers the way his stomach would sink when you’d tell him about a date you had or how he’d often reach out a hand to tuck your hair behind your ear, or to wipe something away from the corner of your mouth.
So many things over your friendship that he never thought about are coming back to him and he’s realized he doesn’t act that way with any of his other friends. Only you.
He also realizes that he hasn’t really been pretending with you at all.
“I think I love her,” Steve blurts out while he and Robin are organizing returns, the store luckily empty.
Robin reaches into her pocket, barely fazed, and tosses a handful of confetti at Steve. Some pieces stick to his hair, some to his clothes, most of it at his feet.
“What the hell?” He shakes the flecks out of his hair, “we have to clean that now.”
“I’ve been carrying around confetti for like a year waiting for this to happen!”
“Wait, what?”
“Steve, you’ve been loving her for a long time, hate to break it to you.”
“And you didn’t tell me?” He’s no longer preoccupied with the confetti.
“I was letting you do it on your own time. You’re welcome.”
Steve had only just deduced that he’s in love with you and yet, when he thinks about you, he feels the same way he has for years. He finds it hard to believe that he’s been blind to it for that long, but he has been called an idiot enough in his lifetime for it to make sense.
Then, there’s the fact that you’re not done fake dating yet, that there’s still dinner today to get through and he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to keep himself together.
“What am I gonna do, Robin?”
“You’re gonna tell her how you feel and I will finally know peace.”
“What if she doesn’t feel the same? What if I freak her out?”
“Steve, she looks at you like sun shines from your pores,” she places a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll be fine.”
-
He picks you up after work as promised, his hands holding the wheel a little tighter, his greeting a little louder than normal. You figure he’s just nervous about dinner.
Nobody brings up the almost kiss, and you don’t plan to. Maybe you read things wrong. Maybe he was aiming for your cheek all along. Maybe he’s been thinking about it as much as you have.
It seems that your feelings for Steve are present now more than ever. Impossible to ignore. It might have something to do with the Christmas spirit floating around, the lightness of the holidays. It definitely has something to do with you being Steve’s fake girlfriend.
Because it turns out, he’s an excellent boyfriend, real or not.
He opens doors for you, even if he has to jog ahead of you to do it. He’s always got at least one hand on you, warm and sure. He looks at you with so much care, his brown eyes stuck on you.
It’s all adding up and you feel like your love for him is overflowing, pouring out of you before you can reel it in. You just hope he doesn’t notice that you’re not acting, that you never were.
Walking into Steve’s kitchen, you pause in the doorway, him behind you, “this smells great, Mrs. Harrington.”
Though Steve knows she probably bought most of the stuff and then put it in pots and pans to make it look like she cooked, he agrees, “so great, mom.”
She turns to look at you both from her spot by the stove, “thank you. Oh!” She cuts herself off with a gasp, her gaze drifting above your heads.
Oh no.
“Mistletoe,” she says, pointing.
“Look at that,” you laugh, short and awkward.
“Steve, sweetie, kiss your girlfriend for tradition's sake, won’t you.”
He kisses you on the cheek.
“A real one, son,” his father pipes up from his seat at the table.
Steve finds your gaze, his eyes wide and questioning. Are you okay with this? He’s asking without saying it. You nod, barely there, but you nod and he sees it.
He cups your cheek in his hand, flashes of last night on your porch come to you. He leans in slowly, like he’s waiting for you to stop him. Instead of doing that, you hold his wrist in your hand, squeeze it. Your silent communication.
In a blink, his lips are on yours. Pillowy and almost shy, but he’s kissing you and you feel like you’re floating, your feet off the ground and everything. He pulls away before you can even register the fact that it happened.
Your heartbeat is loud in your ears, your lips still burning with the memory of his.
Steve can't believe he hasn’t kissed you before. You’re soft and you fit together so well, like the final piece of a jigsaw puzzle clicking into place. He’s kicking himself for not doing it last night, when you were alone, when it was real. Next time he kisses you, he thinks, it will be real.
He clears his throat, tearing his eyes away from you, “so, let’s eat.”
Just like that, he’s moving to the table, pulling out a chair for you and kissing the top of your head once you’ve sat down. Already, the extra affection he’s been giving you has been dizzying. Now, it’s dialed way up.
He helps his mom serve the food before he sits down, though all he gets as a thank you is a pat on the cheek. Next to you, you can see Steve’s leg bouncing up and down. You reach out and place a hand above his knee, stilling him and drawing his gaze to yours.
You smile, and you hope it’s enough to say it’s okay, it’s all gonna be fine. He rests his hand on top of yours, fingers laced together.
“So, Steve, have you been looking for jobs?” His father speaks up. The never-ending topic.
“No, dad. I have a job,” Steve doesn’t look up from his plate, pushing mashed potatoes around with his fork.
“Well, a real job, I mean.”
At Steve’s silence, his mom adds, “we just think, especially now that you have a girlfriend to support, you should look for something… better.”
You look up when she says it, eyes wide and hand tensing on Steve’s leg. You don’t understand how they care so much about what he does and so little about how he feels. He likes his job, you know that, and he’s tried to tell them multiple times over the past couple of days.
And still.
It’s impossible for you to sit by and listen to them talk to him the way they do, like he isn’t good enough. Like the only defining thing is his job, which isn’t even a bad one. What defines him is who he is as a person and he’s the best one in your life.
“Why does it matter so much?” You ask.
His parents look at you, surprised to be questioned, it seems. Steve looks at you, too, with something more like astonishment, appreciation.
“I’m sorry,” you continue, “it’s just, you haven’t seen your son in how long? And all you guys keep bringing up is his job, which he’s told you he actually enjoys. Shouldn’t that be enough for you?”
Steve’s world is tinting pink, heart-shaped lenses over his eyes hearing you defend him. Nobody’s ever tried to go against his parents for him, and here you are. Fuck, he loves you.
They’re quiet, and you’re not finished. “Steve is the greatest person I’ve ever met, and that’s no thanks to you. I’ve known him for a long time and not once have I seen you guys around. How can you judge him so much when you don’t even take the time to know him anymore?”
The room is dead quiet. Nothing but the clinking of forks against plates for the rest of the meal. You feel lighter, after saying what you did. Though you’re also terrified that you’ve overstepped, that Steve will be upset with you for causing a scene.
As if sensing your worry, he holds your hand just a bit tighter.
It’s not until after dinner, hidden away in his room, that you talk about what happened. Not the kiss; your outburst.
He shuts his door and you’re already apologizing, “listen, Steve. I'm so sorry if I made things worse, but I couldn’t just let them shit on your job anymore. I couldn’t. You’re my best friend, you know that, and-”
His arms are around you in a blink.
“Thank you,” he breathes into your hair. “Nobody’s ever done anything like that for me. Thank you, honey.”
“Oh,” you blink away your surprise and wrap your arms around his shoulders. “Anytime.”
“You’re really special.”
Your smile spreads, spilling before you can do anything about it. You hide your face in his neck and stay that way until he lets go, a flush in his cheeks and stars in his eyes.
Steve wanted to tell you he loves you right then, but the words seem stuck in his throat. They won’t come up. He wants to be with you for real, and though it happened in a rush, it also didn’t. His brain just needed to catch up to his heart.
He doesn’t say it, but he will. As soon as he can.
“Wanna go watch a movie?” You ask.
“Yeah, okay.”
Movie night. You and him. That’s real.
-
Steve’s parents seem to have gone out somewhere, the car missing from the driveway. They haven’t left, though. You and Steve checked for the suitcases (they’re sitting, already packed, in their room).
Playing the movie, yet another Christmas pick that Steve couldn’t say no to, you share a blanket. There’s plenty of room on the couch, you’re the only people there, and yet, Steve still tosses an arm over your shoulders and pulls you to lean against his side.
Maybe he’s just doing it in case his parents come home while you’re downstairs. That’s gotta be it.
“Is it bad that I’m sort of relieved they aren’t here right now?” Steve says to you, quiet.
“Not at all. You deserve better than what they give you, Steve.”
“You think so?”
“Are you kidding? I know so.”
He lets his head lean atop of yours, and that’s that.
You want to bring up the kiss, but then again, why would you? It’s not real. It’s not real no matter how much you wish it was, no matter how much it feels that way. You knew going into this that you might end up kissing Steve, you just didn’t know it’d fuck you up so much.
Part of you hopes that mistletoe will appear above your heads yet again, just to be able to feel the way you did when he kissed you. Heart fluttering, stomach twisting, warm all over.
Though Steve’s head feels relaxed, resting on yours, it’s overflowing with thoughts. You, his parents, the way you defended him, how it felt to kiss you, how much he wants to do it again. You. The entire length of the movie, he’s trying to think of a way to tell you he loves you. The best he comes up with is to wing it.
When the screen fades, and the film ends, you remember the gift you’d left in Steve’s room, buried at the bottom of your overnight bag (you decided to sleep over, something you’ve done too many times to count, and head to your place in the morning with Steve). You sit up, only to face him.
“I have something for you. C’mon,” you tug on his hand, leading him all the way to his own bedroom.
“What?”
“Just,” you make him sit down on his bed when you’re in the room, digging through your bag and finding the present you’d wrapped last night. “Here.”
He takes it from your hand slowly, like it’s the most precious thing in the world. He doesn’t open it right away, staring at the red and green patterned wrapping paper and the gold stick-on bow sitting in the middle of it.
“Open it,” you urge, shuffling nervously on your feet.
He shoots you a shy smile before tearing at the paper, revealing a scrapbook of sorts. Flipping through the pages, he finds memories upon memories. Pictures of you and him, of him and Robin, all three of you. Some with the kids or with Eddie. Most of them he doesn’t even remember taking.
And it’s more than just pictures. There’s movie tickets and receipts from random fast food dinners, confetti from a surprise party for Dustin and a piece of a plate Steve broke once.
It’s the most thoughtful thing anyone’s ever given him. It reminds him that he does have a family, no blood relation needed.
“Honey,” he says it quietly, his eyes watering ever so slightly. “This is- I don’t even know what to say.”
“I know it’s not much, but I thought you’d like it.”
“No. I love it. It’s perfect, seriously,” he runs his finger over a picture of the two of you, your faces squished together and your smiles absolutely ridiculous. “Best gift ever.”
He means it.
“I had some help with the pictures. Everyone in that book loves you, Steve.”
Everyone in that book. That means you love him, too. He knows that you could mean it platonically, but something about the way you look at him when you say it makes him think that he has to tell you. He has to try.
He’s suddenly very glad he bought you a locket for Christmas, and that he left it unwrapped because of his lack of skills in that department.
“Close your eyes,” he says.
“Steve-”
“Please,” he trades spots with you, sitting you on the edge of his bed, “close your eyes for a minute, ‘kay?”
“Okay,” you shut them tight, placing a hand over them as well, “double closed.”
He rushes to grab the locket from the bottom of one of his drawers, then grabs the tiniest bit of paper and manages to write as small as he can on it, placing the message in the necklace and closing it with a small click.
Steve reaches for the hand that isn’t covering your eyes, opening it up and placing the delicate piece of jewelry in it. “Okay, open.”
You do, glancing down to what rests in your palm. It’s gorgeous, dainty, and the corners of your mouth lift at the sight of it.
“It’s beautiful, Steve. You didn’t have to.”
“It’s a locket,” he says. His head is bent, shy and visibly nervous. “Open it, too.”
Your heartbeat picks up, like you know, subconsciously, that something big is hiding inside despite the small size of the necklace itself. You wedge your fingernail into the gap, pushing the locket open. The note inside makes your stomach drop.
In his messy, rushed writing, the words ‘I love you.’
You look at him, mouth agape and hopes way up. “Steve?”
“I mean it.”
“How-”
“I mean I’m in love with you, and I think I have been for a really, really long time. I guess it took you being my fake girlfriend for me to realize it.”
“You’re not pranking me, are you?”
You’ve spent so long loving him, and convincing yourself that he could never love you the same, that it feels unreal. Hazy, like a dream.
He sits beside you, cupping your face in his hands softly to make you look at him, “I’m not pranking you. I love you.”
“Holy shit. I love you, too. For so long. I never thought I had a chance with you.”
“I think you’re the only person who’s had a real chance with me since I met you, honey.”
Right there, discarded wrapping paper on the floor, the glow of Christmas lights shining through the window, you doubt you’ll ever take that locket off once it’s on.
You can’t stop yourself from rushing forward and kissing him. A small press of your mouth against his at first, then, it’s more. It’s slow and every single thing you’ve ever wanted. His lips move with yours like they’re the only ones that know you.
This time, when you kiss, there’s no question. It’s real and it’s thawing every single worry you ever had about this. This is real, you get to think now.
Steve pulls away only when your breathing gets heavier, only when he absolutely has to. His thumb trails over your cheek, a lover’s touch. He takes the necklace from your hand, puts it on for you and kisses you again when he’s done.
“Do you think this was a Christmas miracle?” You say, teasing.
“I think this was just me being too stupid to notice how I feel about you. I know now, though.”
“Because you needed a fake girlfriend.”
“Because I needed a fake girlfriend,” he confirms. “But, I’d like a real one now.”
“I think I can manage that,” you nod, a lovesick smile on your face.
For once, Steve’s glad his parents came home. He never would have asked you to fake date him if they hadn’t, and he wouldn’t have realized his very real feelings for you, either. So, maybe it is a Christmas miracle, after all.
༄
hey you! if you enjoyed please consider leaving a reblog, it would mean a lot and helps a ton more than you’d think! help support creators like me <3
#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington imagines#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington one shot#steve harrington oneshot#steve harrington request#steve harrington requests#steve harrington story#steve harrington fic#steve harrington fanfic#steve stranger things#stranger things steve#stranger things#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fic#stranger things x reader
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Steve and Eddie go through the whole adoption process in 1996, despite how difficult it was to find somewhere willing to help them at all and despite their conflicted feelings on adoption.
The way they saw it though, providing a loving home for a child who needed one was better than the alternative. Eddie had enough experience with temporary foster homes to know stability was better than constant moving and questionable foster parents.
They get a foster placement almost immediately, a six year old girl named Amelia. She’s quiet, but not in a way that worries them. She’s very focused, and enjoys going to school more than any regular children’s hobbies. Neither of them know what to do with that other than keep encouraging it.
She stays for months, months turn into a year, and the agency finally gives them the go ahead to complete the adoption process.
But they don’t do anything without talking to Amelia.
She’s happy there, her therapist signs off on it immediately and explains that Amelia has shown more personality development and less signs of trauma with them than she had even living at home. Not to mention they actually brought her to appointments, unlike her previous guardians.
To celebrate, they throw a party with all their friends and family and tell Amelia she can invite anyone from school she wants. She invites everyone.
Turns out their daughter is a social butterfly and is friends with everyone.
At the party, Eddie pulls out his guitar, plays a bunch of popular kid-friendly songs after a very scathing look from Steve as a reminder to behave.
Amelia walks over to him after a few songs, on a sugar high like he’d never seen on her before, and asks to play the guitar.
He’s hesitant, but not because he’s still protective of his guitars, more because he doesn’t want her to embarrass herself in front of her friends. Kids are cruel, even and especially at seven, and the last thing he wants is this to be the thing that kids talk about for the next ten years.
She sits on the couch and holds it, arranging her fingers…correctly. Eddie watches.
Steve is watching from across the room.
She starts strumming, very quietly at first, not as confident as she’d been a moment ago. And then she starts really playing.
It’s one of the songs Eddie wrote. He played it for the last four months nonstop as he perfected it, and she’d apparently been watching.
Eddie’s jaw is on the floor and he quickly looks over to Steve, who has a similar look of surprise on his face.
He doesn’t interrupt her. She makes it through the entire song.
She looks up.
“When did you learn to play guitar?” Eddie asks.
“When I was watching you.”
“But have you played before tonight?”
Amelia shook her head, looking down. “Didn’t wanna touch it without asking.”
Eddie pulls the guitar from her hands and sets it aside, then pulls her into his lap and hugs her. Steve sits down on the couch next to them, hand on her back.
“You can always ask, sweetie. And if you’re this interested and this natural, we can buy you your own guitar if you want. I didn’t think you were interested in playing.”
“I wanna be like you,” Amelia admitted against his shoulder.
Eddie was done for. He looked at Steve, half-panicked, trying not to cry in front of these people, but Steve wasn’t faring any better.
“Then we can go get you a guitar tomorrow. You can get your own picks, too. They might even have purple ones.”
“Can I have red? Like yours?”
“Of course, sweetie.”
It only took them two days after that to realize she could play by ear, just like Eddie.
And then it only took another day after that to realize she had taught herself to read music too.
They spent hours and hours every week playing together while Steve cooked dinner or checked her homework or just watched them.
When Eddie’s band decided to record another album and go on tour when Amelia was 12, Eddie insisted that she get to be on it.
She ended up helping write one of their songs, played on the track on the album, and with a lot of work, convinced Steve to let them homeschool her for the entire 8 months they’d be on tour so she could perform on stage with her dad.
“Can’t believe she’s not even genetically yours. Are you sure you didn’t have an affair?” Steve asked the night before they were leaving for Europe.
“When would I have had an affair? I came back to the tour bus or hotel with you every single night,” Eddie kissed him softly. “She’s amazing, huh?”
“She is. What happens when she wants to be a full blown rockstar like her dad too?”
“Then we make sure she’s protected and has good people around her like I have. She could be a rockstar easily. She’s got the talent and the presence,” Eddie smiled. “And she’s got me to make sure no one takes advantage of her. But she’s only 12. We’ve got time to worry about that later.”
“You’re bringing her onstage every single night all over the world for the next eight months, baby. I think later is now.”
Eddie sighed. “She’s gonna blow them all away. I’m proud of her. Let’s focus on that for now.”
And she did blow everyone away. The fans and the media had nothing but good things to say, and Steve didn’t have to go into overprotective mom mode at all until she was 15 and signing a record deal of her own.
But between Eddie and him, the entire industry knew better than to fuck with her or them.
They made rules, of course. School still came first, she still had required family events to be at, she still had regular friends at home. She wasn’t allowed at any parties, not even the events for award ceremonies.
But she didn’t really need those rules. She had no interest in parties or abandoning her friends or family, and she was a straight A student who still had hopes of getting into Brown for Journalism like her Aunt Nancy. She had a passion for music and wanted to share it, but not at the cost of the rest of her life.
And Eddie and Steve did everything they could to make sure she got to have everything. That’s what they’d promised her from day one.
#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#stranger things#headcanon#so adoption is complicated#and I won’t pretend that there are plenty of aspects of the system that are so fucked beyond repair#and this is not the time or place to talk about them#so don’t do that in the comments#you’ll get blocked tbh because we’re here in this specific space to have fun#that is all#steddie dads#also this isn’t how the industry works#this isn’t how the media works#the world is cruel to young performers#but we’re pretending#this is fiction
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Gojo is the type of guy to always bring you flowers. Always.
devotee — gojo satoru x f!reader
a/n: anon you so right. let’s do this
whenever satoru goes on a mission, he comes back with a ton of souvenirs and a bouquet of the prettiest flowers to bloom on this earth.
it is so cute and it always makes your day even if he, one time, unknowingly gifted you a flower that symbolized death with a huge grin.
you had asked him about why he gifted you that flower in particular and he said it's because it was your favorite color. so you could do nothing except shake your head helplessly, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
that's why it doesn't surprise you when he bursts into the first years' classroom with yet another big bouquet and even a bigger smile, "hi babe!"
you get up from your chair, "hey 'toru," you peck his lips, gently taking the bouquet from his hands, "what are these for?"
"nothing," he hums, "just wanted to appreciate you."
"again?" yuuji questions.
meanwhile, nobara blows her nose, screaming at the top of her lungs, "god, when will it be my turn?!" she quickly recovers with a smirk, throwing the tissue away, "just kidding! I don't need no man."
so yeah. satoru never fails to get you flowers, and in some of the most creative ways because satoru is anything but traditional.
if you don’t find a bouquet on your doorstep then you find a trail of flower petals that leads to your shared bedroom. it’s a pretty cute thing, the idea of your husband taking the time to put petals in your house to make your day just a bit easier is heart-warming.
but satoru won’t do something half-way and that’s why the petals on ground beside your bed spell your name, a heart, and a very bold ‘i love you’. it’s cute and it makes you smile, and it almost makes you forget the tiresome day you had.
but then you feel strong arms wrap around your shoulders and you’re pulled to a chest you’re very familiar with.
your husband is grinning as he peppers your face with kisses and you don’t have the time to think about your day.
another thing satoru loves to do with the flower petals is provide you with the most romantic and calming bath ever.
you remember that one time the higher-ups assigned you a multitude of missions on the same day and it exhausted you. you came back home, tired and almost a corpse.
upon seeing your beaten up figure, satoru took matters into his own hands.
in no time, he was able to decorate the bathtub with flower petals and candles. he got you all the snacks you like and offered himself as a—self-proclaimed—worldwide and top-tier masseur.
but before the pampering, he made sure to treat your wounds as gently as he could.
he threw a few jokes here and there, sang your praises about how strong and brave you are, and his lips left no part of your skin untouched, firm yet soft kisses that he hopes will make the pain even a tiny bit more bearable.
then you got into the bath and your body immediately relaxed. add to that, the surprisingly good massage you’re getting from your darling husband. and when you have had your fill, he helps you wash up, hands covering your eyes so the soap doesn’t get in.
when you stand up, and he gets the towel to cover you, he pauses.
you’re reminded of how intimidating satoru’s eyes are in the moment. without his blindfold, you get the full effect and truly feel his gaze. however, what’s difference between the look he gives his enemies and the look he gives you is far too vast.
to the enemy, satoru’s eyes are the ocean that will drown them to doom. to you, it’s the sky that doesn’t fail to shine upon seeing you.
it almost flusters you: the unadulterated love and pure devotion in his gaze. he takes you all in, admiring every inch of your body then grins, “the body of a goddess.”
and even in his absence, satoru doesn’t let you forget that you’re loved.
one time, when he was away for a couple of days for a mission, you were going on with your daily routine, all fine and dandy.
then you wanted to get that photo album satoru made for your anniversary to pass time until he comes back. satoru personally handpicked and glued every single photo.
he also decorated it with silly stickers and even sillier drawings, along with annotations that make you giggle when you can vividly imagine him saying them.
your feet almost immediately take you there, and you slide the drawer open.
but the photo album is surrounded by flower petals that—mind you—were not there before, and a sticky note is on it. your husband’s handwriting decorates the note and it reads ‘don’t miss me too much now. I will be back soon ;)’
you take the note in your hands and roll your eyes. nevertheless, you hold it close to your heart and wish for his safe return because, in the end, even the strongest will have a weakness.
and satoru doesn’t shy away from showing his love for you to everyone. so he doesn’t mind bursting into the meeting room and sitting beside you, presenting yet another bouquet of flowers, “for you, gorgeous.”
some are rolling their eyes, others are fondly chuckling, but satoru doesn’t care and frankly, neither can you.
who would reject the pampering from someone they love so dearly? a confession on a starry night once fell from his lips, “my heart is yours, you know. do with it what you want.”
it’s the love and care that is effortlessly shown in his actions and you always let him know that you appreciate it every single time.
you cup his face and press a big smooch on his cheek and a grin is automatically plastered on his pretty face.
because as beautiful as an action can be, it needs to be acknowledged and appreciated to reflect the same beauty to the giver.
taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @shinys-bsd-world-1 @sonder-paradise @ravenina14 @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies @pianopuppygirl @gojosblackqueen @kryscent @kunikida-simp @whoami-72 @mx-0-child @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso @4sat0ruu @nineooooo @chuuyasboots @alekssashka7 @rieejjyubi02 @wemma67 @nothisispatrick300 @fallencrescentmoon @etheviese @ho34gojo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @the-weeping-author @stray-npc @libbyistired @anon1412 @anakalana
copyright © tender-rosiey
do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported
#gojo satoru x reader#jjk x you#gojo imagine#jjk x reader#jjk imagines#gojo x you#gojou satoru x reader#gojo x reader#gojo x y/n#gojo fluff#jjk gojo x y/n#jjk gojo x you#jjk fluff#jjk x y/n#gojo satoru x you#gojo satoru x y/n#gojo satoru fluff#jjk gojo x reader
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growing up räikkönen | f1 grid
fem! reader x räikkönen family, f1 grid
note(s): reader is kimi’s eldest daughter 👍 2nd pov but for the plot reader has a name. We start off in the 2021 season, reader becomes a driver for mclaren the 2022 season. main idea is everyone is obsessed with her lolol
Warning(s): potentially triggering relationship dynamics, some obsessive behavior tbh bc i like em crazy, mostly cute stuff tho!
GROWING UP RÄIKKÖNEN MEANS having a chaotic first few years, but with your father everything always works out. kimi isn’t even 22 when you’re born (2001), and your mother is just a fling who sadly passes away before you turn one, but you are his world. he melts at the sight of his eldest daughter; the one who he raised as his alone. Sure, you’ve had a couple step moms, but only one father who happens to be the protective type. You grow up in the f1 paddocks because kimi doesn’t like being apart from you for too long. even with his marriage to jenni, he has her watch you during his races. Just the racing part though, he commonly totes you along with him during anything he can, even media duties. due to his own upbringing, your schooling is the highest of priorities, but it’s still a guarantee you know how to drive anything by age 16. He wants you to be prepared for anything life throws at you, though of course he wouldn’t let you do it alone.
♤ ♤ ♤
SOME DAD! KIMI THINGS; childhood
he named you after himself (kimi -> miki, unoriginal)
when you were ages 1 month - 6 years, he took you everywhere with him
he nicknames you “lumienkeli” snow angel in finnish
his first tattoo was a portrait of baby-you with your full name and birth date
kimi can’t say no to his little girl, so you end up bringing all kinds of stray pets home, even from other countries
you and step-mom jenni iconic duo
uncle seb vettel and michael schumacher (who babysat you growing up) buying you and kimi matching outfits
kimi is very bad at documenting things properly, so jenni organized and labeled his entire “isä ja miki-mäiri” photo album. after they divorced, minttu took over that position, adding robin and rianna.
no-dating rule implemented as soon as you mention a crush at school (you were 6)
crazy dad! kimi who tried to run over your first boyfriend with a snowmobile
a responsible drinker around his sweet daughter but when you’re home attending school, he has his iconic drinking benders (championship era all the way to his divorce era)
kimi who learns to braid hair so you can keep your hair tidy and untangled beneath your first helmet
you are his mini-me (mostly, just in the ways he intended)
♤ ♤ ♤
Twitter; self-ran
♤ ♤ ♤
Instagram; self-ran
♤ ♤ ♤
photo album; written by kimi-matias räikkönen (edited by jenni dahlman and minttu räikkönen)
äiti ja miki-mäiri lumienkeli mik ja isä
2001 <3 (2004)
isosisko miki, minun miki-mäiri miki-mäiri ja robin ja rianna 10th syntymäpäivä setä rami (2006)
miki ja jenni <3 isän vauva miki-mäiri ja
(2003) (kesäkuuta 2002) serrku justus
♤ ♤ ♤
this is the introduction to this fic / au. Please send asks to get the ball rolling! If you don’t know kimi lore, this might not make much sense oops
- ren
#f1#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#f1 oc#dark! f1#kimi raikkonen#kimi raikkonen x reader#kimi raikkonen daughter#f1 reverse harem#f1 grid x reader#obsessive f1#yandere f1#kimi räikkönen x daughter reader#carlos sainz x reader#charles leclerc x reader#max verstappen x reader#lando norris x reader#daniel riccardo x reader#mick schumacher x reader#formula one#lewis hamilton x reader#Pierre gladly x reader#kika gomes#lance stroll x reader#alex albon x reader#lily muni he
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HEARTBREAK ON TOUR!
charles leclerc x famous!reader
summary: in which the lavender haze has been lifted. or in which america’s it couple splits.
part 8: you’re losing me, part 7: revenge dress, series masterlist
faceclaim: madison beer
ally’s radio 📻: PART 8! taylor swift deserves jail time for creating you’re losing me. taylor swift also deserves jail time for not officially releasing it. def recommend listening to it reading the chapter! (might have to stream illegally bc mother is being stingy 🙄.)
INSTAGRAM, july 17 (midnight)
liked by paulwesley, ninadobrev, and 13,333,112 others
yourinstagram and just like that, the final chapter of Midnights, is out now. this is my most personal body of work that i'm putting out into the universe, and i'm so scared yet excited to share her with u. thank u to my team, my producer jackantonoff turned dearest friend of almost 7 years (woah!!!) we spent many noons & midnights on this album and i'm forever in debt n grateful. thank u to all my other friends who i didn't mention, yk who u are. to everyone else, thank u for your persistent patience and support. it does not go unnoticed. from my heart to yours, midnights (till dawn edition), is available on all streaming platforms. i love u. thank u 💗.
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leclerccharl ain’t that the teddy bear charles won for her at the fair forever ago??!
y/nsfeverdreamhigh leclerccharl o em gee yeah..
fernandoalonso_offical Proud of you cariño
barbie 🥹🥹💗💗
landonoriss screaming crying shaking throwing up
danielricciardo gagging choking ascending to god
authur_leclerc Love you always, Proud of you always ❤️
INSTAGRAM STORIES, july 17
zendaya 30m
viewed by alexademie, tomholland2013, and 64,134 others
badgalriri 2h
viewed by harrystyles, bellahadid, and 3,262,128 others
sabrinacarpenter 5h
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TWITTER, july 17
The song’s big question: “Do I throw out everything we built or keep it?”
BY: ALLY PUBLISHED: JULY 17, 2023
Y/n L/n’s lyrical candidness is what has always made her standout as a songwriter. Whether she was writing about young love, relationships, or breakups, her songs never flinched from trying to paint a full picture, even if it was one that was hard to look at.
It’s been a while since the super star has released a breakup song, but it was only a matter of time; since the singer split with Charles Leclerc, fans have already began anticipating the inevitable breakup album. But it turns out they didn’t have to wait long. At Midnight (July 17), L/n released a second deluxe edition of her 2022 album Midnights, which included four new songs, among them the release of “You’re Losing Me,” a song fans have deciphered as ostensibly about her split with Leclerc.
via @yourinstagram on instagram
The nearly 5-minute track is a devastating relationship ender if we’ve ever heard one, as it details the hopeless and tragic dissolution of a relationship. Though L/n doesn’t include any names or details, it’s not hard to see why fans are interpreting it as being about her and Leclerc.
When Entertainment Weekly first broke the news of their split in April, sources for both parties diplomatically described the breakup as amicable, and that “it was not dramatic.” “The relationship had just run its course,” one source told ET. However, that story was debunked as L/n herself, stated Leclerc had an affair with Australian Youtuber Lola Ransdell, in one of her Eras Tour Shows. With the release of “You’re Losing Me,” L/n seems to offer a window into her perspective of how things ended while also releasing one of the most devastating songs she’s ever written.
Its lyrics don’t waste any time getting into the tragic heart of the matter. “You say, ‘I don't understand,’ and I say, ‘I know you don’t’/ We thought a cure would come through in time, now, I fear it won’t/ Remember looking at this room, we loved it ‘cause of the light/ Now I just sit in the dark and wonder if it's time,” she sings in the first verse, painting a portrait of two people who are unaligned and have seemingly grown apart in their relationship.
The pre-chorus lays out the song’s big question: “Do I throw out everything we built or keep it?” But waiting for resolution feels like something L/n doesn’t want to do anymore: “I'm getting tired, even for a phoenix/ Always rising from the ashes/ Mending all her gashes/ You might just have dealt the final blow,” she sings.
The most heart-wrenching part of the song comes in on the chorus, as she warns her other half, “Stop, you're losing me/ Stop, you’re losing me/ Stop, you’re losing me I can't find a pulse/ My heart won't start anymore/ For you/ ‘Cause you're losing me.” The lyrics mirror the song’s production which sounds like a quietly pulsing heartbeat, driving the knife’s blade of the song in even deeper.
Perhaps L/n’s biggest skill on this song is being able to convey all the heartbreak and roiling emotion without actually providing any specifics into the breakup.
“You’re Losing Me” is rife with frank, confessional lyrics, but still keeps many of the exact contours of the split obscure. There are no accusations or fingers pointed at who’s at fault. There are no mic drop moments or explosive gossip; The closest L/n gets to revealing any details is on the second verse, when she seems to suggest that the relationship hadn’t been OK for a while now.
“Every morning, I glared at you with storms in my eyes/ How can you say that you love someone you can't tell is dying?/ I sent you signals and bit my nails down to the quick/ My face was gray, but you wouldn't admit that we were sick,” she sings.
On the bridge, L/n reveals that she “wouldn’t marry me either,” perhaps offering the tiniest, sliver of hints into one of the other reasons why they ultimately fell apart: “And I wouldn't marry me either/ A pathological people pleaser/ Who only wanted you to see her/ And I'm fading, thinking/ Do something, babe, say something (say something)/ Lose something, babe, risk something (risk something)/ Choose something, babe, I got nothing (I got nothing)/ To believe, unless you’re choosing me.”
It’s the lack of details, the palpable restraint despite L/n’s clear heartbreak behind its lyrics, that makes “You’re Losing Me” perhaps the most devastating song in her catalog (yes, even more so than “All Too Well.”) Amid the grief and sadness of the song, there’s also a feeling of inevitability, of sorrow that nothing more could be done, of pointlessly waiting for action when you know nothing is coming.
In some regards, it’s one of L/n’s most mature breakup songs in her catalog, regardless of whoever it’s about. And if this is just a “from the vault” track, it makes one wonder what an albums-worth of these songs would sound like.
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ally’s radio 📻:a filler chapter im sorry😞 but anyways, the related stories r a sneak peak of the next chapter🤫 if u asked me to tag u and i didn’t, pls send me a message or inbox me bc it might’ve gotten lost 😭 i try to stay up-to-date but sometimes i miss people so pls lmk!!!
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#TRENDING ! | nagi x reader
summary: your and nagi’s name seemed to be in the main headline of hashtags on twitter when you woke up one day…
proplayer!nagi x idol!fem!reader
warning! mentions of threats and hate comments,
a/n: this fic is based on episode 9 of season 2 of aggretsuko on netflix when they found out retsuko and tadano were dating TwT
it really wasn’t tensional.
you were feeling lonely, and so did he. nagi followed what you told him. he thought if he were to hide through his identity with a cap, mask, and some glasses, then he wouldn’t be easily recognized by the public, and then he would be able to meet up with you in secret with no one to disturb you two. go at his place, exchange kisses and words of affirmation, cuddle and have your time together.
the pro football player, going out with one of the most beautiful known idols in japan. basically you. it was a death sentence at just that.
ever since your manager, sara, allowed you to date someone after the success of your first solo album to be released, you had never been more happy to tell nagi the news, in which he too was delighted, kissing the temple of your head after. finally, you don’t have to hide your phone every time she checks.
your manager says that if this information were ever to be turned in public, there’s a chance that your career would have a turn for the worse, and that you have to keep it private.
fans are crazy, she says. and she wasn’t wrong.
you received a couple of threats from letters you thought were fan letters, and even some during your concerts, in which they were gladly taken away by security and were banned from ever attending to your concerts. being famous is scary, but nagi had became your comfort after all of that. that’s why you dated him. surprisingly, you two have already been dating for 3 years, in secret from your manager even. only his best friend reo knows about your relationship and so as your two closest friends. they were amazing at keeping secrets.
you promised your manager that you would try your best to keep a low profile when going out, using the same method every famous people do when walking outside in public—which is wearing a disguise.
since the two of you were famous, you told nagi that the best disguise is just a simple cap, mask, sunglasses and an attire that would look plain. nagi took these suggestions in mind, and used them one day during a rest day. you were used to wearing disguises, so you had a usual waiting for you in your hotel room. you had finished doing a song rehearsal, and nagi messaged to you if you wanted to go out on a date for your free day.
without thinking, you said ‘yes.’
maybe you should always take your manager’s words in your head all the time. and the thing is, she had no idea you were dating him.
wednesday, 11:02am
sara sat down on the computer chair as she slammed the finished documents over her desk, stretching her arms up in the air along with a tired sigh escaping her lips. she just finished her paperwork for your album, talking to various producers who’ll help you out and such, making schedules and plans afterwards.
thank goodness it was a rest day, you were probably busy anyways and she doesn’t want to do anymore work for she only messaged to you about the upcoming rehearsal you were having on friday and to prepare. and that was that. the stress she was having at the moment irked her.
“it’s like seeing my old self…ugh, my back hurts..”
without saying anything more, she opened her computer, google, then checked out the latest news. maybe a little drama could spice up her boring day..
“new trial; kiinomori, says not guilty,” boring.
“a car crash happening after a cos event, yesterday,” do car crashes always happen now?
“japan’s new technology shocks the tokyo community,” eh, not interested
“wanted: extra line artist,” why are you even looking for help here on the news website??!
‘even the news are starting to become uninteresting…well at least the crime rates aren’t going up any sooner..’ she thoughts to herself, clicking on the mouse to see if there were any particular headlines that might catch her interest. maybe about you would be nice.
however, something stopped her from scrolling.
“photo of japan’s football genius and japan’s most beloved idol’s lovey-dovey date.”
her eyes widen a little. no, that was impossible. you wouldn’t find a boyfriend that soon, right? and a football player? no, far too impossible..it just might be another idol, yeah. maybe even a colleague? yeah, that must be it.
steadily, her mouse clicked on the news page, and in an instant it opened.
“are the two going out as friends? or something more?” was what the article stated in the first sentence. sara took a good look on the photos, and all she could see was what she recognized to be the genius nagi seishiro’s back, his white hair flowing out of the cap on his head, holding a lemon tea drink in his hand, and the other in his pockets. nagi seishiro, the proclaimed genius football player who participated in the blue lock project? dating? sara barely knew anything about him, but woah.
beside nagi, was a girl smaller than him. sara couldn’t see her face, so she went forward to scroll down for more pictures.
that moment when she continues to scroll down on her computer, eyes intensely trying to take a good look on the photos took by the secret paparazzi, they kept only taking shots of nagi’s face, not even bothering to let the viewer look at who he’s with. her patience was almost running out…
that was until…she finally identified who the footballer was with.
time pauses, the tranquil silence was eerie, and sara felt her heart stop at the moment. jaw dropped, eyes wide, and the cup of coffee she bought at starbucks almost fell to the ground, a drip of the coffee falling on her desk.
“y…y/n..?”
then the whole public went on fire.
“WHATTTTTTTTTT???????!!”
“EEEEHHHH????”
“HUHHH????”
“HAHH?????”
“FOR REAL?????”
“HWHSHUHHHH???”
“OH MY GOOODDDDDDDD??????”
the article, with now over 2 million views, ended the statement with, “will the two get married soon??”
“a-aha..ahaha..they’re joking right?? y/n with t-that guy..? ahaha..ahaha..” one was on the verge of insanity from astonishment.
“PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER, MA’AM!”
the number one trending hashtag on twitter, over 400 brand new tweets not long after the news broke out in public. your closest friends, saw the article. and not long after they tried their best to contact you to no avail.
“you’ve seen the article?”
“yes, i have. have you seen the way y/n’s instagram has been popping up after?” one of your friends showed the other on her phone screen, your verified instagram page. it seems your followers had multiplied after the article was posted online. from 30k to now 70k followers. your friends were able to read the newly added comments from your last post. the other comments are mostly from the good fans, showing their support for you and nagi’s relationship, and some were mostly from those nagi fangirls in which they despise the most..
‘found her lol.’
‘nagi could do better lmao.’
‘she’s not even that good looking.’
‘she’s just attention seeking lol.’
yeah, they definitely despise them. since not long, the two were preparing their bot accounts, about to fight them back.
even the team blue lock members’ were able to read the article, jaws dropped on the floor in surprise. how did the lazy genius managed to pull a famous idol like you?
“wha…what is…what’s this..?”
“holy crap, so this is why they’re trending?”
“i…i’m shocked.”
“woah! nagichi is actually dating y/n? how lucky, aha! they’re trending!”
“is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“so this is what that guy’s keeping away from us, huh?!”
“i didn’t even know he was dating someone. better yet, someone famous.”
“is this also why he’s late for practice?”
“it’s almost 3 million views now, they really are taking over the headlines.”
“wait, since they’re dating can i ask nagi if i can get an autograph from her??”
“shut up, igaguri.”
your friends were almost screaming at the end of the line when you answered their call, curled up over your bed and a little shaking, covering your naked body in the blankets with a sleepy nagi next to you. this wasn’t intentional, it really wasn’t. you didn’t know, you didn’t know that there was a secret paparazzi nearby. now you’re scared of what your manager might say to you after this. will she force you two to break up? or never see each other again? make you say you’re just friends with him? no, no, anything but that.
you thought the morning routine for this day would be blissful, with yesterday’s love making was comforting and full of passion, and now you’re awoken with news about you and nagi’s relationship now being in public.
“Y/N! YOU AND NAGI ARE TRENDING.”
“y-yeah, i know..” your voice was hush, like a whisper. you felt afraid of what might happen.
“y/n, are you alright over there? we can come over if you want. is nagi there with you right now?”
“n-no, you guys don’t have to..and yeah, he’s with me right now...’s just asleep..” you replied.
“it’s insane. it hasn’t even been hours and you two are—
your other friend’s voice has been cut off quick, “you don’t have to remind that to her..! listen, y/n, don’t be scared ok? i know it’s scary, but stay strong. trust me, that’ll get over soon.”
their voices are a little muffled on the end of the line, probably fighting over the phone.
the moment you felt movement beside you, you were quick to turn your head to see nagi already waking up from his sleep. great, now how are you going to tell him?
“guys, i’ll call you back later. i have to talk to sei about it. bye now.” then the call dropped. when you looked back over to nagi, his eyes were half lidded, white locks covering his right eye as he rubbed them awake.
“morning..”
“ah…morning, sei…uh..” you nervously avoided eye contact, fingers padding through your phone to look for the article about you and your now public boyfriend that went viral online. nagi tried to pull your figure close to him, arms wrapping over your stomach with a mumble, “it’s so early…hey y/n…go back to sleep with me..”
“it’s 11am now, sei..don’t you have practice today..?”
“ah, you’re right…what a bother..too tired from last night..” fuck, how are you supposed to tell him now? it’s now or never.
“hey, sei…i think you should see this..”
“huh?”
passing your phone over to your boyfriend, you anxiously played with your fingers as you can spot his pupils reading the article displayed over the screen, lazily. it took him some time to finish, his thumb scrolling down to continue reading before nagi lays the phone down between the both of you and groans. “ahh…what a pain. how did they even manage to recognize us? ‘thought my disguise was good..”
“paparazzis are terrifying..” was what you replied. in a few moments, you sighed, covering your face with both of your palms, letting go of the blanket that was covering your upper chest. “what should we do? this is bad…if sara sees this then we’re done for…how did this happen?? oh please, i don’t wanna leave you, sei..”
“didn’t she say you’re allowed to be in a relationship?”
“yeah, as long as i keep it private..!” you say, almost yelling at him. nagi stares at you, hugging the pillow he’s laying underneath. realization hits you, then you covered your mouth, embarrassed. “ah, sorry…i didn’t mean to yell at you..”
“ts fine…” he responds. you hid your face beneath your palms again, expression filled with nothing but worry and little fear. your insta’s been popping up, more followers were added and even more comments popping at your last post. and when you looked over to twitter to see your name trending over the hashtags, the whole world fell down over your shoulders.
“hey, y/n…look at me.”
you couldn’t.
“y/n. hey, let me see you..” nagi who was now sitting up, grabbed both of your hands off of your face to make you look at him.
pretty, you were so pretty. so pretty for him. “it’s gonna be alright..”
“no, no—easy for you to say but…my..my manager..she’ll..” then you looked down over the blanket again, breath hitching as you struggled to breathe a little. nagi had to hold you close to him in order to calm you down, hands brushing your hair, voice hushing your small whimpers. “shh, hey, hey..take deep breaths…c’mon…calm down..”
he always did that when you had panic attacks. most of the time after your concerts or handshakes with your fans. nagi holds you close, then stays quiet. maybe you’re overreacting a little bit…yet at the same time, it’s going to be scary facing the public afterwards.
nagi stayed with you for a while until you could face him calmly, with steady breaths and a peaceful heart. he could see the notifs popping up on his phone.
99+ new messages.
38 missed calls from reo
17 missed calls from isagi and the rest ongoing. his phone too was exploding this morning. but first he has to make sure you’re ok.
when you finally managed to calm down, nagi continues to brush your hair back, looking straight to your eyes. “feel a little better?”
you nodded. “just…just still a bit scared of sara..”
“yeah? well i’ll make sure to apologize. i was the one who dragged you out after all.”
“n-no, sei! you don’t have to i—that’ll make it more worse i’ll be the one to talk to her.” nagi shakes his head, not approving of your idea. “it would be a hassle if you had to go through that alone…at least let me talk to her too..” your boyfriend caressingly rubs your hand together with his, he could still spot the small bruises he left on your neck..a loving gaze pictured over his face.
“it wouldn’t be so much work unlike practice. i’ll come with you…wherever you are. sometimes i wish we were cats so we can spend 9 lives together, y’know?”
you couldn’t say anything much for this dork, except pull nagi for another hug. you prayed to whatever existed that you don’t ever get pulled away from him, your beloved. you sometimes wished things don’t turn out to be in a bad way, after all, you’re an idol of love and kindness. however sometimes, maybe the entertainment industry should be less strict on their idols, including you. nagi was the only one that made you feel alive from them. from all the negativity you’ve been feeling because of what you do.
you love nagi seishiro. and nagi seishiro loves you. that’s there to it.
in the end, you and nagi managed to talk to sara about the whole relationship situation going on, and the only thing she was mad about was that fact you didn’t tell her you were dating, better yet a pro player. she just gave you a warning and then head straight to ask permission to your company about your relationship.
then not long after too, the situation calmly fainted down, and everything went back to normal. maybe except about some of your fans who are quite upset that you’re in a relationship.
still, you were glad the company was kind enough to let you two stay together. maybe it’s because you’re with someone famous, too, but it didn’t really matter.
yeah, maybe you were overreacting.
#nagi x reader#blue lock#bllk x reader#blue lock x reader#nagi seishiro#nagi seishiro x reader#seishiro nagi#nagi x y/n#lily’s.blog🌸#lily’s.fic🩷
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hey bestie <333
congratulations on 200 followers !! you deserve it and more !! 🫶
im thinking some Gojo fluff inspired by After Last Night by Silk Sonic? I love that whole album and I always get gojo vibes from it 🥹
love you and congrats again ‼️🥰
pairing: gojo satoru x reader | 1.1k words
summary: fluff, lots of pining, slightly suggestive due to implied 18+ content, satoru is whipped as he should be, he's just a lil guy pls give him a hug he has sm love he wants to share !!
a/n: RAHHH casey this request was sm fun i love this song and it absolutely gives satoru vibes !! anyways ty for being my number one supporter babes. i hope you enjoy this @novasatoru mwah ily <33
satoru considers himself to be rational. even though he can be loud, excessive, dramatic, he has always been rational. most people don’t know or understand all the detailed thought he puts behind every decision he makes. all because of his rationality.
sure, sometimes he can be a little reckless, but not in a way that is irrational. he’s reckless in childish ways, ways that make him seem obnoxious and yet frustratingly endearing.
but he’s not reckless like this. not irrational like this.
satoru’s not reckless so he knows it can’t be possible that you’re here, in his bed, naked skin just barely covered by his sheets. he knows it can’t be possible that you’re here first thing in the morning because there’s no way you went to bed with him the previous night. he knows, for sure, that he couldn’t have crossed all the lines he set with you for years in just a matter of minutes.
but the purpled bruises littering your skin, the scattered clothing across his bedroom floor, and the warmth of your bare body pressing against him tells him enough.
he’s speechless for a second, mind going haywire as he tries to remember what exactly happened and how he could’ve been so careless. years and years of friendship with you, all changed in a matter of one night.
you were always supposed to be one of his closest friends. sure, he would pay any price to see you smile and sure, he’d gladly take your side over anyone else’s.
and obviously, satoru would destroy the whole world if you so much as batted your eyes at him and said please.
but that’s normal because he is your best friend.
but no where in his plans did he ever think to cross this line. after so many moons of pushing back his less than appropriate thoughts. after wondering how good your lips would taste as you sweetly whispered his name. after all of that, he didn’t think his self control would dissipate like this.
there’s a brief memory of the previous night, tipsy words of confession and sloppy passionate kisses, that sends his mind reeling.
he’s pulling himself out of bed in an instant, slipping his clothes on and hoping they somehow manage to ground him because god, it feels like his head is floating.
he’s choosing to ignore how fantastic his heart feels to see you curled up in his bed like that, hair splayed across his pillows like you’ve always belonged there.
instead satoru steps into his kitchen, snowy bangs resting across his forehead as he tries to figure out what he’s going to say to you when you wake up. honestly he’s a little worried himself. how would you react? would you tell him you made a mistake or would you be angry at him for letting it happen?
truthfully he’s never cared much about other people’s feelings, but yours somehow have the power to impact his whole day.
he figures that he can live with it, if you think it was a mistake. he’d be pathetically heartbroken, he realizes, but your comfort matters most to him. and if all he was destined for in this life was your friendship, he’d never do anything to jeopardize it. it’d be enough for him.
satoru doesn’t even realize he’s made two cups of coffee instead of one.
he steels himself, watching his murky reflection ripple in the mugs, and knowing that he would respect your wishes no matter how much it bothers him. he won’t say anything, because he'd rather silently live with his own idiotic feelings than risk losing you for good.
“morning.”
he almost jumps, unusually startled because only you could catch the man who saw the world through the Six Eyes off guard. any plans he’s made on what to say or how to say it fly straight out the door when he turns to look at you, his throat going dry as he takes you in.
you hair is mussed and your expression is still dazed, a sleepy pout on your face as you rub at your eyes. you blink at him slowly, an inquisitive little expression on your face as you pad over to him and peer at the stove. “you making food?”
he nods wordlessly, still a little breathless because gods above you’re wearing his shirt like it’s yours and his brain is in overdrive. it’s so hard to think, to even breathe, because satoru has wanted this for so long and it’s finally here like it had always been here in the first place. like it’s normal, regular.
“can i have some too, ‘toru? i’m really hungry.”
he has to take a minute to bask in the intimacy of this moment because it’s honestly making his thoughts stutter. “u-uh yeah, ‘course you can.” he’s handing you one of the mugs before he can even comprehend it, and you take it from him gratefully.
he feels oddly parched as he watches you take a sip, looking at him with dewy eyes over the rim, and he waits with bated breath as you open your mouth to speak. “did you sleep okay last night?”
it’s such an innocent question and he’s almost completely sure he shouldn’t be overthinking it like a fool but he knows it in his soul that he’s nothing if not a fool for you. you make every rational thought evaporate from his normally over calculating brain, make his body react without a touch, make his mouth move faster than his thoughts can.
and this time is no different.
“fuck i’m so in love with you.”
you blink up at him, and he’s cursing himself for even opening his mouth, but then you’re grinning up at him like he’s said the most endearing thing ever. “well i should hope so. i’d be pretty bummed if you told me you loved me last night and then woke up and changed your mind.”
satoru’s breath hitches, and he briefly wonders when and how he managed to confess his love for you the previous night, but then he realizes he doesn’t care all that much because you’re smiling at him like he puts the stars in your sky.
which for you, he absolutely would do.
so he does the only thing he feels is right for the moment. he bends down to press a chaste kiss to your lips, heartbeat unusually erratic as he feels you melt into him, before pulling back and giving you a cheeky smile. “i’m not even close to done loving you.”
#[𐐪— rheya’s writings. 𐑂]#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x reader#gojo fluff#gojo satoru#jjk x reader#jjk fluff#jujustu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen fluff#gojo imagine#gojo angst#gojo drabbles#satoru x reader#gojo satoru x y/n#jujutsu kaisen#jjk angst#gojo#satoru gojo#jujutsu kaisen season 2#jjk season 2#satoru gojo x reader#gojou satoru x reader#gojo fanfic#— rheya’s events#— rheya’s 200 event !!#— lovely mutuals
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Less than 12 hours until the release of “The Tortured Poets Department”!
Hence, I present to you, “The Tortured Catboy Department”
Track List:
SIDE A: Deux Semaines (feat Ladybug) / The Tortured Catboy Department / My Lady Abandons Only Her Favourite Partners / Down Bad
SIDE B: So Long, London / But Daddy I Love Her / Fresh Out the Slammer / Akuma !!! (feat Monarch)
SIDE C: Guilty As Sin? / Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me / Even Ladybug Can’t Fix This / loml
SIDE D: I Can Do It With a Broken Heart / The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived / The Cataclysm / Adrien Agreste
Bonus Tracks: The Black Cat / Solitude / Doppelgänger / Tell-Tail Heart
(Love how so many of the original track names still work)
My takes of what each song is about/inspired by under cut (but, if you feel like it, tell me yours :D)
I’m picturing all of these to be from Adrien’s perspective so they reflect mostly his version of the situations rather than the objective reality (especially the Laybug centered ones)
Deux Semaines (feat Ladybug): This one would focus on the sequence in Multiplication where Monarch doesn’t attack and how LadyNoir’s relationship recovers from the events of Season 4.
TTCD: Kept the “Catboy” singular because while there are multiple Catboy identities, there is only one boy underneath them all. Hence while I think it would be about him just stating his issues with everything, it would also focus on loneliness and how his department is understaffed :(
MLAOHFP: All of the Season 4 LadyNoir separation arc angst, with the “Favourite” being a callback to Risk (and kinda a jab at Rena because he thinks that she’s really her favourite, but y’ know, she didn’t abandon her so Rena can’t be her actual favourite)
Down Bad: Mainly about how Chat’s love for LB makes him excuse her behaviors, but also makes him act out (maybe a reference to Elation).
SL,L: About the whole arc of Gabriel sending Adrien to London and all of the memories he would have surrounding this ordeal - key point, not “So Long, Paris” because he didn’t want to leave, and in the end he comes back to a changed world.
BDILH: This one’s either about the Chat Blanc breakup or Gabriel’s dislike of Marinette in Season 5 (or both, with maybe a line about how he feels like this has happened before)
FOTS: Adrien realizing his father is a Bad Person.
Akuma !!! (feat Monarch): This one would be like a song about his daily life and then the chorus would start with a shout of “Akuma!!!” and it would switch to him as Chat Noir. I feel like it would start out with normal life being boring/hero life being fun but as it goes on he grows exhausted. Monarch has a rap verse.
Guilty As Sin?: Chat Blanc centeric - would ask who is to blame for the destruction of the world, like is it Chat because he lost control or Hawkmoth because he took advantage of his son’s emotion?
WAoLOM: Chat Blanc centric at first (like a villain song) but ends with Adrien reflecting on the events of Evolution-Destruction-Multiplication-PS night
ELCFT: I think it would be about his relaction ship with his father and how he wishes there was something he could do to go back to how they were when Emilie was alive but there’s no easy fix and his father keeps on getting worse and worse after any attempt.
loml: A song for Marinette with a bittersweet air - she’s the love of his life but he can’t tell her everything, and she can’t tell him everything either
ICDIWaBH: CatWalker centric - him going back to Ladybug in Kuroneko.
TSMWEL: I actually have three for this one - 1. About Gabriel and his need to domineer because he feels small and powerless. 2. About Adrien feeling small and insignificant. 3.About Plagg because he’s a smol boi (it would be like a lighthearted, cheeky song, like when you sing to your pet about how adorable they are)
The Cataclysm: Literally about how he cataclysmed Monarch, but also about how the event impacted his perception of self.
Adrien Agreste: Ending the album with a song that’s his own name :o.
Now for the variants:
The Black Cat: This one has Chat on the cover and the song is mostly about his bad luck. ‘I Love You It’s Ruining My Life” works both directed at Ladybug and his father.
Solitude: With Chat Blanc on the cover, this one’s about his mother. I think the “You Don’t Get To Tell Me About Sad” is pretty self-explanatory.
Doppelgänger: CatWalker is on this one, his song would be about how he may literally be the same person but he doesn’t fully feel like himself. He had to repress a lot of himself to be CatWalker hence I thought “Am I Allowed To Cry?” fit him really well (especially with Plagg not giving him the time to fully recover before he had to jump back in). Please note the crossed out name (unlike Chat Blanc) because he’s reinventing himself.
Tell-Tail Heart: This one has Ladybug on the cover - wait she’s not a Catboy?? The song is titled “Tell-Tail Heart” as a reference to Edgar Allan Poe’s “Tell Tale Heart” and would explore Chat’s perspective of Ladybug’s guilt for keeping secrets, how any excuse she makes is ultimately unimportant because she would do it either way. The fact that this is the only song title with a pun references how Chat tries to lighten the mood and avoid serious conversations, and the “Tail” is supposed to refer to Rena Rouge. The flowers she’s holding are meant to be foxgloves which symbolise secrets and insincerity (they’re also poisonous and damage the heart :)). I also really liked the “Old Habits Die Screaming” for her as it could mean both Chat Noir’s love for her being an old habit that he cannot get rid of, but also her habit of keeping things from him (especially with how she does it again at the end of season 5) being something she can’t stop. It is also him being able to see that, despite what she tells him, her “Heart” is tells him otherwise.
(also would like to point out that he wouldn’t mention Rena by name, he’s upset, not evil)
#miraculous#miraculous ladybug#ml season 5#adrien agreste#chat noir#chat blanc#cat walker#patte de velours#ml ladybug#taylor swift#the tortured poets department#ts ttpd#ml fanart#ok so at first I wanted to do these with maribug but then I started trying to come up with alternative names and it dawned on me#she’s still on the last cover though <3#the tortured Catboy department#inspiration hit me like a truck like I can almost hear the songs
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you smile that beautiful smile and all the girls in the front row scream your name.
i knew from the first note played i’d be breaking all my rules to see you. you smile that beautiful smile and all the girls in the front row scream your name. so dim that spotlight, tell me things like “i can’t take my eyes off of you.” i’m no one special, just another wide-eyed girl who’s desperately in love with you. give me a photograph to hang on my wall, superstar.
Eddie has three major rules when it comes to working with celebrities: 1. don’t flirt with the talent; 2. don’t hang out with the talent; 3. don’t, under any circumstances, fuck the talent.
He’s had enough rockstars’ managers kick him out of hotel rooms after waking up to an empty bed with cold sheets to have learned his lesson ten times over by now.
He doesn’t even think of adding a fourth rule: don’t fall in love with the talent. Has never even come close to needing a rule like that. Not until he meets Steve Harrington.
~*~
“Ed, I got a new one for ya, he’ll be here at two,” Eddie’s boss Murray says from the open doorway of Eddie’s office.
“Huh?” Eddie eloquently responds, mouth full of the banana he’d found in the office kitchen for lunch. “What?”
Murray rolls his eyes. He gets endlessly annoyed when it turns out no one can read his mind.
“New singer-songwriter coming in at two, asked for you specifically. Working on his second album, so look alive.” Murray tosses a demo in Eddie’s direction before departing the office and moving down the hallway towards his own. Eddie barely catches it just before the plastic corner gets him right in the eye.
This is the problem with Murray. He gives no details and leaves absolutely no room for follow-up questions. The other problem with Murray is that he waits until the last minute to spring shit on Eddie that he knows Eddie’s not going to like.
Eddie flips the plastic CD case around in his hand so he can read the words written in Sharpie on the front. ‘S. H. - 2’ is all it says, giving him absolutely no information. It’s already ten to two, so Eddie doesn’t even have time to listen to a single song if he wants to make it up the two floors to the conference room where he usually meets with the talent for the first time. Eddie scowls in annoyance; he hates being unprepared and he just knows Murray is conspiring against him somehow.
Eddie pushes up from his desk and leaves his office, heading for the elevator. He pressed the button for the 42nd floor. He likes to play this game where he tries to hold his breath for the duration of the elevator ride. Two floors is easy. The ride up to the 40th floor is a lot harder.
By the time Eddie makes it to the conference room, his appointment’s already in there. As he walks through the glass doors, he realizes that when Murray said “new,” he didn’t actually mean new. He meant, like, new to them.
Because sitting in the conference room at the head of the table is former boy band heartthrob Steve Harrington.
~*~
Eddie had never had Steve’s poster on his wall in high school or anything embarrassing like that, thank god. But he had kept one of the pages he’d ripped out of the library’s copy of Tiger Beat folded under his mattress for early morning daydreaming. And Eddie had certainly never listened to his music when he’d been in Teeny Boppers United or whatever the hell his band of cookie cutter boy-next-door types was called (he definitely knew).
Now, here Harrington is, sitting across the table from him, hair full of blond highlights and cherry lipgloss (Eddie thinks, imagines, hopes) on his lips.
“Um, hi. I’m, uh, Eddie. Munson. Eddie Munson,” Eddie holds out his hand for Steve to shake and Steve does. Eddie tells himself he’s imagining the way Steve’s eyes linger on him and how he takes just a second too long to pull his hand away.
Steve smiles, blinding and perfectly white. “Yeah, man, I know. My friend Robin has worked with you before? She had real great things to say,” Steve tells him and he sounds more sincere than a former-pop star asshole has any right to be.
“Buckley?” Eddie asks surprised, leaning back in his chair.
“Yeah, she’s been a huge help with my solo stuff. She co-wrote a few of the songs on my first album.” Steve drums his fingertips on the thick wood of the table.
“Huh.” The sound leaves Eddie against his will, as he’s trying to mask his surprise. Robin Buckley was talented and she had a sound that Eddie would never guess Steve Harrington would be into. She was indie, for sure, almost folk, bordering on a breathy country sound that Eddie thinks she’d deny if she heard him describe her like that. “I’m not entirely sure I’m what you’re looking for, to be honest with you.” He doesn’t know why he says it. He has no idea what Harrington’s sound is now that he’s broken free of the teenage bubblegum scene. But he’s always had a self-sabotaging streak a mile wide and he feels both relieved and disappointed to potentially have this out.
Steve frowns slightly, the crease between his eyes deepening. “Did you listen to the demo? I actually have this one song and I’m struggling with the bridge and, you know, not to, like, geek out or fan girl or whatever, but I’m, like, so into your sound and your lyrics and just the way you can construct a metaphor that seems so obvious when you hear it but is still so surprising in the context of the song it’s in and I think it would really complement what I’ve already started and…” Steve’s been gesturing wildly with his hands and must realize he’s rambling, because he trails off, blushing. “I mean. Did you listen?” He asks again.
“Honestly, Murray only just told me about this meeting about ten minutes before it started,” Eddie shrugs, but he feels bad about the way Steve’s shoulders fall.
“Ah, okay,” Steve pushes back from the table. “Yeah, okay. No worries.”
And Eddie feels, like, not great about this. He doesn’t like the disappointment he can see etched across Steve’s handsome features. So he reaches a hand across the vast wooden table, gesturing for Steve to stop.
“Wait,” he says, hand raised between them. “Listen, I’m… skeptical, to say the least. But. I’ll listen to your demo tonight, okay? And I’ll let you know what I think tomorrow. Is that… does that work?”
Steve nods quickly. “Yeah, dude. Yeah, that’s awesome. Thank you. Um. Do you… did Murray give you my number?”
“Here,” Eddie slides his notebook and pen across the table.
Steve picks up the pen, scrawling across the entire notebook page, before sliding it back toward Eddie. “My, uh, personal number.” Steve runs as hand through his highlighted hair. “I’m really looking forward to hearing your thoughts. Thanks, Eddie.” He reaches out again to shake Eddie’s hand and this time, Eddie knows he doesn’t imagine the way Steve’s fingers linger on his palm.
Eddie clears his throat. “Talk soon,” he says, smiling, before Steve is turning and leaving the room.
~*~
Eddie had gone to LA with stars in his eyes and big dreams circling his head. He’d had hopes of making it big, of thousands of people screaming his name. It had sounded so good back then, when he'd been trailer trash in the smallest, most close-minded town in the American Midwest. And it had kind of happened. He’d recorded an entire album, had even had a national tour. But he’d realized fairly quickly that it wasn’t what he’d really wanted. Performing was fun, but what he really cared about was the song-writing. The way a perfectly constructed verse could speak to someone, on a deep, intimate, important level. That’s why he cared about music, that’s why it had always been so important to him. It wasn't the performing or the flashing bulbs of cameras or the after parties filled with people who wanted to get close to fame. It was the songs. It was the words and the meanings behind them. It was what it all meant, down to the end of it all.
So Eddie had changed course. He’d begun song-writing instead, freelancing at first, selling a song here and a collab there. Until he’d been approached by Murray Bauman, who’d heard what he’d done on a Taylor Swift track and was impressed. Murray had offered him a job in New York, writing and producing, an office and a salary for the first time in his life. And Eddie loved what he got to do now, loved the tracks he produced for other people to sing. He’d thought it would feel strange, like he was missing out on something, but it didn’t. It just felt good.
That had been five years ago and now here he is, sliding Steve Harrington’s demo into the CD player in his living room. He presses play and crosses the room to grab a beer from his kitchen. Just as he's crossing the threshold between rooms, he hears the first three notes of the song and it stops him in his tracks. He tilts his head back toward the stereo.
Because the song isn't the sound of a boy band lead gone solo, belting out pop lyrics that would guarantee major radio play. This song is soft and melancholy, the poetic lyrics of a chorus crafted with vulnerability, a complicated bridge that ties it all together. The song ends and shifts, the guitar twang taking on a pop rock tempo, more upbeat than the last song. Steve's voice comes out, deep and honey-sweet, different than his boy band days. The lyrics are still sadder than Eddie would have thought and Eddie's impressed by the words juxtaposed with the upbeat instrumentals and the tone of Steve's vocals.
Eddie listens to all four songs standing there in the doorway between his living room and kitchen. Can't bear to tear himself away. And when the fourth and final song is over, Eddie crosses the room to click 'play' all over again.
~*~
Eddie waits to call Steve. He wants to call him immediately after his third listen, but he figures that it would be a bad idea to interrupt a client’s dinner or date or whatever former pop stars do on Thursday nights.
He spends all day at the office the next day listening to Steve’s first album on repeat. He thinks he can tell where Robin had helped with the lyrics, can see the ways the two of them have come together, and he can hear how their voices complement each other on the track she’s featured on. He listens to it on repeat for hours, before swapping it out for the new demo all over again. He thinks he can trace the way Steve’s voice has evolved since the first album, can see the places where his song-writing has matured. He spends the weekend deconstructing each song, finding the spots of vulnerability and the developed self-confidence that allows that vulnerability to take center stage. He feels a little guilty for not calling Steve, but he can’t imagine Steve’s sitting by the phone or anything anyway.
But the end of the weekend, Eddie knows he can’t say no to Steve Harrington. He knows that he has to be a part of this album, no matter what. That this project is going to be something magical, something unimaginable.
First thing Monday morning, Eddie calls Steve and makes a deal.
~*~
“Fuck, you have no idea how happy I am to hear from you,” Eddie hears Steve breathe down the phone line. “I’m such a huge fan and hearing what you did with Robin… I was worried you were gonna say no, y’know? When I didn’t hear from you?”
Eddie smiles to himself, small and involuntary. He’d never thought he’d hear Steve Harrington sounding so earnest.
“Well, to tell you the truth, I was just about ready to say no.” Eddie runs a hand through his hair and then shifts his phone from one ear to the other. “But I gave your demo a listen and I revisited your first album and I gotta tell you, I think there’s something really special there. I’m excited to see what we come up with.” He’s downplaying this, he knows it, but he doesn’t want to seem too eager. He doesn’t want Steve to know that he’ll probably die if he doesn’t get to work on this album. That’s probably a little too over dramatic, even for Eddie.
He hears Steve suck in a breath, can’t tell if that’s good or bad. “Dude, thank you. I’m so excited. This means a lot to me. Thanks, man.”
“Alright, well, I’m gonna have my assistant call you in a few days to set up some meetings and get everything worked out, timeline-wise. I’ll be in touch soon.” Eddie has to get off the phone now, before he says something dumb as fuck.
“Awesome. Thanks again, Eddie,” Steve replies, before there’s nothing but a dial tone.
~*~
Eddie has Chrissy set up all the meetings, scheduling studio time and booking out the conference room.
For months, Eddie’s life revolves around Steve Harrington. All he can think about are what chord progressions will have Steve’s voice sounding its best, all heavy and sweet, or what rhyme scheme the chorus should have to enhance its emotional tenor in the way Steve wants.
They record together, Steve in the booth and Eddie at the console. Sometimes Robin joins them, happy to take on second guitar and suggest a new phrasing for a line that’s giving them trouble.
Steve enlists the same band he’d used on his first album and Eddie’s kind of impressed by how well they all seem to get along. How committed they are to helping Steve figure out the vision for this album.
Towards the end of recording—long months spent trying new things, taking out second guitar here, adding a keyboard track in there—Steve convinces Eddie to play lead guitar on one of the tracks they wrote together. It’s one of the unfinished ones from the demo Eddie had been so enchanted by, the one that Steve had said was giving him trouble on the bridge. They’d spent long nights in Eddie’s office ordering late-night pizzas and trying to figure out how to make the song work. Eddie was so frustrated he was about to suggest they just scrap the whole thing until Steve started drumming on one of the discarded pizza boxes, humming along with a switched-up melody, a reversal of what they already had, a dramatic shift from chorus to bridge and back again. Eddie couldn’t do anything but stare and then the words were coming, Steve finishing his sentences when Eddie stumbled searching for the right word. By morning, the song was finished.
Eddie agrees to play, if only because he loves the song so much, so proud of the work they’d put into it. It has nothing to do with the way Steve’s sweet smile spreads over his face or the faint pinkness Eddie can see rising in his cheeks. In the end, Eddie’s even convinced to lend his vocals to the song. He doesn’t let himself think about how good they sound together, Steve’s deep voice belting out the lyrics with Eddie’s softer cadence just underneath.
~*~
Steve goes out on tour almost immediately after they finish recording. The record label says there’s so much buzz around the album, so much anticipation, that they should strike while the iron is hot.
“Don’t forget about me out there on the road,” Eddie jokes, voice light and airy. He and Steve are at his favorite coffee shop, just down the street from his offices.
“Could never,” Steve tells him, smiling, tone just on the wrong side of serious. He takes a sip of his coffee.
They’ve been dancing around each other for months, probably since they’d started recording if Eddie’s really honest with himself. But Eddie has rules and he’s been burned before. So when they’ve finished their coffee, they part ways. Eddie wishes Steve luck on his tour and Steve says he’ll be in touch.
Eddie’s life goes back to normal.
~*~
They text sporadically. Eddie doesn’t mind. He remembers how chaotic and stressful tour had been when he’d done it and he hadn’t been nearly as huge as Steve is now. Eddie knows it’s an endless parade of meet-and-greets and sound checks and dress rehearsals, one day blending into another. He’s surprised Steve even reaches out to him at all.
Steve is set to perform the last show of his tour at Madison Square Garden. Eddie thinks about showing up, grabbing the free tickets he gets as part of the job and surprising Steve. He thinks about it a lot actually, all five months Steve’s gone, fantasizes about how Steve might greet him, how he’d pull him into the green room backstage and…
A week before the show, Steve calls him.
“Hey, man!” Steve sounds winded and breathy. “How’s it going?”
“Oh, y’know, same old same old.” Eddie tries to sound as casual as possible, but he can’t control the grin that spreads across his lips.
Steve laughs. “Yeah, I bet. Hey, listen, I only have a minute, but I was wondering if you’d be open to, uh. Coming to my show at the Garden?” Eddie thinks he might be imagining the nervous lilt to Steve’s voice, the unsure way he poses the question.
“Yeah, man, of course. I’d love to be there.”
“Great! I’ll text you the details.” Eddie doesn’t even have time to say goodbye before Steve has hung up on him.
~*~
The night of the concert, Eddie shows up backstage, feeling just a little out of place. He’d bypassed the front of house, but he hadn’t missed the line of young women and girls snaking out of the venue doors and onto the streets of Manhattan. He had known Steve was big, but he hadn’t imagined it would be like this.
A woman with short blonde hair leads Eddie into the green room. Steve’s getting his makeup done, but when he sees Eddie in the reflection of the mirror, his eyes light up and he smiles, wide and goofy. He pushes up from his chair and crosses the room, moving to pull Eddie into a hug before Eddie can even say anything, arms looped around Eddie’s neck. Steve is warm against him, his muscles firm and soft—a strange juxtaposition—as Eddie wraps his own arms around Steve’s waist.
“So happy you’re here,” Steve whispers against his ear, breath hot. Eddie can’t even react before Steve’s pulling away, crossing back over to his chair and dropping himself into it. Steve looks at Eddie in the reflection, their eyes meeting. “I have a favor to ask.” Steve suddenly sounds hesitant, fingers fidgeting in his lap.
“Oh, no,” Eddie jokes, winking at Steve in the mirror. “What is it this time?”
Steve blushes. “I know you don’t really perform anymore, but I was hoping you’d help me out with our song? It’s the last song of the show.”
The words our song echo in Eddie’s ears and he can’t help his smile. Sure, he doesn’t really perform anymore, but, he realizes in this moment, he’d do pretty much anything for Steve. The thought should be terrifying, but somehow it isn’t.
“Dude, that’s awesome.” Eddie watches Steve practically sag in relief. “I’d love to.”
Before long, Steve is being rushed around, manhandled on his way to the stage, and Eddie is left to follow behind so he can watch from the wings.
Eddie had thought he’d known Steve. They’d written and recorded together for months, felt every emotion possible in the time it had taken them to complete the album. But watching Steve perform is something else entirely. Steve glows under the harsh stage lights, smiling and charismatic as he jokes with the girls in the front row vying for his attention. It’s magical to watch Steve perform the songs they’d made together, to sing words from Eddie’s own brain. Eddie is transfixed by the way Steve’s lips wrap around each note, like each word that comes out of his mouth is the most important word that’s ever been spoken. Steve is otherworldly on stage.
“For the last song, I have a surprise,” Steve stops in front of the mic stand as someone rushes to bring him his favorite guitar. He pulls the strap over his head. Someone on the side of the stage nudges Eddie, holding out a guitar that Eddie’s never seen before. If he’d known about this, he would have brought his own beloved sweetheart, but he’ll have to make do with what he has. No backing out now. “You’ve probably heard of Eddie Munson.” Steve smiles as the crowd cheers. “Yeah, he’s a huge deal. He’s worked with everyone from Taylor Swift and Phoebe Bridgers to Bruce Springsteen and Metallica.” The crowd cheers again. “I worked really closely with him on this album,” Steve smiles. “And he took something raw and messy and made it so fucking great.” The crowd screams. “I always close the show with my favorite song off the album. It’s the one that took us the longest to write. We were so frustrated, I thought Eddie was gonna tell me to just forget it. We spent so many all-nighters stuffing our faces with pizza and cursing ourselves for ever even thinking we should write this stupid fucking song.” Steve laughs with the crowd. “But then, one night it all clicked. It all came together. It was like magic, sitting there with Eddie on some ugly couch in his office, just about ready to give up. We made magic together.” Steve looks out at the crowd. “So. Eddie’s here to help me share this song with you.” The crowd goes wild as someone pushes Eddie out onto the stage, but Eddie’s eyes are fixed on Steve, who’s smiling at him from under the lights, eyes crinkling in the corners.
Playing the song is easier than Eddie had thought it would be. The notes come to him like muscle memory, like he could play this song in his sleep. He can’t take his attention away from Steve where he sings into the microphone. It’s all too much for his heart to handle. He feels like he might die here, right on the spot.
Just as suddenly as it had started, it’s all over. The crowd is deafening and Eddie’s got a smile on his face so wide his cheeks ache. Steve waves to the crowd before taking Eddie’s hand and leading him off stage.
“Fuck,” Steve breathes out, pulling Eddie along down the backstage hallways back towards the green room. “That was un-fucking-real.” Steve’s smiling, cheeks red.
Eddie can’t say anything at all. All he can do is follow helplessly behind Steve, the adrenaline pumping through his veins. His heartbeat so loud he’s sure Steve can hear it.
They’re back in the green room before Eddie can even blink. Suddenly, his back is pressed up against the closed door, Steve practically plastered to his front. He can barely breathe as Steve’s lips crash into his.
“Is this okay?” Steve asks, pulling back slightly. His breath is hot against Eddie’s lips. “Been thinking about you for months.” His voice is soft, barely there.
“Fuck yeah,” Eddie groans, running a hand through Steve’s hair, trying to pull him back in. “It’s so okay, Stevie.”
Steve lets out a groan of his own and then he’s kissing Eddie again, lips parting and tongue curling against Eddie’s.
Eddie’s not sure how long they stand there pressed up against the wall, hands tangled in hair, kissing each other breathless. All too soon a knock comes from the other side of the door and they jump apart.
“Steve?” A muffled voice calls out from the hallway. “You have a meet-and-greet in five.”
Steve looks at Eddie, laughing a little. “Fuck, sorry, I forgot,” he whispers, before raising his voice to respond to whoever’s outside, “Okay, just a minute!” He kisses Eddie one last time, soft and so sweet. “Come with me?” He asks.
Eddie nods and follows after Steve.
~*~
Eddie watches from the sidelines as Steve takes picture after picture. It’s kind of uncanny, the way Steve’s smile seems genuine in every photo he takes, the interest he seems to take in every person who comes to meet him.
The line has dwindled down when the next group of fans catch sight of Eddie in the shadows. “Oh my god!” One of the girls squeals, before turning toward Steve. “Can we get a picture with you and Eddie?”
Steve laughs, already nodding, before turning towards Eddie. “You mind?” He asks, holding his hand out for Eddie. Eddie slides his hand into Steve’s and has his picture taken.
~*~
After, Steve invites Eddie back to his fancy hotel room, but Eddie counters by inviting Steve to his apartment. Steve’s face brightens, clearly excited to see where Eddie lives. Eddie tries to mentally envision how he’d left his apartment, thinks it’s probably safe for world-famous superstars to visit.
They take Steve’s car, his driver dutifully ignoring whatever’s going on in the back seat, and by the time they make it up the six floors to Eddie’s door, they can’t keep their hands off each other. They crash through the front door, attached at the lips. They stumble down the hallway to Eddie’s bedroom and Eddie all but tackles Steve down into the sheets.
The next morning, Steve insists on making a homemade breakfast. Eddie rarely cooks, but by some miracle, he’s got eggs and bacon in his fridge. Eddie knows he’s got a dopey look on his face as he sits at the kitchen table, chin in his hand, watching Steve move around his space.
Later, when they’re curled up together on the couch and Steve is dozing against his chest, Eddie scrolls through his Instagram feed. He’s tagged in a ton of photos from the night before, up on stage with Steve, eyes fixed on each other as they play their guitars, crisscrossing beams of light all around them. He scrolls for a few more moments, before he sees the picture they’d taken together at the meet-and-greet, with the three girls who’d asked for a picture with Steve and Eddie. Steve’s blushing, his hand still holding Eddie’s, a wide smile on his face. Eddie’s just as flushed, eyes glassy, but he’s not even looking at the camera, face turned toward Steve instead. He looks lovestruck. It would be embarrassing, but Steve shifts in his arms, letting out a tiny little sound from the back of his throat.
Eddie screenshots the photo and saves it to his camera roll.
~*~
@thecaptainsgingersnap gave me “dealer's choice lyrics from Superstar” :)
This turned out waaaaayyyyyyy longer than I originally planned, so I probably should’ve split it into two posts, but here we are. Hope you enjoy it!!
#in this universe eddie munson co-wrote tolerate it#i know what song they wrote together but I’m keeping it to myself lol#steddie#steddie fic#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie fanfic#steddie fanfiction#steddie ficlet#stranger things fanfiction#steddie fluff#steddie fic rec#steve harrington x eddie munson
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All this was inspired by listening to She’s So Overrated by Madilyn Bailey so fair warning LMAO. Also this got SO MUCH LONGER THAN I MEANT IT TO IM SORRY IT WAS JUST ME WRITING DOWN AN IDEA......
Okay so I’m having thoughts about modern AU lead singer Eddie Munson who’s been in the industry for years with the boys. Corroded Coffin is a staple of the metal industry, but for a few years he’s been feeling really stalled in his career and just stuck in place. He’s still making music, still performing, but he feels like he’s getting farther and farther from that kid who used to scream and sing in his closet bedroom in the shoebox apartment he used to share with Wayne.
So when he and the boys are in an interview and the interviewee brings up how “King” Steve Harrington from The Four is trying to reinvent himself with the help of former bandmate Robin Buckley, Eddie goes off. He works himself up into a little tizzy, ranting Munson Doctrine style about how a former teen pop star trying to become some second rate folk singer isn’t anything special, and that he wouldn’t be caught dead cashing in like that.
That Steve’s music is bad (even though he’s honestly never listened to it) and “King” Steve is overrated. How even Beiber is better than him. He’s just bullshit.
Of course the interview goes viral, and finds its way to Steve and Robin. Robin listens to it first and she doesn’t want Steve to watch it. She knows how close things like this cut him (especially that word), and how he’s been dealing with a lot of hate from everyone even from former fans who are confused by the sharp contrast of his new music- aka the music he’s finally being allowed to write now that he’s broken away from his momager- but Steve makes her show him.
She’s sure that she’s going to have to spend the next week rebuilding his confidence.
And instead, Steve’s lip curls into a smile, and he grabs his songbook, telling her to find her guitar.
Eddie wakes up five days after the interview to a huge flood of social media notifications, a dozen missed calls from the boys and his manager and his uncle. He ignores them all and goes to see what he fucked up this time.
Eddie opens Youtube and it’s at the top of his recommendations. The thumbnail is Steve and Robin sitting together with a guitar in her lap. The title of the video is just one word.
Bullshit.
This can’t be good.
Eddie listens to it even though he doesn’t want to. He’s a lot of things, but he’s not a coward. Not anymore. He listens to it because he has to know how much he’s fucked up.
And then he listens to it again. And again. And again.
It gets stuck in his head. All of it. Not just the song (which admittedly is pretty killer) but also hearing the flippantly mean words he had casually thrown at Steve being shoved back in his face. He had seen Steve as an abstract thing, just a symbol of everything wrong with the industry, not a real person. And now this actual human being that he’s hearing has turned all of that garbage into a song that feels more genuine then most of the music on the last two albums he wrote himself. A song that has heart, joy, and a strong current of pain underneath, especially in the bridge where Steve just sings the word bullshit over and over.
There’s even more than that. He also sees the way Robin and Steve interact while they’re working the smiles, the jabs, the silly little way Steve bobs his head along as he listens to her play, the way they both collapse into giggles at the end as Steve directly quotes the part of the interview where Eddie said that Steve “is just another laundry basket devil trying to act like a big shot now that he’s too old for teen girls to moon over.”
He can’t remember the last time he and the boys had that much fun making a song.
Hell, Eddie even sees their apartment. It’s a pretty nondescript room, but he can see the wear and tear on the furniture, the cobwebs in the corners of the room, the slightly drooping houseplant with the name “Dart” lovingly painted on its pot. It feels like a home, and as Eddie looks around at the bedroom in his far too big mansion, he feels even more like a fraud.
Eddie listens to the song on repeat for most of the morning. In the afternoon he finally answers everyone, and starts to put his plan into motion.
By that evening he’s on the phone with Steve asking him and Robin to help Corroded Coffin write their next song.
#steve harrington#stranger things#st#eddie munson#steddie#steddie ficlet#st4#steve and eddie#Robin buckley#platonic stobin#platonic soulmates Stobin#stranger things au#modern au#rockstar Eddie munson#pop star Steve harrington#And yes in my head they fall in love#and robin falls in love with CC manager Chrissy Cunningham shhhhhh#corroded coffin
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