#Fame au

[mrstellmeafuckingsecret]

every time i see a marauders fame au i just think of sirius starting shit. their manager or pr team or whatevers like "okay whatever you do, do NOT talk about politics!!" and as soon as theyre in front of a camera sirius is like "so elon musk-"

[andie-chr]

Well. I said I was going to write a fanfic. I lied. Sorry. But instead, you all get this excerpt that I have pieced together for you.

warnings: breaking & entering, cursing, talk of drugs, weapons, guns, and basically all the angsty shit you can possibly think of. if you’re weakhearted (or just weak in general/lh) do yourself a favor and don’t click on this. you have been warned.

—

Bucky Barnes didn’t know what woke him. Maybe it was the sharp creak of the floorboard, or maybe it was the subtle hum of danger that had been drilled into him years ago, back when survival meant vigilance. Either way, the second he heard it, he was awake, sitting upright in the dark, reaching for the handgun under his pillow.

His cabin was supposed to be safe. Remote. Untouchable.

He rose silently, his movements fluid and deliberate. His feet muffled by socks didn’t make a sound as he stepped onto the cold, wooden floor. The house was silent, but the air felt wrong, thick with tension. Bucky's instincts prickled as he made his way to the kitchen, his grip on the gun firm.

A sound came from the living room—barely there, but enough.

He moved quickly, the gun raised as he rounded the corner.

Nothing.

The room was empty, the furniture untouched. His eyes swept over everything, but there was no sign of an intruder. Still, his chest tightened with unease. He backed up, every muscle tense, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

He turned to head back toward his bedroom—

“Hello there, music boyfriend.”

The voice and nickname was soft, familiar, but laced with venom.

The taser arrow hit his shoulder, sending volts of electricity tearing through his body. His knees hit the floor with a sickening thud, his vision blurring as pain wracked him. He managed to glimpse the shadowed figure stalking toward him before another arrow came. Right into the floorboards, missing his head by an inch.

“Get up,” came the snarl, raw and shaking. The voice was unmistakable. That tone was unmistakable.

“Clint?” he rasped, his voice rough, his mind scrambling to catch up.

Clint Barton stood over him, a bow in one hand, a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes tugging at his lips. He looked different—disheveled, wild, and raw in a way Bucky had never seen before. He was drunk, definitely. His eyes were bloodshot, he had been crying. He gripped the bow so hard he could see the tendons. He was angry. As well as armed and extremely dangerous.

That smirked dropped, and Clint surged forward — landing a brutal kick on Bucky’s rips. Usually Bucky would’ve been able to spring into action by now. But he was half asleep, had been knocked off his game and the idea of fighting back or running away from Clint seemed insane.

In seconds, Clint was on top of him, fist raining down sporadically. “Do you know what you took from me? Was it worth it?” His voice cracked and softened when he raised it, a reminder of what Bucky did. The metal arm around his throat, as he wheezed and tried to kick and eventually passed out. “HUH?! WAS IT WORTH IT?!”

“Clint—“

“You LIED to me!” The blond roared, punctuating his words with another punch to the face. He did. He told Clint the hallucinogenic drugs were just ibuprofen. He told his love to sleep in, and that he was probably fine and it was just a cold when he experienced the side effects.

“I did.” Bucky’s voice strained but nodded nonetheless. The words weren’t questions, they were accusations. And Bucky had to own up to them.

“YOU DRUGGED ME.”

The darker-haired male flinched, trying to open his mouth but Clint him again and again and again. But Clint’s words weren’t questions, just mere statements. “I did,” Bucky said, nodding. He did lie to Clint and told him that he was fine. He did drug Clint, within an inch of his rational thinking. He played along with the delusions, he made a dire choice. He guided him to his bedroom, choked him with his metal hand, partially permanently damaged his vocal cords.

“YOU TOLD ME YOU LOVED ME!” Clint’s voice cracked, as if he couldn’t fathom the betrayal and already expected it at the same time.

“I DO!” Bucky yelled, the words ripping out of him before he could stop them.

Clint froze, just for a second, before he shoving the other man back down and scrambled to his feet, grabbing another arrow from his quiver.

“Clint, listen to me,” Bucky said, his voice softer now, pleading. He tried to sit up, but Clint shoved him back down with a foot to his chest.

“Shut up!” Clint yelled, his voice cracking. Quickly he wound the bow, and this arrow wasn’t a taser—it was sharp, deadly, and soon it was aimed squarely at Bucky’s face.

“Nobody would know,” Clint said, his voice trembling with rage and something else—something broken. “Nobody would care. I should kill you right here. After what you did to me, you deserve it.”

He was right. Bucky didn’t even hate to admit it. Clint was right. Bucky took away something that was very valuable and Clint feels betrayed. He’s looking for someone to blame to cope, and Bucky just happens to be in the closest circumstances to do it. It’s easy to paint him as the villain, it’s even easier to kill him because of it.

The guitarist stayed on the floor, his hands raised in surrender, blood dripping from his nose and mouth. “Do it then,” Bucky said quietly, his voice steady. “If that’s what you think I deserve.” I don’t mind dying if it’s by your hands. But Bucky didn’t say it. Not verbally.

Clint’s hands shook, his grip on the bow unsteady. He looked at Bucky, really looked at him, and his breath hitched. He couldn’t do it. They both knew he couldn’t.

With a guttural cry, He threw the bow across the room with a clatter and stumbled back, sliding down the wall until he sat, legs sprawled out in front of him and his face in his hands. Soon, he raises his head up, looking at Bucky as if the other man broke his entire world. And yeah, he did.

“You were right,” Is all he says after moments of silence, his eyes dazing in the weird way they do. When Clint has to say something distressing or admit something, or have a tough conversation — he always just goes blank. Removes the Clint from the conversation and just leaves the Barton. The annoying, stuck up, golden boy singer and actor who mostly agrees with everything. No matter how absurd it is. “You were right, Bucky. They made me announce my retirement. They just put me in one of my old buildings with Lucky and…left me there. You told me they would, you told me—“

He pauses, heaving but he still manages to get the words out. “You told me, in the hotel — that you were trying to save me. That you had to. I didn’t believe you, Bucky. It took this,” The blonde points to his throat. “To make me see that they didn’t love me.”

“Not like I did.” Bucky says, voice soft.

“Not like Nat did. Not like Kate does.”

The names hang in the air, and the long-haired man says and picks himself up from the floor to lean against the wall. Clint’s crying even more, knees pressed against his chest as he just says “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you so fucking much.” over and over again.

“I know you do.” Bucky tells him, and the blond perks up. “I knew you’d hate me. You’re probably going to hate me for a very long time. You won’t wanna speak to me, you’ll wanna hurt me, hell — you’ll want me dead.”

Clint laughs, a quiet bitter laugh that sounds more like a scoff. “If you knew I’d hate you, then why do it?”

“I’d rather you’d hate me and be alive than you be dead and still love me.” Bucky admitted, lowly. “I didn’t have that chance with Natalia, but I have that chance with you. I’ll be damned if you end up just like her.”

Natalia Alianovna Romanova, but to her fans, she was known as Natasha Romanoff. Casted in movies when she was as little as 13, worked her way up to being in her early thirties and still being casted and still being asked to sing and still being considered one of the most beautiful women in the industry. She had died recently, or so everyone was told. Including Bucky. She taught me what it was like to be human, to feel human again. They had an on-and-off relationship, but before her death, they had decided maybe it was better being friends.

They had used each other like a bandaid, the only “sexual tension” was just loneliness and wanting to forget. Same with Clint, at first. But it blossomed, and it grew and grew and turned into this. There’s a very thin line between love and hate, and they’re strangling each other with it.

“I’m not here to cry about it.” Clint says, eyes sharpened. It was said like a mantra. “I need your help. Natasha’s alive.”

Bucky’s heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“I know where she is.” Clint’s voice was steady now, determined. “She faked her death, did you know?”

Bucky’s chest tightened, memories of Natalia flashing in his mind. Her laugh, her sharp wit, her quiet strength. He thought she was gone forever. He was sure of it. He shook his head.

“Took her voice away so they couldn’t use her anymore. Just disappeared. But I found her. And I’m going to bring her back because we need her.” Clint said, his eyes locking with Bucky’s. “We need to take them down, all of them. Every single one of those bastards. I want them in a fucking morgue. But I can’t do it alone.”

Bucky looked at him, really looked at him, and saw the cracks in the man who had once been so vibrant, so full of life. He saw the desperation, the plea beneath the anger.

This was the man he would fight in wars for, topple mountains for, worth everything in the world and more. He was worth Bucky’s very life.

“Are you going to—“

“Anything.” Bucky said, almost instantly. For a moment, Clint just looked at him before a slight giggle came out. The blond would never admit it but it was most definitely a giggle. Which seemed so out of place, since he was just threatening Bucky’s life 20 minutes ago.

Clint’s shoulders sagged with relief, but his eyes were still stormy, filled with a mixture of hope and pain.

“Good,” The archer said softly, his voice tinged with desperation. “Because if we don’t end this, I don’t think I’ll survive much longer.” Who could? Despite everyone’s belief, Clint very much believed in the idea of revenge or justice. It would break him, knowing the people who tortured him got away. Of course, Bucky wanted them dead too — but a large portion of him accepted that maybe that couldn’t happen.

Well, until Clint showed up knocking on the front door of his life. Walked in like he owned the place, with no intention of leaving.

“I wanna burn that place to the goddamn ground,” The singer says, his voice low and rough.

“Then let’s get you the matches to do it.” Bucky responds.

—

WHEW! it took me way too long to post this, but surprise no surprise, i did! you can expect a lot more winterhawk content, mainly because i have realized how much of a gem this ship is and how i can play with it. if you want more content like this, you can reblog or comment telling me all you thoughts! see ya!

— andy.

Hey. So like, winterhawk, right? Winterhawk. But; they’re both in the fame industry. Both, not by choice — at least, not anymore. Bucky is an actor and a musician, Clint is an actor and a singer. Their managers force them to do a show together. They do not like each other. While Clint is singing, Bucky starts playing the electric guitar loudly. It turns into a battle of who can be the loudest while the audience is going crazy. People post it on social media, shipping them. Their managers form a contract and force them to start fake dating each other. They share hotel rooms and are in each other’s presence on a day to day basic. We get “who did this to you?” when one of their managers doesn’t treat them kindly. We get “That’s MY boyfriend.” when a fan flirts with one of them after a show. We get them trying to make the best of their situation. We get them calling each other by their last names but the night they’re honest; they call each other by their first names. Winterhawk, but fame fake dating.

Hear. Me. The. Fuck. Out.

[andeptus]

model! Light x singer! L AU doodles

[allurilove]

Yandere Manager x singer you

Rated 18 + — mature short content !

Includes: yandere male manager x gender neutral singer reader, he’s secretly pining after you, your own little stalker, forbidden romance ig, male masturbation, takes pics of you sleeping, non con touching.

You met your yandere manager at the bar. You had been a part of a small band that never really made it big, but you always had shone brighter than the rest. You were magnetic, already having that star potential, and happened to sit right next to the man who worked for one of the best record companies. He just got off work, his sleeves pushed up above his elbow, and his glasses folded neatly next to him. He never really liked to drink, he was a different person when he did, but today was a special occasion. You were here. He already knew who you were, and he used a second low-key instagram account to see your stuff. He glanced at you. Your get-up was cute. He assumed that you came back from a concert or party, as there was a bit of confetti in your hair. You wore minimal and possibly sweat-proof makeup, and your eyes were striking with the black eyeliner.

Your manager sort of fell for you the first time he met you. It wasn’t easy to catch his attention, but you managed to do it. He had slid you his business card, paid for the rest of your drinks, and put on his best speech to convince you to sign with him. You became a solo artist in the blink of an eye, your singles and albums making it to the top forty, and you had the fame you wanted for so long. It just came with the price of having a stalker. As a manager, he had your location at all times. For safety purposes… of course. He threw a cap on, tiptoeing around the city to spy on you and your friends.

Your manager was responsible for your fan club. He would never tell you this, because it was simply embarrassing to admit, but he made a blog to gush about you. ‘A hundred reasons why you should stan y/n’ was the beginning of his secret outlet. He was the one that started the #manager and y/n would be cute hashtag on twitter, uploading a bunch of pictures of you and him having a ‘sweet’ moment. He spent hours scouring the internet to watch countless of edits of you, and he even made some himself. His cold and methodical demeanor would disappear the moment he was in the comfort of his home. He would lay in his bed, giggling and kicking his feet, twirling a piece of his hair as his eyes lit up at the sight of you on his screen.

Your manager acts like a helicopter parent. He’s always on your ass. He never texts you paragraphs or long sentences, so he could spam you and make sure you had definitely seen his messages.

“Where are you?”

“Out drinking again?”

“What happened to being responsible?”

“You have a show in two days.”

“I’ll be disappointed in you if you are drunk.”

“You better be at my house in two seconds.”

“Two seconds or I’m coming to get your ass.”

He liked you being drunk (only when you were around him). You would mumble and whine, his name on your lips constantly as you complained. And he got to be your hero for a while. He also forbids you from having any groupies. If you and him can’t fuck, then you can’t see anyone else. It was as simple as that. He couldn’t stomach the idea of you being with other people, and that’s why he had you at his apartment 24/7. When you were traveling for your shows, you best believe it that he was with you too. To him, it felt like you guys were practically married. Living together on the same bus, cooking together, sleeping near each other in close quarters. He would never cross the line when you were conscious; but when you were sleeping… it was free game.

The yandere manager took pictures of you. You were so worn out after your concerts, that you didn’t feel him moving your body. You trusted him because he gave you zero reasons not to. You trusted him enough that you didn’t expect him to start peeling off your clothes. He wanted his camera roll to be filled with your body. He gently put his hand on your thighs, squeezing the fat as he snapped a picture of you in your underwear. His fingers would sometimes find its way inside your mouth, subtly testing out your gag relax, and filming it for his pleasure. He flipped you onto your stomach, pushing your legs apart with his knee, and had his camera working hard to catch up with his thumb. He rapidly pressed against the button, trying to catch all the angles of your ass and sex.

Your manager touches his dick when you send him raw recordings of your voice. You were a night owl, your brain never shutting down until three a.m. and you sent him new songs you were working on. He plugged in his earbuds, lying back onto his bed, and hit play. He hummed the newest lyrics, his eyes closing as his hand slowly traveled down towards his crotch. He palmed himself, feeling his dick hardening in his grey sweatpants. He wanted you badly.

Your manager thought you were perfect, drop dead gorgeous and fucking hot. You have this sex appeal that makes his knees weak. He imagined you whispering the words to him: the heat of your voice warming the side of his face, your hand feeling up this tip, and wrapping around his long cock. Would you think that his dick was impressive? Would you be happy with how much cum that shoots out? Would you love it so much to gulp all of it down?

“Fuckin’ hell. Take it down your throat.”

“You love this don’t you? My big star.”

Your yandere manager wanted to sleep with you so badly. But he swore to himself to not get involved with another one of his clients. He groaned, his eyes opening to stare at his blank white ceiling, and his desperate cock softened in his hand. He hadn’t gotten any action lately, and he was oh so waiting to find the perfect moment to be with you.

Allure: extra stuff! idk i feel iffy about this fic

this is definitely reader and yandere managers text messages.

[pinkie-quinns]

rocker eddie/actor steve | exes to lovers | fame au p6 (final part)

p1 p2 p3 p4 p5 interlude

Steve thinks about second chances, as he walks along Greenwich Ave. He thinks about them when he tosses the wig in a garbage can that reeks of puke. 

And he thinks about them, when Eddie opens the door, eyes catching on the rip in Steve’s jeans, the liner under his eyes. When he lights up & says, “You came.”

Yeah, Steve thinks about second chances.

He offers Eddie a small smile as he walks in, can’t bring himself to acknowledge it all. The world of them. Him going. Eddie playing that song.  What that could mean, like, actually mean. Can’t do it yet.

He likes this place better than the mansion in LA. It’s messy and grungy with stupid, corny shit plastered on the walls. Feels more… Eddie.

They walk out to the balcony. It overlooks a tiny little green space, his neighbors’ homes. Eddie lights a cigarette and offers one to Steve. Steve quit years ago. Eddie knows that now. He takes it anyway. 

“Last tour I sold out Madison Square Garden and now I sell out Forest Hills.” Eddie’s chuckling, “Like I’m back at the trailer park.”

Eddie’s third album didn’t do the numbers his first two had. So they’d downsized, just a little.

Steve sighs, he didn’t fly all the way out here to coddle his ex, “It was a good show, Eddie.” 

“Yeah.” He drags, smiles to himself. “It was a really good show. I’m really glad you saw it, baby.”

Steve cringes, full body shiver. Eddie doesn’t seem to realize what he said, Steve’s sure as hell not gonna clue him in.

“How’d your meeting go?”

Steve tries to play it off. “Good. Pretty good.”

Eddie chuckles again, leans into him that way he always does, like personal space is more of a suggestion than a boundary. A hand brushes his cheek, a light, teasing tap of knuckles, “What’s pretty good, Harrington?”

Steve smiles into it. Can’t help it. “There’s uh… you know that blacklist script I mentioned last month? There’s probably a lead there for me.”

Eddie lights up again, bright and true, “Steve, that’s amazing.”

Steve snorts, “Not jealous?”

“Nah, I’m happy for you ba-” Eddie catches it this time, chokes on his drag, coughs and flounders, “Happy for you, man.” 

Steve’s not sure if he can do this, actually. Can’t face this Eddie. The one whose ego isn’t a storm cloud, who’s okay failing, who’s okay seeing him succeed. Who’s honest and sincere and wants the best for him. Eddie who would lose thousands of fans just to sing Steve’s favorite song. 

Eddie’s eyes are shiny, “But you’ve been good?”

“Yeah, yeah. Good. Keeping busy. I filmed an Amex commercial. Good money. Made my agents happy.” He’s rambling around it. He squints into the dark, drops it casually as he can muster. “I’m gonna start seeing that country singer, probably. The one with that Kansas song? Our people are setting something up.”

Eddie’s face falls, the sun out with a sentence. “What are we doing here, Harrington?”

Steve’s tone is bleary, sheepish, “What?”

“Been losing my mind this last month. Can’t stand not having you around. But you- you’re dating?”

It’s a shrug, it’s all he's got, “Sure.”

Eddie’s hunched, shoulders tight. He talks small. “You told me you loved me. Before you left.”

Steve huffs a breath. The air is cold. “C’mon. You were like, obliterating my brain with your dick. I say impulsive shit like that all the time.”

He doesn’t. They both know that. 

Eddie clicks his teeth, shakes a whisper. “Nah. You don’t.”

Steve falters, trips on his tongue. He finds his voice low and hoarse, he can barely say it, “Please don’t hold me to it.” 

Eddie won’t look him in the eye. He blinks up at the sky, “I love you. For the record. I um, I never stopped. Guess I’ve been pretty obvious about it.”

“Eddie, c’mon. Don’t do this. It’s not fair.”

“Date Dorothy.” His laugh is glacial. “I don’t mind. It won’t be real, right? Those things never fucking are.”

“I don’t know– it could be.” The ground’s falling under Steve’s feet. “Down the line, or whatever.”

Something cracks, crumples. “I had you. God fucking damnit. I had you and I–”

Steve’s not expecting the sobs until they happen. Flemmed and shaky and pathetic. Those brown eyes silver-wet like moons. 

Eddie pushes his palms into his cheeks. “Sometimes, after you leave, I just stare up at the ceiling and try to invent like, time travel or something. Just to go back and slap the shit outta myself. I was a goddamn coward. Couldn’t face it. Could talk around it, sure. Write it into my songs like that was honest. But, nah, I couldn’t look in the mirror. Definitely couldn’t look at you. I’m facing it now. I need you to know that. It won’t fix all shit I did, won’t fix the stupid fucking way I tried to fix it the first time. It’s there, it’s out, hell, it’s goddamn double platinum.” He sputters it out miserable, “But I am trying. Even if this– if we can’t. Need you to know I’m facing it now. I want to be better.”

Then Eddie looks right at him, looks at Steve like looking is enough to break his heart. “And I don’t wanna be selfish anymore cause it’s poison, Steve. But fuck. I know I don’t deserve it but if you’ll have me, I’ll– I’m there. Whatever way you’ll take me.”

“Eddie.” Steve doesn’t know why he’s here. Why he keeps digging this wound, ripping out stitches.

“Please? Can’t walk away again. Don’t have it in me.”

“Yeah.” Steve laughs. “You only do that when it’s easy.”

Eddie flinches. Shoves a ringed hand into a pocket. “Too late, huh?”

Steve scratches the back of his head and turns on his heel, “We can’t keep doing this.”

He gets as far the kitchen. Eddie quicksteps in front of the counter, blocks his out. But he’s cowering, ducking his head. “Did you um, like the song?”

It swells up all at once, that bone-deep cruelty of it. A gust turned tsunami. “Not really, Ed. Kinda broke my fucking heart.”

“Shit,” Eddie clicks. “Yeah, I, um, I’m not all that good at the grand gesture thing. Probably should have figured that out by now.”

Steve lets it all in. The red that’s been thrumming through his body since this whole thing started. Lets it possess him. He pushes into Eddie’s space, callous and cruel. “You’re really fucking me up, here. Do you know that?”

“I– I’m not trying to.” Eddie blinks. Frustratingly earnest. 

“What we’re doing– Whatever this is. It makes me feel pathetic. I’d be the dumbest asshole on the planet if I took you back.” He’s screaming now. The balcony door is still open. He doesn’t care if anyone hears. He wants them to hear.

Eddie’s lip is shaking. “I’m sorry.”

“I hate you.” Steve murmurs. The red’s coming off in whisps, quicker than it ever had, easier than it should. 

Eddie’s smile is weak. His face is wet. “I know.”

“You ruined me.” He leans in, finds half a punch in it. Last one he’s got. 

Eddie closes his eyes, brow furrowed. “I know.”

“I don’t want anyone else.” He’s tired. Bone tired. Tired of the ache that only ever seems to go away around, well–

Eddie’s guilt is plain. It's all of him. “I’m sorry.”

Steve takes a breath. He thinks about second chances.

“You really want to be with me?”

Eddie looks at him like he’s already burrowed in. Ribs and guts and blood. “Got my priorities way out of whack for a minute there. Jesus, way too many minutes there. But yeah. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.  You’re it for me, Stevie.”

Steve groans, taps his forehead lightly against a shelf. Eddie’s hand lands steady at his arm, awkward and cautious and right. “I’m a fucking idiot.”

“No.” Eddie says soft. “You’re not.”

“Yeah, I am.” Steve shakes his head. Waves a finger into Eddie’s chest. “You sang Dave fucking Matthews.”

“Don’t remind me, man. They’re gonna start shattering my CDs.” He pauses, sincere as ever. ‘I, uh, wouldn’t take it back though.”

Steve groans again, presses his head into Eddie’s shoulder. “No, you don’t get it. You sang Dave Matthews and now I’m gonna have to call my team and tell them it’s not gonna happen with the country singer.”

Eddie blubbers, big Saturday morning cartoon recalibration. “You’re– what?”

Steve shrugs, catches his eye. “Now I’m gonna have to talk about my coming out journey with Angie at People and dude, she’s been on my ass about it for years. Total sore winner.”

He’s shaking his head, “Harrington… Steve. Stevie.”

But Steve keeps rattling on, “I’m gonna have to tip off the paparazzi that Dark Pines star Steve Harrington was spotted sneaking into Eddie Munson’s brownstone at midnight for a secret rendezvous. Gonna have to go for a jog around the block first thing tomorrow, with like, more hickeys than a teen who just got their first girlfriend.”

“You’ve really thought about this, huh?”

Eddie’s back pushes into the edge of the kitchen counter. And Steve thinks about that photo that forced them together again, about Eddie’s easy grin, about the soft adoration high on his cheeks, about never being so young. He thinks about fucking up and growing up and growing apart and changing. And he smiles against chapped lips that taste like cigarettes and coming home.

And he says, “Gonna have to find someone to give me the hickeys.”

And Eddie lights up like the sun, “I know a guy.”

And Steve, well, he thinks about second chances. 

[kingstarkingslay]

Give me a wolfstar fame au fic where Sirius is a VERY well known and experienced actor and Remus is a new and upcoming actor and they’ve just done their first movie together ( this being Remus’ first movie in the industry) and it’s a romance and it’s a big hit in the theatres and Sirius is asked to give an interview but the catch is that during the interview he accidentally lets it slip that he fell in love with Remus on set * GASP NO ONE SAW IT COMING *

[jhyoos]

REBEL GIRL

Chapter 3: Party Like A Rockstar

rockstar!sevika x influencer!reader

summary: after their first concert of Shattered Soul’s tour, they go clubbing to celebrate.

mentions : modern au!, fame au!, drama, swearing, drinking

notes: just like sevika’s ass it’s finna be juicy.

chapters : one, two, three, four, five six

The long drive wasn’t something you minded—at first, anyway. You had your headphones in, your laptop balanced on your lap, and hours of video footage to edit for your YouTube channel. Outside the bus, the world blurred into a mosaic of green fields, dusty highways, and faded billboards. Inside, the faint hum of conversation mixed with the occasional strum of Vi’s guitar and Jinx’s rhythmic drumming on a nearby table. Caitlyn was curled up in a seat, scribbling in her notebook, and Sevika lounged across from you, headphones on, looking completely unbothered.

It was the perfect setting for productivity, or so you thought.

With your playlist drowning out the background noise, you fell into your editing zone. Your fingers flew across the keyboard as you adjusted lighting, spliced clips, and refined transitions for a vlog you planned to post soon. The soothing rhythm of your work almost made you forget where you were—until the interruptions started.

At first, it was harmless. Vi, clearly bored, reached over to tap the edge of your keyboard, grinning when you swatted her hand away. A few minutes later, Caitlyn leaned in under the guise of offering input, only to give a mock-serious nod and say, “Looks good to me,” before retreating to her seat with a laugh. Then Jinx decided to get involved, leaning dramatically over your shoulder to narrate your edits in an over-the-top announcer voice:

“And here we see Y/N, hard at work, crafting what is sure to be a masterpiece… unless her genius is interrupted!”

You shot her a glare, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed your annoyance.

It became a game to them—a cycle of pokes, prods, and sarcastic commentary. Each of them took turns testing your patience, like some unspoken competition to see who could get the biggest reaction out of you.

And then Sevika stepped in.

You were mid-edit, headphones on, completely focused on syncing a transition when your screen suddenly went black.

“What the hell?” You ripped off your headphones, your heart sinking as you stared at the blank laptop screen. Slowly, you turned to face the culprit.

Sevika stood beside you, her arms crossed and a cocky smirk plastered across her face. “You’ve been glued to that thing for hours,” she said casually, her tone infuriatingly calm. “Thought I’d do you a favor.”

“A favor?” Your voice pitched with disbelief. “By shutting off my laptop? Are you out of your mind?”

The rest of the band erupted into laughter. Vi was practically rolling on the floor, Jinx clutched her sides, and Caitlyn tried—and failed—to cover her amused grin.

“Oh, real funny,” you snapped, glaring at them. “Glad my mental breakdown is such quality entertainment for you.”

“Relax,” Sevika said, her smirk never faltering. “You can always start over.”

You stood abruptly, clutching your laptop like it was your lifeline. “If any of you touch my computer again, I swear I’m locking your equipment up and throwing the key into the nearest ditch.”

“Alright, alright,” Caitlyn said, holding up her hands in mock surrender. “We’ll back off… for now.”

You glared at all of them one more time before sitting back down, muttering under your breath as you reopened your laptop and prayed your unsaved work wasn’t lost forever.

The venue buzzed with excitement that night, the air charged with the hum of anticipation. You hung back as the band prepared for their set, observing the chaos of pre-show rituals. Jinx and Caitlyn exchanged last-minute quips while Vi strummed her guitar, testing the tuning.

And Sevika?

She was leaning casually against a wall backstage, surrounded by a small group of fans who’d somehow gained access. They hung on her every word, their laughter ringing out as she threw them that trademark smirk. She signed autographs, posed for pictures, and slipped in the kind of flirtatious comments that made their faces light up.

You rolled your eyes, trying to focus on anything else. It was the same routine every time—a parade of adoration that Sevika basked in like a queen holding court.

“Think they’ll ever get tired of her?” Caitlyn asked, sidling up beside you.

“Doubtful,” you replied, crossing your arms. “She eats this stuff up.”

Caitlyn chuckled, shaking her head. “Well, try not to let it ruin your night. Just enjoy the show.”

“Yeah, sure,” you muttered, casting one last glance at Sevika as she laughed at something one of the fans said. Her gaze flicked to you then, catching your eye. Her smirk widened, a knowing gleam in her eye as if she’d caught you watching.

You scoffed and turned away, determined not to let her get under your skin. But as the band was called to the stage, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Sevika enjoyed the game just as much as you did.

The concert was, as expected, electric. The moment Vi stepped onto the stage and shouted her opening line, the crowd erupted. The energy was infectious, the music pounding through your chest as the band launched into their first song. You watched from the edge of the stage, half mesmerized by the sheer power they commanded.

Vi owned the stage, alternating between singing her heart out and shredding her guitar with practiced ease. Caitlyn’s keyboard melodies added depth to every track, while Jinx’s drumming was a chaotic yet perfectly timed rhythm that tied it all together. Sevika, as always, stole the show during her guitar solos. The way her fingers danced across the strings sent the crowd into a frenzy, and you couldn’t deny that she had a magnetic presence, even if you rolled your eyes at it more often than not.

As the concert reached its climax, the energy in the room soared. Fans screamed the lyrics back at Vi, fists pumping in unison, and the stage lights bathed the entire venue in a kaleidoscope of colors. You couldn’t help but get swept up in it, bobbing your head and mouthing along to the words of songs you’d become all too familiar with.

When the last note rang out, the applause was deafening. Vi grinned as she leaned into the mic, her voice hoarse but full of excitement. “Thank you, LA! You’ve been amazing tonight!”

The band exited the stage to thunderous cheers, and you joined them backstage, where the energy was still high. Jinx whooped loudly, throwing her drumsticks in the air and catching them before spinning to hug Caitlyn, who laughed and dodged the full brunt of Jinx’s excitement.

“That was insane!” Jinx exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Best crowd yet!”

“Easily,” Caitlyn agreed, still grinning.

Vi slung an arm around Sevika’s shoulders, her expression smug. “We crushed it tonight.”

“Always do,” Sevika replied coolly, though her slight smirk gave away her satisfaction.

You hung back slightly, letting the band revel in their success. It was a reminder of why they were so good together—the chemistry, the camaraderie. Even Sevika’s cocky demeanor felt earned after a performance like that.

“So,” Vi said, turning to the group with a mischievous glint in her eye. “What’s next? We’re in LA, the night’s young… I say we hit the club.”

Jinx’s eyes lit up. “Hell yeah! Let’s do it!”

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow, though her lips twitched in amusement. “You’ve still got adrenaline to burn off, don’t you?”

Vi turned to you then, a challenging smile on her face. “What about you, Y/N? You in?”

You hesitated for a moment, weighing your options. On one hand, clubbing with a rock band wasn’t exactly your usual scene. On the other hand, you couldn’t deny that the idea of letting loose after the day you’d had sounded… tempting.

“Why not?” you finally said, shrugging. “Someone’s gotta make sure Jinx doesn’t end up on top of the bar.”

“Hey!” Jinx protested, though her grin said she wasn’t offended.

Vi laughed, clapping you on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit! Alright, people, let’s get to our hotel, change and get fucked up. Tonight’s gonna be one to remember.”

As the band dispersed to grab their things, you found yourself lingering near the stage exit. Sevika walked past, her smirk firmly in place as she tilted her head toward you.

“You clean up alright?” she teased, her tone playful.

“Guess you’ll have to wait and see,” you replied smoothly, matching her confidence.

Her smirk widened, but she didn’t respond, leaving you with a curious flutter in your chest as she sauntered off.

This night was definitely going to be interesting.

As soon as you and Caitlyn got back to the hotel, the two of you dove into your suitcases, rummaging through outfit after outfit for the perfect look. Clubbing in LA wasn’t just a night out—it was a statement. Caitlyn settled on a sleek, black jumpsuit paired with combat boots, her look effortlessly cool as always.

You, on the other hand, had your sights set on something bold. After trying a few options, your eyes landed on the black strappy top, leather skirt, thigh-high stockings, and platform boots tucked away in your suitcase. Once you slipped it on and adjusted the straps to fit just right, Caitlyn gave you an approving whistle.

“Well, someone’s definitely turning heads tonight,” she teased, leaning against the bedpost.

You smirked at your reflection in the mirror, turning slightly to check the back. “You think?”

“Oh, I know. Sevika is going to lose it when she sees this.”

The two of you finished getting ready, sharing excited chatter about the night ahead. Instead of drawing attention by taking the tour bus, the group decided to order an Uber Black to keep things low-key—or so you thought.

As the sleek black SUV pulled up to the club, the flashing lights of cameras and the deafening screams of fans made it clear that your “low-key” plan was a bust. Paparazzi swarmed the car before you could even step out, their flashes illuminating the night as fans shouted your name and the band members’ names.

“Looks like the cat’s out of the bag,” Caitlyn murmured, adjusting her sunglasses even though it was well past sunset.

“Doesn’t matter,” you replied, stepping out with confidence. “We’re here to have fun.”

And fun you had.

Inside the club, the atmosphere was electric. The music thumped loudly enough to vibrate through your chest, and the neon lights bathed the entire room in vibrant shades of pink, blue, and green. You didn’t waste any time, heading straight to the bar with the group to take your first round of shots.

One shot turned into three, then four, and by the fifth, you were officially buzzed. The band laughed and cheered, hyping each other up as you all took turns ordering rounds. Vi was the first to drag everyone onto the dance floor, her infectious energy pulling you into the mix.

By the time the DJ transitioned to My Chemical Romance, your confidence had hit its peak. You climbed onto the table without hesitation, mic in hand as you sang along to every word. The crowd around you roared their approval, and even the DJ gave you a grin and a thumbs-up.

“Careful,” Sevika murmured behind you, her large hand steadying your waist. She stood close, her presence grounding you even as you swayed to the music.

“I’ve got this,” you replied with a playful wink, though you appreciated the gesture.

Fans in the crowd snapped photos of the moment, flooding social media with hashtags and captions speculating about the dynamic between you and Sevika. It wasn’t long before the night took a dramatic turn.

The energy in the club reached a fever pitch, and you were right in the middle of it all. Standing on the table, your confidence amplified by the shots coursing through your veins, you swayed to the music, your arms raised as you sang along to the DJ's playlist. The crowd below cheered, their phones raised to capture the moment, flashes lighting up the space like strobes.

From the corner of your eye, you spotted Sevika making her way toward you, her towering frame cutting through the throng of people with ease. She didn’t look impressed—her brows furrowed, her jaw tight. When she finally reached you, she wasted no time, her large hands gripping your waist firmly.

“Alright, come down before you hurt yourself,” she said, her voice low but commanding as she steadied you.

You groaned, pouting down at her. “I’m fine, Sevika. Seriously. Let me have my fun!”

Sevika raised an unimpressed brow, her hold on your waist unwavering. “You might not care, but I do. Now, down.”

You huffed but allowed her to guide you down, her hands staying securely on your waist until your boots hit the floor. The warmth of her touch lingered, and you couldn’t resist teasing her, even as you stumbled slightly.

“When did you get so caring?” you asked with a smirk, brushing your hair out of your face.

Sevika’s lips twitched, but she didn’t rise to the bait. “You’ve had enough of the spotlight for tonight. Now behave.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “You’re no fun.” With that, you headed back to the bar, brushing off the attention as you ordered yet another shot, determined to keep the night alive.

As the hours wore on, the club became impossibly packed. Word of you and your friend’s presence had spread like wildfire, and the space was now teeming with fans trying to catch a glimpse of the band. The once vibrant atmosphere now felt claustrophobic.

Caitlyn, ever the level-headed one, noticed the shift and knew it was time to call it a night. She signaled to the group, her phone in hand as she ordered a car. “Alright, let’s get out of here before this gets out of control.”

Reluctantly, everyone began to gather, though it was clear the alcohol had taken its toll. You were more than a little drunk, laughing at everything and swaying slightly as Sevika grabbed your hand, pulling you through the crowd. Paparazzi swarmed the group the moment you stepped outside, their cameras flashing like fireworks.

While the others kept their heads down, trying to maneuver through the chaos, you basked in the attention, smiling and waving despite Caitlyn’s exasperated look. “Y/N, keep moving!” she called over her shoulder.

You giggled, letting Sevika tug you along. Her grip on your hand was firm, grounding you as the two of you finally made it to the car. When you climbed in, it was immediately clear there weren’t enough seats for everyone. Caitlyn took the passenger seat while the others crammed into the back.

“You’re on my lap,” Sevika said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

You didn’t hesitate, settling onto her lap with surprising ease. You leaned your head against the back of the passenger seat, closing your eyes as the gentle hum of the car lulled you into a daze. Sevika’s hands rested lightly on your waist, her touch oddly comforting. You didn’t care—your drunken state left little room for embarrassment.

The others were loud, laughing and joking as the car sped toward the hotel. Vi was hanging halfway out of the window, yelling into the night, while Jinx snapped blurry pictures on her phone. Caitlyn, ever the responsible one, shook her head at their antics but couldn’t hide her small smile.

When the car finally pulled up to the hotel, Caitlyn took charge, helping everyone out one by one. You leaned heavily against her as she guided you to your room, her patience unwavering despite your drunken giggles.

She eased you onto the bed, pulling off your boots and tucking you in before lying down beside you with a tired sigh. You turned toward her, your gaze hazy but affectionate as you grabbed her hand, pressing a sloppy kiss to the back of it.

“We’re locked in, you know that, right?” you mumbled, your voice slurred but earnest.

Caitlyn chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You only do that when you want to tell a secret. What is it?”

You giggled, your cheeks warm. “I wanna fuck Sevika so bad.”

Caitlyn groaned, though her smile betrayed her amusement. “Of course you do,” she muttered, shaking her head.

You grinned, unbothered. “Your turn. Tell me a secret.”

Caitlyn hesitated for a moment before sighing. “Fine. I’m in love with Violet.”

Your eyes widened slightly, but your grin only grew. “I’m not surprised. I see the way you look at her, Cait. You’re so obvious.”

Caitlyn laughed, squeezing your hand. “Secrets locked in.”

“Secrets locked in,” you echoed, your voice soft as sleep began to pull you under.

The two of you drifted off together, your quiet confessions lingering in the stillness of the room.

The harsh light streaming through the curtains woke you up first, followed closely by the incessant buzzing of your phone. Your head pounded, a dull ache that reminded you of every shot you’d thrown back the night before. With a groan, you rolled over, reaching for your phone on the nightstand, only to see the screen lit up with a flood of notifications.

Your phone was practically vibrating off the surface with the number of missed calls, texts, and alerts from various apps. Blinking through the haze of your hangover, you squinted at the screen.

37 missed calls.

62 unread texts.

“[Y/N] trending on Twitter.”

Your stomach dropped.

The first thing you opened was your messages, and right at the top was a slew of texts from your manager, each one more frantic than the last.

Manager 👹: “Call me. Now.”

Manager 👹: “Why am I waking up to THIS?!”

Manager 👹: “This is going to blow up even more if we don’t get ahead of it.”

Manager 👹: “PLEASE CALL ME ASAP.”

You groaned, already dreading the conversation, but curiosity got the better of you. Opening Twitter, you braced yourself for the chaos.

The first thing you saw was an article headline:

"Rockstar Sevika and Influencer (Y/N) (L/N) Spotted Holding Hands and Getting Cozy at the Club Last Night—Are They Dating?"

The accompanying picture was from last night—Sevika’s hand on your waist as she helped you down from the table, your head tilted back in laughter, clearly drunk out of your mind. There was another photo of you two holding hands as she led you through the crowd outside the club, the paparazzi’s flashes catching every intimate angle.

You scrolled down to see countless tweets from fans and gossip accounts dissecting every detail of the night.

- “So… are Sevika and [Y/N] a thing?? 👀”

- “That waist grab? HELLO???”

- “The chemistry is unreal. I’m shipping it.”

- “[Y/N] is literally living my dream. I can’t even.”

You groaned, burying your face in the pillow. “Oh my god.”

Caitlyn stirred beside you, her own groggy voice cutting through the fog. “What’s wrong?” she mumbled, her face half-buried in the blanket.

You held up your phone without saying a word, letting her squint at the screen. She blinked a few times before her lips curled into a mischievous smirk. “Well, looks like you had a very eventful night.”

“You think this is funny?” you grumbled, tossing your phone aside.

“A little,” Caitlyn admitted, stretching. “But you did kind of bring this on yourself. You were all over Sevika last night.”

“I was drunk!” you defended, sitting up too quickly and regretting it immediately as the pounding in your head worsened.

“Drunk or not, the internet thinks you’re dating her now.”

Before you could respond, your phone buzzed again with yet another call from your manager. With a deep breath, you reluctantly answered, pressing the phone to your ear.

“Good morning,” you croaked, your voice still rough from sleep.

“Morning? Morning?! Do you have any idea how many damage control calls I’ve had to make already?” your manager’s voice was sharp, bordering on panic. “What happened last night? Why is half the internet convinced you and Sevika are in some whirlwind romance?”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “It’s not what it looks like. She was just helping me—”

“Helping you down from a table while holding your waist and leading you out of the club hand in hand?” your manager interrupted, not buying it. “The pictures don’t scream ‘just helping.’ You know how people are going to spin this.”

“Okay, but we’re not dating,” you said firmly, though your cheeks heated at the memory of Sevika’s steady hands on you.

“Doesn’t matter. This is already everywhere, and people are eating it up. We need to decide how to handle this—deny it, ignore it, or lean into it.”

You groaned again, flopping back onto the bed as Caitlyn chuckled beside you, clearly enjoying your predicament. “I can’t deal with this right now. My head is killing me.”

“Drink some water and get it together,” your manager snapped. “I’ll call you in an hour. Figure out what you want to do by then.”

The call ended, leaving you staring at the ceiling, your phone still buzzing with notifications.

Caitlyn rolled over to face you, propping her head on her hand. “So, what’s the plan, superstar?”

You shot her a glare, but her grin only widened. “I hate you,” you muttered, burying your face in the pillow again.

But even as the headache and the stress loomed, you couldn’t stop thinking about Sevika’s touch—the way her hand had lingered on your waist, the steady warmth of her presence amidst the chaos. Maybe the internet wasn’t entirely wrong.

[dyl-z]

38 | 39

[eggo-tistical]

model!light and singer!L au by @andeptus / @matiliciouss on twt, i’m utterly obsessed

[vxsellie]

⌗ GOING PUBLIC ! ꒰ chap xii ꒱

synopsis. following the (shockingly successful) release of your band’s very first album, you somehow managed to completely forget about the importance in privacy. a drunken mistake it was to have made out with a rivaling band member. that’s all it was, a mistake. but, of course, the world deems it otherwise — hypothesizing about your guys’ deep rooted relationship. your fans come together, begging and pleading for more content with the two vocalists. in the end, they get what they want.

notes. i’m so so so sorry im posting so rarely, ive had a lot on my mind lately. school is kicking my ass & my professors aren’t making that any better. and the election is weighing on me a ton as well. plus some personal familial shit. ik it’s not excuse (esp since writing is normally my escape from these types of things), but i am sorry.

anywho ,, there’s a lot going on in this chap but i’m trying to explain what’s happening irl without writing another long story in my notes bc this is a smau so i feel it should be socmed??

warnings. vulgar language, mentions of elderly incompetence, mentions of alcohol purchasing

「 prev. / masterlist. / next. 」

taglist. @luvsturniolo @kasqnxx @xlovla @boobdrug @elliessweetheart @autisticintr0vert @abbys-muscles @smelliebellie6 @twopeoplee @elliecoochieeater @diddiqueen @hysteriawillnotsuccumb

[xoxoladyaz]

It Hits Different This Time

Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Rock Star Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five

“Steve.” 

He hears Robin knocking on the door, her knuckles tapping firmly against the wood.

“STEVE.”

He’s lying on the bed in Robin’s guest bedroom, limbs starfished across the plush gray comforter, staring at the ceiling fan. Taylor Swift is singing to him, blasting from the Alexa speaker next to him.

Oh my, love is a lie, shit my friends say to get me by 

“Alexa, volume up.”

“Steve – STEVE!”

It hits different, it hits different this time

“Alexa, off,” Robin says as she marches into the room. Taylor’s voice cuts off almost immediately and Steve huffs, frustrated.

“Steve, as much as I love listening to your ‘Sad Taylor Swift’ playlist, you need to eat something. Go for a walk. Take a shower.”

“I’d rather not.”

Sighing, Robin kicks his left leg until he’s made enough room for her to collapse down beside him and gaze up at the spinning fan. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

They lay in silence.

“It’s just – our three-year anniversary, Robin.”

“I know.”

“He didn’t even text me.”

“I know.”

“And the supermodels at the club! And the tweets!”

“I know, Steve.”

There’s moisture pricking at the inside of his eyes now. “I just – it’s dumb, okay? I thought we could make this work. But I guess I’m not as important to him as he is to me.”

“Dingus,” Robin chides, and he turns his face away so she can’t see that he’s actually crying now. (She still probably knows that he is; Robin always knows. He just doesn’t want anyone to see.) “Okay, is Eddie Munson a huge idiot? Yes, and he has been for as long as we’ve known him. Is he kind of an asshole now that he’s famous? Yes. Do I think this is the end? Not necessarily.”

Steve snorts. “It’s been four days, Robin. Nothing for four days. I think it’s already ended.”

Robin cuddles up to his side so now they’re legitimately snuggling together. “Look, all I’m saying is he’s going to be back in the state in a few days and I think you owe it yourself to at least have a conversation with him. Either you two decide to work things out and start communicating better or you decide that he’s not pulling his weight to make his relationship work and you get closure. Either way, I think you need to talk to him.”

“Yeah,” Steve sniffles. “You’re probably right.”

“Steven, I’m always right.”

“I’m sorry, do you want to talk about the Pixar question you fumbled on trivia night?”

“Dingus, I swear to god if you don’t let it go - ”

/////

Eddie’s groggy and nauseous and fuck the sun is too bright. He pulls at the window-shades as he stumbles into their kitchen, dropping his Louis Vuitton bag on the floor. The fact that he’s managing to walk while coming down from a five day bender that he barely fucking remembers is kind of a miracle. 

“Steve! Stevie, baby, I’m home!”

Silence.

What day is it today, Saturday? He’s probably at the farmer’s market with Robin. Eddie’s a few days early anyways, wanted it to be a surprise. And honestly, it’s probably a good thing Steve’s not home, Eddie needs to keep sobering up.

He pulls a fresh bottle of water out of the fridge and collapses onto the restored dining-room chairs they bought a few months ago. He tips it back and drinks it down greedily, swallowing the cool water down his aching throat. “Oh, that’s good,” he moans to himself, dropping the now empty bottle onto the dining room table.

The empty bottle that clangs against something. Squinting, Eddie opens his eyes and looks down.

There’s a small box sitting at his spot, a card laying haphazardly onto the side. It looks like someone opened it and scribbled all over what they originally wrote.

Eddie frowns and grabs for the card. It’s Steve’s writing. Whatever he’s crossed out is unreadable. Instead, all there is is the following:

I would say Happy Anniversary, but judging by the fact that (1) you didn’t return my call or even text me back and (2) the paps caught you at the club with the guys and a bunch of supermodels instead, I’m going to assume that you’re not interested in celebrating it anymore.

Eddie feels his stomach sink so fast that he’s going to lose all the water he just drank. 

Look, Eds, I am so proud of you for making your dream come true. I would never ask you to give that up or sacrifice your music for me. But I’m tired of feeling alone in this relationship. Of feeling like you don’t love me as much as I love you. Because I would do anything for you, but I think this all proves that you wouldn’t do the same for me.

Anyways, I still want you to have your gift. It wouldn’t make sense to give it to anyone else. 

Your biggest fan, Steve

He can’t see straight and it’s not because of the drugs. He can’t breathe and it’s not because of his asthma or his wicked smoking habit. 

He grabs the small box, flips it open, and chokes back a sob.

It’s a perfect replica of Aragorn’s ring, the ring he’s given that proves he is Isilduir’s heir. He’s wanted it foryears, but it was never something that he thought he could buy for himself. Sure, he could buy whatever random luxury shit without a sweat, but something so meaningful to him? Because reading The Lord of the Rings saved his fucking life in high school? His brain couldn’t deal with him buying it for himself. His therapist says it’s one of his many hang-ups regarding money and fame and his self-esteem issues, but that’s not what matters right now.

What matters is that Steve gave this to him, loved him enough to have it made for him.

And now Steve is gone.

Eddie grabs for his phone with shaking hands and checks the date.

“Fuck.”

Five days. 

He’s five days too fucking late.

He’s dialing Jeff before he can even realize he’s doing it.

“Dude, I really don’t want to be talking to you right now.”

“Jeff,” Eddie barely gets out, his voice choking on a sob. “Steve is gone.”

Jeff’s silent for a moment. 

“I’m on my way.”

[nightingale2004]

Severus Snape as a celebrity singer AU headcanon

Severus got his first guitar from his father, who won it and gave it to Severus (the only nice thing Tobias ever gave his own son)

After he got the guitar, he taught himself how to play it and started performing in the privacy of his own room, then he slowly started playing in the streets and then soon on the stage of bars under the stage name "Severus Prince"

He started earning money as an underground singer, but then CEO Tom Riddle and a few of his colleagues discovered Severus and made him famous in a snap and even helped him with money for school per Severus's request (if the singer thing didn't work out)

Severus's music has a similar vibe to Lana del Ray, Melanie Martinez, NF, Linkin Park, Breaking Benjamin, Bastille, Tamino Amir, Billie Eilish, and Alan Walker

His genres of music would be rock, metal, punk, classical, no doubt some techno, and of course goth

His first year working for Tom Riddle, he was with a band, calling it "The Half-blood Prince." After Severus's high school years, they disbanded

Severus was facing a very toxic environment working for Tom, and he wasn't singing songs that fit Severus. He was even facing depression and self-harm, but he would write in his own little songbook to let it out

Eventually, he left the Riddle company and worked with Dumbledore in his company, where he had more freedom to sing what he wanted instead of what Riddle made him do.

He and Lily were friends but quickly grew apart as they grew up

Lily is one of the managers working for Dumbledore along with her new husband James Potter, who was a former member of a once popular band called "The Marauders" , now he is also a manager to his best friend, former band mate and current big time celebrity Sirius Black

Severus, during his time with Dumbledore and his company, he went on a down low recovery to help himself from what he experienced in his past and from Riddle company

As he recovered, he started singing songs and releasing a bunch of albums that were relatable to a lot of people. (Lost loves, trauma, depression, mental health, abuse, betrayal, fake friends, toxic relationships, etc. He even wrote a song about his mother)

Severus, despite his music, doesn't like the constant attention and still keeps to himself.

He has a rivalry with famous actor and singer, Sirius Black

Severus is known as a very mysterious celebrity. He tends not to give much about his past or what he went through but his fans and haters have their theories

He secretly donates his money to the children of Spinners' end so that they could have a better life and education than he ever had

He eventually reconnects with Lily, and they get somewhat close, but there's still a wall there

Severus was once engaged to Mulciber before he quiet, but weeks after their engagement, Mulciber died due to overdose

Severus is said to have the voice of a siren

He also gives off an Eric Draven vibe

[andeptus]

"Light Yagami stuns in new photo"

[barnesafterglow]

night shift

summary: your growing fame becomes too much for bucky

pairing: actor!bucky barnes x singer!reader

word count: 2k

warnings: fame au, dual pov, unreliable narrators, idk how the grammys work (clearly), angst angst angst, steve is a good friend, bucky is Going Thru It, if you think this is joe + taylor coded you're prob right, directly inspired by night shift by lucy dacus

a/n: yearly fic, dedicated to new lovers

masterlist - i no longer have a tag list but you can follow @theafterglowlibrary to get updates! 🤍

You shoved him off of you, heart racing, breaths coming fast. You had said Bucky’s name, had whispered it in your most intimate moment, and now you needed to leave.

You said nothing else, gathering up your clothes and pulling them on as quickly as you could.

“Wha-”

The door slammed behind you, cold winter winds whipping around you as you realized you’d left your jacket on the hook by the door. It was your favorite, but one you were okay sacrificing as long as you didn’t have to face your embarrassment anymore.

Huffing a breath you could see in front of your face, you called an Uber - at least you had remembered your phone - and paced anxiously a block away from his building, hoping and praying he wouldn’t follow you out.

The entire ride home your mind spiraled until you turned off your phone, terrified this would make headlines already and, let’s be honest, no one would be surprised if it did. You hated that was the life you lived. As if your breakup with Bucky hadn’t already been tabloid fodder for weeks now, the public speculating every detail and warping every comment and photo posted. You had taken to keeping off social media altogether in the time since, trying to disguise your outings as much as possible and take back alleys to recordings and friends’ houses.

Your biggest supporter through all of this, surprisingly, had been Steve - Bucky’s best friend. He hadn’t been your friend first, sure, but he had become like a brother to you nonetheless, and he knew the situation better than anyone. You knew he still talked to Bucky just the same and, while that stung a little, you couldn’t fault him for being there for his childhood best friend too.

Which is how you ended up outside his apartment the very next morning, clad in your typical-as-of-late attire of a hoodie and a hat and sunglasses. It was also how you came face to face with Bucky for the first time since that fateful night.

“I didn’t come to sit here and watch you stare at your feet, James.” You stood from his couch, starting to seethe with pent up anger from your gradually failing relationship, all to end up here. What did he want? To absolve his guilt and shake hands and everything would be fine?

No. You had been the victim of his petty remarks and anxious jealousy for so long. You wouldn’t let him think he deserved your time when he didn’t respect the person you had become. 

Your anger flashed back to the week before, the last time you had been seen out in public together as he was breaking up with you at your favorite coffee shop, where he had paid for your drink and you gave him a hesitant kiss, even though you knew it was inevitably coming. He had led you to a table in the corner and proceeded to tell you that he was sorry but he couldn’t do this anymore, it was too much for him - you were too much for him. Okay. That’s all you said was “okay” before you pushed out of the chair and walked around the city until the sun went down.

By the time you got home that night, the headlines were already speculating your breakup, though neither of you had yet to shed a single tear.

-

Bucky blinked as you shuffled on Steve’s doorstep, eyes wide and contemplating the quickest escape. He didn’t blame you.

He had admittedly not handled your breakup the best; in fact, he regretted it almost immediately at the stricken look on your face, clearly not expecting it. He didn’t blame you for that, either, seeing as it had slipped out in a moment of panic.

You had gained a lot of fame over the course of your relationship, even more than him, and he didn’t quite know how to cope with it. And so the words had poured out, unable to be taken back, and here you were, weeks later, still at odds.

He thought every night of how to make it up to you. Public displays weren’t your thing and you had blocked his number the night of your big fight, so that was out of the question, and he didn’t fancy showing up to your house only to have the door slammed in his face either.

But now, now maybe that you were here on the most neutral ground you could stand on, maybe he could keep his foot out of his mouth and apologize. Words stirred in his hindsight, unable to string together a coherent sentence as your face morphed through the stages of grief in record time. Then, just as he was about to speak, Steve placed a hand on his shoulder and gently guided him back into the house. Relief flooded your face as you drifted out of his sight, and he realized this probably wasn’t going to be as easy to take back as he thought.

“Buck,” Steve said as the two of them turned around the corner. “You need to leave.”

Bucky felt his face do something awful, a mixture of confusion and guilt, but he decided to keep his mouth shut. He simply nodded and kept his head down as he shrugged on his jacket and passed by you in the doorway.

He could hear the soft sound of your sobs as the front door clicked shut.

-

Songwriting could be as easy as breathing and as hard as climbing a mountain. Right now, the words flooded out of you like a tap of water.

And so did the tears, staining your notebook paper and smearing ink, but still in your heart you knew you would never forget these lyrics - these words that so painstakingly came from your soul and laid it bare.

As you finished the last verse, you took a deep breath, sucked up the tears, and called Natasha. 

-

“Steve, I need to talk to her,” Bucky whined over a beer in a rundown bar in Brooklyn.

“No, you don’t.”

“I can fix it, I know I can.”

“I don’t think you can, Buck.” Steve ran a hand through his hair, a deep sigh leaving his lips. “She’s trying to move on. Don’t ruin that for her.”

“But-”

“No.”

Bucky mimicked Steve’s sigh and leaned back in his chair. It had been increasingly hard to justify his decision to end things with you. He didn’t know what he was thinking and he regretted every moment of it since then. 

“Do you think she misses me?” Bucky looked so hopeful, but he could see the sorrow in Steve’s eyes.

“I don’t know.”

-

The Grammys, the fucking Grammys, and you were performing. You were nominated for a couple, and the Academy had asked you to sing - preferably a new song - in honor of that.

Natasha wrapped you in a hug, twirled you around, and announced you were going out to celebrate. You hesitantly said yes, knowing the press would be everywhere and there was always the possibility of seeing Bucky.

But fuck him. This was your moment.

Which is how you ended up at your favorite dive bar in Brooklyn. Your first mistake.

It was your favorite because Bucky had taken you there so many times. But you couldn’t think of another place you would celebrate than the place where so much inspiration and so many lyrics had come from.

You didn’t scan the room as you walked in with your hand clutching Nat’s, the rest of your small circle of friends following close behind. Your second mistake.

Walking straight to the bar, you didn’t notice Bucky in the far corner, watching your every move. It wasn’t until you were a few drinks in, feeling the celebration kick in, that you spotted him.

At first, you intended to ignore him. This was your time, your night, your moment. He didn’t get the spoil that.

That is, until you went to the bathroom and he trailed you into the dimly lit hallway.

“Baby,” he whispered, his voice a harsh rasp of beer and no sleep. “I’ve missed you.”

Your heart stopped beating in your chest.

You weren’t prepared to see him tonight, not that you ever were these days. But tonight of all nights, the one that should have been carefree and fun and a glittery memory for years to come, was smeared with anger and heartbreak as you spun to face him.

“What the fuck,” you snapped as his fingers grazed your bare arm. Immediately you felt bad, seeing the hurt on his face, and your expression softened. “Sorry.”

“I-it’s okay.” The catch in his voice broke your heart, your own watery eyes matching his. For just a moment.

It took you too long to come to your senses - this was the man who had shattered your heart without a second thought - but he was already so close to you. His body only inches from your own, his hot breath fanning your face, and goddamnit you missed him. You missed him so much that your heart broke all over again.

Your mind cycled through a thousand different thoughts all at once: get away, come closer, touch me, keep your hands off. You couldn’t decide what you wanted in the moment.

You were so, so angry, and yet you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out to him. His hands settled on your waist as the lights overhead flickered. Your hand pressed gently to his cheek, completely of its own volition. Suddenly, you were tracing the planes of the face you had once known so well. He looked older now, like your time apart had aged him, yet his was still as handsome as the day you had first laid eyes on him.

His eyes locked with yours, and neither of you said a word - not him to ask, not you to stop him - as he leaned in to kiss you.

-

It should have felt like a victory - it did feel like a victory - but there was something else there. Something dark and twisted and Bucky couldn’t figure out if it was coming from you or him.

The kiss could have lasted moments or a lifetime, he didn’t really know. All he knew was one second you were holding him close to you and the next you were shoving him off.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” your voice came out in a whisper, like you didn’t want to draw attention from the steadily growing crowd of the bar. He supposed you didn’t.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” You nodded at his words, your fingers pressed to your lips like you could still feel him there. “I’ll just go.”

You nodded again, your eyes vacant, and he made his way back to the main room of the bar. He looked back in time to see you slump against the wall, and he knew that you were thinking of a way to erase any trace of him on you.

-

The stage lights came on, you strummed your guitar and started to sing.

The first time I tasted somebody else’s spit, I had a coughing fit.

You let the lyrics you poured your heart into spill out across the stage. Still, somehow - in the crowd of hundreds of faces - you spotted Bucky.

This time, it didn’t make your heart clench. Didn’t make you shed a tear or run away.

No. This time, it empowered you. Let him hear the lyrics he inspired. Let him feel that pain of your words and feel the hole in your heart where he had broken it. Where you were now healing.

-

Bucky watched as you sang, and you were mesmerizing. He could feel the echoes of hurt in your words, the hole in your heart he had put there. He knew, despite the last time he saw you, that there was no making up. There was no fixing what was well beyond broken. No chance for him.

In five years I hope the songs feel like covers,

Dedicated to new lovers.

[pinkie-quinns]

(posting some old twitter threads here for posterity's sake)

rocker eddie actor steve fame au p1 | p2 p3 p4 p5 interlude p6

Steve follows Eddie out to LA. Indiana’s home, sure, but Eddie’s got dreams bigger than the both of them. And Steve loves him, wants to be there with him the whole way through.

He does odd jobs to pass the time, nannies a lot, works on sets. Extra work pays the best, quick easy cash, so he dances to click tracks in cut scenes of teen shows and pays for their groceries. 

A producer on one of the bigger jobs picks him out on set, tells him he has a good screen presence. He gives him a contact for a proper agent. Steve books the third thing he tries out for.

It's a small role on a pilot that hasn't been picked up yet. He's excited but doesn't think much of it. Mostly he’s just happy for the paycheck. Corroded Coffin's really struggling to break through. They just got dropped from their tiny indie label and Eddie's really bummed.

And Steve uses some of the money from his big, SAG-approved paycheck to try to cheer Eddie up. Make him feel better about the whole thing. But it does the opposite. Eddie keeps acting resentful. 

It only gets worse when Steve's show does get picked up.

Turns out he tested really well with audiences. So the writers rewrote him into the main cast, extended his two episode arc into the whole season. And Steve's really grateful for it, figures they both should be. Eddie's not really working and they need the money.

Corroded coffin is still labelless and basically broken up by the time the show comes out. 

It's a smash hit. Steve's character is a fan favourite. Overnight, he finds himself within the throes of fame. He gets a manager and a PR team and a personal assistant.

He's away from home a lot, doing the media circuit to promote the show. People start prodding into his personal life. His manager, his team, and the network all advise him to appear single and available. 

Eddie makes it easy for him. He leaves without saying a word.

Years down the road, Steve is settled into his fame. He's done a couple movies (some hits, most misses). His show is heading into its final season. He's dated a lot, mostly other celebrities.

Then he walks into a CVS on Venice & sees a name he's been trying to forget for 7 years.

Right on the cover of NME. Eddie had gone to London, apparently. Finally broke through there. Was releasing his debut album later this month. 

At least that's what Steve could tell from looking at it. He doesn’t buy the magazine. He hops into his car and drives til he’s out of gas.

He used to do that back in Indiana. When everything got too loud. Used to do that with Eddie, once they finally got their shit together. Just drive until the tank is near empty & then pull up to some blinking gas station. Head home.

Steve strands himself in Santa Barbara instead.

He sleepwalks through the next few months. The town is buzzing around the impending arrival of Eddie Munson. His album, Penitence, debuted to solid numbers & has only been gaining traction since. He's promoted it in London, New York, done Glastonbury & the late festival circuit.

It's gotten to the point where it's big enough that its hit single is even terrorizing Steve's local grocery store. He knows the first three notes really well. Knows cause that's his cue to leave. 

He hasn't listened to the album. He hasn't read any of the interviews.

In his head it's a good kind of revenge. Eddie left without a trace. Steve should respect his wishes, right? That's what Eddie wanted so badly that he couldn't even call. 

He should respect that too, be staying dead instead of haunting every busboard like a poltergeist.

But he's Eddie so of course he doesn't. So instead Steve spends all his free time thinking about when he'll inevitably run into him. Will it be the VMA afterparty? Will it be the CBS lot? Will it be the whole foods he keeps running into Michelle Pfeiffer at? (Probably not that)

In the end, it's a knock at his door.

Eddie came straight from the airport. Big duffel at his feet. He looks a decade older but his eyes are the same. He doesn't say I'm sorry, or I fucked up. Doesn't get down on his knees & beg. He just asks:

"Did you listen to the album?"

There's a part of Steve that wants to throw a fit. Be big and loud and start lobbing things at Eddie. He'd seen a movie star do that on set once. Over a PA bringing him the wrong brand of flavored water. But he's not Wahlberg, so he invites Eddie inside. 

And they sit and listen to Penitence.

It's an apology. A long one. Fifteen tracks though Eddie always used to be a real asshole about albums that were longer than twelve. 

And it covers everything. All the regret and resentment and the ego that clouded him when fame happened for Steve and not for him. When Steve didn't even want it. It's sorry over and over and over again. It's I fucked up and please take me back. It's ego death. It's disgust and guilt and self-flagellation. 

And when it's over, it dawns on Steve, who feels just as heartbroken as ever, that it's not enough.

[kingstarkingslay]

Remus and Sirius doing press tours together and never answering the questions. Whenever Remus and Sirius are on a joint press tour for their latest projects—Remus promoting his new album, Sirius talking about his upcoming film—journalists have zero chance of getting a straight answer.

They’ll ask Remus about his creative process, and he’ll answer with something like, “Well, it all comes from the heart, and sometimes… from Sirius eating too many crisps in the middle of the night.”

Sirius will chime in, deadpan, “I think we should make an album of just that: late-night crisps eating noises. It’s a bold artistic choice.”

The entire room will just die laughing, and the journalists, slightly defeated but totally entertained, will give up trying to get any real information. It's always a chaotic, unfiltered whirlwind of charm, wit, and inside jokes, and honestly, it’s the best part of the press tour.