#Karen Karen

[reasonsmandy]

this is so real, I'm not even kidding

[coneyislandbabey]

well, my boyfriend's in a band. -> e.roundtree

WARNINGS: maybe some profanities

SYNOPSIS: Nobody thinks the thing between you and Eddie can be as pure and real as you say it is. word count: 1,323

NOTES: written for this request!

A lot of people talked about you and Eddie, now that you were publicly together, but none of them knew what they were saying. They spun the story like it was as old as time, unchangeable, inevitable, as sure a disaster as whatever or whoever they were comparing you to in the moment. Him, a rockstar, high on the enormous tide of fame and cocaine, a man who could have anything in the world at the snap of his fingers. You, a couple of years younger, elusive writer from the Los Angeles scene, enigmatic partier– naïve, obviously getting taken for a ride.

It never occurred to any of them that a man like Eddie Roundtree could be truly, inescapably gone for you. Why devote yourself to one girl when you could have as many as you wanted at any time? People had been asking that question about Billy Dunne for the Six’s entire career, and they couldn’t believe another band member was making the same ‘mistake’. Fame should mean freedom. As if getting to give your all to someone and receive their all in return wasn’t a kind of freedom in of itself.  

Let them talk. What difference did it make to you? 

When you stepped onto the tour bus, the afterparty was already in full swing. You hadn’t been able to catch the show because your flight had gotten in too late, but it didn’t matter; you’d be joining Eddie on tour for the next few months, so you had plenty of shows in your future. All you cared about was getting to your man. You located him sitting on the far corner of the couch, squished in with Graham and Warren and Warren’s girl of the night. You had spotted him before he spotted you, and you took a moment to take in the face you hadn’t been able to see since the tour started. His warm brown eyes crinkled in laughter, the sweep of his burnt sugar hair over his forehead. He was so beautiful it made your breath catch every time you allowed yourself to drink him in like that. 

“(y/n)!” Warren shouted, being the one to notice you first in the fray of the party, pointing to you with one long finger as if the shout wasn’t enough. Eddie’s head whipped around, and his mouth stretched into the widest grin at the sight of you. You returned the smile with your own, squeezing through the small, packed crowd until you landed right in his lap. 

Eddie’s arms instantly went around your waist, hands settling warm and solid on your lower back. Yours went loosely around his shoulders, your head dipping down to a well-received kiss. His eyes were bloodshot and he was half gone to whatever booze and drugs he’d done already, but even through the haze of inebriation they were settled on you. 

“You’re here, I can breathe again,” he said, voice lazy. He was leaned all the way back, head resting on the window behind him, like it was the first time his body had been able to relax in weeks. You lifted your palm to his cheek, rubbing your thumb gently along his lower lip, curved up in that little smirk of his. 

You bent your face close to him so that only he could hear you. “Missed you, too, baby boy.”

Eddie leaned over the side of the couch, and when he came back up he was holding his lighter– red, engraved with his name in gold, a gift from you shortly after you had started dating– and a joint. He lifted the joint and you took it in your lips, he grabbed your chin and held your face gently with his guitar-calloused fingers as he lit it for you. You took a long drag, exhaling only after the joint was between Eddie’s lips. 

Eddie’s hands went back to your waist, skimming up beneath your shirt and skating across your spine. The whole time he’d been away and you’d been stuck in Los Angeles without him, you’d felt unmoored, but you hadn’t realized the extent of it until you were finally back in his arms, back with your anchor. This was where you were meant to be, and Eddie felt that just as much as you did. 

The next night, you stood in the wings with Rod watching the band play. They were all mesmerizing in their own ways, especially, of course, Daisy and Billy singing together, but your eyes never left Eddie. He always exuded confidence, but never more so than when he was onstage, and it was intoxicating to see. He wore that cocky smirk on his face, the one that either made you want to smack him or kiss him and nothing in between, his body moving as one with the bass. He’d never wanted to play the instrument, you knew, but god did he play it like it had been made specifically for him. 

Any chance he got, his eyes were on you, even onstage, even in the middle of a song. As the song came to an end, he caught your eye for the hundredth time that night, bringing his hand to his mouth and blowing a kiss into the wings for you. You laughed, pretending to catch it and press it to your heart, making him grin before he had to turn away and start playing the next song. 

“That guy’s got it fuckin’ bad for you, huh,” Rod observed, and you snorted. 

“Mm, he better,” you nodded. 

Eddie made a beeline for you as soon as the show was over, shedding his bass on the way and scooping you up in his arms. You squeezed him tightly, laughing as he picked you up off the floor and spun you around. When he set you back down on the ground, you grabbed his face and kissed him, skin warm from the lights and exertion everywhere you touched, hair sweaty where your fingers tangled with it at the nape of his neck. 

“You were enthralling,” you told him once you had pulled away. 

“That was my best show so far,” he said, “Had to pull out all the stops because I knew my girl was watching.”

“Well, you really blew me away,” you laughed. “But you blow me away every time, you always will.” 

You two skipped the afterparty that night, instead heading straight to Eddie’s hotel room. You needed just each other, alone, away from the hecticness of tour. You wanted Eddie all to yourself, you always did, and Eddie would give you as much of himself as he could at every chance, just as you did for him. That’s why you found him so easy to love; he knew what you needed from him, and was nearly tripping over himself to give it to you. 

The next morning, you were in a diner with Eddie catching a quick breakfast before the buses had to leave. Your eyes scanned the newspaper rack in boredom as you waited for your food, and your mouth drew up into a smirk as you spotted something familiar. 

You grabbed the tabloid and turned, showing it to Eddie. On the front was a photo of him on stage from the night before, eyes turned towards the wings, hand extended mid-gesture as he blew you a kiss. A smaller photo was superimposed in the corner, catching the two of you walking out of the venue later that night, your arm looped through the crook of his elbow as you walked back to the hotel. The headline was something invasive and completely false about your relationship, but you ignored it. 

“They love to talk about us,” you said, rolling your eyes. 

“These pictures are pretty good, actually,” Eddie said, grabbing the tabloid to get a better look. “I should get in touch with them and ask if I can have some copies of ‘em.”

tag list: @eonnyx

[femininomen0n]

DJATS APPRECIATION WEEK: DAY FOUR favorite friendship: karen and cami ♡

[mayonele]

Uuuugh. They have my heart & soul 🙄

[cillianate]

JUNE GLOOM

pairing— warren rojas x fem!reader

content warnings— drugs, alcohol, language, mentions of cheating and abuse, reader is a songwriter, slight hints towards reader being caucasian, band member reader, any spanish I use may not be accurate, as I don't speak it fluently, if you catch any mistakes let me know!

genre— just a small fluffy drabble!

word count— 566 words, 2976 characters.

"I sat down, made a list of all the things I care about," sounded your voice from somewhere in the house. Warren, who had just woken up from his nap on the couch, had figured it may have been from a record. But he'd burnt through every song in the house, and he'd never heard this before.

"Think I mentioned 'Scott Street' and Springsteen," nobody else besides his girlfriend, you, was in the house. As he started to walk towards your shared room, which he believed was the source of the noise, he started to realize that it was, in fact, your voice he'd been hearing.

"And I wrote your name twice," finally, he knocked on the door of your room. A quiet fumbling and then a small voice could be heard, "It's open," it said.

There you were, in all your glory, sitting on your well made bed covered in colorful quilts and pillows, with a guitar in your hands.

"Mi vida, don't stop on my account. Is it alright if I stay? Listen for a while?" He said.

"Sure, honey. I don't mind," you said as you stood up and grabbed his soft yet calloused hands and dragged him closer to the bed.

He flopped down next to you, the bed shaking with him. His feet reached the ground and he rested his palms behind his head as if to cushion himself.

"Keep playing, woman! You're amazing," he spoke with the biggest smile on his face, "I've only ever heard you singing backup vocals, but damn, darlin'! You should be our frontman!" You blushed and giggled a small bit at his endless compliments. He had always been the funny type, you even thought he was joking when he confessed his feelings for you a few months back.

So, with your white cotton tank-top and shorts, you continued to sing and strum on your wooden guitar.

"I hate it, nothings changed at all since we were seventeen,

You could never keep your money, or hands off me,

And I still want you like that,

But I can't make a lover out of you unless you ask me to."

Of course, this song was not about Warren. You'd written it a year or so ago about a man you had been seeing for a while, but inevitably broke things off with. Warren had quite literally been your saving grace. You two were twin flames, two sides of the same coin.

You'd known him since you were young children, and of course, you had written your fair share of songs about him. You'd only play those when he was out of the house, though. You weren't sure you wanted him to hear your entire sappiness yet.

He watched you in awe, his eyes sometimes drifting from your face to your soft, slightly tanned arms. How he loved when you'd wrap them around his torso at all times of the day. He didn't need to be high to genuinely enjoy your company like he did with most people nowadays.

He sat up, resting his chin on his hand while his elbow rested on his criss-crossed knee, looking like an attentive kindergartener.

And as you strummed the last chord of the song on your guitar, he leaned forward to kiss your lips and said, "Play me another one, mi corazón."

SONG—JUNE GLOOM. alix page

[veryberryjelly]

🍰 - touring with the band & dating karen & graham

𝐣𝐨𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

[capuletoo]

Imagine me, a lover- Warren Rojas

note: i feel so funny trying to write smut so i only write weird things like this 😭

summary: the reader and warren finally address that there’s something more surrounding them.

trigger warning: sex (not decriptive)

The band members had already gone to their bedrooms after being together at dinner, the laughter still floating in the room.

The cigarette hanging in Warrens lips seemed like the most interesting thing in the room. There sitting beside him, a force so strong, almost like a magnet, was attracting you closer to his body.

The drink in your glass is long gone, but your fingers grasping it still. Felling like if you put it down your hands would make their way to his hair, outlining his nose and then landing into the cigarette that hung loosely in his lips, stealing it.

Now the room was empty, except for you, him, and the vocals of Bob Dylan singing in the background.

As Bob Dylan's melodic voice filled the room, blending with the charged atmosphere, you found yourself drawn closer to Warren. The burning ache to touch him grew stronger with each passing moment. Your fingers, still clutching the empty glass, were on fire, yearning to explore the contours of his face and trace the outline of his lips.

Warren's energy envelops you in desire. The faint scent of his cologne combined with the smoky aroma of the lingering cigarette created a strong sense.

Time seemed to stand still in this intimate space, the outside world fading away. Warrens's eyes were focusing on something else while he was explaining something about Dylan's career, but the words didn't reach your ears.

With a mix of nervousness and boldness, you slowly reached out, your fingertips grazing the edge of Warren's hair. The touch of his curls against your burning fingertips ignited a spark between you. His eyes met yours, a craving sensation reflected on them.

At this moment, words became unnecessary. The silence between you spoke volumes, each unspoken gesture conveying a secret language that only the two of you shared. The room became a sanctuary, a place where both, Warrens and your preoccupations melted away, leaving behind only raw desire.

The last notes of the song faded away, and you leaned in, your lips hovering close to Warren's. The electricity in the air crackled, intensifying the moment. And in that breath, a decision was made.

Later that night, in the darkness of your bedroom you were able to be in the same room with him, and not be thinking about your hands for once. Because being in between love felt like a house burning down, and you were setting it on fire.

It felt like the impact of Warren's drumsticks on the drum.

He understood that so quickly.

Your knees were sprawled open and in between was Warren.

He then laid your back carefully on the mattress as he said:

"We must have met in a past life" He left wet kisses all over your collarbone. "And we are only meeting again" You only lay there, naked, and desire filling your veins.

His knee touched yours.

"I think I've been waiting for you my whole life," You said as he traced your bare chest. You sit down and bring his face closer to you, leaning over to kiss him. The curls tingled over your forehead.

As your lips met in a fervent embrace, time seemed to fade away a second time. The room disappeared, leaving only the heat of your bodies and an electric current. Each kiss deepened the connection.

Lost in the depths of passion, clothes were shed over the floor, revealing the vulnerability of your intertwined bodies.

Fingertips and sighs, as you set foot towards the intoxicating rhythm of your union.

It was just the two of you, consumed by a fire that burned brightly

As dawn approached, the room basked in the afterglow of your passion. The world seemed new because you knew that this night has changed everything. Your bodies lay intertwined, exhausted yet still a force pulling you together, with a silent promise that this was only the beginning.

Your name safe on his lips.

[everdeenxmellark]

“that’s the glory of being a man.

an ugly face isn’t the end of you.”

- karen sirko

[rrrustandstardusttt]

When you think of me, I hope it ruins rock 'n' roll.

[maggotssmichael]

my favorite performance of daisy jones and the six was indeed their last show, but specifically, when they performed look at us now. it was a great, heartbreaking, full circle moment where everybody related to that song, but even better: eddie got to SING. eddie got his moment when billy couldn't take it. of course, the rest of the band does backup, but that male voice we hear even when the camera focuses on daisy? it's eddie's voice. that's never explicitly addressed, and i think that's why i love it more.

[reasonsmandy]

Doing this hurt more than you can imagine

[coneyislandbabey]

she's a rainbow. -> w.rojas

WARNINGS: profanities, pining lol

SYNOPSIS: Warren's got it bad for Camila's childhood best friend. word count: 2,008

NOTES: Written for this request!

You dragged your paintbrush across the canvas, a trail of plum purple in its wake. You were sitting on your deck, the sky a cloudless blue, the morning filled with birdsong and a soft breeze only making itself known through the occasional soft rustle of your hair and clothes. June was a ripe peach in your hands, pink, perfect, fleeting. 

“What are you painting today, Picasso?” Warren’s clear voice rang out through the morning air. He was standing on the deck of his own house next door, forearms resting lazily on the railing as he gazed over at you. You glanced up from your work to send a smile his way. 

“Shocked to see you up this early,” you called by way of greeting. “If you wanna see what I’m painting, come over and look.” 

At your words, he disappeared back into the house, and you knew that in a minute he would be opening the sliding door and stepping out onto your own deck. You did this almost every day, ever since you followed your childhood best friend Camila across the country, moving into the house next to hers and her boyfriend’s band in Laurel Canyon. 

In the months since you arrived, you’ve gotten incredibly close with all of Camila’s housemates. Whenever you weren’t doing a shift for your part-time job at a coffee shop or at your own place working on your art, you were at their house. You and Camila spent a lot of time one-on-one, getting together for wine or lunch or anything else while the band was working, but the band loved you so much that you found yourself hanging out with them almost even more than with her, especially since Warren started inviting you to their recording sessions down at the studio. 

You had become so absorbed in your painting that you didn’t realize Warren had arrived on your deck until his hands were on the back of your chair and he was leaning over your shoulder to get a good look at the canvas. 

“Oh, it’s our street at night,” he observed, taking in the deep purples and night blues that the familiar street was rendered in. “It’s beautiful. Looks like a place I’d wanna be.”

You rolled your eyes. “It already is a place you wanna be, Warren. You live there.” 

Though you couldn’t see it, Warren grinned, swooping down to press a kiss to your cheek. “I only wanna be here so much ‘cause it’s where you are, mama.” 

You scoffed, sending a rueful smile his way as he sat in the chair next to yours. He pulled a joint out of his pocket, lit it, and offered it. You took it between your lips and inhaled before sending it back his way. For a while, the two of you sat in a comfortable silence, Warren merely observing you as you painted. He had told you once, the two of you high as kites while hanging out late one night, that he loved to watch you paint. He said watching you paint was as intricate a thing as watching a musician play their instrument, that it was captivating. You had hung onto his words even through the drug-induced haze, had thought about them for weeks on end. 

“You’ll come over for dinner tonight, right?” he asked after a while. “Camila saw me leaving to come over here and made me promise to get you to come.”

“Man, I don’t even buy groceries over here anymore ‘cause I’m always just eating at yours,” you laughed. “Course I’ll come. Can’t beat the company.”

“Good,” he said, standing. “I gotta get back to the house; shockingly, I actually have responsibilities to see to today.”

“Oh, well color me impressed,” you responded, happily accepting his parting kiss on the cheek. 

Eddie watched, amused, as Warren got up for the dozenth time in the last half hour, drifting back over to the windows and peering outside, toward your house. Dinner was set for twenty minutes from now, and you were expected to come. Though some, clearly, were expecting you more than others. 

“Man, can you chill the fuck out? You’re making me antsy,” he said, after watching Warren pace the room for a few minutes while still pretending to look casual. 

“I am chill! I’m totally chill!” Warren said, having the gall to look incensed at his best friend’s words. 

Eddie leveled him with an unimpressed look. “Do you think you’ll finally just tell her how you feel so you can stop being such a fuckin’ freak every time she comes over?” 

Warren sighed, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall. “Don’t you think if she was into me she would’ve said something by now? I’m not going to embarrass myself or ruin our friendship. I know when I’m gonna strike out.”

“Clearly you don’t, idiot,” Eddie retorted. “First of all, she could say the same about you because you haven’t made any moves either, man. All of what you just said means nothing.” 

“She’s definitely into you, anyway,” Graham said, joining the conversation as he walked into the room. 

“What makes you think that?” Warren asked, ignoring Eddie’s comments, which were clearly too logical for him. 

“Why else do you think she hangs around here so often? I mean, don’t get me wrong, we’re all friends, but everyone knows it's different with you two. Most of the time she’s here for you,” Graham explained. 

“Yeah, and don’t forget that she comes to our recording sessions because you asked her to,” Eddie chimed in, a smirk growing on his face as Warren’s cheeks grew redder. He didn’t have the chance to answer before someone knocked on the door. 

“You wanna go get that?” Eddie asked, raising a teasing eyebrow. 

Warren made his way to the door, shaking his head as if to physically rid himself of the conversation that had just happened. He had never felt the way he did about you before, not about any woman he had ever met. When you first met, things had been flirty between you, at least more flirty than you were with any of the other guys, and he almost plucked up the courage to ask you out in the first week of knowing you. But then the two of you got high together one night, and you got him talking about his hopes for the band, and you told him about all of your ambitions when it comes to your art, and he could feel himself falling in love a little. He had real, undeniable feelings for you, and that made it all too scary. So, he’d convinced himself that there was no way you could have feelings for him too, because thinking he had no chance with you was easier, more comfortable, than pining after you. 

He put a valiant effort into feigning nonchalance when he opened the door, all of these thoughts still a monsoon in his mind. You stood on the other side of the threshold, a bottle of wine in one hand and a covered plate of chocolate chip cookies in the other. 

“I baked ‘em!” you said proudly, holding up the plate and smiling widely at him. For a minute, his mind blanked, and all he could think about was the way your eyes sparkled in the porchlight, the way your dress fell perfectly on your figure. You knocked him dead every time he set eyes on you. Snapping out of it, he unburdened you of the bottle of wine and the cookies, widening his arms so he could take you in a hug. 

“Are they cookies? Or are they cookies,” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

You scoffed, rolling your eyes and smacking him playfully on the shoulder. “They’re just cookies, Rojas. This is a family dinner, not a late night recording session.” 

“Family dinner?” 

“Yeah,” you shrugged as you walked through the door. “This is a family, isn’t it?” 

“Guess it is,” he responded, because you were right and because he would agree with any statement you made ever for the rest of your lives. 

“Honey, you made it!” Camila shouted, coming over to hug you as you walked in. You greeted her warmly, and then did the same for everyone else standing around the kitchen helping to make dinner (or, really, getting in the way of Camila and Graham, who were the only ones actually cooking). 

Dinner was, as usual, the highlight of Warren’s day. After listening to Billy get grouchy and boss everyone around in the studio all day, getting to come home and actually unwind was a godsend. Plus, he got to see you, warm and pliant with wine and good food and good company. You were so effortlessly funny and charismatic, easily commanding the attention of the room with your stories and jokes without ever trying to. He could listen to you talk for the rest of his life. He could stand to do a lot of things with you for the rest of his life. 

After dinner, the group of you took the cookies you made and moved to the living room, settling in to watch a movie. You snuggled with Warren under a blanket on the loveseat, Eddie, Karen, Graham, and Camila squished into the old couch. Billy had retired to his room prior to the movie, citing that he needed to get some writing done. Graham had already fallen asleep, and Karen and Eddie were providing a running commentary of how bad the movie was. 

Warren nudged your side, and when you turned to look at him, he took a joint out of his pocket and tilted his head toward the door to the deck, a silent question. You nodded and he stood, you following close behind after wrapping the blanket around your shoulders. You didn’t see the exaggerated wink Eddie shot Warren’s way as you left the room, or the way Warren mimed slitting his throat in response, sending Eddie into a fit of laughter that he desperately tried to stifle. 

Outside, you settled into your usual chair, Warren pulling one up close to you before sitting down. You turned your body towards him, leaning your head on the back of the chair and gazing at him affectionately as he lit up the joint, and, as usual, offered it to you before himself. You took a hit before handing it back to him, settling back into your position of observing him as the joint went to his own mouth. 

“What are you lookin’ at, mama?” he asked, a mixture of curiosity and amusement gracing his face. 

You hummed, shrugging your shoulders noncommittally. “You should let me paint you sometime.” 

“Paint me? Why?” he asked, brows raising. 

“Because you’re pretty,” you said bluntly, Warren’s heart stumbled over itself. “You’d make a good muse.” 

Warren laughed, trying to steady himself. “You think I’m pretty?” 

You leaned toward him a bit more, a small, private smile on your face. “Of course I do, Warren. I’m sure dozens of other people have told you as much.”

“Not like this, no,” he said, shaking his head with a smile. “And it wouldn’t mean anything coming from any but you, anyway.” Your brows raised, mouth dropping into a small, understanding ‘o’. Then you were smiling at him again, the corners of your eyes crinkling in a way that made his heart overflow. 

“Are you finally going to kiss me now?” you asked, and Warren choked, smoke emitting from his nose and mouth. 

“I- uh, yeah. Yeah, I am,” he stammered, shaking his head as vigorously as he could in his buzzed state. 

“Good,” you said, leaning over the arm of your chair. Warren crossed the rest of the distance himself, connecting his lips to yours. You led the kiss, firm and gentle, your thumb stroking reassuringly against his cheek. 

“So, about me painting you,” you said breathlessly once you pulled away. 

“Anything for you.I’d be honored to be your muse,” he grinned.

tag list: @xleiaorgana @neptunes-curse

[femininomen0n]

DJATS APPRECIATION WEEK: DAY TWO favorite musical moment: karen and graham smiling at each other (twice) during "let me down easy"

[mayonele]

They own me. 😩

[pethron]

DJATS APPRECIATION WEEK day seven: free day  K A R E N  K A R E N @djatsappreciationweek