#but only a few people can sing a song and make you FEEL every single word they say

[freedomfireflies]

Better Not Pout*

Summary: The one where Harry isn't leaving until he gets what he really came for.

You.

Word Count: 10.6k

Content Warning: 18+, smut, violence, guns, gunplay, exhibitionism (This one-shot is a bit darker, so please only read if you feel comfortable! 💞)

December 24th, 1945.

The streets of Chicago are cold. Windy. Dark. Everyone is either at home, visiting loved ones, or spending their Christmas Eve at the one place they know they’ll be welcome.

The Bees Knees – the renowned, underground speakeasy – is rather sparkling tonight. The customers continue to bustle in, some here for the booze, some here for the atmosphere and warmth, and some for the entertainment.

You.

You’re one of the establishments best performers, three nights of the week. Employed by none other than Johnny Winters himself to sing for the lost souls of Chicago as they drown their worries in a bottle of whiskey.

You quite like your job, and the people you work with. Milton, who tends the bar, always has a compliment to lend, offering you engaging small talk between sets or any new mixes he might make.

And Johnny isn’t so bad. But perhaps you’re a bit biased, seeing as he is your fiancé. But more than that, he’s one of the most powerful men in all of town. And considerably wealthy, which you suppose doesn’t exactly hurt.

But he’s also kind. Giving. And so very attentive. He spends every second he’s not working with you. Doting on you, showing you off to all of his friends. And having such a handsome man on your arm is certainly not the worst thing.

Tonight, however, Johnny is nowhere to be found. Which you don’t consider to be too terribly odd, given how much work he mentioned he’d be catching up on. 

Even still, he hates to miss your performances, and insisted that you keep a part of him with you as you take center stage tonight in the small bar.

That part happens to be in the form of a stunning red, silk dress that was gifted to you for this very occasion. It sits on your frame like it was always meant to be yours, hugging every desirable curve, and showcasing just enough skin to taunt the imagination of those in the audience.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt so beautiful, and you walk up the steps tonight with pride. Shoulders back and painted lips poised with your first song.

The few gentlemen scattered across the main floor holler when the spotlight finds you, and you offer your signature smile.

“Evening, gentleman,” you call as the pianist begins behind you. “How are you all doing tonight?”

A few whistles are offered that make you laugh, and just like that…the show begins.

Santa Claus Came in the Spring is always a favorite, and you croon the festive lyrics while the live band follows your lead.

And even though the crowd is rather dull and distracted, you have a blast. You feel comfortable in this role and in the way their eyes drink you in. Even if their attention drifts between you, their drinks, and the cigars.

In fact, you get so swept up in your act that you hardly notice the door open or the tall, lanky stranger that slinks in from the cold.

But when his head lifts, and his eyes find yours, you feel a hitch in your throat.

Unfortunately, he looks away all too quickly, pulling off his trench coat before moving along the shadows toward the far end of the bar.

He goes unnoticed by those around him, yet your attention follows him all the way to the booth that he settles in. And it stays even after he’s leaned back, gotten comfortable, and pulled a cigarette from his rather expensive looking suit pocket.

But even though your focus has drifted, you don’t miss a single beat of the song. After all, you could sing it in your sleep, and this habit serves you well as the intriguing stranger finally shifts into the light and allows you a better look at his face.

He’s…stunning. Absolutely beautiful, with his slicked back curls, sharp jaw, and pointed nose. And he’s lighting the end of a cigarette with what you can only call practiced precision before perching it between his two, crimson-colored lips. 

Rings adorn his fingers as he holds the nicotine to his mouth, inhaling a long drag before exhaling the dark smoke from his lungs.

Yet unlike the other patrons in the bar, this man seems to be rather put together. He’s not missing any teeth, his skin isn’t stained with dirt or grease, and his clothes appear to be rather new. It’s quite the upgrade from the usual appearance you’ve grown used to, and you can’t help but feel rather relaxed.

And it’s now that you realize that this striking stranger seems to be watching you much like you’re watching him. Studying your dress, your silhouette, the way you grip the microphone stand. He takes in each detail presented before him with what looks to be wonder, and your cheeks instantly grow warm.

Still, you carry on with the ballad, making your way through the final chorus and the last few notes as the band plays you out with a flourish.

The few men in front of the stage clap, and you smile gratefully as you nod your thanks and call out your appreciation.

Jingle Bells is next, and a few more people join in on the fun this time around. They clink their glasses together or belt out the lyrics a few seconds too late and wildly off-key.

Even still, it’s rather fun as you continue on with your set before finally wrapping it up with a high note that’s accompanied by a rather lively trumpet solo.

And once it’s all over, the room bursts into applause. You wave to the growing audience, taking a quick bow before gesturing toward the band. Offering them their due praise which the crowed quickly obliges.

But you notice the man in the booth keeps his expression indifferent as he continues to watch you exit the stage and make your way to the bar. He doesn’t applaud your performance or even offer a smile of encouragement. He merely takes another hit of his cigarette and throws his arm over the back of his seat. A position you imagine is intended to display dominance more than it is to find comfort.

Truth be told, you find it rather unnerving. He doesn’t seem to be here for the alcohol or the company. Perhaps he’s only here to get out of the cold or perhaps he’s avoiding his home.

Either way, his focus stays only with you, and you feel a sharp chill run down your spine as you turn to the counter and flag down Milton’s attention.

You ask for a drink and request that he tell Johnny that you’ll be waiting in his office until he arrives. 

He quickly agrees, preparing the beverage for you before jutting his chin toward the silent stranger.

“Want me to have him escorted out?” he asks, but you only smile as you shake your head.

“No need, I’m sure he’s harmless.” You take the crystal glass and tip it toward him in thanks. “Besides, the attention is rather nice.”

Milton nods his understanding and you leave it at that, taking your drink toward the hallway just off the corner of the room.

You sip leisurely as you stroll to Johnny’s office, picking up the edge of your long gown so it doesn’t drag on the floor. The sounds of the crowd grow quieter and quieter with each step you take, and soon, it’s nothing but silence.

After retrieving the key Johnny insisted you keep on you at all times, you slip open the door, and make your way inside.

It’s quite dark, given the time of night and lack of lighting. He’s only got three lamps in the room, one by the window, one on the shelf, and one on his desk.

Right beside a photo of you.

Getting your photograph taken is quite the privilege, but Johnny insisted he have a vision of you in his office at all times. And you couldn’t help but indulge him, allowing him to dress you up and place you in front of the large contraption one Sunday afternoon in spring.

It’s his favorite thing in the entire world, and he mentions it constantly. Commenting on your beauty or your ethereal outfit. You know he’s only trying to embarrass you, but it’s still rather flattering to hear.

You grin to yourself as you take a seat in the large chair behind the wooden table. Downing the rest of the contents in your glass before setting it down and taking a glance around the large space.

Vaguely, you hear footsteps approaching just outside the door. Echoing through the hall as your grin grows a bit wider. 

And as the knob turns, you expect to see the handsome face of your Johnny.

What you don’t expect, however, is the green-eyed devil and his quiet charm.

He’s followed you. You assume this immediately, and your heart leaps into your throat as he steps inside…and shuts the door behind him.

A tense silence settles between you as you slowly sit up and force in a quiet breath. “Hello,” you call quietly.

The sound of your unsteady voice seems to amuse him, the corner of his mouth curling up as the burning cigarette sits tucked between his lips. “Hello, mama.”

You feel your lashes flutter. “Can…can I help you?”

“I’m looking for your fiancé,” he says, and his voice is low. Deep. And you believe you catch just a hint of an English accent. “This is in fact his office, is it not?”

You hesitate, unsure whether or not to disclose such information to a stranger. “It…yes. Yes, but he’s not here right now. Perhaps you could come back later?”

“Later,” he repeats, almost thoughtfully as his head tilts. Then, he tsks. “See, I’m afraid later just doesn’t work for me. I need to speak with him right now. It’s quite urgent, and I’d like to finish this up and be home to my lover by midnight.”

“Oh…” You shift a bit in your seat and hope he doesn’t notice how nervous you’ve become. “Well, I would love to help, but I don’t believe I know when he’ll be in.”

He considers this for a moment before striding further into the room. Eyes tracking every tremble of your fingers and heave of your chest. “Can I tell you a secret, mama?” he murmurs, placing both hands on the desk and leaning closer.

You nod.

“Your boy Johnny owes me money,” he whispers. “And I’m here to collect.”

And now you understand. Now you know why he’s here. Because even though his tone is friendly, it can’t disguise the threat you know lingers underneath. 

“Oh,” you whisper back, and he hums.

“Exactly. And I’m a pretty reasonable guy. Decent. So, I’ll make you a deal.” He begins to smirk behind the cigarette. “If he’s not here within the next five minutes…you and I will find another way.”

The truth is, you don’t really know too much about the financial side of Johnny’s affairs and business. You know he has plenty of money, but you don’t know what he does with it. Or where he keeps it.

And if this alluring stranger seems to think you’ll be his key…you’re afraid he’ll be mistaken.

“Problem, Doll?” He seems smug, and it makes your skin crawl. “M’not scaring you, am I?”

The answer is obvious to you both, but you force yourself straighter and attempt to appear calm. “Not at all, sir. I only want to help.”

"Mm? Good girl,” he mumbles, eyes flicking down to your painted red lips. “Knew you’d behave for me.”

Your heart is hammering inside of your chest. You’re unsure what to do now. Do you ask him to leave? Do you scream for help? Do you call the police?

And where the hell is Johnny?

He should be here by now, especially after promising to wrap up his meeting early in order to catch your last performance before Christmas. He’s always here. One of your biggest fans and greatest protectors. 

The only thing you can truly think to do now is attempt to call him. You figure the police won’t get here in time, but at least if this gentleman can be assured that Johnny is on his way, he won’t be as inclined to act rashly.

However, the moment your fingers lift from the desk in order to reach for the phone, the stranger reaches for something, too.

In a matter of seconds, he’s wrapping his hand around the barrel of a gun, pulling it from his back pocket, and aiming it straight at your head. Cocking it loudly as you gasp and withdraw your arm as quickly as possible.

“What are you doin’, hm, mama?” There’s a haughty condescension in his sneer, laced with just the faintest disappointment. “Thought you were gonna be good.”

“I…I was just going to call him,” you stammer. “I know you’re in a hurry.”

The stranger studies you now, that familiar smirk beginning to fade as his attention flicks across your face. Perhaps he suspects a lie or perhaps he merely doesn’t trust you, but truth be told, you know better than to try and pull a fast one on him. 

Finally, he plucks his cigarette from between his lips before tossing it to the floor and nodding at you. “Yeah? Go on, then,” he instructs, reposition the barrel at your chest. “Call your little pretty boy. Tell him he’s got a visitor.”

With a racing pulse, you once again slowly reach for the telephone, eyeing the gun carefully as you scoot closer.

You’re careful not to make any sudden moments. Hesitant to even look at him for fear of upsetting him, but your timid demeanor only entertains him further.

He simply chuckles as he slowly makes his way over to your side of the desk. Snatching up the phone just before you can reach for it and handing it to you almost cockily.

Curious, you glance up. That soft green in his eye is almost alluring, even despite the circumstance. Still, he reeks of nicotine and expensive cologne, and you lean back in an attempt to put as much space between you as you can.

He smiles. “I’m gonna watch you dial,” he tells you calmly. “Make sure you keep your word. Okay, Doll?”

Posed like a question, although you both know you don’t exactly have a choice. And you'd likely point this out if you were just a touch braver, but nevertheless, you nod. Agreeing to his terms as you take the phone and begin to dial.

As the seconds go by, you feel him watching you closely while the line rings. Leaving you to desperately await the sound of your sweet Johnny’s voice. A sound you’ve never needed more than in this moment.

Yet his voice never comes, and your heart sinks to the cold floor blow as you return the phone to the desk.

“He…he must already be on his way,” you murmur, and the man hums.

“You think so?”

You nod weakly.

He takes a seat on the edge of the desk, just inches from your arm before leaning closer. “How much are you willing to bet, hm?” His brow raises. “How sure are you that your precious fiancé will actually save you tonight?”

You feel trapped by him now. The closer he moves, the faster your heart pounds. You have nowhere to run, no personal space to disappear into. 

But you only have to hold on for just a little longer. Johnny will come for you. He always does.

“Incredibly sure,” you respond, ignoring the slight waver in your voice. “He said he would be, so he will.”

The man considers this before clicking his tongue. “All right. Then how about I make you another deal, yeah? For every minute he’s late, and for every minute he leaves you here unattended…I’ll put an extra bullet through his head.”

A sharp chill runs down your spine, skin growing hot and prickly, but you force your expression to remain unfazed. “And why would you do that if you need him so badly?”

The gentleman laughs now. A sound that would almost be charming if he weren’t so vile. “Because I don’t need your precious Johnny,” he answers calmly. “I just need what’s in his safe.”

And despite the danger you’re in and despite your better judgment, your features scrunch into a grimace as you scoff, “Oh, how pathetic.”

Your reaction loosens his smile.

“Truly, how incredibly pathetic to come all the way down here at this time of night – and on Christmas Eve – just to break into his safe,” you huff. “Honestly. He won’t give you a damn thing. And you have absolutely no business to come storming in here and—”

You don’t get the chance to finish the rest of your furious scolding before he’s suddenly standing to his feet and wrapping his fingers around your arm.

Instantly, you’re yanked from your chair and shoved against the bookcase just behind you. Hard enough to knock the wind from your lungs as he traps you there, leaning in so close, his nose nearly brushes your own. 

“I’d be careful how you fucking speak to me, mama,” he seethes quietly, yet even still, there’s just an air of pleasure. “Because you might not get the chance to do it again.”

He’s desperate to scare you. Desperate to see you cry, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

Instead, you suck in a sharp breath, and do the one thing you can think to do:

You spit.

The collection of saliva just misses his eye, landing on his cheek with a rather wet splat until the amusement fades and fury takes its place.

His fingers leave your arm and find your throat, curling around the delicate skin and forcing your head up as he begins to chuckle darkly.

“So, that’s how you wanna play, hm, Doll?” Another tsk. “You wanna be bad? Wanna test my fucking patience?”

You squirm a bit in his hold, yet for some reason, you don’t feel as frightened as you did before. Because there’s this look in his eye – this hunger. And even though his grip is tight…you feel oddly safe.

“Better find a way to keep this pretty little mouth shut,” he says next, head cocking to the left almost curiously. “Or I’ll have to shut it for you.” 

His attention returns to your mouth, fingers slowly slipping up toward your chin until he can brush is thumb over the painted fibers of your lips.

Just enough to taunt you yet startle you all in the same second. 

“Maybe,” you finally breathe before jerking your head away from his cruel touch. “If you knew how.”

The cocky grin widens as his hand immediately returns to your neck. “Still disobeying me, hm?” he nearly purrs. “Guess I could always just squeeze this sweet, little throat to keep you quiet, yeah? Feel your pretty pulse beneath my fingertips. Feel the life drain from your body…watch the light go out in your eyes.”

You take in a strained inhale, and he makes a sound that almost sounds like a groan.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, moving in just a bit closer until his lips are ghosting across yours. “Or maybe…I could put my gun in your mouth. See how chatty you are then, yeah, mama?”

Your chest heaves anxiously, but you find just enough confidence to whisper, “But without your gun, how will everyone know what a tiny cock you have?”

And you’re so proud of yourself. So endlessly pleased with the way you’ve managed to make his smug expression waver, even if he keeps his smirk in place.

“Oh, you think that’s funny,” he snorts as you attempt to bite back a laugh. “Well, you wanna know what I think is funny? I think it’s funny that you said Johnny would be here…and he’s not.”

“He will be,” you retort, a bit firmer. “He will.”

“See…you keep saying that,” he muses, placing one hand on the bookshelf beside your head. Truly trapping you beneath him. “And yet…your noble fiancé still isn’t here to save you.”

You tilt your head back in an attempt to appear stronger, but it doesn’t seem to fool him. 

“Are you afraid?” he whispers, chest brushing against yours. “Are you afraid your Johnny won’t be able to keep you safe from the bad man?”

It’s almost hostile, the way he goads you. And yet you can hear just the slightest concern beneath his question.

“Or maybe you’re afraid he can’t pay up,” he continues. “Maybe you’re afraid he’ll have to find another way.”

Suddenly, the grip on your throat constricts. Recapturing your attention.

“Are you gonna be my other way, mama?” he exhales. “You gonna be my consolation prize?”

You feel dizzy. The room is spinning. And you aren’t sure if that’s because of the hold on your neck or the way he’s speaking to you. 

However, before you can decide if you’re actually intrigued by his intimidation tactics…the sound of footsteps echo outside through the hall.

Johnny.

It has to be him. You almost need it to be him, and your shoulders unwind as the man glances toward the closed door curiously before finally leaning back.

Then, he grabs onto your arm for a second time, and flings you back toward the chair. Shoving you down and keeping you still.

“You’re gonna sit here and you’re gonna keep your fucking mouth shut,” he hisses softly right as the door swings open. “And then maybe…I just might reward you.”

But you don’t even mind this malicious threat because then you see him. Your fiancé, smiling brightly as his eyes find you before they flick to the man to your right.

For a moment, he seems surprised, seemingly assessing your position and the situation before his grin widens. 

“Ah, Mr. Styles,” he calls as he strides into the room, quickly removing his hat and coat. “What a pleasant surprise. Did we have a meeting tonight?”

He seems relaxed. Almost too relaxed, as though he doesn’t view this man as a threat, and you aren’t sure whether to feel relieved or wildly confused. You hadn’t exactly expected him to grab the mysterious guest by the collar and throw him out the window, but you also didn’t expect him to welcome him with open arms. 

A strange man is alone with his future wife, in his office, in the middle of the night, and that doesn’t seem to concern him even a little?

Perhaps Johnny is far too friendly for his own good.

The gentleman, in turn, straightens up while subtly slipping the gun behind his back. Tucking it into his belt just out of view before Johnny can catch it. “Not quite,” he says coolly. “I’m here to discuss a bit of unfinished business.”

Your heart sinks, yet Johnny merely nods. “Ah, I see. Well, is there any way this can wait until after Christmas? It’s been a long night, and I’d like to be getting the lovely lady home.”

Now, both of their stares turn to you, and eagerly, you begin to rise from the chair. Grateful for the opportunity to leave this unsettling stranger behind.

Yet before you can even find your footing, the man’s hand is coming down in a firm smack on your shoulder to force you back down.

“I’m afraid the lovely lady isn’t going anywhere,” he replies, and you catch Johnny’s expression fall. “And neither are you. Have a seat.”

Johnny begins to frown. “Look, Harry, whatever business we might have, I’m sure it can—”

“I said, have…a seat,” the man – Harry – repeats a bit brasher. “Yeah? Or things will get a lot worse for your darling fiancé.”

Johnny hesitates, eyes flicking to yours. But he must notice the panicked look you wear because he finally sighs and does as instructed. Taking a seat in the chair just in front of the desk before glancing toward Harry.

Harry nods, almost proudly. “There you go. S’not so hard, is it?”

Johnny’s figure slumps but his lips purse together. “What do you want?”

“Oh, I just want to talk,” Harry says, his smirk returning. “And lucky for you, your schedule just cleared up.”

“Harry—” Johnny begins, leaning closer as though getting ready to stand.

But instantly, Harry is reaching back behind him for the gun, pulling it free, and aiming the barrel straight at his head.

Johnny quickly leans back, eyeing the weapon hesitantly while you gasp and glance up at the stranger pleadingly.

Harry only looks at Johnny. “See, I’m running out of fucking patience. Eight goddamn months I’ve had to listen to you go on and on about this special fucking shipment you got. And now…it’s time to collect.”

Your sweet fiancé understands now. Realizes why this man is here and how real the threat is, and glances back at you almost apologetically.

You merely mouth, “It’s okay.”

Johnny’s eyes flick back to the gun. “I’d be careful waving that thing around. Somebody might get hurt.”

The man merely hums. “Oh, I’m fucking counting on it.”

Now, the office grows quiet. A tense, charged sort of energy that filters between the three of you as Harry begins to walk around the desk.

“So,” he continues, grabbing onto the other free chair in order to spin it around and sit in a straddle, “where’s the safe, Johnny?”

Johnny’s brow raises, but his Adam’s apple bobs with a thick swallow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do. Down at the club, you said you just got a brand new, fancy safe to hold everything from your latest shipment. Practically bragged about it to the whole goddamn bar, yeah? So…where is it?”

With piqued interest, you look between the two men curiously as you await Johnny’s answer. You’ve never really been sure where he gets all his money. You assumed most of it came from the bar and alcohol sales, so you’re rather stumped by what sort of shipment they might be referring to.

However, Johnny isn’t so quick to divulge all his secrets. “And what is it you’re expecting to get out of my safe, Mr. Styles?”

There’s another heavy pause as Harry rests his arms over the back of the seat and whispers, “Everything.”

Instantly, Johnny scoffs. “You think you can storm into my office on Christmas Eve and threaten my fiancé? Threaten me? That you’re entitled to anything you damn well please?” A bitter scoff as he leans back. “You’ll be arrested before morning, and you’ll never see a red fucking cent.”

 His retort dangles between them for only a moment as a breath catches in your throat. Pulse racing as you watch the stranger’s reaction closely.

Yet the mystery man doesn’t so much as flinch as he suddenly repositions the gun into the air, aims it just to the left of Johnny’s head, and fires.

The sound is deafening, much like your sharp, shrill shriek as the bullet flies through the air – just missing Johnny’s ear – and lodges into the wall behind him.

Johnny immediately flinches, eyes screwing shut and muscles recoiling before he seems to realize that he remains unharmed.

And once he does, he takes a deep breath, and begins to smirk. “You missed.”

“Did I?” Harry runs his tongue over his bottom lip before re-cocking the gun. “No, see…I never fucking miss. That was your first warning.” 

Johnny simply snorts. “Yeah? Well, eat my shit.”

Things move quickly from there.

Harry is instantly on his feet, tossing the chair aside rather angrily before he’s turning to you once more. And you don’t even have a moment to think before you’re being yanked from the seat for a second time and immediately tugged to his chest as he presses the barrel of the gun into the side of your temple. 

“Where’s the fucking safe, Johnny?” he says again, and you notice Johnny’s face pale.

“Styles,” Johnny murmurs, “you don’t have to do this—”

“The safe,” he seethes. “Where is it? Or do you need a little incentive, huh? Need to see her pretty little brains all over your goddamn floor? Is that what it’s gonna take?”

Poor Johnny doesn’t know what to do. He looks from the gun, to your face, to the arm keeping you hostage.

And you almost feel bad for him, yet you aren’t even afforded the chance for empathy before Harry furiously growls and shoves you in Johnny’s direction.

You stumble across the wooden floor until Johnny can quickly take you into his embrace, keeping you safe from the bad man as you begin to sniffle.

“My love,” he whispers, tightening his hold on your trembling frame while turning you away as if to protect you. “It’s gonna be all right, I promise.”

With a quick nod and a hiccup, you look up and slip your hands around his neck for comfort. “I know.”

He smiles.

It’s Harry’s disgusted sneer that brings you attention back. “Fucking pathetic. Really, mama? This is who you choose to save you?”

Your features fall ever-so-slightly while Johnny begins to pull you behind him, shielding you from the aggravated aggressor. “If you need money so badly, there are plenty of other ways.”

“It’s not just about money,” Harry retorts calmly. “It’s about your money. Yeah? So where’s the fucking safe.”

“None of your goddamn business—”

The reply no sooner leaves his mouth before there’s another gunshot fired into the air. 

One of the paintings on the wall falls with a crack and you jump almost two feet into the air, nails scratching down Johnny’s nice shirt.

“Johnny,” you whisper faintly, refusing to let this go on any longer. “Johnny, tell him. Tell him, please. I don’t care about the money; I don’t care about any of it. I just want you. I love you, and I can’t lose you.”

The office falls silent as you request hangs in the air, and you feel Johnny take in a deep breath.

“Yeah, Johnny,” Harry adds in a condescending murmur. “She loves you. Don’t make her watch you die. It’d be such a shameful waste of her tears.”

Johnny looks to you, and your expression softens. “It’s okay,” you tell him. “It’s okay, I promise.”

Finally, he sighs. “Under the desk.”

Harry’s head whips toward the large table curiously before he frowns. “Where?” he murmurs before repositioning the gun at Johnny’s chest. “I promise you don’t wanna lie to me.”

However, Johnny’s indifferent expression remains. “Under the desk,” he repeats while thrusting his chin toward the massive piece of furniture. 

And now Harry seems to understand, although it does little to relax him as he suddenly reaches for you again and yanks you from your lovers’ arms.

“Show me,” he hisses, keeping you hostage again while ushering Johnny forward with the barrel of the weapon. “And don’t be dense.”

And Johnny can do nothing but obey, seemingly defeated while sending you one last remorseful look. Finally moving to lift the desk and pull it back.

The sound of wood scraping against wood is heavy, and it takes him quite a while to relocate the table beneath the window by himself. 

But once it’s out of the way, you notice a particular part of the flooring juts out. The rotten board almost askew.

You and Harry lean closer, both magnetized by intrigue as he bends down in order to wrench the board up, revealing the hollow hiding place underneath.

And there you find it. The large, black box with a gold dial in the middle.

He glances up toward Harry, perhaps looking for permission – which Harry quickly gives him – before reaching down to put in the correct combination.

And after a couple seconds of clicking and turning…the door swings open.

Truth be told, you were hoping to find a secret gun that might help you out of this situation, but it seems there are no weapons to be found as Harry shoves you back in order to get a better look.

He no longer seems concerned about Johnny or the possibility that he might attempt to attack because Johnny seems to have given up. 

All your dejected fiancé does is straighten up and motion you back to him, watching Harry bend over and reach inside the safe almost uninterestedly. 

Your heart aches for him, yet you can’t help feeling relieved. You’re a few steps closer to this wretched night being over, and perhaps once Harry has what he came for, you’ll be able to leave.

“Are you all right?” Johnny whispers to you now as Harry begins to unload the contents in the floor. 

You nod quickly, clinging to his strong frame as though you’re scared you might be taken again. “Yes, I’m all right. Are you?”

“I will be once I know you’re safe,” he says, and your heart sinks.

Once everything inside the safe has been shoved into a bag, Harry turns to the two of you. “That was a good start, Winters. Now where’s the rest of it?”

Johnny frowns. “I don’t know what you mean. Everything I have is in there.”

But Harry only tsks as he sets the items down and begins to stride closer, making you curl even further into Johnny’s embrace. “Come on, now,” he mumbles almost tauntingly. “You know what I really want. And you know that you’re gonna fucking tell me. Isn’t that right, mama?”

He looks to you for only a moment as you swallow. 

Johnny begins to seethe. “No. No, you can have everything else, but you won’t touch that.”

“Johnny,” you try, unnerved by the sudden look of warning in Harry’s eye. “Johnny, please…just give it to him. Whatever it is, I don’t care, just…just make him leave.”

“Smart girl,” Harry adds. “Come on, Johnny boy, your darling fiancé is scared. Don’t you wanna save her?”

Your lover simply grows stiff, eyes narrowing at the faux sincerity in the stranger’s voice.

“Johnny,” you mumble again. “Johnny, please, he’s right. I’m scared and I don’t care about what you have or what you don’t have. I just want you. And I want him to go away.”

Still, Johnny wrestles with his decision. With the choice he’s being forced to make, and as the seconds go by, Harry’s patience reaches its limit.

He grabs for you – again. Forcing the weapon under your jaw this time around as Johnny’s muscles tense and his fingers curl into his fist.

“God, look at him,” Harry whispers to you now, lips ghosting up the shell of your ear while forcing your eyes on your fiancé. “Fucking look at your pathetic excuse for a man.”

You attempt to remain indifferent – appear unafraid – but he sees right through you.

“D’you really think he cares about you, Doll?” he murmurs. “Do you really think he’ll choose your life over his own?”

“Let her go,” Johnny barks, yet it only forces the barrel even further into your skin.

Your chin is tilted up, a sharp inhale getting caught in your throat until Harry begins to chuckle.

“How about this,” he says. “I’ll let you choose, mama. I’ll let you decide if he gets to watch me kill you…or if he gets to watch me take you. All for myself.”

“Fucking piece of shit—” Johnny hisses, but Harry simply tsks.

“So, what do you say? What’ll it be? Either way, I’ll have him on his goddamn knees by the end of the night. And then we all win, yeah?”

“Enough,” Johnny yells, and a strangled silence splits the air. “Fine. Fine, I’ll tell you. Just let her go.”

Harry’s arm begins to lower but not very far. “Once it’s in my hand, she’s all yours.”

And you want to resent these men for treating you like you’re some sort of object to be traded, yet you’d happily be given back to your lover if it meant you could leave this nightmare behind.

No matter the cost.

Johnny rolls his shoulders back and flicks his unrelenting stare back to his desk. “There. The picture.”

You feel your eyebrows raise while Harry slowly begins to loosen his hold on you.

“Get it,” he instructs, and with an aggravated sigh, Johnny obliges.

He retrieves the golden frame from the table before pulling open the back and removing the picture inside.

The picture of you.

It almost breaks your heart, the look on his face. Like he’s absolutely gutted to be defiling this memory of you both, and you ache to comfort him.

Once the photo has been plucked from the glass, you catch the faintest sparkle in the soft light of the moon, and hear yourself gasp.

There, sitting snug inside the small frame, is the biggest fucking diamond you’ve ever seen.

It’s…stunning. The most gorgeous jewel you’ve ever been privileged to lay eyes on, surrounded by what you can only assume to be hundreds of tinier diamonds and rubies arranged in a delicate but intricate pattern. 

Altogether creating the most breathtaking necklace you’ve ever seen.

It has to be worth hundreds of dollars – thousands, in fact – and Harry reaches over to take it from the frame with the biggest Cheshire-like grin you’ve ever seen.

This is what he came for.

“You have it, all right? You have it, now go,” Johnny calls, already attempting to reach for you. “You got what you want.”

With an agreeable hum, Harry studies the necklace a moment longer before finally looking to you. “You’re right. We did, didn’t we?”

You both smile.

Instantly, you raise the gun that Harry had discreetly and secretly slipped into your hand only moments ago and aim it at Johnny’s chest.

Three.

Johnny’s expression shifts, eyes widening as he begins to piece together what’s really going on. Why Harry looks so proud and why you look so relieved.

Two.

His lips part. Ready to speak to you, whisper your name, ask for an explanation. And a part of you can’t help but wonder if you’ll feel any remorse for the deception you’ve put him through these past few months.

But as you stare at him now…you feel nothing but liberation.

One.

The third and final gunshot echoes through the air. Louder and far more permanent. Resolute.

Johnny stumbles back, unable to catch himself before he goes tumbling to the ground. A dark red stain expanding like watercolor across his chest, ruining the clean white shirt underneath.

You’d bought him that shirt.

And as the look of life slowly leaves his eye, you feel your muscles unwind, and your shoulders droop.

It’s over.

Harry’s got his arms around you before you can even release the deep breath you’ve been holding onto for so long. 

“Oh, good fucking girl,” he nearly groans, pressing his lips to yours for the first time in months as you sling your arms around his neck. “Fucking hell, I missed you, mama.”

If Harry had had it his way, Johnny would have been dead months ago. He never liked this plan – not because he thought you couldn’t handle it, but because the idea of going without you for so long nearly killed him.

But it was the only way to gain Johnny’s trust. And to find his true weakness. He never would have given you the location of the safe or the necklace if you’d simply held him at gunpoint from the get-go.

No, he needed a reason to cave, a reason to put his possessions on the line in order to save something else he truly cared about.

And that’s where you came in.

Sure, it was hard to be without Harry, but you knew it had to be done. Getting these items would set you up for years. You’d never have to work in sleazy bars again. You could simply be with him…forever.

And perhaps pretending to be a stranger to him and appear frightened of his intentions wasn’t quite necessary, but you happen to like the roleplaying aspect. 

The way he threatened your life as though he wouldn’t do everything in his power to protect it. The way he taunted you, teased you, scared you…when he knew deep down how much you fucking loved it.

You can still feel his fingers around your neck. The pressure of his hand against your throat, holding you still, keeping you close. You hadn’t felt it in months and a part of you wanted to keep the game going for just a bit longer if it meant you could have him.

You weren’t able to run into his arms and kiss him the way you can now and it’s…perfect. Absolutely perfect.

“Did he hurt you?” he whispers, leaving a trail of kisses along your jaw. “Did he fucking touch you—”

“No,” you’re quick to assure him. “No, never. He wanted to, but I never let him.”

“Good.” He takes hold of your hip and gives it a firm squeeze. “Good girl, knew you’d be on your best behavior, yeah?”

You grin. “Of course. Only ever thought about you.”

“Is that right, doll?”

“Mhm.” You tuck your lip between your teeth and nuzzle your nose to his. “How could it ever be him?”

His lashes flutter, and you can see the edges of his frayed sanity coming loose. He’s had to pretend for far too long, and you don’t imagine he can do it much longer.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, nearly clawing at your dress. “Then, maybe I’ll—”

“What…did you do?”

The sound of Milton’s confusion pulls you apart instantly. He’s standing in the doorway, eyes wide, expression horrified. Looking from his boss, to you, to Harry, and back.

He sees the necklace on the desk, sees the gun in your hand, sees the bag of gold and cash lying at Harry’s feet.

He understands, and your heart almost sinks. Milton was one of the good ones.

Quickly, Harry takes the weapon from you and points it in Milton’s direction.

Milton only leans back with a soft inhale while you turn to your lover and whisper, “No. No, not him.”

Harry’s pursed lips and furrowed brows never waver. “What?”

“Not him,” you repeat, as firmly as you can.

And he hesitates for only a moment before dropping the weapon and nodding his chin at you. “Grab the bag and go out the window.”

You nod your understanding before stealing one last glance at the bartender by the door.

He’s heartbroken and terrified…but his features grow softer as he finally mumbles, “…five minutes. I’ll give you five minutes.”

And you can’t help but smile.

You rush to grab what you came for and hurry to the window, with Harry right behind you. You don’t have a lot of time. Once Milton makes the call to the police, you’ll need to be far enough away that they can’t find you.

You know they’ll be looking. Know they won’t stop until they find you both – after all, they’ve been searching for you for years.

But you don’t mind a life that’s on the run, as long as it’s with him. 

And the pleased smile he offers you now only confirms this.

You quickly lift the hem of your dress and begin over the ledge, with Harry right beside you to help. He takes your hand for support, keeping you steady until you can safely drop to the ground outside before he’s following suit.

The moment his feet hit the ground, you both run. The Chicago air is cold – frigid. You don’t have enough clothes to truly cover you and your feet are sore from having to wear these outrageous shoes all night.

But you somehow feel…alive. Invigorated and so very free. You have everything you’ve ever wanted.

You have him.

You both slip along the shadows as you make your way through town, leaving the speakeasy and Johnny Winters behind. After a minute or two, you hear the sirens in the distance, and the stakes are raised. They grow louder and louder the closer they get, and it’s then that Harry recaptures your hand and tugs you into a dark alleyway for cover.

This is where you stay until the cars have zipped down the street and proceeded without you. They don’t even think to look for you here and you’re rather impressed with your lover’s quick thinking.

Harry, however, isn’t as quick to revel in the success. Continuingly peeking around the corner in order to watch for anything unusual. Ignoring your amused laughter and giddy grin of accomplishment.

He’s on edge. Alert. Ready to run again if need be, and while you rather admire his practiced precision, you hope to put it to better use. 

You drop the bag near the wall and make your way for him, palms quickly finding his cheeks in order to pull his attention to you.

He grunts. “What?”

But you don’t answer with words. You answer with a kiss. A kiss that makes your stomach flip and your mind grow fuzzy.

And this seems to be explanation enough as he groans with approval and wraps his arms around your middle to keep you against his chest. Nipping and licking at you as though his life depends on it.

Perhaps it does.

He shoves you back against the brick after only a few seconds, finding the leverage he needs in order to deepen the kiss and truly claim you. In a way he’d been desperate to the moment he saw you sitting in that office in such a beautiful dress.

“Trying to distract me, hm?” he murmurs, and you can’t help but smile. “Yeah? Or did you just need me that badly?”

He spins you around, pressing your cheek to the cold blocks of clay before dancing his fingers down your spine. Indulging in you.

It makes your insides twist.

You feel the hem of your dress gather in his fist as he finally gets a proper look at what he’s been missing for months. And the sound he makes goes straight to your cunt.

“You filthy fucking thing,” he whispers, rather delightedly while moving in to trail his mouth along your neck. “Look at you. Look at how perfect you are.”

His fingers find your pussy, stroking over your covered slit once or twice before plucking the covering from your hips and dragging it down your thighs. 

“Just dripping for me, yeah? All fucking night.” He drags his palm up the inside of your leg. “Power makes you weak, doesn’t it, mama?”

You nod desperately, unable to answer with words.

But he understands, smirking to himself rather deviously before his hands are tangling in your hair in order to yank your head back. Just to hear you choke on a whine. “I’ve waited months for this. Yeah? M’gonna take my time with you…gonna make it worth it.”

And you don’t doubt that you will.

You nod again as the sound of his leather belt coming undone echoes between your ears. You’re trembling with anticipation, body aching for the feel of his cock. It’s been far too long, and you’ve nearly withered away without him.

You imagine he feels about the same, already fisting himself in one hand and readjusting your dress in the other. You hear him mumble something under his breath – you’re not quite sure what. But you suppose it doesn’t matter. He can say whatever he likes as long as he gives you what you need. 

Normally, he’d take his time. He loves to make a show out of ruining you, but there’s no chance for that tonight. No patience. So, he kicks your feet apart, grabs your hip, and eases himself in all before you can take a breath.

And it’s perfect. Exactly the way you remember. The stretch, the scratch, the desperation. Nobody feels the way he does, and you both know it.

He’s still for a moment, merely pushing himself in and watching your pussy swallow him whole. As if so overcome by the sensation that he can’t do much else. As if losing control over his own body.

So, you push against his chest to remind him you’re here while your fingers reach back for his hair in order to tug it softly.

You feel him smile against your cheek. “All fucking night,” he whispers the moment he’s buried to the hilt. “Knew exactly what you were doing, didn’t you?”

You grin as well. You’re rather happy he noticed.

“Spitting in my fucking face,” he continues. “Challenging me. Acting like a fucking brat. S’all cause you were so fucking needy for me, wasn’t it, mama?”

“Maybe,” you can’t help but retort. “Maybe I knew you’d like it.”

He laughs now. A low, deep, sadistic sound from the back of his throat. Using his hold on your scalp to force your head into his shoulder. “Is that right, hm?”

You only nod.”

“Yeah? Then say it,” he hisses. “Tell me you missed me. Tell me you missed my cock. That nobody fucks you like I do—”

He accompanies this request with his first, sharp thrust. Pulling back only to drive himself in so hard, the air is nearly knocked from your lungs.

“Because they can’t, can they?” he coos, yet it’s angry. Fingers moving from your hair to your neck. Squeezing until you gasp. “Nobody knows how to treat this little pussy like I do. Do they?”

You fall mute. Going limp in his hold as the pleasure begins to build.

“You love it when I fuck you like this.” His nose presses to your cheek as he breathes, your delicate throat a plaything in his touch. “Love it when I kill for you. Love it when I make you mine—”

You gasp at the ecstasy, hardly able to hear him, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“You love me,” he murmurs, and you just about disappear into his embrace.

“I do,” you gasp, almost too loudly. “I do, Harry, please—"

“Quiet,” he hisses, glancing now toward the street in order to make sure the police haven’t found their way to you. “You know better than that. You’ll take me and you’ll do it quietly. Understood?”

Your only response is to whimper pitifully while your nails scratch down the brick walls of the alley.

In turn, he grasps onto your jaw, forcing your head to the side until your eyes can meet. “I said, is that fucking understood?”

“I thought you said to be quiet,” you can’t help but retort, and he hums.

“Oh, is that how you wanna play it?” He releases your throat only to take hold of your hips once more and spin you around between thrusts. Quickly returning to his place between your thighs before lifting one of your legs and hiking it around his waist.

“What…” you begin, chest heaving as the tip of his cock drags down your clit. “What are you—” 

“Had to see you,” is his gritted response. “Had to see this pretty, bratty face as I ruined you.”

You imagine you’d smile if you weren’t so close to coming apart, but he understands. Pressing his forehead to yours before reaching up toward the top of your dress and ripping the fabric down to reveal your chest. 

You can tell he’s been wanting to do this all night. Know he’s been ogling your tits from behind the expensive fabric since the moment he walked in, and truth be told, that’s the real reason you wore it. 

Not because Johnny loves you in red.

But because Harry deserved to look at something pretty.

The cold air meets your skin with an unforgiving fervor, and you squirm against the brick as Harry’s eyes fall to the tattered fabric lying so pathetically on your chest.

Instantly, his head dips, mouth leaving open and sloppy kisses to the beautiful pair before him. Tongue stroking the hardened nipples rather respectfully, all things considered.

In turn, you run a hand through his dark curls as he does this to you. As you watch him take whatever he wants. Feeling the way his hair moves like butter between your fingers. The way he hums against you. The way his lashes flutter.

You’ve missed this.

Then, your grip tightens, and you yank his head up until his lips can meet yours. And you take. Take the taste of him, the taste of you, and the taste of victory.

His palm comes up to rest against the wall beside your head. Steadying himself as he works to find that perfect rhythm again. Over and over and over.

And all you can do is move your anxious kisses to his throat as he fucks into you. Whispering, “Nobody, baby. Nobody feels like you do. Nobody.”

Your fingers trail down his strong back, feeling each muscle that dips and flexes as he moves. The way he grunts when you scratch your nails down his spine. The way he consumes you and succumbs to you all at once.

Johnny was beautiful, but Harry is a beast. You’ve never seen a man like this before – never felt a man like this before. Every curve of his body is ethereal. Every detail, every touch.

Your touch continues to move lower and lower down his strong frame until you find something at the base of his spine.

And it makes you grin.

You slip it from his belt with ease, feeling the way it sits firmly in your hand as though it were made for it.

Harry doesn’t seem to notice. Or perhaps he just doesn’t care with the way he’s so deep into you. Emotionally, physically.

But he’s quickly pulled from his pleasured trance the moment he feels the familiar, cool touch of his gun sweeping across his jaw.

He stills. Straightening up ever-so-slightly, eyes finding yours.

But you’re too busy gazing at the barrel that dances across that beautiful face. 

After all, he got to have his fun this evening.

Now it’s your turn.

You bring it to a stop just under his chin, tilting his head up exactly the way he’d done to you earlier as he releases a deep breath.

“Mama…” he warns, but you only hum.

This isn’t the first time this deadly weapon has made this an unofficial threesome, but it is certainly the first time you’ve been the one to wield it.

You hate guns. You do. But you love Harry’s. The way he holds it. The way he handles it. The way he uses great care and great power.

Because there’s something about seeing him with it. Seeing the way he controls it, controls the room. The way he holds someone’s life in the palm of his hand…

Perhaps you should be concerned by how enamored you are by it. By him.

But not tonight. Tonight, you simply enjoy.

And from the look in his eye, he seems to be enjoying it, too.

After all, you know he loved watching you use it on Johnny. Know he almost had you right then and there, on Johnny’s desk, before the mission was even through.

He’s endlessly pleased with you, and you can’t help but use this to your advantage.

So, with the weapon still taut to his clenched jaw, you lean forward and ghost your lips over his. “What’s the matter, Daddy? Does power make you weak?”

The twitch of his cock is answer enough.

You go in for the kill. With your fingers dancing over the trigger button, you lean back and dip down before dragging your tongue up the length of the barrel.

His eyes nearly roll back, and the sound that leaves his chest is euphoric. You think you might just kill him.

Because you’re slow. Meticulous. Licking every inch of the weapon until you finally reach the tip still tucked just beneath his chin.

Then…you kiss him.

And he’s so overwhelmed that he growls into your mouth, no longer threatened by the gun at his throat. Instead grabbing onto the back of your neck in order to squeeze it tight and keep you close. Devour you the way he’s been so frantic to.

You don’t even realize that you’ve begun to lower the gun until you feel it snatched from your grasp.

And pressed tightly to your clit.

The cold surface of the weapon against the warmest part of your body has you arching your back with a whimper. He has the upper hand once more, and he’s certainly not about to waste it. Mouth curling up into a satisfied, smug grin at the way your expression has gone hazy.

You’ve never looked at another man the way you look at him and he knows it.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asks softly, adding just enough pressure to make you whine. “All fucking night? The moment you saw me? Saw my gun? Wanted me to fuck you with it?”

Your nails meet your chest, scratching down the frigid skin in a desperate attempt to find something to ground you.

His only response is to drag the tip of the weapon down just a bit further. Until he can watch it glisten in you.

“Fucking looking at you,” he muses beneath a strained exhale, enamored by the way you subconsciously begin to grind on it. “So desperate to feel it. To be fucked by it. And what if I do, hm? What if I fuck you with my gun right here in this alleyway?”

You only whisper his name and an airy, “Please…”

“I thought about it,” he continues quietly, nose brushing yours as he slips the soaked barrel back up your cunt. “Thought about ripping off this pathetic little dress and fucking you right in front of your precious fiancé.”

You wish he had.

“You’d have liked that, wouldn’t you, mama?” His fingers drum against the handle. “Yeah? I know you would. Would have loved to watch him watch me.”

And he’s not wrong. He hardly ever is when it comes to your darkest fantasies, and it’s just one of the many reasons why you love him.

“But I had to wait,” he tells you now, finally pulling the gun away from your dripping clit until you nearly crumple to the cold concrete below. “Because after all this time…I’m the only thing that gets to fill you tonight, yeah?”

You simply nod again as he brings the gun back to your mouth with a proud grin.

And you know exactly what he wants, swiping your tongue all along the barrel and tasting every drop, every indication of your need for him. Swallowing it all as he watches proudly.

The moment you’re finished, he takes the gun and returns it to his pocket, tucking it away safely. Because he’s right again, and you need to feel him far more than you’ve ever needed anything else.

So, you grasp onto his face and bring his lips to yours, allowing him to pick up right where he left off.

Because as much as you love the power…you love being weak for him more.

At least in moments like this.

He fills you and fucks you until you’re dizzy. Until you can taste the pleasure and the unraveling. 

You make a show of it. A way to apologize for all the time lost. Trailing the tips of your fingers along your own chest and down your sternum until you notice you have his attention.

He watches you take your tit into your palm before you’re tweaking the hardened nipple with a soft whine. Allowing your head to drop back into the wall while you do it again and again.

And he’s an angry sort of infatuated. Groaning almost pitifully before kissing you again and easily swatting your hand away in order to do it himself.

But that’s still not enough. So, you play your ace, and move your touch down to your clit in order to pinch it exactly the way he likes.

And it’s beautiful. The most exhilarating feeling, and this is what sends him over. The feel of your pussy clamping down on his cock, the sight of your fingers against your clit, the sound of your pathetic whimpers and pants as you cry out his name.

He fills you before he can stop himself, kissing you quickly as he releases into your aching, abused cunt. 

Claiming you in more ways than one until you have no choice but to follow.

It rips you apart in the same way he ripped the dress. Until you see stars, and your back arches, and your toes curl. And everything makes sense.

He works to make it last for as long as he can, and once it’s all over, there’s a soft, tender moment of silence as you work to catch your breath.

You forget about everything else. The sirens, the lies, the deceit. Even Johnny. You forget about it all.

Because you got more than a diamond necklace tonight.

You got Harry back.

After a second or two more, you lazily reach up to sweep some of his rogue curls from his forehead. Wanting to really see his eyes as he holds you tonight.

“Harry?” you whisper into the cold, dark alley.

He hums. “Yes, mama?”

“I love you.”

And you’ve never seen him so happy. “I love you more,” he breathes, kiss you again as if to cement this vow.

Eventually, the moment comes to pass, and you have to drop your leg back down to the floor and part from him. You find that your muscles are sore, and just a touch achey, but you don’t even mind. Because it’s somehow just as deliciously pleasurable.

Harry works to readjust your dress and keep you covered; despite the way he’s ruin the expensive fabric. He offers you his jacket – insists on it. Wrapping it around your shoulders before you can even argue.

You smile as you snuggle into the warm material, feeling calmed by the familiar smell of him.

“There,” he says as he looks at you before his head tilts. “Just missing one thing.”

Curious, you watch as he slips his hand back into his pant pocket in order to fish something out.

The necklace.

He hadn’t told you about it before the mission. Only about the safe, and now you think you’re beginning to realize why.

He places it around your neck and readjusts the clasp until it can sit comfortably over your heart. 

And you both look down as it sparkles from your chest, smiling together as though you truly can’t believe it’s real.

“You like it?” he whispers.

You grin so wide, your cheeks hurt. “I love it.”

He kisses you again, and it’s perfect.

Everything. All of it.

Him.

Suddenly, a loud toll echoes through the small town. The sharp chime coming from the clocktower in the town square.

Once, twice, three times. 

Midnight.

“It’s Christmas,” you realize aloud as you and Harry both glance toward the clock. 

His expression softens, and it makes your heart soar. “I guess it is.”

And then…you feel it. The first drop of something cold on your cheek. And then another. And another. And another. Gathering in your hair, getting stuck on his lashes.

Snow.

With a gasp, you look up into the dark sky as it dances down onto the quiet Chicago streets.

A rather perfect ending to a perfectly imperfect day.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

With a soft giggle, you curl yourself under his arm and press your lips to his cheek. “Merry Christmas, Harry.”

He laughs, and you’ve never been so happy.

“Merry Christmas, Mama.”

I'M SORRY THIS ONE GOT A BIT DARKER, IT WAS FUN BUT MOSTLY JUST FOR THE ERA ASPECT!! Thank you for reading if you did and letting me write something a little weirder 😭💞

~ Main Masterlist

Amazing divider by @firefly-graphics! 💞

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @iguessyourejustwhatineeded @dylanobandposts21 @butdaddyilovehim-hs

[moonxytcn]

Heyyy (btw before I request anything ur writing is literally pure GOLD) anyways could u write about how the reader and billie have always been friends since childhood up to her newest album hit me hard and soft. Billie is on tour and the reader always finds a way to get front row tickets to her bestfriends shows. A few days before tour started the reader posted a TikTok with billie lying across her lap on the sofa. In the comments there was lots of speculation about a flirty friendship (behind closed doors the reader and billie both knew that was true). A few days later Billie was performing in LA. An hour or so into the show billie starts singing ‘Billie Bossa Nova’ from her album happier than ever. When it gets to the lyrics “nobody saw me in the lobby…𝐧𝐨𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐰 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬” Billie gave a smirk to the crowd instantly locking eyes with the reader and winking knowing full well that due to that TikTok posted a few days before, EVERYBODY saw her in your arms.

Nobody saw me in your arms

| Billie Eilish x fem!reader

summary – Billie and you finally talk about how you feel after years of hidden feelings and fan speculation

warnings – fluffy

a/n – heyyy thank you so much for the request!! hope you like it

| English is not my first language so there may be some errors.

| Masterlist —✽— Pinned Post

   ㅤ✯ ━━━━━━ ✿ ✫ ✿ ━━━━━━ ✯

–––

Billie’s voice echoes through the packed venue, the energy in the room palpable as she performs each song with the intensity and emotion that only she can bring. You’ve always been amazed at how she can captivate an audience, how she can make every single person in the room feel like she’s singing directly to them. But tonight, as you stand front row, the bass reverberating through your chest, you know that, for at least one song, she really is singing to you.

It’s been like this for as long as you can remember. From the time you were kids, Billie had a way of drawing people in. You still remember the days when she’d sneak into your room with a mischievous grin, her hair dyed some new, vibrant color, and a guitar slung over her shoulder. Back then, it was just the two of you, making up songs and laughing until your sides hurt. You’d listen to her dreams of becoming a star, and though you always believed in her, it was hard to imagine the tiny spark of a girl next door turning into the powerhouse standing on stage tonight.

You’ve been by her side through it all. From those early, impromptu jam sessions in your living room to the first time she played in front of a real crowd, you’ve watched her grow into the artist she is today. And no matter how big she’s gotten, how many millions of fans scream her name, she’s always made sure you were right there with her.

When Billie’s latest album, 'Hit Me Hard and Soft', dropped, you were one of the first people to hear it. She’d sent you the demos before the rest of the world even knew it existed, nervously biting her lip as she waited for your reaction. Of course, you loved it. How could you not? The album was everything she was—bold, vulnerable, raw, and beautiful. It was a testament to everything she’d been through, and everything you’d gone through together.

But of all the songs she has ever made, one has caught her attention. 'Billie Bossa Nova' was different from the rest, and when you first heard it, your heart skipped a beat. The lyrics were sultry, teasing, full of secrets whispered behind closed doors. You recognized yourself in the song, in the way Billie’s voice dipped and softened, in the way she played with the words like they were meant just for you. And you knew, in that moment, that your friendship had never been just a friendship.

You never talked about it—not really. Sure, there had been moments, stolen glances, lingering touches, that said more than words ever could. But neither of you wanted to ruin what you had. The connection between you was too special, too rare to risk by putting a label on it. So you kept it quiet, hidden behind the walls of inside jokes and childhood memories.

But a few days before the tour kicked off, something changed. You’d posted a TikTok of the two of you lounging on your sofa, Billie sprawled across your lap, her head resting comfortably against your chest. It was an innocent video, just a moment of you two being you, but the comments quickly exploded with speculation. People saw what was between you, even if you hadn’t fully admitted it to yourselves. The rumors of a "flirty friendship" spread like wildfire, with fans dissecting every interaction, every glance, every smile.

Billie had laughed it off when you showed her, her eyes twinkling with that familiar, mischievous glint. "Let them talk", she’d said, and you both agreed to keep it under wraps, to keep the world guessing.

And now, here you are, in the middle of her sold-out LA show, and you can feel the anticipation building. The setlist is winding down, and you know 'Billie Bossa Nova' is coming. You’ve been to every show so far on this tour, using every connection you have to secure front-row tickets. It's become your little tradition, a way to remind her that no matter how big her world gets, you'll always be there, front and center.

The lights dim, and the crowd hushes as the familiar, sultry beat of 'Billie Bossa Nova' starts to play. Billie steps to the edge of the stage, her gaze scanning the audience, and you can feel your heart start to race. You know this moment is for you.

As she sings, her voice dripping with honeyed tones, she sways to the rhythm, her eyes locking with yours. The crowd disappears, the world fades away, and it’s just the two of you, sharing a secret that no one else can touch. Then she gets to the line that makes your breath hitch every time: "Nobody saw me in the lobby…" She pauses for a beat, and you see the corner of her mouth quirk up in a playful smirk. "…nobody saw me in your arms."

And then she winks.

It’s quick, almost imperceptible to anyone not paying attention, but you catch it. Your stomach flips, a rush of warmth spreading through you as you realize what she’s just done. With that one simple gesture, she’s acknowledged everything. The TikTok, the rumors, the truth behind closed doors. She’s letting you know that she remembers, that she sees you, and that she’s just as affected as you are.

The crowd erupts into cheers, but you barely hear them. Your eyes are glued to Billie, your heart pounding as she finishes the song, still holding your gaze. When the final note fades, she blows a kiss to the audience, and you know that it’s meant for you.

The rest of the concert passes in a blur, your mind stuck on that moment, on the way she made you feel like the only person in the world. When the show finally ends, and the lights come up, you make your way backstage, your pulse racing with anticipation.

Billie’s waiting for you, her face flushed with the afterglow of the performance. "So." She says, a teasing lilt in her voice as she leans against the wall, "how’d you like the show?"

You roll your eyes, but you can’t keep the smile off your face. "You know I loved it."

"Good." She replies, her eyes sparkling. "Because that little wink? It was just for you."

Your breath catches as she steps closer, her gaze never leaving yours. "Billie, about that TikTok—" You start, but she cuts you off with a soft laugh.

"Don’t worry about it." She says, her voice low, almost a whisper. "Let them talk, remember?"

"But…" You hesitate, unsure of how to put everything you’re feeling into words. "But what if we want more than just letting them talk?"

She’s quiet for a moment, her expression softening as she reaches out to take your hand. "Then maybe it’s time we stop hiding." She says gently. "We’ve been dancing around this for years, and I’m tired of pretending. Aren’t you?"

You nod, your heart swelling with relief and something deeper, something that’s been building between you for as long as you can remember. "Yeah." You whisper, squeezing her hand. "I’m tired of pretending too."

Billie smiles, and it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. "Good." She says, pulling you into a hug that feels like coming home. "Because I want you in my life—front row, center stage—where you belong."

As you hold each other, the noise of the world fades away, and it’s just the two of you again, just like it’s always been. But this time, there are no more secrets, no more hiding. Just the truth, out in the open, for everyone to see.

[blindmagdalena]

Center Stage in a Gilded Cage (chapter six)

18+ 4.6k. homelander x f!reader. stalking, kidnapping, imprisonment, abuse, forced relationship, slow burn, eventual smut. gif credit | fic directory | AO3.

“You must never run from anything immortal. It attracts their attention. Walk slowly, and pretend to be thinking of something else. Sing a song, say a poem, do your tricks, but walk slowly.” ― The Last Unicorn

When he first moved into it, Homelander loved everything about his penthouse. He’d given extensive feedback to the interior design team, even going so far as to offer crude sketches of what he wanted.

He’d always had a specific vision for his home: spacious and open, but not vacant. Rich colors that wouldn’t strain his eyes. Windows and mirrors that gave and reflected as much light and space as possible. 

No white walls. 

Not a single blank space. 

He wanted art on the walls, but not just any art. He wanted historic portraits and moments of history. A face on every wall, the same way that the people on TV had pictures of people on their walls.

Pictures of their family.

He doesn’t have a family, so familiar figures from his studies would have to do instead.

His favorite place was his bedroom. The mirrors give not only the illusion of space, but company.

To this day the bed is as plush as it was then. It’s stacked with fluffy pillows, and the sheets are made of soft cotton. They’re always vibrant, always colorful. The staff washes them in gentle detergent instead of bleach.

He spent his first night in that bed with his face buried in the pillow just smelling it.

It smelled like home.

However, the longer he’s lived in his penthouse, the more the spaciousness of it began to feel like absence. The distinct lack of something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on right away.

It eased on the odd occasion that he had company, but as soon as they were gone, it was as though their presence had carved out holes in his home that he couldn’t fill.

He added statues. More portraits. He left the television running because the silence of his own isolation had become deafening. He started spending more time away. His home had gradually morphed from a place of freedom into a finely decorated version of the same horrible fluorescent box he spent his childhood in.

At least in the box he’d known there were people watching him. With him.

How he’d hated it back then. He hated how he could always hear the camera lenses adjusting as they monitored him from somewhere else.

It makes him sick to have missed it even a bit.

Thanks to you, he no longer has to.

There’s an inherent thrill to coming home that had been lost before you. Excitement starts to prickle up his spine as soon as he steps into the elevator and hits his floor. He can’t remember the last time he’s been so excited to go home.

Every day this week you’ve cooked for him, sat with him, laid in his arms, lived with him. In the last three days you’ve come a long way from the timid thing you started as, no longer jumping at his every move. You still tense at his touch, but he’s willing to bet a few more of those massages will remedy that.

Your presence can be felt even when he’s at work. He recently connected the hidden security camera on his balcony to his phone, ensuring he gets pinged any time you open that door. He isn’t worried about you going off unattended that way, given that it’s a hundred story drop.

It makes him smile to see you getting braver, occasionally stepping out onto the concrete to stare out across the cityscape. Soon he’s going to have to take you for that flight he promised. 

While he’s spent these evenings with you blessedly free of obligations, tonight will be different. He has to leave, and he won’t be able to bring you with him. At least not yet. You aren’t ready for that kind of exposure, nor what being revealed as his beloved would entail.

The media would eat you alive. He won’t subject you to them without proper preparation.

He isn’t cruel.

Vought’s hosting a gala that will serve as the early foundation of their campaign to move supes into the military, and as such, the U.S. Secretary of Defense will be in attendance, and it’s Homelander’s job to convince the man of the innumerable benefits of the operation. 

Ridiculous. He might as well try and argue the benefits of a smartphone to a fish.

If these people can’t understand why having honest to god superheroes in their military is a good idea, he doubts anything shy of a hand delivered miracle from God would sway the morons.

It’s just common sense, for fuck’s sake. War has only ever been a matter of who could bring the biggest gun. They will never find a greater weapon than him, much less a weapon that chooses to protect them.

However undeserving of it they may be.

He lets out a rough breath and shakes his head to knock loose the talking points that have been bashed into his skull over the course of the week, determined to leave work at the door. 

“I’m hoooome,” he sings as he steps in through the doorway, the mechanism locking behind him with a soft beep.

It feels good to know you’re safe here. While he doesn’t have enemies, per se, there’s no telling what some lunatic could be driven to do if they knew about you.

“Living room,” you call.

The familiarity of it makes him smile.

This is what coming home was always supposed to feel like.

He hums a little tune to himself as he walks, a slight bounce to his steps.

“Something smells good,” he says as he rounds the corner, finding you curled up on the couch under a blanket.

Cute.

On the table across from you is a neat little stack of glass containers full of food. He cocks his head, pausing to pick one up for inspection. “You meal planning out here or something?”

You slip out from under the throw and stand. Something is… off. He hears you picking your nails before he even looks at you, and when he does meet your gaze, there’s a subtle apprehension you’re clearly trying to mask with a cordial smile.

“It’s just leftovers from lunch,” you say, eyes flickering from the container of food back to him. “How was work?”

“The usual,” he says a little curtly. Due to your unusual demeanor, he’s forgotten the laundry list of complaints he’d saved up at work with the intention of sharing with you. 

In his experience, it’s rarely a good thing when people suddenly start behaving differently.

Especially when they try to hide it.

“Something wrong?” He asks, giving the penthouse a cursory sweep. Everything looks to be in order.

Your eyes widen a fraction, but you catch yourself from looking overly surprised at being caught.

Got’cha, he thinks. He’s spent his entire life reading the subtleties in people’s body language, seeking out ways to understand the things they say when they’re not speaking. The things they won’t say. Particularly to him.

“No, no, nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to… I want to ask you for something,” you say, hands falling to your sides, your spine straightening.

His brows lift, his curiosity piqued. “Sure. Fire away.”

You’ve been here for days, but you haven’t made any requests of him despite his numerous offers. There isn’t a thing in this world he couldn’t obtain for you. Hell, he doesn’t even care if it’s legal. It’s about time you took him up on a little self-indulgence.

“Do you remember my friend John?”

His head gives a sharp little tic of a turn, his brows furrowing.

John.

He hates the effect hearing you say that name continues to have on him. It isn’t as though he has a meltdown every time he hears the name John. That would be pathetic. It’s the most common name in America, for fucks sake. 

However, there’s something particularly vile about hearing you say it with such gentleness.

“What about him?” He asks flatly, hackles rising. He was hoping you’d ask for something fun.

“I’m worried about him,” you say, clearly fighting to keep your tone even. Your fingers curl into the fabric of your pants. 

He doesn’t understand why you’re so nervous. It makes him suspicious.  “And I don’t want him to worry about me. We’ve had a routine for months. So I thought–”

“Oh,” Homelander interrupts, setting the container of food back down as understanding dawns. 

They’re scraps for your stray pet. 

“No problem, I’ll have someone take this to him,” he says, gesturing encompassingly towards the food. 

“No,” you say, the firmness in your voice catching him off guard. “I want you to take me, and I want to give it to him myself.”

He bristles, needles of suspicion creeping further up his spine. “Why?”

Though you’re quick to swallow it back, he doesn’t miss the flash of frustration in your eyes.

“You said you’d take me anywhere I wanted to go. Were you lying?”

He lifts his hand sharply enough to make you flinch, his index finger pointing only inches from your face.

“Don’t you ever call me a liar,” he says slowly, fist curled so tightly that the leather of his gloves groans in protest. “I didn’t say no, I asked you why.”

Your eyes are wide, your heart drumming loudly in his ears. He hates that look of fear, the look that tells him you’re waiting for him to hurt you when he’s never done anything of the sort.

You have no right to look at him like that.

“Because I want to. I want to see him, and make sure he’s okay, and because… because I want–” You stop mid sentence and break eye contact, pressing the back of your hand to your opposite cheek. You take in a slow breath to compose yourself. 

With a start, he realizes your eyes are welling with tears.

“I want to say goodbye.”

At a loss, Homelander stares for a long moment. For the life of him, he cannot fathom how this little charity schtick could possibly be so important to you. Isn’t he enough for you?

You’ve been spending your days carefree in domestic bliss, yet here you are crying because you aren’t taking a box of food to some bum. It’s baffling enough to give him a migraine.

On the other hand, it was that persistent nurturing that drew his eye to you. If not for your diligent care, he may not have seen the same potential in you. He likes that you care. He just wants you to care for him.

He lets out a long-suffering sigh.

“Don’t cry,” he says, voice full of his exasperated bewilderment. He lifts both hands in a placating show of surrender. “Fine, fine, I’ll take you, and you can do whatever it is you need to do.”

“Thank you,” you practically sigh. Your hand drops from your face and you look at him with palpable relief, your lips spreading into a faint smile. He likes your smiles. He likes being the reason for your smiles. That, at least, comes as a slight boon.

He clicks his tongue, observing you for a moment before he blows out a raspberry. He cups either side of your face, stepping in close to you.

“I hate it when you make me take a tone with you, you know,” he says, brushing the tip of your nose with his. Your breath catches. “You should know by now that I can’t say no to you.”

His thumb strokes your cheek. He’s been gentlemanly in your time here, accepting of your hand in his, your lips on his cheek. When he wakes up hard as a rock with your body pressed to his, he’s taken care of himself in the bathroom. Frankly he’s been more than a gentleman; he’s been a fucking saint.

“I’m downright pussy whipped, and I haven’t even gotten any yet,” he huffs through a little laugh, almost close enough to taste your lips. 

He hasn’t felt your lips on his since that night in your apartment. He wants them exactly as they had been. Pliant and without tension or fear, yet still you tense as he holds you close. You place your hands on his chest and though you don’t push him away, they’re braced to prevent him moving closer.

There’s a faint tremble running through you.

“Don’t tell me you’re still scared of me,” he says, offering you the sharp edge of a smile. He means for the words to sound playful, but even he can’t deny that there’s an underlying ache. Insecurity and impatience in equal measure.

Can’t you see how good he’s been for you? He’s had enough of having to beg for and pry every scrap of affection in his life from reluctant hands. All he wants is–for once in his life–to be freely offered tenderness.

“Your strength scares me,” you eventually admit, palms flat against his chest, stare focused on the backs of your hands.

He tips your head back, coaxing your downcast gaze up to meet his. The closeness of you makes your eyes look large and deer-like: a prey animal that recognizes its hunter. 

“It’s unreal, I feel like I’m not…I feel like I’m made of glass when you touch me.”

As a boy he snapped bones as easily as other children snapped twigs. He cradles your skull knowing exactly how much force it would take to crack it. 

You’re right to feel the extent of your own fragility in his hands.

“I won’t break you,” he says, the words little more than a breath.

“Do you promise?” you ask, your own voice barely a whisper.

“I promise.”  

All those that have come before you have taught him his limitations. And yours.

With that, the tension in your arms softens a fraction. He takes a mile from the inch you give, moving to encircle you in his arms. You slide your hands up his chest in turn, moving over his shoulders, around his neck. The way your fingertips settle on the nape of his neck feels like heaven.

Pressing his forehead to yours, he closes his eyes. He listens to the tempo of your heart gradually slow, settling like the wings of a bird finally accepting the safety and kindness of its cage.

Just then, ever so slightly, you tilt your head and lightly press your petal-soft lips to his. The shock of it knocks the wind from his lungs. Joy hits swiftly afterwards, sweeping through his body from his head to his toes. He kisses you in kind, his lips spread in a smile against yours. 

This–more than any kill or record breaking profit for Vought–feels like a victory.

He cups the back of your head as he savors you, branding the memory of your yielding lips against his into his mind. You move to pull back, but his yearning is a beast he cannot tame, and it’s the beast in him that holds you still, intent to relish the kiss just a second more, which becomes just a moment more.

Trapped, you slide your fingers up into his hairline, combing through his sheared undercut into the longer blonde locks. You send a jolt through him when your fingers tighten suddenly, pulling his hair taut between them. 

The sensation shoots through him like a bolt of lightning. His stomach flips, suddenly aflutter with butterflies. He makes a noise against your mouth, which regrettably makes you stop, your fingers going slack in his hair.

It doesn’t hurt–you don’t have the strength necessary to hurt him–but he can still feel it, and it feeds a gnawing hunger in him to be made to feel anything at all. 

“Do that again,” he says between fervent presses of his lips. “Feels good.”

To his delight you slip both hands into his hair and grip it, eliciting a low moan.

Fuck.

He could get lost in this. In you.

Your pulse has kicked back up, but so has his. Your heartbeats dance with one another as you kiss, drowning out the rest of the world. He moves from your lips to your jaw, your throat, peppering hungry kisses down your neck, ignoring the tension he can feel building back up in you.

He could make your whole body sing if you’d just let him.

Your hands move from his hair, pressing once more to his chest. With how weak you are, it takes him a beat to realize you’re actually pushing against him.

An impatient little growl escapes him. He holds you in place, too deep into it to let you go now.

You suck in a shuddering breath, pushing harder. “Homelander–”

His teeth graze your pulse point, and his tongue presses in to taste the rapid flutter of it. The taste of you is intoxicating, your skin salty-sweet.

Do you know his taste yet? Do you crave it the way he craves yours?

There’s fear in you but there’s desire there, too. He can feel it in the way your skin warms under his touch, hear it in the quiver of your breath, and smell it in the heat between your legs. 

“Wait, wait, just–would you just wait–” 

He exhales roughly and pulls sharply back, leveling you with a harsh stare.

“What? What! You kissed me, remember? So which is it; do you want me, or do you just want to be a fucking tease?”

He feels his desire like a longstanding hunger he’s only just become aware of. A painful, gnawing thing that demands he sink in his claws and rip, devour, relish. He’s been so good in all of this that one little taste was all it took for the feel of it to come crashing down on him.

For as badly as he wants you, he wants so fucking badly for you to want him, too.

The look of you is one for the history books. Flushed and wide-eyed, you’ve taken his words with a shock like you’ve been slapped. Your hair is mussed from his hand pushing against it, into it. Your lips are kiss bitten and shiny, plump with all that blood rushing to the surface.

It makes him want to bite them, bruise them, claim them. 

Those same lips open and close as you struggle to form a response before eventually settling on one.

“I’m sorry.”

He recoils from that, features twisting up in displeasure. 

No, no, no.

“I’m sorry, I just–”

“Shut up,” he snaps, letting go of you. He screws his eyes shut, not understanding how he got from where he was a moment ago to where he is now. 

All that sweet delicious heat is fading away, leaving him feeling emptier by the second, his skin prickling uncomfortably under his suit. 

He would be clawing at it if he could.

“I don’t want you to be sorry,” he says, hitting the word like a hiss. “I want you to–I want you–”

I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you.I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you.

He pushes his hands into his hair, gripping the short strands tight enough to ache, digging for pain so that it might bring him clarity and stop the terrible repetition his mind has latched onto. He can imagine so clearly how things should be, what you should be saying, feeling, and I’m sorry is nowhere in that vision.

He hates that word. It echoes in his psyche like a curse, dragging him back by the throat to the only stretch of time in his life he ever felt weak enough to say it.

Back then, in his days in the lab, Vought was always testing the boundaries of how human he really was. At one point, when he was still a boy–maybe eleven or twelve–they began to reduce his sleep by an hour every few nights.

Each day they would repeat the same grueling tests to see at what point the lack began to affect not only his cognitive abilities, but his powers. Given the sheer amount of Compound V in his system, there were some who wondered if he really needed to sleep at all.

It would have been miraculous if he didn’t. It would be one more aspect of his perfect design that they could pat themselves on the back for. 

Unfortunately for both him and them, it was not so.

When they realized the deprivation did affect him, they wanted to understand how badly. They continued to deprive him until they had reduced his sleep to nothing at all, keeping him awake by any means necessary for days. He begged for sleep. 

It’s a marathon, John, Vogelbaum told him. Eleven days. That’s the record for a human. You can beat that, can’t’cha, tiger?

Tiger. It always made him feel stronger when Jonah called him that.

Ultimately it was less about his perseverance and more about his endurance. He didn’t have much choice in the matter of whether or not he would fall asleep. 

Every time he started to doze off, an alarm would blare in his room, startling him back awake. 

I’m sorry, he would sob, riddled with guilt for the failure.

There was never any answer.

When it was over and neither he nor the scientists had anything to show for it–nothing but misery and a newfound insomnia–he decided he would never be sorry for anything ever again.

His temples are throbbing, his skull aching from the pressure of his own strength. 

Though his eyes are tightly shut, he can feel the searing heat of his laser vision pressing against his eyelids. 

It makes him want to scream, to run, to fly, to break apart everything around him, but he can’t. He’s too powerful to ever allow himself a physical outlet.

When the average man throws a punch to blow off steam, at worst they’ll put a hole in the wall.

Homelander could punch through to the core of the planet. 

Maybe he could split the whole damn thing in half. He’s never been allowed to find out.

Instead, he focuses it all inward. He swallows the feelings like bile and fights not to choke on it, on the tension of his own impossible power straining his muscles. He can’t hear your heartbeat anymore, it’s drowned out by his own blood rushing in his ears.

Or it’s not there at all.

You’ve fled, he realizes. His stomach churns, and still his mind is on a punishing loop of all the things he has ever wanted that he cannot accept he’ll never have. 

I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want.

Anger surges through him and the heat of it is painful, twisting all his already tautly wrung innards and flushing them with fiery rage.

She’s not sorry. She has no idea the fucking meaning of it. If she wants to know what it’s like to be sorry, then we’ll–

Arms slip around his neck, and suddenly his mind hits a deafening quiet.

What?

The feeling is so alien to him that it takes several seconds to understand that it’s you. That you’re here. That you’re… holding him.

Faintly he feels the tug of your meager strength, and he leans into it, his cheek coming to rest on your chest, head tucked under your chin.

He opens his eyes, the world still awash in the crimson glow of his lasers, and he feels you flinch at the sheer heat of them. He works to blink the light away, his hands resting on your hips, gripping at the fabric of your pants.

“You’re still here,” he says, voice frayed with confusion and steadily ebbing tension. 

“Yes.”

“I thought I was alone.”

“You’re not.”

Gently, you comb your fingers through his hair. He doesn’t need his super senses to know your heart is pounding. He can feel the hammering pulse of it against his cheek.

Your fear is so tangible he can practically taste it, but he wouldn’t know it existed at all if he went only on the way you’re holding him.

How is it you can be so afraid and yet feel so firm against him?

“It’s okay,” you whisper, a faint tremble in your otherwise firm voice. “You’re not alone.”

Tears sting his eyes. He moves his grip from your hip to the fabric at your back, your shoulder, his hands climbing your clothes with a clawing desperation to ensure every bit of you is real and within his reach. He envelops you in his arms and nuzzles you, exhaling another breath of the terrible miasma that had built up like sulfur in his lungs.

You move your other hand in soothing patterns between his shoulder blades–just as you had before–and with every repetition of the pattern he feels the rage, the pain, the fear, the misery of it all drip away, like a wet cloth being wrung dry.

The two of you stand like that for a long while, focused only on the sound and feel of the other. The burn in the back of his throat and in his eyes fades. By the end of it, he feels heavy with the exhaustion of holding back the weight of his own might.

Slowly, he lifts his head to meet your gaze. You’re somehow even more beautiful than you had been. Your edges are frayed, and though there is lingering fear, it doesn’t repulse him to see it.

Because you stayed.

Your fingers slip from his hair, moving to his face. It isn’t until your thumb moves through the wetness on his cheek that he realizes a tear had escaped the burn of his lasers and streaked down his face.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” you tell him, and to his own pleasure, he believes you.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. I know you didn’t,” he says, cupping your face in turn. He brings you forward and presses a firm lingering kiss to your forehead. 

He’s in control again, and he speaks as if that were always true.

“Just like I know you’ll make it up to me.”

He draws away with a crooked smile, the episode fading to a distant corner of his mind as he puts the fractured pieces of himself back into something cohesive. He strokes your cheek, admiring your features. Your eyes.

In hindsight, it’s strange to think that he’s always thought of you as the sweet, doting little rabbit to his wolf. 

Staring at you now, he’s sure he’s looking into the eyes of a fox. 

“C’mon,” he says, siding his hands down your shoulders so that he can take hold of your wrists, guiding you towards the balcony. “It’s about time I take you for that flight I promised.”

Wouldn’t want to keep John waiting for his meal any longer.

( chapter seven )

[ronaldothebestie]

Neon Nightfall | Rúben Dias

Rúben Dias x Singer!reader

* ˚ ✦ Summary: When you discovers that her boyfriend has one of youre songs as an alarm.

Tw: Mentions of previous sex, a normal Saturday morning, you are being a little devil, They both have affectionate names.

Beautiful people are talking (series)

English is not my first language!🤪

* ˚ ✦

"Come on, Ruby, wake up!" The young woman kicks the bed hard, making the big guy on the bed with the sheets only covering the bottom, groan in frustration and roll over on the bed.

It was exactly 6 am, and until a few minutes ago you are super comfortable in the muscular arms of your long-time boyfriend, Rúben Dias, until you woke up with a start to the sound of your own voice coming from the bedside table.

It's your own song , Neon Nightfall, one of the biggest hits of your career, it was in first place on the Billboard hot 100 for a month and a half a few years ago, a single that changed the rhythm every second, an unpredictable song, it was probably That's what made her so good.

In other words, you arrived yesterday, Friday night, after half a year without seeing each other in person, after an intense night and just wanting to sleep until 15h(3pm), but you were prevented from doing so by herself.

On the one hand, it made you extremely happy for him because he liked yours songs to the point of setting them as an alarm, and on the other, it made you prone to teasing Rúben to death.

So you'll do this to your cute boyfriend who was sleeping peacefully, you approached him, who looked like a starfish on the bed, obviously you took a photo with it, you climbed on top of him, sitting on his belly, put yours lips to his ear, coughing a little to avoid the usual morning hoarseness and began to sing in a high tone, enough to wake him up.

As you did so, you immediately felt hands on yours hips and out of nowhere you were underneath Rúben, who let out a sort of scream and breathed heavily into your neck.

You are mortified for a few minutes, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks as you realized that in any dangerous situation Rúben's first reaction, perfect and wonderful boyfriend, father of a beautiful daughter and a fucking hot player he was protecting you and nothing else mattered to him, even if he was naked from head to toe.

You just put your arms on his soft back, hugging him and starting to laugh when Rúben towered over him with sleepy and slightly bored eyes.

"What the fuck, Bunny?" You keep laughing and removed one of your hands just to stroke his messy hair.

"I was just woken up at 6am with Neon Nightfall blasting in my ears, that was less than I could do Ruby~" You just caressed the now red cheeks of the big guy on top of you.

"So you heard... Shit." He smiled and turned his face slightly towards the window that radiated the early morning sun of Manchester City, embarrassed for his girlfriend to discover like this, that all the alarms were the songs of his favorite singer, You, or, just Bunny in his case.

"Now he's all embarrassed? Ruby, this is so cute ❤️, I loved discovering this, even though it could be a more... Like Frozen Time." You smiled affectionately, a little more crazy in love with him than you already are.

Even though they spent half the year apart, he always found a way to surprise you with a gift that always left you with hearts in her eyes.

And with this serious muscular man facade that he gave to everyone, you LOVE this facade seeing him looking so cute, like he was the cutest bear in the world, he was It always made you feel warm inside, it was no wonder that half of your songs were about him.

"This is very sad, to wake up it's better not to hear my girlfriend's sad voice." He grabbed you, sat with you on his lap and leaned against the headboard, feeling your snuggle against him, he just grabbed your waist, dressed only in Rúben's shirt from the previous night.

"Ruby, it's all cute and all, but can you wear something underneath? It's super weird feeling everything down here." You grimaced, avoiding moving as much as possible.

"You didn't complain last night, and my ears hurt, shouting in the morning doesn't help anyone."

"Shouting!? You've got to be kidding! I listened to Neon Nightfall for five whole minutes!" You screamed uselessly and hit his arm.

"Yes, yes, great thing Bun Bun, your voice is beautiful, the most beautiful I know, but you screaming at 6 in the morning is not good for the big guy here."

"This big guy is going to sleep on the couch today."

"Is it my house?"

"I just don't care!"

Bonus:

"Ruby, what do you mean you're going to the gym at 7am on a Saturday!?" You looks indignantly at the outfit all produced just to go train.

"Bunny, a player's job isn't easy."

"But it's Saturday! And who is going to protect me in this giant city for a poor innocent foreigner full of London dreams?"

"Bunny, yesterday you almost ripped out all my hair, ruined my back completely and I almost lost my dick, so we can forget about innocence, it's impossible for you to get lost in this city because you're rich enough to-"

"Enough! There's no need for more humiliation! I understand that I'm nothing.." You just turned your back, looking with your head down at the extremely beautiful floor.

"[Reader]... You're everything to me, okay? Now I'm going leave now, I'm going to try to get there early so we can visit the city. Is that okay?" You felt arms wrap around your waist and a kiss on your cheek and temples, your eyes widened and you are surprised by your boyfriend's rare use of your name.

"Okay Ruby, but don't call me by my name, it's weird coming from you."

"Bunny, Will Canela take good care of you while I'm gone?"

"She always takes care of me all the time."

Rúben just turned you around, kissing your lips tenderly and placing one of her platinum locks behind her ear.

Rúben just turned you around, kissing your lips tenderly and tucking one of your strands of hair behind your ear.

"That is good."

* ˚ ✦

So... I don't know what I'm doing here.

If you're here again and you're confused about the "reader" it's because I decided to change the OC to "reader insertion" with a vote on the blog.

Unfortunately, I wasn't able to explore the singing world today, and I'm confused if I'll continue with the original character or "reader", one of these days I'll do a vote.😩

Update: I already took the vote and Reader won.

But more parts of this universe will appear, and it took me a while to publish this chapter with just a few words, as there were several different versions of the same universe and I didn't like any of them, so that was it and we are here.

Thanks for reading, reblogs, feedback and likes are very welcome!!!

© All this shit belongs to @ronaldothebestie on Tumblr, so don't translate, repost, copy in no social media, do not commit plagiarism, It's crime and wtf?

[ikigaisvt]

our dawn is hotter than day.

in which you and your boyfriend says i love you for the first time surrounded by his friends.

pairing: jeonghan x reader, seventeen x reader (in a friendship way lmao dw) words: 1.6k content: fluff warnings: talk of drinking (like two times but it's not a main theme), reader sits on jeonghan's lap, reader kisses jeonghan's cheek, they hold hands, jeonghan's tucks reader's hair away from their face, pda ig?, petnames (for reader: angel, baby / for jeonghan: hannie) note: jeonghan's instagram post from a few days ruined me,, he's my bf :( this idea was mostly @homerunhansol so credits to her for this story (and for making me delusional about hannie 🫶) thank you bb! minors can interact with this fic but pls don't follow! comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated, pls don't forget

You thought when you would meet Jeonghan’s bandmates – his soulmates if we’re being truthful, that it would be nerve-recking. You thought you would be stuck to your boyfriend’s side, never letting go of his hand and always looking at him only, never meeting anyone’s eyes. No matter how many times he said in a reassuring tone you will be just fine, you didn’t believe him. You knew you were going to be anxious and there was no way around it. At least, you thought you knew.

What you never expected is – as the forever introvert you are, that you would get along with them this well. Since you walked into the place the 13 boys have rented for the weekend, it has been a constant exchange of laughter, smiles, drinks and food. Even the most introverted boys – such as Wonwoo or Soonyoung (who’s the shyest of the band, surprisingly) have opened to you. What you have realized in this little time together is that there is a snippet of Jeonghan in every single one of them. And that makes them feel like home, as if they always were just this much to you.

That’s how you find yourself, enjoying the night away, as it is still young, with 13 boys. You and Booseoksoon, which you have learned are the entertainers of Seventeen, enjoyed the karaoke together, singing at least 5 songs before the eyes of the other boys whom are clearly amused. A few times Chan joins you four to add some humor to the performance - and Seungkwan squeals every time or Jihoon adds some of his beautiful notes into the background. You have spent most of your night away from your boyfriend as he watches you from the couch, smiling and giggling, a beer in hand, at the way you are getting along so well with his favorite people in the world. It truly is a gift to see you this happy with the ones that made him into who he is.

As the night get deeper and colder, you find yourself at the campfire with most of the 13 boys – some of them being too tired to continue the night, to settle down and talk some more. Sat down on Jeonghan’s lap, in one of his comfiest hoodies, you talk and laugh with the boys as they share some of their funniest stories. You think your favorite one so far is about the famous Dokyeom and Seungkwan fight in Jeju.

It’s after almost an hour outside that you feel Jeonghan pulling you closer by the waist, resting his head on your back.

“Angel,” you hear him whisper softly.

“Hm, what is it, Hannie?” you answer quietly, turning around a little to see him look up to you with doe eyes.

"Are you enjoying tonight?" your boyfriend asks you, his eyes shining so much you wonder if the galaxy didn't find a home within him.

"Yeah, I am!" you tell him with a shy smile, knowing he's going to tease you with an I told you so even though it never comes. You see Jeonghan thinking about his next words, the teasing still ever present in his eyes when you hear a voice calling for you.

"Y/N!" Dokyeom says loudly to catch your attention, "Come talk with us!" he adds, sitting next to Seungkwan. You give them a thumbs up before turning around in Jeonghan's embrace, giving him a kiss on the cheek and squeezing his hand.

You spend the next hour or so sat down with Dokyeom and Seungkwan as you talk and laugh as if you knew each other for years. You only look up once or twice to look at your boyfriend, your eyes locking every time. If you were more attentive to him, you'd see how he'd be distracted by you, not being able to hold a conversation with anyone, including Seungcheol. He knew, when he first asked you to meet his members, that it would pull at his heartstrings. Despite all your beliefs, he knew you would fit in just well and they would welcome you with arms wide open.

He never really took the time to think about what it could mean for him. To see his favorite people love each other this much. He was hit with a wave of familiarity at the scene, as if his life always was like this, as if you were always just right by his side. However, what hit him the most at this instant, as he hears your laugh meld with Dokyeom's, was love. For some months he had been thinking of how much he loves you; he felt it mostly when you'd cook his favorite meal for him after he'd tell you practice was hard on this day, he could feel it in the way his heart would miss a beat when your eyes crinkle up in a smile or when you'd cling to his shirt, when he joins you in the middle of the night, making butterflies erupt in his stomach. But the moment he could feel it the most was right now: seeing you be your true self around his own people made him realize he wanted to provide this safe place for you for as long as you wanted him to. If you needed an island to rest on, he will be one for you.

It's after a few minutes, when Dokyeom decides to go to sleep and Seungkwan gets in a chaotic conversation with Chan, that you join him again, finding rest on his lap once more. As you talk lively with Seungcheol, the idea of playing mafia game pops up in the conversation which gets everyone excited.

After 2 mafia games - one won by Jeonghan as a mafia, the other one by the mafias again, which you were a part of, you can feel the sleepiness seeping through your bones. As you and your boyfriend were already eliminated from the current game, you fully let yourself rest against your boyfriend, your head in the crook of his neck, his hands keeping you still at the waist. You feel yourself drowsing off to the sound of Jeonghan's laughter, losing it at some of the boys' competitiveness.

"Baby," he whispers in your ear, "do you want to go to bed?"

"No, no," you whimper, shaking your head slightly, "Wanna stay here. With you." you confirm, grabbing his hand tightly.

"Okay, angel." he says in a short chuckle, "But let me know when you want to go, hm?"

"I will, don't worry. Thank you, Hannie." you say sweetly, looking at him. The stars found a home in her eyes, Jeonghan thinks to himself.

"I love you." he says in a mutter, entirely to himself, thinking you're already dozing back to sleep.

Yet, he hears your giggle and feel the smile forming as your cheeks hit the curve of his neck.

"I love you too," you answer, still giggling. "Why are you saying this so suddenly?" you murmur, hiding your head deeper in his neck so no one can see the blush covering your cheeks.

"First of all, I didn't think you'd hear that and-" he says in a pout, as you look up at him, seeing a blush on his face.

"I can't believe the Yoon Jeonghan is blushing." you tease softly as you start to play with his fingers.

"And-" Jeonghan starts again, ignoring your teasing - even though a small smile makes its way on his lips, "I do really love you. Seeing you tonight, with all of them, tugged at my heartstrings." He explains, brushing your hair out of your face, "I felt like you were comfortable around them and it just makes me want to have countless days and nights with all of you. I just realized how I want to be with you forever." he confesses, still looking down at you, your eyes welling up with tears at his words.

"You know, why I felt this comfortable tonight?" you ask, waiting for his answer which comes in a shake of his head, "Because they really feel like you. Not in the I'm-in-love-with-you way- because yeah, I am in love with you, but- I just see parts of you within them. In their actions, in their kindnesses, in their words; that's why I felt so safe. They are people you love," you say as look around to see them still playing mafia game - Mingyu on his knees, begging Seungkwan not to kill him, making you snort, "You all grew up together, you taught each other how to be good people, and you did it pretty well. I don't think there'd be a single soul who would not feel safe with any of you." you tell him, holding his hand, "I was nervous about meeting them all, I wanted them to like me but tonight I realized it would be pretty damn hard to be hated by them-" you chuckle softly, your eyes meeting, "That's why I was so myself tonight."

"They'd never hate you." he whispers, "Not because they are good people - God only knows these idiots can be petty as well," he sneers, all the love in the world showing up in his eyes, "but because they saw how you made me happy, day after day. And that was enough for them to love you. It will always be enough." he tells you, eyes still locked, "Also- I am in love with you too." he adds as Seungkwan screams out in despair for losing while Chan stands up and does a silly dance to celebrate his victory, making you both laugh out loud at their antics. You look up briefly at the sky, seeing the stars still shining bright even though it is becoming brighter as the minutes passes by. I don't think I will be able to sleep anytime soon, you think to yourself as you feel your heart buzz with excitement, your boyfriend pulling you closer by the waist. But after all, as 13 boys once said, our dawn is hotter than day.

thank you so much for reading! i hope you liked it 🫶

[theemporium]

Hi I just discovered sunshine and I am obsessed. Can we get a jelous sunshine?

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

In your head, you knew there was no real reason for you to be jealous. 

Everyone and their fucking nan knew that Daniel was downright obsessed with you. He had been since he first met you, absolutely enamoured and smitten with eyes for you and you only. There isn’t a single day he would trade to be with anyone but you. You had Daniel Ricciardo wrapped around your finger and he was more than happy to be there. 

But that didn’t mean you didn’t feel an uncomfortable tug in your stomach as you watched the scene in front of you. 

You didn’t know many of the journalists in the media pen. Maybe a few familiar faces you saw every weekend, but never really names that you could list off at the drop of a hat. To be honest, there wasn’t much reason for you to be in the media pen in the first place. Most of your time was spent between the garage, the motorhome and Daniel’s driver room. 

But due to an unfortunate DNF that ended his race early, you had practically done everything you could with the car until you could get it back to the factory, which meant you had time to spare and linger behind the cameras as your boyfriend did his rounds in the media pen.

You knew Daniel was tired and bummed out after the early retirement of his race. You knew the smile on his face was a little more strained and forced than usual. You knew that he probably wanted to get back to your hotel room and pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist. 

And yet, you stood there on the other side of the camera, more focused on the way this journalist was acting towards your boyfriend rather than what he was probably feeling at that moment.

She was touchy. Far too fucking touchy. She kept reaching to place a hand on his arm, at one point even touching his chest. Daniel tried to laugh it off but she wasn’t catching the hint. And she was smiling at him like she knew something, like she was the one who was going to be crawling into bed with him—not you. 

You tried to bite your tongue and stay back. You truly did. The last thing you wanted to be was the psycho girlfriend that got in the way of his job. But when she laughed a little too loudly and made a comment that was far from his driving or his job, you had enough.

“Is there any way a girl like me could help you after such a tragic race, Mr Ricciardo?”

It made you see red. It made you wonder who the fuck this woman was. It made you wonder if she was here every weekend, making comments to a very taken man like he would take her up on her offer (as fucking if). It made you fucking livid, especially when you noticed your boyfriend laughing nervously because he was too fucking nice to make a scene.

But you weren’t nice. Not at all.

You didn’t care about the odd looks you received as you pushed your way into the media pen, past the cameras and reached out until your hand was gripping Daniel’s elbow.

“Excuse me,” the journalist snapped, though the picture perfect smile was still on her face—probably for the camera. “We aren’t done here.”

“Tragic,” you gritted out through clenched teeth. “He’s needed with the team. Try your pathetic flirting attempts with another driver.”

She blanched, and you could’ve sworn that a few of the people around you laughed. But you didn’t care as you dragged Daniel away from the media pen, away from that journalist, and headed towards his driver’s room.

He was grinning from ear to ear by the time the door closed behind you, an expression you were not expecting to see on your boyfriend’s face after the shit race.

You frowned. “What?”

“You’re jealous,” he said in a sing-song voice.

“She was all over you,” you sneered, your arms crossed over your chest. “She was disrespecting our relationship.”

“You’re cute when you get all possessive,” Daniel murmured as he reached for you. “You even get this adorable little pout—”

“Fuck off,” you muttered. 

“I’m teasing,” he grinned as he pulled you towards him, and you didn’t have it within yourself to do anything but sink into his embrace. “She was out of line. If it makes you feel any better, she does that with practically every driver.” 

“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” you huffed out as you pressed your cheek against his chest. “It makes me wanna fucking deck her even more.”

Daniel snorted. “Alright, Scrappy Doo, keep your hands to yourself before I find my pretty girl behind bars.”

You looked up at him with a grin. “You’d bail me out.”

“Yeah,” Daniel sighed helplessly. “I would.”

.

[sciderman]

Hi Sci, I hope you are healing amazing, I have an idea but I do want to see the opinion of an expert of DP an Spidey (you).

I love musicals, and I do believe that a story with those two as protagonist in a musical environment could be something silly but with a lot of potential.

Although I do not know a lot of music theory, I imagine how the plot could work.

A weird phenomenon is occuring that everyone sings and dance just because, while Wade enjoy it, Peter hates it (He has his own self image issues, and the possibility of Spiderman singing and dancing, is an idea that terrifies him), so Deadpool and Spiderman team up to investigate this phenomenon and stop it. (In this scenario both heroes are aquantainces, although Deadpool wants to be besties).

In this story there is gonna be a lot of action, comedy, but what it is more important is the character development, both will have to face their self worth issues, so they can grow individually but also their friendship (with a bit of sexual tension).

What do you think?, what would you add so the story can achieve it's full potential (the musical part is not as important as the plot development)

hot and sexy concept! consider:

similar to the laws of most musical universes, when a character bursts into song and dance it is usually to express a big emotion or desire or truth that the character has been holding down deep inside. hence: spider-man is terrified that if he breaks into song, it'll reveal his secret identity or any other such million different secrets peter would prefer to keep locked away where nobody can find it

wade thinks it's fun and cool and chooses to sing even when he isn't actually really being compelled to - in fact, no music swells when wade sings - he just chooses to do it. he makes up songs on the fly and they aren't the big showtunes that everyone else is getting when they burst into song - nope, there's no backing track, save for maybe some buskers that he hassles to accompany him. there's no thought-through melody or even profound lyrics - and he fumbles on rhymes, but he doesn't let it stop him. he wants a showstopper tune so bad. but all he rhymes about are like, foods. and whatever he sees in front of him, and like, nothing profound. so the orchestra doesn't care for him.

there are a few times when peter's aside, on his own, and the music begins to swell - and only when he really, truly feels like he's on his own, he's about to open his mouth to sing and it's interrupted by wade every single time. at times wade knows there's about to be a musical number and tries to edge in or turn it into a duet but the orchestra just fumbles out as soon as wade's janky lyrics start. and wade's like, dancing like untz untz untz on the stage trying to keep it up but the music fizzles out and he sighs, defeatedly.

so we're following this character whomst the orchestra gravitates around trying to force a song out of but peter absolutely will NOT bite and/or is always interrupted - and a character who desperately wants his song and dance but the orchestra won't let him have it

they're constantly at odds because wade thinks this is awesome and he kind of doesn't want to stop the villain responsible for it because? a world where people randomly burst into showtunes? that's awesome. and spider-man's just with the reasoning that his identity is at risk. he has so much to lose. and what about all the people who have secrets to hide? what about people who will be put in danger? you wouldn't get it. mr i-only-sing-about-tacos.

wade's bummed. goes off alone, all sad. has this little aside where he tries, so so hard to have his own song. the orchestra swells. he opens his mouth, but the key is wrong. he fusses and asks the orchestra to play in an e-minor. he clears his throat and he tries again. still off. can we get it a little more upbeat. better. let's introduce some maracas... yes.. okay... now we're getting it. some saxophone, if you please. needs more cowbell. and wade's shaking his hips and REAAALLY feeling it and he's about to open his mouth and

the ground shakes and we're about to finally be acquainted by our villain,, and it's a musical battle and fists just aren't cutting it. peter's trying to beat the shit out of the villain but keeps getting blasted back by music. wade cottons on that they need to fight fire with fire and tries to get the orchestra back on his side but his lyrics are Not fire and musical yo mama jokes only take you so far.

eventually emotions come to their high, maybe when they're finally facing the big bad, peter can't help but finally let out his song - maybe it's a duet, if you want to be gay about it. peter sings his truth and it blasts our villain away, babey. they save the day.

after this, wade and peter return back to an nyc that isn't bursting into song every 5 minutes and peter's so, so fucking thankful. they shake hands. wade pulls peter into a hug. they're at train station.

a busker is playing a violin. wade starts to sing.

peter begs him not to.

a percussionist on stage joins in.

wade puts his whole deadpussy into it.

wade finally gets his own heartfelt closing number about all the feelings he felt and all the things that he learnt, and how he and peter will always be friends forever.

(peter: i'm leaving)

[aquareegia]

Transcript of Will Ramos' essay on Sleep Token for Rock Sound magazine

I might play in a metal band as part of my job, but I don't listen to much metal music anymore.

A few years ago though, I remember one of my friends saying to me, "Dude, you've got to check out this band Sleep Token… They're pretty cool".

I'd never heard the name before, but I'd listened to 'Hypnosis' and a couple of other songs from the band's second album, 'This Place Will Become Your Tomb', to see what they were like.

Hitting play for the first time, I was caught off guard. You hear the guitar and these slamming instrumentals and instantly you think, 'This is about to fucking kick ass'. You're so sure that the vocalist is about to come in with some gnarly screaming, but then you hear this man singing, and he's singing so beautifully. I didn't see it coming at all, and as soon as I heard it, I knew that it was exactly what I needed to hear.

At the start of a long drive that I had to make on my own, I hit play on 'This Place Will Become Your Tomb' from the beginning for the first time. As the record began with 'Atlantic', I was vibing to the sound of the music, but as it rolled through each track I started to get more and more caught up in this incredible sonic journey. By the time it was over, I realised that I'd been on this emotional roller coaster of love, pain, happiness, sadness and nostalgia.

Boom, that was it - I was hooked on that album. Every single song on that record was so freaking incredible to me, and I needed to know more about Sleep Token. Believing that my friend and I were the only people in on this hype, I spoke about it to my band one day, and they said to me, "You need to listen to 'Sundowning'!" I was so mad that they knew about this band the whole time, and nobody ever told me, but I went back and listened to Sleep Token's first album like they suggested.

I remember thinking it was very different. It's not as polished, but it's very dynamic and so beautiful. I think it definitely says something when you can see the progression of a band from just their first and second albums. From then, I knew they were onto something incredible.

It feels like more and more people have been catching onto that hype over the last year, and now it seems as though their name is impossible to ignore. I remember when they released 'The Summoning' at the start of 2023, the day after they'd released 'Chokehold', it felt like it all went crazy. They had something like 4-million hits on that song in just two days, and now, it's got over 70-million plays on Spotify. It was the beginning of a huge explosion for Sleep Token, and the first time I heard it, I was genuinely confused by it. It's so ridiculously versatile, and on my first few listens I felt like the super jazzy outro didn't fit at all, but the more I listened the more it began to click. I remember at the time I showed it to Elizabeth Zharoff, a vocal coach from The Charismatic Voice, and the outro was immediately one of her favourite parts.

She's from a completely other world of music, so to hear her approval showed me how capable Sleep Token were of reaching people outside of the metal scene.

I might not listen to metal music anymore, but Sleep Token are revitalising heavy metal. It brings back the nostalgia that I felt when I was a little kid listening to this type of music for the first time and being like, 'Holy shit, what is this? This is so cool'. I had started to lose that feeling over the years, but every time I listen to these songs, all those emotions come flooding back. In my opinion, there's no band out there that sounds like them - and that's a truly impressive feat.

Merging metal with pop, R&B, and rap influences, and bridging all these different gaps that many artists have historically been afraid to explore, there's something here for so many types of music fans. For a long time, metal bands have been putting themselves in a box. There's been this idea that a metal band needs to be heavy, that you need to have a breakdown in every song, and that you need to tick all the boxes in order to succeed. It's been so refreshing to see the evolution of the genre over the last few years, and to see bands like Sleep Token bring all these different sounds to the forefront of metal.

It brings a whole bunch of unique people into the fold. People love to say that metal is dying, but it's music like this that keeps it alive. It doesn't just move the scene forward, it expands it.

Now, there are all these people who didn't listen to metal before listening to Sleep Token. R&B and pop fans are coming into this as fans of Vessel's singing voice and hearing all these metal influences along the way. The second verse of 'Take Me Back To Eden' has this great rap-inspired singing part, and it's these little things that speak to different people in different ways. All of this feeds into our community in some crazy way, shape, or form. It's welcoming people into a genre that they may never have been exposed to otherwise, and I think that s a beautiful thing.

As a vocalist, one thing in particular that draws me to Sleep Token is Vessel's voice. I have always been a screamer, but I've always wanted to be a singer at the same time. I always practise on the side of Lorna Shore, but in my mind I'm like, 'This isn't very good. My voice is not fit for metal at all, as far as singing goes'. When I first heard Sleep Token though, one of the first things I noticed was that Vessel and I have a very similar range. Hearing him lay down all of these incredible parts, it makes me realise that I can actually sing metal vocals.

Back when I first discovered them, I wanted to cover their songs in the hopes that more people would hear them. Now, I just want to cover them so that I can sing something that is in my range.

Obviously though, his voice is much more dynamic than mine because he's been polishing it for a very long time. He does a crazy vibrato and can switch between his head voice and chest voice super easily. It's crazy stuff, and as someone who has been a vocalist for so long, I can appreciate the techniques he's using. I love to hear the different ways he's able to blend his voice into the genre.

Another thing that makes his voice so unique is that it's so emotional. When I hear Vessel sing, I can truly feel the emotion behind his words. He might be this otherworldly figure singing about an ancient deity, but there's a distinct humanity to his vocals. You can sense his sadness and pain, and whether people realise it or not that draws a lot of people to Sleep Token's music. They're the band that you can listen to at two o'clock in the morning when you're driving down the road alone. They're the perfect companion for those moments where you're upset about something, and you just need to listen to something that feels like a release.

That's a beautiful thing, because when you write music, you want people to feel the same emotions that you're feeling when you're writing it. The way that Vessel translates all of that is so incredible, and it's arguably my favourite thing about the band. Between his vocals and the instrumentation behind them, you feel exactly what they want you to feel. Even before thinking about what I knew about Sleep Token, when we were thinking about what we wanted to do with Lorna Shore, that was the goal. We wanted to bring a little bit more emotion into heavy metal music, and now they've done that and brought the singing into it too. Metal's now even more emotional because of the way he uses his beautiful voice, and I think that's what this genre has needed for a long time.

The truth is, from the moment I first heard Sleep Token, I knew they were one of those bands. Between their studio quality, their musical skill, and their ability to conjure up their own lore to incorporate into the music, I could see that they had the potential to be something truly special, they just needed that little push.

As soon as they got that with 'The Summoning', that was it - they were taking over.

First impressions are a big thing, and I think 'This Place Will Become Your Tomb' will always be my favourite album because of the way I first connected with it, but 'Take Me Back To Eden' is phenomenal. They have been able to get all of their emotion out in so many new ways on those songs because there's even more happening from a musical perspective. They've managed to strike the balance between heaviness and beauty perfectly and that's what we strive to create with albums. The goal is to create an album you can sit with, front to back, and feel the waves of emotion. A record to let yourself feel those things, and an opportunity to sit in isolation whilst you experience that journey.

It's a feeling that's amplified within Sleep Token's live shows, and I was able to catch them at Blue Ridge Rock Festival in Virginia. Lorna Shore were also playing, and we had a meet and greet scheduled for that day. It was scheduled to take place from 7pm until 7:30pm, and Sleep Token's set started at 7:30pm. I was a little antsy, because I know that meet and greets always overrun by half an hour or so, and they were the band I was most desperate to catch.

I was sitting there, it was 7:29pm, and the meet and greet line was still as long as it had been when we'd started. I started to hear 'Chokehold' playing in the distance, and I felt so sad.

People online were messaging me to tell me that Sleep Token were playing, and I was like, 'I know! I can hear them, but I'm stuck here!'

That's where it started to set in how freaking massive Sleep Token were becoming. They're one of the biggest metal bands that I'm aware of right now, and there were so many people watching that set. They refer to their live shows as rituals, their fans are the congregation, and the stage as a place of worship. It's something that could easily seem tacky if a band did it with little consideration for the details, but they're so committed to what they do.

After about three minutes, as I heard 'Chokehold' coming to an end, I stood up and said, 'Alright everybody, I've got to go. I'm so sorry, but if you know me, you'll understand'. The people who come to our meet and greets know how much I love Sleep Token, so they were like, 'Dude, go!' I sprinted out of there, leaving the rest of the band still doing the meet and greet, and made my way over to the stage. I thought I was the only one who wanted to see their set, but ten seconds into running I turned around and saw Of Mice & Men's singer, Aaron Pauley, following me. We started running through this huge crowd together, and everybody was so excited. I'm not the type of guy to leave a meet and greet early, but I needed to witness that set. It was an act of true love!

Even when they post on Instagram after shows, the captions are always like, 'The ritual has been completed in Copenhagen'. They totally absorb themselves in the spiritual aspect, physically, visually, and sonically. It's a brand, and they completely own that brand. They've made it exactly what it is, and they stick to it.

When I saw them, they had four people onstage doing harmonies with them, and they just stood there in their cloaks.

They didn't move throughout the entire set, and I began to picture it as a church choir at the side of the ritual. The whole experience does feel super spiritual, and they don't just give 50 per cent to the theming, it's 100 per cent. People feel the emotion, see the way they embody this ideal, and hear this incredible music - and I think that's why people are so ready to absolve themselves in this spiritual moment.

Everybody has a different connection to every song because of the different things everyone goes through in life, but they get to experience all of that in a place where everybody else is feeling something too.

Vessel's vocals translate into their live experience so perfectly, too. His screams are even better live than they are in the studio, and he still sings beautifully, which is so impressive. I was genuinely doubtful that he was going to be able to hit all of those vibratos and do all the other crazy vocal work he does on the albums, but he hit every note. Sometimes, he doesn't even hit the notes that he does on the studio versions, but he hits another note that is equally as stunning. He's a true performer.

You can tell a lot about a band from their live performance, but as a band in the modern age you also have to put a lot of thought into your promotion. The way you come across on social media is important, and the way that people perceive you is largely down to how you come across online. That's why I've always been fascinated by Sleep Token choosing to keep the identities of their band members a secret, refusing to do interviews and placing the focus on their visual identity.

I definitely think that's played a part in their success, because it's allowed the music to take centre stage. I remember when I was first talking to the rest of Lorna Shore about Sleep Token, they told me about the lore behind the band and that the members are all anonymous. That was before 'The Summoning' came out, but since people have caught on there have been some serious investigative deep dives, so l'm pretty sure the internet has found out who Vessel is.

I didn't look that up though, because personally for me, I always really appreciated the fact that they were totally anonymous. I like the feeling that Vessel is just a voice in the ether. You can hear it, but you can't classify it as being the voice of any one person, it's just this intriguing mystery. I've heard a lot of people say that it reminds them of when they first got into Slipknot because when a lot of people I know first listened to that band, nobody knew who was behind the masks. They were just a bunch of dudes making music with no outside perceptions, but then obviously people found out. I think that Sleep Token have that similar allure for a whole new generation, but sadly for me that mystery was shattered when I met them after a show.

It was great to meet them, but I also really didn't want to know who they were. I loved not knowing and I think that the anonymous aspect of what they do plays such an important role in the impact they're having on the heavy metal world.

It's a bit of a double-edged sword because everyone wants to know their identities, but once you do know - you miss the anonymity.

There's something special about the way they're putting their music out into the world with no need for individual validation, and I think it takes a lot of guts and confidence in what you're creating to do what Sleep Token are doing.

Usually, you almost want everyone to know who's in the band, because often that helps push you forwards. If you have someone in your line-up who's been in a well-known band before, you want to use that name to get yourselves out into the scene more. Sleep Token aren't anybody, and that takes a lot of courage and humbleness to do. There's no predisposed idea of what their music is supposed to be or what it's going to be, and that's part of the magic.

It's something that also comes out in the lore, the symbolism, and the cryptic clues that Sleep Token scatter throughout everything they do. There are Reddit threads dissecting every single word in the songs and analysing each pixel within their visuals, but it's not something I've had the chance to fall into just yet.

When I first listened to 'This Place Will Become Your Tomb', I could only find one or two articles about Sleep Token online.

They were basic articles explaining the idea of the band and what they were trying to do, which I thought were cool, but I never really looked it up again.

Over the last year or so, it seems that these conversations have spiralled. People are coming up with these different ideas about the band's story, and there are all these hints appearing constantly. I don't know any of the Easter eggs yet. I'm still just fascinated by the music and their wicked aesthetics, but I love that they've got people talking. It's become this kind of community around the band, and as someone who grew up in this scene, seeing artists who are able to foster that feeling amongst fellow music fans is such an incredible thing.

I think that's one of the reasons why Sleep Token have been able to find success on such a wide level so quickly, because there's a constant conversation about them. If people aren't talking about their music, they're talking about the lore and the stories behind it, or they're talking about the potential identities of the band members. They have this perfect package in place that lends itself to a world class metal band, but they're achieving it at such an incredible speed.

They thought out every single element of this band before they even started, from how the melodies work with the vocals, to the emotion and the quality of the sound. A lot of people put out music that sounds like they're hitting a trash can, and whilst they might have really good singing over the top of it, you can't ignore that trash can. Sleep Token have got incredible production value though, which is even more impressive when you consider how versatile their sound is.

It's so well thought out that you hear new things in each song on every listen. If you listen to 'Take Me Back To Eden', the title track of their third album, there's an allusion to a particular part of 'Chokehold', and it's details like that which make their production so unique. They wanted to make sure that it came out perfect, and maybe - like all musicians I know - they think they could have made certain parts of it better in retrospect, but I honestly can't imagine how.

Between the versatility, the emotion that people feel when they listen to it, the heaviness, the quality, and the songwriting, Sleep Token don't cut any corners anywhere. That's why they're already playing these huge, career defining shows, and putting out music that's changing people's perception of heavy music as a whole. It's so exciting to be a Sleep Token fan, and I just want them to write even more mind-blowing music and play even bigger places because they truly deserve it.

The bigger the places that they play, the better they're going to sound live. They're already playing arenas over in the UK, and with the size of those venues I just know they're going to sound absolutely incredible. They're reaching heights much higher than most metal bands that I know, and the bigger they get, the better their production value is going to be all round.

'Take Me Back To Eden' only came out earlier this year, but I already can't wait to hear them put out more music. lf what we heard on album three is the direction that they're going in, I'm very optimistic to see what the future holds for Sleep Token. I imagine at one point, they're going to make it on the radio - and honestly it could happen sooner rather than later. I knew it when I first heard them, and I'm even more certain of it now - they're going to be huge.

[miaclemeverett]

amazon standing lamp - using drugs and sex and other unhealthy distractions and coping mechanisms to deal with losing people you love out of your own fault. the top-heavy amazon standing lamp part is a really old wilbur joke (back in 2020 he joked about naming a song this) and it also reminds me of how (i think it was him?) he once said that he moves house so often that he loses so many belongings and only has a few things left that he cares about, i think this pairs really well in the song how the artificial meaningless things are all that remain

mine / yours - the breakdown of a relationship, seeing the warning signs and the things you take for granted assuming a person will stay with you forever despite it all

around the pomegranate - this song reminds me a lot of "since i saw vienna", when a place (california in this song) becomes so married to a person that it serves as a source of comfort and nostalgia for when things were simple and happier. being on the road you can never set down roots and people come and go from your life

i don't think it will ever end - he lives life in front of millions of people (chat in this song) watching his every move, like an actor he either has to play the part he's made for himself or isolate himself from this audience, it's a repetitive cycle that sends him downhill

glass chalet - back in the dark days of 2021 i remember wilbur would always joke (SLASH SERIOUS) about quitting streaming and disappearing off the face of the planet for years without a single word. VERY HEALTHY MINDSET exhibited right here in this song

melatonin 130 - I LOVE 100 GECS!! but in all seriousness the constant reminder that you have mental illness/anxiety your entire life and you can only cope with it, that it impairs you even when you should be happy cus obviously you're living out what you thought was your dream and everyone else thinks you should be on top of the world duh!

oh distant you - JUST KILL ME. your sister was right but WORSE!!!!!!!! again you take for granted that someone will stick with you forever and only after it's over realizing that you can't fill the hole where they were. and again we're back on fixating on who is the villain in this narrative

eulogy - your sister was right but worse 2, this song focuses on the whispers (good and bad) leftover from a relationship. harkening back to screensaver where he says that the subject in talking about their relationship basically makes him sound like hitler, and your sister was right where he talks about the warning signs the subject should have seen, this squarely places the blame on him

dropshipped cat shirt - I LOVE 100 GECS!!! but anyway the grueling day-to-day of being on the move, singing to people who adore you and make up a version of you in their head, latching onto unhealthy coping mechanisms to keep going, you have everything you ever needed and wanted but you're bored out of your mind

the median - short but sweet! as i said earlier, wilbur always has to play a part, and this audience projects their version of himself as the truth

trying not to think about it - I KNOW I PUT DAMN NEAR THE WHOLE SONG DOWN HERE BUT LISTEN. again realizing how much you take for granted the assumption that someone will stick with you forever. wilbur has mentioned before how as a hypochondriac, he's never taken seriously by doctors whenever he doesn't feel well. also this idea of romance and love as something just for the aesthetic, not as something that gives you stability and meaning but realizing that it can be that for you until its too late.

10 week rule - who got him pregnant?? but in all seriousness i think this can be read as a way of turning a new page, but obviously its not as simple as just getting rid of something unwanted

[thefatedthoughtofyou]

So there's a 60s song. One of my favorites. I have several, but let's not focus on that. Its called Give Him A Great Big Kiss by The Shangri-Las, and everytime i hear it, it makes me think of steddie.

More so of Steve finding the song, probably in his mom's old record case. And he's always loved the song. But then he met Eddie. And it's meaning changed. His thoughts constantly drifting to Eddie when he hears it. And he starts singing it all goofy and love sick when he hears it now.

He and Robin work at a bar downtown, Eddie works at the mechanic shop around the corner. He comes in for early lunch a lot, and that's how they meet. They get along great. All of them do. Robin loves him to death. As far as she's concerned she gained another soulmate along side Steve. One who blabbers like her and they rant at each other constantly, Steve watching them fondly.

But he's also got it bad for Eddie. Obviously. And Robin knows this. Knows about the song. And the way Steve sings it all gooey and adoring and lost in thought.

After a few plays of the song she sings along with him, they duet they're hearts out when it comes on and the bar is empty. Usually right before they open. Both of them using mops, or bottles, or dishrags as microphones as they sing.

Eddie is pining too. He's got it so bad for Steve that he finds it hard to look at him sometimes. And Robin, drukenly one night, after Steve had fallen alseep in his chair beside the pool, had told Eddie to shoot his shot. That he'd sink it, or get a home run, or a touchdown, or some other sports term that neither of them really understood.

But everytime Eddie has tried to make a move, something comes up. They get interrupted. Every. Single. Time. Eddie had decided fate was against them and almost given up hope.

He'd had a plan today. Come to the bar for lunch before they opened, ask him, whether Robin was there or not. She'd been making it a point to not speak to them if it looked like they were talking about something important. Eddie knew it was pity for him. Was endlessly greatful.

But that was how he ended up at the bar. Ducking in the side entrance they left open for him. And he's about to burst in like normal, all loud enthusiasm to see his friends, but he hears Steve groaning about something, hears Robin laughing, hears his name, and it stops him, his hand pressed gently to the door.

"Uuugghhh my god. I'm useless. I was so good at this in school. I could ask anyone out. Like it was nothing." Steve grumbles, Eddie's stomach flutters, he pushed the door open, just a crack, can only see Robin where she's perched on the bar top, legs crossed.

"Maybe that's the problem." She shrugs, Eddie sees her drop her hand to the left, he bites his lip and carefully pushes the door a bit further. He has to stifle a laugh when he sees Steve, looking forlorn, head dropped onto the bar, Robin's hand petting at his hair absent-mindedly. He turns his head to look up at her and Eddie moves to the side a bit, hoping Steve doesn't notice him.

"Huh?" He huffs, glares up at her. She pats the side of his face a couple times and takes her hand back.

"You said you did it like it was nothing. Maybe this isn't nothing? With Eddie, I mean. Maybe it's... bigger. Better!" Her hands move in a flurry in front of her as she talks, Steve ducks away from them as he sits up on the stool properly.

"Better. ...elaborate?" He says slowly, his eyes on the ceiling, his face all screwed up the way Eddie loves, his concentration face, it would be Eddie's downfall one day.

Robin nods enthusiastically, plops her feet down onto the stool next to Steve.

"Well does it feel different? With Eddie? Than it did with all those other people?" She asks, looking down at him with an impossibly fond look.

Eddie watches Steve bite his lip, think for a long moment, his hand moves absent-mindedly to his stomach. Eddie mirrors him, his stomach fluttering as he watches. Feeling a bit guilty, but he can't look away. He can't move. He has to keep listening. Needs the courage, he tells himself. Steve nods.

"Yeah it does. It's different. He's different." Steve says, and he's got this dopey look on his face that Eddie's never seen. Robin nods, slides down off the bar, her butt replacing her feet as she holds Steve's knees tightly.

"Different then what? Then who?" Robin promtps, giving him a gentle squeeze.

"Different then everyone." Steve breathes it like a prayer and then immediately shoves his face into his hands with a groan as Robin makes a high pitched noise in her throat.

"You know what this needs don't you?" She asks, excitement coursing through her now. She's on her feet before Steve answers, bouncing out of veiw, toward the jukebox in the corner. Steve groans again and turns to follower her.

"Alcohol?" He asks, voice dry. Eddie hears Robin snort.

"Maybe after work. But right now what we need, is.... drum roll please." She draws out the please. Eddie watches Steve sit on the stool, watching her. He gives her nothing.

"I said drum roll!!" She shouts, and Steve grins, tapping his hands on the stool between his legs.

"Theeeeeee Eddie song!" She sings, and Eddie faintly hears the click of the Jukebox before a womans voice fills the air. Music kicking in after the first few words, Steve already bobbing along. Eddie's heart stutters in his chest. He knows this song. Has heard Steve humming it a few times. It's not a bad song. Eddie's open to things.

He watches Robin dance back into view as Steve starts mouthing the words, pretending to fight against it. But all Eddie can hear are the lyrics, as Steve really starts to get into it, taking Robin's hand and letting her pull him off his seat.

"Thick wavy hair. A little too long. All day loooong, he's singin his song." Steve starts to sway, and Eddie can't do it, they're moving out of view and he needs to see this. He ducks through the door quietly and sinks back to the back corner silently, both of them lost in the song as they dance. Robin chiming in now.

"Well, what color are his eyes?" She asks Steve, perfectly in sync with the song, they've clearly done this... a lot. Steve shrugs and counters,

"I don't know. He's always wearing shades." He sighs wistfully.

"Is he tall?" Robin asks, climbing back onto the bar, laying on her stomach, feet kicked up in the air.

"Well, I've got to look up." Steve stays out on the dining floor, dancing between the tables, swaying his hips.

"Yeah? Well I hear he's bad." Robin scrunches her face as she sings.

"Hmm. He's good bad. But he's not evil." Steve furrow his brow, 'thinking'.

"Tell me more. Tell me more." Robin sings, kicking her feet to the beat, chin in her hands as she grins at Steve. He does a fancy twirl and falls into a chair, dreamy look on his face as he continues.

"Big bulky sweaters, to match his eyes. Dirty fingernails, oh boy what a prize." He swoons a little, his head resting on his chin for a moment before he spins up out of the chair again, dancing towards Robin as he sings through the chorus again.

Eddie's breathing is fast now, his palms sweating as he watches and listenes to Steve sing about kissing him in the street, and loving and caring for him. Wanting to always be there for him. Eddie doesn't miss how fond he looks.

He's looked fond this entire time. Fond and... something else. Eddie's not sure there's a word for it. But he thinks 'longing' might be close. He wipes his palms on his grease stained jeans and moves foward, slowly, not wanting to draw attention, but he can't stay put any longer. Robin chimes in again, rolling onto her back dramatically, arms crossed over her chest.

"Is he a good dancer?"

"What do you mean is a good dancer?" Steve laughs into the line and Eddie's stomach flutters, he could watch Steve like this forever.

"Well how does he dance?" Robin sings, sitting up and facing Steve as he closes in on the stool in front of her, places his hands on it and practically sighs the last line.

"Close. Very, very, close."

The music fades. Robin singing the last of the 'oohs' gently as it does, both her and Steve smiling at each other. Eddie takes this moment to bump into a chair, sending it screeching a few inches across the floor, both of them flailing as they turn to look at him.

"Oh my god!" Robin yells, her hands clamping over her mouth. Steve is frozen as she looks between him and Eddie. Eddie raises one hand from his thigh, wobbles his hand in an awkward wave.

"Uhh... hey." He says, brilliantly. Steve's face is getting redder and redder as he stands there, and Eddie can see him tensing. About to bolt.

So he does something he's never been very good at. For Steve. He finds his bravery and walks right up to Steve, plants himself in front of him, hands landing on his shoulders harder than he meant too, but Steve doesn't flinch.

"Hey." Eddie breathes, his thumbs soothing over Steve's collarbones.

"You already said that." Steve says flatly, he's still staring at Eddie. Eddie's pretty sure he hasn't blinked since he hit the chair.

"Right. Yeah. Lemme try somethin else then." Eddie breathes, ducks forward, presses his lips gently to Steve's, feels Steve gasp against his lips and then feels his hands clamp down on his hips, hard.

It's a small kiss. Just a press of lips really, warm, and sweet, and gentle. But when Eddie pulls back, they're both breathless. Eddie vaguely hears Robin make that happy high pitched noise again, and clapping. And then any sounds from her are drowned out by the next song that clicks on, You Send Me by Sam Cooke. Eddie loves this song.

"You wanna dance?" He asks, brushes his nose against Steve's cheek, laughs when Steve follows him, trying to catch his lips again.

"I dunno. Are you a good dancer?" Steve asks, smirking at Eddie, though his eyes are shining and soft.

"What do you mean am I good dancer?" Eddie asks, feigning offense.

"Well... how do you dance?" Steve recites, sounding almost shy.

Eddie bites his lip, wraps his arm around Steve's waist, and pulls him tightly to his chest as he turns him further onto the dance floor, guiding them between tables with an out of character grace.

"Close. Very, very, close." Eddie breathes, his heart fluttering as Steve throws his head back and laughs, his arms circling Eddie's neck as they sway together, holding each other close as the music plays on.

[nonsensical-raw-material]

Only goyim seem to try to invalidate my Jewishness.

And it's like they think they're doing me a favor. Like "sure you say you're one of THEM but don't worry we can tell"

I live in a semi-rural part of the south. With my synagogue being well into an hour away and having to cross state lines. There is not a Jewish community in the town I live. Wearing my Magen David I've heard people whispering wondering what an Israli is doing in rural America rather than guess Jewish people exist.

It's not hard to tell I'm a convert from the way I talk. My life is very interfaith because so are the people in it. My kind of adoptive family gifted me a gorgeous mezuzah necklace. And when I don't work Sundays sometimes I'll go to church with them to hear my bonus father figure preach. I still participate in my own family's christmas celebrations because to us it's always been secular. I may have a few more reservations about singing songs that speak of Jesus as divine. In the same direction one of best friends who is Christian and who's father preaches when I can't get to synagogue always makes sure I have someone to share the Purim story with. The same friend celebrated Chanukah with me and learned how to make Latkes.

And with all the issues that come with "looking Jewish" despite the fact there is no real way to look Jewish. My name isn't Jewish enough for goyim. Why is my hair blonde? Why isn't my nose bigger? Why are my eyes light? Why don't I fit the antisemitic character in their head? How can I be ethnically German and Jewish at the same time? Man oh man I must really be confused and hate myself.

"OH so you're just Jew....ISH"

Then when I explain how within our community we don't differentiate the convert. A Jew is a Jew is a Jew is a JEW. I explain the story of all our souls accepting Torah at Sinai. How I love my community and for once in my life I felt at home somewhere. And I get looked at like I'm crazy.

Maybe I'm lucky but I have yet to experience any type of differentiation within my community. I've been taken in lovingly and met with open arms. But it's always so crazy to me how I've never had my fellow Jew try to take away my Jewishness. If anything they constantly reaffirm it. I've never been mocked or ridiculed or less valued.

Goyim on the other hand will ask me questions on Torah. Especially Christians on the topic of mitzvot. Acting with superiority "Oh why would you follow that stupid law? We don't, don't you feel stupid choosing to miss out?" Its like an 'gotcha' moment but only for them.

I just wonder if you claim to love G-d why do you see tasks for them as hardship? I suppose it's a cultural difference. We see our laws as blessings and other see them as obligations. I don't live in a society where the religion and culture I've been adopted into is the default. There is an active decision made in being Jewish every single day of my life. But for them they get to be the default. No question goes into what they practice because that's just 'what you do'

[magics-neptunes-things]

Five Ways To Love

Hi guys :)

I’ve got several asks for a McFoord, I’m sorry it took so much time to write this one.

But here it is :) So please enjoy ❤️

TW : Alcohol.

The first time they almost kissed, it wasn’t very far from Katie’s break up. To cheer her up, Jordan proposed to go out and to have fun. It was during spring 2022, Lia and Caitlin have break up only one month before, just like Jordan and Leah, and it’s maybe what make them so close from the others.

Jordan went away since half an hour with a random girl, but Caitlin decided to stay with Katie. Just to be sure that she’s ok, after all she was the newest in the single club. It has nothing to do with how much she took her breath away when she saw her getting out of her bedroom when they collect her to come here, of course.

“Are you having fun?”

Caitlin suddenly raises her eyes from the glass she was looking at, to look at her friend. Katie is looking at her too with attention, so Caitlin gives her a sincere smile before answering.

“I am. Why?”

“Dunno. You seem distract.”

Caitlin shrug and answer something like “Meh” before finishing her drink. Katie’s glass being empty too, the Irish girl takes Caitlin’s hand to drag her to the dancefloor.

“Come on, let’s dance!”

Caitlin isn’t a good dancer honestly, as much as she is awful about singing. But she decides to let it go, enjoying her time with Katie. The younger girl is dancing at a rather appropriate distance from her, but soon there is more people on the dancefloor, so she has to get closer not to lose sight of Caitlin.

It’s seems natural when Katie put a hand on her hips so Caitlin doesn’t even react to it. They get closer every song though and soon Caitlin has her eyes in Katie’s eyes and their body are glued to each other.

But then Katie’s eyes drop on Caitlin’s lips briefly, not even one second. But the Aussie saw it, and it almost without thinking anything that she leans in Katie’s direction. The midfielder follows the movement, and their lips are only a few millimeters away from each other when a voice that they both know very well is shouting next to them.

“There you are! I was looking for you!”

Jordan is completely obvious of the moment she just interrupts, taking Caitlin’s hand to drag her to the bar and made her try some random cocktail. Caitlin just has the time to take Katie’s by her arm to take her with them, to not losing her in the crowd.

When Jordan put a green strange-looking glass in her hand, she looks up to Katie to see her smile. She seems amused by the disgusting look on Caitlin’s face even if Jordan swears that the cocktail is “so damn good”. But when their gazes cross, her smile get softer. Caitlin doesn’t have time to think a lot about it though, her small friends almost putting the straw in her mouth now.

The second time they almost kissed was during their trip, always with Jordan, in Ibiza. They are here with several other friends that Caitlin doesn’t really know. She just sticks with Katie almost all the time, enjoying having time with her. The Irish girl doesn’t seem to mind though, coming herself looking for Caitlin when they aren’t together.

“Can I ask you something?” Katie suddenly ask Caitlin, taking her away from the half-sleepiness she was in.

They are chilling around the swimming pool, in the house they rent, next to the beach. It was early in the afternoon and after a brunch some of them decided to go back to sleep, others went to the town. Katie and Caitlin chose to enjoy the swimming pool, even if they are tanning now.

“Sure” Caitlin yawns, turning her head to the other woman.

“Are you and Lia still talking? Because Rue is still writing to me and I don’t know what to do with it.”

Caitlin frowns, looking at her friend. She seems uncomfortable, but she appreciates the fact that she chooses her to confide her feelings.

“We are, but it’s not a daily thing. We are talking during training obviously, but clearly not messaging each other every day. What is she saying to you?”

Katie shrugs, looking away. Caitlin doesn’t want to press her, but she knows that the question doesn’t come from nowhere. She raises her glasses on her forehead to be able to better observe her friend before talking again.

“If you don’t want her to write you, why don’t you block her?”

“I tried” Katie sighs, laying down again on the big chaise longue they are sharing. “But then she starts to write to my mam, and I don’t want her to disturb my family.”

“Well, that’s creepy.”

Caitlin never liked Ruesha, but she was Katie’s girlfriend, so she always has been polished with the other Irish. They don’t really have compatible traits of character.

Katie doesn’t answer and just sighs. Feeling the other girl struggle, Caitlin gently put a hand on her arm, dragging Katie’s attention on her again.

“Hey, it’s going to be ok. Do you want me to talk to her?”

“Nah” Katie laughs, coming closer to Caitlin. “She will rip your head off. If she sees I don’t answer she will stop at one point.”

“If you say so.”

Caitlin feels strange when Katie put her head on her shoulder, even she knows that she shouldn’t. Katie is tactile with her friends, and this is what they are. Friends.

“Thanks, by the way” Katie says after a moment of silence.

“I haven’t done anything, but you are very welcome” Caitlin snorts.

“You are here for me. It means the world to me.”

Katie went to kiss her cheek, but Caitlin turns her head at the same time, and they are face to face, again. The sight is different of the one in the club, this time Caitlin can perfectly see Katie. There is the same powerful need to press her lips against Katie’s that the other day, but she doesn’t know if the feeling is reciprocated.

She loses several seconds to search in Katie’s eyes for a form of consent and when she thought she found it, someone is going out to where they are. Katie backs up to look who it is, and Caitlin briefly closes her eyes in frustration.

But it’s maybe better that way.

The third time they almost kissed, it was on Katie’s birthday, in September 2022. The girls went out for the Irish girl’s birthday, a party being held and organized by some of her closest friends. Almost attached by the hips now, Caitlin and Katie arrive together at the party.

Nothing has happened between them, more than time passed together, hugs, laughs or nights to talk to each other before falling asleep. It’s obvious for the people looking closer at their bond that there is more than friendship between them, but none of them had made any move for now.

Once again, they drink maybe a little too much, but Katie seems to have the time of her life and there is nothing more Caitlin want for her. She’s happy to have an excuse to be able to look at her the way she is, even if she has to share her with other people tonight.

Katie still chose to sit next to her for the meal, even if she’s been drag on the dancefloor as soon as they’re finished. Someone put some Irish music, Caitlin strongly suspects one of Katie’s siblings, so there is no way that she’s able to see Katie soon again.

To pass time, she talks with her friends, the one she knows thanks to Arsenal. Even if Katie starts to take her with her when she goes out, making her meet some of her friends.

But soon the alcohol makes her head fuzzy, and Caitlin really need to go out to have a fresh breath of air. She excuses herself to the people she was talking with, taking her jacket to go out. There are in London during the end of September after all. It’s cold outside at night now.

She lost herself in her thoughts, losing the idea of the time too. She’s happy to have her jacket though, the night being cold. Even if she’s here for several months now, she still misses the Australian heat she grows up with.

“There you are! I was looking for you!”

Caitlin would recognize Katie’s voice everywhere, especially because of her Irish accent, it’s true. She smiles when she turns her head to look at her friend coming for her, sitting on the wall she is lying on.

“What are you doing here all alone?” Katie asks Caitlin.

“It was too hot inside, with all the people and the alcohol.”

The answer is genius and Katie doesn’t seem to think otherwise. She looks at Caitlin with a pout anyway, crossing her arms on her chest.

“You should have asked me to come with you.”

“It’s your party, Katie. I wasn’t going to take the star of the night away of the others.”

Katie just grumbles something Caitlin doesn’t understand, but it makes her smile. Katie’s eyes are shinning and it’s not only because of the happiness. Those Irish beverages are something else.

“You haven’t given me my present, by the way.”

Surprised, Caitlin looks at Katie. They are making this party sooner in the month, because at the right date, they will all be in national camp. She wanted to give the bracelet she bought her on the right day.

“How many drinks did you had?” Caitlin giggles.

Katie smirks and shrugs for any answer. She doesn’t know who thought about bringing Irish beverages, but it was the best idea ever in her opinion. But she’s definitively drunk.

“It doesn’t matter. You still can give me a present now and the real on the right day.”

“I don’t have anything right now, Kat’.”

The Irish woman bites her lips thoughtfully several seconds before answering and Caitlin has to really concentrate herself to think about something else than Katie’s lips.

“Give me a kiss”

“What?”

She must have heard wrong. There is no way that Katie is suggesting that she kisses her here and now. Not with the light tone she used.

“Kiss me.”

“Katie, you are drunk. You won’t remember any of this tomorrow.”

Katie pouts again but she’s looking at Caitlin with determination. The Aussie feels herself getting softer, maybe Katie really wants that kiss. As much as she does herself.

“You know what? If you remember that talk tomorrow morning, just tell me. Maybe you’ll get your present at that moment.”

“Great” Katie grins.

“Let’s go inside again, yeah?”

Katie nods and takes Caitlin’s hand in hers to go inside. The heat is still not really pleasant, but more supportable for Caitlin. Katie doesn’t let her hand go right away, only when they are at their seat again.

“Cake time!” someone shouts, and the lights are suddenly off.

The fourth time they almost kissed, it was during Caitlin’s birthday. The Australian girl chooses to go out with a lot less friends that there was for Katie’s birthday. A lot of them are from Arsenal, like Beth and Viv, Steph Catley and her boyfriend or Leah but Mackenzie Arnold is here too with her girlfriend, just like Alanna who made the trip from Manchester. Caitlin invited Lia too, but the Swiss woman is in Barcelona, to see her friend Ana.

Well, that’s the official version, Caitlin knows that there is a special someone for Lia there and she’s nothing but happy for her.

They went to a restaurant to eat something and then chose a nightclub Leah knows apparently very well. And it was great to be honest, Caitlin is having a very good time. The place they chose is very close to some of their houses, so they can go home walking if they want to.

Caitlin is looking thoughtfully at Mackenzie dancing with Kirsty when Katie comes to sit down next to her after having dancing herself.

“Hi there” grins Katie, taking a sip from Caitlin’s glass.

They never talk again about the discussion they had outside at Katie’s birthday, so Caitlin assumed that Katie was effectively too drunk to remember. She doesn’t have any regret not to kissed her, even if she still wants it very much.

“You ok?” Katie asks.

“I am. What about you?”

Their table isn’t very close to the dancefloor, they are in the VIP section thanks to Leah. So they don’t have to shout to be heard by the other, which is very pleasant in their opinions.

“I am too. Aren’t you sad that Lia isn’t here?”

“Nah, I mean she’s probably having a better time where she is.”

Katie shoots her a strange look and Caitlin remember that Lia’s relationship with Mariona isn’t known by anyone in the team, except Leah and herself.

“Has she met someone?”

“Kinda” Caitlin shrugs.

“Doesn’t it bother you?”

Caitlin just shakes her head and smile. Lia talked to her about Mariona as soon as she realized that it might have something between them and they kind of talked about Caitlin and Katie too, but there is no need for Katie to know that for now.

“No. I’m happy for her, really. She deserves the best.”

Katie just hums, looking at Caitlin from the corner of her eyes.

“What?” Caitlin laughs. “Would you mind if Ruesha find someone else?”

“Oh God, no. At least it would help her relax a little bit.”

Caitlin snorts and Katie smirks. The older Irish still comes sometimes in their discussions, usually because she’s still writing to Katie. Sometimes being very gentle and sweet and other times pretty mad. Maybe because Katie still doesn’t answer to her messages.

After that, Beth proposed to them a shot contest and Katie almost jump from her seat with enthusiasm. Smiling, Caitlin follows them as close as possible from Katie.

Several hours later, they are going to Caitlin’s home, very more than tipsy. They are giggling about something they don’t even remember, and Katie is holding Caitlin’s hand to help her not to fall.

“You are wracked” Katie laughs while looking at Caitlin.

Caitlin laughs this time, looking for her house keys in her purse. She misses the way Katie is looking at her, passing her tongue on her lips.

She waits for Caitlin to find her keys, helping her to climb the big stairs going to her house’s door. But at the last stair step, Caitlin trips and almost take Katie in the fall with her. Thanks to Katie’s reflexes, they only finish against the wall. Caitlin’s back against it while Katie faces her, her hands on either side of her hips.

“Fuck, are you ok?” Katie asks with concern.

She’s pretty sure that Caitlin hits her head hard.

“You are so beautiful it hurt.”

It wasn’t the kind of answer she was waiting, and she’s so taking aback that she feels herself blushing. Sober Caitlin isn’t as frisky as drunky Caitlin. She smiles nevertheless, looking at the other girl’s face with attention.

“I remember, you know?” Katie says suddenly. “The discussion about the kiss on my birthday.”

“I thought you forgot” Caitlin mumbles.

Katie smiles softly and shakes her head. Caitlin passes her hand around the younger’s hips, holding her even closer than before.

“I wouldn’t mind a gift like this. Just saying.”

Katie is still smiling and press gently her forehead against Caitlin’s. The latter can smell her perfume and the heat of her skin.

“Not now. Not like this. I understand now how you felt on my birthday” Katie whispers.

Her breath is stroking Caitlin’s lips and the Aussie really think she will lose her mind. She can’t hide the disappointment she’s feeling. But she melts when she feels the Irish girl cupping her jaw with a softness that would surprise people who only know Katie as the hard midfielder.

“Let’s do things right, ok?”

Caitlin nods after some seconds, still looking into Katie’s eyes. The younger one smiles and kiss Caitlin’s cheek softly before backing up.

“You’re still sleeping here, right?” Caitlin asks when her breath is normal again.

Katie smiles and nods before taking the keys from Caitlin’s hand to open the door. It was what were decided before anyway and she had too many drinks to drive at her house. And she loves to wake up knowing that Caitlin isn’t far away.

For Christmas, Arsenal organised a gala, inviting every single player of their senior teams. It means that they are mix with the men’s team, which Katie doesn’t like very much. To help them to talk to somebody they maybe never talked before, they organize a draw to know next to who they will sit.

Needless to say, Katie found herself across the room from Caitlin’s table. She pouted the whole night, much to Viv’s and Noelle’s amusement, both sharing the table with Katie and some random male players. She sulks even harder when she saw that Caitlin seems to have fun, laughing at a joke of one of the men.

She mechanically takes her phone out of her pocket when she feels it vibrate, not really interested in the others’ discussions.

From Caitlin 🦘 💛 Why is there a pout on that pretty face?

Katie looks up from her phone to look at Caitlin, just to see that she’s already looking at her. She’s smirking at her and she raises an eyebrow when she see that Katie is looking at her too.

From Katie 🐈💚 Because the most beautiful girl in here is too far away of me Plus an asshole is definitively hitting on her

From Caitlin 🦘 💛

Dunno who’s that girl but she’s lucky to be called beautiful by you

Katie rolls her eyes and looks at Caitlin again. The Aussie is still smiling, and Katie realize that she’s smiling too. She sends a wink to the other girl who sent her a kiss back.

True to her words, Katie took Caitlin in two different dates since November, and they had a very good time. No kisses, but the flirting is on point. And Katie loves it.

What she doesn’t love anyway it’s the thought that tomorrow they will be separated by almost all the globe, Caitlin going home in her family for Christmas. She’s going herself in Ireland to celebrate, but she will miss the other girl like crazy.

“Who are you texting?” Noelle asks her.

“No one”

She puts her phone again on her pocket, but the look she throw in Caitlin’s direction talk for her. Viv just have to follow it to understand and she smiles softly.

“I always thought that Caitlin’s second name was Jade, not No one”

Katie throws a napkin at her, making the Dutch woman laughs. Luckily for Katie, the diner is soon finish and they are invited to go to the adjoining room, where pictures of the previous years are hanging on the wall.

Katie makes a beeline for Caitlin, putting delicately her hand in the lower back of the Australian woman. Caitlin was looking at a picture of the first woman team, but she quickly turns her attention on Katie when she feels her next to her.

“Fancy seeing you here” Caitlin jokes.

Katie feels herself relax a little bit, she’s next to Caitlin and that weirdo isn’t near them. She knows that Caitlin isn’t attract in men, but still. She doesn’t like the idea of someone being interested in her.

“Did you have fun?” Caitlin asks.

“Not really. It would have been better to be with you.”

The striker smiles and Katie just have to look in her eyes to know that it’s reciprocal. Their exchange of looks lasts a few more seconds, during which Caitlin finds herself sticking as much as possible to the other woman.

“Can we get out of here?”

Katie is dying to have a least several minutes alone with her. Caitlin looks around them, realizing that no one seems to be interested in them. The girls of the team are maybe a little too used to their behavior and the other people don’t seem to mind either.

“Let’s go.”

Caitlin has the impression to be a teenager again, running away with the girl she’s in love with during a party. But she likes the feeling. She likes everything Katie makes her feel. She likes Katie.

Katie who takes her hand to drag her outside. Caitlin shivers violently outside, struck by the cold. It makes Katie smile, but she doesn’t wait to give her her jacket. Which seems to disturb Caitlin.

“Katie it’s freezing, you’ll catch a pneumonia” Caitlin tries to protest.

But the Irish woman doesn’t listen, enveloping the other woman in her clothe. She likes the sight of Caitlin in it a little too much.

“I don’t feel the cold” she remembers Caitlin with a smirk.

The latter rolls her eyes but open her arms wide.

“Come here at least.”

Katie doesn’t wait one second before accepting, getting in Caitlin’s arms. It’s definitively not the first hug they share, but not a lot felt so intimate. She feels Caitlin passes her hand around her, seeking to protect her from the cold. And just because she could, she closes the last centimeters between them, hiding her face in Caitlin’s neck.

“I’m going to miss you so much” Katie whispers.

It makes Caitlin smile, even if she’s sad herself. Katie is happy to be able to catch up with all of her brothers and sisters, that she can’t see enough to her liking. But she knew it would be the case when she joined Arsenal.

“I’ll miss you too” Caitlin sighs. “But we can call each other, right?”

“Of course.”

There is a moment of silence but it’s comfortable. Caitlin is bigger from only several centimeters and there isn’t a big difference of height between them. Which the Australian girl love.

“It’s snowing.”

Caitlin’s voice is only a whisper, like she’s scared to break the sweetness of the moment. Katie gently lifts her face from her hiding place to look at the sky and see that indeed, small flakes began to fall.

“It’s beautiful” Caitlin smiles softly.

“Not as much as you are” Katie smirks.

Caitlin is still smiling, more than used to Katie’s sweet words, and when she when she gently removes snowflakes stuck in Katie’s hair, she realizes that the other girl is looking at her. Her hand passes from her hair to her neck, and she feels the goosebumps on Katie’s skin.

She knows what would happen and her heart beats faster in anticipation. They wait for this moment way too much not to be sure about it. Katie leans in and this time, there is nothing to stop them. Nothing to come between them.

Their first kiss is sweet and soft and delicate, making both of them forget everything that isn’t related to the other. They could have been interrupted by someone, but it’s apparently too cold for anyone to come outside. Not that they mind.

Caitlin can’t help but smile against Katie lips. They are softer than she imagined and the kiss is addictive.

They never reappeared at the party, preferring to slip away at Katie’s to enjoy their last hours of the year together. More than a kiss will be exchanged that night and they passed once again the night enjoying each other company, deciding to sleep in the plane they both will take separately the day after.

[sirfrogsworth]

I keep wanting to write the ultimate post on autotune but I just never quite finish. I think there are 3 versions of almost-done autotune posts in my drafts.

So I'm going to leave out the technical and try to simplify my points.

Autotune is not the devil.

It is not good or bad.

It is just a tool.

It can be used well.

It can be used poorly.

And most importantly...

Autotune cannot make you sound good.

In fact, reverb and EQ can do more to make a bad singer sound okay than autotune.

All autotune does is correct pitch.

Singer sings the wrong note.

Autotune shifts that note.

Nothing about that makes you a better-sounding singer. It doesn't change your tone. It doesn't give you more range. It doesn't give you more power or dynamics. It doesn't give you vibrato.

It just makes you... in tune.

I have never heard anyone say of a great singer, "Wow, they are so in tune!" No one cries over a beautiful performance because the singer hit all the right notes.

And I guess if you are wildly out of tune, people might say you are a bad singer, but I would actually say that makes you an *inexperienced* singer. And whether you are good or bad cannot really be determined until the tuning issues are addressed. (Which most of the time is just a matter of training and practice.)

Good singers can sing the wrong note. It happens quite a lot, actually. Especially with material they aren't familiar with yet. In fact, every singer hits wrong notes. Even people with perfect pitch hit the wrong note. They just know immediately when it happens. This is because singing a note is a physical action and if your vocal mechanisms are not warmed up or you have a cold or the temperature is hot or cold, it is impossible to know if you are going to hit the perfect pitch at any given time.

This is why people warm up and rehearse and do scales before actually singing anything.

Autotune's main use is to fix good takes that have a few sour notes. That is what it is used for 95% of the time. Otherwise you are burning through expensive studio time doing take after take until you hit every single note at the perfect pitch. Sometimes a singer will do an AMAZEBALLS version of a take and they hit one sour note and instead of trying to create that lightning-in-a-bottle moment again, they just nudge the one note and save the performance.

You do not notice autotune the vast majority of the time. If it is used properly, autotune artifacts are completely inaudible.

In fact, I would argue that autotune makes inexperienced singers sound worse. That robotic sound you sometimes hear means the singers were very out of tune. The more out of tune you are, the worse autotune sounds. The more in tune you are, the more invisible it is.

There are very few people who are actually tone deaf. Which means everyone can be taught to sing in tune with decent consistency. And so if there is an instance where someone uses a lot of very obvious sounding autotune, it means they weren't interested in practicing. Or that they got tired of doing multiple takes and had better things to do.

And it isn't that they are a *bad* singer necessarily, but they are probably a lazy one.

Now, there is a different discussion about using autotune to "fix" notes that probably don't need to be fixed. Some variation in pitch can be a good thing. It can show emotion and give notes some spicy flavor. Sometimes singers will start out of tune and shift up to the right note. Like a vocal guitar bend. Being perfectly in tune can sound sterile. And sometimes overzealous producers will let their perfectionism get the better of them and make sure every single note is accurate to the cent and it brings a lifeless feel to the song.

When musicians complain about autotune, this is usually what they are talking about. Not some nepo baby with a record deal who couldn't be bothered to practice their song enough to get it mostly in tune when they sing it.

You should only use autotune to fix pitch when a note truly feels wrong. Like, it is so out of tune that it breaks your immersion.

Otherwise, leave it spicy.

[zot3-flopped]

Two months prior to its release, would-be doyens of Swift’s Tortured Poets Department have taken its barbed track listing very literally, leading to intense, often nefarious speculation regarding Swift’s six-year relationship with the British actor Joe Alwyn, which seemingly ended in early 2023.

The album’s title, revealed onstage at the Grammy awards, was quickly linked to a December, 2022 interview with Alwyn and Paul Mescal in which they revealed that Andrew Scott started their group chat, the Tortured Man Club. (“It hasn’t had much use recently,” Alwyn said: you wonder if it’s undergone a recent revival.) Swift revealed the leading track list a day later: My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys, So Long, London, I Can Do It With a Broken Heart, The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived, to name a few, sending fans wild with speculation.

Swift, obviously, has every right to sing about her relationships however she wants to (no apologies to Eamonn Holmes). But in the absence of any music, some fans have spread baseless, dangerous and even libellous allegations about Alwyn’s conduct (which, for obvious reasons, I can’t repeat).

Last month, a brief fan-shot video of them dining in a New Orleans restaurant in December, 2022 was recirculated online with AI-doctored audio that made it sound as though Alwyn is saying “you don’t get to tell me about sad,” a line printed on the back of one of the new album’s four physical editions.

When Swift recently told a crowd that she was “lonely” when writing her 2020 album Folklore – some of which was co-written with Alwyn during the pandemic, a lonely time for most – fans took that as further confirmation of their theories. A live medley of three songs that all appear to reference cheating threw petrol on the fire.

Swift could make this stop. She is no stranger to airing her displeasure with the likes of Ticketmaster, Scooter Braun, Spotify and Apple Music, and, occasionally, politicians. Before she released Speak Now (Taylor’s Version) last year, she gave a veiled speech at one Eras tour date effectively asking fans not to go after John Mayer, whom she dated when she was 19 and he was 32 and is understood to be the subject of that album’s Dear John.

“I am not putting this album out so you should feel the need to defend me on the internet against someone you think I wrote a song about 14m years ago when I was 19,” she said in Minneapolis.

But for whatever reason – and obviously, no member of the public has any idea what transpired between her and Alwyn so far – this time she has opted to stay quiet.

Establishing a baseline for conduct is neither commercially risky nor unprecedented: just last week, Ariana Grande said, after the release of her post-divorce album Eternal Sunshine: “Anyone that is sending hateful messages to the people in my life based on your interpretation of this album is not supporting me and is absolutely doing the polar opposite of what I would ever encourage”.

It feels like the endgame of a cat-and-mouse act that’s gone too far. Swift’s gestures towards meaning have led every single thing she does to be considered a kind of marketing, a clue to be solved. It leaves a superstar who’s usually hot on her messaging open to misinterpretation: hints about her personal life are turned by some fans into witch-hunts for anyone perceived to have wronged her; her current silence on politics allows politicians to invoke her name, from the New South Wales police commissioner quoting Swift’s anti-haters lines while defending police to Joe Biden joking that the matter of her apparently much sought-after endorsement is “classified” on Late Night With Seth Meyers.

When Swift made a blandly neutral handwritten post encouraging US citizens to register to vote on Super Tuesday, some fans speculated that her unusual left-leaning handwriting was the real indication of her loyalties – suggesting they’re so starved of substance that they’re reading into empty messages because of this dynamic she has established. (The more likely explanation is the insane way she holds a pen.)

For Swift to only direct fans as to her wishes when it suits her, it weakens her status as a truth-teller. If the comparisons with Dickinson mean anything, she might remember that nothing in the world has as much power as a word feels like the endgame of a cat-and-mouse act that’s gone too far.

[jazminrhode1]

Could you please do headcanons of Chris or Matt dating a singer!reader?😭 (fem or gn)

LOVEEE YOUR STORIES BTW😻😻

Superstar Matt Sturniolo x Reader Headcanons

Fans would catch him in the crowd signing at the top of his lungs and recording you with the biggest smile on his face.

He would be the subject of every single one of your love songs and he would love it so much. There would definitely be a slow song that makes his eyes water every time he hears it.

He would be so supportive. He’d wear your merch, repost your announcements, repost fan vids of you on tour, and do silly lipsync tiktoks with his brother to promote your music.

When you were performing at an awards show, the camera would pan to him and he would be singing his heart out and dancing along.

When you won an award, he'd give you a hug and kiss (rare affection) and help you up the stairs to the stage to make sure you didn't fall. When you thank him in your speech, he'd have to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from crying.

There would be edits all over tiktok of you both cut to one of your songs and he would like every single one of them.

He would tell you how proud he was of you every night he was on tour and, if he wasn’t there, he’d send you a text or a voice note to let you know.

When it was time for you to perform, Matt would walk with you to the stage and tell you how amazing you were going to be and how proud he was of you. He would take your phone and kiss you right before you went on.

He would become friends with your band, background singers, tour crew, etc.

He would love sitting in the car with you as you played him your new music. He would get so hype and be so so so supportive.

He would join you on tour any chance that he got and Laura would help them to plan their tour dates around yours so he could be in the same city as often as possible.

He would drive you to the studio any time of day and stay with you even if the session went all night. He would make sure you had food and water and have the biggest smile on his face because he would be so proud of you.

He would hype up your album/single when it was released without you even asking.

He would send you pictures of people in your merch, your album any time he saw it and your billboards whenever he drove past one to show you how proud he was.

Matt, Nick and Chris would do goofy little lipsyncs to your music for tiktok anytime you released new music.

Whenever fans saw you both out and about, he would offer to take pictures of them and you. He would never make you feel like it was a burden and he would be endlessly supportive.

He would love coming on the road with you even if it mean you’d need to cram into a bunk. He’d just love being with you no matter the circumstances.

He would surprise you on tour when you were feeling overwhelmed even if it meant he could only stay for a few hours. He’d do all he can to make you feel better before he had to leave.

He would want to watch your whole show but, make sure to run backstage to meet you when you got off stage with a hug and a kiss and a spiel of how proud he was.

No matter where you were, he would alway reach for your hand. In crowds, he keep an arm around you wait to make sure he can protect you from the chaos and keep you safe.

On tour he would do all he can to make your hotel room feel like home and he would also plan cute little dates in every city you were in so he could spend some 1:1 time with you.

Whenever he was asked about you in an interview or by a fan, he’d always say “I love her so much, she’s doing an amazing job. I’m just so proud of her” with the biggest smile on his face.

He would find any way that he could to bring you up in conversation in a car video of a podcast.

He would always send you the sweetest voice messages and you might even find a way to include one in one of your songs.

Matt would be in the backstage footage of your tour that your post to IG, tiktok or YouTube. He would be smiling at you in awe, bringing your bands/team coffee, joking with your drummer, holding the door open for your backup singers, helping you do up your shoe, carrying you when you feet hurt.

Of course, Nick and Chris would be super supportive as well. They’d definitely be in the crowd with Matt signing at the top of their lungs.

[idontknowanametouse]

Luffy's siblings headcanons (that means Ace, Sabo and Uta. Will leave the Shuggy to another post)

CW/TW: mentions of eating disorders, self-loathing and classism

Ace

Is autistic and has ADHD. Absolutely no idea of social clues or rules in general. Very sensitive to rejection and olphative stim. Loves running around and uses his devil fruit powers for visual stim. Has very frequent violent meltdowns, suffered with ableism violence because of it in both childhood and adulthood. Sarcasm king, though he doesn't actually get it himself. Never makes eye contact. Masks a lot.

Has bipolar disorder. It started after Sabo's death and only gotten worse through the years as he refused to get help. Somedays he'll just not leave his bed and wonder why he exists. However, other days, he is as sparkling as a flame and can't stop running around. Even in depressed days, as very few of them are completely debilitating, he tries to keep up his smile, but it's possible to see there's something wrong.

He is very tall and has very defined muscles, although they are not big (he's kind of thin). Both portuguese and multiracial brazillian ascendence, he has dark skin and freckles all over his body. Has lots of scars, although most of them aren't visible.

Trans and gay. Found out the trans thing after he met Sabo and Luffy and started feeling gender envy. They said they didn't feel like boys, but Ace explained he envied the fact that everyone would think of them as boys just by looking at them. Transitioned when he left Fusha Island, as he felt really scared before to come out to other people. Never had a sexuality question, he likes guys and that's it. Dating Yamato on distance.

Eats almost as much as Luffy, which is quite an accomplishment, and most of it goes to his muscles. If you look just at his torso, you'll get pretty concerned about his health, but his muscles prove that he's just really thin naturally.

Fave colors are orange and red. He puts them in every single piece of stuff he's ever owned.

Doesn't swear around strangers, but does a lot around family and friends. He is, in fact, known between them for being very rude sometimes.

Loves to hug. Hugs literally all the people he sees. He's quite touch starved.

Calls the Straw Hat pirates and the revolutionaries every week. Now, he knows everything about the revolutionary members and their personal stuff (Sabo is quite a gossip girl).

Regularly visits Wano to see Otama. She loves him and is always wanting to talk to him about literally every single detail about her day-to-day life, and he'll always listen to her.

Likes bubblegum pop music (Kate Perry fan) and also really sad japanese songs like "My R" or "Hated by life itself".

Although he doesn't change much on his clothes publically, he absolutely LOVES trying gnc styles in private. Specially likes corsets and make up. As a kid, he pretended he didn't have any interest on it so others could see him as a boy, but he's always liked it (one of the few times being seen as a girl made him happy).

Very scared of abandonment. He hates the thought of being alone, and after Marineford, it intensified as he remembered the feeling of being completely alone while being taken to his execution.

Sings very well, but doesn't show it normally. Very scared of what people might think. He plays some guitar and has composed a few songs, but nobody can know.

Although he is very ashamed of wearing make up, he sometimes shows it to Marco, as he got caught one day trying it and Marco insisted on him not giving up on it cuz hes actually pretty good at it.

Will sometimes shout out loud just cause he can. He likes the sound and the feeling of it and also jump scaring people.

Very protective of lil siblings, can and will bite you (and burn you) if you mess with them.

Sabo

Is autistic and has short term memory loss issues. "Fuck social rules". Hates any kind of touch, it feels icky. Is always moving so he can stim with literally anything he got on his hands, be it a paper clip or a gun. Only drinks milk and only eats plain bread. Masked a lot in childhood, stopped after losing his memory. Has those big bug autism eyes. Eye contact very intense. Has very frequent shutdowns.

Due to the whole "being hit by a canon ball in the head" thing, he is blind and deaf in the left side. Has a big burn scar that covers almost all of the left side on his face/scalp. He also got brain damage, which paralized his left side (he constantly uses his pipe as a cane) and also worsened his thought line, as he is now uncapable of thinking beyond the short term consequences of his actions. He also has hallucinations during hard moments.

Very tall and thin, due to always forgeting to eat (short term memory loss + autism consequence). Has albinism, his hair is very light, almost white, and eyes are a very clear tone of blue. Got big dark circles due to not sleeping well at all.

Nonbinary boy and asexual. They always thought that the whole gender thing was dumb, and even more after meeting Ace and Luffy. After they lost their memory, when they got their gender asked, they'd just answer "no". Found out they were asexual after started a relationship with Koala, as she asked if they wanted to have sex and they said "no, why would I want that? Isn't that a thing people just do to have children?"

Everyone needs to remind him when to eat, or else he'll starve. Absolutely can't feel when his stomach is craving for food. One of the reasons they are so thin, beyond genetics.

Favorite colors are blue and purple. When he introduces himself, it's basically "I'm Sabo. I use he/they. I'm a revolutionary. My favorite colors are blue and purple."

The one who swears the most in the army. Also screams a lot, and they even don't realize it.

Some of the hallucinations include his abusive household. These times, he goes to Dragon for comfort.

Keeps contact with Robin every week. Whenever he calls the straw hats, he asks Luffy to bring her so they can gossip. He now knows everything the straw hats do. He and Luffy bully Ace for being the only one of them that isn't asexual.

Loves goth and punk music, if in modern scenario, would always be with phones on their ear.

Uses punk-style clothes and has lots of piercings through his body (amazing idea from @where-does-the-heart-lie), got some tattoos too.

Is very scared of the dark. He just is. Always needs a little lamp with him so he doesn't stay the whole night awake.

Knew how to play piano as a kid due to his parents. Now, he hates it. Only played ONCE because of a disguise, and everyone who was there still begs for him to play again because he was really good at it, but he refuses.

Will let Koala try some experimental make-up on them, but nobody can touch their hair.

Always waving back and forth so they can keep stimming all the time.

Has killed and will kill for the people he loves. Do not try him.

Uta

Got ADD and BPD. Can't pay attention to shit to save her life, does not give a fuck about rules. Got very complicated familial relationships, and often feels guilty for her swings, even when others reassure her that it's ok. Variates very quicky between mania and depression and often deals with suicidal ideation. These times, she looks for comfort in her family.

Is kind of small, as she is both very thin and and short. Is black and has her hair in locs, dyed half red and half white. Actually wears purple contacts for her shows.

Transfem and bisexual. Found out transness in childhood and sexuality in teen years. Many of her songs are for queer awareness and acceptance. Basically the main reason xenopronouns and xenogender are known globally, as she herself uses she/they/purple/red/cute/song/art.

Has troubles with eating disorders. It was worse when she started her carrier, but it still affects her a lot, one of the reasons she is so small. Can eat more when she is with her family, but it's still way too small. However, she did stop vomit-inducing herself, which is something she reminds and praises herself for everyday.

Their favorite color is purple, but loves pink, too.

Red never swears in public as it might affect reds image, but, in private, does it a lot. And also yells.

Purple has lots of plushies and toys from purples childhood that purple keeps. They help purple on calming down, specially before and after shows.

Is in absolute schock after cute found out cutes dad was in a relationship with Buggy, Crocodile and Mihawk. But at least cute got a friend, Perona, with all of that. They gossip basically everyday and both agree their dads' situation is weird as fuck.

Although song is an idol, song likes all type of music. Songs whole playlist is more than 200 hours long.

Art only likes the clothes art wears in shows, so art keeps wearing them everyday (only changes them for pajamas to sleep).

Gets scared very easily by daily stuff (if you whisper "boo" at her ear she will faint) but can watch all horror movies ever and not feel a thing.

Liked sewing as a kid, but due to losing practice they're now ashamed of it cuz they think it looks bad. Will only repair a few pajamas.

The kind of child to experiment make up on everyone. LITERALLY EVERYONE. And do their hair as a bonus.

Due to being scared when purple first entered the music industry, purple started skin picking as an unhealthy stim, but is now unlearning it and trying to see which healthy stims purple likes the most.

Killed a guy once cuz he talked shit about her bro (Luffy). Don't say anything about him, for your own good.