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plutoenjoyer · 3 months ago

Text

jooyeon — sleepyhead

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

genre: fluff 𓇬 wc: 1.7k

tags: female reader, established relationship, making out, napping, playful banter, not proofread as usual

warnings: none

summary: you stay late with jooyeon at the studio, and you can't help that he's so fun to mess with (lovingly).

notes: this was meant to be a part of the "jooyeon randomly biting you" wip but it ended up getting too long and becoming its own thing. now with 100x more reader being cheeky and him being an absolute sucker for it!

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

jooyeon invites you to the studio with him if he plans to do some solo practice. it's nice to have some company while he strums away at his instrument for hours, and of course, you don't mind one bit. it's already hard enough to find time to meet with both of your busy schedules, so you'll take any moment of comfortable, quality alone time with him. not only that, it really is a treat to get to see him practice. you think his voice is beautiful, and the gentle lull of his instrument (today, he felt like acoustic guitar) almost always put you to sleep while you're sitting in the corner of the room with his jacket over you like a blanket. it's like being gently guided into a deep sleep, and by god you needed it considering how overworked you were almost all the time. it's warm and safe. you're out in no time.

jooyeon's just about to wrap up when he checks the time. 11 pm. he did not mean to go this late. the other members had waved a goodbye to him what feels like just a moment ago, but in reality it was about two hours. and then he remembers, oh yeah my girlfriend is here, and he's about to ask you if you're ready to head out when he sees your eyes shut, slumped peacefully against the wall.

he feels bad that he made you sit and wait so long. truthfully, he was just so into an idea for a potential song that he lost track of time. he very gently puts the guitar back into the case and gets up, approaching your sleeping figure. he tries his best, for once in his life, to be quiet so he doesn't disturb you. he crouches down onto his knees, resting his cheek against his arms as he looks at you. if anyone were to walk by and see his face they could tell just how in love he was with you.

god, you're pretty. too pretty, the thinks to himself as he watches the way your soft lips are slightly parted as you breathe. he never thought in his twenty two years of life he'd ever care about such a thing but here he was, head over heels for a girl who can't stop biting him.

(and he wonders how you're even able to sleep in such an uncomfortable position. doesn't that hurt your neck?)

gently he taps your arm, and when you don't wake up he grabs your wrist and shakes it a little harder. you were tired, but not tired enough to be able to sleep through that. soon enough you were trying to blink the moisture back into your eyes after having such a good nap.

you slur your words with a small groan of displeasure, "mmn ... joo, are you done ... ?"

he hums in agreement, "mhm, yeah. i'm sorry it took so long." he smiles a bit at how your hair is messed up on one side as you squint at him, trying to readjust to the light.

it would be pretty easy to just stand up right now and grab your things so you both could go home. your bag is right there. but instead, the menace that you are, decide to wrap yourself up tighter in jooyeon's jacket and rest your head back against the wall. you catch the faint smell of his cologne on the jacket as you snuggle into it again.

he looks at you with an unamused pout. "hey."

"just ... mmmfive more minutes ..."

"god, and i'm the sleepyhead?" he scoffs at you, "we gotta go, y'know."

bantering with him was starting to wake you up but you were weirdly comfortable in a way, and taking the fact that you also liked to cause problems for him into consideration, still didn't get up. "you're just mad i napped without you." you don't hide your languid smile.

he decides to convince you with a cheeky remark, "i'll give you a reward if you get up."

"like what?"

"hmm ... how about a kiss?" he slightly sticks out his tongue, trying to give you a playfully flirty expression. his eyebrow raises at you suggestively.

silence. you open your eyes solely to give him a look of disinterest and slight disapproval.

"you could at least go along with it," he whines. but truthfully, he knew that wouldn't work. he's already onto his next mode of convincing. what's the next key to your heart if not for him?

"we can make instant noodles if we get back in time before bed."

by now you're fully awake and shoot him a scrutinizing squint from your unmoving position against the wall. "the buldak or the shin ramyun? choose wisely."

"hmmm ... buldak."

this sparks your interest. "good choice," your tone reflects your immediate approval, "okay, just help me up first," you make grabby hands at him to signal for him to come closer and pull you up. he rolls his eyes at your enthusiasm for the food rather than his affection, yet even if you act silly and intentionally stubborn he still does everything you ask him to just to make you happy.

and happy you are, because he falls right into your trap. before he can lift you up, you grab him by the arms with unexpected force and he almost falls on top of you if not for his quick reflexes. he has both hands on the arm rests of the chair that you're in, hovering above you just inches away from your face. he looks at you in surprise as the adrenaline from the reflexes kicks in.

you grin. "i lied, i want the kiss." you squeeze your eyes shut and purse your lips into a comedic duck-lipped, kissy face. it doesn't last long because after you feel nothing, your eyes flutter open, already giggling at how dumb and annoying you're acting. he looks like he cannot fathom how you're acting right now.

you think he's not going to do it and begin to shift your body up and out of the seat, but you're stopped half way.

"you are so frustrating, you know that," he reprimands you with a slight growl before leaning down and pressing his lips against yours. it's clear he savors the feeling despite how he feigns annoyance. you can't ever let him know he caught you by surprise and how your stomach does a flip, because he would never let you live it down.

after a moment you regain your composure (the best you can mid kiss), exceedingly satisfied with how quickly he bends to your will. you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him further into you, indulging in the feeling of his slightly chapped lips against yours. he has to steady himself by pressing his knee into the seat, right between your legs and he makes a little noise into your mouth out of surprise. you just can't help yourself if he's going to be that cute. you know that he knows this, and how that aggravates him as someone who claims to be the epitome of manliness.

what was supposed to be a quick peck turns into something more—suddenly he is hungrier for your taste after being provoked so much, turning it into an open mouthed kiss and then a slow, heated make-out session on the well worn armchair of the studio. it's hot. his breath mingles with yours. despite your consistent teasing you are more than willing to melt into his touch. your heart races at the feeling of him searching, wanting more from the heat of your mouth at such a slow and sleepy pace. you quickly feel your face heating up, following his move and willing to give him whatever he wanted from your lips. your hands roam around the expanse of his back and it feels like this moment could last forever.

as soon as you part you look at his love-stricken expression, eyes half-lidded and giving you a crooked smile as he presses his forehead into yours, breathing heavy. his lips are little swollen and pink in the aftermath. you can't help yourself from smiling too, gently running your hands through his hair and twirling bits into your fingers with a satisfied hum. your first thought was that he was so beautiful, and so, so sweet. being with him was thrilling, even if you were doing something as silly as making out like teenagers skipping class.

you're looking at his face like this is the last day you'll ever see it, just admiring how gorgeous he is. he giggles and you feel the faint breath on your cheek. "what?" he gives you a toothy grin, his voice low and raspy and delirious as if he was drunk on your taste alone.

your voice comes out small yet so in love, "'ts nothing. i just like you." which is just scratching the surface of how much you really felt about him.

he looks deep into your eyes, roaming throughout the specks of light that swim through your irises, gives you one last quick peck. "i like you too."

you smile. you know that no matter how silly or stubborn you are he would always be by your side. even when you refuse to get up and he has to coerce you to, even when you spontaneously can't get your hands off each other. you realize the mushy feelings that are bubbling in your throat and threaten to come out as happy tears. in order to break the tension, you joke, "can we still make instant noodles?"

and he laughs, and you feel the warm vibrations against your body, "yes. we can still make the noodles. promise no veggies though."

finally, the two of you get up from the armchair and he's cheesy about it. he grabs your hand, pulls you up into him and spins you. you're always ready to be silly and sappy with him, so you make sure to make a show out of it, all while snickering about how gross it all is. and finally, you make your way home. you think about how good the ramen is going to be. you think about how good it feels, right now, to walk home with him, hand in hand in the cold air of night.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

masterlist | request rules | inbox

thank you for reading! <3

#just some extra cheesy sappy fluff #hopefully reader wasnt too much in this fic i lowkey think i give her too much personality sometimes LOLL #the ramen is based off of my own experience theres probably way more popular ramen in KR ???#xdinary heroes imagines #xdh imagines #xdinary heroes x reader #xdh x reader #fluff #making out #jooyeon x reader #jooyeon imagines #— plutoenjoyer 𓇬

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hatsukeii · 5 months ago

Note

I think I'll be singing Velvet Ring on a microphone beaded with 'ex lovers' stickers and 'longing looks' beads. I've heard that Ushijima likes my music quite a bit~

too easy. the band you’ve joined is…

exes in my phone book / timeskip!ushijima wakatoshi x reader

genre(s): ex lovers to something?? something i guess?? pining, reminiscing, nostalgia fic tbh but ANGST ANGSTY ANGST WOO interpret the ending as you like because i kept it open for a reason

warning(s): slightly dysfunctional relationship dynamics kinda, lowkey suggestive at points, ushiwaka and reader were just young and stupid and in love but they couldn't seem to navigate it yknow, everything is also like somewhat/pretty ambiguous until the end but that's just how i like it

wc: ~1.7k

your first gig is… at a concert with your ex?!?!

setlist:

🎵velvet rings, big thief

🎵mayonaise, the smashing pumpkins

🎵black star, radiohead

There is a girl on a stage, who strums a pick through the strings of her acoustic guitar. A girl, whose lips hover just above the microphone that sits in a bracket, sighing into the cool metal for a final song. The people beside you have settled down, cheers and jumps reduced to swaying and mumbling.

You've been waiting for this song, haven't you?

The song strikes the ears first. The girl on stage, illuminated by a cone of light from above, sings of a night, thicker than a smoky fume. You mouth along to the lyrics, and your mind wanders to a place where your lungs are bloated, too full to carry anything more. A night beneath a buzzing streetlight, gravel that rolls and scrapes under the sweeping wind, ants that crawl onto the toecaps, under the soles, along the platforms of your unmoving shoes. A night of final breaths, and final words, and final sorrows. You're looking at the ground, your shadow muddied with the figure of another. You don't think he stares back at you. The ants keep crawling. They don't stop, even as you pivot away and leave your heart buried in the ground. The streetlight doesn't reach it again, but maybe it reaches his, still.

The faces around you hum along to a sequence, sway with the velvety strums of the girl's guitar, hold others tight against themselves. You stand alone amongst the crowd. You move when the rest of them will you to, only ever mouth to the lyrics, hold your hands close to your chest. You fear that your voice will give out if you try anything more.

"She's a beautiful performer, isn't she?"

The crowd does not shift their attention from the girl on the stage, so neither do you. She sings in gentle syllables of love, her heart pours out of her mouth. She longs for some fictitious persona, Ben, as her fingers play at the guitar like tugging the strings of a puppet. When you open your mouth, your heart is not there.

"She is. She really is." You respond to nothing but a sultry voice that finds its way into your ear canals.

The girl sings of a smoking gun, smoke that fizzles out from the barrel into night air, a bullet that falters at the end of its path to nothing in particular, a love that, for many nights before this, has begun to run dry. It's agonising, taunting, hopeful. It dies out in unanswered phone calls, drafted emails, text messages left unsent, collecting dust in a note-taking application. Words that ask a million questions.

Could we keep this going?

Is this really for the better?

Can't we try?

Why won't you just let me try?

"Why aren't you singing? It's the last song." The voice is anomalous amongst the crowd's united silence, his question stands out from those unsaid. He is too curious, yet for some selfish, twisted reason, you wish to indulge yourself. Wallow in sorrow. Take somebody else's beating heart to replace your own, that you buried beneath asphalt on a winter night of unasked questions turned two years of unspoken longing.

"For the same reason that you aren't, I'd assume." You silently hope he asks you for more.

The person huffs out a sigh, a short sigh that one lets out when they smile in defeat and surrender. He's close, his arm touching your own when he moves side to side with the crowd. His movement wills you to sway along. The girl on the stage sings of a gentle love, thick like a velvet ring. All encompassing, all powerful.

“Well, I once knew a person who loved this song.” He goes on. You stay silent, ears trained onto the words that paint golden silk and shimmering mist into the concert hall. A portrait of love that you have prayed to see once again, just out of grasp, but real enough to graze your fingers over. It sinks into your fingertips, takes you to a place where your hands could draw lines into tanned skin, hold onto a pair of strong arms, clasp together behind his broad shoulders. Beneath your feet, it travels to your ankles, wraps around your thighs, envelops you in a shroud of warmth. It comes in the form of his head laid in your lap after a long day, I love you mumbled into the flesh of your stomach in shaky sighs, calluses that roam every spot of skin on your body.

"Love really is a gentle thing, isn't it?" The lyrics are spoken out of your mouth naturally, like water running downstream in a creek. The person stays silent, you do the same. The girl's singing pierces through your ears to your throat, clawing at it as if to break it open and rescue something. He speaks before something can escape you.

"I haven't spoken to them since I left. Love is anything but gentle."

You wince, the girl's singing finally ripping through your windpipe. It doesn't stop there, to your surprise. It drills through to its final destination, and you grab the fabric of your shirt around your heart. You don't fully know the answer to your own question, but you believe in his despair. If love truly is gentle, it would have exited your chest when you screamed your throat hoarse for him to stay. It would have eased the pain, somehow. It would have sent your heart out to him even as he stood amongst giants, leagues greater than you. It would have sewn together your words, strung them into poems beautiful enough for him to say yes, I'll stay. I'll stay if you want, and I'll go if you want. Instead, you watch him on television every night, highlight reels, live volleyball matches. He left. You did not want him to.

"I haven't spoken to him since either. But I still think love is gentle. The painful kind."

The final chords of the song round off the set. The girl bows, and exits stage left. The crowd begins to loosen, yet the person's arm remains beside yours.

"Do you ever miss it?"

His number is still in your contacts. You struggle every night to hold off on pressing it. Your heart aches, and lights come on. You stare at an empty stage, and you envision yourself on it. Thousands of eyes watch you sing the song, yet you search the crowd for one pair only. You sing the words that you had once shown your love, a love that found you despite his duties, regardless of his glory, amidst his passion. You sing like you are begging for him to see you through the television, and turn around so the name Ushijima bares his face to you instead of his back. You cry out a story of a dying love, hanging onto frayed strings of memories and fear. The singing contorts into screaming at an empty crowd, as if your resolve could make Ushijima Wakatoshi find you again. You pretend to be his hands, hold yourself in your sleep. You hear his voice in your bed, on the streets, in front of you, behind you, beside you, even right here. You will never learn the lips of anyone else, not after his have taken you for himself. They feel like poison now, sinking into your veins from every part of your body that you inhibit. A poison that forces him into every corner of your life, and you are a fool enough to almost see him there.

"I want it gone, and I miss it all the same." You're crying now, and even your tears remind you of the love that taught you of its cruelty. You imagine a day when you wear another's ring on your finger, only to look up and see a blank face. There is no other.

"I think you should give him a call."

"I can't. I'd just hold him back."

"That's not true." His voice cracks, and his rebuttal is desperate, almost apologetic.

You turn to bid him farewell.

Ushijima is almost no different from how he was two years ago. But he's a little older now, a little taller too. His hair is the same olive green that used to run smooth between the webs of your hands. His voice is deep, rounder than it once was when he used to nip your earlobe and mutter professions of his love into your ear. You stare, but you don't know that he has been staring since halfway through the concert. You aren't seeing him through a television, he is no longer clad in a Schweiden Adlers jersey, his last name bears no weight here, in the space between the two of you. The days, and months, and years spent together come rushing into your head. A kiss on the forehead before separation, two pairs of feet running in wet sand that crumbles beneath their weight, sharing lunches in the silence of school rooftops, lips roaming every inch of each other on nights of longing. You, and Ushijima, and the pleads that lose their bodies when they fall back from your mouths and into your chests.

"Please, give me a call. Or a text. Or an email, I don't care. Just anything. I'm sorry."

"Goodbye, Ushijima."

You turn to leave, but you pull your phone out of your pocket to stare at his name in your contacts.

Ushijima watches your shrinking figure, all of his love trailing behind you, fading into smoke.

Your finger hovers above the red button that could end it all.

He can't seem to move, rooted into the ground of the now mostly empty concert hall. You are slipping away again, and he has learned from his mistake. He questions whether he's learned it a bit too late.

You turn off your phone, and shove it back into your pocket. He receives a text.

"I just want to take you home again."

author's note:

my sister gave me this idea a while ago and i just knew i had to make it so angsty sorry LOL she wanted a fluff ending but im the one with the document open so i can do what i WANT!! no i am actually very proud of this piece though and idk if this will get ANY exposure or interactions but just know that i really really loved writing this one

i also fear i lowkey forgot about longing looks and just went straight for longing…

also! song lyric references! if you catch them i'll give you a big fat kiss i love my music so much

anyways tags!!

@staraxiaa @catsoupki @chuuya-brainrot @hiraethwa @fiannee @bailey-reeds @4ngelfries @akaakeis @wyrcan @kuroppiii @zzwon

interested in joining a band? come on over to the build-a-band 900 !!

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #ushijima x reader #ushijima wakatoshi #ushiwaka x reader #haikyuu ushijima #ushijima angst #haikyuu timeskip #hq timeskip #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #hq ushiwaka #hq ushijima #haikyuu x you #divs by roseraris

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distressxox · 10 months ago

Text

Headcanons: The Ghouls first meeting / Developing a crush on you

The Ghoulettes + Mountain version here

Dewdrop

• Standoff-ish, is feisty with you at first

• Copia has to remind him to be nice to you since you're still new to the ministry.

• Has a lot of trust issues, but you are patient with him.

• You always greet him with a smile and he just sneers at you. But that doesn't stop you from making an effort for friendship

• One day you do something extra thoughtful and you mend the neck of his favorite guitar when he broke it in a fit of rage. He. Was. Speechless.

• "You did this? But, I've been such an ass to you..." "It's no problem, I know how much it meant"

• His feelings for you did a complete 180. He didn't make any rude face expressions when you smiled at him, he could only look away an blush. Other times he'd just wave.

• His tail wags when he sees you despite his face holding no expression. He has to tuck it in his trousers it gets so bad.

• You complement his long hair and he let's you touch it. His face has never been so red when you leaned closer to run your fingers through it.

• "Fuck, I'm such a pathetic loser. (Reader) would never think of me that way"

• He gnaws at his claws while daydreaming about you

Aether

• Warm and welcoming when you first meet

• Instantly becomes friends with you, he's definitely one of the more extroverted ghouls from the rest of the group.

• Finally, he has a work buddy. It's a little exhausting being Copias right-hand ghoul.

• Enjoys your company so much that he asks you to help out with more things around the ministry

• At first he thought he'd only see you as a good friend. But one day he hears you humming one of his favorite songs while in the library. He stays extra silent so you don't know he's there. Fell for you so hard you could compare it to falling down the steps.

• His pointed ears perk up everytime he hears you, smells you, hell, even by looking at you.

• Copia ships you two

• You gave him a little peck on the cheek when he bought you your favorite food while working. He left your office with the widest grin the world had ever seen.

• Never washed his cheek again until Cumulus had to basically hose his face down.

• Puffs his chest out to look more macho, always loves it when you complement his strength.

Rain

• Introverted. A ghoul of few words. Doesn't say anything when you first meet, only nods his head.

• As soon as you talk to him, he averts his eyes and keeps conversations short.

• You understand that he doesn't like talking, so you try communicating without words before he's comfortable enough talking to you.

• Seeing him while in a meeting, your eyes met. He was about to look away but you slip him a note from under the table.

• 'hiii, how r u?'

• His heart skips a beat, but he gives you a thumbs up.

• First it was notes, then it was hand gestures and face expressions. Finally, you two started having conversations

• He becomes more confident after you two became friends. Spoke up and had more faith in himself.

• He started crushing when you cared enough to slip him that note.

• Writes songs about you but hides them in his acoustic guitar. (Yes he plays bass, but likes to play acoustic guitars from time to time)

• He LOVES your eyes, he feels enraptured in your gaze.

Swiss

• Flirty, very flirty

• You can only laugh at his corny pick up lines. That satisfies him enough to know that you have a good sense of humor

• Is naturally very talkative, so it's easy to have conversations with him.

• Continues with using pickup lines on you, honestly he's never had anyone to use them on besides some of his fellow ghouls.

• Until the day comes when you flirt back with him. Satan, that awoke something in him.

• Also, he's very touchy, so he constantly wraps his arms around you and rests his head on your shoulder.

• You think nothing of it since you've seen him do the same with Dewdrop and Phantom. But he's definitely doing it just so the other Ghouls know you're his.

• Loves to show his teeth off for you, you've nicknamed him "Biggy Smiles"

• Quietly purrs when he hears you talk

• The ghouls know how badly he wants you, he talks about you nonstop.

• This man is so down bad. Catch him making up scenarios about you and him. Sounds familiar doesn't it?

• Likes to watch you work from afar, he doesn't want to make his love for you too obvious just yet

Phantom

• Ah yes, the new guy.

• You were there when he was summoned from the depths of hell.

• The first person he laid eyes on was not Papa, but you. You intrigued him in a way no other human has.

• You were assigned to teach him all of his tasks, introducing him to the other ghouls, and to fit him for his Ritual/concert clothing.

• He is very playful with you, he treats you like a fellow ghoul.

• Follows you around like a lost puppy, still doesn't feel like he fits in. You tell him that he's being silly and that the other Ghouls like him despite what he thinks.

• Well, he also just wants to be with you. He's very protective when he's around you, especially with the more flirty ghouls sneaking glances at you now and again.

• He likes his ghoul friends, but will fight for you if they even think of making an advance towards you.

• He's also a flirt, will tease you when you're working. It's worse when it's at a ritual and he sees you in the front of the crowd. He puts his guitar his shoulder, kneels down, and stares at you while smirking.

#the band ghost #nameless ghouls #namelessghouls x reader #dewdrop ghoul #rain ghoul #swiss ghoul #aether ghoul #phantom ghoul #nameless ghouls x reader

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cyberl6ve · 7 months ago

Text

𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓! 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒 — 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄

CHECK 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 FOR MORE!! (SFW!!)

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

── .✦ : The Sturniolo triplets had bought out a zoo for a day. Around the campfire, Chris strummed his guitar and serenaded Y/N with "Can't Help Falling in Love" while Matt and Nick were away. It was a moment of shy confession and budding romance, captured under the stars.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ : 𝐀𝐬 𝐍𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐚 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬, I couldn't help but feel a flutter of anticipation. The night sky was clear and the sound of Chris's guitar filled the air.

“We'll be back soon,” Nick assured me with a smile before he and Matt disappeared into the darkness.

I turned my attention to Chris, his nimble fingers skillfully tuning the acoustic guitar that he'd apparently retrieved from somewhere. As he strummed a few experimental chords, I couldn't help but ask, ��Where did you get that from?” I chuckled.

Chris looked up at me with a grin, his fingers still busy tweaking the guitar's tuning. He gestured vaguely over his shoulder, replying, “It was somewhere over there.”He chuckled at my wide-eyed expression, the sound of the strings twanging softly in the night air.

I couldn't help but laugh at the casual way he dismissed my question. “Over there” wasn't exactly a precise answer, but it was typical Chris— always doing his own thing, effortlessly cool.

As he continued to tune the guitar, I found myself watching his fingers, the way they moved over the instrument with practiced ease.

The flickering firelight cast shadows on his face, accentuating the sharp angles of his jaw and the dark sweep of his eyelashes.

He struck a chord, the sound of it soft yet clear in the quiet of the night. He looked up and caught me staring, a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“See something you like?” he teased, his eyes glittering with amusement. I quickly looked away, feeling my cheeks grow warm.

I hadn't meant to be caught staring, but there was something about him in this moment— the way he seemed so at ease with the guitar, his easy confidenc— that was disarmingly attractive.

I tried to salvage my dignity, replying with a dismissive shrug, “I was just trying to see if you can actually play.”

His response was a low, rumbling chuckle that sent a shiver down my spine. “Come here and find out,” he offered, patting the seat beside him.

Reluctantly, I made my way over to where he sat and lowered myself into the seat. He shifted the guitar in his lap, his knee brushing against mine. There was something strangely intimate about being this close to him, his body heat mingling with my own.

He looked at me, his expression a mix of challenge and amusement. “What do you want to hear?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

I found myself tongue-tied for a moment, his gaze making it difficult to concentrate. “U-um... anything,” I managed to say, my voice a little breathless.

Chris settled the guitar onto his lap, his fingers beginning to glide over the strings in a gentle melody. As the opening chords echoed around the campsite, he cleared his throat softly and began to sing.

“Wise men say... only fools rush in...”

The lyrics wove a spell around us, his voice, usually used for banter and laughter, suddenly soft and tender. The song continued, his eyes never leaving mine.

“But I can't help falling in love with you.”

I couldn't help but let a small smile tug at the corners of my mouth. His voice, while usually used for jest and joking, had taken on a new tone— a soft, tender lilt that sent a flutter through my heart.

The fire crackled quietly in the background, the sounds of the night melting away as I was completely enthralled by his singing. The lyrics were about love, yes, but in this moment, they seemed to be about something else entirely— unvoiced feelings and unspoken hopes.

Chris continued to sing, his eyes now tracing the lines of my face, his voice lowering to a softer note as he strummed the guitar.

“Shall I stay?”

The words hung in the air, each syllable carrying a weight I'd never noticed before. The firelight cast a warm glow over everything, the shadows playing across his face as his lips shaped the lyrics.

“Would it be a sin”

The guitar strings thrummed under his fingers, and it was as if with each chord, he was pulling me in further, his voice wrapping around me like a caress.

“If I can't help falling in love with you...”

His gaze was unwavering, pinning me in place as the final notes of the song seemed to linger in the air.

Chris's voice was now barely above a whisper, the words more of a confession than a song.

“Take my hand... take my whole life, too.”

His voice seemed fraught with an odd vulnerability, a vulnerability I'd never seen before. He continued to look at me, his gaze almost a plea.

“For I can't help falling in love with you,”

The last word, “you”, was whispered so quietly, it was barely audible. It sounded like a secret, something only meant for me to hear.

He stared straight at me, his gaze so intense, it was like he was trying to tell me something without quite saying the words aloud.

The silence that followed was deafening. My heart was pounding in my chest, the air practically thrumming with tension. The song had been so intimate, so filled with a quiet intensity, that it felt like a silent conversation that went beyond words.

Chris was still looking at me, his expression a mix of determination and vulnerability. The firelight played across his features, giving the moment a dreamlike quality.

A sudden, intense urge compelled me to reach out, my fingers brushing lightly against his cheek. He didn't startle; in fact, he almost seemed to lean into my touch, his eyelids lowering slightly as if he were savoring the feeling.

His skin was warm under my fingertips, the faintest hint of stubble scratching against my palm. The moment felt fragile, like a bubble that could burst at any moment.

As I pulled my hand back, his hand shot up, capturing my wrist in a loose grip. Our gazes locked, and something in his eyes changed. The vulnerability was replaced with something darker, a look I'd never seen on him before.

He tugged me forward, closing the distance between us in an instant. His lips met mine in a bruising kiss, a wave of heat and sensation that left me reeling.

His lips were shockingly hot against mine, the kiss intense yet somehow soft and loving simultaneously. It was like a storm and a caress all at once, his mouth moving against mine with a raw, unbridled passion.

I was lost in the sensation of it, the kiss consuming my every thought, every sense. It was as if the world had fallen away, leaving only the two of us and the fire heating our skin.

He shifted forward, his free hand moving to cup my face, gentle fingers tilting my head back to give him better access to my mouth. His thumbs traced my jawline, the touch both tender and possessive.

The kiss continued, each kiss a claiming, a silent declaration of an unnamed emotion. My fingers clutched at the fabric of his brown hoodie, grounding me amidst the whirlwind of sensations.

The kiss continued, his mouth moving against mine with a familiar ease that I hadn't expected. It was clear he'd done this before, but there was a passion and a tenderness to this kiss that felt new.

His hand was still around my wrist, keeping me close, his thumb tracing gentle circles against my heated skin. I clung to his hoodie, my fingers gripping the fabric tightly as if he were the only solid thing in a world that felt like it was spinning out of control.

Finally, he broke the kiss, leaning his forehead against mine as we both struggled to catch our breath. His eyes were half-lidded, darkened with an emotion I couldn't quite identify.

His chest was heaving, the rise and fall of it pressed against me. The night air seemed cool against my wet lips, a stark contrast to the heat that still rolled off his body.

Chris's grip on my hand tightened, his fingers squeezing mine slightly. He took a deep breath, his gaze still trained on me.

“I'm in love with you,” he confessed, his voice soft and yet somehow firm.

My heart skipped a beat, the words sinking in and sending a fresh wave of emotions coursing through me. “I'm in love with you too,” I replied, the truth spoken aloud for the first time.

Chris's face broke into a smile, a real, genuine smile that lit up his eyes. He let out a shaky breath, his thumb rubbing against my knuckles.

But just as the moment of stillness settled around us, two familiar voices shattered the quiet.

“Finally!”

Matt and Nick burst into our view, their faces filled with glee. They'd clearly been watching the whole scene unfold, and judging by the obnoxious grins on their faces, they were ecstatic.

“Only took you guys long enough,” Matt said, slapping Chris on the back, hard enough to earn a grunt.

Nick nodded, looking far too pleased with himself. “We were taking bets on how long it'd take you to confess” he admitted, his smirk widening.

Matt turned to Nick with a sly smirk. “You owe me” he said, holding out his palm expectantly.

Nick rolled his eyes but fished a twenty dollar bill out of his pocket and handed it over begrudgingly. “You're lucky I'm a man of my word,” he grumbled.

We all laughed, the tension from the confession broken by the absurdity of the moment. I couldn't help but lean into Chris's shoulder, suddenly feeling a little shy. He wrapped an arm around me, pulling me closer, our bodies fitting together like pieces of a puzzle.

It was later in the night. The fire was low, the embers smoldering in the pit as Matt and Nick gathered materials for s'mores. Chris stood next to me, carefully laying marshmallows on skewers. I was watching him, amused, when I suddenly held up my phone.

“Smile for the camera,” I instructed, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Chris looked up, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Did you take it?” he teased, looking amused. I nodded, my thumb poised over the screen.

“Yeah. It’s Proof that the great Chris Sturniolo can make a perfect s'more.” I chuckled using the picture as my new lock screen.

Chris chuckled, his eyes dancing with amusement as he looked at me. He leaned closer, closing the distance between us.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, his words a whisper against my lips. Before I could even respond, he leaned in and kissed me, the touch soft yet tinged with a hint of possessiveness, as if he were claiming me as his own.

The night deepened, the sound of laughter and crackling fire mixing in a chorus that echoed through the zoo. Chris and I sat close, our bodies pressed against each other's, a silent understanding hanging in the air. The warm light from the fire cast a golden hue over us, the shadows dancing on Chris's face and the planes of his body.

As the night continued to weave its spell, it felt like something had irrevocably shifted. There was no need for words— the quiet, tender moment was enough.

Authors Note: Decided to take a break from the smut today. This story is literally so adorable i love it so much :,)

updating another ‘Heartbreak Race’ chapter today or might make a short story for Matt OR maybe both, i’m not sure yet but be on the look out ! :)

HAPPY FRIDAY!! REMEMBER YOURE LOVED AND APPRECIATED!!

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 (⭑.ᐟ) — @st6rify @lovekaiya @b2cute @stvrnioloxz @yourfavadri56

#chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #cyberl6ve #Spotify

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best-overplayed-song · 2 years ago

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fun facts

the melody of "Yesterday" came to Paul McCartney while he was asleep: "I had a piano by my bedside, and I must have dreamed it, because I tumbled out of bed and put my hands on the piano keys and I had a tune in my head. It was just all there, a complete thing. I couldn’t believe it. It came too easy"

“Yesterday” is the most covered song in history, with over 2,000 versions having been recorded

in the days after the Kennedy assassination, Paul Simon locked himself in the bathroom and composed the melody of "The Sound of Silence".

Paul Simon originally wrote the song as an acoustic ballad for their debut, Wednesday Morning, 3 AM, but Simon & Garfunkel’s first single version died and the album was considered a commercial failure. Later in ‘65, while Simon was in England, Tom Wilson asked members of Bob Dylan’s studio band to add electric guitar and drums. Columbia released the amplified Silence, which became a hit before Simon and Garfunkel had even heard it

#best overplayed song bracket #tumblr bracket #tournament poll #the beatles #simon and garfunkel

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farter-imperator · 9 months ago

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More pregnant Aether thoughts-

He works in the infirmary for as long as he can before being forced to 'take it easy' by Omega.

He's around seven months in before he decides he can't work at his full potential in the infirmary, at which point he changes to being the lead guitar tech for the Ministry ghouls.

The tech job is way easier on him, he can sit down and take his time while working on the guitars. His bump becomes a makeshift table, Aether rests his tools and guitar knobs and whammy bars on it. Basically anything small enough is getting rested on the bump.

Sunshine sits with him while he works on the guitars, yaps her head off. Aether likes it, it's like white noise to him. She pets his hair and snuggles into his side and warms her hands on his tummy, her hands tucked up under his shirt.

Speaking of clothes, he has to have the Tailor Ghouls make custom outfits for him. With the way his tummy has gone so round, his belly peeks out under his normal clothes. The ghouls make him clothes that are wider and longer around the waist to counter this.

Aether's very independent. This means that he has been found on the floor before, after sitting down to reach something on the floor, and then realising that he can't get up again. It took Alpha and Omega to haul him up safely.

Aether composes new songs for the kits. Sticks to the acoustic guitar, tries to get used to his guitar being further away than normal with the bump. He has a songbook full of songs for the kits that he's gonna sing to them once they're here. Sometimes, the ghouls catch him singing to the bump when he thinks no one can see him.

#ghost #ghost band #ghost bc #headcanons #cw pregnancy #Aether #Aether ghoul

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misscinnamonroll16 · 9 months ago

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Normally I start with John but I'm starting with Branch for this one, taste in music. Branch has a blend of all kinds of music. Reggae, kpop, regular pop, country. All kinds. Floyd shocked his brothers with how heavy his music is. Hard rock. If it's not heavy with the bass, it's definitely heavy with the lyrics. He also listens to weird music, like Melanie Martinez. Clay's music style didn't change much until Branch introduced him to Classical. He LOVED it, its great music to listen to while reading. Silence gets deafening sometimes. Bruce's music taste also didn't change much. He still likes pop, he likes the beachy music the Vacation Islanders play (ig it's still considered pop). John Dory kind of stopped listening to music when on his own, got tired of the same old songs that just brought up bad memories. Every so often he'd find a new song he liked and play over and over again until he got sick of it. (I wanna make playlists for each of them)

John knows how to shoot a gun. Handgun and shot gun.

Floyd is in his slut era. Pretty much as soon as he got on his own, he went into his slut era. He's definitely still in it

Floyd took JD to get his ears pierced. They went to the same guy that did Floyd's piercings. John is nervous, more from the mental backlash than the pain.

I've said it once but John wrote songs while on his own that will probably never see the light of day. Theyre mostly acoustics with just him and his guitar. He recorded them and hid them away. They only resurface when him and the bros help JD move into a pod to have a more "stable" home

Clay reads smut. Like Fifty shades of grey type books. Viva accidentally outs that taste in books

Clay is allergic to cats

John Dory wanted a pet as a kid, so badly. Grandma wouldn't let him have one

Floyd has a stand up mirror. When doing his makeup, he sits on the floor in front of that mirror rather than have a hand held one or one in the bathroom.

Bruce always tried to help John with the lil bros when they were younger. He could tell that it was hard sometimes on JD, it's not easy raising kids when you're a kid yourself. In a way, it prepared Bruce for kids himself (and John as well)

Bruce is almost impossible to make angry. He's very chill and level headed. Only reason he got angry in the movie was bc those emotions resurfaced and bubbled over

Clay has gotten so used to having his hair played with from Viva, it helps relax him. When he's getting frustrated or annoyed with his brothers he'll go to Viva (and eventually his bros) and just ask for them to play with his hair. After a spat with Bruce (yk it's bad if it got those two to fight), Clay goes to JD and shyly asks him to play with his hair while he rants.

Floyd is the peacekeeper brother. He keeps the peace between all of them, even now as adults.

#trolls #brozone #trolls john dory #trolls floyd #trolls clay #trolls bruce #branch trolls #trolls headcanon #trolls hcs #trolls headcanons #brozone headcanons #brozone hc

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lihhelsing · 2 years ago

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Hate That I Loved You

Now complete on AO3!

“That’s an awful idea” Gareth states from the other side of the room.

“It’s not as bad as the one he had for the Leave You music video,” Jeff adds helpfully.

“It’s one of our biggest hits,” Frank chimes in.

Eddie is just waiting for the band to reach the right conclusion.It’s such a bad idea that it actually makes it a genius one. Eddie knows it and he’s known it ever since he woke up in the middle of the night with it forming in his brain.

They need another hit. Eddie has just the song for that, called Hate That I Loved You, about all the times he failed at love. Which were… a good amount.

The song is good. Harsh, loud, heartbreaking. Eddie might’ve cried when he first played it acoustic on his guitar, all alone after getting dumped by his last boyfriend.

It’s about how he’s never good enough for anyone. It’s raw.

“Fine, let’s do it,” Gareth finally gives in and Eddie just smiles. His idea is as painful as the song. He’s going to call his exes and ask them to be in the music video. The song is not so much about them, it’s more about Eddie himself, but he likes the dramatic effect of having to face all his mistakes in one day as he sings his heart out.

He knows the tabloids will eat that shit up. He knows it’s the push the band needs to blow up and exactly the edgy, weird shit everyone expects from them He’s willing to take one for the team. He’s doing it

Pre production rolls around quickly, Chrissy is too damn good at her job, and soon it’s time for Eddie to do the hard part. He needs to call the exes and ask them.

He has six in total, he will be happy if he gets five to participate, but will settle for four. Knows two are harder.

David, Sean and Pedro are in from the start. It’s not surprising, really, they broke up in friendly terms, still talk sometimes, and are happy to indulge Eddie’s crazy ideas. Always had been.

His first no comes with Josh. He thought it was an easy yes but he was wrong.

Josh is happily married and not looking for any drama in his life and Eddie means drama. He can’t argue. Eddie winces as he remembers serenading Josh while high out of his mind, making noise under his dorm window like an idiot. Josh hangs up before Eddie can beg and that’s it.

That leaves him with 3 yes and 2 that he doesn’t know. Despite still being hurt by the break-up, Eddie calls Lou first. Lou is… Hard. His voice sends chills down Eddie’s spine and he almost chickens out. He’s the one that set Eddie off with this song, to begin with.

He’s the one that makes Eddie feels like he’s far from being enough. He’s the one who told Eddie he was selfish and unlovable and Eddie knows he still feels it as Lou flirts with him through the phone.

He’d never been good to Eddie but he was what Eddie thought he deserved it.

“Of course I’ll star in your video, babe,” Lou agrees easily and Eddie wishes he’d said no. Eddie thinks there’s still time for him to back down from the idea. Knows the guys would understand. Knows they all remember having to drag Eddie out of bed after a week of wallowing.

He stands his ground. Thinks this might be what he needs to get over Lou. To get him out of his system forever.

He also stands his ground because he knows the next number by heart. Had known it for the past 7 years and couldn’t really get rid of it.

His brain cling to Steve just like his heart had.

He feels dizzy as the line rings and feels like he’s going to faint as Steve’s voice comes through the speaker.

“Hello?”

“Steve, hey. It’s, um, it’s Eddie.”

The silence is so loud Eddie thinks he’s gone deaf.

“Eddie?”

“Munson. You know, from-”

“I know,” Steve’s voice gets so small Eddie wishes he had never called. “What…”

Whatever question he has dies on Steve’s throat and Eddie doesn’t blame him.

“Sorry to call like that. I, um, I need a favor?”

“…ok?”

Eddie explains it all. He talks about the band, the song, the video idea. He talks for almost ten minutes and he just keeps going because he can hear Steve’s breathing on the line.

“So, that’s it. You can say no, no hard feelings but I… would like if you said yes”

It feels like a low blow, but Steve says yes and Eddie pushes the guilt away from his brain. He’ll get to see Steve soon. Less than a week. He can’t help the butterflies blooming on his stomach.

He fucking missed Steve.

•END OF PART 1•

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #stranger things #steddie fanfic #rockstar AU #famous Eddie Munson #Second chance romance #Steve Harrington x Eddie Munson

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broidobe · 1 month ago

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𝔠𝔬𝔷𝔶

requested! this is just a short little blurb honestly lol.

☾a cozy night in with duff and izzy turns into a sweet mix of playful banter, quiet music, and warm affection as the three of you savor the simple joy of being together.☽

⁎⁺˳✧༚guns and roses masterlist

it’s one of those rare quiet evenings when the chaos of the road fades into the background. duff is sprawled out on the couch, long legs taking up most of the space, a well-worn book in his hands. izzy’s perched on the floor by the coffee table, strumming softly on his acoustic guitar, humming a melody that’s not quite a song yet. the apartment smells faintly of pizza from earlier, and the window’s open to let in the cool breeze of an la night.

you’re nestled between them, leaning against duff’s side while he plays with your hair absentmindedly. his fingers are gentle, twirling strands between them, while his other hand holds the book steady. "this one’s good," he mutters, breaking the silence, showing you the cover.

“better than the last one?” you ask, grinning, and he chuckles, the sound vibrating against you.

“we don’t talk about the last one,” he teases, shaking his head.

izzy glances up from his guitar, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. “if it was that bad, why’d you finish it?”

“commitment,” duff says with mock seriousness, and you laugh, the sound warm and bright in the cozy room.

izzy sets the guitar aside and crawls up onto the couch, wedging himself into the small space on your other side. “speaking of commitment,” he murmurs, brushing a soft kiss to your temple, “you still owe me that song we were gonna write together.”

“oh, do i?” you tease, tilting your head to look at him, your smile playful.

“yeah,” he says, his voice low and smooth, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “duff can back us up on bass.”

“only if i get co-writing credit,” duff chimes in, smirking, and you roll your eyes affectionately.

“deal,” you say, leaning into izzy’s touch as he drapes an arm around your shoulders. it feels natural, the three of you together like this, a perfect balance of duff’s easy humor and izzy’s quiet intensity.

as the night stretches on, the conversation drifts to nothing in particular, punctuated by laughter and the occasional melody from izzy’s guitar. duff pulls you closer, his warmth a comforting anchor, while izzy rests his head against yours, his fingers lacing with yours.

#broidobe #guns and roses #izzy stradlin #izzy stradlin x reader #izzy stradlin fanfiction #izzy gnr #duff mckagan x reader #duff mckagan fanfic #duff mckagan #duff gnr

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strangelyunfinshed · 1 year ago

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In a city the size of Chicago, Eddie should be easy to avoid. Or maybe the city isn't as big as you thought?

Masterlist Listen to Sour Girl Here

What to expect: Second Chance Romance set in 2012 Chicago. Eddie and Steve are in their 30s. Fem!Reader is given a pet name from each of the guys. No other name mentioned. No use of Y/N. No physical description. Reader does have a bit of personality, as I find it nearly impossible to keep her blank for such a long fic. You may find yourself at times making choices that you wouldn't normally make, but I hope you can put that aside and enjoy the ride. Sensitive Content. 18+ Mentions of DV. Smut Guaranteed happy ending. This is my love letter to Eddie Munson.

WC:6558 beta'd by @superblysubpar

Plink.

Plink. Plink. Plink.

The old wooden frame of your window groans against the track, burdened with too many layers of paint to make the slide smooth. The swirls of creamy pinks and oranges have faded hours ago into the star-lit summer sky. The boy is below, standing in your backyard, fist full of pea gravel taken from a neighbor's garden. A smile twisting his lips lifts his cheeks, putting dimples on full display as he looks up at you from the darkness below. You raise a finger, signaling for him to wait before you turn away. Tossing a few things in your empty backpack, you take a pillow from your bed, and your comforter is wrestled free from the mattress. With careful footsteps, you creep down the stairs, stopping in the kitchen. The light from the fridge casts a triangle across the floor as you take a few Capri Suns to add to your bag. Leaving through the slider, the end of your blanket trails behind you through the grass that was trimmed that morning. You slip off your flip-flops, leaving them beside a pair of larger, well-worn sneakers with a chain wallet tucked inside the right shoe. Eddie bounces on the trampoline, his sock-covered feet launching him into the air, arms stretched for balance. You toss everything on before climbing on with him. With a final bounce, he lands on his butt beside you, grinning.

“I got it,” you tell him, tossing the pillow behind you.

“Nah-uh.”

"My dad took me to Tower this afternoon." Rummaging in your pack, you pull out a Discman and over-the-ear headphones with the cord in a tangled mess. "I could only get two. I had to choose between Rage," you begin, ticking off album titles on your fingers, “Soundgarden, STP, and Pearl Jam.”

“And?”

Taking out the CDs, you press them against his chest, letting go as soon as his fingers go around them. His brown eyes widen as he examines what’s in his hands as you pick apart the knotted cord.

“Songs from the Vatican Gift Shop AND Down on the Upside? You haven’t even opened this one.” He holds up the Soundgarden CD before using his teeth to rip open the cellophane covering the plastic case.

“I waited for you.” You smile.

His face softens. “You’re a doll.”

He lies back, his head nestling into your pillow, hands clasped behind his head, gazing up at the sky. After putting the CD into the player, you follow him, pulling the comforter over you both and resting your head on his bicep. The headphone speakers are flipped out, tucked between you, as Chris Cornell's melancholic voice begins to seep into your ears, velvety and dark like the night itself.

"Listen to this transition," he insists, his voice filled with the same awe that it always does when he talks about music, "The shift from acoustic to electric guitar is seamless."

“I wish I could hear it the way you do.”

As you gaze skyward, a slender branch sways in perfect rhythm with the chords, green leaves fluttering with the bass. The stars multiply and shimmer as if they’re caught up in the flow of the song.

“You do,” he says, his head turning toward you, “You’re the only one I know who loves it as much as I do.” He studies your face, his eyes locking with yours. The music building until it’s too intense, and he looks away. “It’s lyrics that hook you. You’ve always got so many words floating around in that big brain of yours.”

The disc spins, and you both listen, the scent of lilacs wafting in on the breeze, and fireflies painting the sky with their gentle glow. Time passes in the slow way it only does for kids on a cool summer night.

“Eddie?”

“Hmm?” He answers, eyes closed.

“Are they fighting again?”

He doesn’t talk about it, but everyone knows—an ugly secret festering on an otherwise picture-perfect street. No one wants to get their hands dirty by getting involved.

“Why won’t she leave him?” A simple question in a world of black and white.

“I want her to,” his adams apple bobs as he swallows, “She says she loves him.”

“Just stay here with me tonight, okay?” Rolling to your side, you wrap your hand across his chest, offering him the only protection that you can.

“Yeah, okay.”

When you wake the following morning, the songs and memories you were reacquainted with last night have faded to a dull throb–much like the martinis. But remnants of their lyrics persist, crawling under your skin, irritating like an itch, a tune hummed without the words to accompany it. Your phone’s screen lights up with an incoming text, the short burst of vibration sending it skittering across the surface of your nightstand. It takes a moment for your bleary eyes to focus on the notification on your lock screen.

Unknown: I admit last night could have gone better. Let me make it up to you. Coffee?

After tapping in your passcode, you open the message app to reply.

You: Wrong number

Darkening your screen, you let your phone slip from your hand onto the bed beside you. With a sigh, you lean back, staring at the ceiling, seeking answers that remain elusive. The scent of brewing dark roast and toasting bagels rises up the stairs with the sounds of Steve moving around the kitchen. A cup of coffee (or five) and a shower is what you need to wash away the past and leave it firmly where it belongs– in your rearview.

It's the bottom of your second cup when Steve walks into your massive walk-in closet with a towel wrapped around his waist, fresh from the shower, his hair still damp, the freckled skin of his chest looking golden in the soft glow of the elegant pendant lights.

“Is that what you're wearing to work?” He asks.

“Um, yeah.” You finish buckling the strap of your chunky mary-janes. “Something wrong with it?” you ask, catching sight of yourself in the mirror, dark distressed jeans and a band tee recut into a fitted v-neck.

“Of course not,” he sighs, running his hand through his hair before sitting down heavily on the leather bench. His shoulders slump as he looks across to the cherry built-in shelves holding the rows of tailored suits hung by progression of color. “You always look beautiful.”

Taking your watch from the marble top of the large center island, you wander over to where he’s seated. He hooks a finger into one of the large holes in your jeans, tugging you over to stand between his legs, his big hands wrapping around the backs of your thighs.

“Guess I’m just missing the days of wearing jeans and a jersey to work,” he says, his smile not smoothing the faint crease in his brows.

“You traded that in for a car service and a big fat paycheck,” you point out, kissing the top of his head and moving back to your side of the closet to select a blazer.

“How else am I going to keep spoiling you?” He stands, dropping the towel and picking up the black Tom Ford boxer briefs he set out before his shower.

“Steve, I don’t need all of this,” your hand sweeps in the air, gesturing to the lit shelves holding more clothes and shoes than you could ever need. “Just take me to a concert every once in a while.” Your voice trails off as notification chimes on your phone.

Unknown: Nice try, doll. Robin gave me your number.

“Can you imagine if we were still in that cramped apartment in Lincoln Park?” He scoffs, pulling on a light gray pair of suit pants. “We were tripping over all our stuff.”

Steve found the three-bedroom, three-bath brownstone on a tree-lined street in the ritzy Gold Coast neighborhood just after he got promoted from Metro, marking the beginning of his rise up the ranks in Second City Media. He spent a year and a chunk of his trust fund on a meticulous renovation before the two of you moved in. It is beautiful—large air rooms with lofty ceilings adorned with pristine white crown molding and wainscotting throughout, giving a modern but classic feel. Living with so much space is lavish in a city of this size. But you would be just as happy back on that ratty couch in Lincoln Park, drinking beer straight from the bottle and eating pizza without the fuss of plates, working on your laptop while he watched a Cubs game. Steve is driven–determined to be a success, and he is, but with the money came the stress. And it’s taking a toll.

Your finger hovers over the block button, but you press add to contacts instead. “Hey,” you change the subject, slipping your phone into your jacket pocket, “Did you ever look into that sailing charter you wanted to book out at the lake? We could do that this weekend?”

“I wish I could, Ace. I’ve got those weekend meetings about the streaming radio we're trying to launch. Pick out a tie for me?” He asks, pulling off a starched black button-up from its hanger.

“Sure.” You walk over and spin the rack holding up dozens of ties on shiny brass hooks.

“What do you have going on today?” The well-defined muscles of his sculpted shoulders, earned from never skipping a day at the gym, flex before disappearing into his shirt sleeves.

“Not a lot.” You pull the silky slip of deep maroon fabric off its hanger. “Lola is put to bed for this year. I just have an album review to finish up and a meeting with my editor today. Maybe a series on the Fall tours?” You propose, mostly to yourself, as you bring him his tie.

“Maroon, huh?” One brow raises with the question, “I would have picked black.”

“I know.” The corner of your lips turn up in a sly smile before you rise to your toes and place a kiss on his mouth, “I’m gonna go.”

“You want my driver to drop you off?” He asks, looking in the mirror and adjusting his tie.

“Nah, I’ll drive myself. Argyle and I are going to the Subterranean for drinks. Santigold is performing. Do you want to come?” You throw out, picking up your ancient army green messenger bag you can’t bear to part with, straining with the fullness of your laptop and notes.

“I’ll pass. Not really my scene.” As he fastens his gold cufflinks, they catch the gleaming light.

“You never come to shows with me,” you sigh.

“I know, I know. I’ll try and catch the next one,” he says, sliding his feet into shiny Italian leather shoes. “I’m meeting Robin for lunch. You want to join us?”

“No. I’ll let you have your girl time.” You blow him a kiss before heading out the door.

“See you tonight, okay?”

“Love you. See you tonight,” he calls after you.

Passing through rooms decorated with rich creams and calming moss greens, you yell over your shoulder, “Tell Robin I said we don’t have any more room for paintings of flowers that look like vaginas.”

“They’re a good investment,” his voice fades as you jog down your stairs, grabbing your keys from the stained-glass bowl on the table beside the door, ignoring the buzz coming from your pocket.

The world is full of cliches. Many become so ingrained that we accept them as unwavering truths. Every cloud has a silver lining. Don’t judge a book by its cover. Actions speak louder than words. A rotten apple will spoil the bunch. Don’t spit into the wind. Well, that last one is just good advice, but there is one that has stuck with you. Love what you do, and you’ll never work a day in your life. Music is your deity, and working at Stax is where you worship at its altar, spreading the Gospel of John, Paul, George, and Ringo. It’s a place where your lifelong obsession is not only validated, it’s celebrated. Your journey leading up to this point feels like destiny, like the universe conspired to harmonize your two greatest loves—the lyrical power of words and the soul-stirring magic of music. Each day within these walls is a new chord, a different tempo, and you revel in the ever-changing rhythm of your life. One spent intertwined with the music and the people that create it. The magazine's pages are your stage, your canvas, and with every keystroke, you paint the stories of the music, offering them to those who care to listen.

Without taking your eyes off your laptop screen, you reach for your coffee mug only to knock over the tittering tower of CDs that you had stacked on the corner of your cluttered desk. The plastic jewel cases meet the cement floor with a shattering crash, the noise echoing off the walls of the open industrial space that houses the offices for Stax Magazine in the heart of Fulton Market District. Clapping comes from other desks as you chase the discs rolling on their sides in all directions. Pausing, you bend into a dramatic curtsey, earning chuckles as the applause dies out. The perpetual chaos of your desk has become an ongoing punchline in the office banter. Your phone begins to ring at the same time an IM pops on your screen - both from your editor, the enigmatic J. Hopper.

“Art Garfunkel’s house of pizza,” you say by way of greeting, trying to get the CDs back in their cases and toppling a pile of mail in the process.

“Where are you? Why aren’t you here? We had a meeting at 2,” comes the gruff voice of a man who's clearly not amused.

“It’s only one forty,” you reply.

“Get your ass in here now,” he yells, disconnecting.

Hopper's bark has always been more bluster than bite. The towering, older man has been a fixture in this building since its days as a "hard-hitting" newspaper. While the city has evolved and transformed, Hopper and this old brick building have remained resolute, like an immovable rock in the ever-shifting stream of time. He possesses zero patience, holds a disdain for people, and dismisses any music created after 1978. You love him as much as your own father. He offered you a position fresh out of college when other magazines wouldn’t take a chance. He's pulled out your best work, often sending you back to your desk like a pouting child, making you the writer you are today. The wisdom he’s imparted is beyond the reach of any professor or workshop, and for that, you’ll always be grateful.

With a gentle rap of your knuckles against the frosted glass, you step into Hopper's office. He's seated behind a substantial oak desk, buried beneath a mountain of paperwork. A hint of cigar lingers in the air, though you've never been able to catch him smoking. He remains engrossed, squinting at his desktop screen with a furrowed brow. Settling into one of the vintage leather club chairs, you wait for his acknowledgment, your gaze drifting across the framed magazine covers and photographs lining the walls. One of a much younger Hopper clad in a tattered flak jacket catches your eyes. His face smeared with dirt and grit, standing amidst the ruins of a war-torn Kosovo street, a city reduced to chaos.

"Where’s my album write-up?" He asks without looking up.

"I emailed it to you before lunch," you reply, confirming on your phone.

He pushes back from his desk, propping up his feet on the edge, and offers you a soft smile from under the bushy mustache covering his lip, "How are you, kid? Everything okay? Harrington treating you, right?"

"Of course, Hop. He knows he'd have to answer to you otherwise. What about you?" You ask, leaning forward, "Is Joyce looking after you? Making sure you're watching that cholesterol?"

"Yup, she's got me eating all these organic vegetables, no booze, no smokes. Kinda takes all the fun outta life." He laces his hands behind his head, stretching out his back.

"Oh yeah, does that include that bottle hootch you got stowed in your bottom drawer?"

He sits up with a quick move, pointing his finger in your direction. "You don't know anything about that. Are we clear?"

The only one who can scare Hopper is Hopper's wife.

"I don't know. What are you going to do if I give Joyce a call? Seems to me that's something she'd want to know," you tease, crossing your arms over your chest.

"You'd be out on that sidewalk before you hung up the call. Don't test me." He shakes a finger at you, "Now, what are you pitching me?"

"Well, I'm going to a club tonight, so I'll have a live performance review. And I was thinking of a piece on the bands touring this Fall. Kind of like a road map that the readership could follow and hit all the good shows."

"Those sound good, kid, but I got a feature for you to cover." He leans forward, narrowing his eyes, "You know this Eddie Munson character?"

The blood drains from your face. "No. Not-not really," you stammer, "we're from the same town, but I haven't seen him in years."

"Well, it's time to get reacquainted. I want a series chronicling the opening of CursedSound Recordings, and I want you to write it."

A featured series is something that other journalists fight over, and usually, you'd jump at the chance, but not this time. Not this series. Not Eddie Muson.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you say, looking down at your lap.

“You don’t think–”

“Give it to Miles.”

“I’m giving it to you. Morales is busy with–”

“I don’t want it,” the words burst out of your mouth before you think better of it. Less than twenty-four hours after seeing Eddie, your world is spinning out of control.

Hopper's face turns to steel as he plucks the pen from behind his ear and throws it down on the desk. “I think that you’ve forgotten how this works. I give you an assignment. You write it.”

Your lips part before the protest in your brain is fully formed.

“If you’re about to tell me no again, it better be followed by a damn good reason.”

His eyes are locked on yours while he waits for a response, one brow raised in challenge.

“Listen, kid,” he picks up a stack of papers, shuffling through them as he talks, “I’ve looked into this Munson character. He has a good reputation in L.A. His name is in the credits for over half the multi-platinum releases in the last five years. And word is, his studio is booked out with big names for a year in advance.” He pauses for a moment to be sure his words sink in. “Establishing a good relationship with him is in the magazine's best interests. And what's good for the magazine is good for you. Are you hearing me?”

“Yes, Hop,” he answers for you when you remain quiet.

“Yes, Hop,” you repeat.

“Good,” he says, lacing his fingers together. "The printed word isn’t worth what it used to be. Everything's gone digital, the never-ending twenty-four-hour news cycle. The competition's cut-throat out there. Trust me, our friends over at Spectrum would eat this up for Chicago Lifestyles. Frankly, I’m surprised at you. I thought you’d be all over this. Especially since it was proposed by corporate. I figured you went around me and pitched it to Harrington directly.”

The mention of Steve’s name sets your teeth on edge. He hadn't breathed a word about this assignment earlier, and now he's reaching out to Hopper, painting a picture as if you're disrespecting your editor and exploiting your personal connections to secure a story.

“I would never do that,” you shake your head.

"Alright then. Call Byers at Metro," Hopper instructs, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. "Bring him with you. His assignment is just wrapping up."

You nod, your blood boiling and your mind racing. Taking a deep breath to compose yourself, you finally reply with an outward calm, "Okay."

Hopper's eyes remained fixed on you, his brow furrowing slightly. "Now, why are you still here wasting my time? Get out."

You don’t need any more prompting. Swiftly, you rise from your seat and make your way out of Hopper's office, formulating plans to murder your fiancé.

With a heavy sigh, you sit back down at your desk. The Stax logo bounces off the edges of your laptop screen. Your phone lights up with a photo of Steve. You let it ring a few times before sending it to voicemail. A few colleagues linger nearby, mugs in hand, their idle chatter blending with the hum of printers and the rhythmic clacking of keyboards. Your to-do list sits on your desk with strike-throughs on only half the tasks, but the priority of the ones remaining isn’t enough to capture your attention.

Reaching down, you tug at the handle of your tightly packed bottom desk drawer. It sticks, protesting the overload. The bright yellow color of the Sony Sports Walkman stands out from among the other clutter. You hesitate when reaching for it, the beginnings of the ache already tightening your chest. But you can’t resist, your hand closes around it, pulling it and the headphones coiled around out from under a pile of old concert passes attached to lanyards.

Swiveling your chair away from the desk, you face the windows and slip the headphones onto your ears. A gentle press of your thumb produces a satisfying click, and a soft crackling sound fills your ears as the capstans start to whir.

The crystal blue of the cassette is dulled behind the transparent black window, but you can still make out the handwriting on the yellowed label.

For when you miss me.

“Did you ever listen?”

Everyday.

A bird's eye view of the stage is perfectly spaced in your viewfinder, with Santi downstage dominating the mic, her other arm outstretched to the fervent crowd. Your finger clicks the shutter as a text pops on the screen.

Eddie: Seems this city isn’t so big after all.

With a huff, you close the screen, pocketing your phone.

“What’s going on with you?” Argyle shouts over the crowd, handing you back your drink as you both lean over the black-painted railing on the balcony at The Subterranean.

"Nothing," you reply, your gaze returning to the stage where Santigold is Chasing Shadows.

“You’re moody,” he accuses, leaning closer to your ear to be heard over music.

“No, I’m not.”

“It’s true,” he shakes his head. “You’re moody. Moody dick.”

The corners of your lips lift as you roll your eyes.

“This wouldn't have anything to do with mister dark and handsome sound engineer guy from last night, would it?” He probes as someone bumps into you from behind, throwing you off balance.

Your eyes narrow as he steadies you with a hand on your elbow.

“Hey, I know things,” he says, sipping his drink and looking back out over the crowd.

“Oh, yeah?” You ask, turning and leaning on the banister to face him, “What do you know?”

He turns his head toward you, his thoughtful brown eyes connecting with yours. “I know you looked freaked the fuck out when he showed up for drinks and even more so when he said he was staying. And I’ve seen you tell off enough people to know that’s what was going on at the bar when you walked away from him last night,” he says, looking back toward the stage, gesturing with his hands, “Now we're here, with my future baby mama killing it on stage, and you’re sucking all the energy out of the room.”

The song ends with the crowd erupting in applause. “I love you!” Argyle shouts toward the stage with his hands cupped around his mouth as the bass starts back up with the opening of High Priestess. Santi looks up, throwing him a wink, her voice low and fast as the reverb vibrates under your feet.

“Future baby mama?” You laugh.

“Yeah. Do you think you could use your press pass to get us backstage?”

“No. I don’t think you need to add to the population tonight.”

"See, you're no fun,” he complains, sticking out his lower lip, “So you really used to crush on that guy?

Chewing on your lip, you throw him a sideways glance.

“Yeah, you did. You crushed hard,” he laughs, “So, tell me, what happened?”

“I don’t like talking about it,” you say, scrubbing your face.

“Keeping everything all bottled up ain’t good for you, little mama,” he pokes your arm, letting you know he’s not going to drop this, “I’m your boy. If you can’t tell me, who can you tell?”

“Circle of trust,” he says, stirring the air between you with two fingers when you don’t respond.

You lean against the rail, considering. “Alright, but this stays between us,” you threaten him with a pointed finger. His head nods as his fingers slide across his mouth like a zipper.

“There’s not much to tell,” you say, looking down at the sticky floor. “I had a crush, and he didn’t feel the same way.”

“I get it. The fury of a woman scorned. What did you do, go full bunny boiler?”

“No,” you chuckle, “Nothing like that. That part didn’t even really bother me. He was my best friend, my only friend for a long time. I thought there was something between us, that he cared about me. Maybe not the same way I cared about him, but you know, I thought we were close. I must have built it all up in my head because one day, he just takes off.” You swallow the sharp pain pressing into your chest, “He never even said goodbye.”

“Nooo,” Argyle’s eyes widen.

“It broke me,” you admit.

“Harsh,” he agrees, “And he never called you? Or gave you an explanation?”

“Not until yesterday. He asked me to lunch. You know, he actually had the nerve to say that Steve has me on a tight leash.”

“Typical.” He shakes his head, swallowing the last of his drink.

“What do you mean?” You ask, swirling the last of your ice into your watered-down drink.

His face turns serious as he explains, “It’s like surfing. We all want that wave that’s just out of reach. Especially if someone else is riding it.”

“How did you get so wise?” You ask.

“I don’t know. Must be all the weed,” he says with a hand on your shoulder, turning you toward the bar. “Let’s go get another drink.”

“You never told Steve any of this?” He asks as you join the crowd of people that constitutes the line.

“No,” you sigh.

“No?” He repeats in surprise, “This is bad news, man. Why wouldn’t you tell him? What are you going to do, just going to keep it a secret forever?”

“I guess. It doesn’t really have anything to do with him.”

“This is going to get messy.” He shakes his head as you move up in line.

“Well, I’m not real happy with him either right now. He went behind my back to Hopper, deciding that I’m going to cover Eddie’s recording studio's opening. He completely humiliated me in front of my boss. I look totally unprofessional.”

“Well, that's not cool,” Argyle sympathizes as he takes the plastic cup from your hand and tosses it into a trashcan tucked beside the bar.

“No, it was very not cool,” you agree, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Wait," he looks at you with sudden revelation, “Technically, isn't Steve your boss?"

“That’s not the point–”

“And isn’t your job to write about major happenings in the city, like when fancy L.A. sound guys open up studios?”

“You're not helping, Argyle.”

His hand lands on your head, offering a comforting pat like you're a child before the line begins moving again. "Cheer up, Bernstein," he quips with a grin, "I'll buy the next round."

Your anger hasn’t abated when you walk through the front door of the brownstone. Steve is already in bed, shirtless with the taupe velvet coverlet pulled up to his waist, glasses perched on his nose, not looking up from his laptop as you enter the room.

“Hey, Ace, how was your day? Did you write me–”

“Anything you want to tell me about, Steve?” You ask, your voice already coming out more heated than you intended.

He looks up at you, brows pulling together. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you say, dropping your bag onto the blue slipper chair in the corner of the room, “Maybe about how you went behind my back?”

"What?” He questions, slamming his laptop shut.

“The story, Steve,” you huff, leaving the room through your closet. You’ve just put your shoes away when he appears in the doorway, padding across the carpet in his bare feet, wearing just his boxers.

“Munson’s opening, that’s what you’re mad about?” He demands.

“You totally blindsided me,” you complain, pulling a hanger off the rod and hanging up your blazer with enough force to have the other clothes swinging. “Why didn’t you say anything this morning?”

“Because I hadn’t thought of it this morning.” His hands run through his hair, tugging in frustration.

“So what, it just came to you in a flash of brilliance?” Popping the button on your jeans, you tug them down your hips, kicking them into the corner instead of putting them in the basket.

“No, it didn’t, and I hate it when you’re sarcastic. Robin wanted to stop by and see his studio. We had lunch nearby,” he informs you, crossing his arms over his broad chest, the gold chain he wears glinting in the low light.

“So the two of you just decided what I was going to be writing? Maybe that’s something you should be discussing with me.” You lay a hand on your chest before pulling your shirt over your head and giving it the same treatment as your jeans. “You know, your fiancée, not some old buddy that sold you weed a few times back in Hawkins.”

“The content Stax puts out is directly under my approval, just like Metro and the Newsdesk and every other division.” His voice, which has been steady and even until now, begins to rise, “I’m not going to call you and ask for permission every time I make a decision. Eddie and I have kept in touch. How do you think we landed that interview with Radiohead last year when they wouldn’t even sit down with Rolling Stone?”

“That’s another thing you kept from me. I had no idea Eddie was your best friend.” Your eyes narrow as your fingers yank at the delicate clasps of your jewelry and watch.

Steve's eyes roll in frustration as he shakes his head. "He's not my best friend. He’s a business contact. I know him through Robin. They were is band together, you know this."

"That feels like a lifetime ago, Steve," you remark, the clinking of your jewelry against the marble island adding a discordant scrape.

"Well, some people aren't embarrassed about where they came from," he accuses.

"I'm not embarrassed," you scoff and begin to pace as if you can outrun his words.

"Oh, please," he says, taking a seat on the bench, his knuckles turning white as he grips the edge, his gaze tracking your restless movements. "You cut off anybody we still know living there. You won't even go to visit your parents. They always come here."

“You never listen to what I’m saying. This has nothing to do with Hawkins or my parents.” You halt your steps, your hand slices through the air, punctuating your statements. “It's about you making me look like a fool in front of Hopper. Like I’m trying to go around him to corporate to get assigned the big stories. Like I’m sleeping with the boss. I’m not ruining my reputation so you can give free advertising to your friends.”

“You're being crazy right now,” he yells, wincing with regret as soon as the words leave his mouth. He stands, moving closer, making an effort to control the tone of his voice, “I gave you this assignment because you know Eddie, and it will make for a better story, not because I’m fucking you. We’ve been together since the day you started at Stax. We’ve been engaged for two years. If anyone was going to think that, they already would’ve.”

Your head shakes, rejecting his rationale. He throws up his hands in frustration. “I can't have a conversation with you when you’re like this.” He starts to walk back toward the bedroom but stops abruptly, spinning on his heel and pointing his finger in your direction. “But I'll tell you one more thing—you are going to write this story.” He waves a hand toward the bathroom. “Now, go wash your face.”

Your teeth cut into your bottom lip as you walk into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you.

A sliver of gold from the streetlights outside pierces the tiny gap in the curtains. You’ve been lying on your side staring so long that you can see its warm hue behind closed lids whenever you start to drift. You burrow your arm deeper beneath your pillows while your feet shuffle, searching for a cool spot on the sheets. Steve’s breathing hasn’t changed behind you. He’s having the same trouble falling asleep. He turns over, his weight rocking the mattress. He’s much closer now. You can feel the comforting warmth from his chest, filling the space between him and your back.

“Baby.” His breath caresses the spot just behind your ear before the wet press of his lips traces a path along your neck, latching on to the apex when it meets your shoulder. A gentle bite follows the swirl of his tongue as he moves even closer. The rough pads of his fingers glide over your shoulder and down your arm, coaxing the thin strap of your tank with them.

“Please,” he whispers between kisses, his fingers finding their way under the bottom edge of your tank top, the light scrape of his blunt nails against your ribs sending shivers across your skin. Your breathing is picking up, the fire from your argument morphing into a new kind of heat. His hips flex against your ass, his cock hard and ready. When you turn your head, his lips are there, a wet slide over your mouth until they pull back, floating just above you, lingering with a question. And when his hand cups your shoulder, urging your body to turn towards him-–you answer.

The sultry feminine voice drifts from the speakers in your bedroom, her smoky timber weaving through the air like dark tendrils intertwining with the high piano notes. Your hips rise with the flow, a slow, unchanging cadence, the stretch of his cock creating delicious friction against your velvet walls. You move higher until he almost leaves you before you start your descent, the angle finding all the hidden places that light you up beneath your skin.

"M' sorry," he murmurs.

Your eyes flutter open at his words as they carry you away from the depths.

"Hate telling you no." He gazes up at you with heavy-lidded eyes, his hair pushed back from his face, and a flush across his skin.

"I don't wanna talk about it." Your hands cover the ones wrapped around your thighs, guiding them up your body. His warm, rough fingers are eager to map out every contour. Your head falls back when they find their destination, cupping your breasts with a possessive grip.

The song shifts, the new baseline a drawn-out pulse lining up with your movements. The lyrics are raw and a little filthy, fueling the urgency of your rolling hips, your clit grazing the short hairs at his base.

"Don't like telling you what to do," he mumbles even as his hands drop to your hips, attempting to hold you still as he bucks up from underneath. "Just wanna take care of you."

"Steve," his name passes your lips in a low moan as you lean forward, taking his hand from your hips and pressing them into the pillow, "Stop talking."

Sitting up, you shift your position, leaning back, bracing your hands behind yourself on his hairy thighs. You set a new pace, bouncing harder, driving him deeper, taking what you want.

“Jesus, fuck, baby,” he groans, eyes hitting the back of his head while his hands slide across the sheets seeking any purchase as you ride him. The music surges, its tempo rising in perfect sync with the wet intimate sounds of your bodies coming together, the rhythm repeating over and over.

"So close…please," his fingers slip between you, adding pressure to the sensitive bundle of nerves that he finds there, "Need you to cum."

"No," you rasp out breathless, pushing his hand aside, your eyes locked on his as you bring your own fingers to your mouth. With a swirl of your tongue, you coat them with wetness before sliding them down to touch yourself, controlling your own pleasure.

The muscles in his neck strain with effort, his gaze darkening, fixated on you. “Goddam, so sexy like this,” he murmurs.

Your body tightens, taut like a bow-string, the tension building until the crescendo crashes over you. The music washes over your senses as you reach your peak, your legs trembling with the intensity. You push your body further over the edge, succumbing to the euphoria lost in the wave of sensations.

Floating back down, your eyes open to the sight of your ceiling, your body still arched, catching your breath. His fingers tighten on your ribs, reminding you he's there. Sticky wetness dripping between you is evidence that he reached his own climax. His hands gently urge your forward to collapse into his chest.

"Wow, that was…" He strokes the sweat-slicked skin of your back. "I’ve never seen you like that before. What got into you?"

"I think you did," you say, placing a kiss over his heart as your fingers smooth through the hair covering his chest. He chuckles, holding you closer.

The gentle croon of the music fills the quiet space between you as you lie entwined, drawing closer to sleep's embrace. With a fumbling hand, Steve reaches for the remote on his nightstand, silencing the stereo, returning the room to a restful hush. He places a final tender kiss on your temple, his eyes closing as his features turn peaceful. But for you, even in this stillness, another song lingers in your mind, its lyrics echoing like a secret.

AN: Thank you for reading and rebloging. Your comments are what keep me at my keyboard plugging away at this story. Please keep sending me your songs and asks! They have inspired so much of what's to come. xoxo- Jelly

Read Song 3 Here

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#stranger things #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington smut #stranger things fanfic #torn #torn series #torn!eddie #Spotify

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miamidorin · 5 months ago

Text

─ PYRAMID VOICE

› masterlist

──────────────────────────────

"good luck, unnie!"

hyein delightedly waved at you as you returned the gesture, pushing the weighty mirror door open and closing it behind you. you greeted the producers, who returned it cheerfully as they stood behind the mixer.

your manager stood next to them, smiling at you with crossed arms. you approached her, "i'm a little nervous today..." you nervously laugh as you jiggle your hands to ease the nerves.

your manager laughed heartily, patting your shoulder. "you'll do great, y/n. you've been practicing for a good weeks, so it's time for you to show what you've got, alright?" she gave you a reassuring smile. warmth spread across your chest as you smiled back at her with gratitude. "thank you, unnie."

soon enough, the producers called you as the camera and the audio is ready to roll and go.

your manager gently pats your back and you let her do that before you head to sit on the chair in the middle by the studio's table, filled with a computer set.

you sat down and instantly, a female staff gave you a mic. giving her a thankful smile, you tightly held the mic as the producer raised his hand up and showed three fingers for a countdown.

3...

you breathe softly to ease your nerves, innerly cheering for yourself.

2...

you felt ready now.

1...

"hello, everyone!" you eagerly waved at the camera, sending a big dimple smile despite the trembling of your hands. "today... i will be covering a beautiful pop ballad song called 'pyramid' by charice, featuring iyaz."

you hummed in wonder, "i chose this song, mainly because one of my friends that lives in the philippines recommended this to me years ago, and i have been listening to this ever since then, so i had such a huge connection with this song. i really love it."

you chuckle softly, "'pyramid' is a midtempo pop ballad song, and its lyrics metaphorically describe the strength of a relationship. there's not much of a reason why i chose this except when someone recommended it, so... i hope you all will love and enjoy this music with me."

you smiled towards the camera, slowly lowering your mic down to your lap as a soft acoustic tune starts for an intro.

stones, heavy like the love you've shown

solid as the ground we've known

and I just wanna carry on

we took it from the bottom up

you started it soft. the nerves were already gone the moment you became engrossed in the music, closing your eyes. you gently bobbed your unoccupied hand, slightly twitching at the tempo of the acoustic guitar playing.

your heart sang along.

and even in a desert storm

sturdy as a rock we hold

wishing every moment froze

now I just wanna let you know

feeling the music genuinely, you were already enjoying singing and giving your feelings into it. effortlessly hitting the notes, the producers and your manager, behind the camera, nodded along with the music.

earthquakes can't shake us

cyclones can't break us

hurricanes can't take away our love

you left the pre-chorus with a breathy air, then transitioned your voice to a powerful tone, entering the chorus.

pyramid, we built this on a solid rock

it feels just like it's heaven's touch

together at the top, like a pyramid

and even when the wind is blowing

we'll never fall just keep on going

forever we will stay, like a pyramid

─────

a loud applause fills the room, with a cheerful whistle and an excited yell from the producers and your manager.

you clapped timidly with them, using your shaking hands to cover half of your face shyly.

"thank you so much! thank you for taking care of me!" you stood up from the chair and bent to your waist to thank them with a deep bow. one of the staff from earlier took your mic and cheered you up.

leaving the studio room with your manager, you almost stumbled to the wall if your manager didn't catch you in time.

"easy there, bambi!"

your manager laughs at you, holding your arms to stand you up. you shakily let out a breath and giggled giddly, "oh my gosh, unnie- i did it! it felt so good to sing it out in front of a camera."

she giggles and ruffles your hair, "now now, look at you! you got so nervous the minute before, and now you're jumping like a little lamb." you nudged her side, a satisfied dimple smile appearing on your face.

"i feel so excited for the release... i wanna know bunnies' thoughts of the music- oh! the members! i actually didn't tell them what song i was going to cover-"

you gasped dramatically, the adrenaline was still rushing through your body so you got a little more hyped than usual.

yet your manager doesn't mind the hype; she loves your unusual excitement and adorableness.

"oh yeah? well, look forward to their reactions then. you know that they'll love anything that comes from you." she winks at you playfully, receiving a rather strong push from you.

"whatever." you snort, shaking your head. but really, you can't deny that her words are true.

...you also can't deny that you notice their extra love when it comes to you.

─────

friday came and it was the day that your cover will release in a few minutes.

currently, you were forced by your members to sit on the couch in the living room with them- you in the middle while they surround you with the laptop in front of you, resting on the coffee table.

you whined bashfully, feeling your ears heating up. "do i have to watch it too...?" to which they gave a collective affirmation to your reluctant question, you only sighed embarrassingly.

"we gotta watch it with you too, girl. you're not escaping us." hanni proudly thrums at you, waving her fingers teasingly at you.

minji laughs as she stands on her knees behind you with her arms around your neck, "you're still shy about this? what an idol you are, y/n."

you bit her hand.

danielle and haerin laugh at you and minji. hyein was on the floor, sitting between your legs so you couldn't escape. the youngest was waiting for the video to be uploaded to their youtube page.

"...i don't wanna look," you said, trying to cover your eyes but minji and hanni didn't let you as they forced you to take your hands away and place them on your lap. the girls laugh at the chaos unfolding near them.

"unnie!"

"oh! it's out!"

instantly, silence took over as the girls, including you unfortunately, went quiet. eyes focused on the screen— on you talking. you desperately want to look away.

"unni-" "shh!"

you pout as minji cupped your face from behind and squashes your cheeks together to get you quiet, while hanni and danielle hold your hands.

hyein and haerin was too engrossed.

you listened and watched your members' reaction when your little speech ended and the next thing they'll see is you singing. you feel and hear your heart beating rapidly in your ears, unconsciously gulping down your nerves.

as you began to sing, all of you stayed quiet to watch your cover.

"oh my god, y/n. look at the views!" hanni and hyein scream in excitement as your cover's view is now at 480k views. your jaws dropped as the girls celebrated next to you, shaking your body to take your soul back to your body.

"huh- why is it already in a hundred views?! it just got released!" you exclaimed in disbelief.

haerin laughs at your face, "isn't it a good thing, y/n unnie? i think you should be proud of what you achieved." haerin said as she smiled at you.

the others quickly nodded in agreement, "for real! your cover is just too good, bro." hanni made a funny face as she slaps the air out of nowhere.

minji and danielle, already catching up to the melody of the new song that they'd heard for the first time, sang the chorus playfully as they looked at you teasingly.

you laughed at their chemistry and closed your eyes as you shake your heads at them.

hyein was already making a new account to like and comment on your cover song— you quickly slapped her hands away like a mother scolding their child.

"no going far, hyein-ssi!" you scolded her, shaking your head at her when she pouts at you pitifully. "so mean!" she drastically said.

"seriously..." you sigh.

minji chuckles and pats your head, "come on, y/n. you did so great and i feel so proud of you! also, how come you didn't tell us what song you were going to cover?" minji genuinely asks, the others listen in quietly.

you shrug, holding on her hands when minji sneaks her arms around your neck again. "i dunno.. i guess i forgot? you know me..." danielle points at your proud face. "what's with your face?"

hyein turns to you, still sitting in front of you. "you're really a forgetful person, unnie! and also shorter than hanni unnie-" you didn't forget to pinch her cheek to shut her up about your height.

"but i'm so happy for you, unnie! to be frank, i really really love your voice so much. there's just a unique tone in your voice that captivates me so much, and i don't think i could ever get tired of your voice." danielle sincerely smiles at you as she pokes your cheek.

haerin nodded with a small smile, fidgeting on your shirt quietly.

you, despite feeling embarrassed and bashful, smiled at your members with love and gratitude. "thanks guys. i really felt so excited that day after my cover, and to be honest.. i really think i did great too."

"then, a good group hug to celebrate!" hyein squeals as she pulls all of you together for a tight hug, followed by a yell of surprise then a joyful laughter.

oh, you are so loved.

──────────────────────────────

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