#even if it’s like this album it’s still like

[vettelsvee]

letting oscar take your virginity to celebrate his win

(if this makes you uncomfortable please to deny or only write fluffy before/after!) love ur work sm

V CARDS GOODBYES | Oscar Piastri

Oscar Piastri x Girlfriend!Reader

SUMMARY: Oscar arrives home after winning his first ever Formula 1 race, so you think it’s the perfect time for you to celebrate and, also, to say goodbye to your v card ↳ REQUESTED BY ANON: Hope you like it anon! And sorry it's taken me almost a year I'm a mess 😭

WORD COUNT: 3958

WARNINGS: Smut (virginity loss, female receiving oral sex, fingering, p in v, protected sex, little bit of praising kink), curse words

VEE'S NOTES: Came to the conclusion after the latests Oscar fics I’ve posted that he's the most popular driver on my Tumblr page, so this is for all my Osc people out there! I'm always ashamed of posting smut (but still want to keep writing it) so I hope this is good enough for you to enjoy! Remember that your comments and reblogs are truly appreciated! Thanks for reading <3 (Also, thoughts on the new layout?) ↳ MAKE YOUR REQUESTS | TALK TO ME! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

The door of the apartment you shared in Monaco opened, and before Oscar could step inside, he heard excited screams that made it clear someone was more than happy about his arrival.  

Not only did your cat start rubbing against his leg while purring, but also you, his girlfriend, were hopping towards him, barefoot and wrapped in one of his McLaren hoodies, which turned out to be even bigger on you than you had expected when you decided it would be a great idea to steal it from your boyfriend.  

"You did it, Osc!” you squealed as you threw your arms around his neck. "Osc, oh my God, you won a race! Do you know what that means?"  

Oscar felt his cheeks turn red. Of course, he knew exactly what winning a Grand Prix meant, especially during his second season in Formula 1. However, all he did was shrug, as if his achievement wasn’t that important.  

"Yeah," was all he could say.  

"I’m so, so proud of you," you said in a trembling voice, standing on your tiptoes to cup his face in your hands.  

"I couldn’t have done it without you, even though you were here," Oscar replied sincerely, a hint of regret in his tone. If there was one thing he regretted, it was that you hadn’t been there with him throughout the whole process of stepping onto the podium.  

"I know you would have liked me to be there, and I would’ve loved that too," you replied, making a sad but funny face. "But it’s okay! I screamed at the TV a lot, so I guess I helped in some way… And I’m sure you’ll win more races and I’ll be there to see them all, so it’s not the end of the world!"

Oscar chuckled and pulled you close until there was no space between you. He allowed himself a few moments to hold onto you, gently running his fingers through your hair while you clung tightly to his shirt, pressing your face into his chest as if he might disappear at any second.  

"Hey… I have something for you."

Even though you whispered it, Oscar heard you perfectly. You bit your lip,. a telltale sign of nervousness he knew well, as you pulled away from him. Then, you quickly headed towards the living room, with the Australian following you, and grabbed a small book he had never seen before.  

Carefully, as if it were fragile, you handed it to your boyfriend.  

"Open it… I hope you like it!"

Oscar did as you asked. Gently, he opened what he soon realized was a photo album. It wasn’t just a collection of pictures of you from the past two years since you started dating. It was beautifully decorated. There were messages, and even reflections from your perspective about each memory you had built together.  

"I know it’s not a big deal, but since I was so bored with studying, I have to admit I procrastinated a bit and felt like doing some crafts, so… well, this was the result," you said hesitantly, as if you were confessing a crime, though a small smile crept onto your lips. "Maybe you were expecting something else, I don’t know, but I hope you like it. You could even take it with you whenever you have to travel, so you remember me and also add something else if you feel in the mood," you added softly.  

Oscar felt a lump in his throat, unsure of what to say. Although he was used to you being thoughtful, and he always tried to reciprocate, you somehow kept outdoing yourself.  

"Y/N, this is…" he trailed off, struggling to find the right words. More accurately, he didn’t know how to express them. "It’s incredible. Thank you so much."

You smiled and gave him a gentle kiss on the lips, which, as you both expected, quickly turned into something more desperate, fueled by your hunger for each other.  

Oscar’s hands found your waist beneath the hoodie, his fingers tracing invisible lines along your skin, moving up and down, even toying with the clasp of your bra. The only thing you could do was keep kissing him, tugging at his hair lightly and pressing yourself against his thigh, seeking friction to ease the growing ache within you.  

Then, you suddenly pulled away, more abruptly than Oscar had expected. Your pupils were completely dilated, your lips swollen, and your hair a complete mess.  

"Oscar…" 

"Y/N…"

"I want to do it."

Your voice was barely a whisper. Oscar’s eyes widened, surprised because, even though he perfectly understood what you meant, hearing you say it out loud was an entirely different feeling.  

"Bebe…" 

"I really, really want to do it, Osc," you repeated, more as a confirmation to yourself than to him. "Yesterday, you lost your v-card in Formula 1 with your victory, so… I was thinking maybe I could lose mine too."  

Oscar had known from the very beginning of your relationship that you had never been physically involved with anyone beyond a couple of kisses and teasing. At first, you had been insecure about telling him, worried about feeling ashamed, but Oscar had always made sure you felt safe and comfortable, promising you would only take steps forward when you were truly ready.  

Today, your words made clear that you finally felt like that moment arrived, and that filled Oscar with happiness not because you were about to have sex, but because it meant you were finally comfortable enough with yourself to take that step.  

"Are you… sure?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer. "You know we don’t have to rush anything… I don’t want you to feel like we have to do this just because, you know…" 

"I know, Osc, and I promise I wouldn’t be bringing this up if I weren’t sure," you reassured him, looking into his eyes as you ran your fingers over his hands. "I love you, and most importantly, I trust you. I’ve thought about this for a long time, and well… yeah."

"It’s just… I don’t want to mess anything up, Y/N. This is really important, and it should be perfect,” he confessed with a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck.  

You smiled, cupping his face and bringing him closer for a kiss.  

"It doesn’t have to be perfect as long as it’s with you, Osc.”

"Okay, but… if you change your mind at any point, you tell me," Oscar insisted. You laughed, rolling your eyes.  

"I promise, really."

Your lips met again, but this time much slower. Oscar took his time kissing you carefully, wanting to do everything right. He cradled your cheek with one hand to deepen the kiss, while the other wrapped around your back, guiding you gently toward the bedroom you shared.  

Once inside, he forced himself to stop and take a deep breath to avoid panicking, even though there was no reason to.  

You stood in front of him, looking at him with a mix of shyness and adoration that reminded him of your early days, when you just used to go out for coffee or to the movies back in high school.  

Oscar couldn’t help but look at you with an equally shy, yet utterly endearing, expression.  

"Tell me if you want me to stop, alright?"

"I will, yeah."  

You didn’t need to say anything else since kissing spoke for you. You took your time, enough for Oscar to make sure you felt completely comfortable, enough for you to overthink just a little more before deciding if you really wanted to continue…  

*"I love you, Oscar…" you murmured between kisses. You tugged at his shirt, helping him pull it off, running your hands over his bare chest as if you were seeing him for the first time.  

"I love you too, Y/N…" 

With nerves and hands shakier than he would have liked, almost as if he were the inexperienced one, he took hold of the hem of your hoodie and slowly lifted it over your head, leaving you in just your underwear.  

Oscar was surprised to see you in black lace lingerie instead of the usual shorts you wore around the house. He was about to say something, but you didn’t give him the chance. You closed the distance between you, pressing your foreheads together before kissing him once again.  

Neither knew how long you were like this, but you both agreed that it had been long enough to discover that you needed more of each other.

Oscar ended up forcing himself to pull away from you and take a breath. A smile curved between his lips, which caused you, somewhat nervously, to giggle at the situation and hug him around the waist, pulling him closer to you while trying not to shove him away.

“Really, we don't have to do it if you don't want to, Y/N,” the McLaren driver insisted once again.

“I've been looking forward to doing this for a long time, and I've been mentally preparing for it for a while,” she told him, trying not to sound uneasy. “I trust you, Osc, and there's nothing for you to worry about.”

“So...?”

“I want you to make me yours, Oscar. Today, tomorrow or whenever and wherever you want,” you whispered in his ear as sensually as you could.

“Y/N…”

“Oscar: I just want you to fuck me.”

You felt your boyfriend tense up after those words that had caught even you off guard. Instinctively, you brought your hand to the noticeable bulge under Oscar's pants, but when you tried to reach for the button to unbutton them, he pushed your hands away lovingly.

“No, honey, none of that for now. Today is your day, so let me do the work and just enjoy yourself.”

Oscar, without another word, took you by the chin and kissed you again for the umpteenth time that day. Now, your lips moved at a slower speed. You guessed it was because you noticed how one of Oscar's hands began to massage one of your breasts, giving special attention to the nipple. With the other, he lightly brushed your pussy, making you gasp when he decided to play with your clit.

“Do you like it, babe?” he asked in a tone of voice that showed too much excitement.

His fingers now delved a little deeper into your intimacy, those enveloping movements becoming a little faster.

“Yes, Osc...” you barely managed to answer.

That answer was enough for the Australian to stop immediately. You didn't even look him in the face. Oscar pulled away from you, leaving a quick kiss on your lips and starting a trail of kisses all over your body, stopping once he reached your lower stomach area.

“Y/N…”

His hands stood delicately on your thighs, which he was now kissing, closer and closer to your pussy. Your hair stood on end. Your breath was completely held, unable to breathe in case that put an end to it all, as if that would be enough for Oscar to finish whatever he was doing with you. 

“If anything we do tonight makes you uncomfortable and you want to stop, just tell me please,” the Australian declared. “And, before your little head starts thinking nonsense: no, I'm not going to get mad at you because you don't want to have sex, okay? If you don't want to…”

“Oscar, look at me,” you cut him off, and the boy immediately listened to you: “it's you, and I'm not going to feel uncomfortable with you and with anything you do to me.”

“Do you promise me, love?”

“I swear.”

Oscar nodded, grabbing your thighs again and dragging you to the edge of the bed so that his face was in front of your pussy, perfectly aligned with your entrance.

Without warning, he slid his tongue, flat, all over it with a slowness that was completely unbearable and that seemed that, rather than pleasing you, he wanted to kill you little by little. His movements were frantic; constant changes of speed, from faster to slower, and vice versa, that made his nose rub against your clit while his tongue seemed to do wonders with that dance.

When Oscar's tongue began to explore inside you, and his index finger, the one he used to show on camera every time he got a first position just like Sebastian Vettel did in his golden age, started a tortuous tour of your labia majora, you curled up shyly but instinctively. Your hands ended up tangled in his hair, forcing him closer to you at the same time your hips did the same.

“I think you're liking it, aren't you my little girl?” Piastri said, ending his oral contact with you and replacing it with his finger. His gaze was fixed on her, and you thought about why he hadn't done this to you before.

“Don't stop, Osc. For the sake of God, don't even think about stopping...” you gasped, becoming increasingly unable to articulate a word.

He didn't have to say anything else. After those words, Oscar slipped a second finger inside you. You let out a small gasp of surprise and he, without taking his eyes off you, laughed, your cheeks turning red almost instantly. Despite this, he kissed your thighs as he continued the back and forth with his index finger, adding his heart almost soon after while increasing even more the speed.

You felt that everything was going too fast, and the waves of pleasure that were flooding you were making you lose, more and more, the notion of time. You didn't know at what point, but when he decided to add his tongue back into the equation, without leaving the movements of his fingers inside you going straight to that spot that gave you the most pleasure, a strange sensation gripped the lower part of your stomach.

It was getting harder and harder for you to hold back your orgasm. You felt how your eyes were closing little by little, and your leg, too, to which Oscar put a little pressure on them to prevent them from closing.

“Come for me, love,” Oscar let you know. “Come on, Y/N, you've got it babe. Come on…”

And so you did.

Your back curved in such a way that your body, completely sweaty, could hardly keep on writhing as it was doing. You were moaning like you had never moaned before, and your boyfriend seemed to notice. A smirk of satisfaction and success began to break from his lips as he licked at your fluids, his mouth moving slowly now, over-stimulating your clit and making you incessantly.

The Australian rose and carefully positioned himself on top of you.

“I love you, Y/N, you don't know how much,” he said between kisses, making you taste yourself for the first time, but hopefully not the last one. “You are the most beautiful girl in the world... And the best girl in the world. Don't ever doubt it.”

“Oscar, don't…”

“Yes you are, Y/N, and I will not allow you to speak so negatively about yourself.”

After those last words, the driver pulled away from you slightly, trying yo give you some time to recover. Then, you looked at him taking what seemed to be a condom from the bedside table, which he carefully put on and immediately positioned at your entrance. 

You swallowed, while Oscar tried not to think about whether he was really going too fast.

·I don't want to sound weird, but... please, if you want me to stop, just tell me,” Oscar spoke as best he could, trying not to succumb to the nerves he felt about taking this important step with you. “I want you to be pretty sure about this since… Well, since there’s not going back…”

You said nothing. Instead, you gave him a slight nod with your head, still looking at him, which was enough for Oscar to enter you carefully, but without a previous warning.

He decided to stand for a while so you could get used to his length. You felt a little pain. You held back a scream, bit your lips and closed your eyes to do your best to make that feeling go away as soon as possible.

“Y/N…”

“Go on, Oscar. It's all right…”

The boy nodded, and finished entering you with the same care. Little by little, his movements gained speed. You arched your back, moaning incessantly as she started feeling more comfortable with the depth of penetration, and Oscar hitting her in a spot that made her feel a pleasure that you feel in a way you didn’t know how to describe, but that felt good enough to make you never want that sex session to end.

“Does it feel good, honey? Are you enjoying my... cock... for the first time?” Oscar moaned, biting her neck. “Look at you… so desperate for me to keep fucking you…”

“Fuck, Oscar... this is a fantasy,” you gasped. “And you talking so... like… like this... God... Don't stop, please…”

“Never for you, sweetheart.”

Your moans became one, a melody that your neighbors were probably listening to but you didnt give a fuck. Your gazes could hardly be averted, and your words, getting dirtier and dirtier as much as your were embarrassed at first, were sounding louder and louder, as were your pleas.

“Oscar!” you shrieked as you felt Oscar's fingers press against you nervous bundle.”

“Love...” he moaned through his teeth. ”Don't stop moaning my name, please. You don't know how you're making me feel right now.

·And of course I'm going to make you feel so much better when we do this again,” you replied, choking with pleasure. As best you could, you sat up a little and wrapped you arms around you boyfriend's neck. “I want to do it again, Osc,” you made it clear. “I want us to do this every time we get the chance....”

You kept moaning his name, giving him promises you knew he would never break. He kept reassuring you and how good you were doing, speeding up his movements as he couldn’t stop playing with your clit, all of that while he kept telling you that you were his.

You couldn't contain it anymore for the second time that day.

“Fuck, Osc,” he stammered. “I think I'm gonna…”

“Let yourself go, honey,” the brown-haired said. “You can do it, love. Cum for me.”

Your orgasm came before you could say anything else. Oscar came within seconds of you, and as soon as he did he ended, he gave you a short kiss on the lips as he carefully pulled out of heyour and collapsed beside you. 

Oscar's gaze remained fixed on the ceiling. You rested your head on his shoulder, trying to regain your composure with increasingly slower breaths. 

“You ok babe?” Oscar murmured after a few minutes.

“Yes,” you whispered, nodding your head with a smile peeking out. “Better than ever, actually.”

It was then that it dawned on Oscar. Quickly, he sat up a little and saw what was under where you were still positioned. His heart began to race, and a pressure settled in his chest as he realized the light blue bed sheets were stained slightly with blood as was his condom, still on him and which he hadn't paid attention to because he just wanted to be with you cuddling after he'd made you lose your virginity.

“Hey, listen, love…” he started to say in a calm, but concerned tone.

You followed his gaze, and couldn't help but blush and die of embarrassment inside.

“Oh...” you spoke quietly, instinctively covering yourself with the sheets. “This... is normal. Well, I guess so…”

“Does it hurt? Are you hurt?”

You shook your head, denying it, though the look on your face seemed to say otherwise.

“Well… It's just a little... just a little sore. But it's fine, really. It happens when you have sex for the first time with someone.”

Oscar studied your face, and he knew you wanted to stop this conversation. You wanted to let it go and pretend everything was fine so you wouldn't give him any sign that you hadn't liked it, even though your moans and pleas seemed to say otherwise.

“Still, you shouldn't let it go.”

The Australian approached you and gave you a shy kiss on the forehead. Then he got out of bed, still naked.

·Where are you going?” you asked in a voice mixed with curiosity and nervousness.

“I'm going to get a towel with hot water to clean you up.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he was already heading towards the bathroom while taking off his condom. As you heard the faucet turn on, and your boyfriend getting everything ready, you couldn't help but feel bad because, maybe, Oscar deserved better, and your behavior, what was happening to you now, was not what he deserved.

You forced yourself to stop overthinking because if there’s one thing you knew for sure is that Oscar loved you, more than sometimes you were conscious of.

Your boyfriend came back a few minutes later, and found you sitting on the bed, curled up on yourself and clinging to the sheets while still covering with them, as if you were afraid.

“You don't have to…”

“I know,” Oscar cut you off, offering you a small smile, “but I want to. So, please, just let me take care of you.”

Your eyes softened at his proposal, and you forced yourself to calm down as Oscar, with his gaze and his hands coyly on your thighs, asked your permission to spread your legs. You nodded, and he carefully ran the wet towel and hot water over your pussy, giving it little touches because he didn't want to risk it stinging or hurting any more because he really didn't know exactly how the female body worked after losing your virginity.

When he finished, he kissed her knee and sat down next to her again, also covering himself with the sheets so he could hug her and, more than anything else, try to reassure her and make her feel as good as possible.

“There, that's it, all settled. Now, let's stay here and rest.”

“Was it good?”

Oscar let out a small laugh from his mouth at your sudden question as he leaned over to you and snuggled into your shoulder. 

”You've been amazing, love,” he replied, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer to him. Now you were both lying on your bed, looking at each other. “Are you okay now that… Did I hurt you? I need you to be honest with me... I should have asked you if you liked the pace I decided to take because, well, I’m not going to lie to you, I think I could have gone a little slower...”

You shook your head and didn't give him a chance to keep talking. Instead, you grabbed his face and pressed your lips to his.

“You don't have to worry about anything, Osc. It was far from perfect. So, from now on, I hope you win more races because from today on, winning sex has become a tradition that I hope we keep for a long time.”

Oscar laughed, knowing you were completely serious.

“We can make a tradition of this and anything else you want, love,” he buried his face in yours, and began to tickle your waist gently. “We can even have several rounds if you want, so… thoughts on that? Should we keep ready for a second round today?”

[sugucide]

Satoru Gojo has made it out of the grave.

In another life, he sits under the sun in the evenings and lazes for the hell of it, not for a ten minute break from the chaos. He enjoys the silence, unlittered by curses and fighting and white burning static. He smiles now and then, when he wants to and never to prove himself to be okay when he isn't.

In another life, there are still dark days. And when the nights are cold and memories of friends never forgotten become haunting, he is free to cry. He finds comfort in his peers, never judgement, and lets himself be sad until the sun rises and his slate is once again clean.

In another life, Satoru Gojo doesn’t have to learn to love his name and the weight it holds. He learns to love his body, his scars, his memories both good and bad. He learns that it’s okay to love, and its okay to fear loss- he learns how to share his meal time with others and accept compliments with one in return rather than a faux over-confidence.

In another life he finds a soulmate. You’re kind and strong and not with him for his name or glory. He doesn’t have to worry himself over protecting you because in another life there is nothing out to get him. You have loving sex each night and can’t keep your hands off each other the morning after either. He learns your body like it’s his own and treats it with the reverence that so many have given the Gojo name—though without the gory weight of responsibility.

Maybe, in another life, he has kids. Probably girls, but maybe a boy or two as well. He isn't a perfect dad, never will be, but he's one that stays and loves and leads by example, not by empty threat and misplaced anger and the expectation of power and greatness. He teaches his daughters what love a man should show his spouse through his affections towards to you. Teaches his son how to love himself before trying to lean on another for love. He raises a family, not a clan.

In another life, he buys a house with a garden. He commits to watching his garden grow, tends to the weeds when they become unruly after he's put it off a little too long. He stays in one place, doesn't feel an urge to move around and stay on edge. He builds a shed and turns it into his space: teaches his kids a secret knock to let him know they're in trouble with you for abandoning their chores and want to hide from the gentle wrath of your loving discipline.

In another life, Suguru comes to visit every weekend. He’s Uncle Suguru to his kids and they sit on the porch and talk over a drink as the sun sets. He doesn’t have to worry about his friend because they speak rather than act. Satoru isn’t so focused on himself. Suguru isn’t so reluctant to ask for help.

In another life, he enjoys the quiet of domesticity. He’s not facing death each day—not shaping students up to kill and exorcise. He eats good, and lots, and thanks you for every meal by doing the dishes wrong and growing confused when you take over yourself to do it right.

In another life, he keeps photo albums. They're off in some box in the attic he has to strain his back to find, and they're worn out and dusty and some of the faces he used to see every day are seen for the first time in years when he pulls them out to show the grandkids. They show interest in his stories, albeit half-feigned and more interested in giggling at how cute his friends were back in the day. He laughs along with them.

In another life, he’s old and gray and still makes the effort to dance with you in the living room to the old music he loves. He kisses you goodnight before bed and good morning when you wake him for breakfast. You go on date nights, because he’s never too busy fighting curses to be with his one love. He feels like a teenager in love every day, even well into his senior years.

In another life, all is well: he lays down in his grave with a smile, having lived a hard life, but one worth reliving over and over and over again. He does first, because he couldn’t bear to lose you, and he dies happy.

But thats in another life—one where he wasn’t doomed from the day he was born. Maybe his next life, if he’s so lucky.

[trulyy-yourzz]

✿fluff - b.e x reader

I know we all need a little something to make us feel better (I'm still mourning😞), so as a fellow billie writer, and for the requests in my inbox, here you go my loves 💕 I hope you enjoyy. Mwa!

ʚɞ

Billie sat hunched on the edge of her bed, her eyes red and puffy from crying. She had just gotten back from the Grammy Awards, seeing all her friends and peers winning awards left and right while she came away with nothing. It stung more than she ever could have imagined. And she didn't expect it to.

There was a soft knock at her bedroom door before it opened, revealing you, her girlfriend. Billie looked up at you with a sad smile, trying to be strong even though she felt like crumbling inside.

"Hey, can I come in?" You asked softly, your voice filled with concern.

Billie nodded, wiping at her tear-stained cheeks. "Yeah, of course. I could use the company right now."

You entered the room and closed the door behind you. then making your way over to sit beside Billie on the bed. You wrapped a comforting arm around the singer's shoulders, pulling her close. "I'm so sorry about tonight, Bille. I know how much the Grammys meant to you," you murmured, rubbing your hand soothingly along Billie's arm.

Billie let out a shaky sigh, leaning into your touch. "I just...I don't get it. I poured my heart and soul into my album. I thought for sure I had a shot at winning something, anything really. But... nothing. It's like, what's the point?" Her voice cracked with emotion as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. You tightened her embrace, letting Billie cry into your shoulder.

"You can't think like that," you said firmly but kindly. "Your music means everything to so many people, including me. The fact that you didn't win an award doesn't diminish your talent or your impact."

Billie sniffled and pulled back to look at you with loving eyes. "You really mean that?"

You nodded, cupping Billie's face in your hands. "I do Billie, you're an incredible artist and an even more incredible person. Don't let one night or a silly little award define you or your career. Your album is beyond amazing."

Billie felt a small smile tug at her lips as she gazed into your earnest eyes. "Thank you. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You don't have to do anything without me," you said with a warm smile, cupping her cheek and leaning in to plant a soft kiss on her lips.

"We're in this together, love..."

°

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Notes: screaming, crying, and throwing up!

That's all❤️

[norikuna]

pick your love story °🍵⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ jujutsu kaisen edition (sfw)

gojo satoru ☆ childhood friends to lovers

loves to tease you, and he'll always poke your cheek, ruffle your hair, or steal your food just to get a reaction. if you're shy or quiet, he lives to make you flustered. buys the most ridiculous gifts, including matching sunglasses and designer items that cost more than your rent. acts like your personal heater, always draping himself over you, wrapping his long arms around your shoulders, or sneaking his hands under your sweater to press them against your skin. if someone flirts with you? well, he's throwing him arm around you so dramatically, calling you his 'beloved' in the most obnoxious way possible. if the person doesn't back off, his carefree tone disappears and he gives them a chilling smile. loves late night drives and cafe dates, he's so the type to blast music in the car and sing off-key on purpose, always laughs when you tell him to zip it. his love language is definitely physical touch and words of affirmation, and he needs to be touching you at all times, and he constantly reminds you how much he loves you in different playful and heartfelt ways <3 he's even softer when he's sleepy, nuzzling into your neck and shit, voice always dropping to a quiet murmur as he spills whatever's on his mind.

geto suguru ☆ best friends to lovers

pretty chill, protective and a faux deep thinker type of guy. gentle and attentive, always knowing what you need before you even ask. if had a rough day, he's gonna run you a bath and try to get your favourite drink. tries to sit still and listen patiently while you rant. lowkey a bit overzealous when it comes to jealousy, but never petty. he doesn't get outwardly possessive. but if someone flirts with you, he'll wrap an arm around your waist and give the person a pretty sharp look, enough that they'll back off and shit. always takes pictures of you, and he has an entire album of random shots of you reading, laughing or even just existing bc he really does think you look beautiful in every moment. loves bookstore and vinyl shop dates, and he enjoys those sweet peaceful moments with you (flipping through books, aka arguing about different genres). he's super big on quality time + acts of service, and if he sees you struggling with anything, he'll try to take care of it before you even have to ask. loves running his fingers through your hair, and he claims it calms him, and sometimes he just gets so lost in thought while doing it, that you have to snap him out of it. he's the type to whisper sweet things in your ear absentmindedly, like 'you have no idea how much i love you' when he thinks you're not paying attention. goes all red and dismissive when he realises you actually did hear that :D and he says he's not in gossip and drama but no one talks shit like he does, lets be real

ryomen sukuna ☆ prob sum weird enemies to lover shit

claims he doesn't date, but somehow ends up trying to figure out your favourite flower. calls you stupid shit like 'brat' or 'pet' more than your actual name, but if someone disrespects you, he tears them apart without hesitation. gets jealous easily, but he won't admit it, and if someone looks at you wrong, he'll grab your chin and kiss you (not that you mind <3) his love language is physical touch and dominance, expect him to always keep a hand on your waist, neck or chin because as much as he pretends otherwise, he loves feeling your skin against his. gaslights you over silly things for fun ('i literally told you that' 'no you didn't' 'oh, so you're forgetful now). also whispers absolute nonsense in your ear just from time to time, 'did you know that octopuses have three hearts? bet you didn't, but now you do. you're welcome'). will open a jar way too aggressively to try and show off his strength but breaks it, and now you're left with no pickles and a sulking sukuna with pickle juice on his hand. carries you like a sack of potatoes on his shoulders if you piss him off. pretends he doesn't gaf, but always shares his food with you and tries to order what you like.

toji fushiguro ☆ reluctant friends to lovers

grumpy but soft for you typa boyfriend who doesn't believe in using full words in texts. only texts in 'ya' or 'nah' and he accidentally replied 'k' to you saying 'i love you' and he called you immediately afterwards because he knows he messed up. loves pda but in the most lazy way possible, and will always drape himself over you like a weighted blanket and refuse to move. always steals bites of your food (half the meal) but will act offended if you do the same. once won you a stuffed animal at a carnival and acted like it was no big deal, but he actually used up all his carnival tickets trying to win you the biggest prize. spoils you in a reckless way, and he'll hand you a wad of cash and refuses to tell you how he got the money. he just tells you to go buy something nice. love language is acts of service and physical touch because he claims he's not amazing with words, but his hands always find their way back home to you. loves lazy mornings, and grumbles when you try to get out of bed, pulling you back in with an arm around your waist.

nanami kento ☆ love at first sight

exhausted but devoted you get me, and he claims that you energise him and light up his life. lectures you when you only sleep for three hours a night. replies to the tiktoks you send with corporate replies 'that was humorous. thank you for sharing. i love you.' he thinks you're absolutely the most beautiful person on the planet, and always lets you know. pretty gentle, mature and devoted. shows his love in sweet, meaningful ways. always puts your comfort first, and he tries to take things off your plate without asking. loves cooking for you, and believes cooking is its own love language. hates unnecessary, brash pda but loves quiet intimacy. holds your hand, brushes your hair against your ear. lingering kisses on your temple. reads to you at night, and he'll sit beside you if you have trouble drifting off. his love language is absolutely acts of service and quality time, and he doesn't just say he loves you, he'll prove it in every little action of his. loves taking you out to scenic parks and hikes, and just stares after you with so much love as he tries to adjust the focus of his camera lenses to try and capture you as well as he can.

choso kamo ☆ strangers to lovers

kinda awkward but genuinely, really quiet sweet. overthinks everything, and at the start of your relationship, he even started overthinking how you said 'goodnight!' and wondered if you were mad at him, because there was no heart or emoji. would die before making the first move idk, like you're going to have kiss him first or else, otherwise i fear he's going to have a stroke. holds grudges as long as he can, and will bring up little shit (like you stealing his lunch) six months later 'remember that time you betrayed me?'. but he can only really give you the silent treatment for two whole minutes when you tease him, and then immediately apologises because he feels bad. a lot of friends tease the two of you because they think choso is too quiet or a pushover but the truth is that he's actually pretty snarky, clever and observant. very determined and always sticks to his morals, even at times when you disagree with him, he's able to put his foot down. love language is quality time and gift giving, because he's the type to remember everything you like and surprise him with it. loves watching movies with you, and pretends not to care for 90s chick flicks, but he's digging them deep down. loves holding your hand, and even in public, he'll reach for you quietly.

higuruma hiromi☆ coworkers to lovers

overworked but loves you so bad. he sometimes reminds you of a tired, single dad but he's truly joyous to date. if you call him baby in public, he immediately malfunctions and blushes. you once kissed him in a courtroom (not even when court was ongoing!) on the tip of his gorgeous nose, and he almost choked. will 100% object to random things just to irritate you, with topics like takeout for dinner, 'objection. we had sushi two days ago.' takes everything pretty seriously, until you do something cute. then he just sits there, hiding his smile behind his hand like an adorable anime protagonist. tries to be strict or protective, but you just make him super soft. secretly likes pda but pretends that he doesn't. grips your hand so tight like he fears you might disappear. loves when you rest in his lap or against his chest as he reads over cases and paperwork. you told him that he'd look hot with glasses, and you caught him browsing through lens frames.

naoya zenin ☆ arranged marriage (kinda ooc naoya btw, bear with me)

sort of a menace who should have been left on read a long time ago, but this wasn't your first choice. somehow, he folds for you almost immediately but you think he'd rather dig his own grave and neatly fold his hands over his chest as he buries himself at his own funeral before he admits that he likes you. calls you annoying but will drop everything if you text him that you need help. always saying dumb shit to you, or trying to make fun of you, but if someone else does? they're gone, like he's going to stalk them, find where they work, and get them fired from their job. texts you the stupidest things like 'if i was ugly, would you still love me?' 'i just saw an ugly baby. damn' 'what would do if i got arrested? be honest.' saw someone flirting with you once at like a fancy event, and rolled his eyes, pretending that he didn't give a flying fuck. ended up at the bathroom mirror, gripping the sink and trying not to throw up. if you ignore his texts, he's gonna send vaguely ominous messages, like 'answer me' followed by 'this is how it ends?' 'i'm leaving btw, i'm going to pack up and leave you forever and go live on my own in the wild.' you check his location and he's still at home. naoya thinks he's the prize in the relationship, he's not. definitely a pda menace, and he loves just kissing you in public.

hajime kashimo ☆ enemies to lovers but in that 'we met when we were fighting' way

your relationship is just him being reckless with no survival instinct, and you trying to keep your boyfriend alive. aka trying to stop him from licking the power outlet. will randomly challenge you to fights for no reason, never mind the fact that he'll feel bad and back out at the last minute. has no concept of personal space, and will stand nose to nose with you just to make you uncomfortable. if you back away, he's gonna follow you and ask where you're going. if someone flirts with you, he's not even going to do too much, just laugh in their face and ask the offender if they really thought they had a chance. kashimo has no concept of an inside voice at all, so god forbid you try to take him somewhere quiet. energy level always at 200% and it's a mission to even take him someplace like a grocery store. if you said 'i love you' first, it might have been the only time that someone else has bested him in something. hajime physically can't process emotions and goes green and pale (he loves you so much btw) and he looks vaguely ill at your confession. stares for five minutes before throwing himself at you. definitely a words of affirmation type of guy, instead of actions, because sometimes, he's all bark and no bite.

noritoshi kamo ☆ sweet, rom-com crush

he's actually a bit traditional, but very sweet. unfortunately, he's also so formal that it hurts sometimes. but it's fun when he asks you things like 'would you like to accompany me for an evening meal?' or 'shall we go for a stroll?' if you hold his hand, for the first few months, he sweats profusely but acts as though he's totally cool (narrator: he was not cool). lowkey believes that he doesn't deserve you and he absolutely treats you, the love of his life, like royalty. super observant and determined to make you as comfortable as possible, so you're never really left wanting for anything. if someone flirts with you, he doesn't really get jealous, but rather gets philosophical. 'it is natural for others to admire beauty such as yours. however, they must know it's not theirs to claim.' a key forefront runner of the sassy men apocalypse, even though you wouldn't be able to tell at the start. super quick-witted, but he's the type to keep his thoughts to himself, but luckily, he gets more comfortable sharing his jokes with you as times go on. blushes super easily, and he hates it because he thinks it ruins his aloof/mysterious guy persona.

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

LIKE WHAT??

Weird black neglected!reader

The readers fears

The reader is honestly terrified of looking like Bruce; he is your biological father, but nothing scares you more than getting older and having some random reporter say you have Bruce's nose. You'd probably fall apart at the thought, like shellshock—scared it may not even be in facial features, just how you carry yourself. The confident, cocky stride is only found in Bruce Wayne, and somehow, you seem to have it. When asking Alfred to help tie your tie for a gala, and when he finished, he stepped back and chuckled, hiding his mouth behind his knuckles.

"Oh, young master, you're starting to look just like your father when he was younger."

This fact leaves you in shambles, and you decide not to wear a tie that night, fearing someone might say something. You'd rather look like your mother than him; your biggest fear is that you might lose all your mother's features as you get older, looking more and more like Bruce. At one point, your friends told you that you have Bruce Wayne's smirk, and you didn't smile for a week. You used to deny looking anything like your father—the tall stature? Hey, Jason's taller! The long nose? It's not that long! The cocky attitude? You're just confident, no biggie!

You remember when you were younger, way before going to Wayne Manor, you had asked your mother what your father looked like? It made her giggle.

"You little noisy wart! You wanna see what Daddy looks like? Fine, I'll show ya. Come here." She went to her bedroom, pulled out an old worn photo album, and sat back down on the couch. She picked you up and sat you on her lap. She flipped through the pages in the album. You saw pictures of you as a baby, photos of your momma in college. They looked really old, but then again, you were really young. Then she stopped on the page smack dab in the middle.

"There he is, your daddy," It was an old picture of your mom and Bruce. Your mom looked young, slimmer, and less wrinkled, and beside her was... the infamous Bruce Wayne: piercing blue eyes, killer jawline, and a genuinely soft smile. It made you frown; you didn't look anything like him. Your skin was darker, your hair wasn't straight but curly, and your eyes weren't blue. There were more photos of him and your mother; she looked so much happier, or maybe it was your imagination.

"Are you sure? I don't think I look anything like him," you huffed in disappointment, just for your mother to smile and pull you closer.

"I don't think so; you have his cute little nose." She tapped your nose, making you cover it with a pout.

"And his strong chin," she tickled under your chin, which made you giggle.

"His lovely ears," she tickled behind your ears and neck.

"And those pretty, chubby cheeks!" She pinched your cheeks, and you fell into a fit of laughter, just before she hugged you and nuzzled your cheek with her rounded nose.

"Darling, you are just as handsome, if not more beautiful, than your father."

"I want to look like you more!" you shouted, making your mother giggle.

But those soft and sweet memories faded to black, and the more you thought about it and stared at a picture of your "father," the more you hated it. You didn't want to look like him; you didn't want to resemble a deadbeat lunatic who frightened people in the dead of night. You didn't want to have his voice or his brains; you didn't want to be compared to him at all. You were your own person with your own dreams and ambitions, your own thoughts and ideas. You aren't a Wayne, never were, never will be; you’re an [Last Name] for life. Even if you changed your surname after being in Bruce's custody, you still weren't a Wayne; you're not perfect; you're not an acrobat. You're not strong and buff; you're not that great with gadgets. You didn't drop out of high school to fight crime, and you weren't smart enough to do that. You weren't trained by killer assassins or raised to fight. Your dad wasn't a supervillain, and you sure as hell weren't some metahuman who could shoot lights from his hands. You were just a little weirdo who liked video games, anime, and comics, who would stay up late controlling your Sims, who spent their free time making stupid mods for fun, who had crude humor and was kind of an asshole. That was who you were; you were your mother's child. You had your mother's face, her smile, her laugh, and her soft brown eyes.

"[Name], you have such fabulous fashion! Where did you get it from?" a reporter said, pointing a camera and a mic right at your face; it almost gave you whiplash.

"Thank you, ma'am. I got it from my momma," you said with a small smile as you pushed the camera out of your face.

You'll never look like Bruce, no matter who said so. Sometimes, it irks your soul down to the core when you hear Damian now call you "Sister," "Brother," or "His older sibling." First off, you all were half-siblings, and second, you never considered that little gonk as your little brother. Maybe when you were younger, you thought so, but you're not that delusional anymore, and you barely see Bruce as a father. You're willing to have a whole argument about it, but it.

"We have Wayne blood running through our veins, [Name]," the little hellspawn would say every time you tried to blow him off.

"The only blood running through my veins is my mother's," you snarled. You are nothing like them or like him.

[dannielricciardo]

hijacking this post to remind everyone how that announcement went and the absolute insanity that was the lead up to the announcement.

in the lead up to the hiatus, fall out boy has been pronounced washed, folie was the worst album of all time, people would literally boo songs from it on the tour and at one point if i recall correctly, alex from all time low had to make a speech at one of the stops that booing your headliner is not cool and brings the vibes down monumentally (also on that tour, and i am not joking, was metro station). with this farewell, fall out boy call it a day, seemingly absolutely dejected, and embark on various solo projects like the damndest things, soul punk and a pop duo with bebe rexha (yes that one).

then patrick posts "we liked you better fat", a devastating piece on how he can never live up to who he was in fall out boy - "there’s no amount of money that makes you feel better when people think of you as a joke or a hack or a failure or ugly or stupid or morally empty.[...] I’m a touring artist and I feel I’ve become incapable of touring anymore with any act. [...] there will still be 10-20 percent of the audience there to tell me how shitty whatever it is I’m doing is and how much better the thing I used to do was. Not only that, but that 10-20 percent combined with whatever notoriety Fall Out Boy used to have prevents me from having the ability to start over from the bottom again. I can’t even go back to playing basement shows. As the saying goes: I couldn’t get booked at the opening of a letter." (source. yes, this is on tumblr. pete and patrick were on tumblr answering asks.)

brutally depressing. the public finally realizes that wait a damn minute! these people who were boo'd, ridiculed and made a joke, were actually not some paper dolls but humans with feelings. there's a public outcry of support. here's a reblog of the original post, you can scroll down and see the replies. we hear nothing after that. pete is best man at patrick's wedding. we hear nothing after that.

and then. on 25th january 2013, a then prolific bandom blog, property of zack breaks an exclusive that fall out boy reunion is imminent. that is right, the news that fall out boy is coming back appeared on tumblr first. you would not believe the pull this website used to have.

immediately, the entirety of bandom loses their minds. this is still a time when AbsolutePunk is the place to be when it comes to discussing all things pop punk.

now, if you think likes/replies on insta/tiktok/tw**ter are cool interactions with your fave, you havent been on absolutepunk, solely because this is the only forum where you could find pete wentz randomly quote replying to you in a long ass chain that would inevitably end up with you being banned for being sassy to jason tate. absolutepunk was where EVERYONE went. you found the new bands on absolute punk, you saw mark hoppus comment on a jimmy eat world review, you posted how TTTYG is the only good thing fall out boy has produced.

of course, since nothing every happens™️, absolutepunk declares that zack is pulling shit out of his ass for clicks, zack is in the comments fighting for his live saying "mf just you wait", jason tate is being iffy about it but maybe believes zack? and the general vibe is "yea. sure. reunion. that same band that keeps saying they aren't broken up. w/e man". joe denies it on tw***er almost immediately. if i recall correctly, pete also denied it on the absolutepunk thread.

two weeks later, a message appears on falloutboyrock.com (yes. the website back then was this. since as far back as i can remember):

A MESSAGE FROM PETE, PATRICK, ANDY & JOE

when we were kids the only thing that got us through most days was music. its why we started fall out boy in the first place. this isn't a reunion because we never broke up. we needed to plug back in and make some music that matters to us.

the future of fall out boy starts now.

save rock and roll...-

people were losing their minds. pop up shows sold out in minutes. i've never seen such hysterics in bandom before. you all know the rest. those 10 days between PoZ leaking and the real announcement were the longest 10 days ever. 10 years later, they are still a band. much to think about.

you can take a breath now. happy return day!

[chrissturnsfav]

hello!! Can you write something about rapper Chris and singer reader at the Grammys and one of them wins best album??? Love your work btw <3

⋆.˚✮ singer!reader gets her first grammy

the energy at the grammys is suffocating—cameras flashing, voices buzzing, celebrities everywhere pretending they aren’t trying to compete with each other. you don't really like events like this, even though they’re part of your life now. it's just so fucking overwhelming, so good thing chris is here.

he’s sat in a manspread beside you, wearing a sleek black suit with a black tie, jaw set like he's bored out of his mind. he taps his thumb on his knee, probably counting beats in his head.

you fidget with the sequins on your pretty mini dress, nerves tightening your chest. "i’m gonna throw up," you mutter under your breath.

chris doesn’t even blink. "nah, you ain’t," he scoffs, lightly nudging your shoulder with a smirk, his voice is calm, gravelly. "you built f'this shit, kid."

you shoot him a look, furrowing your brows with a small smirk. "that supposed to make me feel better?"

he grins, lazy and cocky. "you tell me," he shrugs.

before you can snap back, the presenter’s voice booms through the speakers. your name rings out like some surreal echo.

"and the grammy goes to..."

you freeze. the applause hits you like a wave. it’s loud, disorienting. you've just won the award for best pop song of the year. how the fuck...

your realization is interrupted when chris leans in, close enough for you to hear over the chaos. "get your ass up there."

your legs feel like jelly, but somehow you stand. the walk to the stage is a blur—faces, lights, a hundred thoughts colliding in your brain. you grip the golden statue like it might float away.

"uh," you start, voice shaky, letting out a nervous laugh, "wow. this is... wild."

"well, i didn’t prepare anything ‘cause i really didn’t think i’d be up here, so... bear with me."

there’s a soft ripple of laughter from the crowd, but you barely hear it. your eyes instinctively find chris. he’s still seated, staring at you with that sexy stupid smirk that hits you right in the chest. it’s somewhat of awe, but also pride.

you swallow hard. "i wanna just say thank you to my team, my family, everyone who’s been in my corner through all the highs and lows. i wouldn’t be here without you."

your voice steadies, warmth creeping in. "and to chris..." you pause, lips twitching into a smirk as you chuckle quietly. "thank you for always being so supportive and positive."

his brow quirks, lips curling into that signature half-smile.

"you’re annoyingly good at it most of the time," you add, a little sass creeping in.

the audience laughs. chris shakes his head like you’re ridiculous, but his grin says otherwise.

"thank you so much," you finish simply, heart full and light as you step back from the mic. "couldn't be more thankful, this truly doesn't even feel real."

the applause follows you down the stairs, but all you care about is getting back to your seat. chris is already standing, waiting.

"see? you killed that," he says, voice low and smooth.

"did i?" you tease, still catching your breath.

he leans in close, shades slipping down his nose. "told you, you ain’t built like these other girls."

you roll your eyes, trying to downplay the way your chest tightens. "you’re so fucking cocky," you snicker.

"nah, m'just right," he shrugs, the smirk on his plush lips deepening.

you laugh despite yourself, knowing damn well he’s never gonna let you forget this moment.

his smirk morphs into a soft smile, one of awe and adoration as his eyes soften. he slings an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his side and kissing the top of your head. "proud o'you, mama. knew you'd get this shit one day," he mumbles in a soft whisper against your hair.

thank you for reading!! <3

tags 🏷️: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage , @ifwdominicfike , @marrykisskilled , @strnilolover , @cayleeuhithinknott , @forgottxen , @sophand4n4 , @sturnsrecord , @purpledragon222 , @faiyaz555 , @jocelyncsblog , @freakiolos , @slut4chris888 , @chriss-slutt , @ilovedanielcaesar , @annsx03 , @snoopychris , @chrissweetheart , @slutformatt17 , @mattsturnii , @dominicfikeenthusiast , @mattsbratt333 , @ivysturnss , @mattysketchup , @coquettechris , @courta13

@chrissturnsfav ™

[sweetcherriexs]

jigsaw;b.e.

𝑗𝑖𝑔𝑠𝑎𝑤 – 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑛 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑦

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

billie felt a lump forming in her throat, her eyes strained on the stage as the host spoke into the microphone. she felt her brother's hand on her shoulder, but she missed your comforting touch. where were you? you said you'd be a few minutes in the bathroom. she was sweating, palms cold but sweaty as she continuously wiped them on her pants. she was so nervous, this was the last chance for her album to win an award.

she's worked so hard for the past year, writing, scrapping, recording over and over again. she put her soul, her trauma, her heart, her thoughts and body into this album and it blew up. and she was so so proud of herself and finneas. it had to win, right?

she was almost on her toes now, mouth running dry as she listened with wide eyes.

"next nomination is... album of the year" the voice rang through the arena, nervous and assuring whispers all around billie making her even more overwhelmed. "the nominees are...André 3000 - New Blue Sun...Beyoncé - Cowboy Carter...Billie Eilish - Hit Me Hard and Soft...Chappell Roan - The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess....Charli XCX - Brat....Jacob Collier - Djesse Vol. 4....Sabrina Carpenter - Short n’ Sweet...Taylor Swift - The Tortured Poets Department"

when he finished saying the last album's name, billie swallowed hardly. her heart was coming up her throat, suffocating her like blood hurling up her throat as if she was dying and has been stabbed one too many times. she was licking her lips constantly, the anxiety in her body at such high level that she was nearly shaking. those moments of dramatical pause were killing her – and, no doubt, the other nominees too –.

then, when taylor walked on stage, billie pursed her lips, her hand reaching up on her shoulder to grip her brother's hand. taylor stood by the microphone, looking out at the crowd of all her colleagues with a kind smile, she cleared her throat, glancing down at the cards in her hands.

"and the Grammy goes to..."

billie gripped finneas' hand tighter, starting to feel lightheaded from the overwhelming pressure on her chest.

"Cowboy Carter!"

the words hit billie like a truck and she stared at the stage for a moment. the last bit of hope disappears from her blue eyes which suddenly filled with tears. her hand dropped from her brother's and she put on a wry smile as she clapped, watching the singer walk on stage, accepting the award.

she was happy for her, of course, but... she thought everyone loved her album just as much as she did. that it was worth at least 1 Grammy... but, she thought wrong. she fought back tears, her body tense as her eyes never left the singer.

you sighed deeply, cursing yourself for taking so long in the bathroom as you hurried back to your girlfriend. though, kind of hoping you'd walk in to see her up on the stage already. but then you stepped in, seeing beyonce up there and your heart dropped lower the hell.

what?

this couldn't be...

your eyes looked for your girlfriend in the crowd, quickly making your way towards her and standing in her line of view to block her sight of the stage.

"baby.." you murmured despite the cheering crowd around you, eyes meeting her blood-shot ones and taking her clapping, shaky hands in yours. you looked at her a moment longer before glancing at finneas. "we're getting some fresh air"

he nodded and you let billie out of there, not caring for the cameras and other eyes following you two. soon you were out of there and you were stroking billie's back as she sniffled.

"baby..." you repeated, catching her attention and she looked at you. "I'm sorry... you deserved to win" you said to her, eyes softly and full of worry as you watched her swallow.

"she did too" she muttered and your heart melted and broke at the same time when you heard of sincere she was being still.

"I know" you sighed "I'm still proud of you" you smiled softly, pulling her into you and she wrapped her arms around your waist, burying her face into your shoulder.

"I kind of thought... this album was gonna be it" she mumbled into your shoulder, tears pressing to pour out. "I worked really hard..."

"yes, yes, you did, angel" you whispered, stroking her back softly. "you're the winner in my eyes, the only winner" you leaned your head against hers as you felt her grip tightening on your waist, pulling your body closer in need of comfort.

"am I being pathetic?" she asked, voice breaking at the end.

you shook your head immediately "no, no you're not" you breathed out and pressed your lips to her forehead. "you can let it out, bils" you assured her, heart breaking at her state.

the dam broke, salty, hot tears pouring from her beautiful eyes out in the back parking lot of the arena, holding her girlfriend tightly while her body shook with her sobs. you squeezed her against your body, one hand reaching up to pull her hat off for a more comfortable position. you rocked your bodies side to side, whispering sweet things into her ear.

after a while, her crying stopped and the two of you just stood there in each other's arms. hearing the crowd inside and the commotion of the paps outside and the traffic and you could tell it was overwhelming for both of you.

"home?"

billie breathed out a sigh of relief at your question and nodded. you pulled back, looking at her wet face with a frown and wiping her tears with your thumbs. "I love you, angel" you leaned in, pressing a kiss to her swollen lips before pulling back and taking her ring-clad hand in yours, beginning to walk further into the parking for billie's car. then she mumbled, voice hoarse but full of emotion.

"I love you too, pretty"

sorry if I didn't describe the grammys part right, I didn't watch!!

[sidekick-hero]

Sing Me A Love Song

rating: t | cw: off-screen domestic violence | wc: 5.6 k | tags: fluff, modern au, love songs, first love, bartender Steve and Eddie, platonic hellcheer, Jason Carver being an asshole as usual, hurt!Chrissy (off-screen)

AO3 LINK

My fill for the @steddielovemonth Day 1. Prompts: 🎵 You and Me - Lifehouse and ❣️"Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet." - Plato

"Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet." - Plato

“You don’t understand,” Eddie groans, raking a hand through his curls. “If I don’t get this done, I might lose my contract.”

Chrissy doesn’t look impressed. She wipes down the counter in front of him, barely sparing him a glance. “I still think you’re being dramatic. You already have, what, ten songs? Isn’t that enough for an album?”

God, he wishes she were right. She should be right. Ten songs isn’t a lot, but it’s enough. Maybe he could throw in a cover, remaster one of his old tracks, stretch it to eleven. A solid number. A prime number, even—Jesus, he really needs to stop talking to Jeff.

But none of that matters. Because the problem isn’t the number.

The problem is the clause in his contract that requires one of those songs to be a love song.

Why did he agree to that? Oh, right. Desperation.

He needed the deal. Needed the money. Because Wayne’s life depends on it. And if Eddie can’t pay for his treatment, his uncle—the one person who’s always been there for him—will die.

So, yeah. It was either this record deal or selling a kidney in Tijuana.

“It’s not enough, Chris. I need one more song. And it’s like—” He exhales sharply, gripping his hair. “It’s like I’ve never written music before. My head’s empty, my hands are clumsier than a toddler’s, and I don’t know what to do. I can’t fail. I just can’t.”

That finally makes Chrissy pause. She sets down the rag, brows drawing together as her bright blue eyes search his face. “Eddie… this doesn’t sound like it’s just about an album.”

The bar is empty. No one’s here to overhear when he finally breaks.

Wayne’s diagnosis. The impossible cost of his treatment. The record label that dropped him like a bad habit the second he was outed—one stupid drunken mistake and suddenly, he was toxic. The desperate, humiliating scramble to find a new label, the rejection after rejection until he finally landed in Chicago, closer to Wayne, signing this contract.

Signing that clause.

Chrissy listens without interrupting, her hands folded over his. When he’s done, she exhales.

“A love song? Why would they insist on a love song?”

Eddie shrugs. “Something about bad boys with a secret soft side pulling in fans.”

She snorts. Loudly.

“Oi!”

“Eddie, sweetie.” Her grin is infuriating. “When I first met you during our shift, I thought you’d be mean and scary. But the moment you tried to slide over the bar and ate shit instead? Yeah. I knew you were just a giant dork.”

It’s impossible to fight off the answering grin tugging at his lips.

“I should be offended, but you’re not wrong. Just don’t tell anyone, okay? I have a reputation to uphold.”

Chrissy hops onto the bar, swinging her legs as she leans in to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Then, more gently, “Look, don’t overthink it. Just write about the first guy you fell in love with. First love’s always a hit.”

Yeah. If only it were that simple.

“Great idea. Know any guys willing to fill that spot?”

Chrissy blinks. “Wha—” She stops, eyes narrowing as she really looks at him. “Wait. Are you— Is this your way of telling me you’ve never been in love?”

Eddie gives her finger guns. “Ding, ding, ding! The pretty young lady wins the jackpot.”

She just stares at him. Eddie braces himself, expecting pity, but all he finds in her eyes is warmth. Understanding.

Chrissy exhales. “Well. Shit.”

“Yeah. Shit.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bartending wasn’t exactly the glamorous, fame-laden career Eddie had dreamed of. But it was something he was surprisingly good at—always had been. Even back in high school, when he worked at the local dive bar just to buy himself and his band a weekly gig.

More importantly, though, it paid the bills.

Most of the first half of his record deal advance had gone straight to Wayne’s medical expenses. A small chunk covered recording costs, but food and rent were a whole different story. Maybe, if he actually delivers this album, the rest of the money will be enough to buy himself a place. But that’s a big if.

So, for now, bartending it is. It keeps a roof over his head, food in his fridge, and—maybe the best part—it gave him his first real friend in this city: Chrissy.

She keeps him sane on the bad days, when the anxiety sinks its teeth into him and won’t let go. And when he told her the embarrassing truth about his love life—or complete lack thereof—she had been nothing but kind. She offered tips, boosted his ego with her sheer bewilderment that someone like him had never been in love, and insisted it was only a matter of time.

Eddie isn’t so sure.

Most of his time is spent combing through Wayne’s medical reports or checking in with his nurse. He calls every day. Visits three times a week, taking the long trip back to rural Indiana to be with the only real father figure he’s ever had.

His nights—except Tuesdays and Wednesdays—are spent at the bar. Sure, plenty of the regulars are hot, and a few of them are actually nice, but Eddie isn’t naïve. He doesn’t expect to show up to work one day and suddenly have the man of his dreams stroll right up to him and say—

“Hello? Are you Eddie, by any chance?”

Eddie looks up from where he’s been taking stock of the liquor and locks eyes with the most ridiculously gorgeous pair of hazel eyes he’s ever seen.

It’s like grabbing a live wire. A jolt of electricity races through him, buzzing under his skin, making his heart slam against his ribs and his stomach do an actual, literal flip.

What the fuck is happening?

“I—uhm, yeah, that’s Eddie. Me. I mean—me is Eddie. Goddammit.” He squeezes his eyes shut for half a second, mentally kicking himself. “I’m Eddie. That’s right. How can I help you?”

The guy in front of him looks like he’s this close to laughing, biting down on a full bottom lip, hazel eyes twinkling with amusement. But he holds back, tilting his head slightly before offering a warm, easy smile.

“I’m Steve. Steve Harrington? Chrissy said she’d give you a call—told you I’d be covering for her for the next six weeks.”

She had done no such thing. Eddie would remember if she had.

Now that he thinks about it, he hasn’t heard from her all day. Not that they text constantly, but there’s always something—a meme, a random thought, a conversation that drags out over days. It’s Thursday now, and the last time they talked was Tuesday night, when she asked about Wayne.

His stomach twists.

“From the look on your face, she hasn’t done that.”

Eddie exhales. “Uh, no. No, she hasn’t. What happened? Why does she need someone to cover for her?”

Six weeks. That sounds serious. That sounds… bad.

Steve’s expression softens, but his voice is firm. “It’s not my place to say, I’m afraid.”

That just makes Eddie’s anxiety spike. He should appreciate that Steve is protecting Chrissy’s privacy—normally, he would—but right now, it’s just frustrating. Besides, Chrissy has never mentioned a Steve before. And he tells the guy as much.

Steve nods like he expected that. “She’s a friend of my best friend and roommate, Robin. That’s how we met. She asked me to help out, and that’s all I can tell you, man. I’m sorry.”

He does sound sorry. And Eddie does care about Chrissy, which means he needs to talk to her, not interrogate some guy she apparently trusts enough to take her place.

Steve must read something in his face because he adds, “If you want to call her, I can handle things here. Just tell me what to do.”

It sounds more like a question than an offer, like Steve isn’t sure where he stands and doesn’t want to overstep. Eddie has always had a problem with authority, with people telling him what to do. Steve doesn’t know that, but it still rubs him the wrong way for half a second—until he realizes Steve isn’t telling him anything. He’s offering.

Eddie hesitates for a beat, then exhales sharply and nods. "Yeah, okay. Thanks. Just start by restocking the bar—I’ll show you how to place an order for liquor and supplies when I get back."

Right now, he needs to hear Chrissy’s voice. Needs to know she’s okay. Everything else can wait.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Turns out that Chrissy’s asshole of a boyfriend—ex-boyfriend now, thank fuck—had grabbed her so hard during a fight that he broke her wrist. The only good thing about it was that it had finally been the last straw for Chrissy. She kicked his sorry ass to the curb.

Eddie had hated Jason from the second he walked into the bar, all possessive grip and territorial bullshit. Throw in the holier-than-thou attitude, the obsession with “purity” and Christian values, and the way he sneered at Eddie the moment Chrissy’s back was turned? Yeah. He saw this coming from a mile away.

They talk for a few minutes, and Eddie promises to stop by her place tomorrow. He’ll bring ice cream, they’ll watch some cheesy rom-com, and he’ll do whatever it takes to cheer her up.

When he walks back into the bar, his face must be as thunderous as he feels because Steve actually winces.

“She told you what happened, huh?”

Eddie nods, grinding his teeth. “Fucking asshole. I wish I’d run him over with my van when I had the chance.”

Steve doesn’t even blink. “Amen to that. Robin’s already plotting his demise. You two should team up. I volunteered to get rid of the body, because Robin’s not exactly… athletic. Can’t dig deep holes, can’t lift heavy stuff. But she’s scary smart—probably knows some undetectable poison or something. What’s your specialty?”

Eddie hates what happened to Chrissy. Hates that she had to go through it. But hearing Steve talk like this, hearing how much her friends care? It makes him feel a little better. And the fact that he’s apparently included in this unhinged murder plot now? Yeah.

Maybe he got lucky, after all.

“I’m creative and ridiculously good at planning—years of being a Dungeon Master. No one thinks of as many scenarios as I do. I’ll cover every possibility. They’ll never catch us.”

They grin at each other, and for the first time since hearing Chrissy’s small, shaken voice, Eddie feels like himself again.

Steve grins. “Perfect. We’ll make a great team.”

And just like that, the weight on Eddie’s chest lifts a little. It’s easy with Steve, like they’ve known each other longer than just—what, an hour? He’s funny, sharp, and clearly good to the people he cares about.

And, well. It doesn’t hurt that he’s stupidly attractive.

They slip into working together without much effort. Eddie shows Steve the ropes while stealing little glances when he thinks the other man isn’t looking—at the way his fingers move deftly around the bottles, the smooth way he leans against the bar when talking to customers, the stretch of his arms when he reaches for a glass on the top shelf.

He’s a natural. Charismatic as hell, too. More than one customer lingers just a little longer when Steve serves them, and Eddie is absolutely not annoyed by that. Nope. Not at all.

“You know,” Steve says at one point, when the rush has died down, “you’re not bad at this.”

Eddie scoffs, tossing a bar rag over his shoulder. “Not bad? Please. I’m great at this.”

Steve hums, eyes twinkling. “If you say so. I guess I’ll have to stick around to see for myself.”

There’s something in his voice, something that makes heat curl in Eddie’s stomach. A challenge. A tease. A promise, maybe.

Eddie leans in, close enough to catch a hint of cologne and something unmistakably Steve. "Yeah?” he murmurs, smirking. “Guess you will.”

The air crackles between them, heavy and charged, until a customer clears their throat and pulls them back to reality.

Eddie straightens, fighting back a grin as he goes to take the order.

He has a feeling working with Steve is going to be very interesting.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Turns out he was right—working with Steve is definitely interesting. It’s also confusing and exhilarating. And, honestly? It’s driving him insane.

Steve is everything Eddie never knew he wanted or needed. None of the guys Eddie’s ever hooked up with or tried dating were even close to being like Steve. And maybe that had been his mistake all along.

Because Steve makes him feel things he didn’t even know he could feel. He catches himself daydreaming about kissing the moles on Steve’s neck and face, wondering what it would be like to run his fingers along the smooth line of his jaw. He catches himself thinking about what he could ask Steve next, wanting to learn more and more about him. Eddie wants to make him laugh, wants to tell Steve about his day, about the last book he read, ask him what he thinks of a certain song or movie.

It’s like every little moment with Steve only deepens the curiosity, the pull. And Eddie can’t seem to stop himself from wanting more.

And yet, he can’t bring himself to take it any further than the harmless flirting they’ve been doing. Steve never seems to mind Eddie’s over-the-top flirting—calling him pet names, throwing himself at his feet dramatically, draping himself over Steve and acting like personal space is a suggestion, not a boundary.

One night, after another intense moment between them, the air crackling with something Eddie can’t quite name, he comes home, sits down, and writes it all out. He lets all these feelings he doesn’t even really understand pour onto the page. Every thought, every feeling—the longing and wonder, the joy and insanity of liking someone, wanting someone so much it’s almost physical.

A few weeks ago, he would’ve been bouncing off the walls with excitement at having written his first love song.

Now? He has a hard time bringing himself to care, because all he wants is to tell Steve these things. To have the courage to look into those beloved hazel eyes and make Steve understand the depth of what Eddie feels for him.

Now, all Eddie wants is to take Steve home and never let him go.

That’s why he’s struggling to feel as joyous as he should when Chrissy tells him she’ll be back next week.

Eddie’s wiping down the bar when Steve steps up, leaning against it with a casual ease that makes Eddie’s heart skip, like it always does when Steve’s close.

“Hey,” Steve says, a little more softly than usual. “You heard from Chrissy?”

Eddie pauses, glancing up, not quite meeting Steve’s eyes. “Yeah. She’s coming back next week. Gonna be back at the bar on Monday.”

“Ah, that’s great,” Steve says with a smile, but there’s something in his tone that doesn’t quite match the words.

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “You don’t seem so excited.”

Steve shrugs, the movement casual but his gaze fixed on Eddie now. “I mean, I am. I’m glad she’s doing better. Just… I don’t know. Things’ve been good here, you know?”

Eddie’s pulse quickens, his mind racing. He knows exactly what Steve means. Things have been good. They’ve been intense—charged, even. And now, with Chrissy coming back, it feels like a door he’s been carefully edging toward might slam shut.

“Yeah, I get that,” Eddie says, trying to sound casual even though his throat feels tight. “It’s been… nice, having you here.”

Steve’s lips twitch into a smile, a little teasing. “Nice, huh? Just nice?”

Eddie meets his gaze then, the air between them thick with unspoken words. “Yeah. More than nice. I—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Forget it.”

Steve doesn’t let it slide. His eyes narrow slightly, and he leans in, his voice lowering. “No, come on. What were you gonna say?”

Eddie hesitates, heart pounding. He wants to say so much, but the weight of it is too much. Instead, he grabs a glass, fills it with water, and hands it to Steve, forcing a smile. “Doesn’t matter.”

But Steve isn’t buying it. He takes the glass, but his eyes stay locked on Eddie. “It does matter. You matter, Eddie.”

There’s a long silence, and Eddie feels like he’s about to drown in it. He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out.

“Hey,” Steve says, his voice softer now, “don’t worry about it. I get it. Chrissy’s your friend.”

Eddie nods, but it doesn’t feel like he’s actually hearing him. He’s still stuck on the fact that the connection between them has shifted somehow. And now, Chrissy coming back just feels like the beginning of the end of whatever this is.

But all Steve does is give him that reassuring smile, and for a moment, it feels like maybe he’s not as worried about it as Eddie is. Maybe.

“I’m just glad you’re here,” Eddie murmurs, the words slipping out before he can stop them.

Steve’s expression softens. “Me too, man.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

On Sunday, Eddie gets a visit from Chrissy. He’s just in his pajama bottoms, pouring himself a cup of coffee when the doorbell rings.

“Chris! What are you doing here?”

She steps into his flat, pressing a fleeting kiss to his cheek as she brushes past him. “I’m happy to see you, too.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. Just surprised to have you drop by like that. I’m always happy to see you, you know that.”

He follows her into the flat, where she’s already made herself at home at the kitchen island, pouring herself a cup as well.

“Yes, I know, I was just teasing you. I wanted to drop by to see how you’re doing.”

“You’ll see me tomorrow at work.” He tries to keep the disappointment out of his voice, but he probably doesn’t succeed. He really needs to work on his poker face.

Chrissy eyes him like she can see right through him, like maybe she’s already read his mind. Eddie knows better than to think she hasn’t. She’s sharp like that.

“Yeah, and something tells me you’re not doing so great because of that.”

That’s his girl—blunt and straight to the point. Eddie considers brushing it off, pretending he has no idea what she’s talking about, but he knows better. She deserves his honesty.

“No. I’m not really. Not because I don’t want you back,” he adds quickly, his eyes pleading with her to understand. “I missed you, Chris. Like crazy. You’re one of my best friends, and I’m so happy to have you back.”

She nods, her small hand curling over his in a comforting gesture. “But you don’t want Steve to go.”

“How—”

Her smile is soft and amused, like they’re in on some private joke together. “You’ve been talking about nothing but him for the past few weeks, Eds. I’ve never seen you take to anyone so fast. It took me months to get you to talk to me about anything but work. And you and Steve are sending each other memes and texts all day.”

Then, with a mischievous gleam in her eye, she adds, “Besides, you should see your face when you talk about him. I’m just waiting for you to start twirling your hair or kicking your feet.”

“Shut up! I’m not doing that.”

“Might as well be, with the way you’re acting. You like him.” She singsongs.

Burying his face in his hands, Eddie groans dramatically. “God, I hate you.”

Chrissy pulls his hands away, her fingers warm as she gently makes him look at her. Her face is a picture of seriousness, though a hint of a smile still lingers at the corner of her lips. “No, you don’t. You just know I’m right. I told you it was only a matter of time until you fell for someone. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Eddie glares at her, but there’s no real heat behind it. He stays quiet, his eyes darting around the room like he’s searching for an escape. When he doesn’t say anything, she raises her brows, giving him that ‘I knew it’ look. “See? Now you can write your love song!”

He mutters something under his breath, too low for her to hear.

“What was that?”

“I said... I already did,” Eddie says, a little sheepish, but trying to keep his cool. “It’s actually pretty good, I think. One of my best.”

Chrissy’s eyes light up, her voice bubbling with excitement. “Eddie, that’s awesome!”

Eddie shrugs, though his expression is far from pleased. “Yeah, but it’s not enough. He’s still leaving after tonight, and then... I’ll never see him again.”

Chrissy waves a hand like she’s brushing off a bad thought. “That’s such a load of crap, and you know it. We can totally visit him and Robin. I’ll invite them over! You’ll still get to hang out.”

Eddie sighs, leaning back in his chair. “Maybe, but it’s not the same. I won’t see him every day, won’t have an excuse to talk to him, flirt with him. We’ll just be... acquaintances.”

Chrissy taps her chin, looking like she’s piecing things together in that genius way of hers. “Okay, but... have you ever thought about just telling him?”

“Stop saying that like it’s easy,” Eddie demands. Okay, whines. He’s aware he’s acting like a petulant child instead of a grown-ass 26-year-old, but honestly? He doesn’t care. This shit sucks. No wonder he never bothered with it before—falling for someone is exhausting.

“It could be,” Chrissy says with that maddening calm of hers, like she’s solving a simple math problem instead of his entire emotional crisis.

Eddie glares. “Oh yeah? How do you figure?”

“Well,” she says, taking a casual sip of her coffee like she’s not about to drop a bombshell, “it’s not like Steve isn’t talking about you just as much.”

“He is?” Eddie all but shrieks, and Chrissy winces at the sheer volume. He claps a hand over his mouth. “Sorry, sorry. He is?” he repeats, softer this time, though he still sounds way too giddy to play it cool.

Chrissy just laughs at him. “Yes, Edward. Steve talks about you, too. Or so I heard from Robin. And the few times we talked, he asked me questions about you.”

Eddie’s heart picks up speed, slamming against his ribs like it’s trying to break free. That’s something, right?

“What did he ask?” he presses, leaning forward like Chrissy is holding onto state secrets rather than just casual conversation.

She taps her chin, pretending to think it over. “Oh, just normal stuff. How long I’ve known you, what you did before coming to Chicago… if you’re single.”

Eddie freezes. The butterflies in his stomach go feral.

But then—like someone dumped a bucket of ice water over his head—another thought creeps in.

“Then why didn’t he make a move?” he asks, deflating just as quickly as he puffed up.

Chrissy just raises an unimpressed brow. “Why didn’t you?”

Fair.

“Because I’ve never dated anyone before,” Eddie admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “Never felt like this for anyone before. I have no idea what I’m doing. I highly doubt Steve has been single all his life.”

Chrissy opens her mouth, then hesitates, like she’s conceding his point. Normally, Eddie loves to be right, but this time? He wants to be wrong. Wants Steve’s questions to mean something.

“I see your point, okay,” she finally says, then adds, “but maybe there’s something in Steve’s past that makes him cautious too. Ever think of that?”

Eddie frowns. “Like what?”

Chrissy’s face softens. “It’s not my place to say,” she says gently. “Let’s just say… love can hurt. And if you’ve been burned before, it makes you scared to touch the stove again.”

Eddie’s chest tightens, both at the thought of Steve getting hurt and at the way Chrissy’s voice dips—because she’s speaking from experience, too. Without thinking, he reaches for her, pulling her into a tight hug. Her head tucks neatly under his chin, her small frame warm against him.

“I’m sorry, Chris,” he murmurs. “You deserved better.”

She nods against his chest. “Yeah. And I’ll get over it. Just need some time. Just like Steve, probably. Maybe he’s not sure if he’s ready to let someone in again, you know?”

Eddie does know. Letting someone in after you've experienced the pain of losing someone, of mourning the presence someone once had in your life, it's scary as hell.

But maybe… just maybe… it’s worth the risk.

“I think I have an idea,” he says, and really hopes he’ll be brave enough to follow through.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Their last shift together goes by way too fast.

It’s weird. Like Eddie’s waiting for something to happen, anything. He doesn’t know what exactly—except that’s a lie. He does know.

He wants Steve to kiss him. Wants Steve to grab him, lift him onto the bar top, step between his legs, and cradle his face in those steady hands before finally—finally—giving him a first kiss that means something.

More than that, he wants Steve to tell him. That Eddie’s not crazy, not alone in this. That he feels it too—this maddening, electric pull that makes Eddie’s knees weak, makes his stomach flip, makes his heart hammer against his ribs like it’s trying to escape.

Steve does none of those things.

Instead, they pour drinks, chat with the regulars, do their jobs. And when the night winds down—when the last stool is flipped onto the tables, the floors are swept, and Eddie flicks off the lights—they step outside and fall into each other’s arms without a single word.

They hold on for far longer than what anyone would call normal.

Fuck normal, Eddie thinks, tightening his grip around Steve’s solid frame. Normal never made me feel like this.

Steve exhales against his neck, his voice quiet but soaked in something Eddie can’t name. “I’ll miss this,” he murmurs. “I’ll miss you.”

Say it, Eddie begs in his head. Please. Just say you feel this too.

But Steve doesn’t.

Eddie wishes that he were brave, wishes that he could bridge the metaphorical gap between the two of them by simply taking a leap of faith.

But he doesn’t.

So they pull away, exchanging promises to stay in touch, and Eddie walks away feeling like he just lost something he never even had.

Two weeks later, Eddie finds himself back at The Upside Down, waiting for Chrissy. But this time, he’s not behind the bar, taking stock of liquor bottles or wiping down counters.

He’s behind the curtain of the small stage they built at the far end of the bar, fidgeting with the strap of his guitar, his heart hammering and his hands shaking. The stage usually belongs to local bands on the weekends, filling the space with music that draws in bigger crowds.

But today is Monday. And behind the bar—his bar—is Steve, restocking the cabinets, just like he did the first time he stepped in to cover for Chrissy. Full circle, Eddie thinks, watching from the shadows.

Except this time, Steve is covering for Eddie.

Steve thinks Eddie had to leave for an emergency, an excuse Chrissy fed him about needing to see his uncle. Eddie isn’t exactly proud of using Wayne’s health as a pretext to lure Steve here under false pretenses. But what’s the saying?

All’s fair in love and war.

And if Eddie is going to do something about this mess of feelings, he’s going to do it in the way he knows best.

Through music.

“We’re ready,” Chrissy whispers, squeezing his arm. “Bar’s surprisingly full for a Monday, so don’t be nervous. The only thing that matters is getting your man.”

Eddie salutes her with a grin that’s only half forced. “Aye, aye, captain.”

Then, with a deep breath, he settles onto the small stool at center stage, guitar resting on his knee. The curtain pulls back, and suddenly, he’s bathed in the warm glow of the stage lights, staring out at the sea of faces in front of him.

But there’s only one face that matters.

His eyes find Steve instantly, standing behind the bar, frozen mid-motion with a bottle in his hand, wide-eyed and staring like he’s just had the wind knocked out of him.

Eddie taps the mic, wincing at the light thump it makes through the speakers. “Is this thing on? Yeah, sounds like it.” He clears his throat, nerves tightening in his chest. Here goes nothing.

“Hi, everybody. Some of you might know me as the guy who pours your drinks and listens to your problems, but tonight, I’m here as a humble musician playing a song.” His fingers flex around the neck of his guitar as he exhales. “A special song for a special someone.”

A ripple of murmurs runs through the crowd, but Eddie barely hears it. His pulse is pounding too loud in his ears.

“I ask you to be kind because—well, this is a love song. And I’ve never done that before.” He huffs a breathless laugh. “Written a love song, I mean. Or been in love.” His fingers tighten on the frets, his throat thick with something unnamed. “But then I met someone who changed all of that. Someone who makes me laugh even when I don’t want to. Who makes me want to rip my hair out with how much I want to touch and hold them.”

A beat of silence. His heart feels like it’s about to break his ribs.

“Someone who is kind and brave and quick-witted. A secret nerd.” A small smile tugs at his lips. “And the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

The room feels impossibly still. Eddie can feel Steve’s eyes on him now, burning, waiting. But he doesn’t dare look. If he meets those hazel eyes, he’s not sure he’ll make it through this without forgetting how to breathe.

He takes another shaky inhale, tilts his chin toward the mic. “So, yeah. Please be kind, because this is all new to me.”

And then—he plays.

All of the things that I want to say just aren't coming out right I'm tripping on words You've got my head spinning I don't know where to go from here 'Cause it's you and me and all of the people with nothing to do Nothing to prove And it's you and me and all other people And I don't know why, I can't keep my eyes off of you

The last note fades into the air, leaving the bar in a thick, charged silence. For a split second, Eddie’s convinced he’s just made the biggest mistake of his life. His fingers hover over the strings, his breath caught somewhere between his lungs and his throat.

And then—

The bar erupts into applause.

Someone calls his name, and he thinks he hears Chrissy cheer Bravo but Eddie barely registers it because his brain is still trying to catch up.

But then he sees him.

Steve.

Still standing behind the bar, both hands braced against the counter like he needs the support. His mouth is slightly open, his eyes wide and shining in the dim lighting. And then Steve runs a hand through his hair, shakes his head in what looks like pure disbelief, and laughs.

Not a mean laugh. Not a nervous one. A stunned, overwhelmed, delighted kind of laugh.

Eddie barely has time to put his guitar down before Steve moves.

He pushes past the bar, past the regulars clapping him on the back, eyes locked onto Eddie like there’s no one else in the damn room. Eddie stands frozen on stage, unsure what’s about to happen but aching for whatever it is.

And then Steve’s there, grabbing Eddie’s face in his hands and kissing him.

It’s not a shy, hesitant kiss. It’s everything. Warm, firm, desperate. Steve’s lips press against Eddie’s like he’s making up for lost time, and Eddie melts into it without hesitation, gripping Steve’s waist like he’s afraid he’ll disappear.

The bar goes wild.

Someone catcalls. Eddie hears Chrissy’s delighted I knew it! but all of it is background noise to the way Steve feels against him, the way his fingers tighten in Eddie’s hair, the way he lingers even as they finally—reluctantly—pull apart just enough to breathe.

Steve's forehead presses against Eddie's, his voice barely a whisper. "Please tell me that song was for me. Otherwise this is going to get awkward very quickly."

Eddie's laugh is joyous, relief palpable in every tone. "Of course. Who else would it be about?"

"I don't know, I've seen the looks you give Herbert," Steve grins, his eyebrows wagging. God, Eddie loves him.

Eddie kisses him again. "No, unfortunately my heart is set on you. Does your reaction to my song mean you feel the same?"

“You idiot,” Steve murmurs, but he’s smiling. Grinning. “You really think you’re the only one who feels this?”

Eddie exhales a laugh, overwhelmed and dizzy and so stupidly happy he can’t stand it. “I dunno,” he rasps. “You never said anything.”

Steve huffs, nudging their noses together. “Neither did you.”

Eddie grins. “Yeah, well. I wrote a song instead.”

Steve shakes his head, laughing again, and kisses him once more—just because he can.

[cvntroach5000]

LaDS men react to you getting a cat

Xavier

• Very happy that you're getting your own little buddy for your apartment.

• Brings your cat a bunch of goodies to welcome it to its new home.

• They immediately hit it off, since Xavier is naturally good with animals.

• Honestly, the cat starts to feel like a mini version of Xavier with how it immitates him. Or maybe he's immitating the cat?

• Sometimes when you're doing something, you catch them both looking at you with the exact same look of love and you think 'Oh. They're the same guy.'

• When he falls asleep on your couch, your cat, in turn, falls asleep on top of him.

• You have a whole photo album dedicated just for their naptimes, they're incredibly cute together.

• He gets one of those little cloth wrap bags to carry it around in, after it gets too big to fit in the pocket of his hoodie. He just walks around with it like a mom with a baby, and it happily rests and purrs.

Zayne

• He's so excited about this.

• When he meets it for the first time, he comes into your home dressed up and carrying gifts like he's about to meet your parents.

• Despite the bribes of cat toys and treats, the cat totally hates him.

• After it hisses at him and runs off, he just falls to his knees and stays in that position for a solid minute.

• "T-This was my only chance..." If your cat doesn't like him, no cat is ever going to like him.

• You don't think you've ever seen a reaction this dramatic from him.

• You do your best to assist him on his mission to get along with your cat. You instruct him to sit still on the couch and even sprinkle a bit of catnip next to him.

• Eventually, your cat makes its way over to him and becomes a comfortable little loaf next to his thigh.

• He's afraid to even breathe cause he might scare it away, but he's making intense eye contact with you that screams 'It's happening! Everybody stay calm!'

• The progress is slow, but any time your cat does anything to imply it at least tolerates Zayne, he's practically moved to tears.

Rafayel

• He cannot believe you'd do this to him

• This is betrayal. A breach of trust. Complete backstabbing move on your part.

• You try dressing it up in little mermaid and fish-themed costumes to warm him up to it but he just stares at it like it's Satan's incarnate.

• Much to his horror, the wretched creature adores him.

• You use that to try and butter him up with compliments, but he stubbornly refuses to accept your cat's love.

• "Why does it keep smelling my fingers like that?! That's disgusting!"

• "It must think you smell nice if it keeps doing that."

• "It's trying to eat me?!"

• He eventually somewhat accepts his fate of being the cat's favorite fishnip, but he still likes to whine about it. Will randomly text you to inform you he found fur on his clothes or, worse, in his mouth.

• Maybe he quite likes your cat. But only that one! Cause it's yours. Special privileges.

Sylus

• He is very pleased with this development.

• Gets you one of those fancy self-cleaning litter boxes and a bunch of other gadgets, like an automatic bowl and a water fountain. And, of course, large, high-quality cat trees for your cat to go apeshit on.

• To nobody's surprise, the cat loves him.

• The moment he makes himself comfortable on your couch, the little rascal is all over him.

• "Wait, Sylus, let me get you a change of clothes. You'll get fur all over yourself!"

• "It's fine. If the clothes get ruined, I'll just throw them away and buy new ones."

• He's completely unbothered and lets the cat make biscuits on his expensive black suits.

• Your cat also has a couple of crazy fancy collars. You don't really make it wear them, since you live in an apartment and your cat doesn't go outside, so there's not really a need for it. But they look really cute on it.

• Sylus does have pictures of the cat wearing every single one of the collars he's gifted it though.

• You actually got the cat accustomed to Mephisto since it was a kitten, so they make a surprising, fun little duo.

Caleb

• He's glad you have some non-human company while he's not with you. And he genuinely likes the critter!

• He always brings food and treats for you cat, and when he cooks he'll make a whole separate meal specifically for your cat.

• When he first met it, the moment you left them alone, he picked it up and said to it "You have to keep them company and keep them happy while I'm not here, got it? Do not blow this for us."

• Unbeknownst to you, he has saddled the blissfully ignorant creature with quite the responsibility.

• "Caleb, you're overfeeding the poor thing. It's going to pop from how much you let it eat! Animals don't have a sense of restraint like us."

• "Awww, so it's going to be a cute, chubby little cat." He cuddles it, giving it kisses on its squishy cheeks, "Don't worry, baby, Caleb will love you and take care of you, no matter what."

• This isn't about the cat anymore is it.

• Trying to reason with him is impossible, he's decided he'll spoil the cat rotten and that's that. You can't convince him to stop.

[travelingtwentysomething]

Eddie is impressed.

Eddie is half chubbed up.

Eddie realizes Steve is actually sort of intimidating.

Eddie doesn't like feeling like this guy is somehow looking down on him and his antics like he's some spoiled rich brat.

Like Eddie doesn't know the struggle.

Eddie hates Steve.

Steve continues to work for Eddie, ignoring all his moods like a mom ignoring a toddler's tantrum, happily anticipating his needs and being more competent than anyone in his position has any right to be.

Over the first few months After Steve, Eddie's mercurial moods swing wildly from "I'm going to make your life hell until you quit", to "damn this man is so incredibly sexy I want to make him quit his job so I can spoil him".

But at this point, Eddie is spoiled.

Steve gets absolutely everything right- he is perfect.

Eddie spills his coffee on his shirt in the car on his way to the Grammys, his stylist team is having a conniption in the back of the limo-

Steve calmly pulls his backpack into his lap, and out of it comes a tide pen, baby wipes, a portable steamer, and a battery powered blow-dryer. (Who even knew that was a thing?) And in the 20 minute wait in the limo line on the red carpet, Steve has him out of his dress shirt (that's tossed to the side unsalvageable) and the Gucci suit clean and pressed like nothing ever happened. And as an added touch- Steve pulled out a brush and some highlighter to put a dash of glitter on his collarbones, the cleavage above his pecs, and a little dot on each of his abs. So when Eddie steps out of the car he "looks like a wet dream instead of another boring rockstar in a designer suit".

At least that's what Rolling Stone said when the pictures got published all over their website to massive fanfare.

Eventually, Eddie can't help but catch himself smiling in the morning when he wakes up with his first thought being excitement to see Steve and get their day started. Instead of barking orders and tantrums, they somehow get to the point where they're joking with each other and even sharing actual conversations.

Steve becomes so integral to Eddie's brightened mood and new outlook on life, Eddie starts dreading Steve's days off. It's in his contract that any day Eddie isn't scheduled to work an event, a concert, or a studio day, Steve has the option to take a paid day off to catch up on his own life.

So Eddie becomes a workaholic.

If he's not on tour or in the studio, he's got some promo, photoshoot, or work social event scheduled. He's even taken up a modeling contract and become a brand ambassador for Gucci. When that still left a few days free here and there, he started looking into acting gigs.

He had never been so productive, and so astronomically famous.

Eddie's music was also coming easier, Steve was his muse.

Eddie was so inspired he's been cranking out songs so often, and in so many styles and genres, that his publishing deal had quadrupled in value and he's sold more number one hits to other artists over their first year together than Eddie had songs on Corroded Coffin's albums combined.

Steve is with him every step of the way. He never complains, he always has a smile on his face for Eddie, and he tells him all the time how much he seems to have grown in the last year, and how proud he is to watch it all happen for him.

Eddie feels like an asshole.

Eddie is unequivocally and unconditionally in love with Steve.

Eddie is Steve's boss.

No matter how much they act like friends (and occasionally engage in flirty banter) Steve is off limits, because Eddie may be a rotten asshole at his core, but he would never abuse his power like that.

But maybe he already has.

He has ruined Steve's life.

Eddie realizes a few days before their one year anniversary (Eddie is only calling it that in his head, he doesn't want to sound like a psychopath) he has isolated Steve from his own life so much that he hasn't asked for a day off in 6 months.

Steve never seems to take any time for himself anymore. He even has a room at Eddie's house because he spends about 5 nights a week there since Eddie tells him he doesn't want to deal with the chaos it puts his busy and tight schedule into when Steve gets waylaid by his commute in LA traffic.

Steve barely spends more than a few hours at a time away from Eddie, and he only sees his one friend- Chrissy's wife Robin- on nights he's not staying at Eddie's. Which means that commute comes with a side of exhaustion because he always comes back with bruises under his swollen eyes like he'd stayed up too late trying to catch up with his best friend and fit an entire week's worth of socializing squeezed into one or two nights a week.

Eddie wants to be a good person and let go of Steve so he can find a job with a healthier work-life balance, somewhere with a boss that doesn't treat him like a slave to his own whims and fancies, a boss that doesn't secretly hope that one day Steve will fall into his bed and into his arms like this isn't some 50 shades of bullshit arrangement.

Eddie is terrified to lose Steve.

To his horror, the day comes unexpectedly on their anniversary.

Steve gave him a speech about how Steve had loved being a part of Eddie's journey, how he had watched Eddie grow with awe, how he was inspired every day by Eddie's drive, and his art, and his kindness. Steve praised him for the way his attitude about life had taken a 180 turn from when they met a year ago. He thanked Eddie for taking Steve along for the ride, becoming his best friend, and respecting him above all else.

But Steve needed to go. Because he had reached his limit. He had done everything he could for Eddie, but it was time that Steve "joined the real world again and stopped living in a fantasy".

Steve would always be here for Eddie as a friend, but he had to go out and build a life for himself.

Eddie thanked Steve and told him he understood, that he valued Steve's friendship above everything, and that he would be getting the biggest bonus and one hell of a severance package.

Eddie went home to his empty house and drank until he blacked out.

When he woke up his kitchen and living room looked like someone had opened up a rage room and taken a bat to anything that wasn't nailed down. He looked in the corner of the room and saw a bat sticking out of the drywall next to the sliding glass door.

Okay, so he hadn't been robbed.

Then why did it feel like someone had stolen his heart straight out of his chest like a Mortal Kombat Finisher?

When Chrissy walked through his front door just as the afternoon was turning to evening and Eddie was on his third hair-of-the-dog, he didn't even uncurl himself from his fetal position on a couch afloat amongst a sea of glass and wood scraps from what was once a very expensive coffee table.

"Oh you poor, poor-" Chrissy crooned, "stupid fucking idiot." She slapped a pillow so hard down on his head that he was seeing Chrissy's identical twin floating above her for a minute or two.

Eddie sat up, indignant, ready to lay into Chrissy for the assault on his already wounded body and soul, but was thrown back down to the couch by another smack of the pillow, this time to his chest.

Seems like Chrissy really hadn't let herself go since playing herself through college on that softball scholarship.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Chrissy shrieked with fury Eddie had only seen from her once. (Her high school boyfriend, Jason, had gate crashed her wedding and tried to "object" when she was about to say her vows to Robin on the grounds that "Chrissy isn't gay, she's just confused by California's woke agenda and should come home to Indiana with him".)

Eddie threw himself over the back of the couch and landed ungracefully on the hardwood floor, groaning in pain, but happy to have put a couch between him and Chrissy's pillow. He popped his head over the back of the couch and had to duck back down quickly to avoid a rocket from Chrissy's throwing arm.

"Chrissy! What the hell is going on?" Eddie cried from his prone position behind the couch.

"Why don't YOU TELL ME, EDDIE?!" Chrissy screamed. "Steve showed up at mine and Robin's last night bawling his eyes out and he and Robin locked themselves up in our bedroom and I haven't heard anything from either of them for the last 12 hours except for the one time Robin came out to collect the 6 bags of food she ordered from the convenience store at 3 am, and all I could get out of her was that Steve had finally quit."

Eddie popped back up from behind the couch, only to receive a pillow to the dome, a crunch swiftly followed by a groan the only sound he was able to make as he fell back, nose gushing blood.

"Oh my God, Eddie, FUCK!" Chrissy jumped over the couch and landed on the other side and crouched down next to Eddie, he flinched when her hands came up to hover over his broken nose. "Shit, I'm sorry! Fuck, let's go to the kitchen, you need a towel and some ice." She grabbed his elbow and dragged him up, escorting him to a seat at the counter while she ran over to the fridge and grabbed a bag of frozen peas and a kitchen towel from the drawer next to the sink.

"Here-" Eddie snatched the bag of peas from her before she could get any closer to his broken nose. "Sorry, look, I came in here ready to calmly ask what happened, but I saw you drunk in your living room that looks like the suite at the Four Season's after CC's first Grammy and I thought that we were past all this. Eddie, you've been doing so much better for so long, what the hell happened last night?" Chrissy looked around at the devastation, landing back on Eddie and seeing it reflected in his eyes.

"Oh. Oh, you poor, poor-"

"—Stupid fucking idiot." Eddie groaned. He couldn't stand to see the understanding in Chrissy's eyes and so he folded his arms and laid his head down on the counter, cold peas pillowing his swollen eyes and nose.

"Wait. I'm confused. So you finally told him?" Chrissy asked.

"Told him what, Chris? That I'm in love with him? I didn't get the chance." Eddie hiccupped into his frozen peas, never lifting his head, curly hair acting as a curtain around his face, hiding his shame from his oldest friend and manager. "Steve quit. Said he needed to stop living in a fantasy, join the real world, and build a life for himself. But that he'd always be here for me as a friend-" Eddie couldn't stop the sob from escaping his chest.

Chrissy pulled him off the counter and into her arms.

Eddie cried like a baby.

When he calmed finally and could breath normally again, they had somehow migrated to the couch in his fully intact living room at the front of the house.

"Eddie, I don't want to alarm you. But I think you really are an idiot." Chrissy patted his shoulder fondly.

Eddie pulled away from her, appalled at her lack of empathy.

"Don't give me that look. Think for a second." Chrissy grabbed his hand and in both of her tiny ones. "Steve is at my place right now, devastated, just like you. He told you he needed to stop living in a fantasy, and build a life for himself. That he's always going to be your friend." Chrissy looked imploringly into Eddie's eyes, willing him to understand the conclusion she was slowly coming to.

"Yeah, that's what he said, Chris, you don't have to rub it in." Eddie scoffed uncharitably, ripping his hand back.

"No, Eddie." Chrissy hopped up onto her knees, excitement building as she got more sure of her theory, grabbing Eddie's hand again, "Steve is not okay. He is holed up with his best friend in the break up protocol- ice cream, junk food, and platonic cuddles in bed. He doesn't know that you see him as more than just a friend. And he is devastated that he is always going to be your friend, and he has to give up the fantasy, and go build a life for himself-" by now Chrissy was bouncing next to Eddie, her smile chasing away the clouds that had darkened his eyes, "—because he doesn't realize that you want to build a life with him."

"You don't think you're reaching a little here, Chris?" Eddie asked, though he couldn't help the glimmer of hope that had already taken root in his chest, chasing away the darkness that had been clawing its way deeper since Steve walked away from him last night.

"Eddie, if you don't get your ass off this couch and over to my place right now and go profess your undying love to Steve I'm going to beat your face in." Chrissy said with a sincerity that scared Eddie into standing immediately and looking for his keys.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for my keys."

"We're taking my car."

"Well then let's fuckin go, I have to go get my heart back."

"Jesus that was cheesy."

"Shut up, I have six Grammys."

"Well four of those are from this year, so you better get Steve back or clearly you can kiss your songwriting career goodbye."

"Heeeeyyyyy."

“vickie!” eddie practically screams from his kitchen, rage coursing through him as he stares down at the tabloids spread out in front of him on the counter. “get in here! now!”

eddie’s had an issue with his rage lately. well. he’s had an issue with a lot of things, since he got famous, really. but that’s not his problem right now.

his problem is he’s looking down at image after image of himself on the covers of people and us weekly and entertainment tonight being dragged out of last night’s night club by his own security team with blood pouring from his nose. he looks angry. he looks crazed.

just then, a stranger walks into his kitchen.

“who the fuck are you?” he blurts out at the man, who’s wearing a dark green sweater vest over a white t-shirt and tortoise-shell glasses.

“i’m steve,” the weirdo stalker says, smiling brightly. he has surprisingly swoopy hair for an insane fan. “i’m your new assistant.”

“where’s vickie?” eddie asks, rubbing at the sore spot on his nose. thank god it’s not broken.

“you fired her,” steve tells him. “two days ago.”

“i fire her all the time.”

“ok, well… i guess this time it stuck,” steve shrugs. “chrissy hired me.”

“fucking chrissy,” eddie says under his breath, rolling his eyes. he pulls out his phone from the pocket of his sweatpants and speed dials chrissy. “chris, what the fuck?” he doesn’t even give her the chance to say hello.

“good morning, eddie. i’m doing really well, how are you?”

“not fucking well, that’s how i am!” eddie practically yells into the receiver. “what the fuck? did you see the pictures? and who the fuck is this guy in my house?”

“yes, eddie, i saw the pictures.” eddie can hear the eye roll in her voice. “we’re handling it. nancy’s already on it with the team. what was the other thing?”

eddie knows she’s fucking with him and that pisses him off even more. “who is this freak in my house wearing a goddamn sweater vest?!” he feels like a blood vessel in his eye is about to pop.

“hey,” steve protests softly from across the kitchen where he’s started to pull shit out of eddie’s fridge. he didn’t even know there was anything in that fridge.

“that’s not a very nice way to talk about your new assistant,” chrissy’s voice comes loud and clear through the phone.

“christina fucking cunningham, you know i have final say on all hiring decisions when it comes to my assistants.” he rubs at his sore nose again.

“you had final say on all hiring decisions until you fired vickie for the thirteenth time and she refused to come back, even with a three hundred percent raise. we’re going in a different direction now.” chrissy sounds entirely too pleased with herself.

“well, i fucking hate him,” eddie grumbles and watches steve to make sure he’s heard him. steve doesn’t even react, just continues doing whatever the fuck he’s doing with the frying pan he’d found in the cabinet.

“you don’t even know him, eddie. give him a chance. anyway, i have to go, i have brunch plans with my very beautiful, very intelligent, perfect fiancée,” chrissy tells him, gloating, before hanging up on him.

eddie wants desperately to throw his phone across the kitchen, but if he breaks this one that would be his fourth phone in three weeks and he couldn’t bear to have to ask this steve person to go buy him a new one. he settles for squeezing it in his hand until it creaks while taking several deep breaths through his nose.

“what are you doing?” he grits out.

“are you always this rude?” steve asks, ignoring his question.

“to weirdo freak strangers showing up in my house unannounced? yes.”

“it’s not unannounced, chrissy wrote it on your calendar.” steve gestures toward the paper calendar hanging on the side of the fridge where chrissy writes his major life events and which eddie mostly just ignores before sliding a plate full of food toward eddie.

“what is this?” eddie sneers.

“it’s an omelette with cheese and mushrooms,” steve replies, smiling. he’s always fucking smiling.

“i’m allergic to… omelettes,” eddie says, just to be a dick.

“no you’re not. you’re allergic to blueberries and dust.” steve doesn’t stop smiling pleasantly.

“did you get access to my medical records? that’s a violation of my… whatever rights.” eddie waves a hand through the air.

“no, i didn’t go look at your medical records, jesus. i’m not a stalker. chrissy told me when she hired me.”

“whatever. i still fucking hate you.”

“okay,” steve shrugs again. “eat your breakfast.”

eddie has every intention of leaving the kitchen, full plate of food and all, but. he is hungry.

so he eats.

and he’s pissed that it’s actually good.

~*~

eddie spends the rest of the day being a general nuisance to steve any time he tries to do his job. when steve answers the phone before handing it to eddie, eddie “accidentally” hangs up on whoever it is on the hand off & makes sure to blame his new assistant when the person finally calls back. when steve has to drive him to his meeting with nancy and the pr team, eddie tries to give him the wrong directions, but steve’s too smart for that. when steve has to do the grocery shopping, he makes steve go to the erewhon all the way across town during rush hour because the one down the street “just doesn’t have the same vibe, steve.”

and all the while, steve just does his job, still smiling, not getting angry at all even though it’s beyond obvious eddie’s being a little shit to him.

which honestly just pisses eddie off more than anything else today.

“here’s some aspirin,” steve says, placing two white pills on the coffee table in front of eddie, along with a mason jar of water. eddie, lounging on his big squishy couch, pulls the ice pack away from his nose, which has started throbbing again. “you didn’t have any glasses.” steve shrugs when he sees eddie’s arched eyebrow looking skeptically at the jar of water. “if you don’t need anything else, i’ll take off for the day.”

it’s past 8pm already, long after steve should have left for the day except that eddie had made him stay to organize his extensive tshirt collection by color, shade, and design before he could even think about going home. it was an emergency, after all.

“i’ll have to check the t-shirt closet first,” eddie replies, before swallowing the aspirin dry. steve shrugs again and rolls his eyes. eddie would say something about his blatant rudeness, but he’s too exhausted.

eddie pulls himself off the couch and makes his way down the hallway to his “t-shirt room.” it’s so stupid, but he has all this space and he’d started collecting the tshirts so long ago. they’re not worth anything, they’re just his wardrobe but… they remind him of wayne and the thrifting they used to do every saturday morning.

the organization eddie had been having steve do was entirely arbitrary. it’s not like eddie plans his outfits. he mostly just pulls whatever out of wherever, unless it’s an event and then he pays someone to do the deciding and dressing for him anyway.

but. steve’s organized the t-shirts by genre and subgenre and then by band alphabetically and finally color. more than eddie had even asked him to do.

eddie had come in here fully prepared to rip steve a new one, but even he can be shocked into appreciation.

steve notices eddie’s silence and grins.

“can i tell you something?” steve says pleasantly and then continues without even letting eddie respond to the question. “i know i look like a nice polite guy next door that moms totally love—it’s the sweater vests, i think.” steve plucks at his top. “and that’s true. i am a nice polite guy and moms do love me. i’m awesome.” his grin widens. “but i got kicked out of my parents house when i was 18 and i lived in my car for a while. i’ve been on my own for seven years. i made a life in LA out of nothing. so you can throw your little temper tantrums and tell me how much you hate me. you can make me go to the erewhon all the way across town and you can make me look incompetent to my colleagues. but i need this job. i’ve worked hard for this job. this job pays more than any other job i’ve ever had combined. and you’re hardly the biggest asshole i’ve ever met. so you can continue trying to make my life miserable—hell, i’ll even give you my dad’s number, you guys can swap ideas!” steve laughs at his own joke before turning serious for the first time all day. “but i’m not vickie. you won’t make me cry. you can’t fire me. i’m not going anywhere.” he claps his hands together. “anyway, i’m gonna take off, since i have plans with my actual friends. but hey, i’ll see you tomorrow, huh?” and he smiles again, giving eddie a small waggle of his fingers, before heading out through the door.

eddie’s still just standing there in the middle of his tshirt room when he hears the front door slam shut.

[allwaswell16]

A One Direction fic rec of canon exes to lovers fics as requested in this ask. If you enjoy the fics, please leave kudos and comments for the writers! You can find my other recs here. Happy reading!

- Louis / Harry -

⊹ You’ve Got My Devotion (Hate You Sometimes) by auburnstargazer

(E, 95k, fake relationship) Harry and Louis are forced to fake-date after an old video from when they were dating emerges.

⊹ dancing in the dark by @clairdeloune

(E, 74k, slow burn) Harry comes out and it brings more than he's expected.

⊹ Remember Me As A Time Of Day by @justanothershadeofblue

(E, 68k, future fic) It's the 20th anniversary of the One Direction hiatus, and the powers that be have decided that it's time for a reunion tour, and ideally, an album.

⊹ Roses & Violets by sincewewereeighteen

(M, 43k, Dunkirk) A little more than a year ago he would’ve been able to actually do something besides sitting here and watching Harry hurt without even knowing for sure why he is hurting. But then again, a little over a year ago Harry hadn’t broken up with him, so, there’s that.

⊹ Place In Me by therogueskimo / @bravetemptation

(NR, 42k, reunion) One Direction reunites in 2023. Louis and Harry haven’t spoken to each other in years.

⊹ Walls by StarryDay13 / @daydreaming-sunflower

(E, 37k, songfic) A bunch of oneshots inspired by Louis' album Walls.

⊹ like a timebomb ticking by @infinitelymint

(M, 31k, angst) Louis loses everything. Harry's still there.

⊹ A Moment In Time by jacaranda_bloom / @jacaranda-bloom

(E, 14k, magic) the one where Harry and Louis used to be together, until they weren’t, but with a twist of fate and a bit of magic, could this be their chance to find forever in each other’s arms?

⊹ The Sun Must Set to Rise by dimpled_halo / @comebackassholes

(M, 8k, Jamaica) Harry is dealing with the aftermath of his divorce when Louis provides him with an escape to paradise he didn't know he needed.

⊹ no faith left to lose by @louieshalo

(M, 7k, confrontation) the one where they miss each other more than anything.

⊹ On The Pull by @homosociallyyours

(E, 4k, friends to lovers) When a radio host jokes that Harry and Louis should go on the pull together after Louis' "breakup" with Eleanor, Louis is quick to privately laugh it off as a ridiculous suggestion. So when Harry texts him and says he heard the interview and would be up for it, Louis is caught off guard. 

⊹ Yesterday’s gone (it’ll be better than before) by red_panda28 / @red-panda-28

(E, 3k, emotional hurt/comfort) Louis and Harry run into each other at the Euros, there's a mix up at the hotel and they have a past

⊹ Make a Heart Dance: Give it a Beat by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13

(G, 2k, Strictly Come Dancing) Harry Styles signs up to go on Strictly, and everything Louis thought he'd buried down deep comes bubbling right back up to the surface.

⊹ call me any, anytime by @disgruntledkittenface

(E, 2k, girl direction) Harry’s plans for the night are interrupted by an unexpected FaceTime call.

⊹ Remember When You Said? by kair0sclerosis

(G, 1k, angst) Harry calls Louis late one night, seeking answers to questions he doesn’t even want to ask.

- Rare Pairs -

⊹ Live a Thousand Lifetimes by Layne Faire / @laynefaire

(E, 57k, Zayn/Liam) With the whirlwind about to begin again, Liam re-evaluates the last ten years - the fame, the money, the people who changed his life forever - and the person who walked away.

[thesilvertheorist]

• tangled up •

Carl Grimes x gn!reader

plot: [fluff] you're sat listening to music, he ends up getting tangled up in your headphones.

tags: fluff, sfw, established relationship, happiness (eee), alexandria era, pre n*gan, post eye-loss <3

word count: 1182

Masterlist

You finally had a day off. No duties to see to, responsibilities to handle, babysitting to oversee…a rare privilege for you as of late. Rick and the council had been pushing you and the others hard, even Carl was being pushed to his limits with the workload – and that’s saying something. Needless to say, this small break in your schedule was a glimmer of hope among the pile of dogshit that was the overarching task of securing Alexandria’s perimeter and ensuring the self-sufficiency of the community.

Frustrated that you’d woken up as per your stupidly-set body clock as opposed to enjoying a nice lay in, you followed your morning routine as you usually would: quick shower, dental hygiene, combing the knots out of your hair so it dries as you like it. Puzzled as what to do with your newfound spare time, you searched your brain for ideas.

You could re-read all of your comics and books…not really as enticing the seventh time around. You could see if Carol would finally teach you her ‘three ingredient cookie’ recipe…hmmm no – cooking on a warm day like today sounded like hell. What about updating your shabby journal…eh, that could wait a few days more – what were you going to write? ‘I have a day off and I don’t know what to do with it.’… hardly introspective or poetic, definitely authentic though.

That’s when your brain lit a spark: CDs!

Whilst out on runs over the years, you made a point of collecting interesting CDs that people had left behind. In one house, you even found a portable CD player – one of the handheld ones with a headphone jack and crunchy small speakers. You were eternally grateful when Daryl found some earphones for you when raiding an old store, unopened and everything!

Your CD collection had grown over the years, you treasure them almost as much as you treasure having water in the summer or firewood in the winter. Ranging all the way from pop music (mostly Beyonce, Alicia Keys, Shakira) to rap (Eminem and 50 cent) to heavy rock (Blink-182, Green Day, The Killers), (you even have a Nirvana CD) and your absolute favourite – ‘Favourite Worst Nightmare’ by the Arctic Monkeys, a super rare find around this part of the country! They’re your prized possessions, these albums. Finally, something to do on your time off.

Content with your idea on today’s activity, you collect your CDs, the player, and your earphones and head out of the door towards your favourite tree in town. It provides the perfect amount of shade for you to sit there comfortably all day without getting burned but enough dappled light for you to feel the warm sun on your skin.

On your way over, you spot Carl – your boyfriend, walking towards you. How has Rick not caught him slacking off? Still, you walk over to him, unable to wave as your hands are full of music.

“Where’re you goin’?” he asks inquisitively, a small yet familiar smile creeping across his lips.

“Some of us have the day off,” you say gesturing (rather haphazardly) to yourself, “and we want to spend it under our favourite tree”.

“Hmm, well, lucky for some” your boyfriend retorts, rolling his eye at you, putting his hands in his pockets.

You kiss your boyfriend on the cheek before walking past him and towards your spot. Wondering how long it’ll take Rick to realise that Carl is missing, you make your way onto the grass and over to your tree – planting yourself down under it pondering if you too, could take root here.

You bask in the warm air as It breezes past you gently, taking in the smells of summer. Allowing music to fill your ears, you let yourself close your eyes, grounding yourself with the familiar feeling of the grass under your hands and the tree bark against your back. Relaxing, at last.

Time passes in a weird warp as you sit there, songs repeat as you refuse to bring yourself to change the CD whirling around in the player on your lap. You’ve absolutely no clue what time it is, nor do you really care all that much. That is until you feel someone’s footsteps vibrate the ground ever so slightly under you, feel the air change in your environment as the breeze carrying itself across you is blocked. Looking up reluctantly and rather offended, your eyes focus in on your boyfriend stood over you, smiling down at you.

“Hey sleepyhead, relaxed enough yet?” he laughs out as his hand meets the top of your head.

“You’re lucky you’re you and not anyone else, I hate people interrupting these songs” you smile back to him, taking out your earphones to hear him better.

Carl sits down next to you, placing his hat to one side yet still within reach in case the steady breeze drops, and allows himself to see what you see, to feel what you’re feeling, to ground in the way that you’re grounding. After taking a moment, he turns to you and looks through the CDs at your side, asking you if he can listen to one along with you. You gently accept and allow him to pick the next track – something you’d never allow anyone else to do.

He reaches for your earphones, finding them a little tangled up as the two of you have been reaching across one another ever since he sat down. He tries his best to undo the small knot in the wires, getting overly frustrated when he can’t – handing them over to you for help as he rests his head on your shoulder. Getting a little pouty when you undo the mess of wires almost immediately, he leans further into you as you both take an earphone each, letting the track play.

A few songs in, you feel him shift against you, noticing him place a kiss on your cheek in the same way you’d done to him earlier in the day. You turn your head to kiss him back as the music plays in your ear, feeling as though the world consists of just you and Carl in a small, musical bubble. The two of you kiss again and again and you reach to put your hand on the back of Carl’s neck, accidentally tangling the earphone wires yet again. Uncaring, you continue to feel this moment for what it is: perfect.

You and your boyfriend share laughs over the re-tangled wires, sharing smiley kisses with one another as your hands argue through fixing the knots. The remainder of your afternoon is spent with your boyfriend under this tree. He even falls asleep on your shoulder as music rings softly in his ear. Neither of you even notice when Rick storms over looking for Carl (who seemingly didn’t tell his dad that he was taking a break), but – in true Rick fashion – he takes one look at the sight of you two relaxed under that tree, that he gives you until the sun starts to dip in the sky before allowing anyone to bother the two of you.

[sexiestpodcastcharacter]

Sexiest Podcast Character 2024 — Scripted Undefeated Bracket — Round 2

Propaganda

Kayne (Malevolent):

He’s a god who acts like the main characters are his personal soap opera. His first appearance was playing the piano covered in blood after he had massacred an entire town. He just kinda shows up sometimes to cause chaos and is often munching on chips while he watches shit go down. Also he never wears shoes, for some reason

Madge Stallion (Fawx & Stallion):

Raging lesbian in a lavender marriage

Seduced someone working for the enemy

Is just as chaotic and at time brain cell-less as her male companions

Loyal but still willing to call her friend since childhood out on his bullshit

She canonically fucks. Like in canon she fucks so much. See above about seducing the enemy and then pepper in her on again off again romance with Martha Hudson.

#madge propaganda time : #she will flirt with basically any girl she sees and oh she does it so well #also !!! she once flirted and got on with technically an enemy in the middle of a spying mission ???? #she went like 'oh sorry just gotta go to the loo' to go spy in the house got caught and flirted so well she 1/ got laid 2/ got information #3/ came back like nothing happened #with some motivation she could flirt and get a boner from a dead rock tbh #madge stallion IS THE SEXIEST

Additional propaganda below the cut:

Kayne (Malevolent):

Literaly just a tumbr sexy man

black suit, no shoes, covered in blood, plays piano, quirky laugh

An eldritch god soaked in blood. He's Arthur Lester's number one cheer leader.

covered in blood, plays piano, silly laugh, very Will Wood coded

He's insane. He's so dynamic. Will Wood's The Normal Album in humanized eldritch god form. Always covered in blood. Need I say more?

#KAYNE SWEEEEEP LET'S GOOOO #my babygirl he deserves to win this entire thing #i'm not biased i swear

#Kayne my love #i want to end you but i love hearing from you

#kayne (haven’t even heard him) because i play piano so by that logic i’m sexy (in an asexual way)

#Kayne is such A Guy. like he’s just so Character #he does Things and says Lines and it’s great

Madge Stallion (Fawx & Stallion):

Madge Stallion was submitted without propaganda.

we gotta get our girl some propaganda. she would hate it, but the mystery of it all is kinda part of the appeal here.

Madge stallion NEEDS no propaganda

Madge: so sexy she needs no propaganda

#madge stallion is a great woman to lose to

#Madge she's a sassy lesbian detective what else do you want

#madge stallion needs no propaganda #by virtue of being madge

This is propaganda for all the female characters. Voters please remember how pretty all women are and factor that into every single vote you make. Thank you.

[imsogonesposts]

A Night at the Grammys

|| ao3 || an: this is part of a series, but each fic can be read on its own || I'm With the Rockstar series Masterlist || steve harrington masterlist ||

summary: Steve invites you as his date to the Grammys after being nominated for Best New Artist. (wc: 1,823)

Steve had never expected to be nominated for a Grammy. He was aware that his manager, and friend, Nancy had submitted him for a handful of different nominations: best new artist, best pop vocal album, and song of the year, but he never expected to actually be nominated for them. So, when you woke up one morning to Steve yelling a “holy shit” on the day nominations were supposed to come out, you had a fair idea as to what could cause him to be so excited so early in the morning.

“Good morning,” you grumble, still half asleep as Steve pulls you into a hug, not having to use much effort as you willingly let him pull you. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he mumbled as he pressed a series of kisses to the top of your head. “But I just got nominated for a Grammy,” he finishes, hugging you even tighter.

“You did? Which one?” You ask, pulling out of his embrace just enough to look at up him. His eyes were shimmering with happiness and pride.

“Best new artist,” he replied, pressing his forehead against yours with a smile. A smile you happily reciprocated as you moved to give him a proper kiss. 

“I’m so proud of you, baby,” you say, moving to hug him, your body fully now on his as you both lie in bed. Mornings like this always made you feel just a little lighter and happier. Mornings in his warm embrace, in your soft sheets, with the sun hitting him at just the perfect angle. What more could you ask for? “You deserve it, you’ve worked so hard. Pretty soon you’re gonna be getting Artist of the Year.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at your statement. You’d always been supportive of his music career from the very start, and it was evident you’d planned on staying supportive for a long time to come. “Well I don’t know about that,” he tells you, tilting your face just enough to press a kiss to your nose, a lazy smile on his face as he does so. “But let’s focus on the now,” he pauses, looking at you with a smile that you knew meant he had something important to ask. “Would you like to be my date to the Grammys?” He quietly asks as he brushes some hair out of your face, smiling at the wide grin that crosses your face. 

“The Grammy’s?” You repeat, as if not truly believing his words.

“Yes, the Grammy’s,” he replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Who else would I take, our neighbor?” He stops to laugh at the idea. “No, no, I’m taking the girl of my dreams,” he replies, bringing your face down for another kiss. “In case it wasn’t obvious,” he whispers, “that girl is you,” and before you get a chance to respond or fully let his words sink in, he’s kissing you again.

And when the kiss finally breaks, you can’t help but request, “please don’t wear a black suit, those are always so boring.”

He laughs again. “Babe, it’s the Grammy’s, not the Met Gala.”

“I don’t care, you should still look nice. Well, nicer than usual,” you tell him as he moves a hand to cup the side of your face with a small pout. 

“I thought you always thought I looked nice,” he replies. Though, the pout is quickly wiped away when you move to kiss him again. And again and again and again. He wasn’t planning on leaving this bed any time soon. 

***

Finally, months later, it was the night of the Grammys, and yours and Steve’s shared home looked like a stampede had trampled through by the time the multiple stylists, hairdressers, and make up artists left. 

“This is going to be a mess to clean up tomorrow, and we’re going to be too hungover to do anything about it,” Steve hears you grumble, biting back a laugh as he knocks on the bedroom door. 

“Can I come in?” He asks as you reply back with a “yes.”

“You look nice,” you tell him with a wide smile. He had listened to you and opted to not wear a black suit, instead, wearing a color that looked all too familiar to you, you just couldn’t place where you’d seen that exact shade before.“Why’d you pick that color?” You ask, looking up at his face to notice his staring. 

It was like you came straight out of a movie. Your hair perfectly framed your face, your dress shaping you perfectly, your make up looked gorgeous. You looked perfect. You were perfect, and he couldn’t help but stare. “You look gorgeous,” he quietly replied, still staring at you as if he just saw the Northern Lights. You couldn’t help but laugh at his reply, tilting your head with a smile as he continued to stare at you. 

“You ignored my question,” you tease as he finally snaps out of his trance. 

“Sorry, what was your question?” He asked as he took a step towards you, arm already wrapping around your waist. 

“Why’d you choose that color?” You repeat as a lovesick smile crosses his features. 

“It’s the color of your eyes, dummy,” he answers, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Oh, so that’s why the color looked so familiar. “It’s one of my favorite colors,” he mumbles against your forehead. “Let me take a picture of us, Robin’s been bugging me all day about wanting to see the ‘final results’ and whatever.” He suddenly states, pulling away from you to look for one of your phones as if he didn’t just alter your brain chemistry with a simple statement. Though, that was the thing about Steve, he always had a way of saying the absolute sweetest things to you, just to act like it was a normaleveryday sentence. Like those were normal, regular thoughts he had any time he was around you. Like loving you came to him like second nature. Like something he did unconsciously. Like breathing or blinking or scratching at an itch. Like he loved you as easily and as much as you loved him. Though, to be fair, he never made much of an effort to hide just how much love he had for you. 

“Hey, why’d you choose that color for your dress?” He asked as he finally found his phone, moving to your side to take a picture of the two of you. 

“I like the color,” you reply before kissing his cheek. 

***

“So, what do we think?” Steve asks, leaning into your side as you both sit at your designated tables, waiting for the ceremony to begin. You scan around the room, taking in the different singers and producers surrounding the two of you. The Grammy’s was nothing like you had ever seen before. 

“I’ve seen better,” you tell him in feign boredom as he laughs. 

“Better than all this?” He asks, using one hand to gesture around the room, the other moving to wrap around your shoulders. “I’m sorry, babe, but I find that hard to believe,” he jokes, smiling at your shrug. 

“I’m just saying, they could’ve done better,” you tell him as he rolls his eyes, fighting a smile. 

“Well, keep your voice down. They hear you talking smack and they might not let me win tonight,” he jokes, pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

“They’d have to be idiots to not give you that award,” you tell him, complete honesty and confidence in your voice. He couldn’t help but love how much faith you had in him. How much you truly believed in him. He knew he was lucky to have you in his life, and he was grateful for it every time he got to wake up in the morning and see your pretty face, and every night when he got to hold you in his arms. 

And award after award later, they had finally gotten to the category that meant the most to the two of you. 

“And for best new artist, the award goes to,” the presenter took a pause, opening the envelope to announce the winner. Steve took your hand, unconsciously squeezing it as you both waited for a name. It felt like hours until she finally read the name aloud: “Steve Harrington!” Applause filled the room but none of that mattered to Steve, all he could do was look at you before pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. 

“Congratulations, baby!” You said as you hugged him back. You could hear him mumbling “oh my god, oh my god,” into your shoulder, and you couldn’t help but smile. He had put so much work into his last album, so much work into his music career as a whole. In your eyes, there was no one who deserved that Grammy more than him.

You wished you could stay hugging him like that forever in order to celebrate his accomplishment. But you also knew if you didn’t do anything about it, Steve might just stay in your arms forever, so as you pulled away from the hug, you gave him a quick kiss before lightly pushing him towards the stage. “Go get your award, honey,” you said with a laugh.

His steps were a little clumsy, likely due to the nerves, but you couldn’t help but smile at the big grin that overtook his face. And to think he never thought his career would go this far. 

“Wow, okay, this is crazy,” he said into the microphone after thanking the presenter and accepting his award. “I want to thank everyone that’s helped me get where I am today. My friend’s for pushing me to put my music out there and keeping me humble, the fans that helped me get where I am today, my producers who helped make this album what it is, and of course, my beautiful girlfriend. She’s been my rock this whole time, and I definitely wouldn’t be up here without her, especially since most of my songs are about her.  But she’s been with me through thick and thin, and I’m eternally grateful for her and everyone that helped me get to where I am today.” He finishes his speech by waving his Grammy up in the air,before leaving the stage, making his way back to you. 

“Sometimes I forget how sweet you are,” you whisper when he takes his seat next to you once more. 

He hands you his Grammy so you could get a look at it as he runs a hand up and down your arm. “I should write more songs about you, then,” he jokes, “that way it gets stuck in your brain.” He lightly pokes the side of your head as if to emphasize his point, before turning your face for a kiss. You had to admit, more songs did sound nice. 

[flightfoot]

About Lila's lies, perhaps i'm the only one that thinks this but i feel a lot of her lies aren't as bad as a lot of people claim. Like a majority of the class (especially Marinette) have a few outlandish achievements or facts that sound like massive lies themselves, so it makes sense that they wouldn't doubt Lila when she claimed the same.

Oh, AGREED. Here's a list of her bragging-type and I-need-help-type lies.

Lila: You know I actually happen to be very close friends with Ladybug.

I mean, it's not absurd that she might be Ladybug's friend. "Close friends" might be up for interpretation, but this really isn't crazy. Especially since it's actually true for Alya.

Rose: Can you believe Lila knows Prince Ali? She even flew in his private jet with him!

Rose knows Prince Ali. I don't know why she's even impressed by this. I wouldn't even find it weird if she flew with him on his private jet.

Chloé: Why did Jagged Stone write a song about Lila when he could've written it about me?

I mean he wrote a song about Marinette unknowingly, he even wrote a song rubbing it in Anarka's face that he was ditching her and the twins. I don't actually think it'd be that weird for him to write a song about Lila, if she impressed him.

Nino: Lila knows all of the Hollywood directors. She promised she'd mention me to Steven Basielberg himself!

Lila's story is that her mom's a diplomat, and that DOES appear to be the case for one of them. So I wouldn't be surprised if she ran into a bunch of hollywood directors at some fancy party or something, like Gabriel hosts.

Lila:(stopping him from grabbing the book) Of course she's in your book. She's one of the most important superheroes. More powerful and more celebrated than Ladybug. (Marinette is angered by the comment) Between you and me Ladybug doesn't even make the top ten. (Marinette bites down on the book) My grandma gave me this necklace.

Superheroes exist in this world, and have for a long time, so it's not that ridiculous. Though it WOULD be weird that Adrien had never heard of her if she was as celebrated as she claims. And it helps that the book confirms that there were a ton of superheroes around who Adrien never heard of before.

Lila: It's absolutely amazing! Prince Ali invited me and my parents to his gorgeous palace.

One of her moms is a diplomat, so this wouldn't be too out of place.

Lila: Oh, it's nothing much! During our world travels, my diplomat parents have helped me convince the leaders of several nations to agree to reduce world pollution. (Adrien shakes his head) And I'm very optimistic that the prince will jump on board.

Again, this really isn't that crazy. One of her moms DOES appear to be a diplomat, and this is the sort of thing diplomats do.

Lila: Yes, I suffer from tinnitus, a constant ringing in my left ear. I've had it ever since the sound of an airplane engine burst my eardrum on the runaway when I was saving Jagged Stone's lost kitten.

The class has interacted with Jagged Stone several times, so it's not that weird that Lila might have as well. Heck, Marinette is his go-to designer for his album covers. And Jagged IS the type to be this careless with a kitten.

Lila: Now it is, yes. But he had a kitten until he found out he was allergic to it.

This happens to a lot of people.

Lila: I'm sorry I can't carry my own tray. It's almost impossible with this sprained wrist.

Spraining wrists is typical, and it can be hard to carry weight when this happens, especially at certain angles.

Lila: (drops napkin) Uh, ow! Once when I was in India, I witnessed someone getting their eye gouged out by the corner of a napkin. If I hadn't caught it, this napkin could've injured Max. I didn't have a choice. Ow!

This is the only lie I've seen Lila tell that isn't really feasible. No way that someone's eye got gouged out this way. That being said, it could still cause some damage if it hit the eye and the eye wasn't protected by an eyelid or glasses. Which Max's eyes are, but it makes sense that she wouldn't have had time to think about that in the half a second she had to react.

Lila: Adrien, we'll have to figure when you're gonna help me catch up on all the schoolwork I missed. I also heard you play piano, my uncle's the great pianist Chuch Boroughchuck. He wanted to teach me when I was little, but I had to stop playing because of arthritis. But when my wrist gets better, I'd love for you to give me some lessons.

I knew someone with childhood arthritis, and her having an uncle who's a great pianist isn't any more absurd than Marinette having a great-uncle who's a world-famous chef.

Lila: Oh, I'd love to test your video game, Max, but I promised Prince Ali we'd go on a charity cruise over the Seine on his yacht this afternoon. Sorry.

This just falls under the same category as Lila's earlier lies about knowing Prince Ali and helping to promote charitable causes with him. Which Rose also does, she just doesn't travel with him. Makes sense that Lila might though, since one of her moms is a diplomat.

I'm having trouble thinking of other lies Lila told of this sort of type after this, since she was able to tell the truth mostly, what with being a model for Gabriel.

So yeah. Most of these lies are very plausible, and are way less weird than the Miracuclass's general experiences. The absurd thing is that they're impressed, not that they buy it.