#plus the way the lyrics flow

[b-is-in-the-closet]

*Distant barking*

6 Days…

[eddiesghxst]

PRICE OF FAME (PART 12/12)

AHHH !! friends, we've come to the end of my first fully done series, and she's not perfect in a lot of ways but she's mine and I'm so happy and thankful to have shared it with you lovely folks

i hope I've done them justice, enjoy <3

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: rockstar!eddie x journalist!reader

summary: you decide to visit eddie for a chat

contains: enemies to lovers trope, drug and alcohol use, smut, oral (m receiving), mentions of anal, mentions of death (readers relative), sexual themes, angst, heavy mutual pining, fluff, and eddie being so head over heels that it's hot <3

word count: 10.6k

| previous part |

| series masterlist | -main masterlist- |

“So, from the new album— Wasting Love.”

Over time, Eddie’s learned that he can’t stand interviews— especially interviews with questions aimed towards nothing but tabloid gossip and headlines. The first big interview that Corroded Coffin booked was exciting because— well, it was their first one! Maybe the questions weren’t as intricate and thought-out as the ones they gave David Bowie on TV, but it was something.

That excitement wore off quickly, though, and unfortunately, interviews are one of the top ways to spread publicity so— “Wasting love,” Eddie huffs, tipping his hips forward as he shifts on the couch. He’s bored out of his mind, aching to leave and be done with the shitty questions about his love life or the people he hangs around or whatever. He taps the heel of his foot into the ground, lips twisting as he chews at the inside of his cheek, “What about it, man?” Eddie asks.

The rest of the band is in the fucking clouds— why would they answer a question about a song entirely unrelated to them? Plus, Eddie’s 99.9% sure they did a few lines without him, which, fucking assholes.

The interviewer shrugs, “Well, why didn’t it make it to the final cut? And what’s it about? Tell us more about that track.”

What a bullshit fucking question. 

Wasting Love is one of the most, if not the most, straightforward songs Eddie’s ever fucking written. The only reason why he’s asking about this is because, well, there’s been rumors of Eddie and his most recent love affair— none of which are true, but Eddie doesn’t bother to come out and tell the truth because what’s the point? What’s the point in telling the truth if it will get twisted anyway?

Either way, Eddie shrugs, blinking behind his dark sunglasses, “I mean…” He purses his lips and tips his head side to side as if thinking, “Kinda self-explanatory with the lyrics, man.” He finally responds.

And in the background, Eddie can see Richie practically constructing his next ‘I know you hate it, but it’s good publicity’ lecture. So, Eddie relents— “It’s about… meaningless sex basically. And it didn’t make the cut because it was a shitty song.”

It wasn’t, actually, Eddie thinks it was a great fucking song, but the intentions behind it— not quite so.

“I think the fans would disagree on that.” The interviewer jokes.

Jeff takes a deep breath and shifts in his seat, “I mean, part of it was because it just didn’t flow with the essence of the album.” He adds, and Eddie mentally thanks him for taking over and so easily diverting the topic to something else. For the rest of the interview, Eddie’s mind is elsewhere, thinking about everything outside of this room, thinking about what he’ll eat later, thinking about the show tonight, thinking about you.

Yeah, you haven’t left his fucking mind in the past six months you’ve been apart from one another. It’s been six months, and Corroded Coffin has released two albums and started their second leg of tour since he last saw you— and you’re still all he thinks about.

You’re still in his dreams, still dancing behind his eyelids when he shuts his eyes, still vomiting all over his fucking journal when he writes. It’s madness, really. Eddie can’t remember the last time he was this hung up on someone— he wasn’t even this distraught when Chrissy left him.

Sure when he and Chrissy ended, he wallowed in it for a month or two, but it wasn’t long before he got fixed on uppers and groupies. Chrissy was heartbreaking in the sense that she was his first love, his first real relationship— but this… this is different. Eddie doesn’t know why it’s different, can’t really pinpoint where the colors change, and the memories start to jab at his chest differently, but he feels it.

He feels it when he’s sitting backstage before a show, feels it when he steps into a new hotel room every night, feels it when he’s ruffling through his suitcase and comes across that journal that’s been haunting him for ages now, and he definitely feels it when he reads the fifth page in the Rolling Stone magazine where the description of Eddie resides, the one where you’d crafted and molded Eddie into a shape he’d never been able to see before, the one where Eddie first came to terms with the true sight of you and your intentions.

Yeah, it’s fucking bullshit, Eddie thinks.

He doesn’t know how he ended up in this predicament, but by god, he would never fucking recommend it because— fuck, you won’t even talk to him!

And sure, you don’t owe Eddie anything, you don’t owe him a call or a chance to visit or anything of the sort, but Eddie was holding onto that sliver of hope you gave him before you left. 

He asks about you when he can, because, unbeknownst to you, Eddie’s quite familiar with your boss, Anna, and she’s like an annoying older sister to him. Anna tells Eddie how much of an idiot he is occasionally, but she always cracks and tells Eddie that you’ve been good and how you sometimes mention him, but it’s always quick, and nobody ever has room to pry about it. And when Anna tells Eddie about how you crossed paths backstage with a certain red-headed girl and read her to filth, Eddie chuckles and mumbles something along the lines of, “That’s my girl.”

Anna nearly gagged then. 

Still, Eddie only catches glimpses and whispers of you, never really getting the full fix to last him a day, but it’s enough to keep him alive and wanting. 

“Maybe she doesn’t get your calls, man.” Gareth shrugs, leaning into the mirror as he ruffles his hair. It’s been hours since the interview now, and showtime is in… Eddie doesn’t know when because he didn’t listen when Richie was rambling on about tonight’s schedule.

“She gets my calls, dude; Anna said she does,” Eddie grumbles.

“Okay, well, then maybe she’s just, like, over it. I don’t blame her; you're a pain in the ass.”

Eddie kicks his boot into Gareth’s shin, and the boy hisses, tossing a red Rillos wrapper at him. “Ow, asshole. It’s not my fault she hates your music.” He snips. Eddie makes a face, “It’s your music too, dumbass.” 

Gareth scoffs, “Yeah, but you wrote an entire fucking album about her. Our album is literally about her, you know that, right?” And Eddie thinks he should just kick Gareth’s teeth in at this point, maybe that’ll get him to shut up. “How would you know it’s about her if I never told you it was?” Eddie prods.

Gareth rolls his eyes, dark eyeliner casting a shadow on his face as he turns to glare at his friend. “Is there another chick you’ve been fucking that’s got you by the balls that we seem to have forgotten about?” Gareth sarcastically asks. Eddie glares at him, reaching for the cigarettes on the vanity table and sparking up.

He speaks around a cloud of smoke when he answers, “No.”

Gareth makes a face, eyebrows raising in an ‘I rest my case' manner. “And she’s not a chick,” Eddie adds.

Gareth hums with a tight grin, reaching out to poke at his friend's face, causing Eddie to grimace and bat him away, “You’re in love, Munson. Fix it or get over it,” He says shortly before making his way toward the door. Eddie can hear the dull scream of fans when Gareth opens the door, and Eddie thinks about the tickets he’s sent you every show— prays to whatever false god there is that you decided tonight is the night before he decides hope is useless and you’ve gotten over him. Gareth cuts through Eddie’s thoughts, “Come on, I can hear Richie’s bitching from here.”

Eddie’s mind is never in the game until he steps onto the stage, with bright lights blinding him, screaming fans, and his adrenaline at an all-time high. He comes back to earth then, comes back, and does the fuck out of his job— because this is the best part. The best fucking part, and it’s always been that way.

And it gets better when Eddie scans the crowd, coming down from the first song of the night and finally taking a look at his audience, and there he sees it— he sees you. There you are under flashing lights, drowning in a sea of people with that glint in your eyes. 

Eddie thinks he’s imagining it because, fuck, he’s been dreaming of this for weeks on end; surely his delusion can reach the heights of hallucinations, right? But no, you’re real.

You’re so fucking real. So fucking insanely real beneath Eddie’s fingertips when he reaches out, ignoring the screams and clawing of fans as his fingers loop around your wrists and he says your name.

God, you’re really fucking here.

Eddie looks prettier than you remember when you first see him— curly mane draped over his shoulders and dark tattoos glistening on a bare torso, white lights framing him like he’s some kind of fucking archangel.

He’s gotten thicker in the few months, beefier around his arms and chest, and the long chains and pendants he wears from his neck rest down the valley of his torso, smeared in sweat and sin. You want to drag your tongue across his chest, taste the salt and his cologne, tug the silver cross between your lips, and suck and make him whimper.

His eyeliner is smudged and dark, and his smile when he gets a moment to take in the crowd makes your chest ache. He’s so pretty it hurts. He’s a dream and a nightmare all at once.

You missed him. God, you missed him so much.

His smile falters when he sees you, and you don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but his eyebrows pinch like he’s in pain, and you only want to wrap yourself around him and breathe in that scent that’s been haunting for nights on end.

He’s insane for jumping down to the barricade, like, completely-lost-his-fucking-mind, down-in-the-gutter, insane. But you can’t find it in you to protest when he steps up to the fence, reaching out and looping his warm finger around your wrist. “What the fuck?”

Your lips twitch into a smile at his words, but the crowd is getting rowdy with their beloved rockstar so up close and an elbow is being shoved into your side and Eddie moves quicker than you can comprehend, tugging you forward to the very front and motioning you to jump over.

“You’re insane!” You yell over the noise of the crowd. Eddie grins, damp curls dangling over his eyes as he peers down at you, “Unless if you wanna get crushed, be my guest.”

It’s slightly difficult, and there are a lot of gangly limbs and yearning hands reaching out everywhere, but Eddie eventually gets you over the barricade, and you’re gazing up at him with a warm grin when you sway on your feet. You wish you and Eddie could just walk away and have each other like you’ve been imagining for months, but Eddie has a job, and he’s working.

His eyes are blown wide, and his lips are so kissable, and his warm hand is squeezing your hip as he nods toward a security guard. “Keep an eye on this one, Rob,” He shouts over the screaming fans. You’re eyeing Eddie as he steps back toward the stage, sinking his in-ear back into place with a sly grin as he winks, “She’s real sneaky.”

The show is great, as it always is, and Eddie tries to be deft about it, but it’s evident to just about everyone how he practically clings to the side of the stage where you’re standing in front of. It’s cute, you’ll admit, but you feel bad for the fans, so you try to move around a bit.

The last song comes, and the show ends with Eddie and Jeff practically climbing over one another as they shred their guitars and the crowd goes insane when Eddie leans forward to drag his tongue up the side of Jeff’s face, grinning when the other boy rolls his eyes and walks off.

You’re being pulled backstage quicker than you know it, just in time to meet the group as they jog off the smokey stage with big grins on their faces.

Jeff is smothering Naomi in a sweaty hug and smattering kisses all over her face, and you’re glad to see they’re still together. Gareth is twirling his drumstick between his fingers and scanning the room for someone, but you don’t have time to try and figure out who because the one person you’ve been waiting for steps out next, and he’s got the biggest grin on his face as he practically jogs up to you.

You’re smiling and giggling out a greeting as he steps up to you and grasps your face between his hands, “No kisses!” You warn before he can lean in, and Eddie’s too excited to even pout about it. “You’re gonna fucking kill me, you know that?”

You reach up to slink your fingers around his wrists as his thumbs caress the soft skin beneath your eyes, “Got enough life left in you to talk?” You ask. Eddie’s eyes dance across your face, taking you in like it’s the last time he’ll ever get the chance to before he nods. “Always.”

The dressing room seems to be the altar of truth for you and Eddie.

It’s dawning on you that most of the pivotal moments between you and Eddie have been in a dressing room, so it’s not irrational for you to feel a bit uneasy when you step in, and Eddie closes the door.

He’s like a kid in a candy store, trying not to touch what he sees. His eyes are so bright, but you can tell he’s holding himself back from doing and saying the things he wants, and you appreciate that he’s giving you the space, waiting for you to give him your yes or no.

Eddie plops onto the couch in the middle of the room and looks at you with a glint in his eyes. You deeply breathe, shifting in your spot before leaning back against the door, tipping your head as you study him; thighs comfortably spread, inked stories fluttering to life with each rise and fall of his bare torso. He’s a dream.

“I thought you’d be way more upset.”

Eddie’s lips tug like he wants to smile at the sound of your voice, or maybe it’s the sight of you, and he shifts in his seat with a shrug, reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a cigarette and sticks it between his lips, and when you see him pat himself down, you’re already moving like it’s muscle memory.

You pick up the lighter on the coffee table and walk over to Eddie, sparking the flame as you speak, “You’re allowed to be upset, you know?” You remind him. Eddie’s gaze flickers in color as he looks up at you, and you try to ignore the goosebumps that rise up on your skin when his hand reaches up to rest on your hip, thumb caressing you over the material of your skintight dress. Streams of fire are licking up your spine as he leans forward to burn the end of the paper stick, and your center aches when he gently squeezes the fat of your hip. All throughout this, Eddie never lets his eyes fall from you.

He mumbles a short thank you once the cigarette lights, leaning back to rest against the seat as he looks up at you. You fight the urge to comb your fingers through his hair or do something dumb like climb into his lap. No doubt talking would fly out the window then.

You gently toss the lighter onto the coffee table and sit on the loveseat across from the pinnacle of your thoughts from the last six months. Eddie speaks around a cloud of smoke, “Do you want me to be upset?” He asks.

You shrug, trying your hardest not to break beneath his unwavering eye. “I don’t know.” 

Eddie smiles then, and the strings of your heart play a symphony to the notes of his voice when he speaks, “I was for a little bit,” He admits, tapping ash onto the carpet, “But then Wayne told me to get my head out of my ass.”

You huff out a laugh at that, and Eddie grins. “How is he?” You ask. Eddie tips his head back and forth like he’s thinking, “Same old man as before. Think he’s got a girlfriend now. He’s being an asshole about the details, though.” He rolls his eyes, and you snort. You’re happy to hear Wayne has a person for himself now; if anyone deserves it, it’s him.

You shift, like you can’t seem to get comfortable enough, and you know you’re stalling, and you can see Eddie fighting to not call you out, so you try to ease into it; “Is that when you stopped calling?” You ask.

Eddie stiffens under the question, and you know the answer. He grimaces and runs a hand over his face with a soft groan, “Fuck,” he curses, “Fuck, yeah, it was.” He answers. “I’m sorry, I’m a fuckin’ hothead. I had made it a goal to call every night and then—” “I upset you.”

Eddie’s eyes are soft, and you have to force yourself to keep your eyes on his, “It wasn’t fair what I did, Eddie; I’m sorry—”

Eddie shakes his head, briefly shutting his eyes as he waves you off, “Nah, fuck that. You don’t need to apologize—” “But I do. I told you I wanted space, and then a week later, I’m plastered on a fucking cover with Baine fucking Carter.” 

Baine Carter is a well-known songwriter within the industry. He’s got tracks spread all over the top charts, and he has a way of talking that can make just about anyone fall into a trance until you realize most of what he’s saying is just made-up bullshit. In hindsight, Baine wasn’t much different than most people in the music industry— it was a moment of weakness and pure vodka-weighted thinking. And, of course, it’s the moment when cameras find you.

“Kinda my fault too,” Eddie shrugs, “Camera’s wouldn’t have found you if I didn’t have press riding me.” And he’s right, but shitty press isn’t his fault, so how much of that can you really blame him for?

Eddie snickers at the memory of you painted on the cover of several magazines, “Think you’ve got a type, sweetheart.” He teases. Your face screws up in defense, and you scoff, “What does that mean?”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, “Come on, you’re gonna tell me you didn’t say my name when he—” “We didn’t do anything— firstly— and even if I did say your name, I would never in a million years admit it.” You point out with a raised eyebrow. 

Eddie smirks with a playful glint in his eye and he deeply breathes as he ashes his cigarette and rises to his feet. “I don’t care that you hooked up with Bain fucking Carter,” Eddie softly admits with a hint of a mocking grin, “Did it deeply wound me to the point where I almost thought I was gonna die? Yes.” He jokingly says, to which you want to roll your eyes at, but he’s stalking over to you like he’s some lion on the prowl, and all you can muster is a small huff with a mumbled, “You’re dramatic.”

Eddie stands in front of you and leans over to press his palms onto each side of your seat, leaning down until his face hovers above yours, “I’m kinda known for it, darling.” He winks.

Your core stirs at the proximity, and you can feel his breath against your top lip. “I will admit, though,” Eddie lets his hand drop to round over your bare knee, callused fingertips caressing your soft skin, “It gave me a huge ego boost seeing you with a literal replica of me.” He snickers, fingers dancing into the inside of your thigh. You huff, a playful glint in your eyes as you run your tongue across your teeth, “Yeah, I imagine your head couldn’t fit through the door for at least a month, huh?”

Eddie shrugs, “Depends. Which head we talking about, honey?”

You huff out a laugh, rolling your eyes when he gently squeezes at the warm skin of your thigh. You tip your head lower, holding your gaze on Eddie as you lowly speak, “I’m not having sex with you tonight, Eddie.”

Brown eyes flash with a familiar look you’d missed before they drop to your lips. “What about a kiss? Just one.” He presses. Your eyes narrow, “I doubt you could ever do just one.” 

“You’ll never know if you never try.” His lips twitch up into a sly grin, taunting you and pushing you until your brain is just a muddled mess of yes, no, yes, no, yes, n— fuck it.

It’s like a sigh of relief to have Eddie’s lips on yours after such a long time. Weeks of nights and days spent trying to remember how it felt having his plump lips pressed onto yours, how he tasted, how warm his tongue was when it slunk into your mouth. None of those times you’d try to remember, none of those phantom feelings that would breeze through your body could ever amount to how it actually feels— it’s as if you’re seeing color for the first time.

It’s a fucking kiss, that’s for sure.

It’s long, and it takes you both a second to relearn the kinks and maneuvers you both favor, but then it’s as if time never passed between your bodies— you’re moving like one unit, like every second of your lives has built up to this moment.

Unfortunately, air is a necessity to living, so you’re pulling away sooner than you’d wanted to. Eddie’s other hand is digging into the cushion beneath you, and you can practically hear his thoughts spinning as he wills himself to pull back. You shiver as his fingers squeeze your thigh one last time before slipping away. 

“How's that for a kiss?”

Brown eyes with pools of liquid gold, you missed the searing pain it gave you each time you reached out and touched. You purse your lips, tasting him on your tongue as you tip your head in thought— menthol and whiskey. “Care to answer a few questions? Pick up on our game?”

Eddie huffs out a laugh, breath tickling your nose as he snickers with a glint in his eyes. He studies you for a moment, like you might pull out and say never mind, but you only raise an eyebrow as you await an answer. “Your place or mine, honey?” He drawls.

You preen at the open door he’s lent you, “It’s your city, isn’t it?”

You don’t take the same car with Eddie to his place.

It’s not that you didn’t want to take the same car, but something about that look in Eddie’s eyes said that he absolutely wouldn’t be behaving on that car ride, and you immediately suggested separate vehicles. You’re unsure if you trust yourself to hold your promise in a confined space with Eddie… or maybe you don’t trust him… or— yeah, it’s both of you. Eddie wasn’t ecstatic about it, but you don’t care because you swear to god you aren’t going to fuck Eddie before you talk— like, really talk.

There are things that you both need to say, uncover, and express feelings about, and god forbid you get dicknotized before the words can come out correctly.

Eddie’s home is everything you thought it would be: chaotic in taste, lively, musical, whimsical, and all things that scream Eddie. The entryway is open and vast, with a clear view into the living room, where you can see a sunken living room build with guitars and papers strewn about. 

Eddie’s ushering you further into his home before you can look deeper into the entrance, but you don’t mind because his living area is like an artist's wet dream. There are comfy couches, red, cream, and colors alike, and there’s a rug in the middle that looks like a psychedelic trip of dark colors, and along one of the walls is a long shelf of endless records.

“I moved in like a year ago, so it’s not perfect, but… this is me,” Eddie says. You hadn’t been paying attention, but now that he walks into your line of vision, you can see his shoes are off, and his loose blouse is fully open. He looks like a fantasy; lean body dripped in expensive clothes and clinking jewelry, shoulders broad and sculpted beneath his wavy hair. Fuck.

You slip your shoes off and let your feet sink into his home's fluffy, deep red carpet, never once dropping your gaze from him as you walk over to the couch. “It’s beautiful, Eddie. It’s very you.”

You sink into his couch, turning so you can face him with your arms crossed over the back of the sofa as you watch him pick a record and set it up. Through the surround system of his home, the familiar riff to Tommy Bolin’s Shake The Devil rings. You watch Eddie sink a hand into his hair, shaking out his messy curls before pausing. The guitar is loud and you’re leaning forward when he snaps his head to dramatically look over his shoulder. You stifle a laugh, intrigued to see where he’s going with this— and you hate to admit that you begin enjoying the show when he turns around, fingers crafted and messily playing an air guitar to the track.

His stomach and chest flex with each of his moves, the buckle and button to his jeans open to flash you a dangerously low view of his happy trail leading to sinful places. He’s walking sex; head tilted back as he shreds the imaginary guitar, hips moving with the song as he walks toward you. He sinks to his knees in front of you, and with his living room being sunken and him still being on the higher level, you’re just in line with the view of his spread legs, crotch on full display. His teeth sink into his bottom lip as he gazes at you, switching to air drums before the words kick in. You can’t hide the smile that graces your lips as he dramatically sings along, leaning forward until his face is just inches in front of yours, ringed fingers reaching to cup your face. Standing face to face with the devil, huh?

Your hands have a mind of their own apparently because they reach out and coast up Eddie’s jean-clad thighs, nails scratching up against the material until your fingers hook into the belt loops of his jeans. You lean forward on your knees, sharing a breath with the pretty boy, and you smile. Eddie groans low in his throat, the breakdown of the song blasting in both your ears and your heart racing. His teeth dig into his lips like he’s trying to physically hold himself back, and you softly laugh. “Laughin’ at my misery?” He asks.

You shrug, “Maybe. You look fuckin’ hot.”

Eddie groans again, eyes rolling back into his head before he dives forward, nuzzling his face into your neck and faking a bite as you squeal. “Can’t say shit like that to me, princess. Wanna fuck the shit out of you.” His teeth drag against your pulse, and you squirm with a louder squeal, causing him to tumble forward, collapsing onto the couch with you, and your limbs mix like one big painting as he dramatically grunts on impact. He shifts until he’s laid on his back, head resting in your lap as he peers up at you.

“You staying the night?” He asks.

You snort, brushing a strand of hair from his face, “Didn’t I tell you we’re not having sex?” You remind him. Eddie huffs and digs his head into your lap as he shuffles in his spot, “Did I ask for sex just now?” He challenges. You raise an unconvinced eyebrow, “So, you want me to spend the night just to spend the night?”

Eddie’s eyes gleam as he looks up at you, “It’s been my dream.”

You roll your eyes, playfully shoving him off you with a huff, “Get me a drink, and I’ll think about it?”

Eddie hops up as if second nature, padding over to the stereo and turning it down just enough to hear you as he talks over his shoulder, “Sure thing, honey; what would you like?”

Honey, honey, honey.

You want to drown in it.

You’re not listening as Eddie lists off the drinks he has, busy swirling in sticky, sweet, golden lakes and admiring the shift of Eddie’s hips and ass beneath his jeans. “Surprise me.” You respond.

“Copy that, madam.”

He doesn’t go far because there’s a built-in bar on the other side of the room, so you have the perfect view of him working his magic, mixing liquor and dropping ice cubes into a crystal glass. When he finishes making your drink, he turns and walks over to you with this glint in his eyes, and you feel your body heat under his gaze. “This one's on the house,” He says with a wink, handing you the drink. You thank him, taking the glass as he sits back onto the couch, sinking into the plush cushions and watching you gently sip before pulling a sour face.

He laughs, “Too strong?” He asks. You grimace with a shake of your head, smacking your lips, “No, no, it’s good. Thank you.”

Your legs are kicked up on the couch, and Eddie finds his fingers slinking around your bare ankle, gently squeezing, “Want something comfy?” He asks.

God, he’s relentless.

You laugh, “You really want me to stay,” You tease. Eddie sinks like he’s letting all inhibitions go as he answers, “Desperately.”

He can tell you’re cracking, and you have to hide your grin behind the glass as you shake your head in disbelief at yourself, “Fine. Go, before I change my mind.”

And Eddie’s sprinting up, holding his jeans up from falling as he jogs up the stairs with a happy cheer.

A half-hour passes, and you find yourself sitting on Eddie’s comfy living room floor, dressed in nothing but an oversized shirt of his because, in Eddie’s words, ‘there’s no need for pants in a home setting, sweetheart.’ You think he just wants easy access and an eyeful of your bare legs.

Eddie’s licking up the crease of a blunt and your body is warm with whiskey and the shrill of a jazzy melody from the radio. He’s so pretty, leaned over the glass coffee table, bare shoulders flexing, curly hair draping as a curtain as he works. He clicks his tongue when he’s done, and you raise an eyebrow, pressing your bare toes into his thigh when he scoots closer. “Up for a smoke?” He asks.

You don’t smoke much, not that you don’t enjoy a nice high, but you find yourself more appreciative of your highs when they’re spaced out and random. You nod, and Eddie grins, “Atta girl. Here, honorary first hit,” He passes the blunt to you, and you snicker, grasping it between two fingers and holding it up to your lips. Eddie helps you with a lighter, leaning forward to burn the end of the paper, and you take one good drag before pulling the bunt away, rolling the smoke into your lungs to settle as best as you can handle before you sputter out in a small coughing fit.

Your eyes water, and Eddie grins as you pass it to him, leaning forward to kiss your temple, “That was good, baby.”

You watch as he takes a hit of his own, huffing out a few coughs of his own, and jesus christ, why do rockstars always smoke devious shit? It’s strong, whatever Eddie has you smoking, and it only takes you three hits before you already feel a buzz coming, and Eddie looks so pretty with low eyes and rosy cheeks.

“Ready to play our game?” He rasps out.

“Mm.” You agree, reaching out to take another hit.

“Did you listen to the albums?”

I can't destroy what isn't there

Deliver me into my fate

If I'm alone I cannot hate

I don't deserve to have you

Oh my smile was taken long ago

If I can change I hope I never know

God, did you listen to the albums? Sure, you have it ingrained into your fucking mind, and it burns.

You smile, slowly blinking because, of course, that’s Eddie’s first question. You breathe out clouds of fairy dust as you speak, “Yes, I did. Did you read the magazine?” You ask.

Eddie nods, leaning back against the couch, extending his legs out as he eyes you, “I did. Which song did you like best?”

“Mm, the one with the drums.” You smile.

Eddie laughs, and you pass the blunt back to him before leaning back on the opposite couch, toes almost touching when you extend your legs across the carpet. “You’re a kiss-up, you know that?” He gestures to you, to which you only shrug.

Eddie crawls across the living room, and you fight the urge to reach out and thread your fingers through his hair as he plops himself right next to you, leaning against the couch as well. Your thighs are touching, and you can feel the warmth of him, and the smell of weed is wafting through the air, and you just want to nuzzle into Eddie’s chest and never leave.

“Miss me?” You teasingly ask. You can hear the slight smile in Eddie’s voice as he responds, “Negative. You?”

You snort, “Negative.”

You shuffle to lean against Eddie, and he can’t seem to help it when he reaches out to push your hair back gently. “What do you wanna be when you grow up?” You ask.

Eddie’s eyebrows pinch in confusion, no doubt lost by what you mean, considering he already has his lifetime job figured out, “What do you mean?”

You sigh, wriggling as you fight the urge to wrap your body around him, “I mean,” You shrug, “Well, you’re not gonna do this forever, right? Like, at some point, you’re going to have to throw in the towel, age, and whatnot,” You dismissively wave, “What will you do then?”

Eddie pauses and thinks for a moment, and if you couldn’t feel the warmth of his skin on yours, you would think he vanished into thin air. “I, uh…. Well, you’ll think it’s stupid.” He mumbles.

You frown, turning your head to look at him, “I won’t. Tell me. Please?”

He looks at you with these soft, fond eyes before nodding, “I wanna start a music school in Hawkins— maybe, like, a creative arts school, you know, something for the weirdos. Not just music geeks.” He admits. His tone is so soft, maybe the softest you’ve ever heard, and he’s fiddling with his rings like he’s nervous, and it’s the cutest sight you’ve ever seen.

“It’s not really celebrated there. Creativity, I mean.” He adds.

You stay quiet, allowing him to speak, “Everybody just lives to work dead-end jobs. Being creative is like… a sin or something, I don’t know. I just want to give the kids somewhere where they’ll feel… safe. Seen. Something I never got for myself.”

It’s… it’s fucking brilliant. It’s so brilliant it makes your chest ache, and you decide that you would do just about anything to make sure Eddie’s dreams of a music school come true.

“I told you it’s stupid. No one ever thinks it’s good.” He mumbles after a moment with your silence. You frown and shake your head, sitting up straight to look at him. “No. No, Eddie, it’s amazing…It’s fucking amazing, and you should do it. You have to do it.”

“You’re just playing nice.”

“No, seriously. Fuck whoever said it wasn’t a good idea, it’s brilliant.” You press on, and you want to lean in and pepper kisses all over his face because— seriously, who the fuck told him it was a shitty idea?

“I grew up in a small town too, and— shit, it was not fun wanting to be something other than a nurse or a teacher. Got a lot of shit trying to ‘reach for the stars’,” You huff out a laugh. Eddie’s eyes are so gentle as they gaze at you that you almost melt. “I would’ve appreciated something like that. Munson’s School of Arts.”

Eddie snorts at that, pink lacing with yours as a smile spreads across your lips, “Not bad actually, I might name it that.”

It’s a back and forth of that for a while, silly questions amongst genuine ones until you find yourselves sat next to each other, arms pressed together, bodies yearning to wrap around each other as you fiddle with the strings of Eddie’s carpet. And there’s something, you know. Eddie feels something that he’s not telling you, and it’s killing you because it’s what you need to hear before you take the plunge. “Are you angry with me?” You softly ask.

Eddie’s quiet for a moment, and the blunt was snuffed out a while ago, so he’s not taking a drag but instead just stalling. “I mean,” he pauses, “I already told you, Birdie. What’s the point in going back on it?”

You frown, glancing at him, “Because I want you to tell me how you feel, Eddie.” You respond.

Eddie’s silent again for a longer moment, and you want to whine when he shifts away to sit in front of you. He folds his legs up, resting his elbows over his knees as he sits face to face with you, “Do you want me to be angry with you?” He steadily asks.

Your blink, “I— no?” 

Eddie raises an eyebrow, and you huff, “Honestly, a little bit, yes. It’s okay to be angry with me, Eddie; that’s what I’m trying to say.”

Eddie’s demeanor is unwavering as he blinks at you, but his tone is accusing, “Do you want me to be angry with you so you can feel justified?”

And, ouch.

That’s not the truth at all. Or maybe it’s some truth, but in your true feelings, that’s not what you mean. It’s only a fleeting thought because you’re human, after all, right?

“That’s not fair,” You frown with a small shake of your head. Eddie raises another eyebrow, and you tilt your head, “I’m only trying to be as transparent as possible, Eddie. That was the main issue.” You remind him.

Eddie turns to the coffee table, grabs your forgotten glass of Jack Daniels, and takes a swig for himself. “You wouldn’t tell me how you felt, and I was always left in the dark.” You say.

“And I’m telling you right now that I’m not angry.” He’s teetering on the edge of irritated now, and you tilt your head. “I listened to the album, Eddie. I listened to the song; you’re seriously gonna tell me you’re not angry?” 

Eddie can only glance at you then, and your frown deepens. “That’s… different.”

“How, Eddie? It’s about me—” “Yeah, because you fucking walked out on me on closing night,” Eddie exclaims. “How was I supposed to feel?”

Your chest tightens as you look into the eyes of your dreams, lyrics swirling in your mind because you’ve fucking memorized every word. You listened to it until you felt sick, dizzy with a whirlwind of regrets and what-ifs.

You sold me out to save yourself

And I won't listen to your shame

You ran away, you're all the same

Angels lie to keep control

Your chest aches when the lyrics echo in your mind.

“I just want you to be honest with me. If I made you feel that way—” “No, that’s not—” Eddie shakes his head, pinches the bridge of his nose, and cringes like it's painful. “That’s not it at all— fuck.” He puts the glass down and scoots back over to you; knees pressed into the fluffy carpet beside your thighs as he leans in and cups your face, eyes darting over your pretty features. “I was angry, and I was a shithead, and I had people talking in my ear and— shit. Please don’t think you ever blame yourself for that, please.”

Your fingers are cold, but Eddie’s wrists are warm beneath your fingertips as you frown up at him, “Just tell me how far out you are, Eds.”

Eddie looks at you with soft eyes, a callused thumb running under the delicate skin beneath your eye. He leans forward, pressing his lips against your forehead, and you preen, nuzzling forward and sinking into his warmth and scent that you’ve missed for so long.

“Not far,” He responds, lips brushing over your skin. “You?”

You hum, body reeling as Eddie slinks his arms around you, “Not far.”

Forty minutes and another blunt later, and Eddie’s floating in the fucking sky.

Eddie can’t believe it really, having you in front of him, next to him, limbs pressed to limbs with your laugh ringing in his ears— Eddie thinks this is some sick, realistic dream.

It’s tender, the space you’ve both created. You’re both fragile and reactive in the best way, like a healing exposed nerve, and Eddie will be forever in your debt for how patient you are with him. He’s not good at talking about real shit, but he’s trying to fix that, and you make it easier because you push him in the way he needs to be— you encourage him to say what he feels even if he’s afraid he might end up shooting himself in the foot and chasing you away again because— ‘It’s the only way things will get better.’

But you’ve always been patient. You were patient six months ago, and you’re patient now. You know exactly what you want, and you’re firm in what you say and feel, and it makes Eddie feel safe.

He’s never had this kind of thing— he’s never had a relationship where someone talks and leaves room for him to speak as well— two-way communication or whatever the fuck Robin says. It’s different, and it’s good, and Eddie thinks he must have shit taste if it’s taken him this long to realize it.

Chrissy never really cared for what Eddie wanted or preferred, or how something she did would make him feel. Eddie, at the time, didn’t think much of it and was more than happy to ride along with her ‘low maintenance’ nature, but it only cut him off from growth more than anything.

Whatever. It doesn’t matter anymore because Chrissy is in the past, and you— you’re so pretty standing on Eddie’s couch in just his shirt with a blunt hanging between your fingers. You’ve just returned from changing the record— Surrealistic Pillow; Eddie knew the second you dropped the needle and watched you spin around with a shit-eating grin. 

“Hippie shit,” Eddie mutters as you hop down from his couch. Your eyes narrow, “Hey,” you nudge your foot against his thigh, “Don’t be an asshole. It was on your shelf anyway.”

Eddie slinks his hand around your calf, blinking up at you as you stand over him. You reach down, the burning blunt standing between your fingers, and Eddie happily parts his lips to let you slip the tip in. Burning sativa licks up the sides of Eddie’s brain, and he melts when your other hand sinks into his hair, gently pressing his bangs back as his eyes flutter. You hum, and Eddie’s lips tip into a smile as the smoke churns in his chest. Your knuckles curl into his roots, and Eddie could fucking cum right now, no questions asked.

He’s harder than a rock, and he’s not ashamed when he sinks his hand down the open fly on his jeans to palm himself, lowly groaning as he tips his head up, playfully blowing clouds of smoke up your shirt and grinning when you squeal. He chuckles, hand slinking further up your leg to grip the fat of your thigh as he tilts his head to nip his teeth at the inside of your knee.

He turns to let his chin rest on your thigh, blinking up at you with hazy eyes, “Let me in, baby.” He pleads.

You sink to your knees until you’re face to face, and Eddie’s hands glide under your shirt, warm and itching to explore as he feels the flutter of your lungs beneath his fingertips. “No funny business, Munson.” You remind him, swatting him away when his fingers prod at the cup of your bra. Eddie grins, brain fuzzy and warm, and he can’t stop himself from leaning forward and planting a quick kiss against your lips.

“I have something for you.” He says. Your eyebrows raise, and Eddie smiles, standing up with a grunt and shaking out his stiff limbs. “Don’t move,” He points to you before padding off.

The gift Eddie has for you has been with him since the fourth week he knew you. He’s been holding onto it for so long because he’s been a coward and didn’t know how to form the words ‘I’m sorry’ with his tongue— but now, Eddie’s riding on a high, and he needs you and wants you all the time and there’s no better time than now, right?

He’s holding the gift behind his back when he steps into the living room, and he smiles at the sight of you laid out on his floor, eyes closed as you sink into the music. You’re on cloud nine, Eddie can tell.

He drops to his knees over you, pressing his free hand into the floor beside your head, and his hair creates a curtain over you when you look up at him. “You look… tempting, to say the least.”

Your eyes playfully narrow at Eddie, and you squirm beneath him, “What’re you hiding behind your back?”

There are tears in your eyes as you blink down at the gift in your hands, and you know Eddie must think you’re insane for crying over a book— a journal at that. It’s a pale yellow colored leather, with two leather straps that are tied into a neat bow, and in the corner, your name is stamped in tiny cursive gold letters— your real name. 

It’s a replica of your old journal, the one that had gotten ruined when you tore the pages out to prove a point. But you don’t understand— “How did you get this?” You ask in a soft voice.

Eddie grins, reaching out to thumb at your bottom lip, eyes soft as he watches your eyes dance over the journal. “Called in a favor from Michigan.” He jokingly says. Your chest aches, and you frown when you look up at him, fingers tight around the binding of your gift, “You talked to him?”

Eddie snickers, “Yeah. Got a lot of shit from him first, I’ll tell you that,” He pauses and scratches at the back of his neck, “He told me he hates my music.”

You laugh at that, body warm with adoration because, yeah, that sounds like your grandfather. You sniffle, wiping under your eyes, “How did you know?” You ask.

Eddie shrugs as he sits next to you, “The cover of your journal had his name on it, so I kind of pieced it together since you share a last name.”

You don’t know what to think, what to say. It’s the kindest thing Eddie (or anyone) has ever done for you. Your grandfather had been in the business of handmaking journals for as long as you can remember; he was part of the reason why you took such a liking to journalism. He had a brief history in journalism himself, and he would sit and go through his best works with you when you struggled to fall asleep— he helped you see the world through the lens of an artist, and you never looked back.

You’re elated as you run your hands over the pages, imagining what the phone call between Eddie and your grandfather was like. You wish you could’ve been there to hear it; you wish you could’ve brought Eddie to meet him in person because even though your grandfather acted tough and mighty, he had the softest heart you’ve ever known, and he would’ve adored Eddie.

You huff out a laugh, shaking your head as you put the journal on the coffee table. You huff, turning to clamber onto Eddie’s lap, glaring at him as your hands dig into his shoulders, “I hate you so much.”

Eddie grins at you, and you drop your head to his chest, snuggling further into him when he wraps his arms around you. You grumble against his chest, turning your head to speak, “You’re making it so hard.” You complain.

You feel the rumble of Eddie’s voice in his chest as he hums, “Hm?”

Eddie shifts beneath you, and you sigh, turning your head up to nuzzle against the base of his throat. Your teeth drag across his skin, red lines left in their wake before you let your tongue coast up his pulsing vein, mouth kissing and suckling at what you can reach— and Eddie whimpers.

“You know…It’s past midnight.”

“Fffuck–”

Eddie’s dead.

He’s gone. Six feet under. In the next life, body turned back to dust, never coming back, dead. This must be the seventh circle of heaven— is that a thing? Or is that only hell?

Either way, Eddie’s on an entirely different plane of heaven as you press your body against his, knees tightening around his waist as he pulls you close and smears his lips against yours. He can feel the heat of your core through his pants, and his hips have a mind of their own when they buck up into you.

Your fingers are blind and eager when they wriggle through the tight space between you and Eddie, but it sends shivers up Eddie’s spine when you drag your nails down the soft skin of his lower pelvis.

Eddie’s lips part against yours, and he’s licking into your mouth, tongue flicking at your top lip as you shakily moan. “What happened to no sex tonight?” He lowly teases. His hands sink beneath your shit, squeezing at your hips and guiding the roll of your hips.

“Shut up, Eddie.” You whine, fingertips digging into his shoulders when he rubs against your covered clit. Eddie smiles, watching as your face twists in pleasure, and his chest nearly bursts because you’re so fucking pretty.

“You want me?” He asks.

Your lips twitch into a smile, and your hands slide down his arms to rest over his wrists that flex as they work you back and forth over his crotch. “Yeah,” You breathe, tipping your head down to hover your lips over Eddie’s, “I do. I want you, Eddie.”

Eddie’s tongue runs over his lips, and he catches your bottom lip, and you lick out to catch his tongue before pressing your lips together. Eddie uses one hand to cup your face, “You’re not curious where my dick’s been while we were apart?” He teases.

And if you weren’t practically humping Eddie right now and thinking straight, you probably would’ve choked Eddie out or something— but you only mewl and grind down harder. “Not funny.”

Eddie hums, fingers dancing across the band of your panties before dipping past the barrier. He feels like a pirate who’s finally found the hidden treasure, eyes squeezing shut as he tries to ground himself because, Jesus Christ, you’re so fucking wet.

His cock feels strangled and achy in his jeans, and he imagines how good it’ll feel to sink his cock into you as he swirls a gentle finger around your entrance. “For the record,” He drawls, watching your lips part when he dips his finger into you, “It’s been nowhere. My dick, I mean.”

You breathlessly laugh, hips wriggling, your pussy eager for more. “Been beating it with my fist for the last six months, so. Just want you to know— it’s only you, baby.”

You mewl, leaning forward to press your forehead against Eddie’s as you grind against him, shivering when he finally sinks a finger into you, drawing out to circle your clit with sticky arousal before sinking back in with two fingers.

You’re sharing each breath, taking each other in and out; Eddie watches with low eyes as your face twists in pleasure.

“Take it off,” He grumbles, “Take your shirt off.”

You’re moving like it’s second nature. Shaky hands reaching down to loop around the loose shirt, dragging it up and over your body— and Eddie’s head tips back with a groan. “Jesus fuck,” He curses, one hand busy working you as the other reaches down to palm your breast, “When did you take your bra off, you fuckin’ minx?”

You whimper against Eddie’s lips when he kisses you, the force of his eagerness pushing you back. Eddie keeps pressing you back, shuffling and moving around so he can press you down onto your back and hover over you. “Wanna taste you. Let me taste you.” He begs.

You shake your head, lips messily smearing against his, “No. No, you said—” god, Eddie can’t stop fucking kissing you, “You said you’ll let me have you next time, Eds.” You whine.

Fuck, you’re so fucking cute. You’re a goddamn dream pouting up at Eddie, grinding against his fingers as he ticks them up against your walls. “Yeah? You want me?” Eddie breathlessly asks. Your lips are pouty and swollen as you nod, “Already told you I did.” You say.

It takes everything in Eddie to pull away from you, and he thinks he’s gonna marry you when you reach out for him. Thinks he wants to just whisk you away and live on the side of a secluded mountain or some shit. Thinks he wants you to be the mother of his kids when you smile up at him as he rises to his feet, gazing down at you over the apple of his cheeks as he removes his jeans. You’re so pretty, hair spread out beneath you, tits on full display, tummy fluttering with each drag and push of your breaths. You’re lightly dragging the tip of your finger down your stomach, a teasing glint in your eyes as Eddie throws his hair into the shittest bun known to man, and fuck, you’re dipping your hand between your thighs.

Yeah. This is heaven, and you’re god.

Eddie thinks he’ll spend the rest of his life on his knees worshipping you.

Eddie’s body is warm when he crawls back over you, his body now bare, save for the chains that dangle from his neck. One cross, one guitar pick, one pentagram. They’re cold when they drag up the valley of your chest, and your body perks up with chills.

You slink your arms around Eddie’s shoulders, titling your head up to kiss him as your fingers curl into his messily tied hair. “Give me what I want, Eds.” You softly say against his lips. “Fuck my mouth, please.”

Eddie curses, rutting his cock against the inside of your thigh, and he nods, “Yeah. Fuck. Okay, yeah. Just lay here and look pretty, baby.”

The lasting effects of the three blunts you’d shared with Eddie are swirling through your body, and you feel like you’re on cloud nine as Eddie straddles your hips. He’s the prettiest sight to ever reach your eyes, toned arms, and chest working in tandem as he reaches down to wrap a fist around his cock— and god; you forgot how pretty his cock was. The tip is ruddy and flushed, and your core twists when he angles himself up, and you see the piercing beneath his tip. You definitely hadn’t forgotten about that little detail these past months.

Eddie’s chest is rising and falling quickly and stray pieces of hair cling to his lips when he licks them. You watch with wide, eager eyes as Eddie strokes himself, ringed fingers running against the soft skin of his shaft, pretty hisses curling through his teeth when he thumbs the slit of his tip.

“Quit teasing,” You whine, squirming beneath him. Eddie grins, breathlessly panting as he looks at you, “So impatient.” He mumbles, shifting further up your body until the inside of his thighs press against the side of your tits. You can feel the cool drag of his rings against your sternum, and it sends licks of fire through your core. “My baby’s so impatient, hm?” He taps his cock against your chest, and your frown, fingers digging into his thighs.

“Lucky you’re cute.”

Eddie’s then shuffling and moving around so you’re both comfortably positioned as he kneels over your face, pretty cock glistening above your lips. You open your mouth and let your tongue hang out, ready for Eddie to feed his cock to you, and he chuckles, tapping his swollen tip against your tongue before dragging it to tease you. 

It’s good. It’s so good. The taste of him, the feel of him, the pretty noises he makes. You can feel the cold barbell dragging across your tongue with each slow thrust he gives you, and you can’t wait to feel it inside you again. You’ve been dreaming about it for weeks on end now.

He pulls out with a slick pop, tapping his tip against your lips as he hums, “Ready? Gonna give you what you want now.”

You’ve never nodded so fast in your life.

He’s thrusting in and out of your mouth at a mind-numbing and thigh-clenching rate for just under five minutes before he starts to break. You can feel it in the stutter of his hips, the twitch of his cock on your tongue, the shuddered moans and grunts. You reach up to drag your nails down the soft skin of his stomach, and Eddie whimpers for the second time, and you think it might be your favorite sound— you want more.

He’s pulling out with a curse, squeezing at his tip, and you’re such a fucking tease; you lean forward to kitten lick at his aching tip and hum when he hisses. He shuffles back just enough to lean forward and press a messy kiss to your lips, humming at the taste of himself on your tongue.

“Fuck me, Eddie. Please. Want it so bad it hurts.”

“Jesus fuck— turn around.”

You’re shaking, and Eddie’s touch feels like fire as he helps you flip over to lean on all fours. His hands coast up your back and into your hair, and you push your body back into him, ass pressing against his wet cock as you moan when his fingers curl into your hair.

His other hand smooths over your ass, heavily slapping it once before gripping the warm skin as he speaks beside your ear, “Wanna fuck your ass one day, hm? Gonna let me? Say you’ll let me.” “Oh my god,” You roll your eyes with a smile, tipping your head to the side when Eddie kisses your neck before nipping at your ear. You can feel the curve of his smile against your skin, and it makes your chest flutter as he pulls you up to press your back against his chest.

He’s reaching down between you to grasp his cock and paint it against your wet cunt, and you lose your breath. “Come on. Say you’ll let me fuck your pretty ass.” He practically begs.

You moan when he slips his head in, teasing you with what he knows you want. Your head rolls back to rest against his shoulder, and he hums, slinking his other hand up to cup your throat as he continues teasing himself in and out of your pussy.

You smile, lazy and high and blissed out, “No.”

Eddie groans at that, fingers tightening around your throat as he sinks in deeper. “Not even a finger?”

You push your fingers through his hair, his curly strands nothing but a tangled mess within his hair tie. Your legs tremble as you wriggle back into him, but your voice is steady as you speak, “Fuck me first, and maybe I’ll think about it.”

Eddie takes that as a challenge, apparently, because next thing you know, he’s slamming into you and pressing in to the fucking hilt— all big and pierced and toe curling to the point where your moans turn flat, and all you can do is lace your fingers through his that rest on your hip and hold on for dear fucking life.

He’s pressing you face-first into the carpet, making sure your cheek rests against the couch pillow that had been thrown aside earlier. His fingers are clenched around yours, digging into your hip as you whine and moan into his floor, sobbing out his name with each groundbreaking thrust he gives you.

It’s all-consuming; the way Eddie’s fucking you, the filthy words slipping from his mouth, the lingering effects of weed— god, you feel like an exploding star.

Supernova shit or something like that.

Eddie’s cursing and spilling dirty words of encouragement when you come, leaning over to press his chest against your back and coo into your ear.

“Such a good girl for me.”

“Keep squeezing me like that, baby. You’re so good.”

“Y’sound so pretty when you’re coming on my cock.”

You’re breathless and quivering, and a pitiful whine slips from you when Eddie pulls out, but you can feel him as he wraps his hand around his cock and finishes off, pretty moans pressed into the skin on the back of your neck. The feeling of his sticky release dripping onto your ass makes you want to go at it again already.

He’s peppering kisses across your neck and shoulders, and your body slumps onto the ground in exhaustion, but you smile when he presses his lips to yours.

“So, was that good enough? Have I been granted access to the holy grail?”

You glare at Eddie from where his chin is hooked over your shoulder. He raises a suggestive eyebrow, and you huff. “I’ll tell you what,” You start, shifting and purposely rubbing your ass back against his sensitive cock, smiling when he hisses.

“Make up for the last six months first, and I might be able to cut you a deal.”

“Now you’re just stringing me along.”

You hum, “Oh, like you did with me some months ago?”

Eddie pauses at that, eyes narrowing at you, and you think— fuck, maybe that was too soon. But then a smile cracks across his face, “Touché.”

He sighs and sits up, peeling himself from your sticky skin before gently patting your hip. “Ass up, baby. Got a lot of making up to do, and we’re on a tight schedule.”

And you think to yourself, with the scent of Eddie whirling around you and his touch all over you and his pretty voice in your ear, that yeah, you can work through this together. Even if the process will tear you to shreds all over again.

After all, that’s the price of falling for a rockstar, isn’t it?

————

the end.

————

a/n: HOLY SHIT GUYS

if you've made it to the end of this long-winded (and incredibly late, I'm so sorry) ending to this story i can not thank you enough. these two have been so fun to write and i don't plan to leave them completely in the dust so they're not gone forever, but thank you so much to everyone who read and shared and commented. this story has allowed me to meet the most beautiful, kind, funny, and loving people I've ever had the pleasure of talking to and that will be my biggest takeaway from this journey🥹

the biggest thank yous to my pretty mutuals who have been here the whole way, ilysm and want to shrink you guys and put you in my pocket <3

anyway, i'll shut up now, i hope i was able to do these two justice with their ending!! i love and appreciate all kinds of feedback, and as always, thank you for reading, ily <3

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cutie lil taglist: @mastermindmiko @whataboutbibi @ryanmxrie @ihatepeanutss @tlclick73 @motherfckerrr @emxxblog @ye0nvibezzn @eddiesguitarskills @bibieddiesgf @chloe-6123 @micheledawn1975 @demxnicprxncess @emma77645 @sidthedollface2

@daddyhetfield @s-u-t @hereforshmut @mmunson86 @welcometohellsock @lma1986 @birdsinmywalls @animechick555 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @spideydreams00 @lorosette @prestinalove @sirensleepingsoundly @nabiiturner @catherinnn

@mossiswriting @kellsck @joannamuns9n @siriuslysmoking @mysteris-things @amazingori @honey-eyed-munson @saintlike78 @eddieslooneymoonie @alexa4040 @yujyujj

[g1rld1ary]

new release ; luke patterson x fem!reader

➻ synopsis: you'd been playing julie and the phantom's new album on repeat all day before luke comes knocking on your door, and you end up going to dinner with your favourite band

➻ word count: 2515

➻ content: she/her pronouns for reader

➻ wrote this on a whim tonight so enjoy my first luke fic lol !!

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

You tapped your fingers impatiently against your desk, willing Spotify to reload quicker, visualising the album you knew was dropping in two minutes. Finally, after 120 seconds that could have been an hour, Julie and the Phantom’s new album was out and available, and you actually might’ve been the first person to listen to it.

You’d been following Julie and the Phantoms since their very first performance was put on YouTube. Admittedly you’d been hopping on the bandwagon — your friends had been raving about it at school and force-fed you their songs, but you’d been genuinely addicted to their music ever since.

Pressing play on the new album you got up, leaving it to play as you began on your errands for the day. You danced around your apartment, putting away the washing and vacuuming and humming along to the singles that had already been released.

Luke was on his way home from his morning run when he could have sworn he could hear his own voice. Stopping, he pulled an earbud out of his ear, looking around for the source of the music. And there, on the third floor, was you. You were out on the balcony, organising the cute set of outdoor furniture you’d shoved in there and dancing ridiculously to Luke’s personal favourite song of the album. He let out a quiet laugh to himself, admiring the carefree way you jumped around, miming the chorus you’d learnt into a can of what appeared to be bug spray. He smiled once more before heading into the building, musing about the odds of having a Phantoms fan live on his floor.

Back up in his apartment he could still hear the music, both your open windows making it sound clear despite not being obnoxiously loud. Luke just shook his head, heading straight to the shower and turning on his own music so he didn’t have to be victim to his own voice all day.

An hour later, you were still listening. You’d just finished the album and evidently wanted to commit it to memory before the day was through. Luke thought it was adorable, and he could feel the gratitude flowing through every inch of him. This was why he wrote music, to resonate with people and make them happy. Plus, now that he knew the cute girl who’d just moved into the apartment opposite him liked his band, he figured he could build up some confidence to talk to you.

Morning turned to afternoon, and you were still playing his album. Luke was flattered, but in slight disbelief. He couldn’t believe you weren’t sick of it yet, though he supposed you didn’t get the same ick he did when listening to his voice. Hearing you learning the words was another bonus, your voice floating in through his kitchen window as he cooked. He thought it was lovely, though far from professional. It was an unreal experience hearing your disembodied voice stumbling through the lyrics, making up ones you’d evidently misheard and improvising your own riffs on top of Julie’s.

Luke wondered whether it was possible to develop a crush on someone based on just their voice. Yeah he thought you were cute the few times he’d seen you coming or going through his street facing window, but your laughter when your voice cracked had him weak in the knees.

When you were still playing his music by four o’clock — you’d branched out to mixing in the rest of their discography by then — he was a little worried for your sanity. Flattered and grateful for the streams, but concerned all the same. At the same time he was worried for himself. He’d offered to host his band and friends for a private celebration of the album release after the official party the night previous, and he thought it may be a little on the nose if you were still streaming their music into the night. He could already hear Alex making fun of him for living next to a fangirl (he did secretly hope you were a fangirl of him though).

So, whilst it wasn’t exactly the meet-cute he’d hoped for, Luke found himself knocking on your door. He knocked again shyly when he heard you turn down the volume, clearly trying to see if you’d heard right. A few soft footsteps on the other side of the door and it was cracking open, your curious expression greeting him. You’d only just moved in and didn’t know anyone to be visiting.

Luke watched you go through the seven stages of grief in real time. Confusion at an unexpected visitor, recognition of him, and then a million shades of humiliation as you realised you’d been listening to his music all day and he could hear. God, you probably looked like an obsessed fangirl (you were, but you didn’t want Luke Patterson to know that). With an embarrassed sound coming from the back of your throat, you asked Luke to give you twenty seconds of privacy. He agreed politely and you shut the door quickly. Slapping a hand to your mouth, you let out a silent scream, trying to let out all your anxious, embarrassed energy as quickly as possible, shaking your limbs about so you could stand still when you inevitably had to grovel for forgiveness to Luke.

Reopening your door, you were taken aback by how at ease Luke looked. And how much hotter he was in person, but you tried to push that thought to the back of your head for the sake of coherent conversation.

“Hi,” You said, resisting the urge to ramble out apologies.

“Hi,” He replied with that stupidly charming grin he wore in all his publicity shoots. “I’m Luke.”

“I know.” Fuck, you didn’t mean to say that. “Um, obviously. I’m sure you’ve heard all the…” You gestured inside to your apartment where his album was still playing quietly. You should’ve turned it off.

“Please don’t be embarrassed, it’s really cute.” Now your blush was for a totally different reason, your favourite singer was calling you cute? You had to be dreaming.

“Is there something I can do for you?” You asked, still unsure of the purpose of the visit, though you weren’t complaining.

“Oh!” Luke looked as if he really had forgotten why he’d come, but covered himself with an easy laugh, “I was just wondering if you could turn down your music a bit? It’s not too loud or anything, it’s not bothering me! It’s just, I’m having the band over tonight and as much as we’re all proud of the album, it feels a bit conceited to have it playing as we hang out privately, y’know?” You were nodding vigorously before he could finish his sentence, spilling out apologies for even playing it in the first place.

“Seriously don’t apologise,” He assured you, catching your eye in a way that made you feel like you couldn’t look away (not that you would’ve wanted to), “I really appreciate you being a fan and supporting us.” In that moment, entranced in his deep honey eyes, you honestly would have done whatever Luke Patterson asked of you, you were completely his. Maybe your parasocial relationships needed some examining.

Forcing yourself to end the moment despite your internal desires, you averted your eyes to the floor and Luke coughed slightly, both of you somewhat dazed.

“Right, well, it was really nice meeting you. Big fan. Guess I’ll see you around?” You said awkwardly, stepping back inside the threshold of your flat. Luke nodded in the same manner, and you were about to shut the door when he called for you to wait.

“Do you wanna come over later? You can meet the band, and it’s always helpful to make some friends in the building. I, uh, know you’re new here.” You nodded, more than surprised, but you sure as hell weren’t gonna turn down this opportunity.

“Yeah, that sounds nice. Thanks.” Luke named a time and you parted ways, neither of you catching the backwards glances you both chanced.

Inside your apartment was a whirlwind of stress. What did you wear for a dinner with your favourite band with an hour’s notice? You might’ve actually tried on half your wardrobe before deciding on your favourite jeans (maybe the ones that made your ass look impeccable, but who’s to say?) and a simple top. It wasn’t the most exciting outfit you could have come up with, not by a long shot, but you didn’t want to make a single wrong decision tonight. All you needed to do was be completely perfect and impress Julie and the Phantoms and maybe get Luke to like you back. Easy stuff.

By the time you were meant to be going you’d managed to do your makeup in a way that didn’t make you want to cry — why did it always turn out awful when you needed it to be good? Slipping your favourite hoops into your ears you were ready, and gave yourself a quick pep talk in the bathroom mirror. You’d never been one for those self-love affirmations, but they couldn’t hurt, right?

When Luke opened the door and his face broke into one of those smiles that lit up the building’s corridor, your nerves quieted themselves somewhat. He swept you under one of his arms leading you further into the apartment as if you’d been friends for years. You tried to take in what you could, and were a little jealous of how nicely his place was decorated — yours was still loaded with boxes and junk.

“Guys, meet my new friend!” Luke announced, and all the heads in the room snapped towards you.

“Um, hi,” You said meekly, remembering to tell them all your name.

“She’s new to the building and I thought it would be nice for her to make some friends!” You smiled internally — Luke had the same personality as in all the interviews you watched, which made you glad. You didn’t know what you would do if he wasn’t all that you imagined.

The night started out a little awkward, at least for you. You were so stressed about making a good impression that you felt a little robotic, answers calculated to try and get the most amount of laughs or agreements. Luke noticed this and gestured for you to take the seat between him and Julie when the meal was served, figuring you’d have the most in common with her, and he was more than happy to talk your ear off if the opportunity arose.

“So, why’d you come to California?” Julie asked, and you explained that you’d moved for school, but it was cheaper to rent the flat than live in the dorms. That in itself was an easy avenue into talking about your roommate who was never around and the classes you were taking this semester. When you asked about Nick, who was sitting on Julie’s other side, he happily joined the conversation to talk about how they got together just after the Phantoms began to get world famous and their (first) show at the Orpheum.

The dinner was loud and messy, and you began to feel right at home. With Reggie flicking beans at Alex, and Luke’s boisterous laughter ringing over conversation, there was a familial ambience to it all.

After the meal the group migrated towards the TV, and you found yourself next to Luke again, sandwiched between him and Willie, who introduced himself as Alex’s boyfriend. You recognised him from Alex’s Instagram, but you left that fact out. You found yourself making easy conversation with them, being the four who got Luke’s couch, whilst the others made themselves at home in armchairs and other seats scavenged from around the flat.

As you spoke to the couple about a restaurant in LA they were recommending, you felt a hand land on your thigh. A glance in his direction showed it was Luke’s, of course, but if his expression was anything to go by he was all but unaware, still speaking passionately to Nick about something. You tried to conceal your blush as your turned back to the gays, but the knowing looks had you hiding your face in your hands.

A movie was turned on and the chatter dulled somewhat, turned down to whispers over the dialogue. You didn’t know how you’d ended up cuddled up into Luke’s side, but you were absolutely not complaining. His arm on the back of the sofa had migrated to sitting around your waist at one point, and you were really hoping he couldn’t feel your racing heartbeat. An accidental glance in Julie’s direction showed her and Nick wiggling their eyebrows suggestively, to which you simply made a bewildered expression, hoping it conveyed how little idea you had of what was going on. Unbeknownst to you, Luke was fighting the same losing battle with the rest of the boys, who were making childish kissy faces when you weren’t looking. Luke handled it better than you, merely shrugging as if to say ‘she’s cute — what do you want me to do?’

A few hours later and the night was winding down. You took your leave after Reggie, not wanting to risk overstaying your welcome and jeopardising the friendships you hoped you were making. The remaining guests all gave you warm goodbyes, begging for you to come back again. Julie even swept you into a tight hug, making you promise you’d DM her to go out for coffee soon. Luke walked you to the door, a gentle hand on the small of your back not going unnoticed by his friends.

“Thanks for coming tonight, I’m really glad we met,” He said, and his shyer tone caught you off guard, but made you smile nonetheless.

“Thank you for inviting me,” You countered, “It was really sweet of you to introduce me to all your friends.” Luke waved it off like it was nothing, which you were sure to him it was.

“Can I see you again soon?” He asked, suddenly looking remarkably like a little puppy.

“I’m only a door away,” You grinned, “You can see me whenever you like. Hey, congrats again on the album. I’d say it’s pretty good.” When you pressed a kiss to his cheek and bade him goodnight, Luke couldn’t have resisted his cheesy grin if he’d tried.

“I love being a rockstar,” He said when he returned to his friends.

“Shut up, man,” Replied Alex, “You’re too whipped to claim any rockstar benefits on this one.”

[actually-safer-to-kiss]

See How It Shines

Summary: Spencer gets home from work to find Reader in tears over the new Hozier album.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff and comfort

Content warnings: The masterpiece of Hozier’s Unreal Unearth, me stopping halfway to listen to the entire album, me crying to every song I reference

Word count: 1.2k

A/N: shoutout to anyone who picks up on every song reference I make. I am instantly in love with you.

Spencer had been etched with the weight of unsolved cases and the relentless march of time, and he was forced to call it a night around six. The team had already pulled an all-nighter earlier in the week, so Hotch decided they all deserved rest. Spencer, however, wasn’t tired (he was; it was the late cups of coffee). Nevertheless, he makes it to his apartment door, skipping every other step. As Spencer turned the key in the lock, a soft melody flowed from the other side, haunting him yet drawing him in.

When the door opens with a slight creak, the music only grows. The living room was a sanctuary, bathed in the golden hues of twilight and table lamps, together casting long, ethereal shadows across the aged wooden floor. Plants adorned the walls and shelves. Since you moved in, he has never shared a space with so many simple living things.  His record player, a testament to decades of shared music between him and his mother, spun its vinyl tale. This time it was for you, as it breathed life into the album as you sat on the couch in a nest of blankets.

Ah yes, it was Hozier day. The anticipated album release of Unreal Unearth. His girlfriend highly anticipated it. She had been vibrating as the week drew to a close with five days left, then three, then one. And it was well worth the wait, considering the tears continuing to streak her face as the Irish man begged for someone to not fall away from him.

Spencer set his bag down by the door and proceeded toward the couch with caution as if he were ready to pounce like a predator on prey. Except the end resulted in a tender hand on your shoulder. You looked up at him with a puffy face and snotty nose. It was Spencer’s next instinct to grab a tissue from the end table and offer it to you. Of course, you took it. And even though the answer was obvious, he still felt the need to ask, “Are you okay?”

It was a struggle for you to inhale, so you blew your nose again. "I didn’t expect this to be a breakup album.” The album sleeve was wrapped in your arms, proving to already be a prized possession. The tracklist was organized by the layers of Dante’s hell they fell under.

Spencer gave you a small smirk before placing a kiss on your head. “Well, I’ll go ahead and get started on dinner.” It was his turn to take the culinary reins for tonight. “Do you need anything?”

“I need to know who this woman is, Spencer.” You throw your head back as Hozier hits a high note that neither of you has heard from him before. You stay there as you ask, “Who made this man feel so much pain?”

“You want to fight Hozier’s ex-girlfriend?”

“Ew, no.” Your nose scrunched. “I just want to know how. The power to make a man feel this way.”

Spencer chuckled. He had answers. And he’s happy to not reply with any of them. “I’m making chicken parmesan. That okay?”

You nodded, soon returning to singing about holding a heart like a steering wheel. But you then grabbed his hand. Your eyes are red, and Spencer is sure you’ll need drops before the end of the night. “Did a part of you die the first time I called you ‘baby,’ Spencer?”

Spencer couldn’t help but smirk as he quirked a brow. “Do what?”

“They’re song lyrics.” You let go of him.

Spencer has never fully understood the uproar that comes with Hozier. Then again, no one really flocks to Beethoven and Chopin like they used to. Plus, Vivaldi wasn’t known for belting out in the middle of his pieces and Spencer can at least admit Hozier’s belts ( well, the ones he’s heard so far) tug at him by the chest. He came back to his senses quickly when his mismatched socks landed on the cold tile. He washed his hands and opened the fridge door with his good knee.

Songs of water and knives reminded him he had chicken to wash and cut. And the familiar feeling in his own kitchen gets the tasks in Spencer’s head in order. He could feel the weight of his week slowly lift, replaced by Spencer attempting to chop to the song. It was inefficient. Some songs play shockingly fast for a breakup album. He settled for a more percussion style of noise, making each slice more deliberate as a testament to his meticulousness.

The flour and breadcrumbs sizzled in the oil that mingled with the sight of you matching the pitch of the song and humming where Hozier shouted, caressing the album sleeve like it was alive and needed your warmth. The weight of the lyrics settling in your bones caused your head to fall in shock as a long, high note carried through the whole apartment.

The album played on, weaving tales of love and loss, each one successfully targeting your core and striking effectively. And when Spencer got into the groove of his own routine in the kitchen, he listened to the lyrics as they almost guided him to autopilot, reminding him of the joys that come with his leg around you in bed, ensuring you don’t move anywhere except closer to him. And how the idea of losing that is something he does not care to dwell on for long.

He could keep it together, he thought.

Until his voice soars about the glistening of an animal’s eyes. About the force of love for someone recklessly in the middle of the street. Spencer couldn’t help but feel a lump forming in his throat. It was a visceral reaction—Spencer's sniffle. But it wasn’t unheard.

You turned your gaze toward Spencer, your eyes soft with understanding. You could hear the emotion in his breath and the slight catch in his throat. “Spencer?” You asked.

“I’m fine.”

Your lower lip quivers with a puffy smile. “You’re crying.”

“No, I’m chopping. Chopping while completely fine.” His sniffles continued to give him away (sanitary stations over pride every time).

You couldn’t help but find the situation adorable. You lazily got up from the couch, letting one of the blankets slide off with you, dragging along behind you across the wood floor and then the tile. You carefully put your hands around his waist because safety comes first. You squeeze him, and he laughs a little. For a moment, he puts his left hand on your arm, keeping it there. You noticed how his fingertips were colder than expected as you looked at the cutting board from under his arm. “So basil makes you cry? Is that it?”

Spencer laughs again, diverting his gaze from the record player and clearing his eyes from unshed tears. “Today, it apparently does. There must be some emotional properties I didn’t consider.”

“Nothing to do with an Irish man singing his heart out?”

Spencer rubs his nose on his sleeve. Fuck sanitation right now; he’s about to go through it. The snot is evident. See how it shines, indeed. “Is he really singing about roadkill?”

“Yep.” You sniffle in return as you lay your head on his back.

“Fuck.”

“I know.”

“How does he do it?”

“That I don’t know.” You held Spencer as he let the music hit him. Taking moments to turn from the food to wipe his tears.

[the-offside-rule]

Lance Stroll (Aston Martin) - Lover

Requested: no

Swift Series

Warnings: none

The wedding was beautiful, of course. Chloe looked radiant, and Lance had this rare, soft look on his face as he watched his sister exchange vows. But Y/n found herself stealing glances at er teammate, maybe it was the champagne. Maybe it was the intimacy of being Lance's plus one, but something about the night felt…different.

The ceremony eventually transitioned into the afterparty, where laughter filled the room, and the music was upbeat. Lance, surprisingly, was great company, better than she expected, even if they’d been teammates for three years. They’d always shared this camaraderie that made even the tough races bearable. Y/n didn’t have to think twice about going along with him to Chloe's wedding.

The night wore on, the laughter became more careless, and the champagne didn’t stop flowing. At one point, the slow melody of Taylor Swift’s Lover drifted from the speakers, and Y/n’s eyes lit up. "Lance!" She gasped, tugging at his sleeve. "This is my song!" He laughed, looking at her with that familiar half-smirk she’d grown used to over their years as teammates. “Alright, come on. Let’s dance." She laughed, not fully registering the fact that her hand had already slipped into his, and he was leading her onto the dance floor. They stumbled slightly, giggling like teenagers, as Lance twirled her clumsily. "I’ve got two left feet." He joked, and she snorted, shaking her head.

But as they settled into a comfortable rhythm, Y/.’s hand rested on his shoulder, and Lance’s arm gently wrapped around her waist. The playfulness faded just a touch, replaced by something… different. "We could let our friend crash in the living room. This is our place, we make the calls." She hummed along, eyes sparkling as she looked at him. Lance’s smirk softened, his gaze more tender than usual, as he wondered why he’d never noticed before how… captivating her smile was.

"And I'm highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you. I’ve loved you three summers now, honey, but I want them all." Lance’s heart stumbled, then raced, as he listened to her sing those words. She wasn’t saying it to him, was she? But between the champagne, the glow in her eyes, and the way she was gazing up at him, it felt…real. Lance’s cheeks flushed before he could stop it. He didn’t want her to notice, so he spun her again, hoping she wouldn’t pick up on his sudden nervousness.

But he couldn’t shake it. The words echoed in his mind as the night went on, and he kept stealing glances her way, wondering if maybe he hadn’t been seeing her clearly all this time.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Just over a year later, a different kind of excitement filled the air as they arrived at the Eras Tour. Unfortunately, Y/n moved onto Mervedes while Lance stayed behind at Aston Martin, but nonetheless, they enjoyed eachother's compang whenever possible. Y/n was buzzing, talking a mile a minute, and Lance couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. He’d never been a die-hard Taylor Swift fan, but he was starting to get it; if it made Y/n this happy, it was worth every minute. They sang through the first few songs together, laughing and shouting lyrics. Then, Lover began. Lance’s heart quickened as he glanced over at her. She was already swaying to the music, totally immersed.

She turned to him, her eyes shining, and began singing softly, her voice blending with Taylor’s, each lyric laced with a sincerity that made his breath hitch. This time, she sang the whole song, her eyes flicking to his, then away, in a way that made him feel like the only person in the crowd. When she reached the second verse, his heart caught again as she sang:

"We could let our friend crash in the living room. This is our place, we make the calls." Lance sang back. His voice was softer than hers, barely loud enough for her to hear over the crowd. But she kept singing, her smile widening, oblivious to how intensely he was watching her, the lyrics slipping past her lips effortlessly.

Then, without thinking, he took her hand, gently pulling her closer, and started swaying along with her. His thumb brushed the back of her hand, his gaze never leaving her face. "I'm highly suspicious, that everyone who sees you wants you." Her eyebrows scrunched into a confused expression, a slight smile upon her lips. "Lance." She whispered, a nervous laugh escaping her.

He leaned in, his voice soft, barely audible above the music. "I’ve loved you four summers now, Y/n, but I want them all." Her cheeks flushed, and she blinked up at him, a little breathless. "Lance." She didn’t finish, her words catching in her throat. "Just thought you should know." He said, a bit more confidently now as he squeezed her hand. They shared a lingering look, as if they were both trying to confirm this was real. Her chest heaved deeply as the stadium around them disappeared, and it seemed to only be them. "Since when?"

"If I had to pinpoint when I decided? I'd say at Chloe's wedding." She sighed. "Any particular reason?" She asked. "Possibly when your head was in the toilet bowl the morning after." She gave him a stern expression. "It was actually when we danced to this song. I looked at you differently." They hadn't noticed how close they had gotten, and if a fan had spotted them, they would be in for it when it got to their PR teams. "It felt like you were singing to me, but we were borderline drunk, so I thought I was imagining things."

"And why bring it up now?" Lance looked between her eyes. "Because if I didn't say it now, I was never going to." A smile spread onto her face. "Well, I'm happy you did." She said. "Because I never would have said it if it wasn't put so simplistically into a song."

[justmystyles]

Now You're In My Life- Part 2

part 1 here

pairing: Harry Styles x plus size reader

word count: 3.8k

summary: a chance meeting at a diner turns your world upside-down.

warnings: some curse words, but other than that it's tame.

a/n: i definitely didn't expect to have part 2 done so quickly, but this story is just flowing out of me. thank you so much for all of the likes and comments from part 1. i honestly didn't even expect anyone to read it. 🥰

already planning on a part 3. i think after that it becomes more of a collection of one shots than a straight storyline. but you know i had to set it up all nice and cute.

i say it's a plus size reader, while i don't focus a lot on that aspect (because your size should not define you), it will come up, so i just wanted to be upfront about it.

a quick tag for those of you that asked for part 2, so you don't miss it! @thechaoticjoy @cute-as-ducks420 @iceebabies

As the opening notes of Golden began to play, the screams from the crowd quickly came to a  crescendo. Before long, Harry was being lifted up from the stage floor. As he moved around the stage, guitar strapped around him, it looked like he was searching for something… or someone. 

Then his eyes landed on you, and your breath hitched. He was looking for you. His smile widened, and he shot you a wink before moving to his microphone stand. You watched with rapt attention, bobbing your head slightly and mouthing along to the words. 

The show went on, and you couldn’t take your eyes off of Harry. It seemed as though he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you either. They would move in your direction frequently, it seemed particularly calculated during a couple of lyrics. Especially when he was singing ‘What Makes You Beautiful’. You had never listened to One Direction, so you weren’t familiar with the song. You knew you had heard it around before, but that was the extent. Even still, the butterflies that had taken up residence in your stomach tonight were going positively wild throughout that entire song, feeling as though Harry was singing directly to you. 

At one point, while he was speaking to the crowd and reading signs, he turned to your direction, locking eyes with you before asking if everything was okay, and offering a questioning thumbs up. You smiled back shyly, offering a thumbs up in affirmation. 

“Then why aren’t you dancing around and screaming your head off?” He asked with an arched brow. 

Your eyes went wide, recognizing your comments from that morning being repeated to you.

By Harry. 

Onstage. 

In front of thousands of people. 

Despite the house lights being down, you were certain that he could see the bright red blush that spread across your cheeks. You immediately buried your face in your hands. He laughed and frolicked away, continuing the show. 

“Thank you Boston!” He shouted before placing his microphone back on the stand. He bowed and waved, blowing a few kisses along the way. As he moved up the runway in your direction, he locked eyes with you again, lifting his hand to his mouth and blowing a kiss directly at you. Your eyes dropped to your feet, feeling your cheeks heat again. 

You jumped slightly when you felt a hand on your shoulder, you spun around wide eyed to see Jeff looking at you apologetically. 

“Sorry Y/N, I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just coming over to bring you backstage.” 

“Backstage?” 

“Yeah, to see Harry?” He said with a question in his tone, as if you should have known this was part of the plan.

“Oh… right.” You nodded and followed behind as Jeff led you to the backstage area. 

As you walked through the space, you saw the hustle and bustle that came with the post-show rush. It was fun to see, you had closed out many clubs, watching bands and roadies break down, but to see it at this extent was infinitely more fascinating. 

Jeff stopped in front of a closed door, a sign with Harry’s name hanging on the front. He opened the door and signaled with his hand for you to walk in. As your eyes traveled the space, you noticed a couch, across from a mirrored counter and directors chair. A large wardrobe was set up against the wall. You were in Harry’s dressing room. 

“He’s just taking care of a couple of things. Make yourself comfortable, and he’ll be right in.” Jeff said with a smile before leaving you alone. 

In Harry Styles’s dressing room. 

You step over to the wardrobe, looking through the outfits, admiring the sparkle and flair of his stage clothes. You realized you’d probably look creepy if he walked in and saw you going through his clothes, so you moved to the couch, taking a seat and fiddling with the feathers that adorned your shoulders, thanks to Harry. 

The sound of the door opening pulled your attention, and you stood to your spot on the couch, taking a deep breath as Harry stepped over the threshold. His eyes caught yours instantly, and his smile widened. 

Once the door was closed, he stepped up to you. “I knew it.” You give him a confused look. “The black definitely suits you.” He grabs the ends of the boa, wiggling them back and forth. You chuckle, and swat his hands away. 

His eyes meet yours again. “So, what did you think of the show?”

You purse your lips, raising an eyebrow pretending to be deep in thought. “I definitely got my money’s worth.” You joke. 

Harry furrows his brow. “But you didn’t pay any money.” 

“I know,” you smirk. 

“Just as cheeky as this morning.” He chuckles. 

“It was an amazing show, Harry. I was truly blown away. Thank you so much for the invitation.” 

“Thank you so much for coming. I wasn’t sure you would.” 

There was a brief silence as you stared into each other’s eyes. You felt an electricity between you two, but you brushed it off as post-show adrenaline. 

“I should probably go, I’m sure you’ve g-”

“No,” Harry interrupted you. “I’d like you to stay, if you can.” He looked at you with hopeful eyes.

You had told yourself that you would need to kill time to avoid crowds on the train. “Well, I suppose sitting backstage with an international superstar beats drinking alone at Banners.” You shrug. 

“Do you want a drink? I can get you a drink.” Harry offered. 

You chuckled at how quickly the words spilled out of him. If it had been anyone else, you would have thought it was out of nerves, or desperation to keep you there. “I’m good. The drink was just to kill time, I can just kill time talking to you instead.” 

Harry wiped an imaginary tear from his eye and pouted at you. “That may be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.” You laughed, and he smiled. “You have a lovely laugh.” He said, his expression turning more serious. 

“Oh… uh thanks.” You mumble, taken off guard by the earnest comment. 

“Wait right here,” he placed his hands on your shoulders as if to lock you into your spot. “I’m just going to run and change real quick.” He grabbed a pile of clothes off the counter and moved toward the bathroom. He paused in the doorway and turned back around to face you. “Seriously, I’ll be right back. Don’t move.” 

You dropped your hands to your side, standing perfectly straight and nodding your head solemnly. He smiled and shook his head before stepping into the bathroom. 

“What do we think?” He stepped out of the bathroom with a flourish, showing off his hoodie and sweatpants. He spun around before hitting a pose, crossing his arms over his chest. 

You chuckled and applauded. “Very nice. Soooo haute couture.” 

Harry joined in the laughter and led you to the couch. You took a seat on one end, and Harry took a seat beside you, your thighs grazing ever so slightly. The contact sending a shiver up your spine. 

“So, you enjoyed the show?” 

“Ahh, that’s why you asked me to stay.” You nodded expectantly. “You needed someone to tell you how amazing you are.” 

“No, no no no, I swear!” He insisted. Pausing with an arched brow. “Wait, you think I’m amazing?” 

“Ugh,” you groaned, rolling your eyes.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologized. “Honestly, I just wanted to talk. Maybe get to know you a little.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Me? But why?”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know, I saw you this morning, you were dressed all proper and business-like, but then I saw that,” he tapped your lip ring. “And I just said to myself ‘I need to know her’.” 

You feel that familiar heat rush your cheeks again and you drop your gaze, staring at your hands, which were sitting in your lap.

“So far, I know that you have an impeccable fashion sense, and you're quite adorable when you blush.” He leans to the side, bumping his shoulder against yours. “But I know there’s more in there, and I plan on finding it.” 

Your nerves are at an all time high, you don’t understand why he’s so desperate to know you. You’re nobody. But you feel strangely at ease, like you want to open up to him. The two of you talk for hours, though it seems like no time has passed. You talk about your families, you tell him about your job, and your hobbies.

“Wait a minute,” he stops you as you’re telling him about the dance studio you’ve been attending since you were three. “You’ve been taking dance lessons for nearly thirty years and all you did out there tonight was nod your head politely?” 

“I don’t dance,” you shrug. 

He looked at you curiously. “So you’ve just been going to this studio for thirty years to press play on music so other people can dance?” 

“No, I mean I don’t like,” you wave your hand trying to come up with the words. “When there’s choreography, I’m fine. If you just play music and tell me to dance, it’s not going to happen.” 

Harry smirked. “I’m going to take that as a personal challenge.” You roll your eyes, but deep down, his words excite you. “So, if you go to a wedding or something, you don’t dance?” You shake your head. “Not even a slow dance?” 

“No, I like to slow dance. My last boyfriend, whenever we went to a wedding, he would allow me one slow dance.” 

Harry furrowed his brow in confusion. “Only one? He didn’t want to take every possible opportunity to hold you as close as possible?” His tone had darkened, almost as if he were picturing the two of you pressed together. His words definitely made you think about it. 

“Nope, guess not. Probably one of the reasons we broke up.” You shrug. 

He could tell that bringing up your ex made you uncomfortable, so he quickly redirected. “So do you ever do the choreographed dancing in public?”

“Yeah, we uh… I have a dance recital every May. But my mom’s the only one that I ever let come.” 

One thing Harry noticed as he got to know you was that you seemed to keep most people at a distance, you put up walls. He could see it in the way you spoke with him. You used humor and sarcasm to avoid letting people in. Harry included. But he was determined to knock that wall down. 

As you two continued to talk, he would intently to everything you said, asking questions to get as much information as he possibly could. 

You eventually ended up talking about music, you told him about the artists you listen to, the ones that everyone knows you listen to, you had also mentioned that you had a sizable collection of guilty pleasures that you kept to yourself. 

“Okay, so tell me one artist on your guilty pleasure list.” Harry goaded.

“Yeah right!” She scoffed. “I just met you.” 

“C’mon pleeeeeaaaaaasssseee,” he begged, widening his eyes and giving you a childlike grin. You couldn’t help but chuckle at his desperation. 

“Fine,” you acquiesce. “But just one.”

He smirks with excitement, reaching for his water bottle and raising it to his lips as he watched you intently.  

“Harry. Styles.”

Harry chokes on his sip of water, covering his mouth with his hand to stop himself from spitting all over you. Your eyes go wide, afraid you may have just killed an international pop sensation. You pat his back as he coughs more. 

“Jeeze, I’m sorry,” you say in a panic. “It wasn’t even that funny!” 

He waves his hand in front of his face as the coughing subsides. “I’m fine, I’m fine. I just wasn’t expecting that.” He said, his voice raspy. You imagine that’s how he would sound first thing in the morning. You quickly shook off the impossible thought, and turned your attention back to him. “So, if I’m one of your guilty pleasures,” he enunciated the term and winked at you. “Does that mean you’re not going to tell anyone about tonight?” 

“Like anyone would even believe me,” you scoffed. 

“We can make sure they do.” He holds his hand out. “Phone, please.” 

You look at him curiously, but hand over your phone as requested. He swipes up, quickly turning the screen to face you. Once your FaceID registers and the phone unlocks, he taps the camera icon and holds the phone up. 

His free arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you close. You inhale his scent and sigh, even though he just spent an hour sweating onstage, he smelled amazing. You wanted to make that scent into a candle. He pressed his cheek against yours. “Smile!” He said, displaying that wide, childlike smile once again before snapping a picture of the two of you. 

When he was done taking the picture, he pulled away. You were so disappointed in the lack of contact that you didn’t notice Harry tapping away at your phone. 

“There,” Harry’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts. You looked down, and he was handing your phone back. “Not only do you now have your very own Harry selfie, but I texted it to myself, so now we have each other’s numbers.” 

You smile at him, okay he’s definitely hitting on you. How did you even get here? You look down at the phone and your eyes go wide. “Shit!” 

“Are you alright? If you don’t want my number you can delete it I-” 

“No, sorry.” You interrupted him, you definitely wanted his number. You’d never have the guts to actually use it, but it would be nice to look at to remember tonight. “I just realized the time. I missed the last train! Shit, I’m going to have to take an Uber back to my car.”

“No you won’t,” Harry placed an arm on your shoulder to calm you down, it worked. “I have a car to take me to the hotel. We can just take a little detour and bring you to your car.” 

“But it’s so out of the way for you, I don’t want to put you out.”

“Nonsense.” He stood, extending a hand to help you off the couch. When you placed your hand in his, a spark of electricity ran through you. It was as if your hands were made to fit together. 

“Well, thanks.” You shrug, looking down and realizing you’re still wearing the boa. “Oh here, this is yours.” You place your hands on either side, but Harry’s hands are on yours before you can lift it off. 

“Keep it,” he smiled. “It looks better on you anyway.” 

Your eyes drop to the ground again, Harry places his index finger under your chin lifting your gaze to meet his. “You look down too much, Y/N. Your eyes are too beautiful to hide from the world.” 

You saw his eyes flicker down to your lips briefly, causing your breath to hitch. A knock on the door startled you apart. “H, the venue is kicking us out. We’ve gotta go.” 

Harry opens the door, holding it for you, he bows to you and signals out the door. “M’lady.” You step out of the dressing room and into the hallway. 

You spent the thirty minute ride to your car chatting away with Harry in the back of the SVU that had been hired to chauffeur him around. It was almost three in the morning, you knew you should be tired, but you didn’t feel it at all. You were just savoring every second you got to spend with Harry. 

You arrived at the parking garage that housed your car, the SUV pulled up to the gate. You took a deep breath and turned to Harry. “Well, thanks again.” You began the goodbye you had dreaded since the second he stepped into the dressing room. 

“Nope, not done yet.” He shook his head. “What kind of gentleman would I be to let a lady wander a dark parking garage at all hours of the morning?” He hopped out of the car and ran around, opening your door for you. 

You stepped out, and he walked with you into the payment vestibule. You pull the ticket from your wallet and hand it to the attendant. You notice Harry reaching for something out of the corner of your eye. 

“Eight fifty,” the attendant announces. 

You reach into your wallet, but Harry beats you to it, handing over his credit card. 

“Harry, what are you-”

“I invited you out, you shouldn’t have to pay for a thing.” He said as he signed the receipt and returned the card to his wallet. 

“Okay, but I did have to pay for my train ride.” 

“I guess I owe you, then,” he smirked as he led you into the garage. 

You lead him to your car, clicking on the key to unlock it. “That’s me.” You stand by the driver’s side door, Harry comes up beside you, placing one hand on the window and leaning down to stare into your eyes. “I had a lot of fun tonight Harry, really. Thank you so much.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” he smiled. Then his face started moving closer to yours.

Your nerves got the best of you, and you pulled your head back. “Wha- what are you doing?” You stutter. 

“I’m kissing you.” He responds simply. 

“Why?” 

“Because you’re beautiful, and I really enjoyed getting to know you tonight.” He studied your face. He looked so deeply into your eyes that you swore he was looking straight into your soul. “And if we’re being honest, I think you want to kiss me too.” 

“But I… what… I…”

“Y/N, do you want to kiss me?” He asks.

“Yes, very much I do.” You nod.

“Then stop overthinking it, and let it happen.” 

While still leaning on the car with one hand, the other reached up and cupped your cheek. You shivered slightly, you couldn’t tell if it was from the cold metal of his rings against your face, or the intensity of the moment, Maybe both. 

Finally, his lips met yours. The kiss was tentative at first, but as your hands wrapped around his neck, you felt his tongue slide across the seam of your lips, pausing to play with the lip ring on your left side. You quickly granted him access. Your tongues took a moment, slowly exploring each other’s mouths. 

This was something you had both thought about since you first locked eyes this morning, and you wished it would never end. Unfortunately, after a few moments, you pull apart for air. Your eyes remained closed as your foreheads pressed together, his hand still cupping your cheek. 

“Wow,” you breathed out. 

“Yeah, definitely wow.” He said with a chuckle. 

“Goodnight, Harry.” 

“Goodnight, Y/N.” His thumb stroked your jawline softly. “You have my number, please use it?” 

You nod, so overwhelmed by the moment that you were unable to speak. Reluctantly, he steps back. You sigh, instantly missing the warmth of his body against yours. He places his hand on the door handle, opening it for you.

You get into the car and buckle your seatbelt as he closes the door. You start the car and put it in reverse. Harry backs away, smiling at you softly. Before you can take your foot off the break, you come up with a way to spend another few moments with him. It’s not much, but you’ll take all the time you can get. You roll down the window and he looks at you curiously. 

“You know, it’s late. You probably shouldn’t just be wandering around a dark parking garage by yourself.” You say, followed by the clicking of the door locks. “Get in, I’ll drive you back to your car.” 

Harry smiles, that smile. At that moment you realize just how much trouble you’re in. When he smiles at you like that, you are  putty in his hands. He runs around to the passengers side and hops in. 

“Drive slow.” He says as he closes the door. 

You chuckle and back out of your parking spot. As your car moves at a crawl through the garage, you notice out of the corner of your eye that Harry’s gaze never leaves your face, 

“What are you even looking at?” You ask. 

“You have a lovely profile.” He sees your face scrunch at the compliment. “I mean it,” he laughs defensively. “You’ve got that cute little nose, and those pouty lips.” 

“They’re probably extra pouty right now.” You say, alluding to the kiss you two had just shared.

“Do you regret it?” 

“Not at all. You?” 

“Nope,” he pops the ‘p’ sound. “Thinking about how much I want to do it again, actually.” 

You instinctively pull your bottom lip in between your teeth as you begin to blush again.

“Mmm,” Harry groans. “You’re not playing fair, Y/N.”

As you reach the gate at the front of the garage, you scan your payment receipt. The barricade lifts and you drive out, pulling up beside Harry’s ride. 

“Well,” you sigh. “I think we’ve officially put it off as long as we can. This is where we part ways.” You turn to face him, your heart sinking at the thought of parting. 

Harry leans across the console, pulling you into another kiss. You savor every second of his lips on yours, knowing that he’s off to a new city in the morning, and you likely won’t see him again for a very long time.

You separate, and he looks deeply into your eyes again. “Get home safely, yeah?”

You nod. “You too, I mean tour safely, I guess.” You shrug, silently chiding yourself for your stupid response.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” He says with a sad smile. 

“Goodnight, Harry.” Your voice is barely above a whisper as you try to control your emotions. 

You watch as he gets out of your car, and opens the backseat door of his SUV. He waves one more time before getting inside. As the car drives off, you follow behind it toward the exit. His car moves to the right lane, yours to the left, preparing to go your separate ways. You notice the back window roll down, Harry waves at you one last time as his car takes the right turn. You watch it until it is out of your sight. Once your light turns green, you put your foot on the gas and head home, returning to real life. 

Your life without Harry. 

[chelseachilly]

do you want to build a snowman?

pairing: reader x ben chilwell request: "ok so you and ben have a daughter around 3 or 4 and its her first time seeing snow so they take her outside to build a snowman :)" - anonymous warnings: fluffff, dad!ben word count: 2k

author’s note: thanks for all the requests!! i'm really getting in the flow of writing rn (and inspired by the holidays) so i'm going to do my best to write as many of them as i can! ❄️

-

“Is Daddy gonna be home soon?”

It’s not the first - or the second, or the fifth - time your daughter has asked this question since she woke up this morning. 

Ben left for training shortly before 8, and neither you nor your daughter Sophie were awake yet. You could’ve happily slept a few more hours, but Sophie woke you up not long after to excitedly announce that it had snowed overnight.

In her four years of life, your daughter has never seen a significant amount of snow, at least that she can recall. It snowed quite a bit on her first Christmas, but she was far too little to remember that, and since then there’s been nothing but a few flurries here and there or a light dusting on the rooftops.

She’s quite fascinated by the concept from watching movies and TV shows featuring winter activities and is currently deep in a Frozen phase, which means she’s obsessed with the idea of building a snowman. 

Over the past month as the weather got colder, you and Ben had tried to keep her expectations low as you weren’t sure you would get enough snow to make this dream a reality. You could tell it was killing Ben to disappoint her - he hates denying his little girl anything - and a few nights ago you caught him looking into booking a holiday to Switzerland or Finland or anywhere she would be guaranteed some snow.

Thankfully, today her prayers were answered, and you were fully prepared to bundle up and go outside with her before you even had your coffee, but she insisted on waiting for Ben. It was their plan to build the snowman together, Sophie told you, and she stuck to her decision even when you reminded her he wouldn’t be home for hours.

It‘s been pretty adorable watching her anxiously await her dad’s return all morning, pacing around the house and checking for his car in the driveway often. You can tell how badly she wants to go out and play in the glistening white snow, and the remarkable restraint she’s showing is a testament to how much of a daddy’s girl she is. 

“Not too much longer, sweetheart,” you assure her as you beckon her to come cuddle with you on the couch where you’re doing a bit of work on your laptop. “He texted a while ago and said he’ll be here as soon as he can.”

“Alright,” Sophie sighs. “Can you put on Frozen?”

You’ve watched this movie more times than you can count lately, and once already today, but you remind yourself that you signed up for this when you chose to be a parent as you’re queuing up Disney Plus once again. 

Later, when you’re nearing the end of the film and you’ve given up on doing any more work as long as your daughter is screaming the lyrics to each song, you hear the sound of the front door opening and closing. 

“Daddy!”

The movie is quickly abandoned as Sophie darts toward the foyer to greet Ben. You’re not too far behind her, though by the time you reach them she’s already in her dad’s arms.

“Daddy, it snowed!” Sophie exclaims, her little arms wrapped around Ben’s neck. “We have to build a snowman!”

“I know, darling,” Ben laughs, giving Sophie another squeeze before gently setting her down. “Why don’t you go get your coat on while I say hello to Mummy?”

Sophie nods and eagerly runs toward the closet to fetch her winter coat. As Ben drops his bag and makes his way over to you, you can see how tired he is from training. When he cups your face to give you a kiss, you can tell he’s also freezing. 

“How was training, baby?” you murmur, placing your hands on his to warm them up. 

“Cold,” Ben sighs. “Forgot how brutal it is training in the snow. I’m glad the gaffer let us go home early, though.”

“You and me both,” you smile, leaning in to kiss him again. “Maybe you should warm up a bit before going out to play with Soph?”

“No, she’s been waiting for me all day,” Ben says. “I’ll be fine.”

You know there’s no changing his mind, especially when Sophie comes running back into the room in her adorable little puffer jacket that nearly swallows her whole. You help her zip it up and grab mittens, a scarf and a hat to keep her warm, as well as some for you and Ben. 

Once you’re all ready to face the cold, you head out to the garden together. You and Ben have matching grins on your faces as you watch Sophie excitedly run through the snow for the first time, a core childhood memory being created right before your eyes. 

She gets to work right away on her snowman, rolling the snowball she’s formed as long as she can before it gets too heavy for her and she has to accept Ben’s help. 

You join in on their efforts, occasionally taking a break to take some photos of your daughter and husband that you already know are going to be your new phone background.

After some hard work - certainly for a four year old - the snowman is completed with a carrot nose and hat that you had prepared just for this occasion. 

“He looks great, Sophie!” you exclaim. “What’s his name? Olaf?”

Despite it being a fairly safe guess, Sophie looks at you like you have two heads.

“No, Mummy, Olaf doesn’t have a hat,” she reminds you very matter-of-factly. “His name is Tom.”

“Like Uncle Tom?” Ben chuckles, referring to his best friend and her godfather.

Sophie seems to contemplate this for a moment before shaking her head.

“No, because I want him to be Tom.”

You and Ben look at each other for a moment before bursting out into laughter. You both blame your daughter’s stubbornness on each other, though deep down you know it’s from both of you, but at times like this it’s both hilarious and adorable. 

“Fair enough, sweetie,” you say, bending down to give her a kiss on the forehead. “Now, I think some hot chocolate is in order. Ready to go in?”

“No, we have to make snow angels!”

Of course, this was another activity she had seen in films that she was dying to try for herself. 

“Alright,” you chuckle. “Why don’t we make snow angels while Daddy goes and warms up? He’s been out in the snow all day.”

The pout on Sophie’s face quickly tells you that she is not happy with this plan, and Ben swoops in before you can say anything else.

“I think I have a few snow angels left in me,” he smiles, picking Sophie up and balancing her on his hip. “Babe, can you start the hot chocolate while we finish up here?”

You raise an eyebrow at your husband but accept his proposal nonetheless, placing a quick kiss on both his and Sophie’s cheeks before heading inside. 

As you’re warming up the milk on the stovetop, you look out the window where Ben and Sophie are still playing, her excited giggles loud enough that you can hear her through the windowpane. 

Your heart is threatening to burst from the sweet scene, overflowing with love for your daughter and admiration for your amazing husband. No matter how tired he is from training, if he’s upset about a loss or injured or anything else, he always steps up for Sophie. You’ve known since you met him that he would be a great dad, but ever since you became parents, he’s continued to exceed your expectations.

Just as you’re pouring three steaming mugs of hot chocolate, you hear your family come in through the back door and begin to strip off their winter gear. 

To your delight, Sophie runs straight into the kitchen and hugs you tightly.

“I made five snow angels!” she exclaims as you run your hand up and down her back in an effort to warm her up. “Daddy made some big ones, too.”

“That’s amazing, love,” you smile, kissing her head. “You want some hot chocolate?”

“Yes! Can I put the marshmallows in?”

“Of course,” you say, lifting her up onto the counter and passing her the bag of mini marshmallows.

As much as she’s a daddy’s girl at heart, you also get your fair share of moments when your daughter seems to only want her mother. You know how special her bond is with Ben, and you really can’t blame her for how much she loves spending time with him, but you still cherish the little things that just for the two of you - making hot chocolate with extra marshmallows being one of them. 

You carry the tray of drinks into the living room with Sophie trailing behind, and find Ben already there getting the fireplace going and arranging some pillows and blankets.

“This looks cozy,” you smile, setting the drinks down and sitting on the floor across from him, Sophie following your lead. “Thanks, honey.”

“Thanks for making the hot chocolate, my loves,” Ben responds, glancing over at the tray that holds two regular Christmas mugs and one with the Frozen characters on it. He picks that one up and pretends to take a sip. “I assume this one is mine?”

“No, Daddy, that’s mine!” Sophie squeals, making both you and Ben laugh as he carefully passes it back to her. 

You all sip your drinks in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the warmth of the sweet beverages and the burning fire. 

“So, did you enjoy your first snow, Soph?” Ben asks. “Was it everything you hoped?”

“It was amazing!” Sophie confirms. “Thank you for playing, Daddy.”

“You’re welcome, angel,” Ben says with a soft smile as Sophie climbs into his lap and he kisses her rosy cheeks. 

It’s not long before she drifts off to sleep, tuckered out from playing in the snow and comforted by her dad’s embrace and the sound of you and Ben quietly talking about your days. 

Once she’s fully passed out, Ben carefully shifts her tiny frame over in his arms to make room for you on his other side and beckons you over. With him laying back against the sofa and you now laying against his chest, both of you watching your daughter sleep peacefully, you’re not sure you’ve ever felt more content. 

“That little girl absolutely adores you,” you comment, nuzzling further into Ben’s warmth.

“She must get that from her mum, then,” Ben jokes, making you roll your eyes for a moment before kissing his jaw, then his cheek.

“Mhm,” you nod, smiling as you reach his lips and kiss him slowly. 

When you pull back, Ben gazes lovingly at you for a moment before his eyes return to Sophie, her little hand curling around the material of his hoodie in her sleep.

“Babe?” Ben murmurs, and you nod again. “How would you feel about trying for another one?”

It takes everything in you not to betray yourself with a grin as you think about the tiny Christmas onesie and pregnancy test you boxed up and placed under the tree yesterday while Ben was picking Sophie up from daycare. 

It’s less than a week until Christmas - you can make it that long. 

“Let’s talk about it after the holidays?” you say for now, pressing another kiss to Ben’s lips. 

He nods with a smile, though you can see his mind wandering with thoughts of another little one to play in the snow and curl up by the fire and watching the same movies over and over with. 

It’s been the greatest joy of your life raising Sophie side by side with him, and you absolutely can’t wait to do it all again. 

[asarajaa]

Me encanta los colores de tu blog!!

Do you have any head canons for Bachira?

How he would react to falling in love with someone? :)

I hope you are doing well!

Omg mil gracias! Me pasé como 2 días buscando el aesthetic correcto, en un principio iba a ser coquette pero cambie de idea en último momento jajsjsja

Said and done, my love! Hope you like it <3!

Warnings: fem!reader, spanish lyrics, bllk fem!manager Words: 565 Disclaimer: English isn't my first language so I apologise for any mistakes or misunderstandings!

Bachira falling in love hcs

₊˚ෆ We have to be realistic, this man wouldn't notice.

₊˚ෆ I believe Bachira hasn't any experience with the female genre except his mom, so he think of you as just a friend.

₊˚ෆ At first he didn't know how to 'name' you, because it felt different being your friend compared to being Isagis, but he thought it was because you were girl.

₊˚ෆ It isn't until Chigiri pointed out your treatment to each other. How you always give him first water or anything he needs, how his eyes look for your presence when he enters any room and so on.

₊˚ෆ Then is when he started to notice.

₊˚ෆ Bachira is confused af, so before making any move (or making another one, apparently) he waited until break and ask advice from his mama.

₊˚ෆ How can you blame him? You were such a really nice friend (?) and he didn't wanna mess things up.

₊˚ෆ When his mama tells him about the feeling in his stomach (know he knows they're called butterflies), the heart beating faster and more signs, he agreed with the idea of being in love with you.

₊˚ෆ "How to make my crush like me back".

₊˚ෆ MY POOR BOY DOESN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO 😭😭😭

₊˚ෆ After some advice (from his mama ofc), he decided let the things flow. Again, I believe Bachira is very cautious with this thing and doesn't wanna mess thing up (plus i'll be awkard if he does bc you guys will see eachother everyday for a long time, he doesn't want that).

₊˚ෆ His mamas advice help him, but he's still confused. Like, does he really fall in love? He doesn't know the answer to that.

₊˚ෆ You, on the other hand, were 100% sure you were in love with him.

₊˚ෆ Until on day, the day. It was during the break, you were hanging out with the boys when all of a sudden it started raining.

You were alone with Bachira, in the middle of the way back to the arcade. All of you were hungry and since the arcades food wasn't cheap, you guys decided to go to a convenient store.

All of you put your names on a roulette you find on the internet to decide the 2 persons who had to went, and omg- Bachira and you? How unexpected.

However, it started raining and you were with Bachira. Bachira, as the gentleman he is, offered to carry all of the bags ( because mama didn't raise no ungentleman boy ✋🏽).

And your first thought wasn't to put on the hood you had, or going to a covered place- no.

Your first thought was to touch your fingertips making a little house and cover Bachiras head.

Of course, it barely worked.

But the effort.

The effort. Because you were shorter than him, you have to tiptoe so his face was pretty close to yours.

The effort. Because you were getting your hair wet, which made it stick to your cheeks while his face was almost all dry.

The effort. Because you put his needings before yours (and he'll be damned if he didn't do the same).

At that moment, with your face millimeters away from him, he could only had one thing in his mind:

Mama will like her.

₊˚ෆ "Ya encontré, la que será mi futura esposa" was his only though at that moment apart from the fact that his mother would like you AND U CAN'T CHANGE MY MIND 😻✋🏽

₊˚ෆ For those who not know spanish, that is a line from a very popular song here in Spain. It's called "Mi Estrella Blanca", the line appears in the 1:45 minute. It means "I have already found the one who will be my future wife" and the song means "My White Star", it's a very beautiful song, go listen to it!!!

I LOVED how this turned on, I think I'll be making content inpired by lyrics from now on, tell me your opn!!

idk if you guys understant what y/n was doing with her hands?? here's a picture:

WHJBDJHD SRRY IT'S THE ONLY ONE THAT MATCHES. Imagine it like that but the thumbs are w/ the rest of the fingers.

PODER BESAARLA, CADA MAÑAANA. MIRAR PAL LADO Y VERLA TUMBADA EN MI CAAMA. SERÁ MI NOOCHE, SERÁ MI DÍAAAAAA. MI ESTRELA BLANCAAA

btw I finished 4 today, my abdomen hurts a little bit from sitting for a long time, lovya'll 💗💗💗

3 post in a day wow

26/04/24

© asarajaa — Please, do not copy, translate or reuse my work without my permission.

[desultory-novice]

Noir's Field Trip - "Starting Out"

"...Thanks, you two."

-

Ahem! Following in the footsteps of several other Kirby OC contest peeps, you may send in asks for [Noir]!!

(...But I'm SUPER busy so it may take until May to respond! ^^;;)

[Notes/Rules About Asks:]

-I'm iffy on back-and-forth style dialogue-based RP, due to the complex interplay of pseudo-linearity in an amorphous situation plus my autistic-self often being unable to figure out what my RP partner is actually trying to say tone-wise or what they are thinking and then-I-answer-them-wrong-and-embarrass-myself...!!

NVMD SEND WHATEVER YOU WOULD LIKE XD

That and long post-chains make me a little nervous. ^^; Asks in the form of questions Noir can answer in-character are preferred.

(You may also ask me generic "What does your OC think/do when...?" style questions, such as those from THIS detailed OC ask meme!)

-You can also send an ask for Noir from your OC, if you'd like to find out how the troubled teenage boy would react to meeting them! (These may or may NOT(!!) come with art, depending on mood, time, and a variety of circumstances. Tourney OCs will generally get preference. If I AM inspired to draw said meeting, I may request additional information/clarification before going through with it.)

Again, I'm pretty autistic, so if you are going to go this route, it'll help if I have something more than "Hiya, Noir!" to work off of - else he'll just react to you the same way he does to Marx.

(Not that you can't go places from there! XD)

-You can also prod Noir about his traumas if you like! XD Note that asking for details about certain things (the "murders" on Shiver Star or his hatred of physical contact) may result in responses with TRIGGER WARNINGS, if I decide to answer them.

-Tournament!Noir is currently in his own similar but separate timeline from Mainline Apologies Noir. However, events during this contest MAY influence his fate and the fates of those he holds dearest!

-Noir's latent cross-dimension sight means that you can ask him about his various other timelines or Kirby games he was not alive for and probably get some pretty unique/funny/strange answers.

-I almost assuredly won't be able to get to every ask/comment. Some I may avoid answering due to complexity, uncomfortableness, them not fitting tournament!Noir's narrative, or me just not having any good ideas. Please don't take this personally.

-Lastly, please leave space between sending multiple asks. ^^

omg I'm so nervous about this. I want to draw lots, for me and for others (!) too if I can but I want to follow the flow of the tournament and not JUST go off on my own crazy thing, except that I'm not even completely familiar with what the rounds will be like?!

[Non-Ask Notes:]

-The flowers in the BG are the forget-me-nots that Adeleine drew for him on his birthday and that he received in this post. That post was also the inspiration for Tournament!Noir. (Although he retains the corruption + the collar here.)

PS: In addition the song that post is, you know, named for, Noir + the forget-me-nots also makes me think of the lyrics: "Since the day I met you, there's never ceased to be music in this hell of mine" from the opening to Sousei no Aquarion.

-This, and the tag name, was inspired by @Graycoin's comment "Noir gets to go on a field trip. I hope he has a good time : D " (then I saw Starflung had the same idea to send her OC off with a backpack! Haha! XD)

-The fish bone is a gift from Gooey. He's doing his best. Adeleine is also doing HER best. ("...A comb? Really?" "It's unbreakable!")

-As to the bento box, I'm not sure if I mentioned this before (?) but the Fontaine children are French-Japanese...on their mother's side.

-Why yes, that IS a cellphone in his backpack! I wonder who might call him...?

[david-goldrock]

Id like to compliment your hebrew song choices for translation, if youd like no criticism stop reading here and סופ״ש נעים

If you dont mind, id like to note that the approach you seem to be taking prioritises approximating a 1:1 ratio between the original lyrics and your translations rather than conveying the meaning and imagery more eloquently. I feel that a lot of the beauty of the original text is lost when you go about it like this, maybe you should read english prose to get a feel for a natural and smooth lyricsm. Much love.

first of all, THANKS!

second of all, you are VERY right, this is a very deliberate choice, and it has its downsided

For the monolinguals: any complicated text CANNOT be actually translated one-to-one. all translations flow between "literal text oriented" and "meaning oriented", between "original grammar following" to "translated grammar following", and how much the meter and rhymes are kept.

My favorite example is the second verse of Ecclesiastes. In hebrew it goes like this:

"הבל הבלים אמר קהלת, הבל הבלים הכל הבל"

How would you translate it?

Let's start by writing the text in english letters, so the problem is more easily shown:

Hevel Havalim amar Kohelet, Hevel Havalim haokl Hevel

Now let's tackle the easy words

Hevel Hevels said Kohelet, Hevel Hevels everything is Hevel

Now there are 3 stuff to tackle

Kohelet: it is used as a name, but most scholars agree it's a title for Solomon, meaning something like "He who gathers a crowd". should it be translated as a name or a title? maybe as the name of the book in the christian world, Ecclesiastes?

Hevel: It's a very complicated word, it represents a fleeting breath, but also fleetingness itself, and also meaninglessness itself. many choose meaningless or meaninglessness in this verse, but another verse the author calls childhood Hevel, should we believe that the author means that childhood is meaningless? maybe it should be fleeting in this context?

<x> <x>s: a hebrew expression meaning "The most something of something", for example "king of kings" would mean "The most king of the kings" or "The most important king of the kings" or "The king over all the kings". Should it be translated in the simplest way (king of kings) or with added interpretation (the king over all the kings)?

How did the official translators handle it? they didn't Here are a few options they chose:

I could continue for ages, it seems like every single translation translated these lines differently

Add to that the fact that even though I read english prose and listen to english songs, my vocubulary is obviously smaller than a mother-tongue speaker, and the choice becomes very easy

I translate as literally as I can (most of the time). I often add context in (red brackets), but no more than that. The reader can use their imagination to find the english version (or native language for a double-translation mess) they think fits the most, but I will make a very literal translation

That is with one main exceptions: phrases that mean different things in hebrew and english. for example, the hebrew לעשות חשבון does have a literal translation: doing math. but in english, doing the math means something like "adding one plus one", and not at all the hebrew meaning of "caring about what people think of you". In cases like these, I try to add a bit of interpretation, and sometimes write the original in red brackets

These are not strong rules by any means, I am doing this for fun after all, sometimes I get lazy, sometimes I forget that something is a phrase and automatically translate the meaning etc. But this is the reason

If someone else wants to go after the translations and add more interpretation so it sounds poetic, I'd be ecstatic. But to do that, I'd need to be able to write english songs and prose myself, and I am not of that level yet

If someone wants to see what that approach to translation looks like, may I recommend the amazing translation of "hallelujah" to Yiddish. it translated the meaning to Yiddish, and then the literal text to the english subtitles, showing exactly what it looks out

[cherrysurf]

“Watermelon” semi eita X f!Reader (drabble)

[established relationship,timeskip,musician semi,based off that one dinner in America scene]

You decide to tag along to your boyfriend semi’s studio session you’d always sit back and watch and observe your talented boyfriend he was amazing at what he did he played the guitar and sang so beautifully it was mesmerizing and you always understood why the fans loved him the way they did. He wasn’t only talented but absolutely gorgeous you thought he was out of your league especially back in highschool but the truth is he found you perfect you were his muse, his love, his everything. He fell first and fell harder he was a hopeless romantic when it came to you the reasons he was able to write these amazing songs were because of you.

After the session had ended you and semi stayed back you were still sitting on the couch listening to him sing when be brought up an idea “hey babe why don’t you give it a try i know you have a good voice” he says “ermm idk semi plus i don’t think i can make up lyrics on the spot ya know?” you say refusing the idea a bit, i mean sure you helped him with lyrics occasionally but you weren’t near as good as him “just try y/n it’s just us no one else ill play this track i’ve been working on and you go with a the flow okay?” he says pleading the truth is semi’s heard your singing he’s listen to you sing in the kitchen when you think no one is watching so he prepared this track to hear and see your voice, he loved music as much as he loved you and he wanted to see those worlds collide. “fine but you definitely owe me okay?” you responded doing it because you loved the man so much. He gets excited and gets you all set n ready and then the track hits.

“i’m a watermelon slammed into your driveway, crack me open so i can feel the air inside me, like a tongue tongue in my ear drum dum-dum music boyfriend im your yum yum call me and ill come. Fuck the rest of em fuck em all but us….”

The words felt right and natural you’re eyes were closed and you were in a trance, all you had to do was think about him in someway you finally understood how he felt when he wrote songs about you. As you open your eyes you find semi teary eyed in awe truly starstruck he thought “this must be how she feels.” He knew you were talking about him, he heard your love and passion he hadn’t think it was possible but he fell in love even more that day.

You both felt how each other felt all the time during one simply moment it was a special moment that was never let go or forgotten of.

[mandobatemans]

sfw/nsfw joel miller headcanons

co-written by my lovely bestie who doesn't have tumblr :(

warnings: post-outbreak, mentions of oral (m!receiving), sex mentions, discussion of kinks, slight breeding kink, afab! reader, NSFW UNDER THE CUT

word count: 692

also posted to ao3

• loves to comb and braid your hair. he’s a girl dad through and through, able to do more intricate braids and styles than you could possibly imagine with a lack of any hair products. he likes doing your hair, and the feeling of his fingers moving gently across your head is comforting

• loves being complimented/praised but will pretend he's annoyed to hide the embarrassment from it, especially if it’s in front of ellie. “you know, you look really handsome today.” he’ll mumble noncommittally and add, “‘s that gonna help us in this damn cold?”

• soft degradation/humiliation kink. “can you take it, darlin’? i don't think you can take it. show me how well you can take it.”

• easily gets jealous but not the type to act cold/rude to you because he's feeling insecure

• in jackson, if someone’s getting a little too close to you for his liking in the mess hall, he’ll wander over to you, rest his arm on the bartop next to you, greet you with a kiss, and casually sip his beer

• when you're alone is when he'd make comments seeking affirmation that you love him and that he's enough for you by commenting on subtle things in passing like "i know i'm old but—" "if there’s anything else i can do for you..."

• loves when you wash his hair in the shower and absentmindedly play with it when you're sitting together, a sucker for back scratches and belly kisses. he melts into your touch when you scratch his beard for him

• physical touch and gift giving/providing for you is definitely his love language (little spoon joel, we love you)

• little things like silently giving you an extra share of rations or packing an extra blanket for you

• gently touching his hand to the small of your back to warn you when there's danger

• loves when you ride him

• his fingers leave bruises from how tight he grips your waist while you’re on top of him, bruises that he’ll apologize for and kiss better before you go to bed

• is adamant that he prefers to be in control but folds immediately as soon you whisper filthy nonsense into his ear

• speaking of his ears, they're so sensitive from years of shooting, so he becomes an absolute mess when you place a few strategically bites/kisses there

• never rushes you when you're on your knees for him. he drinks in every second of you like this. pushes strands of your hair behind your ears and mumbles repeatedly how pretty you look and what a good job you're doing

• he slowly learns how to open up and gets better at expressing emotions once in jackson, partly because he feels safe enough to do so, partly because he’s been reminded what it's like to almost lose someone you love, and partly because seeing tommy so happy with maria helps him to realize what he has with you

• learns old songs on his guitar that you used to like before the outbreak. some of them he’s never heard of, and when you sing him a few of the lyrics he gives you a confused look. “you really listened to that stuff?” he’ll ask, before shaking his head and strumming an old western he thinks you'll like instead

• controversial take but he might have a teensy weensy breeding kink. he’s not going to bring another child into this world, in his eyes that would just be cruel. plus, he’s already felt the pain of losing one child and almost losing another that there’s no way he could handle it if anything happened to the baby

• that doesn't mean he hasn’t thought about you as the mother of his child, belly swelling with a little one that's half him, half you

• sometimes he’ll cum inside you rather than pulling out. it’s a selfish risk he takes but he can't help the euphoria that flows over him when he sees your cunt full of his cum, the rest dripping down your thighs

tagging: @laters-gators @cassianendor @eupheme @psychedelic-ink whose blogs have been absolutely FEEDING my joel obsession lately

[intimateinsights]

“𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐧, 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩..“

𝐅𝐭: 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤!𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐲 𝐚𝐡𝐡 💋

sfw!

this is my first fanfic in general, please feel free to critique my work.

the bold sentences represent the lyrics!

’𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 -- 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐁𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐭’

“𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭? 𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞.“

now leaving the restaurant, fingers intertwined with your boyfriend of 6 months; rough yet soft hands intertwined with yours. your frame smaller compared to his. your feet aching waiting for you to go home and bathe while you walk back to miguel's truck with him. him begging you to spend the night over at his.

"cmon mama, just one night? you know you want to."

groaning at this man's bickering about it, you tell him your reasons as to why you cant.

"miguel we both have work in the morning, plus i don't have a bag or anything."

"oh really?"

he then popped his trunk, pulling out a duffel bag with everything you need for the night.

"pa, why do you have that?"

you asked the man chucking to yourself, and shaking your head.

"what? you think i don't pay attention to you?"

you rolled your eyes playfully, and turning around to walk to your side of the truck. as you reached for the door handle -- miguel beat you to it while also flicking your hand away.

with you both now settled, he started up a conversation while also rubbing your thighs. giving you his almost undivided attention.

pulling out of the parking lot, his question still unanswered.

’𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬, 𝐢 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞.’

"now, was that a yes or no? rolling your eyes doesn't count"

"miggy we gotta go to work in the morning-"

"do we?"

turning to face him, you stared at his lovely features with a blank face.

"just think about it, we could have so much fun mi amor"

"oh? what type of fun?"

you said, you & your selective hearing now paying attention to the words flowing off of his tongue.

"i have wine, and cookies we can bake, your favorites of course. we could watch a movie and just relax for the night, tomorrow morning too if we call off.”

you sat quiet pondering on the idea, because who's turning down freshly made cookies?

"- or you could just go home and dream about me all night, the choice is yours mama"

with a sigh, you look down and start to play with his fingers that are rubbing on your inner thigh. "fine miggy, just this once."

from the corner of your eye you can see him smile, with him stepping on the gas pedal a little harder.

’��𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐮𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐞 -- 𝐬𝐮𝐧 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐮𝐬.’

once you arrive his penthouse, you feel him pick you up with ease making his way to the bedroom. he helps you take your shoes off, letting you rest your feet for a little, while he runs you a bath.

walking into his bedroom a few minutes later to see you sprawled out on his bed, he lets you know your bath is ready -- with your favorite epsom salt and bubble bath.

"ah, we both have baths to take. come on mama"

"are you taking it with me?"

"nope, i want you to wind down a little, plus i have to make our cookies"

with that he left out of the bathroom giving you the privacy you need, but not before giving you a kiss on the cheek.

“𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞“

"miggy?"

“𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞“

"yes?"

"thank you my love, i appreciate this”

"of course mama, 𝐧𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮."

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

What’s your favorite lyric on The Prophecy and why? It has a ton of my favourites on the album overall but “Feeling like the very last drops of an ink pen” though maybe not the deepest hits cause FELT 😭

ooooooh this is hard because the whole song is soooooo evocative.

I think my immediate standout is "I got cursed like Eve got bitten" because I love how it turns the religious metaphor on its head. (I love Taylor's exploration of religion in her work in general. I've said before that WCS, for instance, feels like Catholic guilt personified, and there's so much of that same disentangling feeling across her discography, notably on TTPD.)

Many smarter people have pointed it out, but in the actual story, Eve doesn't get bitten, she's the one who eats the forbidden fruit and thus causes the expulsion from the Garden of Eden. (lol, disclaimer that I never listened very well in church and there's a reason I have run far away from any religion sooooooo.) But here, I think the implication is that Eve got "bitten" like she was the one punished and blamed for having a normal human desire. And the narrator being cursed like Eve got bitten is like saying, I'm being punished for wanting what everyone else does.

Plus, I just love the way the line flows.

I also love "Cards on the table, mine play out like fools in a fable," because a) again I love the way it sounds and b) I love that it takes a recurring theme in her music (games/cards, as in relationships and fate) and again kind of twists them. It's a beautiful way of saying, "I shared all of me including my dreams and intentions, and I got conned." It's heartbreaking.

[leonenjoyer69]

Invades your inbox

Hihihihi!!! I wanna ask, what are some songs that remind you of J+H :33??? ((/nf))

HELLO!! :33 THANK YOU FOR THIS ASK! THERE ARE SO MANY KVKSKVKSLC

OKAY, SO! First of all, *casually drops my J&H inspired playlist* all the songs I mention are on here, (WHICH ARE ALL SONGS THAT REMIND ME OF JEKYLL AND HYDE (all songs I've been recently obsessed with, someday ill go back in my liked songs lmao) AND SOME REASONS FOR SONGS ARE SUPER SPECIFIC, PLZ DON'T BULLY ME PEOPLE 🙏) so if you mayhaps wanna listen to any of the mentioned songs, they're there :3

BUT, ONTO THE SONGS AND REASONS!

Of course there's all the Will Wood songs from this list I did forever ago, but there are some other Will Wood songs I didn't put on there, like -Ish (which reminds me of Jekyll) and Cicada Days (which is literally University Lanyon and Jekyll)

Onto the various artists!

Pray To God For Your Mother by Dance Gavin Dance- BIG Jekyll song to me. "Dependent on the medicine to keep my colors vivid", " part of me wants to believe that I will not come apart at the seams, that I will learn from the cut when I bleed", "blame it all on the lamest dude, blame it all on the payments due", " didn't think id have to answer for the lies I told myself, at least not so soon" I MEAN CMON

Lights Out by Mindless Self Indulgence- for Hyde, the little adrenaline junkie.

Mr. Doctor Man by Palaye Royale- Jekyll energy, ofc. "Mr doctor man questions his hands, lost his mind, clinically fine, but he found a way to cope, needle in his throat"

Necromancin Dancin by Bear Ghost- Hyde, but instead of it being, ya know, the dead, it's him unleashing the nightmares on Jekyll. "Now we've found it, I'm astounded, every town will be surrounded by a throng of marchin' death, delicious the riches that glisten ahead!" Plus all the dancing references work bc he unleashed them at that party :3

Ghost Town -Revisited- by Trickle- Jekyll, once more. "So sick of this city's disguise, it glowing on the surface but it's drowning in lies", "Is there a reason that I'm wanting to hide when I look into the mirror just to see empty eyes?", "ghost that tried living a tired life, I'm haunted by the memories I buried inside"

Evelyn Evelyn by Evelyn Evelyn- Jekyll and Hyde, another one where basically all the lyrics are spot on lmao, but I will say I see the feminine voice as Jekyll and the Masculine one as Hyde :3

Turn The Lights Off by Tally Hall- Jekyll and Hyde

There's also a lot of Chonny Jash ones! Obviously The Ballad of Dr Jekyll and The Mr Hyde Jive, but also:

A Devil's Tricks- this one is literally just Jekyll and Hyde, idek what else to say lmao. Like, this dude sitting in lowkey self loathing while his mind tells him bad things? Not to mention the accuracy of the lyrics in general. Id list them, but then id just be pasting the whole song 💀

End the Dance- Lanyon and Rachel being the ones caring, and then switches to Jekyll. Once again don't really know what lyrics to throw in lmao

Banana Man- Jekyll and Hyde, with the whole banana thing being Jekyll becoming Hyde. "Forget all your morals and go with the flow, forget about the bad the good is all you know, and forget about the voice that's lying deep inside, the one that's screaming and screeching proclaiming wrong from right" "tomorrow morning on the plane, no banana makes you go insane. Floating back to busy town, no banana makes you want to frown"

Don't Take It Personally- EOUGHKEKOGKD another angsty Jekyll and Lanyon song.. "You can surrender your heart, but it won't be enough, don't take it personally I'm afraid of love" "if the drugs aren't in my system, then what the hell has blurred my vision?" "My wrist and my heart where you kissed pulled apart" "so just keep playing your part, and ill keep calling your bluff, don't take it personally when push comes to shove"

Push- Jekyll, ofc pushing all his friends away. "I see you trying to slowly turn your back on them, the shadow of who you were when back when you felt condemned"

I also have a bunch of other CCCC songs but idk how to explain why my mind thinks they fit, so I'm just gonna list them and idk, some might get brief explanations

Ruler of Everything- Jekyll trying to stop Hyde from going out, then Hyde literally ruining his life.

Dream (Outro to Calamity)- kinda specific to my little "Whole Jekyll" AU (as most of these are to some slight degree)

The Mind Electric- Hyde

Be Born- also Hyde

Light- Jekyll and Hyde

Good Day- Jekyll

Just Apathy- Jekyll, with Hyde as mind

Two Wuv- Jekyll

Greener- once again, Jekyll

Mucka Blucka- Jekyll and Hyde, (and my "Whole" Jekyll)

We're gonna Win- Jekyll and Hyde (except eventually getting along)

There's some on my playlist ik I didn't mention, but I think this should be good for now, LMAO, AGAIN THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE ASK GJSKKVKD ILY GUYS 🗣️🗣️🗣️

[rantingravingliving]

Caution, Hot Jimin!

I just can't do 1 Thirstday post for Jimtober, right? Plus there are tons of carnal (well. in my opinion, haha) snapshots of my favorite Libra. So to leave us all breathless, here's the one and only PJM accompanied by some of the sexiest/thirstiest lyrics of all time.

“I can imagine you touching my private parts/ With just the thought of you, I can’t help but touch myself” - “You’re Makin’ Me High” by Toni Braxton

"Send chills up and down your spine / Juices flowing down your thigh." - "Pony" by Ginuwine

“Ooh, when your lips undress me/ Hooked on your tongue/ Ooh, love, your kiss is deadly/ Don’t stop” - “Señorita” by Shawn Mendes feat. Camila Cabello

“Throw your clothes, on the floor/ I’m gonna take my clothes off too/ I made plans to be with you” - “I’ll Make Love To You” by Boyz II Men

“You’d be a fool to stop this tide/ Spread your wings and let me come inside” - “Tonight’s The Night” by Rod Stewart

“Can you feel the magic in my hands/ When I touch and rub you the right way/ Stroke applied with tenderness/ When I hold and rub you the right way” - “Rub You The Right Way” by Johnny Gill

“When you talk to me, when you’re moanin’ sweet & low/ When you’re touchin’ me and my feelin’s start to show” - “Feel Like Makin’ Love” by Roberta Flack

"Dirty babe / You see these shackles? Baby, I'm your slave / I'll let you whip me if I misbehave" - “SexyBack” - Justin Timberlake

"You got the peaches I got the cream/ Sweet to taste saccharine” - “Pour Some Sugar on Me” by Def Leppard

"It's gettin' hot in herre (so hot) / so take off all your clothes / I am gettin' so hot, I wanna take my clothes off" - “Hot In Herre” by Nelly

"Oh, turn the lights turn the lights down low/ Yeah, now I'm feeling you breathing slow" - “Lights Down Low” by MAX

“Do that to me one more time/ Once is never enough with a man like you” - “Do That To Me One More Time” by Captain & Tennille

“I can see you with nothing on/ Feeling on me before you bring that on” - “Promiscuous” by Nelly Furtado feat. Timbaland

“I’ll take you to the candy shop, I’ll let you lick the lollipop” -“Candy Shop” by 50 Cent feat. Olivia