#slay im happy for y’all | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ssprayberrythings · 1 year ago

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my best friend | OP81

oscar piastri x ginger!female reader / smau fic

warnings: none except if you get triggered by best friends to lovers than look out..

this is just a self indulgent fic seeing as i am a ginger and i just wanted to live in my delulu for a minute. thats all. thanks 👉👈

yourusername posted on instagram

oscarpiastri, landonorris, danielricciardo, lilymhe & others liked

oscars getting better at the picture taking thing 🙆‍♀️

📸: oscarpiastri

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fan1: y/n back at the slaying

fan22: go oscar !!

fan15: im new; who is she ??

╰ fan1: she’s a friend of oscar’s. there’s been some rumours they might be dating but neither have confirmed nor denied. she goes to some races and has become friends with some of the other drivers and some of the WAG’s so we just accept her as an honorary wag regardless if they’re actually dating. she’s also known for interacting with fans !!

╰ liked by yourusername

╰ fan15: ooooh thanks!!

oscarpiastri: i told you, you just had to give me some time to learn the angles and lighting 😎

╰ yourusername: yeah, yeah, i know

landonorris: but is he a better photographer than i am? ;)

╰ yourusername: you already know the answer to that ;)

╰ fan12: i love y/n and lando’s friendship

oscarpiastri posted on their story

caption: she insisted on making goodbye cupcakes @yourusername

╰ yourusername: they turned out pretty good i’d say

╰ landonorris: bring me some !!!

more replies…

╰ fan17: she’s the cutest

╰ fan22: y’all have to be dating

╰ fan6: i want a cupcake made by y/n

yourusername posted on their story

caption: bye bye oscar pastry. have fun driving fast cars 🫡 @oscarpiastri

╰ oscarpiastri: really? of all photos? AND OSCAR PASTRY? 😑

╰ yourusername: yk you low-key love it

╰ oscarpiastri: im uninviting you from my races

╰ yourusername: do it. i’ll just get lando to invite me 😎

more replies…

╰ fan3: goals, i think?

╰ fan28: hes so cute

╰ mclaren: 🧡

yourusername posted on instagram

landonorris, oscarpiastri, yourbestfriend, mclaren & others liked

what’s a soft launch?

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fan11: BESTIE THIS IS ONE

fan23: so is she soft launching oscar or….

landonorris: 😏

╰ fan2: LANDO WHAT DO YOU KNOW

oscarpiastri: don’t ask me, i’m not on social media enough to know

╰ yourusername: thats such a lie. you’re always on your phone 🤨

╰ fan15: if they are dating, i love their bickering and if they’re just friends, i love this dynamic

yourbestfriend: i wonder who gave you the caption idea 🤔

╰ yourusername: i love youuuuuuu

yourusername posted on their story

caption: early flights 😴

╰ oscarpiastri: see you soon. safe travels:)

more replies…

╰ fan1: yes she’s on her way to her first race of the season

╰ fan5: cant wait to see her and oscar !!! *hopefully*

yourusername posted on instagram

oscarpiastri, landonorris, fan22, yourbestfriend, fan12 & others liked

i miss you and our kitchen shenanigans

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fan24: okay but does she miss oscar even if she is travelling to see him? or does she miss her boyfriend who she just left? i need answers

fan22: that has to be oscar, c’mon…

oscarpiastri: its giving clingy

╰ yourusername: shut up

lilymhe: goals ‼️

╰ yourusername: girl stop, you and alex give me life

╰ lilymhe: nope, thats all you and your man

╰ yourusername: i love you

╰ lilymhe: love youuuu

lilymhe posted on their story

caption: missed my favourite ginger 👩🏻‍🦰 @yourusername

╰ yourusername: missed you more 😘

more replies…

╰ fan81: your friendship >>>

╰ fan4: lily & y/n i love you

yourusername posted on their story

caption: reunited with the besties 🧡 @landonorris @oscarpiastri

╰ landonorris: happy you’re here:) now oscar can shut up about how much he misses you

╰ yourusername: ah and he calls me clingy 🙄

╰ oscarpiastri: ❤️

more replies…

╰ fan1: “besties” sure y/n

╰ fan24: they look so precious

╰ fan7: just post a relationship post pleaseeeee

oscarpiastri posted on instagram

yourusername, landonorris, mclaren & others liked

Great first race back! Cant wait to see how the rest of the season goes..🧡 #PapayaNation

tagged: mclaren

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f1: 👏

mclaren: You did great Oscar!

f1fan: that was such a great race to start the season!!!

fan23: the best part was that y/n was there cheering him on

yourusername: i’ll admit i’m pretty proud. good job oscar pastry 😏

╰ oscarpiastri: wow youre being nice..kind of

╰ yourusername: dont get used to it

╰ fan26: y/n’s love language is bullying you cant convince me otherwise

╰ liked by yourusername

fan13: this is definitely mclarens year, i can tell !!

landonorris: good job out there mate!

╰ liked by oscarpiastri

yourusername posted on instagram

oscarpiastri, lilymhe, landonorris, fan22, fan1 & others liked

emptying out my camera roll 🧚🏻‍♀️

tagged: landonorris, oscarpiastri

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fan12: THE FOURTH PIC

fan2: Y/N THIS SOFT LAUNCH IS AN EXTRA LEVEL OF SOFT

╰ liked by yourusername

landonorris: of all moments to post…why that one

╰ yourusername: cuz its funny 😆

oscarpiastri: i had no idea you even took that photo..

╰ yourusername: im like the paps 📸

fan15: y/n truly is the cutest thats all i have to say

╰ fan1: agreed !!

oscarpiastri posted on their story

caption: a ginger found a ginger 🐱 @yourusername

╰ yourusername: the loml 🥹

╰ oscarpiastri: who??

╰ yourusername: the cat obviously..who else

╰ oscarpiastri: uhmmmm..🤨

more replies…

╰ fan12: i want to hug her

╰ fan44: are y’all dating..we need to know

╰ fan21: dating: yes or no?

╰ fan16: ignore this if youre dating…

Oscar looked through some of his responses of his recent story

“I think we should tell them” he said looking at you putting his phone away. You were sitting down, wearing one of his jumpers and some sweats

“Are you sure?” you asked giving him your full attention

“Yeah, they already suspect it and plus our anniversary is coming up its a perfect time to do it” he suggested walking over to where you sat on the couch, plopping down next to you.

He put his head on your shoulder as you moved slightly to make room for him “That would be cute. I have so many pictures I want to post of you” you told him liking his idea

“We could also post on our stories and not give any context before actually posting” you thought out loud

“Im fine with that” he agreed, lifting his head off your shoulder and turning to fully face you

“I love you” he told you leaning in to be met with a kiss, you giggled quickly giving him the kiss he wanted “I love you, even if you do drive me crazy” you whispered

“Hey! I do not” he pulled away pouting “You do” you chuckled “But I love you for it” you finished.

He couldn’t fight you on that so instead he repositioned himself and curled up to you, you smiled and started brushing your fingers through his hair. Eventually you both fell asleep like that, enjoying the closeness and warmth you offered to each other.

yourusername posted on their story

caption: my second home 🧡

*replies disabled*

oscarpiastri posted on their story

caption: never letting you go 🫂

*replies disabled*

yourusername posted on their story

caption: hints of you are everywhere ☺️

*replies disabled*

oscarpiastri posted on their story

caption: 😘

*replies disabled*

yourusername posted on instagram

oscarpiastri, landonorris, yourbestfriend, mclaren, lilymhe & others liked

no surprise here but happy anniversary bub🧡 thanks for being my partner in crime and giving the best hugs..i love you oscar pastry !

tagged: oscarpiastri

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landonorris: ABOUT TIME

oscarpiastri: i love you long time.❤️

╰ liked by yourusername

fan12: we kneW IT

fan23: OH MY FINALLY

lilymhe: lets go on double dates now !! ☺️

╰ yourusername: sounds good to me

fan2: “giving the best hugs” I KNEW OSCAR GAVE GOOD HUGS

fan7: SOMEONE HELP, IM NOT DOING WELL

╰ fan26: SAME

╰ fan11: same same

╰ mclaren: us too

oscarpiastri posted on instagram

yourusername, landonorris, mclaren, f1 and others liked

Cant imagine my life without you. Here's to more years to come 🧡

tagged: yourusername

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yourusername: I LOVE LOVE YOU 😘

╰ oscarpiastri: DIDDO😘

╰ yourusername: 🤨

fan13: THIER BICKERING AND BULLYING EACH OTHER JUST GOT BETTER KNOWING THEYRE ACTUALLY DATING

fan4: MY HEART IS BURSTING

mclaren: our favourite papaya couple 🧡

╰ liked by oscarpiastri & yourusername

fan25: the mclaren admin being y/noscar’s biggest fan is my roman empire

╰ fan22: girl same

landonorris: yeah yeah we get it your happy and in love..🙄

╰ yourusername: we’ll be your wing man and woman so you don’t have to third wheel all the time

╰ landonorris: no thank you.

╰ oscarpiastri: too bad, she’s already going through her friends that are single that she thinks would be your type

╰ liked by yourusername

i hope you enjoyed this! as i said it was just a self indulgent fic that i wrote for myself but maybe it'll bring you the same joy reading it as it brought me writing it 🧡

my next fic is a danny one that im excited about so look out for that!

#ssprayberrythings x formula one #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 smau #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri smau #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri #oscar piastri fanfic #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 #formula one #op81 imagine #op81 x reader #op81 #mclaren f1 #mclaren

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ebsmind · 1 year ago

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𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐭 ❀ tom blyth x singer!reader

summary : just a little sneak peek of what y/n and tom’s relationship is like

warnings : none! this is straight up fluffy

a/n : i think im making this into a series?? like having everything with olivia rodrigo as a fc being related to a taylor swift song? im not sure but i listened to sweet nothing and i just HAD to write something about it 😼

tomblyth happiest of birthdays to the love of my life ❤️

tagged : @/ynuser

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ynuser you made my birthday 1000000% better 🫶🏼i love you so much

↳ tomblyth forever & always

user1 SHUT THE FUCK UP I CANNOT DO THIS TODAYYYYY

user2 mom and dad 🥺

user3 he’s so in love with her i need what they have

rachelzegler y’all he wrote a poem for her and she SOBBED

↳ ynuser PLSSSSS WHY DID YOU HAVE TO TELL THE INTERNET THIS

user4 he wrote a POEM for her??? i cannot

user5 @/tomblyth you might as well go and propose now

↳ rachelzegler nah fr i’m waiting for the answer to this question

user6 rachel zegler confirmed as #1 y/n and tom shipper

user7 he’s so soft for her i’m gonna cry

ynuser added to their story!

ynuser bejeweled as f*ck for my birthday

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tomblyth woah that’s my girlfriend

❤️ by creator

rachelzegler HAPPY B DAY TO MY MOTHER

joshandresrivera happy birthday queen ✌🏼

↳ rachelzegler i made him say queen 😽

❤️ by creator

jennaortega happy birthday to the prettiest girl alive

baileybass happiest of birthdays to my bestie!!! 💗

hunterschafer happy birthday pretty girl!! 🫶🏻

ynuser birthday shenanigans (ft the poem)

tagged :@/tomblyth

tomblyth i slayed is what rachel would say

↳ ynuser slayed the house down houston i’m deceased

user1 tom is so funny i can’t

user2 they’re so sweet to each other

user3 parents fr

rachelzegler hey i wrote her a very long paragraph for her birthday and i didn’t get posted ☹️

↳ ynuser sorry pookie let me post you rn

user4 thx for that pic of tom y/n im going to be stealing it now

↳ ynuser 😉

#tom blyth #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth x you #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow imagine #social media #social media au #ebs writes things!#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas

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groovygladiatorsheep · 1 year ago

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Hi ! This is a drawing I meant to post yesterday.

Have some very happy kid Dream n Nightmare <3

I wanted to say a few thing because well, the situation that prompted my drawing and those of the others very much disgusted me.

To all of the trans people in the utmv community that were fan of that person or/and looked up to her, I just want to say : don’t listen to transphobes and dickheads stuck in their own belief !

Im nonbinary myself. For a while I thought I was genderfluid, I’m still not sure.

Identity takes times to build, you grow with it, and I just want to say trans people are fucking slaying all day. Wonderful. Awesome and amazing !! And I love you. Take care !

I’m sending lots of love, I know it’s not easy at times but we’re doing great actually.

Transphobes can go out of the window because they don’t get to be in a community made a lot thanks to trans people and lgbt folks.

And to two very dear person to me, you two are very handsome and I love you so so much, you’re both soooo wonderful and I’m beating up anyone insulting y’all in any way.

( Trans men are men !! Trans woman are woman !! That’s what I wanted to say DGDGDGD )

#mdraw #dreamtale nightmare #dreamtale dream #🏳️‍⚧️#ily 🫶🏻#🩷🩵🤍🩵🩷#ecto body #hehehehe !!!#utmv au #utmv fanart

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1moreoffkeyanthem · 7 months ago

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i know you’ve done a couple lists before but do you have anymore fic recs? everything you rec always hits so hard 🙏

Of course!!!! Stylibrarian in the house my dude! Granted I’ve been a little off my reading game the past month or so but I’ll try to recommend some that I haven’t recced before!

Is It You Or The Food I’m Allergic To? by Meepleep DUDE not only is this an adorable style getting together type fic, but it is HYSTERICAL OK?!? Cartman shenanigans, m4 slay, poor Stan being put through the wringer, just phenomenal.

Alter Ego by butterstotchcandy y’all like TFBW AU’s? Amnesia? Mystery? Teamwork? Regaining your forgotten powers? This one EATS

Stan Marsh and the Lost Lyre by AlottoDix bro SOUTH. PARK. PERCY. JACKSON. AU. and it’s WONDERFUL the humor is unmatched and as a huge Riordanverse fan too I was FERAL FROM THE VERY BEGINNING YALL PLEASE READ IT IM BEGGING!!!

snow (hey oh) by aerabit just a REALLY sweet style oneshot they’re so wholesome aaaaaa

To Overindulge by dvixiecups ENJOYERS OF VAMPIRE KYLE THIS IS FOR YOU!!! And it’s sooooo hot too; their whole vamp Kyle series kicks ass!!!

Last Night On Earth by enirojram y’all want some Kenjorine angst?!? KENNY IMMORTALITY ANGST?!? Bruh.

Where My Armoir Ends by OrcaTimes ok HUGE warning for subject matter definitely read the tags but it is INCREDIBLY written and handles the topic of the human trafficking epidemic with care. Really heartbreaking story but I promise it doesn’t end in tragedy! I may need to do a reread of this one tbh I remember being blown away by how good it is.

Drop Me Down And Don’t Let Go by courtanie I shit you not this is the best if you want stylenny smut and a really great balance of their throuple dynamic! It’s a super fun read and the characterization is GREAT and the focus on safety in bedroom roleplay and bondage is really well done!

Remplir Sa Bouche by asteria7 OK LOOK I KNOW IVE RECOMMENDED THE WORKS OF ALL THE HOMIES CONSTANTLY BUT THIS!!! Genuinely so fucking hot and that’s all I’m saying.

Aight man that’s what I got right now, thank you for the ask and HAPPY READING!!!

#south park #asks #PCE answers things #fic recs #style #stylenny

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folklore-girl · 1 year ago

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Thanksgiving is coming tomorrow!

Do you celebrate it? Sometimes gratitude or giving thanks to things may come off as a big and somewhat unpleasant word. It may feel as if you are forced to acknowledge something that you already love, and that kills all the joy in this type of self-care, isn’t it?

That’s why instead of asking myself “what am I most grateful for?” I instead say “what makes me the most happy?” it’s definitely okay to not come up with things that makes you happy at first, it happens to me too! But maybe you can start with something easy…like cats?

So, would you want to make a list (even one thing is enough) of stuff that makes you happy? And you can even explain why if you want to!

—Self-care anon

TYSM FOR THIS ASK ILY ANON <33

also it’s going to be loong list so better be ready ml 😋.

MY MUTUALS. yes meri jaans <33 on the top of the list cause ILYSM 💗 tagging y’all bc i want to be extra annoying today; @cutely-voiz @trashmeowcan @tiredandcaffeinated @moonartemisandstar @born-to-be-suburban-legends @girlatreus + anyone else i forgot T-T literally ahd so many ppl in mind now i can’t remember anyone

ANYTHING RELATING WITH BOOKS. the books i’ve read, the books i want to write, all these THEY MAKE ME HAPPY AND IM SO GRATEFUL.

MUSIC. fav artists like taylor swift, olivia rodrigo, harry styles, and so many more. got me thru 2023 and that’s so slay of them 🛐

FOOD. sweets, mostly. warna aajkal toh bhook hi mar gyi hai

lmao turns out it wasn’t that long after all 🤡

#anon <3 #. ༉‧₊˚ — her mail !

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spextronaut · 2 years ago

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My thoughts on this week’s episode of Mando:

I’m actually writing this bit right here 2 hours before the episode is even out bUT I had to share my idea of, with Din and Bo Katan not getting along very well currently, I would LOVE if they fought (maybe in this episode or the next one?) and Din ended up winning back the Darksaber??? And if it was in front of a bunch of other Mandos and they immediately accept him as Manda’lor unlike how they are with Bo Katan???? I’d scream I really hope that this is where the show is going and if it’s not y’all can bet your asses that I will write fix-it canon divergent fanfic for this concept

It’s episode time I am begging this episode to be good or have Din take off his helmet or Something worth my fucking time

Once again begging the show to do something interesting with the plot and have Din and Bo Katan fight or have Bo Katan lose the saber or Something just to make it fun

Oh god dammit are you seriously making me go back to episode 3 levels of shit?? I hated that plot I just want Din this is bullshit

Wowww it’s so shocking that she’s Imperial 🙄

<Din Djarin33

As someone who has never seen a piece of Star Wars media unconnected to Mando I have no fucking idea what’s happening rn

I want Darth Maul to be here purely because I like the look I have no clue if he’s alive or not

Y’all lost the civil war against the Republic for a reason,,,

The Shadow Council? Are you fucking serious??

Project Necromancer. Are you fucking serious

I’m under the belief, with no prior knowledge, that Anakin Skywalker was the only thing holding the Empire together smh

We aren’t gonna kill the Mandos thank you that’s illegal <3

Ngl I think the only reason Moff Gideon is really “worried” about the Mandos is because he wants a rematch against Din bc he’s pissy about losing the Darksaber last season

GROGU IS SITTING IN BO KATAN’S LAP!!! AUNT BO KATAN FR FR

IG-11????? WITH AN ANZELLAN???

Grogu sitting on the table I’m gonna start crying fuck

Bad baby is back!!

oh my fucking god he’s in the robot I’m gonna cry look at this motherfucker. he is so fucking <333

ASSISTED SPEECH TECH!!!! OMFG AUTISM GROGU REAL!!!! HE IS SO!!!!!

HES SO HAPPY IM GONNA CRY <333333

IM CRYING HE IS SO FUCKING <33333

Din is in his extra tired dad arc I fucking love it here

Of course Din and Grogu will volunteer and people will only follow! If Din and Grogu are there! Because DIN IS BETTER AT LEADING PEOPLE THAN BO KATAN AND I WILL FIGHT ALL YALL ON THIS

The Armorer is so fucking suspicious I won’t lie

I’m claiming Grogu as disabled bc like. Mobility device. Speech aid. I can’t be fought about this

Now what in the fuck is that thing

Bo Katan this is why you shouldn’t be any kind of leader you trust people way way way too easily

What in the fucking cult

This. Is why. We. Lie. Shut the FUCK up Bo Katan you’re fucking yourself over (and thus making Din look like a better leader but yk,,,)

“And then he betrayed me” BO KATAN. HE IS IMPERIAL. YOU CANT TRUST IMPERIALS YOU KNOW BETTER

once again I am saying Din is a better leader because HE beat Moff Gideon, Bo Katan didn’t and SHE DIDNT EVEN BEAT DIN TO GET THE SABER BACK HRHRHRGE

I’m begging this doesn’t turn to romance please god please do not do this I am begging I’m about to start crying do not. Don’t do this to me

DIN. DIN LEADER ARC. PLEASEEEE GOD I AM FUCKING BEGGINGGG

don’t do this. don’t do this im panicking Din shut the fuck UP I hate THIS FUCKING SHOW

I know Din is a follower not a leader but HE DESERVES A LEADER ARC PLEASEEEE WHY IS THIS SHOW LIKE THIS 😭😭

… space chess?

Oh Jesus Christ… Din? Din can you stop this? I want a leader arc god I’m BEGGING

“Can I step in?” BO KATAN STOP HOLDING HIM BACK FROM HIS LEADER ARC YOU BITCH

GROGU SLAY!!!!!! I love him so much omfg he <3333

stop. stop. shut the fuck up “he didn’t learn that from me” YES HE DID HOE STFU

no one hates Star Wars more than Star Wars fans smh

WHAT IN THE FUCK IS THAT THING

IS THAT A FUCKING DRAGON????????? FUCK HEAH???? FUCK THE MANDALORIANS GIVE ME DRAGON

“You good?” IM SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP HE IS SUCH A FUCKING DAD

Oh Jesus Christ what is that

Imperial Mandos LIKE I FUCKIN SAID

begging this to be the reason that Din gets a leader arc or a helmet removal im fucking begging

Grogu I- 😭😭

OH HELL

Din is slaying he’s in there by himself but he is slaying SO FUCKING HARD I LOVE HIM

are you fucking serious he’s in a goddamn Mando suit

Din is in his bdsm arc did not expect that today

Fuck you Moff Gideon also Din doesn’t have the Darksaber so,,,, honestly thank god he gave it to Bo Katan like fuck yeah dude

RAHHH NOO DONT KILL THE MANDOS

helmetless din. I’m begging. please god give me something

If Paz dies I’m rioting smh

PAZ YOU BITCH HOW DARE YOU YOU HAVE A SON IM RIOTING IM DISOWNING THE SHOW FANFICTION HERE I FUCKING COME

WHAT IN FHE ACTUAL FUCKING FUCK IS THAT

FANFIC HERE I COME FUCK THIS SHOW FUCK IT SO MUCH

I hate that. Grogu was the best part I literally don’t remember anything better happening I’m so fucking disappointed

I’m thankful that they aren’t forcing a romance on us (so far) and it’s not Awful and I’m excited for the almost definitely whole episode helmetless babygirlified Din next week but Jesus Christ that was just. It was awful it was bad

I give it like a 5/10 because it was fine with some good scenes but just. It was bad. I fucking hate this episode and i can’t even explain why like I could previously it just,,, idk it’s bad I don’t like it

Y’all can expect me promoting some fanfiction sometime soon because I’m gonna start a fix-it rewrite starting from episode 6 of TBoBF and reshape the end of that and this season into what I genuinely think would be better

And if you love this season good for you, seriously! I wish I could, but with the foreshadowing from last season and especially the last 2-3 episodes? You can’t even compare them and season 2 was a step down from season 1 it’s just… it’s not comparable and I’m really upset about it

My point still stands about the whole “if the season finale doesn’t get better I won’t come back for season 4” btw I just can’t handle the disappointment over and over again. But if tumblr shows me some really good shit then I might come back for a couple episodes

Overall I’m just disappointed and I really wish that they had writers that genuinely care about the story they were setting up instead of caring about setting up spin offs and selling merchandise but what can I really expect from Disney?

#spencer rambles #the mandalorion spoilers #mandalorian spoilers #the mandalorian #din djarin #the mandalorian season 3 spoilers #the mandalorian s3 ep7 #the mandalorian season 3 episode 7 #the mandalorian chapter 23

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kurulover · 11 months ago

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it’s kind of strange being mutuals with so many people who love slay the princess when im really just here for scarlet hollow because im like. I mean I’m happy for y’all. go get that horror. ill just be waiting here

#im not salty genuinely. also I’m sure slay the princess is amazing but I can’t play it because it makes me too angry dhskshdhd

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atlafan · 1 year ago

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my thoughts on part 9😎 - first off, 10/10 duo costume & then her spider web costume WOW and Harry’s brain short circuited with her in it 😏 so glad they’re officially moved in together too & how seamless it went, can’t wait for the next step in their life 🤭 im happy hes perusing a Pilates certification too, SLAY Harry, theyre both such hard workers & that 👊🏻⚫️ was SO FUCKING HOT, like can I be Layna & have my own NC Harry 🥵🥵 I also think I am also the #1 second chances supporter!!!!!!!!

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS!!! I really wanted to talk about the 🤜🏻🤜🏻 because I wanted to make sure y’all liked it and thought it was realistic so now that I know y’all liked it I can have them do it again 😈😈😈

YAY SECOND CHANCES SUPREMACY!! I’m hoping to have time to look at where I left off tomorrow and get reacquainted with the story

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 1 year ago

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io 🥺🥺🥺🥺 …………

first of all im sorry its taken me a bit to get to this!!! usually when i get tags and comments that are so thoughtful i just let them marinate for a while so can gather my thoughts psjidkdj 😭😭 but i NEED u to know how much this means to me!!!

like. gosh. i cant tell u how emotional i got reading this?? u r so so kind and sweet and im just soooo happy u enjoyed it …. AND UR SONG IOOOO i already gushed abt it a lot but im still so floored like . i cant praise it enough. i cant praise YOU enough. i was kicking my feet holdinh my head in my hands i was so excited PDVDNBD

anyway!!! im just gonna pick out a couple of ur comments and respond to them but i need u to know that literally every single thing u said made me sniffle im just so touched :’3 instantly went to my motivational folder hehe im gonna read em over and over again when i need a pick me up!!

i think this is the most beautiful way i’ve seen his eyes described to date.

^ THIS IS SOSO KINDDDD i rlly wanted to depict his eyes in like . the most breathtaking glow-in-the-dark kinda way ever psjdkjd im so happy u thought it was beautiful <33

jesus christ. like atp i was nervous i’d just be quoting your entire fic back to you. i couldn’t believe i had just read this. like. i’m not trying to gas you but i think if you ever write an anthology of poems i’d be first in line to buy???

^ IOOOO 😭😭😭 u r way too sweet im sobbing. im soooooosososo flattered n touched by how much u liked the writing???? to me the biggest compliment ever is when ppl call it ”poetic” so im just . sitting here giggling and smiling LMAO im overjoyed !!

can you tell i’m obsessed with the imagery of the apricot blossoms. it HIT every single time.

^ AND THISSSSS IM SOO HAPPY U NOTICED IT i think ur the first person to point it out!!! i looovvee apricot blossoms idk why i just love them and i think i associate them a lot w satoru too!!

almost lost my cool here. almost got very very very fucking feral. his knight in all reality, her knight in his eyes fr.

^ THISSSS THIS THIS U GET IT prince!gojo is literally so devoted so obsessed so in love that he comes off as the knight and reader is just . 🧍 like KNOW UR PLACE SMH (i think their mutual devotion is just sooo sweet though i got so excited when u pointed it out)

i really puffed out my chest when i read this. immediately though to myself. “i’m NOT little no more” 😤

^ STOP UR SO CUTE no bc i think that would make him tease u more 😭😭 hes sooo infuriating. ”little knight” this ”little knight” that he thinks its a petname LMAO

READY TO FLING MYSELF INTO A VAT OF MY OWN ADORATION FOR HIM OH MY GOD I WOULD DO ANYTHING FOR HIM. SLAY ALL HIS ENEMIES. RETRACT EXISTENCES JUST TO AVENGE HIM. COAT MY HANDS IN THE BLOOD OF THOSE WHO CROSS HIM AND PAINT MY SWORD IN MY DEFENSE OF HIS HONOR. Y’ALL ARE NOT SEEING ME IF I’M HIS KNIGHT. 🤺🤺🤺

^ SOOOOO REAL SO TRUE IM NODDING IN AGREEMENT…… i would literally lay my life down for him fr

WHO IS THE KNIGHT SIR IS IT YOU OR ME. WE SIT ON A HILL MADE OF OUR SIGHS N THE DEVOTION WE TRADE BETWEEN BREATHS FEELS LIKE A KISS! YOUR HONOR I LOVE HIM SO MUCH. I’D OBLITERATE EVERYTHING IN ALL BRUTALITY JUST TO STRETCH THE LENGTH OF HIS SOFTNESS FURTHER YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND!!!!!

^ ”we sit on a hill made of our sighs n the devotion we trade between breaths feels like a kiss” IO???? dont drop bangers like this in my rbs i fell to my KNEES…. no bc ur so right!! one is a knight and one is a prince but when theyre alone like that theyre just the same yknow?? both soo devoted and sappy and soft :<

I’M SUPER SHY SUPER SHY BUT WAIT A MINUTE WHILE K MAKE YOU MINEEEEE! 😭🤚🏾 my god i got butterflies. i felt soooo shy. i pulled my blanket up over half my face dear god i’m so in love with him. dizzy. drunk on fondness. drowning in it. 😭😭😭

^ I WAS SOO HAPPY TO READ THIS PSJFJS i was reeaaallyyy hoping that line would hit a lil bit….. i giggled a little writing it LMAO hes just the softest man in the world 🥺🥺 its so natural to him too!!

AAAA AND UR TAGS IO 💔💔💔 theyre ALL so sweet and funny i cant tell u how happy i am that u enjoyed it 🥺🥺 like REALLY this made my whole week. ur so so KIND i dont even know what to say …….. i know ive mentioned this before but i really do love ur writing sooo much and i think its so poetic and pretty!!! so it means sm coming from u <333

i wanna say more but this is already long wahh ;;; i just appreciate u so much!! tysm for reading and taking the time to write this all out <333

how deep is your devotion? ; satoru gojo

synopsis; you’re his knight, and he’s your prince. if only it were that simple.

word count; 6.6k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, royalty au (..but no effort put into making it historically accurate in any way oops), knight!reader x prince!toru!!, childhood friends, mutual pining, fluffy overall, some hurt/comfort too, vague allusions to abuse (reader is punished by one of the castle maids as a child but it’s only really hinted at), knight!reader is horrendously devoted but prince!gojo is arguably worse, he would burn the world down if u asked nicely <3

a/n; big big BIG thank u to @softgirlgonehaywire for having the biggest brain in the world and infecting me w this concept <33 if u pay attention while reading u can tell the exact moment i started slowly spiraling into insanity

you are five years old when you meet the prince.

five years old, a mere child, and too young to be blinded by such brilliance. too young to be where you are; curled up in a dark alley, back against a grimy brick wall, covered in bruises. like a beaten dog — scrawny and afraid. waiting for a strike that never comes.

the boy in front of you is also five years old, but you don’t know that. something in him looks older, somehow, something in the way he carries himself. like he doesn’t have anything to be afraid of. like he’s never even felt fear. he parts his lips and speaks like he has the right to, like he’s comfortable in his own skin, a radiance so blinding you could mistake him for the sun. too much for you to bear.

”does it hurt?”

the words fall on deaf ears. but you flinch, your body reacts, a tremble down your tiny spine. you hear the sound but not the words. too mesmerized, too paralyzed, unable to look away from the blue of his eyes, painted with rich watercolour hues. seeping into the world around you like ink on paper, cobalt and aquamarine and something else, something you’ve never seen before —

a blue so jarring it makes you shiver.

the boy has an innocent face. almost girlish, plump cheeks and long lashes, clean clothes and smooth skin. a little too pretty to be out here, you think, in this part of town — too pure to be anywhere near someone like you. he’s above you, that much you can tell. a pretty, innocent face, untouched by dirt or ache; the face of royalty. an entirely different species.

there’s something keen in his eyes, a contrast to his childlike features. a sharp gaze, something that sees through you, something that won’t look away. something mildly frightening. enough to have you cowering in fear, hugging your knees closer to your chest.

but then he smiles. and it’s sincere. sweet, vibrant, all honey and milk and a world you cannot reach.

a smile so captivating you take his outstretched hand, and let him drag you away to god-knows-where.

(that's how it begins. the dynamic that’ll follow you into your adult lives; satoru takes the lead, and you follow. no matter where he’s going.)

satoru gojo, as you soon come to learn, is the prince of the nation you reside in. the only child of the royal family, born with talent and prestige, fame and fortune, set to become king. a different species, indeed.

but he brings you home with him, to a castle so grand you feel as if your very presence is an insult to the architects who designed it, and convinces his parents to let you stay. it’s surprising, but you don’t protest; following him like a puppy at his trail. and he’s stubborn, insistent, demanding that he get to keep said puppy.

the king and queen don’t care one way or another. they glance at you with apathy, and tell satoru to do what he wants — but convincing the scary and displeased castle maids takes some work.

satoru doesn’t waver, though. he holds your hand in his, and demands that you be treated with respect.

and he wins. he always wins.

that’s how you become the prince’s playmate. raised alongside him, allowed to stay close, eat from the same food. he won’t settle for anything less. defending your honour, always, before you even know what honour means. before you care.

time passes slowly. joyously. every day is a new adventure, as you attempt to get used to the miracle that is your new life — sweet and silky, apricot blossoms and fresh peaches, duvet pillows and a bubbly laughter you didn’t know you still had. he coaxes it out of you, with every secret midnight outing, every bout of mischief he drags you both into.

satoru has nice hands, uncalloused palms, fingers that grasp yours and don’t let go. he takes you outside, to see the stars, to catch fireflies in the dark of night on top of the hill that oversees the castle. to take a dip in the river just below it, gleaming a silver hue under the blue shade of the moon. you worry about getting in trouble, but he reassures you — the prince can do what he wants.

that might be true, but you are no prince. not even close. satoru may safeguard you, but all you’ll ever be in the eyes of the world is a stray he got to keep.

and one time, only one time, you do face the repercussions of your midnight outings. you, and you alone. a bad influence — seething words, buzzing in your ears. an angry castle maid, and a stinging pain in your cheek. blurry tears.

but that’s an incident no one in the castle dares to speak of.

(you’ll never forget that look in his eyes.)

satoru is an odd boy. he keeps you close, always, clinging to you like he needs you to breathe. you don’t understand why, but you’ve learned not to question him. the castle guards all know you as the prince’s best friend, and some part of you knows that’s all you’ll ever amount to. but you don’t mind.

because you love him. at five years old, six years old, seven and beyond, you love him. satoru gojo, the kindest boy in the stratosphere.

a boy who keeps finding you, no matter where you are, who tugs you along as naturally as the rise of the sun. who raids kitchen cabinets with you and always makes you laugh, little giggles and chuckles that have him beaming proudly. a boy who cleans your wounds with a serious expression, and tells you that he’ll protect you forever.

(you tell yourself the same. that you’ll protect him forever and ever, until you run out of air to breathe. a boy so sweet you’d die for him.)

a pledge is made. you make it before you know what a pledge is. pledging to protect him, to become his sword, because even as a child you understand that his life will be difficult. you see it in the dullness that sometimes comes over his eyes, the apathy of his so-called parents, the hours he spends locked up with nothing but a pile of dusty books to keep him company.

so you decide to become his knight. his, and his alone.

it’s challenging. but you push through; training with another aspiring knight, miles better than you, black hair tousled by the breeze as he knocks you off your feet for the thirtieth consecutive time. wincing as the girl who sometimes watches your sparring patches you up, soft hands cleaning your wounds so tenderly that you almost choke up.

and eventually, as the apricot blossoms of the castle orchard wilt and bloom over and over in a flurry of pure white, your dream comes true.

there’s something playful in satoru’s eyes, when he places his blade on the curve of your shoulder. something sweet and fond, and just a little bit ironic — as if you’re still seven years old, and playing house.

you want to tell him that it isn’t a joke. that you’re serious, about this, that you’d tear your stomach open to keep him safe. but you know he’d just laugh. so you let the words clog up your throat, honey-sweet devotion sticking to the walls of your esophagus. breathing in through your nose, as he speaks. as the words you’ve waited to hear flow from his glossy lips.

when all is said and done, satoru smiles. he calls you his little knight, and you can tell that he’s teasing you. indulging you, as if he’s in on some joke that you aren’t. but you’ll take what you can get.

you call him my prince, expecting him to laugh it off, but his smile begins to fall. and a pang of ache rushes through your soul, instantaneous, guilty, although you don’t understand why.

so you keep calling him satoru. even though it’s more than a little unprofessional, and you become painfully accustomed to receiving a few judgemental looks here and there. a knight and a prince shouldn’t be so very close, they think, and you don’t disagree. but there’s nothing they can do about it, anyhow.

the prince and his knight can do what they want.

not much changes. you’re his knight, but he treats you the same as before. he’s playful, a little goofy, and you indulge him. as always. attached at the hip, bickering and bantering, bouncing off each other effortlessly. and satoru never bothers to hide your history, the soft spot he has for you; it’s in every fleeting glance, soft tilt of his head, teasing call of ah, there’s my favorite knight.

(you’re no stranger to jealous looks. sometimes a pout on the lips of a pretty girl, a crease between the brows of one of your fellow knights. and sometimes a glare, from his fiancée — a woman he was engaged to before he was old enough to speak.

but you don’t mind. you’ve never cared what anyone but satoru thinks of you.)

satoru never loses his smile, that effortless air of confidence. the charm that makes people want to follow him, a charisma you know well. one you fell victim to at five years of age. he’s still just a prince, far from being a king, but he receives the same respect.

and that keen, sharp glimmer in his eyes never quite goes away; the hardened shell around his heart unbroken. you see it in fleeting glances, during meetings, ones he allows you to attend despite your status. when he speaks to a room of people with more power than you can imagine, his voice unwavering. back straight. elegant, serious, the presence of royalty — enough to receive respect without even trying.

but he still shoots you a smile, easygoing, when your eyes meet. one only you can see.

as for you, the step into knighthood is a clumsy one. but you take your duties seriously, and adjust properly. a deep devotion runs through your veins, from your beating heart down to the tips of your fingers, where a sword lies clutched. you keep it close, always, ready to serve. to obey. to protect.

all of it for one person.

all you do is for him. duels in his honour, beasts slain for his peace of mind, and he’s always there to welcome you back. wiping the blood from your cheek, tenderly, smearing his untainted skin with red; all while he looks at you softly, a coo or word of praise waltzing on the tip of his tongue.

that’s only for when you remain unscathed, though, when the blood on your cheek isn’t your own. when you get hurt, it’s different — something begins to brew inside his eyes, and you can’t tell what it is. but he insists on bandaging you himself, paying no mind to your meek protests.

sometimes, you’re more reckless than usual. your injuries worse. sometimes he looks upset, angry with you, and doesn’t speak. you don’t, either.

a strange look comes over his eyes, every now and then. when you get down on one knee, to kiss his hand, the metal of the ring on his finger — and if you look up, you’ll see it. simmering inside those blue depths, something just as fond as it is sad. troubled, you think.

(something tells you he’d kneel, too, if only you’d let him.)

the bond between you remains intact. even as you begin to shoulder more responsibilities, more duties, even though you don’t have as much freedom as you used to. even though you seem to get less time to spend with each other every single day. but you stay together, even so; just like when you were children, running around and causing trouble, more than you could get away with now.

despite everything, satoru has grown up into a fine man. and you couldn't be prouder.

“do you think i look good in black? be honest.”

you throw him a glance. curious, somewhat perplexed, eyeing him up and down.

satoru is wearing a white blouse, puffy sleeves and a low neckline, showing off the skin of his bare chest. no black colours to be seen. you think back to that banquet he attended last month, forced into an expensively tailored black coat. a corset around his waist. and then you hum.

“sure you do.”

”suguru said it makes me look like a try-hard,” he scoffs, crossing his arms. tilting his head in your direction. ”do you think he’s jealous?”

”definitely.”

a moment passes.

satoru narrow his eyes, and gives you a dubious look. clicking his tongue. ”… something tells me you aren’t taking this seriously.”

”i am,” you assure him, a lazy smile at your lips. meeting his gaze, that displeased little pout. still smoothing a brush down the mane of your horse, the smell of hay soothing your muddled senses. ”just tired. you look good in anything. you know that.”

he hums. silent, the sound of a spring breeze filling in the gaps.

it’s late. outside the stables, the world is engulfed by a dark sky, almost too murky to see anything. hazy stars glimmer in the distance, and a sense of fatigue gnaws at your bones. it’s been a long day, and yet you’re here — doing even more work. just a little more.

and satoru’s right there with you. even though he’s just sitting there, on the floor, not lifting a finger to help. not that he has to. insistent on spending some quality time with you, keeping you company. just talking and munching on the food he snuck in, bread and cheese and an expensive bottle of wine, that he leaves completely untouched. he tries to leave some of everything else for you, though. keyword being tries.

a sense of peace simmers in the air. palpable, almost enough to taste, as midnight air streams in from the opened doors, chilly and pleasant on your skin. ruffling the thin fabric of your clothing.

and it’s nice, you think, just to have satoru there — talking about this and that, complaining about all the annoying people he had to meet yesterday, yawning every now and then. nostalgic. like this, it almost feels like you're still kids. back when you spent every single hour of the day by each other’s side.

it’s been a long time since you got the chance to speak like this. satoru’s been busy, and so have you. more so than usual.

”are they running you ragged?” he suddenly asks, and you don’t realize you’ve spent the last minute staring into space. resuming your brushing, with steady hands, but turning your head to meet his gaze.

”need me to…” he makes a slicing motion with his hand, right over his throat. a glint of mischief in his eyes. ”handle it?”

and you scoff. amused, but answering him seriously; unsure if his question is all-together humorous, if it doesn’t carry a hint of something genuine too. ”of course not.”

there’s a weariness in the way you blink. the way you pet the animal in front of you, having finished getting the dirt and blood clots out of her mane. she lays down in her stall, and you smile. turning around to rest your back against the wooden border between you, a respite for your aching bones.

it gets just a little bit tiring, sometimes. fighting, patrolling, helping townsfolk. protecting the castle, making sure everything is in order. killing whatever needs to be killed. cleaning the stained silver of your sword.

but…

”it’s my duty,” you answer, seriously, and it comes out sounding like a vow. because it is.

you avoid his gaze, but you can feel it, as you pick up the wine bottle by your feet and pop the cork. soft moonlight flits in from the windows, illuminating the green glass. a chartreuse glow that reminds you of fireflies, shimmering in your grasp, and for some reason it soothes your heart.

satoru only hums, far from approving. popping a piece of cheese into his mouth.

after a brief pause, he continues. ”you don’t have to be so serious all the time, you know.” his voice comes out a little raspy. it’s got a certain tilt to it, one that means he wants you to take him seriously. ”not around me.”

you take a sip of the wine. expensive, blood red. it’s too sweet for your taste, heavy on your tongue.

”… i’m less serious with you than i am with others.”

satoru sits up a little straighter.

”yeah?” he grins, a kind of satisfaction blooming in his eyes. cerulean and sweet. almost smug, you think, like the cat that got the cream. ”that’s good. you really should loosen up, though.”

a glance. fleeting, just to see him — but he isn’t looking at you. he’s looking outside, through the opened window, at the sway of the apricot trees. white petals flitting in, landing by his feet. in his hair.

when his eyes meet yours, they’re smoothed over by that something you can never put your finger on. a blend between longing and fondness. crinkled at the edges.

”you’ve got a pretty smile,” he exhales. ”be a shame not to show it off.”

when you look at him, really look at him, you see it. that fatigue. it slips out when he talks to you, a sincere way of speaking that never quite allows him to hide his emotions. you hear the hint of a yawn, can practically feel the weight on his shoulders. the weight of an entire nation. a weight he was always bound to carry.

(you could never bring yourself to be even remotely alright with it.)

“have you been doing okay?” you ask, and satoru blinks. there’s a soft look in your eyes, as they trail over the contours of his face, his lashes catching the light of the stars. an innocent, pretty face. but he looks tired. frail. like he hasn’t been sleeping properly.

something rotten bubbles up inside your throat.

”they’re running you ragged, too,” you say, hand settling on your hip. where your sword usually is. unconsciously, on instinct — or maybe just to make him laugh. ”need me to step in?”

satoru chuckles. husky, mellow. dripping with soft amusement.

”settle down, little knight.”

a moment passes. silent. his eyes flutter shut, for a second, and a breath slips from his lips. almost a sigh. in the distance, you hear the quiet coo of an owl.

”of course,” he eventually answers, opening his eyes. and you think he looks a little resigned. but smiling. self-deprecating, you think, although he’d like you to assume otherwise. ”all of it is just preparation, anyhow.”

a flimsy smile, as he looks into your knowing eyes. ”it’s what i was born for, wasn’t it?”

you purse your lips.

“… i don’t think so.”

another chuckle. a little delighted, this time.

“yeah,” he cranes his neck, emitting a low groan. “me neither.” something sweet blossoms in his eyes, sweet like the crunch of the apple he bites into, juice dribbling down his chin. ”but it is what it is.”

a beat. you part your lips, trying to find the right words. ”tell me if there's anything i can do,” you settle on. the same words you always choose. ”anything at all.”

satoru smiles. “right.” his voice carries a teasing tilt; almost a purr. ”there’s nothing you wouldn't do for me, hm?”

“— there isn’t.” you smile. “nothing at all.”

he blinks. a little dazed, for a second, and you watch as his ears redden. slight, enough for you to notice, but gone before you can bring it up. a contemplation smooths over his features. and a pleasant breeze flits in, ruffling his hair, apricot petals kissing up his skin. he looks at the apple in his hands.

then he sighs. placing his palms on his knees, and rising to his feet. his arms twitch, muscular beneath the flimsy blouse, and you gulp. although you aren’t sure why.

“alright, then.” his eyes flicker in the dim light, sharp and decisive. he crosses over to you with long strides. “there is something you can do.”

when he’s close enough, satoru reaches out his hand; opening his palm. a silent beckoning. you look at him, not saying a word. his expression is unreadable.

then you intertwine your fingers with his. unquestioningly, even in the midst of your confusion.

(it reminds you of that day. when he pulled you up to your feet, held your hand in his and refused to let go. leading you to the promise of something better.)

no matter where he goes, you follow.

and satoru grins. it’s sweet, just like back then, a smile so vibrant you wish you could tuck it into your sleeve and keep it there forever. he curls his fingers around yours, gentle, fondness bubbling up inside his eyes. for a second, you think you see the sun.

“come with me.”

at first, you truly aren’t sure where he’s going to take you. hand in hand, you begin to walk, feeling the midnight breeze nip at your skin. beyond the castle walls, away from the hustle and bustle of the nearby town. satoru holds your hand and smiles, tousled tufts of white hair swaying with the wind, leading you to a place you know well. a place where the air tastes like freedom.

it’s the river you used to play by as children.

gleaming a solemn silver under the evanescent moon, framed by bushes of lilacs, blooming indigo and violet and pure white. butterflies flutter about, almost glittering, blue wings settling down on the leaves. the scent of nectar hangs heavy in the air. on top of the hill just above you, you think you can spot tiny little glowing dots; green and yellow, buzzing around. dancing merrily, now that there aren’t any troublemaker children left to trap them.

satoru lets go of your hand, to roll up his sleeves. the hems of his pants. then he’s taking a step forward, dangerously close to the edge of the river, and you can tell what he’s thinking.

“ah — wait —“ you stumble forward, to grab hold of his arm. a worried crease forms between your brows. “that's dangerous, satoru. you could slip and fall.”

he turns to face you, a teasing mirth in his eyes. smirking lightly. “oh? is that so?” he hums, a slight tilt of his head. then he’s stepping closer, so close you feel his warm breath on your skin, but you will yourself not to step back. “wanna know what i think?”

he leans forward, just a little further, warm air brushing against the shell of your ear. flushing beneath it. his voice comes out low, a sleepy lilt, dangerously raspy. hand ghosting over your waist.

”i think you’re too scared to get in.”

you blink.

”… really?” you deadpan, stepping back a tad. satoru looks pleased with himself. awfully amused.

“really,” he purrs. “you were always like that. could barely dip your toes in without shivering.” he reaches out to pinch your cheek, a coo on the tip of his tongue. ”scaredy-cat.”

you raise your brow. unimpressed.

satoru steps back. inching closer to the river, until a quiet splash tells you that he’s standing in the water. lapping up his bare legs, not enough to even reach his knees — it felt a lot scarier when you were smaller. he’s still holding your hand, very loosely, fingertips ghosting your own.

“c’mon,” he coaxes. soft, encouraging, a playful glimmer in his eyes. teeth catching the light of the moon. “or is it too much for my brave knight to handle?”

satoru laughs, when you furrow your brows, attempting to hide the flush of your cheeks. a warmth spreads through your chest at the term of endearment, and you bite your lip. melting a little.

his knight. his favourite knight.

“.. fine,” you tangle your fingers in his own. sighing deeply, taking a tentative step forward. “just be careful, okay? i don't want to deal with your whining if you hit your head.”

“ah, but you’d kiss it better, no? if i asked?” he flashes you a honeyed grin, eyes rich with amusement. you hope the darkness of the night is enough to hide the red of your ears.

a grumble buzzes in your throat, locked behind your pursed lips. something in your jaw goes tight.

the man in front of you softens. parting his glossy lips. he says your name; slowly, thoughtfully, as if savouring every syllable. dragging them out, speaking with a lilt that tells you he’s being sincere.

“— loosen up. it’s just you and me.”

so you do.

and it’s odd. how easy it is to get lost in him, the watercolour of his eyes, the brightness of his grin. how pliantly you let him whisk you away. before you know it, you’re playing in the water — because satoru splashed you, laughing at the shock on your face and the shiver of your spine, and you had no choice but to retaliate.

the sound of his laughter fills the air, sweet and bubbly. deep and giddy. strands of hair stick to his wet skin, droplets running down his neck, but his grin never falters. bright and toothy, boyish. he looks younger than you ever remember him being. like there’s no weight on his shoulders, none at all, only soaked fabric weighing him down. a flimsy, see-through blouse.

you think it’s ridiculous. two grown adults, splashing each other like children. but his melodic giggles are contagious, and before you know it, you’re laughing too — and satoru looks at you like you hung all the stars in the sky. through dewy eyelashes, with cerulean eyes that melt into the pale blue of the moon and the silver of the river. filled with wonder.

a particularly ruthless splash knocks him off balance, and he has the instinct to reach for your arm; stumbling, slipping, dragging you down with him. you land on his chest, cheek against his neck, his pulse against your skin. erratic, joyous. fluttering happily.

his chest is heaving. lifting you up and down, a little, rhythmic and comforting.

a sudden yelp slips past your lips, as you get snapped back into reality, into the realization that you basically just pushed your own prince into a river and used his unfairly soft chest as a cushion. a mumbled string of apologies escapes you, as you attempt to get up, scrambling to find footing.

but satoru wraps his arms around you. tucking you under his chin, keeping you flush against his chest. nice and still.

and then he sighs. a blissful little breath, fatigue seeping out of him. into the air.

“stay like this, for a bit,” he rasps. ”it’s okay.”

his heartbeat resounds in your ear. warm and rapid, like claps of thunder, coaxing you into closing your eyes. satoru has always felt so very safe. the water of the river is cold, seeping through the fabric of your clothing and sticking to your skin, but…

(he’s warm.)

silence. and then, a whisper; frail, slipping past his lips, gently slicing the silence in half. softer than you've ever heard him speak.

“i missed this.”

…

nuzzling into his neck, you breathe him in. he smells like sandalwood and dried roses, buzzing with warmth, heavy arms around your waist. solid. when did he get so big? you used to be taller.

then again — that was a long time ago, wasn’t it?

“… me too.”

“missed you,” he continues, his jaw on top of your head. it’s a sincere confession; childlike in its innocence. “missed hearing you laugh like that. feels like it’s been so long.”

you stay silent. unsure of what to say. satoru continues, and you let his husky voice carry you away, the tremor of his chest running through your entire body. soothing like a lullaby.

”we haven't had much time together, lately. i’ve been worried,” he admits, and something about it strikes you as rather sheepish. a little ashamed. ”it bothers me that i can't be there to watch over you. make sure you're treated with respect, you know.”

a sleepy chuckle. muffled into his shoulder, almost a scoff — slightly exasperated. little droplets cling to his skin, sticking to your lips.

”relax, your majesty,” you tease. ”i promise the other knights aren’t bullying me.”

satoru pouts. you can hear it, when he speaks. ”i’m serious,” he huffs, squeezing you lightly. ”and it’s not them i’m worried about. suguru’s there.”

another scoff threatens to escape your throat. you want to tell him the only knight that should be suspected of bullying you is suguru himself, but before you can even think to part your lips satoru’s beaten you to it.

”they all treat you so carelessly.” there’s something cold to his voice, an irritation tugging at his teeth. oddly seething. ”like you exist to serve them. like you’re disposable.”

a moment passes, heavy with a silence so thick you don’t dare break it. when he speaks again, it’s an order. a demand.

”i want you to tell me if they go too far.”

silence. again. you can do nothing but gnaw at the flesh of your bottom lip.

(he isn’t wrong. but that’s simply what it means to be a knight — half-human, half-weapon. an unattainable ideal, stuffed inside a suit of armor.

when a weapon breaks under the force of a slash, the only choice is to throw it away. that much you know.)

”it’s fine. i’m not that fragile,” you weakly protest, but it’s not enough. satoru huffs.

”you’re a human being,” he reminds you. strangely stern, for once. chastising. ”you deserve to be treated with respect. knight or not. fragile or not.”

a deep inhale. he breathes in, and the rise of his chest carries you with it. his voice buzzes with something, a slumbering kind of fury. one you haven’t heard in years.

“if anyone gives you trouble — if anyone hurts you… if anyone makes you feel unsafe,” he almost spits the words, like they’re venomous, sacrilegious. ”tell me. i’ll destroy them.”

silence. and then, a chuckle.

that’s all you can manage; that one meek little breath. resisting the urge to cower, at the love that clings to every word he speaks. angered affection. a promise, dangerously genuine, like a growing wildfire.

”i can take care of myself, satoru,” you remind him. hoping it’ll soothe him. ”you know that.”

but his grip around you only tightens. gentle, even still. as if you’re made of glass, a firefly cupped in his palms. he lets the silence linger, for a moment.

and then;

“i’d do it, you know.”

a questioning hum. “do what?” you ask, though some part of you already knows.

satoru’s reply is instantaneous. an arrow hitting its target, cold and concise, decisive. frighteningly honest. almost a growl, flattened, a hint of teeth behind his soft lips. ”destroy them. anyone.”

”i’d tear this nation apart if you asked me to.”

…

(ah. that look in his eyes — one you remember well. strung together with blurred memories, the sting of a palm on your cheek, a castle maid you never saw again.)

you search for the words. biting back a gulp, hesitant. “… i wouldn’t.”

“i know.” satoru yawns, breathing you in, voice shifting back into the softness you’re so used to. your shoulders relax. “but i would. if that’s what you wanted.”

and it’s a little scary, the depths of his devotion. but you’re almost certain you’d do the same for him. maybe you're both a little sick in the head, a little too eager to serve your hearts on a silver platter.

“it bothers me, you know.” satoru breaks you out of your thoughts. gentle, a soft lull of his tongue. ”when you get hurt. when you fight for me.”

“i know,” you murmur. you’ve seen it in his eyes, a worry he’s not as good at hiding as he thinks. ”i want to, though.”

“and i want you to be safe.” a chuckle bubbles up in his throat, just a little bit rueful. “you never listen, do you? so stubborn, i swear. always worrying me.”

you bite down on your lip. he sounds… a little sad.

“… sorry.”

a moment’s pause. then he shakes his head; cradling you close. “it’s fine. i’m here. always,” his palm runs down the small of your back. ”in case anything happens.”

he inhales. ”and when i become king —” a beat. he swallows thickly. ”you’ll never have to worry again. no one will be able to touch you.”

”satoru,” you crack a small smile. amused. raising a single eyebrow. ”i’m not worried. i can protect myself.”

”i know. but i’m saying you don’t have to.”

and then he’s pulling back. just a little bit, just enough to see you. cheek smushed against his chest, comfortable and soft, more unguarded than he’s seen you these past few months. it’s enough to get his heart racing.

enough to have him reaching out, fingertips ghosting over your hand, tangling your fingers together. bringing it to his glossy lips. a chaste kiss, brimming with unspoken murmurs of love.

”— i’ll protect you forever,” he vows. ”remember?”

there’s devotion in his eyes. heavy, a vow he’ll never quite be able to voice in full. something that makes the blue of his eyes glow even brighter, cerulean, aquamarine, a blue so jarring it makes your heart beat faster than it should.

you blink. starstruck, caught in a daze, lost within that sea of blue. distracted by his warm breath on your cold skin, the soft whisper voiced against your knuckle. something shy blossoms in your chest, enough to have you averting your gaze.

“... you really don’t care about the dynamic here, do you?” is all you can reply. a meek scoff, a weak attempt at hiding how flustered you are. “i’m the knight. i’m your protector.”

“oh, i know.” a smile sticks to his lips, playful, the back of his hand caressing your cheek. a coo on his tongue. “my little hero. what would i ever do without you?”

a roll of your eyes. satoru chuckles. in the distance, you hear crickets chirping, a breeze rustling the lilac bushes all around you. he’s still cradling your cheek, smoothing over your wet skin, brushing a drop of water away with his thumb. clinging to your bottom eyelash.

“i don't get it, though.”

you blink. when you meet his eyes, satoru looks a little perplexed. muttering under his breath, absently rubbing circles over your cheekbone. you resist the urge to close your eyes again, biting back a blissful sigh.

”a prince shouldn’t care for his knight…” he repeats, like he’s heard the string of words a million times before. ”the idea of that. i don’t understand it. never have.”

the smile that blossoms on his lips is soft, indescribably so, as if he’s looking at the most precious thing in his life. rich and warm, like wine in your veins, nectar on your tongue, a chest pressed against your own. dripping with fondness.

satoru tilts his head, as if in confusion — but he’s smiling. “what’s so strange about wanting to protect the one dearest to my heart?”

…

his hand slips from your skin, a warmth leaving your cheek. only to search for your hand, again, cradling it in his larger palm. placing it right over his chest, against the soaked material of his blouse. ”feel that?”

you do. a rhythmic rise and fall, a soft flutter from the depths of his ribcage. as if it’s itching to break out, out of the cage that binds it, the hardened shell around it. a heart too big for his body.

”it’s you,” satoru whispers. ”all for you.”

a moment passes.

silently, you lean forward; tucking yourself into his neck. into that comforting warmth, wet skin beginning to dry, the steady thrum of his heart right by your ear. you listen. not saying a word, afraid of what might leave the confines of your strangled throat. it feels as if your heart has begun to crawl upwards, sweet honey blocking your airways, and all you can do it feel it pulse.

all while satoru gazes at you, fondly. placing a big palm on the back of your head.

fireflies dance in the distance. butterflies flutter about. strings of lilacs bloom under the glow of the moon. and satoru’s heartbeat never changes, never falls out of tune, a sound you would recognize even if the sky were to shatter, if the world were to end. the sound that saved you, the boy who dragged you out of hell. into his light.

satoru gojo is everything. he’s the beat of your heart, the silver of your sword, the reason you believe in goodness. he’s your prince, your favorite person, and you’ll protect him until your very last breath. until the world runs out of oxygen.

a boy so sweet you’d die for him.

(a boy so sweet he wouldn’t want you to.)

a shiver runs down his spine — sudden, a shudder of his bones, and a quiet little sniffle. you feel it, hear it, and don’t attempt to bite back the fond smile that slips into the curve of your lips.

”c’mon,” you beckon, almost a coo, placing your palms on his chest to hoist yourself up. ”let’s go home.”

but satoru shakes his head. and then he traps you again, strong arms around your waist, pressing you against him. you could escape — you’re almost certain you’re stronger — but you don’t quite have the heart to. ”it’s fine,” he huffs. almost a whine. ”stay.”

”you’ll get sick.”

”i never get sick.”

a deep exhale. tumbling from your lips, just a little bit humorous. mostly exasperated. ”that can change,” you mumble, fingertips dancing along his exposed skin. absentmindedly.

a smile. one you can’t see, but you hear it clear as day. he sounds content, like he’s got everything he needs right in front of him. ”some things never change,” he informs you. pleased. ”just look at us.”

and he’s right. so you don’t say anything else.

but your heartbeat quickens, only for a beat or two, and you’re almost certain he feels it. if he does, he opts not to tease you for once, and you’re grateful. and so the silence lingers. as if time has begun to freeze, into an eternal dusk, a string of silent seconds. broken only by low melodic chirping from the faraway fields, his soft breaths in your ear.

until satoru suddenly chuckles.

“hey,” he hums, shifting a little, the river swaying around you. pulling back to meet your gaze, eyes crinkled and voice raspy. “wanna know a secret?”

you raise your head. a dubious look on your face, one that has him breathing out an amused puff of air, like you’re getting ready to hear a bad joke. “... what is it?”

before the words have fully left your throat, he’s resting his forehead against yours — breath fanning over your lips. a pleasant shiver trails down your spine, at the close proximity, goosebumps spreading across your chilled skin. only exacerbated by the whisper that follows, so quiet you almost don’t know if you heard him correctly. childlike in its sincerity. a sunlaced smile woven in between the vowels.

“i think i was born to meet you.”

(a sentiment so sweet you barely even feel the warmth of his lips meeting yours.)

#im kissing u softly on the forehead !!#u r sooo sweet reading this rlly had me smiling to myself and giggling psvdhsjdh 😭😭😭#TYSM <33333 #self rb!!

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im-not-a-joke · 2 years ago

Text

I’m giving you all more talia is a codename for noel stuff

because i’m sad and nischa makes me happy and y’all ate this shit up last time

cough heres the first part cough

okay 1) i’m so glad this fandom has collectively realized that catfish!noel is bad and 2) i perfectly timed that last post so go me

okay on to what you’re actually here for

- noel has to keep his phone on do not disturb during any class he has with another member of the choir

- one time, he forgets to turn do not disturb on before choir and his phone buzzes right as mischa sends him a text

- luckily the only one who noticed was ricky, who, to save their asses, turned on do not disturb

- mischa is awful at keeping secrets, the amount of time he goes “no- [ahem] talia-”

- the both of them feel bad for lying to their friends but uranium isn’t a great place to be out and gay

- ricky is a great cover man

- “hey, ricky, do mischa and noel seem weird today?” [in sign language] “that’s just how they are”

- noel’s mom also knows because mischa comes over after school pretty much every day

- they are so affectionate with each other and they hate that they have to put up barriers at school

- pretty much as soon as they walk into noel’s house until like 9 pm when mischa leaves, they are attached to each other

- mischa is touch starved fight me

- the two of them are constantly blowing up each other’s phones during the school day

- im talking paragraph after paragraph about random shit

- they also go back and forth telling each other how much they love each other

- noel locks his notifs so that you can’t see them from his lockscreen

- ocean and constance are known to steal noel’s phone for funsies and fill his camera roll and stalk his lockscreen notifs

- “noel why do you have so many locked texts :(” “why do you need to know”

- noel reads all his post-choir notifs from mischa on the way home, and will reply to them or make comments out loud to mischa

- penny clocks them as soon as she joins the choir

- she talks to ricky about it because he’s the most observant

- they have this whole convo in sign language

- “are they together?” “i’m not supposed to tell you” “so thats a yes?” “yeah don’t tell anyone though”

- ricky and penny like to roll their eyes at each other every time one of them catches mischa on his phone

- they’ll both go out of their way to ask mischa how “talia” is in front of noel because they think his little bi panic is funny

- “uhhh, [avoids eye contact with noel] she’s,,, doing well :)))”

- they’re so slay

#this close to making a general nischa hc post #i love this concept sm #nischa #nischa rtc #rtc #ride the cyclone #noel gruber #mischa bachinski #carson rambles #carsons hcs #hit tweet

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shi-hall · 3 years ago

Text

Instagram AU || Matt Sturniolo

Liked by christophersturniolo and others

yourinstagram Happy vibes only! @matthew.sturniolo

View all 984 comments

Matthew.sturniolo happy vibes only guys.

Yourinstagram That’s what I just said stupid.

Matthew.sturniolo Damn 😀

Christophersturniolo young love ig 🙄

Yourinstagram you guessed right son.

Nicolassturniolo slayy

Yourinstagram Slay 🤟

User hotties

User1 dream couple fr

Madifilipowicz my girlfriend

Yourinstagram madi is my gf

Matthew.sturniolo Girl -space- friend :)

User Marry me y/n

Nicolassturniolo Sorry she can’t she’s gonna be MY IN-LAW wether she likes it or not.

Yourinstagram I like it

Liked by Nicolassturniolo and others

Yourinstagram I say what I’m feeling -mad dog👹

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Madifilipowicz I SAY WHAT IM FEELIN’ 👹

Yourinstagram She gets it.

Matthew.sturniolo 😡🐶

Madifilipowicz Arff

Christophersturniolo Word

Nicholassturniolo 👹👹

User AWW

User12 Love this friendship tbh

Yourinstagram Me too!

User12 OMG HIII

User4 💀💀💀

Liked by Madifilipowicz and others

Sturniolo.triplets Happy Friday! New video out now

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Madifilipowicz okayy

Christophersturniolo 🥰🥰

User DINO Y/N!!!

Yourinstagram RAWRR

User AH HI

User406 Love y’all

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#sturniolo triplets #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #instagram au #couple #matt x reader

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eddiesghxst · 1 year ago

Text

AHHHH IM SO GLAD U ENJOYED IT!!!

yes reader is a slay pussy boss queen and we love to see it!! and i love writing little snippets of eddie’s soft spots bc i just gotta remind y’all he’s not ALL assholery😭 he’s got a little love in him just bear w him y’all i promise😭

IM SO HAPPY MY LIL SUMMARY PULLED U IN I GIGGLED WHEN I WROTE IT BC I JUST THINK IM FUNNY TEHE

THANK U LOVE, I HOPE U ENJOY THE NEXT PART AS WELL🫶

PRICE OF FAME (PART 1/?)

yes i have eighty different rockstar!eddie's now, pls don't look at me, i rewatched almost famous and had a moment, k bye, enjoy!

————

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: rockstar!eddie x journalist!reader

summary: you're a writer for rolling stone magazine and eddie hates the media so... he hates you

contains: enemies to lover trope, themes of sexism/misogyny, smoking, drug and alcohol use, sexual themes, and eddie being an asshole <3

word count: 4.5k

| next part | -masterlist- |

You love your job more than anything.

You love that it allows you to travel, that it’s centered around music, and that you get to meet people and make friends and do extravagant things you would’ve never imagined you’d be doing. You love your job.

“I love my job.” It’s starting to taste like a lie when it reaches your tongue.

You mutter it to yourself again, looking around the bright hallway and searching for any fucking door with the words ‘CORRODED COFFIN’ written on it.

You glance at the watch on your wrist, teeth digging into the soft skin of your cheek as you keep walking down the corridor.

You feel as if you’ve been walking down this hall for years, miles of white stone wall and shiny gray cement floors, equipment littered here and there with staff walking through doors and yelling commands.

You follow the echo of chatter and soft giggles, the sound getting closer and closer until a group of girls meets you. A red-headed girl lazily chews gum and stands against the wall, glaring at you from behind her blood-red shades. You take the chance to ask them your pressing question, “Do you know where I could find the dressing room for Corroded Coffin?” You ask.

The girls glare at you and giggle, eyeing you and, without a doubt judging your lack of fishnets and leather clothing. Brown leather boots, flared jeans, and a white long sleeve— you don’t belong here. “You a reporter or something?”

You look at the redheaded girl, pursing your lips and taking a steady breath, reaching up to grasp the strap of your crossbody bag. “I’m a writer for Rolling Stone Magazine,” you explain, ignoring the snickering girls on the side. You clench the leather band of your bag in your palm, “I’m doing a piece on the band.”

The girl silently studies you; a ghost of a smile passes her lips, “Rolling Stone Magazine?”

You shift on your feet, eyebrows furrowing, “Yeah um… they’re big on music and—“ “I know what Rolling Stone Magazine is.”

You love your job.

You steadily breathe, clenching your bag once again. Your feet ache in these boots, and your jeans are teetering on the cusp of too tight after you ate a quick dinner— you want to go home. “The boys won’t speak with Rolling Stone.”

It falls silent between the two of you, and you glance at the other three girls, huddled together and passing a joint. “They don’t like watered-down shitty tabloids like yours. They won’t want to see you.” The redhead explains, silently reaching over to accept her turn with the joint.

You watch as she brings the burning paper to her lips, taking a long drag and smirking at you. She expects you to take her word and leave, but you’ve dealt with enough people like her to know she’s bullshitting you.

“Could you please point me toward their dressing room?” You ask, reconstructing your previous question because you now understand that, without a doubt, these women know where the dressing room is.

She laughs and points across the hall, some feet from where you’re all standing. You can see the first few letters of the band's name from your angle, and you internally rejoice. You thank her and walk over to the door, mentally reviewing your introduction a few times before laying a few knocks on the heavy black door.

There’s no response for a moment, and you try not to let the snickering sound of the girls tick you off. You lift your hand to knock again, but the door swings open before you can do it. A tall, muscular man glares down at you, dressed in black with a scowl. He must be security.

“Hi, I’m a writer for—“ “Groupies aren’t coming in yet; wait out in the back.”

Your face twists in offense, glaring at the man as you, yet again, clench your fist in annoyance, “I’m not a fucking group—“ The door slams shut before you can finish your sentence.

“Fuckin’ asshole.” You mutter to yourself.

You love your job.

The girls snicker behind you, and you feel your face heat in embarrassment and annoyance. Why is nearly everybody in this industry just a bunch of assholes? You figure you’ll just have to wait for the band members to come out, leaning back to press your back against the wall and patiently wait.

From outside, you can hear the chaotic noise of yelling and loud banter from inside the room— the clatter of furniture breaking and thuds against the wall. You remember when behavior like this used to shock you, but artists seem to have reckless behavior nowadays.

The group of girls chatter amongst themselves, and you busy yourself with following the cracks in the floor. You stand there with aching feet and a mental ticking clock for what feels like hours, and you almost give up until the door flies open and three boys stumble out, reeking of alcohol and weed and musk.

You watch as they all brush past you, ignoring you for the group of girls standing across the hallway, cheering their names and draping their arms across their shoulders.

“And who might you be?”

You turn around at the gravelly voice, locking eyes with a glazed pool of brown. The last of the group, the fourth member— and, by what you can piece together given the notorious long dark brown locks dusting his shoulders, Eddie Munson. You clear your throat, stepping forward and telling him your name. You extend a hand for him to shake and ignore how his gaze rolls over every inch of your body.

“I’m a writer for Rolling Stone Magazine,” you explain, retracting your hand when he only glances at the kind gesture. He stands before you, an uninterested smirk dancing against his lips. He’s dressed in black jeans and black leather boots that look worn to hell despite his bottomless pit of a wallet. A black sheer button-down top, fully open to expose his sweat-glistened chest, shiny chains hanging from his neck and kissing his collarbones. His ringed fingers are wrapped around the neck of a half-empty bottle of whiskey, tiny sticky streams of spilled alcohol coating the bottle.

“I’m here to interview your band.” You add.

He laughs, spit-slick lips forming a mocking smile as he speaks, “My band?”

You blink, “Yes, you’re all a band, right?” You motion to the boys, still chatting with the girls across from where you stand, ignoring the sight of one of the members groping a girl as she giggles. “Heavy metal band, Corroded Coffin?”

Eddie snickers, “Yeah, toots, we’re a band,” he lifts the bottle to his lips, speaking over the rim, “But this isn’t my band.” He tips the drink back and gulps down the bitter drink.

You watch as he takes it down without a single twitch of displeasure. You take a deep breath, shifting on your feet as you ignore his smart response, “Okay, well, it won’t be long,” you try to reason, reaching for your bag to dig out your notepad.

“Just a few questions; I won’t take much of your time—” Eddie cuts you off with a wave of his hand, “Listen, princess,” he presses his hand against the wall beside you, using the hand wrapped around the whiskey to gesture as he speaks. “While I’d love to sit and chitchat like a couple of teenage girls, we’ve got two issues here, sweetheart.”

“One,” he raises his index finger, “We don’t do interviews before shows.” He explains as if it’s common knowledge. He lifts another finger, “And two,” he steps closer, a sickening grin spreading across his lips when you step back. “We want nothing to do with your shitty dick-sucking career-crushing poor excuse of a magazine.”

You stare at him, a million different responses churning in your head, and you so badly want to read him to filth, but you really fucking love your job.

“Mr. Munson, I promise you—” “Where are you from?”

What is it with these assholes and cutting you off mid-sentence?

You swallow your pride and answer, “Michigan.” Eddie hums, nodding his head, clicking his teeth as if tasting the state on his tongue. “I’ll tell you this, Michigan,” he bumps the bottle against your shoulder, and you grimace at the drop of liquor that seeps into your shirt. “We’re not doing your shitty piece of a story, but we’ll graciously give you a nice view of the show from the side stage.” He grins, patting your shoulder once and winking.

A staff member passes by you, alerting the band that they have less than a minute to be on stage. You open your mouth to object to his offer, but the boy is downing the rest of the bottle and shoving the bottle into your chest, “Enjoy the show, Michigan.”

You watch in disbelief as he walks off with his band members, the other members not even glancing your way as they holler and cheer down the corridor of the venue. For the 80th time tonight, you clutch the band of your bag and curse to yourself.

Fuckin’ dipshit rockstars.

Against your better judgment, you, again, swallow your pride and watch the show from the side of the stage. You decline any drinks offers, wanting to stay as sober as possible for the interview after the show (if you can weasel one out of them).

Corroded Coffin knows how to put on a show. Each band member works the crowd in ways you have rarely witnessed in this industry— it’s not difficult to see their appeal to the younger generation of music listeners.

None of the members outshine the other; they are all equally in the spotlight, playing their part to create a well-oiled machine of an act. Granted, most of the show is concerningly chaotic; Gareth kicked his foot into his drum set near the end, Jeff smashed the fret of his guitar over the side of an amp, Eddie made out with a fan and Gareth, and the other member you can’t seem to name for the life of you sprayed the front row with multiple bottles of liquor.

It’s chaotic, an endless list of violations without a doubt, but the fans eat it out of the palm of their hands.

You don’t even bother trying to get their attention when they run off the stage, quietly watching from afar as they’re cheered on by VIP fans, managers, and staff. Security rushes them to the green room, where a line of fans waits with various pieces of merchandise to be signed.

You follow, silently taking in the busy scene, saying nothing when you catch a few members stealthily swiping tiny bags of party favors from fans. It’s a movie of never-ending noise and movement, and you’re wondering how they put up with this every night.

You glance at your watch and grunt in annoyance, half past midnight, well past the time you’d hoped to be back in your hotel room.

You stand aside and watch the room as the squealing fans go to each boy, getting autographs and Polaroids to commemorate the moment. Gareth is a flirt, shakes every girl's hand and only lingers for the ones he fancies, gazes into their eyes like they’re the only girl in the room, and smirks when they giggle and lean into his touch. Tells them they’re pretty, compliments their dresses and tops, and gazes at their chest for too long until staff breaks the moment and tells the girls to ‘keep the line moving, ladies’.

Jeff is almost the same, except he’s less performative with it. He’s got a hint of a gentleman in him, thanks each fan for coming, and asks how they liked the show with a sneaky glint in his eyes and a sly smirk. Winks at one of the girls and leans in to whisper something in her ear, something you can’t read from his lips, but later on, you will see them step onto the tour bus together, snickering like sneaky teenagers.

The bass player, the one whose name always slips your mind, has gone off somewhere with a groupie; you watched them slip away from the madness the second he stepped off stage.

And Eddie— Eddie can’t stop glaring at you. Can’t stop looking at you and making you squirm because he wants you gone. He’s got an arm draped around a girl's shoulder, neck craned down to hear what she whispers, and through the chaos of the room and the pretty girl practically pawing at his chest and giggling in his ear, Eddie still manages to find the time to look at you. Curly bangs wet with sweat sticking to his forehead, cheeks rosy and flushed with adrenaline, wide eyes diminished beneath smudged black eyeliner. He looks like an animal, damp and matted, searing gaze dripping with malice.

You almost take the bait and cower.

A hand is placed on your shoulder, breaking your silent staring contest with Eddie as a man steps into your view. He is taller than you, older with lines of age sinking into his skin, glaring down at you over the end of his cigarette as he speaks, “Rolling Stone Magazine?”

You wonder how he was able to pick you out, but your itchy jeans and suffocating boots quickly remind you that you don’t exactly fit into the crowd. You nod, sticking a hand out and telling him your name. “You must be Richie, the manager?” You assume, kindly smiling when he takes your hand with a friendly grip in greeting.

“I’m here to interview your boys. We called this morning,” you remind him. He nods, puffs out a cloud of smoke from the side of his mouth as he speaks, “Yeah, uh… The thing with that is,” he tilts his head to scratch at the stubble on his chin, “I’m not so sure the boys’ll be up for that.”

You breathily laugh, glancing at the boys behind him, ignoring when Eddie glances your way, “Yeah, I gathered that already.”

The man hums, reaching up to pluck the burning paper from his lip, blowing the smoke away from your face before speaking, “Yeah, Eddie’s not too keen on big media. Bad run-in from the past.” He explains. You nod understandingly, “The Face?”

The man nods, taking another hit, “Tore ‘em to shreds.” You nod, crossing your arms over your chest with a breath, “I remember.” He offers you a hit, and you shake your head, kindly waving him off.

“Shitty, you came all this way, though. Where you from?”

You don’t look at him as you respond, too focused on the man across the room, his attention locked in on the fans now that he sees you’re being taken care of— like an unwanted intruder being exterminated. But you’re not an intruder. You’re a journalist, a writer, a listener— and you’re damn good at it.

Before you can thoroughly think about the repercussions, your mouth is running, gaze still locked on Eddie, “I can get them on the cover.”

Richie pauses his rambling at that, pauses the lift of his cigarette to his lips, and looks at you, waiting for you to say it was a joke or something— but it’s not. Your gaze flitters to him, your expression unwavering as you wait for him to respond. “The cover?”

You nod once, watching as he takes one long drag of his cigarette. “We can do one big interview with them all,” you begin, “I’ll tag along for a few shows to gather more on the experience, get a photoshoot booked and have them on the cover for July’s issue.” You’re pulling strings, tugging at what sounds enticing and will get you where you need to be. You’re good at your job, you’ve done this before, and you know how to bend things to your will because the rockstars— the rockstars are always easy to break.

Richie glances over his shoulder and grunts, rubbing a hand over his face before turning back to you, “Okay, um,” he sighs and curses under his breath, “Let me see if I can talk them into it, yeah?” He sticks the cigarette between his lips and starts searching his pockets. “We’ve got a residency tour in New York next,” he announces, finally fishing out his wallet and sifting through cards until he finds what he needs. He offers the card to you, “Think you can meet us there?”

You take the card and glance over it before glancing at the boy once again. You nod, and he smiles, “Give me a call when you land; I’ll let you know if it’s a go.”

He leaves without another word, and you stay standing for a bit, rubbing the card between your fingers as you watch the boys meet the last of their fans tonight, Eddie no longer looks your way, and you hope he does for just a split second so he can know— so he can realize that he lost.

You give up when he seems too preoccupied with the girls, stuffing the card in your purse and making your way toward the exit. You’ll have to settle for rubbing it in when you see them in New York.

You spent the better part of your week convincing Anna, your manager, to give you the benefit of the doubt and allow you to pull through with a cover story. Anna wasn’t so excited when you told her you offered them a cover, but Anna is never excited by your ideas; she’s always worried until the final product comes out like a fine piece of gold. Treasure. You create treasure, and Anna knows this, so she finally relents and lets you go through with it— “You better get me the biggest story ever made. Bigger than Madonna.”

You can do bigger than Madonna— and seeing as your subject is four young men at the peak of worldwide fame, ‘bigger than Madonna’ will be a piece of cake.

You grab the hotel phone the second you get in, dialing the number on the creased business card you’d fished out from your bag. Your knee bounces in anticipation, teeth digging into your lip as you listen to each agonizing ring, almost thinking Richie gave you a fake card before finally, the phone picks up, “Hello?” It’s groggy, like he’d just woke up.

“Hi, it’s Rolling Stone Magazine,”

He groans on the other end, and you can hear the rustling of sheets, and you assume he’s sitting up in bed, “Rolling Stone Magazine… Oh— oh, uh… are you here?” He asks. You nod before answering with a short yes.

“Are we on for today?” You ask. He’s silent for a few moments, nothing but sleepy, distant grunts filtering through the speaker. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, we’re on just uh,” you pick at the seam of your jeans as you wait for him to finish his thought, “Come to the garden at around three; they’ve got rehearsals, and you can try to squeeze in after.”

You thank him and end the call, placing the phone back on the stand and sighing as you glance around the room. This will be your home for the next month; Anna advised you to stay for the entire residency tour despite your reassurance that you can complete the story in a week— “A big story, birdie. A massive one. A good one. That doesn’t happen in a week.”

So, one month. Twelve shows and thirty days. One month.

Eddie doesn’t like rehearsals.

He thinks they’re stupid and useless and take up too much time of the day when he could spend it doing something else. Could be writing, could be out having fun with the boys and getting high as a kite, could be fucking that redheaded groupie, Lany. He could be doing so many things, but instead, he’s up on stage in an empty arena listening for feedback in the mic and testing the amps for the guitars.

“Let’s do that last track one more time; I think I’m picking up a bit of feedback on you, Gareth.”

Eddie sits down on the edge of the drum riser, sticking a cigarette between his lips and lighting it up. He tilts his head back and blows up toward the beaming lights, squinting at the bright rays and imagining them enveloping him. He closes his eyes and imagines it’s the sun, thinking about Hawkins and the last summers he spent with the gang. Thinks about Dustin and Lucas and Max and Mike. Steve, Nance, and Robin. Thinks about how he hasn’t called or visited in a while, even though he got their card on his birthday.

He feels shitty for not calling home; he itches to make the call now and let them know that he misses them and wishes they could fly out more often to watch the band play. They’re all busy, though; the kids are about to start college— dusted the shit out of high school, which Eddie obviously flew in to watch them walk the stage— and the older half of them are all getting jobs, looking for their next big step in life, and Eddie misses them.

His reminiscent thoughts are cut through with the sharp and loud slamming of the arena door, grasping his attention in seconds. He blinks a few times to get the light out of his eyes, squinting at where the noise came from— and Eddie’s mind is fresh off a joint, so he’s not a hundred percent sure if he’s just envisioning that journalist from the other day or she’s actually here.

He stands up from the drum riser, stepping further into the stage as he watches you walk down the rows of seats; barely acknowledges the stage manager when he asks him to play the riff from track four until Jeff walks into his line of sight, “Come on, man, I wanna get this over with.”

Eddie situates his fingers over the frets of his guitar, watching as you find a seat in the third row and settle in, settling your bag in your lap and holding it to you as you silently watch the crew work the stage. He plays the riff a few times, until they can fix that god-awful ringing noise behind the higher notes, and when they finally wrap up rehearsals, Eddie makes a beeline to the front row where Richie is standing, quietly chatting with a staff member about where he wants the road cases to go. Eddie doesn’t care much for their conversation, steps in, and promptly interrupts, “Why the fuck is that journalist here?”

Richard turns to him and raises his eyebrows, “Sir?”

The staff member leaves as Eddie leans in and points over Richard's shoulder to where you sit, still quietly watching the stage, bright lights illuminating your face like you’re some god-sent fucking angel— and you’re not. Eddie knows you’re not. He sees straight through your friendly act. “The journalist, Richie. Why is she here?” He slowly repeats.

Richie glances at you and looks back at Eddie, “She’s doing a story on the band—” “No, she’s fucking not.”

Richie stares at Eddie, blinks for a silent moment before speaking, “Son,” —and sometimes Richie reminds Eddie of Wayne, and it scares him, “She’s gonna put you on the cover of Rolling Stone Magazine.” Richie points your way. Eddie falters momentarily, mindlessly blinking and shaking his head, “Cover?”

Richie laughs and pats Eddie on the shoulder, “Yeah. The fucking cover,” he says, “so, whether you like it or not, you’re doing the interview. This is what the band needs.”

Eddie shakes his head, curly strands brushing the muscles of his shoulders, “We don’t need a goddamn cover, Richie. We’re not doing a fucking story—” “Yes, you are.” Richie doesn’t mean to make his voice boom through the arena, but it attracts attention either way, and he sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose before clapping a hand onto the back of Eddie’s shoulder, turning both away from the stage.

“You’re putting out an album in a few months. You want it to sell, don’t you?”

Eddie clenches his jaw, teeth grinding against each other as he glances over his shoulder, annoyed when he catches you watching— almost smirks when you quickly look away as if you’d been caught red-handed. Despite Eddie’s strong will, he nods because fucking obviously he wants the album to sell— but at what cost?

Richie nods and squeezes Eddie’s shoulder, “Good. Then you’ll do the interview. She’ll be with us for all of New York, so play nice. We need a good piece.” and leaves Eddie with a pat on his shoulder.

Eddie stands there for a moment, gathering himself and trying to cope with the fact that some fucking narc will be on their back for the next month. He doesn’t see or hear you walk up to him until you say his name. The barricade separates you, your fingers gripping the black railing as you stand before him. Eddie’s hands are on his hips, not moving an inch as he looks at you.

“I know you don’t want me here, but I… I’m just doing my job, and if you can cooperate, this will be easier for the both of us.”

And Eddie— god, Eddie can’t fucking believe the audacity.

“Did you fuck Richie?”

He watches you pull back, blinking at him as you stare silently. Eddie tilts his head, eyebrows raising to push the answer from you, “No, I didn’t—” You shake your head and blink hard in confusion, “Why would I—” “Because you want a good story.” Eddie snaps, “Right?”

Because that’s all anybody ever wants from him. A good story. A tale to tell their friends about. Tell them the secrets they pulled from Eddie Munson, tell them about the famous rockstar that fucked them backstage, tell them they know what makes him crack. A good story.

You gape at him, lost and shocked by the sudden confrontation.

You straighten up and tilt your head, eyes growing harsh with anger as you respond, “No. I didn’t fuck Richie. I don’t fuck to get where I want, I pull strings, and I make it work,” you snap, “I treat people with the respect they deserve, and I get what I want. You could learn a few things from that.”

And with that, you’re gone. Leaving Eddie behind with a twisted face of annoyance. He watches you walk over to where Richie is and greet him, but he doesn’t stick around long enough to watch or tune in to the conversation, storming through the arena and grabbing his coat to get in the car and tell the driver to take him to his hotel.

One month. Twelve shows and thirty days. One month.

Eddie can play along, he thinks. How hard can it be?

#pof talks

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