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thefatedthoughtofyou · 2 years

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Soft Rockstar Eddie and Popstar Steve

It's about rockstar Eddie and popstar Steve. Someone made a post about them going out like once and then Steve writing the song, Not Another Rock Star by maisie peters (It's catchy and doesn't quite fit Eddie's description but it doesn't matter shh shh shh) and my brain supplied me with soft rockstar Eddie being upset because popstar Steve wrote kind of a shitty song about him after one date and not giving him a chance. Like... Steve doesn't even KNOW him.

And they see each other again at some after party and Eddie just avoids him. He stares at Steve though, until Steve looks at him and then he looks away right before Steve looks. And then Eddie goes out for a smoke and Steve follows him to ask what the fuck is going on?? Like what's his problem?? And Eddie is leaning against the building in a shadow. And Steve is like,

"hey." suddenly feeling very self-conscious. And Eddie just looks at him slowly, takes a drag and blows smoke towards Steve. Doesn't say anything. And Steve's about to say something but Eddie cuts him off, says,

"some song." Cuz the song fucking blew up and everyone KNOWS it's about Eddie cuz there were pics of them on the date. And Steve's like,

"... thanks?" Sounds kinda dismissive. Cuz popstar Steve is still a little bit of an asshole. And Eddie fucking scoffs and takes a step forward, still in the shadows up to his waist.

"Yeah no problem. Glad I could inspire you." and his voice is dripping venom and he takes another drag, the end of the cigarette glowing red in the dark. And Steve crosses his arms all dismissive and he's like,

"Wait... are you mad? Is that why you've been glaring at me all night?" And he scoffs now. And Eddie scoffs right back and says,

"Mad? Why would I be mad? I love when people write out of context songs about me and all their little fucking brainwashed fans come swarming all over social media to come at me with shit they know nothing about. What's to be mad about?" He takes another drag and flicks his cigarette butt away. Takes another step forward, Steve can see his shoulders now. But not his face.

But he is feeling a little guilty. He didn't think. Just went home after the date and wrote it out and then bam. It was everywhere. Steve just stares at him. Not sure what to say. And Eddie is just like,

"nothin to say?" And steve says,

"what do you want me to say?" And Eddie laughs, and says,

"Ya know, I think you've said enough actually. Maybe you should just go home and write another song about someone you don't know." and he steps into the light and Steve swears his eyes are shining, they're a little too bright for how dark it is out here, takes a step forward. Eddie flinches back the smallest amount. Shoves his hands in his pockets and looks away. And then he says,

"look im gonna go. Alright? Just.... see ya around I guess." And he tries to walk by but Steve grabs his arm and says,

"Look I'm" but Eddie cuts him off, rounds on him and says,

"You're sorry? Are you?" And Eddie looks at Steve, gets in his space. And Steve just fucking shrugs. And Eddie laughs again, humorless. And yanks his arm away from Steve's grip and says,

"You're not sorry. You're just pissed that I called you out." and Steve's a little speechless, cuz that's true. But he's not used to being talked to like this, so he has no idea what to fucking say.

So Eddie just keeps talking. Cuz it's been like a month and that goddamn song has been everywhere and he's so goddamn tired of people and he can't even use any of his social media right now cuz Steve's crazy popstar fans are always in his shit and he just wanted to spend a nice night with Steve, he'd thought the date had gone okay... until the end. But then the song came out. So eddie just lets it all out.

He rants about how it was fucking rude. And goddamn irresponsible. And Steve jumps in and is like,

"Oh like you've never written a song about anyone before!?" And Eddie shoots back,

"I write about fucking dragons and quests and magic and shit man! What are you talking about?? And if i WAS gonna write about someone, that's not how I would do it! You don't just- I mean I wasn't- I thought we had fun? You could have just said you didn't wanna go out again! That you didn't like me! I would have understood!" And he's pacing now, and Steve just keeps shrinking in on himself cuz he's realizing he really hurt Eddie.

And Eddie just keeps talking and Steve catches things about "back at school" and "thought I was done with shit like this." And the worst one "i just wanted to make music" and then he's looking at Steve, his eyes shining and he's breathing heavy and Steve is also breathing a little heavy and he's like,

"what... what do you want me to do?" All quiet and unsure. And eddie just sighs, losing all his fire, and says,

"just.... next time you get the urge to write a song about me... don't. And I'll return the favor." and he turns to leave. He's almost too far away when Steve realizes what Eddie said. He catches him just before he gets to the door back inside, both of them in the shadows now and Steve breathes out,

"did you write a song about me?" And his heart is pounding as looks at Eddie. And Eddie won't meet his eyes.

Steve can't fucking breathe. It was one date. And it's dark but he swears Eddie is bright red. And he can't not ask again. So he does.

"Eddie. Did you write a song about me?" His hand is still on Eddie's arm. Eddie shakes his head. Once. And says,

"Not like yours. It's not- I didn't finish it. It doesn't matter." And he finally looks up at Steve, looks him right in the eyes and says,

"Just forget about it." his voice low and shakey. And then he's tugging the heavy door open. Steve's not sure if he hears him say "I'm sorry" or not. But he hopes so.

~°~

Eddie did write a song about him. Part of one. He was in the middle of writing his first ever ballad when Gareth came into the studio looking glum and was like,

"Dude. I think you should hear this." and he played him Steve's new song and Eddie just sort of, gave up. Threw his pen and notebook across the room. Almost smashed his writing guitar but Gareth grabbed him and stopped him. And Eddie definitely cried. And Gareth definitely held him while Eddie sobbed out,

"I thought he liked me. I'm so stupid." and needless to say, Gareth holds a grudge against Steve for a very long time. Even steps in front of Eddie when Steve tries to talk to him at the next place they see each other. Steve takes the hint and backs off.

He also tries to call Eddie. And message him on all sorts of apps. He gets no response. And his song is still going crazy. So he does something no artist has ever done. He goes on the radio, and asks them to stop playing his song. Asks his fans to stop streaming it. And takes it down from all the places he has control of it. The song drops down the charts in record time. And Steve finally stops hearing it everywhere. And then, about a week later, he gets a text from Eddie.

It's an audio file. Steve takes a deep breath, presses play, and hears the most beautiful fucking song he's ever heard. It's just Eddie and his guitar. Clearly not a finished product, just... raw, and open, and just for Steve. And it's beautiful and Steve's never heard him sing so softly. He listens to it four times, it makes him cry everytime. And then he picks up his phone and hits the little phone symbol next to Eddie's name. His heart beating wildly as he listens to it ring. And ring.

And then eddie answers.

#i know nothing about the music industry and have no idea if they can ask for their songs to not be played but #its fake here so it DOESN'T MATTER AHAHAHAHAHA #steddie #steddie blurb #blurb fic #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie fic #not fic #my writing #mine #my fic #soft rockstar eddie #popstar steve #Fates Endless Inkwell #fei

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cheeriecherrymain · 2 years

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The Bottom Of The Inkwell [Chapter 5]

Pairing: Viktor x fem!Reader Chapter Rating: T Chapter Warnings: temporary illness Proofread: no beta we die like men Chapter Summary: Your relationship with Viktor progresses to a point that you might even call each other friends. Even though you spend a lot of your time arguing with each other. But there comes a time where you both need to be honest about how you’re feeling.

The weeks pass quickly now that you and Viktor are on better terms.

Well…

You’re on speaking terms, at least.

The two of you still argue nearly every day, though there’s rarely any malice behind it. You’re different people, and you both have big ideas and different ways of doing things. It’s a little bit frustrating, to have something cut to clearly in your mind, only to have someone question every single aspect of it on paper.

You’re sure that Viktor is in the same frame of mind, and you’re sure that you irk him just as much as he does you, but…

You kind of enjoy butting heads with him.

Most of the time, you end up sassing each other until you have a new, better idea that you both can make sense of. You like how he challenges your way of thinking, and encourages you to think bigger and broader - you’ve never had that kind of experience with V.

Though as of late, it has been tiring to keep up with him.

After you’d handed in your first project and received a grade, Viktor had taken the reins on your next assignment.

The two of you had gotten the highest mark in the entire class, and while you don’t really care if you were at the top of anything, he seems hellbent on maintaining that status.

You wouldn’t mind such a sentiment, had your partner actually learned something from the last assignment.

Simple and to the point, you’d told him, emphasizing how you didn’t need to go over the top in order to appease your professor.

But did he listen?

No.

The first sketches he’d shown you had been so detailed that it took you almost ten minutes to walk yourself through the entire thing and figure out the functions.

Admittedly, you do think that he’s tried to simplify the design. You can see in his notes where he’s crossed things out and removed bits and bobs from the final product - a lot hadn’t made his final cut.

You wonder if he’s physically incapable of making anything easy, both for himself and for other people, because you’re sure as hell having a hard time with him.

It wouldn’t be so bad if not for the fact that your other classes had started gaining traction over the semester. As the lessons had begun to grow more and more complex, you found yourself having to take more and more notes - do more and more studying, stay up later and later each night - all while trying to keep up with Viktor and his impossible machines.

But you had promised him, all those weeks ago. You’d given him your word that you’d make whatever he wanted for this assignment, and you weren't about to go back on that. You’d just started getting into friend territory with him, and you’re not about to jeopardize that by speaking out.

You’d just have to deal with it,

—

On Wednesday, you wake up more exhausted than usual.

You’d only gone to bed at five thirty that morning, but you’re used to that by now. You’re used to the all encompassing drowsiness, staved off only by several cups of delicious coffee. You’re used to be cranky and sluggish, used to your eyes burning every time you blink, and your vision going fuzzy at random intervals throughout the day.

You’re used to it!

You’ve powered through it before, and you can do it again.

You weren’t about to let it get the best of you, or stop you from going to class and getting an education!

—

It gets worse on the way to your lessons.

The moment you start walking towards your first classroom of the day, your head begins to throb - behind your eyes and right through the middle of your skull. It’s nothing particularly bad at the moment, though - just a quiet knocking in your brain. As long as you made sure to eat lunch and have a large glass of water with it, you’d be fine.

You could hold on until then.

—

By your second class, you feel as if someone has shoved cotton puffs into your ears.

The world is muffled and subdued around you, yet at the same time, too violently bright against your eyes.

You trudge into the room as quiet as you possibly can, and will yourself to look normal as you take a seat beside your partner.

��Morning,” you softly bid him, and begin pulling out the books you’d need that day. Textbook for referencing, two notebooks for separate details, yesterday’s homework and everything you’d written down.

“Good morning,” Viktor replies, glancing towards you with a polite smile, not noticing how his expression falls slightly when he takes you in.

That was something that had improved between the two of you, as well. Though you argued to hell and back with each other, and could probably find a way to knock your heads together about any possible subject, you were…tentatively friendly.

You were cordial and warm, and even went so far as to ask each other about your respective days, when the interest arose.

“Are you alright?” he asks, tilting his head slightly as his gaze darts all over you - the puffiness around your eyes, the crease between your brows, your crooked posture and your inside-out blouse that you hadn’t yet noticed. “You look…off.”

But still, you smile back at him, trying your best to look cheerful and awake, even if everything in you was screaming the exact opposite.

“I’m fine,” you say, “but thanks. I had a hard time sleeping last night, is all. I might go to bed early tonight.”

Viktor doesn’t look entirely convinced, but whatever he’s about to say is swiftly interrupted by your professor striding into the room and immediately garnering the attention from the entire class.

With one last glance at you, he turns his attention away.

—

The rest of the class is a nightmare.

You struggle to pay attention to anything your professor says, all his words blending together into some kind of indecipherable verbal soup. You make as many notes as you’re able to, but your handwriting is sluggish and messy, and whenever you look at the blackboard, everything that’s laid out is blurry.

“Are you certain you’re doing well?” Viktor’s voice startles you from beside.

You whip your head around a little too quickly, the motion causing a wave of nausea to crest over you, but still you nod. Albeit unconvincingly.

“Really,” he continues, “We can reschedule tonight if you need to. You…look like you’re about to get sick.”

“I’m fine,” you tell him again, but you can feel your resolve waning. “I promise, I’m just tired. I’ve never coped well with a lack of sleep, so my whole system is off kilter. I’ll be fine once I rest.”

His brows pull together ever so slightly, and you cut him off before he can say anything else.

“I’ll be in the library at six, as we decided,” you say, and toss your bag over your shoulder to hurry out of the classroom.

—

You know, deep down, that you should have taken Viktor up on his offer to pick another time to meet. When you stumble into the library at quarter past six, it’s with great personal effort.

You know you look a mess, if you look even a fraction of what you feel. Your head pounds with every quick beat of your heart, and you drag your feet with each step. Your limbs are full of lead, you suppose, with how heavy and pulled down you are - you’re certain your legs are going to give out beneath you at any moment, and you’re going to crumble into a heap on the floor.

But you promised him.

Your partner had said he was busy all throughout the rest of the week - this was the only day either you had available to see each other and go over what you’d been working on. If you rescheduled, and you’d messed up on anything, you wouldn’t have enough time to fix it.

You can’t let his plans fail like that.

You won’t.

“Hi,” you squeak, when you find him tucked up at your usual spot in the back of the library. Surrounded by books and illuminated by the dim glow of an overhead lamp.

He turns to you as you all but collapse into your chair, and you can see as his pleasant demeanor slowly morphs into concern. You watch him from your peripheral as you unpack, watch him eye you up and down in utter disbelief.

“Y/N…” he trails off, and you already know what he’s going to say.

You don’t want to hear it.

“I’ve brought everything I’ve completed so far,” you tell him, setting several bits and bobs on the desk, “as well as what I’m currently working on. Hopefully it’s where we’re supposed to be at - and that it works.”

His gaze flits momentarily down to the parts that you’ve nudged in front of him, and for a moment you think you’ve gotten away with it - until his honey brown eyes pop back up to you.

“You wanted to assemble everything yourself, so I did all the components you needed this week,” you continue, hoping to distract him from your general state of dishevelment. “I was up until like fi- one in the morning, trying to get the springs into the shock coils! I have like three holes in my wall now from where they jumped out.” Tacking on a quick I’m fine! when his eyes widen in shock.

He turns the small contraptions over in his hands, running his fingers along the edges to test that everything is in place. He knows just by looking that you’ve done it correctly -all of it- but that is not where his worries lay.

“How much sleep have you been getting lately?” he asks you, trying to keep the brunt of his concern quiet. He knows how you are - how you have gotten defensive on a handful of occasions when you’ve been questioned like this.

You’re much too similar in that regard, he thinks.

“Like. I dunno, seven hours?” you reply, slouching back in your chair.

Viktor relaxes for a moment at the admission - maybe, he thinks, you had been telling the truth when you’d said you were just getting used to fewer hours.

“I got like nine hours last week,” you continue, regaling your truly horrific schedule without so much as batting an eye. “But! It’s not friday yet, so I still have a chance to catch up.”

Viktor leans towards you, catching you by the shoulders as you start to wobble sideways. You almost seem intoxicated, with the way you’re swaying back and forth, but he can’t smell an ouch of alcohol on you.

“You’re sleeping less than two hours a night?” he questions again, making sure you’re giving him the correct information.

Though, with how you’re acting, it’s not difficult to believe.

And for more than two weeks now?

“When else am I supposed to get everything done,” you laugh, though it’s dry and humorless. “I’m a slow learner, Vik. I take longer to study and retain information - it’s been like that my whole life. It’s fine, and I’ll get used to it.”

By then, though, your words do nothing to soothe his uncertainty.

He removes one of his hands from your shoulder, and reaches up to set the inside of his wrist on your forehead - sticky, trembling, and far too warm for his liking.

“You’re hot,” he sighs, steadying you as you once again dip to the left.

“That’s very forward,” you giggle, grinning at him with a dazed smile, “but thank you. You’re quite lovely yourself.”

“I didn’t mean-” he starts, the tips of his ears burning scarlet, “you’re pretty, yes, but I mean- temperature! Y/N, you have a fever.”

You hum quietly, your head falling to the side.

As if you’re not comprehending what he’s saying, as if you’re about to…

“I’m taking you back to your dorm,” he tells you sternly, earning the vaguest of your protests as he starts packing your things up. He’s not certain he’s going to be able to actually get you back to your room, but anything would be better than leaving you in the library to suffer.

But much to his anguish, you fight him on it.

Despite barely being coherent, you routinely unpack everything he slides into your bag, whining throughout. No matter how quickly he moves, you match him with unsolicited dexterity.

“Will you- stop that!” he hisses, pulling your bag away from you and setting your hands off the various project parts. “You’re sick-”

“So?” you grouse, reaching out to make your most childish grabby hands. “I can work through it jus’ fine.”

“We can meet up another time!” he argues. “Next week works just as well as-”

“But what if I do it wrong,” you huff, throwing yourself away from him to slouch back in your seat, arms crossed over your chest in an image of pure drunk petulance. “If I make the things bad, and we only see each other next week, we’re not gonna have enough time to fix it!”

All at once, Viktor’s will to argue with you dissipates.

Is that why you’d been working so hard? Pushing yourself past your limits, and then some - because you might fail?

“Y/N,” he says with a sigh, trying to think of how he can phrase himself to make you listen. Would you even listen, in such a state? Bleary and disoriented, and about ready to pitch over-

No. Actually pitching over.

“Y/N!” he calls, but his voice is far away, drowned out by the sound of your blood roiling in your veins.

The world fades to black.

—

Something tickles your nose.

A hair, perhaps, floating by on the soft current of your breathing.

Or maybe a bug.

What if it’s a bug?

In a blind panic, you bring your hand up to swipe the assailant away…but instead you unceremoniously slap yourself into the waking world.

You don’t recognize whatever room you’re in, so you lay there while you wait for your eyes to adjust. But even once everything comes into focus, you’re still…lost.

It’s notably more daytime than the last thing you remember, the sunlight from outside filtering in through a translucent white curtain that’s been pulled over the window. It casts a pleasant, sleepy glow all over the room, making it feel warm and inviting.

Where are you?

You don’t remember much, save for a few tidbits of your last day. You remembered feeling like complete ass when you’d woken up, and you remember feeling worse throughout the day. You remember skipping lunch because you felt nauseous, and you remember walking into your third class of the day. But beyond that…?

Nothing.

What happened?

You sit up in the bed you’re borrowing, pulling the fluffy blanket up around your shoulders, and give yourself a once over.

Your joints and muscles ache significantly less than they had before, and your vision seems to mostly be alright. You’re nowhere near as tired as you had been, though you can still feel a lingering downward pull.

The only thing that still seems to be in a state of upset is your head, though not as all-encompassing as earlier.

You debate going back to sleep for a little while, since you still have the urge. If someone were to find you awake, you might be evicted from such a comfy spot, and that would mean having to face the real world again - all your problems and stresses and anxieties. The things that had probably brought you there in the first place.

So you wiggle back down under the covers and get cozy.

But right before you close your eyes, a knock on the door.

Whoever it is clearly doesn’t expect you to answer, because said door immediately squeaks open wide enough to let a person in. Viktor, you realize, as you see his telltale mop of brown hair enter.

He doesn’t realize you’re awake - not right away. He quietly steps into the room and closes the door behind him to keep the sound out, still wearing his uniform. Though…you’re fairly certain he had been wearing a different button up when you’d last seen him.

How long have you been out?

He pauses with his hand on the doorknob, with his back turned to you. As soon as he has privacy, his shoulders fall, and he heaves a deep sigh - weighed down by whatever thoughts are running through his mind.

“You look tired,” you croak, corners of your mouth pulling into a smile when he freezes. “When was the last time you slept?

He turns to you with wide eyes, round and startled like some kind of frightened deer. Once, twice, thrice, his mouth opens, as if to speak to you - to say anything. But the silence permeates the room, and he seems unable to break it, opting to instead find a seat in the chair beside your bed.

He slouches -the worst posture you’ve ever seen on him- and he purposely avoids eye contact. He doesn’t entirely look away from you, though, his gaze catching on your chin, your hair, your neck, your shoulder.

Why won’t he look at you?

“Are you…feeling better?” he finally inquires.

You think for a moment.

“Mostly,” you tell him honestly. “Kinda feels like I took a sledgehammer to the skull, but…I’m better than before, I think.”

He nods, as if your words make sense to him. “I did not have enough warning to stop the impact, I’m afraid. No last damage done, but eh…perhaps a bruise.”

You stare at him for a few seconds.

And like he can read your mind and all the questions you have, he continues, “You passed out in the library, and knocked your head quite loudly on the way down. Your doctor would not tell me much about your condition, since we’re not related, but…”

And there comes the heaviness again, the guilt in his expression and the hard downward curve in his shoulders and spine - weighted by his own thoughts.

“Everything was likely brought on by a combination of viral illness, stress, and lack of sleep. Something I…have no doubt played a part in.”

“Viktor,” you begin, but he holds up a tired hand to shush you while he considers his words.

“I have not been considerate,” he murmurs. “I have been so deep in my own head, that I did not take into account your wellbeing until it was too late.”

“Vik, it’s not your job to take care of me-”

“But I have put you in a position where you feel you need to give up your health in order to accomplish my whims!” he contends, voice rising in volume by a fraction. “I could have simplified our project! I could have followed the guidelines you offered me! But did I? No. I bit off more than I could chew, and I made you take the brunt of it. Now you’ve paid the price for my actions.”

You pull yourself back up into a sitting position, tucking your legs up and letting your hands fall loose in your lap. “You’re right,” you tell him, watching as his expression falls further into sadness. “But you’re not the only one at fault here, okay? I had every chance to take a step back and tell you how I was being affected, and I didn’t. So you don’t get to take all the blame.”

Somewhat pacified by your words, he leans down onto the bed and crosses his arms, letting his chin rest comfortably on them.

“Why didn’t you say something, then?” he wonders, finally sparing a glance up at you.

You’re the one to freeze this time.

You don’t want to tell him why - not really.

Or do you?

Are you just reluctant? Are you scared he might judge you? Are you afraid of letting him in? Are you afraid he might see you at your barest, and decide you aren’t worth the trouble?

But what if he decides to stay? you wonder to yourself.

What if?

“It’s…it’s kind of a long story,” you begin, staring down at your hands. “But I guess I feel like I’m not good enough, a lot of the time. I have to work twice as hard just to get the same results as most of the class, and sometimes I feel like I’m running in circles.

You pick idly at your nails.

“You’re so smart, Viktor,” you tell him, “You have big ideas, and you know how to bring them to fruition. I didn’t want to complain and like…I dunno. Bring you down to my level. You shouldn’t have to lower yourself just because I can’t keep up.”

Quieter, “ Honestly I…I don’t know if I’m cut out for any of this. I want to learn, and I want to help people, but I….”

You sniffle softly, and wipe at your eyes. “Sorry.”

He stares at you for what seems like an eternity, awe unspoken but palpable, while you try in vain to control your budding tears.

“Lower…myself…?” he utters, in pure disbelief.

Reaching out, he takes one of your hands and knits your fingers together. “ I am constantly having to prove myself - to our peers, to our teachers, to everyone, and you think…so highly of me?”

You peer at him with glossy eyes and wet cheeks, and offer him the tiniest of nods - nearly invisible, but he catches it.

“ I have spectacularly misjudged you,” he despairs, “You’ve been kind to me, and patient, and you have worked yourself raw in order to make sure I was heard.”

“Viktor-”

“I’m sorry.”

And then, all at once, the niggling feeling that has been in the back of your mind for weeks bursts: blooms into dazzling colours of warmth and excitement - butterflies fluttering wildly in your stomach, so vivacious and lively that they float all the way up your throat.

And no matter how you try to digest them, they only persist harder.

“Like I said,” you squeak, swallowing hard, “Neither one of us is free from guilt. So…”

You glance down at where your hands are linked together.

“I’m willing to put it in the past, if you are?”

The smile he gives you is subtle - soft and contained and gentle.

And entirely dazzling.

“Deal.”

#viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #arcane x reader #The Bottom Of The Inkwell #guys pls make sure you get your sleep #its very important

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