#just realised i got the lyrics wrong FUCK

[caruliaa]

screaming bc theres a song (no i wont tell u what one but its by an artisit i dont listen to rly to much except for the last two days but i do like what of her music iv heard) that like. i rly feel like fits a ship (I WILL DEFF NOT TELL U WHICH ONE !!!!! but its like. not one i rly ship tht much but i do think its cute and im slowly getting more into it) in like. a weird way bc like. im not like omg this song is so this ship its so cute i mean the first time i listened to the song which was a while back when it first came out i was like this feels like ppl r gonna talk abt it w tht ship or like the song feels very like. like a fanfiction to me like generally and to me i feel like its like a modern au fanfic for the ship nd i listened to the song again today nd iv been thinking abt tht but the thing is i looked to see if anyone in any context has put that ship with that song before expecting to find lots of stuff but i literally found NOTHING its ubsurddd !!!

[loveinhawkins]

Eddie is writing new song lyrics. Dustin discovers them on a random Saturday when they’re having pizza at Steve’s; Eddie asks Dustin to get one of his old campaign notes, and Dustin reaches for the wrong journal.

“Oh, not that one,” Eddie says with a shrug, but his eyes go a little thoughtful at the sight of it in Dustin’s hands. For some reason he pauses, and then he says, “You can still read it if you want, man.”

And Dustin stares at him, certain it’s a trick, because Eddie is notorious for ensuring that any potential Hellfire spoilers are kept under lock and key. But then he opens the book and reads.

And he gets it.

The lyrics are clever, because they hide under metaphor, apocalyptic imagery and all that stuff, but it clicks when Dustin gets to a verse about a tune echoing through a mall, ‘and it’s a song you know, you’ve known it all your life,’ and he’s suddenly thrown back to when he explained how Steve worked out the location of the Russian code, and Eddie was taking it all in, eyes as round as pennies.

Dustin sets down the notebook and says, “It’s about us.” It’s not a question.

Eddie nods. “Yeah.”

“You make it sound a lot more poetic than it actually was,” Dustin says.

But Eddie doesn’t tease back, just gives a contemplative little smile and says, “Really? I don’t think so.”

And that’s as far as they get in talking about it, because Eddie suddenly glances away, and his smile changes ever so slightly, gets softer around the edges. He turns back to Dustin and mouths, Look.

Dustin does. Steve has fallen asleep, curled up in the corner of the couch. His head is just barely resting in his hand, nodding forwards precariously every so often.

Dustin hears Eddie give an almost silent tsk, which is funny; he must have picked it up from Steve. He quietly goes over and moves Steve with a gentle touch until Steve’s head is resting comfortably against the cushions.

Steve murmurs wordlessly, eyes closed, then settles back into sleep.

Eddie catches Dustin’s eye; he mimes, Shh with a wink.

And something in the back of Dustin’s mind falls into place. …Huh.

There are days when Eddie has the journal and days when he doesn’t—he cycles through notebooks constantly, most of them having been started with a specific purpose before devolving into chaotic scribbles for anything and everything.

But this one stays consistent.

And whenever he does have the journal, he lets Dustin open it to any random page and read for as long as he likes.

It doesn’t exactly take Sherlock Holmes to figure out that a verse waxing lyrical about a protective soldier finally laying down his armour and resting is about… someone in particular.

And that makes Dustin wonder whether ‘and it’s a song you know, you’ve known it all your life’ isn’t just about a mechanical horse playing Daisy, Daisy. In fact, maybe it’s not about that at all.

He doesn’t mention anything, just says that Eddie’s writing is good when he hands the journal back over. It’s hardly a major compliment, except every time, Eddie says, “Thanks,” in an almost uncertain tone Dustin’s never heard before, like just hearing that’s really touched him.

And then one day Eddie loses the journal. Dustin doesn’t realise what’s wrong at first, just knows that Eddie is agitated, rooting around in the back of the van when Dustin sidles in for a ride home after school.

Dustin sees movement outside, and he looks up to see one of the substitute teachers who’s always got a stick up her ass standing at the school entrance. She’s holding Eddie’s journal.

“Uh, Eddie?”

“What?” Eddie snaps. Then he follows where Dustin is looking. “Oh Jesus fucking Christ.”

But he doesn’t let any of his irritation show when he hops out of the van and heads for the teacher.

Dustin knows Eddie talks a good game when it comes to sticking it to authority, all I’ll flip him the bird and so on, but there’s none of that arrogance now. Dustin can’t hear what they’re saying, but he can read the body language, the teacher’s tight-lipped smile, the way Eddie has crossed an arm over his chest self-defensively; he looks suddenly very young and unsure of himself.

The confrontation ends with the teacher handing Eddie the journal—more shoving it at him, really. Eddie gives her a curt nod before he heads back to the van, slamming the door shut as he gets inside.

He throws the journal in the back, and Dustin, who has carelessly destroyed countless textbooks, somehow finds himself saying, “Watch it, dude! You’ll rip it.”

Eddie doesn’t reply. He reverses out the parking lot and makes a turning for Dustin’s house, grinding his teeth.

The silence goes on until it’s unbearable, and Dustin tentatively asks, “What did she want?”

Eddie laughs, a nasty, thoroughly unconvincing sound. “Oh, ya know. Just returning lost property. Good fucking Samaritan.”

When he gets home, Dustin finds a note from his mom, that she’s over at his aunt’s and there’s some leftover pasta in the fridge. Dustin checks, and there’s easily enough for two.

He runs outside thankfully before Eddie has gone.

“You can’t expect me to be left in the kitchen unsupervised,” Dustin says. “I might burn it down.”

Eddie snorts. “From sticking pasta in the microwave?” Then he seems to hear himself and adds, “Yeah, somehow wouldn’t put it past you, Henderson.”

So they end up eating lasagne straight out of the dish together, playfully battling for the last slice like their forks are swords.

“What did she really want?” Dustin asks eventually. He can’t help but notice that Eddie had brought the journal in with him, keeps tapping his finger on the cover uneasily.

Eddie sighs, rubs a hand down his face. He nods down at the journal. “I’d left it in a classroom that some middle schoolers use for Drama Club. Apparently there’s some concerns about the appropriateness of—”

“That’s bullshit!” Dustin says. “Why would she even—”

“Dustin,” Eddie says very quietly. He closes his eyes. “You know why.”

And Dustin does. That’s why he’s so damn angry.

Because some of the lyrics (not all, but some), are love songs. And a good number of those are unambiguously from the point of view of a boy, speaking to another boy.

Eddie sighs again, presses a thumb into the inner corner of one eye. It looks like he’s warding off a headache. Dustin knows that he isn’t.

He could say I don’t care that you’re gay, but that doesn’t sound quite right; it isn’t about not caring, it’s about…

“You know I like you, right?” Dustin says.

Eddie gives a choked little laugh. He drops his hand, opens his eyes and says, with a faint smile, “No shit? I guessed you wouldn’t share lasagne with your mortal enemy.”

“True,” Dustin concedes. He presses on. “But I meant, like…” He bats Eddie’s hand away from the journal so he can tap it instead. “Like this. It’s all a part of you, and you’re really cool, so that means—like, it’s all cool. It makes you, you. You know?”

For a long moment, Eddie just stares at him. “You said you so many times, I don’t think it’s a word anymore,” he says, but he’s blinking a lot, and Dustin sees his lips quiver. “Um. Thanks.”

He still sounds sad which absolutely will not stand. Dustin gives him a few seconds of reprieve, before he launches at him with a karate style chopping motion.

Eddie chuckles. “You little shit!”

And they tussle until, breathlessly laughing, they’re both stretched out on the couch on their backs, side-by-side.

“You should let Steve read some,” Dustin suggests.

Eddie’s laughter trails off. “Mm,” he says, non-committal.

“I mean it!” Dustin recalls a verse he’d read only a couple of days ago, one that wasn’t dressed up in symbolism.

And you want to tell him you’re enough just like this darling, you always have been

“I don’t know,” Eddie says. “So far that stuff’s had an audience of one, and I think he might be a bit,” Eddie gestures with his thumb and forefinger, “biased. Being family and all.”

Dustin smiles, feels a proud little glow in his chest. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but I’ve seen Steve hiding love poetry books. Like he underlines that shit. It’s embarrassing.”

Eddie cackles. “Well. Some of my shit’s embarrassing so…”

Dustin claps his shoulder gravely. “I mean, I wasn’t gonna be the one to say it.”

Eddie pushes him nearly right off the couch; he pulls him back before he can fall. “Oh, fuck you.”

They’re quiet for a bit, and then Dustin suggests a movie, and when he’s putting the VHS in, he catches Eddie watching him with shiny eyes.

“Hey,” Eddie says. He smiles. “I love you.”

And God, it’s so much better hearing those words like this, with Eddie in front of him, safe and whole.

And Dustin doesn’t need to rush his reply this time. He picks up the journal and passes it to Eddie, careful of the binding.

“I love you, too,” he says, and the proud glow in his chest feels even stronger. “Now get writing, Shakespeare.”

[luveline]

𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

part one | part two | part three 

You don’t mean to make an enemy of Eddie Munson — he’s handsome and talented, but he’s the biggest jerk you’ve ever met. Eddie thinks you’re infuriatingly pretty, emphasis on the infuriating. Eddie goes home, you’re on tour, and the lines between you both continue to blur.

fem!reader, enemies-to-lovers, rival rockstars, mutual pining, kisses! tender neck kisses <3, past miscommunication, angst, hurt-comfort, sexual tension, TW mentioned recreational drug use, drinking, smoking, swearing 

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Hawkins, Indiana, December 1990

Eddie listens to his walkman until it runs out of juice. Through the flight from California to Indianapolis, the hours-long bus ride that stops just short of Hawkins, and the final connecting bus on the outskirts. Some metalheads listen to strictly metal, but Eddie likes variety occasionally. Plus, he doesn’t think it’s possible to have ears and not love The Rolling Stones’ Some Girls. 

He has one girl on his mind the entire journey home. He tries not to think about you. He makes himself sick shoving you down into a crevice of his heart, so he admits defeat. His fingers twitch, eager to write about you. He has some lyrics in mind. Evil wretched girl with wicked sweet hands. Heart eater. Soft around the edges. 

He wants to write about your stupid chubby thighs and how they look in skirts. He wants to write about your wrists, your knees and their ever-present bruises. Metaphors for your sickly sweetness won’t stick; cruel becomes kind. Taunting turns teasing. 

It feels like it’s eating him alive, spine first. You’re gnawing on his ribs as he hikes the half a mile from the bus stop into Forest Hills trailer park. He can feel your thumb rubbing makeup off of his cheek as he drags his suitcase up the metal steps to Wayne’s —Eddie’s— front door. 

“Wayne?” he calls. It’s pitch fucking dark. He’s surprised he got all the way here without falling in some ditch. “Could you let me in? It’s freezing.”

He hears stirring from inside. He calls out again in case his uncle changes his mind. “Wayne, it’s me. I’m sorry it’s late. Please don’t leave me out here.”

He’s joking. Wayne would sooner shoot Eddie dead than put him in harm's way. He’s always been that kind of parent, hiding his deep rooted worry underneath a feigned reluctance. Footsteps shuffle and floorboards creak. The door opens between them, and Eddie shoves his suitcase and backpack inside without properly looking at his old man. 

“Eddie, what the fuck, kid?”

“Sorry,” Eddie says, looking up. Wayne’s squinting at him. He’s wearing jeans with deep creases. He must’ve been sleeping in them. “I timed it all wrong. Started coming home and I didn’t think about it. I walked here, you know that?”

Wayne hugs him. Eddie isn’t expecting it. It’s not like Wayne isn’t affectionate, he doles out shoulder claps and hair ruffles like candy, but their hugs are usually one-armed back-slapping affairs. This is a loose encircling with a scratchy cheek against Eddie’s forehead. 

“I’ve been worrying about you.”

Guilt sinks like a stone to the bottom of his stomach. Eddie kind of feels like he might puke. He wraps his arms around his uncle and breathes in his smell. Diesel and grease, sure, but so much louder than that is his mint and rosemary soap. 

The weight of Wayne’s arms over Eddie’s shoulders is one of his favourite feelings. He hadn’t realised how much he missed it, but then… maybe he had. 

He wants to tell Wayne there’s no need to worry, but he’s never been good at lying to him. “Think I might have fallen off the wagon, Wayne.”

“Well. Happens to all of us.” He pats Eddie’s back and steps away. He doesn’t look any older than the last time Eddie saw him. In fact, he looks good. Puffy-eyed but healthy. “I thought for sure I’d have to come track you down and drag you back for Christmas myself.”

Eddie locks the door and Wayne shuffles into the kitchen promising coffee and cake. He should protest, tell Wayne he can go back to bed and they’ll catch up in the morning, but he missed the small stuff like this, when he’d get home late from band practice or a midnight premiere of a sci-fi flick and his uncle would be sitting up waiting. 

Eddie loves being home. There’s something to be said about living like the rich —he loves all the high ceilings and endless cushy carpeting— but nothing feels as good as coming home. His room is exactly how he left it minus a few ashtrays and his super unsecret pot stash. The poster wallpaper and the cheap paint. His raggedy bedspread and the corners tucked in haphazardly by tired hands. Eddie resists the want to dive under the covers and slide into the dip in his mattress. He knows every box spring in that fucker, and he missed it. 

Eddie drops his bags at the end of the bed. All the clothes in his suitcase smell like Coors Light, so he changes into rags he left behind, a too-big pair of plaid pyjamas that slip down his hips and a sleeveless Motörhead shirt. Maybe. The emblem is worn to nothing but black lines. 

He follows the smell of coffee through the hallway and into the Munson kitchen, tightening the drawstrings of his pants as he goes, chin tucked to his chest. “I’m losing weight, Wayne, I’m like a fucking twig.”

“Don’t tell me that shit. God knows I taught you how to take care of yourself.”

“I’m stupid. I’m really stupid, actually.”

Wayne whacks the coffee maker. It whirs. “Pick a mug, son.”

“You been cleaning? I don’t wanna look down and see a spider in my cup.”

“Have you been cleaning?” Wayne asks. 

“It’s insane how much I haven’t been cleaning.”

“Some things don’t change.”

“You fucker,” Eddie says, laughing up a storm as he picks out his favourite mug, the Garfield one with a big scratch down the left side. 

“You fucker,” Wayne snaps back. “I should send you packing for the bad language alone.”

“They don’t make you clean your hotel rooms, Wayne, that’s the point of them.”

“I raised you better than that.”

“You did. I keep it classy, I swear, I just,” —Eddie sits down in his chair, watching Wayne stir in milk and sugar just the way he likes it, and feels more than sees as a familiar contentedness like a Gaussian film settles over their easy conversation— “don’t clean up after Gareth. He’s a monster.”

“Do me a favour, Eds. Try and be the best you can be, alright?”

He swallows. He purses his lips. A peculiar lump grows in his throat, but he bites it back and squares himself up. “Yeah. I will.” He thinks about all the parties and powders and girls. He’s never done any cruel shit to anybody and he’s a sweetheart with the ladies, but  there are times when he’d known he was lying before he even said he’d call. He thinks about some of the shit he’s said to you and has to wipe his sweaty palms off on his shirt. 

“I know we didn’t have shit when you were growing up,” Wayne says, not tearful or resentful, just honest as he passes Eddie his mug of coffee and sits down. “And all that money must feel good–”

“It’s not like that,” Eddie says.

“When I see my nephew on TV smashing up equipment worth more than his house–”

“I already told you on the phone it was an accident. And it wouldn’t be worth more than this if you actually cashed the cheques I send you. I know they aren’t bouncing.”

“I don’t want your money, Eddie,” Wayne says gently. It’s odd but not uncommon to hear him speak in such dulcet tones. “That’s not what I raised you for.”

“I know, you–” He cuts his insult off at the stem and scratches his head instead.

Eddie isn’t hankering for a tongue lashing tonight and his scalp is too itchy to focus. He hasn’t washed his hair in a week. It’s obvious just looking at him, curls weighed down and straightened out from the sheer grossness of it. “Shit, I’m disgusting,” he says. 

“You’re gross,” Wayne agrees. “I’ll cash a cheque when the bank opens and get you a bottle of degreaser.”

Eddie hides his smile with a long sip of coffee. It’s hot and awful, ‘cause no matter how much love Wayne puts into it, dollar store coffee tastes like burnt grounds from the get go. Eddie missed it more than anything. Sometimes he’s in the back of the queasy tour bus or lying on the floor in his hotel room coming down off of something risky and all he can think about is Wayne’s coffee.

Wayne has a hard and fast rule about drugs: if it isn’t green, I don’t want you touching it. Eddie still remembers the gasket he blew when he found that little baggy of red and white pills shoved inside an altoids tin. He can’t imagine telling his uncle what he really meant when he said he fell off the wagon. 

Hey, Uncle Wayne, I have this weird love-hate relationship with a girl I don’t really know, and I got caught up doing party drugs (unrelated to our relationship) until I got so high I blacked out, and when I woke up she was there and she was looking at me like you look at a bird with a broken wing, you know? Anyway, the memory of her face won’t leave me alone. It makes me feel like crying. So I haven’t touched anything in two weeks and I thought coming home for Christmas would make up for all the secrets I’m keeping, but now—

Now Eddie doesn’t know what he was thinking. He can’t tell Wayne any of that shit. He wouldn’t even know where to start. 

Wayne would ask something like, It took a girl for you to realise drugs are bad news? And Eddie would say back, No, that’s not it, it wasn’t just her. 

“I’m sooooo fucked,” Eddie says slowly, mildly, scrubbing his eyes with the tips of his fingers. He drags his hands down his face and blinks against the burning he’s left in his wake. 

“You’re not fucked, kid. Lemme cut you a slice of cake.”

Wayne cuts him a slice of cranberry coffee cake and Eddie eats it in two bites. Wayne makes him a burger after that. He doesn’t know what time it is, if it’s closer to night or morning, but Wayne doesn’t mention it until the burger’s gone and an alarm clock is ringing. Eddie watches his uncle truck into the living room and feels crestfallen though he doesn’t deserve to. Eddie hasn’t been home in months. He imagines Wayne alone at the kitchen table with an empty greasy plate waiting on him and wants to cry again. 

Wayne returns in coveralls. He gets a good look at Eddie’s face and sighs, dropping a heavy hand into Eddie’s dark hair. 

“It’ll be fine,” Wayne says. 

I’m sorry, Eddie thinks. For being a bad kid. 

He’d said that once. Wayne was sweeping up a smashed plate after a long shift and Eddie, thirteen and defeated with an ache where his mom should’ve been, had been trying to apologise. It had felt so crushing, that broken plate. The last straw. He’d had tears running down his pale cheeks, his hands in his hoodie pocket desperately grabbing at one another. 

And when he’d said it, Wayne had just looked at him. On his knees with a brush, glass shards shining on the linoleum between them. 

You think you’re a bad kid?

Wayne isn’t old and he definitely hadn’t been back then. Thirty something with a crying teenager and what felt like all the world's self-loathing crammed into a tiny kitchen. Eddie’s older now, and he knows how much Wayne gave up for him. Not just his bedroom, which had been relinquished with little more than a shoulder squeeze and five dollars for posters, but a life. Wayne could’ve done anything. Could’ve been a rockstar. 

I ruin everything, he’d said. Teenage angst, maybe, but Eddie felt it in his bones. 

You ain’t ruined anything. 

He hadn’t known what to say so he’d cried, waiting for that nice heavy hand that tussles his hair and pats his back to finally strike out. 

Eds, you’re not a bad kid. Said so quietly. With a steadiness that meant truth. You’re my kid. Could I make a bad kid?

And yeah, there had been a threshold of sincerity and they were passing it. It was the late 70’s. Boys really didn’t cry. At least, not in public. So Eddie wiped his snotty nose in his sleeve and laughed, and then he got on his knees to clean up. 

“Try and sleep,” Wayne says now, older but unchanged otherwise. Still ridiculously forgiving of his not-so-young sprog. He looks at Eddie with his lips pressed together. Eddie wonders if he’s going to hug him again, but Wayne shakes his head. “Shower, you animal. I’ll be back early.”

Eddie sleeps. He showers. He washes his hair three times and doesn’t use conditioner so his curls don’t really curl but it’s fine. It doesn’t matter. He had a moment in the shower where he swore he remembered something you said to him when he was blackout on sniff cut with procaine and booze. Your voice tentative, the heat of your hand on his cheek. “Are you okay?”

He moans into his damp hands, limp hair hanging either side of his head and dripping into his pyjama pants. He can’t forgive his younger self for all the sleeveless shirts, not when Hawkins feels colder than the arctic circle and the window seal in the kitchen has been leaky for the last five years.

He thinks about going shopping, because no matter what Wayne says about degreaser, Eddie’s starting to realise that his uncle won’t be cashing any of the cheques he sent home, and if he wants Wayne taken care of he’s gonna have to do this shit himself, but he doesn’t know where his key is. 

“I’m a fuck up,” he says, catching his eye in the mirror as he straightens out. 

His reflection frowns at him. 

He did manage to get Wayne some shit from California before he came home; a real brown leather jacket from the 60s with minimal wear, though if Wayne wears it is another thing entirely; a Roy Orbinson record that’s miraculously unwarped despite Eddie’s poor packing; more sweatshirts than his uncle could ever wear through. Eddie knows he’ll try. 

There’s some other stuff. CD’s and a nice edition of War of the World’s. Whatever he could stuff in his backpack. 

“Are you going home for Christmas?” you’d asked him. 

He sat on the bottom step of a huge staircase and you the one above him. People walked around you without notice. Two rocks in a stream bed.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe? You aren’t sure?”

He’d got stuck looking at your cheek, the soft curve of it and the highest point, where light like a small star had kissed you and turned his stomach, that’s how sick with envy he was. 

“I get it,” you’d said, “things at home aren’t always easy.”

“Not that. My Uncle Wayne is my hero.”

“And you still don’t wanna go home?” you’d asked gently. 

“It’s not about what I want.” He remembers this part in detail. He’d stopped looking at you, laying back against the stairs, each step digging into his back. The ceiling had been far away. 

You’d inched into his frame of view, looking down at him with an expression unreadable to his mixed up head. You weren't quite smiling. He still isn’t sure what it meant. 

“It is. That’s the whole point,” you’d said. 

Eddie’s all memory this morning. The ones with Wayne had felt less memory and more story, because memory is unfaithful, and over time we start to break down on the details, putting want in place of fact. But your face hovering above his as the soft strands of your hair ghost against his jaw, all your glitters and the shiny pink sheen on your lips, that’s closer. He remembers how you smelled, and how your tongue peeked out to wet your lips uselessly between words. 

Jet lag and the general feeling of you keeps him lethargic, but he cleans the house (and he’s always said house, even if some people don’t agree, it houses him, fuck you Jenny P from eighth grade grade) and makes dinner ready for Wayne when he gets home. He puts the radio on and tunes into Roller FM. When one of Godless’ songs comes on, he’s not surprised. He listens with his head lolled against the kitchen wall, eyes closed, and tries not to think about your fingers choking the neck of your bass guitar. 

—

Indy Rock Centre, Indianapolis, January 1991

Whoever arranged the tour is a sadist. You can’t believe that a team of professionals sat around a long glossy table with their coffee cups and finger foods and thought, yeah, that will work. You feel like you’re being fucking yo-yo’d between states. 

When you’d joined godless as a stand in for Millyanna, your dates had been plentiful but never as disorganised. Nothing compares to this shit. You wonder if going crazy is a sign of making it big, or if maybe you’re not cut out for all of this after all. 

Jan 22, Kalamazoo, Missouri. Jan 23, Toledo, Ohio. Jan 25, Los Angeles, California. Jan 26, Philadelphia; Jan 28, Indiana, Jan 29, Wisconsin. February? Back in Missouri, back in Ohio, a couple more state dates and then bam — Canada. Don’t worry though, after a week in Canada, you’ll never guess where you’re playing. 

Fucking Florida. 

At least you aren’t alone in your torture. For starters, there’s Morgan, your singer, and Ananya, your drummer, who will also endure and suffer. Then there’s the roadies, the techies and the groupies. The opening acts. The managers, the assistants, the personal assistants, the boyfriends and girlfriends and wives and mistresses. 

And what’s more, you're one of the hundreds of bands touring in North America this year. Maybe thousands. You certainly aren’t the first musician to have to suck it up and tough it out. 

Still, you like to complain. 

It’s your right, for dealing with Morgan. And also— you aren’t getting paid for the tour until after the tour is over, so really complaining is the wealth of the soul. You do get a weekly allowance, which is awesome and not something you were getting beforehand, working instead on an invoice. You’d play a show, you’d get paid for the show. This time you’re getting a flat rate at the end of the tour that’s been contractually agreed upon. It’s more money than you’ll ever know what to do with. One of the more shameful ways you waste time in your little bus bunk is trying to figure out where to put it.

I want a house, you think. A mortgage on a small, pretty house where the weather isn't too hot or too cold. And a puppy. Probably. Maybe a fish tank. I want a bed that spans from one wall to another and… 

You wince. For a moment, you’d seen something stupid, a pale face hidden in the pillow across the way. 

Two puppies, you think forcefully. 

You’ve played four shows already this week. You have one tonight in Indy Rock Centre, and another tomorrow in Wisconsin. You got to stay in the warm, non-vibrating luxury of a hotel room last night, but tonight you have to play the show and get straight back on the bus. 

“You’re gonna glare holes in her. What did she do?”

You stop your mindless staring and come back down to earth. Ananya’s smiling at you, thick eyebrows lifted in wait for your answering gossip. You’d been staring at Morgan where she’s sitting across the room in a plush armchair, cucumbers over her eyes and swarmed by makeup artists and hairstylists with a pedicurist at her feet. 

Ananya does all her make up herself. You want to ask her to do yours, but you worry her messy sweetness won’t suit you. She overlines her already big lips with a sticky red-pink, giving her an effect of having just been kissed (a lot), and rings brown eyes with a slick black kohl. 

“She hasn’t done anything. Yet. Today.”

“She has been a monster, hasn’t she?” she asks, sinking down into the couch with a sigh. She flicks her hair over her shoulder. Her curls are so healthy they bounce.

You hum your agreement and slide down with her. Touring again, Ananya has remembered how much it sucks to be alone without allies. Morgan gets especially volatile from the stress and close quarters. She’s nicer when you’re alone. 

She’ll still ditch you at a moment's notice, but you get it. It’s like high school. 

You miss Dornie. 

It’s cruel to make a friend and suddenly lose them. You can’t help thinking he won’t want to be your friend again the next time you see him. It had been so nice… so peaceful, to know there was someone in your corner. Dornie doesn’t care how famous you are or how much money you’re making. He just wanted to make sure you got home safe and talk about old movies. 

“I’m gonna go find something to drink,” you say. 

Ananya nods. “Bring me back a coke?”

“Yeah.”

Morgan stops you on your way out with a foot in front of your legs. “Hey, killer, I gave one of your passes to a fan earlier. Is that cool?”

“Morgan, when have you ever cared about my opinion?”

“Ooh, meow,” she croons, taking a cucumber from her eye to squint at you. “What’s the matter, baby? I figured you weren’t using them.”

You smile at her. You can’t help yourself. She stopped hurting your feelings a long time ago. “You want a drink from the machine?”

“Sparkling water, serf.”

If you smudge her nail polish on the way past it isn’t your fault. It isn’t cool with you that she’s given away one of your passes, even though you ask your general manager Angel to give them out at the beginning of the show every night. It’s presumptuous! Normal people don’t do stuff like that without asking.

Serf…

Your nose wrinkles. The dressing room door closes at your back and you take a moment to recall where you’d seen the bank of vending machines in the maze of white hallways. Indy Rock Centre is one of the biggest venues in Indianapolis, and you’ve been here before countless times on the other side to see Black Sabbath, Metallica, The Stacey’s, Doorway to Cooperstown. It’s where all the biggest and best get to play. You wish they’d given you a map. 

You can still walk around without getting recognised. You’re not a superstar, just a guitarist. You smile at people who smile at you and avoid the rest, dodging past black polo shorts wheeling equipment and busybody higher ups barking orders. Someone stands in a corner talking on a brick of a handheld phone. You stare at him for a bit. You’ll never get used to it, phones without wires. Next there’ll be TVs without satellites and electric guitars without amps. 

The vending machine shines like a red beacon at the end of the hallway. You hurry to it, feeding the machine your crumpled per diem one dollar at a time. You get a coke for Ananya, sparkling water for Morgan. When it gets to your own drink, the machine starts to revolt. It spits your dollar out unsympathetically. You pull it from the mouth and flatten it against your thigh.

It doesn’t work again. You nibble your bottom lip. Dollar pulled taut between your two hands, you lift your knee and rub it against your stockings. 

“Fucking fuck,” you whisper, watching in mild horror as the machine accepts and then rejects your dollar for a third time. 

You tuck it back into your purse, a pretty leather thing that clasps shut and fits perfectly in the small pocket of your jacket. It’s your luck, but whatever. They’ll probably bring a couple of bottles of water to the dressing room in a bit. Maybe even a cocktail bar. 

“Hey.”

Your internal monologue chokes. You question your senses for the split second it takes you to meet his eyes — baby browns, soft and flush with gorgeously long lashes. If there’s one thing about Eddie Munson, it’s that he has very sweet eyes. Not the kind you can replicate in daydreams. 

He’s dressed like a bitch. You’re so sick of him. He has his jacket tied around his waist and his shirt has no sleeves, the alarmingly shapely stretch of his arms on full display. Black ink climbs the hills and ridges of his stark veins, his herd of bats jumping as he offers you a dollar. 

You take it. You aren’t sure what to say, so you bask in the almost-silence, every nerve aflame as you feed the vending machine and click the button for your drink. Equipment cages rattle. Radios chirp. Your drink thinks from behind the red Coca Cola panel down into the bottom of the machine for collection. 

“What’re you doing here?” you ask finally, squatting to grab your drink. 

You stand, train your eyes on the floor, shove your drink under your arm, and crack open your purse to give him your defective dollar in exchange. He takes it without fanfare. 

“Are you busy?” he asks. 

Regrettably, no. The majority of soundcheck is done, and the show doesn’t start for hours. He gestures to the left and you follow, stupidly, with no idea where he’s leading you to and not a clue what he wants, leaving Morgan and Ananya’s drinks for whoever finds them. Eddie’s jeans aren’t as loose on his hips as they were the last time you saw him. His distracting arms are bigger, biceps like a taunt as he holds a door open for you. You take a breath as you pass him, but he doesn’t smell like anything. No sweat or cologne, no cigarette smoke. 

“Is it mean if I say you look good with clean hair?” you ask, squinting in the sudden brightness. 

He’s led you outside to the back of the venue. Your tour bus stands imposing at the end of the lot, surrounded by Godless branded vans and fancy cars. A truck beeps as it loads into the receiving area backward. 

“Probably.”

“You do, though. Look good.”

“So people tell me.”

Fuck, you think. Fuck it. If he’s gonna be weird about it then you’re pulling the olive branch back in and snapping it in half. 

The sky is white as snow. It hurts to look at, the sun like a steaming egg yolk covered in its own whites, thick clouds shielding her warmth. You pull the sides of your jacket together and button up, uninterested in catching a cold when the next six months of your life are planned down to the hour. Eddie puts his jacket on and zips it tight. 

“Wanna go for a walk?” he asks. 

“Why?”

He pushes his hands into his pockets. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he felt self conscious. “Why not?” he asks. 

You nod. You and Eddie aren’t friends, but you aren’t not friends, either. You’re being cold because you’re seized with embarrassment, not because he deserves it. You have memories of his hand on your cheek, and a cherry stem between his teeth, and you don’t know what you said exactly but you know it hadn’t been amicable small talk. You hate him for knowing stuff about you that you’d wanted to keep secret, and you hate yourself more for telling him in the first place. 

“I came home for Christmas. I’m back in Los Angeles tomorrow night.”

“That’s convenient,” you say. 

“Just had to see you before I went,” he agrees. Deadpan humour is terrifying on him. 

He ducks under a low tree branch and holds it away from your face. Together, you begin to walk down the street and into the city, over patched sidewalks and past brand new stores. The mom and pop shops of your childhood are mostly gone. 

Conversations between you two have this odd oscillation between over familiarity and stilted nothings. You like over familiarity better, when you’re both prone to misunderstandings. You’d take snipping at one another over this strange quiet.  

“Is it nice? Being home?” he asks finally. 

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You’ve been here for what, a month now? I just got here, and it wasn’t to see the ‘rents.”

Eddie lifts his chin to the sky a touch. Molasses of sunlight seep through the clouds now, racing to caress his waved hair and high cheekbones. “It’s been awesome,” he says, his eyes closed. His voice like tree bark, uneven but tough. “Makes me wonder what I liked about L.A. so much.”

“All the free stuff,” you offer. “And free girls.”

“The girls aren’t free,” he protests.

“You aren’t getting free girls?” you ask. 

“Are you?”

“Would that bother you?”

Close-lipped, his tongue pokes the skin under his bottom lip.

“You think stuff like that bothers me?” he asks. 

“It bothers some people.”

Eddie isn’t meeting your eyes consistently, but you don’t think he’s lying when he says, “No, it wouldn’t bother me. But my Uncle Wayne would fucking kill me if he heard me agree that the women are free.”

“How progressive.”

He visually bites back a laugh. He looks up from his shoes and sees you smiling and it breaks him, his laugh sputtering out in bits and pieces. “Shit, I’m just trying to be an okay person.”

You concede, “Fine, the girls aren’t free. They’re just very happy to sleep with you for very little reward.”

“Some might say the reward was, you know, pleasure–”

“Ew–”

“Don’t be childish. What did you want me to say? The reward is a long night of rough and tumble fucking–”

“I liked pleasure better,” you interject. You dance around a huge crack in the sidewalk and pause as you and Eddie reach a crossing. “All night? Really?”

“Want me to prove it?”

“I don’t think you could, Munson.”

“I could…” He rests his hand between your shoulder blades. “But I don’t think we’re there yet.”

He encourages you to cross the street, weaving and winding between parked cars, moving cyclists, and a small family bulldozing passers-bys with a twin stroller. When you’ve crossed to the other side uninjured, his hand falls away. The heat of his palm lingers.

“Good observation.”

“You’re sarcastic today. Or is being on the road making you cranky?”

“Being on the road is definitely making me cranky. It fucking sucks, I forgot how badly it sucks, and I don’t get paid day to day like I used to.”

“Oh, you’re getting a flat rate now? Go you, superstar.” Your walk is more of a crawl, the two of you turned to the left side of the street where children shriek and giggle in the outdoor seating of a restaurant. Eddie stops. “How’s the allowance?”

“You get one of those too?”

Eddie bumps his elbow into yours. “We’re kids. They know it. It’s pretty shitty considering how much money they make off of us in the end, but that’s an asshole thing to say, right? We’re lucky.”

You roll your shoulders. He’s more than right. Coming from nothing, a small town, with no college degree and no rich parents to float you, Eddie’s right. You might have talent and you might work hard but so do a lot of other people, and you’re here, and they’re working for minimum wage back home still hoping. 

You wish every kid like you could get to where you are, but they won’t. You’re more than lucky. You should buy a scratcher. 

“We’re fucking lucky,” Eddie says slowly. “And it’s awful anyways.” He grins. “Come to dinner with me?”

You blink. “What?”

“Dinner? I’ve been there before,” —he points to the restaurant you’d stopped across from— “and it’s nice.”

You’re insane and you agree. It’s not too fancy to feel like you’re on a date from the outside, and once you’re indoors you feel relaxed. With a glass of cider in your hands you feel positively giddy.

Eddie slouches back into a velvet booth seat that might’ve once been red. He keeps the jacket on and you’re grateful for it, lest you see his stupid nice arms and turn ditzy. His nose twitches as looks out over the restaurant floor toward the kitchen visible through a long window. It’s warm but not stuffy in here, the air fragrant with browning butter and minced garlic. 

The menus are sticky. You pretend to pour over one, not knowing what to say to break the silence. 

“I know I said you were being sarcastic,” Eddie says, “but I think I meant quiet. Even when you sound annoyed, I can barely hear you.”

“That’s dramatic,” you murmur, proving his point. 

“Are you feeling okay?”

“Well, in what way?”

“What way feels wrong to you?” he asks. 

Trapped. You sip your cold cider. He raps his knuckles against the table. “Come on, what have you got to lose? What did you say to me before?” His eyes soften. “Nobody would believe me if I told them.”

You tap your glass with your thumbnail. 

“I’m okay,” you say honestly. “Most of the time, I feel fine. Or, I forget what’s wrong.”

Eddie flicks his own glass. “Is this about feeling like nothing?”

“I don’t know why I told you that.”

“I have one of those faces.”

“And you were feeding me booze.”

“Don’t say that. You make it sound so shitty.”

“It wasn’t shitty,” you say. “Free drinks, right? What’s shitty about letting a pretty guy pay for you?”

“You think I’m pretty?” he asks.

You kick him under the table. You don’t know what comes over you, shy at your own honesty and irritated with his ridiculousness. I let you kiss me, you want to say. I’d let you do worse. Of course I think you’re pretty. You aren’t cruel — it’s more of a shove with the toe of your shoe. Eddie laughs through a gasp and kicks you back, heel of his converse flat to your calf. 

“You fucking–”

“Sweetheart?” he finishes. 

“No, fuck you. You string me around with your hot and cold act and now you’re coming to my shows taking me to dinner,” —your voice stiffens, thickens, as you glare at him from across the table— “asking me how I’m doing? And I’m the one who has to explain themselves? You tell me, Munson. Do I think that you’re pretty?”

Eddie’s sort of frozen, like a laugh got stuck in his throat and he really is surprised by your sudden anger. You might feel surprised yourself if you had the wherewithal. As it stands, your irritation and your want for an answer is too much.

He hits the toe of his shoe into yours. “Hey,” he says. “Sorry. I’m not… trying to string you around.” 

He doesn’t say anything else. You deflate, ashamed of your sudden outburst. Tired of all the games. 

“I think you’re pretty,” he says. 

“That’s not what I asked.”

“It’s what I’ve been trying to say.”

The food arrives and saves him. You want him to explain —you want him to expand, needily, on what he means and how much he means it— and he clearly doesn’t. He grabs his fork and starts shovelling pasta into his mouth like it’ll magically turn the conversation to something more palatable for him. 

“I’d like to change my answer,” you say.

Eddie swallows harshly. “Can’t. All compliments have been locked in. Maybe at our next cat fight.”

—

Eddie’s heart isn’t pounding like he worried it might when he asked you to follow him into the bathroom. He pictured sweaty, shaking palms, his hands hesitant, a reminiscent picture of a past self who didn’t know how to make girls make noise. He thought the next time he was alone with you, it would be the tragic scene from the movies where the boy bears his heart and the girl can’t accept it. He’s not expecting you to understand. It’s getting to the point where the mean shit he said to you isn’t made up of words anymore but the image of you in the Prover Theatre with your sparkling dress and your dull eyes. He hates that he made you feel that way, and he should say sorry. He feels fucking sorry. 

“Don’t cut me,” you say, quiet so you won’t be caught together. 

“I won’t.”

“When was the last time you did this?” 

“It’s like riding a bike,” he insists. “I haven’t forgotten.”

You simper. Propped up on the sink’s counter, your skirt hiking up your thighs (imagine him covering his face with his hands, rocking his head from side to side, you’re wearing garters) and your jacket falling into the basin. You’ve turned one arm toward him trustingly, but apprehension plays clear as day over your mouth. He wants to remark that your mouth is pretty, but it’s not the right word. Perfect feels closer, but again, it’s not what he wants. He has a fascination with how you talk and when you don’t, how your lips have a mind of their own sometimes, nibbled and popped and pouting. 

“It’s easier if you take your shirt off.”

“How many girls believed that one?” you ask happily. He’s ecstatic. Dinner perked you up and now you’re all smiles and warm laughs. He doesn’t know why you’d been angry with him (he does) because you started it (not really), but you got something off your chest at least. 

“None,” he says. “I’m serious that it’s easier. But you really don’t have to take it off for me to make it look good.”

Eddie wields his small pen knife toward your arm. 

“I like my sleeves,” you say as he takes the hem of one such sleeve into his free hand. 

“Don’t be a baby.” He pulls it taut from your skin. You’re both smiling. Carbs are good like that.

“I have fat arms,” you try. 

He’s out of his mind. Eddie leans down and kisses the top of your arm quickly. “Shut up,” he says.

He doesn’t have time to think about what he’s done. It’ll torture him tonight when all he has for distraction are hotel sheets, and then tomorrow on the red eye back to L.A. He honestly doesn’t wanna look at you because if your nose is even slightly wrinkled he’ll have to turn to the gross toilet in the corner and chuck up, but he also doesn't want to freak you out. He looks up at you from under his lashes. 

You look flustered. 

Not disgusted. 

“I’m doing it,” he warns. 

“Yeah,” you say, nearly normal. “Fine. Make me look cool.”

“You admit that I look cool.”

“No.”

Eddie digs the tip of his pen knife into your sleeve and starts pulling. The fabric tears away in a jagged-lined but even circle around your arm, broadening a tantalising stretch. His stomach hurts a bit. To reach your second arm, the one furthest from him, he has to take up station between your spread legs. Or maybe he doesn’t have to, but he does, your thighs like two warm spots either side of him as he leans in close. 

“And this is what’s gonna make them all like me, right? This is the cement of my street cred?”

“Your street cred? No. And I don’t think anything you do could make them like you.” You lean back at his words. He pulls you back in, fingers braceleting your arm as he fakes taking a measurement. “If they don’t like you already, they won’t. Not your fault, not your problem. Who says you even like them?”

“I do, though. That’s my problem. I even like Little Miss Fleetwood,” you grumble. 

He raises his eyebrows to show he’s listening, stabbing at your sleeve and tearing slow. “She still tripping you up?”

“No. I’m just trying to make you laugh.”

He laughs under his breath. “Mission accomplished, baby,” he murmurs. 

Both sleeves sliced, Eddie steps away from you, ignoring the heat in his stomach to take you in. People who don’t know where they stand shouldn’t be so close to one another, he decides, ‘cause wishful thinking has him marking your hands as wanting. Your fingers move slowly as if through water, tip of your index on the left hand stroking down the back of your right marriage. Eddie pins salaciousness on everybody he meets —coke is falling out of fashion fast but sex is always in— but he can’t get a faithful read on you now. He wants you to want to be kissed. Doesn’t trust that you do. 

“You look edgy.”

“In a good way or a bad way?” you ask.

“An awful way.”

You go quiet, your hands go still. You raise your head until it’s too much, and he realises he’s been moving back in. He drops the penknife in the sink on top of your jacket, putting his hand on your freshly bared arm and bunching the sleeve up as much as he can without it pulling at you. He’s greedy and he wants to palm at your skin like an asshole, that’s not your problem. 

“That bad?” you ask. 

He angles his face over yours. He needs two inches maybe three, and you’d be kissing. His hand falls down your arm to your elbow, clasping weakly over your skin. 

“No,” he says. He can barely hear himself. 

Greedy. His second hand comes up to your face, waiting, and when you lift your jaw just so he slots his hand under it and holds you. 

“What are we doing?” you whisper. 

What are ‘we’ doing? 

“Nothing you don’t want to do.” He widens the gap between you. 

“I know– I know that.” Your arm ventured forward, fingers twisting around the hem of his shirt. You tug it gently, pulling him forward again. “I just don’t understand it. You. I don’t get what’s happening, Eddie.”

“Well… I was going to kiss you.” Eddie fights to sound the way he feels, out of his element but so earnest his chest aches. “I really, really… want to kiss you.”

It doesn’t feel like admitting defeat, as he’d initially thought it might. Neither does it feel confessional. You can’t confess to a secret already known. 

He kisses you just once. A light brush of his lips against yours. Anymore than that and he knows he’ll start making promises like someone who has room for them. His eyes scrunch closed hard and he struggles not to squeeze your poor cheek as the pressure of your lips builds, as they part, as he pulls back and you chase him. He can’t kiss your mouth anymore than that, but your hands are grabbing at him, pleading and twitching and cold against the searing skin of his abdomen as they search underneath his shirt. Eddie feels the soft curve of your hip under his hand, knowing he can’t fuck you here, and undecided on whether that’ll be his ruin or his saviour. 

You shudder as he kisses down. His hands are hungry but his mouth is sweet, gentle like you deserve as he noses down the column of your throat. 

“I don’t get you,” you say, your fingertips sewn into his hair, scratching over his scalp lightly. Your breath catches as he parts his lips. His teeth scratch over the damp crescents of previous kisses. 

He loses himself in the ticklish feeling of your hand and the heat of your skin. “Hm?” he hums. 

“I understood you better when I thought you didn’t like me.”

He kisses up to the soft crook of your jaw before edging you away, just enough to see the sad set of your eyes. 

“Hey,” he says, utters, like you’re trading secrets. His thumb rubs your cheek, a rough touch. He’s never been much good at aligning his words with actions; his heart and his hands. 

He doesn’t know what to do to fix your sad frown. He kisses you again in case that’s what you wanted but couldn’t say, and it works for a handful of blessed, wretched seconds. You kiss back hard. Eddie has to break it to take a breath. 

You rest your forehead against his. It slides slowly to his nose, and eventually you’ve bowed your head, your hands slipping down to his elbows. 

“I feel sick all the time,” you say. Your hands flex against his skin. “The only time I feel alright is when I’m playing– when I’m making something.” You press your head to his chest. “Or when I’m with you.”

Eddie thinks of all the shitty decisions he’s made. His restlessness, his bad attitude. His propensity to assume the worst. How he’d taken your thumb rubbing a smudge off of his cheek in the Prover Theatre as a jab, rather than a helping hand. 

He wraps his arms around you. 

Your head fits under his rather well. 

“I know what you mean,” he says. And out of everything he’s told you today, that’s the hardest to say aloud. 

Eddie hugs you in the dim light of that dingy bathroom knowing he’s running on borrowed time. All too soon, you’re pulling apart and he’s helping you off of the counter unnecessarily. You don’t hold hands on the way back to Wings Stadium. He thought you might. You’re quiet. He tries to cheer you up, feeling more and more like he’s done something wrong the closer you get to the venue.

He doesn’t have anything to offer. You’re both on tour now. He doesn’t have a clue when he’ll see you next, or what he’ll say when he does. 

Miraculously, he gets you back to your dressing room. He gives your cheek a quick squeeze. 

“Play well tonight,” he says. 

“I always play well.”

You do. He watches you from the VIP section a couple of hours later, impressed. Mildly nauseous. His thumb worries the edge of the pass until it splits in his hand, paper coming apart from cardboard. Your singer might be a handful, but she knows when to be discreet. He slinks out before your set finishes through a side entrance, and his head races with your image. If it weren’t for your cut sleeves and the flank of your upper arm glowing under the stage lights, he’d put his kisses down to surreal delusion. 

Eddie doesn’t notice the lone photographer hiding in the eaves. 

The photographer notices him. 

𓆩❤︎𓆪

!!! thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed! if you did, please consider reblogging, it helps so much! Let me know what you thought, what bits you liked and what you want to see next

can you feel another spat coming along 0.0 I honestly had so much fun writing this one especially the scene with Wayne and then the end scene in the bathroom <3 it’s always crazy to see hours and hours condensed into chapters like this but idc I’m having the time of my life and hope u guys r too! the word count is now at a solid 26k I believe though so it does feel rewarding in that way

[megxplryxb]

Lockdown Lovers

Living with your best friend during lockdown sounded like such a great idea until you remembered how hot and horny he was.

Disclaimer: I do not own this gif and take no credit for it. Not my best work but might do a part two out of lockdown at some stage. :)))

Sleeping with your best friend had never really been on your agenda. Sure, you’d thought about the what if’s late at night when you couldn’t sleep and random musings would enter your mind to deter your slumber even more. You’d by lying if you said you hadn’t thought about what it would be like, he was hot and you were only human after all. But the reality was, Colby Brock was your best friend and nothing more.

That was however, until the world pretty much stopped turning and you were living in the middle of a worldwide pandemic. Being on lockdown wasn’t too bad though. It was like being a kid on summer break again, having nothing to do only hang out with your friends and watch the time go by.

You and Kat pretty much lived in Sam and Colby’s house during the pandemic. Only going home when necessary or when Kat and Sam needed some alone time and Colby would beg to go with you because he’d much rather chill with you than listen to his friends getting it on. Colby loved your place because it felt like a home and he knew he could treat it as his own like you did to his house. You’d wrap yourself around Colby on the couch watching movies because with him, it wasn’t weird, it was easy. His fingers running through your hair while you lay on his chest playing with the strings of his many xplr hoodies, eating popcorn, pizza, teaching him how to cook, finding new music, helping him out with new song lyrics and content for his youtube channel. Those were the best of times, times you knew you’d miss when the world eventually got back to “normal”.

Weeks passed however, and the lockdown was no closer to being lifted. Boredom was finally starting to set in, among other things. It felt like an eternity since you had felt the weight of someone on top of you, someone inside of you and you were frustrated as hell. You needed a distraction from the aching feeling between your legs, so when Kat and Sam left to go to Kat’s apartment for the night, Colby suggested getting completely hammered with him and you happily obliged not having anything better to do. Both of you ending up in the pool for a late night swim and having conversations that wouldn’t dare take place in the brightness of the day.

Sitting shoulder to shoulder, skin touching skin, in the hot tub with Colby, sharing a couple of white claws, talk turned to sex or lack thereof. Colby admitting he was “so fucking horny all the time” and jerking off just wasn’t the same. You confessed that masturbation only did so much after a while and that you also longed for more than your own fingers and sex toys. Colby’s eyes widened hearing you talk about pleasuring yourself and he revealed to hearing you touch yourself in your room several nights prior. Your face turned red, mortified by his revelation until he whispered in your ear how hot it was and that he couldn’t help but get himself off along with you. You immediately felt a funny sensation in your stomach noting the change in Colby’s eyes as he looked at you, the friendly sparkle replaced with a fiery wickedness that you hadn’t seen before. He was your friend, he wasn’t supposed to look at you like that, think of you that way. But here you were, heat radiating between your legs, heart racing, sinful images of Colby running through your mind while he mentally undressed you with his piercing blue eyes.

“You have no idea how much strength it took not to come in to your room and offer to finish you off.”

The words lustfully fell from Colby’s mouth before he even realised he had said them. His head lowered feeling he had said the wrong thing. You contemplated removing yourself from the situation knowing that you and your best friend were heading down a slippery slope but in the moment you didn’t care. Everything was telling you to walk away but your body wasn’t moving and that told you enough. You needed this as much as Colby did. Maybe even more.

“Does that offer still stand?”

You questioned biting your lip playing with the thin string on your bikini.

“Fuck yeah it does.” Colby exhaled, pulling you on to his lap, mouth on yours before you had time to settle yourself.

In all of the years that you had known Colby Brock, you had never made out. Not even for a game of truth or dare. You always said it would feel weird, wrong, but in reality it was because you feared what would happen to your friendship if you crossed that line. Luckily for you, you were both too drunk to consider anything other than how quick you could undress each other as Colby dragged you from the hot tub inside to the house and to his bedroom, quickly disposing of your bikini.

Neither of you lasted too long, not that that had surprised you as you were both full of alcohol and extremely worked up. From what you could remember of the night, it was messy, a little clumsy, falling over each other, bodies pushed up against walls and fighting for dominance between the sheets. What you knew for sure? You had just fucked your best friend for the first time. Neither of you spoke straight away after as you panted heavily beside each other, pulling the sheets over your body as realisation began to set in that you were in bed and naked with Colby.

“Wow. So ugh, we never did that before.” Colby joked trying to break the awkward silence that had fallen between you as you both began to sober up.

“Yeah, no, that was…new.” You chuckled going red again as you both sat up in the bed.

“Um, are you ok? I mean, are we?” Colby began to ask as you interrupted quickly. You knew how Colby was, he had more than his fair share of one night stands and you weren’t expecting anything out of what had just happened between you. He didn’t have to give you the talk he gave every other girl once they were done. It was just sex.

“Oh yeah, I’m good, we’re good. This was just… two friends helping each other out, right?” You questioned as Colby grinned nodding in agreement.

“Right.”

“And we were drunk and it won’t happen again so we don’t need to talk about it.” You asserted wrapping Colby’s sheet around you as you stood up, leaving him completely naked on the bed. “I’m going to go back to my room and take a shower, you can take your sheet back when I’m in the bathroom.” You smiled playfully throwing a pillow at your friend to block the view you were receiving because it didn’t look like Colby was in any rush to cover himself.

Once you were back in your room, you closed the door, leaving the bedsheet on the arm chair so Colby could grab it when you were in the shower. The water was a welcomed touch on your skin as the hot soapy beads ran down your body. Closing your eyes, all you could think about was what had just taken place with Colby moments ago in his bedroom. Your heart was still racing from the adrenaline running through your body, hands tracing the parts of you where he had kissed and sucked at, noticing light bite marks on your breasts and inner thighs, evidence that you hadn’t been dreaming . You wondered what Colby was thinking, would he regret it? Would he tell Sam? Would it change your friendship and how he felt about you? That last thought sent your mind in to a panic.

A knock came to the bathroom door, pulling you from your thoughts. “Hey, can I come in?, I need to ask you something.” Colby spoke gently.

“I’m in the shower!” You yelled so he could hear you above the sound of the water.

“So?” He replied, unbothered about your current lack of clothing.

“So, I’m naked!”

“Are you serious? I literally saw you naked five minutes ago.” He yelled back as your face flushed with embarrassment.

“That was different!”

“Why because we were fucking?”

“Colby!”

“Ok I’m coming in…”

“Don’t you dare come in here!” You shrieked watching the door knob turn before Colby stood in front of the shower screen in nothing but a towel around his waist. You shook your head trying to cover your body as the water to hit off of the tiles.

“Okay Brock, what was so important that it couldn’t wait until I was dressed?” You questioned raising your brow towards him, only a screen door between you.

“Why can’t it happen again?”

“What?”

“Back in my room, you said this won’t happen again.”

“It won’t.”

“But what if I want it to happen again?” Colby stood silently waiting for his answer as you shook your head in disbelief. Part of you thought Colby might regret what happened with you but saying he wanted it to happen again was not what you expected to hear at all.

“Colby we.” Is all you could manage to say before he slid the shower door open, leaving nothing but hot air between you.

“Look, I’m not saying this has to be an official thing, you know I don’t do relationships but fuck, that was fun.” He grinned as you rolled your eyes and laughed at his confession.

“What exactly are you getting at?” You questioned folding your arms still standing in the shower.

“I’m suggesting that while we’re on lockdown, you and I make a little arrangement…” Colby paused for a moment to try and read the expression on your face and when he noticed you didn’t automatically have a horrified look on your face he continued. “I mean, we’re both single adults and let’s be honest, we both have needs that the other can fulfil…so I’m suggesting that until the world gets back to normal we…”

“You want to be fuck buddies?” You asked cutting him off as he nodded a yes. You bit your lip trying to consider the pros and cons of what he was proposing, not taking notice of the nervous look on Colby’s face in front of you.

“I’ve completely freaked you out haven’t I? I’m sorry, I never should have suggested it, I’m an idiot.” He cursed himself turning to leave you alone again as he suddenly felt a small tug on the towel around his waist preventing him from moving any further. Colby turned back to face you, watching with excitement as you gently pulled the towel from his waist and to the ground.

“Close the door, it's getting cold in here.” You whispered, a smile creeping on to Colby’s face as he slid the screen door shut, joining you in the shower. It didn’t take long until the space between you was closed once again as your lips met his in a warm embrace and you fucked your best friend for the second time that night.

[sanest-bsd-delegate]

IRL MEETS WITH DAZAI, SIGMA AND FYODOR

Headcanon: How I imagine you and the boys meeting after being online friends Genre: Crack A/N: Still questioning why i tried writing this... Warning? Bad grammer and 0 proofread →Masterlist

Dazai:

You both pretty much met on twitter when you were concerning who was behind the chuuya hate acc 🤩 I mean who can hate chuuya?

you probably were a new member in the mafia for not knowing about THE Dazai oSaMU

or you were a member of Detective agency dense enough to know that they both were infact enemies and not enemies soon to be lovers 🤩🤩😔🏳️‍🌈

OR You were a freelancer fresh college passout student who was wasting their time online getting blocked by 12 year old kids 🤩😋that was until you accidentally befriend him

successfully had 6th month friendaversy. 🤩🤩

when you both exchanged your place of residence you were shocked to know there are actually useless people in Japan apart from you

OR You were just concerned to know that he used to stay up late at night to talk to you while you message him in between work hours. 🤩🤩Dazai is such a romantic mood NGL

AHHHH Its the day of THE friends meeting.

You lowkey regret befriending him.

He probably sends you discord kitten memes and his hand pics for no reason. [BUT CSN WE TALK ABOUT HIS HANDS-!!?]

Mf once tried to video call you when you specifically told him NOT to.

He was blocked for a whole week before someone named 'iaminlovewithdeathtoes' spammed you.

🤡honestly you realised you both never shared your name, so pretty much to arrived at the meetup place, thinking of ways how to say 'chuuyahater6fttall' and knowing him, he prob would have you come over the agency cause bitch is lazy asf.

Dingdong you arrive at Yokohama or pretty much at the agency 🤩🤗except you were shitting in your pants cause what the actual fuck. So the person you talked with, who encouraged all kind of illegal stuff and told you to shoplift and send a pic was actually a detective??? Nah dawg you wished he was a lowkey an accountant cause which detective will have so much time to be online and chat?

boi you were wrong. And to have cherry on the top, you bumped into a brown coat bearing man who looked like he was high on nuts. But damn he looked hot

did you say "sir please scream me without the s 🥺" to yourself? Did he hear it? probably

🤩boom your headphones got disconnected for a moment and the whole agency went silent as the lyrics of "good lookin" started to play.

The man infront of you laughs before kidnapping you and dragging you out of the agency, a queue of screams and shouts for the man to comeback and you desperately trying to switch off your phone. (🤩🤗The lyrics were blasting through the area)

honestly you didn't mind as long as he turns out to be those Wattpad overprotective mafia bosses 🤩🤩🤗🌟 so you can have ur Y/N moment

'Help I am getting kidnapped by brown coat man and am left all alone' you typed, as the three dots indicated that chuuyahater typing before he replied, 'I am the man'

The way you audibly screeched as your turn back and your hand automatically made a way to his face to give him a slap. (🤩You heard laughing in the background, it was chuuya fyi)

"Aww belladonna, I thought you loved me" "THAT DOESN'T MEAN YOU KIDNAP ME AND MAKE ME STAND ON TOP OF A HIGHASS BUILDING" "But you agreed to do it once we meet!"

Oh he was serious when he said that 🤡

You ran away as fast as you can away from him, as you typed

'you are a bitch you know that?' 'And you are really beautiful you know that?'

😍🤩 you were greatful to get away from him, except he was knocking at you door (hotel door if u came from other part of the world) at 3am playing THAT part of the song "redbone by childish gambino" (iykwim) outside your door

Sigma

you both honestly never befriended.

You accidentally messaged him asking him to deliver you a pizza

🤩and when he replied with 'wrong number' you lost your shit. 'The fuck you mean wrong number you son of a-' 'Dont have one?'

Sigma maybe anxious in real life but online? Pretty sure he is a full on sassy sarcastic not so sweet Sigma (respectfully)

You both might have had a very professional verbal conversation over phone that day.

He and you might have bonded yet again when you, my dear reader accidentally send him a meme you were suppose to send someone else (guess who) and Sigma lost his shit.

Why was na unknown number, with memory of a snail sending him 20 pictures of a fisheye doll at 3am in the morning?

'Are you okay-?' He probably asked, 'Do I look sane?' you probably answered.

😭 but lowkey thinks that you both exchanged your insta Ids or smthg.

😡😡He didn't even acknowledge your following and never followed you back. 😔 rip your follower count

You spam him with reels and he? REPLIES TO ALL OF THEM LIKE GOOD BLESS THIS MAN TO RUN A WHOLEASS CASINO AND STILL HAVE TIME TO WATCH YOUR REELS

You would rant to him and he will listen 100%

Pretty sure you never tired to meet up. It was your ass being dragged by one of your friends to accompany them to a flying casino and get bankrupt.

Prob msged him saying how edible the manager of the place you went looked😭😭 (you didn't tell him u went to a casino so)

He replies with 'go get your man and stop telling me details about his hands'

And so you did, pretty much used your luck and became the star of Casino😡😡

Society validation? Nah 👎 but Casino manager acknowledge? Yah 👍

Now the thing is, Sigma probably got really indulged on how you managed to beat records that he spent time doing a background check rather then opening his phone and seeing your 99+ texts.

You on the other hand? Went wild. Your online friend wasn't responding!!!?? 😡😡 and you were telling him the tea how the manager put his hand on your shoulder acknowledging you.

Little did you know, you were so blinded texting 'the casino manager' You failed to realise you bumped into him.

phone drop, heart stop screen crack, gave you a heart attack.

worst part? The 'Manager' picked up your phone, looking down at the chat only to see his pfp and his contact named "Pizzah Guz" and your half written text of 'Where are you, I miss talking to| '

You were whereas unsure whether to feel embarrass or cry. You see his face only to realise the amount of shock you gave to the manager.

😭😭Pretty sure it took some time for him to cool down.

BUT I THINK he totally appears in front of your room, with a pizza guy costume and a box full of pizza, messaging you 'Open your door'

You were a little freaked out by his message. I mean Imagine texting a random guy and the only thing you know about him is that he is not a pizza guy and he tells you to open your door?

You open your door to see the manager in a pizza delivery guy uniform, a pizza in his hands while he holds his phone together, before he hands it over to you, before your phone notification tings, your online friend sends an image capturing 'Pizza delivery'

You fainted on the spot of pure embarrassment and realisation when you realise you were texting the manager while simping on him and describing details.

Or you just take the pizza and close the door, switch off and throw your phone on the bed and eat the pizza while the realisation hits.

Fyodor:

You both probably met on discord while bullying middle schools for their pfp choices 😭

10/10 had bombing conversation 👁️👄👁️ that is until you realise he was serious about it.

You be joking about how you will learn hacking to hack him and that moment all your dms get 'Join the rat cult' Picture.

😭😭please idts you met physically…like the possibility of fyodor arriving at your doorstep while you are half asleep eating a pizza and watching TV is insane.

Imagine you peep through the peephole and see fisheye fyodor 🤩🤩 10/10 scared

Online friend? Nah man he is your offline terrorist. That was until his wholeass body blewup and the only thing that was left was his arm from which he used to type to your responses from.

10/10 Power of Love and friendship

I feel like whenever you both VC, your silly self will try to use the soundboard and he probably vibe to it.

You both accidently made a cult.

Fyodor NGL prob just stalked you out of boredom.

Nikolai probably be backreading your chats and the next day you have a new coworker named "Fyolaya"

Honestly there is a possibility that fyodor has zero interest in meetup and then bam Nikolai scopes you in the middle of your work and drop you on fyodor's lap🤩

Imagine the tension when you, a average worker in the society lands on the lap of one of THE Doa members

Y/N x hot mafia boss who kidnaps Y/N accidentally cause Y/N met his man au? Terrorist edition?

You living a Wattpad life? Possibilly

A/N: Look i am sane

TAGLIST: @averagehisoilluenjoyer, @high-on-dazai @ruru-kiss Join or remove your user here.

[amyispxnk]

I'd do whatever I could do

Summary - you're staying with Joel now, trying to figure yourself out and leaving the QZ to visit some of his friends

A/N: oh my god, I finally did it y'all - finally made the part two for this 👏 Also, I was going through the lyrics of this song and I kind of realised just how daddy issues Joel it is. I'm not gonna list them, but there are definitely a good few lines that stuck out to me. A part 3 might be simmering. We'll see.

Pairing: platonic/father figure!Joel Miller x f!reader (could probably be read as GN tho?)

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: violence, mentions of past abuse, PTSD, alcohol mention, language, angst, pet names, comfort, paternal issues, very brief mention of a gun

DO NOT COPY THIS FIC IN ANY WAY PLS AND TY.

Part 1 here

You reckoned you had stopped really taking the words in a few seconds after he slammed the door behind him, immediately shrinking back into the couch where you'd previously been sat staring into space, whilst he told you things about his day.

Your eyes darted up at him quickly, lip quivering already. You still didn't know exactly why. Why small things like him touching you too abruptly, raising his voice (never at you, but for some reason it still affected you), loud noises like a door slamming, affected you. But they really did, and he'd come to notice it after only a few days of you staying with him.

--

He came back home after a long, difficult, tiring deal. Since your arrival and staying at his place had been so recent, his old habits remained. One of them was to practically shout and stomp his foot in anger as soon as he got back from a trade went south, a bad day out.

"Fuck!" He had gritted through clenched teeth as he threw his bag on the floor, deadset on getting into the kitchen to his whisky to muffle the frustration of the day.

You froze in complete fear and horror as he rounded the corner, his eyes immediately falling onto your trembling figure, clutching the little food packet in one of your hands as your own eyes stared back at him, bulging out of their sockets.

"Shit." He muttered to himself, taking a few steps towards you - not expecting you to immediately drop the packet and raise your hands in front of you, almost cowering before him.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry Joel p-please, I don't-" You stuttered, eyes welling up with tears as you flinched when he took another, more careful, step towards you, already apologising even though you didn't know what you had done.

"Hey, hey, hey. 's okay," he soothed. "C'mere sweetheart. It's okay." And somehow the sound of his voice, so gentle just for you, comforted you immediately.

You stepped into his open arms, body shaking hard with sobs as you choked on your own tears. "I'm sorry." You said, muffled into the fabric of his flannel.

"I told you it's okay. What happened, sweet girl?" He hugged you tight, right hand coming up to rub soothing circles into your back.

"I don't know." You murmured, unsure of what set you off so badly.

"It's okay baby, we'll figure it out. You're okay now."

--

That was the first time it had happened, now you were here again. He'd slammed the door, although he wasn't angry. It was just something he did out of habit to ensure it closed properly, but after he saw you shaking like before on the couch, his brows knitted in worry.

"What's wrong?" He asked, a hand coming to rest on your shoulder as you turned to face him slightly, jolting - not as aggressively as you used to - at the touch.

"Nothing. Just- you slammed the door. I think it's one of those.. trigger things you were talking about."

Naturally, Joel had racked his mind and scoured the dozen odd books he had in his apartment to try remember anything about this kind of mental health issue and the things you'd gone through, finally landing on some sort of PTSD. He'd explained it as best he could to you, telling you that the things like someone raising their voice at you and loud noises were 'triggers', things that reminded you of the times with your dad and made you feel that same fear you'd feel with him all over again.

"Right." He nodded, brushing your hair back and out of your eyes a bit. "'m sorry, sweetheart. I'll try not to do it again, yeah?"

You hummed a noise of agreement, making a space beside you for him to sit down on the couch.

He did so and cleared his throat. "Got some news," he began "'s nothin' big, really. Just thought you oughta have a bit of notice."

You turned to face him a little more as he looked up and met your eyes. "I have this deal, with a guy in Lincoln, and I'm due to go see him next week." He told you.

"So.. you're leaving?" You questioned, trying not to seem too hurt by it.

"No, no. I mean- if you don't want to come with me, then yeah, but I'll be back within the month. I just.. don't feel too safe leavin' you here." He explained, and you nodded.

"I don't want you to go. I'll- I'll come with you." You mumbled, and he gently tilted your head up to face him again.

"You're gonna be okay out there? Y'ever been out of the QZ before?" He asked. If you hadn't ever been outside then things could be quite difficult. It would be scary for a young thing like you. Not only that, but you had your triggers, and the gunfire paired with the infected would surely set one of them off - that's why he'd tried putting the entire trip off, but he had to go. That was how he made his living around here, he needed those supplies.

"Mmhm. I've also killed a few infected before, if you're worried about that. Not gonna be completely useless, I'd say." You said with a small chuckle, leaning into his touch subconsciously.

"Okay." He nodded, stroking your cheek gently before standing up and going over to the kitchen to make something for dinner. "And you're not useless, sweetheart, not at all."

-----

Bill and Frank. That's who they were. Bill was the guy he actually had the deal with, Frank was the one who'd convinced Bill to go along with it in the first place. Frank was the nice one, Joel had told you.

He'd explained a bit before you'd left and more when it came up in conversation as the two of you walked. In and out of forests, weaving between trees, trudging down dirt roads and kicking rocks, on your journey to Lincoln.

A journey that you still would've been able to complete within a day on foot, but that was before the apocalypse. Now there were buildings falling over eachother, and guards near your place of departure which slowed you down, and clickers and the likes which ensured you had to be completely silent in your movements, extending the time of your journey by at least 50%.

You watched as he slaughtered them all though. It should have scared you, at least a little, but it just amazed you. Admittedly, it had shaken you when you saw him completely beat one of the FEDRA guards to death when you were making your way out of Boston. You'd been caught, a guard that wasn't supposed to be there was there and Joel wasn't careful enough.

Things were almost okay, you probably could have haggled your way out of that situation, but when the soldier made a comment about you, a comment about what they might do to a 'bad girl' like you for sneaking out of the QZ, he had simply seen red. He didn't even know he had lunged for the man until he was on top of him, the crunch of the soldier's jaw and Joel's fist coming down on his face bringing him back to reality.

He was protective of you, and rightfully so, and you didn't even care how aggressive he could get with it. He wanted to keep you safe, and would go that far for it, therefore he cared about you. Someone actually cared about you.

"Okay, I think we're gonna stay here for the night." He said, pulling you out of your thoughts as you gave him a small smile.

"Okay."

You both set up a makeshift camp, eating whatever you could spare from your stash of food before getting ready to go to sleep - him denying your offer to take watch like he did before and he'd do everytime.

You sighed, walking off and quickly settling into the sleeping bag, melting into it and relishing the warmth it offered you as you hugged yourself to sleep, body heat almost suffocating you but in a comforting way.

--

When you woke up, you thought you actually were suffocating, throwing the cover off of you and crying out his name, the only person you could think of to save you. He was going to get you, he was back, he was coming for you and he'd never leave you alone, he'd take you from Joel and then he'd k-

"Hey, hey. That's not gonna happen, sweetheart, come on, come over here." You didn't realise you were saying those things out loud but it didn't matter as you crawled out of your sleeping bag, letting him pull you into his lap as he cradled you, rocking you back and forth as he kissed your head.

"It's okay, it's okay. Did ya have another nightmare?" He asked, voice calm and low as he tried to comfort you and calm you down.

You nodded quickly, sniffing and breathing erratically as you did.

"Sweet girl. It's okay now, it's okay." He reassured you, hugging you tight and pressing more kisses into your hair. "I won't let anything happen to you, you know that."

"I know." You said quietly, voice cracking as you wiped at your tears. "I'm sorry." You said, somehow in a voice even quieter than before.

He sighed, breathing slowly and deeply - something he knew helped, as he noticed you'd start breathing in time with him to ground yourself, regulate your own breathing during these situations. "Don't go and apologise when you haven't even done anything wrong, sweetheart. You're going through a lot and you're probably still processing everything that happened, it wasn't that long ago when you were still.." he didn't want to remind you of anything too sensitive, trailing off slightly. "Point is, it's all fairly fresh, and it's natural things like these nightmares are gonna be happenin', so don't apologise, okay?" He said, looking into your glossy eyes and brushing your tears away.

"Yeah. I'm-" You were already going to apologise again, making him frown slightly. "Thank you, Joel."

"It's okay. You try get some more sleep now, okay?" He gently helped you off his lap and pulled the sleeping bag back on top of your body, knees cracking as he got back up to walk away to where he was taking watch - when your voice called out for him again.

"Can you stay with me? Please, Joel? I'm just- I'm scared." You mumbled, face growing hot with embarrassment at how pathetic the question felt now you were speaking it aloud.

He pressed his lips together, turning his head to check the area once more before getting his own sleeping bag, placing it by yours, and resting his arm behind your head as you tucked your face into his chest.

"Goodnight." He said softly, stroking your hair slowly.

"Night, Joel." You mumbled into the soft fabric of his shirt, before passing out again, leaving him to lay alone with his thoughts in the cool night.

Thank you sm for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated and requests are open! 💞

Tags - @rosierogie @jjlevin

[meosq]

Rockstar Rocker

“ stay in the middle , like you a little !”

Summary ; One of toman’s only female companions in the gang is actually a really famous rockstar! How will our beloved Manjiro react to being friends with a famous lead singer

warnings ; fem!reader

might do a k-pop idol version (о´∀`о)

“Yo Y/N! “ Baji shouted out out as y/n left class with the guitar bag hanging on her back.

she turned her head around just a little so that Baji could see she had acknowledged his call for her.

“Yeah?”

“are you heading to the meeting? Let me come with you we can-“

“Im not heading to the meeting, thats later . I have something to do right now. Talk to you later” y/n said as she walked out of the class and headed to her so called “something”

“ugh shes so mysterious, im sick of this! what if shes a spy from another gang?! or even worse…. Shes apart of another gang?!!?” Baji thought as his reasoning became more and more irrational.

“This calls for a toman og follow party!!!” He shouted as he ran out of the class in a hurry opening his phone to call his friends and discuss a plan.

“do you really think shes apart of another gang.. really?” Mitsuya asked in a sarcastic tone as he watched Baji take small things as you leaving for other things as treason.

“Im going to agree with Takashi here, y/n hasnt done anything wrong.” Draken also chirped in , confused as to what Baji was on about.

“Okay , well that settles it! We will follow her and see if im right or wrong!!” Baji stated as he walked to follow where he saw y/n last walking.

“Wait we cant-“ said mitsuya , but it was already too late. Most of the Og gang had started to follow Baji , not out of untrusting you but to just laugh at Baji once they find out it was nothing.

They walked until they stopped at a concert venue.

“This is where i saw her walk into , this is probably her hide out-“

“Would you look at that, the Loci’s are performing right now” said Manjiro as he read the post stuck on the wall.

“You’re right, she’s probably went in to see them perform” said Chifuya as he opened the doors to the venue and made his way into the concert.

They all made their way into the concert, hearing the beats of the drum and guitars getting louder.

“If we dont find her here, can we stay to listen to the rest of the concert?” Manjiro stated as he swayed his body to the beats excited to see the concert.

As the boys went into the venue they heard a familiar voice start to sing.

“no fucking way.” Draken stated first as he looked to see the lead singer of the famous Loci’s.

“You gotta be kidding me.” Manjiro stated

“fuck off” Baji said

The lead singer they were looking at was no other that their female friend, y/n.

She was singing and strumming her bass as the crowd continued to shout her lyrics back at her.

The sweat dripping from her face reflected the studio lights as she flipped her hair back. Indulging in her lyrics, not realising her so called “secret” was out.

As the concert was coming to an end and the screaming crowd started to leave as Y/n said her thanks with her band.

“you did amazing y/n!” Leon , her drummer said to her as he wrapped his hand around her neck placing you in choke hold.

“You really did hit that high note, i got shivers dude.” Nini , her bass said in a monotone voice.

“THEY ARE RIGHT! You did amazing y/n!!!” Manjiro said as he ran up to the stage.

“thank you Mikey- wait. Mikey? What the hell are you doing here” y/n said as she took her electric guitar off in utter confusion. Staring at her gang mates who had supposedly found out about her band.

“ someone had a suspicion about you, so we followed and now we know your actually just apart of a band instead of another gang.. right “ mituya stated as he stared at Baji silently alerting y/n that he thought she was very suspicious and maybe even a traitor.

That thought alone gave her a giggling fit, as she laughed at Baji for even thinking she would betray the gang she called her second home.

“Im sorry y/n..” baji said as he looked downwards embarrassed and shameful that he even thought she would betrayed them.

“Its okay, but im shocked you even got in! The tickets have been sold out for ages!” Y/n stated as she came to realise they wouldve found out sooner or later.

“Y/n i didnt know you could play electric and sing! Thats so insanely cool.” Chifuya said as his eyes gleamed with stars as he could finally see a “famous” person in real life let alone be friends with them.

“I mean… i do have a world tour coming up. You guys should come to the Asia maybe even American part of it! Ill even pay” she said subtly flexing her fame and wealth to the boys. As their ears perked up at the thought of travelling with friends around the globe.

“YES!”

[jaehunnyy]

I know I love you

Genre: friends-to-lovers!au, fake-dating!au, angsty but with a happy ending, fluff (in the end)

Word count: 1k

Pairing: fake-boyfriend!Beomgyu x fem!reader

Requested by: anon (song: 0X1=LOVESONG - TXT)

Warnings: one kiss, usage of pet names (angel), a bit of a messed up situation, mentions of clubbing, mentions of Beomgyu being drunk (though he is sober enough), possible grammar mistakes

A/N: nonnie, im sorry it took so long to write this, but i am happy i got to finish it now. i changed the meaning of the lyrics a bit and i used them in different situations, so I hope you don't mind that too much. thank you! ✨️

__________________________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

The flashing lights and the loud music defining the club Beomgyu was in were nothing new for the boy. The reason why he kept ending there? Very familiar as well. He often wondered what made him accept fake dating you, because instead of becoming closer, he felt like you were distancing more with every passing day. And still, it was his mistake, because he accepted the deal when you offered to help him with making the girl he loved jealous—not realising that you were supposed to make yourself jealous in this case. And once again, the memories have started to kick in.

"Hey, Gyu!" you shouted, gently nudging his shoulder: "I heard you're in love, hmmm?"

His eyes widened at your question, and the panic made his vision blurry. There was no way you found out, was it?

"Uhm, well, you see—"

"I can help you with that, Gyu! I know you are way too shy to confess, so I have a plan for that. Let's fake date!"

"I don't want to use you for that… you are much more than a rebound for me, Y/N…"

“I offered to do that, and I will be here for you, always. Let's do that, Gyu. Please, use me like a drug."

Let's fake date. Please, use me like a drug. He would have never imagined that he would be in such a situation, but if he said no, you would keep on asking questions, and he would expose himself; so he chose to say yes.

Already tired of the place he spent his last hour in and the aching memory of his mistake, he took his leather jacket and started walking slowly to your house, because even with his foggy mind, he knew you'd always let him in. You were his fake girlfriend, after all. He also took advantage of the silence on the street, engulfed by the pressure of his thoughts, until he reached your welcoming house. One knock, and you were already in front of him, the same, worried look plastered on your face.

"Did you get drunk again…?" you sighed, before letting him come inside.

"No, 'm not drunk," he said, an innocent smile stretching his lips softly: "just missed you."

You gave him a bitter smile, because in the end, you were not the girl he loved, (or so you thought).

"Is this part of our deal?"

"Missing you? No, Y/N, 'm honest with youuuu!" he laughed, clinging into you like a little kid.

You had enough of this painful pretending.

"Gyu… let's end this."

Was he not sober enough, so that he started to hear things? There's no way you would end things like this, right? Did he do something wrong?

"What? What about the girl I like?"

"You don't need me to pull her, Beomgyu. Once you do, you will be happy, and I will keep on hurting myself. It's over."

He felt the need to laugh, you couldn't be serious. It was toxic, but he was addicted.

"Are you saying that I'm the one hurting you, when you did that to yourself?" he asked, hands shaking in anger. Why did you blame him?

"Yes." you simply stated, arms crossed in front of your chest.

"Then why the fuck did you offer to help me one month ago?"

"Because I love you, Gyu. And I would rather have you as my fake boyfriend than not having you at all, but it has become an all or nothing situation, and I want all of you."

You did all of this—because you loved him too? All this messed up situation, for him to find out that you were crushing on each other?

"Y/N… you were the girl I liked. When you found out that I have a crush, I panicked and… I didn't want to give myself away, so I chose to say yes to your plan, even though it made no sense."

You looked at him with glossy eyes, giving up and squishing him into a big hug. There was no point in fighting more, the situation was already messed up. You were convinced he wouldn't remember any of this in the morning, but you wanted to use this opportunity, just this time.

"Gyu, look at me. If you remember this in the morning, kiss me. If not, let's both forget about this."

Even though he was sober enough to think rationally, he played your game once again.

"Deal."

The next morning came with such small steps, that you felt trapped in a never ending loop. Since you didn't have a lot of space in your one-person apartment, you had no choice but to let Beomgyu sleep next to you, his hands holding you close to him all night. You opened your eyes and saw him already looking at you, lips curling in happiness at the sight of you.

"Morning, Y/N!" he cheerfully said, stroking your back softly.

"Morning, Gyu. How do you feel?"

"Amazing, actually. What about you?"

"I'm… alright…" you whispered, trying to understand why he didn't act sick after his drunk state the other day; though, the boy had something else in mind.

He gently cupped your cheek with his hands, pressing his soft lips on yours. The kiss took you off guard, but you didn't lose any more time and kissed him back, full of feelings and love. You felt him smile, pressing his forehead on yours and looking at you softly.

"Say you love me, Y/N. That's all I want to hear right now. Say you love me till the end of the world."

"I love you, Gyu. I love you, and I'm so happy you remembered."

"I love you too, angel, I always did." he said, then pressed a sweet kiss on your cheek.

In the end, everything turned out to be worth it, as you ended up having your own happy ending story, next to the boy you've adored more than anything.

[uramilf]

hi! I love your writing sm. can I req this it's based on a tiktok I saw and thought it'd be cute. so basically y/n singing taylor's new song you're losing me esp the bridge! and matty is concerned like "we're okay right? you've been singing that song with much passion" or something like that! I just really thought it would be cute thank u so much

Ok I decided to turn this one into a proper imagine where the reader is a popular solo artist who misses her rockstar boyfriend and literally sat up until 3am working on it because i loved the idea so fucking much, thank you anon <3

Warnings: Angst and sadness but happy ending I promise

You're Losing Me

Y/n Y/l/n was sitting alone in her dressing room cross legged on a battered sofa. She had just received a message from her friend George to inform her that The 1975 had performed their last show of their tour and were flying back to London the very next morning. He also dropped in that Matty was excited to see her again and couldn't wait to get home. She hadn't bothered to respond. Why couldn't Matty have told her that himself? Her heart sank on remembering that although Matty was finishing his tour, she was just beginning hers. She would spend one night with him in their shared house before flying to the USA and wouldn't return for several weeks. Y/n felt empty, as she had since Matty left. She looked up to realise that she wasn't alone at all; in fact the dressing room was full of people refilling her water bottles, fixing the order of her costumes for quick changes, ensuring the setlist was right. But still, the crushing loneliness got to her. She doubted that it would be remedied in twenty minutes when the crowd of 15,000 people were screaming her name. She was right.

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

Exactly 24 hours later, Y/n lay in her boyfriend's arms, thrilled to have him home but heart not feeling any lighter. She could feel them pulling apart from each other, the demanding schedules their careers presented them with tearing apart the best relationship either of them had ever been in. Even as Matty stroked her hair and pressed soft kisses to her forehead, she was fighting to keep a smile on her face. She wanted to burst into tears and tell him she needed him. She needed to be with him all the time, not just sometimes. She needed to fall into his arms the second she came offstage. She needed to feel as though their relationship wasn't a liability. When Y/n left Matty in bed to use the bathroom, he started to scroll Twitter and look for videos of his girl's first show of her tour. He came across one that already had thousands upon thousands of views. It was captioned "Y/n Y/l/n cover Taylor Swift's "You're Losing Me" at her London show last night". He clicked and started watching. His girlfriend sounded angelic as usual, but he didn't feel like he was watching a video of her usual happy, performance-loving self. The girl on his screen was breaking from the inside out. The passion she was singing with was gave her the image of someone who undeniably related to what she was singing. She wasn't just covering a popular song. He could tell she meant it. He listened closely to the lyrics; "And I wouldn't marry me either, a pathological people pleaser", "Do something babe, say something." Matty's heart was in his throat as he realised that there was a reason she had chosen the song. Did she think he didn't love her anymore? Had she been hoping for the next step in their relationship? Was he really losing her?

Y/n re-entered the room to see Matty, phone in hand, with a tear slipping down his cheek. "What's wrong, baby? Aren't you happy to be home?" "Are we ok, Y/n?" Matty whispered. "What? Of course we are. What's brought this on, love?" "The song. Last night. I know you didn't write it but you just sang it with so much passion, I couldn't help but feel like there's something you're not telling me." Y/n looked at his phone and was overcome with guilt. He understood that she had been singing to him. She took Matty's face in her hands and swiped away a tear gently with her thumb. "I'm sorry, Matty. But I just felt like I related to the song so much. I couldn't help but feel like we drifted apart while you were on tour. We were barely speaking by the last few weeks of it. I just needed you here, and honestly I did feel like you were losing me." Matty's sobs didn't stop. "Are you saying you want to break up with me because I'm away too much?" "No! Of course not baby, I couldn't imagine breaking up with you for the world. You are all I want in life. I promise. But I just don't know how to do this long distance thing anymore. I need us to be together." "Y/n, darling, I know. I'm dreading tomorrow. In all honestly, I understand why you sang the song. I was drifting away from you. I just couldn't bear to talk to you over the phone. I couldn't even answer a text from you without crying about how much I missed you."

Y/n was crying now too, feeling terrible that she hadn't seen how miserable Matty had been on tour. She stroked his hair as he buried his head in her chest. "It's ok baby, we're gonna be ok." Matty lifted his head to kiss away her tears. "Listen, darling. I'm going to speak to the boys and let them know that I'm not gonna be in the studio for a while. Give me a few days to recover from tour and then I'm gonna fly out and meet you. We'll only be away from each other for another week tops." Y/n tackled him into a hug. "You're really coming on tour with me?" "Yes, darling, really. I'm sorry I even considered going back to the studio instead of coming with you. I've just felt so pressured into releasing new music recently. But everyone else can just wait for me and my girl."

Y/n and Matty lay in each other's embrace once more, and as she was drifting off to sleep, she heard him whisper, "I promise I'll never let you feel like you're losing me again."

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

A/N: Soz guys that got way deeper than I wanted it to. Got carried away ig but oh well

[baby-girl-aaron-dessner]

Hi 👋🏼 so I heard the rest of the album and wanted to share my opinion.

So I have listened to it one time but so far I have loved most of the songs.

There are songs that started great but ended up being disappointing and others that I think should have been kept in a drawer. But I can say that my favourite is fortnight. I don’t know why but it actually stuck with me for some reason and fresh out of the slammer.

Now, I am going to share my insight into this album and you can agree to disagree but I hope we can all be civil when discussing because we are all mature adults here. And again this is my impression. And if I am not making sense please say so and I’ll try and explain myself better. English is not my first language and so I can sometimes say stuff that don’t translate well into words.

The first thing I noticed about the album is that there were no love songs on it but it was also not a breakup album.

I think the biggest theme of the album was “ I am lost”

Taylors entire life has always been mapped out. And even when she ventures off and did things differently that was also planned because everything was a theme. When people say she changes her self to fit her “boyfriends” image they are not wrong but they are also not completely right. I think a part of it comes down to finding herself which she probably never had the chance to considering how she consumes her self with the music and the industry.

My theory is that when she met Joe she found the escape she needed and a new place to explore far away from the media. But that didn’t satisfy her, because deep down she doesn’t know who she is away from the light. And thats the insecurity we see in lover. The. Locked down happened and again she was lost musically and romantically but with songwriting she thought she can fill in the wholes in the relationship but I don’t think that satisfied him and so he didn’t want to continue. Which made a bigger gap

With midnights, for me at least, it sounded like she was going back through her life to try and figure out who she was and how did she get there. I think there was a lot of questions about herself she was trying to answer. So when she and Joe broke up it added to doubt she had about herself and that why we got TTPD.

The reason we didn’t get alot of Joe songs is not because she loved Matty more or she wanted him more but because she her self was struggling, it was not just a rebound but it was an experiment. From what I heard in the swings no one in her circle understood the appeal but were playing along because of what she was going through. And it was not just the break up but being back in the spot light like that.

To me it felt like she was not saying fuck you all the fans and people around her with the relationship but more of “ I need this so let me be”. Like she was trying to prove something to herself.

The most interesting song to me was So High school, because it does seem to be about Travis, but it sounded like he is just convenient more than a love affair. She also doesnt understand him or finds him interesting and sees his world as juvenile but it’s safe to stay in for a little while

The song I Can Do It With A Broken Heart is not about heart break but about struggling with fame. I can’t explain why but that’s how the lyrics played to me.

I don’t think she is happy in her life outside her music and songwriting. Again I think she is lost and she is trying to cop with a lot of sad emotions.

Anyway, I just wanted share my thoughts because I have no where to put these thought😂

Sorry for the long post 🥰

Hi sweet anon, thank you for sharing. Your English is great.

I agree with a lot of your interpretation, especially when you say she sounds ‘lost’ on this album. It’s both relieving and heart-breaking to see a child star grow up to realise that they have been moulded to be who they are by their elders and the industry. Her anger and confusion at this is so understandable and well over due.

I agree with you when you say, “deep down she doesn’t know who she is away from the light”.

I also agree with your interpretation of So High School. From The relationship being portrayed in this song sounds quite superficial/surface level. Especially when you compare it to the way she writes about her other muses.

At the end of the day, Taylor Swift is midnight rain; she is ever changing. I can imagine this would leave her in a state of constant confusion.

[chcrryade]

when you think you know what i know.

Hasun, and all of the people he has to learn how to understand.

INCLUDES ⁺⠀lee hasun, cherryade ensemble. TIMESTAMP ⁺⠀JULY—NOVEMBER 2021. WARNINGS ⁺⠀profanity, injury, smoking, arguing. the piece as a whole is kind of a mish-mash of scenes!! WORD COUNT ⁺⠀7.8K. NOTE ⁺⠀i guess this is.. a chapter? or at least a little insight into these weirdo freaks idk.. but i hope u like it anw!!! if u hv any thoughts please tell me or i’ll blow up!!! and finally thanku to my fave isa for making the decision for me for this to be through hasun’s eyes (bc it was originally gonna b doyeon LOL). love u 🫂

ఇ⠀PRACTICE ROOM⠀3RD JUNE, 2021

Doyeon looked like he was an untied shoelace away from snapping.

It was just them in the practice room, the others having left not long after the choreographer did to spend the rest of their evenings however they so desired. Hasun stayed because of the creeping worry he was falling behind, an uncomfortable feeling hanging over his head that if he didn’t get up to standard soon he would simply be cut. Easily, thoughtlessly, as he had seen the company do before and feared they would do again.

Why Doyeon was still there, though, he had no clue. The older seemed miles ahead of him in terms of talent, every move he made flowing perfectly into the next. Doyeon was like honey, slow and sure and golden, and Hasun supposed that made him something of an irritating bee trying to replicate it for himself. He had first tried to just shut him out, focus on his own steps and twists and turns, but soon the force of Doyeon’s trainers against the wooden floor were starting to drown out the music from the speakers, and Hasun had been watching him ever since, barely attempting to keep up the pretence of following the routine anymore. His movements were ghosts of what they had been earlier, eyes fixed on the figure next to him in the mirror.

The older boy seemed.. Off. What was once honey-smooth now looked more jerky, forceful. Like it was being pulled out of him, every movement too big for his body. His face was blank, eyes far away, and his hands were curled into fists at his side. Hasun’s brows drew together, mouth opening to call out, to try and snap Doyeon out of whatever trance he looked to have fallen into, but he faltered in the face of the rhythmic beat of trainers against floorboards and the melodic vocals of their mock-up debut track playing on repeat.

Everything seemed to grow in volume. Feet on the floor. His breathing in his ears. Music from the speaker, lyrics from the song. It was a climbing crescendo, and the chilling feeling was back—running along the nape of his neck, a feather-light touch across his skin that left it crawling. Something felt wrong.

The music only felt like it got louder, after that. As if protesting against the sense of dread that was slowly seeping into his train of thinking. His hands were cold, his feet ached, his eyes widened. Everything was slowing down, and Doyeon was stopping in place, and his eyes seemed to snap open in realisation, finally awake, and then—then he was crumbling to the floor, a pained yell ringing out around the room that echoed horribly in Hasun’s ears. The demo track carried on.

He was by his side in a second, hands cautious as they hovered for a moment before he finally settled them first on his back, then moved to his shoulder. He didn’t know what to do. Doyeon pushed to sit upright, the clouded-over look in his eyes replaced with something that Hasun couldn’t name, and didn't know how to describe. 

“Hyung. Are—are you alright? Should I go get someone?”

The way the older one reacted made it seem like nothing sounded worse. He jerked further upright, shifting out of Hasun’s hesitant grip, and his hand made to grab at his arm, eyes suddenly frantic. “No, fuck. I’m.. I’m alright, Hasun-ah. See?”

To demonstrate, he pushed himself to stand and presented his hands in a flourish. It was almost believable, until he moved to take a step and one of his knees nearly buckled all over again. Doyeon slumped back to the floor before his legs could do it for him, face pale and all excuses shocked silent.

Hasun was starting to panic. His hands rose to try and reach for the dancer again, but he shoved them back by his sides when he saw how they were shaking. Idiot, he berated himself, glaring hard at the floor so Doyeon didn’t see the unsurety in his face. You’re supposed to be helping.

“Are you sure, hyung? Please don’t lie, I don’t.. I don’t know what to do.”

To Hasun’s horror, he felt the hot prickle of tears threatening to fall, a broken half-sob clogging up his throat before he choked it down and clamped a hand over his mouth. Shame came not long afterwards, the tips of his ears burning red-hot. He couldn’t be breaking down, not now, not here—not when, if anything, it should’ve been Doyeon brought to tears. Doyeon who seemed to be the picture of calm in that moment, teeth coming to gnaw at his bottom lip as he yanked up the leg of his sweatpants to inspect his ankle, brow furrowing slightly at what he saw. He lifted his gaze from his leg to try and reassure the youngest one more time, but stopped still when he saw the tears shining in his eyes, resolutely avoiding eye contact. His words faltered, coming out stilted, awkward. The positions had flipped, and now Doyeon was the one with no clue of what move to make.

“Hasun-ah, I’m fine. Hyung’s fine. There’s no need to—just. Don’t cry, Hasun-ah. Please.”

His attempts at consolement were flimsy, crumbling at the foundations, and so he gently set a hand on the maknae’s shoulder instead. That seemed to be all Hasun needed for him to collapse into Doyeon’s shoulder, head down and cries muffled in the thin fabric of his sweater. The demo track was still playing from the speakers, lyrics looping over and over. Hasun wished he was back in the dorms. In bed, underneath a duvet in a room that at thirteen had seemed so like a stranger but he now knew like the back of his hand. He wanted his tears to dry, the music to stop, a warm meal that evening, and for Doyeon to be alright. For everyone to be alright. He wanted to make it, and he wanted everyone to be fine when they did.

Doyeon appeared to understand without him saying a word. He simply pulled him in closer, a hand making its way to stroke over his hair softly, tangling and untangling the strands between his fingers. There they sat; in the practice room long after everyone else had left, long after the sun had set. Bruises were starting to form around Doyeon’s ankle, sickening shades of purple and blue. Hasun’s hands were still cold, his head starting to hurt from the soft sobs that wracked through his frame. Neither of them paid any mind, for now.

“We’ll be alright, Hasunnie. We’ll get through this.”

Maybe it was an empty promise, but Hasun didn’t care. It was good enough for him.

ఇ⠀CLUB (?)⠀5TH JULY,  2021

“Why are we here, Jalen-hyung?”

The strobe lights were hurting his eyes, painting him pink and purple and blue and a whole other range of colours he was too overwhelmed to remember the name of, the bass of whatever EDM remix they were bumping was matching how fast his heart was beating, and his hands were sweaty from where they were holding onto the back of Jalen’s shirt in a vice grip as the older led them through the back-alley club he’d dragged him to—for what reason, he could do nothing but guess.

Jalen turned back to him, the white of his teeth when he grinned gleaming at him even through the pseudo-darkness. “Inspiration. Why else? You said you wanted to write a song, didn’t you?”

Hasun shifted, straightening up when somebody knocked into him from behind and then carried on pushing their way through the crowd without so much as an apology. “Not about anything like this. I’m not—I’m not even allowed to be in here yet.”

All he got in response was an eyeroll, and then suddenly Jalen was off again, finally coming to a stop at a rare empty booth that he shoved Hasun into before cramming up next to him. Sweat was starting to bead across his forehead from the stuffiness of the room, and the older one’s voice was too loud in his ear when he leaned in close to yell in it.

“So just don’t tell anyone! It's not like I’m making you do shots, I’m just trying to get you inspired. What is it you even want to write, anyway?”

That was where Hasun stopped in his tracks, suddenly far too interested in the rings on his fingers than meeting Jalen’s eyes. The thing was.. He himself didn’t really know. Hasun just knew he wanted to do something, contribute something other than his vocals on the tracks and dancing for the stages. Every single one of the other members already had things to show, traits they were known for, both personalities and reputations already established (for better or, in some cases, for much worse), and Hasun had nothing. He was the nobody, the new boy. So he figured a good way to show people he wasn’t going to just stand around without pulling his weight would be to get his name in the credits for one song, at the very least.

But he couldn’t relay all that to Jalen. He’d probably just laugh, leer, pat him on the head and tell him that his voice would be more than enough, because he didn’t get it. Because it wouldn’t, it wasn’t, and it never would be. That was one of the first things he’d learned as a trainee, standing in the cold one November evening while his cousin stubbed out cigarettes under her stilettos and ingrained into him things that he’d never learn in any practice room.

They never just want your voice. Or your talent as a dancer, or your pretty white smile. It’s not that easy. You have to be someone, you know. You have to be the one who tells the best jokes, or gets the most girls, or the one who looks like they just don’t give a fuck about anything—about anyone. You have to write the songs, or get yourself onto billboards, or say the most in all the interviews. You’re not enough. She never said it, but it was written in the fine lines, the footnotes. Hasun was desperate to please and to prove, so with knuckling down and shoving some lyrics in front of their producer’s face with a hopeful smile he hoped to kill both of those birds with one stone.

But he couldn’t relay all that to Jalen. So instead he just shrugged, raising his head and trying not to mumble so he’d be heard over the music. 

“I don’t know. Just.. Something. Something fun.” Something worthy. Something that’s enough.

The older one again gestured at the atmosphere around them, with a force that sent one of his dangling earrings swinging and an eyebrow raised in expectation. “Fun? We’re at just the place for it.”

For him, maybe. Hasun had overheard all the stories Haeil had playfully forced him to tell the rest about his life back home, everything he’d seen and done so far. Scenes like this probably felt like a place where he could slip into a second skin, into a nature he’d grown up inhabiting. For Hasun it felt like being thrown into the deep end, locked in a cage with his oxygen cut off. Everywhere he looked was another flash of glittering fabric, sparkling jewellery, and on occasion an LED-endowed vape clutched in the hand of a drunk partygoer—which Hasun was half-sure was allowed just as much as him even being in this place at all, but from how run-down the entire establishment looked (from both the outside and in) he wouldn’t be surprised if the smoke alarm’s wires had been cut long before anyone started flicking lighters or hitting blinkers.

The air felt as if it was weighed down, so laden with the force of sweat and perfume and powder that Hasun felt that if he stuck his tongue out he would be able to taste it. He laughed weakly in response to Jalen’s question and shimmied down further into his side, trying his best to melt into the cheap leather even if the stench of the alcohol that had seeped through it made him want to retch.

Unfortunately, Jalen wouldn’t let him off that easily. His grip around his arm wasn’t a rough one, but it was firm enough that he tugged him back into sitting upwards with ease. His gaze when he turned to stare into Hasun’s eyes was unflinching and uncomfortable, and the youngest wished he’d said yes when Jalen had asked if he was doing anything that night.

“Stop moping, just humour me for a minute. Ignore this shitty music, ignore everyone else—just stay in your head and think. Lyrics can be anything, you know, no one’s expecting us to bring anything deep to the table. Fuck it, you can write about the awful shade of purple they’ve painted the walls if it means you’ve got a song on your hands. Just.. You know. Try.”

Try. Try and write something fun. Something enough. He tossed Jalen a wary look in the face of his gentle encouragement, but broke the eye contact and tried to push out the overbearing noise thumping into his skull anyway. Stay in your head. His mind was quiet, a place of solace, and he slowly lowered his head into the comfort of his folded arms atop the table, tugging his beanie down over his ears in an attempt to muffle the bass even further, and thought. Felt.

It took a while for anything to form, while he sat there and stared into the ocean of neon lights and young recklessness, and when it did it didn’t even come all at once. It didn’t come in a perfect flow of intro-verse-chorus-verse, but instead in broken lines. Or rather, just one. But he shot upright all the same, and Jalen next to him jerked in surprise, eyes wide as Hasun tugged harshly on the sleeve of his jacket.

“Hyung. We need to go. I need to write this down.”

Jalen’s grin was just as wide as it had been earlier, and looked to gleam even brighter as he got to his feet and gave the youngest a hand, arm around his shoulders as he tugged him out the same entrance they’d come in from. Hasun’s eyes were trained on his feet, at the floor, desperately trying to keep what he’d thought of in mind, trying not to lose it to the tug of the crowd and the rhythm of the music. It wasn’t whole, wasn’t any sort of final product or finished piece, but when it was..

When it was, then maybe it would be enough. But only then.

ఇ⠀CHERRYADE DORM⠀21ST JULY,  2021

The voices in the kitchen were far too loud for Hasun’s liking. He almost hadn’t heard them at all, because debut was around the corner and they were being worked to the bone, but the combination of the walls being so thin, his room being the closest to the kitchen, and the slamming of the front door with the harsh back-and-forth between whoever was out there that followed not long afterwards was enough to rouse him. He shifted upwards in his bed, bleary eyes struggling to make out one foot from the other as he shoved back the thin duvet and reached for a hoodie tossed over the chair shoved against his tiny desk. He was gentle as he pushed open the door, quiet as he pushed it closed behind him. The only light was coming from the warm yellow bulb under the stove hood, and bathed in it he could just barely make out Haeil sitting on the counter, face half obscured by the figure in front of him. 

Hasun made to step closer, to ask what was going on, until he snapped to full attention at the sound of Jalen’s voice, the coldness of his tone cutting straight through the otherwise warm atmosphere.

“What the fuck were you thinking? Are you drunk? Is that it? How could you do something so stupid?”

Haeil’s face twisted into something ugly, and he shifted away from the older man in front of him, hand reaching up to rub at one of his eyes. His reply was just as harsh, his usual apathetic state turned cruel by whatever argument he was in the middle of.

“I’m not drunk, and I’m not stupid, either. God, you make it sound like I asked for this to happen. If you’re just going to give me a lecture, you can fuck off. I can take care of this by myself.”

Jalen’s returning scoff hurt Hasun’s ears. He only pressed closer, bringing his hands up to hold Haeil’s face in a way that was far too soft for how he was berating him only moments earlier. Hasun felt slightly sick, skin burning too hot for the thick fabric of his hoodie. He didn’t think he was supposed to be seeing this or hearing this at all. But he couldn’t turn away, rooted to the spot out of the morbid curiosity that was eating through him.

“Can’t you just let me help, for once? It’s late. Knowing you, you’ll knock everything over and wake everyone up. I don’t want to deal with a pissy Yijun at two in the morning, thanks.”

Despite how Jalen’s tone had lightened, lifting at the end in a half-attempt at a joke, a hand reaching out for Haeil to take, a silent plea for them to agree on a truce, the rapper was resistant. He squirmed out of the vocalist’s hold once again, and turned his eyes towards his feet, words only just above a mumble—so quiet that Hasun strained forward in order to hear, and hated himself a bit for it.

“You’re not my mother.”

The play at being civil dropped, then. So abruptly that Hasun could feel it in the air—like there was a drop in temperature, a shift in the mood. It was a step too far. The three steps back that came as the fallout to Jalen’s weak excuse of moving forward. Jalen straightened up, all previous notions of helping Haeil discarded, forgotten. His next words sounded mean in a way Hasun hadn’t known Jalen to be, the sardonic smile visible even if his back was turned.

“That’s a bit rich coming from you, isn’t it? Has she called?”

Silence rang out in the kitchen. If Haeil had taken it a step too far, then Jalen had just ripped it apart with his bare hands. All was quiet for a few moments longer, before the oldest moved to speak up again, hand slowly raising to Haeil—who was just.. Staring at him, eyes saying far more than either of them could ever out loud and body stunned still—again, before he dropped it with a sigh and turned on his heel. Hasun froze on the spot, unsure of whether he should return to the safety of his own room or press himself as close to the wall as possible and hope Jalen would brush right past him in the dark.

But before he could come to a decision Jalen had solved the issue for him, simply brushing straight past him without a mere glance in his direction and wrenching open the door to his own room, letting it slam carelessly shut behind him and leaving Haeil behind on the counter watching in silence, mouth having opened as if to call out after him but then thinking better of it, and Hasun with his heart thumping hard in his chest, socked feet unmoving from where he’d been stood throughout the whole ordeal.

And then there were two. Haeil looked to have curled in on himself, head hanging and arms loosely wrapped around his sides, and Hasun felt he had to do something—because if he’d gleaned anything from the conversation he’d just overheard, it was that something had gone wrong. So he steeled himself, pulled his hood down from where he’d had it covering his messy head of hair, and stepped forward into the low kitchen light.

“Hyung? Are you—is everything alright? I just heard some noise, so..” The lie settled uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach, but it was better than admitting what he’d just overheard. Haeil startled at his voice, head snapping up to face him, and what looked back at Hasun was a face that held something far worse than any of the scenarios the youngest had been thinking of. Haeil’s face was bruised, beaten, the beginnings of a black eye already starting to form. His arms looked to have fared a little better, but there was blood still sluggishly oozing from one of his scraped knees. The laugh he let out in response to Hasun’s question echoed around the empty room, sounding almost hollow.

“Does it look alright? Think some concealer would cover it up fine? Some drunk fuck jumped me while I was out for a—just. While I was out.”

His skin was burning hot to the touch, and Hasun’s hands were shaking as he tried to figure out what to do. He felt like he was back under the stark white lights of the practice room with a fallen Doyeon before him, a fawn on unstable legs. Haeil was a lot less receptive to his panic, though, simply pushing himself off of the counter (biting back a curse when he did so, the leg he’d injured shaking a bit when he landed on it too hard on his bare feet) and opening up the cupboard they’d unspokenly agreed was meant for the more miscellaneous things, fishing around for the unopened box of plasters and throwing Hasun a half-hearted thumbs-up when he found them.

“I’ll be fine, Hasun-ah. It’s nothing water won’t fix. Why don’t you go back to bed, hm? Hyung’s sorry for waking you up.”

The bathroom was all the way at the other end of the hall, and Hasun watched on in silence as Haeil hobbled his way down, melting further and further away from the warm kitchen light and disappearing into the darkness, the only sound being his bare footsteps padding across the wooden floor. Bright white illuminated his silhouette when he switched on the bathroom light, the blooming bruises on his pale skin almost unearthly in the unnatural glow. He turned and met Hasun’s waiting gaze over his shoulder, and the look he gave him felt inconceivable. The moment stretched on for a beat, another.

Haeil turned back and slammed the door shut behind him, taking the light as he went. Hasun, now standing alone in the kitchen, clad in his socks and sleep shorts and threadbare hoodie, felt like there was something he wasn’t getting—that there were lines he couldn’t see, and so was unable to read between.

But he supposed he’d never find out now. The only thing left to do was flick the stove light off and trudge back to his bedroom, falling back onto his bed and being unable to do anything but close his eyes and try to dream.

Haeil’s eyes stared back at him when he did; asking a question Hasun didn’t know how to answer, wanting to hear things Hasun didn’t know how to say.

ఇ⠀CAFÉ⠀30TH AUGUST,  2021

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen Yijun smile, but it was certainly one of the only. Hasun had no clue who he was talking to on the other end of the phone, but whoever they were had the main rapper grinning like a fool, all while Jaehee and himself were left to sit opposite and make small talk—which wasn’t going all that well either, seeing as Jaehee was far too busy trying to eavesdrop into the other’s phone call to make any sort of conversation with the youngest. So the only real source of entertainment he had was to play with the straw poking out of the top of his smoothie (that Yijun had earlier commandeered one sip of, and then proceeded to fake-retch at the taste of) or people-watch from their convenient window seat, watching as couples and friends and lone individuals wandered by.

“Do you have to? Fine, if whatever you’re doing is more important than me, then go ahead, but just know I’m getting you back next time I see you. Mm. Alright. Love you, bye.”

His conversation apparently having ended, Yijun carelessly let his phone clatter back onto the table and sat back in his chair, taking his coffee with him as he did so. Jaehee leaned forward eagerly, grin on his face as he started his interrogation.

“Who was that?” The leering grin on his face made Hasun feel like Jaehee knew perfectly well who it was, and was only asking to piss Yijun off.

The question served its purpose to a T. Yijun turned his nose up and released the bitten straw from his lips to snap back at him almost immediately. “None of your business. Nosy fuck.”

The fellow rapper pulled a face, slumping back into his own seat but not staying deterred for long, piping back up after only a few seconds of sulking. “I was just asking, God.”

Hasun wanted to finish his drink as fast as possible and leave the two to their oncoming argument, but at the same time he felt he needed to attempt to mediate. Surely they wouldn’t start yelling like they did on occasion back at the dorms—seeing as the café they were all sitting in was a very public place, and with Yijun’s first group scandal already under his belt after his run-in with a senior at Inkigayo they were already walking on thin ice.

“Well, don’t.” Came Yijun’s snappy reply, taking another pointed sip of his drink that drained the rest of it and setting it back down on the table with the force that made his phone jump in its place face-down on the smooth surface. “Why are you even here? I don’t want you to be.”

The pout on Jaehee’s face was starting to morph into something that looked more like a scowl. “Who died and made you leader? I’ll go where I want, I don’t care if you want me there or not.” It seemed like a final statement, but then the rapper was turning towards Hasun with a sudden grin that made him look like something of a cartoon shark, wide and pointy. “Hasunnie does, doesn’t he?”

Shifting awkwardly in his seat, now with the force of two unblinking pairs of eyes on him, the youngest gave a nondescript gesture that was an amalgamated mix of a shrug and a nod and wished the ground would swallow him whole. Jaehee huffed, seemingly unsatisfied with his answer, and Yijun burst into laughter.

“Doesn’t look much like it to me. You’re really running out of allies if even our maknae can’t bear to spend time with you.”

And with that, Jaehee reached his breaking point for the day. It always went like this, as Hasun had come to learn over the years they’d spent together. Jaehee prodded, and then Yijun shoved and broke and snapped in retaliation. The scraping sound of his chair legs against the floor was ugly, grated against Hasun’s ears, but where he winced, Yijun simply picked his phone back up and went back to scrolling mindlessly at something or other, not sparing the rapper a singular glance.

“I’m calling Jaeyoung-hyung. I’ll just—I’ll see you back at the dorms.”

He was gone without another word, one hand clutching the remnants of his drink and the other bringing his phone up to his ear, turning back for a moment to meet the eyes of Hasun watching him go and throwing him a final thin smile that looked too fake on his lips before he pushed the door open with a shoulder and was disappearing off down the street, only pausing for half a second to pull his hood up over his head despite the late-afternoon sun still being high in the sky.

“Well,” Yijun began, shoving his phone in his pocket for the time being as soon as Jaehee was out of sight and turning to face Hasun properly. “That was quicker than usual. Maybe it’s because my friend on the phone is a touchy subject for our Jaehee.”

It had sounded more like a sore spot for Yijun himself, but Hasun wasn’t too keen on meeting the same fate as Jaehee, and so kept his mouth shut. The silence that then fell over them wasn’t awkward, by any means, but it wasn’t the most comfortable either. Hasun just focused on finishing his drink, wondering if he should tell the older man to go ahead and not bother to wait up. The words were on the tip of his tongue, shifting to sit further upright so they’d come out coherent and not a jumbled mess of syllables, but before he could say them Yijun slumped down in his chair, a hand coming up to rake through his hair before the other joined it to dig the heels of his palms into his eyes for a brief moment.

He looked tired, all of a sudden, all the fight from earlier having left him. He reached into his pocket for his phone again, but swore under his breath when the screen stayed dark, battery dead. The youngest watched as his hands squeezed together tight before just barely relaxing, fingers coming to pick at hangnails and teeth gnawing at his bottom lip. Hasun took a breath, another, and then slowly brought his own phone out of his pocket, unlocked it, and held it out to the rapper. He didn’t know what Yijun wanted it for, but he was going to offer it all the same. Watching the older all twitchy and uncomfortable felt odd, unnatural, and he wanted to see him back to his normal self (even if that didn’t mean someone particularly kind, or caring, or all that nice at all) as soon as possible. Yijun stopped his picking and looked at the home screen of Hasun and Eunhee arm-in-arm to the face of the youngest and back again, hesitating.

“Take it, hyung, it’s fine. Just don’t.. I don’t know, drain my bank account.”

Yijun scoffed and rolled his eyes, quickly back to his usual brash act even if his hands were wary when they took the device from Hasun’s hands. “As if. I’d only do that to Jaehee, Hasun-ah. You’re my favourite.”

Hasun grinned, happy to see him back to normal even if it was just for show, just to save face. He then finally finished off his own drink and set it on the table, getting the feeling he wasn’t really supposed to stick around any longer to listen in on any more conversations Yijun was probably going to have. He started to get his things together, yanking the zipper of his hoodie up and shooting the rapper a smile.

“I’ll go first, Hyung. Call a cab when you go if it gets late, don’t walk home on your own.”

Yijun made to protest, but Hasun stopped him before he could say a word and stood from his seat, granting the older a wave as he gently pushed open the door and stepped out into what was gradually turning into the early evening. He’d get back before dark if he walked quickly, and so only turned back for a moment to grin one last time at the rapper before he turned and was on his way, wondering absently what was waiting (or rather, what was left) for him in the fridge back at the dorms.

Later that night, when Yijun slipped into his room after only a quiet knock, he gently placed his phone back onto the bedside table and gave Hasun another one of his rare smiles, small but genuine. There were no words that needed to be shared between them, nothing more that needed to be said.

It was only a small moment of understanding, one that passed as quickly as it had arrived, but it left Hasun feeling warm all the same. Left him feeling like he was getting somewhere, finally.

ఇ⠀DOWNTOWN GANGNAM⠀16TH SEPTEMBER,  2021

This was supposed to be a coffee run. They had practice in ten minutes, and instead of doing what he said he was going to do, Minhui had hopped out of the car, blew a kiss goodbye to Jaeyoung (and got a middle finger in return), took Hasun by the arm, and dragged him along to the closest shopping centre. He’d counted three coffee shops, and the dancer hadn’t spared a glance at any of them. Minhui seemed more interested in the rack of fur coats—made from animals that Hasun could only guess, in so many outlandish patterns and thicknesses and the rest that it almost looked like a scene from a movie.

“Hyung,” he hesitantly began, looking over his shoulder before drawing closer to the still-browsing older boy. Minhui only hummed in response, half-listening. “I really don’t think we should be..”

“Shut up. Go try this on.”

A coat twice the size of him was suddenly being flung in his direction, and he only just barely caught it, before looking back up at the dancer, wide-eyed. At the sound of their commotion a few other browsers had turned to see what all the fuss was about, and it made Hasun want to melt into the floor. At the maknae’s pleading gaze, Minhui simply rolled his eyes.

“Stop panicking, won’t you? I doubt we were actually going to practise today anyway—Yijunnie fucked off to go see some of his ex-members, and Haeil-hyung was out again last night. But if we get in trouble, then don’t worry,” he threw Hasun an overexaggerated wink, his smirk cat-like and vaguely unsettling. “Hyung will take the fall for you, aegi.”

He shuddered at the term of endearment, and Minhui clearly revelled in his displeased reaction if his responding cackle was anything to go by. Still, Hasun turned the coat around and slowly slid it off its hanger, before tugging it over his shoulders. It felt odd on his bare arms, the interior lining not so much a wild and fluffy affair as it was a silkier and smoother fabric. Minhui cooed again far too loudly when he gave him an indulgent flourish of his arms, tugging his phone out of his back pocket and aiming it straight at him.

“Yah, hyung. I never said you could take pictures.” His complaints were rather unfounded when he wasn’t doing anything to stop him, but he felt he needed to get the message across anyway. Minhui, of course, ignored it.

“You never said I couldn't, either! Do a twirl for us, Hasun-ah.”

Muttering under his breath the whole while, Hasun did as told while the dancer snickered and snapped picture after picture every second of the process. He found he felt less worried about the potential prospect of missing practice the longer he was away from the company building, everything being much easier to forget when it felt like it was just him and Minhui—no managers, no staff, no-one. Just them, the generic pop songs they were playing on the in-store speakers, and a rack of fur coats.

Minhui got bored eventually, after he’d made Hasun try on everything he could find that piqued his interest, and he left the maknae struggling to catch up when he abruptly walked straight back out the entrance to the store in the same manner he’d entered: rushed, in a way, every step almost too quick to catch, but also with purpose, confidence. Like he was the owner of every location the chain belonged to, dropping in for a surprise visit and putting everyone on edge before leaving again.

He hadn’t seemed to have figured out their next stop, as when they were out in the busy Gangnam street again he stopped and turned aimlessly a few times, taking in the abundance of billboards and flashing lights and people everywhere he looked. Hasun took a small step away from him, not exactly wanting to be associated with the pink-haired dancer twirling around on the spot while innocent onlookers were made to be his witnesses, but similarly took a moment to simply stand and stare at the bustling city around him.

It felt like too much—car horns beeping at one another, ten different conversations between twice the amount of people floating into one ear and out the other, glaring LEDs hitting him in the eyes on every building he dared to glance at, and about three different idols staring back at him from their places in bus stop windows or billboard advertisements, holding whatever product they were being sponsored by close to their porcelain faces—but at the same time, it felt just like home. A part of him as much as everything else was, as much as the company was, as much as the group was.

It’d been hard to truly get a grasp on at first, what with the training and the debuting and everything in between that had made his life far too hectic for him to take a minute and really accept where he was and where he wanted to go, but now in the stolen moment of peace—by himself, with Minhui at his side, on what was supposed to be a coffee run, when they had certainly missed whatever practice there may or may not have been by now—he felt he could finally process it all properly. This is where I am. This is where I want to be. I don’t know where to go next, but that doesn’t really matter, because I don’t need to know that right now. Right now, he could just be. He could just sing the lines they gave him, dance the choreography they taught him, and just hope he was doing alright instead of worrying if he was going to be replaced.

A smile grew on his face, quiet but wide. Hasun enjoyed the moment for a second more, another, but it was ripped away from him by a complaining Minhui tugging at his arm, apparently bored with (or had gotten dizzy from) his spinning-around-in-circles gimmick.

“Hasunnie-yah. Let’s go get lunch, hm? I’m starving. It’s all on me, but if you want dessert then it’s gonna have to come out of your own pockets.”

Hasun rolled his eyes, but didn’t complain any further, letting himself be dragged along to whatever eating place Minhui could find and listening to all his tangents and rambles on the way. He didn’t feel all that annoyed at his moment being ruined—in fact, he felt it only would’ve been ruined if Minhui had let him overthink any further. He felt that his acceptance of his place was something that should be processed simply and left at that. This is where I am.

And, as he was taken down winding alleyways and wide open stretches of the high street, surrounded by conversation and lights and life, he didn’t think it was an all-too-terrible place to be.

ఇ⠀JAGUAR BUILDING⠀25TH NOVEMBER,  2021

As soon as Hasun entered the recording room, all eyes swivelled to him. Yijun, Daejin, and Doyeon were the only ones there, but even their three gazes combined made him feel uncomfortable, the back of his neck burning as they just continued to stare. It was only when he was just about to pipe up and ask what was wrong that Daejin sent him a sympathetic smile and turned fully in his chair in front of all the production equipment, pushing his headphones down to rest around his neck.

“Hi, Hasun-ah. I don’t want to be too much of a bother, but.. Do you think you could go find Jaehee?”

The immediate question on the tip of his tongue was why, and Yijun spoke up to answer it without him even needing to say a word. “He threw another tantrum and stormed off. Daejin-hyung wants his part done by tonight, so we don’t have to listen to his shitty vocals any longer than we need to.”

Doyeon clicked his tongue in disapproval at Yijun’s choice of words, but didn’t move to say anything to disprove them. Daejin visibly bit back a smile but shook his head anyway, quashing the grin completely as he looked back to Hasun to hear his answer. The maknae nodded easily enough, and turned to leave—but then stopped abruptly and swung right back around on his heels when he realised he had no idea where the rapper was.

“Where would I find him, hyung?” 

That seemed to draw a blank out of them, both the producer and leader doing nothing but shrugging helplessly. It was Yijun that spoke up again, not looking particularly happy about the answer he had to give.

“Outside. Round the back, near the main road. Tell him to go home if he’s crying though, that sniffling would drive me crazy.”

Doyeon did speak up at that, reaching over from his place settled on Daejin’s tiny leather sofa to whack him lightly on the thigh. “Leave off, Yijun-ah. The only reason he stormed out in the first place was you. As usual.”

The vague directions had only been a half-help, but Hasun was sure he’d find Jaehee if he wandered outside long enough and turned back around, letting the door swing to a close behind him as he navigated back to the elevator. Evening had long since fallen, and he stared out at the city skylights in silence on the way down.

The November air was biting through his thin hoodie, and he hoped he wouldn’t have to be looking for too long as he took the first step outside the company building. Near the main road wasn’t very helpful, seeing as they were near about three, but he diligently fished his phone out of his pocket and fiddled with the flashlight until he had a more reliable source of light that wasn’t the fleeting car headlights passing by every few moments and began his walk, straining to hear anything that wasn’t the skid of wheels on tarmac or distant conversation from the nearby shops and bars and restaurants.

“Jaehee-hyung? Hyung!”

Another harsh gust of wind hit him right in the face, and Hasun was starting to get tired of looking for the rapper already. Maybe he could just say he couldn’t find him, and go back up to Daejin’s nice, warm, recording room. Yijun definitely wouldn’t mind—would probably celebrate, even. Doyeon would just sigh and accept it, and Daejin would wave it off and say it could always be recorded another day. The more he thought about it, the more pleasing of an idea it seemed to become.

“Hasunnie?”

Nevermind. He whipped around, curious as to where the voice had come from. It was definitely Jaehee, but he just couldn’t see him. That was, not until he looked down. Then he found the very person he was looking for crouched down on the gravel with his back against the wall and his phone in hand, open on a contact whose name he couldn’t read that well upside down. Jaehee was quick to shut it off and shove it back in his pocket as soon as he recognised Hasun anyway, standing back up and smiling the same thin smile he always did when everyone else knew that, really, he didn’t feel like smiling at all—the one that was stretched too wide, far too obviously fake for someone who used to be an actor. 

“What’s up? Did you want something?”

Hasun shifted on his feet, pulling his hoodie tighter around himself. “Daejin-hyung wants you back up at the recording room. Says he wants your parts done by tonight.”

The smile almost immediately melted into a scowl, his figure slumping over and head lolling back as he groaned aloud, breath coming out in a visible cloud in the cold air. “No, God no. Not until Yijun-hyung’s gone. If he’s still there I’ll just do it tomorrow.”

The maknae’s brow furrowed, not really wanting to stand out in the cold and listen to the inevitable explanation of their latest fight but hearing the unspoken prod for him to ask about it and doing so anyway.

“What happened now?”

Jaehee slid back down against the wall, phone back in his hands as he passed it from palm to palm like it was a stress toy of sorts, absentmindedly chucking it up into the air and just barely catching it when it fell back down. “He was just—talking shit. As he normally does. I don’t know why it got to me so bad tonight, though, but it just.. Did. I needed a break.”

Hasun nodded empathetically, still hopping from foot to foot. The rapper’s head tilted back to lean against the surface behind him, his face scrunching up, and for a moment Hasun had the panicked thought he was going to cry. He felt out-of-touch and awkward with Jaehee on a normal day, but if he was crying then it would no doubt be thousands of times worse. Thankfully, the rapper only relaxed his face again and sighed, his phone having dropped to the concrete beneath his feet but making no move to pick it up. His next words were quiet, strained, and Hasun had to lean closer for him to be able to hear them at all over all the other noises assaulting his ears.

“I—I don’t really know what we’re all doing this for, to be honest. I don’t even know if we’ll even make it that big in the end.”

His words blew away with the force of the winter wind, but Hasun felt frozen still. He felt like he needed to say something, to attempt to comfort him even if he had the feeling anything he came up with would sound hollow, empty. He thought it over for a few long seconds before clearing his throat, forcing the words out when they felt like they were choking him up.

“It’ll be alright, hyung. We’ll—we’ll get through this.”

Hasun felt cheap, using Doyeon's words to him from four months ago on Jaehee now, but from the way it got his face to finally lighten up again after he let the words sink in for a few moments, got him to pick his phone up from the floor and slowly stand back up to join him in walking back into the company building, he figured they were as much of a comfort to Jaehee as they had been to him. Even if they both knew it was unfounded, standing on shaky legs and likely to crumble with the next disagreement, the next fight, it was good enough for now.

And that, in the moment, was all that mattered.

[ryuttaeng]

ryujin saying "do i look like your mommy" got me thinking... mommy kink smut

pairing: ryujin x female!reader

summary: after releasing their english single and music video for it, you never come off of one Ryujin’s line. teasing her endlessly and repeating the same lyrics over and over again started to piss off Ryujin, making it hard to resist the urge to stop this.

genre: smut

warnings: smut, mommy kink, age gap (reader is younger than yuna for few months), pet names, fingering, please do not read if you’re uncomfortable/sensitive with/to such themes!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“'Cause you're cryin' like a baby, but do I look like your mommy?” Ryujin rubbed her eyes, as you repeated the same lyrics over and over again. Getting on her nerves wasn’t your usual routine but after their new release, you seemingly changed your mindset.

Sighing, Ryujin opened her eyes, looking at you. “How many times you will repeat that?” she asked, sounding really pissed off. You just grinned at her, shrugging. “I don’t know… you tell me” once again she let out a sigh, giving you furious glance. “I swear, one more time you’re going to say that lyrics, you’re dead.” a great idea hit you on, making you smile mischievously. “Oh yeah? Cause you're cryin' like a baby, but do I look like your…”

You couldn’t finish the sentence, when Ryujin grabbed your hands and you tried to get out of her grip. “…Mommy?” she pinned your hands, looking vicious, but her expression changed. Cheeks got slightly red, she looked at you with eyes wide open. Realising how it sounded so wrong, you tried to apologise and explain yourself, squirming under her. “I mean- I didn’t mean… Ryujin-unnie…” hearing her name slipping out of your mouth, whimpering, she just couldn’t resist the feeling.

You closed your eyes because you thought she was about to hit you, but when you felt something soft on your lips, your eyes immediately opened. Ryujin kissed you, grip on your hands weakened, releasing your hands after. You reciprocated the kiss, letting out a soft moan into her mouth. Her hands exploring the area under your shirt, kneading your breasts.

“Say that again, call me a mommy again.” she whispered between kissing you, lowering her trail of kisses. You obeyed, half whimpering half moaning. “Mommy…” you gasped, as Ryujin slipped her hand under your underwear, her fingers playing with your clit. You arched your back, moving your hips forward, asking for more sensations. “You should use your words, babe. Or has the cat got your tongue?” you could feel hot breathing, as she whispered, ghosting your earlobe. “Please… Please fuck me, mommy, please…” Ryujin chuckled, as she sunk in one finger.

Moaning her name, squirming under her at the feeling. “Is this what you wanted, baby?” you immediately shook your head, whining, as you clenched down on her finger. Ryujin kissed you again, swallowing each moan you let out, your tongues are softly caressing each other.

She let her second finger sunk in, starting to thrust in faster. Her thumb on your clit, adding more pressure, as you already knew you’re not gonna last long. “Mommy, I…” you were interrupted, as she added third finger, your hips moving along with her movements.

Few more thrusts and you’re moaning her name, repeating it over and over again like you did before with lyrics she sung. Letting you ride out your climax, Ryujin kissed your jawline, whispering something in your ear.

Pulling out her fingers, she licked each one, looking at you, directly in the eyes. Placing a soft kiss, asking if you’re okay. You could only nod weakly, breathing deeply.

[zadig-fate]

Me and my Poland tour bestie (noriko_743 on ig) were reflecting on our insane week following the guys around and realised that we basically did a speedrun on the entire JO fangirl checklist.

It was Nori's first in-person JO gig ever at Warsaw 1 (!!!)

We got barricade for the first time in both our lives

Nori got photos and hugs with ALL the guys

I got a guitar pick in Wrocław!

We sang Umazane Misli with Bojan at Warsaw 2

Bojan actually recognised me in Poznań and Prague and remembered what we'd talked about in Wrocław 🙀

Nori got handwritten lyrics from Bojan for a tattoo

Nori's ig story got reposted by Kris!

We both ended up in Vita's photos on the band's official account

We ran into the guys "in the wild", i.e. out in the city during the day

We got the live debut of a new iconic outfit (all-white Kris)

We saw all (I think all?) the Stožice outfits in person

We saw the Demoni scream and Kris NGVOT in person

I was the numbers person / unofficial "queue manager" for the pre-wristband queue at Warsaw 2 and Poznań

We participated in fan actions that the guys really appreciated (shoutout jokeroutpolska for organising)

I met lots of tumblr mutuals 🥰

I met a bunch of people I have plans to see again in Munich, The Hague and Amsterdam

Like... it's crazy just how much happened in this last week. And there was no one show where we got everything, or nothing. Every single gig had something special to offer. So if you're wondering whether it's "worth" following JO around on tour... it really, really is. The experiences you have and the people you meet are incredible.

Speaking of, here are some other unforgettable tour experiences that will stick with me for a long time to come:

Nori and I only met at the hostel before Warsaw 1, and she wasn't even planning to come to that show, she only had a ticket for Warsaw 2! But I talked her into getting a cheap resale ticket for Warsaw 1, and she queued with me, and she loved it so much she immediately bought tickets for Wrocław and Poznań too, so we booked hotels together for the rest of the tour.

I literally just met Nori last week?? But we spent nearly every minute together between Warsaw 1 and Poznań, dealing with the highest highs and lowest lows of tour life, and it now feels like we've been friends for ages.

After the fucking absurd queue situation at Wrocław (4:45am and #45, WTF????) we decided that after the show, we would wait outside for the boys and then head straight for Poznań in my car. So we literally drove through the night with our new friend Safursey and formed the start of the Poznań queue.

Our hotel in Poznań wasn't ready until 2pm so we literally just took turns queuing and sleeping in my car. Nori and Safursey let me have the first sleeping shift since I drove us overnight.

I think we only slept between 15-20 hours total over 8 days???

I'm actually glad I got to experience a cursed gig (Prague) where everything went wrong. Seeing how professionally the guys reacted and how smoothly things were resolved made me appreciate just how experienced and calm they are.

Nori and I were unknowingly the centre of a major Twitter outrage after Warsaw 2 because someone accused us of stealing the microphone after Umazane Misli. Neither of us are on Twitter so we didn't even know about this controversy, but someone was clearly accusing us (and it was definitely us from the context) of stealing the microphone to sing, even though we had a sign asking to sing UM and Bojan was obviously pointing at us to get the microphone next (which is clear to see in all the videos of that moment).

Our friend Safursey deleted her Twitter account after Prague because people who were not there were spreading all kinds of insane rumours and unfounded accusations about the queue and Bojan's ig stories and refused to be corrected by the people who were actually involved. She got so much hate for explaining what was actually happening on the ground that she left the platform entirely, so that should tell you how toxic Twitter is.

I was feeling like such utter shit after the drama in Prague that I didn't even want to attend the concert anymore, but Safursey and @thisismyobsessionnow (Nori didn't come to Prague) came to comfort me and convinced me to still come to the gig, and I really appreciate that.

Overall an emotional roller coaster, but one I wouldn't give up for anything. We had SO much fun and met SO many people. I would do it again any time.

[istorkyou]

Linger (A Modern!Ivar AU)

Warnings - Angst

Word Count - 1103

Synopsis - A little one shot, dipping my toe back in to writing. 

Inspiration - This beautiful song 'Linger' by The Cranberries.

https://open.spotify.com/track/0gEyKnHvgkrkBM6fbeHdwK?si=9wUWJC_ISY2VugNSIKilgA

Shout Outs - To my day one, you know who you are.

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She’s chosen the venue, the night. Open mic. Ivar scoffs at it but settles into his seat with her before she goes to the bar and gets him his preferred beer.

He watches her at the bar and lets out a small sigh of discontent.

Forty-five minutes of mediocre singing and boring conversation passes before something hits him.

A familiar melody, guitar based that makes something in his brain fizz. He’s heard the song before. A beautiful hum fills the air.

“If you, if you could return, don’t let it burn, don’t let it fade..”

Ivar’s ears prick up before his consciousness allows him to realise the beautiful, ethereal voice emanating from the stage is hers.

“I’m sure I’m not being rude, but it’s just your attitude..”

It’s her. She’s singing the song that is theirs, not “theirs” theirs but a song they both know well enough, more than fitting to their situation.

“It’s tearing me apart..”

He turns slowly to see her on stage, guitar in hand, face etched with sorrow.

“..it’s ruining everything.”

Her curly hair is framing her face as she recites the words that sum up the end of their time together perfectly. His heart clenches when he thinks of the word end.

“And I swore, swore I would be true, and honey so did you..”

His gut drops as he watches her spill out all their dirty, heart wrenching laundry to all the people packed in the room with them. The shame of his actions colours his face. She must be doing it to hurt him, he’s sure of it. But as stares at her, he realises she is totally oblivious to his presence in the audience.

“So why were you holding her hand? Is that the way we stand?..”

He glances at the woman he is here with: the woman he broke her trust with, the woman who turned his head away from his love. He’s making it work with the woman at the table, his pride won’t allow him to admit publicly that he fucked up. He knows that she’s got nothing on the woman sitting on the stage who is crushing his heart with these lyrics.

When his gaze drags back to the stage the singer is staring at him and his heart stops beating. It’s the first time he’s looked into her eyes for weeks.

..”were you lying all the time? Was it just a game to you?..” she raises her eyebrow in question.

She closes her eyes, shutting Ivar out, and not for the first time. She’d closed her eyes and held her hand up to his face, silencing his bullshit, lame excuses when she’d seen them together.

The end.

..”but I’m in so deep. You know I’m such a fool for you..”

The singer meets his eyes again and the world stops for him, the agony of his actions radiating out of her, flowing over the crowd, a tsunami of emotion.

..”you got me wrapped around your finger. Do you have to let it linger, do you have to, do you have to, do you have to let it linger?”

“Oh I thought the world of you. I thought nothing could go wrong, but I was wrong, I was wrong…”

He is enraptured by her. The spotlights shining through her thick curly hair is making her look like she’s bathed in the flames of a fire. He barely hears the rest of the song, he just stares at her singing and playing guitar. Happy memories of them racing through his head with each line she sings, then the deep regret he feels lodges in his chest as he listens to the pain he inflicted on her flooding the packed bar.

He notices that she isn’t wearing the necklace anymore, she’s certainly not wearing the ring. He feels his nose fizz as he fights back the tears prickling his eyes.

The singer closes her eyes again and strums her final note.

A moment of silence passes before applause sets the room alight. The singer doesn’t move for a beat and when she does she doesn’t acknowledge the crowd cheering for her rendition, her beautiful voice.

She walks backstage breathing heavily. He’s in the crowd, she saw him before she went out on stage and almost turned to leave, but she didn’t, she just quickly changed her song choice.

“Girl, do you see who is out there?” A friend says eyeing the crowd, running a comforting hand up her arm.

“I don’t see anyone I know,” she replies coldly before walking out confidently, refusing to let him take up anymore of her headspace.

The blond haired woman at his table, so much different from her curly dark hair, touches Ivar’s arm, pulling him out of his almost hypnotic state. “Ivar, are you good?” she asks quizzically, a nasty smile playing on her lips.

“You knew she would be here? Why did you do this?” Ivar barely contains his rising temper. She did this to twist the knife.

He shakes her hand off his arm before grabbing his crutch and making his way to the door.

She has her hood up as she walks from the venue side-door, but the guitar on her back gives her away.

“Hey!” Ivar shouts and hurries to the singer. “Hey! Let me talk to you!”

The singer's steps falter and she turns slowly to face him.

“Hello, love.” Ivar says softly, his voice full of sadness.

She says nothing.

“You were brilliant up there. Your voice…” He tries to find adequate words but his vocabulary fails him. It always does. She pushes her hood down to reveal her curly hair, blond streaks adorn it now, shorter, not the hair he knew.

She just stares at him as if there’s no recognition at all. She’s not the same woman he knew.

“That song, love. You knew I was here?” Ivar asks tentatively.

The singer finally answers: “I didn’t.” She gives him a nonchalant shrug and nothing more.

The stare she gives him is hard, so hostile that he steps back slightly. “The lyrics..” He glances at his feet then back to her. “The lyrics were for us? For me, I mean, for what I did?”

“Nothing I do is for you anymore, Ivar.” She spins on her heels and walks away.

He can do nothing but watch her leave him. Again.

“I’m so sorry. Please!” he shouts loudly, unashamedly begging for a few more seconds of her time.

Her steps don’t falter this time, she carries on walking away from him.

As she did that day.

As she always will.

[witchering10123]

what taylor swift album each of the gaang would fuck with

(in my not exactly humble but ultimately correct opinion) you're in for the long haul so it's under the cut :)

aang: fearless and lover, don't get me wrong, he loves the sad songs, the heartbroken songs, the angry songs just as much as anyone else, but he just connects with like, the slight naivety of it all? like he's def matured since his first few crushes but it's the joy of that first love that really sweeps him off his feet ya know? and then the lover album is a more mature perspective on like a loving relationship ("cornelia street" who???) and he just loves it - OH and 1989, he and suki FUCK with 1989

katara: she's a reputation girl no doubt about it, "don't blame me" is literally her song, she owns it thank you very much, and she and zuko are reputation besties who have all the merch and they scream all the lyrics and wholeheartedly believe that rep tour is the best tour of all time HOWEVER she loves loves loves "marjorie", "don't you ever grow up" (balls her eyes out at the pair of them, but when she first heard dyegu she was sobbing -) and while they're not her fav albums, she loves singing fearless and lover with aang

sokka: ok, sokka is one of those fans who you don't realise are that intense until they are screaming themselves hoarse at folklore, mkay? I'm talking, it's not just hakoda and bato giving him the worried side-eye, it's everyone AND their mother (well, not everyone's mother but ya know) cause like, sokka was DEF involved in this major college cheating scandal and got his heart uber uber broken and had no support system because he just... didn't tell anyone because he didn't want people to worry and so screaming folklore is his therapy session. oh, and when he was dating yue their album was speak now, they literally did their homecoming king and queen dance to "enchanted" they were that couple, and he still loves the album so much but he just... can't speak for hours after a folklore song pops up, and couldn't speak for a week after the eras tour (in a similar vein, he's a big "the archer" fan, he and toph vibe with it so hard)

toph: she loves reputation (NOT for the same reasons as katara and zuko but they all still vibe with each other) because there's soooo much happening and she can literally feel the beat in her bones and the songs slap so hard and she can rage in peace :))) also she fucks so hard with "picture to burn", the harry styles saga (style, ootw, iion, wonderland, etc), "holy ground", "miss americana and the heartbreak prince" and "the archer" (and believe me she will go OFF at anyone who doesn't like the archer because "the beat's not supposed to drop, that's the whole point -)

zuko: reputation reputation reputation. all the fucking way y'all. is it shocking that "I did something bad" is his song, not his favourite (his favourites are the speak now vault tracks, "that's the way I loved you", "message in a bottle", and "wonderland" but that's neither here nor there) and no one, NO ONE gets in the way during the line "if a man talks shit then I owe him nothing" like sorry taylor, that's zuko's line actually. also he thought he was going to love folklore but then "seven" came up and he literally could not cope, and when he heard evermore was going to be in a similar vein he refused to listen to it too - he did eventually listen to the albums when he got into a better headspace for them and now really does likes them, but he avoids "seven" like the plague

suki: suki loves the breakup albums, red and midnights, and everyone, including suki, is confused because no offence to my girl but she's had one break up and that was with sokka, and whole it was sad, it was mutual and nothing bad happened they just decided they'd be better as friends, but she loves the albums so so much, so who is anyone to deny her that? also, she didn't like "me!" at first and thought it was so so cringe, but now she loves it and hates that she used to hate it and hates that taylor doesn't play it on the set list at concerts due to people hating on it (even though suki would never tell taylor that she hated on one of her songs, she still feels guilty) - btw, she and aang are besties and they work at the same place and it takes them like forty minutes on a good day to drive there so they blast 1989 the whole time and it's such a bop

yue: speak now girly, did I fucking stutter? she ate that album up when it first came out and she ate up the rerecording when that came out too, and don't get me started on the vault tracks (she feels as if a piece of her childhood was missing because "electric touch" ft fallout boy wasn't on the og track and she looooves fallout boy) "enchanted" is her and sokkas song and when it comes on they do a lil dance together even though they don't love each other in the same way anymore, they still love each other!!! but she now loves "enchanted" separate from sokka ya know? yue also loves midnights, literally because suki loves it so so much so yue listened to it for her (simp) and fell in love with it (and suki, it was truly a win win situation for her) but she specifically listens to midnights: 3am version because "paris" is her favourite and she doesn't understand how anyone (ahem, suki) could listen to midnights without listening to "paris" at least three times

azula: we all know she used to pretend to hate taylor swift but now she respects the hustle (but she's not a die hard swiftie and will happily critique her alongside katara, who azula was surprised to see critiquing taylor but katara's got her priorities in place she knows what's up) and azula loves red (duh) and evermore. surprisingly, she's not as into reputation as zuko and katara, and while she enjoys some of the songs on there, she won't intentionally listen to the whole album on her lonesome. she, sokka, and ty lee wore matching "cowboy like me" outfits to the eras tour

mai: fearless, and HEAR ME OUT HEAR ME TBE FUCK OUT I'm right. she's like aang in this regard, she grew up with all these expectations on her for corporation alliances and shit and she couldn't help but picture herself finding love for HERSELF having the CHOICE like, she will defend "love story" to the day she dies because it resonated so much with baby mai finding love against all odds and at the end her parents agreeing to it. now she's older and recognises a few, uh... interesting points about her upbringing, but she's still gonna defend baby mai's love for fearless. I know that the tortured poets department hasn't come out yet but... I have a feeling that mai will fuck SO HARD with that one too, but she's more a fan on individual songs than whole albums ("delicate", "paper rings" (ty lee simp lmao), "seven", "better than revenge", "getaway car", "endgame", etc)

ty lee: she actually sobbed when lover came out, I can't tell you how much lover resonated with her, she loved the aesthetic the vibe the songs, and like she literally had imposter syndrome from being a swiftie because while she appreciates the angry and sad songs, she's searching for the joy and a lot of swifties were like "no she's past that point so we have to be too" and she felt quite isolated BUT then taylor released lover and ty lee felt so so seen cause like, it's a happy album with sad songs and that's all a girl can ask for. ALSO she loves "bejeweled" and "slut!" I kid you not "slut!" is probably her fav song even though it's not on lover. she also loves evermore because it's a sad album with happy songs (do you see) and she broached the idea of her and azula wearing matching "cowboy like me" outfits but azula didn't respond at first and ty lee thought that it wasn't a good idea but azula didn't respond because she was texting sokka and sokka fell in love with the idea and they spent like two weeks figuring out exactly what it would look like and they brought their ideas to ty lee for the final approval and she was like "... you guys actually wanna do this?" but yeah. they all slayed

ok now onto the adults I'll be quick

hakoda screams louder but bato knows more songs, like hakoda is making himself heard what a king, but there's quite a few songs he's unfamiliar with. bato is singing like, the usual volume but he's consistent, he's singing along to every song

hakoda loves 1989 and reputation because the whole drama happened during his and bato's breaks between tours and then they got sent off before reputation came out, so hakoda was so invested and then really pissed cause he had to wait a couple of months before he got back so katara could explain the intricacies of the new album to him

bato is like sokka, he loves folklore not because he's a folklore girly™ but just because of the vibes, however bato 🤝 mai, resonating deeply with "seven"

iroh is convinced that he can ask taylor to pop over for a nice cup of jasmine tea because he doesn't quite grasp how insanely popular she actually is, but unbeknownst to zuko, who scoffs whenever iroh mentions it because "there's no way", iroh is actually in contact with taylor because when she was just starting out she got sick before a concert and iroh have her a tea that helped her maintain her voice and get her back on track and he's been on a group chat with taylor ever since

[missnind]

No Plans and None Can Be Broken

Eddie opened the door of the car with an easy grin.

"What's up, Harrington?"

Steve shot a dazzling smile back.

"Hey, Eds." He said, sweetly. "Ready for the movie?"

"Yeah, sounded cool. You know me... easy." He replied with a grin.

"I wouldn't say that, Munson. You haven't had a single date the whole time we've been hanging out." Steve jibed.

Eddie cleared his throat and fidgeted as he put his seatbelt on.

"Man, I-"

"I was teasing, dude! No need to sweat it." Steve replied as he moved to switch the radio on. "Ready?"

"Yeah, let's go."

The car cruised down the road, Steve nodding his head to the song on the radio. The silence was easy between them and Eddie relaxed. He loved spending time with Steve. Even if Steve didn't feel the same as he did.

Eddie glanced over and took in the sight next to him - full, thick hair, gorgeous eyes, full pouty lips, golden skin - fuck, it was no surprise people fell at his feet.

Steve had been a bitch in school. Now he was Eddie's best friend - something no one saw coming. Eddie had held an unrequited flame for him since 9th grade. Since he realised he really just wasn't interested in girls. Watching Steve in those little Hawkins Tigers shorts doing basketball and the various other jock stuff he was so good at... Well, that did it for him.

"Eddie? You OK, man?"

Eddie shook his head to clear the thoughts and realised he was staring.

"Sorry, dude. You know me - always in a world of my own." He laughed nervously.

Steve reached to place a hand on his knee.

"You sure you're OK, man?"

Eddie felt fire where the hand was. Straight to his groin. This car ride needed to go quicker.

"Yeah. Think a nice smoke before the movie will sort me right me out." He grinned.

Steve sighed and smiled.

"If you say so, man. Those things will kill you. Just saying."

Eddie laughed out loud.

"Yeah, be a shame to die from those after all we've survived, hey."

"What can I say, Munson? That noise you call music saved us all. Well, almost not you but like fuck were we gonna leave you there."

Steve's hand squeezed Eddie's knee and Eddie squeezed it back.

"You wouldn't know good music, Harrington." He shot back with a laugh.

"That, my friend, is where you are wrong! This-" He turned up the radio. "-is good music! You heard this one yet?"

Eddie's ears perked up as the music began and his heart began to hammer against his chest.

Steve was tapping his fingers along to the beat on the steering wheel. He was singing along to the song and Eddie just stared at him. Speechless.

"These lyrics, man! Who even comes up with this stuff?" Steve said as the song ends.

Eddie thinks for a beat and replies.

"Do you not like them?"

"Not like them? Munson, they literally resonate to me deeply! Like, OK so ... one sec, let me compile my thoughts into proper words."

Eddie's heart felt like it was going to force its way out of his chest.

"Ok, so, take this bit - 'Do you laugh about me whenever I leave? Or do I just need more therapy?' Like, I often feel that people are judging me still. You know, King Steve and all that. But is that like paranoia? I know you and the kids and Robs... you are my family. But the thought that you guys are just... The song's title is 'Fake Out'. Maybe that's it. There's a part of me that thinks you all just fake it." Steve took a breath and ran a hand through his hair.

Eddie opened his mouth to speak and nothing came out.

"Anyway, another one, yeah? So, there's this bit that goes 'My mood board is just pictures of you but I'm not sad anymore'. Like... I think it's about some unrequited love or something."

"Steve, I... It is, by the way. It is about unrequited love."

"Ha! I knew you didn't mind this type of music really!" Steve laughed as he reached out to poke at Eddie. "Or is this your opinion as a songwriter?"

"I haven't written in a while, Stevie. My muse must have left me. But I did send a load off and got paid for it. They showcase some to bands/artists. So if you're lucky, someone uses your lyrics for their song. It was a mad moment and Gar said it may be an idea since I had so many."

"Eds!" Steve pulled up the car into the parking lot of the theatre. He turned to face Eddie. "Why didn't you tell me, dude? That's pretty cool."

"I guess I just... it's not likely to be your song picked out of so many. So I just didn't think to." Eddie shrugged.

"Eddie, we would have been proud of you for trying. So, if your lyrics are picked do you get like a credit or something?" Steve asked with interest.

"Yeah. They will credit you for writing. And then you get a percentage of the royalties of the song."

"Well, I think you are gonna hear good things soon, Munson! Positive vibes." Steve smiled and leant towards Eddie for a hug.

Eddie's mouth was so dry. He did the only thing he could think of.

Singing quietly, he sang "We did it for futures that never came. And for pasts that we're never gonna change. Love is in the air. I just gotta figure out a window to break out. Buried alive inside my dreams. But it was all a fake out."

Steve looked at him curiously.

"That... it's my favourite part." Eddie explained. "It's about how we never really escape our pasts and a future that isn't... it can't happen. Won't happen. And no matter how much I want it, it won't be real."

Confusion flickered across Steve's face.

"Hey, Eddie, we aren't our pasts anymore. You know that, right? I mean, look at us! You're my best friend. Who would have thought it back then?"

The words stabbed through Eddie's heart. Worse than any demobat bite.

"Yeah." He managed a weak smile. "Friends."

"Eddie, come on. Talk to me, man. What is going on?" Steve seemed genuinely concerned.

"I just... OK, don't judge me. That song? It's mine. I wrote it."

Steve's face lit up with excitement.

"Man, that's awesome! That was you? Damn, you made me feel some kinda way! Maybe this is the road to the big time for our Eddie Munson from Hawkins! The kids are gonna-"

"Please, don't." Eddie began. "Don't tell them. I... I have something else to say."

Steve settled back against the car door.

"Eds, man, you're scaring me here." He said with a cautious smile.

Eddie looked down at his hands as he played with his rings nervously.

"I don't want to be friends." He blurted out.

Steve looked like he had slapped him.

" You don't wanna... did I do something?" He said, the hurt clear.

"That didn't come out right!" Eddie panicked and grabbed for Steve's hands.

Steve recoiled and Eddie looked like he was going to cry.

"Stevie, I-"

"Nah, it's cool, man. Don't sweat it. I'll just-"

Steve opened the car door and got out. He ran his hands through his hair, breathing quickly and trying to calm himself.

Eddie pulled open his door and ran around the car. He grabbed Steve and pulled him around the side of the building into an alley, away from prying eyes.

"Hey, dude, not cool!" Steve riled as he backed away from Eddie.

"Steve, you're not- ok! OK, I like you. I don't want to be friends because I want to be more." He trailed off as he pulled at the hem of his tee and looked at the floor.

There was silence and Eddie couldn't take it.

"'M sorry. I'll get Gar to come get me." He said quietly as he turned to leave.

"Eddie." Steve said quietly and calmly.

"It's ok, Stevie. Thank you. For everything." Eddie rambled as he walked quickly towards the open lot.

Hands spun him around and lips found his own. Pushing. Desperate. A tongue felt its way between his lips and he opened up, allowing it to explore his mouth.

Eddie backed up and the look on his face made Steve laugh.

"Eddie, you're an idiot." Steve laughed.

"I'm sorry? You-" Eddie began in an incredulous tone.

Steve looked at Eddie with hooded eyes and puffy lips.

"Eds, you took your sweet time. I've wanted you for longer than I care to admit. You just didn't seem-"

"You wanted me?" Eddie looked like he was about to hyperventilate.

"Yes, dingus. Didn't you- All those times we spent the night out in your van talking. Sitting up when the kids had gone to bed and just shooting the shit. All the times I tried to get you to open up about your love life... you really didn't...?"

"I... you want me?" Is all Eddie can push out.

Steve walked towards him and backed him against the wall of the alley. He put his arms up against the wall, blocking Eddie in. He leaned forward towards his ear and pressed a gentle kiss beneath it. He felt Eddie shudder.

"Yes. I kinda want you, right now." He said as he grabbed Eddie's hand and pushed it to the growing hardness in his tight jeans.

Eddie moaned and smiled like the cat who got the cream.

"I can help you with that, Stevie baby. If you want me to." He gave a positively filthy look as he dropped to his knees and Steve was glad he was holding himself up because the sight made his knees weak.

"Fuck, Eds. Here?" He looked around cautiously but it was empty except for them.

Eddie looked up at him with his doe like eyes and grinned devilishly.

"Here."

He began undoing the button on Steve's jeans and slid the zip down slowly as he pressed his face to the emerging bulge.

Steve hissed and gently pushed forward chasing the pressure.

Eddie mouthed over Steve’s clothed length and moaned softly.

"Oh, baby, I'm gonna enjoy this." Eddie said as he pulled out Steve's length. "Fuck, you're so big."

Steve looked down at him, a dopey look across his face.

Eddie started giving the tip kitten licks and Steve moaned softly. Pre-cum oozed out and Eddie lapped it up.

"Mmmm, you taste so good, Stevie." Eddie moaned before he popped the head between his lips.

Eddie sucked and licked at Steve, hollowing his cheeks. He loved the sounds Steve was making and he decided he could die happy if this was how he went.

Steve tried so hard not to thrust into Eddie’s hot mouth.

“Fuck, you’re so good at this.” Steve gasped as he looked down. “So fucking hot with my cock in your mouth. Fuck.”

Eddie just looked up through his lashes and hummed, causing Steve to moan again.

"Eddie, Eds," Steve's breath hitched. "Close."

Eddie looked up at him and took him deeper. A strangled sound left Steve's mouth as he spurted into Eddie's mouth. Ropes of hot cum covered the inside of his cheeks and his tongue.

Eddie swallowed down Steve's load and got himself to his feet.

Steve grabbed him into an embrace, bringing their foreheads together.

"That was..."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm amazing, I know." Eddie laughed teasingly, voice slightly hoarse.

Steve smiled widely and laughed.

"Where does this leave us?" Steve asked softly.

"Um, the alley behind the theatre, Stevie boy." Came the sarcastic answer.

Steve bounced his head gently against Eddie's.

"Was that song really about me?" He asked curiously.

"Mayyyyybe." Came the reply. "Why? You into that?"

"Eds, I just kissed you in an alley and you sucked my dick. I'd say I was so into that." Steve replied.

"Still wanna watch that movie or wanna come back to my place? Wayne's at work. Maybe we could figure out what this is?" Eddie said, holding his breath for the answer.

"Sure. Sounds good. I mean, I think this is the start of something wonderful." Steve said as he began to walk to the lot, pulling Eddie behind him.

"Sure it's not a fake out?" Eddie replied with a grin.

"Imma show you it's not, Munson. Every day if I have to." Steve replicated his grin.

Eddie rolled his eyes.

"I suppose that would be acceptable, Harrington."

"The kids are gonna be pumped." Steve said with an air of confidence.

"I'm sorry, what?" Eddie paused by the car.

"The kids. They've been taking bets on how long til we finally got it together." Steve said matter of factly.

"Wait... the kids? Our kids?"

"Yes, dude. Our kids."

"They know I'm-" Eddie stumbled to say it aloud.

"Gay? Yeah. And that I'm bi." Steve raised a brow. "Just seemed you were the only one who didn't."

"Man, I... Fuck. No, I didn't. I just don't assume."

"If you had, this could have happened quicker." Steve teased as he pulled Eddie towards him and kissed him softly on the lips.

"Let's go home, Stevie." Eddie said.

They got back into the car and they held hands all the way home.