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kiss-me-muchoo · 10 months

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𝐒𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐲, 𝐰𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 || 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐎’𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

part one: Do you want a baby? || part two || part three: Dharma

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲- what was supposed to be just a general diagnosis turns into a pregnancy reveal + how your water broke in the middle of an actual date with Miguel. 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬_ pregnancy, child birth, grumpy!soft!Miguel x sunshine!reader, sex allusions, implied short reader, implied age gap (legal) NO PROOFREAD :). 𝐀/𝐍_ recommended songs; so it goes and lover again (calling all the reputation & lover stans like me!!!)

♪ ♫ my miguel playlist. ✰ index (masterlist/ other works there)

______________

It would never stop being weird.

Looking at Miguel O’Hara with a tiny female spider by his side, her arm wrapped around his giant forearm, resulting in a confusing image.

Yet, the image continued as Gwen, Miles, Hobie, and Pavitr looked at you and your husband passing through the cafeteria and going to his office.

“How long have they been married?” Miles asked. Pavitr counted with his fingers.

“I think they’re about to turn two years,” he replied. Hobie smirked, looking at his friend.

“The wedding was sick… Remember?” Gwen and Miles looked at each other confused.

“What happened at the wedding?” The blonde girl asked.

Out of nowhere, Peter B. Parker appeared with a tray of food and Mayday on top of his head.

“Hey, kids. What are you talking about?”

“Miguel and y/n’s wedding,” Miles answers.

Peter lets out a little sigh like he is bringing back a happy memory. Pavitr also made the same gesture.

“It was a wonderful night…” Mayday went straight to Hobie’s arms, and the man was funnily tickling her. So Peter took advantage of that and got his phone out.

“I have pictures!” Gwen and Miles let out a NO WAY, LET ME SEE in unison.

“Alright, alright. Here’s the ceremony…” The phone displayed a picture of what seemed like a church. You had an elegant and vintage dress, Miguel was wearing a tuxedo, and the place was full of candles and sparkles that made the picture look so perfect that it was concerning.

“Miguel looks…” Gwen started.

“Happy?” Hobie asks for her. Everyone nods.

“Oh, show her the party, man,” Hobie suggested with a big grin. Making Miles and Gwen even more confused.

Some pics showed your friends, Jess and Margo, as your bridesmaids. Lego Spider-Man was one of Miguel’s best men; the cake had six layers.

It was a big celebration. With many spider people around, part of your family, and what seemed like a summer afterparty.

Gwen giggled at the variety of pictures; you and Miguel cutting the cake, the waltz… until the pictures turned a little… intense.

“Damn…” Miles let out. Hobie started laughing, looking at the pictures, and Pavitr was getting blushed.

From alcohol shots, a mess in the pool, and you and Miguel doing the infamous wedding garter removal.

“OKAY!… this is not for kids,” Peter yelled, snatching the phone from the pair of teenagers.

“How did that happen?” the girl asked. Neither she nor Miles could believe they would live to see Miguel, you, and other serious spider people doing things like that.

“Alcohol. Boss was drunk as hell….” Hobie said, evidently mocking the leader of the Spider Society.

“It was after the family left, only… close friends. I must admit it’s the coolest wedding I’ve ever been invited to,” Peter accepted. Pavitr nodded.

“Yes, it was at the same level as an Indian wedding,” that was a lot to say.

Soon, Lyla appeared and gave a disapproving look to the whole table.

“Why are you here doing nothing? Jess assigned new missions and- AWW, Is that a picture from Miguel and y/n’s wedding?” The AI appeared beside Peter, looking at his phone.

“Yes. Was a good party, remember?” Lyla nodded at Hobie.

“Until they left for their honeymoon. And I had to do all the job myself for….like a month.”

“You sound like you suffered…” Gwen said.

“I did”

“You’re an AI, Lyla. You can’t feel anything….” Everyone laughed.

“Insensible kids. Now go meet Jess for the mission’s debriefing unless you want Miguel's lecture on your lives.”

With that, everyone left to their respective rooms to hear the debriefings.

…

“Well, that was fun,” Miles commented. Enjoying a giant cheese empanada from the cafeteria. Gwen nodded, and Hobie shrugged, following them.

“Time to go home. I’m tired…” Everyone started to say their goodbyes. Hobie was gone, and then Margo appeared, running towards them.

“Hey! What’s up, Margo?” Jealousy immediately invaded Gwen, and she soon went to appear beside Miles. Nothing personal, but the feeling had been evolving. She liked Margo but didn’t like how she and Miles interacted.

“Haven’t you heard?… y/n is injured” The pair looked between them worriedly.

“Is she okay?”

“I don’t know. I was about to go and see her. Jess said it was delicate.”

Everyone started pacing towards the clinic.

It was as big as the whole HQ; bright, clean, and futuristic.

Many spiders were there, injured people, waiting for surgery, medicines, etc.

However, their way was towards one of the private rooms.

There, you were lying in a bed in the center.

Beside you, Miguel holding your hand.

In a hologram form, Jess and Lyla were looking too.

“What are you doing here?” Miguel asked, intimidating Gwen, Margo, and Miles with his massive height.

“We heard y/n was injured…” Margo dared to respond.

You smiled. You really loved them, so you giggled.

“This isn’t over…” Miguel spoke once again, pointing at you. Oh, Miguel and his so-ever-grumpy attitude.

But you knew there was a lot to talk about back home. A lot…

“Are you okay?”

“Are you gonna be able to go back to work tomorrow?” Miles and Gwen bombard you with lots of questions. Margo was always more considerate, so she stood quiet.

And Miguel was rolling his eyes and looking beyond annoyed, cringed by his younger employees’ questions.

“No, stop saturating her with stupid questions. She’s pregnant, kids….” Miguel said, maintaining his stoic posture.

Jess let out a little laugh, noticing that Margo was the only one to react at the moment.

Her mouth opened to form a big o of shock.

“Do you have anything broken?” The blonde girl in turquoise Converse asked.

“Just my ankle, a sprain in my inner tight… oh, and I have a baby,” you comment softly, rubbing your stomach with a smile.

The teenagers keep making comments Margo is already paralyzed. You laugh again, covering your lips. Then turn to look at Miguel, who’s rolling his eyes again.

“YOU WHAT?…” their eyes are going to pop out.

“You’re pregnant?” Gwen asks.

“That’s why I just said…” Miguel adds with frustration. Then proceeding to whisper something in Spanish.

“I’m very happy for you two, congratulations” Margo is always polite and sweet. You accept her hug, and the other two teens are all over you. Showering you with ideas for baby names, a baby shower hosted by Peter, and making the kid’s first birthday party in the HQ.

“We have to tell this to the others!”

“No. We don’t want to. “

But Miles and Gwen are already out, both still in shock, ignoring Miguel and his desire to keep your status private.

You don’t mind, actually. Everyone would know in a couple of months. But Miguel… what can you say? He’s your husband.

And he kept pinching the bridge of his nose, proving how annoyed he was.

“Paciencia, paciencia…” he keeps murmuring. Margo giggles before turning to leave.

“I’ll try to stop them,” she offers.

“Thanks, Margo,” your husband thanks her with a brief glance.

“Someone has to stop those kids and their unlimited energy” Jess comments, making you laugh.

Soon, it’s just you and your husband.

“Now what?” You ask, rubbing your eyes.

Miguel leans to brush some strays of hair behind your ear, giving you a warm look.

“Now I’m taking you home…”

He thinks you look sweet with the hospital gown, perfect hair, and no makeup.

And although he’s scared as hell of you being already so far in the pregnancy, he dreams of the day you are in the same position. With a baby in your arms…

…

“Your wife is almost six months pregnant…” Spider-doctor had said.

“Sorry… I’M WHAT?”

Miguel stood there frozen, holding your hand. You were also in shock.

His world sure stopped for some seconds. All the months trying, wondering why you couldn’t get pregnant, it was because you were already growing a baby.

“But-… I don’t have any symptoms. I don’t even have a belly,” you blurt. "Human bodies work out differently. For spiders, it can work beyond differently” Miguel, and you turn to look at each other.

His face came to hide in your shoulder almost immediately. Whispering ‘thank you’ multiple times, kissing your hair, working in private, so Doctor Spider-man couldn’t see.

Almost six months of going to missions like nothing, having sex like always (every day, at least four rounds). Damn… Miguel had to be more careful.

“I’ll come again to get you a scan and everything. I’m going to leave to get your blood test results.” With that, Doctor Spider-man leaves.

Now, you are sitting in your bed. Remembering the moment you found out the news. Looking at the candles that illuminated your desk across your bookshelves.

In a moment, Miguel entered with a little tray.

“I got your favorite chicken wrap, tea, and cookies…” Now you know you’re pregnant and suddenly want to cry about everything. He was so sweet. His reaction to the pregnancy was calm, and he promised to look forward instead of his past. And now he appeared at your door with some of your favorite snacks and looked beautiful; yes, you’re crying.

“Oh no. Don’t cry, hermosa,” he soothes you. Your little whimpers made him realize he had to be careful with his words. Then the thought of you being unconsciously reckless, putting yourself in danger, edging Miguel towards another breakdown…

“It’s just that… I’m- we’re halfway through this, and I can’t believe everything I did. I could have….”

“No. It was almost impossible to know you were pregnant, love. You would’ve not put yourself in danger at the slight chance….”

“Now what? I don’t want to put the baby at risk, but I can’t stay doing nothing for the rest of the pregnancy. I’m a spider-woman….”

“I know what you’re thinking” Miguel was being so patient. He was listening to you and never letting your hand go.

“Since we started trying… I’ve psyched myself that it could be dangerous. But it’s not gonna be the same. I’m not gonna lose any of you two. Because I know this is correct” Of course, he was afraid, but he committed to letting go of his past and focusing on this present with you. So he would not try to control it and you.

“You’re my lovely wife. I know you, and you’re a strong and perfect woman who will take care of our baby when I can’t be around….” you are shocked. You have to squeeze his hand to confirm you're not dreaming.

He sounds so peaceful, wearing white socks with a hoodie and pants. And he looks that perfect? You had to be dreaming.

“You are taking some weeks to recover from the ankle, the sprain, and one more check to see the baby. Then, low-impact missions, and in the last month, I have you in my office. What do you think?” you nod, smiling. Pushing yourself to sit and hug him and feel his big hands moving across your back.

“Thank you. We love you so much, Miguel…”

We. Oh, he would cry too.

“I love you two so much too. Completely… my whole world…”

“Yeah. No wonder why your plan sounds like you want to have me by your side for the next four months 24/7,” he smiles.

“Maybe that’s the idea…I want my little family with me all the time” You let yourself fall into the pillows again.

You lift your shirt and start poking your flat stomach. Miguel looks at you with curiosity.

“I can’t believe it’s almost six months old, we have a healthy baby, and I don’t have a bump.”

“Well, you look gorgeous as usual. Maybe there’s even a glow on you that I overlooked before”

“It’s my hair, right?”

“Could be…” both of you giggle.

But finally, there’s a time for a kiss. And it feels like bliss like his lips were everything to soothe the confusing thoughts, to feel happy and blessed for the child growing inside you.

His hands sneak through your exposed skin to gently stroke your stomach, hoping to connect with the baby.

He’s going to treasure this new opportunity. He had taken it the first time by marrying you, protecting you but never trying to control you. So he would follow the same recipe for this pregnancy.

From the love you two shared, passion always bloomed.

You felt amazing, so nothing would stop you from having your husband that night. So you started to tangle your fingers through his hair cause it never failed to tease him.

“God… we have to stop, bonita.”

“Why?” You ask with a pout, coming to hug his neck and giving him an annoyed look.

“The baby…”

“The baby has been fine since day one. Want to remember all the things we’ve done in the last five months?” you can swear he’s about to blush. So you giggle.

“You’re gonna be the death of me…” he complains.

But soon, you see his head disappear under the hem of your skirt.

Finally, you exhale with peace and tranquility.

…

Miguel fixes your suit from behind, his own suit already activated. He can hear your heavy breathing and feels slightly guilty because now, with the baby, your breathing could get hatred.

“See? Perfect as usual, mami…” he says, holding your hips, admiring you. He loved seeing his little wife waddling around the HQ with her cute belly and adorable smile. But having her in the HQ, making a moment only for him? It was a blessing.

“We spent at least an hour here; it’s gonna look obvious, Miguel,” you say, ignoring his comments. Your red cheeks, shiny skin, and curled hair could give you away.

Stupid pregnancy hormones.

Since your belly popped out in the seventh month, it felt like a prolonged fertile week that made you feel sexy and loved by your husband. As a result, extreme rounds of sex came like nothing most days.

“Honestly… I don’t care, hermosa,” he admits smiling. You roll your eyes, pinching his hand to annoy him.

“Sometimes you’re insufferable,” he smirks.

“You love me…” he attacks back, and you can’t help but blush like a little girl.

“Yeah, sometimes it scares me how much I do love you” The moment turns soft, as usual, between you and him.

Miguel turns into a giant heart marshmallow for you. All he can think is about how happy you make him.

“Can we have a date on Friday?” You ask with a cute and shy tone.

“Sure, mami. Where do you wanna go?” That fucking nickname. He meant it sweetly and adorably because, in his head, you were already a mommy. Still, he also says it in a hot way to proudly remember you he got you pregnant.

“The library and that new bakery near home” he would never say no to having a date with you. Never.

“You got me, bonita. I’m in the mood for a thriller book and some… What do you call those little cakes?” since you started dating, Miguel would pick one of your books to read together every night. The pastries only came to the scene on the weekends, though.

“Turkish pastries? Stop, I’m getting hungry. Oh, and I don’t mind another memoir, but yeah, I’m into the thriller book too,” he smiles, offering you another sweet smile. Thinking about how much he wants Friday to come and be out with you.

“I have to assign missions with Lyla. I’ll see you in my office. Okay?”

“Okay, amor,” the characteristic pull on his rib appears; he knows he must lean down and kiss you.

It’s slow, passionate, and delightful. His lips are soft despite all the times he had bitten himself with his sharp fangs. He was always so careful to avoid hurting you. He always avoided contact, but that didn’t stop him from playing with the skin of your neck in the most intimate moments.

“We love you…”

“Me too, bonita. I love you two with my whole heart….”

…

Your stomach was painfully churning. You were hungry, and your baby was asking for something too.

Maybe a burger with my husband’s mask printed on the bun. A side of fries with sweet and sour sauce; yeah, that’ll work, you think.

So you are peacefully sitting in the cafeteria. Waiting for Miguel to come back to the HQ and spent the rest of the day with him. Your mask is resting beside your phone and your web shooters.

It was crazy how the pregnancy made you both clingier than ever. His hands never leave your body, especially your belly. You don’t want to be separated from him for long periods. And even your family noticed how close you and Miguel were.

You asked where he went during a family gathering, only to find him drinking a beer with your father. And your aunts said you two were attached to hip… to the max.

“Hey, there’s my favorite spider-mama. Don’t tell Jess!” Peter appeared on your side with his kids; Hobie, Pavitr, Gwen, Miles, and Mayday.

“Hey, guys!” Mayday immediately went after you. Playing with your belly and softly poking at the roundness of it.

“Wow, your skin looks amazing!” Gwen flatters you, which causes a big blush on your face.

“Oh, thank you. I spent some time in the sauna today…” Miguel convinced you to try the least heated sauna room, saying it was good for your aching belly. However, it turned into a wild session of sex with at least an hour of duration. But your friends wouldn’t know that.

“How are you feeling?” Peter asked.

“Fine. You say maybe two more weeks or so…” you rub your belly along Mayday. Her beanie is dirty, and you promise her to clean it up before the day is over.

“I can’t believe you guys don’t know the sex of the baby…” Pavitr commented. You giggle, shrugging.

“I want it to be special. Especially for Miguel… you know his past,” they all nodded. They could see their boss apathetic as usual, barely glancing at them, ignoring their jokes, etc. But every employee of the Spider Society knew Miguel O’Hara had only one weakness; you.

And now that you were pregnant, it was impossible to not notice how Miguel tried to remain calm and be more patient about everything.

“I’m still a little hurt that I wasn’t the first to receive the news,” Peter B. Parker admitted, watching his daughter play with you.

“You left early that day!. You didn’t even know I was injured.”

“Yeah… and I called as soon as I learned the news” You pat his shoulder.

“Oh, Peter. You know you’re one of my best friends. And you’ll be my kid’s godfather,” his eyes sparkled. Everyone laughed at the comment, but Peter was pleased about it.

“I already got something for the kid…” Hobie announced.

“Aww, Hobie!… That’s so sweet, thanks!” their fondness towards you and your baby makes you want to tear up.

“Please, don’t give the child a set of piercings or the book of historic protests like you did with Mayday,” Pavitr prays, looking at his friend. Gwen was laughing so hard that it infected everyone.

However, Hobie had a little guitar full of excellent phrases and stickers he had collected over the months.

“It’s something better,” your punk friend promised.

You really liked spending time with them. It was like a second family that you could enjoy every day.

Then the conversation was all about Pavitr's upcoming big Indian party in Mumbattan. He invited everyone, and you promised to show up with Miguel and the baby.

Then you realized something. You really craved it, being a family of three.

…

A pink box was stuffed with Turkish pastries; 4 pieces of baklava, 2 of basbousa, and a slice of baklava cheesecake.

The sweet woman placed a green ribbon on top of the box, and you squealed out of happiness cause the ribbon matched the pistachio crumbles on the pastries.

“Thank you…” Miguel thanks the woman and follows you toward the exit.

The date was amazing, as usual. Hours spent between bookshelves, stolen kisses, and spending on four books to read in the following months.

“I can’t wait to eat this at home… my mouth is watering, amor,” he chuckled, admitting that these last few weeks, you looked even cuter with your bump and emotional attitude.

“Yeah, give me the box. Or else there won't be any cake left before we arrive home” Frowning, you hand him the box. The way to the parking lot is quiet.

But there’s a pair of big smiles on both of your faces.

The whole day you’ve felt tremendous pressure on your lower belly, nothing painful, but the feeling was weird. Only two weeks left, and then…poof!!, the baby was here.

A heavy noise disconcerted you. And when you looked to your left, Miguel had bumped himself with a lamppost.

Your heavy laughs are all it can be heard isn’t the parking lot after that.

“Stop laughing. I was taking care of you, not stumbling with the bags and your belly” he heard you let out a long oww before continuing to laugh. His spider sense was worse since he learned you were pregnant, always taking care of you. His eyes never leave you, alert in case of anything.

He’s annoyed but smiles at the sight of you being so happy.

Until…he noticed something on your pants. There was a big spot; it certainly looked like…

“Bonita…I think-I think you just….” As you follow his words, you look down to see why your pants and underwear feel drenched.

And once again, you’re laughing.

“Oh my god, Miguel. I think I just…” you peed on yourself for laughing so hard. You’re embarrassed, but still, you find the humor to find it funny. Miguel gets closer and takes the bags of books and your purse from your hands, finally laughing too.

“This is what happens when you make fun of your husband…” he opens the car door for you, and you only send him a lousy look before he keeps smiling. When you accommodate on the seat, your disgusted face worries Miguel. He leans to inspect you better.

“What? What is it, mi vida?” Your discomfort grows, and your hands travel to your lower belly. Seconds later, your eyes pop open in shock.

“Oh god. I don’t think it was pee after all…” you reveal, looking at your husband. His eyes also open in shock, and he starts breathing heavily.

He starts walking in little circles between the space of your car and the neighbor from the parking lot.

All he can think about is that a little human is trying to get out of you.

His life is about to change. All he ever wanted was going to be complete. He had to be strong for you and put his trauma away, like during the pregnancy.

“Okay. Does it hurts now?” He asks, returning to kneeling and looking you in the face.

You shake your head, not even knowing how you feel.

“Not really. I just feel like there’s something stuck inside me and-“

“And?” He urges you.

“And I want to push it out…” he nods, already feeling sweat on his forehead. He leans to kiss your forehead and hold your hands.

“Activate your suit, bonita. We need to go back to the HQ…”

“WHAT? NO… Just take me to a normal hospital, Miguel,” you say, trying to calm down.

“We can’t. Doctor Spider-man has been treating you since we found out. He’ll know better….”

“But…”

“Mami, you’ll have to deliver this baby soon. The best place to do it is in the HQ. You know it, right?” Slowly, you end up nodding.

He makes you look at your watch and activate your suit.

You don’t even feel when your soaked clothes are gone and you are in the suit's skin. You just feel like some beach ball was stuck inside your mouth, but everything happening on your cervix.

Miguel also activated his suit, including his mask. You shake your head at the sight.

“Oh no, fuck no. I'm not wearing the mask…” he sighs. Miguel is doing everything to not panic and not stress you. Even when he feels surprised you are handling the dilatation very well, he knows he can’t panic you too.

“Okay, don’t wear the mask. Can you stand up?…” you do your best, but it’s impossible to stand straight anymore. You must lean a little and open your legs to soothe the intense pressure on your pelvis.

“It’s okay, mami. We’ll be home with our baby in a blink of an eye.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so, Miguel” Your sarcasm signals him to hurry, so he opens a portal and helps you enter.

…

The room's wide window is like a living landscape, with the futuristic sight of cars and bright lights from skyscrapers.

There were no curtains because no one could see what was happening inside.

You were lying on the hospital bed that night, trying to push out a baby.

“I can’t do this…” you sob. It’s not even that painful (thankfully). The discomfort of the little human sliding out of you very slowly.

“Yes, you can. You are already done, bonita.” Miguel encourages you, which makes you roll your eyes.

“No. I mean-I can do this, just not on this bed…” your husband looks confused, but you ignore him to turn to Doctor Spider-man.

“You can try on your feet,” the doctor speaks through his mask. You nod, and with Miguel’s help, you end up on the edge of the bed; instantly, you feel the pressure of your baby slightly better.

You hear the doctor’s instructions, and even Miguel is in a position to help to catch the kid. You hold onto his broad shoulders to support yourself. Then, after three more big pushes, you feel it…the baby is out.

“We got it,” Miguel hears the doctor say, and a wave of soft cries instantly starts to echo across the room.

Desperation floods Miguel, who wants to see his baby and know everything is fine.

As the doctor cuts the cord and makes Miguel help you to lay on the bed again, he can’t stop kissing your forehead.

“Thank you, y/n. Thank you so much,” you nod, feeling tears in your eyes.

“Congratulations, it’s a girl,” officially, there are tears in your husband’s eyes. Doctor Spider leaves, saying he will come back with some papers and to help you.

He thinks Gabriella must’ve been very happy to have a little sister.

“Here you go…,” and everything is a comfortable silence once the baby is in your arms.

She’s tiny, with sun-kissed skin like his father, brown matted hair, and grey eyes that will eventually turn into chocolate like his father’s.

Her eyes are slightly open, she looks like she’s yawning, and her little tongue pokes out occasionally.

“Look, Miguel…” he leans to inspect his daughter closer.

He’s in love with her, and he’s beyond in love with you. He would always thank you for giving him a second chance to be a father.

“Oh, I’m in love again. She’s perfect, amor,” you sob, kissing the baby’s tiny head.

“I can’t believe this… I had nothing. Then I found you. And now…suddenly, we have a baby,” he confessed, caressing her rosy cheek.

“How do we name her?” He asks again.

“I want something related to her father’s name…”

“Are you sure, bonita?” You nod. After all, Miguel deserved it, and you wanted to do it for him.

“Yeah. Magalí, Marina, and Magdalena have been in my mind” his smile lights up with your last option, easily looking at her baby with that name.

“I like Magdalena…”

“Then… hello, baby Magda” you coo at your daughter, feeling her soft skin and plump cheeks.

“Your mommy and I love you so much, baby” Miguel’s hand comes to take yours, and together, you’re admiring your baby girl.

Doctor Spider enters after a knock on the door, holding a little binder.

“Okay, we’re cleaning her and healing you….” he announces. He adds that you’ll be fine in three weeks with a good recovery and that the baby was healthy. Miguel is so thankful and happy. He can barely hide his smile from his coworker.

“But before that… Lyla wants me to congratulate you two and ask if she can spread the news. Everyone is asking for this little family,” you smile. Spider plushie and Lego Spider-Man must be very worried and spider cat. You want to see your friends soon.

“No. We don’t want to share-“

“Miguel.” You scold him, give him a bad look, then look down at your daughter, smiling again.

“Yes, you can tell Lyla to share the news,” the AI appears before you. Her eyes open at the sight of the new addition of the HQ.

“Oh-great. And- OH MY GOD, SHE’S SO CUTE” Miguel instantly rolls his eyes, looking at Lyla moving in front of her tiny daughter and simulating touching her. There’s a little pink headband with a flower in Magdalena’s little head, which doubles how cute she looks.

“Thanks, Lyla…”

“Peter and Pavitr are on their way already. Probably the others will be joining us later” You nod once again. Feeling so welcomed and accepting that Miguel was right.

It was the best idea to give birth to your daughter in the HQ.

“Great. More visits!…” Miguel complains with a big load of sarcasm.

“Sorry…see ya later. ” with that, Lyla disappears.

“Ay, mami. You don’t know what you’ve done” Miguel can hear everyone talking about him and you and the baby. Having all his annoying coworkers asking questions and grabbing his daughter. However, he knows that will make you happy.

“Miguel, don’t be like that. This day is special… but we have our whole lives to have a family moment… just the three of us” he knows you’re right. So he sighs, letting a smile appear on your face.

“Right, yeah. You’re right…”

“I know. Now give me a kiss…” as his lips collide with yours, he takes baby Magda from your arms. She’s light as a feather, beautiful, and Miguel can’t think about ever putting her down in your arms again.

“I love you so much, hermosa. And that will never change…”

“Oh, Miguel. You and Magda are my full happiness now. I love you too.”

Miguel feels complete. He had his daughter in his arms; you on his lips.

And he hoped to treasure that feeling… forever.

______________________________________

Can we think about how baby Mayday and baby Magda are going to be BESTIES now?!?! *sobs*

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@g0oshtt

@ang3l-dust1

@electro-supremacy

@bestie1223

@dangerousness15

@iluvjisoo

@atlaincorrect

@naponiac

@edgycatx

@fluffy-koalala

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderverse #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara #accross the spiderverse #atsv x reader #atsv

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ghost-proofbaby · 11 months

Text

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR EIGHTEEN

in which eddie shows you deftones, texts are missed and calls are answered, and lines are crossed once more for good measure.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, light dry humping?, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 4k+

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

18:00 ─────────────ㅇ── 24:00

Steve-O: rise and shine, campers! time to get back at it with these wellness checks. gonna need some proof you two are still alive.

HOUR EIGHTEEN - 9:00 AM

Eddie’s eyes narrow in concentration at your phone as his thumbs fly across the screen, navigating the Spotify app with ease to find the Deftones song he specifically wants. He doesn’t do as you had and go to their artist page – he searches with purpose, in no mood to scroll through albums to find the song he’s looking for.

“I still don’t understand how you can type so fast,” you mumble, watching with fascination that you try to tamper down with faux boredom, “Even I can’t type that fast, and I own the damn thing.”

He doesn’t even glance up as he scrolls along the screen, finding the song and clicking on it, “I’m just good with my fingers.”

There it goes. The air from your lungs, once again vacating the premises as he freezes beside you.

It isn’t fair. An internal whine that nearly works itself up your throat and out your mouth, making you want to stomp your feet like a child. You hadn’t even recovered from the casual drop of baby yet. And now he’s going to just say that?

“Oh, God, I-” he’s looking up finally, eyes wide and stuttering with embarrassment, “Fuck, I swear to God, I did not mean that as an innuendo.”

You open your mouth. You close it. You repeat the process. You’re fucking speechless and it’s a little bit embarrassing.

“I’m serious!” he persists when you don’t reply, and only stare at him in continued shock, “Seriously! I- Fuck, I was referring to with my job. At the autoshop. I’m- Fuck,” he cuts his explanation off, dragging a hand over his face and falling back into the couch, “Kill me. Kill me now, please – and be sure to make it quick and painless, pretty please.”

You finally laugh. It’s a bit choked, a bit strangled, but it instantly has Eddie lowering his hand.

“I think if we were going to kill each other, Munson, it would have happened hours ago,” you try to tease him, but something about the sentiment comes out far softer than you intended. Like it’s not a joke. Like, in your own odd way, you’re trying to whisper a truth to him – everything has changed for me now.

“Probably,” he sighs, relaxing a bit and leaning back beside you as he looks to the phone once more and clicks on a song, “Proba-fucking-ly.”

For the first two songs, there is a distance to be kept between the two of you. You peek at the screen and catch the titles – Cherry Waves and Sextape – and make a mental categorization of which one you enjoy more. You nearly audibly snort at Sextape, but manage to keep your immature humor to yourself. You prefer Cherry Waves, anyways.

The songs that follow become a bit of a blur. Because for the first two, the distance existed. You can focus on the guitar and the vocals and the bass drum and everything except the man sitting beside you. But then song three comes on.

Fucking song three. You don’t catch the name, but it might be your favorite yet. Or you might be biased.

Because it’s during this third song that something changes. Eddie is no longer content in just leaning back beside you, in letting you consume the new music in a sort of solitude that was impressive to achieve when not actually alone. You first notice his restlessness in the bounce of his knee, shaking beside yours as he finally puts the phone down on the coffee table rather than balanced on his thigh. You don’t comment on it, you let it slide. You faux indifference. But then, the flexing of his hand starts.

It’s odd. Sure, plenty of people mess with their hands in relation to nerves, but you’ve never seen it happen like that before. The slow stretch of him pushing his fingers to their limits before retracting them, bending his knuckles as he tucks the tips in. The veins along the top of his hand popping exceptionally.

“I’m just good with my fingers.”

I fucking bet he is.

You curse yourself for the warmth that burns in the pit of your stomach. Focus. You should be focusing on the music, on taking in what he’s sharing with you.

Not on his hands. Specifically his fingers, and how good they’d feel-

Fucking stop it. Cut it out. No.

It takes an ungodly amount of willpower for you to look away, but you manage it. Unfortunately, what you don’t manage to do is ignore the bouncing of his leg. You don’t manage to extinguish that burning that he’s begun in you — a fire started from his kindle.

Impulsive. Impulsive, and a little stupid, and endlessly daring. That’s what it is when you finally reach out a hand to land on his knee midsong.

The shaking immediately ceases, and you take over the soothing motions as you let your thumb initially rub in arcs against the side of his thigh. With each strum of the guitar that rings out, you let your thumb complete its semicircle motion. With each pounding of drums, you give a gentle squeeze. He doesn’t say a word about it, and neither do you. Especially when he drops his hand over yours, wiggling his fingers between yours with the failure of a casual grace. You try not to smile as you flip your hand and let him properly intertwine them.

Flexing, but this time, it’s to squeeze your palm to his. You still think about those goddamn fingers.

“So, what do you think so far?” Eddie asks after he clears his throat.

“They’re good,” you nod, finding yourself shuffling subconsciously closer to him now that he’s gripping onto your hand, “Really good.”

“I’m just good with my fingers.”

You know that he’s more than just good. Just like Deftones, you’d dare say he’s really good.

The song switches, and both of you have scooted close enough to one another that your thighs press together. Shoulder to shoulder, sharing enough space to feel his breath on the side of your bare neck.

His grip on your hand tightens.

You want the opposite. You suddenly want his hand to detach from yours and to find home on your cheeks, hands on either side of your face before he’s pulling you into him, throwing caution and formality to the wind. You two have already crossed that line; why was it so hard to take that leap once more?

The song is still playing. You don’t recognize the tinny guitars that are on the loop of repeating the same notes, an echo effect of sorts layered over them.

It’s just the guitar. And suddenly, the rasps of Eddie’s breaths are something your acutely aware of. Like he’s closer, like he’s letting his head tilt even closer to you. You feel that heat transferring between your biceps that are smashed together, not even thin layers of t-shirt or the sleeve of the crew neck able to stop it.

It all happens suddenly.

The guitar pauses and Eddie’s hand loosens in yours. Your heart races, and you realize you’re preparing yourself for what he’s doing before he’s even sprung into action.

Kiss me, the sigh you let out whispers.

It’s answered by the song, and by Eddie. A combination of the two that you can’t differentiate.

The silence in the song is cut off by whimpers. One from the lead singer on the track, one from Eddie. Both breathy, both shakey, both whispering of the loss of control.

“Fuck it.”

Two words. He says those two words again as his warning before he lets go of your hand and is reaching up, shifting your two bodies impossibly quick as his hands do exactly as you had craved. One on each cheek, and then he does it.

He kisses you.

It is neither kind nor gentle, despite the allusion that it might have been from the way he cradles your cheeks. The callouses on his fingers scrape your cheeks, you can feel every crack in his bottom lip as it slots between your own. It’s easy and quick work, the way your mouths can mold together so effortlessly. Tongues that were once so sharp as they’d spit venomous words at once another now meet and pass over teeth, blurring the lines of where you end and he begins — of where hatred ended and this began.

Whatever it is, whatever it will be for these last few hours, whatever it will be once the clock runs out, you’re grateful. You, your vinery, your civility — they all scream their prayers of thanks as his hands drop from your cheeks and find your hips. You don’t even process that he’s tugging you onto his lap or that you’re letting him until it’s happened. Your thighs bracket his own hips, and he gives you no time before he’s pressing your full weight into him, hands clawing at you, desperate to keep you close.

You can’t even hear the song anymore over the roar of your own heart.

“Baby,” he murmurs against your mouth, and you realize now what the price is.

The price is your sanity. The price is a loss of control, and letting him consume you whole. A small price in the grand scheme of it all.

“I-“ you start a sentence that you have no idea of what the ending would be, but he interrupts with his mouth. The teeth your tongue had once met bite down on your lip and you swear you taste blood, swear you see crimson as he sighs out again into your open mouth.

His hands guide your hips against his. A steady rhythm, and with only a few passes, you can feel him harden against you. Your pace picks up of your own doing, the friction of your panties and his pajama pants nudging your clit and leaving you breathless.

What the fuck are we doing?

You should stop it. You should mind the delicate balance you two have been trying to achieve since you first crossed this line.

You only push down harder on him, only bite down on his lip as he had yours. This time, blood might have honestly been drawn — the hiss that escapes him says it all.

“You’re going to be the fucking death of me,” he chastises you between kisses, “You want to know what was fucking wrong earlier? You. You are driving me insane, you are driving me straight into the fucking grave.”

Oh.

The way he had leapt up. His nervous energy. The way he had put as much space between the two of you as possible.

“I affect you that much?”

It is not a confident question — you completely pull away from him, leaning back as you breathe it out, hands finding home on his shoulders as you survey him.

He’s being honest.

His pupils are wide but those brown, doe eyes have softened as they meet your gaze. His chest is heaving, his lips are already bruising pink as they fall apart so casually.

He’s being honest.

You affect him, you’re doing this to him — he’s caught up in flames, no sign of salt water in sight.

“You always do,” he says, “Always have. Probably always will.”

Your grip on his shoulders tighten.

I could never hate you.

How blind you had been. How absolutely, blissfully unaware you had been functioning all these months.

A hand trails from its grip on his shoulders, fingers slipping over his bare collar bone, “What do you mea-“

You don’t get to finish the question or dig any deeper into the revelation. The music both of you had long since abandoned has been replaced by the ringing of your phone.

Eddie’s eyes immediately pinch shut, face twisting with irritation. You can’t tell if he’s more annoyed at the interruption due to whatever breakthrough you two were on the precipice of, or because he’s still painfully hard beneath you. But he quickly wraps one arm around your waist, tugging your torso flush to his as he leans forward quickly and reaches out to grab your phone.

“Oh, what the fuck,” he huffs once his eyes are open again and he’s looking at your phone screen.

Your face has been pressed into the crook of his neck due to the current position and way he’s tightly holding you to him. You have no clue who it is, but you have five decent guesses to throw out.

He answers for you. Sharply and bitterly, he snaps out a, “What do you want, Harrington?”

Steve. One of the five guesses. Go figure.

“Yes, we’re fucking alive,” Eddie holds no patience for your friend, all the softness he’d held for you gone save for the stroke of his thumb against the bare small of your back, “We were-“

A pause. You wonder for a second if he is going to admit it. If right here, right now, he would confess to your friends what has happened. How he could never hate you, how you drive him insane, how by nothing changing that everything has changed.

“Sleeping.”

An answer to your question. You hate your disappointment, and bite it down with vengeance.

You can faintly hear Steve’s voice over the phone, not quite as trilling or pitched as Nancy’s or Robin’s. Eddie’s annoyance still rolls off of him in waves, and you imagine that you’d catch him rolling his eyes along with his little huffs of air if you were to finally lift your head from his neck. But you’re selfish, and his arm is still around you waist as it presses you tight to his chest, so you indulge yourself. You dig your nose deeper against the junction of his neck, you take in his lingering cologne and let the stray curls tickle your cheeks.

You should have known he wouldn’t admit it.

“Okay, okay,” Eddie grumbles into the phone, barely getting out the repetitive word before his breath hitches as you pucker your lips against the skin you’ve been burrowing into. It’s only a chaste kiss, but it has its desired effect, “Okay, Harrington. We’ll send a fucking photo. You done?”

Then it hits you. A fun game, a distraction from your disappoint and a way to crawl under his skin all in one. You fight hard not to let a smile spread at the risk of him feeling it against his neck as you take a deep breath in through your nose, noticing the way his shoulder nearly reflexively lifts slightly as if it tickles, because you’re puckering your lips again.

The second chaste kiss is testing the waters. He doesn’t react. And so you go forth with your plan, mouth falling open, teeth grazing his jugular.

He reacts microscopically. His chest halts movement.

It’s not enough for you.

So you suck. Hard. Puckered lips and a vendetta to prove, you let your teeth bite at the skin that sucks into your mouth.

That does the trick.

“O-Okay!” he yelps out in surprise, his hand bruising as he grips you harder. He tries to pull his neck back from you, but his hand only presses you down onto his lap and you feel his dick twitch beneath his thin pants, “Christ, Harrington. We fucking get it. We’ll send a photo. And we won’t sleep another wink, so bite me,“ he pants out as you move to the spot beneath his ear, finding where his jaw connects to his throat, repeating the process and doing exactly as he had told Steve. His hips buck up into you, “Okay, I’m hanging up now, Harrington. Bye.”

You’re grinning wildly against his ear as he tosses your phone carelessly somewhere on the couch — or maybe the floor, you couldn’t tell at this point — before he’s flipping you down onto your back on the couch and hovering over you.

Your head falls back instinctually, leaving your neck open for him to begin an assault of kisses.

“Are-“ A kiss. “You-“ A bite. “Fucking-“ A soothing lathe of tongue over the bite. “Kidding-“ A harsh suck. “Me.”

You writhe beneath him, but he’s pressing his entire weight down onto you, hips slotted between yours and one hand pinning both your wrists to the cushion above as the other stays glued to your waist.

“Did you think that was funny?” he breathes out against you, letting the tip of his nose barely graze over the base of your throat, “Doing that shit while I was trying to talk Harrington down from that damn ledge?”

“Why was he on the ledge to begin with?” you breathily question, trying to move your hands from his grasp, the urge to run your fingers through his curls growing. He only tightens his hold.

“Apparently,” he pauses and presses a quick kiss at the edge of the sweatshirt collar, looking up at you through his bangs and lashes, “He had texted, and we didn’t respond. Photos are back in demand.”

“We’re quite the commodity,” you try to joke, avoiding his gaze. Trying to avoid the softness buried deep inside there, all soft and melted in shades of brown, “We should start charging them.”

“We are charging them, technically,” he snorts, finally letting go of your wrists and leveling his face above yours.

Right. You keep forgetting the promise of a cash prize if you make it out of this alive.

Alive, not unscathed.

You’re already picturing that cash as blood money, some pathetic trophy that won’t even begin to cover the irreversible scars that will be left behind. All the hurt, all the fights, all the realizations — no amount of promised money can erase them.

You start to consider what could erase them, but you stop yourself when you realize that that admittance is too heavy.

He’s here. The weight of him is pressing into you, the smell of him is encasing you, and the stare of his big brown eyes is locking you in. You have him. For a few more hours, you have him.

The wounds can wait. The time to heal and scar over will come later.

“I guess they are, huh?” you laugh when you realize you’ve gone too long without replying.

The stare turns curious. Still melted chocolate, still deathly soft for you, but curious all the same. “Yeah. Yeah, they are.”

You’re about to retreat into your own head and consider what he might do with his share of the cash, but that voice in your mind whispers once more.

He’s here. You have him. Just ask him.

“What are you doing with your money?” you blurt out.

He chuckles and shakes his head, curls falling over his shoulders and creating a curtain as he continues to balance his weight on his forearms settled on each side of your head, still hovering over you.

You should probably comment on that. Make a snide remark about it. Shove him off.

You don’t.

“Is that really want you’d like to talk about right now?”

Right, the weight of his hips as he rolls them gently into you reminds you of what the two of you had been doing before the phone call. The boundaries you’d hopped right over, all the lines you two had been in the process of crossing.

The affect you have on him.

Your stomach twists and suddenly your legs fall open wider to welcome him in, only to wrap them up around his waist. He lets you, lets you pull him right in until your chests are flush to each other. The only thing separating your skin from his is this damn sweatshirt.

“I… Maybe,” you force out just before his lips capture yours. It’s not as urgent as when he’d pulled you in for a kiss to Deftones, but it’s still enough to shatter every bone in your body before melding them all back together into something new, something different.

Something changed.

Eddie smiles, and it’s almost shyly. “Maybe?”

You hum, but it’s cut off, caught in your throat with another roll of Eddie’s hips.

“Okay. Let’s talk about it then, sweetheart.”

Another roll of his hips, and you lift your own to meet the thrust this time, trying to catch him against you in a way for reprieve. You can feel the wet patch gathering on your panties, your thighs clenching onto his hips harder.

“What ever shall I do with my money?” he pretends to ponder, eyes shooting up to look away from you in faux contemplation.

As he does it, one of his hands wander over your sternum, dancing above the fabric of the borrowed clothes.

“Maybe I’ll buy a new bike,” he muses, the hand wandering lower, tracing a steady line down your abdomen, “Maybe I’ll get myself a new guitar.”

His hand has reached the hem of the sweatshirt, slips beneath it and plays with the edge of your panties.

Your mouth will be your damnation as you snipe back, “Or maybe you can buy yourself a whole collection of playboys, filled with plenty of models who definitely don’t look like someone you claim to hate.”

His hand retracts immediately, and you can’t help but begin to giggle.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you start to gasp out when he lifts away from you, reaching out to grab onto him.

He’s fast, but your hands are quicker. You wrap them around the back of his neck and tug him into you, only for him to continue to lift himself up and bring you with him as well this time.

You resemble a koala, and can only imagine what the scene looks like to an outsider.

“Eddie!” you practically squeal, and can feel the vibrations of his own laughter as he sits up on his knees, you still clinging to him.

His arms wrap around you and you lean back, catching that mischievous glint in his eyes. It breaks through the softness, burns brightly in your chest as your laughter fades into soft breaths that hit his freckled cheeks.

You stare at each other for a moment, a tangle of limbs and unspoken words. His earlier admission isn’t forgotten, the lines crossed all painted in red now.

He’s here. You have him, for now.

You can only imagine the claw marks you will be leaving behind when the clock strikes twenty four hours, and you’re forced to leave him and this behind.

“You, sweetheart,” he finally breaks the silence with gentle smirk, “are a certified boner killer.”

You don’t miss a beat, reaching down between you two, hand cupping his still prominent erection, “You sure about that?”

He only groans in response, and in your following cackles, your hold on him slips.

He could have let you fall back roughly on the couch, especially given his distraction with fighting his ever growing smirk. He could have let you smack your head back on the cushion and let you deal with the dull ache that would have followed. He could have, he could have, he could have.

He doesn’t.

He guides you back with his arms still tight around you. Makes sure that you land softly against the worn plush. Takes his time removing his grip on you before he’s standing up from the couch.

You lay back, so sincerely content as you let out a final breath of a laugh and watch him shake his head in amusement as he turns to leave.

“Where are you going?” if it weren’t for the residual giddiness of the moment, you’d have been embarrassed by the clinginess that had threaded its way into your tone.

“The bathroom,” he answers without hesitation, back facing you as he starts down the short hall.

You call after him, “Okay. Don’t take too long this time!”

Even as his laughter echoes faintly, you know you still have him. For now.

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @blushingquincy @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @big-ope-vibes @jadequeen88 @sylviin @emma77645 @notbeforelong @lolalanaie @lo-siento-ama @happy-and-alone @micheledawn1975 @aysheashea @moon-huny @munsonswrld @bambipowerblueaddition @averagestudent03 @bakugouswh0r3 @mattefic @mxcheese @bietchz @nativity-in-black @stezzil @vngelis @coley0823 @folklorebau @luvmunson86 @theherothesavior @keene200213 @hargrovesswifee @m-chmcl-rmnc @cherrymedicine13 @iunaelumen777

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#twenty four hours #my writing #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #i may have hyped this one up a little too much #next chapter has some action though lol

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likeadevils · 5 months

Text

Midnights Timeline

This is a very long post that puts all the songs on Midnights in order of Taylor creating them. I’ve also included a few other songs she worked on while writing Midnights and quotes from Taylor and her collaborators talking about her process.

If you don't want to read all that, check out this playlist of the album in order, or this playlist of her entire discography. (warning: there is a very large chunk in the middle of Midnights that I have no information on (Maroon-Dear Reader. On the playlist not the album I have guesses for more than one song)).

I’ve also added this color coded scale of how sure I am of the date:

Confirmed: There is some type of official source for the date

Inferring: Nobody has officially said “This is when we wrote it,” but all available evidence points to that date

Speculation: This date is based off pure vibes and guesswork and is highly likely to change.

Unknown: All that is known is the year (from the US Copyright Offices

Renegade: March 7-15, 2021 (Confirmed)

Aaron: “I wrote the music [for Renegade] at some point after we finished [evermore], and sent it to her, because she was inspired by a llot of the Big Red Machine stuff we were working on. And she had already sung on Birch, a song that hasn't come out yet but is one of the major ones on the record. And I think she wanted to write a song for Big Red Machine. She very much feels like part of this community to me. So I wrote Renegade, the music, and sent it to her. And not unlike a lot of the things we've done together, one day I woke up to a voice memo from her and she had written this incredible song about how anxiety and fear get in the way of loving or being loved. And she was clearly thinking about Big Red Machine. And then we recorded her vocals and everything the week of the Grammys, when I was there in LA, and it was really nice to have something to think about that wasn't related to the Grammys - just to make music because you feel like making it." (transcript from jaimie)

High Infidelity and Would've Could've Should've: March 7-15, 2021 (Confirmed)

Aaron: [Would've Could've Should've], we wrote that song together, and recorded it while we were together in LA for the folklore Grammys. It goes back that far. And the same with High Infidelity. Those songs, we actually recorded in her house, the vocals, we recorded them then. And I just kept making music, and it was kind, after we had made folklore and evermore, I started to have ideas which I would share. And eventually, she obviously made most of Midnights with Jack, and it became something different. But High Infidelity, and Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve, and The Great War, and we made Hits Different with Jack and Taylor and I also, and it was great to be part of that record in that way. (transcript from @cages-boxes-hunters-foxes)

The Great War and Hits Different: between April-October 2021 (Speculation)

In the above quote talking about his songs on Midnights, Aaron says "Eventually, she obviously made most of Midnights with Jack, and it became something different," implying his stuff was written before the bulk of midnights in fall. He also says High Infidelity and Would've Could've Should've "[go] back that far," which implies they were some of the earliest stuff on Midnights, so it's safe to assume TGW and Hits Different come sometime afterwards.

Summer 2021: Jack has a session with Sounwave, Sam Dew, and Zoe Kravitz, where the instrumentals for Lavender Haze and likely Glitch are written

Rolling Stone interview with Sounwave: Before Antonoff began to work on Swift’s tenth album, he was cooking up tracks with Spears, Dew, and Zoë Kravitz [...] During a brainstorming session, the quartet put together a track that would eventually become “Lavender Haze.”

November 3 2021: It was announced that Joe has been cast in Stars at Noon, alongside Margaret Qualley, Jack Antonoff's then girlfriend now wife. Since Joe was parachuted into the film last minute, filming had already started, making it likely he left as soon as possible.

Taylor: We’d been toying with ideas and had written a few things we loved, but Midnights actually really coalesced and flowed out of us when our partners (both actors) did a film together in Panama. Jack and I found ourselves back in New York, alone, recording every night, staying up late and exploring old memories and midnights past.

November 8: Jack gets back from touring with Bleachers. Let the games begin.

Vigilante Shit: November 2021 (Speculation)

Vigilante Shit is the sole solo writing credit on the album, which implies it was written before her and Jack were holed up together 24/7. Also Scooter and his wife divorced in July. Beyond that there's no evidence this is early in the process, besides it making sense that Taylor wrote this alone, brought it to Jack, and then fell into a creative inferno.

Maroon, Anti-Hero, You're on Your Own Kid, Midnight Rain, Bejeweled, Labyrinth, Mastermind, Paris, and Dear Reader: November/December 2021 (Inferring)

I don't have enough info on the making of any of these songs to give them each their own little blurb, but if anything pops up I will update this post and reblog it letting y’all know.

Question..?: After November 21, 2021 (Inferring)

We know Rachel Antonoff, Dylan O'Brien, and Austin Swift were there the day they recorded it thanks to this behind the scenes footage of them recording the cheering vocals. Dylan was filming The Vanishings at Caddo Lake in Louisiana sometime between October 5 and November 20. I don't know exactly which dates he was filming-- he was in New York for All Too Well filming in late October and to attend the premiere on November 12, but since we know for sure he was in Louisiana on the 20th, I'm just gonna Occam's Razor it and say Question was written sometime after he got back from that.

You're Losing Me: December 5, 2021 (Confirmed)

December 17, 2021: Filming wraps on Stars at Noon, and with it the bulk of recording for Midnights.

Lavender Haze: Early 2022 (Speculation)

Lavender Haze, Snow on the Beach, and Karma are the only songs to have Henson Recording Studios credited (I can't find studio credits for the 3am tracks so there is possibly more on there). This could point to them all being recorded around the same time time, or it could be in reference to Jack and Sounwave's original recording sessions taking place at Hensen. I lean towards the former, since 1) it seems like the Winter 2021 sessions were mostly between Taylor and Jack, and the spring sessions have other collaborators, and 2) the tabloid rumors about Taylor and Joe getting engaged really started heating up in February 2022. On the other hand, Sounwave implies that there was a notable stretch of time between Lavender Haze and Karma, so I totally understand if you want to put it with the rest of the Winter 2021 sessions. Rolling Stone interview with Sounwave: A few months [after Jack and Sounwave wrote the instrumentals], Antonoff reached out to Spears, Dew, and Kravitz to see if he could pitch [Lavender Haze] to Swift, who loved it immediately. She wrote lyrics inspired by a Mad Men scene, numerous tabloid rumors and online gossip about her relationship status, and “1950s expectations.” “When Jack brought us in the hear for the first time, all our mouths dropped. She took it to a whole new world and made it her own. She created different pockets we did not hear.”

Glitch: Early 2022 (Speculation)

Rolling Stone interview with Sounwave: "Glitch,” one of the bonus songs on the Midnights (3am) edition, was born from the same studio session as “Lavender Haze.” I don't know if this means the instrumentals to Lavender Haze and Glitch were done in the same session, Taylor wrote the lyrics in the same session, or both. For the same reason as Lavender Haze, I lean towards this coming later in the process, as well as Glitch mentioning being together for six years, and in November 2021 Taylor and Joe had been together for a little over 5 years. That being said, Taylor could've assume the album was going to come out in 2022, and that she would stay with Joe until then, and bump up that date a bit. It's still very up in the air.

February 5, 2022: Taylor is photographed leaving Jack's house holding a keyboard.

Sweet Nothing: Spring 2022 (Inferring)

Joe is a co-write on this, meaning they likely wrote it after he got back from filming. It also mentions their trip to Ireland in 2021 and refers to it as "last July", implying it was written in 2022. While I was writing this timeline Taylor liked this post on twitter, implying that at least the second verse is in reference to Paul and Linda McCartney. The quote is from his poem Blessed, which you can read in this interview (TWs for death and cancer)

Bigger Than The Whole Sky: March 2022 (Inferring)

Claire Winter, a close friend of Taylor's, posts on Instagram that she miscarried. (I toyed with whether or not to add this, but seeing as Claire Winter made the information public herself, I decided to put it in. If she ever takes that Instagram post down, let me know and I'll delete this part.)

Snow on the Beach: April 1, 2022 (Inferring)

On April 1, Lana Del Rey posts a video on Instagram of Jack in the studio with an unidentified female voice in the background. Two days later she posts this photo, which Taylor and Jack both include in posts about Midnights/Snow on the Beach. Lana: Well, first of all, I had no idea I was the only feature [on that song]. Had I known, I would have sung the entire second verse like she wanted. My job as a feature on a big artist’s album is to make sure I help add to the production of the song, so I was more focused on the production. She was very adamant that she wanted me to be on the album, and I really liked that song. I thought it was nice to be able to bridge that world, since Jack [Antonoff] and I work together and so do Jack and Taylor. Taylor: And with Snow On The Beach, which features the genius Lana Del Rey, very lucky to have collaborated with her on that. And Dylan [O’Brien] was actually in the studio with me and Jack, because a lot of the time we record at his place, and Dylan was just hanging out, drinking wine with us, and listening to stuff, and he was just trying out the drum kit there. He wasn't serious. But we were drinking wine, and we were sort of like, 'We haven't recorded the drums for this one yet! See if you want to...' and he played the drums on the song. Sometimes it just happens like that. (transcript once again from jaimie)

Karma: Spring 2022 (Speculation)

Rolling Stone interview with Sounwave: The bubbly “Karma” came later [than Lavender Haze and Glitch], when Antonoff reached out to Spears for any other ideas he may have to contribute to the album and its synth-pop vision. “‘Karma’ was just a last-minute Hail Mary,” Spears says. “I remembered I was working with my guy Keanu [Beats] and had something that was too perfect not to send to her. As soon as I sent it, Jack was instantly like ‘This is the one. Playing it for Taylor now. We’re going in on it.’ The next day, I heard the final product with her vocals on it.”

April 19, 2022: Elle's interview with the Conversations with Friends cast is released, and when Joe is "asked if he hopes to continue writing songs, Alwyn simply says, “It’s not a plan of mine, no.”" It's possible this means Sweet Nothing was yet to be written, but I think it's more likely Joe was just denying in order to not create hype around a song that wasn't officially announced yet.

May 2022: Taylor teases Labyrinth lyrics in her NYU Commencement Speech and says m i d n i g h t very prominently on this instagram post, meaning by early summer she was likely confident in the album's name and which songs would make the tracklist.

And that's all for this timeline! Check out my others:

TIMELINES: debut • fearless • speak now • red • 1989 • rep • lover • folklore • evermore • midnights PLAYLISTS: debut • fearless • speak now • red • 1989 • rep • lover • folklore • evermore • midnights • entire discography GENERAL: tag

#taylor swift #timeline*#wrote this one in a haze with frequent breaks to pace around cause i was shaking so much #so if theres a typo that’s why #as always lmk if you spot a mistake/want further sourcing on anything/etc #AHHHHHH!!!!!

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bettyfrommars · 3 months

Text

Dirty Metal Summer

a Dirty Dancing au

masterlist playlist

Part 2: The Hideout

You follow Robin over the resort property line to a place where guests are forbidden and get a glimpse of what goes on behind the scenes.

word count: 3.6k

My blog is 18+ONLY, mature themes, violence, alcohol consumption, eventual smut, fighting, mention of blood, reader is called Bird as a nickname, reader plays the cello. Reader is 21, Eddie is late 20's.

Songs for this chapter: Animal (fuck like a beast)//W.A.S.P. No one like you//Scorpions Mental Health (bang your head)//Quiet Riot Wasted Years//Iron Maiden

a/n: it has been so much fun to pull this out of the rubble and jump back into this world for a rewrite, I hope you enjoy. To my I'm on Fire peeps, there will be a scene in this chapter that feels very similar to something that happened in IOF, and that's because I originally stole it from this fic, thinking I'd never post it, lmao. Thought about changing it, but it's just too perfect. Plus, there will always be a hint of biker Eddie in all of my Eddies.

Sticking close behind Robin, you crossed the arc of a walking bridge over a creek and disappeared on a worn path through the trees. It was only then that you could finally make out the building where the loud music was coming from.

It had corrugated metal sides and roof, like a structure you might see on a farm that housed large equipment. There was a picnic table out front where a few people were seated, and the shell of a vintage automobile with bullet holes in it sat in the weeds.

A little more than a city block away was a modest cabin made from actual logs with an old truck, a van, and a motorcycle parked out front.

“Who lives there?” You nudged Robin.

She stopped to see where you were looking first, and then, “oh yeah, that’s Wayne’s place. The head maintenance guy. This is his too,” she gestured to the metal building where the music and shouts were coming from. “Both him and his nephew Eddie. Have you met Eddie?”

You absolutely knew who he was, but didn’t want to come off as a stalker, so you shook your head.

The large sliding door entrance to the building was open about a foot, letting out wafts of smoke and a hazy, golden light. From over Robin’s shoulder, you could see quite a few bodies moving around in there, and just then came the sound of a glass breaking.

“Ready?” She smiled back at you, struggling to hold everything in her arms as she reached for the handle to slide the door open the rest of the way.

“Let me?” You lurched forward.

“I got it,” she insisted, fumbling one of the guitars before catching it again with a gasp of relief.

You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting to see when she eased the door open the rest of the way, but a topless woman dancing on a table top was not one of them.

Her hair was bleached blonde, frizzy and teased around her face. She was tan with a prominent bikini line over her pert breasts, and it looked like she’d just pulled the top of her leopard print spandex dress down to give a little show.

The song Animal (Fuck like a beast) by W.A.S.P. was blaring and the guys around the table cheered while the woman flipped her hair and worked her hips in a circle. You were sure you recognized her as one of the waitresses from earlier that night.

Metalheads of all kinds were crowded together, mingling, and you feared that you stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb. Some were in leather; some wore jean vests with pins and patches all over them. A handful had long hair that they must’ve tied back or wore under hats while they worked at the resort, but a few of them, like Steve, kept theirs short and tidy, for the most part. Overhead string lights swayed from high wooden beams, and a chandelier that looked like it was made out of wrenches. An old, pea green Kelvinator refrigerator and a small kitchenette was to your left, as if someone had lived there at one point, and two couches sat against the wall that were mismatched and worn.

Most of the crowd of people seemed to be lingering together in the middle, standing there as if waiting for something. Taking shots, smoking blunts, and making out with each other, blocking you from seeing beyond them.

Robin signaled to follow her, and you were hesitant to start moving through the masses, holding the guitar case flush to your body, feeling like it was something to hide behind. You noticed posters on the walls for bands like Judas Priest and Metallica, and on the concrete floor you saw smudges from white chalk markings, dark splotches the color of dried blood, but that was ridiculous.

You pushed between a girl with a blue mohawk and a guy with a shaved head that was covered in tattoos in a hurry to keep up with your escort, and the two shot you a hard glare. When you could finally see the far wall, there was an oval, threadbare carpet in the corner with a drum kit set up, three microphones, two amps, and some other equipment that suggested live music would soon be happening.

“This is where they practice!” Robin shouted over the music, directing you where to put Eddie guitar down. “We call it The Hideout.”

“'Where who practices?’ You set Eddie’s baby near the wall where she told you to.

“Eddie and Chrissy’s band,” she motioned for you to stand over at the wall with her.

“Oh,” you turned to look at the instruments again, heart flopping a little at the idea he would show up at any moment. “They're playing tonight?”

There was a commotion up ahead and you both turned to look. "Later maybe! The fights are tonight,” again, yelling over the growl of the music. Now the song was No One Like You by Scorpions, and it sounded like people were cheering at someone who’d just come through the door.

“Fights?” You leaned in to get more information when everyone started pushing back to make room for whatever was about to happen. You remembered that one of the guys on the porch earlier that day with Chrissy and Steve had a black eye, and you’d noticed another worker at the resort who had a busted lip, but you hadn’t paused to think that maybe they were somehow connected.

It was then that you saw Eddie appear from out of the sea of bodies, and took a sharp intake of breath, holding it in, afraid to let it out for fear you might whimper.

He was so beautiful, it made you dizzy. You stood up straight, adjusting yourself, covertly checking to make sure you weren’t perspiring too badly.

He was wearing the tux he’d had on for the show earlier, but the tie and cummerbund were both gone, and his white shirt was unbuttoned almost to his stomach. You caught a glimpse of tattoos on his chest, and a necklace of some sort. Someone handed him a beer and he threw back a generous gulp.

“There’s going to be boxing? Here? Tonight?” You were trying to act casual and not stare at him the whole time, but it was hard to tear your attention away.

“Nothing professional,” she scoffed, folding her arms over her chest, putting her shoulder blades against the wall. “Just your average bare knuckle street fighting, basically. The guys were doing it to blow off steam, but then some others got involved and people started placing bets, so a whole thing started.”

Eddie unbuttoned the rest of his shirt and took it off, passing it to someone in the crowd. Your mouth went dry at the sight of his lean muscles under the scattered ink. He kept his hair tied back and started wrapping white tape around one of his hands while Steve said something in his ear.

“How do they choose who fights who?” You were invested now, wringing Robin out for any information she had.

“I don’t know how they figure it out, but the new guys usually fight each other, and then a winner challenges Eddie or Steve or Alex,” she pushed off the wall to get a better look at the center of the room. “But it looks like Eddie is up first.” And then with a smirk she added, “all of the new hotshots at the resort think they can beat Eddie.”

“Can they?” Your voice cracked, eyes locked on the scene. A guy shorter than Eddie but muscular in a football player type of way, was also shirtless in the circle now, with taped hands and wearing a pair of sweats with the name of a university down the leg. The guy was hopping from foot to foot to keep himself hyped up, punching the air in front of him.

“No one beats Eddie,” there was pride in her voice. “Looks like the guy he’s fighting tonight is Lance, one of the new ski instructors. Totally full of himself.”

Steve was wearing a white wife beater and jeans, and he raked a hand through his mop of hair just before pointing in your direction. Eddie’s gaze followed the line of his finger directly to your stunned face, and then it lingered there.

He seemed to contemplate, wetting his lips, and then he nodded to Steve and was on his way over.

He didn’t have to push people out of the way because they were all quick to part to make room for him. It wasn’t long before he was standing right in front of you. You tried not to let your gaze linger on the full curve of his slightly chapped lips, or the way his wavy bangs framed his cherrywood eyes. On closer inspection, you could see that the necklace he wore was a ball chain with a guitar pick hanging from it.

Robin opened her mouth to say something, possibly introduce you, but Eddie cut her off.

“What the hell are you doing here, Princess?” His voice was low with an edge of irritation. He pulled the chunky metal rings off his fingers one by one as he spoke.

Robin cleared her throat, stepping forward. “She’s with me,” she stuttered a bit nervously, knowing full well she shouldn’t have brought you there. “She came with me, she’s cool.”

Eddie collected all of the rings in his fist and kept staring at you as if he wanted to hear it from your mouth, not Robin’s.

Your brain short-circuited for a second and you forgot how to form words when he was so close you could see the detail of the dragon tattoo on his chest. But then, finally, it came to you:

“I-I carried your baby.”

The second it slipped out, you knew how stupid it sounded.

Unblinking, he gave his rings to Robin, and then he was gone.

You stared at the space where he no longer stood, flushed with embarrassment.

“I carried your baby?” You repeated in a whisper, covering your face with your hands.

Someone turned the music down so that Steve’s voice could be heard, and he waved his arms in the air to get everyone’s attention.

“I don’t have to explain the rules to you, because there are none,” his announcement was met with screams and cheers. Robin tugged at your arm, signaling for the two of you to get a bit closer to the action. “First one to hit the ground for whatever reason is the loser. Just fists, no blades or other stupid tricks.”

At one side of the circle of bodies, Lance the ski instructor was practicing some tight punches, and at the other end, Eddie rolled his neck while Chrissy finished taping the knuckles of his other hand. It was then that the chalk and the stains on the concrete you saw earlier made sense.

“You two ready?” Steve put his arm up between them, waiting for their nods, and then, at their signal, he chopped his hand down between them as if he were slicing the air.

Lance was hopping from foot to foot, trying his best to look like some fancy footwork he saw in a Rocky movie, while Eddie walked casually, giving the guy a hooded, bored stare.

Eddie could read Lance like a book. A fight was a lot more than just a mindless throwing of hands, there was a mental prowess and skill needed that a lot of the punks busing in from suburbia did not have. Street smarts was one thing, and Eddie surely had that, but he’d been fighting bullies off since he was a kid, and Wayne taught him to fight like it was a game of chess.

Eddie could tell where Lance was going to go a second before he made the move. He saw the guy was amped up, letting his emotions fight for him, and that was only one of his first mistakes.

Lance charged at him and swung, but Eddie was already steps away; relaxed and agile, holding his guard up. The ski instructor came at him aggressively, again and again, until Eddie pushed him, making his opponent stumble back.

Keeping his form, Eddie caught you standing there out of the corner of his eye.

…what were you doing there at the Hideout?

He let himself ponder that question for too long and Lance was on him again, aiming a left jab to his ribs, and Eddie absorbed the blow with a grunt, arching to the side.

You were not supposed to be there. What was Robin thinking?

Mostly, Brenner and Joyce stayed out of their business, as long as whatever they did was off resort property, but if they found out one of the guests was somehow involved, there would be hell to pay.

Lance charged again and Eddie dodged, angry at himself for not being able to focus .

“C’mon Lance, stomp that freak,” someone yelled from the crowd.

And that was all it took

For Eddie to get tired of dragging it out for betting purposes.

Lance charged forward with a cry and Eddie socked an uppercut into his unsuspecting jaw.

The surfer boy went down

Hard.

Saliva and blood flew from his mouth as he flailed back, arms going ragdoll.

It felt like it happened in slow motion but soon enough, Lance was splayed out like a starfish on the concrete floor.

“Goodnight sweet prince,” Steve said sarcastically as he collected bets over the ski instructor’s limp body.

Robin cheered with her hands over her head, and you gave a few slow claps, your brain barely able to register where you were or what you were seeing.

“You want a beer?” She asked as you watched Lance numbly get to his feet with the help of two friends and attempt to shake it off.

Robin motioned for you to follow her around to the refrigerator which was stocked from top to bottom with nothing but beer cans. She handed you one and then went to lean against the side of the appliance, cracking open the tab with a hiss.

With your back to the crowd, you prepared to follow suit, listening to Steve introduce two more fighters.

But then there was someone at your side,

“Not like that,” a voice said.

Eddie had come up behind you, wearing his white shirt unbuttoned, skin still glistening with sweat. Mental Health (Bang Your Head) by Quiet Riot came over the speakers, eliciting a wave of yelps and screams from the group.

“Wait,” he put his hand on top of yours to keep you from opening your beer while he motioned for another guy to toss him one. You turned to seek comfort or guidance from Robin, but she was absorbed in conversation with a girl in a platinum pixie cut who’d just walked up.

“Like this,” he brushed his bangs to the side, and winked as he fished a ring of keys out of his pocket. He used the serrated metal edge of one to punch a hole at the bottom of the can.

It was the wink that made your skin flush hot, and then your jaw went slack as you watched him wrap his lips around the newly made hole in the can. He made eye contact with you one more time before tipping his head back, and cracking the tab of the beer open with his thumb so that the liquid when squirting down his throat.

The muscles in his throat jerked as he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing.

It wasn’t three seconds before he lowered his head and crushed the can in his hand to show it was empty. He let out a refreshing, “ahhhh,” and darted his tongue out to lick a droplet from his chin.

You were still holding your unopened beer, waiting for him, mouth dry. “I-I’m not sure I—”

Yes, you knew what shotgunning a beer was, you’d seen it done plenty of times at college parties and in movies, but had never been tempted to try it yourself.

Ignoring your hesitation, Eddie motioned with the crook of his finger for you to come closer. You shuffled to be within reach of him as if your knees were locked in place.

With a gentle touch, fingers brushing yours, he took your beer from you, wiped it off with his shirt, and then proceeded to make the same hole with his key in the aluminum. Some of the beer sprayed up and misted your face.

“Here we go,” he tipped your chin with his finger and butterflies swarmed in your stomach as his eyes searched yours. “Just let it shoot into the back of your throat.”

You swallowed nervously to make sure your throat was working, and then wrapped your lips around the can at his instruction.

“Easy, just like that, hold it there,” Eddie was so close now that your elbow was touching his bare chest. He put a hand on the back of your head. “When I say, tip your head back all the way, and I’ll flip the tab for you.”

You swiped your tongue over the hole in the can, thinking about how embarrassing it would be if you messed it up and beer went shooting out of your nose.

Robin offered a few words of encouragement and you noticed a tendril of hair clinging to the sweat on Eddie’s neck, right over the heartbeat in his throat.

“You ready?”

You weren’t but—-

“Okay, now.”

You closed your eyes, slammed your head back, and prayed, even though you weren’t at all religious. Some lukewarm beer leaked onto your tongue, and then Eddie pulled the tab, keeping one hand over yours to hold the can steady.

The gush of liquid hissed and exploded down your throat, and for a second you thought you would choke, but then your swallowing reflex bolted into action and it was over so fast.

You gasped and swiped beer from your chin when you pulled away to look at the empty can, amazed.

Eddie cupped his warm hand around the back of your neck, and you felt him shift closer until his mouth was at your ear.

“Good girl,” he whispered.

An actual chill ran down your spine.

Robin put up her hand and you gave you a high five. “Not bad for a first timer,” she joked. “Now crush it on your forehead and grunt.”

“Ha. Ha.”

You turned to Eddie, “that was fun maybe he should—”

You were about to say the two of you should do another one,

but he was gone.

—----

The next night, Eddie couldn’t sleep, so he decided to head to the property to finish up some work at the pool house.

The place he shared with Wayne was close enough to walk to the Hawkins Landing property, but that night, he drove. He wanted to roll the window down on the van and blast Wasted Years by Iron Maiden and belt out the lyrics.

He slipped into the parking lot for visitors and employees, turning the music down so that it wouldn’t be heard by any of the nearby cabins. There were two street lamps on, but a third one he noticed was out, and made a mental note that he’d have to get Jamie to fix it tomorrow. The sidewalks along the manicured lawn were also lined with lights that came out of the ground like little mushrooms, and the boat dock far off to his left was lit, but other than that, he was in the dark.

Grabbing his red toolbox from the passenger seat, he put a flashlight in his tool belt holster, and the van door creaked on its hinges just before it banged shut. His ribs still ached from the punch he took the night before, but he only allowed himself to cringe and curse in private. Luckily, his only companions at that moment were the crickets and the lapping of the water against the bank.

It wasn’t until he was a few yards down the sidewalk, head down, lost in thought, that the din of classical music made him halt in his tracks.

It was definitely strings, possibly a violin? No, it was too deep.

He looked up at the main house, but the sound was much too close to be coming from way up there.

He cut to the right and up the grass.

Then he saw the attic light on in cabin #11.

He told himself not to bother, but as the passion of the playing increased, curiosity got the better of him.

He came right up to your driveway, staying half obscured by a tree trunk, and watched you.

The cello, of course that’s what you were playing. He was no expert on the classics, but he’d always learned music by ear and had a unique sense for identifying instruments.

You weren’t reading from sheet music, you were just playing while you stared out at the sky.

Playing something by heart, or making it up as you went along, he wasn’t sure.

In his mind, you were so far out of league, it was criminal.

Your attention broke when a sudden movement down on the road startled you.

The bow zipped clumsily across the strings one last time, and you stood up to get closer to the open window.

But, your eyes must’ve been playing tricks on you.

There was no one there.

-----

Hi hello! thank you so much for reading! For those wondering, this fic will still be centered around music, not boxing, but the little fight club they have has a lot to do with the spin of the plot soon.

thank you all so much for the suppport! we are getting to the juicy parts now! give me those hungry eyes. comments and reblogs are cherished!! like, I live for them.

-------

taglist: @tlclick73@micheledawn1975@kurdtbean@katethetank@elvendria@spookysqaush86@somethingvicked@stylesxmunson@laurenlokirby@sapphire4082 @kellsck @motherfckerrr @emxxblog @justdamnpeachy @dashingdeb16 @corrodedcoffincumslut @bexreadstoomuch

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson series #Dirty Metal Summer #Eddie Munson fic #dirty dancing au #eddie munson x reader

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sxcret-garden · 4 months

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oohoo could you do a mtl of ateez members to have a sex playlist and fuck you to the rhythm of the songs <3 (please no cbat LMAOJSSKSIS)

OMG this is such a good question!! (And way easier to answer than the other one i got so imma start with this one nxbznxnxnx)

most

Mingi

Wooyoung

Hongjoong

Yunho

San

Jongho

Seonghwa

Yeosang

least

Okay so Mingi and Wooyoung are clear winners for me here. Like they're just so the type to do this, actually sitting down with the intention of creating you a sex playlist, and they'd be SO GOOD at making it too??? They're both gonna throw the most sensual, explicit songs on there, but the playlist is still gonna have style and not be cringy or too much. Though I wouldn't put it past Wooyoung to sneak an atz song on there for the heck of it (it's you???) and then be very upset in case you complain and very proud of himself if you cum during one of his parts 👀

Hongjoong would go about this systematically, sneakily asking what you think about some of the songs he's considering putting on the list but without letting you know about his intentions, and then building a playlist around that. He wants it to match your taste exactly, so you would enjoy yourself as much as possible once he turns it on and goes down on you to the music. Lots of sensual slow songs on there to leave you with an amazing experience

Yunho is a bit similar to Hongjoong, just that he'd be more relaxed about it. He'd definitely cater the playlist more to your tastes than to his own, but he'll never plan to surprise you with it. Quite the opposite actually, it soon becomes a fun little project for the two of you, and you're having way too much fun tweaking it and changing things up to make THE perfect sex playlist for you two. Needless to say, it'll get used quite a lot, even before it's been perfected

San too will one day have the idea of making you a sex playlist (most likely when he misses you and somewhat sadly jerks off to a song that reminds him of you jdhdjdjd). But it will probably end up in chaos cause he'll just throw random songs on there that make him think of you, and somewhere halfway through it isn't even a sex playlist anymore jdhdjdjd you'll be thankful if you never get to hear the first version during sex, but he will at some point reveal the original idea to you, so you can make a playlist that'll satisfy the both of you together!

Jongho strikes me as the type to get hooked on the idea of making you two a sex playlist after reading about it online or hearing about one of his friends having made one. And he's going to spend sooooo much time considering what to put on it, to the point he's still not finished after months, and refuses to even explain what that playlist with the weird emojis on his phone is when you catch a glimpse of it and ask him about it. And it's not that the playlist is bad, not at all, he's just so nervous about what you would think that he simply ends up never using it, rip xjbxnxnx (that's until you finally manage to convince him to at least let you listen to it, and once you tell him it's pretty nice actually that'll give him the confidence to turn it on during sex)

Seonghwa and Yeosang aren't at the bottom cause I wouldn't ever see them making a sex playlist, but because I think it isn't as likely. For Seonghwa I do see him getting the idea, but I think he'd struggle with figuring out what you'd like and what would fit and he'd definitely ask one of the others for advice. As for Yeosang I do think he'd be willing to make one if it's something that comes up in a conversation with you, he just wouldn't get the idea on his own. Might also prefer making it together with you, so you can make sure both of you will like the end result without him having to be anxious about whether you'd like his song choices or not when first letting you listen to the playlist!

#ateez smut #ateez mtl #ateez hard hours #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #hongjoong smut #seonghwa smut #yunho smut #yeosang smut #san smut #mingi smut #wooyoung smut #jongho smut #smut #mtl

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inklore · 2 years

Text

wild child, i want you.

part two | series masterlist

premise: coming back to hawkins for your summer vacation from college is the last thing you want to do, but you find yourself back in your hometown and it all goes to shit in a matter of weeks. thinking your summer is already a bummer, getting high with the town outcast doesn't seem like that bad of an idea.

pairing: eddie munson x richgirl!reader

word count: 6.2k

warnings: eighteen+ content, blowjob (eddie’s first one, he’s a lil virgin in this sorry y’all), drug use, cheesy flirting, past crush unmentioned but there, tiny bit of praise kink, i made eddie’s van cooler than it actually is, reader is a lil self absorbed but it’s ok, mentions of past bullying, class difference, and shit family dynamics.

etc: i may write a part two for this, may turn it into a little mini series depending on the love i get on it. but um this boy is the cutest little virgin and no one can convince me otherwise ok thnx. title from the song wild child by wasp aka a song on this verysexy playlist!

i do not give anyone permission to translate or repost my work, please be respectful — if you enjoyed please comment or reblog!

“Shit! Fuck!”

The sounds of aggravation that erupts from your throat are anything but ladylike. The moon shining down just right in the sky to show the hunk of mud that’s now stuck on the top of your red pumps. Pumps that cost too much to be covered in dirt and grime, and yet here they were. Ruined.

All because you had stormed off from the party taking place in the backyard of your long term boyfriend—who was now your ex because fuck him, and fuck this washed up town.

You knew agreeing to come back for the summer would be absolutely detrimental to your psyche. Missing out on what would have been the summer of your life alongside college friends, a new city, on boats, planes; anywhere better than Hawkins!

But being the amazing, doting girlfriend you were, you had been easily convinced by the promise of gifts, booze, and a hell of a summer.

Two weeks in and you were miserable, had ruined Louis Vuitton’s, barely tipsy off of cheap beer, and now newly single.

“Fuck this place!” You scream to yourself, louder than you should have in a not–disturbing–the–peace way, a dog barking in the distance. You needed to catch the first bus out of this dump of a town as soon as possible.

“I completely agree,” comes a voice to the side of you. If the pumping of anger and spite wasn’t making your heart boom in your ear drums right now, or the distraction of materialistic items didn’t have you fuming: you were sure you might have seen them, whoever they are. Or at least smelled them. The heavy scent of weed lingers in the air and you can only assume it’s the weed guy your ex-boyfriend had been talking about.

You weren’t in the mood to deal with anyone else tonight, let alone some stoned out stranger whose opinion you didn’t ask for, or could fake care about.

Turning in their direction you plan on telling them as much, plan on giving them your best bitchy scowl. But when your eyes adjust, actually see who it is; take in the long hair, the mix of jean and leather, the rings that gleam in the moonlight. Your expression changes from annoyance to amusement, your rude rebuttal long forgotten.

“Munson?”

“In the flesh,” his smile is still as boyish as you remember. At least from what you can remember. You graduated two years ago, he didn’t. Either year, so you've heard.

The two of you hadn’t been friends, barely acquaintances. You had a handful of classes with him, even got partnered up with him for one biology project that neither of you truly put the effort into. But you flashed your pretty smile and batted your eyes and got the both of you passing grades—thank god for creepy male teachers.

You and Munson, Eddie, were so far off of the spectrum of being in each other’s realms. The class difference not being the only thing setting you two on two different sides of the universe, let alone Hawkins and your group of friends. The many taunts from your boyfriend and his friends coming back to your mind, and the weird snarkiness Eddie would always fight back with. Unbothered by the stupidity of high school taunts.

“Graduate yet?” You give him a playful smile, lean up against the car behind you to attempt and scrape off the mud on your shoe with your thumb nail.

“No.” He crosses his hands over his chest, “but still keeping up with expectations.” You’re barely listening to him, frowning down at the dirt now caked under your perfectly polished nails, fuck.

You huff out a breath, pull your head back to look up at the night sky. Try to do those breathing exercises you see your mother do when a bird shits on her BMW. “You here for the party?” You both know you’re joking. Know that most, if not all, the rich kids here had once—or still do—rag on him.

“My services got the invite.” He clarifies, “not me, personally, for obvious reasons.” He mumbles that last part and it makes you chuckle under your breath.

“Still the weed guy, huh?” Pulling your head upright again, you look over at him. His response being holding his hands in the air in an ‘obviously’ type motion. Nothing has changed with him, and maybe that’s just what happens when you stay in this dead end town. But something also tells you that Eddie isn’t the type to just change. What you see is what you get, unapologetically.

Must be nice to be that carefree. You could use some carefree in your life; that booming sound of your heart in your ear still pumping with materialistic and asshole boyfriend frustration.

A smile spreads across your lips as an idea pops into your head. As you make the decision to get that carefree feeling in the most synthetic way possible, while also sticking it to the aforementioned asshole in the backyard.

“How much were they going to pay you?”

“For the-”

“Yes, the weed, Munson. How much.” You roll your eyes, that old high school queen bee tone coming back. Making even your own self wince, but who knows when—or if—the smell of weed had already wafted off of Eddie and traveled to the backyard and the two of you were soon to be joined by the rest of the party.

Fuck them.

“Thirty.”

Reaching into your bra, the low cut material of your dress having the perfect swoop to showcase just enough to keep the mystery, but add to the intrigue—helping to house your money snuggly in the cup of your bra; you pull out the folded cash your father had handed to you on your way out of the door.

“I have fifty here.” You hold it out between your forefinger and middle, “it’s yours but we have to leave right now.”

He looks a little surprised, his eyes flash from your chest to the money in your hand.

“You have a car don’t you?” You look around the dead street, try to remember what hunk of junk you may have seen him driving around when you were in school.

“Is the money for the ride or the weed?”

“Both.”

Eddie hums, “seems a bit low.” He crosses his arms, scratches his cheek. Starting up a slow pace as he speaks, “I mean I am risking getting caught with a distinguished lady such as yourself. From what I hear you’re still with your Princeton lover. Don’t know if I need him thinking I’ve stolen you away.”

You think he’s half serious for a second. The look of quarry on his face, but then you see his smile. See that boyish amusement again, it makes the corners of your lips tick up in amusement; contagious. Something you remember from bombing biology together. As much as you wanted to dislike him, ignore him, or push the assignment completely onto him, he had distracted you with weird facts about his band you were not interested in—and the other random nonsense that would slip out always made you roll your eyes and hide the contagiousness of his smile that spread across your face.

But you find yourself holding onto the knowledge that he knew about you and your ex. Don’t know why it’s the only retaining thing your mind seems to keep flashing on, it didn’t matter to you who still talked about you in Hawkins. Especially when you were certain it was out of pure jealousy for you getting out and them not.

You can’t see Eddie contributing in gossip, though. Maybe that’s why you’re holding onto the knowledge that he knows, remembers. Still hates the asshole. Much like you do.

“We broke up.” You state, make clear with a wide smile that you’re more than happy about it. His lips tug up more, stops in his tracks and leans back on his heels a little as he stares at you. The two of you sharing some silent moment before you laugh, “are you going to be my kidnapper or what, Munson?”

He smirks, grabs the money still between your fingers. Nods his head back to the van at the end of the driveway—that only makes sense is his, because of course it is.

“America's Most Wanted here I come!” He hollers a little too loudly, making you laugh.

“Sorry about the mess.” Eddie maneuvers around you, picks up some of the random garbage and clothes strewn at your feet and throws them in the front.

You’re sat on the small couch he has in the back of his van. The velvet from the cushions softer than you expect it to be on the back of your bare legs. Expecting it to feel grimy at the very least, and maybe that’s not fair of you to expect—or think.

You’re surprised at how unfazed you feel about the random things contributing to the mess back here. Finding yourself actually smiling at the makeshift lights he has hung up, how they cast a red glow and illuminate the posters he has tapped with that thick grey tape you know is going to rip off the paint if he was to ever remove it.

The atmosphere oddly calming, compared to what you are used to.

He pulls out a tape from the glove compartment and slips it into the stereo, a heavy metal track playing low through the speakers, the bass deep enough to rock the van.

You’re parked behind his trailer.

When he had pulled up to it and pulled around the back you were once again reminded just how different your lives really were. Had found yourself scrunching up your nose at the drab looking mobile home. Regretting it the minute Eddie caught you and gave a pressed lipped grin, “can’t build mansions this far out. Grounds too mushy.” He joked, but it only made you feel worse.

Why, you have no idea. It wasn’t your fault you were born with a silver spoon and he was born without one. Neither was a bad thing. He seemed more than happy with his life—knowing what you did about him, that carefree way about him—than you did with your own, it would seem.

The cushions bounce from the way he plops down beside you. Pulling a metal lunchbox out of nowhere and placing it in his lap, “who knew the Princess of Hawkins, knew how to be bad.”

You make a face, “people don’t really call me that do they?”

He cocks his head to the side. “Oh how clueless the other half live.”

“I can still take back the money, you know.”

“Ooh, not twenty of it, at least.” He clicks his tongue, opens the metal box. The waft of weed stronger, making your nose burn. “Gotta keep that half for risking my life, it’s only fair.”

“You are the chattiest drug dealer I’ve ever met.”

“You meet a lot of them, do ya?” You can see countless baggies of whatever he’s pushing to the side, a lighter, more random junk, and then he’s pulling out a small bag of weed. “You really are bad, Princess,” he smiles.

You have to look away from him, have to hide the cheesy smile that moves across your own face—because it’s annoyingly warm in here, and you are here to escape and get high not become best buds with him. “Just roll it, Munson.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

This wasn’t your first time smoking. You had dabbled in weed at parties since your sophomore year. Had taken part with it at the handful of college parties you had been to. You were used to the light feeling, the cravings, the giggles. Or so you thought.

Maybe you just hadn’t been smoking the right stuff. Maybe it had been the liquor you had always paired with it, the buzz you thought you felt from what you smoked actually from the malt and not the shit weed.

Because you’ve never felt this good before. Not from weed. Liquor. Even around your friends.

You felt so good right now.

Your cheeks hurt from laughing and smiling so much, can’t remember when you had dropped yourself onto the floor of Eddie’s van. Your heels kicked off and feet propped up on the cushions of the sofa—right next to Munson.

He’s not as spread out as you though, maybe a little more lax. His back slouched lower on the sofa, legs spread further apart. Jacket gone, black sleeves rolled up.

Has he always had that tattoo? Just how many rings does one guy need? Your heavy lids ache as you hyperfocus in on the bracelet on his wrist, the tattoo on his arm. Each one of his rings that don’t even budge as his fingers flex, as he uses the small pocket knife he had pulled out from his back pocket; grabbing your discarded heels to scrape the mud from them.

“You really don’t have to do that,” you giggle. “My dad will just buy me another pair.”

A smile spreads, “but you were so upset about them. Even I winced when I saw the mud pile you stepped in, nightmarish.”

He laughs along with you as you completely lose it, “how shitty is it that that is a nightmare to me? Ruined Louis Vuitton‘s.”

Eddie shakes his head, holds up the shoes. Now cleaner than before, way too clean for him to have just used the pocket knife. The bottle of water between his legs spotted upon further inspection, where did that come from?

“We all have expensive things in our lives we don’t want ruined. Shoes, guitars, people.” He shrugs, “not shitty at all. But this clean job might be.” He chews on his lower lip.

You maneuver yourself so you’re not flashing him from the bottom of your dress, as you move your legs from the couch to sit up. Grabbing the red pumps from him to do your best look over, ignoring the burn your eyes give when you widen them.

“Munson, I think you’re in the wrong career.” You tease, smiling up at him. You’re sat in front of his open legs, have the perfect view of that boyish grin.

“Shoe shiner?” He acts bashful, swings his hand around batting the air. “I’m not that good.”

“Think once you graduate you gotta start your own business, ‘Eddie’s Spit n Shine.’” You joke, the both of you doubling over in laughter. Munson holding onto his stomach as he slaps a hand over his knee.

Once your giggles have died down and you can hold yourself up straight, you watch him. Watch the way his cheeks are redder, watch the way he moves some hair out of his face. His previous words of “but you were so upset about them” and “we all have expensive things in our lives we don’t want ruined”. If this had been anyone else, one of your friends, your boyfriend, they would of been just as grumbly about the heels as you. Would have told you to trash them and offer to take you to the strip mall the next day to help you spend more of your fathers money; no big deal.

They wouldn’t have offered to fix them. To do something as simple as what Eddie had done.

And yeah, they were just shoes, and it wasn’t that big of a deal. But something fuzzy was settling in your chest, something in your stomach fluttering like it very much was a big deal.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” You ask without thinking. Set your shoes down beside the couch, lay yourself back on the cool floor of the van.

“What?” He chuckles lowly with a hint of confusion. Just as surprised as you are at the question.

“Why are you being so nice to me, Munson.” You chew the corner of your cheek, look up at him. “Not like we were friends, ever, in school. And I remember plenty of times where my friends weren’t the nicest.”

“The rich kids not being nice to anyone who doesn’t drive a Mercedes? Shocking.” He jokes, makes you laugh.

“I’m serious.” You tap his knee that’s peeking out of one of the rips in his jeans with the tip of your finger. “Why are you being so nice?”

His face grows serious, but there’s still a hint of a soft smile there as he leans over to dig in the metal lunchbox again. Pulls out the spliff he rolled earlier alongside the one the two of you already smoked. You watch as his fingers run along it, “your friends may have not been the nicest, especially that lover boy of yours.” He gives you a playful roll of the eyes at the mention, that ache in your cheeks continuing. “But, you were always nice to me.”

“I never stopped them though. From being cruel.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, grabs the lighter resting beside your feet. “You made up for it by helping me not fail biology, for once.”

Your face contorts as you laugh, “put my tits on the line for that grade.”

Eddie chokes out a howl, stops what he’s doing to double over again. “Never been more happy for the power of tits.”

Your throat hurts from how hard you’re laughing. Holding your hand up in front of him in a high-five invite, “to tits!”

“To tits!” He slaps his palm against yours as he holds up the blunt in the other one in a show of salute.

You can’t remember the last time you’ve laughed this hard. Or felt this good. This happy. This playful. This whatever-the-hell-that fluttering feeling was in your stomach. You don’t know where Munson got his stash but damn was it good.

And damn was he cute.

Wait—what?

You quickly avert your eyes from him. Look up at the roof of the van, try to focus on the posters and scattered glow in the dark stars up there. You did not find Eddie Munson cute. You were just severely high right now, and still reeling off of your incredibly fresh break up. That’s all.

You hear the flick of the lighter beside you, hear him take a long puff. Fill his lungs, hold and blow it out, before you see him hold it out for you. Taking it silently, not looking at him—you probably shouldn’t have anymore, not with how you are thinking right now. But you didn’t feel like going back to your parents house. Calling it a night right now didn’t feel right, and it’s not like Eddie was rushing you out of the van.

So you press the blunt to your lips and decide to stop thinking. Just smoke. Listen to the beat of the metal still coming from the speakers.

“Lover boy must have done something tremendously fucked, huh?” He gives you a somber smile when you turn and pass the smoke to him.

“Munson, are you trying to gossip right now? Like we are two catty friends?”

He chuckles, inhales. “Us friends?” He makes a face, smoke rolling out of his mouth. “That’s obscene.”

“Nightmarish.”

“Grotesque.” He puts a hand to his heart, “what would the moms at the country club say?”

You laugh. “I don’t think either of my parents own a gun, so you're safe there. And my mother barely notices me,” you confess. Regret it when you look over at him and see the sympathy on his expression. “Please don’t.” You groan, take your turn to smoke, holding it between your thumb and forefinger.

“Don’t?”

“Give me that look.”

“What look?”

“Like you feel bad for me.” The laugh you let out this time is anything but humorous. There’s no joy. Just a salted down wound that you don’t let anyone see—so you don’t know why you’re talking about it right now—that burns the back of your throat. “I have everything.” You mumble, “perfect life. Perfect future ahead of me, money, the car, the friends, the boyfriend. No one should feel bad for me.”

You’re staring up at the roof again as you hold out your hand to give the blunt back without looking at him. Without acknowledging your own words with anything more than woeful self pitying. Eddie wasn’t interested in hearing about a rich girls problems and you had no interest sharing them. Anymore.

A silence settles between the two of you, it’s awkward and filled with the silently passing of the smoke between you; puffs of air, breaths in. Your heart is beating in your ears again. Except this time it’s something close to embarrassment and not anger.

“It wasn’t pity.” He breaks the silence when your fingers brush against each other when it’s his turn to hit. Your eyes finally finding their way back over to him, “how could someone not notice you?” There’s a twitch in his lips.

And fuck are your eyes burning from how high you are right now or because that was teeth rottingly sweet, and your chest is feeling fuzzy again—and Eddie Munson has some pretty eyes. Fuck.

“With the hair alone,” he waves his hand around emphasizing the top of your head. “Kind of hard to miss ya.” That boyish smile coming back when you start to laugh and lean up to swat him.

“I want my money back, Munson!”

“You’ve already smoked the weed!”

“Pain and suffering!”

“Mine or yours?” He jokes and he’s putting out the rest of the blunt to hold his hands out in surrender, as you lean up on your knees to playfully swat at the side of his arm.

“And here I thought we were actually having a moment.” You scowl at him, “you can take the high school out of the boy but not the—wait—you can’t even do that.”

His jaw drops, looking fake wounded if the big grin on his face is any indication of its falsehood. “The Princess of Hawkins has some bite.”

“I’m not the Princess of Hawkins!” You roll your eyes, “I’m just me–”

“Perfect,” Eddie finishes, adds. His lips come together, he swallows. “Perfect–you.”

You make a face at him. Another childish playful insult on the tip of your tongue but swallowed down, your throat feeling drier than ever as he stares down at you with a type of fondness that has your mind thinking—and feeling—way too many things right now.

And it feels like the moment slows, time stops. You take in everything, really take it in. You on your knees in front of his open legs, your palms on the cut out parts of his jeans that showcase his knees. The fuzziness in your chest turning into something else, something racing and filled with heat. Something that should surely not be there—all from what? Meaningless flirting? Eddie jesting with you?

Weed was definitely not a good idea. You should of just went home. Should ask him to take you home right now before your haze filled mind has you thinking of doing something else you definitely shouldn’t do.

Like move forward. Your knees dragging across the floor until the tops of them are pressed to the bottom of the couch. Until there’s no space left between you and Eddie’s thighs flush against the sides of your arms, his groin inches from your face. Your palms now higher up on his thigh.

You can feel how tense he is right now. Watched his expression go from softness to rigid with nerves. And maybe you are the only one who’s been feeling something tonight. Maybe he can handle his weed better than you. Or is simply not interested in you whatsoever. All his mindless flirting just that: mindless.

But you can’t help but want to test the waters. To see if any of those things are actually true.

Leaning up, your palms digging into the meat of his thigh as you do, your eyes moving from his to his lips and back up. A hint he seems to get when he meets you halfway and your lips are being pressed together in a gentle kiss.

It’s slow at first, curious, new to the both of you. Sloppy, and you can feel Eddie’s hand twitch at his side until he loses whatever fight in his head that has him holding back, and then it’s at your cheek and his thumb is digging into your chin the deeper the kiss gets. The more the two of you learn each other’s mouths. Which way to turn your head, that slow timid way his tongue pokes at your lips and then finds its way into your mouth; the quietest of noises coming from his throat when his tongue rubs against yours.

A noise that makes your stomach flutter. Makes an ache start between your legs.

Have you ever been kissed like this? Have you ever felt like the other person was learning you from the inside out? Memorizing how your lips moved, felt, tasted. The way your own deep rooted noise slips out and vibrates against his lips when his other hand comes to the other side of your head and pulls you so close to him as he leans further down into you. The top of your cleavage rubbing against the material of his shirt, tickled by his hair.

When the two of you finally pull apart, your eyes feel heavier than ever. Feel like all your energy went into that kiss and you feel buzzed. Like you’re on cloud nine. Like you’ve never felt better, as the two of you pant. Try to catch your breaths.

Feeling Eddie’s thumb nail running along your bottom lip you look up to his eyes, see they’re on your lips. His brows pulled together.

“Munson.” You don’t mean for it to sound like a whine. It’s not. You’re not whining right now, you’re just…feeling things and really high and maybe you can’t remember anyone you’ve been with ever touching you like this. And he’s barely touching you.

You may not have thought it to be a whine, but Eddie does. The look in his eyes as they finally meet yours has you floored. Has you seeing a want in a pair of eyes you don’t think you’ve seen before—know you haven’t; needy, nervous because of that need.

And when your palm moves of its own accord higher up and over until you feel a bulge in his tight jeans, the intake of breath he does. The slight droop of his eyes. All the decision you need to act on whatever these feelings are.

There’s disappointment in his eyes when you pull away from him, just enough to have his hands drop from your face and yours finding the top of his pants to open them up and fumble with the zipper.

“Whoa,” a nervous chuckle, then his hands wrapping around your wrists to stop you. “Whoa,” he says again. His breath still heavy. “What–should we–you,” he stammers.

It’s a bit cute, but it also has your cheeks burning in embarrassment. Shit. Have you completely misread this? Maybe he just wanted to kiss. You were fine with just kissing, if it was going to be like that everytime. But there’s an ache, a want, to hear that noise again. The one he had made in the back of his throat. To see the impressive bulge that your fingertips had touched.

“Do you,” you pull your hands back, take them from his hold and chew on your lip, “not want to do this? More..” you trail off. You can’t imagine what you were coming off as right now. Have you ever been rejected? Tonight was clearly the night of firsts for you.

“I,” Munson shakes his head, and your stomach sinks. Face falls. But then he’s shaking his head more aggressively, “no, that’s not,” he sighs. Takes a breath to ground himself, his hands coming to hold the tops of your shoulders. His expression serious, “Yes. I want to do this. I just…I’ve–never thought this would be happening and that I would be admitting to it in a situation, let alone this one–“

And then it clicks.

“Munson.” A slow smile snakes its way across your lips, “are you a virgin?”

His leg bounces, teeth chewing at the corner of his mouth. “Yes.”

“Just to be clear I mean sex, you’ve never had sex?”

“Yes.”

“But you’ve done..other stuff, right?”

Silence for a beat and then he’s shaking his head. You try and fail to hide the surprise on your face, “I should take this as a compliment. Your utter shock.” You can see the blush that is growing up his neck and over his already red cheeks.

“I’m sorry.” Your smile falters for a second, “I just thought with that kiss, you had done something before.” You can’t help but look down at his parted lips, yours still tingling from them. “It was..”

“Perfect.”

That word again. Hits you the same way it had before. Has the both of you staring at each other’s mouths until you’re kissing again. This time faster, harder, the passion seeping from the want and morphing into something that now has you completely on fire. Engulfed by Eddie. Your fingers are in his hair. His hands cradling your face like it’s so fucking fragile.

“Can I taste you?” You’re panting against his mouth, running your hands down his chest back to the top of his pants that are still undone. Open enough that you can push your hand in them and move your fingertips against the top of his shaft. That same noise he did earlier coming out as a puff against your parted mouth.

He nods, “yes.” It sounds so soft and filled with need. He presses one more kiss to your lips before he’s slowly pushing himself back, giving you room and helping you maneuver his pants and boxers down his thighs. Just enough to spring his cock free.

It’s bigger than you imagined it would be—never imagined it to be. But, fuck. How has he not done anything when he kisses like that? When he’s so funny, cute, and nice, and his cock is so thick.

Your jaw aches just staring at it. Tongue coming out to wet your lips as you wrap a hand around the base of him, have to hold back the sound you want to make from the sound he makes; a shallow breath let out, just below a whimper. His hips already jerking involuntarily up, precum at his tip.

“Are you sure? You’re not like…just super high–“

“I am super high, Munson.” You smile sweetly and it makes him do the same. A low laugh covered up by you leaning in to press your lips to his, “and yes, I’m sure. Incredibly.” You hope your own look of want for him comes across clearly, not only in your words but with the way your hand starts to move on his shaft, and the way you run your tongue along his bottom lip.

A breathy, “fuck, oh-kay” slipping out from him.

It’s all the consent you need, the push to have you leaning down to run the flat of your tongue across his leaking tip. The hiss of pleasure he lets out only a prelude to the whimpers and gasps he makes when you let your tongue explore along his length, pumping and sucking with your mouth along a thick vein that runs up the side of his cock. Your thumb rubbing a slow circle behind the head of it, making his hips buck and legs tense around you.

And when you finally put him in your mouth, finally swallow down the already there taste of him on your tongue—you both let out a moan. Can feel the top half of him shift like his head has fallen back, an image of his beautifully parted mouth hung open, eyes screwed shut in pleasure has you moaning against him again; your body on fire, your pussy aching.

You match the pumps of your hand with the drag of your mouth up and down his dick. Swirl your tongue around the head and suck when you reach it. Let yourself go as far as your gag reflex will let you until you’re gagging around him and Eddie is cursing and digging his nails into the cushion of the couch.

You completely expect to feel his hand on your head, to be pushing or pulling your hair to guide you. Even fucking up into your mouth. When you’ve done this for other guys they were nothing less than over aggressive about it. So when it doesn’t happen part of you thinks he’s not enjoying it; a thought that’s quickly debunked by the grunts and shaky breaths coming from above you.

And when you steal a glance to the side you can see how red his knuckles look from the death grip he has the cushion in. How his fingers twitch and hand runs along his thigh, acting as if he wants to touch you but not daring to. You steal another glance up at him, “oh, ohmygod” tumbling from his lips when your eyes meet; he looks so desperate right now. So flushed and pretty.

You pull your mouth from him, let your lips press the tiniest of kisses to the tip that makes his hips gyrate, chasing your mouth. “You can touch me, Munson.”

“Where?” He asks shakily.

“Wherever you want.” You reach for his hand and press it to your cheek, “here, so you can feel yourself inside of me.” He whimpers, you smile. “Or here,” you run his hand down your neck, raise your brows to note that area being an option before you descend further. Until you reach the top of your cleavage, “to tits.” You say playfully and it has a deep chuckle scrunching his eyes. “Okay?”

He hums, nods. “Okay.”

And then your mouth is on him again, his tantalizing noises back and making your thighs press closer together. Making you encourage the small thrusts of his hips up into your mouth. Drool slipping down your chin when your own whimper is dredged up from the back of your throat when you feel the pad of his thumb run along your hard nipple; before his palm squeezes and massages your boob in a way that makes you move your body further into his.

The pleasure you’re giving him being handed back to you with the same energy of want and need, and it has you shellshocked. Has your body working overtime with heat, arousal, and wanting to please him. Wanting to hear more of those groans. To feel the head of his cock nudge the back of your throat and his “holy shit, that feels so good” when your throat spasms around him.

If you knew sucking Eddie Munson’s dick was this fun you would of done it years ago.

Why hadn’t you seen him before this night? Why did it take weed and giggles and flirting that turned you on more than you want to admit—to really see him. And why did the thought of not being able to look away from him again, to go back to not seeing him, something that was inevitable: make fear take root in your chest?

His hand has moved to hover over your head, his rings adding more pressure to the back of your skull than his actual fingers do. “You’re so perfect,” he whimpers. Pushes his hips up into your mouth, pulling your lips further down his throbbing shaft. “Perfect.” He repeats, your stomach flutters and flops and you preen around him. His breaths get deeper, hips moving more frequently, fingers flexing in your hair. He’s close, so so close.

And if you thought the noises he was making before were beautiful, the whine he lets out when he says, “I’m going to come, can I–oh fuck–can I do it in your mouth?” Makes your eyes roll back, your head nodding in approval and then you can feel him leaning back; a loud moan coming from his mouth, his fingers gripping the hair on top of your head as he comes against your tongue. The searing heat from it like a salve to the ache in your throat.

You swallow him down. Let your tongue lap at the droplets left on his tip as you suck him into your mouth one last time before he’s letting out a hiss of over sensitivity.

He tastes just as lovely as he looks right now. Completely flushed, eyes red and heavy. One corner of his mouth ticked up in a soft smile.

“Did I hurt you?”

“What?”

“Your hair,” his fingers rub at the back of your skull gently. “I’m sorry if I pulled too hard,” the softness of his words has your chest feeling heavy. Those feelings back, your arousal under shadowed.

“No,” you shake your head. Pull his hand from the back of your head, don’t know why, but you let your lips skate across his rings as you kiss his fingers. “It was perfect.”

His mouth pulls into that boyish grin, for the millionth time tonight. “It was.”

Maybe your summer won’t be so boring after all.

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #stranger things smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things one shot #joseph quinn #heavy metal love !

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lowkeyrobin · 2 months

Note

headcannons where quackity's s/o has tattoos? could also be nsfw, if you're comfortable with it :))

I don't write NSFW but I can definitely do the tattoo part! thanks for requesting!! I don't think I've actually posted a quackity focused thing yet which is surprising to me bc I have like 3 drafts for him LMAO

QUACKITY ; tattooed lover

summary ; you have tattoos and your boyfriend is head over heels

warnings ; language; talk of needles / pain of tattoos, use of quackitys real name (lmk if I should change it!)

word count ; 670

genre ; fluff

masterlist

In general, he'll act normal about all your tattoos and whatnot, but inside every time he sees your arms (especially if you have sleeves or some sick ones around your wrists that trail up your arm even a bit) he'll just get a little red in the cheeks. He absolutely loves all your ink. He thinks it's so sick, but he's not committed enough to get any, and he doesn't think he has the pain tolerance.

he went with you to get a new tattoo on your shoulder/upper arm area

he learned you'd be there for like 5 hours and he groaned like a shitty iPad kid and took his phone out while he threatened to call Philza

once he saw the tattoo gun... oh lord it was over

literally whisper shouted at you while the artist got up to get gloves

"that's what you're getting jabbed with??? why are we here again???"

genuinely can't look

once he hears the buzzing he turns his music on and he's staring down while he sits on the couch across from you

"Alex, look!" you smile, "I'm fine"

"how do I know you're not a clone?"

"Holy shit. dude it's the quackityhq duck, that's why I brought you along"

"WAIT WHAT?"

it's not a big tattoo whatsoever, but it's a reminder that he's always with you, how you've grown together and how that's always going to be an era of your content you'd never forget about

literally gets emotional about it

"You didn't have-"

"I wanted to, for the millionth time"

he genuinely didn't know tattoos were so expensive, once you leave he questions why it was 450 dollars and you explain to him how tattoo artist income works

He's not the one to want to peel off the second skin or pop the ink bubbles or even touch the tattoo until the skin goes back to normal. He's just kinda freaked out for some reason, it's just one of those things and it honestly makes sense.

He takes some dedicated time to sniff all the lotions and numbing creams and comment on each and every one, though. All while you're trying to do some aftercare on it and shit, and you just watch.

"this one smells like buttercream icing"

"yeah?"

"ew, this one smells like badboyhalo's ass!"

"why would you even know that? 😁"

If you have any tats without color, Alex will gladly color them in with washable markers like you're a walking coloring book. He'll literally call for you and ask you if he can color on you again, it's cute, really.

"y/n/n, can I color your tattoos again?"

"aren't you streaming?"

"so?"

"yeah, fine"

he has a whole gallon sized ziploc bag filled with Crayola washable markers

like he goes from playing on the qsmp and hanging out with some people to coloring all over you while said people watch 😭

you wave to his friends like "Hello, I am his walking therapy coloring book"

he's like a little kid. You just look over at him like, "Holy shit I could love you forever wtf"

Sometimes, he'll just draw you new tattoos (with washable markers dw) cause he gets bored and wants to doodle on you. Most of the time it ends up being stick figures and dicks but it's okay, it's his way of showing affection.

He'll genuinely think of song that remind him of each of your tattoos. Somehow, some way, he does. He has a whole playlist titled 'Y/n's tattoos', and he rarely listens to it, but he thinks it's fun to think of a new song when you get another tattoo.

Although he is a little concerned because what's gonna happen when you're old and wrinkly? How do the tattoos last? Do they become old and wrinkly like the tattooed grandmas meme? Because if so, he'll rip on you til the end of time.

"well I have a long time before I look like a tattooed elderly person, but okay"

"So you will? Oh my fucking God! BAHAHAHA"

#lowkeyrobin #mcyt x reader #mcyt preferences #mcyt oneshot #quackity x reader #qsmp x reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #quackityhq x reader #quackity headcannons #alex quackity #alex quackity x reader

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nevernonline · 7 months

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Hello, I was wondering if I could make a request for Seventeen 🥺🥺, how would he react to seeing you breastfeed your baby in front of him?🫣

hiii nonnie!! of course <3 I'm sorry this took a second keke. I was nervous to make it feel right, thank you sm for the rec!!

I just did coups-hoshi for now so it's not too long if you want some more lmk <3

SVT's reactions to you seeing you breastfeeding and taking care of your child in front of them:

choi seungcheol:

he would melt immediately!! ik this man would be the biggest softie seeing his two loves enjoying themselves.

I can picture him catching his s/o off guard while they're casually resting as he comes home excited to see the two of them 😭

would come over to them without even saying hello verbally just giving a small kiss on each of their heads to join them sitting adjacent and watching with his little smile.

obvi the queen kkuma would come to enjoy being with her now larger family. (she is the light of MY life)

kkuma and baby cheol matching hair clips, when tbh?? (why can I write all day abt dad cheol idk??)

yoon jeonghan:

would be amazed he met someone who actually wanted to raise his child. not because he didn't think anyone would, just because he knows it has to be hard staying home while he works.

he would tend HAND AND FOOT while they take care of the baby, they worked hard so he would be working his ass off making them both so so happy.

constantly found giggling and buying the baby the cutest little gifts and playing with their sylvanian families families together.

seeing his s/o breastfeeding would def not be a surprise to him!! he'd be so happy that they just feel comfortable sharing the entire experience with him.

hong jisoo:

im so sorry shua as a dad would make me melt fr??

i can't even imagine the matching daddy x baby fits.

he'd sing softly to the baby while his s/o breastfeeds

Joshua def would make their s/o a killer ass playlist for while they feed just so the baby can have a chill time during feeding and so!! his s/o constantly thinks about them while they're doing so if he's not present.

hover dad <3 but in the best way!! knows he's busy so any little chance he can have to spend with his family he takes.

would be so excited about their child's first trip on a plane, probably to visit la and introduce them to the "LA Vibes"

100% best dad and husband a person could want.

wen junhui:

absolutely has read so many parenting books to understand how much goes into the process so he is always informed and not asking you too many questions if you're stressed.

when he saw you breastfeeding for the first time, he'd definitely be intrigued not in a seggsy way just in a genuine curiosity type of way.

he'd be really clingy asking you if you need his help for anything, pumping, diaper changing, etc.

above and beyond dad type like his s/o wouldn't even know what hit him.

him trying to teach your newborn his name >>>

playing you and your baby sweet piano medley's while plastering his cute smile all over the room.

def would enjoy sharing baby food

NEVER leaving your side, but in a helpful way, he'd def drop everything to be by your side like the best partner ever???

kwon soonyoung:

he's the mom 100%

I can picture him just literally going mush over the fact he has a child?? like??

would be tactile as hell to you while you breastfed, just crawling in the chair behind you to wrap his arms around you and his child, he has to be a part of it ALL.

showing everyone photos and videos 24/7 of the family he created. like he's so PROUD!!

compares his and his s/o's baby photos to see who their child looks like more and even if it isn't him, finds the smallest comparison to his features and gives them a nickname from birth based on that.

maybe a clumsy father at times but in the most endearing way.

makes choreography to cool baby songs and shows them off while his s/o feeds their baby for entertainment.

sings really soft and sweet love songs over a baby monitor.

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cosmicstarlatte · 9 months

Note

Thirst: listening to metal with Barbatos as you make out. You get those ones that are slow and really heavy, he kisses you slowly and holds you in a death grip beneath him, even wrapping his tail around your legs so you can barely move.

Funny: The next song in the playlist plays and it’s the song Rats by Ghost and Barbatos smashes your DDD on instinct. Neither of you wants to explain why he has to buy you a new one.

nsfw 18+

IM GOING CRAZY WITH THIS??? Metal with Barb!?♡♡♡ like imagine he actually has a day off visiting you in your room and he's in regular ass clothes?? band tee + ripped jeans!?

His hand gripping your throat tightly as you let out a small choked moan, him shoving his tongue into your mouth, sloppy wet kisses barely letting you breathe alfjdjgkld

Part of his tail holds you down and slithers around, finding its favorite spot between your legs, teasing you. You're not going anywhere now. the clothes start ripping off, and before you know it his tail already has your hole prepped and ready for him. he fucks you hard yet slow; pulling back leaving just the tip in before roughly thrusting back in. hes making sure you feel every. single. inch. 😵‍💫 & the playlist playing in the bg just matching the heavy sensual mood as he rearranges your guts ughhhskkfglajd fucking a demon to metal music feels so sinfully right??

---

AHAHAHA!! Meanwhile MC in the moment being like 'I could've just deleted/hid it from the playlist damn Barb 😭' & Barb still goes '...i felt it necessary in the moment'

#I wanna draw metal Barb now omg #✩ — the star: javertthejollypastrychef!#obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me barbatos #obey me barbatos headcanons #obey me smut #obey me smut headcanons #obey me barbatos smut #obey me barbatos x reader #obey me barbatos x mc #obey me barbatos x you #◇˖・ﾟ— › cosmic obey me . ⊹#obey me thirst

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honey-flustered · 2 years

Text

Cruel Little Vixen 1

Rockstar!Perv!Eddie Munson x Journalist!Reader

Enemies to Friends to Lovers (18+MDNI)

Summary: Lacking in magazine sales, your boss assigns you to follow the life of Lead Singer/Guitarist of Corroded Coffin ‘Francis The Freak’ a.k.a. Eddie Munson for a month to write an article that could potentially save the magazine. Eddie Munson wanted fame but didn’t know the consequences of this include pretending to be someone he’s not. When rumors begin to float around causing some notoriety for his reputation, his manager agrees to an exposé of his life to make him seem nicer to a broader audience much to Eddie’s chagrin. Now the two of you are set to make your time together a living hell.

A/N: So my side blog Usetheeauthor has been shadowbanned for about 3 days now. I’m currently working on getting that undone but until then will be posting some of my work here. This is a new story. It’s 8 parts maybe. It was meant to be a one shot smut but I love writing series so here we go!

>>>>>Series Masterlist Part 1 of 8

Series Music Playlist

Word Count: 5.0k+

Warnings: graphic language, violence, sexual content, sexual tension, misogyny, gross!eddie, perv!eddie, mean!eddie, mean!reader

It’s Friday night and the air is thick. Bodies pressed up against bodies yet it to each fan present it was all worth it. The crowd roars as the members of the band Corroded Coffin walk onto the stage. There was Drummer Jessie Blue, Bass Guitarist Mel Tomas, Background Vocals/Pianist Judas Argo, and finally…Lead Guitarist/Lead Vocals Francis The Freak, the man you once knew as Eddie Munson.

When he got famous, he changed more than just his name. He was an entirely different guy from who you knew back in high school. You never knew him much. Hardly crossed paths but he was actually quite polite the few encounters you’ve had. Now you couldn’t help but roll your eyes every time you see him on TV. He’s an absolute douchebag yet his fans eat it up. Trying to see the appeal would be considered beyond your comprehension.

Tonight was the night you’d put your disdain for him aside. You needed to remain professional if you were going to get through this article about ‘Francis The Freak’. Your job had assigned you the mission to spend an entire month with the rockstar gaining insight on his personal life as a means of bringing up sales for the magazine company. You hesitantly accepted the mission. Although you knew this could be your big break, you couldn’t possibly see yourself enjoying this time knowing the kind of person Eddie was now. Nonetheless, you took the challenge, attending the concert as your first assignment in diving into the life of the rockstar.

Your intentions for the article was to write the truth regardless of the ugliness of it. However, the group’s manager believed you’d write anything that would make Eddie Munson look good. As ‘Francis The Freak’, Eddie had a bad reputation because of his bad boy persona. He was rude, loud, messy, violent…pretty much everything people should hate but the crowd loved it. The backlash really came from the parents of his younger fans who feared the 80s rockstar dabbled in satanic worship. This obviously affected some album sales. So in hopes of showing his humane side, the manager agreed to the exposé. It’s a quid pro quo kind of situation. They get the album sales, your company gets more magazine sales.

The metal band begins to play it’s first song, “Cruel Little Vixen” and the crowd immediately goes wild.

“Stay away from her, She’s a disaster. Rips your heart out then eats it for supper. She has no fucking desire to fit in. Watch for her fangs, She’s a cruel little vixen.”

Even if you weren’t a fan of their music, you could admit that the songs were really catchy and you’d even found yourself swaying to the rhythm. It’s captivating witnessing someone from your high school being incredibly famous. Here you were looking up at a man you once saw stood himself on top of the lunch table and make an impromptu speech about denouncing popularity. You’d always got the feeling he’d become famous. After all, he is super talented, charismatic….really good looking.

You felt like a fish out of water. You’d never been to a metal concert before and there were things that made you question whether some things were a regular occurrence. Like when the girls would beg for Eddie Munson to spit on them or the men who’d pour beers on their heads as proof of their devotion.

By the end of show, you were left both befuddled but entertained. It was quite a show and slowly you understood the hype.

Once Corroded Coffin thanked their fans, they headed off stage to their dressing quarters. This was your move now. You flashed your backstage pass to the security guards strutting your way to the dressing rooms when you noticed a line of fans waiting to meet their idols.

Scanning the area, you spotted the manager of the group trying to control the screaming fans. You walked up the man, clearing your throat. His eyes land on you, confused.

“Look, Toots, I already let these girls know that the band’s not ready to meet anyone right now. If want to see ‘em you’ve gotta wait til ya get the say so. Alright?”

“Okay. No. It’s Y/N. Not ‘Toots’. Mr. Neds, I’m from Tone Magazine. We spoke over the phone about 3 hours ago. I’m here to interview Mr. Francis.”

His face loses color and mouth goes agape, realizing his mistake. “Um, erm, I-I apologize, Ms….”

“Y/L/N,” You answered, trying not to roll your eyes. He pretended as if he didn’t remember your name. You were one of the biggest writers out there and he dared to play this act all because you were a women when he desired a male interviewer. The desire for an male interviewer solely based on the idea that you’d only fall for his charms, fuck him, and forget all about the article. It’s sexist and tasteless accusation to say the least. “Am I allowed to go in now?”

“He’s a little busy.” Mr. Neds chuckles nervously.

“I can deal with bratty rockstar behavior, Mr. Neds. I’ve got nothing to fear.” You brushed past him, walking into the dressing room only for your eyes to land on a fully clothed Eddie Munson pounding away inside a fully naked groupie girl seated spread eagle in his dressing room chair. You let out a loud gasp causing them to look in your direction. Quickly, you shut the door.

“Umm, so he was definitely ‘busy’.” You say, a tinge of embarrassment creeping up on your face.

“One second.” The manager says putting up his index finger then rushes inside. You put an ear to the door, you can hear muffled yelling. Then, the door swings open and it’s the groupie girl who’s now disheveled and angry, shooting you a look before walking away.

Mr. Neds exits the room, letting out a big breath. “So, that’s cleared.”

“O-okay, I guess I’ll go—”

“Wait,” He halts you in your tracks. “There are several things you need to know about interviewing Francis.”

“Okay.”

“So far we’ve gone through 3 interviewers before you. Francis isn’t easy to interview. In fact, he hates them so he does things to ruin them. First interviewer was a woman. Fucked him and wrote a revenge hate article about him when he avoided her calls. At least if it were a man, they wouldn’t write fake crap because they’re pissed at Francis avoiding them, too. So I hope you understand, I still have my biases about you being female.”

“A bit discriminatory since men would definitely write lies as well but go on.”

“So, first don’t fall for his flirting. Second, he’ll try to flip the interview on you. He’ll ask you questions and you’ll completely forget the task at hand. Like the second interviewer we worked with, Eddie started asking him questions, guy realizes he never wanted to be a writer and was only trying to appease his mother, never wrote the article. Lastly, Francis may not speak at all. Or he’d just give you a hard time, circling around or giving vague answers. Ended up driving the last interviewer to the brink of insanity trying to get a word out of him. Made that guy also quit the field altogether.”

“Pardon my french but he sounds like a pain in the ass.” You admitted.

“A pain in my brain to be more exact. I literally take medication to ease the amount of migraines I get dealing with these boys. But their my boys at the end of the day.”

You nod although you just couldn’t agree with someone deteriorating their health for the raising of 4 grown bratty rockstars.

“Simply remain unwavering but polite maybe slightly kiss-assery.” He continues to advise.

“I think I go it.”

“Good. Then by all means, you are free to go.” He makes a slightly bow, gesturing you to the door.

“Nice! Thank you.”

“Hey, how does she get to go inside?” One awaiting fan asks.

“Yeah?” Another chimes in.

You walked in the room, choosing to let the manager deal with that on his own. When you entered, you were given a moment to look around the room. Eddie’s bandmates were in the room the whole time in the back playing video games unfazed by his previous tryst.

You shook your head in disgust until your eyes landed on Eddie. He’s sitting on top of the vanity table, lightbulbs around the mirror shining behind him like he was a divine being. He was even more gorgeous up close. His beautiful dark curls cascading a little passed his shoulders, soft red lips, body filled with tattoos, beautiful chest sweaty with the exertion of tonight’s show, his happy trailing leading down to his leather pants constricting over his large…(gasp) He’s watching you! You immediately snapped out of your trance faking a smile.

“Mr. Francis! It’s a pleasure to meet you,” You held out your hand. “My name is Y/N Y/L/N from Tone Magazine. I’m a huge fan of your band.”

He looks down at your outstretched hand then back at your face, refusing to shake it. You awkwardly lower your hand.

“Huge fan, huh? You didn’t look like you were based off your reactions during the show.”

“Y-you seen me in the crowd.”

“You were about a couple feet away from front row. It’s kinda hard to miss.” He flicks at his lighter, lighting the cigarette dangling from his mouth.

“Right.” You nod. Obviously there were so many fans within the crowd. You still felt surprised that out of all the faces in the sea of people that he’d looked at and remembered yours.

He gestures you to have a seat. The seat where he’d recently plowed someone in.

“No thanks.” You declined.

He smirks. “Why?”

He finds this amusing!

“I’m just more comfortable standing.”

He shrugs, taking another drag his cigarette.

“S-so, could you tell me a little about your upbringing, Mr. Francis?” You pull out your little journal and pen from your jean’s pocket, anticipating his answer.

“You can call me Eddie. I’m not on stage.”

“Of course.” You nod still awaiting his answer.

He just stares back at you, smoking. He’s giving you the silent treatment. It’s cute that he thinks that that’ll work on you.

“I’m fine standing here in silence, by the way,” You say, dropping your fan persona. “Your body language will only reveal to me what you wish not to speak.”

“Oh yeah?” There’s a glint of interest in his eyes.

“Mhmm,” You confirmed. “Like the way you’re manspreading right now. It indicates to me that you wish to assert your dominance over me. I’m not intimidated though. I work mostly around men. Deal with that shit practically everyday. And this relaxed ‘i don’t give a fuck’ attitude is all act. I think you care a lot. You want this interview as badly as your manager does because you want people to love you again.”

“That all you got?”

“You’re 21, a huge metalhead in high school, liked D’n’D, and you’re a huge dork.”

He snorts then chuckles. “Anyone could get that information. In Hey Hello Magazine’s interview, I expressed some of these aspects of my childhood.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I wouldn’t voluntarily read Hey Hello Magazine. Besides, I’m just that good.” You lied obviously you went to school with him so you’d know these things but he didn’t remember you so you’ll use this to your advantage.

He hops off the vanity dresser, sauntering over to you. His combat boots hitting against the floors loud enough for you to tune out the noise of the members hooting and hollering in the background from their video game fun.

When he’s finally in front of you, he towering over you. You never remembered him to be so tall. You look up at him holding his gaze so he knew that you weren’t fazed.

“Now tell me what I’m thinking right now?” He says face only inches from yours.

“I can tell you what I’m thinking. I think you should step away from me or else I’ll be forced to defend myself. You reek of sex and sweat.”

His face is blank at first. You worried you went to far with your assertiveness but then he smiles down at you. He finds you a lot more entertaining than moments ago.

“Ya know what I’m in the mood to meet some fans. Boys! How ya feeling? Should we get out there?” Eddie calls out to his bandmates.

“Yeah, why the hell not?” Mel Tomas speaks up ending the game. The remaining boys quickly follow heading over to the front of the room.

“Wait! What about the interview?” You say while trying to hold your composure.

“We’ll get to that…eventually.” Eddie winks.

—————

Eventually was as close to never than it was to soon. Eddie purposefully took time with each fan going over the allowed time per fan. Every now and then, he’d look at you behind him, shooting you a teasing smirk. He knew you had little time on your hands with him today. This was his little game. What he didn’t know was that you were willing to be player two. For now, you’ll be patient. You’ll be good. Slowly, you could break him the way he thinks he’ll break you.

Once the signings were completed, the boys headed back to the dressing rooms to gather their things for departure. The other boys were a lot more kinder to you even asking you questions about being the only girl working as a writer for Tone Magazine.

The entire band was attractive. Attractive enough that it made you feel a little insecure. You weren’t ugly, quite the opposite actually, but you’d always worn things that people would deem you as a plain jane or basic. You didn’t stand out much because you were comfortable in the background. That’s the way you liked things. As a writer that’s how it worked, you let your words speak for you not your appearance. So it wasn’t surprising that neither of the men tried to hit on you although you couldn’t say it didn’t get to you with the way they’d flirted with the other girls.

“So how’s the first day?” Eddie asks you, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Terrible actually. I picked up no significant information out of you. If you would’ve only cooperated, I would’ve gotten what I needed for today and you’d still get to meet and greet your fans without me moping in the background.”

“Except I wanted you to suffer. I like seeing you mad at me, kitten.”

“Don’t call me that. I already had to chastise your manager for calling me ‘Toots’. I’m not your pet so don’t give me a pet name. My name is Y/N.”

“What’s your deal, anyway? Laugh a little. You’re so fucking uptight that if I were to stick a lump of coal in you, it’d come out a diamond.”

You can feel yourself begin to burn with rage. “That is a complete misconception. Coal cannot turn into diamond!”

“Way to get ‘em there, Y/N.” You thought, sarcastically.

“And I’m not uptight,” You continued, your back pressed against the dressing room door and journal clutched to your chest. “You have been rude, crass, and extremely obnoxious. You know what, I think I’ve gotten all that I needed for Day 1’s article actually. So, I thank you in a way for giving me exactly what I’ve been looking for. I can already see the headline now: Francis The Freak is a narcissistic—”

His hands slam hard against the door, resting them on either side of your head. You jolt at the sudden action, rendered speechless. He’s staring down at you the way a predator stares down at its prey but then he gives you his famous toothy smile.

“I look forward to reading it…kitten.” He whispers, saying the pet name in broken syllables for emphasis.

You stare up at him like a deer caught in headlights. Mustering up the little courage you have, you pry one hand from around you, searching around for the door knob while your eyes remained lock to his.

He looks down between you before removing himself slowly from you, his expression still littered with amusement. You managed to open the door, glaring at him one last time then walked out of the room and slammed the door behind you.

—————

“And then he called me uptight and invaded my personal space. The guy’s such a fucking asshole.” You were currently having a bottle of red wine and venting with your best friend and roommate Chrissy Cunningham.

“I know but he’s sooo hot. Ya know, he once had a huge crush on me back in high school.”

“You only ever bring it up nearly every time you see him on television.”

She chucks popcorn at you, giggling. “Shut up! I only bring it up all the time because I was so close to fucking him. When Jason and I broke up, I was more than ready to give in. I chickened out last minute because silly me had feelings for Jason. I regret it. But he did end up eating me out and I swear to you I met God that day. He didn’t even ask for anything in return just enjoyed making me cum. They don’t call him ‘freak’ for nothing.”

You and Chrissy also went to the same high school along with Eddie. You weren’t friends with her either since she was the popular cheerleader and you were more of an in-betweener. She was always very sweet so you never had any ill comments about her. When you’d both gone to college, your friendship formed there and the two of you became inseparable.

“I could’ve went on happily without knowing this,” You laughed. “I already had my pure eyes tainted by him penetrating some random girl before me.”

“That’s just the life of a rockstar, baby.” Chrissy shrugs.

“It’s exactly why I could never date a musician.”

“Yeah, same. Unless you can give me his digits.” She says sticking her tongue playfully.

“I love you too much to put you through that. Trust me, you don’t want to deal with him.”

“I’m sure they all can’t be bad. What about Jessie the drummer?”

“Oh, he’s the sweetest. Very polite. Complete opposite of Eddie. Actually had a great convo with him. Wish I were interviewing him instead but he’s not the one in need of clean slate.”

“And Mel the guitarist?”

“He’s intelligent but super condescending at times. Doesn’t mean to be, though. He’s like the philosopher of the group.”

“Judas the Pianist?”

“British.”

“British isn’t a personality trait.” She laughs.

“It might as well be. But I guess I can say he’s shy but also really funny when he gets going. The artistic one.”

“So then what does that make Francis The Freak?”

“The bad boy minus the sensitive side. Total douchebag.”

“I just can’t see that with Eddie. He was an absolute sweetheart when I knew him.”

“Fame changes you. Honestly, he’d still treat you a lot more nicer than he would me. You’re what he’s expected to interview him so he can gawk and stare at.”

“Oh, come on. You’re so pretty. If I were into girls, you’d be my type.”

You snort, shaking your head. “You’re only saying that because your my friend.”

She cups your face lifting your head to face her. “No. I mean it. And you should give him a chance. It was only the first day. You’ve got 30 more to go. Who knows maybe you’ll be a huge Francis The Freak fan at the end of it?”

You pull away from her embrace. “Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves.”

—————

The next day, you were given a call from your boss who didn’t seem pleased by the first article you’d written. You’d think he’d be happy with this kind of story since it would make up for the juicy content needed to boost sales.

“You could’ve at least ran it by me before you decided to publish it.” He yells into the phone.

“I’m truly sorry, Mr. Bauman. But this is my experience unfiltered. Even if you were to intervene, I’d write the same thing. The people need to know. If anything, I wasn’t nearly as a harsh as I’ve should of been.”

He sighs. “What will I do with you?”

“Maybe give me a promotion?”

“Nice try but no. You hadn’t proven to me that you’re ready for that. I believe in you. I do, Y/N. Obviously, I’m an advocate for women in male dominated work spaces but...”

You rolled your eyes, knowing where this will lead. It was always advocacy for women but you’d always receive the short-end compared to your male counterparts.

“You can’t let your emotions get the best of you.”

“So, I’m just an emotionally fueled woman is, that it?”

“Not what I said.”

“You actually did maybe not explicitly but it’s very apparent.”

“I’m only giving you advice. Boys will be boys. They’re young rockstars who are used to being hounded by interviewers. He’s obviously not taking it seriously because he’s over it but if you befriend him first then maybe he’ll get to talking.”

Now it’s your turn to sigh. “I guess I’ll be…nicer.”

“Good. Now I’ll need you to drive to this address today. 3638 Birch Street. It’s Francis’s home. You’ll be spending day 2 with him all day.”

“All day?!”

“That’s what I said. Good luck and be nice.” He quickly hangs up the phone just as you were about to protest.

You huffed. This is going to be torturous.

—————

You arrived at the home which although large was surprisingly humble for his status. Ringing the doorbell, you awaited patiently for someone to answer the door.

The door opens revealing Eddie in only a robe, his hair messy. You were surprised to see that he’d answered and not his staff. His smile quickly drops.

“Oh, it’s you.” He groans in a disappointed tone. “I was hoping it was the pizza guy.” He turns around then turns to look at you again. “Unless you have pizza.”

“No!”

He rolls his eyes and mutters, “Come in.”

“Thanks for the warm welcome.” You say sarcastically, following him in.

You looked around. There was no staff whatsoever. No guards, or maids, or butlers. Simply just Eddie. It was actually refreshing seeing someone who’s clearly so rich not care for those things.

“Did you read my article, by the way?” You say, smiling smugly.

“Yes, I did.”

“I hope you learned your—”

“I love it.” He simply states causing you to have a full stop moment.

“You love it?” You asked incredulously.

He nods. “That part where you said ‘I attempted to see his point of view in life but then I realize I couldn’t get my head that far up my ass.’ It was actually pretty clever.”

“Why aren’t you pissed off?”

He leans across the island table between you two. He’s the one that’s smug now, knowing that he’s won this round. “I think it was witty, funny, somewhat true. Except you forgot one thing.”

“What’s that?” You crossed your arms.

“That I made you blush. You felt things that you probably hadn’t felt in a long time. Possibly never.”

You stutter and stammered. “I-I’ll have you know that it wasn’t that I was blushing. I was just embarrassed by the situation entirely. I may have shown my bitchiness a bit too soon and now it’s causing this rift between us when I only meant to befriend you.”

“You were?” His eyebrows raise in surprise.

“Well, yeah. But now I’m not so sure I’d like to be friends.”

“Hey, I think we can definitely be friends. I’m willing to bury the hatchet. After all, your article did help boost my popularity a little.”

“How on earth?”

“People find the situation hilarious. Now I’m seen as some funny yet eccentric troublemaker,” He puts a hand to his chest, sporting a fake sincere look. “I’ve gotta thank you for the boost, friend.”

You seethed.

Eddie - 2, Y/N - 0

“I’m gonna go for a swim.” He says walking around the island counter.

“What about the interview?”

“Geez, you’re like a broken record. If you wish to get to know me, why not try to make it subtle and fun? You can always take a swim with me, too.”

You thought back to the advice your boss told you. You were approaching this the wrong way after all. Befriending him was your best bet.

“You can go for a swim but I’m not going in with you.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t have a bathing suit.”

“Just go in your underwear.”

“Oh, hardy har har but no. This is meant to be strictly professional.”

Eddie stands in front of you. You shoot him a look of confusion only to morph to shock when you notice him untying the robe.

“No.” You turn your face away the very second he throws it open.

“Relax. It’s nothing you haven’t seen.”

“I immediately excused myself when I walked in. Didn’t even allow myself the chance to linger for a second. I do not wish to see your dick now.”

“And you won’t. I’m wearing swim trunks underneath,” He puts a black polished finger under your chin, turning you to face him once again then tugs at your chin to look down. He was, in fact, wearing swim trunks but god his body this close looks so appetizing now that he’s wearing even less. “See. I wouldn’t intentionally flash you. It’s not what friends do.”

“Then why’d you trick me like that?”

“Because I like seeing you mad, remember?” He lets go of your chin and heads out to the backyard.

“Friends don’t like making their friends mad!” You called out after him.

————

You were currently sat at the poolside, journal in hand while Eddie swam away answering questions with less resistance.

“This is a pretty big house. Must get lonely being all by yourself.”

“I don’t live alone.”

“Who is she?”

“He’s my uncle. Took care of me most of my life while my mother was in and out of my life and my dad in and out of prison.”

“Oh,” You felt terrible for assuming. “Your uncle seems like a very strong person. I’m glad he took the tole of being your guardian.”

“Yeah, he’s definitely strong. I’d do everything I could to pay him back for all the times he’s cared for me. I wasn’t an easy kid but he stuck it out when my parents couldn’t.”

“Seems like you’re providing him just that kind of appreciation.”

“I guess. But I could do more. I want to make sure he never has to worry about anything ever.”

Today was genuinely surprising for you. Chrissy was right. Maybe he’s still a sweetheart.

You look up from writing, noticing things had gone quiet. Eddie was nowhere to be found. The moment you thought to peer over to look in the water, Eddie springs out of the water right front of you causing you to throw the notebook into the pool.

“Eddie! You dick!”

“You can just write it again.”

“I had really good things to say. Now I’ll completely forget them.”

“It’s at the bottom of the pool. You wanna go get it?”

“What do you mean if I want to go get it?” He gives you a mischievous look, his hands resting on your thighs. Your eyes widened. “No, Eddie. No.”

It was too late. Eddie yanks you down into the pool and you go underwater. You’re frightened. You couldn’t swim so all you could do was hold onto him for dear life.

You both come up for air, your arms and legs are wrapped around him tightly. He’s laughing but you were trembling like a wet chihuahua. Then, he notices the fear in your eyes and he grows concerned.

“Hey. You okay?”

“Can’t swim. I’m scared.” You were in the deeper side of the pool your biggest fear.

He rubs your back to comfort you. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I always assume everyone can swim. That was really crappy of me. Let’s get you out of here.”

His hands cup under your butt, lifting you back up onto the poolside. Then, he pulls himself up. Your knees were to your chest, still trembling.

Eddie felt terrible. He was only having harmless fun. He didn’t mean to scare you this badly. Taking a towel, he wraps it around your body then rubs his hands over your arms.

“I’m sorry.” He repeats, eyes pleading for you to answer.

“Um, it’s okay,” You finally say. “I should tell you. I have a fear of swimming pools. It’s a stupid phobia. I know but it’s because of a traumatic experience I had in my childhood.”

“Like you nearly drowned?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.” He says once again.

“You already said that.” You laughed.

“I know. I just feel like shit.”

“That’s a first,” You remove the towel from your body. “Maybe I should go home. I could get some new clothes and be right back.”

“Or I can hand you some clothes while yours are put in the dryer.”

“It would save me a trip.” You shrugged.

You noticed Eddie stare before his eyes quickly avert. And was he…blushing?

You looked down at your white top. It’d gotten wet and your nipples were erect and visible even through your black lace bra. You shot one arm over your while the other lightly shoves him.

“You perv! You wanted this to happen.”

“No, I swear.”

“Oh, right.”

“Have I been dishonest with you?”

“Plenty.”

“Name one time.”

So much for having a friendly moment, the two of you bickered back and forth well up until the pizza arrived. While he munch away at his slice, you watched him from the corner of your eye admiring his ranges of emotions. He was more than just an angsty ball of horniness. He can be a decent guy when he’s more comfortable with you. It was nice to see him so concerned for your well-being but what really made you feel a little giddy inside was the fact that you managed to make him blush, too.

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peeterparkr · 2 months

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thus, with a kiss, i die| tom holland| 1.

chapter 1: strangers.

romeo & juliet modern au.

summary: the well known story of star-crossed lovers. Your local bar has two spots for bands, but only one spot for an opportunity to get a record deal. Your band, the Capulets and his band, the Montagues have been rivals long enough. But what happens after a night when you get to know their lead singer?

chapter summary: two strangers who have no expectations.

pairing: singer!tom holland x guitarrist!reder

warnings: swearing, alcohol mention

word count: 3.8k

this is literally romeo and juliet, it's one of my favorite stories, if you've read my other works you KNOW I love to quote it, and reference and eveyrhting. Anyway, this is my take on it. Modern world, hope you like it. I haven't written anything in ages so here goes.

character glossary prologue next chapter masterlist

wanna be tagged?

so, first chapter is finally here! I highly thank everyone who's been supportive of this :) i'm really happy to be writing again and to see people actually reading is making me go insane. Well, I hope you like it, I highly encourage to read the prologue to understand a bit more of the capulets and the montagues. This chapter is heavily focused on Tom and y/n separately. Again, this is my take on Romeo and Juliet, it's literally based on it with my modern twist but yes :) hope you like it, send feedback. Also, I have a playlist on apple music, I'm going to get it on spotify as well so I'll share that later.

The night seemed either too old or the light too young. Blurry, and messy seemed the evening before, a couple of drinks, two songs too many, and a gathering crowd that was too delighted. For his own good.

Tom couldn’t recall what had been said, or done. Last thing he knew was he’d shown up, his bleeding heart puffing out of his chest as he continued to stab it under the spotlight. Making a show out of his broken heart.

Only Ben had asked if he could do it.

“Yeah, yeah, I can do it with a broken heart,” he had pleaded. But could he?

“Enjoy the spotlight,” had been the advice he had received from Monty. And although he wasn’t referring to the light, Tom later understood it meant the several attempts that were made to flirt with him.

He had given in, eventually. What else can you do with a broken heart?

And as he woke up early from a cold bed, slightly too crowded, with a hand up on his chest he growled, leaving an empty trail behind him and a headache that would last.

He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t have to. The poor girl had probably just been a victim of his attempt to forget a broken heart.

He’d left his motorbike at the bar so he had to clumsily and shamefully walk back to Verona. Thankfully he was now alone with his melancholic thoughts, an endless path full of misery and tears that were waiting to trace a map back to his pain. An unfurnished heart and his sudden questioning of what love was and if he’d truly felt it was going to keep him busy all day. If it hurt this much then he guessed he had felt it. But had he?

He felt like he’d walked for hours. He wondered why it wasn’t raining yet he felt like it was pouring down on him.

He’d heard much about love. How wonderful, a very splendid thing. Butterflies and unusual symphonies. He’d heard about love. But he didn’t know much about it.

He’d heard little about love.

Falling in and and falling out. He’d heard about hate, too. And how it was the absence of love. He disagreed much with it. For what he was feeling right now wasn’t hate. He felt empty.

Falling out of love hadn’t made him turn towards hatred. Falling out of love was like losing air, like the sun wasn’t coming out, life didn’t continue and the whole world was meant to stop. And the worst part of it was it didn’t. The sun came out, the birds were chirping and no one saw or cared he hurt. How dare the world continue when it had stopped for him?

Maybe it was hate. Though, he didn’t know much about hate either.

He’d searched for more love the night before or whatever was similar to it, perhaps that’s why he’d searched for some other lips for him.

“Tom,” someone had interrupted his current inner monologue. His mind wandering had been brought back to reality all of sudden. Tom turned around to find Ben.

Tom only raised his eyebrows as he walked to his helmet. “Ben.”

“You’re here early.” Ben commented.

“It’s not early.” But it probably was.

“It’s barely 9,” Ben declared as he stared at his watch. Ben worked the early shift at Verona, cleaning tables and getting ready for the day, so it was early.

Tom groaned , “fuck.” Barely 9 and he had already died 7 times.

He looked back at Verona that kindly had a sign which read ‘NO MONTAGUES ALLOWED TONIGHT.’

“What?” Ben questioned. “A few days ago you were in pain because you were falling in love.”

“Out of love,” Tom corrected. “What happened last night?” He asked.

Ben amused, chuckled. “Oh, darling,” he mocked his accent.. “You don’t remember?”

Tom rolled his eyes. “I know, I meant before,” he pointed at the sign. “Where the fuck am I supposed to drown this sorrow in alcohol instead?”

“Ah,” Ben pressed his lips in a thin, thin line. “Well, the Capulets—“

“Piss off, I’m tired of that,” Tom rolled his eyes. “I have enough problems trying to understand why Rosie dumped me.”

“And why did she?”

“Beats me,” Tom said. “She said I was too romantic. What the fuck does that mean? She said she didn’t want anything serious and that she wanted to have fun. Am I not fun?”

Ben watched his friend with pity. “You know what?” He sighed, “I’ll take the day off, I’ll cheer you up.”

Tom didn’t want that.

But it didn’t matter. Not far from them Billie was cheering herself up, knowing that the night would be grand. It held the promise of the sun finally coming out for them.

Billie had been waiting for a chance like this, and she knew her new friend Paris would help out.

Paris, Billie thought his name to be ridiculous. For him only, ironically. Though it worked, she guessed. Cap had always thought they were meant for something greater than this.

She often wondered what it could’ve been.

She knew what they had set each other up, Capulets and Montagues. But she had her reasons. And her falling with Monty was something she often ignored and blamed him for. Monty was definitely at fault. He’d been the one to play with fire, he’d been the one to absolutely ruin everything. Which was a story for another time. Cap didn’t like to think about it so the reason will be kept secret. Let’s not get ahead.

However Cap did like to think about how she’d ruined it herself. She had a marvelous time.

People often called Cap a no brain woman. She took pride in that, although she didn’t agree. Although her last night with their initial band with Monty, “Shaken Spears”, was ine ti remember, she’d destroyed the whole place and humiliated him.

It was fun.

But now they were struggling because often bands are followed by popularity and Tom had given them just that.

However she knew she was technically cheating.

“So tonight’s your big night,” said Paris. Paris was more than just a bartender. His father owned Verona. And although Skylar owned the place she didn’t actually own it, and it was always Paris’ last call.

So it did help that Paris had an infatuation with y/n, Cap’s younger sister, an incredible guitarist and a poet in her free time. Author of their best songs.

Or not really a poet, but someone who loved to poetize her sorrow. Same shit.

“Yes, it is,” Cap smiled, “I’m glad we can prove we are better than the Montageeses.”

Paris chuckled. “You are,” he agreed. “But they’ve got something.”

“Yes, I know that British brainless brute,” she hissed.

Paris nodded. “And he’s single now.”

“Single now? Fuck,” Cap sighed. She thought Monty had probably something to do with it. Making the stupid hunk available would make them more appealing.

“Yeah, and he already went home with someone,” Paris continued.

Shit. This was even worse.

“But I’m sure y/n will bring a lot of attention as well,” he cleared his throat. “I mean she’s incredibly talented.”

“She is.”

“Hope I get to—talk to her tonight.”

Although Cap was thrilled they’d be able to get more Saturday nights she wasn’t as fond for it to be at her sister’s expense. Although she knew she didn’t dislike Paris.

Paris was a tall, handsome young guy. He had the brightest, bluest eyes. Y/N was fond of kind eyes. He was kinda cute, she guessed.

“Yeah,” Cap said. “I’m glad you want to befriend her.”

Paris blushed. “I may—I may want more than befriending her.”

Cap coughed, “you know, I’m not the one to make that decision for her. And if you want her to fall in love with you that’s your problem. You have to… woo her."

And she knew y/n to be sort of new to matters of love. Y/N was naive and stupid when it came to it. Her heart was an empty room ready to be filled. An open window letting the warm air in. Walls waiting to be painted. Her closet was full of dresses that were thrilled to be worn. Y/N barely knew anything about it. She’d heard a lot about it, and spoke of it like a grand connoisseur. Words of someone who could imagine what it felt like. Romanticizing her lack of knowledge of love.

“I know,” Paris said, “hopefully tonight I’ll get to talk to her, it’s the perfect setup.” He grinned to himself. “Besides, your idea to make it a theme night—“

“Shit!” Cap interrupted. “I haven’t given out these!” She took out a bunch of pink, blue and purple sheets, covered in constellations, stars, moons and suns which read:

✨We are made of stardust✨ The Capulets invite you to celebrate the arrival of a new angel in their team. Heaven, skies, signs and stars mask themed party. Greek goddesses, and mythic galaxies welcomed. Costumes are encouraged. (Plus, you won’t have to pay cover if you’re dressed up ) Saturday 8 o’clock NO MONTAGUES ALLOWED.

Paris watched her. “I can get someone to hand them out.”

And so he did, and before they knew it, a young boy was handing out the printed pamphlets. Nearby, some Montagues were sitting by. Getting a well deserved break.

“You know the best cure for an old love is a new one,” Ben assured Tom, watching as the younger teenager who would earn a few bucks struggled to hand out the pamphlets.

“I’d rather cut my own leg,” Tom rolled his eyes. “You know I just feel trapped it’s like this fucking emptiness is just spreading—Hello?” He turned to the kid who’d just interrupted them by approaching them.

“Hi. Good heavens.”

Ben and Tom shared a glance.

“Can we help you?” Tom questioned.

“Are you Montagues?” The kid questioned.

“Who asks?” Tom raised his eyebrow, trying to get a glimpse of the pamphlet.

“Ah, then you are,” the kid sighed and tried to keep his way.

“No, we aren’t,” Tom grinned and then shot a death glare at Ben who frowned. “We aren’t, what’s that?”

“The Capulets.” He handed it over so Tom could finally take a look.

Tom smirked, “ah, their gig.”

“You knew about it?” The kid asked. “You need the pamphlet thing to get in.”

Tom glanced up. “If you didn’t want me to be a Montague I could only guess.”

Ben glanced at Tom. “We can’t go.”

“Sure we can!” Tom smirked.

“I was told to encourage guys like you,” the kid admitted. He looked between them. “Apparently there will be a lot of pretty girls.”

“See? Didn’t you want me to get a new love?” Tom mocked his friend. “C’mon, let’s call Maverick, I’m sure he’ll be down.”

“Didn’t you want to cut your leg?”

And someone else wanted to cut their own leg. Not too far from them, in an old apartment, full of vinyls, lipsticks, old bookds, half-written songs and stars, y/n was getting ready with her best friend, Nina, and Clara, Cap’s girlfriend.

Nina was excellent at makeup and hair, even though she was just your usual case of a gril who dreamed with having her salon. Although, to be fair she mostly wanted it because she said it was the perfect place for other people’s gossip.

“Can’t believe you’re finally joining the Capulets,” Nina commented as she was placing small stars and sparkles around y/n’s eyes. “Seems like only yesterday when you started playing guitar, and writing songs about books you read. ”

“Why the hell are you being so emotional?” Laughed Clara, watching them, “you sound like a mom.”

Y/N had always stayed far from the spotlight, she didn't like it. She didn't think she needed it for that matter. For her, she was just a wallflower, nothing too exceptional. No one really paid any attention to her so she didn't bother trying to get it.

“I am proud of my baby, that’s all, finally showing the world her talent!" Nina smirked, “you know she’s been begging Cap to join them since they were the Shaken Spears? And I was so sad when they split up.”

“Why?” Clara frowned.

“She had a crush on Monty,” explained y/n, and then nodded in agreement at Clara’s disgusted grin. “Uh-huh.”

“We all have questionable crushes,” Nina defended herself.

“Not me.” Y/N chuckled. But she'd never really liked anyone. Not that anyone fancied her.

Nina motioned a vomiting face. “Except y/n it seems, because she’s perfect,” she mocked, bringing her hands close to her heart. “She’s never dated someone who’s trouble.”

“And I never will,” y/n laughed.

“You’ve never had a boyfriend or girlfriend, have you?” Clara questioned. “At least I haven’t met anyone.”

“Nope, not one!” Nina said. “Hopefully, someone will catch her eye and she can bring them home.”

“I haven’t had the honor, or misfortune,” y/n answered Clara.. “However I don’t think bringing someone home implies a boyfriend.”

“You know Paris likes you right?” Nina smirked. , blushing.

“I am aware,” y/n admitted. She knew partly his infatuation had given them the Saturday night gig. She smiled, for the first time she wasn't invisible as usual.

Clara laughed, “Oh, and do you like him?”

“He’s easy on the eye,” y/n rolled her eyes, her cheeks were flustered. “But in all honesty, I don’t want to… I’m not looking for anything, you know, Nina here is the love of my life so I don’t need anyone else.”

Nina grinned. “I am her soulmate, that’s true.”

“Besides, I’m more worried about music, and music is my one true other love, I can’t focus on anything else.”

And she really didn’t want to focus on anything else. Perhaps, it may have been because she’d never yearned for love. She’d never suffered a broken heart, and she’d never felt that spark.

That was a lie.

She could only imagine it. But she didn’t know how it felt. She had always wondered how it would feel, if there truly were butterflies and a tickle in your skin. She wondered if love sounded like a gentle guitar weeping. She wondered if the world actually stopped, all of sudden only with a smile. She wondered if time really stopped ticking when it was felt. Did it taste as sweet as honey? Did it taste bitter? What did love smell like? Was it soft? Was it rough?

Y/N always questioned why love had always hidden from her. She wondered how long love would take, because it seemed late enough. She’d been asleep for too long.

She always wanted to love, without thinking, that never ending, the kind of love that is brainless, that makes you foolish. Y/N wanted to laugh, to cry and to feel.

She knew her heart was special enough. Did no one want it?

And she knew Paris liked her, but she knew he wasn’t love. And she wanted to have it, she didn’t want to imagine it anymore. She wanted to be proven wrong, or proven right.

To feel naked and yet warmed with the sun. Y/N always thought love would feel like a sunset. To love so passionately. To feel like you might die if you’re not around. She wanted to give her heart, to wake up with the stars wrapping you around in a haze.

She could only wish. But right now, she was no one. And she knew she'd stay like that.

Or would she?

Later, when the shadows can no longer be seen as the moon is your only companion, Maverick, Ben and Tom waited outside Verona. A lavender smoke surrounded the air and it held a promise for luck. The gig was about to start, and it was a full house.

Stardust was the correct theme for the night. People dressed in bright, nightly gowns, girls with stars around their eyes. Moons, stars, angels, devil and gods. Greek goddesses, euphoric galaxies.

The three of them, dressed to the nines, with masks around their eyes, giving imagination a go. Maverick, one of Tom’s oldest friends, stood right beside him. A sturdy man, tall, and handsome. Blue eyed knight, some liked to call him. He’d dressed as a galaxy, a starry, blue, litmus shirt, and a black mask to accentuate the oceans in his eyes.

Ben, on the other side, only wore a white blanket around, a greek god had been his inspiration. A golden mask posed on his nose.

And then, Tom, who had decided to go for something completely different. He’d worn a black, satin buttoned up just halfway the chest. A black mask, with golden feathers on the corners, to combine with the golden, covered in dark ashed pair of wings on his back.

He’d learned from Maverick that Rosie would be there, so eventually he had to show off. Icarus, he’d gone as Icarus.

They’d blended in with another group, and were astounded by the transformation of the place. Stars and suns hanging from the city, glitter and stars on the floor. Pink, lavender and blue lights, as if stardust had really covered the place.

A fortune teller on one corner, with a bright neon sign behind her. Wings, feathers, and fabrics.

“Jesus,” Maverick said. “If they keep going like this, you guys are going to actually strip on stage next time to stay relevant.”

Tom only glanced around. “This feels like a dream.”

Maverick scrunched his nose at his comment and Ben only chuckled as he arrived with the drinks. Unfortunately they hadn’t recognized them so he could get a bucket of beer.

“Just drink, buddy,” Maverick handed a beer.

There was something in the air, Tom could feel it. “I’m serious,” he said

“Oh yes, yes, the old dream fairy visited you and gave you a glimpse of your future.”

“Fuck off.”

Before he continued, they were interrupted. “Well, hello, hello! What a lovely scene!” Billie said into her mic, her stand was covered with flowers. Everyone turned to the stage, a projection of stars fell on her face. She had a glass in her hand. “I’m so fucking happy everyone could make it, and y’all look so hot.”

A few laughs, cheers, whistles and clapping. Tom watched her, she was dressed with a dark blue dress, covered in small, silver moons combining with her silver mask, with stars coming out of it, surrounding her head.

“I’m so glad everyone stayed on theme, but I do see someone dressed as a ghost, not sure if it’s the right vibe, but you do you buddy,” she smirked. “Anyway, I’m so happy that you joined us tonight. So, some of you may already know us, you know the gist, we will play fun tunes for you, while y’all enjoy a drink, and you can sing and dance along. Are y’all with a drink already?”

A loud cheer.

“Amazing, I have a drink here myself, so cheers,” she took a sip. “I’ll be joined by my beautiful comrades over here.”

Louder cheer, claps and a room full of noise. Tom had never been to one of their gigs, and the vibe was different from theirs. Cap was better at crowd work than he was. Monty usually talked and turned on the audience, promising Tom would take off his clothes. He never did.

Seemed, however, the Capulet’s fanbase was more intense and devoted, rather than thirsting for them. Although he could see some people in the crowd were certainly not complaining about Cap.

“Alright, I’m so I see a few new faces over here, I’m glad to see you so I’ll introduce these beautiful ladies,” she smirked. “And tonight’s the first night one of them is joining so make sure y’all clap and have this loud ass cheer, okay? We want her to feel welcome, so I want you to fucking scream and lose your minds for her, okay? or else I’ll beat your asses.” Laughs.

“So first, let’s welcome the love of my life, Clara, who’s on the bass,” Clara walked in to say hello. Cheers, claps.

Maverick, Ben and Tom all stared at each other. They’d never seen this kind of crowd.

The girls kept walking in, as the cheers got louder each time. “Amazing, then we have our sexy Georgia on the drums, our lovely cute Sam on the keyboard. We have this hot badass on the guitar, bass, and fuckin’ ell everything that we need her on, please welcome Theodora.”

Tom bit his lip, expectant. Why were they leaving the last one for the end?

The place was moving.

“But we know why you all are here, tonight all of this is for our newest member. Who isn’t exactly new. She’s been behind the scenes this whole time, she’s written some of your favorites like… Milky Twilight,” Billie smirked. “Flowers for two… Table for one… Yeah, yeah I know, and so many more, like our fan favorite Star shaped heart.”

Ben and Tom were panicking. They had efinitely heard those songs. One of them was even recorded already, and they had heard a rumour that it would be on the radio. Star shaped heart was the Capulet’s song. They’d always believed that Cap had written them so to hear the actual mastermind behind those, was terrifying for them.

“and I’m so fucking happy she finally is on stage,” Billie said. “Please, welcome my younger sister, the talented, beautiful and brilliant y/n!”

And Tom felt like he had been hit by a car. The girl had walked into the stage to the warmest, loudest crowd. The entire room had gone absolutely crazy.

Yet, Tom felt the most calm, as he laid eyes on her. The whole world had stopped. Like an angel had flown over. A golden, long gown, folded, falling down all the way. As if sun rays were coming out of her, she was the purest light, brighter than the sun, prettier than any of the skies above. Like she was floating above them all, flying. She was the sun.

Tom held in his breath as he watched her. It was a dream, it had to be, what else could it be instead? Maybe a wish, of one of those you wish upon a star.

“Okay, okay, so you guys all know us,” Cap said. “I’m Billie, but y’all can call me Cap. We’re The Capulets!”

And they started to play. And Tom’s eyes could only be on her, her. And her name was roaming in his mind, the sweetest melody. A diamond. With a guitar covered in star stickers

The played a few songs and Tom finally tried to approach the stage as soon as Billie announced they’d get a break. He had actively avoided and ignored Ben’s and Mavericks comments. They continued to drink.

Tom was in awe,and he couldn’t even hide it.

Someone had noticed it.

Theodora approached Billie. “We seem to have a stowaway,” she warned Cap, motioning to the stupid kid.

Cap turned and saw him, lost and confused, watching them with veneration.

“I’ll beat the shit out of him if you need me to,” Theodora said.

“Is that Tom?” Cap questioned, she’d never seen him here before, and honestly, she was too happy to care. “Ah, don’t bother, he is no trouble.”

“But--”

“We can’t have trouble, Theo,” she warned. “If we cause any mess Skylar will kick us out, alright?”

Theo wasn’t pleased with that answer. They both were left too busy to see Tom had finally approached the sunlight herself. Who was currently by the bar, attempting to get a drink.

And so Icarus made his way to the sun.

He only knew he wanted something, one kiss. That’s all he needed. But he couldn’t start with that. But there she was, alone with what seemed all the spotlights and yet no one approached her. How could they not?

He followed after her, as she was making her way out the backdoor. He guessed she thought no one was following her.

“Hey," his voice was soft.

The girl turned around, slightly startled, and it had been as if she’d been hit by the same bus as him. “Oh, hi.”

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