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eddiesghxst · 4 months

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PRICE OF FAME (PART 12/12)

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

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

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: rockstar!eddie x journalist!reader

summary: you decide to visit eddie for a chat

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

word count: 10.6k

| previous part |

| series masterlist | -main masterlist- |

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

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

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

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

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

What a bullshit fucking question.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, it’s fucking bullshit, Eddie thinks.

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

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

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

Anna nearly gagged then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, you’re really fucking here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought you’d be way more upset.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a fucking kiss, that’s for sure.

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

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

“How's that for a kiss?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You staying the night?” He asks.

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

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

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

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

Honey, honey, honey.

You want to drown in it.

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

“Copy that, madam.”

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

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

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

God, he’s relentless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you listen to the albums?”

I can't destroy what isn't there

Deliver me into my fate

If I'm alone I cannot hate

I don't deserve to have you

Oh my smile was taken long ago

If I can change I hope I never know

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You snort, “Negative.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re just playing nice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your blink, “I— no?”

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

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

And, ouch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sold me out to save yourself

And I won't listen to your shame

You ran away, you're all the same

Angels lie to keep control

Your chest aches when the lyrics echo in your mind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know…It’s past midnight.”

“Fffuck–”

Eddie’s dead.

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

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

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

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

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

“You want me?” He asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah. This is heaven, and you’re god.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lucky you’re cute.”

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

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

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

You’ve never nodded so fast in your life.

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

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

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

“Jesus fuck— turn around.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Supernova shit or something like that.

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

“Such a good girl for me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now you’re just stringing me along.”

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

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

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

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

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

————

the end.

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a/n: HOLY SHIT GUYS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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eternalslover · 10 months

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Where are all my Shang Chi lovers like come on

LIKE LOOK AT HIM, HE IS SO POOKIE BEAR BBG, AM I THE ONLY ONE THAT LIKES HIM!?

I NEED MORE SHANG CHI LOVERS, WRITERS, REBLOGGERS

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aq2003 · 9 months

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ten

#i have series 4 on my computer now. but i have not started it. i am scared of it.#tenth doctor #dr who #ten is so he is soooooo. god. the doctor is so very defined by his loneliness. how he outlived everyone he cared abt #and what i love so much about nine is that you see him growing closer to rose. letting himself be happy #and post-timewar and losing all of his people (and blaming himself/being responsible for it?) that's so important for him to have #ten is like the opposite of this. he was created out of nine's love and sacrifice for rose. his personhood is basically defined by it #so you have his memories of losing his people in the timewar clashing with his inherent need to Be Next To Someone.#so losing people just breaks him. even after nine (ten? does timewar doctor count?) previous lifetimes of seeing death #when i saw ten's wiki blurb w him being described as one of the most human doctors. after watching christmas invasion i was like. 'what'#But Now I Know. they were talking about how he feels grief and pain so acutely. in a way a human might and not a 900y/o near immortal alien #10 era

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babiesdreams · 2 months

Note

Hey idk what category of your request this would fall in but can you describe in maybe a drabble or headcannon of the dynamic of Ten x Haechan x Reader would be like? I don’t see anyone write for something of them together and I saw you did Haechan x Yangyang x Reader. So I was curious of what Ten x Haechan x Reader what be like since they’re both actually my biases!!!

Got you girl!! (I'm gonna be doing short blurbs with your suggestions while I finish the advent calendar finale)

Ten and Haechan +18 Babygirl treatment.

Warnings: Scratching

His fingertips caress your skin so softly that it makes you shake slightly. A warm feeling takes over your insides, forcing a gasp out of your lips. Haechan's lips close yours right away. His tongue explores your mouth hungrily, full of desire.

The soft feeling on your stomach suddenly turns into something much darker. You feel his nails digging into your skin, slowly lifting it up. Marks appear, revealing the trace he followed. A groan gets muffled inside hyuck's mouth. His hand holds your jaw, making sure you don't pull away.

"You have beautiful skin" Ten says with a wide and evil grin on his face. His fingers get off your skin, fastly replaced by the warm feeling of his tongue, running along the scratches. This time you breathe deeply, as Hyuck's lips part from yours. A soft moan echoes in the room. You look down at Ten, to try and guess his next move, wanting to be prepared this time.

Haechan's hand stops you right away, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him. "You look at me" He whispers with a low voice. "Only at me" Your eyes get lost in his, trying to process his sudden burst of jelausy. A smile plays along his lips when a new moan escapes yours.

Ten's tongue reaches your chest, moving upwards towards your collarbone. His fingers lay on your thighs, their soft and delicate touch advancing the pain that will follow. When his nails sink on your skin, this time deeper, you groan out of pain. Though your sorrows seem irrelevant to him, since he starts moving his fingers, slowly breaking through your skin.

The skin that has been scratch feels sore and sensitive, while the bits that are yet to be touched remain expectant of the burning sensation that awaits it. A single tear drips down your eye getting instantly wiped away by Hyuck's thumb. A moment passes before Ten's nails leave your thighs alone, soonly replaces by the softness of his tongue.

Hyuck climbs on top of you, sitting on your stomach, completely blocking the view of Ten's action. His eyes examine your expression so deeply that it makes you feel almost fragile and exposed. Ten's tongue reaches your underwear, sliding under it calmly.

He teases you, moving it around your folds before trapping your clit inside his mouth. Your back curves as he does, although Hyuck tries hard to pin you to the bed. His hands on your wrists, his weight over you and his lips trapping yours in a messy kiss.

Ten stops for a second, while his fingers pull your underwear off, leaving scratches along your hips as he does. "She's ready" He mutters while his nails scratch your feet, finally getting the piece of frabric off you.

Haechan flips you over on command, pulling off the kiss just to admire your face. He guides his naked length inside of you, observing your reaction while he grunts out of pleasure. His hands trap your hips, guiding your moves up and down his length. He stops briefly, letting Ten get into position. Your walls expand with his entrance, slowly getting used to the new feeling.

They both pick different paces. Hyuck's smooth and gentle, while Ten's messy and rough. A glorious harmony of different toned moans fills the room with desire that burst inside of you.

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

Masterlist

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cheolcam · 4 months

Text

୨୧. 22:12 - ten, winwin

꒰♡꒱ avisos: ten × you × winwin | sugestivo e duvidoso, tapinhas, degradação, você e o ten lutam por dominância (?), menção à anal, bondage e gagging, repost do blog antigo.

“é engraçado como você perde toda a sua pose quando tá com a gente.” chittaphon toca no seu ponto fraco, cutucando diretamente o seu ego. “fica toda bobinha…” o homem é interrompido pelo impacto da sua mão em um lado da bochecha dele, mas ele não parece nenhum pouco afetado pelo tapa, pelo contrário, acha graça no seu ato. “vira uma vagabunda por pau, e não quer admitir! e nem se contenta com só um, certo?”

sicheng observa tudo calado em baixo de você, genuinamente entretido com a mistura de provocações e luta por dominância de vocês dois.

“cala a boca!” o seu corpo inteiro começa a ficar vermelho, você está prestes a explodir de raiva, chittaphon já te provocou demais.

“calar a boca, florzinha?” ele ri debochado. “acha que eu vou perder a parte mais divertida do meu dia, amor?” e como você já previa, o tapa foi devolvido, e você pateticamente pulsa no pau de sicheng que grunhe no seu ouvido.

em um piscar de olhos chittaphon some do seu ponto de vista, e sicheng aproveita a deixa.

“eu j�� disse pra não fazer essa merda!" ele estoca para cima, e agarra o seu pescoço por trás. “é melhor se preparar porque ele não tá pra brincadeira hoje, e eu também não. então, eu juro que se você não parar com essa maldita brincadeirinha com o chittaphon, eu mesmo vou te amarrar na porra da cama e te foder até você pedir pra parar… entendeu?”

antes de responder sicheng, chittaphon volta ao quarto com um plug, uma corda e uma gag ball.

parece que você perdeu a luta dessa vez.

#wayv smut #wayv scenarios #wayv headcanons #wayv blurbs #ten smut #ten scenarios #ten headcanons #ten blurbs #winwin smut #winwin scenarios #winwin headcanons #winwin blurbs

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wormdebut · 6 months

Note

Hello! How about 21 for your Spotify wrapped? 👯

HI! I am so fucking sorry this took me forever. This one was a massive challenge for me because 21 on my Spotify Wrapped is Counting Worms by Knocked Loose. For any of you that know, Counting Worms is thirteen words long so I had to process how I wanted to handle this. (And work fucking sucks and I'm exhausted as hell but that's beside the point.) I hope you enjoy this. I actually love it a lot more than I thought I would. 🖤

----

'I wrote a song about getting better, it's a feeling I don't remember'

Steve stares at the words on the page, looking up to cock an eyebrow at Eddie, "What comes next?"

Eddie stifles a laugh. "Nothing does, Stevie. That's it."

Steve scrunches his nose, confused. "Thats--the song? That like ten words."

Eddie grabs the paper from him and smiles down at it. "It's thirteen words, big boy. And its--sometimes it's not about the amount of words. It's about feeling something."

Steve tries not to blush. Big boy certainly did a number on him. He would never fucking admit that--but, it is what it is.

He shakes he his head, to try and clear his thoughts, "Sure."

Steve watches as Eddie's smile widens, eyes crinkling in the corners. Christ.

"Did you?" Steve asks.

"Did I what?" Eddie questions.

"Did you ever get better?"

Eddie's smile softens then. "I'm working on it."

----

Steve always knew he was something--something not straight. He just didn't really have a word for it, and he tried not to dwell on it. Didn't get caught with drifting eyes in locker rooms, made sure Tommy wouldn't tell a soul about what they got up to. He didn't. Tommy might be an asshole but he wouldn't out himself or Steve…

Anyway, Steve always knew. He always knew and he had told Robin a few months after Starcourt. She helped him find the words for it. Bisexual. So Steve knew what he was, but he was fine ending up with a woman. That's just what he always figured would happen

But Eddie? Eddie changed everything.

Robin had told him just to fucking talk to him. She said that he was being a hypocrite because he had helped her get her shit together enough to talk to Vickie after everything and it had worked out--at least for a bit--but that's beside the point. The point is Robin had asked Vickie out and Steve just stared at Eddie talking, at Eddie playing D&D with kids, at Eddie writing music. He just watched.

He was scared because Eddie? Eddie was loud and confident and interesting and important.

Steve was just…Steve.

What would he even say?

----

It'd been a few months since Steve had found the song. Thirteen words.

He couldn't stop thinking about it.

'It's about feeling something.'

He still hadn't said anything to Eddie, but he needed to…Well, he wanted to.

There's only a couple of days left until the kids have winter break, and Steve is expecting them to invade his home as per usual so he has been cleanly all fucking day listening to Abba and thinking about Eddie Munson's stupid fucking hands.

He was feeling impulsive--he could talk to Eddie--he could. Eddie had said it wasn't about the amount of things he had to say it just had to mean something…right?

Steve grumbles out a sigh before stomping over to the phone. He dials out the number--has it memorized by now. It's late, he listens to the line trilling as the clock turns. 10:12 pm.

"Thanks for calling the bat cave." Eddie rambles off.

"Yeah, hi batman. It's Steve."

Eddie laughs over the line. "Stevie! To what do I owe the late night call?"

Steve steels himself. "Listen, I--can I come over?"

"Uh--yeah? Are you okay?" Eddie asks and Steve shakes his head, not that Eddie can see it anyway.

"I'm--I just--I'll be over in a few." Steve breathes. He can do this. It's fine.

"Okay, S. Just be safe--alright?"

Steve mumbles out an affirmative before hanging up and grabbing his keys.

----

He only paces outside of Eddie's door for a minute or two before he knocks lightly. Eddie is quick to answer, looking ridiculously hot for a man wearing worn out sweats and one of a thousand old band tees. He looks worried and Steve feels bad about that but--he's just gotta--

"Can we go to your room?" Steve asks and Eddie lets out a shocked laugh before nodding and heading back through the apartment. Steve follows behind.

He stands frozen in the bedroom doorway, watches as Eddie sits on the edge of his bed with head cocked to the side.

"What's going on Stevie? Was it the nightmares again because--"

Steve shakes his head, and swallows before just--going for it.

"Look--I've been--running so many things through my head. I've written speeches and songs--which is sort of your thing. So, I stopped that. But--I have thought over and over again about how to say what I need to say.

And you--you told me 'it's not about the amount of words, it's about feeling something.

And when I look at you? I feel everything--

And I just--I just needed you to know."

Eddie blinks up at Steve, eyes wide. Great. Steve fucking scared him. Awesome this is great. This was a really fucking awesome idea Steve. Nice--

"That was a lot more than thirteen words, sweetheart." Eddie smirks at him and Steve feels his heart stutter at the name.

Steve breathes, "Yeah well--did I fuck everything up?"

Eddie moves from his bed then, quick to meet Steve in the doorway. Steve is quiet. He watches as Eddie's eyes move from Steve's own, down to his lips and back up again.

Eddie brings a hand up to cup his cheek and Steve can't help the soft noise that escapes his throat. The other man swipes his thumb over Steve's cheekbone. "No Stevie, I really don't think you did. I'm gonna kiss you now, okay?"

Steve can't do anything other than nod.

----

#steddie #steddie fanfic #steddie blurb #steddie ficlet #yall this one was TUFF #Worm Spotify Series #I AM STILL ALIVE--but I'm barely breathin #have u ever run a business in the middle of chrimas cause ten this is year ten and im TIRED #anyway thats enough of that #Don't think that I didn't want to include the ARF ARF in here #but unfortunatley there is no puppy play featured--this time #worm brain #hellfiredemon

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reidrot · 1 year

Text

mom i want one man and one man only who goes by the name Dr. Spencer Reid, who is a Supervisory Special Agent with the BAU. Dr. Reid is hailed as a genius with the IQ of 187, eidetic memory, can read 20,000 words per minute, has three Ph.Ds in Chemistry, Mathematics and Engineering with BAs in Psychology, Philosophy and Sociology.

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winwintea · 3 months

Text

Blame it on my Disney Wish! WayV Series (hiatus)

PAIRING ▸ wayv x fem!reader

GENRES ▸ romance, fluff, crack, angst, acquaintances to lovers, disney park au, college au

WARNINGS ▸ profanity, sexual jokes, alcohol consumption, chenle gets bullied a lot, kun also gets bullied a lot, everyone gets bullied a lot,

SUMMARY ▸ kun takes the boys to disney world, funded by his sugar daddy chenle. however none of them were prepared for you to tag along, more or less even be affected by that cliche disney magic. but hey, maybe dreams really do come true?

TAG LIST ▸ at the bottom (send me an ask here if you’d like to be added! + those tagged will be in the tag list of all chapters of this series!)

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ welcome to my first ever fic? this is a “choose your own route” kind of series, so no need to read in order! i’ll be updating one chapter at a time, finishing off all chapter 1’s before i move onto the chapter 2’s. this originally started off as a crack fic idea that turned into a romance. thank u for taking the time to indulge in my silly fic. i’m very into disney parks so this was very fun to write. PLEASE ALSO READ THE PROLOGUE BEFORE READING THE CHAPTERS!

PROLOGUE

▸CHOOSE YOUR SUITOR

▸ QIAN KUN

01. lover’s quarrel

02. [CHAPTER NOT FOUND?]

03. [CHAPTER NOT FOUND?]

04. [CHAPTER NOT FOUND?]

▸ TEN

01. walking is for losers

02. [CHAPTER NOT FOUND?]

03. [CHAPTER NOT FOUND?]

04. [CHAPTER NOT FOUND?]

▸ DONG SI CHENG

01. never beating the ‘fainting princess’ allegations

02. [CHAPTER NOT FOUND?]

03. [CHAPTER NOT FOUND?]

04. [CHAPTER NOT FOUND?]

▸ WONG KUN HANG

01. please stop lore dumping

02. [CHAPTER NOT FOUND?]

03. [CHAPTER NOT FOUND?]

04. [CHAPTER NOT FOUND?]

▸ XIAO DE JUN

01. 2 idiots 1 braincell

02. [CHAPTER NOT FOUND?]

03. [CHAPTER NOT FOUND?]

04. [CHAPTER NOT FOUND?]

▸ LIU YANG YANG

01. google search: wikihow to look cool in front of a girl with pictures

02. [CHAPTER NOT FOUND?]

03. [CHAPTER NOT FOUND?]

04. [CHAPTER NOT FOUND?]

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eldritch-thrumming · 1 year

Text

Steve looks up when there’s a knock on his cubicle wall. Robin stands on the other side, leaning over the flimsy partition that gives the busy office floor the illusion of privacy.

“Hey, Steve, wanna get lunch?” She asks him.

“Yeah, let me finish this,” Steve says before turning back to his computer screen to save his notes from fashion week. He can’t help but sigh as he looks at the endless lists of what celebrity wore which brands and who sat front row at each show.

He and Robin make their way downstairs to the cafeteria, where they head to the end of the long line. The lunch room was always packed at this time of day. Steve thinks for the thousandth time that they should plan their breaks better, maybe for a time when the entire building wasn’t battling a sudden salad bar craving.

After about twenty minutes and several sharp elbows to the ribs at the refrigerator where the pudding cups are kept, they make their way to the only open table with their sad, wilted-looking lettuce. Steve stares down at his plate, stomach rumbling, before Robin catches his attention.

“Ready for the pitch meeting?” Her brows are furrowed, anxiety written across her face.

“I mean, yeah.” Steve shrugs his shoulders. “Not much to pitch. I’m just gonna get that lame premiere assignment anyway.” His voice comes out an irritated grumble.

“What about that story about the teachers’ strikes you wanted to pitch? The teachers organizing across districts?” The furrow in her brow deepens.

“Face it, Robin,” Steve sighs. “If we want to write what we really want to write, we’re not gonna do it here. Best to get these few years under out belt and do what we’re told, so we can get a good reference for a publication that actually cares about the things we care about.”

Robin looks down at her own plate, moves her fork around her pile of browned lettuce and ranch dressing. “Well, I’m pitching my rail nationalization story. Imagine what this country could do with a high speed rail system organized by the state. It would be a game changer!” She sounds excited about her pitch and Steve wonders if that’s the way he used to sound, too, before he’d been relegated to “Who Wore It Better”s and celebrity advice columns.

As Steve’s contemplating his entire career trajectory, Nancy makes her way over to them with a tray in her white-knuckled grip. Steve would never say it to her face, but he thought it was only a matter of time before she popped a blood vessel because of the cafeteria line.

“I fucking hate this place,” Nancy practically snarls as she slams her tray down on the table between them. She takes a chair from the neighboring table without even asking before sitting and hanging her crossbody bag on the back. She glances at Steve’s tray. “You got a pudding cup?” Steve says nothing as he moves the pudding cup further from Nancy’s reach. She rolls her eyes.

“We were just talking about the pitch meeting,” Robin tells her. “I’m really gonna pitch the railway story. This is important stuff, Nance, we should be publishing it.”

Nancy takes a sip from her orange juice before responding. “I don’t disagree, Robin, but Erica will never go for it. You know those serious pieces are reserved for Terry, Patrick, and Elaine.”

“Terry, Patrick, and Elaine are practically geriatric,” Robin rolls her eyes. “The magazine needs fresh new voices. Erica understands that. I’m pretty sure it was her who said that at last month’s meeting.”

“Well, good luck,” Nancy says, twirling her fork in her pasta. Steve’s not even sure what sort of sauce the pasta’s supposed to have. He grimaces.

“Thank you,” Robin grins, choosing to ignore Nancy’s sarcasm.

~*~

Steve, Robin, and Nancy sit side-by-side in the conference room as they wait for their editor, Erica, to finish the phone call she’d taken in her office. They were surrounded by their coworkers--photographers, stylists, journalists--and there was a massive pile of donuts in the center of the huge polished wooden table. Steve’s fingers itched to reach for one, but the last time he’d eaten a donut at one of these meetings, he’d gotten a huge glob of strawberry jelly on his slacks. He’d had to beg to borrow a pair of pants from the fashion closet so he could go do an interview without a massive red stain on his leg later that day.

Everyone looks up when Erica enters the room. She always looked to Steve like she floated around the place, somehow both intimidating and approachable all at once. Steve’s palms were always sweaty whenever he had to have a one-on-one conversation with her.

The meeting starts and Erica directs the conversation around the room, hearing pitch after pitch for the next few editions of the magazine. Steve’s head is starting to bobble as he listened to the stylists pitch five different fashion spreads. He’s startled from a daydream when Erica says, “Alright, what do you three have for me?” from the end of the table.

Robin looks at Steve and Nancy before she speaks. “Well, uh. I had this thought that we could, uh, maybe do a piece, like, an article, you know? With, uh, interviews and first-person accounts and statistics and all that stuff--”

“Right, I know what an article is, Robin,” Erica says firmly, but not unfriendly.

“Right, Robin swallows, squirming. “Sorry. Um. Well, there’s been a lot of talk recently about the railway workers unionizing and the derailments and how corporations are going about handling these issues.” Steve notices how Robin’s voice starts to sound much stronger when she really gets in to her pitch. “And there’s a renewed interest online and in DC in a potential nationalization of the railway system in America and I think that could be a really worthwhile and interesting story for our readers.”

Erica looks at Robin for a long moment, thinking. Steve holds his breath, waiting for Erica to speak.

“I like it,” she finally says, a slow smile spreading across her face. “We’ll talk to residents where the derailments occurred, doctors and scientists, state representatives, workers, officials. It could even be a serial piece.”

“Wow, really?” Robin’s eyes brighten.

“Yeah, really,” Erica smiles again, before turning to her right. “Terry, what do you think? Can you handle that?” Steve sees Robin’s face fall out of the corner of his eye. Terry responds in the affirmative, before Steve cuts off the conversation that they’re having about Robin’s story.

“I have a pitch,” Steve says, voice loud in his own ears. His hands shake in his lap.

“Really, Harrington?” Erica asks, eyebrows shooting up in surprise as she turns to look at him.

“Yeah,” Steve nods. “About the teachers’ strikes and how they’re organizing across districts in the city.”

Erica looks at him, like she’d looked at Robin. Her eyes shift back and forth between the two of them.

“That’s not a bad story,” she tells him. She pauses again, looking at Steve for another long moment before continuing. “Listen, I see what’s happening here. You want a chance at more serious stories. But you’ve both been here only a year. I need to know that you can write more than an analysis of what Selena Gomez was wearing when Justin Bieber broke up with her.” She looks at them and she looks so far away from where Steve is sitting. He feels like his vision has taken on a fish-eye lens, distorting at the edges, making everyone look tiny. “So, here’s what we’ll do. I was just on the phone with Corroded Coffin’s PR. Apparently the band is coming out of retirement and they’re announcing a new album and a new tour kicking off in March. They’ve asked us to publish something about the band, with full and complete access to recording studios, one-on-one interviews with each member, and live shows before the tour starts. We’re doing a whole issue on the resurgence of grunge and metal style from the eighties and nineties for it. I’ll let you, Buckley, and Wheeler have the central article. If you can get me some new, interesting, and relevant information on the band’s personal lives, I’ll let you start writing more serious pieces for the magazine.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise as the blood rushes in his ears. He hadn’t expected that to actually work. Plus, the Corroded Coffin article itself was a huge deal. Nancy’s saying yes on everyone’s behalf before Steve can even really wrap his mind around the offer.

~*~

After the meeting, Steve sits at his desk doing a cursory Google search of Corroded Coffin. He wasn’t the biggest metal fan and the closest he’d ever come to really giving the genre a try was adding a few Nirvana songs to his workout playlist.

He’s scrolling through the search results when he realizes that there’s a significant lack of interviews, even though the band has been active for almost a decade. Most of the articles were descriptions of the lead singer’s rather outlandish public stunts.

“Hey, Rob?” He calls out over the partition that separates their cubicles.

“Yeah?” She responds. Steve doesn’t like when he can’t see her while they’re talking, so he rolls his eyes and pulls himself from the chair to look over their shared wall.

“Have you noticed that there’s, like, no interviews with the band?”

She looks up from her computer screen. “There’s a few,” she says, sighing. “On the second page of Google. But there’s none with Munson.” Robin throws herself against the back of his chair. “A few of the articles say he’s ‘notoriously private.’” She rolls her eyes as she puts air quotes around the last two words.

Steve stomach drops. This was supposed to be an easy article. Full access usually meant a lot more intimacy between the journalist and the subject, but Steve knew first hand how hard it was to get a cagey and jaded celebrity to talk, even when the request for the interview came from their own camp. Sometimes especially when the request came from their camp.

“Is this going to be harder than we thought?” Steve asks, brow furrowing in concern. “”What are we going to do?”

Robin smirks. “We’ll just have to get creative.”

part one part two

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ghosttotheparty · 1 year

Text

love me softly p9

i finally figured out what the plot is (probably) going to be scroll to the bottom for updates <333

part eight

tw; eddie talks about his fathers abuse and mentions police and hospitalisation

Eddie’s new favourite pastime might be kissing Steve Harrington.

He loves how Steve buries his fingers in his hair and tugs at his necklaces and wraps his arms around his neck, and how steady he feels on Eddie’s lap. He loves how he can feel Steve’s smile against his mouth, and how he can feel Steve’s breath on his face, and how he can hear the slick slide of their lips. He loves how Steve holds his face in his hands, how he kisses him so intentionally, like he means every single one.

Steve turned the movie off a while ago, reaching and leaning across the sofa without getting up from Eddie’s lap, reaching and reaching for the remote until Eddie finally tilted to the side, shifting him just enough to grab it finally. They were both giggling, struggling to sit up straight again, and Steve turned the television off over his shoulder before he crashed their mouths together.

Neither of them have said a lot, but they don’t really need to.

Steve keeps making these soft, tiny sounds in the back of his throat, almost whimpers but not quite, and every sound lights Eddie’s nerves up. He knows Steve is more experienced than him, that Eddie’s only kissed two girls (both of them when he was in elementary school, one of them an accident) and one boy (the one on his lap), and that Steve actually knows what he’s doing, but he doesn’t really care.

He doesn’t care that Steve’s kissed so many people, because he’s not kissing them right now, he’s kissing Eddie.

He’s grinning and catching Eddie’s lip between his teeth and playing with his curls and pulling on his necklaces, and Eddie thinks he might be dying.

Steve starts giggling after a while, so hard that he needs to stop kissing Eddie, and Eddie beams, raising his eyebrows as he watches. Steve’s eyes are squeezed shut, and he’s smiling so brightly Eddie wants to cry.

“What’s so funny?” Eddie asks, his voice rough, and Steve shakes his head.

“Nothing, sorry,” he says, still laughing.

“Nothing, but you’re cracking up while we’re making out.” He slides his hands over Steve’s waist. Eddie loves how soft he is just above the waistband of his pants. “Should I take offence?”

“No,” Steve says, shaking his head, holding Eddie’s face. “God, no, I’m just…” His giggling subsides, but he’s still smiling, wide-eyed. “I’m… I’m having fun.”

Eddie blinks, his smile faltering, and he reaches up to touch Steve’s cheek.

“I’ve— I’ve kissed people, and I liked kissing them but I’ve never…” Steve stammers out, his fingers pressing into Eddie’s skin softly. “I’ve never felt like this before.”

“Oh,” Eddie breathes.

Steve just stares down at him, a smile still teasing his lips, and Eddie blinks again.

“I’ve only kissed two girls,” Eddie says, squeezing Steve’s waist. “One was when I was eight and the other when I was ten, and the first one was an accident, and the other one was a dare, so I don’t think either of them really count, so…” He stops himself from rambling.

“I’m your first kiss?” Steve asks, hushed.

“Uh. Yeah.”

Steve blinks, settling on his lap and slouching a little bit, still holding his face.

“And?” he asks hesitantly. “How’m I doing?”

“Fucking A plus, Stevie,” Eddie says, wide-eyed, and Steve grins, his nose scrunching adorably. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah?” Steve giggles, and Eddie nods, gazing up at him.

“I’m— I’m having fun too.”

Steve is grinning, and Eddie’s face hurts because he’s smiling so much.

“Can I kiss you again?” Steve asks softly, his fingertips brushing over Eddie’s cheek.

“Yes,” Eddie says firmly, looking up, pleading. “I’d like that.”

So Steve kisses him. And Eddie’s hands slide to the small of his back, pulling him closer, his fingertips slipping under the fabric of his shirt.

Steve smiles against Eddie’s lips, and Eddie might be ascending, because Steve’s tongue slips across Eddie’s lower lip. Eddie gasps, his head tilting back as his mouth falls open, and his hand clutches at Steve’s back, sliding up under his shirt. Steve gasps.

“Is that okay?” Eddie asks, pulling away.

“Yeah,” Steve says breathlessly. “I, uhm. I like how your rings feel.”

“Yeah?” Eddie slides his hands over Steve’s back, watching with a smile as Steve’s eyes close and he sighs. “Feels good?”

“Mhmm.”

Steve kisses him again, his arms wrapping around Eddie’s neck as he slowly, almost lazily, licks into his mouth. Eddie moves his hands over his whole back, up until he’s almost touching the back of his neck, down just over the waistband of his pants, over his spine and over his waist. He’s so warm. Eddie knows his rings must be cold, but Steve likes it.

When they part, their lips are shining, and they’re both breathing hard. Steve’s hands are steady on Eddie’s neck. Eddie wonders if he can feel his pulse.

“I, uhm…” He pauses, hesitates, his thumbs running back and forth over Steve’s skin. Steve’s eyes open, also shining brightly, and he looks at Eddie in that way he always does when he looks at him: softly, patiently. Kindly. “I don’t think I’m… ready. For, like… sex.”

Steve shakes his head, sliding his hands to hold Eddie’s jaw.

“That’s okay,” he says softly. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“Okay,” Eddie breathes. Steve touches his cheek, almost petting it.

“I like doing this,” he says quietly. “Just touching you.”

“God, I like you so much,” Eddie says softly. “You’re so…”

“So what?” Steve asks, touching Eddie’s lip.

Eddie shrugs weakly, his hands tightening on Steve.

“Amazing.”

Steve just furrows his brows, smiling like he doesn’t believe him, and he kisses him again.

They kiss slowly, leisurely, like they have all the time in the world. They kind of do. Neither of them have anywhere to be, no one’s looking or waiting for them, and they know it. So they stay here, pressed together, touching and holding and kissing in this big empty house.

They end up laying down on the sofa, Steve between Eddie’s legs as he kisses down his neck slowly. Eddie always wondered what this would feel like. Turns out, it feels really fucking good. Steve is so gentle with him, every kiss soft and slow and careful, and even when he moves down, and meticulously tugs the collar of Eddie’s t-shirt down, he feels so gentle that Eddie feels like he could fall asleep.

Steve asks if he can leave a mark. He’s touching Eddie’s collarbone, his finger running back and forth. Eddie closes his eyes and nods. Says yes out loud just in case. There’s a silent moment before he feels Steve’s breath on his skin, and then he feels his tongue, and Eddie swears quietly. Steve’s lips curve into a smile against his skin, and then he bites down gently. Eddie bites his lip while Steve sucks on his skin, baring his throat to him and gripping the back of his t-shirt.

Steve stops when he’s satisfied, licks the mark one last time before he lays on Eddie’s chest with a soft sigh.

Eddie’s lips are sore. It feels good. He pushes his fingers into Steve’s hair, combs through it and tugs lightly when Steve hums.

They’re quiet, laying together in the dim living room. Eddie can feel Steve’s head rising and falling with every one of Eddie’s. breaths.

“Hey, Stevie?” Eddie says quietly after a while.

“Mhmm?”

“Is it okay if I tell some people about us?”

Steve is quiet for a moment.

“Who?”

“My uncle. And my best friend. And his mom, because she knows everything,” Eddie says, smiling when Steve laughs softly. “They won’t tell anyone.”

“Sure.”

“Okay.”

There’s a quiet moment again.

“Did you…” Steve hesitates, shifting on Eddie’s chest. Eddie plays with his hair. “Did you tell them you like boys?”

“Yeah.”

“…How?”

“Uhm.” Eddie sighs, settles into the sofa, combs Steve’s hair as Steve tucks his fingertips under Eddie’s t-shirt. “I told you about my dad.”

“Yeah. The shithead.”

“Yeah. When I was little, I didn’t… realise there was anything wrong with liking boys. Which— I mean, there isn’t, but… I mentioned it to my dad once, and he…” Eddie hesitates, biting his lip, staring at the ceiling. Remembering. “Lost his shit.”

Steve’s fingers slide further under his shirt.

“Neighbours called the cops,” Eddie continues, remembering the way the red and blue lights lit up the living room. “Dad told them I’m a queer because he thought that was a good excuse to beat up a kid. Cops visited me in the hospital and called Wayne. Told him everything.”

“Shit,” Steve says succinctly.

“Yeah.” Eddie sighs again. “We never really talked about it. We never really had to.”

“He’s cool with it?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says again. Steve’s hand is warm. “Told him I was coming over to yours and he definitely knew. Said I got myself an artist.”

Steve hums.

“Told Gareth because I was having a shit day,” Eddie continues. “Realised I had a debilitating crush on you and was pissed.”

“You were mad you liked me?” Steve asks, laughing, and Eddie grins.

“Obviously,” he says. “Never woulda thought I’d have a chance with you.”

Steve lifts his head, leaning up to kiss him, smiling, and then he sets his chin on Eddie’s chest.

“How’d you tell him?”

“He let me bitch for a while. Slam some drawers shut and whatever. Then I just… said I like boys. And he said okay. Then he let me bitch some more about how I like polo shirt wearing normies.”

Steve grins so brightly his eyes squeeze shut.

“You don’t like my polos?”

“I like your polos on you,” Eddie says. “But you’d also look cute in a battle vest I think.”

“Battle vest?” Steve asks quietly.

“Like a denim jacket with ripped off sleeves.” Steve’s eyebrows raise. “With some patches and pins and shit. You’d look hot.”

“You think?”

“Fuck yeah.”

Steve beams.

“How’d you tell his mom?” he asks.

“Gareth told her. She’s kind of… everyone’s mom. She knows everything. So he asked if he could tell her, and I asked him how she’d react, and he said he’d find out.”

“How’d he find out?” Steve whispers. Eddie smiles, pushing Steve’s hair back.

“He went to her,” he says, watching Steve’s eyes shine. “And asked what she’d think if he was gay. And she hugged him and said it was okay and she loves him and nothing can change that, yadda yadda.” Steve snickers, pressing his fingertips into Eddie’s waist. “And he said ‘Okay cool, I’m not gay, but Eddie is,’ and she said ‘Oh, that’s fine too.’”

Steve giggles, tilting his head before he lays back down.

“She sounds cool.”

“She is,” Eddie agrees. “Think you’d like her.”

Steve sighs, stretching his legs out and settling heavily against Eddie.

“You wanna tell someone?” Eddie asks.

“Don’t really have anyone to tell.”

Eddie hums softly.

“You wanna tell me?”

Steve looks up again, grinning.

“I like boys,” he whispers.

“Do you?” Eddie whispers back, raising his eyebrows and acting surprised, beaming. Steve nods.

“I especially like this one boy,” he says excitedly, quietly.

“Tell me about him.”

Steve sighs, staring at him for a moment.

“He’s so pretty,” he says finally. “Like— He’s the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen. He has the softest hair. And he makes me laugh, even when I feel like shit.”

Eddie blinks, combing through Steve’s hair again as he listens intently.

“I swear it’s like he knows me better than myself,” Steve continues. “Always knows just how to make me laugh.”

Eddie smiles softly, touching his cheek.

“I really, really like him,” Steve says softly.

“Kiss me.”

Steve kisses him. He presses him into the sofa, almost holding him down, and Eddie wraps his legs around him, holding him against himself.

“‘S nice,” he murmurs when Steve pulls away. His lip tingles from Steve nibbling on it, and Steve bruise his face in Eddie’s neck, sighing and leaving soft kisses on him. Eddie can feel the moment Steve falls asleep. Steve is heavy on top of him, his breath warm on Eddie’s skin, his lips still pressed against him.

Eddie stares up at the ceiling for a while, gently tugging Steve’s shirt up his back and smiling when Steve shifts to let him, so he can drag his fingers over his skin. Steve hums softly in his sleep, nuzzling into Eddie’s neck, and Eddie fucking loves him.

He goes home around noon the next day because Steve’s friends are going to come over. He kisses Steve goodbye by the door, his hand tucked up under his shirt, Steve’s fingers holding his chin. The goodbye kiss lasts too long to actually be a goodbye kiss, really, and the thought makes Eddie giggle softly as Steve presses him into the wall to kiss him harder.

“I’m gonna miss you,” Steve whines into his mouth, holding his face. Eddie holds his waist, pulling him closer so their bodies press and he’s trapped between Steve and the wall.

“Monday, baby,” Eddie says softly before he licks into Steve mouth the way Steve did to him last night.

“Monday.”

He goes to Gareth’s after he finally leaves, grinning giddily to himself. Gareth opens the door and raises an eyebrow at him.

“What’s going on?”

“I have news,” Eddie says quickly. “Where’s your mother?”

“Kitchen.”

Eddie kicks his shoes off at the door and heads down the hall, singing Mother! loudly until he walks into the kitchen. She’s wearing her favourite apron again (hand sewn and gifted from her ex-mother in law), mixing a bowl of batter.

“Hi, Eddie,” she says brightly, smiling so her eyes squeeze shut and deepen her wrinkles. “What’s going on?”

“Eddie has news,” Gareth says, shoving past him to get into the kitchen and opening the fridge. Linda looks at Eddie, wide-eyed and smiling as he grins, and Gareth reaches into the fridge to get out a juice box, leaning against the fridge as he looks at Eddie expectantly.

“…Steve kissed me.”

Gareth drops the juice box. Linda screams. Eddie cackles.

Linda sets the bowl down and bounces over to hug Eddie tightly, rocking him back and forth as he laughs, and Gareth is grinned, his jaw still hanging open in shock, and the kitchen feels a little brighter.

“When?” Gareth says when Linda finally releases Eddie. “How? Why?”

“Why?” Eddie makes a face at him. “Asshole.”

Linda laughs again, patting Eddie’s cheek before she goes back to the batter bowl.

“When’d he kiss you, Eddie?” she asks lightly.

“Last night,” Eddie says, giddy. He goes to sit on the table as Gareth picks his juice box back up. “He invited me over, and I went after Wayne left for work, and we… hung out. And he kissed me. And then we made out for approximately four hours.”

Linda coos brightly, teasingly, and his cheeks flush as he grins again.

“Gross,” Gareth says dryly, and Eddie flips him off, his smile unfaltering, as Linda shoots him a look and flicks the spoon at him, spatter some batter on him. “Mom!”

Eddie laughs again, wiggling where he’s sitting because he’s so happy.

“Wait,” Gareth says as he’s wiping batter off his cheek and eating it. “He’s not just doing this because you’re into guys, right? Like he not, like, using you or something? ‘Cause if he is, I swear to God I’ll kill him.”

Eddie grins, his heart swelling at the earnestness in Gareth’s eyes, and he shakes his head.

“He’s not. He likes me.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Gareth finally punches the straw into the juice box and takes a sip, staring Eddie until he nods approvingly.

“That’s pretty cool, man.”

Linda lets Eddie lick the bowl when she’s done.

part ten

read on ao3

okay here are the updates: 1) this is an au so nothing from canon actually happens 2) steve is a junior (17) and eddie is a senior (18) 3) plot is going going to be focussed on steve’s abuse and his self discovery (it’s still gonna be eddie’s pov) (punk steve hello) which means that some chapters may be heavier than others (i’ll include tws at the beginnings; let me know if anything needs an extra warning!) 4) kind of a spoiler but tommy is going to get a redemption bc i want steve to have friends and i feel like so many ppl forget that they were Best Friends

taglist: tag list: @loverkasp @confusionocturne @vecnuthy @michael-the-angelo @three-possums-playing-human @theysherobinbuckley @silentiumdelirium

#lmk if you wanna be tagged in part ten <3 #can you believe were almost at part ten #this was not supposed to happen #literally was just a blurb #oopsies #wayne is going to show up again i promise #i love writing him so much #steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #eddie x steve #steve x eddie #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #love me softly

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mae-gi-writes · 2 years

Text

just for the night . ten

"It wasn't real. Until suddenly, it was."

Genre: fakedating!, fluff, pining, enemies to lovers sorta

----

"Ugh. Fight me."

"You wish," Ten smirks back at you in that obnoxious way of his and you swear you'd like to throw a brick at him.

It's Monday evening and raining. The warmth from Baro Baro Bakery is the only thing that's keeping your fingers from falling off altogether, and you honestly would not have been in such a bad mood, if it hadn't been for your insufferably cocky co-worker.

You focus on organizing the buns along the countertop, making sure that they are all aligned and well displayed while trying to ignore the dark-haired man leaning against the storage door, "don't you have anything better to do?"

"Better than watching you organize your buns? I don't think so."

"Do you really enjoy being here?"

"Couldn't have imagined a better way to spend my Monday," his smirk widens into a grin.

"I'm not coming with you."

He has the audacity of throwing you a look full of innocence, "I didn't say anything."

"But that's what you came here for isn't it?" you scowl back.

He pouts then, breaking all semblance of nonchalance as he holds up his clasped hands in an attempt to beg, "a night is all I ask. Please."

"We barely know each other, even less support each other's presence. This is recipe for disaster," you lean back, slide the counter door closed before looking over at him, "what do I even get from this arrangement?"

"This body as your boyfriend, and free food," he quickly adds when he sees you're about as murderous as chucking him out of the bakery altogether, "and my parents don't care who, trust me. They won't even notice."

Your scowl could've murdered him, "Why are you asking me?"

"Because you're the only option I have. The other girls will use this to their advantage--"

"Wow Ten," you let out an exasperated chuckle, "way to make me feel special."

"Well you shouldn't have asked--"

"If we do that, you'll cover my shifts for the next two months," you interrupt before he can retort back, "and give me all your free coupons that you get."

"Uh last time I checked I'm supposed to work up to thirty-five hours--"

"Do we agree or not?"

In the end, he had no choice but to comply to whatever ordeal you'd asked of him and you briefly wonder how bad are his parents for him to be so desperate. It isn't like Ten to ask for favours, especially not those that concern being his fake date for his cousin's wedding. According to Ten, his parents had been badgering him for ages to get himself a date or else they'd present him to someone else altogether -- someone fitting -- and fearing that they'd push him into the arms of whatever businessmen's daughter they could find, Ten had called for help out of desperation.

To say that the situation was out of hand is definitely an understatement. It's not that you don't know Ten. You do, having gotten acquainted during the last year of university when you'd decided to join the dance club, only to find that the said cocky asshole in question was actually talented, more so than others.

You're not quite sure yourself how you'd gotten such a bad first impression of Ten Lee. To be honest, nothing major had sparked fireworks between you, apart from the fact that you spent the first hour of dance class being picked apart and mocked for your lack of dancing skill.

"No, you're doing it all wrong. It's this way."

"A little higher. You need more power in your muscles."

"Do it again. No, not like that--"

It had been torture. It hadn't been fun anymore. And you'd already made up your mind to run away. Nevermind that you loved dancing in your free time. You found dancing in your bedroom much more peaceful and satisfying.

Alas, it seemed like the universe loathed youe plans for every time you tried escaping, you'd manage to bump into Ten himself. Needless to say that he dragged you to class whether it was against your will or not.

"I really don't think I want to continue--"

"Why not?" He'd raised an amused brow, "scared?"

"No, it's just--"

"Just what?"

That had done it. Never in your whole life had you been so determined to prove this little shit wrong. And so you stayed.

Now though, as you comb through your wardrobe in search of something to wear, it becomes increasingly apparent how bad of an idea this is.

The wedding is a monumental event in the Lee family. The celebrations last for three whole days, three whole evenings of family dinners and having to put on airs for people he doesn't actually like. But he does it, because of his unwavering loyalty to his family name and if not that, his grandmother, whom you learnt -- a few days before the wedding -- had been the mother figure he'd leaned upon his entire life.

"So you're telling me that nobody really matters, apart from your grandma whom I should impress?" you ask him one evening at Baro Baro as you're busy stacking the rest of the baked goods away in the storage area, "well, that doesn't put any pressure at all. Thanks for that."

"My grandma is...special. She doesn't usually speak much, so we never know what she might be thinking," Ten answers, "so I wouldn't advise you to say anything you don't mean."

"And yet, you're straight-up lying to her face?" is what you ask with a raised brow.

He has the decency to flush, "that's different."

"She wants you to get married?"

"Who doesn't?" he snorts, "practically everyone in my family is begging me to at this point, ever since Anong announced her marriage."

"What a tough life you have," you say dryly, cackling when he tosses the cleaning rag at your head, "I'm curious though...why me?"

"C'mon Y/N, use your head a little. Why you, of all people?"

"Even with logic that doesn't make sense Ten," you cast him a scowl, "so please, do enlighten me."

"For starters, you're not my type--"

Ouch. Well that didn't hurt at all. You scowl.

"--and there's no way I'm yours--"

"Damn right about that," you grumble out, reaching into the room behind the said young man to make a grab for the broom.

He follows you around the counter as you start sweeping at the floor, "--second, you have no attachments to me or my family, so that shouldn't be a problem when we have to break-up. Third, none of my family actually knows you, so we can practically make things up."

"You're a fucking walking cliché, Ten Lee."

"Wha--I am not a cliché."

"This is literally what romance novels write about."

"Are you saying I'm a romantic?" he grins at you, eyes sparkling in mischief and you grunt, shoving him out of the way in favour of finishing up your work. In all honesty, your bed sounds pretty damn tempting.

"You wish."

You've never really assisted at a wedding before -- the ones you went to as a child don't count -- so to say that you're not bothered at all would be a lie because admittedly, you're really quite curious about how this whole thing plays out.

"A wedding?" Your mother's stare is piercing, eyes boring holes into your skull. You, on the other hand, force yourself to keep gulping down your toast, "whose wedding is it?"

"Someone's cousin."

"And why are you invited?"

You try not to choke on your toast, coughing and quickly downing it with some scalding coffee that burns your tongue, "uhm--I--well, this-- my friend. It's my friend's cousin and he asked all of us to go."

"Who's this friend of yours?"

"Oh you don't know him, he's--" your mind panics, trying to scramble for any kind of information you know from your supposed boyfriend, "he's part of the dance crew I go practice with."

Your mother doesn't seem convinced, but doesn't push further and for that, you're grateful.

"We probably should go over the basics," Ten says as he walks you to the subway station after the night time shift. Part of you wonders whether he has another job, a stable income, or whether he's judt trying to figure out life, like you.

"Like how we met?" Your nose crinkles in distaste.

"We don't have to change all the facts. We met during dance class, and--and we staeted working on a piece together. For a competition."

"We'd have to make up an imaginary competition to prove it to them."

"Ah shit, you're right. Uhm, how about...we were working on something for...uh..." he's struggling and you would've mocked him if you weren't in the same boat.

"End of year performance," you shrug when he sends you a look, "it's not like we'll last till the end of the year. We're breaking up after three days."

"Yeah yeah, that works. Okay so, couple dance. And bam, we fell in love. I fell for your--uh--"

The way he glances over you makes your jaw roll. Does he really have to make it obvious that you're not his type? As if you're not aware of that already.

"Let's say I fell for your amazing sense of sarcasm."

You're not certain why it hurts, hearing it from him. But you brush it aside quickly, not wanting to dwell on it too much.

"No wonder you don't have a girlfriend," you snort.

"No. Don't and can't are too different things. In my case, I just don't want it."

"Yeah, because no one wants you," you mutter, before continuing in a louder voice, "and I fell for your sense of humour. Let's leave it at that."

"Deal."

"You owe me. Big time."

---

A few days later finds you decked in one of your sister's dresses, biting your lip nervously as you take in your reflection in the mirror. It's a simple one; black with a boat neckline that shows off your shoulders, curving along your chest, waist, all the way to your mid-thigh. One might think that it's a little too plain for such a thing as a wedding, but it's not like you'll be the center of attention. On the contrary, you wish to blend in with the background and if the dress helps, then so be it.

The doorbell ringing jolts you out of your small reverie. Casting one last look at your reflection, you sling your purse of your shoulder before wobbling your way down the stairs only to find your mother already opening the door.

Terror washes through you. Shit, you think to yourself as you quickly scramble the rest of the way down just in time for the door to reveal Ten's face.

"Hello! I don't believe we've met before!" your mother cooes in that sickeningly sweet voice of hers that makes you want to push her into the kitchen and away from the said young man, "you're Y/N's friend?"

"Indeed I am," Ten's lips curve into a smile as he bows slightly, "it's nice to meet you."

"Well if I knew that Y/N had such a handsome friend, I would've invited you over sooner!"

He laughs, "we actually work together so we're--"

And that's when his eyes find you.

There's surprise. Then shock, mixed in with something you can't quite decipher as he takes you in, your dress, down to the heels adorning your feet.

"What?" you half-bark at him, tearing your own gaze away to fidget with your purse when in truth, you just don't want to gawk at how handsome he is in his suit and tie.

"You clean up well," is what he replies, that same old infuriating smirk dancing across his lips and if you had imagined his shock a few seconds earlier, it's all replaced by his usual playful banter.

"Shut up--ow!" you recoil as your mother whacks the back of your head, "where are your manners, Y/N? Is this the way to talk to someone who's inviting you out?"

"Sorry," you don't mean it though, your scowl deepening as you notice Ten's face lighting with a devilish grin, "and stop smiling like that, it's fucking creepy."

"Apologies your highness," he bows in mock salute, before motioning toqards his car, "shall we?"

It doesn't occur to you that you're actually doing this, actually going to fake date for Ten Lee's sake, until you're sitting in his car and glancing at his side prpfile every now and then. It seems that Ten is just as wary, for he doesn't tease you as he normally does, for once actually allowing the silence to speak in his stead.

"Hey," his voice brings you back to reality. You blink at him, catching sight of the slight curl of his lips, "you look like you're about to shit your pants."

"Well maybe it didn't occur to you, but I don't particularly like lying to people," you reply snarkily.

"Who says we're lying, baby?" And with that, he makes a grab for your hand, intertwines your fingers together, and brings it up to press a chaste kiss on your knuckles.

You can't help but flush slightly, though you don't dare rip your hand out for fear of his driving skills.

"See?" He continues, dropping your still-entangled hands in his lap as hr turns a corner, "not that hard to fool people if you keep blushing like that."

"Oh fuck off," you really hope he can't hear how loudly your heart is beating.

He doesn't drop your hand until he has to park the car, swinging his entire arm back and giving you a glimpse of his collarbones peeking out of his shirt as he does so. You avert your eyes adamantly, cursing inwardly at yourself to just calm the fuck down.

Dim fairy lights illuminate the path up to the hotel venue where the celebration is taking place. Beautiful victorian pillars adorn the entrance that cascades with light flooding from the chandelier above. All around hanging from the ceiling are an assortment of potted plants, vines twirling down with such majestic beauty that it makes your breath away.

"How much did you say your family spent on this?" You croak out as you walk past the reception area in your wobbly heels. Ten, as if sensing your hesitances, places a hand on the small of your back, causing you to jolt at the sensation.

It's not unpleasant. Though it is strange, to have the warmth of his palm close to your skin.

"I don't even want to remind myself," he answers as he guides you down the white marble steps leading to a pavillon billowing with white trails.

People are already chatting by the makeshift stands adorned with the same vines, probably waiting for the said bride and groom themselves to appear. Ten leads you over to a pair of women, one older and sporting grey hair, the other looking like a younger version of herself, and you do not miss the way they glance at each other with smiles that suggest they're falling straight into your trap.

"Ma," it's when Ten calls her name that you manage a forced smile on your face, "grandma. How are you?"

"Chittaphon," His grandma is quick to embrace him, his mother following close behind.

"Hey grandma, this is Y/N. Y/N," Ten motions towards the said woman, "my grandma."

"Lovely to meet you," your throat feels dry athow intensely she seems to be studying you.

"And is this the girl you've been telling me about all this time?" His mother asks.

"Ma," Ten whines out, though the permanent grin on his face says otherwise, "you don't have to call me out like that."

"Oh as if she doesn't know," his mother retorts and without warning, makes a grab for your hands as she smiles up at you, "it's lovely to finally meet you Y/N. Ten's been telling me all about you from the moment you started dancing together."

"Oh did he?" You relish in Ten's sudden embarrassment as he is quick to splutter out, "that's not true!"

"Totally is," his mother replies, "and what a fine couple you make. When can I expect the grandkids? I'm not going to be there forever you know!"

"Ma!"

Ten's face is practically fire engine red at this point and though you should technically feel just as embarrassed, you can't help but cackle at his face. Cute.

No! Your mind screams out, no way.

But you don't have time to ponder over the new flurry of feelings when the wedding march starts blasting through the entire room and in a bout of panic, Ten's arm shoots out to drag you in the seat beside him, just behind his family.

He leans over, mouth barely brushing over your ear, "just a warning; my mother will probably ask you to ask me to propose." He shoots you a piercing glower, "don't you dare say anything."

"Aw, but she's just looking out for her son," you wriggle your eyebrows, loving the sudden turn of events, "wasn't aware that you'e already introduced me to your family before asking me out. How cute."

"Shu--"

"Chittaphon!"

A loud hush from his mother is enough for Ten to close his mouth, opting to throw you a scowl instead as you cackle silently. It seems that you've won...for now.

The ceremony is, undoubtly, beautiful and everything that a woman would ever want and you can't help but get caught up with emotion at the speech delivered by the grrom, a knot forming in your throat at the way he looks down at his soon-to-be wife like she's the most precious thing on this earth.

A brief thought crosses your mind; will there be anyone that will look at you like this?

Claps erupting through the pavillon makes you blink back to reality only to see the newlyweds walk by with brilliant smiles. Congratulations are thrown about in-between peals of laughter and, feeling Ten's hand weave through yours, allow him to tug you to the outer steps where everyone is gathered.

"What's happening?" You ask Ten in a murmur.

His lips quirk up, "oh best part, doll. Just wait," before he cocks his head towards the bride.

You turn towards the said beaming woman, bouquet clasped to her chest and before you know it, she's thrown it in the air with a whoop as the crowd gasps.

And it lands. Right in your arms.

Shocked, you drop it, scramble to pick it back up as cheers erupt through the crowd like an excited buzz.

"Congrats!"

"Oh my god, you're next!"

Ten's mother appears, beaming as she says, "so you will be next, I knew it!"

"Oh, uh--well, I'm not quite sure--" your words are interrupted by Ten's cousin rushing in to offer you his congratulations, "what an honour, Y/N! You have my blessing!"

It's so overwhelming that you freeze on the spot, unable to process that information until Ten manages to pull you away from the crowd around the corner of the pavillon, where you manage to catch your breath.

"Jesus," you can feel your heart hammering against your ribcage, voice breathless, "what was that all about?"

"Like I said, they really want me to get married," Ten shrugs, "you catching the bouquet doesn't help by the way."

"Well what was I supposed to do?" You glare down at the flowers as if hoping they'd combust if you glared hard enough, "give them back?"

He laughs at that, and surprises you by reaching over to push your hair away from your face before grabbing hold of your hand for the nth time that evening.

"Come on," his grin is wide, reaches his eyes and makes your stomach flip over, "let's not miss out on dinner. They have amazing sushi here."

True to his word, Ten is right about the sushi, for it all but melts in your mouth in a mixture of bold flavours that explode on your tongue. Even the main course -- either the option of a steak, grilled fish or beautifully cooked lentil burger for the vegans -- cannot compare to those tiny rolls of delight that make your mouth water with every bite.

Your table, despite being filled with his family, makes you feel at ease. They welcome you with huge smiles and friendly pats on the shoulder, before engaging you in conversation that makes your heart all warm and giddy. It doesn't matter that Ten doesn't love you as he should, you've never felt so comfortable with a group of people that should have picked your every flaw apart like vultures.

Instead though, they ask you about your own family, about where you grew up and what you want to be. His mother doesn't hesitate to pile up your plate when she notices it's empty, his uncle ready to pour wine the moment you're done with your glass. His cousins all fawn over you, telling you stories about Ten's childhood and his inability to make friends back when he was still young and wasn't accustomed to the country.

"He used to be so shy and reserved. I don't know what happened to him afterwards," one of the younger girls says with a snort, "he used to have girls over all the time."

"Wha--really now?" You can't help but raise a brow at Ten, who's in mid-action of grabbing some pork slices to add to his rice mountain.

"What?" He asks innocently.

"Apparently, your reputation precedes you."

"That's--stop feeding her lies!" He bursts out, half in annoyance and half in embarrassment as said cousins fall into peals of laughter, "you were always so fun to tease, Ten."

"Don't make me tell your mother about your secret night dates with that guy from your science class," he points an accusatory fork across the table.

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me."

It's funny to see Ten in such an environment, away from your usual surroundings and from the way his eyes glow and the way his entire face crinkles up when he laughs, it seems that this night means more to him than he makes it out to be.

He catches you staring during the groom's speech after the dinner is cleared, and raises a brow in question before leaning closer, "you're drooling, doll. Speak up." He smirks.

You shove his shoulder with a scowl, "you're actually tolerable when you're not trying to be a know-it-all."

"Funny, I could say the same for you."

"Wow, nice comeback."

"See, you were doing so well up till now. One might even think you're in love with me."

The speed at which your cheeks colour deep red is instantaneous and you look away, hoping that he wouldn't see past the hair falling across your cheek.

But Ten is faster, leaning over his chair to catch a glimpse of your face, "aw," he coos at you, "you're blushing."

"Fuck you."

"Right now?"

The image is so vivid in your head that you can't help but swallow thickly, forcing your eyes to the happy couple feeding each other wedding cake as you grovel out, "you wish."

As if on cue and thankfully saving the tension building between the two of you, another round of applause fills the room as the newlywed couple makes their way to the dance floor. You focus your gaze on the pair, try hard not to let yourself cringe at the heat of the young man's eyes intense on yours.

And it's easier that way, to ignore the sensation of butterflies fluttering through your ribcage wih feelings you can't quite place into words.

You're glad when one of Ten's aunts drag him away to introduce him to some other family friends, leaning back with a soft sigh as you relish the quiet moment of peace. Because a little bit more and something would've shifted in the air between you, something dangerous. Something you cannot quite look in the eye yet.

And that something, in retrospect, is a mistake.

---

"Care for a dance?"

A few hours later finds you in the courtyard overlooking the lush green plains surrounding the villa, closing your eyes to enjoy the pleassnt hum of circadas and the gentle brush of the night breeze tingling the back of your neck.

It's where Ten finds you, on the bench amidst the foilage, high heels discarded at your feet while humming along to the distant beats coming from the dance floor.

You look up in surprise, eyes flitting to his extended hand to his face, "I'm not much of a dancer."

"You're literally in my dance crew, Y/N."

"Well, maybe I just don't feel like dancing today."

You'd hope that he wouldn't push further and just get back to the party. But as insistent as he is, you shouldn't have been surprised when he makes a grab for your wrist, pull you up as his other arm quickly cages you against his chest.

"We can dance here, no problem," he grins down at you, that same grin that makes your heart soften at the edges, "plus, you can't go to a wedding and not dance or you'll get seven years of bad luck."

"You just made that up."

"I just did," his grin turns bashful, "but hey, you're dancing aren't you?"

As much as you don't wish to give him the satisfaction, his smile is infectious. Soon, you find your own mouth curling up at the edges, "have I already told you how insufferable you are?"

"More times than I can count."

"It's not a compliment."

He bursts into laughter and you chuckle, shaking your head as he tugs you even closer as if on instinct, "you really are something, aren't you?"

You blink, "are you complimenting me?"

He wriggles his brows but doesn't answer, causing you to pinch his shoulder, "ow!" He jumps at the contact, a pout forming on his lips, "what was that for?!"

"For being an ass," you mutter while leaning into his shoulder and effectively hiding your embarrassment. In all honesty, Ten has been nothing but the best tonight and it's nothing but your pride that is holding you back from admitting such a thing.

That maybe Ten Lee isn't all that bad.

Oh come off it, your brain screams at you. He's been tormenting you all these years. One single night doesn't change anything.

You're so wrapped up trying to come up with a plausible excuse about Ten Lee that surprise jolts through you upon feeling the weight of his cheek pressing against the side of your head. His hand, initially at your wrist, brings it up to settle upon his shoulder before his other hand joins itd pair around your waist.

He'a humming, the softest tune of the music under his breath that makes you feel all tingly and giddy from goosebumps suddenly eroding across your skin. As much as you hate to admit it, being in his arms had never felt so...good.

Clearing your throat, you bite down on your lower lip as your cheek rests against his shoulder, "this is nice," you can't help but admit grudgingly, "you're not so bad of a partner."

He chuckles, "you're just saying that because it's cold and I'm warm."

You grimace, "I was trying to be nice."

A comfortable silence settles over you as a thought starts nagging at your subconscious. One that you cannot help to voice out after some time.

"You know," you murmur, "we don't have to pretend when nobody's around."

There's a pause. Then, he says:

"I know."

But he doesn't loosen his hold. Nor do you step away. And in the silence, there's some kind of understanding that blooms. It's warm, and crackling with a heat that sends liquid warmth down to your stomach.

Still, you stay in his arms, trying -- and failing -- not to enjoy the moment.

At some point, you're reminded of the wedding party still ongoing and reluctantly pull away when Ten suggests that maybe you shouldn't absent yourselves for so long. Though you have to admit to yourself that you're slightly disappointed as you walk back into the big hall, hanging a few paces back when he runs into some other family of his so as not to disturb their little reunion.

A pat on your shoulder causes you to turn to the source, only to find none other than the bride beaming at you.

"Hi!" She waves for good measure, a dimple on her left cheek, "I'm so glad you could make it, honestly. Y/N right?"

"Thank you for inviting me," you smile back, eyes unwillingly finding Ten's figure twirling a child in his arms on the dance floor. Cute. "Your wedding is lovely."

"Trust me, it was anything but lovely," she sends you a pointed look, "anyway, I'm glad I got to meet you now. Ten has been raving about you for so long that we started thinking you didn't even exist!"

Oh. Now that's interesting. You try to keep a poker face on, "raving about me? Are we talking about the same Ten here?" You try to joke.

"Please Y/N, that boy is whipped for you. If you knew how highly he spoke of you all the time, you'd marry him in a heartbeat."

Your chest tightens. You bite down on your lower lip, not sure how to respond to such a praise when in truth it's the furthest thing from the truth.

"And I have to say," the bride continues, not noticing your silence, "that I've never seen Ten so happy. I don't know what you're doing, but I think you're doing it really well--"

"What is Y/N doing really well?"

You don't have time to turn when sudden arms lace around your waist, a chin dropping upon your shoulder as you stiffen on impulse.

Ten, meanwhile, seems completely at ease pressing you to his chest, ignoring the pointed stare you're throwing his way.

Something jittery flutters in your stomach.

"None of your business," his cousin sticks out her tongue playfully, "we were having girl talk. Right Y/N?"

"Y-Yeah," and then, in a soft mutter that only Ten can hear, "what the fudge are you doing?!"

"Hugging you," you don't have to look at him to know that his smirk is there.

"Anyway, I guess I'll leave you two lovebirds to it," she winks at you, before throwing her cousin a dirty look, "make sure you get a ring on her finger soon. She's a keeper."

You make sure she's out of earshot, then proceed to elbow Ten in the stomach. He grunts, letting you go so that you can turn to throw him a scowl.

"What the fuck was that about?"

Hurt flickers through his face, but you go on nevertheless, "and don't tell me that was for your cousin. That was clearly unecessary."

"Chill babe," he holds up his hands in surrender, "just playing the part, is all."

"Well maybe you should've asked me before doing stuff like that."

"You were fine with me holding you earlier," Ten answers, a frown furrowing his brows, "so I thought that was fine too--"

"You don't get to decide that."

"Okay okay," his frown deepens, emotion swirling in his brown orbs as he lowers his hand, "fine. Sorry I did that, and--"

"And what's all this about you being crazy over me?" It seems like a dam has suddenly flooded through you, all sense of self restraint thrown out of the window as the words slip out like the sharp sting of knives, "your cousin thinks we're in love with each other! And she--she thinks there's a chance we might get married and-- what the actual fuck Ten, have you been lying to them all this time?"

Ten's mouth opens. Then closes. He opens it once more, only to fall short in the silence that prevails.

And as if this couldn't get any worse, a familiar soprano rings through the air, slicing through with an icy coldness.

"What is going on?"

You turn, and sure enough, terror rips through your chest as you spot none other than Ten's grandmother standing before you.

Oh shit.

----

You're not really sure what happened that night. After his grandmother found you screaming your head off at her grandson, she'd asked him for a private chat and before you knew it, Ten's mother had bundled you up in a taxi, smiling apologetically as if she knew about your little plan gone to wreck all along.

You hadn't seen Ten since, nor have you heard from him. A few days after the incident had you caving in to send him a simple text to ask whether he was okay, only to receive nothing in return.

Today marks a week and he hasn't turned up for work either.

You're not sure how you should feel about the whole ordeal, for it is true that he'd lied to his family, yourself, and had made a complete mess out of things. He should be reaping what he sowed.

And yet, part of you wistfully wondered whether the way he'd spoken to you, held you that night, had been built on a lie. His touch had been gentle, tender, almost affectionate.

And you find, to your utmost horror, that you don't mind it.

That night, you don't get a wink of sleep.

Maybe he's guilty and embarrassed by what he's done, and trying to disappear off the face of the earth, which means ignoring you completely. Although, since you had taken part in his whole masquerade, weren't you technically allowed to know whether he wasn't losing his mind, at least?

Your mind keeps on turning and sifting over everything that had occurred between the two of you that night, so focused on remembering how his arms had felt around your waist that you don't even realise there's a presence at the counter until they speak.

"Y/N."

You jump, a yelp dying at the back of your throat when you whirl around only to see the said young man, decked in a light blue hoodie and white-washed jeans.

Ten.

Your heart flips. There's a brief thought of panic; you wonder if you ook dishevelled.

Oh come on, Y/N. Who cares?

"Ten," your voice comes out as a weak murmur and you feel like slapping yourself for sounding like a wanton maid. Clearing your throat, you straighten, "thanks for ignoring me. Thought you got shipped to another country."

"Sorry, I was busy sorting out...stuff," he has the decency to look embarrassed for once, hand rubbing the back of his neck as he lookd around in an attempt to find a distraction.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you don't bother answering. Instead, you lower your eyes to the till, hands clenching into fists at your sides.

When Ten speaks again, it's a very soft-spoken proposition.

`"Look, I...I'm really sorry. About the lies, about everything really. I...there's no excuse and--" he stumbles over his words, pauses, starts again, "I'm really sorry, Y/N."

Your eyes flutter up to his then, and the amount of emotion swirling through his eyes makes your chest pinch with sympathy, throat tightening with emotion.

"Why?" You finally manage to croak out, "why the lies, Ten?"

A pause where he chews on his bottom lip, the silence ringing through your ears as awkwardness settles in the air.

"I was being stupid," he breathes it out, a broken echo of a murmur, "I thought that convincing my family beforehand would make it justifiable and I didn't realise until it was too late that I actually--actually like you, see you that way and...and next thing I know you're on my arm with that pretty dress and looking like everything I've ever wanted. And I'm sorry if I got carried away with it. I know you didn't like me that way and I--I wanted to at least have this night to daydream about what it would actually be like," he swallows thickly, takes another shaky breath, "to be with you."

You take in his words in silence, shocked at first at what he'd meant. And it isn't just about what he'd said but how he'd said it that resonates with you and makes your heart suddenly cartwheel in your chest.

The more you replay his words, the more it becomes clearer to you; standing in front of you, for a moment, isn't just Ten the boy who always finds faults, who always mocks you for everything that you are, but just Ten, the boy who got your heart beating like crazy when you danced together, the boy who flirted with you throughout thr wedding and who, without shame, is spilling out his hesrt for you take or break however you like.

He's probably anxious about the thoughts running through your brain and doesn't waste time to say, "I don't want anything out of this Y/N. Do with it whatever you like, but you deserved an explanation, at least."

Still, you open your mouth, only for nothing to come out.

"That's all I wanted to say," he turns away slightly, eyes quickly finding yours before dropping away, "I won't bother you again. Sorry."

And you watch as he turns his back and strides for the door, heartbeat suddenly roaring through your ears, blood pulsing along your brain as a knot coils in your stomach.

He's leaving, and he's going to leave without giving you the chance to even say something back, to give him an answer to his sudden confession.

You don't wait.

Your feet jolt forward and you barely realize you've called his name until he turns, just in time for you to hook your fingers onto his shirt and tug him in close enough that your noses brush.

The sight makes your breath stutter. You take a shaky inhale, feeling Ten's own body stiffen slightly, before he lets out a soft breath of his own.

Time stops on its axis, a pocket of infinity carved out for you and him as you softly allow your lips to press against his.

Warmth blooms, spreads through your limbs. Ten's gasp is silent, dying at the back of his throat.

Pulling back slightly, your teeth find purchase on you bottom lip as your orbs flit up to his in fear of what you'd find there.

Only to find nothing but deep, naked affection.

Your own breath staggers. Chest tightens, goosebumps blossom along your skin.

Ten holds your eyes as a silent question hangs in the air and after what seems like eternity, you open your mouth only for his hand to slip up to your cheek, cupping it in his palm before pulling you in.

He kisses you.

Fireworks ignite behind your lids. He tilts your head and you comply without much effort, quickly surrending to the way his lips move against yours, a rythm that drowns out the entire universe altogether. Your chests press together as one of his hands grips your waist, fingers pressing into the small of your back through your shirt, and a gasp falls from your mouth.

He swallows it up, mouth slotting against yours intimately as your hands find their way up his shoulders to wrap around his neck. He grunts softly as you kiss back, sighing into the kiss once your fingers card through his hair and doesn't hesitate to part your lips with his tongue to kiss you longer, harder. Deeper.

It's overwhelming, exciting. You can't get over how good it feels, about how good this feels.

You don't realise that he's backed you up to the counter until the cool wooden surface presses against your back, and as your lips part in distraction, Ten doesn't hesitate to wrap his arms around your frame to haul you up before stepping between your legs.

"Ten!" You can't help but gasp at his boldness, but he only grins back, that same crooked smile you'd glimpsed of the night of the wedding.

"What?" He murmurs, breathless, nose skimming down to your neck and nuzzling the skin there. Liquid warmth pools to your core as you shiver, flushing upon feeling his fingers slipping underneath your shirt to rest on your naked skin.

His eyes are dark, intense with emotion as they lock on yours. Tilting his head and nose brushing yours once more, he doesn't hesitate to land another chaste kiss. And another. And another. Until your head is spinning. Until all you can feel, see, smell, is Ten. And Ten alone.

And when he leans in for another kiss, tongue dancing with yours, you welcome him with open arms, a small whimper muffled into the kiss.

Ten's chest rumbles before he presses againts you, and the contact makes you whine out his name in breathless stupor, a sound that causes him to smile into the kiss.

You part for air after some time, chest heaving as you lean back. The young man takes this as his chance though, lips finding their way to your jaw and presses a string of kisses right up to your ear.

It makes your toes curl in delight, even more so when he murmurs out, "I wish I could've done that sooner."

Bright red spots of colour bursts across your cheeks and your body squirms in reaction, trying to turn your head away as embarrassment rushes in, "well maybe if you weren't such a dick, you--"

You inhale sharply as his lips cage in the sensitive skin at your neck, a slow bite causing a whimper to fall from your mouth,

"T-Ten--" you try to stammer out, only to fall short with another strained gasp when he slowly starts suckling on the said patch of skin.

Your body jolts, hands grabbing fistfuls of his hair to pull him closer. You feel, at the back of your mind, the slow sensual caress of his fingers up your spine to trace the underside of your bra. You can't stop yourself from melting in his touch, head falling back to give him whatever he wants and the satisfied growl that leaves him makes your heart giddy, your stomach knot up deliciously.

It's only when he finally halts his attack and draws his mouth away that the realization hits you; you're making out with Ten Lee, in Baro Baro Bakery, and loving every second of it.

He must feel you stiffening in his arms, for his head tilts to the side in hopes of catching your gaze. And when he does, you blink at the rosy blush littering his cheeks.

"What is it?" He whispers, unconsciously stroking up and down your naked spine.

You shiver in his hold, though you lean into him as if it's second nature, "nothing," you mutter into his neck, "it's just weird."

"Weird?" He laughs.

"Yeah," you pull back slightly, "it's weird to think that just a week ago I could barely look at you without wishing to slap your face."

He scowls momentarily and you can't help but giggle, "don't look at me like that. It's true."

"Yeah maybe for you," he mutters, loud enough that it reaches your ears.

That causes your eyebrow to perk up curiously, "oh? Care to elaborate? Are you confessing something here?"

"Y/N, I literally just confessed to you."

"And I seem to have short term memory," your grin widens, loving how flustered you seem to make him with all those poignant assumptions, "are you blushing?"

"You are," he retorts hotly.

"Look at yourself, honey--"

Ten yanks you forward, chest pressing against yours and lips hovering over your own. His eyes are dark, stormy with self-restraint and that's enough to shut you up.

You swallow thickly as the corner of his lips curl up, teasing, "I could say the same for you. You're all talk until I make you speechless, aren't you?"

"Don't use my words against me."

Chuckling, Ten proceeds to press a chaste kiss on your forehead, "I'm not, doll. I'm teasing you."

Heat springs through the back of your neck and you try piecing words together to distract yourself from how close he is.

"So, uhm--" you stammer out, hating how his grin widens at your struggle, "you said something about liking me?"

"I did. And I recall you telling me you did too."

"I never said such a thing."

"Right. Yeah. You were too busy snogging my face off--" Ten's words cut off in mid-laugh while he catches your arm aiming to slap his shoulder, "oh god, you're so fun to mess around with."

"Fuck off, Ten!"

His laughter just increases tenfold and it's so catchy that you join in, grinning as you push away some of his hair away from his eyes, "you're an idiot," is what you declare.

His grin is so wide it's almost blinding, "am I yours, though?"

"If you want to be."

He moves so close he can kiss you if he tilts his head, "I want to," he whispers.

A smile breaks across your face and before you know it, your arms wind around his neck once more before you bring him down into a kiss.

----

“So you’re actually together?”

That is the first thing that bursts out of Ten’s mother’s mouth as her eyes dart between you and the said young man as if she can’t quite believe it herself. Your hands, clenched until white in your lap, are starting to sweat underneath the pressure of her gaze. It’s not that you fear her, quite the contrary, you’ve no doubt she’s an amazing mother with kind gentle eyes and never having raised her voice all her life at her children. But from the impression that you’d left that night at the wedding, there’s a very little chance that Ten’s mother actually wants to accept you back with open arms.

“Yes,” Ten’s hand slide into yours for good measure, breaking your fingers away as he keeps his gaze on his mother’s, “we didn’t start on a good foot, and I did ask her to accompany me because I — because I didn’t want you to worry. But whatever I said about likingY/N— this part is true.”

Silence descends as his mother’s eyes flicker from his face, to yours, then back to him. It’s clear that she’s confused. Heck, you would be too if your son suddenly turns up to say that he’s finally going out with his fake date after having caused a ruckus. Maybe she doesn’t want to trust you anymore. Maybe she’s already started finding someone else for Ten, someone more suitable, someone who doesn’t lie in the first place.

But all those thoughts fly straight out of the window the moment her face breaks into a grin too wide to be faked.

“Finally!” She claps her hands together in childish glee, her eyes crinkling up into half-moons, “I’m so happy for you! Wait till Grandma knows this! Oh Ten, I knew there must’ve been something more all along!” There's no way this could have been all fake."

Your head ducks shyly at her reaction, “I’m really sorry about that night,” you murmur out, eyes quickly straining to the edge of the table.

"As long as Ten is happy and you both are finally together for real,” his mother beams, “that’s all that matters, hm?”

You swear you could’ve hugged her. The thought is so strong it makes your eyelids water slightly.

You quickly blink the emotions away as you mumble out your thanks along with a shy smile that she answers tenfold. That is followed by Ten’s fingers squeezing your own gently, but firmly, a reminder that he, too, is here for you.

"Anyway, would you two like some mangoes? We just received a fresh batch from the neighbours," she's already standing up before you have a chance to say anything, quickly toddling out of the kitchen like it's her main mission.

"Your mom is so cute," you murmur out to Ten, who can't help but grin back at you. That same, crooked grin that makes your heart flutter in your chest.

"You know where I got my genes from?" He wriggles his brows, making you bump your elbow into his shoulder with a chuckle.

It's safe to say that your relationship has smoothened out ever since his confession. No more mockery or hatred, and that makes you wonder if there ever was any hatred to begin with, or just tension. Your sister likes to think you're the epitome of enemies-to-lovers trope and for once, you're not the one to stop her. Because it's clear from Ten's teasing demeanour and mischievous behaviour that it had always been his way of demonstrating affection.

"I was flirting with you all along Y/N," is what he says when you ask him about it while he walks you back to your house that night. His arms are full with sweets from their homeland that his mother had insisted you take, "you were just too blind."

"Well then, you suck at flirting."

He scoffs, "uh no? You're the one who can't take a hint."

"Making fun of how awkwardly I dance in front of everyone is not flirting."

He can't help but grin cheekily at the memory, "you were pretty funny though, admit it."

You show him the finger as response, which only makes him laugh even louder before landing a quick peck on your cheek, "c'mon, that was ages ago. Don't sulk with me now."

"I'm not sulking."

"You so are."

You growl at him, making him laugh even harder at the situation. And despite everything, you grin at the happiness stretched across his face like an ephemeral painting you wish to keep forever.

He's so beautiful. How have you not noticed that before? It's not his face, but more the way his face transforms whenever he's genuinely happy.

You wish you can engrave that picture in your head forever.

"Well, that's me." You stop in front of your house and without looking at your watch, know that you're thirty minutes after curfew. Though...your mom doesn't mind. Not when Ten is responsible.

His fingers catch yours, essentially drawing you back to him as he flashes you a sweet smile, "see you tomorrow?" He murmurs, bringing your knuckles up to press a kiss atop your skin.

You try not to let your blush show, "being all smooth now, are we?"

"If it's gonna make you blush, why not?" And he tugs you even closer until your foreheads touch. Then, in a movement so gentle you fear he might break, he allows his mouth to catch yours.

You all but melt, arms slipping around his shoulders as you deepen the kiss with a sigh. Ten grunts in response, pressing one last chaste kiss on your lips before pulling back to hug you against his chest.

He allows his head to rest against your temple, and when you hug him, you swear you can hear his heart throbbing in his chest.

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